Our son wakes up before anybody else does, at almost seven sharp. We need to get ready by nine for another, much longer ride through the jungle and a lengthy trip in a canoe for wildlife watching. I spot one of the elephant riders on the way to breakfast. This guy has a nifty little trick to mount his elephant. He grabs both ears, pulls them towards him, and then swings his way up the elephant using the front, mostly Dumbo's trunk and face. I admire the elephant's restraint. There are not many elephants in the wild in this area. An elephant's choices are rather thin: death, or captivity to survive.
That still doesn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t want a midget riding on my head and whacking me behind the ear anytime he feels I might be misbehaving. And that climbing up the trunk, tap-dancing on my face? No way, fella. I would give him a warning, maybe grab his little skinny hand with my trunk, and then after the third whack or so, it would be on. I would really give the passengers riding on me a show then.
We first take a jeep on a lengthy trip through the jungle. Our kid falls asleep a couple of clicks in. He still refuses to cede from his routine, which means it is now nap time for him. We are deep in the jungle and watching monkeys and deer socializing with each other. One hand washes the other here. Presumably, both can get targeted by a tiger at anytime. We have seen more tiger tracks, but still no tiger. That’s all right, though. I was never under any illusion that I would see a tiger here. Their very survival depends on not being seen. That said, a village nearby claims that a pair of tigers killed twenty people within a week. Call me naive, but after about the second victim, I might just forget I am a Buddhist and, I don’t know, build a trap or something. That, or at least contemplate the possibility of moving. No shame at that.
Our son finally wakes up before we reach the boat, just in time to find a dozen or so crocodiles basking in the late morning son. What really gets me is the trees. They are as high as any I have ever seen. Triple canopy, vines twirling around them in their bid to gain enough sunlight to survive. I have to chuckle at this. Yep, this is the jungle all right.
We catch a wild boar dashing across the road in front of us on our way back. This is a formidable opponent and can knock out any opponent at full rush. I still don’t doubt that they rank well below the big predators, and that Tony the Tiger will forego the Frosted Flakes and help himself to a proper serving of bacon now and then.
One of the star features is a baby elephant the National Park proudly displays to its visitors. We never get the chance. Presentations are a wonderful thing, but not to an eighteen month old who’d rather watch the Wiggles. He whines until I finally take him back to camp. As sorry as I am for not having seen Baby Dumbo, I have always been a person who couldn’t stand babies wailing in public areas at the expense and discomfort of others. The Baby Axl and Baby Dumbo encounter will have to wait till the next time.
When we get back to the campgrounds, I have a seat near the river and look across the swamps to the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance. An eagle is perched upon a treetop, gazing at a family of ducks below. There are chirping sounds of warning among the birds as the eagle makes its swoop, and all of the ducks dive below the water surface, where they are safe. The eagle is foiled and sets up camp on a nearby dead log. Witnessing all of this, there is only one word that comes to mind: perfect. I am grateful for the animals letting me watch their performance, for letting me be a guest in their house. It is simply a breathtaking spot.
The last evening is for socializing and drinking. I knock back a few Everest beers and chat with an Australian couple. There’s a little regret that I will have to go back to stinky, slushy Kathmandu the next day, but I also see that our boy must get back to what he knows.
I can't wait to come back here. I will be as eager as a politician accepting a bribe.
That still doesn’t change the fact that I wouldn’t want a midget riding on my head and whacking me behind the ear anytime he feels I might be misbehaving. And that climbing up the trunk, tap-dancing on my face? No way, fella. I would give him a warning, maybe grab his little skinny hand with my trunk, and then after the third whack or so, it would be on. I would really give the passengers riding on me a show then.
We first take a jeep on a lengthy trip through the jungle. Our kid falls asleep a couple of clicks in. He still refuses to cede from his routine, which means it is now nap time for him. We are deep in the jungle and watching monkeys and deer socializing with each other. One hand washes the other here. Presumably, both can get targeted by a tiger at anytime. We have seen more tiger tracks, but still no tiger. That’s all right, though. I was never under any illusion that I would see a tiger here. Their very survival depends on not being seen. That said, a village nearby claims that a pair of tigers killed twenty people within a week. Call me naive, but after about the second victim, I might just forget I am a Buddhist and, I don’t know, build a trap or something. That, or at least contemplate the possibility of moving. No shame at that.
Our son finally wakes up before we reach the boat, just in time to find a dozen or so crocodiles basking in the late morning son. What really gets me is the trees. They are as high as any I have ever seen. Triple canopy, vines twirling around them in their bid to gain enough sunlight to survive. I have to chuckle at this. Yep, this is the jungle all right.
We catch a wild boar dashing across the road in front of us on our way back. This is a formidable opponent and can knock out any opponent at full rush. I still don’t doubt that they rank well below the big predators, and that Tony the Tiger will forego the Frosted Flakes and help himself to a proper serving of bacon now and then.
One of the star features is a baby elephant the National Park proudly displays to its visitors. We never get the chance. Presentations are a wonderful thing, but not to an eighteen month old who’d rather watch the Wiggles. He whines until I finally take him back to camp. As sorry as I am for not having seen Baby Dumbo, I have always been a person who couldn’t stand babies wailing in public areas at the expense and discomfort of others. The Baby Axl and Baby Dumbo encounter will have to wait till the next time.
When we get back to the campgrounds, I have a seat near the river and look across the swamps to the snow-capped Himalayas in the distance. An eagle is perched upon a treetop, gazing at a family of ducks below. There are chirping sounds of warning among the birds as the eagle makes its swoop, and all of the ducks dive below the water surface, where they are safe. The eagle is foiled and sets up camp on a nearby dead log. Witnessing all of this, there is only one word that comes to mind: perfect. I am grateful for the animals letting me watch their performance, for letting me be a guest in their house. It is simply a breathtaking spot.
The last evening is for socializing and drinking. I knock back a few Everest beers and chat with an Australian couple. There’s a little regret that I will have to go back to stinky, slushy Kathmandu the next day, but I also see that our boy must get back to what he knows.
I can't wait to come back here. I will be as eager as a politician accepting a bribe.
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