Strung out along a ridge in the Himalayan foothills lies the ancient town of Bandipur. It has only been fully accessible by road since 1998. The ridge is just 200 metres long and barely wide enough to accommodate the main street and the buildings that line it. Behind the houses the mountainside falls away steeply. The small market gardens farmed by the inhabitants are accessible only by steps cut into the hillside.
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The Tharu are a people of the forest. They have lived for centuries in the lowlands of southern Nepal and northern India. Often persecuted, they have now been recognised by the Nepali government as an official nationality. But their lives are still not easy.
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I can never resist the opportunity to ride in a cable car. So when our tour company suggested that we break the long drive from Chitwan to Bandipur with a ride up to the temple at Manakamana, I agreed immediately. It would be a chance to see a different side of Nepal, I thought. And it was, but not quite in the way I had imagined.
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Paved streets gently wind uphill, lined with brick houses three or more stories high. Every door, every window is surrounded by exquisitely carved wood. Locals sit chatting, their day’s work over, or watch from an upper window.
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Bhaktapur lies a little to the east of Kathmandu. At its heart is a series of lanes and squares that seem little changed for centuries. Here more than anywhere in the country I felt immersed in the ageless atmosphere of Nepal.
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In the heart of Kathmandu is a cluster of ancient temples, places and open spaces, known as Durbar (meaning royal palace) Square. This UNESCO World Heritage site was badly hit by the earthquake that struck Nepal in April 2015, but no amount of damage could destroy its unique atmosphere. And today much has already been done to restore it to its former glories.
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Everyone will tell you that Thamel isn’t the REAL Kathmandu. It was once backpackers central, and today is home not only to hostels but to increasingly smart hotels. But between the tourist-focused delights is enough local colour to demonstrate that you are indeed ‘a long way from home’.
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What do you do with a load of monuments that celebrate a past you’d rather forget? You can haul them down and break them up for scrap perhaps. Or you can leave them where they are, a constant reminder of that troubled past. Or you can gather them up and put them in a museum; a museum that acknowledges and documents the past but doesn’t celebrate it.
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Bulgaria’s capital city intrigues and charms me. It seems to be in a state of constant flux, built on layers of history. One minute you are walking on a Roman road, the next staring up at 1950s Stalinist monoliths. Gold-domed cathedrals and churches dominate the vistas along wide boulevards while in side streets elegant villas sit side-by-side with their crumbling, neglected cousins.
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On a small island in the Mekong River in southern Laos, Done Deng, lies the village of Ban Houa Done Deng. The name means 'village of the head of Done Deng' as it lies at the northern tip of the island. The villagers benefit from the financial support of the nearby hotel, La Folie, which has enabled a school to be built here.
