October 26

Sounds started coming through the window early. I had been up late, so I didn't pay much attention, but I noticed a melody playing, perhaps over a loudspeaker in a bell tower. It repeated a couple of times. The simple, haunting melody tayed in my memory. I wondered if it had some significance.^* The sounds of traffic picked up quickly, and became harder to ignore. I was glad that, at least, my window faced away from the main street.

I got up late and showered. Hot water took some time to arrive. The tap water was cloudy and yellowish, but a pitcher of clear drinking water was provided. This water is usually filtered, but not necessarily safe to drink. I purified some with iodine and used it to brush my teeth. There was an impressive view to the west from my room on the top floor of the hotel, and I could see Swayambhunath, the `Monkey Temple', on a hill in the distance. People were preparing breakfast on patios of the apartments below, which looked rather poor and run-down to me. Laundry hung on many rooftops, and I noticed that the upper floors of many buildings had been left unfinished, with concrete reinforcing bars protruding from the top. I got out my camera and took some pictures out the window.

I then went down the street to Pilgrim's Bookstore, a nice shop, which will also deliver mail to the post office for free. I bought some postcards and went to an outdoor cafe for an omelet and to write some of the cards. I would send cards to my parents, brother, the physics department, and the Canoe and Hiking Club.

I was sitting in the hotel lobby with my guide book making plans for the day when a man came up to me and said he was from the trekking agency, and I had to come with him immediately to Royal Nepal Airline's ticket office, because there was a problem with my ticket. He had come by motor-scooter, so I got on the back for a hair-raising ride to the ticket office. The motor-scooters in Kathmandu are particularly aggressive.

At the ticket office, my guide talked to the reservation man in Nepali, and through him, I learned that they would not accept the photocopies for a domestic flight, although they would have for an international flight. They suggested that I file a police report, although I couldn't figure out how this would help, since the tickets were lost, not stolen, and were in another country anyway. I asked them whether the reservation was on the computer, and was told that I did not have a valid ticket to begin with because, as far as I could tell, there was some problem matching the name on the ticket to the name on the computer. I would have to buy another ticket. I tried to get some written proof of the problem so I could show it to the travel agent at home, but they would not provide any. The Royal Nepal Airline officials are indifferent bureaucrats who have no concept of `customer service' and conveniently become unable to understand English when it suits them. To have space for my guide, I had to get the ticket for a day later than I originally planned. The man who brought me here would obtain the ticket for me, and I could pay later, since I did not bring enough money with me to pay for the $166 ticket now.

After riding back to the hotel, I finished writing the postcards and mailed them at Pilgrim's Bookstore. Then I set off on a walk south of Thamel, through an old part of town. I was concerned about carrying an obviously expensive camera through unknown parts of town, so I left my Nikon camera in my safety deposit box and brought my little Olympus, which fit in a small pouch attached to my belt. Along the way, I stopped in a couple of thangka shops. Thangkas are Tibetan Buddhist paintings with gold highlights. They are very popular souvenirs, and good ones can be expensive. One shop tried aggressively to sell me one, and didn't want to take `no' for and answer. In the second, an elderly man took time to explain what made a thangka have higher quality, and what the paintings mean, and showed me many, but never pressured me to buy one. I thought I would consider buying one from him later, if I could find the shop again.

I came upon a small copy of Swayambhunath (the `Monkey Temple') stupa down a side street. The original is on a high hill across the river, and this copy was made for people who could not walk to the original. An annoying sweater salesman followed me and tried to get me to give him an American dollar for his `collection'. He was hard to lose until I left the stupa area.

Eventually, I accidentally came upon Durbar Square, a collection of temples, many medieval, around the old Royal Palace, which has been turned into a museum of the royal family. I toured the museum, in which taking photos is not permitted, and then talked a while to some students from the local university I met outside its entrance. The university was on break, and one was working as a guide, and tried to interest me in a trek in the Annapurnas. He tried to tell me it was too cold now to trek in the Everest region, and there could be snow there. I told him I was not interested, but he gave me the address of his agency, across from the museum, toward Freak Street (a popular hippy hang-out at one time). Another student with him wanted to talk about soccer, and was curious about why it was so unpopular in the U.S.

Outside the old palace is a large square full of people trying to sell souvenirs to tourists. At the north end of Durbar Square is a collection of thangka shops, where I didn't stop, because of the aggressive salesmen in front of them. I climbed one of the temples, which was pyramid-like, for views of the square. It had erotic carvings around the roof struts, as do many Hindu temples. Near the palace is the home of Kumari, the Living Goddess. She is a young girl who is believed to be an incarnation of one of the Hindu goddesses. I did not see her. Photographing the goddess is prohibited, but post cards are sold in front of the house.

Black Bairab	Holy Man

I headed back to Thamel without getting lost, and brought a payment to the trekking agent for my plane tickets. Getting lost in Kathmandu is easy. Most streets have no name, and if there is a name, there is usually no sign, and if there is a sign, it is always in Nepali script. A good sense of direction and a memory for landmarks is needed to navigate the maze of narrow streets. The streets would feel perfectly safe if it weren't for the maniac drivers. Beggars are rare, and are not seen away from the temples. However, street salesmen can be annoyingly persistent, and follow you for a long time. Common items include `tiger balm', small wooden chess sets, sarangis (stringed instruments, often crudely made), and Ghurka knives. Shop keepers vary. Some aggressively try to get you into their shops, while others ignore you if you do go in. Bargaining is rare in Kathmandu, except for art and craft items, and taxi rides. I bought a tape of Nepalese folk music from one of the sarangi salesman, but was not interested in buying his sarangi, which he played for me.

At dusk, I wandered around looking for an interesting place for dinner, and ended up on a street a couple of blocks east of Thamel. Away from tourist areas, Kathmandu becomes even more exotic. The shops become tiny stalls with doors you must stoop to enter, if you enter at all. People cook dal bhatt, Nepal's national dish, consisting of rice with a lentil soup, in small stalls along the street. These stalls emit a distinctive, perfumy, smell. Water comes from communal wells, and the streets quickly become dark as night falls, without all the bright lights of the tourist businesses.

I went around the block and back to Thamel and decided to have dinner at La Dolce Vita, an Italian restaurant. I ordered a pizza, which seemed to take forever to arrive. While waiting, I became very sleepy and dozed off a few times. When it finally arrived, he pizza was somewhat disappointing, since they apparently used no seasonings. Italian spices may be hard to find in Nepal, perhaps. Also, all Nepalese dairy products I have tasted have a very recognizable, but unusual, taste which takes some getting used to. The restaurant had an excellent selection of Italian deserts, however, and I had a kind of caramel custard pie, which was wonderful.

Copyright Scott A. Yost, 1994. All rights reserved.