One of the algae-covered public water pools

Day 35

04/10/12

At 5am I was easily woken by the sound of donging bells, as I had an upset stomach (I guess my belly isn’t as into traditional food as my brain). Every morning the locals tour all the temples in the area to pray and leave offerings. This can take a few hours (!) and often they do the same in the evening – every day! Bhaktapur translates as “City of Devotees” and you can see why. Both Decent and Mohan, who live in the city, told me their mothers take part in this daily ritual. Decent also explained that many houses have a prayer room where the family can make offerings and clean the effigies every morning before doing the temple rounds. For the mothers it’s part of their routine to spend countless hours of every day honoring the gods. After an offering is made at a shrine, you ring the bell to let the gods know. This early in the morning I didn’t really appreciate the religious dedication – and this is one of the better guest houses for noise. Some of them are right next to the temples and bells and Decent says you can spy bleary-eyed tourists looking out the windows in dismay at the din outside!

*chortle*

Although the dinging and donging continued, I managed to get back to sleep eventually and rose late. I set out on a mission to visit Changu Narayan, a really old temple up a hill about 6km away. It’s supposed to be one of the oldest in Nepal, a favourite of history buffs and is another World Heritage site. Finding the bus stop turned into a ‘mare as I tried to interpret the vague map in the guidebook. As Bhaktapur is peppered with small roads and alleys, I felt like a rat in a maze. I had to ask for directions a number of times, each time not spying my goal, but getting closer.As usual, getting lost had its benefits, I saw the backstreets and life away from the tourist trails of the old city, where hens, ducks and children roamed, people worked out on the street, drying corn, sifting rice and hanging washing to dry on their walls.

I discovered a few of the old public water spouts, which are still in use, which is pretty cool considering they’re hundreds of years old. People were collecting water there, washing clothes or taking brisk showers. In fact Bhaktapur and Kathmandu show a remarkably carefree attitude towards the sanctity of their historical sites, people can clamber all over the ancient structures, and away from the big tourist attractions the old buildings and shrines are used for the same purposes as they were hundreds of years ago. Temples and statues are stained red from offering dyes, and covered in rice and flowers cover them. Sometimes the engravings are so smooth you can’t make out the original design, but they’re still used. It’s nice to see them still serving their purpose, though you wonder what condition they’ll be in for the future generations.

A water spout in use

Eventually I found a tourist map which led me to the bus stop. As it’s not marked in any way it’s not surprising I’d walked past it earlier. A man arrived and asked me where I was going, then confirmed I was in the right place. Then an Indian-looking chap pulled up with a blue trolley serving round wafer parcels. They are filled by hand with a mix of potato, onions, garlic and spices, with water on a silver saucer. I’d seen these before and Mohan had told me it’s like a cleansing food, good for the throat and quite popular. After watching a load of school boys merrily wolfing down one after another, I decided to try and ate about five. They were strong tasting but served as a weird breakfast. That evening, Decent scolded me saying I was crazy to try them as they can be really unhygienic, particularly the water which usually isn’t filtered. A western girl I met weeks later said she’d tried and immediately had to run to the nearest loo to evacuate in a hurry! Guess I got lucky!

The stomach buster

A large mini bus finally arrived with padded seats and an aircon system that wasn’t used. Like most buses was packed with locals crammed in the aisle. Hindu music blared from the speakers. People of all ages and types were inside from school kids to old men with canes and Nepali hats. We set off, soon entering the countryside, where green, picturesque maize fields spread out with white storks dotted among them. We coiled up a steep hill through small villages and past woodland. Up here the views over the Kathmandu valley were awesome, though you couldn’t see too far because of the haze/pollution. A friendly Nepali girl beside me talked to me, and told me a bit about Changu Narayan village where she was from.

You see all kinds of foods drying out on the streets

After half an hour we reached the hilltop and got off. You could see for miles and miles on both sides. One other tourist got off the bus, a Swiss woman, and we bought tickets for the temple at the base of the steps leading up to it, along a street lined with souvenir shops. The village was old and charming, with lots of corn cobs and grass hanging from the buildings to dry in the sun. Old women had spread out big piles of rice on mats across the path, and sieved it whilst an abundance of dogs, ducks, chickens and chicks ran around. One woman chased off some happy ducks who were treating her pile as a giant restaurant!

Painting a demon mask

Many of the souvenir shops sold big colourful demon masks and I saw women painting them. At the top of the village stood the temple. It’s not very big, just one building in a courtyard but you can tell it’s seriously old. Bhaktapur is mostly 16^th century, this is 6^th century. Considering its age, and that it’s made from wood, it’s in surprisingly good nick. Worn carvings of multi-armed goddesses made up the roof beams. Around the building were assorted stone carvings, statues and smaller shrines. Me and the Swiss woman were the only tourists here, but a few locals were sat around too.

Changu Narayan temple

From the site leaflet I could see a point of interest down the hill on the other side of the temple so I descended a big flight of steps past wandering ducks and dogs and dilapidated houses. Locals went about their business. I went out the village gate to find myself on a grassy hillside with a stone path meandering down into the forest below. The views across the valley were very nice. A big tree was encircled by a little stone wall – one of the holy trees. You see these around Nepal, sometimes with coloured string around them or offerings left on the trunks. A legend tells that one of the gods turned into a tree when he visited earth, hence the worship. Little black pigs rooted around in the pool alongside.

Cows and goats grazed freely in the woods at the bottom of the hill

I explored the area and came back to the temple where more tourists had arrived, and investigated the rest of the village, which was much the same as the souvenir street. People stared and children waved, I guess the tourists usually stick to the temple!

Corn cobs hang out to dry

View from the rooftop restaurant

I hopped on the departing bus which announced its leaving with a blast of its musical horn. The sun was low and the light was nice over the terraced farming as we descended. Back in the city I walked through the backstreets, passing a big green water reservoir filled with fish and turtles.

In the Durbar Square there were loads of people hanging out and I knew something big was going on. Then I heard a shout and Mohan, my guide from yesterday waved at me. He was meeting a friend and told me it was the last day of the Indra Jatra festival and the white elephant was on its way. We climbed up one of the old stone temples and the crowd numbers swelled as the sun set. The local kids all wanted their photos taken so I obliged.

Horrendous hawking and spitting in public is something you have to deal with every day in Nepal. People spit everywhere, out of bus windows, from motorbikes, in shops, whatever. Nothing like waking at 5am to the sound of the neighbourhood hawking their guts out!

After half an hour the square was packed and all the temple steps were full, .an array of colour. In the distance, men with trident torches appeared at the old city gate and paraded into the square to the sound of drums and cymbals. Soon afterwards the “elephant”came. This was a cloth covered scaffold with a big white mask on the front, carried on the shoulders by a gang of men. They picked up pace and the crowd was parted by the police to form a corridor which it charged along. People crammed me to try to catch a glimpse. A westerner’s height advantage proves useful in these situations! Unfortunately it was too dark and cramped here to take good photos. The elephant did three rounds of the square, chasing children, before moving off into the old city, and the crowds dissipated to follow it.

The elephant (left of the white arch) surges through the crowd

I went to the square with the 5-tier temple to discover them attaching a banner with fresh entrails hanging from the top, to the smaller temple. Blood dripped down the canvas. There were lots of people making offerings at this temple and people sitting playing drums, cymbals and singing. I returned to the Golden Gate guest house after taking more photos around the area. Decent invited me to dinner. He took me to a nearby rooftop restaurant next to the 5-tier temple and we chatted the evening away. He told me the entrails I’d seen were probably from the goat I’d seen tied up yesterday, sacrificed for Indra Jatra. After dinner I retreated to the guest house roof garden and caught up on my diary as the moon shone weakly above. Decent joined me later and we chilled out smoking until bedtime.

The remains of the unfortunate goat…

Temple shrine, typically covered in offerings from the day

Day 34

03/10/12

Today I was off to Bhaktapur, an ancient city which Bhupen had described as a living museum. I checked out of my hotel, took all my bags and caught a taxi from Thamel, an hour’s trip to Bhaktpur. Normally I’d take a local bus but you have to put your big bags on the roof racks and with my shoulder that wasn’t going to happen, if I wanted to secure them properly. The taxi driver was friendly and I found out he has 4 children whose education he pays for, 400 rupees a month per kid (about 4 quid, but that’s quite a lot in Nepal). The trip took us down one of the best roads in Nepal, a new motorway made by the Japanese which has reduced the trip from a few hours to just half an hour. My dad, who went to Nepal maybe 40 years ago, recalls the old road being one of the worst main roads he’d driven on his travels, and broke his van’s axel on it. We drove past other big towns but it didn’t really feel like we left the urban sprawl at any point, although the countryside got leafier. The tractor (the long, low Nepali version) that I’d seen the other day in Kathmandu turned out not to be a novelty, as out here there were loads of them, chugging away loudly and slowly, carrying water tanks, stacks of metal and other heavy goods.

Bhaktapur’s Durbar Square

At Bhaktapur I was met by a guide arranged through Fantastic Nepal. Mohan was a spectacled, skinny 25 year old. As Bhaktapur has so many things to see and a lot of history, I thought a guide would be a good idea, I was thinking of staying a few days. I’d arrived at one of the old city gates, a big archway through which you could see Bhaktapur’s Durbar square, an amazing collection of old temples and palaces which appears on postcards and posters all over Nepal. It bustled with tourists and locals, disabled beggars and street kids milled around beseeching all. We walked less than a minute past tiered temples to a guesthouse in the heart of the old city, through some old courtyards, one of which contained an intricately carved wooden double-door. At the Golden Gate guesthouse I dumped my bags and Mohan led me outside.

One of the “rest stations”

We sat on wooden benches under the eaves of an old police rest house. These rest stations are still used around the city by old men and women who relax on the wooden planks under the rafters and watch the world go by. Mohan explained the history of the Durbar square, most of it is 16^th century and the old dynasty kings built the temples and palace here, all of which are Hindu. With only a beginner knowledge of Hinduism I got Mohan to give me a crash course in it where we covered the main gods and Hindu philosophy.

Lattice windows

We started touring the square. First we entered a temple with a golden doorway guarded by a rilfe-wielding policeman, because inside is a valuable relic. The door was flanked by big stone lions (acting as guardians) and ancient statues of Hindu gods. We followed a passage between buildings with ornate wooden carvings on the roof supports, and wooden lattice windows.

Typical beam carving

At the main temple gate I couldn’t go inside as only Hindus are allowed, but next to it was one of the water spouts used by the king.  A series of tiered steps descended into the ground like a reverse pyramid, at the bottom sat a green, algae covered pool. A tall pole sprouted from the centre topped by a snake, the god Shiva’s “vehicle”. The edges of the pit were lined with stone snakes.

Down a staircase next to the pool was the metal water spout, which was a crocodile eating a goat, the spout coming out of the goats mouth. This used to be fed by underground streams but these days the water supply is taken by the rest of the city before it reaches here, so it remained dry.

The water spout

Next we walked around the smaller temples in the square and followed a narrow, shop-lined street to the tallest temple in Nepal, having 5-tiers, and the only one to survive the massive earthquake in the 1930’s.

It’s meeeeee!

Most of the other temples in Bhakatpur were rebuilt but you can see many statues have been put back together like a jigsaw puzzle. A smaller tiered temple stood on another side of the square with a goat tethered next to it. Buffalos and goats have the dubious honour of being worthy for sacrifice and it’s commonly done for big festivals. Families may also make an animal sacrifice at a temple to appease (or please) a god if they are having problems, or for occasions like marriage, though usually they hire someone to perform the execution. This goat was on death row.

This really gets my goat

We walked along the old streets where daily life carried on as normal. All the houses are ancient with old crumbling bricks, cracking woodwork, and lattice windows. Many were destroyed and rebuilt after the earthquake (which flattened most of Nepal’s buildings). There are loads of souvenir shops selling jewellery, “antiques”, demon masks and fine detail Nepali art (colourful Thanka paintings) which this city specialises in. Compared to Kathmandu it was chilled, with much less people and no cars – they’re banned in the old city. There’s still honks from the occasional motorbike that runs through town but it’s nothing compared to the capital where a foot wrong can lead to an accident.

We passed some deep circular wells, lined with moss and ferns, and wooden posts wrapped with colourful string bracelets, sometimes with a mask fixed on top. These are for the Indra Jatra festival and commemorate the binding of a god who was imprisoned for stealing food from the people.

In another square we went inside a wood workshop. At the entrance craftsmen and women were tapping away with hammer and chisel on wooden planks, creating very intricate patterns in the style I’d seen around the city. Upstairs a man showed me around their shop which was full of amazingly detailed work – lattice windows, effigies, ornate chests, statues and masks. They also make the peacock window, a lattice window with a fine carved peacock in the middle, which can only be found in Bhaktapur.

My guide, Mohan, enters the wood workshop

On the first floor of an old building with an open side to the square we ate lunch. Mohan told me he taught language classes at school as a second job. He only lives a few minutes away from the Durbar square and has lived here all his life. His knowledgeable about the history and religion of the place was deep and around town he would often greet shopkeepers he knew. Everyone seemed to know him.

The original peacock window

Pottery Square

Next we went down alleyways past the original peacock window to “pottery square”. Pottery is another specialty here. The square was covered with clay pots and vases drying out in the sun, black and red clay alongside bundles of grass. An old potter was spinning a stone wheel on the ground and effortlessly forming a new jug with his dripping hands, as a tour group swarmed around him. As he was asking for money for photos most of them begrudgingly kept their cameras down!

Down a side alley from the square were the firing stacks. The pots are stacked in beds of long grass and completely covered with it. The grass is set alight, firing the pots, and the resulting ash blankets them, protecting them from smashing. It takes around two days for them to be ready.

Stacking the pots for firing

Back in the square I photographed the potter and give him a tip. I watched a man loading a wheelbarrow with big sausages of supple black clay, which they get from the hills nearby.

The old potter at work. He can churn one out every few minutes.

We continued through the old town, stopping at a Thanka painting shop. Mohan knew the guy working there who showed me around. Sat inside were painters working on big canvases with very fine brushes. The artistry was impressive. Both masters and students work here. After colouring, some paintings have an extra stage where real gold paint is used to add detail on top. I watched one of the painters at work adding in some tiny pupils to a buddah’s eyes. This was the final, crucial stage and he did it perfectly. It can take a few months to complete a painting so to mess up here would be costly! If mistakes are made then sometimes they can be repainted, but you can always tell. With the gold paintings it can be a write-off if a mistake is made, and an expensive one at that!

Adding the finishing touches…

Upstairs I was given a crash course in Buddhism and shown different types of Thanka painting in more detail. I felt like I was being pushed into a sale with all of the goodwill being shown to me, having expressed my interest for one of the styles earlier. Fortunately the guy wasn’t too pushy and was understanding when I explained that I was travelling and couldn’t be walking around for 6 months carrying a painting!

At a souvenir stall Mohan showed me a traditional Nepali board game, on a small bronze board with metal playing pieces. It’s called Tigers and Goats, for two players, one playing the tigers and the other the goats. The tiger player must moves his tigers and hops over goats to eat them, and every turn the goat player places a goat on the board. If the goats trap the tigers (leaving them no possible moves) the goats win, if the tigers eat 5 goats the tigers win.

Back at Durbar square I paid Mohan his fee and said goodbye. Now it was 4pm the light was nice for photos at last after the glaring sun of the daytime. I wandered around with my camera, catching locals doing their rounds of the temples, making offerings.

When dusk came I returned to the guest house and went up to the roof garden. The views were really nice, looking over the old and new rooftops of Bhaktapur and we were right next to the big tiered temples which rose above them. Beyond were rising hills covered in terrace farmland and woods. Crows pecked at breadcrumbs on the wall. The odd horn and murmur of people below were the only thing disturbing the peace up here. I ate dinner up there, a set Newari meal of assorted beans, Dhal Bhat (lentils and rice), pickled vegetables and meat.

The roof garden at Golden Gate guest house

A guy who works at the guesthouse joined me for a drink. His name was Decent (yes really), a jovial mid-20 year old who spoke really good English with an American accent. He’d studied in Texas and only returned some months ago to his family who run the guesthouse. We chatted all evening, smoking joints, and he seemed a really sound guy. He was able to give me lots of insight into Nepalese life and he was also interested in photography like me. We could hear the Indra Jatra festival in full swing below, the chariots were being hauled around the city. I peered down and could see they were much smaller than the Kathmandu ones and were carried on the shoulders of the bearers. We said goodnight and I hit the sack.

Day 33

02/10/12

Today I was off to find Swayambhunath (or as it’s more commonly known, the Monkey Temple) across Kathmandu’s main river. I strode through the mayhem of the streets, as usual in this maze losing my way a bit. I came upon a high school (all schools have signs in English). Outside children were filling into buses, many sitting on the roofs. There was some kind of rivalry going on between two buses and they were shouting out good-naturedly to each other as they sped off. Some of them waved at me.

Back on the correct road, the buildings began to change in style, becoming more modern as I left the old town. I passed two cows on the road, which nonchalantly strolled along whilst cars and bikes swerved around them. Sometimes passers-by would touch a cow with their hand and do a holy sign against their own chest. Like India, cows are held sacred here so they can go where they want and pretty much do what they want. Someone recently told me the punishment for killing a cow is the same as for murdering a person! I noticed one had an ear tag so I guess they still have owners. I overtook the chilled out bovines and went by a little butchers’ – with a whole buffalo leg propped up against the wall. Don’t look, cows! Butchers here are basic, usually just a room filled with meat and a chopping board. I’ve never seen a cooling system or ice – the meat just lies out in the open often with flies crawling on it. It’s not just the expensive cuts either, I’ve seen jawbones, heads and feet on display.

I came to a primary school which was crammed into one of the tiny old buildings, I could see kids through the upper shutters. It looked dark inside. A beggar came up to me but I ignored him which is the best way to get rid of them. Kathmandu has its fair share of beggars, especially in the tourist areas and at temples. It’s the eternal moral dilemma of whether to help, and if you do, who to help. Who needs the money most? The guy with one leg? An old woman? A street kid? You can’t help everyone and you have no idea what the money’s going towards. Undoubtedly some of the able bodied make a good living from begging when perhaps they could be working. You just don’t know. I rarely give for these reasons, and of course my low budget. I would rather give to charities that help people on the street, or donate more concrete things than money, such as clothes or food so you know it’s going to be used for a worthwhile cause. In the case of street kids, the Lonely Planet advises not to give to them as it encourages more kids to turn to begging, and adults even send kids to bring in money for them. If you want to help it’s better to give to NGOs (non governmental organizations) who assist kids on the street, getting them an education and accommodation. I’ve even heard stories of street kids here who will accept packaged food, and then immediately go and sell it back to a shop, to get money to spend on drugs!

Anyway, you could discuss the moral minefield of beggars for hours. Back to my trip. I came to the road bridge over the Vishnumati river. Near to it I saw men stuffing pillows with down, a man sorting through a mountain of plastic rubbish and as I got closer to the river I could see, and smell, how polluted it was. The inlets and banks were covered in piles of rubbish. The water looked a nasty colour and was dotted with islands of rubbish. It all stank of sewage and rot. When you see the state of one of the major rivers in the city you can see why Nepal has serious water problems. You wouldn’t go anywhere near that river with a barge pole.

Fancy a drink?

On the bridge a boy was flying a small square plastic kite. It looked like it was made from food wrappers. Kites are popular with the kids in Nepal and you sometimes see them flying above the roofs, or caught on high cables. This guy was pretty good, saving it from certain death a number of times and swooping it back around, skyward again. Further up-river I could see cows on the banks, and kites (this time, I mean the birds of prey) soaring overhead. Over the bridge I turned down a side road to check out a small temple, which accompanied an array of shrines, most of the statues were worn away to almost nothing, but were still red with tikka dye and had remnants of offerings; rice and flowers stuck on them. For many people of Nepal making offerings at shrines is a part of daily life. Beyond the temple was a very smelly canal where hens roamed on the pathways. I went back to follow the winding main road uphill.

After five minutes I reached a break in the buildings and realized this hill had been a cunning decoy! In fact the real Monkey Temple hill was visible about a mile away in the distance! I could see the golden pyramid poking out through the forested hilltop. “A leisurely stroll” from Thamel, the book said. If that’s what you call a leisurely stroll you need help mate!

The views between the building gaps were impressive, the sprawl of Kathmandu rolled out into the distance and green hills lay beyond. Kites and crows whirled around above the rooftops. The city was much bigger than I’d thought and an array of coloured and irregular buildings fuzzed into the haze. The road wound its way up for another fifteen minutes as the sun blazed down.

I reached the base of the Monkey Temple’s hill, where taxis and beggars swarmed around the beginning of the large stone staircase disappearing into the trees where it got much steeper. The staircase was flanked by big statues, some golden. The staircase coursed around small shrines. Children, some as young as 3 or 4 years old, were sent by mothers sitting nearby to say “hello” or “please” and follow you with their hand outstretched. They were dirty and looked bedraggled, and didn’t give up easily. I felt angry at the mothers for making their kids do this from such a young age, but it probably works.

Along the wide staircase were many souvenir vendors, most selling nice metal embossed plaques with ornate patterns or messages. There were also old or injured beggars sat on the stairs. A lot of tourists were around, mostly oriental or South Asian. Pretty soon I saw the monkeys that give the place its name. They are called rhesus monkeys, grey-brown and big. There were loads of them; males, females and babies, lounging around on the stones beside the steps, running around in the bushes nearby, swinging from the branches of trees. Tourists flocked around them and some monkeys were taking food from them, whether offered or stolen I’m not sure!

Some of the monkeys scurried off you if you got close, others were totally un-phased. Babies clung to their mum’s backs or bellies, sometimes sprinting to grab on if their parent legged it. Groups of monkeys were grooming each other. Sometimes you’d see ones with a biscuit, a wrapper or a plastic bottle in their hand, with puzzled expressions, trying to figure out if there was food inside.

The last stretch of stairs were very steep and a little ticket office was right near the top. The trees cleared and the amazing views around the valley were revealed when you looked back. A few more steps and there stood the big white stupa dome, topped by a golden pyramid with curved Buddah eyes painted on each side. Colourful strings of prayer flags were strung from the top down to the corners. Around the stupa’s base were prayer wheels and round lamp holders. Smaller buildings, shrines stood in clusters, only meters apart. There were some food vendors and small souvenir shops in little old buildings around the small paved hilltop. On the edges were fenced viewing platforms where you could admire the panorama of Kathmandu stretching in every direction into the shimmering haze.

To the north close by was an adjacent, smaller, wooded hill covered in huge strings of prayer flags and more little statues. I descended some stairs to have a look. It was a really nice spot. Monkeys, dogs and pidgeons were everywhere, around a collection of small stupas and big groups of Indian tourists got off at the bus park nearby. A little monastery was up here, in bad shape, and a little temple with colourful prayer wheels. There was also a wooden structure in the temple where people had scrawled white graffiti all over the beams.

I walked back up to the main temple passing many beggars with crutches and a few robed monks with collection bowls. and made my way down the flight of steps to the entrance. On the way down I passed some western girls I’d spoken briefly to earlier and asked if they wanted to share a taxi back to Thamel, I couldn’t be bothered walking all that way in the afternoon heat. They agreed and we went back to Kathmandu. Turns out they’d only met each other an hour earlier at the temple and were both travelling solo. One girl, Anya, was Swiss and would shortly be teaching in a Nepali school for 5 months, the other was Dutch, Rose, and she was travelling around the country. We went for lunch in Thamel and swapped email addresses in the hopes of meeting up in a week or two in Pokhara, the hub town near the big mountains.

The girls each had appointments in the afternoon and we parted ways. I went to see the recommended Garden of Dreams five minutes walk away. It’s an old walled, colonial-looking garden, quite small but very nice, with lawns, fountains and white pavilions. It’s a place to go and relax, unfortunately the car horns still pervade, but other than that it’s very calming, and was full of couples and tourists taking a break from the madness of the city. I explored the garden and indluged in an ice cream. There’s even foam mats and rolls to use so you can lie on the grass in comfort, so I grabbed a few and chilled out, catching up on my diary. I had paid for the wi-fi here too but the connection kept dropping. Kathmandu is cursed with the most unreliable wi-fi ever. I stayed a few hours until dusk, when every bird in Kathmandu descended into the garden’s trees making a massive racket. The mossies started to appear too (though compared to Thailand they are scarce here), and I made a move.

I grabbed dinner at a Tibetan restaurant in Thamel and chose a thick soup served with dense coiled sour bread. It’s served with chilli and curry dips, so you put that onto the bread and then dunk it in the soup. Very filling! Soon after I got back to my hotel, Bhupen from Fantastic Nepal called and arranged to meet me at a restaurant nearby.

The restaurant, OR2K, had a cool vibe, with colourful painted walls and UV lighting, filled with a younger crowd and had low tables with cushion seating. Bhupen showed me a suggested itinery for the Annapurna base camp trek I was interested in doing, complete with photos. It looked nice. We chatted and I also got him to organize a guide for my trip tomorrow to Bhaktapur. I turned in early.