It’s not often that you get a front row seat for the dissolution of a monarchy, but here in Kathmandu, Nepal, there is a sense that something of historical importance is about to happen. That’s pretty remarkable for a country that has lived for the better part of a decade with the threat of Maoist rebels who dominate the rural parts of this mountainous country. Since the present king, Gyanendra, declared the government corrupt and disbanded the parlaiment last February, Nepalis have lived with general strikes, pro-democracy demonstrations, and curfews imposed by the monarch, but never have things been quite this pitched.

Monday, the day I arrived in Kathmandu, marked a milestone when protests spilled into the normally sanitized streets of the Thamel district, the city’s main tourist area. Police obliged by cracking heads and arresting demonstrators just like anyplace else. Some western tourists were reportedly hurt and arrested. No official word on whether they were innocently caught up in the proceedings or were there deliberately, but some other western travellers I spoke to said they intended to ride bicycles to see the action tomorrow.

The spread of protests to the hitherto quiet tourist area of Thamel and the all too common shooting of a protester in the lower regions drew BBC and New York Times coverage.

The streets were quiet once I arrived, but white vans with Press creditials on the dash and truckloads of police sat around the main squares with a look of leary boredom. Most of the shops and restaurants stayed closed the rest of the evening. This is day 13 of a general strike and Kathmandu is starting to show the stresses of limited supplies. Trasport in and out of the Kathmandu valley is sporadic. Crowds wait for scarce petrol. Food supplies are dwindling.

My Nepali host took me to a restaurant a little ways out of the tourist area. When I ordered from a menu, I was told they did not have lamb. “Chicken?” I asked. None of that either. When I asked if it would be easier if the waiter told me what they do have, he started and ended the list with lentil daal.

But in the two days I’ve been here making arrangements to get to Lukla and start the Mt Everest trek, it has been a lot more civil than I expected (I had visions of being locked in a windowless guesthouse reading the lonely planet as I watched my travel time and budget dwindle). I have been able to stroll through the streets and visit tourist sites, even happily snapping these photos of the police.

But reminders of the “situation” are never far. Just now, as I sat in an internet cafe off the main Thamel area, the proprietors leapt up suddenly and brought the metal garage door that shutters the front of their business clattering shut. The same thing happened at breakfast this morning. It’s evidently so common that only a few of us captured clientel looked up. The proprietor assured me everything was cool as he went back to making a CD for someone. Most everyone else continued blithely clacking away at their keyboards while we listened to whistes blowing and the clash of protestors and police clamoured by like the bulls through the tiny streets of Pamplona. I wondered how long I’d be captive, but in less than the time it’s taken me to make this post, the doors are open and the streets are calm.

I have reservations on a flight that may or may not leave for Lukla tomorrow at 7a. There is a large protest planned for tomorrow, and in response, the government has called a curfew to start in morning. There’s also talk that the airport, low on fuel, will join the strike.

I’ll admit, having read too much Graham Greene, I find this a bit thrilling. This is the first place I’ve been where the US embassy has pulled out. In addition to parsing a new culture and a strange new city, nothing brings you into the present moment like the notion that you could get cracked on the head if you’re inattentive for a half a block. I also didn’t expect how it brings people together. I’ve been here 48 hours and I have more new friends, western and local, than in the previous five weeks in South East Asia.

But the real point is not what’s in it for me. This is just a waypoint on my journey to see Mt Everest. The important thing is the Nepali people. I wish them a swift return to democracy and a just as swift end to the violence. I hope for them that when I return here in three weeks that they have a parlaiment.

I hope for me that the airport strike really doesn’t start tomorrow, and that when the curfew starts I’m in the air on my way to start trekking. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find some lentil daal before the next round in the melee ensues. Being here for history is fine, but I still have to eat.