The Swayambhunath Temple in Kathmandu, Nepal, is way up on a hill or rather a small mountain, and when the travel agent and I reached the top of the steps, guards in uniforms stood under a dark red archway reminiscent of the archways to Hindu temples in India. After the travel agent Naresh and I passed through the archway, straight in front of me was a round artificial pool, currently empty of water, above the center of which stood a gold Buddha statue on a gold lotus throne. I turned to the right, approaching the temple itself, which is extremely elaborate, with if possible more little reliquary stupas than the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodh Gaya. The small reliquaries are mostly dark old stupas in rows, some with red coloring (probably the kind of powder paint used for the third eye chakra or for throwing on people during the Hindu festival of Holi), and some with flower offerings. Here and there beyond these small stupas stand medium-sized whitewashed stupas, such as those I saw at Boudhanath.

The temple complex contains several buildings, including a festive red, yellow, and gold Tibetan temple decorated with gold Buddhas and Bodhisattvas. Some buildings were small rectangular one-story structures that seem simple at a glance, but up close the detail on these buildings is breathtaking. Columns and doors are elaborately carved of wood, and windows are covered with hand carved wooden trelliswork. One little red brick building displayed a wooden door flanked by red snake reliefs, representing either Nagas (snake deities) or the snake that according to myth protected Siddhartha Gautama, the historic Buddha, during a rainstorm. Both Boudhanath and Swayambhunath have countless colorful Tibetan prayer flags blowing in the breeze; but an observer generally sees prayer flags billowing in Kathmandu. The center of Swayambhunath Temple is a large white dome, the main stupa. We circumambulated it, and I’m tempted to say some devout monkeys did the same.

Near the center of the temple is a dark wooden Hindu shrine, covered with elaborate carvings, where many Nepalese visitors prayed, delivered flower offerings, and rang a metal bell, and where a sign stated that photography was not permitted. Smoke wafted up from this shrine, probably from incense. The shrine in question stood to the left of the door to a formidable stone square structure covered with elaborate carvings. I gazed at this structure and peeked into the dark interior through a latticework window.

During my circumambulations, I stepped inside a small one-room museum full of stone Buddhist and in some cases Hindu artwork. Very old statues and plaques lined the walls on simple wooden shelves, and mostly these ancient works of art had paper labels that looked like they had been written a hundred years ago; the English was in old-fashioned script.

The rather amusing aspect of Swayambhunath Temple is the monkeys, monkeys, and monkeys! They run around freely, climb on the little stupas and the big stupa and the walls and window frames, and people should really be careful not to stand below a monkey while it’s pooping. I was just about to get closer to the big stupa, and thought better of it as I warily eyed a monkey. I encountered families of monkeys while climbing the steps, and that’s the point at which I started taking pictures of them. Near the large stupa is a lotus pedestal of several feet around, on top of which lies an enormous gold dorje or thunderbolt; it was probably about six inches long, lying from side to side, and a large monkey climbed up it and sat in the center. I can never get tired of monkeys. Oh, yes, they’re the pink butt kind, not the black-faced lemurs.

It was sunny while I was at the temples, and my mood was much better than the day before. I felt so much better at the Buddhist temples than in the rainy streets of the Thamel or at the airport. There is indeed spiritual energy at these temples.

Something I found disturbing at Swayambhunath, despite all of the above positive comments, was not the quantity of scruffy stray dogs, but the condition of one of the dogs. I suddenly heard very loud and suffering whimpering and howling coming from a lookout point, a balcony overlooking Kathmandu. I turned to look and watched, to my horror, a large scruffy dirty black dog that was walking very slowly and awkwardly away from the lookout point. It kept howling in agony, and nobody seemed to care. It moved slowly, slowly, toward a downward flight of steps and started getting a little quieter, then loud again as it went down the steps. I wondered whether it had rabies or was wounded, and although I was horrified by its pain, I didn’t want to get anywhere near it. If it had rabies or some other disease, staying away from it was a good idea. I felt hopeless to help, while everyone else completely ignored the dog as if it didn’t matter. I walked well around the dog and headed for the lookout point, where indeed I had a fine view of Kathmandu. I still thought of the dog as its whimpering died down and I felt helpless. The suffering this dog experienced and my inability to help and everyone’s apparent indifference did not sit well with me.

Another disconcerting thing at the temple is all the merchants. They’re right there amid the little stupas, occupying sacred space. Sure, they’re selling Buddhist and Hindu items, mostly statues, incense, and malas, but it seems like an odd spot for shopping and I was not in the shopping mood.

As pilgrims start going back down the stairs to leave, there’s a little café labeled “Fast Food” where one can get packaged food and cold beverages. Outside the café, to the right of the door, are a couple of very old and beautiful three-foot-tall black reliquary stupas, like the ones around the large stupa. Propped up in front of one of these stupas was a sign with an arrow saying “Fast Food.” Tacky much? I went in and got a big bottle of water, despite my apprehensions. Perhaps it isn’t as bad as I make it out to be; on one hand, it seems irreverent, but on the other hand people need to quench their thirst even at a temple.

I wasn’t sure whether I should be appalled or amused, but I took a picture of the stupas and the sign—I’m not avoiding the ugly bits completely even with the camera. Perhaps I am being too harsh by judging the “Fast Food” sign as irrelevant; after all, in my house Buddha statues sit in front of fantasy novels on bookcases. I believe in mixing art into everyday life, so who’s to say it isn’t appropriate to mix spiritual things with everyday things? Nepal is like India and London; everything is crowded together in riotous chaos, and it’s best to go with the flow. For that matter, I probably shouldn’t be critical of the merchants around the stupa, either; they need the money.

Naresh led me toward the stairs leading down, down, down the mountain. Indeed, from the top of the steep stairs, it didn’t look like a hill anymore but rather a genuine mountain, although I’m sure it’s very short by Himalayan standards. As we headed down the stairs, an orange-clad Theravada monk stood silently, sideways in relation to the steps, and he held a large silver begging bowl. I recalled that people put food in the Buddha’s bowl rather than money, and the only food I had with me was a few vestiges of dried candied ginger in a plastic bag. In hindsight, it occurred to me that I really could have put money in his bowl, or the ginger for that matter, but by the time that occurred to me, we were far below the monk on the steps.

Here are links to tourism info: 

http://nepal.saarctourism.org/swayambhunath.html

http://www.lonelyplanet.com/nepal/around-the-kathmandu-valley/swayambhunath