As the birthplace of the Buddha, Nepal is a popular pilgrimage destination for spiritual seekers all over the world. And as an experimental Buddhist, I knew I had to make the trip as well.
Lumbini, the town where the Buddha was born in 623 B.C., is located near the Indian border, and Naren and I planned it as our final destination before returning to India.
As a town, the Buddha complex is Lumbini’s main event, and the city doesn’t really require more than a day’s visit to experience, unless you plan on staying a few days to soak up the spiritual energy.
The complex is broken into several parts and must be entered and exited through specific locations. To start, visitors begin at International Monastic Zone, a growing collection of Buddhist temples from Buddhist communities around the world, meant to promote world peace.
The development zone is split down the middle with temples from the Theravada tradition on the east side and temples from the Mahayana tradition on the west side. The walk through is lovely, with the two sides separated by narrow roads, a long pool of landscaped water and trees dotted with Buddhist sayings. It’s also a great way to experience Buddhist traditions from different parts of the world.
At the end of the International Monastic Zone, you approach the Sacred Garden where the birth took place. The garden includes the Mayadevi temple, which surrounds an underground excavation that holds a rock that marks the spot where the Buddha was born (unfortunately, no photos were allowed on the inside). The garden also includes the Sacred Pool where Buddha’s mother is said to have bathed before giving birth, as well as the Ashokan Pillar, an ancient pillar identifying the spot as the birthplace.
A visit to the complex is a real treasure, and even if you are not into Buddhism or spirituality, you’ll walk away happy and calm. It’s just that kind of place.
Below are some photos of birthplace of the Buddha.
The eternal flame symbolizes world peace and sits in front of a landscaped pool that separates the Theravada and Mahayana Buddhist traditions in the International Monastic Zone.
Thai Temple in the International Monastic Zone
Korean Temple in the International Monastic Zone
Mayadevi Temple that houses that rock that marks the spot of the birth
Prayer Flags
The pool where Buddha’s mother is said to have bathed before giving birth
As any traveler will tell you, protecting your passport and valuables is crucial while traveling. Finding yourself stranded with no money, no cards and, worse, no passport, is a travel nightmare, so precautions must be taken.
For me, my money belt was molded into my skin, ensuring any prospective thief would have to get up close and personal in order to take my passport, spare credit card and cash. My purse, my beloved Thai green floral, multi-compartmental mini-luggage, held my phone, wallet, main cards, cash, hand sanitizer, toilet paper and other necessities. My purse was my new appendage, and it went everywhere with me.
For the last leg of our Nepal trip, Naren and I were heading from Pokhara to Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha, and embarked on six-hour+ bus journey.
As I had grown accustomed to, the bus was filled to the max with passengers, and as its only female passenger and its only Western passenger, I didn’t quite blend in. While the bus provided the standard stuffy, aggressive, bumpy ride I was getting used to, the mountain views were lovely, and it was a fairly enjoyable ride.
A few hours in the bus made its first pit stop, and to my disappointment, this one would take place in the great outdoors. While I usually tried to avoid taking advantage of these sorts of stops, I could not in this instance, so I grabbed my purse and disembarked with the rest of the passengers.
Now, as I mentioned before, I was the only woman on the bus and a foreigner as well – I did not need more attention. I was not just going to go outside and pee on a tree. So I did my best to walk along the road in search of some privacy.
A little ways down I found a couple trees blocking the view from the road and decided this was as good as it was going to get. I set my purse down on the small rock and began to sit and, to my horror, watched it tumble down the mountain side.
My jaw dropped as I watched my purse, with all my cash, cards and phone, bounce round and round through the leaves and trees, finally settling about 30 feet down. Though this wasn’t exactly a sheer drop, it was certainly steep enough for me to decide retrieving it would not be a wise move.
By this point, I had been gone quite a long time, and I knew the bus driver would be annoyed with me. I got back on the road and ran to find Naren, ignoring the driver and other passengers trying to urge me on to the bus. Naren explained the situation to them, and the next thing I know, he and about 10 Nepali men were following me back to my little clearing.
I really thought my purse was a goner, but to my surprise, Naren and my new retrieval team scrambled on down without a second’s hesitation, returning my lifeline in about three minutes.
I’ve been told before that things always have a way of working out for me, and like my memory card mishap before, I really am one lucky girl.
The moral of this story: if you must squat by the side of a mountain to pee, make sure you place you place your purse on a flat rock :).
“Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai,” – Beyond Fear Lies Victory.
This Hindi saying, shared with me by my Indian friend Naren on convincing me to jump off a 160-meter bridge, is quite apt.
While some may disagree, I have realized in recent months how many of my decisions have been motivated by fear: fear of public perception, fear of death, fear of rejection, fear of regret. I’m not afraid to take risks, moving abroad and backpacking solo for nearly a year across Asia is evidence of that, but that doesn’t always extend to all parts of my life.
For me, bungy jumping was never even a consideration.
Aside from the fact I really had no interest in the activity, my mother had firmly ingrained this “bungy jumping is dangerous and equals sudden death” mentality into my head since I was a child. That stuff runs deep.
But the minute I landed in Kathmandu, Nepal and saw the bungy advertisements, something changed. My birthday was coming up, and somehow that firmly ingrained idea of “never” changed into “wouldn’t it be crazy if…” While 28 has never been considered a milestone, this birthday was coming near the end of my once-in-a-lifetime epic journey throughout Asia, and I knew I wanted it to be special.
Still, this was a long shot. Even if my thirst for adrenaline were to eventually rise to bungy-level, I was still on the white water rafting/rock climbing/parasailing stage, bungy jumping was an exponential leap up.
When I met up with Naren and semi-jokingly put forth the idea, I should have known better than to ask a guy who runs adventure sports camps for a living. His very enthusiastic “Yes, we’re doing it!” scared the daylights out of me. Though my reply was “Let me think about it,” my sharply rising anxiety levels told me the decision had already been made: I was going to jump.
For days my fake indecisive self was stressing. I suddenly found the need shop constantly and eat everything (how many momos are too many? ;)) and sleep was fleeting.
The night before, waiting last minute to hand over my $100 to the bungy agency, signing a “you-realize-you’re-jumping-off-a-bridge-wearing-only-an-elastic-band-it’s-not-our-fault-if-you-die-insane-person” waiver, my crazy levels rose yet again. I began running all over Kathmandu asking every person I met whether or not they had ever jumped from a 160 meter bridge and what they thought of it, while constantly chanting (or rather butchering) “Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai” (luckily Naren is a very patient person and found my nuttiness rather amusing).
And then, the big day. The craziness peaked.
On the bus ride to the bungy jump!
Aside from death, I was more realistically afraid of the intensity of the adrenaline rush and if the free fall would be too much for me, leaving with me memories of extreme terror and a fear of heights I did not have before.
But on the lovely five-hour bus ride through the mountains (which realistically, is WAY more dangerous), I decided that I could control my reaction to how this jump turned out and whether or not it would be a positive or negative experience. If I chickened out, I not only lost $100 but my pride. I was going to own this jump. Like a boss.
Step 1: Sleep deprivation. Deciding to pack four hours before your scheduled bus departure puts you in a loopy enough mood to soften the reality that you’re about to plunge yourself over a bridge into a massive canyon.
Step 2: High energy dance music. Probably the most fun part of our bus trip was Naren and I riding up the last strip rocking out to Rick Astley, Queen and Motown (“ ‘Cause baby there ain’t no mountain high enough…” ;)) working ourselves into a manic frenzy to prepare ourselves.
Step 3: Don’t think. Just do.
When we finally reached the resort, I think everyone in the bus had a moment of “Oh $%!#! Are we actually doing this?” And then it was the briefing: stand here, hold this, don’t look down…
The 160-meter drop down…
While I had actually signed up for traditional bungy, I opted last minute to switch to canyon swing, an equally terrifying jump in a harness that would put less strain on my bad knee and offer twice as long free fall time.
And then it was time to walk the plank. To my surprise, the line moves along rather quickly, and I was running out of chicken out moments. Harness on, inches from the jumping platform, I asked the jump master to give me a second to catch my bearings. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry, you get three.” Very funny, that one.
Freaking out before the big jump
As Naren waited a few feet behind me, anticipating a highly-dramatic, song-and-dance freak out routine, my mind went suddenly clear. I felt the pull of the canyon line, looked ahead to the mountains and did the only action required of me: I jumped.
The minute you step off the platform the decision is made. No more freak outs, no more opportunities to back out, all you can do is sit and enjoy the ride. And what a ride it was.
Like a second before, my mind went blank, I didn’t even scream. Instead, I felt my eyes get very large as I took in the blurry mountains, trees and river that were rushing by all around me. For seven seconds, I was weightless, and though it was by far the biggest adventure rush I had ever had, it wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be. And when I felt the harness catch (yay, I survived!), the leisurely swing through the canyon provided one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
The view from the bungy bridge – in Panglang, Nepal, 12 km from the Tibetan border
But more incredible and unexpected than anything was the immense sense of satisfaction I felt afterward. I had faced my fears and won. And the feeling was truly victorious.
While it was only a jump, freeing yourself from the control of fear is one of the most liberating feelings ever. I’d like to think now that it will be easier to apply this “jump” to other aspects of my life as well.
If not, I suppose I can always try again. Skydiving anyone? 😉
“Wait, so what are you going to do in Nepal then?”
This would be the standard response I received from fellow travelers upon hearing that I was going to Nepal and *gasp!* would not be trekking through the Himalayas.
As stated before (and I’m sure numerous times throughout my blog), I have a strict anti-trekking policy. No seriously, I hate trekking. Yes, I appreciate nice views and flowers and all that, but spending hours (and days!) climbing uphill through the heat (often), bugs and trees is just not my cup of tea. Trust me, I’ve tried enough times.
Well, I’m proud to say I spent more than two weeks traveling throughout Nepal and successfully managed to entertain myself with a range of non-trekking activities.
Nepal was a relatively short trip compared with the amount of time I spent in other countries, but during that time my friend Naren and I had a lovely time wandering through the temples of Kathmandu, spotting rhinos in Chitwan National Park, chilling out in Pokhara and visiting the birthplace of Buddha (yeah, Trekkers, that is a pretty significant non-trekking component of Nepal ;)).
And, of course, there were the particularly fun moments, like flying over Mount Everest, jumping off Asia’s highest bungy jump, eating endless momos or shopping constantly for hippie clothes and Tibetan jewelry.
I really loved Nepal. When I first set foot in Kathmandu, a crowded city full of colorful shops, busy streets and beautiful temples, I was instantly reminded of everything I loved about India, plus, with only a fraction of the aggressiveness.
Nepal, of course, had other differences. The country’s unique blend of both Hinduism and Buddhism provides a fascinating array of temples, structures and beliefs that often blur the lines between the two. The Swayambhunath “Monkey Temple,” for example, is a unique Buddhist and Hindu complex that contains representations of both religions throughout.
On one occasion, Naren and I were privileged to have glimpsed at the eight-year-old face of Kathmandu’s current Kumari, a young girl believed to be a living goddess princess. She spends her days living in a large palace in the city, making daily appearances at her window (no photos allowed) and being paraded around town during important religious events. When she gets her period, she no longer gets to be goddess and a new Kumari is found.
Nepal also had incredible food, a mix of both Indian-influenced curries and rice, mixed with Tibetan-style “momo” dumplings, which were the best I found ANYWHERE in Asia.
Here’s a collection of my best photos from Nepal.
Flying over the Himalayas on the way to Nepal, that’s Mount Everest on the left!
Kathmandu
A beautiful view near the water in Pokhara
A Nepali woman sits outside the Jangchub Choeling Monastery in Pokhara.
Enjoying a beautiful day in Pokhara with Naren and our new monk friend, Tenzin.
Chilling near the water in Pokhara
Swayambhunath, a unique temple complex that blends both Buddhism and Hinduism
“Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai,” – Beyond Fear Lies Victory.
This Hindi saying, shared with me by my Indian friend Naren on convincing me to jump off a 160-meter bridge, is quite apt.
While some may disagree, I have realized in recent months how many of my decisions have been motivated by fear: fear of public perception, fear of death, fear of rejection, fear of regret. I’m not afraid to take risks, moving abroad and backpacking solo for nearly a year across Asia is evidence of that, but that doesn’t always extend to all parts of my life.
For me, bungy jumping was never even a consideration.
Aside from the fact I really had no interest in the activity, my mother had firmly ingrained this “bungy jumping is dangerous and equals sudden death” mentality into my head since I was a child. That stuff runs deep.
But the minute I landed in Kathmandu, Nepal and saw the bungy advertisements, something changed. My birthday was coming up, and somehow that firmly ingrained idea of “never” changed into “wouldn’t it be crazy if…” While 28 has never been considered a milestone, this birthday was coming near the end of my once-in-a-lifetime epic journey throughout Asia, and I knew I wanted it to be special.
Still, this was a long shot. Even if my thirst for adrenaline were to eventually rise to bungy-level, I was still on the white water rafting/rock climbing/parasailing stage, bungy jumping was an exponential leap up.
When I met up with Naren and semi-jokingly put forth the idea, I should have known better than to ask a guy who runs adventure sports camps for a living. His very enthusiastic “Yes, we’re doing it!” scared the daylights out of me. Though my reply was “Let me think about it,” my sharply rising anxiety levels told me the decision had already been made: I was going to jump.
For days my fake indecisive self was stressing. I suddenly found the need shop constantly and eat everything (how many momos are too many? ;)) and sleep was fleeting.
The night before, waiting last minute to hand over my $100 to the bungy agency, signing a “you-realize-you’re-jumping-off-a-bridge-wearing-only-an-elastic-band-it’s-not-our-fault-if-you-die-insane-person” waiver, my crazy levels rose yet again. I began running all over Kathmandu asking every person I met whether or not they had ever jumped from a 160 meter bridge and what they thought of it, while constantly chanting (or rather butchering) “Darr Ke Aage Jeet Hai” (luckily Naren is a very patient person and found my nuttiness rather amusing).
And then, the big day. The craziness peaked.
On the bus ride to the bungy jump!
Aside from death, I was more realistically afraid of the intensity of the adrenaline rush and if the free fall would be too much for me, leaving with me memories of extreme terror and a fear of heights I did not have before.
But on the lovely five-hour bus ride through the mountains (which realistically, is WAY more dangerous), I decided that I could control my reaction to how this jump turned out and whether or not it would be a positive or negative experience. If I chickened out, I not only lost $100 but my pride. I was going to own this jump. Like a boss.
Step 1: Sleep deprivation. Deciding to pack four hours before your scheduled bus departure puts you in a loopy enough mood to soften the reality that you’re about to plunge yourself over a bridge into a massive canyon.
Step 2: High energy dance music. Probably the most fun part of our bus trip was Naren and I riding up the last strip rocking out to Rick Astley, Queen and Motown (“ ‘Cause baby there ain’t no mountain high enough…” ;)) working ourselves into a manic frenzy to prepare ourselves.
Step 3: Don’t think. Just do.
When we finally reached the resort, I think everyone in the bus had a moment of “Oh $%!#! Are we actually doing this?” And then it was the briefing: stand here, hold this, don’t look down…
The 160-meter drop down…
While I had actually signed up for traditional bungy, I opted last minute to switch to canyon swing, an equally terrifying jump in a harness that would put less strain on my bad knee and offer twice as long free fall time.
And then it was time to walk the plank. To my surprise, the line moves along rather quickly, and I was running out of chicken out moments. Harness on, inches from the jumping platform, I asked the jump master to give me a second to catch my bearings. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry, you get three.” Very funny, that one.
Freaking out before the big jump
As Naren waited a few feet behind me, anticipating a highly-dramatic, song-and-dance freak out routine, my mind went suddenly clear. I felt the pull of the canyon line, looked ahead to the mountains and did the only action required of me: I jumped.
The minute you step off the platform the decision is made. No more freak outs, no more opportunities to back out, all you can do is sit and enjoy the ride. And what a ride it was.
Like a second before, my mind went blank, I didn’t even scream. Instead, I felt my eyes get very large as I took in the blurry mountains, trees and river that were rushing by all around me. For seven seconds, I was weightless, and though it was by far the biggest adventure rush I had ever had, it wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be. And when I felt the harness catch (yay, I survived!), the leisurely swing through the canyon provided one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
The view from the bungy bridge – in Panglang, Nepal, 12 km from the Tibetan border
But more incredible and unexpected than anything was the immense sense of satisfaction I felt afterward. I had faced my fears and won. And the feeling was truly victorious.
While it was only a jump, freeing yourself from the control of fear is one of the most liberating feelings ever. I’d like to think now that it will be easier to apply this “jump” to other aspects of my life as well.
If not, I suppose I can always try again. Skydiving anyone? 😉
Erica in Wonderland 