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This week’s LISTENup travelcast revisits the Nepali capital of Kathmandu. A city I visited two years ago, and where I penned the original entry of The Kites of Kathmandu. Continue reading ‘The Kites of Kathmandu (Audio Podcast)’
Kathmandu is not the dirtiest city I’ve ever been too. That award is divided between Naples, Marseille and pretty much every north Indian megalopolis. Marseille has some room for appeal, the binmen were on strike (it’s France, go figure). Naples suffered the same affliction, but for some reason I’m throwing their right to appeal out as I’m pretty sure the piles of garbage covered up greater evils. Like bodies. My life was threatened on several occasions. Well, twice – the remaining times were suicide plans incase I got stranded there. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘The Daily Commute’’
A lingering cold. Perceptions. An Irish pair. Gore-tex. An English doublet. Love. Salmon Rushdie. An endless line. One Australian. Two Australians. A city in protest. A solo Swede. The Himalaya. The afterlife. A pondering sadhu. Shooting stars. A rickshaw ride. Vegetable moussaka. Expectations. An averted disaster. Central Asia. Spirited Away. Nepali Sherpas. A blazing sun. A brace of Kiwis. A pencil sharpener. Toothpaste tubes. Telex forms. Free Tibet. Conformity. Hot lemon. A lone Canadian. Yak wool. Israel. Down sleeping bags. Country capitals. Ambitions. Candlelight. An American duet. Banana lassi. Please. Take a breath. If the ingredients that made up our lives were a simple family of words filed neatly between a peppering of punctuation, then our lives would surely make no sense at all. Though the words maniacally cascading through to the foothills of these, my opening lines, carry with them the weekly silt of my Being’s physical exposure, from the citadel of it’s very existence. Continue reading ‘A Spring of Surprise’
‘Look at that man cuddling the little chicken, all together now, aww…’. Cluck cluck, whoosh. Everywhere we looked in Kathmandu, animals were – quite literally – losing their heads. ‘Ahem’, I overlooked the mishap and calmly continued, ‘look at the fluffy sheep’. Baa baa, swoosh. ‘Hmmm, look at the goat’. Bleat, bleat. Slash. ‘Ohmigod, there’s a water buffalo in the square! Don’t look at the buffalo! Don’t look at the…’, thud. ‘Too late’. We’d arrived in Kathmandu amidst the biggest Nepali festival of the year, Dashain was flooding the streets with colour – a thick, lively red colour. Continue reading ‘The Kites of Kathmandu’
I'm currently working my way through Wellington, New Zealand.
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