At first, I couldn’t tell if what we were doing was flirting… but there was definitely a charge of magnetism brewing from the moment we locked eyes.
I was standing alone on the handful of steps leading up to my guesthouse.
One of my new Nepali friends had invited me to join him and some friends for dinner, and we were set to meet in front of my place at 7 p.m. sharp.
At this particular intersection of Thamel — the neighborhood known as the heartbeat of Kathmandu — there’s never a dull moment.
In fact, more often than not, it’s loud, overcrowded, and basically one big cluster-fuck of controlled chaos.
In the evenings, adventure travelers from around the globe wander the dusty, potholed maze of streets — weaving between the rogue motorbikes, three-wheeled rickshaws, and harmless, yet persistent peddlers of Himalayan hashish.
I was downstairs a little early when Samuel, the friend in charge of coming to fetch me, messaged that he was running late.
“No problem,” I sent back. “I’m here and ready, but there’s no rush.”
The two brothers who own the antique shop just across the road then waved me over to join them for a cup of tea.
Before stepping toward their side of the street, I paused and looked to my right.
Immediately, I noticed her — and her thin, boho dress dancing in my direction.
Her long curls bounced past her shoulders, while both wrists were stacked with beautiful bracelets made from a mix of semi-precious stone.
I’m terrible at guessing people’s age, but this half-hippie, half-spiritual healer looked to be a few years wiser than me.
“Namaste,” I smiled, letting her know she’d caught my eye.
“Namaste,” she replied, returning an equally charming grin, while also holding my gaze.
“Are you in a hurry?” I asked.
“No, not at all. Just on a lovely evening stroll,” she said contently.
I motioned for her to come stand where I’d been standing, then told her not to move, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
I darted across the street to hit up the antique dealers for a quick, friendly favor.
Now carrying two tiny, piping-hot cups of tea, I headed back toward the hippie chick.
“Subhakamana! (Good luck!)” the younger brother playfully shouted behind me.
“Careful, it’s really hot,” I warned her, as she reached for the brim of the steaming paper cup.
“By the way, I’m Adrian.”
“Thanks for the tea, Adrian. I must say, that was quite a nifty move. But wait a second — are you American?”
Karina, from Australia had precisely pegged my accent.
“Is it that obvious?” I irked.
“Well, you surely don’t look American. But with that accent…”
The 2024 election was a big deal in Nepal, and the results had just been determined the day before — so yeah, I felt quite sensitive to the question in that moment.
“Yes. I’m American. My dad was Mexican, but I was born and raised in Dallas.”
“Dallas, eh? Like the TV show.”
No matter what corner of the world I’m in, as soon as I mention being from Dallas, those are the first words out of people’s mouths… followed by “Cowboys!”
“Exactly. Like the TV show. But let me make one thing abundantly clear, this Texan has zero fuckin’ love for the outcome of the elec…”
Karina gently placed her hand on my wrist.
“Don’t worry, Adrian. I can tell. I’ve practiced energy healing for more than two decades. I can feel which side of the American spectrum you land on.”
Given the disappointment and disgust I’d been swimming in over the past 24 hours, her words felt like a small dose of much needed medicine.
“You wanna hear something really crazy?” Karina then asked.
“Well, of course,” I replied.
“You’re only the second American I’ve ever met.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Wait. There’s no way.” I told her.
Because Aussies travel as much as any nationality in the world, I genuinely found this hard to believe.
“I mean, I did grow up on American music and movies. But I got married far too young. I only left Australia for the first time last year after my divorce. So yeah, as crazy as it sounds, you’re only the second yank I’ve ever had a face-to-face conversation with.”
“Well then, lucky me,” I joked. “But then that has me beg the question… who was your first?”
Instantly, the look on Karina’s face shifted to pain and sympathy.
“Mmm,” she grimaced, while setting down her tea.
“Hey, if it’s too personal, I completely understand,” I assured her.
“No, no. It’s not that, Adrian. It’s just really sad… and to be honest, really fresh. I’m sorry, but can you please give me a minute?”
Now I’m no energy healer, but I could feel the weight of what this woman was carrying begin to swell.
Wanting to honor her request, I scooted back a step.
“Sure.” I told her. “Take all the time you need.”
To Be Continued…
(Part 2 now available: HERE.)
With Gusto is a reader-supported publication. To receive all new posts — and to help support my work — please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.