Queens Day or Buddha Day?

We're on the road again, cycle out of the Kathmandu Valley , over the Thankot Pass and have to get used to the heavily loaded bicycles again. This route, which we cycled four months ago with Rob and Aranka when we were on our way to the elephant football in Chitwan, is familiar to us. The second day Sylvia and Gert pass us by bus, shouting loudly and waving. Yesterday they unexpectedly paid us an early morning visit, to say goodbye, now they're on their way to Chitwan National Park .

Every hour the temperature goes up; we're descending towards the Terai Plains and the mercury rises to 41 degrees Celsius. The langur and macaques monkeys don't seem to be bothered by the heat; they joyfully swing from one branch to another and play catch-me. A lazy drongo takes a ride on the broad back of an eagle, which –to our surprise- doesn't seem to mind at all. We cycle out of the forests, ride into the languid heat amidst the dried out farm lands that just like us are waiting for the first drops of the monsoon rains, then dive into the next forest. The level route is alternated with the Chure Hills and the Mahabharata Mountains . During a sugar cane juice break in Daunne two elderly men discuss our bicycles. Subject of the discussion is the secret place the motor of the bicycle is hidden; the eldest points at the rear hub, but his somewhat younger companion is convinced that the solution to this riddle can be found in the crank axle.

The fourth day we cycle to Lumbini, over Dutch dikes, enjoying a back wind. In the level part of Nepal many cyclists can be found, who like always and everywhere like to join us and challenge Peter to have a race. But it is too hot to race and we let the boys win without any regrets. After the first three uncomfortable days Peter's body starts protesting the sudden exertion and he complains to me: “Aaah, my behind is hurting, just like my painful legs and the rest doesn't feel well too.” “Yes, well, you're the one who wants to go cycling all the time, so you can't complain now.” I look at him with a smile on my face, but Peter doesn't see a lot of reasons to smile. “I really wanted to go on after having stayed in Kathmandu for six months, but not with a one hundred and twenty kilometres the first days, with a 38 degrees Celsius and a lot of climbing.” “But that's what you taught me the last five years: on the bicycle every day is different and you get the circumstances for free! Isn't it wonderful?” Peter sighs. He knows I'm right and he shouldn't be nagging. He has no other choice than to swallow his pain. He is being punished for beers and brandies, cigarettes and the wonderfully relaxed life he enjoyed the past six months. All in all life is too good when you're not cycling. It is true that we worked hard in those months: wrote and translated a book, received five Dutch visitors, cycled numerous times all over the Kathmandu Valley , visited all the remarkable places in the proximity and hiked the Annapurna Sanctuary Trek. But still, the condition we built the last four years, highlighted by the Karakorum Highway and Tibet , is gone. In a matter of speaking we have to start from scratch, hoping our muscle cells remember what they were meant to do. Unfortunately our fat cells have proven not to have lost their memories …

We arrive in Lumbini, a place with a special meaning for Buddhists. It is the birthplace of the first Buddha: Siddharta Gautama. His father ruled over the former Kapalivastu republic, his mother Maya Devi was the daughter of a ruler of a neighbouring state. When Maya Devi was ten (!) months pregnant she went to visit her parents in Dewadaha. On her way there she passed Lumbini, a beautiful place with a pond and trees. Maya Devi took a bath, her contractions started, she walked twenty five steps, took hold of a branch of a tree with her right hand and flop: her baby was born from her right armpit. It is the year 583 before Christ. Siddharta grew up in a rich and protected environment. In his 29 th year he passed an old man, a dead body, a sick man and a hermit; meetings and confrontations that excited him to give up his luxurious life. For five years he roamed around like a kind of hermit, looking for the meaning of life, but didn't find the answer. In the end he started meditating, which brought him enlightenment after forty-nine days. The rest of his eighty-year life he preached the so-called middle-way: the suffering of human kind is natural, but caused by attachment, lust and illusions. Letting go of these makes it possible to reach ‘nirvana'.

It is April 30, Queen's Day in The Netherlands. For the fifth time we miss her birthday. But isn't it far nicer to be able to celebrate the birthday of the first Buddha, at the place where he was born? That is worth the pain, the heat and the climbing.