Patrick Devlin who taught a whole generation of Nepali environmentalists at Lincoln University in Christchurch died on 16 August at age 86.&nbsp; Many of us Nepali students in New Zealand knew him as <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/The-Kiwi,421" target="_blank">‘Pat Guru’</a>, a name that was a mark of our deep respect as well as the closeness we felt to him. For five decades, he was involved in training professionals in his home country as well as Nepal and other Asian countries. Pat’s students now shoulder the burden of continuing his legacy in training national park wardens and professionals managing nature reserves. When the history of the evolution of national park management is written, Pat will be remembered for his immense contribution to professionalising national park and reserve service in his home country as well as in Nepal and South East Asia.&nbsp; Among more than 50 of Pat Devlin’s Nepali students were Lhakpa Norbu Sherpa who helped establish the Qomolangma Nature Preserve in Tibet which shares its border with three national parks on the Nepal side, making it one of the largest protected areas in Asia.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_0a0a595107c5002f9fafe6c1e14419eb0f70b0ae86a7b1e4f32b220d61b0dbce.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="2023081906084_0a0a595107c5002f9fafe6c1e14419eb0f70b0ae86a7b1e4f32b220d61b0dbce" data-rendition-name="original" width="3648" height="2736" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Patrick Devlin with Shailendra Thakali in Christchurch in 2010. Photo: KUNDA DIXIT</figcaption> </figure>  Other students also hold important positions in international conservation organisations: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/11-day-trek-is-now-a-day-s-drive-in-nepal" target="_blank">Ghana Gurung</a> heads WWF Nepal, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-red-panda-house" target="_blank">Ang Phuri Sherpa</a> is Executive Director of Red Panda Network International, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/news/the-man-from-sikles" target="_blank">Hum Gurung</a> is Asia Partnership Manager for BirdLife International. Other Nepali Lincoln alumni that Pat tutored include Shankar Koirala who had a long stint with the Ministry of Forests and Soil Conservation and other ministries. Gopal Upadhaya, Megh Pandey and Phanindra Raj Kharel went on to head the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Conservation, and Mingma Norbu Sherpa was the head of WWF’s Asia Pacific Program. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12581" target="_blank">Mingma Sherpa</a> was among the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/remembering-nepal-s-conservation-heroes" target="_blank">dozen prominent Nepali and international conservationists</a>, officials and journalists who were killed in a <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes" target="_blank">helicopter crash at Ghunsa in 2006</a> during the inauguration of the 2,035 sq km Kanchenjunga Conservation Area. <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18151" target="_blank">Prof David Simmons</a>, another of Pat’s distinguished students, played a central role in establishing Lincoln University's <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700" target="_blank">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial Scholarship</a> with support from Pat Devlin, Mingma’s family, WWF Nepal, and New Zealand. Ten Nepali students who got the scholarship have so far <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/the-nomadic-nepali" target="_blank">graduated with master degrees</a> from Lincoln.&nbsp; All national parks and reserves in New Zealand, and almost 70% of protected areas in Nepal were once managed by graduates from Lincoln University, Pat’s base camp to educate and train conservation professionals. He was the main supervisor for the majority of Nepali graduate and undergraduate students from the 1970 onwards.&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_800499bd49d7b7058fcaa861d5c422d26d5bfc16bb6a1dd31424b75cfb285029.jpg" data-media-id="editor_11" data-image-id="2023081906084_800499bd49d7b7058fcaa861d5c422d26d5bfc16bb6a1dd31424b75cfb285029" data-rendition-name="original" width="3303" height="2317" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin felicitated in 2013 during a visit to Nepal by the Ministry of Forests and Soil Conservation and the Lincoln University Alumni Association for his immense contribution to protected area management in Nepal.</figcaption> </figure>   <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_8f43de5f4605c3f113d824e27f85cb31ff7d472773a9240a9af95bbfc3e4e3ee.jpg" data-media-id="editor_12" data-image-id="2023081906084_8f43de5f4605c3f113d824e27f85cb31ff7d472773a9240a9af95bbfc3e4e3ee" data-rendition-name="original" width="1244" height="875" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin with students he supervised at Lincoln University along with their families during a visit to Kathmandu.</figcaption> </figure>  &nbsp;As a supervisor, Pat was very supportive but non-compromising when it came to the quality of work. Pat inspired his students to produce the best. I had the honour to be the last student he supervised when I went back to Lincoln University to pursue a doctoral program in environmental management in 2008.&nbsp; Pat Guru was more than a supervisor to me. Besides constant encouragement and support, he and his wife, Maureen, were great hosts. They were kind to me and my family as they had been to a generation of Nepali students, made sure we had comfortable and enjoyed our time and experience in New Zealand. During the 1970s and 80s, the majority of rangers working for national parks and reserves in New Zealand had no formal degrees or training. They chose the career out of a love for nature and the great outdoors, and were happy to take remote postings. As national parks and reserves started to become popular, park management grew more challenging and complex.&nbsp; Pat was quick to realise this and devoted his entire life to developing and teaching parks and recreation courses at Lincoln University, and most importantly grooming and mentoring the next generation of managers. &nbsp; He was key to the design of ‘Parks and Recreation’ courses at Lincoln and also condensed the Parks and Recreation syllabus into six-week block courses for in-service park rangers that professionalised New Zealand’s national park and reserve services and management.&nbsp; Lincoln University under Pat also offered block courses to the Park and Forests service in Kuching in Malaysia. Pat also wanted to roll out his block courses in Nepal, but did not materialise. There is an urgent need in Nepal to include multidisciplinary teams to effectively manage emerging challenges related to tourism, buffer zone management, climate change, human-wildlife conflicts, and local aspirations. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/2023081906084_3f754bb3595b022546a6413497f192cd05b345b42d8bd4ca49cd151eb2fdb657.jpg" data-media-id="editor_13" data-image-id="2023081906084_3f754bb3595b022546a6413497f192cd05b345b42d8bd4ca49cd151eb2fdb657" data-rendition-name="original" width="2592" height="1936" loading="lazy" alt="Patrick Devlin"> <figcaption>Pat Devlin (with umbrella) in Chitwan National Park in 2013 with his wife Maureen, David Simmons and a park official in 2013. Photo: HUM GURUNG</figcaption> </figure>  Pat was modest and generous to a fault. Despite his accomplishments, he was not one to brag about them or seek the limelight. Always calm and composed, he took all challenges in his stride.&nbsp; My last meeting with Pat was in April this year. Despite failing health, he stood up, shook hands, smiled, tossed a drink, and made us feel at ease. He took immense pride in the achievements of his students, and kept in touch with them as much as possible right till the end.&nbsp; Patrick Devlin’s life work lives on in New Zealand, Nepal, Sarawak and around the world. His funeral will be held in Christchurch on 23 August. Shailendra Thakali, PhD is a freelance consultant in environmental conservation, tourism and livelihoods.

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Remembering Pat Guru

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2b79c7e80680e0cc95bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="960"/><figcaption>Bill Gavin in New Zealand last year, telling a good story of the “old days” from his eventful life. Photo: MICHAEL CLARK</figcaption></figure>“Oh dear, look what happened to my pants!” We pulled onto the beach and Bill clambered out of the big rubber raft having just emerged from one of the more impressive rapids on Nepal’s Trisuli River. The chilly curtain of cold water and adrenaline rush of surviving Upset without an upset had us all whooping with excitement. Bill’s stylish beige linen trousers had shrunk with the dousing and were clinging to his legs like an unseemly pair of tights.Bill Gavin was with us on one of the early three-day river runs, to be followed by a few days wildlife watching at Tiger Tops Chitwan. It was 1982 and the road from Mugling to Bharatpur was nearing completion. Villagers along the banks still found our overnight camps a curiosity, and no belching truck fumes polluted the evening beers around a driftwood blaze or disturbed the silent nights under a canopy of stars.The wild and wonderfully wicked Bill Gavin was a legend brimming with passion, vigour and colour who had exploded into my life as a friend of my louche and much-loved Uncle Terry. Together they haunted the glamorous Grand Prix circuit of the swinging 1960s. Bill writing about motor racing (he was European editor of Car &amp; Driver magazine and biographer of world champion Jim Clark) and Terry managing a Formula I driver who was killed in a crash, as happened all too often in those unsafety-conscious days.When I hooked up with them in London, Terry was in the music business (signing Dire Straits was his claim to fame) and Bill was big into movies after a spell managing pop groups. The third of this unlikely trio of best mates was Stanley Myers, composer of the haunting Deer Hunter theme.The story goes that Bill talked his way into movie production starting as the GTO boss’ chauffeur and ending up as the boss, but stories like that abound about Bill Gavin. He toured with chart-toppers The Sweet, New Seekers and Springfield Revival, and did gigs with Gary Glitter. He was almost recruited by the CIA, narrated the 1966 film Grand Prix, managed a Ferrari team, released the first Antipodean movie Picnic at Hanging Rock in UK, took Apocalypse Now to Australia, and helped finance New Zealand’s What Became of the Broken Hearted? and Whale Rider, that marvellous Maori classic.At the time we were camping riverside on the Trisuli in his terminally shrunken pants, Bill was riding high as the hard-driving distribution and sales wizard on the board of Goldcrest Films, on his way back to London from the Killing Fields’ shoot in Thailand. Goldcrest’s other best pictures included Chariots of Fire, Local Hero and Gandhi, and Bill had his own UK company, Gavin Films.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2ba9c7e80680e0cc95cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="523" height="823"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Bill loved to shock and push the envelope, long before the #metoo generation. He ricocheted between marriages and girlfriends, had three wonderful children, Tom, Panda and the eldest who was saddled with the name Gavin. Yes, Gavin Gavin, whose gorgeous mother Sarah Jane was Bill’s first wife and a Mary Quant model. At their parties you might meet Graham Hill and other racing drivers, Victor Hugo’s granddaughter, Polish film directors with unpronounceable names, or Barry Humphries aka Dame Edna slumped in their sitting room telling cannibal air-crash jokes: “We’re on the last leg of the flight.”At one of these eclectic gatherings, I had a Scottish neighbour in tow: “See you later, I’ll look after myself,” he called cheerfully as I disappeared into the smoky crowd. Finding himself next to a skinny, bespectacled chap on the sofa, attempts at polite conversation were not going well. “I’m a guitarist,” was all he could extract. “What sort of guitar - rock or pop or jazz - or classical guitar, like John Williams?” Andrew was struggling. “I am John Williams,” came the laconic reply.Bill was famous for behaving badly and being in love with him was a recipe for disaster. He had a mercurial temper and a reputation for bullying employees. I once saw him explode into unjustifiable road rage as he deftly wove his flash car through the London traffic -- speed was a religion. And our brief walk-out in the early 1980s ended dramatically and finally when he ran off with my brother’s girlfriend, on the Concorde to New York no less, thus delivering a memorable family double whammy. We consoled ourselves that they thoroughly deserved each other, and it didn’t last long.Bill’s plunge from these dizzying heights of fame and fashion followed a few too many divorces and the vagaries of the British film business. His expensive mews house in Notting Hill, silver Porsche, trendy Italian restaurants, and champagne Pimms parties under the yellow laburnum all evaporated in the 1990s when he beat a hasty retreat to his native New Zealand.Adapting with aplomb to life in a downtown Auckland high-rise council flat, Bill painted it rich dark colours, and filled it with books, pictures and an oversize leather casting couch shipped across the world from his West End office. At economical shepherd’s pie dinner parties renowned for bevies of loyal media and driving friends, over a glass or three of wine Bill would regale us with tales of the “old days”, his braying laugh filling the room. Despite his straitened circumstances he contrived to drive a smart Mercedes donated by a kind admirer who shared his petrol-head passion.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221129121152/6385f2bc9c7e80680e0cc95djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="664" height="524"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>In a rare moment of quiet reflection, Bill confided that his ideal retirement was a cottage in the Bay of Islands, in New Zealand’s far north. It was the first time I had heard of the place, but it never happened. Aged 83, Bill Gavin died last month at home in Auckland, rescued by friends and family from grim isolation in a locked-down Covid-19 hospital, he peacefully departed a life packed with motors, music and movies.Some young devotees recently videoed Bill for a school project, deftly capturing his enthusiastic essence, even at the end: “Looking back on all my careers, motor racing was certainly the most exciting … I was attracted by the intellectual intensity of the sport … I knew everybody ...”In our last call arranged by Bill’s kind niece his laboured breathing penetrated the long-distance WhatsApp line, but he squeezed her hand and I could feel his smile as I told him that, despite everything, I still loved him and always would. Bill had that sort of effect on people.

Lisa Choegyal

The wild and wonderful Bill Gavin, 1936-2020

Under a gunmetal grey sky, the four of us stood for the Last Post on an expansive empty lawn as the crows wheeled overhead. The Nepal Army general and British Gurkha colonel saluted smartly in their uniforms, whilst the Ambassador and I bowed our heads. The red poppies in all our lapels symbolised remembrance and acknowledgment of the ultimate sacrifice by all men and women in the armed forces during times of conflict.It must have been the strangest Anzac Day commemoration ever. The grass, still soggy from yesterday’s rain, was dotted with crimson rose petals fallen from the luscious red wreathes. In turn we had laid them between the two flags, on the anniversary of the First World War Gallipoli landing by the ANZACs (Australia and New Zealand Army Corps), in remembrance of the dreadful battlefield losses that ensued on both sides and from so many nations. After the one minute silence in the deserted garden, the Reveille was trumpeted on an embassy iPhone.Since services began on 25 April 1916, this year 2020 was the first Anzac Day ever that Australians and New Zealanders were not able to gather nationwide to mark the anniversary, due to the social isolation battle against COVID-19. Instead, digitally shared messages urged individual calls to action -- messages of solidarity displayed in home windows, the laying of virtual poppies at the online cenotaph, and alone standing at dawn in driveways, gates and front doors to mark the moment #standatdawn.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d909c7e80680e06b355jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2699" height="2265"/><figcaption>Australian Ambassador Peter Budd, Lt-Gen Sarad Kumar Giri, Chief of General Staff, Nepal Army, Col Richard Goodman MBE, Commander, British Gurkhas Nepal and Lisa Choegyal Honorary Consul of New Zealand at the Anzac Day service on 25 April 2020 during the lockdown in Kathmandu. Photo: JAMES HAZELL</figcaption></figure>Every year the Australian Embassy hosts our Anzac Day service in Kathmandu, echoing solemn sunrise ceremonies all over Australia and New Zealand, with many young people as well as old brought together to mark this most important joint national occasion. Normally the garden is thronged with several hundred Australians, New Zealanders, Nepalis and the international community, enlivened by Nepali and Gurkha buglers and bagpipers, and followed by a slap-up Aussie breakfast that is part of the attraction.Last year as well as long term residents and tourists, several mountaineers joined us including Guy Cotter, Robert Mads Anderson and a couple of Sir Edmund Hillary’s grandchildren -- Russell Brice was absent, recovering from his fall from a rooftop restaurant. This year there are no expeditions and the mountains are closed to trekkers. Ambassador Pete and Emma boiled the kettle for coffee and offered us homemade Anzac biscuits in their empty house.I’m not sure when the Australian-hosted Anzac Day tradition began in Nepal, but is must have been around 1990 when the embassy moved to its current compound in Bansbari. Elizabeth Hawley regularly attended as New Zealand Honorary Consul before me. With no compunction she admitted to having delivered the exact same Anzac address every year, claiming no one ever noticed.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121120/636b8d949c7e80680e06b356jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="3000" height="1500">Although diplomatic relations between Nepal and Australia have existed since 1960, it was ambassador Diane Johnstone, affectionately known as ‘Call-me-Di’, who set up in Kathmandu from a cosy rented house in Thapathali in 1986 with a guitar-playing husband. The succession of early incumbents in the representational role were marked by life-changing events during their tenure – separation, divorce, engagement and marriage – including one emotional liaison with a Bollywood superstar that ended in tears. Over the decades, the mission has achieved many milestones in humanitarian and development aid, technical assistance and trade support.The popularity of Australian wine in Kathmandu dates back to one inspired ambassador who offered to import cases for his diplomatic friends -- and before the days of wine being available in the open market, he had many friends. Eventually both governments noticed when the embassy wine order exceeded that of much larger missions in London and Paris, dryly pointing out that every official Australian in Nepal must have been consuming about three dozen bottles a day. Aussie producers had the last laugh however, with their brands still established today as Nepal’s wine of choice amongst the chatterati.We wanted to do something special to commemorate the 100-year anniversary of Gallipoli on 25 April 2015. Thousands were gathering in Turkey, including the Prince of Wales and a ministerial delegation from Nepal. The UK had observed the outbreak of World War I with a dramatic moat-ful of 888,246 ceramic poppies around the Tower of London, representing all British and Commonwealth fatalities.Hoping to achieve a similarly grand gesture, the Gurkha commander conspired with us to ship 120,000 poppies from the British Legion in London, the idea being to carpet the grounds of the Australian ambassador’s home with a sea of scarlet. Each paper poppy raises at least a pound each but, thanks to British Gurkha generosity and skilled negotiations, boxes of poppies were delivered to the Australians with the Kiwi consulate paying only a nominal amount. At the last minute, however, the ambassador’s wife vetoed the idea on the grounds that it would be hard to tidy up afterwards and make a mess of her garden.The surfeit of poppies, plenty for future events, was soon erased from minds on that unforgettable 25 April five years ago. I had just returned home to Budanilkantha, kicked off my shoes and settled on the terrace with my laptop and the dogs when at 11:56 am the earthquake struck. Terracotta tiles rained off the roof, my car careened violently beneath the magnolia tree, and in the distance far below a pall of dust rose eerily above the assaulted city.No doubt, we all remember exactly where we were and how we felt at that fateful moment on Anzac Day 2015, when our lives were rocked forever.

The strangest Anzac Day ever

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c479c7e80680e06b2edjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1478" height="986"/><figcaption>Prime Minister Oli and NCP co-chair Pushpa Kamal Dahal maintain physical distance at a meeting on Wednesday of MPs from the Far-Western Province to discuss the Cabinet's two ordinances. Photo: PMO</figcaption></figure>K P Oli is now halfway through <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/olis-1st-year/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">his term as prime minister</a>  With almost a two-thirds majority, there was much hope that he would show the kind of statesmanship needed to fulfil his election promise of stabilising politics to focus on raising living standards.The people believed him, and gave his party an overwhelming mandate. But <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/two-thirds-empty/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">the NCP predictably fell into the same rut</a> as governments since 1990 -- tainted by cronyism, corruption, poor governance and an utter disregard for the poor and weak sections of Nepali society.<a style="font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Pressure mounts on PM Oli</a>, Saindra RaiAlthough Nepal has so far, quite luckily and inexplicably, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-must-hope-for-the-best-prepare-for-the-worst/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">escaped the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic</a>  it has exposed the structural imbalance and inequality in Nepali society. Poor state management and political failure have been the hallmarks of previous governments, but this virus has brought it up to the surface like nothing before.It is not just Nepal, around the world the pandemic has exposed governance failure and poor leadership. Some analysts maintain that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/what-nepal-can-learn-from-china-about-covid-19/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">authoritarian states have been able to better control the spread of the disease</a>, while democracies have floundered.But for every China there is an India, and for every New Zealand there is an Iran. Just like the virus does not respect national boundaries, it does not seem to care about ideology either. In this war, what is important is the health strategy of the state, how strictly isolation is enforced and for how long. The virus does not care if it is a totalitarian government that does it or a democratic one.Governments are also faced with a stark choice: protect the health of citizens or <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-prepares-for-economic-fallout-of-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">save the economy</a>. The economy cannot be saved unless you make it safe for citizens first, but some governments have quite openly tried to keep businesses going. This is where politics gets tangled with the pandemic.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109121116/636b8c4a9c7e80680e06b2eejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1502" height="892"><figcaption>Prime Minister Oli heads back to his residence in Baluwatar after the Cabinet meeting on Monday that endorsed an ordinance to make it easier for political parties to split. Photo: PMO</figcaption></figure>Some democratic countries using the disease as an excuse to stifle dissent, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/pandemic-pangs/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">squeeze the media</a>  and abuse emergency powers. Other elected governments which have failed to manage the epidemic effectively, or have shown a disregard for the vulnerable, resort to extra-constitutional measures to cover up their deficiencies.The Oli administration is guilty of both. The pre-coronavirus <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/censuring-censorship/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">legislations on media control hang</a> like a sword over the heads of journalists. The prime minister himself accused reporters this week of exaggerating the plight of tens of thousands <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-prepares-for-economic-fallout-of-pandemic/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">trapped by the lockdown</a>  He has accused the media of having a political agenda in exposing his secretariat’s nexus with businesses profiteering in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-to-test-covid-19-test-kits-from-china/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">procurement contracts of medical equipment from China</a>.Even before the pandemic, disillusionment was running high. The Oli government was wracked by one scandal a week – the real estate heist in Baluwatar, the access given to Yeti Holdings over former royal property, the security printing press deal in which Oli’s trusted Information Minister was caught on tape negotiating a $6 million kickback. And now, the blanket coverage in the media of people left hungry, tired and cashless by the lockdown has exposed the communist government’s lack of sensitivity to the proletariat.Physically weakened by his second kidney transplant, the politically isolated within his own party, the beleaguered prime minister <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/" target="_blank" rel="noopener" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/pressure-mounts-on-pm-oli/&amp;source=gmail&amp;ust=1587551043543000&amp;usg=AFQjCNE0sCB_h089dkOeDNQwNtN7TiWe7Q">made a surprise move on Monday</a> by getting the Cabinet to pass two ordinances, one of which will make it easier to legally split a political party. This sent a shock wave through the NCP, brought howls of protest from coalition partners and the opposition, and a wave of outrage from commentators and social media.Indeed, the timing was all wrong. Why was Oli in such a tearing hurry to allow political parties to split, when the country, and the world, is going through one of its worst crises in recent times? This was the time to focus on figuring out a post-COVID-19 exit strategy, and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/unlocking-the-economy-post-lockdown/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">getting the economy cranked up again</a>. For this, the country needs all political parties to row in the same direction.What the ordinance proves is that for the prime minister, his own political longevity is more important than the country’s ability to survive the pandemic and its economic fallout. His goal is still to prevent his arch-nemesis Pushpa Kamal Dahal from succeeding him as prime minister for which he is trying to thwart a possible no-confidence vote against him by holding up the threat of splitting the party.But what the move exposed is a wholesale disregard for democratic norms, constitutionalism, and an undermining of an elected parliament. This will force the country into prolonged instability. And instead of making him stronger, the move has weakened Prime Minister Oli.

Playing politics in a pandemic

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89e99c7e80680e06b211jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"/><figcaption>Australian officials arrive at a strangely deserted Tribhuvan International Airport</figcaption></figure>The plane flew in an elegant arc silhouetted against the sunset far above some lazily circling raptors, a victory lap around the purple hills of the Kathmandu Valley before heading southeast. Who would have thought a single Nepal Airlines wheels-up could be such a triumph, but in the empty skies over a locked down South Asia, this take-off was something truly exceptional.After days of frenetic work and delicate negotiations, the Australian Embassy team in Kathmandu had achieved a commercial charter to repatriate stranded tourists back home. The infinitely complex exercise involved the governments of Nepal, Australia and New Zealand at a time when travel restrictions were becoming ever more stringent in an effort to halt the coronavirus’ gallop around the globe. Considering there was so little air traffic anywhere, it was all excessively complicated.Summoned by government advisories, many Aussies and Kiwis returned home before the ban, but those remaining emerged from the mountains, meditation and yoga retreats, family visits, or simply had left it too late to leave. For the trapped tourists clinging to the Australian Embassy lifeline, hopes were raised then dashed.<a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-airlines-to-fly-stranded-australian-tourists-to-sydney/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Nepal Airlines to fly stranded Australian tourists to Sydney</a>Since the surprise suspension of international flights, angst-ridden rumours ricocheted around ‘Stranded-in-Nepal’ online chats and Facebook chronicled the roller-coaster dynamics. Qatar Airways morphed into Nepal Airlines as the carrier, and Brisbane replaced Sydney as the destination when it was deemed that quarantine facilities were already full.Never before has Nepal Airlines flown to Australia, so this was in effect its inaugural flight down under. Permissions had to be sought to overfly eight countries between Kathmandu and Brisbane, exemptions were required even to transit Australian airports, and connections had to be guaranteed with the ever dwindling trans-Tasman flight options – Air New Zealand obligingly adjusted their departure time by several hours to suit us.Decisions, revisions, changes and adjustments became highly political under the escalating epidemic, allegedly needing sign off by cabinet members and prime ministers. Every passenger would be subject to 14 days isolation at their destination, to slow the spread and flatten the curve. Decision makers were jittery from failures in other cooperative evacuations: in Peru last week a bunch of aggressively disappointed New Zealanders had been off-loaded from an Australian flight.Such were the ever-evolving uncertainties and behind-the-scenes diplomacies, that it was not until Monday that all the pieces were in place for the New Zealand government to announce that the Wednesday flight was viable with permissions and connections to get Kiwis back home to Auckland from Nepal. Final landing permission was only granted from Canberra on the morning of departure, which was just as well as by then 250 excited passengers had confirmed and paid, 27 of them New Zealanders.Each person had a story. It had been a fraught week tracking tourists and trekkers, and reassuring frantic families, themselves in isolation at home. A crisis helpline in Wellington supported desperate travellers marooned around the world. I talked to one couple who even considered marriage to enable their evacuation, but border security solved their predicament by expediting the additional paperwork required by the COVID-19 crisis at exemplary speed.As the shuttle buses disgorged passengers loaded with backpacks and baggage, relief, stress and excitement reverberated around the deserted Kathmandu airport. Face masks were distributed, temperatures checked, and notices reminded us to remain one metre social distanced.Check-in was not without its drama. Some couples were not seated together who wanted to be, and some were seated together who did not want to be. A lost phone was found and a lost passport was not, resulting in some high-level fancy footwork resolved only at the very last minute. The one shop open in the terminal made a killing in overpriced chocolate and fizzy drinks. “Sorry, no cappuccinos only black coffee. The cows are on lockdown.”Photos and selfies were snapped, and the Nepali flight crew politely posed in their distinctive uniforms and Sherpa-striped aprons. The Australian Ambassador was ubiquitous in his dark suit and reassuring smile, chatting with families and fielding calls from the foreign minister. The rest of us workers rushed around, distinctive in lurid yellow official vests with high-vis silver strips, attempting to smooth the airport processing. Most were grateful and gracious, only a handful still grumpy and unsettled by such unprecedented events.For the last two days tickets had been issued and payments collected amidst the sunny flowerbeds, friendly dogs and shady trees of the embassy gardens in Bansbari. With a boarding pass in hand and the new RA airbus in sight on the tarmac, I watched the strain and confusion of the past week begin to evaporate, tensions to relax, anxiety levels to ease, and new friendships to coalesce.Once the 250 had made their laborious way through immigration, security and into the departure lounge, festooned with hand bags, day packs and children, I started to think that this flight might actually happen.Thanks to meticulous pre-planning by the Aussies and our New Zealand team based in Delhi, plus the coordinated efforts of Nepal Airlines, Bon Travel, Nepal Police, airport authorities, health, immigration, security and many others,  the assault course of bureaucratic hurdles had apparently been successfully navigated. The experienced New Zealand High Commissioner in Delhi was monitoring by WhatsApp: ‘I’ll only believe it when the plane is off the ground.’With the last of the check-ins complete, I was making my way upstairs when a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. “Hey Lisa, this is my first visit to Australia, what a thrill, please say something for my blog.” It took me some moments to recognise Captain Vijay Lama of Nepal Airlines obscured by a stylish black face mask under a braided cap, wielding his iPhone in record mode, and burdened with a collection of travel cases.His thick hair was greyer than when we served together as judges for Miss Nepal 2004, but Vijay’s energy and charm was undiminished. “The closest I came was acting in EVEREST, the Hollywood movie about New Zealand mountaineers! I’d love to meet the Australian Ambassador who has accomplished this historic maiden flight.”Basking in Vijay’s charismatic wake, we sped through security and strode into the departure lounge. A frisson of recognition swept through the cavernous hall as every local spotted the celebrity pilot, actor, singer and television presenter – a good proportion of the flight were Australians of Nepali origin and Nepalis with permanent residency.The Ambassador finished addressing his departing throng, emphasising the unique circumstances that surrounded the national flag carrier’s first ever flight to Australia. Cameras clicked as I introduced him to the superstar captain, his smile dazzling: “Now I know that today our passengers are homeward bound in the very best of hands.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ec9c7e80680e06b212jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ef9c7e80680e06b213jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1280" height="960"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f29c7e80680e06b214jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f59c7e80680e06b215jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89f99c7e80680e06b216jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="4032" height="3024"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89fc9c7e80680e06b217jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1598" height="900"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b89ff9c7e80680e06b218jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1316" height="640"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b8a029c7e80680e06b219jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="695"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110912114/636b8a069c7e80680e06b21ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="480">Lisa Choegyal writes the So Far So Good fortnightly column for Nepali Times, and is the Honorary Consul for New Zealand in Nepal.

Aussies and Kiwis homeward bound from Nepal

Sunil’s eyes shine with excitement and his wispy beard blows in the southern hemisphere breeze. The churning ocean accounts for his queasy stomach, but he is thrilled by the squawking mass of seabirds and dense stench of penguins on the rocky island behind him.The names of New Zealand’s forgotten Subantarctic islands are unfamiliar to most of us - Campbell Island, Auckland Island, The Snares – and about as far from the hills of Sunil’s Langtang home as it is possible to imagine.This month Sunil Tamang returned home to Nepal after two years in New Zealand completing his Masters degree in environmental science at Lincoln University. His fellow <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700#.Xno1GIgzbIV">Mingma Norbu Sherpa Memorial (MNSMS)</a> scholar, Ngawang Thapke Sherpa, only just made it on the last flight from Singapore before Nepal closed. Already the days of pre-COVID carefree travel seem long gone.Sunil and Ngawang stayed in Christchurch long enough to settle in the two new scholarship recipients, Pasang Lamu and Tsewang Nuru, both Sherpas from the Khumbu who arrived fresh and keen last month. These distinguished four are the most recent of 14 young Nepalis selected from dozens of applicants for the scholarship that honours the conservation legacy of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=12581#.Xno1xYgzbIV" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mingma Norbu</a>, who was lost in the Ghunsa helicopter crash 14 years ago.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/out-of-the-ashes/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Out of the ashes</a>, Lisa Choegyal<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e39c7e80680e06472ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1000" height="1500"/><figcaption>Honouring the conservation legacy of Mingma Norbu Sherpa, Sunil Tamang and Ngawang Thapke Sherpa returned to Nepal this month having completed their Masters in environmental science at Lincoln University New Zealand.</figcaption></figure>Specialising in disaster risk and resilience, Sunil came to our notice on the scholarship committee because of his outstanding response to the 2015 earthquakes when he single-handedly raised the funds and organised the rebuild of 22 houses in his home village of Old Syabru Besi. “Tired of waiting for slow moving and ineffective government assistance, I initiated the project to rebuild the village.”After helping <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/the-reincarnation-of-a-holy-valley/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Langtang</a>, he joined ICIMOD to continue post-disaster reconstruction and recovery work across the country. I first came across Sunil when in January 2011 as a 20-year-old he set out on foot from Kanchenjunga with Rs28,000 in his pocket and trekked the <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=16399#.Xno2SYgzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Great Himalaya Trail </a>all the way to Lake Rara. He was just the kind of village kid we thought would appreciate two years of life and study in New Zealand.Sunil’s focussed energy did not go unnoticed at Lincoln and he soon joined a summer project with his professors, assessing economic valuation of urban waterways of Christchurch. He has been spotted hiking in the hills, lounging by pristine lakes, messing about with bikes, and swimming off the coast with Dusky dolphins.When Mingma’s widow Phurba and I visited last year, he showed us the Lincoln campus and exhibition he had helped assemble to celebrate 100 years since Sir Edmund Hillary’s birth, his easy smile and Harry Potter glasses glittering with zeal.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e69c7e80680e06472bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1410" height="928"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Prompted by the university staff, Sunil entered the Heritage Expedition’s True Young Explorer scholarship whose prize was a two week cruise on one of their purpose-built ships in the Southern Ocean. Heritage Expeditions is a family-owned New Zealand company committed to ‘conservation through experiential learning’ to create a league of ‘ambassadors’ inspired to protect the unique flora and fauna of these precious areas for future generations. And Sunil won.Read also: <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=17700#.Xno2wogzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Re-generation</a>, Rubeena MahatoNormally costing close to $10,000, the privileged prize took Sunil with a few dozen clients to these remote rocky islands in search of birds, nature, botany and history, protected as World Heritage Sites for their vast array of wildlife including albatross, penguins, petrels, prions and marine mammals like sea lions, fur seals and elephant seals. I coveted this trip of a lifetime to distant dots on the map.Whilst Sunil was fighting sea-sickness in these tiny inhospitable havens for some of the most abundant and unique wildlife on the planet, I was taking the two hour flight back from a job in New Zealand’s most eastern territory and another biodiversity hotspot, the remote Chatham Islands. The rattling Corvair prop plane had an albatross bill painted onto its nose, parked in the furthest corner of the airstrip as if in shame.“I think I had better wash your hair three times!” The Wellington hairdresser was impressed. Dust from the gravel roads of the Chatham Islands was so thick I had scarcely been able to drag a brush through it for days. But I missed the wide-open windswept spaces – the tidy streets and dark suits of New Zealand’s capital seemed tame in comparison.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79e99c7e80680e06472cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1032"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Dave and I had been helping to sort out a failing tourist lodge in New Zealand’s most eastern territory, owned by the original Moriori inhabitants and located overlooking rolling green sheep pastures, trees that grow horizontal in the perpetual wind, and a peaceful lake full of black swans. “Introduced from Australia, and breeding something terrible,” we were told by a gnarled resident. “We shoot them regularly but they still proliferate, threatening to eclipse our local birds. Same as the weka.”Cherished as a protected native bird in New Zealand itself (never referred to as the mainland as you might expect), the squat brown wekas are so ubiquitous that we found weka pate and weka stew on regular island menus.Read also: <a style="font-family: -webkit-standard; letter-spacing: normal;" href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/more-trekkers-more-trees/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">More trekkers, more trees</a>, Adam Stern<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101156/636b79ec9c7e80680e06472djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Along with plentiful seafood, glistening paua, kina shellfish and huge blue cod for which the Chatham Islands are renowned. Fanciful fishing stories abound, and Dave must be the only angler who never got a bite in an hour diligently spent trying on the Waitangi wharf, though a sinister shark-shaped shadow patrolling the harbour gave him a scare.Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=18587#.Xno3GIgzbIU" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Their souls march on,</a> Bhrikuti Rai and Stuti SharmaSwimming and beach activities are not encouraged as the Chatham’s feature as a favourite patrol of Great White sharks, as well as other less deadly species. One of the first islanders we met was a young chap missing an arm, the result of an accident diving for crayfish.The archipelago, ‘a land apart’, boasts an array of endemic birds and unique flora that have developed differently in the Chatham conditions, as well as New Zealand species that have been blown there 800 km offshore in the midst of the empty ocean.But although rare and rescued from extinction, I doubt the black robin, mollymawk and magenta petrel of the Chathams compare to the wonders of wildlife that Sunil saw on his Subantarctic expedition.So welcome back, the nomadic Nepalis flying the MNSMS flag. And keep up your exemplary energy and gusto now that you are home.

The Nomadic Nepali

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70129c7e80680e06005bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="998"/><figcaption>Photo : GOPAL GADTAULA</figcaption></figure>Manoj Rai was a 17-year-old student in a school in Tashigang, Bhutan in 1990, when soldiers arrived at his dorm and took away all the Nepali books. They piled them high in the courtyard, and set them alight.A few days later, the boy decided to escape the army’s dragnet and without even returning home he went down to the border, where the Indian security forces were packing other Bhutanese like him into trucks and dumping them in eastern Nepal.Thousands of refugees from Bhutan lived under plastic sheets by the side of the Kankai River in Jhapa. Many fainted from trauma, culture shock and homesickness. On a single day, Manoj Rai remembers cremating 28 children who had died of epidemics.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/who-stands-with-bhutanese-refugees-in-nepal/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Who stands with Bhutanese refugees in Nepal?,</a> Bhuwan Gautam and T P Mishra“We refugees know very well the meaning of life,” Rai said with a faraway look in his eyes, at his home in Charlotte, North Carolina. He is among the nearly 95,000 refugees from Bhutan who have been resettled in the United States. Others have gone to New Zealand, Norway, UK, Australia, the Netherlands and Canada.Rai opted for resettlement after seeing no possibility of returning to Bhutan, and tried to convince as many of his compatriots as possible to take up the offer. Some were resolutely refusing to move, but he tried to convince them that being a citizen of a foreign country, rather than a refugee, could help them return to Bhutan one day. Many third-generation Bhutanese are now studying in the world’s top universities.Rai has always been interested in music, often taking his small band house-to-house during Dasain and Tihar in Nepal, performing songs of longing for home in Bhutan. Villagers used to give them rice, gundruk and vegetables, which the refugees cooked in the camps by the dusty river banks.“We were always hungry, but we had to eat to live. And music was a way to feed ourselves,” Manoj recalls. “And now, on the other side of the world from home, we are trying to preserve our culture.”Read also: <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/nation/Bhutanese-refugees-resettlement-program-ending-in-2018,4121" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The end of the road for Bhutan's refugees</a>,Jenna Kunze Soon, relief organisations like World Lutheran Foundation, Save the Children, the UN High Commission for Refugees and others came to the rescue of the refugees, settling them in seven camps<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221109101116/636b70159c7e80680e06005cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1050" height="738">in Jhapa and Morang, where 120,000 Bhutanese lived for more than 20 years, until resettlement.“We were floating like kites. We missed home, and slept in jute sacks on the sand,” remembers Manoj, who could not even go back to Bhutan when his mother died there. “That is my biggest regret -- that I was not there for my mother. There are many Bhutanese like me.”Manoj came to the US 8 years ago and recorded over 70 songs since then. He has also founded the charity Love and Sports, which supports Nepali art, culture and music with an annual gathering in which the best are honoured with awards.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/family-separation-bhutan-style/">Family separation, Bhutan-style</a>, Jamie PiotrowskiMany of Manoj’s Nepali songs are about Bhutan. The translated lyrics of one of them:‘In the lap of the Himalaya is our dear BhutanWe blossom as we live together as oneDon’t cry, mother, we will make you smileWe will decorate our motherland with flowers.’

Ex-refugee takes refuge in music

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a54479c7e80680e05239fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="936" height="578"/><figcaption>The celebrated New Zealand's All Blacks will be defending their Rugby World Cup title in Japan next month, here shown triumphant in 2015</figcaption></figure>I was hemmed in on all sides by a resonating wall of damp dark jackets, the wide bodies of my enthusiastic neighbours. The crowd was on its feet roaring and whooping, the joyous chants as intense as any South Asian festival throng.Fuelled with drink and devotion, unadulterated passionate approval greeted the latest score. Sheets of winter rain fell steadily on the green grass field, droplets glistening in the glare of the arc lights above us, but nothing could dampen the mass ecstasy.I was in the midst of the unlikely temple precinct of Eden Park, Auckland’s sports stadium and the shrine dedicated to New Zealand Rugby Union. The worship of New Zealand’s All Black team is well known to inspire national religious fervour, the adoration accorded to the elite players up there with divine beings and Himalayan gods. Team selection is headline news, coaches are considered heroes, deaths of past players are marked with respectful silence, and any match lost, god forbid, is mourned as a national disaster.The collective veneration, power of the pack and crush of bodies adulating a selfless common cause had all the hallmarks of a spiritual jamboree — the festive throng of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/my-sweet-lord/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Krishna Jayanti</a>, the orange host of Pashupati’s Shivaratri sadhus, the glittering red sea of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/nepali-folk-songs-move-beyond-love-and-loss/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tij</a>, acres of cross-legged Kalachakra Buddhists, and the multitude of pilgrims at India’s Kumbh Mela, the huge gathering held every 12 years in northern India.Granted, the Kumbh crowd is counted in tens of millions rather than mere tens of thousands in Auckland and, instead of black jerseys and protective headgear, most devotees are naked except for a loin cloth, matted hair, sacred threads or vibrant saris.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544a9c7e80680e0523a0jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="788"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Although from a country of less than five million people, the All Blacks are respected throughout the world as the side to beat, the champions hardly ever knocked off their rugby number one slot. Masters of the oval ball, their intimidating Maori haka is performed before each match, calculated to inspire awe in the opposition with beefy knees bent, eyes wide, tongues protruding. The squad of massive, muscled, tattooed athletes are household names in New Zealand, nurtured, trained and toned as the global Kiwi sports symbol — the silver fern logo was recently proposed to replace the national flag.‘Great win last night!’ The country rejoices, quiet satisfaction unites the hordes of black-clad supporters filing out after the game. Kiwi reserve and natural politeness keep the mob from overt gloating, but the yellow sweaters of the defeated Australians are treated with quiet disdain.My excitement at these great international clashes is recently acquired, and my grasp of the finer rules of the game is slender. <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/a-working-mothers-guilt/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Both sons</a> played at school, but I had been a neglectful ‘soccer Mum’ seldom on the sidelines. Sangjay captained the school First XV and even made the under-18 Victoria side for a precious few minutes before a knee injury had him carried off the field.With a twice broken nose and dislocated shoulder between them, the boys decided discretion was the better part of valour and retired before the terrors of college league games, lined up against the big guys from the Pacific Islands. That’s a relief for a mother, as the injuries get worse as the stakes rise.My early interest in international rugby centred on the post-match revelry in the busy bars of Edinburgh’s Rose Street that followed the Scottish internationals played at Murrayfield. Not that we actually ever got to watch the game, just shortcut straight to the pub parties afterwards, either celebrating a win or drowning a defeat. In the final year of my stifling Scottish school, dusty classrooms and echoing corridors behind the grim grey façade of George Square, I left with disappointing marks and a general impatience with what I perceived as an oppressive establishment.My dishevelled school friend Kate and I would rock up after weekend work at her family cafe, a groovy spot serving vegan delights and fresh chopped vegetables  from their farm along the Moray Firth. It still exists as a favourite Edinburgh eatery, upgraded to Henderson’s Salad Table and now run by the next generation or two. Kate and I were no doubt wearing miniskirts, deeply inappropriate for the chilly climate, or weird flared trousers fashionable in the 1960s, and unsuitable heels, lethal on the wet cobbles of Scotland’s gloomy capital city on a late Saturday night. We were relieved to be out of the constraints of navy school uniforms, crumpled white shirts and hideous burgundy striped ties.Kate’s counter-culture Mum was my first conscious contact with the Himalaya that became my home. She had returned from a Karma Cola spiritual quest to India with amoebic dysentery — wonderfully exotic and evocative in contrast to the predictable cold and flu afflictions of the dreary British north. It was not long afterwards that I finished school, graduated from the rugby pubs, found a way to break the oppressive bonds, and set off on my restless journey. It was a long circuitous quest that would eventually lead me to Nepal.Next month the 2019 Rugby World Cup kicks off in Japan, a six-week bonanza in which 20 nations battle for the coveted championship. New Zealand’s All Blacks are defending their reigning title, and supporters worldwide are preparing for the ultimate clash of the giants. Held every four years, this is the first time the tournament is being played in Asia, outside the traditional heartlands of rugby union. You can guess who I am supporting.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814114/636a544d9c7e80680e0523a1jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="200">

The religion of rugby

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53049c7e80680e05232ajpeg.jpg" alt="" width="800" height="534"/><figcaption>Bardia National Park 1994</figcaption></figure>“Mum, Mum, Sangjay’s been playing with a python.” Rinchen was hoping to get one up on his elder sibling, but he knew he had to come up with something pretty spectacular to get my attention.“That’s nice, darling.”<a style="background-color: #ffffff; font-size: 15px; letter-spacing: 0.01em;" href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/fire-in-the-afternoon-tiger-tops,846" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Tiger Tops</a>’ rustic ‘office’ had a thatched roof, wood rafters and mesh windows, and I was distracted by a guest relations manual update and tomorrow’s rooming list. I trusted my teenage boys to read jungle lore, and to know the difference between <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/hisss/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">harmless and dangerous snakes</a>.On a shelf above me, dusty glass jars of formaldehyde contained some of the more lethal varieties preserved for science: sinister yellow banded kraits and a lurid green pit viper. A deer barked in the distance and the cooks clattered in the adjacent kitchen.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/chitlang-chitwan-and-children/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitlan, Chitwan and children</a>, Lisa ChoegyalHe tried again: “And it wasn’t a very small one. Tim and Jack dared him to pick it up.” The four boys were just back from one of their elephant-back expeditions through the Chitwan grasslands, this time up the Surung Khola valley – an unruly quartet close in age and fast friends since infancy. Disturbed from its winter torpor, the python did not appear bothered by its rude manhandling and was soon safely restored back into its <a href="https://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/back-to-Chitwan,1075" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chitwan</a> freedom.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53079c7e80680e05232bjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="528" height="747">My two sons were dragged up in the wake of my own enthusiasms Bardia National Park 1994<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53099c7e80680e05232cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="491" height="695">Tenzin and I trekking with the boys 1993I like to consider myself an exemplary parent, but probably all mothers think that. The truth is that my two sons were dragged into the wake of my own enthusiasms. Lucky their father seldom left home, as my selfish priorities may not have always featured family first. Our photo books support me in providing a peripatetic and sometimes idyllic childhood, but always to suit my travels, my schedule and my work in wildlife, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/in-conservation-nepal-is-not-out-of-the-woods-yet/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">conservation</a> and adventure.Two little boys posing in checked shirts on a Khumbu chorten, peering out of a tent on a remote terraced hillside with early morning peaks behind, bundled in life jackets hanging on through the white water, and embracing an <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/how-humans-can-live-with-wild-elephants/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">elephant</a> deep in the jungle grasslands. There were many years of birthday cakes for Tim Jack Sangjay or Rinchen, moulded out of elephant dung, elaborately iced and delivered by a decorated hati, a perennial delight with everyone valiantly keeping up the well-worn joke to please the grown-ups.Brought up in Kathmandu, our boys attended the British School until their early teens, both speak Nepali like natives, and both consider this Valley their home. As children they were forced to follow me on various missions – the picture albums show coconut throwing competitions in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/recreating-tiger-tops-in-the-tropics/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sabah</a>, canoeing in the back blocks of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/hanging-out-with-the-headhunters/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sarawak</a>, volcano trekking in Indonesia, horse-riding in <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/so-far-so-good/wintering-in-mongolia/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Mongolia</a>, cycling in Vietnam, rock climbing in Kenya and abseiling in Wyoming. After a particularly arduous trek recce wading rivers and lost in the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/a-walk-back-in-time-chandragiri-hatiban/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Chandragiri hills</a>, Rinchen declared: “Never again, Mum.”<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a530b9c7e80680e05232djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="768"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>One result of their upbringing was an early affinity with animals. Sangjay’s first spoken word was “hati”. Stopping for a break at the riverside village of Malekhu, its fish delicacies hung skewered ready for the barbecue at the shop front. “Doesn’t it hurt the fish?” asked Sangjay, aged three. I was stuck for a glib answer.He showed the same concern for a pig on the solid iron spit roasting over a pit of burning coals in front of the Lodge – a favourite for special celebrations that could take 24 hours to cook, laboriously turned by relays of men through the night.Rinchen’s self-possession served him well as a pageboy, aged two, at my brother’s wedding in Chelsea Old Church. Both boys made it down the aisle behind the beautiful bride in their purple silk Khampa chubas, white tights and ballet shoes (promising they’d look “just like Ninja Turtles”, when Sangjay aged four refused to put his on). But during the service Rinchen was last to remain standing alone in attendance behind the happy couple, all the other older bridesmaids and pageboys having fled back to their parents in the pews.Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/the-eyes-of-truth/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">The Eyes of Truth</a>, Lisa ChoegyalThere were the usual close shaves as toddlers. Sangjay tumbling down a flight of stairs, almost being swept into a flooded stream, crashing from the top steps of a slide, and falling backwards off a sofa through our sitting room window; the ensuing wound’s 12 stitches still show as a white scarred patch when his thick dark hair is cut short.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a530e9c7e80680e05232ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="958" height="728"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>Rinchen must have been less reckless as I recall few childhood mishaps, but instead a healthy curiosity and keen observation. Driving to school one morning a small voice from the back seat asked: “What are those dogs doing Mummy.”“Mating, darling,” I replied, with an attempt at insouciance. There was a long pause. “Looks like awfully hard work to me!”I can hardly bear to recollect the time they went missing at my mother’s home on that same British visit. (‘They’ll be absolutely safe playing out in the garden,’ she had said, never dreaming they would venture beyond the hawthorn hedges.) After an agonising half hour, they were found wandering near the main Oxford London railway line a couple of fields away. I was never sure I believed their story about a passing train driver who stopped for a friendly chat, as all the locomotives I saw hurtled past at horrifying speed.Probably the depth of my attempts at responsible motherhood was when I misplaced them in Christchurch Airport. Stopping to change planes after a trip exploring New Zealand’s West Coast, I was absorbed chatting with mountaineering friends when we noticed they were gone.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/2022110814110/636a53119c7e80680e05232fjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2816" height="2112"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>After a frantic search with thudding heart, we heard the humiliating announcement: “Would the mother of two small boys please collect them from lost property.” A kindly old Kiwi couple had found them on the sidewalk outside and handed them in.Rinchen had his own python encounter during a gap year job at a river running camp near Rishikesh, but it did not end so happily. Finding a python being burned by villagers mistakenly to protect their livestock, they reported this violation of an endangered species to the Indian wildlife authorities. Three of the team were arrested for their pains, and the poor snake died anyway.

A working mother’s guilt

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131144/636a4f7a9c7e80680e04fd0cjpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"/><figcaption>Photo: LISA CHOEGYAL</figcaption></figure>Sir <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3170#.XShLWD8za71" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Edmund Percival Hillary KG ONZ KBE</a> was born 100 years ago, on 20 July 1919. A big man in every way, Sir Ed is the Sherpas’ beloved Burra Sahib, a towering presence in the Sagarmatha story, the most celebrated New Zealander, with his profile enshrined on every Kiwi five-dollar bill.But I like to remember his shy ragged grin, the baggy corduroys, a gentle giant reclining during his latter years in the huge brown leather armchair in his Auckland home, surrounded by books and Himalayan mementos. Often one of Lady June’s cats would perch on his knee, and during the last of his many regular visits to Nepal my Labrador puppy strayed onto his lap on my Kathmandu sofa (pictured above).Read also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/review/highs-and-lows-of-sir-ed/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Highs and lows of Sir Ed</a>, Kunda DixitFrom his bee-keeping origins throughout all his accolades and acclaim, Sir Ed remained the consummate Kiwi — humble and approachable, his phone number listed in the public telephone directory.Sixty-six years ago, that last step onto the pristine summit of Mt Everest catapulted Ed and Tenzing Norgay into the textbooks. Defying altitude and endurance they ventured beyond known human limits to the highest point on earth.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131144/636a4f7d9c7e80680e04fd0djpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1024" height="768"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=3165#.XShLcz8za71" target="_blank" rel="noopener">news of the 1953 expedition success</a> was announced on the morning of the young Queen Elizabeth’s coronation, thrilling a war-weary Britain with visions of conquest ‘high in the thin cold air’.Mountaineer, explorer, philanthropist, writer, Sir Ed recorded his adventures with an elegant turn of phrase in a shelf full of books. As well as mountaineering, he jet boated up the Ganges, crossed Antarctica on tractors, and was the first to reach the North and South Pole as well as the top of Everest.By the time I knew him, Sir Ed had hung up his boots, having lost his tolerance to altitude, but he continued to helicopter annually into the Khumbu and travel the world raising funds for his Himalayan Trust. Since 1960 he ‘gave back’ to the people without whom he would not have got to the top.The Sherpas led an uncertain life in those days, struggling for survival in the shadow of Sagarmatha as farmers scraping a living from the poor upland soil, traditional trade with Tibet and occasional expedition work. Sir Ed invested his time and energy to provide education and health to enable his Sherpa friends to cope with the impending changes of the modern world.To support the Himalayan Trust schools and hospitals that were constructed with his own hands and family help, Sir Ed built Lukla airstrip in 1964 on a steep hillside at 2,860m. A chorus line of Sherpa and Sherpani dancers were mobilised to compact the ground with their stomping steps. Surprised and alarmed by the visitor influx that he unwittingly unleashed with the new airstrip, Sir Ed was unflinching in his criticism of the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/how-to-restore-the-lure-of-everest/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">negative aspects of tourism</a>, and was never convinced by commercial mountaineering.‘The highest rubbish dump in the world’ was a phrase coined by him, and he never appreciated the benefit in terms of fees, royalties and employment brought to Nepal’s mountain communities by our 200,000 trekkers, 6,400 trekking peak climbers and 2,300 expedition members every year. Sir Ed would have hated the recent image of Everest summit queues that went viral online and on front pages around the world.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20221108131144/636a4f809c7e80680e04fd0ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1125"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>This year we marked Sir Ed’s birth centenary with a reception on his <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/past-everest-anniversaries/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sagarmatha Summit Day</a>, 29 May, on a humid evening in the warm yellow glow of the British Ambassador’s historic Kathmandu residence. The terrace was covered by a white sail to protect against the threatening monsoon rain, sparkling glasses clinked, and uniformed waiters circulated with promising plates of dainty eats.Amongst the guests dressed in their best who thronged the graceful rooms was Helen Clark, the new patron of the Himalayan Trust who, as New Zealand’s prime minister, had presided over <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/regular-columns/So-far-so-good/funeral-of-Sir-Edmund-Hillary,1100" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sir Ed’s State Funeral in 2008</a>. Climbers recently returned from mountain summits jostled with expedition leaders, Everest guides, and a crowd of Nepalis, Sherpas, Kiwis and assorted others with an affinity to Sir Ed’s work and memory.British Ambassador Richard Morris sported a scrappy beard and adrenalin-fuelled vigour having raced the Everest Marathon that morning, choppering back just in time to host the celebration.I made a beeline for Nirmal ‘Nims’ Purja, the stocky ex-Gurkha Special Forces soldier just back from climbing six 8,000m peaks within 31 days, including Everest, Lhotse and Makalu in 48 hours, as part of his extreme mountaineering feat to summit all 14 Himalayan 8,000m peaks within a single seven-month season. Last week, he climbed another, Nanga Parbat in Pakistan.Nims had taken that <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/nirmal-purja-on-his-viral-everest-photo/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">summit queue photo</a> that so shocked the world and prompted such moralising criticism, not as any sort of ethical judgement but, he grinned: “Just to prove why I could not break my own speed record for bagging Everest and Lhotse. I got slowed down by all those people and ended up directing traffic on the Hillary Step.”One hundred years on, <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=14421#.XShL8T8za73" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Sir Ed</a> might not have liked the orderly line <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/most-days-its-not-so-crowded-on-mt-everest/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">queuing along Everest’s narrow summit</a> ridge on their way to his virgin spot on top of the world, but he surely would have admired the athletic ability and dedicated ambition of the amazing Nims and his Project Possible. I know I do.Lisa Choegyal is the New Zealand Honorary Consul General in Nepal, and has been writing this fortnightly column ‘So Far So Good’ in Nepali Times since 2016.

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