The morning after my return from Rangpur I was up at the crack of dawn (earlier actually) to collect Bec and Luke at Dhaka International Airport (where ‘visitors’ have to pay to get into possibly the worlds dodgiest arrivals lounge). We spotted each other immediately through the glass separating luggage collection from the exit gates; our pasty white skin positively fluorescent under the early morning hue of airport lighting.
Tired but excited Bec and Luke were keen to get out of the airport and into Bec’s first CNG (baby taxi, motorised rickshaw... as you wish). Hugs all around, confirmation of copious amounts of alcohol and cheese in bags, I threw an orna around Bec’s shoulders and marched them through the swarming crowd surrounding the airport at 4 in the morning (as it is at all hours of the day).
I haggled for the right price, shoved in the bags and we all squeezed into the CNG. A nice, cool morning, the streets were almost empty on the way to Dhanmondi. Within half an hour we arrived at David and Matthew’s house (where Bec and Luke were staying), they grabbed out the cheese and alcohol and jumped into bed (with the luxurious comfort of AC!) to catch up on some sleep before a long day ahead.
I raced the precious cargo home to my fridge and got a spot of work done before returning to collect them. First task: squeeze the three of us on a rickshaw, taking my usual route to work. This was exciting even for me initially, because I’d never sat on the top of the rickshaw seat, with someone between my legs before. Now I know why. Ouch! Anyway, an agonising 20 minutes later we jumped off at Poribagh and walked across to UNICEF. There Bec and Luke met my colleagues over shingara (turmeric chilli veges in pastry – heavenly goodness) and tea/coffee. From there the plan was to hit the National Museum , Dhaka Uni and Liberation War Museum...but like most things in Bangladesh, our plan was thwarted when the National Museum was shut. So we wandered around the University (checking out the Fine Arts College where preparation for Bengali New Year was well underway), then down to Aziz Market to buy some funky Bangla tee’s, and on to New Market where we had to buy red fabric and tips (bindi’s in Hindi culture) for the RED party the next night.
My Bangla is basic at best, but Bec and Luke are easily impressed, but we were gladly in and out of New Market within too long (even in the middle of the day during the week, the place is crammed full of people). By this time we were all dripping with sweat, so escaped to the oasis that is Cafe Mango for lunch (to try their infamous vege burgers and banana lassi’s). Then home for showers and chill out. A short thunder storm followed which considerably cooled the afternoon. At my place they met my Clancy and we watched the sunset on the rooftop before heading to the Drik Gallery to see an exhibit and on to the Bengali Fine Arts Gallery Cafe for a great and cheap Bangladeshi dinner (biryani, bhuna, paratha, bhat and shobji ) with friends Tuni and Clay (visiting from the USA to make a documentary on Bengali river music), Seb (a Canadian guy living here while making a documentary about hirja’s – transsexuals), Shabbab (a darling Bangladeshi boy I met on the plane to Dhaka), James and Clancy. Luke was totally in his element talking film with Tuni and Seb, the rest of us about the UN system, the problems of Bangladesh and the usual utter nonsense.
The following day, we were up early for a traditional breakfast with my beautiful Bangladeshi colleague Shilpi and her family at her house. A first for me as well and Bec and Luke. Breakfast consisted of dhal, bhat (rice), roti (bread), shobji (vegetables) and mishti (sweets). It was lovely and a perfect start to the day. From there we went to the Bangabandu Museum (the home of Bangabanda – political founding father of Bangladesh and father of current Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina – and where he was assassinated). From there we went to the Liberation War Museum (definitely worth the hunt). Full of Bangladeshi history (in all its bloody glory) we headed home (including, for a short distance, in a CNG driving the wrong way down the road!) to prepare for the big party. By the time everyone started arriving, Clancy and I had decorated the house, arranged food (shingara and phushka) and drinks and were still madly getting dressed.
A great night of utter trashiness followed, one of the highlights when Bec and Luke left and Lyrian and I scared them senseless about being mugged.
Casey: You’re LEAVING? Now? But it’s dark out!
Bec: Yeah, why?
Casey: Fuck. You’ll get mugged.
Lyrian: Yeah. Fuck. You need to watch out for gangs of muggers. They creep up on you, sometimes with knives and may stab you before stealing your stuff.
Casey: Yeah and be sure not to have your bag across your body, coz if they drive past and grab it you’ll be dragged down the street. Maybe break bones.
Bec and Luke look cautiously at one another.
Bec: Should we stay the night here then?
Casey: Nah, you’ll be fine. Here, give me all your stuff. Only take what you need, maybe just your keys.
Casey relives Bec of her keys, shoves them in her bra.
Casey: They won’t go looking for them in there. Ha ha!
Lyrian: Let us know if you get mugged...or get home safely.
Casey: Here, take my mobile. Text Shabab when you get home to let us know.
Casey shoves her phone in Bec’s bra.
Bec: Aaah, ok...
Next morning
Casey: Where the fuck’s my fucking phone?
Clearly I’d have been a great help if they hadn’t made it home safely. Anyway, when we were able to drag ourselves out of bed and stand up without being sick, we met Bec and Luke at Cafe Mango for breakfast. From there it took me a few hours to return to my usual cheery tour guide mode, but by early afternoon we were on our way to the north side (Banani) to hit the shops (Nogordola, Jatra, and Deshal), which they did with absolute abandon. Dinner at Indian restaurant Sajna, then home to bed.
The next day I’d booked a tour with Guide Tours out of Dhaka to Comilla (4 hours east of Dhaka) and Sonargaon (an hour out of Dhaka and the ancient capital city of Bangladesh). Unfortunately Bec was up during the night with Bangla Belly (it wouldn’t have been the full experience without it), so she reluctantly spent the day at my place while Luke and I bonded over lush green rice paddies, hindu temples, pottery barns, a WWII grave site, and mini Taj Mahal. A full 12 hours on the road, we returned to a much improved Bec and wandered down for a dinner of pizza.
The next day (their last in Bangladesh) we went on a walking tour of Old Dhaka, taking in Lalbag Fort, several mosques, ancient buildings and the old Dhaka hustle and bustle. Bec was still not feeling great and spending a few hours walking around the heat and humidity in Dhaka takes its toll, so we hopped in a CNG back to Dhanmondi. Refreshed, with bellies full of fresh veges and fresh lime sodas, we collected their luggage from David and Matt’s and moved them to my place for the last night. With the power out we hightailed it to Pizza Corner where we entertained the staff, playing UNO and gossiping like schoolchildren for hours. Luke expertly squeezed all their new belongings in their bags (in the space left by cheese and vodka) so we were ready to pile into Shabab’s car at 4am.
In an absolute record of 15 minutes we were at the airport, where more concerned about munching down Gastro Stop, we made a quick, tearless farewell.
It was a whirlwind week, and now it’s almost as though they were never here. There is an emptiness where they were. It was incredible beyond description to have two of my favourite people in the world here, to show them where I live and work, introduce them to the fabulous people I’m sharing the experience with and show them a country they might never have known.
Who’s next?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Making informed choices
Last week I was in north-west Bangladesh - Rangpur and Lalmonirhut to be specific - visiting UNICEF’s education and adolescent empowerment projects. The work we do in the field right across Bangladesh, with the invaluable assistance of NGOs and government, is awe inspiring. It is working; it is changing lives.
In Lalmonirhut we are piloting a new project where Class V students are preparing five year old children for preschool. The project has several aims, but one of the most important is to increase children’s retention at school. By making education fun, preparing them for what is to come, and raising awareness within their communities of the importance of education, the hope is that the project will boost the number of children finishing their education. Widespread poverty across Bangladesh means that most children are forced to work to help support their family. These children do not have time to attend school, let alone to play with their friends and enjoy the sort of childhood we so often take for granted.
Hopefully the project will motivate parents and children to value education,breaking the intergenerational cycle of poverty. The pilot project is running on a small scale in six districts across Bangladesh and it appears to be working. In fact, the families of the children not involved are insistent we implement the project nationwide immediately.
In Rangpur, I visited an adolescent empowerment centre run by one of our NGOs. That day a group of Peer Leaders had gathered to meet me and discuss what they had learnt on a recent trip to Cox’s Bazaar. Peer Leaders from across Bangladesh attended the week-long retreat to discuss the issue of HIV/AIDS and how they as adolescent leaders can raise awareness in their communities. These teenagers were so excited to tell me about their trip – the first for most of them outside of their community. At the retreat they had the chance to meet other adolescents around the country, play sport, hang out at the beach and learn more about HIV/AIDS and community engagement methods.
Basicallly, these kids go out into their communities and educate by coordinating/running rallies, community meetings, interactive popular theatre, making posters and disseminating information on issues such as early marriage and dowry, HIV/AIDS, child labour, child abuse, child trafficking and child rights, gender equality and education. Acting as agents of change within their own communities, these adolescents become confident young achievers who know the importance of progressive change.
Boys posing for the bideshi with a camera in the adolescent empowerment meeting about child rights.
I was all very inspired by the trip, until I had a conversation with a well-educated, well-travelled man about his opinion of UNICEFs interventions. Firstly, he believes it is not necessary to explain to poor, uneducated people exactly what our interventions are for or about, because they are uneducated and stupid and will only become nervous and won’t want to be involved. Sadly, this belief that the poor of the country are incompetent morons is not uncommon. And it makes me fucking depressed. Answer me this: how the FUCK is this country going to achieve anything if it isn’t supporting its underprivileged by giving them the opportunities afforded to the middle and upper classes?
And the most ridiculous part of all of this is that, from what I’ve seen anyway, the reverse is true. It seems to be the poor, uneducated people who are grabbing at our interventions with both hands, able and willing to break the cycle of poverty and give themselves what they need to lead prosperous, healthy, respectful lives. And it is the middle and upper classes (as if there should even be such terms or hierarchy) that is resistant.
Second, regarding our adolescent empowerment project. Apparently it will have a boomerang effect. Because the project encourages adolescent boys and girls to get together to discuss awareness raising campaigns and this will inevitably lead to sex. Potentially sex outside of marriage. Which is why early marriage is okay.
Really? I’m sorry, at which point did we stop having an intelligent debate? Children, young children getting married? Children having sex? Children having children? What planet am I on when this seems like a reasonable suggestion?
I’d argue that actually children should be free to enjoy their childhood. That sex, like any other decision we make in our lives, should be made based on a thorough understanding, with respect of our culture, religion, family and upbringing. Surely, all of this boils down to giving people the ability to make informed decisions?
Ok, so maybe I’m naive. Sure, of course I am. What do I know about the problems people face here, have faced here for hundreds of years? Fuck all. But that doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be allowed to make fully informed decisions. That's a basic human right.
Every child has the right.
In Lalmonirhut we are piloting a new project where Class V students are preparing five year old children for preschool. The project has several aims, but one of the most important is to increase children’s retention at school. By making education fun, preparing them for what is to come, and raising awareness within their communities of the importance of education, the hope is that the project will boost the number of children finishing their education. Widespread poverty across Bangladesh means that most children are forced to work to help support their family. These children do not have time to attend school, let alone to play with their friends and enjoy the sort of childhood we so often take for granted.
Hopefully the project will motivate parents and children to value education,breaking the intergenerational cycle of poverty. The pilot project is running on a small scale in six districts across Bangladesh and it appears to be working. In fact, the families of the children not involved are insistent we implement the project nationwide immediately.
In Rangpur, I visited an adolescent empowerment centre run by one of our NGOs. That day a group of Peer Leaders had gathered to meet me and discuss what they had learnt on a recent trip to Cox’s Bazaar. Peer Leaders from across Bangladesh attended the week-long retreat to discuss the issue of HIV/AIDS and how they as adolescent leaders can raise awareness in their communities. These teenagers were so excited to tell me about their trip – the first for most of them outside of their community. At the retreat they had the chance to meet other adolescents around the country, play sport, hang out at the beach and learn more about HIV/AIDS and community engagement methods.
Basicallly, these kids go out into their communities and educate by coordinating/running rallies, community meetings, interactive popular theatre, making posters and disseminating information on issues such as early marriage and dowry, HIV/AIDS, child labour, child abuse, child trafficking and child rights, gender equality and education. Acting as agents of change within their own communities, these adolescents become confident young achievers who know the importance of progressive change.
Boys posing for the bideshi with a camera in the adolescent empowerment meeting about child rights.
I was all very inspired by the trip, until I had a conversation with a well-educated, well-travelled man about his opinion of UNICEFs interventions. Firstly, he believes it is not necessary to explain to poor, uneducated people exactly what our interventions are for or about, because they are uneducated and stupid and will only become nervous and won’t want to be involved. Sadly, this belief that the poor of the country are incompetent morons is not uncommon. And it makes me fucking depressed. Answer me this: how the FUCK is this country going to achieve anything if it isn’t supporting its underprivileged by giving them the opportunities afforded to the middle and upper classes?
And the most ridiculous part of all of this is that, from what I’ve seen anyway, the reverse is true. It seems to be the poor, uneducated people who are grabbing at our interventions with both hands, able and willing to break the cycle of poverty and give themselves what they need to lead prosperous, healthy, respectful lives. And it is the middle and upper classes (as if there should even be such terms or hierarchy) that is resistant.
Second, regarding our adolescent empowerment project. Apparently it will have a boomerang effect. Because the project encourages adolescent boys and girls to get together to discuss awareness raising campaigns and this will inevitably lead to sex. Potentially sex outside of marriage. Which is why early marriage is okay.
Really? I’m sorry, at which point did we stop having an intelligent debate? Children, young children getting married? Children having sex? Children having children? What planet am I on when this seems like a reasonable suggestion?
I’d argue that actually children should be free to enjoy their childhood. That sex, like any other decision we make in our lives, should be made based on a thorough understanding, with respect of our culture, religion, family and upbringing. Surely, all of this boils down to giving people the ability to make informed decisions?
Ok, so maybe I’m naive. Sure, of course I am. What do I know about the problems people face here, have faced here for hundreds of years? Fuck all. But that doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be allowed to make fully informed decisions. That's a basic human right.
Every child has the right.
Building Homes; Changing Lives
When fellow AYAD and cool chick, Mon, said she was organising a ‘Women Build’ for Habitat for Humanity to mark International Women’s Day, I thought ‘hell yah, count me in’. And she did.
I was all very excited, until the night before the big day, when I realised that actually I haven’t the faintest fucking idea how to build a house, and had sort of just imagined swanning about with a cute little toolbelt around my hips and a hammer in my hand posing for photos. Shit. I’m actually going to have to do some physical labour and get dirty! Shit.
Anyway, being a woman of multiple talents (including a steely determination to do anything a man can do) I met about 50 other women, Australian, American, and Brit alike, at the American Club, where we hopped in some minivans and made our way north to Savar to help build homes for three lucky families. Armed with shovels, buckets, hammers and loads of promotional materials (banners, t-shirts and cameras) we were quite a sight in Savar.
After a quick pep talk and some background on women’s empowerment and gender disparities in Bangladesh, we were motivated to build some houses (and kick male ass...or was that just me? Oh...) A group of us AYADs were assigned to a house which was already quite well built...well, in so far that it had walls and a roof... ‘Oh goody, it’s finished. Shall we take some photos - is there is cute little toolbelt and a hammer I can hold for a second - and then go for a cocktail? ...What? No? Oh, ok then’.
Alternating between brick chipping (which is quite a skill actually...how to get the chips at a size that isn’t too big, but not so small that the Bangladeshi women and children surrounding us aren’t complaining that we are making ‘flour’, is a fine art) and sand sifting. It was bloody hot and some of us were extremely hungover (not me Mum, promise). The locals found us incredibly entertaining and we assisted (albeit in a small way) to building a house for those most deserving.
And I did get dirty.
It was fucking excellent.
I even have photos to prove it.
Anyway, before we knew it the day was over and it was home for a shower and a well deserved massage (not that I’ve convinced either of my Matt’s to give me one yet...sneaks).
A great way to spend the day and support a worthy cause and a great NGO.
I was all very excited, until the night before the big day, when I realised that actually I haven’t the faintest fucking idea how to build a house, and had sort of just imagined swanning about with a cute little toolbelt around my hips and a hammer in my hand posing for photos. Shit. I’m actually going to have to do some physical labour and get dirty! Shit.
Anyway, being a woman of multiple talents (including a steely determination to do anything a man can do) I met about 50 other women, Australian, American, and Brit alike, at the American Club, where we hopped in some minivans and made our way north to Savar to help build homes for three lucky families. Armed with shovels, buckets, hammers and loads of promotional materials (banners, t-shirts and cameras) we were quite a sight in Savar.
After a quick pep talk and some background on women’s empowerment and gender disparities in Bangladesh, we were motivated to build some houses (and kick male ass...or was that just me? Oh...) A group of us AYADs were assigned to a house which was already quite well built...well, in so far that it had walls and a roof... ‘Oh goody, it’s finished. Shall we take some photos - is there is cute little toolbelt and a hammer I can hold for a second - and then go for a cocktail? ...What? No? Oh, ok then’.
Alternating between brick chipping (which is quite a skill actually...how to get the chips at a size that isn’t too big, but not so small that the Bangladeshi women and children surrounding us aren’t complaining that we are making ‘flour’, is a fine art) and sand sifting. It was bloody hot and some of us were extremely hungover (not me Mum, promise). The locals found us incredibly entertaining and we assisted (albeit in a small way) to building a house for those most deserving.
And I did get dirty.
It was fucking excellent.
I even have photos to prove it.
Anyway, before we knew it the day was over and it was home for a shower and a well deserved massage (not that I’ve convinced either of my Matt’s to give me one yet...sneaks).
A great way to spend the day and support a worthy cause and a great NGO.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Kickin' it in Kathmandu
I know I’ve not been back from China all that long, but there was a long weekend here in Bangladesh and the suggestion was made to spend it in Kathmandu.. who I am to turn it down? Ok, I made the suggestion, but I’m no fool, and it was a good suggestion, so off Carly, Chris, Lyrian and I went in search of wine, cheese, cocktails and wine...oh, I said that already...it was really good wine...
Although poorer than Bangladesh, Nepal’s geography makes it a tourist hot spot. Still very much a developing country, westerners are plentiful and, for us at least coming from Bangladesh, the anonymity of that is liberating.
After a total farce arranging visas on arrival (word of warning: take USD with you. We were allowed through to get cash from the one ATM in the airport. It was broken. Leaving blonde girls as collateral, Chris went off in search of an ATM in the city, and a place to convert rupees into USD), we raced to our respective hotels then to New Orleans Cafe where we literally drooled over the menu and wine list. ‘A bottle of your pino noir please sir, quick as you can, it’s an emergency here!’
Giddy with excitement we fell to bed that night with bellies full of salad, crusty bread and red wine. The following morning we met for breakfast. Breakfast that didn’t consist of curry. Rather, real, really bloody good coffee and mushroom toast. Sitting in the courtyard of the bakery, soaking up some early morning sunshine, sipping our coffees, grins from ear to ear, Lyrian spoke what we were all thinking ‘I never, ever want to leave’.
Ready for a full day, we set off, Lonely Planet in hand to do a walking tour around the city, ending in Darbur Square. Blessed by a holy man (and then cursed when we refused to pay him for the ‘service’ we didn’t request) we didn’t quite follow the route, but we did find our way to the Square – although it took some convincing on my part that we were there. I gave up in the end. I think, in hindsight, we were there. But that map was confusing. Anyway, wherever we were, it was nice and had some really old stuff in it ;)
Chris and Lyrian in Kathmandu's Darbur Square
Desperate to cram as many meals into each day as possible, we found a quaint garden restaurant on Freak Street for lunch, then made our way back to Thamel, via the many shops on the way. Quick stop for an afternoon coffee and apple pie, then home to prepare for a night on the town.
Carly and I had time for two cocktails before Lyrian could drag Chris out of the shower and into the bar. Then, on to OR2K – a fantastically fabulous Middle Eastern vego restaurant whose felafels will almost certainly forever be the best I’ve ever had. Two bottles of red, more humus, tahini and felafel than I care to remember later, we stumbled out onto the street. The sound of live music at an upstairs bar beckoned and next thing you know we’re crowded round a sheesha pipe with another bottle of wine.
Carly, Chris and Lyrian at OR2K
Chris, Lyrian and I at the Sheesha Lounge
The next morning didn’t start well for any of us. Taking comfort behind my sunglasses, I sipped my ORS and waited for my greasy fry up to arrive. We hired a driver and decided to see some hotspots outside of the city. First stop: Monkey Temple. Gladly there weren’t too many crazy monkeys running riot and we enjoyed the almost 360 degree views of Kathmandu from the top of the stupa. Next stop: Patan. Just south of Kathmandu Patan has its own Darbur Square, which looked very much like the one in Kathmandu. Next stop: Pashputinpath. This place irked us all before we even got out of the car. Nestled on the river, this is where funeral rites are carried out. Including one while we were there. Creepy. We high-tailed it out of there to Boudna, home to the largest Buddhist stupa in South Asia. We arrived close to sunset and in time to watch monks perform their afternoon ritual (circling the stupa three times, clockwise). We decided to stay to soak up some peace and quiet on the rooftop of a lovely cafe.
The Boudna stupa
That evening, famished, we met at La Dolce Vita for a feast of pasta and, well, steak. Still reeling from the night before we decided to have desert instead of drinks and found a fantastic, darkly-lit cafe that served up cheese cake, apple strudel, a range of mouth-watering deserts.
Lyrian and Chris left Kathmandu early the next morning for Pokara and some serious trekking. Carly and I were also up early to catch our mountain flight along the Himalayas to see Everest up close. Although the flight was delayed an hour and 15 minutes into the flight we were informed there was a ‘door indicator’ problem and that we had to return to the ground, where we waited another hour for a new plane (’10 minutes maximum’), it was a fantastic trip and as close to Everest as I’m likely to get.
The Himalayas
We spent the afternoon shopping. Shopping as though I’d never have the chance again. It was fun. At one shop (where I bought a gorgeous purple skirt that jingles as I walk!) the owner sat us down for Nepali tea and told us a story to explain Hinduism. It was an interesting story, even though it took a good 30 minutes to tell. The moral was that by putting in a little bit of work, rewards will come. But the highlight was his summary. Turning, with all seriousness to Carly, he said “so, because I feel you, I own you. I feeeeeel you.’ Snigger snigger. To Carly’s absolute credit she remained straight faced. But she might have been nervous that he would demonstrate how he feeeeels her...so fair play.
Anyway, that night we went back to the cute darkly-lit cafe to a traditional Nepali meal and rakshi (Nepali rice wine – which tastes like petrol, I imagine). Then we went to find a gig that a bunch of (rather cute) Aussie guys we’d met earlier that day invited us to. Plans for an early night, before our big trek in the morning, evaporated with each beer. Then the sheesha came out and I continued to taste it as debate continued as to whether it was apple or apple and mint, or in fact liquorice (I’m going with apple and mint, but I’d need another puff to be sure...). Sometime after midnight we managed to unentangle ourselves by promising to meet up the following night, post-trek for drinks and dancing.
So the next day, up early we met our guide – Diamond (I managed not to say ‘diamond geezer’ even once!) – and began the drive to Sarku to kick off the 12km trek to Nagarkot. The first 5km were easy, lovely and shady. The next 2km were hellish and hot and steep...they were probably also beautiful but I wouldn’t know, I was engaged in a silent battle about why on earth people trek anywhere when motorized transport is so easily accessible. The last 5km were also steep and rocky...but I’d summoned some inner peace and we were at the top before we knew it. We celebrated conquering the mountain in 2.5hours (more than an hour quicker than usual groups) with a cold beer and buff chilli (chilli buffalo...why the heck not, we thought).
Beautiful Nepali children at a village outside of Nargakot
On the drive back to Kathmandu, Diamond showed us around Bhaktapur – the most ancient city in Nepal. Totally knackered and sunburnt we had a sleep before heading to OR2K for our final dinner in Kathmandu. Carly felt progressively worse over dinner (not even able to have a glass of wine!), so we decided not to brave the thunderstorm to find the Aussie boys, but go home until she felt better, the storm calmed down, or preferably, both. However, I promptly fell asleep (what a party animal) and Carly spent all night running to the bathroom.
The next morning, bright as a button, I went out for my last real coffee and crusty bread breakfast, leaving Carly with her ORS. Returning to the hotel at 11, discussing when we should check out to be at the airport in time for our 6.45pm flight, I noticed with absolute horror that the air ticket said our flight was at 12.15. Panic stations. In a mad dash I ran to reception to ask what time the GMG flight to Dhaka was due to leave. ‘Yes 12.15pm Miss. Don’t rush. Leave now, or in 30 minutes. The plan is always late. No hurry’....fuuuuuuuuuuck.
Ran to the internet cafe to check. Shit. Fuck. Crap. Bollocks. Arse. Yes. 12.15pm. Ran back to the hotel room. Grabbed bags and Carly who was madly chewing down Gastro Stops. Jumped in taxi, tried not to scream at the driver who should ‘bloody fucking step on it buddy!’. Jumped out of taxi, pushed through queues, ran to check in desk. 11.55am. We made it. They let us on. Carly was positively yellow. But she made it. We made it. And now we’re back in Dhaka and its bloody fucking hot and humid. It’s no Nepal, but it’s home and I love it anyway.
Although poorer than Bangladesh, Nepal’s geography makes it a tourist hot spot. Still very much a developing country, westerners are plentiful and, for us at least coming from Bangladesh, the anonymity of that is liberating.
After a total farce arranging visas on arrival (word of warning: take USD with you. We were allowed through to get cash from the one ATM in the airport. It was broken. Leaving blonde girls as collateral, Chris went off in search of an ATM in the city, and a place to convert rupees into USD), we raced to our respective hotels then to New Orleans Cafe where we literally drooled over the menu and wine list. ‘A bottle of your pino noir please sir, quick as you can, it’s an emergency here!’
Giddy with excitement we fell to bed that night with bellies full of salad, crusty bread and red wine. The following morning we met for breakfast. Breakfast that didn’t consist of curry. Rather, real, really bloody good coffee and mushroom toast. Sitting in the courtyard of the bakery, soaking up some early morning sunshine, sipping our coffees, grins from ear to ear, Lyrian spoke what we were all thinking ‘I never, ever want to leave’.
Ready for a full day, we set off, Lonely Planet in hand to do a walking tour around the city, ending in Darbur Square. Blessed by a holy man (and then cursed when we refused to pay him for the ‘service’ we didn’t request) we didn’t quite follow the route, but we did find our way to the Square – although it took some convincing on my part that we were there. I gave up in the end. I think, in hindsight, we were there. But that map was confusing. Anyway, wherever we were, it was nice and had some really old stuff in it ;)
Chris and Lyrian in Kathmandu's Darbur Square
Desperate to cram as many meals into each day as possible, we found a quaint garden restaurant on Freak Street for lunch, then made our way back to Thamel, via the many shops on the way. Quick stop for an afternoon coffee and apple pie, then home to prepare for a night on the town.
Carly and I had time for two cocktails before Lyrian could drag Chris out of the shower and into the bar. Then, on to OR2K – a fantastically fabulous Middle Eastern vego restaurant whose felafels will almost certainly forever be the best I’ve ever had. Two bottles of red, more humus, tahini and felafel than I care to remember later, we stumbled out onto the street. The sound of live music at an upstairs bar beckoned and next thing you know we’re crowded round a sheesha pipe with another bottle of wine.
Carly, Chris and Lyrian at OR2K
Chris, Lyrian and I at the Sheesha Lounge
The next morning didn’t start well for any of us. Taking comfort behind my sunglasses, I sipped my ORS and waited for my greasy fry up to arrive. We hired a driver and decided to see some hotspots outside of the city. First stop: Monkey Temple. Gladly there weren’t too many crazy monkeys running riot and we enjoyed the almost 360 degree views of Kathmandu from the top of the stupa. Next stop: Patan. Just south of Kathmandu Patan has its own Darbur Square, which looked very much like the one in Kathmandu. Next stop: Pashputinpath. This place irked us all before we even got out of the car. Nestled on the river, this is where funeral rites are carried out. Including one while we were there. Creepy. We high-tailed it out of there to Boudna, home to the largest Buddhist stupa in South Asia. We arrived close to sunset and in time to watch monks perform their afternoon ritual (circling the stupa three times, clockwise). We decided to stay to soak up some peace and quiet on the rooftop of a lovely cafe.
The Boudna stupa
That evening, famished, we met at La Dolce Vita for a feast of pasta and, well, steak. Still reeling from the night before we decided to have desert instead of drinks and found a fantastic, darkly-lit cafe that served up cheese cake, apple strudel, a range of mouth-watering deserts.
Lyrian and Chris left Kathmandu early the next morning for Pokara and some serious trekking. Carly and I were also up early to catch our mountain flight along the Himalayas to see Everest up close. Although the flight was delayed an hour and 15 minutes into the flight we were informed there was a ‘door indicator’ problem and that we had to return to the ground, where we waited another hour for a new plane (’10 minutes maximum’), it was a fantastic trip and as close to Everest as I’m likely to get.
The Himalayas
We spent the afternoon shopping. Shopping as though I’d never have the chance again. It was fun. At one shop (where I bought a gorgeous purple skirt that jingles as I walk!) the owner sat us down for Nepali tea and told us a story to explain Hinduism. It was an interesting story, even though it took a good 30 minutes to tell. The moral was that by putting in a little bit of work, rewards will come. But the highlight was his summary. Turning, with all seriousness to Carly, he said “so, because I feel you, I own you. I feeeeeel you.’ Snigger snigger. To Carly’s absolute credit she remained straight faced. But she might have been nervous that he would demonstrate how he feeeeels her...so fair play.
Anyway, that night we went back to the cute darkly-lit cafe to a traditional Nepali meal and rakshi (Nepali rice wine – which tastes like petrol, I imagine). Then we went to find a gig that a bunch of (rather cute) Aussie guys we’d met earlier that day invited us to. Plans for an early night, before our big trek in the morning, evaporated with each beer. Then the sheesha came out and I continued to taste it as debate continued as to whether it was apple or apple and mint, or in fact liquorice (I’m going with apple and mint, but I’d need another puff to be sure...). Sometime after midnight we managed to unentangle ourselves by promising to meet up the following night, post-trek for drinks and dancing.
So the next day, up early we met our guide – Diamond (I managed not to say ‘diamond geezer’ even once!) – and began the drive to Sarku to kick off the 12km trek to Nagarkot. The first 5km were easy, lovely and shady. The next 2km were hellish and hot and steep...they were probably also beautiful but I wouldn’t know, I was engaged in a silent battle about why on earth people trek anywhere when motorized transport is so easily accessible. The last 5km were also steep and rocky...but I’d summoned some inner peace and we were at the top before we knew it. We celebrated conquering the mountain in 2.5hours (more than an hour quicker than usual groups) with a cold beer and buff chilli (chilli buffalo...why the heck not, we thought).
Beautiful Nepali children at a village outside of Nargakot
On the drive back to Kathmandu, Diamond showed us around Bhaktapur – the most ancient city in Nepal. Totally knackered and sunburnt we had a sleep before heading to OR2K for our final dinner in Kathmandu. Carly felt progressively worse over dinner (not even able to have a glass of wine!), so we decided not to brave the thunderstorm to find the Aussie boys, but go home until she felt better, the storm calmed down, or preferably, both. However, I promptly fell asleep (what a party animal) and Carly spent all night running to the bathroom.
The next morning, bright as a button, I went out for my last real coffee and crusty bread breakfast, leaving Carly with her ORS. Returning to the hotel at 11, discussing when we should check out to be at the airport in time for our 6.45pm flight, I noticed with absolute horror that the air ticket said our flight was at 12.15. Panic stations. In a mad dash I ran to reception to ask what time the GMG flight to Dhaka was due to leave. ‘Yes 12.15pm Miss. Don’t rush. Leave now, or in 30 minutes. The plan is always late. No hurry’....fuuuuuuuuuuck.
Ran to the internet cafe to check. Shit. Fuck. Crap. Bollocks. Arse. Yes. 12.15pm. Ran back to the hotel room. Grabbed bags and Carly who was madly chewing down Gastro Stops. Jumped in taxi, tried not to scream at the driver who should ‘bloody fucking step on it buddy!’. Jumped out of taxi, pushed through queues, ran to check in desk. 11.55am. We made it. They let us on. Carly was positively yellow. But she made it. We made it. And now we’re back in Dhaka and its bloody fucking hot and humid. It’s no Nepal, but it’s home and I love it anyway.
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