Kathmandu: Where maps mislead, but people guide you home

You open Google Maps in Kathmandu, and it looks promising enough winding lines, blinking dots, the polite confidence of a blue arrow showing you the way. You set off, trusting your digital guide, only to find yourself standing in front of a wall where a road should be. Or a temple courtyard. Or a dead-end crammed with motorbikes and an unexpected wedding procession.

Welcome to Kathmandu. A city that doesn’t just confuse GPS it quietly resists it.

Where Roads Have Names… But Nobody Uses Them

Ask a local for directions, and you’ll rarely hear street names. Instead, it’ll go something like this:

“Go straight past the old peepal tree, turn left after the momo shop with the blue shutters, and when you see the temple with the golden roof, ask again.”

In Kathmandu, navigation isn’t about grids or coordinates. It’s a living language of landmarks, a shared understanding of where things are, based on memory, not maps. Sometimes the landmark is a shop that’s been closed for years, but everyone still refers to it. Sometimes it’s a tree, a gate, a statue with no plaque

And somehow… It works.

Google Maps Can’t Keep Up And That’s Kind of Perfect

Digital maps try their best. But Kathmandu’s streets aren’t obedient. Alleys narrow or disappear after festivals. New roads are carved during construction, only to vanish again. What looks like a road may be a private courtyard for afternoon tea.

Even locals laugh at Google’s suggestions. You follow the line, and it leads you into a monastery. Or a vegetable market. Or right through someone’s living room, if you’re not careful.

But that’s Kathmandu’s charm. The city wasn’t built to be browsed on a screen. It was built for walking, asking, discovering and sometimes, delightfully, for getting a little lost.

The Art of Asking for Directions

There’s an unspoken etiquette to it. You approach someone with a slight bow of your head, perhaps a soft “I’m looking for this place”.

They might frown, think for a second, gesture with a handwave that covers three directions at once, and say something that sounds impossibly vague. You follow, half-trusting, half-curious.

And more often than not, you find what you’re looking for or something better.

Because in Kathmandu, asking for directions isn’t just practical. It’s a conversation starter. A human GPS moment that turns strangers into guides, and an unfamiliar alley into part of your story.

When Getting Lost is the Whole Point

The best moments in Kathmandu don’t happen on the fastest route. They happen when you take the wrong turn and find a hidden courtyard where a family is stringing marigolds. Or a tiny tea shop where the owner still makes chiya over charcoal. Or a centuries-old stupa tucked between apartment blocks.

This is a city where getting lost is part of the design. Where wandering off-course feels less like a mistake and more like an invitation.