Day 36

05/10/12

At half 4 I woke up again to the sound of bells and a churning tummy. Maybe the hygiene disaster of yesterday’s onion balls were catching up with me. I couldn’t get back to sleep so squirmed around till half 6 when I met Decent for our morning hike. He’s in line to take over the guest house soon and as an extra form of income he plans to lead short hikes in the surrounding hillsides, only half an hour’s walk away. He had some routes in mind and wanted to use me as a guinea pig to get some feedback, and for free too! We set off in the rising sun and he led me through tiny alleyways, ducking through low doorways and into little courtyards to see the hidden side of Bhaktapur. No tourist would ever find their way here, some of the doorways look like house entrances but lead into little corridors emerging into hidden courtyards. In some of these were little shrines where local women were making their morning offerings. Decent had brought his camera and we snapped away, he said the locals wouldn’t mind. We passed a kid taking a poo in an alleyway, Decent said back here, times haven’t changed – that’s how people used to live. We shouldered by locals on their way to work or worship. It was a rare treat to see this “real” side of the city, away from the tourist trail.

We came out onto larger roads and passed more temples. Bundles of incense string burned at regular intervals. I watched as a crow pecked at one and took off with it – Decent says they get confused, thinking they are worms. Burning worms, brave crows! By 7am the streets were bustling and the temples and statues were busy with people making offerings, ringing bells and burning incense. The light was lovely and I wished I could get up early more often – but with my lack of sleep lately it was something I hadn’t done for ages. We passed rice fields squeezed between houses, and crossed the busy main road to Kathmandu, heading uphill into the countryside. Everyone else was heading the other way.

As the houses thinned to become woodland, we reached a road where I felt I’d wandered into a army camp. Groups of soldiers in full camo uniform and gear, some toting big rifles, were pounding along at full pelt, doing fitness training. Guys in shorts and t-shirts stood ran alongside and waited on the roadside. We were close to a local army camp. I didn’t want to openly take photos as the military can be touchy about that, but took a few on the sly (Decent said he’d talk our way out of any trouble).

Up this road the trees opened out to show what would have been a good view of the city – but unfortunately it was hazy and you couldn’t see far. We climbed a steep flight of steps to find ourselves on a wooded ridge. Some big birds with long tails and blue wings swooped gracefully past, dipping and rising in flight. We passed other people and I asked Decent why they were up in this quiet place. He explained there was a temple nearby which people visit on the way to the city.

At the end of the path a flight of steps led down the hill through the trees, and then straight up another hill to a small temple. It was busy and more unfortunate soldiers were lugging bags of bricks at a jog up the steps – there was reconstruction happening at the temple. We stopped for a breather at the top and the army guys were hanging around drinking water and washing, eyeing us curiously. I hadn’t seen any tourists this morning, and they probably get none up here usually.

We went back down the hill and followed a track circumnavigating the first hill, away from Bhaktapur, through the woods. We passed through the army camp and Decent was shocked to see a soldier hanging from a tree. It turned out to be a mannequin in a paratrooper pose! We saw a barracks, shacks and training grounds complete with crawl trenches covered in barbed wire. Armed soldiers watched us from the gates. Back in the woods you could frequently see big spider webs with yellow and black spiders which were 3-4 inches long. On the grass banks loads of small thick webs covered the area speckled with shining dew.

Occasionally breaks in the trees revealed a nice view to farmyard and wooded hills. It was peaceful out here. We spied a couple sitting in the woods getting some alone time. Decent had voiced his frustrations earlier about the family system here. Most families live together under cramped conditions (including grandparents) so getting privacy is almost impossible, and the culture is very gossipy. If you are seen out in public with a girl it’s going to get back to your parents fast. Public displays of affection between couples are frowned upon so getting quiet time alone you’re your partner can be really hard. As a result young couples are forced to come out to the countryside to elope, away from prying eyes. Which in this case literally means hiding in the woods!

At the end of the track in a field stood a little temple where two old guys were doing yoga. Decent said people used to come to this temple but since the army encamped here the people stay away – especially girls, as they can get harassed by the soldiers. It was quite hot now and we pushed on, up some steps carved out of the hill.

At the top of the hill was a big man-made cutting and through it was a good view of Bhaktapur – although the haze still prevailed. At the bottom, instead of heading back, Decent asked me if I wanted to try some local tea, so we went off down a nice road in the woods filled with crows, beams of sunlight filtering through the trees. At this point my camera battery ran out. I was gutted as I missed snapping some really nice scenes later on!

We arrived at a red building with a bench overlooking a picturesque view of rice fields and the city beyond. Locals sat around drinking tea and chatting. Decent went up to the red building and asked for tea through the shutter. You’d never know to look at the place that it was a tea house! We sat and drank the tasty sweet black tea and admired the view. Then we went down a slippery little path into the rice fields and past some cliffs. It was great down here – we walked past blankets of green rice, many propped up in little bundles to dry. Locals watched us with interest and the path was well used. I couldn’t believe we were just minutes from the bustling city, which we suddenly emerged into.

We walked down backstreets and through fields hidden amongst the houses. Various crops were being grown and little earthen paths wound between them, busy with people. Some fields were made into neat beds separated by earthen ridges, with straw laid out on them to protect the seeds beneath. A little temple was hidden here and we found the remains of another, now part of a field. Just then, Decent pointed to the distance. Beyond the hills, way above, the sky was clear for the first time and I saw the Himalayas for the first time. They towered above the hills, dominating the horizon, white-caps bright in the sun. I was awed. They’d been there the whole time behind the clouds but I’d never known you could see them from here. In a few minutes, they were hidden again.

We followed a stream back onto a main road. Here there was a big square where big poles; smooth tree trunks like telegraph poles were lying. Decent said they were used in the Bisket Jatra festival and showed me a circular stone holder in the square that they are propped in. Leading up from the square was a stone road with two parallel gutters in the middle. These are for the festival too; a huge chariot is constructed from wood up at a temple, and rolled down the hill using the gutters as guides for the wheels. Then after a ceremony in the square they haul it back up again, and at the temple two teams of men have a tug of war with it. Each team is from a different side of the city. Whichever side wins gets to keep it and glory is bestowed upon them and their district. It’s supposed to be pretty chaotic and violence often breaks out between the two sides, but it’s a spectacle!

Back in the centre we devoured a big breakfast after our 4 hour hike. We returned to the guest house and as I was about to go to sleep, Decent knocked on my door apologizing, pointing out that the checkout time was 11am. Damn. I packed up and moved downstairs, spending the next few hours on the free wi-fi.

I bade farewell to my new friend and caught a taxi back to Kathmandu. I really must video this sometime, once you get to the narrow streets every 5 seconds you think you’re going to hit a  pedestrian or a bike, but somehow the driver weaves and coasts and brakes his way in and out of tiny spaces. People jump out of the way at the last second and bikes lurch to a halt to avoid getting squashed. It’s a miracle that no one is hurt when you see wing mirrors flying inches from people’s arms and bikes cutting across in front of speeding buses. Of course the horn was in full swing being honked repeatedly every few seconds.

In Thamel I wandered around to find a guesthouse in a quiet courtyard, that I hoped might mean better sleep than Kathmandu’s usual noisy accommodation. I settled on a dingy but quiet hotel and caught an hour’s sleep before heading out to dinner. The Yak restaurant serves a lot of Tibetan food and I waited a while for a table, having to share with three others, a middle aged bald Aussie man, an Italian bloke and a Chinese woman. I ordered Thungpa, which is warm Tibetan beer. It comes in a towering wooden mug filled with millet seeds, and they pour hot water into it which you leave to brew, and drink through a tapered straw so you don’t get the seeds. The taste wasn’t bad, very wheaty and reminded me a bit of Leffe or those other super-wheaty German and Dutch beers. You get can get as many free refills of hot water as you like, but by the second the taste was quite sickly.

I ate rolls of sour bread with a buffalo noodle soup. We all got chatting and the Aussie was on some epic travels. As a long-serving public servant, he could go on extended holiday with half pay – he was renting out his house so he was basically travelling for free! The Chinese woman was here to start a business exporting pashimas to China, and the Italian man was a professional cyclist, sponsored by biking companies to do expeditions and go on adventures. He’d already been to Nepal about twenty times!

Tibetan beer

Mauro, the cyclist, had some funny stories of failed biking expeditions in Nepal, the best was when he smuggled a big folding bike in a huge rucksack all the way up the Himalayas – cycling is banned up there – in order to cycle all the way down… only to discover at the top he’d forgotten to bring the pedals and so had carried it all that way for nothing! He was here to do some filming about an amazing story which I hope he exposes. Here’s the short version. He met a guy at a Nepalese hospital a few years ago who was president of the Paralympic team in Nepal. At the London Paralympic Games this year, Nepal’s sent about 17 people, but only a few of them were competitors. The others had paid big sums of money to the Nepalese Paralympic team heads to come to the UK – and promptly disappeared from the radar in the UK after the games! They’d used the Paralympics as a way to get to the UK as getting a visa on a Nepalese passport is very difficult. Then the head of the Paralypic team (the guy Maurio had met) was found dead in the UK just after the games in suspicious circumstances. Maurio thinks he was in on the illegal immigration money deal and had some disagreement with the other culprits, who offed him. He had filmed the victim two years ago for interviews, and is now independently investigating the case, doing filming with people the man knew and building a story. He is thinking about selling the story and footage to a TV company to make a documentary. If it ever happens I’ll let you know. Crazy stuff! As Maurio is a veteran of Nepal he gave me some tips on my next destination and offered his advice at any time. Top chap. His website is selvatiko.com where you can learn more about his expeditions. We said good night and went our separate ways.

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.