Kathmandu

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The bazaars of Thamel, the district in Kathmandu where we were staying, are definitely tourist-orientated. We'd been advised to head for this backpacker-friendly area but made it there ourselves, quite by mistake, and found our hotel to be right on the edge of Thamel. Shops along the narrow, cobbled streets sold all kinds of hippy clothes, jewellery and other bits and pieces. We were aiming for Durbar Square, site of many temples and palaces, but with no map or guide were just following our instincts. But it was a lovely warm day to be browsing the shops and searching the rooftops for a glimpse of prayer flags or some other indication of the location of the Square.

Durbar Square came upon us suddenly, and we were charged 300 rupees each to enter (about two quid). Temples, shrines and other religious buildings were thronged with tourists, locals, beggars, sadhus and 'guides'. We managed to get a sadhu to pose for a picture (for which he asked for 100 rupees - I gave him 40 and he shrugged, grinned and ambled off) and then we found a bar with a high roof, looking down on the square itself. Up here it was extremely windy and we had a good view not only of the Square but of most of Kathmandu. In the distance the mountains loomed, and closer to us heavily-armed Nepali soldiers, obviously bored whilst guarding the rooftops of the temples, chased away monkeys who leapt onto nearby rooftops and chattered back at the soldiers. Eagles and kites soared high above, circling in thermals, and at one time we counted around fifty of them rotating clockwise in one thermal - almost a mirror image of the devotees circling the temples below who also travelled clockwise. Every now and again a couple of eagles would swoop low, forcing the monkeys to take cover and putting up enormous flocks of pigeons, and then they'd playfight with each other in mid-air. The Kathmandu skyline reminded us of a European city, as the tall, narrow buildings mostly had roof gardens, shutters and balconies.

After a further browse around the shops and bookshops, we stopped so Maya could have her photo taken outside Maya's Pub and then visited an art shop run by an ex-pat American guy who reminded Maya of John Malkovich with his lazy drawl. We'd heard of a restaurant called 'Helena's rooftop cafe' or something and stumbled upon it during our walk, and ate an enormous dinner in preparation for the long day tomorrow, again looking out over the city.

Back at the hotel, an Italian man was causing an awful fuss - "I am not detecteev! How is this possible? I must find my watch!" he screamed at everyone. It transpired his watch had been stolen (or of course had simply gone missing) and in his self-righteous outrage he was hilariously funny. We chilled with a beer and enjoyed the spectacle, and watched the staff smirking and trying not to laugh. After stomping to his taxi with a face like thunder, the Italian stopped, raised his face and palms to the sky and shouted 'OH MY GOD!' before turning on his heel, marching back to reception and picking up the bag he'd forgotten. Entertainment over, we packed, showered, bade the pigeons farewell and slept.

27/3/08 - Flight to Singapore

We left the hotel early, and as we walked to the hotel's minibus (they kindly agreed to drop us off for a fraction of the price of a cab) we were stopped by the manager who presented us both with a white silk scarf each - a khata - which in Tibetan culture is presented at the departure of guests or as a greeting in any formal social interaction. We assumed the same is true in Nepal and are rather touched by the gesture! The driver of the bus, a young lad, cuts through the rush-hour Nepal traffic at breakneck speed and listens to Aqua's Barbie Doll at high volume. I spotted the first large motorcycle I've seen since we left England (apart from Enfield Bullets) as a young Nepali rockets by on a pristine, recent Honda CBR600RR. I try to work out how much one of these costs in NPR and give up. He must have a good job. Dropped at the airport, we walk through the security check and are informed that we have to pay a 1500 rupee airport tax - each! Now we purposefully spent all our cash last night, leaving just enough for a spot of breakfast at the airport. We'd even tipped the hotel staff generously just to get rid of it. And now we're being told that without 3000 rupees we aren't going anywhere.

Okay, okay, so can I pay by VISA? "No sir". So where's the ATM? "Round the corner sir, but it's out of order". Helpful. So where, I ask patiently and through gritted teeth, might the nearest one be? The guy behind the counter waved his hand in the general direction of Kathmandu city centre. Where we've just come from. "Thank you SO much." I replied with a shit-eating grin on my face. We decided the only thing for it is for Maya to wait at the airport with the bags while I jump in a cab and get to an ATM as fast as possible.

Outside, I call a cab over. "Yes sir, where to?" "Nearest ATM and straight back here. And step on it." I add with a flourish, feeling a little like James Bond. "250 rupee ok?" "Okay" I reply. I can't even be bothered to haggle. We drive, way too slowly for my liking. We stop outside a restaurant where the driver gets out and speaks to another guy. I'm suddenly acutely aware that I'm on my own with no phone or map, waving a VISA card at total strangers in a big Asian city. But shortly we're on our way. Over the next 25 minutes, we pass three ATMs and every time, I tap the driver on the shoulder and point at it. "Ok ok boss, next one" he keeps saying. I see the fourth one coming and clamp his shoulder hard, gripping his collarbone tightly - "Pull over," I say firmly. He does, grumbling. I hop out and leg it into the little hut and queue patiently behind three English hippy girls who take forever withdrawing funds, tutting at receipts and swapping fashion tips. In your own time, love...

Eventually I get my turn, stick the card in and withdraw some more rupees. In ten seconds I'm finished and overtake the hippies as I run back to the cab. And now, the clincher. "Back to airport?" he says. "Please, and please hurry," I reply. "500 rupees," he says, grinning. I'm 25 minutes drive from the airport, I haven't the foggiest idea where I am and I'm in danger of missing my flight. He has me by the balls and he knows it, and just as I start to half-heartedly argue that we'd agreed 250 for the return journey and that I have no more money, another cab pulls in in front. "Fine, I'll take that cab instead," I announce, and flounce out of the taxi to walk up to the next one and bang on the window. I hold up 250 rupees and say "Airport?". The driver nods and smiles, so I open the back door and look back at my driver.

He's apopletic with rage and shouts to me to come back. I dally over, walking slowly and taking my time, smiling. "Yes?" I enquire. "You owe me 250 rupees!" he yells. "And you owe me a ride to the airport," I retort. "Any danger of getting one?" He grunts in reply, hunches his shoulders over the wheel and spits "In". I have another chance to practice my sarcastic, polite "Thank you SO much" and smile broadly at him all the way back in the mirror. His moustache bristles in indignation like an angry black caterpillar. But it's not all over yet. We arrive at the airport, I give him the 250 rupees and he leers at me, palm outstretched, and says "Tip?". It's enough. I had every intention of tipping the guy, until the above played out and I got taken for a mug. I flip. "Not on your f*cking life, mate. Namaste to YOU!" I shout, and flounce out of the taxi for the second time that day like a true drama queen, slamming the door and willing it to fall clean off the side of the rustbucket car. It doesn't, but with the bang of the door slamming the police start to take an interest in the altercation and the cab driver makes a quick exit, moustache bristling so violently I think it might actually rear up like a cobra and bite him on the nose. Maya and I are reunited, and as I've been gone for nearly an hour she's worried - in the present political climate blockades and riots in Kathmandu are commonplace.

After that we check in, dump our baggage with our extortionate tax chits, and relax in the departures lounge (a large, wooden room which reminds me of the canteen at my old school) where a particularly vocal cat miaows constantly at us, pausing only to chase sparrows around the legs of passengers. After an hour or so, a stewardess comes to find us to tell us our gate is closing - in front of us was the departures board and on there it hadn't even said the gate had opened! We leg it to the plane and board, and within fifteen minutes Kathmandu peels away below us. The hills and valleys around the city are laid out in miniature and in the distance is an immense stretch of cloud. Just about visible, poking through the cloud canopy like stalagmites, are the Himalayas. We try to work out which of the three or four highest peaks is Everest, but fail.

Outside the light falters as we head south, and pink clouds fade into inky blackness. The only lights below are ships in the Gulf of Thailand and, occasionally and later in the trip, towns in Malaysia. A couple of hours later we descend on Singapore and start our long wait for our flight to Bangkok. Singapore airport is incredible... rather like a five star hotel with tropical gardens, fishponds, all manner of shops and restaurants and even a swimming pool on the roof. We break up the 12hr wait with regular use of the free internet or Xbox gaming consoles, eating food or drinking coffee and even paying 8 Singapore dollars for a shower each. For some of the time we visit a bar and prop ourselves up in the corner for a drink. Some Argentinians, who were obviously on as long a wait as we were for a connection, had taken advantage of the delay and were, by the time we got there, soundly pissed. One slurred into a microphone (much to the delight of the bar staff, one of whom was a friendly Nepali) while his friend explained to us that he was the best singer in Argentina. Which didn't say much about Argentinian singers. After putting up with the deafening feedback for the tenth time, we pay up and leave, and wait it out in a coffee shop. I manage an hour's sleep but Maya doesn't, and when I wake shortly before our flight begins boarding, Maya is sitting next to me wide-eyed, wired on coffee. In only a few hours we'd be in Bangkok...

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Photos

Just hanging out...
... giant fruit bats outside the Palace...