4 Bananas & A Dragonfruit

Reflections on my first few days in Nepal

Here’s an exercise: Walk an hour through the streets of an unfamiliar country with your phone never leaving your pocket. See where that leads you. 

For me, I found 4 bananas & a dragon fruit.

I’ll explain.

I quit my corporate job 6 months ago with the sole intention to travel. It always seemed like an enticing dream to have one backpack and explore parts of the world I had only seen through a screen. 

I’m grateful my life circumstances all came together to give me the perfect opportunity to take this jump - 4 years of savings and nothing really keeping me in my hometown.

And so, in a whirlwind, I quit on a Friday and by Monday I was on a flight to Sri Lanka. My intentions were to slow down, listen to my body, and get involved in the local communities.

While I did learn so much about myself and the world around me while traveling the past 6 months, everything felt very structured, rushed, and sometimes, left me feeling hollow and confused. 

Was I traveling to these far off, beautiful places just to take the perfect picture, record every interaction, and cross off experiences one by one, like a grocery list? Most days did feel like a dream, I’ll admit, but where does all this lead me? I’m “solo traveling,” but have I ever spent a moment truly alone to reflect? Am I impacting locals positively or negatively? Maybe there isn’t a clear answer to that. But I couldn’t help but feel like I was an uninvited guest sometimes (no matter how kind the locals were).

Suddenly, I needed an escape from the way I was currently traveling. I wanted to get lost somewhere. On a whim, I decided it would be Nepal. 

You might ask, how does this relate to 4 bananas and a dragon fruit? I’m getting to that.

I happened to meet a friend from back home my first day in Nepal, and she told me that she had taken 6 months of Nepali language classes to relearn her mother tongue.

What if I took a few classes? I am here for 2 months… 

At my hostel, I met a guy who had just finished trekking Everest Base Camp. I excitedly told him I wanted to take Nepali classes, volunteer with kids, trek through the Himalayas, teach yoga classes, and attend a 10 day silent meditation course. 

“Wow. I’m exhausted just hearing you speak. Maybe just pick one.”

Not the response I was looking for, but maybe he’s right. I’ve been on the go with my other travels. Maybe I should just pick one to focus on.

I signed up for a random Nepali class and within a few minutes of the first session, I was pleased to learn how many similarities there are with my own mother tongue of Urdu. This may not be as impossible as I first thought. 

Over my first plate of momos in Kathmandu, I was telling someone else my ambitious dreams for the next 2 months. 

“People have been telling me it’s too much. I should probably just pick one.”

“Bullshit. Walk me through the list.”

“I want to volunteer and work with kids. Maybe at an orphanage.”

He immediately pulled out his phone and called an organization he had worked with a few weeks ago.

“You have a meeting with the founder tomorrow at 8am.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Now that’s two things on my list that are set in motion.

“So, the orphanage is a 20 min drive away from where you’re staying.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my second day in this country. What else am I doing? I might as well walk and get my legs ready for a trek in the mountains.”

And that’s how I found myself walking over 10 km (6.2 miles) every day for over a week as I made my way to and from volunteering at the orphanage. 

On my very first walk, I felt fresh, ready, and curious for what was to come. The pollution was only just starting to get to me. Maybe I’d need to get a mask soon like the locals. I had barely stepped outside on the street when I hear a - 

“Fruit?”

“No,” I say immediately, caught off guard at 6:30am by myself in a new country on unfamiliar streets. 

I pause. Then I retrace my steps.

“Actually, sure. Maybe one banana?”

“Take four,” he smiles.

“Dunyabad,” I say, testing out the most basic part of my Nepali lesson.

I continue on with a smile on my face, swinging my 4 bananas contentedly. 

People don’t give me a second glance on the street. I’ve been told I look Nepali (my parents are from Pakistan) so it feels almost peaceful walking through these streets, not sticking out as an obvious tourist.

I walk slowly, taking in each store, each street, glancing down at my Google Maps periodically to make sure I’m walking in the right direction for the 1 hour and 11 minute journey.

Out of nowhere, a local bus splashes mud on my freshly washed cargo pants. Nice. Part of the charm.

I reach the edge of the smaller streets to a massive 7 lane (if they were actually lanes) intersection. Motorbikes, cars, people, trucks, all going in every direction you could imagine.

Well, shit.

How do I cross this? I was pretty proud of myself for crossing the busy streets in Vietnam, but this felt more like the streets of Pakistan. My homeland where I have never attempted to cross a street like this by myself during my periodic visits over the years.

I stood there for a solid 5 minutes, never finding an obvious break in the traffic.

Finally, I spot a woman in bright red clothes expertly scanning the cars speeding past. She confidently steps forward, weaving through the traffic like she’s done this for years (she most definitely has).

I quickly follow and become her shadow. I’ll never actually know if she noticed me there - it felt like she was on autopilot mode. But I took note of how she just fearlessly walked, making her own path, and traffic naturally adjusted to accommodate her. She never increased her pace, but also never abruptly stopped out of fear. 

With ease and grace, she crossed the terrifying throng of death machines. 

It was beautiful. 

I wanted to clap when I emerged to the other side. Instead, I shared a triumphant smile with myself and kept moving. 

I reached the orphanage, and had a long discussion with the founder/caretaker. I immediately felt drawn to her - it felt like we had met in a different lifetime. She exuded warmth, kindness, and love. I was ready to help in whichever way she saw fit. 

“You’re a yoga teacher? Maybe you can teach the kids. Let’s do it at 6:30 am before school starts.”

The first yoga class was tough. They had just found out school was cancelled, so they were excitedly jumping around and couldn’t focus on an entire hour of stretching & breathing. I began counting the kids and realized there were well over 50… and just one of me at the front. 

It was then that it began to sink in how much responsibility the lead caretaker had for all of these lives. Here I was just teaching a simple yoga class and feeling overwhelmed, while she was doing everything she could to make sure they felt safe, loved, and had the proper tools to get an education.

She was truly an inspiration, and my admiration for her only grew deeper the more I got to know her & her work. 

The next few days, we slowly began to fall into a rhythm.

The curious kids would sit in the front row, and the youngest kids tried to sit as close to me as possible. The older kids came in and out, since they had added responsibilities to tend to.

And every day, I’d wake up before sunrise and walk an hour and eleven minutes to the orphanage.

My Nepali slowly improved, and I began to make it a habit to stop along the way and say:

“Malai charita kera dinus nah.”

The sparkle in the fruit seller’s eye and slight giggle that escaped from her mouth as she handed me my 4 bananas made my heart warm & fuzzy. 

I’ve been toying with the idea of starting a blog (the very one you’re reading right now), so I stopped at a stationary shop I noticed on the way back and asked for a notebook.

“Moh Nepali sikdai chu.”

She smiled so large I could see all her teeth. Then she started to speak words I couldn’t quite grasp.

Another customer was listening to us intently and translated.

“Do you have a husband?”

“SRIMANA CHAINA!” I exclaim & we all laugh.

I skip away, glowing from the interaction.

The 4 bananas became my routine, and after only a day or two I decided to leave my phone in my pocket and rely on memory alone to lead me on my daily route from the orphanage to my Nepali class.

It went against my instincts:

I need music.

What if I missed my turn?

But I pushed those feelings away as my legs led me through streets that were becoming more and more familiar. 

That's where I bought guitar picks for one of my students as a gift.

And that’s the empty shop I always see with two women sitting in boredom, scrolling on their phones. 

There’s the small hill that overlooks the city that took my breath away the first time I saw it.

And ah yes, the coffee shop I always (okay maybe only 2 times) stop in to drink chai & journal. 

And all of a sudden, I’m here. Standing in front of the beautiful old tree outside of the mall where my Nepali class is.

I can’t describe the feeling. An hour and eleven minutes of listening to all the sights, sounds, and feelings of bustling roads that are slowly becoming a nostalgic walk down memory lane (after only a few days, I must remind you). 

I don’t think I could’ve experienced this if I had a list of “must see” sights to cross off.

Or if I had only spent time with travelers from my hostel and pretended to laugh & smile over a glass of overly sweet juice at a stuffy bar (Which has its own charm, sometimes).

Or if I had simply left Kathmandu after a day or two like a lot of people I’ve met because this city was too:

Overwhelming

Polluted

Crowded

Loud 

Void of things to do

There could be beauty anywhere you are, if you’re willing to see things for what they are instead of attaching yourself to what you think it should be. 

Is that deep? I don’t know, I had a lot of time to think on this walk and no music to distract me (self imposed).

As the days passed, I slowly began to catch rides on the back of motorbikes to get to & from the orphanage because I was late or exhausted or it was simply too early in the morning after an evening with friends.

But one particular morning after volunteering, I decided to walk. It was a completely open day, and I had nowhere to be but the present moment. I was going to walk. 

I think about my 4 bananas, and all the sweet conversations I’ve had with locals the past few days. The streets are littered with fleeting moments of special connections & hesitantly strung sentences in Nepali with strangers (which always end with a good laugh). 

But I’m exhausted. The sun was starting to shine brightly, the pollution making me cough. I’ve already had plenty of fond memories here… maybe I call it a day? 

It would be so easy to just find a motorbike to pick me up. I don’t have anything to prove to anyone by going on foot the entire way.

And yet… I keep walking. One more step, one more store to take note of. Another smile shared with a stranger in passing. Just. Keep. Going. 

I don’t know when exactly it became my personal mission to walk these long distances, but here I was. In a mental game with myself.

As I walk, my stomach growls. I realize I haven’t had my 4 bananas yet. I get a strong urge for something a bit more refreshing. Something like…

A dragon fruit. I see the bright pink fruit gleaming in a small fruit shop on the street I’m walking on. Without much thought, I step in.

“Malai euita dragon fruit dinus nah.”

The fruit seller looks at me with curiosity and gives a small nod of acknowledgement as he helps me select one.

“It’s really too good, it’s delicious. You have to get it.”

I turn to see who is talking to me, and that’s when I see a retired couple squeezed onto a small wooden bench, eating the bright fruit with spoons.

The woman is dressed in a colorful tie dyed dress with a matching headband and an impressive stack of necklaces and bracelets. Her partner is head to toe in a traditional Nepali outfit, complete with a dhaka topi. 

“Where are you from?” - the magical question that begins all conversations abroad. 

“California,” I reply. 

“And you’re all the way here! We’re from Columbia.”

We begin to discuss our journeys (what my intentions were in Nepal, how they are slow travelling to their dream locations). 

They tell me if I’m ever in Columbia I have a place to stay. We exchange numbers and I’m touched by their kindness. 

“So what do you want to do? In life, I mean,” the woman asks me. 

I’m holding the dragon fruit in my hand. I slowly turn it over, looking at each of the unique folds.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to write. But it’s all been said before.”

The woman practically leaps up from the wobbly bench and I’m scared she’ll fall over.

“Nonsense! Write about the people you meet. That’s unique to you and your journey.”

They proceeded to tell me stories of the people they’ve met - in particular, a man that also wanted to be a writer.

During a boat ride they were all on, he was completely immersed in his phone. The couple tried to get his attention but were unsuccessful. So the woman took out & wore a scary mask she carried in her purse. When he finally looked up, he was startled & screamed at the strange mask.

The woman then gave him that mask as a gift and he has since sent her pictures of the mask traveling with him around the world. He later wrote about that moment they shared.

We laughed. 

“Write about us, write about this moment. It doesn’t matter - just write and share it.”

She then carefully takes out a beaded pink necklace from her purse. It’s from Columbia. She wants me to have it, as a reminder to write. Her husband places it over my head. 

“The necklace is the color of dragon fruit.” 

We stare at it for a moment, amazed at this coincidence.

“Always follow the dragon fruit,” the woman says after the silence, and it feels like I’m in an important movie scene.

She takes a picture of me with the dragon fruit to capture the moment. I say a heartfelt thank you and (literally) skip away with joy at the entire exchange. I look at the dragon fruit in my hand with wonder and awe. Yet another piece of fruit that led me to sweet conversations with strangers.

If you smile at the world, it tends to smile back.

Where will your walk lead you?

Photo By The Woman Who Gave Me The Necklace