Advertisement
(I apologize for the time space confusion--now we're back in Nepal)
Signs everywhere say “Welcome to the New Nepal.” The Kathmandu Post runs daily headlines about the Constituent Assembly and negotiations for the new democratic state. Billboards on the side of the road advocate for the rights of dalits (untouchable castes) to participate in the formation of the new country. There are kinks, however, in the functioning of the newly self-aware civil and democratic society. Political parties vie to have their voices heard, and for the ten days prior to my arrival, the entire country was shut down by a bandha (strike). It started with students protesting oil prices and ended with multiple groups and parties protesting a variety of issues. By the time I arrived, nobody seemed to be able to properly explain just who had been striking for what cause.
The only thing that was clear was that the garbage collectors were still very much on strike, and whole street blocks had been turned into rank, rotting waste heaps. Activists declared it a major public health concern (ten days worth of food and waste had been left to rot in the sun and grow bacteria in the
rain, and the resultant sludge was beginning to seep down into the water system ), but daily life continued as usual. The residents of Kathmandu simply plugged their noses or pulled their dupattas (shawls) over their noses as they walked past buzzing reminders of the New Nepal.
Between the garbage and the constant grey of polluted skies and mild monsoon, I was having a difficult time being in love with Kathmandu again. The first time I came here three years ago, I was devoted to the city before I’d even gotten off the plane. Arriving from Varanasi, I found Kathmandu clean, friendly, modern and mountainous—all except the last should be considered in relative terms, with Varanasi as a reference point. I declared that someday I would live here, and have more or less been on a quest to make that happen ever since.
Since arriving in Kathmandu this time around, however, I have been struggling to recall those same feelings of fascination and contentment with a place. I was lucky, therefore, that after only two and half days in Kathmandu, I had the opportunity to escape to Pokhara. As political instability and Maoist control of the countryside had
confined me to Kathmandu Valley on my previous two visits to Nepal, this was my first foray into the rest of the country.
As it turns out, I am much more enamored of the Nepali countryside than the city. The bus ride itself was enough to steal my heart. Just over the first range of mountains that seals off the Kathmandu Valley can be found even more dramatic peaks and valleys—everything is green and the mountainsides stretch up from muddy rivers (with hand-pulled basket pulleys to transport people and goods across) in layers of rice paddy until they become too steep for cultivation. At the peaks, the tips of the Himalayas sit under masses of clouds—all shades of white, grey, and blue.
In Pokhara, at my sister’s recommendation, we stayed at the Chettri Sisters’ Guesthouse, a guesthouse run by the first three women trekking guides in Nepal. The sisters now run Three Sisters Trekking company, the guesthouse, an orphanage and school for trafficked girls from Pokhara, and a Women’s Empowerment NGO that provides rights-based and skills-based training to local women. Heather, one of the AP fellows with whom I travelled and a community radio producer, had the opportunity
to interview Lucky, one of the three sisters, and Shubha and I tagged along. She was a very articulate and sweet woman—more feminine, in her pink and gold polka dotted salwaar suit, than you might expect—and happily shared with us the history of the sisters and the challenges that they faced as women in a men’s world. As for marriage, “We are too busy for marriage,” Lucky said. She gestured around the orphanage, to the little girls running into class and to the photos of training sessions and women guides on the walls. “This is our life now.”
We spent most of our time in Pokhara walking: walking up the mountain on goat trails and through corn fields to Sarangkot, a viewpoint from which the Himalayas can be seen on a clear day (not on July days, however, when the sky is grey and the only reward we receive after three hours of hiking up hill is a torrential downpour); walking up and down the main road of Lakeside, Pokhara’s decades old traveler’s haven; walking up the hill on the other side of the lake (after very slowly rowing across it) for a view from the Peace Pagoda; walking
through the Tibetan exile community at the edge of town. It was quiet and peaceful, and everything I might want before a plunge back into Kathmandu. I’ll let the photos do most of the talking.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.041s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 8; qc: 23; dbt: 0.021s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
m.c.
non-member comment
A few thoughts:
Thing 1) I'm so glad you stayed at the three sisters! I wish I had gotten to meet one of them. They seem like very cool ladies. Thing 2) The story about the porter carrying his wife for three hours in a basket is ridiculous. Thing 3) The picture titled "Tibetan woman weaving" is really good! Thing 4) Tell me more about visiting the Tibetan community in exile. I didn't make it out there, but I hear its still very much a refugee camp.