I returned to the Kathmandu Guest House, where I spent the next four days dodging the leader of the Everest trek, who had rather irritatingly checked into the same hotel.
The Kathmandu Guest House (KGH) is something of an institution in the Nepali capital. Everything in Thamel, the city’s tourist hot spot, is ‘near the KGH’. The original part of the now extremely smart complex was constructed in 1902 and counts the Beatles among its former patrons (I caught a glimpse of Ewan McGregor’s travel partner, the Long Way Round/Down’s Charley Boorman there – although he had to be pointed out to me.) Today the Kathmandu Guest House is very pricey; the rooms are priced in $US, which is never a good sign, and although they do have rooms for as little as $2, bizarrely they never seem to be available…. The KGH does however have its plus points, such as a beautiful outdoor seating area and the best showers I had experienced in several months.
Over the next couple of days I visited Llew, one of my magnificent McLeod crew, who was doing retreat at a monastery in Pharping, close to Kathmandu, where Guru Rinpoche, who brought Buddhism to Tibet, is believed to have meditated in a cave. Llew took me to the butter-lamp blackened cave, which would have been very atmospheric had it not been for the Cabaret style light bulbs strung across the ceiling – so typical of this part of the world, where everything even remotely holy is lit up like a Christmas tree. After my experience in the Himalayas it was wonderful to see a friendly face, and I had a very entertaining bus journey back to Kathmandu. Whilst waiting an hour and a half for the bus to arrive I was entertained by some fellow passengers who kept bringing me tea and cigarettes which they refused to take anything for. When the bus finally arrived it was full so, assisted by my new friends I climbed the ladder to the roof of the vehicle, where I sat, almost comfortably, in the luggage rack, chatting to my fellow passengers and enjoying the views. For me this short journey truly emphasized the difference in the way I was treated by Nepali and Indian people. Not only was I the one white person, but also the only female on the top of that bus, yet I never felt remotely threatened. The men were curious about me, but referred to me as their sister, and when we disembarked one, who was working in Thamel, walked me back to my hotel. In India there’s no way I would have sat on top of a bus with ONE man, never mind 30 odd. But in Nepal it was a thoroughly interesting and enjoyable experience.
I cannot work out the reason for the marked difference in attitude towards westerners between Indian and Nepali people. Both countries have a similar religious make up (India is 82 per cent Hindu whilst Nepal is 85 per cent,) the countries share a border, and Nepal is considerably poorer even than India. Yet the Nepali people are like a breath of fresh air when you’ve been traveling in India. When I thanked the Nepali girl for her kindness when I was ill on the bus into Nepal, she replied that I was a guest in her country and that it was her pleasure. In India, you get the distinct feeling that the people believe you owe them a living and they never stop asking you for money – even for a second. Everyone who approaches you is after one thing (to be fair, many Indian men are after TWO things) and it can become extremely exasperating – especially in the crippling heat of the Indian plains. I can only assume it may be the influence of Buddhism in Nepal that makes the difference. Whilst Nepal is predominantly Hindu, Hinduism and Buddhism seem almost to have fused over the centuries, resulting in a distinctly Nepali philosophy. And, as in the high Himalayas, evidence of the importance of faith in people’s lives is everywhere in the smoky backstreets of Kathmandu’s Old Town. Age blackened Buddhas cluster around magnificent temples honouring Hindu deities and, despite the age of some temples, statues and monuments, their relevance in the lives of the city’s current inhabitants is clear to see. Every main temple has a queue of pilgrims who come to make offerings and seek blessings from the Gods. In one market square a tiny 1500-year-old Buddha stands beneath a modern dentist’s shop, red around the mouth, into which devotees have attempted to cram offerings of sindur and rice.
I experienced some of the good stuff myself when I checked into Kopan Monastery, to the north of Kathmandu, for a 10 day Introduction to Buddhist Philosophy and Meditation course. Having surrounded myself with both Tibetan and western believers in McLeod, lived with the monks and nuns on The March to Tibet, and been enchanted by the stupas and prayer flags scattered throughout the Khumbu region, I was keen to learn more about this happy philosophy. I went to Kathmandu’s Himalayan Buddhist Meditation Centre, where the Lonely Planet stipulates 3 – 5 day introductory courses are run, but when I spoke to the resident monk he told me they no longer ran them, but that a 10 day course was beginning at Kopan Monastery the following day. So I decided to give it a try.
It was certainly a great experience. Whilst modern, the monastery is situated on a hill overlooking northern Kathmandu and is a haven of peace and tranquility. A wonderful place in which to just take stock of your life and think – especially as the first half of each day was spent in silence (as well as one full day towards the end of the course.) It was wonderful to simply sit in the monastery’s beautiful and immaculate gardens and gaze out over the city. Sadly, it’s impossible to stay well for long in this part of the world and I probably missed a third of the course due to a nasty fluey chest infection which laid me up completely for a couple of days, and from which I only truly recovered on the last day, but many of the lessons I did attend were very interesting indeed. As with all religions (and political parties come to that) there is enough of it that I don’t believe, or find very far fetched, to prevent me from becoming Buddhist. The concept of the Hungry Ghost Realm for example – hungry ghosts being one of the less attractive options for reincarnation, caused particular hilarity – sparking that age old and fundamental debate which divides scholars and theologians to this day: who would win a fight between a Hungry Ghost and a Hungry Hungry Hippo?
Hungry Goats aside however, I certainly believe the Buddhist way to be a very nice one in which to live, and I hope to be able to incorporate a little of it into my life.
The monastery food left a little to be desired – all vegetarian and extremely healthy, sometimes to the detriment of taste – although being sick half the time probably didn’t help. Being sick also meant that I didn’t find it particularly easy to make friends with what seemed at the time to be a rather serious group of people. On the penultimate day however, I was delighted and relieved to discover that some of them were actually rather silly, and on our first night of ‘freedom’ we hit the reggae bars of Thamel and danced like idiots until 2am.
Far too much of the next 12 days was spent hanging out with my new friends at the Himalayan Buddhist Meditation Centre and other places, although I did eventually explore quite a bit of old Kathmandu, as well as nearby Patan and Bhaktapur, both medieval and boasting Durbar Squares possibly even more magnificent than that in Kathmandu. The backstreets of Kathmandu, Bhaktapur and Patan are an explorer’s dream – except for the motorbikes which can get a bit annoying. Everything from the intricately carved wooden architecture, twisted and buckled by the frosts and suns of seasons (and one hell of an earthquake in 1934) to the sights, sounds and smells of the colourful markets – many of which have operated from the same spot for many centuries, evokes the exotic east. Religious temples and monuments range from the magnificent, such as the traditional multi-roofed pagodas, some vast and all exquisitely carved, to the downright bizarre, such as a twisted piece of wood in the shape of a molar, to which hundreds of silver coins have been nailed, offerings to the God of toothache! One market place, Asan Tole, which marked the beginning of the old caravan route to Tibet, is still a hub of activity today, and it’s not hard to imagine the merchants of old setting off laden with spices and other prized artifacts, particularly in the early evening when the setting sun casts an ethereal glow through the smoky streets and the shadows begin to lengthen. In short; I fucking loved it!
But not all traditions observed in the beautiful Durbar squares sit comfortably in the western mind. The appointment of the Kumari Devi, a living Goddess, originated in the 18th century, and now all three cities have their own pre-pubescent Kumari Devi. Selected from a specific Newari cast of gold and silversmiths, candidates, usually around just four years of age, must meet 32 strict physical requirements before undergoing an horrific selection process, duiring which they are seated in a darkened room whilst men dance by wearing terrifying masks and making frightening noises (?) whilst 108 gruesome buffalo heads are displayed. The child who shows the least fear is then assumed to be the real Kumari Devi. Once selected the child and her family move to their assigned palace from which the tiny Goddess makes just six ceremonial visits to the outside world each year. Once they hit puberty the girls become mere mortals again – although it’s deemed unlucky to marry them. My friend Martin and I actually glimpsed Kathmandu’s Kumari Devi, just for a second, as dead on cue at 4pm, she peered from a window of her magnificently carved courtyard in Durbar Square.
I also became friends with a group of lads who run one of Thamel’s many trekking agencies. Hira – a wonderful 24 year old bloke who often made very rude remarks about western women, but was actually besotted with his Aussie girlfriend and maintained strict boundaries regarding what male and female friends can do (a kiss on the cheek was way out of order – whilst a slap on the arse seemed fine) asked if I would teach the group English. This was not the first time I had been asked on this trip. My posh English accent may sometimes prove a hindrance in my own country, but foreigners love it, and as soon as they hear me speak, assume I am the authority on the English language. The reality however, is that I have absolutely no experience in teaching it and would not have the confidence to take a regular class. However, these guys seemed to speak pretty reasonable English anyway and it would only be for an hour a day whilst I was in Kathmandu, so I agreed.
I’m really not sure how much good I did them – if any at all, as it took a while to establish exactly what they wanted to learn, and then others joined the group, all of whom had varying levels of English, which made things a bit tricky. Two days before my last lesson a lady named Samila attended, whose husband had pushed off leaving her with two children. Samila worked in a shop but wanted to learn English to improve her prospects and I really wanted to help her as she was so sweet, but there’s very little you can achieve in two days so, as she had very little English, the last couple of lessons were geared towards her so probably weren’t too beneficial for the others. Nevertheless my students were so grateful for the little help I gave them and became true friends. Nothing was too much trouble, they were always bringing me tea and anything else I wanted and, on what I thought would be my last night in Kathmandu, I arrived for the lesson only to be told, as Hira placed a beer in my hand, that my last night was 'party night!' They took me to a place on the edge of Thamel frequented only by locals which was great. I didn’t understand a word of the loud love songs forming the focal point of the live show, but I got quite drunk, danced like a maniac and the food was out of this world.
My departure from lovely Kathmandu was delayed by two days – firstly due to strikes, as the new Maoist government had recently put up fuel prices by 35 per cent, infuriating Nepalis who put up blockades on all major routes, and the second day because I left my debit card in an ATM – although the strikes might well have prevented my departure anyway. Nepal’s new government, the 13th in 16 years (I think), was met with mixed feelings by the Nepalis I spoke to. Many seemed delighted with the election of the Maoists (who have been waging a people’s war against the Nepali state since 1996, resulting in the deaths of at least 12,000 people) not least members of the YCL (Young Communist League) who took to the streets of Kathmandu in their thousands waving red flags and banners. Others are worried. A man I met on the bus to Kathmandu from India told me that in the run up to the April election, Maoists had entered villages and threatened members of the country’s rural community (which comprises 85 per cent of the population) with their lives if they didn’t vote for them. This alone is enough to make me sceptical. The Nepalis are lovely people and I would love to see them enjoy a bit of stability, but I guess only time will tell. Nepal’s troubled monarch King Gyanendra, was also ousted whilst I was there, and although I encountered no ceremony, I unwittingly witnessed the dawn of a new republic.
Let’s hope it works out for them.
Speak soon XXX
