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| Note the Smashed Windshield |
It was 1:40 in the morning and as dark outside as I imagine it to be deep down in a coal mine. There were about 40 of us on the bus, some 10 odd travelers, the rest Nepalese heading home from India for the Holi celebration, the festival that mirrors the water festivities in Myanmar and Thailand. We all sat in hushed silence, like little mice, not knowing what to expect next. It had taken us five hours to reach this point, only about 20 kilometers into Nepal and it had been a bit of an adventure so far. More was to come.
When I left home in January my general intention, after visiting Australia and Indonesia with Lorraine, was to do a bit of touring in India, then go on to Nepal, which I had never visited, after which I hoped to fly to Tibet from Kathmandu then return over the Friendship Highway back to Nepal. Things did not work out as I had hoped.
Much of its history has been one of turmoil and strife. Until 1990, Nepal was an absolute monarchy. In the mid 1990’s a maoist insurgency confronted the royal government and over the next decade many thousands lost their lives. In 2001, ten members of the Nepali royal family, including the King and Queen were gunned down by a drunken prince. The throne fell to an unpopular surviving prince. Continuing violence eventually lead to a coalition government (that included the communists), and which resulted in an agreement abolishing the monarchy and the formation of a new republic.
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| Welcome to Nepal - Entering Nepal from Sunauli |
I left India through the border city of Sunauli. I arrived there in the early morning in hopes of catching an early bus for the eight hour ride to Pokhara, the major city in western Nepal and the jumping off point for many of the famous treks for which Nepal is famous, the most notable being the Annapurna Circuit and the Jomsom Trek.
As we approached Sunauli I was struck by the number of trucks lined up for more than a mile on both sides of the road. Very odd, I thought. No buses cross the border into Nepal so I walked the last two hundred meters. I was stamped out of India at their customs and immigration and walked the further fifty meters into Nepal. (I have gone through many time zone changes over the years, but never before have I reset my watch by 15 minutes as one does on entering Nepal from India.) I stopped at the Nepalese Tourism Office between the two border controls to enquire as to where, and when, I could catch my bus . The young guy manning the office told me the next bus wasn’t leaving until 5:00PM. Also odd. My guide book indicated buses leave more or less every hour throughout the day for Pokhara. The problem, as I was starting to learn was a pretty much country-wide demonstration by a segment of the population which had traffic stopped on several major highways.
Of course I had heard nothing of this in India, so now here I was, wondering when I might be able to travel onward. There were many travelers stranded like myself, all asking questions of anyone who might know what was happening and when we might be able to leave. (I connected with four of the them, a Brit couple Jay and Kelly, and a Brit/Canadian couple Mark and Jade.) Over the course of the day we learned that the Tharus people, thought to be the earliest inhabitants of the southern Terai zone, had commenced demonstrations, called a banda, some four days ago in protest over a government edict that would have seen them grouped, for official purposes, with the Medheshi, the dominant group in the Terai, but who had moved there from India over the centuries. They had been disrupting all vehicular traffic from the border during the day but they had been letting traffic travel at night. Until tonight.
Several bus companies run out of Sunauli, and after checking around the five of us bought tickets on a bus we were told was to leave at six PM. I spent the day waiting in a restaurant swapping travel stories with my new companions. Six o’clock came and went, as did 7:00PM and 8:00PM. Finally, at 8:40 all the buses (about twenty of them) were loaded and soon our convoy was off. But we only traveled a couple of hundred meters before we stopped. This was repeated many times over the next four hours. On occasion there would be police or military personnel around. Sometimes we drove for a minute or two, other times ten or fifteen minutes; sometimes we stopped for a few moments, a few times we stopped for one-half hour or longer. The drivers would get out, sometimes the passengers. The drivers would have a conflab, we travelers would mill around, pester the locals for information, and swap rumours we heard.
“There is a blockade just ahead.”
“No, it’s quite far from here.”
“No, no. Actually there are several of them. One here and several further.”
“There have been many clashes with the police!”
“I heard two people have been killed.”
“No. It was twelve. I definitely was told there have been twelve killed.”
“You’re wrong. It was only three.”
To make me more miserable I was only wearing shorts, a short sleeve shirt, and sandals. Aside from the cold night, I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes.
And so it went.
At about 1:30AM five of the buses, including ours, roared into life and with our hopes soaring we barreled along. But it was only about ten minutes before we came to a jolting stop. Our headlights were doused. In the darkness a few hundred meters ahead we could see a fire barricade across the highway. And there we sat, little mice, wondering what next.
Then there was a great clamour, shouting and screaming first, then the sound of banging on the two buses in front of us. In our highly sensitized state it sounded like several hundred demonstrators had descended on us. Next we heard glass shattering as the windows of the buses ahead were bashed out.
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| Smashed Windshield |
Chaos followed. We all scramble out of the bus, not certain whether we were safer inside or outside as no one seemed to know the demonstrators’ intentions. Of course we didn’t know what to do. It was all confusion. Some passengers started walking back towards Sunauli, others, mostly Nepalese, headed towards the barricade, the rest of us milled around, most of us scrambled up on the roof of the bus to claim our bags. Jay had a small cut on his nose but that was the only injury I saw. Kelly was badly shaken and pretty insistent that we should join those going back. I had no interest in spending more time in Sunauli, or India, so I wanted to investigate other options. In the end I did manage to keep our small group together. More rumours and advice flew.
“There is a town just ahead where we can catch a bus.”
“The demonstrators won’t hurt us, they will let us through.”
“Wait for daylight and the demonstrators will leave.”
After some time our bus driver gathered most of the foreigners together and told us we would be allowed to walk through the barricade where we could re-board a bus on the other side. So we did, we shuffled along, not without some trepidation I might tell you. A fire of truck tires and logs was blazing away across the highway. Some large rocks were strewn about. There were, in fact, less than fifty demonstrators, many of them teenage guys, others were old men. More than a few had been drinking, but in all, up close they looked pretty unintimidating. And they were friendly as hell. Several apologized for our disruption, and many warmly said “Welcome to Nepal”.
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| The Smashed Windows |
Riiight. Welcome to Nepal. So started my visit to this Himalayan (once) Kingdom.
I had expected a bus to meet us on the other side of the barricade, but no, some of the rocks were moved aside and my bus rumbled through, smashed windows and all. About 30 of us travelers clambered in; our luggage was jammed into the aisle as there was no interest in taking the time to put the bags on the roof. At 2:45AM we started out, but promptly had to stop as our bus driver wanted to collect fares from those passengers who had been on the other buses. This of course, caused another uproar. These new passengers protested vehemently.
“We’ve already paid!”
“Why should we pay full price when there aren’t even any windows! We should get a discount.”
“We’ll pay you when we get there!”
It was a zoo, laughable really. At four in the morning we were finally on our way. Most of the glass had been swept off the seats, but not all of it, and for the eight hour trip little shards fell down from the seat in front of me into my open sandals. And I shivered the whole while, dressed as I was, in our ‘open top’ bus. News of our adventure preceded us and we were quite a celebrity bus. All the locals waved and some cheered as we passed through the villages before pulling into Pokhara at noon. It was one heck of a bus ride.
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| Celebrity Bus |
Overlooked by towering Mt. Machhapuchhare (Fishtail Mountain, 6997m) which I briefly glimpsed though the persistent haze, Pokhara is home to some 180,000 people, almost all of whom seem to be involved in accommodating trekkers. Although numbers are down drastically, many thousands of hikers still come here despite the many problems plaguing the country.
Nepal has a per capita income roughly one half that of India but it is not immediately evident given the much reduced squalor and the great number of decent restaurants and hotels available in Pokhara. (On my bus ride to the India/Nepal border, my seatmate was a young Nepalese guy who worked in a restaurant in Delhi. When I asked him why he would consider working and living in India, he replied “Oh India is a very rich country Sir!”) One sign of their troubles though is the limited number of hours power is available daily. A staggered schedule of four hours on, eight hours off is in effect throughout the country so as apt as not, one dines by flickering candle light and reads in bed by headlamp.
(In my ignorance I had also thought Nepal was a Buddhist country, probably because neighbouring Tibet and nearby Bhutan are. Moreover, Buddha was born here, about 500BC, in Lumbini, a city quite close to Sunauli, my entry point. I had said as much to my Nepali seatmate and he had corrected me, “Oh no Sir, Nepal is Hindu country”. He is right of course, in fact over 80% are Hindu and only 10% are Buddhist.)
Pokhara is also famous for being the British recruiting center of Gurkha soldiers. From 1815 till yet today, thousands of young men come here every year to compete for the few hundred positions available. Famed as ferocious warriors and noted for their curved khukuri knives, there were once as many as 250,000 Gurkhas serving together in the British military. Apparently fearless in combat and unflaggingly cheerful, candidates are lured by the ₤1,000 per month pay, pension for life, and option of becoming a British citizen. They endure the most rigorous competition in hopes of being selected, but in recent years over 60,000 aspirants have vied to be one of the 200 soldiers chosen. There are also elite Gurkha units in the Indian Army, the Singapore Police Force, as well as some serving as the personal bodyguard of the Sultan of Brunei.
When I came to Nepal I had no intentions of doing any serious trekking but I had hoped to take a two or three day wander. Trekking is so well established it is very easy to do. All gear can be cheaply rented or purchased, detailed maps are available, and many guest houses are sprinkled along the routes. My four companions soon had treks chosen, were outfitted, and left after three or four days. Although I spent one week in Pokhara, with my now heavy cold, trekking was no longer an option. Instead I thought I would find a way to get a ride out to somewhere along the Annapurna Circuit to have a look. That didn’t work out. But that’s another story. My time in Pokhara was thus spent just resting and recovering, my relaxation only diverted by the vibrant Holi celebrants who paraded, honked and hooted past my hotel all one day, and a wedding celebration another.
I had also learned for certain I would not be allowed to visit Tibet. The country was firmly closed to all visitors by the Chinese government. The time of my planned visit coincided precisely with the 50th anniversary of the original Tibetan uprising and the Chinese were taking no chances, so no tourists were being allowed in (even Chinese I was told).
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| Wedding Celebration, Pokhara |
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| Holi Celebrant |
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| Another Holi Celebrant |
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| Looking Discouraged |
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| Holi Parade |
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| Holi Festival Result |
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| Tourists Caught in Holi Celebration |
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| Holi Motorcyclists |
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| Phewa Tal (Phewa Lake) |
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| Haze on the Pokhara to Kathmandu Hwy |
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| Pokhara Kathmandu Hwy. Roadside Stop |
Early on the seventh day of my visit I caught the ‘tourist bus’ (promoted as more comfortable) for the eight hour, 200km trip to Kathmandu, and one of the places I could visit. Other destinations are off limit as many highways continue to be blockaded by the banda, particularly the one to Royal Chitwan National Park, one of Nepal’s other major tourist draws. (I was to learn that it was on that stretch of the highway that three, not twelve, demonstrators had been killed in clashes with the police.) The papers are also full of accounts of ongoing troubles, confrontations, and negotiations, as well as reports of developing petroleum and food shortages.
The highway to Kathmandu twists around the mountains, winding its way through rice paddies. The housing along the roadside is typically made of stone or brick but is always quite humble. As usual with travel in countries such as Nepal, we were stopped for several police checks. And, as in Pokhara, visibility was very limited by haze so none of the dramatic scenery along the way was visible.
Nepal’s capital city, Kathmandu, a bustling, sometimes exhausting place, and home to about 750,000 people, mostly Newari, lies in a valley surrounded by a fringe of mountains which traps the pollution and produces air that surely makes Los Angeles’ air quality seem pristine. Aside from the thousands of vehicles, smoking pots, heavy industrial pollution (there are many cement plants in the valley), there were several forest fires burning in the nearby hills. Combined with the fact that there had not been one drop of rain for five months, breathing the air had to be the equivalent of smoking four packs a day. The newspapers are full of accounts of ABC, Asian Brown Cloud. It is certainly the worst air I have ever encountered. And after about ten days in Nepal I realized what started out as a cold had morphed into an allergy reaction.
Travelers, mostly hippies, started coming to Kathmandu in the 1960’s drawn to the abundant supply of cheap dope, and the hopes of spiritual enlightenment. In those days the center of action was the aptly named Freak Street just off Durbar (Palace) Square. The odd hippy, lost in the sixties and sporting dread locks, can still be found on Freak Street, but these days the center of action is Thamel, an area on the edge of old Kathmandu and filled with souvenir shops, bars, restaurants, guest houses and hotels. I settled in at the International Guest House, a Tibetan owned hotel on an unlit little dirt street on the edge of Thamel. But with a welcoming center courtyard which blocked out the crowds and the noise of the streets, it was most agreeable to me.
Old Kathmandu surrounds Durbar Square, the historical heart of the city (in fact, the square really consists of three connecting squares). Kings were crowned here and from here they ruled. There are at least 30 Newari pagoda-style temples, maybe 50, in and around the square; most are 300 to 400 years old, but many much older. One notable is the twelfth century, three roofed, Kasthamandap (Pavilion of Wood), said to have been constructed from a single sal tree. There are far too many to mention but all reflect the ornate decoration typical of Hindu Temples everywhere. Several have erotic carvings, but having recently taken Khajuraho 101, I am disinclined to seek them out for a look. Another building, Kumari Bahal, houses the Kumari Devi, a living goddess. The Kumari Devi is a young Newari girl chosen at an early age and in accordance with strict physical requirements and astrological demands. Once chosen, a Goddess she is, and she rules as one until the onset of menses, at which point she reverts to a normal mortal. Although the Kumari Devi seems to have few obligations, only appearing in public a half dozen times a year, the transition back must be quite an adjustment.
Impressive as Durbar Square is, and as great a place as it is to sit and people watch, for me the real interest is wandering the maze of streets surrounding the square. Even though I was still plagued with my head cold/allergy, strolling along the tiny cobble stone streets, which wind maze-like between centuries old heritage buildings, was endlessly diverting. Men labour along with huge loads on their backs, shopkeepers spill out onto the streets, craftsmen work away on the edge of the crowds which stream by, little kids play, mystic sadhus beg, pedal rickshaws weave through. One of my walks took me through Bangemudha (Twisted Wood) Square, named for the lump of wood to which thousands of coins have been nailed over the centuries as an offering to the Toothache God. Dozens of dental clinics have set up shop in the area to give a practical response to their prayers. At times I followed a walking tour in my guide book, but wherever I went it was constantly entertaining. I was for ever losing myself and getting turned around in the twisting streets. Walking back to my hotel in the dark, when the power was out, was always an adventure.
Durbar Square and Thamel are full of touts and hawkers of all manner of goods and services. Many times I was offered dope. On one occasion a young guy offered me some grass, when I declined he suggested a ‘Nepali woman”. When I again declined he looked at me with pitying contempt, sadly shook his head, and said “What’s the matter with you?”.
One day I made the three or four kilometer hike up to Swayambhunath, usually called the monkey temple, after the troop of monkeys that live there. This Buddha Temple dates from the 5th century AD and normally affords great views of Kathmandu and the valley. Not so for me in the persistent haze, but it was an interesting place to visit, topped with a soaring white stupa, two large eyes painted on it gaze out in each direction, and a third eye between them symbolizes Buddha’s insight. Prayer wheels and souvenir shops surround the stupa, and the whole area is jammed with pilgrims and tourists.
When I arrived in Kathmandu I made contact with Puskar Shrestha, a friend Kara made on her round-the-world trip in 1988 and with whom she has kept in contact. I liked Puskar right off. Puskar owns a hotel in Thamel as well as one of the most popular drinking holes, the Tom & Jerry Pub. A new ordinance requires bars to close at 11:00PM, but like all other bars, they just pull the shades at Tom & Jerry’s so that no light can be seen from the outside, and they generally stay open until 2:00AM. Virtually all the notable mountaineers have had a beer in Puskar’s pub over the years, and the walls are covered with pictures of them, as well as with hundreds of T-shirts, most autographed, left behind. One I couldn’t miss was TEAM CBC, given to Puskar by Kara and Joe.
Puskar is most genial, and he is a great host. Everything to him is “amazing”. He took me to lunch at his newly completed home on the edge of the city, and it is quite amazing, four stories high, gleaming white, massive picture windows, finished in Swedish modern, all protected from the road by a high wall. When I said to his wife Jenny “it wouldn’t look out of place in Hollywood”, she laughed and said she had told the architect she “wanted it to look like it would suit Zurich”. It’s a beautiful home.
Puskar took me to visit the city of Patan the second largest city in the valley and just across the Bagmati River from Kathmandu. Its Sanskrit name, Lalitpur, means City of Beauty, and it is a pretty little place. Like Kathmandu, it has a Durbar Square filled with Hindu Temples, all very interesting, but having a long Buddhist history it also has a famous monastery, the Haranya Varna, or Golden Temple. With all the candles and incense burning, and filled with monks and pilgrims, it was particularly enchanting when we visited just at dusk.
On another day we also made a drive out to the third major city in Kathmandu Valley, Bhaktapur, and then beyond to Nagarkot some 20km and 1,000 meters higher in the mountains. What else can I say? More temples around the Durbar Square, many with erotic carvings, many phallic symbols, called lingams, and the female equivalent called yoni, are to be seen. It does take a bit of imagination to recognize them, the lingam are often just a short stone cylinder and the yoni a round or polygonal stone with a hole in it. And the ‘great mountain views’, promised in my guide book to be seen at Nagarkot, were totally obscured by the haze. But it was an enjoyable day nonetheless.
So, a smashed bus ride, highways to interesting places blockaded, unbreathable air, a fierce cold/allergy, obscured visibility, unable to do a short trek, transit to Tibet not possible, in all a visit fraught with upsets and reverses. Oh, did I mention the food poisoning (I suggest you pass on the prawn tempura if you are staying at the International Guest House)? And, I guess I forgot to mention the broken shoulder.
Well, that is the other story. It put a quick end to the catch-a-ride-to-the-Annapurna-Circuit idea. (If I were to tell you that I was planning this at a party, you would all be getting together to take away my car keys.) While lamenting that I wasn’t up to a trek, I seized on a great idea, a brilliant idea! Of Sarah Palin proportions! I would rent a motorcycle! Yes! And ride there! And I did. Well, I rented the motorcycle, a Bajal 150. But I didn’t ride there. Of course I flopped off on my trial ride. I am using the ‘I had a cold and was stuffed up and full of medication’ excuse rather than the ‘stupid old man, dumb as a post’ one. I will admit it was a bit of a setback, but in the end it didn’t prevent me from doing much. And I will be as good as new after the brain surgery.
In spite of all the troubles, I certainly would return. Nepal, as Puskar would say, truly is an “amazing” country, and I have seen little of it. Friendly people, stunning scenery (I am told), the world’s finest trekking, and many World Heritage Sites (the entire Kathmandu Valley is one). I just won’t rent a motorcycle.
Merv.
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| Kathmandu |
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| Thahiti Tole, Kathmandu |
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| Kathmandu Kids |
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| Bangemudha (twisted wood) |
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| Kathmandu Carrier |
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| Spice & Tea Vendor, Kathmandu |
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| Kathmandu Street |
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| Temple Oil Lamps, Kathmandu |
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| Kathmandu Lady |
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| Kathmandu Carrier's Load |
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| Sadhus at Kathmandu Durbar Square |
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| Kathmandu Durbar Square Temple |
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| Puskar & Daughter |
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| Puskar & Daughter in Durbar Square |
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| Patan Durbar Square |
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| Temple Roof, Patan |
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| Patan Durbar Square Temple |
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| Patan Locals With Hookah Pipe |
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| Old Patan |
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| Chanticleer in Patan |
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| Kwe Bahal (Golden Temple) Patan |
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| Kwe Bahal Patan |
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| Swayambhunath (Monkey Temple) Kathmandu |
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| Swayambhunath Door |
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| Buddhist Monk at Swayambhunath |
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| Another Carrier's Load, Kathmandu |
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| Team CBC Tshirt at Tom & Jerry's Bar |
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| Puskar with Team CBC Tshirt |
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| Mask Shop, Swayamabhunath |
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| Filling Water Jugs , Kathmandu |
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| Famous Tom & Jerry Pub, Kathmandu |
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| Nyatapola Temple, Bhaktapur Durbar Square |
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| Painting a Buddha Mandala Thanka |
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| Sun Dhoka (Golden Gate) or 55 Window Palace |
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| Haze at Nagarkot Hiding the Himalaya |
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