On Monday, December 13, we spent much too long at the the wifi cafe and then had a late lunch at the Nepali/Burmese tea place. Then we went on a great walk through the markets to On Nut, the last BTS stop after Phra Khanong, to which we'd never been. We heard there were cool markets there and had noticed all the tents on our way of town, but it turned out to be mostly Western-style clothes and accessories, and we were soon disinterested . After making a regrettable stop at McDonald's for the soft serve ice cream that Lacey and I had been craving, we took the sky train back past Phra Khanong to Nana, which never fails to get a certain refrain stuck in my head, and it's bustling night market. While certainly busy, Nana's market was also very commercialized and touristy. We did however accidentally wander into what appeared to be Bangkok's Little Middle East, lined with sisha bars and restaurants representing most West Asian countries. We decided on an Omani restaurant for dinner and were served absolutely delicious eggplant paste (like a hummus), with a naan-like bread, falafel, and Turkish coffee by our waiter from Mumbai. It was so good.
Tuesday, December 14.
Another awesome day in Bangkok. We got up early to get to the Grand Palace before the crowds and heat set in, as had been recommended to us, only to find that it didn't open for visitors until 8:30 anyway, and by that time there was a bit of a line and it was mighty warm. We saw pretty much everything that was open for viewing--the miniature Angkor Wat, the Emerald Buddha, lots of other Buddhas, and a museum of Thai coins and royal regalia through the years. But my favorite thing, without a doubt, was the story painted in a mural that wrapped around the entire "upper terrace" portion of the palace complex. It chronicled a story akin to India's Ramayana, and was painted in incredible detail with beautiful colors and intermittent gold leaf, and it covered the outer walls from floor to ceiling. While walking along from the mural's beginning, we heard beautiful chanting begin, so we followed the sound to the central temple which was filled with kneeling worshipers, singing from books or reciting from memory. From the palace, we got a taxi to Dusit Park, where we ran into some kind of temporary market fair with all sorts of craft goods and specialty foods. We found a popular stall for lunch and I ordered the only two veg dishes they had on rice. I'd never seen either before, and they were so delicious: one was some sort of radish, and the other was a sweet peanut dish that looked like baked beans. We walked out of the market with coconut ice cream on skewers in hand and found our way to the Vimanmek Mansion museum, to which our Grand Palace tickets granted us admission. If it wasn't already, this made it so worth the tickets' price. After wrapping ourselves in the required sarongs, we walked up the stairs into the queen's room--a small, octagonal room with an incredibly gorgeous chandelier taking up most of the ceiling and tapestries and other items along the walls. All of these were made using the stunning iridescent wings of emerald beetles, as well as gold threads and leaf. All of the beetles used have to have died a natural death, but I don't doubt they're all kept until their deaths just for that purpose. In any case, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I think I could've stayed in that room for hours just admiring the ever-changing, magical color of those spectacular wings. From there, we walked into the main exhibition, housed in a huge room with a grand fresco ceiling. All around the room were amazing pieces of art that had been crafted by poor rural farmers that the Queen's SUPPORT Foundation had brought in and trained in these traditional Thai arts. There were amazingly intricate teak woodcarvings, howdahs, figurines, and other items of awesome metalwork incorporating more gold than I'd ever seen and more of those wondrous beetle wings. The last part of the exhibit was a display of Thai silk weaving and award-winning silk embroidery, all done by people trained through SUPPORT.
After getting back to Phra Khanong, we decided to pay another visit to the "Pad Thai guy" across the street, with whom we'd had our very first, late-night dinner in Bangkok. Then we brought a durian back to the apartment to decide once and for all if it was in fact tasty. I'm sorry to say, it just wasn't, So much so that we simply couldn't finish it and hoped it would still be good the next day when Matthew, who loves them, got home.
Wednesday the 15th was our final day in Thailand, most of which was spent wandering around the markets purchasing last minute items and soaking up our last--for now--of Phra Khanon's lively local scene. For breakfast, we found the delicious coconut and chive pods that we'd had on the coast in Trat. For lunch, I picked up some veggie noodle stuff in a bag and then we sat down at a busy little street place that we'd been meaning to try. One of the two women sitting next to us spoke really good English and helped us order, and then we continued to talk with her about what we were doing, etc. She was very cool. While Lacey and Austin ate some dish she'd recommended, the cook served me my best and cheapest Thai iced tea yet: the perfect one to end on.
That evening once Matthew got home, we went to a little restaurant on Soi 2. I had a delicious tomato and onion omelet and Matthew kindly treated us all to this last Thai dinner. Then we wandered up Soi 71 to find various fruits and snacks. We all tasted our second durian, which ended up being far more tolerable than the one we'd mustered the courage to try the day before. For Thailand's "king of fruits," it's awfully stinky, but I think I could come to like it after all.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Last day on the beach and back to the city lights
Monday, December 13.
One week and I'm homeward bound! As has become our trend, we succeeded in saving money on our return trip to Bangkok, which ended up being extremely fortunate when it turned out that we would otherwise have run out of cash before reaching an ATM in the city.
On Sunday, we had a great early morning snorkeling adventure. We swam out past the pier where we found a large coral and lots of colorful fish, worms, and urchins. Apparently, the snorkeling off of a nearby island is far more diverse and rewarding, but, not knowing what we were missing, we had a lot of fun.
Once sufficiently water-logged, we came back to camp for breakfast and tea and then took some footage for a silly video idea we'd had. Then we got our stuff as ready to go as we could and hung around until dinner, which Lacey and Austin made with a squash, rice, beans, coconut milk, and a whole lot of sugar. We also had some more sweet coconut banana mush for dessert before bed.
At 4:30 this morning, I was woken up by rain. I scrambled out of my hammock, donned my pack, and carried my liner and blanket and other things we wanted to keep dry to the open-air, covered eating area, where we all tried to fall asleep on a wooden table until our alarms went off at six. It was go time. Austin cooked up our remaining eggs and veggies for breakfast, we had the last of our tea, returned the blankets and food box borrowed from the resort, tossed our waste, packed up our wet hammocks, and by 7:45, we had said goodbye and many thank yous and were on our way up the road to meet the truck on the other side of the bridge. Our generous host, so understanding of our financial restraints, had booked us tickets for the hundred baht cheaper local boat, instead of the 350 baht tourist boat wd'd taken to get there, and we piled on this ferry by day, fishing boat by night with a couple dozen Thais.
After grtting a truck to the bus station from the ferry pier, we waited at the "food center" for the next bus. The charge three baht for the station's only bathroom, and by the time we'd payed for our one hundred baht meal, all in change, and had bought three bananas for the ride, we had 2.25 baht left, so the woman gave us one baht back so Lacey could use the bathroom. Austin and I waited till Bangkok. If we had spent any more on those motorbikes, or had to pay a rental fee for the snorkeling equipment, or bought one more mango on the island, we wouldn't have made it. Hallelujah. Now we know: If going to a remote island with no ATMs, bring way more cash than you think you need.
We got to the Ekkamai station at around 6:30 and carried our packs--lighter without all of that food--back to the apartment. Then we ventured to Soi (lane/street) 2 to find some dinner, which we brought back to the apartment to eat. i had an interesting green veggie with rice. Lacey and Austin had several seafood items and some pork that apparently reminded them of home. Matthew got in late and took a red eye bus down south for his couple days' break from traching, so we were on our own for the next couple of days.
One week and I'm homeward bound! As has become our trend, we succeeded in saving money on our return trip to Bangkok, which ended up being extremely fortunate when it turned out that we would otherwise have run out of cash before reaching an ATM in the city.
On Sunday, we had a great early morning snorkeling adventure. We swam out past the pier where we found a large coral and lots of colorful fish, worms, and urchins. Apparently, the snorkeling off of a nearby island is far more diverse and rewarding, but, not knowing what we were missing, we had a lot of fun.
Once sufficiently water-logged, we came back to camp for breakfast and tea and then took some footage for a silly video idea we'd had. Then we got our stuff as ready to go as we could and hung around until dinner, which Lacey and Austin made with a squash, rice, beans, coconut milk, and a whole lot of sugar. We also had some more sweet coconut banana mush for dessert before bed.
At 4:30 this morning, I was woken up by rain. I scrambled out of my hammock, donned my pack, and carried my liner and blanket and other things we wanted to keep dry to the open-air, covered eating area, where we all tried to fall asleep on a wooden table until our alarms went off at six. It was go time. Austin cooked up our remaining eggs and veggies for breakfast, we had the last of our tea, returned the blankets and food box borrowed from the resort, tossed our waste, packed up our wet hammocks, and by 7:45, we had said goodbye and many thank yous and were on our way up the road to meet the truck on the other side of the bridge. Our generous host, so understanding of our financial restraints, had booked us tickets for the hundred baht cheaper local boat, instead of the 350 baht tourist boat wd'd taken to get there, and we piled on this ferry by day, fishing boat by night with a couple dozen Thais.
After grtting a truck to the bus station from the ferry pier, we waited at the "food center" for the next bus. The charge three baht for the station's only bathroom, and by the time we'd payed for our one hundred baht meal, all in change, and had bought three bananas for the ride, we had 2.25 baht left, so the woman gave us one baht back so Lacey could use the bathroom. Austin and I waited till Bangkok. If we had spent any more on those motorbikes, or had to pay a rental fee for the snorkeling equipment, or bought one more mango on the island, we wouldn't have made it. Hallelujah. Now we know: If going to a remote island with no ATMs, bring way more cash than you think you need.
We got to the Ekkamai station at around 6:30 and carried our packs--lighter without all of that food--back to the apartment. Then we ventured to Soi (lane/street) 2 to find some dinner, which we brought back to the apartment to eat. i had an interesting green veggie with rice. Lacey and Austin had several seafood items and some pork that apparently reminded them of home. Matthew got in late and took a red eye bus down south for his couple days' break from traching, so we were on our own for the next couple of days.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
A lesson on losing and life on the beach
Wednesday, December 8.
I can't seem to learn this lesson enough. I won't profess to know just what the lesson is, but I have a feeling it's something like this:
Why cling to possessions? They don't mean a thing in the end. And besides, someone probably really needs those Chacos you lost in the ocean today, and someone else will deeply appreciate the prized stickers on that favorite Nalgene. You've got to let go. There's just no point in doing otherwise.
It's extremely tempting to be ridiculously frustrated with myself, or with anything else that could be blamed, especially when I reached for the shoes immediately after our three person kayak that should really only take two, flipped, and when Lacey's Chacos, but for some reason mine didn't, and when Austin's equally full Nalgene floated, but mine was nowhere to be found -- by me, anyway. I'm doing my best to remain calm about it, but I have to admit: I'm not about to throw my fiddle in the water, whether or not it's in a water-tight PVC pipe. I do understand though, I think.
All that aside, we really have had a wonderful second day here. We got up at seven and, a little later, had an oatmeal breakfast and makeshift tea with plenty of room for improvement over the Whisperlite stove that Heather kindly lent us. Then we hopped on a "tri-yak" at fifty baht an hour and had a simply glorious ride out there before we flipped over and a fairly crazy adventure ensued. After a long time of searching for my missed items, Austin lost track of one of the paddles, so while I satin the boat to keep from losing it too and tried to clear my mind, Lacey and Austin dove frantically for the paddle while trying to hold onto the other two. Without a paddle, I drifted farther and farther away, and so eventually decided to beach it and wait on shore. Once I made it, I turned to see my two companions swimming goofily to shore with the three paddles. After that, Lacey and Austin paddled back while I walked along the shore, partly to look for my shoes and partly to lessen the tippiness of the kayak. Pretty soon, the beach dropped off so I had to finish the long walk on the road, but soon enough I got a ride on the back of a motorbike, and the paddlers got back soon after I did.
After a delicious lunch of veggie omelettes, we spent the rest of the day relaxing. As the sun started to change the colors of the sky, Lacey and I set out for fruit while Austin foraged for a coconut, and we came back with three mangoes, a pineapple, and thirteen bananas for a total of 165 baht (about US $5.50)--a lot by Thai standards, but not so much for an island where probably only the bananas were local.
Friday, December 10.
On Wednesday, we had dal bhat Austin style for dinner and a perfectly ripe mango for dessert -- actually, it was probably the best mango I've ever had. On Thursday after tea, we had oatmeal for breakfast and then Lacey made our packed lunch of potato salad and fruit salad (mmm). Then we set out for the place with the best deal on two motorbikes, renting two scooters at 550 baht total for 24 hours (that's about eighteen US dollars). That's right -- it was motorbike day. It turned out the place was run by a guy from Northern British Columbia who's lived in Thailand for years and knows more about the island than most residents we've talked to. It was much harder than I expected, though mostly because the road I started on was a small dirt/gravel path with lots of bumps and deep sand, but before too long, we were zipping around the island with the wind in our hair and toothy grins on our faces. We failed to find the little-known waterfall we'd been pointed to and instead took a swim on the perfect beach -- beautifully rockless sand, a amazingly clear water, a beautiful view, and nice little swing. Then we made our way to a bigger waterfall, ate our lunch, went for a fresh water swim, and played for a while on a big rope swing before drying off in the sun and hiking back to our bikes. Then we drove all the way up to the fishing village at the Northwest tip of the island to look around and stopped by one of the other falls, where we just climbed to the top and hung out for a few minutes. Then we headed home, but not before getting quite lost and riding up a long, narrow driveway to the library, only to find out that it was closed.
Back at Dusita, it was my turn to cook dinner, and it turned out really well. We had long beans, eggplant, and onion on rice noodles with a great lime soy sauce, and our last and still more divine mango on the side. For dessert, we cooked up one of the sweetest, tastiest things I've ever eaten. All we did was heat up coconut milk with fairly unrefined brown sugar, add in the rest of the over-ripe bananas in small pieces, and then boil it until the milk got thick and the 'nanas got mushy. It was SO GOOD. (Yes, we'll be having this at home.)
After that, we walked out onto the beach in the dark with our candles left over from HM the King's birthday, sat down on a fallen palm tree, and broke open two coconuts to sip their milk under the stars. It's a laborious process, requiring one to cut open and dig out the deep and very fibrous outer husk and then drill a hole through the shell to stick a straw in, it is so worth it. What more could one ask for?
I woke up this morning and peeked over my hammock with an overwhelming appreciation for what lay before me. The early morning light breaking through the coconut fronds, water lapping rhythmically at the shore just meter away, and not a soul in site.
With more detailed directions to the hidden waterfall from our Canadian friend, we headed out after scrambled eggs with veggies. We didn't have time to make it to the falls in the end, and so took a treasure-collecting walk on the Ao Phrao beach instead, but returned to the bikes fully satisfied with our time on wheels and our self-guided tour around the island from the left side of its skinny roads. The rest of the day was spent relaxing -- what do yo know... We had a pasta salad and tang for lunch and then talked as much we could with three of the resort staff -- all from Cambodia. After much deliberation, we succeeded in inviting them to have tea with us at 4 O'clock, as we'd missed it this morning and didn't have enough food left to have them for dinner. It was great fun, and the youngest one, fifteen years old and the daughter and niece of the other two, came back later while Austin was making dinner and sat down to look at her English-Cambodian phrase book with Lacey and me. We then brought dinner -- the rest of the macaroni with eggplant, long beans, onions, and soy protein in a stroganoff-esque sauce -- onto the pier to watch the sun set, and then cracked into some more coconuts as the moon rose. Tonight it's early to bed, and tomorrow we borrow the resort's masks and flippers to go snorkeling off the shore for our last day in this tropical paradise.
Saturday, December 11.
The wind is howling across the ocean and through the trees. Walking on the grass alongside the beach, I couldn't be happier. I'm sitting in my hammock facing the water, enjoying the wind in my hair and its cooling effect on the temperature.
I can't seem to learn this lesson enough. I won't profess to know just what the lesson is, but I have a feeling it's something like this:
Why cling to possessions? They don't mean a thing in the end. And besides, someone probably really needs those Chacos you lost in the ocean today, and someone else will deeply appreciate the prized stickers on that favorite Nalgene. You've got to let go. There's just no point in doing otherwise.
It's extremely tempting to be ridiculously frustrated with myself, or with anything else that could be blamed, especially when I reached for the shoes immediately after our three person kayak that should really only take two, flipped, and when Lacey's Chacos, but for some reason mine didn't, and when Austin's equally full Nalgene floated, but mine was nowhere to be found -- by me, anyway. I'm doing my best to remain calm about it, but I have to admit: I'm not about to throw my fiddle in the water, whether or not it's in a water-tight PVC pipe. I do understand though, I think.
All that aside, we really have had a wonderful second day here. We got up at seven and, a little later, had an oatmeal breakfast and makeshift tea with plenty of room for improvement over the Whisperlite stove that Heather kindly lent us. Then we hopped on a "tri-yak" at fifty baht an hour and had a simply glorious ride out there before we flipped over and a fairly crazy adventure ensued. After a long time of searching for my missed items, Austin lost track of one of the paddles, so while I satin the boat to keep from losing it too and tried to clear my mind, Lacey and Austin dove frantically for the paddle while trying to hold onto the other two. Without a paddle, I drifted farther and farther away, and so eventually decided to beach it and wait on shore. Once I made it, I turned to see my two companions swimming goofily to shore with the three paddles. After that, Lacey and Austin paddled back while I walked along the shore, partly to look for my shoes and partly to lessen the tippiness of the kayak. Pretty soon, the beach dropped off so I had to finish the long walk on the road, but soon enough I got a ride on the back of a motorbike, and the paddlers got back soon after I did.
After a delicious lunch of veggie omelettes, we spent the rest of the day relaxing. As the sun started to change the colors of the sky, Lacey and I set out for fruit while Austin foraged for a coconut, and we came back with three mangoes, a pineapple, and thirteen bananas for a total of 165 baht (about US $5.50)--a lot by Thai standards, but not so much for an island where probably only the bananas were local.
Friday, December 10.
On Wednesday, we had dal bhat Austin style for dinner and a perfectly ripe mango for dessert -- actually, it was probably the best mango I've ever had. On Thursday after tea, we had oatmeal for breakfast and then Lacey made our packed lunch of potato salad and fruit salad (mmm). Then we set out for the place with the best deal on two motorbikes, renting two scooters at 550 baht total for 24 hours (that's about eighteen US dollars). That's right -- it was motorbike day. It turned out the place was run by a guy from Northern British Columbia who's lived in Thailand for years and knows more about the island than most residents we've talked to. It was much harder than I expected, though mostly because the road I started on was a small dirt/gravel path with lots of bumps and deep sand, but before too long, we were zipping around the island with the wind in our hair and toothy grins on our faces. We failed to find the little-known waterfall we'd been pointed to and instead took a swim on the perfect beach -- beautifully rockless sand, a amazingly clear water, a beautiful view, and nice little swing. Then we made our way to a bigger waterfall, ate our lunch, went for a fresh water swim, and played for a while on a big rope swing before drying off in the sun and hiking back to our bikes. Then we drove all the way up to the fishing village at the Northwest tip of the island to look around and stopped by one of the other falls, where we just climbed to the top and hung out for a few minutes. Then we headed home, but not before getting quite lost and riding up a long, narrow driveway to the library, only to find out that it was closed.
Back at Dusita, it was my turn to cook dinner, and it turned out really well. We had long beans, eggplant, and onion on rice noodles with a great lime soy sauce, and our last and still more divine mango on the side. For dessert, we cooked up one of the sweetest, tastiest things I've ever eaten. All we did was heat up coconut milk with fairly unrefined brown sugar, add in the rest of the over-ripe bananas in small pieces, and then boil it until the milk got thick and the 'nanas got mushy. It was SO GOOD. (Yes, we'll be having this at home.)
After that, we walked out onto the beach in the dark with our candles left over from HM the King's birthday, sat down on a fallen palm tree, and broke open two coconuts to sip their milk under the stars. It's a laborious process, requiring one to cut open and dig out the deep and very fibrous outer husk and then drill a hole through the shell to stick a straw in, it is so worth it. What more could one ask for?
I woke up this morning and peeked over my hammock with an overwhelming appreciation for what lay before me. The early morning light breaking through the coconut fronds, water lapping rhythmically at the shore just meter away, and not a soul in site.
With more detailed directions to the hidden waterfall from our Canadian friend, we headed out after scrambled eggs with veggies. We didn't have time to make it to the falls in the end, and so took a treasure-collecting walk on the Ao Phrao beach instead, but returned to the bikes fully satisfied with our time on wheels and our self-guided tour around the island from the left side of its skinny roads. The rest of the day was spent relaxing -- what do yo know... We had a pasta salad and tang for lunch and then talked as much we could with three of the resort staff -- all from Cambodia. After much deliberation, we succeeded in inviting them to have tea with us at 4 O'clock, as we'd missed it this morning and didn't have enough food left to have them for dinner. It was great fun, and the youngest one, fifteen years old and the daughter and niece of the other two, came back later while Austin was making dinner and sat down to look at her English-Cambodian phrase book with Lacey and me. We then brought dinner -- the rest of the macaroni with eggplant, long beans, onions, and soy protein in a stroganoff-esque sauce -- onto the pier to watch the sun set, and then cracked into some more coconuts as the moon rose. Tonight it's early to bed, and tomorrow we borrow the resort's masks and flippers to go snorkeling off the shore for our last day in this tropical paradise.
Saturday, December 11.
The wind is howling across the ocean and through the trees. Walking on the grass alongside the beach, I couldn't be happier. I'm sitting in my hammock facing the water, enjoying the wind in my hair and its cooling effect on the temperature.
Coastward Bound
Monday, December 6.
After a final couple of hours at the internet cafe (for now), we packed up our stuff and walked with our pack to the bus station. The next bus wasn't for an hour and a half, so we walked back around the bend to wait at a Starbuck's in this big, somewhat intimidating "mediplex." The Starbucks itself was very nice with comfy couches, and the baristas were super friendly, so we all ordered little sandwiches (say what?) and sat down to wait. At 5:30, we finally boarded the bus, and five hours later, we were in the seaside town of Trat, where, after denying several taxis, we walked the two kilometers into town, grabbed "dinner" at a 7-11, and then found the Ban Jaidee guest house, where it wasn't too late to get a couple reasonably-priced rooms (200 baht a room--about seven dollars). As we entered, we met a German guy who said he owned a guest house on Ko Khood, the second largest island after Ko Chang, and the farthest away. He said that if we were looking for a less touristy place, that Ko Kood was the place to go, and he said we'd be able to camp there no problem, although it's outside of the national park. So we changed our plans right then and there, and in the morning the lovely guest house owner booked us spots on a boat to Ko Kood. After packing up our things in the morning, we went to the market to get the rest of our food for the week--mostly veggies, as we'd gotten the rest of the non-parishable items in Bangkok. It was so much fun. You could tell that foreigners don't go in there much, if at all. Along with our noodle soup breakfast, we got these little eggy pods they cook up in something that resembles an open-faced egg poacher. They seem to be made of egg, coconut milk, and sugar. Six for ten baht and they are so delicious. We're hoping to find them later in Bangkok. After shopping and eating, we waited at the guest house for the truck to the boat, at which point we zipped across town to the coast out onto a long pier, and before we knew it, we were lounging in sling chairs on a simple, two floor ferry. We arrived in Koh Kut just a couple of hours later, and rode the free taxi to the Happy Days guest house, where it turned out we couldn't actually camp, but they pointed us to the "resort" down the road (they're more like rustic collections of bungalows on the beach with a central restaurant/shop), and we began the walk with our heavy packs. We asked at three places with flat-out denials and got very discouraged, as most of the huts cost upwards of a thousand baht per night (anywhere from 35 to 70 dollars), and we'd planned just to pay a small park fee and be done with it. But just around the corner, Lacey and I put down our packs and were given a free coconut by the guy who later became known as the coconut man while Austin went to ask one more time, and he came back saying we had two palm trees each right ont he beach, and water to bathe and brush our teeth with for only 100 baht per night, and that the family was happy to have us. And so it was that the coconut grove at Dusita resort became our new home.
Relieved and rejoicing, we set up our hammocks, went for a pre-dusk swim, wondering how we'd ended up in this pristine setting reserved, it had seemed, for computer desktop backgrounds, and then cooked up a delicious dinner of rice and curried vegetables and went to bed. Oh, what a life.
After a final couple of hours at the internet cafe (for now), we packed up our stuff and walked with our pack to the bus station. The next bus wasn't for an hour and a half, so we walked back around the bend to wait at a Starbuck's in this big, somewhat intimidating "mediplex." The Starbucks itself was very nice with comfy couches, and the baristas were super friendly, so we all ordered little sandwiches (say what?) and sat down to wait. At 5:30, we finally boarded the bus, and five hours later, we were in the seaside town of Trat, where, after denying several taxis, we walked the two kilometers into town, grabbed "dinner" at a 7-11, and then found the Ban Jaidee guest house, where it wasn't too late to get a couple reasonably-priced rooms (200 baht a room--about seven dollars). As we entered, we met a German guy who said he owned a guest house on Ko Khood, the second largest island after Ko Chang, and the farthest away. He said that if we were looking for a less touristy place, that Ko Kood was the place to go, and he said we'd be able to camp there no problem, although it's outside of the national park. So we changed our plans right then and there, and in the morning the lovely guest house owner booked us spots on a boat to Ko Kood. After packing up our things in the morning, we went to the market to get the rest of our food for the week--mostly veggies, as we'd gotten the rest of the non-parishable items in Bangkok. It was so much fun. You could tell that foreigners don't go in there much, if at all. Along with our noodle soup breakfast, we got these little eggy pods they cook up in something that resembles an open-faced egg poacher. They seem to be made of egg, coconut milk, and sugar. Six for ten baht and they are so delicious. We're hoping to find them later in Bangkok. After shopping and eating, we waited at the guest house for the truck to the boat, at which point we zipped across town to the coast out onto a long pier, and before we knew it, we were lounging in sling chairs on a simple, two floor ferry. We arrived in Koh Kut just a couple of hours later, and rode the free taxi to the Happy Days guest house, where it turned out we couldn't actually camp, but they pointed us to the "resort" down the road (they're more like rustic collections of bungalows on the beach with a central restaurant/shop), and we began the walk with our heavy packs. We asked at three places with flat-out denials and got very discouraged, as most of the huts cost upwards of a thousand baht per night (anywhere from 35 to 70 dollars), and we'd planned just to pay a small park fee and be done with it. But just around the corner, Lacey and I put down our packs and were given a free coconut by the guy who later became known as the coconut man while Austin went to ask one more time, and he came back saying we had two palm trees each right ont he beach, and water to bathe and brush our teeth with for only 100 baht per night, and that the family was happy to have us. And so it was that the coconut grove at Dusita resort became our new home.
Relieved and rejoicing, we set up our hammocks, went for a pre-dusk swim, wondering how we'd ended up in this pristine setting reserved, it had seemed, for computer desktop backgrounds, and then cooked up a delicious dinner of rice and curried vegetables and went to bed. Oh, what a life.
Chinatown
Saturday, December 4th.
We had breakfast this morning at one of two Nepali/Burmese places nearby. The owners of both were born and grew up in Myanmar, but are ancestrally Nepali. Then, after checking emails at the cafe, we met back up with Matthew and took the BTS to the train station, from where he showed us the way to Chinatown. Chinatown was wild. At first, we walked through streets with interesting shops and stalls -- stands selling every kind of raw seafood, Chinese medicine shops with stuffed alligators on display, selling snake heads, tiger balm, and ginger, among other things -- and I had Thai iced tea, papaya, and cantaloupe, while Lacey and Austin had a mystery lunch at a street kitchen where the only sign, containing two items, was written in either Chinese or Thai--I can't remember. They ordered one of each, only to find out that one consisted of two of the mystery rolls and the other of three. I don't know if a single thing in them was clearly identifiable, but they definitely weren't vegetarian. After lunch, we got ice cream bars from a vendor and then ventured into the different world of dark side lanes, so narrow that we had to step into shops to let people pass, and some so uneven that a brave motorcyclist who tried to tow his goods through one fell over in much embarrassment. Every such alley we walked through was packed with nameless shop after nameless shop of cheap merchandise -- from hair clips and hats to toys and dishware. We walked into one of these deep, narrow stores that, much to our surprise, had five or six flors, each selling something different. One sold toys, one sold stationary, one sold lamps, clocks, and snow globes, etc. Lacey found out the hard way that photography wasn't allowed (I wonder why...). It's unlike any American Chinatown I've been to. For one thing, the food is actually Chinese...
After leaving Chinatown, we stopped by Wat Traimit to see the 3-meter-tall sitting Buddha, apparently solid gold. It was certainly very shiny. After getting off the BTS at Phra Khanong, we noticed a sign and stopped by, only to find out that this was the other Nepali place: Rays. Sweet! I got some kind of green bean dish with garlic. It was so good, I might just go back for more. The food was more Burmese than Nepali, but at least our waiter, Chai, could understand the Nepali we spoke to him.
We had breakfast this morning at one of two Nepali/Burmese places nearby. The owners of both were born and grew up in Myanmar, but are ancestrally Nepali. Then, after checking emails at the cafe, we met back up with Matthew and took the BTS to the train station, from where he showed us the way to Chinatown. Chinatown was wild. At first, we walked through streets with interesting shops and stalls -- stands selling every kind of raw seafood, Chinese medicine shops with stuffed alligators on display, selling snake heads, tiger balm, and ginger, among other things -- and I had Thai iced tea, papaya, and cantaloupe, while Lacey and Austin had a mystery lunch at a street kitchen where the only sign, containing two items, was written in either Chinese or Thai--I can't remember. They ordered one of each, only to find out that one consisted of two of the mystery rolls and the other of three. I don't know if a single thing in them was clearly identifiable, but they definitely weren't vegetarian. After lunch, we got ice cream bars from a vendor and then ventured into the different world of dark side lanes, so narrow that we had to step into shops to let people pass, and some so uneven that a brave motorcyclist who tried to tow his goods through one fell over in much embarrassment. Every such alley we walked through was packed with nameless shop after nameless shop of cheap merchandise -- from hair clips and hats to toys and dishware. We walked into one of these deep, narrow stores that, much to our surprise, had five or six flors, each selling something different. One sold toys, one sold stationary, one sold lamps, clocks, and snow globes, etc. Lacey found out the hard way that photography wasn't allowed (I wonder why...). It's unlike any American Chinatown I've been to. For one thing, the food is actually Chinese...
After leaving Chinatown, we stopped by Wat Traimit to see the 3-meter-tall sitting Buddha, apparently solid gold. It was certainly very shiny. After getting off the BTS at Phra Khanong, we noticed a sign and stopped by, only to find out that this was the other Nepali place: Rays. Sweet! I got some kind of green bean dish with garlic. It was so good, I might just go back for more. The food was more Burmese than Nepali, but at least our waiter, Chai, could understand the Nepali we spoke to him.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Back to Bangkok!
Thursday, December 2.
We woke up in our bamboo hut at 5:30 and met Non out at the shop for a breakfast of Kao nyao sankaya (sticky rice with coconut milk topped with a sweet egg and coconut milk pudding...mm mm, good). The Pun-Pun truck showed up from the farm at 7:00 already full of people, so Non, Lacey, and Austin crammed onto the benches in the back with all of our packs, and one of the Pun-Pun guys and I stood on the back and held on. It was a wicked fun ride, zipping through the wind to Chiang Mai. Once in Chiang Mai, Non took us to the main market where we purchased a couple pairs of the Thai farmer pants we'd all grown to love, and then we stopped by the bank to pick up my debit card that had been rescued from the hungry ATM (hallelujah!) before heading to a gas station on the main road to begin hitchhiking. Non happened to be going to Bangkok as well and explained to us that hitchhiking is safe in Thailand, and that most people are happy to take foreigners for a ride, so we were stoked to save a train load on another ticket and to experience more of Thailand from the back of a truck. Hitchhiking consisted of Non asking drivers of pickups if they were going to Bangkok and would like to take us along. Not a single one was and we got pretty discouraged until finally a group of construction workers showed up who were headed that way and welcomed us aboard. It wasn't a comfortable ride, but there was a tarp over our heads to shade from the sun, and it only took 8 hours, instead of the 13 or so that the train would've taken. Best of all, we didn't have to pay a cent! Once we got to the city, we said goodbye to dear Non and got a taxi back to Matthew's.
Friday, December 3rd.
After a delicious 11:00 dinner of Pad Thai off the street, we went to bed and woke up early to find an internet cafe. We found a perfect place with great drinks and free wifi, and spent a couple of hours getting caught up and deciding what we wanted to do. We then tried some unfamiliar fruits from a stand for lunch, said goodbye to Heather who had arrived early in the morning, and set out to find Chinatown. We failed, but ended up being led around the science center by some eager young girls and then went to one of the city's several parks, called Chatachak for a lovely walk and a tight fit in a paddle boat for a sunset ride around the pond there. Then we found a great dinner at a little place recommended by Matthew, found another internet cafe because our favorite was closed, and vowed never to go back (expensive drinks, no wifi, yada yada yada).
Saturday, December 4th.
Today we've figured out how to get to Chinatown and are hoping to meet Amelia, who's in town for a couple days before flying home. Tomorrow is the King's birthday, and we're hoping to explore the grand palace and other sights in the old town. On Monday the plan is to get the bus down the Eastern Seaboard to Ko Chang, a mountainous island where we're hoping to find a secluded beach to camp near. After a week or so down on the seaboard, we'll have a couple more days to explore Bangkok before heading back to Hong Kong. Woohoo!
We woke up in our bamboo hut at 5:30 and met Non out at the shop for a breakfast of Kao nyao sankaya (sticky rice with coconut milk topped with a sweet egg and coconut milk pudding...mm mm, good). The Pun-Pun truck showed up from the farm at 7:00 already full of people, so Non, Lacey, and Austin crammed onto the benches in the back with all of our packs, and one of the Pun-Pun guys and I stood on the back and held on. It was a wicked fun ride, zipping through the wind to Chiang Mai. Once in Chiang Mai, Non took us to the main market where we purchased a couple pairs of the Thai farmer pants we'd all grown to love, and then we stopped by the bank to pick up my debit card that had been rescued from the hungry ATM (hallelujah!) before heading to a gas station on the main road to begin hitchhiking. Non happened to be going to Bangkok as well and explained to us that hitchhiking is safe in Thailand, and that most people are happy to take foreigners for a ride, so we were stoked to save a train load on another ticket and to experience more of Thailand from the back of a truck. Hitchhiking consisted of Non asking drivers of pickups if they were going to Bangkok and would like to take us along. Not a single one was and we got pretty discouraged until finally a group of construction workers showed up who were headed that way and welcomed us aboard. It wasn't a comfortable ride, but there was a tarp over our heads to shade from the sun, and it only took 8 hours, instead of the 13 or so that the train would've taken. Best of all, we didn't have to pay a cent! Once we got to the city, we said goodbye to dear Non and got a taxi back to Matthew's.
Friday, December 3rd.
After a delicious 11:00 dinner of Pad Thai off the street, we went to bed and woke up early to find an internet cafe. We found a perfect place with great drinks and free wifi, and spent a couple of hours getting caught up and deciding what we wanted to do. We then tried some unfamiliar fruits from a stand for lunch, said goodbye to Heather who had arrived early in the morning, and set out to find Chinatown. We failed, but ended up being led around the science center by some eager young girls and then went to one of the city's several parks, called Chatachak for a lovely walk and a tight fit in a paddle boat for a sunset ride around the pond there. Then we found a great dinner at a little place recommended by Matthew, found another internet cafe because our favorite was closed, and vowed never to go back (expensive drinks, no wifi, yada yada yada).
Saturday, December 4th.
Today we've figured out how to get to Chinatown and are hoping to meet Amelia, who's in town for a couple days before flying home. Tomorrow is the King's birthday, and we're hoping to explore the grand palace and other sights in the old town. On Monday the plan is to get the bus down the Eastern Seaboard to Ko Chang, a mountainous island where we're hoping to find a secluded beach to camp near. After a week or so down on the seaboard, we'll have a couple more days to explore Bangkok before heading back to Hong Kong. Woohoo!
Final reflections from the farm
Wednesday, December 1.
I can't believe it's already December. In any case, I feel as though I've been experiencing paradise again. The lush green palms. The fresh tropical fruits after every meal. The quiet walk back from the reservoir. The mornings of hard work and afternoons of beautiful relaxation. This is the life, I'm tellin' you.
Lacey, Austin and I took our last trip to the reservoir today (Heather left yesterday to spend a couple nights in Chiang Mai before training back to Bangkok to catch her earlier flight home), and walked back on the quiet, winding road to the village just as the sun was setting. Layer upon layer of green mountain sat humbly in the distance beneath the horizon. The light on the clouds seemed to form a heavenly mother peak above them. The other-worldy sunset intensified as we walked, and the sky's ethereal orange peaked through the big leaves of coconut and banana trees. Tonight we have our last dinner with Non at Didi's guesthouse, and in the morning it's back to Bangkok. But something about Northern Thailand has me hooked. This place I will definitely be seeing again.
I can't believe it's already December. In any case, I feel as though I've been experiencing paradise again. The lush green palms. The fresh tropical fruits after every meal. The quiet walk back from the reservoir. The mornings of hard work and afternoons of beautiful relaxation. This is the life, I'm tellin' you.
Lacey, Austin and I took our last trip to the reservoir today (Heather left yesterday to spend a couple nights in Chiang Mai before training back to Bangkok to catch her earlier flight home), and walked back on the quiet, winding road to the village just as the sun was setting. Layer upon layer of green mountain sat humbly in the distance beneath the horizon. The light on the clouds seemed to form a heavenly mother peak above them. The other-worldy sunset intensified as we walked, and the sky's ethereal orange peaked through the big leaves of coconut and banana trees. Tonight we have our last dinner with Non at Didi's guesthouse, and in the morning it's back to Bangkok. But something about Northern Thailand has me hooked. This place I will definitely be seeing again.
WWOOFing days
FYI: WWOOFing stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms, and while we are not actually members of the WWOOFing network, we were essentially WWOOFers for the week.
Sunday, November 28
I sit in the kitchen on our fourth day with Non. We work in the mornings before it gets hot, and in the afternoons we learn about other things, wander about the village, nap in bamboo shelters, and generally have fun. On our first work day, we cut the grass along the path and cleared the area where we would be mixing adobe, using our hands and various scythes and choppers. The next day, we learned how to make adobe bricks, and made eighteen of them, which we set out in the sun to dry (bricks have to dry for fourteen days before they can be used). Yesterday, instead of working, we rode in the back of a pick-up to an elephant camp with Pee Tong Bai (Non's older sister friend whom we refer to as Didi), her husband, and one of Pun-Pun's interns. It ended up being far too expensive and, instead of rides or shows in which, based on our window into elephant captivity in Nepal, I wasn't all that interest anyway, it offered some interesting perspective on tourism in Thailand. One afternoon, we learned how to make banana chips in Didi's kitchen from a local woman's group leader. It's very easy. Just slice up green bananas with a cheese-type slicer/mandolin, drop them in hot oil on the stove, and scoop them out with a strainer once they stop bubbling. They're great with salt or paprika, and probably lots of other things. Different than banana chips in the states, but better, I think. Almost every evening, we swim and bathe at the reservoir up the road, except for one day when we showered at Didi's guest house instead. Today, Janelle, a Pun-Pun intern from Singapore, came to see the place and then went to the noodle shop in the village with us for lunch. Afterward, we stopped by Didi's shop for some sweets, some laughs, and our favorite Namtan Maprau (sugar coconut) drink, then sat down by the guest house kitchen for another little rest, and then went swimming and bought some groceries on our way back up here. Janelle is such a cool person and it was really interesting talking with her about what got her here, Singapore, and education around the world. I hope to meet her again someday.
Sunday, November 28
I sit in the kitchen on our fourth day with Non. We work in the mornings before it gets hot, and in the afternoons we learn about other things, wander about the village, nap in bamboo shelters, and generally have fun. On our first work day, we cut the grass along the path and cleared the area where we would be mixing adobe, using our hands and various scythes and choppers. The next day, we learned how to make adobe bricks, and made eighteen of them, which we set out in the sun to dry (bricks have to dry for fourteen days before they can be used). Yesterday, instead of working, we rode in the back of a pick-up to an elephant camp with Pee Tong Bai (Non's older sister friend whom we refer to as Didi), her husband, and one of Pun-Pun's interns. It ended up being far too expensive and, instead of rides or shows in which, based on our window into elephant captivity in Nepal, I wasn't all that interest anyway, it offered some interesting perspective on tourism in Thailand. One afternoon, we learned how to make banana chips in Didi's kitchen from a local woman's group leader. It's very easy. Just slice up green bananas with a cheese-type slicer/mandolin, drop them in hot oil on the stove, and scoop them out with a strainer once they stop bubbling. They're great with salt or paprika, and probably lots of other things. Different than banana chips in the states, but better, I think. Almost every evening, we swim and bathe at the reservoir up the road, except for one day when we showered at Didi's guest house instead. Today, Janelle, a Pun-Pun intern from Singapore, came to see the place and then went to the noodle shop in the village with us for lunch. Afterward, we stopped by Didi's shop for some sweets, some laughs, and our favorite Namtan Maprau (sugar coconut) drink, then sat down by the guest house kitchen for another little rest, and then went swimming and bought some groceries on our way back up here. Janelle is such a cool person and it was really interesting talking with her about what got her here, Singapore, and education around the world. I hope to meet her again someday.
One Night in Bangkok and 13 hours on the train
Arriving in Bangkok was unbelievably surreal. It was as if I'd never seen a big modern city. We were blown away by the shiny, busy airport with moving walkways and fancy light-up signs, and just as much so throughout the ensuing taxi ride. There weren't any skyscrapers in Nepal.
After Matthew Vaughan the Generous kindly picked us up from the airport and we dropped our stuff off at his place, we met his friend for a delicious first Thai dinner at a street kitchen. We shared several dishes, of which the Pad Thai was my favorite. We also had our first and best yet Thai Iced Tea, which you can get for under a dollar here, as opposed to the four dollars it might cost in the states. After dinner, we made our way to Central World—the large, glitzy mall that was partially burned down during the riots in April. We got a little history lesson the way and began to understand the context a little more, and then sat through thirty-five minutes of previews and stood for the king before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I. I was very impressed with it after my disappointment with the fifth and sixth movies.
In the morning, we got up late, showered, and found our way successfully to the train station where we purchased tickets for that night's ride up to Chiang Mai. We hoped the way back South wouldn't be as expensive. Then we wandered across the highway and found an internet cafe where we got delicious fruit smoothies and emailed Non—the girlfriend of Ryan, who owns the land we'd be wwoofing at—who would be hosting us at the farm, to tell her when we'd be arriving. We then got back on the sky train toward Matthew's, but stopped off at Lumphini Park (named after the Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha in Nepal), strolled around the park, and had fun on the playground (the swan-like paddle boats only fit two people). Once we got back off at Phra Khanong, we found a small place under the highway for lunch, where a Dutch guy who spoke Thai was just finishing up and helped us order delicious rice and friend vegetables. On our way back to the apartment, we passed a spice shop to which we'll definitely be returning, and then we finished packing and headed back to the station to catch our train.
After what we'd heard from Lacey about sleepers in Vietnam, we weren't expecting much from the train, and it ended up being very enjoyable. Each set of two facing seats folded down to become one person's lower bed, and the less expensive “up” bed folded down from the ceiling, was narrower, and had no window. The food was expensive but not half bad (delicious fresh-squeezed OJ), the stewardesses were friendly (one of them even helped Austin out in our game of cards that he was already winning), and the ride went by quickly.
After the ATM at the station ate my debit card, it took us far too long to find the “big white truck” that would take us to Mae To. It leaves the village every day at 6:30 and returns from Chiang Mai at 12:00 noon. It was a sleepy, bumpy ride, and the driver stopped every so often to drop people off, pick others up, or make deliveries. Once we got here, still not having been able to connect with Non, we wandered up the hill and found Wok, who lives and works at Pun-Pun, a large organic farm and intentional community, who led us up the path to Ryan's land. After dropping our stuff off in the adobe kitchen there, we headed back to Pun-Pun and lazed about at their cafe with delicious fruit shakes for a couple hours until Non came by.
After Matthew Vaughan the Generous kindly picked us up from the airport and we dropped our stuff off at his place, we met his friend for a delicious first Thai dinner at a street kitchen. We shared several dishes, of which the Pad Thai was my favorite. We also had our first and best yet Thai Iced Tea, which you can get for under a dollar here, as opposed to the four dollars it might cost in the states. After dinner, we made our way to Central World—the large, glitzy mall that was partially burned down during the riots in April. We got a little history lesson the way and began to understand the context a little more, and then sat through thirty-five minutes of previews and stood for the king before Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I. I was very impressed with it after my disappointment with the fifth and sixth movies.
In the morning, we got up late, showered, and found our way successfully to the train station where we purchased tickets for that night's ride up to Chiang Mai. We hoped the way back South wouldn't be as expensive. Then we wandered across the highway and found an internet cafe where we got delicious fruit smoothies and emailed Non—the girlfriend of Ryan, who owns the land we'd be wwoofing at—who would be hosting us at the farm, to tell her when we'd be arriving. We then got back on the sky train toward Matthew's, but stopped off at Lumphini Park (named after the Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha in Nepal), strolled around the park, and had fun on the playground (the swan-like paddle boats only fit two people). Once we got back off at Phra Khanong, we found a small place under the highway for lunch, where a Dutch guy who spoke Thai was just finishing up and helped us order delicious rice and friend vegetables. On our way back to the apartment, we passed a spice shop to which we'll definitely be returning, and then we finished packing and headed back to the station to catch our train.
After what we'd heard from Lacey about sleepers in Vietnam, we weren't expecting much from the train, and it ended up being very enjoyable. Each set of two facing seats folded down to become one person's lower bed, and the less expensive “up” bed folded down from the ceiling, was narrower, and had no window. The food was expensive but not half bad (delicious fresh-squeezed OJ), the stewardesses were friendly (one of them even helped Austin out in our game of cards that he was already winning), and the ride went by quickly.
After the ATM at the station ate my debit card, it took us far too long to find the “big white truck” that would take us to Mae To. It leaves the village every day at 6:30 and returns from Chiang Mai at 12:00 noon. It was a sleepy, bumpy ride, and the driver stopped every so often to drop people off, pick others up, or make deliveries. Once we got here, still not having been able to connect with Non, we wandered up the hill and found Wok, who lives and works at Pun-Pun, a large organic farm and intentional community, who led us up the path to Ryan's land. After dropping our stuff off in the adobe kitchen there, we headed back to Pun-Pun and lazed about at their cafe with delicious fruit shakes for a couple hours until Non came by.
Leaving Kathmandu
Monday, November 22.
Yesterday, our last in Kathmandu, was an amazing day. It clinched the deal on my return: There are endless amounts of exploring left to be done here. After our last group church service, Ana, Amelia, David and I hailed a taxi to Bhoudhanath—the famous Bhudda stupa where most of the group went while we were in Kirtipur, but to which a few of us couldn't make it. It was wonderful. We sat up on the roof of Flavor's cafe with a straight-on view of the stupa as the afternoon light began to change. From up above, we could see the women kneeling on wooden mats inside the prayer wheel-filled wall surrounding the stupa and running their hands along the length of the wood, presumably rubbing off and thereby distributing the prayers on the flags stacked beneath their pious hands. We wondered if Kanchi, our sherpa who lives nearby, does that. (I wouldn't be surprised if she does.) When we came out after eating, there was a sea of people circumambulating for evening prayers. I walked around taking pictures and soaking it up and then got a little bit of last minute shopping done.
After taxiing back to the guest house, David led Amelia and I through the streets, past the bead bazaar, to New Road—one of the biggest commercial streets in Kathmandu, filled with shops selling jewelry, cell phones, clothing, and the like. Though rushed, it was an unforgettable walk. Courtyards with small, Newari prayer pagodas, joyful drumming and singing circles under the full moon, string upon string of beautifully-colored glass beads, men and women selling vegetables from tarps on the side of the road. I left feeling so sad that I didn't have more time to explore, and so excited to come back someday.
We made it back to the guest house just in time to say goodbye to everyone. Mike, Lacey, and Austin had bought marigold garlands for those who were leaving, so they left with a final blessing. After saying goodbye, Lacey, Heather, Austin, and I had a delicious and ridiculously fun last dinner at Third Eye, the nice Indian restaurant that had been recommended to us. We spoke Nepali with the two waiters up on the terrace, one of which was so cold that he put this neck warmer thing over his ears and stood by a little fire they had.
We also made friends with some army guys on security at the airport the next morning (Monday), after sharing three twin beds in room 510 and and getting a 6:00 taxi in the morning. It didn't speed the good ol' process up. Our flight had been changed to 5 hours later without us knowing, and we and an Israeli guy were the only ones to show up unnecessarily hat 6:30 in the morning. Good thing we know how to wait!
Yesterday, our last in Kathmandu, was an amazing day. It clinched the deal on my return: There are endless amounts of exploring left to be done here. After our last group church service, Ana, Amelia, David and I hailed a taxi to Bhoudhanath—the famous Bhudda stupa where most of the group went while we were in Kirtipur, but to which a few of us couldn't make it. It was wonderful. We sat up on the roof of Flavor's cafe with a straight-on view of the stupa as the afternoon light began to change. From up above, we could see the women kneeling on wooden mats inside the prayer wheel-filled wall surrounding the stupa and running their hands along the length of the wood, presumably rubbing off and thereby distributing the prayers on the flags stacked beneath their pious hands. We wondered if Kanchi, our sherpa who lives nearby, does that. (I wouldn't be surprised if she does.) When we came out after eating, there was a sea of people circumambulating for evening prayers. I walked around taking pictures and soaking it up and then got a little bit of last minute shopping done.
After taxiing back to the guest house, David led Amelia and I through the streets, past the bead bazaar, to New Road—one of the biggest commercial streets in Kathmandu, filled with shops selling jewelry, cell phones, clothing, and the like. Though rushed, it was an unforgettable walk. Courtyards with small, Newari prayer pagodas, joyful drumming and singing circles under the full moon, string upon string of beautifully-colored glass beads, men and women selling vegetables from tarps on the side of the road. I left feeling so sad that I didn't have more time to explore, and so excited to come back someday.
We made it back to the guest house just in time to say goodbye to everyone. Mike, Lacey, and Austin had bought marigold garlands for those who were leaving, so they left with a final blessing. After saying goodbye, Lacey, Heather, Austin, and I had a delicious and ridiculously fun last dinner at Third Eye, the nice Indian restaurant that had been recommended to us. We spoke Nepali with the two waiters up on the terrace, one of which was so cold that he put this neck warmer thing over his ears and stood by a little fire they had.
We also made friends with some army guys on security at the airport the next morning (Monday), after sharing three twin beds in room 510 and and getting a 6:00 taxi in the morning. It didn't speed the good ol' process up. Our flight had been changed to 5 hours later without us knowing, and we and an Israeli guy were the only ones to show up unnecessarily hat 6:30 in the morning. Good thing we know how to wait!
Friday, November 19, 2010
On mountains
Thursday, November 18.
I learned something from the mountains today. Lacey, Austin, and I went on a walk for some fresh air before dinner, up a trail to the very nice, garden-laden hospital and then around to a cool river bed and some great views. Meanwhile, fog was hogging the mountains so tightly that we could pretty much just see some dark outlines here and there. What I realized was that the mountains are always there, simply being, no matter what. Clouds are of no matter to them. They could be entirely covered up, but never feel shafted or down-laden. Shrouded in whiteness, but just as powerful, just as steadfast, just as beautiful.
On Friday, the 19th, we finally made it back to Kathmandu on a huge, chartered helicopter (driven, by the way, by none other than the man who lifted Back Weathers off of the Khumbu glacier on Everest). It was crazy, surreal, and so exciting all at once, and it is so nice to be finally be back here and clean.
I learned something from the mountains today. Lacey, Austin, and I went on a walk for some fresh air before dinner, up a trail to the very nice, garden-laden hospital and then around to a cool river bed and some great views. Meanwhile, fog was hogging the mountains so tightly that we could pretty much just see some dark outlines here and there. What I realized was that the mountains are always there, simply being, no matter what. Clouds are of no matter to them. They could be entirely covered up, but never feel shafted or down-laden. Shrouded in whiteness, but just as powerful, just as steadfast, just as beautiful.
On Friday, the 19th, we finally made it back to Kathmandu on a huge, chartered helicopter (driven, by the way, by none other than the man who lifted Back Weathers off of the Khumbu glacier on Everest). It was crazy, surreal, and so exciting all at once, and it is so nice to be finally be back here and clean.
Catch-up: November 6-17
That was the last up-to-date entry I wrote, but here's the catch up I did toward the end of the trek:
Sunday morning, November 7. Started up the hill after breakfast. After getting up past the bazaar, we walked most of the first half in inspired silence. It was amazing. The second half of the hike was a real challenge. After a good downhill in which we lost about 1000 feet, we hiked steeply uphill, gaining around 2000 feet, for the last hour or two into Tengboche at 12,700 feet or 3867 meters, where we collapsed in the dining room of the lodge. After a wonderful church service on a ridge in the last of the sun, we played some cards at the bakery with expensive but less than delicious apple pie and chocolate croissants, and then Lacey and I napped until dinner, after which commenced a night of often-interrupted night of sleep.
Monday morning, November 8. Before breakfast, we went to the morning prayers at the huge Tengboche monastery--which was rebuilt with the help of Sir Edmund Hillary after an earthquake in 1934 and a fire in 1989. Afterward, we began the hike to Dingboche, but after crossing a bridge and getting partway up a big hill, Babu took Tim, David and I, who weren't doing so hot, back down to join Mike, Brett, and Mariah at the lodge.
Tuesday morning, November 9. Babu, David, and Tim headed back to meet the group while Mariah, Brett, Mike and I hung around the lodge for the morning before heading back down to Namche at noon. It had been a very tough night, to say the least, and the hike back was also very challenging. After that steep, steep, downhill that seemed to last forever, it was half that much up again, and then, as soon as we could see the stupa that meant we were getting close, it kept being one contour further than we expected.
At last, we made it to Namche, and spent the night in the charming Namaste Lodge--a locally-owned place that, unfortunately, couldn't hold the whole group, before waiting for the others at the Nest (the bigger lodge we had stayed in on our way up). It turned out that the rest of the group didn't make it to our final destination at Kala Pathar either, and turned back after reaching Dingboche. They consoled us by agreeing that the best views had been at Tengboche, where the mountains were incredibly close--enough so that we had to crane our necks upward to see them out of the windows in our rooms.
We left Namche on Saturday morning. In my last bout of helplessness, dear Babu carried his pack within mine, and I made it to the teahouse in Phakding without too much trouble.
On Sunday morning I was finally feeling better, and we made the pleasant two or so hour hike up to Lukla in the clouds, but with a clear view of the rolling blue river below us. I managed with my own pack well--not quite up to my usual ripe speed, but hiking pretty quickly.
Wednesday, November 17. Yes, we were meant to fly out on Monday. The lesson on accepting change continues here in Lukla, where we read, play cards, sleep, eat, read some more, play more cards, and so on. Seeing as we have classwork to finish up back in Kathmandu, we're crossing our fingers for a chopper tomorrow if the clouds persist (helicopters can fly when planes can't, and on Tuesday, the only clear day, only so many planes could get in and out and we were not at the top of of the list).
Sunday morning, November 7. Started up the hill after breakfast. After getting up past the bazaar, we walked most of the first half in inspired silence. It was amazing. The second half of the hike was a real challenge. After a good downhill in which we lost about 1000 feet, we hiked steeply uphill, gaining around 2000 feet, for the last hour or two into Tengboche at 12,700 feet or 3867 meters, where we collapsed in the dining room of the lodge. After a wonderful church service on a ridge in the last of the sun, we played some cards at the bakery with expensive but less than delicious apple pie and chocolate croissants, and then Lacey and I napped until dinner, after which commenced a night of often-interrupted night of sleep.
Monday morning, November 8. Before breakfast, we went to the morning prayers at the huge Tengboche monastery--which was rebuilt with the help of Sir Edmund Hillary after an earthquake in 1934 and a fire in 1989. Afterward, we began the hike to Dingboche, but after crossing a bridge and getting partway up a big hill, Babu took Tim, David and I, who weren't doing so hot, back down to join Mike, Brett, and Mariah at the lodge.
Tuesday morning, November 9. Babu, David, and Tim headed back to meet the group while Mariah, Brett, Mike and I hung around the lodge for the morning before heading back down to Namche at noon. It had been a very tough night, to say the least, and the hike back was also very challenging. After that steep, steep, downhill that seemed to last forever, it was half that much up again, and then, as soon as we could see the stupa that meant we were getting close, it kept being one contour further than we expected.
At last, we made it to Namche, and spent the night in the charming Namaste Lodge--a locally-owned place that, unfortunately, couldn't hold the whole group, before waiting for the others at the Nest (the bigger lodge we had stayed in on our way up). It turned out that the rest of the group didn't make it to our final destination at Kala Pathar either, and turned back after reaching Dingboche. They consoled us by agreeing that the best views had been at Tengboche, where the mountains were incredibly close--enough so that we had to crane our necks upward to see them out of the windows in our rooms.
We left Namche on Saturday morning. In my last bout of helplessness, dear Babu carried his pack within mine, and I made it to the teahouse in Phakding without too much trouble.
On Sunday morning I was finally feeling better, and we made the pleasant two or so hour hike up to Lukla in the clouds, but with a clear view of the rolling blue river below us. I managed with my own pack well--not quite up to my usual ripe speed, but hiking pretty quickly.
Wednesday, November 17. Yes, we were meant to fly out on Monday. The lesson on accepting change continues here in Lukla, where we read, play cards, sleep, eat, read some more, play more cards, and so on. Seeing as we have classwork to finish up back in Kathmandu, we're crossing our fingers for a chopper tomorrow if the clouds persist (helicopters can fly when planes can't, and on Tuesday, the only clear day, only so many planes could get in and out and we were not at the top of of the list).
First days of our trek in the Solukhumbu region
Saturday, November 6.
After flying into Lukla from Kathmandu on two small planes, we set out for Phakding, where we spent our first night. Unlike in the Jumla region where we did our first trek, the Everest region is filled with tourists from around the world, and instead of tenting and being served meals by a kitchen crew, we just have porters carrying some of our stuff, and we spend nights and meals in teahouses--some of which are basically hotels, some of which are more like bed and breakfasts. From Phakding, we hiked to Namche bazaar, where we spent a day of acclimatization, and our first views of Everest. Here's my journal entry from Namche:
I sit in my sleeping bag, cold in my cotton short-sleeves, on a comfortable foam mattress in Namche, thinking back to the tents on our last trek and glad for the accommodations, though resentful of the pervasive tourism and the traffic on the trails. It is Diwali--the Hindu festival of lights, celebrated even here, where most are Tibetan buddhists. Loud, festive music and dancing sound through the window where our socks and underwear failed to dry in this morning's sun.
It's been a long day, and I'm ready for bed. After tea this morning, we went on an easy hike up to the Sagarmatha (Everest) National Park headquarters. From the flat, open area surrounded by young firs and pines, we took pictures of the breathtaking panorama all around us. We saw Everest, the Lhotse wall, Ama Dablam, and others.
We came back down for breakfast and then set out again for a good couple hours' acclimatization hike. On the way up, air came harder and we walked as a group to Babu's "bistaraai, bistaraai" (slowly, slowly; Babu was one of our two sherpa leaders). At every rest there were amazing views, and after reaching a high point where all the cameras came out, we descended to Khumjung for lunch. First though, we had hot lemon and popcorn and then walked up through the village to see Kanchi's house (that's our other sherpa) and her wrinkled, happy Ama (mother), followed by the monastery wherein lies the yeti skull--slightly unimpressive, but convincing enough, I thought.
Dinner was delicious tonight. After so-so garlic soup, we had Swiss rosti--enormous and perfectly spiced potato latkes topped with two fried eggs each. It was followed by several riotous rounds of five person hearts before bed.
In the morning, we venture back to 12,000 feet (Namche is at about 11,200), for which we're told our bodies are already preparing, thanks to today's visit to Khumjung.
After flying into Lukla from Kathmandu on two small planes, we set out for Phakding, where we spent our first night. Unlike in the Jumla region where we did our first trek, the Everest region is filled with tourists from around the world, and instead of tenting and being served meals by a kitchen crew, we just have porters carrying some of our stuff, and we spend nights and meals in teahouses--some of which are basically hotels, some of which are more like bed and breakfasts. From Phakding, we hiked to Namche bazaar, where we spent a day of acclimatization, and our first views of Everest. Here's my journal entry from Namche:
I sit in my sleeping bag, cold in my cotton short-sleeves, on a comfortable foam mattress in Namche, thinking back to the tents on our last trek and glad for the accommodations, though resentful of the pervasive tourism and the traffic on the trails. It is Diwali--the Hindu festival of lights, celebrated even here, where most are Tibetan buddhists. Loud, festive music and dancing sound through the window where our socks and underwear failed to dry in this morning's sun.
It's been a long day, and I'm ready for bed. After tea this morning, we went on an easy hike up to the Sagarmatha (Everest) National Park headquarters. From the flat, open area surrounded by young firs and pines, we took pictures of the breathtaking panorama all around us. We saw Everest, the Lhotse wall, Ama Dablam, and others.
We came back down for breakfast and then set out again for a good couple hours' acclimatization hike. On the way up, air came harder and we walked as a group to Babu's "bistaraai, bistaraai" (slowly, slowly; Babu was one of our two sherpa leaders). At every rest there were amazing views, and after reaching a high point where all the cameras came out, we descended to Khumjung for lunch. First though, we had hot lemon and popcorn and then walked up through the village to see Kanchi's house (that's our other sherpa) and her wrinkled, happy Ama (mother), followed by the monastery wherein lies the yeti skull--slightly unimpressive, but convincing enough, I thought.
Dinner was delicious tonight. After so-so garlic soup, we had Swiss rosti--enormous and perfectly spiced potato latkes topped with two fried eggs each. It was followed by several riotous rounds of five person hearts before bed.
In the morning, we venture back to 12,000 feet (Namche is at about 11,200), for which we're told our bodies are already preparing, thanks to today's visit to Khumjung.
Inspiration from the Snow Leopard
Thursday, November 4th.
The Snow Leopard, recommended to me over the summer, purchased by Jeff at Pilgrims on one of our first trips to Thamel, and now living in my pack until I pass it on to the next in line, has me captivated. An interesting quote:
"The mystical perception (which is only 'mystical' if reality is limited to what can be measured by the intellect and senses) is remarkably consistent in all ages and all places, East and West, a point that has not been ignored by modern science. The physicist seeks to understand reality, while the mystic is trained to experience it directly."
The Snow Leopard, recommended to me over the summer, purchased by Jeff at Pilgrims on one of our first trips to Thamel, and now living in my pack until I pass it on to the next in line, has me captivated. An interesting quote:
"The mystical perception (which is only 'mystical' if reality is limited to what can be measured by the intellect and senses) is remarkably consistent in all ages and all places, East and West, a point that has not been ignored by modern science. The physicist seeks to understand reality, while the mystic is trained to experience it directly."
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Halloween in the jungle! October 31st-November 2nd
Sunday, October 31st.
After being boated across the river in incredible dug-out canoes this morning (I'm gonna make one of those some day...), we were guided through the jungle for about 14 miles, or 8-ish hours. We saw no tigers, much to our disappointment, but we did traverse their paths and see their might paw prints! We also saw lots of deers, two different kinds of monkeys--jumping, chatting, and fight in the treetops--, and lots of birds. We then had dinner in costume, followed by church and bed. Costumes included post-crash paraglider, rhino bait (bright colors up the wazoo), and Bob Marley (David through Nepali eyes).
Monday, November 1st.
Another full day in the jungle.
After breakfast, we rode in the backs of two safari trucks to elephant-riding Central. Our bideshi (foreigner) parade proceeded on the backs of five lady elephants and one male. It was so much fun. Very bumpy, but much more enjoyable than a bus ride. Our elephant's name was Pan Kali. She's twenty-five years old (elephants can live to around seventy), and ate everything in site throughout our walk, undeterred by the harsh smacks of her rider that made us cringe every time. Despite this, she was a very skilled escort, especially at crossing rivers and descending and ascending steep, muddy terrain, which succeeded in hurtling us forwards or backwards depending on our position. It was fascinating seeing the jungle atop this incredible creature. Pan Kali had beautiful, papery, pink and grey-freckled ears and amazingly tough skin. Our driver was a stern, older man, who, when we questioned and talked to him in Nepali, rarely responded with more than a nod or a grunt. After dismounting the dear elephants, we went a conservation center where we heard an interesting presentation on the park. The nearby community forest is one of Nepal's richest, thanks to local tourism, and local buffer zone villages receive 50% of the park's revenue, amounting to around 90,000 USD annually (impressive). It's obviously a successful model here in the tourist-rich terai.
After lunch, we all boarded a single dug-out canoe with Kewal and Lama, who said he'd been in the same boat with something like 48 Chinese tourists. Hard to believe, considering how much water the 25 of us caused it to displace. The river was remarkably peaceful, and we saw several crocs both in and out of the water. Afterwards, we went on a short nature walk and then through an informational exhibit at the elephant breeding center and saw some of the elephants chained under large, open shelters. They were fascinating to observe, but the information we read about the training process for the magnificent captive was very sobering, and turned at least some of our joy into sorrow. It's an interesting topic--the balance between wildlife conservation and human livelihoods.
After dinner on Monday, we sat on benches on the lodge's central lawn and saw a stick dance presentation by a group of Tharu students. It was one of the coolest things I've seen. They all wore white outfits with red sashes, and danced to the beat of a large, two-toned drum. After several dances both with and without sticks (one of which featured a crazily spinning girl, and one of which was done by a solo guy with fire on either end of one of the longer sticks), we got to follow their lead in a big dance circle. It was so much to move around like that! It hearkened back to night-time dancing on the trek.
Tuesday, November 2nd.
Early this morning, a few of us got up for a bird walk with Lama and Kewal. It was very foggy, but we saw some kingfishers, orioles, and bullbulls, and heard a lot more. After breakfast, we embarked on our final bus ride as a group. After four or five hours of driving and a couple of sitting in traffic once we got over the ridge into the urban valley, we were back in the smog and happy bustle of Kathmandu. We have two nights and one full day here before flying to Lukla on Thursday morning to begin our trek in the Sagarmatha National Park (Everest, here we come!!). We will be doing research in villages like we did in the Jumla region, but this time we're on our own, as most people will speak some English. And then it's back here to the Kathmandu Guest House to write our papers and explore the city.
Over and out.
After being boated across the river in incredible dug-out canoes this morning (I'm gonna make one of those some day...), we were guided through the jungle for about 14 miles, or 8-ish hours. We saw no tigers, much to our disappointment, but we did traverse their paths and see their might paw prints! We also saw lots of deers, two different kinds of monkeys--jumping, chatting, and fight in the treetops--, and lots of birds. We then had dinner in costume, followed by church and bed. Costumes included post-crash paraglider, rhino bait (bright colors up the wazoo), and Bob Marley (David through Nepali eyes).
Monday, November 1st.
Another full day in the jungle.
After breakfast, we rode in the backs of two safari trucks to elephant-riding Central. Our bideshi (foreigner) parade proceeded on the backs of five lady elephants and one male. It was so much fun. Very bumpy, but much more enjoyable than a bus ride. Our elephant's name was Pan Kali. She's twenty-five years old (elephants can live to around seventy), and ate everything in site throughout our walk, undeterred by the harsh smacks of her rider that made us cringe every time. Despite this, she was a very skilled escort, especially at crossing rivers and descending and ascending steep, muddy terrain, which succeeded in hurtling us forwards or backwards depending on our position. It was fascinating seeing the jungle atop this incredible creature. Pan Kali had beautiful, papery, pink and grey-freckled ears and amazingly tough skin. Our driver was a stern, older man, who, when we questioned and talked to him in Nepali, rarely responded with more than a nod or a grunt. After dismounting the dear elephants, we went a conservation center where we heard an interesting presentation on the park. The nearby community forest is one of Nepal's richest, thanks to local tourism, and local buffer zone villages receive 50% of the park's revenue, amounting to around 90,000 USD annually (impressive). It's obviously a successful model here in the tourist-rich terai.
After lunch, we all boarded a single dug-out canoe with Kewal and Lama, who said he'd been in the same boat with something like 48 Chinese tourists. Hard to believe, considering how much water the 25 of us caused it to displace. The river was remarkably peaceful, and we saw several crocs both in and out of the water. Afterwards, we went on a short nature walk and then through an informational exhibit at the elephant breeding center and saw some of the elephants chained under large, open shelters. They were fascinating to observe, but the information we read about the training process for the magnificent captive was very sobering, and turned at least some of our joy into sorrow. It's an interesting topic--the balance between wildlife conservation and human livelihoods.
After dinner on Monday, we sat on benches on the lodge's central lawn and saw a stick dance presentation by a group of Tharu students. It was one of the coolest things I've seen. They all wore white outfits with red sashes, and danced to the beat of a large, two-toned drum. After several dances both with and without sticks (one of which featured a crazily spinning girl, and one of which was done by a solo guy with fire on either end of one of the longer sticks), we got to follow their lead in a big dance circle. It was so much to move around like that! It hearkened back to night-time dancing on the trek.
Tuesday, November 2nd.
Early this morning, a few of us got up for a bird walk with Lama and Kewal. It was very foggy, but we saw some kingfishers, orioles, and bullbulls, and heard a lot more. After breakfast, we embarked on our final bus ride as a group. After four or five hours of driving and a couple of sitting in traffic once we got over the ridge into the urban valley, we were back in the smog and happy bustle of Kathmandu. We have two nights and one full day here before flying to Lukla on Thursday morning to begin our trek in the Sagarmatha National Park (Everest, here we come!!). We will be doing research in villages like we did in the Jumla region, but this time we're on our own, as most people will speak some English. And then it's back here to the Kathmandu Guest House to write our papers and explore the city.
Over and out.
A week of schoolwork, kind of
Saturday, October 30th.
The rest of our time in Pokhara was really wonderful. We put together a 50 or so paged report and presentation on our research from the trek, building it up day by day, and then presented our slide show to the three sisters and others on Friday afternoon. We then had our last dinner with them all at the big house.
In our free time each day throughout the week, we would wander around the lake and bazaar and find dinner. We also found a jazz bar with really good pizza, a great atmosphere, and an unpredictable performance schedule. We eventually did get to see some live music, but what they had called "a band" the night before ended up being three guys they'd thrown together at the last minute. They were good though, so we stayed.
Just yesterday, we got a chance to talk with the sisters--especially Lucky, the oldest one who was first to become interested in starting an organization--after our presentation. I'm thinking I'd really like to come back and do some work with them.
Pokhara is such a beautiful place and it was sad to leave, but before we knew it, we landed in the jungle.
After a four hour bus ride with our favorite drivers, we arrived in the Chitwan (Heart of the jungle) National Park--home to some of the last Great One-Horned Rhinos, as well as Asian elephants, Bengal tigers, leopards, crocodiles, river dolphins, all sorts of birds, and more.
Our hotel is so great. It's called the Lama Lodge, and it consists of a semi-circle of cute little bungalows with two rooms each, surrounding a central lawn with lots of trees and a rope hammock. It really felt like a jungle dwelling.
On Saturday, once we got here, Lama and Kewal, one of his employees and a fellow avid bird and other wildlife watcher, took us on a walk to traditional Tharu (indigenous) village, but we were distracted by a rhino siting. We saw an enormous male and a young female, within just a few meters! There were a bunch of other people there who'd heard about the rhinos too, and Lama kept directing us out of the line of potential attack whenever the creatures moved. Eventually, they made their way into the river and we were safe. We sat on the bank and watched them relax in the water until the sun started to set, at which point we saw our first of three consecutive incredible jungle sunsets. The male rhino was particularly fascinating. So massive and so densely wrinkled! (Here follows a revision of an old camp song. Newfounders: you know what I mean-forget prunes.)
The rest of our time in Pokhara was really wonderful. We put together a 50 or so paged report and presentation on our research from the trek, building it up day by day, and then presented our slide show to the three sisters and others on Friday afternoon. We then had our last dinner with them all at the big house.
In our free time each day throughout the week, we would wander around the lake and bazaar and find dinner. We also found a jazz bar with really good pizza, a great atmosphere, and an unpredictable performance schedule. We eventually did get to see some live music, but what they had called "a band" the night before ended up being three guys they'd thrown together at the last minute. They were good though, so we stayed.
Just yesterday, we got a chance to talk with the sisters--especially Lucky, the oldest one who was first to become interested in starting an organization--after our presentation. I'm thinking I'd really like to come back and do some work with them.
Pokhara is such a beautiful place and it was sad to leave, but before we knew it, we landed in the jungle.
After a four hour bus ride with our favorite drivers, we arrived in the Chitwan (Heart of the jungle) National Park--home to some of the last Great One-Horned Rhinos, as well as Asian elephants, Bengal tigers, leopards, crocodiles, river dolphins, all sorts of birds, and more.
Our hotel is so great. It's called the Lama Lodge, and it consists of a semi-circle of cute little bungalows with two rooms each, surrounding a central lawn with lots of trees and a rope hammock. It really felt like a jungle dwelling.
On Saturday, once we got here, Lama and Kewal, one of his employees and a fellow avid bird and other wildlife watcher, took us on a walk to traditional Tharu (indigenous) village, but we were distracted by a rhino siting. We saw an enormous male and a young female, within just a few meters! There were a bunch of other people there who'd heard about the rhinos too, and Lama kept directing us out of the line of potential attack whenever the creatures moved. Eventually, they made their way into the river and we were safe. We sat on the bank and watched them relax in the water until the sun started to set, at which point we saw our first of three consecutive incredible jungle sunsets. The male rhino was particularly fascinating. So massive and so densely wrinkled! (Here follows a revision of an old camp song. Newfounders: you know what I mean-forget prunes.)
Jumla to Pokhara
Tuesday, October 26.
It's so nice to be back in Pokhara. It's all too surreal though. The trek seems like such a far away and other experience now, but we were in it just a couple of days ago.
After a night in two Jumla guest houses so our tents could be cleaned out, only one flight could get out through the storm clouds crowding the sky, so after a morning of waiting around at the airport and playing lots of card games under the watchful eyes of police and army officials (cards are technically illegal in Nepal, but as long as you're not gambling, they tend not to care), we had a lunch of chow chow, and then seven us plus Mike, Steph, our research assistants, and three of the trekking staffers, saw the others off at around 4 and then headed back to the closer of the two guest houses--Newari Lodging and Fooding (I think I've actually starting replacing "eating" with "fooding" in my conversation...oh dear). We had a delicious dinner of--guess what--more chow chow and got to know the chef a little. He is from Kathmandu, learned to cook in India where he lived for several years, and then was hired at the guest house in Jumla by a family friend.
The next morning, it was off to two Hindu temples across the street, where each of us got double tikkas from their respective gurus, and then back to the airport to hurry and and wait some more. Talk about not taking things for granted and letting it be: In rural Nepal, you buy a plane ticket and you think that means you'll be getting to your destination when and how you want to. But no. If someone doesn't feel like getting up on time, you wait. If a storm comes in or they decide that someone else should get to fly before you when your flight is delayed for 24 hours or so, there simply isn't anything you can do about it. And in any case, it's pretty much impossible to know when you'll actually get to where you want to go. And thus, number who knows what: you'd best be flexible.
So it was that we waited for two other flights to go out on Saturday, had our third helpings of chow chow, and made it to Nepalgunj in time for showers and dinners. We had decided to fit the whole 14 hour bus ride into one day in order to arrive in Pokhara at a decent hour, so we had a nice relaxing nice in the posh hotel with western toilets, good water pressure (not that the heat wasn't shotty), delicious garlic naan in the funny, out of place dining hall where one of the waiters just couldn't stand to let a song play all the way through, an ice cream dessert, and HBO and Nat. Geo. on the TV.
It was great to see the rest of the group, but it was always nice being with a smaller bunch for a while. Such a different dynamic, and more coherence, I think. The first flight had flown straight into the storm, and what should have been 30 minutes turned into 50, thanks to intense turbulence throughout. We had it good on the flight front. It had snowed on the peaks surrounding the Jumla bazaar the night before we left, so we flew over snow-capped ridges and basked in the goodness.
Yesterday, Monday, we had a free day before we started work on our reports this morning. A few of us dropped laundry off and did a little gift shopping before getting delicious coffees and freshly baked goods at the Perky Bean, and then went across the street to the Olive Cafe for a light lunch and free wi-fi. It was so great just sitting there and reflecting.
It's so nice to be back in Pokhara. It's all too surreal though. The trek seems like such a far away and other experience now, but we were in it just a couple of days ago.
After a night in two Jumla guest houses so our tents could be cleaned out, only one flight could get out through the storm clouds crowding the sky, so after a morning of waiting around at the airport and playing lots of card games under the watchful eyes of police and army officials (cards are technically illegal in Nepal, but as long as you're not gambling, they tend not to care), we had a lunch of chow chow, and then seven us plus Mike, Steph, our research assistants, and three of the trekking staffers, saw the others off at around 4 and then headed back to the closer of the two guest houses--Newari Lodging and Fooding (I think I've actually starting replacing "eating" with "fooding" in my conversation...oh dear). We had a delicious dinner of--guess what--more chow chow and got to know the chef a little. He is from Kathmandu, learned to cook in India where he lived for several years, and then was hired at the guest house in Jumla by a family friend.
The next morning, it was off to two Hindu temples across the street, where each of us got double tikkas from their respective gurus, and then back to the airport to hurry and and wait some more. Talk about not taking things for granted and letting it be: In rural Nepal, you buy a plane ticket and you think that means you'll be getting to your destination when and how you want to. But no. If someone doesn't feel like getting up on time, you wait. If a storm comes in or they decide that someone else should get to fly before you when your flight is delayed for 24 hours or so, there simply isn't anything you can do about it. And in any case, it's pretty much impossible to know when you'll actually get to where you want to go. And thus, number who knows what: you'd best be flexible.
So it was that we waited for two other flights to go out on Saturday, had our third helpings of chow chow, and made it to Nepalgunj in time for showers and dinners. We had decided to fit the whole 14 hour bus ride into one day in order to arrive in Pokhara at a decent hour, so we had a nice relaxing nice in the posh hotel with western toilets, good water pressure (not that the heat wasn't shotty), delicious garlic naan in the funny, out of place dining hall where one of the waiters just couldn't stand to let a song play all the way through, an ice cream dessert, and HBO and Nat. Geo. on the TV.
It was great to see the rest of the group, but it was always nice being with a smaller bunch for a while. Such a different dynamic, and more coherence, I think. The first flight had flown straight into the storm, and what should have been 30 minutes turned into 50, thanks to intense turbulence throughout. We had it good on the flight front. It had snowed on the peaks surrounding the Jumla bazaar the night before we left, so we flew over snow-capped ridges and basked in the goodness.
Yesterday, Monday, we had a free day before we started work on our reports this morning. A few of us dropped laundry off and did a little gift shopping before getting delicious coffees and freshly baked goods at the Perky Bean, and then went across the street to the Olive Cafe for a light lunch and free wi-fi. It was so great just sitting there and reflecting.
Back to Jumla
Back to the bustling metropolis of Jumla. It feels like coming home. I can't believe the trek is over...it went by so fast. Eleven days of life on the trail and it starts to feel normal.
The sun is shining here, the wind is cold, and a crowd of clouds hug the ridge across the valley.
The sun is shining here, the wind is cold, and a crowd of clouds hug the ridge across the valley.
Monday, October 25, 2010
A sacrifice for Dasai
Tuesday, October 19.
Caution: Gory details included.
Early this morning, half or so of the group huddled for warmth as we waited for the arrival of the goat. When the priest got here, we all stood facing the big rock in the schoolyard as we were given tikkas of reddened rice, and then, one at a time, threw rice and marigolds onto the goats back in blessing. Then we waited while various staff members and the local knifeman tried to procure a self-instigated shake from the goat, which would signify the goat's agreement to the sacrifice. With all of its squirming and desperate bleating, they eventually dragged it inside, where it apparently shook itself, and then brought it back out. It sure didn't seem as if it had accepted its fate, as it wriggled like crazy while they tried to make it stand with two hooves on each side of a log. What followed was one of the stranger things I've seen. It all happened so fast. The young man with the big knife stepped up to the plate, and the blade came down swiftly on the back of the goat's neck. He had to hack a couple of times to get all the way through, and then there it was. The head fell to the ground, the body remained standing, muscles in both kept moving, the heart kept beating, the tongue dropped limp. They held the hind legs up and let all the blood drip out of the neck into a pot. The head stopped moving. What relationship did this silent, separated body have to the living, moving goat that we'd seen just moments before? After that, is was no longer a goat, but a shape.
The head and neck were distributed to the priest and knifeman, respectively, and then the men laid the body on two benches, blew up the lungs and scraped all of the hair off with sharp-edged metal cups. The next we saw of it after breakfast, the feet were laid aside and only a spine and ribs were left on the benches. All of the meat and innards were placed in various dhokos (baskets). I still didn't know what to feel about it. At lunch I had a tiny bit of meat off of Steph's plate and tried some of the gravy in my rice. I couldn't stomach it, and I still don't know why. I think I'll stick with vegetarianism.
Caution: Gory details included.
Early this morning, half or so of the group huddled for warmth as we waited for the arrival of the goat. When the priest got here, we all stood facing the big rock in the schoolyard as we were given tikkas of reddened rice, and then, one at a time, threw rice and marigolds onto the goats back in blessing. Then we waited while various staff members and the local knifeman tried to procure a self-instigated shake from the goat, which would signify the goat's agreement to the sacrifice. With all of its squirming and desperate bleating, they eventually dragged it inside, where it apparently shook itself, and then brought it back out. It sure didn't seem as if it had accepted its fate, as it wriggled like crazy while they tried to make it stand with two hooves on each side of a log. What followed was one of the stranger things I've seen. It all happened so fast. The young man with the big knife stepped up to the plate, and the blade came down swiftly on the back of the goat's neck. He had to hack a couple of times to get all the way through, and then there it was. The head fell to the ground, the body remained standing, muscles in both kept moving, the heart kept beating, the tongue dropped limp. They held the hind legs up and let all the blood drip out of the neck into a pot. The head stopped moving. What relationship did this silent, separated body have to the living, moving goat that we'd seen just moments before? After that, is was no longer a goat, but a shape.
The head and neck were distributed to the priest and knifeman, respectively, and then the men laid the body on two benches, blew up the lungs and scraped all of the hair off with sharp-edged metal cups. The next we saw of it after breakfast, the feet were laid aside and only a spine and ribs were left on the benches. All of the meat and innards were placed in various dhokos (baskets). I still didn't know what to feel about it. At lunch I had a tiny bit of meat off of Steph's plate and tried some of the gravy in my rice. I couldn't stomach it, and I still don't know why. I think I'll stick with vegetarianism.
Reflections on a stunning view, October 17
Mountains everywhere. So many mountains. How do you do what you do to me, mountains? You deepen my breath and take it away at the same time. You humble me and heighten me. Your massive majesty mystifies me. You, made of stone and yet so spiritual. You, my rock, my foundation, my heaven. I would be so satisfied with the evergreen-covered mountainsides in front of us. And I would be so happy with the rocky mountains behind them. But you don't stop at that. No, beyond those beautiful rocks you give us rocky, snowy, heavenly peaks hiding among the bright white clouds, both jagged and graceful. So graceful. I love you, mountains.
Rara lake
Sunday, Octover 17
The hike from Pina on Friday was beautiful, of course. We hiked down and across the river and then up, up, up, up, stopping every while for water and rest (paani gosamae!) Eventually, we made it to the 800-some-odd-year-old cedar tree in which the neighboring village takes much pride, as big around as a small room and rising high into the sky. Uphill of the tree was a small village and then another similarly huge cedar. We then continued up through a beautiful forest of spruce and pine and then into a wide open alpine meadow area where we ate our packed lunch of Tibetan bread and cheese. After lunch, it was just half an hour or so until we could see the lake through the trees, and then there it was: Rara. It was still almost an hour's hike around the lake to our campsite, outside a guest house of sorts that was closed for Dasai (Nepal's biggest festival, which lasts 15 days), next to one of Nepal's military camps, and across the path from a rickety but perfect non-treehouse fort on stilts where we drank coffee, listened to David, Nick, Jeff, and Mike, play the guitar, wrote in our journals, read books, and watched the sunrise in the morning.
After breakfast on Saturday, we headed out for our broken-up trek to Hatsingha. The first hour or so of fair uphills found us on the beautiful ridge at 12, 301 feet from which we could see the deep blue lake below and mountains upon mountains on every side. Then it was along the ridge and then down, down, down into the valley where we camped on either side of a delightful stream. Dan dhai met us just a few minutes out and almost did a good job of convincing us that the were actually three hours to go. Thank God he was joking.
As the sun was setting before dinner, Brooke, Amelia, and I were playing Uno in a tent when we started to hear Amman's drum beating and what sounded like the whole staff dancing and singing. It sounded like so much fun that we eventually dropped the game and ran out to join them just as they started "Resam Phiriri." It turned out that a bunch of the group was already out there dancing with Ram Debi, Vishnu, Dipak, and the girls, so we joined in until dinner. It was so much fun. So innocent and joyful.
This morning after breakfast we had a beautiful church service up on the steep hillside above our camp. Then we donned our packs and followed Dan dhai around that hillside and up a valley on the other side. We hiked up for a couple of hours and had a packed lunch on a little hillside and then headed down, thinking there was only an hour and a half left. Well, Lacey, David, Jeff, Rigel, and I, in various orders, followed Dan dhai at a practically speed-walking pace down along a river. Half an hour went by, an hour went by, another hour and half. We came to a village and sat down for a rest. I'm not exactly sure how long we waited, but by the time we left, the entire rest of the group had arrived, and we still had a couple of hours of hiking left. That was the longest three hour hike I've ever been on.
Once we entered Hatsingha, we walked down across a bridge to another enclosed schoolyard right next to the poolice station and a district hospital. Right away, we changed into the shortest shorts acceptable and found our way to the river. It was so cold that our feet never got used to it, but rather remained numb throughout. Some of the guys went all the way in, but Amelia and I just splashed our arms and legs a bit and did our laundry. Dinner was divine tonight: squash-like soup and samosas!
The hike from Pina on Friday was beautiful, of course. We hiked down and across the river and then up, up, up, up, stopping every while for water and rest (paani gosamae!) Eventually, we made it to the 800-some-odd-year-old cedar tree in which the neighboring village takes much pride, as big around as a small room and rising high into the sky. Uphill of the tree was a small village and then another similarly huge cedar. We then continued up through a beautiful forest of spruce and pine and then into a wide open alpine meadow area where we ate our packed lunch of Tibetan bread and cheese. After lunch, it was just half an hour or so until we could see the lake through the trees, and then there it was: Rara. It was still almost an hour's hike around the lake to our campsite, outside a guest house of sorts that was closed for Dasai (Nepal's biggest festival, which lasts 15 days), next to one of Nepal's military camps, and across the path from a rickety but perfect non-treehouse fort on stilts where we drank coffee, listened to David, Nick, Jeff, and Mike, play the guitar, wrote in our journals, read books, and watched the sunrise in the morning.
After breakfast on Saturday, we headed out for our broken-up trek to Hatsingha. The first hour or so of fair uphills found us on the beautiful ridge at 12, 301 feet from which we could see the deep blue lake below and mountains upon mountains on every side. Then it was along the ridge and then down, down, down into the valley where we camped on either side of a delightful stream. Dan dhai met us just a few minutes out and almost did a good job of convincing us that the were actually three hours to go. Thank God he was joking.
As the sun was setting before dinner, Brooke, Amelia, and I were playing Uno in a tent when we started to hear Amman's drum beating and what sounded like the whole staff dancing and singing. It sounded like so much fun that we eventually dropped the game and ran out to join them just as they started "Resam Phiriri." It turned out that a bunch of the group was already out there dancing with Ram Debi, Vishnu, Dipak, and the girls, so we joined in until dinner. It was so much fun. So innocent and joyful.
This morning after breakfast we had a beautiful church service up on the steep hillside above our camp. Then we donned our packs and followed Dan dhai around that hillside and up a valley on the other side. We hiked up for a couple of hours and had a packed lunch on a little hillside and then headed down, thinking there was only an hour and a half left. Well, Lacey, David, Jeff, Rigel, and I, in various orders, followed Dan dhai at a practically speed-walking pace down along a river. Half an hour went by, an hour went by, another hour and half. We came to a village and sat down for a rest. I'm not exactly sure how long we waited, but by the time we left, the entire rest of the group had arrived, and we still had a couple of hours of hiking left. That was the longest three hour hike I've ever been on.
Once we entered Hatsingha, we walked down across a bridge to another enclosed schoolyard right next to the poolice station and a district hospital. Right away, we changed into the shortest shorts acceptable and found our way to the river. It was so cold that our feet never got used to it, but rather remained numb throughout. Some of the guys went all the way in, but Amelia and I just splashed our arms and legs a bit and did our laundry. Dinner was divine tonight: squash-like soup and samosas!
Life and forestry in Pina
Thursday, October 14
Urthu is part of the 69th poorest district out of 75 in Nepal, based on how often and how many forest products they collect and other criteria. It's a poor place by those and other standards. But here in Pina, part of Mugu--the poorest district of the 75--it feels so different. Urthu seems very rich in comparison. When we were waiting to begin our research this morning, I was watching two young boys, no more than four years old, running around and laughing with so much joy. I thought to myself: This place isn't poor...just look at the richness! But they grow up very quickly. The older kids smile sincerely when we greet them, but at the same time, most of them are so serious. I also watched a young girl--maybe 5 or 6 years old--poor water from a jug into a small pitcher and then squat outside, furiously washing her hands and then face. Did I wash myself of my own accord a single time when I was that age? I think not. It impressed me very much, to say the least.
The hillsides here are covered in farmland, and forest is relatively sparse. The large forest that does exist is part of the Rara Lake national park. There are no community forests here. The villagers are prohibited from utilizing what were originally their natural resources within the park, although buffer zones have been created to permit them to gather fuel wood and building materials from certain confined areas.
The villages receive a good amount of the park's revenue (40%, I believe), but from what we heard, that money has gone toward such things as roads and a temple that were destroyed in the monsoon rains due to unstable foundation and insufficient building materials. They say that the national park's establishment has protected the forest, and that it's because they failed to do so themselves that they now have to walk for hours to gather enough timber and fuel. With community forestry, villages would both be revitalizing and protecting the forests and gleaning all of the resources they need. But still, those we interviewed said they prefer the income.
Many different NGOs and others have come in to develop basic amenities like toilets and electricity, but all of them lose funding and pull out after two or three years, leaving their work half done at most, and causing conflict between those who are benefited and those who aren't. For example, Poverty Reduction Nepal brought in small solar panels to power one simple light each, but they were only able to distribute to 40 houses, leaving the village's other 65 houses without electricity and with no choice but to burn tinder for light, causing health problems from all of the smoke. Another problem exists in that, understandingly, people are most often unwilling to invest in things brought to them from outside, so new developments often aren't maintained.
After completing our interviews, eight of us girls walked down through the millet fields to the river down below where all of the female porters and cooks were washing their clothes. We walked across and upstream a ways and found the perfect, secluded bathing spot. Man, I hadn't felt that clean in a while.
Urthu is part of the 69th poorest district out of 75 in Nepal, based on how often and how many forest products they collect and other criteria. It's a poor place by those and other standards. But here in Pina, part of Mugu--the poorest district of the 75--it feels so different. Urthu seems very rich in comparison. When we were waiting to begin our research this morning, I was watching two young boys, no more than four years old, running around and laughing with so much joy. I thought to myself: This place isn't poor...just look at the richness! But they grow up very quickly. The older kids smile sincerely when we greet them, but at the same time, most of them are so serious. I also watched a young girl--maybe 5 or 6 years old--poor water from a jug into a small pitcher and then squat outside, furiously washing her hands and then face. Did I wash myself of my own accord a single time when I was that age? I think not. It impressed me very much, to say the least.
The hillsides here are covered in farmland, and forest is relatively sparse. The large forest that does exist is part of the Rara Lake national park. There are no community forests here. The villagers are prohibited from utilizing what were originally their natural resources within the park, although buffer zones have been created to permit them to gather fuel wood and building materials from certain confined areas.
The villages receive a good amount of the park's revenue (40%, I believe), but from what we heard, that money has gone toward such things as roads and a temple that were destroyed in the monsoon rains due to unstable foundation and insufficient building materials. They say that the national park's establishment has protected the forest, and that it's because they failed to do so themselves that they now have to walk for hours to gather enough timber and fuel. With community forestry, villages would both be revitalizing and protecting the forests and gleaning all of the resources they need. But still, those we interviewed said they prefer the income.
Many different NGOs and others have come in to develop basic amenities like toilets and electricity, but all of them lose funding and pull out after two or three years, leaving their work half done at most, and causing conflict between those who are benefited and those who aren't. For example, Poverty Reduction Nepal brought in small solar panels to power one simple light each, but they were only able to distribute to 40 houses, leaving the village's other 65 houses without electricity and with no choice but to burn tinder for light, causing health problems from all of the smoke. Another problem exists in that, understandingly, people are most often unwilling to invest in things brought to them from outside, so new developments often aren't maintained.
After completing our interviews, eight of us girls walked down through the millet fields to the river down below where all of the female porters and cooks were washing their clothes. We walked across and upstream a ways and found the perfect, secluded bathing spot. Man, I hadn't felt that clean in a while.
A long day on the trail
Tuesday, October 12
Today was a challenge. We were consoled at the top of the most intense stretch that we had finally experienced the “Nepali steep,” which, you'd best believe, is very, very steep. Before lunch, we crossed over a pass at around 11, 800 feet, or 3596 meters, with breathtaking views on either side. Then we descended a steep and treacherous trail, passing dozens of mules going the other way, to the beautiful river below that kept us going at every bend. It was so clear, blue or green depending on the angle, and the colors of fall were arrayed in the myriad of rocks on its bottom. After bounding across an epic cable bridge and walking through a small collection of houses, we arrived at lunch on a rocky shore right on the water, where several of us washed our hair in the brain-freezing water. The Nepali steep followed, after a Nepali flat hike around the mountains, and finally we could see our green, red, and yellow tents set up down below and descended to the schoolyard with a spring in our steps. All told, it was something like a nine and a half hour day, including lunch. God bless those tireless mules and porters. It was so cold when we stopped that Amelia, Brooke, and I just stayed warm in the tent for the little while until tea time. The stars were magnificent as usual.
Today was a challenge. We were consoled at the top of the most intense stretch that we had finally experienced the “Nepali steep,” which, you'd best believe, is very, very steep. Before lunch, we crossed over a pass at around 11, 800 feet, or 3596 meters, with breathtaking views on either side. Then we descended a steep and treacherous trail, passing dozens of mules going the other way, to the beautiful river below that kept us going at every bend. It was so clear, blue or green depending on the angle, and the colors of fall were arrayed in the myriad of rocks on its bottom. After bounding across an epic cable bridge and walking through a small collection of houses, we arrived at lunch on a rocky shore right on the water, where several of us washed our hair in the brain-freezing water. The Nepali steep followed, after a Nepali flat hike around the mountains, and finally we could see our green, red, and yellow tents set up down below and descended to the schoolyard with a spring in our steps. All told, it was something like a nine and a half hour day, including lunch. God bless those tireless mules and porters. It was so cold when we stopped that Amelia, Brooke, and I just stayed warm in the tent for the little while until tea time. The stars were magnificent as usual.
day two
Monday, October 11
This homestay was such a cool experience. Austin and I woke up around 5:45, put our warm clothes on and went outside to take some pictures. It's a simple house made of adobe, and there's a small yard encased by a stone wall. More khursanis (chillis) than I've ever seen were drying against the wall. The charpi is removed from the house and has a board missing from the very low ceiling, so when we went out before bed, I could stick my head out and see the stars as I peed. After a few minutes, our host came out to brush her teeth and gather firewood. Then she led us up to the kitchen room and had us sit down as her husband and then, one by one, her three kids tumbled in from bed in the next room. The bottom floor of the house stores apples and other foodstuffs, and a simple staircase takes you up to three small bedrooms and the small kitchen. Once we sere seated, our host Aamaa served us sweet black instant coffee, that was somehow delicious. The stove in the middle of the room reminded me slightly of a maple syrup evaporator in that firewood was pushed in from the front and end and the front burner was the hottest of the three. Lifting a lid on each burner exposed the flame of coals underneath accordingly. Once the dad and the 4-year-old and youngest son were seated, they put some corn in a bowl on the stove and covered it once the kernels started popping. We could barely finish the double portion they gave us. We were fairly successful in hearing a conversation with them, mostly about our homes, our families, what we were doing in Nepal, and how much we liked the food. Dan dhai, who teaches at a technical college in Jumla and works with an NGO that does sanitation work, among other things, stopped in for a few minutes of coffee and translating, but the rest of the time we were on our own, and when we explained we'd studied Nepali for two weeks in Kirtipur, they exclaimed at how perfect it was. Hah!
After returning to the campsite for breakfast, we dispersed with our research groups for the first of our our village interviews. Lulu, Steve, Tim, and I headed to the village with Manjeet to interview families about their agricultural practices. We talked to a woman distilling raksi, Nepal's home-brewed liquor, in the pathway, a few siblings on their family's rooftop, and two men on the respective rooves. Manjeet had translated all of our research questions for us and Lulu did a great job asking them in Nepali from what he'd written out, while I took pictures, Steve took notes, and all of us pitched in as new questions came up. We got to hold a young rabbit and were served apples and walnuts during our second interview. We learned a lot about what's grown, what's sold, who does what work when, what animals each family has, challenges present them, and more. It was amazing to be conducting this real-life research as we walked from house to house in this village. I mean—who does that? We've got it good, that's all I can say. The third interview we held was with an older man who, on top of everything else, kept bees in eight beautifully made hives outside of his house and many more up at his fields, and sells the honey for 2000 Nrps per kilogram.
After our research, we packed up, had a belated church service, ate lunch, got our fourth tikkas since arriving in Jumla, shouldered our packs, and headed out. We hiked for just a couple of hours along a river and through a beautiful forest, green with moss. Leaves covered the ground and it felt so much like fall. After the last break we took, the remaining uphill was pretty challenging, and once we saw a village up ahead, I hoped that's where we were staying, until we passed right bay. But one we rounded the corner uphill of the village, there was the rest of the group, sitting on a high wall enjoying the incredible view. Aaahhhh. After that, it was tea, relaxing, dinner, and bed.
This homestay was such a cool experience. Austin and I woke up around 5:45, put our warm clothes on and went outside to take some pictures. It's a simple house made of adobe, and there's a small yard encased by a stone wall. More khursanis (chillis) than I've ever seen were drying against the wall. The charpi is removed from the house and has a board missing from the very low ceiling, so when we went out before bed, I could stick my head out and see the stars as I peed. After a few minutes, our host came out to brush her teeth and gather firewood. Then she led us up to the kitchen room and had us sit down as her husband and then, one by one, her three kids tumbled in from bed in the next room. The bottom floor of the house stores apples and other foodstuffs, and a simple staircase takes you up to three small bedrooms and the small kitchen. Once we sere seated, our host Aamaa served us sweet black instant coffee, that was somehow delicious. The stove in the middle of the room reminded me slightly of a maple syrup evaporator in that firewood was pushed in from the front and end and the front burner was the hottest of the three. Lifting a lid on each burner exposed the flame of coals underneath accordingly. Once the dad and the 4-year-old and youngest son were seated, they put some corn in a bowl on the stove and covered it once the kernels started popping. We could barely finish the double portion they gave us. We were fairly successful in hearing a conversation with them, mostly about our homes, our families, what we were doing in Nepal, and how much we liked the food. Dan dhai, who teaches at a technical college in Jumla and works with an NGO that does sanitation work, among other things, stopped in for a few minutes of coffee and translating, but the rest of the time we were on our own, and when we explained we'd studied Nepali for two weeks in Kirtipur, they exclaimed at how perfect it was. Hah!
After returning to the campsite for breakfast, we dispersed with our research groups for the first of our our village interviews. Lulu, Steve, Tim, and I headed to the village with Manjeet to interview families about their agricultural practices. We talked to a woman distilling raksi, Nepal's home-brewed liquor, in the pathway, a few siblings on their family's rooftop, and two men on the respective rooves. Manjeet had translated all of our research questions for us and Lulu did a great job asking them in Nepali from what he'd written out, while I took pictures, Steve took notes, and all of us pitched in as new questions came up. We got to hold a young rabbit and were served apples and walnuts during our second interview. We learned a lot about what's grown, what's sold, who does what work when, what animals each family has, challenges present them, and more. It was amazing to be conducting this real-life research as we walked from house to house in this village. I mean—who does that? We've got it good, that's all I can say. The third interview we held was with an older man who, on top of everything else, kept bees in eight beautifully made hives outside of his house and many more up at his fields, and sells the honey for 2000 Nrps per kilogram.
After our research, we packed up, had a belated church service, ate lunch, got our fourth tikkas since arriving in Jumla, shouldered our packs, and headed out. We hiked for just a couple of hours along a river and through a beautiful forest, green with moss. Leaves covered the ground and it felt so much like fall. After the last break we took, the remaining uphill was pretty challenging, and once we saw a village up ahead, I hoped that's where we were staying, until we passed right bay. But one we rounded the corner uphill of the village, there was the rest of the group, sitting on a high wall enjoying the incredible view. Aaahhhh. After that, it was tea, relaxing, dinner, and bed.
First day of trekking
Sunday, October 10th. Happy Birthday Vincent!
Woke up at 4 this morning thanks to a front desk wake-up call. Left around 5, got in the bus with 11 French mountaineers and headed to the smallest airport I've been to. Got a 20-passenger plane (crew included) and flew for 35 minutes into the mountains before landing at the even smaller airport of Jumla. Welcomed by tikkas and marigold garlands, I was in heaven (I know, again) all through our long, meandering walk with Indra to a picnic tarp in a darling field outside of a beautiful stone school building with blue window frames. Upon offing our shoes and sitting down, we were served none other than hot Tang. Hallelujah. We're surrounded by fields of millet, buckweat, and barley as we wait here for our other half in the crisp cool air and warm sun of 2000 meters. I just had the best apple I've ever eaten, and now I revel in how good and beautiful life is.
Once the rest of the group gets here, we hike along a big, beautiful mountain river, stopping every half hour for a quick rest. When we get to the village, Kumar, one of the kitchen crew members, throws grapes down from a trellised rooftop where Brett is helping a storekeeper reach the high bunches. We walk through the rest of Urthu's small bazaar and some fields to find that our campsite is right on the bank of the river. We drop our packs and dip our feet in the icy water. The mules who carried our kitchen and much of our gear, freed of their saddles, roll around goofily on their backs, grateful to be free of the load, even after such a short hike of just 2 hours. A troupe of small children from the village come out to play. We skip rocks. They far out-do us. We're served tea.
Austin and I wander downstream to an awesome bridge made of the two halves of a huge tree trunk. We ascend a set of steps on the other side and run into Dan dhai, our trip leader, who had just been setting up our homestays, and took us back up into Urthu to show us the three different beautiful stone and adobe houses where the six of us who chose to will be sleeping tonight. All had wonderful Aamaas who welcomed us in—and one of which sat us down and handed us some of the abundant local apples.
Back at the campsite, we're blessed with our second tikka of the day and single marigolds by a local women's group. We sing “Country Roads,” part of our prepared cultural presentation, to their supposed enjoyment.
Later that afternoon, we wandered back into Urthu as a group and gather on a rooftop, where most if not all of the area's 95 households were sitting and standing on one side. We sat on the other, and took turns presenting songs. We sang “Country Roads,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and hymn 148 in a quartet. They presented two songs with dancers—one group of young girls and the other of older women—and then a light-hearted rendition of a traditional exorcism in which a young man flailed around crazily, made odd sounds, threw rice in the air, and danced around with a cowbell to the beat of a drum, in order to heal a victim (in this case, Brett, who giggled hilariously throughout) of a spirit. We all found it rather funny and so were glad when they all laughed too. We finished with a joint attempt at Resam Phiriri.
We eat dinner back by the river under a large dining tent, and then Austin, Lacey, Lulu, Amelia, Ana, and I follow Dan dhai back across the bridge to our homestays, where no one is there to greet us anymore, but we hope to see them in the morning. The sky is so dark, the stars are so bright, and the air is silent at 8:00 pm, except for the gentle rolling of the river and the incessant barking of a far off dog or two. This is trekking. We are trekking. Good night.
Woke up at 4 this morning thanks to a front desk wake-up call. Left around 5, got in the bus with 11 French mountaineers and headed to the smallest airport I've been to. Got a 20-passenger plane (crew included) and flew for 35 minutes into the mountains before landing at the even smaller airport of Jumla. Welcomed by tikkas and marigold garlands, I was in heaven (I know, again) all through our long, meandering walk with Indra to a picnic tarp in a darling field outside of a beautiful stone school building with blue window frames. Upon offing our shoes and sitting down, we were served none other than hot Tang. Hallelujah. We're surrounded by fields of millet, buckweat, and barley as we wait here for our other half in the crisp cool air and warm sun of 2000 meters. I just had the best apple I've ever eaten, and now I revel in how good and beautiful life is.
Once the rest of the group gets here, we hike along a big, beautiful mountain river, stopping every half hour for a quick rest. When we get to the village, Kumar, one of the kitchen crew members, throws grapes down from a trellised rooftop where Brett is helping a storekeeper reach the high bunches. We walk through the rest of Urthu's small bazaar and some fields to find that our campsite is right on the bank of the river. We drop our packs and dip our feet in the icy water. The mules who carried our kitchen and much of our gear, freed of their saddles, roll around goofily on their backs, grateful to be free of the load, even after such a short hike of just 2 hours. A troupe of small children from the village come out to play. We skip rocks. They far out-do us. We're served tea.
Austin and I wander downstream to an awesome bridge made of the two halves of a huge tree trunk. We ascend a set of steps on the other side and run into Dan dhai, our trip leader, who had just been setting up our homestays, and took us back up into Urthu to show us the three different beautiful stone and adobe houses where the six of us who chose to will be sleeping tonight. All had wonderful Aamaas who welcomed us in—and one of which sat us down and handed us some of the abundant local apples.
Back at the campsite, we're blessed with our second tikka of the day and single marigolds by a local women's group. We sing “Country Roads,” part of our prepared cultural presentation, to their supposed enjoyment.
Later that afternoon, we wandered back into Urthu as a group and gather on a rooftop, where most if not all of the area's 95 households were sitting and standing on one side. We sat on the other, and took turns presenting songs. We sang “Country Roads,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” and hymn 148 in a quartet. They presented two songs with dancers—one group of young girls and the other of older women—and then a light-hearted rendition of a traditional exorcism in which a young man flailed around crazily, made odd sounds, threw rice in the air, and danced around with a cowbell to the beat of a drum, in order to heal a victim (in this case, Brett, who giggled hilariously throughout) of a spirit. We all found it rather funny and so were glad when they all laughed too. We finished with a joint attempt at Resam Phiriri.
We eat dinner back by the river under a large dining tent, and then Austin, Lacey, Lulu, Amelia, Ana, and I follow Dan dhai back across the bridge to our homestays, where no one is there to greet us anymore, but we hope to see them in the morning. The sky is so dark, the stars are so bright, and the air is silent at 8:00 pm, except for the gentle rolling of the river and the incessant barking of a far off dog or two. This is trekking. We are trekking. Good night.
Across Nepal via bus: when 200 miles takes 1O hours
Saturday, October 9th
Where did the mountains go? It's suddenly flat here in the Terai—Nepal's skinny southern strip of lowlands. Their dark outlines don't even shadow the horizon anymore. For once, the only roads don't wind narrowly through the hills, dropping off completely where elsewhere there might be a shoulder, or a guard rail at least. Now we drive on relatively straight stretches. But here, even the smoothest roads are bumpy as hell.
We drive past more animals than people: Dozens of water buffalo chillin' in a river, goats everywhere. And a flock of beautiful cranes take off at once. The houses are so cool. Most of them are adobe-like with sweet, rounded edges and thatched rooves. Instead of hewn lumber for support, they're built with straight-up branches. I wonder how they fare in storms.
Well, as usual, I missed the transition and here we are back in the mountains, back to the real meaning of bumpy. I don't know how that happened so fast. One minute it's flat, as far as the eye can see, and the next minute I look out on a canyon hundreds of feet below, and sheer slopes rising high on every side, carved by countless landslides, half forest, half rock. The houses are much fewer and farther between, but every once in a while we pass a cluster of them, all with thatched rooves and log walls, or no walls at all. As we come down onto flatter ground, most of the thatched rooves cover walls of beautiful orange-red or golden clay instead, and some houses are made of brick and have tin or other rooves.
Now we're in a big valley, and after crossing a huge river where women wash clothes on boulders and a group of mostly naked children plays on the bank, and then driving through a short urban stretch, we're in a more densely-populated area where shop walls hold advertisements for Shalimar paints, some houses have two stories and are painted, and thatched rooves are mostly confined to sheds and stalls. Instead of large expanses of rice fields and terraces, farms consist of many small patches of different crops.
After a couple more bathroom breaks in the roadside woods, some much-appreciated crackers, and my best attempt at napping, we arrive in Nepalgunj—what appears to be a typical Nepali city. Our hotel is apparently leagues above the “Hotel Aroma,” where Mike and Chris stayed last time they were here.
Had a Chinese lunch (delicious onion and crouton soup) and then a wonderful metaphysical meeting before an Indian dinner and an early bedtime.
Where did the mountains go? It's suddenly flat here in the Terai—Nepal's skinny southern strip of lowlands. Their dark outlines don't even shadow the horizon anymore. For once, the only roads don't wind narrowly through the hills, dropping off completely where elsewhere there might be a shoulder, or a guard rail at least. Now we drive on relatively straight stretches. But here, even the smoothest roads are bumpy as hell.
We drive past more animals than people: Dozens of water buffalo chillin' in a river, goats everywhere. And a flock of beautiful cranes take off at once. The houses are so cool. Most of them are adobe-like with sweet, rounded edges and thatched rooves. Instead of hewn lumber for support, they're built with straight-up branches. I wonder how they fare in storms.
Well, as usual, I missed the transition and here we are back in the mountains, back to the real meaning of bumpy. I don't know how that happened so fast. One minute it's flat, as far as the eye can see, and the next minute I look out on a canyon hundreds of feet below, and sheer slopes rising high on every side, carved by countless landslides, half forest, half rock. The houses are much fewer and farther between, but every once in a while we pass a cluster of them, all with thatched rooves and log walls, or no walls at all. As we come down onto flatter ground, most of the thatched rooves cover walls of beautiful orange-red or golden clay instead, and some houses are made of brick and have tin or other rooves.
Now we're in a big valley, and after crossing a huge river where women wash clothes on boulders and a group of mostly naked children plays on the bank, and then driving through a short urban stretch, we're in a more densely-populated area where shop walls hold advertisements for Shalimar paints, some houses have two stories and are painted, and thatched rooves are mostly confined to sheds and stalls. Instead of large expanses of rice fields and terraces, farms consist of many small patches of different crops.
After a couple more bathroom breaks in the roadside woods, some much-appreciated crackers, and my best attempt at napping, we arrive in Nepalgunj—what appears to be a typical Nepali city. Our hotel is apparently leagues above the “Hotel Aroma,” where Mike and Chris stayed last time they were here.
Had a Chinese lunch (delicious onion and crouton soup) and then a wonderful metaphysical meeting before an Indian dinner and an early bedtime.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Inspiration from Siddhartha
So the abroad has proved to be an amazing setting for the swapping of all sorts of amazing and inspiring books, and one of the them, purchased by Amelia in the Delhi airport, is Herman Hesse's Siddhartha. Here's a quote from the end of the book, when Siddhartha shares some wisdom with his childhood friend Govinda:
“'When someone is seeking,' said Siddhartha, 'it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. You, O worthy one, are perhaps indeed a seeker, for in striving towards your goal, you do not see many things that are under your nose.'”
I've been thinking about that a lot--how we don't actually progress without that receptive and freedom.
“'When someone is seeking,' said Siddhartha, 'it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. You, O worthy one, are perhaps indeed a seeker, for in striving towards your goal, you do not see many things that are under your nose.'”
I've been thinking about that a lot--how we don't actually progress without that receptive and freedom.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
engaging
On Monday afternoon, Mike took us up the hill and around the corner and then sent us out to various spots on the hillside in our research groups. Tim, Steve, Lulu, and I couldn't find a way up to our loosely assigned spot, so we ended up wandering up a dried up river bed/ road (wondering all the while what they do when the river runs) and eventually found a nice, partly shaded spot from which to observe and sketch the natural surroundings. It was just a perfect spot, and I will never stop marveling at the terracing covering the hillsides. Farmers long, long ago, far before anything like modern farm equipment existed, molded their steep, unfarmable land into wide, perfect staircases, creating one flat surface after another on which to plant rice, millet, maize, and other crops. When it rains or when the mountain snow melts, water filters through from one level to the next and on through each terrace, all the way down the mountainside to the bottom of the valley, which is also covered in fields. Would you believe I had fun drawing all this?
When we were done with time to spare, Tim, Steve, and I hiked up the road further till we saw a young man leading an ox out to graze. We did our best to strike up a conversation with him, and it turned out he spoke a little bit of English, so between that and our "ali ali" Nepali, we managed to make a friend. His name is Krishna and he seemed to be a few years older than we. We weren't sure if the small children standing by were his. He brought us over near his house to where two cows and two goats stood in one large stall and the two oxen in the other. We didn't actually go into his house, but we could see it from where we stood, and it looked very nice, with an open front and stucco walls inside. We said goodbye after asking him about a few different trees in his yard (one of which, of course, was a banana tree!), and decided afterward that we'd do our best to go back and see him again when we come back after our trek.
Tuesday night, Amelia, Austin, Steve, and I went to the Bluebell restaurant across the street for dinner. What followed was one of the coolest experiences to date. We walked past a girl doing homework, through a narrow hallway past the small kitchen where the mom and son stood, to one of two tables overlooking the lake in the back. When the woman came out to take our order, we all sheepishly asked if she would make breakfast at that hour (we'd hadn't been able to get breakfast at the guest house the night before), and she agreed with a laugh, so we all ordered either eggs and hash browns (which, here, means deliciously spiced potatoes) or the most heavenly cinnamon french toast imaginable. Shortly thereafter she came out again with a chair for our bags and to apologize that the power went out and her daughter brought out a candle. Then the youngest daughter appeared along with the family cat. This little girl was so adorable, and we had a long conversation with her in Nepali. We agreed that it was much easier to use Nepali with non-judgmental children who don't care what you accidentally call them.
The food, as I implied, was absolutely delicious and as soon as it got dark we saw fireflies everywhere around us. The coffee chocolate banana shakes we ordered couldn't be made because of the power outage, but we had already decided to come back. The family was unbelievably sweet, and we all gave them more money than the cost of our meal had required. They were incredibly grateful for the service it seemed, and it we made sure to spread the word and give them more business.
Last night when we had a much too big cake for Theo's birthday, Austin and I brought two pieces of cake over to the restaurant, explaining that we had extra and that we'd be coming back in two weeks. She was very happy and gave me a hug and then offered us tea, which we had to decline with a "pherri betaulaa" (see you again.
There's a little more catching up to do, but it will have to wait until we get back, at which point I'll copy everything over from my journal. Jumla, here we come!
When we were done with time to spare, Tim, Steve, and I hiked up the road further till we saw a young man leading an ox out to graze. We did our best to strike up a conversation with him, and it turned out he spoke a little bit of English, so between that and our "ali ali" Nepali, we managed to make a friend. His name is Krishna and he seemed to be a few years older than we. We weren't sure if the small children standing by were his. He brought us over near his house to where two cows and two goats stood in one large stall and the two oxen in the other. We didn't actually go into his house, but we could see it from where we stood, and it looked very nice, with an open front and stucco walls inside. We said goodbye after asking him about a few different trees in his yard (one of which, of course, was a banana tree!), and decided afterward that we'd do our best to go back and see him again when we come back after our trek.
Tuesday night, Amelia, Austin, Steve, and I went to the Bluebell restaurant across the street for dinner. What followed was one of the coolest experiences to date. We walked past a girl doing homework, through a narrow hallway past the small kitchen where the mom and son stood, to one of two tables overlooking the lake in the back. When the woman came out to take our order, we all sheepishly asked if she would make breakfast at that hour (we'd hadn't been able to get breakfast at the guest house the night before), and she agreed with a laugh, so we all ordered either eggs and hash browns (which, here, means deliciously spiced potatoes) or the most heavenly cinnamon french toast imaginable. Shortly thereafter she came out again with a chair for our bags and to apologize that the power went out and her daughter brought out a candle. Then the youngest daughter appeared along with the family cat. This little girl was so adorable, and we had a long conversation with her in Nepali. We agreed that it was much easier to use Nepali with non-judgmental children who don't care what you accidentally call them.
The food, as I implied, was absolutely delicious and as soon as it got dark we saw fireflies everywhere around us. The coffee chocolate banana shakes we ordered couldn't be made because of the power outage, but we had already decided to come back. The family was unbelievably sweet, and we all gave them more money than the cost of our meal had required. They were incredibly grateful for the service it seemed, and it we made sure to spread the word and give them more business.
Last night when we had a much too big cake for Theo's birthday, Austin and I brought two pieces of cake over to the restaurant, explaining that we had extra and that we'd be coming back in two weeks. She was very happy and gave me a hug and then offered us tea, which we had to decline with a "pherri betaulaa" (see you again.
There's a little more catching up to do, but it will have to wait until we get back, at which point I'll copy everything over from my journal. Jumla, here we come!
Monday, October 4, 2010
the adventure continues
Once again, we've arrived in heaven. This time it's called Pokhara. We left Kirtipur early yesterday morning in a flurry of dhanyabads, namastes, and "pherri auunus," and 100 miles (or about 45 as the crow flies) and eight and a half hours later, complete with two mountain traffic jams, a broken drive shaft 20 minutes out, pushing the bus off the road and loading into a new one, we arrived at the Three Sisters Guest House, far too late and yet just in time for dal bhat and mango nectar and a walk along Fewa Lake and through town. After dinner on our own, we had a late church service up on the roof of the office/childrens' school a couple doors down. Town is at the same time quaint and touristy (filled with restaurants and outdoor gear shops), and the setting is so beautiful. The sky was amazing, and hang-gliders tickled the horizon.
We're surrounded by farmed and forested mountains right now, but this morning we were rowed across the lake and hiked up to a mountain-top stupa, from where we could see the Holy and thus unclimbed Fishtail (I forget the Nepali name right now), with the Daulagiri to the left and the Annapurna to the right. Like I said: heaven.
On our walk yesterday, we spoke some Nepali with a darling family of mother (aamaa) and three kids, took in the water, the mountains, the clean air, and walked through the town where it seemed every other shop offered a different price for hang-gliding (which, it turns out, will have to wait for a future adventure). But the sky. The sky was just incredible. The bright white clouds populated the sky in tall, billowy tower of heavenly perfection, and the sun's rays broke free and shone shamelessly through as if the great star just couldn't keep from glorifying all things good.
We're surrounded by farmed and forested mountains right now, but this morning we were rowed across the lake and hiked up to a mountain-top stupa, from where we could see the Holy and thus unclimbed Fishtail (I forget the Nepali name right now), with the Daulagiri to the left and the Annapurna to the right. Like I said: heaven.
On our walk yesterday, we spoke some Nepali with a darling family of mother (aamaa) and three kids, took in the water, the mountains, the clean air, and walked through the town where it seemed every other shop offered a different price for hang-gliding (which, it turns out, will have to wait for a future adventure). But the sky. The sky was just incredible. The bright white clouds populated the sky in tall, billowy tower of heavenly perfection, and the sun's rays broke free and shone shamelessly through as if the great star just couldn't keep from glorifying all things good.
Friday, October 1, 2010
some context
Tomorrow ends our second week here at Cornell's Nepal Study Program (CNSP), which is part of the University here in Kirtipur. We have our last language class today, and we leave early in the morning on Sunday for Pokhara, where we'll be recouping and preparing for our conservation research. After a few days, we leave for rural Jumla and the great Himalayas! From there we'll be trekking from village to village and holding interviews will the help of research assistants. We don't know what our research topics will be, but I couldn't be more excited to begin the project. Who gets to go from interview to interview via foot trail?
During that time we won't be on the internet at all, so once we leave Pokhara, it will be a couple of weeks until you hear from me again.
Everyone here, where we're already captivated by the amazing views, says that Pokhara is absolutely beautiful, so I await it expectantly. I bartered down to 1100 nrs for a second memory card in Thamel yesterday, so I'll have plenty of space for pictures.
Namaste, pheri beThauula (see you again)!
During that time we won't be on the internet at all, so once we leave Pokhara, it will be a couple of weeks until you hear from me again.
Everyone here, where we're already captivated by the amazing views, says that Pokhara is absolutely beautiful, so I await it expectantly. I bartered down to 1100 nrs for a second memory card in Thamel yesterday, so I'll have plenty of space for pictures.
Namaste, pheri beThauula (see you again)!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Shringara Nepal
On Tuesday night we were privileged with a private concert by a well-traveled Nepali group called Shringara Nepal. It was the coolest thing. The group is made up of sitar, played by a woman who got her music degree at the Tribhuvan University here in Kirtipur (of which the Cornell Nepal Study Program is a part), tablas (Asia's bongos, made up of a treble and a bass drum played simultaneously), and a violin and sarangi, a fiddle-like instrument. It was so cool.
The musicians sat on a stage made up of the foot-high tables that we use for eating and for class, and we sat on rows of chakati (cushions) on the floor in front of them. They began by introducing their instruments and the styles of music they'd be playing, much of which was improvised. The violin was tuned to A, D, and then a higher A and a higher D, where my violin has G, D, A, and E. It's held with the but at the musician's heart instead of on his shoulder (part of which, he explained, stems from the improvisational style in which the music, too, comes from the heart), and the scroll rests on his right foot as he sits cross-legged. The playing style is made up almost entirely of slides, which are much more difficult to produce from the traditional Western position. The sarangi is different yet. It has an A string on the far sides, and a set of two D strings--like on a mandolin--set lower in the middle, and its held like a cello and played by placing the fingernails to the right of the string, instead of the fingertips on top of them. Ana and I introduced ourselves to the guy afterward and he was delighted to know that there were violinists in the audience. He showed us and some others more closely how to play the instruments, and he tried out my travel fiddle. He was trained in both Western and Asian styles, and you could tell. He also instructed me on where to get a sarangi for a good price...Pokhara here we come!
In any case, the music was just fascinating. The drummer in particular was incredible. He played a range of time signatures including both 7 and 16 beats, and his hands moved so fast, it was impossible to get a recognizable picture of them. It was amazing to see how the three worked together and played off of each other during improvised pieces.
The musicians sat on a stage made up of the foot-high tables that we use for eating and for class, and we sat on rows of chakati (cushions) on the floor in front of them. They began by introducing their instruments and the styles of music they'd be playing, much of which was improvised. The violin was tuned to A, D, and then a higher A and a higher D, where my violin has G, D, A, and E. It's held with the but at the musician's heart instead of on his shoulder (part of which, he explained, stems from the improvisational style in which the music, too, comes from the heart), and the scroll rests on his right foot as he sits cross-legged. The playing style is made up almost entirely of slides, which are much more difficult to produce from the traditional Western position. The sarangi is different yet. It has an A string on the far sides, and a set of two D strings--like on a mandolin--set lower in the middle, and its held like a cello and played by placing the fingernails to the right of the string, instead of the fingertips on top of them. Ana and I introduced ourselves to the guy afterward and he was delighted to know that there were violinists in the audience. He showed us and some others more closely how to play the instruments, and he tried out my travel fiddle. He was trained in both Western and Asian styles, and you could tell. He also instructed me on where to get a sarangi for a good price...Pokhara here we come!
In any case, the music was just fascinating. The drummer in particular was incredible. He played a range of time signatures including both 7 and 16 beats, and his hands moved so fast, it was impossible to get a recognizable picture of them. It was amazing to see how the three worked together and played off of each other during improvised pieces.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
pugyo: we have arrived!
I sit on one of the many prayer flag- and laundry-strung rooftops here in Kirtipur. I look out at Kathmandu Valley and the great, green mountains which surround it, leading to the snow-capped majesties beyond. I see a student smoking on the roof next door for the second time since a sat down. I see small children biking on another roof across the way. I see a man washing greens in a tub of water, and a family washing clothes in another. I see birds flying from roof to roof and people walking from path to path. Everything I don't see, I hear, as I did all night. I hear cars revving and honking up on the road, at a much slower frequency than in Kathmandu, Delhi, and even Amritsar. I hear music coming from the building next door. I hear the clanging of pots and pans and smell the fragrant output. I hear children whining, shoes scuffling. I hear birds and dogs trying to converse over the incessant sound of human activity, with which they did not have to deal late last night--for the most part. I smell urine, petrol, and breakfast, and I feel the hard stone banister beneath me. I taste only the saliva of sleep, but that is soon to change. Mmm, kasko miTho! How delicious!
Friday, September 17, 2010
the golden temple
Yesterday evening, dear Professor Baljinder Singh--who had previously given us a lecture on Sikhism at the
beautiful Khalsa College--escorted us through the golden temple, where we spent a long time soaking in the incredible glory of it all, taking pictures of the water and the night-lit temple, watching the people bathing in the holy water, prostrating before it, and sitting alongside it. We walked through the eating hall and shared a couple of servings of rice pudding, dal, and chipati, and then waited in line to see the temple itself. The hymns inside, which echo from speakers throughout the area, might have been the most beautiful thing I've heard. This morning, a smaller group of us was fortunate enough to visit the temple a second time and help wash dishes. The entire experience was more than words can express, and even more than my humble heart could fully feel, at least all at once. My attempt at sharing some of it in writing follows:
Not because of the splendid white gates or the age-old water into which humble learners dip their bodies and their prayers. Not because of the floating wonder of that glowing edifice, or the hundreds of seekers bent in prostration on the burlap where our watered feet walk or the marble thresholds over which we step. Not even because of that heavenly music-the sweet, sweet voices, the gentle drumming and pumping, singing an endless and most beautiful song: the word of waheguru. No, not because of any or all of these alone. But because of those who give the food, because of those who stoke the fires, because of those who stir the rice in the biggest pots you'll ever see. Because of those who turn the dough, because of those who slice the onions, and because of those who wash the dishes, one after another, again and again, in the long metal troughs frequented by many a pruny finger. And because of the tireless, uplifted souls who spend every day in selfless, nondiscriminatory service to humanity, who dedicate their lives, or any part thereof, to that highest service to God. Because of all of these together, this will remain the most beautiful place I've been.
beautiful Khalsa College--escorted us through the golden temple, where we spent a long time soaking in the incredible glory of it all, taking pictures of the water and the night-lit temple, watching the people bathing in the holy water, prostrating before it, and sitting alongside it. We walked through the eating hall and shared a couple of servings of rice pudding, dal, and chipati, and then waited in line to see the temple itself. The hymns inside, which echo from speakers throughout the area, might have been the most beautiful thing I've heard. This morning, a smaller group of us was fortunate enough to visit the temple a second time and help wash dishes. The entire experience was more than words can express, and even more than my humble heart could fully feel, at least all at once. My attempt at sharing some of it in writing follows: The Heart of Amritsar
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
first days
Three days into the program, this whole experience remains surreal. I figured that once we actually got to where we were going I'd start believing it, but I still have to remind myself where we are and what's going on. I have a feeling that that will change once our schedule really gets rolling.
Early Sunday morning we arrived in Hong Kong--tired, hungry, and stoked. We spent the day touring the bay on a big boat and walking around near the mall that connected us to the airport by train. Hong Kong is so huge. The crane-infested shipping yard reminded me of Seattle, except that all of the shipping containers were from the states instead of from China. Meanwhile, the clouds all around were amazing, and remained full and dark until we began our search for dinner, when they let it all loose, turning all the sidewalks into rushing rivulets. We seized the opportunity to hide under a tiny overhang off the sidewalk and sing "Country Roads," among other things. Passersby, or rather runnerswithumbrellasby got a kick out of it. After squatting for just long enough and with much deliberation, we re-routed to a so-so Chinese restaurant in the airport before our flight. Before we knew it, we were boarding a big white plane emblazoned with "Dragon Air" and headed for Nepal.
Upon arrival, we got our Nepali visas and then were escorted to the Park Village Resort on the outskirts of Kathmandu. On Monday morning we walked through the streets to a sort of indoor/outdoor Hindu temple. We saw babies being bathed, dogs, beggars, shopkeepers, funny Pepsi ads and lots of laundry hanging on rooftop clotheslines. The rest of the day we spent relaxing around the grounds. This resort is just a magical place: an enchanting pond, a beautiful, blue-tiled swimming pool, fascinating architecture, flowers, and trees, and hidden treasures like a life-sized chess set with wire pieces and a horse riding club next to an amphitheater and dirt tennis court. We were reminded of the sensitive modesty required especially in India when workers marveled at our bare ankles emerging from the water during a series of hand-stand contests.
To be continued...
Early Sunday morning we arrived in Hong Kong--tired, hungry, and stoked. We spent the day touring the bay on a big boat and walking around near the mall that connected us to the airport by train. Hong Kong is so huge. The crane-infested shipping yard reminded me of Seattle, except that all of the shipping containers were from the states instead of from China. Meanwhile, the clouds all around were amazing, and remained full and dark until we began our search for dinner, when they let it all loose, turning all the sidewalks into rushing rivulets. We seized the opportunity to hide under a tiny overhang off the sidewalk and sing "Country Roads," among other things. Passersby, or rather runnerswithumbrellasby got a kick out of it. After squatting for just long enough and with much deliberation, we re-routed to a so-so Chinese restaurant in the airport before our flight. Before we knew it, we were boarding a big white plane emblazoned with "Dragon Air" and headed for Nepal.
Upon arrival, we got our Nepali visas and then were escorted to the Park Village Resort on the outskirts of Kathmandu. On Monday morning we walked through the streets to a sort of indoor/outdoor Hindu temple. We saw babies being bathed, dogs, beggars, shopkeepers, funny Pepsi ads and lots of laundry hanging on rooftop clotheslines. The rest of the day we spent relaxing around the grounds. This resort is just a magical place: an enchanting pond, a beautiful, blue-tiled swimming pool, fascinating architecture, flowers, and trees, and hidden treasures like a life-sized chess set with wire pieces and a horse riding club next to an amphitheater and dirt tennis court. We were reminded of the sensitive modesty required especially in India when workers marveled at our bare ankles emerging from the water during a series of hand-stand contests.
To be continued...
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