Travellering #11: My Favourite Haunts in Kathmandu

As I was asked by someone the other day a recommendation of a place to go in Kathmandu, I thought I might as well post a list of my favourite spots and endorsements…

My Favourite Spots in the Thamel district, Kathmandu
(in no particular order…)

- Helena's restaurant for it's 5th floor rooftop patio where you can order chai and look out over the city...
- The New Orleans Cafe for its pretty courtyard and good coffee and food...
- The Organic Cafe for its excellent fresh and healthy salads...
- The Full Moon Café (bar) for live jazz Thursday nights, casual cushion seating and a fun, mixed crowd (I was becoming a regular there, see post!)...
- Fire and Ice restaurant for their excellent pizzas...
- KToo restaurant is good for steaks if you're hankering for one...
- My favourite Internet café was the large one next door to the Full Moon Café because it was large (always a computer available), cheap and the connection seemed the most reliable...

- I stayed at the Potala Guesthouse for $8 USD a night for a single room (double bed) with attached, private bathroom. You can get cheaper and you can get more expensive of course so it pays to look around. The doubles were $10 USD, which was a fine deal I thought. I liked the place and the staff was friendly and relaxed. I did not however, really care for their restaurant.

And I like all the restaurants when the power goes out as they've got candles everywhere. It adds atmosphere and many were actually nicer and cooler that way than with the lights on. It would be great for a romantic date actually!

As well as the often unplanned ones, the district apparently has regular “load shedding” outages every Tuesdays and Thursdays afternoons from 4 (or 5?) to 8pm (it was like clockwork) so you could actually time a date to one. I’m serious.

I cannot easily tell you, however, how to get to any of these places without you being there and knowing a little of the streets. Most of my directions by necessity will be based on landmarks such as “go right up the street from the Kathmandu Guesthouse” or “it’s right across from the North Face Official Store” (Fire and Ice). Just the way it is in the twisting streets and alleys of Thamel. If you're in town and can't find a place, let me know and we'll find a system that works for both of us. ;-)

Where are your favourite haunts? Did I forget or miss a great place? Add your comments. I’ll check them out next time I’m there.


My Endorsement of my Trekking Agency:
If you are interested in trekking or other recreation activities, as I posted before, I unconditionally recommend the agent and guide I had. They were excellent, helpful, easy going and good natured. I would (and probably will) use them again so I recommend them to anyone.

Puru the guide manager who co-ordinated the whole trek was flawless in planning and executing the trek and did an excellent job in hosting us for the whole time we were in Nepal. And Mr Shreeram Adhikari, our excellent guide, was such fun to trek with and highly knowledgeable of the local terrain. We could not have had a better person take us around this beautiful country. You can reach Puru or Shreeram at their mail ID given below:

Puru – tpurushotam {at} hotmail.com
Shreeram - shreeram20 {at} hotmail.com
And the company website: www.nepalguidetrek.com


Happy travels and if you’re there, have an Everest beer for me!

Travelling #10: Homecoming to Chennai

I’m home. And sweating.

It is 38 degrees and 95% humidity. I think with the population of 7 million sweating, we must be pushing it up to 100. I shouldn’t whine though. Actually, outside, with a breeze, it isn’t too bad in the shade if you’re stationary. But I’m at work and the power is out, so no a/c, no fans and no breeze, where I’m sweating just thinking (with an obvious solution therefore presented). Ah India, welcoming me home! A week ago I was standing above 6000m with a bitingly dry wind at -15 and now here I am at sea level, 95% humidity and pushing 40 degrees. Quite the change.

I realise that I have slowly lost some of my adaptations and resistances while away. I am finding it will be a few days before that slight fraying of nerves at the constant chaos and bump of bodies goes away. But I smile at the remembered charms I always liked. I missed the bumblebee-coloured rickshaws and I missed my masala dosa. I missed good Indian chai as the touristy places in Thamel in Kathmandu were hit and miss with it (I blame the indiscriminating tourists). I missed my housemates and our lovely maid, who was apparently quite upset Monday morning when she discovered I hadn’t arrived on Sunday as planned and worried I was lost (so nice!). I missed the wallahs everywhere and I missed the lushness of Chennai – say what you will about its grime and dirtiness, it is at least a very green city with palm trees and flowering plants everywhere. I sit eagerly staring out of the auto on the way to work soaking it all back in.

So it is back to India for another 6 months and back to re-start my project. It has been nice to be off travelling and trekking and meeting people (and I promise to get more stories up on that soon), but it is also exciting to be getting back to work and back to doing what I’ve set my career as doing. I’m excited to restart the learning curve 2.0 and to start Tamil lessons (supposed to have been arranged while I was away, fingers crossed). After 6 months, who knows – my visa lets me stay here until mid-October when I may be doing this all again... We’ll see.

Travelling # 9: Ah, India, I Love Ya…

The waiter has just convinced me to have a second beer. Apparently they just got in a new batch of “chilled” bottles. That is enough to sway me from my requested coffee under the logic that the coffee can still be had after. Although I don’t really intend on to drink it fast enough to take advantage of its refrigerated state, a cold beer sounds nice. “Cold” is a relative term because in India, nothing is every really refrigerated to the state of cold. It really is only possible to get something mildly cool. So I drink my mildly cool beer and rapidly melting ice cream. I’m treating myself.

It has been a long day and it’s not over yet. It is 2am Sunday night (and 28 degrees outside) and I’m at the Delhi Airport 24h restaurant hanging out because it gives me something to do other than doze unsuccessfully in the transit lounge. I’ve got until 4am before I change to the domestic terminal and start to check-in with my new ticket reservation. As there was not one at the airport, it did not make sense to get and pay for a hotel room for less than 4 hours of sleep so I am stuck practicing my patience.

My flight was delayed from landing because of “weather and air traffic” at Delhi International for long enough that we had to divert to an alternate airport and refuel before rejoining the queue. So we landed 4h late and I missed my connection to Chennai. Not being another that night, here I am stuck until morning. Maybe it was because the new Airbus A380, the new Super-Jumbo, had landed touring the airport, but that would be a rather ironic. I think the airport was just behind because it gets that way.

I’m not down 5 minutes when I know unmistakeably I’m back in India. India is unlike anywhere else and it reminds you of that from the moment you land. Whether it is the pushing and hurrying to get through any line or off the plane to the colourful accents and friendly smiles whiling doing so, India immediately welcomes me back with all her charms. We get off the plane to heat a good 15 degrees hotter than when I got on. On the tram from the plane a man obliviously stands close enough to me to be a blanket despite there being a large space in front of him. I smile to myself: lack of personal space – check! Standing in line at customs a different man crams up so close behind me he could rest his chin on my shoulder: do not queue except by sheer force – check!

I track down the Air Sahara desk and start the laborious process and negotiation to get put on another flight. It is not that they are unhelpful or unwilling per se to get me a new ticket, it is more that unless I force them, their goal is to avoid the hassle and not to do anything. Indian bureaucracy is amazing at giving the air of being really, really busy and making you feel like you are asking the world when you are only asking what is normal. Sometimes you’ll get that “tisk” suffering-style air, often they’ll happily and cheerfully help you do something, anything else other than get what you want, but in either case, they through years of training and upbringing, make it as difficult as possible. Thankfully I got the cheery types.

The first guy usefully concludes after I explain my situation and showing him my ticket, “you missed your flight.” Yes. I know this. That is why I’m here. I need a new flight I explain. Hmmn, he ponders, giving the impression I’ve asked him something odd he is not qualified for (which is ridiculous, this being the “Help and Reservation” desk).

There is a short diversion where they helpfully almost get me to go to the domestic terminal (and hence become someone else’s problem) and I have to come back. They use the other classic tactic of suddenly creating a “hurry, hurry” rush where they indicate that if I get to the domestic terminal quickly, something miraculous might happen. I nearly fall for it, but come to my senses before getting a taxi there (Rs 100) when I ask if there are actually any flights tonight I should be hurrying for (No).

Eventually, and still very nicely, between 3 of them, they start to help. I’m asked to wait and my practiced, Indian-honed patience is put back to the test. I can do this. I’ve already survived 5 months and the visa process. These things happen, flights get delayed all the time everywhere, but these guys make it as painfully slow a process as possible.

3 hours later (4 since I landed), I’ve got a new reservation, but still no ticket. Apparently the computers were down for a while and they had to call Mumbai to arrange it. They can’t print a ticket, but assure me I can get one at the domestic counter when I arrive. I’m dubious, but this is the best I can do and they are closing as it is midnight. So I’ve got 4 hours to kill. Yeah for the 24h restaurant instead of the lounge.

Up in the restaurant, I pull of my shoes (the flip flops were the lighter to pack) and settle into a reasonably comfortable seat-couch with my ipod and snacks: little joys of coffee, 2 beers, lamb curry, French fries and ice cream.

4am I catch the shuttle to the domestic. I get bumped through 4 windows and 2 airlines (my original flights were on Air Sahara, but my new one is on Jet Airways, apparently now the same company) before finding myself in front of a senior man who’s name I’ve got written on my well-marked up e-ticket paper who apparently can endorse my ticket. I was getting nervous with all the passing of the buck (and hate being that buck), but despite a fair bit of travel from one side of the airport to the other, it hasn’t taken that long (they were at least efficient at passing the buck…). The man, with a long queue in front of him endorses it with a minimal of story and I apparently can now check in with this. OK. I’ll try it. But my luck holds and I don’t have much trouble at the desk and with a boarding pass in hand, I nearly run to the security before someone changes their mind. The Indian way of doing things, with a hierarchical ultimate decision-maker rather than any sort of efficient and transparent system, always leaves you uncertain, but does eventually work if you’re persistent, friendly and persistent…

One of the bizarre thing about South Asian airports is the security checks – they are both annoyingly numerous and worrying inconsistent. First you have to submit your bag through an x-ray machine to even get into the airport and an assault-rifle armed security guard sternly inspects your ticket. None of the staff appear to be monitoring the x-ray machine closely or have time to spot much before they are through, but benefit of the doubt I suppose. They then tie or wrap or sticker your luggage indicating that it has been scanned. The idea is that you now cannot open it without ruining the marking, but this only works for normal suitcases. Bags, backpacks and odd-shaped parcels with their multiple openings totally blow this measure. My trekking partner Harsh for example went the whole trek with the “security scanned” wrapping on his backpack without it doing any measurable inconvenience to him loading and unloading its contents. Oh well.

You next go through the normal security screen except they don’t seem to use the metal scanners they’ve got, rather manually wanding every passenger. At the Kathmandu airport they open and inspect everyone’s carry-on baggage manually despite having x-rayed it (now twice). So what was the point of the x-ray? He pulls everything out of my backpack and shoves it back making me thankful I didn’t bring back any fragile gifts. They stamp the sticker on your bag to say they have been scanned. This is checked several times. Then the Kathmandu airport outdoes it all when at the stairway to the plane, the airline now repeats the scanning and bag inspecting process. Where do they think we all came from? We only just got through the security into the small waiting lounge! I shudder to think the security is that lax that they need to inspect everyone again so soon. But inspect they do and again my bag, like everyone’s is dug through and emptied. At least at every checkpoint I get a compliment on my hat, racking up another 7 between Kathmandu and Chennai. Such is travel these days. Gotta smile. At least the meals were decent, so there’s one up over the Canadian carriers.

Homeward bound, albeit a little slower than hoped, but I make it. India ho!

Trekking in the Sagamartha Region # 1: Our Flight

We had to start the trek with a little excitement. Up at 4am for a 6:30am flight from Kathmandu to Lukla. No problem. But then the guy who was supposed to pick us for the airport up doesn’t show. So we’re a little behind, but OK – taxis are outside and at this time in the morning, it is a fast route to the airport. Then disaster strikes: I’ve left my cowboy hat, my prided Lhasa hat, is the hotel lobby. I brought it specifically for the trekking and high-altitude UV and I very childishly just really want it. So snap decision: I’m going to try to go back for it. It’s 5:40 exactly for a 6:30 flight…15 minuts trip each way, but the driver assures me we can do it in 10. Plenty of time! So I’m going to risk it and go back for it. Silly of course, illogical and risky, but there it is. I believe I can make it so I am going to try.

With extensive bullying of his horn, generous use of back-alleys and speeds of the type my parents surely do not want to know about (the driving really doesn’t bother me, an adaptation from having been in India), we make it true to his word: round trip in 22 minutes exact. Back at the airport 6:02. No problem! We had plenty of time. This isn’t exactly an international flight. Whew! First adventure over and hopefully our last real gaff.

The 25 minute flight from Kathmandu to Lukla is great. An 18-seater, we each get a window. The flight is, in a couple words, casual and dramatic. If you have one of those ingrained fears of flying, then you might find this a bad experience, but luckily not being afflicted with such things, I thought it was great fun. The security check is very limited. We are not assigned seats, but each stoop and wander up the aisle in whatever order we enter. They pile any excess bags loose in the back and the plane starts down the runway as soon as the door is closed. There is no, fasten seatbelt notice, no captain's reassuring message or pre-recorded safety announcement mimed by the smiling air stewards. Instead, the pre-flight checklist consisted of the stewardess handing out candies to suck on and cotton balls to put in your ears (or the reverse, according to your tastes). They trust you to buckle your own seatbelt (or not, according to your tastes). And we’re off just like that.

Looking through the windows at the mountains you can imagine why they might not bother with safety checklists: given the proximity of the surrounding mountains and our height off the valley floor at times, we don’t have far to crash. We fly through clouds much of the way, but as we enter the Solukhumbu region, it clears and there to our left are the mountains, above us and shocking close off our port wing. It is a very odd, but very cool feeling flying through a valley looking out at someone’s house at eye level as if you’re in a bus driving by, rocky pinnacles above you and heavily terraced hill-fields below. We’re all glued to the windows. Then there is a gasp through the plane and everyone on the port side flumbles for their cameras. Rising like iceburgs above the sea of peaks are our first glimpses of the Himalayan giants, all white and gleaming. We’d come to know their beauty well, but here they were like mirages, so amazingly taller than anything else we'd seen.

Lukla appears in front of us, amazing nestled on a step of the valley backed by a headwall of peaks. Looking out the front windshield, we approach the town head on rather than from above and that plays havoc with my perception of what a normal landing should look like. The runway is short, uphill and backed by a natural rock wall, an emergency braking aid I assume. Not for the feint of heart or those with overactive imaginations. But the landing is super-smooth and at the low speed approach and uphill assist, we slow and are parked and out of the jet in 2 minutes flat. Literally in the time we take a couple pics of the airport and our new home for 2 weeks, we’ve got our packs, our guide has met us and we’re good to go. Oh if all flights were this easy!

Things are working out fine. My trekking partner, Harsh and I get along well and have a fair bit in common. He and I met over the Internet (I know, sounds like I’m introducing my date) on the Thorntree forum. He’s a native from Bangalore, not too far from me, so we chatted and figured we could trek together. He’s easy going too and loves photography. I covet his nice digital SLR camera. It doesn't however "accidently" find its way into my stuff over the trip. Our guide, Shreeram (sometimes ‘Shree’, but usually ‘Ram’ for short), is also easy going, smiles easily and tends to break into singing with little provocation. He likes his work, meeting all sorts of people and impressively speaks about 6 languages and can exchange pleasantries in several more. He was the chatty guide among those we met, always asking questions, joking or helping anyone in the guesthouses we stayed at. I also really liked that whenever we happened upon a good vista or the clouds rolled back to display a hidden wonder, he would exclaim, “wow!” displaying his love for the beauty despite having seen it all dozens of times. He carries about 1/3 of Harsh’s gear plus his minimal baggage, but I don’t bother. I’m already nicely packed and am fine with the weight, light compared with what I’ve often carried (no tent, minimal water, no food, no skis, no heavy crampons, ice axe or rope).

I’m happy with our setup of having a guide rather than or as well as a porter where we’re a team, not a tour group. Makes us more actively involved in the trip and of course, for me, a little hard work is part of the experience and value. As much as I know it helps the local economy, I cannot be comfortable with someone carrying what I can carry, my own cultural upbringing and a key component of my enjoyment, so having a guide is a nice balance. And Shreeram is a pleasure and improves our interaction with the locals and region so it works out great. I champion that everyone has their own strengths, abilities, desires for comfort and tolerances so don’t let me stop you from hiring a porter or 6 or going it cheap and just trekking without anyone – to each their own – but the guide route is my recommendation. I’m happy to provide contact info for the Agent, Puru, in Kathmandu as I highly recommend him and our guide Ram as top.

Getting off the plane, putting on the familiar weight of the backpack, breathing in the dry, pure air, I am immediately struck with the feeling of home and contentment. I love the mountains – they are truly in my bones and soul. The scrubby, rocky, treed and alpine landscapes before us remind me strongly of Tibet and BC’s drier Interior (e.g. Lillooet and Chilcotin regions) and I have wonderful memories of both. Every range is different, yet all high and remote places share a sense that they are so much greater and larger than we are, that we are privileged to be able to share the space so close to the sky.

Here we are, Harsh and I grin together: Sagamartha National Park, the Solukhumbu Distict, the Everest Region. Call it what you will. We’ll be calling it home for the next 2 weeks. Uphill we go!

Travelling #8: Renewing my Indian Visa

Although I mentioned my time spent at the Indian Consulate in a previous post, I wanted to more fully recount the process and experience for your enjoyment and for anyone's future use.

Ultimate Lesson: Applying for an Indian visa takes plenty of patience.

This is good practice and warning of course for anyone planning to travel to India as doing much of anything official in India in general takes a good deal of patience.

The process is relatively straight forward actually, just slow.

First Visit:
You arrive the first day and fill out and submit a telex form to be sent to your home country consulate for a security check. The office is open from 9-12. Get there early. Like an hour early before opening. After poking around getting going that first morning, I arrived 20 minutes before opening and the line was already 40+ people long. So you get there, join the queue and that is your life for the first morning. You won't likely get out of there before noon.

Technically the window closes at noon, but they may stay open later to clear the queue (since tomorrow a whole new group will arrive, just compounding the problem). Don't count on it though - I've heard both stories.

On the plus side, if you're chatting and friendly, you've got lots of time to meet fellow travellers in line, all wrying, patiently or frustratingly in the same boat. Half the line will be first-timers like you, the other half are on the second pick-up trip. You can tell which are which because the seasoned queuers have brought snacks, water and books.

So we wait and we wait. Not so bad really, nice people, but it kills much of a day. I amusingly note a few travelers hurrying to get and fill in their telex form. They are either not understanding the pace of this line or are overly optimistic. I suspect they have not been to India before. We fill out the form at our leisure, 10 minutes of doing something in 4 hours of waiting.

I meet a cool girl Aussie girl with the very Indian name Citra, who I end up hanging out with for much of the remainder of my time in Kathmandu and a British mountain bike guide in Kerala named Mike. People from all walks of life. Many of us are returning to India.

I should note for anyone using this account: there are reports of the Kathmandu consulate not always accepting visa renewals. Sri Lanka and Bangkok are known to be much easier places for renewing visas. But that said, no one in our weekly queue had any problems and there were many people like me going or back-to-back visas. I did not get asked any questions or had comments or warnings made. I just handed in the forms and got the visa back. So that was my experience. Take the advice as you will.

The two of us get up there just shy of noon, handing in the telex form & being given a receipt (do not lose this for any reason) and a visa form to bring back next time.

The telex costs NRs (Nepali Rupee) 300. Bring exact change! Let me repeat that. Bring exact change! The telex officer may refuse to process your request if you don't. He just says, "find change in the group. Next" 3 of us managed to combine for NRs 900 so that he only had to issue NRs 100 change for 3 people and that seemed acceptable to him. But heed my warning. When we left, at 5 minutes to noon there were some people still frantically trying to work out the small bills.

Another point to note: how long they'll tell you to return to pick up your telex form. The officer will just give you a slip with a date on it. This is usually 3-5 working days. I think everyone in our cohort were getting 3 days. But the office is not open on the weekend, so if you submit your telex on Tuesday like I did, I got my visa by Friday, only a 3-day period, but if you submit on Wednesday, you'll get Monday at the earlier and may get a 5-day wait so a full week. So plan for a week. Do not make travel plans, buy tickets etc. You can try to use these excuses, like, "I need to fly out xx day so can I please have it by then," but they may not care. Don't count on it and remember that is is people like you that is making the line so slow moving for everyone else.
We take off for some chai and lunch, resolving to come earlier and bring more provisions next time. Seriously though, the consulate should install a chai stand and snack counter and they'd make a fortune. There is a small cafe positioned outside the gate though that does very well as they have a guaranteed crowd every morning sharp. Smart.

Second Visit:
So 3 days later, Friday morning, we return, earlier this time (just after 8), but still in the middle of the pack. We are better provisioned. I've brought bakery goods for breakfast, water, a book and of course I now know half the line from Tuesday. We all joke at our common return to the line.

And again we wait in line all morning. Common theme. I'm OK with it though; I planned my week around it.

Bring your completed visa form, NRs 3050 (again exact change) and 2 passport photos (they only needed one, but ask for 2, so don't risk it).

There is supposed to be 2 lines, 1 for telex forms submission and 1 for pick-up, but that, in our experience, broke down into one common line so you can't cut it.

We get out telex back by 11:30 and joined the next line to submit our forms. We're getting antsy about missing the noon close. Thankfully the generous Consulate Staff of the second window stayed open to clear all the visa submissions. We got through by 12:10 with a long line behind us still.

You can shorten this wait for everyone if you don't ask a ton of very simply answered questions: tourist visas for most every nationality is 6-months. No exceptions. If you are a UK or US resident who I hear can get longer visas, you cannot do it in Kathmandu so don't ask. You can only get those long visas at home. So don't try. Transit visas are 15 days. All visas are valid and active from date of application, not entry. So if you want a full 6-months, you need to wait to very close to your departure date. So me for example, I lose 3 weeks because I applied before my trek. That's the deal. No way around it. If you want one of the other visa types (work, student, etc.), those take a lot of paperwork and time and I have not idea of that process. Don't just show up and try for one, these take pre-planning and research.

Third Visit:
Citra and I again go for lunch and hang out for a few hours, then it is back to the Consulate for visit #3 at 4:30 (arrive by 4) to pick up the visa and your passport. It takes at least an hour for no good reason. By this time, we're old friends with our group. And we leave with a shiny new Indian visa is our passports. We're successful! And I've gotten through in time to start my trek as scheduled.

Total time spend at the Consulate: 9 hours.

They should just install a guesthouse there so we can just live there and not bother walking to and from each time!

So that was a good part of my first week in Kathmandu, twiddling my thumbs. Funny little world.

Hopes this helps someone negotiate the process easily and in good spirits!

Travelling #7: A Place to Hang Out

[Note: I didn't like the flow (or the grammer mistakes) of this one that well so I've edited it. Sorry to the purists.]


"I'll meet you at the Full-Moon Cafe later"

"Full Moon"
"Blue Moon"
"Half Moon"
"New Moon...? "

"Geez...It it's one of those anyway... you'll find it. It is next door and upstairs to the big Internet cafe just up from the Kathmandu Guesthouse (a major landmark)" "Ask around if you have any trouble"

"Meet you there at 8pm. "
"See you around 9pm..."
"We'll be there any time after 8:30pm..."


It is properly the Full Moon Cafe and has quickly become my semi-regular place to hang-out and have a couple beers. It is funny how nice it is to have "a place" you feel at ease and how quickly you can fall into one.

I really like the place. It is a very relaxed atmosphere, raised cushion seating and on Thursdays has a quite excellent live jazz band.

I don't know why sitting on cushions on the floor hasn't made the sell across the ocean in North America. It is so luxurious and comfortable. Everyone I meet in Asia loves the relaxed and casual feel of eating or drinking lounging on cushions on the floor. In India, Thailand, here in Nepal, people of all walks of life seem happy to fold their legs or stretch out and do it, chatting and laughing comfortably at ground level. So why have so few thought of it back home? Hmmn, maybe a business opportunity to file away. Feel free to steal it. I don't care if I make money on it or not, I just want it available. Especially for live music, if you're not standing at a concert, second best is in a concerted lounge position. Think of how nice it is sitting on the grass for summer festivals. It also promotes easy mixing as the tables and seating are not so regimented.


My first foray to the joint was 3 weeks ago before I left for my trek. I was emailing at the Internet cafe. I was alone at that point, my trekking partner not having arrived yet and I had not yet build a crew. Getting out of there I was thinking of finding a place to sit and chill for a couple hours. Wandering out the door to the street I can hear some sweet jazz emanating from the 2nd floor of the next building. Whew, that was a hard & long search. Up I go. Live music, especially decent jazz, is not to be passed up.

The place is small and L-shaped with all the seating on raised, cushioned platforms. I ask a couple in the corner if I can claim a space beside them, kick off my flip flops and settle in with my back nicely wedged in the crease of the bamboo wall paneling and an Everest beer within reach. Nice life.

I doubt Kathmandu is on the International Jazz Circuit, but the boys are pretty good, better than I would have expected. They played an hour and a half set straight (and in typical jazz format this was about 5 "songs") and started up again after only a 15 minute break for refreshment. Cool crowd. Not nearly as busy as I expected. It is not a large place. Mostly locals and people in the know it appears. I can't figure why more tourists don't wander in like I did. Did they not hear the music from the street? It isn't like most of us have any place to be. But who knows, maybe Shakira is playing down the street and I'm missing it. For me, coming from 5 months in Chennai (John McLaughlin excepted) this atmosphere and a place to hang out is bliss.
I make a mental "wish you were here" list of people I know who would really dig the scene.

Comfortably settled against the wall, I am in a very relaxed mood and I draw inward with the music and just chill. And in many occasions, that would be the end of the story: I enjoy the night and the vibe, but struggle with feeling isolated - like there's walls between us - and go home at the end of the night, satisfied, but not quite. But that isn't the story tonight.

I run through the Spanish girl sitting beside me with little rapport and then a pair of Israelis before eventually shifting over to join a couple I had been exchanging grins and laughs with the enxt table over (who were Filipino and not a couple, but I didn't know that then). We chat for a bit, listen to some more music and then somewhere along the way I found myself in the circle of the local crowd like we were all old friends. The Nepali are warm people and treat well anyone one who is open and friendly. They seem happy to include me. One offers me half his sub the restaurant staff went and got for them. I'm the Ferengi dancing unabashedly with the locals to the dance-ish music once the band quit. Many songs, laughs, stories and an extraneous couple beers later, I wander down the street puzzled as I regularly am about how this process all came about and how these things just happen somehow when you're not searching for them.

It is a funny thing. I count myself as a generally shy person, not the first to wander up to a group I don't know and strike up a conversation or hold everyone's attention as I entertain. I find cliques of chatting people intimidating (although here, like most traveling, you have to remember that most groups of seemingly close "friends" are likely only an hour old, but more on that later). And so I regularly feel isolated in an unfamiliar place. And of course sometimes you make connections, sometimes you don't. But though I find it hard to actively meet people, somwhere along the way I often do. It is a juxtaposition that I don't know how to make them happen, but they happen more often than not. Beats me how this juxtaposition fits together, but I thought I'd share it. I think partly is that I'm scared of openings, breaking the ice as they say, but once it is broken or in situations where you don't have to formally break it, I seem to be a naturally good skater/swimmer from there. So maybe if that is the explanation, it is not so mysterious. But then, I've long ago learned I do better, as most of us do, when I just be and not worry and over-think too much.

Anyway, back to my story,...the gate to my guesthouse is, unsurprisingly, locked when I arrive and I can't see a buzzer. Hmmn kink in my plan (what plan? I didn't get 10 feet from the Internet cafe before getting distracted for the night!). Thankfully after pondering my options for a minute, a woman cooking in a stall across the street points out the obscure bell toggle behind the pillar. Oh yes, cream toggle on a dingy, ivory pillar...at night. Silly of me to miss it. I worry briefly about getting hassle from the watchman as I don't know if they have curfew rules, but after chummily watching a cricket world cup match with the night staff last night, they just smile and usher me in warmly when I ring the bell.


So from there the Full Moon Cafe became a convenient and relaxed place to suggest as a meeting place. Citra, Mike, Raz and I meet up there before heading out for New Years. When my trekking partner Harsh arrives from Bangalore, we chat about our plans there over a couple drinks.

Now that I'm back from trekking, with a new crew met along the way, it again becomes a natural place to while away a few hours.

Last night Adrian (UK) and I were looking for a place for a drink after dinner and again we caught the music from the street. Ah, it is Thursday again (dates and days of the week hold very little attention when you're travelling) and the jazz band is playing again. Well, can't pass that up so up we go. It is similarly quiet for the jazz sets, playing to 10:30. We make friends with the others sitting in our half of the "L", some really nice people with the usual global spread: a couple from the UK, a German guy and Dutch girl, a couple German girls. My Filipino friends are there too and I happily catch up with them. After the band, the dance music cuts in and, as before, dancing starts, this time with a stronger contingent of our foreigner contingent. The place gets really busy and our "fun half" of the "L" becomes a full-fledged dance zone. Most everyone is up at least part of the time. More people join.

This is where I get a good, quick lesson in remembering to not be intimidated by groups of travellers who seem to be close friends and having a private riot amongst themselves. Partway through the evening, a newer joiner to our little dance party asks me how we all know each other, indicting the crew behind me of people laughing, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, calling out back and forth between the tables. I chuckle, looking around. "Well, Adrian, that guy there, and I met trekking, these two [Filipinos] I met here 3 weeks ago, the rest we've all just met here a couple hours ago." In traveller destinations like here, a seeming tight group might only be as long-lived as the lobby of their guesthouse. Close friends may have met last week and laughing groups might actually be new conglomerates of several pairs and individuals that just fell in together like this lively crowd. Such is the way of travelling and one of the most vibrant.

There are several people already that I will miss and as I head back to Chennai, I am going to miss my new hangout place.

If you're in Kathmandu, check it out and have an Everest beer for me!

Travelling #6: Happy Nepali New Year!

Happy New Year!

We’re living it up like it was 2064...

...actually, here in Nepal, it is 2064! Welcome to the future. It's nice. You'll see.

Yup, here they use a different calendar and count today (Sat, Apr 14) as New Year’s Day 2064. Cool, eh?

The calendar being used is the Bikram Sambat shared with Northern India. It is a solar one, so is 56.7 years ahead of the Western Gregorian one.

So the streets were bedecked with flags, shops in the tourist Thamel district were closed early (i.e. before 10pm) there was a parade through the streets, parties were held and dancing was had. Not wanting to waste an extra opportunity to celebrate New Years a second time this year, a few new friends and I stayed up very late (or early depending on your point of view) at an outdoor trance party with a whole whack-load of Israelis (the Israelis love trance more than any other nationality I've come across; me, for dancing, I'm personally more of a fan of techno, drum n bass and house).

What a riot! I love the diversity of the world's cultures. Gives one an excuse to revel every couple weeks. Being a multicultural country, I think Canada should officially adopt the holidays and festivals of every major culture resident. Bring 'em on!

I'm Back

Hello everyone. I'm back from trekking in the Sagarmatha (Everest) region and back in Kathmandu for a few days before heading back to Chennai, India and work. I'm excited to get back working on my project, but must admit being off travelling is very nice...

I'm going to try posting up a storm in the next couple weeks to catch up on the stories, adventures and random thoughts I've missed this past month. Many will be out of date and out of order so bear with me!

Cheers,
McKay

Travelling #5: Leaving for Nepal

I've got my backpack on full of hiking gear, a long sleeve layer on against the chill of the airplane aircon and my Tibetan cowboy hat, all foreign items to my daily life: my gear has sat unpacked under my bed, I haven't worn long-sleeves against the cold since I arrive in India. So I feel a bit odd with it all. But good weird, because it means I'm moving.

Goodbye sticky Chennai. Nepal here I come!

People seem to really like my cowboy hat. Both security check personnel in Chennai and my connection in Delhi specifically ask me about it and where I got it, saying they like it. A fellow traveller strikes up a conversation from it as it apparently looks like it is from Australia. Funny! I should wear it more often except it is far too hot to wear in south India.

It is super early. I was up at 4am and hadn't slept well, but the Chennai airport is quite small and pretty painless to get through. I nap on the plane.

Killing my stop-over in Delhi over lunch, my last meal in India is Subway. I feel a little about it, like such a lazy foreigner, but after 5 months nearly completely healthy, I actually came down with a stomach bug of some sort on the weekend and am feeling pretty tender, my appetite is gone and strong tasting food makes me feel somewhat ill. So simple, comforting food is the order of the day unfortunately. It doesn't really matter of course as I'm not exactly picky, I barely eat 1 western-style meal a month, if that and of course airport food of any nationality will be universally poor and unauthentic (although the dim sum at the Hong Kong airport restaurant was surprisingly excellent). And of course, I'm coming back, so it isn't a last meal really.

But it funny what little guilts strike you. You can feel not Christian enough, not Jewish or Hindu enough, you can feel not Indian or not Canadian enough, not patriotic, loyal or pious enough. For some reason, sometimes I worry about not being integrated enough, giving enough, hard core enough. Plight of the development worker I suppose. Most of us will fall prey to guilt over meeting some imagined or real standard or other I suppose in our work, personal and community lives. So there you go, eating Subway in India, even once in a blue moon is mine. Of course it also stems from a deep pleasure in eating diverse and interesting, rich foods such that I am disappointed when I miss an opportunity.

The exception to my non-Western food rule though is bakery. Travelling to Pondicherry with my mom and sister I rediscovered the joys of good croissants and buns filled with yummy stuff and really good breads. There are several in Chennai too so I think I will have to add a bakery run to my weekly schedule. No guilt for tasty things.

The food thoughts, stomach tenderness and exploration continues through my first few days in Kathmandu. I eat Nepalese momos on rooftop patios. Most the restaurants serve the eclectic mix familiar to backpackers the world over - global favorites of pizza, European soups, Chinese noodles, "sizzlers", pepper steaks, chicken cordon bleu, the Indian standards of butter chicken, tikka and tandoori. You can get muesli for breakfast nearly anywhere in the world despite no one I've ever met eating it at home. They have some good bakery here too. I'm totally on a bakery kick. I drink a lot of Nepalese (milk, masala) chai and banana lassis.

The tourist district of Thamel in Kathmandu has a strong familiarity to it: its twisting maze of streets cramped with signs and advertising stretching up 3 stories, the wall-to-wall traveler-oriented shops, the global "fusion" cuisine restaurants, competing music every dozen feet and of course all the kitch. It suggests a half-dozen other major backpacker meccas worldwide where travelers linger, socialize and put down temporary roots rather than just pass through. And as such has evolved that peculiar, foreign-yet-familiar mix of shops and services: craft and curios stalls and shops that spill out onto every street, clothing shops that are not representative of any original culture, but more the global "backpacker chic" and hawkers and touts trying to strike up conversations with "just look Sir". Restaurants that cater to global cuisine and always seem to sell muesli, sit shoulder with nightclubs, moneychangers, CD shops and Internet cafes. Bicycle rickshaws and taxis slowly weave the narrow, clogged streets hoping for custom (it is actually much faster to walk given the crowds). With a few differences, it could be Khao San Rd in Bangkok or much of Goa to name just two other stops. But its familiarity and pace is comforting and enjoyable right now as I too linger on my way through.

What have I been doing? Not much actually: wandering the narrow streets, dodging the bike rickshaws, soaking in the atmosphere, reading on rooftops, drinking lots of Nepalese chai. I've spend a morning standing in line at the Indian Consulate - getting a visa requires 2 all-morning waits, one to drop off the telex, another to pick it up and submit the visa, then a shorter, 3rd visit that afternoon to pick it up. I go back tomorrow. At least I'll know most of the line to chat with, half the line from Tues meeting back again to collect. I've spend a couple afternoons getting plans laid for my trek and mountaineering excursion. I haven't been inspired really visit the sites of Kathmandu. I should, but have been really enjoying the slow pace and a chance to consider "ambitious" plans to be buying route maps and browsing for trinkets to bring back to my housemates in between a long lunch and lazy dinner.

Funny enough, my cowboy hat is going over well here too. Here is a pic from when I was in Tibet. I just spent 15 minutes chatting with an Indian expat shop-owner on the street about what we each are doing here after he asked to try on my hat to see how it looked with his jeans and boots (good look actually, I recommended he request a hat from any guide friends heading to Lhasa). It gives the hawkers one more way to get me to stop and talk to them (about their wares), but I'm happier being distinctive and enjoying random conversations at the cost of a little more bother.

So welcome to Kathmandu, if you spot me in my cowboy hat on the patio, join me for a beer or a chai...

Where am I?

Alright folks, sorry for the delay in postings, but I've put my project into holding mode and have packed off for a week visit from my family, showing them around the Chennai area, and then for a month vacation in Nepal to renew my visa.

So greetings from Kathmandu!

I've escaped the building sticky Chennaiyan heat and have leaped to cooler climes and higher altitude. I suspect though that stilling on my ass in thick, sea-level Chennai won't help my trekking here, but under the principle of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I hold dimly to the prospect that dealing with the traffic pollution has increased my lung capacity. ;-)

I promise to post some more stuff about my adventures here as I can and will eventually post a whole pile of pics on my flickr account of impossibly high mountains.

Cheers and have a good April!