I'm sitting in the airplane at Kathmandu International Airport, composing my thoughts on this bustling, dusty, rubble-strewn, and weirdly prosperous city. It's almost like India on the 'easy' setting: overwhelming to the uninitiated, colourful and noisy, traffic obeying its own obscure rules, and touts everywhere. And yet ... 
There's an order to the city that is lacking in India, except in exceptional places such as Mumbai and Kolkatta, a quietness in the noise, and a kind of peace amongst the hubbub. Maybe it's the magic of a secret kingdom two generations after opening, or the renewed purpose after the successful Maoist insurgency, or maybe India has jaded me beyond recognition. If I start talking about how peaceful and bucolic London is, you'll know which is which.
Our first day in Kathmandu, we stayed at the Hotel Tibet - an absolutely gorgeous hotel complete with rooftop bar and bathtub in the (clean!) bathroom. Afterwards we would move to hotel Mountain Peace, where the water came yellow out of the taps and smelled strongly of rust and soil, but for one glorious night we knew luxury, and it weren't half bad.
We walked around the city, with an eye towards finding Durbar Square - the centre of royal Nepal, and ground zero for the horrendous 2015 earthquake.
This meant threading our way through Thamel, the main tourist sector, and learning quickly not to even look at the odd fiddles being played by itinerant salesmen, unless you wanted to explain repeatedly that you have no intention if plonking down the equivalent of $50 on a musical curio. We found the square, but the $10 price of entry put us off.
That night, we went out for the final group meal of the tour, at a restaurant situated in an old monastery. The food was excellent, but the entertainment really stole the show. We were serenaded by a band and dancers, demonstrating via hand motions, eye glances, and expressions of indescribable boredom, the varying dance styles of the more than 24 ethnic groups of Nepal. This was dinner theatre for tourists, and they knew it. But the violinist, oh dear, the violinist. I think he suffers from Tourette's Syndrome, since he punctuated his entrances and exits by bleating like a goat then making three clicks with his throat. Interestingly, he did this at appropriate times during the performances as well. His compulsions were artistically minded.
The next day, we decided to see Swayambhunath, aka 'The Self-Risen Lord' aka the monkey temple. Fun linguistic note: the prefix 'swa' in Hindi means self, and sounds just like the French 'soi' - not an accident, an indication that Hindi is related to Latin and English if you go back far enough. The temple is on a hill on the west side of the city, and getting there involved walking 45 minutes through dusty, rubble streets (with a stop for lunch, on which more later), crossing the filth-choked river Bhagwati, and climbing up 365 monkey-infested steps to see a large Buddhist stupa complex. It was awesome, and I'm so glad that it took so much effort to get there - it made the trip seem a bit more like the pilgrimage it is meant to be.
On the way down, however, I was molested by a macaque. He wanted my water bottle, and was taken aback that I didn't surrender it. He tried to reason with me by climbing my legs, pulling at my trousers, and finally by grabbing my ... pride and joy. All to no avail - I wanted that water. When he finally tried to grab my hat as a consolation prize, I told him to fuck off, in a tone of voice he was willing to respect. It was truly a moment of cross species understanding. He'll be dining out on that story for years.
Speaking of dining, about lunch. We stopped at this tiny filthy local greasy spoon for chow mein and Thukpa (Tibetan veggie stew), and noticed that the cook was stoned. I mean, clearly blitzed out of his mind. We had already stopped and were having a Gorkha, a delicious Nepali beer bested only by Everest (which is delicious and hearty), so we were basically committed at this point. It's a good thing, too: we ended up having the most delicious chow mein I have ever experienced, and the Thukpa was amazing as well! I know what you're thinking: we had misjudged the chef. Nope. At the end of the meal, he slowly slid back in the dining room, drawing the curtain separating it from the kitchen across his face like a veil as he did so, before subtly blowing his nose on it.
The lesson here: a high-functioning stoner is still a stoner, and still high-functioning.
That night, after an amazing dinner at Places, a super hip restaurant owned by a friend of Laura's named Pradeep, we all went out to a suspiciously cool bar called Tom and Jerry's for leaving drinks and pool before having a dance at a suspiciously shit nightclub called OMG. I danced in the circle to Taylor Swift's 'Shake it Off', which was oddly appropriate because I slipped on a spilled drink and fell to the floor, before getting back up and continuing to dance. Fearless Leader Laura later revealed that she thought I'd planned the whole thing. Score one for all those years of improv classes. :D
For my last full day in town, I had big plans: see the nearby city state of Patan, check out Pushpatinath, a temple dedicate to Lord Shiva in his 'King of Animals' guise, and the famous Boudhnath, one of the largest Buddhist stupas in the world! We accomplished precisely zero of these. Instead, I got a tattoo.
:D
It's a cool design I found: a Celtic Triskell composed of three paisleys. It's just an outline at the moment, located on my left shoulder blade, but I have plans to fill in the paiselys with green Celtic knotwork, while filling in the background with a deep purple. It will be a memorial of this trip - with me forever, no matter how embarrassed of it I eventually become. Much like this blog.
That day we saw off Laura, Steve and Bex, and with Su Chi having run off the day before, that left myself, Jonny and Emily to be fêted by Emma and Dutchie, the two final remaining Dragomen, at Tom and Jerry's for our leaving drinks. Emma and I got there after dropping by the Irish pub Everest, near our hotel, where the beer was reasonably priced, and the music selection appropriately Irish, but the smell of cigarettes being smoked in the nasty dank evening was ... well, actually appropriately Irish as well. It was like an 'Irish bar' in a mid-sized American town with a large student and alternative population. You know the type. Don't lie.
At T&J, we met up with Pradeep's friend Saurabh, whom I beat at chess in a stunning upset, and Pradeep himself, who beat me in a stunning ... what's the opposite of an upset? Also there was a cool Swedish social worker named Amanda, with whom we talked music, and Julie, who had just got back from Everest base camp and was drunk enough for everyone. Amanda argued that Sweden had tried to take over world music with Abba in the 70s and Ah Hah in the 80s, but had lost it all with Ace of Base in the 90s. She thinks Sweden is about to come back, but she had forgot that Iceland has stolen the Scandi music crown with Sigúr Rós and Of Monsters and Men. It's a sad business, but we all agreed that at least they were doing better than Denmark, which only dominates at awesome crime dramas, and at having produced Sophie Gråbol.
The next morning after a substandard hotel breakfast that had to be followed by a trip to a Western coffee shop for some caffeine that didn't taste like rusty soil I had to grab a taxi to the airport. By the time this goes up, I'll once again be in Delhi, where the temperature is 42 degrees Celsius in the shade, and the traffic is insane and oh my God I don't wanna go back LET ME OFF THIS PLANE!!!!
...
Stupid Delhi.
There's an order to the city that is lacking in India, except in exceptional places such as Mumbai and Kolkatta, a quietness in the noise, and a kind of peace amongst the hubbub. Maybe it's the magic of a secret kingdom two generations after opening, or the renewed purpose after the successful Maoist insurgency, or maybe India has jaded me beyond recognition. If I start talking about how peaceful and bucolic London is, you'll know which is which.Our first day in Kathmandu, we stayed at the Hotel Tibet - an absolutely gorgeous hotel complete with rooftop bar and bathtub in the (clean!) bathroom. Afterwards we would move to hotel Mountain Peace, where the water came yellow out of the taps and smelled strongly of rust and soil, but for one glorious night we knew luxury, and it weren't half bad.
We walked around the city, with an eye towards finding Durbar Square - the centre of royal Nepal, and ground zero for the horrendous 2015 earthquake.
This meant threading our way through Thamel, the main tourist sector, and learning quickly not to even look at the odd fiddles being played by itinerant salesmen, unless you wanted to explain repeatedly that you have no intention if plonking down the equivalent of $50 on a musical curio. We found the square, but the $10 price of entry put us off.That night, we went out for the final group meal of the tour, at a restaurant situated in an old monastery. The food was excellent, but the entertainment really stole the show. We were serenaded by a band and dancers, demonstrating via hand motions, eye glances, and expressions of indescribable boredom, the varying dance styles of the more than 24 ethnic groups of Nepal. This was dinner theatre for tourists, and they knew it. But the violinist, oh dear, the violinist. I think he suffers from Tourette's Syndrome, since he punctuated his entrances and exits by bleating like a goat then making three clicks with his throat. Interestingly, he did this at appropriate times during the performances as well. His compulsions were artistically minded.
The next day, we decided to see Swayambhunath, aka 'The Self-Risen Lord' aka the monkey temple. Fun linguistic note: the prefix 'swa' in Hindi means self, and sounds just like the French 'soi' - not an accident, an indication that Hindi is related to Latin and English if you go back far enough. The temple is on a hill on the west side of the city, and getting there involved walking 45 minutes through dusty, rubble streets (with a stop for lunch, on which more later), crossing the filth-choked river Bhagwati, and climbing up 365 monkey-infested steps to see a large Buddhist stupa complex. It was awesome, and I'm so glad that it took so much effort to get there - it made the trip seem a bit more like the pilgrimage it is meant to be.
On the way down, however, I was molested by a macaque. He wanted my water bottle, and was taken aback that I didn't surrender it. He tried to reason with me by climbing my legs, pulling at my trousers, and finally by grabbing my ... pride and joy. All to no avail - I wanted that water. When he finally tried to grab my hat as a consolation prize, I told him to fuck off, in a tone of voice he was willing to respect. It was truly a moment of cross species understanding. He'll be dining out on that story for years.
Speaking of dining, about lunch. We stopped at this tiny filthy local greasy spoon for chow mein and Thukpa (Tibetan veggie stew), and noticed that the cook was stoned. I mean, clearly blitzed out of his mind. We had already stopped and were having a Gorkha, a delicious Nepali beer bested only by Everest (which is delicious and hearty), so we were basically committed at this point. It's a good thing, too: we ended up having the most delicious chow mein I have ever experienced, and the Thukpa was amazing as well! I know what you're thinking: we had misjudged the chef. Nope. At the end of the meal, he slowly slid back in the dining room, drawing the curtain separating it from the kitchen across his face like a veil as he did so, before subtly blowing his nose on it.
The lesson here: a high-functioning stoner is still a stoner, and still high-functioning.
That night, after an amazing dinner at Places, a super hip restaurant owned by a friend of Laura's named Pradeep, we all went out to a suspiciously cool bar called Tom and Jerry's for leaving drinks and pool before having a dance at a suspiciously shit nightclub called OMG. I danced in the circle to Taylor Swift's 'Shake it Off', which was oddly appropriate because I slipped on a spilled drink and fell to the floor, before getting back up and continuing to dance. Fearless Leader Laura later revealed that she thought I'd planned the whole thing. Score one for all those years of improv classes. :D
For my last full day in town, I had big plans: see the nearby city state of Patan, check out Pushpatinath, a temple dedicate to Lord Shiva in his 'King of Animals' guise, and the famous Boudhnath, one of the largest Buddhist stupas in the world! We accomplished precisely zero of these. Instead, I got a tattoo.
:D
It's a cool design I found: a Celtic Triskell composed of three paisleys. It's just an outline at the moment, located on my left shoulder blade, but I have plans to fill in the paiselys with green Celtic knotwork, while filling in the background with a deep purple. It will be a memorial of this trip - with me forever, no matter how embarrassed of it I eventually become. Much like this blog.
That day we saw off Laura, Steve and Bex, and with Su Chi having run off the day before, that left myself, Jonny and Emily to be fêted by Emma and Dutchie, the two final remaining Dragomen, at Tom and Jerry's for our leaving drinks. Emma and I got there after dropping by the Irish pub Everest, near our hotel, where the beer was reasonably priced, and the music selection appropriately Irish, but the smell of cigarettes being smoked in the nasty dank evening was ... well, actually appropriately Irish as well. It was like an 'Irish bar' in a mid-sized American town with a large student and alternative population. You know the type. Don't lie.
At T&J, we met up with Pradeep's friend Saurabh, whom I beat at chess in a stunning upset, and Pradeep himself, who beat me in a stunning ... what's the opposite of an upset? Also there was a cool Swedish social worker named Amanda, with whom we talked music, and Julie, who had just got back from Everest base camp and was drunk enough for everyone. Amanda argued that Sweden had tried to take over world music with Abba in the 70s and Ah Hah in the 80s, but had lost it all with Ace of Base in the 90s. She thinks Sweden is about to come back, but she had forgot that Iceland has stolen the Scandi music crown with Sigúr Rós and Of Monsters and Men. It's a sad business, but we all agreed that at least they were doing better than Denmark, which only dominates at awesome crime dramas, and at having produced Sophie Gråbol.
The next morning after a substandard hotel breakfast that had to be followed by a trip to a Western coffee shop for some caffeine that didn't taste like rusty soil I had to grab a taxi to the airport. By the time this goes up, I'll once again be in Delhi, where the temperature is 42 degrees Celsius in the shade, and the traffic is insane and oh my God I don't wanna go back LET ME OFF THIS PLANE!!!!
...
Stupid Delhi.
Aha was Norwegian anyway :)
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