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Not two hours ago I was sitting outside a local café wracking my brains about what to write for this week’s column (yes, Editor Sir, I do think about it!) when a young girl at the next table turned around. She asked me if I was friends with a mother and daughter who live in Ireland. She recalled the days of us all dancing in the Irish Pub in Lazimpat—which then dates it around 2010. She went on to recall that she knew them when they rented an apartment from her family when she was a child. Having just returned from study overseas, she appeared to be around mid-20s. 

It was not the first time this has happened to me… About 8 or 9 years ago I saw someone on social media whose family name looked familiar (it's a bit unusual). I contact him. Sure enough his family used to come and stay with us on a regular basis when I lived in Bardia National Park! Subsequently he moved into my Kathmandu neighborhood and we became friends. Looking back on the Bardia days I was, at that time, more friends with his parents than his 10-year-old self but his recollection of the warm welcome I gave (gosh, how professional was I) when they arrived at the hotel was seared into his happy childhood memories. Being they were neighbors of a mere two hours drive away (nothing in a rural area) even my mother and aunt met his parents back in the day as I sometimes used to go visit them at their house too. Now with a child of his own we are family!

On another occasion I was having drinks with that same guy and a bunch of Friday Happy Hour folks at the old 1905 on Kantipath when a young woman came up to me and said— “you know my mother”. Her mother, a French woman running a trekking agency here, helped me out tremendously on a particular occasion. Her, then young, daughter was there too and she recalled both the occasion and me. I had lost contact since the time they kind of ‘rescued’ me, some 20 years ago.

Why, even the assistant editor of this newspaper falls into this strange category of folks I knew as children. Having met adult Sunny through his music, when this newspaper started he suggested I might like to write for them. Sometime around then his son was having his rice-feeding party to which I was invited. I’m dancing away to some Nepali song on the dance floor and spy a gentleman doing the same. We wave at each other and exchange greetings. I later say to Sunny that I met the guy who was previously the manager at the Sterling Club based within the British Embassy. Which I used to frequent on a regular basis, again back around 15 years ago. “Oh that’s my father,” says Sunny!

A few months back I was sent a Facebook friend request by a woman married to someone who used to work for me, going back around 20-25 years. I was somewhat surprised to notice that this woman, who looked about 40, is married to my ex-staff member who is oh, maybe 20. Then it dawned on me. Twenty years have passed since he worked for me. He is no longer 20!

There is nothing quite like being told by someone they knew you when they were a child to remind you that you are not 30 anymore but edging towards the other end of the spectrum.  But worst of all—there is nothing quite like being on a date with someone who then turns out to be the son of someone you worked beside 19 years ago. And who most likely you met when he came along to visit daddy at work! Needless to say, there was no second date.

…and what have you done. Another year over. A new one just begun. 

Sang John Lennon in 1971. Still a classic at Christmas, this song takes on a new meaning this year. So what have we done? In a word—nothing. I should have been telling you about all the great Christmas markets, Christmas carol concerts and events going on around town. But I’m not. Because there aren’t any. Not just none in Kathmandu but pretty much none around the world.

Yes, there has been a couple of small markets, announcing themselves as Christmas ones, but the overall spirit is missing for me. No Summit Hotel, or larger Christmas markets taking place for obvious reasons. No Kathmandu Chorale concert, no gluhwein courtesy of the Germans, no Christmas mince pies courtesy of the British, no Christmas lunch up near Shivapuri with the Culture Studies Group, and no Kathmandu International Film Festival (KIMFF) except virtually. Oddly, KIMFF, always held in December, has been part of my Christmas celebrations for near on 18 years now. No, nothing happening, except a few hotels and restaurants hosting lunches and dinners with a Christmas theme.

I hope you have fun. The near and the dear ones. The old and the young. Continues Lennon.  Much of Europe has pretty much cancelled Christmas. The idea being keeping the old and young apart. Even within a family bubble, only so many people can gather in one household.  In Scotland, my mother is in my sister’s family bubble because she lives alone. But even she couldn’t visit for the two weeks prior to Christmas as my nephew is quarantining at home after returning from university. 

So what have we done? This year has been so hard on so many. We started it with optimism.  Visit Nepal 2020 would bring many tourists, benefitting those within the industry and many more indirectly. I visited Europe for the first time in more than 20 years—and it might be another 20 since those of us holding British passports have given over, from 1 January 2021, our right to work and visit Europe without the visa red-tape nonsense. #brexitmadness   

So that was January 2020. By February we were taking a closer look at China and Italy and keeping our global fingers crossed. Somewhere in March we entered a long, and very dark tunnel. With vaccines now being produced and distributed there may be a tiny light at the end of this tunnel. But we shouldn’t celebrate quite yet. This is going to take time.

The whole world is suffering from Covid-fatigue but here in Nepal it seems all caution has been thrown to the wind. The average person no longer fears this virus, nor appears to have any civic responsibility towards their neighbors, friends or even family. And, I said this a couple of months ago too, it’s not just the ones who earn their living on a daily basis who are taking risks. It’s those who, we would presume, have enough in the coffers to see them through these dark days. With plenty to spare. Greed at every level seems to win out every time. And here I am talking about the whole world, not just Nepal.  

Going back to Lennon’s song, like him, I wish you: A very merry Christmas. And a Happy New Year. Let’s hope it’s a good one. Without any fear.

Today a friend posted photos of a troop of monkeys—Do you call them that? Google search and yes, a troop or a tribe!—anyway a friend posted photos of a large troop of monkeys (maybe 7 or 8 of them) climbing around her neighborhood houses. The day before another friend posted pictures of perhaps the same troop of monkeys climbing around her compound. Both in Lazimpat. About 17 years ago I lived in Lazimpat also and yes monkeys were frequent visitors. I could also hear jackals barking. Another Google search… I could hear jackals ‘howling’. At that time I think the Indian Embassy trees stretched pretty much to Raniban. With urbanization I doubt you will hear jackals today. On the other hand, maybe there are jackals but unless you are familiar with the sound they make, they can sound very much like a group of young people having a bit of a drunken party! 

Back to the monkeys. While one or two are not unusual to spot at the back of Lazimpat, a troop of seven, eight or nine must surely be extraordinary. Can it be a coincidence that the temples have newly opened for pilgrims after nine long months? Maybe with humans coming back into ‘monkey territory’ the monkeys have decided to reciprocate by moving into more urban settings? It can’t be that they are hungry. Can it? Primatologist please respond. (Yes, I Googled that too) Or maybe they are also simply suffering from Covid-fatigue and searching something new.

We have seen photographs of wildlife reclaiming rivers, forests and even city centers during lockdowns around the world. I have personally have had several visits from a squirrel and a not so lovely visit from a rat! Whereas both were thieves, the squirrel was entertaining. Climbing up on several mornings and inching a bright pink small towel used for cleaning my solar panel ever closer to the edge of the balcony. We played a bit of a game… me, replacing the towel to its place, she pulling it out again. I say she as I am convinced the towel was heading to be part of a squirrel nest. I was sure that no way a tiny squirrel was going to be able to drag something equal to its body weight over the plants and carry it down the wall. But it did! I now am a bit more aware when hanging lightweight clothing out to dry on the veranda.

The other, not so cute or entertaining thief was an average sized rat! Why just take one bite out of something and leave it to move on to the next? I’m sad to say, after a few attempts of catching him humanly it came down to him or me. I won.

I should also mention here that since the beginning of lockdown I formed a daily habit, which I am still doing, of taking my early morning drink on the veranda. Along with my breakfast muesli. It became a daily event that one, always just one, and there were several of them (yes, eventually I came to recognize the differences) in rotation came for breakfast. Crows I am talking about. Always one crow for his/ her muesli. It became quite a thing… still is quite a thing. 

I learned during the earthquake time that crows are very intelligent and so I am happy to observe them close up. Those incredibly noisy flashy green parrots that live, it would appear, in the ventilation pipes of the building next door, never drop by. Yes, maybe those bright, young things are too full of themselves to visit. Leaving it to the drab ‘old’ crows! The only thing I was worried about was with a daily crow sitting and eating on my balcony about six inches from me, the neighbors might think I am a witch. Or a bit of an ‘old crow’ myself!  

I’m sitting in the most authentic French restaurant in town. I heard it is up for sale and realizing I hadn’t been here for around a year decided to pop in after a meeting nearby. I peruse the menu. It is reminiscent of the winter 2015/16 “no gas” menus in that it is a shadow of its former self. I had wanted the wonderful, light and tasty crepes but they are not on the menu. I opt for another French classic. 

Situated in Babar Mahal Revisited Chez Caroline has been running under the watchful eye of its owner since 1997. But now it seems it’s time to go. Fortunately its sale includes the staff and menus so we must hope this restaurant, situated in the quaint setting of a recreated Rana palace, will continue to serve classic French food. I also hoped to enjoy the ambiance of the setting today but of the only two other guests, one is constantly on his phone giving advice to one caller after another which runs on a loop of “No beds available. Self-isolate.  Take vitamins.” This is not the experience I was looking for.

I wander round the complex. If you don’t know, it is a recreation of the original Baber Mahal, the remaining parts situated just up the street a little, built in 1910 by Maharaja Chandra Shumsher Jung Bahdur Rana. It is the usual white plastered building in the Neoclassical or Baroque European architecture style. Babar Mahal Revisited was build decades later in the 1990s by the grandson of Chandra Shumsher as a tribute to these old Rana palaces. As far as I am aware, the only original parts of the palace within this complex are the then cowsheds and guards houses.

Back in the present—I already know of one shop up for sale as well as a lovely boutique hotel.  The shops are open today but aside from the ubiquitous photo shoot, with model, camera-man and hangers on, it seems I’m the only visitor. One shop-keeper feels over the past couple of weeks business has picked up. Knowing the unique and expensive objet d’art sold in most of the shops, I feel this might be remaining expats who are planning trips home and are buying Christmas gifts. Shopping sprees which won’t sustain long.

I’ve heard many shops in Thamel are also closed and/or up for sale. We all had high hopes at the beginning of the Nepal lockdown that the autumn tourist season would go ahead, saving the jobs of thousands in the tourism industry. Reality has now hit. With both rising Covid-19 cases in Nepal and no relief (or plans) in sight and the second wave hitting Europe, our hopes for this season are dashed. And finally we are beginning to see the big picture… tourism might not revive for between two to five years. Depending on who you read. And even if trekkers do arrive in Nepal, many savvy local communities are closing up their lodges and teahouses quoting the risk is not worth the monetary gain in this rapidly shrinking trekking season.

But today, although disappointed I can’t get crepes, and that the bread basket only contains baguette, not the usual variety of breads, and somewhat annoyed the gentleman at the end of the courtyard is a constant reminder of the present reality, I am grateful that I can still enjoy a rare treat and that I am not forced to sit at Khula Manch to receive food. Or worse, unable to receive free food since it is now deemed, after seven months, ‘undignified and unhygienic’. As I sit in this French restaurant a famous phrase attributed to Marie-Antoinette comes to mind: “Let them eat cake.” And we all know what happened to her.

I’m having a love-hate relationship with Facebook at the moment. My sister has gone fully for the latter and completely come off it this week. Often referred to in the West as an ‘old persons’ app, my young relatives do not use it but prefer Instagram and Snapchat. Thankfully Nepal is still very much ‘old school’ when it comes to social media and everything you ever wanted to know about anything is there. On Facebook. I don’t think I could go through the strain of learning a new app. So for those two reasons I love it. It’s easy to use and all I want to know is there at my finger-tips.

But I hate it right now because it keeps coming up with those “Memories”.  Memories of what you were doing this day last year, or the year before, or the year before that. Stretching all the way back to 2009 in my case.

And what I was doing this day in year 20xx is:

Jazzmandu: Always scheduled between Dashain and Tihar I have been attending Jazzmandu since I do believe the second one held in 2003. Those early festivals saw very few locals in the audience, which was mainly made up of resident foreigners. But since Nepalis love music and have no preconceptions, jazz grew to be loved and played around town. As Jazzmandu grew, more and more international musicians joined the local jazz musicians and those playing Nepali classical music on traditional instruments.

In 2013 and 2014 I was part of the Jazzmandu Media Team and got to see behind stage. That was a lot of fun and hard work. My two favourite events are always the Jazz Bazaar at Gokarna Forest Resort and Jazz at the Temple House. The former, a whole day of music in the autumn sun, then wrap up, and letting dancing warm us up in the cool of the evening; the latter, an extraordinary blend of the traditional and the modern set in a beautiful inner courtyard and bringing Tihar alive for me. Actually with Nepali classical musicians the likes of Santosh Bhakta, and the late Rabin Lal Shrestha, Jazz at the Temple House IS Tihar for me. But sadly Jazzmandu is missing this year.

Theater and performing art: Whether ‘regular’ theater at one of the many around town, or a special performance by likes of Solis Performing Arts or visiting performers hosted several times a year by the Japanese Embassy—I miss them all! All over the world performance art has been cancelled in 2020. From the Edinburgh International Festival to the International Theatre Festival held in Kathmandu, and a host of others—they are all missing this year.

Leading up to Dashain: As well as the above, post-monsoon and the lead up to Dashain is always a fantastic time music-wise in Kathmandu. Whether its album launching at 25 Hours or Moksh; a visiting rock band at Purple Haze; the house band at Shisha; festivals the likes of the Boudha Rock Festival or the Kathmandu Blues & Roots Festival and gigs at numerous other venues, this time of year is always a time of music. Venue hopping and even genre hopping in an evening was nothing unusual for this time of year. All missing this year.

Then there are holidays: Often in September and October I would be in either Scotland or South East Asia, normally Thailand. Sadly holidaying in any country is out of question for the foreseeable future. Even Pokhara looks alarmingly tricky. 

So while it’s lovely to see those old memories and watch the past live videos I posted, some days I just can’t bear to open those Facebook Memories.

While watching ‘A Suitable Boy’ (a TV adaptation of Vikram Seth’s novel) last week I noticed the village scenes set in 1950’s India are exactly what you would see today. The same can be said for many parts of Nepal. But yet, in others, time has moved on…

Around 15 years ago I visited Meghauli in Chitwan district. At that time Meghauli had an operational airstrip, mainly for guests to Tiger Tops lodge, but empty seats were also available to locals. Being familiar with ‘jungle’ village life, Meghauli, even at that time, was pretty progressive. Thanks mainly to one man, Hari Bhandary. The story starts back in the 1980’s when, the then young Hari was determined to lift the health conditions of his community. Through various chance meetings with visitors, most importantly Peter and Beryl Shore from the UK, who remain firm friends today, Bhandary started on his journey.  While working with leprosy and handicapped patients in Kathmandu, Bhandary came to realise his desire to study medicine would involve years away from home. Whereas his community needed help now. So in 1997, Bhandary opened a health post called Clinic Nepal.

When I visited around 2005, Bhandary was busy installing tube wells in the area so that women would no longer have to trail down to the river to collect tainted water for household use. A total of 246 hand pumps were installed and seven ground wells dug to supply clean water to five to 10 households. 

As time went on the projects under Clinic Nepal’s umbrella grew to incorporate, not just health and free mobile health camps, but water and sanitation, education, income generation, and even a Scout Group. I continued to visit over the years to watch this transformation. But I have missed a couple of years…

In those missing years, those tube wells of old have been overtaken by the Meghauli Town Water Supply and Sanitation Project (MTWSS) that benefits a whopping 1,892 households through a huge water and reserve tank. Not content with this, Bhandary set his heart on a more sustainable way of providing clean drinking water. In only a year (2019-2020) Clinic Nepal, with funds from the Government of Nepal through the Town Development Fund, ADB, as well asits own funds, set up a 100kW solar PV plant. 

Not only does this solar plant provide electricity for the immediate area, they are selling electricity back to the grid, and the proceeds of this (over Rs 73,000 in the first month!) are going back into the community. Initially to pay back the loan and now for system maintenance. The final repayment of the loan from the Town Development Fund was made last month (one year after the start of the project) and everything is up and running. A sustainable and environmentally-friendly way to pump drinking water and provide electricity to the community while saving money. Quite an achievement.

And as we are talking, I think back. Actually I had been to Meghauli twice before that meeting in 2005. In the early 1990s, and then towards the end of the decade, that second time accompanied by my aunt. Both times I went to watch elephant polo, organized by Tiger Tops, which used to be held annually in Meghauli. Now discontinued in favour of responsible tourism, I do remember on one of these occasions seeing the American actor Stephen Seagal there. I may even have bumped into Hari Bhandary without realising it!  

I’m confused.  I spent months at home when Covid-19 infections were in double figures.  Now it’s reached five figures, and pushing steadily towards six. And now I am told I can go out to shopping malls, restaurants, hotels, get on buses and domestic planes, and even go trekking!

My mind tells me this is far from over. My logic tells me authorities know it’s not over as schools, bars, cinemas, and large gatherings remain off-limits. But the little devil on my shoulder whispers, “Look! Other people are going out of the city and even to [supposedly closed] bars”. I’m pretty good at ignoring that little devil. Unlike the group of 20-somethings celebrating a birthday in a café yesterday. With the “old normal” hugs and kisses. Then heading out the gate sans mask. Unlike those bar owners who, understandably desperate for income, are advertising themselves as open. We know social distancing just isn’t going to happen there either.

So yes, I’m confused. I was told there were two quarantined households with Covid-19 in the small street a friend lives on. Yet children were running up and down the narrow lane. The majority of Nepali friends I have spoken to have a relative who is Covid-19 positive or sick enough to warrant self-isolation. One friend I spoke to on the phone last week wanted to arrange a meeting. Through general chitchat I discovered his whole family had ‘a flu and sore throat’. Nope, sorry, I’m not meeting you for some time to come. How could you even suggest it?

I do believe some people are just unaware: how much real information is given in Nepali about how to protect yourself and family and on recognising the symptoms? And I also believe others are just burying their heads in the sand. I can understand those who are, shockingly, starving and homeless because they are unable to work and have been thrown out of their homes because they cannot pay rent.

Almost justifiably, they are desperate to ignore the heath implications as they clandestinely sell their merger vegetables at the street corner. But I cannot understand those (not starving btw) who do know the facts yet believe it won’t happen to them, or they just don’t care.  They have given in to the little devil on their shoulder.

Then there are those who seem to genuinely believe it’s all a hoax. Yes, those anti-maskers are in Nepal too. Well, I’m sorry, that’s just selfish. Believe what you like but “just in case” it is real, can you wear a frigging mask to save the rest of us? My friend yesterday got it right when he said, “Just because you don’t believe in gravity doesn’t mean you won’t fall when you jump off a building”.

And we are falling. Economically, physically, mentally, the world is falling off that high building. In countries where strict measures are in place, as soon as they—slowly and with a lot of preparedness and thought—opened schools, numbers spiked. That was expected. What was perhaps not was the response of young Europeans (I’m totally discounting America here as it is beyond my comprehension any more) who, feeling frustrated with months of lockdown, are out partying in large numbers.

So perhaps I judge Nepal too harshly if over in Europe governments are having a hard time controlling certain sections of their populations. Despite widespread awareness raising, education, financial support, and strict rules in place. 

I’m paying close attention to the opening of international air travel and the expected arrival of tourists in Nepal. Less than one month out, there is no set protocols in place. The reopening of domestic air travel was delayed a few days because authorities and airlines had not put their protocols in place. After six months of potential planning time! And then there are the Dashain holidays that coincide with the scheduled reopening of international flights. A disaster waiting to happen.

 Now, where is that pile of sand?

Last night a transmitter in my area blew. And with a huge bang, the world went dark. It was a timely reminder of what is in everyone’s minds. ‘What if?’ What if during lockdown we are plunged into global and national 1990s? No working from home online. No online tutoring.  No Netflix/YouTube/social media. No Zoom meetings. No online exercise classes. No Skype calls to loved ones. One can wonder how we survived those pre-internet days. But of course, we don’t miss what we never had. But we do have it now and we would so very much miss it.

In this hell called 2020, it would be so much harder to persuade children and young people to stay home without the internet. Naturally, there are some areas that are still without internet in Nepal, but here I am talking urban areas being policed well during the lockdown. And not just during lockdown—any time during a pandemic when many of us do not want to go out or send our children out as before—the internet will save us.

And then there is the darkness! I first came to Nepal as a tourist in 1990. Even in those days you were handed a candle at your hotel in Thamel. Having come from a country with 24/7 hydropower, candles were only used for romantic or celebratory occasions. So it was a bit of fun. Moving forward I lived in a rural area with no electricity. Kerosene lamps were the way to go. To this day I can recognize the taste of kerosene in food (yes, it happens). At some point, we installed solar panels in the kitchen and public areas. Solar panels some do-good—but not really thinking it through—NGO brought to the area to sell to locals. At Rs 8,000 a panel. How much kerosene could you buy in those days for Rs 8,000? So those panels were rejected by the locals and snatched up by hoteliers.

Moving forward again—hello Kathmandu 2000 and hello again candles! I have been in debate with someone as to when ‘load-shedding’ actually started in Nepal. Although electricity cuts where there for decades, I am told load-shedding started around 2006.  (Sorry, I can’t fact-check as my electricity has gone off again and therefore my access to Google!)  If you are new to Nepal (ie post 2016) you might well ask why ‘load-shedding’?  Why not ‘electricity cuts’? ‘Power shortages’? Why is it called load-shedding? Actually it is literally shedding the load. The load being the burden of not having electricity. Yea, bit unclear in the English language sense. Kay garni.

At that time load-shedding timetables were introduced. Which were actually great! As long as you knew which area you were in, you could plan your work and going out around that schedule. Oddly, it’s the only thing in Nepal I have known to start and stop on time. They had that down to the minute! So we got used to living to a timetable and (still) buying candles.  Remember those days of candlewax everywhere in your house? On the carpet, on the furniture, on your clothes? And remember that winter where there was only, if my memory serves me right, four hours of electricity a day? We all just gave up. Kinda like lockdown fatigue, we all sat in the sun twiddling our thumbs. Even for those fortunate few who had inverters, four hours was not enough time to recharge. 

About two or three years after that I purchased a solar panel. Being used to the semi-darkness of candles, when the installation guy came I said it wasn’t necessary to install all the six (included in the price) lights. Four would do. ‘Oh no!’ said he and proceeded to put them in places he had learned from experience are the right locations and heights. I am grateful he did, because even in these days of electricity I used the solar lights daily. 

Around 2015/16 we were again plunged into the cold and dark after the earthquake and blockade. With little gas available we bought electrical cooking appliances and thus started a new phase in Nepal urban life. At the same time came Kool Man who brought light to almost every corner of the country. We plugged ourselves into more internet /box tv/ fancy gadgets and kitchen appliances. It would be extremely hard to give those up now.