Flying into Katmandu, I was seated with the upper crust – a former cabinet minister from Delhi, and an American college professor from Seattle. 

I described some of my disturbing experiences in India to the politician. 

“Are India’s leaders concerned about the population explosion?” I asked him. 

“Of course,” he sighed. “When I was in the government a few years ago, we spent over one billion dollars on a  nationwide ad campaign to educate the people about the tangible benefits of birth control. It made no difference at all – the birth rate remained exactly the same. It was a complete failure. Nothing the government does seems to matter at all.” 

“In that case, where do you find optimism for India’s future?”

“Well, you won’t hear it discussed, but we have high hopes for the AIDS virus. It’s spreading like wildfire in the slums, but the government has decided not to publicize it, or educate the population about it. The idea is to let it run its course, and we hope the population will stabilize that way.” 

I turned to the American professor in disgust. He told me he taught agriculture at UW, and was using his sabbatical in India to teach techniques for growing and processing wasabi, for export to the Japanese market. 

“Do you like sushi?” he asked.

“I love it – it’s one of my favorite foods.”

“Well, that stuff we get in sushi restaurants at home isn’t real wasabi – it’s made from a processed powder and comes in a tube. Japanese consumers prefer the real stuff, hand-made, which is gooier and stringier, and has a fresher, more natural flavor. They can’t grow enough of it in Japan, so I’m helping India get a foothold in the market. Where are you staying in Katmandu?” 

“I don’t know yet. Maybe a hostel.”

“You should stay at the Soaltee Hotel – it’s beautiful building, centrally located, and only about $99 a night. A great deal. That’s where I always stay – you’ll love it. If you’re free tomorrow, I’d be happy to show you around the city. I plan to do some rug shopping.”

I decided to take him up on his offer – after India, I was in the mood to spoil myself for a day or two.

The hotel was indeed beautiful. Big, and elegant. We appeared to be the only guests. 

Everywhere I looked, there were intricate wooden carvings. The staff was efficient and attentive. They showed me to a nice room. A good bed with crisp, clean white sheets. It was heaven. 

About two in the morning a strange noise woke me.  Like a faint scritch, scritching sound, maybe someone’s nervous fingernails scratching across a table. It seemed to be all around me. I reached over and turned on the bedside light. 

The entire room was crawling with large cockroaches. Thousands of them, on the walls, the floors, and all over my clothes and backpack. Even the shadows were moving. There were so many that the white paint of the walls was obscured.

 A big one crawled across my pillow, inches from my face. Shuddering, I brushed him onto the floor, grabbed my tennis shoe and started whacking him, trying to smash him. It had no effect. He walked away, in no rush, and crawled into my backpack. 

I considered getting up and asking for a new room, but I was just too groggy. I assumed all the rooms were the same, anyway. I turned off the light, pulled the sheets up over my head and tried to go back to sleep. I left my nose out for air, but the thought that they might crawl across it kept me awake. I spent the rest of the night viciously hating the UW professor.

Finally, at six, I got up and went down to breakfast.

I checked into a hostel. They gave me a clean private room with bath for $8 a night. I stayed there for a few days – and never saw a cockroach, or a bug of any kind.