Kathmandu

Time was when only official envoys, military personnel, missionaries, rich folks and James Bond could travel to exotic locales like Kathmandu. Now anyone can do it – or could before that Pestilence-Which-Shall-Remain-Nameless put a stick in the spokes of the whole planet. (This too shall pass, this too shall pass, this too shall pass,…)

Kathmandu, like most cities in India, is comprised of a budillion little shops located in every lane, pathway, corridor, nook, cranny, ginnel, snicket and twitten (found those last three in a British thesaurus). 

Hotel Bravo sits just above the jolly Thamel district.  (That’s our little roof cabin in the middle.)

Every Thamel shopkeeper is a commodities contortionist, able to cram any amount of goods into an impossibly small square footage.

But there’s a happy symbiotic relationship between merchant and tourist. You’re walking along and as soon as you turn the corner you find a hawker has attached himself to you. Walking backward, he shows you a handmade wooden monkey puppet which he can make do a little dance and for which he wants 2500 nepalese rupees only! (About $19.99.) Since TV has taught Americans that we can afford an infinite number of $19.99 purchases, you halt a moment (mistake) and imagine yourself spending an hour learning how to make the monkey dance as skillfully as the merchant – who has, of course, spent years honing his technique. So you make him an offer the Savvy Tourist Way.

Savvy Tourist: “No thanks.”

Hawker: “2000 only!”

S.T.: “No. Really.”

Hawker: “What do you pay?”

S.T.: “Nothing. I don’t want it.”

Hawker: “You tell how much. Any.”

S.T.: “600 rupees only!”

Mechant: “BOFF! (Nepalese for “Caramba!”) My children cannot eat! 1800 only!” After a couple more indignant exchanges we settle on the ridiculous price of 800 rupees.

Both scalper and scalpee walk away shaking their head but both are in fact delighted with their end of the bargain. You, of course, never do learn to operate the thing. But your granddaughter might (not).

After a truly restoring cup of Americano at the Himalayan Java Coffee Shop, you head to famous Durbar Square. (It’s kind of fun to write in travel brochure talk. Try it.) Durbar Square has long been a mecca for vacationers and is a must-see for sightseers both young and old. Don’t forget to keep that phone charged! (Okay, no more brochure talk. My brain is beginning to fall out of my ear.)

The temples here are very old. But they look very, very old. Mostly because the brick eventually disintegrates. In 2015, that process was helped along by a massive earthquake. When I saw this picture, I realized the downside of brick: While no wolf can huff and puff your house down, with a little side to side movement, the venerated shrine  on the left becomes the pile of old bricks on the right.

On our way back to the hotel for dinner, what to our wondering eyes did appear?

A friend who lives in Northfield, Minnesota always invited us to Jesse James Days celebrations. My wife even won a T-Shirt contest at one once. 

The food is nothing to write back to Northfield about. But in all fairness, the food in Northfield is nothing to write Kathmandu about.