Day 150 - Kathmandu to Chitwan

We try to keep our bus rides under 12hours. Buses in South Asia are incredibly convenient, but comfort is generally not a priority. More than 8hours and one's butt is in danger of permanent damage.

For this reason, we decided to break our trip back into India into more manageable chunks...that, and we like Chitwan.

The bus from Kathmandu was scheduled to leave at 7:00. We rolled out at about 7:30. Luckily it was still festival time, so traffic was relatively light. We drove through impressive mountain scenery, only stopping once, briefly for a pee-break and snack purchasing. The combination of light traffic and only one stop meant that the anticipated 7hour bus ride only took five.

As a consequence, we arrived at the Chitwan bus park 2hours ahead of schedule. Sapana was going to send someone to collect us, but because we were so early, we decided to walk to the lodge. We just trekked about 200K in the mountains...we figured 2K on the flat wasn't going to kill us.

And it didn't. We actually crossed paths with the Sapana Jeep on its way to the bus park, and so were able to hitch a ride after all.

After settling in, we went down to the restaurant for lunch. The newest member of Sapana's staff, a grey kitten named Tukie, thought that Cz made a great jungle gym. Tiny kitten claws are not so condusive to good reading, but cute trumps claws, so Tukie got away with just about everything, including an attempted flying leap into our plate of buff momos.

We spent the rest of the afternoon doing laundry, reading, and generally relaxing.

In the evening, the sound of singing and clapping drew us to the window. A group of children were clustered below, performing. In Chitwan, as in Kathmandu, part of the festival activities include children going door to door singing and dancing for money and sweets. In any given night, several groups might come by, and the festival goes on for nearly a week. By the end of Diwali, the owner of Sapana had given out over 2000 rupees to these roving bands!

Also as a result of the festival, Sapana was running on limited staff...including no one in the kitchen. Luckily one of the other staff is an excellent cook, and made dhal bhat tarkari (rice, lentil soup, and vegetable curry) for everyone. While we were eating, one of the geckos (tiny lizzards that eat mosquitos) that live in the thatch over the dining area decided that he wanted to be a little festive too, and took a flying dive into another guest's beer mug. He eventually was nudged back onto the table where he staggered around for a bit licking his lips before scampering away.

I hate to think how his head felt in the morning.

Day 149 - Bouda Sights

Bouda is a tourist destination in its own right. Living her, as is so often the case, we had yet to actually see the tourist sights of Bouda. Today we remedied that.

After spending the morning at Little Britain drinking coffee and reading books of course.

And after running a few errands, including mailing some presents back stateside.

So really we only spent part of the day being proper tourists. Bouda is most famous for its Stupa. We have walked chora around the stupa at least once nearly every day. Religion aside, chora around the stupa is the time and place for both meeting friends, and prime people-watching. We have enjoyed the stupa very much from that point of view, but had yet to actually go inside. This afternoon we ducked through the low entryway, and turned the large prayer wheels on our way up the levels. I believe the levels of the stupa leading up to the dome are supposed to represent the planes of existence, but I'm not positive. Prayer flags running from the pinnacle of the dome to the points around the edges flap in the breeze. I have been told that the different colours each reperesent a different element, and that each time the flag moves, it 'activates' the prayers and mantras printed on it. The dome itself is a thousand or more years old (people think - oldest guesses on onstruction dates range from 600AD all the way up to 1600AD), but it is freshly whitewashed anually. From the ground, the domw looks smooth and white, up close however the (possibly thousands) of years of whitewashing have given the surface the nubby, drippy texture of melted wax. Historical or Holy, the platforms of the stupa seem to serve much the same purpose as walking chora. Some people come here to meditite or to pray, but many simply walk around chatting or watch the world go by. Many find comfortable perches around the different tiers and sit reading or looking out over Bouda.

From the stupa, it is possible to look into the upper levels of one of the temples that border the courtyard. It is elaborately painted with scenes for Buddha's life, and symbolic representations of different incarnations and levels of existance. We never actually went into this particular temple, though we did make at least one pass through the monastery nearly every day.

Today was also special as it was one of the final days of Diwali (or Dipawali or Dipauli as we have also seen it spelled). All during the festival, the streets have been decorated by mandalas, and the entrances of homes and businesses festooned with marigolds. At night, those same homes and businesses light butter lanps or candles around the mandala and in lines leading into the doors and windows. Often, the lamps and candles are further supplemented by Christmas lights, and firecrackers. Laksmi, the goddess of wealth is supposedly attracted to light, and will follow the brightness into the homes.

We ate dinner at Stupa View, and from there could watch all the fireworks and candles in the street below. Groups of children went from business to business singing and dancing. We later learned that the children are participaing the moral equivalent of trick-or-treating. Anywhere they stop, the business owner and audience is expected to give them money and/or sweets.

After dinner we returned to our guesthouse. We had hoped to have dinner with UW, but she was feeling poorly. Happily, she was still awake, and feeling somewhat better by the time we returned. We chatted for a while, gave her some of our meds, confirmed contact info, and said our goodbyes.

We needed to catch a cab to our bus at 5:45AM. We wouldn't even expect a healthy friend to be up at that hour.

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.

Day 147 - Living in Bouda

In the past few posts, I have made the Freudian slip of writing, “We are living in Bouda”. I believe this slip stems from the fact that we are quickly establishing a routine, and spending a lot of time with people who do live here.

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.

Day 146 - Tourist Town

I am so happy that we are staying in Bouda. Today after, you guessed it, French Press at Little Britain, we decided to venture into Thamel, the main Western tourist destination in Kathmandu. It was fun for the day, but exhausting.

Thamel is Kathmandu's answer to Times Square. It is full of noise, lights, tourists, and traffic. Because large parts of Thamel (and Kathmandu itself) are unpaved, then road are naturally pitted, dusty, and filthy. Nearly every business - shop, restaurant, bar, etc - is designed to trap the tourist dollar. In that sense, it felt very much like being back in urban India.

We spent the afternoon nosing around the various shops, picking up a few souveniers and gifts for friends. Purchasing anything involved long discussions over the price - like taxis, the price for souveniers is also highly negotiable. The more valuable the item, the more negotiable the price. I have become quite skilled at the haggle, with Cz's role being to look horrified when I tell him how much something will cost. In a patriarchal society the phrase "If I spend that much money, my husband will be very angry with me," is sure to win discounts.

After a long afternoon of haggling, we stopped for coctails at a bar advertising Caiperenias. Sadly, they were made with rum, so we settled for oh so girly pomegranate coolers and 'orange crackers'. (like screwdrivers with lime juice and sugar added) Thus fortified, we made our way to the Roadhouse for dinner with UW and friends. Yet another of Thamel's venues catering to Western Taste, Roadhouse specialises in brick-oven pizza and other Italian specialties. The food and company were both lovely. Sometimes it's nice to spend an evening firmly within one's comfort zone.

After dinner, we walked a little way out of Thamel to Jazz Upstairs. Jazz Upstairs is a club which on Wednesdays and Saturdays has a live jazz band. Interestingly enough, Saturdays are usually dead, as most people living in Kathmandu head out to the mountains for the weekend. Wednesdays, however are packed. Though the audience is predominantly Western, some Nepalis do attend, and most of the Westerners there are either students studying in Kathmandu for at least a semester or expats. We (UW, Kathmandu Friends, Cz, and I) were lucky to land a comfortable rooftop corner. Today felt deliciously urbane with our city shopping, nice restaurant, and night on the town. That said, I was very happy to return to our quiet corner of Bouda, and have no desire to return to Thamel anytime soon.

Day 145 - Hey, Hey We're the Monkees

Actually, Monkeys. Hundreds of Monkeys. After our ritual pot of Little Britain French Press Coffee (There's an international incident in there somewhere), we took the bus out to Swayambuth. The busride itself was typical South-Asian - UW, Cz, and I all crammed on the front passenger seat, dozens of Nepalis equally crammed in the rest of the bus. By the time we arrived at the temple, about a half-hour ride away, my legs were completely dead, having spent the entire ride being squashed by Cz's remarkably bony bum. What my dismount and dead-leg stagger out of the bus bus lacked in grace, it more than made up for in comedy.

Perched atop a hill, the entrance guarded by three giant, elaborately painted Buddhas, Swayambuth's Chorten Dome and surrounding temples, totems, and shops is one of Kathmandu's most recognised landmarks. However, Swayambuth's fame lies not in its long history (some say more than 1200 years), nor its architecture, not even in its religious significance. Swayambuth is famous for its monkeys.

The complex is presided over by a troup of pink-faced monkeys. In India we learned that the black-face monkeys are nice, and that the pink-face monkeys are aggressive, tourist eating beasts. It was on learning that we would be visiting The Monkey Temple (as Swayambuth is affectionately known) that our travel clinic doctor suggested that we get the rabies vaccine. Our friends living in Bouda warned us not to look the monkeys in the eye, as this was likely to provoke an attack. These are not monkeys to be taken lightly.

Feeling somewhat nervous as we approached the temple complex, we all put on dark sunglasses at the first sight of monkeys. We figured that if they couldn't see our eyes, then they would be less likely to take offence at us. It seemed to work and except for a few charges - and really I think we just happened to be in the monkeys' path, not that it was an actual charge - we managed to avoid any direct contact with them or their teeth.

Back to Bouda, where we delighted in UW's favorite Momo hole before going to dinner with Fast Trekker, who was flying back to Munich the next day. He had been feeling a bit under the weather since getting into Kathmandu (90% of trekkers contract some sort of bug on the trail), so it was nice that he was able to enjoy solid foods with us before leaving Nepal.

Day 144 - Online Junkies

We had breakfast at Little Britain, the highlight of which was the divine French-Press coffe. It's the first good coffee we have had since leaving Europe. If you plan to travel in South Asia get used to drinking instant or weak drip coffee...

After breakfast (admittedly a pretty late breakfast), we holed p at the cheap internet cafe. Where we remained holed up until dinner.

16 days of trekking is a whole lot of blog and e-mail to catch up!

Day 143 - Going to Kathmandu

Today we took the bus from Pokhara to Kathmandu. It was a long, bumpy, 7 hours. I kept hoping that my motion-sickness tablets would knock me out so I could sleep through it, but no such luck. Over an hour of the ride was just standing in a traffic jam on the edge of the city. We finally arrived late-afternoon near the tourist center of Thamel. UW, who had been in Kathmandu for 2 weeks before trekking, negotiated a cab for us out to Bouda (or Bodnath as it is listed in some guidebooks) .

Bouda is to Kathmandu what Brooklyn is to NYC. Infinitely more peaceful, it is home primarily to Dharma students at its many Bhuddist Monasteries, and to Tibetan exiles. Life centers around the Stupa - a large white dome with Buddha eyes painted on top, and Prayer wheels surronding the base. Around 4PM the square come alive with devotees chanting "Om Mani Padme Om" and turning the prayer wheels, Monks strolling around discussing the days teaching, schoolkids hanging out with friends, shop owners, and western tourists. Everyone moves clockwise around the stupa, turning off into their home alleyways, restaurants, or shops as they reach them. It reminded me of the activity in the central plazas of the villages we stayed at in Spain. The stupa is a religious site (and historic - dates for its age run the gamut from over 1000 years to a few hundred), but more than that, it is a commnity, and a communal center for Bouda.

We arrived late enough in the day that we only had time to go around the stupa, and then to dive into UW's favourite Kathmandu momo hole. Even more of a hole than in Pokhara, one had to stoop through a low, narrow hallway to a small room where two women rolled, folded and steamed the delicious dumplings. We have come to the agreement that Pokhara momo hole has the best mix momo (a mix of veg and buffalo inside), this place has the best plain buffalo momo, and that Sapana Village, in Chitwan, has the best sauce. After our momo snack, we opted for Stupa View Restaurant for dinner. As the name implies, it offers comfortable seating on the rooftop with views over the stupa and surronding courtyard.

We had heard from others that Kathmandu was a like a narrower, older Delhi. In parts, perhaps that is true, out in Bouda a least, there is a solid sense of community that Delhi seemed to lack. Like Brooklyn, it is very rooted and Neighborhood-y. Like Brooklyn to Manhattan this area seems very personable, versus the impersonality and chaos of the city proper.