We rose at 08:00 hrs., had breakfast in the Blue Fox Café and marched briskly into Kathmandu. To our surprise and joy the 3 Nepalese Rupees per day hire man still had some bicycles available so we snapped two up and pedalled south out of the city on the Dakshinkali road. The municipality's name means 'Southern Kali' and refers to a several centuries old temple complex that lies in the vicinity.
We paused at Chobar Gorge, an average river cutting through some low hills. When the valley was a lake, runs the legend, some god or other made this “sword cut” (the sacred sword of Manjushri) in the rock to let the water out. Later research revealed that Mañjuśrī is depicted as a male bodhisattva wielding a flaming sword in his right hand, representing the realization of transcendent wisdom which cuts down ignorance and duality.
We continued up the road which began to get steeper and more meandering. About 7.5 kilometres from Dakshinkali we stopped to ponder the view. The whole valley is encircled by mountains and in the enclave every square inch of land seems to be put to rural use.
Women hack at the hard dry earth with axe-like hoes while their menfolk plough their small fields with oxen. Children shout and wave and ask for money as we pass through. The Bhimsen Tower in central Kathmandu is visible to the north, through the cut made by the Chobar Gorge. Dharahara (Nepali: धरहरा), also called Bhimsen Tower, was a nine-storey, 61.88-metre-tall (203.0 foot) tower at the centre of Sundhara in Kathmandu. It was built in 1832 by Mukhtiyar (equivalent to Prime Minister) Bhimsen Thapa under the commission of Queen Lalit Tripura Sundari and was a part of the architecture of Kathmandu recognized by UNESCO.
George sneaks through the undergrowth in an attempt to photograph a colossal spider, oblivious to the fact that he is within the minimum limit of his camera’s focus. We cycled back down towards Kathmandu and four kilometres from “home” I got a puncture in the rear tyre on some sharp stones strewn across the road. Still it could have been worse, at one stage we had been thirteen kilometres away.
I wheeled the bicycle back to the hire place and we steamed in the Ashok Pie for tea and sweeties. I think that we had both had enough of Kathmandu Valley for a while. We could have done without this time-killing exercise that our friend Martin had set us.
Our next move was the hiring of rucksacks and sleeping bags for a trip to Nagarkot which is a former Village Development Committee located 32 kilometres east of Kathmandu in Bhaktapur District in Bagmati Pradesh. At an elevation of 2,195 meters, it is considered one of the most scenic spots in Bhaktapur District.
It is known for a sunrise view of the Himalayas, including Mount Everest, as well as other peaks of the Himalayan range of eastern Nepal. Nagarkot also offers a panoramic view of the Kathmandu Valley. It is located approximately 7,000 feet (2,000 metres) above sea level and 28 km from Kathmandu International Airport.
We walked up to the British Council where we gained fuel for homesickness in the English newspapers and magazines, especially “Climber & Rambler” magazine with it’s photographs of the British countryside. In a dejected mood we dawdled back to Patan. The rucksacks on our backs brought back happy memories of past backpacking sorties in rural Britain (See http://steve33.tripod.com/swagmen/hounslowswagmen.htm). I hope that the bloke in the hire shop looks after our passports which have been left as a deposit.
We decided as we walked, that future trips would be made by our own transport as this public transport malarkey wears you down. We also vowed to explore our homeland more when we returned to the United Kingdom. Over two months on the road and the novelty was wearing a bit thin. An advert in “Climber & Rambler” mocked: “A holiday of a lifetime – India and Nepal”!
Our newly acquired rucksacks are good Karrimor ones and the sleeping bags are of equally good quality, no doubt dumped by some affluent climbing expedition team following a sortie into the Himalayas. We settled in the Blue Fox, perusing the Asian menu and dreaming of good old-fashioned English fare. After a mass of noodles and rice (chow mein) we hit the sack in readiness for an early start tomorrow.
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