Mahendra 'forcing' me to join him for a whiskey - look at the anguish on my face!!
May 15, 2005
May 14, 2005
Tour guide
I picked Annie up from the airport around 10 o’clock and, after dropping her bags at The Great Wall, proceeded to give her a tour of my favourite bits of Kathmandu. First stop was the internet café, though, so that Annie could catch up after the lack of decent facilities in Tibet. While I was there, I decided to check my mail and discovered one piece of bad news. My father had sent me an e-mail to let me know that a letter had arrived, explaining that my PGCE interview at London Met had been cancelled due to industrial action. At first, I was pretty put out – not least because, at this late stage, there was no chance of changing my flights. However, in the end, I decided not to let it bother me. After all, I still had plenty of other great reasons for going home: my nephew’s 1st birthday, seeing my family and friends after a long time and, by no means least, Serious at The Cross. I didn’t know what this would mean with regard to my prospects for entering a PGCE course for the Autumn term but I realised there was nothing I could do about it and simply set myself to the task of showing Annie around ‘my’ Kathmandu and enjoying our weekend together. Naturally, we went to Bouddha so I could show her where I’d been living for 2 months and she immediately fell in love with its relaxing atmosphere and the Tibetan vibe, so recently left behind in Tibet. We sat and enjoyed lunch on the terrace of 3 Sisters Café, with its superb views of the stupa and the local area. Disappointingly, although not altogether surprisingly, the visibility was very poor and there wasn’t even the merest glimpse of the Himalaya as I’d seen them earlier on in the year.
Annie was really interested to go down to Samata School to see where I’d become so passionate about my teaching vocation. Of course, it being Saturday, there were no kids and Uttam was obviously busy overseeing matters in Bhaktapur but I was able to introduce Annie to Komala and show her round the beautiful campus. She really loved the place and, as we sat on the balcony of 4A’s old classroom, looking over the ornamental garden, she completely understood why the place was so important to me and the kids.
Later on we took a taxi back to Thamel and I took Annie down to Lotus Gallery to introduce her to Santosh. He had other guests – one of his artists from Lhasa and his girlfriend – and invited us (much as I’d hoped) to join them for tandoori chicken and butter naan – the fabled feast that Bill had told me about in Laos, so many months before. Sitting on the floor of the gallery, eating this delicious grub from the newspaper it was wrapped in, has to be one of the best meals I’ve had in Nepal. Annie loved the food and the simple pleasure of getting to know Santosh and his friends – an authentic Nepali evening. Seeing her sitting there with her eyes alight and in such sparkling form, I knew what I wanted to be doing instead of rushing my way round a tiny portion of India.
Back at the Great Wall, I put the idea to her that had been floating around my head since our Tibet trip. At that time, I’d been telling Annie of my doubts about such a short, hurried journey through the sticky heat of the Indian monsoon. Annie had suggested, half-jokingly, that I should forget about India and come and join her in Indonesia for two weeks instead. I wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant it, so was a little wary when I now asked her if she’d consider allowing me to join her. Fortunately, she too thought it would be a great idea and we began to look at scheming together a plan of action. As she was due to be in Ko Pha Ngan (Thailand) next and I didn’t really want to make any further flights from Singapore, we decided to try and find a nice beach in Malaysia…somewhere she could get to by train from Thailand and I could reach by train from Singapore. Thirty seconds of perusal of the LP’s ‘South East Asia on a shoestring’ came up with the Perhentian Islands, on the north east coast of peninsular Malaysia. There and then, we decided to meet there as soon as I’d completed my trip home and could get from Singapore to the islands. We’d agreed it all so easily and with so little fuss that I knew it was the right decision from the off. As we didn’t know each other all that well just yet, I was keen to make sure that Annie understood that I wasn’t messing around – so I promised to e-mail her with my flight and train details as soon as I’d had chance to book them from Mumbai. It seemed that we’d both become particularly enamoured of each other in a very short space of time and I was pleased and excited at the prospect of really getting to know her in the peace and quiet of island life.
We stayed up long into the night chatting and I was constantly surprised by the many facets to her character and the strong passion she held for her pupils and the obvious delight she took from seeing them develop. As much as the personal attraction I felt, I also saw in Annie, much that had caused me to decide on beginning my own career in teaching and this, in itself, was very affirming. Her enthusiasm and zest for life, her easy-going manner and totally independent nature were factors that I’d never managed to find embodied in a single, attractive girl before. Even better, it was becoming evident that the attraction was mutual and I realised just how lucky I was to be spending this time with her.
Annie was really interested to go down to Samata School to see where I’d become so passionate about my teaching vocation. Of course, it being Saturday, there were no kids and Uttam was obviously busy overseeing matters in Bhaktapur but I was able to introduce Annie to Komala and show her round the beautiful campus. She really loved the place and, as we sat on the balcony of 4A’s old classroom, looking over the ornamental garden, she completely understood why the place was so important to me and the kids.
Later on we took a taxi back to Thamel and I took Annie down to Lotus Gallery to introduce her to Santosh. He had other guests – one of his artists from Lhasa and his girlfriend – and invited us (much as I’d hoped) to join them for tandoori chicken and butter naan – the fabled feast that Bill had told me about in Laos, so many months before. Sitting on the floor of the gallery, eating this delicious grub from the newspaper it was wrapped in, has to be one of the best meals I’ve had in Nepal. Annie loved the food and the simple pleasure of getting to know Santosh and his friends – an authentic Nepali evening. Seeing her sitting there with her eyes alight and in such sparkling form, I knew what I wanted to be doing instead of rushing my way round a tiny portion of India.
Back at the Great Wall, I put the idea to her that had been floating around my head since our Tibet trip. At that time, I’d been telling Annie of my doubts about such a short, hurried journey through the sticky heat of the Indian monsoon. Annie had suggested, half-jokingly, that I should forget about India and come and join her in Indonesia for two weeks instead. I wasn’t entirely sure if she’d meant it, so was a little wary when I now asked her if she’d consider allowing me to join her. Fortunately, she too thought it would be a great idea and we began to look at scheming together a plan of action. As she was due to be in Ko Pha Ngan (Thailand) next and I didn’t really want to make any further flights from Singapore, we decided to try and find a nice beach in Malaysia…somewhere she could get to by train from Thailand and I could reach by train from Singapore. Thirty seconds of perusal of the LP’s ‘South East Asia on a shoestring’ came up with the Perhentian Islands, on the north east coast of peninsular Malaysia. There and then, we decided to meet there as soon as I’d completed my trip home and could get from Singapore to the islands. We’d agreed it all so easily and with so little fuss that I knew it was the right decision from the off. As we didn’t know each other all that well just yet, I was keen to make sure that Annie understood that I wasn’t messing around – so I promised to e-mail her with my flight and train details as soon as I’d had chance to book them from Mumbai. It seemed that we’d both become particularly enamoured of each other in a very short space of time and I was pleased and excited at the prospect of really getting to know her in the peace and quiet of island life.
We stayed up long into the night chatting and I was constantly surprised by the many facets to her character and the strong passion she held for her pupils and the obvious delight she took from seeing them develop. As much as the personal attraction I felt, I also saw in Annie, much that had caused me to decide on beginning my own career in teaching and this, in itself, was very affirming. Her enthusiasm and zest for life, her easy-going manner and totally independent nature were factors that I’d never managed to find embodied in a single, attractive girl before. Even better, it was becoming evident that the attraction was mutual and I realised just how lucky I was to be spending this time with her.
May 13, 2005
The Bhote Kosi
We woke up early with the sun penetrating the flimsy shell of our tent but, unwilling to go through the rigmarole of washing and packing just yet, we lay there in the cosy warmth and chatted excitedly about the day ahead. The Bhote Kosi is, reputedly, one of the best short rafting trips in the world. With a gradient of 15m per kilometre (80ft per mile for you oldies!) it experiences high flow rates and the upper section is dominated by a series of continual class 4 rapids, with continual class 3s filling most of the time in between. This means constant, energetic paddling work and necessitates a solid team and a guide with excellent knowledge of the river. Our company, Ultimate Descents, over the years had performed all of the first commercial ascents of Nepal’s big rivers – meaning that Mani (the senior guide for the whole company) was the best man we could have asked for. With such continual fast water, it’s almost inevitable that somebody will go in – but with a well-trained team of safety kayakers and the excellent briefing we’d received the previous day, there was no reason to fear that anybody would get into any serious trouble.
The good ship 'Bishnu' and her able crew
Excited and brimming with anticipation, we eventually roused ourselves and managed to tuck into a tasty and filling breakfast. We packed up and stowed our gear on board the bus before carefully dragging our rafts down the steep access to the river – just below a churning Class 5 rapid.
Wet 'n' wild!
For all our excited anticipation, we were not disappointed one jot. The natural high of guiding your raft through the boiling waters and jagged rocks is definitely the most exhilarating experience I’ve enjoyed on my trip. We worked really well together and Mani’s knowledge and experience ensured that we never got stuck or rolled by the powerful water. At one point Al was tossed into the water by an unexpected jolt as we cleared the first of a series of difficult cascades. Our team’s response was so rapid that he was back in the craft and paddling furiously before we’d even reached the next drop and we continued through without a hitch.
One of the 'lesser' crews gets stuck on a rock...haha!
There were three points where we were forced to disembark and walk, while the guides and kayakers carefully led our rafts through some dangerous 4+ and 5 rapids but we were not in the least upset by this as we watched, even these experienced guys struggling to bring the craft through and back to shore.
The day ended far too soon and we were all disappointed (although well and truly knackered!) to be clambering ashore as the river slowed at the hydro-electric dam. My plans to return to Nepal for a longer period would mean that I’d get chance to raft this exciting river during the monsoon…and there are plenty more rivers in Nepal that I’ll be gleefully checking out when I come back.
Taking a breather
The bus ride back to Kathmandu seemed to take forever and it was long after sunset when we finally crawled into town. I’d really enjoyed hanging out with my boat crew and, as they were all staying in Thamel, I suggested that we all meet up for dinner at Road House. When I proclaimed the virtues of the excellent pizza, delicious cheesecake and ‘real’ coffee, everyone jumped at the idea – so we all disappeared to freshen up and sort out our (mostly wet) kit.
Back at the Great Wall, I realised that now was the time to get things off my chest with Anna. Initially, she took the whole thing very calmly and said that she could totally understand why I’d been a bit freaked out by her slightly bunny-boiling antics. In the gentlest terms, I explained that I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to see each other any more and, thankfully, as it was too late for her to return to her homestay, she suggested taking a different room at the hotel. I’d have felt awkward sharing my room with her after all of this…and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep instead of spending half the night discussing the ins and outs of the situation. I was glad to have got things straightened out (the more so as I could see from Anna’s eventually tearful remonstrations that she really had become far too involved) and, after she’d dried her eyes and showered and changed, we went off to meet the others.
Dinner was fun (although only Joel seemed to have a decent appetite) and we all swapped e-mail addresses and promised to keep in touch. I mentioned to Jo and Tiff that I would be in Singapore at some point in June and that it would be nice, if they were around, to meet up and have a few drinks. Jo’s car-parking business and Tiff’s junior doctor hours kept them both very busy and a little unsure of their schedules so we agreed to sort it out a little nearer the time. We went our separate ways and I managed to avoid any long post-mortem with Anna, getting early to bed and eagerly anticipating Annie’s arrival in the morning.
The Bishnu crew at The Roadhouse Cafe (from left: Tiff, Jo, Me, Anna, Joel and Al)
The good ship 'Bishnu' and her able crew
Excited and brimming with anticipation, we eventually roused ourselves and managed to tuck into a tasty and filling breakfast. We packed up and stowed our gear on board the bus before carefully dragging our rafts down the steep access to the river – just below a churning Class 5 rapid.
Wet 'n' wild!
For all our excited anticipation, we were not disappointed one jot. The natural high of guiding your raft through the boiling waters and jagged rocks is definitely the most exhilarating experience I’ve enjoyed on my trip. We worked really well together and Mani’s knowledge and experience ensured that we never got stuck or rolled by the powerful water. At one point Al was tossed into the water by an unexpected jolt as we cleared the first of a series of difficult cascades. Our team’s response was so rapid that he was back in the craft and paddling furiously before we’d even reached the next drop and we continued through without a hitch.
One of the 'lesser' crews gets stuck on a rock...haha!
There were three points where we were forced to disembark and walk, while the guides and kayakers carefully led our rafts through some dangerous 4+ and 5 rapids but we were not in the least upset by this as we watched, even these experienced guys struggling to bring the craft through and back to shore.
The day ended far too soon and we were all disappointed (although well and truly knackered!) to be clambering ashore as the river slowed at the hydro-electric dam. My plans to return to Nepal for a longer period would mean that I’d get chance to raft this exciting river during the monsoon…and there are plenty more rivers in Nepal that I’ll be gleefully checking out when I come back.
Taking a breather
The bus ride back to Kathmandu seemed to take forever and it was long after sunset when we finally crawled into town. I’d really enjoyed hanging out with my boat crew and, as they were all staying in Thamel, I suggested that we all meet up for dinner at Road House. When I proclaimed the virtues of the excellent pizza, delicious cheesecake and ‘real’ coffee, everyone jumped at the idea – so we all disappeared to freshen up and sort out our (mostly wet) kit.
Back at the Great Wall, I realised that now was the time to get things off my chest with Anna. Initially, she took the whole thing very calmly and said that she could totally understand why I’d been a bit freaked out by her slightly bunny-boiling antics. In the gentlest terms, I explained that I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to see each other any more and, thankfully, as it was too late for her to return to her homestay, she suggested taking a different room at the hotel. I’d have felt awkward sharing my room with her after all of this…and I wanted to get a good night’s sleep instead of spending half the night discussing the ins and outs of the situation. I was glad to have got things straightened out (the more so as I could see from Anna’s eventually tearful remonstrations that she really had become far too involved) and, after she’d dried her eyes and showered and changed, we went off to meet the others.
Dinner was fun (although only Joel seemed to have a decent appetite) and we all swapped e-mail addresses and promised to keep in touch. I mentioned to Jo and Tiff that I would be in Singapore at some point in June and that it would be nice, if they were around, to meet up and have a few drinks. Jo’s car-parking business and Tiff’s junior doctor hours kept them both very busy and a little unsure of their schedules so we agreed to sort it out a little nearer the time. We went our separate ways and I managed to avoid any long post-mortem with Anna, getting early to bed and eagerly anticipating Annie’s arrival in the morning.
The Bishnu crew at The Roadhouse Cafe (from left: Tiff, Jo, Me, Anna, Joel and Al)
May 12, 2005
Borderlands Resort
Anna and I had to get up early (again!) to catch our bus up the Bhote Kosi valley for our white-water rafting trip. Unsurprisingly, the bus didn’t leave on time and I was glad for the provisions I’d picked up from the bakery and a large bottle of water to combat some serious dehydration. I felt a little awkward with Anna, knowing my intentions towards her were probably going to cause her some pain. I’d spoken to her the previous evening about her worrying behaviour the day before and she’d been full of apologies and seemed genuinely mortified by her actions. However, I had already made up my mind and, if it hadn’t been for the rafting trip, would already have had ‘the talk’. Of course, I still enjoyed her company and certainly knew that we’d have fun on the river so I saw no reason to spoil the atmosphere.
As it happened, Anna was in no state to pick up any bad vibes from me that morning as she had a particularly unpleasant hangover from the previous night. The bus stopped for fuel outside Banepa and, while I was enjoying the early morning sun and watching the local women hard at work in the fields, Anna was trying hard to empty the contents of her queasy stomach behind a tree. It didn’t work and she spent most of the journey looking slightly green around the gills. At one point, embarrassingly, she had to ask the driver to stop so that she could jump off for an imminent chunder – unfortunately, she couldn’t get anything out and sheepishly climbed back on the bus, much to everyone else’s amusement. Eventually, when we’d stopped for an official toilet break, she managed to do the deed quite spontaneously, failing to make the sanctuary of the toilet…but at least feeling a lot better.
Doing it the old-fashioned way...
Due to the cramped nature of the seats, I was able to sit on my own and, still getting through my own hangover, I plugged into my walkman and virtually switched off. Having seen the scenery on the way to Tibet the previous week, I wasn’t too concerned with staring out of the window and blissfully closed my eyes and chilled out.
We arrived at the ‘put-in’ just below a large dam where we were given the itinerary for the next two days. After a lengthy safety talk and instruction session, we were to take our rafts around 20km downstream, over several gentle rapids and a couple of Class 4s. This would serve as a team-building exercise and allow us to get our rhythm for the following day, when we would be rafting the upper river (above the dam), which would be considerably more technically demanding and would require tight teamwork if we wanted to stay on-board. Interestingly, almost half the party were locals from Kathmandu. There was a group of orthopaedic surgeons in one raft; a mixed group of locals, one English guy and his Columbian girlfriend in the second; and then, the outstanding crew of ‘Bishnu’ (our raft): Two girls from Singapore, Jo and Tiff, two English doctors called Joel and Al, myself and Anna. We also had the privilege of being led by the senior river-guide – an intelligent and likeable chap called Mani.
The indefatigable Mani
We immediately gelled as a team and were responding rapidly to all of Mani’s commands (apart from the ‘everybody in the water’ call, which nobody was falling for). Mani seemed impressed and, while there was no real element of competition, we could see that we were more than a match for the other two crews. With only a little serious white water on this first day, we were able to spend plenty of time gazing at the beautiful scenery as we drifted down the valley. At one point we were amazed to see hundreds and hundreds of honeycombs, dangling precariously from the cliffs above us, apparently producing the sweetest and most expensive (on account of their dangerous inaccessibility) honey in the world. We stopped for lunch on the river bank and we all realised what hard work all that paddling can be. There wasn’t a scrap of food left by the time we’d finished and I could see I’d have to be careful with so many hungry people near ‘my’ food.
Cliff Honey
Eventually, we arrived at the exit point and, unfortunately, had to wait for half an hour as the new bus driver had gone too far downstream to pick us up. Someone hitched a ride down the road to find him and, when he came back, we loaded the rafts onto the roof and jumped aboard for the ride up to the Borderlands Resort.
The site was beautifully laid out on well-manicured lawns, just scant metres from the river and its continual background roar. Most of us were in simple tent accommodation – not a problem on a pleasantly warm night – although the orthopods, obviously on some kind of lads-bender weekend were being put up in the luxury chalets. The toilets were pristine (almost photogenic, in fact) and when it came to dinner-time, I realised the full extent of the charms of this peaceful retreat. The bar and dining area – with open sides allowing a gentle breeze and the sound of the river to float in – was a chilled-out, laid-back affair with cushion-on-floor seating and low tables. Lighting was provided by flickering candles and faint chill-out vibes floated over the non-intrusive sound system. Everyone was able to kick back and relax after the exertions of the day and we were served a very fine hot buffet dinner, which only served to improve our humour. A few beers and plenty of ‘getting-to-know’ chat made for a very pleasant evening. We weren’t late to bed and the susurration of the nearby river soon had us drifting off into deep, refreshing slumber.
As it happened, Anna was in no state to pick up any bad vibes from me that morning as she had a particularly unpleasant hangover from the previous night. The bus stopped for fuel outside Banepa and, while I was enjoying the early morning sun and watching the local women hard at work in the fields, Anna was trying hard to empty the contents of her queasy stomach behind a tree. It didn’t work and she spent most of the journey looking slightly green around the gills. At one point, embarrassingly, she had to ask the driver to stop so that she could jump off for an imminent chunder – unfortunately, she couldn’t get anything out and sheepishly climbed back on the bus, much to everyone else’s amusement. Eventually, when we’d stopped for an official toilet break, she managed to do the deed quite spontaneously, failing to make the sanctuary of the toilet…but at least feeling a lot better.
Doing it the old-fashioned way...
Due to the cramped nature of the seats, I was able to sit on my own and, still getting through my own hangover, I plugged into my walkman and virtually switched off. Having seen the scenery on the way to Tibet the previous week, I wasn’t too concerned with staring out of the window and blissfully closed my eyes and chilled out.
We arrived at the ‘put-in’ just below a large dam where we were given the itinerary for the next two days. After a lengthy safety talk and instruction session, we were to take our rafts around 20km downstream, over several gentle rapids and a couple of Class 4s. This would serve as a team-building exercise and allow us to get our rhythm for the following day, when we would be rafting the upper river (above the dam), which would be considerably more technically demanding and would require tight teamwork if we wanted to stay on-board. Interestingly, almost half the party were locals from Kathmandu. There was a group of orthopaedic surgeons in one raft; a mixed group of locals, one English guy and his Columbian girlfriend in the second; and then, the outstanding crew of ‘Bishnu’ (our raft): Two girls from Singapore, Jo and Tiff, two English doctors called Joel and Al, myself and Anna. We also had the privilege of being led by the senior river-guide – an intelligent and likeable chap called Mani.
The indefatigable Mani
We immediately gelled as a team and were responding rapidly to all of Mani’s commands (apart from the ‘everybody in the water’ call, which nobody was falling for). Mani seemed impressed and, while there was no real element of competition, we could see that we were more than a match for the other two crews. With only a little serious white water on this first day, we were able to spend plenty of time gazing at the beautiful scenery as we drifted down the valley. At one point we were amazed to see hundreds and hundreds of honeycombs, dangling precariously from the cliffs above us, apparently producing the sweetest and most expensive (on account of their dangerous inaccessibility) honey in the world. We stopped for lunch on the river bank and we all realised what hard work all that paddling can be. There wasn’t a scrap of food left by the time we’d finished and I could see I’d have to be careful with so many hungry people near ‘my’ food.
Cliff Honey
Eventually, we arrived at the exit point and, unfortunately, had to wait for half an hour as the new bus driver had gone too far downstream to pick us up. Someone hitched a ride down the road to find him and, when he came back, we loaded the rafts onto the roof and jumped aboard for the ride up to the Borderlands Resort.
The site was beautifully laid out on well-manicured lawns, just scant metres from the river and its continual background roar. Most of us were in simple tent accommodation – not a problem on a pleasantly warm night – although the orthopods, obviously on some kind of lads-bender weekend were being put up in the luxury chalets. The toilets were pristine (almost photogenic, in fact) and when it came to dinner-time, I realised the full extent of the charms of this peaceful retreat. The bar and dining area – with open sides allowing a gentle breeze and the sound of the river to float in – was a chilled-out, laid-back affair with cushion-on-floor seating and low tables. Lighting was provided by flickering candles and faint chill-out vibes floated over the non-intrusive sound system. Everyone was able to kick back and relax after the exertions of the day and we were served a very fine hot buffet dinner, which only served to improve our humour. A few beers and plenty of ‘getting-to-know’ chat made for a very pleasant evening. We weren’t late to bed and the susurration of the nearby river soon had us drifting off into deep, refreshing slumber.
May 11, 2005
Bye-bye, Edd
This was my official last day with the kids from Samata School and I went down just after 10 o’clock to spend the day shadowing Michael’s lessons. It was great to see so many of the kids although some had left – but I was pleased to hear that they had at least gone on to other schools, rather than being forced to get a job or work in the home. Even for those that had stayed, there were plenty of changes. For a start, most of them had been moved up to the next class, after successfully passing their exams. There were a few exceptions to this rule that I was unsurprised about and I couldn’t help but notice that it wasn’t the un-intelligent kids that had failed but the ones who just didn’t care. Ramkaji (formerly of 6A) was now in a class with my kids from 5B. I could see that he really looked on this as a good thing: a ticket to an easy ride. I hope for his sake that he realises his mistake before it’s too late to pass another year. As there were vast differences in class sizes, many of the classes had had to change rooms – with the top class (now class 8) being stuck with the tiny hut that my 6B girls had previously inhabited.
Michael seemed to be managing them all extremely well and, once again, I felt that pang of jealousy to see the kids responding so well to someone else. This didn’t last though, as I realised that the kids all seemed genuinely pleased to see me and Sarita (formerly 6B) seemed almost overjoyed because I’d managed to remember their names (how could I ever forget?!!). To have these wonderful, bright but tough kids pleased to see me was ample confirmation that teaching was the thing for me and I felt thrilled at the prospect of developing rapport with my future pupils. It also confirmed my intentions to come back to Samata School in 3 years time – while my favourite kids were still going to be there…and just in time to see some of them graduate.
I took the opportunity, of course, to hang out with my buddies in the kitchen, Komala and Gyanu as well as dropping in on Soba and Uttam. I was disappointed to learn that Reshma had left the school and was unable to find out whether this was a temporary break to study for exams or a more permanent move to another school. Pratiba was still there, though – soldiering on and smiling…and still asking for explanation on her textbook. I noted with some pleasure that Uttam had been successful in his wish to employ some male teachers – important in terms of discipline for the older boys and a useful lesson in equality for all the kids.
Me and Komala in the ornamental garden at Samata School
Before I left, Uttam invited me to come and see the almost-completed new school in Bhaktapur. This fitted in nicely with my plans as I’d be able to go and take a look at the site, early in the morning, before coming back to the school to say a final goodbye and give some photographs to girls in 7A, who’d asked for them. It would also be an opportunity to say a proper goodbye to Uttam – now a firm friend and someone who would feature strongly in my future.
The evening was all about Edd’s final night out in Kathmandu. He’d arranged a meal at the same roof-top restaurant in Patan that we’d been to when Michael first arrived and there was a good crowd there to see him off. There were two teachers from his school, Jimmy (the project manager of the adult literacy programme he’d been working with in his final week) Ram, Michael, Mahendra, Anna and myself. Mahendra and Ram took care of the ordering, ensuring that we had a fine selection of Newari dishes to accompany good quantities of beer (for the rest of us) and whiskey and coke (for Mahendra and Edd). Edd was presented with several small gifts from the school, including a very fetching topi (traditional Nepali hat), which seemed to have been tailor-made for his head.
We had an excellent time and I particularly enjoyed my chatamari (Newari ‘pizza’) and aloo tareko (spicy fried potatoes). It was a shame to end the party but the teachers had to get back to the school to supervise the children in the boarding house and Ram and Michael needed to get home too. Edd, Mahendra, Anna and I went back to Thamel and continued the party at T&J’s, sinking many more drinks and playing pool in the same appalling fashion as on my birthday, over three months previously. Edd was taking a snooze on the sofas before the end of the night and we virtually had to carry him down the stairs before the fresh air restored him somewhat. I’d stupidly left my camera back at The Great Wall and only got one shot of the whole evening – a slightly wasted looking pair, swaying outside my bedroom door before Edd stumbled off to his bed.
Over the course of the short time I’d known Edd, I’d had to constantly remind myself that he was only 18 years old. He was remarkably mature and self-assured for one so young and I’d particularly admired the way he had tried to stretch himself by taking on the adult literacy programme, on top of teaching at his school. Edd was definitely someone who’d taken a lot from his Nepal experiences and I wouldn’t be surprised to see him back there again in the future. In the meantime, I have every intention of staying in touch with him and, hopefully, meeting up for beers (what, no Everest?!!) back at home…and maybe pool, played on a flat table…;-)
We bade each other a drunken farewell and I realised that I didn’t envy him his trip into India (other plans were definitely gathering momentum in my mind) – but I knew he’d make the most of it and have an incredible time with his friend.
A little the worse for wear...
Michael seemed to be managing them all extremely well and, once again, I felt that pang of jealousy to see the kids responding so well to someone else. This didn’t last though, as I realised that the kids all seemed genuinely pleased to see me and Sarita (formerly 6B) seemed almost overjoyed because I’d managed to remember their names (how could I ever forget?!!). To have these wonderful, bright but tough kids pleased to see me was ample confirmation that teaching was the thing for me and I felt thrilled at the prospect of developing rapport with my future pupils. It also confirmed my intentions to come back to Samata School in 3 years time – while my favourite kids were still going to be there…and just in time to see some of them graduate.
I took the opportunity, of course, to hang out with my buddies in the kitchen, Komala and Gyanu as well as dropping in on Soba and Uttam. I was disappointed to learn that Reshma had left the school and was unable to find out whether this was a temporary break to study for exams or a more permanent move to another school. Pratiba was still there, though – soldiering on and smiling…and still asking for explanation on her textbook. I noted with some pleasure that Uttam had been successful in his wish to employ some male teachers – important in terms of discipline for the older boys and a useful lesson in equality for all the kids.
Me and Komala in the ornamental garden at Samata School
Before I left, Uttam invited me to come and see the almost-completed new school in Bhaktapur. This fitted in nicely with my plans as I’d be able to go and take a look at the site, early in the morning, before coming back to the school to say a final goodbye and give some photographs to girls in 7A, who’d asked for them. It would also be an opportunity to say a proper goodbye to Uttam – now a firm friend and someone who would feature strongly in my future.
The evening was all about Edd’s final night out in Kathmandu. He’d arranged a meal at the same roof-top restaurant in Patan that we’d been to when Michael first arrived and there was a good crowd there to see him off. There were two teachers from his school, Jimmy (the project manager of the adult literacy programme he’d been working with in his final week) Ram, Michael, Mahendra, Anna and myself. Mahendra and Ram took care of the ordering, ensuring that we had a fine selection of Newari dishes to accompany good quantities of beer (for the rest of us) and whiskey and coke (for Mahendra and Edd). Edd was presented with several small gifts from the school, including a very fetching topi (traditional Nepali hat), which seemed to have been tailor-made for his head.
We had an excellent time and I particularly enjoyed my chatamari (Newari ‘pizza’) and aloo tareko (spicy fried potatoes). It was a shame to end the party but the teachers had to get back to the school to supervise the children in the boarding house and Ram and Michael needed to get home too. Edd, Mahendra, Anna and I went back to Thamel and continued the party at T&J’s, sinking many more drinks and playing pool in the same appalling fashion as on my birthday, over three months previously. Edd was taking a snooze on the sofas before the end of the night and we virtually had to carry him down the stairs before the fresh air restored him somewhat. I’d stupidly left my camera back at The Great Wall and only got one shot of the whole evening – a slightly wasted looking pair, swaying outside my bedroom door before Edd stumbled off to his bed.
Over the course of the short time I’d known Edd, I’d had to constantly remind myself that he was only 18 years old. He was remarkably mature and self-assured for one so young and I’d particularly admired the way he had tried to stretch himself by taking on the adult literacy programme, on top of teaching at his school. Edd was definitely someone who’d taken a lot from his Nepal experiences and I wouldn’t be surprised to see him back there again in the future. In the meantime, I have every intention of staying in touch with him and, hopefully, meeting up for beers (what, no Everest?!!) back at home…and maybe pool, played on a flat table…;-)
We bade each other a drunken farewell and I realised that I didn’t envy him his trip into India (other plans were definitely gathering momentum in my mind) – but I knew he’d make the most of it and have an incredible time with his friend.
A little the worse for wear...
May 10, 2005
Mountain Flight
We all awoke a little groggy and not too excited about the prospect of being driven to the airport by kamikaze guy. This situation wasn’t improved by a delay in leaving Lhasa, as we tried to find out if Edd’s camera had made it in time for him to take it with him. Unfortunately, our frantic hunt around town and repeated phone calls didn’t unearth it and, in the end, we had to leave for the airport or risk missing our flight altogether.
Lhasa’s international airport is another shiny testament to Chinese progress and is staffed entirely by Chinese – although, perhaps the cleaning staff might have been Tibetan. Our flight was delayed (isn’t this always the way when you’ve rushed to the airport?!) and the total lack of facilities made life difficult for the likes of Kat, who’d skipped breakfast in favour of a few minutes more kip. The snack bar and restaurant had been constructed but had no appliances, staff or food – seemingly there, merely to taunt the hungry traveller. The duty free shop sold mostly cigarettes, high-fashion lighters and very expensive watches. There were some boxes of ‘Panda’ cookies, masquerading as an appropriate souvenir from the home of the Giant Panda (i.e. China, not Tibet) but the prices were as outrageous as the gold-plated Dunhill lighters and watches and I decided to save my cash for something better.
When the plane finally arrived, I was surprised at how large, clean and modern it was, explaining the high cost of tickets on such a quiet flight. Most of the places were empty and there were plenty of window seats for those who wanted to gawk at the incredible views over the Tibetan plateau and as we crossed the Himalaya.
I rattled off some good shots of Yamdrok-Tso (in all its turquoise glory) as well as admiring the panorama of snow-capped peaks that seemed to cover the entire horizon. As we crossed the mountain barrier into Nepal, the air quality took a distinct turn for the worse and we were soon back among the smog and pollution of Kathmandu, after a week in the pristine, clear air of Tibet. Even after such a short visit, Tibet and her people had made a huge impression on my mind and I was resolved to return and explore more thoroughly a country that is steeped in history and yet struggling to cope with Chinese oppression.
It was relatively early when we got back (due to the huge time difference) but I spent the entire afternoon in the internet café, trying to catch up on the mountain of e-mails I’d been unable to reply to with the crappy connection in Tibet. I was tired and definitely in need of a good night’s sleep so I’d mailed Anna to let her know that I’d catch up with her the following day. When I came back from dinner at Roadhouse I was concerned to discover that she’d tried to call me 10 times and had actually popped in to see me ‘as she was in the area’, despite living a good half-hour away. I knew that things were getting out of hand and I’d have to do something about this…but after our rafting trip, as I had no intention of ruining what looked likely to be a wicked two days.
Lhasa’s international airport is another shiny testament to Chinese progress and is staffed entirely by Chinese – although, perhaps the cleaning staff might have been Tibetan. Our flight was delayed (isn’t this always the way when you’ve rushed to the airport?!) and the total lack of facilities made life difficult for the likes of Kat, who’d skipped breakfast in favour of a few minutes more kip. The snack bar and restaurant had been constructed but had no appliances, staff or food – seemingly there, merely to taunt the hungry traveller. The duty free shop sold mostly cigarettes, high-fashion lighters and very expensive watches. There were some boxes of ‘Panda’ cookies, masquerading as an appropriate souvenir from the home of the Giant Panda (i.e. China, not Tibet) but the prices were as outrageous as the gold-plated Dunhill lighters and watches and I decided to save my cash for something better.
When the plane finally arrived, I was surprised at how large, clean and modern it was, explaining the high cost of tickets on such a quiet flight. Most of the places were empty and there were plenty of window seats for those who wanted to gawk at the incredible views over the Tibetan plateau and as we crossed the Himalaya.
I rattled off some good shots of Yamdrok-Tso (in all its turquoise glory) as well as admiring the panorama of snow-capped peaks that seemed to cover the entire horizon. As we crossed the mountain barrier into Nepal, the air quality took a distinct turn for the worse and we were soon back among the smog and pollution of Kathmandu, after a week in the pristine, clear air of Tibet. Even after such a short visit, Tibet and her people had made a huge impression on my mind and I was resolved to return and explore more thoroughly a country that is steeped in history and yet struggling to cope with Chinese oppression.
It was relatively early when we got back (due to the huge time difference) but I spent the entire afternoon in the internet café, trying to catch up on the mountain of e-mails I’d been unable to reply to with the crappy connection in Tibet. I was tired and definitely in need of a good night’s sleep so I’d mailed Anna to let her know that I’d catch up with her the following day. When I came back from dinner at Roadhouse I was concerned to discover that she’d tried to call me 10 times and had actually popped in to see me ‘as she was in the area’, despite living a good half-hour away. I knew that things were getting out of hand and I’d have to do something about this…but after our rafting trip, as I had no intention of ruining what looked likely to be a wicked two days.
May 09, 2005
Potala Palace
We’d arranged to meet Annie at our hotel at 10 so that she could tag along with our guide for the trip around the Potala, so it was a little disconcerting when he turned up at 8.30, needing our passports to get hold of the official permits for the palace. As there wouldn’t be any other way for Annie to get in the Potala that day (tickets are limited), there was no alternative but to jog round to her hotel and get her passport. Fortunately, I didn’t have to get her out of bed and, passport secured, I ran back to our hotel, where we would now meet her at 9.30.
We all piled into the battered old Landcruiser that Annie’s group had driven to Lhasa in – complete with kamikaze driver – and motored down to the huge car-park at the foot of the Potala’s western face. Walking up to the front entrance, we passed hundreds of devout pilgrims prostrating themselves in front of the Dalai Lama’s official residence, as part of the huge Lingkhor kora, which encompasses the entire old town. From street-level, in the morning sunshine, the Potala seemed pristine and majestic as its white and red walls reflected the bright light. The sheer size of the structure is still impressive now, in a modern age of skyscrapers and concrete monoliths – imagine the effect it would have had on Buddhist pilgrims from Tibet’s rustic interior back in the 17th century when it was first constructed by the 5th Dalai Lama!
The steps up to the Red and White Palaces snake steeply up the huge ‘battlements’ that present a sheer white face to the lower structure. We were all forced to take our time as the hot sun and altitude combined to make the ascent a real task but, eventually, we arrived at the entrance to the main habitable quarters. From this point onwards, our guide had warned us to be careful of our conversation as the Chinese were reputed to have installed cameras and listening devices in most of the rooms. More than any of the temples we’d visited, the Potala’s architectural magnificence was its strongest feature. Not being a monastery or a holy temple, built as it was to be the official residence and administrative centre of the Dalai Lama, there was not an air of spiritualism or scholarly toil we’d associated with other sites. In fact, apart from the exterior appearance (one that didn’t necessarily stand up to closer inspection) there wasn’t a great deal of excitement about the Potala. Even the Dalai Lama’s official sleeping quarters had an empty, lifeless aspect to them and it felt like we were intruding on someone’s funeral. It was painfully obvious that the place was only open because the Chinese appreciated its significance to the tourist trade and there were certainly very few monks (real or otherwise) wandering its darkened corridors. Perhaps the one sight that might have given us cause for excitement would have been the view from the roof of the Red Palace, at the complex’s highest elevation. However, this was closed, due to restoration work and we were left to explore a too-familiar, succession of shrines in the bowels of the building instead. Of course there were more examples of beautiful artwork and statuary – some as grand and skilful as anything else we’d seen – but with that air of decay, none of it seemed to stimulate and Annie and I found ourselves passing through room after room at increasing pace.
We exited the building on the north side and sat waiting in the warm, midday sun for the others to emerge. We then made our way down the back access road at a more gradual gradient than our ascent and returned, a little disappointed, to the hotel and then out to lunch.
As a result of our disappointing tour of the Potala, we decided that we didn’t want to visit any more temples or monasteries – preferring, instead, to stroll around the Jokhang on the Barkhor circuit and soak up some of a more authentic Tibetan atmosphere. We all found some good souvenirs and gifts and I wavered on the verge of purchasing a huge, extendable religious horn. After the failure of my plan to get revenge on the residents of my neighbouring gompa in Kathmandu (with the airhorn that failed to materialise), I was thinking about giving them a real taste of their own medicine. I had a few practice blows on a horn that was every inch of 12ft long…and it gave out a most satisfying, resonant tone – one that would surely wake up a lot of monks at 2am! In the end, I couldn’t justify the expenditure for something that I’d, indubitably, end up leaving in Kathmandu as it was certainly too bulky and heavy to be lugging onto planes.
We went out for an early dinner in order to get to the ‘Chimay’ bar early, as our plan was to finish off their supplies of this fine beverage on a last-night bender. When we walked in, Tim and I were greeted with shouts of ‘Chimay!’ by the bar-staff and we really felt at home in our temporary local. They allowed us to choose our own music for the cd-player (from a very limited selection, we managed some Queen, Guns’n’Roses and Eric Clapton) and we were, again, the last to leave long after midnight.
We’d all enjoyed our trip together and made promises to stay in touch when we went our separate ways. In particular, I was keen to see more of Annie and I was only too happy to offer to show her around Kathmandu when she returned on Saturday, after taking in a little more of Tibet. I’d explained about my soon-to-be-over involvement with Anna and, with a clear conscience on my part, she didn’t seem to object too much when I kissed her as I left her at her hotel ;-). I was fascinated by her and excited about the prospect of spending more time with her…perhaps there would be some way to extend this beyond a weekend in Kathmandu…but only time would tell.
We all piled into the battered old Landcruiser that Annie’s group had driven to Lhasa in – complete with kamikaze driver – and motored down to the huge car-park at the foot of the Potala’s western face. Walking up to the front entrance, we passed hundreds of devout pilgrims prostrating themselves in front of the Dalai Lama’s official residence, as part of the huge Lingkhor kora, which encompasses the entire old town. From street-level, in the morning sunshine, the Potala seemed pristine and majestic as its white and red walls reflected the bright light. The sheer size of the structure is still impressive now, in a modern age of skyscrapers and concrete monoliths – imagine the effect it would have had on Buddhist pilgrims from Tibet’s rustic interior back in the 17th century when it was first constructed by the 5th Dalai Lama!
The steps up to the Red and White Palaces snake steeply up the huge ‘battlements’ that present a sheer white face to the lower structure. We were all forced to take our time as the hot sun and altitude combined to make the ascent a real task but, eventually, we arrived at the entrance to the main habitable quarters. From this point onwards, our guide had warned us to be careful of our conversation as the Chinese were reputed to have installed cameras and listening devices in most of the rooms. More than any of the temples we’d visited, the Potala’s architectural magnificence was its strongest feature. Not being a monastery or a holy temple, built as it was to be the official residence and administrative centre of the Dalai Lama, there was not an air of spiritualism or scholarly toil we’d associated with other sites. In fact, apart from the exterior appearance (one that didn’t necessarily stand up to closer inspection) there wasn’t a great deal of excitement about the Potala. Even the Dalai Lama’s official sleeping quarters had an empty, lifeless aspect to them and it felt like we were intruding on someone’s funeral. It was painfully obvious that the place was only open because the Chinese appreciated its significance to the tourist trade and there were certainly very few monks (real or otherwise) wandering its darkened corridors. Perhaps the one sight that might have given us cause for excitement would have been the view from the roof of the Red Palace, at the complex’s highest elevation. However, this was closed, due to restoration work and we were left to explore a too-familiar, succession of shrines in the bowels of the building instead. Of course there were more examples of beautiful artwork and statuary – some as grand and skilful as anything else we’d seen – but with that air of decay, none of it seemed to stimulate and Annie and I found ourselves passing through room after room at increasing pace.
We exited the building on the north side and sat waiting in the warm, midday sun for the others to emerge. We then made our way down the back access road at a more gradual gradient than our ascent and returned, a little disappointed, to the hotel and then out to lunch.
As a result of our disappointing tour of the Potala, we decided that we didn’t want to visit any more temples or monasteries – preferring, instead, to stroll around the Jokhang on the Barkhor circuit and soak up some of a more authentic Tibetan atmosphere. We all found some good souvenirs and gifts and I wavered on the verge of purchasing a huge, extendable religious horn. After the failure of my plan to get revenge on the residents of my neighbouring gompa in Kathmandu (with the airhorn that failed to materialise), I was thinking about giving them a real taste of their own medicine. I had a few practice blows on a horn that was every inch of 12ft long…and it gave out a most satisfying, resonant tone – one that would surely wake up a lot of monks at 2am! In the end, I couldn’t justify the expenditure for something that I’d, indubitably, end up leaving in Kathmandu as it was certainly too bulky and heavy to be lugging onto planes.
We went out for an early dinner in order to get to the ‘Chimay’ bar early, as our plan was to finish off their supplies of this fine beverage on a last-night bender. When we walked in, Tim and I were greeted with shouts of ‘Chimay!’ by the bar-staff and we really felt at home in our temporary local. They allowed us to choose our own music for the cd-player (from a very limited selection, we managed some Queen, Guns’n’Roses and Eric Clapton) and we were, again, the last to leave long after midnight.
We’d all enjoyed our trip together and made promises to stay in touch when we went our separate ways. In particular, I was keen to see more of Annie and I was only too happy to offer to show her around Kathmandu when she returned on Saturday, after taking in a little more of Tibet. I’d explained about my soon-to-be-over involvement with Anna and, with a clear conscience on my part, she didn’t seem to object too much when I kissed her as I left her at her hotel ;-). I was fascinated by her and excited about the prospect of spending more time with her…perhaps there would be some way to extend this beyond a weekend in Kathmandu…but only time would tell.
May 08, 2005
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