The Blue Fox

Above: Walking haystacks in Kathmandu Valley

Saturday 12th November 1983

We got up at 08:30 hrs. so we could hire some bicycles for an exploratory excursion to the south of Kathmandu Valley. We had breakfast in the Blue Fox and searched in vain for a cycle hire shop. In the end we had covered most of Patan to no avail, so we went back to the hostel to do some clothes washing.

I washed my gear in a grubby sink with no plug and settled to bask in the sun in the large hostel garden while the clothes dried on the line. We soon got bored of lazing around and set off on foot for Kathmandu. I got my short trouser legs shortened for 3 Nepalese Rupees in a little tailor stall on the way. Our first stop was at “Aunt Janes” Restaurant where we fuelled up with lemon pie before heading north to the British Council Library.

After a long round-about walk we discovered the place was shut on Saturdays and, dispirited, we trudged back to the Ashok Pie Shop. Here we ordered more food, more for something to do than because we were hungry. We decided to vacate the “City of Beauty” and walk to Kathmandu City.

On the way up to Kathmandu we passed massive queues for some goings on or other at the city stadium. Police kept the crowd in order and a police motorcyclist pushed a broken-down car off the road using his 350cc machine.

Today seems to have been one non-event after another, a day to struggle through and soldier on with the hope that tomorrow will be better. After a good sweet’n’sour meal we made a vain attempt to hire some bicycles for tomorrow. The old bastard in the hire shop belied his sign which advertised “overnight hire 2Rs” and grunted “nine o’clock tomorrow morning”.

We trudged back along the boring road to Patan, which culminated in a delicious expresso coffee in the "Blue Fox". The toilet here is worthy of note, being clean, equipped with toilet paper and literally smelling of roses due to an air freshener on the door. This is rare indeed for an Asian bog where the usual smell bears testimony to the inaccuracy of previous occupants and the inefficiency of the flushing systems.

Back at the Youth Hostel at 19:30 hrs. George hit the sack while I wandered out into Durbar Square for a haircut. A good short back and sides in a seedy stall cost me 5 Nepalese Rupees. Returning to the hostel I had an icy cold, but necessary shower, before going to bed.

A bloke in the next room coughed, hawked and spat his way through the night, comforted by a fag (cigarette) now and then. The Nepalese have a delightful habit finger-blowing their noses. In the middle of a busy thoroughfare they will hinge forward at the waist, blow a large gobbet of snot from their nose and flick it away with a flourish of their thumb and forefinger. Charming!