Today was no exception. I left our guesthouse early to collect our trekking clothes from the Laundromat. The guesthouse lies behind one of the monasteries and when the gates are open, cutting through the monastery grounds is a convenient shortcut to the main street. The gate was open today and I slipped through, with my daily nod and “namaste” to the security man posted there. Just past the gate a small room houses my favorite giant prayer wheel. An old man was lighting incense and just beginning to turn the wheel. I joined him, and together we got enough momentum to set the bell atop the wheel ringing.From the prayer wheel, the walk through the monastery grounds passes the main temple complex and gardens, where the monks were going through their morning rituals and prayers. It being festival time (Diwali), today’s rituals involved much drumming, chanting, and blowing huge horns. (Like silver and brass versions of the alpine horns in Riccola ads)
Out the other side of the monastery I took the back path (another shortcut) to the Stupa, and walked Chora (the clockwise turn around the central structure). Everyday people walk Chora. Today was special because today is the day for honoring dogs. (Diwali is a 5-day festival in Nepal. Day 1 honors crows. Day 2 Dogs. Day 3 is the festival of light for Laksmi. Day 4 honors bulls, and Day 5 is the brother-sister day, when sisters give their brothers fruit and sweets, and the brothers give their sisters money gifts.) Dog Day meant that many people walking chora this morning had their dogs with them, and that the dogs had tikkas on their foreheads and white silk scarves and marigold garlands around their necks. Taking the Bouda gate exit off of the stupa courtyard, I wove my way through the traffic and honking horns to the cleaners, collected my laundry, and made for home.I decided to take the slightly longer route back, via Little Britain to see if anyone I knew was there. There wasn’t yet, so I continued home, dropped off the laundry and met Cz and UW. We all took the route back through the monastery where Cz took a great photo of the elaborately painted main hall.
After that brief detour, we headed over to Little Britain. Where we were all greeted by name, and where none of us had to look at the menu to decide what we wanted.
We spent the rest of the day internetting and puttering around Bouda. Part of the putter was a late lunch in the momo hole. It was near enough to closing that we had the place nearly to ourselves (just a monk and a Tibetan grandma besides us), and were able to sit right next to the momo-making action. Our attention was pretty evenly divided between the passersby outside, and the momo chefs inside.
The little hallway, and area where the ladies are cooking is the sum-total of the momo hole. Everyone who wants momos crams in and sits on the narrow wooden benches, or stoops in the hall. There is no sign above the door. Everyone here has been sent by someone else. And it is nearly always packed.
So, as you can see, we didn’t do much today except run little errands, eat, and putter. One perk of long-term travel is feeling free from the requirement to do or see something absolutely every day. Sometimes the best days are simply spent being somewhere and feeling like a local.
After that brief detour, we headed over to Little Britain. Where we were all greeted by name, and where none of us had to look at the menu to decide what we wanted.
We spent the rest of the day internetting and puttering around Bouda. Part of the putter was a late lunch in the momo hole. It was near enough to closing that we had the place nearly to ourselves (just a monk and a Tibetan grandma besides us), and were able to sit right next to the momo-making action. Our attention was pretty evenly divided between the passersby outside, and the momo chefs inside.
The little hallway, and area where the ladies are cooking is the sum-total of the momo hole. Everyone who wants momos crams in and sits on the narrow wooden benches, or stoops in the hall. There is no sign above the door. Everyone here has been sent by someone else. And it is nearly always packed.So, as you can see, we didn’t do much today except run little errands, eat, and putter. One perk of long-term travel is feeling free from the requirement to do or see something absolutely every day. Sometimes the best days are simply spent being somewhere and feeling like a local.
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