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Published: September 30th 2009
Pashupatinath - “Good morning, Brother!” The calls from the children begin immediately as Pell and I walk through the gate at Ama Ghar. Every morning is essentially the same, playing out a now familiar routine. We say our good mornings to the children outside who are washing their stainless steel plates and brushing their teeth; to the children inside who are getting ready to leave for school or are studying in the eating area; and to the Ama Ghar staff who are tutoring, cleaning, or making us tea. We sit in the kitchen and have our ridiculously hot
chia and biscuits. My tongue is in a constant state of recovery from being burned every morning by this hot, tasty liquid. I’m sure it’s building character. After tea we go upstairs and check e-mail or read the newspaper until the younger children come to collect us for morning study time. We help them with their English, quiz them on science and social studies, attempt to get them to think through their math problems instead of guessing at random (to no avail), and then see them off to school. Once upstairs again in the office, Pell and I look at each other and
ask the all too familiar question: Well, what are we going to do today? Out comes the map.
The answer to this question usually involves taking a micro into town and choosing one of the temples from the endless supply of temples that the Kathmandu Valley has to offer. Today is no exception. After pouring over the map we decide upon our destination. We ask Bhesh the best way to get there, and walk out to the road to catch a wonderfully cramped, sweaty micro into town. And then we catch another as this will be a two-micro trip.
On the menu for today is Pashupatinath, a 2,000 year old Hindu temple; also called the Monkey Temple. Why? Because there are lots of monkeys padding along its walls and scampering up its staircases. At least that is the most obvious explanation. We get off the micro at what we hope is the right spot and begin looking around. There’s a bridge, a river, and—Aha! A huge temple. But how to get to it? As if on cue an old man grabs me by the arm, points us down the road and gestures for us to cross and turn
Bearing it All
I am slightly offended.left. Without a word he knows exactly where we want to go and makes it his charge to ensure we get there. He crosses the busy road with us and points us in the direction of the temple. We thank him and he returns to whatever he was doing before he felt the need to rescue a couple of doe-eyed foreigners.
The monkeys are cute and doing monkey things; the buildings are architecturally intriguing and impressive. What is most interesting about Pashupatinath, though, is the cremations that are taking place across the river. Another old man approaches us, bald, disheveled and mostly toothless, and begins to explain in broken English the intricate details of the cremation we’re watching and the Hindu faith in general. It is a nice, thorough lesson, offered freely from yet another kind and helpful Nepalese person. Or so we thought, until we were hit up for money and pressured to hire him as a guide. Pell and I are fairly decent at saying thank you, but no thank you.
We explored the temple grounds some more, sans toothless guide. I purchased a bottle of water, and then we headed back to Patan, where I
gave a woman 650 rupees for a razor that only costs 65 rupees. She rightfully laughed at me for my ridiculous mistake and gave me back my overpayment. In my defense, the prices of things in Nepal are followed by a “/” which looks a lot like the number one. However, nothing costs 651 rupees—so I am still an idiot.
The children had been after me to shave my beard because, apparently, they dislike it very much. I will agree with them that it was looking pretty grubby, and the neck-beard I had going was not even remotely attractive. Back at the apartment, I slathered up my face and took the first pass with my 65 rupee razor, hoping in vain for the best. It was much like trying to shave with a pointed rock, or a piece of shrapnel. I decided immediately only to shave my neck. To attempt to shave my entire face with this silly and ineffective tool would take a good portion of the day. I have since purchased a much more adequate shaving utensil, but still I refuse to shave my whole beard. Mostly because it bugs the children so much. My body hair
Pashupatinath
Badminton anyone? is a constant fascination to them. I have been asked if I am Indian, asked to shave my arms and my legs, and have been told that I have more hair on my face than I do on my head, followed by fits of laughter. I don’t mind though, because I tend to enjoy fits of laughter, even, and sometimes especially, at my own expense. This place is good for the soul. I recommend it highly.
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Meredith
non-member comment
what an adventure
Hey Bryan! I am really enjoying following your travel blog. The images are incredible- the trees and tombs-? in Pashupatinath are just beautiful. I really hope you are taking scads of photos. ~Meredith