Even after a night of no sleep and 2 flights, I couldn't help being excited as we approached Kathmandu. What I thought at first were cloud banks were rows of the snow-capped Himalayan mountains, glistening white. The plane flew parallel to the peaks for an impressive amount of time.

Once landed, we took a taxi to Thamel. It is the tourist ghetto, but with no sleep we wanted to find a hotel as quickly and easily as possible and Thamel is the place for that.

I couldn't help smiling as we progressed through the crazy crowded streets. We passed the Hindu temple of Pashupatinath and lots of people dressed in bright colors. In the distance, green hills rose through the haze.

I had never heard of Sharjah until, while searching for a cheap flight to India, I came across it as a layover point between Tehran and Delhi. Hmm... Sharjah... Where's that? I assumed it must be in Saudi Arabia because the stop over was on Air Arabia. I didn't look into it further until, after realizing we couldn't get Indian visas in Iran, we were looking for other route alternatives. The cheapest, most logical option was Kathmandu via Sharjah. Sharjah is not in Saudi Arabia but in the United Arab Emirates. It is described as a sleeper community where people who work in Dubai live because it is cheaper than living in Dubai. This evoked exciting images in my mind of.... Fresno! Or.... Riverside! Doing a bit more research, I found the Sharjah Tourism website which describes Sharjah as the “cultural capitol of the Arab World.” The website listed the historic Heritage District, an arts district and so many museums I wasn't able to check them all before I lost our Internet connection.

A brand new art museum had recently opened. Add to this a location on the Arab Gulf, Sharjah didn't sound too shabby. At least, I figured, we could find something to do for our 15 hour layover.

Rowshan's parents drove us to the airport this morning. Somewhere, not anywhere near the airport, Rowshan's dad's car broke down. He said it was a fuse and sent Rowshan digging through the glove compartment for an extra he had. Once Rowshan found it, he, his mom, and I grabbed a taxi and left his dad to fix the car. At the airport we checked in then went back out through security to say “bye” to Rowshan's mother and father (who had fixed the car and was pulling into the airport).

We went back through the security. I had to go through the women's side. Meanwhile the male security guy informed Rowshan he was, “dressed suspiciously.” For future reference to anyone traveling in Iran, “suspicious dress” is neutral colored travel plants (the kind that dry quickly and the legs can be zipped off into shorts), a black Thai cotton long sleeved shirt with ornamental neck embroidery, and hiking shoes. One has to feel sorry for Rowshan. In the US the airport security finds him suspicious because he is Iranian. In Iran the airport security finds him suspicious because he wears travel clothing. The security guy let him through anyway. We managed to leave Iran without any further problems and soon we had crossed the Arab Gulf and were descending over rippled beige sands dotted with scraggy plants, and landed in the Sharjah airport.

Upon leaving the airport, I was struck by a wave of balmy heat (the temperature was 29 degrees C)as well as a faint scent of the sea which managed to drift above the smell of the car exhaust.

The bus to the center (#14) had only one other person on it. The driver signaled to me to sit in one of the front seats marked “Ladies only”. He wouldn't let Rowshan sit next to me so Rowshan sat in one of the seats behind. The bus left the airport and headed down a straight road over flat desert which seemed to be quickly being developed and covered with newly constructed houses and palm trees. Above the flat flat landscape, white and cream minarets rose in slender pinnacles which caught the light of the golden sun.

We were moving along at a good pace through empty streets when all of a sudden the bus came to a halt. Ahead of us was a big line of trucks. In the distance we could see the skyscrapers of downtown. It took an hour to go the couple kilometers to the downtown. A little farther down the street, the bus stopped at a legitimate bus stop. Within a few minutes it was full of young men who were definitely not Arab. They were probably workers from Nepal or India. The driver herded them on making sure each paid and a few times rather rudely threw one or two off. Rowshan, seeing the crowd of men boarding, jumped into the seat next to me. The driver approved and let him stay though later when one other woman boarded, Rowshan stood up and let her sit.

Dismayed, we saw the sun set, a glowing ball behind industrial buildings. By the time we got off the bus it was dark. We walked towards the lagoon past restaurants and cafeterias. However, instead of shwarma, the smells of Indian curry drifted from them. Along the Khaled lagoon was a paved path following the shore with benches. Next to the path was a manicured lawn dotted with palm trees.

Mitra invited us to an art opening of a friend's exhibition. The gallery was in the North in one of the wealthier parts of town. It was a nice space in the downstairs of a house which had been tiled and had raised platforms around the edges for exhibitions. The paintings were mostly canvases hanging from leather and wood bars decorated with carvings of some of the subjects of the paintings. The paintings themselves were figures made up of repeated shapes-- mostly fish-- which were themselves made up of dots.

The colors were warm and deep subtle reds, yellows, browns, and turquoises which were used to create spots of lights. The subjects were deer, fish, and birds from folkloric motives. There were also plant and flower motives merging with the animals. The over all result was one of peaceful beauty and unity of subjects and individual parts that made them up.