Springtime In Kathmandu
That means ten degrees or so more, which makes a big difference. I realize that lately I have not been writing about the place where I actually live, which is Kathmandu. Today I will simply present some more impressions you get as you walk through the city. Call it a not-so-still life of Nepal's capital.
There is a main road that takes you out to the northeast of town. It starts innocuously enough, with the pavement continuing well past the Ring Road, the Beltway of Kathmandu, if you will. No street is perfect in Kathmandu. The tortures and arduous endeavors that drivers subject their cars to on a daily basis are impressive. Taxi drivers don’t quite understand that their little 80’s style Korean made vehicles are not equipped with four wheel drive, which is why they zip through cracks and potholes with a fury you would expect from a horse. The mechanics in this town make good money.
Completely unperturbed by all this is the Hyatt Hotel, an oasis of luxury in this town of little. Gates manned by guards at the front warn of its exclusive nature, and the lawns inside are freshly combed and cut by entire troops of gardeners aiming to satisfy their picky clientele and protect the formidable reputation the Hyatt has. Past the Hyatt is the main stupa, or temple, in this town, the Boudha Stupa. You will find dozens of clean shaven monks in the vicinity, each of them blissfully making their way through the chaotic traffic, usually on foot. The stupa itself is a block removed from the main road but arguably attracts more attention than any other site in Kathmandu. Colorful flags wave at you from ropes strung from the top of the temple roof, eerily reminiscent of a circus tent.
Most shops here are little more than holes in the wall with a retractable gate to protect it at night. The merchandise is stacked high in piles with no apparent logic as to their location. There might be a heap of rugs six feet high at one store while the neighbor might just have rows of buckets stacked over each other. This must be their answer to the western skyscraper as each tower of merchandise seems to attempt to compete with the other in that race for the sky, or should I say ceiling, in this case.
There are literally hundreds of bicycles carrying heavy baskets that you could picture on mules in more bucolic areas. The bicycle is a store in itself, among many other things. The merchant will use it as transportation, as a shelf stocked with fruits, vegetables, or textiles, and as his corporate headquarters, to be moved at will once the Chief Executive (himself) says so.
Load shedding has hit people hard in this city. The businesses and residences are without energy for up to sixteen hours, so that there is finally a market again for calculators, pens, and pencils, no matter how affluent any particular store might be. Those few fortunate enough to afford electronic cash registers now scribble away on pads and check and double check whether their addition is correct. You can’t help but wonder how something like this would affect a western city, how people would have to cope without the PC or television or light for two thirds of the day. I recall a blackout that wiped out all of New York City about five years ago when I lived in Manhattan. With no power in the five boroughs, the subway was off limits and I was obliged to walk home…from Brooklyn, no less. People then ‘rallied’ together, as the press so lovingly put it. I am certain that rally would look quite different if power were to be absent for a longer period of time. Accustomed to hardships, people take this in stride here, although they are unhappy about it.
The pavement ends in a heavily populated area leading to Jorpati, a small suburb to the northeast of the city. Here the pavement morphs into dirt. Open manholes threaten to take out inattentive bikes, motorbikes, and cars alike, not to mention pedestrians. Somewhere a drainpipe has busted, so that people must hold their noses while taking special precautions in traffic. When and whether this will be fixed, nobody knows. When the heaps of merchandise on the roadside disappear, the heaps of trash have their say in the appearance of this neighborhood. A couple of cows nose their way through the trash to find something edible, while stray dogs stand by, awaiting their turn at this surreal trough.
It is almost a relief to reach the bridge that takes us across the Bagmati River into the countryside and an endless lush carpet of forest and fields, as if the reeking filth of Kathmandu never happened. At least for a while we can pretend that Kathmandu is just that, something like Timbuktu, an exotic place nobody has ever heard of.
There is a main road that takes you out to the northeast of town. It starts innocuously enough, with the pavement continuing well past the Ring Road, the Beltway of Kathmandu, if you will. No street is perfect in Kathmandu. The tortures and arduous endeavors that drivers subject their cars to on a daily basis are impressive. Taxi drivers don’t quite understand that their little 80’s style Korean made vehicles are not equipped with four wheel drive, which is why they zip through cracks and potholes with a fury you would expect from a horse. The mechanics in this town make good money.
Completely unperturbed by all this is the Hyatt Hotel, an oasis of luxury in this town of little. Gates manned by guards at the front warn of its exclusive nature, and the lawns inside are freshly combed and cut by entire troops of gardeners aiming to satisfy their picky clientele and protect the formidable reputation the Hyatt has. Past the Hyatt is the main stupa, or temple, in this town, the Boudha Stupa. You will find dozens of clean shaven monks in the vicinity, each of them blissfully making their way through the chaotic traffic, usually on foot. The stupa itself is a block removed from the main road but arguably attracts more attention than any other site in Kathmandu. Colorful flags wave at you from ropes strung from the top of the temple roof, eerily reminiscent of a circus tent.
Most shops here are little more than holes in the wall with a retractable gate to protect it at night. The merchandise is stacked high in piles with no apparent logic as to their location. There might be a heap of rugs six feet high at one store while the neighbor might just have rows of buckets stacked over each other. This must be their answer to the western skyscraper as each tower of merchandise seems to attempt to compete with the other in that race for the sky, or should I say ceiling, in this case.
There are literally hundreds of bicycles carrying heavy baskets that you could picture on mules in more bucolic areas. The bicycle is a store in itself, among many other things. The merchant will use it as transportation, as a shelf stocked with fruits, vegetables, or textiles, and as his corporate headquarters, to be moved at will once the Chief Executive (himself) says so.
Load shedding has hit people hard in this city. The businesses and residences are without energy for up to sixteen hours, so that there is finally a market again for calculators, pens, and pencils, no matter how affluent any particular store might be. Those few fortunate enough to afford electronic cash registers now scribble away on pads and check and double check whether their addition is correct. You can’t help but wonder how something like this would affect a western city, how people would have to cope without the PC or television or light for two thirds of the day. I recall a blackout that wiped out all of New York City about five years ago when I lived in Manhattan. With no power in the five boroughs, the subway was off limits and I was obliged to walk home…from Brooklyn, no less. People then ‘rallied’ together, as the press so lovingly put it. I am certain that rally would look quite different if power were to be absent for a longer period of time. Accustomed to hardships, people take this in stride here, although they are unhappy about it.
The pavement ends in a heavily populated area leading to Jorpati, a small suburb to the northeast of the city. Here the pavement morphs into dirt. Open manholes threaten to take out inattentive bikes, motorbikes, and cars alike, not to mention pedestrians. Somewhere a drainpipe has busted, so that people must hold their noses while taking special precautions in traffic. When and whether this will be fixed, nobody knows. When the heaps of merchandise on the roadside disappear, the heaps of trash have their say in the appearance of this neighborhood. A couple of cows nose their way through the trash to find something edible, while stray dogs stand by, awaiting their turn at this surreal trough.
It is almost a relief to reach the bridge that takes us across the Bagmati River into the countryside and an endless lush carpet of forest and fields, as if the reeking filth of Kathmandu never happened. At least for a while we can pretend that Kathmandu is just that, something like Timbuktu, an exotic place nobody has ever heard of.
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