While standing in the doorway peering in, I could see that it had gone. Everything had gone. The tall trees mostly now felled. The huge cascading fountain… removed and tiled over. In that moment, it felt like a death in the family and I needed my moment to grieve.
It was 2023… October, during the Dashain festivities. I was happy to by finally back in Kathmandu and taking a stroll through the busy streets of Thamel. It was still that chaotic circus-land full of tuk-tuks, trekkers and tiger-balm wallahs. An assertive ‘no’ is your only way to keep momentum.
I was curious to see what became of the venue that was my old restaurant ’Kilroy’s of Kathmandu’. It had closed as a business in 2015 after the earthquake. Indeed I had not set foot in the place since 2012, which was the last time I was back in Nepal. (Where do all the years go?)
Dodging bikes and rickshaws on my way to this spot that ‘people in the know’ once raved about, I tried to imagine what to expect. In truth, I couldn’t. And it certainly owed me nothing after 13 years of not going back. But still, I needed to see what became of my beloved Kilroy’s. Partly out of that curiosity. Mostly to find some form of closure.
And now as I peered in, I could see it was still a restaurant. For the moment, Korean. It felt totally different as an expression of what it once was, or even what could have been. With a team busy looking after guests at tables, it appeared to be quietly thriving as I perused the menu - trying to blend in and be left alone. An inquisitive member of the team approached me to ask if I wanted a table. I didn’t like to disappoint as I declined the offer, but said I’d have a drink in the bar if it was OK for me to have a quick look around the place.
“Of course!” he said as he wandered back to his station and I made my way up the stairs. Again, different. The original stairs were gone and these went the opposite way up - a climb I’d taken thousands of times, but today in a different direction. It felt surprisingly weird, and yet so very trivial.
The dining room had been stripped of all the wooden panels that once made it look like a Swiss chalet. In its place was a series of partitioned dining spaces along the windows. The panoramic view over the garden now looked out onto a plastic gazebo cover.
The cosy bar and fireplace? Ripped out and bereft of any atmosphere.. like the forgotten corner of a furniture store. I definitely wouldn’t be booking a table up here any time soon. The soul of what we once created had now left the building.
(Check out the side by side picture below.. for context, the pilar at the back of both photos is the same one!)
As I made my way back down to what could be described as an atrium, that sense of grief suddenly welled up inside me. This loss felt so raw. So final. After all these years of quietly daydreaming about bringing it back, I was facing the stark reality that my love affair with this venue was over. This oasis that gave so much to me in my formative years was finally being laid to rest in my mind.
I sat at the counter and reminisced for a few minutes with the bartender over a fresh lemon soda which he made with Himalayan salt. He didn’t know what Kilroy’s looked like back then, but he had heard about it and called his colleagues over. The young team of bright-eyed waitstaff were all intrigued by this foreigner wearing a suit who knew so much about this tiny corner of Kathmandu.
I finished my soda, thanked the team and made my way back out into the teeming streets to fight my way back across town. Riding pillion on a ‘motorbike taxi’ - in my Gucci suit with no helmet! - was the only way through. The exhilaration helped exorcise those ghosts I had finally had the chance to face.
A bittersweet experience, I’m glad I got to see it and say good bye in person. That chapter was closed in the most final way and I wanted to hate it. To feel angry or betrayed. In truth, I felt a sense of renewal - like a cloud had been lifted. Now I could move on and my yearning to dream it up took hold once again.
I don’t believe in reincarnation per ce, but I do believe in reinvention. (Hell, I built a career on it!). Myself and my wife Arati always knew we would be returning to Nepal to live and as that day slowly comes into view, I’m intrigued to know what this next chapter of a restaurant called Kilroys of Kathmandu will reveal itself to be.
The entrepreneur in me wonders if I would take on that same venue if it came onto the market? I don’t believe I would, but never say never. It’s not about the geography of the place. Well, not totally. But I’d definitely want to recreate that atmosphere we once had that made you want to stay longer than you intended and come back more often than you felt you should.
That’s a legacy worth chasing again.
