Strange Bewildering Time 3

Come said the young lady from Thai

Let me take you up to the sky

Let me give you a trip

That will make your heart flip

For me as much as for Thai.

Looking back on those last years in Calcutta it seems we lived in a gilded age - we could have been flappers in an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story or the giddy heroines and heroes of Coward play. We danced til dawn, raced cars along the Dum Dum superhighway on our way to the all night coffee shop at the airport, walked through the crowded streets as if we were the kings and queens of creation. This world was ours or so it seemed.We'd moved away from the Rolling Stones to the Hustle and the Bump. We were Kung Fu Fighters now not any longer the sailors fighting in the dance hall of the Bowie years. The in and Out was out and the Blue Fox in. Trincas remained a stalwart as did Flurys and chicken patties.

Ever aware of how things were changing Desmond decided to tap into this new social group - they were the readers he wanted for the JS to move forward. He put together a city wide treasure hunt with a 1,000 rupee first prize and managed to persuade Thai International to donated four return tickets to Kathmandu. Annabel and I were convinced we could win any treasure hunt set in the city and we roped in Kamaljit, her golf partner and our very good and patient friend, and her beau of the time Owen. Kamaljit was to drive, I was to work out the clues and Annabel and Owen, with pretensions to literary greatness would write the tie break limerick as we went along.

The JS themselves had fielded a team, all swearing blindly they hadn't seen the clues and various other friends rolled up in their cars for the early start from Tolly. It was a difficult treasure hunt if you had not spent your formative years following my mother and Desmond around the old houses of Calcutta. We puller over, worked out the clues and then Kamaljit plotted the quickest route. Meanwhile the poets in the back seat had yet to come up with the first line  - that was me, come said the young lady from Thai and before we knew it we had the limerick, slightly dodgy ending but it scanned and made its point. They of course weren't really interested in the trip to Kathmandu- they wanted the cold hard cash. We arrived back at Tolly in a record time only to see Gopi and Teki from the JS sprinting out of their car ahead of us. They had beaten us by two minutes! Annabel and Kamaljit went off to take their frustration out on some golf balls and Owen and I settled down to an afternoon of arguing passionately and endlessly about poetry.

At 4.00 Desmond was handed a microphone to announce the winners - we already knew that the JS team had won and they had and then almost as an afterthought he came back to the microphone to announce that we, yes us, we had won the tickets to Kathmandu! Our hearts truly did flip - we were flying to mountains for an adventure.

Thai International is called the orchid airline - as one boards the plane a purple orchid corsage is handed to one. The lavatories even flushed with water the same shade of purple as the flower and as we sat down we were handed a glass of champagne.

Anything less like my previous journey would be hard to imagine. I settled into my seat reflecting that I could easily get very used to this.The flight was sadly too short and all too soon we were circling around the side of a mountain and coming into land. As the seasoned veteran I had been put in charge of accommodation and had got us a room at  the Hotel Sugat - a real dive but right in the centre of Hanuman Square with a good Chinese restaurant below and Freak Street with all its pie shops just around the corner. There were of course complaints - the noise, the cleanliness ,  but Kamaljit Owen and I lifted ourselves above it and set out to explore.

My darling friend Yeshe had expanded the Om to now the Sahnu Om where the famous mo mo chef worked his magic in the kitchen. The hours of pleasure sitting playing backgammon and eating mo mos. As we arrived we ran into an old friend of mine Ujal Rana. He had just opened a new nightclub called the Copper Floor and we were invited to join him later. Whilst the transport arrangements were  being made another old and dear friend Willie Gurung had sat down to join us. He had just started a tourist agency, arranging trips to Base Camp and Pokkara. Annabel decided that he was just the person to suggest a gentle day's  trek. Yeshe and I did everything but scream NO at her but she blithely listened carefully to Willie's advice on  going to Nagarkot and back the next day. The three went off to explore leaving me with Willie and Yeshe - I asked Willie if he had done this short trek, "No! Walk? Why would I do that? I take the bus - it isn't far." Knowing Willie of old I decided that a sharp headache was in order for the following morning.

Whilst we were eating a couple sitting behind us were waxing lyrical about a little guest house they had stayed at  where there was fabulous view of Everest at sunrise. Ever the organised Fuhrer Duncan Smith ordered me to go up there and check it out  for the next part of our stay. She and the boys meanwhile were off to Nagarkot and I was not to eat without them - and I was to make sure I left the key at the desk because they might be back before me. With my usual placidity I nodded but did meekly suggest that they check with someone other than Willie about this walk. My inability to understand the benefits of exercise were yet again explained to me - obviously as a non golfer I would see anything longer than the end of the road as a marathon. A bruised Owen was heard to mutter,"I'm not  a golfer." but was callously brushed aside as they prepared to set out.

I had the  most lovely day. Dhulikel nestled in the side of the valley, small and enchanting with clear and beautiful views  of the snows. I booked us in for the next day. I was comfortably back in Kathmandu for lunch and went to try out somewhere Yeshe had recommended, The Swiss Restaurant. Had a lovely lunch and then went out to Bohdh Nath shopping  and turning prayer wheels happily. Came back to the Sahnu Om  by five and had a couple of games of backgammon and then thought they must be back by now. But no. They weren't. I decided that they must have found the place so nice that they had stayed overnight and wandered down to the YIN YANG Chinese restaurant for  a little fried rice and some decent music. 

There was a sound behind me and I turned to see three human wrecks stagger through the doors. They collapsed on the floor cushions beside me grunting only , "Water, coke, beer." as they fell. They drank without speaking and Kamljit and Owen headed up to the room while Annabel ordered and ploughed through a huge plate of fried rice. Turned out the trek to Nagarkot was a recognised two day one night trek used to get people acclimatised for harder treks higher up. There had been no restaurants or tea shops on the way and they had only one bottle of water between them. I gathered the return journey had been glacial and silent. We went back up to the room to find that Owen had booked himself a single nd moved his things out. Our first full day was not an unqualified success and I made a mental note to tell Willie to run if he saw Annabel anywhere near him.

The nest day we set out for the more sedate charms of a bus ride and a gentle amble along the mountain side in Dhulikel. After dinner Annabel asked the manager if we could be woken early for the sunrise. He looked at her blankly - how would he know when the sun was coming up? She fixed him with a steely smile, by the sound of the cockerel she said - he crows, you come and wake us. We took a last walk under an incredibly huge moon and climbed the ladder like stairs to our room. Outside of it was a basket with something moving. The manager was squatting outside the room very pleased with himself. He lifted the lid of the basket and produced - a cockerel. Now he said he could sleep and she would wake at the right time.  With a smug namaste he shot away down the stairs leaving Annabel for once, lost for words. Of course we then had to negotiate taking the creature back down the stairs and out into the garden - all in the dark with no torch. 

Dawn came and we made it to the side of the mountain to see the early glow of a new day touch the oldest of mountains and glaze them with flames of pink and gold. Cockerels and all - it was worth it.

After few more days  sightseeing we decided to take the Swiss Bus to Pokkara and stay by the lake  for a few days. There was some talk of another short trek but I feigned deafness to anything other than plans for bus rides and hotel rooms.There are certain places you go to in life where the sheer natural beauty takes your breath away - I remember waking up in Yosemite having arrived in the dark and literally gasping for air at the beautty of it. The same was true of the lake at Pokkara - clear jade green water with Annapurna majestic and almost too close to believe she was real. 

Kamaljit had found us a Sikh  hotel at the far end of the lake which Annabel and I took one look at and pronounced  that it was was overpriced and too far from the lake itself. Kamaljit and Owen planted and refused to come with us so we trudged back to the Snow Land where the rooms were walled partitions with curtains for a doorway and the first sound you heard in the morning was that of, "Good morning, Ganja," as the elderly farmer sold his home grown ganja as an early morning  treat. My stright laced, well behaved friend bought some - five rupees worth which would have kept a small town stoned for a couple of days.

In order to fully experience this novelty she decreed that we should go for a swim in the lake and then roll a joint  and smoke it in the sunshine looking at the mountains. We duly did as she wanted - swimming in that water was one of the most glorious sensations - it was cold as ice - fed by glaciers and so clear and so filled with life. She got out and set about rolling her first joint using the last of our precious Dunhill to do it. There was a slight wind and she struggled  to keep it all together. I finally took pity on her and cilmbedout to  helrp when I saw that I was too late  - above us on the rocks was the monkey temple and they being curious were coming to investigate.

What followed was pure farce - monkey with ganja in bag - Annabel barefoot and screaming trying to get the bag back - moky stopping to investigate what was in the bag - Annabel making a grab for it - monkey turning the bag upside down and scattering the ganja to the four winds and the lake. She was not amused when I said that the gods were relling her not to smoke dope.

Two days later we flew home  - Kamaljit with a badly sprained ankle from yet another short trek - Annabel and Owen's possible romance dead in the water and me with a joyous stock of memories and two great AB stories up my sleeve for a rainy day.


Come said the lady from Thai....

Strange Bewildering Time 2

Continued from Part One

Charles stood looking like a ruffled blond crane with his bare feet only inches from the rat's tail. "Kill it," shrieked Charlotte: Anne by this stage was in a foetal position on the bed rocking backwards and forwards sobbing and muttering, "There is a place called Surrey. I live there. I will wake up soon and I will be at home." She would open one eye occasionally and the shuddering and sobbing would increase still more.

Charles looked down at the rat and said," Big old chap isn't he? " He lent forward and clapped his hands loudly: perhaps the rat took this as approbation for it made determined jump towards his nose. Backing away hastily he said. "Stay calm girls - I'll get the wallah." and left.  Beautiful, fey, tranquil Charlotte whose never raised her voice or showed any real sign of irritation was beside herself with fear and indignation. Anne was now catatonic, whimpering,"Leatherhead," or "Guildford." It became fairly obvious that as the only one who was still showing some sign of sanity this was going to be my  problem.

I armed myself with my book and my remaining sandal stood up and brandishing them both while making wild howls and yelps I managed to force a retreat from the rat into the bathroom. I hastily shut and locked the door whereupon Charlotte, until now a total fiend, collapsed into peals of hysterical laughter - "Why did you lock the door? It can't turn the handle."
'You'll see," I muttered darkly, a little hurt that my heroics had not been appreciated for their valour.  Charles returned with the manager - not a happy man to be woken at three in the morning. Charlotte explained about the rat - unda. No he said smiling piteously at this memsahib and her little knowledge of Indian vermin - a chooha , a small mouse - no harm. "Show them," she said to me. I told her it would get out again and they were no help - let them look in the morning. We all agreed that this was best, lights were turned off and we tried to close our eyes and sleep.

"Ow, bloody hell, who locked the stupid sodding door," was all it needed for Charlotte to roll over and tell me I was a genius - Charles meanwhile limped down the passage way looking for another toilet. All to soon it was time to get up, wash, avoid the rat and the breakfast and head for the border. Raxaul on the Indian side was calm and sleep in the early morning: beyond the border guards we could see lines of buses and people hurrying about.

We hurried across and with a brief look at our passports and visas we were nodded through into Nepal. Charles volunteered to go and find our bus and we sank gratefully on to a bench at a tea shop and drank that reviver if all people and all ills , gurum chai. We also noticed they seemed to do a nifty line in alu parathas so polished off two each before Charles returned. He looked a little worried - apparently our bus tickets were for a bus that didn't exist and all the buses to Kathmandu were full. Cometh the hour cometh the woman, Charlotte with that eccentricity of spirit that only rare souls are given, took the tickets from Charles and walked to the nearest bus. There was no shouting, no arguing just a beautiful girl speaking classically beautiful Hindi and enchanting the man as she did so. I caught the words chooha and unda several times so I suspect she was appealing to his better side. At one point they both looked at Charles and laughed, a little unkindly I thought, after all he had a nasty bruise on his toe from the door.

She beckoned us to come quickly and by some miracle had got us seats on the last bus out of Bhirgunj that day. Anne was so relieved that we would soon be on the last leg of the journey that she walked quite perklily to the bus and hopped aboard. These were not tourist buses - oh they existed complete with air conditioning and upholstered seats - these were country buses; they took families home, goats to market, children to hospital and old grannies to see their families. All of these and their luggage needed to be loaded and then there was us. Charles refused point blank to ride on the roof - very foolishly I felt - he would have had plenty of leg room and lots of lovely fresh air. Charlotte had  commandeered three seats at the back of the bus and feeling Charles had missed his chance with the roof, we took them, A toothless, wrinkled Nepali lady offered him her bedroll to sit on and he, rather, ungraciously accepted it and settled into the middle of the aisle. The engine turned over and there in front of us was the road already climbing away from the heat of the terai towards the blue of the mountains and the promise of journey's end.

I t is theoretically  an eight and a half hour drive from the border to Kathmandu, in reality it is more like thirteen to fourteen hours, The road climbs from the sea level of Biharbaba, I looked out of the window, and gave my  grown up heart to another city.

The GAP year traveller had not really been invented yet so the travellers that were there were visiting for religion - like the Maharishi man - cool dude, or drugs - found some primo dope yesterday man - up at that monkey temple - I was like so stoned. Or those, like us seeking adventure and new experiences. There were place to go to find out where to go, like Aunt Jane's for breakfast. Aunt Jane had been in the Peace Corps and started her little breakfast shop when she realised no one was having a cooked breakfast. Her porridge was fabulous as were the pancakes and maple syrup. You got there at about 8.30 met up with people you vaguely knew and were told the good things to go and see that day. Having delivered us safely Charles was catching up on his sleep and trying to restore his somewhat battered ego. Anne was recovered from the journey and Charlotte and I were in our element. An old friend from Calcutta - Peace Corps again came in and told us we should go to Bhaktapur as there was a huge festival there and it was very special. Bhaktapur is the most beautiful of the three cities, steeped in history and culture and truly lovely to visit. I deferred because Desmond and Dubby were flying in that afternoon so Charlotte and Anne set off alone and I went to my friend Yeshe's restaurant for a game of backgammon and a discussion of the merits of Fulham making it to the FA cup final. An eclectic mix of clientele.

By the late afternoon Desmond and Dubby had arrived at the OM where we all sat drinking rum and hot lemon and after catching up with faraway Calcutta Dubby asked me where my friends were. I told him I had no idea where Charles was and that Charlotte and Anne had gone to a festival at Bhaktapur. There were intakes of breath around the table and just as they were about to explain Charlotte and Anne were escorted in by our Peace Corps friend of the morning. They looked grey and Anne had some sort of red dye on her white kurta and in her hair. I reached out to brush it away and she leaped to her feet. screamed and ran off to the hotel. The regulars in the bar drew closer - even though they knew what had happened this should provide some entertainment for a  few nights to come.

"It was a festival," Charlotte said weakly, " a festival of sacrifice. Hundreds and hundreds of buffalo having their throats slit, the blood sprayed round as a blessing and then decapitated and spread across the square. The blood didn't catch me but it did poor Anne and the crowd was so thick we could only move forward to that awful carpet of buffalo heads". Mr Peace Corps had realised his error and gone to look for us and by sheer fluke did find Charlotte and Anne and get them out. They left the next morning choosing the safer option of river rafting and a visit to Varanasi.

I stayed on - I was having way too much fun and besides I had met someone. After the girls left he moved into the hotel room with me and shared my bed and made me laugh and gave me nits. And then - he was a heroin addict - clean when I first met him - using by the time I left. I was told, truthfully or not, that he, along with several others, died at a beach party in Goa where the heroin had been so pure they had all overdosed. I would like to think he is a middle aged regenerated ex hippy somewhere but I think he probably lies in an unmarked grave in Goa. He came from Wimbledon. Drugs are wicked and evil and destructive and they take our dreams and flatter us for awhile and destroy.

So I flew back to Calcutta on a plane, with an itchy scalp and a sore heart for someone who laughed me into bed and let me rabbit on as much as I wanted to and listened to my silly theories and demanded like a sultan to be told a bedtime story and had no self control when he saw the needle. But the rest of my heart knew it would be back to these mountains and this city that I loved.

NB - Fulham did make to the cup and the gentleman in question chartered a plane and took  all his friends to Wembley to see them win.


My kind of Kathmandu: An artist's impression of the emerald valley