Point2Point

Nobody seemed that concerned with the riots I had been in the middle of the day before. As I rushed to get the photographs to the BBC, others merely wondered if the stores would be open today. Sangita was more annoyed about no public transport due to the blockades than the fact that the newspaper headlines said the rioters targeted journalists and medical teams.

"I was there, it's not true!" My witnessed statements got no more than some shrugs and some sighs.

The French girls Monique and Stephi brought about my next worry. Stephi turned the page of the riot filled newspaper, "And, your friends. Dhey arrive at what time today?"

It hadn't escaped my mind that this afternoon Maeve and Alex were arriving. I had thought it more prudent to find out if the riots were going to happen again to day?!! No one knew, nor did they seem that worried.

Madu, the second in command at the KTM G GH added to my thoughts, "Maybe the airport is closed too."

"Because of the riots?" I returned.

He shrugged and unleashed a goofy smile. "Maybe. But the roads. They are being blocked too."

I remembered my own trip into Kathmandu. He was right. They were flying in at 1pm and had although I had sent them a very exact email with instructions on how to get tote guest house it would do no good if the airport was blocked. Still Madu promised to send a driver out to meet them, so that at least would help.

I went for a look around outside. It was as closed up as it had been the day before. I wonder over to the ring road saw that the tire burning was still in full swing. Riot police marched up and down the main roads. I groaned at the thought of Maeve arriving in the middle of all this. She was not accustomed to roughing it, let alone landing in the middle of a country that I had depicted as idyllic, relaxing and a good place to get away from it all.

By lunchtime both Maeve and Alec had both called. Luck was back on track. Their flight had been delayed due to weather, they had bumped into a a chap at the airport who explained about the 'fuel delays' and according to a radio report the strike was officially off.

I sat calming myself in the guest house with a beer when they arrived. All smiles and oblivious that for the last two days the city had been in a lock down.

Being new to the city myself it was the perfect excuse to head off with Maeve and Alec to see what was on offer. Though I had only been there myself for two riot filled days they seemed to make a great deal out of me going with them to all the tourist sights I must have seen already. No problem.

Kathmandu was as close to an ancient living city as I have come across. No where else have I seen a place where 1000 year old plus buildings en masse are used for everyday purposes in the same way they used to be. Couple that with smoke churning rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, narrow lanes and shops overflowing with metal curios and you can easily feel lost here. Thamel is not Kathmandu, its a part of it. And I found Thamel to be the least likable place. It was full of tourists, and tourist centered items. Not that I wasn't partial to a porterhouse steak in the evening while listening to modern music or a just released Hollywood blockbuster. It was the lure of the old world still alive and bustling on the roof of the world that I enjoyed the most.

Where else in the world could you find a Living Goddess hidden amongst a mini city of ancient Hindu temples. Sadu priests making blessings, praying and at the same time taking gullible tourists for extortionatephotographic privileges. The temples were awash with people, either selling flowers or other such paraphernalia, or just taking it all in. Hunched men with backs filled with stacks of carpets, singing bowls and even plastic chairs battled through crowds of neatly dressed students. And this was just Dubar Square.

Along the modern new road was the new version of commercialism. Watch vendors, game boy hawkers and camera salesmen all did battle for your money. Stores of electronics lined the road, Sony, Motorola, Panasonic, Dell, they were all represented in some fashion. Then a Royal Palace with a King present who's brother killed his whole family.

Outside beggars would ask once, or maybe twice for money. Their clothes and skiing more dirty from the polluted streets than any other I have seen. Street kids would lie in clusters along the roadside. Either emancipated from the night before or resting for this nights plea to fuel their drug centered addictions.

In the tourist hotbed that was Thamel, nationalities from all over the world dined on rich and well prepared foods. Shopped for cheap yet beautifully ornate jewelery, Kukri knifes and counterfeit DVD's. Or be seen spenedmany times less on fake North Face jackets that would normally cost 100's of foreigncurrency back home. It was here after night had fallen and the day time tourist touts looking to sell a chap tour had packed up you would find a grim scene. Street children would en masse for the few evening time hours that they knew the tourists would be out.

They were street children hooked on glue. Plastic bags would often cover their faces as they huffed in the toxic fumes that gave them a brief high before their eyes would glaze over. They would prey on tourists leaving restaurants, or new comers, their lost expressions giving them away. Full bellies and quite early evenings meant tourists were easily persuaded to part with some cash. And for the smart tourist what didn't want to give cash but offered food instead came another crash of reality.

Coming back one evening from an evening with the French girls and a new Italian Daniel who had lived here before I came upon a small girl selling embroidered purses. Colorful and ornate they would make a nice gift. The girl was about 7. Her face was smeared with oily soot, and her clothes tattered. All of the street children were boys, and it was unusual to see a girl out and about.

"150 Rupees." she claimed.

I laughed back, "Really, so much? It's too much."

"120." She fired back with a knowing smile.

"120? My dear I live here, I know the cost. Tell me the truth?"

She didn't frown, but I could see her weighing me up. "Last price 50 Rupees."

I nodded towards a group of boys ahead of us as I took a note out. "You're not going to do what they are doing are you?"

She shook her head frowning. "No, I not bold and stupid. They use glue. I sell purses and go to school."

It flickered past my mind that she would probably be more educated than the man she would be arranged to marry at some stage in her young life. The group of boys were following a large American looking tourist into a supermarket. I had seen this before. The tourist in good intentions had refused to give the kids money, knowing they would directly buy glue with it. Instead he was asking them to pick something out from the store that would directly feed them.

"He is stupid too," continued the little girl, following my eyes as the tourist left with a large bag of rice cakes. "He should open it first. The boys will take back and get money for it for drugs."

She was right. Once the tourist had left the group of boys charged back into the supermarket and exchanged the food for money. People were surviving here by any means necessary, so long as it did not interfere with the greater good.

With Maeve and Alec we stood idly by in a Gurkha knife store as it was held up by a youth with a sword like Gurkha knife. Never once were we threatened. Instead the thief got away with the 800 Ruppess knife. No police were called. No one chased after him. A call was made to the local Maoist group. The thief was a member. Later the knife would be returned by a bloodied ex-thief.

This was Kathmandu. A world of old and new. Of safety and danger. Poor and yet rich. Dependant yet independent and unique. It represented so much to so many. It intrigued people, scared them, compelled them and yet offered a safe haven to them. People went to India for spirituality, yet here in Nepal it seemed more genuine. The people were friendly, open to all. No jealousy nor crime was evident nor directed at tourists. Even the drunken ones stumbling home alone along darkened lanes seemed to make it back in one peace.

Maeve and Alec were aghast with Kathmandu, and regretted not having more time in Nepal. I helped them courier things home through a contact I had made at the London Cargo Company. And then waved them off in Madu's taxi. Their visit had been a success. It felt good to have friends visit me while I was travellingmyself. It felt even better that they had enjoyed themselves. Now I was alone again to head into China. Though I would have liked to have stayed longer, it was time to move on.

Stephi pointed to the front page of the Kathmandu Times. My eyes widened as I saw the thousands of Chinese people stranded at the train station. China was having its worst weather in decades. Over the next few days I spent time in researching my Tibet trip, and the situation in China. Monique had moved out of the guest house and into an orphanage where she worked. It was easier to live in a cramped bedroom come Hindu shrine than battle Kathmandu traffic.

This gave Stephi and me more time in exploring Kathmandu. I liked Stephi, she was young, early 20's yet well versed and independent. She knew Kathmandu better than me, and it seemed she had been living there for months. She knew the local bus routes, the cheaper options at the market, and what's more she shared a similar pessimistic style of humor as I.

Two new volunteer arrivals at the guest house rounded off the new permanent resident group. A German girl Cathrine who was quickly christened 'Sticky Pants' due to her lacking of clean jeans. And a tall blond head strong student girl from Holland called Anna.

Our mornings were filled with pancake breakfasts and jibes over newspaper articles chronicling the worsening weather conditions in China and the deft comments over Stephi's lack of volunteering work. My afternoons were taken up with one of more of the non volunteering group either shopping for night time cooking at the guest house, movie buying or general missions of a shopping kind.

On one occasion I went with Stephi and Cathy to Swayambhunath, the monkey temple. A place deftly named after the massive collection of baboon's that enjoyed pinching fruit from both tourist and locals pockets. We were more adapt at life in Kathmandu now. We all sported ID passes allowing us through Dubar Square for free. We also found ways to enter the monkey temple for free, albeit through a very round about way.

I was on a mission to find a quality singing bowl. My first had been bought for a mere 200rupees from an old lady in dubar square. With some practice it had become my pride in being the only musical instrument I could and still can play. It was basically a round metal bowl that when its rim was rubbed with a wooden stick would emit a high pitches tone. Not exactly rocket science, but then one has to start somewhere.

Swayambhunath was like most important Hindu temples in Nepal. After ascending30 minutes of steps you see the large stupa blanketed with stark whitewash above which sits a golden cubical structure with the eyes of Buddha looking in all four directions. What makes Swayambhunath a little different is both its high location, and it's alternative namesake of the monkey temple. Indeed there were baboons everywhere. Mainly in the search for food they could be seen as rather deft pickpockets to unsuspecting tourists.

It was the antiquities market surrounding the temple that interested me thought. I had been there once before and spotted a shop that was dedicated to my new found obsession of singing bowls. Stephi and Cathy were not so enamored with the little decorative bowls but thanks to my skill of persuasion or possibly there boredom were now listening to the shop owner recite their purpose.

Nepalese singing bowls were in fact Tibetan, but even the Tibetan ones were made in Nepal due to the Chinese restrictions on Tibetan culture. They came in different sizes, and classes. Some were for music alone, others claimed healing powers due to the vibrations they gave out. I fell prey to a live demonstration and was subjected to a 2 foot brass colored singing bowl being hit like a gong and passed up and down my body. A mere inch away from touching me I felt it's vibrations tingle through, a sort of sonic massage. One that became a little strange at the waist level and forced me to pull back.

With a little hand push from me Stephi had an up close experience with a vibrating bowl too. Her's however was possibly a little too comically surreal though. Our good intentioned, or possibly sadistically bored, store owner placed the large massage bowl upside down on her head. As if wearing some strangely designed army helmet Stephi stood there, half her head submerged in a brass bowl balanced on her head, her fist directed at me. She was too polite of Nepalese tradition to tell the man to get lost, and so she continued to stand there as he proceeded to hit the bowl with a wooden stick to the sound of a loud bong. Stephi's fists grew tighter as Cathy and I fought back the tears of laughter.

This would be our source of amusement for the day. An evening around the gas heater, steaks and laughter. The electricity blackouts were a curse but also a bonding occasion. Without the rip off DVD's we had little choice but to sit in candle light darkness and trade our day's stories. It was an old tradition that was working on us without effort. We began grew to know each other quickly, we could read each others thoughts and moods on instinct.

Stephi and Kathy were stuck with volunteer jobs that had no work for them. Though Kathy should have been living in a monastery she found every excuse to stay at the guest house. Her German mentality of either 100% yes or 100% to most things in life meant she gave the monks little option to keep her there. Stephi on the other hand did go to work in the mornings, but would usually turn up in the afternoons with a an amused smile about no children today at the orphanage. Anna was older, and more serious about her college work. Yet it was as if this was her first escape from a studious lifestyle in years, and was caught between an all out party seeker and a depressed student on a deadline. Then there was me, the exiled traveler trapped in Nepal due to the snow in china.

It would have been a weak excuse had the headlines on the news not been so daunting. First it was hundreds stranded at railways stations, then thousands and now tens of thousands. Snow storms were blanketing all parts of China. Roads were blocked and an upcoming new year festival threatened chaos.

It crossed my mind that is the group was not around would I still be there, waiting. Or would I have tested my luck, and gone for snow clad journey into China. I foraged information on the Internet. There were still travelers there, but many were obsessed with the weather story rather than telling if they could move around themselves. The Chinese new year, I had expected. And so my decision was to stay in Nepal until well after February 7th celebrations and allow time for the weather to pass.

Danilo, the Italian volunteer, rarely joined our nightly group. It was his second time in Nepal as a volunteer, and he was taking thing seriously. Still, his Italian good looks and friendly manner easily one the female contingent over when ever he appeared. His ability to cook good Italian food was also strong factor. I was the only male in a relatively young group consisting of international girls. It brought back memories of Morocco the 'Harem' of international wives we joked about then. It was a strange feeling, and I know the others knew it too. I had the experience and allure of the older lone male traveler. While the girls were all on their real first trip overseas and held the vitality of youth and the interest in seeking answers. In most cases this relationship would only work for a short period considering the diversity of characters involved. But Sangita was our gel. She was our base at the Guest house that was now our home from home. At least in the case of the girls, a home from home. For me it was a safety net. A place that at least I was happy to stay in.