Interesting article from the NY Times about the growth of the urban population. I thought this was especially interesting since I have been observing urban life in Kathmandu. Also the book I just finished about the slums and poor people of Calcutta ties in well with this article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/28/world/28population.html?em&ex=1183262400&en=e21c0c5ad1860aa0&ei=5087%0A
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
This and That
Here are a few random things I have noticed in the last month or so, or just random sightings of recent:
-Many of the children and babies wear eyeliner. A very thick black coal lined around their eyes. I'm not exactly sure why, I am pretty sure it's not to make them look more attractive. I think it might just be something like the tikka that many people wear. The tikka is the red dot that is placed on the forehead. You can always tell when a baby has been crying because their eyeliner will be streaked down their face.
-I have noticed a few garbage trucks recently! So there actually is a bit of organization regarding sanitation. Some of the garbage trucks are just carts pulled by street kids, some a much larger. But as far as I can tell, everyone throws their garbage into huge mounds on the street, and then a garbage truck might come by and the garbage men shovel it in the truck with trowels.
-Dead dogs. I have been noticing a fair amount recently. Alot of the time though I think I see a dead dog on the street. Sometimes you need to stop for a minute and stare at it's body to see if it moves. The dogs are absolutely not afraid or bothered by people. They sleep in the middle of the sidewalks, streets, and really anywhere where there is an inch of space. So it is hard to tell if they are dead or alive. The other day I saw a definite dead one. As I was walking to work in the morning I think it was still alive but maybe had another minute or two to live. It was basically a sack of bones with fur on it. Then on the way back from work it was completely dead.
-YCL: The Young Communist League. I saw about 40 young kids with YCL jackets carrying around communist flags the other day. They were all sitting in the middle of a field having a nice lunch picnic. I was quite interested in them and the Nepalis seemed to be as well, as they all stopped and were starring with interest.
-Rodeo Drive of Kathmandu. I have found what I call the Rodeo Drive of Kathmandu. It is a street of very nice shopping stores that I don't think are knock off stores but I'm not sure. There is an Adidas, Samsonite, and a Baskin Robbins. The stores are unusually nice and clean for the city as well as the street it is on. Also the people who walk up and down this street seem to be the young and old professionals of the city.
-Many of the children and babies wear eyeliner. A very thick black coal lined around their eyes. I'm not exactly sure why, I am pretty sure it's not to make them look more attractive. I think it might just be something like the tikka that many people wear. The tikka is the red dot that is placed on the forehead. You can always tell when a baby has been crying because their eyeliner will be streaked down their face.
-I have noticed a few garbage trucks recently! So there actually is a bit of organization regarding sanitation. Some of the garbage trucks are just carts pulled by street kids, some a much larger. But as far as I can tell, everyone throws their garbage into huge mounds on the street, and then a garbage truck might come by and the garbage men shovel it in the truck with trowels.
-Dead dogs. I have been noticing a fair amount recently. Alot of the time though I think I see a dead dog on the street. Sometimes you need to stop for a minute and stare at it's body to see if it moves. The dogs are absolutely not afraid or bothered by people. They sleep in the middle of the sidewalks, streets, and really anywhere where there is an inch of space. So it is hard to tell if they are dead or alive. The other day I saw a definite dead one. As I was walking to work in the morning I think it was still alive but maybe had another minute or two to live. It was basically a sack of bones with fur on it. Then on the way back from work it was completely dead.
-YCL: The Young Communist League. I saw about 40 young kids with YCL jackets carrying around communist flags the other day. They were all sitting in the middle of a field having a nice lunch picnic. I was quite interested in them and the Nepalis seemed to be as well, as they all stopped and were starring with interest.
-Rodeo Drive of Kathmandu. I have found what I call the Rodeo Drive of Kathmandu. It is a street of very nice shopping stores that I don't think are knock off stores but I'm not sure. There is an Adidas, Samsonite, and a Baskin Robbins. The stores are unusually nice and clean for the city as well as the street it is on. Also the people who walk up and down this street seem to be the young and old professionals of the city.
Cultural Differences
This is an interesting thing I was discussing with another volunteer in my program. She teaches English to Nepali school children grades 4 through 8. The other day she was teaching them names of animals such as elephant, lion, tiger, zebra, bird, etc... She began to discuss with the children what animal they were most afraid of. The first frightening animal that would come to my mind maybe would be rats, snakes, spiders, lions. But the Nepali children responded that the most frightening animal to them would be a mosquito!! How interesting and illuminating of the cultural differences that influence our fears. After thinking about it, it makes total sense for a Nepali child to be afraid of a mosquito. Mosquitos here carry debilitating and often fatal diseases such as malaria, yellow fever, and dengue fever. They have no reason to be afraid of lions and tigers but have all the reason in the world to be afraid of malaria. I thought this was incredibly interesting. It would be an interesting experiment to travel around the world and ask young school children what animal they are most afraid of. I think in all parts of the world this answer would be different based on cultural, geography, and other history. Asking children this question is interesting because they usually would just answer what came right to their mind and not deliberate. How interesting!!
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Guns, Germs, and Steel
I just finished "Guns, Germs, and Steel" by Jared Diamond. This book is fabulous!! Everyone should read it. It has really ignited new interests in me about the world and how things now are so entwined in seemingly mundane factors from history. I have begun to learn why certain people are dominant today: especially people who originated from the Eurasian continent. Some of the factors that gave Eurasian people according to Diamond are domestication of certain plants and animals, technology and the diffusion of it, and the axis of the geographical area (ex: Africa and the Americas have a North-South axis and Eurasia has a East-West axis.) Anyhow, this book is illuminated and a great read. I highly recommend it for anyone!
Calcutta: The Human Face of Poverty
I just finished a book called "Calcutta: The Human Face of Poverty" by Frederic C. Thomas. This is an illuminated expose on the different levels of slums and poverty in Calcutta. It goes through a recent history of Calcutta with in the last 200 years or so, and explains how and why slums were started and why they continue to thrive. Actually the slum population is growing faster than the population of Calcutta as a whole. It was interesting because Thomas explains what different organizations are doing to help the slums and bustees and what does and doesn't work. Also there are good sections on slum politics and organization. I was actually quite surprised to learn that alot of people living in the slums are not their permanently, and quite a few people in the slums are not actually poor but choose to live in these conditions for various reasons. I recommend this book to anyone interested in slum life and possible ways to make life for people living at this level of poverty a little better.
The Brick
I had seen the boy many times before. Where? I tried to rack my brain. Scan through a laundry list of a few dozen faces of street children that I had begun to recognize. Ah, yes, now I remembered. I had first encountered the boy about a week ago. I was sitting on the steps near a street vendor cart, eating sme chapatis with a friend. We were contently observing the late night street scene of Thamel. Hoards of young adults and adolescents coming in and out of "Bar With Dance" aka the Nepali version of strip clubs. Young prostitutes roamed the street, some obviously no older than 15. A grimace of determination on their young faces as they tried to bring in some money that night. White dented and chipped taxis lined the dark streets. Inside the drivers slept, a few hours of peace until the sun would rise yet again. Their taxis which were their place of work in the day time morphed into their home and place of rest in the shadowed hours of the night. Rickshaw drivers too curled up uncomfortably in the tiny, cramped seats where during the day they cart around passengers. My friend and I were pondering the strange but real existence it would be to work, live, sleep, and eat in the same dingy, cramed vehicle all day and all night. We thought it would be depressing, but for them it is a means of a good income so they are likely very happy to drive the crazy streets of Kathmandu during the day and sleep in their rickety vehicles at night. Just then two young street boys came up to us. It is no longer alarming to us, their raggedy and dirt covered state. We've seen them many times before. No shoes, ripped pants that are either way too big or way too small, a shirt that at one time long ago was maybe white, but is now a deep brown and crusted with miscellaneous chunks of rotten food and vomit. If they are lucky a jacket, but probably not. Their faces hollow, hair coming off in chunks. And of course, the crumpled plastic bag permanently attached to their tiny hands. These kids are always boys, always young, and always have this plastic bag which becomes like another appendage permanently on their body. The bag is worn out, pretty small in size, held tightly around the top with grimy fingers, and filled with fumes of a sufficient amount of super glue. These boys put their bag up to their mouths and heavily breath in and out for a few seconds, the bag expanding and contracting like a lung that has just finished a marathon. They then pull the bag away from their mouths, their eyes glaze over, and they stumble around the dark streets. No longer able to walk straight they enjoy a few minutes of the "high", their escape from life on the streets.
While sitting on the side of the street, sitting under the glum lights of late night restaurants and bars two boys came up to my friend and me. I watchen them approach, bare feet, they quickly stuffed their crumpled plastic bags down the back of their pants hoping we wouldn't notice. The two boys came up to us and asked us for 20 rupees (abut 30 cents), pointing at the street vendor cart. We refused. But couldn't they please just have a few rupees? They were hungry! No, we said, we know that you will use it to buy superglue. They adamently say they don't huff glue. Thats bad. But we saw you, we say. We saw you stuff your plastic bag down your pants. They continue to deny these claims as an absurdity on our part. I ask them how old they are. I guess between 7 and 9 judging by their small stature. They are 13 and 15, they say! Surprised, I think to myself that their incredibly small size is likely a consequence of malnourishment and huffing glue from a very early age. These kids have probably been living on the street for a good portion of their life. After asking us a few more times for money they deem it a lost cause and walk away. They are just 10 feet away from us before they extort their plastic bags and take a few long pulls from them, forgetting our existence all together.
I again saw one of these young boys, the one who claimed to be 15 years old but with the boy of an 8 year old. I was walking to work in the morning and he was laying on a piece of cardboard tucked away between two stores. He layed on the cardboard with another young boy. The other boy was curled up in a ball, sleeping. At first I thought the boy I knew was sleeping too unitl I looked a little closer. He was laying on his back staring up into the sky. His eyes halfway open, glazed over and glassy. A look of pure desperation on his face. A look of anger at the world, a look of submittance to his fate, at the same to so uncaring and hardened. I walked by his glassy eyed stare.
Later that day I was walking home from work. It was late afternoon and the streets were hustling and bustling. Kids walking home from school in their crisp school uniforms, business people coming home from work. Street vendors yelling, advertising their wares. I was walking by one of the busy traffic intersections of the city. One that is paved and with fully functioning traffic lights that a select few abide by. The sidewalks full of the flowing crowd. The streets teeming with homeward bound cars and taxis. On the corner of the street intersection I spotted this young boy I knew and had seen earlier that day. He was wailing, tears streaming down his face. He held a brick in his hand up by his head like he was about to throw it at someone. I shrunk away a little bit hoping I would not end up in the path of a flying brick. But he did not throw it. He just held it up, in the position ready to be thrown, crying, bawling. I looked around to see if there was someone he might be aiming the brick at. There was not. Who or what was he aiming this solid red chunk at? A dog, a young street thief, his life, his addiction? He didnt move, just stood there, tears streaming down his stunted face. They forged clean rivers down his dirty cheeks. Brick in hand, ready to be thrown and bawling, no one noticed him. Businessmen walked by clutching their brief cases. Women giggled with each other and strolled hand in hand through the newly approaching evening. Dogs padded by licking their mangy fur. The boy with the brick stood in place, continued with his tantrum, watching the people go home, to their families, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, dogs, beds, showers, and dinners. He has none of this. Just a brick and a few raggedy clothes. And as the sun disappears and night spreads over the city he will find solace in his crumpled plastic bag, and then none of it will matter anymore.
While sitting on the side of the street, sitting under the glum lights of late night restaurants and bars two boys came up to my friend and me. I watchen them approach, bare feet, they quickly stuffed their crumpled plastic bags down the back of their pants hoping we wouldn't notice. The two boys came up to us and asked us for 20 rupees (abut 30 cents), pointing at the street vendor cart. We refused. But couldn't they please just have a few rupees? They were hungry! No, we said, we know that you will use it to buy superglue. They adamently say they don't huff glue. Thats bad. But we saw you, we say. We saw you stuff your plastic bag down your pants. They continue to deny these claims as an absurdity on our part. I ask them how old they are. I guess between 7 and 9 judging by their small stature. They are 13 and 15, they say! Surprised, I think to myself that their incredibly small size is likely a consequence of malnourishment and huffing glue from a very early age. These kids have probably been living on the street for a good portion of their life. After asking us a few more times for money they deem it a lost cause and walk away. They are just 10 feet away from us before they extort their plastic bags and take a few long pulls from them, forgetting our existence all together.
I again saw one of these young boys, the one who claimed to be 15 years old but with the boy of an 8 year old. I was walking to work in the morning and he was laying on a piece of cardboard tucked away between two stores. He layed on the cardboard with another young boy. The other boy was curled up in a ball, sleeping. At first I thought the boy I knew was sleeping too unitl I looked a little closer. He was laying on his back staring up into the sky. His eyes halfway open, glazed over and glassy. A look of pure desperation on his face. A look of anger at the world, a look of submittance to his fate, at the same to so uncaring and hardened. I walked by his glassy eyed stare.
Later that day I was walking home from work. It was late afternoon and the streets were hustling and bustling. Kids walking home from school in their crisp school uniforms, business people coming home from work. Street vendors yelling, advertising their wares. I was walking by one of the busy traffic intersections of the city. One that is paved and with fully functioning traffic lights that a select few abide by. The sidewalks full of the flowing crowd. The streets teeming with homeward bound cars and taxis. On the corner of the street intersection I spotted this young boy I knew and had seen earlier that day. He was wailing, tears streaming down his face. He held a brick in his hand up by his head like he was about to throw it at someone. I shrunk away a little bit hoping I would not end up in the path of a flying brick. But he did not throw it. He just held it up, in the position ready to be thrown, crying, bawling. I looked around to see if there was someone he might be aiming the brick at. There was not. Who or what was he aiming this solid red chunk at? A dog, a young street thief, his life, his addiction? He didnt move, just stood there, tears streaming down his stunted face. They forged clean rivers down his dirty cheeks. Brick in hand, ready to be thrown and bawling, no one noticed him. Businessmen walked by clutching their brief cases. Women giggled with each other and strolled hand in hand through the newly approaching evening. Dogs padded by licking their mangy fur. The boy with the brick stood in place, continued with his tantrum, watching the people go home, to their families, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, dogs, beds, showers, and dinners. He has none of this. Just a brick and a few raggedy clothes. And as the sun disappears and night spreads over the city he will find solace in his crumpled plastic bag, and then none of it will matter anymore.
Burn Unit
Another volunteer and I struck up a conversation with the nurse who was helping in the burn case (which I talked about in the previous post.) She told us about the Burn Unit at Bir Hospital, a much bigger hospital close by. She told us that about 70% of the patients were burn victims! This was surprising to me. Apparently alot of these burn victims were attempted suicides. There are alot of problems with social structure in Nepal, especially regarding women. Arranged marriage is the norm here so I think there is alot of depression and mental illness associated with this. Also I think spousal abuse is prevalent here. So alot of these burn victims are women who have poured kerosene on themselves and then lit themselves on fire in an attempt to escape their lives. I was shocked to hear this and saddened as well. I can't imagine what it would be like to have an arranged marriage and be expected from an incredibly early age to bear children and be a housewife. Also divorce is not very accepted here so it's difficult to get out of an unhappy marriage. Anyway, this nurse offered to take us to the Bir Hospital Burn Unit to tour it next week. This should be an interesting field trip which I will report about next week.
Interesting Cases
I am learning so much at the hospital! It's really fabulous. The doctors encourage us to carry around notebooks to jot down anything and to take pictures of patients and surguries. Then to go home at night and look up the things we did not know from that day. Usually the day starts with taking patients with Dr. Om. This is always great, but if he is busy he doesn't have time to translate to us so we just guess what is wrong from the hand gestures and disposition of the patient. He tells us the symptoms of the patient and asks us to diagnose what we think is wrong. Since none of us are medical students, we are most always wrong but it is still fun to take a stab at it. He usually sees about 15-20 patients in the morning which we sit in for and jot down notes. Most people who are coming in for to see Dr. Om are complaining about some sort of abdominal pain. The ER is also fun too. Here are a few interesting cases in the last few days:
*A man came in to the ER with HORRIBLE burns on his face and chest and most of his abdomen. He had been making a big pot of dal (the lentil soup stuff that Nepalis eat with rice) and had someone spilled the entire pot of boiling dal on his face and abdomen. I tried to figure out how he did this, but really couldn't. The doctors said something about taht he was adjusting a curtain and it spilled. But I don't see why he would have a boiling pot of dal on the top shelf of a book shelf or something. Anyhow he was pretty horribly burned. he was covered in blisters and had bad skin damage on his front. So we watched in the ER procedure room as they cleaned off all the spilt dal, then popped all the massive burn blisters with tweezers which were filled with a watery yellow fluid. Then they peeled off all the burned skin. Then they poured saline all over him and put an antibiotic cream on his face and abdomen. He also had burn blisters in his ears which looked painful. He was then dressed in a few layers of gauze and given a pain killer.
*A woman with septisimia. This is the woman who later "expired" and caused hoardes of riot police to come to the hospital and guard it. I watched the surgery where they operated on her to try to clean out the infection. She was about 20 years old.
*A man with triple positive tuberculosis.
*A man with tuberculosis. I got to listen to his chest and hear how crackly it was. He had a fever for about a month and had not eaten or had an appetite for a month. His tuberculosis was very bad as could be heard from his chest.
*A man with typhoid. He had all the symptoms of typhoid which Dr. Gupta taught us. He also taught us how to test for typhoid depending on how long the patient has had symptoms. This method is called "basu." The first week blood will test positive, second week agglutiation will be positive, third week stool will be positive and fourth week urine will be positive. It is interesting to be doing this work here in Nepal because I get to see alot of diseases that I would never see in US like alot of typhoid, some possible malaria, and alot of tuberculosis. There is the Tuberculosis hosptial near by which I plan to visit soon.
*A man came in to the ER with HORRIBLE burns on his face and chest and most of his abdomen. He had been making a big pot of dal (the lentil soup stuff that Nepalis eat with rice) and had someone spilled the entire pot of boiling dal on his face and abdomen. I tried to figure out how he did this, but really couldn't. The doctors said something about taht he was adjusting a curtain and it spilled. But I don't see why he would have a boiling pot of dal on the top shelf of a book shelf or something. Anyhow he was pretty horribly burned. he was covered in blisters and had bad skin damage on his front. So we watched in the ER procedure room as they cleaned off all the spilt dal, then popped all the massive burn blisters with tweezers which were filled with a watery yellow fluid. Then they peeled off all the burned skin. Then they poured saline all over him and put an antibiotic cream on his face and abdomen. He also had burn blisters in his ears which looked painful. He was then dressed in a few layers of gauze and given a pain killer.
*A woman with septisimia. This is the woman who later "expired" and caused hoardes of riot police to come to the hospital and guard it. I watched the surgery where they operated on her to try to clean out the infection. She was about 20 years old.
*A man with triple positive tuberculosis.
*A man with tuberculosis. I got to listen to his chest and hear how crackly it was. He had a fever for about a month and had not eaten or had an appetite for a month. His tuberculosis was very bad as could be heard from his chest.
*A man with typhoid. He had all the symptoms of typhoid which Dr. Gupta taught us. He also taught us how to test for typhoid depending on how long the patient has had symptoms. This method is called "basu." The first week blood will test positive, second week agglutiation will be positive, third week stool will be positive and fourth week urine will be positive. It is interesting to be doing this work here in Nepal because I get to see alot of diseases that I would never see in US like alot of typhoid, some possible malaria, and alot of tuberculosis. There is the Tuberculosis hosptial near by which I plan to visit soon.
1 Down, 999 To Go
Last Saturday the other volunteers and I took a night away from the city and went to Nagarkot. It is stationed on top of the hills on the outskirts of the Kathmandu valley. It is great to get away from the craziness of the city for a night. It was very refreshing. We left Friday afternoon and stayed the night at The Elephanthead Hotel (which I highly recommend.) On Saturday we all woke up at 4:30 in the morning and watched the sunrise. This is actually in the book of 1000 Things To Do Before You Die. We sat on the roof and watched for about an hour. Truely amazing. We were above the clouds and could see the rolling hills all around us covered in a blanket of thick, lush greenery. Also we got some great views of the monstrous Himalayan peaks behind us. This was a truely wonderful and magical sight. One down, 999 to go. I'm off to a good start!!
An Interesting Occurance
Today upon arrival at the hospital two other volunteers and I were surprised to find the scene full of police decked out in preparation for a riot. We entered the ER to try to figure out what was happening. My first thought was that there was some sort of bomb threat made to the hospital. The ER doctor told us that someone had "expired." This was strange I thought, we are working in a hospital in Nepal. Don't people "expire" here alot? Actually a young woman about 20 years old had died either last night or this morning. I wrote about her in one of my previous posts. She was the woman who had an ovarian cyst removed. Then she had a second operation (which I scrubbed in on and have pictures of) because of complications from the first operation. She had a perforated bowel which was leaking into her abdominal cavity which caused an infection. While touring the hospital I saw her a few hours before her second operation. She looked like she was in immense pain and her abdomen was extremely distended. later that day I watched her second surgery. A few days later she is dead. This is a very strange thing. It's very strange to be able to flip through my camera and see her laying on the operating table: alive. Back to today: as the day continued more and more riot police arrived at the hospital. They were coming because of the death of this woman. They were there incase a riot started due to this woman's death. I was fully confused, and still am. Judging by the amount of police that were there (maybe 50-60 by the time we left) they must have been expecting a full scale riot. But why would people riot? Yes, a young woman died due to surgical complications that may have been preventable. But isn't one of the known risks of surgery death? At a hospital people are inevitably going to die. Had her death leaked to the papers? Do people think that modern medicine will save everyone? Anyway, it was all quite strange. As the day went on more and more police arrived and the scene became increasingly strange. The other two volunteers and I stationed at Manmohan decided to leave. A few people recommended we leave the scene too, just incase it got ugly. Anyway I am still trying to figure the whole thing out. I am planning on looking through the newspapers today and tomorrow to see if I can figure it out a little more.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
My First Surgery
I have officially started working at Manmohan Memorial Hospital! It's great fun because the volunteers are pretty much given free range to go and observe whatever we want. I think the hospital staff are under the impression that we are medical students, although none of us actually are. We've tried to explain a few times that we are still "undergrads" but it hasn't really registered.
My first day I scrubbed in on a gall bladder removal surgery. It was a quick surgery, about an hour, but was pretty late getting started because the anesthesiologist was late. My second day I scrubbed in on a much more complicated surgery. A woman had an ovarian cyst removed the previous day and had developed an infection so had to be operated on again. The incision for this surgery was much larger than the one for the gall bladder removal. It was somewhat strange to watch the doctors rummaging around in her organs, like they were searching for something at the bottom of a huge purse. Anyway, it was a good one to watch. There are a few surgeries everyday that we can watch if we want.
I personally like the ER, and have had a little experience in one at VGH. Yesterday a young guy came in with severe head trauma. He had been working at a Thamel restaurant at about 2 AM and some thiefs came and beat him over the head and stole all the money from the restaurant. I tried to figure out from him and the docs what the weapon was. The ER docs don't speak English so was, but I extrapolated "hammer." But I'm still not fully sure. Anyway, he had gashes all the way down to his skull and was in EXTREME pain. He wasn't crying but you could tell by the look in his eyes. He got some pain killers and was a little better. Thank god he didn't have a skull fracture, so we stitched him up and he will hopefully be feeling better soon.
The hospital is really quite nice and the doctors are very professional. A good amount of them did their fellowships at medical schools in the US. I met with the director Dr. Gupta yesterday, a jolly guy, very boisterous. There are quite a few wards which we can go into any. Not sure about the gynecology department though, I have heard the resident gynecologist is rather mercurial. Most of the "work" in the hospital for us is just observing, which we can learn a great deal. The doctors encourage us to take pictures and carry around a note pad to write down medical conditions and terms to look up later. I have already taken some great pictures of the surgeries I scrubbed in on.
My first day I scrubbed in on a gall bladder removal surgery. It was a quick surgery, about an hour, but was pretty late getting started because the anesthesiologist was late. My second day I scrubbed in on a much more complicated surgery. A woman had an ovarian cyst removed the previous day and had developed an infection so had to be operated on again. The incision for this surgery was much larger than the one for the gall bladder removal. It was somewhat strange to watch the doctors rummaging around in her organs, like they were searching for something at the bottom of a huge purse. Anyway, it was a good one to watch. There are a few surgeries everyday that we can watch if we want.
I personally like the ER, and have had a little experience in one at VGH. Yesterday a young guy came in with severe head trauma. He had been working at a Thamel restaurant at about 2 AM and some thiefs came and beat him over the head and stole all the money from the restaurant. I tried to figure out from him and the docs what the weapon was. The ER docs don't speak English so was, but I extrapolated "hammer." But I'm still not fully sure. Anyway, he had gashes all the way down to his skull and was in EXTREME pain. He wasn't crying but you could tell by the look in his eyes. He got some pain killers and was a little better. Thank god he didn't have a skull fracture, so we stitched him up and he will hopefully be feeling better soon.
The hospital is really quite nice and the doctors are very professional. A good amount of them did their fellowships at medical schools in the US. I met with the director Dr. Gupta yesterday, a jolly guy, very boisterous. There are quite a few wards which we can go into any. Not sure about the gynecology department though, I have heard the resident gynecologist is rather mercurial. Most of the "work" in the hospital for us is just observing, which we can learn a great deal. The doctors encourage us to take pictures and carry around a note pad to write down medical conditions and terms to look up later. I have already taken some great pictures of the surgeries I scrubbed in on.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Going to the Movies
Yesterday I experienced going to the movies in Kathmandu. A friend and I went to the local cinema yesterday afternoon and were thrilled with the outcome. The movie playing was an Indian made Bollywood film and it was great! The movie was full of song and dance numbers and was about a love story between two people who meet at a train station. The other Nepalese movie goers around us were especially boisterous and laughed wildly at the scenes that had anything to do with romance and also when there were any swear words. My friend and I could not understand the whole movie but we got the general gist of it. The movie it seemed was in a mix of languages including some English and some Hindi. There were English sub-titles but they were not really well written so produced a most hilarious narration for us Westerners. Great fun!
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Bungee Jumping
Yes I have done it. Bungee jumping was definetally one of the best things I have done here so far. It was spectacular, amazing, and thoroughly terrifying. The bungee package includes a full day excursion to "The Last Resort" which is about a three hour drive from Kathmandu. It is northeast fromt he Kathmandu, close to the Nepal-Tibet border.
On bungee jumping: The bungee is attached to massive wire suspension bridge over the raging Bhote Kosi river. This bungee jump is the second highest in the world following one in South Africa. The process of doing the bungee is actually so absurd, I was laughing to myself all day. When the group of us arrived and walked across the suspension bridge most of us could not stop laughing at the absurdity of the situation. We were about to jump 166 meters with nothing but a rubber cord attached to our ankles into a huge valley with one of Nepal's roughest rivers directly bellow. It is just so absurd you cannot help but laugh at the situation. You are shuttled over The Last Resort where everyone is weighed and your weight is written on your hand so they know which cord to attach to your feet. Then a group of about 10 people are shuttled back on to the bridge where you watch as one by one, everyone goes over the edge. The order is from heaviest to lightest and I was near the end of the pack so I got to watch everyone go first. The first jump of the day was of a rather large European who was outfitted in fanny pack and other typical tourist gear. When he jumped we all screamed and laughed and cried! It is a crazy sight to see someone plunging down 166 meters and it looks they will not stop but instead plunge into the river below. Finally it was my turn. I walked over to the jump masters who attached my harnesses. I told the rest of the people in my bungee group that it had been nice knowing them. Then I walked onto the platform, inch by inch while one of the jump masters held onto my harness. As I looked down 166 meters below to the raging river a strange rush of emotions came over me. I felt like laughing, crying, vomiting, and dancing. From inside my ribcage came a rush of heat through my body. I was short of breath and felt very hot, like someone had ripped me open and was setting my heart on fire. So this is what fear is, I thought. During this whole process someone is filming so you can watch your jump later on. The jump master told me to wave at the camera. I couldn't both with this as being a film star at this moment was far from my first priority. Finally I told myself it was time. JUMP! This was so frightening, but fabulous! You free fall for about 4 seconds and then just when you think you will continue your fall straight into the river you bounce back upwards and then subsequently hang upside down reliving the rush for a few minutes. Anyway, bungee jumping is great and I recommend it to everyone as long as you don't have heart problems.
On the Canyon Swing: After the bungee jump I could not resist but to do the Canyon Swing as well. This entails putting on a harness and jumping off the same platform as the bungee jump. But instead of going head first straight down, you go for a 240 meter arc through the valley at 150 kilometers per hour. Also you get an 8 second free fall which is thoroughly frightening. This swing is the largest of its kind in the world.
After we all got to watch the videos of our jumps together. This was pure comedy because the camera catches everyone right before their jumps when they are filled with nervousness and fear but also quite giddy. Some of the pre-jump comments include "So this is safe right?" or "I hope I survive" or "Why am I doing this?" or "It's been nice knowing you."
All in all the bungee jump and swing run by The Last Resort is a first class operation, great fun, and has very high safety standards if anyone is worried about that. Recommended!
On bungee jumping: The bungee is attached to massive wire suspension bridge over the raging Bhote Kosi river. This bungee jump is the second highest in the world following one in South Africa. The process of doing the bungee is actually so absurd, I was laughing to myself all day. When the group of us arrived and walked across the suspension bridge most of us could not stop laughing at the absurdity of the situation. We were about to jump 166 meters with nothing but a rubber cord attached to our ankles into a huge valley with one of Nepal's roughest rivers directly bellow. It is just so absurd you cannot help but laugh at the situation. You are shuttled over The Last Resort where everyone is weighed and your weight is written on your hand so they know which cord to attach to your feet. Then a group of about 10 people are shuttled back on to the bridge where you watch as one by one, everyone goes over the edge. The order is from heaviest to lightest and I was near the end of the pack so I got to watch everyone go first. The first jump of the day was of a rather large European who was outfitted in fanny pack and other typical tourist gear. When he jumped we all screamed and laughed and cried! It is a crazy sight to see someone plunging down 166 meters and it looks they will not stop but instead plunge into the river below. Finally it was my turn. I walked over to the jump masters who attached my harnesses. I told the rest of the people in my bungee group that it had been nice knowing them. Then I walked onto the platform, inch by inch while one of the jump masters held onto my harness. As I looked down 166 meters below to the raging river a strange rush of emotions came over me. I felt like laughing, crying, vomiting, and dancing. From inside my ribcage came a rush of heat through my body. I was short of breath and felt very hot, like someone had ripped me open and was setting my heart on fire. So this is what fear is, I thought. During this whole process someone is filming so you can watch your jump later on. The jump master told me to wave at the camera. I couldn't both with this as being a film star at this moment was far from my first priority. Finally I told myself it was time. JUMP! This was so frightening, but fabulous! You free fall for about 4 seconds and then just when you think you will continue your fall straight into the river you bounce back upwards and then subsequently hang upside down reliving the rush for a few minutes. Anyway, bungee jumping is great and I recommend it to everyone as long as you don't have heart problems.
On the Canyon Swing: After the bungee jump I could not resist but to do the Canyon Swing as well. This entails putting on a harness and jumping off the same platform as the bungee jump. But instead of going head first straight down, you go for a 240 meter arc through the valley at 150 kilometers per hour. Also you get an 8 second free fall which is thoroughly frightening. This swing is the largest of its kind in the world.
After we all got to watch the videos of our jumps together. This was pure comedy because the camera catches everyone right before their jumps when they are filled with nervousness and fear but also quite giddy. Some of the pre-jump comments include "So this is safe right?" or "I hope I survive" or "Why am I doing this?" or "It's been nice knowing you."
All in all the bungee jump and swing run by The Last Resort is a first class operation, great fun, and has very high safety standards if anyone is worried about that. Recommended!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Flesh Colored Paint
The other day I was wandering Durbar Square when I happened upon an art supply store. I had been wanting to purchase some watercolors so I went inside and bought a cheap set for 100 rupees. After getting back to my room and inspecting the colors that came in the set I noticed that one of the colors was titled "Flesh Color." The color that is of flesh is that of a pale peachy pink, like the skin of Europeans. I thought this was interesting that "flesh color" in this part of the world is the color of flesh of people in a whole different part of the world. The closest color in the set to the flesh color of people here is called "Burnt Sienna." I thought then, well maybe this set of paints was made in the USA (although not likely) or maybe it was make in some other part of the world where people have pink skin. After further investigation I found that the set was made in India where the majority of people I believe also do not have skin the color of "Flesh." This I thought was a very interesting discovery. I wonder why the "Flesh Color" of the paints of South Asia is not a deep beautiful brown, but is rather pale European pink. How strange.
Do white skinned people so dominate that skin colored paints in South Asia are made the color of a foreigner's skin rather than their own color of skin? Maybe I am reading too much into this but this thought brought on many others that I have been thinking about. Mainly the idea of "white-priviledge." I remember debating for many hours with my room mate about the idea of "white-priviledge." She said the idea was ridiculous and that there was no such thing. I said that the idea was not ridiculous and that it fully existed and was thriving. I cited to her a study I had read about in Sociology class: equally qualified people of different races applied for all different sorts of jobs in different sectors. Even when a person of color was more qualified than the white person, the white person was more likely to get the job. This is just one example that I could think of. Especially in a third-world country that is also a tourist destination the huge gap between the locals and the travellers (no matter their skin color) is always apparent. I then began to wonder how white people have become so very dominant in the world? (Note: I know I am making some broad generalizations here, so if anyone does not agree with me or has other opinions, please tell me! I am eager to learn other view points.)
So lucky me should I stumble upon a book that addresses this exact (or close to it) question. It is called "Guns, Germs, and Steel" by Jared Diamond. The aim of the book is to figure out how and why Eurasian people have become dominant, conquering multitudes of people throughout the course of human history. I quickly purchased the book and have been studying it ever since. Some people will say: well it is because Eurasian peoples invented many technologies, and invented guns, and created tools of metal. Well why did not this happen in Africa instead of in Europe of North America? Some people will say that certain people are genetically smarter than others, but I do not think this is true. So soon I shall learn why different continents and different communities progressed at very different rates, and the reason (according to Diamond) that Eurasian people have come to dominate much in the world. I have just started to book so I may already be drawing the wrong conclusions from the first part of the book or making assumptions. But this book is very interesting so far, and I am excited and interested to learn more about this subject.
Do white skinned people so dominate that skin colored paints in South Asia are made the color of a foreigner's skin rather than their own color of skin? Maybe I am reading too much into this but this thought brought on many others that I have been thinking about. Mainly the idea of "white-priviledge." I remember debating for many hours with my room mate about the idea of "white-priviledge." She said the idea was ridiculous and that there was no such thing. I said that the idea was not ridiculous and that it fully existed and was thriving. I cited to her a study I had read about in Sociology class: equally qualified people of different races applied for all different sorts of jobs in different sectors. Even when a person of color was more qualified than the white person, the white person was more likely to get the job. This is just one example that I could think of. Especially in a third-world country that is also a tourist destination the huge gap between the locals and the travellers (no matter their skin color) is always apparent. I then began to wonder how white people have become so very dominant in the world? (Note: I know I am making some broad generalizations here, so if anyone does not agree with me or has other opinions, please tell me! I am eager to learn other view points.)
So lucky me should I stumble upon a book that addresses this exact (or close to it) question. It is called "Guns, Germs, and Steel" by Jared Diamond. The aim of the book is to figure out how and why Eurasian people have become dominant, conquering multitudes of people throughout the course of human history. I quickly purchased the book and have been studying it ever since. Some people will say: well it is because Eurasian peoples invented many technologies, and invented guns, and created tools of metal. Well why did not this happen in Africa instead of in Europe of North America? Some people will say that certain people are genetically smarter than others, but I do not think this is true. So soon I shall learn why different continents and different communities progressed at very different rates, and the reason (according to Diamond) that Eurasian people have come to dominate much in the world. I have just started to book so I may already be drawing the wrong conclusions from the first part of the book or making assumptions. But this book is very interesting so far, and I am excited and interested to learn more about this subject.
Suddenly Last Summer
Has anyone read Tennessee Williams' "Suddenly Last Summer" play? If so you will remember the rather frightful final scene of the play which concludes with Sebastian's horrific death where he is mobbed by street children. Anyway a similar event happened to me today while I was strolling the grounds of Swayambhunath. (But don't worry the scene was not even close to as horrific as the one in Suddenly Last Summer and I was actually rather pleased that something sort of happened to me that was in one of Tennessee Williams' plays.) So I was circling the grounds (clockwise of course) and watching the different monks walk to and fro, young and old. Suddenly a mob of about 10 very wretched looking street children surrounded me saying their usual "one-biscuit, miss, miss, one-biscuit" but these children were quite a bit more aggressive than the usual ones you find in Thamel. Usually the only tap you and ask or stick their hand in your face, but these ones were tugging and pulling and crowding. It was a little bit overwhelming for a moment, but you must also note that none of these vagrants were more than 4 feet tall and probably the eldest was only 8 years of age. They were especially dirty, tattered, and dripping with snot. I said repeatedly "No, No, No, No, No!" But they persisted and were becoming very pushy and grabbing and refusing to let me walk forward. This was not a frightening situation but just mildly annoying and claustrophobic. Anyway, they refused to give up and let me walk to I had to resort to pushing them away slightly. A wrinkled, sari-clad woman squatting by noticed and grabbed her huge, probably 6 foot long stick that she kept close at hand. Along she scuttered to my rescue beating the children off of me and chasing them away as if they were stray dogs. They shuffled away trying to avoid the wrath of the stick.
So this was my Tennessee Williams moment.
So this was my Tennessee Williams moment.
Short Warning
Here is a short warning for anyone who is travelling in Nepal. People have tried to pull this one over on me twice so far so I think it deserves a post. So when you are exploring in areas that may attract some tourists this can happen frequently. People will come up to you and present you with a some-what official looking document with indeciferable writing and try to get you to pay them an "entrance fee." Do not do this! These people are scam artists so beware. Usually the people who try this know no English at all and just shove some papers in your face and assume that you will get scared of consequences and pay them some money. Again I repeat, do not give them any money! If the person does not look official and is not wearing any sort of uniform then just ignore them. They can be rather persistent because I am sure this trick has worked on tourists before, but just ignoring them is the trick. So far people have tried this on me at Swayambhunath aka "The Monkey Temple" and Durbar Square in Kathmandu.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Monsoon
The monsoon is now fully upon us here in Nepal. There are a few changes which take place with the monsoon:
-The smell of sewage is constantly in the air. Since there are such heavy rains are intermittent times during the day this causes constant overflow of the sewage drains and pipes. So the sewage overflow runs about everywhere causing an unpleasant smell.
-The roads turn to mud. Since many of the Kathmandu roads are not paved but are dirt they turn to sticky and slippery mud when the monsoon hits. This only adds to the chaos of the streets when the roads turn to mud.
-Open sewer grates. It's even more necessary to watch your step when the monsoon hits. The manholes to the sewer below are often left open. This means there are holes scattered all over the place that drop down into the river of the sewer below. So if you do not watch yourstep you could find yourself swimming in feces!
-Monsoon vegetables. With the rains comes an outpouring of new types of vegetables. The vegetable peddlers on the streets seems to have increased ten fold. The colors of the vegetables are amazingly brilliant green, red, orange, and purple.
-There are much more mosquitos that come out to suck your blood.
-The rats come out also as the sewers overflow, so they are forced onto the streets. And let me tell you, these things are massive!! The size of cats, and fairly large cats at that.
-The smell of sewage is constantly in the air. Since there are such heavy rains are intermittent times during the day this causes constant overflow of the sewage drains and pipes. So the sewage overflow runs about everywhere causing an unpleasant smell.
-The roads turn to mud. Since many of the Kathmandu roads are not paved but are dirt they turn to sticky and slippery mud when the monsoon hits. This only adds to the chaos of the streets when the roads turn to mud.
-Open sewer grates. It's even more necessary to watch your step when the monsoon hits. The manholes to the sewer below are often left open. This means there are holes scattered all over the place that drop down into the river of the sewer below. So if you do not watch yourstep you could find yourself swimming in feces!
-Monsoon vegetables. With the rains comes an outpouring of new types of vegetables. The vegetable peddlers on the streets seems to have increased ten fold. The colors of the vegetables are amazingly brilliant green, red, orange, and purple.
-There are much more mosquitos that come out to suck your blood.
-The rats come out also as the sewers overflow, so they are forced onto the streets. And let me tell you, these things are massive!! The size of cats, and fairly large cats at that.
Should We Globalize Labor Too?
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/10/magazine/10global-t.html?ex=1182139200&en=25afc86a074123c0&ei=5070&emc=eta1
Article from the New York Times Magazine, June 10th, 2007.
Article from the New York Times Magazine, June 10th, 2007.
Patan
Today I walked to Patan from Kathmandu in the morning. Patan's Durbar square is quite a sit, similar to Kathmandu's Durbar square but much bigger with more amazing architecture, temples, and stupas. In Patan it is much easier to get around than in Kathmandu because there are actually some sidewalks (!!). This is quite nice and allows for more leisurely strolls. Patan is a good place to go for the day and is in walking distance from Kathmandu, but you could also take a taxi if you wanted.
The Personality of A City
Every city has a personality and each can be compared to a person. Some are huge, loud, and obnoxious. Some are small and shy with a hint of spice. Some are dirty, some clean, some smart, some scatter brained. I also think that cities function like a human body. The streets are the veins through which pulses the blood of the body. There are organs and arteries which keep the blood pumping. The city like a body can become sick and diseased. Two cities which ahve quite different health reports are Singapore and Kathmandu. Singapore is healthy and strong. It has gone to regular checkups at the doctor. It exercises regularly and eats healthfully. Yes, it may have had a few colds in it's life and maybe one bout of strep throat. But in general it is full of vitality and thriving. Now, Kathmandu is whole different story. Kathmandu refuses to go to the doctor. It drinks too much, chain smokes, and has multitudes of cancerous growths. It has done too many psychedelic drugs in it's younger years and now it is missing a little bit of it's mind. It eats candy and fried food all day. It gets migrans and has constantly has severe gastro-intestinal problems. One diseased city, one healthy. Both have their own charm and both are equally interesting yet are completely different. Singapore is like a well oiled machine and Kathmandu is a rusty, dilapidated bus by the side of the road in dire need of repair.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
On Sanitation
It's a curious thing that not a single person seems to care about keeping this city clean. This is one thing I really can't figure out. A good sanitation system does not seem so out of reach as many things seem in this country. There are hoards of people who do nothing all day but sit around and would probably like a steady income. There are trucks big enough to fit the bill of garbage truck. Installing some permanent garbage cans around the city does not seem so difficult or costly. Distributing garbage cans to people around the city and implementing a schedule of when the garbage truck will come does not seem so difficult either. As of now the main landfill in Kathmandu is the Bagmati river, a most horrific sight. There is litterally garbage every where. Heaps and heaps and masses of it. It just sits there and rots and the heaps grow to hills and the hills grow to mountains. It is really baffling. So far I have seen not even one single garbage can in Kathmandu. Not one!! If you have garbage you throw it on the ground, if you are in the taxi and have garbage it goes out the window. So my question is why does no one make any effort whatsoever to keep their wonderful city clean? I mean really, they can't be satisfied living in such filth. I just don't understand this phenomenon. Here are a few possibilities of why there is no sanitation system:
-Lack of money
-Lack of caring
-"It is already dirty so we can make no difference" mentality
-Lack of a viable solution
-Makes no difference to them
Anyway, whatever it is, the problem has now become so deep rooted and complex it would take decades if not longer to really clean this city up. I just don't understand how you could be satisfied living in such filth. But then again, maybe they are not satisfied.
-Lack of money
-Lack of caring
-"It is already dirty so we can make no difference" mentality
-Lack of a viable solution
-Makes no difference to them
Anyway, whatever it is, the problem has now become so deep rooted and complex it would take decades if not longer to really clean this city up. I just don't understand how you could be satisfied living in such filth. But then again, maybe they are not satisfied.
Resentment
I have been searching for the right word to describe something and finally have decided that the word is "RESENTMENT." A few other words I thought of but don't properly describe what I am thinking of include "discouraged," "annoyed," "disheartened," "irritation." But after mulling it over I have decided that "resentment" fits what I am about to describe. There is something just below the surface, something subtle, something I don't think many people would notice or care to notice about the Nepalese people. (Note: I am generallizing a little when saying all the Nepalese people.) It is like the blue veins you can sometimes see on your wrist. They are there and pulsing but you hardly notice. Resentment. During exchanges with locals you can sometimes pick up a hint of resentment, but I think they try very hard to keep this feeling to themselves. Here is what many (especially people in the cities) see everyday: foreigners from all over the world coming to their country for vacation, travel, to expand their minds while many scrounge in heaps of garbage for their next meal. We come clothed in the best new hiking gear, backpacks full of valuable things, shiny jewelry and sunglasses. They triple their prices for us but we bargain them down, even though we both know we have enough money to pay the price three times over. We trapse around town going on expensive treks, renting bikes, buying clothes, getting massages, eating at any restaurant we chose. The most lavish meal for us is only three dollars. We have fun, laught, are generally carefree. We think we are learning so much about their county. We have enough money to buy anything we want. Our shoes cost more than they will see in 6 months, our backpacks cost more than they will see in a year. We now know and understand the plight of the third world, we tell ourselves. We have dreadlocks and beads in our hair and wear no shoes while they forage money to buy a pair of plastic sandals that are meant to last the whole year. We plug our noses in disgust at the rivers while they wash in them. We avert our eyes from the mountains of garbage, they pick through it for their next meal. We only drink botrtled water of course, our stomachs can't handle their water. They drink from the taps by the side of the road that spout water mixed with sewage. We are hungry: we buy a snack. They are hungry: they wait in silence. We buy incense, buddah trinkets, artwork, hats, socks. They buy dirt crusted vegetables by the side of the road. We sip the finest "Everest" beer while the street children huff glue outside on the street. How could anyone not feel a twinge of resentment seeing this in front of their eyes? We come to their country, and yet they live in their country and will never have what we have. How could they not feel resentful? Wouldn't you?
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Update
Sunday June 10th-
Hello everyone-
I am currently back in Kathandu staying at Hotel Puskar in Thamel. I will start my internship at Manmohan Memorial hospital in 10 days and at this time I will also be moving in with a Nepalese family. I will keep updates about this. The next 10 days I think I will spend exploring Kathmandu a little bit more and maybe go on a few long day trips to Patan and Bhaktapur.
Hello everyone-
I am currently back in Kathandu staying at Hotel Puskar in Thamel. I will start my internship at Manmohan Memorial hospital in 10 days and at this time I will also be moving in with a Nepalese family. I will keep updates about this. The next 10 days I think I will spend exploring Kathmandu a little bit more and maybe go on a few long day trips to Patan and Bhaktapur.
Sewage Overflow
I was browsing one of the numerous book shops sprinkled through Thamel and was jolted from my reading by a sudden horrific smell. This was not just the smell of rot, this was the smell of rot, mold, garbage, and thousands upon thousands of people's fecal matter. I put down the book I was flipping through and stepped outside to find a shocking and somewhat disturbingly comical sight. The manhole cover to the sewer below had been taken off and the gaping mouth in the cement was spewing gallons upon gallons of raw sewage. The surrounding street within a 20 foot radius was filling with a thick muck of yellowish brown feces stew. Foreigners plugged their noses and wretched. Nepalese women frowned distastefully and held their saris to their noses. The street children frolicked in it and splashed one another (why - I do not know. Maybe to disgust the foreigners.) Shoeless men curmudgeonly fished into the gurbling manhole with their bare hands and with long metal rots. They stirred the hole that vomitted feces like it was a pot of delicious soup. All this while the most horrible smell was wafting about settling over the scene like a heavy fog. After watching this spectacle for about 15 minutes I had to depart as the smell was much too overpowering and I felt the fecal fog seeping into my pores. So away I went from the chunky sludge of the sewer.
Nepal Lessons
I have compiled a list of things I have learned in Nepal so far. Here they are:
1) There is no such thing as a rat or roach free hotel.
2) Cockroaches are not the vilest of vile creatures.
3) How to properly haggle.
4) The body language of someone who wants to cheat you.
5) The proper way to take a walk through the streets of Kathmandu without letting the street children, beggars, touts, salesmen, garbage, stray dogs, drug dealers, rickshaw drivers, and trekking guides bother me. (Note: It is all in the word "No!")
6) The joys of tea, especially Nepalese milk tea. (Yum!)
7) When to tell a white lie. (Suspicious person on the street at night: "Are you alone?" Me: "No, my husand is right back there.")
8) How much most things really cost. (Note: for anyone who is not Nepali prices are doubled, tripled, or quadrupled, therefore must be bargained down.)
9)How to balance and hold on for dear life while riding one of Kathmandu's ubiquitous rickshaws.
10) How to survive the frequent power outages of Nepal. (Note: keep flashlight and candles close at hand!)
11) How to get the street kids off your trail. (Note: feign complete disinterest and IGNORE!)
12) How to manuver through the insanityof Kathmandu streets.
13) How to capture cockroaches whom have taken it upon themseles to nest in one's bag. (Note: the tried and true "capture-under-the-garbage-pail-put-a-piece-of-paper-underneath-and-drag-outside" method works best.)
14) How to sleep on rock hard mattresses.
15) How to shower in ice cold showers.
16) That eating museli in your bed is not a good idea. (Note: this brings on phalanxes of ants.)
17) How to tell a Nepali person from a Tibetan person.
18) How to not have a heart attack when hearing the blaring horn of the local buses.
19) How to get all the worms out of the lychee before eating. (Note: they burrow into the pit so check where the tree twig connects with the fruit skin. There are always a few lurking here, but if you miss some, don't worry: extra protein.)
20) How to take the bus long distances.
21) That it is not possible to simultaneously itch 35 mosquito bites, so its better to just give up.
22) That when drinking yak butter tea with the monks it is better to think of it as soup. (Thanks Bill.)
23) That eating dal bhat with your hands is much more fun than with a spoon and fork!
24) All the best foods from the street vendors.
25) That swatting 40 flies off you at once is impossible, so its bewtter to just let them eat the crumbs of whatever off your skin.
26) To wwalk on the other side of the street from gangs of street kids huffing glue.
27) That "No, I do not want that Tiger balm, necklace, socks, hat, incense, marijuana, hashish, underwear, violin, pottery, thanka, or purse thank you." (Note: insert appropriate item for each salesperson.)
28) How to tell a real saddhu from a fake one.
29) How to sit discreetly on a street corner to watch the street life without being asked 25 times if I am lost. ("No, just watching.")
30) That seeing a monk dressed in maroon and gold robes riding a motorcycle and talking on his cell phone is not as strange as I initially thought. (Still amusing though.)
31) That there is absolutely no garbage or sanitation system to speak of.
32) That some people (locals) are resentful about the foreign presence.
33) That the Nepal "hills" look more like looming mountains to me and the "mountains" are gigantic beyond all reason.
34) That the greeting here is not "How are you?" but "have you eaten?"
35) How to tell a rabid dog.
36) How to live out of a backpack. (It is surprising how little we really need.)
37) How to deal with the famous Nepali leeches.
38) How to take it all in. (Note: I am still working on this one.)
39) That I am very very fortunate and lucky to be living the life that I am!
1) There is no such thing as a rat or roach free hotel.
2) Cockroaches are not the vilest of vile creatures.
3) How to properly haggle.
4) The body language of someone who wants to cheat you.
5) The proper way to take a walk through the streets of Kathmandu without letting the street children, beggars, touts, salesmen, garbage, stray dogs, drug dealers, rickshaw drivers, and trekking guides bother me. (Note: It is all in the word "No!")
6) The joys of tea, especially Nepalese milk tea. (Yum!)
7) When to tell a white lie. (Suspicious person on the street at night: "Are you alone?" Me: "No, my husand is right back there.")
8) How much most things really cost. (Note: for anyone who is not Nepali prices are doubled, tripled, or quadrupled, therefore must be bargained down.)
9)How to balance and hold on for dear life while riding one of Kathmandu's ubiquitous rickshaws.
10) How to survive the frequent power outages of Nepal. (Note: keep flashlight and candles close at hand!)
11) How to get the street kids off your trail. (Note: feign complete disinterest and IGNORE!)
12) How to manuver through the insanityof Kathmandu streets.
13) How to capture cockroaches whom have taken it upon themseles to nest in one's bag. (Note: the tried and true "capture-under-the-garbage-pail-put-a-piece-of-paper-underneath-and-drag-outside" method works best.)
14) How to sleep on rock hard mattresses.
15) How to shower in ice cold showers.
16) That eating museli in your bed is not a good idea. (Note: this brings on phalanxes of ants.)
17) How to tell a Nepali person from a Tibetan person.
18) How to not have a heart attack when hearing the blaring horn of the local buses.
19) How to get all the worms out of the lychee before eating. (Note: they burrow into the pit so check where the tree twig connects with the fruit skin. There are always a few lurking here, but if you miss some, don't worry: extra protein.)
20) How to take the bus long distances.
21) That it is not possible to simultaneously itch 35 mosquito bites, so its better to just give up.
22) That when drinking yak butter tea with the monks it is better to think of it as soup. (Thanks Bill.)
23) That eating dal bhat with your hands is much more fun than with a spoon and fork!
24) All the best foods from the street vendors.
25) That swatting 40 flies off you at once is impossible, so its bewtter to just let them eat the crumbs of whatever off your skin.
26) To wwalk on the other side of the street from gangs of street kids huffing glue.
27) That "No, I do not want that Tiger balm, necklace, socks, hat, incense, marijuana, hashish, underwear, violin, pottery, thanka, or purse thank you." (Note: insert appropriate item for each salesperson.)
28) How to tell a real saddhu from a fake one.
29) How to sit discreetly on a street corner to watch the street life without being asked 25 times if I am lost. ("No, just watching.")
30) That seeing a monk dressed in maroon and gold robes riding a motorcycle and talking on his cell phone is not as strange as I initially thought. (Still amusing though.)
31) That there is absolutely no garbage or sanitation system to speak of.
32) That some people (locals) are resentful about the foreign presence.
33) That the Nepal "hills" look more like looming mountains to me and the "mountains" are gigantic beyond all reason.
34) That the greeting here is not "How are you?" but "have you eaten?"
35) How to tell a rabid dog.
36) How to live out of a backpack. (It is surprising how little we really need.)
37) How to deal with the famous Nepali leeches.
38) How to take it all in. (Note: I am still working on this one.)
39) That I am very very fortunate and lucky to be living the life that I am!
Travel Delays
I have had quite a few bus experiences the last few weeks going from Kathmandu to Pokhara to Tansen and back. The bus trip is always estimated to be about 6 hours, but always ends up being 8 or 10 or maybe even 12 hours depending on what is going on that day. On my way to Tansen we were delayed for 4 hours because of a "strike." I decided to investigate to figure out more so I walked up and down the line of hundreds of buses on the street and found out that a child was murdered in the village so the villagepeople were not letting any people through because they were trying to find the murderer! What a tragedy!
Coming back into Kathmandu today we were stuck in a 4 hour traffic jam. Tomorrow and the next day there are scheduled to be strikes so there will be no traffic. I am guessing everyone was trying to get in last minute deliveries and such today. So we grinded along for 5 hours in the Kathmandu din of the evening. So, anyone traveling by bus in Nepal: take the estimated time of the trip and add 4 hours for the actual time of the trip.
Coming back into Kathmandu today we were stuck in a 4 hour traffic jam. Tomorrow and the next day there are scheduled to be strikes so there will be no traffic. I am guessing everyone was trying to get in last minute deliveries and such today. So we grinded along for 5 hours in the Kathmandu din of the evening. So, anyone traveling by bus in Nepal: take the estimated time of the trip and add 4 hours for the actual time of the trip.
Ironies
This country is full of ironies. Some dark and depressing, some comical. I constantly find myself chuckling at tiny things that no local would notice but I think are teriffically funny or interesting. Here are a few observations.
SACRED COWS EAT GARBAGE: Cows roam the streets everywhere you go. They seem to not be bothered by the hustle and bustle of the crazy streets and are content to go about their business of lazing about. The cows are sacred in Nepal and you will rarely if ever find somewhere that sells hamburgers. The cows are looked upon as gods. What is strange is that the sacred, god embodying, cows eat garbage! They can always be found at one of the monstrous garbage heaps on every street eating rotting food, garbage bags, and old discarded shoes. Quite strange.
SACRED RIVER = LANDFILL: Another oddity. I walked to the Bagmati river in Kathmandu the other day and was horrified at how dirty it is! The water is a mixture of sewage, black sludge run off from the brick and carpet factories, and masses and masses of garbage. I can't even describe how much garbage is in the river. Take however much you are imagining and multiply in by 100. It is quite strange also because people make pilgrimages to the Bagmati river from all over India and Nepal because it is "purifying." People take ritual dips and baths in the Bagmati to wash away their sins. So these people are a few sins less and a few parasites and diseases more. How ironic!
SACRED COWS EAT GARBAGE: Cows roam the streets everywhere you go. They seem to not be bothered by the hustle and bustle of the crazy streets and are content to go about their business of lazing about. The cows are sacred in Nepal and you will rarely if ever find somewhere that sells hamburgers. The cows are looked upon as gods. What is strange is that the sacred, god embodying, cows eat garbage! They can always be found at one of the monstrous garbage heaps on every street eating rotting food, garbage bags, and old discarded shoes. Quite strange.
SACRED RIVER = LANDFILL: Another oddity. I walked to the Bagmati river in Kathmandu the other day and was horrified at how dirty it is! The water is a mixture of sewage, black sludge run off from the brick and carpet factories, and masses and masses of garbage. I can't even describe how much garbage is in the river. Take however much you are imagining and multiply in by 100. It is quite strange also because people make pilgrimages to the Bagmati river from all over India and Nepal because it is "purifying." People take ritual dips and baths in the Bagmati to wash away their sins. So these people are a few sins less and a few parasites and diseases more. How ironic!
Leech Country
I have been trying to love all animals and have even grown a morbidly fond love for the cockroaches. Ok, maybe not fond, but a curiosity about them rather than horrific disgust. The next animal I am trying to grow to love is the leech. I had my first real encounter with the leech yesterday. At first I thought they were the most vile creatures, but after a long hike I began to enjoy them. (Ok, I admit, this is a little overstatement too.)
In Pokhara I made a friend from Russia and we decided that the next day we would trompse around the hills during the day and enjoy a nice jungle walk. From Lakeside, the touristy area of Pokhara, the World Peace Pagoda can be seen far off on top of a hill on the other side of the lake. I had been eyeing it from my balcony every day but had not yet got up the energy to take the trek because I was feeling a bit under the weather. My friend Janae and I awoke early and departed the city at about 8 AM. We walked through a few small villages, over a rickety suspension bridge, stopped at a few road side places for tea and were finally on our way up the hill into the jungle. The day was a bit humid, but a refreshing mist was falling from the sky. Over the past week the monsoon had really started full blast. This means that at about 4 pm every day there are torrential rains. It's actually quite nice. Anyway, we made our way through jungle "paths" higher and higher. We stopped to look at a colony of ants and saw a 3 inch long leech inching about on the leafs below. He said he was sure that they did not suck blood, and I told him I was sure that yes, they did. He said in Russia the only leeches they have live in the rivers and lakes. Anyway about 10 minutes of walking later I looked down at my boots and noticed a phalanx of leeches creeping up my boots and socks!! Vile creatures!! I quickly bent down and tried to brush them off but they are very strong little creatures. They suckers lock on to boots and skin like glue. I shuddered and felt my shoulders and scalp. We learned about leeches in biology this year: they come out in the humid weather, especially the monsoon. They hang out on low lying bushes and leaves and when they sense a person or animal walking by that exudes any body heat they latch on. Also, they hang out in trees and when they sense movement and heat below they drop in for the kill.
Along the trek we met up with a group of 4 Nepali guys who were also heading up to the Peace Pagoda so we joined forces. So our group of 6 continued upward on constant leech patrol. I was the only one in our trekking group with anysense not to wear flip flops so I did not have as much trouble as they did. (Thank you REI socks!) They were constantly prying the little suckers off their ankles, feet, and between their toes. The leeches have some sort of stuff in their venom that makes the blood flow more easily, so when you pull off a leech you get a river of blood that does not stop flowing for about an hour.
Leech patrol became more like a game and was actually kind of fun. When hiking in leech country you must simultaneously do these things: walk, watch the path, try to take in the sights, watch for poisionous red ants, check your boots or feet for leeches, brush off the leeches that are inching up your boots, check to see if there are any in your socks, pry the ones off your skin, constantly brush your shoulders and neck for leeches. It was actually kind of an absurd sight: a group of 6 people trekking up the jungle trails constantly brushing at their feet. I picked up a small sharp rock to pry them off my shoes when I found one. By the time we reached the World Peace Pagoda all the boys' feet were gushing blood. I am happy to say I did not suffer any leech bites but found a multitude of the creatures in my socks that I had to pry out.
In Pokhara I made a friend from Russia and we decided that the next day we would trompse around the hills during the day and enjoy a nice jungle walk. From Lakeside, the touristy area of Pokhara, the World Peace Pagoda can be seen far off on top of a hill on the other side of the lake. I had been eyeing it from my balcony every day but had not yet got up the energy to take the trek because I was feeling a bit under the weather. My friend Janae and I awoke early and departed the city at about 8 AM. We walked through a few small villages, over a rickety suspension bridge, stopped at a few road side places for tea and were finally on our way up the hill into the jungle. The day was a bit humid, but a refreshing mist was falling from the sky. Over the past week the monsoon had really started full blast. This means that at about 4 pm every day there are torrential rains. It's actually quite nice. Anyway, we made our way through jungle "paths" higher and higher. We stopped to look at a colony of ants and saw a 3 inch long leech inching about on the leafs below. He said he was sure that they did not suck blood, and I told him I was sure that yes, they did. He said in Russia the only leeches they have live in the rivers and lakes. Anyway about 10 minutes of walking later I looked down at my boots and noticed a phalanx of leeches creeping up my boots and socks!! Vile creatures!! I quickly bent down and tried to brush them off but they are very strong little creatures. They suckers lock on to boots and skin like glue. I shuddered and felt my shoulders and scalp. We learned about leeches in biology this year: they come out in the humid weather, especially the monsoon. They hang out on low lying bushes and leaves and when they sense a person or animal walking by that exudes any body heat they latch on. Also, they hang out in trees and when they sense movement and heat below they drop in for the kill.
Along the trek we met up with a group of 4 Nepali guys who were also heading up to the Peace Pagoda so we joined forces. So our group of 6 continued upward on constant leech patrol. I was the only one in our trekking group with anysense not to wear flip flops so I did not have as much trouble as they did. (Thank you REI socks!) They were constantly prying the little suckers off their ankles, feet, and between their toes. The leeches have some sort of stuff in their venom that makes the blood flow more easily, so when you pull off a leech you get a river of blood that does not stop flowing for about an hour.
Leech patrol became more like a game and was actually kind of fun. When hiking in leech country you must simultaneously do these things: walk, watch the path, try to take in the sights, watch for poisionous red ants, check your boots or feet for leeches, brush off the leeches that are inching up your boots, check to see if there are any in your socks, pry the ones off your skin, constantly brush your shoulders and neck for leeches. It was actually kind of an absurd sight: a group of 6 people trekking up the jungle trails constantly brushing at their feet. I picked up a small sharp rock to pry them off my shoes when I found one. By the time we reached the World Peace Pagoda all the boys' feet were gushing blood. I am happy to say I did not suffer any leech bites but found a multitude of the creatures in my socks that I had to pry out.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
The Kite Runner
I just finished "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. I highly recommend this book. It was hard to put it down, a great tale about sin, redemption, and family. A+!
I traded this book in at the local book store today for two books. One is called "On Human Bondage," which looked interesting. Another is called "A Handbook for Mankind" about Buddhism and Buddhist philosophy. I figure, what better place to learn about the philosophy and religion of the East than in Nepal?
I traded this book in at the local book store today for two books. One is called "On Human Bondage," which looked interesting. Another is called "A Handbook for Mankind" about Buddhism and Buddhist philosophy. I figure, what better place to learn about the philosophy and religion of the East than in Nepal?
Burps, Belches and Snot Rockets
Pertaining to matters of gas and snot, the Nepalese people are not subtle pertaining to these hygenic matters. After a meal people let out loud belches which I believe signifies that you enjoyed the food.
One matter that I still have not gotten used to and still see as somewhat vile is the "snot rocket." The snot rocket is when you put a finger over one nostril and blow as hard as you can through the other nostril sending a spray of boogers and snot everywhere. People do this everywhere: men, women, and children. So, when you are walking down the street you need to watch because snot rockets fly all over the place.
Another thing I still cringe at: hocking loogies (sp?). This is when you hock at the very depths of your lungs, to get all the phlegm and snot out and spit it at great lengths. People do this at dinner, on the bus, in the taxi, when drinking tea. Everywhere. Another thing to add to the list of things to watch for when on the street: huge masses of phlegm that fly around like stray bullets. If you are unlucky, one might land on your feet or bottoms of your pants.
Nose picking: people are very open with picking their nose. No discreetness here. The pick and flick, I call it. Add flying boogers to the list of things to watch for as well.
One matter that I still have not gotten used to and still see as somewhat vile is the "snot rocket." The snot rocket is when you put a finger over one nostril and blow as hard as you can through the other nostril sending a spray of boogers and snot everywhere. People do this everywhere: men, women, and children. So, when you are walking down the street you need to watch because snot rockets fly all over the place.
Another thing I still cringe at: hocking loogies (sp?). This is when you hock at the very depths of your lungs, to get all the phlegm and snot out and spit it at great lengths. People do this at dinner, on the bus, in the taxi, when drinking tea. Everywhere. Another thing to add to the list of things to watch for when on the street: huge masses of phlegm that fly around like stray bullets. If you are unlucky, one might land on your feet or bottoms of your pants.
Nose picking: people are very open with picking their nose. No discreetness here. The pick and flick, I call it. Add flying boogers to the list of things to watch for as well.
Tansen
Well I went to Tansen for less than 24 hours and then came back to Pokhara. Quite frankly I wouldn't recommend Tansen to a traveller. Maybe it was a mixture of hunger, thurst, exhaustion, frustration, general annoyance and anxiety but I did not have a great time there.
I got a room for 100 rupees at The Bajra Hotel, one of the very few places in the town. Tansen is not centered around the tourist/traveller whatsoever. I'm not saying this is bad but it makes it quite difficult to get around and figure things out. The room I stayed in was stationed next to the shared bathroom so it had a stench of stale urine and feces. Not so pleasant. So for one night I shared this room with roaches and spiders and slept (more like tossed and turned) on a 1 inch thick foam mattress.
Reason why I was so frustrated in Tansen: Tansen is way off the tourist/traveller circuit. It is not "touristed" at all. No nice guest houses, no restaurants, no where to relax. This is not why I was frustrated. But because these people rarely if ever see a tourist or someone who looks different than they do they are extremely fastincated/intrigued. So EVERYWHERE I went I was intensely stared at. Absolutely everyone I walked past I could tell was staring, pointing, or saying something about me to their friends. There were times when I would walk by groups and they would look at me and say something to one another and I wanted to say "What are you STARING AT??" I had to say to myself, ok, this is their culture and I look different than everyone else and I need to not get so frustrated. No one was aggressive or rude but it can become quite annoying when people talk about you blatantly in another language and you have no idea what they are saying. I do not lavish amounts of attention so this was a major source of frustration. So, I went to the roof of my hotel which was the only place I could sit in peace and calmed down a bit. I decided why stay if I didn't like it? So back to Pokhara I went in the morning.
Tansen is a pretty big city for Nepal, about 16,000 people. If you don't mind the constant hassle and little time to relax then Tansen may be the place for you. It is like Kathmandu in that it has the hustle and bustle of a city. There are no beggars and no street children so that hassle is gone.
So that was my experience in Tansen.
I got a room for 100 rupees at The Bajra Hotel, one of the very few places in the town. Tansen is not centered around the tourist/traveller whatsoever. I'm not saying this is bad but it makes it quite difficult to get around and figure things out. The room I stayed in was stationed next to the shared bathroom so it had a stench of stale urine and feces. Not so pleasant. So for one night I shared this room with roaches and spiders and slept (more like tossed and turned) on a 1 inch thick foam mattress.
Reason why I was so frustrated in Tansen: Tansen is way off the tourist/traveller circuit. It is not "touristed" at all. No nice guest houses, no restaurants, no where to relax. This is not why I was frustrated. But because these people rarely if ever see a tourist or someone who looks different than they do they are extremely fastincated/intrigued. So EVERYWHERE I went I was intensely stared at. Absolutely everyone I walked past I could tell was staring, pointing, or saying something about me to their friends. There were times when I would walk by groups and they would look at me and say something to one another and I wanted to say "What are you STARING AT??" I had to say to myself, ok, this is their culture and I look different than everyone else and I need to not get so frustrated. No one was aggressive or rude but it can become quite annoying when people talk about you blatantly in another language and you have no idea what they are saying. I do not lavish amounts of attention so this was a major source of frustration. So, I went to the roof of my hotel which was the only place I could sit in peace and calmed down a bit. I decided why stay if I didn't like it? So back to Pokhara I went in the morning.
Tansen is a pretty big city for Nepal, about 16,000 people. If you don't mind the constant hassle and little time to relax then Tansen may be the place for you. It is like Kathmandu in that it has the hustle and bustle of a city. There are no beggars and no street children so that hassle is gone.
So that was my experience in Tansen.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
A Fine Balance
"A Fine Balance" by Rohinton Mistry is a great book for anyone who wants to read and understand a little bit more about the suffering that exists in this part of the world. It's very well written and a great book overall. Highly recommended!
Departing Pokhara
Today is June 3rd (I think) and tomorrow morning if all goes as planned I will be departing Pokhara for Tansen. Tansen is a very small town southwest of Pokhara, as far as I can tell off the tourist circuit. I'm not sure if they will have internet here because of the size but who knows. So if I don't write for a while it's because I am in Tansen and will write again once I get back to a city or find and internet place!
Pokhara Recommendations
Here are my choice picks:
LAXMI GUEST HOUSE: A nice location out of the major tourist area. I had a double room with one big bed and one twin bed. An attached clean bathroom. The rooms are nice, simple, and clean. I had a private balcony with a great view of the lake. Also the room includes a fan which is a plus. The beds have fabulous matresses! After staying at a few guesthouses I have found that many matresses on the beds are equivalent to slabs of marble, same with the pillows. But the matresses and pillows at the Laxmi are nice and soft. There has been a constant sprinkling of tiny ants in my bed, but they don't really bother me.
PUJA BAKERY: This is across from the boat rentals at Ghauri Ghat. It is a small little place run by a stern woman who I am guessing is Puja. A nice view of the lake and the best milk tea in town. A small pot will run you 20 rupees and a cup of milk tea 10 rupees.
LAXMI GUEST HOUSE: A nice location out of the major tourist area. I had a double room with one big bed and one twin bed. An attached clean bathroom. The rooms are nice, simple, and clean. I had a private balcony with a great view of the lake. Also the room includes a fan which is a plus. The beds have fabulous matresses! After staying at a few guesthouses I have found that many matresses on the beds are equivalent to slabs of marble, same with the pillows. But the matresses and pillows at the Laxmi are nice and soft. There has been a constant sprinkling of tiny ants in my bed, but they don't really bother me.
PUJA BAKERY: This is across from the boat rentals at Ghauri Ghat. It is a small little place run by a stern woman who I am guessing is Puja. A nice view of the lake and the best milk tea in town. A small pot will run you 20 rupees and a cup of milk tea 10 rupees.
The Woman By The Lake
It must have been about 6 or 7 oclock judging by the golden, almost ominous glow cast on the surroundings by the setting sun. I was sitting at a rickety metal table in the garden of the Pumpernickel Bakery sipping my evening pot of black tea. Contemplating the day's events, sights, experiences, while lazily counting the number of swelled bug bites on my legs and arms. Maybe 20, 25 I noted to myself while observing the various sizes and shapes and degrees of redness from itching. My table had an amazing view of Phewa Tal lake. I watched as a dozen or so dogs fought playfully with one another. Women carried bucket fulls of laundry to the lake for washing. The entire shore line was lined with small paddle boats painted brilliant yellow, green, blue and red at one time. Now they were chipped and peeling. Gangs of children frolicked by the boats. Old men sat with bamboo fishing poles in their hands, cigarettes lolling out of their mouths. Water buffalo ambled around not sure whether they wanted to snack on lake plants or rest on the shore. The general feeling was joyus as the day had almost come to an end and it was now time to relax. In the distance were hills sprawling in everywhich way; lush green from which came the chorus of bird songs. A cloud blocked the setting orange sun creatng a striking effect of rays emulating from the cloud. A light evening fog set over everything making the scene reak of a Thomas Kinkade painting: almost too fantastical to be real. Something caught the corner of my eye. Amid the evening glory a tiny woman sat crouched, alone. She had a dull gray cloth thrown over her bony shoulders. I noted this was a bit odd because most of the women, no matter how poor, wear brilliant red patterned saris with shiny beaded jewelery looking impecable even when hard at work in the fields. Something was odd about this woman. I continued to watch. Her skin was taunt on her body, on the verge of being a human skeleton with skin stretched tight over her bones. Her hair was different than the usual lusterous, long black hair of the Nepalese women. The common cascading braid adorned with red ribbons and beads was not attached to her list head. Instead a stragley, oilly mass. It was limp, lifeless, looked incredibly thing like it had been falling out in chunks. Her movements were strange; she moved as though she were 200 years old, although must have been about 50. She ever so slowly sifted though the mass of garbage she sad in. Her movements seemed to be in extreme slow motion. She had no strength to do anything. It was like her battery power was about to run out. Her fuel tank on empty: like a warning light that had been on for 5 days, in danger of going dead. After sifting though the garbage she found a few choice pieces, which to me just looked like crumpled paper. Getting up from her crouching position took about 10 minutes, she hardly had the strength to move. Then she took her garbage pieces with her and ever so slowly shuffled about 20 feet to a tiny tin hut which took about 25 or 30 minutes. Here, she crouched down where 5 dogs came over, sitting in a semi-circle around her, organizing themselves quite well: black, tan, black, tan, black. It took all the energy she could muster to toss the garbage pieces to the dogs. They sniffed at the pieces distastefully and decided to go back to playing. She stayed crouched here and she looked over at me. She must have been 80 feet away from me, but even at this distance her eyes drew me in; fierce, angry, tired and dull at the same time. By her eyes I could see her suffering. I couldn't help feeling a wave of guilt crash over me as I looked at my pot of tea, my book open on the table, my nice clothes, and my array of pencils scattered on my bound sketchbook. My main worry at the moment was swatting away a few flies from my tea cup and trying not to itch my mosquito bites. I sheepishly went back to my book trying to brush off this guilt caused by the gap between me and this emaciated woman by the lake.
About half an hour later the Nepali young man at a garden table in my vicinity had struck up a conversation with me. He deemed me a good candidate to ell of his exploits with drugs, travel, and life experiences. I listened carefully through his broken English. In the background a club on the tourist strip was blasting 50 Cent "In Da Club" rap music. I chuckled and thought how odd it was to be listening to gangster rap whiloe watching the sun setting on the scenes of Nepali country life. What a strange and comedic juxtaposition! Purna (the exuberent man at the neighboring table) and I chatted away for a few hours about travels, his woes in India, working for the UN someday, family, friends, and fun. Soon a shrivled middle aged man strolled about in front of us. He was muttering strange things to himself and nodding to us. Every pile of garbage dotted about the shore line he set fire. This man, said Purna, was the emaciated woman's husband. A long time alcoholic with mental problems as well. He spent any money that came his way on liquor and sorely neglected his wife. A few months ago, he said, the woman had elephantitis of the legs and the husband didn't even notice because he was continually in pursuit of a new bottle of vodka, rum or gin to drown his suffering temporarily. He was no longer right in the head, and neight was his wife. They both lived in the tiny tin shack near by and had no food, health care, or electricity and survived on scraps of rotting garbage.
The sun had now set and garbage fires dotted the shore. "Why you don't go to your wife?" Purna asked the man good-naturedly. The man looked over and muttered a few things, smiling to reveal his rotting teeth. We decided we should get some food for the woman in the hut, so we paid for our tea and went out to the street to the chapatti vendor and purchased 4 pieces. Then we walked through a winding path of back alleys which spit us out onto the pitch black shore line. "You wait here, you might get scared," Purna said. "No, it's okay. I'll come," I replied. So we made our way to the tin hut. The husband came up to us, still whispering jibberish to himself. Purna extracted a tiny LED light from his pocket and shined it into the hut. It was about a 4 feet by 4 feet, filled with piles of garbage. No beds, no chairs, no blankets, no kitchen. Just garbage. I peered inside to get a better look. I tried to act like I saw 4 by 4 foot shacks that housed two people all the time. But on the inside I was thinking, "How in the world do two people live in here?" "How in the world do they contineu to exist every day?" "What keeps these people going?" "What could possibly drive them?" The flashlight shone on the ground to reveal the woman with the lifeless hair, stretched skin, and gray cloth thrown about her listlessly. She was crouched on the dirt floor where she had pushed away a space through the waste. She had been sitting like this for, who knows, probably hours in complete blackness. Among trash, cockroaches, and empty liquor bottles from her husband that represented shattered hope. The liqouor bottles strewn about like a chain that held these two captive in their life. She suffled about and we handed her the bag of chapattis. She took the bag with great effort, hardly noticing that there were two people in her presence. I said "Namaste" to her in the dark which she did not respond to. Purna chatted with the muttering alcoholic man for a few minutes before we left. As we turned to leave the man shouted something to me in Nepalese. I asked Purna what he said, and he told me that the man requested I buy him some alcohol. I quietly declined and said goodbye. Back through the alley ways we retraced our steps. Back to the light and hustle and bustle of the street. We emerged on to the road where the dreadlocked, barefooted, tye-dye wearing hippie types played in the night. In the dimmed light was the scene of Pokhara night life: fueled by food and fun. But back through the meandering pathway, away from the light, shrouded in darkness lay another scene. The scene was suffering. Hidden in corners where the light does not shine, and people do not notice. In these shadowed corners suffering rears it's ugly head. I sighed and walked farther and farther away from this woman's life, away I walked from the shackles that imprison her day in and day out. Away I walked as another tidal wave of guilt crashed over me. Away from her life and closer to mine, away from her garbage masses, and closer to my pillowy soft bed. Away from her filt and closer to my shower, away from her darkness and closer to my light.
About half an hour later the Nepali young man at a garden table in my vicinity had struck up a conversation with me. He deemed me a good candidate to ell of his exploits with drugs, travel, and life experiences. I listened carefully through his broken English. In the background a club on the tourist strip was blasting 50 Cent "In Da Club" rap music. I chuckled and thought how odd it was to be listening to gangster rap whiloe watching the sun setting on the scenes of Nepali country life. What a strange and comedic juxtaposition! Purna (the exuberent man at the neighboring table) and I chatted away for a few hours about travels, his woes in India, working for the UN someday, family, friends, and fun. Soon a shrivled middle aged man strolled about in front of us. He was muttering strange things to himself and nodding to us. Every pile of garbage dotted about the shore line he set fire. This man, said Purna, was the emaciated woman's husband. A long time alcoholic with mental problems as well. He spent any money that came his way on liquor and sorely neglected his wife. A few months ago, he said, the woman had elephantitis of the legs and the husband didn't even notice because he was continually in pursuit of a new bottle of vodka, rum or gin to drown his suffering temporarily. He was no longer right in the head, and neight was his wife. They both lived in the tiny tin shack near by and had no food, health care, or electricity and survived on scraps of rotting garbage.
The sun had now set and garbage fires dotted the shore. "Why you don't go to your wife?" Purna asked the man good-naturedly. The man looked over and muttered a few things, smiling to reveal his rotting teeth. We decided we should get some food for the woman in the hut, so we paid for our tea and went out to the street to the chapatti vendor and purchased 4 pieces. Then we walked through a winding path of back alleys which spit us out onto the pitch black shore line. "You wait here, you might get scared," Purna said. "No, it's okay. I'll come," I replied. So we made our way to the tin hut. The husband came up to us, still whispering jibberish to himself. Purna extracted a tiny LED light from his pocket and shined it into the hut. It was about a 4 feet by 4 feet, filled with piles of garbage. No beds, no chairs, no blankets, no kitchen. Just garbage. I peered inside to get a better look. I tried to act like I saw 4 by 4 foot shacks that housed two people all the time. But on the inside I was thinking, "How in the world do two people live in here?" "How in the world do they contineu to exist every day?" "What keeps these people going?" "What could possibly drive them?" The flashlight shone on the ground to reveal the woman with the lifeless hair, stretched skin, and gray cloth thrown about her listlessly. She was crouched on the dirt floor where she had pushed away a space through the waste. She had been sitting like this for, who knows, probably hours in complete blackness. Among trash, cockroaches, and empty liquor bottles from her husband that represented shattered hope. The liqouor bottles strewn about like a chain that held these two captive in their life. She suffled about and we handed her the bag of chapattis. She took the bag with great effort, hardly noticing that there were two people in her presence. I said "Namaste" to her in the dark which she did not respond to. Purna chatted with the muttering alcoholic man for a few minutes before we left. As we turned to leave the man shouted something to me in Nepalese. I asked Purna what he said, and he told me that the man requested I buy him some alcohol. I quietly declined and said goodbye. Back through the alley ways we retraced our steps. Back to the light and hustle and bustle of the street. We emerged on to the road where the dreadlocked, barefooted, tye-dye wearing hippie types played in the night. In the dimmed light was the scene of Pokhara night life: fueled by food and fun. But back through the meandering pathway, away from the light, shrouded in darkness lay another scene. The scene was suffering. Hidden in corners where the light does not shine, and people do not notice. In these shadowed corners suffering rears it's ugly head. I sighed and walked farther and farther away from this woman's life, away I walked from the shackles that imprison her day in and day out. Away I walked as another tidal wave of guilt crashed over me. Away from her life and closer to mine, away from her garbage masses, and closer to my pillowy soft bed. Away from her filt and closer to my shower, away from her darkness and closer to my light.
1984
"Until they become conscious they will never rebel and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious."
-Winston Smith in 1984
I just finished 1984. This has nothing to do with Nepal but I was thinking what kind of assignment I would give if I were teaching this book. I think I would have the students choose if they believed society should run how Winston thinks it should or how the Party thinks it should. They after they had decided I would have them write an essay arguing the opposite perspective of the one that they chose. Most would probably choose Winston's point of view, therefore would have to argue why society should be run like the Party seems fit; arguing doublethink, the Thought Police, etc.
-Winston Smith in 1984
I just finished 1984. This has nothing to do with Nepal but I was thinking what kind of assignment I would give if I were teaching this book. I think I would have the students choose if they believed society should run how Winston thinks it should or how the Party thinks it should. They after they had decided I would have them write an essay arguing the opposite perspective of the one that they chose. Most would probably choose Winston's point of view, therefore would have to argue why society should be run like the Party seems fit; arguing doublethink, the Thought Police, etc.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Marriage Proposals
Whenever I go out I carry some pictures of family, friends, cats, and an array of postcards from Portland. People especially outside the cities are fascinated by these pictures. I have about 3 pictures of Sam (my little brother which I'm assuming most of you know). Whenever I show my stack of pictures to girls they ask about his age. Then they ask how old he is, I say, 18. Then they ask quizically if he is married. No, I chuckle, not yet. The girls then ask if he would marry them. "American boyfriend, American boyfriend!" I tell them, well maybe he will but he is busy right now. So, a word to Sam: if you ever come to Nepal you will be quite the hot commodity for marriage!!
Nits
This is a story I wrote after my travels into the hills and the country side. Enjoy!
I'm strolling along the side of the road, trying not to have a heart attack whenever the local bus rounds a corner, blaring it's circus like horn. The water buffalo slowly splash around in the water, horns and nostrils above water, the rest of their massive bodies submerged with the lake plants. A shack by the side of the road comes into view, especially shanty like and broken down. Decrepide. Four or five people sit inside, chatting. As I come closer I see Bishnu, the brother of Prem, the man who I am staying with. Bishnu is 28, married for 4 months, seems "neutral" about his marriage, and more interested in taking me for a ride on his motor bike than on his wife. He spots me and motions me over. I stroll up to the hut and sit down on a woven wicker stool that one of the wrinkley, but beautiful, women give up for me. I accept, feeling guilt for having taken her seat. I say hello to everyone. The man who lives in the shack/vegetable stand is from Lumbini, near the Indian border. He is very thin, probably in his early 30's. The skin on his shins is peeling off. His face and neck are covered with pustules, murky white benearth the tiny blisters. The middle finger on his right hand is gone and the other 4 fingers are either half missing or bent and twisted grotesquely. He stares at me intently, interested, curious. I chat with Bishnu about what I have been doing today and the man stares and doesn't join in, mainly because of his lack of English skills. Three other women sit around the circle, their saris bright red, their faces worn, the oldest is smoking the butt of a self rolled cigarette. Calmly puffing away. They don't join the conversation either. The walls of the shack are either ratty tarps or corrugated tin, tied on with twine. Bishnu offers me tea and the men from Lumbini gets to work heating up the milk and spices over his stove on the dirt floor. He crouches in a corner with the work and dirty cooking ware, boiling and stirring on his haunches. after a few minutes the tea is ready and he hands us dented tin cups full. Milky with chestnut colored unknown chunks floating around in it. Delicious. In the corner where the cooking ware lays on the ground in dirty heaps there is a pile of sticks and logs. Not in a neat bundle, just tossed in the corner. Inside the pile of sticks there is a rustle. I glance overjust in time to see a scaly pink tail disappear into the pile. Rat. The man from Lumbini descreetly glances over too. He noticed the tail. He tries to make it seem like he is looking at a chunk of something yellow on the blue wall tarp. I pretend I didn't notice the rat and continue sipping my tea, chatting about America, travel, experiences, and school. A few minutes later three obese looking rats emerge, very slyly and go over to a dirty plate near by to munch on yesterday's dal bhatt. I don't make any fuss, observe them, and continue talking. To me they are a welcome addition to our circle by the side of the road. They look at me, eyes red and shinning. The man notices and makes a noise to scare them off. They scutter back to their sticks. The man's wife has had it with being descreet about the rats. She doesn't care that I am here. She is not trying to impress me, a foreigner in her house. She gets up and pushes her skeletal husband aside and crouches down in the corner and grabs a massive, rusted butcher knife in one hand and a chunk of brown metal pipe in the other. Ready to attack. The rats sense danger and stay in hiding, but we can still hear their scratching.
Soon the kids come home from school. They wear torn school uniforms. Two girls and one younger boy. The girls have massive brown eyes and gold hoops through their left nostril and braids in their hair. The boy must be about six. The sleeve of his white (well, at some point long ago it was white) collared shirt is holding on to the rest of the shirt by a few threads. The kids stand in a circle around me for 5 minutes. All less then a foot from my face. Starring at me, my skin, my crazy watch, and my shiny sun glasses. They become disinterested. By this time the mother has given up her stake doing rat patrol and tosses the butcher knife and pipe on the ground. She sits next to me and her son sits on her lap. His eys have already hardened from the struggle that is his life. His eyes are not bright and shiny and full of youth like a six year old's eyes should by. They are dull, crusted, intense. His face is smeared with dirt and sores fest on his body. Out of his notrils stream rivers of murky white snot. His snot rivers are the same milky white color as my tea, I think to myself, maybe his mucus is a bit more green. These two rivers merge at the top of his lips and flow into his mouth. Everytime he breathes more comes out. He doesn't bother wiping his nose. Why bother? It will only come back again. Why bother with a few seconds of cleanliness of the nose? It would probably take a few hours to fully clean and sanitize this boy. His mother holds him, then begins slowly going through his hair. SFhe uses her finger nails to rip out the lice that burrow in his head. She uproots the nits from their comfortable home in her son's hair, flicking them aside when she finds a burrowing bug. He coughs. It rattles and resonates. He contines coughing, a deep cough that is rooted at the very bottom of his infected lungs. Whenever he coughs a spray of spit and phlegm coats everything with in 3 feet of him. I am sitting 2 feet from him. Finally the coughing subsides. Nits fly the other direction quickly as his mother must have found a small village of lice around hte nape of his neck. With in a few minutes he has dozed off to sleep. His breathing in sleep rattles like his horrid cough. His sullen mother uncoversmore and more nits which are flicked away like yesterday's garbage while her son gets a few moments of peace, a few moments away from his hardships that exist every waking minute for him, a few moments away from the reality that is his.
I'm strolling along the side of the road, trying not to have a heart attack whenever the local bus rounds a corner, blaring it's circus like horn. The water buffalo slowly splash around in the water, horns and nostrils above water, the rest of their massive bodies submerged with the lake plants. A shack by the side of the road comes into view, especially shanty like and broken down. Decrepide. Four or five people sit inside, chatting. As I come closer I see Bishnu, the brother of Prem, the man who I am staying with. Bishnu is 28, married for 4 months, seems "neutral" about his marriage, and more interested in taking me for a ride on his motor bike than on his wife. He spots me and motions me over. I stroll up to the hut and sit down on a woven wicker stool that one of the wrinkley, but beautiful, women give up for me. I accept, feeling guilt for having taken her seat. I say hello to everyone. The man who lives in the shack/vegetable stand is from Lumbini, near the Indian border. He is very thin, probably in his early 30's. The skin on his shins is peeling off. His face and neck are covered with pustules, murky white benearth the tiny blisters. The middle finger on his right hand is gone and the other 4 fingers are either half missing or bent and twisted grotesquely. He stares at me intently, interested, curious. I chat with Bishnu about what I have been doing today and the man stares and doesn't join in, mainly because of his lack of English skills. Three other women sit around the circle, their saris bright red, their faces worn, the oldest is smoking the butt of a self rolled cigarette. Calmly puffing away. They don't join the conversation either. The walls of the shack are either ratty tarps or corrugated tin, tied on with twine. Bishnu offers me tea and the men from Lumbini gets to work heating up the milk and spices over his stove on the dirt floor. He crouches in a corner with the work and dirty cooking ware, boiling and stirring on his haunches. after a few minutes the tea is ready and he hands us dented tin cups full. Milky with chestnut colored unknown chunks floating around in it. Delicious. In the corner where the cooking ware lays on the ground in dirty heaps there is a pile of sticks and logs. Not in a neat bundle, just tossed in the corner. Inside the pile of sticks there is a rustle. I glance overjust in time to see a scaly pink tail disappear into the pile. Rat. The man from Lumbini descreetly glances over too. He noticed the tail. He tries to make it seem like he is looking at a chunk of something yellow on the blue wall tarp. I pretend I didn't notice the rat and continue sipping my tea, chatting about America, travel, experiences, and school. A few minutes later three obese looking rats emerge, very slyly and go over to a dirty plate near by to munch on yesterday's dal bhatt. I don't make any fuss, observe them, and continue talking. To me they are a welcome addition to our circle by the side of the road. They look at me, eyes red and shinning. The man notices and makes a noise to scare them off. They scutter back to their sticks. The man's wife has had it with being descreet about the rats. She doesn't care that I am here. She is not trying to impress me, a foreigner in her house. She gets up and pushes her skeletal husband aside and crouches down in the corner and grabs a massive, rusted butcher knife in one hand and a chunk of brown metal pipe in the other. Ready to attack. The rats sense danger and stay in hiding, but we can still hear their scratching.
Soon the kids come home from school. They wear torn school uniforms. Two girls and one younger boy. The girls have massive brown eyes and gold hoops through their left nostril and braids in their hair. The boy must be about six. The sleeve of his white (well, at some point long ago it was white) collared shirt is holding on to the rest of the shirt by a few threads. The kids stand in a circle around me for 5 minutes. All less then a foot from my face. Starring at me, my skin, my crazy watch, and my shiny sun glasses. They become disinterested. By this time the mother has given up her stake doing rat patrol and tosses the butcher knife and pipe on the ground. She sits next to me and her son sits on her lap. His eys have already hardened from the struggle that is his life. His eyes are not bright and shiny and full of youth like a six year old's eyes should by. They are dull, crusted, intense. His face is smeared with dirt and sores fest on his body. Out of his notrils stream rivers of murky white snot. His snot rivers are the same milky white color as my tea, I think to myself, maybe his mucus is a bit more green. These two rivers merge at the top of his lips and flow into his mouth. Everytime he breathes more comes out. He doesn't bother wiping his nose. Why bother? It will only come back again. Why bother with a few seconds of cleanliness of the nose? It would probably take a few hours to fully clean and sanitize this boy. His mother holds him, then begins slowly going through his hair. SFhe uses her finger nails to rip out the lice that burrow in his head. She uproots the nits from their comfortable home in her son's hair, flicking them aside when she finds a burrowing bug. He coughs. It rattles and resonates. He contines coughing, a deep cough that is rooted at the very bottom of his infected lungs. Whenever he coughs a spray of spit and phlegm coats everything with in 3 feet of him. I am sitting 2 feet from him. Finally the coughing subsides. Nits fly the other direction quickly as his mother must have found a small village of lice around hte nape of his neck. With in a few minutes he has dozed off to sleep. His breathing in sleep rattles like his horrid cough. His sullen mother uncoversmore and more nits which are flicked away like yesterday's garbage while her son gets a few moments of peace, a few moments away from his hardships that exist every waking minute for him, a few moments away from the reality that is his.
A Sad Story
This is one sad story of the suffereing that pervades many aspects of life in this part of the world. Prem and Dhana (mother and father of hill family) were showing me some old pictures. They showed me a picture of a man who helped them build their house. Prem said this man was not a good man, a drunk. Over many years he became even more of an alcoholic and went into a depression. After a while he went into the jungle and hung himself and was not discovered for a week or so. This man had 4 brothers. Sadly at all different times each brother went into the jungle and hung himself as well. So all 5 suffered the same tragic fate. The man in the picture left behind 6 sons and daughters.
Descent From the Hills!
Namaste from Pokhara!
Wow, the last 2 days have been a whirl wind. I feel although they have actually been 2 weeks rather than 2 days. So, update: I have been in Pokhara for a few days (how many not sure. PS. will write later about living outside the confines of time and a schedule.) Ok, so I was wanting to stay somewhere besides a guesthouse. They are nice and fun and cheap, but I needed something else. So I was trekking by myself up outside of Pokhara in the high hills when I met a Nepali woman named Dhana! Well I asked her if I could rent a room for her, she said yes! For 50 rupees a night (maybe equivalent to 75 cents, plus meals, plus alot more!!) Ok so I moved in to their mountain cottage, or should I say hut. The father's name was Prem, the mother Dhana. They have 5 daughters aged 6, 11, 12, 14 and 18! All incedibly cute and sweet. So upon my arrival the next morning they cleaned their daughters things out of one room and made room for me! I got comfy (as much as I could) and starting to take in life in the hills of Nepal!! What a difference from the city! Well, Dhana and the girls made me a delicious meal of dal bhatt the first night. After presenting me with the tin plate of food the whole family stood around me in a semicircle watching me eat. I must have looked very silly! Afterwards the girls wanted to go walking with me. So Robina and Rosmina took me for a walk to a beautiful spot above Phewa Tal lake VERY high up, and we watched the sunset. They sat and held my hands and looked at my skin for what seemed like hours. They said they wanted white skin like me and they stroked the insides of my arms (pasty white, where the sun don't shine!) I told them it was funny because in America people think that tan skin is beautiful, and I told them that everyone would die for beautiful dark brown skin like theirs! I tried to explain the concept of tanning booths and tanning lotions, but they couldn't quite grasp. Anyways, we then dropped by 2 large tins to a man's cottage. They said he would fill them up with milk from his buffalo and we would get it later. So we walked around a little more and talked, and they found my brush in my bag and had a great time brushing my hair and giving me a braid.
About half an hour later we picked up the steaming tins full of buffalo milk and decided to go home as I was very tired although they were bursting with energy. At home we sat around in my room under a very dim light bulb and I showed them pictures of family, friends, and some postcards of Oregon. Dhana, the mother, was especially amazed at a picture of the MAX train from Portland. Then I took out my sketch book and showed them some drawings. I drew each of them a different picture (mostly variations of my signature palm tree.) They were amazed because I drew an ocean, which they had never seen before. Then Rosmina took out her pens and drew a very elaborate design on my palm,sort of like a henna type thing. It was time for me to go to bed, so I lit a mosquito coil and laid in bed absorbing the noises of the countryside. Birds, bugs, and other cries of various animals. Very calming.
In the morning Dhana and Robina woke early and we trekked up to Sarangkot. It was incredibly steep and rocky. I was literally dripping sweat and soaking wet. I felt rather silly because multiple times on the trek elderly women with HUGE loads on their backs passed me with ease. (The physical strength of the Nepali people is amazing!) Finally at the top I got some great mountain views of Macchapuchare (sp??). And we went back down observing some poisonous caterpillars. Dhana found a tiny leech and showed me. At the bottom Prem made me mint tea with the mint in their garden.
I think this family has had only one other person ever stay with them. His name is Andrew and from what I could gather he stayed with them 18 years ago, but they talk about it like it was yesterday. They showed me a letter he sent to them 6 years ago.
Anyways, this was a most amazing experience. At many times it was uncomfortable though. I felt like I was being constantly watched (which I was.) This was just because I think they found my mannerisms, demeanor, and appearance quite funny or maybe interesting. Privacy in a house like this is non existant. I lived there for a very short time, and can't imagine how people live like this their whole lives. Quite amazing!
A few other notes about this: I sort of felt like living in the hills was more like camping for me. The toilet was a hole in the ground and "wiping" consists of splashing some water on yourself. When I was in town though I bought a roll of toilet paper, so descreetly brought a few sheets in when I went! (Dont tell!)
During the day there really isn't much to do in Western standards. No games, toys, movies, not really even any paper. So they keep themselves amused though other means. Very interesting to observe the girls at play.
Morning time: breakfast consisted of fresh mint tea and a few biscuits (which are actually cracker like things.) The girls found some liquid eye liner some where and had great fun applying it to me. Then they found some tikka powder. A tikka is the red dot you see on women's foreheads here. So we had a huge ceremony where they put a red and yellow tikka on me and applied some eyeliner to me. It was the most dolled up I have been here so far. Then they each wanted me to give them one. So the ceremony continued and I emerged covered in red and yellow dye with pink stained fingers. Great fun!
Wow, the last 2 days have been a whirl wind. I feel although they have actually been 2 weeks rather than 2 days. So, update: I have been in Pokhara for a few days (how many not sure. PS. will write later about living outside the confines of time and a schedule.) Ok, so I was wanting to stay somewhere besides a guesthouse. They are nice and fun and cheap, but I needed something else. So I was trekking by myself up outside of Pokhara in the high hills when I met a Nepali woman named Dhana! Well I asked her if I could rent a room for her, she said yes! For 50 rupees a night (maybe equivalent to 75 cents, plus meals, plus alot more!!) Ok so I moved in to their mountain cottage, or should I say hut. The father's name was Prem, the mother Dhana. They have 5 daughters aged 6, 11, 12, 14 and 18! All incedibly cute and sweet. So upon my arrival the next morning they cleaned their daughters things out of one room and made room for me! I got comfy (as much as I could) and starting to take in life in the hills of Nepal!! What a difference from the city! Well, Dhana and the girls made me a delicious meal of dal bhatt the first night. After presenting me with the tin plate of food the whole family stood around me in a semicircle watching me eat. I must have looked very silly! Afterwards the girls wanted to go walking with me. So Robina and Rosmina took me for a walk to a beautiful spot above Phewa Tal lake VERY high up, and we watched the sunset. They sat and held my hands and looked at my skin for what seemed like hours. They said they wanted white skin like me and they stroked the insides of my arms (pasty white, where the sun don't shine!) I told them it was funny because in America people think that tan skin is beautiful, and I told them that everyone would die for beautiful dark brown skin like theirs! I tried to explain the concept of tanning booths and tanning lotions, but they couldn't quite grasp. Anyways, we then dropped by 2 large tins to a man's cottage. They said he would fill them up with milk from his buffalo and we would get it later. So we walked around a little more and talked, and they found my brush in my bag and had a great time brushing my hair and giving me a braid.
About half an hour later we picked up the steaming tins full of buffalo milk and decided to go home as I was very tired although they were bursting with energy. At home we sat around in my room under a very dim light bulb and I showed them pictures of family, friends, and some postcards of Oregon. Dhana, the mother, was especially amazed at a picture of the MAX train from Portland. Then I took out my sketch book and showed them some drawings. I drew each of them a different picture (mostly variations of my signature palm tree.) They were amazed because I drew an ocean, which they had never seen before. Then Rosmina took out her pens and drew a very elaborate design on my palm,sort of like a henna type thing. It was time for me to go to bed, so I lit a mosquito coil and laid in bed absorbing the noises of the countryside. Birds, bugs, and other cries of various animals. Very calming.
In the morning Dhana and Robina woke early and we trekked up to Sarangkot. It was incredibly steep and rocky. I was literally dripping sweat and soaking wet. I felt rather silly because multiple times on the trek elderly women with HUGE loads on their backs passed me with ease. (The physical strength of the Nepali people is amazing!) Finally at the top I got some great mountain views of Macchapuchare (sp??). And we went back down observing some poisonous caterpillars. Dhana found a tiny leech and showed me. At the bottom Prem made me mint tea with the mint in their garden.
I think this family has had only one other person ever stay with them. His name is Andrew and from what I could gather he stayed with them 18 years ago, but they talk about it like it was yesterday. They showed me a letter he sent to them 6 years ago.
Anyways, this was a most amazing experience. At many times it was uncomfortable though. I felt like I was being constantly watched (which I was.) This was just because I think they found my mannerisms, demeanor, and appearance quite funny or maybe interesting. Privacy in a house like this is non existant. I lived there for a very short time, and can't imagine how people live like this their whole lives. Quite amazing!
A few other notes about this: I sort of felt like living in the hills was more like camping for me. The toilet was a hole in the ground and "wiping" consists of splashing some water on yourself. When I was in town though I bought a roll of toilet paper, so descreetly brought a few sheets in when I went! (Dont tell!)
During the day there really isn't much to do in Western standards. No games, toys, movies, not really even any paper. So they keep themselves amused though other means. Very interesting to observe the girls at play.
Morning time: breakfast consisted of fresh mint tea and a few biscuits (which are actually cracker like things.) The girls found some liquid eye liner some where and had great fun applying it to me. Then they found some tikka powder. A tikka is the red dot you see on women's foreheads here. So we had a huge ceremony where they put a red and yellow tikka on me and applied some eyeliner to me. It was the most dolled up I have been here so far. Then they each wanted me to give them one. So the ceremony continued and I emerged covered in red and yellow dye with pink stained fingers. Great fun!
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