Category / Travel

by Linnea Arold Michel

London At Last!

Leaning on the railing of London Bridge amidst throngs of people on this amazingly sunny November day, with the Thames, Tower Bridge, and HMS Belfast all arrayed before me, I could only think how good it was to be back in London, one of my favorite and most visited cities.

Fourteen years ago, when I emerged from the St. Pancras train station in London that very first time, I was filled with a sense of homecoming. Today’s vista evoked that same sense. Ever since I was old enough to know about this place, I’d been fascinated by all things British. I’d read voraciously about England, always favoring English writers. I had an English pen-pal. I studied English history when I was in college. It was not ever a matter of “if” I would visit England, but “when”. I always knew I would. In 2008, I finally arrived for what would prove to be the first of many visits. But when we last visited in 2017, I did not expect it to be 5 years before I could return. Indeed, it wasn’t supposed to be.

In November 2019, the Dutch symphonic metal band, Within Temptation, announced their Worlds Collide Tour with co-headlining American band Evanescence. When I saw London’s O2 Arena on the list of dates, I decided it was high time I introduced my daughter (she who had introduced me to Within Temptation) to this most favored city. I planned a family trip around it, inviting my Dickens-fan daughter and her husband to join us as well in April 2020, and I immediately began planning an itinerary to please all five of us.

And then, of course, you know what happened. Three Tour postponements due to the pandemic left me feeling the trip would never happen. Life got in the way further causing Megan and her husband to pull out of the still-uncertain trip. The latest reschedule put the Tour’s kickoff in November 2022. We didn’t book flights until a month out, when I finally felt reasonably confident the Tour would happen.

Even as we sat on the airplane waiting to taxi, I couldn’t ditch the foreboding that something would crop up at the last moment to prevent this trip. As I lugged my carryon along the jetway at Heathrow’s Terminal 3, I began to believe it, but, at last, standing now on London Bridge, the matter was settled–I’m back in England!

On our previous visits, getting from Heathrow to London proper meant an hour-long journey at a minimum, as we usually took the Underground, involving an hour ride into the city. However, a few weeks before our trip, I’d read about the Elizabeth Line, a new railway line recently opened by Queen Elizabeth that would eventually connect Heathrow seamlessly to Canary Wharf—but not just yet, said the article; the new line was only operating to Paddington Station, where we would have to switch to another train. When we boarded the Elizabeth Line at Heathrow, however, we learned from another passenger who used it for her regular commute that the Canary Wharf section had indeed just opened “last week”. Happy news, since we’d booked our favorite London hotel, the Marriott Canary Wharf, for its easy proximity to the O2 Arena.

One thing I always appreciate about traveling to London is that we take a night flight that gets us into Heathrow in the morning—we don’t lose a day for travel. Since I can’t sleep on airplanes, I usually hunker down with a good book or fine-tune my sightseeing plans. It also means I’m eager to get off the plane and usually find I’m running on adrenaline by the time we reach the hotel. I’ve found the best way to get acclimated to local time is to just keep running—with the fortunate result that I never have jet lag.

My plan to introduce Kristin to London got underway immediately on arrival. We stopped at the hotel long enough to drop our bags in our room (we requested an early check-in) and freshen up a bit, then it was out the door and back to the Underground where we hopped on the Jubilee Line to London Bridge Station. From there, we could clear out the last vestiges of air travel brain fog with a walk along the Thames while taking in the iconic sights.

Emerging from the tube station, we walked across London Bridge crowded with people. From here, you get a lovely view of Tower Bridge, the World War II battle cruiser HMS Belfast, the Shard and the London skyline.

View of Thames River from London Bridge, showing Tower Bridge, HMS Belfast

View looking east from London Bridge

On the north bank, we picked up the Thames Path (a national walking path following the Thames River from the Cotswolds through London toward the sea) and wandered along it for awhile before crossing back to the south bank by way of the pedestrian-only Millenium Bridge. Completed in 2000-2001, this bridge was the first new bridge to be built across the Thames in over a century.

From North Bank, looking across the Thames for a view of the pointy building known as the Shard

The Millenium Bridge deposits you near the Tate Modern, one of the world’s most popular modern art museums (so says the Blue Guide to London), and the recreated Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.

From South Bank, looking across the Thames to the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral

On the south bank, we picked up the Queen’s Walk (WalkLondon.com offers a self-guided sightseeing tour) and staved off hunger with roasted nuts from a Bankside vendor before continuing on. Along the way, we passed the graffitied Southbank Skate Space.

The skate space as it appeared in 2012; see the link for the story of how this space became a skate boarder’s paradise.

The Southbank Centre Winter Market was in full swing, with pop-up bars (where you could enjoy a warming hot toddy, for instance) and food (not your average street food—we saw Dutch pancakes and lobster on offer) housed in chalet-like shelters limned with holiday lights.

We could not let Kristin’s first day in London go by without a Big Ben sighting, so we crossed the Westminster Bridge with its picture-postcard view of the Houses of Parliament and the newly refurbished Elizabeth Tower housing Big Ben. “Big Ben” is actually the name of the bell inside the tower that tolls the hours accompanied by the familiar Westminster Chimes.

With the adrenaline edge fading, hunger starting to take its toll, and husband’s knees in full protest, we headed into the Westminster Underground Station to catch the Jubilee Line back to Canary Wharf, intending to find The Grapes, an historic pub that looked near to the hotel.

Best laid plans! Canary Wharf being an area of former docks and industrial sites, it turned out “you can’t get there from here” as we say in New England. We were also plagued by a lack of internet (Be sure to check your cell carrier’s international rules before traveling abroad!) and my intention to rely on Google Maps fell by the wayside.

When we finally found The Grapes (where Charles Dickens allegedly danced on the tables as a child), dinner was not to be served for another hour, and already patrons were standing about outside, beers in hand. Instead, we retraced our steps (much more easily this time) back to Canary Wharf, where we found a casual Italian place, Zizzi, at Cabot Place, one of the shopping areas at Canary Wharf.

Reinvigorated, we headed back to the hotel to land in the bar. Although we opted for the Marriott Canary Wharf for its easy access to the O2 Arena, we had an ulterior motive—this hotel’s bar has 150 gins on offer! Such a lovely way to unwind after this long day’s journey into night.

Featured photo above: The illuminated London Eye looks like a giant peace symbol when viewed from Jubilee Gardens at night.

by Linnea Arold Michel

Abbey Road Studios: A Milestone on My Long & Winding Road

2015 was a pivotal year for me. 

I grew up at a time when travel was limited to a privileged few, including briefly my grandfather, whose few business trips to Paris suggested the existence of a wider world. After I married, my husband’s active duty Air Force career bounced us back and forth between the East and West coasts. “Oh, you must travel a lot,” non-military people often commented, but, alas, we were firmly stuck stateside. 

I felt like I’d never get to go anywhere.

Over the years, my husband became increasingly involved in his professional society, IEEE, the world’s largest technical professional society, and quietly climbed his way up their volunteer ranks. In 2015, he took over as the volunteer President of the IEEE board of directors. One of the President’s key roles is to represent IEEE at various events around the world, and I was fortunate to be able to accompany Howard on his global travels that year.

One such event that I shall never forget is the Milestone presentation at Abbey Road Studios.

Abbey Road is, of course, the iconic recording studio of the Beatles, and so many others—from Pink Floyd, the Zombies, and the Hollies to the London Philharmonic, and movie scores, like Lord of the Rings. Abbey Road is famous. But it is also historic, with a place in history that led directly to the creation of our present world of sound, music, TV, and movies.

The 1829 estate in St. John’s Wood, London, was purchased in 1928, and in March 1929, a young engineer named Alan Dower Blumlein, joined Columbia Gramophone, one of the predecessors of EMI. (Electric and Musical Industries, better known as EMI, resulted from a 1931 merger between Gramophone and Columbia Gramophone.)

Inside Studio 2 for IEEE Milestone Presentation

Blumlein proved to be a prodigious inventor, filing 128 patents during his brief career. Blumlein filed his most famous patent in December 1931, when he was only 27 years old, “for improvement in and relating to sound-transmission, sound-recording and sound-reproducing systems” — what we know today as stereo. 

In 1931, while at the cinema, Blumlein told his wife he could solve the problem of the unnatural sound of those early movies.  Early movies and recordings were made with monaural (“mono”) sound. Because of its static nature, this type of sound is inherently unsatisfactory; flat and stationary, it lacks the dynamic quality essential to recreating a listener’s experience. Stereophonic sound solves this problem. Blumlein went on to make the first live stereo recording of the London Philharmonic Orchestra at Abbey Road Studios in 1934.

Howard Michel (left) with Simon Blumlein, son of Alan Dower Blumlein

Blumlein was not only an inventor on par with Edison and Bell. A true war hero, his work with radar inestimably aided the Allied effort during World War II. Blumlein was killed at the age of 38, when the bomber in which he was testing a new radar system crashed on a hill in Ross on Wye, England, on June 7, 1942.

On April 1, 2015, my husband in his capacity as IEEE President, had the honor to present Abbey Road Studios with an IEEE Milestone, an award honoring “significant achievements in the history of electrical and electronics engineering”.

The Milestone was presented in renowned Studio 2 to Isabel Garvey, Abbey Road Studio’s Managing Director, and Simon Blumlein, son of Alan Dower Blumlein, thanked IEEE for its recognition of his father’s achievement.

For me personally, this event was a milestone along my own long and winding road, leading me back to the Beatles, and beyond.

  • Steinway 720 Provenance D Concert Grand Piano played by Paul McCartney, Elton John, and others
  • Another view of the Steinway Concert Grand
  • Hammond RT-3 Organ used by the Beatles in Studio 2
  • Instruments on display in Studio 2
  • Schiedmayer Celeste, used for the intro to “Time” on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon
  • TG12345 Mk.II Mixing Desk (1970s) used by the Beatles for album Abbey Road and by Pink Floyd on Dark Side of the Moon
  • Another view of the mixing desk

by Linnea Arold Michel

Finding the Home of the Good Luck Cat

With almost a year of Pandemic behind us and unable to travel, I dust off memories of our last big trip, to Japan, in August 2019…

We were in Tokyo, and one day, my original plan was to go to Asakusa for the day while my husband was in meetings. I’d been there with him on a previous trip, and I knew I could easily spend hours and hours there among the temples. But dinner plans settled the night before meant that today, I needed to find a simpler option.

Good Luck Cats fill a window near Chinatown, Washington D.C. April 2019

I googled “don’t miss sights Tokyo” and when the list appeared, I skimmed it for a place I’d never been. One caught my eye—Gotokuji—the home of the lucky cat. Some of the reviews said, “Don’t bother—boring and hard to get to”, but others said, “If you love cats, you should go.” I decided to go.

I worked out the route with the help of Google maps: from Shinagawa Station on the Yamamoto line to Shinjuku and there change to Odakyu line to Gotokuji Station, then 15 minute walk to the temple. It sounded like a perfect opportunity to try my place-finding skills in the Tokyo suburbs.

mackerel

After a breakfast of ramen noodles, miso, and a taste of mackerel, among other things, I set out from our hotel. The morning was very hot and humid, and within minutes, I was dripping sweat as I walked to Shinagawa station. 

I caught our accustomed Yamamoto line train to Shinjuku. We’d done this several times already—to go to Shibuya to do the Scramble, to the Kinokuniya bookstore in Shinjuku, and our very first outing, to Shinjuku Gyo-en National Garden. We’d had some challenges finding the garden once we got out of the station that first day, but at this point about a week into our stay, I felt confident. 

Trains running past our hotel in Shinagawa

Everything was going smoothly until I went looking for the Odakyu line. I found myself in another part of the station able to go no further since I’d put my ticket in the entrance machine and it believed my journey was done. Does this mean I have to go out of the station?  I was in complete confusion until I spotted ticket vending for the Odakyu line, where I was able to buy a ticket for Gotokuji, and realized, yes, I had to go out of the station to re-enter for the Odakyu line. 

Going away from Tokyo at late morning, the train was nearly empty.  Arriving at Gotokuji station—just a platform—I headed down some stairs and outside. Now what? I did not see a sign to the temple so I set out in the direction I thought I should go, but the path seemed to go only under the tracks. 

Where now? I headed back toward the station to get my bearings and start again. Without Wi-Fi, I’d been avoiding Google maps, but now, rather than wasting more time, I pulled out my phone, oriented myself, and set out again—only to find that I’d been going in the right direction after all. A short walk to the right under the tracks and straight on from there until I came to a little neighborhood, turn right, then straight down a narrow street lined with little houses. Some appeared to be multi-family, some single family with the tiniest yards. Every home had plants, shrubs, flowers, bicycles propped by gates, stone walls. 

Finally I came to a high wall with a gate and a sign advising me—in English—this is the back of the temple, walk to the left and go to the front. Around another corner, and now before me, the big gate—the main entrance. I walked along a path shaded with trees, passing a 3-tiered pagoda, a tall monument of slate covered in Japanese characters, the temple bell. 

In front of the temple itself, an urn of sand and incense was set in the middle of the walkway.  The lighter wouldn’t light for me, so I waved the smoke hanging in the air above the urn into my face. 

I wandered from building to building. The dark wood and beige stucco of the buildings spoke of the antiquity of the place, inviting me to linger. A few people were heading down a path, and sensing they knew where they were going, I followed along. On my right, a board displayed wooden cards, some written in English, most in Japanese, with prayers and requests for wishes to be granted. Each one carried a picture of the famous cat with paw raised. 

A little further on, I find what I’ve come for. So many cats, from the size of an acorn to very large ones, perhaps a foot tall, all exactly the same. Each representing someone’s wish, granted or hoped for. Some have been there a very long time, now dusted with green algae from the humidity, while others are bright white and new. They cluster around a lordly relaxing bas-relief Buddha who serenely oversees them.

The temple is small; only a few buildings can be entered. Near the main building, a water pump can be worked to send water into a channel; like others, I try pumping and watch the trickle into the channel. In front of the temple building near the cats, people—smiling couples, elders, families—approach, bow, clap hands, pray briefly, bow, pull the bell cord to make it chime, and then wander off.  I do the same, making my wish for health and happiness for my family.

Walking further, I come upon the cemetery, where I wander around looking at the stones, and then nearby, come to the little shop where you can buy a beckoning cat to place at the Dedication Site. I bought cats to bring home to my family, and the smiling lady seemed so happy that I was there as she pressed into my hand an English copy of the beckoning cat’s story. …

A long time ago, the temple was nothing more than a shabby hut where a monk lived on alms and little else. He had a cat he loved as his own child, and one day, he said to the cat, “If you are grateful to me, bring some fortune to the temple.” A long time later, in the summer, a group of Samurai warriors came by. They said, “We were about to pass your gate, but there was a cat crouching and suddenly it lifted its paw and started waving at us, inviting us to rest.” So the monk brought them tea and urged them to relax. Suddenly a thunderstorm sent pouring rain and lightning, forcing them to remain with the monk, who passed the time by preaching to them about the Buddha.  The Samurai, so impressed, told the monk that he was king of a prefecture and because of the cat’s waving, he was able to hear this message, saying “This must be Buddha’s will.” After he returned home, the Samurai donated huge rice fields and croplands to the temple. Because of the cat, fortune came to the temple, which is now called the cat temple. The statue of the cat was established to help people remember the story, and now everybody knows it as a symbol of household serenity, business prosperity, and fulfillment of wishes.

Back at the Gotokuji Station…how did I miss this guy?

by Linnea Arold Michel

Finding the Home of the Good Luck Cat

With almost a year of Pandemic behind us and unable to travel, I dust off memories of our last big trip, to Japan, in August 2019…

We were in Tokyo, and one day, my original plan was to go to Asakusa for the day while my husband was in meetings. I’d been there with him on a previous trip, and I knew I could easily spend hours and hours there among the temples. But dinner plans settled the night before meant that today, I needed to find a simpler option.

Good Luck Cats fill a window near Chinatown, Washington D.C. April 2019

I googled “don’t miss sights Tokyo” and when the list appeared, I skimmed it for a place I’d never been. One caught my eye—Gotokuji—the home of the lucky cat. Some of the reviews said, “Don’t bother—boring and hard to get to”, but others said, “If you love cats, you should go.” I decided to go.

I worked out the route with the help of Google maps: from Shinagawa Station on the Yamamoto line to Shinjuku and there change to Odakyu line to Gotokuji Station, then 15 minute walk to the temple. It sounded like a perfect opportunity to try my place-finding skills in the Tokyo suburbs.

mackerel

After a breakfast of ramen noodles, miso, and a taste of mackerel, among other things, I set out from our hotel. The morning was very hot and humid, and within minutes, I was dripping sweat as I walked to Shinagawa station. 

I caught our accustomed Yamamoto line train to Shinjuku. We’d done this several times already—to go to Shibuya to do the Scramble, to the Kinokuniya bookstore in Shinjuku, and our very first outing, to Shinjuku Gyo-en National Garden. We’d had some challenges finding the garden once we got out of the station that first day, but at this point about a week into our stay, I felt confident. 

Trains running past our hotel in Shinagawa

Everything was going smoothly until I went looking for the Odakyu line. I found myself in another part of the station able to go no further since I’d put my ticket in the entrance machine and it believed my journey was done. Does this mean I have to go out of the station?  I was in complete confusion until I spotted ticket vending for the Odakyu line, where I was able to buy a ticket for Gotokuji, and realized, yes, I had to go out of the station to re-enter for the Odakyu line. 

Going away from Tokyo at late morning, the train was nearly empty.  Arriving at Gotokuji station—just a platform—I headed down some stairs and outside. Now what? I did not see a sign to the temple so I set out in the direction I thought I should go, but the path seemed to go only under the tracks. 

Where now? I headed back toward the station to get my bearings and start again. Without Wi-Fi, I’d been avoiding Google maps, but now, rather than wasting more time, I pulled out my phone, oriented myself, and set out again—only to find that I’d been going in the right direction after all. A short walk to the right under the tracks and straight on from there until I came to a little neighborhood, turn right, then straight down a narrow street lined with little houses. Some appeared to be multi-family, some single family with the tiniest yards. Every home had plants, shrubs, flowers, bicycles propped by gates, stone walls. 

Finally I came to a high wall with a gate and a sign advising me—in English—this is the back of the temple, walk to the left and go to the front. Around another corner, and now before me, the big gate—the main entrance. I walked along a path shaded with trees, passing a 3-tiered pagoda, a tall monument of slate covered in Japanese characters, the temple bell. 

In front of the temple itself, an urn of sand and incense was set in the middle of the walkway.  The lighter wouldn’t light for me, so I waved the smoke hanging in the air above the urn into my face. 

I wandered from building to building. The dark wood and beige stucco of the buildings spoke of the antiquity of the place, inviting me to linger. A few people were heading down a path, and sensing they knew where they were going, I followed along. On my right, a board displayed wooden cards, some written in English, most in Japanese, with prayers and requests for wishes to be granted. Each one carried a picture of the famous cat with paw raised. 

A little further on, I find what I’ve come for. So many cats, from the size of an acorn to very large ones, perhaps a foot tall, all exactly the same. Each representing someone’s wish, granted or hoped for. Some have been there a very long time, now dusted with green algae from the humidity, while others are bright white and new. They cluster around a lordly relaxing bas-relief Buddha who serenely oversees them.

The temple is small; only a few buildings can be entered. Near the main building, a water pump can be worked to send water into a channel; like others, I try pumping and watch the trickle into the channel. In front of the temple building near the cats, people—smiling couples, elders, families—approach, bow, clap hands, pray briefly, bow, pull the bell cord to make it chime, and then wander off.  I do the same, making my wish for health and happiness for my family.

Walking further, I come upon the cemetery, where I wander around looking at the stones, and then nearby, come to the little shop where you can buy a beckoning cat to place at the Dedication Site. I bought cats to bring home to my family, and the smiling lady seemed so happy that I was there as she pressed into my hand an English copy of the beckoning cat’s story. …

A long time ago, the temple was nothing more than a shabby hut where a monk lived on alms and little else. He had a cat he loved as his own child, and one day, he said to the cat, “If you are grateful to me, bring some fortune to the temple.” A long time later, in the summer, a group of Samurai warriors came by. They said, “We were about to pass your gate, but there was a cat crouching and suddenly it lifted its paw and started waving at us, inviting us to rest.” So the monk brought them tea and urged them to relax. Suddenly a thunderstorm sent pouring rain and lightning, forcing them to remain with the monk, who passed the time by preaching to them about the Buddha.  The Samurai, so impressed, told the monk that he was king of a prefecture and because of the cat’s waving, he was able to hear this message, saying “This must be Buddha’s will.” After he returned home, the Samurai donated huge rice fields and croplands to the temple. Because of the cat, fortune came to the temple, which is now called the cat temple. The statue of the cat was established to help people remember the story, and now everybody knows it as a symbol of household serenity, business prosperity, and fulfillment of wishes.

Back at the Gotokuji Station…how did I miss this guy?

by Linnea Arold Michel

Remembering Kathmandu, Nepal, 2015, before the Earthquake

Kathmandu, Nepal, is a mystical place, one I never imagined I would visit. But in January 2015, when my husband began his term as president of IEEE, he was invited to attend some meetings there, and I was invited to join him. Then, three months after our visit, on April 25, the earthquake struck, centered about 50 miles from Kathmandu, killing 9,000 people and destroying innumerable structures in and around Kathmandu. Aftershocks continued throughout the week.

This is one of the ways travel changes us. When the earthquake and tsunami struck Japan in 2011, when Typhoon Haiyan ravaged the Philippines in 2013, I was saddened to learn about them, but they did not cut to the core as the 2015 Nepali earthquake did–I had not yet visited these places. The Nepali earthquake left me sad for days.

When you travel to a country, meet the people, look in their eyes, share a meal with them–it changes you and your perception of them. You learn they are just like you, wanting to live their lives in peace and raise their families. And when disaster strikes, they hurt, and now–since they have become in some sense “real”–you feel their pain in a deeper, more real way.

And so, remembering the earthquake this week, five years later, I’m remembering Nepal.

Approaching Kathmandu

Our trip to Nepal began with a brief stop in Mumbai; meeting had been added to my husband’s itinerary. At dinner, I met someone who had just come from Kathmandu. Having traveled little at that point and accustomed to cities like New York and London, I innocently asked him, “Is it walkable?”  He smiled and answered, “You could say that.” 

Hotel Soaltee, Kathmandu

Arriving in Kathmandu, a taxi collected us for the trip to the hotel. I watched Kathmandu rattle by.  No multi-lane highway here, just roads congested with vehicles–picture your favorite bumper-to-bumper traffic jam, but it’s all small cars (no trucks at all, pick-up or otherwise), and it’s moving steadily (more or less) at about 30 miles an hour. And instead of pavement, it’s a dirt road, rutted and bumpy. Add to this, a hundred motorcycles, all weaving in among the cars, zipping in and out, many with two riders, often with two adults and a child between.  By the way, they’re all wearing helmets.  That’s Kathmandu.

The streets are lined with buildings, mostly brick, often brightly colored, and in the market streets, little shops are cut like slivers into the buildings, their fronts completely open to the chaotic street. In one street you might see bolts of cloth stacked in the doorway and lining the walls, bursting with kaleidoscopic color; next door stainless steel ladles and pots hang glittering in the sun. Another shop offers scales, hanging  in a neat row; next door to this, a pile of chickens, heads lolling, stacked in a pyramid on a plain wooden table; and next door to this, half-mannequins dressed in jeans, and fleece jackets on hangers.  

The taxi bumps and grinds its way along the street, dodging motorcycles, trying to avoid holes in the road and pedestrians, some in traditional clothes, walking obliviously with a load of goods towering high on their heads. Roadside shrines are everywhere…niches with statues of deities or small structures for deities to hide in; sometimes they are just small statues next to a building or right by the road. 

The next morning, some of us set out on a tour of Kathmandu, guided by a young engineering student. We began at the Budhanilkantha Temple, where the Hindu deity Lord Vishnu sleeps on a bed of serpents in a pool of water. It’s said that a farmer was plowing a field when he discovered this massive stone image of Vishnu buried in the soil.  We received blessings from a holy man who marked our foreheads, and then we put our shoes on a rack and got in line to visit the Lord Vishnu.  In front of Vishnu, people placed all types of offerings, but mostly rupees, and every so often, the attendant would scoop up armfuls of rupees and put them in an offering box

Our next stop was Durbar Square, the former palace of the Nepali royal family and an area of many temples, where we walked around. You could easily spend hours here visiting all the temples and shrines.  The buildings are all hundreds of years old.  One of the holiest is  Kumari Ghar, where the living goddess Kumari lives.  Every year a young girl, aged maybe 10 or 11, is selected to become Kumari, and she lives in this temple.  She does not go to school, and only occasionally on holy days goes out to bestow blessings.  When her time as Kumari is over, we were told, the girl goes back to normal life—how does one go back to “normal life” after a year of being revered and worshipped as a living goddess? We glimpsed her as she looked out over the interior courtyard.

Durbar Square

In the evening, we were to go to dinner at a restaurant called the Anatolia.  In the hotel drive, we boarded a large coach bus and set out, but part way there, the bus stopped.   We had to get off and board another smaller bus because our coach bus couldn’t fit through the narrow street. The smaller bus drove awhile then stopped and we walked the rest of the way.  Luckily we didn’t have too far to walk in the dark—there are no streetlights, and the shops along the way were generally illuminated by one small light bulb.

Arriving at what looked to be a shop, we were led inside and up the stairs to the second floor restaurant. Inside, the large room had bright pink walls hung with paintings, and rows of tables, set up to accommodate our group.  Along the street-side wall, other diners were trying to enjoy their meals as we all trooped in. Apparently the restaurant did not understand how many people were coming, because talk making its way around the room hinted that they did not have enough food for all of us!  But no one was concerned and some of our group went shopping down on the street while we waited for our meal.

Our whirlwind tour of Kathmandu included visits to Bouddhanath Stupa and an aerial visit to Mount Everest before heading back to London and ordinary life.