No Can Do Kathmandu

I arrived into Kathmandu on the eve of the year 2073. For the non-lunar calendar users say that puts us at about April 13th, 2016. The city one year on from the earthquake was lively and gearing up for the evenings festivities.

My 22hr layover in Kuala Lumpur had resulted in one decent meal, a stroll through the old Chinatown, two expensive rail tickets and one hell of a case of jetlag. The city cared little for my beleaguered state, and played me to sleep with flutes, drums, and tambourines from all sides well into the morning.

I had arrived a few days before Cassie, her coming in from the West and I from the East. Supposedly I was there early to gear us up for the job – a month to be spent camping out on remote hillsides doing ‘relief work’, but honestly having no idea what that meant I resigned myself to Momo dumplings and Nepalese-dubbed episodes of Dexters Laboratory.

Walks around the capital gave a close up view of the damage caused by the worst earthquake in Nepal’s history. The medieval city had grown haphazardly for centuries, now almost filling the entire basin of the stunning Kathmandu valley.

A ruined fountain in the heart of the city.

The surrounding mountains, while beautiful, seemed to choke off the city from a breeze, and the dust of thousands of ruined houses filled my nostrils while I took in the tiny alleys and shops of touristed Thamel and it’s nearby neighborhoods.

Gear of all kinds was on offer. From heavy mountaineering equipment like crampons and survival suits to knockoff Adidas kicks and North Face counterfeits for the flashpacker. The quality and the inflated prices put me off most equipment, as even with a frustrating twenty minute haggle-off the rock bottom price was generally too much for my newfound thrift.

European restaurants litter the Thamel district, with many catering to the ‘fresh down from the mountain’ appetites. Imported beef burgers and steaks are a surprise in such a Hindu-vegetarian country, and knowing that a stones throw away in India a man was recently beaten to death because it was rumored he had eaten beef makes it all the stranger.

Potent Potables

The Nepali foods I’ve witnessed that are not direct imports (Chow Mein, Fried Rice, Indian Curries) seem to be the one-two punch of Momos and Daal Bhat. Momos, small dumplings, generally steamed, and filled with a veg mixture or Buffalo, may well have been another adoption from nearby China, but has nonetheless been adopted by every corner restaurant.

Buffalo Momos. Dumpling deliciousness.

Daal Bhat, literally lentils and rice, seems to be the national dish. As their saying goes ‘Daal Bhat Power 24hour’. Most Nepalese must be running at double or triple power because it seems to be a breakfast-lunch-dinner kind of love.

A particularly awesome version including two kinds of potatoes, chickpeas, yogurt, papad, and carrot butterfly. $2 All you can eat.

The Daal, a thin soup of lentils, garlic, tumeric, and other bits and bobs varies from chef to chef but is always eaten the same way – poured over the rice to almost a mush consistency, then using the middle three fingers (of the right, non-poo hand) a scoop is made, brought to the mouth and the thumb then pushes the mush home. Every restaurant, no matter the filthy provenance, has a prominent sink in the open for washing before and after.

The Nepalese Ruppee, a paper currency from 5-1000 came it at about 105 to the Dollar at my arrival, making things relatively inexpensive outside of the tourist district. My large room in the center of town rang up at 1000R($10) a night after the ubiquitous 10% tax on everything. Cambodia has spoiled me for taxes and service charges as they are unheard of in the Kingdom. A cold glass bottle of Coke was still generally $.35 and standard meals and Thalis can easily be had for $1-3 even with the tax and 13% restaurant service charge.

I was not there to spend a lot of money on extravagances like the Europeans, Chinese, and Koreans perusing the silks and trinkets of Thamel. I was there to gear up and go, living cheaply but spending liberally on water purification tablets, sleeping blankets and large Kukri, a traditional ‘fuck-off’ Nepalese knife.

Carried by the mercenary Nepalese ‘Gurkha’ soldiers worldwide, it’s bent blade has become a symbol of Nepal and is feared and respected by many. It’s easy to see why.

Made from simple steel from the leaf-springs of scrapped trucks, there is an obvious heft to it. The drop point of the blade balances the huge knife surprisingly well, and in an experienced had like that of a Gurkha it’s ability to sever a limb in one stroke seems not only possible but terrifyingly easy.

Tearing myself away from bad Crocodile Dundee impressions in my hotel mirror (‘That’s not a noiyfe…this is a noiyfe’) I hired a car to take me back to the airport to get Cassie. My one and only time waiting at the rope line of an airport arrivals area.

With the gruesome-twosome back in effect we were ready to take off for the hills (mountains) of Kakarni, our halfway altitude adjustment before continuing up to the Nuwakot base of All Hands International.