David Tizzard rides a tuktuk with his sister-in-law in Nepal. Courtesy of David Tizzard
I spend most of my days speaking and writing about South Korea. Culture, politics, music, art, people, philosophy, and food. When you go so deep into any subject, it’s possible to unconsciously adopt a form of tunnel vision that prevents you seeing anything else. The Korean expression for this is “u-mul an gae-gu-ri” — the frog in a well. It describes someone who mistakes the limits of their environment for the limits of the world. The idiom originates from a Daoist fable in which a frog living in a well invites a turtle to see his amazing home, only to then be dumbfounded when the turtle describes the vastness of the ocean.
I try to travel as much as I can, particularly to give my young children cultural experiences beyond the classroom. Unsurprisingly, my trips to various countries have also changed my views on the country I’ve called home for the past 20+ years. Six months ago, Singapore reminded me that Korea isn’t as clean and safe as it could be. That multiculturalism and diversity is possible in an East Asian context. And that lookism and fashion doesn’t need to determine one’s position in society. For the past two weeks, Nepal has done all that to me again and more.
I'm sure many will write more evocative descriptions and take better photos of this outrageous country, but my time in Nepal impacted me deeply. Moreover, it did so in a way that you don’t think is really possible anymore when you reach your mid-40s. You think you've heard all the songs, seen all the movies, and listened to all the stories. Nothing seems new anymore. Every trend seems a rehash of something else. And then…
Nepal is the land of the gods. Vishnu, Shiva, Ganesh, Hanuman, and Buddha stand proudly on street corners, storefront advertising, and car dashboards. These are not relics of a previous time or culture, but living, breathing beings that impact the lives of people today. It's a place where history is still alive in ways that you don't always feel here in Korea. For better (and for worse), there's also far less commodification of nature and heritage. But just like Korea, there’s not a single experience that seems capable of defining Nepal.
In the East of the country, having flown in a small domestic plane past Mount Everest, we were in a largely Hindu population. Yak and buffalo were the meats provided to us. Roosters woke us up every morning. Every alley housed a small red shrine. The golf course was a playground for small monkeys. Poverty was visible. Franchise shops, eateries, and global brands virtually non-existent. Tuktuks carried us to and fro, slaloming between dogs lazing in the middle of the road. People walked goats. The rooves of houses were adorned with symbols indicating the castes of the inhabitants just like the people of old Joseon used to do.
In the West, we found ourselves amongst Buddhist flags and temples - mandalas and incense decorated walls and tables. There were lakes, nature, and lots and lots of trees. Orange mixed with green. KFCs and places advertising hookahs. It was crazy tourist friendly, with beads, necklaces, and everything else for sale. We spent some time in a place called “Yes Helping Hand”, an organization created to provide ethically sourced cashmere and clothing. It is staffed and run by deaf and mute people as well as a home for single mothers.
We then ascended 3,800 metres up into the Himalayas. Nature as far as the eye could see. The past came alive as rock formations, streams, clouds, and mountains created an image that I found myself constantly unable to capture on my phone. I eventually just gave up and gazed at what was unfolding before me. Seeing a Buddha and temples to Shiva and Vishnu that high reminded me just how absent gods are from modern urban life - with our lattes, subways, and appointments. People, including my brother, brother-in-law, and his new wife, braved the snow and the altitude by removing the clothes and dunking themselves three times in a pool at the top of the mountain to remove their sins. I walked round a shrine for Shiva three times, rang the bell, and listened to the chanting. My daughter and I prostrated ourselves three times in front of the world’s highest Buddha statue. Then they recorded a TikTok together, the snowy mountains as backdrop. And we did all this on Shivaratri – a day celebrating the "destroyer," and the one day of the year when people are legally allowed to smoke marijuana. Imagine that in Gwanghwamun!
And in the middle was Kathmandu. A place with its own rules and codes. Often despised by those in the East and West for being dirty, dusty, and too fast. It runs at a completely different speed to anywhere else. Crossing the road is taking your life in your hands, or at least it felt like that. Meanwhile, young students snapped selfies on the back of motorbikes and grandmothers tugged on cigarettes as they walked the streets. My favourite of all was the city of Bhaktapur. I felt immediately at home among the old streets and cobbled roads, imagining that I could spend months on the rooftops drinking black coffee, smoking a pipe, and reading and writing as my wrinkles grew deeper in the sun.
A street in Nepal / Courtesy of David Tizzard
Source: Korea Times News
