There is something about a beautiful women donned in a gorgeously flowing and brightly colored sari riding side saddle on a motorcycle that is well, just something to behold. Add a bindi low on her forehead indicating she is likely single, and well, one can only fantasize. As I looked at one such women, I realized she new she was beautiful; not that she thought she was attractive in some western boob job way, but rather that she inherently just knew; knew at a core level. When she clasped her hands, smiled, and bowed I only had one thought: God, I would love to have that type of grace in my own life.
A good many or maybe most, I believe, of the motorcycle flying around are actually local taxi. I have not jumped on the back of one yet, but yes I plan to. And boy can these people ride. Remember what I said about South Korea and the crazy driving? I was wrong, very very wrong. The people of Kathmandu would eat the Korean’s lunch in any kind of driving competition. That whole thing about cross walks, traffic lights, and side walks was a fantasy from another time and place. There is a system however. I hired a rickshaw for an hour and requested that he simply return to the same spot (I could see my room). thus avoiding getting lost again. Priorities go like this: motorcycles, cars, bicycles, rickshaws, carts (you name it, they push it), pedestrians, goats, dogs. Oh yea, cows can do what ever the hell they want; the Hindu’s believe they are holy and many Buddhist don’t eat em. When walking and you come to a hill, it is considered good manors to help push the rickshaws along. I like pushing rickshaws.
Left at sunrise for the pilgrimage with the locals to the Monkey Temple. 365 steps that were more like a ladder as I dripped sweat like a Harley leaks oil. Amazing place where Hindu and Buddhist worship side by side in this joint (coexistence note to: Christians, Jews, and Muslims) temple atop a hill over looking the Kathmandu valley. Holy men offered prayer and comfort for those in need, monks chanted while fondling prayer beads, dogs ate from trash piles, candles burned by the thousands, incence filled the nostrils unil they burned, and monkeys also did what ever the hell they wanted.
A land of extremes; yes it can be hot, humid, filthy, poor, and depressing, but it is comfortable, beautiful, and alive. A land of faith where over a thousand people met at the temple before 8am to turn prayer wheels, sprinkle rice offerings on the monuments, and pay homage to their past, present and future. Where parents hold their children lovingly while they sweep the dirt street in front of their homes and places of work – where everyone on the street offers a friendly “Namate” (meaning- the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you). I love this country, these peopleM
Monkey Tempel, Kathmandu, Nepal
There is something about a beautiful women donned in a gorgeously flowing and brightly colored sari riding side saddle on a motorcycle that is well, just something to behold. Add a bindi low on her forehead indicating she is likely single, and well, one can only fantasize. As I looked at one such women, I realized she new she was beautiful; not that she thought she was attractive in some western boob job way, but rather that she inherently just knew; knew at a core level. When she clasped her hands, smiled, and bowed I only had one thought: God, I would love to have that type of grace in my own life.
A good many or maybe most, I believe, of the motorcycle flying around are actually local taxi. I have not jumped on the back of one yet, but yes I plan to. And boy can these people ride. Remember what I said about South Korea and the crazy driving? I was wrong, very very wrong. The people of Kathmandu would eat the Korean’s lunch in any kind of driving competition. That whole thing about cross walks, traffic lights, and side walks was a fantasy from another time and place. There is a system however. I hired a rickshaw for an hour and requested that he simply return to the same spot (I could see my room). thus avoiding getting lost again. Priorities go like this: motorcycles, cars, bicycles, rickshaws, carts (you name it, they push it), pedestrians, goats, dogs. Oh yea, cows can do what ever the hell they want; the Hindu’s believe they are holy and many Buddhist don’t eat em. When walking and you come to a hill, it is considered good manors to help push the rickshaws along. I like pushing rickshaws.
Left at sunrise for the pilgrimage with the locals to the Monkey Temple. 365 steps that were more like a ladder as I dripped sweat like a Harley leaks oil. Amazing place where Hindu and Buddhist worship side by side in this joint (coexistence note to: Christians, Jews, and Muslims) temple atop a hill over looking the Kathmandu valley. Holy men offered prayer and comfort for those in need, monks chanted while fondling prayer beads, dogs ate from trash piles, candles burned by the thousands, incence filled the nostrils unil they burned, and monkeys also did what ever the hell they wanted.
Hindu women and child at Monkey Temple
A land of extremes; yes it can be hot, humid, filthy, poor, and depressing, but it is comfortable, beautiful, and alive. A land of faith where over a thousand people met at the temple before 8am to turn prayer wheels, sprinkle rice offerings on the monuments, and pay homage to their past, present and future. Where parents hold their children lovingly while they sweep the dirt street in front of their homes and places of work – where everyone on the street offers a friendly “Namate” (meaning- the divinity in me bows to the divinity in you). I love this country, these people.
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Robert Francisco 