Sherry, my cultural anthropology professor, cast her gaze beyond me, toward an imaginary far horizon. “Kathmandu is…” she paused, searching for the best words, “like nowhere else on earth. It’s mystical, magical.” She closed her eyes, perhaps to better visualize her memories, then murmured, “otherworldly.”
I stared at her in awe, translated her words as ‘marvelous’ and ‘enchanting,’ and mulled the few random facts I knew about Nepal, some from Sherry’s class, with others from my parents’ National Geographic. The country had been closed to foreigners until the 1951 overthrow of the tyrannical Rana regime; some rural Sherpa practice fraternal polyandry (a woman marries a man and his brothers, to eliminate inheritance feuds over scarce arable land); the nation is studded with magnificent mountains, due to its location on the border of two tectonic plates; and, in 1953, Sherpa Tenzing Norgay helped Sir Edmund Hillary conquer the roof of the world.
I envisioned an exotic utopia, a fantastically romantic place of idyllic beauty, and put this earthly paradise populated by peaceful Buddhists on my must-see list. Four decades later, when I finally reached Kathmandu, I found just another big city.
Originally named Kantipur, the City of Light, is now a confusing, congested, chaotic jumble of contrasts, outrageously contrary to my expectations. Not the least of which is that 81.19 percent of the 31 million Nepalis are Hindu, whereas only 8.2 percent are Buddhist, and the remainder Muslim (5.03 percent), Kirat (3.17 percent), and Christian (1.76 percent).
Had Kathmandu’s ambiance truly been magical during the 1980s when Sherry lived there, completing her doctoral research? Or had her perception been coloured by falling in love for the first time? Or from evenings inside Freak Street’s many government-operated hashish cafés, along the ‘Hippie Trail,’ a route stretching from Bangkok to Istanbul? Thanks to conflict in the Middle East and the ’stans, those days were gone: the trail was fractured and the hash cafés were closed.
More likely, when she completed her doctoral research in the mid-1980s, the city of 300,000 inhabitants had been picturesque, perhaps even tranquil. But that was before the web’s instant access to information lured young men and women into cities, seeking a better life through education and employment opportunities unavailable in their rural mountain villages, many accessible only by foot or dzo, a popular hybrid ‘vehicle,’ the offspring of domestic cattle and yak.
During the four decades following 1984, Kathmandu’s population more than doubled its size every ten years and by 2023 the population had swelled to 1,642,000—a 550 percent increase. An influx of this magnitude requires vehicles to negotiate the overflowing city and, every day, more than one million motorcycles and forty-eight thousand registered buses and trucks clog the dusty streets.
I mashed my pashmina against my mouth and nose hoping to block some of the unfiltered diesel exhaust fumes and searched for the mystique Sherry remembered.
Blanketed by a golden-brown layer of pollution in the sky, I vigilantly dodged cars, trucks, buses, three-wheeled tuk-tuks, dogs sleeping on sidewalks, ambulatory street vendors selling colourful cotton candy and Superhero helium balloons, street side vendors tending momos (Tibetan perogies) roiling in pots of boiling water, men in daura suruwal (shirt and trousers) and women draped in shimmering sarees dashing in all directions.
Eventually, I found the magic, not the city itself, and not in one place, but dotted amidst the uncontrolled urban sprawl of the Kathmandu Valley.
Kathmandu, City of Light
Kathmandu and the surrounding valley offer treasures for every traveler: shopping and nightlife, museums and culture, and seven World Heritage Urban Monument Zones, inscribed by UNESCO in 1979, to recognize the unique urban settlements of the Newari tradition (1500-1800 CE). UNESCO further recognized as unique the peaceful and flourishing coexistence and amalgamation of Hinduism and Buddhism, with animist rituals, and Tantrism.
During my visit between October and November 2023, I visited five World Heritage Sites: the Durbar (Palace) Squares of Kathmandu, Patan, and Bhaktapur, Pashupatinath Hindu Temple, and Boudhanath Buddhist stupa. Entry passes must be purchased in Nepali rupees (NPR) and are available at booths stationed at each entrance. Current fees for foreign nationals are NPR 1,000 or CAD 10 for Kathmandu, Patan, and Pashupatinath temple; NPR 400 for Boudhanath stupa; and NPR 1800 for Bhaktapur.
Patan and Bhaktapur are easily accessible via one of the thousands of taxis that can carry three people or two people with luggage.
The Newari Architectural Style of the Kathmandu Valley
The Malla dynasty’s lengthy control of the Kathmandu Valley between 1200 CE–1768 CE created a stability that encouraged literature, art, and music, and increased the area’s importance as a major political, cultural, and economic centre along the trade route between India and Tibet.
In 1482, King Yaksha Malla—on his deathbed after fifty-four years on the throne—destabilized the region by dividing his kingdom into three, Kantipur, Lalitpur, and Bhadgaon, (now Kathmandu, Patan, and Bhaktapur, respectively), and appointed his sons as rulers. The remaining territory of what is now Nepal soon fractured into approximately forty-six independent principalities.
Rivalry between King Yaksha Malla’s six sons and their descendants fostered intense competition to build ornately decorated royal residences, temples, shrines, and monasteries. Most architecture visible today dates from 1500 until the defeat of the Newari kingdom by the Gorhka Empire in 1768-9.
Using clay brick, stone, and wood, artisans created pagoda-style, layered roofs with intricately ornamented broad eaves supported by elaborately carved wooden struts. Eaves are often trimmed with bronze bells and a blood-red cloth ruffle edged with gold. Temple entrances are guarded by meticulously carved stone lions, bulls, elephants, and warriors. Common motifs are important deities: Hanuman the monkey god, Ganesh the elephant god, Vishnu and his winged mount Garuda, and Shiva the Destroyer; semi-nude dancers and erotic imagery evoking scenes from the Kama Sutra. In Bhaktapur, the Erotic Elephants Temple features copulating horses, goats, people, and elephants; and, in Tachupal Tole, Bhaktapur’s original central square, Dattatreya Temple depicts a standing woman washing her hair while having intercourse.
Kathmandu’s Durbar Square
Nepal’s 2015 earthquake killed more than 9,000 people and damaged 600,000 structures, reducing several of Kathmandu’s Durbar Square palace buildings to rubble. As
of November 2023, the completed restoration work is meticulous and impressive. However, many remain indecipherable piles of debris and others are closed. Extensive scaffolding, barriers, and braces against unstable structures make this historic centre difficult to negotiate, understand, and appreciate. As a result, the complex feels less like an educational encounter with history and more like a risky dash through a construction zone.
To this mixture, add more tourists than Nepalis and a solitary Buddhist monk with his alms bowl, rooted on a main courtyard, day after day, and in online images, waiting for the hundreds of tourists whose itinerary does not extend beyond Kathmandu, and the result is an aura of artificiality.
However, in one courtyard (chowk), Hindu devout crush through the crowd toward Kaal Bhairab, the fierce punisher form of Lord Shiva, injecting authenticity to the experience. Devotees burn yak-butter candles and drape marigold garlands on Kaal Bhairab for health and prosperity, and for protection from enemies and evil spirits. Legend suggests the shrine was discovered in a paddy field circa 1660CE and moved to its present location by Pratap Malla, the eighth King of Kantipur (Kathmandu) who ruled 1641-1674.
Strolling from Kathmandu’s historic Durbar Square toward Thamel District, I almost missed the pinched laneway leading to the serene courtyard of the 15th century Dharma Dhaatu Buddhist stupa and the hole-in-the-wall ‘Pure Nepal Tasty Spices & A Little Tea House,’ offering nose-tickling ayurvedic soaps, aromatic spices, saffron, teas, and…fridge magnets. In the surrounding courtyard, monks in maroon robes relaxed on knee-high turquoise plastic stools, sipping tea from red plastic bowls; robust dogs slept on sun-warmed slate; and hungry pigeons clambered inside pails of corn kernels, unable to wait for dinner time.
The twisting labyrinthine lanes of Thamel District would be charming if the area hadn’t been converted to a tourism hub forty years ago. The only Nepalis in this area were guides dining with tourists or assisting with purchases prior to tackling one of Nepal’s eight mountains higher than 8000 metres/26,246’ASL.
However, Thamel is the perfect place for necessities: travel agencies, banks and ATMs, at least twenty mountaineering stores (including Columbia), a plethora of restaurants serving free Wi-Fi along with traditional and continental cuisine (read: steaks, burgers, and fries), and bars and clubs that rock on until the rooster crows.
Thamel accommodations range from backpacker’s budget to guest house to big box, but I opted for the tranquil oasis of Dwarika’s Hotel, within walking distance of three UNESCO World Heritage sites, but only one mile west of the international airport. Created in 1977 by Mr. Dwarika Das Shrestha, this boutique hotel is a living museum of Newari residences. Dwarika’s adjacent woodworking shop employs skilled men and women who restore or replicate original designs to be incorporated into hotel structures.
Patan Durbar Square
Only five km south of Kathmandu, Patan’s modernity
resembles those of the more frenetic city, but the separation of the two cities by the turbid River Bagmati is more than geographic. Though Patan, the City of Beauty, boasts an excellent collection of Newari temples and palaces, more than twelve hundred Buddhist monuments are scattered throughout the city. Notable among these are stupas constructed circa 250 BCE, marking the four corners of the city.
Not to be missed is Patan’s dhoka or gateway, one of the oldest and best-preserved points of entry into the walled cities of the Kathmandu Valley, and within walking distance of the beautifully restored Durbar Square palace complex.
Visitors to the palace pass through latticed-patterned double doors nested within a carved archway, into a guardroom, and then into Mul Chowk or main courtyard. When I emerged from the funereal guardroom back into glorious sunlight, I was startled by a bleating goat tethered to a post. As a vegetarian, I imagined its panic and wanted to release the taut rope around its neck. Instead, following the anthropological principles of observation without intervention, I turned away…but not before asking when the ceremony would begin. Forty-five minutes later, I peered inside a murky room, repulsed yet fascinated as Hindu men sliced the goat’s neck to celebrate Dashain, Nepal’s two-week long harvest festival honouring the goddess Durga, the protective mother of the universe.
Sundari Chowk, a private courtyard accessed only via Mul Chowk, is an exceptional three-storey courtyard with distinctive triple-bay windows and a screened gallery overlooking the courtyard with the spectacular Tusha Hiti Step-well, commissioned in 1647 by King Siddhinarasimha Malla for his personal use only. Considered a masterpiece of stone architecture, prominent features are a gilt bronze spout, retaining walls punctuated with seventy-two niches, each containing a carved stone image of a divinity, and two protective, three-dimensional cobras encircling the edge. Viewed from the top gallery, I saw immediately that this oval, sunken pit represents female genitalia, within which the king performed his morning ritual ablutions and emerged reborn, as if from the womb.
Pashupatinath Temple and Cremation Ghats
Located on a garbage-strewn section along the banks of the Bagmati River, Buddhist and Hindu worshippers flock to this locus of spiritual energy consisting of more than five hundred shrines and two major temples. As few buildings are accessible to non-Hindus, the main attractions for visitors are the cremation ghats and the sadhus, ascetics and holy men who eschew worldly goods.
Second only to India’s Varanasi as a sacred cremation site, Pashupatinath’s ghats are in front of the main temple and consist of two sets of stairs, one on each side of the river, directly across from each other. On one side, mourners gather as their deceased relative is prepared for cremation; on the other side, visitors observe. Varanasi had held me spellbound, rooted in place, a mere five meters from funeral pyres. As smoke billowed and heat from the flames flushed my face, I spoke with a mourner who explained the ceremony. At Pashupatinath, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was watching a spectator sport from bleachers.
Draped in saffron and orange robes, sadhus add colour and mystique as they cluster, cross-legged at the bases of temples and shrines. Bedecked with necklaces and outlandishly painted faces, they beckon anyone with a cellphone or camera to take their photo, hoping to earn a little money.
Boudhanath Buddhist Stupa
The opportunity to stroll in synchronized momentum with maroon robed Buddhist monks and nuns making kora—ritual circumnavigation—around one of the world’s largest Buddhist monuments was divine. Despite the thousands of tourists and religious pilgrims, I remember only the sounds of murmured chants, fluttering prayer flags, tinkling bells, and the harmonious vibration of Buddhist singing bowls, believed to restore balance and harmony. After a few rounds of the monument, designed to represent Buddha sitting cross-legged in meditation on his throne, I investigated the scores of stores and restaurants encircling the stupa. Observed by the all-seeing eyes of Buddha, I ignored the “I Heart Nepal” shops but investigated those brimming with gems and minerals, gongs and bowls, religious artwork hand-painted on cloth or bark paper, clothing from India and Nepal. On my second visit, inside the covered laneway leading to Flavor’s Café, antiquities strewn on an improvised stall caught my eye; at lunch, I admired my purchase, an eighty-year-old Tibetan prayer wheel.
Bhaktapur Durbar Square
Since the Gorhka conquest of Bhaktapur, successive Nepali regimes have ignored this royal city, only thirteen kilometers east of Kathmandu. After the restoration of the monarchy in 1951, most cities in the Kathmandu Valley experienced rapid urbanization, population growth, and development. But not Bhaktapur. During the 1850s, the estimated population was 50,000; the 2021 census reported 79,136. The government decision to build a new highway bypassing Bhaktapur helped keep it Nepal’s poorest city throughout the 20th century and, although the eight point magnitude earthquake of 1934 destroyed many of Bhaktapur’s historic buildings, major restoration (and structural reinforcement to modern standards) did not occur until Germany’s Bhaktapur Development Project (1974-1977).
After a thirty-minute taxi ride from Dwarika’s, I bought a ticket specifying the duration of my stay, stepped through Bhaktapur’s dhoka, and traveled to an earlier century. Tourists have infused much needed money, but Bhaktapur’s infrastructure remains visually medieval and the population primarily Newari. Instead of chaos, I found tranquility. The only vehicles in sight were those I left behind, on the other side of the walled city. Locals socialized as they played board games or cards at one of many colonnaded shelters, while others milled along cobbled streets, stopping at family-owned butcheries, tailors, dress shops, vegetable and fruit markets, and religious paraphernalia. In plazas and on sidewalks, women sifted grain, made marigold garlands and beaded necklaces, and wove cloth, while men chiselled timber. In Pottery Square, foot-powered wheels whirred, lumps of clay transformed into works of art, and thousands of clay objects baked in the sunshine.
On the rooftop of the Hotel Traditional, I towered above Durbar Square, ate breakfast, and enjoyed a panoramic kaleidoscope of humanity: uniformed school students, guards in camouflage paced in front of the National Art Gallery and the Golden Gate of the 55 Windows Palace, saffron-robed monks collected alms. Devotees smeared turmeric paste on the faces of their gods. To the north, snow-covered peaks in Langtang National Park rippled above the rooftops like shimmering lace.
If Bhaktapur, the City of Devotees, had been my first destination in Nepal, I might never have visited the other UNESCO sites or tried the Manaslu Circuit trek. Here, inside the boundary walls of Bhaktapur’s ancient city complex, immersed within a living city of people going about daily life, I found the Kathmandu of my dreams.
