Friday 29th January
We leave the hotel at 7am, engaging a rickshaw to take us to the bus station. We plump for the express to Gorakhpur, at Rp170 each. It’s a shithouse of a bus to be honest, with seats loaded in condensation (there isn’t any glass in the windows), and when we wipe them down, an inch of dirt comes off each one. We select the ones we do largely because most of the others have cushions that aren’t even attached to the frames. There’s just enough time to buy some emergency breakfast samosas before departure, and then just after 8am, we’re off. The next six hours are probably among the bumpiest and most uncomfortable of my life. The bus rattles across Uttar Pradesh, seemingly without any form of suspension whatsoever. Three of us are coping fairly well, but Odie, who is feeling very dodgy in the stomach department, is barely hanging on.
2pm sees us in a noisy, dusty Gorakhpur, besieged by rickshaw wallahs. It’s not immediately apparent where we have to go, since the town apparently has three bus stations. Having used the next ten minutes to regroup, we decide to plump for a rickshaw to the bus station next to the train station, logic dictating that a transport hub is probably our best bet. Once there, the bus to the border at Sunauli is already full, as is the next one to arrive. Odie’s condition is ever deteriorating, and so Andy proposes the idea of spurning the bus in favour of a taxi. It’ll cost us more, but she really doesn’t seem to be very well at all, so on compassionate grounds, it’s agreed. We manage to engage a cab, after an awful lot of haggling and hassle, for Rp600, and are soon on our way.
The journey to the border is short on spectacle, passing mostly as it does through the flat Terai, an expanse of marsh and grassland that extends from the Himalayan foothills, all the way to the Ganges. Thankfully, especially considering the state Odie is in, it only takes about three hours to reach Sunauli. The border is presaged by long lines of stationary cargo trucks on both sides of the road.
Sunauli is a nasty, dirty little place, which ranks up there as one of the least attractive towns I’ve seen. The Lonely Planet describes it as a “Dusty Hellhole,” and while this may be a little harsh, it serves to paint the picture fairly adequately. This seems to be a trait common to overland border crossings, and I’ve been through similarly unattractive frontiers elsewhere in the world. The main street is surfaced, but at its edges recedes to mud mixed with diesel effluent and litter. We leave India via a side of the road immigration desk, at which we are the only foreigners making the crossing.
Formalities on the Nepali side are brief and unproblematic, other than the office having a large number of sizeable and particularly voracious mosquitoes. With the exchange of a few photos, and the receipt of a few stamps, it’s all done, and we’re in Nepal. We briefly consider getting rickshaws the 4km to Bhairawa, where the transport connections are to be had, but Odie is feeling abominable, and so the decision is made to spend the night in Sunauli. We opt for the Hotel Aakash, for Rp500 (Indian) per night. Once settled, we meet Andy in the hotel restaurant for dinner. Odie is in no condition for local food, so he’s going to take her some toast later. Our dinner is complimented by bottles of Tuborg Strong, a 7.5% beer, and this pretty much sets us up for bed. We arrange to meet at 7am for the big push to Pokhara, and then turn in, for our first night’s sleep in Nepal.
Saturday 30th January
We are plunged into thick fog once more. On the bright side, Sunauli is actually a lot more attractive when you can’t see it. We meet Andy for breakfast, but Odie is apparently even worse this morning, and is now showing symptoms which sound alarmingly like dysentery. Having eaten, Jung-Ok and I go to check out the tourist information office, and have to wake up the staff. We manage to establish that there are two routes to Pokhara, one that takes nine hours, and one that takes five hours, the latter taking the direct, attractive, mountainous Siddhartha Highway. To get a bus we need to get ourselves to Bhairahawa, a few clicks away.
The fog is still soupy a little later when we engage two cycle rickshaws to take us up the road to the buses. Our ‘driver’ agrees Rp40, and when I say, “Total? Rp40?” he nods. This seems cheap, but thirty seconds into the journey, I begin to suspect why his rates are so reasonable; he’s the slowest rickshaw operator in the world. Andy and Odie have already disappeared into the mists, and even pedestrians are overtaking us, some of them about twice my age. After a while, Jung-Ok complains that her arse is hurting, and gets out to walk. This throws the driver into abject confusion, and perhaps to calm himself down, he asks if I have any water. I pass him a newly opened bottle, and he takes two swigs then hurls it into a nearby ditch! My wife begins to jog for a bit of exercise, thereby outpacing us easily. Not only is the driver still confused by all this, but lots of other local people seem to be staring at her too. It’s probably not often that one sees a lone Korean girl jogging out of the fog in Bhairahawa. I meanwhile, remain onboard, feeling somewhat absurd. It is nothing short of laughable that I am paying someone to carry me at a considerably slower speed than I could walk myself. An eternity has passed when finally the snail drops me outside the bus station. I am of course, the last to arrive. He demands Rp80. I remind him that he agreed a total of Rp40, but he says that was per person. It wasn’t, so I give him the forty with a look of finality. To be fair, for most of the journey he was only carrying one of us anyway!
At the bus station, everyone denies the existence of a five hour bus, and we receive estimates ranging from nine hours to twelve. Odie pales visibly at this information (although she’s pretty pale already). The poor girl is clearly very unwell, and needs to get to a doctor. Having said that, neither Bhairahawa nor Sunauli qualify even vaguely as places in which one would wish to receive medical care, and so despite her condition, we really need to get to Pokhara. The brutal reality is that there’s no way she can deal with a nine our bus journey the way she’s feeling though, so Andy broaches the idea of a taxi. It will cost about $70/80, but if we all put in for it, that’s not bad considering the distance, and most importantly it’ll get Odie there faster, and with the ability to stop whenever she needs to, which considering her highly fragile and frequently nauseous state, is a priceless comfort. We offer to pay half, but Andy’s having none of it, so we decide between us that we’ll persuade him later. A price is negotiated, and a taxi engaged, at a nearby travel agent, and fifteen minutes later our driver, Sunil, arrives in the Nepali equivalent of a Renault 5, with two bald tyres. Somehow this has to get us over the mountains to Pokhara.
Piled in and on the move, we tell Sunil that we need to stop at a pharmacy. He nods, then proceeds to drive straight out of Bhairahawa, and straight through a number of other small towns. In the next one we come to I remind him, and he replies, “I know I know,” but then continues driving, while pharmacies fly past on both sides. Eventually, in the slightly larger town of Butwal, he pulls over, and it becomes obvious why he waited. This is a pharmacy ghetto. Almost every business here seems to be a dispensary of some kind. Why this should be so is unclear, but at least it means that Odie is almost sure to find whatever it is she’s after.
Soon after Butwal, huge and imposing hills rise suddenly before us, and Sunil, in his limited English, explains that the whole of the rest of our journey will be through and over them. He’s not lying; the next couple of hours see us negotiating steep, narrow, uneven, and dramatic roads, with precipitous, vegetation-clad slopes at their sides. There are sharp hairpins, and plunging gorges falling away to rocky river beds far below, while tiny villages perch precariously on the terraced mountainsides. It’s stunning, and here Nepal begins to look as I’d imagined it would. I try not to dwell on the bald tyres. Late morning, we get a puncture. Happily, it’s one of the bald ones, and while we enjoy the view, Sunil wastes no time in getting it changed. Unhappily, the new tyre he replaces it with is, if it were possible, balder than the original.
Soon afterwards we stop in a small village for refreshment, while Sunil gets the tyre fixed. Sprite and crisps are taken to the mournful whoops of a solitary monkey in the trees across the street, which both looks and sounds like it’s lost all its friends. When I go to use the toilet out back, I find myself in a scene of medieval rurality. Goats, chickens, pigs, and children compete for space with piles of firewood, cooking pots, and the less than charming facilities themselves, which it probably goes without saying are of the plank over a hole variety.
With the day wearing on I sense Sunil getting impatient. He begins driving faster, and a little more recklessly, such that we screech slightly on some of the hairpins. The effect is probably amplified by being in the back seat. I’ve been in the front most of the way, but swapped with Odie when she began to feel nauseous again. In the late afternoon we crest a pass, and finally catch sight of Pokhara nestled in the valley below. It’s bigger than I’d anticipated, and perhaps because of the recent deterioration in driving standards, I find myself quite glad to see it.
Shortly afterwards we’re deposited, predictably, outside a “Very nice very good” hotel. We spurn it in favour of something of our own choosing, and saddle up for a walk through town. As we hit the Lakeside road, Jung-Ok spots a Korean, and asks him if he knows anywhere nice to stay. He directs us to the Gauri Shankar Guesthouse, which is set amidst a beautiful tropical garden, overflowing with lush vegetation and abundant, bright, orange flowers. We’re shown to rooms costing Rp500, and although they’re nice, what really sells Jung-Ok and I on the place is the appearance of an obscenely cute cat, which is about four months old, looks like a miniature tiger, and walks straight into our room, where it jumps on the bed and starts purring at us. This, we are told by the owner, is Shankar. We’re staying here; a happy cat is a good sign.
Following a short settling in period, Jung-Ok and I head out to see what Pokhara has to offer, while Andy and Odie make for the nearest medical clinic. The lake beside which the town sits is nice, but not magnificent, and the Lakeside drag is a series of restaurants, bars, and shops. I notice immediately, if I didn’t know already, that Nepal is a retail heaven. There is a jaw-dropping array of beautiful stuff, ranging from bags, to clothes, to throws, to ornaments, to wall hangings, to paintings, to thangkas, to jewellery, and to much else besides. We schedule a shopping spree for our last day in Kathmandu. As we continue up the road I spot a busy place offering apple crumble. It’s one of many open-fronted, terraced cafe-bars, and I note the location, as I could very happily demolish a good crumble this evening. We return following a little more firkling, and a deal is struck whereby we agree to crumble and cocktails here, on the condition that we can have dinner at a Korean place Jung-Ok noticed earlier. It’s therefore a Long Island Iced Tea, and a slice of apple crumble each. Both are, not to put too fine a point on it, divine; the crumble particularly. As we’re finishing up, Andy and Odie pass by. Her trip to the clinic resulted in a diagnosis of acute Gastroenteritis, and a strict diet of boiled rice and vegetables, no alcohol, and expensive antibiotics, for the next ten days. Ouch. They head off for dinner elsewhere, while we hit Naksul, the Korean place. Jung-Ok orders spicy noodles and rice, while I get bibimbap, a rice and assorted vegetable dish with spicy sauce. It’s awful, and quite the worst I’ve ever had. If that weren’t bad enough, soon after we’ve eaten, she starts feeling sickly, and throws all of hers up. We’re all in bed early, tired from either the journey, or in other cases, from both that and regrettable ailments.
Sunday 31st January
A good night’s sleep, and I’m awake at 6.30am. Jung-Ok is fully recovered, and at just before seven, I look out of the window to be greeted by what looks initially like a pink cloud floating high over the hills. Closer inspection reveals that it is in fact, a mountain. What’s more, it’s a Himalaya – my first Himalaya. We head up to the roof, from where for the next twenty minutes or so we witness a series of spectacular, snow-covered peaks materializing in vivid red and pink as the rising sun illuminates their heights. Both of us are blown away. For me this represents the completion of a long held ambition. For years I’ve been aiming to chalk up the three environmental superlatives of largest desert, largest jungle, and highest mountain range. This first sight of the Himalayas completes that collection. The most striking of the peaks is Machapuchare, which rises like a jagged, steep-sided pyramid, and is sacred, such that it is off-limits to climbers, making it the only virgin mountain in Nepal. All of these silent, stone giants are breathtaking however, particularly for their sheer size. They tower into the sky like nothing I’ve ever seen, and look almost impossibly high. Magnificent simply doesn’t do them justice.
There’s no going back to sleep are a start like that, and so we’re out for breakfast early. It’s warm, sunny day, and the mountains soon recede into haze, but at least we manage to locate a decent feed. While we’re eating I make an executive decision - we are going to go paragliding. Pokhara is renowned for this extreme sport, in which people hurl themselves off the side of a mountain strapped to a parachute, and then glide around the skies riding thermal air currents. It seems rude not to partake of it as we’re here. Jung-Ok has already experienced it in Switzerland, and is concerned about costs, but I’m still adamant that both of us are going to do it. With this in mind we make for Frontier Paragliding, by all accounts the best place in town. They offer us a thirty minute flight for about seventy Euros, or an hour for one hundred. Surprisingly Jung-Ok says, “Well we might as well do the hour then.” She’s getting no complaints from me. With the money paid, and the requisite medical forms and disclaimers filled out, we are told to be back at 1.15pm.
Chilling occupies much of the rest of the morning, although I do manage to purchase a necklace made of yak bone, and to get on the internet and upload photos up to and including our arrival in Nepal. This is important not only for the undeniably valid purpose of gloating, but also because having them online serves as an extra contingency against disasters such as camera loss or memory card malfunction. We run into Andy and Odie at lunchtime, who seem a bit envious of our paragliding plan. It’s a real shame she’s not up to it, but to be fair, after almost four months on the road, and with another two ahead of them, they’re not sure their finances would stretch to it anyway.
At the appointed time we’re back at Frontier, excited and full of anticipation. It’s not long before we’re bundling into a minivan and heading up the mountain track towards Sarangkot, in a very literal sense, our jumping off point. The road is an experience in itself. It’s steep, winding, narrow, bumpy, dusty, and commands spectacular views down into the Pokhara valley. I feel like I’m flying already, and we haven’t even left the ground.
We stop in an area of forest that backs onto a grassy slope, which itself backs onto thin air, and here are introduced to our pilots, Jamie (British) and Ajay (Nepalese). Once we’ve established who’s with who (I’m with Jamie) we set about gearing up. The basic set up is that the pilot is attached to the chute, while the passenger is, via an elaborate system of harnesses and a rudimentary cushion-like contraption, attached to the pilot. It’s decided that Jung-Ok and Ajay will take off first, Jamie quipping that this will allow us to, “Make sure it’s safe.” Once they are soaring, I’m drilled for lift off. Jamie explains that, “We have to let the chute catch the air first. It’ll probably drag us around a little bit, but just go where I go.” Strapped together as we are, doing anything else would probably be impossible in any case. He then continues, “When I say ‘Go’, just run forwards.” Moments later, the chute is billowing, and the command is given. We run straight off the edge of the mountain, and before I can really take in what’s happening, a burst of adrenalin is telling me that the ground is receding rapidly away beneath me as about eight hundred feet of nothing replaces it. We are airborne, and it’s marvellous. I love it from the first instant, and as we bank sharply to the left or right to catch the thermals (I’m given instructions as to which way to lean to accomplish these manoeuvres) we rise sharply while the views becomes ever more incredible. This is surely the closest a human being can ever come to flying. Every time we hit a good thermal, we spiral upwards with tremendous speed, as evidenced by Jamie’s altimeter, which emits a beep of higher or lower tone depending on whether we’re ascending or descending, and of increased frequency depending on the speed of ascent or descent. Soon we are literally flying next to birds of prey, as they chase and ride the very same thermals we’re riding. To watch an eagle soaring only metres away, and to know that we are achieving flight in exactly the same way it’s doing so, is a mind-blowing experience. Our maximum altitude, which Jamie describes as, “Insanely high” is 2800 metres (just shy of 9200 feet, or to put it another way, 1.74 vertical miles), and is reached as an afterthought when having decided to start our descent, a thermal ceiling suddenly opens up and shoots us heavenwards. Clearly as excited as I am, Jamie exclaims, “Only a fool wouldn’t stick with this one!” When we begin to come down again, we see Ajay and Jung-Ok, who are near enough to allow me to get a recognizable photo of her, cruising at about the same height we are. Indeed they are so close that we are actually able to shout across to them, which allows me to joke that I’m going to throw her the camera. We also see Jamie’s girlfriend, who is aloft solo some distance away. He tells me that she’s Australian, and that they met here through this shared passion. For most of the flight, my responsibilities amount to no more than leaning left or right as instructed, but as we begin our descent towards the landing zone on the lake shore, I’m allowed to take control. Jamie hands me the reins, and tells me that arms up equals fast, and arms pulled down equals slow. Pulling the left side down sends us left, and vice-versa. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that, but I draw some sense of achievement from the fact that while I’m doing casual circles over the lake, he feels comfortable enough in my ability to take a phone call on his cell! I’ve brought us successfully in on target, when he says, a few hundred metres from the ground, “Would you like to do some aerobatics?” My response is predictable, and so he takes control once more and sends us into a series of wild spins and near-somersaults. My stomach takes some time to catch up with the rest of my body, but it’s a serious rush, and a perfect way to end the flight. We make a bumpy landing, and although I am somewhat unable to run into it due to the fact that both my legs have gone numb, I at least manage to stay on my feet. Jung-Ok is already down, with a big smile on her face, although it probably isn’t as big as mine. Ajay and Jamie are full of praise (deserved or not I am unable to say) and tell us both that if we hadn’t done so well at the beginning, it may have been a very short flight. Apparently conditions were far from ideal, and they were both worried about having to abort early on. At least they waited until the end to share that information! I’m positively buzzing all the way back into town, and having said goodbye and thank you to our pilots, we end our aerial adventure with enormous grins that refuse to fade. It isn’t long before we run into the others, and Odie immediately says, “Wow, you really had fun didn’t you?! I can see it on your faces!” Never a truer word spoken.
Jung-Ok bumps into a pair of Korean girls who we’ve seen in pretty much every town since Agra, and arranges to go for dinner with them this evening. I meet up with Andy and Odie, and we repair to the Maya Bar and Restaurant, largely because they have a ‘Buy one get one free’ offer on cocktails. I’m not sure how much fun Odie has watching the two of us indulge, but we certainly enjoy ourselves. By the time Jung-Ok returns from her Korean barbecue, merriment has well and truly descended. Back at the hotel we have a few nightcaps, including some Raksi, a local liquor that Jung-Ok has somehow procured, and which tastes like cheap gin. For a while it looks as though Shankar is going to spend the night in our room, but she changes her mind at the last minute.
Monday 1st February
With yesterday’s sunrise still fresh in the mind, we’ve agreed to go up to Sarangkot this morning, which is apparently the best place to view the mountains. Our 5am taxi drops us off at the start of the trail to the top of the hill. It’s about a thirty minute walk up through terraced farmland and a few little shacks that open early to sell tea and coffee to people like us. At the viewpoint, we are quickly surrounded by assembling masses of loud Nepali teenagers, and so move away to get some peace. It’s short lived. Before long, about a hundred people have gathered, most of whom are also loud. Any tranquillity dawn may have offered, has no hope of finding us. Just after 7am a peak appears, but the morning is cloudy, and it’s gone within a minute or two. It’s disappointing after yesterday’s display, particularly for the others, who slept through it. Still, at least we tried. I’m falling asleep in the taxi back to town, and at the hotel, Jung-Ok and I decide to return to bed until 10am, when the day will start for the second time.
Up and about once more, we rent bicycles and head north towards Old Pokhara. The ride is unremarkable, and most of it is on busy roads lined with modern, functional buildings. When we do reach the old part of town, I at least am quite impressed, although I think Jung-Ok was expecting Venice or something equally spectacular. There isn’t much here, but there are some nice, traditional Nepali style houses, and a modest but attractive two hundred year old temple. Continuing on, we try to reach the Seti River, but get disorientated. Jung-Ok finds a passing child and asks (perhaps optimistically) where it is. She points left, and the child nods. She then points right, and the child nods again. We go with gut instinct, and head left. As it turns out this is correct, but the Seti River Gorge turns out to be a semi-dried up repository for much of Pokhara’s refuse, and really wasn’t worth the effort. We make our way back southwards, past the airport, in the direction of the Devil’s Falls. No sooner have we arrived, than we bump into Andy and Odie, who have also rented bikes. The falls apparently, are not worth it either. That just leaves the nearby Tibetan Refugee Camp, which according to them, is. So we follow their directions, turning left at the large tree, and then spot a sign for the ‘Tashiling Tibetan Refugee Camp, Handcrafts Workshop and Carpet Showroom’. This must surely be the only place in the world where the words ‘Refugee Camp’ and ‘Carpet Showroom’ can be found on the same signpost. To be honest, there’s not a great deal to see here either, other than a small stupa, a modest temple, and lots of accommodation that looks like it was shipped from a Butlin’s holiday camp in the mid 1950s. We don’t manage to locate the carpet showroom.
Back in town, our arses have had enough of the bicycles, so we buy a few beers and sit in the sun outside Andy and Odie’s room (they have patio chairs). Later, when they return from boating on the lake, the evening continues in much the same way as our late afternoon did, but all the day’s exertion has pretty much wiped us out, so everyone retires before 10pm. We have a fairly early start tomorrow anyway, as we’re leaving Pokhara and heading 139 kilometres southwest to Chitwan National Park…in search of tigers.
Tuesday 2nd February
We’re out by 7am for the twenty minute walk to the tourist bus park. Yesterday we arranged tickets through the hotel, for a bus to Sauraha, the town closest to Chitwan. Our bus, when we find it, is a pint-sized ‘Mini Video Coach’, which sparks sharp fears of obnoxiously loud Bollywood films being played for the entire journey, or worse still, Jean-Claude Van Damme. Our assigned seats come with legroom suitable for a small otter, and so having established that the bus isn’t full, we move to the front left seats (by the door) which could at least accommodate a juvenile goat in some degree of comfort. Once we get moving, we’re up into the hills again, on misty roads that are sometimes surfaced, and sometimes not. Happily, the loud films never materialize, but on the downside, it’s bloody freezing. Even when the conductor/bus tout/door boy (these people are a feature on all the buses in this part of the world, and serve to shout the destination at anyone who’s interested) has the doors closed, there’s still a persistent and decidedly chilly draft coming in, which seems to be aimed squarely at my face.
Mid-morning, we make a rest stop at a pleasant, gardened cafe, where Jung-Ok gets tea, and I get a vegetable burger. I follow this with a trip to the contrastingly unpleasant toilets – the kind that make you feel soiled just by going into them. Back on the bus, I move to the back seats, where despite being launched into the air every time we hit a bump, it is at least warmer. We’re passing through some beautiful country; lots more steep gorges, towering hills, perching mountain villages, and rice terraces. I manage to get some sleep, but am rudely awoken by an obscenely bumpy stretch of road, which rattles the bus to such an extent that I feel compelled to video it. Soon after this we pull up next to a large advertising board, full of signs for Chitwan lodges and so forth. We’ve arrived, and by some unprecedented miracle, the seven hour journey has taken only five.
We disembark, and enter a scrum of hassle the like of which I haven’t experienced since Dar-Es-Salaam in Tanzania, where I had to cope with people trying to drag my bag, my girlfriend’s bag, and my girlfriend herself, in three different directions simultaneously. One guy here is in my face immediately, offering transport. Moments later the competition weigh in. They are all drivers associated with hotels or guesthouses. We haven’t even got our bags out of the bus yet. I state very loudly that I’m not going to talk to anyone until I’ve got my pack, but the first guy makes no let up. I say, “Look, don’t hassle me alright? Let me breathe for a minute, and then I’ll talk to you.” He responds, still in my face, “Yeah yeah, avoid the hassle” and then proceeds to hassle me some more. I walk away from him, but he follows me, still talking about avoiding hassle! I round on him and say, “You are the hassle! It’s you I’m trying to avoid!” It has scant effect. Through all this, we’ve noticed a guy who has kept to the back of the crowd of touts, and who has said things like, “Just give them a minute. Leave them alone.” He’s also slipped in, “Rp50 each into town, no obligation” a few times, and on the basis that he has been the least obnoxious man here, we make straight for him. Once piled into the open-back jeep, it only takes about ten minutes to get to Sauraha, and we’re taken to his hotel, which while it has some nice rooms, is also a bit of a building site, and not a place any of us think we could enjoy spending a few relaxing days. We thank him, and then head off across some fields to find something better.
It’s not an easy task. The first place we check out is too grubby, the second is too pricey, and the third only offers packages, not rooms alone. Odie is feeling pretty dodgy again, so we leave her to rest there while we look for something else. Eventually, we stumble on Hotel Riverside, which has a nice, hammock-strewn garden, is right on the banks of the Rapti River, and offers rooms for Rp600. Once we’re all back together, and everyone is happy with it, we agree that this will be our base for Chitwan. The two of us go out to get some food, as the hotel’s fare seems a little expensive, but a brief perusal of the restaurants in the one street that comprises most of Sauraha is enough to realise that it’s still the cheapest place in town. Having restocked the travelling alcohol supplies at a small store run by a pregnant woman who tells Jung-Ok that she needs to get pregnant soon too, we head back and get an unremarkable lunch, which we follow with an afternoon of massive inactivity, mostly in hammocks, with beer. The only thing we accomplish is to organize a canoe trip and walk tomorrow morning, and an elephant safari in the afternoon. Other than that we all just relax and enjoy the wonderfully peaceful surroundings. Just across the river, the jungles of the national park itself stretch away, full of mystery. Somewhere in that dense wilderness, there are, amongst a great many other things, tigers, and rhinos, and leopards. It’s over these forests that sunset takes place; the sun turning from yellow fireball, to orange glow, to deep red orb, as peacocks serenade the end of the day. Once in bed, most of the night is serenaded by a large number of relentlessly barking dogs. I much preferred the peacocks.
Wednesday 3rd February
I breakfast on a ‘Cheese Toast’ that takes twenty minutes to arrive, and wouldn’t have been worth it even if it had taken two. At 7.30 we meet our guide, Suresh, who takes us down to the banks of the Rapti, swathed as it still is in early morning mists. We board a long, narrow pirogue, and ease gently away downriver. It’s a magical scene; the sun illuminating the mist while peacocks call from the forest, and myriad birds from egrets to storks to swallows to kingfishers go about their business all around us. The east bank, here a vertical wall of mud, is pockmarked with swallows’ nests, strategically placed so as to minimise the chance of snake attack. Suresh, a handsome man in his mid twenties, is knowledgeable, and quick to point out the various species of birds that flit, glide, and dive as we drift lazily along. It’s clear however that while he may know a lot about them, he’s not really a bird man himself, or at least he has more appreciation for animals of a rarer nature. On a stretch of river particularly blessed with avian delights he says, “I did a tour once with a group of British birdwatchers. They loved the birds, but suddenly we saw a sloth bear and a tiger both swimming across the river at the same time. I’d never seen that before, so I was amazed. When I pointed it out to them, they looked for a second, then went back to the birds!” He was understandably disappointed. We’re all quick to assure him that should we be lucky enough to witness anything even half as remarkable, he’ll get no such ambivalence from us. Our chances to be honest, are probably slim, even given the other magnificent encounters that have been had here. Suresh, on another occasion, apparently saw a crocodile attack a bear that was swimming to shore. The boatman meanwhile was once collecting firewood on the riverbank, exactly where we’re going to land, and had a tiger walk right up behind him. To say that he beat a hasty retreat would perhaps be understating matters.
Once ashore, Suresh gives us the lowdown on what to do in the event of close up wildlife experiences. If we are threatened by a rhino we have to run in zig zags, cast off a personal item in the hope of distracting the beast, or climb a tree. In the case of a sloth bear, we must huddle together and scream as loudly as possible. I particularly enjoy his advice concerning tigers though. “If a tiger threatens us, stand still, put your hands together, and pray.”
And so begins our first foray into the jungles of the Sub-Continent. We’ve barely left the mud of the riverbank when Suresh stops and directs our attention to the ground. There, fresh and remarkably clear, is a tiger’s footprint. I find it exhilarating and mildly chilling to know that one of these great and magnificent cats was walking right where we are now, only a few hours before. This evidence in itself is enough of a thrill for me, even if (as is almost certain) we don’t see one in the flesh. We move on first through an area of tall grass and bushes, where visibility is limited to the next bit of undergrowth, so the possibility of coming face to face with something unexpected is very real. It takes me right back to bush walking in Kenya, and the feeling of utter vulnerability. Here, all of mankind’s technology and civilized advancement means nothing. The playing field isn’t just evened out; it’s sloped to our disadvantage. Nature is in charge, and we just have to hope that we don’t get in its way. It’s a feeling I think everyone should experience, because at the very least it gives you a profound respect for the wilderness and everything that lives in it. As we skirt a small creek, Suresh beckons us over to him and points to the water, where about twenty metres away, a marsh mugger crocodile is lying with only its head exposed. This is my first wild crocodile, and as with alligators and caiman I’ve seen before, it is indescribably sinister. Its name suits it very well indeed. We make our way into thick forest, and suddenly there’s the sound of something big crashing through the trees very close by. Adrenalin kicks in immediately, but the sound veers off and moves away, so whatever it is, we don’t see it. Suresh thinks it was a Guar, a kind of buffalo. With all senses tingling, we continue, and are soon observing a troupe of grey langur monkeys high in the trees above us. This being relatively early in the day, most of them are foraging lazily, or still asleep, slumped idly over branches. Moments later, a loud grating call echoes across the canopy, and a greater hornbill flies overhead. These huge birds appear when they fly, to be labouring just to keep aloft, and one expects them to go crashing into the nearest tree at any moment. It’s a privilege to see one though, as they are actually a threatened species due to habitat destruction.
A little later, while we’re moving through a more open area, some of which has been recently (yesterday in fact – we saw the smoke) burned, Suresh suddenly stops, points away into the thick bushes, and whispers, “Rhino.” It’s about forty metres away, with its back to us, browsing. It turns slightly, and Suresh says that it’s seen him. This is good, because the last thing you want to do is surprise a rhino. We edge cautiously closer, to a proximity we’d never dared have attempted with the black rhinos in Africa, and stop only twenty or twenty five metres from it. The rhino seems utterly unperturbed, and continues to go about the business of tearing at the rough vegetation as if we weren’t even here. It’s humbling to see such a massively powerful animal up so close and totally wild. After this, we all agree that even without tigers, the morning has been completely rewarding. To be honest, I hadn’t expected to see anything larger than a monkey in such a short time. The fact that we have is fantastic.
Heading back, we hit the fire road (cut through the forest to prevent the uncontrolled spread of fires) and aim in the direction of the river. I ask Suresh if he’s ever had to use the bamboo stick he carries as our only defence. He replies that, yes, he has used it a number of times. When further pressed for details, he reveals that he once had to fend off a sloth bear, and on another occasion had to use it to beat back a rhino! When I say, “Well you obviously won both times, because you are still here,” he responds thoughtfully, “Yes, well I suppose you could say I won.” Andy notices a large and vicious-looking scar on Suresh’s arm, which may or may not be connected. It’s hard to imagine the guts it would take to engage an angry bear or rhino with only a stick, but then I suppose if that’s all you’ve got…
By the time we are back across the Rapti at the hotel, the regular early afternoon elephant bathing is already well underway. All the mahouts bring their animals here to give them a good scrubbing down in the river, and tourists are allowed, for a small tip, to help out. Jung-Ok and I really want to do this, but since we’ve all agreed to stay another day anyway, we elect to join in tomorrow. For now, the only priority is beer and relaxation. While Odie chills out, Andy, Jung-Ok and I go to the pregnant woman’s shop for supplies. On the way back we pass a souvenirs and stuff shop, where the wife spots a hat, and puts it on me. Remarkably, since I am notoriously unhatogenic, it actually looks quite good. It’s a cross, design wise, between a Drizabone and a cowboy hat, and is only Rp300. The shop owner is very friendly, in a Duncan Norvelle “Chase me chase me” kind of way, but gives a decent price for the hat and a lovely hemp wallet. He’s also quick to tell me, on learning I’m English, that he went there illegally without a passport as a stowaway on a cargo ship, and was later deported back to Nepal!
At 3pm, it’s time for our elephant safari. I’ve only ridden one of these magnificent animals once before, and it wasn’t comfortable. A quick glance at the one we’re on this afternoon is enough to make me sure that my second experience will be continuing in the same spirit. Our seating consists of a four-sided wooden frame, with a vertical at each corner, and a (minimally) cushioned base. We board via a high platform, and are told to sit with one leg on either side of a vertical, so that two of us are facing diagonally forwards (the ladies) and two diagonally backwards (the gentlemen). Tender parts of my anatomy are making protest even before the elephant takes a step. Things don’t improve when we get moving. The elephant’s gait is such that with every stride, it leans towards a diagonal. The effect is that the aforementioned tender parts are regularly thrust into the wooden beam between my legs. Just outside Sauraha, we lope past a sign for the ‘2009 Elephant Race’. I cannot understate how grateful I am that we are not part of the 2010 event.
Some minutes later, comes an interesting moment of differing perspectives. To me, an elephant is, despite seeing them in numerous places both wild and tamed, and in zoos, and on TV countless times, still a thing of wonder. I cannot help but stare as they go past, awed at their size and power. However, as we pass a couple of children, they don’t even bat an eyelid, literally. It’s as if the largest land animal in the world isn’t even there. The reaction, or lack of it, would probably approximate how I’d react in the presence of a pigeon. We’re just in different worlds I suppose.
Once completely out of town, we head into the forest reserve that serves as a buffer between the national park and the surrounding area. This is obviously the hour for elephant safaris, as there is a convoy of pachyderms loaded with tourists, all plodding slowly into the woods. I’m relieved when our mahout veers off through the trees on a different trail. Within minutes we’re among a herd of spotted deer, and then soon afterwards, we sidle up to a mother rhino with her calf. It’s almost unbelievable that we can get within feet of them without raising the smallest flicker of alarm. This is the beauty of being on an elephant; the other wildlife sees only it, and not us. If we were to suddenly disembark, we’d almost certainly be charged and torn asunder within seconds. As it is we can get up close and personal, as if we weren’t even here. As the safari continues, there are more rhino, and then more. It’s as if someone has just hit the rhino ‘On’ switch. We see at least ten of them, all at very close range. There are also sambar, macaques, and more spotted deer. The one obvious absence is a tiger, but then that was never likely. We do see more footprints down by a small creek, but that’s all. While we are enjoying ourselves immensely (bar the obvious physical discomforts) our mahout spends much of his time trying to get the elephant to stop charging off in the direction of the nearest edible vegetation. Perhaps it skipped lunch.
Back at the hotel, it’s time for some more well-earned relaxation. We partake of a few hotel-purchased beers while the campfire is getting lit, and then move on to the vodka, cunningly mixed and disguised in a two litre Sprite bottle. Also around the fire this evening is a small, deaf Nepali child, apparently without guardian, who seems to want to be best friends. Harsh as it may sound, I find him quite irritating, although the ladies make the effort to be nice. After they’ve gone to bed, he persists in mithering Andy and I, and demands three glasses of our mineral water, before deciding that he wants some Sprite. It would be difficult to explain why he can’t have any, even if he weren’t deaf! Finally, but only after stroking my hair, rubbing his crotch on Andy’s knee, and giving us both a lengthy and protracted ‘ghetto handshake’, he wanders off into the night. We’re then joined by a very nice Canadian called Jordan, who has been in China and Tibet, and is off to India next. The hotel manager then arrives, accompanied by a Nepali customer who was lucky enough to obtain some stunning shots of a leopard while on jeep safari this morning. I’m given the rest (about half) of their bottle of Signature whiskey, but there’s a bit too much vodka and Sprite in me, so I take it for later.
Thursday 4th February
Jung-Ok and I pay our hotel bill first thing, which is a scary, but fundamentally reasonable Rp8000, including the trek and elephants. We then walk into town to get the lowdown on tickets to Kathmandu, our next destination. Quotes range from Rp350 to Rp450, with journey times of between four and seven hours, depending on who we talk to. A decision will be made later. Back at the Riverside, we prepare for today’s only business (other than yet more chilling), elephant bathing. When a good few mahouts and their elephants have gathered, we make our way to the river bank, and leave our stuff with Andy and Odie, who are not partaking, since they already did something very similar in Laos. They are charged with capturing the ensuing escapades on our camera. I go in first, and get a thorough soaking, in much the same fashion as in Goa, and then Jung-Ok comes in to help with the ablutions. Once the elephant, named Kandarkali (Beautiful Black Lady), is lying down in about four feet of water, her mahout tells us to get a couple of rough stones from the river bed. These we are to use as scrubbing brushes. It takes a bit of getting used to in order to treat an animal’s skin like a bit of wood you are trying to sand down, but with a hide as thick as this, it shouldn’t really be surprising. The mahout has to tell us a few times to be more forceful, before either of us really becomes comfortable with it. Still, Kandarkali is obviously enjoying herself, and evidenced by the fact that whenever I get near one of her legs, she stretches it out as if saying, “Yes, clean me there!” After she’s been thoroughly scrubbed, the mahout invites us to climb on her back for another soaking. She stands up, takes a few steps back into deeper water, showers us with a trunk-full of the river, and then lies down sideways, thus throwing us both off into the water. When she’s upright again, the mahout tells us to stand in front of her and grab her ears. Again, this feels terribly abusive, but we’re just underestimating how tough an elephant is. When one of us grips her ears, Kandarkali raises her trunk slightly so that we can step on it, and then lifts us effortlessly upwards, enabling us to walk over her head and onto her back once more. Another soaking and dunking follows, and it’s a simple and tremendous joy to be thrown into a river by an animal that could easily pulverize us, but is here quietly obedient, and obviously enjoying herself as much as we are.
Once showered and dried, there is, somewhat predictably, more relaxation afoot. Jung-Ok and I grab a large hammock, and she manages to make short work of the whiskey from last night. I content myself with a beer, which I take about four hours to finish, as I spend much of the afternoon dozing in the sun. She’s in bed with a whiskey hangover by about 6.30pm, and I only last until about nine, having failed to manage all of my vegetable burrito (which took over an hour to arrive). One more sleep in the tranquil surrounds of Chitwan before we hit the capital.
No comments:
Post a Comment