3/19/2016
Time to either stop the Claritin and let the mucus have its
run of things or invest in my own ninja mask.
Five and a half hours walking so far today. Took off towards
Pashupatinath. Little chilly but a t-shirt got me by. Everyone who lives here
seems to be in jackets or something with long sleeves.
Guess I hit the downtown area, lots of glass facades and English
lettering. Not sure how I feel about all that. Side roads to the temple were
swamped. I have no clue how there’s a single marigold left in Nepal.
Lots of little makeshift shrines on the flagstones in front
of people’s gates. Have to do some research back home.
Or ask a local.
Not that hungry yet.
Bunch of red hats cleaning up and around the temple and
local shrines. Police were helping dredge trash out of the holy Bagmati River.
Is it helping?
Shot off along another side street, skipping the temple for
today. Probably do it on the day I leave since it’s right next to the airport.
Anyways, off along a torn up dirt road near the outskirts of
Kathmandu. Met a gang of kids, not at all alarmed to see a white devil walking down
their street. They matched paced and took turns practicing their English. One
boy had what I guess is the thrifty version of a squirt gun; a plastic bag of
water with a pin-prick in it.
“Do you want to play Holi?” accompanied by a mischevious
grin.
I laugh and check my watch, saying “you still have three
days.”
They giggle and disperse and I continue up the road towards
Boudhanath.
Tons of kids up this way, which could be a good sign, could be a bad one. It’s hard to tell exactly where you stand in this city.
Tons of kids up this way, which could be a good sign, could be a bad one. It’s hard to tell exactly where you stand in this city.
Before I get to the stupa, I’m stopped by a woman with a
child. She asks if I could buy her food, not give money. I don’t know what the
fuck it is with me. Ever present fear of being screwed over. She had a
beautiful flower nose piercing and very lovely traditional clothes, if not a
bit smudged, but there was sincerity in her eyes. I’m not the hero in this
tale. I hope I was right, or I hope I was wrong in a way. I’ve left a bad taste
in my own mouth. That’s going to stick with me for a good long while (and has
revisited me often since, especially at the time of writing).
I collected myself and entered the stupa grounds for 250
NSR. Fucking massive. If it still had its eyes and steps to enlightenment it
would have been even grander, but tectonic activity holds no such things in
regard.
I make two rounds, admiring the work being done, the amount
of commerce, the devotions offered. There is definitely some pageantry going
on, but it still seems so very real to everyone taking part.
Saw some monks perusing a bead shop. Guess they gotta get
them somewhere. They seemed to be driving a hard bargain with the shopkeep.
Interesting.
Wandered back. Passed a tent village. People chattering and
working away. Reconstruction everywhere. Sidewalks filled with sand and gravel
and concrete mix. Shops open and bustling. Enough OSHA violations to choke a bureaucrat.
Mind hazes a bit, back sore, feet hurt, dehydrated.
Sweat stops.
Only 175 NSR for a pack today. 150 NSR for a huge bottle of
Spire. May not nap. May sit on the street and watch. We’ll see. I understand
why these tiny, industrious folk practice the fuck out of yoga and tend such
beautiful gardens. Cathartic activities are a necessity here.
I’m not sure the dust here will ever settle. It will live on
in their children’s lungs. – 12:41p
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