Friday 5th February
I’m up in time for breakfast, and while Jung-Ok and Andy are already there, Odie is absent due to an apparent relapse. She’s been feeling alright (relatively) for the last couple of days, but it seems whatever is ailing her has gained ground once more. We’ve decided for simply convenience, to pay Rp450 each, and organize the Kathmandu bus through the hotel, and so at 9am a jeep takes us to the bus park. Our bus is a ‘Sai Baba’, whatever that may signify, and we are the only people on it. While this may allow us to choose our seats, it also means that for the first hour or so, we make interminable stops in an effort to fill the rest of the spaces. Sometimes we’re stopping every fifty metres or so, enabling the bus tout, a young, handsome boy in a ‘Batista’ head scarf, to jump out and do his best to enlist additional passengers. It’s a tedious impediment to onward progress. In a slightly larger town not far from Sauraha, we pass two unpleasant spectacles in about as many minutes. The first is a road kill, either a dog or a goat, and the second is the sight of a bus that has crashed into a lamppost and gone off the road into a ditch. Better that one than this really.
We’re back onto mountain roads not long after the nastiness. As impressive and lovely as they are, and as reasonable and sensible as our own driver is, it’s obviously a day for crashes. We first pass by a truck that was laden with bricks before it found itself on its side, and then soon afterwards we pass another crashed bus, this one also in a ditch at about a thirty degree angle. Finally there comes a truck that has reverse-embedded itself in an outbuilding by the side of the road. Indeed the only light relief on this disaster-strewn stretch of highway is the sight of three goats riding on the roof of a bus.
I’ve slept through a large part of the afternoon when we leave the mountains and see the Kathmandu valley opening out below us. First impressions as the suburbs give way to the central city, are of a sprawling, crowded, noisy, polluted mish-mash of a place; much like any other sub-continental metropolis. We’re dropped in an anonymous street, apparently nowhere the near the tourist bus park that was supposed to be our destination. We had at least figured out where that was on the map, and roughly where we’d go once we got there, but now we’re pretty much lost. Ignoring the immediate attentions of touts and taxi drivers, we set off in the direction that seems to make sense, although this is pure guesswork. We’re on a standard city centre street, overflowing with chaos, car horns, motorbikes, auto rickshaws, litter, and dust. Fortunately it also has a few westerners, who are walking with a distinct air of purpose. I ask them if they are headed for Thamel, the backpackers’ ghetto, and if they can show us where it is. They are, and they can.
We approach Thamel from the north, and I like it immediately. Its narrow streets are full of the smells of coffee and incense, and the sound of good music emanating from the many cafes and bars. Shops punctuate these, and are all laden with large amounts of incredibly nice stuff. I could decorate my entire house and refit my entire wardrobe from here quite easily. The rest of the space is taken up by useful things like internet cafes, hotels, and travel agents. Like any travellers’ ghetto, Thamel also has more than its fair share of botherers, be they chessboard salesmen, hash dealers, tiger balm sellers, purveyors of knock-off Lonely Planets, or just the usual hotel touts and rickshaw drivers, but none of them persist when declined politely, so I can live with that. We aim, having got our bearings, for the Hotel Potala. It looks nice from the first floor lobby, but Andy and Jung-Ok return from room inspection shaking their heads; too little for too much. Next we go for a recommendation from the Korean guidebook, which did us proud in Alappuzha, but less so in Delhi. In a quiet side street we locate the Hotel Great Wall. Odie and I seem to wait an eternity for the vetting process to be completed, but when finally the team returns, it’s a big thumbs up. Jung-Ok has managed to beat them down from Rp700 to Rp500 (hence the delay) for a double with en suite and occasional hot water (in line with Kathmandu’s occasional electricity).
We all get ourselves sorted out swiftly, so as to waste no time in this most intriguing of cities. However, there’s business to attend to before the fun can begin, so at the very useful in-hotel travel agency, we book our flights to Lukla, which will be the start point for our Himalayan trek. There’d been doubt about Andy and Odie joining us, but she’s feeling a lot better now, so they’re in. Flights are arranged for the 7th, returning on the 12th, and they come in at about $100 per person each way, which is slightly cheaper than we expected. It’s dinner next, and Jung-Ok is having another Korean food moment. Unable to locate the highly-recommended Hanguk Sarang, we end up nearby in the pleasant, outdoor Bamboo Garden. We are the only people there, but it’s only 4pm so that’s not to be marvelled at. The waiter’s very friendly, and immediately goes off to find a CD of Korean pop music! It’s the thought that counts I suppose. The food is very nice, but also somewhat on the steep side, although it puts a big smile on Jung-Ok’s face, so it’s worth it. We’ve arranged to meet Andy and Odie at the Yak Restaurant, which I feel I’d have to patronize if only for its name. Fortunately, the place has a lot more to offer than that. It’s run by Tibetans, and among a great many other Tibetan offerings on the menu, is Tongba, which is largely what’s brought us here. Tongba is traditional Tibetan hot millet beer. We order some with no real idea what to expect, and are served four large wooden flasks, filled almost to the brim with a mixture of millet, mustard seeds, and possibly other things. Along with these, we’re also given a large thermos of hot water, which has to be poured over the mixture in the flasks. The resulting brew is drunk through a straw that has been sealed at the end, and then punctured numerous times near its base. This ingenious system allows for consumption of the beer without the inconvenience of choking on millet and mustard seeds. The first taste is rather insipid, and dubious looks are exchanged. However, it gets tastier (and stronger) the longer it sits, so after a few minutes doubt has turned to pleasure. The flavour is very much like Daetongju, a traditional Korean liquor served from a bamboo flask. There’s enough hot water for us all to have a refill (it’s even stronger the second time) but after that I enter a state of warm, drunk, tiredness, and feel a sudden and overpowering desire to be in bed, despite it only being 9pm. Sleep, or at some times the attempt of it, comes to the sound of a canine population every bit as noisy and numerous as those of Chitwan, Pokhara, Varanasi, Agra, and Kerala; joy.
Saturday 6th February
Up early for breakfast. Our first choice, highly recommended in the LP, is closed for renovation, so we go in search of something else, in the company of a street dog that follows us for a good ten minutes and only wanders off when we actually enter a cafe. The place is nice, with an exuberantly happy waiter, good music, and the best muesli of the trip so far. All this quality comes at the price of 10% service and 13% VAT however; ouch.
With that done, it’s time to see stuff. The LP includes a promising walking tour, working south from Thamel to Durbar Square, so we hit the streets to follow it. Beginning in Thahiti Square, which contains a very nice 15th Century stupa, we continue on to the large and impressive Kathesimbhu stupa, situated in a square draped with prayer flags. The age and atmosphere of this city, despite the incessant noise of horns, and the hectic chaos of its streets, are still pronounced, and everywhere. The square around Kathesimbhu is like being in an open-air museum, or a double spread of National Geographic; everything is beautifully antiquated, and the air is thick with incense and the sound of temple bells. Nearby a five hundred year old stone lion, guarding the entrance to a courtyard, is hidden behind a pair of stripy hippy pants, hanging from a rail outside a clothing shop that has taken over the entrance. That such history can be hidden in this way, is a mark of just how much of it there is here. In Kathmandu it seems that the old fights for space with the new on almost every inch of every street. Walking on we pass carved reliefs of Shiva, shrines to Ganesh, and a building that was apparently the first in the city to have glass windows. They are all right there amongst the traffic, the shop fronts, and the crowds of local people, being ignored by everyone except the tourists. There are numerous temples and stupas in and around the city that have been declared UNESCO world heritage sites, but wandering the streets, it seems as though the entire city could justifiably be included.
A little further on, in a stretch of road lined with innumerable dentists, we come across a large lump of wood into which thousands of coins have been nailed. These are apparently offerings to the god of toothache! I suspect most of these offerings have not borne fruit; else the dentists probably wouldn’t survive in such vast numbers. Not far way, is Asan Tole, old Kathmandu’s busiest junction. Five streets meet here, forming a hub of noise and activity. Fruit and vegetable sellers compete for space with spice merchants, motorbikes, rickshaws, and pedestrians, to a backdrop of crumbling buildings, old stupas, and the ever present sound of temple bells. Here as everywhere else, the air is a pungent mix of incense and exhaust fumes. I stop to ask Jung-Ok what she thinks of Kathmandu so far, but she’s as yet undecided. She’s never been a great fan of the crowded and noisy, but I think the atmosphere will entice her soon enough. It captivated me about thirty seconds after we arrived!
The next stop is Kel Tole, home to the Seto Machhendranath temple, where a white god is worshipped. There are more pigeons than people here, and bizarrely, one of the statues in the temple’s courtyard is of a European woman, and would not look out of place in Renaissance Italy. Why it’s here is anyone’s guess. Nearby, accessed through a small tunnel about four feet high, it Itum Bahal, one of the city’s oldest and longest courtyards. Fortunately there’s not a great deal to be seen here, and more pointedly, not a lot to be photographed either. We’ve just realized that we are rapidly running out of space on the memory card, and almost certainly won’t have enough to deal with Durbar Square.
Apparently the place to go for electrical items is the creatively-named New Road. It’s not far away as luck would have it, so we cut our walking tour short. Lots of the shops are closed, this being Saturday, but we do find a few open. In the first, we have to work unreasonably hard to attract the attention of one of the staff, who serves us as if he’s in some kind of malaise. He shows us a Sony flash drive, and when I ask if it’s really Sony, he laughs. His colleague, perhaps sensing a sale slipping through their fingers, chips in, “Yes, it’s real Sony.” “Are you sure?” “Yes yes.” “Then why’s he laughing?” “No no, he’s not laughing.” “Yes he is!” We try elsewhere. The second place we visit greets us with much more professional courtesy, and we end up purchasing a 4GB flash drive for Rp900. The next order of business if to find an internet cafe so that we can transfer the stuff from the camera onto it. Just off New Road is Freak Street, which gained its name from the hordes of travelling hippies who congregated here in the days of the hippie trail, along which Kathmandu was a major stop. Occasionally you can still see the odd individual from that era – those that came and never left; greying dreadlocks framing wrinkled faces and stoned eyes. It doesn’t take long to find somewhere to use the internet, but it takes almost twenty minutes to transfer all the photos. Having checked, and rechecked that the flash drive has them safely secured, we take a deep breath, and delete the contents of the memory card; scary.
A stone’s throw away, we enter Durbar Square, the large plaza flanking the royal palaces. The site was used for the construction of palaces as early as the 3rd century, although nothing of those original buildings remains today. The present palace, built by Sankharadev, dates from the start of the 11th century, while many of the temples date from the 15th century, and are credited to Ratna Malla, the first king of an independent Kathmandu city. It is one of these, the Taleju Temple, that we ascend first for a panoramic view of the square. Taleju is a three tiered temple, built on a set of large, tapering steps that form a sort of pyramid beneath it. All over these steps sit couples, groups of friends, and a fair few tourists, who like us are just taking in the scene below them. Durbar Square is beautiful and impressive, in exactly the way I’d hoped it would be. Having seen photos of it in the past, it looked like quintessential Kathmandu, and now I’m here, it is. Where we sit, we’re surrounded by four large temples, and the edges of the square are formed by the walls of the royal palace on one side, and the usual assortment of crumbling charm on the other three. Just beneath us is a line of seven rickshaws, their drivers reclining in the sunshine while they await custom. This is a fabulous place for people-watching, as Durbar Square, while not unpleasantly crowded, is certainly busy. Most of the comings and goings here are of locals, either simply relaxing, going about their business, or making offerings at the many shrines that dot the square. The only point of interest tourist-wise, is a nearby Chinese girl, who is wearing a T-shirt that displays some of the most fantastically bad English I’ve ever seen, which after eight years in Korea, is saying something. So appalling is it, that I feel compelled to take a sly photograph. It reads (and I quote) “Afriian Elephant. Palor cawso of the dwindling mabers of Alriean elephants basbeen searching for their hueve and this aeting has decreased. Sall her habllats of these elephants are widely being destring and there is that cham of increasing such areo indeed there is us yearning that the Afriean elephant will survive into the next century wiid bife.” Right…ok then. Again, it’s the thought that counts I suppose. Chinglish aside, I’m happy to report that Durbar Square seems to have won Jung-Ok over, and she finally admits to liking Kathmandu.
Entrance to the royal palace can be bought for the bargain price of Rp250, but once inside, all it seems to contain is the ‘King Tribhuvan Memorial Museum’. We are required to surrender bags and cameras before we are allowed to enter. The museum is sadly, very much a mediocrity really. Some interestingly bizarre pieces include King Tribhuvan’s fish tank, and the suit he wore when he returned from India (?!) but other than that the exhibits consist of many, many photographs of a man unblessed by good looks, but gifted in the art of crafting appallingly bad hair cuts. We’ve soon had enough, but realise with alarm that there’s a cunning one-way system in place, that will not allow us to leave before we have first enjoyed the Memorial Museums of Kings Mahendra and Birendra as well. We pass through these further collections of photographs, faded press clippings, and even more faded suits with as much haste as we can reasonably muster without appearing totally disrespectful, and the only potential highlight is the climb to the top of one of the nine-storey towers. Regrettably this too ends in disappointment, as the windows are slatted, and thus provide a view about an inch wide.
Toured out, we return on foot to Thamel, and go in search of lunch at a place called Momo Star. Momos are dumplings native to Tibet, but as with many things, they’ve spread across to Nepal. The restaurant proves fairly elusive, but we track it down eventually, and enjoy a wonderful meal of momo vegetable soup, spicy vegetable momo, and vegetable spring roll, which leaves both of us stuffed.
This afternoon we have business to attend to. We leave for the Himalayas tomorrow, and in order to enter Sagarmatha National Park (home of Mount Everest, and through which all of our four day trek will take us) we have to be in possession of something called a TIMS card. It’s basically a trekking permit. These are available free from certain government/tourist authority offices, but this being Saturday, both of the addresses we have prove resolutely closed. This means we’ll have to get them from a private travel agent, which will cost. As we’re looking around, we run into Andy and Odie, who’ve been quoted $10. Hopes ride high that we can find them for less somewhere, so the hunt begins. We also need to get hold of quite a bit of rental gear, like thick jackets, gloves, sleeping bags and so on, and it’s to this that we turn our attention initially. The first two places we try are closed (Saturday) and the third doesn’t rent. With travel agents appearing more numerous than outdoor gear rental shops, we return our attention to the TIMS card. After a few abortive attempts, we find a place where we succeed in beating them down from Rp500, to Rp300 (about $4). Minutes later we again bump into the others, who’ve just paid Rp400 for theirs. Not bad deals all round. From Andy and Odie we learn that there’s an office not far away that the hotel directed them to for rental gear. When we get there, the guy makes a call, and we’re sent to the shop where only half an hour early we were told they had nothing for rent; don’t ask. We obtain jackets and sleeping bags, none of which are either new or in great condition. Jung-Ok’s sleeping bag is in fact a tad on the smelly side, and with her super-sensitive nose, she finds this rather distasteful. I suggest buying a liner, and once we’ve purchased fake North Face gloves, we go in search of this final bit of kit, eventually securing one for a reasonable price not far away. With kit and permits acquired, the last thing we need to sort out is trail food, for which we turn to the supermarket in the centre of Thamel. Biscuits, trail mix, granola bars, chocolate, energy gum, and brandy added to the supplies, we return to the hotel to pack. Andy and Odie have bought smaller backpacks for the trek, but we’ve decided to take our large ones, semi-full, while storing the remainder of our stuff in bin bags at the hotel. When everything is prepared, I’m getting ready to take a shower, and notice something near the top of my left arm. Closer inspection reveals it to be a tick. I can only assume I picked it up in Chitwan somewhere, and it’s been merrily feeding on me ever since. Not wanting to make a mess of its removal, I consult the ever-useful SAS Pocket Survival Guide, and establish that recommended methods include the application of alcohol. With this in mind, I fill the cap of the bottle, invert in onto my arm, and drown the little sod in brandy for a couple of minutes. When I take it off, he’s embedded as firmly and resolutely as he was before. I subsequently try insect repellent, anti-bacterial gel, near-boiling water, and shampoo, but nothing seems to dislodge the bugger. Eventually I’m driven to practically scraping him off with a penknife. When he does finally give it up, I take a close look to see if his head has come out, but it’s impossible to tell. I take some small comfort from the fact that his legs are still moving, but that’s really no guarantee with insects, so I’ll just have to hope. Anyway, more importantly, tick head or no tick head, tomorrow we fly into the Lukla, and the Himalayas!
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