KATHMANDU
January 2-4, 2001
First Impressions
Directly when we disembarked the plane at the Kathmandu airport, we sensed the Orient by the scent of sandalwood and incense. I remember thinking that when even the airport has a particular smell, one must be very far away from home. This sensation was like an awakening. We were actually there and not just reading yet another page in some stale guide book. An exhaust-puffing tractor, or perhaps it was a bus, polluted the otherwise exotic atmosphere and brought us to the terminal.
The building was small and at this time, which was low-season, it looked more like a half-empty warehouse than an airport. Although there was nothing to see, signs said "Still and video photography strictly prohibited". The tourist visas were issued by four officials, one who received the application form, one who took the money, one who gave the change back, and one who signed the visa and stamped the passport. It smelled banana republic employment measures.
Armed Transportation
Transportation from the airport was not working because of a general strike. There were some special-price-for-you taxis, but after a while we somehow managed to find a bus to the tourist quarter Thamel. The bus had four window-panes blown out and one could see the street through a large hole in the floor. On the bus there were four fully armed men with bulletproof vests who said that there was nothing to worry about. On a halt and a complete turn-around of the bus, the armed men unsecured their rifles and pointed the pipes out the window. Nothing to worry about?
No arms were fired this time and we finally arrived at Hotel Karma, a small hotel in the tourist area of Kathmandu. The room was probably the coldest one they had, the sheets were stained from I-don't-want-to-know-what, the water from the faucet was yellow, the hotel manager sullen (supposedly not too good for his karma), and we payed far too much. Ignoring these petty details we went to bed early.
Kathmandu by Nose
On the second day, we decided to see some parts of Kathmandu that were less touristic than Thamel. By foot, we walked through areas poorer than anything I have ever seen. Some people lived in ramshackle huts barely worthy of being the home of rats. The dirt and stench was often unbearable, worse than at a normal junkyard because of its organic contents. Butchers used dirty knives and had their meat displayed on seldom-cleaned wooden tables, preferably in the sunshine so the customers could get a good view of the ghastly selection. This temporarily turned us into vegetarians.
Animated Traffic
While walking along a small street in the outskirts of Kathmandu, a bull suddenly walked past us. It was enormous, almost like a Belgian Blue, big enough to act as a cork stopper for the traffic in both directions. This particular specimen didn't need to be holy to be respected. The cars and bicycles that passed him - disregarding the fact that it wasn't really possible - did it with prudence. From what we saw, drivers show little consideration when cows or goats cross the street. They avoid hitting them, of course, but it seems as if they try to brush the fur a little bit every time just for the fun of it. By the way, two-legged pedestrians are treated the same way, be it a human or a chicken.
The Nepalese traffic in general is a chaotic jumble of vehicles, animals, strollers, card-playing men, and rubbish. To bring at least some order to the mess, people drive on the left side of the road. On average, I should say. For example, the dynamics of a Nepalese roundabout is very much like that of weaving a rag-carpet, with the possible difference that the traffic actually untangles after a while. Speaking of roundabouts, we found the bull again later in the day. He had situated himself in the midst of the most circulated roundabout in the neighborhood, calmly grazing on some dried-up grass and a plastic bag.
Religion
The Nepalese are a very religious people, mainly Buddhists and Hindus. At the temple of Pashupati Nath, cremations of rich people are performed every day. To improve the possibility of a better next life, the ashes and other remains are thrown into the river next to the temple, later joining the holy Ganges in India. Neither seeing nor smelling this ceremony was very pleasant, so we hurried on to the other side of the river where the holy men reside. The first one we met was the holy penis man, allegedly able to lift 50 kilos with his willie.
Taking drugs is illegal in Nepal for normal people, but allowed for holy men. No wonder they reach divine insight! After having seen another twenty or so of these strange individuals, we considered them to be mere colorful, spectacular beggars abusing whatever drugs they may have access to at the moment. To us, their holiness and credibility is a blunt joke aimed at ripping money off tourists. Not to forget, though, there are "real" holy men who are more honest in their religious pursuit. For example, our self-proclaimed guide pointed out one guru who had only drunk milk for the last 50 years. Impressive if true, but one cannot help but to wonder why?
Unknowing of our destination, our guide led us to a stable-like hospital founded by Mother Therese. 160 elderly, dying from various diseases, were situated along a narrow corridor. The smell reminded me of a barn full of cattle, only slightly different due to its human origin. On the way out, we dearly hoped that the patients' diseases were not airborne. After this, our guide showed us a Hindu hospital nearby, luckily from the outside this time. Only five percent of the sick that enter the hospital survive the treatment. If this says something about the efficacy of the treatment or the health of the people entering is difficult to say.
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