Barefoot in the Jungle – Chitwan National Park

Grappling with Expectations and Plenty of Rain

At the end of the festival two weeks ago, I took a trip to Chiwan National Park for the weekend – a magnificent jungle that is home to the endangered bengal tiger, one-horned rhinoceros, and wild elephants. The trip ended up vastly different than my hopes and expectations due to one unexpected factor – rain. To say it poured that weekend would be an understatement. I have never seen that much continuous and heavy rain in my life, I was baffled at how that much water could still be coming out of the clouds. I thought surely it would run out at some point, but the roads turned into rivers and the river itself flooded far over the banks. 

It was me and the one other current GVI volunteer on this trip. After a five hour bus ride from Pokhara, we arrived in the town of Sauraha, a gateway to the National Park across the Rapti River. I explored the area on my own that afternoon, eager to get as much out of my short trip as I could. I made my way to the viewpoint of the river, which was absolutely packed with people. Everyone was taking countless pictures of themselves and then hurrying off before even glancing at the view they had just taken a photo with. I went to the far side of the boardwalk, as far away from people as I could get, and scanned the landscape. Nestled along the opposite bank, in plain sight but the same color as the sand, was a massive crocodile. In the distance I watched a herd of at least 50 spotted deer emerge from the treeline and make their way into the towering grass. I saw cranes, egrets, sandpipers, and kingfishers resting along the bank and perched on low branches. In the 30 or so minutes I stayed there I think I was the only person who noticed them. The tourists consisted primarily of large family groups from India and around Nepal. On the boardwalk, an Indian family approached me when I was looking at the river and an older woman insisted on handing me a baby and taking a picture of me holding the child. After politely trying to refuse the child, I found the old lady draping the baby over my shoulder, speaking rapidly in a language I do not know, and smiling brightly. It took about five minutes and some convincing for her to take the baby back – throughout the whole interaction, the baby looked just as confused as I was. 

That evening we set out on a “nature walk” with a guide from our hotel. The rain had been coming down since the early afternoon and I was immensely grateful I had chosen to pack my umbrella in addition to my rain jacket. The guide began by taking us to the “elephant stables”, something they had not mentioned before. This was the place where the elephants used by the military were kept when they were not out on patrol. The army is what manages, protects, and regulates the parks in Nepal and they use elephants for jungle patrols to overcome terrain inaccessible to vehicles, protect the soldiers from other animals, and navigate dense forest to catch poachers. While I understand the essential role these elephants play in the overall conservation and protection of the park and I am aware there are no suitable alternatives at this time, seeing the elephants chained in the stables was much harder than I expected. The elephants front feet were tied together with rope and chain, leaving no room to separate the legs or move at all. That chain was then tied to a large pole in the middle of a small covered area, no wider than the elephant. I watched as one elephant repeatedly bobbed its head up and down, its trunk shaking and eyes half closed. When I asked what he was doing I was told it was a normal habit, a genetically inherited behavior and completely natural, something I knew wasn’t true. I watched dozens of people line up to take their picture in front of his enclosure, while the animal, so obviously in distress, tugged at his chains and tried to move his bound feet. When I later researched the cause of his behavior I found what I had already known, that head bobbing is the most commonly observed symptom of extreme stress and underestimation in captive elephants. What's more, I learned that the “genetic habit” answer I received is a common lie told at captive elephant centers to excuse the clearly out of place behavior. Another falsehood commonly stated is that the elephants are just “dancing”. The scene made me feel sick to my stomach, and what's more, no one around me seemed to question or care. Selfies were taken, excuses were made, people moved on. 

The nature walk itself began with a warning in broken English of how each and every animal in the forest wanted to (and probably would) kill you. The descriptions were not ones that suggested caution, they encouraged fear. After the guide mentioned the strength and speed of the wild elephants in the park, one of the Russian ladies in our group turned to her friends and said, “then it’s a good thing they're kept in cages”. The rain was dumping and the small path had been turned into a swamp. After two steps, my shoe had been entirely submerged in mud and the water had risen to my mid calf. Much of our group was in sandals and flip flops – a choice I had originally deemed insane and vastly unprepared but ended up being far more practical for that amount of mud (and left much less mess to clean). Our feet and clothes all ended up equally muddy and the only thing that could have really made an impact would have been knee-high rubber boots. On the walk we were lucky to see a large male one-horned rhinoceros from across the river. He ambled through the tall grass with the rain splashing off his armored plates. When we left the forest, the rain had paused and we watched the stunning sunset over the river – the only cloud-free moment of the entire trip. Once it began to rain that night, it failed to cease for even a minute until we were on the bus back to Pokhara. 

When morning broke, I knew immediately that it was still raining. I had hoped all night that somehow it would let up, that I would wake to find a beautiful sunny day, but with each time I woke to another crack of thunder or the pounding of the rain on the roof, my hopes drained. The 30 foot walk from my room to breakfast left me dripping and I tried not to think about the canoe we were supposed to be taking, filling with water and dumping us into the river. The guides pushed back our departure twice, each time stating, “we are giving it a bit more time, maybe it will clear up”. But it was evident it would not, and if the weather forecast was right, it would only be getting stronger. So eventually we left, walking down the flooded streets to the riverbank. We passed three men on the backs of elephants, they walked down the road with long strides, the men perched atop bareback and holding umbrellas. At the shore we watched a man frantically trying to scoop the water pooled in the canoe with half an empty soda bottle. As we waited for him to finish (or give up his fruitless mission as the rain was refilling whatever he had emptied out in seconds) we looked down the river to see the tip of a rhino horn emerging from the water. As we watched, he stood up in the riverbed and we were able to see his massive body. He stood peacefully in the middle of the wide river with the rain pelting his back – it was a beautiful sight. He looked at home, enjoying his swim without the hundreds of eyes that usually swarmed the boardwalk. We situated ourselves in the boat, sitting in at least three inches of water, and headed off downstream. The boat, an old dugout tree, was maneuvered by a man using a long stick of bamboo to push the boat along the shallow river. The rain was so intense it made the river splash over the sides of the boat. Putting my umbrella between my knees I was able to make a little tent and carefully take out my camera. We drifted past the rhino and as we approached he lifted his big head out of the water to see us go by. 

The remainder of the day consisted of far more time barefoot than I would have ever anticipated. I had decided to wear flip flops, after seeing the immense mud of the day before and believing we were only going on a canoe ride. These flip flops were the provided shower shoes from the hotel, as my sandals were back in Pokhara, and were extremely painful to wear. In the boat ride I had taken them off but when we reached the shore, they informed us we would be walking through the fields to the elephant breeding center, where the elephants used by the army are bred and trained. After walking a few minutes in the flip flops, my feet began to ache as the shoes cut into my skin. I turned to the guide and asked if it would be safe for me to take them off – one lady in our group had already done so – and he told me it would be fine, there just might be leeches. That disgusted me, I had seen them latched onto peoples legs the night before, but I figured they had about the same chances of getting me in my flipflops as if i was barefoot so I put the shoes under my arm and began to walk. We followed a narrow path through the ricefields, wading through two inch deep water. Without my shoes, it became fun! The water was warm and the mud was soft against my skin, it was quite a comfortable feeling. At least until I felt the smallest itch or tickle and would frantically search my skin for leeches. Somehow, I made it through the entire field leech-free, we reached the suspension bridge and crossed to the breeding center. After touring the center, the guide asked us if we wanted to do another jungle walk for an hour or so before lunch. The rain still beat down heavily as always and by this time I could feel drips soaking through my umbrella and my rain jacket growing damp. Deciding there was no reason to say no to an adventure, I decided to go. Barefoot as always, we set off into the forest and directly into calf-high mud. I tried to wear the shoes, figuring it would be smart to have at least something between me and the jungle, but within minutes I was trapped in the mud and the shoes were sucked off my feet when I tried to move. Abandoning the effort, I stepped out of my shoes and the mud rose to envelop my leg. With a squelching noise I stepped forward and embraced the wildness. 

Leeches are disgusting creatures, sticking to your skin on both ends and ridiculously hard to get off. You have to get a grip around the sucker and pull hard so it doesn't slip between your fingers. Then, before you can shake it off or fling it away, the sucker has attached to your fingers in an instant and you have to rip it back and forth between your hands as you try to shake it off. In the end I needed the guide to rip it from my fingers and crush it with his nail. Throughout the hike I only got two leeches, one between my toes and one on the top of my foot. They both left round, red marks on my skin and bled for a considerable time. But I had been lucky, someone in our group (who had even been wearing hiking shoes) found five on his arms, legs, and hands. On the jeep ride back to the hotel he found the last one clinging to his thigh. It was massive, refused to let go of his fingers when he ripped it off, and left a stream of blood running freely down his leg. 

The five hour open-top jeep safari was when the rain nearly broke us. After crossing the river in a small boat, we climbed into the seats of the truck. We sat in the front, figuring if we got to see any animals, that would be the best view. The front, however, was undeniably the worst place we could have chosen, something we discovered as soon as the jeep started to drive. The rain came in at an angle, blown by the wind and flying off the hood of the cab and directly into my face. The raindrops pelted me with such force I could barely open my eyes and it felt like I was standing directly in front of a shower head. I could feel the water seeping through my rainpants and I began to shiver. Propping my umbrella between my knees I was able to shelter my legs for a bit and after 30 minutes of driving with no animal sightings, I hid my head beneath it as well. In the five hours of driving we saw roughly five deer and three birds – not quite the spectacle I had been hoping for from my trip to the jungle. The animals were taking cover, just like me, sheltering themselves under thick bushes as I hid my head under my umbrella. After an hour or so we stopped at one of the military checkpoints and our guide informed us there was an extra seat in the cab of the jeep and asked if anyone wanted to take it. After waiting a few seconds for someone else to claim it, I raised my hand and eagerly scampered from my puddle of a seat and into the sheltered cab. If it hadn't been for sitting in the cab, the experience likely would have gone from slightly uncomfortable and a bit disappointing to absolutely miserable and freezing. It was interesting sitting next to the driver, I tried to chat but “my name is Manu” was the extent of his English. I watched apprehensively as he paused before a rushing river cutting through the road, stared at it for a moment, shifted gears, and plowed the truck through the water. I clutched the edges of my seat as the water rose to just below my window and the splash reached high above the back seats. He successfully navigated us through four of these such rivers, each time taking a moment to pause, observe, put the truck in the correct gear, and then absolutely gun it. 

The route we took was one road and to return we simply turned around and went back the way we came. As we retraced our steps I could see just how much the rain had dumped – the rivers had swelled even higher and at one place, Manu had to step out of the car to inspect if the bridge was still there as the water level had risen above it. We passed at least five empty jeeps driving the other way, only the driver sitting in the cab. Each time we met one the drivers would roll down the windows and have a frantic conversation in rapid Nepali. I was so curious to know what they were discussing, it sounded important and worrying. It was only when we reached the starting point again that it became immediately evident. The river had swelled and flooded the bank. The water was approaching the clearing where all the jeeps were parked, hence the drivers all moving them away. But the bigger problem became crossing the river again to get to our hotel. The little boat we had taken had been maneuvered by a long stick of bamboo, maybe 15 feet tall. When we had first crossed the water level reached about half way up the pole. Now, we could see from across the river, the boatmen had about two feet left on the ends of their sticks. When they saw we were waiting they began the cross, pushing their way as far up the river as they could on the opposite side before setting across to us. They very nearly didn't make it. We watched as they rapidly pushed with the poles, an extra man sat in the middle frantically battling the current. With the extra weight of the passengers, the way back was twice as hard. When we reached the shore we began our run back to the hotel. Soaked, starving, and barefoot, we ran through the streets that had become rivers. 

Though the contents of the trip had been at times disappointing, I left with stories and adventures I wouldn’t have had without the challenges that they brought. I’m grateful for the two rhinos I got to see and for my experience witnessing the army elephants. At the elephant breeding center we got to see the one month old babies, who were having the best time rolling around in the mud and rain. I was surprised to see just how similar they were to wrestling puppies and even human toddlers and I stood watching them long after my group had left. 

We woke the next morning to leave only to discover that a landslide had closed the road back to Pokhara. Our bus was delayed by hours while they cleared the road and by the time we were able to leave, our incredible GVI base manager Tara had decided to drive from Pokhara to Chitwan to get us as he would be able to get there faster than the bus. We would ride on the bus until we met and then transfer to his car so he could bring us straight back. As we drove out of Sauraha on Sunday morning, the sun beamed down on the roads, birds sang loudly in the trees, and I knew that just as we were leaving, all the animals would be emerging again. I will just have to come back someday to see them. 

But little did I know there was another lovely adventure in store for the day. When Tara picked us up in a small town along the highway, he told us we were close to one of his favorite restaurants and asked if we wanted to go for lunch. We peeled off the highway and drove about 20 minutes up a winding road to the top of one of the nearby hills. We arrived in a village called Bandipur, a place so beautiful it felt out of a movie. Placed on top of the highest hill around, the village offered a 360 degree view of the valleys, river, ricefields, and the incredible Manaslu mountain. The sky was perfectly clear and we could see all the mountains in perfect detail. Manaslu, the 8th highest mountain in the world at 26,781 ft, was incredibly majestic with a cloud of snow blowing off the Eastern face. We ate a delicious dal bhat, one of the best in all of Nepal (according to Tara) and explored the village. The architecture reminded me of the small towns I had seen in France and Switzerland – beautifully shuttered windows, thatched roofs, winding vines, and flowers growing along the walls. We did a tour to see beautiful, natural fountains coming from the mountain. They are extremely important for the town, providing fresh drinking water and a place to bathe and wash clothes. There is a beautiful old stone temple next to them and the old road that runs by is part of the original silk road connecting China to India. 

The rest of the drive back to Pokhara was wonderful, the afternoon sun made the hills glow and we listened to good music over the stereo. It was perfectly peaceful and made a wonderful day out of a rocky start. This trip showed me the necessity of letting go of expectations and hopes for something that won't happen. It showed me that lingering in the “what could have been” and the “what I wanted/expected” is the easiest way to take a difficult situation and make it miserable and that unexpected adventures are always around the corner. 

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