From my diary (June 2013)
On a Saturday morning, my
flight to Kathmandu is scheduled for a 7.45 am takeoff from Kuala Lumpur, but I
arrive at the airport almost four hours in advance. When I get to the departure
gate, I realise that about 99 per cent of the passengers are Nepalese
immigrants going back home. There is no more than a dozen or so tourists,
myself included. The flight lasts for about four and a half hours, during which
time I try to rest a little. Shortly before landing, below us there are only
clouds until the aircraft breaks through them, allowing one a view of the green
mountains that surround the urban conglomerate that is Kathmandu and its
satellite towns.
Kathmandu. A name that conjures the exotic, as
does Samarcanda, Marrakech or Timbuktou. Once inside the airport, I queue for
my visa, and then go out to look for the driver of the hotel I have booked, who
is supposedly expecting me. I must wait awhile, but when he arrives, I know
immediately from his manner I will like the Nepalese people. Less so the way
they drive, though, which is of a piece with the south and southeast Asian
driving I have by now encountered time and again: lorries, cars, motorbikes and bicycles coming at one from
every side, on the right and on the wrong side of the road, continuously
avoiding collusions. Every now and again a cow strolls imperturbably by, or rests
in the middle of the carriageway.
Less than
half an hour’s drive and we’re at the hotel, which is charming, located in a
quiet area of the city. I’m offered a ‘welcome drink’, get through with the
formalities, and go straight to my room as I’m falling asleep on my feet.
I
wake up two or three hours later feeling quite dazed, but the desire to start exploring
Kathmandu prevails. I have a masala chai to wake me up, a black tea leavened with milk and spices – predominantly cloves, cardamom and cinnamon – one of the tastiest hot drinks I’ve ever tried, and
then decide to venture out. I get to the main road, and look around, incredulous
at having made it… to Nepal! The streets of the old town are narrow and not
always paved, with honking motorbikes and cars continuously brushing past you, whilst
all around one… history. The old palaces, the Hindu temples and Buddhist
stupas, the Buddhist monks, the incredible ethnic mix of Western and Eastern
Asia, not to mention the shops, the colours, the affable people, the women in their
sarees. In spite of my tiredness, a clear sense of being in the right place
fills me with joy...
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| The Maya Devi Temple with Ashokan pillar. This is the place where the Buddha was born! |
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