kathman-done

19:28 27 September, Hotel Florid

I've just walked Devin to a cab and waved him off to the airport for the start of his long journey back to America. While it will take 62 hours before he finally arrives at a familiar bed, he's heading home. Having spent the last month and a half exploring the world with this guy that I met in a run down hostel in Aswan, I'm sad to see him go, happy as I was to share his unexpected company through Nepal. We spent the last two days exploring the sites outside Kathmandu

The bus ride from Chitwan was long, but more comfortable than any we had experienced thus far. We arrived back in Kathmandu around 16:00, and after checking into our hotel and retrieving our left luggage, we basically crashed. The week's activities had made us accustomed to early nights, and a combination of victory scotch and dal bhat (the local all-you-can-eat rice dish) helped us to bed at a more than reasonable hour.

The local pastries in Kathmandu are both delicious and ridiculously inexpensive.

The next day was spent exploring the two most important religious sites around Kathmandu, one Hindu and the other Buddhist. The first site we visited is the most sacred Hindu temple in Nepal, and its significance extends beyond the nation's borders. Here we witnessed the ceremonial cremation of both the rich and - down the river a short ways - the poor. While cremation is obviously practiced in Western cultures, it is interesting to think of the ramifications of a religious doctrine that leaves behind no trace of its followers. No grave stones, no makers, not even urns. Once the fire smolders to coals, they are doused with water and the ashes are swept into the river to mingle with the dirt and refuse. Family members are left with no tangible memorial of their loved one, and must instead keep their memory alive in their hearts and minds. While I can admire this practice, I just want to go on record as registering my extreme disinterest in having my remains dumped into a garbage saturated river. Thanks.

The main temple, non-Hindus are not allowed inside, but apparently there's a rather large and rather important Golden Bull inside.

The cremation platforms of the common people.

From the Hindu temple we walked through town to the Bouddhanath Stupa. Bouddhanath is the site of the largest stupa in the world, and one of the holiest Buddhist sites in Nepal. The area around the stupa is currently an enclave for displaced Tibetan refugees, and visitors can see Tibetan monks continue the centuries-old practices of their faith. We ate lunch on a terrace overlooking the stupa before walking around the massive structure, which is purported to contain bone fragments of Siddhartha, the Buddha himself. As we were unable to visit Tibet, the experience of being in this small enclave was one of the best ways to experience the Tibetan culture that has been preserved here by the refugees.

The homes and apartments of the Tibetan refugee families.

The Bouddhanath Stupa, strung with prayer flags.

We caught a cab from Bouddhanath back to our hotel, where Devin and I began to organize and pack things up in anticipation of his departure back to America. That night we visited a Tibetan restaurant and after some engaging in some wily shenanigans to procure a large bottle of Gorkha beer, the Devin and I sat down to our final dinner together. To go along with the Tibetan theme, Devin ordered what was quite possibly the worst beverage I've ever come across. It's called Tibetan tea, and it's made from hot water, tea leaves, butter, and salt. The butter and salt are the only flavors that really come across, and it feels like drinking a glass of melted margarine. The rest of the meal was quite good though, and despite avowed claims that we were hitting up the bars that night, we instead succumb to the comforts of laziness and sleep.

My Tibetan stew, with dumpling-like soft bread.

The next day was the tenth day of the Disain Festival, which is marked by the sacrifice of thousands of goats and water buffaloes. Having grown up with goats, I'm rather attached to them, and seeing hundreds of their brethren beheaded in the main square did not sound like my cup of tea. I'm also not the biggest fan of mysticism, especially when it involves the sacrifice of people or animals to the gods. Of course, you would have to leave Nepal to avoid coming across the blood offerings in one way or another, so in an exercise of cultural and religious tolerance, I made my way toward the main square.

A censured picture of a recently-sacrificed water buffalo.

I did my best to avoid coming across a sacrifice in process, though the sudden silence of desperately beetling goats was a bit sickening. At important places throughout the city, especially temples and shrines, the heads of goats and buffalo were stacked in such a way as to garnish favor with the vengeful incarnation of the local god. Generally, it was crowded, bloody, and uncomfortable, and because we were there on the day after the main sacrifices had taken place, I could only imagine what it was like the day before.

Running through a flock of pigeons in the main square.

Devin and I left the main square of Kathmandu for the main square in one of the neighboring towns, where we found it much quieter and less bloody. This particular square was famous for its collection of temples, and the combination of fewer people and more impressive architecture was very appealing. After a fruitless attempt to find pastries drove us to the only open restaurant in town (the Disain Festival is basically Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one, so most shops, restaurants, and transportation services are shut down) Devin and I both ordered a dish which roughly translates to: "the king of curds". The dessert item is basically just slightly sour yogurt, but with the addition of some sugar is was really quite tasty.

Much quieter in this square, the pagoda on the left is one of the only octagonal pagodas in Nepal.

We were back at out hotel with enough time to grab a late lunch / early dinner before Devin had to leave for the airport, and after wandering around on a seemingly fruitless attempt to find dal baht, we managed to find it on the menu of a local fast food joint. Now is as good a time as any to mention one of the stranger features of Nepal: it has no Western chain restaurants. During the two weeks I spent in Nepal, I didn't come across a single KFC, Pizza Hut, or even McDonalds. This is the first country I have ever visited that displays this phenomenon, and I have to say, I kind of like it. Anyway, we waited for the better part of an hour for the dal baht to arrive, but it was a culturally appropriate last meal, and Devin seemed to enjoy it.

It's common practice in much of the developing world to leave support beams on the tops of buildings in case you want to add additional stories at a later date, and Nepal was no exception.

With that, we returned to the hostel, gathered up Devin's things (as well as the books and camping equipment that he generously offered to relieve me of) and ran around town in a light rain looking for a cab. Finally finding one, I waved him off and returned to the hotel. I have about eighteen hours before I'll be following him to the airport in my day-long trip to Thailand, and I suppose I'm just about ready to use the next eight of those for sleep. Goodnight Nepal, it's been fun.

20:27 28 September, Indira Gandhi Airport

I spent most of my last day in Nepal writing postcards and updating blog entries. I tried to limit myself to a budgeted diet, as I had only a few hundred Nepali rupee left, and I needed most of them for the cab ride to the airport. So I purchased some rather large and delicious jam cookies at a local bakery for the reasonable price of Rs 20 per cookie, and enjoyed them with my last cup of masala tea. Masala tea has been a constant companion through Nepal, and I've grown quite fond of it. It's a milk tea that's seasoned with a carefully apportioned selection of spices, and it's one of the few uniquely Nepali culinary offerings.

My last hours in Kathmandu felt very much like the lazy Sunday afternoon that it was. The eleventh day of the Disain Festival is celebrated in a private family way, so the streets were less teeming, and most of the shops were closed. As I looked out across the familiar view of Kathmandu from my fourth floor balcony, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the soft song of a wooden flute drifted up over the sounds of the city. It was as relaxed and reflective an ending as I could have hoped for, and it put me in spirits good enough to withstand the tumultuous airline experience to come.

Leaving behind my comfortable bed in my sunny room.

It started off alright, I managed to split a taxi to the airport with a Japanese guy who was heading home, and this kept me well within my budget. I was a bit delayed with checking in, but after everything was worked out, I found myself waiting in a rather long line to clear passport control. I had expected to pay a Rs 1700 (roughly $25 US) exit fee, but this was never requested, and I certainly wasn't about to offer it. I cleared a second security check point after a lengthy wait, but things were generally looking good until I came to the bag check. At this point, I had placed my bags through two x-ray machines and a screened check, so I saw this baggage check as little more than a minor delay. However, when they found a glass Coke bottle I had been saving from Egypt, the Kath hit the Mandu. I'm rather attached to this bottle, I've been hauling it across the world since Luxor on account of it's Arabic script, and when I informed that it was to be confiscated (on the grounds that it could be used to make very threatening whooshing noises if air was blow across its mouth), I sprung into action.

I immediately suggested that I could have it placed in my checked luggage, most likely already in the belly of a 737. Not sure of the accuracy of this claim, I hurried back the wrong way through security, and passport control, and more security, before making it to the check-in desk. Explaining to the airline representative the nostalgic value of this article of common garbage was not as tricky as I would have expected, and before long they had retrieved my checked luggage. I stuffed the bottle, as well as an otherwise-to-be-confiscated roll of duct tape into my duffel bag, and sent it back to the 737. Retracing my way through security, I returned to the baggage check point only to be waved through by the guard. All that running around, and they didn't even check to see if I had removed the bottle. I'm reasonably confidant that if you had a surface-to-air missile launcher in your carry-on luggage, it would only take two or three attempts at getting through security before they'd just let you by.

With this disconcerting thought in mind, I joined three quarters of the population of Nepal in the large, austier passenger waiting room. We would go through yet another security checkpoint on the tarmac before finally being allowed on the plane. As there was no way of interacting with the outside world between this checkpoint and the one immediately preceding it, I can only imagine that this security measure is in place to intercept the passengers who, driven mad by the combination of hassle and the strange smell emanating from the waiting room, have fashioned impromptu katanas out of an accumulation of vending machine Kit-Kat wrappers and the legs of airport furniture.

Once on board, things got much better. The personal touch screen displays offered me a wealth of entertainment options (I chose to watch "That Thing You Do") and the views from the window as we cruised over the Himalayas was fantastic. Beverage service also gets full marks. Instead of a large cart with a variety of sodas and juices, beverage service consisted of a tray of Tiger Beer with glasses. There were no other options. All in all, it was a rather enjoyable flight, and when we touched down in Delhi, I was back to my good spirits.

Flying over the foothills of the Himalayas

The only beverage option available.

Registering myself for International Transfer was a bit of a hassle, though this had nothing to do with the airline representatives, and everything to do with the boorish, stubborn, and strikingly rude behavior of some of my fellow passengers. This same behavior was on display at the airport in Kathmandu when an Indian gentleman (I use the term loosely... "gentleman" that is, I'm quite certain he was Indian) began shouting at an airline representative that he had paid for the waiting room seat he was in, and he was not to be moved. The airline representative was trying to explain that the man's flight was leaving, but in the man's own words: "I know everything, I know better than you!" My limited exposure to Indian treatment of their customer service representatives has left me with a poor opinion of the subcontinent's manners.

Right now I'm sitting in the International Transfers terminal. I just spent the better part of an hour entertaining a group of refugees from Bhutan with the photographs of my travels. These refugees were on our flight from Kathmandu, and they are in the process of making a very long journey from Bhutan to their resetlement in Denver, Colorado. It was a really neat expiriance to chat with some of these individuals, especially the children, and I can only imagine what the changes from Bhutan to Colorado will be like.

I'm doing my best to secure some WiFi, an the date of this update this evening will be proof of my success. Otherwise, I'll be hanging around the airport until my flight leaves at 1:05 for Bangkok. For the time being I'm going to see about russellin' up some grub. Next stop: Thailand.