Mountains, momo and a lil' tremor

a roundup of good things (well, maybe not that last one...)

Sunday was a perfect Kathmandu autumn day—bright, a little gusty, the sky a perfect, crisp and aching blue that makes you happy just to be alive and there to see it. Off in the north, a few distant Himalayan peaks are sometimes visible from my kitchen window and roof, and they were clear that day as I hung the laundry, distinguishable from the hills by a light sprinkle of snow on some of them, as you can see above.

However—and how I’ve missed this in a year and a half of living here I can’t imagine—Sunday was the day I learned that to the east of my house, between two buildings, is a proper Himalayan vista. In my defense I can only say that the skies are often hazy, making the mountains either invisible or hard to distinguish from the clouds, and when I’m looking at the view, I’m usually facing the other way, away from the buildings.

Still, it’s hard to believe I missed them, and they continued to be clear for the next two days, a small strip visible from my desk, not as wide as the view from the roof where I took these photos, but still enough to me smile whenever I look up. I’m delighted to find yet another wonderful thing about the place that I still think of as my “new home” even though, as I said, I’ve been here for a year and a half. The haze is back today, but I know I’ll see them a lot more often now that I know where to look.

It’s strange: there are days when you really think the sky is blue and clear, and it’s not until you get a day like these we’ve just had that you realize how blue it can really be; and once you see the mountains, you wonder how you they can not be visible all the time when there they are, larger than life, right in front of you. It’s hard to describe. (Also: yes, my zoom lens is smudgy, and yes, I’m going to get it taken care of.)

**

The scooter is still in the repair shop, so I’ve been walking even more than usual; it’s been really enjoyable. This morning I was in Thapathali, helping a friend with some editing, and when we wrapped up it was past lunchtime. I remembered a nearby restaurant on an akward busy corner with no parking, where I’ve had excellent jhol momo, and since I was on foot, thought to check if they were still there. The last few days have also brought a chill to the air, and jhol momo are excellent cold-weather fare. When I’d heard some years ago that those served at the improbably named Coffee Station were supposed to be extra good, I was a little doubtful.

I think it was the name, and also the place itself, once I found it. Not humble enough to be a proper hole-in-the-wall, where I always find dishes like this to be best, it could best be classified as generic or nondescript.

But they did not fail to deliver: the momo—buff for me of course, though they do have other options—swim in a deep bowlful of tomato-based soupy sauce, flecked with fresh coriander and spices; the only one I’m sure is in there is the mouth-numbing timbur (or timmur), a cousin of Sichuan pepper and often mistaken for it.

It was as delicious as I remembered, though I think I was a little premature; the weather isn’t really cold enough yet for me to enjoy them as do when there’s a real nip in the air. Never mind, it’s an excuse to go back soon—like I needed one!

**

There was a small tremor after I got home—4.9 on the Richter scale—and as there was some banging at the same time and my alley has had more than its fair share of construction over the past week, I discounted it entirely till I got a message about it from a friend. I’m still not sure what that says about me, to be honest.