Same same... but different

There is saying in Nepal, “Same, same…but different.”

Kathmandu had a nice symmetry with the novel Nicole had leant me in the village, The Kite Runner which I had just finished reading. Like Amir and Hassan who flew kites in the streets of Kabul, a mirror image was found in the streets of Kathmandu in Nepal’s holiest of festivals, Dashian. And like Sohrab who at the end of the novel found it in himself to smile for the very first time after a year when he flew a kite with Amir in America, I too had learnt to take time to savor the richness amidst the squalor in these streets. “Same, same…but different.”

A visit to the ‘monkey temple’, Swayambhunath was a nice entrée into Nepali theology. This was followed by a visit to the most important temple in Nepal on the riverbanks of the Bagmati, Pashupatinath temple, where I witnessed cremations and a real sense of the sacred juxtaposed with Sadhus, holy men, counting their money from their constant chants of ‘photo for money’ and chillin’ out by reading the local newspapers to while away the time.  But my favourite place was the 1920’s built, then left to ruin, then redeveloped, The Garden of Dreams. It was real oasis from the clutter of life outside its tranquil walls.

Sampling the food was another foot into the culture. OR2K, The Road House and The Pumpernickel soon became the favourite haunts to chill away an afternoon or evening. ­­­­­­­­­­­ I had almost been coaxed over the dark side by Colie and began to enjoy retail therapy. “No no too much 500 rupee. What is best price? 300?”

Nicole and I had decided to rent a car with driver to Chitwan National Park then onto to Pokhara by local/tourist bus after a day in the Park.  The journey to Chitwan took some seven hours, covering little more than 140 km. On the way around a steep bend the driver lost control and as the car slid towards the a sheer drop, Nicole and I had barely time to look at each other before the car righted itself before it continued on in the morning light. Good Karma? Good Luck? God?

In the year of my 50^th birthday, in the country of Nepal I would have done the two hardest things in my life in the space of ten days. One professional and the other physical.

Chitwan will be remembered for many things for me.

The Elephant ride, breeding centre and elephants washing in the river. Canoeing down a jungle river on a lazy sunny afternoon. The Tharu dancing. The jeep ride and our humorous guide who seemed to yell tiger at every twist and turn on our jungle walk. Truth be known in the 15 years he has worked in the Park he has only sighted a tiger on six occasions. However on one of those occasions he was with a legion of French tourists when a tiger leapt out of the bushes and hunted down and killed a spotted deer right in front of them. How I wish I was on that trip!

And somewhat like the rare sightings of tigers, it was at Chitwan were I turned down an opportunity to be a Principal in a rural community near Sydney. Still waters run deep.

The bus ride from Chitwan to Pokhara was an eye opener. It took us one and a half hours to get out of the Chitwan area. The bus was more like a local bus, stopping regularly and spluttering along. Nicole assures me it wasn’t. No goats, chickens and people spilling out of windows and on rooftops in this bus.

The taxi ride from Pokhara to Nayapul, the start of our five day trek in the Annapurna ranges, was a portent of things to come. In casual conversation with the taxi driver I noticed a Toyota car up ahead to which he remarked “not like this car, as this car not safe”. 

When we arrived at Nayapul we had four eager trekkers (later to be known as the Ozzie Tiger Trekkers); Nicole, two delightful girls from Antipodeans who spent three months in the village as volunteers with Nicole, and me. Life has a habit of being an unfolding puzzle. It was only in May by good fortune we had offered to host two girls who were from Adelaide and needed a night to stay as they completed their Nepal Antipodean Orientation Camp in Sydney. They were the same two girls, Kiri and Megan who we were to share the next five days with Colie and I and whose lives would be inextricably linked to ours for a long time there after as we sweated, laughed and struggled our way to Poon Hill, Ghorepani, Ghandruk, Syauli Bazar and then back to Nayapul.

On arrival at Nayapul we were to meet our guide at 9.00 am, which had pre arranged a week earlier with a KEEP representative, us, together with the trekking agency.

Unfortunately after a few frantic phone calls at 10 o’clock we were informed that our guide was still in Kathmandu, 240 km away. They thought we would start tomorrow! Nepali time.

Nicole had to surrender her passport at the first check point at Birenthanti, a 20 mins walk, so we could stay there until our guide arrived with our trekking permits; the realization dawned on me that we would have to complete the five day trek in four.

Day One started out deceptively comfortable. But after a while there were signs that my body was not going to like this: heavy breathing, panting, heavy breathing. By the time I arrived at Hile, aptly named, the legs were full of lactic acid and the body was attempting to negotiate a peaceful end to the trek with the mind. But more was to come.

The climb between Tikkedhungga and Uleri was murderous. Two to two and half hours straight up a cliff. No respite. A 500 metre climb in a very short distance. Stairs and more stairs as I focused on the feet in front of me as my body screamed to stop as an eighty year old Nepali woman passed me. There is a lot a man finds out about himself in times like these. It was life imitating life.

More heavy breathing and panting, stopping then slowly moving step after step as I was passed by Porter after Porter. I have so much admiration for these people. Carrying loads of up to 70-80 kg up very steep terrain no man should do. Often poorly paid they are a microcosm of Nepal. A nation, apart from Mountains (tourism) and water, built on manual labour. This metaphor, particularly under the circumstances was not lost on me.

The view as we arrived on the upper outskirts of Uleri, for our first nights’ accommodation, was breath taking as was the ribbing of one of the girls who had taken quite a shine to the guide who was a good  looking 20 year old Nepali: 9.5 out of 10 actually. He became known as the Tiger who would perhaps lure the sweet damsel into his den. Or would he? This banter would go on for the rest of the trip between us four Aussies, although I am sure that the Tiger, who was such an astute animal, would at times play along. And Megan was such a good sport too!

It was here that we met “Priscilla” as we named her. A grim faced three foot doll that was neither male nor female who guarded the dining room.

Day Two was perhaps less demanding but equally challenging for me.  Uphill and another climb to Ghorepani. During the day the DJ in my head was playing the Divinyls song; ‘There is a fine line between pleasure and pain…”  The body had a long time ago wanted to turn back; but the mind was listening to the spirit who urged them both to continue. Colie was a trouper. In her stoic manner at the end of the trip she will have soldiered on for the five days with a cold and a headache. No complaints, no whining, just let’s get on with it.  It was such a proud occasion for me as a dad to do this trek with Colie. I can’t wait for Morocco’s desert experiences with Katie and the family.

Day Three began with a 4.30 rise and a trek up to Poon Hill at 4.55. A very steep incline of 300 mtres in the dark. Etched in my memory of this walk to the top, that would take almost an hour, was: a string of lights in single file that pierced the darkness; people trudging up the hill; people vomiting in bushes; people coming down the hill- too hard.

We were greeted at the top by the sleeping mountains that were soon to be awakened by the first rays of the sun. Deeply mystical and utterly transcendent. The stillness was only broken by the two hundred or so trekkers who had also gathered to pay homage to the mountain gods in their entire resplendent splendor. It had been a privilege to witness what has been taking place here from time immemorial.

We arrived back at the ‘Moonlight’ tea house at 7.30 for breakfast to begin our trek shortly after 9.00. Overall the accommodation during the trek was spartan. A basic twin room cost 200 Rupees; with a hot shower (if lucky) another 100 rupees with a high mark up on food and beverages, sometimes at least 500% from the city. Still it was very cheap by Western standards at AUS $1 = 69 Rupees. You could not haggle at different lodges as all menus were the same set by the Annapurna Conservation Foundation. Again, a case of “Same, same…but different.”

This day was an up and down day. Up Ghorepani hill to 3,200 metres and down to Tadapani and then just outside this village we pulled at stumps around 3.30 in the afternoon. Walking through the jungle provided yet another backdrop to our journey. No two days the same, No two experiences the same, except for the aching calves and bruised backs. “Same, same…but different.”

Before dinner we were met by our somewhat effusive guide who was in fine spirits and was desperate for a dance. Later we came to realize that he had his medicine, antibiotics as he called them or “white tea”. Something like Mexican vodka and lots of it! After a night of dancing and entertaining the locals and card playing; for the record Megan lost the card game SPOONS and for her punishment (or was it enjoyment?) she had to dance first with the Tiger. Kiri by all reckoning was the best at Nepali dancing and a fun night was had by all. This was a late night as we went to bed around 9.30 p.m. 

Day Four began with breakfast at 6.30 and on the way at 7.00. Trekking was somewhat easier now on the lungs, but much harder on the knees and joints as we were descending from 2,500 meters to 1000 metres back to Nayapul. By 12.00 we were making good ground and arrived for lunch at Syauli Bazar on the river. An ice bath followed and Megan and Colie went under the freezing mountain water for some R and R. Two hours was well spent recuperating and soaking up the scenery.

Two hours later we were back at Nayapul. Our journey of 15,000-20,000 steps was complete. The DJ was bouncing out the Harry Chapin song “All my life’s a circle…”  Another taxi ride of just over an hour and we were back at Pokhara. We shared a meal as we almost drifted off to sleep between the vegetable pokodas and Dahl but, but we made it! Over the five days we had witnessed some unforgettable scenery and experiences which have cemented a special place in our hearts. Poon Hill was my Everest. “Same, same…but different.”

So did I underestimate the difficulty of the trek? Yes

Was I pleased that I finished it?  Yes

Would I do it again? No

Would I have done it had I known what it was like? No

Ah the unpredictability and surprises we call life!

Two days rest in Pokhara then it is back to Kathmandu by Buddha Air. Good Karma I hope.

Until next time,

Good tidings and God’s blessings

Janika