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?

It’s been too long.

Oh Kathmandu, it’s been too long. But let’s not linger on the challenges of the last few years. For now I’m here.

And I’ve had a hiccup on the camera front, so no photos this time.

Has it changed? The pandemonium of the arrivals hall up at Kathmandu airport hasn’t changed. The traffic mayhem is, if anything, even worse. The only way I can cross the busiest roads is to find someone else looking to cross, tuck in behind them and follow as they weave through lines of traffic. (And especial thanks to the young man who spotted me looking hopeless and steered me across the road like an old person. Without him I might still be there). The air is so thick with diesel I could taste it.

The welcome in my hotel is just as warm. The pomelo tree in their lovely courtyard, set back from the chaos, gives a dappled shade: my refuge from the streets.

But there are changes. The earthquake in 2015 did such damage here; while most ancient temples have been repaired many buildings collapsed completely and new structures have emerged. A new temple is being built where a school once stood. Swanky new hotels rise, incongruously, in the ancient streets of Thamel.

It is obligatory to get lost in Thamel - which is how I stumbled on the garden behind the Museum of Nepali Art. There js a cafe in one corner, and I sat under a jacaranda tree with my coffee. The frangipani will smell sweetly in the evening. It is mercifully quiet.

The rest of the space is divided into quarters. At one edge, a small plaque with a quote from Rumi: ‘Somewhere beyond right and wrong there is a garden. I will meet you there’. I wander on. Not a blade of grass is out of place; such a contrast to the chaos of the streets outside. There is a large, bronze vajra (it is a religious symbol. If I’d taken time to google I could tell you more). And some fibreglass statues - a reclining woman, an androgynous man. I’m trying to find a word other than peaceful to describe it, but for now that will have to do.

Surrounding the garden is a hotel, small shops and spa. Along one wall there is a series of photographs that tell the story of this space. Before the earthquake, this had been an unremarkable courtyard alongside a hotel. In 2015, within minutes, the site was destroyed. Nothing but a sea of rubble. Buildings alongside at risk of total collapse.

I don’t know who took the decision, but this rubble was cleared and the garden planted in only three months. There is a photograph of the gang of workers, dusty and disheveled and rightly pleased with themselves. I know that there were still people living in tents at the time (I visited and saw them), and you could argue that homes could have taken priority. But the men and women who survived the trauma of the earthquake and rebuilt Nepal also needed a restorative space; and here it is. I love it even more now.

Hot springs and spiders.

I dragged myself away from Cuenca, and spent a few days in the spa town of Banos. Oh those spas! There are thermal baths on every corner (not quite, but you get the picture). Banos is built on the side of a volcano - an active volcano. About once every five years residents evacuate the town by wading crossing the river (or queuing for the bridge) and running up the opposite mountainside. Which makes it a bonkers place to build a town - except rumour has it that the Virgin has blessed a waterfall and nearby thermal baths (heated by magma bubbling not so far below). Local people travel for miles for the delights of sitting in warm water until they look like crones. 

Did I join in? Of course. I can’t say I felt touched by any blessing from a Virgin, but flopping about in warm water (even with raindrops prickling my face at one point) was fun. And sorry, I didn’t take my camera into the pools - though did see someone drop her phone in the water while trying to take a selfie.

But I do have photos of the waterfalls. This is just one of them (I think the Virgin left this one alone, but it’s still spectacular).

From Banos I had one day in Quito before heading for Mindo and the Cloud Forest. I’ve not been there before and so the main road to my lodge was a bit of a surprise. 

Once safely on dry land I could begin to enjoy just how different this environment is. It’s high (high enough to be in the clouds) but because it’s so close to the equator the forest is dense and lush. It’s hard to photograph, given all that green, but this will give you an idea.

I had four days (and a birthday) here. It’s bird-heaven - from tiny fluorescent hummingbirds to huge turkey vultures. There are yellow birds and turquoise birds and scarlet birds - and you don’t even need to trudge miles to see them (I spent one morning in a hammock, watching the birds in one tree - and lots count of the numbers I saw). 

And not just birds. There are orchids - huge rude orchids and tiny orchids with a huge smell. Leaf-cutter ants parade across pathways; soldier ants march for miles. And, one evening, on the way back to my cabana, a tarantula stood guard on the path. Should I take a photograph and risk upsetting it with the flash? I decided against, gave it a wide berth, and made sure the door to my cabana was firmly shut!

It’s all gone so fast! By the end of next week I’ll be home - but not before a visit to the huge market it Otavalo. I’m not a shopper, but even I’m tempted by stalls like this!

And so to the cities.

I couldn’t flop about watching crabs forever. And so I packed my bags and headed to a big city for a couple of days. Guayaquil has a history of piracy and general skullduggery, and so the relative safety the Malecon (the waterfront) is a significant achievement. I say ‘relative’ - there is a metal fence between the Malecon and the street that Trump would be proud of, and security bids at every turn. Even so I saw a pickpocket try his luck (and fail) with a woman’s handbag. Which might explain why this fellow was taking any chances

Two days was long enough for Guayaquil. Besides, I wanted, more than anything, to be reminded of why I love Cuenca. It was quite a drive - the views through the mountains are stunning (they would have been even more stunning if we weren’t in cloud for much of the way). I’ve stayed in Cuenca before; it’s a significant city, but the historical centre is compact and easy to explore on foot. This is the heart of the old colonial city and it’s extravagant and full of stories and crumbling in places:

But it’s much more than that. The Pumapungo museum is home to a succession of tableaux celebrating the cultures of indigenous peoples who were here long before the Spanish. I love it - it’s where Ecuadorians step aside from all things Spanish and recognise those who came before. As a museum it’s crude in places, but succeeds in exploring the ethnic diversities of Ecuador without being patronising. (Nor, being honest, does it recognise that indigenous peoples still have a tougher time here than those of Spanish descent. But that’s a complicated story that I am ill-equipped to tell).

There’s no photography allowed in the Pumapungo museum, sadly. However, I also dropped by a private collection of artefacts going back 15,000 years - much of it evidence that informs current anthropological research here. Among them was this huge pot (it’s about 1500 years old, and I have no idea why it has an extra face. But it made me smile!):

And then there’s Ingapirca, a bus ride away. This is an Inca settlement constructed on top of an older Cañari site. This photograph doesn’t do justice to the significance of this site (and anyone who has been to Machu Picchu - I haven’t - might scoff at it) but, from Ecuador’s perspective, it’s the most impressive evidence they have of the might of the Incas here. And the llamas seem happy

All very interesting and educational. It was time to saunter through hot streets and remind myself of why of its Spanish magnificence. And to decide if I should have an ice cream ... Maybe not from here

I have no idea how this is kept cold on a hot afternoon in Cuenca. Ecuadorians innards may be immune to any bugs that have made merry in the sunshine. Better for retreat to a pavement cafe for a cup of tea

Pottering on the beach can be hard work

Ecuador - it’s a country of contrasts. I chugged back down a river for hours to get out of the rainforest, and then a half hour plane trip took me back over the mountains to Quito. Then I didn’t even have time to wash my smalls before heading west for the coast. I needed some pottering time.

Sometimes pottering needs focus. And so I sloshed through the waves to the far end of the beach - about three miles of beach - to sit on a rock and watch these crabs. To give you some idea of scale - they are about 6-7cm across.

There are hundreds of them. As the tide turns they scrabble out of little burrows. To begin with they appear to simply run around on the beach - maybe their little eyes are getting used to the sunshine. Then they line up along the tide line. I can only assume that the sea dumps something tasty at the turn of each wave. But they are at their funniest when threatened - if I stood up and tiptoed towards them every single one scuttled as fast as its tiny legs would take it away from the sea. It must be a vibration of some sort that they feel - if I stayed completely still they came quite close. And they gave no response to sound when I tried talking to them (there was no one else around!).

Time to saunter back. Past this chap - a turkey vulture. 

He’s not huge, as vultures go, but is a bully, with no manners. I watched him eat so much of this fish I can’t see how he could ever have got off the ground. Meanwhile four black-headed vultures, who found the fish first, lurked a safe distance away. I told him he reminded me of a politician or two, but it made no difference.

At the other end of the beach, the fishermen (they are all men) were unloading the night’s catch, supervised by a skyful of frigatebirds.

This picture doesn’t do justice to the size of them - they have a wingspan of over two metres. I’ve seen them in the Galapagos - there they fish for themselves. Here in Puerto Lopez they have learned that it is much easier to allow men to do it for them and to scavenge and steal what they can. Which makes sense when fishermen throw the tiddlers away anyway.

So you see, I had quite a busy time, pottering about. So as the sun when down I sat to watch the beach volleyball, with a beer.

Ecuador and its choruses.

I had forgotten what noisy city Quito is. I knew there would be endless traffic, of course: buses belching diesel fumes, taxis, trucks, cars - all nose-to-tail and inching a path through the narrow streets of the old city. And, as Quito is built on a mountainside some of these streets are seriously steep, so there is the obligatory roar as buses and trucks change gear. 

Then there is music, just too loud to be considered ‘background’ - every cafe, restaurant and shop plays music. And if there should be a corner where this music cannot reach there are buskers. There might have been respite in corner cafe in the Plaza de San Sebastián, if it weren’t for the renovations of the building on the corner: machines roar long into the night. Maybe the Plaza Major should be quieter - but even there the chatter is punctuated by whistles from the security guard each time a child begins to climb on the central statue. 

And somehow the street traders make themselves heard: women on street corners selling fruit, or edging through crowds with trays of cigarettes. A man presses me to buy bright shoe-laces. There are hats, necklaces, lottery tickets, knickers, smokey plantain, ice cream, popcorn, cake, pashminas ... each trader’s cry is shriller than the next.

It’s wonderful, but it is noisy. It was time to head for the rainforest. I might find silence there?

Howler monkeys howl when they are upset. They are frequently upset.

Toucans toot. Hoatzin squabble. Parrots squawk (has anyone measured the decibels of a flock of squawking parrots?). Kiskadee chirrup and once started don’t know how to stop. Screech owls - you can guess.

Just as the light is fading and you think the birds might sleep, the cricket and cicadas join in - they’ve been mumbling all day but scream at sunset.

They have stiff competition from this little chap (not a great photo, but hard to photograph in forest light):

This is a small, sleeping tree frog. As the sun sets his one thought is to attract a lady frog. Apparently endless barking - a bark that echoes through the trees and bounces off the water - is attractive to lady frogs. It is a deafening cacophony of frogs. Most have sorted themselves out by about ten; the deed is done and they can enjoy the secondary pleasure of eating bugs. But sometimes one lonely frog is left barking his heart out until sunrise. You’d have thought he’d have got the message by then and gone home to put his feet up with Netflix and a beer ...

I’m back in Quito. I love the rainforest, and I love its orchestras. But on Monday I’m off to the coast. Maybe the shushing of waves will lull me to sleep there.