After a timely reminder from the blog site that I hadn't been on it for 30 days (more now)I realised I'd better finish the epic (at least this part of it - amazingly some people want to know what comes next - me for one!)I've just found this and realised I never published it - ah well, a never-ending story.
My last week in Kathmandu was full of all the things I like to remember about Nepal and it seemed to go on for ages.
On Monday morning, after seeing my trunk of souvenirs, clothes, cushion covers etc and a bag full of books and papers safely on its way to Newcastle airport (very efficiently dealt with all the way)I went to the VSO office for my exit interview with Purnaji. I'd written all the notes for this several weeks before and only glanced at them briefly, so as he started to read, I was surprised to hear him laughing and saying 'You're not going to retire' - apparently I'd written that my first task would be to find out what it was like to be retired - he then went on to read that I might re-volunteer for shorter placements after a year or so and told me there would be a job for me in the office at the beginning of 2009 - I did a Nepali waggle of the head (which can mean yes, but is usualy quickly forgotten) and was then stunned to hear Purna tell everyone at lunchtime that we weren't really saying goodbye because I was coming back! Through a process of Chinese whispers this eventually reached Clare in London - apparently I'm returning to Nepal,in March! No way - and I'm waiting to see what other doors open , though I'll definitely be back at some time.
On my way back from the office (walk and bus) I realised I had forgotten to see the finance officer to finalise my accounts, so the next morning I walked to Patan via Thamel and Durbar Square, just taking in the sights, sounds and smells again. Much as I dislike the effects of the traffic, the inefficient waste collection service and trying to walk on pavements covered with merchandise, I do enjoy the city and feel comfortable in the areas I know well.
I spent the return journey doing shopping - pashmina jumpers and scarves were on the list plus a turquoise treat for myself.
That evening I had a meal in the guest house with my replacement, Doreen. While trying to keep a balance between realism and optimism about the situation she would face, I realised again how much I would like to be in her shoes, but with two years experience behind me.
It was always a Kathmandu treat to visit the hairdresser at the Shangri-la Hotel, so off I went early on Wednesday morning. There was another British woman in the salon, but being spectacle-less, I couldn't take much notice of her. When she left, the hairdresser said 'Did you recognise the lady?' It turned out to be the Ambassador's wife! I should have said 'See you tonight'.
That evening many volunteers gathered with other ex-pats for the British Embassy carol service. Although we say we go for the rum punch, mince pies and sausage rolls, the service itself has been a reminder of home for the last two Christmases and now reminded me again what I had missed about Christmas Eve. This year the Ambassador had decided to hold the service under a brightly coloured tent in the garden. The hedges twinkled with fairy lights as we were serenaded (?) into another section of the garden by a young bagpiper. To the 2007 volunteers this was surreal, to the old hands it was something we had come to expect - and would be something to miss.
On Thursday I felt I needed a walk, so I set off for Swayambuth - the monkey temple. As a landmark from many parts of the city, including the roof of the PGH, it seems to be ever present, the four pairs of eyes overseeing all that the city has to offer.
The walk brought back memories - my first visit with Roz, just ten days after arriving (I was scared of the steps-but they are steep!), taking both sons during their visits, floodlit views at night. As I crossed over the river a funeral party was approaching one of the ghats, then looking along the garbage strewn banks, past the egrets and up to the level of the kites, I could see the white mountains and remembered that on that first visit this bridge had offered us our first view of what everyone associates with Nepal, but which for so much of the year keeps itself hidden from anyone who doesn't venture right into its territory.
There was however a 'first' on this occasion - I'd never seen the Himalaya from the temple, so the view of the valley had added value this time.
On Thursday evening I met up with a group of volunteers for a final Roadhouse pizza. Although I associate so many places with daal bhaat of varying quality, Kathmandu was certainly the place for top-class pizza!
There was one thing on my 'to do' list which I thought would make a great final day - a trip up the Manakamana cable car, on the Pokhara Road. I'd first heard about it on my village stay in Dhapakhel, when I'd been given a souvenir ring and told this was one place all Nepalis wanted to go. Newly weds go to pray for sons, goats are sacrificed regularly (30rupees for a goat to travel up, but no price advertised to travel down) and it's a place to be avoided on Saturdays.
So early on Friday morning I set off for Kantirajpath (now known as the Kings Way) where I'd been told I would find the bus opposite the Nabil Bank. When no bus had appeared opposite the bank, but several had parked and left from the other side of the road, I decided to investigate more closely and found my bus just in time - this was going to be a typical Nepali day - I could feel it!
Arriving at the entrance to the cable car about 11am, I was horrified to see a very long queue snaking down the approach road. I'd heard that the cable car operators stopped for lunch at 12 o'clock and I could see I wasn't going to reach the front of the queue by then - but word quickly spread that the cars would continue working as there were so many people (a local festival whose significance I never fully understood was the cause).
Eventually I reached the top and made my way through crowded stalls selling every kind of souvenir to the temple square. As it was impossible to get near, I followed my nose up some steps, past the seemingly endless queue to present sacrifices at the temple and eventually came out on a hillside with stunning views towards the mountains. I was trying to take it all in when a young man (one of only a handful of white faces) I'd seen in the cable car queue came up to me and thanked me for leading him up here. He was with a group of Nepalis who had never been before and seemed to think I knew where I was going! They took my photo and I exchanged e-mail addresses with Joseph who was a British student working in a human rights organisation in Kathmandu. It was a very happy chance meeting as the information the organisation publishes is unbiased and very informative.
As I really wanted to make sure I was back in Kathmandu by early evening I set off down the hill again and afgter watching the local band in action I took the cable car down and soon caught a Kathmandu-bound bus. The journey was uneventful with some splendid views of the mountains in the sunset glow until we reached the city. Knowing that the terminus was nearer than the first main stop in Kalanki, I stayed on the bus - big mistake. If I had taken a taxi I'd have been back at PGH before I eventually got off the bus - what a reminder of the traffic situation in KTM - all or nothing.
I had arranged to eat with Doreen and we were joined by other new volunteers, sharing experiences, hopes and fears. As we were finishing, Geraldine rang to ask me to go for a drink with her and Karen - in no other place than the Malla Hotel (5 stars - the only time I had been in was briefly when the students from Farnborough had been dropped off there). Another farewell to contend with, but a pleasant and surprising ending to a typically surprising Nepali day.
And so to Saturday. I'd arranged to have a Mike's breakfast with a group of volunteers and that took most of the morning. By coincidence Jo had also arranged to meet friends there, so more hugs all round. I then wandered through Thamel and spent an hour or so reading in the calm of the Garden of Dreams - what a haven.
I was pleased that noone was around when I went back to PGH for my bags, but Bram managed to bring tears by presenting me with a khaadaa scarf. This was just as much leaving home as leaving Hetauda had been the previous week.
After the airport formalities and a fairly comfortable wait, my last memories as we crossed the tarmac to the plane was of flaming mountains in a dark blue sky. Life hadn't always been so peaceful, but the memory of such sights had often kept me going.
Au revoir Nepal - I wish you well.
