“Kathmandu’s gone a bit up-market. This is really sick.”
Dan and Robbie, in their best clothes, strode through the marble corridors of the Yak and Yeti, one of Kathmandu’s flashiest hotels. The place was faux-colonial, including the smiles from the badly suited mid-management that lingered in the corridors without a clear mission other than shooting downward glances filled with disappointment at father and son. Dan didn’t so much wear but travel in faded jeans and a generic pair of scuffed trainers. The jeans looked authentic. Dan looked authentic. An old ski jumper, its collars bent into the shape of Spock’s ears by excessive laundering, completed his stylish outfit. At least he wasn’t wearing flares.
Robbie laughed. “Surprised they let you in at all, Dad. Didn’t you see the signs? ‘Dog
