daily exits

We have not yet given justice to the toilets and bathrooms in Nepal and India yet.

I dedicate this blog to 'poop'
(and tea)

First I will share this heavily edited gem I found on the internet:

How to use a public squat toilet:

Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities.
If you are truly in need and condemned to use the squat toilet, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are several thousand miles from friends and family. No one has to know. Remember that this is why the left hand is to never touch food, utensils or be used for greeting others with a hand shake.
Make sure you leave any bags or excess clothing with your family or friend(s) outside the bathroom, as there will be no where to hygienically hang purses or bags.

Proceed as follows:
Most stalls do not have toilet paper. Bring your own or use the water tap and small plastic jug that is located by the squat toilet.
Approach the squat toilet apprehensively and make sure it's not covered in stool. If it is covered in stool, choose another stall. If another stall is not available, accept the cards that have been dealt you.

Close the door to the stall (if there are doors), knowing full well the handle has an uncountable amount of germs on it.
Place your feet on the appropriate foot grids, assuming they are not covered in poop. If they are covered in stool, place your feet on the least fouled space you can find, being careful to maintain balance. While making sure the bottoms of your pants don't touch the floor, at the same time unfasten and drop your pants and underwear, making sure that they do not make contact with the urine and stool covered surface area. This is where skirts would be super- handy, unless you pair them with pants, like I do.

Assume a squatting position like a competitive ski jumper. Stick your butt out.
Use your right hand to prevent the soiling of your trousers and underpants by holding them off the ground and pushing them forward, away from any Danger Zone.
In your left hand should be the assortment of paper/wipes/anti-bacterial sheets you intend to use after you are finished with your production.
You would think you would want your left hand to brace your squatting self against the stall wall. However, the stall wall is covered in nose nuggets and other unknown dark stains and as such is not touchable.

Be sure not to drop any of the objects in your left hand as they will be rendered horribly irretrievable should you do so.
If you are able to maintain balance for several seconds, you are ready to begin bowel evacuation. At this point the bulk of your focus should be towards the quick evacuation of your bowels without soiling your clothing, missing your mark or - God forbid - losing your balance and falling.
For aiming purposes keep your head tucked between your legs - like a bombardier on a very unpleasant mission assigned by General Squalor.
If your aim is true you will have the pleasure of watching poop (yours) drop down a deep, dark hole to a resounding ploot. If it's not true, you will have the pleasure of watching poop (yours) come to rest on the floor between your legs.
After you have completed your bowel evacuation, DO NOT STAND UP. Remain squatting and miserable.
Continue using your right hand to prevent contact of your pants/underpants with urine/stool. Place your tissues and wipes in your left hand on top of your underwear/trousers and select the items you need for wiping.
Wipe and curse culture simultaneously, all the while maintaining the squatting position. If this was a very urgent situation, and you have found yourself without paper, fill the dirty little plastic bucket with water from the dirty handled spigot whilst holding your clothes, raise your butt higher and further into the air and attempt to pour the water from the plastic jug from the top of your bum down, without getting your clothes wet. Continue as many times as necessary, using your left hand to ensure cleanliness.

Do not drop soiled tissues. That would be too easy. Sadly, the 16th century plumbing can only handle poo. Soiled tissues are to be placed in the bin behind you. (If there is one. Otherwise, use the floor or take your chances with the drain.) Without leaving the squat position, twist your body in order to see the bin and make a good throw. Don't worry if you miss, as it's obvious from the poo-sheet pile on the floor that the other tourists and perhaps the locals are missing.

Once sufficiently wiped, traumatized, and potentially wet, you may stand and re-underpant and re-clothe yourself.

 

clean public loo

Don't miss on a moving train!

\

The filth-covered flush button is behind you and may or may not work.
Open the door to the stall, again knowing the handle has more germs on it than any bathroom in Canada. Exit the stall and wash your hands with the soap that you hopefully brought with you in a dirty sink that dispenses only cold water.

That may be the dirtier side of a public toilet experience- the bathrooms in the budget hotels we choose are much cleaner! Sit down toilets are typical, but sometimes there are both kinds. Unlike our side of the world, we need to supply our own T.P. In hotels, and there is never a separate stall for the shower. This was the same in our home-stay in Nepal, and every hotel we have been in. The bathrooms floors are slightly slanted, with a drain at the lowest end. Shower shoes are highly recommended. Our home-stay had flip flops outside the bathroom door for all bathroom usage. For religious and cleanliness sake, outside shoes are kept outside the front door of houses and some shops. This rule, for practicality's sake, isn't kept in hotels.

Corner stores sell individual sachets of shampoo and conditioner for 1-4 rupees each. The favoured brands in these mini sizes are Pantene and Garnier Fructus. Large international corporations have taken over the world. 

Coke products are present everywhere, as they own probably all the bottled water companies in India. We are travelling as ethically as possible. We filter our own water so we don't create more plastic waste. There is little recycling that I can see, as the bottles say “Crush after use”. India has less road side garbage fires than Nepal, but it seems that is still the only way to get rid of refuse. There are more cows and dogs on the streets, they eat much of the garbage. Just now, sitting on the porch in the Kum Kum Home hotel in Tala, I watched a small cow reach it's head into the wastebasket and pull out a piece of thick paper (the back page of Raven's math package) and eat it. After getting the basket stuck on its head (oh for the want of a quick camera!) it continued on and found my (folded and wet from the rain) newspaper page and ate the crossword. I wonder how many times it will regurgitate on the English words?

Wasteful (and costly) take out containers thankfully haven't found their way to India to increase garbage. It is a little less convenient, but my leftover curd (plain yogurt) the other day was spooned into a little plastic bag 'to go'. Samosa shops use newspaper to wrap their tasties into before putting them into a plastic bag.

our favourite tea stall in Sarnath

Before leaving for India, Heath had told us about chai being old in single use clay cups. In Varanasi we were excited to see this was still so. The cups are unglazed and brittle, and most probably sun baked instead of being fired in a kiln. Raven really wants to take one home as a souvenir, but I don't think this will be possible, as they are super fragile. Some of the roadside tea sellers use paper cups, and I refused the larger size in one stall after noticing they were using Styrofoam cups. Tea on the street is typically Rs5 (about 10 cents). You don't receive a huge amount of tea, about 1/4 cup (62 ml for our metric readers), but it is super tasty. The vendors have their little business set up along a road, sometimes in a raised wooden box that can be locked up at night and they generally only sell tea. They have a small burner, and the ingredients at hand. Milk, loose black tea, fresh ginger, one pot, one kettle and a strainer. Tea is always served after a rolling boil. They crush the ginger and add it to the tea and milk, stir it, then pour through a strainer into the kettle before pouring into your cup. If there is bench seating, you will get your tea in a glass cup to drink there. Glasses are always washed in cold water, and I am doubtful that soap is used, but we haven't been sick yet, probably because of the boiling process. Tea is served so hot one cannot drink it for the first few minutes. It is usually thick, rich and perfectly spiced. Raven and I dream about making huge pots of masala (spiced) chai at home. Sorry Celestial Seasonings and Stash, but you will not be on my shopping list anymore.

The Ganga

Varanasi is an incredible place. It is such a holy city, that if you die in Varanasi, you are released from the cycle of death and rebirth. It has changed and modernized over the years, and on the way down to our hotel near the river Ganges, we passed a McDonalds and a Dominos Pizza! The old city hasn't changed much in 1000 years, ancient buildings crowding the area above the ghats, the stone steps leading into the fetid waters of the mighty Ganga. People come from all over India to bathe, pray, and die here, with the cremation ghats running 24/7, fires constantly burning, lit from an eternal flame. The waters are able to wash away sins, and the ghats are always full of the faithful, swimming, washing, and doing laundry next to the herders bringing their buffalo herds to drinks and get scrubbed down.

We were very tired when we arrived, so hadn't had the patience to hunt down a good room. We crammed into a double bed reminiscent of Salleri's tight squeeze. It was a decent room, and the wifi in the lobby was nice and fast, but the traffic noise was terrible, being on the first road up from the river. The 2^nd morning was deafening, with load music pumped out of huge speakers drowning out the traffic. It was Mohammed's birthday, and the Muslims were celebrating.

We had been given a recommendation, from a Swiss couple staying at the monastery in Lumbini with us, for a hotel close by. We had looked at it online, but had been scared away by some terrible reviews, including a report of bedbugs, but it had a rooftop restaurant with fantastic views over one of the burning ghats, so we went there to eat lunch, and checked out the rooms for ourselves. We found a nice quiet room in the back corner that was clean and reasonable, and moved over. From high up on the roof, Varanasi can almost look tranquil, but once walking along the ghats, you are immersed in all the vibrant and visceral contrasts of India. Boatmen, beggars, priests and sadhus, postcard sellers and those who will offer you Anything? Fishermen casting nets by hand, rowing dories past boatloads of Indian tourists smiling and throwing flowers into the water. Cows and sheep and goats in coats, burning bodies, and a great cup of chai. It's one of those places that takes you by surprise, no matter how many times you've been. We found a wonderful bakery cafe that had a set western breakfast, with coffee, brown toast and jam, hash browns, and eggs. Such a treat, we went every morning, and even Su didn't complain about the repetition. The comfort of something familiar convinced us to indulge in some pizza from the Dominos at the shopping mall, and it was soooo worth it. It was like an hour long vacation from our trip. I was facing away from the windows, looking at Raven's greasy lips and glowing cheeks, the menu board teasing me with devilish delights. We split a large pizza, fluffy crust, loads of veggies, and cheese, glorious cheese. I could have been in Victoria, LA, New York, London, anywhere...It was a truly bizarre, but not unpleasant interlude to the sensory onslaught of Varanasi.

Su posted her account of the Golden Temple visit, but it doesn't quite impart the fervent religiousness of the experience. As in Nepal, religion here is a living, passionate affair, even more so for the Hindus. They LOVE the gods, and the Golden Temple is the most important temple in Varanasi and one of the very holiest temples in all of India. You'll never see a picture of it, because no cameras are allowed, no phones, cigarettes, lighters, knives, pens, or sharp objects. I was amazed we were allowed inside, as non-Hindus have always been banned. People will wait for hours and hours on special occasions, and as you get close to the sacred Shiva lingam, they start getting very animated, pushing closer, praying loudly. Making offerings brings good kharma, good fortune, a long and prosperous life. Since it has been proven that intention can change the outcome of events, even alter the physical properties of matter, I find their devotion powerful and captivating, even intoxicating.

When we first arrived, we must have had 'fresh meat' written all over us, and we were constantly bombarded with offers of boat rides, massage, postcards, hash and opium. On our 2^nd day, Su decided to count how many times we would be offered a boat ride on the way back from breakfast. I was surprised that it was only nine times. As the days passed, the offers became less frequent, and the first price offered became less and less. Only then did we decide to take a traditional dawn boat ride along the ghats, the golden light illuminating the faithful performing prayers, those in need of purification bathing, the spectacle of the cremations, all set to the rhythmic splash of the oars dipping into the Ganges. I kept my eyes open for the rare gangetic dolphin, but only saw a few fish jumping, which is surprising in it's own right, given the pollution and raw sewage pumped into the river non-stop.

Raven feeding a cow her scarf

One afternoon, we walked up to Manikarnika, the busiest burning ghat. After watching the funerals for a while, Raven and I, always on the look out for a cute cow to pet, spotted one munching on a pile of discarded marigold flowers. It had a litter of young puppies playing at it's feet, licking and nipping as it munched away. The marigolds were still on the string in a garland, and one of the puppies got it's leg caught, and was lifted off the ground as the cow lifted it's head, oblivious to the puppy dangling under it's chin! It managed to get free the next time the cow bent down for another bite, but Raven and I were laughing enough to draw attention away from the pyres. We were trying to coax one of the adorable puppies over for a snuggle, when one of the spectators grabbed it and passed it over. Raven always attracts attention while petting various creatures. The day before, we had stopped to pet a young calf in a narrow alleyway, but while bent over, Raven's scarf dangled enticingly in front of the mother. Sure enough, while we were distracted with the fuzzy little calf, the cow started chewing on the scarf! As Raven stood up, yanking the drool covered fabric from it's mouth, I caught the wide eyed stare of a boy frozen in place watching us. His face scrunched up, and he let out a loud 'Blaaaaagh' while sticking out his tongue. We laughed and laughed! Back near the burning ghat, as we wound our way through the maze of narrow, winding passageways, we came across a chai 'shop', and decided to rinse the taste of burning bodies away with some masala tea. These shops are everywhere, and usually serve deliciously spiced chai, each one with it's own special recipe. This one was especially good, sweet and tasty, with hints of ginger. As we sat on a narrow bench along the red brick wall, making conversation with the other patrons, a funeral procession made it's way towards us. The alleys in this part of the old city are usually no more than 10 feet wide, and there happened to be a motorcycle parked directly across from us, and a cow beside the bike. When the procession passed us, six men carrying the body on a bamboo ladder, we had to pull our cups of chai in tight, and turn our knees sideways to let them past. Raven's eyes were wide, not exactly a horrified look, just amazed with the constant contrasts, delicious tea and dead bodies, all as normal here as a trip to Beacon Hill for an ice cream. These kinds of experiences are just so far from our sphere of knowledge, they are completely surreal. From the quiet of suburban Langford, it's hard to imagine people living this way, but the experience makes you more accepting, more compassionate, gives you a different perspective on your own culture. Travel enriches your life, deepens your sense of kinship with others no matter how, or where they live. I am forever thankful to be able to do this with Su and Raven, and to be able to write about it for all who care to share the journey.

As incredible as Varanasi is, it gets tiring quickly, so after four days, we made the move out to Sarnath, where Buddha gave his first sermon after achieving enlightenment. It's only 10 kms from the Ganges, but is quiet and tranquil. We stayed at the Japanese monastery, where they have five dorm beds available by donation. It is staffed by Tibetan monks, and we were invited in for the morning and evening prayer. Very different from the Korean monastery, it involved drumming and chanting. There were two large, double sided drums mounted on stands, so one monk could beat on each end. The senior monk sat next to a solid wood block and a large cauldron. He chanted along to the beating drums, tapping the block of wood with a stick with a ball on the end of it, and also struck the cauldron, which rang out resonantly. We were given hand-held drums and sticks to beat, as the small crowd of Tibetan families were doing opposite us, on the other side of the monastery. It was wonderfully inclusive, and we soon found our timing, drumming along joyously, even if we didn't know the chants. Unfortunately, the smoke from the cremations had brought on a vicious cold, and I couldn't drag myself out of bed for the morning prayer at 6 AM. It was all I could do to drag my feet over to the stupa that marked the spot where Buddha had started to share his wisdom, after 6 years of fasting and meditation. Some of the ruins here date back to 230 BC, and the nearby museum kept the more fragile artifacts safe. Exhausted, I went straight back to bed.

The large stupa behind us is the exact place Buddha gave his first speech.
Some of these ruins date to 230 BC.

Before we left Varanasi, we'd booked another overnight train to Khujaraho, home to some of the most impressive temples is India, and the world. We'd planned to catch a train from Sarnath, an easy way to go directly to the train station in Varanasi, even if it would be slow and possibly crowded. We arrived early, as is always prudent with the trains here, even though we had hours before our train would depart from Varanasi Junction for the 12 hour trip. It's a good thing, because the 2:48 train from Sarnath didn't go to the Junction station, only Varanasi City station. No worries, we could still take an auto-rickshaw. The station manager told us to wait a second, then came back with three tickets, saying “OK. This other train goes to the Junction. Hurry. Hurry.” There was a train at the far platform, but we had to go up and over the tracks by the stairs and over-head walkway. We moved as quickly as possible with our excessive amount of baggage, but just as I reached the train, it started to pull away. Raven was right behind me, so I helped her up, and yelled at Su to Run! She looked up, horrified to see the train already moving, however slowly. She waddled quickly to the door, tossed her front mounted backpack in, got one foot on the steps as I kept pace along side, still on the platform. As soon as there was room for me to get a foot on, I grabbed the handrails and pulled myself up, pushing Su forward into the nearly empty train. Another first, jumping onto a moving train...I love India.

Varanasi – senses in overload!

January 20-something.

As I edit and write this on February third, it has become apparent that the rate of traveling and the rate of writing is disparate. We are typically staying two or three nights in one town separated by a travel day or, more favourably, an overnight sleeper train. I have a feeling the blog will become a little less 'linear' with regard to dates and activities! We are honoured to have so many faithful readers.

This morning I am in heaven. We arrived late and in the dark last night to our hotel in a small town near the Bandhavgarh tiger reserve, after a very long day of bus travel. I am sitting alone, outside on our duplex 'cabins' porch, at a table and chair. The sky is blue, the ground is a fine beige sand being littered sporadically by falling leaves while an orchestra of twittering and chirping birds is randomly punctuated by the sound of monkeys. The manager had asked if we'd like morning tea, and one of the kitchen staff just delivered chai in 'English' porcelain tea cups. Lovely! Lovely to be in nature again, with little traffic noise. Sorry reader....this is just a tease..... back to the beginning- Varanasi..........

One afternoon we were strolling the narrow, windy stone streets of Old Varanasi looking for a recommended restaurant to eat in before the daily 6:30 Hindu ceremony performed on the banks of the Ganga (Ganges) at one of the the ghats. We saw a long line of Hindu worshipers and tourists entering through a metal detector gate . The Hindus were barefoot and carrying offerings such as marigold garlands, candles and small clay cups of milk and spices. My curiosity was instantly aroused. Where are these people going? What are they doing? We were told it was Vishwanath, the Golden Temple. I wanted to go in immediately, worried we may never find it again in this maze of streets. Sensible Heath (with a gps map on his phone) decided we wouldn't have time for the temple, dinner and the show so we vowed to return the next day.

It seemed a fairly complicated process, as cameras were not allowed inside. The adjacent shops all had cubbie lockers for renting. The next day we found it fairly easily, arriving without valuables and cameras. The temple was crazy busy because of a national Indian holiday. The line of barefoot worshipers was super long, and at first we were directed past the first gate to a second, then told non-Hindus were not allowed to enter the second gate. We went back to the first, where we were refused entry because we didn't have our passports on us. India has rigorous standards with regards to information collection, but not information dis-pension!

We vowed to return the next day. Golden Temple -third time lucky! Through the metal detector, on to a physical search where a ball point pen was confiscated from my pocket by a female guard. Our passport information was taken by another set of officials. We entered into the inner temple, the spire of which is covered by 920 kilos of gold. We were met and rushed through the temple in our bare feet by an enthusiastic Hindu. He must have been a temple apprentice. He ushered us past the locals, stopped at a fountain or pond surrounding a Shivas lingam, where he pulled out garlands that other worshipers had placed into it. The fountain was full of blessed milk and Ganga water, and he wrapped the dripping marigold leis around our necks, then scurried us to a honoured statue of Ganesh (the elephant-headed child of Shiva or god of destruction), where he rubbed his finger in the tikkas (red powder) that others had rubbed on Ganesh then dotted our foreheads with red while chanting prayers. He explained who the statues were quickly and with a thick accent, while leading us onwards to another enclave to repeat the process with another deity.

On route, a woman cried out as a mischievous monkey swooped down and stole a plastic bag out of her hand, then jumped out of reach. She made a bit of a scene as the monkey started going through her bag. I handed her one of my leis because the monkey had stolen her offerings. Little did I realize she was mostly upset because her wallet was in the bag! Luckily it was of no use to the monkey and he threw it down in favour of eating the marigolds!

We continued on our speed tour, into another little statue enclave, more tikkas and prayers from the idol of Shiva where another man or temple apprentice hit us up for donations. We wanted to give him R100, but he was asking for R1000 ($20)! The first man said- “Give whatever makes you happy” (R100 makes us happy) We left him and entered another enclave to repeat the process. (More tikkas, prayers and another demand of donations!) It seemed like our tour was over in a flash. He bid us farewell, asked for more money and sent us on our way. I would have enjoyed a few more minutes to look at some of the carvings in greater detail. The guidebook we have dates from 2005, where it states Non-Hindus cannot enter the temple. The rules have been recently changed, I'm guessing as tourists are seen as a revenue stream!

Varanasi goats in coats. 
Goats must be of thinner skin than Nepalese goats, because they dress them in used clothes here

The rhesus macaques monkeys are annoyances in Indian cities, parallel to our white tailed deer. I am not sure which animal pest is worse- the kind that eats the bounty arising from the hard labour spent in your garden, or the ones that swing from your power and internet lines and steal your laundry. Many times we have been told the internet doesn't work because the monkeys have disconnected the wires. We watched a humorous scene from our roof top restaurant. One monkey reached down and pulled a red shirt off of someone's line, tossed it around a bit then ran with it off their veranda, where he played with it some more on an adjacent roof top. The owner of the shirt spotted this and in pursuit, climbed up onto the roof and chased the monkey across the roof to a tree where the monkey must have dropped the shirt, as the man returned triumphantly brandishing his possession. I think they like the red colour, as this wasn't the first time I have seen a monkey fool around with stolen red clothing. 

India!

Lumbini was beautiful and serene, as you might expect from one of the most important Buddhist centers in the world, even though it was actually cold and foggy the entire time we were there. The Korean monastery is a still-under-construction mammoth concrete compound, but has everything you need; three meals a day, clean beds, hot water bucket showers, and a temple for prayer and meditation. On our second day, we were eating with a Chinese traveller when he mentioned a monk who was giving a speech in the afternoon. He had been meditating under a tree for 3 years, and although his presentation would be in Tibetan, it sounded interesting.

The tree and pool Buddha was born under

 

 

 We showed up just before the 1:30 start time, and took some seats in the back as the monks settled in on rows of maroon cushions. The beginning of the event was incredible. A monk blowing a conch shell entered first, followed by another swinging a billowing incense holder, and then the meditation master, stooped heavily and helped along by a young monk at his elbow. As he took his place at the podium, the 100+ monks started a series of chants that was just magical; my whole head was tingling as I shut my eyes and lost myself for the duration. Then things got a little more challenging. It was really just a reading of Buddhist scripts, and soon I realized that meditation and public speaking aren’t necessarily complimentary pursuits. After nearly two hours, a few young monks started handing out Styrofoam cups for tea (Really? Styrofoam?), and fresh baked bread from huge baskets. Since no-one started eating right away, I thought to myself “Ah, whew. We must be waiting until he’s done.”  We only took a five minute break, before he resumed his monotone reading. He must have been getting tired, because he started taking long pauses, and stumbling over his words. Many of the monks were falling asleep, as was the old Tibetan woman next to me, snoring loudly. After nearly three and a half hours, one of the senior monks got up and stood next to the podium, waiting patiently. Eventually the master paused to glance over. The monk said a few words, and then started motioning with his thumb, pointing over his shoulder in an obvious attempt so say ”It’s time to go…”  His reply, in Tibetan, must have been something like “I’ll just finish up”. The other monk smiled, started packing up around him, and then sat back down. My mind was starting to make up words, trying to find meaning in the softly spoken wisdom. After nearly four hours, he finished to a vigorous round of chanting and bowing, then the monks all run out. I just made it back in time for dinner, but had to scrape out the bottom of the rice pot. You have to be there early for meal time, otherwise the selection is slim. It worked out well for shower time, though, as the buckets of washing water were nice and hot after dinner.

  The trip from Lumbini to Varanasi started off smoothly, but soon got more complicated, as things in India are prone to do. We had all day to make the journey, so we had a second breakfast while logging some internet time on a surprisingly fast connection at the Lumbini Guesthouse restaurant. The local bus to the junction was quick and cheap, but I felt sorry for the guy who had to haul our enormous packs up onto the roof! We ignored the persistent rickshaw drivers and caught one last bus to the border, where we had our last dhal bhaat, and changed the last of our Nepalese rupees for Indian rupees. A few forms and a few stamps later, we were officially in India. It seems as though everyone has their eyes on your money. They will say anything to get you to buy what they are selling. A guy that was hanging out at the immigration office gave us directions to the bus stand, but was adamant that we should take a jeep instead. “Only two hours, the bus will take four. Only 200 rupees, the bus is 120.” Once he realized we were going for the bus, he disappeared. The bus only cost 82 rupees, and judging by the traffic and blockages, there’s no way a jeep would make it in half the time! The total distance covered was only 86 kms, but it took a full four hours. Raven had to pee so bad, she was almost in tears, but luckily, we hit a railway crossing, and Su and Raven found a semi-secluded ditch before the gate lifted. So far, so good.

  We got to Gorakhpur  around 4:00, and the bus dropped us right in front of the train station. We found the crowded ticket booths, dropping our bags just around the corner. Su waited with the bags, Raven waited in line, and I went to find a bathroom, promising to be quick. On the way back, I noticed the tourist office had opened, so I stopped in to see if there was a special ‘tourist counter’, which there usually is. The guy waved me inside, but he was on his phone, so I waited for a few minutes, knowing Raven was going to be getting worried. Eventually he finished his call, and sure enough the tourist ticket office was down the road. When I returned, Raven was in tears, having already made it to the front of the line before I came back, which is exceptional to be sure. Su and I were both very close, but not within sight, so she was understandably upset. Note to self:  If we have to separate, one of us will always be in sight! Off we went, hoping to get tickets in sleeper class for the late departure time of 23:05, so we would get into Varanasi after sunrise. No problems there, and in just a few minutes we were on our way, tickets in hand, looking for somewhere to kill the 6 hours until the train left. We had dinner at a busy little roadside kitchen, then located the only internet ‘café’ in the area. We had to show ID, and sign in before we could use the old desktop computers, and weren’t allowed to use our laptop. Around 9:00 we headed to the station to find the right platform and check how late the train might be. We were standing around with our packs, looking for a good place to park among the crowds camped out around the station, when we noticed some policemen started shouting and hitting the people sitting on a bench nearby. I could only assume they were clearing the bench for us, so we went and sat down. The police hung around protectively, shooing away anyone that got too close. The wind was blowing through the open doors on either side of us, making it quite cold, so we huddled up to stay warm. After a little while, one of the rifle toting officers came over to suggest that we might want to move to the AC lounge. Our train was still showing ‘On Time’ on the display screen, but I went for a wander to inspect the lounge. Sure enough, the AC lounge, reserved for 1^st Class ticket holders, was warm, relatively uncrowded, and even had power outlets to charge our electronic gadgets. I went back for Su and Raven, and we set up camp, and even though we only had 2^nd Class sleeper tickets, he woman at the door never challenged us. As our expected departure time approached, the screen started showing 00:30 LATE in bold red. Sigh. ‘Here we go’ I thought to myself. Trains are by far the preferred way to travel any significant distance in India, as the busses are a nightmare, but are notoriously late. Second class sleepers have assigned seating, six in each ‘compartment’, with three berths on each side facing each other. The bottom berth is the seat for daytime use, the middle berth folds down as a backrest, but the upper berth is always available to stretch out on, my favorite spot. The bathrooms can get pretty disgusting on a long trip, but the tickets are ridiculously cheap. Our latest trip of 414 kms, taking 12 hours, cost the three of us 1100 rupees, about $20.

  After another half hour, the display updated to 01:30 LATE, then 02:00 LATE. Grrrrr. One in the morning came and went, but as I watched the screen, other trains that were showing LATE would eventually show Arriving, and then Arrived. Even though our train was more than 2:30 minutes late by now, I didn’t see any point to going out to the platform to wait in the cold, so I kept my eyes glued to the screen, waiting for another update. It never came. Suddenly, the train disappeared from the listings. Oh Oh. Su went to ask the station manager what was going on, and came back with a sour look on her face. The train had come and gone…A Korean girl waiting for the same train had a schedule, and let us know that there was another train to Varanasi at 5:30 AM, but it wouldn’t have any sleepers available. We’d been up since 6:00 for breakfast at the monastery, and were exhausted and defeated. I didn’t relish the idea of waiting another three hours, only to sit for 7 hours in an overcrowded train. I suggested we go get a hotel across the street, get some sleep, and try again the next day. We shoulder our packs and headed outside, Raven whining and moaning the whole way. We tried 7 different hotels, none of which had a room, so back to the station we went. Su and Raven tried to get some sleep back in the AC lounge while I tried to sort out some tickets. The tourist office was closed at 3 AM, and I didn’t want to wait in the long lines for regular tickets, so I decided to press the station manager for a solution. I explained calmly, yet sternly, how we’d been directed to wait in the lounge, and how the display never indicated that our train was Arriving, nor had Arrived. He seemed sympathetic, and sent me to the Yatri Mitra, the complaints department. Ming, the Korean girl, was there at the front of the line, so I jumped in, explaining our similar situation, using my foul mood and imposing stature to full effect. After much verbal wrangling, I managed to get them to assure me I would have replacement sleeper berths on the next train. Ming wasn’t quite as lucky, as she had already cancelled her ticket for a 50% refund, and they were adamant that there was nothing more they could do for her. She was less concerned with the rupees she’d lost, and kept pressing for an apology. The situation was obviously not going to go her way, especially with her challenging his authority. He sent her away dismissively to purchase a new ticket, but she wouldn’t leave. I went back to let Su know what was going on, but returned quickly, fearing the worst for the solo female troublemaker. She was fine, having eventually gone to get a new ticket. 5:00 rolled around, and we went back to find out about our new berths. They just took the old ticket and wrote down some number in pencil on the back. Dodgy, but I was really too tired to care, so we found the seats, and finally laid down, after nearly 24 hours. My last words before I fell asleep were “Just wait. At some point someone is going to wonder why we’re in their seats”. I vaguely remember Su having a conversation with someone about it later, but there was no way I was moving, and eventually they left to find somewhere else to sit. We got to Varanasi with about 3 hours of sleep, cranky and hangry, and still had to deal with the unscrupulous rickshaw drivers looking to make a commission off whichever hotel they took us to. Yup. Good times.

Chitwan memories

Heath has written beautifully and succinctly about Chitwan, but I have a few memories I'd like to share. Prior to our 'jungle safari walk' in the Sal forest, the safety directions given were about our line up. For safety reasons we were instructed to walk with the guide at the beginning of our line, and the assistant guide at the rear. It was like a being in a tiger tourist sandwich!

We observed an incredible amount of birds in our 6 hour walk. Our young guide, Nabin, was particularly interested in the avian species, bringing along a superior pair of binoculars and the Chitwan bird book to share. On the river there were hoards (flocks?) of large beige 'love ducks' migrating from Siberia. It was said that they mate for life, and if one of the pair dies, the other will soon follow suit. There were black cormorants similar to ours, as well as egrets, black ibis, sandpipers and pond herons, which are short chubby brown birds. We spotted two kinds of kingfishers; the pied kingfishers are black and white while the smaller iridescent blue ones with shiny red on their breasts are more common.

In the trees of the sal forest we spotted jungle fowl (our joke was calling them chickens of the jungle or feral hens), peacocks, eagles,crows and black headed yellow orioles. There were some smaller songbirds called shrikes and red vented bulbuls. We spotted both the pied hornbill and the great hornbill. Chitwan park is home to beautiful black birds called drongos. We spotted many common long tailed drongos and Nabin was especially ecstatic to see the racket tailed drongos.

At the tower that we spent the fitful night on the porch at, we saw many of these birds, as well as small bats swooping in for the tiny mosquitoes at dusk. The porch had a spiral staircase reaching the ground, where the bathroom was. The guides scared us by telling stories of sloth bears climbing up, and tigers prowling below. There were no inner stairs, so we were advised before retiring to waken a guide if we wanted to visit the toilet in the night. Of course Raven and I needed to use it before dawn, and while the probability of a tiger pouncing on us was probably pretty slim, we were too scared to take the chance! I felt slightly bad waking the guide up, especially since they had a later night than us while drinking raksi in their lower room!

I visited the museum next to the government elephant place. I wasn't sure what to expect. The room was full of local animals in various sized containers of formaldehyde, from crocodiles to hippo fetuses to small rodents. Their was also an impressive array of animal 'members'. Why these were kept in separate containers, with the rest of the body beats me!

Look at the size of the rhino poop!

Lumbini was also a nice place to bird watch. They have a heron sanctuary in the area. One day at about 4pm as I was walking back to the monastery after sightseeing, I had spotted kites (like falcons) above a field, then noticed a large black bird being chased through a treed area by black crows. As it flew away I wondered what kind of bird could have bat like wings. When I told Heath about it- he said it must have been a fruit bat. Too cool.

Now that's what I'm talkin about!

  Chitwan, the land of rhinos and crocodiles, now that’s what I’m talkin’ about! Our bus ride from Kathmandu was short and sweet compared to our last trip, the jeep ride from Salleri. The only part I was dreading was our arrival at the Sauraha bus park, where I knew we’d be swarmed by the dreaded hotel touts. It was bad the last time I was here, and I expected the worst. These guys are too much! They swarm you as soon as you step off the bus, all competing for your attention and rupees. They know that most people will book their excursions to the park at whichever hotel they end up staying at, so there is a lot of pressure to reel in the tourists and the income each one represents. They attempt to lure you into their jeeps with whatever they think you want, expert guides, riverfront viewing areas, or even just a hot shower. We jumped into a jeep that already had two girls going close to the place we wanted to go. We looked at the rooms at Hotel Butterfly, and they looked pretty decent for 300 rupees. Three beds, hot shower, 24 hour lights, and a flush toilet, what else can you want for $3.50? Raven wanted to stay at the place we’d read about in the guidebook, though, so we carried on to Chilax Guesthouse 100 meters down the dirt track. On our way, we saw the horse stable slash guesthouse we had been trying to keep a secret. It was expensive to stay at, but we had planned on bribing Raven with a ride on one of their thoroughbreds in exchange for a full day of walking in the park, looking for the rare one-horned rhinos and possibly even a tiger. Chilax was full, so the owner took us next door, to a place similar to the Butterfly, but twice the price. We went back, and it all worked out perfectly. The restaurant was good, if a little pricey, and their resident guide, Nabin, was just great. We had a late lunch, and then he invited us on an evening walk to the elephant stables and the river. The park rangers use the elephants to track rhino and tiger populations, search for poachers, and for the occasional rescue. The river is the park boundary, but the animals don’t care, so you have an excellent chance of spotting wildlife without paying the 1500 rupee daily entry fee. Sure enough, within hours of our arrival, we’d spotted our first rhino, then a marsh mugger crocodile. Nabin has amazing eyes for picking out deer and birds in the tall grass, and his excitement is contagious. It’s hard to be too excited about deer, after chasing them out of our garden, but there are five different types here, from the small barking deer to the huge sambar, almost moose sized deer. As it got dark, we headed back to the hotel, elated and very glad to be out of the city. Just after getting back, the sky lit up with two bursts of white light, and I heard a distant explosion, then the lights went out. There is a lot of electric fencing to keep the wandering wildlife away from the village, and a power surge had blown the transformer down the road! The hotel manager/owner pointed out the tree near the office that had been knocked down by a wild elephant two weeks ago, and advised us not to go out walking after dark, but in consolation, he also let us know that rhinos love to graze in the field next door.

  The next morning we walked the 3.5 kms to the elephant breeding center. This is where most of the animals used for tourist rides are raised and trained. The only known surviving twin elephants were born here, and are now five years old. Raven wanted to catch a pony cart back into town, but the only two carts were waiting for their passengers to return. We were going to have a snack at the overpriced food hut when a jeep driver offered us a ride, as he was returning to town with enough room for us to jump in. Very nice. We passed several elephants returning from dawn excursions, on their way to ‘bath time’. We had a tasty, cheap breakfast at a tiny café and watched more and more elephants lumbering down towards the river, before joining them for the spectacle. For 100 rupees, swim-suit clad tourists jump up on the back of one of the waiting giants, get sprayed repeatedly, and eventually dumped off into the river. It looked like a blast, and an inexpensive way to experience a close encounter with an elephant. The hour long safari rides are actually pretty uncomfortable. Pacaderms have a rolling, heaving gait, and with four people on a small platform, the novelty wears off quickly. We decided to join in after our full day walking safari in the park. After lunch we made our way to the horse stables for an afternoon rendezvous. Raven was excited, but a little worried about  trail riding, so we arranged for the owner\guide, a quirky French woman, to start with an easy walk around the guesthouse. All was well, so off they went to explore rural Nepal on horseback. My baby’s all grown up!

  On our second morning, we had an early breakfast before loading into a dugout canoe for a downstream paddle in the heavy fog. Visibility was limited, but we saw a few of the many species of birds; kingfishers, storks, cormorants, and Siberian ducks. After about an hour, we disembarked on the far bank, in the park for the first time. The shore was covered in animal tracks, and we went through the safety procedures for dealing with the different dangerous animals we were likely to encounter, ranging from climbing a tree, running zig zag, or just praying. Rhinos and wild elephants can run faster than humans, sloth bears can run and climb better than us; tigers are obviously the dominant predator. Su and Raven were getting wide-eyed and nervous looking at this point, and then we started off into the tall grass and dense forest. We happened to be a few weeks early for the best conditions, because the villagers burn off the 5-6 meter tall grass in late January, improving visibility immensely. It certainly increases the tension, a feeling of ‘hunting’, as we followed animal tracks and examined assorted the scat. There had been recent wild elephant and sloth bear sightings, and the near-sighted rhinos always pose a threat, so we tip-toed along, constantly scanning for animals, straining to hear movement in the brush. Nabin’s keen eyesight spotted deer and more birds as we made our way to a small tributary stream, where a ghardial crocodile was basking on the opposite bank. These reptiles grow to 5 meters, but their long, thin snouts are designed for catching fish, so aren’t particularly dangerous. Nabin left us to take pictures while he scouted the area, returning after a few minutes declaring in a hushed yet excited whisper “Rhino. Come.” We followed him to an open area with patches of elephant grass, and crept up very close to a grazing one-horned rhinoceros. Then grass was tall and dense where it hadn’t been trampled, so I hunched down and inched forward, popping up occasionally to snap photos. Every now and then it would stop chewing, lift its head and swivel its ears, scanning for intruders. Their poor eyesight is compensated for with a keen sense of smell and excellent hearing, and they will charge with little provocation. It seemed to be getting more agitated, eating less and listening more, so we moved away, back to the crocodile infested creek.

 Just downstream, we spotted our second marsh mugger croc, barely visible in the murky water. Shortly after, we heard a loud splash as a group of macaques leapt from high up in a tree, across the river, not quite making the far bank, and landed, one by one, in the shallow water. I took some video as 10-12 monkeys made the impressive leap.

  We returned to the main river as the day warmed up, spotting some baby crocs lounging in the sun, and more deer in the distance. It was lunch time before we knew it, so we found some shade and had a rest, enjoying fried rice and hard boiled eggs. The afternoon was much quieter, as most animals rest in the shade, waiting until sunset to drink, forage and hunt. Nabin spotted some impressive and rare Great Hornbills, so we followed them through the forest, eventually catching them sitting still for a photo op. As the adrenaline of the morning wore off, and the kms started to add up, we were dragging our feet more and more. Then the whining started…We stopped for another rest at a viewing platform, and watched the start of the burn off, flames dancing and crackling in the distance. After the grass is gone, exposing many ponds and watering holes, it’s possible to see 20-30 rhinos at a time from the platform. We still had a couple hours before sunset, but Raven continued with her whining and moaning, so we didn’t go to the lake Nabin was planning on showing us. Looping back to the main river near town, we spotted a large crocodile lying motionless with its jaws wide open, like it was hoping some prey might just wander in, then another rhino in the distance, across the river. We had been walking for at least six hours, probably 20 kms or so, and were all tired, cursing our inactive routine in Kathmandu. Raven headed straight back to the hotel with Nabin, while Su and I carried on with the assistant guide, hoping in vain for another close encounter with the rhino. It was nearly dark as we shuffled back to Hotel Butterfly for some tasty pizza and momos.

  We’d had such a good time, and spent less than we thought we might, so decided to splurge on a night in an observation tower inside the park, before catching a bus to Lumbini. You can use your entry permit from the day before, so it’s a good value if you leave in time for an evening walk. We had a lazy morning, before going out for breakfast and suiting up for bath time. Raven and I went first, while Su took pictures and video of us getting soaked with the firehouse of a trunk, and getting shaken off into the river. It’s a long way down from the back of an elephant, and after two rounds of dunking, Raven was done. Su didn’t want to go alone, so I went for a second round. The water was pretty warm, originating in the foothills, not freezing glacier melt. Su was quite surprised at how high we were, and was having doubts as soon as we mounted the beast. She was content with a single soaking, so we retreated to the hotel to take advantage of the nice hot showers, since the power was back on. A Canadian girl from Ontario and her Nepalese husband joined us for the night in the tower, and we left by jeep after charging up all our batteries for headlamps and cameras. We passed through a small village of mud huts, the traditional Tharu abode, protected by double rows of electric fencing, crossed the only bridge into the park, and drove through an elephant sized gate. As soon as we got to the tower, we spotted a rhino in a nice open area, about 150 meters from the tower. As we walked quietly along the path towards it, we could see another, much larger rhino just inside the tree line. They were fairly active, walking along in search of ‘rhino apple’ bushes and sweet grass. Because of the lack of tall grass, I got some great pictures and video of these rare creatures. Chitwan has 30% of the total global population, and even though poaching during the Maoist uprising a few years ago reduced their numbers, the population is once again on the rise.

Nabin tried to call to the rhinos, but instead of coming closer, they turned and disappeared into the trees. Sheepishly, he said “Hmmm. They must both be females. I was making a male rhino call!” Raven was still tired from the double whammy of horseback riding and our long walk, and she refused to walk any further. We set her up in the tower with some schoolwork, and went looking for more wildlife. Adrian and her husband are avid birdwatchers, so we spotted many more birds and three more types of deer, but I was still hoping to see a tiger. As the sun set, it was hard to make out anything, even with Nabin’s practiced eyes. We made our way back and pulled our beds out onto the balcony, eager to listen for approaching animals. An overly confident guide had been eaten right in front of the tower a couple of weeks ago, and two nights ago a tiger had dragged a man out of his hut, but he survived. Unfortunately, the night vision binoculars that the hotel had promised weren’t working, and the fog rolled in early, reducing visibility to next to zero. I would drift off to sleep, and then wake with a start as I heard movement below the tower, but couldn’t see a thing. At one point, I woke up and was sure there was an elephant or rhino right below, so I woke Su and Raven. Tired eyes started picking out phantom animals in the mist, none of which were actually there. It was a fun night regardless, and in the morning we drove away smiling as more deer bounded off the road in front of us and into the fog, ready for one last, tasty breakfast back at the hotel, before they drove us to the bus park. Sauraha had been a pleasant surprise. It wasn’t nearly as developed as I had expected it to have become. There are a few more hotels, guesthouses, and rooftop restaurants, but it is still a quiet little spot surrounded by a diverse and thriving ecosystem. Their livelihoods depend on the 1000 square km park, so conservation and protection are very much a priority, and it shows. I actually saw more wildlife this time than I had in 1997, and that is very encouraging. Off to Lumbini, for three nights in the Korean Monastery. At 300 rupees per night for a dorm room and three simple meals, you could live there for an entire year on less than $1500. Maybe one day…

The Birthplace of Sakyamuni Buddha

Lumbini JAN 21

We chose to stay in the Korean Monastery for two reasons; One, it was cheap R300 ($3.50) per person per night which included 3 meals a day, and Two, it seemed like a pretty cool idea to stay in a monastery. The additional perk turned out to be 'location location location'. Because it was within the park, it was closer walking distance to the other monasteries as well as far away from the small businesses and residential areas (think no barking dogs!) of Lumbini town. The park is a World Heritage Site consisting of several international Buddhist monasteries surrounded by flat wetlands and fields. The centre of the site is landscaped with walkways, canals and the eternal flame. The entire site is about 4 km by 2.5 km, much of it under continual construction as donations trickle in. We fell into a relaxed routine for the 3 nights we spent here. Time in Chitwan was spent with full days of 'touristing', so we treated Lumbini as down time, especially needed as our next stop will be chaotic India. Raven wasn't interested in sightseeing within the park, but every morning we walked the twenty minutes into town after our 6am breakfast, devoured coffee and second breakfast with complementary wifi in a quiet and spacious hotel restaurant. The flat walk there and back barely fulfilled her P.E. requirements, but the rest of the day she could focus on school work, after having her fill of friend time via internet social media. Heath and I took turns hanging out with her while the other took in the sights of stupas, temples, international monasteries, gardens, ponds and walking areas.

 school work in the dorm room

Monastery life:

The single sex dorm rooms contained an entrance area for shoes and bags, a spacious sparse room with bamboo rods on the wall for the mosquito netting, thin mattresses and bedding for five. Raven used her pink net more decoration purposes, as there were only a few 'skeeters. The bathroom area was at the back of the room, consisting of a sink in one room and a toilet in the other. These rooms had counters, walls and floors of grey unpainted concrete. If you wanted a shower with hot water (and I use the term 'hot' loosely here), you could have your own concrete cubical with a hot and cold tap at knee level, fill your wash basin and sponge bath yourself in tepid water from 5pm-8pm.

Meals were announced by a ringing bell at 6am, 11:30 and 6pm. It was buffet style. You picked up your tin plate and one or two bowls and proceeded down the line choosing the inevitable white rice and about five choices of curried vegetables, and a pot of bland vegetable broth. The first night we were excited to eat a piece of salted nori. Raven and I haven't snacked on dried seaweed since Canada. Black tea was available inside the dining room, as well as a powdered bean and brown rice drink that you could eat sweetened or plain. I tried it, but it wasn't too my liking. When your meal was finished we lined up at the washing trough. There was a kneeling spot, and many cold water taps at knee level. Dish washing soap bars and scrubbies were provided so you could clean your own dishes, then stack them to dry in another area.

Worship followed dinner. The first night here I thought (o.k., assumed) it was meditation time, and unforgettably I squeaked into the candle lit temple at the last moment, leaving my shoes at the door. Quickly taking off my down vest I saw one occupied mat at the front behind two monks, and in my hurry I sat down on it cross legged. I saw others kneeling, but knew I couldn't sit like that for half an hour, so I shut my eyes, and tried to still my mind. Moments later I felt a gentle but persuasive hand push me up and off the mat, directing me to a smaller one to our left. It was the woman who had been closing the main doors who had put out for me. I realized at that moment that the mat I had chosen was the bottom of the triangle made by the two monks, and it was hers. I needn't of worried about my sitting still for half an hour, as we rose and bowed continuously while chanting. Being in the front row did not help my embarrassment, as I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. Another case where expectations get the worst of me!

The ceremony or worship was powerful, starting with one of the monks hitting a big cymbal which echoed throughout the spacious building. Throughout the chanting, a monk would hit a small percussion instrument, which would signal rising to stand, hands in prayer position in front of your chest, or kneeling and bowing forward, head to the floor or mat. At one point the signal was for everyone to turn to the left, then again, later, to the right, before finishing the worship front facing. At the end, one of the congregation put out the hundred or so candles burning along the side and front counters, and in their place pink lotus flower electric lamps were lit.

I participated in the ceremony each night we stayed. The second night I made no embarrassing blunders, but the third night I was again instructed to move, as I was in a center area that was supposed to be empty. “No sit center” someone informed me. Some of the people staying in the monastery chose to participate. Heath and I had a discussion about whether or not it was appropriate to attend a worship of a different faith. I may have been the only non-Buddhist, but there were a few other novices. One of the tour groups from Korea had young people attend, and while they may have 'known the moves', some of them didn't appear too respectful as they were chatting to each other throughout. In the end we decided that if one was respectful and open minded, it would be o.k. to attend.

Korean temple center left

Everyone was welcome to stay at the monastery. There appeared to be only a few monks, as well as other practitioners of Buddhism. There were backpackers like us, as well as tour busloads of Koreans that would stay for one night on their tour of Nepal. Most of the other monasteries were incredibly decorative with stunning paintings, gold Buddhas and ornate details surrounded by manicured gardens and ponds. The Koreans make a minimalist statement with their impressive unpainted grey temple.