Posted by: Megan | August 6, 2007

In Search of ‘Mr Kathmandu’ …

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Always the bridesmaid, never the bride I thought to myself dancing on stage in a long blue Baju Kurong (the traditional Malay shirt and trousers of conservative Muslim woman) in Borneo. I remember the song. It was ‘Careless Whispers’ by George Michael. Several men old enough to be my grandfather’s grandfather swung me around the dance floor. It was fun, but I struck this particular nameless village in Sabah off my list of places where Mr. Right was going to sweep me off my feet and make me his bride.

Abandoning the thick dense humid jungle of Borneo for the thin air of Mt. Everest seemed only but a natural progression towards finding Mr. Right – that in turn became Mr. Kathmandu! Mr. Kathmandu – a devastatingly sexy young mountain-man bestowed with looks that epitomized the rugged terrain he consistently surpassed! Mt. Everest – a mountain of dreams and possibly the habitual playground of Mr. K (to be short and savvy)!

After an incredible windswept and wild overland jeep journey that started in Lhasa, I arrived at Rongphu Monastery – the gateway to Mt. Everest on the Tibetan side. After a 8km walk from Monastery I arrived at the Everest Base Camp – an amazing vantage point to the world’s highest mountain! Sitting in the yellow tent, drinking a warming yak butter tea, followed by slurping noodles to slow down my attitude at altitude I waited (in hope) at Camp One for the arrival of Mr. Kathmandu – off the 8848m summit.

In a deluded manner I slipped (as I sipped) into a false sense of existence – imagining slight K-Whispers (as opposed to careless ones …) echo towards me throughout the biting breeze. Whispers voiced in an ever so husky rugged manner; “4km after my descent from Everest, Meg, and my ice pick got caught in a tangle of prayer flags which saw me consume two extra litres of oxygen in spending the time to unravel them. God dam it, for otherwise I would have been there to have shared the final sip of yak butter tea with you ...” And so, there ended the dream that clear sunny day down at Base Camp. I doubted should Mr. K make his way to Camp One he would follow me to Kathmandu – a city of pretentious Mr. Ks – as he would have nothing to prove …

Needless to say I did not meet my Mr. K during that particular trip -however – Mt. Everest definitely oozed with potential for men in need of having their frost-bitten fingertips warmed up as a welcoming introduction to further travels!

Certainly the spontaneous fun-filled task of finding Mr. Right or rather Mr. Kathmandu adds an extra (interesting) layer of dimension to any travel itinerary – let alone mine!  So the question is; “Where to next?”  Any suggestions as to where that worldy elusive and aloof Mr. K may be?  Or, was the one for me really caught up in a tangle of prayer flags and thus – I should return … ?

If I am to read rightly, then according to Miss Snow It All  it seems that the snow slopes could be the next best destination – this winter at least!


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Responses

  1. Nice to see the work of Aussie (?forgotten her name, how stupid of me) being broadcast. Says it all, yay! I like the juxtaposition of ideas, pix and article. Well done!

  2. Dear Brown Couch,

    I am sure Mr K is still there on Mt Everest waiting for his own Miss Kathmandu to come back and slurp yak butter tea.

  3. Bruce … it is exactly what I keep telling myself! In the meantime I divert my mind by maintaining my worldy lifestyle – drinking lattes in the interim!


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