Beers and beautiful women all night is never a bad idea until the sun comes shining through the window. Then you pay your tab with a thousand pound headache. I was happy to avoid my check, but Jess woke up with that damned Nepal Sun and dragged me out of bed by my foot. We were late for our last day in Nepal and Jess was not going to let my hangover keep her from the Monkey temple.
Without feeling or sympathy for my poor brain, Jess ordered breakfast up on the roof-top terrace where we could be closer to that bright merciless Sun. Jess ordered eggs, and hash browns. Laxman tried to warn her off them, but she would not be denied. I forget what I ordered. We must have looked like celebrities, Jess as some fabulous Bollywood actress, and me as Charlie Sheen, because we were approached a few times for pictures. I am used to the fame, but Jess was surprised. We ate quickly, pushed our way down the crowded stairs, through our fans, and out to our car. After a quick embrace with Laxman we off to see the Buddhist and Hindu sights of Nepal.
Our internet is not working back here in Delhi so I can’t pretend like I paid attention or learned anything about these sites. So I disclaim any knowledge or insight into these holy sites. Jess tells me that the Monkey temple is “some kind of peace place, or something like that. Maybe they are Holy monkeys”. Indeed. It seemed more like a zoo where the holy monkeys walk around free to steal your food and maybe you cell phone. If you go there peddlers will follow you around offering you singing bowls, flutes and wooden alligators. Also, the monkeys will follow you around pointing and laughing, especially if you are hung-over and sweating to death. We spent some time at the monkey pool trying to get a picture. I waited for a monkey to come close enough to make the picture worthwhile, but it turns out I am actually afraid of those things and so I ran away. The monkeys had some sort of domestic dispute that was actually quite scary. They are weird things. Jess thinks they were fighting over her. (Doubt it.) We couldn’t stay long because we had a flight to catch and two more sites to see.
We went to the Boudhanath Stupa. Again, I cannot tell you much except that the Sun was hot. Jess and I climbed up onto the stupa – maybe “statue” in Nepalese? - and took some pictures. It was round, big and hot. We were literally frying so we decided to get lunch at a deserted Japanese restaurant. Fortune favors the bold, and Fortuna rewarded us with the coldest cokes and best Miso soup we have ever had. Yum. I wish I could eat it again right now. After lunch we looked at jewelry – blah – and some singing bowls. Jess bought a few blue bracelets. Sun burned and sad to that our sand was running out, we left Boudhanath for Pashupatinath Temple.
It is called the “holy area”. It looked like a holey area. We were short on time and so we had to run through the sites. We ran by the peddlers and they ran after us. One woman followed Jess around the entire time in the temple asking her to purchase ugly jewelry. I finally got firm with her that she was not interested. It was the first time I have had to raise my voice over here. The holy area was odd. Only those born in Nepal or India are considered Hindu by the temple authorities, and all others are not allowed to enter the temple premises We snapped our pictures and looked at the temple from the river bank.
A crowd had gathered on the bridges overlooking Bagmati River, a tributary to the Holy Ganges River. They were looking at nothing, or so it seemed. We often take it for granted that we can speak freely in English if we talk fast and use our thesaurus. And so were talking about the weird gathering of people staring at the dirty holler below when a young man of fourteen started to tell us what we were looking at, and why we were being jerks. Suryabas told us that we were watching the incineration of a rich man who recently passed at the hospice home located on-site because before an elder dies the Hindus believe they should spend their last days in the holiest of places. We employed him as our guide and he explained the process of purifying the man before he is burned up. He explained the cremation for a poor person cost 5,000r, and is done on the other side of the bridge. The cremation for a rich person costs 10,000r, and 25,000r for a person with official status. The difference in prices accounts for the different types of wood used for the fire. First, the person is washed in the holy water. Water is poured in his mouth and on his feet by his relatives. Then, they take his cloths, throw them in the river, lay him on wooden blocks and set him on fire. If it is the father, the eldest son starts the fire, and if it is the mother, the youngest son. He informed about 40 cremations are performed at the river per day. We soon realized Suryabas was a very intelligent young boy, who split his time between school and hanging out at the temple to further his education. He told us he wanted to be a doctor and we told him his chances seemed high and to keep studying. I was so struck by his intelligence and gregariousness that I asked a million questions just to see if he could answer them smartly. He showed us caves carved out of the cliff side built by college students who wanted to devote their time to religious study and meditation. He explained a series of painted murals portraying many of the different Hindu gods, painted by an Italian woman. He pointed out the Holy Men, who spend their lives at the temple, eating and sleeping there, devoting themselves to Hindu. They had their entire faces painted in red, white, and orange, their hair was in dreadlocks and you could snap a picture with them for a small fee, we opted out. Our time was up though, and we had to go to the airport. Last I saw of the cremation service was the man covered in grass and on fire.
We made it to the airport in no time. We got through customs and security in no time. We got on the plane in no time and then we sat there for three hours. That mean sun finally set and our captain said our flight had been canceled. A hole in the runway had caused the delay, and Indian regulations denying one-eyed pilots the ability to fly at night had canceled our flight after sun down. Now the circus starts.
We woke up at 6am because that is when Spice Jet said the busses were coming to get us. They must have meant 8 am because that is when the busses came. At the airport, again, we made it through without issue. Back on the plane, again, things seemed promising. After a half an hour, passengers, all of them men, began to shout and congregate around the cockpit. We could not hear exactly what was said, but it was very tense. Jess and I commented to each other that if what was happening on the plane, happened in the U.S., someone would be deplaned without the aid of their arms or legs. Quickly the men broke their angry huddle and marched back to their seats triumphant fools. The plane was moving. And there was no shortage of credit due those imbeciles. One fool sat right in front of Jess and I and was applauded as a hero for his rude treatment of the flight crew. When he asked us to sign his letter of complaint written in crayon, Jess and I turned our noses up and motioned “be gone” with our left hands. We do not suffer fools.
Our trip to Nepal was really fun. Both of us want to go back and consider this closing a sincere invitation to any reader who wants to come back with us. The people are nice in their way, shopping is cheap, the food is relatively safe, and the scenery is amazing. Our pictures are poor representations to what Nepal looks like to the naked eye. It feels like a wild place, but just enough to be interesting without being too scary. We are very glad we went and managed to avoid getting sick, despite a forewarning.
wow that sounds crazy, fun, and amazing all at once...I would love to go there someday! Danielle Roland
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