Tibetan Refugee Camps
Sitting on the outskirts of Pokhara lie three little settlements that at first can easily be overlooked by the unknowing traveller. Located at opposite sides on the town’s peripheries, they take some time to find down the winding backstreets. The settlements I am referring to are the Tibetan Refugee Camps where many exiled and escaping Tibetans have found their home - I decided to visit TashiLing. These refugee camps are one of many that are the result of decades of bitter relations between China and Tibet. Under a strict Chinese regime, the Tibetans have experienced religious repression since China invaded in 1949, meaning Buddhist practices and celebrations are banned. Although the political conflict between Tibet and China is complicated it ultimately simmers down to China wanting to control Tibet, whilst Tibet wanting to remain its own autonomous state. At the moment over 20,000 Tibetans are seeking refuge in Nepal, however this has also proved difficult for the fleeing families. Aside from enduring the crossing of the Himalayas, Nepal has began to strengthen its ties with China leaving the refugees more vulnerable. Tibetans are not allowed to register as Nepalese Citizens, and any children that are born also can’t be registered or receive passports. They are also denied work which means their only method of support is to sell tourist souvenirs at the sides of their homes. TashiLing is located off the side streets of Devi’s Falls, a huge powerful waterfall that plummets down an opening in the ground. There were no signs and even when asking few of the local shop owners no-one seemed to know what I was talking about - it wasn’t even on my map. With some perseverance someone pointed me down a small side street and told me to keep walking. I didn’t know what to expect but having arrived from England where the news is often tainted with pictures of the Refugee Camps in Calais, I was imagining a certain level of poverty to meet me. Walking into TashiLing I was met with an eerie silence. The gates were open and you could easily enter or leave and there were no barbed wire fences as I’d imagined. There were dozens of colourful one-storey houses in the complex and Tibetan flags adorned everywhere you looked. The silence persisted for a few moments longer before a number of Tibetans noticed me and started beckoning me over to stalls full of jewelry and handicrafts with the message, ‘please look, looking for free’ - it was clear that they had been waiting for someone like me to come along. There was a sense of eagerness from the refugees as I walked along the stalls (all almost identical) set up in front of a sign that said any proceeds go back into supporting the camps survival. As I walked further among the houses an elderly man approached me with ‘Namaste’ and beckoned me into his home. Entering the simple one roomed house I saw the entire wall decorated with Tibetan handicrafts and pendants - a single bed mat lay in the opposite corner on the floor. It was clear that his home was both his shop and also where he slept - I knew most of the homes of the 1,500 refugees here had a similar set up. The only other Tibetan I saw around the complex funnily started speaking to me about Brexit, he commented (much to my contention) that it was good we had taken our independence back - I couldn’t help but wonder whether his support for independence derived from his own homeland struggle. I felt a little uneasy walking into their monastery, the most beautiful and well kept building in the camp. The monks that I saw looked around 12 years old - amongst a pile of rubble they were playing cricket with a tennis ball and a plank of wood. What seemed apparent however was that aside from the Monastery and the market stalls, there was nothing else to do for a cohort considered as second class citizens in Nepal. Before leaving the camp I spoke to one final Tibetan refugee - stood behind his stall he appeared sad when I mentioned his home. Having fled to Nepal in 1959 as just a child, he spoke of how he remembers China destroying Buddhist temples and changing the entire landscape of his home. He has not had any contact with the family members who remained behind in Tibet. So far, he recalled, Nepal had been a good home to him - and he has a good spot on the market place. It was a very eye opening trip to the refugee camp and not what I had expected. Although the camp itself was in good condition with their houses beautifully painted, you couldn’t help but sense sadness through the eerily quiet narrow streets. It doesn’t look like the situation between Tibet and China is set to change anytime soon, and so these displaced Tibetans remain in limbo selling their trinkets, quietly living in the shadows of streets graffitied with the words ‘Free Tibet’.
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Sitting by the lakeside in a bar lit by candles because of the frequent power cuts, I looked out over the dark water. It was deadly silent and could’ve been any lake in Europe if it wasn’t for the mountains looming in the background. At this point I realised Pokhara was pretty close to a mountain paradise, a place that could easily draw you in (many people I met have never left). The town is the place of escape from the typical category of Asian city that Kathmandu falls into. The place is warm, calm and there is a relaxed, cool attitude as everyone cruises around on motorbikes. You could easily live off £1 a day here which makes it even more appealing to the budget traveller - and so our pursuit of pleasure began.
I’ve never been drawn to paragliding but seeing them fly high above the city every morning as the sun rose it became more and more appealing. One rainy night we walked from place to place asking for a price and was quoted from anything between 10,500 rupees to 6,500 (which is about £35). It wasn’t a tough decision to chose the cheapest option, as I was sure that didn’t affect the safety factors of this extreme sport. After signing an emergency declaration we jumped into a jeep and headed up to Sarangkot. The location itself is famous as being one of the best viewpoints in Pokhara, and as the sunrises if you’re lucky you can see the snow covered Himalayas towering in the background. The 30 minute ascent was quite nervy (as per usual) as the driver skidded around steep corners with even steeper drops off the cliff side. As we neared the destination I admit I was both a little nervous and beginning to question whether I even liked heights. In a series of quick events, I was attached to a 5ft Nepali lady who would be my guide and loosely clipped into my harness. Before I had time to complain that the harness was surely too loose, she told me to look at the skyline and ‘Run! Run!’ and in panic I ran and was up in the air. It was a mixed feeling, for the first 10 minutes I was constantly calculating whether I could survive if I fell - but the views were breathtaking. The wind was gentle and carried us higher up the mountain until we were soaring above the peak but by the end of what felt like the longest 30 minutes of my life, I was actually beginning to enjoy it. My guide suggested we do some ‘acrobatics’ and began to spin around in dizzying circles just before we came down to land. I wanted to do it all over again. Aside from doing adventure sports, Pokhara is also surrounded by beautiful natural scenery. In the past few days we have found ourselves swimming in the shadows of the mountains in lakes warmed by the sun. Whilst enjoying a small open air cinema we also overheard someone talk about a large natural waterfall just up the hillside. At midnight we went up to explore and following the sound of the water thundering in the dark found the waterfall surrounded by a small lagoon - and naturally had a midnight shower. The noise was deafening and the power of the water on my head was quite a shock to the system, but nonetheless a refreshing end to the night. Our late night shower was followed with a motorbike ride through the old town to dry off - and in the warm wind I couldn’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than this small piece of paradise in this beautiful little country. When we’re not swimming or doing adventure sports, Pokhara also has many winding dusty streets to aimlessly wander down, get lost and discover something new. As I mentioned it is very easy to be sucked into daily Pokhara life. We came here with the intention of going on a trek, yet four days later we haven’t even applied for our trekking permits or decided where to go. With waterfalls, lakes, sunshine and friendly locals (and the occasional monsoon downpour) I don’t see why anyone would ever really leave. From my experience coach travel has never been fun, and from the times I’d travelled between London and Manchester I think of the ordeal as five plus hours of absolute hell - sat next to a stranger that is half taking over your seat, screaming children and abysmal views of some bleak English motorway in the rain. For a moment I shivered at the thought of doing that in Nepal.
Having compared Kathmandu’s busses to TFL, I wondered how similar to Megabus their coach system could be but I was pleasantly surprised. For 700 Nepali Rupees, which works out at just under a fiver, you can book the coach to take you to any city in the country. Having spent 4 days in Kathmandu, our next destination was Pokhara which is a lakeside town from which many start their trek into the Himalayas. The coach was set to depart at 7AM from the side of an unnamed road. I’ve realised that most locals are incredibly friendly when helping with directions which meant many people were happy to point us to the makeshift bus station. After a brief walk we arrived at a convoy of colourful busses decorated with bright paint, handprints and adorned with flowers and various other decorations (so to start with they were certainly prettier than the megabus). I even managed to get an empty double seat next to an open window - things were looking good. I held my breath as we waited, surely someone was bound to clamber on at the last minute and take the empty seat - because that always happens - but before I knew it we had set off and the empty seat became my bed. I didn’t really know what I was expecting to be between the two cities, but when I opened my eyes after a short nap to be driving along a cliff side I guess it made sense in this mountainous country. We were now en route between Kathmandu and Pokhara, a journey that wound up and between mountains on a road that more often than not was just a dirt trail. The views were greener than I expected, as dense jungle ascended up the mountainside towards the cloud covered peaks. On one side of the road lay a ditch, on the other a steep cliff side drop and spectacular views of the valley and when massive trucks weren’t over taking us on sheer 180 degree turns, we were bumping along to the extent that bags were falling out of the overhead compartments. As much as it beats the megabus, this drive wasn’t a journey from the faint hearted - or ones prone to travel sickness. We stopped off numerous times during the 6 hour coach journey, which I didn’t think was necessary as I was so happy watching the changing country views from my two reclinable seats. Peaking out from the dense jungle vegetation, you could sometimes spot colourful houses wounded with the cracks from the earthquake and shanty towns where the elderly Nepalese congregated under trees in their traditional clothing. One small factor about the coach to note was that it was apparently overridden with cockroaches. However I was enjoying the drive far too much and failed to spot one myself so I remained in denial that they were running around my feet - out of sight out of mind. Before I knew it the mountains grew higher and we finally reached Pokhara. We hadn’t booked any accommodation but there were countless family guest houses with spare rooms to choose from. The town was a breath of fresh air from the city (quite literally) and now I was ready for some adventure. High above the dusty streets of Kathmandu city lies Swayubhunath Temple, a Buddhist sanctuary that I decided to visit today (primarily to escape the city smog). It took around half an hour to walk to the bottom of the temple from the more touristy area of Thamel, and the further I walked the more Kathmandu exposed its true colours. Passing butchers with their daily meat tied up and still living outside, dirt paths covered in litter and incense burning both inside and outside houses, the way of life here appeared to slow down even though they were only minutes away from the busy main roads.
One of the most noticeable features of Kathmandu’s hidden back streets was the rife earthquake damage. If a house was still standing, it also cerrtainly had huge crevices in its walls that would make me question going inside - and if the house didn’t withstand last year’s disaster, then shanty tents and piles of rubble graced the side of the road. Within the outskirts, even of the capital city, it felt like time had barely passed and people were struggling (but this deserves a blog post entirely of it’s own). I could tell the temple was nearby because of the amount of candles that lined the route. Edging closer, the chanting of prayers became louder and louder and finally the walls of the temple came into view, lined with spinning prayer wheels. You are then challenged to the steepest staircase climb to the actual temple site - and as the elder Nepalese raced passed me, I was certainly not giving up. Although the ascent consisted of 365 steps this didn’t feel too tiresome nor took too long because there was one great distraction. Having taken the first few steps I encountered my first monkey - because the temple’s unofficial name is the Monkey Temple and it is overrun by them (think King Louis in Jungle Book). After reaching the top, giving yourself a pat on the back and taking a few moments to gather your breath you a exposed to countless shrines and a grand stupa towering above you. Walking around the temple clockwise like the locals, it is a magical experience to be immersed in the sounds of religious chanting mixed with monkey howls and potent incense burning your nose. At the top also lies a fountain where almost 40 monkeys leaped into the water like little children. Totally uninterested with silly tourists taking their next instagram hit, they playfully chased each other through the trees. It was this combination of wildlife, Buddhism and the breathtaking views of the city with its distant car horns, rising in a cloud of dust below, that really captured the essence of Kathmandu. A hidden part of the temple that is rarely explored by tourists is the secluded Buddhist monastery at the back of the hill. I wasn’t sure at first whether this was open to the public but we went and were welcomed by the monks nonetheless. Walking through the tiny monastery their chanting resonated through the air, yet again with the hoots of monkeys who too joined us on our exploration of the monastery. I envied the monks calmness. The end of the trip was marked with a bus journey back into Kathmandu centre that took an hour longer than anticipated due to the insane amount of traffic. It was lucky that the Nepalese directed us to the correct bus and before we had placed one foot onboard it was already on to the next stop. The way that the busses work in Nepal are quite tricky to understand if you don’t speak Nepali, but as the bus conductor jumped off at sporadic moments and shouted at the pedestrians, I can only assume that he was announcing the bus destination (as bus numbers didn’t exist on the front of the small shanty vehicles). With a series of whistles and taps the conductor navigated the oncoming traffic jam so we weaved in and out more effectively. The issue however, was that everyone else was doing the same and making the traffic jam even worse. After an hour and a half of zig zagging between motorbikes and cars and having inhaled a lifetime's worth of car exhaust fumes, we made it back to the hostel in Thamel. It takes a lot for a Londoner to say that they prefer TFL but in this case that might be true - no wonder everyone escapes to the mountains to cleanse their lungs of Kathmandu traffic. Nothing could have prepared me for Kathmandu.
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