Bhaktapur is the most amazing city in the world that no one has heard of.  It’s old quarter is a UNESCO World Heritage location and it is overflowing with outstanding history, culture, architecture and religion.  But when people think of Nepal they think of the capital Kathmandu or more likely the Himalaya mountains and the great trekking.  Bhaktapur is only a few kilometres from Kathmandu and probably gets lost in the shuffle for some travellers.  Unlucky for them because it is absolutely top drawer and we had a great time soaking in its unique atmosphere.

Bhaktapur is actually the best preserved of the three medieval city states that played such a colourful role in Nepal’s history.  From the 14^th to the 17^th century Bhaktapur was the most powerful city on the trade route between India and China.  Its stunning multi-roof architecture and layout of three vibrant city squares surrounded by imposing and distinct buildings and temples tell its story as a great city in its day.  And most of these buildings and temples are extremely well preserved and in use today, allowing the relevance of their history to live on.

Our hotel was in the old quarter so it was a short stroll to the main plaza, Durbar Square, which featured the old Palace, the museum, numerous temples (some with erotic carvings on the wood struts supporting the roofs) and an ancient bell.  Down a narrow cobblestone lane lined with shops and artists’ galleries to Taumadhi Tole, the first of the city’s great civic squares with an impressive set of ancient buildings.  The centrepiece of the square is Nyatapola Temple, the five-tiered multi-roofed building, one of only two in Nepal with the five tiers, that has huge stone carved lions and warriors lining the steep staircase.  Its size and stature creates a dominating feature on the square.  

We also visited Pottery Square and wandered the old town’s narrow streets with their shops and cafes and little markets. People were scattered everywhere, selling local produce or handicrafts, perhaps a cup of tea or some locally woven fine cloth.  We could have spent longer here, in fact Bhaktapur is the type of place one could completely unwind in and get forgotten in, but it was time to move on and after lunch we hopped into a very dodgy taxi for the short ride to Kathmandu.

If Bhaktapur is quiet and sleepy and forgotten, Kathmandu is exactly the opposite.  It is a fast paced, noisy, polluted and manic city with extreme power shortage problems, dreadful traffic, aggressive hustlers and a range of people from all walks of life.  Bhaktapur is on valium, Kathmandu is on steroids.

We checked into our hotel, the good old faithful Samsara Hotel, deep in the heart of Thamel which is the district most westerners hang out in and is the capital of the huge trekking industry.  We walked the streets of Thamel as we made our way to the nearby old quarter of town, slowly exploring the crowded narrow alleyways crammed with people buying and selling through the uncountable small shops and stalls lining the maze of streets in this ancient capital.  It was hectic and frantic at times trying to avoid being knocked over by a rickshaw or an old man carrying heavy goods on his stooped shoulders.  We loved it.

We entered Durbar Square, the focal point for the old quarter of the city, also a World Heritage location and similar to Bhaktapur, lined with ancient buildings and grand palaces.  It was hot and we sat down on the steps of a temple, as the locals do, to catch our breath and drink some water.  We only vaguely noticed a young boy sitting behind us, not unusual in a city of thousands of street kids wandering around and curious about westerners.  But soon after we stood up to continue our exploration Julie wanted to take a photo with her camera and couldn’t find it in her bag.  We frantically looked everywhere but it became clearly obvious that the worst had happened – we had been robbed.  That innocent little street kid in fact had stolen Julie’s camera, possibly lifting it out of her day pack. 

In that single act we had lost not just the camera but almost 1,000 photos from our fantastic journey through China, Tibet and Nepal.  We were devastated, angry, bitterly sad but also feeling quite helpless.  There was nothing we could do, no next steps to fix it, no Plan B.  Yes, we spoke to the local Tourist Police, who were very sympathetic but what could they do?  The young thief was long gone and would probably sell the camera to some older person for $10, not knowing or caring about what value we would have placed on its safe return.

Without the interest to explore the city further we wandered back to our hotel, stopping for drinks and dinner in the area.  We tried to reconcile ourselves that sometimes bad things happen and this was one of the inevitable risks of travel.  Nevertheless, it was a sad day, both for the loss of photos and also the loss of our invincibility.  I still had my camera with almost 2,000 photos and we were still safe and healthy but no one likes to be robbed.

The next day was our last full day on this amazing odyssey and was the hottest since leaving Beijing.  With a clearer head and one camera we hopped into a taxi to take us to Swayambhunath, also called the Monkey Temple (and much easier to pronounce), Buddhism’s most sacred temple in Nepal, on the top of a hill overlooking smoggy Kathmandu.  We climbed the steep steps with our strong Himalayan legs to enjoy the large stupa with those beautiful all-seeing eyes, the dirty macaques climbing everywhere and the dozens of stalls selling all manners of religious and ridiculous items (one of which we bought).

Battling the heat and the traffic, dust and pollution, we next visited Boudnath, the largest Buddhist temple in Nepal, squat, round and stunningly beautiful with its prayer flags fluttering and those Nepali eyes watching over us.  Boudnath is actually the centre of the Tibetan community, mostly refugees from across the border, and we recognised the background music in the shops and the traditional dress of the shop keepers as distinctly Tibetan.  And we surprised a few of them with our friendly greeting tashi delek which must have impressed them no end.

But wait, there’s more.  We then taxied to the third of the medieval city state capitals, Patan, for a wonderful afternoon exploring this ancient city.  Patan existed at the same time as Bhaktapur but its peak was probably a century later in the 17^th century and its buildings around the main square reflect this glorious period.  Again, as we had seen in the other two capitals, Patan sported elegant multi-roof buildings and temples and an imposing Palace, part of which had been converted to a world class museum.  We lunched overlooking the square and watched people young and old go about their business amongst these fantastic structures, probably taking them all for granted.

Like many towns and villages in Nepal, Patan still has a working well where local women come to fill up their huge water containers for their family’s needs.  To see these women in their colourful saris, usually a child or two in tow, meeting at the sunken well, filling up their large containers, gossiping with others, maybe even washing their feet or hair, it was a scene for the ages but it was also right in front of us right in the middle of town.

This amazing journey across three countries (if you count Tibet!), using multiple forms of transport, experiencing a wide range of cultures, history, religions and people, enjoying the amazing highs and surviving a depressing low, was sadly coming to an end.  Kathmandu was a fitting place for us to end our journey because like a lot of places you travel to its first impressions are confronting – polluted, noisy, crowded, chaotic, too frantic to truly enjoy.  But the people who travel here, and the people who greet them when they arrive, are different from travellers in Paris or London, and we agreed that the place kind of grows on you, sucks you in – for better or worse – and then you can fully enjoy it.  Despite our loss and travel fatigue from 17 days on the road we would miss Kathmandu.

We caught our flights back to Bangkok via Delhi, enduring the endless and pointless security checks enroute, to finally get home, whatever home is these days.  It was the end of an epic journey, probably never repeated and surely never forgotten, one that made us richer and wiser and better for it.  And in particular, to our new friends and friendship with Tibet, we wish them well.  They deserve it.