On a spring day in 2017, I stood in my closet and counted my shoes. When did I accumulate so many shoes? I was getting ready for work and it was way past time to go. My mind was elsewhere. I’d just read an email that a website where we’d parked our travel diaries for 10+ years was closing shop. It was going to be a lot of work—in not-a-lot of time—to move the entries before the site closed. I had thumbed through our posts, like pages of a magazine. There we were in Iceland, in Portugal, Jerusalem, Cuba, Antarctica, in Easter Island ten years ago. There I was in front of the moai—camera in hand, hair blowing, eyes closed, and a beaming smile. Where had the time gone?
A lot had changed in 10 years, yet the days and weeks never really varied. Work, eat, clean, TV, sleep, and talk-talk-talk about traveling the world. I had sat there staring, turning off the computer in a numb daze. Now I stood staring at shoes. Would we ever go on the trip we’d saved for, dreamed of, talked about?
Portents
Not long after, I had a vivid nightmare. In it, I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t listen to my head. I was trapped listening to some banal TV show and was too far from the room’s small window to even look outside. My time for walking in the big, wide, wild world had passed. I was bored. Claustrophobic. Angry. I awoke—scared and sad and anxious.
One morning a month later, I was sitting in my kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when we learned yet another in our circle had died. He was only a few years older than us. And on this summer morning, he had dropped dead in his kitchen while drinking a cup of coffee.
Chilling. My stomach soured and my nerves tightened. Gripping fear. We had to go. GO NOW. ASAP. We’d talked about going for years, saved for it, dreamed of it. Why were we waiting? What were we waiting for? We’re healthy. Our families are healthy and independent. How much longer would we have the time and the vigor to go?
And that was that.
We made the decision that morning to go, to quit our jobs, to take a break. Pent-up dreams of places far away starting spilling out. We jotted down cities, countries, rough plans to hit the road for an extended period of time. Travel light. Sleep cheap.
My mother was supportive. She told me that she and and my step-father had always wanted to travel around the USA, yet never made the move to go. He passed away two years ago. “You should go while you can,” she said. Light bulb. It took a month or two, but we convinced her to go with me on a long road trip before Bryan and I left for the around-the-world trip.
People said, “How brave!” when we told them about our plans. “You’re quitting your jobs?” “What about health insurance?” “What will you do when you get back?” We tripped through the answers. We secretly grilled ourselves on these same dead-weight questions and still had no real answers. It felt beyond irresponsible. In the weeks leading up to the gap, we bounced between thrilled, terrified, tingling, sleepless, and frantic—but always with giddy smiles, pounding hearts, and no regrets.
We’ve been on the move—living in the moment. Now, I’ll share some of the memories. Also, please note, that I’ve backdated the blog posts for when they were happening and drafted).
And then?
Well, we’re still figuring that out.
We are going old. But life is too short not to GO. One day, when we become lost in our heads and/or trapped in our bodies, we’ll have our memories to go on—even if they play as random as a box of VCR tapes with the labels worn off.
So here’s to going—and going until we run out of road!
Carol and Lucy in Death Valley’s Badwater BasinBryan and Carol in Nepal’s Annapurna rangeBryan on a boat on the Mekong, Phnom Penh, CambodiaCarol on the night train to Varanasi, India Lucy on the viewing deck at Niagara Falls, NYGoing old is a bit like traveling on this single lane, one direction road in Death Valley.
The day had come. We were heading home. This was the final leg of our around-the-world trip.
We took a nearly-five-hour, non-stop Blue Star Ferry from Paros back to Athens at 10:45 a.m. We spent the time on the ferry reading, downloading photos, writing, and staring out the window. Our long-dreamed-about trip around-the-world was coming to an end. And we wondered, what’s next?
Back in Athens
We arrived in Athens on time, and checked into the same hotel, the Acropolis View Hotel. After freshening up, we went for an evening walk around the Acropolis and to find some dinner. We said “hey” to Boss the dog, sleeping inside the closed gates of the Acropolis. We dined at “God’s”—high expectations with a name like that–and filled up on delicious risotto-stuffed tomatoes, fava, and wine.
On the morning we left, we used the last of our traveling coffee packets, and sat out on our balcony, soaking up the sun and staring at the Parthenon. It’s tenacity seemed a fitting ending to our trip, and a reminder of home for us Nashvillians.
A panorama of Athens and the Acropolis. Greece.
And then, we flew home: ATH – LHR – ORD
First, we had a taxi ride with Michael to the airport. The car windows were down and open to the sunny sea air, and the Foo Fighters, ACDC, Supertramp blared from the stereo. Everlong will forever remind me of flying through foreign streets: “…If everything could ever feel this real forever, If anything could ever be this good again…”
The four-hour British Airways flight left Athens at 1:30 p.m. BA ran out of vegetarian meals by the time they got to my seat. And because one passenger on board had a peanut allergy, no snacks with nuts were being sold and we were asked not to eat the peanut M&Ms we’d brought onboard either. BA also charged for water, payable by credit card only. And with that, British Airways officially became the least favorite of all the airlines we’d flown around the world.
It was a brief stop in London, and as we got to the gate on this dark, rainy night, we were asked some strange U.S. immigration questions before boarding the American Airlines flight. It was nine hours to ORD–plenty of time for a meal, a movie (the tearjerker, “Coco”), some reading, and some quiet time to reflect on our trip. We landed at O’Hare around 7:30 p.m., and were back at home by 9 p.m. We’d gone all the way around this big old world! It was good to be home. And yet, I’d go again in a heartbeat.
Around the world
28,000+ miles
6 countries, plus 4 more touched in transit
Our 7th (and 8th!) continent
Big planes, little planes, scenic rails, overnight trains, taxis, buses, bicycle rickshaws, remorks, tuk-tuks, small boats, big ferries, and miles of walking. From glaciers on the 8th Continent to the Great Barrier Reef, to the Taj Mahal and Angkor Wat, to Mt. Everest and the Parthenon…here’s to all the sunrises and sunsets, smiles, laughs, beautiful animals, crazy sights, tasty meals, and Nescafe along the way.
Select photos from our trip are available on Etsy.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
One day on Paros, we took a bus up into the heart center of the island, to the little town of Lefkes. This is the place where we ran into the thin old dog living in the hillside cemetery behind the Church Agia Triada.
I returned to Lefkes another day to feed the dog, and to wander the quiet streets. Space here is not wasted. Lanes are narrow, houses fit into small corners at odd angles, and wisteria vines grow in tiny garden plots. It is a lovely little town of whitewashed houses, stone walls and terraces, blue doors, windmills, about 500 residents, and a few dear dogs and cats.
Our trip was nearly over. I was sad, a little tired, and starting to worry about things at home. I wandered around in a river of thoughts, not one of which I could grab hold of.
Narrow lanes of Lefkes, Paros, Greece.The house between the churches. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.The windmill…Looking out from the church yard, Lefkes, Paros, Greece.The sea and the terraced fields…looking out from the church yard. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.The old soul of Lefkes. Paros, Greece.Corner house, garden and tree. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Porch pergola with woven awning. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Garage, garden, and windmill. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Looking down to the church of Lefkes. Paros, Greece.Lanes and steps. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Up the steps. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Window shutters and rocks. Greece.The old dog in the church yard. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.Old house and stone fence. Lefkes, Paros, Greece.
Thank you for reading
Select photos from Greece and other places on our around the world trip are available on Etsy.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
After a week on astoundingly beautiful Santorini, we took a ferry to a quiet island called Paros. Our friend Helen had suggested this island as a restful place to wind-down our trip…an island with typical Greek Island life and less tourists. We’d made arrangements through Himalaya Travel to stay in Naoussa, but spent much of our time in Paros in Parikia and Lefkes.
From the ferry, the village of Fira, Santorini, Greece.From the ferry, the village of Oia, Santorini, Greece.
Gypsies?
In Santorini, a group of six women sat waiting to board the ferry. Each sat on a bundle the size of a bean-bag chair. They all wore kerchiefs, layers of long skirts and aprons, and work boots that must have walked a million miles. Among them was one young girl, maybe ten years old, in jeans and a t-shirt under a jean jacket, her hair in a pony tail with stray strands. Maybe they were sisters, aunts, grandmothers, Gypsies? I was mesmerized by their rugged faces and different ways.
Someone left behind a grocery bag. The girl grabbed it and within seconds the ladies all crowded around to examine the contents. They studied each piece of trash, peering into empty chip bags. When they’d finished, they put the bag back. The young girl held her hand out, begging from another passenger–a young woman who instead of giving her money, took the girl’s hand between her own with a smile in a gesture of friendship. The girl beamed at her. A man offered the girl a piece of candy, which she took slowly while staring at him. She ran to one of the women, showing the candy and pointing to the man. The woman looked at him as she unwrapped the candy, sniffed it, and took a big bite. As she chewed, she handed the other half of the candy back to the girl, and nodded at the man.
They looked as if they could have walked out of photos taken in the 1800s in the villages of Ireland, Italy, Greece, or Russia. I lost them in the crowd getting on the ferry. Later, I saw them exiting at Naxos in the pouring rain, their bundles thrown over their shoulders like granny Santas.
Naoussa Paros Arrival
We arrived in Paros after a three-hour ferry ride. The ferry backs in to the dock, and the alarms beep as the hatch goes down and is positioned on the dock. Meanwhile, passengers gather and start their cars to exit. It was already dark, and the rain was coming down. We got a taxi, gave him the address for our hotel in Naoussa, and headed into the night.
After checking in, we stood on the dark balcony in the wind–we could hear the sea, but couldn’t see it. Our room overlooked a small beach and bay. But we wouldn’t know that until the morning.
The view from our balcony at night. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Greek Independence Day
The next day was Greek Independence Day and there was a parade. This celebration marks the end of the war in 1830, when the Greeks defeated the Ottoman Empire. Gathering at the main church in Naoussa, the children marched through the streets carrying flags. The tiniest tots were dressed in traditional Greek attire, while teens wore their school uniforms of navy blue skirts or pants and crisp white shirts.
Children parade for Greek Independence Day in Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Paros Days
We spent our days in Paros walking around the village’s narrow passageways, and traveling around the island by bus to the larger town of Parikia (where the ferry docks) and to the mountain village of Lefkes.
An octopus advertises a seafood cafe on the shores of Naoussa, Paros. Greece.A different shade of blue. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Not Tourist Season Yet
Once again, it was obvious that “the season” hadn’t begun yet. Only a few restaurants were open, and much painting was going on. Many places were closed or had limited hours, still preparing for tourist season to begin after Easter.
We became regulars at one of the only places in town open for dinner, Riatsa. Locals and the few tourists in town dined on tasty pastas, salads, and wine in their cozy kitchen.
A great little tavern/cafe for music, iced coffee, and cookies. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Table for three. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Paros Marble
Paros is an island made of marble. It is famous for its fine white marble–which today has mostly been depleted. In fact, the marble for Venus de Milo came from this island.
Buildings’ steps are often marble slabs, well-worn, repaired, and painted a hundred times over. We wandered around the old marble streets, our shoes echoing in the quiet. The narrow lanes of white, gray, beiges, blues and greens were full of tiny stairs and passageways. Plants grow in small nooks among the steps and stairs. No space is wasted.
Marble steps complete with built-in garden. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Marble steps and paths in Naoussa. Paros, Greece.Looking down a path to blue door and window. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Cactus, windmill, and cats. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Cats. Lots of cats. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Green shutters, door, and clothesline. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Green gate at the Octopus house. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.Laundry and gray doors. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Storm on Paros
One night there was a fierce storm on Paros. The wind relentlessly pummeled our room. One of the shutters came unhooked and slammed into the wall and window until Bryan ran out to secure it. The patio furniture was flipped over already. He got back inside–soaking wet–before the hail started. The rain came down in sheets for a few hours and water began seeping in under our door. We put our towels at the door and window. The lights flickered. The wind howled. Things rattled and banged. Here we were on a small island in the middle of the Aegean and Mediterranean, huddled and waiting to be blown away, or for the storm to wear itself out.
In the morning, the sun came out but the temperature was about ten degrees cooler.
The view from our room and balcony on a nice day. Naoussa, Paros. Greece.
Parikia
We saw so many quaint alleys, short doors, marble fountains, little niches opening into cave-like churches with candles burning amidst glistening gold icons, and tiny spaces for trees and vines to grow. Men painted the street-stones’ outlines, and it was necessary to hopscotch down the streets until the white wash dried.
Gray doors on a lane in Parikia. Paros, Greece.Painted streets, a small church door, and a tiny plot for a tree. Parikia, Paros. Greece.
Walking in Parikia, we found this beautiful old tree and cafe in the middle of the lane. And behind it on a canal-like bridge, was the cafe “Symposium”. We loved that tiny place for its great sandwiches, red wine, and ambiance.
A cafe under a tree at the in-between. Parikia, Paros. Greece.
Panagia Ekatontapiliani’s Leaning Trees
I went to see the Church of the 100 doors, but was more intrigued by the forest of leaning trees outside Panagia Ekatontapiliani. After wandering in the little forest, I sat in the church, watching the sparrows fly around the warm sunlit room filled with gold-painted icons, hundreds of flickering candles while worshippers kissed icons going clockwise around the room.
Leaning trees and a path. Panagia Ekatontapiliani (The Church of 100 Doors). Parikia, Paros, Greece.Leaning trees at Panagia Ekatontapiliani (or The Church of 100 Doors). Parikia, Paros, Greece.Cat waits on water fountain. Graffiti in Parikia, Paros, Greece.A modest garden. Parikia, Paros. Greece.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
We spent a week on beautiful Santorini, mainly eating, walking the narrow lanes, and staring out to sea. What a place.
A handsome tray of pastries, hard-boiled eggs, yogurt, fruit, sandwich meats/cheeses, juice, and a generous pot of coffee arrived in our room at 8 a.m. every morning. Most days, we had already been out exploring just after dawn–coming back to the room for showers and breakfast. We grazed while getting ready, and stopping to stare at the volcano sea. The rest of the days, we spent wandering the island.
The local bus is an efficient way to explore Santorini. We went north to picture-perfect Oia (said “ee-ah”) and to Perissa on the less-dramatic east side of the island. Tickets are €1.80, purchased onboard from a conductor as the bus hurtles along the cliff-top road.
An evening view on Santorini. Greece.
The Greek White and Blue and Santorini’s Volcano Architecture
It is said that the houses in Greece are painted in white lime water so that the rainwater runs down for collection. It is also because during the Ottoman rule, Greeks were not allowed to fly their white flag. In defiance, entire villages were painted the stark, bright white. Today, it is a Greek tradition–and the villages are blinding with their white paint and blue domes. Most churches have blue domes that reflect the sea and sky.
Traditional white and blue Greek Architecture on Santorini. Greece.
Here on Santorini–what is left of an ancient volcano, cliff houses are built into the caldera slopes in carved-out niches. The air-filled pumice bedrock provides insulation, keeping buildings warm in winter and cool in summer. And of course, this allows the buildings to cozy into the mountains practically all the way down to the water. It is remarkable how well the limited space is used. There is much to look at with all the small houses, tiny patios, narrow steps and alleys, private spaces behind colorful iron or picket fence gates, and quiet alcoves filled with geraniums and painted windows.
The small spaces and homes built into the mountainside. Oia, Santorini, Greece.The big church with many bells in the square by the bus station, Oia, Santorini, Greece.
Finding THAT view
We walked around the pedestrian streets of Oia, looking for that travel-poster view I used to have hanging on my bedroom wall as a teenager. So many narrow lanes and private spaces. It was hard to figure out if we were on someone’s front stoop, or simply passing through on a public passageway.
After a morning of looking for that view, we finally went into a shop to ask directions. I found a photo of “the view”. “Where is this please?” A helpful sales girl said, “go past the big church, the lane will narrow, then narrow some more. Turn left and keep going down. You’ll see.”
And see we did! We followed her directions and within minutes walking down the path, “that view” came into view. I felt like I’d walked into that poster from so many years ago. Here it sat–down the hill and out of sight from the main road in Oia. And at last, I was in front of it.
“That” travel poster view in Oia, Santorini, Greece.Walking into the view. I had to touch it to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Oia, Santorini, Greece.
The tip of Oia
Near the end of the island, we found Vitrin, a tiny place nestled in the leftover space along a ledge of a lane. Delicious crepes and an even better view! Also, they had a big friendly sheep dog who sat under the tiny tables of those who shared their crepes, one blue eye peering from beneath her shaggy fringe. Yes, of course we fed her!
At a crossroad along narrow paths near the end of the island, we saw a man picking a three-neck bouzouki and singing into the wind. It was a perfect soundtrack as we looked out over the caldera’s sea, and all the love knot ribbons and locks fluttered in the fencing.
Houses cascade down the island at the northern tip of Santorini, in Oia, Greece.A street musician plays and sings in Oia. Santorini Greece.Love knots. Oia, Santorini, Greece.
On this part of the island, there were windmills. The windmills of Greece use sails, like a tall ship, to catch the wind. At one time there were more than 70 windmills on Santorini. Considering how strong the winds are on the island, they must generate a lot of energy…and go through a lot of sail canvas!
Santorini Windmill. Greece.
We stopped for drinks in a tiny cafe and bar called Meteor. The back had a little balcony overlooking the caldera. The door was open to the sounds of the ocean below, the birds, the breeze, and the sun. Downstairs near the bathroom, I saw that the kitchen-sink window also has that gorgeous view. We sat for a little while, soaking up the moments and writing postcards.
The cafe bar, Meteor, in Oia, Santorini, Greece.
Perissa on a cold windy day
On another day, we took the bus to the black-sand beach on the far side of the island. It was a very windy and cold day. Naturally, we met a dog and spent a little time talking to him. We sat inside a restaurant with a scenic view of the black-sand beach, and experienced the slowest service I’ve seen in a long time. We had plenty of time to watch the ocean churn. Threatening waves prevented people from spending much time on the black-sand beach. It was nervous entertainment watching people attempt selfies and surf walking under such harsh conditions. Several hearty souls got knocked down by waves, and many were drenched after only a few minutes. After our two+ hour lunch, we took a brief walk around and turned into Aquarius for drinks and a break from the intense wind.
Tiny house and porch. Between Fira and Perissa, Santorini, Greece.Dog on the beach street in Perissa. The wild ocean is on the other side of the restaurant tent. Santorini, Greece.
Dust storm
The wind howled all day. Later, someone told us that the Sahara was coming. What?!? And sure enough, in the late afternoon, the skies began to turn a yellow-orange. Not a sunset orange, but a cloud of orange. Intense ochre colors that blotted and diffused the sun in an already cloudy sky. The wind was blowing in Saharan sand from Africa, blowing it all the way across the Mediterranean Sea. We walked in amazement at the strange and beautiful colors. A sunset diffused by sand from a desert more than a 1,000 miles away. The waitress at Elia’s told us that the dust will stain new white paint if it isn’t cleaned before it rains, so many people would be out tonight cleaning off the sand once the wind stops.
Fira, Santorini during a dust storm. Bryan is waving from our balcony in the bottom left of this photo. Greece.African dust storm looking north to Oia from Fira, Santorini, Greece.
We went back into Oia on our last day in Santorini. The storm left behind a layer of orange dust. And the power was out in Oia from the wind storm. Restaurants served what they could. We sat in a bar and gazed out at the view over wine and beer. What a place.
White church with bells, crosses, and a fine layer of Saharan sand dust. Oia, Santorini. Greece.A fine layer of Saharan-orange dust covers even the poles on the morning after the sandstorm. Santorini, Greece.Blue dome with Saharan sand. Oia, Santorini. Greece.Preparing for Greek Independence Day, Oia, Santorini, Greece.
Animals / Santorini
Surefooted donkeys carry concrete mix and other building supplies up and down the narrow lanes. And sometimes, they carry tourists who are nearly as big as the donkeys. Riding is not encouraged by animal welfare groups because the donkeys often work in extreme heat with no breaks and no water. And really people…please WALK!
We watched this one donkey, parked against the wall in the sun and facing the wrong way. He wanted to see the coming and going of his fellow donkeys. His ears would perk up when he heard another donkey or the wheel cart bringing things to carry. He eventually side-stepped and turned himself around so he could see the other donkeys coming towards him.
Two working donkeys. Oia, Santorini. Greece.
Food and water for the stray animals of Oia, Santorini. Greece.
Santorini Animal Welfare Association cares for the dog/cat strays on the island by spaying/neutering, vaccinating, and putting out food and water. SAWA also oversees the implementation of the “Code of Practice” for all donkeys and mules working on Santorini so that they have better health and working conditions.
Moving on
On our final day in Santorini, we wrote postcards on our balcony. Later, we saw a ferry coming in to the caldera. Tomorrow, it would be our ferry coming to take us to another Greek Island…Paros!
The ferry coming into the caldera of Santorini. Greece.Panorama of the view from Oia–looking towards Fira, Santorini. Greece.The Greek flag flies on Santorini, Greece.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
Greece was the sixth of six countries on our around-the-world trip. After all the time we spent dreaming about a long trip, we weren’t prepared–we bought our RTW flight tickets super fast, made arrangements for the first couple of countries and the group tour of India/Nepal, and the rest came together by the seat of our pants. Greece suffered the brunt of that approach. When we left Chicago, we had zero arrangements for Greece. Thanks to our friend Helen’s recommendation, Himalaya Travel in Athens arranged all our of transportation and hotels for Greece. We gave them our wishes and a few parameters and they did everything, even delivering the Blue Star ferry tickets to our Athens hotel when we arrived. After Athens, Santorini was next on our itinerary.
Ferry to Santorini
The trip to Santorini was a seven-and-a-half-hour ferry ride, 200 miles south through the Aegean Sea.
What a long, beautiful day! The ferry left Athens at 7:25 a.m. and docked in Santorini around 3:00 p.m. It was one of those days with crisp blue skies and an occasional cotton-ball cloud. A perfect day for daydreaming and reflecting. We passed Ios–the shining white buildings perched on green hills down to the sea. The ferry churned on through the deep blue water, with a cool breeze, salt spray, and a feeling like the motion should never end.
Ios as seen from the Ferry from Athens to Santorini. Greece.
At last, we passed into the opening of Santorini’s bay. White buildings perched high on the edges of the cliffs. Was this a dream? It didn’t seem real. As the ferry’s loud alarm signaled the positioning of the ferry to the dock, a crowd gathered at the boat’s garage door. No one wanted to waste a second of time here in this paradise. Amid the rush of people onto Santorini, we found a driver, piled in, and went up the island mountain also known as Thira (or Thera) to the capital of Fira.
Looking out from Fira. Santorini was created when a volcano blew apart. What remains is the collapsed caldera.
About Santorini, also known as Thira or Thera
Santorini is the remnant of a volcano. In 1600 BC Santorini exploded in what scientists say may have been one of the largest volcanic eruptions on earth. The C-shaped chain of islands is what remains. The people of Santorini have built into the hard edges, warrens of tiny homes and narrow lanes spill down the rims of the island. Our driver drove us up, up, up, stopping at a church at the crest of a hill. We were met there by the manager of the Thireas Hotel who escorted us down a hundred steps to reception and our room. Good thing he came to meet us. It would have taken us an hour to find the place amid the many little paths and patios.
We had an incredible view from our room and balcony. It was not yet sunbathing weather, in fact it was too cold and windy to sit out there for long. But we bundled up and sat staring out to sea. It’s not hard to imagine this as a caldera. It is hard to take your eyes away from the spectacle of the cliffside houses and the drop-dead gorgeous view.
At Thireas Hotel. Fira, Santorini, Greece.The view from our room. Thira, Santorini, Greece.Fira, looking north to Oia. Santorini Greece.
Pre-Season on Santorini
Our hotel recommended a lovely place called Theoni’s Kitchen for our first meal on the island. We made our way over around sundown and were the only ones there. We gorged on the delicious food–stuffed peppers, potatoes, and fava (which is similar to hummus, but Greek), wine, and a pastry dessert.
Later in the evening, we walked around the narrow streets. Santorini was not yet full of tourists. It was quiet walking through the little town’s steps and lanes. Shops weren’t open, but there was a lot of activity. Residents were cleaning, building, and painting with the traditional blue and white in preparation for the hoards of tourists coming any day now. When asked when the season began, they would say only “soon”, “tomorrow”, or “Friday”. Turns out, none of those days was it. And that was perfectly fine with us.
We found the 588 steps up from the Old Port, labeled so tortured climbers could set their expectations. Today, cable cars also make the trek up instead of the poor donkeys. But the Old Port is not used much anymore.
An evening view on Santorini. Greece.A cat at twilight. Santorini, Greece.Counting the steps from the old port up to Fira. Santorini, Greece.
Mornings in Fira, Santorini
At dawn, we walked down from our hotel, around the narrow passages and small spaces. We looked for the buildings we could see from our room and found this old church. The view of the sea was breathtaking.
A barge approaches the dock in Santorini. Greece.A bird on a cross. Fira, Santorini, Greece.Bryan looking out to sea. Santorini, Greece.
Bells ring the hours from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., the chimes echoing through the streets and mountainside. I wondered what this place was like before it became a tourist destination. I realize that it is the height of hypocrisy, but why does tourism development seem to destroy so much–often leaving none of the original way-of-life and natural charm behind?
Near the bus stop, Santorini’s street dogs look for food in the trash. Fira, Santorini, Greece.One-earred pirate dog who belonged with this shop. Anyone going through the passage with food was followed, stared at, and otherwise enticed to give pirate dog a little something to pass. Fira, Santorini, Greece.Panorama of Santorini. Greece.The ferry–looking tiny from here–coming into the caldera of Santorini. Greece.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
Greece was the last destination on our around-the-world trip. Growing up, I had three travel posters hanging in my room: green fields in Ireland, the fjords of Norway, and a drop-dead gorgeous view of blue domes over pristine white buildings on the Greek Island of Santorini. When we started our around-the-world trip planning, we tried to include places that had been on our lists for a long time like our seventh continent, the Taj Mahal, and Mt. Everest. That travel-poster view of Santorini made the cut. We were heading to Athens and the Parthenon, then some fun, sun, and relaxing on two Greek Islands before going home.
KTM – DOH – ATH
It was six hours from Kathmandu to Doha. We flew over India, Pakistan, Iran, and the Persian Gulf. Finally, we were about 30 feet from landing in Doha when the plane abruptly pulled up and turned sharply. Everyone on the plane was quiet, listening to the accelerating engines and making eye contact with timid smiles. “The wind changed direction,” the pilot told us about ten minutes later. We landed on the other end of the runway, in a dust storm.
Our Doha, Qatar layover was about four hours, so we got some food and sat watching the dust obliterate the view of the runways. It was as thick as smoke, a buff-colored cloud on the ground. Tiny particles sounded like sleet at the windows. The dust diffused the sun into a magical ochre color for hours–and then it seemed to clear. Dust swirled in little puddles on tarmacs we could now see. Planes were coming and going. When we finally left Doha, Qatar Air avoided the direct route to Greece over Saudi and Syrian airspace, instead going north over Iraq before turning left in Turkey.
Arrival in Athens
We arrived after midnight into Athens. A taxi took us along empty streets through the city to our hotel near the Acropolis. We were exhausted. The next morning, I woke up with a runny nose and low-grade fever. We were off to a slow start in Greece. I took some cold medicine we’d packed and spent the morning with a book and tissues in bed. It was a good time to do some laundry via the hotel service. After a few hours, I felt better and started moving again.
Our hotel rooftop had an amazing view of the Parthenon, sitting high on the Acropolis. We sat up there in a cool wind, wrapped in our jackets, and took in the view of this symbol we’ve seen all our lives. Amazing feeling to look at it in person, high on its hill. Later in the afternoon, we walked to the street Drakou in Plaka for dinner at a tavern called Kalamaki. Fresh hummus and a Greek Salad, with french fries and wine. Perfect.
Beautiful street in Plaka, Athens, Greece.
The Acropolis
The next day, we made our way to the Acropolis to see the Parthenon. It was about a 25-minute walk from our hotel to the Acropolis park and up. The area just around the Acropolis is filled with outdoor restaurants, street musicians, souvenir shops, and wandering tourists.
The Parthenon
Built in 447-432 BC as a temple to the patron goddess of Athens, Athena, the Parthenon was a sophisticated and precise structure for its time. It has been said that the builders accounted for and refined the design to correct for optical illusions and that the 46 Doric outer columns are proportioned to add life to the rectangular building. The four corner columns are larger and lean inward. The other columns are larger in the middle and taper slightly at the ends–to correct for the leaning one sees in straight lines. It is an architectural masterpiece. And it represents the best of Ancient Greece, Western Civilization, and Democracy.
Being born and raised Nashvillians, we are very familiar with the Parthenon. A full-scale replica of a complete Parthenon stands in Centennial Park across from Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee. The temporary replica was originally built for the 1897 Tennessee Centennial Exposition, and rebuilt in sturdier concrete in the 1920s. We’ve visited our beautiful Parthenon all our lives–scrambling over the base of the building, posing for photos around the columns, feeding the swans that live in the pond, swinging in the most perfect swings, and enjoying the old trees of the park. Our alternative newspaper, the Nashville Scene, has a “You’re so Nashville if…” contest every year. My favorite response ever was, “You’re so Nashville if you think our Parthenon is better because it’s still standing.” 🙂 We FaceTimed our families so they could see the real Parthenon.
Looking out from the Acropolis to the Temple of Hephaestus. Athens, Greece.Columns at the gateway, along the entry up into the Acropolis. Athens Greece.
What Happened to the Parthenon?
Once completed in 432 BC, the Parthenon was used as a temple, a treasury, and when the Ottomans came, a mosque. On Sept 26, 1687, it was cannonballed by the Venetians. The Ottomans stored gunpowder there, so all of Athens witnessed the massive explosion that blew the roof off of the 2,000-year-old building. It was a devastating loss of ancient Greek architecture.
Since that time, well-meaning people have taken sculptures for protection and others have stolen pieces out of greed. Other people tried to rebuild with remnants. In the early 1800s, Thomas Bruce, the Earl of Elgin, got permission from the Turks to remove the Parthenon Marbles that once graced the pediments. In an on-going controversy, the Elgin Marbles are still in the British Museum.
The Parthenon. Athens Greece.Restoring the columns on the Parthenon. Athens Greece.What’s left of the Parthenon’s Eastern pediment. Athens, Greece.Crane from the Eastern side of the Parthenon. Acropolis, Athens, Greece.The Ottomans were storing gunpowder in this temple (built in 432 BC). When a Venetian cannonball hit in 1687, the Parthenon was blown apart. Parthenon, viewed from the Southeast. Athens, Greece.The Western side of the Parthenon under scaffolding. Athens, Greece.Workers standing on the Parthenon. Athens, Greece.Columns to the sky. Athens, Greece.
Restoration
Real restoration finally begin in 1975. It is a big, heavy, difficult jigsaw puzzle. Huge pieces are scattered around the grounds. To put it back together, artifacts are inventoried and models will determine appropriate placement. Work is slow. A crane inside the Parthenon places marble pieces carefully and work is done to secure them in non-obtrusive ways.
Pieces of the Parthenon. Athens, Greece.Columns waiting for placement at the Parthenon. Athens, Greece.
The Acropolis Theaters
Along the hillside of the Acropolis, there are two amphitheaters. The Theatre of Dionysus is considered to be the world’s first theatre, believed to have been built in the sixth century. The theatre seated more than 15,000 people, some in marble throne-like seating up front, and others in the grassy area up the hill. It has excellent acoustics even today. There are re-used statues and reliefs from older buildings around the stage area. We sat for a while, trying to imagine the Greek tragedies that may have played out in this space, enjoying the place, and watching the grass grow between the stage stones…as it has for centuries.
The Theatre of Dionysus, as seen from the Acropolis. Athens, Greece.Bryan resting in the cheaper seats at the Theater of Dionysus. Athens, Greece.The remains of the Theatre of Dionysus, reused sculptures from older buildings surround the ancient stage.
Also on the hillside of the Acropolis, sits the Odeon of Herodes Atticus theater. This one was built in 161 AD, destroyed in 267 AD, and left in ruins for 1,700 years before being restored in the 1950s. The theater seats about 5,000 people, and once hosted musicians under a wooden roof made from the Cedars of Lebanon. Today, the roof is gone, but it is once again a music theater.
The Odeon Of Herodes Atticus. Acropolis, Athens, Greece.
The Odeon Of Herodes Atticus sits on the side of the Acropolis, looking out over Athens, and an area called Plaka.
Boss the Dog
In the Acropolis, we met a few resident dogs. One was 16-year-old Boss. We saw him early in the day, sleeping under a tree. On our way down, a woman was feeding him and we went over to say hello. She told us that volunteers come daily to feed and care for the Acropolis dogs, including old Boss. Today, he’s so old he lays down to eat and naps most of the day. The volunteer sat brushing and cooing to him. During our time talking with them, she filled a water dish twice and he drank it all. As we were leaving, we gave her a donation for food. And she dug out a photocopied photo of Boss as a younger man, a gift for us. As I considered asking for his signature, I looked down to see him smiling up at me. Thanks Boss!
Boss. The old dog resident of the Parthenon/Acropolis. Athens, Greece.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
And then there were two. Our group tour of India and Nepal finished; we were alone in Kathmandu. We took the time to do laundry, read while lingering over coffee, and get caught up on news, photo back-ups, and journals. Also, we walked around the Thamel area—seeing much earthquake damage. And we spent time at some of Kathmandu’s stupas.
The Boudhanath Stupa
First on our list, we visited the Boudhanath Stupa (also spelled Boudha or Bodhnath). This is a massive structure near Kathmandu’s airport, one of the largest stupas in the world. Once on a major ancient trade route, Tibetan merchants used to rest and pray here. When China invaded Tibet in the 1950s, many Tibetan refugees came to Nepal and decided to live around Boudhanath. Today, it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is surrounded by a Tibetan community and many convents.
Buddha’s eyes on top of the Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Around the Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.
The legend of the Boudhanath Stupa
The history of the biggest stupa is a confusing tale of the hunt for water, drought, sacrifice, dew drops, and chickens. Here’s my abstract: A king wanted to build a watering hole. But there was no water where he wanted to build it. He consulted an astrologer who suggested sacrificing a male who embodied the 32 perfections (the same for choosing the little girl Living Goddess). Only two men in the realm met the 32 criteria…the King and his son. The King decided he himself should be the sacrifice. The king told his son to sacrifice a sleeping man without looking at his face. After the prince did so, he realized he had killed his own father. It’s unclear if the king’s sacrifice brought water.
The prince, however, was plagued with regret and guilt. He asked priests for ways to obtain salvation. They told him to release a flying hen from the sacrifice spot, and to build a shrine where the hen landed. The chicken landed where the stupa is today. As they built the stupa, a drought ensued and locals had to collect dew drops to survive. There are stories of female goddesses residing in the spot and chicken-keepers visiting–and in the end, it’s become a super-sacred stupa.
Visiting the Boudhanath Stupa
Like all stupas in Nepal, this giant white mandala has Buddha eyes, an eyebrow curtain, and prayer flags strung to the top spire. A surrounding deck lets visitors walk along the roofline. At ground level, the structure has 147 niches of five prayer wheels each, plus the bells between. In the back, there is a large space filled with pallets for pilgrims to prostrate themselves. All around the large stupa are alcoves with large prayer wheels, merchants selling prayer beads and religious paraphernalia, convents, restaurants, pigeons, dogs, and people.
Pilgrims come to prostrate themselves on the pallets behind Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.
We sat and watched people circle the stupa clockwise, fingering their Tibetan-Buddhist prayer beads–108 smooth bodhi tree beads with tassels. There was an old monk near the entrance, folded-up and sitting in a niche, bestowing blessings when asked by bowing head-to-head. Sometimes in family groups, most often solo, people circled. Monks, novice monks, and regular pilgrims. Dogs too. It was a calm and fascinating morning, observing there at the stupa.
We climbed up narrow stairs to a restaurant and enjoyed lunch on a rooftop overlooking the stupa. A breeze, a view, momo dumplings and orange juice. Yum.
A dog rests while pilgrims make clockwise circuits around Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Bells and vermillion/marigold markings at the Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Houses around the Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.A giant prayer wheel at Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.An airplane leaves KTM airport, over Buddha’s watchful eyes. Boudhanath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.
Return to Swayambhunath Stupa…on a Sunny Day!
We returned to the Monkey Temple on a sunny day. It looked completely different than it did in the rain just a few days before. Today, we climbed the 365 steep steps at the main entrance…slowly.
365 steps to Swayambhunath Stupa, Kathmandu, Nepal.
Up top, we looked at the places we’d stood in the rain, at the alcoves we’d hidden under. We made a few more clockwise walks, taking in all the sights we’d missed before. And again, we lingered to observe the rituals. Clockwise circling, whispering chants, leaving offerings of flowers and bread, lighting flames, spinning prayer wheels and ringing bells.
Buddha’s eyes on a cloudless day. Swayambhunath Stupa, The Monkey Temple. Kathmandu, Nepal.A grotto for offerings at Swayambhunath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Prayer flags and prayer wheels at Swayambhunath Stupa. The Monkey Temple. Kathmandu, Nepal.Lighting fires at Swayambhunath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Butter oil lamps and candle offerings at Swayambhunath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal.Watchful Monkey. Swayambhunath Stupa, The Monkey Temple. Kathmandu, Nepal.
Monkeys at the Swayambhunath Stupa
There were many visitors–and animals who live here. Dogs slept in the sun and shade. The pigeons pecked around and cooed. And the monkeys scouted for easy pickings. Stupidly, I forgot myself and carried a half-finished Coke out of a shop. Within a minute, a monkey locked eyes on the plastic bottle and ran towards us. Alarmed, I tossed it to him, half expecting him to catch it. It hit the ground and rolled, the carbonation clearly agitated inside. He couldn’t twist off the cap, so instead he chewed a hole at the bottom. The first puncture released some spewing Coke which attracted a baby monkey. The two of them licked at the stream flowing to the ground. Most of the Coke was lost. And the little monkey belched.
Curious thoughts ran through my mind that day. Monkeys eat the offerings. Dogs wear marigold necklaces. Candles burn. Squeaky prayer wheels spin. Bells ring. Prayer flags whip in the wind. And beyond is this expansive view of Kathmandu. There is an innate calmness about the place, the people. Despite the traffic, the earthquake damage, the thieving monkeys, it was serene here. I was sad to be leaving Nepal tomorrow.
Pigeons rest on the shady side of the stupa. The Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.Back steps at Swayambhunath Stupa. Kathmandu, Nepal. When we visited in the rain a few days before, none of this was set up. This passageway to the back parking area was a river waterfall that day.Marigolds adorn Prayer Wheels. Swayambhunath Stupa, the Monkey Temple. Kathmandu, Nepal.
Leaving Nepal
After a filling breakfast at Hotel Fuji, we headed by taxi to KTM airport for a long day of travel. Bryan stocked us up on snacks for the flights. I was near the end of a book about the Little Princes of Nepal and was looking forward to the quiet time on the airplane. We waited only a short while before being called with a hand gesture to the gate. We followed a line of people out onto the tarmac, and climbed the steps into our Qatar Airways plane bound for Athens via Doha.
As the plane lifted off, I saw the Boudhanath Stupa, then the Himalayas in the distance just before the plane turned away. Namaste, dear Nepal. Calm Nepal. Namaste.
Thamel dog. Our neighbor and friend, we saw this old man every day–in this same spot, almost always snoozing. Kathmandu, Nepal.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
The morning after arriving in Kathmandu, we had one final activity planned with most of our G Adventures group tour. We were going on a scenic flight to see Mount Everest and the mighty Himalayas. And we’d spend another couple of hours with the last two of our group, wandering Thamel and riding out to see Bhaktapur.
Mount Everest and the Kathmandu Airport
Along the trip, our G Adventures guide, Khush, talked about the majestic Himalayas and Mount Everest. “Everest is growing. If you want to climb, you must go now,” he said.
Currently at 29,029 feet–nearly five-and-a-half miles above sea level–Everest grows about a half-inch taller each year as the Indian and Asian tectonic plates continue to collide, squeezing and pushing the Himalayas up. At the summit of Everest, there is no step higher in the world. I will never climb Everest. But I was thrilled to have the opportunity to see it. We got up pre-dawn and arrived at the busy airport before coffee.
There was some confusion at the ticket counter. Mistakenly, our group had been split onto two different flights. As we sorted it out, we heard screaming from above–a family of monkeys yelled at each other in the rafters of the airport. Finally, with tickets in hand, we wandered in a sleepy gaggle over to a shop for coffee and snacks. We had about an hour to wait for our flight.
March 12, 2018: Sunrise at KTM, Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan International Airport. Nepal.
Go Time!
As we sat with our coffees and cookies, Bryan headed to the bathroom. Suddenly, after only about 15 minutes, we were called to board. I ran through the airport towards the men’s bathroom. Thankfully, I saw him exiting on the other side of the big room, screamed his name, and he came running.
We showed our tickets, boarded a bus, and were transported out across the tarmac at dawn. It was foggy, hazy, pink. We stopped at a small, pointy-nosed, green and white, two-propellor plane, and began exiting, only to be turned back to the bus. The plane was not ready? The airport wasn’t ready? The fog? It was unclear. But we sat for only five minutes, and then were signaled to exit the bus and board the Yeti plane.
Without further ado, we belted ourselves in–window seats for all!–and the plane began taxiing. The Yeti stewardesses walked the aisle with baskets, offering us cotton balls and hard candy before take-off.
Hello Himalayas!
Within minutes, we were high above Kathmandu, and rising above the fog. We could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. Soon, mountains were all around, oh-so-close to the plane windows. The stewardesses began pointing out the windows on the port side of the plane. We would each be signaled to go for our turn in the cockpit!
In the cockpit, I was blinded by the field of mountains ahead, glistening in the morning sun. The Himalayas! Majestic. Massive. Mysterious. Mind-blowing. Snow-covered peaks, broken by sheer rock sides, dark crevices, deep valleys, and ridges as sharp as knives. I was mesmerized. Already, the stewardess was tapping me on the back, my cockpit time was nearly up. Oh no! I hadn’t even taken a photograph yet! I leaned down between the pilots. “There are many mountains! Which one is Everest?!” I wanted to be sure. The pilot made a V, pointed to the left finger, and said in English, “On right, with trail.” Of course! Instantly I saw Everest, toying with the jet stream like a kid sticking a finger in a water hose. A trail of blowing snow smokes off the top almost continuously. I took three shots from the cockpit before my turn was over.
From the cockpit. Mt. Everest in the distance, with the banner cloud. Flight over the Himalayas. Nepal.After we turned back towards Kathmandu, I got my closest view of Mt. Everest from my seat. The summit sticks into the jet stream, making a near continuous trail of blowing snow. Flight over the Himalayas. Nepal.Flying over the top of the world. The Himalayas, Nepal.
The 75-minute flight included a champagne toast as we headed back to Kathmandu. We were on top of the world!
Walk in Kathmandu’s Durbar Square
Rachel, Marion, and Khush had left early that day for home (without going to see Everest). The remaining ten of us ate brunch together at Gaia and walked into Durbar Square in the late morning.
This is another thing I enjoy with a good group of travelers, wandering together, but separate. We followed one another in a long strand through the crowded Kathmandu streets. The instigator led us, following a map to Durbar Square. Naturally, the photographers brought up the rear. But we were in visual contact with each other, smiling, nodding, indicating things to see, turns to make. I love this. This independent but shared experience, the camaraderie.
Head down, leaning into a headband to carry a load of vegetables through the streets of Kathmandu. Nepal.Red iron work temple door in Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal.A temple / stupa near Kathmandu’s Durbar Square. Nepal.Bicycle rickshaws wait for patrons. Kathmandu, Nepal.Marionettes in Kathmandu, Nepal.The 4-way test of the things we think, say, or do. Kathmandu, Nepal.Sarees displayed for sale, among wires. Kathmandu, Nepal.
The Living Goddess
The 3-year-old Living Goddess of Nepal lives behind that door. Kathmandu.
We found the Royal Palace of the Living Goddess, and entered the small courtyard. The Living Goddess, or Kumari, is a young girl picked from obscurity to be worshipped until she reaches puberty.
Eligible girls are from a select caste. She must be in excellent health and must not have lost any teeth. Next, she must exhibit the 32 perfections of a goddess, including “Eyelashes like a cow, very black hair and eyes, a voice clear like a duck’s, and tiny feet and hands.” Her horoscope is considered. Next, her fearlessness and serenity is tested by placing her alone overnight in a room with the severed heads of sacrificed animals. Once a girl meets the criteria and passes the tests, they deem her the embodiment of the goddess and she walks into the palace. It is the last time her feet will touch the ground until she reaches puberty and leaves the palace. During the time the girl represents the goddess, she is carried everywhere.
It is considered very good luck to even glimpse the Kumari looking from the palace windows. At meetings with her, it is auspicious if she is “silent and impassive”. Once the girl reaches puberty, she is retired and the process begins to find a new Kumari. The current Living Goddess was only three-years-old when she was installed in 2017.
A singing bowl
I’ve always loved the singing bowls used in yoga and meditation classes. And I decided to find one while in Nepal.
I stepped into a shop looking for the perfect bowl–a deep tone, not shiny, and a hearty size. The shopkeeper demonstrated how to get sound with a pestle pressed against the outside rim of the bowl, and brought bowl after bowl to sing for me. At last, a rather plain and dark one resonated low and smooth. The sound vibration continued for more than two minutes as we stood silent, listening, smiling.
This bowl was made from nine metals, copper and tin (the bell metals), plus gold, silver, mercury, iron, nickel, zinc, and lead. It had been hand-hammered for its distinct sound, said to be the echoed chants of the monk who made the bowl. The shopkeeper placed the bowl on my palm and handed me the wooden pestle. He demonstrated a flat palm (like safely offering an apple to a horse), pushed my jacket sleeve up my wrist, and motioned for me to give it sound. With his patient instruction, on the third try the bowl came to life. A powerful vibration began on my palm; I felt it before I heard the deep, clear sound growing stronger.
I found my 9-metal singing bowl here. This gentleman is a kind, helpful, and incredibly patient shopkeeper. Om Supreme Bud Handicrafts, Kathmandu, Nepal.Hindu prayer beads, made from the Bodhi tree. Kathmandu, Nepal.
The plane crash
In the afternoon, the remaining four of us returned to the hotel to find out that a plane had crashed at Kathmandu’s airport. Forty-nine people were dead. BS-211 had been approaching from Bangladesh and turned the wrong way. Air traffic cleared the runways as the pilot seemed disoriented, nearly flying into the Nepal Airlines hanger and the air traffic control tower. But in a few moments, the plane crashed on open land near the runways, immediately catching on fire from spilled fuel. Miraculously 22 of the 71 passengers survived.
Six of our group were at the airport at the time, waiting for flights home. Thankfully, no one on the ground was injured. Our group only had to deal with was the long delay to reopen the runways, and the small airport ran out of food.
Bhaktapur and the Earthquake Damage
One more of our group left for home, and the final three of us took a taxi to Bhaktapur, a World Heritage Site with a Golden Gate and the 55-Window Palace. The site was badly damaged in an April 2015 7.9 earthquake.
The town of Bhaktapur sits on what once was the main caravan trade route between Tibet and India. In ancient times it was a rich and prosperous town. Known for the palaces, intricate wood windows and carvings, yogurt, and pottery, the town is a fascinating place to wander.
The Golden Gate opens to the Royal Palace’s inner courtyard, a once vast compound until a 1934 earthquake leveled all but a few of its 99 courtyards. Even more walls fell in the 2015 quake. We walked around the complex, admiring the intricate buildings and the diligent re-construction going on. The alleyways and plazas offer many things to see. I think I could have sat around all day, just watching the world go by.
Bhaktapur Square. Kathmandu, Nepal.Intricate wooden doors in Bhaktapur, Kathmandu, Nepal.In a courtyard pool in Bhaktapur. Nepal, Kathmandu.Streets of Bhaktapur. Kathmandu, Nepal.Friends. Bhaktapur Square. Kathmandu, Nepal.Holding back the walls. Bhaktapur, Kathmandu, Nepal.Broomstick and doorway. Bhaktapur. Nepal.Reconstructing a temple after the April 2015 earthquake. Bhaktapur. Kathmandu, Nepal.Reconstruction in Bhaktapur. Kathmandu, Nepal.The Golden Gate. Bhaktapur, Kathmandu, Nepal.Bhaktapur Temple, steps. Kathmandu, Nepal.Bricks stacked and organized for reconstruction. Bhaktapur, Nepal, Kathmandu.In Bhaktapur’s main square. Kathmandu, Nepal.
A sunny mandala of marigolds and daisies. Kathmandu, Nepal.
And then, there were two
The next day, it was back to just us two. We had a final few days in Kathmandu, before continuing on an around-the-world trip of a lifetime.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
After a couple of days in Pokhara, it was time to move on. Kathmandu was the next and final destination for our G Adventures group tour. Seven in our 12-person group decided to fly from Pokhara to Kathmandu. Traffic is notoriously bad on the road through the valley, and the eight-hour drive would leave them little time to see Kathmandu since they had early flights home the next day.
Our G Adventures Group all together in our Nepal bus for the last time.Only five of us, and all of the luggage, were on the bus to Kathmandu, so there was room to stretch out. Here, Bryan, Sophie, and Russ make use of the middle jump seats.
In Pokhara, we filled up on the hotel’s breakfast of fried potatoes with curry masala (with…is that coriander?), plus hard-boiled eggs, and coffee. And then we loaded up the bus bound for Kathmandu. We dropped the five Brits, the Canadian, and the New Yorker at the Pokhara airport, and the remaining five of us, plus Khush, got back in the bus with ALL the luggage to make the day-long ride to Kathmandu.
There was enough room now for each of us to lay down across a row of seats for a snooze if we’d wanted to. I chose to sit and watch Nepal go by. We stopped for gasoline at a one-pump station (an unmarked pump that sat nearly in the road), bathroom breaks, a little walk to shake our legs, and to buy some oranges, chips, and coffee. Back in the bus, and onward, upward.
Big Scenery, Little Moments
I don’t know what it is about these bus rides, I love them. I could ride forever, watching the world go by. It’s like a movie. Big scenery and little moments glimpsed, in a never-ending stream. I sat, camera-ready, mesmerized by the view.
Was that a bus stop or a stupa? Laundry or prayer flags? Kids walked to school in uniforms–girls in dark skirts to their knees, knee socks, sweaters, and long braids with the biggest, crispest, most perfectly white ribbons. Two boys threw stones at a flinching cow who continued picking in a trash pile. Four people and a dog all stood with their hands (or front paws) on a balcony railing–all looking in the same direction with curiosity. A seamstress sat high above the road working her sewing machine–her work station open to the breeze, the view and the dust.
The road to Kathmandu was rough. Construction, potholes, crooked, and up, up, up. A reminder that we were close to the top of the world. A reminder that this area is earthquake prone. They were still patching damage from a massive quake in 2015.
Sad Cargo
And then we saw a disturbing sight: buffalos tied by their tails and noses, and stuffed into a small truck like sardines for travel on these rough, crooked roads. They could barely move without pulling their noses, tails, or stepping on one another as they shifted from the truck’s motion on the switchbacked and potholed road.
Our driver eventually found an opportunity to pass this sad cargo, these suffering oxen. And as we passed, I could see their eyes shift–they couldn’t turn their heads–to look at our purple bus. Because I couldn’t do anything to help them, I was ashamed to meet their eyes. What cruelty humans inflict on others’ lives.
A cargo of oxen tied by their tails and noses. On the road to Kathmandu, Nepal.
To the Heavens
Seeing the oxen dampened my mood. No matter where one goes in the world, there is cruelty and inhumane treatment of animals. Here we were going up, up, up, seemingly to the heavens. And in those moments, I hoped, wished, and prayed so hard that karma exists, and that hell is real and for the people who destroy the earth, harm the environment, hurt each other, and turn animals into a product to eat, wear, or entertain.
As we got higher and higher on this dusty road, the bus went slower and slower. A combination of the steep elevation and the traffic, as we neared Kathmandu.
Reaching the top of the mountain road, and stopped in traffic, as we near Kathmandu, Nepal. The winding road is visible in the hazy valley, Overlooking the valley we’ve just driven up and out of, on the road to Kathmandu, Nepal.
The Road to Kathmandu
We crested the mountain and entered another valley. A storm was gathering, a dark cloud sitting on top of us, light coming around the edges close to the ground. The under-construction roads were dusty, muting the colors. This eerie and beautiful dust-diffused light, the stop-and-start bus, headlights and red taillights, and gusting wind made the entry to Kathmandu seem like we were entering a magical realm.
A school bus on the outskirts of Kathmandu, Nepal.Traffic under dark clouds as we enter Kathmandu, Nepal.Storm coming. Kathmandu Nepal.Traffic cop on a pedestal in the middle of the intersection. Kathmandu, Nepal.The road into Kathmandu, Nepal.
The Story of Swayambhunath Stupa
Along the ride, Khush had been telling us the story of the Swayambhunath Stupa (aka the Monkey Temple) in Kathmandu.
Two thousand years ago, a single lotus flower bloomed in the middle of a lake that filled the Kathmandu Valley. The bodhisattva Manjusri wanted the flower. He cut a gorge in the lake with his sword, draining it. But the magic lotus flower came to rest on top of a mountain and became the stupa. He cut the mountain to get the magic lotus. He cut his long hair which became trees, and his lice became the many monkeys that still haunt the site.
It is said that if you go clockwise around the stupa, ringing the bells and spinning the prayer wheels, that your wish will calculate a thousand times more. As we slowly moved into Kathmandu, I weighed what I wanted to wish that needed that kind of wish rocket-booster.
Arriving at the Monkey Temple (Swayambhunath Stupa), Kathmandu, Nepal.
The Heavens Open at the Monkey Temple
Our bus brought us to Swayambhunath Stupa, the Monkey Temple, via the back way (we’d learn later that this side had far fewer steps–the main entrance has 365 incredibly steep steps). The sky was dark as we climbed out, grabbing rain jackets and umbrellas just in case. Minutes later standing in front of the nearly empty stupa, monkeys screamed at each other over a bit of food, and nearly knocked us over scrambling onto a stupa. And the first drops of a very hard rain thundered down.
We raced under an alcove with a handful of tourists and watched others–humans, dogs, monkeys–seek cover. There was a smell of rain, incense, and the little oil and candle flames still flickering in the grottos.
Despite the heavy rain, Carina and I made a run for it. We made our clockwise navigation, arms sticking out from beneath useless umbrellas, hands spinning each of the prayer wheels, ringing the bells between, and whisper chanting our wishes like mantras as we splashed all the way around the stupa. Of course, we were soaked. Dripping. And that was one of the best, most vivid, happy times on the entire trip. Isn’t it funny how the imperfect moments become the most perfect memories?
Let’s hope the rain added a little something extra special for our wishes.
Circumnavigating the Swayambhunath Stupa in the rain, Kathmandu, Nepal.Spinning the prayer wheels around the Swayambhunath Stupa, Kathmandu, Nepal.Carina photographing me, photographing her…Hiding under a ledge in the pouring rain. Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.Dogs scurry to shelter as the rain comes down. Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.The Swayambhunath Stupa, aka the Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.Candles at Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.Dogs clean up inside the stupa as the rain pours down at the Monkey Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal.
Rain, Rain, Rain
After our circumnavigation, we ducked into a grotto, and–small world–met some of the others from our group who’d arrived in Kathmandu this morning. We waited together with the dogs in this little cave-like room that smelled of burning candles, smoke, rain, wet dog, sweat, dankness, and mountain air. But it was dry, and filled with laughing, happy people.
The rain hammered down, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. We still had to get back to the bus. After about 20 minutes, we gathered our perseverance and ran laughing out into the rain. The steps we’d come up had become a raging river waterfall, gushing against our calves and flooding our shoes as we hustled down. We splished, splashed, and squished dripping into the bus, quickly fogging up the windows. We shed wet outer layers as the driver cranked the heat to dry us off.
First evening in Kathmandu, Last evening as a group
Saying goodbye to Khush at the Fuji Hotel in Kathmandu, Nepal.
Not long after, the bus pulled up in Thamel, a tourist neighborhood in Kathmandu. We said goodbye to the two Nepalese bus pilots and dashed through the rain and wet alleys to get to the hotel.
We checked into the Fuji Hotel and changed into warm, dry clothes. Meeting in the lobby about an hour later, we decided to go across the street to Fusion Kitchen for our final dinner as a group. What an amazing group of people! The G Adventures tour was the perfect itinerary. Our guide, Khush, was the perfect host–knowledgeable, kind, attending to our every question/need, and fun to spend time with. And our group–a unique combination of people who shared a sense of adventure–was the icing on the cake. We could not have asked for a better group tour.
Last G Adventures Group Dinner in Kathmandu, Nepal.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
We left our Barauli Community Homestay near Chitwan National Park early for a five-hour bus ride to Pokhara, Nepal. It was a perfect day, riding on that bus–watching Nepal wake up, and seeing the beautiful and peaceful landscape pass by. I never wanted to arrive.
As usual, our G Adventures guide, Khush, used the time on the bus to tell us stories, explain local customs, and answer our questions. Today, Khush explained facets of Hinduism, Buddhism and Nepal culture.
Farm fields. Leaving Barauli, Nepal.Early morning. Near Barauli, Nepal.Morning rituals along the road. Barauli to Pokhara. Nepal.
On the Road to Pokhara
Along the road, we stopped to stretch our legs, for bathroom breaks, and to take a walk across one of the swinging bridges. These types of bridges are high over river gorges, connecting small mountain villages to the main road. In the old days, rivers were crossed via two cherry-picker-sized buckets on self-pulley ropes spanning the gorge. To cross, people would hop in one of the buckets and heave-ho themselves across. Some of these old rope-and-pulley trolleys still exist, but are being replaced by suspension bridges like this one.
Friends crossing a walking bridge. Nepal.
When we continued on, the bus driver played a CD of mantras chanted in English. To this soundtrack, brilliant Nepal passed by. A petite woman in a green sari sipped from a teacup on her porch, looking over the railing at her little garden below. Dogs slept in the sun on piles of rock near the road. Painted ads for cement, paint, fans, and alcohol decorated most concrete buildings. Buddha statues and stupas tucked into the mountains. Prayer flags caught the wind.
We stopped at Santas Restaurant for a buffet lunch. Khush told us that the owner relocated here after an earthquake destroyed his home and property on the road North to Tibet. Earthquakes. Nepal gets a lot of them. In Kathmandu, we would see remnants of the massive 2015 quake. But more on that later. This restaurant was a colorful, friendly place with good food, and better coffee.
Roadside shop selling truck decorations. Like India, the cargo trucks were often painted in bright colors and decked out with tassels and ornaments. Nepal.Advice on a truck bumper. But what’s in that “Liver Box”?!? Nepal.Roadside view. Barauli to Pokhara, Nepal.Prayer flags, mountain and river. Nepal. Shepherd with a blue umbrella. Nepal.
Pokhara
At last, we arrived in Pokhara under a darkening sky. As we checked into Hotel Bougainvillea, it got dark as night and with that silence of waiting for imminent weather. We walked into our room overlooking the street just as a thunderstorm unleashed. What peaceful, lovely light as the storm rained down. I sat on our balcony, scrunched into a dry corner, sniffing at the mountain rain like a dog. I don’t think there is any better smell on earth than the rain.
After a rainy ride over, we left our shoes at their door, and they welcomed us with creamy silk scarves and smiles. First, there was a brief presentation explaining SASANE, and the problem of human trafficking among poverty-stricken families. It is estimated that more than 7,000 women and girls are trafficked out of Nepal each year, often bound for brothels in India. We had an opportunity to purchase books about the topic, and crafts made by the survivors.
It was here at SASANE that I bought the book Sold, by Patricia McCormick, the story of a 13-year-old Nepalese girl sold into slavery by her stepfather. This book is a quick and devastating read. I highly recommend it, and Little Princes, by Conor Grennan, to learn about the heartbreaking and tragic outcomes for the trafficked children of Nepal. To learn more about trafficked children of Nepal, read this article from World Political Review.
Making Momo Dumplings
Next, we washed up and gathered around a table to learn how to make dumplings, the ubiquitous momos of Nepal. Momos are steamed goodness, dumplings filled with meat and/or veggies and an array of savory spices. First, we used little rolling pins to roll the dough paper thin on tiny wood cutting boards. Then we laid the dough across our palms, dropped in a dollop of veggie filling, carefully folded in the edges, and pinched it closed like a little cinched bag. The momos were whisked away for steaming and we helped tidy up. When at last it was time to eat, a SASANE participant sat with us and showed us how to eat our Thali set meal without utensils. A remedial student at best, my food mostly missed my mouth, and I resorted to using a spoon to get every last bite.
At the end of the night, we said goodbye. Not understanding that our scarves were a gift to keep, I folded mine to give back as I waited to put my shoes on. “No, no, it’s a gift. You must tie it to a tree one day for our peace and happiness.”
Up into the Himalayas
We got up very early the next morning to see the sun rise over the Himalayas’ Annapurna Range. In the pitch-black morning, our bus went up, up, up a twisting, turning road. We could see a few lights twinkling between trees far down in the valley below. Eventually, we reached the top, and stumbled out of the bus into the long beams and shadows of the headlights. Still without coffee, we ghost walked up, up, up steep steps in the cold morning to wait for the sun.
Beginning to see the mountain shapes. Pre-dawn at the Annapurna mountain range. Sarangkot, Nepal.
Sunrise in the Himalayas
The place we came to was quiet, though not empty. Stalls were still covered. A few people huddled around in hoods, talking softly. Over the next 20 minutes, the area became quite crowded as more people arrived for sunrise.
At last, we started to see the outlines of the mountains materialize from the darkness. Then it was light enough to see the white snow on top of the mountain shapes. We shivered and waited. Finally, the highest mountain tops caught the first rays of the sun, and we watched the glowing light move down, down, down the mountains. And then, like magic, the sun peeked over a mountain–rays of sunlight exploded into our eyes. Monks chanted a welcome. Smiles and sleepy eyes, clicking cameras, whispers and sighs, and the warmth of the sun. The mountains resplendent now in the light. The valley visible.
The sun kisses the highest mountains first. Sarangkot, Nepal.Good morning Nepal.A plane heads to Annapurna base camp just after sunrise. Sarangkot, Nepal.Bryan and Carol at Sarangkot Nepal for an Annapurna sunrise.As we turned to walk back down the hill to our waiting bus, we were pleased to buy tiny paper cups of coffee at a stall with a dog who could have been sleep-walking. Sarangkot, Nepal.
Walking down from Sarangkot
The bus waited for us down the hill. But, some of us decided to walk down. “Down” sounded easy, and it was a beautiful morning to be outside. I decided to take the hike. Bryan opted for the bus and a bit more sleep.
Rachel and Marion walking down to the bus. Sarangkot, Nepal.Bryan leaving to go catch some more zzzzs. Sarangkot, Nepal. G Adventures purple bus.
Turns out, the two-hour walk down the mountain was a highlight of my time in Nepal. We navigated down narrow, slippery stone steps and terraced lands of coffee trees and farms. From this viewpoint high above Pokhara, we could see the lake, and the World Peace Pagoda on the far shore. It was still early and cool. The light was soft and dewey. Sleepy guard dogs huffed and puffed at us, curious goats stared, and we walked on, stepping down, down, down the steep mountainside.
We tried to walk without falling, look and photograph without slipping or stumbling. It was so very steep, and such beautiful light on the terraces. My knees and calves began to sing about halfway down, and we shed clothes with the exertion and the warmth of sunlight. It was such an amazing two hours. For the next week, I crept along like a granny suffering from the aches and pains in my legs from that hike down a mountain in Nepal…and, I’d do it again in a heartbeat!
A dog nodding off in the morning sun, and on the other side of the lake, the World Peace Pagoda. Walking down Sarangkot. Nepal.Terraces in the morning. On the walk down Sarangkot, Nepal.The distant World Peace Pagoda and Pokhara. Sarangkot, Nepal.Terraces on the walk down from Sarangkot, Nepal.Steps down from Sarangkot, Nepal.
The World Peace Pagoda
After rejoining Bryan and having a well-deserved hearty brunch and more coffee, we poked around the town, exploring the shops and the restaurants for snacks. Later, Carina and I took a taxi to the Shanti Stupa World Peace Pagoda–the building we’d seen across the lake on our morning hike.
It was a quiet and breezy afternoon up on the mountain. As custom dictates, we took off our shoes and walked clockwise around the stupa, admiring the golden Buddha carvings and the view. From here, we could see across the lake to the mountain we had hiked down this same morning. An afternoon storm was coming, the sky getting darker by the minute, the prayer flags snapping in the breeze.
On our way down, we stopped at a temple where monks gathered and pounded drums in a rhythm to match a chant. Vendors sold prayer beads, prayer flags, and incense while dogs wandered among the stalls. Despite the brewing storm, it was peaceful here on the mountain, near the very top of the world, in sweet Nepal.
No Jumping. Respect the Silence. World Peace Pagoda. Pokhara, Nepal.At the World Peace Pagoda, looking back at Sarangkot and Pokhara, Nepal.Buddha at the World Peace Pagoda. Pokhara, Nepal.Buddha and the Bodhi Tree. World Peace Pagoda. Pokhara, Nepal.Silence and barefeet. The World Peace Pagoda. Pokhara, Nepal.Butter lamps for sale at the World Peace Pagoda. Pokhara, Nepal.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
Bryan and I were on our way around the world, and for the India and Nepal portion of our trip, we traveled with G Adventures. Part of the G Adventures Nepal itinerary was a Barauli Community Homestay, near the Chitwan National Park. We’d read some reviews of other homestays, and weren’t excited about this type of accommodation. While staying with locals would be lovely if you knew them, we’d read reviews of some homestays that were not great: one guy telling of a crying grandmother sleeping on a corner cot while he was given a bedroom, and another tale of a couple split up to stay with different families. We headed into this location with a bit of reluctance and a mantra of “it’s only two nights”.
So what is a Homestay and why does G Adventures do them?
Barauli is home to the Tharu people, a small indigenous group near the Chitwan National Park. While the park is popular for its wildlife, the Tharu people never enjoyed the benefits of tourism. Limited opportunities for the community led to poaching and deforestation in the park as a means of income. G Adventures and their non-profit arm, Planeterra, worked with the community to build cabins and host tourists, giving the Tharu people a piece of the tourism economy. The homestay program provides job opportunities in the region, and gives travelers a place to stay.
Arriving in Barauli
After about five hours on the road from Lumbini, we pulled into the Barauli Community.
The village women greeted us, standing in rows, beautiful in their traditional white dresses over velvet tops, and carrying pots of flowers on their heads. They welcomed us with smiles, flowers, and vermilion-colored blessing dots thumbed gently on our foreheads. Inside the community room, they served us fresh juice drinks while sorting out our room assignments.
We were surprised to learn that we were not staying with families in their homes. The village has 14 mud cottages for the homestay program. Our cottage, named “Tika”, was clean, spacious, and had a western-style toilet and a great shower. Mosquito nets hung from the ceilings over both of the queen-sized beds, beds which sat about a foot away from the wall. Ah…that was because there were spiders in the loo. We definitely would be using the net!
Our cabin, “Tika”, at the Barauli Community Homestay near Chitwan National Park, Nepal.Our room, “Tika”, at the Barauli Community Homestay in Nepal.Hand painting, colorful curtains, and mosquito netting hanging over our beds in our Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.
Walking Tour
After getting situated, we went on a little tour of the area. Bryan joined the bike ride group, and the photographers among us walked. We walked for over an hour down dirt roads, accompanied by a few curious and friendly dogs. We passed farms, cows (or “buffs” as Khush said), fields of crops, mud houses, and so many smiling people.
As we neared the river and sunset, we smelled marijuana. A large patch grew along the side of the road. And yes, we stopped and picked a little. 🙂
Both the biking and walking groups ended up at the river in time for sunset. Our escort dogs chased hundreds of tiny frogs out of ponds on the beach. Women from the village brought us hot masala tea and cookies. We shared tea biscuit cookie bites with the dogs, posed for a few photos with some locals, and enjoyed the sunset.
Afternoon, walking the cows home. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Kids running to see us. Near Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Ox taking a dip while his shepherd waits. Near the Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Poor cow, tethered through the nose. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.A dog on the Gandaki-Narayani-Rapti river system, Near the Barauli Community Homestay in Chitwan National Park, Nepal.Sunset on the Gandaki-Narayani-Rapti river system, Chitwan National Park, Nepal.Cows converse. Riding back to the Barauli Community Homestay at dusk, Nepal.Fields at sunset. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Panorama sunset on a pond. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.
Village Dance
In the evening, the village women demonstrated three traditional dances. Popcorn sat in decorative baskets between chairs arranged in a semi-circle. The Tharu ladies jingled from bells on their ankles and jewelry in their hair. They wore velvet tops under pristinely white dresses and had little purses tied to their hips. The women gathered in a line while someone explained the dances they would do–one dance included long sticks and the whacking and shielding represented defense. Dance number two used two short sticks and celebrated the harvest. The final dance was one we were pulled into, joining a big circle and trying not to look like fools imitating the ladies’ graceful movements.
Little Tharu man. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.The Tharu women dance for us. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.The musicians. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.
After the performance and dancing, we ate dinner together in the community room–another delicious Nepalese Thali set, yum! And in this quiet rural place, we played cards until bedtime. We slept like babies that night under our mosquito net—exhausted and dusty, somewhere in the middle of Nepal.
A morning walk
I woke up before dawn and went out on our porch. A rooster tried to rally in the distance. I heard nothing else. A grand silence. It was a painful hour or so for this early riser waiting for coffee. But my, what peace. Later, after coffee, breakfast, and wifi in the main building, we took another walk through the village. Highlights this time: four-day-old baby goats, not much bigger than our hands. A silent parakeet in a tiny cage stared at me from a farmhouse porch, surely asking me to open his cage. I hate seeing any animal in a cage, but find it particularly cruel to cage a bird. I will see that bird’s eyes forever.
Khush had been suggesting we hold our laundry until we got to the homestay, as they could use the income. When we came back from the walk, all of our laundry hung on the dusty road to our room.
Khush telling us about Nepal on a morning walk in Barauli Community Homestay.Typical house and door. Rural Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Goats and laundry. Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Our tour group’s laundry hanging to dry in the Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.
Safari in Chitwan National Park
Later in the day, we went for a safari ride in Chitwan National Park. The park is known for rhinos, a variety of birds, and Bengal tigers (!). We loaded into a very high truck, open on top with seats and roll-bars. In this hummer-jeep safari truck, we went off the main road, crashing through a creek, before following a bumpy trail through grasslands. A local wildlife expert accompanied us, and he whacked a stick on the truck to signal the driver to stop when he spotted something. Because of his sharp eyes, we saw colorful birds high in the trees, peacocks showing off on the ground, a giant white crocodile across the river, monkeys screaming at us from above. We stopped several times to climb out and walk, first at a ghat and later at a watch tower. After a few hours, we headed back to the homestay.
Looking for wildlife on the Gandaki-Narayani-Rapti river system. Chitwan National Park, Nepal.Bird crossing a long road in the Chitwan National Park. Nepal.
Serendipity
But Emily realized she’d lost her watch. First, we searched the truck. Nothing. The watch was important to her and expensive, so we turned the truck around to go back to the river for a look. Luckily, she spotted her watch glinting in the tall grass not far from where we turned around. Khush hopped out to get it. Only then did we see big safari action…an elephant was coming our way!
An Elephant and a Rhinoceros
This elephant carried three adults and a child, and crossed the trail right in front of us. They were on the trail of a one-horned rhinoceros, who was close by. Our truck driver stopped and cut the engine. We could hear the rhino chewing in the high grass next to us…just the sounds of the rhino chewing, a distant bird calling, our fidgety movements, and an elephant breathing. The “driver” led the elephant into the grass, to flush out the rhino, getting dangerously close. The rhino ran from the grass, and we saw him across the trail ahead of us–still chewing, and now breathing heavily.
As the rhino moved on, the elephant stopped close to the truck. His trunk busily picked stems, rolling them up into his mouth. Another eye I’ll remember forever–his giant golden-brown eye was the size of my hand. His skin like leather, wrinkled and creased, faded all shades of gray with a peep of delicate baby pink in some places. And I felt sorry for him. Elephants are social, they need their families, their matriarchs. They remember. And here atop him sat three pasty-white tourists and a driver, urging him to chase a rhino. Animals are not here for our amusement. Please don’t ride the animals. Just don’t.
Grassland plains in the Chitwan National Park. Nepal.Please don’t ride elephants. Tourists hang on as the driver runs the elephant into the tall grass to flush out a one-horned rhinoceros. Chitwan National Park. Nepal.A one-horned rhinoceros in Chitwan National Park, Nepal.
The Smiling Nepalese
When we left Chitwan National Park that night, riding high-up in an open-air jeep, kids ran to the road from fields and houses, waving and screaming “BYE!!!” at the tops of their lungs. Our group vigorously waved and screamed “Bye!!!” back. This went on for miles and miles. Such beautiful, friendly people. What great fun!
“BYE!” Children scream and wave, near Chitwan National Park, Nepal.Soccer field, kids yelling “bye!” Near Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Sharing the bike and the road to the Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Sunset and a motorcycle in the dust of the Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.Boys saying goodbye at the Barauli Community Homestay, Nepal.
Finally, if you liked this post and would like to stay in touch, please…
Carol Fletcher is a traveling, dog-loving, coffee-addicted photographer and blogger living in Chicago. To see more photo essays and projects, please visit www.carolfletcher.com.
