Chapter 8: It's Goodbye from Nepal

Then it was time to leave. I was filled with gratitude towards my hosts for the great hospitality they offered. Especially to the monk who arranged for me to see Lumbini and the rest of Kathmandu that I wasn't able to explore with my friends. Had it not been for the association with locals such as them, I would not have experienced the things I did. I was new to the country, a single woman and didn't speak any of the local languages so knowing them helped to understand their culture better, move around with ease, get insider's passage to several places and get many discounts along the way. He refused to accept any cash for the expenses during the trips or costs during my stay at the monastery. I must admit, that was not a comforting thought since I had no idea what it might have amounted to so I had to settle to giving a small donation while parting for the temple upkeep and ongoing construction work. I can only hope it was a fair amount, all things considered. They wished me a safe trip and had a traditional send off by offering me a shawl, a sweet laddu and some almonds. After saying my goodbyes, taking photos and promising to keep in touch, I left for the airport.

As I took off, I hoped to return to this place someday to go river rafting, trekking to either the Everest Base Camp or to any one of the snowy mountains and once again visit mesmerising Pokhara – with the ability to speak a little Hindi, that is. I haven't traveled much around the world to know what I have missed, but I felt a deep connection, a sense of familiarity and respect for Nepal after the trip.

The next thing I remember was touching down in United Arab Emirates. Dubai at night is a very memorable sight, every inch of the land is studded by lights - on highways, on iconic buildings, moving vehicles and the city as a whole. I already felt the contrast in sophistication of the two places. There was much relief to return safely to see the family again. I also needed medical attention and rest to recover from my aggravated bronchitis. I was several kilograms lighter in body mass too.

Fortunately, nothing bad happened during the trip – no one got severely sick enough to go to a hospital, we didn't lose any luggage, no one stole our wallets or phones, and we didn't fall into any unsafe situations. Overall, I thought it was a pretty safe and tourist-friendly country to travel when keeping to crowded areas and daylight hours. There was something simple, warm, accommodating, naiive and unspoilt about this country and its hard working people and it was very humbling to experience this side to humanity.

Funny enough, the only thing I use frequently from all the shopping I did in Nepal is a pair of red slippers I purchased at a Bata store. Everything else - the shawls, the accessories, the souvenirs, the ornaments, the embroidered bags, the linen clothing, the stationery – were given away as gifts. I held onto one embroidered cloth bag for myself, but I had to give that away too when I noticed a flicker of desire in my mother's eyes for it. None of it mattered, really. I had plenty of good memories and in my mind, these were better than any souvenir.

When traveling, it is impossible to anticipate everything, even with all the advice, planning, organising and mental conditioning. Apart from good research and preparation, it's important to have an open mind - because experiences come in varied, often unexpected, forms and to enjoy a culture as much as a foreigner can hope to do, one has to be alert, flexible, considerate and willing to endure the small inconveniences. And it helps greatly to have good company to share the adventure with!

Special Credits:

Kara, Charmaine and Ila (names have been changed)

Chief monk and nuns at the Kathmandu Monastery

Nuns at Gotami Nun's Temple, Lumbini

Backyard Hotel, Thamel

North Face Inn, Pokhara

Ample Travels

The Rough Guide to Nepal, Penguin Books Ltd

Hysh

Chapter 7: Bhaktapur and Kathmandu Revisited

In the days that remained of my time in Nepal, I toured more of Kathmandu. This time, it was with the added experience of using the country's public transport system and having the monk and nuns to explain things better than a tourist guide book would. It was perhaps during those few days, that I saw a more realistic side of Nepal, away from the "touristic facade" that was created in more recent times.

Children grow very closely with religion and culture here, following their parents' footsteps

The Mahabuddha Temple

The Golden Temple 

More souvenirs on sale

On one day, I was invited by one of the nuns to a local nun's temple to participate in a katina ceremony done as per local customs. It was interesting to see the contrast between customs here and in a Theravada temple back home. Even the chants sounded different. There were no tourists in this place, but it was certainly crowded. Suddenly, I felt somewhat out of place and even a little intimidated at first as I felt a lot of eyes on me. During lunch time when all the nuns were taking their food (and this is timed differently for nuns and lay people, where the nuns go first), I had to make myself scarce. I explored the multi-story city temple and enjoyed the sights of the Kathmandu city from the highest balcony. At one point, I was approached by a man, who tried to engage in a conversation with me about astrology and tried to convince me to get my astrological report done from him. I felt he was rather persistent on trying to force a sale as he saw me as a lone female tourist. I managed to lose him in the crowds and found a cozy library and sat there until it was time for lunch. That experience dented my mood for the day. During lunch, I joined the long lines of devotees for free lunch, as this was a common practice in temples on days with big ceremonies. They served a mountain of food and I did my best to eat as much as I could (in my right hand!) to be polite. Soon after, I was reunited with the nun and was rather pleased to leave that place.

The entrance to the Royal Palace

She peeked out of one of those top windows!

On the next day, I was able to visit Kumari Ghar, where the famed Royal Kumari lives. As part of a unique tradition, the Kumari is believed to have a manifestation of a goddess in her and for this reason she is worshiped by Hindus and some Nepali Buddhists. Again, an interesting merger of religious and cultural elements. Once she is chosen, Kumari lives a very sheltered life away from her family. It is said that she is so carefully looked after so that not a drop of blood is allowed to be shed by any cuts or wounds on her body and if it happens, she loses the title and another will be chosen. No surprises, when the Kumari comes of age, she has to step down from her royal duties. Usually, only locals and Indian nationals are allowed inside the royal chamber to see her, so I had to wait outside until the nun went upstairs. Before she left me however, she asked me to keep a watch out on a particular window. As I observed the architecture of the inner courtyard, I noticed a small child, adorned in red clothing and heavy make up peep out of one of the windows on the top floor. That was her! Later the nun told me that she knew one of the caretakers of Kumari and that she was able to speak to them and ask her to peep out. Being a little child of 4 or 5 years, I'm sure she had no objections! 

The visit to Bhaktapur, a little far off from Kathmandu with the monk was also an interesting experience. The architecture of this place was uniquely different to those seen at Patan of Kathmandu. They had especially beautiful wood carvings.

Paddy drying on the roadsides

Amazing architecture of Bhaktapur

With a day or two left and more knowledge in the way public transport worked, I ventured out on my own to Thamel twice. After doing a final count on my gifts and souvenirs, I realised that I still had more people to buy presents for and not only that, I had not bought much for myself! And then there were also those little regrets of things I didn't buy when I had the chance when I was shopping with my friends. So this was the opportunity to set all that right. The monk and nuns seemed rather distressed to let me go off alone, no doubt they felt responsible for my safety and answerable to my parents. But I managed to convince them after I promised to carry my phone with me at all times and to call them if I got lost.

Taking public transport alone was quite challenging. I could not converse in their language but what they spoke sounded quite similar to Hindi and I was able to make out a handful of Hindi words which helped me to make good guesses. I had to rely on key English words like “Kathmandu”, “Gurjudhara” and sign language using my fingers to say “one ticket”, which they seemed to understand. Not only that, getting off at the right stop was crucial or else it would be easy to end up lost in an unfamiliar town. During these trips, I was on high alert, watching the roads and sign boards, trying to commit landmarks and town names to my memory.

On the first day at Thamel, I was so pleased with myself for purchasing some lovely shawls, comfortable linen pants and a pretty purple sporty back pack for myself. It was love at first sight with the purple bag. With that, my shopping needs seemed complete. On my way back in the bus, I spotted my bus stop a little too late and had to jump out in a hurry, forgetting my shopping bags. I was so devastated the moment I realised it. I even kept walking for several kilometers along the road, hoping to be able to catch a cab that will help me catch the bus. But there were no cabs and eventually I had to accept what happened and return. Oh, that pretty purple bag. On the second day, still feeling a little hopeful, I went back in search of that shop. In Thamel's confusing streets, I never found that same shop or that same bag.

A calming European-style garden, hidden in the bustling town of Thamel

On the second day, after visiting the Garden of Dreams, I was excited to visit the Java Cafe again for some chilled mocca! This was my third visit to this lovely cafe. I had a nice panini sandwich with grilled cheese and tomato with potato crisps on the side. Hopes of a relaxed experience there didn't turn out well. Soon after eating, I had a minor attack of food poisoning and spent most of my time in their toilet. To make matters worse, the flushing system didn't work properly. ARGH, the embarrassment. I fled from the cafe as soon as I felt well enough to make the long journey back to the monastery. I am not yet ready to go there again, out of fear they still remember me or worse, have a nickname!

Chapter 6: Sacred Lumbini

The night before the trip to Lumbini, the monk informed me that we were to catch a ride very early the next morning. One of the nuns had gone to Pokhara on social service and the other nun was too ill to travel, so the monk made the necessary calls and reserved two seats for us. My bags were repacked for the next journey of three days. By re-packing, I meant leaving behind all the gifts and souvenirs I had collected over the past few days.

Gurjudhara, where the monastery was built, was located on the main highway between Kathmandu city and Lumbini. The sun was not even up when we left the monastery. After waiting by the roadside and inhaling fumes of all the vehicles that passed by for what seemed an eternity, a van arrived. Soon our bags were strapped to the top of the hood and we got in. It was pretty crammed. There was hardly any leg space. Everyone was glued on to the neighboring passenger due to efficient use of seating space. I also got a seat at the back. For someone who was known to have motion sickness, a seat at the back (that was not next to a window) where the most vibrations occurred while driving on bumpy roads, it was a nightmare. Luckily, my forward thinking brain told me to buy a huge stash of mints before this trip, so those helped me a great deal in keeping my food down and avoiding any inconveniences to the other passengers. The driver played catchy local hit songs on the music player and was very generous with the volume, which I didn't mind actually. It was all part and parcel of the sensory input of the journey. The mountain and river views that we passed by were stunning. It was much like a winding drive along the mountain slopes in the central province of Sri Lanka, where my home is. For about eight hours, I sat, sometimes awake, sometimes asleep in the same position, hardly talking or reading (that's when I feel like throwing up!), sometimes eating and mostly looking around and thinking.

Stopover for meals and toilet breaks

We stopped by several places for meals and toilet breaks. The monk took care of all the talking at these stopovers so I didn't have to worry about a thing. The dhal bhat tasted really good everywhere we dined (and I had to struggle with the inconvenience of eating with a clumsy right hand that was not well adapted to delicately mixing the food and putting the food in the mouth gracefully). It is interesting to compare how there is only one or two meal choices here (chapati or dhal bhat, perhaps with the addition or subtraction of a meat dish) where as in Singapore or Dubai, we are spoilt by so many food choices at one stall and yet complain sometimes. Public toilets were mostly dark places and unclean due to heavy usage by other travelers. Once, I had to walk through the (dark) back kitchen of a roadside hotel to the toilet at the back, passing by several smiling boys who were the cooks. And to my dismay, a huge chunk off the bottom of the door was missing (looked like it had rotted away with all the moisture) and mind you, this was a pit latrine. One has to improvise for situations such as these. I took off the shawl that I was warmly wrapped up in and draped it over the door so that I was able to do my business in privacy. Later I had to drape myself back in the same shawl, while trying not to think about what I already knew about germs in toilets.

The monk had made all arrangements for the trip early on, he had contacted his friend who was to drive us around and he had also informed the temples of our arrival so that we had places to spend the nights. We got off at Bhairawa and met up with his friend who was to take us to Lumbini in his small red maruti car. After an eight hour sore ride in the van, the cushioned seats of the maruti felt really good! We made a small detour to go and see the Ramgram stupa. It is believed to have some of the Buddha's relics from the ancient times. Since it is not a well publicised place, it was peaceful and lacked the hoards of tourists. After paying our respects, we were off to Lumbini.

Ramgram Stupa - that was it, the small raised mound behind the Bodhi tree is what was left of the stupa

Lumbini is a place of great historical significance to Buddhists (and Hindus). The Hindus believe that the Buddha was an incarnation of their God Vishnu. Every year, it is visited by millions of pilgrims and tourists alike. It is believed to be the place where Queen Maya gave birth to Prince Siddhartha (who would later become the Buddha) in 563 BC, while resting at a park on her way to visit her parents. There are several monuments and temples to signify the places where he was born, a pond where both mother and son bathed and ruins of the ancient Kapilavastu palace. There is even a stone pillar with inscriptions to mark the visit of the great King Asoka many centuries later in 345 BC. Today, Lumbini is a UNESCO World Heritage Site of about twelve square kilometers. With cooperation and generous funding from various countries, several monasteries have been built on site to showcase the unique Buddhist traditions (Theravada, Mahayana and Vajrayana) followed in countries such as Nepal, Tibet, India, Sri Lanka, China, Indonesia, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, Myanmar, Korea and Japan. A few monasteries were still under construction during the time of my visit. This was a convenient one-stop place to witness various Buddhist traditions practiced around the world. 

 A monastery under construction

The eternal peace flame

Later that night, I was introduced to the Head nun and little nuns at a Nun's Temple, where I was to spend the next two nights. Aside from being a place for worship, the temple quarters also served as a centre where pilgrims were able to stay the night while they completed their pilgrimage. The little nuns seemed happy to help me get comfortable and we smiled at each other a lot, they even had a fair grasp of English. There were about six or seven little nuns not more than fifteen years of age. 

The nuns' temple where I stayed 

The little nuns conducting religious rituals for temple devotees

Oh and I forget, I was suffering with a terrible cough and flu that was aggravated by exhaustion and my self-medication regime was no longer effective. They were quite worried and gave me strong flu medicines that they used, hot food, hot water and herbal drinks to relieve some of the symptoms. In places like these, where doctors and hospitals were hard to access, the monks and nuns had their own little knowledge and stash of medicines. For lack of a better description, I felt like crap. The huge swarms of mosquitoes that were feasting on my blood seemed less of a concern, when compared to how far my flu symptoms had advanced.

However, the next morning, must be due to the heavy medication, I was feeling a tad bit better and there was no way I was going to sleep off this disease and miss the excitement of traveling. The next morning, the monk expressed his concerns over my health but I assured him that I was up for the challenge. Two little nuns were asked to accompany us on the sight seeing tour and I am guessing it was mostly as company for me. There lies some disparity on the exact location of Kapilavastu – the area in the ancient Shakyan Kingdom where Prince Siddhartha grew up. Tilaurakot is believed to be the Kapilavastu of Nepal. There is also a Kapilavastu in India, a few kilometers from Lumbini and very close to the India-Nepal border. It is possible that in the ancient times, when certain areas of what is now separated as India and Nepal were both part of one Kingdom.

On the way, passing stretches of paddy fields on both sides

It didn't take long for me to bond with the two little nuns, they were very bubbly, social and highly inquisitive about where I came from, what I did, details of my family and if I was married, etc. I learned some details about them too. At first, they called me “sister” and later as we got more friendly, I was promoted to “didi” (I'm guessing didi was a more affectionate term) and I had to address them as “Guru Ma”, which was the respectful term used to address a nun in Nepal. One was fourteen and the other was twelve years old. They told me they went to a school attended by regular children and the school was many kilometers away. Recently, they were given bicycles by a generous benefactor and it made the commute much easier. In addition to school, they were also taught at the temple by the Head nun, they attended to daily religious rituals and helped to cook and keep the monastery clean. Forgetting their pink robes and shiny bald heads, they seemed like two little ordinary children to me. I didn't ask about their families, in case it triggered any sad memories. One of them liked operating my camera. They also seemed to like the music playing in the radio of the maruti. For most of the trip, they (we) were giggling about one thing or the other, sitting at the back, while the monk and the driver had their own conversations. It was a wonderful feeling - driving along vast stretches of paddy fields on both sides of a very straight, narrow tar road with the windows wide open allowing currents of wind to gush in and hit my face, listening to local music of the older generations (I was no stranger to classical music of this part of the world) with these people that I met not many days ago.

Kapilavastu of India 

The Sri Lankan temple at Kapilavastu

We were also able to make a quick trip to Kapilavastu in India! I was very thrilled for having stepped on Indian soil for the first time, although I had to promise myself that I'll visit the country another time to explore it properly. On our way back, we also visited a Sri Lankan temple where lots of Sri Lankan pilgrims dropped by to visit the resident monk, offer rations,  replenish their drinking water supplies and use the toilets in the temple. There was only one monk that day and we were invited to stay for lunch. We had to cook lunch ourselves, however. That was an interesting experience. The two nuns and I offered to make rice, chapati, some leaves and dhal. Since the kitchen had Sri Lankan spices, I took the head chef role with the rice and curries and they helped to make the chapatis. After offering the food to the monks and enjoying the fruits of our labour, the three of us went to explore the neighborhood. There was a paddy field next door. We had some time left to walk around and attempt to swing on some low hanging branches of a huge mango tree. Well, it was their idea so I won't take any credit for it.

The little nuns 

When it was time to make our way back to Nepal, the monk at the temple packed several bags of rations that he received from the visiting pilgrims, for us to carry back with us. Clearly, he had more soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, herbal drinks, herbal balms, paracetamol, towels, food rations, etc than he needed. I learned that helping each other to re-distribute resources to monks and nuns in other temples where it was most required was a common practice they followed. Back in Lumbini, we made quick tours of all the foreign monasteries until night time. Each monastery had its own unique art and architecture influenced by the culture and country it originated from.

In the late evening, we were able to visit the peaceful Maya Devi temple, when the chaos of all the pilgrims had died down. The security guard let us go all the way to the centre of the temple where we caught a glimpse of the spot where Prince Siddhartha was believed to be born. It was such a great feeling of awe and joy to be here, knowing the religious and historical significance it held. 

Inside the Maya Devi Temple

The Ashokan Pillar at Lumbini

It must have been the thrill and company of the trip the day before and the effectiveness of the medicines I was given, I was feeling a little better the next morning. The monk told me that he had received a special invitation to participate in the katina ceremony at the Sri Lankan monastery in Lumbini. After three months (usually corresponding to the rainy season) spent in one location mostly in quiet meditation and teaching devotees who visit them, Buddhist monks are offered a special robe during this ceremony called the katina robe. It is considered to be an act of great merit to participate in this annual event. Many other monks and nuns gathered here and they were treated to lunch separately. Since I didn't have any company, I mostly hung around on my own. I spoke to a few Sri Lankan pilgrims but didn't find anyone my age. 

Luckily, I spotted a young French girl in the sea of people (she stood out very well from the rest and now I can tell a French nose when I see one!) and from the looks of it, about my age. First I thought she looked left out so I edged closer and introduced myself. Soon we were friends. I learned that she was a PhD student in a university in France and her project revolved around Buddhism and Lumbini. She had arrived here on her own a few years back to study and complete her project. She spoke the local language fluently, ate the local food very comfortably, knew a lot of people and rode around different places in Lumbini in a bicycle. She was anything but left out! She told me though that she missed home and her husband back in France very much and her project was near completion. It is amazing to see what some people are willing to endure to do what drives them. 

When the ceremony was over and I was reunited with the monks and nuns, we went back to the nuns' temple to collect my belongings and say our thanks and goodbyes to them. I promised the two little nuns that I would write to them and send them a few photographs of our trip. It took long, but I eventually got around to keeping my promise. After that, it was a long trip back to Kathmandu to the monk's monastery. But not before making a short detour to see Tilaurakot, which is believed to be the Kapilavastu of Nepal.

Tilaurakot - Kapilavastu of Nepal

The ruins at Tilaurakot

And with that, the tour of Lumbini was complete.

Chapter 5: The Monastic Life

Just after Ila waved good bye from the back of her taxi, nervousness, loneliness and fear kicked in. I was after all a twenty-six year old woman traveling alone in a foreign country where I hardly spoke the language and soon, I was going to be in the company of people I have never met before. The second part of my trip just began and seven days was a long time. Soon after, I hopped into a taxi myself and headed to the monastery. Oddly enough, I met this taxi driver for the second time in my trip and it felt somewhat comforting to see a familiar face in the sea of foreign faces and have him take me to Gurjudhara, Kathmandu. By now, I was an expert in negotiating taxi fares before the trip. That's an important skill to get around here and asking for the fare after a trip is a sure way to get one into trouble.

The monk who I was introduced to through a mutual acquaintance and with whom I have been in touch by email (though I am not entirely sure how much of what I typed was understood by this monk), was waiting for me at the gate. The monastery was built in the heart of a small Newari village in the outskirts of Kathmandu. The villagers seemed to have the basic facilities of water and electricity but the roads were still under construction at the time of my visit. The older generations looked and dressed in more traditional clothes, while the younger generations were dressed less conservatively and most of them seemed to work in the city doing 'modern' jobs in offices and shops.

After exchanging greetings, I was given a brief tour of the site. The monastery consisted of four separate buildings. One with the kitchen/ dining area with attached nuns' quarters, one partially completed building with a few guest rooms, other a shrine for devotees to carry out their rituals, and another farthest away was the monks' quarters. He explained to me that with the generous foreign funds they received, they were building a polyclinic with diagnostic equipment for the villagers. A hospital was no where close by and healthcare facilities in the village were very poor so a free polyclinic when completed and one which had dental and x-ray equipment would prove to be very useful for several villages in the area. The clinic was to be manned by volunteer doctors from the city.

I was introduced to the other inhabitants in the monastery - two nuns, two men and one elderly woman who helped out. There was yet another mostly bedridden elderly woman, who I was told was the relative of one of the nuns. Only the two nuns and the monk understood my English, that too, not perfectly. Communication with the rest of them was mostly in gestures and shy smiles. I was at first surprised to see monks and nuns living in the same monastery as this was unheard of in my country, where strict segregation was practiced. They cooked, dined and carried out religious services for the public together, much like a family. Even the monks and nuns looking after lay people, as in this case where they looked after a sick elderly woman and cooked for the others in the temple, was a huge contrast to me. During my stay, I was deeply embarrassed to have them cook and serve food for me, when my mind was conditioned to think otherwise. I had only known a tradition where lay people looked after needs of the monks and nuns, who were then free to follow their mental development, do their studies, practices and did the religious duties to the public that were expected of them. Here, they were more independent, managing nearly everything an ordinary lay person managed including finances and looking after their parents, siblings and relatives who lived close by in the same village. It is understandable that given the reality here, where the villagers were not within their means to feed the monks and nuns on a regular basis and where the monsoons and cold weather made it hard to get around in some periods of the year, they had to be self-sufficient.

Rules laid out in holy texts evolve and change when fused with the reality of existing cultural traditions in a given area. The success of a philosophy in a new geography also depends in it's flexibility to merge harmoniously with the culture while being able to uphold the core virtues that it teaches. This was a perfect example. In this close-knit Newari village as well as most parts of Nepal, the lines separating Buddhism and Hinduism have long been blurred by thousands of years of change, invasions and political causes and they now follow a mixture of both. Even the Buddhism followed here had the markings of both Tibetan and Theravada traditions. Everyone here celebrates the Hindu and Buddhist festivals alike. The influences are clearly seen in their art and architecture where statues of deities sit with Buddha statues. Religious customs involving both were seen in their festivals, funerals and other events in the village. The monk explained that they even carried out Buddhist rituals in festivals of Hindu origins. He might have noticed my initial attempt to try to draw a line and understand which parts were was Hinduism and which ones Buddhism and he said it was impossible to do that now.

The clergy play an important role in the society here. It is common for parents in poorer countries to give away a child from their large brood to the village temple for ordination as a monk when they can't afford to feed or educate them. In addition to being guaranteed food, lodging, safety, healthcare, moral guidance and a good education, all funded by the temple and benefactors, they are content to have their child follow a noble profession – one that is essential in undeveloped or developing areas. There are also those who voluntarily take up robes to fulfill a life of service to others, while closely following a spiritual path. Most monks get opportunities to go abroad and do their further studies and this is comparable to getting a scholarship with a bond that requires them to do social work and serve the public afterwards. With this system, they meet many friends and mentors who are also monks from different countries and they also meet many lay people during their experiences. With these connections, they are able to guide and help many other people and bring about change and development in areas of society that sometimes governments and NGOs don't reach otherwise. The system and religious order in place for Buddhist monks and their roles in society are more established than the ones for nuns. Roles of women in child bearing and looking after household duties, physical limitations and well as safety concerns might be the main reasons for this.

The monks and nuns at this temple were all educated in countries such as Sri Lanka, Taiwan and China and had returned to their village to take up their respective roles. They were quite learned, with skills in speaking multiple languages as well having exposure in different countries. During my short stay, I noticed villagers coming to the temple to see these monks and nuns with various intentions - to perform rituals, ask for advice and spiritual guidance or sometimes even ask for small favours. The villagers had a curious custom of giving small coins or small currency notes to the monks and nuns every time they saw them, even up to twice a day sometimes.

A cozy room with an attached bathroom 

It'll be hard to forget those freeeezing nights!

I was given a nice cozy room with an attached bathroom. In the past five days, I was not able to shower at all – I was mostly sick, out of the hotel and some of the rooms didn't have hot water. Also, I was afraid that a cold shower wound exacerbating my cough and the phlegm in my lungs and spoil the rest of my trip. Well, the feeling of living with unwashed hair all these days was beyond disgusting. Hot water was available and was powered by solar panels on the roof. So the first thing I did in my room was to take a nice, long shower. Damn, that felt like the best shower I ever had! I had loads of megabytes of data and an unstable internet connection on my phone, which allowed me to check my email (not that there was anything pressing), Skype with my parents and chat with friends on MSN Messenger. It was also during this time that I wrote my postcards to several friends. I love to write, and even more so in the old fashioned way of posting letters, cards and postcards. The practice is a little outdated now and overshadowed by more efficient electronic means of communication. Call me old fashioned, but nothing electronic can beat the personal touch of a handpicked and handwritten letter or a card and the surprise of receiving it by post! Despite having several layers of clothing, a blanket and two thick quilts, I suffered from the cold every night. I didn't know that two thick quilts can feel as cold as hugging a dead body when my body wasn't able to generate enough heat.

There was a sickly old woman, probably in her nineties living next door. Her spine was bent to form a right angle and although she spent most of her time in bed, I often heard her dragging herself and her chair a few yards out of the room to sit in the balcony and bask in the morning sun to keep warm. Every time she moved an arm or a leg, she shouted in pain. It was painful to watch. Often when I passed by her room and she was shouting, I would peep in. When she saw me, she desperately tried to ask for things, but it was impossible to understand her. Couple of times we had success using sign language and I managed to close her windows for her and bring her cup of water closer to her, but most times, I had to leave her there with nothing much I can do. She was fed and cleaned on time by one of the nuns, but the rest of the time, no one watched over her. A life like that - helpless, dirty, painful, sad, lonely – I wish I can avoid. I doubt she survived the winter that ensued.

The nuns checked on me regularly and saw to it that was I comfortable with hot water, snacks and books to read. They called me during meal times and I would make my way to the kitchen, to enjoy the extremely warm and delicious vegetarian food they cooked. Every meal was accompanied by a cup of warm fresh cow's milk. It tasted so fresh that it was tasty even without sugar. The food they ate was very simple, fresh and healthy. Breakfast was usually porridge, bread or chapatis. Lunch was usually the popular dhal bhaat – rice with lentil curry, mixed vegetable curry, greens, raw raddish, onions and pappads. Gosh, that was divine, cooked with goodness knows what combination of spices. Dinner was mostly light, either instant noodles or chapati with leftover curries from lunch. The monk explained that although one of the basic 'commandments' for Buddhist monks and nuns was abstaining from heavy food after noon (meaning no dinner), they had to be healthy enough to do more domestic activities than the average monk as well as have more energy to keep warm in cold temperatures and approaching winter. True enough, such rules were applicable to monks who didn't engage much in physical activity and spent more time in meditation and minimal food intake was recommended so that they didn't take more calories than what their lifestyle required.

The monk and nuns took turns to cook, with a larger responsibility shouldered by the nuns. This was still a patriarchal society. There was also an elderly lady who helped out in the kitchen and dined with us at mealtimes. We exchanged a lot of smiles and often sat together huddled near the electric heater but we were unable to converse at all. After a day of observing how things ran in the kitchen, I soon tried to make myself useful in the kitchen by helping to set up the table and forced them to let me help by cutting vegetables, cleaning and washing some of the dishes. They were reluctant at first but they must have sensed my despair at not feeling useful so they gave me small jobs. Washing the dishes, which I did voluntarily, in ice cold water was extremely excruciating when the fingers went blue and numb for awhile but doing other small jobs were enjoyable and felt gratifying. During meal times, we all sat in the same table and ate together, again uncommon for a clergy-layman relationship back home. It was a good time to ask questions and discuss traveling plans with them. They were good humoured and it was not too hard to make conversation. I arrived in Nepal with strong intent to stay true to myself and eat left-handed. But in this foreign place where culturally it was not acceptable to do so and armed with poor communication skills to do any complex explaining to my courteous hosts, I took the pains to eat with my right hand. It was hard to keep at it in the beginning and grasping food and eating took much longer. I had to be extra mindful of using my right hand to accept food from them because it was considered rude otherwise.

Overall this small community was a peaceful and well-functioning one. But it hit me that perhaps they spent too much time doing domestic activities and being caught up in worldly issues – the very things that are to be avoided when taking up the life of a monk or nun - that they had very little time for their own self-reflection, spiritual development or study. I suppose it is easier for me to say.

In the next few days, I would tour with them in different parts of Nepal as well as stay in the monastery on and off.

Chapter 4: Touring Kathmandu

On Day 3, back in Kathmandu, at the Backyard hotel, we were given a free night's stay for one room. It was a gesture of goodwill from them to restore our faith after we expressed our disappointment on having to stay at another sub-standard hotel on the first night. We bargained further and asked for two extra mattresses to be allowed to bunk in one room and they agreed. Well, two of the girls didn't like the idea of sleeping on the floor with mattresses, so they ended up getting the nice master bed. And us two sensible kids who's economical idea it was in the first place, roughed it out on the floor with mattresses. So that night we saved US$ 60 among us. More for shopping, yay! I was also having a bad sore throat and cough by now, which I was self-medicating.

The early next morning were spent exploring the streets of Thamel. There were shops selling so many types of colourful art and crafts that we literally went crazy. These people were extremely skilled in their handicrafts and the talent, patience and effort they took to make these showed in each and every item on sale. It took awhile to walk around and realise that the first price quoted by the street vendors are always inflated many-fold. After several rounds of bargaining, using their calculators to show them what we wanted to pay, sometimes pretending to walk out of shops to be called back in, deals were struck. The Procurement Manager and Miss Algeria were very vocal, so the two of us patiently waited for them to conclude the transactions. We had to learn quickly though. I still think we overpaid for most of our souvenirs, but that was the way it worked. 

They knew we were foreigners so they worked hard to make best use of their opportunity to make a sale, while competing with so many other vendors selling simliar products. I don't think their lives are that rosy. Tourists came in hoards only during certain times of the year. During the monsoons and winter, they hardly made any profit. And the tourists' demand for their crafts created and fueled so many local industries and provided jobs for many others. Every street I went to, it was clear that everyone – from taxi drivers, to rickshaw men, to street vendors to tour agents - worked very hard to make their living. During negotiations, they were often chatty, asking lots of questions about where we were from and what we worked as, etc. Some even told us sad stories of their families and hardships. This was also a good chance for us to ask about the area and things to do. Normally, I would not talk or give away that much details to strangers on my own or in my country. But here, no one knew us and it was easy to enjoy doing it while in the safe company of three others.

Beautiful embroidered bags. They were so colourful!

Art on the road - part of Thihar celebrations

I was so fascinated by the intricate thangka paintings portraying various mandalas from the Tibetan Buddhist tradition

Carpets, cushions, woodwork 

For meals, we ate from a variety of decent looking places as the travel guide books warned that food contamination and food poisoning were very common. We stayed off raw food like salads. Only bottled water was used. Due to the heavy influx of tourists, it was easy to find all types of international cuisine here for a little extra cost – Thai, Chinese, Italian, French, Indian, Tibetan, Nepali – anything to one's fancy. Once, two of us tried street food sold by a lady in a mobile cart. She sold hot roti stuffed with a spicy potato filling. Her three little sons surrounded her and watched as she made our order. Again, it was a little heart wrenching to watch this family. I felt compelled to help her by giving her extra money, but in all honesty, I felt like that so many times during my time there. It was impossible to help everyone or go about handing cash like that. So most of the time, I just had to settle to readily buying their products and perhaps letting them keep the extra change. When converting currency here, everything seemed relatively cheap to us, yet the low income people here suffer so much physically to earn just a few bucks.

Cows are treated with respect here - only because of conservative religious beliefs

After a rushed tour around Kathmandu Durbar Square we headed to Pasupatinath Temple. Again, my SAARC passport proved useful as I paid only a fraction of the entrance fees that citizens of other countries had to pay. We also found a student guide who gave us a good tour of the area for a small fee. As we passed the main Hindu temple, I was told that as a Buddhist, I can enter the temple and have a look inside if I liked, but my friends from other faiths were not allowed, so I passed on the offer. The most unforgettable part of that area was seeing cremations of dead bodies going on beside the Bagmati riverbank. Family and friends of the deceased would follow the procession to the designated cremating stone. After the corpse is washed in the river, it is placed on a stand made of dry firewood and grass. The (male) relatives would set fire to it and everyone watched as the body burned and turned to ashes, almost as if they contemplated on the impermanence of our lives and the inevitable end. The cremation stones were even arranged according to privileges of caste. One for the royal family, the next for the highest caste of brahmins and the following divided among lesser castes. Like in India, discrimination based on castes still exist in Nepal. 

Vendors outside the Hindu temple of Pasupatinath

Views of Pashupatinath Temple grounds

Piers for cremating the deceased

Watching a ritual for the dead

Having our last dinner in Nepal as a group of four at a fancy-looking Italian restaurant didn't go too well. We waited for nearly two hours after ordering for the food to come in. Due to space constraints, we had to share our table with another stranger and having to make conversation with him kinda spoilt the ambiance and our purpose of this dinner. Worst of all, he came much later than us and he got his food first. Even I lost my temper (it happens, when I am very hungry) and we all expressed our disappointed to the staff about their poor service. I even felt a little sorry for shouting at the serving staff later on. He was pressured to face the unhappy customers and keep everyone calm, despite whatever the glitches that were going on in the kitchen. That night, Kara and Charmaine returned to Dubai. It was sad to see them off. Ila by an oversight, had booked the following night to return. So she had an extra full day with me. And I was glad I had company for another day.

Breakfast of fresh and warm croissants with good coffee!

The next morning, two of us headed out to the streets and chanced upon the Pumpernickel Bakery. It was so refreshing to finally find a good western cafe, where we indulged on chocolate croissants and fresh coffee. The area had a great number of European tourists, some even looked like they have been living there for a very long time – the tanned and toned bodies, the hippie-like fashions and some even managed to speak the local language. I suppose many of them had the luxury of taking off extended time of their normal lives to experience a simpler life in a spiritual land such as this, searching for whatever it is that they were looking for. Brings to mind the plot of Eat, Pray, Love – which was a great read, by the way. A few days later, I tried to find this same spot when I visited Thamel on my own, but I failed. That's the way it is, the streets look surprisingly similar and it is easy to get lost in the maze of winding roads. (Note to self: download the map and set up GPS on the phone next time round!)

The next item on the agenda was Swayambunath, also known as the Monkey Temple. We had to conquer a long flight of stairs to get to the summit of that hill, where the temple was built. With a heavy Tibetan influence, it looked similar in structure to the Boudhnath stupa. Oh, and there was a huge population of monkeys, pigeons, ducks and even rats! Ila had a nervous breakdown when a rat almost ran over her leg. I was highly amused by this. 

Up the flight of stairs leading to the temple were street kids begging for money from tourists

 This type of turning cylinders were commonly seen at every Tibetan Buddhist temple. Devotees slipped their palms across each of the cylinders as they chanted their prayers.

Swayambunath stupa, very similar in appearance to Boudhanath

The monkey residents, very comfortable by human presence and seen feeding on flowers offered to the temple

The details in their architecture never ceases to amaze me

More souvenirs!

Carving on stone - this guy had heaps of patience. Plus, mistakes on stone can't be undone

On the way back, we also discovered the elusive Java Cafe, recommended by Hysh. During the time all four of us were together, we tried so hard to locate it and asked several people too, but no one seemed to know the what we were talking about. I had a divine iced mocha with whipped cream and a Mexican vegetable wrap! I made an exception for having a raw salad, just this one time. If only we found this place earlier when the others were here! I vowed to come back on my own when Ila left and I did, only it was memorable for a whole other reason. But later on that.  

Java Cafe had Starbucks-quality coffee for only a fraction of the cost!

There was one more thing left to collect before I left Thamel. During our countless times in and out of the Backyard Hotel, I noticed a small tailor shop by the road. A young guy managed the shop from early morning to late night. There were plenty of embroidered designs on t-shirts displayed and he even had an album for designs not on display. Partly out of admiration for his hard working attitude and partly because I wanted to buy a souvenir for a friend who loved dragons, I visited his shop. We got rather friendly, he told me that he had to work long hours to make up for the rent and support his family. He asked for my details too - this was very common, they were all rather curious about tourists. Earlier that day, I chose a flaming red dragon's design to be sewn on a black t-shirt. After checking out of the hotel, I went to pick up my order. To be very honest, the t-shirt material didn't exhibit great quality, but the amount of work that went into sewing the design for such a small price was touching. Before I left Dubai, I bought some key tags (that had Dubai written all over it), thinking it would be ideal to give away to people I meet who will help me in Nepal. Although he didn't really fit that criteria, I gave away one to this guy. He got so emotional about it, thanked me profusely and pleaded with me to drop by his shop if I ever visited Nepal again.

By the time I left Nepal, all my key tags were gone. I should have taken more, actually. 

Chapter 3: A Trip to Paradise - Pokhara

When booking tickets for domestic flights from Kathmandu to Pokhara, we had to pick from several airlines. A few years back, a Buddha Air flight (funny name, I know, but wait, the names get better) that took tourists up close to the Himalayan range had crashed. There were no survivors. So that bit of sad history put us off that airline. The next best choice with good flight times was Yeti Airlines (I imagined the airline crew to be all white and furry). Our friendly tour agent helped us arrange for the airline tickets plus two paragliding tickets with no hassle. While making payment by bank transfer, the local bank had deducted extra charges so he received less. He even agreed to meet us in person to pick up the balance. Seriously, they are mostly nice and accomodating people, who put a lot of trust on tourists. Most transactions and deals were done verbally and informally here without the use of documentation, written evidence, policies and procedures. Again, a contrasting way of things being done differently here.

This was the best image I could find on Google that looked like the weighing machine for our luggage 

Once again, at the airport, I felt the change. It was like walking into an ordinary market. No excitement that a usual airport has. Time slowed down. At the counter, they didn't even check the passports and let us go when we just showed our tickets. The weighing machine was an artifact. It felt good to experience a pace and a world like this one. Seats were first come first served! So we kept up with the rest of the passengers and dashed to board. The whole airplane was only three seats wide with an aisle in between. There was one air hostess and she handed out candy and cotton wool to all passengers. The cotton wool was to stuff inside our ears! I wish they gave those in fancy airlines these days. So overall, I was quite impressed by their service during this short 25 minute flight (this trip would have taken 6 - 8 hours if traveling by road). Once we took off and flew over Kathmandu valley, a snow capped mountain range came into view. I went berserk, started shouting and squealing until Charmaine had to calm me down. That was the first time I had seen such a beautiful mountain range capped with SNOW!!! I had never seen snow for real before. My friends who had been to the French Alps before weren't as excited as I was, but they agreed the views were awesome.

We walked to the plane, much like boarding a private bus 

Wait a minute, those are not clouds! Those are snowy mountains!!

Landing was interesting too. We just walked down the steps into the runway and walked to the … wait, there was no airport. It was just a shelter. We sat on the pavement outside until our luggage was carted by two guys on a large trolley. Soon after, the passengers swarmed around these guys and grabbed their baggage. We followed suit. Then we just walked out into the road and waited for our hotel pick up. He, the owner, came in a motor bike! Soon he negotiated a taxi for three of us and we were off to the North Face Inn at Lakeside, following his motorcycle – where Ila opted to get a ride on!

The street festivities continue

More Thihar festivities were going on in the roads. The drive to the hotel was very scenic. Pokhara was everything that Kathmandu was not. It was so peaceful, clean, green, slow, cool and I was immediately in love with the place. The hotel seemed like one from a picture book. It was small, but perfect. It was run by the owner Raju and his family. The rooms were perfect too, with hot water. I could not have the luxury of a shower yet with phlegm in my lungs. The hotel experience was wonderful, comparative to what went on at Thamel. Since there was still some day light left and with advise from Raju, we went to explore Lake Phewa.

 Just as the photographs on the booking site promised, even better perhaps with the flower garden 

Lake Phewa was really out of this world. It is the largest lake in Nepal, overlooking it is the Annapurna mountain range. So while sitting on a boat in this lake one looks up and sees a range of greenish brown mountains and right behind it, towers a snowy mountain range. We negotiated a boat ride and rowed to a little island in the middle of the lake to see Barahi Temple. Actually, one really strong young guy rowed the boat on his own with all five of us in it. Kara tried to use a paddle, but the boat started going in a different direction. Before we got on to the boat, a group of old Tibetan ladies made us promise that we'll come and see their collection of bead accessories. They even seemed a little aggressive, pushing us around to 'their corner', trying to compete with one another to secure their customers. We promised to meet them after the boat ride. After a very calming boat ride, the old ladies lay waiting for us at the shore. They explained that they were Tibetan refugees who had crossed the border. And they made their living making various accessories with beads and carved buffalo bones. We went through their collections and bought more souvenirs. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped for dinner at the town area and got to try our very first dhal bhat. It is a staple Nepali dish, consisting mainly of of steamed rice, lentil curry, a vegetable, and other additions like a meat curry, pickle or yogurt. It did not disappoint. We were also treated to more celebrations on the streets with plenty of dancing and singing.

Lake Phewa. My camera did not pick up the towering mountain ranges in the background

Dhal bhat!

Another night of loud thumping music and it was hard to fall asleep with all the noise. We had a big day ahead.

Early next morning, we got ready to go see the famed sunrise at Sarangkot hill. It was extremely cold and dark at that time of the morning. Many people walked up the hill slowly, like zombies covered up in warm clothes. We, took a taxi. We paid the price for not negotiating the price before the ride and the taxi driver was out to make the most money out of that ride. Later, we spoke to him and asked him if he liked to be our tour guide for the day as we had some other places to see. He was pleased with the idea and charged us reasonably afterwards. At the peak of the hill, we joined many other tourists and waited for sunrise. Hot chia was sold at a stall nearby and it helped to beat the cold. Little by little the sun rose in the east from behind a mountain. What I didn't expect was the see the sun's rays reflect off the Annapurna mountain range directly behind us. As the sun made it's full appearance, the breathtaking, panoramic views of this range became clearer. The valley below as well as Lake Phewa was also in full range. That's one experience I would never forget.

Slow ascent as we wait patiently in the cold

And there it is, in all its glory! 

The Annapurna mountain range touched by the sun's rays. Pokhara valley and Lake Phewa are seen down below. I wish at times like this I had a better camera. 

When that mission was accomplished, Kara and Ila made their way back to explore Pokhara town. Charmaine and I had a special appointment. Paragliding! I was extremely nervous and having cold feet by now. I felt like my death was rapidly approaching. Charmaine helped get through most of the panic attack. Good thing too, or else a US$100 ride of a life time would have gone to waste and later, I would have regretted massively for being a pussy. On top of the cliff, we met several tourists and paragliding pilots. We watched as the pilots unfolded their paragliders, untangle the cables and lay it flat on the ground. After that, everything happened really fast, soon we were given a quick briefing and strapped to the paragliding pilot. Then I was asked to keep running towards the edge of the cliff until the paraglider took flight. I didn't even reach the edge, we were already airborne. Gah! It was INSANE.

My pilot was extremely friendly and I asked her a list of questions, mostly to console myself. "Do you have to get a license to be a pilot? How many years does one need to get a license? How long have you been flying? Have you had any accidents while flying? Do you know anyone who died?". She told me not to worry and to try to relax. Actually, when the paraglider was soaring in large circles like a giant eagle on air currents, it was quite calming. I was then beginning to appreciate the beauty all around as well as other paragliders flying about. An altitude meter beeped whenever we soared higher than the recommended level and she would adjust our position accordingly and her head was constantly looking around to steer clear of collisions with others. After a while of going around in circles I felt nauseous. I was so embarrassed but I had to tell her, and she assured me that it was quite common for first-timers to feel that way. Then she told me that she was going to tilt the paraglider to a side so that when I threw up, nothing hit the glider or her. She told me later that I managed it quite well and that her paraglider did not have any of my gut contents. 30 minutes later, we skimmed over the lake and took a turn to land on a field. I was quite relieved to be alive. So was Charmaine.

At dizzying heights, soaring on a paraglider

Charmaine's paraglider. The two pilots knew we were friends so they tried to fly opposite each other when circling, so that Charmaine and I got to wave at each other a few times. I didn't tell any of my friends of my little incident up there!

Dipping close to Lake Phewa, before preparing for landing

Soon we joined up with Kara and Ila. In the time we were soaring like birds, these two had got accustomed with the town. They were able to show us stalls with good deals for linen clothes, jewellery, handicrafts, souvenirs and a book store. I bought some postcards and more souvenirs! There were several tour agencies in the town specialising in kayaking and trekking, but we had no time in our agenda to squeeze one. We were then off with our new taxi friend who also doubled up as our tour guide to sight see. We managed to do quick tours of Devi falls, a bat cave and see the Seti river gorge. Our two cautious friends stayed far away from the bat cave. It was a long winding walk with flashlights to the heart of a cave. And in it were thousands of bats attached to the top. After admiring this unusual place, Charmaine and I headed out quickly as we didn't want any bat poop on our heads or have them spook out. 

In the evening, we bid goodbyes to Raju and his family and left to the airport. Once again, on Yeti Airlines. This time, we had a flight delay of one hour. So in that time, we found a canteen on a terrace, overlooking the runway. Treated to a large pot of chia, we relaxed and watched flights take off and land. During this time, I wrote some of my postcards. Life was perfect, right then and there (must have been the chia speaking). There was a small sense of dread of leaving behind such a magical place and going back to the chaos and pollution of Kathmandu.