Daily Archives: February 17, 2023

Chicken bones, ravens, and tea leaves

It’s said that travel changes you and I’d have to agree with that. I know it has me. We’ve spent so much time in Asia that now I have to smile if a mall has a fourth floor and I’m surprised if the elevator has the “unlucky” #4 button. In Penang we lived on the 29th floor of a high rise and on the way down the floor readout had a hiccup at the 24th floor which read 23b, 14th floor read 13a, and the fourth floor read 3ab, just to be safe. We got down just the same. My hospital in Penang had no 4th floor even though I had physical therapy on the fourth floor every day. Yours Truly found that a little disconcerting.

I’m not about to reach out for the chicken bones to find what it all means but I find I’m a little more aware of things like how the flow of my day seems to be going or why an older gentleman dressed in denim who also just arrived at the Kathmandu Airport just asked me where I got my shoes. Turns out that’s a long story but, “No, I’m not going trekking. These Merrells are my everyday shoes.” The affable Dutchman named Peter wished us good day and with it getting dark, we all busied ourselves with procuring ground transportation.

Ours turned out to be to be another yellow 4-door Speck with doors as thin as a sheet of corrugated cardboard. The driver applied himself diligently and soon we were being tossed about like dice in a dice box.

Outside the cab a horrible scene had developed into the intimidating kind of nighttime chaos that would fit right in to that river night scene in apocalypse now. You know the one. The traffic was horrendous but there were thousands of people partying out in the streets, bundled against the cold. It was an “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” moment.

That’s when I recalled how everyone reacted when we said we’re going to Kathmandu. “It’s a shithole.” Hard to believe it could be that bad. Well, everything looks worse at night. We hadn’t yet arrived but I wouldn’t say it’s a bad omen. The driver, all things considered, knew every path and alley in this city but he could not find our hotel. Ok, that’s an omen. Finally he stopped in an alley to call our hotel while completely blocking the knife & dagger shop we were practically stopped inside of. The hotel sent out a search and rescue party to find and guide us back on foot so our taxi left. The alleyways are paved in rough brick which caused our wheeled duffels to flop over but I liked the clickity-clack sound. I told Marce that we’d laugh about this later.

Eight flights of solid marble stairs later, we had arrived. Kathmandu. Yeah, so far it’s a shithole.

In the morning another flight of stairs led to al fresco breakfast on the roof. The temperature was a reach for us but I enjoyed the raven’s company.

Stepping out of our alley who should be the first person we see? It’s Peter, the affable Dutchman from the airport. Like us he’s a head taller than anyone else. He quickly suggested an afternoon foray to the Pashupatinath Temple on the Bagmati River. Of course, of course, sounds great.

The taxi let us off at the top of a ridge that led down to a tiny river where a great pall of smoke and incense lay in the valley choking us.

The heavy air is the kind of thing that Marce hates.

It quickly got serious though. Oh my god, these are funeral pyres.

It’s the Hindu festival Maha Shivaratri and lines of faithful chant and dance through the temples.

Meanwhile, down at the river families are performing rights and ablutions before our very eyes.

Some have to be instructed, some corrected, some families stand there stunned.

What a scene. Sobering to think about what we’re breathing in. I’m told some are brought to a low lying building to await death. Too real.

We eventually hiked our way up the hill past every huckster in the valley to the temples on top and some of them still show serious damage from the 2015 earthquake.

By this point the grounds were overwhelmed with people making taxis fairly scarce so suddenly negotiating with them became much tougher. That’s how it goes in Kathmandu. It’s tough, but maybe it’s not a shithole.

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