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? 

Back to Bangkok, and the search for a worthless trinket.

At the end of my last post, I had met the lovely ghostlike Buddha, but was yet to explore the old city of Sukhothai. And what a treat that was.

The old city is now a World Heritage Site, safely preserved behind the remains of its walls. The rough-and-tumble of the modern city is left outside; there are acres of scrubby grass, a few (mercifully shady) trees and stone pathways all containing the remains of the old city. And I loved it - as this is slightly off the main tourist highway it was easy to stroll from one site to another, to stand and stare without being in the way of those taking photos, or waiting for the onslaught of tour groups. So there was space to look and to think. 

Many people cycle around. Not on a bike like this, but I like the photograph!

For those who have been to Angkor Wat, or know the pictures, the construction of some of these temples will be  familiar. 

One day, I need to research the history of the area, from the north of Thailand and into Cambodia. Some of these temples were ransacked during an invasion from Myanmar, so it seems likely that there are cultural links there too. (Would I like to visit Myanmar to find out? Of course I would. But common sense says it’s not the best idea for me to go walkabout in Myanmar!)

In hindsight, would I have liked longer in Sukhothai - yes. But for once I’ve planned this trip, had transport booked to a room at a resort outside Khao Yai National Park. However, the resort was further from the Park than I realised, and visiting was going to be a challenge. I could, says the woman at the hotel, get a taxi and walk in the Park on my own. I had another burst of common sense: walking on my own in a Park with wild elephants isn’t the greatest idea. And a tour? I could be picked up at 7.00, go rafting and trekking in time for a quick lunch and then so many activities it was tired just looking at the list, finally returned to the hotel by 8 in the evening. I saw young people stride off, and good luck to them. I’d rather not be the poor old soul at the back they were always waiting to catch up. 

Did that matter? Here is where I spent most of my time, reading, writing, and watching the world go by:

And so, with just three days before I fly home, I’ve come back to Bangkok. 

On a shelf at home, I have a collection of worthless trinkets: small mementoes that carry great memories from many great journeys. And so my task, while I’m here, is to find another trinket to join them to become another part of my travelling journey. Do I need a little Buddha? A Chinese cat that waves, perhaps? Another painted elephant? 

Or maybe I’ll sit in this courtyard a little longer …

The White Temple

 This is the reason I came to Chiang Rai:

Some years ago I took a hop-on-hop-off trip through Northern Thailand and into Laos. The purpose of that trip, for me, was to go to Laos. But we hopped off for about half an hour in Chiang Rai to visit this temple. Just long enough to be amazed, but not long enough to really look at it. So this time I had a taxi that agreed to wait for me, and I could take as long as I needed.

It is astonishing. And not only from a distance; here are a few close ups of curly bits (they have a proper name; I hope someone will tell me what it is.)

It is also, predictably, heaving with tourist. There is a stall outside for hiring Thai clothes. They are beautiful, and so of course people want to have their photo taken at every opportunity, preferably with no one else in the picture. I do understand that, but when I’ve stood aside for the fiftieth time, I began to wish someone would put the camera down for a second to let me pass.

Churlish? Possibly. But with no photography inside the temple itself, most people walked straight through without looking at the Buddhas or the paintings on the walls. Not even a nod of the head and hands together in prayerful acknowledgment, so eager were they to get to the next photo opportunity. But the inside of the temple is equally stunning: the walls are all in shades of yellow/orange/gold. At one end, what looks like a skull gazes down from above the doorway and below that are wide, terrifying eyes. Facing this: glorious Buddhas. I’m no Buddhist, but I edged out of the crowd to sit on the carpet for a while. I can’t say I meditated (I can’t shut my mind up) but did seize some reflective moments. This temple is astonishing; it is also a working temple. Somewhere there are monks with quiet work to do. What do they make of the hordes? 

I hauled myself up, eventually, and carried on. Whichever way you look, this is extraordinary. Was this fountain designed to have a rainbow, or was I just lucky to catch the light.

Finally, I needed to leave. With a pit stop at a golden toilet …

From Chaing Rai, a long bus journey from Chaing Rai to Sukhothai. This is the ancient capital of Thailand; tomorrow I will explore its magnificence.

But already I have found this one, very modern Buddha, made from wires. I thought I’d had my fill of Buddhas, but this one has floored me. From a distance it’s almost ghostly. I’m not sure I know why I like it so much. Maybe it’s simply suggesting that the faithful fill this apparently empty Buddha for themselves: it becomes the Buddha they need. Or maybe you’ve got a better idea?

What is the collective noun for Buddhas?

I’m in Thailand, and of course Buddhas are everywhere. But I hadn’t realised, till I started looking, that Buddhas come in so many shapes and sizes.

I think this is the Buddha that is most instantly recognized by those of us in the West?

Many of the older, stone Buddhas also have him in the traditional pious pose:

And then today I found something that made sense of some of the differences: Buddha, it seems, strikes a different pose for each day of the week. Wednesday looks like hard work:

Maybe to make up for Tuesday:

I hope the Thai information below this cheerful Buddha suggests he can enjoy himself any day:

And this wandering Buddha doesn’t seem attached to a day either:

It was a passing comment in a book I’m currently reading by Thubron, on his travels in Northern Nepal, when he describes a ‘generous field of salvation and a hint of variegated Buddhas, bodhisattvas and Hindu deities in disguise.’ Given that Thubron was struggling to disentangle it all, I don’t suppose I’m going to get very far in one month, Oh well. 

And this is still my favourite (in a temple in Ayutthaya): a stone statue fell and the head became entangled in tree roots. I can’t help wondering what this Buddha makes of all those magnificent gold images:

 In 

So, it seems I can only observe all these magnificent Buddhas - I’ve seen a few on my travels, marveled at many, but still have only a flimsy understanding of the depth of feeling he engenders in his followers. 

And for now I’m Buddha’d out. What next …?

Noooooooo! I can hear my daughters from here. ‘Mum, you’ve been trying to cook for over 60 years and still can’t produce a decent omelette. What makes you think you can make a Pad Thai?’ They are right. Perhaps I’ll save myself the embarrassment.

So, do I go to an ‘ethical elephant experience.’ Of course, all the elephant parks describe themselves as ethical. So I’ve tried to unpick what’s on offer: all the parks invite tourists to engage with the elephants in some way. We can feed them, bath them, roll in the mud with them … apart from the mud bit, it all looks very inviting. But I spotted the small print at the bottom of a news article the other day: a tourist in Southern Thailand, at one such experience, has been killed by an elephant. I don’t know the whole story, but the postscript included a warning that engaging with different groups of tourists day after day is not normal elephant behaviour, and can be stressful for them. They should be foraging, in matriarchal groups, protecting each other from all comers. Why should they have a bath to order? or roll in the mud just so someone can get a good photo? (To be honest, I don’t think I’d be too impressed if half a dozen strangers tried to jump in the bath with me every day and offer to scrub my back.)

I know elephants have been used in tourism, one way and another, for a long time. At its crudest, they need to earn their keep. And I’ve been privileged to see elephants in the wild, doing normal elephant things; many have not been so fortunate so I understand the appeal of an ‘ethical elephant experience.’ But I think I’ll pass.

Maybe I’ll just sit by a lake with a mango shake… 

New Year in Bangkok

 Well, if I must celebrate the arrival of 2025, I might as well do it here.

Of course, Bangkok’s inconsistencies came out to play. I chose to go to a huge Buddhist gathering not far from my hotel. Well, that was the plan: first negotiate the roundabout. Enough said - I came to no harm. Then find the entrance by following the railings, which was fine except where trees and crowds meant walking in the road. (Plus the overflow from temporary loos - don’t even think about that!)

There was security to get in, which confused me at first as it looked as if they believed the faithful might be terrorists. But they were looking for plastic: there should be no plastic bottles or bags at a Buddhist gathering so these were unceremoniously thrown aside. Thankfully, I had neither.

And into the grounds of the Wat, where it all got a bit surreal. Thousands gather there to see in the New Year. The great and the good had chairs, covered in sacred white. The rest of us sat on plastic grass. 

It is, I knew, vital that one’s feet are always turned away from the Buddha, which means kneeling on ankles, sitting to one side, or managing cross-legged. So there was a lot of grumbling in the arthritic knee department before the night was done. After an initial formal ceremony, the chanting began, led by monks. And, while I understood nothing, there is something magnificent about thousands of people chanting in unison to see in the New Year. 

(The lettering above the monks is in Chinese, not Thai, as there were visiting bigwigs from China here.)

But I didn’t stay till the end. I wanted to watch the fireworks from the safety of my hotel balcony. And, given that my hotel is in Khao San Road, even reaching it was an expedition. Maybe the security check at the end of the road, and numbers of beefy policemen who loitering everywhere should have warned me. Shame they did nothing about crowd control. The street was overflowing with young people having a wonderful time, drinking, dancing, smoking cannabis (‘cannabis’ is sold freely, but there is no familiar weedy smell, so they could have been smoking anything). Music thumped from every bar and cafe, each determined to be louder than next door; music so loud it echoed in my chest. The street smelled of street food and beer and stale perfume. No plastic here either: glass splintered and crunched under a thousand feet. But I shoved, wheedled, inched my way through it all and made it to the hotel in time.

Khao San Road, the next morning. Some young people took pictures of the crush, but pushing my way through was enough for me.

Somehow Bangkok reconciles the strictures of its Buddhism with the excesses of Khao San Road. I know some of the young people making the most of the night were tourists, but not all. And the young Thai women working the night clubs are as much a part of Bangkok as its wats and temples.

It’s the contradictions of this city that I love, even though they make no sense. 

Though this bloke didn’t seem that bothered:

Happy New Year!!

Tigers, eagles, and time to come home

Farewell, Nepal.

I’m safely home - it was an interesting journey. Priority was given, rightly, to getting relief supplies to the earthquake area; I’m not so sure that the international media, having taken their disaster photos, should have been able to barge their way into flights home. But I’m back.

And before I came back? I made it to Bardia - a national park in the south-west. It’s hard to reach, and so far away from the main tourist trail. Animals are less disrupted by the army of jeeps that career around Chitwan. It’s easier to see tigers …

These footprints were made by a tiger about an hour before we passed on the jeep. Shall we follow on foot? Let’s not. I’ve been too close to a tiger before and it’s an excitement I don’t need to repeat. Though we did see fairly fresh tiger poo further down the path, so the chances are he’d eaten and might not be looking for another dinner quite yet.

Sorry, no photo of tiger poo. The things you can learn from poo! Rhinos stand still to poo while elephants can do it while they trundle along the path. And langur monkeys (like howler monkeys) think it’s funny to pee on tourists who stop under their tree to take photos. (You will understand why I didn’t hang about with my camera.) Eagles, however, are more interested in searching for unsuspecting rodents.

For me, the quiet of Bardia was the point. We stopped for lunch with a view over a blue river, wending its warm way along a sandy valley. No river dolphins, no rhinos coming to drink. Just the heat and the dust and the chirrup of crickets. After lunch we paused by countless watering holes like this - some of my fellow travellers on the jeep were disappointed there were no animals coming to drink, only that wet woodland smell with a hint of animal. But frogs leapt about in the shallows, and the reflections clear and glittering.

I could have lingered, but with  30 day visa my time was almost up. Back in Kathmandu I had one day to potter about before coming home. 

Kathmandu was devastated by the earthquake in 2015. The city itself appears to have recovered: markets are thriving, streets are clogged with motorbikes, festivals (Dashain and now Diwali) are celebrated with as much joy as ever. But looking closely … not all the temples in Durbur Square are fully restored. There are still heaps of rubble and buildings hidden behind scaffolding. And, in the corners where people are living, some buildings have been beautifully restored and look down on grateful shrines, while the homes next door are still leaning on props to stop the building collapsing. 

And so I’m home. I have clean water and predictable traffic and shops full of Christmas razzmatazz. Back in Nepal they are lighting candles for Diwali. It will take me a day or few to relocate myself.

More mountains, and another earthquake.

I need to start with the most recent earthquake. Tremors are common here, and surely we all remember the devastation in Kathmandu and beyond in 2015. Three days ago, the earth shook in the remote north-west of Nepal. People have died; you will have seen pictures of people sleeping in the streets for fear their houses will collapse on top of them.

The relief effort will be challenging: this area is hard to access and supplies may need to be carried on the back of porters - most of whom, at this time of year, are in the mountains with the trekkers. But the Nepali are extraordinarily resourceful. They will not be wringing their hands and waiting for help to trudge over the mountains: that will take time. Meanwhile these villagers will be busy looking after each other. They will harvest what they can and cook over open fires. They will share blankets and any available shelter. 

Meanwhile, I was asleep and felt nothing. And, in true Nepali fashion, my hosts continue to insist that life for tourists must carry on as if nothing has happened. My plans remain unchanged and I’ll be home by the end of the week. Do I feel guilt? Of course. But even if I could reach the stricken region I’d be a hindrance, not a help. 

So let’s backtrack. My last post was written just after I left Lumbini. I had a week or so in Pokhara, pottering by the lake, wandering in and out of shops, lounging in cafes with my notebook. 

Twice I went higher into the mountains. Trekking is off the agenda on this trip, and so Tika drove me to a ridge hotel, where I could watch the sunrise over Annapurna. 

Later in the day, when clouds play in the mountaintops, this is a view down the valley:

My pottering also took me into a little temple by the lake. Hinduism remains a mystery to me (I’ve tried), but half-forgotten temples are peaceful places; I understand the appeal of peace. Though did smile at the pigeon that paid no respect to this sacred bull:

There’s a huge, new Shiva temple high on the ridge above Pokhara: this was full of visitors and an altogether noisier place. Shiva, however, looked down on it all without flinching.

And, across a little valley is a smaller temple. This is the mountains (again - can there be too many mountains?) framed by an archway of bells.

If only ringing a bell could help those rebuilding their earthquake-flattened homes.