The Blue Vet Diary

I was in a bad way….for a whole day and  for a couple of nights I had been struggling with abdominal pain and none of the painkillers I had thrown at it, had made much of a difference. Declaring defeat, I had managed to get a last minute flight with a Ukrainian carrier out of Tbilisi and via Kyiv to the UK.

My monosyllabic taxi driver had refused to issue me with a receipt for the cash I had given him for his reckless driving through the unlit suburbs of the Georgian Capital. At least he had dropped me at the airport in time and at that point I just didn’t  had it in me any more to pick a fight over it. Eventually the crowded Tupolev  lifted off the tarmac and we were  heading North over the Caucasus mountains towards Russia, while I was emptying the remaining content of my stomach into the waxed paper bag, that I had found just in time in the back pocket of the seat in front of me……

This was eight years ago and it had been a miserable way to finish my first visit to Georgia. And while a couple of gastric ulcers and a gallstone were telling me, that I had taken on a bit too much by running my own veterinary clinic and at the same time trying to attend a lot of vet meetings all over Europe, I knew that I had to be back to this city and to the colleagues there.

Much had happened in Georgia, when I finally shook hands again with Giorgi and Dato, who had once taken me on an epic road trip across the country and along the unstable border with Azerbaijan to the North of Armenia.

The state of the roads, the speed and the insane overtaking of and by cars still gives me nightmares.

It was a good, not only to seeing them both alive and in good health, but also to learn that Dato had finally disposed of his Mercedes, the deathtrap that had undergone a DIY LPG re-fitt, resulting in a sizeable liquid gas canister placed right behind the rear seats (where I was sitting….).

Several completely burnt out car wracks alongside the road had indicated that this, in combination with a non-existent traffic etiquette, had been a very bad idea….  

This time around with the help of my local colleague and fixer Mariam Chkhikvishvili, I was able not only to reconnect with Dato and Giorgi, but to visit also their places of work.

Giorgi was busy performing a dental procedure on a small dog, when I visited him at Vetlife, a new and well equipped clinic in the city centre.

Providing a 24 hour service for their clients and placed in the ground floor of a multi-storey building, this small hospital employs a number of veterinary specialists, able to see patients in six small consulting rooms with a minimalistic interior design, making them perfect especially for feline consults.

The clinic features both a CR radiology system as well as ultrasound facilities in dedicated rooms. A large preparation area in the centre of the hospital leaves ample space to perform both dental procedures and to get patients ready for surgery in the well equipped operating theatre.

Vetlife is a fairly new set up and the place wasn’t overly busy when I visited.

This was different at Dato’s place, which struck me as a pet owner’s dream and a nurse’s nightmare.

The clinic was heaving with clients, staff and patients, with no defined distinction between the public and the private areas, probably with the exception of the operating area.

Clients clearly loved this busy place and quite a few of them were staying with their pets, while these were receiving their treatment. As Dato was once again busy risking his life on the unpredictable Georgian roads, I was greeted by the always positive and smiling Izi Miminoshvili and by Tamuna Kakubava who was managing the whole place in a calm und controlled way.

As in most urban practices these days, the majority of the patients were cats and smaller breed dogs, plus a not  inconsiderable number of large and sometimes very large guard dogs.

With no own testing and licensing organisation for veterinary medicines established in Georgia, the permission to sell and to use these drugs is mainly based on previous FDA or EMA accreditation. In addition to this, a lot of human medicines are been used on pets in Georgia.

Vaccines are readily available, but often declined by pet owners as being too expensive or considered unnecessary, despite the fact that cases of distemper, parvovirosis and even rabies are not uncommon in this part of the world.

Unsurprisingly vector borne diseases like ehrlichiosis, anaplasmosis and leishmaniasis are a common presentation as well, usually due to the failure of using the prophylactic treatment options available.

The use of monoclonal antibodies for atopic or arthritic patients, as well as any online pet health services have yet to arrive in Georgia. 

Pet health insurance is at the moment not available and clients have to expect to pay between  30-60 Lari (GEL)/ £10-20  for a first opinion consult in Tbilisi and probably less in the countryside.

At Mariam’s clinic I noticed another feature that I had so far just seen at vet schools: an examination room with several consulting  and treatment tables !

Client confidentiality is far less of a concern here and pet owners don’t mind watching another animal receiving treatment on the table next to them or that the treatment of their own pet is being conducted in a semi-public space. The more important issue is, that they are allowed to stay with their pet.

While most clinics didn’t open their doors before a very civil 10 am, the work for most Georgian colleagues is then often relentless, with hardly any time for a break until the doors close at about 6 pm – as always – subject to emergencies…..

Some of the Tbilisi practices offer an out of hours service, but there is no obligation to provide it and there is no centralised organisation of the service.

All clinics I visited were computerised and card payment was the universally accepted way to settle the vet bill.

Getting post graduate training is not easy for my Georgian colleagues. With only a small companion animal veterinary association with less than 100 members at the best of times and with virtually no funding, it is difficult and financially risky to organise continuing education events. The vet schools, of which there are now several, mostly privately run establishments, provide very little companion animal education for qualified vets, so that colleagues have to travel abroad, commonly to Turkey or to Russia, to acquire new skills.

So far there are no corporate veterinary groups in Georgia and clinics are owned by individual owners or by veterinary partnerships. With no training courses available for veterinary nurses, the teams usually consist of vets with different levels of experience and lay staff running the reception and performing unskilled work. Young graduates or final year vet students are often task with nursing duties. 

Unsurprisingly Georgia and especially Tbilisi has over the last two years seen a considerable increase of Russian and Belarusian pet owners. These are met by an similar influx of – predominantly male – veterinarians from these countries. A development that is seen with mixed feeling by the local profession. Some veterinary businesses have integrated the newcomers into their teams, often resulting in English been used as the lingua franca in the clinics, while others are less inclined to offer any employment, seeing them as potential competitors in an already tight market.

Georgia and the Caucasus region as a whole, have always been a meeting point of different cultures, religions and people and its complex geo-political position has had a great influence on the veterinary professional in this region as well. Georgian colleagues like Izi, Mariam, Dato and Giorgi are providing a truly remarkable service to their clients, despite an often challenging working environment and with very limited resources. This has only been possible by remaining responsive and open to changes and to opportunities when they arise and by understanding themselves as members of an international profession with the open sharing of skills and knowledge for the benefit of the patients in their care.

Let’s hope that at my next visit to Tbilisi, they have progressed further on this journey.

Driving along the Georgian Military Highway, leaving behind me the world heritage site of the castle of Ananuri,

and heading North towards the town of Stepantsminda, I had to cross the over 2000m high Jvari Pass, where the green meadows of an Alpine plateau offers an ideal pasture for large herds of sheep.

Crossing the highest point of the pass, it was impossible to ignore the numerous wood fires places and the corresponding “Halal” signs at the side of the road.

Here the local shepherds were offering their fare to hungry travellers.

I personally found the signs, which were indicating that here the sheep were exsanguinated without prior stunning, somewhat off putting, but I appreciated that this was the traditional way of slaughter, that had been practiced in these mountains for hundreds if not for thousands of years and that, if done correctly, the suffering for the animal would be fairly brief (and yet still too long if you looked at it through the eyes of a vegetarian…..). Furthermore, taking a more holistic view, I thought that these animals had probably a far better life, than their cousins in our world of industrialised farming. Rather than being kept in narrow enclosures to grow and being, at the end of their lives, transported over long distances to a slaughterhouse, these sheep were born on these mountains, free to roam under an open sky for most or for all of their lives and then finally killed in a (hopefully) fast and efficient way in familiar surroundings.

When stopping my car and walking up to one of the fireplaces, I realised that I had arrived too early for lunch. A freshly slaughtered carcass was hanging on a hook,

but the fire hadn’t been lid yet.

“Dicid minut ! Ten minutes!” the shepherd shouted in my direction, being uncertain if I was Russian or someone from further afield.

Taking him by his word, it left me with enough time to have a closer look at his dogs….

Not far from the fire place, there was a huge Caucasian Shepherd, which dwarfed the Rottweiler that kept him company.

Both dogs remained relaxed and not overly interested in my presence, but I have to admit that I was relieved that they were kept on a chain and I remained at a safe distance.

The purpose of these dogs, which grow up together with sheep, is to guard, rather than to herd the flock. In this part of the world (and now also in many parts of western Europe), these dog have to stand up to, and to fend off predators like wolfs and bears, for which a domestic sheep or lamb would be an easy catch.

When hiking in the mountains – even worse if you bring along your own dog – you certainly don’t want to come across one of these canine giants near a herd of livestock….

You rather meet a wolf or a bear!….

I didn’t envy my Georgian colleagues, who occasionally have to treat these huge animals.

“ The Rottweiler is useless and the Caucasian is small for his breed.”, the shepherd said in broken English, standing suddenly next to me. It appeared that he had figured out that my Russian wouldn’t get us very far…..

“The meat is ready!” he added, before walking back to the barbeque.

Not even eight minutes had passed and sure enough, a large skewer with big chunks of coarsely cut meat was waiting for me.

A pinch of rock salt was the only seasoning and a large piece of plain breed the only accompaniment.

And yet – it was delicious !

The meat was firm but not chewy, it had a distinct ovine taste, somewhat amplified by the salt, but not adulterated by additional herbs or by a sauce. Eating it with a hunting knife and bare fingers as the only cutlery, under a blue sky, surrounded by Caucasian mountains, certainly enhanced the experience and I couldn’t think of a more fitting dish, when travelling in this part of the world.

Not for the first time, I had to throw common sense over board and break all the rules. I was standing at an altitude of 3200m above sea level at the bottom of the Gergeti glacier in the Georgian part of the Caucasus, not far from the border to Russia, about to do something really stupid….

To get to this place, I had flown at short notice to Tiblisi and had driven across the mountains, before leaving my car near the iconic Holy Trinity Church, which is arguably the most famous motif in the whole of Georgia.

Ascending constantly for 2 hours, I had reached the Arsha Pass at nearly 3000m.

What awaited me here was probably one of the most stunning mountain views I have ever seen:  Mt Kazbeg, towering by a large margin over the surrounding summits, was right ahead of me, but separated by a deep gorge, which had been cut in millions of years by the once giant glacier.

After resting there for a short while and enjoying the view, I had then carried on pass the beautifully located and expertly built Alti Hut. Its more Alpine design had its origin in a cooperation between a Georgian business man and Swiss, German and Czech carpenters and engineers and some considerable EU funding. The wood panelling as well as the vintage posters of well known Swiss ski resorts and mountains on the inside walls of the guest room looked very familiar to me.

   

From here it had been a more gentle incline to the glacier, but walking at this altitude, each step took considerably more time.

Standing at the bottom of the glacier, I recalled the lessons I had learned at a glacier course in Norway many years ago: “Never walk on a glacier on your own. Always rope up. Inform people where you are going and when you are planning to arrive…”. All very sensible points, but all not very practical in my situation and hence all to be ignored…… At least I had the good sense to bring along light crampons and a sturdy hiking pole, which had to make do instead of an ice axe in case that I slipped.

The glacier had to be crossed to reach my place to stay for the night – an old disused Russian weather station, also known as Bethlemi Hut, at 3650 m above sea level, half way up to the summit of Mt Kazbeg, the fabled mountain, which according to legend had been the site where the Titan Prometheus was chained to a rock after stealing the fire from the Olymp to give it to humanity. To make his fate a bit more unpleasant, he was then visited every day by an eagle, which was feeding of his liver…..Being a god himself, this didn’t kill him and he even regrew a new liver over night, but the eagle had the bad habit of returning every day….

This admittedly was the least of my concerns when I started walking up on the solid but very abrasive ice of the glacier, which was covered with rocks and with centuries worth of decaying plant and animal material. Slipping here would have been painful and would probably have resulted in a certain wound infection.

While progressing slowly but with a lot of care, I suddenly heard some steps behind me……a rider with a pack horse was passing me! This was both an unexpected as well as a welcoming sight: if a horse could make it across the glacier, so could I!

And sure enough, following roughly in the track of the horses, I eventually made it safely to the other side.

Climbing here another steep 100 or so meters, I had arrived at the iconic building, which, as I would soon find out, presented me with the two sides of the old Georgia and of travelling in many parts of Eastern Europe in general.

During my research for this adventure, I had come across a number of stunning images of this former meteorological station, which is now used as a mountain refuge and the basecamp for all ascents of Mt Kazbeg.

But what I found was sobering…..

A run down, unheated building, that could easily have featured in a Solzhenitsyn novel. Filthy, unlit corridors, some broken windows and no proper sanitation. The communal area, which was hard to find, was cluttered and uninviting and the whole place was in a state of neglect, which was testament of the absence of a well organised and funded national mountaineering association. This certainly wasn’t the Alpen Verein….

No wonder that most professional tour organisers preferred to let their clients stay in tents around the building, despite the ground been littered with pieces of broken glass, rusting metal and various sorts of rubbish in general.

A small private enterprise had occupied the (also unheated) basement, where they provided some form of hospitality by selling poor food for horrendous prices.

Matters didn’t improve, when I was shown my place for the night….

A damp, also unheated room, where the remnants of cheap soviet style wall paper was peeling of its mouldy base; with four bunk beds, which were thankfully covered with a faux leather lining, that regretfully, after having seen decades of use, was torn in several places.

Welcome to the Gulag…..

On the bunk next to me I found Dimitri, who was just half conscious and trying to find some sleep, after having successfully attempted to summit Mt Kazbeg in the early hours of the morning.

When matter couldn’t deteriorate much further, I decided to find a reception to at least pay for my night’s stay. But then, everything changed….

Down the corridor, there was a single glass door that emitted some warm light and when entering,  my whole body felt the presence of a small wood burner at one end of the room.

Here a group of men were gathered around a table which was laden with bread, cucumbers and tomatoes, cheese and cold meats, while red wine and home made brandy was flowing freely. The lively conversation, that had accompanied the feast, stopped abruptly when I  passed through the door – I had entered the realm of Jonny, the custodian……

Once I had introduced myself, referring to the reservation I had made just the previous day with the help of my Georgian landlady, I was invited to the table to sample some quite remarkable homemade brandy, which was then followed by the insistence to try the bread, the cheese and well pretty much everything on the table.

It soon became clear, that this was the only show in town and there were just two ways to stay in it – by telling some good stories or by contributing to the feast. By being both a vet and a traveller, there was no shortage for the former, while the latter could be organised in form of another bottle of wine from the small restaurant (which unsurprisingly had no guests….).

As the evening drew on, it turned out that over the decades, famous mountaineers like Reinhold Messner or the Russian singer and songwriter Vladimir Vysotsky had been sitting at this table and attended Jonny’s or his predecessors’ court.

Jonny was one of these fascinating individuals who don’t need to travel to meet people or to see the world – the world was coming to him.

Sitting in this small, somewhat cluttered room, adorned with images and memorabilia of friends, mountain guides and personalities of the last 100 years, with pack horse drivers, mountaineers of different nationalities and Georgian guides entering his court at regular intervals, Jonny just had to lean back, chain smoke his thin hand rolled cigarettes, enjoy whatever beverages his visitors had carried in their backpacks or on horse back across the glacier and be entertained.  

With steadily increasing alcohol levels, it then became time for the – at least in this part of the world – inevitable toasts. They included not only absent friends, friendship, the mothers (and women in general) and – on my account – a praise to the Georgians as the Caucasian unifiers, which was – needless to say – well received.

As the evening drew on, Lasha, a bearded mountain of a man, sitting on the other side of the table, got hold of the battered guitar, that had been resting on the floor next to the table, and gave a perfect evening the final touch with some Georgian songs.

Yes, may be I had to climb a mountain for it, but finally I had found it, the famous Georgian hospitality ! 

In the meantime even the sky outside had cleared up and the mountain tops around us appeared in a warm evening glow, so that the whole atmosphere around the Bethlemi Refuge didn’t appear quite as depressing.

The conversation, the smoking, the laughing and the drinking went on well into the night and probably much longer than would have been acceptable in a much more organised refuge, but as I finally settled into my decrepit bunk next to the now snoring Dimitri, I thought to myself that such is the life in the Caucasus – not everything is perfect or working as it should, but this in return leaves room for spontaneity and human warmth, which so often appears to be missing in our over-regulated societies.    

 

The sun had not even risen behind the towering Tomorri mountains far in the East, when I crossed the town square of Berat, Albania’s “White City”.

A small gang of large, but benign stray dogs was happy to see me and a couple of them came running towards me in the hope for some early morning food hand outs.

I had to leave them disappointed though, but at least with some gentle patting behind the ears for their efforts.

Walking along Rruga Antipatrea, I passed the local baker, who enjoyed a cigarette in front of his small shop after finishing to prepare the fresh rolls and croissants for the day.  

Along a narrow cobblestoned alley, just behind the Xhamia Mbret mosque, I headed for Rruga Mihal Komnena, a straight road passing right through rows of old Ottoman houses, which gave the town its name.

This well maintained street, lined by elegant cypress trees, provided the only access to the ancient castle on the hill.

 

As the thermometer had gone past 35C for the last few days, only the early hours of the morning provided a sensible opportunity to explore this World Heritage site in the middle of the summer.

 

Just when the sun was rising above the mountains, I reached the castle wall and standing by the flag pole at the Southern end of the complex, the strategic benefit of having a stronghold here became apparent. Standing at this place, it was possible to overlook not only the town below and the Osumi River, but it was also possible to look far into the fertile valleys of both the heart of the country in the East and in the West towards the Adriatic Sea.

 

This clearly was a place of connection, of trade, of interaction between the people coming from the mountains with those coming from the Sea. One of the meeting points between the Ottoman and the Habsburg Empires with many features in the landscape to tell about this century old blending of cultures. The vineyards on the hills mirrored those in the Wachau in Lower Austria, the old Byzantine church on the Northern side of the castle wall

reminded me of the ancient structures I had seen at Mount Athos in the Northern Aegean, and Gorica Bridge, right below me in the valley, connecting the two parts of the town for over 200 years, as well as the mosque right next to it, could also have featured in many places in Turkey.

 

And yet, this was a view which would have been very difficult, if not impossible for me to obtain much earlier in my life, when Albania had very much isolated itself from the rest of Europe, representing a white spot on the map – a place you knew very little about, a place you by-passed on your journey South, a place that was characterised more by hearsay and by prejudice, than by the interaction and communication with the people who lived there and by the features and the beauty of the landscape on the ground.

 

While Berat and Albania in general and its people appear to have escaped their recent history of political oppression and isolation, and are now thriving in an environment of cultural exchange, economical opportunities and renewed professional interaction, other countries might be heading into just the opposite direction…..

 

 

Abdominal wounds had been opened and closed for the last 8 hours and the sharps containers beside the operating tables were starting to fill with used needles and scalpel blades…..

I was coming to the end of my demonstrations of common suturing techniques and despite my feeble attempts to engage my students with the application of some basic advancement flaps, a technique to allow tension free wound closure for sizable skin defects, I noticed that one by one they were drawn in by the far more engaging presentation of my colleague Alex Bogdan Vitalaru next to us, who had started talking about fluid rates and maintenance doses for critically ill patients, while making use of an unused plaster board at the new but yet unfinished veterinary hospital building, which we were using as a venue, to pen down his calculations.

There was no doubt that here was a far more skilled lecturer at work and declaring defeat, I decided together with my group to join the fast gathering crowd, for the final 15 minutes of a day of clinical workshops.

Despite a lot of unexpected challenges, not only this day but the whole event had been a complete success……

Just a year ago, I had arrived in Tirana with my backpack on a shaky, at times crammed, run down overland bus, knowing not a soul in the capital of this Mediterranian country.

Using the FECAVA network of veterinary colleagues and friends in the neighboring countries, I eventually got in touch with Ilir Kusi, Dritan Laci and Enstela Vokshi, three dedicated companion animal practitioners from Tirana. Over dinner, they explained that there was no small animal veterinary association in Albania, but that unsurprisingly the demand for continuing education and knowledge gain was huge. It became soon apparent, that everything just needed an initial spark….

Within a few weeks a basic constitution was set up, an organisation established and a board appointed.

Drawing in the help of BSAVA’s President Carl Gorman and the always helpful team at Woodrow House, Albanian colleagues were able to tune in to a BSAVA webinar and as a result of this, Nao and Patrick Hensel, dermatology specialists from Basel in Switzerland, booked their flights to Tirana to provide a whole day of dermatology CPD before the end of the year.

In September our Albanian friends attended the joint FECAVA/WSAVA Congress in Lisbon and were granted WSAVA observer status.

In the meantime, planning had already started to gather equipment and funding to organise a two day continuing education event including both lectures and practical workshops in June of this year, to cover a range of different areas of companion animal care.

Paul Cooper, former EVDS President, with whom I had already travelled to Yerevan in Armenia a few years ago, was once again happy to follow me to Albania, to talk about veterinary dentistry and to run a wetlab on the subject. This would again require him to modify a locally sourced compressor to drive his dentistry equipment.

The same response I received from Alastair Hotston Moore covering soft tissue surgery and from Alex Bogdan Vitalaru talking about internal medicine, nephrology and about the placement of all sorts of tubes and catheters into critically ill patients.

All of them are seasoned lectureres in their fields and if not engaged with clinical work, they are more likely to be found in the departure lounge of an international airport heading for a veterinary conference, than at home with their families. Yet all of them were happy to joining me on this adventure and to provide their knowledge on a pro bono basis.

While BSAVA and FECAVA covered most of our travel expenses, our Albanian colleagues were looking (extremely well) after us during our stay in Tirana.

Veterinary equipment providers required just a little nudge to part with necessary gear and disposable materials, like suture material or catheters, so that eventually two suitcases full of books and equipment travelled with us to the Balkan.

However, as always with these events, something doesn’t work out or goes wrong at the last minute……

Unfortunately, Paul had to bail out due to a serious family issue, but although this meant that we had to cancel (in fact just postpone….) the dentistry workshop, both Alasdair and Alex were more than happy to bridge the gaps in the scientific programme with additional lectures of their fields of expertise.

The venue for the workshops – a brand new veterinary referral hospital – which was supposed to be ready by now, turned out to be still a building site….

Here a clear list of requirements, two days of hard work by the whole clinic team and possibly a hint of Alemannic pushiness got the place ready just in time.

Then Alex contacted us on the night before the event, informing us that his flight from Bukarest had been affected by a hail storm and that he was uncertain to make it in time….

Luckily, with soaking wet trousers (which is what you get when you book a front row seat with an Irish low cost carrier…..), he arrived at 1 AM at Tirana airport.

When at 9 o’clock the following morning just 10 delegates had turned up (instead of the 30+ registered colleagues) at the excellent conference facilities of the Intercontinental Hotel in the center of Tirana, all we had to do was, to enjoy another coffee, remind ourselves that we were not in Switzerland and sure enough, at 9.30 the room was filled with nearly 60 delegates…..

From here onwards, everything went swimmingly, with lectures on wound closure, abdominal surgery, stress free feline consults and internal medicine.

The breaks between the lectures provided ample opportunities to engage with our colleagues from Albania and from neighboring Kosovo and North Macedonia (who had travelled several hundred kilometers to attend the event) and to enjoy the view over Tirana’s central Skanderbeg Square and the rapidly changing skyline of the capital.

Starting the workshops the following day already at 8 AM proofed to be less of a problems, with many delegates now keen to put their newly aquired knowledge into practice….

The day finished with the obligatory signing of the CPD certificates and the handing out of a number of veterinary manuals and volumes, provided courtesy of both the speakers and of BSAVA. A final photo of the slightly drained but happy lecturers and delegates on the roof of the new clinic building concluded our memorable visit to Tirana.

“One moment in annihilation’s waste,

one moment of the well of life to taste –

the stars are setting, and the caravan

starts for the dawn of nothing – Oh, make haste !”

Once again I was enjoying a quiet moment at the “Garden of Dreams” – one of my favourite places in Kathmandu.

Sitting underneath the sacred words of the Persian Sufi poet Omar Khayyam, I was appreciating how true they still felt even after a thousand years had past and how relevant they were for my own journey to Nepal.

The “Garden of Dreams” had fascinated me, as soon as I had set foot in it at the beginning of my trip.

To understand this, you need to understand Kathmandu.

Nepal’s capital is dirty, noisy, chaotic, at times confusing and yet…beautiful!

It has nothing of the wide spaces of the countryside of Nepal’s borderlands to India. The perennial smog obscures the view of the tallest mountains of the planet and the fumes constantly attack your airways, resulting in a chronically blocked noise and a lingering cough.

But then, Kathmandu is so different, so unruly and in that aspect so entertaining, compared to any place you might find in Europe or in North America. It is no surprise that this was one of the favorite hideouts for the hippy generation, half a century ago, which still is fondly remembered in places like Freak Street.

However, walking through a small opening in the wall of Kaiser Mahal on the outskirts of Thamel, you find yourself in a completely different world.

Suddenly you notice birds singing, there are less traffic fumes and the greyness and the dust of the streets is replaced by the green colour of a nicely maintained lawn and of the leaves of trees, by colourful displays of flowers and by the calming effect of the clear water of beautifully arranged ponds and fontaines.

When sitting down for a drink at the colonial cafe

a chipmunk might be running over your shoes on its search for the odd bread crumb and you start noticing a strange crop of bats in the trees above you , waiting for the sun to set at the other end of the Garden.

Exploring further the playful beauty of the place, you will come across a hidden water cascade behind a false perimeter wall

and you will find a statue of Vishnu’s consort Lakshmi, promising worldly riches just around the corner, once your have passed a decapitated sphinx…..

Not far from there, a quote from Voltaire’s “Candide” reminds us of the importance of cultivating our gardens and it appears that here even the walls have made room for the trees….

I was coming to the end of my journey to Nepal and my boots were bearing the marks of over 300 kms of rugged mountain paths, of the exposure to snow and ice and of getting drenched during downpours and river crossings in the Manaslu and Annapurna regions. They had been caked in mudd and dust in the jungle and the grasslands of Chitwan and from walking through the traffic and the leftovers of human habitation in Kathmandu and Baktarpur. The leather was bone dry and at places it was still covered with the silt of the banks of the Rapti River. Most of the profile of the soles was gone and the strings were struggling to hold the boots on my feet.

It was then, when I was approached by mobile shoeshiner Rakish, who offered to take care of them. After retreating from the blazing sun on Tridevi Sadak to a shadded set of stairs nearby, Rakish set to work and we started talking….

After having to close his shoe repair shop a while ago, Rakish had moved into the mobile shoe care business and while my boots underwent a complete transformation, he talked about the life in Kathmandu away from the tourist areas, of his family, of the daily struggle to make ends meet, but also of the beauty and joy of the multiple festivals and celebration in his city.

Eventually, my boots looked better then when I had bought them

and I had found the perfect companion for a final adventure in Kathmandu.

After all, there was one more place I had planned to see and this had to be done at night…..

Just before sunset the next day, Rakish and I squeezed ourself into one of the numerous, hopelessly overcrowded minibuses, where my average European physique put me at a clear disadvantage, unless my legs miraculously would have grown another set of joints.

But the contorsion didn’t last very long and after a jouney of about twenty painful minutes, we exited this rolling tin can and found ourselves just off Kathmandu’s Eastern Ring Road, not far from the banks of the Bagmati River.

Descending towards the river bank, the streets became narrower and more crowded. Infront of every house, I noticed golden flagstones, most of which were covered with orange paint and small offerings of marigold flowers , various fruits and grains of rice, to honor the Hindu deity protecting the individual dwellings.

At a small ashram, we came acrossed the first sadhus, who exchanged some kind words with Rakish. But rather than carrying on towards the river, we then turned North and moved away from the crowds along the river bank, until we stood in nearly complete darkness infront of a large Hanuman statue that was covered entirely in orange dye.

We had arrived at the now deserted Gauri temple, placed right next to the dark, putrid water of the river. Only when climbed up towards the nearby bridge, I noticed that there was a lot of movement on the steep river banks and underneath the bridge and just then it became apparent to me, why this place was dedicated to the Monkey God….

Now on the other side of the river, we climbed a small hill and passed some more temples, before we then followed a narrow track into a small forest. Stumbling over a number of tree roots, I appreciated that I had chosen my warm, but sturdy hiking boots for this nocturnal outing.

Eventually we had reached the highest point of the path and now, heading South again, we were walking towards a magical bright light, rhythmic music and the clapping and cheering of a large crowd.

In front of us, stretched out on both banks of the river, lay Pashupatinath, one of Nepal’s largest and most revered historic Hindu temples, dedicated to Shiva, the goddess of fertility, but also of death and destruction.

Here, witnessed and celebrated by well over a thousand spectators, the bodies of recently deceased citizens of Kathmandu, wrapped in orange shrouds, were been burned on piles of wood, doused in oil.

Several of these fires were lining the Western bank of the river, while on the other side of the river there was singing, clapping and a colourful display of religious flames. On the roof of the temple a woman was wildly dancing in a trance, while down in the river a poor soul was busy moving on with the help of a metal pole, the remains of the funeral piles, which had been dumped into the water.

Groups of colourful sadhus, visitors from all over the World, numerous stray dogs and an equal number of monkeys, who both kept a respectful distance from one another, as well as local citizens, some in brightly coloured sarees, others just in their street clothes, were lining the steep river bank to give the deceased a dramatic sending off.

Before us was a spectacle that has been as old as the place itself and a tradition that, despite the already terrible air quality in the Kathmandu valley, is very unlikely to change or to disappear anytime soon.

Witnessing the burning piles for a while and absorbing the singing, the chanting and the shouting around me, it once again reminded me, why Kathmandu continues to be such a strange, chaotic and yet enchanting place.

Eventually the fires burned down and the crowd, at least for that night, dispersed.

But rather than calling it a night, Rakish, because of my profession, was insistent that we paid the Chunchun Baba, a sadhu for dogs, a brief visit.

Tucked away in a number of shacks made of corrugated iron, just a stone throw away from the world famous temple, a holy man and his dedicated followers were looking after more than 200 dogs.

Been invited on to the complex despite the time of the day, the “Baba” explained that he was the Fourth in a line of devoted men dedicating their lives to the caring for Kathmandu’s dogs.

Passing a huge pot on a wood fire – containing the following day’s meal for all canines on the site – the Baba was leading us to his small ashram, where the center piece was a lifesize, decorated copy of his predecessor, Having spotted just a few dogs kept in small cages or on a chain over night, I did not feel too inclined to investigate this place much further and I sensed not for the first time, that deeply rooted religious beliefs were not neccessarily a guarantor or even a useful basis for good animal welfare, especially when it involved the day to day care for large numbers of animals.

Leaving the Baba some banknotes to fund a few more pots of canine dinners, we left the compound and after passing a similar facility next door, which was dedicated to bovine species, we decided to end this memorable nocturnal excursion and by this, my journey to the East.

Early the next morning, there was a plane to catch and another part of the (veterinary ?) world to see……

It was surprisingly easy, finding a cab at 5 AM in Thamel and with the exception of the discomfort of riding in a car with a completely worn suspension, my short jouney to the magnificent stupa at Boudhanath went very smoothly.

Nepal is predominantly a Hindu country, but especially in the mountainous North, there is a strong Buddhist presence, due to the influence from neighboring Tibet. Stupas, gompas, mani stones and poles with colourful prayer flags had been common sights for me, while I was hiking in these regions.

The large stupa at Boudhanath, in the North-East of the Kathmandu valley, is one of the most important Tibetan Buddhist monuments outside of Tibet and many devotees of this peaceful religion, living in the South of the country, are gathering here.

Arriving early in the morning, was making for a more intense experience, as most shops and restaurants were still closed and the site was mainly left to worshippers. Many of them were humming the sacred words “Om mani padme hum” (“Praise to the jewel in the lotus”), while performing “kora”, a steady, strictly clockwise walk around the monument.

Some were making use of the prayer wheels, which were placed along the outside wall of the stupa, others were carrying their own permanently rotating prayer wheels, while a few were even prostrating themselves in regular intervals all the way around the structure.

Behind a low wall, inside the outer rim of the structure, were a few mats, where more prayers and prostrations were performed.

As in the mountains, dried juniper twiggs and herbs were smoldering in low fires in metal drums and red clad monks were walking at the outside of the kora with small smoking metal containers in an act to enhance their prayer and to fend off evil spirits.

The same devices could later be found at the entrance of all shops and restaurants around the site.

Similar to many religious sites in Nepal, a number of local dogs found a peaceful existance here

and considerable sums of money were spend by the visitors on bowls of corn and grains, to feed a huge flock of resident pigeons,

of which many had made a temporary home on the huge dome of the stupa. To meet all needs of these residents, plastic basins were regularly filled with fresh drinking water, so that the birds could quench their thirst and take a morning bath.

From the gompas outside the square, the monotonous and yet so characteristic chanting of the monks, the sounds of their horns and of their drums was adding to this sea of colours, smells and noises, as the sun was starting to illuminate the top of the building, which was displaying the watchful blue eyes of the Bhudda, below the thirteen golden steps leading to Nirvana.

Although whole football teams could be seen partaking in this active form of worship, the majority of people performing the kora appeared to be of an older generation and for many of them, the colourfully dressed local women, offering warm tea from large thermos flasks on a low ledge, covered with isolation mats, were providing a much appreciated opportunity to rest and to observe the atmosphere in peace and thoughtful reflection.

A truly memorable way to start another day in Kathmandu….

Despite the best preparations for your travels, it is unavoidable that you sometimes come across something completely unexpected….

This is what happened to me, when I was standing in front of the impressive gates of the eye catching wildlife hospital at the head quarters of Chitwan National Park in Sauraha.

I had never heard of it and in my reading up for this trip, I had found no references for it.

The only reason I had stumbled across it was, that I had visited the local wildlife museum and wanting to investigate some working elephants further down on the premises,

I found myself standing in front of it.

First however a few words about the museum:

Considering the equally impressive front of the building, including lifesized models of an Asian rhino and of a huge ghadial, I had been more than happy to part with the modest entrace fee of 100 rupees ( 70 cent).

Once entering though, I found myself inside a horror cabinet of pickled animals of all sizes, which would have rivalled a Damian Hurst exhibition on its curiosity level. Everything that can and should and everything that should not be displayed in a glass jar could be found here…..

On the acceptable side it arguably included rhino foetuses and a number of smaller fish species, but finding wild cats, pocupines, a pangolin or small songbirds submerged in large quantities of ethanol, just looked wrong and it didn’t get much better, when I came across the exhibits of two rare ganges dolphines, which despite all efforts to preserve them, appeared in a miserable state.

It all reminded me of a short story by the famous German author Siegfried Lenz, where the protagonist during the black market years following the second world war, ran a brazzing trade by providing American GIs with endless quantities of alcohol for their parties. Only when the booze ran out on a specifically wild occasion, so that the narrator had to turn up unannounced at his supplier at the natural history department of the local university, the source of the moonshine became apparent…..

The twist in the tail was, that when he returned to the party with fresh supplies, his customers were so happy, that they insisted, that he had to join them for a few drinks…….

The exhibits at the wildlife museum, which had avoided the pickling treatment, had been equally unfortunate, as they appeared to have fallen into the hands of a class of novice taxidermists or they must otherwise have been the handiwork of someone who should never have taken up this trade.

The beautiful body of a once lean leopard balanced bloated on top of a tree branch, with its limbs twisted in unnatural angles. A new born rhino looked more like a charred Pompeian house hold pet or like a piglet in the final stage of spit roasting.

Now to the wildlife hospital:

Despite its shut gates (it was the weekend after all…), I had much higher hopes.

Over the following two days, I made a number of enquiries, but only a couple of hours before my (thankfully) delayed return flight from Baratpur to Kathmandu, I was fortunate enough to meet up with my local colleague Dr Bikalpa Karki, who was kind enough giving me a brief guided tour.

What I saw though, was sobering….

As impressive as the building had been on the outside, the rooms inside were mostly empty, with laboratory and anaesthetic equipment that was not functional, where essential supplies were missing or where my colleague and his team had no received any training on how to use it.

As it turned out, the majority of the team’s workload, partially due to the size of their patients, was still ongoing as ambulatory activities in the field.

Working with injured wild animals isn’t without a risk, with accidents unfortunately not unusual to happen in Chitwan, so that it was not too difficult for me to accept, when my colleague was somewhat reluctant to show me the only inpatients of the clinic, two tigers, which were held in a compound adjacent to the hospital.

A success story however appeared to be the rhino orphanage. A small group of three juvenile rhinos of different ages were living on the compound which the hospital shared with the Nepalese army. The three youngsters appeared to have a well protected life among the military barracks.

The example of the museum and the hospital showed, that buildings can only be a start and that both skills and gear are needed to make a great idea a lasting success. Time will tell, in how far this will be the case in Chitwan.

(If any my colleagues reading this entry is planning to visit Chitwan National Park in the nearer future, please do get in touch with me directly on vet@bluecat-ltd.com , if you are interested to support the veterinary team at Chitwan NP with your knowledge or with much needed equipment.)

When the sun sets at Chitwan National Park in the low lands of Nepal, it is strictly forbidden and also certainly not advisable to set foot in a jungle where well over 100 tigers, a similar number of leopards, some wild elephants and over 20% of the world’s population of Asian rhinos are roaming free. And I haven’t even counted in the odd sloth bear, the mugger crocodiles and a number of poisonous snake species which you also don’t want to run into, in the middle of the night…..

This rule, enforced by the Nepalese army, has one exception : together with a native guide, you are allowed to spend the night at one of the few watch towers, which are located for research purposes in the middle of the park…..

It was just after 4 pm, the air temperature had just started to drop below 40C, when Jivan, my local guide, and I set out, armed with two solid sticks, our dinner of Dal Bhat and the all essential two pint bottles of Gurka Premium (still cold !) to our lodging for the forthcoming night.

After a short tuktuk journey, we had to cross a small contibutory to the Rapti river with a dugout canoe,

while a rare gharial was enjoying the slowly fading sunlight just a few meters away.

We then followed a small path through the thick forest, where we came across a our first spotted deer.

As beautiful as this was to watch, this was also the prime food source for larger predators. And sure enough, the presence of a tiger was confirmed by some fresh paw prints in the middle of the path a few moments later.

Continuing to walk at good speed now, we managed to arrive at the watch tower, just in time before sun was setting.

The tower was much larger than expected and it was a pleasant surprise that there was not only a bed with mosquito netting waiting for me, but the tower featured also the luxury of a toilet, which made a risky venture into the bushes surrounding the tower in the middle of the night superfluous.

After spending a short time on the ground below the structure, we noticed that the number of deer around us and near the local river started to increase, so that Jivan felt it to be wise for us to retreat to the safety of the tower and – similar to a medieval fortress – to lower the draw bridge at the top of the stairway to make the building big cat proof.

Time to open the – still somewhat cold – beer and to wait and see, what was coming to visit us….

As soon as darkness descended, the air was filled with the sounds of cicadas, frogs, night jars, the odd distressed lapwing, owls and pygmy cupwings. Then the first fire flies appeared among the trees and…. eventually something larger approached from the depth of the jungle towards the clearing near the river, where a group of deer where now feeding off the fresh green grass……

A dark shadow appeared, paused a couple of times and passed then at more speed the tower, before moving towards the deer…..

Ok, not quite a tiger, but a wild boar was also a creature, which I wouldn’t have enjoyed encountering on the ground at this time of the night.

Eventually, we were surrounded by total darkness and we had to depend on the light of the powerful torch which Jivan had brought along, to investigate the sounds around the tower.

The problem with larger cats though is, that they are – like their domestic cousins – noiseless hunters and if you hear a sound, it is usually too late already.

Eventually there was some movement and the beam of the torch homed in on a tree, 10-15 m away from the tower. Some dark shadows were moving up and down the trunk before appearing again on the neighboring tree – some rare Black Giant squirrels, with up to 2kg bodyweight the largest squirrels in the world, which even Jivan with his 14 years experience as a ranger had never seen before.

Having had this unexpected surprise and with the beer now finished, we agreed to make it an early night with the hope for some further sightings at first light the next morning.

Sure enough, just after 5 AM Jivan woke me up and pointed towards a large rock near the river….

It took me a moment to figure out what he meant, when the rock suddenly started to move slowly among the grass….a large Asian rhino had taken its morning bath and was now enjoying its breakfast !

It was exactly what I had hoped for when travelling to Chitwan – to see one of these gentle giants in its natural habitat. Seemingly not in hurry, the rhino remained long enough at the river bank for me to take a few photos, before disappearing then into the tall grass.

There were no further sightings that morning and before the temperature had once again risen to an unbearable level, driving both animals and their human visitors into cooler hiding places, we found ourselves back at the river, finishing our night at the watch tower.