Kathmandu Renasissance

One of the things I love about living in Kathmandu is the burgeoning arts scene. It is a relatively small city so there are only a handful of venues but increasingly, there are cool events going on.

At the beginning of November was Jazzmandu, which I think is now in it's 10th year. It is jazz in a pretty broad sense bringing artists from all over the world and having a number of events around town including an afternoon/evening concert on the grounds of a fancy hotel just outside of the city which is like a mini one day festival.

I was excited to discover not one but two film festivals - Human Rights Film Week run by Human Rights Film Focus Nepal, a small locally based organisation run by volunteers that promotes human rights using film as a platform. The eight day festival featured over 30 screenings in six venues across the city - all for free! The films were from all over the world, mainly documentaries and all encompassing a perspective on human rights whether it was war refugees, victims of sex trafficking or people in some way fighting for their rights. I tried to catch as many of the films I could and found much inspiration in the work as well as what HRFFN are trying to do. They have a school outreach programme called "Shaking the Tree" where they are trying to raise awareness through reaching out to young people by bringing thought-provoking films to schools. I think what they are doing is really wonderful.
In addition, there is the more established Kathmandu International Mountain Film Festival (KIMFF) presenting it's 10th season. This is a four day event presenting a mixture of short and feature-length films from all over the world in two large venues in KTM. They will also present travelling KIMFF in the spring of 2013 where they take the best of of the fest and screen them around the country, primarily at outdoor venues with audiences of up to 2000 people. And who knows? Maybe one day, our film will be featured!

Before I got involved in film making, I spent many years working in theatre, so the Kathmandu International Theatre Festival was another treat. This is truly an international affair with plays in all different languages - some with English subtitles, others not. I went to see a Nepali/English play by One World Theatre, an English language theatre company based here. Until now I had heard of a theatre or two in town but had not checked them out. It is not massively a culture of theatre-going but I was impressed to see the audience was very mixed and probably more locals than not.

Just to round it off, we have Artmandu, the largest arts festival in Nepal, which is every three years. "This is about art for a social cause." This month long event features artists from all over the world - in addition to contemporary art, there are also film screenings and symposiums.

Combined, it is these sorts of events that incite creativity, and remind us how the arts can create positive change. I think it is an indication of things to come and the slowly changing face of modern Nepal (which is essentially still limited to Kathmandu), that there are so many of these events going on. In particular, reaching the youth who are the future. I can see that this renaissance could be attributed to the approach of a new era in Nepal, albeit coming slowly.

Retrospective: 5 months & 10 days

FIVE MONTHS

I find myself back at my desk, in my room in Kathmandu, taking stock of the last five months that has seen me cross half the globe and return. The common misconception is that my 'travels' are during my time in Asia, when in fact, I have travelled more in those five months than I did in the previous seven - most of which found me sitting at this very desk.

Places to go, people to see, things to do - that is what travelling is about for me and in some ways, it doesn't matter what part of the world you do that, it is how you do it. The people you meet on the journey is what makes life interesting. I feel incredibly fortunate that this time in my life I am able to move around the world as I do. It is not as difficult as people think but simply a delicate balance of random pieces of paid work (often remote), no overheads, couch surfing, a little savings and spending as little money as possible other than on flights.

My time in California was spent either working on the project, primarily preparing for the screening event that we held in Santa Monica in September (check the Shakti blog for a more detailed update) or various freelance jobs to collect a few pennies to help me along the way. It was busy - I seemed to be jumping from place to place spending only a few nights in any one spot - but ultimately productive.  I did manage to squeeze in a few camping trips - desert and mountains, soaking up the majesty of the west coast of America. Suffice to say, I enjoyed my time - work and play.

Newport Harbor, CA

 Toketee Hot Springs, OR

El Mirage Lake Bed, CA

TEN DAYS: EASTBOUND (WITH DETOUR)

The last ten days has seen me hopscotch from LA to San Francisco to New York to New Delhi and finally landing in Kathmandu. The SF leg of that journey a last minute addition to secure my Indian visa for my transit through Delhi.

INDIAN VISA NOTE:
If anyone is intending to get an Indian visa in the States, beware of a few idiosyncrasies of the Travisa system (outsourced by the Indian government). Firstly, you MUST go through the office of your jurisdiction (which is why I could not get my visa in New York), even though that is not made clear on the website. Secondly, even though the online application allows you to apply for a transit visa through the SF office, when you arrive at the appointed time with a printout of your transit visa application and the SF office address, you will be informed that they do NOT issue transit visas there. So I had to get a tourist visa and opted for the 10 year, which fortuitously enough, I was granted!

Visa in hand, my day in the Bay paid off and I got to squeeze in a meal with one of my best friends and a few celebratory visa drinks with another, so all in all, well worth the detour. Then back to the airport for the red-eye to NY. Sixty fun-filled (alcohol-fuelled) hours in New York saying hello and farewell to an assortment of friends there, then half a day on a plane to Delhi. I think exhaustion outweighed the jet-lag.



My timing coincided with my friend Amit's birthday. He is the spice man I met on my first visit back to Delhi in 2010 and we've kept in touch since. He celebrated his birthday with a sumptuous meal on a rooftop overlooking the city with an interesting assortment of locals and foreigners - Russian, French, Chinese.  After the meal, a handful of us went to a club in Gurgaon - my first nightclub experience in India. Gurgaon is south of Delhi and is actually in a different state so has different licensing regulations. It is also a very modern suburb and houses a lot of the international corporations and modern shiny malls. The club we went to, Empire, was in one such mall and I was surprised to find they had a fingerprinting system at the door.

The ratio of men to women was probably about 20 to 1, so unsurprisingly, I got more attention than I have ever had in a nightclub - sometimes to the point that I had to kick someone in the shin - and Amit actually kneed someone in the balls on my behalf. It was a bit like swatting flies whilst dancing but I didn't take it too seriously. Understandably, the other girl in our party, Maria (Amit's Russian friend who speaks better Hindi than he) found it rather unpleasant. We were able to take refuge in the VIP area and before too long we were back in Amit's car speeding north through the quiet streets. In spite of the hassle, I have to admit to having had a good time - sometimes a little boogie shakes off the cobwebs of hours on a plane.

The next day was my flight back to Kathmandu and I was much dismayed to be charged excess baggage for the first time in all these travels. As I paid with a card, I suddenly realised I didn't have enough cash for my Nepali visa. What to do? I guess figure it out when I get there. I was further inconvenienced at security when I was made to remove all 8 of my external hard drives in addition to my computer to send my bag through the machine again. Delhi airport did redeem itself though with it's relatively pleasant, albeit caged, outdoor smoking area.

I was quite intrigued by the cigarette lighter they provided.

And soon enough I was on the plane back to Nepal. It's a short flight and as we headed east towards Kathmandu, the Himalayas, poking through the clouds,  were illuminated pink by the setting sun. My heart smiled. But I smiled even more when I found myself outside the airport at the ATM having not yet gone through customs or immigration because the ATM machine in the immigration hall was broken so I had to leave the airport to collect cash and then go backwards back up to the immigration hall to then exchange rupees into dollars (they don't accept visa payment in their own currency for some reason) to pay for my visa. They did hold my passport while I was gone, but still... Definitely back in Nepal!

The Hitching Post

A few key things to know when hitch-hiking:
1. set off early to give yourself plenty of time
2. find a good spot where you can be seen and people are actually able to pull over
3. avoid city centres
4. it is useful if you speak the local language


It's been many years since I travelled by thumb. Years ago, I hitch-hiked a fair bit in the UK & Europe, primarily with my boyfriend at the time but I also hitched across Finland alone. I figured if you are going to hitch alone as a woman, Finland is a pretty safe bet. And it was. Everyone was very nice and always let me use their (Nokia) phones if I asked where the nearest payphone was...

Anyhow, it's been a few years so I decided to dust off my thumb. I needed to get from Dinard, France to Brussels, Belgium having forgone a lift directly to Belgium the previous day because I couldn't bring myself to leave the splendour of the magnificent chateau that I had called home for a week.

Villa St. Germain, Dinard - my room is the top left

The setting for my dear friends Jane & Brendan's amazing, week-long festival of a wedding was extraordinary to say the least and I was finding it quite hard to leave. I was considering looking into squatters rights in France and staying or just hiding in the attic.

Eventually, as our numbers dwindled, I came to terms with the idea that it was time to move on. To be precise, 642 kilometres. And according to google maps, 6 hours and 24 minutes.  Ideally, I should have set off fairly early (in the morning) to get underway as it can take a long time to do a 6 hour journey hitching. After a bit of breakfast and a bit more faffing, or what I like to think of as preparation (I had taken photos the google map route on my computer,  made the relevant signs and brought some extra large bin bags in case it started to rain), I was ready to go.


first to Caen

then to Rouen

 then to Amiens
and finally Brussels (Bruxelles). Simple.


The few remaining friends at the chateau were heading to Mont Saint-Michel to go and see the castle on the island and offered to drop me off on the road there - already 58 km on my way! So of course, it was silly not to wait for them.

Part 1 - The Road to Rouen

It was just past 15.00 when they left me at the roundabout on the N176 (a little later than ideal but what to do?). At least I was already underway with less than 600 km to go.

15.18

We had joked that if I was still there when they had finished at the castle that at least they could pick me up. But I felt hopeful. This was an adventure! And it has been a while since I hit the road. Equipped with my first sign, I positioned myself and then it started to rain.  Sporting my new shiny bin bag poncho, I started to wonder if this was such a good idea when Frederick picked me up. He was going to Cherbourg but could take me 71 km further towards Caen! I was on my way!

71 km

He dropped me off at a hitching friendly spot at a major intersection where people on the road to Caen would be turning off the N174 on to the A84. The rain had stopped and it was quite scenic.

16.30

It wasn't long before Alexander appeared. He lives in Rouen but had meetings in Caen. He offered to take me there but I'd have to wait until 19.00. It was 17.15 so I felt it prudent to just carry on - another 53 km down so I was feeling newly hopeful.

53 km

We stopped for coffee in Ifs and then he dropped me off on the ring road to the road to Rouen (I should have realised that the ominous sounding phrase was not for naught).

17.15

Alexander- coffee in Ifs

A busy motorway slip road heading on to the A13. Cars speeding up as they passed.   I was starting to doubt that anyone would stop there when a BMW pulled up. Cesar was going to Paris and had to be there by 20.00. Hmmm. Tempting but not the direction I was supposed to be going in.

17.58

Cesar

He ended up dropping me off somewhere a little further down the road at what first appeared to be a handy spot right by a sign to Rouen.

18.17

I was holding both the Rouen and the Bruxelles sign on the off chance someone happened to be going all the way... and I was getting some quite entertained and incredulous looks from the passing cars. By now it was commuters and lots of women with kids doing their school run. All looking fairly unimpressed at my roadside stance. I was just thinking how women really don't pick up hitchers, when Adeline & Justine stopped.

18.29

Adeline & Justine

I was very excited to meet them, although a little dismayed when they pulled over minutes later.

1.1 km further down the road

18.33

these guys were all staring as I settled at this spot - they looked away when I pointed the camera though

But soon Giancarlo, an Italian truck driver stopped. And he was going all the way to Rouen!

18.45

Giancarlo's truck was very comfy and soon we were cruising down the road attempting to chat in a combination of Spanish, English, French (although he didn't really speak French), Italian & Nepali (he didn't speak Nepali either but I kept accidentally saying Nepali words).

18.53

trying to explain to Giancarlo what these words meant was quite funny

122 km

It seems, after exhausting our pleasantries, I dozed off and awoke in Rouen centre. Giancarlo parked and I hopped out wondering which way the road to Amiens might be. I walked to the main road, looked at a map at a bus stop and walked on further to a main intersection.

20.34

It was drizzling and although the sign above me said Amiens, it seemed like all local traffic. Suddenly the parked car behind me started and I rushed to the window to see where they were going. I just needed to get to a road that was actually heading out of town. The driver said he was just going to get cigarettes and drove off. Five minutes later, Youness was back; he'd figured it out and took me another 500 m or so down the road where the road to Amiens started.

20.55

Youness

By now the light was fading. With over 300 km left to Brussels, I was beginning to mull over my options when Samir & Faouzi stopped. Paris? Again, the universe trying to send me to Paris... but this time, I thought it might not be a bad idea. It didn't seem like I was going to get to Brussels that night, and even if I made it to Amiens, what would I do there?

As we drove through the lush green French countryside, I was still thinking I might get out somewhere on the road to Amiens. We were taking small country lanes, following the sat-nav relatively unsuccessfully, it seemed, as we kept ending up in cul-de-sacs. At one point when were driving down a deserted country lane, alarm bells started going off in my head. Of course, as a hitcher, especially a woman, there are certain risks and being alone with two men in the middle of nowhere as darkness approached could pose a very real threat. But after numerous U-turns, we were back on a main road. I tried to figure out where we were from the photos of maps on my camera, but I hadn't photographed the road south to Paris from Rouen so it was in vain.

21.24

sun setting over the countryside

Neither of my hosts spoke much English so the conversation was fairly basic but it is surprising how much can be communicated with a little effort - and my French was improving by the minute. They were both French Algerian and impressed that I knew who Zinedine Zidane was. As the kilometres and minutes passed I settled more into the idea of going to Paris. The guys (who were actually very sweet), offered to put me up but that didn't seem like a good idea, so I got hold of the number of my friend Tom, who lives in Paris. I was planning to see him the following week when I was due to be in Paris... so I was a few days early.

22.54

Samir (Faouzi didn't want his picture taken)

We arrived in the bright lights of gay Paris close to 23.00 and dropped off Faouzi. Samir  then punched Tom's address (who thankfully had responded with welcoming enthusiasm) into the sat-nav and we proceeded to weave our way through Paris, again driving in circles and taking wrong turns until we arrived at my friends doorstep.

As it turned out, Tom already had house guests, two friends of mine, (another) Tom & Margie, who were visiting from San Francisco with their little daughter who I haven't met yet. So it was such a treat to spend a couple hours in the morning with them going to the farmers market.

In hindsight (which is, as I always say, a wonderful thing), I was very pleased to have taken the detour to Paris. I hadn't seen Tom & Margie in years and they were leaving on Saturday so I would have missed them when I returned the following week. Had I known, I could have arrived in Paris 3 1/2 hours earlier with Cesar. But for me, the adventure and the challenge was what made the journey fun and I met a lot of people even if our communication was somewhat limited.

 

Part 2 - Paris to Bruxelles

I had looked into buses to Brussels but decided I still really wanted to try to hitch. It was only a three hour journey and I was determined to do it in one ride. After taking the metro out to the end of the line where it looked like the A1 road to Brussels started, I situated myself with my sign. It was pouring with rain and I was grateful Tom had insisted I borrow an umbrella as I would have been drenched otherwise.

14.03

Within minutes Gedo pulled over, kind of in the middle of the road jumping out of the car to help. He told me this was not a good spot to hitch and before long we were on the périphérique.

14.08

As we drove he chatted in animated English about how hitching was not a good idea, that French people, particularly in Paris were not that helpful, and that I really should take a train or bus. He even offered me money. By the time we got to the spot where people do hitch, he had talked me into going to the euroline bus station to find out how much the ticket would be. Time was slipping by and it was pouring with rain, plus, I was enjoying Gedo's lively banter.

When we go to euroline, he parked in the structure and then handed me his car keys. At first I was confused, then I realised it was so I could leave my bags in his car without feeling uneasy he might just run off.

14.38

Gedo at the ticket counter

Gedo is the friendliest person I have met in a long time. He struck up conversation with everyone he crossed paths with during our two hours or so in the bus station. My bus was due to leave at 15.30 but ended up delayed until 16.00 and he stayed with me the whole time escorting me right to the bus itself.  We parted company arranging to meet upon my return the following week.

Although I was a little disappointed that I hadn't succeeded in my mission and made it to Brussels by thumb, at least I had made a new friend.

Gedo kept my sign as a memento

A Change in Climate - English Weather & Nepali Politics

I now find myself on a train from Fratton to Bristol, the second leg of a small south England tour.  The last few days has been lovely if a bit of a daze as I re-assimilate to being back in England – so familiar and yet so different to the life I have become accustomed to these past seven months. Everyone is very pleased that the run of terrible cold and wet weather seems to have passed and I am enjoying that surge in cheerfulness that sweeps across the country when the sun finally comes out after a dismal period. Lots of flesh exposing skin crying out for sunshine, people lolling around in the many green spaces, benches outside pubs full as, pint in hand people soak up a few rays.

I guess my timing is pretty good as this is the perfect weather for the English countryside in summer. All is green and lush as the train takes me down the coast. I do love England and appreciate how culturally rich my life here is. In the few days I’ve been here I have seen Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream (directed by my Dad no less!), been to the semi-finals of the Live and Unsigned band competition in which my (sort of) nieces, an amazing quartet of talented and beautiful sisters, The Fourfits, got through to the finals at the O2 arena and then to Brighton Fringe Festival to see a wonderful three piece performance incorporating shadow puppetry, aerial work and music from my friends who form the Feral Theatre Company. Bristol and Somerset are next on the agenda. It may sound, and to be honest, is, a little exhausting but it is also what feeds my spirit and inspiration – going to different places, reconnecting with different people – these are the things in life that propel me forward. It puts things in perspective and makes me understand the journey that I am on. Talking to my friends who are all so excited, supportive and interested in what I am doing on the other side of the world, breathes new life into my soul.

My timing is also handy in a less joyous way. It seems I have left Nepal at the point where the turmoil has taken on new wings. The political situation over the past years has been less than stable, to say the least.  Strike season had begun before I left and I myself had gotten stranded in Pokhara for a couple of days. But as the deadline for the constitution gets closer, the intensity increases. There have been strikes (called by a variety of groups) almost every day since I left, crippling the nation – transport of goods has all been halted, medical supplies are not reaching where needed, people are dying due to an inability to get medical attention, people are fighting across the country. It is turning into a truly tumultuous time there as ethnic groups vie for their rights within the new constitution. The discord is quite unsettling. Although I know I should be glad not having to deal with the inconveniences (I wouldn’t personally be in any particular danger) of being in Nepal during this time, there is a huge part of me that does wish I was still there. It is an important time in their history that is being written now, and I suppose I feel a connection to the place that I now view as much a home as any other of my homes across the globe.

The political situation in Nepal is far more complex than my understanding or ability to explain but for those interested in learning more (since media in the west doesn’t seem to take much notice), www.ekantipur.com and www.myrepublica.com a useful resource.

An Unexpected Spice Route

I'm sitting in the Spice Jet office at Kathmandu's Tribhuvan Airport. An unexpected afternoon spent in the company of the incredibly lovely, helpful and accommodating Spice Jet staff here - particularly considering I'm not even flying with them!

I was feeling traumatised as it was when I arrived at the airport this afternoon to catch my flight on Kingfisher via Delhi to London. Given how much I travel, one would think I would have mastered the art of packing, and moving on, but once I'm settled somewhere (the seven months I've lived in KTM is significantly longer than anywhere I have stayed in nearly three years), then I get all sad and sentimental at leaving so the process leading up to the departure with bags packed can be a little drawn out and emotional to put it lightly. Once I have managed to rearrange my life into a couple of pieces of luggage, and am on my way, I am ready to face the journey and destination. In a weird way, I am usually happiest where I am - and right now the Spice Jet office is working well for me!

Anyhow, I digress...

Equipped with my 3 day Indian transit visa (which cost me a hefty 3850 Nepali rupees - about $45 - almost half of which was an extra 1700 rupees because it was a US passport), the print out of my e-ticket and in relatively decent time, I arrived at the airport. My flight had an overnight layover in Delhi so I had reserved a room at my old guest house in Paharganj, Cottage Yes Please and had dinner plans with my dear friend, Amit, the spice man. He was even taking me back to the airport in the morning to catch my onward flight to London. So all sorted and ready to soak up a night in the spicy heat of Delhi. The first red flag came when, coming into the airport, the guard who checks people's tickets said that Kingfisher doesn't fly out of this airport. Go to Air India, he said. Maybe they are dong joint flights or something, I thought to myself. As I queued to go through security, I noticed that there was no flight to Delhi on any airline at the time listed on my print out. Second red flag.

The Air India desk was in that last minute flurry of check in when a flight is about to go - one family with a lot of luggage and some harrowed looking desk staff . They sneered at my ticket, Kingfisher doesn't fly from here anymore and I could not get on their flight - last of the day, too late and full.  They really weren't very pleasant or helpful other than to suggest I check at the Spice Jet office as they still had a flight leaving. My London connection wasn't until afternoon so I figured it was going to be a matter of just getting on the first flight possible to Delhi.

At the Spice Jet desk, a group of friendly faces saw the look of distress on my face. How much is the flight to Delhi? They took me into the office to look it up - 14000 NPR which is about $160. Meanwhile someone called their Kingfisher contact who informed them that Kingfisher doesn't fly internationally AT ALL. So my flight to London also didn't exist? Shit man, typical. And for once, airport drama that was not my fault.

Shagun & Sagar, the manager

This is the point where I become Spice Jet's KTM staff's biggest fan.  They let me sit in their office (where I type now) and use their computer to look online for flights after suggesting I was better off getting a direct flight with one carrier all the way rather than booking their flight and then having to buy another ticket out of Delhi and lugging all my stuff around in the interim.  Turns out that Kingfisher stopped all international flights a couple months ago. I called Cleartrip (the site I bought the ticket from) to find that they had sent a text to my Indian mobile number (which I had listed in the booking as I was to be in Delhi for 18 hours before the flight to the UK). But since that number doesn’t work in Nepal it had been of little use. I still don’t quite understand why they didn’t email me as all other communication, booking confirmation, ticket and now cancellations are done via email. I have yet to complain to try to recoup the cost of my pointless visa, but at least I get a full refund. And as luck would have it, I found a flight at 9pm via Bahrain that is slightly cheaper and gets me into London Heathrow 12 hours earlier than my original itinerary. All worked out for the best – probably would have got into too much trouble on a night out in Delhi anyway – and now I am committed, whenever possible to pledge my loyalty and fly on SpiceJet. Imagine the treatment I’ll get when I’m actually their passenger!

Shagun (leaving against my desk), Pabitra & Niranjan

A Crunchy Samosa

Halfway through the shoot, we had a couple of days in Jumla Bazaar, the only town in Jumla. After the smaller villages that offer little variation when it comes to food, we were excited to be in the bright lights of Bazaar where we could find more than one kind of biscuit and our dining options had expanded from just dal bhat (Nepali standard meal of rice and dal, eaten two or three times a day, every day, by almost the whole population) to chow mein and fried rice too. We fancied a snack so went and found a place serving samosas.

The deep fried pyramids of potatoes with a spicy sauce were going down very well when I suddenly crunched something. Fishing the hard object from my mouth, I found a white-ish piece that looked a little like a shard of bone. I wasn’t too bothered but I showed Nisha and she told the man who was serving us who promptly chucked it on the floor. In that moment, as I watched it hit the ground, I thought to myself, it looks like a tooth. As the word tooth flicked across my mind, my tongue darted forward in my mouth as I realised with a sinking feeling that something was missing. It was my tooth! Or one of my caps. I quickly picked it up from the floor and dusted it off. I must have bitten into it and swallowed the other piece as it was only 3/4s of my cap. Still, better than having eaten the whole thing!

Since we were in Bazaar where there are dentists (of a sort), I thought it wise to try to get some tooth cement so I could stick it back on – the stumpy tooth underneath was a little sensitive and also somewhat unsightly. When we got back to the hotel, Nisha went off to find me some tooth glue. She returned saying that the guy had some but I had to come there, so off we went.

It seems that Dalgit, the ‘dentist’ was also the local optometrist as there was eye charts and an eye tester there too. Ke garné? This is Jumla, so one can’t be too fussy and I only needed to stick it back on. Dalgit told me to lie down on the bed, which I thought seemed a bit unnecessary but I obliged, wondering if this was such a good idea after all. I was reassured when he went to wash his hands and even more so when he put on rubber gloves. He dried my tooth off with some cotton mesh and then started fumbling with the box of adhesive. After a minute, Nisha said, “He is confused.” Oh dear. I looked over and saw that there were instructions in the box so I pulled them out. There were many languages, although not Nepali. As I lay there I read the English directions out to Nisha, who translated how to mix the powder with the drops. One small scoop, one drop of liquid, stir for 15 seconds…

With the cement mixed, he stuck the tooth back on, keeping my mouth dry for the required time. When it had set, I got up to look and realised that he had put it on crooked. Oh well, what to do? At least it was on! When I asked how much, he said he didn’t want to charge me because he wasn’t sure if it would last. As it turned out, he was right. The tooth fell off again the next day!

Everyday Images of Kathmandu

monkeys at Narayan Temple at Thapathali Chowk

my favourite momo place

momos

mountains & mountains

fruit shop down the road by candlelight

my favourite snack - chat pate
- a mixture of puffed rice, onion, chilli, potato, crunchy pulses, lime & other stuff

during a bandah (strike)
the rare sight of seeing the busy streets devoid of vehicles

the beautifully polluted Bagmati River

colourful washing lines

colourful neighbourhoods (near Boudha)

Narayan Temple at the end of the road