Tuesday 19th November

Well, here I am. After months of not planning, I find myself in the middle of my strangest adventure and coolest country yet. It’s important to not have expectations when going to any new place, but after hearing everyone rant and rave about how face-meltingly amazing Nepal is – it was hard not to feel tingles up my spine as the Thai Air flight touched down in what must be the smallest international airport in the universe. Serviced by a single runway, Tribhuvan Airport lies just east of Kathmandu and is the primary gateway to a country where adventurers from all over flock to see the roof of the world, and then get caught in the magic that lies within its surrounding lands.

Despite this – Nepal is not a rich country. In fact, it’s one of the poorest that there is, with a GDP per capita of just a thousand dollars a year. And though the tourism industry sure is a-boomin’, the country’s infrastructure hasn’t quite had the chance to catch up yet. The first I saw of this was when the power to the airport momentarily cut whilst I was queuing to get my visa sorted. Shite, I never thought to check what the craic was with visas over here. After my saga with the immigration officer in Hanoi you’d think I’d have learned by now to figure these things out in advance… Thankfully, there was the option to apply for one on arrival, and because one thing that I have learned is to always carry emergency US dollars (for those crucial moments when a bribe is required), I knew I’d be ok.

I checked the information board and saw that a 30-day visa was fifty bucks, with the next tier being a 90-day visa for $125. How long was I even going to be here for? After some mental gymnastics I deduced that my flight home would be leaving in… 32 days. Arse. There was no way to just tack two extra days to the cheaper option either, it was one or the other. After a wait that seemed to stretch into hours, I finally found myself face to face with a portly and kind-looking immigration official.

“Good afternoon sir!” he boomed, disarming me with the biggest smile, and moustache, that I’d seen in a long time.
“Namaste” I replied, handing over my documents. I’d already learned that was how to say hello here, may as well get him on-side.
“Is it your first time here sir?”
“It sure is”
“Ah I see! Well you are most welcome to Nepal sir. What is it you hope to be doing while you are here? Maybe some trekking?”
Aware that I was being fed the answer that he wanted to hear, “That’s the plan! I suppose I’ll figure it out as I go along”
“And how long will you be staying in Nepal sir?”
“Thirty days” I lied, poker face at the ready. Dealing with the officials on the way out (and any overstay-penalties) was a problem for Future Darragh. I was confident he’d be able to handle it.
“Very good sir, well I do hope you enjoy your time with us in Nepal” he warmly replied, stamping my passport and handing everything back to me.

Honestly, after becoming so used to the no-bullshit-what-do-you-want direct manner typical of Vietnam, I was a little taken aback by how friendly this guy seemed, but this would prove to be the norm for every local that I met during my time here. I couldn’t help but feel that things were off to a good start.

Walking out of the airport I was greeted by what felt like forty taxi drivers all asking me where I was from and if I needed a cab. Because I wanted an immersive experience of the city streets, and because I’m cheap, I elected instead to hop on the back of a motorbike. I knew from my time in Hanoi that there’s really no better way to get a feel for what a place is like than by hanging on for dear life at the back of a bike that’s whizzing past cars and trucks and people alike.

And like my recently adopted city, Kathmandu also has systemic issues with traffic and pollution. So I was already starting to feel at home. One thing I wasn’t prepared for however was the level of poverty to be seen on the streets. Vietnam is by no means a rich country either, but I found that in Hanoi the visibility of homelessness and begging was practically zero. I figured that this was either because the communist government there looked after its most vulnerable citizens, or because the state had them euthanized. (I kid, but you know what I mean. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH YOUR HOMELESS HANOI).

Kathmandu was a different kettle of fish altogether. The initial culture shock here comes from the everyday normality of people sifting through mounds of trash, seeing families living in half finished buildings with no electricity or running water, or women holding babies up as they approach to beg for money, and the general slog of a dusty city still trying to rebuild four years after a devastating 7.8 magnitude earthquake flattened entire swathes of it.

But rebuilding it is. There’s an absolute fever of construction happening at the moment, as old buildings are slapped back together and new ones go up alongside them to accommodate the ever-increasing numbers of tourists. Undoubtedly this is a big factor in the ever worsening smog-situation, and I wonder what a few more years of unchecked, rampant expansion will do to a city already struggling with sustainability of any kind.

Enough about that though, it would be very remiss of me to just focus on the more shocking elements of my first impressions without giving the full picture. Let me tell you – Kathmandu is mental. And it’s very much alive. It teems with the constant chatter of its residents (who number about a million), which coupled with the manic nature of its many side streets gives the place a real buzz of magic in the air. Colour abounds, and is seen everywhere you look. From the painted vehicles that whizz past you (which the owners decorate themselves to bring good luck) to the Tibetan prayer flags which stream above all of the shops, roads and temples. These are bright, rectangular cloths of primary colours that are hung high outside and used to promote compassion, peace, strength, and wisdom. They are also used to carry prayers and mantras through the wind. It’s impossible to come here and not want to buy some to take home with you, they rock.

Kathmandu is also incredibly old, with parts of it stretching back two thousand years. Even then it was the capital of the Kingdom of Nepal, and it became known as the “City of the Temples”. Having come here via Bangkok, the bar for temples was set quite high, but I’m happy to report that Kathmandu more than met it. What its places of worship lacked in opulence and grandeur, they made up for in authenticity and the experiential nature of visiting them. But more on that later.

After an admittedly arduous time in Bangkok thanks to my now nearly-three-week-long battle with a stomach bug (or a parasite, possibly. I might still be in denial over this one), I had been left pretty beaten down and a little disappointed that I couldn’t muster up more energy to take the city on at full throttle. With the worst of that now behind me though, (touch wood), I was resolved to waste no time immersing myself balls-deep in the Nepalese capital.

First I needed somewhere to base myself, and the place to do that was the Thamel district. It’s essentially backpacker-centrale, and with all of the main tourist shops and bars – it serves as the beating heart, or throbbing groin, of Kathmandu. After I hopped off the bike and thanked the driver, who had spent the entire journey shouting trekking tips back to me over the roar of the road, I found myself at a charming hostel called Alobar-1000. The name comes from a character in a Tom Robbins story who defies the concept of death, and through will, meditation, daily rituals, and love of his companion lives to be 1000 years old. That’ll do, I thought. The hostel itself was pretty no-frills, but had a fantastic rooftop hangout space where fellow travellers could meet, eat and smoke together. That’ll definitely do.

Now, normally I would describe myself as a pretty social animal, and I’ve never had a hard time striking up conversations with strangers, but for some reason for the first time ever I found myself having no desire to go through the motions of repeatedly asking and pretending to care where these (presumably lovely) tourists were from and what they were doing in Nepal. I usually love it, but I just didn’t have the energy for such banalities this time. Perhaps the parasite living within me was an introvert. I decided to name it Percy.

Sensing that any real interaction of substance was to be found out on the streets, I checked my watch – sure it was only 2pm. Plenty of time for an adventure. Top of my list for places to see was Swayambhunath, or, Monkey Temple. For Buddhists, it’s one of the holiest places in the world. It also has a load of monkeys that live there and apparently, the best views of Kathmandu. What more do ya need? It was on top of a hill and an hour’s walk away, but I resisted the temptation to just hop in a cab and decided to instead take the opportunity to walk through the city and work my calves out on the climb.

The walk through Thamel was certainly interesting, and it seemed that every door that I passed was either a tourist gift shop, an outdoor gear vendor (no better place to get a fake North Face jacket), or a tourist agency offering trekking packages and tours – I learned that there’s over 1,800 of these agencies, and could absolutely believe it. They were everywhere. Once through the other side of Thamel, I started to climb the hill that overlooks all of Kathmandu. I had aspirations on doing a proper trek at some point anyways so this was a good way to start my training for it. I’d made it about two thirds of the way up when a familiar sensation started rumbling in my bowels, followed by acute cramps. Ah fer feck’s sake, I knew what was coming – and a bathroom would be needed promptly.

Cursing the creature I was probably carrying, and its inherent disregard for symbiosis with its host, I ducked into the nearest establishment – a building about seven stories high with the curious name of Hotel Om. Once inside however the most unusual thing happened – the cramping ceased, and my insides suddenly stabilised. Huh, false alarm I guess. In the absence of discomfort I was now aware of how hungry I was. This was good! I’d lost my appetite several days earlier in Bangkok so it felt like a sign that things were finally starting to return to normal. Conveniently the hotel I found myself in had its own restaurant on the top floor with breathtaking views of the city – the perfect spot to try my first Nepalese meal.

I was the only customer present, and there was something strangely peaceful about having the entire place to myself. Across the rows of empty tables was an outstanding view of Kathmandu that stretched out to the horizon. Monkey Temple wasn’t too much further up the hill, and I was definitely ahead of schedule, so it was easy to make the decision to post up there for the afternoon. Well chosen, Percy. The lone staff member on duty seemed quite chill and content to leave me to it. I asked for something popular and local – and was served Dal Baht, which is the national dish of Nepal. It’s basically a type of lentil curry with steamed rice, but for all of its simplicity the taste and flavour of it was out of this world. If you like Indian cuisine, you’ll love Nepalese.

With my meal finished I allowed myself to get lost gazing at the cityscape before me. The combination of mismatched buildings and general chaos in Kathmandu combined with its bright colours and lively energy found me thinking of Sakaar, the planet that features in Thor: Ragnarok. I was suddenly snapped out of my daydream by a trendy looking young man who was also taking in the view beside me. He had big, dark wavy hair that swept perfectly to one side and a black bomber jacket with white air force insignias. I doubted that it was the kind of thing that a real pilot would have ever worn, but this guy pulled it off.
“Hey man, how are you feeling right now?” he asked. It was a curious way to greet a stranger, but I liked the earnest directness of it.
“Hi there! Pretty good actually, I’m really enjoying these views. How are you feeling right now?”
He smiled, “I’m good, I’m good bro. What did you think of the food? Do you like Nepalese style?”
“Yeah it was great, I had no idea what to expect. It’s sort of like Indian but, eh..”
“Cheaper?” he finished, and we both laughed. At a cost of about a euro for the entire meal we weren’t shitting each other.
“That’s really good man. I’m Rowsan” he stretched out a hand, “I work the night shift here”
Ahhh, now his questions made sense. I returned the formality and he sat down beside me.

Rowsan was just one of those people that you immediately clicked with. He was equally interested in sharing information about himself and his country as he was about learning whatever he could about mine. During the day he was studying for an engineering degree and by night he looked after the reception downstairs. I quickly found out that all of the staff at this hotel were young men in their early 20s, and that it was as much a hangout den for them as it was a place of work.

“Yeah man we’re like a brotherhood here” Rowsan explained, “we all look after each other”. There was a quiet air of leadership to the way that he spoke. “Do you want to come meet the guys?”
“That would be really cool. Honestly I’ve had such a positive experience with everyone I’ve met so far. It’s kind of crazy how nice you all are”
“Of course bro, that’s our culture you know”
I was a little confused, “What do you mean?”
“Atithi Dewo Bhawa” he explained, “that’s Sanskrit for Guest is God. Always in history man when travelers all over the country would stay at a house, the people of that house and village would treat the stranger as God. This is because they believed that the guest would bring good omens, blessing and happiness to the house they stayed in overnight”.
“Huh” I said, processing what he said. This was super interesting.
He continued, “The guest would be treated with respect and all sorts of hospitality so that they would go out satisfied and in return give blessings. It’s still like that today bro, everywhere you go in Nepal”.

Well shit. I’d always assumed that us Irish were the masters of hospitality, but it appears that Nepal is operating on a whole other level in that regard. There’s a lot we could learn from them.
“That’s really cool Rowsan. You’re a good ambassador for your country”
“Nah it’s nothing man. C’mon let’s say hello to the kitchen”.

On the way there we passed Anan, the quiet but friendly chap that served me my food. He couldn’t have been a day over 17. I was still, bizarrely, the only customer there that afternoon, so he was posted at the bar counter and, naturally, transfixed to his phone. It was good to see that some things are universal about today’s youth.

I then got a tour of the kitchen where I was able to thank the chef for the meal. He didn’t speak much English but his enthusiastic exclamation of “Dal Bhat power, twenty four hour!” still brings a smile to my face. It’s an appropriate catchphrase for Nepal’s sturdy staple food.
Rowsan then turned to me and asked “How are you feeling now man? Do you want to check out the roof?”. As if I needed to be asked.

We went out a service door which gave way to an outside staircase, it would appear there was one more level to the Hotel Om – and one more surprise with it.

The very top of the building was a flat space, about eight meters squared, containing an array of satellite dishes, air conditioning units and storage tanks. There was also a 360 degree panoramic view that surpassed what had blown me away in the restaurant below.
“Damn, Rowsan” I exhaled, “this is quite the perch!”
I noticed then that we weren’t alone, and squatting nearby was another character. A bit older than the others, but with a much smaller frame. He was rubbing his fingers together over a piece of rolling paper that lay on his flattened palm.

“What’s eh, what’s going on over there?” I asked, knowing full well what was going on over there.
“That’s hashish bro, he’s rolling us up a little if you’d like to have some”
Jaysus, honest to god hash! I hadn’t had that in donkey’s years. While it was abundant in my adolescence – it’s a real rarity back home nowadays, all you’ll find there is regular weed. I suspect that the reason for that is down to the proliferation of clandestine growhouses across Ireland, which are reportedly controlled by the Chinese Triads. It’s much easier for them to pump out weed with artificially boosted concentrations of THC than it is to be smuggling big blocks of hash in from Morocco.

But I digress.

From my research online I knew that Dal Baht wasn’t the only specialty of Nepal, they’re also known for making cracking good hash. Before coming here I’d set myself the goal of seeking it out, but couldn’t have predicted that it would instead find me in this way. Rowsan ushered me over and we sat down beside the next member of Hotel Om’s motley crew.

“How’s it goin'” I offered. I was met first with his eyes, then a smile, and finally a nod. Then without so much as a word he dutifully went back to his task of rolling a spliff.
“He’s uh, quite the chatterbox” I said to Rowan, who laughed. “Don’t worry man, this is Bikas, he doesn’t understand English but he’s the hardest worker here. Every day he works, works, works”, I noticed him now regarding his colleague with a look of, was it sadness? Unease? “Some people they drink and they don’t handle alcohol so well, but Bikas he smokes and it helps him focus”.
“I hear ya brother”, having quit drinking myself seven months earlier, I knew what he meant. Drinking’s grand, but it’s not for everyone. I believe it’s important for each of us to figure out which vices suit us (naturally, by trying all of them) and to subsequently free ourselves then of the ones that don’t. We all have to walk our own path on that one though.

Although our interaction was to be non-verbal, this time, I couldn’t help but get a sense that Bikas was a good person. Despite his shyness I felt nothing but good vibes and energy coming from him. When he was ready, he offered the unlit joint over to me.
“Oh! That’s kind of you but you rolled it, you should spark it”, we Irish have ‘politely declining‘ down to a fine-art. I threw in lots of gesturing to make sure he got my point.
Bikas again held it out, more insistently this time, and softly said – “Atithi Dewo Bhawa”. See? I feckin knew this guy was sound.

I accepted it graciously, put the joint to my lips and inhaled deeply as I brought my lighter up to the other end. I could feel the mixture of hash and tobacco fill my lungs and the respective drugs immediately got to work. I’ve no love for smoking fags, and usually prefer to just roll with plain green, but I must admit the nicotine rush added a certain kick to the happy cloud of THC that was now enveloping my brain and binding to its cannabinoid receptors. My mind relaxed, as though it had slipped into a bath at just the perfect temperature.

There was also a lovely body high that came with it, and therein lies the beauty of hash. See – there’s two active ingredients that can be derived from the marijuana plant; THC, which is the psychoactive compound that makes you feel “high”, and CBD, which is the pain reliever and relaxant that makes your body feel “stoned”. It’s important to note that these two compounds are not mutually exclusive – many health products that you can buy completely legally will only contain CBD (shoutout to Little Collins CBD Dispensary in Galway). On the other side of it, weed is being engineered to yield higher amounts of THC – with less of its more chilled out cousin.

Hashish, which is made when resin from the plant is compacted to make those beautiful brown bricks, naturally has high levels of both. This is important because CBD has been shown to counter-balance some of the negative psychotropic side-effects of THC (like paranoia), and reduce the associated risk of psychosis. Make no mistake, weed can be fun and beneficial, but if you think that it’s just a gentle plant with no potential for harm – you’re only foolin’ yourself pal. Talk to any seasoned smoker and they’ll tell you that the ganja of today packs far more of a punch than it used to. Bud be dank yo.

If you happen to be someone who has a hard time with weed, or if you tend to get anxiety from smoking it and don’t enjoy it, consider experimenting with hash instead. It might be a better fit for ya. And if that still doesn’t help, then perhaps smoking just isn’t for you – and that’s ok too.

As I was exploring and noting the various sensations, I suddenly felt a warm wave of nostalgia washing over me. Just like smells, tastes and sounds – a substance can strongly associate itself with memories too.
I was cast back to the summer of 2006, and my first experiences with smoking. I thought of breezy seaside days with my Irish language camp in Spiddal, and mustering up the courage to kiss a girl who was much taller than me…

“It’s good pollen, ey bro?”
“You’re absolutely right Róisín”, I said, my mind still half in another place and time. “Tis lovely hash to be sure”. By this point the joint had gone all the way around, and the three of us were joined together by the same happy haze. I wondered what memories it brought them.
“And how are you feeling now my friend?” Rowsan said with a grin.
I wanted to tell him that I felt grateful, I wanted to tell him that I felt baked, but instead I could only manage to giggle. He and Bikas quickly joined in, and as it built the roar of our laughter was swept up by the wind high across the rooftops and down over the dusty streets of Kathmandu.

To be continued…