As the Mind Flies ... a poem by Alun Buffry, Pokhara, Nepal 1985

 

Conclusion: Taken from Back to the EAST: INDIA, NEPAL, KASHMIR by ALUN BUFFRY

 TAKEN FROM BACK TO THE EAST: INDIA, NEPAL, KASHMIR - Alun Buffry

 https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1916310796/ref=nosim?tag=webbooks05

CONCLUSION

I have made three trips to India. The first, pretty much out of the blue because when we left the UK we had intended to travel only as far a Turkey, in a van. There were four of us. None of us had very much money. I had left UK with just about £60, three weeks wages in those days. By the time we reached Antalya, in Turkey on the southern coast, I had just £20 left. We slept either in the van or in a tent until we reached Istanbul, where we rented cheap rooms. After that, we slept in Turkey in the open. From Turkey Keith and I took a boat eastwards, intending to travel to Beirut then back to Istanbul to meet up again with the others. On the boat, however, we were advised not to go to Beirut, so instead hitch-hiked across Syria into Iraq and on the Baghdad, then on by bus to Tehran. Then we headed east across Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan and into India. The main problem for me was lack of money, so not being able to eat the food I should have been eating and staying in cheap and often dirty hotels. I ran out of money in Kabul, a dirty city but cheap and friendly. I sold a few items such as shirts and a compass and met a wealthy German guy called Helmutt, who helped us get to India, by plane from Lahore to Amritsar, one of the first passenger planes after the end of the Pakistan-India war. In Amritsar, we stayed for free at The golden Temple and I hitched a truck ride to Delhi.

I struggled on very little money, receiving just a few pounds in mail from the UK. Keith went on alone to Nepal. I became ill and spend a week in hospital (free) in Delhi, suffering from dysentery and hepatitis. I tried to travel back overland to the UK but became ill again and again, being hospitalised in Kabul and Tehran, from where I had to take a flight back to London, which my parents paid for. I was 22-years-old. Looking back, it’s easy to say I should have had more sense.

Yet looking back, it was a pretty dumb thing to do, although very educational and an experience that I valued. But it was hard work in the east, with such different people, customs, lifestyles, religions, languages, foodstuff, politics and the divisions of wealth and poverty.

That was a disastrous trip, not only did I and Keith became ill, but after we left Turkey my good friend John Sullivan was killed when the van crashed in Antalya; the other passenger, Mike, was seriously hurt, broken leg, broken ribs and bang on the head. I did not even find out what had happened until I was back in Kabul, months later, and by chance met somebody that I knew from Norwich, Pete Roscoe, who was on his way to India.

From the moment we had left the UK, everywhere we went, we managed to buy hash, in every country we passed through with the exceptions of Iraq and Iran. In Iran, we actually stayed on an opium farm run by a licensed farmer who also supplied it illegally. He was also the village policeman.

That tail is told in my book “All About My Hat The Hippy Trail, 1972”

What did I learn?

The variety of people in our world.
The generosity and care we received from people with so little.
That I had people that I could call on to help when all else failed.
To travel with enough money to get one through and get one home safely.
To take more care of health regarding hygiene and diet.

So my next trips to India, both by plane, recorded in this book, were 1981 and 1985.

By this time many places had already changed in respect of politics and freedom, and it was not so possible to travel overland.

1981 was a two week holiday. 1985 was a two month journey.

At both times I had more money, enough as I thought, being older and wiser, as I thought. Yet in both cases we spent our money faster than we had anticipated and had to write home for more.

Of course another problem that was easy to have forgotten, was that contact with family and friends back in the UK was not instant and easy. A phone call had to be booked a week in advance and one had to hope that the call would be answered. Otherwise, it meant booking another call. Also in those days not everyone in the UK had a phone in their house and nobody had a mobile (cell) phone.

We were lucky to have booked the holidays through travel companies that were able to help us out.

So I reiterate my advice, make sure one has enough funds and remember, cash and bankers cards can be lost or stolen (as can possessions and passports).

Delhi and Agra, had changed noticeably since 1972 since I had visited those cities.

They were more populated with more traffic, more noise, more dirt and more beggars and hasslers on the streets. Also more “richer” tourists. Kashmir was attracting people with money, staying on houseboats, often isolated and even protected from the people and poverty on the streets. Corruption, baksheesh, favouritism and bureaucracy were all more common – you will have read about our problems getting seated on planes that had been overbooked.

One of the favourite sayings of many people was “no problem”. Either they did not see a problem, did not see it as important or simply did not care. Yet paying baksheesh in advance would often avoid those problems. ‘Jimmy’, on the houseboat in Kashmir in 1985 never did post the letter that he had promised to post; that cost me a sitar.

Many Indians won’t say that they don’t know; instead they tell one what they think. An example was when we were told that our funds were at abank when they were not and had not even been sent.

I certainly would not advise anyone to drive a vehicle in India. The rule of the road everywhere was “Might is Right”. Walkers and people with carts pulled by animals got out of the way of cars, which got out of the way of buses, which got out of the way of trucks. Everyone was listening out for the loudest horns approaching them. Everyone in the cities seemed to drive using their horns more than indicators. Of course walkers and those with animal-pulled carts had no horns.

At one point in this book, you will see a photo taken from a rickshaw on a road in Delhi; you can see pedestrians, bicycles, rickshaws, cars, buses, trucks and even an elephant.

Of course food is another problem: you may have heard of “Delhi belly”.

The difference between western and India food and water, the way in which so much ghee is used, often the lack of hygiene, that does not cause serious problems for locals, almost inevitably causes some problems for westerners on short holidays. Often these problems are short-lived, being simply a matter of adjusting, but one does not want or need to spend a few days feeling ill especially on a short trip.

At all times, one needs to be aware of thieves and conmen on the streets. People, bot men and women, that will simply want to take advantage of you.

There are those that will simply try to pick your pocket or steal your bag; there are those that ask for money and won’t take no for an answer; there are those that will tell lies and try to mislead you for their own advantage; there are those that say they just want to practice their English and end up taking you to a shop where, albeit they are friendly and often the craftsmanship is fine. That includes foreigners as well as locals.

Of course those people are in the minority, thankfully, and the majority will be friendly and helpful or simply stand and stare. One certainly has to become used to people staring. Also some people don’t want their photographs taken and will ask for money or become very angry, whilst others will ask you to take a photograph of them with or without you.

The gap between wealth and poverty is sometimes atrocious and sickening. One can do nothing about it. In Delhi we made a quick visit to a five star hotel. Inside was spotless and elegant and a cup of tea cost about £5. Right outside the guarded gates that led to the garden from the street, was a tiny chai stall where a cup cost pennies and the street was littered with rubbish and rubble. One sees street food stalls selling hot and cold dished whilst donkey-pulled carts trundle by in the dust, dropping their crap as they go. Many people are unaware of hygiene or unable to do anything about it. Certainly it is essential to ensure that even bottled water ins restaurants is actually bottled water and not just from the tap, or to use purification tablets.

But all that in India. That is part of the experience. But just as it is wise to wear a safety helmet on a building site anywhere, one needs to take care and precautions.

April 19 - 22, 1985: Pokhara and back to Kathmandu

  Taken from Back to the East, India, Nepal, Kashmir  

19^th April

This day we took a shaky meccano bus to another Post Office near Mahandra Pool and started to walk to the bazaar but it was of no interest to us so we took the bus back to the lakeside and had lunch, vegetable dopiaza for me and buffalo cutlet for Lesley, at the Hotel Snowland. We scored some weed on the way back to our hotel. Thunder just as we arrived. There was no clear view of the Annapurna mountain range or the Fishtail. There were no bicycle rickshaws in Pokhara.

20^th April

Today we took the bus back to Kathmandu; we both enjoyed Pokhara and would like to come back here one day, but that happens to many placed I visit, especially after leaving! The bus seemed quite cramped at times but we had some great views again.

So we arrived back at the Hotel Eden, where we stayed before. We have a problem with the taps that are hard to turn and the toilet won’t flush so we are having to pour down water from a bucket from the bath. The bath had no plug. The radio had only one station.

We are in a different room, now with a view of Bhimsen tower in all its glory

21^st April

A horrible day, we both felt dreadful and just wanted to sleep all day. Maybe it’s the altitude. It’s 4600 feet above sea level, about the same as Ben Nevis. We did manage to get down to Freak Street to the Magic Apple, for dinner of sweet and sour chicken.

 Lesley dropped the lid off the cistern trying to get it to flush and it broke on the floor. This room was not as good as the other one. It had holes in the windows! Opposite us was a room with some noisy and dodgy-looking guys, so all in all, we were both feeling irritated. We were also fed up with street hasslers trying to change money or sell drugs including heroin.

The national newspaper here in English was The Rising Nepal. It was six sides of news from around the world including news of dawn raids by the Indian Army at he Golden Temple in Amritsar, a very beautiful place that I visited and stayed at in 1972. Also explosions in Brussels and other pieces about Ronald Regan, lepers in Nepal and quotes from King Birenda (Benda) telling people to do well. Also people have been arrested for drugs in Pokhara. There was also a shortage of drinking water in Pokhara, a facelift had been ordered for the Krishna Temple in Durbar Square. A Dutchman at the airport had been arrested with two kilos of hashish. The world goes on while we are away, far from most of it but then still close.

22^nd April

Still felt weak. We had breakfast at a place called Mom’s, muesli, mango juice and tea. Then we wandered up to the nearby supermarket which was in reality a row of shops and a three-storey building with more shops. So back in the hotel still feeling bad but a cup of chai and a chillum helped.

The Sikh guy Mavneet Singh reappeared at the hotel. He said he was back to continue his gambling investments at a casino, this time for a week. He never seemed to smile, even though he was quite pleasant and friendly.

We were offered some good quality jump suits made from cotton and Lesley asked if they could be altered to include a zip and a pocket. We ordered about a dozen, they were very cheap, so Lesley went off to collect them and she was well pleased. I will sell them back in Norwich.

The Window Sights

Outside is a cloudy sky but a bright sun in between,

a slight breeze,

chanting and elsewhere a cacophony,

occasionally a few notes as if from a flute,

bells and horns,

clattering (no two horns seem to sound the same),

a motor engine that sounds like a tractor but is probably a bus.

Beep beep!

When I look out of the window, I see Bimsen Tower,

white against a patch of blue sky,

rooftops, the tops of temples in the Square,

washing laid out flat to dry on flat roofs,

some pigeons and crows,

several people attending potted plants and below,

a bicycle rickshaw,

a man with a bundle of wood on his back

a cockerel crows

a motorbike passes by,

two men are trying to move a fridge,

a young girl sitting staring into space, maybe she is meditating,

a child gleefully rolling a rubber wheel amongst the rubble

whilst others look on in admiration,

another dog barking, another tempo,

two boys walking hand in hand,

a solitary goat.

Another cock crows among his hens.

Bells from the distance.

There is Bimsen Tower again, the Monkey Temple like a place on the hill.

Shame about the dusty haze.

I had been reading Paul Scott’s book, Staying on, which I had just finished.

It was a good read. He builds up Tusker to a character we feel we know and then we lose him when he dies and his wife suffers with sadness and fright at being alone in India, until the end which comes as a shock, but hammers home the common situations people can fall into. All after a lifetime togetherness even with all the personal differences and likes and dislikes, fondness and hatred, fears and passions for ones partner; suddenly one must be terribly alone. Alone, we seem to me to be constantly trying to build bridges, to dream that we can reach a common knowledge and awareness of each other so we are not alone like the islands that they say we may be. We so often want to be a part of somebody else, intermingled, so our differences can be overlooked, whether that was good or bad, each to see oneself in the other. That can be and usually was hard work but if tackled bravely and with passion, can be rewarding, for a while. Be alone but be not afraid to be with others. Til death us do part.

April 12, 13, 14 1985: Nepalese New Year in Kathmandu

 Taken from Back to the East, India, Nepal, Kashmir  

 

12^th April

We were told that it was now Nepalese New Years Eve. We did not walk far, feeling a bit queasy, maybe due to altitude.

Looking for New Year

by

Alun Buffry

Kathmandu: morning mist, disappears, mountain view...

Clouds spreading, sun shines, sky turns seamless blue.

Magic palace on the hill, silver morning light,

As the haze clears away, giving city sights.

Street below slowly wakes, dogs with horns and bells

All the homeless people there, washing at the wells.

Today is Nepalese New Year, should be celebrations,

Where they are is not too clear, to our mild frustration.

 

Maybe dancing in the street, or are there parades?

No-one here seems able to tell, where New Year's Day is made.

Life goes on as usual, everywhere you glance,

New Year doesn't seem like here, the spirit to enhance.

Where would we go in England,

If New Year we were there?

Down a pub or round a house

Or down Trafalgar Square?

 

I guess that from outside, it'd look all much the same,

Like we don't celebrate New Year, they'd think it was a shame.

So maybe here in Nepal, because I cannot see,

There's celebrations all around, invisible to me.

13^th April

New Years Day in Nepal.

The Sikh guy, Navneet Singh, who we met at the hotel roof last night, let us use his taxi for free, so we visited Daxinkali, about a 45 minute drive away.

The drive there had some great views through the Chobar Gorge. Legend says that the valley was once a lake and once the god Manjushree, the god of wisdom, struck a rock with his sword and water came out, sweeping away all the snakes. But the snake king, Karkotak, who lived here was now in a nearby pond called Taudaha Balaju, in a small park with flowers and ponds with black fish and water spouts.

Inside was also the small image of a Sleeping Vishnu which the King of Nepal was allowed to see whenever he wants, and a small temple flanked by Hindu temples dedicated to Ganeesh and Buddha, with a Shiva lingam

Here was the temple to the goddess Kali and every Saturday, like today, there was a scene of the devotional slaughter of goats and chickens, with pools of blood; they are killed in the temple and washed in the dirty water outside, then taken for a feast. There was a long line of people queuing to kill.

There was a larger Sleeping Vishnu at Budhanilkantha, where he was laying on a bed of snakes. It was said he sleeps for four months each year, separating the monsoon season. Legend said that a farmer, whilst tilling his land, struck the stone below and blood came out. Every morning there was prayer and devotional rituals involving rice, vegetables and money and even a bottle of sauce. The King of Nepal himself was said to be an incarnation of Shiva and not allowed to see this place. Strangely it felt like Holy ground, more than any of the other temples.

By 1 PM we were back in Kathmandu eating egg and chips.

We found out that the palace on the hill was actually a Buddhist temple at Swayambhunath; it was also called the Monkey Temple.

14^th April

We lazed in bed until midday, chatting and smoking. By the time we reached Eat at Joe’s for banana and honey pancakes with lassi drink and lemon tea, it was already very hot. It’s more humid here than Delhi. I am not happy with the quality of the hash we bought yesterday so I took it back. I managed to swap it but that was no good either. The guy said they only sell weak stuff because otherwise “hippies sit in the street and that is bad”. So I asked for my money back and he gave it to me.

Late afternoon, we walked round Durbar Square, down the streets and bazaars called Indrachowk and Kel Tole. On the way back we found Pig Alley or Pie Alley and a nice cafe with excellent lemon meringue pie and walnut custard pie. That evening I had Prawn with peas and cashew nuts at Ani Anis restaurant with beer. I must say there was a much greater variety of food here than in India where we have been. There are extensive India, Chinese, Italian and other menus as well as Nepalese food.

WAKING IN NEPAL a poem by Alun Buffry (1985)

WAKING IN NEPAL
by
Alun Buffry (1985)

Outside

Is a cloudy sky, bright sun between, a slight breeze,
The sound of one man chanting.

And all elsewhere a few notes on some type of magic flute -
A strange cacophony of bells and horns and clattering.
No two horns seem to sound the same.

A mother engine? sounds like a tractor - probably a bus!
Beep, beep, beep.

If I look out of the window I see tin rooftops,
Blimsen Tower, a glorious white standing before the blue;

And there - a temple, a pagoda, a woman sitting with washing lay out to dry,
Pigeons coo-ing, crows a-crowing, gardens growing,
Potted plants that people tend,

A bicycle rickshaw, a cow, a man with a bundle of wood on his head!
A cockerel crows as another motorbike passes 3 men trying to move a fridge,

Young girl, proud, staring into space,
Three boys rolling rubber wheels of glee amidst the rubble,
Whilst more look on admiringly.

Yet another dog - a tempo (three-wheeler) barking as two boys, hand-in-hand,
Laugh at a goat.

Cock crows, horns, far away mountainous silences
Surround the Monkey Temple,

Like a golden palace on the hill.
Behind - another hill.
Shame about the dusty haze.