KATHMANDU, NEPAL

“I think I'm goin' to Kathmandu
I think it's really where I'm goin' to
Hey, if I ever get out of here
That what I'm gonna do.”

Bob Seger’s famous lyrics are a reminder I have looked forward to visiting Kathmandu for many years.  I almost went there in lieu of England when I took my college Semester Abroad program some years back.   It was supposed to be a fun, mellowed, alternative lifestyle, loose and looser, altered-reality sort of hangout.

In reality it is dirty, crowded, heavily polluted, not particularly a bargain, and really better as a short stopover than an extended stay.  Keep in mind, I am not in my twenties anymore and not likely disposed to all of its alleged attractions in a way I might have been in previous years.  At this present stage in life, I expect something in a travel destination besides friendliness and good intentions.

I expect value, beauty, character, hospitality, learning and growth oppportunity, a sense of freedom … and engagement.  I was disappointed to find these lacking in Kathmandu.

Instead I found a serious limitation on transportation options.  Air pollution so heavy surgical masks were often necessary (Kathmandu is in a high altitude basin surrounded by mountains).  Sewage with animal and human waste running in virtually every open waterway.  Traffic is a nightmare.  It is very busy and congested.

Infrastructure has not caught up with all that bustling.  One amusing sight I witnessed over and over was telephone, power and internet connections from both private homes and businesses scabbed on to utility poles.  The number of pirated lines connecting to these supply trunks made them appear like frizzy hair day after a good rain.  I have no idea how communications companies figured out who was who, who was legal, or how to bill for such a tangled mess.

The warmth factor was less than what I had anticipated, except for the compound of my lodgings at the wonderful Albrus Hostel in the Thamel section of town.  The hospitality was lacking when compared to places like Egypt and Turkey.  The capitol seemed surprisingly commercialized.  One local complained, though it did not appear so, that “Kathmandu is for the rich.”  As a result, I have had difficulty writing about this place.

Oh, Kathmandu has a certain charm to it.  Of course it does.  It is motorcycle heaven (or hell).  Pedestrians are treated with at least some consideration.  There is a laid-back, yet energetic air to the place … a sense of purpose among locals needing and wanting to get from place to place … which separates it from Africa. And for those so disposed, there is absolutely no shortage of stealthy curbside pocket vendors offering weed, hash, or other botanicals that might top your shopping list.  Prayer flags, prayer wheels, and vibrating “singing bowls” abound for the more spiritually inclined.

I don’t plan to go into much Nepali history or their unusual caste social strata system.  Or the drug sub-culture.  Or hippie circles that still manage to thrive in isolated pockets both inside and outside the city.  Or the thousands of Buddhist and Hindu legends that adorn this burgh in three-dimensional form.

One interesting facet of Nepali life that has changed within the past decade is the national transformation from a monarchy into a republic.  One June 1^st of 2001, Prince Dipendra, the primary succession candidate to his father King Birendra’s throne, devolved into a drunken stupor and killed nine members of his family in an outbuilding on the grounds of the Narayanhity Royal Palace before turning a gun on himself.

Oddly, despite being the transgressor of such a crime, Dipendra became the de facto King of Nepal while laying in a coma after his self-assessed wound.  His uncle Gyanendra Bir Bikram Shah (a very unpopular man with the average Nepali) acted as regent for three days for his dying nephew, until being appointed King himself following Dipendra’s death.

Interestingly enough, the shooting spree that resulted in the death of nine royals and Dipendra himself was first described as an “accidental firearms discharge,” since under Nepali law the Crown Prince could not legally be charged with murder had he lived.   

According to official reports following the massacre, Dipendra had been drinking heavily, smoked large quantities of hashish and had "misbehaved" with a guest, which resulted in King Birendra telling his oldest son to leave the party. One hour later, Dipendra returned to the party carrying at least three firearms.

A two-man committee consisting of the Supreme Court Chief Justice and the Speaker of the House of Representatives carried out a week-long investigation into the bloodbath. Their findings – reached after interviewing more than a hundred people (including eyewitnesses and palace officials, guards and staff) -- concluded that Dipendra had carried out the massacre alone.  A large number of critics and Nepalese however disputed the official report because many facts and evidence reported by the investigation team seemed contradictory.

Among many reasons for this skepticism is that King Birendra and the shooter Prince Dipendra were very popular and well respected by the Nepalese population. Such favor led the Chairman of the Nepalese Maoist Party to claim the massacre was planned by the Indian intelligence agency RAW or the American CIA.  Promoters of these ideas allege Gyanendra had a hand in the massacre so that he could assume the throne himself, pointing out that his rise to the throne would only be possible if both of his nephews (Dipendra and his brother Nirajan) were removed from the chain of succession.

In addition, on the day of the massacre Gyanendra was in nearby Pokhara while most other royals were in the royal family compound. While the entire families of King Birendra and Prince Dipendra were wiped out, nobody amongst Gyanendra's family died  (two of Gyanendra’s family did receive wounds).

Among the claims refuting the official report was one published as a thinly veiled “historical novel” based on eyewitness testimony from a maid on the scene, whose husband (also a royal employee) was killed during the massacre.  The book claims two men masked as Crown Prince Dipendra fired the actual shots involved in the killings.

They also point to six bullet holes in the Prince’s back as evidence he was a pawn, and not the principal architect of the crime.  This chain of doubt, and new King Gyanendra’s unpopularity, led to the monarchy being abolished through a popular uprising in 2006.

The Tribhuven Sadan royal compound behind the Narayanhity Royal Palace was demolished after the massacre.  Today it simply shows the foundation outlines, but remains a fascinating walkabout due to the on-scene narratives revealing progression of the fateful night’s events in real time, and markers where each of the 9 + 1 royals met their death.

The Palace itself (a museum as of 2008) is fascinating on its own.  It has 52 rooms, of which only 19 are open to the public.  Many of them are not lit, attributed to regular power outages in the city.  A number of the rooms are quite impressive, including the elegant Gorkha Room with its 4 x 6 x 8 foot ceremonial throne.  The Kaski Baithak Room is beautifully appointed in an art-deco style and was used for receiving visiting heads of state and other important royal functions.

Other must-see sites while in Kathmandu (which can essentially be visited in one day with a properly motivated taxi driver) include: The Boudhanath Buddhist Temple.  This whitewashed spherical stupa is one of the largest in the world.  It was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1979.  Interior access is sadly limited.  Its primary attraction is a complete series of large Buddhist prayer wheels and prayer flags ringing the complex, which more or less takes up a circular city block. 

Another attractive feature is the ring of commercial buildings which rise up above the temple at times, and surrounds it.  This is populated primarily by Tibetan refugees who escaped the clutches of the Chinese takeover in the fifties.  It is said to entomb a Buddha incarnation who, according to local tradition, grew to 20 cubits high and lived over 2000 years (!).  It features primarily tea houses, prayer flags, Tibetan shoes and clothing, and various incantations of the proverbial colorful Buddhist prayer wheel for sale.

Nearby is the Temple of Lord Pashupatinath.  The temple is one of the holiest in the world and is revered by Buddhists and Hindus alike.  As such, it is a symbol of religious harmony in Nepal. This deity (the “God of Five Faces”) is considered by these two faiths to be the Lord of All Living Beings, the source of eternal bliss and peace, and the savior of humans from worldly afflictions.  Nepalis revere Pashupatinath as The Buddha. 

Nobody knows when this giant 264 hectare complex of monasteries, hermitages, monuments, vihars, paties, pouwas, sattats, ghats and stupas was first built.  However, inscriptions on some of the early buildings date back to 459 AD.  Many visitors arrive to practice meditation, engage in spiritual pursuits and witness Buddhist and Hindu religious  performances.

My favorite part of wandering these hallowed grounds is located above the high banks of the sacred Bagmati River.  There, Hindu funeral pyres line concrete platforms which never seem to be out of use.  Considering loved ones are being sent along their final journey in this life in a very intimate way, families are surprisingly welcoming of visitors.  Photographers are not discouraged.  The scene is at times gripping – especially when watching the fear, sadness and bewilderment of young children who do not yet understand the cycle of life and death.

One other amusing if not memorable sight at the temple includes phony Brahmins (highest of the four castes in Nepal, followed by Chetat, Bisha, and Indra or “The Untouchables”).  These exalted beings -- who prance like enlightened faeries along flower petaled pathways with their long beards, orange sarongs, flowing hair, and prayer invoking hands -- are quick to offer a smile and a photo op.  But only for a price.

Hanuman Dhoka Durbar Square is the plaza in front of the old royal palace of the former Kingdom of Kathmandu. It is one of three Durbar or “royal palace” squares in the Kathmandu Valley.  All three are UNESCO World Heritage Sites.  The Square is surrounded with spectacular architecture and showcases skills of the local artists and craftsmen developed over multiple centuries.  The square encompasses quadrangular courts revealing former palaces, museums, an antiquarian library, and various temples.

One of the most unusual experiences of my entire journey occurred here.  I was walking in a loosely roped off area, when I was accosted by a young man gesturing toward my wallet.  I ignored him.  No donations today.  He continued to persist, and then got increasingly vocal about his demands.  A policeman started to approach.  I complained about the apparent panhandler.

Turns out, he was a ticket procurer.  The young man was directing me to an official booth where I was required as a foreigner to acquire a relatively inexpensive pass (a purchase, nevertheless) with a yellow tag hanging from my neck.  It had a prominent red star affixed.  It was quietly explained that I would not be hassled for proof of a ticket with such a pass hanging prominently in place.

The blaring receipt of sorts has the effect of marking you for every beggar, every predatory stall vendor, every pickpocket, con artist, slouch wanting to practice their English, and needy mother in search of milk money within a kilometer.  Being identified in such a way also exposes you to the “double charge.”

This is where you pay what you think will be one overall admission fee at the square entry, only to incur additional fees at virtually each stop worth viewing.  I saw plenty of locals and what appeared to be very Aryan looking foreigners proceeding without paying such fees.  Disgusted, I tore my yellow tag off within 100 meters.  Now I have some idea at least of what the Jews of Warsaw and Krakow felt like in the early days of World War II when their marked identification was mandatory, also.  

While at Durbar Square, I was introduced to Nepali Singing Bowls – one of my very few purchases on a very long journey.  These beautiful 7-layer alloys of copper and brass are both decorative and ceremonial.  A health benefit is also claimed.  They make great displays for fruit or flowers.  They are also utilized for offering gifts to the dead in Buddhist and Hindu ceremonies.

When its edges are rubbed by a properly shaped wooden rod, the bowl will begin to vibrate and offer up a pleasing hum.  Some bowls large enough to be placed over the head or near the ears during this “singing” phase can have a very therapeutic effect.  If the vibration is maintained, water placed inside the bowl will bubble and then boil, offering a cleansing opportunity.

The Dharahara Tower (yes, I had to check the spelling twice) provides the finest view in all the Kathmandu Valley.  This nine-story rolling pin was built in 1825, and stands 62 meters (approx 203 feet) tall.  It is designed in a modified European and Indian Mughal style.  Its original purpose was to serve as an elevated pulpit for important events, announcements, and festivals.  The 213 steps to its observation deck make for a nice bit of exercise and are worth the territorial vista available from that seventh floor.

One of my favorite finds in Kathmandu – away from the usual noise, traffic, pollution, hawkers, cow dung and muddy potholes -- was the Garden of Dreams.    This 7000 square meter brick-walled compound (built in 1920) is a lush urban retreat filled with ponds, fountains, plants, flower beds, manicured grass strips, statues, decorative garden furniture, and European-inspired features such as verandas, pergolas, balustrades, urns, and birdhouses.  It is dominated by pastel coloring and subtle shading which often appears more impressionist painting than terra firma.

People of all ages come here.  Seniors primarily for the peace and quiet.  Adolescents treat it as a Lover’s Lane (more amorous square, actually).  Everybody comes for the food – there is a restaurant and a café, with somewhat overpriced fare but much better on average than is found throughout the rest of the city. Two public bars are on premises.

After being neglected for many years, this English style Zen Garden oasis was fully restored from 2000 to 2007 – but retains only half its former size.  It remains a unique place within easy reach of all other tourist spots in city to take a nap, reflect on your travels, experience some tranquility, enjoy free wifi, and take advantage of scintillatingly clean public toilets.  My suggestion:  BYOB (bring your own blanket) for the perfect public lawns! 

The Monkey Temple is another of those obligatory pit-stops for the first time Kathmandu visitor.  Some locations have been known to go to the dogs.  Others (especially around here) have gone to the sacred cows.  This one is dominated by simians (who often provide some very amusing poses).  Thus the name.  You have the usual collection of hilltop temples, shrines, chortens, prayer flags, souvenir stalls, and contemplation benches.   Only one catchall description is necessary to provide a cover for most of them: tourist trap.

But in this case, there is an added bonus.  Rooftop café dining.  It is an ideal place, perched on one of the highest points of the city, to sit on the terrace roof of the Nirvana Restaurant with no timeline in mind and peer westward into the setting sun.  You easily blaze to memory the ring of green hills and low rise mountains which girdle the white fanged 8000 meter Himalayan Mountains just beyond … tallest peaks in the world.

These snow-capped giant pyramids, spires, needles, and crenellated ridges are the subject of my favorite activity while in Nepal … a morning flyby from Kathmandu through the central Himalayas.  The flight only takes an hour.  It is the most expensive day venture of my entire journey, at $200 per person.  But what an incredible experience!

When I was younger, I did quite a bit of mountain climbing and rock climbing.  The Himalayas and particularly an expedition to Mt. Everest (tallest peak in the world at 8850 meters or 29,035 feet) was number one on my adventure wish list.  I even petitioned the Chinese Mountaineering Council in the days when Communist China was off limits to westerners, to climb Mt. Everest from the Tibetan side along the classic Northeast Ridge route – immortalized through the disappearance in 1924 of English mountaineer George Leigh Mallory, last sighted within easy reach of the summit.

For years, I did research on Mt. Everest with a view toward writing a book on the world’s most famous peak should I not be able to ever climb there.  I never lost my fascination with the Old English expeditions of the twenties and thirties, the eventual successful ascent of the peak in 1953 by New Zealander Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, and the still formidable mountain’s reputation as the world’s highest graveyard as today’s expeditions attempt ever more dangerous routes to the top.

This day it was my distinct pleasure and good fortune to enjoy clear, near summit-level views of:  the distinctive dark shark fin of Gauri-Shankar (7134 meters), the giant molar cap of Melungtse (7181 meters), the huge elephant back expanse of Cho Oyu (8201 meters), the relatively small but perfectly symmetrical summit pyramid of Pumori (7161 meters) and chiseled wedge of Ama-Dablam (6812 meters), the white brooding hulk of Makalu (8463 meters), and the statuesque frozen mass of Kanchanjunga (8586 meters).

The real prize – the “Royal Courtyard” as it were – was the lofty triumvirate of Nuptse (7865 meters), Lhotse (7855 meters) and Everest.  These three are bound together by what is the world’s highest valley (The Western Cwm), and threaded by the world’s highest ridgeline.  Everest particularly commands my attention.  I know each of its features as if the mountain had left my embrace only moments earlier.

You start with the Base Camp amidst disheveled rocky glacial moraines, at about 18,500 feet.  Then the Khumbu Icefall, a chaos of constantly shifting locomotive-sized ice blocks that arguably forms the most dangerous climbing route in the world.  Then the powdery incline of the Western Cwm (valley).  The 4500 vertical feet of frozen bulges on the Lhotse Face.  Next the broad icy saddle of the South Col, highest pass in the world at over 26,500 feet.

From the South Col soars the 45 degree Southeast Ridge, original route of ascent but now considered the “tourist route” to the top.  The South Summit, a ten meter knob straddling the summit approach and scene of the world’s highest emergency bivouac in 1963.  The Hillary Step – a climber's bottleneck just below the summit. And finally, the mounded summit haystack itself, topped with a radio antennae planted by the Chinese in 1975 to certify their ascent of the mountain and to assist in altitude verification of Everest proper.

My most rewarding experience in Nepal had nothing to do with world class summits, tourist traps, spiritual quests, or garden retreats.  It was in fact an unanticipated visit to an orphanage, a growing theme within my travels.  My high school friend, Randy Bollig, a teacher in Japan, had suggested I visit a friend of his running a “Friends & Family Project” outside Kathmandu.  I really had no idea what this effort entailed.

Matrika Rijal picked me up at the Kathmandu Inn courtyard – one of the more heavily promoted dining and lodging establishments in the Nepalese capitol.  He has hired a driver for the day to take me outside the city to tour his … project (of which I am still unaware).  He is what we might call in the United States a community organizer.  This is the functional type however, that has boots on the ground, gets his hands dirty, and has no political aspirations.

He has conspired with Randy, given the latter’s new awareness of my work with orphans in Rwanda, to transport me to a site dedicated to caring for Nepalese children who have been abandoned and orphaned – The Balmanddir Orphanage.  I do not really know the reason, other than I am curious, and Randy knows I am disappointed with Kathmandu’s “finer” attractions.

I learn that Randy sponsors 57 children (some at the orphanage and some at the nearby Bal Ankur Secondary School) at a hefty monthly cost -- especially considering his teacher’s salary.  Matrika is the facilitator that connects Randy and other sponsors with both the orphanage and the secondary school.  This highly congenial man works his magic all over Nepal, connecting funding sources from both home and abroad with children of need.

The orphanage is my first stop.  It is much spacier and generously appointed than what I have seen previously in Rwanda.  That is by Third World standards, of course.  By western standards, these kids still lack much of what we consider merely basics.

I am gratified to see a basketball court, small soccer pitch, two classrooms (free to nearby poor children), an office, therapy room, library, eight-bed dorm, dorm for four handicapped children, storeroom, dining hall, kitchen, vegetable garden, well, water system, staff quarters, and nascent health clinic.  Much of the credit for this infrastructure goes to a group of Dutch doctors, who ponied up initial funds and $4000 for additional renovations.

I am beyond surprised to find that this orphanage – due to excellent management and connections (and some partial government funding) – actually offers its children milk, meat, eggs, lentils, vegetables, dal bread, and electricity. If only its staffers were regularly paid, this would be close to a “Cadillac” operation.

What a contrast, between this facility – this organization – and that of my Rwanda orphans!  And yet both are vital and, absolutely committed to this necessary work.  My head swims with the obvious necessity of these institutions, their apparent helplessness, and the very fleeting thought of: why bother?

You come to realize, that if but one of these children escapes these minimal surroundings and prospers … if one of them becomes a Ghandi … a Churchill … a Reagan … an FDR … a Lincoln … a Sadat … an Atuturk … a Gorbachov … a Peron … a Mandela … then every effort toward their ascension is worthwhile.  These ascents, are infinitely more important than summit conquests by even the most altruistic of mountain climbers.

Some of the luckier and more qualified of the orphans attend the Bal Ankur Secondary School.  The cost is $250 yearly.  This includes admission, full tuition, uniforms, shoes, socks, and exercise suits (but not food).

I am treated to a lengthy tour of the three-story boarding school by its reputable and highly accomplished headmaster, Birman.  The facilities include pre-school, elementary, middle school, and high school classes.  The classrooms are very crowded, with up to 32 students per diminutive room, but there are several fully-stocked libraries and even a computer lab on the premises.  The school is well protected by a walled enclosure. Scholarships – funded by generous people like Randy Bollig – are often provided.

It is pleasing to think that most of those scholarships go toward female students.  The reason for this is quite simple.  Asian and Mideast families tend to put most of their resources into the success of males in the family, and particularly the oldest male child.  This funding preference is intended to help even the playing field and reflect the best intentions of school sponsors.

At what I thought was the end of the visit Birman’s wife (“Madame”) and daughter Piptil – an engineer and part-time teacher -- generously ply me with endless helpings of food.  They ignore pleadings to escape this feeding, despite my just having been stuffed from a delightful home-made meal at the Balmandir Orphanage.  Both were welcome examples of the legendary Nepali hospitality I’d been led to expect, but had yet to experience.

I have no idea (even now, months later) what this connection with the orphanage and the boarding school will mean to me, or how I might be of eventual service to them. There are occasions when knowing is merely a booby prize.  Just being a willing part of the circle of life and realizing you have left your part of the chain unbroken is often all that matters.