Back in chaotic Kathmandu

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Day 521: Wednesday 2nd December - A very public cremation

The last time I was in Kathmandu I got food poisoning and something I ate last night gave me stomach cramps throughout the night. The food in Nepal is probably the most westernised cuisine I’ve had anywhere on my trip outside Australia and New Zealand but I very much doubt the hygiene standards are of any, well, standard, apart from that is inadequate. I’m almost afraid to eat anything now in Nepal and I’ve never had trouble with the food anywhere on my trip apart from here. I’ve had food poisoning, illness on my trek, lack of energy in Pokhara and now stomach cramps and my finger is pointing firmly at the food hygiene in every case.

Because of this it takes me a while to get going today. When I do I change my plans and decide to explore Kathmandu further rather than visit Kathmandu valley. On the agenda are two temples, one Buddhist, one Hindu. I’ve already seen my fill of temples, I’m not feeling great but I carry on regardless. Bodhnath is to be first stop, and being 5 kilometres from the centre of Kathmandu I decide that I will have to take transport rather than walk. I opt for a cycle rickshaw which is perhaps my favourite mode of transport to explore a city. You have enough elevation to take in most of what is going on around you, you don’t travel too fast for things to pass you by and you feel a lot more involved in the action than you do from a taxi. In the Indian subcontinent this is the ideal way to travel. It is ideal that is if you can find a rickshaw that doesn’t get a puncture. Mine does, still several kilometres shy of my destination. I’m feeling much too generous this morning (or is that soft) and give the guy 90% of the agreed fare. He probably deserved no more than two-thirds. He helps me get a bus in return which is overcrowded and is a horrible way to travel in Kathmandu.

Bodhnath is an enormous Buddhist stupa which draws its influence from Tibet. Just as in Tibet, pilgrims do a parikrama (clockwise circuit) around the stupa. However, this is no Barkhor Square. Once you’ve seen that nothing can compare although comparisons are inevitable. For me, this is just another stupa and holds no real interest as I’ve seen it all before. To people who have never visited Tibet I am sure it holds more interest. I don’t stay long and then walk the kilometre and a half towards Pashupatinath, which is Kathmandu’s foremost Hindu temple complex.

Entrance into Pashupatinath is a steep 500 Rupees (£4), and I’m sure the guy on the ticket desk forgets on purpose to give me my change. I don’t forget. I soon come to another ticket desk and wave my ticket to show that I’ve already paid. At this point a member of staff I presume joins me and starts to walk alongside me and into the main temple complex. He never introduces himself as I guide, indeed I walked past the office where you could pick up guides thereby indicating my wish to see the temples alone. Nevertheless this guy soon starts giving me information about the temples and what is going on and accompanies me as I walk around, imparting any information as he sees fit. It is actually nice to have a ‘guide’ for once and I assume this is part of the overpriced ticket. At the end of our half an hour tour around Pashupatinath he requests payment. I refuse telling him that I don’t have any money (I do but that isn’t the point). I want to teach this guy a lesson. Just because I’m white he assumes I am stupid and have money to throw around. He didn’t ask if I wanted a guide, he just wanted to put me in a position where at the end I would feel obliged to pay him as I had no other choice. But I do have a choice, and I want to show him that in future he should ask tourists if they want his services rather than try and be underhand and force money out of them. He is far from happy but I frankly don’t care. How much do you expect I ask him? ‘Some tourists give up to 2000 Rupees (£15) if they are really happy with my services’ he responds. £15 for half an hour guiding in Nepal, he’s having a laugh, 200 Rupees an hour is the going rate. He obviously thinks I have more money than sense. When I fail to produce any money he asks if I have a watch or something else. A complete joker, a greedy Nepali. He says I should give him something from the heart as a token of appreciation. I offer a thank you from my heart but this fails to please him. I berate him for putting me in an embarrassing situation, give him my advice on how to behave in the future and then walk away.

The whole incident is a shame and takes something away from what is otherwise a fascinating experience. The temple is one of the most important Hindu temples in the world, the holiest site outside India and one where Hindu’s make pilgrimages to. So sacred is this site that non-Hindu’s are not allowed inside the temple at the heart of it. My guide reliably informs me of what I’m missing - inside there is a ten-foot high male member, or phallus. Below the temple, and flanked by the burning ghats runs the Basmati River, a holy river, and one which eventually joins the Ganges. After dispensing with my guide I return in to watch the most incredible scenes unfold before my eyes on the cremation ghats. I let the words of one of my heroes, Michael Palin take over as he describes the same scenes I saw in his book Himalaya.

‘A number of platforms, sort of jetties for the soul, are built on the riverbank and on these the dead are cremated on wood pyres. One or two have bodies burning on them already, others are being cleared after a cremation. Attendants, brisk and businesslike in white aprons and cotton vests, are brushing the platforms clean, sending burning embers flying into the river, where they hit the water with a hiss and bob off down the Bagmati, trailing plumes of smoke like miniature steamships.’

As I watch, a corpse is carried down past the temple and onto one of the ghats. The family are in attendance all having gathered at short notice as Hindu’s believe in cremating the body within 24 hours of death, so that the spirits can be released. There are 10 different ghats reserved for the different castes.

‘They then lift the body from its bamboo stretcher, a little awkwardly, three times round the pyre, before laying it down, the head exposed. Basil leaves and water are placed in the corpse’s mouth as Prasad, food consecrated and blessed by the gods. Ghee is then placed on the body, and the oldest male heir then walks around the pyre three times more. Then it is he who applies a lighted taper to the body, always near the mouth. Shaking with emotion, he then bows, walks to the end of the pyre. I know nothing about these people yet, in this brief ceremony, I feel a wave of empathy, not just for them, but for loss, for the end of a life. I come from somewhere where death is kept private, almost as if it’s an embarrassment. We send our loved ones away hidden in a box, into a hidden fire. We don’t even press the button that send the coffin sliding into that fire. It’s all at arm’s length. Here in Pashupatinath it’s very much hands on. The reality of death, the fact of death, is confronted, not avoided.’

Pashupatinath is for me the must see sight in Kathmandu. There are other temples, and some fascinating architecture around the city particularly in Durbar Square but there is nothing quite like Pashupatinath.

Day 522: Thursday 3rd December - Kathmandu Valley and a celebration meal

I wake up late this morning still feeling the effects of the dodgy meal a few nights ago. I’m not feeling great, not really in a sightseeing mood but today is my last chance to visit the Kathmandu valley and this is supposed to be one of the must see’s in the Kathmandu area. I planned to see it on my first visit but got sick, now on my second I am feeling below par but decide to go regardless. With the morning slipping away I decide that I will take a taxi to Patan rather than walk. As I’m walking down the street to get a taxi I walk into Riley, the Canadian guy who I shared the cruise up the Yangtze River with almost two months ago now. Nothing surprises me travelling now (or very little) but this is unexpected as we were both heading in different directions after we last met in Chengdu, me east through China and him to India. We stand chatting for half an hour or so before saying our last? goodbyes.

Patan is one of the three independent kingdoms in the valley, and now almost a suburb of Kathmandu. The jewel in the heart of Patan is Durbar Square, a dazzling collection of buildings dating back 350-500 years. This is Newari architecture of the highest order, probably the finest in Nepal. The architecture is unique, and as Nepal was never colonised, so the architecture has no Western derivative. Instead, it was created by the Newars, the people of the valley, master craftsmen taking their influences from India and Tibet. One of the pleasures of meandering around Durbar Square is the immense amount of carved and sculpted detail.

The smallest of the old kingdoms was centred on Bhaktapur, 12 kilometres east of Kathmandu. Still feeling a bit unwell I decide that I can’t face a bus journey and retain the services for the rest of the day of my driver for 1250 Rupees (£10). The journey there is still not that comfortable as we drive along dusty dirt roads teeming with vehicles which emit the most noxious fumes. I think I have to reassess what I said earlier in this blog. There is no mode of transport in Kathmandu which is enjoyable. The crowded, chaotic traffic and pollution see to that.

Bhaktapur is the best preserved of the three medieval towns in the valley, and as in Patan and indeed Kathmandu’s Durbar Square there is some glorious architecture in Bhaktapur. The finest examples and greatest concentration of stunning buildings is in Patan but Bhaktapur’s attraction lies in wandering its charming back streets between its three main squares that are peppered with temples, statues, carvings, cisterns and wells. I wander around its streets aimlessly for an hour or so before deciding that I’ve taken about as much sightseeing as my body can take today.

When I get back to the hotel I find that Bruno has just arrived from Pokhara. It is great to see him again after a gap of 2 weeks since I walked away from him in Pisang. He tells me that he is going to travel with me to the Royal Chitwan Park and then over the border with me to India before he catches his flight to Thailand from Delhi in 2 weeks time. I’m also heading towards Delhi, across the northern part of India so for the next two weeks I have a travel companion. I welcome this, Bruno has a great sense of humour and is a lot of fun to be around. The next two weeks should be fun, I’ve spent too much time on my own recently. In the evening I join Bruno and three of his French friends for a steak dinner and a glass of red wine. This is the proper celebration to the end of the Annapurna circuit that I had been wanting.

Day 523: Friday 4th December - The final piece of the jigsaw

Today is one of those administration days that you have to have from time to time whilst travelling. It starts early as Bruno and I walk to the Indian Embassy to queue up to apply for our visa two hours ahead of it opening for business at 9:30am. When it does open it is utter disorganisation and chaos, quite unlike what you normally find in an embassy but quite befitting India. We hand in our forms and pay our fees after eventually waiting until 11am and it appears we will be granted our visas later today.

In the early afternoon I walk to the opposite side of the city to the post office to send some things home. I can’t physically carry everything in my bag any more so it is essential I send some things home or leave a few things behind in Kathmandu. I am lucky as the post office closes at 1pm on a Friday but the gentlemen on the counter are very kind and allow me to send my parcel. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise as tomorrow we leave for Chitwan National Park, and I guess my next chance to get to a post office would have been in India next week sometime. The Nepali’s generally wouldn’t rank that high in friendliness terms. Too often I have found them being a bit sly in trying to get more money out of you or too passive. But, I will remember the act of kindness today in the post office as a positive from my time in Nepal.

Later in the afternoon Bruno and I return to the Indian Embassy to pick up our visas. They have been granted, we will travel together for the next two weeks, until Bruno leaves for Thailand. For me it is the final piece in the jigsaw. India will be the final country I visit. This is where the journey will end, I promised myself I would finish my trip on a highlight and what better way than in my favourite country. This is the only country on my trip that I have visited before. That was 8 years ago and I am excited to be going back.

I say I am excited to be going back to India, and I am but the Indian subcontinent wouldn’t be my choice of place to get sick. Life is busy, chaotic, crowded and colourful in Kathmandu and as intense as Nepal’s capital is, I know from experience that India is on another level again. This is great when you are full of energy but since my return to Kathmandu I haven’t been that well. Because I haven’t been 100% it has affected my enjoyment as this busy city is no place to recuperate. I’m looking forward to going somewhere quieter tomorrow. I’ve spent too much of my time in Nepal suffering from illness. I wonder if I’ve just hit a brick wall and run out of energy. I hope not as India is not the place to go on empty and not the place you can relax and re-energise.

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