Part I: Six Packages, Six Journeys, One Big Wooden Door

30 31 The Chosen: Battle with a Cerberosian Prince Journey to Sagarmatha the Hyatt Regency. He was directed to the exit, where he would be met by swarms of taxi men. The moment he said “namaste,” they knew he was American. It was a lose-lose situation, really—anything he said would have exposed him as one who was not a local. At that point, they surged at him like a wake of vultures surrounding a dying corpse. “I need to get to the Hyatt Regency,” he shouted over all the voices. “1,500 rupees,” one man said. “1,200 rupees,” said another. “1,000 rupees!” A few others shouted out a few more amounts, trying to give the most attractive, yet still profitable amount from the clearly young, relatively inexperienced, American tourist. Trying to recall all the tourist tips he had read before arriving in Kathmandu, he drew a blank. The pressure of being in a new country—with people speaking a language he couldn’t understand, outrightly trying to take advantage of him—was a little too much for TJ to handle. He decided to go with the driver who was closest to him. As the driver guided TJ to his car, pushing through the crowd that continued shouting to get TJ’s attention, he started to question himself. What did I get myself into? He just wanted to see himself away from the sea of noise, the unapologetic invasion of personal space. Getting into the car, he slammed the door. He dropped his backpack beside him, took a deep breath, and exhaled forcefully. “Thank you so much,” TJ said. “You are welcome, sir. The Hyatt Regency, correct?” “Yes, correct.” “My name is Sudip.” His enthusiasm was a little overwhelming, but TJ appreciated it as it calmed him down, somewhat. “Hey Sudip, my name’s TJ.” “Pleased to meet you, TJ. Is this your first time in Kathmandu?” “Yeah, it is.” He was still trying to catch his breath from his ordeal a few minutes ago. As they made their way through the streets, TJ saw a lot of small cars on the road. They were the same type of car as the taxi he was in. He noticed many of them were Suzukis, though he couldn’t tell you anything else about them, the year or model. It wasn’t as crowded as some of the pictures he had seen online. There were many people on scootertype bikes, like mopeds. He also noticed a large number of microvans. They looked like they could carry eight or nine people, max. As one of the microvans drove alongside them, he tried to count the number of passengers. At some point he thought he counted 16 people. Surely that wasn’t right? He also saw vehicles that were similar but slightly bigger, which the locals called microbuses. They had guys holding on from outside the vehicle, from all sides. By the time he had arrived at the hotel, his neck was in pain from all the visual scanning—moving his head from side to side, looking ahead, behind, and all around him from inside the car. He was absolutely fascinated by this place, how different it was from home.