The road to Kathmandu
After a couple of days in Pokhara, it was time to move on. Kathmandu was the next and final destination for our G Adventures group tour. Seven in our 12-person group decided to fly from Pokhara to Kathmandu. Traffic is notoriously bad on the road through the valley, and the eight-hour drive would leave them little time to see Kathmandu since they had early flights home the next day.
In Pokhara, we filled up on the hotel’s breakfast of fried potatoes with curry masala (with…is that coriander?), plus hard-boiled eggs, and coffee. And then we loaded up the bus bound for Kathmandu. We dropped the five Brits, the Canadian, and the New Yorker at the Pokhara airport, and the remaining five of us, plus Khush, got back in the bus with ALL the luggage to make the day-long ride to Kathmandu.
There was enough room now for each of us to lay down across a row of seats for a snooze if we’d wanted to. I chose to sit and watch Nepal go by. We stopped for gasoline at a one-pump station (an unmarked pump that sat nearly in the road), bathroom breaks, a little walk to shake our legs, and to buy some oranges, chips, and coffee. Back in the bus, and onward, upward.
Big Scenery, Little Moments
I don’t know what it is about these bus rides, I love them. I could ride forever, watching the world go by. It’s like a movie. Big scenery and little moments glimpsed, in a never-ending stream. I sat, camera-ready, mesmerized by the view.
Was that a bus stop or a stupa? Laundry or prayer flags? Kids walked to school in uniforms–girls in dark skirts to their knees, knee socks, sweaters, and long braids with the biggest, crispest, most perfectly white ribbons. Two boys threw stones at a flinching cow who continued picking in a trash pile. Four people and a dog all stood with their hands (or front paws) on a balcony railing–all looking in the same direction with curiosity. A seamstress sat high above the road working her sewing machine–her work station open to the breeze, the view and the dust.
The road to Kathmandu was rough. Construction, potholes, crooked, and up, up, up. A reminder that we were close to the top of the world. A reminder that this area is earthquake prone. They were still patching damage from a massive quake in 2015.
Sad Cargo
And then we saw a disturbing sight: buffalos tied by their tails and noses, and stuffed into a small truck like sardines for travel on these rough, crooked roads. They could barely move without pulling their noses, tails, or stepping on one another as they shifted from the truck’s motion on the switchbacked and potholed road.
Our driver eventually found an opportunity to pass this sad cargo, these suffering oxen. And as we passed, I could see their eyes shift–they couldn’t turn their heads–to look at our purple bus. Because I couldn’t do anything to help them, I was ashamed to meet their eyes. What cruelty humans inflict on others’ lives.
To the Heavens
Seeing the oxen dampened my mood. No matter where one goes in the world, there is cruelty and inhumane treatment of animals. Here we were going up, up, up, seemingly to the heavens. And in those moments, I hoped, wished, and prayed so hard that karma exists, and that hell is real and for the people who destroy the earth, harm the environment, hurt each other, and turn animals into a product to eat, wear, or entertain.
As we got higher and higher on this dusty road, the bus went slower and slower. A combination of the steep elevation and the traffic, as we neared Kathmandu.
The Road to Kathmandu
We crested the mountain and entered another valley. A storm was gathering, a dark cloud sitting on top of us, light coming around the edges close to the ground. The under-construction roads were dusty, muting the colors. This eerie and beautiful dust-diffused light, the stop-and-start bus, headlights and red taillights, and gusting wind made the entry to Kathmandu seem like we were entering a magical realm.
The Story of Swayambhunath Stupa
Along the ride, Khush had been telling us the story of the Swayambhunath Stupa (aka the Monkey Temple) in Kathmandu.
Two thousand years ago, a single lotus flower bloomed in the middle of a lake that filled the Kathmandu Valley. The bodhisattva Manjusri wanted the flower. He cut a gorge in the lake with his sword, draining it. But the magic lotus flower came to rest on top of a mountain and became the stupa. He cut the mountain to get the magic lotus. He cut his long hair which became trees, and his lice became the many monkeys that still haunt the site.
It is said that if you go clockwise around the stupa, ringing the bells and spinning the prayer wheels, that your wish will calculate a thousand times more. As we slowly moved into Kathmandu, I weighed what I wanted to wish that needed that kind of wish rocket-booster.
The Heavens Open at the Monkey Temple
Our bus brought us to Swayambhunath Stupa, the Monkey Temple, via the back way (we’d learn later that this side had far fewer steps–the main entrance has 365 incredibly steep steps). The sky was dark as we climbed out, grabbing rain jackets and umbrellas just in case. Minutes later standing in front of the nearly empty stupa, monkeys screamed at each other over a bit of food, and nearly knocked us over scrambling onto a stupa. And the first drops of a very hard rain thundered down.
We raced under an alcove with a handful of tourists and watched others–humans, dogs, monkeys–seek cover. There was a smell of rain, incense, and the little oil and candle flames still flickering in the grottos.
Despite the heavy rain, Carina and I made a run for it. We made our clockwise navigation, arms sticking out from beneath useless umbrellas, hands spinning each of the prayer wheels, ringing the bells between, and whisper chanting our wishes like mantras as we splashed all the way around the stupa. Of course, we were soaked. Dripping. And that was one of the best, most vivid, happy times on the entire trip. Isn’t it funny how the imperfect moments become the most perfect memories?
Let’s hope the rain added a little something extra special for our wishes.
Rain, Rain, Rain
After our circumnavigation, we ducked into a grotto, and–small world–met some of the others from our group who’d arrived in Kathmandu this morning. We waited together with the dogs in this little cave-like room that smelled of burning candles, smoke, rain, wet dog, sweat, dankness, and mountain air. But it was dry, and filled with laughing, happy people.
The rain hammered down, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. We still had to get back to the bus. After about 20 minutes, we gathered our perseverance and ran laughing out into the rain. The steps we’d come up had become a raging river waterfall, gushing against our calves and flooding our shoes as we hustled down. We splished, splashed, and squished dripping into the bus, quickly fogging up the windows. We shed wet outer layers as the driver cranked the heat to dry us off.
First evening in Kathmandu, Last evening as a group
Not long after, the bus pulled up in Thamel, a tourist neighborhood in Kathmandu. We said goodbye to the two Nepalese bus pilots and dashed through the rain and wet alleys to get to the hotel.
We checked into the Fuji Hotel and changed into warm, dry clothes. Meeting in the lobby about an hour later, we decided to go across the street to Fusion Kitchen for our final dinner as a group. What an amazing group of people! The G Adventures tour was the perfect itinerary. Our guide, Khush, was the perfect host–knowledgeable, kind, attending to our every question/need, and fun to spend time with. And our group–a unique combination of people who shared a sense of adventure–was the icing on the cake. We could not have asked for a better group tour.
Thank you for reading
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Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.