Country #126: Easy riding into Nepal

Sometimes a great idea is just that, a great idea. Obvious but also the best way to describe what transpired in a series of pre-visit Whatsapp exchanges with Bishwo, the owner of the lovely Swastik hostel and the definite hero of this story. 

As is becoming all too common, I had booked a flight to a new country, gotten overwhelmed with work and not planned a damn thing. Hours before my departure, I was frantically trying to come up with a loose framework I could follow for the next three weeks. It had to include a couple of places I knew I wanted to visit but I was getting tripped up on the logistics. The rough plan was to fly into Kathmandu, hang out for a couple of days, somehow get to the nearby historic city of Bhaktapur for a night or two and continue from there. But how and where to? In an inspired moment (read: dumb luck), I saw there was a Whatsapp number associated with Bhaktapur's only hostel. I sent out a plea for help and got an immediate response. No, there was no tourist bus to Chitwan from Bhaktapur. I should go to Pokhara first, but that being a long bone-jarring bitch of a ride (I'm paraphrasing but accurately), I should break it up with a stay in Bandipur. Also, did I really want to follow up 30 hours of travel time with the chaos that is Kathmandu? Better to give myself a soft landing and start the journey in the much more manageable town of Bhaktapur, which happens to be only 15 minutes from the int'l airport. 

And this is how I ended up beginning my Nepalese adventures in the UNESCO world heritage city of Bhaktapur. From that moment forward, every good thing that happened (and there were a lot of good things) had Bishwo's fingerprints all over them. 

Like much of the Kathmandu valley, Bhaktapur was badly damaged in the 2015 earthquake. The effort to rebuild the multitude of affected historic buildings is being partly funded by a $12 tourist fee. This is a daily fee but can be extended for up to a week. I already knew about this going in but what I did not expect was an overzealous ticket pusher jumping in front of my taxi and demanding payment before I  even had a chance to check in at the hostel. For context, I should point out that in order to save money, I had waved off all the airport taxis and hailed this guy off the street. He had no clue where we were going and kept asking me things like "Should I turn here?" No, brother. I just landed. I don't even know what your currency is called, don't be asking me for directions. This is strictly a Google Map situation. So, understandably, he was as confused by this man demanding 1500 Rupees as I was. Suddenly, as if some 'tourist in distress' signal had gone out, Bishwo appeared, explaining to the man that I would be happy to pay but he needed to let me settle in first. 

Hell yes, I needed a moment. In addition to the 30 hours it took me to go from Miami to NY to Doha to Kathmandu, there were an additional 2.5 hours just to get my "on-arrival" visa. My advice, having been through it, you should fill out the application online before arrival, screenshot the approval page and don't hesitate to throws elbows to get into whatever line is moving. There is no rhyme or reason to the process, so don't try to figure it out. Just get to the front of the payment line, give them $50 cash- the 'credit cards accepted' signs are a lie- and then push your way to the front of the immigration line. It is the only way. 

Normally my game plan when drastically changing time zones is to stay up until night time to get on the right schedule. For example, Nepal is 10 hrs and 45 minutes ahead of Miami- not 10 hrs or 11 hrs, 10:45. No clue why. But I was a frazzled, exhausted mess badly in need of a nap so nap I did. 

When I awoke, Bishwo had written out a list of what I needed to see while in Bhaktapur, along with suggestions for the remainder of my time. It was like he was speaking my love language. His first recommendation: forget the guidebook, lose the map, just wander the streets and get a feel for the city (voice inside my head: surely he doesn't mean google maps, there is zero chance you will find your way back without it). I took him up on advice, heading out in the general direction of Durbar (or Royal) Square.

In those first couple of hours, I was struck by a couple of things. The first was how traditional everything felt. There were nods to modernism but for the most part, it felt like this area probably looked just like this 100 years ago. 

With cars banned in most of the squares, there was also much less traffic than I had expected. There were still plenty of scooters buzzing by willy nilly to keep you on your toes but compared to other places (I'm talking to you, Kathmandu), this was a veritable walk in the park.

Observation #3: this was one artsy city. Everywhere you looked, people were engaged in the act of creating. Whether it was pottery, thangka painting, wood carving or knitting, everyone was engaged in artful pursuits. I thought I had an in to make a connection and approached several groups of knitting ladies, announcing that I too was a knitter. It was not physically possible for them to have been any less impressed. I chalked it up to a language issue and showed them pictures of my current project. Nope, they have been knitting since the day they were born and simply not going to be wowed by my Stephen West mystery knit-a-long.  

With such a wealth of artful commerce, you would expect to be constantly accosted by persistent touts but thankfully that wasn't the case. They were downright chill. Even with a unexpectedly low number of tourists, they would Namaste, point to their wares and generally leave you alone to browse. 

The entirety of the city was essentially an open air museum. Following Bishwo's advice, I just wandered the streets admiring the many temples, stupas and statues. It was only my first day but I was already in happy awe.

As the sun began to set, I chose a rooftop bar to enjoy both the view and my first Nepalese beer. I'm happy to report, both were a 5 out of 5. A moment that stands out is when I asked the waiter what that jingly sound was. His response: "The temple. Always the temple! Every night, the temple and the bells!" Turns out that the temple across the street has nightly ceremonies that go heavy on the bells.  What I thought was a charming cultural experience was this poor man's xmas music hell, with the added downside that I'm pretty sure this is year-round. 

I had initially planned on running home before dark, unsure about the safety situation in this unknown land. It may have been the Yeti talking (the beer, not the furry mystical beast), but from my vantage point, nothing about this town felt threatening. I ended up staying and enjoying the sunset (and the bells) before returning to join Bishwo and the rest of the Swastik crew for dinner and drinks. 

He suggested I spend the next day relaxing, quickly realized he was dealing with fomo personified and ably changed tacks. He had some free time later the next day and was willing to show me around. 

The day began with a visit to a local tea shop. I am not much of a tea drinker but I have to admit this was pretty good. This was not a tea bag steeped in hot water type of place, there were multiple ingredients, a whole lot of stirring and secret recipes involved. 

When he went back to work at the hostel, I set off to find the elusive peacock window, considered to be one of the finest examples of Newar carvings. Somewhere along the way, I must admit I got a bit distracted.

As I was happily admiring one of the many temples, some carvings caught my eye. Hold up, that's not a Hindu deity! Is that what hair salons were like back in the day?

Was everyone this flexible?

This was one freaky deaky temple! Its neighbor, the window known as 'the Mona Lisa of Nepal' was much more sedate. 

Across from the famed window, there is a store/ museum where they make paper using traditional methods.

No estupidos allowed.

Once you enter the store, you can continue through a courtyard to a three story building where in addition to the paper making process, you can see all kinds of ancient carvings. Or you could find a half open door and mistake it for the museum- for people who make paper for a living, you would think there would be a bit more signage- and enter to find yourself in a stranger's home. Specifically, I was in some lady's dining room. The fact that she just stared at me beatifically indicated that she is either the most enlightened soul alive or that she has an enviable collection of tourist corpses that somehow get repurposed into handmade stationary. Whichever the case may be, I made it into the actual museum and was thoroughly impressed. 

After a quick lunch with a view, it was time to meet back up with Bishwo.

I had mentioned to him my pronounced aversion to two-wheeled conveyances. He responded by handing me a motorcycle helmet. Yes, that's correct. My hopes of a car were quickly dashed as we were going up into the mountains, often on pathways that could not be accurately described as roads on a motorcycle. 

Our first stop was Changu Narayan Temple. Dating back to the 4th century, it is believed to be the oldest temple in Nepal. Today, it is a riot of color and carvings that rewards careful inspection. There was a Hindu holy man administering blessings and collecting donations. I normally leave that to the actual believers but seeing as there was a motorcycle involved, I left there all bindi'ed up.

It must have worked because we made it safely to a local park with amazing views. Note: all of the Kathmandu valley consists of amazing views, finding a shitty view would be truly noteworthy in this part of the world.

  

Speaking of, our next stop, the hilltop village of Nagarkot is known for having the most spectacular view of all, particularly at sunrise and sunset. People gather here to climb atop what is essentially a very tall lifeguard stand and wait for the sun to cast its glow on the snow-capped Himalayan mountains. With some luck, you can even see Mt Everest. We did not have that kind of luck, a bindi can only do so much, but we did get a pretty fantastic sunset.

So much so that we returned the following morning to watch the sun make its triumphant return. It was a bit cloudy but we were beginning the day in the most scenic spot of the most scenic valley, so all was good. 

It was my last day in Bhaktapur so I returned to Durbar Square, this time without the initial massive sleep deprivation. 

It was time for me to try one of the city's many claims to fame, specifically the King of Curds, aka Juju Dhau. This is a yogurt made from boiled buffalo's milk and served in tiny earthenware pots. I fully acknowledge that this sounds disgusting but trust me when I say that it kinda rocked. It was cool and refreshing and if someone were to open a juju dhau stand near my home, I would totally be a regular. 

As I was strolling with my creamy treat, what did I encounter but more kinky carvings. This time it was more of the zoological variety. A guide who saw me taking photos came over to explain that this was initially meant to be educational, showing a populace that may not have been literate how certain things worked. Seeing as those sheep and elephants were going at it missionary style, I believe there were a couple of flaws in this plan, but who am I to say. 

After two consecutive days on the motorcycle, I figured I had pushed my luck far enough and decided against one last afternoon ride. I was in Pottery Square, fresh from a misguided attempt at working a pottery wheel- apologies to the sad little cup that I never returned to pick up- when Bishwo text to see where I was. Minutes later, there he was. Somehow, I was heading back into the mountains, this time sans helmet. I was going to need a bigger bindi.

We stopped at the Doleshwor Mahadeva Temple, before continuing further into the mountains. 

He mentioned that, along the way, there was a zipline, something that sounded intriguing given the beautiful setting. And then I saw the zipline. What in the Dutch ding ding hell is this? Why?? What is the purpose of strapping a fucking bicycle to a zipline and making the person pedal across? This is an insult to ziplines everywhere. 

The views at a nearby rooftop bar were predictably glorious. I was delighted that he had ignored all my protestations and insisted on bringing me up here, even if it was getting pretty chilly. He made me push past my discomfort of 2 wheeled death machines and I was that much the better for it. It really was the perfect place to hang out on my last night.  

Early the next morning, I had to make my way to Bandipur, the next town on my Bishwo-designed agenda. In order to get to the bus station with all my bags, I had asked him to set up a ride for me. As I waited for a car, what pulled up? The motorcycle, of course!! Yup, me and him with a standard issue flight attendant rollaboard wedged between us-on a motorcycle! If there is a more fitting ending to my time in Bhaktapur, I certainly can't think of it. And to tell the truth, I wouldn't have it any other way.