Shortly before lunch the party met back at the airport to catch an Indian Airlines flight to Kathmandu.
Because they were officials representing the British government, the team passed quickly through Immigration. They were met by the Nepalese Liaison Officer, an official who is always assigned to climbing expeditions. His duties include making sure proper permits and paperwork are submitted, and seeing that the expedition doesn’t stray from its allotted peak.
The team piled into a rickety bus that must have been at least thirty years old. Bond gazed out the window at the streets, finally taking in that he was truly in the third world. It was such a contrast, even from Delhi. The blending of cultures in Kathmandu was striking The traffic snaked around water buffalo pulling wagons caring rice. There were open sewers along the sides of the roads. The people were dressed in an odd mixture of western fashions (T-shirts, blue jeans) and Nepalese and Tibetan dress. Barefoot, skinny children ran up to the bus when it stopped at a traffic light, holding out their hands and calling out, “Bonbon! Rupees! Iskul pens!” Apparently the universal English word for “sweets” in Nepal was “bonbon,” and as some tourists were prone to hand out pencils and pens, the children often asked for “iskul pens,” claiming that they needed them for “school.”
The Yak and Yeti is one of the few luxury hotels in Kathmandu. Located on Durbar Marg, built around a wing of an old Rana palace, the lavishly decorated 270-room building is “modern” in every sense of the word, yet its history is thoroughly integrated in the design. Bond noticed that the architecture was both westernized and Nepali-Victorian.
“This hotel is a beautiful one,” Chandra said as they got out of the bus. “For many centuries Nepal was cut off from the outside-world. Initially it was ruled by the Mallas, but Prithivi Narayan Shah established a kingdom in Kathmandu. During his tenure, a young army general, Jung Bahadur Rana, usurped power from the monarchy and established himself as the Prime Minister, with the title of maharaja and powers superior to those of the sovereign.”
Bond and the others walked into the lobby through double glass doors and onto sparkling granite flooring. To the left was a large gazebo with huge French windows. The reception desk, built with a black granite top, was to the right. A magnificent and traditional Newari wooden window, exquisitely hand-carved by local artisans, stood above Reception, where a smiling Guest Relations Officer gracefully draped in a sari sat. Beyond the reception area was a lounge furnished with yellow and green upholstered chairs. The lounge overlooked the hotel’s lovely, well-manicured and landscaped lawns through picture windows.
Chandra continued. “The Rana regime lasted for a hundred and four years, until 1951, and contributed to the country’s ornate neoclassical palaces. One of the reminders of this Rana period is the Red Palace, or Lai Durbar. It was built, oh, I think it was around 1855. This reconstructed palace now houses two fine restaurants—the Naachghar and the Chimney, as well as the Yak and Yeti Bar—all under one roof. Did you know that the Chimney owns the original copper fireplace from Boris Lissanevitch’s famous Royal Hotel? The bar there was called the Yak and Yeti, which is how this hotel got its name. Boris Lissanevitch opened the first western hotel in Nepal.”
“Fascinating,” Bond said.
The strong smells from the streets were not present inside the hotel. Instead, there was the pungent aroma of curry coming from one of the restaurants.
Bond and Chandra were put in what was called a Tibetan suite. Rich silk was used to cover the walls of the room with typical Tibetan motifs in green and blue. The living room had a comfortable seating area containing furnishings of intricately carved wood. The walls and ceiling were adorned with brass and copper work. A private terrace offered a spectacular view of the Himalayan range and the Kathmandu valley. The master bedroom contained two queen-sized beds covered in silk in the same rich Tibetan colors. The bathroom was in marble with an oval-shaped bathtub and a separate shower.
“Enjoy the luxury while you can!” Chandra said, dropping his bags on the floor. “In three days we leave all of this behind!”
“Indeed. However, we’re supposed to meet our man from Station I at the hotel bar in an hour. What time is our orientation with the team?”
Chandra looked at his itinerary. “Tonight, before dinner. We have the rest of the afternoon free.”
“Good,” Bond said. “We’ll want to go to the temporary station house in Kathmandu and see what our man has for us.”
Bond changed into lightweight khaki trousers and a Sea Island cotton navy shirt, while Chandra wore fatigues from his regiment. They went down to the Piano Lounge, just off the lobby, where the Mixture Trio Band were playing standards from the fifties, sixties, and seventies. Bond ordered a double vodka with ice. Chandra ordered Iceberg, the local Nepalese beer.
“Are you going to see your wife?” Bond asked.
“She is coming to Kathmandu and we’ll meet before we leave for the mountain. It’s a long journey for her. Most of the way has to be on foot.”
“What’s her name?”
“Manmeya.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“She’s a pretty woman,” Chandra said, his grin stretching across his face.
They finished their drinks just as Zakir Bedi came into the bar. He spotted Bond and Chandra and approached their table.
“Mr. Bond?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“The tour you arranged is ready. Would you like to come with me?”
“Certainly.” Bond charged the bill to his room, and he and Chandra followed Bedi outside.
The midday sun was strong. The dust and heat and smell of the street assaulted Bond as they walked a mile to Durbar Square, the heart of old Kathmandu city. Clustered around the central square are the old Royal Palace and several temples designed with the multiroof Nepali pagoda style of architecture that spread to China and East Asia. Many of the temples are oddly adorned with erotic art on the roof struts. Unlike those in India, where the erotic carvings are sometimes sensuous, these are smaller, cruder, and even cartoonlike. Chandra told Bond a legend suggesting that the goddess of lightning was a shy virgin and wouldn’t dare strike a temple with such “goings-on.”
The square was noisy and full of life. Taxis and cows shared the same roads. Street vendors huddled around their wares, barking for attention. At least three sadhus, or holy men, sat on blankets in the dirt, half naked, smeared in dust, their hair and beard matted. Several women carried dokos on their backs. These large wicker baskets were filled with a variety of items from vegetables to firewood, and were fixed to the body by means of a namlo, a strap around the forehead.
The three of them walked behind the Shiva temple known as the Maju Deval, one of the larger temples in the square, and into a quieter side street. Bedi led them to an antiques shop that still bore the name Universal Exports Ltd.
“We never changed to Transworld Consortium,” Bedi explained, “I rarely had to open the Nepal office, so we kept it the same. It’s normally unmanned. Saves money.”
Bedi unlocked the door and ushered Bond and Chandra inside. The place was musty and filled with bric-a-brac, some of which might have been worth something in the tourist trade. Most of it however, was junk that was in place to create the illusion that the shop was legitimate.
“Please excuse the dust,” Bedi said. “I had not been here for months until we tried to arrest Lee Ming. Come over here, I have something to show you.”
They went through hanging drapes and into a passage leading to a door with a padlock on it. Bedi unlocked it, saying, “We’re not so sophisticated in Nepal, Mr. Bond. No keycards, no electronic steel doors, nothing like that. Just an ordinary key gets you into the Nepalese branch of the British secret service!” He laughed heartily.