I set foot in Nepal

I'm sure you've all been worrying incessantly about my right foot.

For those of you who didn't get a chance to read about the many and varied foot injuries I've endured over the last few months, let me briefly summarise.

Due to the tropical climate and the dirt it takes about four weeks for even minor cuts to heal up over here. You have to watch them constantly too or else you might find a seemingly harmless little cut balloon into a swollen festering sore of nightmarish proportions, leaking evil green goo all over the place and looking generally unattractive.

I confess I don't take adequate precautions to protect my feet, wandering the filthy streets of India as I do in a pair of sixty rupee flip-flops. It was put into perspective for me recently when I was surrounded by a group of Indian boys who asked me, if I was such a wealthy westerner then why was I wearing such rubbish shoes? Later, my Indian friend Lucky took me to a market and tried to buy me a new pair. I didn't let him. The flip-flops are very comfortable.

But I digress. I just wanted to say that I am regularly damaging my right foot and just as one injury begins to heal I somehow manage to crog myself and end up with a new cut to nurse. It's like a vicious circle.

A few weeks ago in my first 'My Right Foot' post I predicted that my most recent bit of foot damage, a mosquito bite I scratched open in my sleep that promptly went pear-shaped, would have healed by the time I got to Nepal.

Happy news everyone! I woke up this morning in beatiful Nepal, peered down at my foot, fiddled with my scab a bit and peeled it away to find puckered but healthy pink flesh beneath. I'm sure you can appreciate that I'm quite relieved that I'm not going to be needing a foot amputation. Oh what a feeling.

You may remember that I also predicted that, given the vicious circle my foot has become stuck in, another accident was bound to befall it very soon after the mozzie bit healed, and that the likelihood was that it would probably happen 4km above sea-level in the Himalayan mountains, which is where I'm going tomorrow.

This is ridiculous. All this inconsequential rubbish about my foot was supposed to be a short introduction to the fact that I am in Nepal and from the moment I arrived I have been having an utterly amazing time.

A lot of you may have heard in the news about the tense political situation here that has escalated recently since the Maoists ended their ceasefire. The Maoists are militant communist revolutionaries who, among other things, object to the fact that the current king assumed power after (allegedly) slaughtering the entire royal family. Recently - to add insult to injury - the king dissolved parliament, and now wields absolute power.

I'm the first to admit that I have no real understanding of current affairs, certainly not the convoluted politics of a country like Nepal, so forgive me if my summation of the situation is wildy inaccurate. In any case, you can't help but sympathasise with the Maoist point of view, if not with the methods they use to get it across.

Innocent people have died recently at the hands of the Maoists. These were "accidents" that the Maoists were quick to apologise for. They're only interested in killing soldiers and police officers... and their families, who presumably are deemed not to be innocent. It's really ugly. Even a few tourists have been caught in the crossfire.

The unstable situation in Nepal nearly stopped me from coming. In Varanasi, only ten hours from the Nepalese border, I contemplated the decision ahead of me. I did some research which made me feel better. It would be fair to say that the western media's coverage of events in Nepal is sensational and the advice of the British foreign office extremely conservative. The British government, conservative? Yes, it's true!

So I decided to take the risk. You have to put the recent deaths in perspective. 13,000 people have died in Nepal as a result of the conflict since it started ten years ago. That's about twenty-five people a week. Forty-two people have died since the ceasefire ended a month ago, so recently the death toll has been more like ten a week. I apologise, these are ugly words, but the fact is that Nepal is currently safer than it is during an average week. The situation here is nothing new. Okay, so last week there were bombs in Pokhara. Last year there were bombs in London, the year before in Madrid. We were shocked and afraid and we grieved, but life went on - as it does in Nepal.

Sadly however, tourism here has pretty much dried up, something which is hurting the Nepalese people badly. When I arrived in Pokhara two weeks ago there were more soldiers on the street than tourists. But Pokhara is one of the most chilled out places I've ever visited, even in spite of the soldiers, which is weird. Perversely, the lack of tourists is an advantage to budget backpackers like me because local businesses need cash and will therefore sell their wares at any price. It's simply a question of supply and demand.

But I tire of talking about death and money. My experience of Nepal is about neither of these things, it is about a love affair - with a country. It shocks me that there was ever a time when I may have decided not to come to Nepal. It seems ridiculous that I've been here for two weeks and not shared anything with you about my feelings for the place. The reason is that I know that with words I could not do my feelings justice as I'm still trying to process these feelings myself.

I think the best thing to do is copy an extract from my journal. This might give you some insight into the confusion of thoughts, feelings and ideas whirling around my head, and therefore some appreciation of the extraordinary country I'm fortunate enough to be travelling in...

My spirits have been up and down all morning and right now they are at a low ebb. It's mostly this god awful cold, I know - it makes me feel rotten half the time, and during the other half I'm experiencing a curious mixture of awe and sorrow... I feel an awful lot for this country.

I realised that I haven't written a word about Nepal on my blog, which is a bit of a crime. No-one I care about has any idea how I'm feeling right now... hmm, that makes me feel kind of alone. I know that unfortunately I cannot adequately express these feelings to those people - that would require far too much soul-searching and take far too long - but I think perhaps I could say something.

I think to accurately sum up my feelings for Nepal would involve entirely summing up my feelings and conclusions about my travels in all of Asia. That's something I'm not ready to do yet.

My heart threatens to break because of the simple beauty of the people here in Bhaktapur - humble, unassuming, noble, gentle, desperate. Earlier this morning I saw a woman, weeping, being led across a square by two friends. The grief and the sorrow visible in her slumped shoulders and her subdued wailing spoke of a great loss - a parent, child or husband. Her public suffering seemed to me to be a part of the communal soul of Nepal.

A few steps away children played with water pistols in the sunshine, their laughter echoing around the square. They were oblivious to the mourning woman, oblivious also to the ragged, filthy beggar kids who were loitering around, who in turn were oblivious to the soldiers staring inscrutably at everyone.

In countries like this, the incredibly poor, the more fortunate and the wealthy walk down the street side by side - but they might as well be on different planets. Right now, a runny-nosed beggar kid with no-one and nothing to play with sits next to me, almost snuggled into my side. This is the same spot he's been in for the last twenty minutes since he sidled up to me to watch me write and study my face. He has nothing better to do. Meanwhile, scores of schoolchildren saunter past, notice me, stop to look briefly over my shoulder at what I'm writing and then continue on their way.

They, of course, are oblivious to the predicament of this child, who may never go to school, never learn to read and write, never have any expectations, one day to be observed suspiciously by tourists like me and ignored by his more fortunate peers. I too am oblivious. I have no conception of this child's life or his future.

Perhaps I am the only one to notice this child today, perhaps the only person to notice the grieving woman's pain. Perhaps this kind of pain and suffering is so much a part of life over here that it is normal.

I've just given the boy five rupees and he's scurried off with a big smile on his face. He didn't ask for any money. I wish I could have given more but it wouldn't have made any difference. It would have been taken from him I expect. How is it possible to help the people back home understand the way of life out here? How can I make them understand why such a simple experience as this can fill me with such a love for this country.

Nevermind the jungles, hills and mountains that make Nepal one of the most beautiful places in the world, it's the people who have captured my imagination.

Wandering the streets and the countryside of this country, you can often find yourself lost in a dream. You feel like you've died and gone to a better place - a place where people are simple and good and have time to stop and smile and say hello. Then, out of the corner of your eye you might notice some barbed wire, knotted and tangled over a patch of grass. Look more closely and you will perhaps see that there is a soldier peering at you from behind sandbags, his rifle sticking out alrmingly. Is he pointing that thing at me, you will wonder. Then you will remember there is more to life in Nepal than that which wealthy westerners see.

The funny thing is that the chances are the peering soldier will smile at you and say hello.

Meet the Maoists in the mountains and they will tax you 1000 rupees, although I heard recently that Israelis only have to pay 200 because they're all harder than the commie rebels and are therefore unafraid when they have guns pointed at them. I don't know, this sounds a bit like an urban myth to me. However, it is not a myth that when, with shaking hands and sweating palms, you hand over your 1000 rupees, you are handed back a receipt.

Then the commie rebel will smile at you and say thankyou.

Fact is indeed stranger than fiction.