Kathmandu corners - little bits of beauty

A welcoming offering to guests at the
entrance of the hotel.

Mud, mosquitoes, and mould. That's Kathmandu's monsoon season reputation.

Added to the year-round chaotic traffic congestion, why come to Nepal's capital in the wet season?

Don't get me wrong, I have always enjoyed my time here. As we got off the plane on Friday after crossing a couple of time zones sustained only by the queues, dubious vegetarian meals and dodgy in-flight movies provided by Thai Airways, a blast of city dust and humid air hit me - and I realised I was wearing a great big smile. Happy to be back.

Kathmandu has a way of charming visitors. The careless and careful placing of flowers in water at entrances to delight your senses. The patience and humour of Nepali people in the face of crazy rudeness by us foreign tourists.

Yesterday we visited the Royal Palace, a museum since the murder of almost the entire royal family by a psychotic prince in 2001, which ended all together in 2008 with the interim last king abdicating in the face of popular revolt. The palace is brick built and charmless, like a functional 1950s cricket pavilion, but oddly intimate. Simon was reminded of his granny's sitting room with its smell of camphor, brocade pastel sofas and massed collections of framed formal photos (including of Queen Elizabeth and Philip, and the Ceausescus). Lots of Nepali locals were visiting, interested in the trappings of the recent past. 

No mention in the signage of the fate of the royal family, though the portraits of the late King Birendra and his Queen bore the same death date. It looked as if the whole cataclysm had been whitewashed from public thought. 

But no. At the exit we followed signs to "Massacre site", which took us to the former site of the smaller royal lodgings at the back of the formal palace. Plainly written signs in the grounds showed us "The room where the King and Princess were shot", "The Queen was shot here", "Prince Dipendra was found critically wounded here". No blame, no whitewash, just words on boards in a delicate scented garden telling you what you had wanted to ask but didn't know how. And thus all the more poignant and dignified.

Kathmandu gives the unexpected gift. Looking out from the terrace at the top of our guesthouse (Tibet Guest House) I can see the mountains, currently wreathed and cushioned with grey clouds. And I can also see the old man who lives across the alley. He has created a riotous colourful lush roof garden of flowers and grass and vegetables and sitting places where he potters and picks flowers that he will use as offerings of beauty. Unexpected beauty in a mudddy monsoon city.

What unexpected corner of beauty has struck you in your travels?

The garden across the alley