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.

So, tell me about the crocodile, you said.

The appeal - for those who are following my efforts - is doing very well. In addition to the GoFundMe site, I have been given significant sums to add to our efforts. We need a few more bricks for the walls, and then all we have to do is keep them dry!

Maybe the ebook will raise the roof (so to speak!) And so here is an excerpt from the ebook - one I've been asked to blog here. (It comes with an apology to my daughters. After the tiger I promised I'd never walk in the jungle again. Foolishly, I forgot about crocodiles in the rivers!).

So - here is what happened:

I have to hurry back, for Mahendra is taking me out in a canoe this afternoon.

I find out exactly what this involves when we reach the river bank. First – life jackets. Then a boatman leads us down to the water, where dugout canoes, about three metres long, each with a heap of little wooden seats, are lined up along the shoreline. Wood is unforgiving to sit on. But at least this canoe won’t jolt me like the elephant did. The canoe sitting so low in the river I am tempted to dangle my fingers. The water is dark, mysterious. And some of it is in a hurry after recent rains.

Once settled, we push off into the river. We are heading downstream, and so the boatman has to do little more than steer us towards the clearer water. Scrubland reaches far beyond the river banks, rough grasses and small trees, the arch of vast afternoon skies. It is blissfully quiet, just the shush of the water and regular plash of the paddle. Mahendra points out ibis, and egrets, and tiny plain martins diving in and out of little holes in the mudbanks. He speaks quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the river.

Or the crocodiles. Some are barely visible, just snouts peering above the surface of the water. Others lie in the sun on the banks. None of them move. It is hot, and sluggish; not a time for anyone to be hurrying. How wrong I am.

‘They eat people,’ Mahendra reminds me. Not these crocodiles, I think. They are having too much fun lying in the sun to think of eating anyone.

We pass one, about two metres long, sunning himself about three metres away from the canoe. He is a fine crocodile, eyes barely open, flopped full length on the sandbank. An egret hops beside him.

A sudden splash. A spurt of water.

The biggest croc I’ve even seen. Leaping from the river beside us and launching himself at the neck of the one on the bank. All those teeth. The scaly skin. Terrifying eyes. A terrible snapping of terrible teeth. A thrashing of tails and teeth and the flash of glittering eyes.

Within seconds both crocodiles are in the water. Fighting.

Then, as suddenly as it all began, the splashing is over and they are gone. They could be anywhere. The water is quiet. It is like nothing happened. Except we know it did. Somewhere in these depths are two crocodiles with a score to settle.

It takes a moment or two for me to realise what has just happened. That one huge crocodile materialised from this deceptive river and attacked another. That they can’t simply have disappeared.

Mahendra’s hands are tucked under his legs, well away from the side. He talks to the boatman in Nepali, his voice unusually high, and I suspect he says something along the lines of, ‘oh shit.’ That’s when I know for sure that this isn’t part of the usual itinerary.

I follow his example and keep my hands well away from the sides. I dare not rock the canoe to turn my head and gauge the boatman’s reaction. I only know that he continues with his peaceful rowing, splish splash, as if there could never be a gigantic crocodile swimming somewhere under the boat.

I’m not sure what else we see on our trip down the river. I seem to have lost the capacity to think. I know it’s hot, but my palms are unnecessarily sweaty. We climb out downstream, and I tip the boatman well, for now he has to row back upstream, past the egrets and the ibis. Past the crocodiles.

Mahendra and I sit with a drink to recover. By the time we have finished talking, it has become a funny story and both crocodiles are as big as dinosaurs.

And this is what the river looked like when it was all over:

Nepal - you asked for photos!

And photos you shall have. (The post I'd planned, with ideas for those who are more adventurous than I, can wait till next week.)

But there will be no photos of the earthquake. No photos of fallen-down temples nor fallen down houses nor the temporary shelters that have contained families during the monsoon. I've seen them, and yes, I have photos. But I refuse to join in the catastrophising of Nepal and insist on celebrating all things wonderful.

To prove that most of Kathmandu is still standing: here is a view from the rooftop of the hotel I stayed in during my first couple of days in the city:

I went to markets. I love markets, the noise and the smell and the general mayhem of them. Buying a packet of beans in our sterile supermarkets can't compare with scooping them out of sacks like these:

Away from the pandemonium of Kathmandu, I spent some time in Bandipur. It's a quiet hill station, beautifully restored. The intrepid can go paragliding from here (jumping off a mountains strapped to a parachute). Those who have a fit of the heeby-jeebies at the mere thought of it can sit in one of the lovely cafes here and watch the world go by.

Back in Pokhara, I did a lot of sitting by the lake and watching the world go by. These boats, of course, should have been full of tourists. I did my bit - not that I rowed. I let someone else to the rowing, and simply relished the quiet of the water and looming green of the hills.

I know I gave you Annapurna South in my last post - and here is it again. This picture was taken soon after six in the morning. I sat on my balcony, watching the mountains wake up, with the snow sparkling and the birds singing. (I know there are many who see the dawn every day. For me, it is an event.)

In contrast, a sunset, over the river in Chitwan.

Rhinos - again at Chitwan. And yes, they are roaming free, and I was on an elephant. (They have been known to rampage through the village - or so I was told. But maybe that's just a tale to excite the tourists. I've certainly had one-too-many close encounters with animals in the wild to risk a jungle walk.)

And finally - prayer flags, flying high over rooftops in Kathmandu. Nepal needs her gods to look kindly on her now.

My last blog from Nepal, and the crocodile.

It's time to think about coming home. This has been a brief trip, with the main aim of finding out about tourism here and what I might do to help its revival. I have learned so much, and it will take a while to absorb it all. But I ideas, which I shall share when they are less flimsy.

We left Pokhara (Tika and I) and spent a night in Bandipur. It was, once, a trading post with as great a significance as any city on the Silk Road. Now, with real roads constructed in the valley, it now longer bustles with market traders and is little more than a big village. But it has been beautifully restored. There is a lovely street, lined with small cafes and hotels and little shops selling snacks or tourist paraphernalia, each with carved wooden doors and shutters. The intrepid can go paragliding, but I preferred to keep my feet on the ground and sit with a fresh lemon soda to write.

There are many such small towns in Nepal: Tansen, on a ridge south of Pokhara; Gorkha, which will soon be restored to its former glory. Any tourist needing a break from the bustle of Pokhara or Kathmandu would find quieter corners in these half-forgotten towns.

And then I came to Chitwan, to the National Park. There are a few tourists here - not enough, for this is on the main tour-group route. Although it's busy, you can never forget just how close you are to the jungle. I did the elephant ride, of course, and saw a mother rhino bumbling along with her baby. I did a wonderful canoe trip down the river, with nothing but the burble of the river and cries of the birds. And a sudden crocodile fight to shatter the peace (a bit of an 'oh shit' moment as we were close by, but it will be fun to write about when I get back).

Quiet will be harder to find here when the tourists return, although the animals will still lurk in the jungle waiting to have their photographs taken. There are plenty of great hotels and restaurants, so you can be well cared for here. The brave can always walk though the jungle and risk facing a rhino when on foot (escape by climbing a tree, I'm told).

For those wanting be away from the crowds, there are more remote National Parks in the south-west. They take an effort to get there, but well worth it for the quiet and tranquility. And the tigers.

So now - I come home on Wednesday. I will have much thinking to do. For Nepal needs more tourists, and I have promised to do all I can to encourage people to visit. Please, if you have promotional ideas, share them.