And so began my journey into the Federal Democratic Republic of Nepal. Side note: Why do countries which have the word “Democratic Republic Of” in their title always sound so very unnerving? Congo. Korea. East Germany. It’s like introducing myself as “Katie, not an axe wielding murderer who would eat your children”.
Anyway, Nepal did not wield any axes at me, nor did try to eat my children, though that last one is hard to really disprove given I don’t have any but i’m willing to give the country the benefit of the doubt cos they’re quite lovely people.
I travelled into Kathmandu on Malindo Air, after a protracted email and phone slug-fest with Malaysian Airlines who I had originally booked with before they decided to go and tweak their flight timing on the return journey, by a mere 10 hours. The customer service, in their defence, was always professional and courteous – but the predicament itself and the options provided were downright ridiculous. (if you don’t like the ten hour flight difference, how about one 24 hours later?) ANYWAY, after that strenuous debacle, I’ve resolved never to fly with Malaysian Airlines again, which I like to feel is a vindicated decision when my colleague told me their airline seats smelled like old sweat.
I have to say, when I arrived – it was really kinda cool. The Arrivals gate was nothing special, basic even – but it did get me all excited when I saw this sign (hence stopped to take a photo) that said ‘Welcome to Nepal’. Call it superficial but I don’t care, it sounds much more intrepid then “yeah I’m going to Bali for the weekend” or for all you folks on the other side of earth “yeah I’m going to Tenerife for the weekend” (oh hello first world problems, nice to see you again).
I had booked into the ‘Dream Hotel’ (yeah I know) in Kathmandu for the night and would spend a full day there before I joined Kieran in Pokhara. He had arrived a few days earlier to do a trek first, because he likes to do the walking up the big hills and stuff. The hotel was perhaps 5-10 minutes walk away from the tourist-laden stretch of Kathmandu, Thamel.
Upon arrival at my simple but decent enough digs in the early evening, I experienced a tiny meltdown when I realised that I had not brought my phone charger (one can forget their underwear or their toothbrush but by God, one shan’t ever forget their phone charger). How else would I be able to keep tabs on Kieran to ensure he had not fallen down a hole? (This was indeed one of the legitimate fears he had).
That moment was deserving of a ‘Crying Dawson’ meme.
Luckily for me, as hotel workers a) cannot really indulge in the luxuries of iPhones and b) are really, really bored when they offer a 24hour check-in reception, the nice chap at the desk lent me his on the express condition I return it the next morning cos ya know, he got Jewels to Be and Mines to Craft.*
*Do people even play those games anymore? I think nowadays they tend to rear virtual farms and stuff..
Crisis averted, I had a very satisfactory dinner at the nearby Gaia restaurant, which in equal parts had horrified and perversely, charmed me with its Comic Sans signboard. An establishment who lacks that level of self awareness in a developed country is more worthy of my snobbishness but in Nepal, was rather sweet and innocent. In any case, it was no reflection of the atmosphere (fairylights and dim lighting in the courtyard), the service (attentive and friendly!) and the food (a very good Farmhouse Chicken). Well worth a visit if you find yourself in KTM but don’t want to find yourself in the throes of Thamel.
That evening, with newly charged phone connectivity, I checked in with Kieran. Based on what he’d sent me, I wasn’t entirely convinced that he wasn’t trapped in a real-life version of the ‘Saw’ franchise, but I had an early start the next day, so contented myself with the belief he’d still be alive in the morning before I dozed off to sleep.
Foreseeing I had time to spare in Kathmandu (we’d both spend a day or so back here later) I had arranged for a tour guide to take a half day hike up around nearby Nagarkot the next moring. I’d booked the tour through klook, and following several email exchanges, the tour operator had assured me they could get me to the top to see sunrise with a 5am pick up. Half asleep and stumbling my way down the stairs at 4.50am – I foud that the entire tour consisted of just me and two guys, one who was the driver, the other who was to accompany and navigate me walking through the hills and paths. (In hindsight, I’m not sure why two guys coming to fetch me in the dark didn’t alarm me more).
As we drove and drove, and wove up the mountain in the guide’s car, my skepticism grew. It turns out I was indeed able to catch sunrise..breaking all around me. When we finally got to the ‘viewpoint’, it was more or less already daylight, and a few other slightly unimpressed tourists were toddling around. It was all a bit meh. My guide (let’s call him Larry, because I asked his name once, couldn’t remember it and too much time passed for me to ask again) pointed out the tops of the Himalayas in the distance. I actually do recall taking photos, but I guess they were so underwhelming upon hindsight that I didn’t actually bother saving them, so you can just take my word for it that it was really not worth it.
Afterwards I had expressed sufficient interest to not appear rude, Larry (who turned out to be a slightly bored student from India, who came to Kathmandu during Easter to get a little extra cash from walking tours) guided me to a small tea house for a simple breakfast. He wasn’t the most talkative chap and his English wasn’t the best, so sitting opposite him at breakfast really felt like the world’s most awkward breakfast date. I couldn’t even ask a banal question like “so, how’s your roti..?” A tourist coming to ask a local (close enough) about the quality of their own food sounded rather inane. Anyhow, we strode off soon afterwards, down through the village. cutting through a couple paddy fields, where despite the somewhat disappointingly dry and barren terrain, I did catch a picturesque view or two.
Whilst the half-day hike is recommended for the walk (all down-hill) through the village and the fields, the early start isn’t worthwhile at all for the “view”. Instead, it’s more fulfilling to pay attention to the foreground. Mountain goats, toddlers totally ignoring you as they happily play on the roadside, and local folk going about their daily business were far more compelling.
Arriving back in Thamel itself – it was, as expected – full of tourist tat. You know you’ve reached it when you’ve reached the streets littered with tired faded little decorative flags, and in particularly when you reach an intersection that is marked by a mound of rocks and debris. Though it was vibrant and lively, it was also chock full of mandalas, singing bowls, dusty old postcards of the Himalayas. Everywhere, there were trinkets, colourfully woven baskets, knitted purses and flip-flops.
Side note: I find it hard to fully subscribe to the mentality that you “shouldn’t buy your souvenirs in X where they’re massively overpriced, take a tuk-tuk to middle of nowhere Y instead” in an undeveloped country like Nepal. I mean sure, if you’re really that thrifty (you’ve just managed to fly to Nepal from your 1st world country, by the way) and want to save a couple of dollars, sure… but my own principles and penchant for tat aren’t that strong. Even the guys short-changing you in Thamel aren’t earning that much. If your philosophy was more that your well-earned cash should go to the lower income shopkeepers in random-non-descript district of Kathamandu… then OK, you are a better person than me.
The only notable mention for Thamel that day was my trip at Ananda spa. I went for a full-on package that included a massage, a body scrub, (salt and pepper in dubious places), heated herb “pouches” named Pinda, and apparently a rather careless masseuse who just sat on my leg at one point. Whilst that ranged from Pleasant to Er Excuse Me Get Off Me, the best part was the Shirodhara element. This consists of a vat of warm oil being poured slowly onto your ‘Third Eye’ (forehead) in a steady stream. It felt amazing, and I promptly fell asleep. It ended with a superrrr relaxing scalp massage ( which as I write these notes on my phone, autocorrects as “massacre”).
The next day, it was time to toddle onto Pokhara. For a cheap city, I was unamused by the cost of getting a car to the airport, and if it hadn’t been for my bloody conscience, I would have managed to save myself a few dollars (ah, the hypocrisy) when the hotel driver asked me the question:
It was not until I arrived in Kathmandu, that I read about Kathmandu Tribhubvan airport being one of the world’s worst. In it’s defence, it wasn’t awful, but let’s just say there wasn’t a cinema or a butterfly garden anywhere on the premises. It really just a building with high ceilings, with a few small stalls dotted around that say ‘Buddha Air’ or ‘Yeti Air’, whom you were meant to entrust your life with. Your airplane ticket is a piece of branded card, with a sharpie marking down your seat number. The flight bookings are fast and loose – they’ll happily put you on an earlier flight if there’s space (what happened to me) and they just wanna get you the hell outta their sight. Men and women enter the ‘departure gate’ through separate doors, shielded by a ragged curtain. Flight timings are, all other things being equal, always delayed. But domestic flights are very frequent, such that if your 12:00 flight to pokhara is late, you can probably just get on the 12:30 instead.
The plane – ah, the plane. If MUJI made passenger planes, they would have stocked mine. Never had I been more cosy (and somewhat nervous) than when I stepped into this tiny tin can. The flight was only 25 minutes however, I could handle it (if we could just dodge those pesky Himalayas on the way out, and if you google “nepal plane crash” as all paranoid travellers might, it doesn’t make you feel any better). To my delight however, it was a very non eventful flight where I was provided sweets, peanuts, cotton wool (I STILL don’t know what it was for) and fizzy drinks. Kudos to the ever-smiling air stewardess who moved up and down the 4 metre aisle serving everyone with grace and a sturdy step.
Upon disembarkation, it was all rather confusing. There was an open runway, and a small building with signage in the distance, so all the passengers ambled towards that in the hope that it might contain luggage. Kieran had already given me a heads up that luggage retrieval at Pokhara considered of ‘shelf’, which the porters should throw your precious cargo on top of, and ‘shelf’ it was.
It was a baking hot day and the landscape was clear and blue. I cheerfully awaited the hotel pick-up and I observed that I already liked Pokhara better.
KJK 