If you have ever thought about Kathmandu, what did you think about? Enormous, majestic mountain ranges, Buddhist monasteries with saffron and red clad monks singing in two octaves at once and spinning colossal prayer wheels to the sound of deep ringing bells? At least the words of Cat Stevens song about this place conjured images of a Himalayan oasis of spirituality. You're confusing this with Bhaktapur. Kathmandu is not anything like this. Not anymore.
There is a black tinge to the air, making a deep breath difficult to draw and potentially dangerous. The traffic is it's own brand of madness, easily explained thusly: I am driving, I wish to turn or merge into a nonexistent lane so I am honking. Because I have honked I have informed you that I am moving my vehicle. It is now up to you to decide what to do with this information. From your perspective this sound has come from....where? Is it the car beside you? Is it the one in front, or perhaps one of the multitude motorscooters or motorbikes that buzz around through traffic like a constant swarm of gnats? Then there are the lanes. I say lanes, what I mean is vague guides as to what side to drive on, but if you have a better idea, by all means follow your heart. It certainly makes sense, from a spiritual perspective, to follow this mixture of Hinduism and Buddhism that the Nepalese ascribe to, because when you inevitably die from either trying to merge into the next lane or foolishly attempting to traverse the zebra crossing, you know that this is just another step in your spiritual journey.
What everyone actually wants to know about is not so much the culture or the people or places, but the food. The area we are staying in is called Thamel, and it has been considered a backpackers paradise for as long as one has put pack to back. The definition of backpacker has changed however, and this is reflected in the menus. So much of the bills of fare is western food that can be found anywhere, with traditional Nepali food relegated to one or two cursory dishes, likely listed as a veggy and non veggy variation of the same dish. To get real Nepali food, one must leave the backpacker areas and hit the main roads. Momos and other traditional Nepali foods are both flavour full and spicy, from curries to noodle dishes and something called a sizzle. Never had it, but sounds like cooked meat, so I am already a fan. (I have since been informed that it is like a Mongolian barbeque. Does that help?)
There is a feeling that the only way out of Kathmandu is by plane. Everyone is well aware that the respiratory problems they all encounter is a result of the uncontrolled growth, and excess of cars and trucks, some of which spew a toxic black fume reminiscent of a tire fire. Everyone has also seemingly, if grudgingly made peace with this. Most every street is far too skinny with high red brick buildings, choked by shops selling the same thing the last shop sold, bicycles, motorcycles, cars, scooters, rickshaws and pedestrians. The streets themselves are in dreadful disrepair, and at least one manhole stood a full ten inches above street level. Woe be to the car trying to get over that.
Almost every school I have seen is a Montessori school, denoting the obvious importance of education to the Nepalese, so this must be seen as an important step to escaping an otherwise soulsucking career as a shopkeeper or taxi driver. Let us a not even speak of the limited opportunities presented to an employee of a "dance bar".
I am trying very hard to find qualities that justify the mythical, almost holy reputation this city has, and for the most part I am failing. There are semblances of the culture we think we know of this country, the eyes painted over gates, the mandalas in shop windows, the stupas every few streets, even the brightly painted trucks carrying water, or gasoline or nuclear waste (not really), all of these symbols clambor to remind you of where you are and what it means to be here. If you make it to the monkey palace or Durbur square, the temples are still there, but they all seem to be grubby and crumbling.
The best part of Kathmandu is leaving to go trekking in the Annapurna hills or the Himalayas, perhaps going to a Buddhist retreat where you can eat a bowl of rice and lentils per day and meditate until you can face reality again. If you can't face heaving your carcass up a hill but you came here anyway, there are towns close by, like Bhaktapur, which are still mostly as they have been for hundreds of years. One of the living goddess' incarnations, a kumari, lives here and she can be visited daily for a blessing in exchange for an offering. There are several of these young girls who are the living embodiment of the goddess Talaju, a deity brought here by the south Indians most associated with Durga, a particularly vicious Hindu deity. There are also kumari in Pagan and the royal one is in Durbar square, (there is a Durbar Square in most cities), she pokes her head out a window twice a day. Miss her, and you wait till tomorrow. Once a year at a festival called the Indra Jatra she is paraded around, for all to see, but she is reclusive for the most part.
Tomorrow we are on a six hour bus ride to Pokhara. I am very excited about this, there are only the vaguest of signs of the hills and country side that you can see through the haze and pollution in the city, so the chance to see the actual country fills me with joy, combined with the prospect of a breath of clean air.
The visas for Myanmar were relatively painless to apply for, but the visa office requires payment in pristine US currency, any bends, folds, or other deformations render the bill useless. The visa office is a bit out of the way, which brings me to my next gripe. There is no such thing as a price. There is an opening bid. For everything. The cabdrivers assume you have no idea about the cash to milage ratio, so will try to rip you off enormously, and all of the shop owners and hotel staff are in on the take. They will all be very happy to arrange a taxi for you, and they will make their cut. They will be overjoyed to arrange a tour of the main sights for you at an impossibly overblown price, if you want air conditioning that is extra and likely not actually air-conditioning, just the busted in-car fan. They will be orgasmic to arrange their own tours, as they all have their own tour companies, and they will charge you so so very much money, and you will pay it, because it's just that you can't face haggling again about a price you can't sort out because of the currency exchange rates, the fact that you know a taxi will take you for a ride in every sense, and you don't really know where you're going anyway.
So far it seems as though I may not be as fair as I could be, and have not taken advantage of the many wonderful treks and tours that are available, and there are indeed many. I am traveling with my little family, consisting of my girlfriend and our three year old son, so climbing Everest is, to my mind, out. The plane through the Himalayas is cost prohibitive to a student, which I am, so again out. Sightseeing is what I have for choice, and so we will do it with the most vigour we can muster. Let us hope I can muster just slightly more than I already have.
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