Kathmandu Kaleidoscope: Farewells, Shamanism and a Momo Safari

The morning began with a rare treasure on a group trip: free time. No monks chanting, no pujas or treks—just Patan, wide open and breathing slowly under the morning sun. With four hours to burn, some of us melted into temples and alleyways, others succumbed to the magnetism of yet another pashmina. And me? I wandered the winding streets like a man whose soul had unfinished business with old bricks and carved wooden windows.

From Patan to Kathmandu: The Final Chapter Begins

By noon, bags in tow like sherpas of our own consumerist sins, we walked to the bus and hit the road for Kathmandu. The ride was short but symbolic: our return to where it all began, now wiser, dustier, and more adept at haggling over yak wool.

At the Mandala Boutique Hotel, we had a bittersweet reunion with the forgotten bags of our earlier selves—those pre-journey versions of us who thought three pairs of pants were enough. We thanked Kovindra, our walking Wikipedia and patience incarnate, with a much-deserved tip. Some lingered for tea shopping with him, while others dispersed into Thamel like moths to the flame of last-minute consumerism.

Solo Kathmandu: A Personal Pilgrimage

While the group fanned out like confetti, I opted for a solitary pilgrimage through Kathmandu’s chaotic heart. My final rupees fell one by one—technical gear, teas that promised enlightenment, and a singing bowl that might or might not double as a salad bowl.

The Museum of Nepalese Art (MONA) was a revelation. A contemporary oasis in a city obsessed with the past, it dares to ask: what if Nepal didn’t just preserve but created? From surreal installations to politically charged sculpture, it was a bold leap into modernity, unapologetic and necessary.

Then came the Garden of Dreams—a colonial-era pocket of neoclassical escapism. Palm trees, pergolas, and silence, sweet silence. Afterwards, I embarked on my very own food safari through Thamel: greasy momo stalls, smoky alleys where aunties brewed chai with the solemnity of a religious ritual, and shadow kitchens hidden behind shrines, all scent and soul.

The Shaman Will See You Now

But the highlight—strange, unsettling, and transcendent—was the 90-minute shamanic session. An interpreter led me through the labyrinthine streets to a nondescript house turned spiritual clinic. Inside, the shaman drummed and chanted, scanning me for negative energies like a mystic MRI. No malevolent spirits were detected, but I still received a blessing and a sound-healing ceremony that reverberated through my bones and possibly into the next life.

The Last Supper (Nepali Style)

By 7 PM, the group reconvened at the hotel and we were guided through Kathmandu’s back alleys to a hidden restaurant. It was like being smuggled into a secret society of food and performance.

We feasted while dancers spun and stomped, their feet echoing centuries of tradition. There were gifts, a cake worthy of a wedding, and enough singing to trigger UNESCO protection status. It was our send-off party, a final embrace from Nepal before we returned to the cold rationality of our everyday lives.

We trudged through dark streets by midnight, heads spinning from food, music, and memories. I don’t remember falling asleep. I only remember the drums. And that part of me didn’t want to wake up from this Nepalese dream.

Back to Reality

And so, like all beautiful dreams that refuse to be checked in online, we wake at 5:30 the day after, just as the rain politely stops, as if Kathmandu itself wants to bid us farewell without tears. A short ride later, we reach the airport at 5:50, exactly three hours before take-off. Air Arabia keeps things charmingly spartan: no online check-in, narrow seats, zero frills. But the miracle? Every piece of luggage arrives intact, like loyal companions refusing to get lost in translation.

Now, this extraordinary journey is truly over. We are heavier in souvenirs, stories, and irreversibly altered perspectives. So many faces, flavours, faltering paths, and silent chants echo in our memory’s folds. What a wildly improbable, utterly memorable adventure!