So let me tell you how I ended up having dinner in the Bhaktapur police headquarters on my birthday.
So let me tell you how I ended up having dinner in the Bhaktapur police headquarters on my birthday.
You see, after meeting with the students in the Sustainable Development NGO group, Prof. Roshen and two of his students met me at KU. They had a taxi and off we sped to lunch in a nice country restaurant on the other side of Bhaktapur where Roshen’s brother (the police commandant for the region) showed up and greeted us, and then we went for an amazing taxi trek to Changu, stopping first at the police station to drop off my computer bag and overnite things (pay attention this is an important point to remember). Being the oldest temple complex (origins from the 4th century) in Nepal sits high upon a mountain that juts dramatically out into the valley. We hiked up the ridge behind to another newer temple, all the while passing thru villages and farmsteads and with absolutely amazing views of the entire Kathmandu valley, and the rice paddies, and numerous villages, including Sanku form the last week’s field trip with the Ethnomath lads from KU. Pity the clouds, as no doubt we would have seen the mighty Himalayas shining above us, but none the loss for even the monsoon laden clouds offer a certain beauty that I am sure during colder dryer times they would be telling me about as well. So down we went, sending the two girls on to Kathmandu (I planning to stay in a hotel in Bhaktapur). Roshen walked me around, including a tour of things he told me guides asked him where they were most notably a rather curious little temple 17th century carved with copulating animals – the mating elephants were quite striking indeed! I found a nice place (with false promises of hot water in a shower, but still a shower no matter the temperature is grand) and were walking about when we came across a buddy of his from their tour guide days. R insisted that we go to his shop that sells astonishingly beautiful hand made paper goods that are made by homeless and handicapped women and sponsored by UNICEF. Roshen is a marvel of Nepali history, as he has a degree in tourism, and anthropology. Off we went to Tachupal Tole (one of three grand squares in the city along the old Silk Road) to see the famous Peacock Window (a much smaller copy of which was gifted to me for my keynote address at the modeling congress). Though quite dark, with the flash on my camera it proved to be quite splendid indeed. I now truly appreciate the gift all the more, having seen the original in all its glory! The two gentlemen decided (this being a country just experimenting with democracy decisions are often made for me with out consultation, and I have learned to coast and enjoy the ride, because in the end it is often better than anything my trusty Lonely Planet Guide for Nepal could possibly have outlined for me. They also announced that my stomach was now ready and that I must have something to eat so off we went to a typical little Newari restaurant that by any standard at all that in any Big 8, Mercorsul, or European Union country would not have made even a fraction of a star in the Michelin guide and would have been shut down centuries ago (it being that old of course!). Again my rules for places people take me are to be strictly adhered to - both in the interests of international relations but of culinary adventure:
1. If they eat it, so can I (as long as it is hot);
2. Never look at the kitchen before eating; and
3. Never ask what it is before sampling.
These three rules were put to the test (and I can say that after a bout of Moctazuma’s revenge (alas his ghostly hand stretches far!) the day before, (the magic pills not withstanding, this morning as I write the state of the union is strong!). At any rate, plates of roast mutton (I hope as the specter of the dear departed goat still hang heavy) and chicken – both spicey and delectable were served. The two gentlemen mixed a rather strange chartreuse colored liquid (a fermented rice concoction with cardamom) with Coca-Cola and proceeded to regale each other with stories and jokes, that occasionally they would translate for me. It was great fun, and absolutely hilarious. We also ordered yogurt (Bhaktapur yogurt is famous, and well worth the fame) which I believe is the cause for my sudden return to the land of the living. Numerous libations were ingested, and much carrying on from other tables, and in the street, with the neighborhood Hindu fathers singing and chanting and drumming their hymns in the temple beside the restaurant. After awhile Roshen received a call that our dinner was ready (at the police station). So we walked his friend back, through darkened streets. I like how the absence of street lights affords a much better view of the stars and mountains especially during a full moon. After saying our goodbyes, off through town until we found a taxi to take us to the headquarters. Where by we startled the troops a bit until they saw who we were, and their faces changed and we were greeted wholeheartedly.
Now the police station is a nefarious affair – stuck like most buildings into another, much, much taller than it is wide. And so were ushered into the building, and sent to the top floor, where Prof R’s brother was sitting on a bed with a marvelous carved wood table (they offered to sell me, but after my experience with customs and the like in importing furniture from Brasil I am off that for now). In front and a sofa we sat (Nepali grammar), and they talked, the brother answering the walkie-talkie all the while. Soon food was served, excellent - though I had no room – and suddenly my bag and the birthday gift the students gave me at lunch arrived with minor ceremony. Some more discussion took place on the walkie-talkie and the brother disappearing, we were left to find our way down the stairs (two flights we lighted with our cell phones – it being bad form to fall down the stairs in any Police Station in any country I presume.
I was back in my hotel by 11pm (an ungodly late hour in a country where everything seems to close by 9pm it seems). I watched the horrors on CNN (terrorist problems in England and Scotland) – breaking my 5 week fast of English TV for a bit… fell asleep to be woken by a marvelous full moon shining across the roof tops (my room was on the upper floor providing a splendid view of the city, and hills beyond). Woke up, and had apple pancakes and yogurt while typing this as I wait for Prof R to come to go back to the grit and noise of Kathmandu.
I am looking forward to meeting with the Ethnomath lads this evening and seeing how far our models and work have progressed, this being the second to last class and all.
So that is how I have suitably celebrated my 52nd birthday including a splendid dinner I the Bhaktapur Regional Police Headquarters!
1. If they eat it, so can I (as long as it is hot);
2. Never look at the kitchen before eating; and
3. Never ask what it is before sampling.
These three rules were put to the test (and I can say that after a bout of Moctazuma’s revenge (alas his ghostly hand stretches far!) the day before, (the magic pills not withstanding, this morning as I write the state of the union is strong!). At any rate, plates of roast mutton (I hope as the specter of the dear departed goat still hang heavy) and chicken – both spicey and delectable were served. The two gentlemen mixed a rather strange chartreuse colored liquid (a fermented rice concoction with cardamom) with Coca-Cola and proceeded to regale each other with stories and jokes, that occasionally they would translate for me. It was great fun, and absolutely hilarious. We also ordered yogurt (Bhaktapur yogurt is famous, and well worth the fame) which I believe is the cause for my sudden return to the land of the living. Numerous libations were ingested, and much carrying on from other tables, and in the street, with the neighborhood Hindu fathers singing and chanting and drumming their hymns in the temple beside the restaurant. After awhile Roshen received a call that our dinner was ready (at the police station). So we walked his friend back, through darkened streets. I like how the absence of street lights affords a much better view of the stars and mountains especially during a full moon. After saying our goodbyes, off through town until we found a taxi to take us to the headquarters. Where by we startled the troops a bit until they saw who we were, and their faces changed and we were greeted wholeheartedly.
Now the police station is a nefarious affair – stuck like most buildings into another, much, much taller than it is wide. And so were ushered into the building, and sent to the top floor, where Prof R’s brother was sitting on a bed with a marvelous carved wood table (they offered to sell me, but after my experience with customs and the like in importing furniture from Brasil I am off that for now). In front and a sofa we sat (Nepali grammar), and they talked, the brother answering the walkie-talkie all the while. Soon food was served, excellent - though I had no room – and suddenly my bag and the birthday gift the students gave me at lunch arrived with minor ceremony. Some more discussion took place on the walkie-talkie and the brother disappearing, we were left to find our way down the stairs (two flights we lighted with our cell phones – it being bad form to fall down the stairs in any Police Station in any country I presume.
I was back in my hotel by 11pm (an ungodly late hour in a country where everything seems to close by 9pm it seems). I watched the horrors on CNN (terrorist problems in England and Scotland) – breaking my 5 week fast of English TV for a bit… fell asleep to be woken by a marvelous full moon shining across the roof tops (my room was on the upper floor providing a splendid view of the city, and hills beyond). Woke up, and had apple pancakes and yogurt while typing this as I wait for Prof R to come to go back to the grit and noise of Kathmandu.
I am looking forward to meeting with the Ethnomath lads this evening and seeing how far our models and work have progressed, this being the second to last class and all.
So that is how I have suitably celebrated my 52nd birthday including a splendid dinner I the Bhaktapur Regional Police Headquarters!
* no goats were sacrificed or hurt in anyway in the production of this blog today.
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