On the bouncy bus ride to Kathmandu, I make the following observations:
Instead of a command to honk your horn, the backs of Nepalese trucks simply say ‘see you’.
Secondly, as in India, many of the buildings here are in an unfinished state, which I think has something to do with tax laws. However, here there is more consideration for how the dwellings look. Blue coloured rock bricks are a favourite, with white concrete pillar railings fencing the flat roofs. The newer and better maintained houses are pleasant looking homes and would be desirable properties in the UK with some internal renovations.
The ride to Kathmandu is a long one, added to by a standstill traffic jam on the mountainside roads. However, I can't say I've been in a more scenic traffic jam before.
Leaving aside the restaurant service levels, Nepal has been the highlight of the trip so far. However, I hate Kathmandu the moment I set foot off the bus. We are immediately surrounded by taxis and hotel hawkers. Having said that, with all our baggage I am happy to take one of them up on their offer of a free taxi and a room in Thamel (the tourist / traveller centre of the city) at less than £4 a night. The room is a little grimy, but nothing we are not used to so we take it.
Like Delhi, Kathmandu, especially Thamel, is like a human battery farm and we are constantly dodging motorbikes and cars to cross roads that look like pedestrian lanes.
We go for a few cocktails at a bar and then venture to the K’too Steakhouse. There follows the more noxious cocktail of my temper and Nepalese restaurant service. The food is good, but the service ghost like. When the bill comes, I ask to take off the service charge. When the waiter refuses, I threaten to leave without paying at all and I get up to go. This turns into a bit of a fracas at the bottom of the stairs where it seems the whole of the kitchen staff have gathered to block my way, although many of them are smiling at me. The waiter has them lock the exit and threatens to call the police. Perhaps unwisely, I tell him to go ahead. The atmosphere gets quite aggressive, with him saying that if wasn’t working he would beat me, and I shove him away again. They let Laurie leave and the police show up minutes later. They don’t speak any English so it is worthless to explain that I am willing to pay minus the service charge and, though they thankfully don’t seem to be taking the situation too seriously, I pay up in full to secure my passage out.
Out on the street, I realise that I have no idea which way the hotel is. It’s hidden in back streets so wandering around for an hour asking for directions only serves to get me pointed in ten different directions. I eventually get a rickshaw, the driver saying he knows the way, but he takes me to a completely different hotel, which he is probably on commission for. Eventually he finds the right one after asking for directions himself. He seems aggrieved that I don’t pay him any more than the originally agreed fee in compensation for not knowing where my hotel was.
I resolve to stop drinking so many cocktails.
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