Much To Do in Kathmandu (And other places) - Kathmandu, Nepal
Kathmandu, Nepal
Where I stayed
Alobar1000
So I arrived in Kathmandu after an uneventful flight set up my bike and headed off to my hostel, a place in an area of the city called Swoyambhu. The city was in the midst of one of its traffic strikes which from what I understand are typically orchestrated by the Communist-Maoist party coalition which is I believe, in protest of the general election which was coming up in mid-November. While not every one was acknowledging or abiding by it, the roads were still pretty clear of cars so the riding was easy enough.
The first hostel I checked in to was in a fairly quiet part of the city just Northeast of a Buddhist pilgrimage site set up on a hill known as Swoyambhu, or as everyone seemed to call it in English, the Monkey Temple. There were only about 5 other people there and while I stayed there a few days, visiting some of the touristy sites around the city, I eventually found it too quiet and so I moved to hostel someone told me about down around the touristy part of the city, called the Alobar1000. One of the better places I've stayed on this trip so far, it had a very social atmosphere with a rooftop restaurant and bar, a fantastic staff, and plenty of extra-curricular activities which the owner and general manager led throughout the city.
One of these was during the Yenya Festival which is a large religious street event that spans a week or so consisting of a series of processions where chariots carrying deifications of several Hindu gods through the city's main square. We headed down for what was known as the Kumari Jatra where a young girl who was believed to be the incarnation of the Hindu goddess Durga is paraded through the streets. People throng about her chariot in religious ecstasy begging favour, throwing offerings up at her, while her handlers shield her. My friend Maria and I managed to get up onto the side of a building and were able to get a relatively good look at the girl. The story of the Kumari Devi, the goddess child, is a bit of an interesting one, and while there is plenty of info about it online I'll give a brief overview. (mostly lifted from wikipedia). A new living goddess is selected as soon as the previous one has her first period and thus loses her necessary purity. The selection process involves a group of royal priests who using a series of horoscopes and predetermined criteria look among a certain caste for the eligible girls. She must fit within certain appearance based criteria, she must have certain personality and character traits. In order to determine these things she undergoes a series of trials, the final and most bizarre trial is a rather grim one which requires her to spend a night alone in a room of slaughtered animals without showing any signs of fear. Assuming all of this goes to plan she is purified and cleansed so as to be a unblemished vessel for the Goddess. Once initiated as the goddess, she enters a palace within the Durbar Square where she will remain for almost the entire duration of her time as Goddess. When she does leave its during festivals and rituals where she will be carried around in either her chariot or in a palanquin. While I can't say that it was enriching of an experience as I'd hoped it to be, it was certainly a fantastic exposure into the rich esoterica of the Hindu religion.
As I sit here struggling to recall what I did in those first few weeks in Nepal, I'm hit with a reminder as powerful and as sudden as a religious epiphany, what to write about, what to write about? I've been sitting here struggling and holy God, there it is! How could I have forgotten? Goddess sightings, cremation rituals, Buddhist pilgrimages!!! All of that has nothing, and I mean nothing on what I am about to mention to you now. But first I'll let that build up, I'll let that simmer a bit, let you stew on it, let you sit on it a bit... So, in the up until then, 9 months of my time away from home, I'd been pretty okay about most things, I didn't really miss anyone particularly (sorry!), the weather was more or less to my liking, I was never bored, the food was fantastic and varied, all except baked goods. Oh what I wouldn't have down for a slice of crumble a cobbler or even a cookie! Some pastries or pie, perhaps some bread or a biscuit. All that I'd found so far in Asia, from the meanest breadroll to the most elaborate of cakes was a sham, an unholy amalgamation of bleached flour, triple refined sugar, and air. The cakes set my teeth on a diabetic edge, the loaves of bread, just as sweet, could be squished and compressed down to the size of a child's fist! Oh how I yearned! Oh how I yearned!!!
That is, I yearned until one day, when a girl at the first hostel I was staying at, named Hannah Anderson, (how could I ever forget my saviour's name?) told me about a place called the Snowman's Cafe which made the best of cakes and pies. Well of course I was skeptical, I'd heard enough of such stories, to have lost faith in most things, not the least of which being the possibility of a decent cake in Asia. But being a good old soul, never one to absolutely give up hope, I accompanied her, to the joint and oh my lord, let me tell you there was some good old fashioned Baked good revivalism going on there. The worst part is that I don't believe that I have a photo of the place! That is neither here nor there though. As soon as I walked in, I knew I'd found as close to a piece of home as I was likely to before hitting Western Europe and that it would be a hell of a long time with many a return visit before I would sate my deep and gluttonous cravings. I descended into an extremely blissful period in which were it any other substance, one would start to believe I had an abysmal problem. During my time in Kathmandu I probably shared the place, like an apostle sharing the good news of the Lord (except that unlike the good news the cake offered immediate and substantial deliverance) with over a hundred people, not that I brag, its just that it was as near to a religous experience as I've had. But the cake, I must talk about the cake, I must get it out of my system. The cafe has been around for 38 years and has been specializing in cakes and crumbles for that entire time! I assure you friends, it is indeed a well honed craft, a well honed craft indeed, let me see if I can find photos to share. The cakes ranged in price from 70 to 90 rupees (about the same in Canadian cents) with 12 varieties to choose from. There was coconut cream, carrot, coffee, chocolate banana, blackforest, chocolate love (a sort of double chocolate), chocolate brownie, apple pie, apple crumble, chocolate apple crumble, cheese cake aaaannnnnd one other... I can't believe I can't remember it, this will actually torment me. Oh well believe me there were twelve. Oh nevermind I recall it! It was a creme caramel. All of which except for the carrot and the cheese cake were fantastic. I'd go in there and I'd order 2 or 3 pieces at a time, and repeat this delicious pilgrimage at least every other day, or as many as twice a day, never did I once regret it (except when I got carrot, but at least I'd supplemented it with something else). Ok so I've located one photo, I found it on Facebook, compliments to a Mr. Drew Smoker, hope it gives an idea of how wonderful the place was!
What else was there, what else was there?? Oh yes, another famous site in and around Kathmandu (would you believe it that the Kathmandu valley is home to 4, that's right 4 UNESCO heritage sites, of which I've already mentioned 2; Swoyambhu and Durbar Square), is the Pashupatinath Temple. Set along the banks of the Bagmati river is revered as one of Shiva's dwelling places. Cremations are conducted here and one can see the kapalika saddhus (Shiva worshiping holy men) who dwell in the grounds, imitating the deity they cover themselves in ashes from the cremations, ingest impure substances like human flesh, alcohol and bodily fluids. Whether or not the ones here actually do that is tough to say, given the relatively closed nature of the practices, yet there was one evening where myself and some friends visited it in the evening for the river offering ceremony (I have a picture below where I am helping light a lamp) where several men covered in ashes were present, one of whom carried a trident with a skull on top and who carried a cranium as a begging bowl, a sight both ethereal and yet so much of this world, a truly bizarre juxtaposition. As one sits, listening to the devotional music, watching these great, gaunt bearded men, dancing around rattling with all of their implements, and one cannot help wonder at the fine line between what is considered insane and what's considered holy, its truly amazing to see the bleeding together of the conventional and the unconventional. Wonderful experience, almost as good as the cake.
Another wonderful thing I found out was that Sarah Zendel, a friend of mine through my older brother was living in Kathmandu working on PhD research, doing, as far as I remember, quantitative research on the effectiveness of human trafficking advert campaigns. There are a lot of NGOs operating out of Nepal all purporting to combat the multifold issues of trafficking in the country, many if not most are corrupt, but that wasn't the point. Her aims were to develop a series of ads through several mediums, primarily in a comic format and in radio drama. I met her for dinner where she told me about the project, wanting to get my name out into the world of Nepali drama, (who hasn't felt such an urge in their youth?) I volunteered to aid my voice to the English version which would be going to her funders in the US. The process was fantastic and while I only got to record a few scenes, none of which will find their way onto the airwaves (or even into the University's hands) it was still awesome to see the convincing power of the Nepali voice actors who lent their voices to the dramas. The two stories we recorded involved forced labour, one of a child who moves to the city to go to school and is held in a garment factory, the other of a young man who is brought over into a forced labour camp in Qatar. Interesting stuff.
I hung out there for about ten days or so, just spending time with a good group of people and when most of them left, I decided it was about time for me to do the same. I'd spent a fair bit of time hanging out with this one Norwegian girl Maria and we decided to meet up in the city of Pokhara in a few days hence. I was to cycle and she was to bus. I had wanted to head out there in order to visit a fellow named Nirwan Moktan, a fellow who's epic ride from Hong Kong to Nepal, took him through some amazing places. I'd found his blog online and had used it a fair bit planning my own route through the country. I knew he'd settled there in order to help out with a hotel of his father's and I wanted to meet up with him and thank him. He was a great writer who could frame a photo and I wanted to let him know in person that I thought so.
The ride, which was hot as hell, took me about 2 and half days. The roads in Nepal are not bad, except that they're hilly and have no shoulder. There were a couple moments of no-handed riding where I almost died, but that's nothing new. I stopped in nondescript towns along the way, without anything of much note. The scenery was pretty and there were a couple places with waterfalls along the way where I'd take a quick dunk and hop back on the bike. There was this one waterfall where I'd settled down by for a spot of reading and a snack that was particularly bucolic and peaceful. I'd been sitting there for about an hour or so when this crazed old lady in a shabby sari comes along brandishing a stick and yelling at me to leave. I refused and just sat meeting her gaze until she gave up and decided she could share with me. I realized that she'd come to bathe but as tired and overheated as I was I refused to leave and so did little more than turn away. She took care of hers, while I continued to take care of mine until she began yelling again. I turned to her and she began pointing up at the waterfall and then pointing at me and miming that I was going to get my throat slit! I didn't speak a whole lot of Nepali but was able to gather, I've always had a sharp mind, that she was threatening me. I didn't know what to make of it but was a little unsettled and so dragging my heels, I decided to jet, besides it was in fact getting later in the day and I had to head out somewhere. I lit up a cigarette that an earlier visitor to the waterfall had given me, and took my sweet time leaving. She followed me asking for money, and after enough adamant refusals she turned her eyes to the cigarette, another concession I was completely unwilling to make, she took it in turns to playfully cajole me and yell threats in my face, something which at this time was both extremely irritating and hilarious. I smoked the cigarette right down to the filter, threw it down, ground it out with my heel, all the while keeping my eyes on hers, and then walked back to my bike. As soon as I turned my back on her, the old crone hit me over the back with a big stick! I didn't know what to do!! What would you have done? I believe I turned to her, swore at her, she laughed at me, I started to laugh, so bizarre was the situation! Still furious with her, I had zero recourse except to get on my bike and cycle away, she walked to the road after me still cackling. Crazy lady.
The only other thing worth reporting, was when that night as I was getting ready to go to bed, I pulled the window curtains closed and was jumped by a sparrow. I honestly don't know who was more terrified. I spent the next 30 minutes (probably less than 5 actually) chasing it around, trying to get it to fly out the door, its a wonder it didn't fly into the fan. Anyways, there's a photo below. Enjoy!
The final day into Pokhara, I finally got a glimpse of those hallowed Himalayas. The trekking season doesn't get underway in Nepal until October when the air starts to clear up, humidity drops and the haze disappears, gifting one with unobstructed views of the awe striking giants. I found my way into a hotel where I spent the next couple days just lazing about, eating, walking and biking along Pokhara's lakeside. Maria and I, alongside other people we met while there did little of anything, save for one day when we rented a scooter and drove around some of the nearby sites. We visited a couple of nearby lakes as well as the Japanese Peace Stupa, a large white Buddhist pagoda which sits on a nearby mountain overlooking the town and the mountains behind. We were assured that the road was passable and that we would have no trouble getting the bike to the top. 20 minutes later smelling like burned hair and plastic, we park the bike halfway up and walk the rest. The view from the top was well worth the effort and thankfully upon return the bike still worked. After a few days there I went in search of Nirwan. I had a devil of a time finding the hotel which although clearly visible on the map I'd found on the internet was proving difficult to place from the ground, eventually finding it (it had no sign) I enter the lobby of a nice middle range boutique sort of hotel, somewhere I'd like to stay and yet know I couldn't afford to. The staff asks if they can help me, I say yes, can I speak with Nirwan? I sit down and wait until Nirwan, I knew him from his blog, came in with a quizzical yet pleasant enough smile on his face, which gets a little bigger when he sees that I'm carrying a Ortlieb bike bag, he knew that I was in the club too!
I explained to him, who I was and what I was doing, (something which gets extremely boring when you tell it over and over, except when you are talking with a fellow cyclist) and that I'd used his route to make my way through China. He invited me for tea and we sat and talked a bit, but his duties with the hotel kept interrupting him so he invited me for dinner later that night. He was an interesting fellow who although Nepali, had grown up seemingly everywhere but. He'd spent time in Hong Kong, India, the UK, Canada... His father, I believe was a military man and so had moved around. The hotel was their property, something his dad had taken off a friend a few years back and was preparing to sell it until Nirwan, who'd been working and living in Hong Kong, decided that he wanted a change of pace and so decided he'd head to Nepal, discover his roots so to speak, and take up the challenge. I'm likely butchering his story, so I'll just link to his blog here. He has a great story to tell about biking through China, where unlike cowardly old Charlie, he braved Tibet and made it through to the other side. So without further ado, here's his blog. http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/?doc _id=12077
Not much else to mention about my time in Pokhara. I was killing time until my friend Murdoch was to come and so was happy to relax and do nothing. My friend Maria headed back to Kathmandu where she was to begin a 10 day Buddhist meditation retreat. I met some other people, went out with Nirwan a couple more times, ever the gracious host he wouldn't let me pay a rupee, went out with a group of American girls who were studying in Nepal, not much else. I moved hotels to this place called Peace Eye which was run by a Nepali guy and his German girlfriend, she had done some bike touring in her time and so was naturally interested in what I was doing, it was a good place to hang out and read at,with a nice attached cafe and sitting areas. They were nice to me, took me out a couple times with friends, and so as an offer of gratitude I offered to service the old derelict bikes they used to get around town with. I only got my hands on one and made such a mess of things I refused to go near the second one. Trying to inflate the tires I lost part of the inner tube and flattened it, cleaning and servicing the cog set and the chain I did something that made it skip gears like crazy, no clue how, but I totally lost all sense of worth in terms of my bike repair skills. It was a mess. Someone got the tire back in working shape and I made sure to steer well clear of it all.
I finally chose to leave sometime in the second week of October, Autumn had come and Murdoch was set to arrive in about 12 days time. I could have stayed away longer yet there was another big festival coming up called Dasain and I thought that Kathmandu, being the capital, would be the place to be for it. As I headed down to my bicycle one morning, I was pleased to discover that someone had wrapped a khata, Buddhist prayer scarf and some Hindu Japa Mala prayer beads around it. I was super pleased with that! It gives my bike a cool bit of personality and I'm pretty sure with two sets of religious deities rooting for me, I'm pretty much invincible and can throw out my helmet. Oh also as an aside, some time during Nepal I decided to name my bicycle Nyx after the goddess of night, I call her Nikki for short, I'm still not sure if it sounds trashy, but its easier for me to say.
Anyways, I left the way I came back down the Prithvi highway, except instead of going directly there I planned on taking a small detour up to the town of Bandipur, a fairly touristy spot about 70 km down the road. The appeal wasn't so much the place itself but rather the road up. I'd read about it, people calling it the most difficult road they'd cycled and was looking forward to giving it the old college try. It's 8 km long with about a kilometer in altitude gain. I turned off the road at about 4 pm. I'd been invited to this house for lunch along the way and given my late start from Pokhara, I was a little later in arriving than intended. While not particularly challenging, oh but how hellish it must be under the midday sun, it still took me over an hour and a half to do it. I would do lung bursting stretches for as long as I could then pass out on the side of the road, stay there until I heard the sounds of vehicles then ran back to my bike and hopped back on. I'll be damned if any jeep riding tourists or anyone else for that matter is going to see me lying about looking like I need a coronary!
I stayed up top, found a hotel with amazing views of the southern face of the Himalayas, met some folks and did a walk around the area, met up with Nirwan who was passing through on his way back to Pokhara with some friends and then after 2 or 3 nights, I headed on back down to Kathmandu. The descent down to the highway, with 22 kilos of luggage and my terrible terrible breaks brought on several paroxysmal attacks of frustration, emotional outbursts that are best left unmentioned, much less observed. I made it back into Kathmandu after one and a half days of cycling, the highlight of which was the climb back into the valley. Kathmandu sits in a valley about 1400 meters above sea level. About 35 kilometers out, at around 300 meters about, you start to climb along a progressively steep and fissured dusty old road. I'd gotten up early enough to beat the heat and made it before noon. When you get to the top, traffic builds up at a checkpoint and you are able to descend over the lip of the valley into the populated center just zooming down the cars that were minutes before kicking dust up in your face, no greater feeling to savour than that immediate downhill after a climb or a pass, especially when you're passing cars, trucks and buses, you feel so damn invincible one can't describe it.
So I got back to the hostel, awaiting good old Murdoch, and hoping to kill some time with the Dasain festival. Unfortunately, as soon as I got there, I was subjected to about a week straight of rain. I met up with a pair of guys I'd known from last time I was there, Page Verso and Drew Smoker (both extremely dubious Australian characters) and we proceeded in tearing up the city. As an aside, if you are ever in search of someone both far and wide who appreciates a good night of dancing, Drew is your man, never have I seen moves as when I was with him... We didn't get to see anything of the festival because during this time, people generally head home to be with their families. There was one night where Page and myself did head to the Durbar square and see the results of a series of animal sacrifices. There were bloody drag marks everywhere and while we were a little disappointed about missing the action we were lucky enough to sit down with a family who was cleaning one of the goats. As they blow torched the hair off and disemboweled we watched, oddly distanced, passing around a big 3 litre kettle of rice wine. It was an odd night to be sure. I tried to get myself together and do something but the more people that came there and that I hung out with, the less motivated I was to actually do anything. My friend Maria returned from her meditation retreat, and alongside others, we saw much of the town's nightlife, and slept very little. There was about a two week period or so where I acted the complete reprobate, not really leaving the place save for cake and whiskey. (sorry ma and pa, hope you don't feel too let down).
As the date of Murdoch's arrival drew closer, everything started to come together. Murdoch who had just finished up his Master's in Biology was set for a holiday, one of which I was meant to do much of the planning. We'd agreed on a trek through the Manaslu range of the Himalayas. I had agreed to look into all the necessaries, it was a restricted area so we would need a guide, I'd looked into that and being a cheap ******* not wanting to pay more than necessary, had found a guy for 15 dollars a day, about 10 less than anywhere else, who although had never done it, was willing to try. Hahah, problem solved? Not exactly, but more on that later.
So like I said, things started to come together. I had been trying to build a decent group of people to trek alongside us, both for the sake of enjoyment and also to cut down on the costs. The first two members to appear were Emilie Rasmussen, a Danish girl that had traveled overland through Russia, Mongolia and China and had flown into Kathmandu on the 17th or so of October. A super cheerful demeanor, she seemed at first, quiet, without coming across reticent or taciturn yet had something fairly serene and grounded about her, a sort of confidence which didn't need to be expressed in too many words, something I was drawn towards. Anyways after talking with her, she expressed interest. She'd been traveling alongside a 65 year old Taiwanese guy for the last few weeks while trekking in China. His name was Kuo Kuo Chin, and was one of the most eccentric fellows I've ever met. He'd owned a company which had produced computer mice right up until the late 90s or so and had then sold the factory and for the last few years had been traveling around primarily taking mountain trips deep in the Himalayas, he was also interested in coming along. Next to join up were a pair of Swedes who I'd been interested to meet after seeing a pair of bike boxes sitting in the hotel lobby. After searching them out and hearing about their trip, they'd cycled from Sweden to Turkey and then caught a flight into KTM, I found myself quite engaged by them and when Karl and Edvin heard about the trek and expressed interest in coming I was only too happy to invite them along. I feel bad that unfortunately for them, they will likely be referred to in pair as a singular unit. Something which although avoidable, I am too lazy to find an alternative to. They'd finished high school the year before and had been working to save for this trip. Both were hilarious although different enough, and sure enough we got on just fine. The seventh and final member to come along was Katharina, a stalwart young German lass, who high on the mountain air of her native alps needed a break from the harsh city air and the cloying confines of the veterinary internship she'd been doing in a Bouddhanath dog pound, and was desperate to come. While the sheer fanaticism and zeal she expressed for the mountains was a little offsetting at first I eventually acquiesced and let her in on the hike. No but seriously Katha was a great girl who I knew would get along with the others. She above all the others seemed to be the best sport, the most accepting and stoic about what we were about to do.
Anyways, after that not-so cursory, rambling introduction, I counted down the days til Murdoch's arrival on the 21st. The friends of my time in Kathmandu, eventually left, Drew headed to Thailand and Burma, we set a date to meet for New Years in India though, Maria left for a trek of her own, she was at the end of a 8 month trip and before running out of cash wanted to head into the mountains before going home. Page left for China, and a million other people I met, drifted around me like a river around a stone. Yes, I was the stone, the sotted stone that did little except laze around the roof top while whole groups of ambitious, activity oriented people came and went. Well a stone I was to be for not much longer! The 21st rolled around and I headed to the airport! Not as excited as I could have been, I'd received some news from the old boy, Gridlock as he's known to many, which had raised a little concern. He'd been set to fly out from Vancouver a couple days prior and set off for a late night flight only to find out that the agency he'd booked through had made a major error on his ticket and he wasn't allowed on the plane! He scrambled and eventually booked another flight. He had booked his flight into Kolkata, where we was going to catch a regional flight up north to Nepal. What was uncertain was if he would get into the city in time and make the flight. Unable to know whether he made it I set off assuming he had. As I waited for him, I realized how little info I had given him. He didn't have my phone number didn't know the hotel we were staying at, didn't even know which part of the city to head to! My stress compounded as the flight landed, and slowly moved down the order on the arrivals board and disappeared. I waited there three hours and started to get desperate, at first I was just reading the airline baggage labels of people who left the airport, then I was accosting them, just short of grabbing them and shaking their lapels I eventually found that there was just a massive lineup at visa processing and that the folks from Kolkata hadn't even got through yet. So after about 3 hours of waiting he finally comes through, me too worn out and relieved to even take that happy arrival shot. So sorry, there isn't one, and yet this was the very culminating event of the entry. So with nothing to show for it, I suppose I might as well end it here. We caught a taxi to the hotel, grabbed a meal and then he went to bed. That's about it. Stay tuned for the next entry where I get into the festive details of my birthday, Murdoch's harrowing encounter with a monkey and most importantly, the great three week trek through the mountains!
Hope you've enjoyed my tale!
Oh by the way a big special thanks goes out to dear Maria and Drew for letting me use some of their photos, they appear as the last 5 in the order, the first 2 are Drew's and the last 3 are Maria's, if you looked through them you'd already know them as the best five out of the set.