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.

Lumbini and beyond.

Lumbini is beautiful, and complicated. It is the birthplace of Buddha, and so a very sacred site. A building marks the birthplace itself; it is comparatively simple: a large white structure over the remains of an ancient temple.

Around it lie the walls of the old monastery, and a holy tree. Prayer flags flutter against a gloriously blue sky. Pilgrims from all over the world are quietly reflective. 

But this huge site is, so much more than this original temple. So many countries have built temples here. Are they trying to outdo each other in beauty or complexity? Two temples stand out - this is ceiling of the German temple:

It is surrounded by an immaculate garden, with giant prayer wheels and sculptures like this telling the Buddhist story:

And this is one corner of the huge Thai temple:

Is one more perfect than the other? More important? Evidence the generosity of the countries that built them? They are the most dramatic temples, and draw the biggest crowds. Smaller, less remarkable but still beautiful, many temples are passed by as tourists crowd in the more famous buildings.

But the one that touched me most - and where photography was not allowed - was the Nepali temple. It is a simple dome, with minimal decoration outside and inside just a huge wooden Buddha. Around the walls are long wooden benches, for the pilgrim (or weary tourist) to sit and reflect on why there were there. Nothing gets in the way of thinking. That, for me, is what Lumbini is really about.

(And while we were there we had a very small earthquake. Barely enough to make the earth move. But one of us was sitting on the toilet at the time …the Buddha was looking out for us!)

I’m back in Pokhara now - which meant Tika drove up the Siddhartha highway. It is a notorious road: beautiful and, according to the BBC, one of the world’s most dangerous roads (but they did drive it during the monsoon). I’ve been on the road before - I was driven down it, in the dark, after a cyclone. So I was understandably wary this time. Not without reason - it clings to the mountainside for mile after mile after mile. Bend after bend, steep drop after steep drop, landslide detour (those are interesting) after landslide detour.

But it is, as promised, beautiful. Photographs don’t show the scale of it - and the sun was fierce that day and so many of my pictures are bleached. But this bridge hints at the size of the valley (with apologies to at least two people who will be having a fit of the vapours at the thought of it):

I’m in Pokhara for a few days now. But one last picture from Lumbini: this is the Peace Flame, lit in 1986, and with in a Buddhist prayer that all peoples and faiths can find harmony together. It feels needed more than ever now.

Lakes, mountains, forests …

l left the mayhem of Kathmandu for the relative peace of Pokhara. I’m staying with Tika and his family - he has built a self-contained studio flat on the top floor of this house, so I can potter about on the balcony and be well out of their way. The first night Tika and I went to the supermarket so I could stock up with breakfast bits. But before I could pour a single cornflake into a bowl Tika’s daughter knocked to tell me that I had bought the wrong milk. I must have breakfast with them. And supper. And breakfast the next day …

Lakeside isn’t the retreat it was when I first came here (there’s a KFC here now, and even a casino), it’s s short stroll to the waterside and the quiet of Fewa Lake. When Shobha asks what I’ve been doing, sitting by the lake sounds as if I’ve been idling. But there’s something reparative about being by water, the gentle lap of it. And how could anyone tire of looking at this:

I tear myself away for a day in Chitepani, Tika’s village in the mountains. There’s a road all the way there now, complete with random zebra crossings one of which has been adopted by the monkeys as their crossing place. (Though they don’t stop to look before leaping out.) The village itself is much the same, as is the welcome. The villagers are as generous as ever with their time and their cups of tea. And the view - the mountains kept there summits hidden in the clouds, but the view across the valley as green as I’ve ever see it, with houses dotted along a well-worn path.  

We would have lingers but for rumbling thunder. I’ve learned the hard way not to get caught in the mountains in a thunderstorm.

Pokhara is addictive, but there’s so much more to see. So we trundled off to Chitwan National Park - this was nothing more than a village when I first came but it’s highly commercialised now. But that doesn’t detract from the magic of the jungle, with its chorus of birdsong, the smell of damp foliage and occasional scat of animals. (I can still tell the difference between rhino and elephant poo - travelling can be so educational!) I’m happy just chugging through the jungle in a jeep, or paddling down the river. Just being in the jungle is a joy. But it’s wise to take note of the animals - and this crocodile was further away than it looks in this picture:

And then Tika snapped this magnificent deer:

On to Lumbini - the Dashain festival is is full swing and has shaped the timing of these last few days. As we were leaving the lodge a man arrived with a goat. ‘We will cut it,’ the owner told me. I know what he means: part of the festival involves the celebratory sacrifice of a goat, which is then skinned, cooked and eaten. 

(Tika and his family don’t do the goat-thing anyway, but their celebrations are muted this year by a recent bereavement.)

Of course I find the whole thing repellent, but maybe that’s a little hypocritical. Most of us in the west are happy to collect our turkeys, plucked and gutted and wrapped in plastic, from the supermarket shelves. Rarely a passing thought for the bird that once strutted round a shed. Nor the man or woman who killed it. Not so different from the festive killing of a goat?