March 21, 1999
Kathmandu Blues,
by Constantin von Hoffmeister

I arrive in Kathmandu early in the morning. From the plane I have a magnificent view of the Himalayan Mountain Range. The pilot is nice enough to point out the location of the Mount Everest - it does not seem quite as large as imagined (but then again, I am 6000m in the air). As the mountains close in on the airplane, the descent into the Kathmandu Valley is a bit terrifying since it looks like the plane is trying to dodge several obstacles.

At the airport I am obliged to shell out $15 for the visa (for 15 days only, this seems quite expensive, but I guess it is all foreign aid). I am wearing a Swastika button that I had bought in Delhi the day before (to celebrate and display my Indo-European heritage). Two filthy German hippies approach me with disgust displayed all over their unwashed faces. They ask me if I am looking for the last Aryans. I confirm and say that I am following in the footsteps of the great SS Tibet expedition of Ernst Schaefer in 1939!

The walk to the taxi stand becomes a regular walk-determined-and-try-to-ignore-obnoxious-offers game, but compared to India they play it rather tame around here.

"Yessirwheredowanttogo?"

"Needtaxisir?"

After having settled with one run-down taxi, I bargain a little, and then I am on my way to the Hotel Vajra (in the tourist district). Instantly, I am amazed by the narrow streets that only a skilled driver is able to pass through unharmed. Piles of trash on one side, a small stupa on the other and in between a conglomerate of people on foot, bikes, motorrollers, donkeys - not to mention the all-pervasive smell of the (frequently) open sewers and the butchers that dry their fly-surrounded raw meat in little shacks on the side of the road. I decide to smoke a cigarette, not that it will make any difference since the smoggy blue air is clearly visible around me.

After I check in the hotel (which is beautifully situated on a hill), I decide to stroll around some of the main attractions. Quickly I find myself in the middle of Durbar Square, the heart of Kathmandu with lots of Hindu and Buddhist temples, stupas and statues - all quite old but some visibly damaged due to the earthquake that wrecked havoc in the valley in 1937.

I take a picture of a half-naked and extremely skinny saddhu, who is holding a rusty trident and smoking a bidi, in front of a Shiva temple. Of course, he is not a saddhu for pure ascetic fun only - a man has to earn a living! He demands 100 Nepali rupees (picture charge). I laugh and give him five Indian rupees. He complains. I walk off. In Nepal, Indian rupees are considered hard currency since in Nepal the inflation is staggeringly high.

Walking through Freak Street, I feel like I just stepped out of a time machine. This street used to be famous in the 1960s when Western hippie pilgrims would migrate to Nepal across the famous hippie trail (Europe, Middle East, India), all in search of spiritual salvation and the occasional dose of dope. Now, Freak Street is nothing more than a cheap parody of former "glorious" times. There are quite a number of Volkswagen beetles (the hippie mobile par se) in the area, all brought to Nepal years ago by a Western crowd, but now left here to rot or be used by the natives.

Still, the atmosphere reminds me of a sell-out tourist trap, designed to catch the nostalgic and make them believe Freak Street is still "groovy." Hawkers on every corner are trying to sell chillums, Buddha statues and "antique" artifacts to the gullible tourists who are willing (and a lot of ignorant ones are!) to pay ten times as much as locals would pay for the same products. Of course, it is all a tourist's imaginary paradise, complete with European neo-hippies, with dreadlocks, flower-power dyed shirts and baggy ripped corduroys, wandering around stoned aimlessly through the street in search of some angry fix that will (falsely) remind them that Nepal is "where IT is at."

In the evening, I drink some whiskey in a bar called "New Orleans" in Tamil (after dinner at a Mexican restaurant!). I meet a German tour guide who tells me about the Tibetan New Year that is to be celebrated the next day at the stupa in Bodhnath. I gladly let myself be invited to accompany her.

The next day, we are driving through the crowded streets of Bodhnath, filled with Tibetan refugees. The German tour guide is wearing a shirt with an imprint, "FREE TIBET" - "very politically correct," she tells me reassuringly. After our arrival at the stupa (which is the largest in all of Nepal), I am stunned by the magnitude of people, mostly bald Buddhist monks dressed in original red robes, walking clockwise around the stupa moving the prayer wheels. I join the crowd for two rounds because I believe that good luck might come in handy. Some of the monks are also putting up prayer flags that the wind makes shake and let prayers escape.

The whole ceremony culminates in everyone throwing white powder in the air, signifying the final advent of the New Year. But, as the German tour guide tells me, "only tourists overdo it and smear themselves with that stuff all over their faces and clothes. Phew! How dirty!"

Covered in dust, I walk off to have some lunch at a nearby Tibetan restaurant. I am having some fried momos that taste rather bland, and a Carlsberg beer (it is brewed in Nepal, under license of the Danish company, and quickly became the most popular beer in the country).

Afterwards I decide to visit Swayambhunath, a Buddhist temple that is situated on a large hill behind my hotel. At the bottom of the hill I watch a Muslim funeral procession pass by with an open coffin (Muslims only make up 3 per cent of Nepal's population). Then I try to find the footstep of Buddha that is supposed to be located at the temple's base, but I cannot find it anywhere. Walking up the 971 steps to the top really is a drag, and I have to take a break halfway to wipe off some sweat in my face.

After I reach the top, I am stunned by the view that reveals itself to me. All of Kathmandu seems to be laid out in front of me. The city is quite spread out. Unfortunately, I cannot make out the Himalayas since the weather is too misty. But I can see the tinned roof of my hotel. There are quite a lot of monkeys jumping around the visitors and various small stupas. I put my camera in my pocket since these animals are known to be aggressive sometimes. Above me, the eyes of Big Buddha are watching me from the top of the main stupa.