December 31st
Tiger Tops: Chitwan National Park
Much
of today is spent on the road to Chitwan National Park, on the border with
India. Chitwan is in the terai, a
narrow strip of lowlands. Much of
the area was a royal hunting ground, where the Nepali royal family and foreign
guests would venture during the dry season to hunt rhinos and tigers. Due to the presence of a particularly
virulent strain of malaria, few people lived there year-round. One tribe, the Tharu, developed
immunity to the disease and were able to maintain settlements, but they were a
small group that only slightly impacted the otherwise untouched
wilderness. A massive DDT campaign
starting in 1954 opened the area to more permanent settlement, and highlanders
poured in. 50% of Nepal’s
population now lives in this narrow strip of land, only about 50 km wide. The impact of such rapid development on
the local wildlife was devastating, as the forests were chopped down and the
animals crowded into smaller and smaller pockets of jungle. The remaining royal hunting grounds
were named a national park in 1973, and since that time the population of
rhinos and tigers has rebounded, although there continue to be difficult
interactions between man and beast on the borders of the park.
The
road to Chitwan descends many thousands of feet, the landscape changing from
terraced hillsides and snow-capped mountains to a flat, grassy plateau. Along the way, we pass several of the
hydroelectric facilities that supply most of Nepal’s power. We arrive at the Tiger Tops lodge to
find a vastly different landscape, though it remains chilly. The lodge is beautiful – the buildings
are on stilts above the grasses, and the small complex has a view of the
plains. The dining hall is a round
boma-style building, with thatched roof and central fireplace. From the lawn we can see spotted deer
wander through the grassy clearing.
The lodge keeps a stable of elephants (their rooms and service are quite
as good as that provided to humans).
The mounting platform is not far to our left, and as we find our rooms a
line of elephants walk slowly by, on their way for an afternoon safari.
We
learn over lunch that there has been a tiger sighting in the area, quite rare
in this time of year when the elephant grass remains high. A few months from now, when the grass
is cut for thatching, it is much easier to see wildlife. We decide to join a large group that is
going out in the afternoon to revisit the area of the previous sighting. Much of this group is made up of
friends of the owner, expats from Kathmandu and influential Nepalis. They have been invited for a New Year’s
party tonight, which we will also be attending. Rather than sitting with fellow tourists, we are able to
converse with natives and expats who live and work in Nepal. It’s a very different perspective, and
provides a unique look at the country.
The
local visitors are perhaps less impressed by the elephant safari than those of
us new to the area. We are told to
be quiet (so we don’t scare off the tigers), but they can’t resist calling out
to their friends. At one point we
are offered tea from a thermos.
Now that’s the right kind of preparation for a safari! As the elephants fan out to cross a
river, it starts to rain slightly.
The mahouts, the elephant drivers, whip out large black umbrellas and
hand them back to us. A dozen
elephants slowly ford the river, umbrellas spread over the howdahs on their
backs. Tea seems very appropriate
at this moment, a reflection of the days of the Raj 150 years ago. Although we do not see a tiger,
we do spot a rhino (from a distance), and see many spotted deer. The grass is wet with rain and tall
enough to brush our legs as we sit atop the elephants. Slowly it grows dark, and we head back
to the lodge.
Tonight’s
New Year’s Eve party is clearly designed for the owner and his friends, most of
whom are in black tie or lovely and elegant native dress. We are not able to muster quite as
formal a display, but do manage nice suits and dresses, accented of course with
our newly-acquired pashmina. They
hide a multitude of sins, and the warmth is welcome if one sits too far from
the fireplace. As we dressed for
dinner, we noticed a tent being raised on the lawn next to the central
building. About halfway through
dinner, its purpose is revealed as the band begins to play. Our host has flown in the Royal Nepal
Army Band for the evening to provide dance music for his guests. The band consists of easily 15 men, all
in white suits and red hats. They
man a variety of instruments, some western and some native. A few seem to have no specific
instrument to play, but rather clap and cheer the others on. They have a somewhat limited
repertoire, highlighted by a 15-minute long “dance mix” of “Hello,
Dolly!”. The verses seem a bit
muddled, as they seem to simply continue until they get tired.
After
dinner, we move outside to the improvised dance floor. A few bold souls try to dance, but most
of us recline in chairs around small firepits and drink champagne. The band continues its attempts at
western music with varying results.
What they lack in pitch and accuracy they gain in enthusiasm. It is entirely black outside the oasis
of fires, and the noises of the jungle intrude when the band takes a
break. There are no clocks at the
lodge, but someone with a (somewhat) accurate watch tells us when we approach
midnight. We raise our glasses in
a toast and sing Auld Lang Syne.
There is an advantage to celebrating with British expats – they know all
the lyrics and imbue the song with a great deal of meaning.
Due to the cold and the increased volume of the band, we retreat to our room. This only helps slightly to improve both problems, as it is walled largely in screens and is on the corner facing the bandstand. As the night continues, we hear the strains of “The Yellow Rose of Texas” as one of our friends from the plane to Pokhara tries to teach the band a new selection. The elephants sleep through the party in their stable. Welcome to the new millennium!