People I've met

So far I have mainly focused on the places I have been in Kathmandu, while it’s the people I have met along the way that have truly made my experience here. I’ve already mentioned my Turkish photographic fiend, with whom I shared a brief two day photography “workshop”, snapshotting our way around the city in a whirlwind tour, our subjects everyone from holy men to homeless men, cheeky monkeys to cheeky children, and of course, everything else in between. We enjoyed the views and the wildlife at the Monkey temple, got spiritual with some Sadus at the holy site Pashupatinath, chattered with monks at Kopan and soaked up the Buddhist culture in Boudhanath, managing to sneak in a few beers and some live Nepali music along the way.

 Harking back to my first day in Kathmandu, when I arrived bleary-eyed from a sleepless overnight flight, I met someone else who has continued to make my time in Nepal a pleasure and an education. I was lost in the rain in search of my lodging when a kindly Nepali woman named Manisha took me under her wing. She invited me in for tea and to shelter from the rain, promising to help me find my hostel when the rain ceased. Manisha turned out to be intelligent, kind and generous, with a passion for social change and the arts. A writer by trade already with a few novels in her repertoire she has fingers in many pies in the Kathmandu arts and social activism scene. Alongside researching and planning her next novel she is busy writing articles for newspapers, applying for jobs as a playwright, and working with a disability organisation. The life of a disabled person in Nepal is tough. Lacking the resources they need and stigmatised by a society that largely still sees disability as a penance for sins committed in previous lives, it is extremely difficult for the less able to become economically independent and exercise their rights.

Among other things, Manisha’s organisation provides home-visit teachers to disabled children around Kathmandu and Bakhtapur. They are currently filming a documentary to highlight the important role this scheme plays in the lives of these children and their families. I was lucky enough to be invited along to their office where they are in the editing process. As a budding videographer myself this was a fantastic opportunity and I learned some top tips for my own filming and editing projects. One of the men involved in the project has his own story to tell. He has in fact just released this story as a feature film, directed by himself and with a number of awards under its belt already. It has also been nominated for an Oscar! After losing the use of both legs at only 17, refusing to be beaten by his misfortune, he has forged a great career in film, and finally completed his life story project after 7 years of planning and dreaming. The film is beautiful and funny and poignant and bittersweet – I can’t wait to watch the full version when it’s released in England!

Through Manisha I have seen sides of Kathmandu and Nepali life that I would never have experienced alone. Invited into her home, and the lives of her friends and family over the last few weeks, I have felt the full effect of the Nepali generosity and warm-heartedness. Only last Saturday I was a guest at a Teej celebration with 25 female Nepali writers, where there was feasting and dancing and plenty of impassioned debate. (Or at least that’s what I imagine it was, considering my Nepali is not yet good enough to follow the conversations!) I was welcomed with open arms and fascination.  

With Manisha I have also eaten my first home-cooked Nepali meal. It as eaten with my hands in true Nepali style, and in the dark in Kathmandu style (there are intermittent blackouts thanks  to insufficient electricity to supply the whole city). I have ridden on the back of a scooter, dodging pot-holes, overtaking groaning buses and circumnavigating chaotic traffic jams. 

I have wandered the red cobbled streets of Bakhtapur, sucking on Kulfi (frozen milk solids with dried fruit and nuts inside), sampling curd (another delicious milk-based snack), bargaining with street-hawkers, and eating traditional Newari food, (in a place I wouldn’t have known existed if not for Manisha and friends). 

I have sampled the theatrical world of Kathmandu, watching a Nepali version of Hedda Gabler, directed by another of Manisha’s friends. Already a subtle and complex play it was all the more indecipherable in Nepali. But the acting was fantastic! I have been introduced to the best local (and therefore cheap!) restaurants in my area and to so many little titbits of knowledge about the culture, society and history of Nepal that I have come to understand and love this addictive and inspiring place all the more. And I haven’t even begun to talk about Women-LEAD! I think I will save that for the next instalment…

Getting spiritual...

Kopan Monastery is as a monastery should be – peaceful, spiritual and high above the towns and villages in the valley below. We held our breath at every twist and turn that our taxi had a decent hand brake and finally we were there. Since Saturday is the monks’ holiday we did not get to witness any of their services or rituals. Instead we caught the monks at a time of play and relaxation, allowing us to speak with them as fellow humans and hear about their lives at the monastery, rather than viewing them as higher beings with no connection to us as visitors. Seeing the young monks of eight or ten years old playing board games as exuberantly as any other child was a delightful insight into the usually elusive daily life inside a monastery. Unfortunately Kartal’s request to photograph the llama (the chosen one) for his exhibition for UNICEF was refused by the head monk so he had to make do with covertly snapping young monks as they passed by.

Continuing the Buddhist theme our next destination was the Tibetan centre of Bodhnath, a district centred around its imposing and beautiful stupa (Buddhist temple). The square where the stupa resides is buzzing with life while maintaining a sense of calming repose. Thousands of pilgrims gather daily to walk clockwise round the stupa, spinning prayer wheels and chanting mantras. Photos cannot do the atmosphere justice and neither can my words. It is a great place for people watching and self-reflection.

Having wandered the streets of Bodhnath, speaking with (and photographing!) some locals, we headed off to Pashputinath, a Hindu temple on the banks of the Bagmati River. This is where the dead are cremated so I prepared myself for a sombre scene. It was the first time I have seen a real life dead body, albeit from afar, and it affected me greatly. Kartal said it was the first time he had seen me still and silent for that long so that’s saying something! Watching a funeral you have no relation to is a strange experience too. I was torn between feelings of fascination at the rituals and traditions I was seeing, empathy and sadness for the mourning families, and a sense of voyeurism for sitting with crowds of other spectators while friends and relatives watched their loved ones turn into ashes. Many of these spectators were fellow Nepalis though, so it was not a touristic spectacle, more like an observational ritual, shared with the funeral party. The process is long but dignified, and I think I like that the body is open to be seen by its relatives for the last time, rather than hidden away in a coffin as if death is contagious and a social taboo.

Around this holy site are various Sadus, or holy men, who have left their families to follow a life of spirituality and learning. They rub the ashes of the dead on their bodies and sit still for hours and hours a day. They are of course a tourist attraction as a result, and capitalise on this by asking for money in exchange for photographs. My Turkish friend Kartal had spent four hours with these Sadus in this spot a few days earlier, and was greeted with familiarity and warmth. We paid our dues to them and in exchange got free reign of photography, snapping away unfettered while others looked on in fascination. A particularly surreal moment in all this was Kartal directing the “chief” or teacher Sadu to sit in certain poses, look in different directions, and basically become a living model for him. We ended up with some fantastically intimate shots that I never would have dared to get without my gregarious Turk on hand! Unfortunately he headed to India the next day so I must continue my photo apprenticeship alone from now on. And so I will!

Kathmandu - the first few days 

So far Kathmandu is everything I was expecting and more. I was expecting tropical heat, humidity and A LOT of rain. And that is exactly what I arrived to. The monsoon greeted us off the plane in all its deluging glory. And so did a hell of a lot of monkeys, to add to the sense of the tropical. Monkeys and airport car parks are an incongruous pair but judging by the taxi drivers nonchalant attitude towards the monkeys and vice versa I imagine it’s the norm here.

I soon discovered that nonchalance must be in the job description, judging by the laid back attitude my driver maintained throughout the hair-raising journey to my accommodation. Not only were the roads packed and temporarily riverlike from the rain, but the Nepali driving habits are, quite frankly, terrifying. There goes our vague plan to cruise Nepal on rented motorbikes.

Don’t worry though, everyone honks their horn to make you aware they’re about to run you over or drive on the wrong side of the road so I guess that’s something. But most of the time Kathmandu’s main roads look as though every vehicle at every moment is experiencing that split second feeling of “ooh that was close” that you hope only to experience a few times in a lifetime. Our journey continues as a rattling bus heaving under the weight of its load and parping out black smoke in its wake charges towards oncoming traffic to overtake a tuk tuk  carrying 10 people that is overtaking an old man on a moped with his wife and two grandchildren balanced precariously on the back, all sheltering under one giant poncho. No biggie. Meanwhile a tractor converted into some sort of minibus passes by, narrowly missing the carcass of a calf splayed out in the middle of the road caught in a macabre mid-running pose. My taxi driver still doesn’t bat an eyelid when his car nearly clips the back of a battered campervan undertaking him in audacious style.  Welcome to Nepal, he says to me with a smile.

The sides of the roads are equally slapdash, with higgledy houses hand-built onto other higgledy shops and buildings, and water pouring off corrugated tin roofs adding to the tumult beneath. People walking through the streets pay no regard to the pelting rain, continuing business as usual, many without even an umbrella! Schoolchildren squelch home in dripping uniform and sodden shoes, making me wonder if their feet are in a constant state dampness. You'd think they'd be more prepared considering this type of weather hits every year at around the same time! Although I must admit when the air is warm and the puddles even warmer rain isn’t such an issue and having wet feet isn't as annoying as it is in England. Provided you don’t wear flip-flops. I’ve spotted many an unassuming tourist with black muck flicked up to their bum cheeks by pesky flappy flip-flops.

Having said all this, the last few days have been rain free and gloriously made the most of. After meeting a Turkish opera-singer-cum-photographer in the bustling streets of Thamel (the old town) I’ve had a whirlwind whistle-stop tour of all the main sights combined with a photography master class. Kartel only had 2 days in Kathmandu before heading to India so he had a lot of ground to cover and I was happy to be swept along with him. From the dusty, noisy, and overcrowded streets of Thamel, we were whisked by taxi up to the awe-inspiring Buddhist site Swayambhunath, or the Monkey Temple as it is commonly known. The views over Kathmandu are breath taking (we were lucky to come on a clear day as so often during the rainy season Kathmandu’s valley is shrouded in cloud) and worth the climbing of 365 steps. The temple itself is lovely with a certain mystical charm, but the  monkey population that use it as their own personal playground rather stole the show. Photo opportunity after photo opportunity presented itself at every corner. Those monkeys sure know how to pose. The sunset across the valley soon turned my attention from monkey-watching though and I enjoyed my first glimpse of the Himalaya, hazy in the distance.

Next up was a sample of the night-life on offer, back in Thamel again. It’s extremely touristy and caters for all tastes, both food and music wise. Sidestepping the token Irish bar pumping out some generic live rock music we found ourselves in an equally touristy but culturally richer restaurant with a live Nepali music troupe offering beautiful, sorrowful folksongs. Kathmandu is an early-to-bed early-to-rise kind of town so the night finished at a respectable hour and a plan was made to meet early and catch the best morning light at Kopan Monastry the next day.

Lewisham gets a hipster injection!

Lewisham Model Market Remodelled

The people that brought you Dalston Street Feast have worked their charm on area whose charm I once thought lay in the fact that it didn’t really have that much charm at all (and wasn’t trying to either) – Lewisham. 

Hoping for a revolution something like that achieved in Brixton Village – now a thriving gentrified hotspot with gourmet delights galore – the Street Feast team have created an open air eating, drinking and dancing experience in another disused market, but this time in the heart of Lewisham.

Lewisham Model Market closed its doors a few years ago and was even targeted for demolition by its owners, but hopefully now its fate has been sealed and its life reinvented by the arrival of the Street Feast. The opening night on Friday was a huge success judging by the huge queue to enter and the fact that some vendors sold out of their stock. It seems South East London was ready and raring to embrace a little slice of hipsterdom.

We arrived at 8pm, not really knowing what to expect. What we most certainly did not expect was the length of the queue already formed and a “one in one out” policy already in place. Luckily the line moved quickly and we entered to a scene of bustling excitement. Reggae pumping, craft beer and cider flowing, and a whole host of delectable smells moistening taste buds made for a delightful sensory experience. And luckily the food lived up to its aromas. The most difficult part was choosing what to eat as everywhere we looked people were tucking into intriguing looking dishes from all over the world.

In the mood for meat we opted for sticky ribs from Smokestak (tricky to eat but the meatiest and tastiest ribs I’ve had for a while) and a slow-cooked Creole brisket sandwich from local Lewisham vendors Hank’s Po Boys (beef that melts in the mouth topped off with homemade slaw and spicy New Orleans sauce). Judging by the quality of the food we tasted I will definitely be back to sample the rest of what the Model Market has to offer.

The music goes on until 1am and on a balmy summer’s evening I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than in the middle of Lewisham drinking frozen margaritas and dancing under the stars.  Who needs Shoreditch now?!