Nepal-India Days 1 and 2: Kathmandu and Nagarkot

The problem with most overseas travel is the unearthly hour at which one has to wake up, and our recent Nepal–India trip was no exception. We had to drag ourselves out of our warm beds at four in the morning so that our Grab driver could pick us up 45 minutes later, allowing us to reach Penang International Airport by 5.30am for our flight to Kathmandu via Bangkok. Having learnt our lesson from the May trip, we had our visa-on-arrival application forms properly completed this time, which spared the group any unnecessary delays. With all 38 of us accounted for, we were processed without fuss and soon whisked away in three hired coaches to our first stop: the Boudhanath Stupa, easily Kathmandu’s most recognisable landmark.

In a sense, we were continuing from where we had left off in May. This time, however, we climbed up onto the broad, whitewashed platform and joined the clockwise flow around the great hemispherical dome. Above us the familiar eyes gazed down, calm and unblinking, as they have for centuries.

Standing there again, the structure revealed itself more clearly than it had on our first visit. From close quarters, the stupa was no longer just an iconic silhouette but a carefully layered statement in stone and plaster. The massive dome rose from the platform with a quiet solidity, while above it the square tower bore the all-seeing eyes of the Buddha, watching in the four directions, neither stern nor indulgent, simply present. The spiral between each pair of eyes, so often mistaken for a nose, was the Nepali numeral for one, a reminder of unity and the single path. As we continued our slow circumambulation, the act itself became part of the meaning: one foot placed before the other, movement without hurry, thought gradually giving way to awareness. 

Indian musicians in the Patan Durbar Square

Returning to Boudhanath also made me aware of how differently a place can register the second time around. In May, there had been the rush of first impressions: the sheer scale of the stupa, the crowds, the sense of arrival. This time, there was more space to notice the murmured mantras, the rhythm of prayer wheels, the mix of monks, pilgrims and tourists moving together in an unspoken choreography. It felt less like ticking off a landmark and more like continuing with an ongoing conversation that had not really stopped since we last left. 

The picture of the Amitabha Buddha that eluded me
during my first visit here in May.

That sense of picking up on an unfinished conversation repeated itself over the next few days. At Patan Durbar Square, we found ourselves wandering through a dense and almost overwhelming concentration of courtyards, temples and palace buildings, their carved wooden struts and brick façades bearing the wear of centuries. Statues, shrines and doorways appeared at every turn, some grand and ceremonial, others small and easily missed, giving the impression of a place where history had accumulated rather than been carefully curated. Even the open square seemed layered, as if different eras were quietly coexisting in the same physical space. 

The Golden Temple offered a striking contrast. Tucked away behind a modest entrance, its scale was intimate, almost enclosed, yet alive with constant movement. Monks, devotees and visitors circulated through its gilded surfaces and narrow passages, prayer wheels turning, bells chiming, and offerings being made with practised ease. It felt less like a site to be admired from a distance and more like one to be absorbed from within, where ritual continued uninterrupted by the presence of onlookers. At Swayambhu Mahachaitya, rising above the Kathmandu Valley, we chose not to explore the temple itself this time. Instead, we drifted immediately to the souvenir stalls, picking out items we had noticed and mentally bookmarked during our last visit, as though even our shopping was a continuation rather than a diversion. 

Sunrise over Nagarkot

All these aside, the day ended with a long, winding drive up towards Nagarkot, about 30 kilometres east of Kathmandu. As our coaches climbed steadily, the city lights receded, the road grew darker and the air cooler. Perched at roughly 2,000 metres above sea level, Nagarkot has long been valued for its commanding position. Once a retreat for Nepalese royalty and earlier still a strategic lookout over the Kathmandu Valley, it is now best known for its Himalayan panoramas and its reputation as one of the most accessible places from which to watch the sunrise over the snow-capped peaks.

By the time we reached The Fort Resort, night had fully settled in. Set amid forested slopes and terraced gardens, the resort felt less like a conventional hotel than a quiet sanctuary. Its red-brick structures and carved wooden details echoed the architectural language of the Kathmandu Valley, standing apart from the newer buildings scattered along the ridge. Our arrival was muted rather than dramatic, shaped more by the cool mountain air and the soft plodding of our footsteps on a seemingly endless incline before reaching the warm glow of lights marking the hotel's entrance. After dinner, fatigue quickly overtook curiosity. We had, after all, been awake since four in the morning, and Nepal time lagged Malaysian time by more than two hours. Most of us turned in, content to leave whatever Nagarkot had to offer until morning.

That promise was kept at dawn. We rose early and gathered on the resort’s uppermost floor as the first light peeked above the horizon. Slowly, the shifting colours of the sky brought the surrounding hills into focus, followed by the distant Himalayan range emerging from the darkness. On clear days, we had been told, even Mount Everest can be glimpsed glimmering far away, and our tour guide had confidently predicted fine weather. So there we were, suitably layered against the cold, as the spectacle unfolded. The mountain range sharpened into view. Watching the light change over the mountains, it was easy to understand why Nagarkot has drawn people here for centuries. 

For those of us staying in the cottages, the experience felt especially removed from the routines of travel. Tucked among trees and gardens, they offered privacy and quiet without the inconveniences one might expect from an older mountain property. Even the Wi-Fi proved unexpectedly strong, a small modern reassurance in an otherwise timeless setting. 

By mid-morning, the spell of Nagarkot began to loosen its hold, and it was time to descend from the hills and return to Kathmandu. The drive back retraced the same winding roads in reverse, daylight now revealing villages and buildings, terraced fields and everyday life that had been hidden from us the night before. As we approached the city, the mountain air gradually gave way to the familiar density and noise of the valley.

We checked in for the night at the Baharai Resort. Unbeknown to us. this place was to become a comfortable pause between the calm of Nagarkot and the hectic days of travel that lay ahead. After dinner, fatigue briefly threatened to keep us in, but the urge to spend money won out. We made our way to Thamel, just round the corner from the hotel, and with that, the first bout of shopping began.....