One thing I have always learned about developing countries is that the worse the cities are, the more beautiful the country side is, or at least seems to be.
Tourists shelling out the cash for a plane ticket to Nepal will take the couple of days or so they have for Kathmandu, but it is hardly the main objective of their journey. In fact, some people already in the know about Kathmandu or repeat travelers will hightail it to Pokhara the next opportunity they get.
Then again, I admit that the country merely appears to look better after so many days in smog-filled, poverty-riddled Kathmandu. There is some truth to that, although people must not forget that people here in the country eke out a living the same way their cousins do in the city. Sometimes the rain isn’t there, causing an enormous loss of their crops. The haze itself is bad anywhere in the valley, it only lessens the closer you get to the edge of it. But once you look at the valley from a distance, say a 10,000 foot mountain top, you can see just how thickly veiled this city is, and it is not through the courtesy of rain clouds.
Still Nepal – I have always maintained this – has scenery outside the valley unlike any country. It is not uncommon for people like me to work in a cubicle one moment and thirty minutes later be jogging past waterfalls, narrow mountain trails, and idyllic stupas.
Cows, enjoying the same god-like status everywhere in Nepal, still block the roads as they please, their defiant stares a reminder that human beings in these parts might not be at the top of the food chain. Buffalo are guided along rice paddies, and a closer look at the horns of those animals convinces you to slow down your run or hike so as not to aggravate them. Of course, there are also dogs in abundance, the next best thing to a cow in Kathmandu. Dogs in Nepal enjoy a popularity the way cats never could and never will. They will give you a few warning yaps, somebody will invariably raise his arm as if to throw a stone at it, and the dog will be off with its tail between its legs. Once in a blue moon you will actually see a cat. They are widely feared, although most people attribute this to superstition rather than any concrete feline personality trait. Some people are actually smart enough to realize that cats get rid of vermin. People can quickly ignore their superstitions when their livelihood is being messed with.
Whereas people in Kathmandu will give you a curious look, people in the country will smile at this freak of nature (you) and also invite you in for a drink. On numerous occasions I have dashed straight through a farmer’s yard or fields, and they would still be greeting you, hands clasped together as if in prayer, welcoming the distraction to their routines. I have sometimes jogged through chicken coops, pig pens, sheep yards, you name it. It bothered the tenants there as little as the animals, amazingly enough. Maybe the Maoists have gotten through to its population, that everything must be owned by the community. Maybe…
Then back to Kathmandu and another traffic jam featuring a hundred or so vehicles squeezing through an intersection meant for a dozen. It’s equivalent to changing the pipes under the toilet and replacing them with those of the kitchen sink. Somewhere along the line you will have a clog. It’s an eternal stalemate with the city, people here know. They must live with it, even though many would just as soon see it knocked down, if only out of sheer curiosity over what its successor might look like. They might get that opportunity sooner than they think.
Tourists shelling out the cash for a plane ticket to Nepal will take the couple of days or so they have for Kathmandu, but it is hardly the main objective of their journey. In fact, some people already in the know about Kathmandu or repeat travelers will hightail it to Pokhara the next opportunity they get.
Then again, I admit that the country merely appears to look better after so many days in smog-filled, poverty-riddled Kathmandu. There is some truth to that, although people must not forget that people here in the country eke out a living the same way their cousins do in the city. Sometimes the rain isn’t there, causing an enormous loss of their crops. The haze itself is bad anywhere in the valley, it only lessens the closer you get to the edge of it. But once you look at the valley from a distance, say a 10,000 foot mountain top, you can see just how thickly veiled this city is, and it is not through the courtesy of rain clouds.
Still Nepal – I have always maintained this – has scenery outside the valley unlike any country. It is not uncommon for people like me to work in a cubicle one moment and thirty minutes later be jogging past waterfalls, narrow mountain trails, and idyllic stupas.
Cows, enjoying the same god-like status everywhere in Nepal, still block the roads as they please, their defiant stares a reminder that human beings in these parts might not be at the top of the food chain. Buffalo are guided along rice paddies, and a closer look at the horns of those animals convinces you to slow down your run or hike so as not to aggravate them. Of course, there are also dogs in abundance, the next best thing to a cow in Kathmandu. Dogs in Nepal enjoy a popularity the way cats never could and never will. They will give you a few warning yaps, somebody will invariably raise his arm as if to throw a stone at it, and the dog will be off with its tail between its legs. Once in a blue moon you will actually see a cat. They are widely feared, although most people attribute this to superstition rather than any concrete feline personality trait. Some people are actually smart enough to realize that cats get rid of vermin. People can quickly ignore their superstitions when their livelihood is being messed with.
Whereas people in Kathmandu will give you a curious look, people in the country will smile at this freak of nature (you) and also invite you in for a drink. On numerous occasions I have dashed straight through a farmer’s yard or fields, and they would still be greeting you, hands clasped together as if in prayer, welcoming the distraction to their routines. I have sometimes jogged through chicken coops, pig pens, sheep yards, you name it. It bothered the tenants there as little as the animals, amazingly enough. Maybe the Maoists have gotten through to its population, that everything must be owned by the community. Maybe…
Then back to Kathmandu and another traffic jam featuring a hundred or so vehicles squeezing through an intersection meant for a dozen. It’s equivalent to changing the pipes under the toilet and replacing them with those of the kitchen sink. Somewhere along the line you will have a clog. It’s an eternal stalemate with the city, people here know. They must live with it, even though many would just as soon see it knocked down, if only out of sheer curiosity over what its successor might look like. They might get that opportunity sooner than they think.
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