We were up early and out into the cold to find that the 3 Nepalese Rupees per day per bicycle place that we discovered last night, had sold out already. We walked back to the Young Dung which had switched it’s opening time to 10:30 hrs. It had been 07:30 hrs. We hired some bicycles for 5 Nepalese Rupees and rode back to the Ashok Pie Restaurant where the usual UB40 cassette tape was in full swing.
In Durbar Square the vegetable market was being set up and the money changers and dope pedlars stood about shivering with their hands in their pockets. After a proper English breakfast of bacon and eggs we read our books and sipped tea until they put the UB40 album on for a second time.
I popped into the Post Office and then we set off north to the Balaju Water Garden (apparently Baisdbhara, also known by the name “Balaju Water Garden”, is an ideal choice for rest inside Kathmandu Valley. The peaceful environment in Baisdhara will hold your soul in harmony and calmness), got lost, and ended up back in Durbar Square.
We followed “Pig Alley” and crossed a rickety old bridge of crude construction like those that cross deep ravines in adventure films featuring Indiana Jones, which always snap when the hero is halfway across. This one held, however, (just about) and we stopped for a while on the grassy plain beneath the bridge.
The Visnumati River, flowing in the Kathmandu Valley, originates at Tokha on Sivapuri Mountain, north of Kathmandu. It flows through the western part of old Kathmandu city and down from the north where snow-capped mountains are visible. It is a holy river for both Hindu and Buddhist people.
In front of me, to the east, a crowd has gathered on some steps by the river around something that looks suspiciously like a body under an orange shroud. To the south water buffalos, ducks and dirty black pigs graze by the water and some men fiddle about with bits of timber.
Behind me, to the west, the Swayambhunath Monkey Temple sits serenely on a hill. The bridge above squeaks and rattles as people cross continuously and a topless woman bathes in the river while others do their laundry.
I returned to my bicycle to discover that I had lost my padlock key. I found it by the side of the river after a short, frustrating search and we continued past the Swayambhunath Monkey Temple and northwards to Balaju. Balaju Industrial district was established in the year 1960 under the U.S. assistance with infrastructures facilities such as developed lands, boundary walls, electricity distribution network, drainage system, industrial sheds and warehouse.
There was also the the Balaju Water Garden which is approximately five kilometers outside of Kathmandu and is a park known for its unlimited natural splendour and the delicately sculptured fountains that have become the icons of the Balaju Water Garden. Apparently visitors will be amazed at the sheer magnificence of the gardens that were originally designed in the seventeenth century but there was a pay booth by the entrance and, as they didn’t look much, we gave them a miss.
We followed the ring road north of Kathmandu, a picturesque road with paddy fields and stepped cultivated, terraced slopes. Women passed by with such large bales of straw on their backs that they looked like walking haystacks. The whole valley is hemmed in by mountains and topped with an unbelievably blue sky. The sun was hot and it was difficult to credit that it was winter here.
Reaching a crossroads we cut north and went steeply northwards to the Budhanilkantha Temple, located in Budhanilkantha, Nepal, (Nepali: बुढानिलकण्ठ मन्दिर; translation: Old Blue Throat) is a Hindu open air temple dedicated to Lord Vishnu. Budhanilkantha Temple is situated below the Shivapuri Hill at the northern end of the Kathmandu valley. and can be identified by a large reclining statue of Lord Vishnu. The temple's main statue of Budhanilkantha is considered the largest stone carving in Nepal.
Here we found the large statue of Vishnu sleeping on a bed of snakes. As soon as we arrived a little brat offered to watch our bicycles while we were away for about two minutes looking at this sacred Hindu image. Inside the shrine a flock of begging wretches began to wail and moan for alms. We fled to a nearby tea shop, but before long they were upon us again. A mad man made seal noises whilst several old women begged and the “bike watchers” asked for baksheesh.
It got too much, and more were making their way towards us like human flies as we quickly polished of our tea and leapt on our metal steeds to pedal off back down the valley. We stopped to write up our travel logs and a group of children gathered to stare and smile and piss about. A million crickets kept up a continuous chirping as massive hay bales tottered by, the women hidden beneath their burdens, and the sun began to sink in the sky.
The return to town was a fast-downhill dash with a stop at the British Council to read English daily newspapers and magazines. Refreshed, we returned the bikes to the hire shop and hit the Ashok Pie Restaurant for supper. We tarried over our meal and I ate half of George’s as he was feeling queasy, while we read our books until we got bored. We then browsed the touristy stalls around Durbar Square and I bought an embroidered shirt while George ordered the embroidering of a cobra on a lairy shirt with a diagonal flap which did up across the front.
Our next stop was at Joe’s (yes, really!) Restaurant and reviewed our purchases which cost George 65 Nepalese Rupees and me 70 Nepalese Rupees. 21.9 Nepalese Rupees were equivalent to £1 sterling at this time. My health was restored and the good day today had cheered me up. It seems so easy and normal to travel the world and live in exotic-sounding cities such as Kathmandu and Istanbul. When you make plans for such a journey it all seems so difficult and complicated, so when you get out and do it you feel cheated that it was no test or trial, no unsurmountable obstacles to tackle. It is just as well that neither of us has the shits as the toilet in our hotel is a disgrace. An overpowering stench arises from the brim-full European toilet bowl and because some depraved animals have taken to using the floor of the shower stall as a toilet.
We had a tea at Joe’s while we listened to The Specials L.P. (Too Much, Too Young) and left just in time as a large-bearded Englishman began to spout his travel tales. I returned to our hotel room to read while George moaned obscure country music ballads.
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