February In Kathmandu

The two big grocery stores in Kathmandu both have separated liguor departments with all manner of offerings from around the world. Both Bhatbhateni and Bluebird markets have various brands of Pastis from Marcelles, all in big bottles with similar label designs. I bought Fanny brand, the least expensive, 90 proof, for 1195 Nepal rupees, $9.60. The licorice tasting liquid pours a golden green into the glass, but add an ice cube and water, and it turns murky white, like the Kathmandu morning fog.

Some say the Kathkmandu Valley has six seasons. Here, it's late February, and Winter has passed into pre-Spring. As the drought continues, the sun burns off the early morning mist, and by noon you're comfortable in a short sleeved t-shirt if you're out in the sun. The late afternoon winds cool things down and a long-sleeved shirt is often needed. Not long ago, it would be dark by 6pm; now it's light until nearly 7.

Yesterday we attended an elaborate ceremony by Buddhist monks at Ka Nying monastery in Boudha, a suburb of Kathmanda, celebrating the casting out of evil as the Tibetan New Year nears. The 40 minute drive out of the mountains into Kathmandu was not without incident, since it was a holiday in honor of Shiva, and all of the school children were given the day off. While they didn't dress up, an Americanized trick or treat was done in reverse: the treaters came to the tricksters. During the 20 mile journey, we were stopped by children with rope roadblocks on the narrow country roads at least 20 times and asked to pay a toll in order to continue. Most drivers did so with good humor, even paying some tolls to groups of young men who appeared to be very late graduates.

The Buddhist ceremony was not without incident, either. Near its end the seated lead monk in black brocade robes with a large hat decorated in skulls frowned at a triangular haystack 30 feet in front of him, rose up and, like a baseball pitcher with his right foot pointed at the sky, hurled a large dart into the haystack. The fun began in ernest when an assistant monk brought him a lethal looking bow and a quiver of pointed arrows. I was in the crowd directly behind the haystack, and a rather large monk kept pushing us to the side as the black monk became more animated and mock-angry at the haystack. The previous arrow zipped through the haystack and halfway through a sheet of corrugated roofing behind it. Packed tightly in a bunch with nowhere to go, we became concerned for our safety as the frowning, black robed monk aimed his arrow, jerking around in a spastic ritual as he began his final attack on the haystack. Pictures at 10.

By then, Christine, who was in another part of the crowd, was getting nervous, since the sun was about to go down and we had to navigate narrow mountainous roads in the dark, with the threat of a roadblock by real bandits a remote, but real, possibility. Our driver wasted no time on the return trip, swerving around precipitous mountain curves while answering cellphone calls from folks concerned about our whereabouts. Exhausted, we immediately went to bed when we arrived back in Pharping, but couldn't sleep for hours due to a group of youthful, enthusiastic Shiva celebrants singing songs in front of the Hindu shrine below our window. But that's another story.