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Published: April 14th 2014
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It’s Monday 14th - The Nepalese New Year's Day.
On Saturday, we left Bardia National Park at 5am, just before sunrise. Rob and Santos rode on the roof of the truck for the first half a mile to lift low lying electricity cables so that Tim could drive the truck out. I wanted to get on the roof too but I was only allowed to be relay. We arrived in Pokhara at about 8pm, 15 hours and 450km later. The decision to drive for this length of time was the right one. This trip runs only once a year and normally it stops off for a bush camp about 325km from Bardia at Butwal but the decision was made to not waste time and continue to Pokhara for an unbroken 3 night, 2 day stay. The easy, long, straight, dusty drive to Butwal took 7 hours. The last 125km or so was not easy – tight mountain roads of hair-pin bends going up and down and round and back again with great drops down steep drops to rivers or ancient rice terraces with yak working. The last 125km took 8 hours encountering one small physical scrape from a lorry that
truck that hit us.
over the wheel, 'I miss you, I love you' ran in to our side on a sharp bend, neither truck moved, which in turn held up the traffic up on both sides of the mountain, the police were called so that the incident was recorded properly with a one hour hold up until the issue was sorted. There is no such thing as insurance - it comes down to the decision of the police. They got the tape measure out but the other truck had already pulled in a short distance away. I could hear Rob saying to the police, “ I appreciate what you’re saying, but” – I knew then that at best, we’d be paying for our own damage. We were lucky. No one was hurt, we were not pushed off over the side of the mountain bend and it gave us time to walk about a bit. There was a ribbon of glittering flags on the corner ahead so I ambled on to check it out. It was a shrine of some kind with an ancient bolder with rings carved in it. There was a candle holder and pronged forks in the ground and vermilion marks around it. It was in the middle of nowhere, near
nothing but it meant something – so I sat on it and George took a photo.
The last hour was driven in complete darkness. Any small settlement we passed through was also in darkness. Power cuts are common. Sometimes, this place is 12 hours without power.
We’re staying in the Lakeside Retreat. Retreat meaning – drive this massive truck up a tiny concrete slope into a packed car park 200mtrs from the roadside. Rob wedges the truck in and we all tumble out.
The room is heavenly. Hot running water in a perfectly designed shower with a lip to catch the water so we’re not slopping around for 3 days. Crispy white sheets and towels, a tiny cute soap, non-working wifi and lights that switch on and off. I shower with my sandals on, lazy multi-tasking - why waste time washing them afterwards? Then dinner and bed.
Pokhara is a tourist trap but I like it. After a buffet breakfast of all you can eat, Professor Murray and I, leg it down to the lake to catch a small boat to the other side then walk up the
ridge to the pagoda. The walk is many steps, in rising humid heat. There are little stops along the way where people perch tiny cafes and tiny hotels. On the last leg of steps, Mahakala, the Guardian Dharma Protector, in the form of a black crow hops up the steps ahead of us, turning back to look over his shoulder, hop some more then fly away.
At the top, it’s unbelievable. There are hundreds of people yelling and shouting and taking cheesy photographs in groups. Where they came from, I have no idea because they certainly didn’t take the 45 minutes to walk up. There must be a car park at the other side and a road. But, the walk was the best part. This is no real stupa. It’s for tourists. We saunter back down for the arranged return time. The boat lady has a very beautiful face. All of the working women on these boats have very beautiful faces. Murray and I wait under a tree at the bay for the boat lady to return to row us back. We see her in the distance waving to us and Murray recounts some Monty Python sketch.
Is she nearly here yet?
During the day, I wander. I negotiate old Tibetan beads and later, in the Hand Loom Weaving shop for the deaf and blind, I stroke the myriad of many brightly coloured pashminas in fine weave. It’s blissful to see so many colours – like wool. I’m observed by the highly- polished in customer services, intuitive pashmina seller who steps in with his line of ‘special price just for you’ but he’s met his match. I know he says ‘special price’ to all the whiteys so I tell him I’m gonna observe his selling pitch with the next white folk. He gets me a seat and orders me chai. Game On.
We sit and chat, he tells me how the shop runs and how everyone is paid whilst all the time having one eye over my shoulder at any customer that enters the door. I knit and wait. White folks enter, he cannot help himself but manages to only say – ‘Good Price’ which of course is bending it for my ear, still playing to the customer and in his mind winning. A Chinese family enter, the mother talks about
my knitting, I speak to her in Chinese, the pashmina seller is stunned, he joins in the conversation and it is now 3 way Chinese. I have surprised him but he has also surprised me. The Chinese are interested in where I come from, I answer their questions in very basic Mandarin, they become more interested in the shop and the Pashmina seller makes a sale. We all win.
Later in the afternoon, I finish Rob’s hat and pull the thread through from the top. It breaks. I know that if I give it to him like this, it will unwind so I need a needle to sew the top tight. No one has a needle – not event he concierge who bends backwards to be most helpful so I plod back up the road to the blind and deaf weaving shop to borrow a needle. When in the shop, the pashmina seller is making a killing, I’m sewing and talk to a guy from the UK about the quality of the work here. I show him what I bought and say that if he buys this same one for a lady back home, she
will think, “Man, what great taste he has” and he buys. The Pashmina seller is laughing and we both have the same idea at the same time. It’s a game. I offer to work in the shop for 3 hours to see if I can sell more Pashminas than him. I’m 50, white, can speak English well and a touch of Mandarin, the Chinese like the opportunity to talk to white folk and I can sell to the Brits if I can get in first. He is very good looking, can speak English and Nepali fluently, and has great Mandarin skills but only for selling and he’s been selling for years and knows the market.
I’m going for one hour before the competition begins to learn what is what and prices and boundaries for negotiating a price. We’ll see who wins.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Nepalese Roads
I must admit I held my breath most of the time I was traveling in Nepal. The roads and the drivers are a bit crazed. Not surprised to hear about this.