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Today, I take a taxi and head for Bhaktapur.

It is 16 kms from Kathmandu and supposed to be the most beautiful city of the valley of Kathmandu.

As we arrive there, I am met with the unpleasant and unfortunately recurrent feeling: tourist rip-off.
In Kathmandu and other cities, the kind tourists must pay a tax to have the privilege of entering the old city and the Durbar square. In Kathmandu, it was 200Rps - which were easily avoided by going round the side streets. Here they asked for 1000Rps, about 20USD, a fortune here, an average monthly salary.

Bhaktapur and its erotic temples

Degrubenc
2006-08-12 15:01:27

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stone soldiers guard the approach to the temple.

It is there that I found my guesthouse. (I asked 5 people where the guesthouse was, each answered that it was his brother that kept it and he would gladly take me, this in the hope of getting his share of the commission).

The hotel (Sammy's guesthouse) was small and comfortable, with a magnificent
roof terrace overlooking the square. I drunk my welcome drink there (Nepalese tea of course) while pondering how I would get about seeing Durbar square and evade the questions of the guards selling tickets.

Having not seen any other tourists about, it is plausible to assume that if they saw me in the old town and did not recognise me from the entrance, they had every reason to ask for the ticket.
I opted for a cunning disguise. I found some other clothes in my bags, changed my hat, borrowed from the hotel manager his large yellow sunglasses and, feeling like Bond, James Bond, I set off to visit the city.

It was magnificent. I felt in a mix of Brugge, in Belgium, and Hue in Vietnam: it was medieval and exotic, untouched and unchanged.

The temples around Durbar Square mildly amused me with their very explicit erotic woodcarving. Was it to entertain the population? Teach them? Or rather to congratulate themselves on being quite proficient in the art?

The royal palace with its 55 windows is still impressive if a little dilapidated.

I return to enjoy high tea on the roof terrace of the hotel, and order a mixed fruit pancake to accompany my tea
(no scones with clotted cream, I am afraid; most outrageous, I know, but so it is). This pancake was unbelievable. I devoured it in seconds. It was just the right size, light as possible, with the fruits incrusted and caramelised, a true delice. Only my mother can make better ones. As I came slowly back to earth, I realised I was seeing my first hippies in Nepal: there was a band of white people with long hair and a message of peace, love and understanding playing downstairs.

I rushed down to hear the message. It was fairly predictable, slurred speech and talks of sex, drugs and love, along with slow grinding music.

Once the message was over, dinner was calling. I made my way back to the guest house (20% discount on all foods and a good view + the best pancakes in Nepal) and had a delicious Nepalese dinner of rice, daal and some sort of potato pancake. This was, of course, polished off with another pancake, a milkshake and yet another tea.
I spent the evening there, chatting with the waiter: he had done his studies in Paris and spoke better French than I.

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I'm local people of Bhaktapur. It's made me so unfair and unpleseant reading your article or feelings. That khowing that you are being cheated by the normal people, you should called the police to rescue. But I don't know how you react over. But if you are writing about some other entrance fee. that every body has to pay. So you must be clear about this? Other wise please it would better to modify the such types of words that makes people unpleaseant.

Thanks

Bal Mukund Prajapati [ b13_prajapati@yahoo.com ], 2007-10-07 08:11:02