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The journey to Dhangadhi - Part 4 Sep 2, 18 min read. Deviation Actions. Add to Favourites. Published: Sep 2, Our flight the next day is at a civilised hour but, as with most things in Nepal, there are complications - of which packing is simply the biggest. We have gifts and letters to take that we brought from the UK and we need clothes and a range of technology but - a big 'but' - we have a much lower luggage allowance on the internal flight. In the end we abandon sleeping bags, jumpers and a few other items that should not be required in the lowlands. We do, however, take our new pillows because our large bags have too much room in them and we need the padding! Before all of this we have said our farewell to Aditi who is off to school, looking very smart in uniform, hair tidy and equipped with her bag of books. Eventually we are packed up and our hosts then have to decide who gets to escort us to the airport but first, despite our protests that it is not really necessary, we have lunch. Finally a taxi is summoned and we get ready to leave. I wonder if we are cutting it rather fine for our flight but Nick assures me we are on Nepal time although he seems unconvinced. The taxi is another tiny four-seater and there is no room for our bags but, luckily, Niranjan has his motorcycle so he and Nipesh take one bag and the others go on the roof - there are no straps for these bags. Neither Nick nor I will part with our laptop bags so the inside of the car is crowded as Punam is also coming to see us off as she is going directly to the coach station to get the bus to Dhangadhi. This journey will take her around 15 hours but is vastly cheaper than the air fare and she is also invited to the party at the orphanage. At the airport we all pile out and we are waved off and into the domestic departures terminal where we are set upon the only possible phrase by a group of local men who offer to facilitate our departure. We try to send them away but ultimately one of them manages to send the others away and, as our local hero, has earned the right to help us - for a fee of course. Firstly he pushes straight to the front of the check-in and gets our tickets stamped then our bags disappear behind the counter. He pulls the baggage reclaim tokens off the tickets and tells us quite correctly it turns out that they fasten these to the part of the ticket we have to surrender and most travellers who don't spot this will lose their luggage. Then he escorts us to the departure lounge and we give him a tip. He has transformed our late arrival to an early one as we are checked through security and sent to the gate within 10 minutes of our arrival! We watch and wait and stare at the random posters around the place and our departure time comes and goes with no sign of the plane - there is only one plane on this route and it is usually an hour late for every flight including the first one of the day. This begs the question 'why not change the timetable or start a little earlier? We notice activity amongst the passengers we saw at check-in and ask one of the ladies who have the flight information. Yes, our plane has arrived and we can go and queue up for it now. It's an hour late, precisely. The plane is not large, having a single row of seats each side of the central aisle - perhaps 60 passengers in total - and being a prop plane will travel quite low. We seek and get seats on the right side of the plane, which are the best seats for tourists as the plane flies west and the Himalayas will be visible out of our windows. The plane taxis around, passing the depot of the Nepali Air Force which we can see has a number of rather mangled helicopters awaiting repair, then heads for the runway and we are off. We bank round and behind and below me I can see the huge stupa at Bouddhanath on my list of 'must see' for the next visit and then we head away across the Kathmandu valley and toward the Far West. I am immediately frustrated as the prevalent haze extends far beyond the valley and the mountains are pretty much invisible, however there is still a huge amount to see. I have been told that Nepal is mostly hills and mountains and, as we fly across the country, I can see the truth of this. Basically, Nepal consists of a narrow flat region of land that is, basically, India. This region - known as the Terai - is the low, fertile, easily-farmed area that provides a lot of the crops for the country. Beyond the Terai the country rises in hills of ever-increasing steepness until it becomes the foothills of the Himalayas and then the mountains themselves that form the border with Tibet - sorry, China. Most of Nepal is hilly or worse and that is where most of the people live. We fly at around 3, feet and I have a fantastic view of this amazing country. Every hill is covered with terraces that have been created to provide some flat ground to retain soil and grow crops. Across every hilltop roads snake along the contours and the hill tops are dotted with houses, shacks and shelters. Seen from above it looks like a cartographer's dream made reality - a living contour map, drawn in shades of rock and soil. There are few trees on the occupied hillsides and - most surprising to me - there are no valleys. In England we are used to our rolling hills and perhaps that is what you think I have been looking at. I haven't - Nepal is a very different geography. It is a country that has not been flattened by the passage of glaciers and the hilltops and the desperately steep hillsides are all the land there is, rising up from dark narrow gorges: only a very few hills at the edge of the range have valleys that I can readily recognise as such. Kathmandu is in one of the largest such valleys, protected from the lowlands and incursion by the mountains. I come to realise, after many hours, that this amazing landscape is a product of necessity and nothing more. The roads snake across the hillsides because their creators had no luxury to level obstacles and blast tunnels or cuttings. Villages that are in sight of each other might be an hour's drive apart, or a day's journey on foot. The people in the villages farm the food they will eat - mostly maize or corn rather than rice up here I later learn - and there is difficult communication across this terrain, either in person or by any other means. And it flows by below us, mile after mile of hard-won ground. About half way through the journey we turn more south and move away from the mountains and we are travelling over the softer, kinder hills now, greener and with more trees and some wider river valleys. Just as we turn away the haze lifts and I see the mountains stretching away into the distance, a huge wall of rock and ice that seems to float above the hills and the distant haze, defying me to find words that can encompass just how massive it is, how. I turn away, stuck for words even as I struggle to capture the sight through the little plane's scratched windows and my viewfinder. We pass above Chisapani - 'Cold Waters' - where the road on which Punam's bus is travelling crosses the wide delta of a river. In the far distance is a huge bridge and, once again, the scale of the landscape has fooled me. We are almost following the road now as we begin to approach our destination and the plane begins to slow and descend. I watch out of the window as the wheels are lowered and finally, with a squeal the wheels, not me , touch down on the runway at Dhangadhi - we are here. I know I should feel excited - I do, I really do - but now I know I have no more excuses, no prevarications and no opportunities to not do this. Deep breath, here we go. Because this is an internal flight the official part of landing consists of reclaiming our baggage using the tickets provided earlier and then we are outside and I finally get to meet Gyanu, the remarkable lady who runs the New Life Orphanage. My first impression is of a smile, a huge smile. It is, predictably, directed at Nick who is an old friend but it is also directed at me. Gyanu is a de-facto mother to all the children at the orphanage as well as an actual mother to three daughters and an adopted son and mothering everyone is her first instinct. Beyond that I will learn that she has a great deal of patience when it is a called for, a no-nonsense attitude that would be the envy of any army sergeant and a huge fund of common sense. She is also, clearly, a deeply spiritual person with a tremendous faith that God will provide for her. So far she has been proved right many, many times. Gyanu is not tall but she radiates strength and determination - I will find out just how much as our visit progresses. Gyanu is middle-aged or older, with her hair in a no-nonsense bun and a face that creases with smiles and smooth skin that belie her years and the struggles she has been through. Accompanying her is her youngest daughter Pratiraksha - or just Raksha for everyday use. Raksha is her mother's daughter in many ways but in others she seems very different. The most immediate difference is that she speaks excellent English but she also is very slender with long dark hair, her mother's dark, expressive eyes and a heart-shaped face. She also has the most enormous smile and she and Gyanu both smile now as they greet us and try to carry our bags for us and garland us with flower necklaces. Hanging on to our bags we are led outside to find a tuk-tuk awaiting us and a scooter which is Raksha's. We climb aboard the rickety little vehicle and set off, with Raksha swiftly overtaking us and speeding off ahead. The tuk-tuk has three hard bench seats in the back, little headroom and no glass in the windows. It is also noisy and cannot be said to have suspension in the traditional sense of springs providing a comfortable ride. As we clatter off I tentatively identify the engine as a small diesel, possibly re-purposed from a ditch pump. Nick points out that the benches would normally hold four people each plus three more in front with the driver for a total of 15 passengers. Our luggage is inside with us where we can hold onto it but it belongs on the roof. I find that although it is very basic I rather enjoy the tuk-tuk ride - mentally I begin to think about how I could make one, and then abandon the idea when I consider trying to get a safety certificate or an M. Ah well. We buzz through Dhangadhi and I am struck by the similarities to Kathmandu and the differences. It is just as lively, just as hectic and busy, with the same sense of energy and near-anarchy to the traffic, the same hustle and bustle in the shops. The traffic is different here though: the vast majority is two-wheeled for a start, bicycles and scooters, old motorcycles not 'old' as in 'vintage' you understand, just hard-used, routine, run-of-the-mill old and a few cars. There are big trucks but they are the minority. And there is something new! There are some odd vehicles that look like a rickshaw being pulled by a lawn-mower. Imagine if you can the front half of a very tiny tractor with huge, long handlebars and you will have an idea of the engine of these strange craft. We saw a number of these and the back half could be a rickshaw, a small cart or even a covered van, depending on the use required. Again, as for the tuk-tuk, the engine would be whatever could be found: two- or four-stroke or diesel as the opportunity arose. I wonder if the engine from my motorcycle could be used to power something similar but perhaps just shy of BHP would be excessive? Dhangadhi carries on for a while as well although we only travel down the two main streets and don't explore any of the side roads. It is the main town for the Far West region and a fair analogy from the UK would be to compare it to Bristol where Kathmandu was London. I find the energy of it to be immensely likeable but it is very confusing. The traffic rules here are, if possible, even more lax than Kathmandu, and it seems that anything that doesn't get you or anyone else killed is okay here. But, again, there are no accidents and no drama. We get out and heave our luggage through a metal gate not the one in this picture which was taken from across the road to be met by a sea of smiling faces and a lot of excited chatter from a crowd of children. Nick is well-known and much-loved and he begins to introduce people to me straight away. This is not a wholly successful exercise as all the children have changed since his last visit and there are new faces anyway. Gyanu leads us through the main house and past the office, the kitchen, the dining area and out across a bare yard to face a second building which houses the boys' dormitory. We go up stairs to the top floor of the main building and inside. Here there are two rooms which will be ours while we are here. Mine has an en-suite shower room and very practical plumbing! It also has a ceiling fan, insect screens on the wide windows, a bed with a colourful bedspread on it, a low table, shelves of knick-knacks and a wardrobe which is already full of spare bedding and old clothes. After the long trip and all the strangeness and newness it already feels like home. I am advised to keep the door closed to prevent mosquitoes from getting in and to keep it locked to prevent children getting in and to this end I am ceremonially presented with a padlock key. Nick and I go into our rooms to 'freshen up' and I close the door behind me, bolt it because otherwise it swings open and mosquitoes would come in and put my bag down. I hang up the flower garland around the mirror. I sit on the bed and then realise that there is electricity, plug in the laptop s and phone. I send a text to the family and to Twitter and they seem to go through. I have arrived. That's not the end of the day, of course. I take the opportunity to unpack some stuff and have a quick wash - the bathroom is basic with no hot water but it's mine - then I go out to see where Nick has got to. He's actually in his room composing some offline emails which he will put on a memory stick to email later from the orphanage's computer but I don't know this so I wander off to explore. After a climb up to the roof to take some pictures of the surroundings I go into the main building and pretty soon I find Gyanu, a couple of the girls and the two babies in the front room. The babies are Angelina and Shristi and both are fairly new arrivals at the orphanage. They make up the youngest of the fifteen children who live at New Life House more-or-less permanently and Angel is just about to be one and Shristi is fifteen months old, already walking confidently. Gyanu looks after these two especially - well she is a mother - but all the older children take turns at looking after the little ones and new arrivals. I will encounter all the children soon enough but for now Gyanu and I exchange a few words all we have in common and then a few of the other children arrive. I have a folder of photos of my family and of Thame to show people and I flip through them for the children's amusement and they try to get me to pronounce their names correctly. Mamta leaves at this point - as the newest arrival in New Life House she is rather shy - but Roji replaces her. Roji and Prashansa - how hard could it be? Well, clearly my ear is not tuned in at all because I spend some time thinking I have met Rosie and Prashasa. In my defence Roji is said with a long 'o', a soft 'j' usually represented by 'zh' and with a long 'i' so that Rosie is quite close but I just don't hear then 'n' in Prashansa at all this is a picture of her and Shristi to make up for that sad failure. While this is going on there is the evening period of load-shedding for Dhangadhi and the power is turned off for what will turn out to be just two hours. It is dusk now and the pale LED lamps aren't the best for looking at pictures. I soon learn that the best thing is to have these pictures on my phone and I vow to copy them on at the first opportunity. Nick turns up with more children - a group of the boys - and then we are ushered through to the dining area for our supper, which is good because I am now quite hungry. The children have already been fed in a separate area so they are sent off to do homework, say prayers and get ready for bed and Nick and I are seated with Gyanu and Raksha. Supper is heaped onto our plates by Pinki who works at New Life House as cook and carer - we have to be firm to stop her filling our plates to capacity and refilling them. Supper is dhal bhaat with poppadums, fried vegetables and spicy potatoes and a lethal green pickle that is intended to be mixed into the rice, not eaten directly. There is also Coke and a local version of Fanta which is nuclear orange and also cold, bottled water. Nick says Grace for us all and we tuck in. The family have many questions for Nick, and he for them, concerning plans for our visit and for the clinic and they also have plenty of questions for me about what my impressions are of Nepal and everything I have seen so far. I hardly know where to begin - it would be fair to say that it is only as I am finally writing these accounts that my impressions settle into anything resembling coherence. Nonetheless the effect is to make me feel included and we spend a happy evening, interrupted by the return of the lights as electricity comes back on. Finally it is time to turn in for the night - I'm ready for this I think. Raksha takes us to our rooms and provides us with bottled water - which I belatedly remember I will need to brush my teeth - and she gives the rooms a good spray with mosquito killer for good measure, then we all say 'good night' and I close the door behind me. The night is hot and even with all the windows wide open it is still if not quiet: just as in Kathmandu the local dogs provide a near-constant chorus. I fold up the colourful and warm bedspread and lie down under a sheet, wondering if the ceiling fan is overkill. I decide it is, because it is noisy and wafts any loose items around the room as though a small helicopter were about to land. I set my iPod playing quietly under my pillow and drift off to sleep. At around 3 a. I wake up, chilled, to close the windows and huddle under that bedspread - nights are cold near the foothills of the Himalayas, even at sea level. File under 'experience'. Note: no photos in this journal - if you want to see a version with photos in it go here: saxon-rau. More by mistersaxon Watch. Decade in review? Uh no thx. Jan 3, That said, highlights from this decade were in no particular order : Learning to photograph weddings properly and then photographing 4 weddings inc. Getting chucked out of Selfridges along with about 50 other photographers LOL - see abo. MCM Expo London you did not disappoint. Oct 26, I always like going to the Expo and this year my son took the mantle of 4th Doctor, and was rightly lionised in many photos. Jelly babies were handed out and sonic screwdrivers were posed with. I was Generic Jedi 47 with the exception of having a massive camera on my utility belt where the lightsaber might hang normally. As Master Yoda says: 'Always in motion, the future is. To capture it, a fast shutter speed you will need, yes. Rule 1 of ComicCon - you can't take it lightly: go full out and don't spare the details o. Summer's almost gone :. Sep 17, So, almost the equinox. Almost nights longer than days. Almost rain, wind and leaves everywhere. Almost cold, dark. To quote someone or other: 'Winter is coming! Then as Autumn winds up and really gets going there's still night walks with big torches, the Night of the Bonefires when we celebrate a failed revolution by burning the perpetrator in effigy as a reminder of how he was horribly tortured for days by our very beloved government and there are fireworks! That's my Happy Time :. Apr 16, Well, if the title needs explaining then here goes: Spring is that time when the world wakes again, when the mud and grey emptiness all around is replaced by bursting shoots of luminous green, when dreary dull short days grow long and lush with blossom, when walks are filled with scents of growing things and not rain-lashed, winter-wrapped exercises in endurance. I love the first cut of the grass - the scent of it and the dusty pine shed creaking open to sunshine and brilliance, the clank and clatter of the mower. Comments 3. Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In.