This morning I left the hotel. They gave me a ride to my new abode, a homestay on the western outskirts of Kathmandu. It is set at the foot of a green hill with a Bon monastery just above, but is otherwise very residential, what I would call in Pakistan lower middle-class aspiring upwards, with narrow, tall houses set amidst marigold fields. I have a large and comfortable room to myself, unfortunately the bathroom is shared. I am not entirely clear with whom – there is the young family that owns the house, but perhaps they live on the first floor (and their parents on the second floor) – and this afternoon when I returned home there was an elderly Tibetan seeming couple who didn’t speak English so I am not sure if they are fellow guests. I assume so.
The lady of the house was going to Thamel to buy some materials for Diwali and new shoes, and I asked if I could come as far as the bus stop to see where it left from. She first met her sister and brother-in-law, who suggested that I visit the Swayambhunath stupa. This seemed like a fine idea, but when the minivan arrived – a small white van, I was unceremoniously stuffed inside, pushed in to make room. There were already people stuffed into the seats and it was far too low for me to stand so I curved over the seats and reached out wherever I could to find a handhold. And so we were on our way. Every few minutes the van stopped and someone else squeezed in, and I came as near to a panic attack as I ever have. At last I was expelled from the bus, set down upon the Ring Road, and told to walk till I saw Swayambhunath.
Instead I used my Google maps and found a slightly longer but less busy way, which turned out to be the better way, for it led to the steps that go up the hill and then up to the stupa, instead of up a road. The stupa itself was not crowded and was magnificent, gold and white and black, with many fine statues, paintings and carvings. Some of the adjacent buildings had been destroyed in the earthquake but the main stupa shone in the sun, with the eyes of the Buddha looking over the entire city. Swayambhunath, the self-created, was formed from a lotus flower resting on the lake that filled the Kathmandu valley until it was drained by Manjushri.
After wandering around a bit, I decided to walk back towards the home stay instead of taking another bus. The way was easy enough to find thanks to my phone and the green hill with the Bon monastery. Along the way I passed countless little shops and restaurants, but it made me think that I will need to consider food etc. I stopped at one and bought some shampoo. An urgent concern now, however, is laundry: there is no machine here and I can’t say I’m inclined to scrub clothes clean myself. Well, that may well be what I end up doing.