Basically the way to the Swayambhunath, the most famous and sacred of all Kathmandu's shrines, is not far away, but, as the saying goes, the road to heaven is paved with sins. In this case, they are not my sins, but those of the city.
In short, the distance is somewhere between 2 and 3 kilometers, so no big deal. But I notice after the first few meters after leaving Thamel, that I come from smoke (jammed roads, bad air, Honking, etc.) to smothers.
The worst air
It's not just bad air, the air on the road to Swayambu is the absolutely worst air my lungs have ever suffered. I have to walk through a thick layer of fog consisting of exhaust fumes, smoke from chimneys and open fires, dust and swirled up dirt.
I feel like in limbo again.
But that's not all. ‚Clogged streets‘ is a euphemism for what is happening here. There are a million vehicles on the road in both directions, with one or two or four wheels, and they all make a noise that sounds like a hurricane of murderous sounds maltreating the drumheads. It is a fight to the death. And I have to cross the street.
And once again, I can apply my skills learned over the years to be able to cross the road even in the worst traffic conditions. I like to repeat it (see Backpacking Southeast Asia / Siem Reap): it means to step out absolutely fearlessly (at least it should look like that) and to stare at the fast-moving opponents, and then on, one step after another and do not give up a moment. The other must be able to rely on that. If you do not take any surprising steps, then everything goes well.
So I reach undamaged the rescuing shore, where it is still loud and noisy, but at least I am now on the right side of the road. At a crossroads the traffic stops for a moment for in the midst of it, with a stoic calm, stands a traffic cop, to whom with this amount of air pollution I predict a gruesome death at a young age.
It gets a little quieter now, I cross a river that has long since suffered death and consists only of dirt, faeces and other things I'd rather not think about. Horrible! The Ganges in Varanasi doesn't look much better though, and there the believers bathe and drink the "holy" water.
A red dot on the forehead
To make matters worse, it starts to rain. I am lucky and can get to safety from the downpour under the canopy of a carpenter's workshop. On the other side of the street a column of uniformed school children hurries away from the rain.
It doesn't even take a minute for a skinny hand to sneak out behind me and press a finger on my forehead.
It is a Sadhu, one of the Hindu saints, who is now challenging me by holding a rather empty box in front of my nose. And of course – he put a red dot on my forehead, which I don't find funny at all. With a lot of trouble I manage to wipe away the pretty sticky ornament while the saint is still waiting for his obolus …
The stairs
And then finally – up the stairs to the Stupa. It is as steep and arduous as in memory. However, it seems to me that the number of visitors/believers has increased a hundredfold in the meantime. Every few meters somebody wants to sell something to me, probably at double the price as in the Thamel region.
So I reach the top floor panting and cursing (some obese believers with the appearance of an imminent heart attack), and reaching the destination of the day, it starts pouring out of buckets. I retreat under the canopy of a small temple and now I have plenty of time to watch the hustle and bustle.
The stupa
The main stupa in the center of the shrine, probably THE landmark of the city, has remained undamaged. Buddha or whoever obviously had a protecting hand over it. But it could also be (a realization that will come later several times) that the shrines find funding much faster than the affected people …
However, other buildings have collapsed, others are still standing but need to be supported. In between there are holes where temples or smaller stupas once stood. Although the restoration is in progress, it will probably take until the return of the next Buddha (Metreya) at the pace that is set for the day.
Sunday
Whether it's because it's Sunday, I do not know, in any case, thousands of visitors seem to dispute the narrow space between the temples and stupas.
A Day for Selfies
And what is the main occupation of the visitors? Praying a silent prayer, full of admiration and wonder in front of the magnificent sanctuaries ? That would probably be a bit too much in this day and age.
No, of course we are here in Selfie-Asia, that means, Selfies are made by the thousands, sometimes with stupa or prayer wheel in the background, sometimes with a simple smile on the face.
The street children
Eventually, I carefully descend the bone-breaking, rain-soaked steps, and I am glad to reach the level ground. So Adios Swayampu, that could really have been the last time.
I decide to take another road back to the centre, a completely filthy one, covered with holes, which is apparently very rarely used by foreigners. In any case, I am given a curious glance or two.
And then something happens that takes my breath away. On the sidewalk a few little children are crouching on the floor, all completely filthy, all barefoot, all emaciated to the skin, and digging in the rubbish that someone has emptied there .
To read about it and to be horrified at the imagination of it is one thing. To see the whole misery with one's own eyes is something else. You are desperately looking for ideas on how to help, but all you have is a few rupees. That may be enough until the frosty evening.
It breaks your heart.
But life goes on - even if it's terrible. My trek starts at half past five in the morning, 7-8 hours by bus up the mountains to Syabrubesi, where we will spend the first night.
But that's another chapter.
PS Song on the subject: No song fits this misery
And here the journey continues ...
