On my last day I woke up, packed my bags and stumbled down the stairs to leave me pack behind for the day and tour the city one last time before my 9pm flight out of the country. I had heard from some people that there was the Dashain (Nepali) Hindu festival going on and that there would be plenty to see.
The Hotel manager explains that each house hold will be sacrificing a goat (eating it as well for all you freak vegetarians out there) and Dubi Square (sp?) is where it is all going down. So I packed my camera and charged out the door to witness a goat blood bath. The road was packed as I headed out the door, people were not really working, shops were closed up, and there was defiantly an excitement lingering about. As I started getting closer and closer to the square I
could see butchers sharpening their knives, herds and herds of goats being led down the street, a peddle rickshaw passes me bye loaded with freshly butchered goat, leaving a faint trail of its load dripping behind it, it was not a good day to be a goat.
Now with a bit of a sick twisted excitement I bust into the square expecting to see a goat blood bath, I mean in my overly vivid (I guess sick imagination) I thought there would be goats strung up on posts, dudes in executioners masks hacking the heads off these poor furry bastards, pools of blood everywhere. My twisted “lord of the Flies” vision of little kids holding up goat heads was not exactly what was going on in Katmandu that day.
I did how ever witness a string of 4 goats tied to a wall, while a young kid (no older than 20), his mother, and father (the local butchers) supplied the near by families with their goat sacrifice. What caught my eye was not the pool of blood on the sidewalk, not the intestines, legs, and miscellaneous body parts on the table, not the bloody tree stump that was used as a chopping block, nor was it the woman who had an evil grin on her face as she burnt the hair of the pre-boiled goats head, that was all good with me. It was the 4 other goats tied to the wall watching their buddy get dismembered right in front of their eyes, THAT is what caught my attention on my walk home to the hostel, on my way out of Nepal, the day of the Dashain Festival.
The Hotel manager explains that each house hold will be sacrificing a goat (eating it as well for all you freak vegetarians out there) and Dubi Square (sp?) is where it is all going down. So I packed my camera and charged out the door to witness a goat blood bath. The road was packed as I headed out the door, people were not really working, shops were closed up, and there was defiantly an excitement lingering about. As I started getting closer and closer to the square I
could see butchers sharpening their knives, herds and herds of goats being led down the street, a peddle rickshaw passes me bye loaded with freshly butchered goat, leaving a faint trail of its load dripping behind it, it was not a good day to be a goat.Now with a bit of a sick twisted excitement I bust into the square expecting to see a goat blood bath, I mean in my overly vivid (I guess sick imagination) I thought there would be goats strung up on posts, dudes in executioners masks hacking the heads off these poor furry bastards, pools of blood everywhere. My twisted “lord of the Flies” vision of little kids holding up goat heads was not exactly what was going on in Katmandu that day.
I did how ever witness a string of 4 goats tied to a wall, while a young kid (no older than 20), his mother, and father (the local butchers) supplied the near by families with their goat sacrifice. What caught my eye was not the pool of blood on the sidewalk, not the intestines, legs, and miscellaneous body parts on the table, not the bloody tree stump that was used as a chopping block, nor was it the woman who had an evil grin on her face as she burnt the hair of the pre-boiled goats head, that was all good with me. It was the 4 other goats tied to the wall watching their buddy get dismembered right in front of their eyes, THAT is what caught my attention on my walk home to the hostel, on my way out of Nepal, the day of the Dashain Festival.
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Now that is a story... God the stories you will bring home...
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