Getting Ahead by Getting Started

I'm writing this in a sort of post-illness euphoria. When I'm sick, even with a mild headache, I convince myself I'll never feel well again. I spent a few weeks in Kathmandu in June for In-Service Training (IST), where I was beset by hives, fever, body ache and chills, some mild digestive problems, and boils (those beautiful photos will live on forever in my Peace Corps medical file). I felt sure I had COVID (nope), dengue (nada), and a staph infection (nix), and even spent an extra two days in the city to sort out my symptoms with the Peace Corps medical team. But as all tests came back negative, I had to return to site. A week later, I am happy to report I'm finally feeling clear-headed and healthy.

Hypochondria runs in my family (looking at you, Sue & Lili!), and I add my own flavor of magical thinking to this anxiety soup. I'm not sure my symptoms weren't psychosomatic: a conspiracy between brain and body that enabled me to return on a different flight than the rest of the Arghakhanchi volunteers. Anyone who's ever travelled with me knows I'm an awful flier. On the flight from Bhairahawa (my closest airport) to Kathmandu to get to IST, we hit some bad turbulence, people were screaming (I surprised myself by not being one of them), and I was convinced the engine stalled three separate times. And with the recent Air India crash fresh in the news, I wasn't feeling particularly eager to board a plane. 

Not to mention one of my long standing beliefs: I swear, whenever you look up the passenger manifest of any crash, there's always a group traveling to a microchip conference, or a figure skating championship, or a symphonic orchestra concert--or a group of Peace Corps volunteers heading back to their permanent sites in the Arghakhanchi district. It was my delusional belief that if I got on a different flight, then maybe I wouldn't be tempting fate. The upside is that I'm only required to fly four more times: to and from Mid-Service Training (MST) and Close of Service (COS) Conference.   

Well, what a pleasant way to open this blog post. Is that one of the rules in E.B. White's The Elements of Style? To capture your reader with macabre musings? Despite the tone of this post so far, I enjoyed myself in Kathmandu and I'm looking forward to summer in Arghakhanchi. It's been fun to get to know every square inch of my site: discovering where I need to step gingerly or risk falling down, which jungle footpaths shave 10 minutes off my trip, and which houses have what fruit trees. I haven't been this in tune with my environment since I was a kid, running through my apartment complex and spending hours outside everyday.

Corn!

During IST (June 2-17), I was busy with programming from 8 am to 5 pm, but I used the evenings to explore parts of Kathmandu I hadn't been able to visit during my previous trip in March. These landmarks included Boudhanath Stupa, Pashupatinath Temple, Patan Durbar Square, and Budhanilkantha Temple (Floating Vishnu). Each of these probably deserves a full post to really explain their legends, history, & current cultural practices, but here I just want to describe how I was struck by Boudhanath and Patan Durbar Square. More detail on the design and purpose of stupas and royal squares can be found in my posts on Namobuddha and Newari architecture. 

Floating Vishnu statue, carved from a single stone and believed to be more than 1000 yrs old

We ventured over to Boudhanath in the evening, joining the mass of circumambulating pilgrims in their prayers. Although I was a head taller than everyone else, it was easy to get swept into the crowd. I felt no panic, though, just caution as I tried to avoid stepping on the prostrate worshippers. I'm envious of pilgrims who can shed their old shelves in the crowd. My body woes and neuroses are too strong, and I remained firmly tethered to the here and now, thinking: "Oh, that building is pretty," "Wow, the whiteness of the stupa is blinding," and "I'm hungry, when are we going to eat?" We eventually went over and sat at Roadhouse Cafe and watched the crowd from above. I'm so trained to associate crowds with danger, but you could see that there was no danger here. The legends of the stupa are countless, and it's said to contain the bones of The Buddha. I don't believe that, but it was still electric being so close to a place that is revered by so many. 

The crowd from above @ Roadhouse Cafe

The omnipresent eyes of Buddha

With my visit to Patan Durbar Square, I've now been to the three royal squares of the most powerful city-states in the Valley (Kathmandu and Bhaktapur being the others). Patan's square was the smallest of them, but by no means any less impressive. Actually, I'd rank Patan's the highest, since you could enter the royal residence (it was fun imagining myself as a member of a Malla court), which contained a comprehensive and well-curated museum. 

After a few hours there, we left to explore the surrounding city of Lalitpur, eventually stumbling upon the residence of the Lalitpur Kumari and deciding to go in for a blessing. We were received in her living quarters, which were like a tenement, all cramped passageways and little light, while her father/handler barked directions at her. Seeing the Kumari silently sitting in her throne, she really was just a tween with a scowl. I might have bought into the mythos if there was a certain level of opulence and grandeur to the experience, but mostly I came away feeling sad for her and angry with myself. 

Big Bell, Patan Durbar Square

Bhandarkhal Water Tank, Patan Durbar Square

And now, back at site after my weeks in Kathmandu, the real work begins. My priorities, informed by our Logical Project Framework and a community needs assessment, are to work on fruit tree, beekeeping, and vermicomposting projects. This process requires me to be a self-starter, which is an adjustment, as I'm perfectly (and unfortunately) content with idleness. I could sit on the veranda with a book and a view of the hills and stay there happily for 12 hours. 

The second hiccup of this process is that there is no separation between my "work" and home life. My community is my workplace, and my training partners are my neighbors and host family; therefore, I always have to be on. I expect this summer to be a period of growing pains as I learn to juggle it all, but my hope is that by fall, I'll feel more comfortable with this situation (and have a  project in hand!). 

It's such a privilege to be living in Nepal. I'm reminded of that every time I see the Himalayas or a monkey swinging from a tree. This morning, I realized that--aside from rice and lentils--my diet is mostly fiddlehead ferns, lamb's quarters, okra, lychee, mango, and buffalo milk. That would have been unfathomable to me six months ago, let alone two years ago. 

That's all for now. Thanks for reading. 

Here I Yam! Can you spot me?

Team Argha or Team Khanchi?

I'm a temporarily embarrassed homebody; somehow, I've found myself in a Nepali village 7,500 miles from home. And this isn't the first time it's happened. Last year, I ended up 4,000 miles from home in the little-known (at least to Americans) German city of Osnabrueck. Some faraway voice (it sounds like my own. Could it be?) keeps urging me to apply for these opportunities abroad and then, suddenly, there I am. 

I guess I'm a traveler, although I don't travel much beyond the initial plane ride. I like getting to a place and then staying a while. When things get overwhelming, I take comfort in researching the histories and legends of these places. It's reassuring to know I'm just one small scrap in a long chain of events. I want to share the interesting stories I've collected for Argakhanchi, my new Nepali home, in this post. 

Sandhikharka with its many colorful houses

Sandhikharka street view, mixing old and new architecture

270 degree view tower as there's a hill partially blocking one side 

The mid-hill region of Nepal was once governed by many small principalities, including the Kingdoms of Argha and Khanchi. These two kingdoms often came into conflict with one another, especially over valley grazing rights. When it became evident that neither side would emerge the clear victor, Argha and Khanchi decided to sign a peace treaty in what is now known as Sandhikharka (in Nepali, sandhi means treaty and kharka pastureland). Today, in the urban core of Sandhikharka, the Peace Park is a quiet oasis that commemorates the treaty with a small rock installation. 

The Kingdoms of Argha and Khanchi were annexed by Prithvi Narayan Shah, who I've mentioned a few times in this blog, as he campaigned for a unified Nepal. Later still, Argha and Khanchi merged into Arghakhanchi, one political entity and federal district. Sandhikharka is the largest city and administrative capital of the district.I live in a small village about 30-45 minutes away (depending on how suicidal the taxi driver is feeling) and I've visited a few times to meet with other volunteers or extended host family members.  

A stroll through Peace Park, Sandhikharka

Conflict ends with a handshake

The royal palaces of the former Kingdoms of Argha and Khanchi are popular tourist spots for the district. Last month, my fellow Arghakhanchi volunteers and I (9 people  in total) visited Argha Durbar. The buildings themselves are in rough shape, although it seems there are ongoing restoration efforts. I was blown away by the location, however, which is at the top of  one of the highest hills in the district, offering great views of the villages below. From up there, I was just barely able to make out one Himalayan peak. I've been keeping count of my mountain sightings and I'm up to 6 now, usually after a heavy rain. The weather is seldom clear enough to see that far north, but when it is, it's glorious. 

Next to Argha Durbar stands a giant statue of the goddess Durga, riding atop a lion. Durga represents strength and protection, and a major Nepali festival, Dashian, is dedicated to her. I read in this article (Argha Bhagawati) that the statue is the largest idol of Durga in Asia. I'm not exactly sure when it was constructed, but it seems the local government hopes the statue entices religious tourists to spend more time in the district while on pilgrimages to Lumbini (Buddha's birthplace) and Supa Deurali. 

Who's that girl? It's Durga!

Argha Durbar Square 

I haven't yet visited Khanchi Durbar, though I passed signs for it while hiking to Supa Deurali Temple. From what I can tell, Supa Deurali is the biggest attraction in Arghakhanchi. I've been twice now: once during a pitstop on my initial trip into the district, and most recently, on Chaite Dashain with my host sister (see last post). It's a super beautiful pagoda-style temple, perched on the edge of a very steep and narrow road that overlooks a river and heavily forested hills. Although dry at the time of my visits, a waterfall is visible during monsoon season on a nearby rock face. 

I haven't been able to find a single, definitive origin story for the temple, but I put together some recurring elements that I saw in multiple tellings. According to legend, a princess from the royal family of Khanchi was married off to an Indian prince without her consent. While traveling to meet  her new husband, she committed suicide in her palanquin, and her blood spilled to the ground. Soon after, disease began to spread throughout the kingdom.  A priest was consulted, and he told the citizens that the plague was the princess's revenge. A small shrine was built over the place where her blood fell, and the plague ended. That shrine eventually grew into what is now Supa Deurali. Today, pilgrims come to worship the divine feminine, Devi, who then grants their wishes. 

Worshippers @ Supa Deurali

A short and sweet post, but I hope it was amusing. As I learn to read Nepali, I'm sure I'll gain access to so much more information. In the coming months, I hope to visit some more touristy spots in the district, including the Rock Garden and Aakashdevi Temple. Life in Arghakhanchi moves at a slow pace, but that doesn't mean there isn't a rich culture and history to uncover. Stay tuned for future posts!

Here I Yam! testing out a satellite phone in Sandhikharka

Introducing Sahana Rayamajhi

Have I been in Arghakhanchi for a week? A month? A year? I can't say I agree with 60 minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day right now. Everything feels both augmented and compressed. With the endless amount of time I have to sit and think, I've come up with three reasons why I might feel this way:

(1) I'm giving myself short-term memory loss with the number of times I've hit my head. I'm above average height in America but have never felt particularly tall—here in Nepal, I feel like a giantess. I'm guaranteed to knock my head every time I enter a new house, and I'm averaging about three hits a day in my own room. Since I haven't learned to stoop yet in the month I've been at site, I'm not sure I'll ever learn. 

(2) I've suffered a complete loss of autonomy and feel like I'm right back in childhood. I am escorted everywhere I go, either by my host sister or her young sons. I appreciate their attentiveness and know it's only for my comfort and safety until I become more familiar with the area and can better navigate situations using Nepali, but it's still the hardest part of this process for me so far. I've also been paraded from house to house to meet various community members, and the conversation very quickly progresses past my comprehension level. I often just sit there while the grow-ups chat around me, every so often hearing my name or getting a glance in my direction. Am I 23 or 10 years old? Sometimes I'm not sure. 

(I was warned that I'd consume excessive amounts of tea during these meetings, but I wasn't prepared for the amount of papaya that would be offered to me! I know I shouldn't complain about eating fresh, local produce, but papaya has always tasted like dirty diapers to me, and I don't relish having to choke down a few pieces at every house.)

(3) Lastly, and most plausibly, is that I'm driving myself crazy from all the boneless days. This lack of routine is entirely my fault, and it's something I'm committed to improving in May. The general outline of my day revolves around meals and is the always the same: wake up at 6:30, breakfast/snack at 8:00, lunch at 10:30, tea at 2:00, evening snack at 4:00, dinner at 8:00, and then retire to my room at 9:00. It's the hours in-between that are interminable. I've also realized the harsh sunlight offends my vampiric tendencies from noon to five o'clock each day! I need a routine to distract myself. 

My room. I'm really digging the storage space

Bathroom set-up. I'm using muscles I've never used before

Like previous posts, there's a loose theme for this one: my first month at site, told in fragments and short impressions. Some days, ten new things happen. Some days, I sit and read and watch the clouds move over the hills. 

These first months at site are all about observation and integration, and I think I'm making good progress on both fronts. Here, I go by Sahana Rayamajhi—the first name given to me by my first host family, the surname from my current host family. I was taken to mothers' group and agricultural co-op meetings, where I introduced myself; the attendees seemed to understand my Nepali, which I'm taking as a small victory. Nepali is coming slowly, as I orient myself to a different accent and dialect. 

My host brother is an English teacher, which has been helpful for understanding what is going on around me and feeling understood, but it's probably stunting my Nepali. The other members of the family include: my host sister, 35 years old; their two sons, aged 8 and 10; and the newest members, six chickens! Most of my time is spent shadowing my host sister as she visits family and neighbors, and works in the kitchen garden in front of our house. 

Rainy day at site 

I arrived at site on a Wednesday, and my first big cultural celebration was Chaite Dashian on that Saturday. It's a Hindu holiday celebrated with animal sacrifices for the goddess Durga—a sort of a complement to the most major Nepali festival, Dashian, which takes place six months later in September. It's also the last holiday before the Nepali New Year (which, to my suprise, my community didn't celebrate; regardless, Happy 2082!). 

On Chaite Dashian, my host sister and I hiked to the Supa Deurali Temple in Narpani (I'll write about the legend behind the temple, along with the history of Arghakhanchi, in my next post). It was super crowded with pilgrims and their goats; the goat heads left at the temple as offerings, the bodies taken down the road to a picnic area to be eaten. My hosts' extended family graciously invited me to their picnic and, like all Nepali celebrations, we ate and danced for an uncomfortably long time.

I reciprocated the cultural exchange by celebrating Easter with my host family. I didn't touch on any of the Christian aspects of Easter, and instead, like a pagan, described it as a sort of spring festival. It was my first time using natural dyes on eggs and it turned out halfway decent. We used mulberries for a purple-black color, mulberry leaves for yellow, and hibiscus petals for pink. My host sister enjoyed the process, and I've recruited her to help experiment with more colors next year. I tried to explain the egg hunt tradition, but I wasn't able to get that across. Instead, we just ate the eggs for our afternoon snack: a syncretism of American tradition and Nepali resourcefulness. 

We celebrated Mother's Day with my host sister's mother and sisters-in-law at her maitighar—a married woman's parental home. In Nepal, after marriage, women traditionally move into their husband's family home, joining his parents, paternal grandparents, brothers, and any unmarried sisters. Although my host's sister's maitighar isn't far from our house in terms of distance, getting there required a combination of walking, a bus ride, and a taxi. Much like Mother's Day in the U.S., we brought over a cake and some scarves as gifts and gathered to celebrate motherhood. There'll be a second round at my house, as I'll make sure to celebrate my host sister on May 11th too.   

Supa Deurali Temple on Chaite Dashain

The environment in Arghakhanchi is wildly different from anywhere I've previously lived. The forests here are a mix of Shorea robusta (sal), Pinus roxburghii (Indian pine), and Rhododendron arboreum (rhododendron). My young host brothers and I often make trips into the forest (we've seen monkeys many times) to collect golden Himalayan raspberry, tiju, and kaphal fruits. The boys are like mountain goats; no cliff is too steep for them to scramble up and down. I know I wasn't that daring at their age. 

The weather is bipolar, oscillating between apocalyptic storms straight out of the Book of Revelation and days that hit 80 degrees before noon. The veranda above my room was destroyed one night during my first week at site by non-stop rain and strong winds. It's since been repaired, but that ordeal was a lesson in Nepali time management. I'm getting a preview of what's to come during monsoon season; March to early June is the hot season, while mid-June to early September is the rainy season. 

The diversity of fruit trees here is incredible. I've seen jackfruit, mango, lychee, papaya, pomegranate, and banana trees, all within a five minute walk from my house. Slowly, I've been helping more and more with agricultural work: first harvesting potatoes, then weeding the onion fields (I saw lamb's quarters and wood sorrel most frequently. We ate the lamb's quarters with rice for dinner (Nepali: bethe ko saag)), and, most recently, planting ginger and turmeric. 

The best days, the ones when I feel most productive and most at home, are those I get to work communally with my family and our neighbors in the fields. 

Local school and hills near my house

Planting ginger and turmeric. Piles of manure (Nepali: gobar mal) pictured here

Kaphal tree w/red berries

Chickens!

That's all for now. It was hard to pare down all the anecdotes swirling around in my head, but I hope this gives you a snapshot of my life at the moment. I'm looking forward to more adventures in Arghakhanchi!

Here I Yam! @ my host sister's maternal house

God[s] is in the Details

Just as there is no single American experience, there is no single Nepali experience. The diversity of ethnicities, languages, and cultural practices in Nepal cannot be overstated. Today, I'm zooming in on the Newar people, indigenous to the Kathmandu Valley and its surrounding areas, and their architecture. Newars are known for their craftsmanship and artistry; spend any time in the Valley, and you'll see why. 

I recently spent five days in Kathmandu (culminating in our swearing-in ceremony), which prompted me to think about the architectural motifs I'd seen again and again during PST. How has the history of the Newars influenced their artistic choices, and what is the cultural and religious significance of these motifs? I've also considered how Newar identity has shaped and been shaped by Nepali identity. Although I don't have all (or even close to all) the answers, I'll share some of my thoughts below.   

Simply put: for millennia, the Newar people have been at the center of all the action. The Newars were traders along trans-Himalayan routes, connecting Tibet to India. Newar civilization flourished under the Malla Dynasty (1201 to 1779), which governed modern-day Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, and Patan as independent city-states (each city has a durbar square, i.e., royal square, that is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site). The Mallas were great patrons of art and architecture, and each city-state vied to be the most elaborately and lavishly ornamented. For example, I read an apocryphal story that recounted how the sculptor of Bhairab and Ugrachandi in Bhaktapur's Durbar Square had his hands cut off to prevent him from duplicating his work in other cities. 

The Malla Dynasty came to an end when the Kathmandu Valley was unified under Prithvi Narayan Shah, and subsequently, the modern nation state of Nepal was founded. I'm not sure whether this was unification or conquest, but in the annals of history, these often amount to the same thing. The Kathmandu Valley has remained the political and cultural heart of Nepal. The Newar identity, as far as I can tell, has remained distinct from the larger Nepali identity, yet is undoubtedly a part of it, much in the same way Andalusian culture has become synonymous with Spanish identity on the world stage, or Bavarian culture with German identity.

I have identified several features of Newar architecture that I find fascinating. The article Newar Architecture was very helpful in putting names to the features I was seeing and filling in some of the history I was missing. Let's dive in!   

Pagoda Style Temples, Multi-Tiered

You'll need endless hours to fully inspect all the architectural elements of any one temple; I often sat and admired the Indreshwor Temple in Panauti, identifying new elements every time—from the carved wooden doors, roof struts, and archway known as the torana, to the bells and clappers that rang in the wind. Despite having multiple tiers, the ground floor is typically the only accessible space for worshippers. Newar architecture emphasizes symmetry and proportion, and, as such, these pagoda-style temples have square foundations.  

Each temple is named after a specific god or goddess. I am usually unfamiliar with the names, as they vary between Nepali, Sanskrit, and Newari, so I look for certain elements to identify which god the temple is devoted to. Each god has a "vehicle" on which they travel, and which represents certain attributes of that god and is often placed outside the temple, facing the main entrance. Shiva is accompanied by Nandin (a bull), Vishnu by Garuda (a winged bird-like creature), and Ganesh by Mushaka (a mouse). The representation of the god, usually a statue, sometimes abstract, is located inside the temple. For Shiva, this representation is the easily recognizable lingam.  

I've most commonly seen temples in the pagoda style in the Kathmandu Valley, though there are other designs, such as the shikara style, which originated in Northern India and came to Nepal hundreds of years ago. Like pagodas, shikara temples are ornately decorated, stretch vertically into the sky, and are only accessible at ground level. Together, these temples form a striking arrangement in Bhaktapur Durbar Square. 

Indreshwor Temple, Panauti

Nyatapola Temple, Bhaktapur (tallest temple in Nepal)

Bhairab Temple, Bhaktapur

Kathmandu Durbar Square

Annapurna Temple, Asana, Kathmandu

                     

Temple in Shikara style, Bhaktapur

Stupas

Stupas are dome-shaped or mound structures resting on square pedestals that contain Buddhist relics (see my earlier post on Namobuddha). The design of stupas encourages clockwise circumambulation from devotees. The Swayambhunath Stupa in Kathmandu also features a cube on top of the dome, painted with the eyes of Budda on each side (a symbol of omniscience) and the Nepali number 1 (which I originally thought was a nose but is actually a symbol of unity and oneness). The Ashok Stupa in Thamel, named after Ashoka the Great who promoted Buddhism in India, is a small wonder—it's the only brick stupa I've seen. 

Swayambhunath, Kathmandu

Ashok Stupa, Thamel, Kathmandu

Namobuddha Stupa

Hiti (Nepali: Dhunge Dhara) 

Hitis are intricately carved stone taps that predominantly date back to the Malla Dynasty, although some in Bhakatpur date to the Licchavi Dynasty. The mythical creature carved into the tap is known as makara or hitimanga, a mishmash of aquatic and terrestrial features such as an elephant trunk, fisheye, and crocodile snout. Hitimanga is venerated in both Hinduism and Buddhism and is the vehicle of the river goddess Ganga (the personification of the Ganges River). 

The oldest hitis were built over natural springs, but newer hitis were supplied via a complex system of canals and ponds that brought water from surrounding hills to the Kathmandu Valley. Water collected from hitis is used for drinking, bathing, and ritual purposes. The introduction of modern water management systems post-1951, rapid urbanization that disrupted connections, and earthquake damage have rendered many hitis across the Kathmandu Valley non-functional. Despite this, I found many hiti in Panauti to be in working condition—albeit modernized with tanks and pipes. 

Bhakatapur Durbar Square

Panauti

Brick and Timber

Traditional Newar houses are constructed from locally available brick, mud mortar, and wood. As with temples, Newar architecture is all about symmetry and proportion, and, accordingly, these houses are built on a rectangular foundation with windows and ornamentation mirrored around the facade's central axis. Each Newar house is built around an inner courtyard that functions as a communal space and is accessible through low entryways (I am guaranteed to hit my head every time I enter). Facades, especially the windows facing main roads, are elaborately decorated with intricate wood carvings. The ground floor functions as storage, livestock housing, or small shops—a blurring of public and private space—with the family's living quarters starting on the first floor. 

The simple design of Newar houses belies the true genius of this style: resilience to earthquake damage, combining both tensile and inflexible building materials. What's more, the square courtyards act as braces, distributing lateral force more evenly to prevent collapse. Of course, these buildings are still susceptible to high-magnitude earthquakes, such as the absolutely devastating one in April 2015. But since there are more than 50 earthquakes of various magnitudes in the Kathmandu Valley each year, Newar housing is certainly impressive for its hardiness.  

Dhulikhel

Dhulikhel

55 Window Palace, Bhaktapur Dubar Square

Kumari Ghar, Kathmandu Durbar Square

Community Spaces: Courtyards, Ponds, & Phalchas (Nepali: Pati)

Newar society is a communal one, and this is reflected in traditional Newar urban planning. I've written a bit about courtyards and ponds above. These features serve dual purposes, both functional and sociological. As I've described, courtyards are intrinsic to earthquake-resilient architecture, but they also encourage gathering, serving as semi-private spaces that bring together families and neighbors from adjacent housing. 

Ponds were part of a complex water management system in the Kathmandu Valley, but they are also very public spaces, bringing together residents from a broader area, possibly from across the city and particularly during festivals. Ponds often incorporate other elements of Newar architecture; take, for example, Bhajya Pukhu in Bhaktapur, which contains a temple in the Shikara style at its center. 

Another community space I observed was the phalcha (alt. spelling: falcha)—a slightly raised, covered platform, bricked in on one side. Phalcha provide shaded spots for resting and gathering. I frequently saw elderly people chatting (Nepali: gaph garnu) and dogs sleeping on the phalcha of Panauti. 

Courtyard, Panauti

Bhajya Pukhu, Bhaktapur

Phalcha, Panauti

Overall Exquisite Craftmanship

The Kathmandu Valley and its surrounding area is just filled with architectural marvels. I included this section to highlight some wonders I found especially intriguing, and which don't fit exactly into the sections above. 

Torana, Thamel, Kathmandu

Bhagwati Shrine, Thamel, Kathmandu

Private residence doorway, Panauti

Vishnu Statue, Tulanarayan Temple, Panauti

Kaal Bhairav, Kathmandu Durbar Square

Shiva-Parvati Temple, Kathmandu Durbar Square

I hope this was somewhat informative. Newar architecture is just one of many styles in Nepal, and I look forward to updating the blog as I explore more of the mid-hills and, hopefully, the Terai and the lower Himalayan Range. 

Here I Yam! in Bhaktapur Durbar Square