KATMANDU

by Nick Magnis

We finally landed in Katmandu. There, we passed into a new time zone; the time adjustment from Bangkok time was forty-five minutes. I was unaware that time zone changes were in increments of less than one hour, but this is Nepal and I quickly learned that life is very different. The taxi I hailed was about ten years old and hot as an oven. The driver sounded his horn almost continuously during the trip to the hotel. I lived in a modestly priced hotel, $12 a night for the next four nights without air-conditioning. It became stifling hot during the late afternoon but around midnight it became comfortable. All of the rooms in this hotel had the same hot western exposure, I never found out why.

The expedition into the interior that I was joining was leaving the following Sunday which gave me time to acclimate and explore the area. The streets were thronged with pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, pedicabs, three-wheeled motor taxis, and occasionally large trucks belching dense, black exhaust fumes from their diesel engines. Most of the streets were not curbed and pedestrians walked freely in all directions. The paving was often hard packed earth although there were occasional stretches of macadam paving and concrete. Traffic protocol was to drive on the left but my driver darted left and right to progress through the dense people mass. Occasionally, we passed cows that also wandered freely in the streets, and because they are sacred to the Hindus, were given a wide berth. On the way to the hotel, we passed the royal palace that occupies a large, fenced-in area in the center of the town.

Nepal is a veritable bargain for tourists with western currency. Meals were never more than US $5, often less even with beer or wine. Kodak film cost the same as in the States. Taxi fares for any destination in Katmandu were generally less than $5. Many Western tourists were in Katmandu. It is the jumping off place for trekking in the Himalayas.

After arriving at the hotel, although I was very tired the streets beckoned. The narrow streets were thronged with pedestrians, but somehow the mass of pedestrians ebbed and flowed around the vehicles so that wheeled traffic moved steadily. I frequently saw Nepalese in the streets wearing pollen masks to filter the dust and fumes that all of this frenetic activity created. Shops selling all manners of consumer goods lined the streets. Many were niches as small as six feet by six feet. Merchants sat cross-legged reading while waiting for customers. These merchants led very sedentary lives compared to the numerous porters who transported all sorts of merchandise all over the city. Dressed in short pants, a shirt and vest and wearing flip-flops; porters carry very heavy loads on their stooped backs while steadying the loads with ropes looped over their foreheads.

Women in exotic multi-colored saris often strolled by in small groups. They appeared to be out for a stroll rather than to shop. And everywhere, there were the children. They were active, inquisitive, charming and pleasant, and were always engaged in the simplest of play activities. I saw many playing with a ball or rolling a bicycle rim or tire with a stick. Others played with building bricks piling them into stacks and other pretend shapes. At the river there were many little boys swimming naked having an uproarious time.

As I approached Durbar Square, once the governmental and religious center of this city, I encountered many sidewalk merchants selling tourist mementos. Most of the merchants were benign but some were very aggressive. One hounded me to purchase some miniature carvings that I inadvertently bought when I offered him what I thought was the ridiculous price of $10, and he accepted it. He had originally offered them to me for $60. There were also many guides soliciting tourists for walking tours of the area. Surprisingly, there were no beggars on these streets, but I later saw many beggars at the Monkey Temple, and in an area that was thick with tourists' lodgings and restaurants.

That evening, I was again out in the streets where I encountered a street procession. I was informed that it was in celebration of The Buddha's birthday. In the front rank of the procession were marchers waving small flags and signs. They were followed by a band of musicians playing instruments familiar to Westerners. A truckload of women wearing lovely colorful saris followed the musicians, and after the women, men on foot followed. Interspersed among the marchers were drum and cymbal players. Most of the people in the procession had red marks on their foreheads suggesting they were Hindus.

I retired to my room hoping to overcome my jet lag with a restful night, but the room was stifling hot. It was nearly midnight before the gentle evening breezes lowered the temperature to my comfort zone. As I gazed out of the window of my room, I saw a large temple on a mountain to the west. It was floodlit from sundown to sunset. My guidebook described this place as the Monkey Temple. I decided to visit there the next day.

I learned that the mountain on which the Monkey Temple is situated was a half-hour's walk from my hotel. When I arrived the access to the temple was guarded by two very large, colorful stone statues of Buddha which, in turn, were protected by large stone carved dogs. In order to visit the temple one had to climb what looked like an endless stone staircase. After hesitating for a moment I noted that many pilgrims, most of them elderly were in various stages of the climb so I was challenged to start up the mountain. The hillside contained numerous chattering monkeys, hence the popular name of the temple. There were many pitiful beggars encamped on the steps appealing to the pilgrims for alms. Most of them were women in rags with their children. There were also amputees who directed one's attention to their missing limbs.

The temple area situated at the top of the mountain was very crowded. Perhaps this was because of the celebration of The Buddha's birthday. There were no guides to explain the purposes of the various edifices so I wandered about observing the people. Around Hindu temple, called a stupa, there was a ring of brass prayer wheels. The faithful would circle this monument spinning each prayer wheel in turn. There were many small oil lamps burning that I presumed were for the same purpose that Christians use candles although I never found out for sure. In one building food was being prepared and passed through a window-like opening into the stupa. Perhaps the food offerings were for the Gods.

During an early morning stroll the next day Brian, a member of the team, and I came upon an area in which all of the services for tourists that one expects to find in a developed country were available. There were one-hour photo development shops, fax messages and overseas telephone services, shops which sold instant passport sized for trekking permits, stands offering newspapers from around the globe, banks that advertised cash advances for credit card holders and many shops selling and repairing personal computers and VCRs. And right smack in the middle of this technical hodge-podge sat a snake charmer serenading a trio of cobras. We also observed satellite dishes on the roofs of some hotels and private residences. International credit cards were widely accepted in Katmandu's shops, restaurants and hotels. In contrast to the up-to-the-minute services were the ubiquitous porters carrying heavy loads on their backs. This juxtaposition seems to be typical of all developing countries in the late 20th Century. The business practices and technology of the industrialized countries are quickly superimposed on the slowly changing basic structure of the society.

In the afternoon, a group from our team set out to visit a once royal city, Bhaktapur, about 20 kilometers from Katmandu. It is a country town compared to the bustling city of Katmandu. We encountered very few tourists, and the vehicular traffic was light. This town has many old brick tenement buildings with very picturesque exteriors. Peasants live in the tenements and till the surrounding fields that start at the town’s edge. We saw peasants threshing grain in the city's squares utilizing the wind to separate the grain from the chaff. All of the members of the family from young children to the elderly patriarchs participated in the harvesting activity. Other peasants sitting in the squares were stringing garlic cloves, while others were herding farm animals through the streets. We much preferred quiet, quaint Bhaktapur to the bustling, noisy, dusty Katmandu.

Katmandu was a heady experience for an American. Karnali Province, our final destination, would prove mind-boggling.

by Nick Magnis

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