If you can withstand asphyxiation by the combined fumes of the local latrine and the Patan buses enter Patan through Patan Dhoka. If you can find your way through, the shanty town at Lagankhe' or avoid being hit on the freeway of Pulchowk, visit Patan while there is still something left to see.
I first came to Patan 25 years ago. At that time, a few whimsical white stucco versions of Singha Durbar and a few ugly government buildings of cement on the edges of Mangal Bazaar were the only exception to the red brick, wood and stone of old Patan. Sheep grazed on the Ashoka stupa at Pulchowk and temple bells were the loudest sound on a windy day. To enter a baha was to step back in time, to immerse yourself in living history.
Returning to Patan in January this year was a painful experience. The charm is gone. In most countries, the houses which I saw and photographed a quarter of a century ago would have been on a national register of historic preservation. In Patan, they have been cemented over, or razed to the ground. The wealthy have used their power, paid their bribes, pulled down old classics, and thrown up new ones in concrete. Among the more unique travesties is the splitting of houses down the middle, one side recalling Patan's glorious past, the other side miming the worst of contemporary Sub-continental architecture.
What was unique about ancient Patan was that a common esthetic and love of craftsmanship crossed all social and economic boundaries. Small shrines, private homes and tiny shops were often as elegantly decorated as the king's palace and the major temples. Many were of superior craftsmanship.