Chasing rhinos

As quickly as we had been flung into the colourful consciousness of the city, we were bumping and bouncing our way out, from pothole to rubble, on the five hour tourist bus to Chitwan National Park. At this stage of our trip, we very much felt like tourists, not travellers, but we were hopeful that once we had done the 'guidebook greats', we could don the baggy trousers and head scarves and find our travelling mojo (updates on this transformation to follow).

Famous as one of the best places to stalk wildlife in Asia, and one of the last places to allow tourists to go on foot (at your own peril), Chitwan translates as 'heart of the jungle' and we had high hopes of spying on one-horned rhinos.

We were blessed with an animal-guru of a guide, friendly, round-faced Tilak, and a great group of people who were staying in our lodge of relaxed luxury just outside the park. We shared laughs, beers, banquets, mosquito bites and sunsets during our 3 days of safari seclusion - and we sweated in unison in the balmy heat of the Terai region of Nepal.

There are many ways you can enter the national park, each coming with a reasonable price tag and standard T&Cs: 'No animals guaranteed, ok!'. So you pay your fee in blind faith and hope for the best.

As it's the end of the monsoon season in Nepal, the grass in the park is up to 8 feet tall so the best, for us, was spotting the one-horned rhino. We could be spitting distance from a leopard or royal Bengal tiger and be totally oblivious. But for the portly rhino, there's no hiding that big bottom and we'd heard recent reports of spottings and chasings - we would take either!

And so, we started our adventure in the 932 sqkm of sal forest, water marshes and rippling elephant grassland in a narrow, wooden canoe. Greeted by a few basking crocs, kingfishers and wild deer, we sailed down the silty river with the taste of anticipation (and bug spray) on our lips. Mistaking a few buffalos for rhinos, and rustling trees for monkeys, we then took to the jungle on foot - a new, thrilling taste of fear as Tilak instructed us to run for our lives if we came across a charging rhino. No such luck though - a few more deer, some fat furry caterpillars and an unwelcome leech.

Following a quick diversion to the elephant breeding centre (not recommended for animal lovers), that evening we were jeeped to a local, Tharu village to watch a group of very agile local boys and men perform the traditional Tharu stick dance, spiced up with fire, a man dressed up as a very convincing woman and a giant, dancing peacock. At the end, the girls from our group, including myself, got up on the dusty, wooden stage to join in. It was fast and sweaty as our throbbing feet slapped on the hard floor, but the energy and excitement was infectious and we laughed and danced until it hurt! After a few high fives with the performers, we dragged sweat-drenched bodies home - buzzing with contentment. But still, we dreamed of rhinos.

4.30am and Tilak is pounding on our door - it was jeep safari time! We flew down the quiet roads to get to the park, watching the pink sunrise over the mountains in the distance. Keeping quiet along the track through the park, we saw lots of spotted deer and stags, shuffling wild boar and nimble monkeys - but the rhino hopes remained, like an absent guest at this wild party. Still, the sight of the snowy peaks of the Annapurna skyline as we drove out of the jungle was more than consolation - we went from dense forest to iced mountain views in seconds.

That afternoon it was elephant safari time, something I wasn't completely sure about - how happy could an elephant be with 300 kgs of human on its back? But I went with the jungle swing of things, and didn't want to miss out on the precious rhino spot. We sauntered through the jungle and marshland atop this incredibly powerful, and sadly, incredibly tame animal, and spotted lean samba deer, stags and a quick-footed barking deer. There was also the not so rare breed of noisy Chinese tourists who surely frightened off all the other wildlife with their bellowing calls of "Which country?!"to neighbouring elephant groups.

So, that was our chance over, no rhino. We had only seen the prints of a mother and baby. It was becoming as mythical a beast as the little-seen, Himalayan snow leopard.

At 5.30am on our last morning in Chitwan, I toyed with the idea of having a lie-in while Med and some of the others went out on Tilak's bird walk. But, never a person to miss out, I threw on some clothes and headed out still full of sleep - despite gulping down a coffee with three teaspoons of sugar. We squelched and slipped along the muddy river bank, noone really over-enthused but the sightings of herons and other avian sightings. And then came a call that jolted us all out of our sleep-starved state: "RHINO!" "RHINO!" COME!" - and we all scurry after Tilak to see if it's really true.

There, just 20 metres away on the other side of the river, was a enormous male rhino, cooling off in the water as he munched his way through kilos of breakfast - fresh, long grass. We took in the amazing view, grinning at each other, and then back at the rhino. At last! Tilak showed us, over and over again, our pathway to run should the rhino start to charge. But Mr.Rhino seemed happy enough in the water, watching us from time to time before continuing to chomp away with that powerful jaw of his. We even got the delight of his big bottom, all nobbly and notched like compacted pebbles on a beach.

So, we chased down our rhino, and thankfully he didn't chase us. Dhanyabad, Chitwan!