Chitwan National Park, Nepal
November 22, 2012
Altitude: 1,250'
On the morning of Thanksgiving, I woke very early--before the sun rose. Dew was dripping off trees above my bungalow and the sound of it was like a slow, soft, rainfall. Other sounds--a rooster crowing, the faint din of a distant conversation,, music nearby--stirred me out of bed.
Outside, it was pre-dawn and cold when I walked to the Rapti River. I was in Saurana, Nepal, in Chitwan National Park. The river was blanketed in a fine layer of mist that hung over the gently flowing water, creeping through the nearby valley and twining itself here and there about the surrounding hills. I sat by the bank, and waited as the sun rose in the eastern sky.
It was a fine way way to begin Thanksgiving 2012! I would miss home--the annual walk at Point au Roche, dinner with Steve, Ed and Rita, the first Christmas lights lit on the Blue Spruce in the back yard. But all that was OK.
This would be a Thanksgiving with the Elephants.
I sat on the banks of the river for a long time, until the sun had risen and burned off the swirls of mist. Only then did I move to a table at a riverside restaurant for breakfast. In front of me, on a small island, a crocodile was sunning himself. But my attention was directed to my left when I began to see elephants march towards the river.
I paid my bill and walked about 200 years north. This was the time of day that the mahouts--the elephant handlers--brought the giant beasts for their bath. And...for 100 rupees--the chance for tourists to ride the elephant into the water and have himself sprayed by the elephant. I had no intentions of doing so, but after watching ten or tourists doing it, I thought...here I am, far from home. It's Thanksgiving and what an amazing opportunity lay in front of you.
So I took the plunge. I handed my day pack to a couple I was watching this show with, asked them to take photos, took of all my clothes except for my shorts and hopped onto the elephant.
Well...hop on isn't exactly the word. The mahout gave me a boost and I held on the elephant rose and lumbered into the water. Chowp," said the mahout and up came a spray of water. I was like a kid, laughing uncontrollably. What an amazing experience. A few minutes later he directed the animal into deeper water. "Let go," the mauhot said. And I did. And as the elephant knelt into the water I fell off. I didn't want to think what was int he water. It certainly wasn't deep. I was still laughing. Again, I was put back on the elephant and it walked toward shore where, safe from the water, it knelt and let me down.
There are not many OMG moments in life, but this was one of them.
I dressed, headed back to the guest house, washed out my clothes and set off on the next adventure.
The night before I'd rented a bicycle. I headed out of Sauruha into the small indigenous villages of the the Tharu people that dotted the landscape in all directions.
It wasn't long before I was out of town. I biked past women herding oxen to a grazing area, I rose past flocks of and ducks and more goats than I could count. I rode through one dusty town to another. Houses were tiny--most not more than one or two rooms. This is a climate where people can live most of the year. Almost all were made of brick and covered in a brown clay. Many homes were painted with fun designs of hand prints or footprints on the outer walls.
All around the land was flat. Summer's wheat had been harvested. Tall pyramidal shapes of hay stood next to most of the homes. Food, imagine, for their animals during the cooler months to come. Rices was drying on large, flat circular bamboo mats. More than once I saw tiny women carrying large wicker baskets of produce--the baskets attached to their head by fabric bands. Fields of bright yellow mustard were in bloom--a lovely contrast to the brown of late autumn.
Old men were sitting together in the sun and women clustered together chatting. Children--out of school for the Thihar holiday--were everywhere.
"Hello. Namaste. Namaste. Hello. How are you? What is your name? 10 rupees? Namaste. Bye. Bye. Bye."
By now it was noonish and the warm yellow sun felt good on my skin. It was only in the low 70's, but after a cold night it felt wonderful. I crossed a bridge and saw a perfect place to park the bike, rest a bit, absorb the landscape and enjoy the late November sunshine.
In the river, groups of women were doing different tasks. Some were bathing, others were washing their clothes. A team of six women were as a unit--each carrying a reed basket, attempting to gather fish or crustaceans. I'm still not sure.
It wasn't long before a group of boys spotted me. They lived in a small village on the other side of the river and they soon splashed across. My bike was the big draw. Each of them wanted to ride it.
I had to be firm. It wasn't my bike and I didn't want to be responsible for them hurting themselves or their damaging my bike.
Instead, we played marbles. Two boys had a large handful each. One dug a small hole and the three of us got equal numbers. They played just like I did when I was a child.
Marbles! I hadn't played marbles since I was in elementary school outside the old St. Peter's Catholic School--Ecole Sainte Pierre--torn down more than fifty years ago.
It was great fun.
I finally turned my bike around. I passed a small Buddhist stupa, then a Hindu temple and, to my surprise, a church. I asked later if there were problems--each group living together, but was told things were harmonious on a religious level.
I returned to my guest house, ate a late lunch, read, washed a few clothes and waited for the next adventure...a ride on an elephant.
At 3:00 I boarded a long dug out canoe and crossed to the river to where elephants waited for tourists. I climbed a tower and stepped onto the back of an Asian elephant a began a two hour safari through tall grasses. In all there, were six elephants and all would be in search of black-horned rhinoceros. The idea of riding an elephant is one thing; it's quite another reality as it lumbers slowly through the brush. The beast often stopped to eat grasses, but ultimately we all reached a point where the six animals and their cargo surrounded a pair of rhinos. It was an awesome site.
Later, the elephants regrouped and returned a long way to our starts point. They marched in a long single file. There were no clouds and to my east the sun was setting in a gold washed sky. To my west, the last rays of the sun were illuminated the snow-mantled Annapurnas in the far distance.
We returned to the river at dusk. About three hundreds upstream the guide alerted us to a treat. A pair of rhinos had come to the river to drink. They were far enough way not to pose any threat.
Well..what a way to end the series of adventures.
Later that evening I slipped into the town's most popular restaurant and ordered a nice meal--a steak sizzler and a big pot of lemon tea. There would be no traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but that was OK.
The day had been unforgettable,almost reverential, and when I went to bed I gave a silent, yet grateful prayer, for a Thanksgiving that I won't forget
On the morning of Thanksgiving, I woke very early--before the sun rose. Dew was dripping off trees above my bungalow and the sound of it was like a slow, soft, rainfall. Other sounds--a rooster crowing, the faint din of a distant conversation,, music nearby--stirred me out of bed.
Outside, it was pre-dawn and cold when I walked to the Rapti River. I was in Saurana, Nepal, in Chitwan National Park. The river was blanketed in a fine layer of mist that hung over the gently flowing water, creeping through the nearby valley and twining itself here and there about the surrounding hills. I sat by the bank, and waited as the sun rose in the eastern sky.
It was a fine way way to begin Thanksgiving 2012! I would miss home--the annual walk at Point au Roche, dinner with Steve, Ed and Rita, the first Christmas lights lit on the Blue Spruce in the back yard. But all that was OK.
This would be a Thanksgiving with the Elephants.
I sat on the banks of the river for a long time, until the sun had risen and burned off the swirls of mist. Only then did I move to a table at a riverside restaurant for breakfast. In front of me, on a small island, a crocodile was sunning himself. But my attention was directed to my left when I began to see elephants march towards the river.
I paid my bill and walked about 200 years north. This was the time of day that the mahouts--the elephant handlers--brought the giant beasts for their bath. And...for 100 rupees--the chance for tourists to ride the elephant into the water and have himself sprayed by the elephant. I had no intentions of doing so, but after watching ten or tourists doing it, I thought...here I am, far from home. It's Thanksgiving and what an amazing opportunity lay in front of you.
So I took the plunge. I handed my day pack to a couple I was watching this show with, asked them to take photos, took of all my clothes except for my shorts and hopped onto the elephant.
Well...hop on isn't exactly the word. The mahout gave me a boost and I held on the elephant rose and lumbered into the water. Chowp," said the mahout and up came a spray of water. I was like a kid, laughing uncontrollably. What an amazing experience. A few minutes later he directed the animal into deeper water. "Let go," the mauhot said. And I did. And as the elephant knelt into the water I fell off. I didn't want to think what was int he water. It certainly wasn't deep. I was still laughing. Again, I was put back on the elephant and it walked toward shore where, safe from the water, it knelt and let me down.
There are not many OMG moments in life, but this was one of them.
I dressed, headed back to the guest house, washed out my clothes and set off on the next adventure.
The night before I'd rented a bicycle. I headed out of Sauruha into the small indigenous villages of the the Tharu people that dotted the landscape in all directions.
It wasn't long before I was out of town. I biked past women herding oxen to a grazing area, I rose past flocks of and ducks and more goats than I could count. I rode through one dusty town to another. Houses were tiny--most not more than one or two rooms. This is a climate where people can live most of the year. Almost all were made of brick and covered in a brown clay. Many homes were painted with fun designs of hand prints or footprints on the outer walls.
All around the land was flat. Summer's wheat had been harvested. Tall pyramidal shapes of hay stood next to most of the homes. Food, imagine, for their animals during the cooler months to come. Rices was drying on large, flat circular bamboo mats. More than once I saw tiny women carrying large wicker baskets of produce--the baskets attached to their head by fabric bands. Fields of bright yellow mustard were in bloom--a lovely contrast to the brown of late autumn.
Old men were sitting together in the sun and women clustered together chatting. Children--out of school for the Thihar holiday--were everywhere.
"Hello. Namaste. Namaste. Hello. How are you? What is your name? 10 rupees? Namaste. Bye. Bye. Bye."
By now it was noonish and the warm yellow sun felt good on my skin. It was only in the low 70's, but after a cold night it felt wonderful. I crossed a bridge and saw a perfect place to park the bike, rest a bit, absorb the landscape and enjoy the late November sunshine.
In the river, groups of women were doing different tasks. Some were bathing, others were washing their clothes. A team of six women were as a unit--each carrying a reed basket, attempting to gather fish or crustaceans. I'm still not sure.
It wasn't long before a group of boys spotted me. They lived in a small village on the other side of the river and they soon splashed across. My bike was the big draw. Each of them wanted to ride it.
I had to be firm. It wasn't my bike and I didn't want to be responsible for them hurting themselves or their damaging my bike.
Instead, we played marbles. Two boys had a large handful each. One dug a small hole and the three of us got equal numbers. They played just like I did when I was a child.
Marbles! I hadn't played marbles since I was in elementary school outside the old St. Peter's Catholic School--Ecole Sainte Pierre--torn down more than fifty years ago.
It was great fun.
I finally turned my bike around. I passed a small Buddhist stupa, then a Hindu temple and, to my surprise, a church. I asked later if there were problems--each group living together, but was told things were harmonious on a religious level.
I returned to my guest house, ate a late lunch, read, washed a few clothes and waited for the next adventure...a ride on an elephant.
At 3:00 I boarded a long dug out canoe and crossed to the river to where elephants waited for tourists. I climbed a tower and stepped onto the back of an Asian elephant a began a two hour safari through tall grasses. In all there, were six elephants and all would be in search of black-horned rhinoceros. The idea of riding an elephant is one thing; it's quite another reality as it lumbers slowly through the brush. The beast often stopped to eat grasses, but ultimately we all reached a point where the six animals and their cargo surrounded a pair of rhinos. It was an awesome site.
Later, the elephants regrouped and returned a long way to our starts point. They marched in a long single file. There were no clouds and to my east the sun was setting in a gold washed sky. To my west, the last rays of the sun were illuminated the snow-mantled Annapurnas in the far distance.
We returned to the river at dusk. About three hundreds upstream the guide alerted us to a treat. A pair of rhinos had come to the river to drink. They were far enough way not to pose any threat.
Well..what a way to end the series of adventures.
Later that evening I slipped into the town's most popular restaurant and ordered a nice meal--a steak sizzler and a big pot of lemon tea. There would be no traditional Thanksgiving dinner, but that was OK.
The day had been unforgettable,almost reverential, and when I went to bed I gave a silent, yet grateful prayer, for a Thanksgiving that I won't forget
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