Top 5 Things I Will Never Get Used To

5. Not having perforated toilet paper

4. Having a constant beat pumping through the wall

3. The attention of being a foreigner

2. Brushing my teeth with bottled water

1. People hawking up bucket loads of phlegm and spitting in the street

Top 5 Strange Things I’m Missing At the Time of Constructing This List

5. Air (I’m on a bus)

4. Knowing where I’m going (see 5.)

3. Men’s aftershave

2. Hummus, tzakziki, cucumber that is neither dangerous nor soaked in iodine

1. My preconceived perception of the consistency of life

Kathmandu- The City of Senses

Living in Thamel is a fully sensory experience. Every time you step out the door, and often before you’ve stepped out, there is a great barrage of sights and sounds, of smells and feelings and, quite frequently, tastes.
The colours of Kathmandu, as one might expect, are enchanting. Shops are filled with the most varied and beautiful coloured clothes, tailors display a multitude of fabrics, even the scenery saturated with colour. Lush, green, forest-covered hills are interspersed with the golden peaks of temples glittering in the sun and striped with multi-coloured prayer flags whisper gently in the wind.
You can also see some pretty strange things around. On my first day I saw one sign claiming that an “All New Condom House! First In Kathmandu! Coming Soon!” (none of us have quite managed to work out what, exactly, this is) and another sign for a “Teenage Dance Bar with Showers” which we were told was exactly what it said- a place where teenage girls go and dance in showers an people watch...
When I think of the sounds of Kathmandu I think that they leave a lot to be desired. I think that every place has a background noise, something constant and, often, quite local. Kathmandu’s background ‘music’ is the relentless, perpetual beeping of horns. The high pitched horns of scooters, the low horns from cars, the strange noise that protrudes from the homemade horns from the rickshaws and the varied but all the more annoying bus horns, which play a short tune of beeps.
Added to this is the thump thump thump coming from the nearest dance bar, getting louder and louder as the day progresses. Then in comes the sounds of a hundred different people; some loud, “Namaste sister”, “Come and have a look inside”, “Taxi?, “Rickshaw?”, “One Rupee?”, “Tiger Balm?” (which is knock off Tiger Balm called Wild Tiger, not the same thing), some almost imperceptibly, “Hashish? Marijuana?”, but all persistently annoying no matter how many times you say “No”. And if you should be seen to the others to say “yes” to any of them, well then you’re in trouble.
It doesn’t matter where you are, whether you are inside or outside, walking through the streets or in the hotel lobby the smells will always fluctuate. Sometimes you will be besieged by the warm, sensual smell of incense that seems to float from every shop and every window. Sometimes you will salivate at the spicy smell of cooking from a restaurant. Then suddenly you will smell sewage, sweat or over-ripe cheese that has been sitting at the counter in the supermarket for far too long.
There are two main sources of feelings. The first is the beggar population and the second is the weather. When walking through the streets you may be bathed in beautiful sunshine, the weather so warm that the dogs will move out of a premium shady spot for nothing- not even a bus hurtling towards them beeping its horn excessively. (Most bus journeys include swerving to avoid some animal or other in the road; cows, dogs, goats, chickens). If it is not sunny then it is most likely raining torrentially, soaking you through the few layers that you put on half an hour ago when the sun was shining. Fortunately the showers don’t seem to last long, you just have to go and have a cup of ginger tea in the nearest retreat.
The beggars, on the other hand, provide a much less welcome feeling, physically and emotionally. There are quite a few guest houses on the street where I am staying which makes our front door prime begging real estate. Standing at the door of the guest house it is most likely that you will be grabbed by an affectionately named ‘glue kid’ asking for rupees, or a mother wandering the streets with a baby on her hip waving a empty bottle at you, or possibly even a member of a particular caste that maim themselves and their children to get more money from begging who have been exiled from India.
Kathmandu is a spicy place. Most food is filled, or at the very least sprinkled, with chilli. I am really trying my hardest to get used to it, but I’m not a big fan of sitting, glowing red, downing my drink not being able to enjoy my meal. Hopefully by the end of this trip I won’t be such a spice coward, but only time will tell. I did manage to buy candyfloss though, which pleased me a lot, although it was far more fluorescent than any food I have previously bought.
I think that going on the bus is perhaps the most fully sensory feeling that I have experienced so far. One of the first times that I got the bus back from work I remember looking out of the window (which James was half poking out of because the bus was so crowded) watching the scenes of everyday life go past and feeling something on the back of my head. It turned out that not only was I right next to some guys armpit, but it was so cramped that he had to bend over me to fit in and I what I felt was his nose on the back of my head.

The Beginnings of a Nepali Trip

After having endured the rudeness of Heathrow Airport, the sheer boredom of Abu Dhabi Airport and the endless waiting, I arrived at Kathmandu International Airport. I stepped off the plane in the warm, wet night and made my way to the terminal building where I was greeted by, no one. I wondered through the deserted corridors, past a room full of army people, until I saw a man and three women wearing surgical masks. One of them stuck what looked like a barcode scanner against my forehead. In my sleepless, hungry state I thought, just for a moment, that they were scanning my hair to records my DNA, but apparently they just wanted to check that I didn’t have a temperature. Obviously they didn’t tell me this themselves as they couldn’t speak any English, but I found out later. I was then confronted by a man behind a desk who shoved a form in my face. It asked my whether I felt ill, had a cough or sore throat.

The next task got all the more difficult. I had to fill out a visa form (which I had already filled out in England and sent ahead, as I was asked) and produce $40, which I had somehow missed I would have to do. So with no money I was waved off in the general direction of a cash machine, whilst the man behind the desk held my passport. After having followed his directions I was confronted with a security checkpoint to get out into the baggage reclaim area. I explained I needed an ATM and he let me through. I went past all the carousels, and out of the terminal building, onto Nepalese soil with no passport, not knowing whether I’d ever see it again. Fortunately this was the point at which I met Chris, my trip co-ordinator, he gave me the money, and I made my way back upstairs. I just can’t understand how every rickshaw driver, street vendor and cheeky scammer can speak perfectly good English, yet they can’t get any to work at the airport.

Things progressed well from there, apart from the visa man unintentionally running off with my passport to have an argument with some very unhappy chap and some guards. I got back to Chris and we caught a very funky purple taxi to the guest house, which is to be my home for the next month. As the taxi wove and ducked over rocky roads and through narrow alleys I, rather unsuccessfully, tried to make out some of the sights Chris was telling me about through the rain and darkness. When we arrived the guest house was in complete darkness due to the nightly blackout that the city endures. I was pleasantly surprised to see a large double bed, a desk and an en-suite toilet/shower when I got to my room.

The following day consisted of a tour of the area where we are staying Thamel. I found out that this is a place where you must have your wits about you all the time. It is unlikely that you will be pick pocketed, although it is possible, but you quite likely to get mowed down by a rickshaw trying to pick you up, or a moped with a family of four on it. Everyone is very friendly, often uncomfortably so, and if you stop to respond they will probably try to sell you hash. Most of the street vendors that don’t have a stand have a particular patch that that they keep to, although this won’t prevent them following you halfway through Kathmandu if they think you are remotely interested.

There is a man who positions himself at the end of our street talking to a vendor with a stall, but as soon as you walk near him he produces a handful of beads and necklaces from his bag and shouts, “Necklaces! Pretty jewels forra pretty lady!” just like the guy from Aladdin. The taxi drivers will ask you if you want a taxi, and if you say “no” the next taxi driver down the road will say, “What price he give you? I give you better price!”. There are a thousand tiger balm sellers, which seems to me to be the strangest things to wonder around selling. It’s not even tiger balm and incense, or tiger balm on the corner of a stall- they just sell tiger balm. And I don’t know anyone who has bought any.

On Tuesday I experienced my first bus ride, and what an experience it was. The buses are slightly bigger than a people carrier, and they have a guy who leans out the sliding door to shout out where the bus is going. As far as I can see there are bus routes, but they don’t seem to mean anything. There are enough benches, facing in various directions, to seat around 15 people. Most of them seem to be able to fit around 20 on the benches, and a further 15 standing, hovering, crouching, balancing. I have usually managed to get a seat, but that usually means that you have someone stooped over you. Once I could feel the nose of the man behind me on the back of my head.

The monastery where I am working is very funny. The temple is in the middle, a big red and gold building, with the monk’s rooms and classrooms around the outside. When I arrive first thing in the morning I go into the office for a cup of tea. The tea lady there is a well known character. I was told by Chris that if she doesn’t feel like it she won’t serve any tea at all. She’s got a weathered old face that gives her a rather witchy look, but despite all of that she attempted to make a conversation with me this morning, as we were the only ones there. It was about the burns on her hands from serving tea, but it was nice that she made the effort. And she showed me the cream that she could put on them, I looked suitably reassured. I hope.

When I walk into the courtyard in the morning I am greeted by a chorus of “Hello Miss” from various different students, many of whom I don’t teach. After my cup of tea in the office I head of to the classroom, which is on the fourth floor. My students scamper up the stairs ahead of my calling “Morning Miss” along the way, and looking down from above grinning at me, making sure I haven’t changed my mind and gone home again. The little monks that I teach are from tiny ones to about 11. I also have a class of older students, but I haven’t started teaching them yet as they are involved in a Puja, a festival. They are all very lively, apart from the few that fall asleep in class, note to self: must be more engaging.

I start teaching at around 8.50am and I am usually finished by 10.30, although with the other class I will finish nearer at juts past 11. This means that I am home by lunchtime and have the rest of the day to explore the delights of the city. Yesterday I James, one of the volunteers, went up to Swayambhu, The Monkey Temple. It’s around a 20 minute walk away to reach the steps, and another hour to get up the steps. It is a beautiful, peaceful shaded walk up the steps with many resting places selling you different wares; golden bangles, singing bowls, tiger games. And there are lots and lots of monkeys. I was told that they could be quite vicious, but they seemed quite friendly to me, and there were so many baby ones. When we got to the top of the steps we had reached the temple which can be seen from all over Kathmandu. As Kathmandu is a very flat city you are able to see the whole of the city from up there, it was just a vast expanse of higgledy piggledy houses.

We went into the temple and walked around the Buddha in the proper clockwise fashion. As we walked further into the area we met more monkeys, and got a little brave. One was sitting behind some bars that were guarding a shrine, so went up to it and it didn’t move. So I took a picture of it, just as I pulled the camera away it shrieked and jumped up onto the bars, and ran off over the golden roof of the shrine. I jumped out of my skin. We kept a slightly bigger distance after that totally non scary event. Further up onto the hill behind the monastery there is a very tranquil seating area with thousands and thousands of brightly coloured prayer flags, fluttering above your head, some are gauzy and let the sun through, some were more solid and silky. It was quite an amazing, calming feeling being up there. Plus there was no one trying to put a dot on your forehead and charge you 500 rupees.

So far I have found this to be a wonderful place and I am enjoying myself immensely. I have seen a monkey on a roof in the city, a cow lying in the middle of the road in a city, and no one seeming to mind, I have seen feral pigs running under a bridge, hundreds of gold roofs, a drink called “Pokari Sweat” although I haven’t tried it, I have heard Nepali karaoke and I have done the most intense yoga. It has been a full and interesting few days and I can’t wait to do more.