It was another warm day and neither of us was feeling particularly energetic as we meandered along the river bank, adjacent to the ghats where the cremations take place. There were one or two funerals in progress and I was appalled to see several gawping tourists trying to elbow their way into a crowd of mourners, cameras poised to get shots of the linen-wrapped corpse. Annie and I had no intentions of being so intrusive and walked down to the bridge and over the Bagmati to sit opposite the ghats on the other side of the river and observe proceedings from a respectful distance. The Bagmati is Kathmandu’s version of Varanasi’s Ganges and, much like its Indian counterpart, is a dirty, smelly trickle with floating debris and human waste probably comprising at least ¼ of its volume. It is still, however, a holy river and those whose cremated remains are washed away by its ‘waters’ are said to find an easy path to heaven. We watched the mourners set fire to a large pyre of wood and scented oil and then moved on to take a look around the rest of Pashupatinath’s temple complex. Of course, the main temple is only open to Hindus and we didn’t tarry long to look around the rest and we were soon heading up the road to find a taxi to take us to our next port of call. On the way up the hill, we passed a profusion of colourful stalls, selling votive offerings and flowers to pilgrims and mourners at the temple. The scene was bright and gaudy and indicative of the riot of colours associated with religious practice in this part of the world and we both felt like we’d been given access to a more authentic Nepal – away from the crowds and clicking camera shutters of the nearby temple.
Beautiful flower seller
Bright colours
Next stop was Durbar Square, where we were fortunate to find free entry on account of some public holiday or other. We didn’t stop for long as I was only really interested in seeing the Kasthamandap and we were both feeling the heat of a sweltering day. The Kasthamandap (meaning ‘house of wood’) is the building from which Kathmandu takes its name and legend has it that it was constructed with the wood from a single sal tree.
The Kasthamandap
While Kathmandu’s Durbar Square is historically interesting and, undoubtedly, visually impactful for the first-time visitor to Nepal, I’d seen the sights of Bhaktapur and many other elaborate Hindu temples by now and wasn’t the least interested in acquainting myself with any more of the local architecture. It seemed far more important to introduce Annie to the divine delights of Snowman’s succulent chocolate cake and, after a brief, ecstatic appraisal, she agreed.
Final stop on our tour of Kathmandu was Swayambunath (the Monkey Temple I’d last visited during my very first week in the city) and from there we were able to attain commanding views of the sprawling city, while we looked around the curious collection of Hindu and Buddhist shrines. We were due back in Thamel to pick up some paintings I’d purchased from Santosh, before going out for my final, farewell meal in the evening. One painting in particular, had me full of excitement: I’d seen Don contemplating it previously and knew that he’d really wanted to buy it for the house but was unsure about buying it without Vickie’s approval. I was pretty certain that she would like it and, as they’d only married in September, their upcoming anniversary would be ‘Paper’ and the gift (painted on traditional Tibetan paper) would double nicely as an early anniversary present
Annie stayed at the Great Wall, packing her bags, while I went to meet Santosh. He insisted on taking me for a drink and to meet some of his friends, while the paintings were being packaged. We went to a cosy little bar, tucked away down a side alley and consumed at least 3 bottles of beer and a few plates of Newari snacks as he treated me to his very best Nepali hospitality.
I was late getting back to the hotel (paintings forgotten about and still at the gallery) and relieved to find that some of my guests still hadn’t arrived. Of course, most of my Kathmandu buddies had left by now so there wasn’t too big a crowd to choose from. Michael and Suriya were there, Mahendra would be joining us and, as we left the hotel, I bumped into Cormac – an Irish chap who’d been on my rafting trip – who also decided to come along. While the others headed up to the restaurant, I went to collect Santosh and his friends from the gallery and arrived – only 20 minutes late! – at the Thamel Brasserie for one last dal bhat tharakari before I left.
Can't get it down quick enough!!
The beer and conversation flowed nicely – Annie perfectly at ease with so many strangers – and it was a really nice way to round things off. I was pleased to be able to introduce Santosh and Mahendra and I hoped they’d be able to put a little business each other’s way from time to time. Most importantly, I felt like I was making a fitting farewell to a country that I’d totally fallen in love with – the people, my schoolkids, the beautiful scenery and fascinating history. I made sure to have my fill of Everest Beer too as I knew it could be a while before I got to relish its fulsome flavour once again. When we’d finished our meal and the lightweights had shuffled off to bed, Mahendra, Suriya, Annie and I went for a last whirl at the Dohori club. All pretty much the worse for wear, we fitted in perfectly with the locals and flew, haphazardly around the cramped, stifling dancefloor with the pounding rhythms of the drums and piercing pipes accentuated by the mirthful exhortations of the singers.
Dohori dancing
It was late when we stumbled back and I was a little grim at the prospect of an early start to meet Uttam in the morning.
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