Day 148 - City of Beauty

Patan, a town about 13Kilometres from Kathmandu, is referred to on many maps by its Newari name, Laliput. Translated, Laliput means"City of Beauty". Though much of Patan's architecture has been obscurred by modern buildings and stores, the core of the old city remains largely intact. Built on traditional Newari lines of communal courtyards connected by narrow alleys, or even tunnels under and through buildings, Patan is a delicious maze. In any given courtyard, a visitor might find women doing laundry by the elaborately carved public well, rice drying in the sun, or children playing football (soccer), using shrines as their goalposts. Every courtyard contains at least one shrine, temple, or well, sometimes all three.

Among the most impressive are the Golden Temple and Durbar Square. The courtyard of the Golden Temple and monastery can be approached via two entrances. From one side, a dark tunnel leads off the lively communal square. From the other, two somewhat crudely carved stone lions guard a low entrance. Neither way in gives any hint of the bright courtyard, elaborate gold temple, and two-storey monastery only a few metres away.

Royal palaces of this region face out onto plazas containing shrines, temples, and businesses. These plazas are known as the Durbar Squares. Patan's Durbar Square contains the highest concentration of Newari architecture of anywhere in the valley. The shrines and temples are all elaborately carved with religious and political scenes. The oldest structure in the square is rumoured to be as old as 12th century, thought the first written record of its existence dates to the 14th. (There are older monuments in town, Durbar Square's are just the more famous). Perhaps the most interesting tale surrounding the sqaure regards the statue of the 17th century king Malla.

A golden statue of the king sits kneeling on a lotus bud, facing his palace. A cobra shades his head witha its hood, and a gold bird perches on the cobra. Legend has it that so long as the bird sits on the cobra, Malla might return. For this reason, one window and one door of the palace are always left open, and the king's favourite hookah kept prepared. The legend further states that on the day the bird flies off, the stone elephants guarding the Bhimsen Temple will stroll down the hiti (central well) for a drink.

Patan is an interesting synthesis of the old and the new, walking between the old squares, one can frequently be surprised by 17th century carved windows and roof struts looming over a very modern convenience store. There is similar dichotomy in the well-preserved traditional courtyards. Such courtyards in the west would be roped off, under glass, or taken in pieces to museums. Sometimes art thieves and dealers do succeed in taking pieces out of the country. I've seen chunks of them myself at the Met in NYC. In museums, they are dead relics - beautiful, but not particularly interesting or exciting. In their proper setting, as a vital, and integrated part of the city, they take on a new life. Rather than dead sculpture, these buildings and art are part of the people, and their day-to-day routines. The sculptures tell the tales that everyone knows, the steps are places to gather, to meet and discuss, even the wells, which in the West would be relics of a bygone age, are bright with the clothes and conversations of women washing there.

Diwali is sort of like a combination of Christmas and The Fourth of July. Everyone celebrates, whether they are Hindu or not. Our expat friends were no exception, and planned a big Diwali party at their gorgeous apartment. From Patan, we caught a cab back to Bouda. We had the driver drop us at the grocery, where we picked up some whiskey and sodas for said party, before heading back to our guesthouse to relax a little before the big night.

Soon, UW came by (technically it was her friends throwing the party, but we got to tag along), and we made our way over to yet another friend's house to visit the dog and take care of some last-minute coordinating. After scarfing down some delicious street samosas and special festival sweets, we all gathered on the balconies(yes balconies plural) of her friends apartment for drinks, cards, and commanding views over the city. There was a power outage (common in Kathmandu), which was good for all the fireworks and candles at each house, less than good for the party's rented speakers. Luckily the electricity came back just in time for the arrival of the rest of the guests, and a night of much merriment was ensured.

Most of the party's atendees were 19-22 year-olds from the local monastery's buddhism course - it has an exchange program with one of the Boston colleges. We sat in a corner sipping our drinks and chatting with whomever stopped by, but we couldn't help noticing a definite college vibe to the party. Just a year ago, I think I would have still felt right at home there, as there really isn't that much difference in being a student in a grad school or a student in University. Today, though I did have a good time, I felt distinctly out of place.

It was a little bittersweet realizing that I had outgrown that sort of party. I enjoyed them recently enough to remember how exciting they were, and feel a little sad at losing that simple thrill. On the other hand, I am all in favour of growing up, and the new and different thrills the future may hold.