Top of the World

This morning was, literally, the high point of the trip. We left the hotel very early before dawn to drive through nearly deserted Kathmandu streets to the airport. This time we went to the “Domestic” terminal – not as classy as the International Terminal (which is to say, it’s very basic, because the International terminal ain’t much!). We were booked on a “Mountain Flight” which would fly us about 100 miles north to Mt. Everest, then turn around and bring us right back to Kathmandu once again. The flight was delayed awaiting a weather report. Apparently a plane is sent out pre-dawn with only pilots aboard to determine whether visibility and turbulence would both be at acceptable levels. They were. We had a very smooth flight under the bluest of clear skies – CAVU in pilot-speak: Ceiling And Visibility Unlimited.

The flight attendant was great. She moved back and forth through the cabin constantly, pointing out all of the tall peaks: Gauri Shanker (23,405 feet), Melungtse (23,560), Gyachungkang (26,089, Lhotse (27,940), and Everest (29,028). She even ushered the 19 passengers, one at a time, to the flight deck, so that we could see the whole panorama through the windscreen and snap a photo of Everest. The view was absolutely fantastic!

We drove back to the hotel for a late breakfast, then set out in the van once again. Our guide, Sanjib, explained that the deliberations over the new constitution were not going well, and that the Maoist party had called for a general strike that day. The Maoists have almost no support among the population, but intimidate people with threats of violence. Thus, almost all of Kathmandu was shut down. We had the streets to ourselves, with hardly another vehicle except other tourist buses. Sanjib assured us that, because of the importance of tourism to the economy, there would be no interference to our planned schedule. In fact, we got along much more quickly with no traffic gridlock. 

As we traveled, we saw hundreds of people walking to work or other activities. There was no bus service and no one dared drive. There were quite a few bicycles and bicycle rickshaws moving, as well as the occasional dare-devil on a motorcycle. Police were everywhere, but mostly just standing around. Some were in riot gear, but there were no riots that we saw. Except for fresh food vendors, shops were closed with their metal doors drawn down and locked. Kids of all ages we in the streets, parks, and vacant lots playing cricket or soccer, because there was no school. 

Our destination was the village of Lalitpur, not far outside the city. As we arrived and were getting out of the van, all sorts of people were in the streets, pointing at the sky. We thought it might be something political, but they were all pointing to a high-flying jet that was leaving behind a bright white contrail across the clear blue sky. Apparently, this is a highly unusual sight in this part of the world, and it created far more interest than a half-dozen Americans.

The buildings here are mostly traditional, our guide indicated most were 100 to 150 years old, but there were new homes interspersed among them. 

 

We walked the streets of the village, seeing people outside their homes, washing their laundry, their fresh vegetables, or their children (women), playing cards (men). 

 

Despite the general strike that was paralyzing the city, people here were working at various crafts, such as spinning, weaving, or embroidery (entirely women), and some wood working (a few men). 

People largely ignored us, even when we took their pictures, but when our guide chatted them up, they were all friendly enough to converse, and answering our questions when interpreted, and even asking some questions of us.

We continued walking out of the village, where there were still homes and shops, but scattered along the road, not pressed together tightly as in the village. There were a few people of both genders working in their small fields. 

It was only a short walk to the next village, called Bungamati, where there was a hostel for disabled students and a school that was closed for the general strike day. Despite the closure, some kids were hanging around the school yard, including some of the disabled students. 

Our guide asked them if a particular student was around, and a blind boy was brought out by a girl. The guide told us that he had recently been on TV as a contestant in the local Nepalese version of “Nepal’s Got Talent.” He asked the boy to sing for us, which he did. It was a Nepalese folk song of some sort. He told us he was 11 years old, and had been living at the hostel since begin abandoned there by his family at about age 4.

We left the villages and drove back to the city, once again on streets deserted of traffic, but alive with people and police milling around. There were no political activities that we saw, and certainly no violence. But other than police cars, ambulances, and other tourist vehicles, the streets were empty.

At Patan Durbar Square we visited another of Kathmandu’s royal palaces, this one dating to before the unified monarchy, when Nepal was a patchwork of tiny principalities. The place was crowded, with lots of local people enjoying the day off work to visit the temples here or just hang out in the sun. 

We had tea in a beautiful little courtyard restaurant that was hidden inside the palace, then had some free time. A couple of people bought tickets to the palace museum, which they later told us was surprisingly good. 

We skipped it to walk the streets of the surrounding neighborhood. Despite the strike and the crowds, we never felt unsafe. People hardly noticed two lone Americans. 

As the sun was setting, our ground gathered back at the palace and got in the van for another quick trip, with no traffic, back to the hotel.