Kathmandu, May 30

I did not write for some time, because when you travel with two and plan for two you have little time for one. So this will again be only a short entry.

A couple of weeks ago we were in Varanasi, the shocking concentration point of all types of human tragedy posing for a holy city. From there we had (time-wise, not distance-wise) a long journey into Nepal. After two days of trains and taxis, we stranded at the Nepali border, because the whole country was apparently on strike. To explain why I have to write something about Nepali politics. A couple of years ago, the monarchy was disbanded and an agreement was made to write a new constitution. A committee was appointed for the job. Unfortunately, like in Europe, the divisions between the different ethnic, political and regional groups are larger than what unites them. Or the politicians are just very lazy and corrupt. Or both. Whatever the case, the committee has failed to provide a new constitution before the set deadline. The different groups, meanwhile, try to have their demands heard by staging demonstrations and strikes across the country.

On second thought, the thing called a strike here is not really a strike in the normal sense. Cause in any normal place a strike means that people willingly lay down their work or business. In Nepal it means you give some adolescent young men sticks, torches or other weapons and send them out in the street to terrorise the population into not working. To be honest, even if I sympathize with many of the demands, I call that blackmailing or even terrorism, not strike. But then again (judging from road-signs or menus) the subtleties of the English language were always a bit of a riddle to the average inhabitant of this part of the world.

To be short, when we entered Nepal there were no taxis, no buses, and even the shops were all closed (although people let you in through the back door - after all they still need to make money to make a living). For some reason cycle rickshaws were exempted from the strike, or appeared to be. A rickshaw driver took us 25 km from the border to the city of Butwal, where we were almost attacked by a mob of young men with sticks. We escaped into a nearby hotel where we stayed 2 days, by the time of which the strike was called off. To be honest, the hotel was very nice and since we both got stomach problems due to a minor bit of food poisoning, we had to take a rest anyway. On the second day though, we took a public bus all the way to Pokhara, just to be sure. In this country you can never be sure if there will be another strike next day. Of course the state of the public transport was another adventure for my mum.

With Pokhara as a base, we went trekking in the Annapurna area. For me the second time, so I knew where to go. We walked a circuit over Landruk, Chhomrong and Ghorepani. It took eight days but that's also because we took it slowly. It was phantastic to see the mountains again. Nature is very different from last time, during the cold season. We saw different plants and even animals from what I saw back then. And mum got a huge compliment when one mountain guide we met in Chhomrong declared her to be his heroine, when he heard she had recovered from not being able to walk at all three years ago.

After Pokhara, we went to Chitwan, where we rode an elephant and saw rhinos and sloth bears. And now we are in Kathmandu, to have our last week filled with a cultural program. Our time together is nearly finished already. It has been another insane month, full of bright colours, intense heath, beautiful nature and monuments and hectic, dirty cities. I will miss my mum when she's gone back home.