Thailand pt 1

Another flight takes us from Katmandu to Kuala Lumpur, then overnight at a hotel near the airport, and another flight from KL to Surat Thani, then a minibus to Krabi and then another minibus to Koh Lanta, a small island off the west coast of Thailand. Sounds like a full day, right? Actually it went like this: flight from Kathmandu to KL, then hotel overnight, then flight from KL to Surat Thani, then a minibus from Surat Thani is supposed to take us to the bus station in Krabi to connect with a bus which will take us to Koh Lanta via two a small ferry across the strait which connects the mainland to Koh Lanta Noi and then a short drive to the other side of Koh Lanta Noi to anther ferry across the strait to Koh Lanta Yai, the island on which we are booked to stay at a truly lovely little place called Soon Treeya, I recommend it highly. instead of the bus station, we are told to get off the minibus if we want to go to Lanta and we are dropped across the street from a tour agency which is suddenly charging an awful lot more money than we were told it would cost. No choice so we think, so we pay the money and get on a fantastically over crowded minibus, which is playing some truly treacly Thai pop videos by some chanteuse who wears a lot of headbands and seems awfully earnest when she sings what seems to be the same song over and over with precisely the same expression on her face throughout. We arrive in Krabi, where we are dropped quite unceremoniously in front of some other guy who seems to be the only option to get to Koh Lanta. clearly the minibus driver and the driver of the rickety van in front of us are in cahoots. We begin talking to a Dutch couple who have been travelling for the last six months, and they flat out refuse the exorbitant rate he's charging, and so we decide to hitch our cart to their star, and start to walk. That's when I notice the Krabi bus station is actually across the street. At this point I start to wonder if the bus station in Surat Thani was actually just across the street from where we were dropped off, and we just got hoodwinked into not even looking around, but I feel marginally better about it because these seasoned travellers like the Dutch couple got taken as well. The Dutch go to a window across from the one we go to to buy our tickets, but we confer with each other about the cost and location of drop off, and decide the window we went to offered the better price for service, so it's on the minibus and off to Koh Lanta. The ferry is a small flat barge designed to carry about 15 cars and trucks, and another 10 or so motorcycles and scooters. Both ferries had me placing a lot of faith in the engineers who designed them and those who skipper them, as it seemed perilous to us, but we get to the island in one piece, and are once again unceremoniously dropped on the middle of nowhere it seems despite the fact that he has been paid to take us to our respective hotels, the sun has set so it's dark, my phone is refusing to operate, and we haven't a clue how to get to the hotel. Well, it is a small island, so we decide to start walking with the hope we can find a restaurant and can get a drink and call the hotel to come pick us up. The problem is that everything closes very early if it opened at all because it's low season, so finding a restaurant that is open at 8 pm is a challenge. We see a lit sign saying "Phet Restaurant" and decide to go there. They are not open and won't be for another month, but they are so kind and generous, they let our son play with their children's toys while they call the hotel to come get us, and even get us bottles of cold water to drink while we wait.  Really, just so nice and kind, I don't know about their food or anything about them personally, but go to Koh Lanta Yai and order something from their restaurant. They're good people and deserve the support.
Anyway the hotel owners come get us and we go to the hotel, get unpacked and decide to go for some dinner. We walk up the footpath to the main road, looking for a restaurant, find one, eat and go to a shop to get some milk for our son and some water for us. We walk back along the pitch black footpath to the hotel. As we walk down the darkest part of the path, a motorcycle comes towards us. I move us over to the side of the path to avoid the bike, with my son on my shoulders. I didn't even notice that Siobhan has been spun around as the biker has grabbed the purse off her shoulder as he rides past, and breaks the strap, riding away with the bag. I hear her shout at him, I spin to see the rider wobble around on the bike, as he wasn't expect the resistance he encountered. I do the dumb thing.  I put Dominic down and chase after the rider shouting "stop him" at the top of my voice. I thought because he was unstable as he rode away, he may have slowed down enough for me to catch him. Instead, all I did was to wake the whole street, and turn around in time to see my poor terrified boy screaming for me and running up the path after me. My heart shatters knowing our feeling of safety has been destroyed, and I have just terrified my baby boy. He spends the next 3 days talking about the naughty motorcycle and how we don't have to run and shout anymore, and I am just looking for man's bag. I want to cry just thinking about how scared he was and it was more my fault than the thief's. The only thing of any value in Siobhan's bag was the bank card I had decided 2 hours earlier that she should carry in case my wallet gets stolen, so I won't have all the cards so we will still have access to money.
 The problem is of course that the card I gave her was for account which has the majority of the money, and the bank that handles that account has draconian security procedures designed to ensure that no one, not even you can touch your money should your card go missing. Anyway, with some clever internet finagling we got access to the money, or most of it, so we are going to be financially fine. Most importantly, a very important wake up call has been had. Yes, we used our heads about what we brought with us when we went out so nothing of value was stolen, but the fact it was stolen at all gives us some pointers about how to be less of a mark. If someone wants your stuff badly enough, they will get it, but you don't have to make it easy for them. Carry your bag on the side facing a wall if you have to bring a strappy purse, but it is really a better idea to bring something sturdier, like a knapsack. If you have access to a safe in you remember like we did, use it. Don't bring what you don't need, and hide the valuables either on your person, or in your room somewhere it would take to work to find. Try to make note of any distinguishing features as the assailant is leaving. I know you will likely be too shaken up to see much if you remember to look at all, but try to give the police something to work with, and don't chase them. Your family needs you more than they do the bag, so comfort them and worry about the bag later.
The rest of the trip was wonderful, with a beautiful beach, cool breezes because it's monsoon season (monsoon actually refers to the wind which frequently carries that rain, not the rainstorms themselves), no one else clogging the streets or beaches because it's low season, swimming pool to take my boy swimming in, he is only three and the sea is a little rough to swim in, but great to let it rush in over your toes on the sand.
We realise we have an early morning flight to Kuala Lumpur from Krabi, so we miss our last night on the island and get a hotel in Krabi, which brings us to this very moment. Dominic is asleep, and I am catching up on my writing, then bed. 5am comes earlier every time I have to see it.

Pokhara

As it turns out, there is more to Nepal than filthy, insane city and lunatic traffic. Pokhara is truly an outdoorsman's paradise. Famous for it's location by a river and seven lakes and nestled in a lush valley, there are more activities than you can shake a stick at and includes the ancient Nepali art of stick shaking. If you prefer more traditional activities, there is paragliding, ultralight plane flying, kayaking, hiking and trekking etc. We have a small hitch with most of these activities in the shape of our son, he is just too little for most of these, so we did a lot of walking up and down the main street, just shops and restaurants, restaurants and shops. From the main street branch the streets which contain the hotels and guest houses. There are in fact so many of these hotels that we saw one single other guest in the hotel we stayed at. One can't expect too much from a room which costs seven pounds a night, and that is precisely what we got. A ceiling fan, four walls, exactly what you really need. The mattresses are so very thin and hard that you feel crippled for the fist few hours of every day, but when you stretch out you're alright. It's the heat that will get to you. You can only take off so much and then you're in the shower every hour or so to cool down. Good way to keep clean I suppose. The owner of the hotel is nice enough and says all the right things to make you feel secure about letting your family sleep and eat there. The staff is the owner's family, and not one of them can muster a look of job satisfaction. I am not saying the name of the hotel because I don't to jeopardised his chances of making a good go of it, but he has a lot to learn. The food is bad the lesser rooms as significantly lesser, as earlier said the staff genuinely does not want to be there, and then there is the last straw. It was about midnight and We had been discussing finding another place to stay as the deficiencies outweighed the cost savings, and just gone to bed when a something scurried very quickly by the bed. I investigated. I have lived in some pretty budget places in my life, and I am familiar with cockroaches. Living in downtown Vancouver, one learns to make peace with the idea of cockroaches being essential ly everywhere. I have seen several television programmes which show these immense bugs, and I shuddered looking at the screen, so you can imagine my reaction when I realise the whole room is completely infested with these things. I kill what I can, and go find the owner to tell him the situation. He expresses surprise, clearly false as he must have encountered this problem before. This doesn't just suddenly happen. We area moved to another room on the fourth floor, much nicer and cleaner. I am still in the old room shaking out every item of clothing and bag, and finding enough bugs to start an all new infestation. It's around 2am now, and I have just moved all of the bags up the remaining flights of stairs, and I make a statement, "If I see just one more bug, we're gone". Naturally we found more bugs and hurriedly packed up again as Siobhan, with great resourcefulness, uses our tablet to find another hotel in close proximity with 24 hour reception so we can check in immediately. I am carrying four big rucksacks down the stairs, looking for the owner when I realise I have no idea which room is his, so I just head for the door. Amazingly, I find the front door chained and barred, a fire hazard I'd I ever heard of one, so to the back door. It is locked as well, but not difficult to circumvent. I try to be quiet as I carry the luggage through the very small back yard and through the even smaller side passage. The front gate is also bolted, are they trying to keep them out or us in? I carry our several tons of baggage down the dirt lane to an hotel we fortunately found and checked in.
The new hotel, the Crystal Palace, is a very nice, comfortable and friendly place, blissfully bug free, except for the one which stowed away in one of our bags. I all gave the a last phobic shake-out and a little roach skittered away (that's the only word I can use to describe the movement of these bugs), having hidden itself in a shirt. Stomp. Crisis averted. The rest of the stay we relatively uneventful, walks along the main road, lots of little coffee shops and window shopping (prices are much higher here than in Kathmandu), and a quick boat trip to the temple on a little island in the middle of a lake. Being a little boy, my son loved chasing the pidgeons congregated in the middle of the temple square , and ringing all tjebells which circle the small temple. I should mention that our son slept through the entire bug episode. A real trooper and a truely unflappable Englishman. He is still a little boy, and he gets scared, and I will relate a story in which he got scared for a good reason. That is a little later. For now, it's back to Kathmandu, and the joys of Nepali buses. Second verse, same as the first as far as the ride goes. We find breathing a little easier, I can only think that our lungs are getting used to the air. A few days in Bhaktapur, then to Thailand.
A few words about Bhaktapur. One of the original Nepalese centres still standing and the fees charged to get into the old main square are put toward conservation and renovation. A beautiful old city full of old temples and brick paved streets are lined with shops selling tourist tat, and restaurants all selling the same three drinks and suspect food. The are some cafés around the square that offer wonderful views of the whole area, and I highly recommend looking up pictures of Durbar square in Bhaktapur see what I mean. All over a quieter and less hectic (by Nepali standards) city, a little gem. We were going to visit the big Hindu temple between Bhaktapur and Pagan until we realised the smoke rising from the temple was due to the cremation of dead bodies. Again culturally acceptable, but nothing we want to breathe, besides we will see more temples than we thought possible in India. Again, more later.

bus kathmandu to pohkara

Finally we are leaving Kathmandu. Not a moment too soon, we feel. The pollution is beginning to cause breathing problems, and the constant traffic and noise and chaos is creating a feeling of claustrophobia.
7:30 am, and it's time to board the Greenline bus. We get on, and soon realise that their slogan "travel with a difference" means travel without suspension. The ride is long and spine jarring, but the monotony of the constant bouncing is broken by the view of the sheer drop down the mountainside which is causing white knuckle terror. One foot to the left and it's a long roll to the valley floor. Then the fact the the road rules of the city also apply on the treacherous mountain road adding to the terror makes the ride seem very long indeed. We stop for a 15 minute break, so everyone gets off the bus for tea and restarting their hearts, then it's back on for more sinewy Annapurna mountain road fun. I should mention that Green line buses have the best safety record for tourist land transport in Nepal, so it's worth the extra cost for the feeling that you may actually arrive at your destination with being put in a black bag first. As an added extra, lunch is included in the price of the ticket, and the bus eventually stops at a really nice mountain resort, with views of the river and the grounds.
Now, I feel I must correct a few of my own errors. I had assumed, naturally because of various media, that Nepal was a frozen mountainous country, with high winds blowing higher snow. This is accurate in the Himalayas, but in the valleys where most of the cities are, it is lush and verdant, with tress of many varieties such as banyan and banana growing over the hills. The hills of which I speak are actually quite close to mountains themselves, but they are covered completely with trees and farms cut into the hillside like steppes. Other than the subsistence farms that these hill people tend to feed themselves, corn seems to be the prevailing crop. Little houses are balanced on the hillside like four walled mountain goats, and one suspect the people maybe like mountain goats too, the hills are so steep.
As for the Himalayas, I haven't seen them. I know, how can I not, they are only the highest mountain range in the world. Well, we have come in the rainy season, and the clouds seem to hover at the top of the Annapurna range, which is just in front of the Himalayas, completely obscuring them from view. One can take a single prop plane over the mountains as a privately booked tour, but Air Nepal, which is Nepal's largest commercial airline has such an appalling safety record that European booking sites don't even allow the name to come up as an option when booking flights within Nepal, something about allowing you to book it through their site is tantamount to murder, so the thought of booking a flight in some little plane held together with spit and faith does just not fill me with confidence.
Back to the bus. Spine blasting, teetering hell, basically, but I must say that if your fear if death is marginally less than mine, you will not be disappointed by the truly breathtaking views of the mountains and the valleys, and as you likely will be holding your breath anyway, try not to notice the fact that your bus is passing other trucks in the rain on a single lane road into oncoming traffic, (take some muscle)relax(ants), and in between prayers to whom or whatever, and enjoy the ride.

The Kumari

Over 20 years ago, Siobhan became aware of, and then fascinated by the manifestation of the goddess Taleju, into a young girl, known as Kumari. Again, this will be the most cursory of explainations, as there are hundreds of years of tradition and religion intrinsic to Nepal's history devoted to the Kumari. The story goes that some several hundred years ago, the king was playing a dice game behind a closed door in the royal palace with the goddess Taleju, a nightly a girffair sacred to the the king and only for he and the goddess. Taleju is a goddess of war and death, similar to Durga. She has four heads and ten arms, rides a lion and demands blood sacrifice. She was brought to Nepal but the southern Indian kings who were escaping from the spread of Islam. She is now uniquely Nepalese, worshipped nowhere else. One night, the queen became jealous and burst in on the game. Taleju was furious and left, vowing never to return. The king, furious with his wife and greatly saddened by the goddess's abandonment, prayed and prayed for her to return. She refused, but said that she would return I'm the form of a prepubescent girl, the Kumari. Another more believeable (as if any of it is believable) variation says that the king tried it on with Taleju which infuriated her, which is why she enters the form of a virginal prepubescent girl, and must be worshipped as such for his transgression.
Every year, 108 cows and 108 goats in sacrifice to the Kumari, and the ones who do the sacrificing are the Gurkas, who use this as a training exercise in killing. Where as the British who were training with the Gurkas used haybags as bayonet training impliments, the Gurkas used the animals so that they could feel the amount of swing necessary and the force required to actually kill, and to get the stomach for killing. This makes them fearsome warriors indeed Gurkas are adherent to the worship of the Kumari, to the point where if they draw their blade, they must draw blood. This means if they do not kill with their drawn blade, they must cut themselves, because Taleju demands a blood sacrifice. The blood sacrifice is taken so seriously that the national airline sacrifices a buffalo to spray its blood all over the nose of the plane. Most unusually, she is from a Buddhist family, but worshipped as a Hindu goddess. There has been a lot of rumour and conjecture regarding her over the years, mostly because she is such a mysterious figure. Noone but her handlers and family get to see her, aside from her daily flits to her window, only thw highly initiates are even allowed to handle the sacrifices prior to sacrifice day, and noone ever talks about their rites or doings, not even ex Kumaris. The Kumari does not even walk on the bare ground, she is either carried, or walks on a cloth which has been laid before her. When she reaches puberty she is relived of her duties because she has reached an age which she is no longer acceptably pure, and the search for the new Kumari begins from a particular caste, usually goldsmith families and have specific traits, and no imperfections, scars or marks, and their horoscope must align with that of the royal family of Nepal.History lesson over. Anyway, the point of this was to mention that Siobhan finally got to see the royal Kumari at her window after two failed attempts. The rule is that no one is permitted to take pictures of the Kumari at their royal home, ever. So naturally people try to take pictures all the time. If she see a camera she is off like a shot, and may not reyun until the nest day, and two consecutive sets of Chinese tourists got over enthusiastic about their picture taking. They were escorted out, and their camera confiscated long enough to delete the offending articles. Finally she returned and sat at her window for a few brief moments, never smiling. A smile from the Kumari means an invitation to heaven, and someone will die. Very bad news, if you believe that sort of thing. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for an 8 year old girl (that's the current Kumari's age) to express  not emotion or to just play like a kid, but she displays dignity and composure in line with her position. Siobhan got really rather emotional and our son started shouting "come down, little girl!". I just felt very pleased to have been there for Siobhan's great moment of happiness, and to see something most westerners never do. Very cool.

I'm Going Where? Why? June 18 2014

If you have ever thought about Kathmandu, what did you think about? Enormous, majestic mountain ranges, Buddhist monasteries with saffron and red clad monks singing in two octaves at once and spinning colossal prayer wheels to the sound of deep ringing bells? At least the words of Cat Stevens song about this place conjured images of a Himalayan oasis of spirituality. You're confusing this with Bhaktapur. Kathmandu is not anything like this. Not anymore.
There is a black tinge to the air, making a deep breath difficult to draw and potentially dangerous. The traffic is it's own brand of madness, easily explained thusly: I am driving, I wish to turn or merge into a nonexistent lane so I am honking. Because I have honked I have informed you that I am moving my vehicle. It is now up to you to decide what to do with this information. From your perspective this sound has come from....where? Is it the car beside you? Is it the one in front, or perhaps one of the multitude motorscooters or motorbikes that buzz around through traffic like a constant swarm of gnats? Then there are the lanes. I say lanes, what I mean is vague guides as to what side to drive on, but if you have a better idea, by all means follow your heart. It certainly makes sense, from a spiritual perspective, to follow this mixture of Hinduism and Buddhism that the Nepalese ascribe to, because when you inevitably die from either trying to merge into the next lane or foolishly attempting to traverse the zebra crossing, you know that this is just another step in your spiritual journey.
What everyone actually wants to know about is not so much the culture or the people or places, but the food. The area we are staying in is called Thamel, and it has been considered a backpackers paradise for as long as one has put pack to back. The definition of backpacker has changed however, and this is reflected in the menus. So much of the bills of fare is western food that can be found anywhere, with traditional Nepali food relegated to one or two cursory dishes, likely listed as a veggy and non veggy variation of the same dish. To get real Nepali food, one must leave the backpacker areas and hit the main roads. Momos and other traditional Nepali foods are both flavour full and spicy, from curries to noodle dishes and something called a sizzle. Never had it, but sounds like cooked meat, so I am already a fan. (I have since been informed that it is like a Mongolian barbeque. Does that help?)
There is a feeling that the only way out of Kathmandu is by plane. Everyone is well aware that the respiratory problems they all encounter is a result of the uncontrolled growth, and excess of cars and trucks, some of which spew a toxic black fume reminiscent of a tire fire. Everyone has also seemingly, if grudgingly made peace with this. Most every street is far too skinny with high red brick buildings, choked by shops selling the same thing the last shop sold, bicycles, motorcycles, cars, scooters, rickshaws and pedestrians. The streets themselves are in dreadful disrepair, and at least one manhole stood a full ten inches above street level. Woe be to the car trying to get over that.
Almost every school I have seen is a Montessori school, denoting the obvious importance of education to the Nepalese, so this must be seen as an important step to escaping an otherwise soulsucking career as a shopkeeper or taxi driver. Let us a not even speak of the limited opportunities presented to an employee of a "dance bar".
I am trying very hard to find qualities that justify the mythical, almost holy reputation this city has, and for the most part I am failing. There are semblances of the culture we think we know of this country, the eyes painted over gates, the mandalas in shop windows, the stupas every few streets, even the brightly painted trucks carrying water, or gasoline or nuclear waste (not really), all of these symbols clambor to remind you of where you are and what it means to be here. If you make it to the monkey palace or Durbur square, the temples are still there, but they all seem to be grubby and crumbling.
The best part of Kathmandu is leaving to go trekking in the Annapurna hills or the Himalayas, perhaps going to a Buddhist retreat where you can eat a bowl of rice and lentils per day and meditate until you can face reality again. If you can't face heaving your carcass up a hill but you came here anyway, there are towns close by, like Bhaktapur, which are still mostly as they have been for hundreds of years. One of the living goddess' incarnations, a kumari, lives here and she can be visited daily for a blessing in exchange for an offering. There are several of these young girls who are the living embodiment of the goddess Talaju, a deity brought here by the south Indians most associated with Durga, a particularly vicious Hindu deity. There are also kumari in Pagan and the royal one is in Durbar square, (there is a Durbar Square in most cities), she pokes her head out a window twice a day. Miss her, and you wait till tomorrow. Once a year at a festival called the Indra Jatra she is paraded around, for all to see, but she is reclusive for the most part.
Tomorrow we are on a six hour bus ride to Pokhara. I am very excited about this, there are only the vaguest of signs of the hills and country side that you can see through the haze and pollution in the city, so the chance to see the actual country fills me with joy, combined with the prospect of a breath of clean air.
The visas for Myanmar were relatively painless to apply for, but the visa office requires payment in pristine US currency, any bends, folds, or other deformations render the bill useless. The visa office is a bit out of the way, which brings me to my next gripe. There is no such thing as a price. There is an opening bid. For everything. The cabdrivers assume you have no idea about the cash to milage ratio, so will try to rip you off enormously, and all of the shop owners and hotel staff are in on the take. They will all be very happy to arrange a taxi for you, and they will make their cut. They will be overjoyed to arrange a tour of the main sights for you at an impossibly overblown price, if you want air conditioning that is extra and likely not actually air-conditioning, just the busted in-car fan. They will be orgasmic to arrange their own tours, as they all have their own tour companies, and they will charge you so so very much money, and you will pay it, because it's just that you can't face haggling again about a price you can't sort out because of the currency exchange rates, the fact that you know a taxi will take you for a ride in every sense, and you don't really know where you're going anyway.
So far it seems as though I may not be as fair as I could be, and have not taken advantage of the many wonderful treks and tours that are available, and there are indeed many. I am traveling with my little family, consisting of my girlfriend and our three year old son, so climbing Everest is, to my mind, out. The plane through the Himalayas is cost prohibitive to a student, which I am, so again out. Sightseeing is what I have for choice, and so we will do it with the most vigour we can muster. Let us hope I can muster just slightly more than I already have.