Proving that Chimay isn't just sold in Lhasa
May 21, 2005
Serious!!
I got up groggily in the morning and managed to pack my (now far lighter) pack in time to leave for Leeds train station. It had been a brief but pleasant visit and I was happy to think that I’d be coming back for a week in August before moving in with Sue in London.
The trip to Peterborough was faultless and there I transferred to the Hatfield line to commence another day of surprises. Don and Sue met me at the train station and from there we drove down to see Tony and Mary Anne and their two adorable kids, Amber and Evie. Once again, they had no idea I was in the country, and I had more giggles at the surprised looks on their faces. Tony had generously donated the laptop on which all my blogging has been created and it was really good to see him and MA and the kids after such a long break. Don had also brought with him one of the kukri he had purchased in Kathmandu – an original gurkha kukri – which was his birthday present for Tony, who was quite clearly delighted with it. We didn’t stop for long - a cup of tea and a good chat – as we had to get up to Bishops Stortford in time for lunch and to surprise Don’s wife Vickie.
When we got there, Don and Sue parked in the usual spot at the back of the house, while I crept round to the front door. Vickie answered the door and, to my disappointment, said, ‘I knew you were coming.’ Bah! It seemed Don had been far too excitable all week and had accidentally let slip that Sue was one of the secret guests coming for lunch. Combine this with the fact that Vickie had picked up a package containing 2 printed T-shirts (which Don had got made up, specially for the occasion) and she’d have been daft not to guess really, I suppose. Other than that, she was very pleased to see me and, I’m happy to say, very chuffed with the anniversary gift, telling Don that he should have bought it in the first place.
One final surprise was still in store for the afternoon. Dave (of Thailand fame) had driven down from Liverpool and was blown away when, instead of Don, I answered the door. Several speechless seconds later (gleefully recorded on Don’s camcorder) he snapped out of his dazed stupor and gave me brotherly hug.
The afternoon’s ‘entertainment’ consisted of watching the FA Cup Final, which I must admit, was actually an excellent game and ended in a thrilling penalty shoot-out with – predictably – the team that had played best for 120 minutes losing in painful fashion. (I am not a Man U fan…honest…)
Throughout the afternoon, I’d been experiencing a growing sense of anticipation, knowing that very soon I’d be in The Cross listening to the best trance in London and surrounded by many great friends. Over the two years prior to my setting off on my travels, The Cross had become like a second home to me…and the regular punters, like an extended family. I’d missed the familiarity and the comfort of being surrounded by so many good people having such a good time and I was expecting tonight to be particularly special after 8 months away.
When the footie had all but finished, Sue and I headed back to hers to get ready for the big night out. We picked up our friend Al, who lives just round the corner and we were at the pre-club venue of ‘The Masque’ long before anybody else showed up – apart from Eliot and his girlfriend Dominique, on account of Eliot being the promoter and dj for this particular pre-club party. Eventually, people started to arrive in dribs and drabs. First Si and Al showed up with Steve and then Colette, then Jonny and Suki (from Full Moon) followed by Darren, Colin, Sparky and, finally, Andy and Katka. By the time we moved onto The Cross, there was already a great turnout of buddies who I’d taken great delight in freaking out. Only Ellie, Papa, Ed, Gordana and Rachel were now missing to make my night complete – and they’re all notorious for turning up late anyway.
At the club I had the pleasure of popping up like some kind of jack-in-a-box in front of our friend and resident dj, Si who, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat before giving me the Wildman treatment and screaming ‘I knew it! I knew it!’ in his broad Northern Irish brogue. Don had had to make up some spurious story about ‘a special guest dj’ to ensure as many of my friends were there as possible and Si, being the man in charge of assigning slots to the djs, had known full well that there was no such ‘special guest’. He’d suspected (and probably some of the others too, to be fair) that the only thing that would get Don so excited would be a return visit from me. However, thanks to constant denials by Don and some clever mendacity from me, nobody had been certain and the surprise hadn’t been totally spoilt. Ellie eventually turned up with her housemate Steph and, not too long after, came Ed and Gordana - one of the sweetest couples I know and very dear friends to me. Gordana, being the size of Thumbelina, is ideal for picking up and squeezing in big bear hugs, which she also happens to love. Of all the people who I hadn’t been able to surprise earlier in the week, it was her boundless love and affection that I was most happy to receive on that truly awesome night.
The music was absolutely blinding – some of the purest, most seamlessly-mixed trance I’d heard for a very long time. There was a really good, appreciative crowd in the place and the sumptuous leather sofas in the garden offered ample opportunity to sit and spraff when the pace got too much. For once, the night didn’t seem to disappear in the blink of an eye, as I’d feared it would and I seemed to have hour after hour in the pleasurable company of so many of my friends. It was great to have Si and Al meeting all my London buddies and I was also pleased to see them having such a great time with music that wouldn’t normally be their first choice. Eventually, the sun came up and the party was temporarily over…but only until we’d all decamped back to Andy and Katka’s for the after-party of the year. My entire record collection got played by a succession of djs (Dave, easily the pick of the bunch – although I did manage one or two good mixes myself!) as the vodka supplies steadily diminished in the face of some determined quaffing by myself and Andy.
I proudly claimed the honour of last man standing (only fitting after an 8 month furlough!) before collapsing in exhaustion on the sofa and catching forty winks before my evening engagement with one final bunch of friends.
Another former work colleague who I’d become close friends with, Clare, and her husband Dino (like Jon, one of my best muckers and undisputed King of the Barbeque) drove down from Bicester in the evening to join Jon, Charlotte, Al, Si, Steve and I for dinner and a final meal at Silom Village. It was the perfect, slightly more sedate, end to an awesome weekend and a thoroughly enjoyable trip home. In the morning, I’d be catching my flight back to Mumbai, before moving on to Singapore and finally to meet Annie in Malaysia.
Jon and Char kindly drove me back to Sue’s to save me catching the last tube and I collapsed gratefully into bed, safe in the knowledge that, no matter how bad my hangover was going to be, my bag was already packed.
The trip to Peterborough was faultless and there I transferred to the Hatfield line to commence another day of surprises. Don and Sue met me at the train station and from there we drove down to see Tony and Mary Anne and their two adorable kids, Amber and Evie. Once again, they had no idea I was in the country, and I had more giggles at the surprised looks on their faces. Tony had generously donated the laptop on which all my blogging has been created and it was really good to see him and MA and the kids after such a long break. Don had also brought with him one of the kukri he had purchased in Kathmandu – an original gurkha kukri – which was his birthday present for Tony, who was quite clearly delighted with it. We didn’t stop for long - a cup of tea and a good chat – as we had to get up to Bishops Stortford in time for lunch and to surprise Don’s wife Vickie.
When we got there, Don and Sue parked in the usual spot at the back of the house, while I crept round to the front door. Vickie answered the door and, to my disappointment, said, ‘I knew you were coming.’ Bah! It seemed Don had been far too excitable all week and had accidentally let slip that Sue was one of the secret guests coming for lunch. Combine this with the fact that Vickie had picked up a package containing 2 printed T-shirts (which Don had got made up, specially for the occasion) and she’d have been daft not to guess really, I suppose. Other than that, she was very pleased to see me and, I’m happy to say, very chuffed with the anniversary gift, telling Don that he should have bought it in the first place.
One final surprise was still in store for the afternoon. Dave (of Thailand fame) had driven down from Liverpool and was blown away when, instead of Don, I answered the door. Several speechless seconds later (gleefully recorded on Don’s camcorder) he snapped out of his dazed stupor and gave me brotherly hug.
The afternoon’s ‘entertainment’ consisted of watching the FA Cup Final, which I must admit, was actually an excellent game and ended in a thrilling penalty shoot-out with – predictably – the team that had played best for 120 minutes losing in painful fashion. (I am not a Man U fan…honest…)
Throughout the afternoon, I’d been experiencing a growing sense of anticipation, knowing that very soon I’d be in The Cross listening to the best trance in London and surrounded by many great friends. Over the two years prior to my setting off on my travels, The Cross had become like a second home to me…and the regular punters, like an extended family. I’d missed the familiarity and the comfort of being surrounded by so many good people having such a good time and I was expecting tonight to be particularly special after 8 months away.
When the footie had all but finished, Sue and I headed back to hers to get ready for the big night out. We picked up our friend Al, who lives just round the corner and we were at the pre-club venue of ‘The Masque’ long before anybody else showed up – apart from Eliot and his girlfriend Dominique, on account of Eliot being the promoter and dj for this particular pre-club party. Eventually, people started to arrive in dribs and drabs. First Si and Al showed up with Steve and then Colette, then Jonny and Suki (from Full Moon) followed by Darren, Colin, Sparky and, finally, Andy and Katka. By the time we moved onto The Cross, there was already a great turnout of buddies who I’d taken great delight in freaking out. Only Ellie, Papa, Ed, Gordana and Rachel were now missing to make my night complete – and they’re all notorious for turning up late anyway.
At the club I had the pleasure of popping up like some kind of jack-in-a-box in front of our friend and resident dj, Si who, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat before giving me the Wildman treatment and screaming ‘I knew it! I knew it!’ in his broad Northern Irish brogue. Don had had to make up some spurious story about ‘a special guest dj’ to ensure as many of my friends were there as possible and Si, being the man in charge of assigning slots to the djs, had known full well that there was no such ‘special guest’. He’d suspected (and probably some of the others too, to be fair) that the only thing that would get Don so excited would be a return visit from me. However, thanks to constant denials by Don and some clever mendacity from me, nobody had been certain and the surprise hadn’t been totally spoilt. Ellie eventually turned up with her housemate Steph and, not too long after, came Ed and Gordana - one of the sweetest couples I know and very dear friends to me. Gordana, being the size of Thumbelina, is ideal for picking up and squeezing in big bear hugs, which she also happens to love. Of all the people who I hadn’t been able to surprise earlier in the week, it was her boundless love and affection that I was most happy to receive on that truly awesome night.
The music was absolutely blinding – some of the purest, most seamlessly-mixed trance I’d heard for a very long time. There was a really good, appreciative crowd in the place and the sumptuous leather sofas in the garden offered ample opportunity to sit and spraff when the pace got too much. For once, the night didn’t seem to disappear in the blink of an eye, as I’d feared it would and I seemed to have hour after hour in the pleasurable company of so many of my friends. It was great to have Si and Al meeting all my London buddies and I was also pleased to see them having such a great time with music that wouldn’t normally be their first choice. Eventually, the sun came up and the party was temporarily over…but only until we’d all decamped back to Andy and Katka’s for the after-party of the year. My entire record collection got played by a succession of djs (Dave, easily the pick of the bunch – although I did manage one or two good mixes myself!) as the vodka supplies steadily diminished in the face of some determined quaffing by myself and Andy.
I proudly claimed the honour of last man standing (only fitting after an 8 month furlough!) before collapsing in exhaustion on the sofa and catching forty winks before my evening engagement with one final bunch of friends.
Another former work colleague who I’d become close friends with, Clare, and her husband Dino (like Jon, one of my best muckers and undisputed King of the Barbeque) drove down from Bicester in the evening to join Jon, Charlotte, Al, Si, Steve and I for dinner and a final meal at Silom Village. It was the perfect, slightly more sedate, end to an awesome weekend and a thoroughly enjoyable trip home. In the morning, I’d be catching my flight back to Mumbai, before moving on to Singapore and finally to meet Annie in Malaysia.
Jon and Char kindly drove me back to Sue’s to save me catching the last tube and I collapsed gratefully into bed, safe in the knowledge that, no matter how bad my hangover was going to be, my bag was already packed.
May 20, 2005
Birthday Boy
I’d agreed to meet Al at 9 o’clock so there had been no chance of another lie-in. In retrospect, I’m glad of the few hours we had before his train down to London was due to leave. When we’d first been organising my visit (Al was the only person apart from Don and my family who’d known I was coming – mainly because I wanted to make sure that he’d be able to come to London and meet my clubbing fraternity) I’d been unaware that it would be Joshua’s (my nephew) birthday and I’d expected to meet Al in London on this day. He’d booked his train ticket before I’d realised my error and was now going to stay with Steve in Ealing, prior to our big night out on Saturday. As one of my oldest and closest friends (a veteran of many superb camping trips to Scotland with me and Dave), it felt right and proper to spend some quality time with him before the hurly-burly of a big weekend. We enjoyed the sensation of having no work to go to and Al showed me all the latest improvements to the flat he’d bought not long before I’d left. The place had formerly belonged to a slightly grotty old man, with a penchant for deep-fat frying and filterless cigarettes. Where there had previously been yellow walls and filthy carpets, was now pristine emulsion and handsome tile-work. Al’s always been very practical and good with his hands and much of the improvements had been carried out by him alone. I couldn’t help but be impressed and I had a few wistful pangs for the little flat I’d sold in Torquay, the previous summer.
We went into town much earlier than necessary and, as luck would have it (!), discovered that the pubs were open and serving refreshing, cold pints of Stella Artois. Sitting in the peaceful, morning sunshine while the rest of the world went about its workaday business, we allowed ourselves a smile and then a chortle – with the thought of the weekend looming large in our minds. Eventually, it was time for him to jump on the train and, after waving him off, I jumped on the bus up to my sister’s house, where a certain young man was enjoying a birthday party with his friends.
Now I don’t care what anybody says about bias and family ties, Josh is simply the coolest, cutest, most charming and downright lovable little monkey in the whole of Yorkshire. I can’t ever remember seeing him cry (except for perhaps the odd occasion when his food doesn’t get there quick enough)and he virtually always has a huge, happy grin on his face and mostly gurgles with delight at whatever’s taken his fancy at the time. Add to this his undeniable popularity with the ladies (young and old!), an extremely healthy appetite and a robust sense of adventure and I think you’ll find he beats all other contenders into a cocked hat.
I arrived just as final other little guests were being helped out of their coats and I had a fun afternoon playing with toy cars and activity centres (with the kids, of course!) and eating all kinds of little treats (when they’d finished theirs, obviously).
Grandad and the Birthday Boy
In the evening we went, en famille, for a meal at a local Italian restaurant – the very place I’d had my farewell dinner with the family before I left Harrogate in September. The food was as reliably tasty as ever and the waiting staff were quite obviously in love with the young birthday boy from the minute he was wheeled through the door. He really seems to enjoy sitting in his high-chair and trying to share his food by the haphazard method of launching it off the end of a frantically waving spoon. Highlight of the evening was his Birthday Panacotta, complete with sparkler and candle, which he duly gobbled down as fast as he jolly well could. It wasn’t long before bedtime and, with impeccable timing, Dave and Jess turned up just as we were all about to leave. I sauntered off with them for a little carousing until closing time, choosing to save my strength for the main event the following night...
Yes...it's MY cake!
Proud Uncle
Best mate Dave chows down on some pizza
We went into town much earlier than necessary and, as luck would have it (!), discovered that the pubs were open and serving refreshing, cold pints of Stella Artois. Sitting in the peaceful, morning sunshine while the rest of the world went about its workaday business, we allowed ourselves a smile and then a chortle – with the thought of the weekend looming large in our minds. Eventually, it was time for him to jump on the train and, after waving him off, I jumped on the bus up to my sister’s house, where a certain young man was enjoying a birthday party with his friends.
Now I don’t care what anybody says about bias and family ties, Josh is simply the coolest, cutest, most charming and downright lovable little monkey in the whole of Yorkshire. I can’t ever remember seeing him cry (except for perhaps the odd occasion when his food doesn’t get there quick enough)and he virtually always has a huge, happy grin on his face and mostly gurgles with delight at whatever’s taken his fancy at the time. Add to this his undeniable popularity with the ladies (young and old!), an extremely healthy appetite and a robust sense of adventure and I think you’ll find he beats all other contenders into a cocked hat.
I arrived just as final other little guests were being helped out of their coats and I had a fun afternoon playing with toy cars and activity centres (with the kids, of course!) and eating all kinds of little treats (when they’d finished theirs, obviously).
Grandad and the Birthday Boy
In the evening we went, en famille, for a meal at a local Italian restaurant – the very place I’d had my farewell dinner with the family before I left Harrogate in September. The food was as reliably tasty as ever and the waiting staff were quite obviously in love with the young birthday boy from the minute he was wheeled through the door. He really seems to enjoy sitting in his high-chair and trying to share his food by the haphazard method of launching it off the end of a frantically waving spoon. Highlight of the evening was his Birthday Panacotta, complete with sparkler and candle, which he duly gobbled down as fast as he jolly well could. It wasn’t long before bedtime and, with impeccable timing, Dave and Jess turned up just as we were all about to leave. I sauntered off with them for a little carousing until closing time, choosing to save my strength for the main event the following night...
Yes...it's MY cake!
Proud Uncle
Best mate Dave chows down on some pizza
May 19, 2005
Family
I’d spent much of Wednesday playing around with the new hardware (a DVD-RW drive to back up my data – with so many photos and so much writing, I was terrified of losing my files if the hard-drive blew up or my laptop got stolen) and software on the computer. I had a couple of frustrating spins on the decks – 8 months of no practice on top of limited ability doesn’t make for good mixing…but it was nice to hear some of the older tunes that I don’t have on cd. In the evening, Sue, Jon, Charlotte, Andy, Katka and another clubbing buddy, Shivan came out for a meal at my other favourite Ealing establishment, Silom Village. The Thai food here is exquisite and extremely reasonably priced and we had a really pleasant evening chatting and discussing plans for the weekend. We didn’t return too late to Sue’s place in East Barnet as she had a busy day at school the next day.
On Thursday morning, enjoying a lazy lie-in after Sue had gone to school, I took the liberty of reacquainting myself with the good old English Breakfast. One thing I’d learnt on my travels through Asia is that you can’t get a decent sausage for love nor money and it was with some relish that I tucked into a big plate, including 3 prime pork sausages. I then packed up my kit and headed back to Andy and Katka’s to pack my stuff up to take to King’s Cross. My train up north wasn’t until 7.00ish but I wasn’t keen on the idea of lugging all my stuff (including the delicate artwork) on the tube during rush hour and had decided to leave the majority in left luggage for the afternoon.
I then caught the tube to Knightsbridge to meet a good friend, Sophie, and her mother for lunch. Sophie had been at Exeter with me and we’d become very close when a mutual friend of ours had died in a car-crash not long after graduating. It was Sophie’s brother, Ollie, who I’d visited in Montreal, way back at the start of my trip and, as well as getting to spend some time with Soph and Mrs. Lyttleton, I was also able to pick up some stuff that Ollie had brought back to the UK for me. I ate a delicious smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and chattered away excitedly about my adventures and future plans. The friend I was due to meet in Singapore, Ryan, was another close friend of Soph’s and she asked me to pass on her love as she hadn’t seen him in some time. Time was up all-too-quickly with Soph having to get back to work and we said hurried goodbyes before heading our separate ways. I met Don, once again, for a second lunch before heading back to Andy’s for a final spin on the decks and a lazy afternoon with a couple of beers. Before I knew it, it was time to leave for the train station and I said my goodbyes, in anticipation of an awesome night when I returned on Saturday.
The journey up to Leeds was surprisingly fast and smooth and I didn’t have a lot of time to work on the newly-upgraded laptop. The amusing highlight of the trip was seeing an advert in the buffet car, advertising the free-range, organic nature of the eggs used by GNER. The manager of the wholesome farm from which these superior eggs were obtained was none other than Adrian Potter – a former schoolmate of mine in Harrogate – and his beaming face shone down from the poster on the wall.
It was fortunate that the train was actually terminating in Leeds – I don’t think there’s any chance I’d have been able to get all my kit off in time, otherwise. My parents stood smiling at the platform entrance as I sidled up under my mountain of baggage.
As they say, there’s no place like home and we were soon there in my Dad’s slick new BMW 5-series (a vast improvement, in my eyes, on the slightly cramped 3 he’d had before). Paternal and maternal love gushed forth and I was plied with food (pork chops) and beer (Staropramen), whilst smothered in the warm welcome, always extended to a prodigal son. I’d been a ‘long-distance’ son for 10 years now – ever since my University days in Exeter – but this had only served to improve our relationship as the novelty of visiting had never been given the chance to wear off. I think there’s a natural instinct for parents and their offspring to separate once adult personalities are formed. It makes sense in both evolutionary and social terms…and with the headstrong little bugger I’d been at 18, it had probably saved our long-term relationship. Regardless of all that, I was certainly very pleased to see my folks and they made it perfectly plain that they were pleased to have me back, however briefly.
We stayed up a while as I filled them in on all my adventures in Nepal (at this point, appallingly, virtually unmentioned in the blog) and I showed them some of the gifts and souvenirs I’d brought from various corners of the globe. Upstairs in the spare room was my very own bed (truly a sight for sore eyes!) with a brand new mattress and it wasn’t long before I was sinking back into its warm embrace and snoring away to my hearts content.
On Thursday morning, enjoying a lazy lie-in after Sue had gone to school, I took the liberty of reacquainting myself with the good old English Breakfast. One thing I’d learnt on my travels through Asia is that you can’t get a decent sausage for love nor money and it was with some relish that I tucked into a big plate, including 3 prime pork sausages. I then packed up my kit and headed back to Andy and Katka’s to pack my stuff up to take to King’s Cross. My train up north wasn’t until 7.00ish but I wasn’t keen on the idea of lugging all my stuff (including the delicate artwork) on the tube during rush hour and had decided to leave the majority in left luggage for the afternoon.
I then caught the tube to Knightsbridge to meet a good friend, Sophie, and her mother for lunch. Sophie had been at Exeter with me and we’d become very close when a mutual friend of ours had died in a car-crash not long after graduating. It was Sophie’s brother, Ollie, who I’d visited in Montreal, way back at the start of my trip and, as well as getting to spend some time with Soph and Mrs. Lyttleton, I was also able to pick up some stuff that Ollie had brought back to the UK for me. I ate a delicious smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and chattered away excitedly about my adventures and future plans. The friend I was due to meet in Singapore, Ryan, was another close friend of Soph’s and she asked me to pass on her love as she hadn’t seen him in some time. Time was up all-too-quickly with Soph having to get back to work and we said hurried goodbyes before heading our separate ways. I met Don, once again, for a second lunch before heading back to Andy’s for a final spin on the decks and a lazy afternoon with a couple of beers. Before I knew it, it was time to leave for the train station and I said my goodbyes, in anticipation of an awesome night when I returned on Saturday.
The journey up to Leeds was surprisingly fast and smooth and I didn’t have a lot of time to work on the newly-upgraded laptop. The amusing highlight of the trip was seeing an advert in the buffet car, advertising the free-range, organic nature of the eggs used by GNER. The manager of the wholesome farm from which these superior eggs were obtained was none other than Adrian Potter – a former schoolmate of mine in Harrogate – and his beaming face shone down from the poster on the wall.
It was fortunate that the train was actually terminating in Leeds – I don’t think there’s any chance I’d have been able to get all my kit off in time, otherwise. My parents stood smiling at the platform entrance as I sidled up under my mountain of baggage.
As they say, there’s no place like home and we were soon there in my Dad’s slick new BMW 5-series (a vast improvement, in my eyes, on the slightly cramped 3 he’d had before). Paternal and maternal love gushed forth and I was plied with food (pork chops) and beer (Staropramen), whilst smothered in the warm welcome, always extended to a prodigal son. I’d been a ‘long-distance’ son for 10 years now – ever since my University days in Exeter – but this had only served to improve our relationship as the novelty of visiting had never been given the chance to wear off. I think there’s a natural instinct for parents and their offspring to separate once adult personalities are formed. It makes sense in both evolutionary and social terms…and with the headstrong little bugger I’d been at 18, it had probably saved our long-term relationship. Regardless of all that, I was certainly very pleased to see my folks and they made it perfectly plain that they were pleased to have me back, however briefly.
We stayed up a while as I filled them in on all my adventures in Nepal (at this point, appallingly, virtually unmentioned in the blog) and I showed them some of the gifts and souvenirs I’d brought from various corners of the globe. Upstairs in the spare room was my very own bed (truly a sight for sore eyes!) with a brand new mattress and it wasn’t long before I was sinking back into its warm embrace and snoring away to my hearts content.
May 17, 2005
Surprise, Surprise!!
I arrived at Heathrow to find that May had forgotten that it was supposed to be the start of the English summer. When the captain announced outside temperatures of 6 degrees, I was glad of the fleece I’d decided to pack at the top of my big pack and the heated air-con inside the terminal building, whilst waiting for it to come off the carousel. It was early and I couldn’t be arsed with the hassle of the tube with so much kit to carry so I took an extortionately expensive black cab to Abbeyfields Close in Park Royal, where I was hoping to make an enjoyable start to a day of freaking people out. First on my list of victims were Charlotte (a former work colleague and close friend) and her boyfriend Jon (after meeting him through Charlotte, he’s become one of my best buddies and an essential ingredient to a good barbeque or lads’ card night).
It was still before 7 when I arrived outside Jon and Charlotte’s door so, rather than wake them up too early, I deposited my bags and hid round a corner to read a book. Eventually, as the time approached a more respectable hour and I started to feel the wintry nip in the air, I took the plunge and knocked on the door.
I could see Jon coming to the door and, when he asked who it was, I gave an unconvincing ‘Parcel for a Miss Decunha’ (Charlotte’s surname). Jon, bleary eyed, swung the door open, spent a few, uncomprehending moments studying my face, before suggesting I go elsewhere in somewhat crude terms and slamming the door in my face. I was delighted at his reaction and in stitches that I’d caught him so obviously unaware and, when he re-opened the door to let me in, I gave him a warm hug and a firm handshake.
Charlotte was still sleepily tucked up in bed and muttered something about having a bad dream but soon got up and seemed as pleased to see me as I was her. The two of them made me feel very welcome and Jon even went so far as to cook me some bacon and eggs, while we sat there and chatted for the first time in 8 months. It was great to be back amongst close friends – people who know me inside-out – and I was gratified to hear Char putting my own thoughts into words when she remarked, ‘It’s like you never left.’ This was exactly how I was feeling and the slight sense of trepidation that I’d felt before this warm welcome immediately dissipated. Of course, the pair of them would have to get off to work before long, so I grabbed a set of keys and walked 2 minutes down the road to the house of our mutual friends, Andy and Katka. These two had been a part of the group with whom I’d first started clubbing in London and I’d introduced them to Jon and Char when I discovered that they lived so close by. Andy has to be one of the most intelligent blokes I know and I’ve whiled away many happy hours with him debating the finer points of world politics. One of my favourite memories comes from an idyllic 10 days last summer (between quitting my job and departing on my trip), sitting glued to the Olympics with him for 12 hour-a-day, soaking up every ounce of sport imaginable. His lovely girlfriend, Katka, hails from Hungary and her affectionate nature and crazy imagination are always highlights of a good night (and usually the following day!) of trance.
My attempts at deception were far more successful here, as both Andy and Katka were expecting several parcels. Andy is never the brightest in the morning and when he came stumbling to the door and heard my ‘Parcelforce, Guvnor’, he eagerly opened the door and stared down at my hands, where he fully expected to see a package. After a second or two, when he’d realised there was no parcel there, he looked up at my face and slow recognition dawned on him. I got just as warm a welcome from him as I had from the other two and, when Katka realised what was going on, she soon jumped out of bed and enveloped me in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses. Of all my friends (mainly due to their employment circumstances and an excellent broadband connection) they’d been in most frequent contact with me over the last eight months and, if anything, we’d become closer in my absence.
I spent the morning tooling around with Andy and enlisting his technical expertise to sort out a few remaining glitches with my laptop. Amongst other things he ordered me a new RAM chip to improve the computer’s speed and downloaded a whole host of software that would protect me from hackers and unwanted advertising. We met Jon for lunch at one of my favourite restaurants in Ealing, The Hare and Tortoise, where they serve a wide selection of Asian foods. I enjoyed sashimi and noodles as well as a few tasty appetisers and the boys remarked that my appetite was as good as ever, despite my huge weight-loss. I confided in them that I suspected I might have a tape-worm as the weight had not returned at all since my trekking had finished 2 weeks previously. However, I agreed that it was much more likely that my metabolism was still working at its higher, Himalayan rate and that I’d soon be back to my former size once I got home and started sitting around again.
After lunch in Ealing, I jumped on the tube to join Don for a second lunch at Canary Wharf. My long-awaited square pie and mash was delicious, but compared not-at-all to the delight of seeing my brother once again. He was pleased that my morning had gone as planned and was eagerly anticipating my evening surprise – the biggest of all! – when I’d be turning up on Sue’s front doorstep. Sue is the most important person in my life and the one, over the months away, who I’d missed most keenly. Before I’d left on my travels, we’d been virtually inseparable and, without any way for her to come out and see me as Don and Dave had been able to, it was her face I was most looking forward to seeing.
I left Don to get back to his work and travelled back to West London to pick up the bag of stuff I’d need for my stay at Sue’s. I’d be back the following day (while Sue was at school, teaching) as I wanted to get in some practice on my record decks, which I’d left in the safe hands of Andy and Katka while I was away.
It was gone 8 o’clock by the time I got to Sue’s and, fortunately, her housemate Mike answered the door and I was able to shush him up before he gave the game away. I knocked on Sue’s bedroom door and pushed it open to find her cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by a bunch of exam papers. She looked up and time seemed to stand still for a few moments before she managed a whispered ‘Oh! My God!’…which she then repeated several times.
I then got my warmest hug of the day and was subjected to a barrage of questions, interspersed with frequent “I can’t believe you here”s. We spent several hours yakking away and catching up on recent news before we took a stroll down across the park so she could show me the maisonette she was going to buy. It looked nice from the outside and, barely 5 minutes from her current flat and her sister’s old house (where we’d spent many happy weekends), it was perfect for transport into London and near enough to the M25 for a quick getaway. It was where I would be living when I finally came home at the end of the summer and the prospect of it was enough for me to wish it was August already.
Much as with my reunion with Don in Kathmandu, we were both far too excited to get to sleep and sat there for hours chatting and just generally enjoying being back in each others company. After 8 amazing months on the road, I knew that my trip home had been perfectly timed and just what I needed. Being surrounded once more by the love and affection of my friends was very life-affirming and I realised, yet again, just how lucky I was to have friends like these. Eventually, the adrenalin wore off and the effects of my long trip from Kathmandu began to have their say. I floated off to sleep in a real, comfortable bed with a warm, fluffy duvet…very, very pleased to be home.
It was still before 7 when I arrived outside Jon and Charlotte’s door so, rather than wake them up too early, I deposited my bags and hid round a corner to read a book. Eventually, as the time approached a more respectable hour and I started to feel the wintry nip in the air, I took the plunge and knocked on the door.
I could see Jon coming to the door and, when he asked who it was, I gave an unconvincing ‘Parcel for a Miss Decunha’ (Charlotte’s surname). Jon, bleary eyed, swung the door open, spent a few, uncomprehending moments studying my face, before suggesting I go elsewhere in somewhat crude terms and slamming the door in my face. I was delighted at his reaction and in stitches that I’d caught him so obviously unaware and, when he re-opened the door to let me in, I gave him a warm hug and a firm handshake.
Charlotte was still sleepily tucked up in bed and muttered something about having a bad dream but soon got up and seemed as pleased to see me as I was her. The two of them made me feel very welcome and Jon even went so far as to cook me some bacon and eggs, while we sat there and chatted for the first time in 8 months. It was great to be back amongst close friends – people who know me inside-out – and I was gratified to hear Char putting my own thoughts into words when she remarked, ‘It’s like you never left.’ This was exactly how I was feeling and the slight sense of trepidation that I’d felt before this warm welcome immediately dissipated. Of course, the pair of them would have to get off to work before long, so I grabbed a set of keys and walked 2 minutes down the road to the house of our mutual friends, Andy and Katka. These two had been a part of the group with whom I’d first started clubbing in London and I’d introduced them to Jon and Char when I discovered that they lived so close by. Andy has to be one of the most intelligent blokes I know and I’ve whiled away many happy hours with him debating the finer points of world politics. One of my favourite memories comes from an idyllic 10 days last summer (between quitting my job and departing on my trip), sitting glued to the Olympics with him for 12 hour-a-day, soaking up every ounce of sport imaginable. His lovely girlfriend, Katka, hails from Hungary and her affectionate nature and crazy imagination are always highlights of a good night (and usually the following day!) of trance.
My attempts at deception were far more successful here, as both Andy and Katka were expecting several parcels. Andy is never the brightest in the morning and when he came stumbling to the door and heard my ‘Parcelforce, Guvnor’, he eagerly opened the door and stared down at my hands, where he fully expected to see a package. After a second or two, when he’d realised there was no parcel there, he looked up at my face and slow recognition dawned on him. I got just as warm a welcome from him as I had from the other two and, when Katka realised what was going on, she soon jumped out of bed and enveloped me in a whirlwind of hugs and kisses. Of all my friends (mainly due to their employment circumstances and an excellent broadband connection) they’d been in most frequent contact with me over the last eight months and, if anything, we’d become closer in my absence.
I spent the morning tooling around with Andy and enlisting his technical expertise to sort out a few remaining glitches with my laptop. Amongst other things he ordered me a new RAM chip to improve the computer’s speed and downloaded a whole host of software that would protect me from hackers and unwanted advertising. We met Jon for lunch at one of my favourite restaurants in Ealing, The Hare and Tortoise, where they serve a wide selection of Asian foods. I enjoyed sashimi and noodles as well as a few tasty appetisers and the boys remarked that my appetite was as good as ever, despite my huge weight-loss. I confided in them that I suspected I might have a tape-worm as the weight had not returned at all since my trekking had finished 2 weeks previously. However, I agreed that it was much more likely that my metabolism was still working at its higher, Himalayan rate and that I’d soon be back to my former size once I got home and started sitting around again.
After lunch in Ealing, I jumped on the tube to join Don for a second lunch at Canary Wharf. My long-awaited square pie and mash was delicious, but compared not-at-all to the delight of seeing my brother once again. He was pleased that my morning had gone as planned and was eagerly anticipating my evening surprise – the biggest of all! – when I’d be turning up on Sue’s front doorstep. Sue is the most important person in my life and the one, over the months away, who I’d missed most keenly. Before I’d left on my travels, we’d been virtually inseparable and, without any way for her to come out and see me as Don and Dave had been able to, it was her face I was most looking forward to seeing.
I left Don to get back to his work and travelled back to West London to pick up the bag of stuff I’d need for my stay at Sue’s. I’d be back the following day (while Sue was at school, teaching) as I wanted to get in some practice on my record decks, which I’d left in the safe hands of Andy and Katka while I was away.
It was gone 8 o’clock by the time I got to Sue’s and, fortunately, her housemate Mike answered the door and I was able to shush him up before he gave the game away. I knocked on Sue’s bedroom door and pushed it open to find her cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by a bunch of exam papers. She looked up and time seemed to stand still for a few moments before she managed a whispered ‘Oh! My God!’…which she then repeated several times.
I then got my warmest hug of the day and was subjected to a barrage of questions, interspersed with frequent “I can’t believe you here”s. We spent several hours yakking away and catching up on recent news before we took a stroll down across the park so she could show me the maisonette she was going to buy. It looked nice from the outside and, barely 5 minutes from her current flat and her sister’s old house (where we’d spent many happy weekends), it was perfect for transport into London and near enough to the M25 for a quick getaway. It was where I would be living when I finally came home at the end of the summer and the prospect of it was enough for me to wish it was August already.
Much as with my reunion with Don in Kathmandu, we were both far too excited to get to sleep and sat there for hours chatting and just generally enjoying being back in each others company. After 8 amazing months on the road, I knew that my trip home had been perfectly timed and just what I needed. Being surrounded once more by the love and affection of my friends was very life-affirming and I realised, yet again, just how lucky I was to have friends like these. Eventually, the adrenalin wore off and the effects of my long trip from Kathmandu began to have their say. I floated off to sleep in a real, comfortable bed with a warm, fluffy duvet…very, very pleased to be home.
May 16, 2005
Au revoir Kathmandu
I really wasn’t feeling too special when I crawled out of bed at the hideous hour of 5.15am. I threw some clothes on and then took an unhappy leave of a sleepy and cosy looking Annie. It had been a brief but wonderful weekend and I had much to look forward to on my return to Asia in 8 days time. Her flight to Bangkok was early in the afternoon and I knew she’d be long gone by the time I got back to the hotel.
Uttam was waiting for me at the gates of the school and proceeded to inform me how lucky I was to be in the newspaper once again. My fuddled mind was more than a little bemused until I realised that Uttam, ever the PR king, had cunningly managed to get me involved in the actual opening day at Bhaktapur. I wasn’t displeased at the thought of witnessing such an auspicious occasion but I knew that any hopes of a quick there-and-back inspection had gone out of the window…and probably with it, the carefully laid plans I’d made for the day. He gave me a whirlwind, terrifying ride through the back streets and over the fields to Bhaktapur. Once there, I was a little bemused by the need for such an early departure. I ended up eating a non-descript breakfast at an establishment with dubious looking hygiene standards and then spent over two hours waiting for the action to commence, with ever dwindling hopes of making it back to town in time to learn how to cook dal bhat from Ram’s wife, Sarita.
I spent the first hour, curled up on a bench in one of the newly-finished classrooms, trying to catch up on some sleep. Then the guest of honour arrived - the King’s swami (holy man) and a paragon of educational endeavour, who had learnt to read and write at the age of 28, before going on to earn a doctorate. The only problem with the arrival of this extremely important man was the utter absence of Uttam and the busload of pupils from the school, who were due to greet the new members of their ‘family’ in a special welcoming ceremony.
While I sat, uncomfortably, next to the swami in awkward silence (he’s extremely deaf and has similar English skills to my Nepali), the playground area began to fill up with excited children and expectant parents. The clock ticked on and there was still no sign of Uttam or the kids and soon it looked like things might turn sour. However, in the nick of time, a bus pulled up and the bright rainbow colours of Samata School (and Michael) came streaming off to take their places inside the gate. Our swami (somewhat disgruntled by this point) assumed the position with a large bowl of tikka and began to bless the new pupils as they entered the school grounds to be greeted by a counterpart from the other school. After he’d blessed a reasonable number, he took his leave and roared off back to Kathmandu in a clapped out, Peugeot ‘limousine’. Uttam took ever the blessing responsibilities and the playground was soon full of neat legions of young childred, eager to get into the classroom and start their first day of school.
I was aware that time was starting to get away from me and started rounding up people to say goodbye to so that I’d be ready to jump on Uttam’s bike, the minute he was free. Firstly, I took my leave of Michael. He’d been a welcome addition to our little crew and I knew my kids would thrive in his capable hands until he too would hand over the reins to someone else. I’d enjoyed his company and we’d become good friends so I knew we’d be seeking each other out in London (or Harrogate) when we both returned home after our trips.
Several of the girls I’d promised photos to, were among the prefects there to look after these new kids and I was able to give them their pics with quickly scrawled notes on the back. More than anything, I wanted these girls to believe in themselves and stick with their education, no matter what external pressures they experienced. I was sad to be leaving them but, at the same time, looking forward to coming back and finding them all developing into the leaders I knew they were all capable of becoming. There was a tear in my eye and a catch in my throat as I wished them all goodbye and I dearly wished that the social mores of their society had allowed me to give them all the big hug they deserved.
After this melancholy parting, I was in a hurry to leave and hide my emotions and I finally managed to prise Uttam away for another hair-raising ride back to town. Once there, I made a quick tour of the classrooms and said one final goodbye to the rest of the children, feeling awkward to be interrupting their lessons but glad at the universally affectionate response I received.
Uttam drove me up to Ram and Sarita’s and joined Ram and I for a quick cup of tea by means of a proper farewell. This truly remarkable man had made a huge impression on my life and I knew I’d be returning one day soon to try and help him achieve his incredible dream.
A little later than planned, after Uttam had gone to fly back to Bhaktapur, Sarita set about showing me how to make the remarkably simple, yet delicious and healthy dal bhat. I paid close attention and scribbled detailed notes in my book so that I’d be able to replicate her fantastic cooking back home in England. We sat down to a tasty lunch and discussed the highs and (minimal) lows of my 3½ months in Nepal. Ram had always provided me with excellent support during my stay as well as immeasurable amounts of valuable advice. I knew he would be travelling to England not long after my short visit home and I was disappointed that I would be unable to avail him of my hospitality in repayment for all his kind help and Sarita’s delicious fare. We parted with promises to stay in touch and, as I walked up the road to catch a taxi to Thamel, I felt another part of my life in Nepal begin to painfully fade into realm of the past.
Back at the hotel, I had a frantic 45 minutes to try and pack my overflowing bags. This achieved, I ran round to Lotus to pick up my paintings and a large parcel containing the frames for my paintings. Santosh arrived in the nick of time, just as I was leaving, and we said goodbye and promised to keep in touch. If the paintings I’d bought could find a market in the UK, there was every chance that I’d be able to return to Nepal quite regularly over the coming years, using the paintings to fund the necessary flights. This really appealed to me as a means of keeping in touch with the school until I was able to return in a more useful capacity…and it would be nice to do some business with Santosh as well as maintaining our friendship. With tourist numbers in Nepal at an all-time low, I knew it could make a real difference to his success, if I was able to make some regular purchases. We enjoyed a hurried cup of tea (one last blast of Nepali hospitality) and then I was scampering back to the hotel, weighed down by my recent acquisitions.
Here I found my car waiting outside and Mahendra and Suriya waiting inside. They both had presents for me (a beautiful bronze Buddha mask from Mahendra and a very nice, hand-made Tibetan paper journal from Suriya) and I was a little overwhelmed as they also presented me with khata (silk scarves, given as a sign of respect or great friendship), which they placed around my neck. I realised that I’d been lucky to meet some of the best people during my stay in Kathmandu. People who I would always consider to be friends and of whom I would hold some fond and remarkable memories. I promised to keep in touch and, if the opportunity arose, to send any business their ways. As I climbed into the car for the airport, I realised that my great journey in Nepal and come to a close. I’d learnt a lot about myself, made some truly outstanding friends and seen a great deal of this magical country and her beautiful people. Of course, there were many places I hadn’t seen – not least the Royal Chitwan National Park, the western reaches of the lowland Terai (including Lumbini, the birthplace of Gautama Buddha) and the many rivers and mountains that so dominate the fascinating topography of this country of extremes. However, I knew that I’d be returning and have ample time to explore these other delights and, in the meantime, I was sad to be leaving behind the people who, in such a short time, had come to mean so much to me.
I arrived at the airport to discover that my flight was delayed due to the atrocious weather, which seemed to have blown in out of nowhere. I had 6 hours leeway in Mumbai to make my flight to London so I wasn’t unduly worried and settled down to work on the laptop, under the assumption that I’d be able to connect to the internet in Mumbai and send some mail and update my site. The plane eventually left two hours late and, as the city quickly disappeared under a thick blanket of cloud, I realised I was leaving Kathmandu in exactly the same conditions with which it had greeted me on my arrival.
Mumbai was, for me, just an airport – and not a particularly comfortable or useful one either. There was no internet access, a total lack of communication regarding my connecting flight (caused by the fact that the flight had only been running for a week and the staff in my arrival terminal (1) were still totally unaware of its operation from terminal 2), and a private lounge that I paid to enter, only to discover that alcoholic drinks were not free. In the end, with excellent assistance from the ground staff of British Midlands International, I was loaded onto a spangly new plane that was virtually empty and afforded me an opportunity to stretch out and get some sleep after watching a couple of films. The cabin crew were also excellent and very helpful and I couldn’t have asked for a better flight home.
Uttam was waiting for me at the gates of the school and proceeded to inform me how lucky I was to be in the newspaper once again. My fuddled mind was more than a little bemused until I realised that Uttam, ever the PR king, had cunningly managed to get me involved in the actual opening day at Bhaktapur. I wasn’t displeased at the thought of witnessing such an auspicious occasion but I knew that any hopes of a quick there-and-back inspection had gone out of the window…and probably with it, the carefully laid plans I’d made for the day. He gave me a whirlwind, terrifying ride through the back streets and over the fields to Bhaktapur. Once there, I was a little bemused by the need for such an early departure. I ended up eating a non-descript breakfast at an establishment with dubious looking hygiene standards and then spent over two hours waiting for the action to commence, with ever dwindling hopes of making it back to town in time to learn how to cook dal bhat from Ram’s wife, Sarita.
I spent the first hour, curled up on a bench in one of the newly-finished classrooms, trying to catch up on some sleep. Then the guest of honour arrived - the King’s swami (holy man) and a paragon of educational endeavour, who had learnt to read and write at the age of 28, before going on to earn a doctorate. The only problem with the arrival of this extremely important man was the utter absence of Uttam and the busload of pupils from the school, who were due to greet the new members of their ‘family’ in a special welcoming ceremony.
While I sat, uncomfortably, next to the swami in awkward silence (he’s extremely deaf and has similar English skills to my Nepali), the playground area began to fill up with excited children and expectant parents. The clock ticked on and there was still no sign of Uttam or the kids and soon it looked like things might turn sour. However, in the nick of time, a bus pulled up and the bright rainbow colours of Samata School (and Michael) came streaming off to take their places inside the gate. Our swami (somewhat disgruntled by this point) assumed the position with a large bowl of tikka and began to bless the new pupils as they entered the school grounds to be greeted by a counterpart from the other school. After he’d blessed a reasonable number, he took his leave and roared off back to Kathmandu in a clapped out, Peugeot ‘limousine’. Uttam took ever the blessing responsibilities and the playground was soon full of neat legions of young childred, eager to get into the classroom and start their first day of school.
I was aware that time was starting to get away from me and started rounding up people to say goodbye to so that I’d be ready to jump on Uttam’s bike, the minute he was free. Firstly, I took my leave of Michael. He’d been a welcome addition to our little crew and I knew my kids would thrive in his capable hands until he too would hand over the reins to someone else. I’d enjoyed his company and we’d become good friends so I knew we’d be seeking each other out in London (or Harrogate) when we both returned home after our trips.
Several of the girls I’d promised photos to, were among the prefects there to look after these new kids and I was able to give them their pics with quickly scrawled notes on the back. More than anything, I wanted these girls to believe in themselves and stick with their education, no matter what external pressures they experienced. I was sad to be leaving them but, at the same time, looking forward to coming back and finding them all developing into the leaders I knew they were all capable of becoming. There was a tear in my eye and a catch in my throat as I wished them all goodbye and I dearly wished that the social mores of their society had allowed me to give them all the big hug they deserved.
After this melancholy parting, I was in a hurry to leave and hide my emotions and I finally managed to prise Uttam away for another hair-raising ride back to town. Once there, I made a quick tour of the classrooms and said one final goodbye to the rest of the children, feeling awkward to be interrupting their lessons but glad at the universally affectionate response I received.
Uttam drove me up to Ram and Sarita’s and joined Ram and I for a quick cup of tea by means of a proper farewell. This truly remarkable man had made a huge impression on my life and I knew I’d be returning one day soon to try and help him achieve his incredible dream.
A little later than planned, after Uttam had gone to fly back to Bhaktapur, Sarita set about showing me how to make the remarkably simple, yet delicious and healthy dal bhat. I paid close attention and scribbled detailed notes in my book so that I’d be able to replicate her fantastic cooking back home in England. We sat down to a tasty lunch and discussed the highs and (minimal) lows of my 3½ months in Nepal. Ram had always provided me with excellent support during my stay as well as immeasurable amounts of valuable advice. I knew he would be travelling to England not long after my short visit home and I was disappointed that I would be unable to avail him of my hospitality in repayment for all his kind help and Sarita’s delicious fare. We parted with promises to stay in touch and, as I walked up the road to catch a taxi to Thamel, I felt another part of my life in Nepal begin to painfully fade into realm of the past.
Back at the hotel, I had a frantic 45 minutes to try and pack my overflowing bags. This achieved, I ran round to Lotus to pick up my paintings and a large parcel containing the frames for my paintings. Santosh arrived in the nick of time, just as I was leaving, and we said goodbye and promised to keep in touch. If the paintings I’d bought could find a market in the UK, there was every chance that I’d be able to return to Nepal quite regularly over the coming years, using the paintings to fund the necessary flights. This really appealed to me as a means of keeping in touch with the school until I was able to return in a more useful capacity…and it would be nice to do some business with Santosh as well as maintaining our friendship. With tourist numbers in Nepal at an all-time low, I knew it could make a real difference to his success, if I was able to make some regular purchases. We enjoyed a hurried cup of tea (one last blast of Nepali hospitality) and then I was scampering back to the hotel, weighed down by my recent acquisitions.
Here I found my car waiting outside and Mahendra and Suriya waiting inside. They both had presents for me (a beautiful bronze Buddha mask from Mahendra and a very nice, hand-made Tibetan paper journal from Suriya) and I was a little overwhelmed as they also presented me with khata (silk scarves, given as a sign of respect or great friendship), which they placed around my neck. I realised that I’d been lucky to meet some of the best people during my stay in Kathmandu. People who I would always consider to be friends and of whom I would hold some fond and remarkable memories. I promised to keep in touch and, if the opportunity arose, to send any business their ways. As I climbed into the car for the airport, I realised that my great journey in Nepal and come to a close. I’d learnt a lot about myself, made some truly outstanding friends and seen a great deal of this magical country and her beautiful people. Of course, there were many places I hadn’t seen – not least the Royal Chitwan National Park, the western reaches of the lowland Terai (including Lumbini, the birthplace of Gautama Buddha) and the many rivers and mountains that so dominate the fascinating topography of this country of extremes. However, I knew that I’d be returning and have ample time to explore these other delights and, in the meantime, I was sad to be leaving behind the people who, in such a short time, had come to mean so much to me.
I arrived at the airport to discover that my flight was delayed due to the atrocious weather, which seemed to have blown in out of nowhere. I had 6 hours leeway in Mumbai to make my flight to London so I wasn’t unduly worried and settled down to work on the laptop, under the assumption that I’d be able to connect to the internet in Mumbai and send some mail and update my site. The plane eventually left two hours late and, as the city quickly disappeared under a thick blanket of cloud, I realised I was leaving Kathmandu in exactly the same conditions with which it had greeted me on my arrival.
Mumbai was, for me, just an airport – and not a particularly comfortable or useful one either. There was no internet access, a total lack of communication regarding my connecting flight (caused by the fact that the flight had only been running for a week and the staff in my arrival terminal (1) were still totally unaware of its operation from terminal 2), and a private lounge that I paid to enter, only to discover that alcoholic drinks were not free. In the end, with excellent assistance from the ground staff of British Midlands International, I was loaded onto a spangly new plane that was virtually empty and afforded me an opportunity to stretch out and get some sleep after watching a couple of films. The cabin crew were also excellent and very helpful and I couldn’t have asked for a better flight home.
May 15, 2005
End of the road
We were up luxuriously late, with only a limited sight-seeing plan for the day. First port of call was Pashupatinath Temple – the holiest Hindu temple in Nepal and the focus of the great Shivaratri festival that I’d missed during my solitary bout of stomach trouble, two months previously. While there didn’t promise to be any great festivities, it was one place I had still wanted to visit and witness the riverside cremations that the site is famous for.
It was another warm day and neither of us was feeling particularly energetic as we meandered along the river bank, adjacent to the ghats where the cremations take place. There were one or two funerals in progress and I was appalled to see several gawping tourists trying to elbow their way into a crowd of mourners, cameras poised to get shots of the linen-wrapped corpse. Annie and I had no intentions of being so intrusive and walked down to the bridge and over the Bagmati to sit opposite the ghats on the other side of the river and observe proceedings from a respectful distance. The Bagmati is Kathmandu’s version of Varanasi’s Ganges and, much like its Indian counterpart, is a dirty, smelly trickle with floating debris and human waste probably comprising at least ¼ of its volume. It is still, however, a holy river and those whose cremated remains are washed away by its ‘waters’ are said to find an easy path to heaven. We watched the mourners set fire to a large pyre of wood and scented oil and then moved on to take a look around the rest of Pashupatinath’s temple complex. Of course, the main temple is only open to Hindus and we didn’t tarry long to look around the rest and we were soon heading up the road to find a taxi to take us to our next port of call. On the way up the hill, we passed a profusion of colourful stalls, selling votive offerings and flowers to pilgrims and mourners at the temple. The scene was bright and gaudy and indicative of the riot of colours associated with religious practice in this part of the world and we both felt like we’d been given access to a more authentic Nepal – away from the crowds and clicking camera shutters of the nearby temple.
Beautiful flower seller
Bright colours
Next stop was Durbar Square, where we were fortunate to find free entry on account of some public holiday or other. We didn’t stop for long as I was only really interested in seeing the Kasthamandap and we were both feeling the heat of a sweltering day. The Kasthamandap (meaning ‘house of wood’) is the building from which Kathmandu takes its name and legend has it that it was constructed with the wood from a single sal tree.
The Kasthamandap
While Kathmandu’s Durbar Square is historically interesting and, undoubtedly, visually impactful for the first-time visitor to Nepal, I’d seen the sights of Bhaktapur and many other elaborate Hindu temples by now and wasn’t the least interested in acquainting myself with any more of the local architecture. It seemed far more important to introduce Annie to the divine delights of Snowman’s succulent chocolate cake and, after a brief, ecstatic appraisal, she agreed.
Final stop on our tour of Kathmandu was Swayambunath (the Monkey Temple I’d last visited during my very first week in the city) and from there we were able to attain commanding views of the sprawling city, while we looked around the curious collection of Hindu and Buddhist shrines. We were due back in Thamel to pick up some paintings I’d purchased from Santosh, before going out for my final, farewell meal in the evening. One painting in particular, had me full of excitement: I’d seen Don contemplating it previously and knew that he’d really wanted to buy it for the house but was unsure about buying it without Vickie’s approval. I was pretty certain that she would like it and, as they’d only married in September, their upcoming anniversary would be ‘Paper’ and the gift (painted on traditional Tibetan paper) would double nicely as an early anniversary present
Annie stayed at the Great Wall, packing her bags, while I went to meet Santosh. He insisted on taking me for a drink and to meet some of his friends, while the paintings were being packaged. We went to a cosy little bar, tucked away down a side alley and consumed at least 3 bottles of beer and a few plates of Newari snacks as he treated me to his very best Nepali hospitality.
I was late getting back to the hotel (paintings forgotten about and still at the gallery) and relieved to find that some of my guests still hadn’t arrived. Of course, most of my Kathmandu buddies had left by now so there wasn’t too big a crowd to choose from. Michael and Suriya were there, Mahendra would be joining us and, as we left the hotel, I bumped into Cormac – an Irish chap who’d been on my rafting trip – who also decided to come along. While the others headed up to the restaurant, I went to collect Santosh and his friends from the gallery and arrived – only 20 minutes late! – at the Thamel Brasserie for one last dal bhat tharakari before I left.
Can't get it down quick enough!!
The beer and conversation flowed nicely – Annie perfectly at ease with so many strangers – and it was a really nice way to round things off. I was pleased to be able to introduce Santosh and Mahendra and I hoped they’d be able to put a little business each other’s way from time to time. Most importantly, I felt like I was making a fitting farewell to a country that I’d totally fallen in love with – the people, my schoolkids, the beautiful scenery and fascinating history. I made sure to have my fill of Everest Beer too as I knew it could be a while before I got to relish its fulsome flavour once again. When we’d finished our meal and the lightweights had shuffled off to bed, Mahendra, Suriya, Annie and I went for a last whirl at the Dohori club. All pretty much the worse for wear, we fitted in perfectly with the locals and flew, haphazardly around the cramped, stifling dancefloor with the pounding rhythms of the drums and piercing pipes accentuated by the mirthful exhortations of the singers.
Dohori dancing
It was late when we stumbled back and I was a little grim at the prospect of an early start to meet Uttam in the morning.
It was another warm day and neither of us was feeling particularly energetic as we meandered along the river bank, adjacent to the ghats where the cremations take place. There were one or two funerals in progress and I was appalled to see several gawping tourists trying to elbow their way into a crowd of mourners, cameras poised to get shots of the linen-wrapped corpse. Annie and I had no intentions of being so intrusive and walked down to the bridge and over the Bagmati to sit opposite the ghats on the other side of the river and observe proceedings from a respectful distance. The Bagmati is Kathmandu’s version of Varanasi’s Ganges and, much like its Indian counterpart, is a dirty, smelly trickle with floating debris and human waste probably comprising at least ¼ of its volume. It is still, however, a holy river and those whose cremated remains are washed away by its ‘waters’ are said to find an easy path to heaven. We watched the mourners set fire to a large pyre of wood and scented oil and then moved on to take a look around the rest of Pashupatinath’s temple complex. Of course, the main temple is only open to Hindus and we didn’t tarry long to look around the rest and we were soon heading up the road to find a taxi to take us to our next port of call. On the way up the hill, we passed a profusion of colourful stalls, selling votive offerings and flowers to pilgrims and mourners at the temple. The scene was bright and gaudy and indicative of the riot of colours associated with religious practice in this part of the world and we both felt like we’d been given access to a more authentic Nepal – away from the crowds and clicking camera shutters of the nearby temple.
Beautiful flower seller
Bright colours
Next stop was Durbar Square, where we were fortunate to find free entry on account of some public holiday or other. We didn’t stop for long as I was only really interested in seeing the Kasthamandap and we were both feeling the heat of a sweltering day. The Kasthamandap (meaning ‘house of wood’) is the building from which Kathmandu takes its name and legend has it that it was constructed with the wood from a single sal tree.
The Kasthamandap
While Kathmandu’s Durbar Square is historically interesting and, undoubtedly, visually impactful for the first-time visitor to Nepal, I’d seen the sights of Bhaktapur and many other elaborate Hindu temples by now and wasn’t the least interested in acquainting myself with any more of the local architecture. It seemed far more important to introduce Annie to the divine delights of Snowman’s succulent chocolate cake and, after a brief, ecstatic appraisal, she agreed.
Final stop on our tour of Kathmandu was Swayambunath (the Monkey Temple I’d last visited during my very first week in the city) and from there we were able to attain commanding views of the sprawling city, while we looked around the curious collection of Hindu and Buddhist shrines. We were due back in Thamel to pick up some paintings I’d purchased from Santosh, before going out for my final, farewell meal in the evening. One painting in particular, had me full of excitement: I’d seen Don contemplating it previously and knew that he’d really wanted to buy it for the house but was unsure about buying it without Vickie’s approval. I was pretty certain that she would like it and, as they’d only married in September, their upcoming anniversary would be ‘Paper’ and the gift (painted on traditional Tibetan paper) would double nicely as an early anniversary present
Annie stayed at the Great Wall, packing her bags, while I went to meet Santosh. He insisted on taking me for a drink and to meet some of his friends, while the paintings were being packaged. We went to a cosy little bar, tucked away down a side alley and consumed at least 3 bottles of beer and a few plates of Newari snacks as he treated me to his very best Nepali hospitality.
I was late getting back to the hotel (paintings forgotten about and still at the gallery) and relieved to find that some of my guests still hadn’t arrived. Of course, most of my Kathmandu buddies had left by now so there wasn’t too big a crowd to choose from. Michael and Suriya were there, Mahendra would be joining us and, as we left the hotel, I bumped into Cormac – an Irish chap who’d been on my rafting trip – who also decided to come along. While the others headed up to the restaurant, I went to collect Santosh and his friends from the gallery and arrived – only 20 minutes late! – at the Thamel Brasserie for one last dal bhat tharakari before I left.
Can't get it down quick enough!!
The beer and conversation flowed nicely – Annie perfectly at ease with so many strangers – and it was a really nice way to round things off. I was pleased to be able to introduce Santosh and Mahendra and I hoped they’d be able to put a little business each other’s way from time to time. Most importantly, I felt like I was making a fitting farewell to a country that I’d totally fallen in love with – the people, my schoolkids, the beautiful scenery and fascinating history. I made sure to have my fill of Everest Beer too as I knew it could be a while before I got to relish its fulsome flavour once again. When we’d finished our meal and the lightweights had shuffled off to bed, Mahendra, Suriya, Annie and I went for a last whirl at the Dohori club. All pretty much the worse for wear, we fitted in perfectly with the locals and flew, haphazardly around the cramped, stifling dancefloor with the pounding rhythms of the drums and piercing pipes accentuated by the mirthful exhortations of the singers.
Dohori dancing
It was late when we stumbled back and I was a little grim at the prospect of an early start to meet Uttam in the morning.
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