Kathmandu-2
Created | Updated Jan 28, 2002
Continued from Kathmandu-1. Go to work late tomorrow - take a little time to read Kathmandu-1 first, then come back here. If you start here, you'll never know how the poor orphan boy was stranded so far from his home and his hen.
First port of call was Swayambhu Stupa, a Buddhist temple (after 100 steps Spot-on tired of counting them) overlooking the site of his next project. Photographs of the cantonment were taken, therefore this was a site survey, therefore this was work, therefore the company pays for the taxi. He loves his job sometimes. The Stupa (tower, sticky-up thing) is surrounded by a collection of shrines at which visitors lay offerings of flowers, rice and other bio-degradable materials. These offerings proceed to bio-degrade in the normal way, leaving an attractive slimy mulch for flies to feed from. This filth is then spread around the holy site on tourists' shoes and the active, thriving little community living and working at the temple appear to accept this philosophically, along with the soft drink cans, plastic bags, food wrappers and other junk which is deposited into bins by tourists and collected by workers who simply throw it over the wall - where hundreds of monkeys pick it up and bring it back in, to the amusement of tourists. At that stage, before he'd achieved the enlightenment which follows hours of meditation, the project manager took this to be an appalling commercialisation of a holy site. Now however, having studied under the great guru and having absorbed wisdom and mysticism through long exposure (look, at the time of writing he'd been here 48 hours already, how long do you think enlightenment takes?) Spot-on saw this as a circle ~ an event without beginning and without end, complete in and of itself, enriching, self-justifying and self-sustaining. Hommmmmmmmmmmmmm, laaaaaaahhhhhhhh. At about this time he noticed that marijuana really does grow at the side of the road in Kathmandu. Everywhere you walk or drive around the city you encounter the stuff. (Guide note: Curiously, although it is apparently tolerated in moderation by the authorities, very few of the locals make use of the weed.)
From there Spot-on was whisked away to Bouddhanath Stupa, another Buddhist shrine. Pretty miffed at having to repeat the climb he was dropped in the street and directed to walk up an alley. Now, say what you will about Buddhists, but you've got to admire their versatility. This temple is very accessible. He'd always understood that walking up the steps was part of one's devotions, so he was surprised to note that a short alleyway, rising no more than 5 metres, took him to the Stupa. This one is a circular (-ish) temple around which devotees walk clockwise, spinning the many wall-mounted prayer wheels as they stroll along a well-made granite pathway. 'Cool, I can do that, no problem.' He trotted off like a good tourist and found himself overtaking old, old, old people - people who could barely walk, people who looked ready to fall over, people who looked like they'd snap in half at the waist if they did fall over. As they walked, they thumbed through long strings of prayer beads and muttered incantations at every step. Fat, shiny, jolly young Buddhist monks bounced around in purple robes held in place with yellow straps, many carrying multi-coloured umbrellas to shade their shaven heads. Almost without exception they looked like that fat kid at your son's school. Almost without exception they wore sports shoes at the Nike end of the spectrum. Rounding the second corner (I did say round-ish), Spot-on came upon an old-old-old-old person, probably a woman, dressed elaborately in dark purple and yellow robes with aprons and scarves and hoods and all, padding out the inevitable frail body. She was slumped full-length along the path ahead of him, muttering incomprehensibly (in retrospect, she may have been chanting in Nepalese, a language with which he had yet to come to terms). Three days of first-aid training to oil-rig certification kicked into action:
· Secure the scene (no traffic, no wild animals, no chemical hazard, no danger of fire, flood or landslide)
· Airways (she made a noise, therefore her airways were not entirely obstructed)
· Breathing (probably conscious and breathing if she was muttering)
· Circulation (if a & b applied, c naturally followed, probably)
· Recovery position (shove patient onto her side using clean shoes, arrange limbs decorously)
· Slap patient repeatedly around face whilst violently shaking her shoulders and shouting 'Can you hear me dear? Is your neck broken? Would you like some brandy? Are you insured?'.
Perhaps this last bit was something he'd misunderstood during the course.
Fortunately his middle-age spread, slothful disposition and the distance between Spot-on and the patient delayed his leap into action long enough for the patient to rise un-assisted to her knees, then painfully to her feet. The alarm bells in his head fell silent as she raised her arms above her head like a diver, clasped her hands together in prayer and repeated this action at her forehead, her chin and her chest. Bending at the waist she knelt, placing each hand into a plastic sandwich bag on the path. Slowly and deliberately she slid her hands forward until completely prostrate on the granite slabs again, her position now five feet away from where he'd nearly rescued her. Somewhat belatedly it occurred to Spot-on that this was a form of worship; a slow and painful slithering progression around the base of the Stupa. An alternative to walking up zillions of steps. A lousy alternative to walking up zillions of steps.
From the window of a balcony bar, whence he had retreated for no reason other than to remove his unsightly foreign body from the view of the worshipful, he watched the devotees perform their circumperambulatory prayers whilst pouring holy water down his parched throat . We all have different ways of saying our prayers. After the second beer, having watched the stick-like old lady go through no less than ten circuits, he came over all spiritual, gave away his worldly wealth, resolved to eat only vegetables and be nice to people from now on. Not entirely true, but he suddenly had an undeniable urge to perform some kind of pilgrimage and set off to walk around the Stupa again in quiet contemplation, spinning the prayer wheels as thoughts sprang into his head. A feeling of enlightened nausea (not dissimilar to the experience of hearing Nobody's Child on the radio) came over him and by the tenth or twelfth circuit he'd achieved a spiritual high of unexpected proportions. Unless he was doing it all wrong, everybody he knows will, as a result of these prayers, arrive at a level of contentment and understanding sufficient to carry them through their years on earth. As a novice, perhaps the prayers will achieve nothing more than a single quiet moment of calm for all. Payment, in the form of cash or bearer bonds, will be anticipated from those who recognise an unexpected improvement in their circumstances or state of mental health. This offer does not extend to 15-year-old males as no amount of prayer can be guaranteed to fully ameliorate hormonally-induced attitudinal deficiencies - afflicted parties are invited to re-apply when 'things settle down a bit'. Offer expires 20th May 2525. Another 10 or 12 circuits and he was so high he floated back to the car where the driver, Surendra, greeted him like a long-lost friend.
Go to work really late tomorrow, take a little more time and go on to Kathmandu-3. It gets a little better, unless you've just eaten.
First port of call was Swayambhu Stupa, a Buddhist temple (after 100 steps Spot-on tired of counting them) overlooking the site of his next project. Photographs of the cantonment were taken, therefore this was a site survey, therefore this was work, therefore the company pays for the taxi. He loves his job sometimes. The Stupa (tower, sticky-up thing) is surrounded by a collection of shrines at which visitors lay offerings of flowers, rice and other bio-degradable materials. These offerings proceed to bio-degrade in the normal way, leaving an attractive slimy mulch for flies to feed from. This filth is then spread around the holy site on tourists' shoes and the active, thriving little community living and working at the temple appear to accept this philosophically, along with the soft drink cans, plastic bags, food wrappers and other junk which is deposited into bins by tourists and collected by workers who simply throw it over the wall - where hundreds of monkeys pick it up and bring it back in, to the amusement of tourists. At that stage, before he'd achieved the enlightenment which follows hours of meditation, the project manager took this to be an appalling commercialisation of a holy site. Now however, having studied under the great guru and having absorbed wisdom and mysticism through long exposure (look, at the time of writing he'd been here 48 hours already, how long do you think enlightenment takes?) Spot-on saw this as a circle ~ an event without beginning and without end, complete in and of itself, enriching, self-justifying and self-sustaining. Hommmmmmmmmmmmmm, laaaaaaahhhhhhhh. At about this time he noticed that marijuana really does grow at the side of the road in Kathmandu. Everywhere you walk or drive around the city you encounter the stuff. (Guide note: Curiously, although it is apparently tolerated in moderation by the authorities, very few of the locals make use of the weed.)
From there Spot-on was whisked away to Bouddhanath Stupa, another Buddhist shrine. Pretty miffed at having to repeat the climb he was dropped in the street and directed to walk up an alley. Now, say what you will about Buddhists, but you've got to admire their versatility. This temple is very accessible. He'd always understood that walking up the steps was part of one's devotions, so he was surprised to note that a short alleyway, rising no more than 5 metres, took him to the Stupa. This one is a circular (-ish) temple around which devotees walk clockwise, spinning the many wall-mounted prayer wheels as they stroll along a well-made granite pathway. 'Cool, I can do that, no problem.' He trotted off like a good tourist and found himself overtaking old, old, old people - people who could barely walk, people who looked ready to fall over, people who looked like they'd snap in half at the waist if they did fall over. As they walked, they thumbed through long strings of prayer beads and muttered incantations at every step. Fat, shiny, jolly young Buddhist monks bounced around in purple robes held in place with yellow straps, many carrying multi-coloured umbrellas to shade their shaven heads. Almost without exception they looked like that fat kid at your son's school. Almost without exception they wore sports shoes at the Nike end of the spectrum. Rounding the second corner (I did say round-ish), Spot-on came upon an old-old-old-old person, probably a woman, dressed elaborately in dark purple and yellow robes with aprons and scarves and hoods and all, padding out the inevitable frail body. She was slumped full-length along the path ahead of him, muttering incomprehensibly (in retrospect, she may have been chanting in Nepalese, a language with which he had yet to come to terms). Three days of first-aid training to oil-rig certification kicked into action:
· Secure the scene (no traffic, no wild animals, no chemical hazard, no danger of fire, flood or landslide)
· Airways (she made a noise, therefore her airways were not entirely obstructed)
· Breathing (probably conscious and breathing if she was muttering)
· Circulation (if a & b applied, c naturally followed, probably)
· Recovery position (shove patient onto her side using clean shoes, arrange limbs decorously)
· Slap patient repeatedly around face whilst violently shaking her shoulders and shouting 'Can you hear me dear? Is your neck broken? Would you like some brandy? Are you insured?'.
Perhaps this last bit was something he'd misunderstood during the course.
Fortunately his middle-age spread, slothful disposition and the distance between Spot-on and the patient delayed his leap into action long enough for the patient to rise un-assisted to her knees, then painfully to her feet. The alarm bells in his head fell silent as she raised her arms above her head like a diver, clasped her hands together in prayer and repeated this action at her forehead, her chin and her chest. Bending at the waist she knelt, placing each hand into a plastic sandwich bag on the path. Slowly and deliberately she slid her hands forward until completely prostrate on the granite slabs again, her position now five feet away from where he'd nearly rescued her. Somewhat belatedly it occurred to Spot-on that this was a form of worship; a slow and painful slithering progression around the base of the Stupa. An alternative to walking up zillions of steps. A lousy alternative to walking up zillions of steps.
From the window of a balcony bar, whence he had retreated for no reason other than to remove his unsightly foreign body from the view of the worshipful, he watched the devotees perform their circumperambulatory prayers whilst pouring holy water down his parched throat . We all have different ways of saying our prayers. After the second beer, having watched the stick-like old lady go through no less than ten circuits, he came over all spiritual, gave away his worldly wealth, resolved to eat only vegetables and be nice to people from now on. Not entirely true, but he suddenly had an undeniable urge to perform some kind of pilgrimage and set off to walk around the Stupa again in quiet contemplation, spinning the prayer wheels as thoughts sprang into his head. A feeling of enlightened nausea (not dissimilar to the experience of hearing Nobody's Child on the radio) came over him and by the tenth or twelfth circuit he'd achieved a spiritual high of unexpected proportions. Unless he was doing it all wrong, everybody he knows will, as a result of these prayers, arrive at a level of contentment and understanding sufficient to carry them through their years on earth. As a novice, perhaps the prayers will achieve nothing more than a single quiet moment of calm for all. Payment, in the form of cash or bearer bonds, will be anticipated from those who recognise an unexpected improvement in their circumstances or state of mental health. This offer does not extend to 15-year-old males as no amount of prayer can be guaranteed to fully ameliorate hormonally-induced attitudinal deficiencies - afflicted parties are invited to re-apply when 'things settle down a bit'. Offer expires 20th May 2525. Another 10 or 12 circuits and he was so high he floated back to the car where the driver, Surendra, greeted him like a long-lost friend.
Go to work really late tomorrow, take a little more time and go on to Kathmandu-3. It gets a little better, unless you've just eaten.
