Summits and stupas of Kathmandu

“We’re the waiting generation. All we do is wait for the situation to improve”. With wide eyes and a sincere gaze, trekking tour guide Rabi, sat at the kitchen table of his humble homestay in downtown Kathmandu, explains the frustrating state of Nepalese current affairs. After the Maoist insurgency of the 1990s, the end of the monarchy and almost a decade of political and constitutional instability, last year’s devastating earthquake and the previous month’s Indian fuel blockade, all Kathmandu’s embattled residents can do is hope that the tourists will return now that the situation is stable.

  

Pedestrians carrying supplies walk down an alley leading to central Kathmandu’s main Durbar square 

Young Nepalis chat while taking a rest on a temple in southern Patan district’s Durbar square

As the brown dust swirls around the hectic, potholed streets, thoughts of the mountains are never far away. Gateway to the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, trekking is the bread and butter of this landlocked yet self-sufficient nation. Up and down the narrow alleys of the backpacker enclave of Thamel, painted signs advertising Everest and Annapurna tours hang from all levels, while shops selling mountaineering supplies vie for space, their multicoloured padded jackets and sleeping bags spilling out onto the pavement. Alongside them, signs proclaiming “100% cashmere” are pinned to jumpers and scarves, a promise of affordable luxury in the harsh altitudes of this unforgiving environment. Knitted socks, Buddhist statues and embroidered wall hangings are added to the colourful mix, arranged in rows and hung up on strings, festooned in a winding street collage of bric-a-brac. 

  

A rickshaw driver navigates a characteristically chaotic downtown street

A souvenir seller peeps out from behind his wares

In this land of summits and stupas, religion and peoples intersect. A melting pot of cultures, Hinduism from the Indian subcontinent bisects Tibetan Buddhism and native Tantric traditions. Red, blue, green, white and yellow prayer flags adorn everything from temple roofs to alleyways, the wind carrying their sacred mantras in all directions. As life goes on, prayer wheels turn. The eyes of the Buddha see all. At the golden Swayambhunath temple, the wings of ubiquitous pigeons beat in unison silhouetted against the sky as the myriad flags ripple in the springtime breeze.  

  

Workers rebuild the Swayambhunath stupa complex

Where mountains are created and earthquakes destroy, worship of Shiva, god of destruction, seems fittingly natural. At the Pashupatinath temple, the cycle of life comes full circle as the feet of the dead are dipped in the Bagmati river and bodies cremated at thickly smoking funeral pyres. Hindu holy men, saddhus, dressed in orange robes and covered in ashes, cross the country each March to congregate at the temple in a feverish marijuana-filled haze of worship. 

 

Saddhus, devotees of the Hindu god Shiva (whose emblem is a trident), sit in the grounds of the Pashupatinath temple 

  

Women watch as a body is dipped in the Bagmati river before cremation

 

An ash-covered saddhu gestures in greeting 

Reminders of the earthquake’s destruction are also still painstakingly evident. At central Durbar Square, piles of bricks and rubble still peer out from its extremities, while houses missing eaves dot the city. At the Boudhanath stupa, luckily only cracked in the temblors, worshippers help in the renovations, their manual labour seen as a religious act of devotion. While Kathmandu escaped largely unscathed, areas of nearby Bhaktapur have been razed, and reparations continue. As wooden planks support its mesmerising multi-tiered pagodas, they still stand in all their intricately-carved architectural glory. While much has been lost, the people still smile. On the roof of the world, destruction nevertheless breeds creation. 

  

Saddhus sit among the rubble at the edge of Kathmandu’s Durbar square 

 

Workmen begin repairs to the nearby town of Bakhtapur’s Durbar square