I'm older now but I'm still running against the wind.
Bob Seger

But hell this is Kathmandu, for crying out loud. Bless its polluted little heart. Our final and most welcome of destinations is the gateway to the Himalayas, the mightiest mountain range in the world, which we have spent the last month getting to know personally. The capital of Nepal is a mecca for climbers in pursuit of the world's highest summit, Mt. Everest, goddess mother of the universe, at 29,028 feet. My doldrums quickly vanish after the corn flakes and my first shower in a month. I take to the streets with my brand new best friends.

The city is an Asian polyglot, a helter-skelter swirl of races and cultures: Indian, Chinese, Tibetan, and Malay residents mix with assorted Yank and Euro adventurers and hippies, as well as scalawags from most anywhere else. The human chaos on the streets sweeps one past a bewildering array of shops and shrines in the company of sacred cows, flea-bitten dogs, and a sampling of many of God's other creatures.

Gurus (photograph), spiritual guides "heavy with wisdom," roam the streets ready to lend a hand, always palm up. Some are genuine, most are not, so it's always best to be cautious before you eat, pray, love, or leave a tithe at the local ashram.

Despite the congestion, pollution, and trendy commercialism (ushered in by Indiana Jones, of course), Kathmandu is still a beguiling place to stroll the streets and soothe one's nerves after a holiday in the Himalayas.

 

This picture was taken in the film days. Time and converting it to a digital file have taken their toll on the image. But the stories it tells remain as fresh as if I had snapped it yesterday. This is the power of photography.