WHAT NEXT FOR NEPAL
AFTER THE QUAKE?
I
t was a day like any other.
Rickshaw drivers, feet
balanced on bike handlebars,
were stealing 40 winks while
waiting for a fare. Street-savvy
dogs nosed the litter and
stallholders were plying bananas
and trusses of tomatoes. And
then, at four minutes to noon on
25 April 2015 — while many were
still digesting their mid-morning
dal bhat — a 7.8-magnitude
earthquake struck Nepal.
In the first 50 seconds, and
during devastating aftershocks,
600,000 homes were levelled,
killing 8,856 people — 22,309
people were injured.
“It was fearsome,” says Hari,
my Kathmandu guide, one year
on. “Everyone slept outside in the
street, food prices soared and
roads were blocked.”
Hari — who has a dusting of
grey hair at his temples and a fresh
red tika dotted on his forehead
from temple — is showing me
around the capital’s UNESCO-
listed Durbar Square whose
ancient temples bore the brunt
of the damage. Crumbling bricks
cascade onto the street like
spilt sand. Fragments of carved
stone and wood are propped up,
awaiting repair. On the outskirts
are a dozen tented camps, funded
by USAID and the Red Cross, to
house those whose homes are still
too fragile to live in. An elderly lady
is sweeping the earth outside her
canvas shelter, while above her
droops a mass of electricity wires,
as tangled as liquorice laces.
Rebuilding of the central
Durbar Square and Swoyambhu
Buddhist stupa complex, aka
Monkey Temple, was slowed
while they waited for permissions
from UNESCO — a three-year
rehabilitation project was given
the green light in April.
The earthquake was Nepal’s
worst natural disaster in 80 years.
In fact, the damage may have
been prolonged by the West’s
reaction: tourism is key to the
Nepalese economy and it took
nearly 10 months for the US and
UK to lift their travel bans to the
country, despite only 14 of the 75
districts being affected. Well, it’s
time to go back!
I hop into a taxi and head
straight for the hills. Neydo
Buddhist Monastery sits above
the town of Pharping, 15 miles
south of Kathmandu. Tourists can
sleep in its simple guesthouse and
attend puja (prayer ritual) at dawn.
The barks of local dogs lever
me from my bed, and I pass under
prayer flags trembling in the
breeze as I climb the steps to the
monastery. I slip off my shoes andtiptoe inside. Every column and
wall is covered in paintings and
I’m the only tourist. I sit cross-
legged on the floor and watch
as the rising sun filters through
the roof down onto the almighty
statue of Amitabha Buddha,
whose palm is raised as if to
wave ‘hello’. I watch him slowly
turning golden as the monks
— some as young as six — chant
their prayers; their voices meld
together to form a deep hum.
Occasionally, they turn their
hand-written prayer sheets
or blast their breath into a
conch shell.Let bygones be bygones
The eldest monk opens the great
doors behind me and a cold
wind rushes in. “Would you like
to move to the side,” he asks.
“Mind you, cold is just a state of
mind,” he winks. Once prayers
are concluded we walk barefoot
together through the monastery.
In a twist of fate, he’s named
Karma. How has the earthquake
affected people, I ask. “They
stay together,” he says, pulling a
Samsung smartphone out of his
robes to check the time. “Any
arguments were forgotten and
now families are much closer.”
After the earthquake, many set
up homestays to earn a living, headds. Indeed, it’s one of the best
ways for visitors to direct cash
to the people who need it. As it
happens, UK-based responsible-
tour operator Rickshaw Travel
arranges stays with local families
and I’ve come to try some.
It’s mid-afternoon when I’m
dropped outside the four-storey
townhouse of 37-year-old Shila
Amatya. She whisks my bag off
my back and ushers a cup of chai
— milky masala-spiced tea
— into my hands. “From now on
you’re not a guest and I’m not a
host,” she beams, so I seat myself
on a wicker stool and watch while
she entertains customers who’ve
come to buy hair dye, earrings,
panty liners or phone cards from
her open-fronted shop.
Shila is one of 15 families in
Panauti — one of the oldest
towns in Nepal, southeast
of Kathmandu — that run a
homestay cooperative. Guests
are rotated between the families
to ensure even distribution of
earnings, with 80% going to
the host and 20% going to the
collective for projects such as
scholarships for poor children
and a new community hall.
“I’m a hairdresser too,” she says,
pointing to a worn leather chair
facing a broad browning mirror on
the wall. I pull at my own messyWHY NOT HELP NEPAL BOUNCE BACK FROM LAST YEAR’S EARTHQUAKE BY DITCHING
THE HOTEL AND BOOKING A ROOM WITH A FAMILY INSTEAD? FROM KATHMANDU TO
THE ANNAPURNA FOOTHILLS, HOMESTAYS OFFER AN AUTHENTIC SLICE OF NEPALESE
LIFE. WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHS: EMMA THOMSON170 natgeotraveller.co.uk