From Himalayas to hartals…
I’m back. From an extended absence on my blog (profuse apologies), and from a 10-day trip to Nepal. I have returned to find that Bangladesh is in the middle of another 3-day blockade, which may be followed by a 10-day blockade leading up to the elections on the 22nd. That is, of course, if the elections go ahead despite the fact that the opposition has announced that they will be boycotting them. Seems no matter what happens over the coming weeks, none of it will be overly positive.
But, as the title of this entry suggests, I arrived into the land of hartals from the land of something much more magical: the Himalayas. My get-away (in the truest sense of the word) to Nepal was a bit of a last minute arrangement. Originally, I was planning on staying in Bangladesh over Eid Mubarak, a three-day holiday that depends on the moon and as such is announced only a week before it will take place. It seems the moon felt generous enough to give us three working days off, and although I was tempted to stay and observe the traditional Eid celebration of slaughtering cows and sharing the meat amongst friends, family and the poor, I somehow figured that seeing the streets of Dhaka awash with cow blood might not compare to a sojourn in the land of temples and trekking.
Where in the world is Carmen SanDiego?
I remember when I was a kid, back when computer screens were orange and black and floppy disks were actually floppy, I used to spend hours playing Where in the World is Carmen San Diego? And I remember that one of the many obscure places where Carmen used to flee to when evading capture was Kathmandu. At that age it was eternally a place that existed in the world of computer games, not a city that I would one day visit in real life. Visiting Kathmandu in person was, of course, much more exciting than tracking down Carmen in Kathmandu on a computer, although the computer did make much cooler noises than the KTM airport.
On the flight from Dhaka I was lucky enough to get a seat on the right-hand side of the plane, better known as the Everest-hand side of the plane. That’s right, I saw Everest from my window as I flew into Kathmandu. It definitely made up for the less than appetizing Bangladeshi plane food (let’s just say it made Air Canada seem like a five-star restaurant in the sky).
I shared a taxi from the airport with four fellow Dhaka residents, and as we entered the tourist area of Thamel we all sat with our faces glued to the window and drool dripping down our cheeks at the sight of this Eden of delights we had stumbled upon. There were shops, with things you actually wanted to buy. There were restaurants, with food you actually wanted to eat. There were bars!! Real, live bars!! And shops selling alcohol, right out in the open! There was Illy coffee!! It was like being a kid arriving in Disneyland, but slightly smoggier.
I remained a Disneyland-awed child until I arrived at the hotel, at which point I transformed into a real adult. Real adults being defined, of course, as persons who stay in hotel rooms and not grungy backpacker hostels. I never imagined, when I was 18 and hopping from hostel to hostel in Europe, or 22 and hopping from cheap guesthouse to even cheaper guesthouse in SE Asia, that the day would come when I would ‘sell out’ (as I would have called it then) and stay in a hotel. Heaven forbid! Only boring, stuffy grown ups would want to do that! But the day came, and it was a fabulous day. A fabulous day with wooden floors, a down comforter and a hot bath, all for only $20. I only hope the Courtyard Hotel was around when Carmen lurked in these parts.
Canyoning: TYTMDOTO
After a morning visiting Thamel’s plethora of shops overflowing with cool clothes, even cooler jewellery, paintings, incense, all things hippy, and a long list of other material wonders unavailable in Dhaka, and an afternoon split between the ‘monkey temple’ perched 365 steps above the city and Patan’s majestic Durbar Square, my Aussie companions decided it was time for some real adventure. So we all signed up to go canyoning. As my hand penned my signature on the waiver, my mind placed 2 Days Rappelling Down Waterfalls Near the Border with Tibet in the mental category of Things You Tell Mom and Dad Once They’re Over (TYTMDOTO). I mean, why have them imagining you hanging on a rope half way down a 40m descent when you could send them a photo of you actually doing it once you’re safe and sound?
The best part of the excursion was that it took us out of the smog and noise of the city (okay, so Dhaka and Kathmandu do have one thing in common) into the beautiful countryside, which is basically a never ending chain of incredible terraced valleys. But yes, the canyoning was pretty cool too. The first day we descended some smaller waterfalls, at the bottom of which was a Nepali dance troupe filming a music video in traditional costumes. At different levels of our descent the rocks hid some members of the group, but we never lost sight of the director, who was always out in front showing the dancers which way to flail their arms and wiggle their hips.
The second day we descended much higher and more difficult falls, which of course meant it was much more fun! And each twist, turn, drop and overhang overlooked an incredible terraced valley with a madly rushing river below. Quite magical.
Nepali New Year
We arrived back in Kathmandu just in time to celebrate New Year’s Eve. With two more resident Dhakans who had traded hartals for Himalayas we headed out for dinner and then hit the street just before midnight. The whole area of Thamel was packed, with tourists and Nepalis alike, who I assumed were there to ring in the start of 2007. Little did I know…
As it turns out, December 31st in Nepal is the traditional ass-grabbing celebration. It took only a few moments on the street to figure this out, in which time my bottom was the object of much celebration. We quickly decided that abandoning the street for a local bar might give my and my female companion’s bottoms some time to rest, but unfortunately there was even more celebration going on inside than there was outside (although some of that could have been contributed to the fact that it was so crowded inside you needed to point your head upwards in order to breathe).
After being groped by about 72 different men, we decided that we just weren’t culturally mature enough to appreciate the Nepali version of New Year’s Eve, and we retired to our hotel where the staff where nice enough to open up the bar, let us pour our own drinks and have our own private party. All in all, a good way to ring in a new year.
My first day in 2007 was spent visiting one of the largest Buddhist stuphas in the world as well as the most holy Hindu sites in Nepal. The latter was particularly interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, the holiness of Pashupatinath stems partly from it’s location on a very sacred stretch of river. River, in this case, meaning terribly polluted dribble of murky water. Having grown up in a land of pristine rivers, it was incredible to stand before it and try to understand how it could be conceived as holy; It made me realize how little I understand about the foundations of a religion like Hinduism, and how little I comprehend faith in general. The second interesting thing about Pashupatinath is that it is an important cremation site. A public cremation site, which meant that while we were there we watched two pyres being built, two bodies wrapped in white cloths and draped in marigold chains being carried around the pyre a number of times before they were lay to rest upon it, and two fires lit that were then smothered in grass dampened in the holy river. When the towers of smoke had died down, the remains were pushed over the edge of the stone pier into the river. A somewhat somber, somewhat uplifting, and totally unforgettable sight. Finally, Pashupatinath is home to a number of sadhus, the dreadlocked, face painted, yoga practicing, pot smoking Hindus who are meant to have left behind all material and sexual attachments in their pursuit of liberation. Quite a sight they are - an interesting contrast to the stoic beauty of the temples the wander between.
1 drunken guide + 4 days + 3200 metres = 1 amazing time!!
After visiting Pashupatinath I headed to the airport to catch a flight to Pokhara. Splurging on a flight instead of slogging in on the bus was another thing that I never thought my budget traveler soul would ever give into, but then I don’t think my budget traveler soul could ever conceive of a day when I might be able to afford such luxuries. On this flight we had even better views of the Himalayas, as well as the country below. It was refreshing to watch the brick sea of Kathmandu fade into rolling terraced hills and valleys.
I caught up with the Adventurous Aussies who had organized a four-day trek in the foothills of the Annapurna stretch of the Himalayas, and together with German fellow we eagerly met our guide the next morning and headed off to Nayapul where our trek would begin.
After a few hours of fairly light trekking and rice and dhal lunch, we continued on what we had been told would be a long way to our first destination. We followed our trusty guide, knowing that he would set the necessary pace and not lead us astray. Unfortunately, however, our guide was having trouble setting one foot in front of the other, let alone setting a pace that would get us around the bend before dark. It wasn’t long before he sat down for a rest and, in our frustration, we offered a half-hearted “So you'll catch up with us, yeah?” and trudged on. That was the last we saw of Lale the Super Guide.
In the end, we arrived at the village of New Bridge with head lamps lit and map in hand after an enjoyable 7 hours of hiking through beautiful villages nestled in terraced valleys that occasionally gave way to views of one of the striking mountains towering in the distance. A hot bucket bath, a cold beer and some warm noodle soup made it a pretty darn good day, drunken guide and all.
I awoke on day 2 and wandered down to the breakfast table to find that my porridge had been served with fabulous mountain views. When you arrive somewhere after dark, you never know what you will find when daylight arrives! Our trek began with a steep ascent, but we were later rewarded with a dip in some gorgeous, slate-lined hot spring baths that oozed steam out over an icy turquoise river. Unfortunately, that was followed by another, more gruesome ascent, but again we were rewarded, this time with stunning views of three frosty peaks. Our day ended cuddled in a guesthouse that lay among the terraced fields and brick houses of another beautiful village, and we celebrated a tough but wonderful day with pizza, that only took 2 hours to make.
Day 3 was grueling and involved a number of steep ascents that sucked more life out of me with every step. Fortunately, after 2 months in Dhaka, the simple sound of silence was enough to keep me going. The highlight was reaching the watch tower at Deruali, which looked out over 12 peaks. The German and I had stupidly climbed (read: crawled) up there with our packs, which we later realized had been unnecessary, but we managed to recover with a short nap beneath the rippling prayer flags that framed the blue sky and the gleaming white peaks perfectly. The food and masala tea that followed in the village below didn’t hurt either.
The views continued to be spectacular as we continued on our way to Ghorepani, and it was all I could do to take five steps in a row without stopping to take the same picture I had taken five steps earlier. When we arrived in Ghorepani, the sun was setting as we settled into a cozy $1.20 room that looked right out over two peaks that transformed from white, to pink, to moonlit blue.
Unfortunately, that night I lay shivering in bed under three blankets wearing everything I owned. But fortunately, it wasn’t because it was that cold, I just had a fever. After stripping me down and wrapping me up like a hotdog in one of those silver blankets, which just roasted my outside and left my insides freezing, I took a panadol, borrowed some good thermal underwear and managed to get to sleep.
We began our last day trekking uphill at an ungodly hour that demanded headlamps. But, when we reached our destination, the 3200m top of Poon Hill, I felt less disgruntled about having dragged myself out of bed in the dark. On one side of the horizon, the moon was setting into a sea of pale pink and blue that wrapped the range’s highest peak in a blanket of baby-coloured softness. On the other side were peaks silhouetted in the deep red and orange of sunrise. And in between were peaks that shone brighter with each inch that the sun crept higher, and a sky that became bluer at the same rate. I couldn’t feel my toes or fingers, but it didn’t matter. It was beautiful enough to warrant the loss of such menial appendages.
It was all down hill from there, figuratively and literally. Going down made me long to be going up again and I cursed myself for having complained about the steep climbing we had done for the previous two days. When we reached a section of continuous stone steps (as in lopsided rows of oddly shaped rocks) winding down 500 vertical metres of steep valley, every step felt like someone was jabbing hot knives into every inch of the lower half of my legs. Fortunately there were only 3000 of them. This time, shame kept me going as I was passed by porter after porter doing the same descent with sandals on their feet and multiple packs, cages of chickens, or wooden tables balanced on their backs by thick bands across their foreheads. As with all the Nepalis we had encountered throughout the trek, they all had a cheery Namaste! to offer, despite their enormous loads.
As with all goodbyes, reaching the end of the trek was bitter sweet. My legs were happy, my ears and eyes were sad, and my heart was a little bit of both. But they all managed to agree it was time to head back to civilization in a minute taxi that would get a flat tire halfway there.
I was tempted to splurge on another flight back to Kathmandu, but I opted for the tourist bus (Nepali for “no one has to sit on the roof”), which turned out to be a great way to rest my weary legs for 7 hours while I watched Nepal pass by my window.
Some things are better understood at a distance
It was interesting to see how much I learned about Bangladesh from being in Nepal. Sometimes when you are immersed in a place you fail to notice certain things. Being in Nepal revealed to me a number of things about Bangladesh that I had started to take for granted. Perhaps most noticeable was how inconspicuous I felt in Nepal, where I suppose they have become used to foreigners and therefore don’t tend to stand in large groups and stare at fairer creatures like myself. The lack of rickshaws and abundance of motorcycles was another of the most evident differences. I was pleased at the thought of a rickshaw-free vacation at first, but after being run down by a few motorcycles I realized that perhaps lowly rickshaws aren't so bad after all.
Of all the differences, the most interesting for me was the surprising number of women out and about in Nepal. You do see women on the street in Bangladesh, but what I hadn’t realized is how few of them you see, comparatively speaking. There were also a lot more women wearing ‘western’ clothes or engaging in ‘modern’ behaviour (like working in a shop). Perhaps a difference in culture, perhaps in religion, perhaps in economic development. Perhaps a combination. That much I didn’t learn, but I at least began to see things that have faded into every day life over the last couple of months in the 'desh.
Home sweet Hartal
After watching violent clashes in Dhaka on the BBC news at the KTM airport, it was even more sad to watch the twinkling lights of Kathmandu dwindle as the plane popped up to bid goodnight to Everest and Company before moving on to Bangladesh. Although, despite the never ending turmoil here, it did feel strangely like home as we drove into the not-so-mundane-as-I-like-to-make-it-out-to-be diplomatic enclave that I have unknowingly begun to enjoy…
PS - sorry for the lack of photos, but between a geriatric PC and a 20th century internet connection, it just isn't feasible. I'll try and find a way to put some online soon.
But, as the title of this entry suggests, I arrived into the land of hartals from the land of something much more magical: the Himalayas. My get-away (in the truest sense of the word) to Nepal was a bit of a last minute arrangement. Originally, I was planning on staying in Bangladesh over Eid Mubarak, a three-day holiday that depends on the moon and as such is announced only a week before it will take place. It seems the moon felt generous enough to give us three working days off, and although I was tempted to stay and observe the traditional Eid celebration of slaughtering cows and sharing the meat amongst friends, family and the poor, I somehow figured that seeing the streets of Dhaka awash with cow blood might not compare to a sojourn in the land of temples and trekking.
Where in the world is Carmen SanDiego?
I remember when I was a kid, back when computer screens were orange and black and floppy disks were actually floppy, I used to spend hours playing Where in the World is Carmen San Diego? And I remember that one of the many obscure places where Carmen used to flee to when evading capture was Kathmandu. At that age it was eternally a place that existed in the world of computer games, not a city that I would one day visit in real life. Visiting Kathmandu in person was, of course, much more exciting than tracking down Carmen in Kathmandu on a computer, although the computer did make much cooler noises than the KTM airport.
On the flight from Dhaka I was lucky enough to get a seat on the right-hand side of the plane, better known as the Everest-hand side of the plane. That’s right, I saw Everest from my window as I flew into Kathmandu. It definitely made up for the less than appetizing Bangladeshi plane food (let’s just say it made Air Canada seem like a five-star restaurant in the sky).
I shared a taxi from the airport with four fellow Dhaka residents, and as we entered the tourist area of Thamel we all sat with our faces glued to the window and drool dripping down our cheeks at the sight of this Eden of delights we had stumbled upon. There were shops, with things you actually wanted to buy. There were restaurants, with food you actually wanted to eat. There were bars!! Real, live bars!! And shops selling alcohol, right out in the open! There was Illy coffee!! It was like being a kid arriving in Disneyland, but slightly smoggier.
I remained a Disneyland-awed child until I arrived at the hotel, at which point I transformed into a real adult. Real adults being defined, of course, as persons who stay in hotel rooms and not grungy backpacker hostels. I never imagined, when I was 18 and hopping from hostel to hostel in Europe, or 22 and hopping from cheap guesthouse to even cheaper guesthouse in SE Asia, that the day would come when I would ‘sell out’ (as I would have called it then) and stay in a hotel. Heaven forbid! Only boring, stuffy grown ups would want to do that! But the day came, and it was a fabulous day. A fabulous day with wooden floors, a down comforter and a hot bath, all for only $20. I only hope the Courtyard Hotel was around when Carmen lurked in these parts.
Canyoning: TYTMDOTO
After a morning visiting Thamel’s plethora of shops overflowing with cool clothes, even cooler jewellery, paintings, incense, all things hippy, and a long list of other material wonders unavailable in Dhaka, and an afternoon split between the ‘monkey temple’ perched 365 steps above the city and Patan’s majestic Durbar Square, my Aussie companions decided it was time for some real adventure. So we all signed up to go canyoning. As my hand penned my signature on the waiver, my mind placed 2 Days Rappelling Down Waterfalls Near the Border with Tibet in the mental category of Things You Tell Mom and Dad Once They’re Over (TYTMDOTO). I mean, why have them imagining you hanging on a rope half way down a 40m descent when you could send them a photo of you actually doing it once you’re safe and sound?
The best part of the excursion was that it took us out of the smog and noise of the city (okay, so Dhaka and Kathmandu do have one thing in common) into the beautiful countryside, which is basically a never ending chain of incredible terraced valleys. But yes, the canyoning was pretty cool too. The first day we descended some smaller waterfalls, at the bottom of which was a Nepali dance troupe filming a music video in traditional costumes. At different levels of our descent the rocks hid some members of the group, but we never lost sight of the director, who was always out in front showing the dancers which way to flail their arms and wiggle their hips.
The second day we descended much higher and more difficult falls, which of course meant it was much more fun! And each twist, turn, drop and overhang overlooked an incredible terraced valley with a madly rushing river below. Quite magical.
Nepali New Year
We arrived back in Kathmandu just in time to celebrate New Year’s Eve. With two more resident Dhakans who had traded hartals for Himalayas we headed out for dinner and then hit the street just before midnight. The whole area of Thamel was packed, with tourists and Nepalis alike, who I assumed were there to ring in the start of 2007. Little did I know…
As it turns out, December 31st in Nepal is the traditional ass-grabbing celebration. It took only a few moments on the street to figure this out, in which time my bottom was the object of much celebration. We quickly decided that abandoning the street for a local bar might give my and my female companion’s bottoms some time to rest, but unfortunately there was even more celebration going on inside than there was outside (although some of that could have been contributed to the fact that it was so crowded inside you needed to point your head upwards in order to breathe).
After being groped by about 72 different men, we decided that we just weren’t culturally mature enough to appreciate the Nepali version of New Year’s Eve, and we retired to our hotel where the staff where nice enough to open up the bar, let us pour our own drinks and have our own private party. All in all, a good way to ring in a new year.
My first day in 2007 was spent visiting one of the largest Buddhist stuphas in the world as well as the most holy Hindu sites in Nepal. The latter was particularly interesting for a number of reasons. Firstly, the holiness of Pashupatinath stems partly from it’s location on a very sacred stretch of river. River, in this case, meaning terribly polluted dribble of murky water. Having grown up in a land of pristine rivers, it was incredible to stand before it and try to understand how it could be conceived as holy; It made me realize how little I understand about the foundations of a religion like Hinduism, and how little I comprehend faith in general. The second interesting thing about Pashupatinath is that it is an important cremation site. A public cremation site, which meant that while we were there we watched two pyres being built, two bodies wrapped in white cloths and draped in marigold chains being carried around the pyre a number of times before they were lay to rest upon it, and two fires lit that were then smothered in grass dampened in the holy river. When the towers of smoke had died down, the remains were pushed over the edge of the stone pier into the river. A somewhat somber, somewhat uplifting, and totally unforgettable sight. Finally, Pashupatinath is home to a number of sadhus, the dreadlocked, face painted, yoga practicing, pot smoking Hindus who are meant to have left behind all material and sexual attachments in their pursuit of liberation. Quite a sight they are - an interesting contrast to the stoic beauty of the temples the wander between.
1 drunken guide + 4 days + 3200 metres = 1 amazing time!!
After visiting Pashupatinath I headed to the airport to catch a flight to Pokhara. Splurging on a flight instead of slogging in on the bus was another thing that I never thought my budget traveler soul would ever give into, but then I don’t think my budget traveler soul could ever conceive of a day when I might be able to afford such luxuries. On this flight we had even better views of the Himalayas, as well as the country below. It was refreshing to watch the brick sea of Kathmandu fade into rolling terraced hills and valleys.
I caught up with the Adventurous Aussies who had organized a four-day trek in the foothills of the Annapurna stretch of the Himalayas, and together with German fellow we eagerly met our guide the next morning and headed off to Nayapul where our trek would begin.
After a few hours of fairly light trekking and rice and dhal lunch, we continued on what we had been told would be a long way to our first destination. We followed our trusty guide, knowing that he would set the necessary pace and not lead us astray. Unfortunately, however, our guide was having trouble setting one foot in front of the other, let alone setting a pace that would get us around the bend before dark. It wasn’t long before he sat down for a rest and, in our frustration, we offered a half-hearted “So you'll catch up with us, yeah?” and trudged on. That was the last we saw of Lale the Super Guide.
In the end, we arrived at the village of New Bridge with head lamps lit and map in hand after an enjoyable 7 hours of hiking through beautiful villages nestled in terraced valleys that occasionally gave way to views of one of the striking mountains towering in the distance. A hot bucket bath, a cold beer and some warm noodle soup made it a pretty darn good day, drunken guide and all.
I awoke on day 2 and wandered down to the breakfast table to find that my porridge had been served with fabulous mountain views. When you arrive somewhere after dark, you never know what you will find when daylight arrives! Our trek began with a steep ascent, but we were later rewarded with a dip in some gorgeous, slate-lined hot spring baths that oozed steam out over an icy turquoise river. Unfortunately, that was followed by another, more gruesome ascent, but again we were rewarded, this time with stunning views of three frosty peaks. Our day ended cuddled in a guesthouse that lay among the terraced fields and brick houses of another beautiful village, and we celebrated a tough but wonderful day with pizza, that only took 2 hours to make.
Day 3 was grueling and involved a number of steep ascents that sucked more life out of me with every step. Fortunately, after 2 months in Dhaka, the simple sound of silence was enough to keep me going. The highlight was reaching the watch tower at Deruali, which looked out over 12 peaks. The German and I had stupidly climbed (read: crawled) up there with our packs, which we later realized had been unnecessary, but we managed to recover with a short nap beneath the rippling prayer flags that framed the blue sky and the gleaming white peaks perfectly. The food and masala tea that followed in the village below didn’t hurt either.
The views continued to be spectacular as we continued on our way to Ghorepani, and it was all I could do to take five steps in a row without stopping to take the same picture I had taken five steps earlier. When we arrived in Ghorepani, the sun was setting as we settled into a cozy $1.20 room that looked right out over two peaks that transformed from white, to pink, to moonlit blue.
Unfortunately, that night I lay shivering in bed under three blankets wearing everything I owned. But fortunately, it wasn’t because it was that cold, I just had a fever. After stripping me down and wrapping me up like a hotdog in one of those silver blankets, which just roasted my outside and left my insides freezing, I took a panadol, borrowed some good thermal underwear and managed to get to sleep.
We began our last day trekking uphill at an ungodly hour that demanded headlamps. But, when we reached our destination, the 3200m top of Poon Hill, I felt less disgruntled about having dragged myself out of bed in the dark. On one side of the horizon, the moon was setting into a sea of pale pink and blue that wrapped the range’s highest peak in a blanket of baby-coloured softness. On the other side were peaks silhouetted in the deep red and orange of sunrise. And in between were peaks that shone brighter with each inch that the sun crept higher, and a sky that became bluer at the same rate. I couldn’t feel my toes or fingers, but it didn’t matter. It was beautiful enough to warrant the loss of such menial appendages.
It was all down hill from there, figuratively and literally. Going down made me long to be going up again and I cursed myself for having complained about the steep climbing we had done for the previous two days. When we reached a section of continuous stone steps (as in lopsided rows of oddly shaped rocks) winding down 500 vertical metres of steep valley, every step felt like someone was jabbing hot knives into every inch of the lower half of my legs. Fortunately there were only 3000 of them. This time, shame kept me going as I was passed by porter after porter doing the same descent with sandals on their feet and multiple packs, cages of chickens, or wooden tables balanced on their backs by thick bands across their foreheads. As with all the Nepalis we had encountered throughout the trek, they all had a cheery Namaste! to offer, despite their enormous loads.
As with all goodbyes, reaching the end of the trek was bitter sweet. My legs were happy, my ears and eyes were sad, and my heart was a little bit of both. But they all managed to agree it was time to head back to civilization in a minute taxi that would get a flat tire halfway there.
I was tempted to splurge on another flight back to Kathmandu, but I opted for the tourist bus (Nepali for “no one has to sit on the roof”), which turned out to be a great way to rest my weary legs for 7 hours while I watched Nepal pass by my window.
Some things are better understood at a distance
It was interesting to see how much I learned about Bangladesh from being in Nepal. Sometimes when you are immersed in a place you fail to notice certain things. Being in Nepal revealed to me a number of things about Bangladesh that I had started to take for granted. Perhaps most noticeable was how inconspicuous I felt in Nepal, where I suppose they have become used to foreigners and therefore don’t tend to stand in large groups and stare at fairer creatures like myself. The lack of rickshaws and abundance of motorcycles was another of the most evident differences. I was pleased at the thought of a rickshaw-free vacation at first, but after being run down by a few motorcycles I realized that perhaps lowly rickshaws aren't so bad after all.
Of all the differences, the most interesting for me was the surprising number of women out and about in Nepal. You do see women on the street in Bangladesh, but what I hadn’t realized is how few of them you see, comparatively speaking. There were also a lot more women wearing ‘western’ clothes or engaging in ‘modern’ behaviour (like working in a shop). Perhaps a difference in culture, perhaps in religion, perhaps in economic development. Perhaps a combination. That much I didn’t learn, but I at least began to see things that have faded into every day life over the last couple of months in the 'desh.
Home sweet Hartal
After watching violent clashes in Dhaka on the BBC news at the KTM airport, it was even more sad to watch the twinkling lights of Kathmandu dwindle as the plane popped up to bid goodnight to Everest and Company before moving on to Bangladesh. Although, despite the never ending turmoil here, it did feel strangely like home as we drove into the not-so-mundane-as-I-like-to-make-it-out-to-be diplomatic enclave that I have unknowingly begun to enjoy…
PS - sorry for the lack of photos, but between a geriatric PC and a 20th century internet connection, it just isn't feasible. I'll try and find a way to put some online soon.
posted by ash at 2:24 AM
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