Large pans full of Nepalese dumplings called “momo” sizzling on the corner. Their smell shrouding all around, it even gets under my jacket. My eyes catch a vivid pink dress, but it vanishes around the corner. I follow and find myself on a narrow curvy street, so narrow that pedestrians are stuck here in a traffic jam, floating together like a river stream.
There are women in garish dresses called “saris” passing by, the colors are so vivid that it’s almost like a competition.
The stream takes us to a crossroads and we join the numerous cars, motorcycles, bicycles, rickshaws, vendors and townspeople bustling around. All the drivers press their horns with or without a reason, amplifying the cacophony.
But it wouldn’t be any other way here; all these screaming smells, colors and sounds competing and arguing with one other, mixing in an unbelievable Kathmandu cocktail.