A personal story from my time in Nepal, India and Tibet in the early 90’s. It was published in The Northern Advocate, New Zealand in 2006.
The published PDF can be seen here.
Holy Cow!
Naivety and Confusion across a Sub-Continent.
In October 1992, I found myself in Kathmandu. I don’t mean that I fell asleep one night and mysteriously awoke in the Nepalese capital the following morning unaware as to how I had got there. On the contrary, I was all too aware of how I had got there. A gruelling 14-hour flight with Pakistan International Airways, preceded by an equally gruelling 10 hour coach ride from Edinburgh to London in the deepest throes of an acid and speed come-down. Oh yes I knew how I’d got there all right. What I mean is that whether by accident or design, whether out of a sense of duty or desire I had been riding along on the crest of a wave whose destination was inevitable but unspoken of until it crashed, throwing me head on into a culture that I knew nothing about at the tender age of 18. I didn’t even really know why I was there, I knew absolutely nothing about the place and even less about the people and their customs. A part of me felt that it was expected for me to do this; I had inherited the money, my brother had been two years previously and my father had lived and worked there for a couple of years in the 60’s. Hence the fact that we were instilled with a sense of duty to visit this fabled land for ourselves. I don’t mean that there was any arm-twisting going on forcing me to go, but it was like an unspoken expectation. Whatever the circumstances I was there and I was there for a while so I’d better get used to it. I had planned a 10-month trip, which was to start in Nepal, go briefly through India and onto Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia and then New Zealand then back to Glasgow University and Electronic Engineering via the frozen expanse of Tibet. Little did I know that even the best-laid plans have a tendency to evolve into something completely different.
That first week in Kathmandu was the start of a very steep learning curve that I was going to have to climb if I was to survive. In between episodes of self-doubt, homesickness and letter writing not to mention hours spent on the toilet doing painful balancing acts while my insides erupted I slowly managed to adapt and actually learn a bit about my new surroundings. I slowly came to realise that I was in a very good position, okay I had to squat on the toilet, I couldn’t drink the water and I was on my own but I had £2000 in my account a visa card and my freedom. I could do anything or go anywhere I wanted. The world was my proverbial oyster, which is an intensely liberating and in some ways dangerous thought for an 18-year-old to have. I decided to set about having a ball, trying things that I shouldn’t have tried but that I knew I could try, and set about doing the tourist things in my own messed-up pseudo-beatnik fashion. To others I may have looked like an 18 year-old wannabe hippie on a GAP year but in my eyes I was living the life. I even adopted a mantra of my own just to fit in with the whole eastern thing, it went like this; “Neither accept nor deny, merely observe and go with the flow”. Quite what it meant I’m not sure but I think it came from the “Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” that must have travellers book, that I was reading at the time. I tried to write letters home in a mock Kerouac/Burroughs-esque fashion and coined the term “The Ultimate Shamble” for my trip. It was my first time away from home and I was going to make the most of it.
Amid stints of teaching Tibetan children, trekking and finding my feet I spent my time searching for Shamen in the hills, hanging around bars in Thamel and eating mushrooms by lakes. I saw my fist pyre cremation in Kathmandu by the banks of the Bagmati River and smelt for the first time the acrid smell of burning flesh and incense. I wondered at the vast bronze Buddhas in the stupas and spent forever staring into the psychedelic Buddhist wall paintings. I wondered just how far into your soul the all seeing eyes could see and why there were thirteen steps to nirvana. I was amazed at the prospect of a little girl being revered as a goddess and locked in a tiny wooden temple. I was even more amazed at the prevailing Americana among the young men, the Sprinsteen-esque bandanas, the cowboy boots, white t-shirts and the Coca-Cola. I was beaten up in Kathmandu and locked out of my guesthouse, forced to sleep on the steps outside with the stray dogs. I quickly learnt that pride and ego are two of the first things you have to loose to survive in Asia so physical bruising was all I suffered on that occasion. The fact is that I have no idea how I managed to pass three months in Nepal. I suppose I did relatively little but acclimatise myself to the area, meeting people would had come from India, listening to their stories and formulating some idea of what I was going to do for the next ten months. I began to think about heading south and seeing for myself what it was all about. I had kind of planned to head down to Goa for Christmas anyway so that was that it was time to move on.
So after a relatively long stint in Nepal I set off for an India in mid military curfew, (immediately post Ayodiah temple crisis) silly maybe but I wasn’t going to miss the festivities in Goa no matter what the embassy said. So I set off from the relative safety of the mountains to take in the enormity of the subcontinent before me, starting with the acid fuelled Goan Christmas and then onto the desert of Rajasthan. On I went from the camels and palaces of the maharajas to the monasteries of the Dalai-Lama, taking it all in, absorbing everything and experimenting as I went. I was falling for the lifestyle in a big way, not to mention the colours, smells and surreal dalliances that combine to make up India. From a piste where you can ski for about 100 feet, then walk back up the slope to repeat the whole process to the ghats of Varanasi where the crazy swim in the Ganges as film crews drift past on the currents and where Charras is legal. From gate-crashing a wedding in Jaipur only to become the object of quite ridiculous Homo-sexual advances, to the Tollygunj Golf and Country Club in Calcutta where cucumber sandwiches are nibbled and washed down with the finest Earl Grey. From the toy trains and Gurkha rebellions in the tea plantations of Darjeeling where the finest Easter bunnies in India can be found, to the vast dope fields and illegal parties of the Kullu Valley where the police get rocks thrown at them and people fall down cliffs hopelessly high. I was loving the lifestyle there on the sub-continent and decided to stay, to forget about Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia and New Zealand. I had already forgotten about Glasgow Uni and Electronics, I mean who wants to think about capacitance and silicon wafers when all around you a myriad of sensory delights is tantalising your every thought and emotion. Everywhere I went in India I found something that fascinated me and amused me and I made a huge effort to always make the most of all the delights that I came across.
What I didn’t realise then was that making the most of it brought with it a very high price. Being exposed to such physical, spiritual and personal freedom at such a young age can be very dangerous and in my case left more than a few scars. For me making the most of it involved being physically ill for 8 months, regular psychotic episodes, violence, being shot at and tear gassed, seeing friends carried away by the British Embassy with their bodies and minds in rags, paranoia,depression and spiritual confusion. But I’m glad I did it, even when I think back to the weeks in Manali when I literally couldn’t understand the English language. My brain deconstructing the words that I had known for so long into nothing but random sounds in my head. Only through deep concentration could I salvage any meaning out of them at all. This not withstanding I pressed on continuing to relish my freedom and accepted everything that happened to me as normal, par for the course, symptomatic of the area I was in. You see there were no barriers to stop me, no parents, work, school, nothing for which I had to function properly for, to straighten out for. There were very few people to tell me that I was going too far, to remind me what I was like back home until I’d perhaps gone too far and it was plainly obvious to anyone. What I had to do was to construct my own barriers, my own dam I you like, to keep myself from going too far, from doing too much and basically to keep myself sane. Had I stuck to my original plan and left India for Bangkok mid way through my travels then things may have been very different. I would’ve travelled through Thailand, Malaysia and Indonesia, where many of the attractions that India held for me are not available and on to New Zealand where I would have had a quick fix of “civilisation” before heading for the plateau of Tibet and then home. But I didn’t. I’d fallen for the sub-continent in a big way and had decided to stay there to see more of it and then attempt for Tibet. I wanted more of the atmosphere, more of the lifestyle and more of the incense.
After a total of 6 months of these delights and after an abortive trip to Pakistan where a moment of clarity was had amongst the noise, confusion and the psychedelic buses, I set off for Tibet through Nepal.
Tibet I suppose had always been my ultimate goal, my Holy Grail if you like, and it was one place I was not going to forget about, whatever my mental state. I set off from Kathmandu, where the communists were rioting and the tear gas and bullets were flying, stowing away with an American Everest expedition to cross the border into Tibet. “The Ultimate Shamble” was reaching its closing stages. Up through the humid foothills of Nepal to the barren, dry plateau of Tibet where you can see the snow capped peaks in the distance. A vast lone prayer flagpole marks the point where it finally levels out. From Milerepa’s Caves where the vast fertile valley stretches out below you and you can see for miles, to Lao-Tingri where we rode bare back on the plains dwarfed by the strange hump of Everest waving pink hats in the air and screaming like deranged cowboys. From the fort at Gyantze where every night the traffic in the cosmos can be seen clearly chugging across the dark sky and the sheer number of stars is enough to blow your mind, to Shigatse where the monks sit and debate for hours on end in the shade of the trees. Finally to Lhasa where the Jokhang Temple is rebuilt amongst the destruction of countless other buildings and the Rainbow Tribe brainwash my companions. Cameras watch our every move and people are afraid to talk to us truthfully as Chinese police patrol the streets.
Everywhere I went in Tibet the effect of Chinese occupation was plainly obvious, from demolished monasteries and vast sprawling prisons at one extreme to Chinese sanctioned rebuilding and investing in “Tibet the theme park” on the other. From Lhasa I went to Tsurpho where I was blessed by the 17th Karmapa and from Ganden where the yaks roam among the ruins left by the Chinese and the walk begins, to The Gangpo Ri Monkey Cave at Tsangpo where all life began and Buddha literally watches over us.
My final journey was back to Scotland, via Kathmandu and Calcutta. I have to say that I had mixed emotions about it. I was sorry to be leaving, but at the same time I knew I couldn’t have stayed much longer and remained sane. I was also slightly wary of returning home and seeing everyone again, but at the same time I was looking forward to it as if it were just another part of my trip. I wasn’t thinking about University and what would be expected of me at all.
When I returned it quickly became apparent – not just to me, but to anyone who saw me – that things weren’t quite the same. I couldn’t relate to my immediate friends and family and they couldn’t relate to me. The barriers I had built for myself had been constructed too late. Don’t misunderstand me, I was by no means mad. Just a wee bit strange.
I went to Glasgow Uni for one day and, as far as both sides were concerned, that was enough. The strangeness continued until the pain was unbearable and led me to seek relief. What followed was the rest of my life.
Looking back more than ten years after my arrival in Kathmandu, I can afford to be objective. The naivety with which I went is laughable now, the expectations ridiculous, the confusion understandable, but with hindsight unfounded.
As for the spiritual confusion – well, what can you expect? I was 18 and incredibly impressionable. Even the mental torture I felt upon my return to Scotland could be considered something that made me who I am today. If I had never gone or had stuck to the original plan then I probably wouldn’t be here in the Bay of Islands writing this. Where I would be instead, I cant say but what I do know is that I am very happy where I am right now, both physically and spiritually and for that reason I can safely say that I don’t regret a moment. I guess in a way I’m still having the ball I promised myself all those years ago in Kathmandu.
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