Chasing a nomad

I’ve been stalking a man since 2013. Twelve years is a long time to pursue someone. I first saw him at a busy bar in Pokhara, where I was hanging out with my girlfriends. In a space crammed with youngsters, his long, flowing grey beard set him apart. James (Jim) Robinson looked more like a man out of Hogwarts School.

And I knew I had to speak with him!

And that set off many years of wooing, if you may. When I first saw him, I kindled a conversation and I sat next to him for a few minutes. I found out that he had been coming to Nepal since his first visit as a young hippie man.

Did he have a number I could call him at or email? Jim said he didn’t do emails or cell phones.

In December 2016, when I was in Pokhara, I inquired about Jim at the bar he frequents. I left a note with my number on it asking Jim to call. I went back the next day to ask if Jim had received the note. He had. But there was no call.

Looking for Jim in Pokhara had become a ritual-- my friends found my pursuit funny. If I happened to be there in winter, I would show up at the bar, wait, leave a note sometimes. There was no response.

One time, during the pre-Covid era, I met Jim on a green tourist bus heading to Kathmandu from Pokhara. He needed to call a friend in Thamel and I offered him my phone for use and also its number. He pocketed the piece of paper and left it at that.

In 2023, I was at an old bakery in Thamel to meet a girlfriend. I ran into Jim there and introduced myself again, quickly wrote my number down: Can I give you my number?

 And no, he didn’t call.

In 2024, I ran into Jim in Pokhara at the Literature Festival. I reminded him of our many half-meetings. This time, I didn’t offer my number. Then he asked me if he could have my number and also said he had also joined Facebook recently and could now keep in touch.

As I wrote down my number and email for him, I told him it was the third time I was giving him my number. I think I set Jim off on a guilt trip, because then he started to email, finally agreeing to meet me.

Last week, we met at the same old bakery in Thamel. The cafe was fragrant with the fumes of hot coffee and the joy of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Jim and I found a table at the topmost floor. He said he was willing to do an interview if I was still interested. But I found that the scribe in me had become replaced by something of a quiet listener.

I asked Jim about the many fascinating, expensive gems-studded rings on his fingers. He gave me details about how each of them had come to find a place on his fingers. He also explained to me the journeys of the gems on his necklace. Jim has been collecting the stones since he first showed up in Nepal in 1968 as a 23-year-old.

When the hippie movement made waves in certain parts of the world in the mid-1960s, Kathmandu wasn’t untouched by its ripples. Youth from the west, driven by their quest for freedom, peace and love, showed up in Kathmandu among other places, making Jhochhen (Freak Street) their home. Jim was one of them.

On his way to Nepal from the UK on his first trip, he stopped in Israel where he worked as a tomatoes and cucumber picker and then spent some time in India before arriving in Nepal.

The journey-by-land spanning across weeks, was deliberate and purposeful. As opposed to it, he now takes the flight from the UK every year in December to arrive in Nepal, and goes back at the start of spring. While in Nepal, he spends his time pretty much the same way he did many years ago-- except, instead of smoking up and chilling with fellow hippies, he now drinks beer and hops bars to find the best music.

Jim, like some of us, thrives in solitude. Much of his time in Kathmandu and Pokhara is made up of that. At bars, he speaks with strangers and has a good time swaying to live music.

Why have you been coming back all these years, I ask him and he says: Because I love Nepal!

When he arrived in 1968, he saw Swayambu and was blown away. “I had never seen anything like it! This beautiful temple on the top of a hill!” Jim explains how in no other place in the world, had he seen monuments of different faiths alongside each other. When he saw it in Nepal his mind was blown to never be the same again, he says. He knew he had to keep coming back.

Back in the day, Jim stayed in Freak Street, the hippies’ hub. The amenities were basic but sources of entertainment were accessible there. “The only place you could buy cakes was the Snowman. All other places sold Nepali food. And there was just one souvenir shop that sold khukuri and that kind of stuff.”

Jim says it hasn’t been easy to follow the changes in Kathmandu over the years, but he doesn’t mind the change as much as he minds the way people have turned to technology. He isn’t a fan of cell phones and he doesn’t carry one. But his daughter (who he visits in Canada once a year) has gifted him an iPad so they can stay in touch.

Apart from spending lone time in Nepal, Jim also shops for silver rings, sometimes buying them for himself and sometimes taking some back to the UK to sell them.

His now off-white beard, leaping down his face and his colourful rings flashing around the room as he moves his hands when he speaks, manages to catch the attention of a Chinese tourist seated at a nearby table. Later, as we are leaving the bakery, she catches up and shows a photo of Jim on her phone: Is this you? I took your picture in Pokhara. I love your rings!”

 Then she asks: Can I take a picture with you?

Jim says no at first, and then says okay, maybe. As I say goodbye and walk away, I smile knowing he’s no longer denying people the opportunity to interact with him. Perhaps someday, he will eventually spill the story of his life.

Jim turns 80 this month. I had asked him how many more years he intends to keep coming back to Nepal and he said: “Let your life be like a leaf cast upon the ocean. Go with the flow.”

Suburban Tales is a monthly column in Nepali Times based on real people in Pratibha’s life.