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.
I love going as much as arriving. Getting to Nepal from India was a lot of going, and it was a lovely day for it. By sunset, we’d be in the birthplace of Buddha, Lumbini, Nepal.
In the still-dark early morning, we left Varanasi. First, a tuk-tuk ride to the train station, followed by a six-hour train ride, before a switch to a bus for a couple of hours hurtling north. After nearly nine hours of going, we landed in the border town of Sonauli, India. We passed a hustling, bustling market area, then stopped at a tiny building for Indian departure stamps.
Thirty minutes later, we walked out of India and into a no-man’s land between two countries. Amused and thrilled to be on our feet, we dallied for photographs of the arches announcing India on one end zone, and Nepal on the other. Checked out of India, but not yet checked in to Nepal. Technically, where were we if something were to go wrong in this gap, in the cusp between this and that? Buddha eyes watched us from atop the Nepal goal post. As we walked into Nepal, the town became Belhiya.
Goodbye India. In the in-between. The border crossing India to Nepal.Hello Nepal! We walked through a no-man’s land, and under the “Welcome to Nepal” stupa with Buddha eyes, the town became Belhiya, Nepal.
First Impression of Nepal
Listen! Nepal was QUIET! India’s honking madness was not even a football field away. But here, the streets were blessedly quiet.
Our luggage had already crossed the border on rickshaws and was now packed high atop our new pastel purple G Adventures bus with two Nepalese pilots. Time to go!
Crossing into Nepal.
The Story of Buddha
Baby Buddha statue at Lumbini, Nepal.
Our first stop in Nepal was Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha. During the two-hour bus ride from the border, Khush, our G Adventures Leader Extraordinaire, told us the story of “Lord Buddha”.
The man who became Buddha was born a prince. His mother, Queen Mayadevi, stopped at Lumbini on her way to her mother’s house. At Lumbini, she gave birth to a son she named Siddhartha Gautama. She dreamed he would conquer the world in one of two ways: as a king through war or as a monk.
He was a thinker and empathetic. He married and had a son. At 29, he went outside the palace to see his province. It is said that on his journey, he saw an old man and learned that growing old was part of the cycle of life. He saw a leper and sickness and learned that one can’t escape karma. Finally, he saw a dead body and learned that everyone dies. He went home depressed from all the suffering and pain he had seen.
But then, one day, he saw a poor monk who was begging for food. Despite his poverty, the monk’s face was bright, shining, and wise with enlightenment. Siddhartha decided that to get this kind of peace and knowledge in the face of the human condition, he too needed to be a monk.
Becoming Buddha
He left the palace, his wife, his child, and his possessions. He shaved his head and wandered in the jungle for five years. But nothing came to him. He met five others in pursuit of knowledge and together they meditated. To stimulate the chakras, they didn’t eat and gave pain to their bodies. One day an old lady from the untouchables caste passed by with milk in a terra cotta pot. She offered it and he drank. The five others declared him a fake monk and left him.
He decided to lead a normal life, but with meditation. He studied and lived a life of moderation, a middle way. Unsatisfied, he sat under the shade of a bodhi tree and meditated for 49 days, until he found the truth. And with that, he became Buddha, or self-enlightened. Later he found the five others near Varanasi and gave his first sermon. The five became his disciples and his teachings were passed on by word of mouth for two centuries before being written down.
A Bit about Buddhism
Essentially, the teachings of Buddha say that sufferings are caused by desires and that to overcome sufferings you must control desires. This is done by striving to have the right:
View: know that our actions and beliefs have consequences after death because death is not the end.
Intention: practice loving kindness and compassion, and contemplate suffering and our impermanence.
Speech: don’t lie, or make rude speech, don’t tell one person what another says about him/her.
Action: don’t kill or injure, don’t take what is not given, no sexual acts, no material desires.
Livelihood: beg to feed, only possess what is essential to sustain life.
Effort: generate energy, exert the mind, and strive to prevent and eliminate evil and unwholesome mental states.
Mindfulness: be present, never be absent minded, be conscious of what one is doing.
Concentration: give up pleasure and pain, happiness and sadness, in order to enter a place in the mind of pure equanimity and mindfulness.
This is drastically oversimplified, as is the Pancha Sila. But the kindness and good intentions are clear and universal, no matter how deep one gets into religion.
Lumbini, the Birthplace of Buddha
We arrived at Lumbini in the late afternoon, walking into the park that seemed to be growing prayer flags. Here, there are ruins of ancient monasteries, a sacred Bodhi Tree, the Ashokan pillar marking a prince’s birth, and the Mayadevi Temple, where Buddha’s birthplace is located. It is a large park-like complex with many peaceful places to sit and contemplate life. But first, you must remove your shoes.
People and monks from many countries come here to meditate. Chanting pilgrims surround the ancient bodhi tree which is draped in thousands of prayer flags. We briefly walked through the main building where Buddha’s birthplace is marked by excavated stones under bullet-proof glass and offerings. And then spent our own quiet time near the tree and wandering the grounds.
What peace there in the dying light of the sun, prayer flags blowing in the breeze, and the sing-song chants of the monks. I would have liked to spent the day there, watching, listening, and maybe doing a little meditating.
Prayer Flags and the sun. Lumbini NepalMayadevi Temple–the birthplace of Buddha. Lumbini, Nepal.The sacred Bodhi tree. Lumbini, Nepal.Offerings at the foot of the Pillar of Ashoka, Lumbini, Nepal.Candle wax and incense remnants. Lumbini, Nepal.Sunset at Lumbini. Nepal. The Pancha Sila — the 5 precepts of Buddhism. Lumbini, Nepal.Prayer flags, barbed wire, and laundry. Lumbini, Nepal.Peaceful breeze and prayer flags, Lumbini Nepal.
Peaceful Nepal
My first and lasting impression of Nepal was of peace. Calm, repetitive chanting, singing bowls and chimes, cool breezes, flower mandalas, and the surrounding mountains.
Purple flower petals in a floating mandala. Hotel Club Denovo, Butwal, Nepal.Yellow flower mandala–a universe floating. Hotel Club Denovo, Butwal, Nepal.The mountains as viewed from our Hotel room. Butwal, Nepal.The lane behind our hotel, Butwal Nepal.
Butwal, Lumbini to Barauli
Buddha as an enlightened adult. Nepal.
The next day, we left for a four-hour bus ride to Barauli. Along the way, we were almost hit by a Bob Marley-decorated truck. The truck passed a car while being passed by our bus, and came about one inch from hitting our bus at the exact spot where my elbow was resting against the window. The drivers got out and yelled at each other. Our driver fetched a policeman, but the truck did not stop when the policeman flagged him over. The policeman got on his motorcycle to go get the truck. We saw them pulled over down the road and stopped again so our bus driver could join more debate. Khush said the truck driver would likely be fined on-the-spot, and/or taken to jail.
Near Lumbini, we stopped to see another golden statue of Buddha. Khush explained that statues of a bald short-haired Buddha are of him yet-to-be-enlightened, while curly, long or pony-tailed hair is after he’s enlightened. Despite the fact that Nepal is 81% Hindu and only 9% Buddhist, Buddha seems to be everywhere in Nepal.
The Nepalese Thali Set
A Thali Set. A delicious and filling traditional meal in Nepal.
The bus kept rolling. I could ride on that bus forever, watching the mountains pass. I didn’t want to get there, no matter where “there” was.
Nearing our Barauli Homestay in Chitwan National Park, we stopped to eat at a hillside mom-and-pop restaurant. They served us a traditional Nepalese Thali Set, similar to the meal we’d had at the cooking class in Orchha, India.
A “thali set” offers all six flavor profiles—sweet, salty, bitter, sour, astringent, and spicy–served all on one metal plate. This veggie plate had rice, lentil soup, greens, a curry, and several unidentified but dang-spicy fried veggies. Khush said, this meal “Will cost you $3 on your pocket. You will love it.”
And we did!
Anyone have recommendations for where to find an authentic Thali Set in Chicago? Let me know!
Mirror at a rural restaurant in Nepal.Rural restaurant in 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.
What is written? Prayer Flags, Lumbini and the Bodhi Tree. Nepal.
We arrived into Varanasi around noon, after a 13-hour overnight train ridefrom Orchha. Men had just carried our suitcases up the stairs from the train platform, and now our bags were loaded onto a tuk-tuk for the quick ride to the hotel. However, our group of 12 plus Khush walked the two blocks to City Inn–together, in a wobbly blob. After the long night train ride, and the longer morning without coffee, we held on to each as we crossed the chaotic traffic-teeming streets of Varanasi.
Across Varanasi to meet the Mother River Ganges
After coffee, check-in, coffee, showers, coffee, and lunch, we gathered again in the lobby. Wifi, then we divided into tuk-tuks for rides to the river where Khush had arranged for us to take a sunset cruise on the Ganges.
Dolls and toys. Varanasi, India.
Eventually, our tuk-tuks dropped us off and we walked through a crowded market. Cows ambled along beside us. People looked at us. We saw vendors selling dolls and toys wrapped in plastic, and stacking fruit we couldn’t name. There were sari shops, one big bowl of green peas sitting nearly in the street, stalls of bronze bowls and bells, and shops draped in beads and colorful yarn. Hot pink cotton candy trees bobbed through the crowd, beggars sat with tired eyes, and black and white posters of people showed up on just about every wall–were they missing, or found dead? Bulls and dogs laid peacefully in streets–cleaving the traffic like it was the Red Sea. Eventually we came upon steps–lots and lots of steps–down to a wide, ash-blue river. This was the Mother River Ganges.
Varanasi’s Ghats
Varanasi’s 88 ghats and the river Ganges are the spiritual capital for Hindus worldwide. This was one of the busiest and most important: Dashashwamedh Ghat. We saw men on cell phones waiting, holy men praying, dogs sleeping, goats eating, monkeys screaming along the tops of the buildings, a cow sitting in smoking ashes, kids running, groups of women in colorful saris holding the hands of their grannies. People were jovial, joyful, festive. We came to a plateau where a dozen skeletons of umbrellas hung with flags, garlands and bells. And then down more steps down to the boats, and to the sacred water of the river Ganges.
Visual gluttony. A sugar-high for the eyes. A little dizzy, shaking and dazed, I followed our group down to the water, to a sunny wooden boat. A monk-orange cloth draped the seating ledges. Little bouquets of orange and magenta flowers with candles gathered on the table in the middle of the boat. Our pilot, an older gentleman with graying hair and a bright smile, took my hand as I stepped up and into the bow. A young man with an inquisitive expression assisted us down from the bow and over to seats. And then they pushed off with long poles into the current of the great river. First, we motored north, then east, over to the sandy beach across the river. All the while, Khush telling us the story of the Mother River Ganges.
Boarding our boat for an evening ride on the Ganges River, Varanasi India.Roses, mums, and candles in candy wrappers sit on brown paper “boats”, prepared for us to light and offer to the River Ganges.Our pilot for a sunset ride on the Ganges, Varanasi India.
“The Mother Ganga takes and gives.”
The Divine Mother, the River Ganges or Ganga, is sacred in Hinduism. Pilgrims come to pay homage–wading in to their waists, bathing, swimming, cupping the holy water in their hands, lifting it, and letting it fall back into the river, and drinking it. It is common to offer flowers and floating candles, and to take water home. The water is said to have healing properties, and to be self-purifying.
Many consider it safe to touch or drink, despite the fact that sewage empties into the Ganges. Also, people do laundry in this holy water, wash their dead loved ones in it before cremation on the banks, and bury people in it. Five types of bodies are not cremated, but instead are sunk in the River Ganges with stones: kids under age 5, pregnant women past the seventh month, snake bite victims, leprosy victims, and holy men.
“To drink the water, having bathed in it, and to carry it away in bottles is meritorious. To be cremated on its banks, having died there, and to have one’s ashes cast in its waters, is the wish of every Hindu,” Eric Newby in Slowly, Down the Ganges.Three men on a boat in the Ganges. Varanasi, India.A view of the ghats on the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.Camel and piles of clothes on a beach, across the Ganges from Varanasi, India.Horse on the beach across the River Ganges from Varanasi’s ghats. India.Our G Adventures Group on the River Ganges, Varanasi, India.The ghats get crowded in the evening, as people come for the daily Ganges Aarti ceremony. Varanasi, India.
Cremation on the banks of the River Ganges
Hindus believe cremation on the banks of the Ganges River frees the soul from the cycle of death and rebirth. It is said that those who are lucky enough to die in Varanasi, and are cremated on the banks of the Ganges, are granted instant salvation. The river absorbs the ashes, and forgives.
Only in Varanasi and Kathmandu can cremations take place 24 hours a day, every day. And here in Varanasi, there are two cremation ghats on the Ganges. As the sun went down, our little boat passed and then turned to pull close to one of them: the Manikarnika Ghat. It was twilight, but still we saw smoke swirling up to the darkening sky from the many fires. Eleven cremation fires burned at once.
Slowly, we drifted way from the cremation site. Then, we lit our flowered candles, leaned over, and set the candle boats gently out onto the river with our wishes, prayers, and tidings to the dead. I touched my wet hand to my head and watched our flames float away, all together as if they were holding hands into the dark waters of the Mother Ganges.
Manikarnika Ghat in Varanasi, India. My flowered candle boat floats away on the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.
Ganges River Aarti at Dashashwamedh Ghat
After watching our little flames drift away, the boat turned back the way we’d come. Our pilot motored up beside other boats back at the Dashashwamedh Ghat. The ghat now looked like it was ready for a carnival, brightly lit with throngs of people and boats waiting. Boats continued to come close, crowding in to “park”. A commotion ensued each time a boat pulled close, a scrapping sound, splashing water, admonishing and advising pilots, and a grabbing at lines to steady the boats.
Dashashwamedh Ghat is the main ghat in Varanasi on the Ganga River. Built in 1748, the evening ritual of Ganga aarti–offering prayer to the Ganges River–is held here everyday at dusk. Priests perform this ritual simultaneously under the lit skeleton umbrellas and flood lights. There is music and chanting, as the crowd swarms on the ghat and the boats bob in the water.
We sat there for about an hour. Watching as vendors walked across the water, boat-to-boat, selling candles, souvenir postcards, prayer beads, and brass trinkets. The chanting and music was accompanied by the sounds of wooden boats rubbing together, the Ganges lapping and splashing, cameras clicking, soft voices talking, and people slapping at the biting mosquitoes.
A man walks boat-to-boat offering candles and souvenirs for sale at Dashashmedh Ghat, Varanasi, India.Hundreds of boats, with hundreds of people, sat in the River Ganges watching the aarti ceremony in Varanasi, India.
The Ganges at Sunrise
Before dawn the next morning, we were back with our little boat on the Ganges for sunrise. Like others, we soaked in the extraordinary meaning of this place.
Boats push off into the Ganges for sunrise. Varanasi, India.Sunrise on the River Ganges, Varanasi, India.A man takes a morning swim in the River Ganges. Varanasi, India.Morning walk through the narrow lanes behind Manikarnika Ghat. Varanasi, India.
Manikarnika Ghat
We returned to Manikarnika Ghat where many of the night’s fires still smoldered. One fire was blazing–newly lit. Only in Varanasi and Kathmandu can cremations happen 24-hours a day. In other places, bodies are burned only in daylight hours so they don’t turn into ghosts.
Wood and scale. Near the Manikarnika cremation ghat, Varanasi, India.
Our boat motored to steps near the cremation ghat and we got out to walk through the narrow alleys. A pile of cloth puddled at the lip of the river, the water lapping at the rainbow of colors and swirling ashes. Men walked waist deep in the water separating cloth from wood, and pulling water through big bowl strainers. Dogs and cows lay in the ashes to stay warm. The air was dusty. If there was a smell, I didn’t register it. Stacks of wood and large scales to measure the ~1.5 kg needed to cremate a body lined the narrow lanes.
Stacks of wood line an alley near the Ganges cremation site. Varanasi, India.
We viewed the Manikarnika Ghat from above. One of the holiest ghats along the River Ganges, it is believed that an earring fell from Shiva here, making it especially sacred. Named in writings dating from the 5th Century, Hindus have long believed that a soul finds instant salvation when cremated here. The sick and elderly often come to spend their last days here, walking along the edges and absorbing the charisma of the ghat, pondering life and awaiting death.
Death Rituals in India
Khush explained that when someone dies, the body is taken home for cleaning and dressing by the women in the family. The men of the family then carry the body to the cremation site, while the women stay home to clean the house of negative energy. Sometimes dead bodies and their male relatives have to line up into the alleys, to await their turns for cremation. That morning, we watched as a body was unwrapped of her fine red cloth–down to a plain white muslin shroud–and placed on a pyre. Two men stacked wood on top, then balanced sandalwood and incense on top of that. A man began to circle the body clockwise, preparing to “give fire” with oil or butter. Out of respect for the dead and the living, we left before they lit the fire.
In India, death is considered a gateway to another life received as a result of our past actions, also known as Karma. A body takes about two hours to burn. Afterwards, the family collects some ashes in a terra cotta pot and mourns for 12 days, to give the soul enough time to reach heaven.
Vendors sell plastic and terra cotta containers for pilgrims to take home River Ganges water and ashes. Varanasi, India.
Contradictions
I read, “There are two types of people in the world — those who have been to India and those who haven’t.” At first, that seemed arrogant and exaggerated. Now, I get it. India is beyond incredible: astounding, vivid, dirty, crowded, colorful, and conflicting. It overwhelms the senses. Every hour, every moment.
And India overwhelms the emotions. Incredible poverty. Humanity and the closeness to death. The sad state of the animals, the water, the air. We walked and walked that morning. By the time we saw the dead puppy on the ghat, I was in some state of stunned stupor. All I could think about was how we are nothing at all. A blip. A whiff. A thin trail of smoke. Vapor. A breeze. Dust. Why does anything matter? Why does EVERYTHING matter?
Dogs in the morning sun on a ghat in Varanasi, India. A dead puppy was behind me on the steps, a stream of ants still arriving and covering his little body.Morning. Varanasi India.Laundry. Ganges River,Varanasi, India.Morning rituals. Ganges River, Varanasi, India.A dog sleeps in a fire pit, Varanasi India.Sleeping along the banks of the Ganges River, Varanasi, India.Barber shop. Varanasi, India.A cow looks over the fruit, before the man hits him with a stick. Varanasi, India.
In Varanasi, life and death both seemed so close. The tuk-tuks helped with the craziest rides of all–thrills of a lifetime and frights like it was the end. One night, each set of our group entered the restaurant exclaiming a version of: “Oh my god, that tuk-tuk ride! I thought we were going to die!”
Bulls and cows stampede into the street. Varanasi, India.In a decked-out tuk-tuk. Varanasi, India.A dog waits, while we wait for a repair. In a Varanasi tuk-tuk. India.
Walking out of India
On the day we left Varanasi, we were also leaving India. First, we had a 6-hour early morning train ride to Gorakhpur, then a 2-3 hour bus to the India-Nepal border.
As we got closer to the border, we saw gobs of the colorful Indian semi trucks lined up for miles and miles. Khush told us that they are often stuck waiting at the border for 24-48 hours. Our van crossed to the wrong side of the road to pass the line of semis, dodging oncoming mopeds and trucks with all horns blaring. Loud India.
Approaching the border, we got out of the van while our pilot and co-pilot packed our bags onto 2 rickshaws. We waited outside a small building as the officials stamped our passports for departure. Then we walked out of India, across the no-man’s land separating India and Nepal.
In India, it is said that “Everything is written.” We follow an inevitable path. I hope that path someday returns me to incredible India.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! One day I will go back and would love recommendations.
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 Holi and a couple of days exploring Orchha, we were going on the overnight train to Varanasi. The plan was to eat dinner at a cooking school in Orchha, before taking tuk-tuks to the train station at Jhansi. From there, we’d catch the 10:30 p.m. overnight train to Varanasi.
Rajni’s Cooking School
Rajni at her teaching kitchen. Orchha India.
We were doing some adventurous eating with the Indian curry, dal, paneer, masala, tikka, and naan. For this vegetarian, Indian cuisine offers many nutritious and savory meal options. Plus, I’ve been told that turmeric–a key ingredient in curry–is a good natural elixir for arthritis and other ailments of people our age. Bryan and I talked about incorporating our favorite Indian dishes in our meal rotation back home. Perfect, because on this night, we were headed to Rajni’s cooking school for a lesson, some recipes, and dinner.
Emily assists Rajni at our Cooking Class in Orchha, India.Using a stone mortar and rock pestle to grind ingredients. Rajni Cooking Class, Orchha, India.
First, she made us Masala chai and served it in delicate cups. As we sipped the spiced tea, we watched as she and her helper ground the curry ingredients on a stone mortar with a rock for a pestle. They cut and seasoned eggplant, then fried naan, heaping it into baskets to pass around. Rajni explained the process and ingredients to us, and invited us to sit with her and help. At last, the food was served on divided metal plates. Savory. Delicious. Healthy. Yum…down to the very last bite.
Our G Adventures Group enjoying Rajni’s Cooking Class meal. Orchha, India.
Before we could offer to help do the dishes, tuk-tuks came to take us back to the hotel to grab our bags and make the one-hour trip to the train station in Jhansi.
At Jhansi Station
The Jhansi Train Station around 10:15 p.m. India.
Our tuk-tuks dropped us off in a teeming parking lot. Headlights illuminated people walking to and from the station, and squeezing luggage through the metal gates at the doors. Khush got us situated on the platform, with some of us waiting in a women-only room before our sleeper-car train arrived around 10:30 p.m. The station was full of people, some had staked out space and were sleeping on blanket pallets on the platform.
I was beside myself with excitement. I love a train ride! And an overnight ride in a second-class sleeper car in India, well, my skin tingled with the thrill of it.
On the Overnight Train
Khush rallied us just before the train pulled into the station. We boarded the crowded train quickly, found our places, and made space to cram our bags under the seats. All of us were in the same car, but we were split up into trios or quartets. We sat smiling at the six Indians who were sharing the compartment as the train slowly pulled out of the station and swayeded down the tracks.
Not long after the train left, it was decided that it was time for bed. The Indians showed us how to pull down the bunks, pointed out the brown-paper wrapped sheets and pillow to dress the bed, and coached us on climbing up. To imagine the sleeper car compartment, picture a U. The bottom of the U is two longer and deeper bunks. Across the aisle, each of the sides of the U have three shorter, more shallow berths. Thus, each compartment was designed to sleep eight people.
Bryan ended up with one of the longer bunks. I had a middle berth. I stood on the bottom bed to put my sheet on and climb in. It was a small space. My camera bag and a bottle of water needed to be in bed with me for easy access and safety. Clothes and shoes were left on. I squirmed into my space. It was impossible to sit up–the top bunk so close to my face. I nearly panicked. Carina suggested rolling onto my stomach and looking into the open space of the aisle. It worked. Anxiety abated.
Sleeping on the Overnight Train
It was hot, then cold as the train rocked and click-clacked through the night. A thick wool blanket was at the bottom of my berth, but it was a trick to reach it without dropping it, knocking off any of the stuff in bed with me, and without being able to sit up. Eventually, I got covered and slept.
At one point, I awoke to see Simon talking to me from the dark aisle, “Where’s Khush?” The train was moving faster, and everyone was asleep except for a handful of people who’d just gotten on. There was some question over assigned berths. The woman beneath me knew Khush’s berth number–and repeated it three or four times, like a chant designed to remember. Simon nodded and disappeared down the dark aisle.
Carol in a narrow middle berth, night train to Varanasi. India.Bryan, up top, in his berth. Below, a family of three shared one bunk. Night train to Varanasi, India.Early morning on the night train to Varanasi. Taken from the middle berth, looking at the mirror, the curtained window, and the other berths. India.Another passenger, enjoying his phone and window-berth view. Night train to Varanasi. India.
Waking up on the Overnight Train
The train car woke up slowly. Whispers. Shuffles. Squeaky berths being folded up and returned to seating. Some people had exited at early morning stops, and we sat in their empty bunks playing cards, eating our snacks, reading, and waiting for the signal that we’d reached our stop. The only thing missing from this perfect little morning was COFFEE!
I was reading A Long Way Home by Saroo Brierley. When he was only five years old, Saroo went with his brothers to scavenge at their village train station. Little Saroo fell asleep on an empty train car. When he awoke, the train was a long way from home. He was unable to read, and did not know his hometown or his own last name. He survived for weeks by himself on the streets of Calcutta trying to figure out the train that would take him home, haunting stations for food and shelter. Eventually, he was befriended by a trustworthy adult, transferred to an adoption agency, and adopted to a family in Australia. He spent many years exploring the Indian rail lines with Google Earth, trying to piece together his memories and locate his family and hometown. I won’t spoil the ending for you. But please read this powerful story.
Trains in India
The train stations and railroad tracks in India seem to attract people who may have no better place to go. I saw gangs of kids scampering across tracks, tents alongside rail lines, groups of women cooking on small fires near stations. Every newspaper I picked up in India had a section dedicated to identifying people who had been found dead on the tracks. A photo of the dead person’s face was featured, along with the place, date, and time he or she was found. A practice both efficacious and macabre.
The train sat for an hour at Allahabad. Vendors came onboard selling samosas from a yellow bucket lined with a greasy newspaper. And we wondered if we jumped out to find coffee if the train would pull away and abandon us…or god forbid, we get back on a train and it be the wrong train. Thinking of little Saroo, I stayed put. Coffee would have to wait.
Dare I jump off this train while stopped at Allahbad to find coffee? Overnight train in India.Bryan and an Indian lady. In the morning after an all night train ride to Varanasi, India.
Group-Travel Tip Pools and Luggage Men
Finally, we arrived at Varanasi around noon, after a 13-hour journey. We piled out of the train into the bright sunlight with our bags.
Early in the trip, we gave Khush 3,500 INR ($55) each for a tip pool. He used this money to tip on behalf of the group for baggage handling, restaurant service, toilet use, local guides, and the bus drivers and co-pilots. In Varanasi, Khush negotiated with a few men who stood in a close semi-circle near him. Suddenly, they took their tablecloth-sized scarves from around their necks and wound them tall and tight on their heads in one sweeping motion. These three strong men then stacked and carried our suitcases up the stairs ON THEIR HEADS! As with all the money in our tip pool, Khush passed the payment to one in our group, and pointed out the man to pay.
Strong men carry our luggage on their wrapped heads out of the Varanasi Train Station. India.
Also, if you’ve been to India, please leave a comment about your favorite memories and places! I’m dying to go back and would love recommendations.
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.
