Bhaktapur

When I first schemed up a way to get back to this part of the world, I set my sights on a singular city, Bhaktapur, on the eastern side of the Kathmandu valley. My project proposal for a Fulbright grant involved exploring the agricultural and culinary life of this city, which is so often described as 'ancient' and 'traditional.' I wanted to see through the lens of food production, processing, preparation and consumption how this densely populated, undeniably urban place has (had) succesfully supported itself in near self-sufficiency for centuries.

Bhaktapur was and still is largely a Newar city. Although in modern Nepal the Newars are seen by others as just another one of Nepal's dozens of ethnic/linguistic groups, they see themselves as the quintessential Nepalis. From ancient times (arguably) the Kathmandu Valley and its three major cities--Kathmandu itself, Lalitpur (or Patan), and Bhaktapur--had been Newar territory. Theirs is an urban culture, highly structured, with a complex caste society encompassing both Buddhist (Mahayana/Vajrayana) and Hindu (Shiavite/Vaishnavite) "Great Traditions." In the late eighteenth-century the Valley fell to the great conquest by the Gorkhas, Pahari (hill-dwelling) Hindus sweeping in from the West. Although the Gorkha policy was, of necessity, to leave most of the existing Newar infrastructure and culture intact, there nevertheless began the irreversible process of diversification in the Valley. Today Newars are no longer even a majority, and their language is at risk. Newari has gone from a mainly linguistic category to an essentially ethnic/cultural one, as the Newars are forced to overlook some of their caste and religious differences in favor of an assumed ethnic solidarity. But the culture that defines this place is still that of the Newars, from their striking brick-and-woodwork pagoda architecture to the layout of the streets, and the gods that reside in every neighborhood temple.

Of the three cities of the valley, Bhatapur was the one that remained the most intact, at least until the mid-20th Century. Even today it stands aloof from the hustle and bustle of modern Kathmandu, which has swollen together with Patan into one choking metropolis. Of course such distinction doesn't escape the notice of tourists, who have been flocking to this ancient, traditional city for decades now and leaving their mark. The buildings are all either ancient or (more commonly, after various earthquakes) restored, but in many cases these picturesque shells house fluorescently lit internet cafes, luxuriously appointed tourist quarters and restaurants serving fries and imported lager. Still, Bhaktapur itself is still more than 95% Newar, and more than anywhere else in the Valley, Newari, or Nepal Bhasha as the Newar themselves call it, is heard spoken in the streets. But the kids, ever attuned to the trends of the day, are foregoing the clipped, nasal sounds of their ancestral tongue in favor of this nation's lingua franca, Nepali.

A week into this 10-month chapter of my life, I'm having second thoughts about transplanting myself into such an environment as Bhaktapur. It's an alluring place, but an elusive one--it's both more natural and more artificial than Kathmandu, more joyful and more laden. Moving to what is still a Newar city would mean becoming once again an infant, except when I'm a member of the tourist species, i.e. an alien to the cultural life of the city. The traditions I'm interested in--agricultural, culinary, medical--are all highly cultural, which again places me neatly at odds with the overwhelming trend away from exactly those traditions. Given my interests, is it not better to go somewhere where these things are still more prevalent? Yes, but what is more painful than watching the cracks forming in the walls of the last remaining stronghold of a culture? And knowing myself to be, despite my best efforts, a likely agent of that change?