Another Day, Another Pre-Dawn Run

I guess I’ve always been a morning person. I’m not much good at night. Not much fun and I’m tired too quickly. “Lame” in 90s era teenager parlance. A wet blanket, a spoilsport, a goody two shoes, an old man in another time. Part of it is that I’m really not much good in crowds or in loud places in general, night OR day. This nightclubs and bars often intrinsically lack appeal. I suppose that’s why a good dive bar is an occasional exception that proves the rule.

To be honest, I’ve always preferred the dawn as a chance to do something, to begin and work on something whereas night feels like endings.

A psychologist would say that all might get rolled into a diagnosis for anti-social. And maybe that’s unfair arm chair navel gazing doctoring on my part but it’s on my mind.

I crashed early again last night, the time zones coupled with dusty sightseeing and my aforementioned predilections for quiet intimacy over boisterous strangers. My roommate was out carousing and I could hear various guests at the hotel laughing and clinking glasses into the night. I’m not sure when Herman got back into the room but I found myself once again wide awake in either the late evening or early morning hours.

“What the hell,” I thought. “I’ve learned nothing. I’m doomed to repeat my mistakes. I’ll go for another run.”

So it was that once again at 4:30 am I was on the streets of Kathmandu. I realized as weird and as strange as it can be to be lost in a foreign city, with google maps and a pair of running shoes I can try and get my day started. I think I enjoy the early run because it’s like catching the place off guard. It’s the reality behind the “good time tourism” facade and one can see what it takes to live in the city. The trash being taken out and at times strewn about the ground as homeless dogs seek scraps. The delivery of bread and liquor to restock restaurants and bars. The early morning wage slaves off to make a day’s underpayment. The late night revelers drunkenly stumbling back to hotels. And on one street corner I passed, the prostitutes coming off shift. It’s a different world at 4:30 am. The birds are chirping, a lot fewer cars rumble on the road. It’s the hangover and the dawn of a new day. For some reason I enjoy the quiet more than the hustle and bustle. I prefer picking my way over dark and crumbling sidewalks, worried about catching my toe and face planting so at times slowing and gingerly picking my way along. And I enjoy seeing things as the sun rises and the golden hour of dawn sends light to cut through the darkness. I prefer the start to the end.

And yet as is often the case whilst pondering such things in mid run, I find myself lamenting not enjoying the night, not toasting with strangers and making them friends, not viewing the night not as the end but the beginning. It’s a matter of perspective and mine seems oh-so-solo minded.

I opted to run to Patan City, supposedly three miles away or so, giving me a good 10K for the morning. It wound up being a little longer as I missed a few turns and got rerouted. As it was driving directions only in offline mode, it might have made sense from a car perspective but it was a bit out of the way as the crow flies. Given that I was concerned about tripping over the sidewalks, such as they are, and it was pretty darn dark out, I suppose I should be glad I didn’t take more wrong turns.

I headed into Patan City just around sunrise. While there was no guard manning the gate requiring foreigners to buy a ticket to access Patan proper, I still felt guilty and thus opted NOT to just run through the cultural heritage site.

I wasn’t carrying any rupees with me either so if there had been a ticket seller I couldn’t have bought one anyway (unless they take ApplePay). I tried to capture the Uncle Moneybags Community Chest Card “poor” look, my pockets out turned to show they were empty. But I really don’t think the photo reads that way.

The good news is (SPOILER ALERT): Today’s sightseeing trip included a visit to Patan City… which meant I was going to get to see the inside of this place.

In the meantime, as I was trying to get directions back to my hotel, I screengrabbed what it looks like when you ask for walking directions on an offline map. The result is an image of a message in the bottle, a faux hope that you might be rescued. Stranger things have happened I suppose.

Some photos on the run back, using driving directions to retrace some of my steps (and hopefully not make a wrong turn this time).

While my time sucked for the 8 miles, at least I got out the door and moved a bit. I thought I deserved a treat… but unfortunately had WAY too many of the Nepal pancakes in the Beatles Cafe for breakfast. This fried dough confectionary is my new kryptonite. Like my Krispy Kreme donuts addiction of yore, I had too many of these things because they tasted SOOOOOO good… only an hour late to dine on regrets and feelings of bloated malady. This is no way to shed the lingering pounds I’ve been so desperate to lose this past year.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll limit myself to three malpuwa. Sigh. I’m ashamed… but tastefully ashamed.

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All together now… Kevin looks like a monkey… and he smells like one, too!