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Published: November 10th 2009
Kathmandu
Elaborate temples and crumbling shells are side by side in Kathmandu centre. I arrived in Nepal with a feeling of numb detachment. The sights, smells and salesmen of Kathmandu didn't move me as I had expected they would, and the rush of excitement that makes you sharply inhale, that tingling feeling of energy that I remembered from previous traveling experiences was missing.
Embarking on a year long journey has proved very different to setting off for a few months. Leaving behind all the things I love and knowing that nothing will be the same when I return is possibly the hardest thing I have ever done, and my body and heart felt in a state of shock at the emotional upheaval I had inflicted on myself.
Only now, a month in, am I starting to feel alive; vibrations of excitement have crept into my limbs like pins and needles after stillness. I've found the feeling that helps me to remember why I've forsaken everything that constitutes the life I knew, and more importantly I have started to feel proud of myself for doing so. It has been and incredible few weeks, full of literal and emotional ups and downs, but I have arrived now at a sense of contentment augmented by
Stupa & prayer flags
Buddhist stupas are found throughout the city. the beauty of my surroundings here in Pokhara.
The trip began in a dusty, ungainly fashion as Louise and I were belched from Kathmandu airport into the capable hands of Tek, our trekking guide. Weaving through the chaotic urban traffic, it felt so surreal to have finally embarked on the adventure which I had been planning for so long.
Kathmandu is filthy. Piles of litter and waste line the road, the dust from the choking traffic fumes paints to buildings with a sickly patina of grime. Yellow clouds of smog intensify the heat and the stench from the decomposing rubbish competes with the traffic fumes to thicken and putrefy the air. Limbless beggars and pristine school children compete for space on the pavement - where pavement exists - as the seething mass of humanity conduct their everyday life at the roadside with the same determination and recklessness as the traffic.
We stayed in Thamel, along with every other trekking-bound tourist in Western Nepal. Our first brave steps from the homely Tibetan Utse hotel deposited us directly in the bewildering labyrinth of stores selling trekking gear, prayer flags, guide books, cashmere shawls, Kashmiri carpets, Aladdin pants, singing bowls,
chanting drums, knock-off CDs and statues of the Buddha, Shiva, Vishnu, Ganesh and endless other Hindu deities. It was difficult to orientate ourselves in the melee of honking taxis and motorcycles, hooting rickshaws, pinging bikes, Chinese tourists and persistent tiger balm/recorder/chess/set/hash sellers but we managed to explore what Thamel has to offer.
Our days in Kathmandu were hard work. We'd arrive back to the crisp sheets of the Utse and sprawl on the beds under the defunct fan, covered in grime and exhausted from a day of the city's assaults. We explored lively market places, getting caught in crushes of sticky sari-clad women with babies on their backs bargaining for groceries; wandered down back alleys and marveled at giant sides of meat speckled with flies on tables at the roadside in the sweltering midday heat, from which men in long-faded shirts selected favorite, or affordable cuts; we circumnavigated the elaborate temples and shrines of Durbar Square, dodging plump dreadlocked holy men who gave change when they charged you for their picture; we ate in restaurants with adorable, greasy menus proclaiming the 'heartful' benefits of their food, where we ignored the ants in the sugar and offered up silent thanks
Store in Kathmandu
Who needs a chair when you can recline on a huge bed in your shop? that the toilets had no lights.
In many ways it's a hardened city. The pulsing energy and noise is relentless and any chilled out, traveler vibes from Kathmandu's hey day on the hippy circuit seem long gone. Instead the people are well versed in accosting tourists and the sing-song 'Madam, where you from?' becomes tiresome very quickly. Even the wizened, toothless old crones squatting next to piles of chillis and cucumbers demand money if you request to take their picture. Though the poverty is palpable the city felt like a well-greased money making machine where genuine interactions are like the elusive flecks of gold in a shifting sieve of dirt. I quickly remembered that unique fatigue induced by never fitting in, by being so clearly other that your status as a target results in the construction of a protective shell that can repel the good as well as the bad.
We took respite from the chaos in the pretty Garden of Dreams, a former walled palace garden in central Kathmandu. While the incessant horns from the passing road were never quite out of earshot, the garden did offer a tranquil haven from the fumes and hassle. We watched
Shiva
Fearful Hindu God of destructive forces, brightly painted and smeared with ghee. butterflies flirt with the indecently opulent flowers that lined the neat grass lawns and sweeping staircases. A giant bamboo swing had been commandeered by a group of Nepali teenagers, and an octagonal pagoda, brilliant white against a green backdrop, echoed with children's laughter. In the cafe, linen napkins and perfectly petite bread rolls completed the impression of a delightfully unreal bubble.
We were more than ready when the time came to set off on our trek; seven days in the lush green hills of the Helambu region seemed like the perfect antidote to the suffocating fumes and heat of Kathmandu. Tek collected us bright and early from the Utse and we met Nani, who had the pleasure of carrying my rucksack for the week. (Yes, we had a porter, but only because it's a good employment opportunity for local people, obviously.) I was feeling excited but not without trepidation, having never really walked more than the few hours up Devil's Dyke with a roast dinner and a pint of cider for motivation. Luckily, however, I absolutely loved trekking.
Just walking - and walking - puts one in a very meditative state of mind and it's incredible where I
Nap time
I tried to buy him but settled for a cucumber. found my mind wandering to (for a whole day I had the jingle from the Trio advert going round and round my brain). I enjoyed the hard work and exertion, the sweltering heat, the sense of pride on conquering a climb, the careful negotiation of roots, mud and rocks in a descent, the satisfaction of reaching your guesthouse with just a cold shower and some lentils to greet you before collapsing on an inch-thick mattress and getting up the next day to do it all again.
Our route took us through a variety of terrain and the next turn would always bring new surroundings. I was amazed by how wet a country Nepal is. Great raging rivers, tiny mountain streams and dramatic narrow waterfalls that sliced the verdant hillside with dramatic precision roared and rushed around us throughout our trek. The sound of water was omnipresent - sometimes the source remained elusive and others it would reveal itself with a flourish around the next corner. From rocky step formations to steep-sided, moss covered pathways and jungle-like steaming greenery, the terrain was varied and beautiful. The ground underfoot was forever changing, from glittering fools gold to slick clay, well-beaten mud
track to prehistoric looking gnarled roots and boulders which resembled giant slabs of slick blue cheese. Often we'd summit a hill to be greeted with a panoramic view of the valleys, the shadows of giant clouds drifting as imperceptibly as thoughts across the verdant stillness. Tiny, isolated settlements dotted the corduroy hillsides, cut into steps like a giant's staircase to make farming possible in the steep terrain.
Despite the breathtaking beauty and the satisfying feeling of intrepid exploration, the physical exertion of walking for hours on end did take it's toll. Unlike Tek, who skipped nimbly along the tricky paths in a fashion which earned him the nickname Tek the Goat, and unflappable Nani, who with two backpacks slung casually over his shoulders hardly broke a sweat, Lou and I did suffer with the heat and the hard work. We decided to alter the route a little and incorporate some rest time, which proved to be a fortunate decision as Lou got poorly and disheartened towards the end. We made it, however, and after a white-knuckle journey on a local bus we arrived back at out starting point on day 7 a grubby, weary and somewhat traumatized pair, but
(snigger snigger)
Yes it's juvenile. with calf muscles of steel.
In typical Nepalese fashion our rafting trip, next on the itinerary, seemed to be hopelessly unorganised, yet somehow it all came together. Our transfer deposited us unceremoniously at the edge of the busy highway in front of a ramshackle house, where a beaming, rotund man with his tee-shirt rolled up over his taut, shiny belly introduced himself as Maan, our rafting guide. After waiting for our fellow rafters to arrive we collected our life-jackets, helmets and paddles and were introduced to our inflatable bright blue vessel. After and enthusiastic safety talk and cold water dousing from Mann, we set off, our unlikely team rowing to the good-natured, militaristic commands bellowed by Mann. It was wicked fun, dipping and diving and splashing into rapids, walls of water drenching you as you tried to stay put and follow Maan's instructions to go FASTER! FASTER! It was a thrill. In between rapids the raft floated silently along in the current; the rowers took in their surroundings and waved at children on the narrow suspension bridges strung overhead. Maan whistled mournful tunes which echoed off the steep rock sides of the river bank.
Several times we were
told 'good place for swimming', and the team as one would launch ourselves over the edge of the raft. Drifting along, feet first, in the placid current, it was absurdly peaceful. Weightless and staring at the grey sky overhead, these moments were a lovely contrast to the drama of the rapids. Getting back in the raft, however, was somewhat less tranquil, and I lost any dignity I may have had slipping and sprawling on the inflatable sides life a soggy upturned cockroach.
Our night's accommodation was tents at the riverside, which sounds idyllic and would have been, were it not for the freeway literally over our heads and the blaring assortment of novelty horns which Nepalese truck drivers, in their pimped up carnivalesque vehicles, deem essential to unleash every 20 metres of road covered.
After a further morning's rafting the next it was back in the car for a very hot journey to Chitwan National Park. I was pleasantly surprised when we pulled up at the Sapana Village Lodge. It's thatched roof and warm yellow walls blended perfectly with the tropical surroundings. Exotic flowers lined the path to the terrace where we were served cold mango juice and
greeted by the manager. 'Sapana' means dream, he told us, and 'here at Sapana Village Lodge, we have a dream!' Beaming with pride, he explained that the SVL is a non-profit hotel that contributes to the development of the local area, in particular the indigenous Tharu people whose culture and rural way of life the hotel is seeking to support and preserve. The hotel organises a programme of activities that allow tourists to interact with the people, learning their crafts, cooking, fashion and rituals. Louise and I would be participating n some of these over the next few days.
But first - safari! After cruising along the river in a dug-out canoe boat, where we were rewarded with sights of crocodiles and birds, we embarked on a guided safari of the jungle on foot. After a brief, hilarious safety talk instructing us what do if an angry rhino is charging at you (climb a tree, in case you were wondering. Though if my life depended on me being able to shimmy up a tree at speed I'd be toast.) we set off. The wildlife seemed to be having the day off. Though we spotted a few monkeys high above
Nepali family
This was the third photo I took of this little family, once I had persuaded them it was okay to smile in pictures. in the trees, the most dramatic wildlife encounter we had was with the bloodsucking leeches, who managed to get up my trouser leg and inside my shirt, leaving blood stains that looked like gun shot wounds. Soon our whole group was sporting a fresh patch of blood and a slightly traumatised expression. It was all a bit much for me to be honest, I couldn't be doing with the creepy crawly level of wildlife. I like my animals BIG, and all we found of the most famed resident of the jungle, the one-horned rhino, was big piles of it's poo.
We had more luck when we abandoned walking and hopped onto the back of an elephant. Lumbering through the jungle, crashing through the undergrowth and splashing through rivers, I was doubtful that we see anything at all given the amount of noise the elephant convoy made, but incredibly we saw 5 rhino! Chilling in a watering hole were two pairs of Mum and Baby. It was so amazing seeing them so close up - their size was incredible. When one of the Mums stood up to reposition herself the massive bulk of hinged, armour covered flesh dwarfed even the
tourist-clad elephants looking on. Eventually we moved onto a clearing where a large family of deer were grazing, then suddenly out of the bushes another rhino emerged, and strutted bold as brass across to the other side, ignoring the elephants and the ferociously snapping cameras of their riders. Feeling like the day couldn't get any better, when we pulled up to the elephant mounting spot we were told to stay on the giant girls as they would be taking us all the way back to our hotel. We trundled slowly through the village, observing the Tharu people winding down their day; unloading head-loads of grass, rounding up chickens and toddlers, collecting in stiff, sun-dried washing. We passed smiling teenagers on bicycles, neatly harvested crops and grazing buffaloes. The sun was setting and the sky blushed pink and orange as the milky whipped clouds bedded down for the night. It was such an idyllic journey, on such a graceful rolling giant - the highlight of my day.
The next morning was pretty sensational, too - we helped to wash the elephants in the river next to our hotel. Me and Lou were thoroughly doused with trunkfuls of water, tipped off,
and then clambered back on again via the elephant's trunk giving us a mighty heave up onto its back. It was so amazing! That night we stayed in a jungle tower far from the town, far from anywhere, after spending the evening preparing food with a local Tharu woman and her family. First, we (rather ineffectually) helped her to harvest a juicy, alien looking vegetable from the sodden, leech filled jungle. Then we sat on rattan mats and outside the Tharu houses, made of elephant grass, mud and dung, and prepared the veg for eating. We were joined by several local kiddies and Debbie, a shy, beautiful 16 year-old. Debbie showed us how to chop potatoes using a huge curved knife, how to prepare the garlic and to grind the masala spices, chillies and garlic cloves using a potato on a large rock. Dinner was served in the smoky, dimly lit interior of a local woman's hut. We ate the traditional food and sipped potent corn wine, nervously eying the enormous spiders on the walls. We talked with Debbie about her aspirations (to get married of course) and the differences between our cultures. She cheerfully informed us that Lou and
I were far too old to get married now.
It was a strange night. I wasn't entirely comfortable being a part of the commoditisation of the Tharu culture in this way, although I did feel that we had a more authentic experience than the large, loud groups of American and Chinese tourists who trampled around pointing long lens cameras into the people's huts and lives. 'Preservation' of culture is fraught with ethical considerations of development and I couldn't help but wonder who it is designed to benefit - the Tharu people or the tourist industry.
After Chitwan we were chauffeured to Bandipur, a small town between Kathmandu and Pokhara. Bandipur leans contentedly on the side of a hill in a landscape that looks like a child has drawn it. A bright blue river snakes an perfect S through valleys of hills like upturned Us under flecks of tiny black Vs circling in the sky. Our resort was a cool and breezy respite from the sun, it's grandeur long-faded, swimming pool empty and clientele equally tired, but the views from our balcony were incredible. In the far distance a mountain range of snowy peaks stood perfected obscured by a
cloud range of snowy peaks, and the green land below spread out like a crumpled duvet with the corduroy stripes of farmland.
Bandipur town was quaint and sun-kissed. Brightly coloured parasols spill out of rickety guest houses onto the cobbled streets, where laughing children and clusters of tiny old men make up the traffic. The people seemed healthy and happy and were cheerfully polite. Large painted signs announced the town's commitment to health and sanitation; one proudly declared Bandipur a 'public defecation-free zone.' It was a charming little place, with an unlikely penchant for badminton - we passed several games taking place in the winding streets.
We spent a day hiking to the nearby village of Ramkot, a fascinating village that looks as if it can't have change for hundreds of years. The people, of one caste and tribe called Magar, seemed to be going about their lives in a relaxed, merry fashion, watching us pass through without interest. Chicks pecked in the dust of crooked paths, huge racks of corn dried in the sun, tiny piglets shuffled around untethered, their umbilical cords dragging in the mud. Girls washed long, silky black heair in gushing taps while boys
Rest day.
Thank God. played intense games of marbles in the dirt. The trek home was horrendously hot and while Lou and I puffed along our guide, Sanjeep (who was barely out of nappies but sported a surprising hairstyle featuring a well-oiled quiff at both forehead and nape of neck) skipped along jauntily in his threadbare flipflops, merrily swiping crickets from their resting places with a stick.
Our time in Bandipur was enriched by a wonderful couple of evening spent in the company of a local family. 13 year-old Pragya had struck up a conversation with us as she sat on the steps of her family home having her hair combed by her mother. She invited us back for tea, promising to 'show us lots of things'. An inquisitive and scarily intelligent girl, she showed us her home and lovingly arranged bedroom; her cuddly toys, pictures of flowers, homemade photo frames and collections of foreign currency. Her mother served us tooth-achingly sweet black tea and left us alone to play cards, Nepali board games and, Pragya's favourite, 'questions and answers', in which her encyclopedic knowledge showed me and Lou right up ('How many flowers would a bee need to make one kilogram of
honey?'). Pragya and her younger sister and brother were adorable company, and on our second visit we were presented with an array of lovingly handmade gifts as the girls pressed us for promises to return, one day, to Bandipur.
From Bandipur we continued west to Pokhara, which serves as the starting and finishing point for trekkers in the Annapurna range. Our drive there was captivating. The roads were lined with processions of immaculate school children with floppy red ribbons in their plaits, ruler straight partings gleaming in the sun. We also passed soldiers on excursion, melting under swathes of camouflage gear and bulky packs. The usual array of pimped, circus-like trucks and buses (Tata and Mahindra without exception) zoomed past, as well as motorists streaming the jewel-coloured diaphanous silk scarves of ladies perched effortlessly behind drivers. We passed several very wealthy looking homes; elaborate gated constructions like dolls houses, multi-tiered and piped with pastel pink railings and decked with fluttering washing lines like a bizarre wedding cake.
Pokhara hugs the edge of a huge placid lake in which the reflections of the snowy peaks of the Annapurnas can be seen reflected on clear days. The profusion of tourists
Safari
Chitwan National Park mean the town is well stocked with restaurants, coffee shops, bars and boutiques but it has managed to retain a very chilled out vibe - you are more likely to be run down by a marauding buffalo than a car on the road. It's far too easy to pass the time in Pokhara, reading in the sunshine, taking a boat on the lake or perusing the pashmina shops with their adorable little signs to 'Just feel me dear human' and 'I cover you, I care you'.
It wasn't long before I was off on my second trek (Lou decided to give it a miss after her struggles on the first one!) The crisp October weather promised 5 days in the Annapurnas with crystal clear views of the stunning peaks, and the prospect of the hard physical graft genuinely excited me. I wasn't disappointed. It was such a brilliant few days and the highlight of my trip so far. A much more popular trekking route, there were several marked differences with the Helambu trek. Guesthouses then were very basic; most had no electricity, one didn't even have a bathroom, and in another Louise had the unfortunate experience of waking up
Safari
Chitwan National Park with a rat on her head! In the Annapurna guesthouses I had en-suite, Western toilets, even a complimentary towel and soap. Food was more expensive but infinitely better (pizza was actually pizza, and the dahl had lentils in it). I did miss Lou but wasn't too lonely as I had the sterling company of Stephen & Nancy, a British couple who let me crash their romantic holiday.
The landscape was different, too. The jungles of Helambu were replaced with cool, mossy rhododendron forests. We seemed always to be either going up or going down - one morning we climbed over 3,000 steep stone steps from one village to the next, panting and sweating like ungainly donkeys while perfectly composed school children skipped merrily past on their hours long walk to school. We also had a random mangy dog for company - even he looked pretty knackered by the time we reached the top. On the third day, we summitted to the 3200 metre tip of Poon Hill, a grueling 1 hour climb in the dark before breakfast. 5am is not my favourite time of day and I was pretty grumpy by the time we reached the top. A hot
cup of tea and peanut butter tracker proved mightily restorative, however, and I managed to look around and take in the views. The entire Annapurna range rose majestically on the horizon, impossibly tall and seemingly close enough to touch. The snow line at 5,000 metres separated the jagged white peaks above and below a graduation from barren brown to verdant green in the lower hills. As the sun rose behind us it picked out the uppermost peaks, igniting them with a peachy orange light which slowly dripped down the sides of the mountain until the entire peak stood illuminated in the dawn sun.
It was a spectacular sight, marred only by the hordes of gore-tex clad trekkers clamouring to get the perfect shot of the mountains. There were probably about 200 of us on the grassy table-top peak of Poon Hill and that perfect mountain shot proved elusive due to the numerous sabateurs intent on getting in the frame... One indecently cheerful tour group even considered it appropriate to sing rousing songs with enthusiastic hand clapping in order to enjoy the view; somewhat distracting from my moment with the epic stillness of the ancient scene. The walk home proved
somewhat speedier, fueled by the thought of the mammoth breakfast that would be greeting us.
The last few days of the trek were in the run up to festival time, and the mountains were jubilant. Delighted shrieks echoed round the hillsides and groups of children sang songs and garlanded us with marigolds as we passed (for a fee of course!). Like carol singers, the kids go from house to house singing for rupees, and on the trail they join hands and refuse to let you pass until you show your appreciation with notes.
Louise and I were glad to be re-united in Pokhara and we passed a peaceful couple of days while I recovered from my trek. We decided to go paragliding, as nearby Sarangkot has world-class flying and it seemed rude not to. The morning of our flight dawned and I was surprising nervous, but managed to throw myself of the edge of the mountain fairly successfully! It was such a thrill, cruising along with nothing between you and the sky, sitting with your feet dangling in mid-air, the beautiful landscape spread out beneath you like a cartographic carpet.
Louise's time in Nepal was drawing to
Big bugger
Chitwan National Park a close. We headed reluctantly back to Kathmandu for her to fly home, and had a celebratory last supper of pizza and chocolate brownies. And then there was one. I was unexpectedly teary at her departure and felt emotional all day. It probably didn't help that I went to the cremation ghats at Pashupatinath which was very moving. There were three funerals taking place and the smoke from the pyres cast a misty veil over the gold, milk-washed temple top of Pashupatinath. Skinny boys jumped and frolicked in the holy river just metres from where the ashes of the dead were swept in to mingle with the ashes of millions before them. It was a very moving, spiritual place. Non-Hindus are not allowed in the temple itself so I sat and watched the devout and their proceedings from a high terrace.
I was feeling rather sorry for myself and watching funerals, being ripped off and hassled, seeing a dead rat and finally falling on my ass didn't help. I had a bit of a cry on the walk to Boudha, my next stop. At Bouhda there is one of the largest stupas in the world and it was truly
immense, the golden eyes of Buddha glowing in the late afternoon sun. I wandered slowly around, clockwise of course, taking it all in and trying to find some peace, to absorb some of the spiritual energy and profound stillness of the ancient structure. I had a lonely dahl baht on a rooftop watching the sun set on the circumnambulating scene of piety.
Back to Pokhara, where a few days in a Club Med style yoga retreat did wonders to lift my spirits. Since then I've been relaxing in this quirky little town, reading lots, writing lots, getting my strength up for my foray into India. Tomorrow I will leave Nepal and I have many cherished memories from my time here.
I never did bump into Joanna Lumley, though.
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Ania
non-member comment
Wow!
Hello Suze! Thanks for your lovely blog - I will follow it avidly and enviously! Miss you and wishing you happy travels. xx