Archives for October 2004
Been busy
Telling more about the past few weeks in Nepal. If you want to look at the more detailed version and a few photos, you might start as far back as here where I talk about rafting and mountain biking, or skip to here and read about trekking and elephant safaris.
Finally leaving Nepal tomorrow, off to Bangkok to see my sister and then heading down to the beaches for some diving and stuff. More soon.
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Chitwan
Elephants are much like humans. Females live in groups of about 25 and are led by one dominant bull – I know a few blokes who’d like to think they’re like that – whilst the rest of the males live alone. Around the age of 10 to 15, young males are kicked out of the herd and made to fend for themselves. They live long lives, up to 90 years in captivity, and some have lived to 120. They have big brains and are thought to be as intelligent as dolphins or humans, although elephants do not rule the world or invade Iraq. (Mind you, think of the Republican symbol…)
Elephants get short sighted and suffer from cataracts as they scratch their eyes when moving through undergrowth. Few can see more than a hundred metres once they reach middle age, although they can smell food from 5 or 6km away.
And they like a drink. Elephants love fruit juice, show them a field of sugar cane and they’ll clear it in hours. Generally they’re peace loving aninals, but too much sugary juice and it begins to ferment in their stomach. They get drunk and go on a rampage, doing things they wouldn’t normally do, much like Croydon on a Saturday night. They probably wake up next morning standing next to a lady elephant they don’t know, too – see, elephants sleep standing up, often leaning against trees, as this avoids crushing their internal organs under their 3 tonne weight.
I learnt all this at the Machan ‘resort’ inside Chitwan National Park, in the southwest of Nepal. I went there on a package for (allegedly) three days and two nights of nature watching, although by the time I’d ended the incredibly bumpy journey from Pokhara one day was already gone, and they whisked me off at 7am for a bus back to Kathmandu on the third day. I was less than impressed by service at this expensive complex.
Anyway, back to the wildlife. It seems that this is about the worst time of year to go wildlife spotting in Chitwan, as the grass can be three metres high or more. One way around this is to sit on the back of a elephant and pound through the jungle.
I’d never been close to an elephant before, let alone ride on the back of one, but I soon came to admire this ‘beasts of burden’. At first the lumbering motion is hard to handle, but once used to it I had to conciously remind myself that I was on and elephant… although looking down was a good reminder. They seem well mannered animals, which presumably has something to do with their cruel education in Northern India. They have a special fear of a blunt metal tool, which apparantly is used in a much sharper form when being trained.
They look almost cuddly, their eyes looking out from an enormous forehead as their trunks constantly search out for a snack. Elephants will eat non-stop if they can, partly as it takes 250kg of food a day to keep them satisfied, of which more than half reappears as elephant dung.
Elephant Fact 1: Elephants sweat only through the cuticles around their toes. If they sweated all over, they’d die of dehydration.
Elephant Fact 2: ‘Indian’ and ‘African’ elephants are different species, and are not genetically compatible.
Elephant Fact 3: To spot the difference between the two breeds, look not only at the ears (one pair looks like the shape of India, a bit, the other the shape of Africa, a bit), but also their backs; ‘Indian’ or Asian elephants have a convex back, ‘African’ elephants a concave back. Useful info, I think.
. Being atop a moving elephant is like riding a moving step ladder, grazing branches and skirting tree trunks. It can climb surprisingly steep slopes and move down substantial saplings that block its way.
Since the grass was high, we had trouble spotting anything. Elephant drivers often dismount and search the ground for fresh footprints before being given a step back up by the elephant lifting them on their trunk. After an hour and a half we finally spotted a Rhinocerous from a distance, a prehistoric sight, to add to the two barking deer and a woodpecker we’d already seen. By the end of my ‘three’ days I’d only seen one other rhinocerous, and the mark of a leech that had stuck to my stomach. I didn’t see the culprit (that’s part of their trick, see) but I did see the bruised aftermath.
On the second and last elephant ride I got to ‘drive’ on the way home, steering by tickling behind the ears. Tickle the left ear and turn right, right ear to turn left, tickle both ears to go forwards. None of that stick hitting or shouting from me. It feels very precarious perching bareback on the animal’s neck.
I was in two minds about the whole experience, but ultimately feel that they are well cared for here and have less chance of falling foul to poachers than is they were living in the wild.
And I can say that I’ve ridden, and driven, an elephant.
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Trekking Day 9: Jomson to Pokhara
Much of Jomson is the most modern settlement on the trek, built around the airport. It’s a legendary airstrip; if people tell you of flying up to the mountains in Nepal and landing on a hillside, this is it. Only tarmaced two years ago, the strip is just 2,000′ long and planes take a twisting, turning descent banking sharply right before landing on the threshold. Taking off, it’s full thrust and a drop off the end as if leaving an aircraft carrier.
The flights tend to land in twos or threes, perhaps for safety reasons. The Royal Nepal (RNAC) flights did not land at all, which sounds typical for this rarely-recommended airline. We were on the fourth Gorka airlines flight of the day, and besides Youg and I the rest of the passengers are Indian pilgrims. One of the older men asks me to take a photo of the women – I’ll email it to them – and also one of himself.
He looks like an Indian Spike Milligan, dressed in red balaclava and a red knitted tank top. “God has decreed that Pakistan will be destroyed” he tells me when discussing the Indian-Pakistan border dispute, and he plans to stand as an independent candidate at the next general election. His grandfather was the last Viceroy of India, and the only Indian to hold the post; an interesting character.
The flight was a cocky piece of aviation, darting between hills and over passes. I guess at one point we flew fifty metres over the crest of a hill (see right), moments later we are just under the cloud base. Hands on stuff. After a safe landing, I was back in Pokhara and my brief trekking life was over.
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Trekking Day 8: Return to Jomsom
Kagbeni is a fascinating, ancient town with tall mud buildings and narrow uneven streets. Prayer flags hang at every corner, whilst the 527 year old Ghompa (buddhist monastery) overlooks the residents. This is the start of the Upper Mustang, close to the Tibet border, an area that requires a $700 trekking permit for foreigners to enter (and that’s just for ten days, each extra day is another $70).
We entered the monastery and met with the Lama who, despite a heavy cold, showed us around. He was smartly dressed in his red robes, flip flops and a colour-cordinated face fleece gilet. Inside the prayer hall, a small but beautifully and intricately decorated room, we talked about the survival of Buddhism here compared to its persecution in Tibet.
There are still trainee monks here, 15 in all, although there were currently in India improving their schooling. Buddhists claim that Kagbeni like all of Mustang used to be Tibetan territory, and therefore is still under Tibetan Buddhist instruction and rules.
(That’s Yog on the right entering the Ghoom.) In the past, this meant that the second son of a family of three or more sons automatically became a monk. But with changing and smaller family structures this has become voluntary, and any boy can apply to become a monk by choice. Meaning the introduction of free will into an ordered society, I suppose.
In Tibet, education to a standardised Chinese curriculum and promotion of Chinese history combined with repression of the Buddhist culture has reduced the importance of Buddhism. The Lama looked rather sad but unsurprised about this. He continues to promote Buddhism from beyond the borders.
Indeed, I later read in the newspaper there are more than forty monasteries in the Mustang region performing a similar role. So focused are they on preserving their buddhist culture that they do little to integrate their students into Nepali society. Few teach Nepali, concentrating on the Tibetan language, which could alienate these Buddhists from the largely Hindu Nepali society. Many of the young monks admit they join the monastery as it’s a way of accessing food and education, rather than due to a true calling.
The walk back to Jomsom was not so bad, although my hip had finally begun to ache after all the clambering over stones – I’d expected this injury to start a lot sooner, indeed it made me think of not trekking in the first place. However, I had a close encounter with the Nepali medical system for different reasons.
Since my cold last week I’d had a lot of congestion and was popping Sudafed in the morning, making do for the rest of the day and hoping they’d last until the end of the trip. But for the past couple of days my left ear would not clear and was getting increasingly sore, making walking a bore. We stopped in the ‘Red Cross Medical Shop’ who referred me to the doctor at the Mustang Hospital, just behind.
I found my way in and entered a room of mothers and babies – today is immunisation day – and I was queue jumped (against my wishes) to see the English-speaking doctor. I explained the problem and had a little cough. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, pushing my nose. Only when you push it hard like that, I thought, especially if you break it. “Here?”, pressing my sinuses. He even checked my breathing with a stethoscope, the first time I’d had that done in years, and to his credit he was very thorough. Then he stuck some big silver thing in my ear. That made me cough, it was painful – but in the right ear, not the left ear.
Still, he identified an ear infection and gave me a prescription for ‘Active’ tablets. All in, the consultation and drugs cost about $2 and I was happy to leave the change for the Red Cross. I shan’t need to claim that on the insurance; but hopefully I shan’t need to go to a hospital like that again, either.
Finally I checked into the Hotel Majesty, in a room with TV (woo hoo!), and rapidly returned to civilisation.
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Trekking Day 7: Tukuche to Kagbeni
Song of the Day: ‘Walking on the Moon’ – The Police (I think)
I’m standing up to my thighs in a fast moving, freezing mountain stream, trying to keep my backpack above the water and worrying about falling over. I’m barefoot, have taken off my socks and trousers and am trying to feel my way across the the bottom of the rocky stream. Each step is treacherous, as the current forces me off balance and I can’t see where I’m going. I’ve not even reached the middle yet. I repat the mantra “don’t fall over”, “don’t fall over” but in the end I realise I can’t make it and turn around to return to Yog. Turning round is even more difficult and I nearly, you guessed, fall over.
I’ve walked further today then I’ve ever done in my life. 28km, 16.5miles, longer than the half marathon in which I was beaten by a human caterpillar. We’ve taken the wrong path, tried to cross mountain rivers, eaten some very questionable food but finally made it to the end of the trek, or as far as I’m prepared to go, anyway.
After a filling Dutch breakfast of bread and cheese and real coffee, we were on the road again. Passing through Marpha, home of the local soft fruit industry and source of ingredients for those remarkable brandies, the path was much flatter making for a comfortable pace.
Throughout the morning the landscape continued to change. Whilst Marpha supported orchards amongst the pine forests, by the time we reach Jomson it was clear that little could grow. We were in a desert land of low rainfall with bare stone slopes and wide, dry river beds. It was like the Mojave again but with bigger hills. For whilst the land was dry, the tallest mountains were still white.
Passing through Jomsom we needed to confirm dates for our return journey to Pokhara. We had the choice of walking to Kagbeni and coming back to Jomsom the next day, or walking further to Muktinath, a pilgrim town high up in the hills. On the one hand it was a chance to gain more spectualar mountain views and see the furthest reach of Hinduism in Nepal; on the other hand, it’s another 1,000m up to somewhere near 3,700m and I’m a bit templed out. Yog’s advice, either genuine or because he wanted to go home for the festival, was “don’t bother”. I wasn’t going to argue.
North of Jomsom the landscape became the most alien we’d encountered. Dry, bare with very stony paths (hard work) and dramatic vistas. Here, more clearly than anywhere else I’d seen, was mountain creation. Once horizontal layers were now distorted and blocked up against each other. Exciting stuff for a geography graduate.
Yog checked with a local about the path of the river- which varies, and determines our path – and we headed along the west side. However, after 45 minutes the river crossed our path and a cliff blocked the way. We checked, but there was no way over the cliff. It was a long walk back against the sandy wind to Jomsom, only to pass the same way again but on the opposite side. That’s when I tried the river crossing, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
It was disheartening. For the first and only time I came close to quitting and taking the next flight back to Pokhara, perhaps because it was the only time I could quit – there were no escape routes elsewhere on the trail.
We took a different path across the lunar landscape, and knowing it was near the end kept me going. After a couple of hours a town appeared on a promontory, a series of buildings in cream and red. One final up and down and we arrived at Kagbeni, staying in a lodge next to a centuries-old stoopa. Here, proof that Nepalis will watch anything on TV and the mountains make you a little mad. A huddle of porters and guide watch badly dubbed German tele-shopping adverts for ab-builders, whilst the man opposite me drank half a bottle of Neapli whisky whilst earting a combination of tomato ketchup and chilli sauce.
My hobbit’s journey is at an end, I feel I’ve arrived at the wastes of Mordor and I still have the ring on my finger. Tomorrow we return to Jomsom before flying out the following day. I’ll sleep well tonight.
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Trekking Day 6: Kalopani to Tukuche
Song of the Fay: ‘Annie Waits’ – Ben Folds
After another beautiful sunrise above the mountains, an easy three and a half hours of walking today. After leaving Kalopani we dropped down to the river bed and, believe it or not, I was walking along the bottom of the deepest gorge in the world. It’s hard to appreciate as the mountains are about 20 miles apart at the top, but they are also more than three miles above us.
The landscape has gradually changed in past days, and we are now entering the Himalayan rainshadow generating a much drier landscape of conifer forests and crumbling yellow cliffs. It was good to walk on the flat for once and get the chance to look up and admire the mountains, although as we walked a wicked wind kicked up, blowing sand in the faces of those walking in the opposite direction. This is Wild West country.
We landed up in Tukuche and discovered civilisation in the High Plains Inn, run by a Dutch-Nepali couple. Excellent rooms, hot water and great food – this evening I had fresh pasta with cheese and tomato sauce, an unexpected delight. Even Tony Wheeler, founder of Lonely Planet, left friendly comments in the guest book.
Since we had time to spare, we looked around town and went down to the Tukuche Distillery. We were shown round by Kalpana Sherchan, a woman in her seventies who has been making brandy here for more than thirty years since her husband set up the still and promptly died. The power of marketing even has a presence here – “Tukuche Brandy, that is my brand, I have a dealer in Jomson and that is my brand. Remember it” she told me – but the products are unique.
There is an extensive range including peach, plum, apple, apricot and, unusually, carrot. Served in small chipped coffee cups they all tasted the same to me, strong and eye watering, although I was disappointed that the carrot brandy is not orange, nor the apple green. Missing an alcopop trick there.
Returning to the Inn I met some of the other guests, including an Michael, a journalist from Heart/LBC who’s here for three weeks. That gave my mini-retirement a pleasent perspective. Whilst he tried to teach local kids english numbers, one of them dragged my book off the table and dropped it in mule shit. Lovely.
Indeed, there is an incredible amount of animal dirt along the trail, which I’d never expected. It’s understandable since this is a ‘working track’ going back many centuries, but it’s a small I’ll always associate with Nepal.
Later, after a late night – not in bed until 9.30! – I tuned into the World Service and heard the end of the Arsenal-Aston Villa commentary, which reminded me it was Saturday afternoon. I’d forgotten. I really was getting away from it all.
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Trekking Day 5: Tatopani to Kalopani
Song of the Day: ‘Love in an Elevator’ – can’t remember who sung that one
“That climb’s gonna suck, man” the badly dressed American told me as he passed at the bottom. Suck what? Anyway, thanks for motivational words.
When I was planning the trek I had a number of choices. I could walk into the Annapurna Sanctuary, where the base camp is surrounded by a ring of snow, but went to more than 4,200m and had little variation in landscape on the climb. I chose the Pokhara-Jomson trek, and again had a choice between flying to Jomsom and walking down, or starting at the bottom and walking up. I chose the latter as it seemed more of an experience, more of a journey, and today I paid for it.
Making up for yesterday’s rest day, we walked beyond our original destination of Ghasa, on to Katopani, a solid eight hours of climbing. On the way we passed the Rupse Chhahara waterfall, a dramatic torrent all the more unusual for the way it cascades down several levels in different directions.
After more than an hour of climbing we passed a ‘Welcome to Mustang’ sign. At last! Nearby we were waited at a checkpoint for half an hour at the edge of a suspension bridge. Bored troops were on the lookout for Maoists, although none would be foolish enough to come this way, surely.
Everyday we’ve often had to pull over and make way for dozens of flocks of sheep and herds of goats being driven down the trail from the Mustang to Pokhara. I’m not a vegetarian but it’s disappointing to know that every one of these animals will be sacrificed on the ninth day of Dasain, the biggest Hindu festival in Nepal. Similar in importance to our Christmas, families travel across country to visit their families. The blood of the sacrificed animals is spilt on the wheels of every vehicle, from bicycles to airliners, to ensure safe passage in the coming year.
Goats are unenthusiastic about passing over suspension bridges but know the power of the stick, and whilst they normally gambol around the path and drive each other forwards it’s sad to see them cowering before a small boy with a stick, standing just outside its range without any threat from the child.
Finally we reached another Tolkeinesque scene where two footbridges crossed the junction of two rivers at the foot of Lete and Katopani. Crossing these we climbed up to a ridge across the valley and trudged the final half an hour through the villages to reach our lodge.
It’s another cold night but there’s a charcol burner under the table, the Maoists have declared a ceasefire during Dasain, and it’s all on the level, if not downhill, from here.
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Trekking Day 4: Tatopani
No song of the day – I was sciving
Why do couples always argue in public when on holiday? And why do Germans always walk to the communal shower wearing only underpants and flip flops?
These were some of the questions I had a chance to ponder whilst I took the day off. I am on holiday, after all, and although I felt a bit better this morning I decided to stay in Tatopani and enjoy the good food at the lodge. Apple crumble and Cadbury chocolate cake were two delights.
After a relaxing soak in the hot springs watching the locals making offerings to the river, I started reading ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer. It’s a first-hand account of the death of eight climbers in one day in a storm on top of Mount Everest in 1996. It describes in detail how clearly great climbers were killed in atrocious conditions, as well as some of their paying clients.
Not only was the preparation clearly challenging and expensive, but there was too much hard work and risk to appeal to me. The idea of standing on the roof of the world at 29,000′, whilst risking frostbite, falling a mile to my death, asphixyation fropm lack of oxygen et cetera is not my idea of fun. I admire those who do it, but I do not understand them.
Of course, this was all made worse by me reading all 357 pages in one go, by torchlight, in my concrete cell with a mountain river cascading feet away. It put a new light on my junior trek to Jomson – those path edges and steep drops worry me even more now.
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Trekking Day 3: Ghorepani to Tatopani via Poon Hill
Song of the Day: ‘I Can See Clearly Now’ – Hothouse Flowers
It was the best of days and the worst of days. I had an uncomfortable night’s sleep thanks to the freezing temperatures, my developing cold and being woken at 4.45AM by the voice of Yog singing ‘you are monkey, I an donkey’ in Nepali under my window.
The window had inced over so I rolled over and opened it. Scrabbling for my glasses I saw a sky full of stars blinking in the blackness. It was a perfect day for Poon Hill. Pulling on several layers of clothes, including my thermals and wooly hat (I knew it was worth dragging those from London), I grabbed my water and camera, had a good hacking cough and stumbled downstairs.
It was pitch black. Turning on my headtorch we began the forty minute walk up the hill. Twisting and turning, clambering up stone steps and gravel paths through rhododendron forests and across open fields, we passed several others climbing to the top. Climbing to more than 3,200m it was quite hard work and by the time we reached the top I was knackered.
After the peace of the previous two days it was a surprise to hit trekker central on top of the hill. A completely unnecessary viewing tower dominated the top – this is a hill, after all – whilst I grabbed on of the last seats on the benches at the front. At first I couldn’t see mountains, only French, but that eventually cleared. With competition for the best photos, a few minor disagreements were heard. “I’ve climbed Poon Hill and I’ll stand where I bloody well like” shouted one Aussie as his wife admonished him for standing in the way of everyone else.
But this died down as the sun rose and we got the spectacular views we’d come for. For the first time in weeks the sky was completely clear and the sunrise beautiful. Even before the sun hit them the peaks shone white and looked close enough to touch, despite them being 20km away. No photo can capture how it felt to be there, looking at two of the world’s highest mountains, but I was glad I’d climbed the hill this morning.
Having climbed several thousand feet in previous days, it was time to lose this height and we descended all day. This was surprisingly hard on the legs, and I had a few stumbles on the way. We negotiated several landslips before reaching a valley overlooking the Kali Gandaki river. The views from the top were stunning and walking down from Santosh I could have been entering a lost world, although dropping 350m in a kilometre of walking gave me little time to appreciate it.
As the day wore on my cold was getting worse, with a constant headache and cough, the walking was hard work and I was glad to arrive in Tatopani around 2.30 and checkin to the Dhaulagiri Lodge. It’s famous for its excellent food, but I didn’t find out as I went straight to bed and, apart from a brief chat with my guide to reassure him I was alive but sick, slept through until seven next morning.
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Trekking Day 2: Ulleri to Ghorepani
Song of the day: ‘Manmannna’ – The Muppets
Captain Dam Bahadur Pan is an ex-Indian Gurka, who also represented India (oddly, given he’s Nepali) at various commonwealth and regional games in the late ’70s and early ’80s. He’s proud to have been India’s best springboard diver for ten years, and his lodge in Ghorepani reflects his love of sport. Each room is named after a different sporting hero – he’s keen to differentiate between modern money-led ’stars’ and ‘real sportsmen’. ‘Real men play sport for their country, not money’, he says. I’m not clear how Michael Jordan fits into that criterion.
I’m staying in Room B, ‘Viv Richards’. It’s bloody cold up here, another 800m above Ulleri; after a short but steady climb this morning we’ve reached 2,750m – that’s about 9,000′. The path was relatively easy but steep, although I’ve learnt from yesterday’s mistake and took it easy, and the only difficulty has been a worsening sore throat.
As the afternoon wore on torrential rain began to fall and I pitied those still walking as they gradually drifted in. Another day of mountain watching wasted as clouds continued to block the view. The main reason for staying here is the chance to climb Poon Hill and watch dawn over the Himalaya, but I was sceptical we’d see sky let alone mountains.
Then, wonderfully, a small patch of blue sky appeared in the west and the snow white peaks began to appear. Half an hour later the face of Annapurna South was in front of me and in the distance shone Dhaulaguiri, one of the world’s highest peaks. Although the clouds closed in at sunset, delivering awesome pink colours on the mountain tops, I’ve finally seen some real mountains.
By 5pm it’s pitch black but the dining room has warmed up now that the huge wood furnace has been lit. We discuss the Maoists and the impact they’ve been having on tourism. The Maoist insurgency has had an increasing impact on Nepal since it began in 1996. In brief, they have a made a list of something like 46 demands to the Government, which they (rightly) perceive as corrupt and irresponsible. Their powerbase lies in the rural areas towards the extremes of Nepal, having become de facto rulers in some districts. But the government chooses to fight rather than negotiate, leading to deteriorating relations and no end in sight. There have already been many bombings and murders and, unless things improve, the country could perhaps slide into a guerilla war.
Maoists have been careful not to target tourists with violence, but their presence is having an enormous impact on tourism as a whole. Capt. Dam estimates business is down by 70% on last year. That may be an exaggeration, but at least 50% seems likely. There are 7 guests this evening, at the start of the peak season, in a lodge sleeping 46 and having an average occupancy of around 35 guests. Maoists consider themselves the second government of Nepal and want to tax tousts accordingly, demanding 1,200Rs from each foreign trekker. They left Ghorepani last week but we’ll probably encounter them at some point.
Of course, most of this money goes not to the poor but to more guns and more bombs, yet it’s hard to get a Nepali to forecast how it will end. For them, reliant on the tourist trade, they’re just stuck in the middle and not earning enough to keep their business going.
Early start tommorrow. I do hope it’s cloudy, then I can have a lie-in.
The Capt. Dam Bahadur Pun Hall of Fame
(Direct transcription as they appear on the doors)
Room A Nadia Komenchi Gymnastic – Romania
Room B Vic Richards Cricket – W.Indies
Room C Dyan Chand Hockey – India
Room D Michael Schumacher Motor Racing – Germany
Room E Maradonna Football – Argentina
Room F David Campese Rugby Union – Australia
Room G Sunil Gavaskar Cricke – India
Room H Pan Thorpe Swimming – Australia
Room I Ayrton Senna Motor Racing – Brazil
Room J Heire Drechsler Long Jomp – Germany
Room K –
Room L -
Room N Jesse Owens Athletics – U.S.A.
Room O Greg Louganis Diving – U.S.A
Room P Pete Sampras Lawn Tennis – U.S.A.
Room Q Steffi Graf Lawn Tennis – Germany
Room R Michael Jordan Basketball – U.S.A.
Room S Sergei Bubka Polevaule – U.S.S.R.
Plus, in the ’suites’, Hillary and Tenzing, Ali and Pele, and another couple of Sherpas.
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