"There is no safety this side of the grave."
- Robert A. Heinlein “Stranger in a Strange Land”
A little-known and somewhat odd fact about me is that when I travel, I generally don't get out of my hotel room to explore. Granted, my customer sites in Midland Michigan and Freeport Texas aren't exactly hotspots for tourism, but even in amazing exotic locations in Belgium and The Netherlands, if I hadn't been dragged out of my room, I probably never would have never experienced the Gravensteen medieval castle in Ghent, or explored the Dutch colonies in Amsterdam.
My years on the road have generally been for work wherein I travel alone, put in a full day on my customer site, and then go back to my hotel. It's rinse and repeat for the duration of the trip. Sometimes I stop and grab dinner to-go after my site work because I hate eating alone in restaurants. I usually wind up working in my room, catching up on administrative details that I would have normally handled from my home office, and trying to figure out local TV channels. There's generally no going out to dinner or other fellowship with customers because when I travel in my capacity as an engineer/architect, my client counterparts usually have their own families and routine evening obligations. They're at home and it's just another day for them. Evenings can be different if Sales/Marketing people are there because they love to entertain, they can cover entertainment expenses, and it's part of their job. But the reality is that their jobs are usually complete long before I get on site.
I am not complaining and there is no "woe is me" intent here. My point it that I know I will have to force myself to get out and explore. I have almost three full days to kill in Kathmandu before I ride and if I don't get outside my comfort zone, I'll kill them all in my hotel room. My plan is to shun comfort and see the sights.
One of my favorite movies is "The Way" in which the lead character is a career-driven sexagenarian doctor for whom a round of golf with colleagues is a luxury excursion from his work life. I won't give it away, but the last scene in the film is how I would like to see myself after this adventure. Not the location; the mindset. I highly recommend the film. But I digress.
Kathmandu is a 2000 year old densely-populated city where scooters appear to be the favored mode of transportation. They weave through traffic like squirrels on espresso...darting through a busy park; speeding, zigzagging, and somehow managing not to get run over, all while acting like they own the place. There is plenty for tourists to see here, you just have to get there. I decided to check out the Swayambhu Temple; more commonly known as the Monkey Temple.
Uncharacteristically for me, I wandered alone out from my hotel and hailed a cab. We negotiated a $14USD fare for a round trip ride wherein he would sit and wait for me to tour the temple and drive me back to my hotel. The ride was as harrowing as my trip from the airport a few days ago, but this time I just settled in and I took it in stride. When we arrived at the temple, the driver asked my if I wanted to be dropped of at the 100-step entrance or the 300-step entry. I opted for the 300, hoping my conditioning for the trip would serve me well. He found a parking spot and pointed to a landmark that I could use to find him when I came down from the temple.
I played a human version of the old Frogger video arcade game as I darted between the constant onslaught of scooters, cabs, and vans raging towards me seemingly from all directions and all lanes. Safely on the other side, I headed into the UNESCO World Heritage Site and started my climb up the ancient steep steps. It's known as the Monkey Temple, but it could easily be called the Dog or Pigeon Temple. Stray dogs are everywhere here. They're aloof to humans and they all seem to be well fed. The Nepalese are a compassionate people and I don't see them simply allowing dogs to starve. Dogs at home in Texas usually seek out human interaction. I suspect these dogs avoid humans because they don't want to haggle over beads and trinkets by local sellers or get hit up for money by beggars. But I digress.
True to its name, thousands of monkeys were scampering about on the steps, in the trees, andon the fences. I saw them in every direction I looked. The babies and mamas seemed gentle and aloof to human presence like the dogs were. However, the adult males appeared and more aware of my presence and made no bones about announcing theirs. The monkeys and dogs provided a nice distraction from the effort of climbing the seemingly endless steps up to the temple. It hit me that the simian and canine novelty had worn as thin as the air I was sucking in by the time I was about fifty steps from the top. Luckily there was a small plateau there with a ticket window and a stone bench where I was able to sit a minute and catch my breath. I paid the 200 Rupee fee (~$1.50USD) and ascended the final steps to the top, whereupon I instantly realized it was well worth the entry fee and the climb.
The dense crowd appeared to be a mix of semi-local tourists snapping group photos and selfies, faithful Buddhists stopping to leave offerings and prayers at every chance, and a few westerners like me sprinkled in. The main attraction was a three story tall brick and mortar centerpiece of the temple surrounded by Tibetan spinning cylindrical prayer wheels adorned with Tibetan script. The faithful proceed around the centerpiece spinning the cylinders as they walk. The inscribed prayers and blessings are said to manifest themselves into physical existence and fly outward to the devotees as a reward for their patronage, donations, and prayers. Even a crusty old agnostic like me couldn't help but be moved by the unwavering sincerity displayed by the faithful.
The awe and spectacle of the temple was not without its drawbacks. For every religious monument or statue, there was a vendor. Dozens of vendors were hawking virtually the same trinkets, except each claimed that theirs was the "real deal". If they made eye contact, they were on me like a libtard's key on Tesla paint. Resting bitch face to the rescue! I've been told almost my entire life that my resting facial expression is best described as "pissed off". I'm actually rarely in a foul mood, especially these days when I fee like I'm living my best life.
As such, I always strive to put on an slight grin and compassionate eyebrows when I'm out among people. Unfortunately, all that did when I was around these vendors and panhandlers was make me a mark. These people are so persistent that the spirit of fun when haggling a deal quickly dissipated into an angering nuisance. I had had enough. My resting bitch face made its appearance and stayed on through my descent and to my waiting cab. With my RBF deployed, I could stare them down and they would look the other way and divert form their intercepting path. I acknowledge that this isn't necessarily something to be proud of, but there are times when it is necessary.
The steep descent on the narrow and shallow steps from the temple to the street level was almost as challenging as the upward climb itself. Then again, all things considered, the steps were easy compared to crossing the street to get to my awaiting cab. My Olympic-caliber Mario Kart driver dropped me off at my hotel and I darted in just as the skies opened up and rained for the next few hours. The time was early in the evening, but I was still struggling with jetlag and the climb up and down at the temple only exacerbated it. I slept all night and awakened around 6:00am today, so I guess I'm over the jetlag and now on Nepal time.
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