Kathmandu looked like an entirely different city upon my return. The streets buzzed with cars, trucks, and motorbikes practically piled on top of each other. I most definitely could’ve done with out the exhaust fumes and dirt, but I’m pretty sure I had a perma-smile on my face as I watched traffic unlike any other I’ve seen before. There seemed to be very few rules of the road aside from “don’t stop.” Vehicles made their own lanes, making me nervous that a car would take a woman riding side saddle in her beautiful, bright kurta salwar right off the back of a motorbike. Thankfully, I never saw that happen.

I was dropped off at the Hotel Vishali again, where I ran into the Argentine group that I met up at Kalapatthar. Everyone was pretty wiped out, including me. All I wanted to do was get on my skype to call mom and dad (and ten other people). Of course, the wireless wasn’t working and the hotel’s power was running on a generator. The whole town is on a grid schedule, but sometimes the power goes out without warning, too. Once again, reminded of the little things we take for granted.

After happily dropping off my dirty, dirty, dirty laundry, I headed to an internet café where I ran into my first real snag in travel plans. I thought I’d booked a flight from Kathmandu to Guangzhou that I was to take in three days. I searched for my confirmation and remembered, I never received one and was going to call the airline, China Eastern, before I left on my trek, but forgot. I called China Eastern to confirm my flight. They informed me they do not fly to Guangzhou. So, I asked them to let me know what flight I bought, since I got a charge from them on my card. They said they couldn’t tell me and I’d have to call my credit card company. Capital One (sucks!) seems to close it’s dispute department often – May 22 was one of those unlucky days for me! After consulting with mom and dad, I bought a flight to Guangzhou on China Southern. I was definitely stressed while on the phone with mom and dad, but in the end, I knew it was just money and I could deal with it later. The super downside was that this whole process took up half of my day!

I decided to make my day more productive and head to Darbur Square to try and catch the living goddess Kumari. I already knew my chances were slim, as she’s more likely to make an appearance in the morning. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see her, but according to the blog of the 7 year old kiwi I met in Namche, she looks sad (http://blogspot.ethanallsop.com). I might be sad as well, knowing that I would never be allowed to marry! The upside for Kumari, in addition to being praised by everyone in her country as a living goddess, is that she is very well taken care of, and her family will be taken care of for the rest of their lives as well. I’ve heard, but not confirmed, that once Kumari starts menstruating, a new living goddess will be sought after.

En route to Darbur, a political science “student” from Tribhuvan University greeted me for a chat. He was friendly enough, but I knew how the whole picking up tourists to be their tour guide deal worked. People stop you on the street and are friendly to you, starting with where are you from. Then they keep following you and start telling you about the sites immediately around you. They don’t tell you how much they’re going to charge you, and it’s not very easy to get away from them without feeling bad. In the end, you’re caught in this weird feeling of not knowing how much their services were really worth, given that you didn’t really ask them to “guide” you. I didn’t have my guidebook with me, so I decided oh fine, I’ll let Hari be my guide.

Hari is a tall Nepali with a square face. The most unforgettable feature of his are his eyes. It’s not necessarily the shape or beauty, but moreso that whenever he wanted tell me something he wasn’t so sure of or comfortable with, he’d roll his pupils back revealing only the whites of his eyes and blink a rapidly at the same time – very distracting. Luckily, he wrote down all of the important information he shared with me. For example, the top 9 must see places in Nepal according to Hari — I hit 6 of the 9 (Darbur Square in Kathmandu, Swambunath Temple, Pushapatinath Temple, Boudhanath Stupa, Everest, and Bhaktapur) but am not opposed to taking another trip back to Nepal to see the other 3 (Chitwan National Park – looks amazing!, Bungmati, and Nagaruot) plus do Pokhara and Anapurna J .

Hari also taught me how to distinguish the 3 different types of temples found in Nepal, their origins, and the meaning of the Hindu ones. Hari himself converted from Hinduism to Christianity. He asked why I don’t practice a religion; I asked him why he changed his – that was pretty much the end of that conversation, though I do love discussion about religion and learning about the beliefs of different ones. In Nepal, you can find Hindu Shikhara, which looks like a house with the figure of either the Hindu God Brama, Vishnu, Shiva, or Ganesh, a Nepali Pagoda, and Tibetan stupas – usually white and has two eyes at the top.

For the Indian Shikharas (I think that’s what it is, I can’t really read the writing and don’t remember since I’m months behind on my blogging!), you can most easily distinguish which God the temple is dedicated to by the animal outside the temple. The animal is the God’s mode of transportation. Brahma, the Creator, uses a swan as his mode of transportation. I asked Hari why there were so few temples dedicated to Brahma if he’s the creator. His response was that Brahma is also said to be cursed. Vishnu, the protector, uses Garuda (half man half bird) as his mode of transportation. There have been several reincarnations of Vishnu, and it is believed that Buddha is the most recent (I believe 10th?) reincarnation of Vishnu. Needless to say, there are many temples dedicated to Vishnu. Shiva, also highly praised, is transported via bull. He is the destroyer and re-creator, also known for smoking hashish. I don’t think he’s considered a God, but Ganesh, Shiva’s son who is half elephant, half man (interesting story there), symbolizes success. The story is that while Shiva was away, his wife prayed for a son, and got a very strong one. While she was bathing, Shiva returned home and had no idea who this strong person in his house was. So, they fought, and with much struggle, Shiva won. Understandably, his wife was devastated. Shiva was told his son would be reincarnated if he placed the head of an elephant killed while sleeping and facing a certain direction (north?) on his son’s body. Shiva sent warriors out to complete the task, and they did so successfully.

I found it interesting that there were tens of temples grouped together in the same location, in several locations – shikharas, stupas, and pagodas. Shikharas often had flower petals, rice, and colored powder on them – mostly red, orange, and yellow. Pagodas often had candles lit around them, and stupas were strewn with red, green, blue, white, and yellow prayer flags. Prayer flags, translated means wind horse, are believed to carry prayers to skies via…wind horses! I asked Gamyeng (my guide in Tibet) what the different colors meant. He said there may be discrepancies, but generally white symbolizes peace; blue, sky; red, friendship; yellow, religion; green, Earth.

At the end of our little tour, we posted up at a restaurant where I ran into a man from my hometown – Stockton, California. I already knew it was a small world from my Western Europe travels, but this was a bit strange! He came up to the roof where we were sitting to take photos. We exchanged hellos and he asked me where I was from. After I told him I was from Stockton he said, “Guess where I’m from?… Stockton, California!” We talked about Stockton a bit and how he plans to retire to Thailand (I’m not judging), snapped a photo together, and parted ways.

I forgot to mention that on the way to Darbur, Hari took me to a Thanka Art School where he promised I wouldn’t have to buy anything. That’s the first sign that if I were to buy something, he’d get a commission. I decided to check the artwork out and I was pleasantly surprised at the beautiful Kalachakra Mandalas – painted versions of the sand mandala created a few years ago by the current Dalai Lama. The mandalas were extremely detailed and ornate. Each ring of the mandala represents a different element of the universe – water, fire, earth, mind. A real sand mandala takes highly focused monks about 6 days to produce, and once finished, is wrapped up in silk, and dropped into a body of water, keeping with the Buddhist belief in impermanence. Anyway, Hari took me back to the place because he could see I was interested in buying. It was nearly 7:00pm, getting dark, and I felt too pressured under the hot lamp to negotiate a “fair” price on the artwork. How do I know what a fair price is on a piece of artwork? I found it difficult to negotiate for something so personal to the artist and ended up walking away. I’d have to do some research!

To learn more about the mesmerizing Kalachakra Mandala, click here:

When I got back to the hotel, the Argentines invited me to have dinner with them. We ended up at Fire and Ice, a popular pizza and ice cream restaurant. I sat among 6 people, about my parents age, who, aside from one person, spoke hardly any English. This was my chance to put my Spanish speaking skills to the test – I’d give myself a C+ on language skills, and an A on having a good time!

The next morning, Babita walked to my hotel to show me around again. This time we were off to Bhaktapur. The Darbur Square in Bhaktapur is similar to Darbur in Kathmandu but lacks Kumari, crowds, and trash. It’s also more expensive to get into, but really much more comfortable to roam around. We visited the outside of one temple – Taleju, which could only be entered by Hindus. I noticed the beautiful detailed carvings on the outside of the temple. Babita informed me that the hands of the artist who created the carvings were cut off by the King, so as to prevent any duplicates from being made! Crazy!

While we were walking the square I told Babita about the mandalas, and she mentioned Bhaktapur was a good place to purchase them – Hari, who is from Bhaktapur, said the same. She took me to a school that she thought created quality mandalas; it took up the top two floors of an old building just outside Darbur. All of the artists were painting by natural light, as power was extremely unreliable. I was invited to sit at a large table, making me a bit nervous – as if I were about to make some big deal! Babita translated for me and told the sales person that I wanted high quality paintings – more detailed, 24k gold speckles, made by a “master.” You could really tell the difference between “high” and “medium.” In the end, I walked out with 6 mandalas for the same price Hari’s friends wanted for 3. The mandalas are currently on a cargo and estimated to arrive at my parents house in a month – I hope they make it!

On our way home, we strolled past the many Israeli visitors who the Nepalis said you can distinguish by their very hippie dress style and dreads and boys and men embracing each other either holding hands, linking arms or with their arms around each others shoulders. Most of the Israeli tourists are in their early twenties and on a long holiday after serving in the Israeli National Army. As for the boys and men embracing – it’s very common in Nepal and India for people of the same gender to hold hands or embrace in a way that would surely get odd looks in a western country. It’s actually frowned upon for unmarried (even married) people of the opposite sex to embrace in the same fashion in public.

I wanted to catch a photo of the insane number of people Nepalis pile onto a scooter. The most I saw was a family of 6 – yes a family of 6! Toddler holding steering wheel, standing in front of sibling who is sitting in front of dad who is steering. Behind dad are two other siblings sitting face to face – one’s back to dad’s back, the other’s back to mom’s front. I didn’t catch a photo of them in my 5D, but I surely have a memory photo in my head!

I also noticed that many of the young children have black eyeliner around their eyes – boys and girls. I got conflicting reasons for the eyeliner – to protect kids from evil spirits, to protect kids eyes from dirt and sun, for beauty. I still don’t know what the real answer is. Many of the children also had black tika marks on their foreheads, which Babita said was for protection.

Later that night, Jagat Man Lama, the owner of the trekking company I used, sent Babita and his son, Barun, to take me out to a nice steak dinner. They arrived at my hotel well dressed, while I was still in my trekking clothes. I quickly ran upstairs to put on my one “nice” outfit and some eyeliner and mascara – a girl’s best friends! When I returned to the lobby, they had a couple of gifts from their father for me – a khukuri (Gurkha knife) that I’d mentioned I wanted for my brother, and a purple pashmina scarf. Barun, 23, and Babita, 19, were fun to have dinner with. It was like having dinner with a little brother and sister – we talked about the differences between the US and Nepal, goals for schooling and getting to the US, and teased each other about boyfriends and girlfriends.

While we were eating a huge storm rolled in – thunder, lightning, and just a huuuuge downpour. We were going to move on to a bar for drinks, but after observing the massive raindrops, we decided it’d be best to stay put. I asked Barun and Babita if they would mind having two more guests – Tenzing and his brother Tsering Sherpa. I met Tenzing while he was working and I was staying at hi parents lodge in Gokyo. We exchanged contact information because he said he’d be heading to Kathmandu soon and we hadn’t had the chance to converse as we wanted to – he was very busy helping his parents run the lodge. Babita and Barun were very welcoming to more guests, so I rang the Sherpa brothers up and they headed to Everest Steak House on a motorbike… in the pouring rain… just to hang out with me! I told them we could just meet up the next day since it seemed unsafe to drive over in such poor conditions, but they came anyway!

By the time the Sherpa brothers arrived, it was pretty late, and Barun and Babita had to part and brave the stormy ride home on their motorbike. I thanked them for their hospitality… it was actually fun to see Babita go from more formal with me as an unofficial guide around the city to laughing and hugging goodbye.

Tsering, Tenzing and I also decided to brave the storm (funny I say “brave”… it was just like a shower with great water pressure J ) and head to a bar closer to my hotel. Tenzing, gentleman that he was, offered me his brand new Volcom rain jacket. As you can imagine, in a poor city like Kathmandu, the sewer system was pretty backed up and the streets were flooded up to my shins. I dreaded crossing the street to our destination. Tenzing, already soaked having given me his jacket, gave me and his brother a piggyback ride across the street so we wouldn’t have to wade across the flooded street – so cute. In case you are interested, I’ve created a profile and summary of my time with Tsreing and Tenzing Sherpa under the People section of this blog that you might want to check out.

For my last day in Kathmandu, Gordon and I decided to head out to Boudhanath Stupa about twenty minutes away by car. I emailed Tenzing to tell him we’d be heading that direction as I couldn’t get a hold of him by phone. I didn’t expect to see him, but he found me and Gordon walking around the stupa! Boudhanath is a beautiful stupa in a very clean area of Kathmandu. I think it’s technically outside of Kathmandu. The very blue skies that day were complemented with those cottonball clouds! Just a beautiful backdrop to the stupa, prayer flags, prayer wheels, and locals circumambulating the stupa.

Tenzing took us to a prayer room next to the stupa where we were greeted by a monk who tried to explain the wheel of life to us. More on the wheel of life here: http://www.buddhanet.net/wheel2.htm. We also got a blessing from two monks; one put a yellow string, called a sundi, around my neck for good luck. The other splashed some holy water, called chalup, on my head, and they prayed for me.

After Boudhanath, Tenzing asked Gordon and I if we would be interested in going to a big and famous Hindu Temple. We thought, sure, why not! A five minute cab ride later, we arrived at Pushapati. Pushapati is a Hindu temple along a holy river next to which Hindus in Kathmandu cremate the remains of their loved ones. The taxi driver for our ride over to Boudhanath asked if I wanted to see cremations and I quickly replied, no way! I didn’t realize that the “famous Hindu temple” Tenzing referred to would be the site of cremations the taxi driver mentioned.

The moment we stepped onto the temple grounds, we were approached by a Nepali man who started giving us his tour services without us asking. I had very few Nepali Rupee left on me and first kindly refused the service, but Gordon offered to pay without knowing the cost. At first, I was unimpressed by what I saw compared to the beautiful stupa we’d just come from. We couldn’t go into the temple dedicated to the Lord Shiva, because only Hindus could enter. Then came our walk along the west side of the temple, which brought us along the river to the cremation sites.

The rainy and gloomy weather was eerily appropriate for the setting for our next stop. My jaw and stomach must’ve simultaneously hit the floor upon realizing the skies weren’t just gray, they were ashy, and the ash was from the cremation of the body not 15 feet below me. I could actually see the feet and legs of the deceased sticking out from under the fire. At one point, the fire melted off one of his feet from shin down, causing it to drop into the river below. Sobbing loudly, a relative of the deceased dropped down into the river to fish the leg out, and place it back on the fire.

At the encouragement of the guide, I took a few photos, but I felt so wrong about them, I deleted half of them upon getting in a taxi to leave Pushapati. I kept only the ones from really far away. Our guide, was a small framed man probably in his fifties, spoke loudly (almost a shout), clearly (with an accent) and with his eyes as wide as they could open. He explained that the cremation platforms were once reserved only for royalty and high government officials, but is now open to any Hindus. All Hindus are cremated after death. Once the bodies are cremated, the ashes are thrown into the holy river on which the platforms reside. The river’s water level was very low, revealing the clumps of wet ash. I could see some kids fishing around in the river as well. Our guide informed us that the kids were using magnets to find coins that the deceased were cremated with. I couldn’t decide if they were being disrespectful or if they were really just that poor, or both.

We crossed to the other side of the river and got a panoramic view of the entire cremation site where three or four different people were being cremated at the same time. On this side of the river, we were constantly approached by people who allegedly commit their lives to worshipping the Lord Shiva. They wanted us to take photos with them and pay them for the photos. This is how they earn their money. Maybe I’m ignorant, I don’t know, but I could not take these guys seriously – although they made for interesting photographic subjects with their long hair and colorful wardrobe, they were just really high on drugs. As mentioned before, Shiva is known for having smoked hashish, so I guess smoking must be how they try to connect with him?

One interesting custom I learned is that when a mother dies, if she has a son, her son must start the cremation via a fire from his mouth. He must also where all white and cannot wear leather. He must not be touched for 13 days. He can’t have salt, only rice, gi (like butter), and fruit.

Boudhanath Stupa and Pushapati could not be more opposite in terms of mood, ambiance, cleanliness, and emotion stirred in me, yet they were both places of worship. Boudhanath brought about a light, airy, fresh, and overall good feeling, whereas Pushapati was gloomy and appropriately sad. I left Pushapati with a sort of ill feeling.

Gordon and I then headed for dinner at Newar Café, which I had already been to three times in my last three days in Nepal. I ordered the Nepali set every time! For just two dollars, I got chicken curry, rice, green vegetables, some kind of sweet and spicy potato, and dal baht. YUM!

Shortly after dinner, Jagat Lama picked me up from the hotel and dropped me off at the airport. Once he left, a porter immediately came up to me and put my pack on a cart, which I told him I didn’t need. He insisted and lead me to my check in counter at the super small Tribhuvan Airport. He was probably with me for a total of 15 minutes and upon parting, said he expected payment. I tipped him 20 Nepali Rupee, which was all I had left in Nepali money. His response was “oh m’am, so little money.” I was shocked. I offered him 20 RMB (chinese money), and when he saw that I had 100 RMB in my wallet, he said, “you can give me that one, it’s okay.” I replied, that’s 14 dollars – I don’t give that for a tip in the US, and I didn’t ask for your services. A police officer overheard our conversation and yelled at me not to pay the porter. I left the porter with what I’d initially given him, and went upstairs. When I got upstairs, the police officer returned, asking me for money for the porter. I told him I’d already paid him and asked how much I needed to pay him – he said 20 Rupee, to which I confirmed I’d already given him. The police officer couldn’t understand me well, and suddenly, 5 other people were around me asking me for money. Luckily, a nice German girl who spoke Nepali cleared up the issue for me She told the police officers to stop harassing me and that I’d already paid the porter. The girl then told me that there was no problem, the police just had nothing to do, and when there’s nothing to do, everyone tries to get into some kind of action.

The only real downside of my Nepal leg was the request for more money from the Pushapati tour guide and the porter who decided to just grab my bags at the airport. When both were given money, both responded “oh that’s too little.” I might regret saying this, but I’ll say it anyway – I know they’re poor, but one thing that has bothered me while traveling is people saying “oh but you are from the US, you are very rich” in an attempt to get more money from me. That just doesn’t work with me. Overall my experience in Nepal was wonderful and I’d go back in a heartbeat – especially for the Sherpa culture, Annapurna, Pokhara, Poon Hill, and Chitwan National Park. So, who’s coming with me? J