Since the last blog life has presented a few interesting diversions – of which I am still recovering. But no I didn’t have a bike accident requiring hospitalisation. But have to admit to a slight prang when christening the red rocket – yes, finally managed to get to Bhairahawa without too much shopping taking up all the room in the taxi, courtesy of a couple of yogis going to the airport - so I shared their taxi continued on into town and made the purchase. BJ (Birjesh)– the regular taxi driver - and I went to the bike shop and bought a flash red bike with black mudguards wide types and one shock absorber – thought they could be useful on the rough dirt roads around the Lumbini monastic area – also a nifty wire basket and bell from Singapore. Finished the deal with a glass of tea then loaded the bike onto the roof of the taxi van and took it back ‘home’ to the centre. I had to wait until after breakfast the next day to try it out – apart from a quick test run from the shop into the wilds of Bhairahawa traffic with motorbikes, trucks, buses, cars, rickshaws and other bikes to negotiate, which needless to say I didn’t venture too far into. There is such a wide variety of vehicles on the roads - from bullock carts to modern 4 wheel drives and everything imaginable in between. So it wasn’t until next morning I get to have my first real ride in the quieter Lumbini precincts – great! Then just as I was heading back on the last few hundred metres to the centre’s driveway two men on bikes approached from the opposite direction on their way to work. It just happened that we were crossing paths at the narrowest part of the track, which is very sandy, and with one man weaving from side to side best guessing which way I would take we misjudged each other and crashed – me ingloriously and embarrassingly falling off and landing in the dirt with bike on top in front of a group of workmen who were warming themselves by a roadside fire. With as much dignity as possible – very little - I extricated myself from bike with a bit of help, remounted and took off – fortunately with only my pride wounded. But since then a few rattles have imposed themselves on my biking experience – a rearranged mudguard I guess. But the bike has been great fun and very handy to ride up to the Maya Devi temple to do my volunteer bit for the archaeological team – paying 5rps (7 cents) to park it.
This ‘work’ hasn’t been too onerous to say the least – I just stand outside the entrance to the temple and talk to any one who speaks English and is interested enough to want to know what’s going on – not that many! I end up having all sort of conversations totally unrelated to the work but get to meet some interesting people. On the first day I met a small tour group of Aussies led by two people - Sharon and Glen - who live in India part of the year and know Sharon D. (they saw her very recently in Dharamsala). Also speak to lots of Nepalis, many who are travelling over the current winter school holidays – young students, families – and who want to have their photo taken with me – the exotic foreigner. The other day I had a chat with a swami from India who showed me photos of himself in various yoga postures and invited me to visit him in Bodhagaya – not sure if I’m that keen or if he would be if I really turned up.
Life got a bit more dramatic a few days ago, when an old monk from Malaysia became very unwell. I suggested to S & S that he should see a doctor suspecting pneumonia was a possibility. Very very fortunately a meditator who had just arrived the evening before was a doctor – there is no local full time doctor in Lumbini. She examined him in the morning and said he needed to be in hospital. He had to be lifted on a blanket by all the centre’s workmen into a taxi and Isa and I then accompanied him to a hospital in Bhairahawa. But with no ICU beds available and his condition deteriorating it was decided to put him in an ambulance to the next hospital with and ICU bed – 2 hours away. So with oxygen attached to keep him going, Isa and climbed into the back of the ambulance with him, holding him in the stretcher – no belts, many windy roads and ambulance driver an ex-trukkie. And with siren blaring, which is generally ignored by all, we weaved our way to Bharatpur hospital. By this time it was late arvo – I had only eaten at 6.30am, isa had gastro having just arrived from India and the monk needed intubation to keep him breathing. We were helped by so many great people – including the doctors, one who lent us money to pay for medicines, the ambulance driver who took us in the ambulance to a hotel then drove us out in it to have some dinner and back to our room – all in all a very surreal day.
I had gone out with just what I was standing in and 1500rps of my own money in my pocket (and $300 from the centre, which nobody wanted). Fortunately Isa had a little more but not by much. So we bought toothbrushes and toothpaste, slept at a local hotel, had a cold shower in the morning and headed back towards the hospital - changing the dollars and recharging the centre’s mobile phone – which had run out of credit – on the way. So a little unexpected holiday to the Chitwan area – and it was actually a lovely drive through some very scenic country, which I could see out the ambulance window when not pushing the pillow back under the monk’s head or trying to re-manoeuvre him back onto the stretcher after he was rearranged when the driver veered away from oncoming trucks.
S & S turned up the next afternoon to rescue us and a friend from Kathmandu came down to look after the monk (who remains in the ICU and although now extubated is still very unwell) – and we headed back to Lumbini arriving about 10pm of the second day. Needless to say Isa and I were very tired so now 2 days later have a slight cold and have spent the day in my room reading, meditating, imbibing assorted potions that have been provided by various people. Feel pretty good apart from aching back from sitting on my bed leaning over the computer – so will stop here. (Photos of ambulance and ICU to come later – Isa had her camera - not me.)
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