Crumbling walls of creaking history slope dangerously into winding alleyways of confusion. Underneath tired rooftops leaning out to one another for support, I wander through a labyrinth of wood and stone. Carved deities and stone eyes are watching from temples blended with the cities walls.
Doorways, windows, gateways, thresholds...who lurks behind in watchful silence? In the narrow dark alleys of Kathmandu's old town you feel ancient eyes peering all around.
And street side shops emerge from this living history, selling greasy food, fake designer shoes or random objects from darkened windows.
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Temple lights burning in butter lamps in the middle of the street, over bright cycle rickshaws toot their way past holy effigies, women sit under umbrellas selling vegetables fast wilting in the hot sun, tourists hunting amidst endless trekking shops. The mystery of the sunlight starved alleyways is augmented by the dubious whispered promises of 'Madam look! Real Pashmina scarves' from salesmen lurking round every corner. Kathmandu's old city is alive with the ghosts of the rich trading routes of the past...
...and round the corner, internet cafes blare Foo Fighters or Bob Marley into the streams of modern traders, the tourists, as we endless shop for tie dyed clothes, CD's and trekking equipment.
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