It’s raining, what can I do in Kathmandu as a traveller?

The morning, I awoke to it raining in Kathmandu, it was the right kind of rain. The steady rain that soaked the streets and filled the city with damp stone, incense, and earth aromas. I thought at first that I’d caught a bad break. I pictured myself arrayed and damp, wandering between temples and squares, not just looking at the rippling puddles from my window.

So, i decided to just head out. The streets of Thamel were shining, every brick beading, which was saying something for a tourist district. I ducked into a little café where the tin roof became a drum with just a few raindrops. Sitting with a piping hot cup of masala tea, I watched the rain fall over the colourful shop signs and pendant prayer flags outside. It felt like the city was more alive in the rain slower, but softer.

When the rain started to pour, I needed to go to Patan Museum. I let myself forget about the weather as I stood amongst old bronze statues and a multitude of haumha paintings that seemed centuries old. The rain pelting against the old palace windows made the aisles feel even more still as its sound echo was somehow absorbed by the walls and artifacts surrounding me. I felt I could linger in every section of the museum, as if the weather granted me permission to cultivate a slower pace.

By the afternoon, I was hungry, and as there was absolutely torrential rain outside, I was craving warmth. I ducked into a Newari kitchen not far from Durbar Square. They served me a plate of bara crispy lentil fritters. And a steaming bowl of yomari with sweet jaggery inside. Moreover, it was pouring outside, but every morsel helped to wash away the damp and settled warm comfort in my belly.

As it was getting darker yet, and I was on foot, with an umbrella, walking toward Boudhanath Stupa. In drenching air, and with the prayer flags hanging low from the rain of the day, the stupa stood openly proud, dazzling against the gray sky. The monks were moving slowly, with umbrellas, in their monk maroon, chanting softly. Butter lamps provided flickering light through the mist. While I stood there for a long time, rain only going through my jacket, thinking. However, there was an odd kind of quiet. As if the two realms of the city and the mountain rain had exposed the only possibility that is available when it rains.

I learned something that day. Rain in Kathmandu does not equal the adventure being finished; it simply shifts it. Rain led me into hidden nooks. The rain took me to consume food that nourished my soul. The rain took me to a stupa that appeared to descend from the heavens. To be honest, I would not trade this rainy day for a completely sunny day.