From the original itinerary:
April 23: A day hike in the Kathmandu valley. From Chobar you walk through a simple but fascinating route to Bungamati. According to legend, the lake water of Kathmandu escaped through the beautiful gorge Chobar after the saint Manjushri had beaten with his sword. During the walk you will discover the authentic rural life and the smiling people of the Kathmandu Valley. Tourists are not really known here. Bungmati, the end of the tour, is built against a steep river bank and surrounded by rice terraces. Ten minutes from Bungmatti is the Newari village Khokana, which is also worth a visit. Khonaka is famous for its mustard oil. Their production goes according to the old traditions. In the afternoon you are back in Kathmandu.
This was an odd duck kind of day. I started, as is now my Nepalese routine, with a short run at 4:30 AM. All fine and dandy… until midway through when a bird pooped on me. Is it auspicious AND inauspicious when that happens, or is that just some Nepal shit?
Returning to my hotel, I tried to hand wash the shirt in the sink and then I took a long shower hoping to get the heebie jeebies off of me in addition to any bird droppings. Much like when you walk into a spider web, I could just FEEL there was something on me even though I knew there wasn’t any more.
I was then killing some time walking around before our daytrip was due to commence at 9 AM. On one particularly narrow road, a large tour bus careened toward me and I had to choose between jumping into a large mud puddle or being smooshed. I went with the mud but man did my shoes and feet question that decision. I think they should just be lucky they COULD question the decision given the alternative.
It’s actually surprising I haven’t seen an accident here since I got here. There’s almost a constant state of “near misses” but no actual physical damage to vehicle or person. I even asked my guide Ari if there are any street signs in Nepal as I hadn’t seen any in Kathmandu. He said there are out in rural areas but there’s too much congestion in the city for them to be effective. There are traffic cops at certain intersections directing traffic but otherwise it’s more of a “use the force,” “wing and a prayer,” “be aggressive… be be aggressive” handbook for using the Nepal streets.
And though I know cows are sacred here and thus are the equivalent of an 800 pound gorilla – where does he sit? Wherever he wants! – but it still cracks me up to see them wandering the roads and causing their own brand of near “cow-talystic” disasters.
As our tour bus made it’s way to our first stop, Ari tried to give a more detailed history of Nepalese history… but a few of my fellow travelers seemed more interested in their own conversations so it was hard to hear him. The main thing I took away from the talk is that though I thought yesterday Nepal was unified and founded in 1826, that’s accurate only insofar as that’s by their lunar calendar. By the Gregorian calendar, that’s 1768. It also helps explain why I’m in the future here celebrating New Years 2075… and why when I ask for a copy of Grays Sports Almanac no one can give me one.
We started the day at Kripitur, a place with an 11th Century Temple and another temple that was the highest point in the area. Sure, sure – here’s what these temples look like even though to me they’re all blending together. I don’t want to say if you’ve seen one temple you’ve seen them all… but I will type it. That’s reductive and indicative of my uncultured mind and body, but it’s how I feel about cathedrals, churches, McDonald’s, and Taco Bells. Sure, sure. There’s some interesting variations now and again but, really, deep down… they’re all kinda the same and isn’t that also kinda the point?
I was much more interested in the tourist office for the area. Take a look at their email address.
I have at least two questions here:
- Is it misspelled, as in they’re missing a “p” in there?
- Were 097 other kripiturguide (or I should say kritiurguide) addresses already taken at gmail?
From here we drove out to see the fabled gorge created when Saint Manjushri slashed the land with his sword, bringing water to the Kathmandu Valley. It is a pretty gorge.
Strong bridge, Indy! Strong bridge! I guess I’m your goddamned partner!
After shuffling past the gorge like gawking tourists shuffling past the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, we headed up a steep road to see a village. It wasn’t what I expected. We found ourselves in a ritzy neighborhood where people spent upwards of 40 million rupees (USD$400,000) for 1500 square feet apartments. If they weren’t used to seeing tourists it’s because the air they breathe is too rarified.
But after too long a walk through this area, we turned off the road and onto a trail that took us through the rural countryside and rice fields awaiting the monsoon season of June/July. This is more of what I imagined when they said we’d be hiking outside the city proper.
And here’s something you rarely if ever have seen as I rarely if ever have done this: this is me with a wild marijuana clipping. You may know it as wacky tobaccy, mary jane, or just simply weed. Even though the majority of my fellow travelers were from the Netherlands, where weed has been legal in “coffeeshops” since before I was born.
We ended our hike in the small village of Khokana. This place was still severely struggling with earthquake damage… which was oddly more heartbreaking to me than the damage done to centuries old monuments and structures in Durber Square and beyond. These were people’s homes and it just… it got to me.
I was reading an article in the Himalaya Times the other day (what? It’s Nepal’s Number One English Daily!). This headline kinda says it all:
I don’t know though if my walking through this neighborhood snapping photos meant I was somehow reveling in poverty porn. I mean, these were people’s houses I was snapping photos of for my blog. I don’t really know what they’ve endured or what they are currently enduring.
I feel weird taking photos of people in situ of these places, especially portraits and closeups. But maybe it’s even more rude of me to snap shots from afar. I think the bottom line is I’m just bad with people in any country and in any circumstance. But I did snap a photo of this kid because, well, it seemed like the right thing to do:
Even before coming I knew I was going to make a donation to the cause. But as I wandered the streets of this town, I vowed to make a donation to the various projects Gert and his friends’ foundation are working on here in Nepal. They are doing amazing things to help in some small way to aid the recovery efforts. By the way, this is Gert — he and I ran the Antarctica Marathon together in 2016 and he’s the reason I’m here in Nepal now.
The day was dragging on a bit and things took a bit longer than anticipated. But lunch was still in the cards even though it was almost 1:30 PM and we were a good 20 minutes from a restaurant. Ari took us to this “living kitchen” place that offered what in The Food Network parlance might be described as an open kitchen… if that kitchen was also in a large house where the family cat would bring a dead bird over you as you were trying to eat.
This promised to be REAL Nepalese food, as farm to table (or in this case, floor) as it gets. This was sure to be a cultural and culinary experience.
We sat on the floor, a bedsheet before us as a table cloth (or more accurately a floor cloth?). Originally I was sitting with the large group but there wasn’t QUITE enough room for everybody so a couple of people were relegated to what we might call at Thanksgiving “the kids table.” I decided to join them and boy am I glad I did. At first it was just two brothers, one an archaleogy student the other studying the culinary arts. Neither was here to run, they were here to support their mom on the course. As a son who has a mom who sometimes supports him in person and always supports him in spirit, I was immediately thrilled to be sitting with this trio. On top of that, Ari and our driver joined us. I was intimidated by the menu at first… while chilled monkey brains wasn’t on it there were plenty of other… exotic… offerings.
When it came time to order, I went with mo:mos. I asked Ari what the “C” option meant and he shook his head. “That means chili sauce — very spicy. You don’t want that.” It was as if a glove had been smacked across my face. I said, “I’ll take C Veg Mo Mo.” He again shook his head dubiously. “Are you sure?” I waved at him, Bruce Lee style, and said, “Let’s do this.”
He translated to the waitress and she did a double take, but nodded. As we waited for our food, Ari ordered the table a couple of rounds of spicy beef appetizers. At his offering, I tried a toothpick sample and it was pretty spicy. Not too spicy for me, but it was APPROACHING the threshold, ya know? So if he thought this was fine, I kinda found myself second guessing my decision.
Everyone else’s food came and I told them all not to wait, waving off suggestions of trying their rice crepe with chicken that was nicknamed “Nepali Pizza.” I declined the brothers offer of sharing their Buff and Chicken Mo Mos, san C. I called my shot; I was going to follow through.
I can only assume that this is not something they typically make and that’s why it was taking longer to get my meal. It’s as if they put it on the menu as a joke as no one would be foolish enough to order such a thing.
I guess they hadn’t counted on the foolishness of Kevin S. Hanna.
After a good thirty to forty five minutes, the dish arrived:
What had I gotten myself into? But gauntlets had been thrown. I must break my lance (or toothpick).
My floormates insisted I remove my sunglasses so I couldn’t hide the potential tears from the spicy heat.
I complied but ya know what? I popped a whole Mo Mo into my mouth and — piece of cake (or, well, piece of steamed dough filled with veggies and then smothered in chili sauce). They were I thought less spicy than the beef Ari had shared with us. I had several more but it was too big a plate so I offered to share… and Ari was guilt tripped into tasting one.
It did not go well.
That’s a tear in his eye on the first bite.
I don’t know if that made for a new challenge to be issued, but Ari and our driver motioned to the waitress and she brought over water buffalo intestines to share. Bring. It. On.
I needed instructions on how to eat it and then it was off to the races. Tasted sorta like a sour rice ball. Shrug.
That’s when things escalated. They also ordered a mix plate of spinal cord and brain.
I once considered trying out for CBS’s “Survivor.” Food challenges are a thing one has to mentally prepare for. If I don’t know what something is, and it’s not recognizable as a foot or a head, and it’s not still moving, I can usually do it. But this I knew was spinal cord and brain.
I shall finish the game.
The spinal cord? Like a severely overcooked slice of zucchini. The brain? Surprisingly tasty — like mashed potatoes really.
In the end, there was a lot of laughter throughout the meal. I’m sure I would have enjoyed eating with the larger group but I felt like I had connected with my floormates because we were a smaller group.
As a final note, I offered to pay for Ari and our driver’s lunch as they’ve been taking us all over and it seemed like a reasonable thing to do. They declined several times, but I finally told them it would make my holiday better if I could do this. They then said in Nepal culture the guest is never supposed to pay. I told Ari that he had done such a good job of showing us around, I felt like a local. They finally caved. The whole bill for the three of us came out to less than $10 US. One of the brothers paid for their threesome and when they told him their sum total he pulled out his wallet and started counting bills, saying, “So that’s per person?” This was a ridiculously cheap place.
It took a long time but it was definitely worth it. A highlight of the trip actually.
I mean, I ate brains. And spinal cords. And intestines. Oh, my!