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In summer 2001, I was on a trip to Kathmandu, Nepal with some friends from college. It just so happened that my long-planned visit came just after the royal heir supposedly went crazy, machine-gunned his father and dozens of palace guards, and then committed suicide (naturally, by shooting himself in the back with an AK-47). The king's unpopular brother, who seemed a lot like Scar from The Lion King, took power. Meanwhile, Maoist insurgents held something like seven provinces at the time.

Needless to say, the country was a bit on edge when my friends and I arrived. We felt safe, but it often seemed like we were the only tourists around.

I remember taking a rickety taxi out to see the famed "monkey temple," a.k.a. Swayambhunath stupa. On the way, I craned my neck incredulously to see a bombed-out bus that looked like it might still be smoldering. "What's that?" I asked the driver. "Don't worry," he laughed. "It's just the Maoist rebels." He assured me that they only killed policemen. When I returned to my hotel that evening, a note from the U.S. Embassy warned us not to go to the attached casino, which had received bomb threats.

Nearly seven years later, the Maoists are going to be in charge. Ain't democracy grand?