Weekend in Kathmandu - May 2010

Travelling to Kathmandu for the weekend may seem a little bizarre if you come from Australia or Europe, but as we discovered on a recent trip it’s a convenient, cheap and fascinating destination if you happen to live in the Middle East and can benefit from low cost airlines.

Arriving at Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport at lunchtime on a Thursday in May, it was a relief to find the recent national strike or Bandh had been called off and traffic and life was as chaotic and colourful as ever. A short ride crammed in a tiny Maruti Suzuki taxi powered by what seemed like a lawmower engine, through streets jammed with cars, trucks, cows and bicycles brought us to the tranquility of the Hyatt near Boudnath on the eastern edge of the city. Now I know that anyone who has read much of this blog will know that the Intrepidtoo generally eschew such sybaritic indulgences in a quest for the authentic cultural experience, but with power off up to 16 hrs per day as the government’s socialist leanings dictate that the limited capacity is shared equally with the rural populace so they too can watch their flat screen TVs, the need to be able to run a hairdryer dominated the select of accommodation. Not to mention the airconditioning and swimming pool.

It proves a good choice as Kathmandu does take a little getting used to if coming straight from a western city. With its collection of fabulous sights, friendly people, fascinating shops and markets and an array of restaurants, bars to satisfy the gourmand its has long been our favourite destination but its congestion, chaos and constant noise require some adaptation. On previous visits Kathmandu comes as a welcome respite from the heat and mayhem of the Indian plains, the austerity of Tibet or the poverty of Terrai. This time however, we had no such aclimatisation so to be able to retreat into the gardens and greenery around the Hyatt and escape from the madding crowd at the end of the day wasn't too much of a sacrifice.

First stop in the afternoon is Darbar Square, the medieval historic centre of the city and now one of the many world heritage sites which crowd the Kathmandu valley. Replete with soaring pagodas, beautifully carved temples and palaces, all-seeing stupas bedecked with eyes and strings of prayer flags, statues of fearsome gods in their various incarnations and wandering sadhus posing for photos, it’s a riot of religiosity and regalia and a cachophony of commerce as vendors try to tempt you with everything from vegetables to Vishnu statues, puppets to pashminas whilst through it all struggle porters with enormous loads on their backs supported by headbands which take most of the weight.

Making our way north through the lanes lined with market stalls and shops selling produce of every conceivable type we duck into to the Garden of Dreams, on the edge of Thamel, where the contrast could not be more stark. In the grounds of a former palace a beautiful high-walled Victorian garden has been restored with assistance from the Austrians, recreating the gardens established in the late 1800s by the son of a former prime minister after winning a fortune gambling with his father. Full of birds, palms, ponds and pavilions, the noise of the traffic outside is the only reminder of where you are; it’s a great place for tea or cocktails, or both.

Suitably fortified by several margaritas, we venture deeper into Thamel in search of dal baht, the ubiquitous dish of lentils which the Nepalese consumed at every meal, but settle instead for salmon wrapped quail, roast duck and asparagus at Kilroys where we are forced to consume yet more margaritas and copious quantities of Everest beer whilst waiting for the evening thunderstorm to pass. On a previous visit Intrepidtoo had adjudged Kilroys’ the best margaritas outside Mexico but we find out later at Dwarika’s the mantle has been passed across the city.

The taxi ride back through darkened streets and alleyways, lit by occasional sheet lighting and the odd shop with a generator is an adventure in itself. The next day sees the Intrepids back in a sardine tin on wheels circumnavigating the “ring road” to Swayambhunath on the western side of the city. By some miracle of perpetual motion the sardine tin keeps moving and deposits us at the foot of the temple with only the same number of dents and scratches it started off with. Climbing up the steps there are fewer monkeys than we remembered until we arrive at the main stupa, a white dome topped with spires and umbrellas and surrounded by prayer wheels, shrines and temples. In the upper gallery of one temple a quartet of saffron and vermillion clad Buddhist monks chant, play gongs and conches celebrating the devotions of a devout couple and their child.

Back in the sardine tin we cross over the river to Patan, the second of the three cities and former kingdoms which make up Kathmandu. Patan too has its world heritage Darbar Square, if anything more impressive than that of Kathmandu, with a fabulous array of temples, palaces and shrines. The main palace has been beautifully restored as a museum by the Austrians who did the Garden of Dreams, and has a great little café in the courtyard for a thali and an everest or two.

In the evening, we do the tourist bit and indulge in a 12 course meal at the Newari restaurant in Dwarika’s hotel, another former red brick palace which has been restored and has beautifully carved doorways and windows salvaged from all over Nepal. Waiting for the promised Nepalese dance show which fails to materialize we sample their margaritas which with the sunburst limes now are officially the best outside mexico. The meal is eaten at low tables seated on cushions and is accompanied by copious quantities or raksi, a sort of firespirit brewed from millet and domestos and used to run maruti suzukis. It’s all delicious and filling, fortunately we didn’t opt for the 34 course version

Saturday, our trusty sardine tin is waiting to take us to Bhaktapur, the third city and world heritage centre about 15km outside the Kathmandu. Before checking out its Darbar Square we go first to Pashupatinath, a sacred hindu temple complex on the banks of the sacred Bagmati river/sewer. Not for the feint-hearted we join the jostling throng to the river’s edge where pyres are already ablaze and saffron wrapped corpses lie on stretchers, their feet in the murky water waiting cremation. Across the river, holy men in assorted stages of dishevelment live hermit like in tiny Shiva shrines whilst monkeys scamper and pick nits from each others fur. Further up the hill beyond the deer forest lies the temple built to honour the resting place of the vagina of Shiva’s consort, whose body he traipsed around with after she had been killed by her father, and who’s bits apparently fell off at this spot.

Set amidst field of vegetables and small brick works, Bhaktapur is a contrast to Kathmandu, with much less traffic, brick paved steeply sloping streets and the feel of a market town. Although Darbar Square is perhaps less spectacular, it still has a full complement of wooden temples, palaces, ‘interesting’ carvings and columns with a café on the tiers of one pagoda offering a splendid vantage point for watching the bustling activity below.

Although nearly overdosed with temples we press on in the sardine tin across fields and through farms up into the hills to visit the last of the world heritage sites in the valley, a Hindu pilgrimage complex at Changu Narayan on a ridge high above Kathmandu.

Back to Thamel in time for sunset cocktails on the roof of la Dolce Vita, pizza and pasta and a foray into the shops to stock up on Norht Face (sic) ski gear, pashminas, teapots and incense burners. With our fill of temples and world heritage we spend the last morning lazing round the pool trying but failing to summon up the stamina to walk to nearby Boudanath which we can see over the garden wall, maybe next time...