As I miss walking my dog every morning in Tavistock, I now take an early walk and combine it with a visit to some local shops to buy fresh produce. Some of the things I see each morning still surprise me, so on this page I'll guide you along, explaining as we go.
It's 7.30am, the temperature is warm and comfortable, just right for walking. The lane outside the guest house is gravel and barely wide enough for a car, but provides a rat-run for motorbikes and scooters, who jostle for space with the bicycles, pedestrians, dogs and even the occasional car. A man wheeling his bike calls for bottles for recycling as he passes each house. Sometimes a man selling potatoes or apples from baskets on his bike joins in the chorus.
The area is mainly residential, with many houses squeezed into what were, I suspect, gardens. Some of the gardens have colourful shrubs (bourganvilla and jasmine to name two I recognise) or fruit and vegetables; marrows growing along a high fence, grapefruit the size of small footballs.
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| Marrows growing along a fence. |
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| Grapefruit, big enough for football, overhanging the lane. |
On reaching the main road the scene changes abruptly. This road is being upgraded, and every morning a different stage has been reached. Piles of stones, deep holes full of water, paving stones, cables and pipes litter the pavements and roadway. However unlike the UK, here no diversions or even warning signs are evident. Walking along here is like an obstacle course, with vehicles, motorcyclists, cyclists, and pedestrians all trying to manoeuvre in the small space left in the middle of the road. The passing traffic throws up dust clouds, so everything feels grimy.
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| The pavement! |
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| Jhamsikhel Chowk, the cross roads. |
In a small roadside cafe men, rarely women, sit passing the time of day and drinking their tea, made with boiled milk and lots of sugar.
The couple who run the small greengrocers shop near our guest house now greet me with a smile and friendly "Namaste". They are used to my mumbling, badly pronounced Nepali, asking for Keraa (banana), syaa (apple), golbheDaa (tomato) and pyaaj (onion). When I try to bargain, as we were told we must by our Nepali teacher, the shopkeeper tells me that the price is already cheap, which is true. Four bananas, six tomatoes and a small papaya cost me 150 rupees, around £1!
Returning along another lane to the guesthouse, my attention is drawn upwards by a flock of bright green parakeets, screeching across the sky, aggravated by a low flying kite (the bird) who soars nearby.
Time for my breakfast now.
Ta ta.
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