Beijing's security
So far Beijing has been incredibly fascinating. A walk around the heart of Beijing's Tiananmen Square will display wide roads, flashing neon lights, millions of bikes and many Western luxuries. The city has highly evolved in the past few years yet there is something discerning in this Western facade - step off the main road and you are deep in the winding backstreets, being heckled by vendors that hark back to past Peking. Venture into any public area and you won't pass a minute without a security check, decorated soldiers and dozens of cctv cameras that offer a subtle hint of the country's underlying authoritarianism. There is an overwhelming sense that Beijing is on security lock down and the amount of individual security checks outshine anything I have ever witnessed in London. Layer upon layer of barriers separate the roads from the pavement throughout the city meaning that pedestrian traffic can be managed and the flow of people crossing is monitored. When you descend both into an underground crossing or a tube station, each person will walk through a metal detector and have their bags scanned - and if you are carrying liquids the security will ask you to take a sip to prove it's actually a drink. At first I was shocked yet passing through around 6 daily security checks, the process quickly became part of routine and merely slowed my journey down by a matter of seconds. Admittedly I also felt safer on the tube system in comparison to London and couldn't help but think this sort of over the top security perhaps has some positive features. It is clear however that in recent months the county has tightened it's anti-terrorist security and mobilised a number of troops to man the streets - I was also told of a group of Americans travellers who were refused entry to China because they had been in Turkey for longer than 30 days. Shifting the security over to the Internet, Google and social media is also banned across the country. A result of Google refusing to censor their search engine, it initially felt quite hard to pass a day without using the search engine. Despite the ban, China has the highest amount of Twitter users in the world and with a use of a VPN (I downloaded Betternet for free from the appstore) I also bypassed the national firewall, seemingly like everyone else. Aside from the protective element of such stringent security and restrictions it's not difficult to pick up on the degree of control this instills for the ruling body. The overwhelming amount of CCTV means that there are eyes on the Western tourist at all times and I felt very alert to the fact I was being monitored. Although I've been lucky not to have a spot check (I've seen many people being spontaneously ID'd on street corners) the Chinese authorities are very aware of my whereabouts as I had to register my passport to buy a train ticket, enter the train station or even book into a hostel. Although not precisely a communist country, China's one-party state is still trying to maintain a control over its citizens that supercedes that of any other country I have visited. Having said this, a quick download of an app and some bag scans haven't proved a problem so far. On a positive note, I've lost count of how many soldiers and policemen have held an elderly person's hand as they descended stairs and walked in public places. There was even a soldier waiting at the next tube stop to help a blind man leave the underground.
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On the descent into Beijing I experienced my first encounter of plane fumigation, something required by law before landing at a Chinese airport. The process consists of the flight attendants strolling down the aisles spraying a canister of God knows what into the air but despite being abruptly awoken by my tingling nose this also meant I was about to reach my second destination. I am writing this at 4 in the morning, having departed Nepal two days ago and accumulated almost 3 hours sleep in that time - exposing the less glamorous side that every traveller encounters. These sleepless go-betweens are equally part of the fun however and usually put you most to the test.
I breathed a sigh of relief to see that my backpack had also made it to Beijing airport - however having spent the last few Nepali days in a cloud of celebration I had failed to plan my route to the hostel, which without Google Maps became my next hurdle. It was edging onto 4am in the morning and by this point my eyesight was starting to feel funny (probably a bad result of fumigation and no sleep). I was a clear target and it took only moments for a lady to offer me a taxi and heckle me into a posh looking black car. Once the car had set off and the doors were locked it became aparent that this was a private taxi service and one that was going to be costly - yet I was happy to be hostel bound nonetheless. Without any common language the driver communicated to me through his phone saying inapropriate things like I'm beautiful, to asking for extra pay to get onto the motorway and even more for petrol. Before long my taxi bill was surmounting a weeks living cost in Nepal and I was tired, uneasy and well and truly trapped. Five minutes away from my destination the car reached a small alleyway at which point I offered to walk. More than anything I was eager to get out of the car before the driver charged any extra and whilst hopping out I paid him less than he asked for (still around £40). A broken dispute erupted in two languages over the sake of £5 - followed by silence. My driver then nodded, got out of the car and began following me down the alley and with a stern look on his face I sensed this wasn't a good situation to be stuck in. Although I was exhausted I stood my ground (this guy was not following me down an alley). After a few moments he wrote something on his phone and showed me a translation of 'If you don't know, I take you'. So far on this trip I havent felt frightened for my safety yet having read that very translation in the early morning hours my heart truly stopped, I froze for a split second as all I could think of was the film, Taken. This was it, I was going to be kidnapped at the edge of a dark alley over 50 Yen (dear God I hope my dad had been practicing his Liam Neeson act). Before even thinking to fish out anymore money, or thinking at all, I ran as fast as I could into the darkness with my 15 kilo backpack weighing me down. No one chased after me and in a few moments I found my hostel and gathered my breath. It was only by morning that I realised he was actually offering to walk me to my hostel - perhaps a token of goodwill for my rip-off taxi fare. Nonetheless I had finally made it to my Beijing bunk bed and learnt the hard way to plan ahead, research transport from the airport and never trust the people heckling you for a taxi at the arrival gates. It didnt take long to reach Malaysia, where I had to wait 15 hours for my connecting flight to Beijing. Arriving at the airport felt like a dream compared to the dusty city I had left behind - and the contrasting neon lights, fast food chains and western clothes shops directly in the airport left me in awe. Having forgotten in the past month what such commercialism felt like, I found myself almost immediately spending more money on food and drink than my daily Nepali budget. Acting as a hub for South East Asian connecting flights and the largest airport I've encountered so far, I could've easily been sucked into the new and shiny appeal of its services however with no visa restrictions and 15 hours to spare it allowed perfect time for a quick stint in the city.
Hopping on a coach it took an hour to get into the Kuala Lumpur centre where I was greeted with unimaginably large malls, fresher air and a skyline of sky scrapers and cranes that offered a stark change from Nepal's snow topped Himalayas. In my hippy gear, dirty feet and dusty hair (and my stunned impression) I looked like I'd just travelled forward in time - amazed by the large roads and modern cars. The key feature of Kuala Lumpur's skyline are the Petronas Towers which are renowned for being the world's tallest twin towers and naturally the tourist in me thought this would be worth a trip. Jumping on a tube alongside crowds of headphone clad commuters completely absorbed by PokemonGo I was instantly reminded of home. I'm not sure where the claim that only Londoners don't talk on the underground originated from, because it in fact appears that the universal language of tube travel is to silently stare at your opposing commuter. Despite being exhausted from maneuvering past KL's commuters I was both excited to see a new city and thrilled to think that Malaysia was the furthest away from the UK I had reached so far. The towers were impressive yet in the midst of gawping at their height my sunglasses fell from my head and smashed. Tired and sunglass-less I then spent the afternoon walking through expensive malls looking for a replacement pair, spraying myself with perfume (I hadn't done that in a while) and ironically wandering through Little China before heading back to the airport. I admit there wasnt near enough time during my brief stint to give Kuala Lumpur the sight seeing justice it deserves, yet my initial experience suggests that atleast the capital lacks much cultural history - in comparison to Kathmandu atleast. Although the climate was tropical and Zika was rife the most eye catching feature of the city was it's modernity and cosmopolitanism - I'll venture further during my next stop over at KL. Nearing on 30 sleepless hours I waited through my delay to depart for Beijing - KL airport is so fab however that it even has a cinema room for weary traveller (I would've ventured in but they were screening Con Air). Dashain Festival in Kathmandu
It’s an interesting time to be in Kathmandu and certainly a bad time to be a goat. Dashain honours the Hindu Goddess Durga through a fifteen day long event that celebrates the triumph of good over evil, and I have found myself in Nepal for it’s entirety. Like Christmas in England, it is the most important festival of the Nepali calendar and during this holy time everyone will travel home to be with their families, friends and elders. This year over 2.2 million people have left the capital to go back to their rural homes meaning the city has come to a complete stand still. Road are empty, embassies are closed for the duration and don’t even think about finding any buses running. Unlike the normal heckling you would experience throughout the dusty streets, it is difficult to find any shops or restaurants open and the city is both eerily quiet and incredibly fascinating. The build-up and excitement began early last week as the festival got underway. As well as emptier streets I saw more decorations, more goats tied on top of buses, even more goats in car boots and in the countryside I saw large groups of villagers stood around herds of goats (and I couldn’t understand why). Of course you’ve probably already gathered why it is bad to be a goat around this time of year. As traditions detail how Durga slew evil hoofed demons - as on the ninth day of the festival there is a mass sacrifice of such animals in Kathmandu square ranging from buffaloes to hundreds of goats. With one swift cut to the neck, the blood of sacrificed animals is poured around buildings and temples as a blessing and the streets of the capital run red. Alongside the mass sacrifice, each Hindu household will also sacrifice their own goat and bless the front of their house, cars and motorbikes with the blood before eating everything that the animal has to offer. It wasn’t long before I found my first beheaded goat bleeding outside a home and it was an experience that was certainly impossible to miss (it was happening on every corner). Although I was curious to see a sacrifice, I was also relieved not to - and despite the deep rooted history behind the sacrifices it is equally a brutal method which many travellers wished the could ‘unsee’. Walking the eerily quiet streets, you can’t help but spare a moment for the number of goats tied up and awaiting their holy fate, but there is some comfort in knowing every part of the goat will be used. Despite the bloodier traditions behind the festival, Dashain is still a beautiful time to experience Kathmandu. The sky is adorned with hundreds of kites as the sun sets on the most important day of the festival - a tradition aligned with reminding God not to send more rain. A number of bamboo swings are also erected in local parks which bring together entire communities both young and old; and the occasional traveller. I spent some time with the children on the swings and even had a go at kite flying - it’s safe to say the kites and the bamboo swingers reach incredible heights, both of which I was showed up at. The festival encourages a spirit of playfulness and thanks for the end of the monsoon season and as the sun descends and the city scape looks warm and sandy, you couldn’t help but feel completely welcomed alongside the jubilant families Along the rooftops there are celebrations as far as the eye can see and there is a rare sense of peacefulness emerging from the city. With such quiet streets it also signifies a perfect time for a motorbike ride (sorry mum). Something I wouldn’t dare to do during a normal Nepali day because of the pedestrians, rogue dogs and simply terrible roads - we hit the city streets at some speed during the night time and in the darkness saw a side to the city I had never expected. As the city lights sparkled in the valley and the holy festival headed towards it’s final days, I too have to bid farewell to Nepal. Tomorrow I have been invited to a number of family parties where the elders will give tikkas to their family members in line with the event’s traditions. Unfortunately I will have to miss this opportunity but leaving Nepal on it’s holiest day was an inspiring moment. Like the kites (and some of the people in my hostel) I am leaving this country on a high and with my plane also blessed with goats blood I will soon be arriving in China. Through my month here I have learnt to slow down, to sit back and to appreciate things for what they are - and my only remaining London habit is the urge to glare at tourists taking selfies whilst in my way. I departed to a clear night sky and a city illuminated by Nepal's holiest annual celebration - I was honored to be part of it. Kathmandu's Infinity Pool
Fresh faced and with aching calves I am now back in Kathmandu. It was difficult to pull myself away from Pokhara and the slow pace of life there, but the capital was calling. It is now an interesting part of the Nepali year as their holy festival means majority of the city dwellers go back to the home towns - leaving the indigenous residents and Newari people left. The streets are incredibly quiet in comparison and a lot of shops (including Western Tandoori which is the best eatery in town) are closed for the duration. The next few days will see huge celebrations and a great number of sacrifices in the main square, of which I will talk about once I have witnessed them. Although the streets are quieter, that does not entirely mean that the roads are empty and a combination of beeping horns and dust clouds left me longing for some fresh air almost immediately. Having walked, sat and drank my way through Nepal so far I decided that today was the time for swimming - but unfortunately the main river is incredibly polluted and also used for cremation ceremonies so that was out of the question. A quick google and then a tuktuk ride took me to the North East of town to a place called Hotel Shambala. There appears to be some unspoken rules to tuktuks but so far all I can work out is that they tend to drive along the main roads, cost 15 rupees and there is no maximum amount of people that they aren’t happy to chauffeur. After a cramped drive, brushing off the dust from my shoulders I jumped out in front of an exclusive looking building that I certainly wasn’t dressed for. I hesitantly asked where I could go for a swim and was directed to the 8th floor where I was met with an infinity pool overlooking the entire city. Had they mistaken me for a hotel guest? Was this free to use? So far it seemed that way so I jumped in. Although only 3.5ft deep and not long enough for a worthy swim, for a moment I almost forgot I was in Nepal altogether through its spectacular views high up away from the city sounds. Yet despite this, surrounded by actual hotel guests I began to feel sorry for the other pool dwellers. Although set in front of a beautiful backdrop, this pristine little mecca of a pool in many ways failed to belong in Nepali life and instead reminded me (and presumably the hotel guests) of western luxuries - there was even chart music playing in the background. I was certainly both smug that I had snuck in without paying and grateful that I had chosen not to travel Nepal, or any county, this way. After a whole day of lying by a pool reading a book, I was ready to get back into reality and away from pretentious looking hotel guests (the kind of people who took 100 selfies of themselves in the pool). Now I realised I faced the trickiest part, I went to the front desk and asked if I could pay for my drink and held my breath. I was almost out of the woods - I could smell the fresh air - when he suddenly asked me what room I was staying in. Unfortunately my acting skills might not be up to scratch and in a hurry of panic I mumbled something before admitting I wasn’t a guest and subsequently paid 1200 rupees to use the pool. I wish I hadn’t ordered a drink. Although it was a nice day off from Kathmandu, I admit I had been cheating and was glad to hop back onto a dusty tuktuk to my hostel bed. Rather than blissfully watching from a modern rooftop, being thrown in at the deep end (get it) and losing yourself in the winding alleys is the only true way to immerse yourself in this country’s culture. Food & Being Female in Pokhara
Dusty, overcrowded streets are a token of Nepali life however if you look hard enough or get lost enough (and believe me this will happen daily) you will stumble upon a hidden pocket of peace in many backyard gardens. Venture down a little alley between clothes shops on the southside of Lake Fewa (Pokhara) and you will find not only a quiet garden but also the only place I found to serve chocolate Momos. Going by the name of Tara’s Vegetarian Restaurant, it is rightly one of the best things to find down a dark alleyway. For the people that are yet to experience Nepal, Momos are a staple meal across the country of savoury dumplings with a spicy sauce - delicious both as a snack or a sit-down meal and dangerously cheap. Now take a moment to picture that filled with chocolate. I found myself at Tara’s as the night began to creep in and having eaten my meal (I spent about £2) the clouds suddenly opened and torrential, monsoon style rain poured down. The lake I sat by burst its banks almost immediately leaving me stranded in the restaurant - which was an absolutely perfect way to spend the evening as I then got talking to the owner, Tara herself. Having come from Chittwan and moved to Pokhara with her husband, Tara opened the tiny restaurant three years ago. As the rain continued she sat down and decorated me with henna whilst we spoke about how she has never left her country nor may have the chance to. Commenting on how good her English was, I also discovered that she’d learnt by herself through speaking with tourists. Conversation flowed, hours passed and it reminded me of home. Like any girls that want to catch up over a drink in a London bar (usually on a rainy evening) we spoke of weddings, clothes and the weather - alas the art of a girly night applies worldwide. As our talk naturally turned to relationships, Tara spoke of how hers was not a ‘love marriage’ - being a product of an arranged ceremony 9 years ago she was just 21 when she became a wife. During the evening her husband loomed over us at various times as if monitoring what exactly we were talking about. Although he was polite to his wife’s paying customers I could sense there was tension between the couple, and when I showed him the henna she had produced he looked neither pleased nor impressed to which she shrugged off. It’s safe to say we returned a number of times for the chocolate Momos and we often discussed how this might be even better with a Nutella dip - but the conversation I had was also important for other reasons. Although I only saw brief snippets of their relationship, her story highlighted the prevalence of arranged marriage within Nepal. As I dug further it was easy to find stories of child brides and quite shockingly the country is 4th highest in the world for human trafficking. The country does have a Gender-based Violence Act in place in attempt to thwart inequality, but a rift is still very much there and a historical culture of male dominance remains. At this point, as a lone female Western traveller, I couldn’t help but wonder what I could possibly do? Most injustices occur behind closed doors and deep within the communities but nevertheless I know, frustratingly, it’s there. In a few weeks there will be march in a bid to stop the chain of human trafficking but for the moment the best I can hope to do is raise awareness for the country’s injustice towards women. Tara is a formidable Nepali woman, both beautiful and fascinating to talk to she left a huge imprint on myself, raised an awareness of female life in Nepal and left the taste of chocolate Momos lingering on my lips. Trekking to Annapurna Base Camp
Of course a combination of bad, squeaky breaks and sheer cliff drops are a terrible mix. Nonetheless that as the journey I chose when catching the bus to the start of the Annapurna Trek - because that’s the sort of thrill I look for. Around every steep bend I gritted my teeth and held on for dear life - and when the local next to you actually begins to pray you can’t help but also hope to some God that this rollercoaster ride doesn’t end like the final scene of The Italian Job. I can’t for the life of me understand why the driver was speeding but I can also only assume he too was trying to get this over as soon as possible. Atleast when a lorry drove in the opposite direction we were the vehicle closer to the cliff wall rather than the cliff drop. Of course these drivers do these routes everyday and we did arrive safely two hours later - but that doesn’t take away from the fact I saw an overturned lorry enroute and would also be catching this bus in the opposite direction. We arrived at Naya Pul for the start of an 8 day trek that would take us all the way up to Annapurna Base Camp. Located in the snow topped Himalayas, the route takes you to a number of viewpoints and encounters a series of ascents and descents before finally stretching up to Base Camp which offers panoramic views of a range of mountains in every direction you look. Annapurna I was the mountain I was most fascinated to see, being one of the few peaks that reach over 8,000m and the tenth highest mountain in the world, it is also the most dangerous and has the highest number of casualties (34% death rate compared to Everest’s 3% every year). I was wary to be climbing to 4200m altitude without any training - I haven’t been to a gym in years - but having bought a pair of second hand walking boots in Pokhara and lent a walking stick we embarked with our backpacks and without a guide. The journey itself was both incredibly fascinating and the most testing level of endurance I have ever faced. If you wish to read about our day to day route and the hurdles we faced along the way, I will shortly be posting an in-depth itinerary on my ‘Writing’ page, but for now I will skip the hard part and jump to our arrival at Base Camp. We were on the final stretch to ABC and in the dangerous area of altitude above 4000m when high up above the clouds and having put my body to the ultimate challenge I began thinking about all the points where I thought I’d reached the most difficult part of my life. Going to work with a hangover, break ups, saying goodbye to people or even the hour long commute to work popped up on my list. This however was all belittled by what I was currently doing. When I spotted the Base Camp sigh in the distance an overwhelming sense of euphoria greeted me - alongside relief and pain in my calves (followed by an anti-climax as thick clouds as you could see nothing but grey). On a brighter side however, having sat at a desk for the past year and enjoyed the occasional cigarette and even more occasional beer, the altitude and steep ascent had made me appreciate my body in a way I’d never imagined and all the other difficulties in my life simply faded away. The next morning felt like Christmas. We woke at 5.30 and each popped our head outside in absolute awe at the mountains that awaited us. As the sun hit their peaks we were enclosed by an immense wall of prayer flagged snowy mountains against a beautiful, clear blue sky (and the best morning I had experienced so far). .Before you assume anything however, the trek that I had completed isn’t where I ‘found myself’ as I don’t believe in crap like that. At the top of the mountain sits a quote by a famous Russian mountaineer, Anatoli Boukreev, who died on Annapurna which says ‘Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion’. To some great extent that is what I too felt, climbing the mountain and testing my body I reflected on my life and what I will do in the future, allowing greater clarity on a number of things. In this light I would urge everyone to take an opportunity to do something you are not used to and something where you solely depend on your own body, after all it is the only thing we really have to rely upon. Pokhara's Peace Pagoda
The best thing about travelling is waking up without a plan and stumbling upon something unexpected. I had met a fellow solo traveller (Lizzie) in Kathmandu and having discussed our plans over an Everest beer we had agreed to make our way to Pokhara to venture into the Himalayas. It had been a hot summer morning a few days into our unplanned excursion when we took a wander through the old town. Before long we had strayed off the main road and come to a hanging wooden footbridge that swung above rapids at the edge of a picturesque looking forest. After a few moments of hesitation (the wooden panels bending beneath my weight) I ran to the other side and came to a steep forest bank - so far all was going well. A local teenager informed us that we had reached the entrance to the Peace Pagoda. The pagoda is a Buddhist stupa located at the very top of the hill surrounded by dense forest vegetation. Overlooking Pokhara valley at 1100m it is impossible to miss the brilliant white structure and as one of only 8 world peace pagodas in the world we thought it was worth a trip. One of the many routes to the top, this less popular Damside path was used by locals rather than tourists - which seemed even better. Despite the teenagers suggestion of a guide, looking up at the wide stone path we agreed that we were happy to venture up alone. And so we began our ascent. Ten minutes in, the path began to narrow into a muddy trail and the forest loomed in around us. Soon realising that the paths intertwined in various directions it became apparent that we had no idea where to go - maybe we should've taken his advice after all. Without a map we pushed on reluctant to be beaten by the forest. The climb felt long and with no water, no phone signal and first-rate forest footwear (we both wore Birkenstocks) we edged through the darkening forest. The dense woodland was silent apart from the sounds coming from the trees but as time went on we were certain that the end was near. Things took a turn for the worst when behind me I heard Lizzie swear and say something was stuck to her. Slipping off her muddy Birkenstocks a number of leeches revealed themselves. Having seen Bear Grylls we did what any sane person would do - scream and cover them in hand sanitizer (I have no idea how it works but it stops the biting). At this point, I looked down remembering that I too was wearing Birkenstocks and reluctantly sliding them off saw my feet were also covered in the critters. Until this point I’d never realised how loud I could scream - I suppose I’d never had any reason to - but as you can imagine that is precisely what I did. Yet we didn't stop there. Having gathered (or potentially lost) our sanity, we agreed we could make it. I'd like to say I wasn't afraid of leeches, or maybe I was, but once they bite they leave a nasty wound and to make things worse they inject a blood thinner into their victims so that the bleeding doesn’t stop for over an hour. Things became tense when we had used the last of the hand sanitizer and nothing stood between us and them. What came next is what I can only describe as my inability to remain calm in a bad situation. Noticing another on my foot I threw one shoe into the forest bushes and the other in the opposite direction - and in a moment of terror I stood barefoot in leech territory. Lizzie shouted me over and I leapt onto her shoes and huddling in tears with blood streaming from our legs we shared this single pair of shoes surrounded by leeches for what felt like an eternity. The only thing I could think of suggesting was to have a cigarette (as you do in situations that can’t get possibly worse). Eventually we rallied up the courage to retrieve my muddy shoes and still thought we could reach the top. It was beginning to feel really cold under the canopy of the forest and the path narrowed even more. We were now walking through muddy water, pushing through the dense greenery and I couldn't see what was under my feet or a few meters in front of me. As the noises of the forest grew louder, you could see various slimy things climbing the trees around us. We reached our breaking point when I found a couple attached to my thigh and realised that we'd have to return along the leech infested path (if we could find it). It's safe to say we had been defeated by the Peace Pagoda. On our descent and covered in mud we ran back through the forest and found ourselves lost a number of times. When we neared what we thought was the end we finally stumbled upon the first person we'd seen since our entry. This tourist was too sat nursing the battle wounds of leech bites and before pointing us to safety, he admitted that he had also got lost (so I felt a little better). One final hurdle was to walk back past the teenager who had offered to be our guide. I wonder how many defeated tourists he has smugly gazed upon as they crawl back out into civilisation. I’ll never know what the view from the Peace Pagoda looks like but I’ve concluded that I prefer seeing it from down the hill anyway. Walking back along the roadside looking disheveled and covered in leech bites we agreed that the ordeal could be our 'Vietnam' because no one else could understand - they hadn’t been there. The main thing I learnt was to think twice about taking unknown local routes - or at least have a map at the ready - or decent shoes. Following the ordeal we sat down to gather our thoughts and were comforted in the knowledge that the forest was far behind us - when like the end of a Goosebumps episode we found one final leech attached to Lizzie's leg… 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’. 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. |
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