The Road Home

 'One cannot plan for the unexpected' - Aaron Klug

Kathmandu the second time around was just as intoxicating as the first.  This time, I didn’t go in search of new things to do, I simply followed up on things I had wanted to do at a more leisurely pace and caught up with bits and pieces, including the blogs and communicating with back home.

I stayed at Hotel Buddha again, which was undoubtedly the right choice.  I love this hotel!  

Whilst in Bhotang you may remember, I was invited to a wedding during my time back in Kathmandu.  I also wanted to catch up with Bablu and so I kept my three days there pretty flexible.  Bablu and I did meet up and I went back to the Art School.  I bought his Mandala painting and with any luck, it should be winging its way directly back home to the UK as I write this (actually I am a little behind schedule - it has since arrived).  His shoe shining is going pretty well, and he had done a varying number of ‘shines’ on different days (averaging 8).  Sadly, it rained for three of the days I was there so business was a bit slack during that time.  I will miss him and his family. 

The wedding was absolutely the highlight of my time back in Kathmandu.  What a fabulous, colourful, interesting and ultimately, fun, day.  The story of how I came to be at the wedding is quite a long one and my complete state of (naïve) confusion only added to the miraculous meeting.  It starts with a Nepali family whose children attend the British School of Ulaanbaatar.  In my second year there, Raj started pre-school and his sister started Class 2.  Raj moved into the other Reception class to me in my final year.  Raj and Rajani’s Grandmother was visiting Mongolia over Christmas 2018 and, during their time there, through mutual friends in UB, they realised I would be in Kathmandu over the weekend of a family wedding in Kathmandu.  Given my extremely bad phone reception in Bhotang, it was pretty impressive that we managed to make contact.  But, connect we did.  For my part, I wasn’t, to begin with, sure if I was messaging Raj’s Mum and, in truth, up to the day I arrived back in Kathmandu, I thought the whole family would come over from Mongolia to attend the wedding.  It wasn’t until, with more reliable connection, I began to realise that perhaps I was messaging with Sarita (Raj’s Grandmother) who I had never met.  Anyway, the day of the wedding dawned, and I dutifully took a taxi to the place I had been asked to meet – outside a children’s hospital.  That, in itself, caused confusion with the hotel staff as they could not work out why I was going to a children’s hospital for a wedding when they booked my cab.  However, not long after arriving and standing outside said hospital, I heard a band and shortly after Sarita introduced herself and walked me to an adjacent street.  Coming up the street was a small procession, with the band at the front and what was clearly a groom with his entourage, followed by a group of family members.  I joined the procession and we gradually made our way to a small shrine where the groom prayed, left offerings and circled the shrine for blessings on his wedding day.

(Joining the procession)

(Visiting the shrine)

(Band arriving at the venue)

(Guests entering the venue)

Once he had finished, he climbed into a car (decorated with marigolds and flowers and the initials of the couple) and the rest of us climbed aboard a bus.  We drove for a little way and then disembarked and processed through a couple more streets to the wedding venue.  It was a big hall, with outside and covered space, decorated with flowers.  Inside, the absolute centrepiece was a small gazebo, which had marigolds hanging from it, garlands of flowers and many different foods and offerings laid beneath it.  It really was quite a beautiful thing.

(The gazebo, with marigolds and flowers hung down and offerings of all kinds underneath)

The groom was celebrated by his Grandfather who sprinkled holy water on him and circled him three times.  I had been given a tray of food (doughnut like baked goods) and others had trays of fruit and other delicious looking things.  We put them under the gazebo as we arrived and then watched as the bride arrived.  It was a very understated arrival and many people were sitting chatting or eating in another part of the hall.  The bride conducted the same small celebration as the Grandfather had and then the bride and groom took their seats.  As I understood it, the ceremony I was attending was hosted by the groom’s family and it is on this day that he is the centre of attention – ‘treated as a King’ were the exact words said to me.  The bride’s family would be hosting a big party, focusing mainly on food and drink two days later.  This day was all about the actual marriage. 






(Grandfather celebrates his Grandson, circling him)

Soon after the bride and groom had taken their seats, the man conducting the ceremony, who had been sitting under the gazebo, conducted the ring swopping ceremony.  Again, many people were present, but eating or sitting in their own groups.  This was how it was for the majority of the day.  But the good thing was, it enabled me to witness as much of the ceremony as I wanted with a pretty uninterrupted view.   After the couple had swapped rings, both had their feet washed and cleaned by the family of the bride.  Various members of her family, both close and distant, bathed the feet of both the bride and groom.   During the washing of the feet, which the bride conducts on the groom first, the people also wash their own hands and sometimes face with the water.  They also symbolically ‘drink’ some of the water.  I understand this both represents the importance of the groom and the couple and, I think, the reverence being shown towards them.  This part of the ceremony lasted a little while as quite a few members of the family conducted the ceremony, from Grandmother to, I guess, nephews and nieces.

(Bride and Groom)

(Ring ceremony)

(Preparations for the foot washing ceremony)

(Lots of hand washing)

(Fire underneath the gazebo)

(An imposter!)

Whilst part of the foot wishing ceremony was being held, the band (who had been playing in the background) suddenly got louder and people began to get up and dance.  I was ushered on to the dance floor – no, seriously, I was!  No one there knew how much I love a dance floor.  They soon found out.  Much dancing ensued and it struck me how we all seemed to be enjoying the festivities around the bride and groom who were quietly continuing with the ceremony and formal parts of the day.  To be fair, they were busy for the entirety of the day.  Only once, during a short break did the groom get an opportunity to join his University friends and others on the dance floor.  It was an enthusiastic few minutes with everyone wanting their few seconds to dance with him.  As the groom left, the dancing continued, and after a few more minutes, I was then taken to another part of the hall for food.

The food was delicious.  Rice, dal, beautiful spicy vegetables, meat, pickles…a real colourful treat and piping hot.  There was plenty too.  Lots of food. 

After eating, I went back to the gazebo to find the bride and groom had moved from their seats to the floor at one edge of the gazebo.  I should say that we had been at the venue for the best part of three and a half hours and, other than the short period of dancing, the bride and groom had been engaged in different aspects of the wedding ceremony for almost the entire time.  I found them listening to the man conducting the ceremony and feeding each other with different foods from the offerings.  I was trying hard to listen to everything that was translated for me, but there was so much to take in.  It seemed like there was an element of ‘Harvest Festival’ to the ceremony as the offerings are there to bless the bride and groom with heathy and full lives.  They throw different foods – rice, biscuit etc – into the small fire that was constantly burning in the centre of the gazebo and recite things that the man was saying. 

There was a seriousness to the ceremony and all that was happening, but also a relaxed atmosphere with much eating, dancing and fun going on around the bride and groom.  It was very intimate and a great honour for me to be there.  At different times people I had met on the dance floor or whilst eating came up to chat or to tell me something that was going on.  I have to be honest, it was a completely different experience from that in Bhotang where, despite a few different ceremonies that happened in the village, people did not volunteer information or seem to be very keen to explain anything to me.  Yet, it was still clear that the people in Kathmandu venturing forward to tell me things, were still very wary of their English and often sought me out when I was alone and not with others (just as I often did when trying to speak Nepali).  Of course, as always, it was the children whose confidence outshone all of us.  Four of them (studying between Class 3 and 5) cornered me as we watched a group of locals playing football on the pitch next door to the venue.  They asked me all the usual questions and were as surprised as anyone when I asked them the same questions, but in Nepali, to find out more about them.  At least three or four adults asked if the children were bothering me.  I had to laugh.  On the contrary, it was a great opportunity to practise the language and engage in chit chat without the self-consciousness felt when engaging with adults.  It was yet another highlight of a day that was perfection.

When I returned to the ceremony, the bride and groom were still on the floor at the edge of the gazebo.  They were slowly getting up and proceeded to walk around the gazebo three times in a clockwise direction.  After they returned to their cushions, the ‘bridesmaid’ (there was a man and a woman who accompanied the groom and bride respectively almost the entire time), lifted a long white sheet, folded it length ways and then rolled the end and held it against the bride’s forehead.  I have to confess I have forgotten the name of this particular part of the ceremony, but it signals the moment that the bride takes the name of her husband.  The other end of the long white sheet is tied around the neck of a brass jug filled with holy water and the herbs that I have spoken about in previous blogs.  The groom proceeds to sprinkle an orangey colour tikka powder up and down the white sheet from the bride’s forehead to the jug and back again three times.  He then puts a little on her forehead.  At this point a small highly decorated slither of materials is clipped into the bride’s hair, falling onto her forehead.  Soon after this moment, the bride and groom moved to two ‘throne’ chairs that were close to the entrance of the venue.  They sat for a moment and then the photographs started in earnest. 

Lots of people had left over the previous one hour or so, not long after the part of the ceremony with the white sheet, but everyone that was left all had photographs with the bride and groom.  It was a lovely end to what must have been an exhausting day for them.  It was a really full on day for both of them, but it was also such an incredible day filled with many significant acts of honour, blessing and unity.

Having met the procession at about 11am, I left the wedding party at about 5.30pm.  As the hotel was only a 45-minute walk away, I walked back through the local streets of Kathmandu, thinking all about the things I had seen and trying very hard to remember the significance of each of the things I saw.  Sarita and her family had ensured that I was very well looked after and experienced as much of a traditional Nepali wedding as I could.  It was a great honour to be so warmly included in such a personal and intimate occasion.

I met up with Sarita the following day for coffee and to chat about the wedding, checking some of the above information – and also promptly forgetting elements too.  I have taken to carrying a notebook for fear of forgetting things for my blogs.  Sarita bought me a surprise back from Mongolia.  A bottle of my favourite Chinggis Black Vodka and sweets from two of my friends from the British School.  Not bad at all, not bad at all.  I even managed to transfer them back to India with me – safely wrapped in the bottom of one of the rucksacks.

And therein lies another fantastic story.  OK, it was fantastic for me.  Having negotiated the treacherous journey from Bhotang to Kathmandu by bus, I decided I’d see if I could travel back to Kalimpong on just local transport.  Saying goodbye to the Buddha hotel was, in itself, pretty ceremonious.  I was given a scarf by the staff on Reception and wished a safe journey.  They were all very concerned about my welfare and my travel arrangements, but they needn’t have been.  I am not sure many foreign people travel the land border route between Nepal and West Bengal or that is certainly the impression I get.  So……all packed, I left the hotel and travelled by taxi to a part of Kathmandu we won’t dwell on for too long.  Asked to sit in a corridor, I watched the road outside for signs of my bus.  It was no bus station, just a little office in amongst a whole parade of shops in a dusty part of town.  I was, of course, totally alone in my ethnicity, which drew quite a bit of attention.  But I have to say, it was all positive with lots of smiles and a couple of inquiring questions - “What are you doing?” or “Where are you going?”

Suddenly, having been told I would be called, three men came running over shouting “Come, come” and so, of course, I blithely followed.  To be fair, the man at the office counter did appear to look up and seem fairly confident I was going with the right people.  A bus was driving down the middle lane of a three-lane road, very slowly and people were crossing the first lane to get on-board.  Other vehicles were passing in lanes one and three.  You guessed it, that was my bus too.  Bearing in mind I had my huge rucksack on my back and my smaller on my front, I jogged as best I could, made my way into the road and, walking sideways waited for the person in front of me to board the bus.  Surrounding me were about ten to twenty people all shouting about something, anything…I had no idea, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t directed at me.  A minor moment of terror passed quickly as a bus in lane one caught the side of my rucksack and swung me round just as I put my first foot on the first step of my bus – all the while my bus is creeping forward.  A couple of people, one man I would later realise was our ‘conductor’, grabbed my arms and pushed me on to the bus.  The conductor followed me and ushered me my seat.  I plonked myself down and surveyed my surroundings.  Not bad I thought, not bad!  It wasn’t the ‘luxury’ had I been informed it would be and it was nothing like the picture, which was sort of National Express like, but it was comfortable.  My Dad later informed me he thought the bus looked great in the picture.  I messaged him back to say I had taken it from a good angle, purposely avoiding the holes, one of which was right by my right leg as we journeyed on – that would have been the ‘air-con’ they advertised!.  To be honest, I could not have been happier.  It sounds poetic, ridiculous perhaps.  But I was so looking forward to getting back to Kalimpong and, after my journey from Bhotang, I was so pleased to be travelling as a local. 

We journeyed west to begin with.  Basically, west is the opposite direction to the one we needed to go in, but as far as I can work out, the bus could only go on the better roads, which wound their way through valleys, between the mountains, keeping as low and flat as possible.  On my way to Kathmandu I had travelled in a mini-van which could traverse the more direct roads that scaled the mountains between Kakabhitta and Kathmandu.  The roads I was travelling on during my return journey were wider, had road markings and were so much busier.  They were full of lorries, buses and every manner of vehicles.  Very to different to my outgoing journey.

As we wound our way west the sun began to set, and it was the only time in the journey I began to get slightly nervous that I had boarded the wrong bus.  We went west for three hours, before we finally turned south.  From there I knew the next big town we went through, we’d turn left again and would then be heading in an easterly direction, miles south of Kathmandu and the mountains.  We stopped for dinner at a typical road side café, one of hundreds that you might find along the route from Kakabhitta to Kathmandu.  Eating local ‘Dal Bhat’ had become second nature.  It is fairly simple, always fresh and spicy and, usually delicious in my experience.  I was lucky yet again.  Whilst the café took a while to locate a spoon for me to eat with…I still have not quite mastered eating with my fingers despite several attempts…once it arrived the food was, again, fab! 

The journey was pretty smooth except for one very long section that had, what might be termed ‘rumble strips’ every so often.  Nepali rumble strips consist of 5 x five inch wide sections of the road cut out across the width of the road.  It is a bit like driving over a cattle grid, only not slowly!  Quite the bone shattering experience for a while, but not for long and then things began to settle down.  The chair I was in reclined pretty far back and I was able to get quite a bit of sleep.  The bus was three quarters full but was very quiet and except for the occasional pit stop, the coach moved through the night.

On waking, I recognised the familiar flatness of the plains we had passed on the way into Nepal and, from the time, realised we weren’t so far from the boarder.  The sun was rising in the east through the dust and pollution mixture that hung heavy in the air at that time of morning.

Sure enough, after a little while, the bus pulled into the huge bus park I recognised from when I left Kakabhitta almost 5 weeks earlier.  I walked back to the hotel I had stayed at (the one also used by the PM of Nepal you may remember) and ordered breakfast.  Then, at approximately 8.00am I exited Nepal through immigration control and walked back over the bridge to India.  The smog was so thick I couldn’t see India to begin with, but soon enough it began to become clearer through the thickness.

With a working visa in my passport I was ushered through security with no check of my bags and then left to walk on to the immigration control building myself.  All a very painless experience.  As was boarding the local bus to Siliguri, from where I would get a shared jeep to Kalimpong.  The bus was a little like the one from Bhotang and my knees were rammed against the seat in front for the entire journey.  The bus was packed, but not a chicken in sight – I was a little disappointed if the truth been told.  Having been on a previous bus with a goat on the roof, I thought carrying a chicken was the least someone could do for me.  It cost me 100 rupees to travel the 30 minutes on that bus. 

Arriving in Siliguri, I had my only other moment of doubt, just for a second.  Having been dropped at the jeep stand, I realised that it was the jeep stand for Darjeeling and Gangtok, not Kalimpong.  In a slightly different direction out of Siliguri the Kalimpong jeeps were a short tuk-tuk ride away.  Take me away!  My first ride in an India tuk tuk and a short 5 minutes (and a comparatively expensive 140 rupees) later, I arrived at the stand for jeeps to Kalimpong.  Tremendous.  The final leg.

I arrived back in Kalimpong at approximately 1p.m the day after I had started my journey.  725 km of travel, over 21 hours, using bus, tuk-tuk and jeep had cost me less than £17.00.  I had managed to sleep (something I never do on planes) and I had experienced small Nepal communities that seemed to still be alive and kicking at 0300hrs.  No one spoke to me much, but I never once felt unwelcome or un-looked after.  At one point on my overnight journey, I had suddenly realised my rucksack was missing.  Panicked slightly the conductor and I managed a ‘mime talk’ where he was able to tell me he had put the rucksack in the luggage compartment – obviously at the previous pit stop as the bus began to fill up. 

  


  
(The last of the 12 seats, way in the back, is, without doubt, the worst place to sit ;op)

I am becoming only too aware that there will be no end to these experiences and that my life is full of the kind of privilege that only comes from trying hard to embrace the people I find myself in the company of and doing my utmost to take the positive from as many of the situations. 

Safely back in Kalimpong, it was time to begin catching up with the people I have come to count as friends.  Colleagues, peers, homestay family members, how ever we met, I was thrilled to be back and impatient to catch up.  On that note, I will finish, and WE can catch up in the next blog.

Namaste