Back ‘down the hill’ Gammon

Ta da! We’re in Kathmandu with nothing to do, except type to you. Many miles have been covered but mostly backwards/backtracking…

…after sitting for hours writing the last blog, John discovered swelling in his feet. This caused great concern as it had never happened before. The doctors in Australia wanted more tests, while the doctors in India were, as usual, extremely complacent. We went to a ‘good’ hospital for a circulation ultrasound, pre-arranged by Covermore. Once again, Go Covermore! The doctors there (after we arrived) then consulted John’s original doctor. He said the test wasn’t necessary. The other doctors then refused to do it, deferring to His Highness’ wisdom. He then conceded to Covermore’s consulting doctor’s request and wrote a referral. The other doctors still refused to do it. So, even though they hadn’t got anything better to do, and it doesn’t cost them anything, we still had to yell and shout (and John had to threaten a beating with his hockey stick/crutch) in order to even get them to agree to do the procedure. By then we decided that the quality of the care and service had been compromised and were advised by Covermore to leave – they would arrange for it to be done in Jaipur, a larger town, thus bringing the hospital count to six in the last seven months (wouldn’t be a bad average if I was a hitter/batter/striker, or anything to do with scoring goals or attempts on a climb).

We did a boat ride around the largest lake and visited an island hotel for marvelous views. We also toured the city palace, which probably would have been great had we not seen the mighty forts further west previously, and if John hadn’t been struggling with pain and a lack of mobility the whole day. The tour was primarily stairs, up and down, and up to get down and down to get up. But it was a good test and rehab training. But he must have looked great with the hockey stick as so many people were staring at him! John had tried to buy a proper walking stick but each one he tried broke under the smallest of weight, sending him collapsing in excrutiating pain. “I give for free, I give for free,” said the embarrassed stick seller. “But the f-ing thing is broken now – what the hell would I do with it? Actually, I’ve got an idea. COME HERE…” So that ended our search for walking sticks and all the stares that John would come across throughout India, well, he would just have to cop it sweet. Although many times he would be asked – “So, you play hockey?”
“No, I just like carrying this thing around – it makes me look taller.”

We left Udaipur – about a year too late – and headed for Jaipur. Goodbyes were easier due to the circumstances under which we were forced to stay (although the people here were brilliant and wonderful too – especially Dinesh and Francine, owners of the hotel and Anwar, our private rickshaw wallah). We had heaps of help getting on and off the train so luggage handling wasn’t that difficult (it’s amazing what services you can buy for a few rupees), although many concessions had to be made for John’s pain and mobility issues. It’s not so easy to walk along a moving train with only a hockey stick to support you…

So, we had the ultrasound done, though when we arrived at the hospital the doctors didn’t know what test John needed. We were greeted with the usual, “So, what do you need done today?” “Well I was thinking of having a bit off here, and maybe a tuck here and a nip there… WHAT THE HELL do you think I’m here for…? Ultrasound my legs dammit!” A few telephone conversations and a test later and John was given the all clear from a circulation point of view. Tiff had front row seats to the colourful and intriguing, blood-pumping sound and light show (she’s considering a change of profession). All John got was scary woooommmvvvvs, Tiff going ahhhh, ohhhhh… (“What the hell does that mean?!?!?”) and a whole heap of cold lube on his legs. Great. He recommended to the technician that with girls, it’s probably best to warm it up first…

This left us to do the usual sightseeing stuff around Jaipur. Amber Fort, Nahargarh and Jaigarh Fort were all good, yet anticlimactic after Jaisalmer and Jodhpur. We did see the largest wheeled cannon in the world though. That was cool. Yep, it was freakin’ huge. It’s only been fired once as a test and it scared the shit out of everyone so they haven’t fired it again since.

We also spent a lovely, festive evening at a mock Rajasthani village fair - a place called Chokhi Dhani. After having passed through many actual villages, it was great to see one in celebratory mode with traditional dancing, music, sideshow stalls, mazes, slides out of logs, elephant, camel, buffalo and pony-drawn cart rides, a man-powered ferris-wheel (he runs mouse-like through the middle of the frame – classic, only in India), and many other attractions. We were treated to a traditional Rajasthani Thali meal including floor seating and spicy food. John couldn’t sit on the floor, or eat the spicy food. But he ate the desserts and the attendants made the table much higher for him. “What the hell is everyone staring at? Oh, blasted hockey stick…”

We also tried our hand at archery, with Tiff being a better shot (though John disputes this on account of handicap), but John managed to get his very first bruise ever [his skin tone has never allowed bruising to show up] – a huge oval on the inside of his left bicep from the twanging of the bowstring). A traditional Rajasthani bow and arrow, usually fired from horseback… Now, if John tried to combine the two at the same time, you’d definitely have… something horrible.

The morning of our departure our trusty driver didn’t show up (der) and so in a panic we hustled to the train station with Tiff carrying two 20kg bags, and John limping miserably behind carrying his x-rays and MRI scans (“They were heavy alright!?!?”). We arrived in Agra for a whistlestop tour of the Taj Mahal. You’ve all heard about the Taj, you’ve all seen pictures of it, you know what it’s all about so we won’t give you its’ history. Look it up on Google. It was like being in a photograph. A truly wonderful, hassle-filled, security-tight, (mostly Indian) people-thronging experience. John felt a sense of fulfillment, having lived a life-long dream. And the Taj’s history made for a romantic interlude. And we even got to wear little white surgical booties to cover our shoes – thus making this place more sterile than any hospital in India.

Back on a train that same day (who would have known (Tiff didn’t) that carrying two heavy bags a hundred metres down a platform to the correct carriage could hurt your back so much), we continued on to Varanasi to see the mighty Ganges…

…it’s brown, dirty, filled with discarded offerings and human excrement. We had our clothes washed in it. People bathe in it. People drink from it. We didn’t touch it, despite its purported healing properties. Yet regardless of the filth that rises from it, you cannot help but feel its permeating sense of holiness and sacredness. The people of Varanasi have such a close and profound bond with the river that makes the experience religious and holy for everyone, even for passersby. We did the customary sunrise boatride and witnessed the daily ceremonies dedicated to and inherent in the life of the river. We were also privileged (?) to see the burning (cremation) ghats in full operation. Indeed we saw human feet protruding from a lit pyre while the fire tenders stood surprisingly informally around (like Brisbane City Council workers after they’ve just dug a hole). The director of the cremation house jumped aboard our boat and invited us to see the bodies of people about to be burned. We respectfully declined, and asked our boat-rower to paddle on quickly.

The whole experience was stunning. The sun through the haze, the glow on the bodies’ of the bathers, the externally-oblivious devotion of the people to their ceremonies. All created a magic you would not expect in such a polluted environment. And to be a part of the flow of the river was to be a part of the flow of the world’s history. It truly is the mother river. We lit prayer candles as offerings and blessings and hope for healing. We sent out the energies to family and friends and felt that by offering our tokens to the river we were appropriately closing our Indian leg.

We chose a comfortable transport mode into Nepal (flying too expensive and bus too uncomfortable for John’s condition) – by taxi. The border crossing was relatively easy with the Nepali nature shining through almost immediately. Smiles and no-hassles, assistance and initiative, a soft accent and gentle questioning: “Are you Nepali?”

We stayed the night in Bhairawa bordertown, and then taxi-ed on to Kathmandu. Oh what a wonderful city! Well, Thamel at least. Call us soft for rejoicing in modern comforts, but it’s amazing what a dose of good coffee, polite service and clean shops and streets can do for your morale / soul. Not to mention fruit juice and our favourite wine from Australia, and a huge selection of food. Ahh, bacon. John frequently has the trifecta – bacon for breakfast, lunch and dinner. “That would be why I’m so fat… Oh and the horse thing, and the not moving for a month thing.”

Determined to do a trek, we decided to get John checked out at the Nepal equivalent of our Brisbane travel doctor – the CIWEC Clinic. Oh, what a bloody marvelous place!!! John would hurt himself intentionally just to be treated here (…that doesn’t really come across the way we meant it, but you get the idea). Clean, sterile, professional, modern, well-equipped. Neither of us have ever been so happy to be in a doctor’s surgery. And the staff were all Western so that meant small courtesies such as “Sign here please.” (as opposed to thrust paper with no pen and grunt), “The doctor will be with you in a moment so if you’d like to take a seat.” (as opposed to Indian hand wave in no particular direction and grunt) and “This won’t hurt a bit.” (and they mean it).

Real care and professional concern was refreshing, especially when they referred John to see an Orthopaedic Surgeon (as this was not the consulting doctor’s area of expertise – oh, my, god, a doctor willing to admit that they don’t know everything!!!). The Orthopaedic Surgeon (at hospital number eight – my strike rate is now really impressive) was amazing - both in his professionalism and in his personality. A leading doctor in his field, Nepali-born, Western-trained, he set up the spinal care unit and rehab facilities from scratch, and negotiates with government and NGO authorities to establish policies and procedures of a world-standard. He works ridiculously long weeks (basically strung out into years of working non-stop, fulltime), yet, seeing us at the end of another 14 hour day, he was not only professional, pleasant and polite, but genuinely cheery and caring. John finally felt that he was being looked at by someone who knew what they were talking about.

He even told John that he had big balls, well, he actually said big bones (while looking at the x-rays), but John obviously mis-understood – “I was just waiting for somebody professional to confirm that for me...” The doctor had a good laugh. Tiff had a good laugh. John managed to blush.

Spinal cord went into shock, and nerves turned off. No permanent damage but a very long recovery process is needed. If you hadn’t been as strong, it’s very likely that permanent damage would have been sustained. Don’t trek. Not advisable, yet not impossible. Too difficult and too painful. That was the advice. “Sounds like the all-clear to me!” John says. A special moment for John was at the end of the consultation when the doctor shook his hand, looked into his eyes and said: “Don’t trek, that is my advice. But if you do, be careful. I see strength and energy in you. So go with peace and God bless you.” That coming from a man who can earn John’s respect in a matter of minutes (definitely not an easy task), was deeply touching. From a man who obviously has the divine in him and can recognise the divine in others, no matter how covered in detritus it may be…

So, we plan our trek in increments: Originally we wanted to do three weeks to Everest Basecamp and three weeks around the Annapurna Massif. Now we aim for Poon Hill two days walk in (from Naya Pul near Pokhara) and two days out; if everything’s going well then we try for Annapurna Bascamp (10 days round trip); if that’s not possible then we do a seven day circuit compromise. So, for what really went down… dun dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun: *suspense* - email us for the trek diary.

With our remaining days in Kathmandu we are trying to finish long-overdue replies to personal emails and research our next legs. We saw in the Nepali New Year with box seats (i.e. our bedroom window) to the street parade, accompanied by dancing youths, firecrackers and two metre high speakers blaring Hindi-Western fusion tunes. If this was in Brisbane there would be barriers between cars and audience, a police-presence, noone dancing on the back of bikes and utes, no firecrackers (at least not on the street), no brutally-strong spirits distributed freely from sacred-looking brass teapots, and probably a whole lot more thrill-killers.

With our birthdays coming up in November, Xavier (John’s dad) treated us to a ‘Mountain Flight’, passing Everest and a good portion of the Great Himalayan Range. Holy Shit! What a f**cking awesome experience!!! No words can describe it. We saw the mother of all mountains from the cockpit. Do it. It’s great. And you’ll then be speechless yourself (suggestion: perhaps some men would like to send their girlfriends, wives, mothers-in-law on this flight…). Happy Birthday to us. And thankyou soooooooo much Dad/Xavier!!!!

We visited Durbar Square (what a disappointment) and Nepal’s largest Stupa (Boudhanath). This shrine of Buddhist / Hindu mix was really (aside from the mountains) what our naïve, Australian visions of Nepal were. And although this is only a tiny slice of Nepali life, it was beautiful and peaceful and fulfilling. A good way to close our Nepali leg. We’ll be back. Too much left undone here.

We’re flying back to Bangkok via Delhi at the beginning of next week, and after a brief sojourn will be embarking on our Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos stretch.

Last thoughts of India upon reflection: the experience of India…

We hated it. We loved it. It was disgusting, it was beautiful. It was unpredictable. The colours – vibrant; the dirt / pan-spit stains - detracting. The smells - enchanting, intoxicating and nauseating. It was challenging, confronting, life-affirming and life-risking. It caused both despair and inspiration. Magnificent and horrific images blend in the mind.

The people frustratingly blind by national pride to see the shit they are standing in. Blind by personal pride to recognise the shit they are trying to sell. Infuriatingly complex to communicate and understand (but not a language barrier issue). Yet a beautiful, warm and welcoming heart is to be found in each (most) person.

It’s India. It’s a paradox. Don’t try to understand it, don’t try to make sense of it, just feel it and go along with it for the ride and (hopefully) walk away from it so much the richer in heart and soul.

It was a horrible experience. It was a magical experience. It was precisely the experience we were searching for. It was the reason why we became travellers.

First impressions don’t rule here, they only deceive. You must delve far past the surface, scrape all the shit away to find the hidden treasure. And perhaps find something of a treasure in yourself – for having come away from the Indian experience so much the stronger. A lesson learnt, a dream lived, experiences gained, character forged.

Yes, we’ll come back, to be challenged again. There’s a whole other world of India (Southern) to be explored…

Nepali Thoughts and What Not…
*They may be smaller than India but they’re so far ahead in so many ways in terms of world standards.
*Nepal has some of the most beautiful women John has ever seen (excluding the women from Sweden and Canada met on Tonsai). *smack* That was Tiff.
*Nepal has some of the most beautiful women Tiff has ever seen. And the men have nice muscles. *smack, ow, my back!* That was John. “I haven’t been able to work out! Don’t you remember, horseriding…?”
*The mountains are high and yet the people are humble.
*The street sellers are less pushy than in India. The beggars are more aggressive/demanding/insistent/physical.
*They clean the streets here – sweep, collect rubbish and wash them down with soapy water afterwards!!!
*When you look down from the road onto the fields here, people are harvesting, not poo-ing.
*Starting a trek one month after a serious horseriding accident is not a good idea.
*Listening to the Orthopaedic Surgeon is a good idea.
*If you hire a porter-guide, make sure you pack light and bring a map.

Finest moments:
*Smuggling tinned ham (spam) into a vegetarian restaurant, slicing it and putting it on a salad sandwich. Tee hee hee. Hmmm.
*Watching dung beetles dance towards your poo before you’ve even finished going.
*Ma Nepali hoi nai. It silences them straight away.
*Watching the sun rise over the Ganges in a boat with your loved one.
*Watching the sun rise on the Annapurnas from your bedroom window all snuggled up with your loved one in a big fluffy down sleeping bag! :P
*Watching the sun rise on the wings of your plane as you take off heading towards Everest with your loved one.
*Doing anything really with your loved one.
*Learning to walk again.
*Poo-ing on Cosmo. Enough said.
*Realising you’ve seen more penises, bums and boobs in the conservative Indian public environment in three months, than you have in the rest of your life put together.
*Realising that he said you have big bones, not big balls.
*Knowing you have big balls and not needing a professional to tell you so.