Here are the elephants at the river for their morning water.
I was "guaranteed" to see rhinos, probably crocodiles, and, if I was really lucky (or unlucky), a tiger.
If I had locked myself in the bathroom of my guest house in Kathmandu, turned off the light and curled up in the corner for three days I would have seen as much wildlife. I stumbled into what is perhaps the world's most remote tourist trap.
It was like a cruise ship stranded in the middle of the jungle. Most of the tourists were elderly Germans. It was nice for a change to be part of the young crowd, since I tend to fall on the upper end of the age curve for backpackers. I didn't see many animals, but I saw a lot of dinosaurs!
We didn't get to choose activities. Our first day we did the Jungle Walk. We were also scheduled to do a Crocodile Walk and a Bird Watching Walk. It turned out that the first part of the Jungle Walk actually retraced the path we took to walk to the resort from the boat. I jokingly said that it was all the same path, and the only difference was that for the Jungle Walk we were supposed to look down and for the Bird Walk we were supposed to look up.
It makes both proud and sad to report that I was absolutely right. It was all the same trail! No wonder we didn't see any animals. It was a frickin freeway of tourists. Even the dumbest animals on the island had figured out that it was the I-95 of trails and stayed far, far away.
I met a group of similarly disappointed travelers, and we managed to have fun with it. I hung out with girls from England, Australia and Holland, and a couple from Germany (her) and Israel (him). The Aussie and Dutch girls managed to flirt their way into a second elephant ride, during which they saw a rhino.
It was the only rhino any of us saw.
The head guy there is one of those people who loves the sound of his own voice. He also has quite an elegant bouffant hairdo. I regret not getting a picture of him. He wore khakis and a polo shirt, but considering the setting and his pompous nature he should have borrowed one of Ricardo Montalban's white suits. He would have made the perfect Nepalese Mr. Roarke. De boat! De boat!
One of the evening programs was a slide show. Dinner was scheduled for 7:30. At 7:45 he was still going on and on, and either the tourists were really polite, or they were actually enjoying it.
The subject of the show was the wildlife of the park. So he was showing photos of all the animals we couldn't actually see!
The rest of the group were only half joking when they said I should lead the hikes, because I pointed out most of the few animals we saw. A few deer, a couple boars, one monkey (just one), a few egrets and ... something else.
Our guide took us to where the crocodiles would be at the right time of year. I noticed a twinkling in the hollow beneath a log in the water. My fellow travelers weren't convinced when I pointed it out, but upon further review I'm convinced it's the eye of a crocodile:
Our guide, on the other hand, pointed out what he said was rhino poop and also what he said was a rhino footprint.
I should mention that while we were told we would have English-speaking guides who were experts on the local flora and fauna. Our guide didn't actually speak English. He had memorized routines. If one of us made a comment or (gasp!) asked a question he would have to go back and start over.
Sometimes I find myself wishing I didn't think so much. I wish I wasn't such a skeptic. I wish I didn't have that little cruel streak that makes me start conversations like this:
Me (in my most innocent, sugary-sweet voice ): Which way did the rhino go?
Guide: Excuse me?
Me: Where do the tracks lead?
Guide: Excuse me?
Me: Why is there only one footprint?
(The rest of the group groans and rolls their eyes.)
Then we stopped by a place where we were told rhinos swim. Rhinos are the size of cars. They can weigh well over a ton. This was where rhinos would swim if they were the size of housecats.
The next day as we walked by the rhino swimming hole our guide pointed out a tiger paw print. This caused much excitement. Someone in our group asked how old it was. Old, our guide replied confidently, over a week.
But I had to do it again:
"Why wasn't it here yesterday?"
I excused myself from future walks and sat by the river with a book and a beer. One of the activities I missed was the elephant feeding, during which our guide explained the mysterious relationship between elephant and its driver, or mahout.
The mahout starts as a boy, usually at about ten years old. The mahout is usually given an elephant to look after and care for for the rest of the elephant's life. The elephant and the mahout come to be best friends. The mahout would never abandon his elephant. One of the girls asked the guide how long this particular mahout had been with this particular elephant.
The guide asked the mahout in Nepali, and translated into English, and with a straight face:
"One year."
(Confused glances all around.)
There are three types of mahouts. The Yukthimah use ingenuity to outsmart their elephants. The Reghawan use love in their training, and the unpopular Balwan use cruelty to teach their elephants to behave. Guess which type we had.
Mahouts use tools such as an ankusha, a pointed metal bar with a pointed metal hook, like a fishhook, on its side. The top is used to poke the back of the elephant's head to keep it moving forward. The side is used to hook its ears and pull it. The mahout also had a wooden stick which was officially to be used to prevent branches from smacking his guests, but which was actually used to whack the elephant. Furthermore, there was a chain around the the elephant's throat which was attached to a rope halter on the back of its neck. The halter had two loops in it which the mahout used as stirrups. This put his feet in position to continuously kick the elephant in the back of the ears to keep it moving forward.
Elephants are enormous, tough animals. I don't know whether any of this caused any pain. It just seemed really unnecessary. And there was no doubt who the boss really was. From time to time the elephant would turn off the trail and plunge into the forest, despite whatever the mahout might do to make her do otherwise. They're incredibly intelligent animals, so my guess is that she was just having a little fun tormenting the four tiny humans sitting on its back. And I can't say I blamed her.
So I felt a little guilty about riding. And it was disappointing seeing no wildlife at all. I didn't feel quite as bad when we participated in the daily bathing. In the afternoon the elephants are led to the river where they roll around and spray themselves with water. We were all given the opportunity to get in the water with them and even climb aboard.
That's yours truly sitting on the back of an elephant, getting a blast of water in the face from its trunk.
The mahouts would have the elephants roll and dunk to shake us off, which they didn't have much trouble doing. I think perhaps the elephants might enjoy this part of the interaction. This is me.
And these are two German children on a completely submerged elephant, with a piece of, um, byproduct floating nearby.
So I can't really say I've seen Chitwan. If I come back to Nepal I'll try staying somewhere in the main park. You know, where I might see an animal or two.
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