Okay, so this will be the last time I hack into Jill’s blog. My last post was all about everyone’s favorite little monkey-toucher—Anusha—but this one is my official Tourist Bureau Kathmandu plug.
First I need to say warmest thanks to Jill, Anuraj and Anusha for letting me shack up with them for a couple of weeks. (Anusha probably took it the roughest because I was constantly diverting Mom’s attention.) Unfortunately Anuraj was in Vienna most of the time I was there—but then, I was able to keep Jill company. Jill was a wonderful host, hailing public transportation for me (before I had the confidence to do it myself), introducing me to new foods (and shielding me from new foods), keeping my room stocked with candles, henna tattooing my feet, and exploring new territory with a two year old strapped to her back.
It is a very different kind of experience to be the guest in a foreign land as opposed to a typical tourist. I am always curious about how my friends live—the lifestyles they’ve chosen, the way they engage with their community and their physical world, and the simple joys that they’ve discovered and claimed.
Jill has many beautiful, wondrous things around her—the sound of street peddlers selling their wares in the alley outside her door; a rich and vibrant street life that makes a Richard Scarry village look dull; gorgeous Nepali flowers (freesia and jasmine and rhododendrons and marigolds), epic rain storms, exhilarating public transportation, dhosas, dal bhat, panipuris, gulab jamuns; hilarious malaprops printed everywhere (please someone try to decipher the shirt above), creepy baby posters, access to exquisite Hindu and Buddhist shrines, not to mention, some of the most stunning scenery in the world. My time with Jill has encouraged me to cook simpler dishes, walk more, eat more baked oatmeal, and light more candles.
Highlights of my time in the Kathmandu Valley:
Our first night’s walk to Durbar Square at dusk—sitting on the temple steps, watching the light seep out of the sky and into the street lights, headlights, and candles—sidewalk vendors selling pyramids of strawberries by candlelight, beside wandering cows.
Cutting tomatoes for a pasta sauce in Jill’s kitchen, by candlelight, during a rainstorm.
Dinner at Anuraj’s sister’s house—fresh puris, curd, and mutter paneer. Oh, sweet, greasy-spoon, Northern Indian home-cooking.
Tramping around the alleys of Bhaktapur with Jill in search of King Curd (the locally proclaimed “King of Yogurts”, which we decided was actually probably the “Sheikh of Yogurts” or perhaps the “Military Dictator of Yogurts,” at best.)
The horizontal cliff dive of walking across six lanes of traffic (not that they have delineated lanes) without a scratch. I am not kidding when I say this was a thrill non pareil. Even paragliding in the Himalayas did not compare.
Watching Anusha hang from ledges.
Reading bizarre and confusing newspaper articles to each other each morning over tea.
Our entire weekend in Dhulikhel.
Anuraj sharing his Viennese Imperial Torte with us.
Wandering, and wandering, and wandering; and talking, talking, and talking—those twin modes of discovery.
My Blogger knowledge is bare bones—I don’t know how to embed pictures. So I’ll just lump them all together at the top. If this testimonial isn't enough to get you web searching tickets to Kathmandu, well...I've done all I could.
