Bicycles and burritos...

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At breakfast Imanou, the Spanish guy, was sitting at the table nursing a terrific hangover. He had been unceremoniously woken at 6am by Gopal for a dawn birdwatching expedition. Gopal whispered to us that he'd knocked for 20 minutes to get Imanou out of bed, and when they got to the park and started birdwatching in earnest, Imanou could hardly see through bright red, hungover eyes. Gopal would point out a particularly interesting avian individual and Imanou would start as if suddenly woken, aim the binoculars in roughly the right direction and slur an acknowledgement before slumping back into a state of apparent near-death.

Without much for us to do, we wished Imanou a safe trip home (he was on the next bus to Kathmandu and from there was on a flight back to Spain) and sat in the garden. Maya read her book and caught up on her diary, and I chased butterflies around the garden, testing out the 'macro' setting on my camera. The butterflies would inevitably flutter off as soon as a camera was pointed at them, so I have a fair few decent pictures of flowers, with a blurred wing in one corner. Some of the village kids came over and we communicated in rather unconventional ways - I demonstrated the placing of the finger through my stretched earlobe, and Maya played William Tell by flicking her teeth. The kids loved this.

We had hired two pushbikes for the afternoon to cycle back to the Elephant Breeding Centre, so when they arrived we cycled off. My chain came off almost immediately, and proceeded to jump off the sprocket every 500 yards or so. Still, this got us acquainted further with the locals who would come out of their huts and insist that I cleaned my hands completelely of chain grease before continuing. At one stop, we were crowded by maybe six girls, one of whom painstakingly mimed to me the correct method for getting the worst out from under my nails. As the third rinse shifted the last of the grime, the whole crowd cheered! We rode on.

The weather was glorious - hot and sunny, but not stiflingly so - like a hot summer's day in London - and a cool breeze refreshed us as we rode. We stopped by the beautiful, unpolluted river for a break after half an hour, and I searched the banks for crocodiles, with no luck. We reached the crossing point and chatted to a lovely guy who had a horse and cart, and after a while we promised to meet up later that night so he could show us his home. We were kayaked across the river (which, really, is so shallow we could have waded it) and waited for the elephants to return to the centre from their daily grazing. Eventually they arrived, the large females and tuskers lumbering along with mahouts on top, the older calfs trotting happily in the sunshine and the youngsters staying close to the mums - so close that one mum almost tripped over a few times. We had come prepared with elephant biscuits this time, and a large calf which was easily as tall as Maya, had seen them in her bag. With the attitude of a mischievous child, the calf gently bullied her into yielding the whole lot by advancing rapidly on her and groping her all over with its trunk. One of the very young calves came up as well, but it hadn't yet learnt to use its trunk properly and grasped blindly at the biscuit, fumbled, dropped it and watched in dismay as the older calf swooped in.

Later we cycled back to the riverside and relaxed, making friends with some of the local dogs (much to the disgust of three Americans sitting nearby who apparently couldn't believe that we, like, were actually touching those dawgs... that's like SO unhygienic... yah...). We watched the sun sink, and change from a blazing orange ball of flame into, gradually, an ochre disc low above the trees, shimmering like a flag in the haze. The moon was already riding high, way over our heads, and the silhouettes of birds of all shapes and sizes flew by on the way to roost.

We saw matey again with the horse and cart, and promised we'd meet up with him after dinner (Mexican burritos and enchiladas, we had decided to have a change after endless dal bhat), but somehow we missed him. We'd waited for an hour on the riverbank, watching fireflies dancing over the river, and returned to Park Side feeling rather guilty.

16/3/08 - The rhino charge.

After another lazy morning, we got to the riverbank at lunchtime where Gopal introduced us to another ranger. I can't recall his name but Maya and I agreed he looked like Mowgli from the Jungle Book, complete with pudding bowl haircut, and so that's what we'll call him.

We got into a tatty Japanese pick up truck with an Indian couple who were about as sociable as a bulkhead. No smiles, no 'namaste', nothing. Anyway, not ten minutes into the jungle Mowgli whistled a low, quick note to the driver and we stopped suddenly. Mowgli jumped out and crept into the undergrowth. We heard crashing and the unmistakeable sound of a very large, very heavy animal on the move, and Mowgli ran back out, grinning broadly, and pointed - "rhino". We could just make out the shape of a large horned head and a pair of twitching ears in the murk, and felt a lot safer than we had yesterday when on foot. The driver kept the engine running and the handbrake off, just in case.

Over the next few hours we saw a lot of interesting birds (black storks, pied kingfishers and loads more), some crocodiles basking in the sun on the bank of a lake, and a couple of rhinos in the distance. We stopped at the gharial breeding centre where these enormous, weird-looking freshwater crocodiles are bred and raised until the age of five, when they're released back into the river in an attempt to limit the population crash. The youngest there (just over a year old) were adorably cute, and were gulping down goldfish non-stop. They were around 18 inches long and already possessed a mouthful of fearsome, sharp little teeth. At five years old they were the size of dogs, and were eating carp. In the 'breeding pool' were four or five adult females and a male, all born between 1978 and 1980. So the youngest were my age. The male especially was enormous at well over four metres in length, and his cold, green reptilian eye regarded me with some hostility. I've been repeatedly assured that gharials aren't dangerous, but a male this size must surely be assessing the nutritional value of a lanky, monkey-based life form like mine hanging dangerously close over the fence with a camera.

Also at the croc centre was a hyena cub. It had hurt its leg and been abandoned by its mother, and so the rangers had brought it back and were raising it as best they could. It was fairly obvious that the cub was too young to be seperated from mum, and it looked lost and pathetic, staring at us fearfully. We felt ever so sorry for it and, just for a sec, entertained the possibility that we could ship it back to England and raise it as a domestic pet! It'd eat Rottweilers for breakfast...

Nearby was a large wooden enclosure. Inside, to our surprise, was an adult female tiger. The sign on the side told the whole sad story. Tired of chasing fast, large deer across difficult terrain, she had become addicted to fast food, tiger style - slow, clumsy, tasty human beings. She regularly visited jungle villages and killed and ate the villagers - often children, but sometimes adults too. She had twice been darted and re-released far away from any human habitation, but both times she bloodily announced her return to society with a celebratory gourmet meal of human flesh. Eventually, at a loss for an alternative, the rangers had built this enclosure, darted her again and left her in there.

She lay on her side, breathing fast in the sunlight. Her enclosure was small and dilapidated, and she looked thoroughly fed up. Undoubtedly she was well looked after, as she was muscular and healthy with a beautiful vivid coat of fur, but she carried the air of absolute despondency. We felt so sorry for her, shut up in a wooden box and forgotten about in the middle of a deserted jungle with only flies and lizards for company, but what could we do about it? We got back in the truck, quiet and slightly upset, and trying to think of some way in which we could help.

As we made our way around the circuit of the park and started to head back towards the river, we were seeing trucks coming the other way. The rangers would talk in Nepali as we passed, and every time Mowgli would look at us, shrug and say 'They see no rhino today'. We had already been very lucky, seeing three rhinos from some distance, and so we settled down for the bumpy drive back. As I stared into the jungle, daydreaming, I became aware of a large black shape behind a bush. I tapped Maya on the shoulder and whispered 'Is that a rhino?'

The next few seconds played in ultra slow motion and it's etched permanently in my brain like a short film. Just as I'd said 'rhino' we had passed the bush and we saw that yes, it was a rhino, it was a very large and grumpy-looking rhino and it wasn't very far from the track at all. Mowgli and the driver saw it at the same time and the driver stopped, for some fantastic, unknown reason. The rhino saw us at the same time and I noticed a small, rhino calf-shaped object hurrying into the bushes out of the corner of my eye. Mum and calf. The worst possible combination as the mums are so defensive of their offspring. Then the rhino did exactly what we were dreading - she put her horn down and charged us in a cloud of dust.

So what did we do when faced with a murderous, galloping animal the size of a short wheelbase Transit van and probably twice the weight, moving at 25mph? Well, Maya couldn't bear the sight of what she thought was probably her impending doom, and so looked at Mowgli and the driver in a plea for help. I couldn't take my eyes off the rhino and started shouting 'GO GO GO!' at the driver, as did Mowgli who also started jumping around and waving his arms. The Indian couple sat there, quite simply petrified in fear. The driver, after what seemed like an age, gunned the engine and dropped the clutch. It was only after he stalled the engine that he realised he'd been crawling along in 3rd gear beforehand. No really, nice one! It was as I was heroically trying to work out in which direction we should sprint that the rhino slid to a halt, not ten feet away. She grunted, tossed her head and wheeled round to follow her calf into the jungle. The cloud of dust from her charge blew into our faces, making my eyes water. Mowgli reckoned it was all the noise we had made - the revving engine, the shouting and the loud and spectacular demise of my previously spotless underwear - that had frightened it off. I realised I'd not taken one photo of the beast as it charged us. I mean, I didn't think of it. That would have been a pic and a half! I half-heartedly snapped the rhino with shaky hands as it trotted off into the bush, throwing a glance over its shoulder as if to say 'Next time it's for real'...

Later on we drove further around the park and saw scratch marks from a big cat (a tiger or leopard) on a tree. In the distance, and on our road back to the river, a pair of sloth bears (the most dangerous animals in the park, apparently) rolled around together. We were slightly apprehensive as we approached but the bears were cool - they reluctantly disappeared into the bush with reproachful backward glances. They looked quite comical from the safety of the truck, but Mowgli told us that they attacked humans more regularly than any other animal in the park, and their habit of swiping at the head with their claws has resulted in many a Chitwan ranger being airlifted to Kathmandu hospital without a face or eyes, and sometimes they've actually been killed outright. Nasty.

Back in the village we bought a carved wooden rhino for the mantlepiece to commemorate our continued existence on this planet, and told Michael (the documentary filmographer) about it. Without Alice around to impress he was very cool and likeable, and told us about his day, where he'd gone out filming rhinos on foot (with an elephant and mahout to help if things got hairy as the elephant's presence tends to subdue a grumpy rhino) and the mahout had done something rather silly. The rhinos were in the same watering hole we'd visited the other day again, this time including a big male, and Michael was filming from a few metres away. The mahout and elephant stood in between and off to one side, ready to step in in case of trouble. Apparently the mahout assumed that Michael could do with a really exciting 'rhino charges from watering hole' sequence and so lobbed his mahout stick at the large male with no warning. It hit it squarely on the buttocks and it leapt up angrily! Michael picked up his equipment and ran like the wind!

Hotel Park Side have a lot to thank the wild rhino population for, as they were presented with rather more soiled laundry than usual that evening...

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Photos

Village women...
... pinching elephant grass from the reserve to maintain their houses with. Strictly, this is illegal, but the authorities seem to tolerate it at a small, local level.

Waiting to cross the river...
.... with a local lad we met who drives a horse and trap. The hut is a shop which is regularly broken into by wild leopards.

Elephants returning...
... to the breeding centre from their daily grazing in the park.

One of the youngsters...
... falling asleep in the shadow of its mother.

Energetic swimmers...
... in the river back at Sauraha.

It must be love....
.... love .... love ....

Boating over the river...
... into the park for the jeep safari

Here's me...
... lookin' at you, lookin' at me...

The man-eater...
... sadly caged in the depths of the forest. We think she should be released in Romford...

Look closely...
... and you'll see the rhino that charged us... slightly blurred cos my hand was still shaking...

Wild elephant...
... crossing the river at dusk