It was getting dark and I was sure I had seen that table of yak statues before.
Mahma Bear and I were venturing around Kathmandu, trying to figure out where the heck our hotel was hiding. We had gotten back from Bhutan that morning, and decided to spend our free day exploring the city. It was quickly approaching five o’ clock, though, and even the street vendors were starting to pack up shop. We were having fun exploring…but we were also trying not to get stranded on the streets of Nepal.
“The heart and soul of the craziness of Kathmandu.”
That was the description for the part of the city we were staying in. Luckily, our hotel was tucked away in an alley that almost hid the noise of the constant beep beep of the horns. Almost. Sprawling on our beds when we got back from Bhutan, we decided to do something scary and go get lunch in the city instead of the safe confines of our hotel. We consulted TripAdvisor, and Kathmandu’s best restaurant was a block away. There was no way we couldn’t go. So off we went to Rosemary’s Cafe, dodging the constant barrage of cars and streetbikes and cows and people, beep beep “Ma’am! I give you good price!” mooo, and found ourselves lost in a french press served straight from the gods. If you’re ever in Kathmandu, try the green curry from Rosemary’s. Your taste buds will set up an altar and it’ll be all you can think about as each bud prays for one more taste for the next three days.Encouraged by the rousing success that was Rosemary’s and even more encouraged by the french press (dear lord that coffee was strong, especially after nothing but instant), we set out for our next adventure: the Garden of Dreams. Honk. We were still lost. We had found the Garden, scattered with young couples (barf), and managed to relax despite the makeout-age that was happening all around us (but still no escape from the car horns). Now the coffee was wearing off and the corners were starting to look the same. We knew it was within three blocks. We just didn’t know which combination of blocks. And I was sure I had seen that tiny fuzzy yak statue before. We turned right. We turned left. We went down a block, turned around halfway, and then went down it again. Our noses picked up the scent of tortillas (or the Nepal version, at least), being fried across the street and our mouths watered. And then there it was. “Thamel Eco-Resort,” in bright yellow, and the alley that hid our place of solace. Mahma Bear and I had found the best coffee (and curry) in Nepal, a garden relief, and our way back home. We were getting this whole traveling thing down.