Earlier I wrote about the comedy that ensued from going to Nepal to climb and getting hit by a motorbike instead. After escaping chaotic Kathmandu for something more peaceful, I made my escape to Nagarkot, Bhaktapur – a beautiful and peaceful little village, 32 miles away. On my second day at the yoga retreat there, the instructor suggested he take the guests (four of us) to the city of Bhaktapur, also known as the “Place of Devotees”. The oldest part of the city, the Dattatreya square is a UNESCO World Heritage Site filled with temples and beautiful wood carvings. I declined the offer initially, as I had just arrived the night before, bruised and battered from Kathmandu, but eventually acquiesced as this might have been my only chance to see something beautiful after the pollution in the capital.
So, off we went, the U.N of wanderers – Nepali, Canadian, Singaporean, Sri Lankan and Pakistani. After getting off the public bus – which was amusing (I shared my seat with a woman holding a live chicken) but bumpy – we wandered to the center of the town. Knee brace on and back smelling of the local “Tiger Balm”, I was determined to see this renowned little place. As we went through the mazes of streets that reminded me of the inner city of Lahore for their convoluted meanderings, we saw some remarkable temples covered in woodcarvings of such intricacy that you had to simply stop and stare in awe. We also saw some unexpected things. T-shirts and jackets were for sale, hanging from centuries-old carved windows. A truck with “Metallica” painted across the back was driving around. And, a few portly goats lay around in a large square as if it belonged to them. “What would goats be doing here?” I wondered. “Where are their owners?” I asked the guide.
“No one owns them. They belong to the gods” he replied. Apparently, they simply hang out in the sun and people just feed them.
T-shirts for sale - displayed on ancient wood carvings
At that point the Sri Lankan tried to take some cash out of a dodgy-looking ATM. As expected, it ate her card. The guide, helpful as ever, ran off and came back with an annoyed looking lady in a sari – who then led us through more winding streets for what seemed like an hour, to sort it out. Papers were filled out and the card was eventually returned. By that time, I was beat. All I wanted was to sit and have a cup of coffee, even though we were headed for most local’s favorite temple, the Nyatapola Temple. It is an amazing five-storey temple, one of the tallest in the country – and yet it withstood the devastating earthquake of 2015. I decided instead to bow out gracefully before I collapsed from the pain. The guide pointed to the end of the street and told me to turn slightly, and I would be at a very modern coffee shop with internet. They would meet me there in an hour.
Feeling quite proud of myself for a mature decision, I parted ways to get my first cup of coffee in days. Suddenly I heard a large trumpet blast behind me, and then another. I turned around to see an entire marching band barreling down on me. I quickly jumped to the side as an entire wedding procession paraded past. I nearly got run over by the decorated wedding car (much the same as in Pakistan, flowers and all) in all the cacophony and confusion. Ducking into a side street, I tried to find my bearings, but alas, I was lost. And then I fell over a holy goat. “Oh dear, more bad karma!” I thought, as I tried to ask the goat and the Divine for forgiveness. The goat would have none of it, as it tried to ram me. As for God, I can’t say.
A holy goat suns intself in the square
As I roamed around for the hour of walking that I never wanted, I finally found that coffee place – only to see my group already there, having a nice cup of Java after having seen the temple. My guide was to tell me later that a prisoner once escaped from the jail here, back in the old days, and ran round and round for the whole day: only to arrive right back at the prison by nightfall. I said I felt like a prisoner to my pain. At that point and we all had a laugh (well, I cried a little, inside). On the way back, the Sri Lankan tried her card again. One can only imagine what happened next. By the time we finally wandered home, I had to miss evening yoga practice, the one reason I had wanted to stay home in the first place.
Once the other three guests had left, the instructor informed me that he had an outside group coming in for a sunrise practice. Meeting some new people would be great, I thought, so I agreed to this suicidal sounding plan. Cold as it is during the day, the temperature was 6 degrees that morning as I rolled out of bed. Stepping outside at 4:30 am, I was informed that the venue was not at the retreat itself but at “The Sunrise Hill”, a bumpy 20-minute ride away. Determined to at least see (if not trek to) Mt. Everest, Ganesh Himal, Lantang and Dorje Lhakpa – all visible from the hotel rooftop where he was teaching – I sat on the freezing porch for 15 minutes. Our cab driver was late, and the instructor had to go find another one in the dark. Once we got there, it got much colder and things got much stranger.
I was lost. And then I fell over a holy goat. "Oh dear, more bad karma!" I thought, as I tried to ask the goat and God for forgiveness. The goat would have none of it, as it tried to ram me
The group turned out to be a horde of Chinese who had never practiced (or possibly even heard of) yoga before. As they all lined up, no space was left for me so the yoga teacher, as his special home-stay guest, asked me to just take a place next to him. What ensued was the most hysterical yoga class I have ever witnessed. That, too, standing next to the teacher right in the front. It started with 20 people, all of whom talked to each other throughout, spoke no English and constantly broke pose to take selfies. I have never seen anything like it. The instructor is a gentle person but a stricter one would have ended the class.
Toes freezing, I tried to concentrate on my own practice. I did not realise that I was missing the coveted sunrise over the ranges and peaks as I was standing with my back to it, while they were casually taking pictures from their mats. The class was supposed to experience the sunrise, and not the teacher. As I was standing next to him, my vantage point (or lack of it) meant that I missed the sunrise too.
Soon, half the Chinese were gone, and the other half had fallen over, so he ended the class early. Then a kindly older lady came up and gave us both tips. Hilarious. She had mistaken me for some assistant or something because of my placement.
“So,” I thought. “Fine, I missed the sunset, but at least someone thinks I’m a yoga instructor – which has never happened before.”
Plus, now I was swimming in Chinese money. The actual instructor than told me it was the equivalent of about 30 rupees. I handed it to him and told him that he was now rich.
For me, it was no temple, no sunset and now no wealth.
