I’ve never had a more raucous introduction to a country. Nepal’s roads were crowded, loud, jammed, and crumbling, although I thought the latter was somewhat excusable, because while roads are unpaved and potholed in many poor countries such as Cambodia or Honduras, Nepal has to build its roads through the Himalayas.
From Nepal’s northern border with Tibet, we drove south—up and down mountain passes—until we entered the humid and smog-filled valley of Kathmandu. Let’s say that word again: Kathmandu. Just the name is so exotic. The city is as dusty and dirty as Phnom Penh, but 10 to 20 degrees cooler and thousands of years older. Near Durbar Square—the old seat of the kingdom—we found a secluded and quiet back alley where a young boy struggled to get his kite in the air. Boys all over the city own kites. The paper triangles dot the skyline.
Nepal, for me, was food heaven after growing tired China’s greasy dumplings and Tibet’s bland rice. Suddenly, samosas were everywhere, and so cheap! Only about 5 cents apiece. The fried pastry, filled with curry-spiced potatoes is, I think, the most delicious street food in the world. They’re such a staple of the diet here that even Coca-Cola markets its signature soda alongside samosas.
So I’m eating a lot of samosas. Each time I walked past a small shop with the delicious triangles frying in a vat of grease, I dropped the 5 rupees for a bite. At Nepali restaurants, meals don’t come with samosas, but they do come with unlimited rice and dhal bhat (lentil curry). So I’m eating a lot of that, too.
I ate two samosas and drank a masala tea before climbing up to Swayambhunath, Kathmandu’s most iconic temple. It’s set atop a hill in the west of the city. Like much of Kathmandu, the temple is ancient, dating to 460 AD. On the east side of the city is the 4th century Hindu temple of Pushpatinath and the more recent Buddhist temple of Bodhnath (built in a community of Tibetans in exile). Myriad centuries-old public fountains and wells also dot the streets.
Around the corner from the Tibetan temple in Bodhnath, I met Neema Wangchuk, the son of a Nepali father and Tibetan mother who fled her homeland in the 1950s. “Fighting the Chinese is like throwing eggs at a wall,” he told me over a lunch of thentup (Tibetan-style noodle soup). “It’s a waste of lives.” Instead, Neema refuses to buy Chinese-made goods. He was wearing an Adidas jacket. “Where’s it from?” I asked. “India,” he shot back. Fighting the Chinese economy seems even more futile than fighting its Army, I was thinking.
It was nice to have company while I ate. Nepalis may be more aggressive about selling products, but, unlike Chinese, they’re also quick to drop the sales pitch and offer advice. So, with nicer people and tastier food, I’m enjoying Nepal. Both Claire and I are writing articles about our experiences in Tibet, so we’re spending a few extra days in Kathmandu.
I started this blog entry with a mention of Nepal’s bad roads. Well, in the Annapurnas, there ARE NO roads. That’s where we’re headed in a few days: west toward Pokhora.
