Loitering in South Asia

Deshain/The coup

ourmaninkathmandu — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 17:45:00 GMT

The monsoon has decided to return with a vengeance after tempting us with a few days of hot sunshine and clear skies, and did so on Tuesday with a rather fierce thunder storm that managed to knock out the power. Out came the candles, and quicker than a lightning flash the room of knowledge, inspiration and discipline was transformed into a romantic chamber, with soft shadows dancing across everyone’s faces…all of which was completely lost on the middle-aged class of students I was teaching. I, however, enjoyed it immensely and am hoping for a repeat.

After, it was a short trip out to Swayambhu stupa (kind of a wee temple, Buddhist) in the west of the city, to meet the principal of a private school. Quite an interesting walk, once round the back of the temple (where you sneak in using one of the paths that lead up the hill) the road becomes a kind of no man’s land between the territory held by the monkeys of the temple, and the street dogs of the other side. On the left was a caravan of monkeys, obviously on the warpath somewhere, while the other side of the road was host to an equally rabid party of dogs, probably on a scouting mission prior to Wednesday’s alcohol and testosterone fuelled brawl between the two species up the park, like. Can’t say I’m particularly bothered by the outcome, both carry rabies. And fleas.

I’m missing the autumn of back home-the crisp skies, crunchy leaves, Rugby (’mon the ENG-GER-LUND!)etc etc etc. Out here I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact that it feels like summer (and a good one) in October. So, you in the woollen socks and with wood fire going, appreciate the autumn, at least you’re not sweating by 8am. Soon December will be here, you’ll drink too much, wake up, make up new resolutions and be back to gurning by the time February’s put its head around the door. Yes.

Oh, met the BBC correspondent for Nepal the other day. Didn’t offer me a job.

Deshain is currently in full swing, and goats, chickens and buffalo are being sacrificed at temples across the city. How a dead chicken manages to appease the gods (numerous) still puzzles me, but we’ll leave that for another day when someone religious does something stupid and I’m feeling mean. Dead non-bovines aside, it brings a welcome holiday from the school, which will hopefully be spent somewhere out of the haze and smog practicing Nepali.

Still no news on the promised coup, does anyone

Microbanter

ourmaninkathmandu — Tue, 20 Nov 2007 17:41:00 GMT

Hanging out of a microbus door has got to be one of the best (of a bad bunch) workouts here for the upper arms and shoulders. Yes, the physical fitness scene here is shite, loping around a cricket field is never going to get rid of that curry and rice pot belly everyone seems to have.

I’m cutting a terribly dashing figure, it’s as if I’m piloting a laser in a terribly prestigious sailing cup, squatting precariously out over a raging sea, face rugged and determined, licking salt spray from my lips and doing my utmost to beat those damn Yanks and bring glory and honour home to dear old England,

Not really. Yet again cheap public transport calls, and it’s a busy day…

Tea and toast await me at the end of this journey, but the aromas of street stalls and rainbows of fresh fruit at the street side (coated in fumes, but still preferable to cling film, Tesco) send tropical shaped doubts in to my mind, and I’m confused- the exhaust must be getting to my head- should I alight, ditch the pencilled-in chat about politics and gorge myself on papaya? Too late! (famous figure who never could decide), the express is off, and with a jet-like roar the engines fire up and we head north east ish.

Into the Abyss…

We race with other, rusty, clanking vehicles, horns for once welcome as they mask the spluttering and groaning our engine is emitting. I fear I must shoulder some of the responsibility for this, and I also feel that the blame for the craft being side-heavy and making no progress towards pole position in this race up the hill could, somehow, be laid at my feet. Not that there is much room at my feet of course, they’re being scowled at by at least four other sandaled pairs who are of the opinion that the ledge of the van was far too crowded even before my clumsy appearance, and that an accidental trip would do a favour to everyone.

Yes, space is tight, there’s no denying it. The bridge, only built for a single, slight Nepali navigator now has to accommodate a European, who’s shortcut-spotting and insult exchanging skills are definitely in the spring of life. My lack of combat experience is brought painfully to light as we approach the roundabout and the road widens out threefold and we are engulfed in shell fire from a rival dreadnought. I am almost thrown from the deck, saved only by a scrawny, sunburnt arm. Our driver doesn’t fail us though, and we emerge from the putrid smoke, weaving, ducking and diving through the melee of burning rubber. God! Was that a red flag with a hammer and sickle? Drive man, drive! We are a particular target for these ruffians, the pilot is wearing a Stars and Stripes bandana, some idiot is displaying his bottle of Pepsi for every Tom, Dick and Harry to see, and Britney Spears adorns the rear of the ship. So, the pedal is hit, we make haste, choking a couple of goats who were stupidly standing in our wake.

Many moons later…..

Trafalgar is left behind as we sail past lush rice paddies, dotted with large homes, the engine running smoothly, grandmothers back to berating anyone within reach and we have left the city and can look up in awe at the foothills of the Himalaya. Stupas and temples poke up from a lush green carpet and small waterfalls can be seen. Even the dogs seem to appreciate the clean air and there is a collective sigh of relief from everyone except the driver who continues to scowl from behind his battered cap and worries about how much longer the suspension will last.

It’s my stop. I bang on the terribly fragile roof, yell pompously at the minute conductor, hand over a sweaty ten rupee note, and step down and walk away, bag slung over my shoulder with all the swagger I can muster. When I’m out of sight I can thank my lucky stars, collapse for five minutes in a relieved heap, and go and talk about the Maoists over a strong cup of Earl Grey...

Back to the mountains...

ourmaninkathmandu — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 17:43:00 GMT

I'd forgotten how beautiful the Terai (the flat part of Nepal which borders India) is until then, having succumbed to the typical Kathmandu attitute that the plains are hot, sweaty, malaria infested and inhabited by Indians. Sitting on the roof of the bus perched between the bus boy and his friend ,speaking absolutley atrocious Nepali, and whistling at ramro keties, (beautiful girls) was quite a laugh, and a wonderfull tonic for the smog and hustle of the capital. The Terai is like India; hazy and lazy; rice fields everywhere which surround pastel coloured homes, sometimes with people working in them. Nothing really moves, no wind, and only the occasional horn of a truck on the way up from the real Indian plains below disturbs the silence, which is looked upon by the first real foothills of the Himalaya.

A surprisingly good road turned into not such a good road upon entering the hills, however the sharp twists and turns completely failed to make any impression on the driver, and he steamed on regardless of who was clinging on to his roof rack. After several cold hours on the roof (I lent my jacket to the bus boy, and graciously let him keep it as he had nothing else to keep him warm but a T-shirt. Idiot. It was only this morning that I realised that the 400 rupees I had lost were in the pocket of that very jacket. Karma now topped up, I don't have to give to beggars for at least another week), kept only from death's door by hot milky tea, we made the familiar turn into the Kathmandu Valley and saw the metropolis stretch out before us. Even in it's smoggy glory, the lights that adorn every building due to Tihar (the Nepali Diwali) still manage to shine through. It's isolation and complete lack of regard for anything living in it make me love it more, and it was with a smile that I walked up the steps to my appartment. Wiped off when I had to take a cold shower. Landlord hasn't got round to turning on the hot switch yet...

So, another round of Tihar tonight, can't remember what animal gets the special treatment today, think it's buff. Yesterday was cows, and the day before was dogs. Who really deserve the break, getting kicked, punched and having stones thrown at them every other day of the year. And taunted by the monkeys.

Right, it's been about a week without the shisha, mother, so I'm off to rouse some friends and poison my lungs...