There’s a rhino in the car park

 

I took this picture from the back of a truck, so there was no threat to my personal safety.

But - with that clear - this young rhino (he’s 3-4 years old) had just trundled out of the jungle, sauntered among vehicles (even choosing not to knock the motor bikes over) and then headed towards the road. Those on foot scattered, climbed gates or found safety behind vehicles. Rhinos on the rampage, even as young as this, can do considerable damage. 

I was in Sauraha, the town closest to Chitwan national park. The rise in tourism has brought hotels, busy markets, and even night clubs, for tourists to enjoy free time away from the jungle. But the park is just across the river. There is nothing to stop the rhinos wading across and meandering through the town, scattering tourists and restaurant tables as they go. It is not uncommon to find an adult animal wandering around a garden, apparently having spent a night joining in the party.

But rhinos are dangerous. As we watched the sunset from a high point above the river, on our final evening in Sauraha, we could see a big rhino meandering through the bushes behind a long sandy back on the other side of the river. This is the bank that the jungle walkers must cross to reach the canoes that will take them across the river. There were well over a hundred of them, dawdling out of the jungle with no idea that there was a rhino behind the bushes. Two canoes, punted - not rowed - filled their boats almost to sinking point but still had to ply back and forth, at speed, to rescue the walkers before the rhino got it into his head to come out of the bushes to play (or the crocodile decide to have tourist-leg for supper). I have no photos - this was too far away. But we watched for over half an hour as walker after oblivious walker trudged across the sand to the canoes. Everyone was safe - and so this will be an entertaining story for those intrepid walkers. But rhinos are dangerous. They charge - not because they want to eat you - but because they just don’t like you being around.

I understand the novelty of sharing space with a rhino, and doing it safely. My rhino in the car park was finally driven back the way he came by a ranger who knew him well. But the border between where rhinos live and tourists enjoy themselves - and where those who look after the tourists make a living - is becoming blurred. It was, I admit, exciting to see a rhino in a car park. But, on reflection, I think my excitement is too high a price to pay for the risks of sharing living space with a rhino. He is a wild creature, and belongs in wild spaces - not trotting along a main street, pausing at restaurants as if wondering whether to have pizza for supper. 

It is almost time to come home. But I can’t go without a photo of the peace flame in Lumbini. This flame is a reminder of the need to promote peace between all nations, all races and ethnicities, all faiths. It is needed more than ever at the moment.

The new Pokhara, and the old.

Pokhara is a vibrant, welcoming city. 

It has always been welcoming — vibrancy has come with more and more tourists. The gentle city that welcome me all those years ago would have been horrified to see a casino alongside so many upmarket hotels. There are restaurants from all over the Asia, pizza is everywhere — though no American diner. Shops that once sold little but trinkets or trekking gear now sell expensive cashmere pashminas or carpets from Kashmir.

And so life for many who live here has changed too. For some, there is now a little money over to enjoy themselves: young people meet in coffee bars, or stroll along lakeside showing off their best clothes. There is a pet shop - for those with left enough over from feeding themselves to care for a pet. The electricity supply is almost reliable; for the fortunate, fridges and washing machines have transformed the lives of women. There is a fun fair: I don’t suppose these rides would pass a western health and safety inspection but children love them. 

Transport links have improved (though there is still the ever-present challenge of monsoon landslide damage). Most of the road between Pokhara and Kathmandu is now duel carriageway — and the Nepali have a unique way of driving on them. Should you wish to turn right in, say, the next five miles you cross to the other carriageway at the next break in the central reservation and so negotiate oncoming traffic until your turning. As a result, there are vehicles travelling in both directions on both carriageways (and yes, it’s terrifying). It shouldn’t work - but somehow it does. 

Places that were once only reachable on foot are now on bus routes. Sarangkot was once a day hike from Pokhara now has, not only a road, but even a cable car! I might mourn the loss of a hike with great views and a beer at the end of it. But the cable car was fun. The intrepid can now jump off the top, riding the thermals alongside the hawks and kites.

But not everyone has been able to enjoy this new prosperity.  While most have water now, many women still wash clothes under a cold tap on a rooftop. I saw a woman washing her clothes in the lake. In the villages many still wash clothes and themselves under a cold tap at the roadside. Men climb trees to but food for water buffalo; women carry great weights of animal feed or wood for the fire to cook on.

Back in Pokhara, women walk the streets with sacks of tomatoes, calling as they go. The blind man with his weighing scales cannot tell if he’s been given five rupees or a hundred. Corn cobs are still scorched on a fire from the back of a bike (they smell wonderful but the seller coughs from the smoke):

It feels to me as if the contradictions of Nepal are starker than ever. But one thing is consistent: i have been met with nothing but kindness. Of course the Nepali are proud of their progress — and rightly so. But, alongside the new roads and shiny temples, they welcome everyone. So maybe it’s no surprise that I keep coming back.

To Pokhara, with its lake. And some small cultural differences

 I’m in Pokhara, I have been here many times, but I never tire of walking beside its quiet waters.

The lake is busier these days than when I first visited. Busy boats ferry the faithful to and from the little island temple. Tourists (there are many Indian tourists here at the moment) row small boats, just for fun. Young people have discovered the delights of kayaks and boards. Life jackets hang like washing beside the lake.

It’s busy, but even so it’s respite from the mayhem of Kathmandu. I sat in a memorable traffic jam - in the few seconds it took for the policeman directing traffic to rearrange his genitals every driver had assumed their own rules of the road and the result was gridlock. At which point some drivers abandoned their vehicles, briefly, in order to advise the policeman on how to unravel the mess. Sorry, no photos - not of the traffic, nor the uncomfortable policemen. But this is Nepal - no tempers were lost. The jam unraveled. And maybe I was the only person who remembered it next day.

Maybe it’s just that life is tough for many people here. As a visitor - and looked after by Tika and his family - I am removed from the hardships that haunt many people’s lives. Clothes are washed under a cold, outside tap. Electricity is unreliable. Many young people have left, either for the cities or to work abroad. And so the old are left to care for themselves on these beautiful but unkind hillsides.

And there are other cultural differences - things that are unremarkable here but raise eyebrows in the west. For instance, these images line every temple:

This is a linga - a penis and vagina. Behind is a row of linga. I have yet to visit a church lined with sexual images, yet here it is a holy symbol of fertility and deemed unremarkable. But - and here I really hope I am not insulting any Nepali sensitivities - this notice made me laugh: 

(Though maybe Lord Shiva is interested in the dreams of an old traveller!)

And, supervising it all: mighty Annapurna. I have countless photographs of the mountains, taken over many years. And so I can see that there is significantly less snow than there used to be. Which means the waterfalls will be less powerful, and so produce less electricity - much of which is sold to India. When I first came here, every hotel room had a candle and matches - power cuts were common. Today, there are times of reduced power (known as load shedding) but power cuts are far less frequent. But if less power produced in the mountains, providing power in the valleys becomes a greater challenge. Tourists might be inconvenienced. For the Nepali it will turn the clock back twenty years or more.

But that doesn’t stop the mountains being breathtakingly beautiful.

Kathmandu - it’s as if I can’t stay away!

 It’s January, so of course I’ve gone walkabout.

I don’t usually whinge about a journey. And I’ll not go on about it this time. After all I can’t blame anyone for the snow in New York that meant planes were in the wrong place, nor the fog in London, both of which combined to make me miss a connection and spend nine hours, overnight, in Doha airport. I was shown a ‘recliner’ - but in fact it was a mis-named bench, just 60cm wide. I had hoped my sleeping on benches days were behind me.

But I made it to Kathmandu, just as night was falling and the temperature dropping. It’s winter here - compared with the freeze in the UK this is balmy, but for the Nepali it is definitely cold. So I was welcomed, as I have been before, to join the hotel staff round their fire.

A beer by the fire and some fried rice was enough to compensate for the journey.

And so into the mayhem of Thamel. I got lost, of course, but that’s half the fun of Thamel. Somehow I found the garden that had enchanted me last time I was here. Constructed from the rubble of the earthquake, this is a quiet haven in the middle of the pandemonium of the street. The rumble of motorbikes and stink of diesel is muffled here. There was a passing whiff of curry; but not, this this time, the scent of frangipani - those blossoms wait for kinder weather.

Close by, is the museum of Nepali art. Creativity is stifled when people are too poor to think beyond the next bowl of rice. The existence of this small museum is testament to the determination of the Nepali to made space for art. Its artifacts range from ancient images to modern surreal paintings: incongruous but demonstrative of changes here. Outside is an extended time line, showing Nepali history alongside western developments. If I were techier (as in more ‘techy’) I’d know how to put these three photos together, and to make them lighter; in any case you may need to enlarge them to get the idea.

How ignorant so many of us are. I did a history degree (decades ago) and knew none of this. I didn’t know the Buddha was born before Jesus. I didn’t know that the magnificent temple at Pushpatinath was founded before William the Conquerer set sail. The cast system wasn’t introduced in Nepal until the 1430s. Until very recently this country has been protected from the worst of western influence by the mountains. Nobody covets land that is so difficult to exploit.

But it’s changing. When I first came here, restaurants offered only Nepali food. Now, you can’t move for pizza. Nepal grows wonderful coffee; the shops are full of Nescafé. 

It would be easy to mourn the apparent losses. But with change has come fridges and washing machines - and, most of the time, the electricity to run them. Solar panels can change lives. At the same time, the streets clog with motorbikes, cars, and buses, and, in winter when the air is still, the air quality in Kathmandu is dreadful (everyone, it seems, has a Kathmandu cough). 

I love the way Nepal surprises me every time I come. But some things, of course, stay the same. Including the wonderful Boudnath: 

I wonder what the Buddha would have made of Nescafé?