Himalaya Adventure: DAY 15 FRI. OCT. 17 KATHMANDU

One of the things a traveler dreads the most is, at a certain part of the trip, he hits "the wall." It's the point where travel experience be damned, his mind and soul has taken enough punishment. It's like going into the 15th round against Ali and not being able to answer the bell. It could be early in the trip, or part way through, or even at the very end. At some point, you're going to find the wall, or more correctly, the wall will find you. Today, because of a singular incident, I hit the wall.

The day started well enough. We had a later than usual wake up, which meant some pretty good sleep. The day was warm and sunny, not too hot. We had a city tour of Kathmandu planned, and our local guide, Ramilla, was a lovely and very informative lady. I was ready, aye ready. From the hotel, we jostled once more on the bus into Durbar Square, the central heart of old Kathmandu. At last, one of the places I'd read about and seen pictures: I was here ! It really is an impressive collection of pagoda-like structures all crammed into a compact space. We were led into a courtyard where the Kumari, the living god, was kept. I had an uneasy feeling about this. Apparently, we were told, there was an excellent chance we would see her: she was very reluctant to make public appearances, but today might be auspicious. Hmmm. The Kumari is a young girl, maybe 10 or 11, who is selected to the position for a short period of time. Of course, to the Hindu believers, she is not "selected", she is, in fact, a god herself and she is revealed to humans, who, in turn, venerate her. Hmmm. When the Kumari hits puberty, she is dismissed to live a "normal" life while a search begins for a replacement. All the Kumari share common appearances: young, fine-featured, pretty. All are heavily made up and dressed richly. All act in the same "god-like" way. Hmmm. We waited in the courtyard and were told to be silent and not take pictures: there were plenty of pictures for sale outside the courtyard. Hmmm. Right on cue, as we looked up in wonder, our hands in the "Namaste" pose, she arrived at the balcony, literally looking down on us for a couple of minutes: then, abruptly, she disappeared within. Hmmm...

This left me with a bitter taste. Perhaps I'm too cynical about such things. If so, chalk it up to a 60 year experience with the human race. My mood soured. Then, it worsened at lunch, where we had the worst and most incompetent service in the history of mankind. That was not my bad mood causing this: rather, it increased my bad mood. The less said about this, the better.

The other "highlights" of our day was a visit to the so-called "monkey temple", a Buddhist stupa high on a hill offering wonderful views of the Kathmandu valley. It is named "monkey temple" because of the colony of Rhesus monkeys who live and mooch food there. We were told the monkeys were bad tempered and nasty, which suited me just fine: the way I was feeling, I was ready to take on any of the little buggers who looked at me the wrong way in some kind of primate show-down. But, fortunately, they behaved themselves and there was no blood on the floor. We also visited the former Royal Palace, a huge structure, that was until very recently, the home of the Nepali Royal Family. The Royal Family was basically annihilated in 2001 when the brother of the king went on a rampage and assassinated the entire family: king, queen, children, all were gunned down in a massacre. The brother set himself up as king for a couple of years, but then "the people", we were told, rose up against him and ousted him. Subash hinted, however, that local Maoists with Chinese backing did the deed. Whatever the case, Nepal is now a republic, and there is an uneasy sense that, while calm on the surface, it wouldn't take much to plunge Nepal into a new political crisis.

Onwards we wanderd, past the "Hippy Temple" and "Freak Street", throw-backs to the heady days when Kathmandu was the seat of the world's counter-culture, where drugs and hippies mingled with monks and holy men. It was a type of poor man's Beatles experience with the maharajah in India. Now, it was just a little tired and worn.

So, the gloomy story of the massacre, the possible show-down with the monkeys, the bad service at lunch, and the encounter with the Kumari all served to put me into such a funk that I was quite content to just keep to myself and not interact with anyone else for most of the afternoon. The wall ... I felt tired, old, abused, taken advantage of, and wondered why I was here. It was horrible, and I admonished myself for feeling this way, which only made the situation worse. Gradually, as the day wore on, my mood improved. At the end of the day, we found a good restaurant where the local hooch flowed like water and we made our way through the Mad Max streets like the tired little feral kids we were.