Battery Drain
"I may be old, ja, but I have a big battery!" the middle-aged German man said while rubbing his enlarged stomach. His accent was thick (he had only learned English since arriving in Shanghai two years prior) but it was jolly, and the twinkle in his eye confessed a belief that being young was purely in the head.
The man was called Rainer, and he was the first person from our tour group to introduce himself to Tina and me. At 40, he was by far the most senior of everyone on the roster, but as he rubbed his gut and cracked jokes about his fellow Germans in Shanghai, I was happy to have his enthusiasm (and crazy funny accent!) along for the ride.
Little did I know that that day in Shanghai, hours before boarding the plane, would be the last time I would see the man smile.
We arrived in Lhasa in the afternoon, and we spent our first few hours as a group taking pictures in front of the Potola palace. After that, we were free to wander around or follow the tour guide to do some additional shopping. Rainer mentioned that he intended to walk back toward the hotel, and I offered to follow him, thinking we'd have a fantastic conversation about sauerkraut. Strangely enough, he kept quiet despite my attempts at provoking conversation:
"Don't skinny people suck?"
"I love beer. But German beer is terrible."
"Can I call you Rain-ey?"
No dice. He would stay stiff and wooden for most of the trip, eating a single egg for breakfast, skipping lunch, and staying on the bus while the rest of us scoped out monasteries and bought souvenirs. On a good day, Rainer would warn us before heading off to the hotel room right before we were to hit the bus for some more siteseeing. On a bad day, he liked to scream at the little kids trying to sell him crafts.
"RAUS! RAUS!" he screamed at the two little Tibetans who had wandered onto our bus and were playing Taiwan pop songs for spare change. "RAUS!" He even curled the "R's" as to make it all the more surreal.
It wasn't until the third day that Simon told me that prior to the trip, Rainer had visited a trio of Eastern medicine "specialists": a masseuse, an herbalist, and an acupuncturist. Wanting to prepare himself for the high altitude, he tbought he'd try the buffet of remedies for ailments he had yet to experience. The acupuncturist told Rainer that he was too fat, and gave him a needle that was supposed to decrease his appetite.
Who knew it would make him eat nothing but an egg a day?
After a while, we stayed away from him, though we all felt sorry for the big guy. But something about a 280 lb. 6 foot German man who only glared and slept that made us keep away.
Inevitably, it was this fear that made NONE of us willing to be the one to break the news to Rainer that our flight out of Kathmandu was going to be canceled...indefinitely. After all, he was routing directly at the Shanghai airport to head back to Germany, and this was certainly going to make him want to wrestle someone! Why not the Nepalese airport dudes who were a quarter of his size?
And that's what happened.
The man was called Rainer, and he was the first person from our tour group to introduce himself to Tina and me. At 40, he was by far the most senior of everyone on the roster, but as he rubbed his gut and cracked jokes about his fellow Germans in Shanghai, I was happy to have his enthusiasm (and crazy funny accent!) along for the ride.
Little did I know that that day in Shanghai, hours before boarding the plane, would be the last time I would see the man smile.
We arrived in Lhasa in the afternoon, and we spent our first few hours as a group taking pictures in front of the Potola palace. After that, we were free to wander around or follow the tour guide to do some additional shopping. Rainer mentioned that he intended to walk back toward the hotel, and I offered to follow him, thinking we'd have a fantastic conversation about sauerkraut. Strangely enough, he kept quiet despite my attempts at provoking conversation:
"Don't skinny people suck?"
"I love beer. But German beer is terrible."
"Can I call you Rain-ey?"
No dice. He would stay stiff and wooden for most of the trip, eating a single egg for breakfast, skipping lunch, and staying on the bus while the rest of us scoped out monasteries and bought souvenirs. On a good day, Rainer would warn us before heading off to the hotel room right before we were to hit the bus for some more siteseeing. On a bad day, he liked to scream at the little kids trying to sell him crafts.
"RAUS! RAUS!" he screamed at the two little Tibetans who had wandered onto our bus and were playing Taiwan pop songs for spare change. "RAUS!" He even curled the "R's" as to make it all the more surreal.
It wasn't until the third day that Simon told me that prior to the trip, Rainer had visited a trio of Eastern medicine "specialists": a masseuse, an herbalist, and an acupuncturist. Wanting to prepare himself for the high altitude, he tbought he'd try the buffet of remedies for ailments he had yet to experience. The acupuncturist told Rainer that he was too fat, and gave him a needle that was supposed to decrease his appetite.
Who knew it would make him eat nothing but an egg a day?
After a while, we stayed away from him, though we all felt sorry for the big guy. But something about a 280 lb. 6 foot German man who only glared and slept that made us keep away.
Inevitably, it was this fear that made NONE of us willing to be the one to break the news to Rainer that our flight out of Kathmandu was going to be canceled...indefinitely. After all, he was routing directly at the Shanghai airport to head back to Germany, and this was certainly going to make him want to wrestle someone! Why not the Nepalese airport dudes who were a quarter of his size?
And that's what happened.
posted by sushipanda at 1:30 PM
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