Seymour Totti’s Foreign Policy

Beautiful Nepalese women

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
It’s perishing cold in Kathmandu. There are also frequent power-cuts. Not that it matters all that much. None of the tourist class hotels that I’ve stayed in have heating anyway and the water in the shower, even when the power is on, is usually little more than tepid.

I don’t do cold very well. It makes me miserable, my bollocks scrunch up into tight walnuts and it cools the libido … a little.

But it is high season in Nepal and the narrow lanes of Thamel, the tourist district, are throbbing with taxi touts and tiger balm vendors. People selling everything from jewellery and huge Ghurka knives to hashish. They weave through traffic jams that are made more alarming by the fact that they consist entirely of small cars and bikes. Larger vehicles just don’t fit!

Nearly every bookstore and music shop is playing the same Tibetan chant CD and if there is anything more distressing than the traffic it is to suddenly find walking along with the phrase “hum bali bum bum bum” stuck in your head.

But is is high season and I’m glad to be here again. Back in March I’d visited the few ‘dance bars’ that I could find. They had all been curious but rather tame affairs with no chance of snaring a Himalayan hottie to help me warm the frigid sheets.

This time is a little different. The dance bars are more numerous and more visible. There is also a greater enthusiasm amongst the girls that work in them.

Though the actual dancing is still fully clothed and fifty percent male it seems clear that, with more opening up, they are having to offer a broader range and better services in order to compete.

I visited one called Striptease. There wasn’t any of course that’s just the name of the bar. It’s a large cavernous place with a huge stage upon which a lone dancer gyrated in a white miniskirt and blouse. Lights flashed, Indian pop music wailed and four pairs of hands enthusiastically lead me to a table, beers and juices were ordered and we got down to the serious business of bar talk.

“What’s your name?, “Where you come from?”, and “How long you stay?” are all questions that I have considerable experience in dealing with and, despite the impassioned wailing of the Hindi-pop vocalist who was doing her best to quench conversation, I was able to answer adequately. “You want my penis explode in my ear?” threw me a little bit. Your penis? I said “My penis!” she confirmed and just to make herself perfectly clear she reached down and grabbed mine.

Not satisfied with what she found she let go, pulled my arm up around her shoulder and guided my hand down the front of her sweater. After making sure I had a good handful she checked ‘her’ penis again but I already knew she’d be pleased with developments.

Kathmandu closes early and Striptease is no exception, though there are some bars that stay open later. We left shortly after eleven o’clock. My last concern was getting her past security and into the hotel but security was already cocooned in a blanket and dreaming of pleasant things.

See also: Kathmandu revisited