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It had been a fairly strenuous and lengthy days hike from our starting point at the foot of the Kathmandu valley in Sundarijal. We committed ourselves to a 1100 meter climb up and over the ridge top and down to Chisapani, a town perched just over the crest of Shivapuri Peak. Told of Everest views and breathtaking Himalayan vistas, we were limited to our imaginations of what lay beyond the shroud of cloud. Though the day was long and the climb steep, it was nice to be back on the trail, this time sharing the pains and slow gains with my brother. As we passed the sign post reading CHISAPANI, our relief was short lived. As what emerged through the dissipating cloud was no longer the town we had set out to reach.
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First glimpses of a 3 story building, casually leaning at a 90 degree angle. Some sections pressed up against the crumbled jigsaw edges of its neighbour, some sections precariously vacant and insecurely suspended in the eerie atmosphere. Further steps revealed the near-total destruction of a once popular trekkers’ home on the hill. 13 hotels reduced to rubble. Our careful steps now hinging on broken brick and former wooden structures, including the remnants of beds and shelving, and occasionally having to avoid pushing small trainers among other everyday belongings deeper into the mud. No one, as in no one to whom we mentioned our trip to Chisapani even hinted at the devastation we were now witnessing… Did anyone know? Were they hiding it? Did anyone care? I still don’t know the answers. But it was strange, as there was nothing like the extent of this back in Kathmandu city.
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The first man we met in town greeted us through the crooked window pane with a smile and initial answers to our obvious questions. He later filled us in with more details on his own and his town’s experiences during and after the quake. He spoke of (once again) a total lack of Government aid, both medical and construction. We learned that at least 6 people were killed here. Talking later over-looking some construction work (with a little translation help from a Nepali traveller from Kathmandu) we were informed of a speedy turn around for Chisapani. They estimated that they would be ready to handle the influx of tourists during the high-season. This was in roughly one months time. It seemed unlikely, but I was inspired by their spirit.
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He lead us to the only Guesthouse fit to safely accommodate us, where we were met by the owner and his family with warmth and genuine smiles. However all rooms were housed by the displaced residents of Chisapani, plus two other fellow travellers having already arrived. We were shown two options, both dark, dingy spare rooms, I could only describe as shed-like. I’m not too fussy at the best of times and these people’s circumstances were far from the best of times, but I thought there had to be something more bearable. I suggested the dining room for slumber. And so it was to be.
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But we still had time to kill before nightfall and heavy rain showers would chase us inside. Seeing three local men swinging sledgehammers atop one of the former hotels enticed me to take a closer look. I made my way across the dunes of concrete and broken lives to the foot of said hotel. I gestured up to them in a request for me accompanying them on the roof… they acknowledge it with looks of puzzlement followed by a encouraging hand motion. I duely climbed. Too hastily at first, nearly losing my balance whilst navigating one of the half-staircases, with my camera occupying one hand, the other struggling to maintain verticality. Once i had successfully joined the men they continued to carelessly, but almost ceremoniosly pummel the very ground they stood on. Occasionally running for safety after the larger trembles, still laughing and smiling at the whole situation.
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It was probably as strange for them as it was for me. This first-hand experience of post-earthquake circumstances was an real eye-opener for me as a travelling photographer and a human of the developed world. For they had no safe nor effective clothing or equipment. There was certainly no awareness, or perhaps it was care, of the dangers they were exposing themselves to. After a while of shooting i stumbled down to relative safety.
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We ventured a little further round the ridge to see how far the devastation spread… we found more hauntingly cheery hotel welcome signs presenting no more than a ghostly pile behind. Temporary shelters had been manufactured in place of buildings or next to homes to damaged to risk dwelling. It was a gloomy, quiet road. However still the people gathered together, as I’ve consistently seen, on their porches and terraces, chatting and eating while the children play games and ride their bikes along the track below. Adding to the building sense of undefeatable positivity and will to live on that is clarifying my view on Nepal and its people.
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Comforting milk tea and decent Dal Bhat, good conversation with a late-arrival Buddhist orphanage troop and the two afore mentioned travellers along with the surreal experience we that was developing meant the night was a surprisingly good one.
A call from my early-rising brother to join him outside brought me to a spectacular view of a distant Himalaya in a purple haze of morning glare. A sight that proved elusive during my previous trekking endeavours. It was a peacefully sweet moment. I guess I could come up with a cheesy line about the sun rising triumphantly over a foreground of ruin as a metaphor for the general positivity and impressive fortitude of the Nepali people I have encountered… and it would be justly accurate. Smiles in the face of ruin.
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LAMBOLENS 
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