Living Lumbini Loca

NOTE: This is the third posting today. Hilary suggested I post things separately so as to make them more easily read, so I am trying that. There are two other posts that are new, so don’t skip them. And, as always, comments are welcomed warmly.




Lumbini is the birthplace of Buddha and thus a major religious site. Unfortunately for us, it is located right near the Indian border, about an hour from where we originally crossed into Nepal, so we were in for some serious backtracking. Most people visit Lumbini upon entering Nepal through Sunauli as we had. Few are foolish enough to do it in reverse as we set out to do. There is no direct route from Chitwan to Lumbini, so we had to take a bus to Bairawa (basically Sunauli) and transfer there. This likes quite straightforward on paper. It wasn’t.

We left Chitwan easily enough, though the condition of our bus was a little less then desirable. At first, things seemed okay. We were making a decent clip and weren’t too uncomfortable, but gradually the bus became fuller and fuller until we were tighter than a girdle. This was only the first of our problems and a relatively innocuous problem at that. It’s not so bad being in such close quarters and we probably smelled about as bad or worse than anyone else on the bus due to the fact that we’d refrained from showering while in Chitwan. We stayed full and tight until we got to Butwal, where we were to turn south to Bairawa. Here the problems got steeper. Our bus abruptly stopped in a random bus station and we were all told to change buses because there was a strike.
Our next bus took us around town picking more people up and then stopped as abruptly as the last. Again we were told there was a strike. A bus across the street was full and leaving for Bairawa right then so we ran across the street with a small group of European travelers in tow and scrambled up the back ladder onto the roof of the bus. These were the only seat available. We spent the next hour and a half ducking and dodging low hanging tree branches and electrical wires, dust kicking up from passing trucks and buses, stopping every 20 minutes to pay off a striker.

I suppose the striking business deserves an explanation. It appears that any time there’s a disagreement here, people strike. They don’t strike like people in the US. There’s no worker walk out or picketing. Instead, locals close down the roads in their area and demand money for their use, or in extreme cases, deny use entirely. In this instance a local person had been struck and killed by a bus and the people in the region were demanding the bus driver be charged (though there’s dispute over culpability) and the government pay them some sort of reparations.

We got into Bairawa in the afternoon and were immediately accosted by bus and taxi drivers, each pulling us toward their vehicles while snarling and arguing at the others. We ended up atop another bus racing along the road, spitting dust up into our faces. When we finally pulled into Lumbini, a kindly looking gentleman informed us that this was not where we wanted to get off. We actually wanted to go a little further. And, knowing no better, we stayed on. We found ourselves in what could reasonably be called a Nepali ghetto. The streets were thick with acrid smoke and people living in extreme poverty. Everyone stared at us and it was quite clear that we’d gone a lot farther than we thought to. Our new friend guided us to the only guest house in the area. His guest house. The room was cheap and the sheets extremely musty, but the food was good. We stayed one night and moved to the real Lumbini. The place where we’d been told to stay on the bus. There we found a nice clean guest house.

The park its self is quite stunning, though it was foggy the entire time we were there. Buddhist nations and organizations from all over the world have built or are building giant monastaries, temples, pagodas and nunneries there, and each seems to be attempting to out-do the others in ornate-ness, beauty and size. They have intricate paintings and large white or gold stupas rising from the middles. Lagoons and waterfalls in their gardens. All sorts of extravagances. However, the actual site of Buddha’s birth is quite non-descript. It is housed in a square brick building that protects the ruins of an old temple and a piece of stone encased in bulletproof glass that is said to be the exact place and stone on which Buddha was born. It appears to have a footprint in it. The place had more a feeling of a museum than of a holy site. I was somewhat disappointed by this. I figured a holy site such as this would have an aura of peace and worship but it was more peaceful and seemingly sacred at the Monkey Temple in the middle of Kathmandu. Still, it was good.

I’m sorry to make this so short. I could go on about the temples, but I haven’t got the time. Already I’ve been working on these posts for a couple hours. Hope all’s well. Looking forward to seeing everyone in the new year.