Tales from Nepalgunj - Pt. 1

Skip the grimy airport arrival and what looks like blood splattered, water damaged walls and Nepalgunj welcomes you with a flurry of colours and a sensory overload. It is a town on the southwestern border of Nepal and India, in the Terai region, where traditional means of transportation are favoured over motorbikes and SUV's. Buses are garishly coloured horse drawn carriages meant to carry five people at the most but carrying 20 at the least. The streets are crowded and full of recycled life. People buzzing around carrying out their daily activities, rickshaw taxis making business from women running errands, children skipping school, not a single tourist in sight. There is constant movement, and abundance of colour and dust and so many details you don't know where to look. I hide gratefully in the cool confinement of the company car, peering out from the tinted windows.

Sometimes I get a glimpse of the appeal of colonial India. An architectural wonder emerges from the throng of horse carriages, saris and cows wandering the streets in oriented confusion. A flurry of questions ensue "What is that? Is that Nepali or Indian architecture? Is it very common? I've never seen it before. Tell me everything you possibly can about the history and function of this beautiful building". Such exclamations of wonder and awe fall on blissfully smiling yet uncomprehending ears. Madan the mahout smiles in the rear view mirror but remains silent. We're nearly in India now, standing at the border looking out into a mirror expanse of horse drawn carriages, saris and cows.

The hour long diversion to the India border, much appreciated as it is, sets us back by an hour. Surkhet is now a four hour drive away and something which feels like a hangover but could not possibly be a hangover begins to take its toll. The shanty towns we pass along the way are dusty ghost towns, wavering in the heat, the thrill and splendor of Nepalgunj quickly fading into a stupor of heat and nausea. Four hours later exhausted from doing nothing but sit in a car, a passive audience for road repairmen laying down tarmac for a winding but comparatively excellent road, we arrive in Surkhet.                        

Holi

Every country, culture and individual should celebrate holi. Unless you're agoraphobic, hydrophobic, chromophobic or globophobic, then it's definitely not recommendable. All other people though, kids, parents and grandparents have no excuse not to partake in this holiday (as long as it's celebrated on the day only and not during the whole two weeks leading up to holi when you're on your way to a very important meeting).

So what is holi? I've heard many different explanations for it, but whether you see it as a celebration of Vishnu's life, the coming of spring, or a celebration of equality, it is really mostly a contemporary excuse for little boys to throw water balloons and colour powder at little girls. And run away screaming and cackling. You honestly can't beat them so you might as well join them.

This year (notice how I've already decided this is going to be an annual event in my life - might even consider Hinduism), I celebrated it within the protective walls of an orphanage in Baise Patti, just outside of Kathmandu. We'd barely reached the door when screams of laughter drenched the four of us and our cameras in questionable smelling but intentionally clean water.  Squealing boys and girls chased us around the courtyard with buckets, Tupperware and hands full of water, just to get us caught up in the festivities. We were late. Then the colours came out. Coloured powder everywhere! Kids running around, jumping and screaming "Give me more! Give me more! (We set up a rationing system after what happened with the yellow) which only seemed to make it more fun. Am I really going to tip some powder into your little hands or will it just end up in your face? Maybe it will end up in my face. Many times it did. It went everywhere. They got their fair share of colour on their faces too. The beauty of it was that once the powders were finished and the water came out again the colours would wash away and you were clean again. Ironically, being one of the taller ones I didn't get the privilege of buckets of water dunked over my head and happily walked around with a purple, blue and yellow face for the rest of the day. Head held high, totally in my element.

Moving Day

And yet again I have moved. Not as drastic as change as the last move, this is after all within the same house, but still a hassle. Pack everything up into my bag and once again stress about the fact that I waaaay too many things to actually fit comfortably into the one already oversized bag. And that's just clothes. Books? Don't talk to me about books. I've come to terms with the fact that some will have to be left behind, but sketchbooks? Not a chance. Where do all these things come from?

In the spirit of moving in Nepal, I also decided to move house like the Nepalis do. The first time I packed all my belongings into a Suzuki taxi like you see the Nepalis do only to have my belongings dumped in the dust in front of the alley of my future house. This time I packed things on my bicycle and half walked/cycled precariously balancing a 1 m x 1.5 m bamboo shelf on the back, after being assured by the shop keeper that that bit of string would keep the shelf "secure". It did, but that's beside the point. It wasn't until I had to unmount the shelf that I realized it had been tied with a bow. Stopping on the way to buy fruit and veg was great as well. Apparently having a shelf on the back of your bike makes you much more likely to get automatic discounts. My awesome Nepali skills contribute as well of course.

Now I have a new room. My own room with an actual bed (even if it isn't earthquake safe), a roof terrace and an outdoor toilet with a view to a carpenter's workshop. Pigeons do their best to make sure I get to sleep and wake up happily by crooning songs through my window but really I just want to run out there yelling and screaming, and strangle each and every one of them. It's only been one night but my back and neck already miss sleeping on the floor.

Maha Shiva Ratri – Pashupatinath 02.03.2011

Happy Shiva’s Birthday. Wake up, leave the house under the cover of darkness, half asleep, find a taxi and convince him to drive you to Pashupatinath for 300 rupees. Check. Innocently walk past a police barrier and bypass massive queues of devotees waiting in line to be blessed and tikkaed. Check. Chiya for breakfast. Check. Breathe. Wander aimlessly in amusement observing the garish light decorations contrasting with early morning glow of the sun and the distinct festival feel of the event.

Being the Holy Hindu Kingdom that Nepal is, masses flock to the sacred site of Pashupatinath just outside of Kathmandu on Shiva’s Birthday, an auspicious day for any big events (weddings, funerals, baptisms etc.). So it’s packed. Crowded. I was warned of the various naked sadhus, paranoid marijuana and hash vendors (the only day when smoking weed is legal because it pleases Lord Shiva), the groping of foreigners, the desperation of the people, the stench of the river, flea ridden monkeys, diseased beggars. A pretty unpleasant picture which I’m pleased to say was not at all what the experience turned out to be like. Instead, I saw families playing badminton, people quietly queuing (actually queuing!) in an orderly fashion to be blessed, free chiya and water stands, toilets (!), sweets, popcorn and cotton candy vendors, only half-naked sadhus, and marijuana being given away because the selling was made illegal. Children break dancing, sadhu’s meditating in unbelievably cool tents and gear, head to toe in white body paint. I have never seen so many dread-locked beards or such high mounds of hair on people’s heads. Mass migration of monkeys playing and frolicking in what appeared to be a zoo. 

It was lovely and atmospheric, and by 9:30 we were sitting a 20 min walk from Pashupatinath, in a breakfast bar in Boudha.

Botekoshi River Festival 2011

In the spirit of closing down dams and increasing loadshedding up to 18 hours, this weekend was spent white water rafting near the Tibetan border, north-east of Kathmandu.

A bit of background information. The rivers of Nepal are disgusting. To be fair, I have only seen two, the Bagmati River which on the best of days smells more like fresh feces as opposed to fermented sewage water, and the Botekoshi river which rages through the mountains with just the right amount of power you need to entice a bunch of foreigners and their inflatable rafts to hurtle themselves into the icy fresh Tibetan glacier water (it may not actually be glacier water). The Bagmati stinks like no other, the journey from Patan into Thamel should never be done without a scarf of facemask for the journey, and the beautiful Botekoshi looks like it might be on it's down a similar path. Fortunately, there are a few modern people in Nepal who know that throwing all your waste into the river is a bad idea because the gods will NOT magically clean it up one day, and they've decided to do something about it. And what better way than to invite Nepal's youth of today to splash around in a healthy river and show them how fun clean and clear rivers can be.

A water revolution complete with team building activities and Tibetan rastas.

The first day was mellow. Enjoyed chiya on the ring road (Kathmandu's type of highway which circles the city) within the comforts of a warm SUV until the driver got tired of waiting for the delayed bus, kicked us out and left. Fair enough really. So there we were, six of us prime targets for curious eyes and highway vendors. Skip 3 hours ahead and we're all holding hands with 80 other people walking around in circles around the 12 year old winner of the river awareness competition in an attempt to demonstrate the ripple like effects of the river. The rafting on this day was fun. Swimmers and non-swimmers were split up into two groups. Two swimmers, four non-swimmers, a guide, helmets, paddles and life vests, and we were off down the lazy river. There was lots of splashing involved and by the time the evening disco at Borderlands resort came round, I was too tired and lazy to participate.

The second day of rapids was better, although the river seemed to have a lot less water in it. There was a lot of getting in and out of rafts and bouncing involved. We were able to choose our own groups this time, which only seemed to add a lot of pressure on individual performance after all the complaining that had been done the night before. After some time, the bird enthusiast in our raft became distracted by the birds, the Brits stopped listening to commands and our professional guide handed over his leadership position to a young trainee who tended to shout out commands a couple seconds too late. "Get down!" *CRASH*.

It was all good fun though and I would definitely recommend it to anyone coming to Nepal. Just another 15 cm of water and it would have been amazing.

Monday Morning

Early morning start again. Was up at half six to cycle over to the pre-work yoga class I've signed up for with one of my housemates. Pedaled slowly, barely awake enough to register the beautiful sunrise and the early morning fruit stalls dotted along the sides of the pock marked road. Stretch, stretch, stretch. Pain, pain, pain. The more I exercise the more it feels like my muscles are beginning to atrophy. Slight modifications to your posture become more apparent, and each adjustment to whatever yoga stance you happen to be breathing into makes it all the more strenuous.

Rush home, still tired, avoiding the onset of morning rush hour. School buses and SUVs. Expats wearing the local dress, looking ever so slightly (ahem) ridiculous, cheerfully waving and greeting each other across the street. Young locals wearing western clothes, joking and laughing, smoking through their face masks. Older men sitting on street corners sipping on little cups of chiya. Women already 2 hours into their chores of laundry, cooking, weeding and gardening. I get home, gulp down dry cereal and someone else's banana. The fridge is broken and the milk is off. Stress about the fact that despite the mountains of clothes that seem to be piling up in my room it feels like I have absolutely nothing to wear. It's silly, I know that, but it's a daily issue I'm faced with.

Greet the landlady and cycle to work, nearly run over for the upteenth time by a rumbling black cloud of smog and garrish colours overtaking a mini taxi. Work greets me with a genuine smile on its face. It's been a week of holidays, we're all fresh faced and happy, and a wedding band is playing next door. Wailing bazookas, drums and an odd trumpet here and there set the mood for the day.