Asian Sojourn 3: Living in Sacred Space – Kathmandu

My morning walks in Kathmandu (taken back in June 2025) had me thinking a lot about the ways in which spaces become sacred. Every fifth building seemed to be a temple or a stupa, and as I said before, my hotel window opened out onto the Atko Narayan Temple, and there was a ceremony there on Wednesday of my visit.

As a first-time visitor to Kathmandu, I would get up many a morning (yay, jetlag?) and walk around the Durbar Square complex, enjoying the sleepy pigeons and ringing of bells, or wander through the streets enjoying the mix of architecture, the bustle of cleaning and setting up for the day, and the visible and audible practice of faith. I peered through at many a Bahal courtyard, those monastic courtyards with small shrines, and went into a few if they weren’t a center of activity. I tried to remain unobtrusive, but also was drawn to the beauty and to the demonstrated care for this overlap of public space and private belief.

Offerings of flowers and food, the ringing of bells, the tidying of shrines, the singing in group or alone: all these activities seemed integrated into a day, suggesting a much more physically engaged religion than the more staid practices of my Christian Science grandparents or my Lutheran inlaws. Likewise, the intermixture of regular housing, active business, and spots inviting active devotion is compressed relative to urban landscapes I regularly inhabit. That meant that cooking and commerce rubbed elbows with sacred practices, reminding me how thin the boundary might be between ordinary routine and spiritual gesture. I wonder if medieval practices of faith, before the emergence of confessional concerns, might have been just as colorful, as sound-based, and as kinetic as what I experienced in Kathmandu. Was Bregenz like this, a mix of street cleaning, setting up stalls with vegetables from the farms uphill, bells and clatter and clamour all mixing in with the chants of the hours and the calls of hopeful merchants? It would have been lively, if so!

The infrastructure of Kathmandu also strikes a notable contrast with the more familiar streets of Nashville. Transport is, as the tourist guidebooks remind us, often done in human-powered vehicles, whether that’s of people or of packages. Overloaded bikes like the one below impressed the stuffing out of me; I’m hard put to bike myself up a hill let alone contemplate carrying a bunch of packages. Not shown is the time we saw two people on a bike, the one in front balancing what was clearly a flat screen TV in its box. Holy moly! And then there’s the wiring. Yes, we did experience power outages. With that wiring spaghetti, it’s a wonder that there was power at all! 

But one cannot subsist on the sacred alone, and I’d like to give a shout-out to Kathmandu’s food scene.

I mentioned the Ginger Cafe, but I also got my share of street food and momos. I never did find my way back to the best shop, but everywhere I stopped, I always found the food fresh and the stall-owners friendly, forgiving of my linguistic inabilities. Momos are the easiest food the first time out (not only my first meal but my most frequent!), but the fried breakfast breads – and especially the Jeri Swari – were a special treat. Jeri Swari is cool: the “Jeri” is a deep-fried, sugar-coated flour batter which is shaped into intricate loops or coils and fried until crispy, then soaked in saffron-infused syrup. The “Swari” part is a flatbread which is both a wrapper and the justification: “I’m an adult eating a real breakfast and not just chowing down on a honey-delivery system.”

Watching your food being made is a delicious way to start any day. It’s also a reminder that in Kathmandu, even everyday meals are carefully crafted. The generosity and care of the cooks are as much a part of the experience as are the flavors themselves.

Asian Sojourn 2: Kathmandu: parade rest!

From Delhi, I traveled to Kathmandu, Nepal, where we had a hotel just two blocks from Durbar Square. My host picked me up from the airport, hallelujah, and drove me across town in his very, very small car through the very crowded and monsoon-wetted streets. Once to the hotel, he gave me the standard orientation to drinkable water (and undrinkable); the various amenities, including generous outlets right by the bed and a swivel fan; and a few pointers on where I might want to go the next day.

The view from my bed was rather stunning, since our hotel faced the Atko Narayan Temple; in this rendition, you can see the edges of my window:

It was a delightful location, and one of the days of our stay, there was a festival, so I got to observe the ceremonies with burning offerings, bell ringing, chanting, and the like. No pictures, though; I didn't want to be intrusive.

After a lovely, lovely night's sleep topped off with a productive dose of jet lag (love my kindle, love that I can do highlighting on my kindle, made SO much research progress at 2a.m.!), it was time to face the city.

Being a first-time tourist in Nepal, I started with Kathmandu Durbar Square, as one does, by paying my entrance fee and getting my long-term visit card (hint: bring along your passport and a passport photo when you first show up; your fee will last until the end of your visa), and then went touring. I never did master the names of all of the square's buildings, but I was fond of the carvings and the architecture, and enjoyed spending a GREAT deal of time looking at all the intricate details.

 

But my leisurely pace was interrupted when the courtyard started filling with soldiers -- soldiers carrying drums! It seems the military band was under review. Setting up took some time, but they eventually got themselves ordered. I did notice that they formed up as much in the shade as they could (and who could blame them?). Eventually, however, their commander shifted them back to the center of the courtyard and out into that bright, warm sunlight. 

While there was some tootling around beforehand, the flag ceremony introduced the drums and winds.

 

After a good deal of speechifying (all in Nepali so I can’t report the content!), the unit marched out. 

 

There must have been some activity outside of the palace, because it was at least 10 minutes before the soldiers passed by on the outside on parade, music whirling along with them as the percussion kept steady time.

Watching the first portion of a parade, even a small one, made me think about those commonalities with my hometown experience. I too have been in groups which have crowded toward the shade while wearing an unpleasantly heavy uniform; outdoor performance environments are not always optimal. Sure, dark fabrics with heft and weight look impressive, but there’s a reason science-fiction often references temperature-regulating textiles! (And I in my short-sleeves was grateful to be recording from the shade, and I was seated on the steps, not standing or moving around!)

In all, about 45 minutes elapsed while I watched the group. I had time to think, in that idle way, about the meta-messaging of such events. The pride and perfectability of formation was a signal of the kind of discipline the group represents, and was reinforced by two different leaders, the quieter of which got quicker movements from the group. The (memorized) music spoke to a regularity of rehearsal. The timbres seemed familiar even if the instruments per se were not. The winds reminded me of fifes, though I never got a good look at the instruments since I was trying to stay out of the way and not be THAT tourist. Still, the fife and drum type combination has a lasting appeal in the military world, so the whole experience was weirdly familiar, for all that I was on the far side of the globe.

In all, my first full day was a great success. The chance encounter with the pass-in-review meant that I managed to hit the “urban soundscape” button right out of the gate with "real music," not just the sounds and noises of the city. And historically-oriented me was truly delighted in the architecture, carvings, and museum displays. 

I’m not one for crowds, but I’m genuinely glad that we chose to stay down by the “busy old center” for this part of our trip. 

Note: These events took place July 1-2, 2025.

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RESOURCES: ARRIVING IN NEPAL 

• My flights into Nepal were limited to a single carry-on (7 kg total), and a checked bag of 20 kg total (44lb). I had known to pack with those limits, but I know others had been caught out.
• When you arrive, there's a screening that includes watches and gold jewelry as well as electronics and so forth; be prepared to stand in that line a longish moment since others may have buried those items at the bottom of their bags. There are signs in English with instructions.
• I did the Nepal "visa on arrival" process, and I filled out all of the paperwork of step one right there in the arrival area, though you can do part of it online up to 15 days in advance (if you print out your results). I had brought sufficient US cash to pay for my tourist visa, but I did use the airport ATM to get my first batch of Nepali rupees (since I had to pre-pay the hotel upon arrival). It is also possible to get a taxi from the taxi desk in the airport (which is what Nissa did when she arrived), and the cost is regulated so you don't have to worry about negotiating in your travel-weary sleep-deprived state.
• We each had an e-SIM purchased from trip.com; I used the airport wifi to log in and claim it. Even sleep deprived it was an easy process: scan the QR code and click where it tells you.
• We stayed in a distinctly budget hotel, Nirvana Kuti by Durbar Square -- really just three apartments, one per floor, with a bathroom, hallway sink, and small kitchen area with a kettle and (drinkable) water dispenser as well as a wash-up sink. The rooms were basic but spotless, and cheap, cheap, cheap! The space had comfey beds; fan but not AC; robust WiFi as long as the power was on; but no on-site services. There's a little convenience store right next door for all your snacking needs. However, for all that it was a plain-jane (and budget-friendly) location, our host Bobby was one of the highlights. A Nepali native who had studied for three years in Australia, he was super friendly, interested in cross-cultural conversations at his daily check-in, and incredibly helpful with arrangements and recommendations. (For instance, he took us a couple of blocks over to buy umbrellas at local rather than tourist prices!) We liked the place and its location so much that we stayed there again upon our return. NOTE: there is a second hotel of the same name, so use your map and navigate to the one by Atko Narayan Temple...
• We ate several times over by Freak Street, where every other shop is a restaurant. My favorite was the Ginger Cafe (I got the veg khaja set, very yummy!) which is technically located on a cross-street, Phalchasa Galli. I was the only non-native in the restaurant.

Asian Sojourn 1: The Hotel That Wasn't There (Delhi)

Travel: It broadens the mind and expands one’s skills. It calls up the excitement and energy of the unfamiliar. And it sometimes has those little hitches that become the stories that one tells.

So, back at the end of June, I went from Nashville all the way to Kathmandu, but being a budget conscious traveler, I went by way of India. Booking through Indira Gandhi International Airport in Delhi was several hundred dollars cheaper than the next available route. I should have wondered why.

The first reality is that India requires a visa since even transit travelers have to enter the terminal and collect their luggage before flying on. But this was to me a “no big deal” situation; my layover was 18 hours, and that meant hotel and bed as a rest-up for all that traveling. Plus a shower. It’s the little things, right?

I diligently filled out all the paperwork (there was only minor swearing involved; I had already navigated getting my visa from mainland China so operated from the perspective that “you can’t scare me!”), and got myself the eVisa (tourist class) in a timely fashion. I booked a hotel room about 3 miles from the airport, and prepped and packed for my grand adventure.

A couple of airports and nearly two days of travel later, we landed in Delhi. Oooooo, so exciting! This was my first trip to Asia, and Delhi was my first airport to navigate in that part of the world. I made it through passport control and through customs.

There was a bit of a hiccup when my travel phone had some trouble hooking to the airport wifi. Since all I needed to do was get to the hotel and back, I figured I didn’t need a phone plan; my hotel had wifi and besides, I only wanted to sleep. But, of course, you can’t contact Uber if you don’t have access to the internet. Rather than futz with it any further, I just got my $25 in Rupees out of the ATM and headed to the airport taxi stand.

There, I showed my hotel’s address to the loud and enthusiastic sales person. She quoted me a price that was ten times what I expected to pay with an Uber, so we negotiated down. And down. And – “hey, the next counter might be able to help me if that’s as low as you can make it” – down once again. Once the price was reasonable, I agreed, paid up front, and followed my cab driver out to his vehicle. It was about 9:30 at night; it was raining; the traffic was something fierce. What a great adventure, right?

Of course, his English was limited and my Hindi is non-existent, but my hotel address was written on the paperwork. Off we went. We drove most of the way there and he started getting concerned about which hotel exactly we were going to. I showed him the address from my (not-connected-to-anything) phone. Then I worked at finding its location on my downloaded google maps. Then we got into the “call the hotel and let them give directions” stage of the adventure.

I couldn’t call on my own phone, obviously, and it was a hoot and a holler getting into his; it kept locking as he’d pass it back to the backseat. In the meantime, there’s traffic every which-way; the windshield wipers move from smear to smoosh; and the honking and shouting might be a bit on the over-stimulating side for the overseas traveler. But I finally dialed the hotel.

And the number was disconnected.

Round about we went again. I pulled my reservation up, and dialed the second number.

It too was disconnected.

By now we were to the street on which I was purportedly staying. It is a busy street and crowded with people shopping and talking and generally hanging out. There are still cars and trucks and bikes and what-all driving, passing, edging in.

And then our saga got interesting. Every dozen buildings or so, my taxi driver would pull over and hop out to ask where my hotel was. There was some gesturing and some conversational nodding, and then he’d get back in the car and drive a bit further. In the meantime, I was craning around to see the wonderful street chaos. Touristing from a cab at 11p on a rainy evening. That’s travel for you.

Delhi Street Scenes

 But we kept not arriving, and not arriving. And then my cab driver explained that he didn’t know where my hotel was. He called his dispatcher. They too found that the hotel phone numbers had been disconnected. By now I was a bit disconcerted. I had prepaid the hotel; it had good reviews. But it was nowhere to be seen.

After a couple more curbside conversations, the driver called his dispatcher again. This time they tried to tell me that the hotel couldn’t be found, and I needed to stay in one of their hotels. Oh, heck no. I had already paid. We argued. I finally said they needed to take me back to the airport if they couldn’t deliver me to my hotel.

My driver turned around, but he did try a couple of more conversations. Finally he came back from one and said that he’d found someone who could walk me there. At last! So this nice young man came over and helped me with my luggage as we dodged traffic to get across the street. We walked up the alley and there it was:

The nameless hotel that was not my hotel. No name on the door. No name on the street.

This, he said, was my hotel. Well, I countered, I prepaid. The desk clerk was like, “okay, we have a room.” He took my information. Well, I said, my room includes breakfast. “Okay,” he confirmed, “we have breakfast.” So what’s a weary traveler to do? I accepted the room key, and went up to the air conditioned space. With a bed. And a bathroom with a shower.

Was it my hotel? Not if the pictures were any guide. But it was a hotel with a bathroom and AC and wifi. This met my basic “I have 18 hours and want to use them sleeping” needs. I went with it. I used nameless hotel’s wifi to update my family, and nameless hotel’s wifi to lodge a complaint about my missing hotel with trip.com. And then, I lay down on that lovely, padded, horizontal surface. And I slept deeply and with joy.

The next morning I had breakfast at the hotel buffet. It wasn’t the deluxe one of the place that I’d booked, but it had several foods unfamiliar to me (and tasty they were, too!), and it had chai. I had three cups.

And then it was time to pack back up and make my way to the airport. The clerk at the front desk got me a ride (for cheaper than the taxi had been, too), and I was driven back to the airport. I won’t say much about the vehicle, but it made me want to reach into my luggage and pull out the duct tape around my water bottle. Not exactly up to code by my measures, but then, code is different in different places. And the driver and his colleague were lovely. And I made it back to the airport with plenty of time.

So I can say I’ve been to Delhi. I never did go walking around because I wasn’t entirely sure that I would recognize the nameless hotel when I got back – or that my luggage would still be there if I did go out. But the nameless hotel never charged me extra, and trip.com provided an apology and “trip points” for the inconvenience and stress of the missing hotel.

Me, I not only got a good night’s sleep, but I got a story to tell!

(This story details events of 7/1 to 7/2/2025.)

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RESOURCES:

To arrange for the travel visa to India, as a US citizen (in Summer 2025), I used this site: https://indianvisaonline.gov.in/evisa/. (You can ignore the pop-over advertisement for student visas; just close it!)  You'll get an Electronic Travel Authorization (ETA) form, which you'll need to print out and bring. You present the ETA at the Immigration check, and voila, you've arrived in-country!

And, of course, I don't have a hotel to recommend from this segment of my journey. Bwahaha.