Kathmandu, Nepal
by Brian K. Smith
As I walked through the streets of the ancient city a resting group of riot policemen posed for a candid picture. This was a time when civil war was on the mountain kingdom’s doorstep. Every day rioting took place in the capital of Kathmandu. It looked as though the country was about to self-destruct.
It did survive that turmoil and moved on with shaky footing until April 25, 2015, when a 7.9 Richter scale earthquake hit. Thousands of lives were loss across the country that day, and more lives in neighboring countries. Many of the beautiful UNESCO World Heritage sites that I had seen were damaged or destroyed. Three weeks later another 7.3 Richter scale hit resulting in more death and destruction.
I think a lot about those sites now. My hotel was close to Durbar Square in Katmandu – being only a brisk 10 minute walk in the cold December morning air. The first morning I arrived just as the hawkers were setting out their antiques and replicas for sale on large tarps in the outskirts of the square. Many invited me to bring them good luck by being their first sale of the day. As I walked around the square it was like stepping back hundreds of years. Beautiful temples washed in a deep red pigment paint and tile roofs in deep burnt umbra color above gave it a true organic feel. The early morning air was impregnated with the rich smells of temple incense and fresh cut flowers as the first orange colored beams of sunlight took the chill away. Ladies, dressed in traditional colorful mountain village clothes, sat on large plastic mats selling strings of brightly colored marigolds formed into necklaces and headbands.
In the afternoon we traveled to the Hindu temple of Pashupatinath. As we came around a corner onto a stone carved staircase and ashram there he sat. I can never forget that moment – the thousand mile stare of the Sadu as he looked through me as if I wasn’t there. With his legs crossed in a yoga pose, he was looking over the ceremonies on the other side of the river. Here the recently departed were being bathed in the holy water from the Bagmati River, dressed in colorful silk and placed on carefully stacked wood funeral pyres for their cremation. The holy man did not blink, move, or change any expression. It all seemed surreal me – like I was in a dream. Here I was in the holiest of Hindu temples in Kathmandu, Nepal. A week earlier on my flight to India I had not even planned to visit Nepal as part of my tour. It was close enough to my destination of Varanasi, in eastern India, that the tour company had recommended it as a side excursion during my month long road trip.
Nepal is much different than its close neighbor of India. In the street markets the women are the sellers – friendly, making eye contact and smiling. Not like in India where women are never seen in public. Here, if they are not in their traditional costumes, they wear western clothes. Their faces are not hidden, but instead lipstick and eye makeup accent their features which are a mix of India and Chinese – a beautiful people. Taking the chance to see if a smile would be returned was a worthwhile gamble paid back in double when the child on a woman’s shoulders also smiled back at me.
The following day I visited another site in Kathmandu – Swayambhunath, also known as the Monkey temple. Over 1600 years of history sits on the hill overlooking the city. It is revered as one of the holiest sites for Buddhist in Asia. On the road way up to the temple hundreds of monkeys greeted me. When I arrived at the great hall in the main building, the sound of traditional music was pouring out from within. It was incredible to hear the chanting and Tibetan horns being played by the monks. The hall resonated with the sound of the ritual music. Tears rose in my eyes as I felt the notes go right to the core of my body. I had dreamed of moments like this where you become part of all that is around you. Outside the hall I made my way to the largest stupa in Nepal. The gold painted eyes on top looked out across the city and valley below and the mountains and hills behind. Shops around the plaza were full of items to take back home. My favorite was to try many of the hundreds of multi-toned singing bowls.
Along the streets of the old city, mixed with temples, were the fruit and vegetable sellers. Everything looked freshly picked even though the temperatures dipped below freezing at night time. Spices were overflowing out of huge containers – cumin, turmeric, and curries. The air had the smell of fragrant local food from the small portable stalls that sold all kinds of savory items. It was a feeling of being alive in those streets – excitement, anticipation, exotic smells and tastes.
One evening my driver, Ali, and I decided to find the night market. We searched for an hour, but could not locate it. Finally we found what looked like some sort of event, maybe a market, and decided to check it out. As we got closer to the gate a group of intoxicated, well-dressed men ran towards us with silk scarves and wrapped them around our necks. Then four beautiful Nepalese women in colorful silk dresses escorted us through the gate to a small greeting hall. There, inside, sat the bride and groom. They both bowed from their pedestal seats and welcomed us in. Ali told me this was not a good idea –we should leave immediately.
That night I dreamed of sitting beside the Sadu. A feeling of complete calm and peacefulness enveloped me. My short four day side trip to Nepal had been an incredible adventure. I knew everything would be okay for my long journey ahead across India.
Natural Hot Spring Trek from Kathmandu
If You Go:
Annapurna Sunrise Trek from Kathmandu
Editor’s note: I requested this article on Nepal from Brian Smith as a memorial to this fascinating, historical city that has be so tragically destroyed by the devastating earthquake. I felt sad as I read it. Nepal was always a destination I had dreamed of. We all pray that the Nepalese people will recover from this tragedy and somehow rebuilt, though so many of the important historical and religious sites have now been left in ruin.
About the author:
Brian Smith has traveled to more than 41 countries around the world. His favorite destination in the last seven years has been Asia with seven trips to China, including Tibet. He is a seasoned adventurer and is co founder of Adventurocity with his business partner Rick Green. Their motto is ” Why take a trip when you can have an adventure”. www.adventurocity.com Brian is a career professional photographer, with a Masters of Photographic Arts (PPOC ). www.brianksmithphotography.com Twitter: @fotocraze
Photo credits:
First Kathmandu photo by Rajesh Maharjan from Pixabay
All other photos by Brian K. Smith.
by Anne Harrison
Yet to discover the true town, I had to be brave and run the gauntlet. Passing through the chaos I wondered if this was where the belly of the dragon had scalded the land. It certainly seems so. Or perhaps his fiery breath so scorched the earth nothing of beauty could grow.
Further up the hill, some half hour from the port, a tiny laneway opened onto the local market, which had been somehow hidden from view despite its size. Once inside it felt totally chaotic, but with a mood completely opposite to the turmoil down by the water. With the stalls run largely by women (for the men are down by the port, scamming tourists), the place is roughly divided into sections: clothes, hardware, household items, fresh fruit and vegetables, then a wet market which stretches forever. The range of seafood is incredible – and largely unrecognizable.
Nourished and refreshed, we headed back to the water. After all, this is why people come to Halong Bay. The afternoon began in a whirl of noise exploring the islands on a boat about the size of the African Queen, and about as sea-worthy. A trip amongst the islands is a rather crowded affair, but by now I had adapted to the chaos. Standing on the bow, I enjoyed the spectacle as our boat assumed ramming speed to gain prime position at any mooring. With all the boats covered with old tires, the moorings resound to the thuds of collisions, and the creak of wood as the boats jostled among themselves.
The first stop was Thien Cung Grotto – or Palace of Heaven. After climbing some 100 steps, a crowd of us went along a dark tunnel to the cave proper. Some hold this is the actual cave where the dragon sought refuge. It was simply huge. Neon lights of all colors highlighted the various formations: a dragon with a small man riding his back, elsewhere a pair of angel wings. Small rivulets ran down the stones and into vast chasms of nothingness. A dragon could easily live here – as could dwarves or a horde of orcs. There was a perfect cave for Gollum.
I sat in the bow of our boat as it potted among the islands. Each one, it seems, has a name such as Island of The Two Hens or Tea Pot Island. Many caves open straight onto the water as the islands rise straight form the sea to tower over everything, their tops covered with lush vegetation. The Surprise Cave was not discovered until 1901, and was used by the Viet Cong as a hide-out. At Ba Hung Cave, featured in the movie Indochine, a small grotto opens onto a lagoon inside the island, surrounded by walls of steep jungle.
To help my travels go smoothly, I invited my hotel assistant manager as a guide for fourteen of those days. She met up with us in 
Fog obscured the sunlight, making it hard to understand where the boundaries of the dead calm lake met the surrounding shoreline. Our first stop along the way was to observe the local fisherman. The men stand at the back of their shallow skiffs and use one leg and foot to paddle the boat while balancing on the other. Setting their unique horn style fluted woven nets – they wait patiently for lake carp to fill them. It was fascinating to watch them – so incredibly agile. As we headed further down the lake, the grey wall of fog started to glow a beautiful golden color. The sun had risen above the mountains and was spreading its warmth across the lake. By late morning we had arrived at the far end of the lake where the market was being held in Palaung Village. Boats, similar to ours, lined the shore and spread out ten deep into the channel. To get to the shore we had to jump from one teetering boat to another, with the feeling at any moment they would capsize and throw us into the murky water.
The market was a combination of local food and crafts. We stayed for lunch, eating a local gourmet treat from the lake. The popular fish dish, htamin gyin, is incredibly tasty. After finishing the first plate all too soon, I had to order another helping. With our appetites satisfied, we located our captain in the quagmire of boats and headed off towards the west side of the lake. We were searching for the high-light of the day long trip.
Mid-afternoon we approached a waterway full of small huts. Our captain pulled over to one of the stilted huts, suspended above the water and my guide indicated we had arrived. A little stunned from the intense mid-afternoon sun – I was not sure where we had arrived, until I lifted my head and saw the ladies above us. Looking out of a bamboo framed window, two Long Neck women waved at me. Not believing my eyes, I wondered for a brief moment if this was a dream? This was why I had traveled half way around the world! The women were friendly and proud of their brass rings that appeared to elongate their necks high above their shoulders. They were selling crafts and doing traditional weaving inside the hut. Full of smiles and agreeing to pose for photographs, it was the best outcome I could have hoped for.
After our visit we had just enough time to visit an ancient site of stupas, dating back to 13th and 14th centuries, on the west side of the lake near Inndain Kone Village. The sun was setting as we reached the top of the hill to see the crumbling stupas bathed in warm evening light. This had been a day with as many rewards as I had hoped for in a whole trip. The air rapidly cooled, as we sat huddled in our boat, racing back in the dwindling twilight, towards the town where we had started from early that morning. As we headed up the canal in almost complete darkness the motor on our boat sputtered. Our speed dropped immediately and the captain steered towards the thick reed lined shore. We had run out of gas. Boats raced past us at full speed up the channel. I was relieved we were not a sitting duck out in the middle in the inky darkness. After 20 minutes the captain successfully signal to a passing boat for help. Throwing a rope to our rescuers, we were towed back home. Exhausted, but at the same time elated, I treated everyone to a beer at the local bar to celebrate a wonderful day of success!
by Lawrence Hamilton
Leaving Australia and returning to China meant being away from the allures of Chimay Blue and the latest in Pacific Northwest IPA’s, I guessed that being force fed the Chinese equivalent of Budweiser for 2 1/2 months would at least force me into some sort of limited sobriety. The only thing worse than being sober, is being drunk on Chinese alcohol, or so I thought.
A small shopping centre near the ‘ghost city’ of Zhengdong introduced me to the family of Big Bear beers. Ranging from 4.7% to 12%, these beers could keep Siberia chugging through an Artic winter. I drank a can on the train back to my Kaifeng. The flavour was dark and intense. It would be best described has having the malty backbone of a brown bear and the hoppy skeletal system of a field mouse.
Once the trapdoor of Chinese beer is opened, turning back becomes impossible.
by Brian K. Smith
In modern times part of that history still lives on Xi’an. Over the last decade the ancient city wall has been restored back to its splendor of over 600 years ago. Within the city walls lives a large population of Muslim descendants of the Silk Road days of trade. Along with their unique customs also comes their unique food.
There is something about comfort food that is immediately recognizable – and this dish hit the spot. Made from pita bread, sweet potato noodles, mutton, and broth – rich with flavour and creamy in texture, it instantly makes you feel cozy and warm. Add some pickled garlic and pepper to your taste. The dish goes back to the days of the West Market at the terminus of the Silk Road. Hungry and exhausted traders arriving after months of travel could enjoy this dish in celebration of a long journey’s completion. Today a short bus ride from anywhere within the city walls will deliver you to this treat of the past. Add a local beer as your companion to this dish to complete the experience.
