If you ever come to Kathmandu, there is only one place to stay IMHO. In the choking traffic pollution and horrible noise of Thamel, Hotel Blue Horizon is an oasis. Gorgeous garden, super friendly staff who look after me like family, the cheapest fresh food in town and spacious, generally clean rooms. Wifi is available even when there is electrical load shedding.
In a previous post I mentioned the mould in the bathroom, which didn't really bother me in the scheme of things. When I returned from tenting, my room had been repainted. So had the dining room, the lobby, the stairwells and some of the rooms. Why? The owner asked me what could be improved. I laughed, said "a coat of paint would be nice" and alakazam, I return to pristine white. The staff greet me by name, even on the phone. The sun always shines on this rooftop. There is not a speck of disposed plastic, or rubbish. I'm beginning to feel reluctant about leaving in two weeks, onwards to Morocco.
After days wandering around dazed and disorderly in Thamel, I'm grounded, happy and ready to do some serious exploring.
I am also truly over D. I felt the weight of him fly off me during a yogamed class. Today is The One. The Only. Yep, Yesterday's nightmare has gone. Tomorrow's will never come.
I look different. I have a glow, again.
I also had a realisation of my mother, That One. That all she did to me was because she was a pretty tortured soul herself. Imagine being sent off to nun-ruled boarding school at the age of four because she was caught showing her private bits to a three year old boy in the hydrangea bushes. That's got to seriously mess you up. Especially because her nanny dobbed her in. So if truth and trust were fundamentally wrecked from the beginning, why should she care about What Really Happened?
One night, when there is lots of power in Kathmandu, I'll spend it telling you That Story. Which may explain in some small measure why I run (away) so well, so quickly, and so easily. And am happiest on the road, enjoying its twists and turns, even if my stomach has done most of them over the past few days.
I'm working my way through the narrow lanes of Old Kathmandu today, to ancient Durbar Square, to find a room to rent so I can photograph Holi on Friday, without getting my beloved new Canon 7D ruined. Some assiduous camera shop owner found me an underwater housing, but it costs a fortune. A room will be cheaper and far more fun. I wonder how many new friends I can fit in it?
Shiva, Shakti, Hanuman, I love this town. Thankyou for watching over me, and in a back to front way, helping me breathe again.
In a previous post I mentioned the mould in the bathroom, which didn't really bother me in the scheme of things. When I returned from tenting, my room had been repainted. So had the dining room, the lobby, the stairwells and some of the rooms. Why? The owner asked me what could be improved. I laughed, said "a coat of paint would be nice" and alakazam, I return to pristine white. The staff greet me by name, even on the phone. The sun always shines on this rooftop. There is not a speck of disposed plastic, or rubbish. I'm beginning to feel reluctant about leaving in two weeks, onwards to Morocco.
After days wandering around dazed and disorderly in Thamel, I'm grounded, happy and ready to do some serious exploring.
I am also truly over D. I felt the weight of him fly off me during a yogamed class. Today is The One. The Only. Yep, Yesterday's nightmare has gone. Tomorrow's will never come.
I look different. I have a glow, again.
I also had a realisation of my mother, That One. That all she did to me was because she was a pretty tortured soul herself. Imagine being sent off to nun-ruled boarding school at the age of four because she was caught showing her private bits to a three year old boy in the hydrangea bushes. That's got to seriously mess you up. Especially because her nanny dobbed her in. So if truth and trust were fundamentally wrecked from the beginning, why should she care about What Really Happened?
One night, when there is lots of power in Kathmandu, I'll spend it telling you That Story. Which may explain in some small measure why I run (away) so well, so quickly, and so easily. And am happiest on the road, enjoying its twists and turns, even if my stomach has done most of them over the past few days.
I'm working my way through the narrow lanes of Old Kathmandu today, to ancient Durbar Square, to find a room to rent so I can photograph Holi on Friday, without getting my beloved new Canon 7D ruined. Some assiduous camera shop owner found me an underwater housing, but it costs a fortune. A room will be cheaper and far more fun. I wonder how many new friends I can fit in it?
Shiva, Shakti, Hanuman, I love this town. Thankyou for watching over me, and in a back to front way, helping me breathe again.
An opinion from one of the Greek Chorus?
ReplyDeleteDon't tell That Story.
Leave the past in the past, where it belongs. One could not accuse you of not having explored and examined and discussed the past, and your mother. It's done now. It's not forgotten, and shouldn't be, but let dead souls rest easily, and let living ones float free. Think of the Whole Thing as a line of those Nepalese prayer flags, flapping in the wind. You be the wind, not the stitching on the string. Flap hard, blow with all your breath, and watch each one float into the air. Enough grieving and sadness now. Enough.