Kathmandu - boy

  

Kathmandu - boy

 

At first glance Kathmandu seems to resemble an Indian city with rules and order. People don't just drive on any side of the road; the cycle rickshaws are contained within certain sections of the city; only a few cows grace the streets; many people want to avoid inhaling the city's noxious fumes and dust so they wear facemasks and there are generally fewer people making the place seem less hectic. They still, however, have the omnipresent "export quality", "genuine", "extra high quality", etc. denoting products that are anything but; they have load-shedding schedules that would make India's poorest city blush; and they have many shanty-town lined rivers that collect so much litter that it forms many islets and peninsulas along it, some providing enough space for several lean-tos should anybody have the urge build on waste. The Ganges looks like the purest distilled water compared to this. Also, all the writing (Nepali) is in a Sanskrit style script so you almost think you've not left India (of course as long as you cannot read Nepali or Hindi).

 

We headed for what the guidebook (probably) calls backpacker central, Thamel. This part of the city is populated by tourists/trekkers and tourist/trekking shops selling all kinds of equipment fake and otherwise. Everything here is authentic, genuine, hand-made, finest quality, export quality and more, and all brand names spelt correctly in the correct location. How to tell the difference when buying fake or otherwise mountaineering equipment you may later have to rely on? Well, if you don't categorically know how to tell then it's probably a guaranteed fake. At least that's certain.

 

We whiled away our days in Kathmandu finalising our tours (China had closed one of our destinations at this point and we had to make enquiries), enjoying various restaurants, luxuriating in excellent quality coffee and cakes and visiting a few sites. People watching in and around an incredibly well preserved Durbar square was particularly relaxing and enjoyable, as was doing the same around the two large stupas located in the suburbs (the stupas in Nepal are generally domed monuments with a cube atop wearing a conical hat; the cube normally has an enquiring pair of eyes on each side looking out over the city - very enigmatic).

 

At night the Thamel tourist/trekker hussle and bussle turns to late night pub music that reached a peak on Paddy's day when we were treated to the death throes of several student bands all within earshot of our hotel room. Various singers screeched rock classics with intensity and passion over the banging of their drummers, who in turn were competing for decibel attainment with any other band within a five mile radius. Past midnight to 3am, the people who rattle the metal shutters of neighbouring shops took over and banged those babies like their life depended on it. After 3am, the tourists/trekkers came out of the bars and talked loudly until morning. In the early morning we were regaled with multiple sounds of what Americans (I believe) would call 'hocking a loogie' (or otherwise described as 'lung butter' or 'an oyster'). The repetition of this sound sharply followed by the spit has quickly achieved comical status and will be my abiding memory of waking up in Kathmandu when the taste of coffee has disappeared. It really is good to be somewhere calmer than India.