violist

UA1509 BOS IAH 0850 1223 319 2A

The plane was packed with zone oners vying for the usual
delicious collation: the sausage puck browner than normal,
the omelet filled with some Swissoid compound. A fruit
appetizer was relatively sour, hard, and nasty except for
the grapes, which were surprisingly good.

Pink yogurt and a squashed but at least buttery croissant
completed the meal.

We had a friendly flight attendant who had to be primed but
thereafter provided very attentive service. This is not
the way it is supposed to go, but I'll take it in a pinch.

Thunderstorms in Houston, but despite some reroutes (no
Channel 9, but the pilot kept us reasonably informed on the
PA) we landed close to on time.

A genial bartender at the club sold me more Beam than I
needed: each pour was more generous, and I think he figured
he was doing me a favor. I was somewhat overserved when I
left, and I am glad that I was doing Coke chasers rather
than water.

Had a small conversation with a very cute blonde that made
me wish I were a quarter century younger. Edited to add:
Shoot, just as I was about to leave for my flight, she
offered to buy me a drink; I said thank you and left anyway.

UA1639 IAH SAN 1551 1721 739 2A

The evocatively named chicken and rice was chicken and
rice; it came with tomato sauce and green beans. The
appetizer was one smoked salmon rose. Salad was actually
reasonably fresh. The other choice was described as
vegetarian ravioli marinara; I didn't see any go past.
Dessert: an orange oatmeal raisin cookie.

SmisAir didn't actually offend at all on this trip, though
it didn't provide any more jollies than we paid for, as it
seldom does these days.

To get primed for the trip, I went to a well-reviewed
place called Taste of the Himalayas, where lamb momos
tasted pretty much like potstickers from Trader Joe,
and a lamb curry was a bit on the bland side. I asked for
something to hot it up, and the waiter brought out a little
dish ($1 extra) of what appears on the menu as 9-1-1 sauce;
it's plenty hot and carries some of that rotten fruitiness
of the C. sinense. The curry thereupon became sufficiently
hot but not substantially tastier.

I repaired to my rather nice room at the Hampton and
snoozed lengthily.

Met up with lili, who was happy as a schoolgirl in
anticipation of the trip.

UA 573 SAN SFO 1311 1450 320 2EF

PreCheck was closed, but the lines were short, and we were
through in no time flat.

The club has an odd assortment of provisions. I had three
bottles of grapefruit juice blend, white grape being number
one, apple two, ruby red three, colored with of all things
carmine, which renders it nonvegetarian, which is silly.

A nice flight, with a rather glum FA who turned out to be
fine and who supplied all the red wine an elderly pair
might want.

It's quite a hike from gate 90 to the international
terminal, where we made a beeline for the Silver Kris,
which now appears to be open only for the SQ flights and
thus was useless for us. It was no great tragedy, as we
would be fed and watered adequately on our flights.

Hey, when did they stop giving coupons for premium boozles
at the Club door? Another change we'll like, Mr. Smisek?

The free wine on offer was something called Twisted Merlot -
rather soda-poppy but with more acid and a bit of wood.
Somewhat unpleasant, and the bartender chuckled at the face
I made. I bought a $10 worth glass of Stag's Leap Artemis
Cabernet for lili, much better.

We spent a pleasant hour and change there, and then it was
time to head to the gate, where there was an awful scrum.

violist

UA 930 SFO LHR 1700 1125 744 15AB

It's worth wading through the crowds at the gate to get on
the queen of the skies, which rumor and commonsense have it
will gradually be retired in the next few years. I still
don't see why they can't just retrofit the 747s with more
efficient engines and keep them going for a long time, but
my prejudices are talking. It's always an excitement
climbing those stairs and proceeding to my little palace at
the exit row. I remember the first time I did so, decades
ago, as if it were yesterday, and the special feeling still
persists more than just a little.

These of course used to be the choicest seats on the, or
perhaps any US, aircraft, along with row 9 on the P.S. 757.
Now, with the pods, they are just like all the others. Some
consider this an improvement, but I liked the old seats
(disparagingly referred to as Barcaloungers by the young)
a lot better, especially with all that legroom. Now row 15
is backward-facing, which is a bit peculiar, though the
arrangement is a bit disorienting to begin with no matter
which direction you're pointed.

It was a perfectly fine flight, with all the cheap red
plonk one could choke down, but I saved myself for the
presumably better offerings later. I did try lili's
Burgans Albarino 11 (Rias Baixas), which was pleasantly
peachy and insignificant. She also had a bit of red, but
I was asleep before that was poured. Which meant of course
that I missed the meal service. I would have liked to see
what United could do with Newburg-style seafood: fillet of
turbot and shrimp with a creamy lobster sauce, green lentils
and mixed vegetables, but my pills were in the carryon and
I'd have had to get up and rummage around in the closet,
causing a ruckus, to find them.

I did wake up in time to partake of breakfast: nasty
scrambled eggs, semi-nasty potato cake, really horrid spongy
tasteless turkey sausage. Orange juice.

After the usual longish walk, transit formalities were easy.

It was a bit of a trek to Terminal 4, involving threading
our way through the bowels of the airport and then the
dreaded bus, but at least the Qatar lounge was easy to find.

The staff, an assortment of beautiful people (mostly female)
of various nationalities, were very attentive, perhaps
overly so. Seating was nice and modern; there was soothing
but inane middle-eastern-tinted new-age music to provide
atmosphere. A cafe and a dining room; we chose the latter.

The bubbly on offer was Veuve La Grande Dame 04, which was
of a perfect ripeness, just with a tiny edge of oxidation
that brought out the nuts and lemon aspect. I am always
amused (lie: I am always outraged) by the vast majority of
food writers who claim that Champers is best fresh off the
line - they seem to prize intensity of carbonation above all
things, either that or they are palate dead, which I suspect
as well.

An Arabic mezze plate was pretty tasty and not too dairy
ridden though extremely starchy: lamb sambousek (like
samosas), lamb kofta (meatballs), lamb sfiha (lahmejun),
zaatar manakish (crackers), spinach fatayer (like samosas),
olives, pickles, Arabic flatbread (like pide but puffier).

The level of the still wines was not so high, and Chateau La
Freynelle 09 was charmless, fruitless, and justified only by
some nice acid and tannin to scour the lamb fat off my
tongue.

The cafe, which you walk past on the way to and from the
dining room, has an amazing selection of snacks and desserts
- we passed, though perhaps we shouldn't have.

More quick and painless, and soon we were on our big fancy
'bus and off to Qatar.

violist

QR 8 LHR DOH 1625 0205 346 12EF

We got seats in the middle, which was fine, as there's
nothing to see on the way. Angled lie-flat I think these
are classified as. Moderately comfy, not so sleepable as the
old United seats but I thought a bit nicer than the new
United beds, which were given a fair shake when they first
came out (verdict: pluses and minuses compared to the old
product, but not enough room) but are now characterized as
"slave ship" seating.

Our meal:

chicken anticucho - sort of nothing-looking, and I didn't
bother with it, and what's an anticucho without heart meat
anyway;

butternut squash soup; crisp sage leaves, toasted pumpkin
seeds - pretty good, all told, though the sage leaves and
pumpkin seeds weren't very crispy;

an individual selection of smoked beef and salmon tikka;
parmesan cheese and baby gem salad - pretty decent,
especially the flakes of cheese with the rather cute but
insubstantial salad;

classic arabic mezze; hummus, tabouleh, and muhammra
served with arabic bread - on the whole rather sour but
tasty. I reflected on how they probably got used to lots
of lemon juice to preserve or disguise;

vegetable makhani and gobi masala; green peas pilau rice,
chana dal and raita - I don't remember what else there was
to eat, but it must not have been very exciting, if I was
reduced to ordering cauliflower. This was, though, fairly
attention-occupying and tasty;

white chocolate mousse with raspberries; passion fruit
coulis - of a richness, but not bad. I can't see why one
would use white chocolate in essentially a vanilla pudding,
as all it does is make the texture heavy rather than
refreshing. The coulis was a kick in the taste buds.

Ch. Le Bon Pasteur 07 was an excellent Pomerol, and I kept
it coming for both of us. At one point I got bored and
called for a glass of the Poggio Antico Altero Brunello di
Montalcino 06, which was shoelike and not at all ready to
drink. Thereupon we returned to our scheduled programming.

Kopke Colheita Port 74 was surprisingly vigorous and
young-tasting, just beginning to color around the edges.
The good thing about all that age was that the sweetness
was kind of muted.

The flight itself was pleasant enough, and I didn't actually
use the bed feature, and as a seat the furniture was fine.
Service was pleasant if a bit too deferential.

Down airstairs into the chaotic dark. A fancy new terminal
is being built, and these procedures are an improvisation,
mildly unpleasant, and I get the feeling that they are not
doing much to make life easier, even for premium customers.
We got loaded onto the same bus as everyone else, so instead
of the limos and luxury coaches described in the literature
we had to stand (not good) with the unwashed (not bad) and
wait until arrivals and economy transit had left before we
arrived at our stop, the Premium Transfer Terminal, where
for unknown reasons we had to go through security (lili had
a corkscrew confiscated) before going upstairs to the famed
business class lounge, which looked like what I imagine an
IKEA cafeteria to be. It was perfectly fine, the skeleton
crew willing enough; but overnight catering was ungenerous,
and the only after-hours alcohol was Champagne, which
neither of us particularly wanted. I made do with orange
juice, lili with Pepsi or the middle eastern equivalent.

Two hours was plenty, and we were happy enough to get on
our next plane: another bus, private and rather nice this
time, up the airstairs (none of the ground staff offered
to help the oldsters with their bags, which sort of annoyed
me), and into our nice seat seats, conducive for snoozing
and other kinds of relaxation.

violist

QR 352 DOH KTM 0445 1145 320 2AC

Ch. Monbousquet, vintage unknown but recent, was the red
on offer, not so prestigious nor so tasty as the Bon
Pasteur. It was slightly green, with earth and root notes
along with decent acid and tannin - it'll go far and will
be pleasant once the fruit comes back.

An Arabic breakfast started with a blintzlike thing with
halloumi cheese and mint, a turnover with tomato stuff,
and crudites: olives, tomatoes, cucumbers. That was just
the beginning, but I told the FA that I didn't care which
main course she brought, but she misunderstood me and
didn't bring one at all, which was okay; I just sucked
down a couple glasses of Bordeaux and went to sleep.

Immigration at KTM was pretty easy - as we were among the
first down the stairs (again) and into the building, they
were just opening up the line: you pay your money, get your
visa, then it's off into the bright but cold world, where
amid the madding crowd a driver from the hotel, holding a
placard with our names, rescued us and our bags.

It's an interesting almost hour ride to Bhaktapur, one of
the gem sites of Nepal. You get the feeling you're in a
slightly poorer India, which is disheartening, but the
people don't seem too put upon, and we didn't get quite
the feeling of domestic economic inequality - here, we
were the rich ones, nobody else.

There are now two Shiva Guesthouses, one right outside
the city gates, the other right on the Durbar Square (a
generic name for a plaza filled with temples adjacent to
a royal palace, I am told; there are three in Nepal). We
parked at the one and then paid our admission to the
pedestrian-friendly enclosed city and trundled our bags
to the other one, which has a beautiful if rather noisy
location right by the bell that gets rung all night every
night by merit-seekers, drunks, and other obnoxious types.

We spent the next couple days exploring town, all of which
is a UNESCO-designated site. As we were there anyway with a
week pass, it was a leisurely and uncoordinated explore. We
spent an inordinate percentage of our time hanging about the
Durbar Square near the hotel, which sounds unadventurous,
but actually it's the best of cultural Nepal within a few
acres' space; here's the tourist brochure description of the
buildings on the square -

Lions Gate, 1700AD Lions carvings
- sort of underwhelming, I mean, nice work, but I don't
see why the stonecarvers' hands were cut off after
they completed the sculptures (supposedly by royal
edict so nothing so fine would ever be made again).
I guess my impression might be colored by the dozens of
rowdy schoolchildren swarming around it while we were
there

The Golden Gate, decorated gate of Kali
- rather small, rather ornate, notable for a guy with a
machine gun standing guard. He let all and sundry pass,
so one didn't get much of a special feeling from being
allowed in (there's the palace and a Hindu temple behind)

The Palace of Fifty-five Windows, Palace for 1450AD
- I couldn't see the details of these, as the supposedly
nicely were too carved ones were too high, and my
eyesight didn't allow. The photos on the Internet are
pretty impressive, though

The Statue of King Bhupatindra Malla Batsala Temple
- notable for a big bell that got rung frequently through
the day and more at night, to our discomfiture, as it
was right outside our room; objectively, though, a
really fine piece of architecture

The Pashupati Temple, a copy from Kathmandu
- copy or not, this was most impressive, especially
considering that all the copies were hand sculpted
probably from drawings.

Somewhat of a contrast is the next square over, Taumadhi,
which is dominated by a multi-story temple and surrounded
with tourist stuff. The motor scooters really zoom around
here, in contrast to the Durbar Square, where at least some
respect is paid to the no-vehicle status of the town (it
seems clear that scooters are popularly not regarded as
motorized vehicles).

violist

The Cafe Corner is the ground floor of the hotel. It seemed
a convenient choice, and what's to distinguish one place
from another, and we could settle up in dollars at the end
of our stay, which seemed (and was) easy and sensible.

I had a chicken curry with rice that was tasty but almost
devoid of spice. A little dish of hot peppers fixed that up
nicely; the meal came with a very pretty salad that I was
sad to see go to waste, but better safe, et cetera.

Signature whisky is identifiably whisky.

lili had spaghetti napoletana, which came smothered in
mozzarella. For some reason I did not ask for a taste; but
she said it did the job, as did a respectable red wine that
I suspect was made in India.

We had a corner room up on the top, smallish, with odd
treacherous little curbs that made it hard to go to the
bathroom without stubbing your toes at least once. Tiny
cotlike beds equipped with coarse blankets that at least
did the job.

A pretty cold night, close to frost. They'd offered portable
gas heaters for an additional cost, but we figured we would
survive, plus there was the question of monoxide poisoning.

Overnight much auditory evidence of intoxication down on the
square, plus tons of the faithful or mischievous ringing the
famous bell, whether for merit or for giggles it's hard to
say but irrelevant to us as we huddled with our heads
beneath our barely sufficient covers.

Next day dawned clear and chilly.

The shower had no divider from the rest of the bathroom, so
you risked wetting the whole room when you used it. Not a
big deal, but the fact that the bathroom window didn't close
was, as it is difficult to take even a hot shower when the
ambient is 35F. The water heater was an Indian knockoff of a
Japanese brand; it did work, so no complaints there.

Downstairs, an American-style breakfast of eggs and toast
and jam. No meat, which was fine.

For the day's outing we walked pretty much through the whole
town, including the oldest part, Dattatraya Square, which
though picturesque was mostly pretty decrepit, many of the
buildings in danger of crumbling. Also a jaunt out of town
just to see what there was (pretty much nothing, and the
temple shown on the map, our excuse for doing so, was
modern and not very attractive). After marveling at how
some of these extremely poor people lived, we decided to
take a closer look at Durbar Square, clearly the heritage
that made this entire town a World Heritage Site.

We got to the National Art Museum in the early afternoon,
the significance being that the electricity was off, and it
was too dark for me to see just about anything, as all the
shades were shut, sensibly, to protect the art. Some of the
other tourists had cleverly brought flashlights or had used
an iPhone app to illuminate the paintings, so all was not
lost, just most, as they tended not to mind having people
look over their shoulders. On the whole, I didn't get a
whole lot out of this visit, though. And the grapes were
sour, anyhow.

After that, we braved going past the man with the machine
gun and through the Golden Gate, out to the Hindu temple
and its water tank, all pretty interesting with primitive
carvings that make them look older than they are (they
date to the 16th and 17th century only). You are not
allowed to actually enter the worship area unless you
profess Hinduism, but I had my doubts about some of the
people I saw going in.

violist

Airport transfers being included, we arranged for an early
exit, our driver being the same guy, and as it turns out
in conversation the brother of the front desk guy and a
member of the family that owns both hotels. He tried to get
us to hire him to drive us to Pokhara, but we already had
reservations for Everest flightseeing and then out of town
with Buddha Air.

We were dropped off at the domestic terminal, where two
scruffy individuals scooped up our bags where the guy had
dropped them, hurrying us along into the building, where
the counter hadn't opened yet. Of course, they asked for
tips, and so they got a buck each - there was hardly a
choice without making a scene. These two ended up being a
little bit useful, taking our stuff to the police office
for safekeeping, for which I would have gladly paid the
couple bucks, but there was no additional charge.

U4 101 KTM KTM 0630 0730 B19 2AC

We were on the second flight of the day, for which they
announced an indeterminate delay, which wouldn't suit our
schedule, so they put us on the first flight, which went
out an hour late; as it turned out, the second one went a
short while after, but better safe et cetera.

The Buddha Air schedule is a statement of intentions rather
than a promise, everything depending on the cloud cover,
haziness, wind, and whether the airplane wants to go up.
This is understandable as the company had lost one if its
flightseeing planes and a bunch of revenue passengers on the
0630 departure just over a year before. This gave us only
modest pause, as lili had long wanted to see the mountain,
and trekking to base camp or something was an opportunity
missed in the past, if it had been available at all.

It wasn't the clearest day ever, but when we got above the
pollution of the valley, the views were pretty good, and
some nice photos were taken despite the scratchy windows and
the intense vibrations. Plus we were right by the propeller,
I wonder who chose those seats. The pretty flight attendant
was all business but gave a little sympathy to the addled
older couple that we were and helped us out a little, giving
us an extra cockpit visit, and so on. I recommend the
experience - it was on the whole like crawling into a coffee
table book for an hour.

When we landed, we were dumped off outside the terminal, by
the parking lot, whence we had to walk a block back, go
through security, collect our stuff from the office, and get
checked in for the other flight, where we were of course
expected. On the way we met our scruffy friends, with waves
and ironic smiles all round.

violist

U4 605 KTM PKR 0920 0955 ATR 7CD

A bigger aircraft, smoother flight, and wonderful views that
we agreed to be superior than on the flightseeing. Of course
we were going in the other direction, so no Everest, but the
scenery all the way to Pokhara was at least as spectacular,
with Fishtail (Machhapuchhre, I had to look up the spelling)
and Dhaulagiri and the Annapurna massif within eyeshot.

We had arranged for a car to our lodging, the Sacred Valley
Inn; it was right on time. Not a big town, and we were there
in five minutes, where jovial Bishnu got us set up in a
spacious corner room and showed us up to the roof garden for
snacks, it having warmed up to a tolerable level by now.

I ordered dal bhat tarkari, which was as expected but very
mild; lili's ham and cheese club might have been tastier.
Our beverages were Nepali Ice, a grainy-alcoholly-tasting
brew, and Coke. The food took a while to come - I thought
they might have had the fixings knocking about downstairs,
but in fact clearly a runner had to be sent out to one of
the local eateries for it.

I'm not so sure about the city, which is dusty and somewhat
unpleasant, especially considering it was whispered about as
a paradise on earth during my earlier adult lifetime. Of
course, the record cold and consequent augmentation of the
industrial pollution by the burning of all available
burnables (from scavenged wood to cow dung) didn't help.

The Lakeside part of town is said to be very beautiful, with
a vista across the water to Annapurna on a clear day and
Fishtail to the north. We didn't get any clarity during our
stay. And it's been built up with enterprises geared to
harvesting tourist dollars, so you can buy all the trekking
gear, beefsteaks (normally not eaten in this most Hindu of
all countries), and booze aplenty.

Tastes. Descriptions from the labels followed by my tastes.

Royal Stag by Seagram's A blend of imported Scotch malts
and select domestic grain spirits blended and bottled by
Himalayan Distillery Ltd. Nepal under trade mark license
from Austin, Nichols & Co. Inc and Pernod Ricard USA LLC.

This was sort of like 7-Crown watered down with a lot of
neutral spirit, a tiny hit of Scotchish smokiness after -
distinctly underwhelming;

Bagpiper deluxe whisky blended with Scotch and premium
Indian malt whiskies, distilled, blended and bottled
by United Spirits Nepal Limited, Morang, Nepal -
supposedly the best-selling whisky in India, one can only
conclude that Indian alcoholics are most desperate indeed.
All the nasty things that one reads about Mekhong whisky,
gasoline, rotten plant matter, and so on, well, it's true
of Bagpiper. Do not buy.

Moondance was the restaurant recommended by Bishnu, who
sized us up and sent us to probably the fanciest place in
town (and probably owned by his friends, and probably the
source of our food this morning). Everest beer, a fizzy
and inoffensive beverage that gave me a headache, cost more
than normal beer does in the US.

lili had a pizza that seemed to be a reasonable facsimile
of the real thing; I got the Nepali style duck extra spicy,
which though chewier than a domestic Pekin duck was very
nice but cost twice what a whole meal would cost at some
less tony place.

Oh, well. She promised to join me in a slightly more
adventurous meal next day.

violist

Orange juice is very expensive at the hotel and comes in
very small glasses. The plus is that it tastes pretty good
and is (according to the management) certified wholesome.
I believe lili had an egg and toast as well.

We wandered around town and to the famous waterfront, whose
supposedly beautiful views were socked in with smog, and
where we were accosted by numerous beggar children, touts,
and semi-tame livestock until we arrived at what might be
considered the less tony (but still perfectly civilized)
part of town, where you can get an order of momo for under
50c. I seriously considered doing a momo comparison at the
half-dozen places we passed, but I was perhaps excessively
concerned for my digestion, and we held off until we found
a hygienic-looking restaurant, actually one where a tout
out front had welcomed us some time before and seemed
excessively disappointed when we smiled and swept past.

Newari Kitchen is one of the tidiest restaurants on the
main street; also one of the quietest. lili ordered the
minestrone, which quite clearly came from a can, but at
least neither a Progresso nor a Campbell's one. I got an
assortment of snacks - fried spiced soybeans, which were
delicious; fried spiced dried buffalo which was like jerky
but in biggish cubes so hard to chew - made it certain that
one knew that one was eating dead animal flesh of unknown
but advanced age; and buffalo in spicy sauce, which was
still fibrous but eatable. I have no reason to disbelieve
that these are typical native food items (for those who
adhere to the belief that buffalo are distinct from cattle,
the eating of which is forbidden). We finished by splitting
an order of chicken momo, which cost three or four times as
much as it might at one of the shacks down by the water,
but which by way of consolation were certified healthy and
as a bonus quite excellent. Gurkha beer, which despite all
the advertisements for other kinds, particularly, oddly,
Tuborg and San Miguel, seemed to be the standard offer.

We arranged for the hotel driver to take us across town to
the International Mountain Museum, a modern structure that
houses artifacts of famous expeditions and displays of the
geology, anthropology, and biology of the region. It was
modern, fascinating (for an hour or so), and not grossly
expensive. After which, it was said that Sarangkot offered
the most beautiful views of some of the most beautiful
mountains, so we went there. Unfortunately it was totally
socked in. We decided to walk up the (innumerable) steps
through the Tibetan village to a famous viewpoint, hoping
that perhaps we might get a glimpse of something; on the
way a rather obnoxious young would-be guide accosted us and
easily kept pace with us with his harangue as we panted our
way up. Of course, he had nothing interesting to offer, and
neither did the viewpoint. We refrained from buying textiles
or refreshments from the villagers. The drive back was as
foggy and unscenic as the way up.

Back in town, we'd heard good things about Once Upon a Time,
another place that offered both native and western food, so
we could again both be satisfied. A boisterous crowd greeted
us, mostly tourists, with a few more native people (affluent
ones) thrown in for variety. You sit on these uncomfortable
cushions at these low tables and periodically shift your
weight to prevent your feet from falling asleep, but the
experience is not bad all in all.

lili had a salami pizza that was unexceptional in any way
and would not have been surprising in Des Moines. I suspect
the cheese was made of buffalo milk, though. I ordered the
mutton biryani extra spicy, and it was very much ditto; I
needed to request more hot pepper, which was quite hot when
it came. More of that Gurkha beer, at least better than that
darn Everest.

Bone-chillingly cold again, and we couldn't get the room
heat to go on. Luckily there were enough blankets.

violist

We'd budgeted only a couple days here so we could wander
Kathmandu proper for a day or two; and as the weather
showed no sign of changing, that was just as well. We were
driven back to the airport by the same driver and deposited
at the unprepossessing little terminal, where after waiting
for a while for the ticket counter to open, we were told
that there was a departure tax that had to be paid at a
booth at the opposite side of the room.

U4 612 PKR KTM 1430 1500 ATR 11CD
was 608 PKR KTM 1315 1345 B19

Our flight was delayed for hazardous conditions, but they
put us on the previous delayed flight (original departure
11 something). Seems to be common with this airline, but
given that they occasionally kill people, perhaps not
common enough. The ATR is comfortingly large compared to
the Beech.

From the bag claim you take this covered walkway to the
parking lot, where you suffer the taxi touts and then
give up, finding a driver who will take R50 less than
all the rest. According to the posted signs and placards,
the going rate is 650 (on the Internet, the word is that
it's 400-450), and everyone claims that's the firm price,
until we found someone who came down to 600 (I was offering
500), and I figured, what the heck, it means more to him
than it does to me. So we climbed into his junker, quite a
bit below the already low general standard, and off we went.

The road from downtown to the airport is also the main road
to downtown, only it's closed, and everyone takes this
bizarre circuitous route along dirt roads winding through
the capital. It's maybe 10 miles to our hotel, but it takes
close to an hour, with the car coughing and rattling, and
us fearing that it would gasp its last with us in it.

Presently it got us to our destination, and feeling sorry
for the guy I gave him his 650 anyway.

The Imperial Guest House in Thamel is clean and tidy enough
though in no way imperial. Juju and Krishna greeted us
pleasantly and gave us the key to a smallish but okay room
on the second floor overlooking an alley. A shower in the
bathroom was no-frills but functional. We were just getting
settled in when we heard some commotion outside; we looked
out the window to find that the car that had transported us
had broken down, and our driver was nonplussedly standing
by it with a crowd of locals giving him animated advice.
This went on for quite a while until somehow it left our
consciousness, and apparently under its own power.

A couple blocks before the guesthouse we'd seen a place
with the silly name Gaia, but it was handy and looked clean,
and the smells emanating were mild but good; we resolved to
try it, and as we were pretty tired, we did. Plus it takes
dollars and various other currencies, and we were pretty
much out of rupees except what it would take to get us to
the airport.

The food was good.

We started with very nice momos, among the best I've ever
tasted.

I followed that with chicken curry Nepali style, pretty
standard but very well executed, in fact one of the best
curries I have had in years, anyplace; it was about three
bucks, so I figured I did very well at this meal.

lili's steak au poivre was not quite double that and not
quite half as good.

With this I had a Nepali Ice, about which the only thing I
can say is I switched right away to the Everest. She had
red wine of similar lack of distinction.

Our meal, all we could eat and drink, set us back about a
Jackson.

When we got back, we found our room quite chilly but not so
cold as previous nights had been, and furthermore, the
little bathroom offered good hot water. The beds were
covered in the same ratty blankets as we had encountered
elsewhere, but they did the job, so it was a comfy stay all
round.

violist

I am not fond of Kathmandu, as it turns out. It's dirty,
depressing, crowded, and money-grubbing, and knowing what I
now know I'd have stayed longer in beautiful but limited
Bhaktapur or limited but limited Pokhara.

We went on three walking tours. The first was through the
warrens that constitute the market district (fascinating
but a little disgusting); the second around the Durbar
Square, which though much more extensive than the one in
Bhaktapur is ever so much more grotty and dismal. Also
pretty poorly kept up, so the grand old temples all look
on the verge of falling apart. And the pigeons ... !
Our final walk, the morning of our departure, was around
and beyond Thamel and the various nearby temples, some of
which are pretty impressive. In our search for temples, we
somehow got turned around, or so I thought, and it was
getting late, so we asked a cop, who indicated that it was a
20 min walk back to our hotel, so we got a taxi. Wrong
choice. Turned out he took us along streets that I
recognized almost immediately, and we were just a few blocks
away from our digs to begin with. Oh, well. Three bucks,
easy come, easy go.

We got our traps together and had the guest house order us a
taxi to Tribhuvan, which trip was a bit quicker as we got to
take the main road (owing to construction, one way away from
the city. This was fine, but as we were getting our stuff
together at the terminal, I lost my neck wallet, which
instead of being around my neck was in the carryon and
apparently fell out. Luckily my passport was in my pocket,
so I did get to go. But it was a loss of 700 USD plus a not
insignificant quantity of baht, Sing dollars, and Euros.
Oh, well, a thousand bucks or two, easy come, easy go.

Speaking of which, security was pretty easy, check-in was a
snap, and immigration as well.

The Royal Silk lounge is a pleasant room with almost
reliable wi-fi and an ever vigilant staff (apparently there
is a lesser lounge nearby, and everyone tries to get into
this one instead).

Decent food, good drinks including bitter orange and mango
juices, Khukri rum (okay, not so good - too bitter, too
sweet), Hennessy VSOP.

Coriander fried chicken was pretty Thai tasting and pretty
delicious; potato puffs were standard.

Restrooms are outside and are none too clean. Also cold.

You have to go through another security before getting to
the plane; we went a bit early, sensible us; it does take a
while, and you want to allow enough time. On the other hand,
the post-security waiting area is very spartan and crowded,
so you don't want to allow too much time. We had a half hour
- borderline too much.

There was this guy from the lounge who seemed impatient and
uneasy. He seemed to think that wherever he was, the line
formed behind him. The ground staff indulged him.

1P

I always enjoy your TRs, violist. Sorry about the loss of the neck wallet.

violist

TG 320 KTM BKK 1350 1825 772 14AB

No jetways. It's kind of cool walking up to the gigantic
airplane and up the staircase, though.

The cabin crew was extra deferential to the guy, who must
be a regular on the route.

First Course
Mesclun salad with cherry tomato and smoked salmon, tuna dressing

Strange - sort of from Asia in the olden days, when it seems
that dishes were reconstructed from written descriptions. It
was food, what can I say.

Main Course
Malai curry (lamb simmered in coconut milk gravy)
Steamed basmati rice
Palak chorchori (spinach & lentils with cumin and fresh ginger)

The curry was okay, the rice was better, the spinach and
lentils were best of all.

or
Chicken thigh in bumbai curry
Steamed thai hom mali rice, stir-fried loufah with egg

Quite good, but I can't tell what bumbai curry is; it did
have a ton of ginger and/or galanga in it.

or
Seared red snapper hot tomato ginger salsa
Tossed seaweed linguini, roasted vegetables

Assorted bread, butter

Assorted cheeses, fresh fruits

Dessert
Chocolate and vanilla creme brulee

Starch in a cup. All righty then.

Tea, coffee, espresso, cappuccino

Laurent-Perrier Brut

Ah, thank goodness for that.

Ch. La Branne 08

This was a totally typical but somewhat underconcentrated
Bordeaux. I rather liked it with the curried food.

Beaune 1er Cru 10 (whose? I don't know)

The flight was perfectly okay, but service was abstracted,
almost absent. And when the best-looking flight attendant
is a guy, you know you're on the wrong planet.

We landed more or less on time and got deposited rather
unceremoniously at the Bangkok airport, whence we made our
way through immigration (bored) and to the hotel bus guy,
who found us on some list and told us to sit tight for 15.

The bus came and took us to the Floral Shire, which
advertises itself as an airport hotel but is actually
another 15 away. It was an okay place whose main drawback
was no elevator. We were given a surprisingly nice though
spare room, whose firm and comfy beds were most welcome
after the trials of the day.

violist

TG 600 BKK HKG 0800 1145 380 1EF

I'd booked this itinerary with the sole purpose of
introducing lili to first class on the Thai superjumbo.

We got to the airport to check in a bit early; went to that
little lounge area off to the left, where a bustly efficient
agent went and got our documents, then ushered us to a
private security screening, where lili was unduly searched
(this took half a minute or so) and then to a cart that
whisked us through the business class lounge and off to this
private facility for breakfast.

You are discouraged from wandering around the space, which
is quite large, well appointed, and user friendly; but
every effort is made to keep you pent and comfy in your
little den. There's this old cartoon of a woman carrying
her teenaged son into a hotel, and the caption goes, I know
he can walk, but thank God he'll never have to. I always
thought it a bad joke, but I felt that way sitting here
being waited on. Ordering is from a huge menu on a tablet.
You make your choices, and someone comes by and says, no,
that's not available today. I went through a bunch of orders,
noodles, dim sum, what have you, and ended up getting congee
with pork meatballs, which if you know me you realize that
that would not be first or second or third on my want list.

lili had an omelet with ham, bacon, and chicken sausage; it
was expertly turned out.

When the time came (pretty late, actually) we were fetched
by a concierge and shown to our flight. No fancy cart this
time - too many stairs and escalators I guess, but the
person walked us over at a brisk pace.

The problem with sitting in the twin seats in the middle
of the 380: you really don't even realize you're on an
aircraft. I suppose the advantage is the unparalleled food
and wine. Sadly, we were full already, so we just zoned out
and pretended we were in somebody's den for the duration.
Soon we were at Hong Kong, where things still go like
clockwork, and we had the day to ourselves.

A same-day return on the Express costs the same as a single,
good for meet-and-greets and layovers. That's what we did.

I got us off at the stop that I thought would give quick
access to the waterfront, but when we alit, we found that
we were in some shopping area that seemed to be cut off
from the rest of the world by construction. We wandered
around this shoppers' paradise for quite a while before
actually getting anyplace before finding our way out of
the labyrinth and to the harbor. Where it was windy,
foggy, rainy, and altogether unpleasant. Wandered around
the neighborhood of the IC and the Sheraton (might have
poked our noses into the Pen as well, I forget) and did
nothing in particular until it was time to return, which
was expeditious and easy. Club-hopped at the airport,
where the formalities were pretty much zero, and then
boarded a quite inconsequential flight, where, aside from
a Courvoisier for me and a glass or two of red for lili,
we didn't consume anything except bed space.

UA 895 HKG SIN 2135 0130 744 3CH

We landed on time and all was in order.

We dragged ourselves to the Conrad at some ungodly hour but
were greeted enthusiastically. I got one of my favorite
spots, the corner room on the club floor overlooking the
Fountain of Wealth. lili also got club floor, less good
view, otherwise identical.

violist

A couple days of routine as follows:

breakfast at Oscar's down on the ground floor, where every
morning I feasted on beehoon noodles and various dim sum and
the occasional bowl of congee with scallions and Chinese
sausage, while lili and the other friends we met up with
generally had the full American breakfast, followed by a
dish of ice cream (there mostly for the Belgian waffles but
available plain or as a sundae);

wandering around town seeing the sights we have seen a
dozen times before;

lunch with friends;

afternoon drinks at the lounge;

dinner with friends;

late drinks at the lounge;

oblivion.

At some time it became too expensive to stay at the Conrad,
so we moved operations to the Hilton down on Orchard Road,
which is slightly less swank and slightly less polished but
tries to make up with service, which can be very good. Here
lili shared my accommodation, another corner room but
somewhat bigger, on a lower floor. We had our choice of
breakfast in the lounge (pretty good, limited selection) or
at the Checkers restaurant downstairs (bigger selection, not
as good but still better than anything you get stateside).

Meal highlights.

Long Beach Seafood - this was the main event of the
gathering, which builds itself around a big crab meal at
one of the famous seafood joints (Jumbo, East Coast, etc.)
every year. We hire a bunch of taxis or shuttlebuses and
trek out to one of these open-air pavilions where heaping
plates of crabs and big beer towers are the order of the day.

Each table orders its own, and this year, as I was one of
those in charge, the offerings were satisfying but perhaps
more modest than usual (to the tune of $20 less a head than
other tables).

We had to have a meat dish, and beef ginger scallion was an
honest, abundant, and satisfying version, the flank steak
done a little chewier than I'd like, but made it quite clear
that you were eating meat.

Instead of the standard chili crab, we had pepper crab,
tangy and utterly delicious. Someone requested mantou (I
forget steamed or baked), which was a nice relief to the
overburdened palate.

Fried baby squid got mixed reviews, especially from those
who are used to rings only. It was a little on the chewy
side, truth be told, with some of the little tentacles a
bit overfried, but the flavor was superb.

Heaps of spinach and garlic rounded out the meal in a
healthy way.

violist

Muthu's - one of the traditional meals at this get-together
is a lunch at one of the places on Race Course Road, either
here (which seems to have gained ascendancy among our crowd)
or Banana Leaf Apolo, which I rather miss from my first
outings to Singapore with this crowd a decade or more ago.

A big long table with jolly friends who ordered what they
liked, and then the dishes came out randomly and were placed
near or not so near their requestors, and who knows whether
these got even a taste of what they ordered. What came to
hand at my place:

chicken curry - a very nice version, yellowish, spicy but
not too hot. White meat, for which I give points off;

mutton in dry curry - my choice, extremely savory, quite
hot, lots of whole spices; bony, which may have put some
off, so I got lots of lovely cartilaginous things to gnaw
on;

spicy prawns - a dish I was against; it is an extravagance
and not all that special, the prawns medium-size and a bit
scanty, though the quite fishy sauce went well with rice;

butter chicken, which was the usual, but a perennial
favorite and crowd pleaser, but I think a little less
tomatoey than what I am accustomed to (a good thing).

lili ate about two tablespoons of rice and a little chicken
but I equalized things by eating much of the mutton dish and
a bunch of the sauce from the prawns.

The red wine on offer is pretty nasty; beer is better;
coconut juice is best of all.

-

kluau88 was in town, so we meat at one of the many Imperial
Treasure restaurants, where we were informed that the roast
meats that they were famous for were all sold out for the
night, so rather disconsolately we wandered off and found
Canton-i, in ION Orchard, which smelled okay but was
ominously almost empty.

The food was good, not great.

A boiled peanuts appetizer was really nice, as was a dish
of salt and pepper whitebait, something one doesn't see
every day (lili did not partake of either). Our mains,
roast pork belly and a quarter duck (dark), were tasty
enough but a little dried out. Baby bok choy in white sauce
was pretty good. The bill was higher than usual.