Pa and I had been encouraged by many to visit Bhaktapur. Known as Khwopa by the Newari, it’s the cultural capital of Nepal and dates back to the 8th century. From the 12th to the 15th centuries it was Nepal’s political capital as well, although Nepal didn’t actually exist as a unified country back then.
Nepal has a long and fascinating political history. Suffice it to say, that for many years Bhaktapur and the area surrounding it was its own sovereign country.
Arriving at the gates of the city at exactly noon, we paid the admission fee and were immediately approached by Santosh Thapa, the fellow on the left.
A congenial man, he hoped we would secure his services as a guide.
Neither Pa nor I were up to that, and explained that we preferred to explore for a while at our own pace. Concerned we might find someone else, he assured us that with twenty-five years experience we’d find no one better. So we struck a deal. We’d hire no one else the rest of the day, and would meet him in the morning at 9:30 sharp. Shaking on it, we parted company and moved on.
We had a room for the night at Hotel Rupakot, $13 with a full breakfast. Following a short nap, we went to the roof top and surveyed the ancient city.
It was enough to get us out the door and on the street. At first we did the usual thing, looking for people engaged in the stuff of daily life.
There was plenty to hold our attention.
Women visiting.
Men playing games,
or just walking along.
But a shift occurred, as sometimes happens, and soon we were on the lookout for the “Thin Places.”
As one writer put it, “Thin Places are those places where the walls are weak,” like the Donegal Cliffs, or the Blue Mosque, or even some out of the way tavern frequented only by locals.
Pa and I had been there before, like when a stairway calls you up,
or down for that matter,
and you’re in another place.
Perhaps it’s an obscure opening,
or a view that leads to another view.
It might be what appears to be an abandoned court yard,
yet something whispers that there’s more.
An old well might beckon,
and you wonder how many buckets have drawn water over the centuries.
Sometimes there are Thin Places that are inhabited,
and it’s difficult to tell which came first.
Or a pile of rubble juxtaposed with a bouquet of flowers draws you in,
inviting you to explore the surrounding structures.
Abandoned places are particularly ripe,
for Thin Places so small
you must be right on top of them.
Pa and I ended our exploration with a cup of masala tea and view of the city.
In the morning, we’ll do a walkabout with Mr. Thapa, knowing full well that a Thin Place or two will present itself.
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