Kathmandu, Take 2 (December 10-17)

With the sound of electioneering loudspeaker vans still fresh in our ears from the recent election, Schuyler and I prepared to begin our work at the Karuna Girls College. But we were delayed once again, this time by a lengthy series of exams. Turning this setback into opportunity, we decided to return to Kathmandu for a few days to see Schuyler’s sister Paige, who was about to present her final project for her study abroad course (SIT NEPAL).

The return journey up and down the mountains by bus was not the most appealing thing in the world. Still, a bus ticket was 5 dollars, and Mahesh assured us this one would have air conditioning.

So, on the 10th of December, we got up at 5 A.M and walked to the Lumbini bus station. The bus did, in fact have air conditioning, though they only ran it at the begging and end of the journey. The rest of the 15 hour journey was spent in the mountain heat.

The bus also had a rather large TV and a very loud speaker system. We watched the Telegu blockbuster Dangerous Khiladi 6. Twice. The two showings were separated by some music videos and what seemed to be a TV show about a gay throuple of subcontinental immigrants raising a baby in New York City. Or something. I liked that one the best.

On the way, we  had lunch at a charming café in the mountains, and before I knew it we were in Kathmandu again, choking on dust. Schuyler, who had been in a bit of a funk for the previous few days, cheered up almost immediately. “It’s the city life” he told me. “It’s what I’m cut out for.” I had to agree. There was something in the air, something appealing, even if it was full of dust.

We set ourselves up at a guest house run by relatives of Sumangelo, the abbot of the Bodhi Institute. They gave us a discount. It was still a little pricy (by Nepali standards) but the beds were obscenely soft. It was very much worth it.

We slept like babies and the next day it was like we had always been in Kathmandu. There is something about some cities that feels eternal, that draws you in the moment you enter them. We woke up the next morning and were already in a comfortable routine, going to Paige’s lecture, taking the bus out to see the sights, grabbing a bite to eat at an Indian restaurant.

The next few days were a pleasant blur of variegated city life. I recorded the lectures of the students on topics varying from Kathmandu brick kilns to menstrual care access in the Lower Mustang. I conducted some follow up interviews during chance encounters at the program’s farewell picnic. We got Japanese encephelitis shots[JB1]  at the CiWic clinic, tea at a nearby crafts shop, lunch in a low-ceilinged restaurant. We split up and spent a few days apart, exploring the city in our own ways. I felt like a tourist, no obligations beyond wandering the city. Kathmandu was not a place where I needed to establish myself, not like Lumbini. I was not there to do anything.

This easy-going way of life in Kathmandu proved a blessing and a curse. I found myself so drawn into a simple routine of food, new friends and sightseeing that some things I wanted to do slipped away entirely. I spent too long in the tourist shops of the Thamel and missed out on dinner with a Nepali acquaintaince. One day, I had to choose between a trip to the old royal palace and seeing the new Star Wars film. I chose to keep at least somewhat abreast of pop culture, though the lack of chocolate at the theater did put a bit of a damper on my viewing experience[JB2] . A couple other tourists joined me inside FCUBE, a massive, half empty theater on top of a mall. The film was in English, but the ads were all Nepali.

Suddenly, we only had a few days left in Kathmandu, and there were more items on my list than time to complete them.

My second attempt to see the Royal Palace was thwarted by the park’s early closing time. But next door to the palace was a small temple courtyard, still under construction after the 2015 earthquake. I wandered in, past men playing the Nepali version of marbles, and devotees washing themselves in the courtyard fountains. The restoration crew lived and worked within the walls of the circular yard, repairing the statues of Hanuman and other gods and adjusting the brick of the floor, thrown up by the earthquake and the slow growth of tree roots. Just beyond the wall you could see the tip of the palace’s towers, a modernist take on old Newari designs. Small shrines littered the courtyard. You could not escape the gaze of all the gods. A guard at the gate kindly told me that I couldn’t take any pictures, so I put my phone away and watched the sun fall slowly through the branches of a tree and over the courtyard walls. For a moment, the city felt quiet.

Our last night in Nepal we spent with our friends from the SIT program. They’d been in Nepal and the surrounding Himalayan region for a while, and their advice had been useful, though we were on vastly different trajectories. It was nice, to make a connection with a group of people, to eat candy and play late night scrabble, to hear the sound of stray dogs late into the night of Boudha. We got on the bus the next day, early again, and began our trek back.

The return trip was longer than the first. Again, Dangerous Kiladi 6, again the thin roads and brilliant mountains. I listened to audio books and wrote. We got to the Terai late, the fog had already arrived, and the bus ran out of gas an hour out from Lumbini. The driver crammed the remaining 10 passengers into a 6 seat taxi and we drove to Lumbini, cramped and breathless, worried that a truck might barrel out of the fog and send us sprawling into a ditch. A Buddhist pilgrim in the taxi with me began a chant, low and slow. I followed his lead and said a couple quiet Shemas.

We arrived in Lumbini, unscathed and exhausted, a little before midnight.