My time in Bangladesh proved to be strange indeed. Upon arrival in Dhaka, I had to find my way to the transit desk, then elbow and shove my fellow passengers to the front, where they took away my passport and ticket. Scary. Then I had to wait in the grimmest, most depressing place I've ever been, the Dhaka Transit Lounge. They eventually herded us out to some vans. After opening the gate holding the throngs of people at bay, and honking until the crowd parted (and after the driver got out to move a shopping cart out of the road), we were on our way through beautiful, downtown Dhaka. At night it actually did look pretty nice and modern, since it was all lit up.

We arrived at a place even grimmer than the transit lounge: the transit hotel. It was a big, depressing building with only the 12 of us in it, 3 to a floor. I knew our fate, from reading about the Cyber Nomad's time here, but a naive Mexican guy actually had the nerve to try to go outside. Our captors promptly turned him back and locked the door. At least they served us dinner.

The next day my flight was delayed, so I had to sit around that awful place until 2 pm. At last they herded us off to the airport. While waiting there, I got to watch CNN for the first time in six weeks. Looks like Bush the Younger is going to get his war, which I imagine will complicate my life down the road.

I was fortunate to have a window seat on the right hand side of the plane, which meant I got a brief view of the Himalayas before we landed. They may be the highest mountains in the world, but they looked pretty small from 30,000 ft. And once you're on the ground, they disappear behind the hills that surround the city of Kathmandu, which lies in a valley that bears the same name. Contrary to popular belief, or at least my belief before I came, Kathmandu is not that far north (Deli is further north), nor that far up (1300 m, not even a mile, Denver is higher). Despite this, Kathmandu is chilly, and downright cold at night. Especially after coming from the unbelievably sweltering 40 degree (104 F) heat of Yangon. I now wear my fleece all the time, and since I don't have shoes, commit a major fashion faux pas and wear socks with my sandals.

Welcome to Kathmandu

The tourist district is called Thamel, and is reminiscent of Khao San Road, with souvenir shops, hotels, restaurants, books store, travel agents, internet cafes, and anything else a traveler might want, including guys selling hashish and magic mushrooms, and amazingly persistent beggars. Unlike Khao San Road, this place has a little bit of character. It's an incomprehensible maze of narrow streets and alleys. Just remember: when you are lost (all the time), DO NOT STOP WALKING!!! If you do, you will either

• get hit by a car
• get hit by a motorcycle
• get hit by a rickshaw
• get hit by a tiny sherpa carrying a huge load
• get hit by a beggar who won't go away
• get hit by a guy selling hashish/magic mushrooms/tiger balm/rickshaw/taxi

I resolved to eat well here, since I heard the food is good, and I have to fatten up for trekking, so I had a hamburger. It was the first time I was full in months. Then I goarged myself on real chocolate, not the waxy crap they sell in Myanmar.

When I checked my email, I was pretty excited that I had 135 messaged, but it turned out all but 10 of them were spam. Deleting them was pretty quick, since, unfortunately, none of the women I know have promised me naked pictures of themselves. It also seems somebody thinks I'm a woman, so now, in addition to treating my ED, I also know how to increase my cup size.

Of course, I had no idea how to get back to my hotel, so I asked a rickshaw kid to take me. We agreed on 70 rupees, which is like a dollar, and a total rip-off, but it turned out he didn't know where it was either. As we rode around asking directions, a guy jumped on and offered to sell me hashish. These guy's are worse than KL's "lady" guys.