Sunday, April 21

The first lesson we are learning in Nepal is that you can't have everything. There may be hot water for the shower, but you're going to have to shower by torchlight.
 
The power is out again this  morning but it was on for long enough last night so that our mozzie zapper could kill off all the beasts that assaulted us the night before. We hardly slept our first night at the house--a combination of time adjustment, rock hard beds and the mosquitoes. We are in the same room that Neville and I had last time and I'm pretty sure it hasn't been cleaned since then, judging by the thick layer of dust on everything. At lease this time we have clean bed linen.
 
We arrived Thursday night and, Hooray!!, our driver from the International Guest House, the hotel where we stayed the first night, was there at the airport with his Rose Lane sign to collect us. This saved us negotiating with the taxi drivers, but didn't stop the guys who hang around the airport, rush to help people with luggage and then demand payment. We didn't need help and we refused to pay. Welcome to Nepal.
 
Our room was on the roof at the hotel, so we woke to a fantastic view of the hills, but too hazy for mountains, and Swambayanath, the "Monkey Temple" perched high on one of them. Even our loo had a view and I watched with some horror as a guy who was fixing a water tank perched high on a multi-storey building walked around on the top of the railing hanging onto nothing, bending down to brush something off his trousers.
 
We spent the morning looking at the shops and after lunch indulged in a massage at the "Seeing Hands" clinic where all the masseurs are blind. Then we loaded all our bags into the tiny taxi, squeezed in around them and headed for Patan and our family.
 
We were almost here when we were forced to stop. They have dug up the road and it was completely impassable. I had to get out, leave Kirsten there and pick my way through the dirt and past the digger to the house. As I approached Bidya (our 'mum') was just heading up with her son, Prassidha, to find us. She lead me on an alternate route back to the taxi, squeezed in with us and showed the taxi where to go.
 
There were six other volunteers here when we arrived. One very loud French woman left this morning (phew!) and Jan, a young guy from Switzerland, leaves in a couple of days. Rania, from Denmark, is here on a gap year and I just met a swarthy looking guy called Manuel from Puerta Rico. There are three other girls: Eileen from Spain, Tash from Australia and a Canadian whose name I forget. They have all been away in Thamel and Pokhara for the weekend as is usual. So it's a regular United Nations here.
 
Today, Kirsten and I caught the bus (25 rupee=28 cents) to Baktipur, just east of Kathmandu. This is a truly medieval looking place. Narrow cobbled streets and ancient temples.  For about the last ten years I've been buying handmade paper, that's made in Baktipur, to wrap my Christmas presents and I was finally able to see where it's made: in a small, dimly lit "factory". There were women sitting at tables sewing paper lanterns and laboriously screen-printing cards one colour at a time. 
 
Trying to find the main part of Durbar Square, we fell into step with a young boy who ended up showing us the way. Of course during the course of our journey he began to moan and clutch his stomach, "I'm so hungry". I'd already found out he had a family and went to school so I knew he wasn't homeless. When we passed the ice cream shop he asked me if I liked ice cream and told me how it was his "best". When we arrived at Durbar Square I gave him 10 rupee, but he  begged me for 50 more. I relented and gave it to him and he immediately ran off with Kirsten calling after him that he'd better spend it on lunch. We suspect an ice cream costs at least 50 rupee. Some other boys were hanging around and one sagely explained to me that it's not good to give money to children because they just spend it on food and then it's gone, or they use it to buy cigarettes. Oh well.
 
After asking around, we found someone who knew someone who could bring us home by taxi. We drove a hard bargain and were then told to wait 15 minutes while the guy ran off to find the promised taxi. I sat on a cold step in the middle of the square to wait and of course a small crowd gathered around. The wise young man who had spoken to me about not giving money to children sat with me, along with his two friends. 
"Where are you from?""Australia.""Capital Canberra.""Yes"

They kept trying to get us to come and see some paintings they'd done and one to buy him a book. An old woman who had also gathered scolded the boy who kept pestering about the book. Another impossibly wizened, almost blind old woman shuffled up with a cigarette in hand. She stared at me for a few minutes then put her hand out for money. I shook my head and she flicked her hand at me in disgust, making a face, and shuffled away.
At last our taxi appeared, the pair made one further attempt to squeeze more money out of  us, we refused and then we set off. Kirsten had to ask the driver to please slow down, because he was going to kill us or someone else on the road. Despite also getting lost, we finally made it back.
 
Tomorrow being Monday, we start at CBR.