Tibet - photos

Tibet - photos

Seven days in Tibet - boy

For us, this tour was to see an interesting part of the world rarely seen by tourists and a chance to be driven through some of the most incredible scenery in the world. For our tour company, it was a mission to seeing how many 'porkies' they could squeeze into a single tour. In the end, they managed to fulfil about 80% of their promises and overcharge us only by a small amount so by Nepalese standards this was a solid deal and we thought ourselves lucky. Indeed, other members of our tour were certainly more put out than we were by similar false promises and gross overcharging. The Tibetan half of the enterprise blames the Nepalese half and I've no doubt the Nepalese say the same. After comparing mine (and others) anecdotal experience of dealings with taxi-drivers, companies and vendors in both countries I can't help but side with the Tibetans on this one.

 

A variety of people from different countries, dispositions and humours assembled around the location of the tour company. We were shown to the usual decrepit Nepalese transportation and after much "but I thought you said...", "we paid for..." and one very late arrival we were on our way to the border. Leaving Nepal was quick and easy, entering Tibet less so but still relatively uncomplicated.

 

The imposing main gateway that is the Chinese side of the border reflects immediately that you are crossing into a more developed nation that Nepal - which is not saying much. On the inner sides of the gate Chinese guards stand officiously on glass bordered pedestals like toy soldiers on display (which I later discovered is fairly typical). The book and picture check, which aims to confiscate any contaminating or subversive material such as anything to do with Tibet or the Dalai Lama, went painlessly enough and within an hour we were through Chinese customs and chowing down on sub-standard Chinese food in a fly infested border-town restaurant.

 

Our first stop (just under 4000m) in Nyalam was a little too much for me despite the altitude pill I'd taken. Damp cold dormitories and ice cold bathrooms are not comforting environments for heads that feel like they're on the brink of exploding and by the morning I felt bleary and drained. When we left, the bus felt like an ice box despite multiple layers of clothing and it became colder still as the terrain changed to white; on our way to the first of two passes over 5000m. I did notice that the scenery was stunning in my semi-conscious sleep-deprived state and even managed to fall out the bus in the relevant places to take photos (and walk around disjointedly). By the late afternoon we had passed our second 5000m pass and I started to feel human again (probably when the dozen or so painkillers finally kicked in) ironically the moment where many on the tour started to suffer from the altitude. I have hazy memories of passing through a vast expanse of desolate mountainous terrain with many festooned stupas, solitary tents, an attractive view of Everest and the odd Tibetan village; all stops being interspersed with fitful delusional sleep and loud monotonous Chinese music that the driver thought we should listen to until someone requested he turn it down or stop.

 

The small town of Shigatse, and our first room in a hotel, was extremely welcome. C grabbed the first key offered which allowed me to score one of the few hot showers secured by anybody during our two day stay there.

 

Shigatste gave us our first taste of the Tibetan chapels, which is also the taste of yak's butter and incense. A similar "real" Tibetan temple experience can be recreated by using a dimly lit room with dozens (if not hundreds) of buddhas looking inwards, a small chorten or buddha in the middle to walk around (clockwise), yak's butter candles, bowls filled with water (seven at least) and piles of money distributed in various places. For added effect you can add a sprinkling of monks, nuns and swastikas for decoration, drums and incense for ambiance and murmuring pilgrims for legitimacy; those outside should be prostrating while those inside should be forcing their way mindlessly through the inevitable queues that build up inside these overcrowded places. A "session" for the monks in the main hall of a monastery seemed to involve more murmuring, chanting, giggling for the younger ones, rocking backwards and forwards and the dribbling of Yak's butter tea into bottles (either saving it for later or saving it to be disposed of later).

 

We were already suffering from a mild case of chapel fatigue before visiting the monastery in Gyanste and climbing up the Gyanste Kumbum - a chorten described as an architectural wonder with dozens more chapels inside - only worsened our condition. Our next hotel's architectural phenomenon, making the rooms a number of degrees lower in temperature than the outside, was impressive too. Fortunately, a Tibetan soup restaurant provided hearty soups that gave us a few minutes respite from the chill, enough time to put multiple layers on before hopping into bed.

 

Our next drive took us past more incredible scenery and terrain en route to Lhasa where on arrival we noticed a large military and police presence (even on the roofs of buildings in some places). They were very helpful in giving us directions to streets and restaurants but I suspect they were there in a larger capacity than to help tourists find their way.

 

The old residence of the 14^th Dalai Lama (Potala Palace) was lifeless and dull on the inside but photogenic on the outside. C managed to contract (what Dr Wiki describes as) bacterial conjunctivitis and we cancelled further chapel visits in favour of obtaining medicine. A guy at the hotel, trying to help, rushed us to a Tibetan nun doctor (term used loosely here) who glanced at C and started choosing pills for C to take. Our obvious question was "What is in the pills?" "Oh, good things only" our hotel guy replied. C interjected "I'm not taking these pills if I don't know what's in them". Our hotel guy, surprised by our concerns, says "Pill is ok .... Nun says don't eat tomato or garlic". We say "Ok, thanks for your help - bye." We realised afterwards that we should have specified a 'western doctor' so we asked for one and eventually, though a combination of the guide book and his help, found a hospital that practiced 'western medicine'. The hospital was of course equipped with a 'people's reporter ready to take 'people's pictures for the 'people's press. The doctor who examined C didn't want this and nor did C so we shooed him out the room and blocked the door. Later our group visited a Tibetan medicine factory whose main selling point was that approximately 2000 years ago a man lived to 125 using Tibetan medicine. We found out afterwards in the museum that this man, if he existed, must have lived 700 years before Tibetan medicine was founded. I shouldn't be surprised really.

 

The next day brought with it yet another monastery, this time the main event was not chapels but monks "debating", which they did in small groups. From an observers point of view (and one that cannot possibly assess the breadth and depth of the subject discussed) I saw a lot of emphasis and energy expended on the technique of clapping which they do (very stylishly) to make a point. It's a little puzzling to watch because many of the monks seem to focus on the 'exaggerated clap' part and less on the 'talking' part. Maybe I've misinterpreted debating here or maybe there's simply nothing to talk about (because the most interesting topics are off limits)?

 

Our last attractions in Lhasa were The Jokhang (the one we previously missed due to C's eye issue) and the Tibet Museum just to ensure we were sufficiently 'filled up' on religion and propaganda. Since most of the group had left Lhasa by this time we were free to wander around The Jokhang temple alone. Judging from the tired enthusiasm of the others I think we were lucky to see it with practically no other tourists inside. The whole place pulsed with archaic ceremony: From the mass of genuflecting bodies outside and queue of pilgrims inside to the semi-dark rancid zone of yak's butter and incense where within, one can only hear the steady beat of a drum and murmuring of a thousand desperate souls. I half expected Indiana Jones to push his way in through the half-dazed throng of believers, find a secret passage and make off with a golden Buddha.

Seven Days in Tibet - girl

(actually, it was more like nine) I'm going to write this blog entry in diary form in response to my mother's request for more detail on this incredible place.

 

Day 1: It almost seems as if Nepalis who deal with tourists can't help but lie. The repeated promise of jeep transport once we reached Tibet was just one more. At breakfast the escort stood up and gave some convoluted spiel about why the jeeps would be non-forthcoming. If only they realised that we wouldn't have cared if they'd told the truth about it being coach travel in the first place.

 

After a painless journey to the border we moved through the mayhem that was Nepali customs and on to the order, control and insecurity of Chinese customs. A bridge crossing an extremely polluted river serves as the border, on this bridge stand a couple of Chinese soldiers (how far from the relaxed nature of Nepali border officials), these guys checked our visas and passports as we all stood in a line on an extremely windy bridge. I was a little concerned someone would lose a visa in the wind but all was well. We then joined another queue to have our passports checked and our bags scanned and quickly scoffed our pizza/fruit/biscuits as it turned out the escort hadn't bothered to tell anyone that we couldn't take food into China/Tibet. After the bags were scanned we waited anew to have the bags manually checked for books on Tibet/Dalai Lama/Taiwan/Falung Gong/whatever else China is feeling insecure about today. I decided I wasn't having some soldier going through my bag so my tactic was to open the top pocket of the bag and show the two books I had in there. Seemed to work for me. Col used the same tactic but the soldier was distracted by his camera. I'd have thought she'd have checked the last photos as we were emphatically warned about not taking pictures at the border. No, she went through the pictures of India and got very excited by the holi photos. Odd. The next queue was to have visas checked and then, finally, we were admitted to The People's Republic of China/The Autonomous Region of Tibet/Tibet!

 

A quick stomp up an extremely steep hill with all our bags brought us to the very nice coach that was to transport us around Tibet. A short journey later and we were in some border town where we were told we had to wait for two hours until the road opened. A quick meal in a restaurant with more flies than dishes, a walk around town and it was time to go. Between 7-9pm we drove through falling snow in the pitch black watching huge lightning bolts illuminate the sky.

 

The first night we all (22 of us) stayed in dorms of four or five. It was ok except for my terrible cold, which refused to budge and C's altitude headache, which arrived in the middle of the night and didn't leave for a day. 

 

First impressions of Tibet? Remote yet accessible - desolate but with incredible roads.

 

Day 2: A long day's drive through some incredibly spectacular scenery and a couple of 5000 metre passes. The snow made everything even more picturesque and seeing Everest only completed the magic. C's head gradually got better and everyone else on the bus got headaches as we drove over the passes.

 

We arrived in Xigatse as dusk settled and were suggested to go to the restaurant next door to the hotel for supper. We opted not to and set out on our own in a city with no lights to find a restaurant from the guide book. We totally failed but ended up in a great little place where people seemed totally thrown to see us but were happy to help feed us. We fell into bed warm, full and happy.

 

Day 3: A morning of independent sight-seeing. First we headed to the Summer Palace of the Panchan Lama - second in command to the Dalai Lama. A stunning building with some incredibly detailed paintwork. This was the first of many places that employed the 'charge for photographs but stick up lots of no photography signs'. We still managed to get a good number before wandering out in to the sleepy town of Xigatse to see what we could see. Many of the buildings were traditional Tibetan in style - in the Chinese centre of town they were newly built and clearly designed to try to win over the locals. In the Tibetan centre they were older, made of mud brick and clearly very lived in. Fascinating to see both and how they're used.

 

We had been instructed not to speak with locals too much since we couldn't know who was a government spy. However, Tibetans seemed really pleased to see us in their town and many greeted us with big smiles and hellos - totally different from the interaction we've had in other places where it's been primarily about cash extraction.

 

In the afternoon we were taken to the monastery - one of the most important in Tibet, probably. This was our first monastery but memories have blurred many of them into a big monastery mush. Something to do with the Panchan Lama again and the world's biggest standing buddha.

 

It was a beautiful place, as were most places we saw in the country but the highlight came at the end when a small number of us opted to remain behind and watch the young monks come to the chapel for prayer time. I have no idea why most of the group went back to the hotel when such an opportunity was presented. It seems a little strange to go to Tibet and then not take every experience offered but that's not my problem, I guess. The monks came in singly or in twos dressed in yellow capes, yellow brush caps and red traditional boots. They didn't appear to be taking the prayer time very seriously as many were play fighting or chatting as they waited to go into to the chapel.

 

We were able to stand at the back of the chapel as the monks sat themselves down on the long, carpeted, benches and began their chanting in the smoky room. Like in shul, the prayers were said pretty much at each individual's own pace, people sort of starting and finishing together, but not quite. The boys were also chatting with their friends and enjoying being together. We saw one young monk hurl a plastic bottle at a companion before the leader came in and everyone settled down.

 

Later we watched news of the Yushu earthquake on the only English language channel available - CCTV9. Even the name sounds ominous. This is China's attempt to rival CNN or Al-Jazeera. Not a hope. Propaganda aplenty and not even very well hidden. It does seem as if China has responded very promptly and adequately to the emergency but since we've seen no other news, I have no way of knowing if that's true. I hope it is.

 

Day 4: After a couple of hours driving through more desolate land we arrived in Gyantse, a small, fairly dull place where the hotel looked great but was actually freezing cold, even colder than the places we stayed in the Himalayas. I slept in my thermals and hat and was still cold under two duvets.

 

Before heading to the next monastery we had some free time for lunch and shopping. We joined two delightful ladies for do-it-yourself soup in a small restaurant. One picked ingredients that were then 'souped' for ten minutes before being served. Wonderful. C and I then headed to the Chinese supermarket to pick up snacks and things to try. The Tibetans may want their freedom but Chinese supermarkets are worth a few restrictions any day! After India and Nepal we were excited by the choice in even the small Gyantse supermarkets. C, of course, had to try as many packets of pickled foods as he could carry. They taste as good as they look.

 

This monastery is famous for its stupa and large number of buddha statues. I have always felt that if I've been in one temple or monastery or seen one buddha statue, I've visited/seen them all. This feeling has not dissipated so I enjoyed the views from the stupa but was under-whelmed by the statues or gods/demons/buddhas.

 

My notes for this day end: cold, cold, cold, which pretty much sums up day 4.

 

Day 5: A long, long drive to Lhasa through more desolate yet stunning landscapes. We crossed peaks, drove round incredibly long lakes and glaciers, crossed rivers and mountains. What a day. It seems incredible that the Chinese have bothered to put in paved roads across even this much of Tibet. I'm sure much of it has to do with either control of Tibet or trade with India but it was also helpful for our trip!

 

It had really struck me, by this point in the trip, how much I've grown up since last time I went travelling. I'm no longer part of the young group and definitely prefer the company of the older members of the group who are interesting and have good conversation to the younger members who just want to be cool.

 

The hotel provided in Lhasa surprised every single member of the group. In an historic Tibetan building that has something to do with the Panchan Lama we were provided with beautiful, large, rooms with powerful showers. Wow.

 

Day 6: First thing we were shepherded to Potala Palace, home of the Dalai Lama until 1959. I particularly enjoyed C and me trying to work out if one member of our group was serious or sarcastic when responding to my question about the palace with 'you mean you haven't read the Dalai Lama's autobiography?' She was so enjoyably earnest about everything in Tibet I can't help but assume there was no sarcasm, ever.

 

The palace is a little like the Vatican - both because it's so important to Tibetans and because it's impossible to get a real feel for the place. Everyone is allotted an entry and exit time and has to walk around as directed. There's no time for explanations or returning to look at a particular room or item. The Chinese restored the place after they bombed it but clearly don't want people to understand it. There is talk of it closing down though as the large numbers of tourists are threatening to destroy the floors. This was really the first time we saw many tourists at all. As C likes to chant as we go around these places, 'buddha, buddha, yaks' butter, money'.

 

On the way out of the palace I rubbed my eye and wondered why it was a trifle sore. By mid-afternoon I had full blown conjunctivitis, which then dictated the rest of the day's activities. While everyone else in the group went to the Jokang, C and I visited a number of pharmacies and surgeries to try and get medication for my eye. Our first stop, thanks to the hotel manager, was a Tibetan nun's surgery. She took one look at my eye, told me to stop eating tomatoes, chillies and garlic and then got out a bunch of pills that would cure me from the inside out. I don't know why we were even still there after the banning of tomatoes but we were. Stupidly we tried to ask what the pills were, for their composition so we could understand what they were and how they would help. We met a brick wall of incomprehension - not of the language since the hotel manager was still with us, but of why we would ask and what good knowing would do us. We left, laughing to ourselves.

 

We then found ourselves in the local A&E unit, which was far more productive and just as interesting. An eye specialist was found. She spoke no English so another doctor was brought into translate for us, thank goodness. When asked what was wrong I was able to show them the characters for conjunctivitis, which was lucky as it probably saved us a lot of going back and forward. After some scrapings and very bright lights it was agreed that's what I had. At this point I had to demand that a reporter (!) was ejected from the room. We have no idea where he came from but neither the doctor nor I wanted him in with us. C very firmly manoeuvred him out. I refused to be propaganda for a Chinese paper, which is, I suspect, what would have happened had we not kicked him out. Anyway, drugs were fabulous, within 24 hours my eye had gone from being so swollen it couldn't stay open and weeping puss to being almost back to normal. Thank goodness. C was amazing, and really looked after me. He more than made up for being rubbish at map reading earlier in the day!

 

Day 7: Thanks to the magic of real medicine my eye was better so I wasn't forced to remain inside as I'd feared and we were able to head to the Barkhor Square and its markets. After walking around for a while wondering why we were the only ones going against the flow of people we realised that we were swimming against a flow of pilgrims circumnavigating the Jokang. Luckily Buddhists aren't supposed to let anything bother them or we might have been considered rude (all religious buildings and items are supposed to be circumnavigated clockwise).

 

The afternoon brought yet another monastery and a quick trip to a Tibetan medicine factory. I remember finding Chinese tours to these types of places amusing and this was no different. And as then, I opted out of most of the tour. It was the same rubbish - you need this medicine eighteen times a day at this cost to cure whatever disease they claim you have. Only the girl mentioned above seemed to fall for any of this, everyone else was delightfully sceptical. It brought joy to my heart to witness such scepticism!

 

Train tickets were delivered in the evening and every single one was wrong - every single one of us had been ripped off as well as booked on trains a day later than we'd been told. This led to hours of wrangling with the company representative in Lhasa. For some reason though, C and I had the least trouble getting our tickets changed and the refund we demanded. I don't quite know why this was, perhaps because we didn't get as angry as everyone else. The guy kept on blaming the Nepali side of the business, saying they always lie and always cause trouble for customers. No one was particularly interested in his excuses or even really believed him but it wouldn't surprise me if it was true that the fault was primarily on the Nepali side. Anyway, we got an extra night in the hotel for free (£55), our tickets changed to the bunks we wanted (around £20 extra) and a refund of the extra money we felt they'd ripped us off (£40). Not bad.

 

C. was again wonderful when we realised the hotel cleaner had thrown out my eye cream. He marched straight downstairs and brought someone up to look for the cream. When it couldn't be found anywhere he sent them out with the box to buy a replacement at 11.15pm. Wonderful! It always impresses me that such a gentle, quiet guy can be so forceful when he needs to be.

 

Day 8: Because we hadn't been able to visit the Jokang with the rest of the group we were bought tickets for today. Wow, what a place. It's yet another monastery but so far out of the league of anything else we saw. We were ushered past the long queues of pilgrims and were able to just wander around, like we haven't been able to do as part of the group anywhere else. All monasteries are dimly lit, smoky and smell of a mix of incense and yak butter but somehow this place was more, just more, of everything. From the wax on the floor to the monks rhythmically beating large drums, everything here felt like we'd stepped into another world, perhaps dozens of centuries ago. Being without the group really helped too as it gave us time to soak up the atmosphere.

 

In the afternoon we headed down to the Tibet museum, which, quite frankly, wasn't nearly fully enough of propaganda. I was quite disappointed by the levels. Only a few times did we read how China had liberated Tibet.

 

We decided that we should really eat momos on our last night in Tibet. These are kind of Tibetan dimsum. I've not liked them much previously but was willing to give them a go. Yup, still bad, still heavy and bland. We left them and headed back to a restaurant we knew was good for delicious food on our last night.

 

Day 9: Lhasa train station is huge and cavernous. I love pragmatic communism: the waiting room for soft-sleeper passengers was huge and empty and furnished with rows and rows of lovely couches. For those without access to cash it was hard benches! Zebras, people, zebras. We read a great analogy of Chinese communism: one village had always believed that donkeys were better than zebras for carrying goods. The next door village believed the opposite. Over time the village using zebras became more wealthy than the village using donkeys thanks to the loads the zebras could carry. Rather than admit they were wrong, the elders in the village began to secretly paint stripes on the donkeys. They told the villagers that they were just painting them. Slowly, over time, all the painted donkeys were replaced with real zebras and the village began to prosper without anyone ever admitting they were wrong. Chinese communism.

 

The train from Lhasa to Chengdu takes 48 hours. The first day passed quite quickly in a blur of views of tundra and ice, chatting and watching Scrubs. The second day feels like it'll never end. However, this is the highest train in the world and we do have an entire four bunks to ourselves thus far. Extra oxygen was piped into the compartment for the first 12 hours as we traversed passes of 5000m. I imagined everyone being given nose pipes but this is just piped in.

 

I feel so incredibly lucky to have been to Tibet, to have seen such incredible scenery and to have visited such sights in such a remote and inaccessible part of the world. There are no independent travellers in the country right now - it is simply impossible to travel around without a group and a tour guide. The tour really comprised monasteries and driving but the driving was so spectacular it was more of a pull for me than the monasteries, which were all interesting in their own right. All in all, a truly magnificent few days in one of the world's more forgotten places. 

The daily commute - boy

I've taken local buses of various sizes in many developing countries, which by and large differ from the buses in the west in two significant ways; (1) the lack of a timetable which means the buses simply leave when full, the definition of which differs enormously from country to country; and (2) virtually hidden (but fixed) prices. The latter has never been a problem since the other passengers will normally indicate the real price or the conductor will remove the relevant notes and coins from your hand. Kathmandu is the first place where price has been an issue and probably stems from what seems like a nationwide obsession with overcharging the foreigner.

Foreigner price vs local price are common enough, but in Nepal it permeates every transaction. On the buses today it was evident that this overcharging is almost seen as a 'right' and the conductor actually became abusive when he couldn't get away with it. Apart from a couple of trips, every single bus ride has been a battle to pay the correct amount or just over. Sometimes they give up on the high amount and merely refuse to give you change (even while doling it out to the other passengers) and sometimes (when the wind changes) they relent and give you change.

I think this last spat was very telling of the Nepalese psyche in general, or at least that of the Kathmandu commuter, since they decided to get involved. Previously we watched them pay and saw exactly how much they handed over. Our turn came; we paid the conductor and did the usual rejecting of the extra he charged. In disgust he threw the money back and then asked for the inflated price again, which we again refused. The woman sitting in front of C said she'd paid the inflated price - patently untrue. The guy next to me then said the same thing - again untrue. I mentioned that I saw exactly how much he paid and he smiled. I asked why he lied and he shrugged (with a look reminiscent of the shopkeeper who sold C a "yak hair" scarf a couple of weeks ago). C was fuming at this point and gave both passengers a stern telling off for being dishonest. The guy next to me continued to grin sheepishly and then said something to the conductor, after which the conductor accepted our money with extreme hostility. C made a valiant effort to get our change but to no avail. He slammed the door as soon as we left his face permanently and grotesquely contorted with rage - just imagine if we had paid the correct amount.

I feel a bit bamboozled by the passenger's solidarity with the overcharging conductor. I've not felt a clash of cultures in such a profound way in a long time. Do people in Nepal think a little extra charging here and there is no big deal, harmless, not much money and people (especially rich tourists) should pay? If they had said "foreigners pay more" (which they could do in Nepalese since there's always someone on hand to translate) I would pay (albeit begrudgingly). If it were policy I would pay without question (as we do in museums). But this improvised way of overcharging feels like cheating to me regardless of the monetary amount and the commuters who lie to backup this behaviour feels like complicity in cheating.

Oh well, we have one more commute before leaving Nepal so we'll see how that goes. Armed with exact money and the phrase "I know the price is 24 rupees" we'll go forth into certain conflict and unpleasantness.

The Daily Commute - Girl

Wendy Cope was almost right, it's the bloody conductors on the bloody buses. I've just had to spend an evening with an extremely distracted C. He's not been able to stop thinking about the annoying experiences we've had on the buses. So, not only have they tried to cheat us on every journey but they also tried to ruin my evening. Bastards.

The taxi buses are a little bigger than African taxi buses but the same rules apply: ram as many people as possible into a small bus, drive ten metres then ram some more people in. If anyone can breathe, there're not enough people on the bus yet. However, in no African country have I felt as if I can't trust anyone on the buses to tell me the real price of the journey.

Our first bus journey was pretty fortuitous since we were adopted by a very kind man who told us how much to pay and where to get off. If he hadn't told us the price on that first journey we'd have had even less fun than we've been having on the buses.

So, every morning we walk 20 minutes to the bus stand, cram ourselves into a bus (having ascertained it's truly going to Satdobato), drive for 35 minutes through some pretty smelly yet interesting places (over the past week we've watched a large catapult type thing grow on the side of the road and we've seen the most armoured police van, ever), then walk another ten minutes. Every evening we do the reverse. I wouldn't commute an hour in London. Think on that.

It seems that every day the conductors get more determined to extract more than the required 24 rupees out of us. It began with a simple request for 40, or 30 or 25 and today it got to us having our money hurled back in our faces (twice by the same guy) while others looked on with a mix of disinterest and interest - something I've never seen before. Two people on the bus even tried to back up the conductor's lies. This didn't work so well since the first had clearly just paid his 12 rupees! The second, a lady with a young son, also tried to claim she'd paid 30 rupees except I'd seen her hand over 50 and get around 30 back in change. When questioned as to why they felt the need to lie and discredit their country (my addition then and now) they just grinned.

I don't really mind people trying to rip us off once. I do mind people getting angry when we won't be ripped off and I certainly take umbrage at other people backing up the lies for no good reason. Is it a case of 'let's all rip off the foreigner together'? I really and truly don't want to believe that this is the national psyche but following my scarf episode I wonder how embedded in society it is. C. is much more bothered by this particular episode than I am but perhaps that's because I let off some steam at the people on the bus and then ranted all the way home. Not really his style!

Volunteering in Kathmandu - boy

When C said she wanted to do a week's volunteering at a children's home I didn't know it was something that currently appears to be very popular in Kathmandu. A flyer saying "Spend a week with orphans!" says it all I think. Westerners = publicity in the west = little old lady donors. C though was determined to give useful advice and not just be there to play with the kids. Being of a less charitable disposition but thinking it might be an interesting experience I decided to join the helping and not playing with the kids too (most of whom are pretty smelly anyway).

First impressions weren't great and second impressions were worse. Maybe a week playing with the kids would have been better, not so much rationalising to do. I've spoken to people who have had similar impressions of comparable institutions in developing countries so I believe it is perfectly normal.  Cagey answers and dodgy practices are common. However, a director who sleeps most of the day (and does bugger all when she isn't sleeping), another who periodically tries to dictate his illustrious biography to anyone that will listen and his spoilt brat of a daughter who struts around screeching orders at the more accommodating volunteer (poor guy) is probably a specific treat to this enterprise.

Before arriving in Nepal we had read a number of articles about adoption in Nepal regarding foreigners who had to return their adopted child because unbeknownst to them due diligence had not been taken by the orphanage when finding out whether the child had parents. It could be a genuine mistake but since large sums of money are handed over at every stage to the orphanage and government (via the orphanage) the temptation must be great not to check the parentage too thoroughly. Like most (if not all) Nepalese orphanages, this institution accepts children who have parents and handles adoption procedures too.

Though, I should temper my pessimism with a counterweight: This is a country where the infrastructure and political situation is temperamental and fragile. On our first meeting we could barely reach the other side of the city due to Maoist demonstrations, a common occurrence here; our work schedule revolved around battery life and availability of electricity; we dealt with a computer company that promised much and delivered nothing; had a daily commute the price of which constantly fluctuated; a crazy woman roamed the street in the early hours of the morning making animal noises and I had a couple of extremely bad hangovers due to the crap in the beer. This environment is not conducive to nurturing a dynamic work ethic.

There is another counterweight: I tend to see people in the west who run charities as those who've sacrificed pay for a worthwhile cause (and job satisfaction) since in the west most high level managers will earn less than they would otherwise earn in the private sector. In developing countries charities seem to be every bit as lucrative (sometimes more so) than private businesses. It follows that salaries should be of primary importance under these conditions. In fact, a director not paying himself a larger percentage of the total incomings than his western counterpart should be considered an exception. In countries where regulation is not rigorously applied hitting on the idea of starting a charity and understanding how to tap foreign donors is like discovering oil. Wealthy individuals are created; jobs are created; the disadvantaged are taken care (while funds last); a burden is lifted from the government; and the donor feels good about themselves. Everyone's a winner - rationalisation complete.

Volunteering in Kathmandu - girl

Further to my whinging about travelling being an entirely selfish preoccupation we found ourselves a volunteering opportunity: a chance to 'give back', feel good about ourselves, fuel our western need to feel like we're doing something useful (delete as applicable). We had a few options: teaching sherpas English, a children's home and a home for blind kids. Yup, we (I) opted for the children's home. We were strict from the outset: only if we can be useful we should we be anywhere. Despite only giving five days of time, I think we were possibly, maybe, hopefully useful.  While C. was working on website stuff I began by writing a decent fundraising proposal for them. This soon turned into more concrete/ephemeral (depending on who you are) work of helping them work out how to establish a children's club to give the kids some representation within the home. The 'director' wasn't massively excited by this but I know the kids want it and there's a long term volunteer who was keen to help with implementation too. I'm hopeful, but not too hopeful, that the club will happen. Left to the local director, it won't, with the lovely volunteer, it might.

 

It's actually been pretty interesting, from a personal point of view, to do this. I've been working as a consultant essentially; trying to help but able to walk away and know I've given some decent advice but not being invested in them actually continuing with the changes.

 

The place is kind of amusing, mainly because of the husband and wife team who 'run' the show. There's not much running going on, to be honest, basically there's a whole lot of sleeping, some aggrandisement (probable) and some posturing but not much else. The kids are certainly fairly well cared for, they're receiving a good education, a balanced diet and they live in a good place but things could be so much better if those in charge played better.

 

Day 1: After lunch I sat down to work with Mrs. Boss by my side. Within minutes I noticed her breathing get heavier and then the gentle snores began. After around 20 minutes she awoke with a start, looked around and said, 'oh, sorry, it's been a tough day. I had to get up, wash and come here'. I should add she was 45 minutes late to meet us (we arrived at 0930 as agreed, she at 1015) and spent the morning watching us work. She then said 'I'll give you a lift home, wake me when you want to leave' and disappeared into her office for a sleep!

 

Day 2: We met Mr. Boss. I was unimpressed from the off for a number of reasons. Once he discovered C was working on the website he got all excited and began writing his new biography to be uploaded. Actually, he didn't want to write it at all, he wanted to dictate it to C who could type it straight onto the web. Watching C firmly refuse to do this was most entertaining, especially because he began 'you must write about me, I'm the founder'.

 

Day 3: Most of my suggestions for improvement have met with a 'oooh, yes, yes, yes, you are right, you are right'. While of course I am (!), that's not really a good response so today when I started explaining why a board should not be made up of paid staff members (accountability, anyone?) and met with the same response (knowing full well they won't change), I told Mrs. Boss that I didn't need to be told I was right, it doesn't actually matter to me if they change or not but if they want European or American support they'll need to. I think that made her think a bit. We then had a fun discussion about the budget she showed me - I repeated my mantra of 'I won't put anything in the proposal I'm writing if I think it's not true' and suggested that the prices were elevated somewhat, Mrs. Boss couldn't look me in the eye but she swore blind the prices were real. As if! Later, the lovely long-term volunteer was taking dictation of the same biography C had refused. It began something like 'Mr. Boss is a great man, Mr. Boss was born...' After a while of listening to this I asked, very politely if the biography was for the website. Affirmative. I then suggested that less was more and told him that Europeans only ever put a few lines about the staff on a website (particularly a CBO) and that the more he put the more it seemed like the organisation was a front for his political ambition (all put very politely, I assure you) - which it may be. His wife, as usual, agreed with me. The volunteer later told me he was pleased I had been putting the squirrel among the horses and that I should continue since the couple respect C and me and listen to what we have to say.

 

It's actually really upsetting to think about how great the place could be. Whilst working in the office I haven't seen either of the directors do a jot of work. They treat the place like it's an extension of their living room: listening to music, drinking tea, reading the newspaper and chatting on the phone. They see their three volunteers as white monkeys to be ordered around. Luckily, C and I don't take it, much, but the Spanish guy, for his own reasons, does. While there's nothing out of the ordinary here, it's just another CBO in the developing world that doesn't run as it could and they're just one more set of people who are more interested in lining their own pockets than doing good (there is a side product of 'good' here), it upsets me enormously to think of the wasted potential.

 

Apart from the work, we've been eating some good food and some terrible food, reading and trying to ignore the mayhem that is Thamel.

 

We were caught up in the middle of a Maoist protest the other day too. We were being driven by Mrs. Boss. Road blocks were up all over the city to bring traffic to a halt. We managed to get through two or three by them pointing to us and claiming we had just arrived in the country and needed to get to Thamel. Very exciting.

 

I have truly never been in a dirtier city. Cairo might give black snot but this place gets into the lungs, the nose, the mouth, everywhere. Most locals wear face masks it's so bad. We always know when the bus is approaching the river as it stinks, truly stinks. People chuck everything in there while others live on its banks. I read that there's faecal matter in the tap water and I can well believe it. Kathmandu is in a valley and all the pollution sits on top, unable to cross the mountains and leave. Delightful.

 

So we all sit in this fetid but interesting place where no one seems to be honest (of course I know there must be good people but we're not meeting them). Every shop in the tourist area sells 'yak scarves', soft scarves of beautiful colours, I was very excited by these and thought they'd make good presents. I bought one (pretty cheaply) before seeing them in a fixed price store labelled as acrylic and cotton. At least it was more expensive than I'd paid. I questioned the salesman who told me that everyone was lying outside and I should do the fire test - yak wool burns like hair, the acrylic burns like plastic. We went back to my shop and questioned the guy. I was so upset by the exchange I decided not to return the scarf as he eventually offered but to keep it as a reminder. He outright admitted to lying but said that since everyone is doing it, it's ok. We asked if he really felt like that, his response was that this is Nepal and that everyone in Nepal lies so why shouldn't he? - everyone, he said, from politicians to salesmen to children, everyone. In his words, 'that's why Nepal is as it is'. Well, the place is certainly a mess but how depressing. So I shall keep the scarf.

 

It's time to leave. I've enjoyed myself but the numbers of tourists seem to be increasing every day and we've eaten in all the good restaurants so bring on Tibet!

Chitwan - boy

Beware Nepalese guides bearing sticks antagonising rhino. We should have had our first clue when our main guide tried to provoke the first rhino into standing by rustling the leaves with his stick. Alarm bells should have sounded when, on doing the same thing to the second rhino, he jumped up saying "don't run!" What the..?! Should I run? The area of jungle we were walking through at the time was thick woodland (rather than canopied rainforest) and the previous rhino was almost well hidden. This time, peering knee height through the foliage I could possibly see something unmoving and grey but I wasn't sure how far it was. When the front-guide rustled his stick I thought it had merely stood up, not that it was already standing and had actually snorted at the noise he made. Our front-guide then seemed to want to flank the rhino, but I wanted to be sure of which way it was facing before moving so held back. Sounds of trampling the undergrowth and branches snapping shortly followed and there was a palpable sense of urgency in the air from both guides. The direction of the sounds were clear enough but I had no idea how close or how fast and was acutely aware that this was not ideal and felt extremely uneasy. Crouching down to try and get a better look wasn't an option now; as was moving to our front-guide who was now too far away; it was too late to go in the opposite direction so I stayed put near a tree with C and our rear-guide. The latter was fortunately watching our backs since a split second later I saw what he had obviously been watching the whole time, the charging rhino. As it brushed past our tree he shuffled both of us around keeping the tree between us and the rhino. The rhino kept on running. "Yeah you run bitch" I didn't yell just in case it decided to wheel around for another go. It didn't. Phew.

 

As the guides showed us the quickest way out the park we passed some tiger tracks made the evening before and we were quite happy to not follow them. At the start of our walk we had both thought how not seeing any game wouldn't be so bad since we felt a little exposed in the areas of long grass even with our guides, their fifteen days training and their long sticks. They seemed to enjoy rhino baiting however and I would probably hazard a guess that they've pissed off more than two rhinos in this park. Note to self: need to fine-tune my gung-ho guide indicator.

 

After returning a little shaken up and slightly euphoric at having survived in one piece with something interesting to write about we decided to cool off with some elephant bathing. C was obsessed by this and indeed it was a fun experience once I got over the irrational fear that this five ton (surprisingly hairy) beast wasn't going to go mental and throw me off on land but in the river and that when it did it wouldn't roll on top of me. It must have been fun because we went back for more the following day, though the second time I chose a happier elephant.

 

The safari on elephant back was an incredible experience, though four people per elephant (plus the elephant handler) was a little uncomfortable. However, the rhinos and other animals were totally unphased by our presence - due to the elephants - so we were literally standing next them while they ate. The jeep safari on the other hand (where they managed to squeeze ten people in a jeep made for six) did phase one of the rhinos we spotted but at least it didn't charge, even though the driver did his best to goad it by revving the engines. I think I see a pattern here with Nepalese safaris.

Chitwan - girl

A far less painful bus journey - just one blown tyre, fixed fairly quickly and we were in Chitwan. One night in a mosquito infested hole and two nights in a far nicer place.

Chitwan National Park is famed for its tigers, which we didn't see. We weren't really expecting to see anything after our delightful trekking guide told us the park was crap. However, we did see some stuff, far closer than we ever imagined.

First off we opted for a walking trip (safari style) in the jungle. We'd been warned that some of the guides were quite gung-ho but we didn't think our bean-pole guide was going to be one of them. The first indication we were wrong came around ten minutes into our walk when he suddenly dived off the path and into the jungle. Pretty unconventional but exciting was all I thought at this stage. We came across our first rhino after around 90 minutes of seeing nothing. We were quite excited to see this enormous beast lying in the jungle but less excited when the guide started smacking the bush with a stick to 'get a reaction out of the rhino'. We quickly persuaded him to leave. Just a few minutes later we found a second slumbering rhino. This time the guide urged us closer and closer. Gingerly we followed him. Then some Japanese tourists came up and kept moving far too close to try and see the rhino (apparently a national characteristic to not be able to see wildlife according to our guide!). Their noise disgusted the guide who gave up bashing bushes and walked off leaving us and the second guide to follow. Luckily C was both a bit more cautious than me. He was quite slow to follow the guide, which possibly saved our lives. While C was working out if it was really safe to follow GHG (gung-ho guide), the rhino was getting to his feet and snorting (a sure warning sign things aren't good). Then suddenly I felt someone grab me and shuffle me round a tree. I thought it was C but it was Guide number 2 'saving us' (his words) from a charging rhino. Clearly he'd got fed up with tourists staring and bashing bushes and decided to do something about it (or maybe just leave, fast). He lumbered at speed towards us. Thanks to the quick thinking guide C and I remained behind the tree we'd been passing and were shuffled this way and that way to keep us out of the rhino's path. I hate to think what might have happened if he hadn't been there since we think the rhino passed, at speed, within a metre of us.

Oh, and it turns out guides get a whole 15 days training.

After this C and I demanded to be taken back to the village. We'd had enough of jungle trekking and just wanted to go and sit somewhere safe.

The next up close with nature came in the form of elephant bathing, that is sitting on the back of an elephant in the river and having her owner issue commands such as 'spray them with water', or 'lie down on your side'. There is no experience like having a trunk-full of water in the face! What incredible beasts elephants are. Despite literally jumping up and down in excitement at the prospect of sitting on an elephant in the river, I was a bit hesitant when the time came. Those things are big, in person. C went first and had such a fun time that I had no choice but to follow (on a smaller elephant) and thank goodness I did. It was so much fun. And I truly think that my elephant was the only elephant enjoying herself. None of the others looked so happy - nothing like a bit of anthropomorphising, right? It was so much fun we both went again, the next day.

A jeep ride in the jungle yielded another rhino, this time at a safe distance, but nothing more. An elephant safari also brought more rhinos. Four people sit in a small box perched atop an elephant.  Lucky us, we got to go with two Dutch people, one of whom was huge. She took up all her own space, all of mine and some of Col's. I was perched on the wooden bars for three hours and now have some spectacular pain across my chest where the safety bars knocked for three full hours. There are no bruises, sadly, I always feel pain should be demonstrable to others through bruises, perhaps they'll come. Despite the pain, riding through the jungle at elephant height was fascinating and being able to get so close to rhinos and deer was a totally new experience. The animals saw only elephants and carried on doing whatever they were doing as we got within metres of them. Magnificent although I'd have enjoyed it more without the fattypuss in our box.

  

Another six hour journey and we're back in Kathmandu, it feels like coming home by now.

Pokhara - boy

I would guess the main attraction of this sleepy little town is the fantastic views of the Himalayas from the lakeside. At this time of year the mountains attract a late morning cloud that stays until the early morning and all of the surrounding area is covered in a fine haze occluding the mountains 99% of the day so for us it served as temporary lakeside retreat with tourist comforts, like good food (our best Nepali Thalis yet) and relaxing walks by the lakeside and around.

 

The bus ride was more memorable however and - as (almost) always in developing countries - was both an interesting and uncomfortable experience. Uncomfortable, because there was a rainstorm, the bus leaked, the seats were broken and some idiot though that everybody wanted to hear his tunes on his tinny mobile phone. Interesting, because I've never been on a journey where there has been so much blatant queue jumping. India's not even this bad. There's so much overtaking and attempted overtaking on the narrow mountain roads by the buses and trucks that it causes gridlock where there need be none at all. These antics added another four hours onto our journey; how do delivery companies cope with this madness?

 

Pokhara to Chitwan was a little more comfortable because it didn't rain but I think they used a school bus because the seats were only big enough for five year olds. Chitwan had an interesting drop off point, in the middle of a field 6km from town, thereby jettisoning the unsuspecting passengers into the mouths of the tourist hungry hotel vultures. Chitwan to Kathmandu raised the comfort standard yet again and this time the downside was stopping every five metres for about an hour so that people could board, sit down, get up, leave the bus, board again, chat aimlessly and board again - several times. No doubt catering for some OCD passengers incapable of just sitting down and letting the bus move on.

Pokhara - girl

The supposedly six hour bus journey to Pokhara took almost ten hours due to a number of factors: a flexibility with honesty; a two hour traffic jam for no apparent reason; and a massive, freak, storm that literally flooded the bus.

                                

Pokhara is supposed to be a serene, tropical lake-side city. We arrived to a wet, misty city where the hail stones were the size of sweets, the mythical mountains we'd come to see were entirely hidden from view (the entire time we were there) and C developed a stinking cold/sore throat. Apart from that, we loved it.

 

Given that most people go to this place to either trek or see the mountains, their being hidden in mist was a shame. The lake was also not as beautiful as we'd hoped since most of it appeared to be dried mud. However, we had some nice meals, went to a fairly crappy mountain museum and walked a long way to walk up to the 'world peace pagoda'. It was very steep and very hot. That's what I have to say about that. Oh, apart from the fact that we were convinced a seven year old girl was leading us to would be muggers! 'She had a mean face' is all I can say in our defence