Last Days in Pokhara, Kathmandu, then Home

I managed to work every day but November 7th, the last day, when exhaustion set in and I ended up sick in bed (where I watched the U.S. presidential returns all morning on T.V.). I also missed the celebration of the completion of the project on the 8th — that turned out to be the day I was taken to a hospital to get a diagnosis. After taking an x-ray of my head (I like to say I had my head examined in Nepal), I was diagnosed with sinusitis and given about five different medications.

Later that day Val, our Habitat leader, came to my room and gave me my thank you gifts from the ceremony. At that point I broke down crying. She asked if I was really ill? "No," I waved to her, embarrassed, through my tears. "Emotional?" she asked. "Yes," I nodded. She came to my bed and gave me a hug. "You are one tough old bird," she said. "Don't give up now." At her words I broke out in laughter. "One tough old bird." Yeah, I guess that's me.

But, tough old bird or not, one month in Nepal was enough for me. I was definitely ready to go home.

On November 9th we went to the airport in Pokhara and, drinking a Coke, I sat at a table on the airport roof with the other Habitat volunteers, awaiting our flight. Our plane was very late. We were told that if the plane didn't arrive soon, we wouldn't be able to fly back to Kathmandu, since small planes didn't fly in the dark. If that were the case, we would have to take a bus back to Kathmandu. A bus ride! At night! That was the time most accidents happened. My heart began to pound in my chest.

I remember waiting and praying for our plane. Then someone spotted a plane, far off in the horizon, as it appeared from over the mountaintops. We waited in anticipation. It got closer and closer. No, it was not our airline! It was another plane that was very late — the group that had arrived prior to us uttered their thanks and went downstairs to board their plane. Lucky dogs!

Our group continued to wait. And wait. It would soon be dark and too late to fly unless our plane made it here soon. After a few minutes someone called out, "There! There's another plane coming in! See it?" Along with everyone else I strained my eyes and spotted a small speck coming over the distant green mountains. As it got closer we identified it as our little jet. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now all I had to hope for was a safe flight back to KTM.

We boarded and flew back to Kathmandu for our last night there. The next day it was "Farewell Nepal" with a flight to (and overnight in) Abu Dhabi, where I once again had luxurious hotel accommodations. After an elegant breakfast, I was whisked by taxi to the airport for my flight to O'Hare. On the flight I sat next to the loveliest Belgian man my age and we really hit it off and I thought, "if only." But upon landing, I got into the pre-arranged limo and returned home to Moline.

Just as I was SO happy to have gone to Nepal, I was equally happy to be HOME, SWEET HOME.

See You Later Alligator

Today was our fifth work day on the house. The Habitat crew is AMAZING! And the Nepali workers work non-stop. I helped to dig the beginnings of a six-foot-deep latrine, and I helped shovel the dirt into the house (where we had to fill up to the top of the newly-laid foundation which consisted of rocks with mud mortar "like layers of lasagna" I said). I also helped the whittling crew strip down the bamboo poles for the vertical lath (very repetitive work of continuously hacking away with the kukuri knives — I've become somewhat competent at it, even with my recently-diagnosed arthritic arm). We formed a long line up the hill from the road below, where cement, sand, water, and dirt were mixed and then passed in huge, wide, heavy bowls, person to person, up to the house. We also moved rocks in this fashion. I'm feeling amazingly great, considering the tough work we all did today. 

However, I pooped out about a half-hour or so before everyone else. All the neighborhood children had just returned from school and they called out my name in their fashion. They think my name is hilarious apparently, for they call out "A-B-C-DEE!!" And then they all start to giggle. They are adorable, climbing over each other to sit in my lap, and laughing and smiling with their gorgeous brown eyes. They already know the English alphabet, and I taught them the alphabet song. I'm also teaching them my version of the song, "See You Later, Alligator." 

The oldest boy, Krishna (the tallest boy in the back), has learned nearly the entire song, and the others are learning to follow along. I sing a line and then they repeat it. It is so sweet to hear them singing to each other as they walk to their homes, hand in hand.

See you later alligator (see you later alligator)

After while, crocodile (after while, crocodile) 

See you later, alligator (see you later alligator) 

After while, crocodile (after while, crocodile) 

I'm so happy to be with you (I'm so happy to be with you) 

And I love to see you smile (and I love to see you smile)

Building With Habitat Near Pokhara

We landed safely in Pokhara yesterday and we had our first day of building today. I'm not sure of our actual number - it's something like 18 or 19. About two thirds of us are young people - in their 20's, a few in their 30's; the remaining third are people closer to my age. It's a very nice bunch of people (as I expected).

I helped with digging out some of the trench around the foundation which will be filled with cement mixed with rocks tomorrow. With a young Nepali man, I helped to straighten several large steel hooks that had a large, curved bend. I placed one end in a piece of bamboo, while he placed the other end in another piece of bamboo; I held my piece firm, while he pried the curve into a straightish piece. Then the steel rods had to be hammered perfectly straight and then Bob, our resident blacksmith, somehow produced a small, tight curve at the end of each one. As I understand it, these pieces will help to hold the metal roof in place somehow.

Today there was a LOT of work done with bamboo. The three Nepali workers (who know how this is done) created the framing for the house. They had power tools to drill large circular holes through which other bamboo poles were pushed and a small drill with which they drilled holes for the bamboo nails.

In addition to digging, the Habitat volunteers were responsible for handling the large curved knives (khukuris) in working with bamboo - whittling it down into strips for the horizontal lath, as well as about eight-foot strips for the vertical lath. Some others whittled smaller pieces into bamboo nails. I worked for about an hour and a half on one piece of lath alone. Bamboo is TOUGH! Others were a bit faster than me; however, as the days went on, I got better at holding my own.

All the digging was done by eyeballing it. When the Nepalis had finished the frame, many pitched in to stand it in place around the foundation. It turns out there were a few problems with things not matching up, so some more digging and sawing were done to make everything fit.

We packed up the tools and gear and arrived back at the hotel at about four p.m. I struck out on my own for dinner (I didn't want to wait until 6:30 - 7:30 before finally eating with the gang - last night it was 8:30 before I got my pepperoni flavored pizza). The pizza was very good, actually - much better than I expected; however, I'm just doing this quick post and am then heading back to my hotel room.

Pokhara is still Nepal; however, it is much, much more pleasant than Kathmandu. It is situated by a very large, beautiful lake, and from Pokhara one can see the towering, white mountain peaks of the Annapurna range - beautiful! I identified Machapachare (the "fish tail") peak right away. In fact, it is in view from my hotel window!

The hotel is quite nice. I have my own room, with a comfortable bed with sheets that actually smell clean!! I have a "European" toilet and can take a shower with hot water and there's a TV with about 50 stations on it. Last night I watched about an hour or so of "Mamma Mia" before turning in. I feel like I'm living in the lap of luxury right now.

Pictured below: the family for whom the house was built; me, after receiving a Tikka blessing as we climbed a hill and entered the worksite (and not realizing it was coming and so ended up very red in the face); me with a khukuri knife, stripping bamboo for lath, and photos of the house in progress.

From Kathmandu to Pokhara

Once I had returned to Kathmandu, other than the flight to Everest, I was on my own for a few days, spending most of my time (and money) in Thamel, the touristy part of the city that is full of winding streets and shops, shops, shops. I enjoyed some time to wind down from my rather arduous adventures and I also enjoyed being on my own for a while. I loved the freedom to wander where I wanted on my own. In addition, the restaurants gave me varieties in food choices which I also very much appreciated.  And I also had fun shopping, buying gifts and souvenirs. 

Today I met up with all of the Habitat group and we bussed over to Patan, another city near Kathmandu and, after seeing some of the sights, we lunched together and I began to make their acquaintance.

Later in the afternoon we took a flight from Kathmandu to Pokhara, where we would be based for the next nine days of our Habitat build, taking a bus everyday for several miles out to our work site in a small village in the country.

  

I Take a Mountain Flight to Everest

Bhim arrived at my hotel at 5:30 a.m. with a taxi and we went out to the airport where I was to take the mountain flight to Everest. I was a little nervous. Yesterday I had considered asking Bhim not to buy the ticket; however, I did not come to Nepal to back out of the experiences that had drawn me here in the first place! Air travel, like ground travel, is comparatively dangerous in Nepal. Just a week or so before I left the States, a plane crashed up in the mountains, and not too long ago one of the Everest flights crashed into a mountainside on the way back to the airport. Both crashes resulted in no survivors. They never fly the small planes after dark and they avoid flying in bad weather. When foggy, stormy conditions suddenly move in, flying can be pretty dicey. But thankfully today the sky was bright blue with lots of sunshine, and I felt confident and excited and was looking forward to the flight.

          I waited in the terminal until my Yeti Airline flight was announced and then walked out to the bus that was to take me and my fellow passengers to the plane. All planes — from the largest jets to the smallest planes — are boarded by climbing up outside stairs.

         Once on board the bus we had another wait of several minutes. Looking around at my fellow passengers — about 19 of them — I realized I was the only Norte Americano on the flight. All of the other people were from Argentina and, my, they were a jolly bunch! Their guide had a video camera and he recorded all of the experience. A woman my age sat next to me and told me in very broken English of her driving from Argentina to Alaska, where she had lived for a period of time.

          A bag of coffee candies was passed around and some was offered to me and then the group began to clap and chant "Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est! Ev-er-est!" The guide indicated to me that I should join in the chanting and so I did and he filmed me, clapping and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. And then everyone spontaneously broke into song — all singing and leaning together from side to side as they sang.

          We were finally taken to our plane and a sweet Nepali woman with a long black dress and a long apron with a striped, folk design greeted us.

I was in seat 2-C, right in front. As was per usual on these flights, only the window seats were filled so everyone had a window view.  I was sitting on the right side of the plane, in front. The folks on the other side of the aisle had the mountain view all the way up and those of us on my side had it all the way back. We were given a map which showed the locations and names of the peaks and the stewardess constantly went up and down the aisle and helped each one of us identify what we were seeing at any given point.

The flight path was all along the mountain range of about 20 or 30 named peaks. Of the many thousands of mountain peaks in Nepal, only about 1,300 have been named. It was a real "high" in more than one sense of the word. The sky was a beautiful bright blue and the snow-capped mountain tops glistened white. I felt happiness and excitement flying along the tallest peaks in the world.

When we got close to Everest I began to make what I thought was a longish movie on my camera; however, it turned out to only be a few seconds long. Bummer dude! Seriously, this is THE one thing I should have had a movie of! Well I'll just have to be content to have had the experience and to carry the memory of it with me. I've seen Everest!!!

Leaving the Village - Back to Kathmandu

It was originally planned that I would stay at Bhim's home for three nights. However, Bhim's cousin, the nurse, advocated for taking me down the mountain after the second night. She felt that because I was sick that I should be sleeping in a bed, rather than in the loft above the animals. I was grateful to her for this.

Bhim told me he had a friend who would drive us down the mountain and, to get to our pick-up point, we had to walk to the main street of the village which was two or three miles away up the mountain. We left about noon and I made my good-byes. After Bhim and I had walked about half a mile his wife caught up with us. I didn't realize she was coming with us. Bhim explained that she wanted to come and see us off, but that it was considered unlucky for three people to leave for a journey, so she let the two of us leave together and she joined us later.

We climbed up the mountain to a street where there were some houses and businesses. This was where we were to meet our ride at one p.m. Bhim made some inquiries and came back with the news that our ride wasn't leaving until 4 p.m. Now if this had happened back home in the U.S. I can just imagine my reaction: "What?!? What do you mean, we're not leaving until 4 p.m.?" However, I simply said "O.K. I'll just get a coke and do some writing in my journal." I almost surprised myself at this. Seriously, I have learned so much regarding how to simply take things in stride.

It had been my understanding that Bhim and I were the only riders; however, when our ride pulled up, the car was already full. Once again I just took the situation in stride and squeezed my way into the car. Seriously, the car could've held maybe eight people - two in front, three in the middle row and three people in the back. But - get ready for this - there were 15 of us in there!!!

 If you've read the story about coming up the mountain, then you have some idea of what it was like going down, except someone once said that going down was more dangerous than coming up. If you've seen the movie, "High Anxiety" with Mel Brooks, perhaps you remember the opening scene with the jet coming into LAX and the close-up shot of the airplane window and Mel's look of absolute terror. I was sitting by the window and I could just imagine that was what I must've looked like.

The car was full of chatter and laughter and they thought the word "bumpy" to be hilarious. "Bumpy, bumpy, bumpy," I said, acting out the word, which resulted in more laughter. Needless to say, going down was pretty terrifying — once again we were driving on the edge of the road with just inches separating us from steep drops down the mountain — swinging out wide so as to make the sharp turns in the road, dipping down deep in the ruts, making our way through mud and then we got stuck!

Yes, we got stuck in mud so deep that it was up to the bottom of the car. It was deep. The men got out and put sticks, rocks, leaves, dirt, more rocks and sticks and large rocks and whatever they could find to give us some traction. They worked for a good half hour and the driver went back and forth and burned lots of rubber and finally got us free.

We made it into the provincial capital of Dhading (where we had spent the night before we went up the mountain to Bhim's home). We walked to a rather dumpy, dingy hotel in the dark, ordered some supper in the restaurant and called it a night.

The next morning at breakfast Bhim told me that our driver couldn't make it to Kathmandu until noon. "Let's take a bus," I said to Bhim. I had noticed many buses with "Dhading - Kathmandu" on the roads, so I knew there was a direct route there. Instead, Bhim made arrangements and hired a taxi. Fortunately, the ride was not nearly as terrifying as the other days. Part of this was due to the fact that the festival was over and there wasn't such heavy traffic. Another reason was because the driver was much more restrained and didn't push it so hard. And finally, there was the fact that I had survived the horrendous drive down to Chitwan. That ride, as well as the rides up and back down the mountain had made me somewhat inured to the drama of driving in Nepal.

We got to Kathmandu and I checked into the Hotel Moonlight, where I was to meet the Habitat for Humanity group a few days later. Bhim went off and bought me my ticket for the mountain flight over Everest for the next day. I was excited. I was going to see Everest!

The Family Gathers for the Tikka Blessing

We are at Bhim's mountaintop home on one of the most important days of  Dashain. It's the day when the family gives and receives the tikka blessing from each other. Everyone pays a visit to the family patriarch. Bhim's father, Mukti, is the oldest male of the family and so the extended family arrived at various times all during the day to receive his blessing. Some of Bhim's relatives live relatively close by — some of them were here yesterday to greet me when I arrived and they were returning today. Bhim told me that others walk for miles and miles up thousands of feet to visit and I assume that some of today's visitors had done just that, since some of them arrived late in the evening, well after dark.

          This morning I sat in Apshara's kitchen for a while and watched her work. One of her many tasks today was to prepare the rice for the tikka blessing. She mixed it with some type of red dye and then placed it in small, hand-made bowls made of leaves. Then she placed some of the mixture above the doorway in order to bless the house.

Everyone wanted a tikka blessing from Mukti, the family patriarch, but before he gave blessings, Bhim's 16-year old daughter, Bhwani, blessed him first.

Once Mukti had bestowed his blessings, every one else shared the experiences of blessing and being blessed. Each person had a bowl of the rice mixture and some money. The person receiving the blessing gave a bit of money to the person bestowing the blessing and then each person would put their hands together and bow to each other before moving on for the next blessing.

Unfortunately my cold was really taking over and I felt terrible. Apshara made a bed for me on one of the side porches of the house. She placed a woven mat down and then gave me a big comforter which I wrapped myself in. I got up on occasion to shoot some photos but would then return to my bed. I asked Bhim if I shouldn't go to my "room" (the loft above the animals). "No," he said. "This is where we put people who are sick so we can take care of them." I slept on and off all during the day to the sounds of talk and laughter.

          One of Bhim's cousins is a nurse. She gave me some pills to help alleviate the nasal congestion and when I complained of a headache she went to her home to collect her gear so as to take my blood pressure and she also gave me something to take for the headache. When she learned that I had brought a Z-pac with me she recommended that I start taking them. "We are worried about your health," she said. (She is in the photo here, with her husband.)

So there I was, sick as anything, wrapped up and sleeping on a straw mat on a side porch of a Nepali house at the top of a mountain far, far from home. It was quite surreal. It was as if I was able to stand outside of myself and to watch my own reactions. I was surprised at how at peace I was in the situation and was just happy to be where I was.

          Apshara had given me a large thermos full of hot water and lemon and I drank that throughout the day. (Before we arrived, Bhim had asked if I wanted bottled water at his home or if boiled water would be alright. "Boiled water will be just fine" I said.)

          For the entire time I was there I ate the traditional dal bhat. There is nothing wrong with this food. It's quite nutritious; however, the Nepalis cook with no spices and the food is very, very bland. After a few meals of it, it became rather difficult to get down. During one meal on that porch, I resorted to imagining the taste of a Harris sausage pizza and tried to keep that taste alive while swallowing the dal bhat. The next morning they brought me muesli with warm buffalo milk for breakfast. After so many meals of lentils and rice, it was heaven!

A Woman's Work is Never Done

The women are the heart of the engine that drives Nepal. Out in the countryside it's very obvious that Nepal is a very traditional, male-dominated society.  When we were hiking, I saw nothing but women working the fields. Women who appeared to be my age (and older) were out tending animals, tending the crops and climbing steep, steep hills while carrying loads nearly twice their size.

"Why are only women working?" I asked Bhim one day. "Men work too!" he insisted, sounding somewhat defensive. "Men help to dig and plant and they work the harvest. Women do the other work" he said.

Bhim lives in Kathmandu with the two children who go to school there. Bhim's elderly father refuses to leave his traditional lifestyle in the family home he built some 40 years ago, and although Bhim's wife, Apshara, wants to live with her family in Kathmandu, it is her responsibility to stay in the family home and to cook and tend the house for her father-in-law. (Bhim's mother died when he was a baby and his father raised him and three brothers on his own. "She died and I had no mother love," Bhim told me one evening at dinner in Kathmandu. He said his mother died from "woman" problems that could have been remedied, had there been a doctor available.)

Bhim's wife never stopped working. I learned that she got up at 5 a.m. every morning and worked until nearly 10 pm every night. On my second morning there I went and sat in the kitchen to spend some time with her. She spoke no English, so our interaction was limited; however, she was so gracious and  I wanted at least a little bit of "face time" with her while I was there.

Bhim came into the kitchen to translate for us and he explained what his wife was doing. I understood that this morning, as usual, she had milked the cow (water buffalo) and had already made yogurt. Now she had placed the yogurt with some water into a tall wooden structure. She was mixing it by pulling two ends of a rope that had been wrapped around a pole.

Then she took some of the mixture and put it in a pan and cooked it over the fire. I believe this was the portion that became ghee (clarified butter) that she used for cooking. The remainder was milk which they drank. (My notes aren't very good on this. I just remember being impressed with the amount of work this woman did every day of her life.)

Nothing was ever wasted. The flame under the pot was a fast-burning flame and when the wood became slow burning embers, the embers were removed and put in another clay oven where they were used to slow-cook the rice.

All the dishes are washed outside. The water is in the container at the far end of the photo. Apshara worked all through the day. While she was completing some tasks, like cutting leaves for feeding the buffalo and goat, she carried a khukuri knife in her belt. (A khukuri is a long, curved blade.)  At one point she picked a fruit - I can't remember their name for it, but it tasted something like grapefruit. She sat on her haunches and held the khukuri knife, blade side up, with one of her feet and she ran the fruit against it to cut it open. Then she sat and tore the fruit apart and placed individual helpings in the bowls she had made by folding large green leaves together. She passed a leaf bowl to each one of us.

I'm not sure who chopped the wood and loaded up her shed. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Apshara herself.

Sleepless Night on a Mountaintop

"Please go slowly!" I called out, even surprising myself as the ambulance driver made a fast, ultra-sharp turn on our way up the mountain. Bhim spoke in Nepali to the driver then said to me "You are frightened?" The driver turned to me and smiled.  "Yes, a little," I said.

I was riding on the bench in the back of a small ambulance large enough for perhaps four people, maybe five, but there were nine of us with backpacks, luggage and packages. We were leaving the town of Dhading where we spent last night after yesterday's ride up the mountain to the Manakamana Temple and we were heading up into the hills to Bhim's village to stay at his home with his wife and children for a couple of days. Bhim had said the ride would take "about a half an hour" but here we were, well over an hour later, tediously maneuvering deep ruts, mud, and eroded sections of the steep dirt road that wound up the mountain.

          At first it was just the ambulance driver and his companion along with Bhim and me, and in a way it was worse than being crowded with all the others who joined us midway up the mountain. With every bump and steep ascent and twisting, winding turn I was jostled, shaken AND stirred. I was bouncing up and down and then trying to hold the end of the seat so as to avoid sliding into Bhim's lap. For the longest while I braced myself against the little white metal medicine cabinet opposite me. Whenever I would try to sit up to stretch my neck we would invariably hit a major bump and I would hit my head. Whenever I would think that it couldn't get any worse it did.

          In many instances the smoothest part of the dirt road was far over on the edge which is where the driver drove most of the time. The steering wheel was on the right side of the car and I was sitting on the left side of the vehicle so from my vantage point it always appeared as if we were nosing ourselves directly over the edge of a steep drop to far down below. When we reached the points in the road where the drop-offs were on the left side of the car I could see that we were indeed nosing ourselves directly over the edges.

          We stopped and picked up a family — a mother, father, teenaged son, a girl, and a baby. The two teens and the baby sat in the front seat next to the driver and the rest squeezed in the back with Bhim and me after piling in their suitcases and gear. The woman spoke in a high pitched, constant chatter to the driver who kept the conversation going over the loud Nepali music that was blaring over the radio.

          It was just under two hours of this until we arrived at our destination — Bhim's house up at the top of the mountain, where Bhim's son, Abdi, was waiting for us at the drop-off point, and his daughter, Bhwani (16) was waiting at the entrance to the yard with a bouquet of flowers. They both spoke to me in English. Bhim's shy wife, Apshara, spoke no English, but she smiled at me in welcome.

          Many people were sitting — either on one of the porches adjacent to the house, or on a small wall surrounding the courtyard in front of the house, or on the hard-packed dirt floor of the courtyard itself. Bhim explained that they were relatives who lived nearby. "They will come back tomorrow for the festival," he said, "and many more people will come too."

The following photos are of Abdi, Bhim, Apshara, and Bhwani (whom I ended up sponsoring in school In Kathmandu for three years), and Bhim's family home.

Later, after the extended family had left, Bhim brought me a plate of dal bhat and I ate it while sitting on the porch. After I had eaten, the family gathered around the fire on the earthen floor of the kitchen and ate theirs. The porch had a solar-powered light (one of only two for the entire house) and Bhim and I sat on the porch and played 500 Rummy (a game we had begun to play a couple of nights ago to fill our evenings of no TV or other entertainment). He was unbeatable — I couldn't believe that I could never beat him. He was amazing. But I wanted to play for as long as I could. I was not looking forward to the night ahead.

          Around nine o'clock or so I heard the sound of a conch horn and the ringing of bells. Bhim answered my questioning look with an explanation. "It's my father," he said. It was apparently part of the old gentleman's routine of prayers before bedtime.

          Finally the time came for me to climb the steep ladder to the loft above the water buffalo and goats where my bed awaited me. Like most other Nepali houses, the windows had no glass panes and I was to sleep with my head next to a large open window leading out into the cold, black night.

          The bed was a typical Nepali bed. It was a box-like, wooden structure, with some padding on the top. The bed's comfort is dependent upon the amount of padding, and in this case, there was very little - the equivalent of a couple of quilts, perhaps.

          Two of my best investments were my Petzl light and my beautiful turquoise silk sleep sack. The sack provided me with my own little cocoon and the silk provided a surprising amount of warmth. I literally climbed into the sack and, by the light of my Petzl, read my companion book, "The Snow Leopard" by Matthiessen. I finally turned off the light and tried to make my way towards sleep.

          Unfortunately my cold was getting much worse. My head was very congested and I found it very difficult to breathe while lying on my back. But I couldn't sleep on my side either - the surface was just too hard on my arthritic hips. Needless to say, it was a long night.

          Earlier Bhim had told me not to worry about the mice and "other things" that run around on the metal roof, and when the pitter patter began I reached for my wax earplugs and put them in. It was quite an unusual feeling, lying there in complete darkness and lack of sound.

          When I got the urge to go to the bathroom, I made my way out of my sleep sack and carefully climbed down the ladder and walked across the yard to the latrine. Afterwards, coming back towards the house, I stopped and looked up at the stars that shone with such clarity and brilliance in the deep black sky. I searched for familiar constellations and found the Big Dipper which appeared to have cartwheeled to its current position, upside down on its handle. It was a magical moment, standing on a mountaintop in Nepal, alone in a night of such silence. After a few moments I made my way back up the ladder to my silky cocoon on hard wood and struggled with sleep until dawn.

Cable Car to Manakamana Temple

Our original itinerary called for departure to Lumbini today. (Lumbini is the birthplace of the historical Buddha.) I had really wanted to go there; however, from Lumbini it would be a 10-hour car ride back to Bhim's village (our next scheduled stop) and so I decided that I would forego the trip and asked Bhim to take me in the direction of his village instead. After experiencing the awful pollution and crazy drivers I just couldn't deal with the thought of a 10-hour car ride.

          On the way down to Chitwan two days ago Bhim had pointed out a cable car going up the mountainside —  "The only one in Nepal," he said. I had asked that we stop and take a ride on the way back and he had agreed. So on our return he kept his promise, and we rode up in the cable car known as the Manakamana Cable Car because it goes up to an important Hindu temple of the same name.

As I've previously written, I'm in Nepal during part of Dashain, the 15-day Hindu holiday.  We were going up to the Manakamana Temple where prayers and incense were being offered and sacrifices of goats were taking place. (There were some tell-tale marks of blood on the floor of the cable car — a previous rider's plastic bag had apparently leaked a bit.) Before the cable car had been installed, people walked all the way up. I asked Bhim how much time it took to walk. "About three hours," he said. Unbelievable, really! Just look at the size of the "hills!"

The temple area was jammed with people. Some people were sitting with offerings of incense and flowers; some people were reading religious texts; others were giving and receiving the tikka blessing (the red mark on the forehead), and family groups were talking and taking photographs. Many people were standing in line with their goats, waiting to go into the area where the animals would see their last minutes. Other people were going into another area of the temple where incense was burning and bells were being rung. 

On the way back down in the cable car, we came to a complete, unexpected stop and there I was, sitting in a dangling cable car for several minutes with Bhim and three gentlemen from India. I marveled at how I was taking everything in stride — how far I had come from the person, months ago, who had been terrified of taking this trip. My heart was just so full of joy in that moment, a moment wherein I was in a cable car stuck on a line above a high mountain and feeling no fear, but simply awe and wonder and happiness.

Elephants!

We went to the elephant breeding center and saw many elephants - moms and dads and babies and teens.

In an education center there were posters full of information, including a list of about twenty or so commands that elephants learn. Some of them were very specific: "walk up to that elephant and stand on its left side." -- "leave it"  --- "lay down on your right side"  ---  "pick it up"  --- "go faster"  -- "stop"  I was quite impressed.

 Then we went to the bathing area where tourists could climb onto the bare backs of elephants and wade into the river and get a bath, along with the elephants. It was quite entertaining to watch!!

Later that afternoon we took a jeep ride out to the elephant docking stations and I climbed onto an elephant and rode through the jungle for two hours. 

What a thrill that was. There were four of us riding in the "carriage." Once we got into the jungle growth each driver took a different path. I was riding in the front, right behind the mahout and I got to learn a lot about elephants and their lives. I learned that elephants begin to "work" (carry riders ) at about age 10 and do so up until 60 or 70. Also, the mahout says he is always with the same elephant. "Different elephant, very dangerous," he said. Also, that it is impossible to escape from a wild elephant. "If you run, they can run faster. If you climb a tree, they can knock it down. A bigger tree you can't climb. All you can do is pray," he said.

I was mesmerized. The guide had to pull me back from the trail (but I didn't let him do so until I got this photo).

In Chitwan Jungle

I awaken and show up for breakfast at 6:30 and inform Bhim that I will go on the canoe ride and the jungle walk. "Good," he says. We have breakfast and climb in the van with other tourists and ride out to the river.

Several dugout canoes await at the "beach." Little wooden chairs (seats and backs only, with no legs) hang over the side of the canoe. One of the guides gets in, puts a chair down and invites the first tourist to sit. A chair is provided for each of us in this manner. One guide stands at the back with his long pole and another guide stands in front. The guide in the front does all of the talking.

It is early and the river is very very peaceful and quiet. It's quite lovely. There is only the calm, gliding river and the thick, long, reedy grasses that grow along each bank. Our guide shows us the trees from whence the canoes were fashioned. Each canoe is an entire tree and is dug out by hand. He explains that earlier peoples lived off the river and that the canoes were an item of everyday use; however, once agriculture took on a more significant role, canoes were less used. Now they are more for tourists, he explains.

He describes the flora and fauna of the area, pointing out various birds that are perched or standing near the water. We float like this for quite a while. A couple of boats silently glide past us with only a light sound of pole dipping into water. The guide is constantly looking through his binoculars and at one point whispers "Crocodile!" We all strain to see a croc with only his eyes sticking  out of the water. "It's a baby," he says.

Several minutes later we see another baby. "We usually see more," the guide says. Oh, so this was it, was it? I was both disappointed and relieved. Certainly park officials aren't going to put tourists in any danger, so I didn't expect to see huge crocodiles swarming around our boat; however, it would have been so cool to have been able to brag about at least a distant view of a full-grown monster!

We disembarked and our guide gave us instructions to stay close to each other and to use our eyes and our ears as we walk through the jungle. "It will take us about an hour or more," our guide says. I am walking right up in front behind him and in front of Bhim. I felt somewhat comforted, being surrounded by two fellows who knew a little something.

We walk through several types of terrain with various flora. At first we are in long grass. Then we reach a bush-like area. We pass ponds filled with large water-lily-type leaves and go into a heavily wooded area. He points out a vine to us and explains that it came from seeds through bird droppings, probably from South America. It is an extremely invasive weed that park officials are doing their best to eliminate, but so far, to no avail. "In just a few years it can kill all of the trees and plant life here," our guide informs us.

Once we reach a large growth of trees, our guide climbs up one and looks in all directions through his binoculars. "No rhinos here," he says. We walk circuitously, our guide keeping his eyes and ears open. I am nervously keeping mine open as well.

We come to a rhino hole — a large pool of muddy water; however, as I'm getting ready to take a photograph, the guide and Bhim are busy down at my feet. "Leeches," Bhim says, as he and the guide furiously pick them off my pants. Some are burrowing into the fabric and already into my skin, but the two men work fast. I lift up my pants legs — a leech is making its way into my leg. They pick it off and flick it into the bushes.

"Leeches hurt nothing," the guide says. "They just suck your blood and then fall to the ground," and I think, "Oh well then, no problem." He says, "Ticks are much worse," and he shows me the welts around his ankle and then all of us stop to check ourselves for ticks. I see there is blood on one of my socks, so something got me; however, I have since felt no ill effects.

Wimping Out at the Jungle Lodge

Down in Chitwan, we arrived at our jungle lodge - The Rainbow Lodge - and I was taken to my cabin. As we left the main building, we walked through an area of little bungalows where the guests slept. "Oh, this is nice" I thought. But, as it turned out, I would not be staying there.  We walked all through the complex and came to a dirt road, turned left, walked the equivalent of a block or two, and then turned right and went through an old iron gate into another complex of little lodges. All around were palm trees and bright flowers and the trumpeting of elephants. "How jungle-like," I thought.

 They opened the door to my one-room cabin that contained two beds and had an adjoining bathroom. I quickly took a shower and — no towel! I dried myself with a sock and as I did so, I saw a mosquito buzzing around in the room. Panic time.

At one time malaria had been rife in the region. The disease has mostly been eradicated; however, in preparing for the trip, I had read conflicting reports as to whether or not it was really entirely gone. When I had all my shots for the trip, no anti-malarial medication was recommended, but I had brought a canister of spray, and that evening I sprayed my clothing and bedding, as well as rubbing anti-bug cream all over my body. But I still felt a bit uneasy.

I walked back to the dining room in the main building and had dinner with Bhim. Or rather I should say that I had dinner and then he had dinner. He rarely ate with me. He always waited until I had finished and then he would get his own food. I didn't know if this was some Nepali custom, or if it was because the paying guests were to eat first and then the guides and porters.

After dinner the manager told us of the next day's activities. We would begin with breakfast at 6:30 a.m., then go for a canoe ride on the river to look for crocodiles. Next we would disembark and walk back through the jungle. "If you see a rhino," Bhim said "You will have to run." Needless to say, that made me a bit nervous. I told him that I definitely wanted to do the elephant ride in the afternoon, but that I would let them know the next day my decision about the river and jungle expeditions. I just wasn't sure I could out-run a rhino.

I asked Bhim where he was staying and he said, "Here." I asked if he couldn't get a room near mine, but he said that they were all filled up. I was really uneasy now — knowing I was to be alone out in the complex, while Bhim was staying in the main lodge. The manager told me there was a watchman who could speak English and that if I needed help, I should just ask him.

Reluctantly I returned to my cabin with the young hotel porter who escorted me by flashlight. A man wrapped in a towel went by my porch and smiled. I looked away. I figured this was not the time or the place to be making friends. We saw a bent old man walking the grounds and I learned that this was the guard upon whom I should rely. I approached him and asked him how he would be able to help me. He just stared without answering. He apparently knew not one word of English!

I don't think this whole thing would have been an issue, had it not been for the frightful night at the hotel in Nagarkot. I really didn't want to be on my own like that again. Of course I could have made my way to the main hotel, had I needed help; on the other hand, the jungle night was pitch black and the way was rocky and circuitous. It wasn't at all likely that I would need any kind of help; however, I was responding psychologically and not practically to the situation. I told the young porter that I would walk back to the main lodge with him.

Bhim and the manager were surprised to see me again. I told Bhim I did not want to stay out "there" all alone. "I understand you," Bhim said and the manager made arrangements to have a room cleaned. We went back to the cabin, packed my things, and I settled in for the night in a room with no mosquitoes. I still made a point of tucking the netting all around the bed. I had "wimped out." Nevertheless, I got what I wanted — a room in the main complex with Bhim nearby and no mosquitoes to be seen. That night I slept peacefully.

A Harrowing Ride Down to Chitwan

Okay, I think I can safely write this now. I think/hope/pray that I am finished with harrowing vehicle rides on roads of all kinds in Nepal. Not counting travel in KTM (which is relatively safe - for those in the vehicles at least), I have had four days of harrowing rides on paved and not-so-paved roads and I am SO very happy that I am alive to tell my tales. From my reading at home, it seemed to me that the most dangerous aspect of Nepal was road travel. Based on what I've heard, it seems at least one bus a week goes flying off a mountain. I am here to tell you that I can see how that would happen.

"Asian drivers different from everybody else," Bhim had said to me on our first day driving around Kathmandu. "Yes, I've never ever seen anything like it" I had replied. Little did I realize the full significance of those words until the day that we made our way on a drive down to Chitwan. "Harrowing" doesn't begin to describe it.

We got in the private car Bhim had rented with a driver who appeared to be no more than about fifteen years old. At least this time we had seat belts. Umesh and I climbed in the back and buckled up. (Umesh is from Chitwan - his family lives there and he is a university student there. He had come to KTM for the porter job, so he, too, was returning home for the festival.) "It will take about four hours to get to Chitwan," Bhim said.

Well, this was THE day that everyone was trying to leave Kathmandu to go home to begin the festival and the city traffic was a.pall.ing. Absolutely unbelievable! With all I knew and anticipated about Nepal, I had not expected that every vehicle would be powered with filthy diesel. We moved ever so slowly until we began to approach the outskirts of the city and became embroiled in a traffic jam of horrendous proportions, in which the fumes were overwhelming.

Nepalis drive on the left and as it turned out, we were first in a middle line of traffic trying to merge into the left lane. The traffic on the right side of the road was slowly inching its way in, but the two left lanes sat for about two hours before the far left lane began to inch along, bit by slowly bit. The big van next to us wouldn't let us in. Some people were standing on the tops of busses and waving and calling and trying to direct traffic. One motorcyclist on our right stopped to give the non-relenting van driver a big piece of his mind. He gesticulated and yelled and pointed at us - saying (I assume), "Let them in!" However, the van wouldn't give an inch. Then a pedestrian stopped to give our young driver a piece of his mind. He ranted and waved his arms around for quite some time. I assume he was telling us that we had no business being where we were — that we were part of the problem. Finally, someone distracted the van driver just long enough for us to squirm our way in, and this caused Bhim and Umesh and our driver no end of laughter and excited conversation.

We found a detour out of the city to avoid more such traffic; however, once we got out of KTM, I looked down into the deep valley and saw switchback after switchback after switchback, all with traffic that was just sitting for miles and miles and miles all down the mountain and along the valley
road far below.

Bit by bit the traffic lightened up some, and after a couple of hours we became free from the congestion and began to travel at a pretty fast clip. But then another kind of adventure began. There were not only cars with reasonable amounts of people; there were huge, colorful buses jammed with people inside and on top of the vehicles ("bagels"). On the tops were also suitcases and goats (being taken to the villages for the ritual slaughter). Approaching us on the other side of the highway were large tourist buses and huge trucks; truck after truck after truck bringing in goods of all sorts from India. The trucks were painted in many bright colors and adorned with colorful streamers and many had incense burners on their front grilles. There were tuk tuks and motorbike after motorbike after motorbike and everyone was in a race to see who could reach their destination first.

Fortunately, we were on a paved road that was in fairly reasonable condition; however, it was winding, winding, winding, with many blind curves. There were only a relatively few stretches where you could actually see what was coming, and there were steep drop-offs at every stretch of the road, all the way until the end of the journey when we arrived on the Terai, the extension of the Indian plain, where the jungle in Chitwan is located.

It was wild. We were passing people while others were trying to pass us, just as an oncoming vehicle was approaching with someone trying to pass it. But somehow, at the last moment, everyone sailed into two lines, just missing each other by literally inches. Sometimes the large, over-packed busses would lean and veer into us as they made the sharp turns; however all of the goats placidly maintained their footing while gazing straight ahead and they didn't seem fazed at all.

Vehicles would ride three alongside, all veering for the first position, and as an oncoming vehicle approached, order would somehow be restored in an instant. There was no rhyme nor reason as to who would go first, but split-second decisions were made and there were two single files again. There were times when I felt I was watching a road race and times I felt I was in a road race. I found myself silently rooting us on — "Come on! come on! come on! you can do it!" — and other times when I just put my face in my hat — not only to avoid watching, but to give my lungs some respite from all the diesel fumes as well. It was tragic to see all the greenery along the roadside all dust-covered and white and the pall of diesel fumes filling the beautiful countryside.

Over eight hours later we arrived in Chitwan. This was a drive that was to have taken us four. Perhaps I might have been able to avert the cold with my echinacea (it often works for me); however, eight hours of breathing diesel fumes had sealed the deal. I was going to be sick with a cold. And as it would turn out, it was to be a pretty bad one.

But I was alive. And that was good.

Bhaktapur

Indra picks us up at our mountaintop hotel and drives us back down to Bhaktapur, an ancient city about 12 miles from Kathmandu. At one time, Kathmandu, Bhaktapur and Patan, were three separate royal kingdoms, and each one has a "Durbar Square." This first photo is the royal palace in the square, with 55 windows - one for each wife.

In 1934 a massive earthquake destroyed much of the city. In the 1970's the German government provided money and expertise to help restore and reconstruct buildings. Many old traditional techniques were discovered and used, from wood carving to constructing roof tiles from specially prepared mud.

I was not able to enter the temple. As is the case with all Hindu temples, it is strictly off-limits to non-Hindus. But I've read that the main idol in the temple is made of a single block of gold and that the temple is still the scene of massive sacrifices of buffalo during the annual Dashain festival.

In addition to the Buddhist stupa, the other types of religious structures in Nepal which I've pictured: a reddish structure, and a conical-type structure - the latter of which is the result of Indian influence.

While the building with a darkish door is Buddhist, the temple with the human bodies on the two poles is a Hindu kama sutra temple. As it was explained to me by a very learned guide, the kama sutra relates to meditation mantras. The male positions represent the consonant sounds in the alphabet and the female positions represent the vowels, and knowing how to "read" them is the key to reciting each mantra. I asked the guide if he knew how to read them. "No," he told me. "If I could, I would be a buddha." I thought that an interesting comment, blending Hindu and Buddhist practice, something that was common in Nepal. Or was this guide perhaps not as knowledgeable as I had thought?