Bhaktapur (Aug 7-9)

The journey to Bhaktapur was nothing short of Mr. Toads wild ride. Our driver did not speak any English and communicated with his buddies (3) who rode in the back of the jeep with our bags. One buddy paid the “tolls,” the other navigated, and the third got a free (bumpy) ride. After four and a half hours we arrived into the chokingly smoggy Kathmandu Valley with bandanas covering our noses and mouths. Once in Bhaktapur we lugged our heavy bags up a few flights to a room at the Sunny Guest House overlooking Taumadhi Tole Square: home of the tallest temple in Nepal, Nyatapola . This area was probably the oldest central square of Bhaktapur and the seat of the royalty until the late 16^th century. The cobbled stone streets link a string of temples, courtyards, and monumental squares and the side streets are home to shrines, wells and water tanks. Though there are tourists in the day here, many leave in the evening, so around 6pm it was just us and the locals. As we explored on foot we snuck under shelter listening to 9 men play various traditional Hindi instruments (string, drum). We later were told they are practicing for a big parade on the 32^nd of the month – yes, they go by a different calendar here. Begrudgingly, we headed to a hotel for dinner as most of the other places were closed and there are no real local’s restaurants, just a few momo (steamed dumpling) stands which were tempting, but we were a little worried about getting sick.

In the morning we awoke to a religious experience, literally. Drums beating, bells clanging, and the murmur of elder Nepali men and women praying before their morning work were all the ritualistic sounds, happening just outside our window. Rabin, Rabin, Rabin, a persistent fellow who “sought us,” in his words, to be our guide for the days’ exploration of the city. Venturing around the historical sights, we became exhausted with tourist scene and headed off the main road. Rabin helped us debrief and focus on the centuries-old tradition of craftsmanship – potters, woodcarvers and weavers. We meandered in and out of narrow streets and courtyards where local’s dried rice out in the sun, collected water from local wells, women washed under the communal taps, and children pounded grain. The smells were pungent and came in waves - sometimes urine and sewer down the back alleys, other times inviting aromas of an evening meal to come, or hot brewing Nepali Chia (milk tea with sugar). In our last few hours we put our negotiation skills to the test with the instrument maker, Thangkas artists, woodcarver’s bother, and paper maker. Just before the rain broke, we jumped into a cab and headed to Kathmandu . . .