By Connor Chen '24
Two weeks in Kathmandu sounds like the title of a 70s reality show with heavy orientalist influences - where Americans seeking nirvana travel to a foreign, Asian land, and to a world where there is nothing but peace, clean air, and Buddhist monks devoid of material desires. These romanticizations and others like it define what most think of when they hear the word Kathmandu, but 70s reality shows are also the antithesis of their namesake: a confounding distortion of reality.
Greeting myself, the Dharma-bums, and sun-hat wearing tourists in Tribhuvan international airport wasn’t a picturesque himalayan backdrop, but twenty five meters of airport tarmac - all that the thick smog allowed us to see, anyway.
The air - thick, dense, and scented with diesel - emulsified at the bottom of our lungs, adding weight to our chests. It’s amazing to think that all 328 passengers on that Airbus A350 now longed for the stale in-flight air we took for granted. There was no enlightened monk to bless us at the arrival gates, only a cab driver who gave us the divine gift of a thirty US dollar fee for a fifteen minute ride to the hotel. Fortunately, there was a surprise at the hotel: the bitter and warm embrace of free Pokhara tea, and a three inch wasp in the curtains - a hellish spawn that required hours of acrobatics and slipper throwing to end.
The next two weeks in Kathmandu would become one of the most rewarding experiences of my life so far.
And I owe it to The Echo - let me explain.
When your expectations of a place reveal itself so distant from reality, you immediately have the privilege of relearning the world around you. No longer do you fall victim to confirmation bias and the whims of a tour guide. Rather, you absorb and restructure your understanding of the new world you find yourself in. The more perceptive you are, the more you get out of the restructuring.
And The Echo has helped me improve perception and thus reunderstanding. At its core, The Echo is a publication that prides itself in the unique views of their writers, which expands the worldview of its readers.
Richard expanded my viewpoints on test prep by showing me its ramification of exacerbating economic inequality.
Sophia’s satirization of Musk’s purchase of Twitter breaks down a seemingly showboat act into a serious event with wide-reaching implications.
And The Echo’s book recommendations are always so diverse. Reading these new viewpoints and books allows you to come up with your own, and view the world around you differently. Being part of The Echo is a constant immersion of unique ideas, and joining the publication is an experience that allows one greater insight to the world around us, but also to share viewpoints and thoughts in a community where uniqueness is valued and the word “mainstream” means nothing.
The diversity of ideas introduced to me in The Echo was the galvanizing force behind my deepened understanding of Nepal. While the two weeks there were short, I left with takeaways that will follow me for a lifetime.
Beneath the deep potholes on the streets and behind the flickering traffic lights (which were treated more like traffic suggestions, anyway) was a diverse group of people who made the most of their circumstance.
On the side of the road, I saw a normal scene - a mechanic fixing a child’s bike. But my deepened perception gained from The Echo allowed me to notice more: the mechanic was an amputee, the child was Tibetan, and they were next to an onlooking muslim woman and Hindu man.
It was then when I realized what made Nepal special: the community. A truly caring community that, despite being deeply pious, values the human race more than any religious, racial, or cultural ideals. A truly special example, and sadly, exception, of the 21st century human condition.
I am lucky to have witnessed such an incredible society, and I owe it to The Echo for giving me the ability to see it.
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