We had some trouble finding a taxi driver that understood where we wanted to go. I guess that Dashin Kali isn't a common destination for tourists. Finally we managed it with the help of a rikshaw boy that spoke english a little better than the taxi drivers. We agreed on Rs 400, the ride ending in Kirktipur on the return. The driving was pleasant, it was the first time we were at the country, away from the town. We had the company of a little shy boy that was undoubtly the son of the driver, as he had the same face of the father. On the way, the driver gave a free ride to someone who semed to be known of him. He didn't ask us, but we didn't see it as rudeness as he barely speak english.

Dashin Kali as monument (temple) hasn't much to see, but the place is nice, much green, almost a tropical jungle and a brook flowing through the temples. We were the only tourists in the place, apart from a group of 3 or 4 people. They had seen the sacrifice of a chicken... Not very exciting. We saw the blood of the chicken on the place of the sacrifices.

Then we went to Kirktipur, a small village outside Kathmandu, near the campus of the university. The guidebooks describe it as a well preserved medieval village and that it's quite truth, apart of the run down look of some buildings. Time seems to have stopped some centuries ago. We had experienced a little bit of that in Kathmandu already, but it is a big town, with much traffic in some parts, so it wasn't the same. Here people were threshing their rice crops on the streets, squares and even on the fenced area of a temple. Again, their religion is much closer to nature than ours. I think they weren't disrespecting any god by using that sacred ground to their agricultural works. I talked for a while with a boy that was anxious to practice his english. He wanted to know from where I was, what did I do, etc. He was in high school and he was hoping to go to university. He didn't try to sell anything.

We had some difficulty in convincing the taxi driver to leave us there. He insisted on waiting for us. We had plans to walk back to Kathmandu. In the end I finished forgetting my back pack inside the taxi and that would spoil the rest of our day, as I had there my passport, my airplane ticket along with other things like sunglasses, camera lenses, film rolls and so on. I hadn't respected the rule of never untie the waist bag where I carried the more important things. Happily I had the rest of my documents and money in a purse I carried in my trousers pocket.

We ended our visit to Kirktipur when I noticed the missing sac. I was very angry with myself. I was risking not only my holidays but also Maria Jose's. I was fearing that I could not go around without passport, not to mention that I didn't make any idea how one can leave a country without a passport. We went back to Thamel, hoping to find the driver. We went asking for the help of our Kashmiri friends, who promptly went looking for the driver with ourselves. We found the boy who did the negociations with the driver but he showed himself very evasive when he understood what was going on. We talk also with the people on the communications (phones and faxes) shop near the taxis place but we could find anyone who knew the driver.

Mansoor, our Kashmiri friend tried to look optimistic, but he wasn't very convincing. After some hours I went with him to the police station near the Royal Palace. It wasn't a nice experience, knowing a nepali police station. Before meeting the man who would listen to our case we passed through a some cells with some sad men inside. The man who listened our case didn't seem very interested - "another foolish tourist" - he might have thought. He had several persons in his cabinet, and he was clearly trying to appear very important and very "professional" in his pose. Note that he wasn't unpolite, well at contrary. After some questions about who and Mansoor were, he concluded that he couldn't do nothing without the taxi number. I noticed that the policeman, who looked like a sergeant, and Mansoor called me "guest"; apparently it's how tourists are called. I should go the the "International Police" on Darbar Square the next day. Saturday is holiday in Kathmandu, it's their "Sunday", so it wasn't worth going to the International Police. They were open on the Sunday, though.

We had plans to go to Nagarkhot the next day and we kept them. After spending the whole afternoon waiting the taxi driver to appear in Thamel we had little hope in finding him. Mansoor advised us to relax and go to Nagarkhot after passing in the "International Police" and put an advertisement in a newspaper. I could do that before leaving for Nagarkhot, as the bus leaved at noon. He said he would go on making some more enqueries. I left a note in the communications shop of Thamel square just in case they could know anything about the driver. The people of the shop showed much interest in my case. They knew us already because we had done some phone calls there before and I did several unsuccessful attempts to phone or fax the portuguese embassy in Delhi. Apart from some echos, the international phone calls were alright, even if sometimes several dialing tries were needed. Not for India! We have been told in more than one place that it was almost impossible to call to India. Local calls could be problematic also.

We went booking our bus seats to Nagarkhot in the agency where we had been the day before for enquerying about buses to Nagarkhot and Pokhara. The agency was run by Nepalis but we had done much of the talk with a Danish friend of the owners, who warranted us they were trustful. Anyway, the owners' ways didn't inspire us any suspicion.

This evening our companions in Tashi Deleg were a German and an italian couple. The German was a little bit crazy. At least he cultivated that image. He was a fun guy, that had came to Nepal alone and had just arrived. Going against the traditions, the italian couple was quite more calm and reserved (where was their "latin" life ? :-). He didn't speak much english, so the conversation with him wasn't very easy. Sometimes Maria Jose spoke a little italian with them, but that left the German totally out of the conversation. I understand italian relatively well, but I speak it very badly - in fact I invent half the words...

After leaving Tashi Deleg we went for a beer in a nearby bar. The place was rather animated and the owners had some difficulty in putting out all the customers at closing time. They weren't too convincing telling us that the law obliged them to close, as we had for companions two nepali policemen that were very amused with all that animation. I guess that one of the reasons for that animation was the dimension of the bottles of beer in Nepal: 650 cc. A *beer* in Nepal means three glasses anywhere else...

We finished our beers on the street. There was some police movimentation. We saw some persons running carrying sticks like they were coming or running from a fight. I suspected that the haste of the bar tenders was related with some political unrest due to the elections to come. Nothing happened to us. I feared a little bit that I could run into troubles with the police because of not having passport, but the policemen that had been drinking and talking with us appeased me.

The italian couple was in Karki also, so we went home with them. They were hesitating in going on an organised trip to Tibet.