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Postcards from:
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Hello from Lumbini in southern Nepal,
It sounds like one of the toppings on an Italian pizza, but actually it is the name of the place where Siddhārtha Gautama, the Buddha was born, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. My colorful Buddha Air flight made the trip between Kathmandu and the Bhairwhawa airport in about a half hour. The Buddha Maya Gardens "Resort" driver stood outside the makeshift arrival lounge shaking a sheet of white paper with my name scrawled across it. Speaking little English he motioned me to his waiting rattle-trap.
Over bumpy, partially paved narrow roads crowded with people, animals and rolling vehicles powered by "engines" of every description we raced in silence for twenty-five minutes. Whatever padding had been originally manufactured into the car's seat had long ago worn out giving my tail bone a painful pounding. This is the "real" Nepal, third world for sure. Here people still live as their ancestors have lived for centuries… probably millennia! Dwellings for the most part are built of bamboo sticks and mud with simple thatched roofs. Animals wander in and out of the open doors as commonly as the human inhabitants. It didn't take long to feel the description of a "deluxe" resort at the end of our drive might well be an exaggeration and I steeled myself for a thunderous disappointment.
To my surprise the road suddenly became paved and smooth as we passed several recently built modern monastery complexes leading up to the entrance of the lodge. Although hardly four-star my first impression suggested the place actually might be tolerable for a short stay… good thing, as I had prepaid for two nights… something rarely advisable the way I travel.
Waiting at the open front door an overweight barefoot guy about forty years old looked like he had just been rudely awakened from his nap. The deserted lobby looked dusty, furnished with a mismatched array of furniture and superfluous storage cabinets, it did not give the impression of a high-class establishment at all. Registration proceeded unceremoniously and an equally casually dressed young man led me upstairs to my unpretentious room. Nothing about the place could vaguely be described as "deluxe."
The cantankerous door key refused to catch on the first several tries when I tried to lock it from the inside. Finally, with some forcing I managed to lock the door and proceeded to check out the "amenities." With all the lights switched on the cavernous room remained only dimly lit. Obviously, people who visit Lumbini don't spend much time in their rooms reading. The bathroom contained two lumpy gray bath towels and nothing else. Later I discovered only cold water would be provided for showers and the pressure had difficulty producing even a tiny trickle at the showerhead. The television received only three scratchy; snow filled Nepalese channels. The mini-refrigerator cord worked by forcing two bare wires into a socket dangling from the wall, but did cool drinking water. The modern, recently installed room air-conditioner worked splendidly… and a good thing, too. Furnace temperatures outside accompanied by high humidity insured every walk, no matter how brief would leave my clothes soaked with sweat and my body near heat exhaustion.
More or less settled with clothes hung and travel bag stowed I prepared to leave the hotel on my initial hike of exploration… and the key would not open the front door. I tried everything; forcing the key the opposite direction I had used to get it closed in the first place and then in every other direction I could conceive. Finally in desperation I picked up the phone to call the reception desk for help and discovered a dead phone! Opening a window I shouted at workers in the adjacent wing under construction; they smiled and went back to work. What to do? This could be serious! With renewed determination I jiggled the key, found new directions to force it and finally lifted the entire door against the hinges. The key turned. The door opened. Free at last; free at last. Thank the lord I am free at last. Before leaving I noticed a dead bolt on the inside for security and used that instead of the key for the rest of the stay.
As I had eaten nothing since breakfast save a little bag of peanuts passed out on the flight, I thought some lunch might be in order. The hotel "dining room" turned out to be a dark dungeon in the basement of the place. The dog-eared menu cover contained actual splotches of food previously served in the place that hadn't ended up on the stained tablecloth. The attentive waiter dressed for ditch digging adjusted items on the table as I perused the menu, at one point wiping dust off the top of a salt shaker with his bare finger as I looked on astonished. So unappetizing was the prospect of eating anything in this dingy venue I ordered an overpriced bottle of mineral water and left to search for salvation elsewhere. That salvation turned out to be the still under construction Hotel Lumbini Gardens, a modern lodge easily worth four stars about ten minutes down the road and directly across the street from the entrance to the Buddha Sacred Gardens. Lunch, while not gourmet, it satisfied. The senior receptionist, Hari showed me a room and quoted a $60 net rate for a room with individual air-conditioning.
After lunch I visited the Ashoka Monument in the Buddha Sacred Garden erected to commemorate the actual birth place of Siddhartha. It sits next to the Maya Devi Temple that houses ongoing archaeological work over the bath where the Buddha's mother bathed before giving birth. For some reason I remembered the truly devoted circumambulate holy places like stupas in a clockwise direction and doing it three times is supposed to have sacred significance. With no special purpose in mind I started a walk of exploration through the archeological ruins surrounding the birthplace marker… clockwise, naturally. During the walk I passed a large Indian family having a picnic under one of the large spreading trees. After the first circuit on I went for a second round. This time I paused to watch in amusement as a boisterous group noisily worked to set up photos in front of ancient stupa ruins with a sign posted that requested "Silent please." On the third circuit I finally understood why repeating the walk three times has mystical significance. On that final circuit a group of young monks and nuns had gathered on the lawn facing the Ashoka birth monument and were chanting worship to the lord Buddha, a beautiful choir of innocent voices raised in phrase, a memorable experience. So, three circumambulations may well have magical properties. It certainly did for me!
As meaningful as the pilgrimage to the birth place of Siddhartha is for me, my walks out along the country roads through several small villages is even more memorable. Passing endless rice paddies the first small village of Padariya about two kilometers from the hotel came into view. With the exception of a Muslim boarding school and a few other structures, the same bamboo-mud construction defined the architecture throughout the village. Here I saw families living as people have lived for centuries… perhaps millennia; little girls gathering freshly dropped cow dung in baskets and molding little flat patties left to dry in the sun, boys in shorts leading herds of goats along the road or out into pastures; store keepers sitting idly in their makeshift open front stores along the main street through the village. I paused at one store that seemed to be better stocked with manufactured goods and bought a bottle of mineral water from the good natured proprietor. Most of the villagers I passed took notice of my presence and many greeted me with the customary "namaste." A few looked on with suspicion, scowling or frowning as I passed. Little kids ran up uninhibited to satisfy natural human curiosity common everywhere in the world; some giggling, some offering the "namaste" greeting, some apprehensive. No one seemed particularly disturbed by my photographic efforts, nor unusually curious about my minuscule camera as has been common elsewhere. Another three kilometers down the road and I reached an even smaller hamlet called Sughandihawa. Like the other village, life here is simple and relaxed. I paused to more closely inspect a food processing mill powered by an ancient two-cycle gasoline engine with exposed crank shaft. While an older man added product into the top hopper a small boy brushed grease on the machines noisy exposed bearings. The workers hardly took notice of my curiosity, but smiled warmly when they did. Photos taken while in and around Lumbini are here. This has been a short four night visit, but satisfied a lifelong ambition to visit the Buddha's place of birth.
Kathmandu Nepal again
The next postcard will come from Bhutan after a brief stopover back in Kathmandu where I'll make the final travel arrangements into the fabled land of the Thunder Dragon.
Peace, Fred Bellomy
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 Lumbini Nepal: Sign near the entrance to the ancient archeological ruins that surround the site in the Lumbini Sacred Garden.
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  My excellent $5/mo web-host Reference photo August 2002 |
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