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.
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.
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.
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