Hindis and Buddhists and Mountains galore

I spent a few days in Kathmandu, walking through the amazingly crowded narrow streets through which motorcycles (in Nepal they are no longer motorbikes, these are the real thing. Similar to the Bonus I bought in Vietnam.) still manage to get through just by honking in your ear. Eye contact can be made, an unofficial understanding may emerge as to who will move when, and they will still honk in your ear.

I also got the opportunity to go up to the Swayanabath temple overlooking the town for my first introduction to Tibetan Buddhism. From the first moment it looks and feels different than the varieties of Southeast Asia. The stupas are much less abundant here (perhaps due to the abundance of Hindis) and much more magnificent. Thirteen tiers for the thirteen stages to reach Nirvana. And the most impressive addition: the eyes of Buddha right at the base, peering out over a nose resembling the sanskrit number 1 - the unity of all life.

After that serene experience I apparently decided to revel in the ungodly by renting a bicycle and braving the ridiculousness of Asian streets and highways while breathing 8 million pounds of dust and pollution and almost dying at least once when a bike that I'm passing veers right (they drive on the left) and pushes me INTO the side of a passing truck. A few bounces later, no harm done.

Finally I arrive in Bhaktapur, which is just a few km from Kathmandu and a whole different world. There are no vehicles in the streets, which are cobbled with red bricks. There are very few glass windows but instead intricately carved shutters. The buildings look like - and some are - from the medieval period. And the temple that's literally 3 feet out the front door of my guesthouse attracts parades of drum-beating and bell-ringing (By bells I don't mean dinky christmas carroller bells. I mean summon the troops bells. Thunder of the Gods bells.)pujas(religious offering) at 4 in the morning, as this is the 4th day of Dasain; which is something like the Hindi Chanuka or Christmas, lasting 14 days and culminating in the full moon. In a few days, goats will be sacrificed en masse. And some water buffalo. For the moment, they're just herded around town unaware of their fate.

While there, I went to "dinner" at a local place with the hotel guy. Except the "restaurant" we went to was a friend's and doesn't really serve food. So he fried up whatever old dried meat he had hanging on nails from the wall, and disappeared for a while into town to return with a bag of Chowmein. He did, however, have an abundance of Raksy and Chaang - rice whisky and rice beer. We drank ourselves silly and he launched us into a conversation on happiness and what we want to do with our lives. Then drunkenly insisted that I stay for the entire festival and he'll pay for everything - even the hotel room which is 200 rs per night, and he earns 2000 rs per month. That is to say, he INSISTS. I manage to make him wait for the morning, when we will discuss it anew.

In the morning he doesn't directly bring it up, but does ask me as he had early on the night before how much cell phones cost in the US. This reversion to the trivial - the repetetive trivial no less - is enough for me to call Bhaktapur quits and head for Kathmandu again. But insanity doesn't take leave from my head for very long, and I make a side trip through more traffic to the Bhoudanath Stupa on the Eastern edge of town. Another marvel of the Tibetan version of faith, my illusions are broken only a little by a monk begging for money for his medicine. And perhaps a bit by the gambling ring going on for the festival, subsequently broken up by the police.

Then braved the torrent back to Thamel where I hit the rooftop for the first break in the ring of clouds surrounding the valley. Peeking over the ridge was the top of the Ganesh Himalaya, beckoning me to come forth.

So today I'm heading northward to Dhunche near Langtang to see what lies in wait.