The Swayambhunath Temple is way up on a hill or very small mountain, and guards in uniforms stood under a dark red archway reminiscent of the archways to Hindu temples in India. After Naresh and I passed through the archway, straight in front of me was a round artificial pool, currently empty of water, above the center of which stood a gold Buddha statue. I turned to the right to approach the temple itself, which is extremely elaborate, with if possible more little reliquary stupas than the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodh Gaya. The small reliquaries are mostly dark old stupas in rows, some with red coloring (probably the kind of powder paint used for the third eye chakra or for throwing on people during the festival of Holi), and some with flower offerings. Here and there beyond these small stupas stand medium-sized whitewashed stupas, like at Boudhanath. 
It was sunny while I was at the temples, and my mood was much better than the day before. I felt so much better at these Buddhist temples than in the rainy streets of the Thamel or at the airport. There is indeed spiritual energy at these temples, and I could have put some more effort at tuning into it. 
The temple complex contains several buildings, including a festive red, yellow, and gold Tibetan temple decorated with gold Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Some buildings were small rectangular one-story structures that seem simple at a glance, but up close the detail on these buildings is breathtaking. Columns and doors are elaborately carved of wood, and windows are covered with hand carved wooden trelliswork. One little red brick building displayed a wooden door flanked by red snake reliefs, probably representing either Nagas (snake spirits) or the snake that according to myth protected Siddhartha Gautama during a rainstorm. Both Boudhanath and Swayambhunath have countless colorful prayer flags blowing in the breeze; but you generally see prayer flags billowing in Kathmandu. The center of Swayambhunath Temple is a large white dome, the main stupa. We circumambulated it, and I’m tempted to say some devout monkeys did the same.
Near the center of the temple is a Hindu shrine where many visitors prayed and delivered flower offerings and rang a metal bell, and where photography was not permitted. The shrine in question stood to the left of the door to a formidable stone square structure covered with elaborate carvings. I gazed at this structure and peeked into the dark interior through a latticework window.
During my circumambulations, I stepped inside a one-room museum full of stone Buddhist and in some cases Hindu artwork. Statues and plaques lined the walls on simple wooden shelves, and mostly these ancient works of art had paper labels that looked like they had been written a hundred years ago; the English was in old-fashioned script.
Something I found disturbing at Swayambhunath, despite all of the above positive comments, was not the quantity of scruffy stray dogs, but the condition of one of the dogs. I suddenly heard very loud and suffering whimpering and howling coming from a lookout point, a balcony overlooking Kathmandu. I turned to look and watched, to my horror, a large scruffy dirty black dog that was walking very slowly and awkwardly away from the lookout point. It kept howling in agony, and nobody seemed to care. It moved slowly, slowly, toward a downward flight of steps and started getting a little quieter, then loud again as it went down the steps. I wondered whether it had rabies or was wounded, and although I was horrified by its pain, I didn’t want to get anywhere near it. If it had rabies or some other disease, staying away from it was a good idea. I walked well around the dog and headed for the lookout point, where indeed I had a fine view of Kathmandu. I still thought of the dog as its whimpering died down and I felt helpless. The suffering this dog experienced and my inability to help and everyone’s apparent indifference did not sit well with me.
The rather amusing aspect of Swayambhunath Temple is the monkeys, monkeys, and monkeys. They run around freely, climb on the little stupas and the big stupa and the walls and window frames, and you should really be careful not to stand below a monkey while it’s pooping. I was just about to get closer to the big stupa, and thought better of it as I warily eyed a monkey. I encountered families of monkeys while climbing the steps, and that’s the point at which I started taking pictures of them. Near the large stupa is a lotus pedestal of several feet around, on top of which lies an enormous gold dorje or thunderbolt; it was probably about six inches long, lying from side to side, and a large monkey climbed up it and sat in the center. I can never get tired of monkeys. Oh, yes, they’re the pink butt kind, not the black-faced lemurs.
Another disconcerting thing at the temple is all the merchants. They’re right there amid the little stupas, occupying sacred space. Sure, they’re selling Buddhist and Hindu items, mostly statues, incense, and malas, but it seems like an odd spot for shopping and I still was not in the shopping mood. Worse, as you start going back down the stairs to leave, there’s a little café labeled “Fast Food” where you can get packaged food and cold beverages. I went in and got a big bottle of water, despite my apprehensions. Outside the café are a couple of very old and beautiful three-foot-tall black reliquary stupas, like the ones around the large stupa. Propped up in front of one of these stupas was a sign with an arrow saying “Fast Food.” Tacky much?
Something I found disturbing at Swayambhunath, despite all of the above positive comments, was not the quantity of scruffy stray dogs, but the condition of one of the dogs. I suddenly heard very loud and suffering whimpering and howling coming from a lookout point, a balcony overlooking Kathmandu. I turned to look and watched, to my horror, a large scruffy dirty black dog that was walking very slowly and awkwardly away from the lookout point. It kept howling in agony, and nobody seemed to care. It moved slowly, slowly, toward a downward flight of steps and started getting a little quieter, then loud again as it went down the steps. I wondered whether it had rabies or was wounded, and although I was horrified by its pain, I didn’t want to get anywhere near it. If it had rabies or some other disease, staying away from it was a good idea. I walked well around the dog and headed for the lookout point, where indeed I had a fine view of Kathmandu. I still thought of the dog as its whimpering died down and I felt helpless. The suffering this dog experienced and my inability to help and everyone’s apparent indifference did not sit well with me.
The rather amusing aspect of Swayambhunath Temple is the monkeys, monkeys, and monkeys. They run around freely, climb on the little stupas and the big stupa and the walls and window frames, and you should really be careful not to stand below a monkey while it’s pooping. I was just about to get closer to the big stupa, and thought better of it as I warily eyed a monkey. I encountered families of monkeys while climbing the steps, and that’s the point at which I started taking pictures of them. Near the large stupa is a lotus pedestal of several feet around, on top of which lies an enormous gold dorje or thunderbolt; it was probably about six inches long, lying from side to side, and a large monkey climbed up it and sat in the center. I can never get tired of monkeys. Oh, yes, they’re the pink butt kind, not the black-faced lemurs.
Another disconcerting thing at the temple is all the merchants. They’re right there amid the little stupas, occupying sacred space. Sure, they’re selling Buddhist and Hindu items, mostly statues, incense, and malas, but it seems like an odd spot for shopping and I still was not in the shopping mood. Worse, as you start going back down the stairs to leave, there’s a little café labeled “Fast Food” where you can get packaged food and cold beverages. I went in and got a big bottle of water, despite my apprehensions. Outside the café are a couple of very old and beautiful three-foot-tall black reliquary stupas, like the ones around the large stupa. Propped up in front of one of these stupas was a sign with an arrow saying “Fast Food.” Tacky much?
I wasn’t sure whether I should be appalled or amused, but I took a picture of them—I’m not avoiding the ugly bits completely even with the camera. Perhaps I am being too harsh by judging the “Fast Food” sign as irrelevant; after all, in my house Buddha statues sit in front of fantasy novels on bookcases. I believe in mixing art into everyday life, so who’s to say it isn’t appropriate to mix spiritual things with everyday things? Nepal is like India and London; everything is crowded together in riotous chaos, and it’s best to go with the flow. For that matter, I probably shouldn’t be critical of the merchants around the stupa, either; they need the money.
Naresh led me toward the stairs leading down the mountain. Indeed, from the top of the steep stairs, it didn’t look like a hill anymore but rather a genuine mountain, although I’m sure it’s very short by Himalayan standards. As we headed down the stairs, an orange-clad Theravada monk stood silently, sideways in relation to the steps, and he held a large silver begging bowl. I recalled that people put food in the Buddha’s bowl rather than money, and the only food I had with me was dried candied ginger in a plastic bag. In hindsight, it occurred to me that I really could have put money in his bowl, but by the time that occurred to me, we were far below the monk on the steps.
After the temples, we got back to the hotel, and Naresh told me that my visa, etc, would be ready at five pm. I was happy to hear it, after all the waiting. I wanted to part with him then, but we walked back to his office, Blue Bird Travel, and I still wasn’t entirely sure that I’d be able to find it for myself, so he said that he’d go to the hotel rather than let me get lost looking for his office. He didn’t phrase it that eloquently, but that was the gist of it.
I’m in the hotel restaurant for lunch. I ordered something experimental and, as it turns out, very delicious: dumplings made from vegetables and nuts and in a sauce that is reminiscent of hummus but more watery and hot, and cilantro floats in it. Also, I had two pieces of roti, which I broke up and dipped in the sauce. The server brought me a glass of water, but it was hot water in a little juice glass. I had asked for water because I wanted to conserve my big bottle of water so that it would last till the morning (which it did).
Only two other patrons occupy the restaurant. One speaks fluent British English and the other one isn’t so coherent; the older one with the fluent English does most of the talking and expresses a very anti-polyandry stance and criticism of women who sleep with more than one man, but oddly he doesn’t say anything against polygamy or male promiscuity. Double standard much? He mentioned Elizabeth Taylor saying that she only has sex with men to whom she’s married, and says she slept with a lot of men, but she was also, I might mention, married to a lot of men. At some point in the conversation I heard him say, “You can criticize America,” and I got a sense that he believes promiscuity to be typical of American women but doesn’t care whether or not it’s typical of American men. At least Americans typically only have one partner at a time.
2
After lunch, I briefly attempted to take a nap up in my room, but after fifteen minutes I decided to get up and go to the cyber café while it’s sunny and the electricity is working. Impermanence.
I walked to an Internet café very close to the hotel, and the connection is unbelievably slow. It’s been ten minutes and I haven’t even logged onto AOL…OK, I got logged on and was selecting addresses and was having some trouble getting it to cooperate—I don’t have everyone’s address memorized, of course, and at first typing the first letter was enough, but then that stopped working. And then the screen went blank—the power is out, like yesterday. If it’s anything like yesterday, it won’t be back on for a long time. Soon I was the last person in the café, and I approached the boy who worked there, but he didn’t understand what I meant when I asked how much I owe, and he didn’t want me to pay, which was a relief since I didn’t get anything accomplished.
I wandered the streets of Thamel and tried not to get lost this time. The shops did not put me into a shopping mood, just a gawking mood. I quickly dodged crazy noisy motorcycles that came zooming along; too bad the streets of Thamel don’t have any sidewalks. I wandered the narrow streets for a while—probably not more than half an hour.
It rained lightly and I heard thunder before I went back to the hotel room and made another futile attempt at a nap. The thunder and lack of electricity certainly motivated me to be lazy. That and having a cold and being somewhat discombobulated again. But at least I meditated while lying down. The Buddha said there are four positions for meditation; they include not only sitting but also standing, walking, or lying down. While I lay in bed doing a reclining Buddha meditation, the thunder got loud, and at about four fifty I went down to the lobby to wait for the travel agent and felt bad that I was making him go out in the comparatively heavy rain for my sake. With all the power outages, it’s a good thing the hotel room contained candles and matches. I relaxed in my room with my journal while I listened to the rain pouring down.
Naresh was supposed to meet up with me at five. At five twenty I lost patience and put my bag in my coat, zipped up, put the hood up and tied it, and went out… and met up with Naresh on the street. It turned out that he brought my paperwork with him, so we went back to the hotel and I didn’t have to go back out in the rain again—I stayed in the rest of the evening. As I came through the door, the very young doorboy’s jaw dropped, I guess because I returned so soon after going out, or perhaps because the travel agent was sharing his umbrella with me. Scandalous. From what I understand, sharing an umbrella has a compromising connotation in Japan; maybe Nepal has the same attitude. Anyway, Naresh gave me my tickets, Chinese visa and a photocopy of the visa, my itinerary, and a business-sized envelope containing an itinerary and U. S. dollars for the Tibetan tour guide, whom he explained I’d be meeting at the airport.
I was cheered up since I had all this official stuff settled, and I skipped back up the stairs. I took a shower and lay down and this time did fall asleep, while it was pouring out. When I woke up, it was after 10 pm, and I wrote in my journal for a while. My cold is definitely fading away, which shouldn’t be surprising given how much I’ve rested.
I’m thinking I don’t recommend traveling to Kathmandu by yourself, even though I’m a loner and like to think of myself as a free spirit, I’m really an introverted Virgo personality type who’s mentally unhinged. Of course, since I am a loner it should theoretically be excessively appropriate for me to go places on my own—and really it was no big deal when it was San Francisco or Washington DC—or London, though technically I was with my sister.
My head is spinning like a prayer wheel.
I again went to bed very early; I’ve been doing this ever since the cold set in, and I suspect that the air in Tibet is a lot cleaner and will therefore take away my illness. I rather think the worst is over: I’ve had scarcely any yellow phlegm, and I feel more human than I did yesterday.
Naresh led me toward the stairs leading down the mountain. Indeed, from the top of the steep stairs, it didn’t look like a hill anymore but rather a genuine mountain, although I’m sure it’s very short by Himalayan standards. As we headed down the stairs, an orange-clad Theravada monk stood silently, sideways in relation to the steps, and he held a large silver begging bowl. I recalled that people put food in the Buddha’s bowl rather than money, and the only food I had with me was dried candied ginger in a plastic bag. In hindsight, it occurred to me that I really could have put money in his bowl, but by the time that occurred to me, we were far below the monk on the steps.
After the temples, we got back to the hotel, and Naresh told me that my visa, etc, would be ready at five pm. I was happy to hear it, after all the waiting. I wanted to part with him then, but we walked back to his office, Blue Bird Travel, and I still wasn’t entirely sure that I’d be able to find it for myself, so he said that he’d go to the hotel rather than let me get lost looking for his office. He didn’t phrase it that eloquently, but that was the gist of it.
I’m in the hotel restaurant for lunch. I ordered something experimental and, as it turns out, very delicious: dumplings made from vegetables and nuts and in a sauce that is reminiscent of hummus but more watery and hot, and cilantro floats in it. Also, I had two pieces of roti, which I broke up and dipped in the sauce. The server brought me a glass of water, but it was hot water in a little juice glass. I had asked for water because I wanted to conserve my big bottle of water so that it would last till the morning (which it did).
Only two other patrons occupy the restaurant. One speaks fluent British English and the other one isn’t so coherent; the older one with the fluent English does most of the talking and expresses a very anti-polyandry stance and criticism of women who sleep with more than one man, but oddly he doesn’t say anything against polygamy or male promiscuity. Double standard much? He mentioned Elizabeth Taylor saying that she only has sex with men to whom she’s married, and says she slept with a lot of men, but she was also, I might mention, married to a lot of men. At some point in the conversation I heard him say, “You can criticize America,” and I got a sense that he believes promiscuity to be typical of American women but doesn’t care whether or not it’s typical of American men. At least Americans typically only have one partner at a time.
2
After lunch, I briefly attempted to take a nap up in my room, but after fifteen minutes I decided to get up and go to the cyber café while it’s sunny and the electricity is working. Impermanence.
I walked to an Internet café very close to the hotel, and the connection is unbelievably slow. It’s been ten minutes and I haven’t even logged onto AOL…OK, I got logged on and was selecting addresses and was having some trouble getting it to cooperate—I don’t have everyone’s address memorized, of course, and at first typing the first letter was enough, but then that stopped working. And then the screen went blank—the power is out, like yesterday. If it’s anything like yesterday, it won’t be back on for a long time. Soon I was the last person in the café, and I approached the boy who worked there, but he didn’t understand what I meant when I asked how much I owe, and he didn’t want me to pay, which was a relief since I didn’t get anything accomplished.
I wandered the streets of Thamel and tried not to get lost this time. The shops did not put me into a shopping mood, just a gawking mood. I quickly dodged crazy noisy motorcycles that came zooming along; too bad the streets of Thamel don’t have any sidewalks. I wandered the narrow streets for a while—probably not more than half an hour.
It rained lightly and I heard thunder before I went back to the hotel room and made another futile attempt at a nap. The thunder and lack of electricity certainly motivated me to be lazy. That and having a cold and being somewhat discombobulated again. But at least I meditated while lying down. The Buddha said there are four positions for meditation; they include not only sitting but also standing, walking, or lying down. While I lay in bed doing a reclining Buddha meditation, the thunder got loud, and at about four fifty I went down to the lobby to wait for the travel agent and felt bad that I was making him go out in the comparatively heavy rain for my sake. With all the power outages, it’s a good thing the hotel room contained candles and matches. I relaxed in my room with my journal while I listened to the rain pouring down.
Naresh was supposed to meet up with me at five. At five twenty I lost patience and put my bag in my coat, zipped up, put the hood up and tied it, and went out… and met up with Naresh on the street. It turned out that he brought my paperwork with him, so we went back to the hotel and I didn’t have to go back out in the rain again—I stayed in the rest of the evening. As I came through the door, the very young doorboy’s jaw dropped, I guess because I returned so soon after going out, or perhaps because the travel agent was sharing his umbrella with me. Scandalous. From what I understand, sharing an umbrella has a compromising connotation in Japan; maybe Nepal has the same attitude. Anyway, Naresh gave me my tickets, Chinese visa and a photocopy of the visa, my itinerary, and a business-sized envelope containing an itinerary and U. S. dollars for the Tibetan tour guide, whom he explained I’d be meeting at the airport.
I was cheered up since I had all this official stuff settled, and I skipped back up the stairs. I took a shower and lay down and this time did fall asleep, while it was pouring out. When I woke up, it was after 10 pm, and I wrote in my journal for a while. My cold is definitely fading away, which shouldn’t be surprising given how much I’ve rested.
I’m thinking I don’t recommend traveling to Kathmandu by yourself, even though I’m a loner and like to think of myself as a free spirit, I’m really an introverted Virgo personality type who’s mentally unhinged. Of course, since I am a loner it should theoretically be excessively appropriate for me to go places on my own—and really it was no big deal when it was San Francisco or Washington DC—or London, though technically I was with my sister.
My head is spinning like a prayer wheel.
I again went to bed very early; I’ve been doing this ever since the cold set in, and I suspect that the air in Tibet is a lot cleaner and will therefore take away my illness. I rather think the worst is over: I’ve had scarcely any yellow phlegm, and I feel more human than I did yesterday.
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