ROAD NOTES FROM NEPAL
From: Gregory Frazier <gregfrazier@yahoo.com>
To: wholeearthmoto@hotmail.com
Subject: Smoking Bones, Kathmandu Traveler's Rendezvous, Elvis In Butt Floss
Date: Mon, 1 Jan 2001 04:25:57 -0800 (PST)
Smoking Bones, Kathmandu Traveler's Rendezvous, Elvis In Butt Floss
Barbeque Hindu, well done, smells like burnt chicken on the backyard grill. In Kathmandu, Nepal I parked the motorcycle and touristed to the Pashupatinath crematorium. Located on the banks of the Bagmati River, considered holy to the Hindus, are several temples where they burn the dead the day after they snuff. A large stack of green logs is prepared around which members of the family march the prone body three times. Placed atop the logs, the body is stripped of their death clothes and covered with wet reeds. The clothes are flung into the gray, shallow river below, where they are retreived by "untouchables" or people of the lowest caste. The pyre is lit and burns for the next two hours. An attendant insures the frying by poking the fire and unceremoniously folds arms and legs onto the heap as they fall or extend. I winced as an attached lower leg was hyper-extended onto an upper thigh, remembering my own blown knee from a soccor injury years ago. I could hear the ligiments tear and pop fifty feet away from the smoldering stiff.
After the body is consumed the ashes are pushed into the river five meters below. The untouchables sift the mud into which the ashes fall for melted jewelry, tooth fillings and precious stones. It is a recycling project. I suspect the clothes end up being worn again while the jewelry and stones may be sold to tourists as antiques. Twenty meters further down the river (which is about 10 meters wide and half a meter deep) women are hand washing laundry, possibly some from the tourist hotels.
There were nearly 10 burning platforms and on a good day 10-20 croakers may be cooking away. The combination of green wood, wet reeds and body fat creates a gray smoke cloud enveloping everyone within 100 meters. The smell clings to your hair, clothes and in your nose for hours. Blowing your nose fills a tissue with yellow crud, probably from the burned fat. I was able to kill the smell by smearing Tiger Balm on my upper lip. A long shower got the smell out of my hair. The clothes took strong powdered soap and hot water. The memory of the smoking stiffs was slow to fade, like that of a nose picking postal clerk.
In India I was told dead body burning can be watched but not photographed. Not so in Nepal at Pashupatinath, where the tourists were happily snapping away, the perfect photos for Florence and Slim to show their neighbors when they get back home to Flop Bush, Texas.
My Enfield 500 Bullet motorcycle has flawlessly carried me to the foot of the Himalaya Mountain Range in Nepal. Although a new 500 cc single cylinder model is nearly the same as it was 40 years ago, pumping out 22 horsepower and 6.5 to 1 compression, it's 3.8 gallon gas tank carries enough gas at 70 miles per gallon to easily chug 120 miles before refueling. The best high speed chugging is 40 miles per hour. So far it has no oil leaks. Each morning I must spend a little time with my wrenches tightening things up, an exercise which always draws a crowd of silent onlookers. With no electric starter, getting it fired up on a cold day takes two or three healthy kicks. A motto in the company promotional material says "It Takes A Man To Ride," not mentioning starting. I have seen one woman traveling on a Bullet, but with a boyfriend on a Guzzi. On a cold morning he may be her kicker.
In India I met an Italian guy traveling on a 1998 BMW K100 LT. We connected again in Kathmandu where he was licking his wounds after suffering a major setback in his plan to ride into China from Nepal. After riding to the border (and twice flopping the huge BMW in the mud and gravel) he was told "No way!" by Chinese border officials. Although he had a visa, they would not allow him to enter with his motorcycle. The offer of some large American dollars stuck in the folds of his passport also got a "No way" reception. Rather than flipping an flopping back down the slippery stretch of road, the traveler arranged for a truck to haul his bike back to the pavement and returned to Kathmandu to re-think his route across Asia and into China. He next plans on trying to enter China from Viet Nam but I suspect he will be turned away there also. Unless you have mega bucks, an approved government guide and a lot of time to get your paperwork in order, China is still tough to crack for the budget motorcyclist wanting to go solo. The less adventuresome are signing up for one of several organized motorcycle tours which are offering canned rides which cut through the challenge of going solo, but these still run better than $5,000.00 USD to say you rode a motorcycle in China. My Italian acquaintence, although wounded, still plans to attack the great wall with vigor and far less money. I hope to get his postcard from Peking.
I Christmas'd in Kathmandu with a collection of eight hardened motorcycle travelers from Australia and Europe. They included a mix of solo women and men riders and one couple, two-up, who have flogged a 1981 BMW GS for the last three years on a world tour. I greatly enjoy these types of motorcycle travelers. They are not elderly or timid (most are in their 30's) and thrive on the adventure of uncertainty, using their wits and honed travel skills to overcome their lack of funds. One couple, having exhausted their savings, borrowed money to complete their tour rather than return home unsuccessful. A woman biker from Germany did not know how long she would be able to move around the globe, guessing she has enough saved to stay out for two years. Another had already logged nearly four years, having left without enough money to make it two. The personal satisfaction gained from the experience of defeating the unknown, overcoming the challenges of no place to sleep at night, bad roads, sickness, corrupt police, broken motorcycles, unyielding bureaucrats, loneliness, and unfriendly people is unobtainable in any other form of motorcycle travel. It was a memorable Christmas for me to spend time with other Lone Wolf travelers. We shared excellent food, gifts, stories and the camaraderie of sharing what I was told is the epitome of motorcycle adventure travel.
To understand the cuture in Nepal takes some doing. For instance, some teenage heart throb movie star in India purportedly said he hated Nepal. Vacationing Nepal university students in Kathmandu take to the streets to demonstrate over what he said. Hundreds of Indian shop owners' windows are broken out, some tires burned and four Nepalese people are killed. The madness makes pefect sense to the demonstration learders, so they take to the streets for a couple more days, again closing most shops and businesses.
On the first day I saw the crowd marching, I thought it was a nice day for a parade, so joined in. I could not translate what they were yelling about so just started to chant "Free Leonard Peltier, Free Leonard Now!" I thought some press people might see me with my long hair, fist raised and I could get some ink for Leonard's cause. (Leonard is an American Indian political prisoner, now having been in federal prison for 25 years. Bill Clinton could do a right thing and free Leonard through clemency. Europeans are now sending 250,000 post cards to the White House proposing clemency for Leonard to Clinton before he leaves office. Bush will probably want Leonard executed.) Everything was moving along fine until the crowd was halted by police in a narrow street. The demostrators threw some bricks, then the police fired bullets. The next thing I knew we were in a crazed, screaming retreat, like General Custer running from the Sioux. People were falling, then being trampled. I was pushed, shoved, elbowed and passed by nimble runners half my age. Numerous times I stumbled and nearly fell, unable to use my hands which were holding my cameras to keep them from hammering my chest. The only thing that kept me upright was the mass of pressed bodies around me. I suspect I floored a couple of the locals in my effort to stay vertical. It was like I was back in the streets of Pamplona four years before, running with the bulls. Blood and death in Pamplona, the same in Kathmandu. I prefer the bulls, they have no guns.
The next day foolishness crept into my thought processes and nearly cost me my motorcycle. I planned to ride my bike across town to photograph some of the riots until I remembered it had India registration plates. When I was in Delhi I had seen how demonstrators in this part of Asia like to burn motorcycles. I decided to keep the bike undercover. The demonstrations lasted until the King's Birthday, when the shops are again closed to celebrate. I asked one demonstrator what they had proved, and he said "We hurt India."
Kathmandu is a major stopping point for motorcycle travelers crossing Asia overland. It is also a major stopover for mountain climbers, tourist Buddhas, dope smokers and old hippies. Freak Street reflects the early 1970's when hash was legal. It was here longhairs collected, stoned to the gills, to groove on Jimi, Dylan, the Beatles and the Stones. Today you can still hear Country Joe and The Fish sing "One, two, three, what are we fighting for..." wafting from shabby street bars. Although I take no drugs, I have been constantly hassled on the street by dope sellers offereing to sell me hash, MJ, and opium. A couple of peddlers tried to sell me some stuff I never heard of, so I sent an email to Clinton and Bush asking what it was and whether I should inhale some for them. Dope in Nepal is illegal. I saw a list of some foreigners doing time in local prisons, probably from buying or trying to export it. I hope to make a visit to a couple of the guys who, from the list, look like they might speak English. Below the list it said ANY FOREIGN VISITORS WOULD BE APPRECIATED, as well as gifts of fruit, clothes and books. I plan on giving them clothes and copies of books I have written that I have been carrying as gifts for special friends who have helped me on my ride around the world. It is Christmas time and if I was stuck in the can here I would appreciate some reading. I just hope whoever is in there likes reading about motorcycles and travel. If they don't, maybe they can use my books for toilet paper, another item not available in the joint, let alone anywhere else in Nepal. Travelers bring their own wipe or buy it in the tourist shops, neither option available to the guys in the joint. As an author it is nice to know your works will be appreciated, possibly more by the guys in jail here than new found friends on the road.
Kathmandu is Yeti Central, and it was from here I organized my Yeti hunt. I have seen signs for Yeti Airways, Yeti cigarettes, the Yeti Hotel, and Yeti Tours. One night I ate Yeti spagetti. For Christmas I was given a custom made "YETI HUNTER" tee shirt, which I cherish. I would hate to be here in the high tourist season when they probably have an Elvis on an 1800 cc Gold Wing wearing butt floss, hawking Yeti CDs to the tourists. I will post my Yeti haunting sexperience (legally far outside the missionary position-like guided tours) on my website so the Yetioligists do not have to wait for my book, Motorcycle Sexpeditions: Absolutes Rides Around The World.
To see my impressions of leaving India, entering Nepal, riding my motorcycle over the "Road of 1,000 Curves," and crashed plans for a ride over Mount Everest, go to www.horizonsunlimited.com/gregfrazier, click on the "What's New" button, then December's posting. There should also be some pictures.
Dr. Gregory W. Frazier, from Nepal
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