“Katmandu I’ll soon be seeing you And your strange bewildering time will hold me down”
I am not sure if Cat Stevens, now Yusuf Islam of course had ever been to Kathmandu when he wrote these words but Kathmandu is certainly ‘a strange bewildering time’ and an assault on the senses. The sights, sounds and smells hit you from the moment you step out of the airport. Mark meets us and his wife has made garlands of bright orange marigolds to greet us which she places ceremoniously around our necks like visiting dignitaries. We feel very welcome.
The journey to the guest house is interesting, there aren’t many, in fact any, rules of the road other than keep driving and, despite the animals, pedestrians, cyclists, motorbikes and cars everyone seems to eventually get where they want to in one piece. Darkness and incense fills the guest house, electricity is precious and intermittent and when the mains is off as it often can be, solar panels which are found on the roofs of many of the houses kick in and provide the power. We eat, sitting cross legged on the floor, and I am glad to get to my room after a long journey. The sound of car horns, dogs and people drifts through the open window long into the night.
I have a great night’s sleep under a mosquito net and am woken up by the dawn chorus of traffic and people as Kathmandu goes to work. It gets light about 5am and people are up and about making the most of the day well before that. Flavoured bread and sweet milky tea for breakfast and then we are out to get our Timms cards and passes. Kathmandu administration is efficiently organised but Victorian. Remnants of colonial red tape abound with ledgers being opened and entries made like something out of a Dickens novel. It all works though and unlike computers ledgers don’t crash, freeze or need backing up. After getting our trekking permits it’s off to Thamal to change money.
Kathmandu is probably best described as organised chaos, a cavalcade of colour, noise and a mass of people, everywhere.
Begging, poverty and the lack of infrastructure, are probably the most obvious things that strike a western eye. I am not sure I could ever get used to seeing a five year old with no legs begging in the street but this is life here in Kathmandu and there is also smiling, happiness and people just getting on with their lives in a busy, bustling city. As we walk to the bus stop an old lady begger starts to follow us through street after street. I ask Mark how long he thinks this particularly tenacious old lady would follow us, “Maybe all the way to Base Camp” was the reply.
In the evening, we visit the ancient village of Khokana. Sikali Temple is situated outside the village in the fertile green fields. As the sun goes down over the Kathmandu valley Marks wife attempts to light 300 candles in the temple to ensure our safety whilst we are trekking. Tomorrow we fly to Lukla.
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