NEPAL: Kathmandu
NEPAL | Thursday, 5 February 2009 | Views [177]
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Day 28: Freak Street
I had few expectations
of Nepal before coming here. All I really knew about the country is that the citizens
are very poor, Maoist rebels intermittently stage violent demonstrations and
occasionally ambush travelling tourists demanding money (but as of yet none
have been hurt),* and it is the foremost Himalayan trekking destination. What I
do know doesn’t encompass what I find. What I find is an exciting city with a
great vibe and an eclectic mix of people, peddlers and paraphernalia. Nepal became
the abode of the hippie movement in the seventies and for a long time Kathmandu
was the hippy haven attracting alternative backpackers who would come up from
India in search of their own Shangri-La. The lingering effects from this
transition are still strongly evident in Kathmandu with its chillum bars, shops
selling colourful accessories and freely accessible drugs. The city itself is a
veritable labyrinth of narrow streets and quaint buildings all cloaked in a
thick layer of smog, a result of severe traffic cupped within the walls of a
valley. Our guesthouse is in Thamel, near Jochen Tole, nicknamed Freak
Street in memory of the many thousands of hippies who passed through. I
enjoy strolling down this street with Nader absorbing the atmosphere and
admiring the merchandise for sale.
Nader, still wet behind the ears, happily gets into conversations with anyone
who says hello, which is pretty much everyone, unaware of the fact that pretty
much everyone who says hello is motivated by the prospect of parting foreigners
with their money. Eventually I school him in this lest we never make it to the
end of the street and he’s genuinely shocked to learn that their greetings are
less than pure.
In the afternoon I meet
Ryan, a friend of Gerry’s, sitting at the table on the roof of our guesthouse
enjoying a cigar and a revealing view of Kathmandu. Ryan is an exceptional
chess player and travels with a board. While he decisively beats me in a game I
watch the rooftop life of the city around me. A lady hangs out her washing on a
line strung between two poles, a couple of boys play an unfamiliar ballgame, an
old man sits cross-legged, a curl of smoke rises from his rolled cigarette; on
one particularly dilapidated building three men atop an unsecured corrugated
iron roof play cards and swig whisky, surrounded by drying clothes hung over
the edge of the brick wall.
Lisa found a restaurant
that sells water buffalo steak and she leads us there for dinner through the
dingy district around ‘Freak Street’. Drug pushers frequent these streets both
day and night but for some reason there long, drawn-out, snake-like, “hashiiiiiiiiiish”
suddenly close to my ear as I pass by is more comical then disconcerting. Their
cries continue down the street after me while I ignore them, “mushrooooooms,
opiuuuuuuuum, purple haaaaaaze” every drug I’ve ever heard of and some I
haven’t are called after me like an encyclopaedia listing.
*I would soon hear of a tourist being killed but it was believed he
refused to pay the small amount of money that was demanded of him.
Day 29: A spur of the moment decision
In the morning the final
two contingents of Gerry’s trekking party arrive; Mark and Mick take a room in
our guesthouse. Shortly after, a message is sent up that Herm, an Indian man
Gerry contacted through couchtravel.com, is waiting in the reception area. Herm
takes us to a rooftop cafe where we eat a hearty breakfast and drink freshly
squeezed juice while enjoying the warm sunshine. It’s Herm’s task to organise
the plane tickets for the start of the guys trek to Everest and they all
excitedly discuss the logistics of their trek with him while they eat. Their
energized discussions and eager anticipation is contagious causing me to muse
for the first time of joining them. Gerry and the three other guys I’ve just
met enthusiastically encourage me and I soon find myself saying “OK, let’s do
it”. With a smile Herm takes my money and passport and heads off to buy a fifth
plane ticket, flying in 2 days. And so, after finally getting down from the
exhausting and debilitating effects of high altitude and freezing temperatures,
just days later I commit to going back up. At least, I reason to myself, I have
the advantage of already being acclimatized.
Day 30: Shopping
Today is spent visiting
the many hiking shops that sell imitation North Face hiking gear and the one
genuine North Face shop that competes with them. The guys stock up on sleeping
bags, jackets and hiking poles. Gerry and I forgo the poles and as I’ve already
got cold weather gear I purchase only a couple of pairs of extra thick socks
and a warm pair of gloves. While walking I can’t help but notice the lack of invasive
golden arches or any other multinational fast food corporations. Nepal is one
of the last countries in the world where the international fast food chains haven’t
yet made an appearance.
Standing under a trickle
of lukewarm water before going to a local bar with the others in celebration of
our impending trip, I reflect on the fact that it’s my first shower since
leaving Lhasa, and probably my last for some time to come. At the bar we all
get drunk and have a great time. I play Gerry in pool. After he wins Lisa tells
me of Gerry’s success in a pool competition back in China. He won a cue stick
and money for first place, beating a large group of indignant Chinese. Gerry
continues winning all night, knocking off one opponent after the other and by
the end of the night he hasn’t lost a game. Eventually there’s no one left to
beat so I challenge him to a re-match warning him as I do so that this time he
is going to lose. Half way through the game he’s well in the lead, having sunk
most of his balls while I’m still yet to sink one. What he doesn’t realize
however is that this is intentional. After a week in a car together I know
Gerry well enough to know his weakness... arrogance. I patiently pull my shots
short so the balls block holes and are set up. Gerry, confident in his lead,
plays nonchalantly. Then, like the turtle and the hare I end the game with a
flourish, sinking all of my well positioned balls and drawing a cheer from the
crowd of onlookers wanting to see Gerry lose. My last deed for the night is to
shout everyone a drink that none of us needed.
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