My elephant friends

Bum with butterfly

Perhaps I used up my lifetime allowance of patience with buses when I took the longest bus journey in the world to spend Christmas in Laos, or perhaps choosing more efficient forms of transport simply comes more easily to me now. Either way, I decided to fly from Pokhara to Chitwan National Park rather than taking the bus, which could have taken any length of time between five and eight hours.

I had a quick breakfast of chapati and curry before checking out of my excellent family-run Tibetan guesthouse. The nearest airport to Chitwan was Bharatpur, an hour's drive from the park. Seeing some amount of confusion in the small airport, I made sure that my baggage was marked BHR rather than KTM - Kathmandu being the more popular destination - and I confirmed ‘Bharatpur?’ with both the gate agent and the stewardess. It would be quite easy, I thought, to end up in Bhadrapur or back at Biratnagar. However, perhaps I had been needlessly mistrustful. Exactly twenty-six minutes after I had boarded the tiny 19-seater propeller plane - a Beechcraft - in Pokhara, we had whizzed southwards, almost below the height of the hills; we had landed; the passengers filed out past the doorless cock-pit; I had collected my bag, and was in a taxi and on my way. It was so more efficient than the dreadful dusty bus.

At Chitwan I had chosen to stay at Tiger Tops Elephant Camp, where ten happy elephants live and work. There were various elephant-related activities on offer and I couldn’t wait to meet the herd. Tiger Tops cost rather more than I usually spent on accommodation, but I desperately wanted to visit the elephants, and I'd had a friendly chat with the woman at Head Office and managed to secure a good discount. Still, I wasn’t prepared for being addressed as Ma’am throughout my stay. At what point did I evolve, I wondered, from being a young and nubile Mademoiselle to a fully-grown Ma'am? It must have been during that interminable wait for a birthday drink in Lahan, I concluded. Upon arrival at Tiger Tops reception there were porters who whisked away my bags, iced lemonade, and soft damp flannels so that I could remove the sweat of my fifteen-minute plane ride. It was all very grown-up.

My safari tent was similar to the one in which I hadn’t slept in Uganda, but with much fancier furnishings. I was Ma’amd all the way through lunch, a tasty buffet of grilled chicken, hummus and salad, served by six different bowing waiters. It was a bit much. I retired to the swimming pool and the hammock, where I could swim and read in solitude.

In the late afternoon when the temperature dropped slightly below 40, I joined a Scottish-Indian couple on a walking safari into the jungle. We were accompanied and protected by two of the camp's elephants. A herd of ten females, they arrived here individually and in varying degrees of sadness from their previous lives of mistreatment and unkindness. Now they are a happy family; ridden only by their mahout, with whom they develop a close, often lifelong relationship. The elephants work during the daytime, carrying the elephant grass back to their corrals for their own lunches, and in the afternoon, take the visitors for jungle safaris, before heading to the river at bathtime. They do not carry too-heavy loads, and no longer transport visitors on their backs. The relationship between elephant and visitor is one of friendliness and trust, but more importantly, of respect. The world of elephant tourism is quickly changing for the better, and the most reputable establishments no longer offer elephant rides with heavy wooden structures and too many passengers, which can, over time, lead to stress and spinal damage in the elephant's later years.

With our two large guardians, Rajkali and Debrakali, we walked safely into the jungle, and saw three heavily plated one-horned Indian rhinoceros. Our guide pronounced the word “rhino-saurus”, and indeed they weren’t too dissimilar to an armoured Triceratops. We were able to approach them quite closely, protected as we were by our elephant friends. Walking with these gentle, wise pachyderms was an honour enough but I was especially moved to see the rhinos, as I had never seen one before: in Tanzania the seven remaining animals in the Ngorongoro Crater had kept themselves wisely scarce.

When we returned to camp, I was presented with another wet flannel, a cold drink and more Ma'aming. It was dinnertime, and I was told the guests were ‘encouraged’ to mingle. I had been hoping for some me-time after a sociable afternoon, but there were fixed place-settings at dinner. I was seated with the Scottish-Indian couple and a pair from Kentucky. The first two lived in Dubai, and it quickly became apparent that our politics jarred.

"There is a zero unemployment rate in Dubai”, proudly stated Geeta, a successful architect. She was, I noticed, very beautiful and expensively-groomed. “If a person loses their job they are asked to leave within 30 days”.

This surprised me. “Do you mean they are deported?” I clarified.

“Yes, they are asked to leave. That’s why there’s no unemployment. It’s a very good system. There is no UAE citizenship, apart from born Emiratis”, she continued. “People can apply for residency status - it’s easy. You can get residency by owning a property”.

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s fairly elitist - it’s pretty twisted, don’t you think? What about those who can’t afford to buy property - do they have any residential rights?”

Geeta did not like this. “What do you think, Stewart?” she demanded of her husband.

“People are paid very well in Dubai”, the Scot stated, not quite answering my question. "They come from low-income countries and know they are getting a very good deal. They don’t pay taxes and they send it all home to their families.”

I think of the slave labour currently constructing the Qatari football stadium for the next eagerly-anticipated World Cup. How many, so far, have been killed through abysmal working conditions in the heat, far from their wives and children, leaving their families destitute? Is this, I wondered, the celebrated Gulf State model?

“It’s perfectly fair”, Stewart was saying. “In actual fact at one time the government considered not allowing entry for anyone who didn’t make over a certain salary threshold. But then they realised there would be no janitors or maids or any of those people. So they changed their minds.” He laughed unpleasantly.

Geeta continued. “It’s so much better than the UK where it’s easy not to have a job, isn’t it, Stew? All those people on benefits when they could be working… We don’t have have any of that in Dubai."

“What about substandard working conditions for all these migrant workers?” I asked. “Or if one of these janitors or maids, who cannot hope to own a property and no residential status, falls sick and is fired for not turning up - what happens then? Are there any employment rights to prevent such a thing?” I continued, trying to keep my voice calm.

“We haven’t come across anything like that”, they said comfortably.

I bet you haven’t, I thought. There was a long silence. The Kentucky couple hadn’t spoken in some time. I hoped no one would mention Brexit; I had my doubts about Stewart and I couldn’t stomach any further misplaced smugness. I wished I had been allowed to sit alone so I could think and write. I excused myself as soon as politeness allowed and escaped to my tent.

The next morning we had planned a jeep safari: I was stuck with the same group. At breakfast I chose a smaller table, but was quickly encouraged to sit at the table set for five, and as I contemplated standing my ground, the others arrived, and I capitulated quietly. We had a whole day ahead together, and I didn’t want to be rude.

On the safari - in one of the camp’s vintage Land Rovers as old as the forty year old elephants - we spotted two great rhinos wallowing in the cool river, and a replete Burmese python wrapped around a nest of pale eggs, inside a tree trunk. The Bengal tigress which had visited me in several of my recent dreams did not appear, but I was fairly philosophical about this and decided for tiger-preservation reasons that it wasn’t a bad thing that she remained shyly hidden. She had given me a large, quite alarming tiger hug in my dream, and I decided that that was enough for now. In the evening we joined Rajkali, Debrakali, and three new elephants, Sandrakali, Ghorepkali, and Sunamkali, for their sundowner swim and play. They had each formed firm but separate friendships - not without some envy for their free choice of partnerships, I noted, as Geeta and Stewart chatted nearby. The happy elephants splashed about enjoying the sensation of weightlessness in the water, and blowed bubbles from both ends.

Friends Sandrakali and Ghorepkali

Sandrakali pretends to be the Loch Ness Monster

When we returned to camp I ordered a large Everest beer and retreated to my tent. There were organised drinks by the pool, I had been told by several of the Ma'aming waiters. I switched off my lamp and sat still in the darkness, listening to the insect songs in joyful solitude. I reflected that, since I had paid so much to stay here, perhaps I ought to make some moves towards independence at dinnertime rather than skulking with my beer in the gloom, as if I was back at school with a fag behind the bike sheds.

My safari tent

I finished my drink and set off for dinner early. The tables were laid out dining-hall style. I chose a seat at the end and hoped that the others would be otherwise engaged by the poolside for the duration of my meal. I didn't mind some mingling on my travels, I reflected - I tend to stay in hostels so that I can meet fellow explorers in the bar - but the people and the politics are usually much more open-minded and interesting in the lower echelons of the backpacker world, by the very nature of us having chosen to meet independently on the other side of the world. Meanwhile, I was feeling rather oppressed by the Ma'aming waiters and the fixed seating.

In the morning Geeta and Stewart purposefully joined me at breakfast. Our conversation avoided socio-politics, instead tiptoeing carefully around neutral topics: the quality of sleep, the noisy insects, the return flight back to Kathmandu. I could tell that Geeta was moved to feel sorry for me, travelling by myself, and I realised that my privileged solitude was a foreign concept to her. Just because I travel alone, I wanted to tell her, does not mean that I am lonely.

We joined two new elephants, Janjankali and Jampakali, for the morning grasscutting, and fed them shoots of greenery, which they took from us gently with their trunks. Later we visited them in the corrals, with young 14 year old Sandrakali, where we made them kulchis - sandwiches filled with unhusked rice, sugar cubes, chickpeas and molasses, wrapped with hay and tied with elephant grass. But too soon it was time for lunch and, afterwards, my return journey to Kathmandu. I spoke to each of the elephants in turn, thanking them for their time and rubbing their warm bristly trunks. I saved sweet little Sandrakali for last. As I walked away I turned to say goodbye one last time, waving my hat at her, and she waggled her trunk in reply and gave me a private little trumpety toot. I was very moved, and asked my guide what Sandrakali’s message had been. “She was saying bye-bye, or maybe come again soon.” he explained, smiling.

Friends Janjankali and Jampakali

One last swim in the pool, and and then I packed my bags which were marched from my tent by a helpful porter. I thought about Sandrakali’s last message to me and I worried that she might have wanted me to visit again. I checked the time. Fifteen minutes before I was due to leave for the airport. That was enough.

“I’m going to say goodbye to the elephants”, I announced to the Ma'aming room. “On your own, Ma'am?” the manager said with astonishment. “Would you like a guide to go with you?” “No, thank you”, I said firmly. “My bags are on the trolley. I’ll meet you at the gate at 2.15pm.”

And I set off down the long drive alone to talk to Sandrakali.

Ghorepkali

Sandrakali

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More on Nepal:
The dusty dogs of Kathmandu - on my arrival into Nepal
The endless quest for a birthday beverage - I try to order a drink in Lahan, with mixed success
The tiger who took a taxi - on my first day in Kathmandu
Political unrest and an exciting trip to the airport - my journey to a regional airport amidst civil unrest
The road to Bandipur - is not as straightforward as it seems
Boiled alive in Bandipur - I visit a silkworm farm and discover the violent origins of the Silk Road
My elephant friends - I meet some unpleasant humans and some very important elephants