Woke up in Kathmandu yesterday. The night before felt like a dream, a pleasant one. Floating in over the highest mountains on Earth, watching the lights of the Kathmandu Valley spread unimaginably in each direction, innumerable faint orange candles flickering on the valley floor. I think we were asleep 30 seconds after putting our bags down. A few hours too early, we woke to the raspy squawking of at least a dozen crows. Found a couple on the patio railing watching me emerge with those darting, ink-black eyes. House Crows they are called here, and appear much like their western cousins, sleek, black and sexy, but with gray feathers around their shoulders and across their breast. Like Denzel wearing a Jim Tressel sweater vest, only Cashmere. Though their behavior, far more assertive than a Jim Tressel offense. Aside from the crows, the city was not yet awake when we stumbled out, blindly trying to sniff out a cup of coffee. And my nose knew that I couldn’t smell my laundry for the first time in days. This was beneficial for Tena and I, both the absence of foul laundry odors and the vacant streets, as there was actually somewhere to walk. That changed as the day progressed.
I wondered briefly if there was an opening on the Kathmandu Urban Planning Committee.
There are no sidewalks here, at least in the old part of the city. As the day marched forward the traffic took on the snarled look of the wiring that hangs from the utility poles astride the streets; snarled, chaotic, rat’s nests. Occasionally you will find a utility pole that is not alongside the street, but actually in it. I wondered briefly if there was an opening on the Kathmandu Urban Planning Committee. The thought sputtered away like a two-cylinder taxi, as I started to catch numerous eyes staring intently in our direction. I watched a couple young males almost struck by a taxi as they were wandering into the road watching Tena stroll past.
A Couple of Young Males with Tena
There are no sidewalks here, at least in the old part of the city. As the day marched forward the traffic took on the snarled look of the wiring that hangs from the utility poles astride the streets; snarled, chaotic, rat’s nests. Occasionally you will find a utility pole that is not alongside the street, but actually in it. I wondered briefly if there was an opening on the Kathmandu Urban Planning Committee. The thought sputtered away like a two-cylinder taxi, as I started to catch numerous eyes staring intently in our direction. I watched a couple young males almost struck by a taxi as they were wandering into the road watching Tena stroll past. ’m clearly fascinated with traffic patterns, every place we go. We noticed within a few minutes here that there is no traffic control. There are no traffic lights, no stop signs, no yields and scarcely, a crosswalk. In Thailand and Vietnam, traffic control was present, just largely ignored. Here drivers will swerve to miss a pothole more readily than to miss a pedestrian, so walk if you dare. I find it enjoyable, engaging, all of it. Finding comparisons is easy and entertaining. Withholding judgment has gotten much easier, especially when you notice that there are almost no accidents here. Very few sirens and no road rage. Again and again, it just works. It flows. I take numerous pictures and videos, but find a safe place to stand before opening the shutter.
The subtle differences in culture that are available at first glance as you cross the continent, feel priceless to observe. To savor. Each city has a different symphony of sounds, mixing of odors – minus my laundry, and customs. In Bali we had just become accustomed to taking our shoes off before entering any building. Here, it’s apparently frowned upon. We got some frowns as we tried to shake that habit. The people seem to be no less friendly, but profoundly more direct. Perhaps a slightly more patriarchal society here in Nepal, each and every male trying to make direct eye contact with Tena. It’s amusing for me, likely less so for her, and creates maybe a little desire to be more, not quite possessive, but watchful. Pridefully observant. The journey continues.
