Nepal Day 6 - Sunrise in Pokhara

grass hut in the hills

misty valley

Jim woke feeling much better, thank goodness. The morning trip was fascinating, not least for the other tourists on the tiny peak for the sunrise. It was still quite cloudy, and the Annapurna peaks and others were only teasing us with little views (peeks at the peaks), but the view from the Sagarkhot lookout were fantastic nonetheless. We could see the whole valley, with the town, river, lake, hills, farms…we heard the monks greeting the dawn with their mountain horns (and tried not to compare them to the World Cup's vuvuzela horns). When we arrived, there was an asian couple with a tripod set up, and about a dozen others in small gouts, huddled and waiting for the sun to rise. As we waited more arrived, including a loud foursome of Indian girls from the UK in matching custom-embroidered shirts and then busloads of Korean and Taiwanese tourists. In a matter of 20 minutes, the hilltop, about the size of our living room, was crowded with at least a hundred people, talking and taking pictures. The sunrise was not so dramatic, but the peaks did sneak through and we took lots of photos. The UK girls were mobbed with young asians asking to take their photos with them, which they, and I, found absolutely hilarious. They spent about 15 minutes posing with a series of young Korean ladies.

shopping at dawn

There were the inevitable souvenir vendors, shops open at 4:30am to catch the sunrise tourists. We got a bag for Charlotte before heading back down. We'd waited for the clouds to clear, hanging around on the hilltop for ages without success, but when we descended into the valley afterwards, the clouds finally parted and we could see the whole range, Annapurna I - V, and the rocky peak in the middle. We snapped some photos from the car, but the best views came once we were back at the hotel for breakfast. It was absolutely breathtaking to see the range up close from our lakeside, and I think I took a few hundred photos. The Korean and Taiwanese contingents from the mountaintop turned out to be staying at the same hotel, so we ate breakfast quickly to dodge the crowds, and took our tea and coffee back to the viewpoint by our room.

We were on a plane back to Kathmandu by 10am, very grateful that our tour company talked us into spending the night or we would never have seen the mountains in the morning!

the clouds parted

Annapurna

Nepal Day 5 - Pokhara

The flight was gorgeous; we could see the peaks above the clouds flying west along the Himalayas. Pokhara is in a little valley nestled south of Annapurna, and is lovely and green, with a patchwork of rice fields. A driver/guide picked us up and took us to our hotel, again the priciest place in town. I guess they thought we were rich or something. The Fish Tail is a group of round buildings, each housing several rooms, plus a dining hall and a small two-story hotel part, the compound reached by canoe or rope-towed barge across a narrow part of lake Pewa. Initially they put us in the hotel bit, with no view, so Jim went back to reception to complain and we ended up in room 15, in the lakeside round, with a view of the lake and mountains, and a pretty sitting area on the lake. Lonely Planet recommends rooms 16, 17, and 18 as the best views, and we were just barely around the corner. Lovely! 16/17/18 all have plaques naming the notable guests, including Prince Charles, some UK politicians, and royalty from Nepal, India and Sweden. The hotel must be fairly old, as Prince C stayed in 1980, and the rooms were definitely not five star, or even four star, but the setting was really nice.

Fish Tail Lodge, Pokhara

We got canoed back across with our guide, who took us around to a few of the town sights. We saw one of the Tibetan refugee camps, in place for over 50 years. It was tidy and not terribly depressing, with a community hall, a monastery, and attached housing with small backyards with gardens. 50 years old, it's been there for generations. There were kids (and monks) playing soccer in the big central field, and a dance event going on in the hall. I didn't take too many photos; maybe I'm overly sensitive, but I don't like taking photos of people living their lives, it seems like an invasion. I tried to take photos only when a person offered of when I felt I wasn't disturbing the person. I saw some tourists crouching right down and taking pictures of children close-up, and that just seemed invasive to me. Many Nepali are very poor, and will ask for money if you take their photos. This made me sort of uncomfortable too, so mostly I just tried to be sensitive and not invade anyone's privacy.

waterfall -- keep hold of your sunglasses

We stopped across from the Tibetan camp at a loud, powerful waterfall, where a local had apparently tumbled to his death earlier that week, reaching over the fence for his fallen sunglasses. An enormous amount of water thundered down a slim gorge, slamming down into an underground river. We kept our sunglasses and ourselves out of harm's way while admiring the power of the water, the sounds, and the rainbows formed in the mists. We skipped the caves where you can see the underground river, still a little worried about Jim's ankle.

We'd read about the barbers in Pokhara, famous for the close shaves with face massages. Jim had a face and head shave, the closest of his life, and I skipped the intended shopping wander for a bangs trim & face massage, that sneakily morphed into a back massage as well. We had fun chatting with the barber and licensed masseuse in the rustic little shop, and left shiny and numbed.

A close shave

Next we checked out the Mountain Museum, a giant, modern building housing photos and artifacts of the Himalayas. The museum wasn't terribly well organized in spite of the impressive building, but interesting. There was a huge section showing the different ethnic groups of Nepal, with costumes and tools. Obscurely, there was a photo exhibit comparing images from 1950's Swiss Alps to today's Nepal, I guess to show that technology in Nepal's pretty old-fashioned. Mostly the museum is dedicated to the Himalayas, with models and photos of the mountains, the rocks, flora and fauna, and everything climbing. Lots of photos and text about early expeditions, the 8,000meter + peaks, etc. I found it a bit much, especially as nothing was interactive, only photos and text. But Jim was interested in all the climbing glory and horror stories.

Then to a late lunch in town. We let our driver (Vishnu? Bishnu?) suggest a place, and he took us to a hut kind of place on the lake, that looked a bit dodgy to start but turned out to have brilliant american food (nice nachos on homemade chips, delicious club sandwich on crunchy homemade bread), and filtered water and ice cubes. We decamped to the hotel after that, anticipating an early morning trip to Sagarkhot for a sunrise view of the mountains. Fingers crossed, as we had yet to actually see the mountains through the clouds.

Jim got hit with a bit of dysentery, which he recognized from our trip to Turkey in the fall, and was able to have someone from the hotel go into town and fetch him some antibiotics. He was laid out for the evening, poor guy. I headed off to town on my own to check out the main drag. I found shops doing custom embroidery, and one of them had t-shirts that looked large enough for Jim (none of the pre-printed t-shirts we'd found so far were roomy enough). I ordered a navy t-shirt with mountains and "Pokhara, Nepal" stitched on, and hung around to watch the guy work his old black embroidery machine freehand, very interesting to me after working with automatic, computerized embroidery machines at work. I took some photos and video to show the folks back in Dubai. I also ordered a tailored skirt, but the tailor was taking his time arriving, and when it started getting dark, I cancelled. I had to make my way back to the boat for the hotel in the dark, and was a little nervous, mainly because I didn't know the town. There are lots of tourists about, and street hawkers, and pullers for the restaurants, and it felt like the kind of place where a woman alone could be targeted for something, but I arrived home without incident. Jim was still feeling like crap, so I had a quiet dinner alone with my book and got to bed early for the 4am wake up call.

a friend indeed

Nepal Day 4 - Finally, some shopping!

We were supposed to take a day trip ending at Nagarkhot for the sunset, but Shrek, our guide was unavailable on the 7th day, so we rescheduled for the 6th. Then the 6th was too rainy and cloudy for the sunset…so we opted to take the trip to Pokhara instead. Ram (the other Raj) met us at the hotel to make the arrangements & talked us into spending the night there, good suggestion as it turned out. Ram took me off to the tour office to finalize the plans & then do some shopping at the fair trade boutiques, while Jim stayed at the hotel to get some emails answered (work being far preferable to shopping). On the way to the tour office in Thamel, the tourist shopping district, I spotted some yarn in a shop window & so started my shopping trip there. It was still raining, so my flip flops kicked up all the nasty dirt and oil from the crowded streets, but I retraced our drive and found the yarn shop. I'm pretty sure it was all from India, and not any local Nepali yarn, but I bought some recycled, multicolored sari yarn, a silk skein with lots of loose fibers and a rayon and/or polyester skein that was much smoother, plus a skein of raw silk in a pretty green colour.

I love yarn

Almost back at the tour shop, I spotted some cute handbags, and settled on a pretty sheepskin shoulder bag in soft brown with pink and coral embroidery. I started haggling with the Kashmiri shopkeeper over the price (1300 rupees/65dhs/$19), but then it turned into a big thing of looking over all the pashminas (4,000rupees and up), and he laughed when I said I would take the bag without haggling if I didn't have to buy a pashmina.

new favorite handbag

A nice young tourguide named Burgi accompanied me and the drive on the shopping trip to the fair trade shops. I'd read about them in Lonely Planet, a group of shops in Patan that focused on selling handicrafts at fair prices with fair treatment of the craftspeople, and of course that idea appealed to me. There are millions of shops in Nepal selling crafts and souvenirs, which could be from anywhere and are selling at completely arbitrary prices depending on where you are shopping and what the shopkeeper thinks you'll shell out. The fair trade shops have fixed prices, solid information about provenance, and fair pay to the makers. Burgi didn't seem to be aware of the shops (he'd started out as a trekking guide), but picked up cards and brochures everywhere we went. At first it was a bit awkward having him trailing about, but it was pretty great having someone carry the stuff and find the car for me! The first shop was four stories high, with fabrics, linens for the home, felted slippers, furniture, knitted stuff, metal ornaments, pottery…pretty great. I got a cute mug, some woven aprons, some fabric, a few felted things. Burgi helped find the next shop, a scary u-turn away, and I spotted some smaller shops that hadn't been listed in Lonely Planet. There was a lovely handmade paper shop (some small notebooks & wrapping paper), a mixed shop (a calendar, bag for Chloe and an awesome felted bag), another mixed shop (handmade soap & some felt finger puppets). Maguthi was a large shop that had silver jewelry, leather goods, paper, and all the souvenirs you see on the street but with blessedly fixed prices. There I bought a gorgeous red leather handbag supporting sufferers of leprosy, some paper stuff, some silver jewelry, and a singing bowl. I looked at a Buddha statue and a brass prayer wheel, but wanted to look around some more before committing. Ends up I should have got them there, oops. The singing bowl is lovely, it has a relief of buddha inside. There was one more shop, Dankhuta Sisters, a little shop selling mostly handknits made by a small town group of women. They opened their shop in Kathmandu with the help of some start-up grants and are now self-sufficient. I bought a lovely white triangle lacy shawl made from banana fibers. They had some neat stuff made from nettle, but it was quite a bit pricier and felt scratchy. I'm pretty sure the girl was telling me it would soften up when it was washed, but the banana shawl was so nice (and cheap!), I didn't risk it. Unfortunately they didn't sell the yarn, too expensive and better for them to make the value-added products.

I ended up with several bags of goodies, and spent only about 12,000rupees/600dhs/$175. The shops left me wanting to start an import business back to Canada!

more of the booty

Nepal Day 3 - Chitwan

canoes

The boat was an unpainted wooden canoe, with a wide, flat bottom and five seats. The driver left us there, and we climbed aboard with one driver to the front and one to the rear. They poled upriver for a few hundred feet with long bamboo poles, then paddled out into the fast current and steered across and back downstream to the landing point. The river was wide and muddy, but nice and cool to the touch. The banks were low and grassy, with occasional trees.

jungle camp

We trooped along the shore to the resort, a group of wooden buildings and huts that looked like thatch-roofed summer camp. A friendly guide in khakis greeted us and fed us a late lunch, explaining our itinerary for the one-night stay. We would depart on the elephant safari at 4:30, rest and then dinner at 8. There was no electricity on the island, with a generator providing power only from 6:30 to 9:30pm. It was “Africa hot”, as Jim said, humid and a steamy 30+ degrees. We cooled off in the shower, no hot water not a problem, and met back in the bar hoping for a breeze. Nope. Sweaty, we met up with the few other off-season tourists and went to meet our elephants. There was another couple ("We’re from Madison, Wisconsin" spoken in a very thick Indian accent), a single guy from Belgium, and us. We heard that in the peak season, October to January, there could be up to 100 people there on a given night.

TAXI!

Three elephants met us, the largest sidling up to the platform for Jim and me. The mahout, or rider, sits just behind the head, his bare feet in metal stirrups and pushing into the backs of the ears to coax the beast forward. We climbed into a small wooden box strung with canvas and perched atop what looked to be a stack of burlap sandbags. Maybe to keep our feet away from the elephant? The wood and canvas box supposedly holds four, but it wouldn’t hold four bottoms like mine and Jim's. It was squishy with the two of us, each facing to opposite sides of the elephant, feet dangling out of the sides of the box. They wisely took my flip flops from me and kept them on the platform.

prehistoric, eh?

We trundled off into the lush jungle, the Madisons behind us and Belgium bringing up the rear. Right away, it started raining. A rich tropical rain that felt great to me and Jim, and helped us not to feel so sweaty and hot. I covered my camera with a white tank top I’d brought along as a head covering and the little red brocade purse I’d bought from another pity-inducing street vendor, and right away the rain made the red dye splotch my tank top with pinky-red spots. The rain lasted for about five minutes, cooling us off. Shortly after, we heard the rear elephant’s rider calling, and turned to learn he’d spotted a rhino. We trouped back, and chased the prehistoric beast for a bit. I got one decent photo and about twenty blurry and/or obscured shots. We finally lost him (or he finally lost us) and we continued on the trek. We had been warned that we might not see much due to the season and the very high grasses, and we did not see any of the nine tigers or one hundred monkeys who live on the island. We saw a little gang of spotted deer in the marshy grasses, and gazillions of birds and butterflies. Tromping around on the back of an elephant was the real thrill; lurching up and down small hills, swaying on the flat bits, swatting leaves and branches out of the way overhead. We crossed a river that left the elephants with dark waterlines halfway up their bodies. Our elephant, being in the lead, was made to clear a huge broken limb from the path with its mighty trunk. The landscape was breathtaking and the ride was a once in a lifetime experience. And at least we saw a rhino!

Dinner was nice, we chatted with Belgium, who turned out to be a travel guide for a high-end tour company catering to wealthy Belgians, on a scouting mission for a new tour. We got to quiz him on the area, and on Tibet. He recommended making the mountain crossing between Tibet and Nepal, and starting in Tibet to better deal with altitude sickness. He told us about interesting things to see in Tibet, and some other travel tidbits.

We had a long, steamy, sleepless night once the electric fan went off with the generator at 9:30 that night, and were already awake and having cold showers by the time the 5:45 wake up call came to prepare us for the morning nature hike. Jim opted out because of the ankle thing, and the Madisons were nowhere to be seen, so it was just me, Belgium, and the two guides. We were supposed to have long pants and hiking shoes, but I went in my Royal Robbins quick-dry capris and flip flops. So ill prepared. It was fine; my feet were dirty but the terrain wasn’t all that tricky. The problem would have been if any of the worst-case scenarios had occurred. Before setting out, our guide prepared us for the dangers we could encounter should one of the wild animals charge us. If we saw a rhino, we were to keep our distance and keep quiet. They have poor eyesight, but great hearing and sense of smell. If one were to charge, there were a few options. One, look for the largest tree and get behind hit, running around it and away from the rhino if it came over. Two, find a tree and climb it, at least 6 feet up. Three, if there were no trees around, avoid open areas and run into the bushes in a zig-zag to confuse the rhino. Don’t try to outrun it, as it is faster than it looks. Oh, yikes. That was just the rhino. For sloth-bears (note to self, look up on Wikipedia, what does a sloth-bear look like? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sloth_bear), don’t run, and don’t climb a tree, but stay in a group of people and lash out with sticks, making loud shouting and clapping noises. Oy. Least dangerous of our potential foes was the tiger. Not because it wasn’t lethal, but because it was less inclined to attack humans. In the tiger should charge us, we were to not turn our backs, but face the tiger and back away. And pray, presumably. I nearly turned back before the hike began, but what the heck. Off we went, me praying we would not see the rhino again.

these are not hiking boots

I got my wish, all we saw were a few more spotted deer and a couple of peacocks hidden in the grass. It was a lovely hike, though, and mercifully I didn’t have to test my tree-climbing/zig-zag running skills in flip flops. I'm pretty sure the lead guide was making extra noises to warn the animals we were coming so he wouldn't have to protect us from charging wildlife. We walked for about 45 minutes in the cool, moist morning air, and returned to camp in the wooden canoe in time for breakfast.

Jim and I then got back in the canoe, and back up the long dirt road, in a rickety jeep this time, for the ride to the small airport an hour away. Luckily, no Maoist strikes stopped us on the way back, and we got to the clean, small airport in the dirty, busy city in plenty of time for the twenty minute flight back to Kathmandu. Yes, the 6 ½ drive could have been avoided with a twenty minute flight, but we would have missed all the gorgeous scenery along the way. Driving one way but flying back was totally the way to do it, thanks again to the recommendations of our trusty tour company.

mud home

Nepal Day 3 - Road Trip to Chitwan

bridge crossing

Up early the next morning for the five-hour drive to Chitwan, in the south of Nepal. A new driver met us along with Raj’s brother (whose name remained a mystery…Jim just called him Raj as well). They helped us track down some mosquito cream before hitting the road. It looked to us like it was only 120kms away, but we soon saw why the drive would take so long. It took nearly two hours to get out of the city, as there was a huge traffic jam on the narrow, two-lane road leading west out of town. The road was a twist, narrow paved road down the sides of mountains, and not far out of town, a bus had broken down. There was no shoulder, and no where to pull over, and no way to get towed, so the bus just sat there, parts on the ground and men working on it, while the trucks and busses headed in both directions took turns going around. We sat in one spot for 45 minutes waiting for our turn. Once past the broken bus, we sailed around the wild curves, down into a deep green valley. Small properties were dug with tiers into the mountainside, with corn and other crops growing on impossibly steep hills. Tiny wizened women carried baskets on their backs, a strap supporting some of the weight wrapped around their foreheads, hauling god knows what heavy things up the hills. Some were filled with bricks, I swear. Little shacks clung to the edge of the road, leaning out over dizzying drop offs, and out front uniformed children waited for their school buses. Jim and I were both agog at the amazing beauty of the mountains and valleys, and the fascinating mini-villages clinging to the sides of the road. We stopped for a stretch and a Chai Masala at a little group of outdoor restaurants and shops (just ahead of two tour buses, whew). I wandered across the road to take pictures of the valley, waving to a family bathing under a roadside water tap. A bus went by with about twenty teenagers riding on the roof rack, who all yelled and waved at me to take their picture. I felt really tickled by that, snapped their picture and waved back, and then couldn’t stop grinning.

that doesn't look safe

Back in the car, the steep winding hills continued, a wide river emerging in the valley below, with the occasional rope bridge hanging across. We also saw cables strung across with cages attached, and people on the opposite side loading rocks and gravel to send across the deep river gorge. Presumably the people would all return using the cages as well. The road continued to be studded with settlements, many with outdoor cooking areas at the roadside, with ovens made of red clay. Eventually, the hills flattened out and we started passing rice paddies again. It was now nearing noon; they weren’t kidding about the time it would take. We’d left the hotel at 7am, farted around a bit looking for mosquito cream, and were now five hours into our 120km trip. We opted not to stop for lunch, thinking we must be getting close. We stopped for a smelly pee break in a busy, dirty city filled with bicycle rickshaws and smoky buses, and apparently no nice bathrooms. We left the city to get on the river road that would take us into the Chitwan area, and to meet a boat that would take us to the island resort.

maoist strike

We would have arrived to the boat in a bout 30 minutes, but we were stopped in a roadblock, which turned out to be a Maoist strike. To us it seemed like we were just randomly stopped in a lineup on the road, but it transpired that the strike was in a small village up ahead, and it’s better to not be too close in case violence erupts. We saw none of this, just had a wearying and hungry two hour wait in the sun. By the time we got through I had to use the loo again, but there was nowhere to stop. I had to endure an excruciating half hour on a very bumpy dirt road before arriving at the boat dock and running for the bushes. The road, when I could concentrate, was pretty cool, with one- and two-storey mud houses that looked like they could have existed just the same way centuries ago, complete with wandering goats and chickens, tethered cows, dusty children, and corn drying in the sun. Everyone we passed stared in frank wonder at Jim, the giant white man in the front seat of the car.

Nepal Day 2 - Bodhnath Stupa

On the afternoon of the second day, Shrek offered to take us through the stupa temple near our hotel, but Jim’s ankle had taken enough abuse, so we went back to the hotel. I decided I would check out the stupa on my own while Jim recuperated and had a beer. The Bodhnath stupa is just half a kilometer from the back of our hotel, and after figuring out that I could actually exit that way once someone unlocked the gate, I wound my way there down a narrow walkway, only 5 feet wide but still used by motorcycles as well as pedestrians. I was a little nervous about finding my way back, and carefully turned for landmarks at each junction. The stupa is an enormous white dome, ringed with the ubiquitous prayer wheels and topped with a four-sided, golden tower with the eyes of Buddha on each face, prayer flags draped around. The temple is ringed with shops and restaurants, but is less touristy than some of the other areas, being an area with lots of monasteries and Buddhist study centers. Throngs were circumnavigating the stupa, always clock-wise, chanting and praying. There were crimson and saffron robed Tibetan monks of all ages, and women dressed in flowing dresses with striped, woven aprons tied over them, also Tibetan I think. The buildings circling the stupa were three and four storeys high, many with rooftop cafes. The air was filled with chanting from the worshipers and from the various music stores blaring chanting music. I was on a mission to find backpacks for our next day’s trip, and found them easily. There are many shops here that sell nice hiking equipment, Mount Everest is close by after all, so I zeroed in on a stall festooned with North Face packs, and asked the salesman for his cheapest pack. We only needed them for an overnight trip, no need him thinking we were taking a major trek with them. Success, and for only about $25 for both.

I happily wandered the stupa a while longer, scoping out possible restaurants for when Jim would come down another day, and absorbing the vibrant sights and sounds. As a bonus, I didn’t get lost on the way back to the hotel, and the guard was right there to let me back in the locked gate.

one of the many monasteries

We opted for a fancy dinner in the hotel’s premium restaurant that night, and had a wonderful meal of paella (me) and Australian steak (Jim), with a nice bottle of Italian red. Nice jazz music, the delicious smell of a brick oven, and pounding rain outside. It was perfect. It was the first time it had rained more than a few drops, in spite of July being the rainy season in Nepal, and we were happy to enjoy it from the shelter of the hotel, and grateful it hadn’t started while we were tromping the dusty streets sightseeing.

Nepal Day 2 - Bhaktapur

Back in the car after Patan, and off to Bhaktapur. 13km from the city, around the ring road and off through the rice paddy fields and corn farms. This Durbar Square was the finest of the three, best for last I suppose. The many temples were in better shape, and renovations were ongoing. There are three squares here, and we elected to visit the top two, as the third is a bit of a walk away and Jim wanted to save his ankle. More temples, these ones with giant staircases leading up to them, lined with statues of animals and warriors. The second of the squares was near the first, down a short passageway crowded with souvenir shops. I discovered the famous high-quality pashmina shawls, the ones that come only in natural colours and feel like warm clouds when you touch them. I’d seen one once in Dubai with my Finnish friend Tuula, where the salesman had pulled the full-sized shawl through a finger-ring to show its fine-ness, and which cost, to the best of my recollection, 23,000dirhams, or about $6-7,000. I quickly asked the cost of these ones, and was told 6,500rupees. Quick head-math, about 350dhs, or less than $100. !!?!?!? We continued with our touring, loving the second square. It had another temple with guarded steps (this one with fierce warriors ahead of the elephants), and a medieval-looking house sloping with deteriorating walls and sinking grass roof. We found a shop selling Unicef-sponsored paper goods, and bought ten calendars and some packs of greeting cards. I got dragged out before I could delve into the photo albums and hanging lamps, probably a good thing. Jim got some t-shirts for the kids, and we went for lunch in a lovely courtyard.

that roof looks old

I mulled the pashmina idea over lunch, and decided that I couldn’t pass up the high quality at the crazy price. We all trooped back to the shops, only to find a different salesman in place, and a price-jump from 6,500 rupees to 9,500. Jim got frustrated with the lack of sympathetic conversation, and we went to the next shop. There we got the lowdown on the special pashminas: they are made from the chin hair of a rare Himalayan goat (so it's a goatee?) Seriously. There are two different qualities of the goat-beard pashminas. If you go for the actual chin hair, the fabric will never pill and the colours are only the natural goat colours (cream, beige, slightly darker beigeish brown, and soft grey); the price for regular weave is 6,500rupees/$85, and for four-way weave, 9,000rupees/$120. Further down the throat you get a coarser product that will eventually pill, and those ones come in brightly-dyed colours; they cost 4,000 rupees/$60. There were also some special thicker weave ones with contrasting stripes (all natural colours), done for some Italian retailers, that were three times more than the first ones. I decided to go for the regular weave (not so heavy), in the darkest brown, and got a lesser-quality one in a lovely teal colour as well, it’s darn soft and very pretty. Jim did the bargaining and we got a few extra rupees off. Once you get going, the salesman tries to keep adding things in, and I was mighty tempted by a rich pink cashmere poncho in a light knit, but I do live in Dubai after all! How many warm items do I really need?

I rounded out the shopping with a funky shoulder bag made of old rice bags for Chloe, much to our guide’s amusement. He couldn’t quite believe that I knew in advance that these were just rice bags, but we assured him our daughter would love it.

goatee pashminas and rice bag

Nepal Day 2 - Patan

Patan, Kathmandu

Our tour guide, whose name I think was Shrek, arrived first thing next morning with my bag slung over his shoulder. I would have hugged him but I thought he might be frightened. Elated with relief, and with fully charged camera all set to go, we circled around the city to Patan Durbar Square. Happily, it was a little less run-down than the one in Kathmandu, and is surrounded by little ancient alleyways, filled with the intense sights of the city: little recesses with holy statues; dirty little shops selling water, cola and sweets (most with no power, hence unrefrigerated drinks); and street-side butchers, literally hacking bits of meat on wooden tables. Again, no refrigerators in sight. I was too squeamish to photograph the man chopping at a (cow?) leg with a giant hoof attached.

The temples and sights in Patan were fabulous. There was the regular assortment of pagoda temples. One was open to the non-hindu public if you didn’t take photos. Jim decided not go in to save his ankle from the dubious steps inside, but I climbed up into the incense-filled top floor to see the devotees praying and making offerings to the golden statues. There was a rooster wandering around up there, I have no idea why.

We went into a large-ish temple area to see a family convening with a priest, another family encircling a huge tree with string for good luck, and dozens of people making and burning small cotton strings in some sort of ritual. Shrek was explaining it all as we went along, but I didn’t totally get it all. It was lively and smoke-filled, with lots of chanting and oodles more statues and shrines. I loved the water buffalo, only the top half emerging from the concrete walkway.

the boy monk

We also went into a small buddhist monastery, admission about $2 for foreigners, free for monks and nuns, and no leather shoes permitted. Every month a pre-pubescent boy is ensconced there as a temporary head monk, not allowed to bathe for the entire month (can’t see a pre-pubescent boy having a problem with that). This month’s monk boy was playing net-less badminton in his dirty robes with a girl his age, right beside the central temple. More prayer wheels, more statues, more small butter lamps and incense. I paid a yellow-robed monk a dollar or so to take his photo.

monk picture for sale

A fine museum was housed in one of the old palaces, and we spend a happy hour perusing the Hindu and Buddhist statuary, complete with some tame Tantra images, and handy posters explaining the many hand gestures on the statues and the reasons behind the postures and multiple limbs (to show all the god’s attributes). A lovely peaceful courtyard in the center magically blocked out all the honking and city noises.

Nepal Day 1 - Night out

folk dancing, Nepali-style

Still on the first day, we went back to the hotel for another rest and a swim (and a camera battery re-charge) after the afternoon of sightseeing. Our driver picked us up for a dinner out at a touristy place, with a set menu and a folk-dance show. There was only one other table of customers as it was the off season, but the place was nice, a sunken dining area ringed by a dark-wood mezzanine. The food was quite good. Our guide joined us for the appetizer plate, of which I was the only one to eat the tiny dried fish that looked like it used to be someone’s pet goldfish. It was gross. I’m forgoing any future Fear Factor moments. The rest was typical Nepali food, much like Indian. Some spicy curried vegetables, some chicken, lots of legumes, and the unique-tasting pickle relish familiar to Indian food fans. Rice, of course, but also potatoes, and a thick sweet yogurt for dessert. I tried the Chai Massala, spicy Nepali tea. We spent more on a bottle of Chilean red than on the rest of the meal combined. The dancing was surprisingly enjoyable, for a touristy cheese-fest. The costumes were pretty, the dances were all different, and the dancers seemed lively and un-jaded.

The driver dropped us back at the hotel after, and it took me about half an hour to notice I’d left my purse at the restaurant, total yikes. It had my wallet with all credit and other cards, and worse, my passport with my irreplaceable UAE visa. As we hadn’t booked the restaurant ourselves or navigated there ourselves, neither of us remembered the name of it (we are so spoiled!) It took a panic-inducing half hour to get the tour manager, Raj, on the phone (World Cup Football game on!), and no one at the hotel could help us figure out the name of the restaurant. I was sure it started with a U…maybe UT something? I was hyperventilating by the time we got Raj on the phone, and he promised to phone the guide and/or the driver to get the name of the restaurant and call us right back at the hotel. I paced and Jim talked me down for a further excruciating half hour with no phone call until Jim finally phoned Raj, to learn that he’d tried to call but the hotel operator wouldn’t put him through to our room. The good news, the restaurant had my bag and was keeping it safe for us. I actually wept with relief.

Nepal Day 1 - Sightseeing

Kathmandu intersection

After breakfast and a quick nap, the driver was there to take us to the tour company to meet the guide. More hairy rides through the streets…they have left-side drive here, but seem to drive in the middle if no one is coming, very disconcerting for a life-long right-side driver! The streets here are filled with buses and motorcycles (cars are too expensive for most, and families of four will travel together on a motorcycle!), bicycles, pedestrians and cows. Honking is a means of communication, mostly meaning get the heck out of my way - I'm a-coming, and traffic lights are non-existent. Some larger intersections have a single traffic cop, directing the flow from a small platform. Mostly it’s a free-for-all. Apparently there aren’t many serious accidents here, though. Most bad ones occur after dark, when the crowded streets are dark yet still filled with people walking and cycling, and when alcohol more likely plays a part. The traffic movement is pretty slow, so I can buy that most accidents could be non-lethal. Like most places, what seems like anarchic chaos at first does actually have a system that the inhabitants all understand. We were thankful to be driven by a skilled young man, and not flung onto the streets on our own.

temple carving at Buddha Park

Our guide in place, the first stop was a Buddhist temple with three giant golden statues surrounded by prayer wheels (cylinders set into the outside wall that devotees spin as they circle around clockwise) and on a brightly painted base studded with snarling, smiling figures. The temple is re-painted every three months. I used up the last of my camera batteries snapping their pictures, managing to get one last one of me and Jim in front of the three golden giants (see first Nepal post). There was also a smaller temple with a thousand small alcoves each housing a small Buddha. Beautiful. Marred slightly by the people begging, especially the ancient man lying face down on the ground, his legs bent unnaturally beside him.

We drove around to the other side of the hilltop to the Monkey Temple. The monkeys cavorted all over, carrying their cute 6" babies, checking out the tourists, and jumping in to their dedicated swimming pool. Jim had to take photos on his Blackberry, as my camera was completely out of juice. The vendors accosted us with forearms laden with necklaces, and sucked me in with a reversible pendant (Buddha eyes on one side, the mantra Om Mani Padme Hom on the other). We climbed the steps to the hilltop for the panoramic views of the city, the stupas and temples and monasteries. Our guide filled our heads with the architecture and history, and we dodged teenagers on a school trip to look down the vertigo-inducing steps that we didn’t have to take. Again had to run the gauntlet of vendors who follow you with their goods and the sad beggars lining the steps. I wanted to give money to everyone, but I understand that it’s better not to encourage the begging, rather to contribute to a reputable charity. I still bought two more necklaces on the way out, not able to resist the sad stories and emotional pressure…I rationalized it by telling myself I didn’t mind giving these poor women a few of my dollars.

Next stop was the Kathmandu Durbar Square. Every town and city has a Durbar Square; it’s the old palace/temple area. The main Kathmandu one was fascinating…crumbling palaces, pagoda-style temples, and temples of other shapes all over. Carved hindu gods set into the walls, dusted with coloured powder and crowded with offerings of rice, flowers, food. In one ancient, open-air temple that used to be a stopping off place for pilgrims, a blood drive was in progress, with donors reclining on old lawn chairs in the dusty common area, small vials sitting out in a beaker holder, and the collected blood going into well-used coolers. We arrived at the wrong time to see the Kumari, or Living Goddess. She is an actual child, pre-pubescent girl chosen for her physical attributes and lack of fear, who resided in the Kumari palace as the reigning Kumari until her first period, when she again becomes mortal and another Kumari is found. She has attendants and tutors, and waves at the crowds below at set times of the day, coming out of her tiny palace only a few times a year for festivals. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumari. We were able to go into her courtyard and look around, and I bought one of her official photos. I soaked it all up, but Jim was a little disappointed that the temples and buildings were so run down, many of them crumbling, all of them dirty. When we were satisfied with the Durbar Square, we deked out to an electronics shop so I could buy a new camera battery charger, just in case.