
I’m not bothering with a book or researching for researchs sake. “Let’s just go with it” is big for a control freak, but I’m going with it. The team: Taryn (imagine the reaction to our rhyming names) of Wanderista, an Aussie named Ruby, Tim and Daniel of Ride2Rescue, and of course, Oneal… The Kathmandu Chronicles, Part III.
Thamel.
It’s a black market… for hiking gear. North Face holds a strong monopoly here… my country-signed hiking sneakers and worn-in fleece are actually in fashion. Thamel is a third-world stereotype. The dry, dirt filled air permeates the snake like streets filled with Moo Moo shops, Pashmina outposts and WiFi-fueled (good luck with that) cafes - and tourists, lots and lots of tourists. But that’s what makes Thamel authentic, and inauthentic at the exact same time. A pilgrimage for artists and spiritualists in the 70’s, its soul seeking culture remains much unchanged, despite the influx of Nokia cell phones and misunderstood American influences like the Facebook Café. But to understand Kathmandu, is to simply except it as is – pirated DVDs, souvenirs for days, a seedy Red Light district and historic hostels, concentrated in one veracious valley. I roam the market, chill out at New Orleans Café, down a beer at Tom & Jerry’s and rent a motorbike in this hippie hub. It draws me in, it begs me to stay and fall deeper through its cracks. I change my flight, twice. It’s contagious and infectious and it gets me.



Monkey Temple.
I wake before dawn and make the morning move to Swayambhunath (translation: sublime trees) before dawn (aka before the herds). I watch the Buddhist and Hindu pilgrims ascend the 365 steps from eastern side (sans entrance fee), pass the gilded Stupa or Vajra and begin a series of clockwise circumambulations. Sitting on a hill, west of Kathmandu proper, the shrine, temple and well, holy monkey filled spot is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites, second only to Bodnath in the south. If the history (or primates) doesn’t do it for you, maybe the 20 karat gold structure will grab your attention…



Pashupatinath Temple and Cremation Ghat.
I watch a body burn at Pashupatinath Temple’s Cremation Ghat. I watch a family as they watch their daughter burn. I watch the family watch the crowd, watching, staring at her anonymous face, uncovered and unmasked. The crowd snaps photos of the family, watching the body burn. I watch, and I too take photos. It’s hauntingly beautiful; the lifeless figure under the full of life fabric and flowers, the glow of darkness and the smoke and fire. And as I judge and shake my head at the loud travelers with their Canon Rebels and rupees for the Baba G’s, I snap away. I tell myself – this, is what, I do, but is it any different? Or is it just a way to justify taking a photo of a family watching me, watching them, watching a body burn in the most sacred temple of Hindu Lord Shiva…the most sacred Hindu temple in the entire world. ‘The Temple of Living Beings’ dates back to 400 A.D, the sister site to the more infamous Ghats of Varanasi. I explore in silence: Brahma Temple, Gauri and Arya Ghats, the Gorakhnath and Vishwarup Temples and then the people, dead and alive, along the holy Bagmati River.



Bhaktapur.
There are three cities within Kathmandu Valley and we skip the most touristy of them. I’m sure Patan has its charms, but we opt for Bhaktapur, an ancient Newar town in east corner of the city. It’s a close to a Forbidden City as you could expect a 15th century town to be. It is the home of traditional art and architecture, monuments and temples and it feels completely uncomplicated. It’s the same as it always was, as a stop on the trade route between Tibet, China and India. Durbar Square is full of life - teeming with toddlers and artists sketching the day away. Sit on the top of Changu Narayan and watch life as it was and is lazily meant to be. Cheer to the curd, known as the best in all of Asia.



Drive.
I plug in my music and I grab on. I’m not a fan of bikes, it’s an easy danger to steer clear of, but in Kathmandu, you just do. I hop on, and close my mouth shut. The debris and dust is harsh and cutting… so is the traffic. We play Frogger with the crowd, fruit, cars and cows. We drive towards a Monastery at the top of the hill. We drive to the world’s largest statue of Shiva. We drive through Thamel and beyond. I watch and listen and smile… just smile.




