Here in Nepal, people do not pack up their things and leave bustling Kathmandu for a tramp, they go for a trek. Little did I realise, the word 'trek' is not limited to what I envisioned to be scaling a mountain wall, but applies to any form of walking in the wilderness. And thus, trekking was what I found myself to be doing a couple of weekends ago.
Originally thought to be a casual stroll up a hill and down the other side in two days, turned into walking the total amount of steps found in Wellington up to a small village over-run by trekking lodges, called Chisopani. The next day found myself and my two companions, Mary and Eri, powerwalking down the otherside of the beasty hill to Nagarkot.
Upon reflection, the image of the weekend that frequently haunts me is of a group of children bearing sives/ meat hooks? (grass cutters/ possibly could also be used to murder goats), held out at arms-width and growling menacingly as they approach us, malicious grins sizing up our arms and torso-which part would be tastier?
"I'm not a goat!" I cried, and hastened my pace away from the terror children.
Along the way, we befriended a group of Nepali men who became our trekking companions. Within the ages of 25 and 35ish, most were undertaking masters degrees in statistics, physics, computers or similar. So impressed with their education, they deemed it necessary to bore into us why they love their subjects for most of the weekend. All were unimpressed to hear I had no current desire to get that masters degree. I also shared a delightfully awkward (for him away) conversation about homosexuality in Nepal with one of the men.. The man loved Elton John, and added with a cheeky smile, "he's homosexual!"
According to my Nepali friend, it is best to keep any homosexual thoughts to yourself, especially for males. Sadly this seems to lead to many marriages where the man is supremely unhappy, and his wife is left equally unhappy as her man is in a perpetual state of frustration at his situation. I asked if Kathmandu, being a city, is a bit more relaxed, but he did not know of any gay scenes, but I have heard otherwise.
Our friends also took us to have tea at a hole-in-the-wall teahouse. We sat down and were given a stainless steel cup (very popular here) of a dubious white substance. Incredibly bitter, but better with sugar, it transpired to be freshly made cows curd. After finishing the curd, I made to clear the cups and hand them back to the owner, but was shouted down by our Nepali friends and promptly laughed at and joked of in Nepali. A simple cultural misunderstanding. I made to clear the cups as an act of gratitude and kindness towards the owner, but it is custom for the server to clear the cups as an act of giving food to a friend. The cultural subtleties are slowly surfacing. The Nepali culture is illuminated by acts of friendship and humanity.
Twenty minutes from my house is Patan Durbar Square, full of old temples and worshipers and tourists.
At one end of the square, were tables of goods to be sold and of interest to me. Small Buddhas or carved birds were not the reason I stood staring at the armies of perfectly aligned figurines. The vendor told me it takes him two hours each morning to set up the table and line of his wares, each and every day in the same order.
Volunteering:
I am currently volunteering at a children's boarding house, it is the school holidays so myself and 3 other volunteers is running a holiday programme. The kids are from rural areas or poor backgrounds, and are sponsored to live there and attend a local school. I am going to set up letter writing for the kids, as it seems they have little contact with their families.
Will be finishing up with them at the end of the month and am beginning to plan my adventures. So far am planning to live and volunteer in a small village for a couple of weeks in May.
A theory:
A woman's smile is laced with cheek, her eyes sparkle and size you up if you say "hello". Her three sons are completing various levels of study soon in science, mathematics and business, and are due to leave home shortly after the degree is finalised. As they will all be undertaking masters, the three serve as worthy suitors. While your lack of Hinduism is of course a major drawback, she thinks you would look alright in family photographs with her grandson on your hip.
Better lengthen that hemline girl, there s dahl baht to be cooked before the power is shut off.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Holi
Yesterday was Holi. It is a Hindu festival of colours, coinciding with the full-moon. It is generally celebrated by children, but everyone was getting involved anyway. I heard the main tourist area Thamel had totally shut down, and the military were out with bamboo sticks, most probably to whack anybody who dared throw paint. As I walked down the street, boys with silver faces, red hair and paint clinging to their eyelashes came up to me and smeared red paint on my cheeks, forehead and nose shouting "happy Holi!"
I went to a care centre/ boarding house for kids called J and K House with a bunch of other volunteers and got murdered by a rainbow. The kids were armed with bags of powdered paint, and proceed to throw them at our faces, in our hair,on our clothes, and smear it all over our faces. Water (bucket loads) was added, and we dripped technicolour water all over the pavement.
Soon the paint ran out, we all lost steam, and settled down for lunch on the lawn. I am beginning to develop a level of tolerance to spice, managing two helpings of spicy bean soup.
Drenched, with paint up our noses, in our ears, and staining our socks, we staggered out the gate to wait for a van to pick us up. Which never came. This was typical of Nepali time keeping, if something is due to arrive in five minutes, it often turns up half an hour later. As it did on this day. Droves of motorbikes roared down the road, the drivers faces painted like skeletons and monsters. They reminded me of the American group Insane Clown Posse, but Nepali and on bikes http://www.brightestyoungthings.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/Twiztid-Insane-Clown-Posse.jpg
Then, an old crazy man turned up, covered in paint, and proceeded to crawl around the group blessing our feet and heads with yellow paint, touching his chest and pointing to the sky. When I returned the gesture back to him, he tried to put more paint on my shoes. He made himself comfortable just in front of me, and while we tried to ignore him, he kept blessing our feet. I am probably really holy with Holi right now. AND THEN a group of drunk men turned up with drums and cymbals and started a party. One man put on a show, and did this ridiculously fast pelvic thrust dance. It would have been more enjoyable if we were not sitting at his feet with this hip dance level with our heads.
A day after Holi, and my neck is green and yellow, my feet are green, and there is oil-based blue paint in my hair. I just looked at my arm, and oh! I have red stains on my arm too.
I went to a care centre/ boarding house for kids called J and K House with a bunch of other volunteers and got murdered by a rainbow. The kids were armed with bags of powdered paint, and proceed to throw them at our faces, in our hair,on our clothes, and smear it all over our faces. Water (bucket loads) was added, and we dripped technicolour water all over the pavement.
Soon the paint ran out, we all lost steam, and settled down for lunch on the lawn. I am beginning to develop a level of tolerance to spice, managing two helpings of spicy bean soup.
Drenched, with paint up our noses, in our ears, and staining our socks, we staggered out the gate to wait for a van to pick us up. Which never came. This was typical of Nepali time keeping, if something is due to arrive in five minutes, it often turns up half an hour later. As it did on this day. Droves of motorbikes roared down the road, the drivers faces painted like skeletons and monsters. They reminded me of the American group Insane Clown Posse, but Nepali and on bikes http://www.brightestyoungthings.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/Twiztid-Insane-Clown-Posse.jpg
Then, an old crazy man turned up, covered in paint, and proceeded to crawl around the group blessing our feet and heads with yellow paint, touching his chest and pointing to the sky. When I returned the gesture back to him, he tried to put more paint on my shoes. He made himself comfortable just in front of me, and while we tried to ignore him, he kept blessing our feet. I am probably really holy with Holi right now. AND THEN a group of drunk men turned up with drums and cymbals and started a party. One man put on a show, and did this ridiculously fast pelvic thrust dance. It would have been more enjoyable if we were not sitting at his feet with this hip dance level with our heads.
A day after Holi, and my neck is green and yellow, my feet are green, and there is oil-based blue paint in my hair. I just looked at my arm, and oh! I have red stains on my arm too.
A typical conversation held on the street, when you are walking past somebody selling wares:
-"Hello namaste, how are you?"
-Namaste I am fine thank-you, how are you?"
-"I am fine thank-you"
-"Ok good-bye"
(All spoken in quick succession)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
My name in Nepal is pronounced 'Bibian'
I spent the weekend at Chitwan National Park. Classed as a rainforest, the crunchy leaves underfoot resembled autumn. The air was thick with heat, close to the Indian border we were. We stayed at one of the lodges, Hotel Rainforest, and it was decorated with statues of Buddha, palm trees, and bamboo, making it indistinguishable from the other lodges in the area (Chitwan Jungle Lodge, Island Jungle Resort, Temple Tiger, Tiger Tops Tented Camp ad infinitum). The autumnal weather was present here too, the giant trees shedding dry leaves onto the manicured/ pedicured lawn. I enjoyed sitting on the balcony, reading my book, and batting away mosquitoes poisoned with the stigma of MALARIA.
On two separate occasions while sitting on the balcony, I saw a man picking up the falling leaves. He looked like he had been transported from a university to Chitwan. His dark hair was side-parted, a slight wave kinking the sunlight which shone upon it. The sun also glinted his glasses, and bleached his crisp cotton shirt and pants. He was trying to develop a leaf-gathering system. One step, bend, pick up leaf, two steps, bend, pick up a leaf...until his hands were full. Leaves spilled out of his bundle, he had nowhere to put them now he had picked them up. Turning and glancing about to scan for a better option, he furtively dumped them in a miniature hedge before restarting his arduous system.
His approach to leaf-gathering reflects the attitude of Kathmandu towards waste and rubbish. One step, two steps: an arm full of rubbish. Turn around, dump it down, set it alight, and in a poof of smoke, the problem has disappeared.
(The man later found a basket for his leaves)
Notes:
-Bamboo is used for many things in Nepal, including...
ladders
rooftop/ wall braces
stakes in fences
scaffolding (today I saw a glass building lined with bamboo scaffolding, it caused the building to appear concave)
-The colour of the sky is water-colour paint. there are no definite lines, and barely clouds.
-Girls in Chitwan rode bikes everywhere. Their posture was reminiscent of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz, their scarves trailing in a dusty wake.
- Red is a very popular colour to be worn here.
Also at Chitwan, I went bird-watching, and saw a fantail. The Nepali man who was walking with us, bird-guide in hand, and bird badges on his head, was humoured by the Maori word for fantail, piwakawaka. Walking along the river bank, we came across an old woman cutting grass for the cows. Overcome by the need to be touristy and take photos of 'traditional Nepali life', some members of the group stopped to take a photo of her. She was a little bit too far away to speak to, but nevertheless, she paused her banal, daily activity to stand and blink at us, while our cameras blinked back (myself included). As we continued on our way, and she resumed cutting grass I wondered, how does a person become a tourist attraction? For how many people had the woman collecting grass had to pause her work to stare and blink at us, and in doing so become little more than a nice picture?
The music here is an eclectic mix of Hindi, Nepali, and Western (I heard Kesha on the radio the other day, bleugh)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjZBuMlZj54
On two separate occasions while sitting on the balcony, I saw a man picking up the falling leaves. He looked like he had been transported from a university to Chitwan. His dark hair was side-parted, a slight wave kinking the sunlight which shone upon it. The sun also glinted his glasses, and bleached his crisp cotton shirt and pants. He was trying to develop a leaf-gathering system. One step, bend, pick up leaf, two steps, bend, pick up a leaf...until his hands were full. Leaves spilled out of his bundle, he had nowhere to put them now he had picked them up. Turning and glancing about to scan for a better option, he furtively dumped them in a miniature hedge before restarting his arduous system.
His approach to leaf-gathering reflects the attitude of Kathmandu towards waste and rubbish. One step, two steps: an arm full of rubbish. Turn around, dump it down, set it alight, and in a poof of smoke, the problem has disappeared.
(The man later found a basket for his leaves)
Notes:
-Bamboo is used for many things in Nepal, including...
ladders
rooftop/ wall braces
stakes in fences
scaffolding (today I saw a glass building lined with bamboo scaffolding, it caused the building to appear concave)
-The colour of the sky is water-colour paint. there are no definite lines, and barely clouds.
-Girls in Chitwan rode bikes everywhere. Their posture was reminiscent of the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz, their scarves trailing in a dusty wake.
- Red is a very popular colour to be worn here.
Also at Chitwan, I went bird-watching, and saw a fantail. The Nepali man who was walking with us, bird-guide in hand, and bird badges on his head, was humoured by the Maori word for fantail, piwakawaka. Walking along the river bank, we came across an old woman cutting grass for the cows. Overcome by the need to be touristy and take photos of 'traditional Nepali life', some members of the group stopped to take a photo of her. She was a little bit too far away to speak to, but nevertheless, she paused her banal, daily activity to stand and blink at us, while our cameras blinked back (myself included). As we continued on our way, and she resumed cutting grass I wondered, how does a person become a tourist attraction? For how many people had the woman collecting grass had to pause her work to stare and blink at us, and in doing so become little more than a nice picture?
The music here is an eclectic mix of Hindi, Nepali, and Western (I heard Kesha on the radio the other day, bleugh)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjZBuMlZj54
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
It will be a difficult task to document every, single detail from over here in Nepal. I could begin by listing the number of children that have thrown water bombs at me and others in anticipation of the festival Holi. This would be followed by the ominous extra tidbit, where I mention that these innocent water bombs will soon be filled with dye or paint to colour me crazy. I wouldn't be surprised if they specifically target foreigners and keep a point system going with their friends. OR I could try and list the numbers of images of Sai Baba adorning the walls of my host mother's home http://sathya-sai-baba.org/pic/sathya_sai_baba.jpg
the number of things i could write here is endless already. i saw a box of memory tea today in a giant supermarket/ everything complex, perhaps if I began a stringent memory-tea-drinking regime it will help when I relay tales of Nepal onto this blog? Mebe, but not likely.
The difficulty in documenting everything aside, I will attempt to tell tales of my time here as they come to mind.
Beginning with the Tibetan New year:
Tibetan new year was seen in by myself and Anna, a German girl who is also living with me. It was centered around the Boudha, this beautiful stupa http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boudhanath
When we arrived, the formal celebration of this 15 day long event was drawing to a close, and the party time was beginning. the sound system was blaring loud, loud Tibetan music, controlled by a d.j in a cowboy hat at a laptop, bobbing his head in the universally used d.j style. In a constantly adding, dividing, and multiplying circle people danced, men in fuzzy hats (their ears must have been burning as it was pretty hot), girls in traditional dress, and old women recapturing their youth better than any aging cream could do. As i enjoy watching how people interact with each other, I was amazed by the lack of self-awareness held by the dancers. They were truly enjoying themselves, and were unbelievably happy.
Perhaps they were happy because this year there would be more months in the Tibetan year? Last year there were only 9 months or so. Isn't that amazing?! The Tibetans can change the time!
As I was picking through crowds, I walked past a little boy carefully holding a cup of milk tea in his hands, which could not span the width of the bottom of the little cup-extra care was needed. He gently placed his cup on the edge of a blue plastic chair. It precariously balanced on the edge, and so as not to tip it, he balanced himself on the very corner. And so he sat, he slowly brought the cup up to his mouth, admist roaring Tibetan music, singing monks, and the blur of dresses.
And to food:
In short, amazing.
Sadly, my appetite was lost somewhere between Auckland and Kathmandu airport, and I am left picking up the pieces of a depressed stomach who does not want food. Be that as I may, I am still trying everything that comes my way including (but in no means limited to) momos, dhal baat, thukpa, cucumber raita, vegetable curries, one cup of nice coffee, Nepali banana cake (a distinct take on banana cake all of it's own) and others.
I have yet to get used to eating rice for breakfast.
On the plus side, I have been told my appetite will return in the next couple of weeks. On a side note, don't get the fish on airplanes, I never ate it, but the smell, it infected all the vegetables around my plate. Bleugh.
Destitution and desperation:
The only homeless people I am used to are Blanket Man and the man on Courtenay Place who juggles. I am not used to dozens. The other day a woman approached Anna and I carrying her tiny baby and am empty baby bottle. "Milk, please Miss, my baby needs milk, in the shop ahead, will you buy some milk? Please, for my baby."
What to do? Do you give the woman some milk, or not?
If you give one person something, where is the line drawn as to how many people you must give money to? Moreover, HOW do you give money to a woman when you know that a similar woman exists in different part of town, a woman who each day has different children around her, and she uses them as a means to beg for "please Miss, money for my children?"
We said no, and tried to walk faster than this extremely speedy woman, baby and all.
A right decision is harder to call here, harder than parting with a few dollars to one man with a couple of juggling balls.
Lastly, the culture shock:
I awoke at 4am-ish yesterday morning to the noise of barking dogs, and after lying awake for the next two hours, came to the realisation that I was stuck in Nepal for the next three months. Stuck with the food, the lack of home comfort, stuck with the unfamiliar noises, faces, smells, and rupees. It was a painful, rude awakening, and a bit shattering. No doubt amplified by the lack of regular sleeping patterns, the unfamiliar food, and those idiot dogs. I spent the day curled up in bed, sleeping and trying to remind myself of why I was here in Nepal. Surprisingly, despite all the sleep I had during that day, I managed to sleep all night also. I awoke this morning with an improved, positive outlook, and even managed to eat fried rice at 8am.
the number of things i could write here is endless already. i saw a box of memory tea today in a giant supermarket/ everything complex, perhaps if I began a stringent memory-tea-drinking regime it will help when I relay tales of Nepal onto this blog? Mebe, but not likely.
The difficulty in documenting everything aside, I will attempt to tell tales of my time here as they come to mind.
Beginning with the Tibetan New year:
Tibetan new year was seen in by myself and Anna, a German girl who is also living with me. It was centered around the Boudha, this beautiful stupa http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boudhanath
When we arrived, the formal celebration of this 15 day long event was drawing to a close, and the party time was beginning. the sound system was blaring loud, loud Tibetan music, controlled by a d.j in a cowboy hat at a laptop, bobbing his head in the universally used d.j style. In a constantly adding, dividing, and multiplying circle people danced, men in fuzzy hats (their ears must have been burning as it was pretty hot), girls in traditional dress, and old women recapturing their youth better than any aging cream could do. As i enjoy watching how people interact with each other, I was amazed by the lack of self-awareness held by the dancers. They were truly enjoying themselves, and were unbelievably happy.
Perhaps they were happy because this year there would be more months in the Tibetan year? Last year there were only 9 months or so. Isn't that amazing?! The Tibetans can change the time!
As I was picking through crowds, I walked past a little boy carefully holding a cup of milk tea in his hands, which could not span the width of the bottom of the little cup-extra care was needed. He gently placed his cup on the edge of a blue plastic chair. It precariously balanced on the edge, and so as not to tip it, he balanced himself on the very corner. And so he sat, he slowly brought the cup up to his mouth, admist roaring Tibetan music, singing monks, and the blur of dresses.
And to food:
In short, amazing.
Sadly, my appetite was lost somewhere between Auckland and Kathmandu airport, and I am left picking up the pieces of a depressed stomach who does not want food. Be that as I may, I am still trying everything that comes my way including (but in no means limited to) momos, dhal baat, thukpa, cucumber raita, vegetable curries, one cup of nice coffee, Nepali banana cake (a distinct take on banana cake all of it's own) and others.
I have yet to get used to eating rice for breakfast.
On the plus side, I have been told my appetite will return in the next couple of weeks. On a side note, don't get the fish on airplanes, I never ate it, but the smell, it infected all the vegetables around my plate. Bleugh.
Destitution and desperation:
The only homeless people I am used to are Blanket Man and the man on Courtenay Place who juggles. I am not used to dozens. The other day a woman approached Anna and I carrying her tiny baby and am empty baby bottle. "Milk, please Miss, my baby needs milk, in the shop ahead, will you buy some milk? Please, for my baby."
What to do? Do you give the woman some milk, or not?
If you give one person something, where is the line drawn as to how many people you must give money to? Moreover, HOW do you give money to a woman when you know that a similar woman exists in different part of town, a woman who each day has different children around her, and she uses them as a means to beg for "please Miss, money for my children?"
We said no, and tried to walk faster than this extremely speedy woman, baby and all.
A right decision is harder to call here, harder than parting with a few dollars to one man with a couple of juggling balls.
Lastly, the culture shock:
I awoke at 4am-ish yesterday morning to the noise of barking dogs, and after lying awake for the next two hours, came to the realisation that I was stuck in Nepal for the next three months. Stuck with the food, the lack of home comfort, stuck with the unfamiliar noises, faces, smells, and rupees. It was a painful, rude awakening, and a bit shattering. No doubt amplified by the lack of regular sleeping patterns, the unfamiliar food, and those idiot dogs. I spent the day curled up in bed, sleeping and trying to remind myself of why I was here in Nepal. Surprisingly, despite all the sleep I had during that day, I managed to sleep all night also. I awoke this morning with an improved, positive outlook, and even managed to eat fried rice at 8am.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Transported to Kathmandu: a city defined by crazy vechicles
Arrived in Nepal yesterday afternoon.. had a bit of a freak out when i collected my bag as i could not find anyone from projects abroad to pick me up. so i walk outside and across the street is this huge crowd of people waving all sorts of signs. was totally bewildered and then a couple of men were like "taxi taxi" and i said no "projects abroad" so then they went round yelling it out and next thing there is a man from the hotel i am staying at bustling me into a run down van. we went "sight-seeing" his excuse for going to the main traffic depot to pick up his drivers licence. Comforting thought. He looked too cool with his imitation Ray Bans.
I arrive by plane, step down the long stairway and hop on a crowded airport bus and driven 40 metres to the terminal (Ktm airport's only form of safety, really...customs doesn't really exist-in comparison to bangkok at least)
Today myself and Eri (a girl from Japan with minimal english) caught a rickshaw into the depths of Ktm from the main tourist circuit Thamel. The aim was to buy a watch, and Eri wanted to see a little bit more of Ktm. "Namaste, I want to buy a watch," "400 rupees" "ohh no" i found everything was too expensive-the student in me could not shake the fact that 400 rupees did not mean $400. And so the journey continued. Further and further we bumped, and biked, getting stuck in potholes, near-colliding with taxis, and once stopping to fuss over the fact we were almost biking over a lazy dog's tail. We were soon in an area where no tourist seemed to venture, and our faith was placed in the rickshaw driver (misguided faith as he scammed us out of 150 rupees, with smiles and "no problems"). He became quite tricky with his bartering methods, undertaking all his sneaky capabilities to get a good deal for me and my fantasy watch. This being, we stopped on the side of a busy road and he whispered "stay there", sneaking over to a stall with glittering watches and running back "oh no! too expensive!"...perhaps if the stall holder did not see us he would charge less? Not the case it seemed. Down another street, around people cooking, piles of spice, peeled mandarins, dogs, children sniffing glue and a crazy amount of different smells, and we come across another stall. For this, we did not even get out of the rickshaw, instead lean out and point at the cheapest-looking watch possible. I said 90 rupees, the man said "no", i said 95 rupees? "NO". 100 rupees? "Yes ok" and now my terribly cheap plastic watch tells me the time. I think Eri enjoyed the ride, she couldn't really put her feelings into words!
People like the sound of English words. In the hotel restaurant, I told the man serving my lunch it was "delicious" as he walked away, I heard him repeating the word "delicious, deliciouss, delicioussss" until a whispered hissing marked his leaving the room.
The rickshaw man caught on to my repetition of the word "yes" and he soon biked about, dodging taxis, pumping the air with his fist and shouting "yes! YYyyes! yyyeesss!".
Final notes and Initial impressions:
the hotel i am staying at is nice, the food is safe and yummy. i spent all yesterday arvo sleeping, and slept all last night-i went to sleep to the sound of blaring hindi music. was SO exhausted. spent the night at bangkok airport ok. curled up on a couch all night and managed to sleep fitfully. had fun buying food/ drink with thai baht.
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