After speaking to my mom about my scary experience, she somehow gave me the strength to suck it up, be more careful, and put it to the side. Like I said in my previous post, I only managed to do that for one day. I hired a hotel taxi to drive me around all day for the equivalence of $20. The driver was Sushil, a kind, shy, twenty-five year old who is on the clock 24 hours a day, seven days a week as a taxi driver and who sends a big chunk of his monthly earnings to his family back in a village near the border of India and Nepal. Through his broken english, I managed to get to know him a bit, since I did spend a whole day with him. He gave me the history of certain monuments, told me how much things really cost so I wouldn’t get ripped off, and was my photographer when needed. When he took me to a place to have a late lunch, I asked him if he was going to eat with me. Shyly he replied that “those” places were not for him, that they were for “guest” like me. When he said that, i felt shame. Here I am, wanting to study Global Poverty and he’s looking up at me. No way. I asked him to please eat with me and that I would pay. He politely refused. I didn’t want to insist too much since I’m not all familiar with the culture and didn’t want to cause a wrong impression. I walked up to the restaurant and ate alone, paying about $13 for my meal and eating only half of it at most. IMG_0563


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