Kathmandu in the seventies
by Alain van Hille
There was a time when Nepal was happy and pollution hadn't started to darken the Kathmandu valley.
Rivers were full of water, There was still a King and no Maoïsts, and bicycles were plentiful and more numerous than cars. Every evening one could dream of looking at the sunset on the Himalayan peaks.
Those times are long gone, but the images are still there to remind us it was not an illusion. Kathmandu was a Shangri-La.
Early in the morning when the lights of dawn break through the mist that soften the valley, I took my bicycle and waited for life and colours to appear as I travelled through the labyrinth of streets, paths and courtyards of the city.
It is a labyrinth of moving images and lives that randomly trace paths of destiny waiting to be deciphered, caressed by the eye. It is enough to wait when moving, to be the nomadic spectator in the heart of the rhythmic beats of the city. Contemplation is action. Above all, don't provoke things, life in Kathmandu is rich enough to do just that, wait! Wait and let the senses be intoxicated with the images that present themselves.
Kodachrome
