Seymour Totti’s Foreign Policy

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I had been reading the newspaper. I know, ghastly old fashioned things filled with half-truths and outright lies, almost as bad as the television. But I was trying to acquaint myself with recent events in Nepal with a view to paying a visit when I found a story about Kathmandu’s bar scene.

Now as far as I knew Kathmandu didn’t have a bar scene and if it had recently acquired one I felt it was something I should know about so I read on. The story told of seedy bars that charged multiple times the normal rate for a beer. How young girls, trapped by poverty, turn to dancing on a stage and selling their honour to lecherous foreign males. In short, the usual stuff. I knew most of it was probably rubbish but it did cement my intention to pay a visit.

Geographically Nepal straddles the dividing line between the Indian and Tibetan racial groups and, I know from previous experience, is home to some strikingly beautiful women. It is also very conservative and girls do not risk the wrath of Shiva, their fathers, brothers and husbands for romantic interludes with passing strangers. Further more everything closes really early and even in the tourist district of Thamel most places are shut by 10.30pm.

Kathmandu is a warren of little alleys. If one is wide enough to afford a single lane of traffic in each direction it is an important thoroughfare. All have major potholes, lack any kind of traffic control and are teaming with pedestrians. Giving way is seen as a weakness of character.

Stepping out from the hotel I’m accosted on all sides by people offering rickshaw or taxi services, trekking options, clothing, restaurants, whopping great curly knives that would have terrorist aware customs inspectors dancing for joy and hashish. People offering “nice girl” or “sexy lady” were conspicuous by their absence.

First thing next morning I wandered down to Durbar Square and old Freak Street, the end of the hippie trail from way back in the nineteen-sixties. From there I headed over the river to Patan and it’s, even more beautiful, Durbar Square. Both are UNESCO heritage sights.

No sooner was I out the taxi when some young-fellow-my-lad was tugging at my sleeve offering his services as a guide. I don’t like guides and told him so but it was water off a ducks back and he clung limpet-like, even after I had made it clear he wasn’t getting any money.

It was here that I got to flirting with a group of attractive souvenir sellers. This would have been unheard of on my last visit and even now attracted a large crowd of onlookers. Even more than a pretty local TV presenter who was doing a broadcast nearby. Trinkets were purchased, photos taken and e-mail addresses were exchanged.

“You like pretty girls?” queried my guide as we walked away.

“I do indeed,” I replied “do you know where I can get some?” He blushed deeply, he couldn’t have been more that nineteen or twenty himself. “I’ve heard there are bars where sexy ladies dance and I can drink beer and watch.” I pressed

“Dance bars!” he told me. He confirmed that they were in Thamel but he’d never been to one, and didn’t know their names or what happened inside. For that I felt he’d earned his reward.

They are not clearly marked, that was obvious from my first brief look around and there are so many signs all screaming for attention that one has to be diligent to spot them. I found six altogether; 007, Pussycat, Tequila, Striptease and two others whose names I neglected to write down on account of already being filled to the brim with beers from the first four.

The beers were about US$5 for a large bottle. If you buy a girl a drink, usually tinned fruit juice, it will set you back about US$7.50. The dancers for the most part wear skimpy clothes. The kind of outfits that could never be worn on the streets of Kathmandu but would not seem at all strange on any teenager walking through a shopping mall in the west.

In all six bars I only saw one other foreigner, the rest of the customers were local and of the three girls I bought drinks for all were horrified at the suggestion they come back to my hotel. Though one admitted that it does happen at some other places but not at her bar.

So Kathmandu remains a blank page on my sexual safari but I’m optimistic. Instability, the result a ten year Maoist insurgency and the collapse of the absolute monarchy has helped keep tourist numbers low. But with elections less than a month away and tourism on the increase those little dance bars stand to be major beneficiaries of a brave new dawn. It is only a matter of time before they, or the girls themselves start adding to their list of services in order to maximise their potential.

In the meantime I have the e-mail address of a lovely lady in Patan who reminds me a lot of Asha Kumara