Nepal was a very touching place.

No, I don't mean in the emotional sense, although it was that, too, I mean that people are constantly touching you, literally. You can't walk down the street without at least one person attempting to smear some kind of religious concoction on you. You think I'm joking? Just look at the photo above. You probably assumed it was yet another holy BABA, and I did too at first, but now I suspect it's really just some poor guy named Doug or Kevin from Milwaukee who accidentally stayed in Nepal too long. Judging by the amount of paint and decorations on him, I'd say he's probably been here about... three weeks?

Seriously though, I loathed this particular aspect of my time in Nepal, and I don't think my low tolerance for strangers touching me is all that odd or rare. I’d say most Americans feel similarly—we want you to stay out of our personal space bubble, and that certainly involves unsolicited touching.

But here in Nepal, on a daily basis, Kimby and I not only had random strangers touching us, but it also seemed like every time I turned around, someone was trying to put something on me.

Stop it.

They all had their slightly different but mostly well-intentioned reasons, but for me they all had the same result: it was awkward, uncomfortable, and I hated it.

Some examples:

1. As both a respectful greeting and as a goodbye, people are going to spend an absurd amount of time trying to tie things around your neck. They have to get very, very, close to you to do this -- intimately close-- and depending on how practiced they are at tying bows, it could take an eternity for them to complete the task. While fumbling clumsily with the sash or ribbon (or whatever it was), they were usually standing on their tippy toes to try and reach my neck, so they would unavoidably be breathing directly onto my face. I swear I've had sex with less contact and less heavy breathing. I've certainly had sex that didn't last as long, because sometimes these ceremonial knots were overly complicated and took forever to tie. Before long, every time I saw someone so much as reach for a piece of fabric, I became overwhelmed with panic. Knowing that the sash-tying/close proximity face-breathing was close at hand, one time I tried to hold my breath while it was happening, but it took too long and I started hyperventilating. Another time, sensing no plausible escape route, I panicked and grabbed the sash and just unceremoniously tied it hurriedly around my own neck. I'm sure I violated about 100 customs and insulted just as many Nepali people, but after enduring several of these claustrophobic encounters, I came to dread them so very much that I resorted to just physically hiding any time I felt that a sash-tying was imminent. No joke, I'd excuse myself and go and hide somewhere until it was over.

2. Similar to the sash-tying (but with all the same in-your-face-breathing) people will try to pin things to your shirt or put bracelets on your wrists. In my experience, even when you attempt this interaction with a close friend or relative, the process of putting jewelry on another person is painstaking and takes forever. There's always some minuscule clasp, and/or it involves fastidious finger work, and you regret offering to help them put it on almost immediately after you begin. You can tell they regret asking you to help, too. You’re squinting and breathing heavy and trying to get your big fat fingers to cooperate, and both of you want to call it off, but now you're invested. You’re trying to concentrate on the meticulous task at hand, but really you’re thinking about when you last brushed your teeth and whether or not they can smell your breath...

Okay. Now. Imagine that it's strangers who are constantly trying to do this to you/with you. Strangers who also won't relent even after it's gone way past the point of awkward. It will often even start approaching harassment, with you saying things like, "No thank you!" and "Please stop it," as they continue to try and fasten whatever it is to your shirt or wrist, even as you start walking so briskly that now you're basically both just trotting together. Trotting, but also entangled by the fastening project. Ugh, I hated it.

(New from the mind of M. Night Shaymalan, his most terrifying tale yet: "The Fastening." You'll never escape it's Clasp...)

3. Not just holy men, but random Nepalis of all sorts are going to come at you with paint on their finger and attempt to smear it on your forehead, in between your eyes.

It is supposed to be a blessing, but in my opinion, is inarguably a curse. The red stuff is impossible to wipe off and it gets all over everything. My ball caps, the rest of my face, my clothing, furniture, sheets…

It was my least favorite of all the surprise touching.

Quite frequently, the concoction that they are coming at you with is inexplicably thick. It's less like a simple paint and more like a chunky plaster. It has some real mass and body to it. They would approach the middle of my forehead with a big clumpy dollop of it, and I was always thinking, "Whoaaaaaa there, what's going on, Buddy?! If you put that on my forehead, I imagine it’s going to look less like a third eye and more like a second nose. No thank you, I'll sit this one out." I SAID NO!

4. Throughout the day, people will throw things on you, douse you with liquids, and sprinkle things on you.

I suspected the “holy” water they were spritzing me with was just as filthy and contaminated as all the rest of the water there, so I hated it when they threw it in my face and it got all in my mouth.

I also hated having crushed up flower petals thrown at me, because the pollen gets all over everything; but this happens A LOT. So many flower petals, so much pollen in my eyes.

And for me, it almost never worked out the way they intended. They are trying to throw the petals sort of up and over your head (which should be bowed slightly, if you are properly cooperating) so that the petals kind of cascade over you, in a fluttering, blessed way. But my height, combined with the diminutive size of many people in Nepal, leads to a trajectory that --almost every time -- seemed like some asshole just threw a bunch of garbage and pollen into my face, right into my eyes.

Thanks, Jerk.

5. Oh. And here’s the kicker: sometimes the person who touched you/put something on you (in a way you didn’t ask for or want) will then ask you for money and harass you for the “service” they performed. (Like throwing weaponized pollen into your eyes).

I'm sure there are other instances I'm forgetting, and I wish that throughout my trip I'd thought to take photos of all the tourists who'd clearly had their own person unwittingly decorated, but sadly, I didn't really start trying to document this until boredom kicked in at the airport.

Oh my god, could you imagine having to sit through a 15+ hour flight with red paint batter globbed all over your forehead? If Doug ever makes it out of Nepal, he's going to have a rough return flight ahead of him, that's for sure.

Pictured above, an American tour group waiting to be picked up after spending one hour in Kathmandu.