Up again at 04:00 hrs., out from under the mosquito nets and into our army shorts (fantasies of National Service in Burma). We joined the guide and two couples from another hotel and set off. Our first rhinoceros sighting was made just down the road where one of these beasts had wandered out of the National Park, having decided that the farmers crops were more succulent than their wild counterpart, the park vegetation.
A young boy held a blazing brand aloft and chased the lumbering brute towards the village (we later saw tracks to testify that it had escaped into the river). We continued for a while and waded crossed the river and saw several more rhinoceroses in the poor misty light. We went on to the less-exciting deer-spotting bit as the sun was really getting up.
The girlfriend of a huge red-bearded bruiser kept infecting me with her giggles as we followed the nervous deer herds with bored indifference. We regularly saw herds of deer in Richmond Park in West London. A good walk back put us in the mood for a good breakfast and we steamed in with relish despite the slow and confused service.
I wrote a bit more of my letter home and then we set off on a walk along the riverbank. We sauntered along watching elephants cross the river and cattle grazing while a host of exotic insects buzzed lazily about us. We waded across the rapid flowing tributary to the main river and on the other side we basked in the heat and enjoyed the tranquillity.
Our little chum with the tea cosy hat, who we had seen on several occasions, came up to watch us with a couple of his friends. We walked back discussing Australian job opportunities, pausing to take elephant photo’s, and we arrived back at camp at 14:00 hrs. We lazed about reading, sewing on buttons, George taping his two log/diary volumes together etc. until nightfall.
We then moved like moths into the central hut congregating in groups around the petrol lamps. George started reading “Jabberwocky”, the hilarious book which I had just finished reading. I started on “The Man from St. Petersburg” by Ken Follett as George giggled beside me.
We tucked into a mammoth feast: soup, curry and rice pudding and chatted with the English couple that we had met on our Saturday morning safari. Stripped of their snooty façade they joined us in insulting the Yanks as they whooped and drawled, uttered crass stupidities and fell off their chairs.
We retired to our hut leaving the Yanks to laugh ridiculously loudly and boast of their inadequacies in the trekking department. Abdul the counter boy chortled with glee as he added up our days bill, switching to his serious look when we made jokes. He hit us for 90 Nepalese Rupees each, which included this morning’s guide fees.
We read our books for a while before bed while the Americans got louder as they were suckered in the old beer trick, paying over the odds for beer fetched from “The Peacock” opposite. Staff paid 23 Nepalese Rupees for a bottle and then made 5Rs by selling them to the “septics” for 28Rs.
Cockney Rhyming Slang: Septic Tanks = Yanks. Citizens of the United States of America.
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