Lady Luck

Everything happens for a reason.  At least, that’s what I’ve come to believe.  Actually, without trying to sound arrogant, I don’t actually believe I sort of ‘know’.  That’s not to say it makes things any easier; it’s not part of any great philosophy to simply become apathetic.  In fact it’s quite the opposite.  Perhaps it’s better to say I’ve ‘learned to accept‘ that everything happens for a reason.  Faith in something that I can’t describe or even begin to explain; living within; learning to let go and accept the beautiful mysterious enigma we are a part of is harder in ways than I’ve ever been challenged before.  Maybe the art then, is to discover the subtle layers of individual meaning with all the grace, humility and effort one can muster.  But it’s often so difficult to see – difficult to listen without reason or ‘intellect’ and even easier to misunderstand.  Difficult because it means that I have to ‘grow small’, to coin a term a friend used recently.  Sometimes it is better to listen to others.

“If a faith in God does not translate into trusting life, what’s the point?”  I.D. Garuda

As I left India I crossed into Nepal.  It was a beautiful feeling crossing the border.  Six months in India had left me drained.  Nepal was familiar, far cleaner and friendlier.  It’s a beautiful place to cycle; the roads are quiet; there was far less traffic, less noise; the air clean and natural wilderness greets those that look around.  It’s a good road all the way to Kathmandu.  I was excited and nostalgic to be seeing old friends again.  I looked forward to a city where I knew my way around and I was eager to find a way west again.  It took three weeks to cycle across the southern plains of Nepal where the Himalayas gracefully meet the Indian plain.

I discovered several weeks after crossing into Nepal that the US assassination of Osama Bin Laden in Pakistan would have coincided perfectly with my tour through the very town where he was abducted north of Islamabad.  Abbottabad is on the Karakoram Highway, part of the ancient silk roads from Islamabad over the Himalayas to Kashgar, China.  Perhaps I would have been okay – who knows such things - but it brought me comfort knowing I wasn’t in Pakistan at that time.  It was fear that ruled.

Cycling non-stop towards the border, I rushed to arrive in time before my visa expired.  It was a disorganised border post with people coming and going with an unfamiliar ease.  After a short walk across a weir over a tired river, I was pulled up and asked for my passport.  Waiting at an old desk under a porch, I watched the official inspect my passport. Nobody appeared in any hurry so I sat back and waited patiently.  I examined my passport on the table in front of me, curious to know what he was searching for.  I found, in fine print, a clause that permitted six months multiple entry into India, but stipulated a maximum three months stay at any one time. I’d actually overstayed my visa!  I kept quiet and tried with vigor to distract the officials.  After some anxious moments and small talk, the passport was stamped and I was let go.  I discovered some other travellers weren’t so lucky and had to return to Delhi to get an exit visa!

The joy of arriving in Nepal was not lost in the dingy border town.  I enjoyed a few days’ rest and some good dahl bhat – an all you can eat rice and vegetable dish!  I ate a lot in those few days with not much else to do, but still couldn’t put on weight.  It was hot and stuffy in the small room above a homely cafe.  Power was only available for a few hours a day and, in the evenings without a fan and on a mattress covered in plastic, I ended up lying in a pool of my own sweat.  After the heat abated around midnight, it wasn’t so bad once I fell asleep under the comfort of a well used and restitched mosquito net.

A scorching sun stung my skin under the clear blue sky as I made my way west.  It was hot riding along the Terai, but the air was fresh, the traffic almost non existent and the road paved all the way to Kathmandu.  Small towns and villages dotted the landscape by the side of the road.  Locals were friendly, waving hello as I cycled past.  Forests and national parks provided a welcome rest area, free from the crowds of India, as well as providing a welcome relief under shady broad leaves.

I stopped in at the Bardia National Park on the border with India, halfway to Kathmandu.  I heard that the famous Bengal Tiger and Indian Rhino could be found there, but the entrance fee was too expensive on my budget, and so I decided to explore the nearby villages and swim with the locals in the cool rivers on the edge of the park.  A caravan of elephants passed by negotiating the river banks and gracefully wading across the river, stopping to cool off by spraying water through a giant arch all the way over their backs.

I arrived to warm hugs in Kathmandu.  Some friends there took me in once again.  I went to see a doctor to find out that I had giardia, a parasite that lives in the upper intestines.  It explained why I was still feeling sick and reassured me that I wasn’t becoming a hypochondriac!  Once again I was prescribed another round of antibiotics.  My friends in Kathmandu had me on a strict diet of fats, yoghurt, good cheese, fresh bread, muesli and delicious pasta!  With all the familiar food, good company, a large modern kitchen to cook in and a room to myself, I felt more at home than I have in a very long time.

A man walked into a 7 11 store late one night.  He went over to the counter and said absent-mindedly “I just can’t seem to stop thinking I’m a moth.”  The man behind the counter said “Mister, have you thought about seeing a psychologist?”  The man said “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”  Then the counter man said “What did you come in here for?” and the man said “The light was on.” And so it is.