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Feature - Pokhara Perspective

A view of tourism from half a world away

By Van Clayton Powel

When you stand on the large, fourth-floor terrace of the Hotel Tropicana in Pokhara, Nepal, you look out across the lake at the high ridge of jungle the sun sets behind.

A group of us from Whistler and Vancouver were out on that terrace this last Christmas Eve, soaking up the final rays of the sun, when we suddenly heard fireworks. Strange fireworks. Must be a Nepali tradition, I thought, as I stepped towards the edge of the balcony for a closer look, only to freeze mid-stride when someone cried out, “They’re shooting! They’re shooting each other!”

Now, we’re all familiar with the challenges Whistler has faced the last few years — bizarre weather, declining numbers, affordability — but could things be worse? Oh, yes, much worse.

Pokhara sits on the shore of a lake in a stunningly beautiful valley with some of the highest mountains in the world dominating the horizon. It is a breath-taking setting and people from around the world come for the trekking, rafting, paragliding, and mountain biking. The range and quality of such exotic activities have helped make this area one of the top tourist destinations in the world. Until recently.

Serious trouble began in 2001 with what many Nepali’s still refer to as “The Unfortunate Incident”. One of the princes in the royal family used his collection of automatic weapons to slaughter the king and the rest of the royal family. He then apparently turned the weapons on himself. (Rumours still abound as to what “really” happened.)

The country was thrown into a state of panic and turmoil since the king was not only very powerful (he appoints the government in Nepal), but also very popular. The resulting power vacuum plunged the country into a period of violent demonstrations and instability, and, as one would expect, tourist visits dropped dramatically.

Although extremely unpopular and controversial, the brother of the slain king was proclaimed the new monarch, and he quickly introduced authoritarian measures he said were needed to deal with Nepal’s poverty and corruption. He also, for the first time, engaged Nepal’s Army against the Maoist rebels who had taken over much of the country in a five-year civil war.

The new king’s measures have proven largely ineffective, and his governments have been fractious and inept. However, a cease-fire with the Maoist rebels did eventually stabilize the country enough that tourists began returning. And for Pokhara, this was vital.

Half the visitors to Nepal make their way to Pokhara at some point on their trip, and many of its businesses, especially the small ones, have come to rely directly on the tourists for income. Chamber of Commerce documents indicate there was growth in dollars from tourism every year from the mid-70s to the late ’90s, and the nature and scope of development reflects this.

“Twenty-five years ago there was almost nothing here,” says Larry Walker, an Alaskan who first came to Pokhara in 1979. “A few lodges, no glass in the windows, a couple restaurants. Now look at it.”

We walk down the main drag of Lakeside, the primary tourist area, past hundreds of shops and restaurants, lodges and hotels that have sprung up over the years to service the tourists. What is striking is that most of the shops and restaurants are empty.

“Yeah, it seems like there’s been too much development,” says Walker, who has been to Pokhara 13 times. “But, you know, when I first came here, everyone used to get sick. The locals didn’t know how to cook safely. The water was bad. So, I don’t know, was it better then because it was less developed?”

Kali Pariyar, who owns a hotel, restaurant and internet café in Lakeside, says, “We had too much development, especially since 1998. And tourist numbers didn’t grow much, so the money was spread thinner. But things were getting better. If there is peace in the country, many tourists come.”

And that’s been the problem. About half-way through 2004 the cease-fire between the Maoist rebels and government forces ended, and the civil war that has claimed over 10,000 lives since 1996, started again. The Maoists began calling frequent general strikes and used brutal tactics, implied and real, to enforce them. At the same time, the Army went after the rebels with renewed vigour, and civilians, as usual, were often caught in the middle. As the violence escalated, tourists once again stopped coming.

Official numbers from the Nepal Tourism Board suggest that tourist arrivals increased by 13 per cent in 2004. But Pariyar, who’s been doing business here for 24 years, has his doubts.

“They say it for tourists,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s true. I have no increase last four years. Maybe 25 per cent down. And slow season now is very bad.”

Pariyar’s experience is borne out by numbers that indicate tourist arrivals in Nepal have dropped by 40 per cent since 1999. And last year, in iExplore.com’s rankings of the world’s top tourist destinations, Nepal fell from number 10 to number 27.

A bomb blast at one of the prominent Lakeside resorts in May, 2004 certainly didn’t help tourism. Nor did news reports two months later that the Mayor of Pokhara had been shot and killed by rebels. And the sight of Army patrols in full combat gear walking down the middle of the street does little to encourage visits, although it may discourage the rebels from their intermittent attacks on sand-bagged check points throughout the city.

Still, there is a small percentage of travellers who consider such conditions ideal for visiting a country because, “no one else will be there.” Although this may account for the relatively high number of Canadians wandering around, the majority of tourists do not consider general strikes, gun battles, and armed patrols to be a draw, and the businesses in Pokhara are suffering terribly.

“Two years ago there were 80 shops like mine in Pokhara,” said Ramu Gautum, owner of a small store crammed with sports and trekking gear.   “One year ago, 60. And now, 48. But I think many of these must now close. They cannot eat.”

The lease on a 10 by 15 foot shop like Ramu’s is $200 to $300 a month, depending on location, an amount which might not seem like much by Whistler standards but in Nepal it’s close to the average annual income. And even if Pokhara were full of tourists, with prices like four dollars for a knock-off Patagonia fleece, Ramu’s stretch for profitability is a long one.

“And now there are no tourists”, Ramu says. “So I must sell at my cost. Or less! But what can I do? I have a daughter and wife.”

Of the tourists who are in Pokhara spreading around some much- needed currency, a surprising number come from the south coast of B.C. At one point, they make up over a quarter of the paragliding pilots in town. And of that number, over a third are from the Whistler/Pemberton area.

Chris Kettles, a snow cat driver with Whistler-Blackcomb, is one of them. “Friends told me about the great flying here,” he says, “so I came to check it out. The flying has been good, but I think flying in Pemberton is comparable. And what I’ve enjoyed more than anything is the people.”

Kettles says he’d come back in a second because of his experiences with the local folks, and his feelings are echoed by others.

“Without a doubt, it’s the people,” says Mel Scardaoni, a Whistler heavy-machinery operator, when asked what’s made the biggest impression on him.

And the west coast Canadians seem to be making an impression on the Nepalis as well.

On their last night in Pokhara, Kettles and Scardoani are given traditional Nepali topis (a multi-colored fez) to wear by the locals, and they wear them with pride as they head from celebration to celebration. Equally proud are the three young Nepali boys following them around, wearing brand new Gore-tex jackets courtesy of the two Canadians and their friend Margot Vaughan, a pilot from Pemberton.

The three boys have helped the Canadians fold up their paragliding wings on the landing site for the last couple months, and although a small fee was involved, the mutual friendship is obvious.

Just as obvious is the effort by other B.C. pilots to give something back to the locals. Day after day tandem pilots from the Lower Mainland and Vancouver Island can be seen taking locals up for free flights. At a value of almost $100, it is an extravagant thrill far beyond the reach of the average Nepali.

In fact, every tourist I talk with seems acutely aware of the privileged position we find ourselves in compared to the locals, and most go out of their way to spread their money around as freely as possible to support the local economy. But while the interactions seem mutually beneficial, there is no doubt that the two sides come from very different realities.

Nepal is the 12th poorest nation in the world, for example. Twenty-five million people live in an area about one-quarter the size of Saskatchewan. The literacy rate is just over 50 per cent, and the average annual income is US$240, with 30 per cent of Nepalis living below the poverty level.

Agriculture, most of it heavy labour by man, woman, and water buffalo, accounts for 80 per cent of the work force. And although the official unemployment rate is 5 per cent, it is estimated that 44 per cent are “half-employed.” In fact, it is so difficult to find work in Nepal that hundreds of thousands of Nepali men work elsewhere in Asia and send the money home.

There is also a powerful caste system that still has malignant influence. And a primarily Hindu religious base where the Law of Karma can be used to explain everything from why a taxi ran out of gas, to why a drunk driver took a fully-loaded bus off a cliff.

Outside of the major centres, government services are virtually non-existent. Education is basic and beyond the reach of many. And the common approach to sewage is as archaic as Victoria’s: just dump it in the water and let it float away.

But in their day-to-day interactions, most people in Pokhara seem relatively happy, and although generally shy, they are quick to smile. The traditional family unit also seems strong, and unlike some other areas in Asia, fathers are frequently seen caring for and showing affection to their children.

Padam, one of the local taxi drivers, is an example. He gets up every morning at six and walks for an hour to pick up the chugging, 1972 Toyota Corolla he drives for the owner. For the next 10 to 12 hours he desperately scratches around for fares because there are far too many taxis and not enough tourists. He then drives the cab back to the owner’s home, and walks home.

He does this seven days a week, except for the two Saturdays a month he gets off. His wage? Fifty dollars a month... when the owner pays him. For the last two months, the owner hasn’t. So Padam’s landlord is waiting for the rent, Padam’s three-year-old daughter is dreaming of eating fruit again, and his young wife is worried about what is going to happen to them all.

Yet Padam feels in many ways he’s better off than ever. He tells me he first left his village when he was 12, travelling to India with his cousin where they soon found themselves working for food. “I do dishes, make cleaning, many things. But no money, just food. And food is very little. Later, I can get job to bicycle rickshaw. But I am too much thin,” he laughs, “so very difficult for me.”

After several years of struggle and illness, he finally saved enough to get back to his village. But there was no work in the village, and he didn’t want to burden his family, so he came to Pokhara.

The tourist business was still prosperous at that time, so he found work quickly. He started to learn a little English, a bit of French, and was able to work his way up from the worst jobs to what he considered to be one of the best — being a guide for tourists going on treks.

“Three hundred rupees a day!” he beamed at me. The equivalent of about $5, three times what he’s making now.

“But six months every year I cannot see my family. Very bad.” he says. And when I see him lovingly hold his three-year-old daughter and smile over at his wife, I sense how difficult it was. “So then I get job to drive taxi. Every day I can see my wife and daughter. It’s better, isn’t it?”

I ask him if he would like to buy his own taxi some day and he laughs. “How can I buy this life? I hope I can buy next life.”

The North American mantra " You can do anything if you just work hard enough!" sails through my mind, but given what he’s already been through, the hours he already works, and the fact that buying the Toyota here would cost him more than in Canada, I decide he’s probably being realistic.

In January this year, Padam’s prospects diminished further when rebel attacks (like the one on Christmas Eve that killed two security police at the check point below our hotel) became more frequent. Both sides in the conflict go out of their way to avoid hurting tourists, but mistakes happen.

Two Russian climbers recently found this out when the taxi they were riding in was bombed for driving during a strike. The rebels insist the attack was a mistake, the result of the taxi not being clearly marked as carrying tourists. Both Russians survived, and it is true that so far the general strikes have been more inconvenient than dangerous for foreign visitors.

For Nepal’s economy, however, they have been devastating. Especially for smaller businesses like Kali’s and Ramu’s. And for the government, they are an embarrassment.

In response, the king suspended democracy and civil rights on Feb. 1, temporarily shut off all internet and international phone lines, and clamped down on the media. None of these added to the allure of Nepal, and by the time we left Pokhara in late February, the flow of tourists had dwindled to a trickle.

The desperation in the faces of the shop owners was becoming obvious. Many talked about going for days without making a sale. And although business has crashed, their rents have remained the same, leading many to speculate about closing their shops and leaving Pokhara.

When it came time for us to leave, there were no vehicles travelling the rebel-controlled road to Kathmandu, so we had to fly out. Padam drove us to the airport, proudly wearing my old Gore-tex jacket despite the warm weather. We were almost late because he insisted we let his wife and daughter thank us for some gifts, and when I pushed a wad of bills into his hand outside the terminal, he politely refrained from looking at them.

“Don’t forget us,” he said. “Tell Canadians they will be safe to visit Nepal. We hope they will come. Don’t forget us.”

As our plane left Pokhara, I looked out the window at the sprawling city backed by green hills that rise steeply, then plunge into deep valleys, then rise up again to majestic 8,000-metre peaks less than 30 kilometres away. It is a remarkable sight.

But like Chris and Mel and the others I talked with from this part of the world, it is the people I will remember. They are caught in a day-to-day struggle just to survive. To make a better future. To feed their children and keep them safe from a war in which, as one prominent businessman remarked, “Both sides are a bunch of thugs.”

There is no denying the impact of our own declining numbers, our bizarre weather, our affordability issues. But could things be worse in Whistler? Oh, yes, much worse.



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