Namaste Nepal En
It is Sunday, a working day.
Two days ago I bought a large box of teabags because one of the boys that works at the guest house has invited me to breakfast with him. So as not to burden his meager income I bring the tea, sugar and biscuits, he, the hot water. However this morning when I go down he tells me that the key to the room that contains the gas burner has been lost. So I go to Pumpernickel, a onetime tea and Austrian pastry shop that has sadly gone downhill.
They tell me that they have lemon tea. I order some straight away as an alternative to the usual milk tea but it is a disappointment. I think it is made with freeze dried instant lemon flavoured tea. "Give me strength," it means that tomorrow I will have to put up with sickly sweet milky tea again!
After talking to mum on the phone for a whole minute (150 Rupees) and after having woken her up (in Italy it is 4.30am), I go to the University with Dambar. He is an assistant in the physics department and to round off his life he also works at the guest house as a receptionist.
The bus that we take is so full that we are virtually hanging out of it. Up to this point I have only seen the locals doing this!
The University building is desolate inside. The library has never been dusted or the windows cleaned. Those that have been broken have not even been replaced. The physics hall reminds me of the dusty "scientific experimentation hall" of the Magistrale institute where I studied many years ago. The building inaugurated by the king at the end of the 60's is located in the middle of a beautiful floral area.
The librarians offer me the chance to come back by myself and consult the books. At first this offer seems attractive, even though the procedure is somewhat complex, quite frankly excessively bureaucratic. But then when I learn that each time I will have to fill in a form and leave my passport "as hostage" for as long as I am in the library, a shiver runs down my spine as Nepal has a flourishing market in stolen passports that fetch high sums on the black market. The Nepalese are amongst some of the most honest and upright people I have ever met but it seems stupid to leave my documents for all and sundry to get their hands on. When I ask where my passport would be kept I am met with the incredulous reply, " Here, on the table naturally, where do you want me to put it?"
This is an interesting side of the oriental mindset. For those who live in eternity, what value would you have for a passport in the greater scheme of things? Why worry so much? Now when you come in contact with this philosophy in the temples it is one thing, but in an office a degree of rationality is surely needed.
This inflexible rule regarding the passport means that I opt to use the British library, where, apart from having to leave my bag at the entrance, there are no other formalities. It is a great pity because I had seen some books on art and Nepalese religion that I would have gladly read.
Midday, return to hotel
I go back to Kathmandu under my own steam because Dambar has got lessons. I get off the bus at the wrong stop, start walking in the wrong direction, in fact…… I lose my patience and instead of going back on foot I take a three wheeler.
Lunch in my room: yak's cheese, (good but so greasy!), sardines bought from the Swedish supermarket for trekkers that I eat mushed up because the tin opener breaks straight away and I have to take my chances with what's available, Malaysian rubra of dubious colour (on the label it says that it contains colouring and artificial flavours) and it has an even more dubious taste (why on earth did I buy it?), Nepalese rum and Hymalayan honey dissolved in hot water for my swollen throat.
It was such an easy prediction of mine yesterday, whilst launching myself down the hill at Daksinkhali!
I'll take an after lunch nap and then go with Sandra, also a guest at the Marco Polo,to meet Lilla, who sells jewelry in Durbar Square and (says Sandra) speaks perfect Italian.