Chariots of Fire
The lock-down periods have been getting shorter and shorter. On the Sunday (the final day of curfew, some five days after the riots) the lock-down is only for three hours. The street is dead empty during these periods, with only the heavily armed soldiers and the occasional wandering tourist disturbing the stillness. We’ve more or less turned our hotel foyer into a living room by this stage and even the staff lounge on the couch with us.
There are three lads from the UK army locked in with us. Three army boys locked in a hotel for five days, with nothing to do but drink beer. The Nepalese government are fools. Surely this is a far greater risk to national security than a few harmless rioters on the street.
As soon as the curfew started we knew we were going to need some supplies. On the first night we sneak out under the cover of darkness, sticking to the less patrolled back streets. We return with two cases of beer - enough to get us through the first few hours at least. Unfortunately this same night is when I eat dodgy back-alley food, and is the last night of the lock-in beer sessions that I am able to fully appreciate.
There’s a short break in the curfew one afternoon and everyone heads out for some fresh air (except me, I’m on the shitter). The army lads are headed to the police station to report that their kayaking gear has been stolen. It hasn’t been stolen of course, but the lads can't see any reason why that should interfere with their insurance claim.
Having been locked in for the last few hours drinking beer, they are restless. They decide a rickshaw race is in order. Amazingly they find four drivers willing to let these mad foreigners drive what is essentially their sole source of income. Each of the three lads and Glover mount up with the driver in the back. They then hurtle as fast as peddle power will allow down the street.
There's no holding back - they are army boys. Pedestrians dive out of the way, taxi drivers swerve and street dogs scatter. The boys hurtle past military check points, where soldiers armed with fully automatic rifles, step hurriedly out of the way, shaking their heads and laughing.
Glover's chain comes off and he is out of the race with engine failure. Two of the army lads jostle for first place, wheels locked against each other, riding side by side in the narrow streets. One pulls to the lead just as they approach the finish line (which is of course the Police Station). Not only do they not get arrested but they call a rematch and the race is on once more, back to the hostel. All this is in a town that is effectively under marshal law.
For us tourists the curfew is a novelty but for the Nepalese it is old news. The army lads have a Nepalese guide with them called 'Pops' (why he has this nickname is never explained). The moment curfew is declared Pops purchases practically his own body weight in hash. He then spends the next five days lying on the floor of his room, stoned out of his mind, listening to UB40 albums on replay and watching big breasted women on MTV with the suond down.
The drinking sessions are nightly. I join them as a spectator for as long as I can manage but I never travel far from the safety of my bedroom and, more importantly, my bathroom. Everyone who's travelled through this region has been through the same thing. By the time curfew has lifted everyone has shared at least one story about shitting. My “Tibetan dysentery” story just wins over the “shitting over a pig trough” story though.
There are a number of females staying at the hotel and this of course does not go unnoticed by the army lads. In true army style, one of the lads manages (despite 'help' from his mates) to pull off a threesome with two Danish girls staying in the hotel. Amazing as this is, what seems more amazing is that as far as any one can tell, Pops was in the room unnoticed the whole time, stoned off his head and oblivious to it all.
Curfew finally is over. The streets are abuzz with hawkers desperate to make up for the five days of lost sales. You can hardly move for touts. The tourists however are clearing out fast. Everyone's seen enough of Kathmandu and they are moving on or heading home. Few new tourists are arriving. Something about mass riots and violence seems to keep all but the most eager away.
Our rafting trip, originally scheduled to have ten people, now has just two. Only two people are stupid enough to hang around for adventure trips amongst the current unrest. The two are of course myself and Glover.
Unfortunately two is not enough for a rafting trip and the whole thing is cancelled. So now our plans have once again changed (if were the type to follow plans, we'd be kicking back in Hong Kong about now). We are following the same route, east through Nepal and then onto India, but we will have to now make it on bus.
There are three lads from the UK army locked in with us. Three army boys locked in a hotel for five days, with nothing to do but drink beer. The Nepalese government are fools. Surely this is a far greater risk to national security than a few harmless rioters on the street.
As soon as the curfew started we knew we were going to need some supplies. On the first night we sneak out under the cover of darkness, sticking to the less patrolled back streets. We return with two cases of beer - enough to get us through the first few hours at least. Unfortunately this same night is when I eat dodgy back-alley food, and is the last night of the lock-in beer sessions that I am able to fully appreciate.
There’s a short break in the curfew one afternoon and everyone heads out for some fresh air (except me, I’m on the shitter). The army lads are headed to the police station to report that their kayaking gear has been stolen. It hasn’t been stolen of course, but the lads can't see any reason why that should interfere with their insurance claim.
Having been locked in for the last few hours drinking beer, they are restless. They decide a rickshaw race is in order. Amazingly they find four drivers willing to let these mad foreigners drive what is essentially their sole source of income. Each of the three lads and Glover mount up with the driver in the back. They then hurtle as fast as peddle power will allow down the street.
There's no holding back - they are army boys. Pedestrians dive out of the way, taxi drivers swerve and street dogs scatter. The boys hurtle past military check points, where soldiers armed with fully automatic rifles, step hurriedly out of the way, shaking their heads and laughing.
Glover's chain comes off and he is out of the race with engine failure. Two of the army lads jostle for first place, wheels locked against each other, riding side by side in the narrow streets. One pulls to the lead just as they approach the finish line (which is of course the Police Station). Not only do they not get arrested but they call a rematch and the race is on once more, back to the hostel. All this is in a town that is effectively under marshal law.
For us tourists the curfew is a novelty but for the Nepalese it is old news. The army lads have a Nepalese guide with them called 'Pops' (why he has this nickname is never explained). The moment curfew is declared Pops purchases practically his own body weight in hash. He then spends the next five days lying on the floor of his room, stoned out of his mind, listening to UB40 albums on replay and watching big breasted women on MTV with the suond down.
The drinking sessions are nightly. I join them as a spectator for as long as I can manage but I never travel far from the safety of my bedroom and, more importantly, my bathroom. Everyone who's travelled through this region has been through the same thing. By the time curfew has lifted everyone has shared at least one story about shitting. My “Tibetan dysentery” story just wins over the “shitting over a pig trough” story though.
There are a number of females staying at the hotel and this of course does not go unnoticed by the army lads. In true army style, one of the lads manages (despite 'help' from his mates) to pull off a threesome with two Danish girls staying in the hotel. Amazing as this is, what seems more amazing is that as far as any one can tell, Pops was in the room unnoticed the whole time, stoned off his head and oblivious to it all.
Curfew finally is over. The streets are abuzz with hawkers desperate to make up for the five days of lost sales. You can hardly move for touts. The tourists however are clearing out fast. Everyone's seen enough of Kathmandu and they are moving on or heading home. Few new tourists are arriving. Something about mass riots and violence seems to keep all but the most eager away.
Our rafting trip, originally scheduled to have ten people, now has just two. Only two people are stupid enough to hang around for adventure trips amongst the current unrest. The two are of course myself and Glover.
Unfortunately two is not enough for a rafting trip and the whole thing is cancelled. So now our plans have once again changed (if were the type to follow plans, we'd be kicking back in Hong Kong about now). We are following the same route, east through Nepal and then onto India, but we will have to now make it on bus.
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