His friend is holding him up as the hose is lowered into the watertank. All the action happens five stories up without safety equipment. On the street below tourist dodge the falling debris, a mix of dirt and coke bottles the the men knock off as they manoeuvre on the small ledge around the tank.
Welcome to Kathmandu.
The power is out and I’m on the roof garden of my hotel looking down at the sprawling maze that is Kathmandu’s Thamel district. A warren of shops, restaurants and bars mixed with seedy massage parlours, barbers and hostels. With the electricity off hundreds of generators fill the air with a mix of petrol and diesel fumes.
The western sky looks like it is on fire, the think smog reflects the fading sun making it seem much larger than normal.
It would be easy to hate this place, it’s dirty, full of beggars and scam artist. The power is as unreliable as the street food and the air smells of trucks and dust, but I don’t hate it, far from it. The city has a charm, a soul. Below me the hum and bark of a place alive is heard, Drivers call ‘taxi’ to passing tourists, children returning home after school laughing and yell to one another across the street and in the distance the whistle of a traffic cop trying in vain to hold back a sea of cars and motorbikes as they zig-zag their way home.
In every direction I’m surrounded by buildings, fronts packed with signs, each sporting Nepalese and English translations ‘Happy book place’ and ‘Food Shop of Heaven’. Kathmandu, once you get past the cover, is a brilliant place, a boiling pot. Well dress worshippers, their foreheads smeared with red blessings, walk the streets next to fuzzy faced backpackers, giant billboards advertise cigarettes and and long distance phone calls.
Below the surface is the old town, hidden behind the wall of markets and hostels. Temples, their stone and wooden faces a sunning combination of craftsmanship and the battering of time. Millions of footsteps have wore the stone steps smooth, a million hands have touched the brass idols of the Buddah and the Hindu gods, the metal now reflecting the light of the butter candles burning as an offering of good fortune. You can lose yourself in the back streets, literally. The maze of alleyways seem to stretch on forever.
For Backpackers travelling around Nepal, Kathmandu is a safe refuse to base yourself. The bars are filled with like minded adventurers, some here to trek and climb, some just for the cheap beer and fun. But it’s also a place to stay for the older generation of travellers. Amidst the crowds are aging hippies, their hair thinning but still long dressed in cotton shawls and necklaces of jade and wood. Then comes the buses, air-conditioned and filled with the over 60′s. They see the world through tinted windows, all sport identical hats and the outline of a money pouch around their waist. The large groups shuffle in and out of the restaurants and temples, cameras snapping away.
I’m glad I didn’t wait, emerging yourself in the local landscape, experiencing the good and the bad that comes with a town like Kathmandu is what travel is about.
I’ll be sad to leave, but know I’ll return to it’s maze of streets and chaotic roads, intermittent power and smog filled air.
So from a dusty, gem of a place
GK out
