Last night I was bitten again badly, this time on the eyelid which has become grotesquely swollen. Aside from being slightly repulsed at my appearance, the hotel staff insist on my changing rooms. I've noticing lingering stares in the lobby so I decide to wear my sunglasses even though it's overcast and raining. I feel like an idiot.
I take a taxi a few kilometres east of the city to Pashupatinath, the most sacred Hindu site in Kathmandu set along the steps of the Bagmati River. I've only taken a few steps when a would-be guide latches on to me and offers to show me around. By the river there are several stone plinths crowned with funeral pyres. The guide shows me some feet protruding from a smoking pile of wood. I hadn't noticed this and would have happily remained ignorant. He tells me on average 40-50 people (80% of the population is Hindu) are cremated a day. I look along the river and see several other burning pyres. There are also houses where the old and infirm, with no hope of a cure, are brought to die.
The guide takes me aside and asks me to give him his tip in private. He says that if other guides see me tipping him, they will demand a proportion of the money.
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Welcome back to blogging.
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