It’s not really my intention to continue writing about the strikes, rallies
and continued insurgency in Nepal, but over the past few days nothing else
really seems to have taken place. The opposition parties have now gotten
into the act, and over the weekend there were several clashes, the wielding
of truncheons by the police and tire fires as demonstrators attempted to
march on the palace. Their majesties are conveniently away on one of their
many felicitation visits in the western part of the country only having
recently made an appeal for elections sometime next year—not quick enough
for the majority of the population and certainly not for the opposition
parties.
Meanwhile, maoist bombs, clashes and blockades continue to wreak havoc,
demoralize and confuse. A bit closer to home for us, there were some
incidents not far from our future home in Nepal—the first incidents we have
read about, although we already know that the phone and electricity service
is down… An article in today’s paper surmises that the Palace is using the
current crisis, and defying UN appeals for the resumption of peace
negotiations, as a means of wielding more constitutional power and delaying
elections.
As usual, however, the calling of general strikes makes it easier to
navigate about town but difficult to find an open shop or restaurant. With
the exception of a few saunters around the city, we have stuck close to
home this past weekend resting up for upcoming workshops and meetings—our
last for a while in Kathmandu. We are still scheduled to move in less than
two weeks, although the insurgency situation makes everything tenuous at
best.
Migyoung and I have been to the Indian Embassy in order to secure a visa
for travel to India in the event of some sort of emergency and are unable
to make it back to the capital. We will be closer to the Indian border than
Kathmandu although there is some confusion about which border crossing is
open to foreigners. The whole process of acquiring a visa is indicative of
bureaucracy in this part of the world and perhaps even the bad blood
between these two nations. Here’s how it goes: One queue for getting the
telex form; next queue for paying for telex charges and having it sent to
your home country for clearance. One window manned by a helpful,
gregarious and unabashed nose-picker (the right nostril for me; the left
for Migyoung—the bounty subsequently flicked neatly off into the air) and
the other by a frowning and, no doubt, veteran of the foreign service. Day
2: Line up at one window to see if your telex has cleared; move to the
next queue to submit your visa application and pay fee. Later in day 2:
return in the late afternoon to pick up visa and passport. It’s all fairly
arbitrary if you are given a six month or one year visa. Come to think of
it, however, it’s not any more difficult or frustrating than attempting to
enter the States these days and is most likely the reason why an Indian
visa is more expensive for US passport holders than for other nationals…
A storm has blown over the valley on this second of a three consecutive day
strike. Just beyond the north wall of the royal palace, dried bamboo
leaves flutter about in the wind as children frantically grasp at them
before they land on the ground. One of the ubiquitous Kathmandu street
cows has fashioned a temporary bed out of a pile of bamboo leaves in the
middle of the road and is oblivious to passing pedestrians and cyclists.
On this cooler than normal of days, street side vendors are doing a brisk
trade in corn on the cob grilled over hot coals on the spot; rickshaw
pullers have draped plastic over their cycles as a makeshift shelter from
the rain and street bonfires of logs and tires have been temporarily
doused. A seemingly bored policeman demonstrates for his mates how to hit
a cricket ball with a truncheon; others snooze in the back of a tuk tuk
while still others—whose turn it is to stand watch—put on their chest
protectors, which resembles a circa 1940 baseball catcher’s gear.
Kathmandu is a city of great entrepreneurship and reuse—granted, it stems
more from a need for survival than for getting rich. Like many other
things in Nepal, people make do with what they have and whatever resources
they can muster. On practically every block it is possible to: have your
flip flops and sandals stitched up or have new soles put on your shoes; for
one rupee (approximately 75 rupees to one US dollar) have your bicycle tire
pumped up, weigh yourself on one of the many street-side scales or receive
a tika from a wandering sadhu. In the old quarters of Kathmandu, where the
narrowness of the streets and the crowds keep vehicles at bay, it is
possible to find small market shops specializing in just about anything one
could imagine—tin trunks and locks, fabrics and saris, bangles and
necklaces, kitchen utensils, spices and dried foods. And in the midst of
all of this bargaining and bartering, there is a centuries old temple or
shrine alive with activity, offerings and prayers. It is this merger of
the metaphysical with the worldly that renders Kathmandu such a fascinating
and lively place.