Now that my work at Bardiya National Park is done, I’ll be returning to Kathmandu. I realize it’s almost a week since I’ve been back in Nepal. It’s hard to imagine the harsh circumstances I was living in until only yesterday. Now I’m tapping away at the keyboard at an airport. I’ve made my usual mistake of coming to Nepal unprepared. It’s the height of summer in Nepal. No wonder the daytime air temperature has been 40°C [later I learned that it was 45°C] and the usual nighttime air temperature has been more than 30°C. It’s an extreme tropical night. And there are only a few hours of electricity each day. I can only say that it’s been harsh. It’s normal for there to be no air conditioner, and it’s not such a big problem. When I enter my guest room and see that the fan isn’t moving, my disappointment is devastating. All I can do is lie on the bed in underpants and an undershirt and pant. Even if the fan were spinning, I’d feel apprehensive knowing it could stop at any moment. When the power cuts out with a pu-su, it makes me feel lonely.

It was May 15 a week ago, when I entered Nepal. Kathmandu is as noisy as usual, but the temperature is only about 30°C even in midsummer, since it’s in the highlands.
It’s cool and pleasant at night. Mr. Sarad, who has accompanied me, is working hard. He’s drenched with sweat. He looks in his element. After I arrive, most of the day is spent in discussion.
Much of the second day passes in subsequent discussions and shopping. On the third day, I leave the hotel at 6 a.m. and go to the airport. Unfortunately, a general strike (called a banda in Nepal) has started, about which Mr. Sarad had frequently expressed concern before our departure. Thanks to our early departure, we’re able to reach the airport without encountering any protest marches. We check in at our domestic airline counter at the airport. It’s crowded, as usual, because of the chaotic, unsystematic boarding procedures. We board the plane. My work destination is Bardia. It’s about a 1-hour flight to a strange little name airport called Nepalgunj. From the plane window, Annapurna and other majestic Himalayan mountains in the 8,000-m class can be seen. Not known as “the wall of the world” for nothing, they’re exceptional. The glacial figure that towers above the clouds can only be described as sublime. Completely unlike Kathmandu Airport, Nepalgunj Airport is in the boondocks.
When we step off the plane, children swarm us. They push to be first to take our baggage, and they ask us where we’re going.
No one from our hotel can be seen. We ask two kids to carry us in their “bicycle wagon,” a bicycle in front pulling a wagon behind. It runs about 20 minutes on a country road.
We can only see bicycles and oxcarts. There are no noises of cars or motorcycles.
We arrive at the hotel.

At first it looks like we’ll be staying the night. In fact, we’re there to wait.
We’re tired and are able to take a good break there.
Around 7:30 p.m., Mr. Sarad arranges the night’s schedule.
He says we’ll be leaving soon and will arrive at Bardia National Park around midnight.

How?
He says a police car will take us.
We ride in an RV with several stout policemen armed as heavily as soldiers in the Nepal Army.
En route, we change police cars as many as four times.
On these occasions, we’re welcomed by police who must have jurisdiction. We shake hands. All four are fat around the middle.
At several spots, we encounter a group of young men.
Glass is scattered in the road. It seems that some accident has happened.
I feel the tension, but the police presence causes the crowd to disperse.
I’m under the impression that Nepalese are friendly and not prone to malice, but in groups they seem to be bolder.
It seems that the protest marches have continued deep into the night, but I’m not disturbed by them. I reach Bardia safely after 11 p.m.
Right away, a Nepalese meal is served. Hungry, the two of us eat voraciously.
This is how our time in Bardia start. The excitement gradually fades.
It is nighttime.The temperature seems 30°C or so. No. . .It has to be more.
The power cuts out with a pu-su.
Of course, seeing an air conditioner there is out of the question.
There’s no use hoping for it to come back on. I light candles and lie on the lowest surface (the floor).
The zinc roof above me retains the heat into the night. (Why a zinc roof?)
The tap has been giving water since the previous day.
At first, it hadn’t run at all, and I feared the worst.
I think it’s important to cool myself, no matter how. I shower often.
Recalling children bathing in a river during the daytime–How I envied them! –I pour water over my head.
The pleasant feeling is fleeting, but it would be worse without this brief respite.There seems to be a mosquito. I hear the annoying buzz of an insect.I have no choice but to crawl under the mosquito net. (Everything is no choice.)Lying in the warm blanket is uncomfortable.I feel unwell, but all I can do is to sleep in the sweat-soaked bed.
Now and then I’m able to doze off, only to be awoken by the hot air.There’s nothing to be done but to get back in the shower.

After that, I get under the mosquito net.
Soon I’m sweating. . .
I repeat this again and again before finally dropping off to a deep sleep when the sky becomes whitish and cool air flows in.
Even so, I’m gradually able to get used to the circumstances in two or three days.
The second day, I sleep well because I’ve exhausted myself with daytime work (and it’s a little cooler that night).
My appetite returns, and I eat my fill.
But I always feel bloated, because I’m drinking so much to stay hydrated.
I feel especially so when I drink cola, Fanta or Sprite. I wouldn’t normally drink such soft drinks.
At times, it’s nice to drink Nepalese milk tea, but it’s too sweet to drink much.
It’s the freshly squeezed juice served at Tiger Tops Jungle Lodge that most impresses me.
I forget what it’s called, but it’s real fruit juice with a mild sweetness.
If I go to Nepal again, I definitely want to drink that juice.
My final day in Nepal, when I finish all my work, I see a group of troops in the village. They’ve been called to drive off a rampaging wild male elephant that’s been pursuing a rutting female elephant that has been raised in the village. (In some ways, such elephants are welcome, because this is how they’re bred.)
The villagers seem to be complaining to the chief warden of the national park about the damage caused by the male elephant.
It appears to be causing quite a stir in the village.
We’re reluctant to get involved, so we go to a nearby restaurant?more like a street stall?to make a toast over beer.
Unusually, the power has held out for a while. To our joy, the beer is well chilled.
By the way, the “we” above who are sitting around the table means three persons and I. The first is the chief manager of 30 mahouts. He’s fat around the middle, too, and they say he’s an expert elephant polo player. The second is Dr. Pandey, a veterinarian specializing in wild animals. The third is Mr. Sarad. During the research trip, I’m helped by these three.
The chief manager and Dr. Pandey have to get involved in the problem of the rampaging elephant. The magic of beer eventually wins out, and they join us in our toast.
No matter how hard the working conditions and how unpleasant my bedtime, all it takes for me to forget about these is a sip of beer.
I express my gratitude for their 4 days of assistance. The last dinner continues well into the night.

 

Remarks

Good points regarding Nepalese
– Friendliness. They always greet me by putting their hands together. Unconsciously, I put my hands together, too.
– Toughness.Despite the 40°C temperature, they’re full of energy. The people look like they can store water in their bellies.
– Hearty appetites. They don’t mind having almost the same Nepalese cuisine every time. Me? No thanks.

Surprises
– They always have chest hair. (I don’t envy them.) Needless to say, I’m talking about the men. I don’t know about the women.
– Men old enough to be fathers hold hands when walking together. It’s normal here. (I don’t think they’re gay.) I sometimes see their fingers crossed or one’s arm slipped around a companion’s waist. (I still don’t think they’re gay.)

Bad points regarding Nepalese
– They litter everywhere (The roads look like dump sites. The rivers smell awful.)
– They don’t wait their turn. They rush ahead despite the congestion.
– They’re always fat around the middle. This is especially true for high-income Nepalese.

Good points regarding Nepal
– Delicious fresh fruit juice
– The women are lively. Certainly, Nepal is a female-dominated society.
– They’re willing to do labor. They walk endlessly, carrying burdens.
– Honesty. Faithfulness to their duties I never have any bad experiences.

Bad points regarding Nepal
– Very sweet tea The milk tea is okay, but I can’t drink the black tea. There must be many diabetics in Nepal.
– The beer isn’t chilled very well. (In fairness, ice-cold beer is just my personal taste.)
– Dirty currency I hesitate to touch the money in Nepal.
– Traffic regulations are not observed. They push ahead aggressively. I see a taxi driver complaining fiercely to a motorcyclist for jumping the queue. But this is minor given the overall traffic chaos.

Epidemiological study of tuberculosis in elephants (I had a hard time handling the 45°C temperature.)

A purple-flowered spot in Kathmandu.　　Toshio Tsubota