wow. this is my first official day out of Asia in nearly a year. How does it feel, you might ask? um, nothing less than amazing. I have been in Berlin for no more than five seconds, and yea i sat down to right a blog already...but i already feel at home. Berlin, from what i caught through the bus windows, seems fantastic so far. Reminds me a bit of San Francisco, and it feels great to see so many cyclists, not to mention the immaculately clean streets, lush green parks, promenades filled with trees, and -a new phenomenon to me-beer gardens everywhere! could this city get any better? I guess this is just to check in and tell ya'll where i am today, and also to say that i cannot wait to be home. I slept on a concrete floor, at the Bangkok airport for 12 hours. Slept, is actually another word for laid there; looking like a wreck, delirious, and exhausted, in a pile of bags. It took me another 12 hours to fly from Bangkok to Berlin, and at long last I have safely arrived in Europe, and needless to say it is glorious. i can hardly believe how quickly my time away is winding down, but i can also hardly believe how excited i am to see all of my wonderful friends....andi know only about three of you actually read this. ;) it feels like im anticipating the prom or something, and am hurriedly trying to prep myself for the big day.
well..thats all for now. im slowly slowly inching my way home, and i could not be happier. the next few days will be filled with sunshine, bike riding, great beers, hopefully at leat a few good conversations, lots of site seeing, and taking in this fascinating and historical city. what a wonderful life.
Nearly 11 months on the road. 4 countries visited and two more to go. hundreds of hours on buses, trains, rickshaws etc.
all my clothes are ruined.my bag weighs about as much as a sumo wrestler and it takes all the strength left in my body to lift it on my back, at which point I look like a hunched over grandma with back pains.
I cannot tell if I am ready to face all the uncertainties that await me when I return home yet, but I will tell you one thing, I am very ready to be done with all this 'traveling.' It's one thing to live abroad, but being on the road constantly, being lost at all hours of the day, and consistently starting over and over with people, cities, food, languages...it gets exhausting.
Ask me again after two weeks of being home, and I guarantee I will tell you I'm ready to leave again, but I guess we'll just wait and see what happens.
So far this last leg of my adventure has been a bit of a failure, mostly on my part for being too broke and cheap to buy a real guidebook, and just being too drained to actually plan anything.
I spent the last week or so in Thailand, most of the time trying to figure out how to get out of Thailand. The country, vast green and luscious, I'm sure is wonderful and great if you have the right places to go, and the right people to go with. Its a beautiful place, don't get me wrong, all the Thai people I encountered were warm, friendly, and delectably hospitable. In comparison to the level of urban infrastructure in India and Nepal, well Thailand is a heaven, a paradise of smooth paved roads, and lacking the weaving traffic and meandering cows so precious in India.
Yet, for some reason, I think I also faced far greater culture shock going to Thailand after spending so long in the places I have been, than when I will go home. At least home is familiar and I know what to expect, but hitting up Thailand was like going from a slum to Disneyland, at full force, and facing hordes of teenage backpackers clad in revealing and skimpy clothing, and hitting the booze hard in the am. Not really my style. I still feel uncomfortable even wearing tank tops and anything above the knee, so seeing a bunch of adolescent ravers wearing hot pants and tube tops, a bit shocking to say the least.
The lady boys on the other hand, how beautiful the lady boys are! Strangely, that was the most homey feeling I had, seeing the lovely lady boys parading the street corners in Bankok and Koh Samui, felt a little bit like being back in San Francisco, oh how I miss that city!
So needless to say, now I am in Malaysia, on an island off the west coast called Penang...trying to figure out my next move, which seems to be the general feeling lately.
Im hitting the home stretch, and all I can think about is laying in a park somewhere, and not ever carrying a back pack again!
If anyone has a couch, or a job, or anything for me, well that would be great..seeing as I will soon be homeless, still unemployed, and not have the luxury of calling myself a student anymore, but just an unemployed 20 something ready to move back in with my parents. Sounds like I'm really moving up in the world.
anyway.
Counting down the days now, cannot wait to see all of you!!!!
It's well into my second week as a volunteer at the Missionaries of Charity in Kolkata. I had to escape to the cyber cafe to run away from the humid sauna our apartment has turned into. It is so unbelievably hot, it feels like your body is boiling inside and bubbling up through your skin. Gross, I know. All I can think about is standing under a waterfall and drinking a cold beer, or floating down a cool silky river on an inner tube. It's amazing the things you start to miss once you don't have them anymore. Again, for lack of words, I'm just going to add a little of what I have been writing in my journal so bear with me...
I wish I could take a photo of each of their faces and hold in my memory; as a reminder of them and their unknown struggles, and as a reminder of this place in time in all of their lives, and in my own life. Sometimes I have to escape to the rooftop to hang laundry out to dry, like I did today. As escape from the sticky hot air distilled with disinfectant. I can stand there and watch the streets below, busy as bees swarming on a hive. Meena passed away yesterday and today I saw them carry her body away. Encased in a white wrinkled cloth, she lay on the stretcher made of thin wooden rods, covered head to toe in white. Her body was so small, so frail, so lifeless. As if they were just carrying a tray of feathers. She will be cremated, and according to Hinduism her body will be reincarnated in 13 days, when her soul can finally be freed from her tired body. She died of malaria, and here I am, reluctantly scratching away at the maze of mosquito bites running down my legs. She died of malaria, a treatable disease, and there was nothing anyone could do. This is India, and there is nothing anyone can do most of the time, at this 'Hospice' where we work. 25-4 Shundar, she is 30 years old. She had a life one time. She had a family one time. She was married to a husband, one time. That husband, he stole her life away, and now she sits in Kalighat, day after day in tormenting pain, outcast from her family and friends, alone. Her husband, in all is glory, poured acid over her. He poured acid over his wife's body, drenching her skin from her neck to her waist. From her neck down, her skin is pink, red, open flesh, blistering slowly as it begins to heal. Her head cannot move from side to side but is stuck looking straight ahead, slanting down towards the floor. Her hair, black as night, is cut closely to her head, and her skin is the color of dark chocolate melting on a hot day. Her small child like hands have begun to turn white at the fingertips, where most of her nails are missing. There are splattered white spots running up to her wrists as if someone spilled milk on her hands and it danced from her fingers up her skin. There are open holes, scars, in her ears and nose, where jewels used to live; a token of prosperity and marriage. She is only adorned now, in a brightly colored flowered Salwar (Indian style long shirts) frock, with a delicate tie laced at the back of her neck. Her small wrists hold a few bangles, like many of the patients; they clink up and down clapping together as she moves, slowly, slowly. Today the sisters were put to task to re bandage her wounds, a daunting duty brought forth every few days, and only to those with the skills, patience, and compassion to complete it. I want to tell her that I could kill her husband. This kind of thing, tragically, happens often in India, in Nepal, and as far as I know around the world. How can we live in a world that permits this kind of thing to happen to women, and as if the woman did something wrong, like Shundar, she is discarded to the streets like a limp rag.
I will leave it at that, and if you are still reading then I applaud you. Sometimes it seems only the truly shocking things are worth putting into words, when really, there are some beautiful and amazing things happening every day all around me. Maybe since I am no doctor or nurse, the wounds and pain I witness every morning truly were shocking at first, but like anything you must build up a shield over time that allows that pain to float away, and the healing to set in. Who knows, but at least I have narrowed out one field of work, medicine; definitely not my thing, it's official. If I mentioned all the diseases that run rampant in this country, it would be as if we were back in time on the Oregon Trail, or during the Civil War, when people died of incurable diseases like TB, typhoid, cholera...and now AIDS, malaria, scabies, and other unmentionable conditions I have never even heard of. And now, this ungodly thing called 'swine flu,' is this really happening. I left the dark ages of Nepal which had suffered from bouts of the BIRD FLU a few months ago, to now reading of the swine flu, potential 'pandemic' spreading around the world. That is some scary shit. Even though some of the women live with the most grotesque and disturbing wounds I have ever seen, the most shocking realization I think for many of us volunteers, is the age of many of the patients. They are our age. A new patient that came in a few days ago is 19 years old, with a body smaller than an anorexic model, and tuberculosis. We have our entire lives ahead of us, and there are women and men whos dreams have been dashed in the muddy waters of Kolkata. It's hard to grasp now, but the intense feeling of gratitude and appreciation for the lives we lead at home, is to say the least, indescribable. We have everything at our feet. One week to go, I'll keep you posted.
I got yelled at by a nun. Yes, that's right a nun scolded me, really? Is that even possible? Sister Mary Katherine Francis, I admit I don't know their names, they are just sister or Massy. This whole volunteering thing is really a bit more like diving in the ocean. Diving in the ocean with no oxygen, no mask, and no flippers and just sinking sinking sinking. You either drown, or keep sinking until you hit a cave illuminated with light. I think I just barely made it into the cave.
Every morning the patients get their medicine, so the other day, I was handed some pills in a little plastic cup and a glass of water. i was told to give the medicine to number 16, all the women are assigned numbers in order to keep things organized and with over 50 women in a room it is rather hard to remember their names. most of which are something like Rani, Shefali, etc. These days with my even broken English, it's pretty hard to remember names in Bengali.
So I approached 16 cautiously, but with grace I might add. This woman, along with a few others, is literally a walking, breathing skeleton. One eye is clouded over, gone blind; teeth are missing in all directions; her limbs are nothing more than taught skin stretched over protruding bones;I can hold her head in the palm of my hand, feeling the rough stubble of her missing hair, and the shape of her skull. She is in terrible shape. She can sit up on her own, but the cringe part is when you actually have to lift them up yourself; it's like grabbing onto a skeleton, and it feels like the bones might break under any pressure.
She reluctantly swallowed the first pill and syrup, but was having trouble taking down the last pill. She dipped the plastic cup into her water glass trying to mix the two to make it easier. Still no luck. After several attempts she decided to give up and feebly lay back down. What was I to do, force this little orange pill into her failing body? It feels like I am walking with the living dead.
I asked another volunteer to help me, but she somehow did not understand so immediately went up to a sister and questioned her. Word gets out, and this crazy Korean nun starts yapping at me, 'it's your responsibility, you made a big mistake.'
Obviously, I understand, this is peoples lives. But, with no direction, no organization, no experience, and my first time in a room with dying people, really nun, can you give me a break for a second? I wanted to ask her what would Jesus do, but I thought that might be inappropriate.
So coughing back a few tears I let it roll off me, and continued on my way. So most of our duties at Kalighat, literally the Home for the Destitute and Dying include; maid service. No joke. Even the doctor and nurse volunteers, all of us who have travelled from around the world to be here, admit they feel a little useless. With a lack of supplies and medicines it really is hard to do the correct treatments. Regardless, I suppose at the end of the day all we can really do is try to have a little compassion for these women; channel our positive energy into making their day just a little better; basically just trying to be nice and give them some kind of recognition. I feel useless most of the time.
There was a women with AIDS, she lay in the corner, secluded, alone, dying. I will never get her face out of my mind. Her body is nothing more than bones, again, wrapped up tightly in her skin. He head was completely bald, and she lay underneath her kurta buried in the folds of fabric draped around her. She lay there so completely helpless and in pain, all we could really do is put ice packs on her feverish body, and hold her hand giving her some human touch. On her neck the lymph node was swollen to an unimaginable size. Elena, another volunteer, came over and sat near me as I was sitting with this woman, looked at me and said matter of factly, "AIDS," just nodding her head in confirmation. I knew this was probably the case, but saying it out loud is like throwing a stone through the window.
Yesterday the head nun told me to cover her in a sheet. Later in the afternoon, the sheet was pulled over her head.
Not to be so dramatic, but I thought I should share at least something from the volunteer aspect. Otherwise, everything else is great. Kolkata is starting to be my favorite city in India, ironic that it is the last Indian city I will visit on this epic journey. It feels different. So for now, I will just keep on being baked by the sun-by far the hottest time in India, and hottest city yet-and keep on being a secret spy in the Catholic Missionaries of Charity, that's how it feels sometimes.
Not to mention, today I moved into another apartment! It's only for two weeks, but so much better than the shit hole dorm room I was staying at. We have our own little global community going on, the American, two Dutch girls, and a Parisian. Sounds pretty good to me.
There are just so many things to share, it's hard to know what to write, what to censor, and what to leave for home. Regardless, I can't wait to just sit down in a room with people and disclose all those things I have been leaving out. Trust me, I have enough stories to spend the next three years writing a book.
Lastly, thank you heaps to all of you who have responded in some way to this blog. Your messages and encouragement are really what keep me going, and its always really nice to hear that people actually are reading, so keep em coming.
Calcutta. Where do I even begin with this one. I am pretty much at a loss for words you guys. I'm nearing my 300th day on the road...and I still have over 40 days left. Whaatt?!
So rather than try to decipher anything, really, I will just post a little something from my journal because I don't think I can possibly try to reiterate anything more than that.
April 14th, Day Two Kolkata.
The sunlight illuminates everything in the morning, lighting up the streets, the chai-wallahs, rickshaws, women walking proudly in saris, Muslims greeting passersby. The sticky heat is refreshing in a new way, bringing me back to the insanity of India's third largest city. Sometime I really wonder what brought me here, to this place, at this exact moment in time. Time just rolls by, carrying me under the wind, and tumbling me along from one place to the next. Calcutta, again, is unlike anything I have seen or experienced in India so far, after nearly ten months away, I am once again swept off my feet.
The contrast between the beautiful and horrendous is as prevalent as the cab drivers looking for a passenger, patiently sitting on yellow rooftops lining the streets. The streets are filled from every nook and cranny, and every crevice and crack with life happening before my eyes. Small children sit crouched in corners on haunches, bathing under buckets of water, cascading across their shimmering dark skin. The men stand around in crowds, donning the beautiful blue checkered lungis-basically a wrap around skirt.
This is what I wrote the same day...I don't think I believe in God. I do believe in a higher being, something wrapped up and bound tightly within us, maybe just the magic of the universe, or maybe I just get uncomfortable when we all feel the need to put a name on it.
And this is the following day...
Everything seemed to go downhill the minute I woke up from a nap, because that seems like the only thing I am capable to do in this heat. I rolled myself out of bed and began the thirty minute walk to the Mother House, no longer in the comfort of my 'room' with a fan, but once again smack dab in the middle of Calcutta, there really is no escape.
I arrived at the house which was slowly filling with people and we began the orientation abruptly. Not even ten minutes had passed and I began feeling like I would faint, since you know that has become normal these days, I slowly crawled from my position on a table to the floor and leaned against the table leg. That just was not even enough and soon I was sprawled out on the grimy concrete floor while this Irish dude was giving his speech. I would have fainted otherwise, at least I know the signs now, right.
I noticed a group of girls when they entered the room, for the enormity of their group, especially when you travel alone and a group of four appears massive. Their presence in numbers immediately changed the atmosphere and took over the room. A few of them looked to be no older than 15 years old. When I was called to be next in line, I had to sit down on the only bench which was occupied by one such girl. We start chatting and I find out that low and behold, she is actually from Washington too. I was asking about their group, and i come to find out they are Youth Missionaries.
They are based in Pismo Beach California, and here they are as Catholic Youth Missionaries, "Spreading the Gospel," in India, a predominantly Hindu Nation. She asks if I have heard of their group, and think well obviously not, she continues to tell me how it was started 70 years ago by some amazing dude who had the brilliant idea to ship teenagers around the world, to developing countries, and preach the Gospel.
Well, praise the Lord my name was called soon after this conversation or I may have said something inappropriate. I knew when I came here there would be a lot of Catholics involved in the volunteering, so maybe it was mostly out of curiosity that I was drawn to this place. To see how the Catholic community functions in a Hindu Nation, with the Catholic Headquarters situated in a Muslim neighborhood of the city. Quite a mouth full.
So, I have come to the conclusion, that no, I do not believe in God. There you have it. I don't think I have ever uttered those words aloud to anyone, and now here they are in words, all over the Internet. I guess when you are dehydrated and on the verge of, well a lot of shit, anything can happen right. I think we might all be going a little crazy in India.
No more skirting around the issue like I have done for years. Yes I believe in something higher, but how about reaching out on a limb and not calling it God. Just today, in talking with other Westerners living and traveling in India, I think we have all concluded that until you come to India, it is pretty safe to say, You have no idea. Clearly, that's the case in most places, but I feel confident in saying that India feels different than any place on earth I have ever been, and it will knock you off your feet in a minute if you are not careful.
Maybe I only say this because after the near collapse at the house of God, and the close encounter with the missionaries, I was walking home and got lost again. So walking around trying to look like I own the place and pretending like I know exactly where I am going, when two older Indian men start aggressively approaching me. As they get up in my face they sputter out, ' fucking, fucking, fucking, i fucking you.' They walked confidently up to me and said this in my face, getting so close I could almost feel their spit land on my face and mix with my sweat.
Maybe it was because I just renounced God, or maybe it's because I am still in India, but either way it just makes me feel sick. Bottom line. The absolute worst part about encounters like this, and this is no where near the worst of the worst, is the instantaneous bubbling fear that boils up, rising to my face, spreading like a flame. I feel powerless, frightened, and alone. Not to mention disgusted. These men will never know that feeling. I know they mistreat their own women, but in a place where a woman's husband is barely allowed to see his own wife's face in public, the way they treat Western women is preposterous. Is this a sign that we really should be wearing burkha? Is that how extreme we have to get, or do we just accept the disrespect and move on without causing a scene. I don't know what to do.
I had my first day as a volunteer yesterday, and was supposed to be back this morning. I just felt too sick when I got there to stay, so a friendly Dutch girl helped me get back home, and now here I am trying to decipher what to write.
As for the volunteering, that is a whole new can of worms, literally, so I will have to let it settle for a few days and get back to you. Maybe just imagine all of the people in the worst condition you have ever seen, in your life, put them all in one room on empty cots lining the walls, and now walk in....that's where I am standing. Seriously, I may just be counting the days until I get to come home.
"Sternly, remorselessly, fate guides each of us; only at the beginning, when we're absorbed in details, in all sorts of nonsense, in ourselves, are we unaware of its harsh hand." -Ivan Turgenev
I already shared this on FB, but its just too perfect to leave out on here as well.
' It is not easy to move through the world alone, and it is never easy as a woman...Keep money you can get to, an exit behind you, and some language at your fingertips...know how to strike a proud pose, curse like a sailor, kick like a mule, and scream your brothers name, though he may be three thousand miles away. At times I wonder that I am still alive.' -Mary Morris Nothing to Declare: Memoirs of a Woman Traveling Alone.
Hmm..that all sounds a bit too familiar.
too many things to do today, like lay in my bed because I nearly fainted from dehydration yesterday. so I'm just taking it easy. Calcutta is kicking my ass so far, and there are plenty of stories soon to come.
"We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." -AnaisNin.
When life drastically changes from one life to the next new beginning, I am always pulled between my past and future. Where will this new path take me, how has my past path driven me here, will I ever know exactly where I am going and what I will be doing? I think the answer to that last question is becoming more and more prevalent, that no, I may not ever know.
There is some magnetic pull that draws people to travel. Some force greater than ourselves that sends us seeking something; in the deserts, oceans, skies, and stars around the globe. A search for a change from the mundane, a shift from the daily grind, and maybe a search to find something greater than ourselves. The risk as always though, is this, something I have recently started to discover, the risk is that when we go back to our "normal" lives we will never live the same. Nothing will glimmer the way it does as a bright eyed traveler steps off the plane. Nothing will ever be as exhilarating or exciting, as when you see the sun setting over the ocean in India, or you sit through a 14 hour over night bus ride winding through the hills of Nepal. Nothing will ever be as unpredictable. This is also why I feel confident to say I might just be flying away for a lifetime, not only to search for those exhilarating and humbling experiences, but to keep life a little bit interesting.
I'm not cynical, but I really believe this is the high risk we are all willing to take when we leave everything that is safe, comfortable, and familiar for an suspecting road full of twists and turns. A life full of surprises, challenges, and constant change. Living and traveling abroad, for me at least, has never provided a dull minute. There are so many unexpected events throughout the day, something I 't think I have ever experienced living the states. Just simply walking the twenty minutes from home to work is a risk in itself. Now that I have mastered weaving through traffic like pac-man on speed, seriously, I can walk across five lanes of traffic no, no problem. The surprises and obstacles truly are unbelievable in quantity.
Something about change that is really beginning to wear me down though, is the constant goodbyes. Saying goodbye just really takes something out of you, and I don't think it will ever get easier. I feel so lucky for the handful of really great friends I have made in Nepal, but what makes leaving the hardest, is having to say goodbye again. When you meet people abroad, sometimes the connection is almost instant, as if you can skip all the small talk and same stories and just get right down to the knitty gritty. Time has no indication of friendship, some people you might spend a week with while traveling seem like life long friends, and this is quite remarkable. I don't know if it's the searching for human connections or solidarity, or just a need to socialize, but it consistently happens when you are out of the comfort zone.
All in all, I guess I'm back to the usual philosophizing about changes in life and trying to figure it all out. The most terrifying, yet beautiful part of all of this, is that I just might not. So for now I think I'll kick back, relax, throw my hands in the air, and dance in the street. Who's with me?
"Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek." -Barack Obama
five more days left in Kathmandu, and I am about to embark on yet another adventure. It's beginning to feel like the minute I get settled somewhere, then I am off again! There have been countless transitions, goodbyes, new friends, and the nervous excitement that comes with arriving in a new place, wide eyed and ready to take it all in.
I depart for Kolkata (Calcutta) on Monday. Something I have been planning since I left Seattle, LAST SUMMER, and yet another place that seems, to say the least, a little terrifying. I have had Kolkata in the back of my mind for months on end now, and through some random connections and advice have found myself drawn there, for some reason.
I fly into the city Monday afternoon, with little more than a few words from acquaintances and a name of the place I am to go. I will be undertaking another role as a traveler, volunteer, to spend some time at the Missionaries of Charity House in the city. There are many scattered around India, but the house in Kolkata (Calcutta) is the original, and a sort of "headquarters," which was established by Mother Theresa in the 1950's. There was controversy over these houses originally for the Catholic influence in a predominantly Hindu Nation, but the work they do has slowly been well renowned for taking in the poorest of the poor, and giving them a safe place to be as they pass on into the next life. They take volunteers at any time, some stay for a day, some for a week, some for months at a time. Honestly, I have little idea of what I am getting myself into, or what exactly I will be doing with my time there. There are three different houses spread around the city; one which houses the destitute and dying, and one for babies and orphans, people with HIV/AIDs, and soup kitchens. Sounds glamorous, no? I will be there for about three weeks, with only a few short plans to hop up to Darjeeling for the weekend, and possibly a side trip to Bangladesh for a few days. I have no idea what to expect, other than the overwhelming poverty, distress, and corruption running rampant in much of India. Kolkata is the third largest city, with over 15 million people inhabiting every crevice, and from what I have gathered, is not too pretty. It is the capital of West Bengal, on the North Eastern Coast bordering Bangladesh. Why, why am I going there you might ask? Why would I even subject myself to this? Well, these questions tumble around my mind all the time, believe me, but I guess it's just another one of those moments when I am searching for a humbling experience. To jump in and do the little tiny bit that I can, to either put a smile on someones face, or give an ear to hear their stories and share mine. I have found the most empowering and equally shattering experiences are those when we become the most vulnerable, the most challenged, and the most out of place in our lives. Kolkata is not exactly a tourist hub for most tourists who travel to India and stick to the Northern loop around Rajasthan and the TajMahal. It's a place where people sleep in the middle of the street, women wearing saris sweep up the garbage we discard at their feet, men with thinner limbs than mine peddle rickshaws stacked with the weight of travelers and families, and people missing limbs scoot across the sidewalk in front of speeding traffic, riding on wheels and with a tin filled with coins.
Needless to say, I am not only a little terrified to take on the roll of "backpacker" yet again, and to leave the confines of the little family and bubble I have found in Kathmandu, but to be back in the big old mess of India, once again. Full force. Not to mention I will be arriving during the peak of the summer months where temperatures top 40 C, or over 100 F. With a limited ward rode, white skin, and as a solo female this also means my style is not only compromised, but for my own sanity and safety I have to remain covered at all times. That means no tank tops in the sweltering heat, but pants and shoulders covered. Maybe I just need to mentally prepare myself for this kind of experience, although I'm not sure if you ever can. This will be one of those times in my life when I seriously question this decision, maybe everyday, but have to take every challenge in stride and recognize that when I depart it will be something deeply ingrained in the way I live my life from here on out. It will be one of those experiences that really shakes you to the core, and potentially makes you question everything you are doing in life. It will be one of those earth shattering moments when you realize how massive the worlds problems are, and how small we each are as individuals. Alas, yea I said alas for lack of a better word, I am also hoping it will be one of those extremely challenging, but positive times in my life because I will walk away with something I never had before; another amazing memory, and a new perspective on the contrast of how we are all living in this big gigantic world.
So after this whirlwind of a few weeks in one of the poorest cities in the world, to mentally settle myself down, I fly to Bangkok for three weeks to explore the beautiful land of Thailand. I could not be more excited for this part of my trip, as much as for the slow transition into making my way home, as for the delicious cuisine, beautiful beaches, and incredible landscapes. As I wind down this adventure of a lifetime, two months is going to fly by in a heartbeat, but in the time traveling world of backpacking a few months really equates a lifetime.
So for now, all I can do is keep running and riding around Kathmandu like a maniac trying to finish all those last minute things I never did, the last minute shopping for gifts, and the last meals with friends new and old. The nearer I get to departing Asia and returning to the US, the more terrified I get, there are literally days on a calendar you can count, now. BUT, I am also equally excited to be back on my own solid ground and around those I love, who I left so long ago. I am also excited to pull myself together again, you have no idea how much Nepal can wear you down after a few months of living in the one of the worlds most polluted cities. Sometimes I feel like I am falling apart as a person, not to mention as a woman. I dream about drinking water out of the tap and breathing the refreshing delicious air of the Pacific Northwest. The things we miss when away, I could write a book about it.
Keep me in your thoughts as I vanish into India, once again, and don't be shy to send me an email, even if it's just to say hi. It really helps. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me anytime. And for all of you who never did set up skype, shame shame shame. Now I will not have it anymore, and the only contact I will have to the outside world as of Monday is in seedy cyber cafes down dark alleyways, with sketchy, albeit very slow connections. Basically, I will talk to you when I have an area code again, and we sleep in the same time zone.
Number of dollars spent on calling other countries: too many
Number of dollars spent on eating curry and rice: most of my budget
I am having one of those days. One of those days, where I literally cannot sit still because I am so excited. Partially because I usually drink a big jug of coffee in the morning, and I get all jittery, but also because I am excited about the day I am having today. Rock climbing in Nepal-pretty awesome- and I am excited for all the crazy plans I have been scheming up over the last few months. I am afraid I have gotten so used to plotting ways to do big adventures, I will never be able to settle down in one place for long, but that is the risk I am willing to take at this point.
I have about two months left on this epic journey of mine, and in comparison to the last nine months, well that is basically nothing. BUT, if you think about the months people spend planning just for a month long journey, then the next two months could equate a lifetime. There are still an abundance of adventures, experiences, new people, and places to encounter in this vast continent and I feel ready to soak it all in before I land back on my on turf.
I also want to say thank you to those of you who have actually been following this blog, and those of you who are interested in hearing my stories. I have found more and more, the words from friends in far away places, and in cities at home; have been my inspiration and motivation to keep going and traveling. Basically it just comes down to this, I think I am pretty obsessed with all my old friends at home, you all are amazing.
So with that being said, I am in preparation of leaving Nepal in, gasp, a little over a week! to embark on the next phase of this trip. I am slowly but surly inching my way closer to North America, one step at a time for me. I know I am in for some pretty intense culture shock. Just the thought of having hot running water and power 24 hours a day, well that's enough to make me jump up and down. The things you get used to when you live on the road, indescribable.
I'll work on posting some new photos soon, trust me there are thousands, so when I see you back at home it might take days to actually get through them all. Get the BBQ's fired up and coolers filled with ice, we'll need some fresh cold beer and some rockin tunes to make it happen.
I was literally in tears over this man, Greg Mortensen. One of the most inspiring stories I have ever heard, and I'm already thinking of ways to start my own education campaign to build schools, well, anywhere. He's amazing, and you must read it.
I would also seriously consider hitchhiking, or biking, or walking to Montana or anywhere that he is speaking. He has a calendar of events throughout the year of speeches, and all the amazing awards he is given. It might just change your way of thinking, at least about the impact all of our actions can have. I think he might just change the way you want to live your life, and it just goes to show how important our impact on this world is. Truly inspiring.
So great news on the home front, the monkeys have fled the premise! However, we are now house sitting for one such crazy cat lady in Kathmandu, who apparently owns a cat wearing a tiger suit. No joke, this feline is craazy. She races around the house and then pounces in mid air landing on whatever is in her way, usually me, and clings on with her talon like claws. I have the scars to prove it.
I used to be one of those kids that was obsessed with animals, I don't lie. I wanted to be a veterinarian for the majority of childhood, and when I found out what really goes on behind closed doors at the vet, I decided it would be better to be a zoologist. I used to spend hours watching PBS nature shows, National Geographic, yea I was one of those kids.
Well that dream is long gone, along with my love for animals. I wanted another dog for years after we had to put my beloved childhood pup down, but now that I live in Asia (or anywhere where the dogs roam freely on the streets) I am seriously reconsidering. I won't deny that I have might have even thought about kicking an animal these days, on more than one occasion. I am no animal abuser, but these rapscallions are nothing to mess with. I probably feel about the same way about stray dogs as I feel about those monkeys in my bed, and you all know how that is. We are not on the best of terms, and now the cat! I feel like I just crushed all my own childhood dreams.
I just don't see a way around it. I mean, I know I said I would be a dog walker or dog sitter, or whatever but I think might also really reconsider that offer. You do not want to mess with any animals in Nepal; dog, feline, monkey. Even the water buffaloes are a just a little scary. So rather than writing my blogs for work, this is what my life has come to. whoopsie. There needs to be some kind of post traumatic animal rehab center set up or something. I have acquired an unusual fear.
There is good news though, I finally took my rockin mountain bike out for a spin. When I say rockin I mean, well, it's actually about the size of a whale, or a tractor, or a cycle rickshaw. At least I feel safe on it because I pretty much take up half the road so no one can even pass me if they try. While it feels a little silly to cruise around on this monster of a ride, I really could care less, and I'm just ecstatic to be back on some wheels again. I think I was probably either born kicking, or pedaling.
If you don't have a bike, you need to get one. There is no better way to explore and discover new places. Not to mention, when you have a bike, there is no excuse for not being somewhere. It's so fast, that now whenever I walk somewhere I actually start running sometimes because I just can't deal with taking so long to get there. One of those weird habits I probably picked up from spending years running sprints on the soccer field, I just can't move slowly I guess.
The other fun thing about cycling in Nepal is I don't have to walk around mean mugging all the men anymore, I get to do it on a bike! It's pretty funny to see people trying to holler at me while they whiz past, three four five on a motorbike, or rickshaw, or plow. They still think it is totally acceptable to spit game in the middle of five lane traffic, oh wait, there are no lanes here. The traffic flow is pretty much a free for all, and people do whatever they want, at all times; it can get a little wild.
Well that is about all I got for now. I have to go check off all the rad things in Nepal I have to do before I leave. There are too many!
I just had maybe the best week of life last week. And let me tell y'all why...I finally got out of the polluted madness of Kathmandu and walked into the wild for a few days. Maybe the best solution for any problems, I'm telling you. Go for a hike and clear your mind, you will come up with some profound shit, I promise.
I will repeat what I did a few weeks ago to save myself the time of rewriting everything, this is what I wrote for work this week, plus some. Check it out...it's long, pull out the reading glasses.
Helambu-From the City to the Village.
Day 1
Ill prepared when I arrived in Nepal, I never planned on going trekking. The melting Himalayas, the impact of tourism on village life, and lack of gear and equipment; I just thought it would not happen. I did not want to have a negative impact on this beautiful country. My misperceptions could not have been more off. Late on Sunday night, the idea of trekking came to fruition with the motivation from a friend, and with the idea planted, we were packed and ready to go within hours.
Early Monday morning, our packs surprisingly heavy, we set out to catch a micro bus from Kathmandu to Sundarijal, the starting point for our week long back packing trip. Anxious with excitement and the unknown, the three hour bus ride sailed by and we landed in Sundarijal in the early afternoon, ready to embark on our newest adventure.
Sundarijal is merely a stopping point for hitting the trail at Helambu so we were immediately swept off our feet and directed to the trail head. Armed with torn out guide pages and a trail map, we started the climb to our first destination, Chisopani. Unfortunately, the cloud cover was thick in the morning and we were unable to see any mountains as the fog swept across the terraced hills. In spite of the fog, we started out strong, and it felt great to be back in the peace and quite of nature, and out of the polluted streets of Kathmandu.
At times it felt as if we were hiking through the hills of Costa Rica; brightly painted stucco houses complimented by swaying palm trees, corn stalks lining the walkway, chickens running loose and ducks padding along.
The most exciting part of our first day happened as we approached two men draining the intestines of a goat. They held the long spiraling intestines in one hand, flushing water through the balloon like tube to clean it out. As they finished this medical like procedure, the man in charge even showed us how they clean out the stomach. With a quick slice down the middle of the ballooning flesh, with his Kukuri –Nepali for knife- he drained the massive stomach of all contents. When we asked what was in the stomach, he simply shrugged with a smile, “Goo,” as if he knew exactly what we were thinking.
As I reflected later during the trek, thinking about the Everest sized mountain of rice that often accompanies the Nepali Dhal Bhaat, I felt wasteful just thinking about it. Eating goat or meat is often considered a luxury, and Nepali’s typically finish every last part of the animal, down to the intestines. It’s something to think about during all those meals when my eyes are much greater than my stomach, and it’s a struggle finishing the whole meal. Although those of you who know me well, know this rarely happens to me.
In the meantime, after witnessing literally, my first gut wrenching animal carcass, and reaffirming my lifelong commitment to vegetarianism, we finally arrived in Chisopani in the early afternoon, to rest our tired legs and warm up with a cup of hot tea. It soon became evident we were the only foreigners in Chisopani, so we stayed at the famed Mountain View Resort, one of many along the way, and enjoyed a delicious meal with the three friendly brothers who owned the lodge.
Day 2
As the rice terraces and rolling hills loomed in the foreground, trying to mentally prepare myself for the climb and unsure of what I was actually getting myself into, we set out very early the next morning to tackle the sweeping landscape. Our next destination lay a quick seven hours away in Kutumsang, contrasted by the Langtang Mountain Range and the Sherpa and Tamang villages sprinkled throughout the hillside. Of the 36 Caste’s in Nepal, the Helambu Region is most heavily populated by the Sherpa’s and Sherpini’s (Sherpini is the term for female Sherpa, which I was delighted to hear from one such woman) who gallantly trundle through the hillsides with effervescent grace.
Well into our way on day two of our trek, the cloud cover had dissipated and we were graced with stunning views of the landscape around us; sweeping terraced hillsides, palm trees, and bright speckles of the climbing Sherpa were more than enough to keep our feet moving in rhythm. Some of the most breathtaking views I have seen in my lifetime, and through heavy breathing and heavy feet, it was difficult to not stop and stare for hours.
Unaware of the sheer strength I would encounter along the way, I was consistently blown away by the resilience and power of the Sherpa people. Towards the end of the trek, as my gait slowed to a mere crawl, my legs aching and back sweating, I knew there was no room for excuses; the Sherpa outdid me every time. Hauling baskets on their heads overflowing with rice, sand, leaves, or fertilizer, each and every one displayed more strength than most people I have encountered in my life. While I was afraid the borrowed pair of shoes I sported would not be sufficient, or my bag would be too heavy; the Sherpas consistently trudged by wearing nothing more than a t shirt, sandals, and at times no shoes at all. Their feet cracking and thick from years of hiking, appeared stronger than the $90 hiking boots adorned on most trekkers feet.
Somewhere along the way, we encountered a group of school children on their daily walk back from school. Exams were finishing and they were headed home for a short holiday away from school
The few Nepali words I know were enough to gather that they make the long trek to school every single day, twice. A group of around ten girls slowly gathered around us, all wearing sandals and matching school uniforms. Pushing my limits, I knew it was the least I could do to keep up with the 14 year old girls, as I dragged my tired legs up hillside after hillside. In quick pursuit, we were also followed by a woman, appearing to be at least 70 years old, trudging along steadily up the hill. As we took a few rest breaks to chat with the girls and snap photos, she slowly made her way up the hill and passed us on the way down, her feet quietly crunching leaves under her polka dotted flip flops. Once again surpassed by someone twice my age, and ill equipped in every way by Western standards, to climb a mountain of this scale, all I could do was smile.
In the midst of our new found friends, one of the girls, a stunning 14 year old named Nanu recommended her uncles guest house where she lived. Unable to turn down her sweet face, we walked the remainder of our trip by her side to another Mountain View Resort, where we were greeted amiably by her uncles and a stunning view of the setting sun over the mountain peaks in the distance.
The lodge was nestled between the rolling hills, climbing Sherpa, and scattered guest houses. We arrived just in time for more hot tea, and meeting our new best friend, Frank, a six year old Dutch genius. He greeted us as any middle aged man would, and we quickly began chatting with the six year old as if he were the average adult trekker. Left by his parents who were off meditating, he was hanging out at the lodge with Nanu and her uncles. When we asked how he got to Kutumsang, naturally he replied, “I came with my Sherpa friends, and now I’m staying with my friends while mommy and daddy meditate at the Monastery.” His knowledge of Nepal and India were more than enough to convince my friend and I, that he was really an adult in a child’s body, posing as a decoy for tourists. He provided quite the entertainment for us, and we were delighted to spend time kicking back with him. We spent the rest of the evening eating delicious fried eggs and chapatti, drinking pots of tea and chatting with the lodge owners around the burning embers of a fire.
Day 3
Suffering from bouts of insomnia I was unable to sleep most nights of the trek, so our third morning in the hills I was feeling quite exhausted on the first leg of the hike. Our stopping point on this day was the highest point on the trek at Therapati, and also the intermission before the toughest part of the trek. Climbing uphill nearly the entire way with a quick stop in Magen Goth to re hydrate, we completed the day in our average of six hours, reaching Tharepati feeling refreshed and stronger than the day before.
The weather had cleared in the morning and once again we were blessed with clear skies and gorgeous views of the sweeping hills, but as we neared Tharepati, the clouds rolled in and the sky changed abruptly from a welcoming powder blue to a threatening shade of charcoal grey. Thunder clapping in the background, and lightning striking the clouds, we had arrived just before a surprise blizzard, almost unheard of in this region during the month of March. Fortunately, there was a fire ready and waiting for our arrival, and a perfect spot to read in the shadows of the LangtangMountains. We spent the night watching the snowfall, enshrouding our lodge and covering the mountains in a blanket of crystal powder. The snowflakes continued throughout the night, and we woke to a world silenced by the beauty of a fresh powder. The Langtang range emerged peacefully in the clear sky, and the crisp air complimented the crunch of fresh snow under our feet.
Day 4
Enthralled by the beauty of our surrounding and thrilled to have seen my first snowfall of 2009, we began the day in a cheery mood, sleeping in past our usual 7 am start time. Consistently told this day would be our hardest yet, and would take at least ten hours on our foreigner legs, we knew it was essential to move quickly. Constantly asked how quick we were in comparison to Nepalis, who just so happen to be world champion mountain climbers as it turns out, the reply was always that foreigners take twice as long as Nepalis, regardless of speed.
My trekking companion and I started the steep descent from Tharepati with caution, carefully picking our way through the melting snow and ice trickling on the trail. Unsure of my legs, I started to feel the weight of my pack early on, and I was already getting the feeling my legs had turned to jelly. Certain that I would fill the gap between us once we reached solid ground, I watched in awe as my friend descended rapidly, confident and sure of each step. Malemchigaon -as we coined theNew York City of Helambu for its grandeur size of more than five houses- was about half way between our final destinations. Sprawling out across the land in a small valley, I cruised through Malemchigaon hoping to find my friend sitting peacefully eating Dhal Bhatt, and waiting for me. However, she was nowhere to be found, and when I consulted the locals no one had seen her. Thinking she really was that fast, I continued along the trail in what I thought was the right way. Unfortunately, she was posted up drinking a hot lemon tea waiting for me, but I walked right on by taking the other route.
For the next seven hours, each of us thinking the other was injured or ahead of the other on the trail, I continued down the mountainside hoping to catch a glimpse of my friend. With no map, no trail heads, no signs, and no knowledge of the Nepali language, I carefully picked my way through the terraces, struggling to find my balance and make my way up the steep hills. I was basically to the point where I had given up on life, ready to lay down in the middle of the trail and let a Sherpa carry me home in a basket. I seriously, seriously considered laying down in a cowshed and shacking up. I swear, if I had run into any other trekkers they would have had a heli fly in to get me and evacuate me out, that's how torn up I was.
I continued on this way for the remainder of the day, literally saved by Didi each and every time. Didi is the term for older sister, also a form of respect for women elders. Basically everyone is Didi. I was so lost a few times, that children would come running after me down the trail yelling “Didi, Didi, this way this way!” to point me back in the right direction. This was one of the toughest days of hiking in my life, but I it was also the first time the trail tucked me under its wing and led the way. I would not have made it to Tarkye Gyang without help from countless people along the way lending me a hand.
I arrived at the guesthouse in Tarkye Gyang in the late afternoon, only to discover my friend had not made it yet. Convincing myself I was in the wrong place entirely but too exhausted to do anything about it I threw my bag down and went in search of water. A few minutes later I heard my friend through the door, and too my relief she had made it only ten minutes after me. Utterly exhausted to the bone, all we could do was lie down in the middle of the floor to catch our breath and tell stories from our day.
Relieved to have finished the most difficult leg of the trek, we spent the evening chatting with people in the guesthouse before retiring early for the night. In the morning we felt refreshed and revitalized, ready to tackle our fifth day on the trail; heading to Kakani, an alternate route back to Kathmandu. Since we had completed the trek much earlier than most, in a short five days rather than eight, we were prepared to hit the trails hard and make it back to Kathmandu the next day.
Day 5:
An early start under our belts, we started the slow climb down to Kakani, through the town Sermatang at around 2620m. With the adrenaline rush of being in the final stretch of the trek, we breezed through our last full day, braving a rain and hail storm to reach Kakani early in the day. TO our surprise, we came across quite a miraculous sight upon arrival; camped out in the middle of town-which consisted of no more than five houses-mingled a large group of people. Thinking we were approaching a wedding, and not wanting to disturb, we approached with caution. We soon discovered that we had in fact stumbled upon the first meeting held by the Cancer Society of Nepal, in Kakani, ever.
Women huddled in groups on faded grass, girls sat shyly together holding hands, and the doctors mingled around chatting with us as we looked on in awe. The Cancer Society traveled all the way from Chitwan National Park, along with doctors from Kathmandu, to meet in Kakani to provide free consultations and screening for the people of this town. Located at the school house in the classrooms, the doctors and nurses provided eye examinations, lung tests, and even mammograms and pap smears. This was the first time anyone living in this town had ever been tested for any of this. Eighty year old women were lined up to get their first pap smear.
According to the doctors, cervical cancer is the number one disease in women in Nepal, which is cause by; early childbirth, early sexual experiences, smoking, cleanliness, nutrition, and HPV. It was hard for me to imagine going through this examination for the first time in my life at the age of fifty, or eighty, or even thirty. The prevalence of cataracts in this region is also very high, and we were told that 15 out of the 75 women develop cataracts, which are caused predominantly by smoke in the home. Most families living in the villages surrounding the valley cook all meals around open fires in their homes, while billowing smoke surround the room and their lungs. There are no cancer awareness campaigns in Nepal, and we were all surprised to see many of the women light up cigarettes after their screenings. The founder of the Cancer Society Nepal, who began the organization after his son, died of leukemia a few years back, told us the women cannot afford clean water, they often cannot afford adequate food, but they can always afford cigarettes.
This was one of the most powerful experiences on our five day trek, and although I could not communicate with many of the women, we quickly broke down barriers simply by interacting with them and showing our support and interest. I am consistently amazed by the stunning beauty of women in Nepal, and their sheer determination in all the challenges they face.
Did I forget to mention that we had a dance party with the entire village of Kakani. Erin and I planned out my life to move into the village, learn Sherpa and Nepali, and teach English. Just livin the dream. There was some famous Nepali singer making an appearance, who not only loved to listen to his own voice, but actually played a video of him performing. This might have been the most crackin night of the year in this town. So naturally Erin and I went big, put on our dancing shoes -oh wait, I was still wearing my hiking shoes, clothes, bandana..you know the works, lookin real good - and got down with the village girls. No joke, it was me, my friend Erin and like six fourteen year old girls dancing the night away, while the older women sat and watched. I tried to keep my distance from the flock of men dancing who somehow thought I was actually a belly dancer. Right.
Day 6:
Feeling great from our last night stay in Kakani, the walk back to Malemchi Pul Bazaar proved to be more difficult than we expected, but regardless the trail was beautiful and we were greeted time and again by smiling friendly faces willing to show the way. Descending to lower a lower elevation than Kathmandu, we carried our tired bodies to the bus stand to catch what we thought was a quick three hour ride back to Kathmandu. Unfortunately, the bus ride turned out to be the long route and we were stuck on the bus for five hours. However, we were still reluctant to return to the rain showers of Kathmandu and leave the beautiful mountain surroundings of Helambu.
I wrote off trekiing when I first arrived in Nepal, but after completing my first oneI know for certain is the first of many to come. This trek was one of the most challenging, empowering, and spectacular weeks of my life, and something I will truly never forget. If you have any reservations about trekking, put those immediately aside lace up your hiking boots and hit the trails. You will not regret it.
Lastly, if you are considering using a guide or a porter on any of the treks, please respect their livelihood and make sure they are receiving proper pay, equipment, and meals. For more information on how you can ensure they receive the best care, check out the website Porters’ Progress. While this organization is no longer up and running, the website is still available and provides very helpful information in choosing the right company, as well as fair treatment of porters. Furthermore, let’s do our best to keep this beautiful country clean, and practice environmental consciousness while you are on the trail. Leave no trace, and pack away all materials. Boiled water is available at all the guesthouses to reduce plastics; iodine tablets are another option and can be purchased at any trekking store in Thamel. So hit the trails and enjoy the beautiful Himalayas!
SO maybe you really are all wondering, why the efff am I still online, and why do I seem to appear on here ALL the time.
Well the answer my friends is this, inevitably I am about to begin facing the difficulty of employment/housing/money/life decisions back in the good ol' US of A. So naturally, rather than spend the all the time I should job searching and CV updating and all that fun stuff; I usually just get sucked into the black hole of google, staring blankly at the page for 15 minutes before I actually remember what I was supposed to look for, or I wind up on FB looking at my sisters friends cousins boyfriends baby mamas photos...I mean, actually I never creep around on there, right? normal.
So maybe this is just an SOS, from me to you, and let me explain why. If I compiled a list of all the jobs I am seriously considering (have maybe already applied for) you will understand my desperation. This list goes as such:
Laundry room attendant
Garden and Grounds Keeper
Librarian (this was my favorite when I found out a) librarians make BANK and b) you need a masters degree in well, librarian...ism? I know the alphabet, who says that's not good enough?!
Merry Maids, yes I actually looked.
on a craigslist posting, "work 2 days a week as a mermaid/fairy/princess" um YES, please. how did they know, that's what I was made to be?
cafe(teria) attendant, yes my friends.
Jewish Egg Donor. I may have that Jewish look, you know my frizzy curls and all, but no I am not, and yes I would still consider it.
African American Moms Needed...wait a second, Ok I got carried away.
So, as you can see...this is what my life will resort to in a few short months, as I jump ship and return to the glorious land of opportunities, with that well earned college degree that's come in real handy these days. Not that there is anything wrong with any of these jobs, somebody has to do it right, and my hat is off to the hard working people that do. I guess I just had my hopes set on something more glamorous, but that is well, obviously not going to happen in the midst of the biggest GLOBAL economic recession. Goody.
Not to mention, this morning I woke up in a stupor, probably the result of drinking too much whiskey apple drinks the night before, but also because I came to this realization....I will be SO cheap/broke when I get to the States, that probably none of you will want to hang out with me, and if you do, I will probably have to meet you on the corner, yes around the corner, from the bar you will all be hanging out at, while I brown bag a 2 dollar Tecate, because I can't afford to pay 10 big ones for a decent beer. The aftermath of spending a year in the subcontinent drinking 600 ml shit beer for 100 rupes, or the equivalent size of three bears for $1.20, you have got to be kidding me. Of all the injustices in the world, surely, the skyrocketing cost of beer in the US is one of them, am I right? hah. But oh how I long for a nice cold New Castle, or Blue Moon with a slice of Orange, or Chimay, or even Stella, or Corona, or Pyramid, or Anchor Steam...seriously, I have thought about it a lot. Like, really a lot.
So, needless to say, this SOS is for anyone who actually reads this, and who might just have a garden that needs weeding (like the time in high school when I weeded my friend Jenna's parents garden, and probably made big bucks back in the day!) a baby that needs sitting, a dog that needs walking, a window that needs to be cleaned, etc. You get the picture, I think. I will probably do most anything for some hard earned cash, because as many of you might think my adventures are crazy, I am already scheming up another one. And yes, I am not even back yet.
Thanks for reading my loyal friends, I know who you are....
btw. I am off for my first trek into the wilderness of Nepal tomorrow. yippeee. So if you don't hear another cry for help from me, in T minus 6 days, report to the US embassy of Kathmandu. Could not be more excited to get out of this smoggy smog filled city and romp through the wild for a few, much needed, days!
I found this article featured on One World South Asia, derived from BBC. I was recently talking to a co-worker about this practice, and was astonished to hear that this is actively happening, and people really believe in this Chhaupadi, or confinement. whaaa??
Confining new mothers and women during their monthly menstrual cycles remains a widespread practice in Nepal. This old tradition of chhaupadi, followed out of fear, forces seclusion upon women in unhygienic conditions. But change is gradually coming with several voices calling for an end to this ostracisation.
Dadeldhura, Nepal: In the darkness, a 10-day-old baby boy wails. It is midday, but the infant has not been allowed out of this special room, separate from the rest of the house, since being brought home after birth.
Basanti Devi, a new mother kept in confinement/ Photo credit: BBC
Only his young mother, Basanti Devi Bhul, can touch him. She goes out a little but cannot touch anybody else because until the 11th day after the birth, society considers her to be unclean. "I'm not doing any work," she says.
"I just eat dry bread, green vegetables and rice - no lentils or meat. I can't touch any pots or pans or go into the main house. I just go out to wash myself and my clothes, that's all," Bhul adds.
This practice of confinement, known as chhaupadi, extends also to women during their monthly period.
Some sort of confinement during menstruation is common in this and other societies. But here in western Nepal it takes extreme forms, with a woman sometimes restricted to dirty cow-shed or other special huts.
"I wish someone else could come and look after my child when he cries. I wish the system could be abolished"
Extreme confinement was outlawed by Nepal's Supreme Court three years ago, but continues to be widespread.
Custom defended
The room where Basanti Devi rocks her baby is musty, airless and dark. Out in the yard her relatives and neighbours can be heard laughing. To get into her room, one needs to come in through an outer shed, where logs and wooden ploughs lie piled, into a very dark inner shed where there is just a single stream of light coming in from the door.
"I wish I were freer to roam around," she says. "I wish someone else could come and look after my child when he cries. I wish the system could be abolished."
The village of Dil, where she lives, is a steep two-hour climb from the road which snakes through these hills.
It is a place with breathtaking views and closely packed houses of clay or stone. On the walls hang banners in support of the Maoists, the former rebels now leading the government.
Every house here practices the chhaupadi system. It is a tradition that Basanti Devi's mother-in-law, Durga Devi Sarki, defends.
"Our god will be angry if we don't do this," she says. "She is a nursing mother so how can she cook? Everyone around here does this, so we do, too. If she eats normal food she'll get sick," Sarki says.
In another village a similarly confined young mother, Padma Devi Deuba says, "I believe that if I take my child outside he will be sick and God will be angry," she says. "It is quite difficult, but it is our system."
Their accommodation is often insanitary, shared with cattle and their excrement and sometimes some distance from a village
It is the same when she has her period. "I can't go inside or cook anything for five days," she says.
"If I touch anyone, it will be a sin." But there is uneasiness in her. She believes in it; yet she, too, says she would like it eradicated.
'Grim consequences'
The related beliefs vary. Some people in western Nepal think a new mother or a menstruating woman will bring bad luck on a whole household if she stays in the main house; or that she can make cow's milk into blood.
Basanti Devi was kept in a shed underneath this house/ Photo credit: BBC
Their accommodation is often insanitary, shared with cattle and their excrement and sometimes some distance from a village. It tends to be unventilated and cramped. And the consequences of chhaupadi can be grim.
Last summer a 15-year-old girl died of diarrhoea she contracted while sleeping alone in a shed. No one wanted to take her to a health post.
In the biggest hospital in Far Western Region, senior doctor Ganesh Bahadur Singh says chhaupadi has a definite detrimental effect. Speaking of mothers with newborn infants, he says, "At this period the mother and child should have good nutrition and everything.
"They want care, love, everything. [But] the surroundings, their personal hygiene, they all invite the infection. They will cause fever… The mothers in this situation - they are more anaemic, they don't have the blood."
Reform push
Change is happening. Many parents say they would take the younger women to the clinic in an emergency. Women are declaring they do not like the practice, and in Dil village, so too is Basanti Devi's husband, Ganesh.
His activism in the Maoist party has opened his eyes to the need for change. He wants to see the chhaupadi system abolished.
Thanks to campaigns, the actual sites of confinement are at least improving in this district
"I broke the rules," he says. "I carried our child back from the health post where he was born and then entered the main house despite my parents' protests. I do touch my child.
"I wanted to give normal food to my wife but I couldn't go that far against my parents' wishes. We can't change everything at once. It has to be gradual."
Devaki Shahi agrees. She works for a local charity, the Rural Women's Development and Unity Centre, and travels around advocating change. She speaks from experience, having been confined after her own son's birth.
Thanks to campaigns by her and others, the actual sites of confinement are at least improving in this district.
If sheds are used, they're likely to be cleaner, less likely to be shared with animals. The women get better food too. But fear keeps this tradition alive.
"If someone breaks the practice and her child falls ill, people say it's because they didn't observe chhaupadi," says Devaki Shahi.
"In one village local people destroyed some of the confinement sheds. Someone hurt his leg in the process and everyone said it was because he was doing a bad thing."
So Basanti Devi still needs to go to a special tap, outside the village, to wash, away from all her neighbours.
On the 11th day her confinement will end. A priest will perform a blessing, and take her child and point his head towards the sun for the first time.
Then he will throw flour and rice on her - and make her "pure".
An article featured in the NY Times....Thought you might be interested to read about the place I am fascinated by.
As Indian growth soars, child hunger persists By Somini Sengupta The New York Times Friday, March 13, 2009
Small, sick, listless children have long been India's scourge — "a national shame," in the words of its prime minister, Manmohan Singh. But even after a decade of galloping economic growth, child malnutrition rates are worse here than in many sub-Saharan African countries, and they stand out as a paradox in a proud democracy.
China, that other Asian economic powerhouse, sharply reduced child malnutrition, and now just 7 percent of its children under 5 are underweight, a critical gauge of malnutrition. In India, by contrast, despite robust growth and good government intentions, the comparable number is 42.5 percent. Malnutrition makes children more prone to illness and stunts physical and intellectual growth for a lifetime.
There are no simple explanations. Economists and public health experts say stubborn malnutrition rates point to a central failing in this democracy of the poor. Amartya Sen, the Nobel prize-winning economist, lamented that hunger was not enough of a political priority here. India's public expenditure on health remains low, and in some places, financing for child nutrition programs remains unspent.
Yet several democracies have all but eradicated hunger. And ignoring the needs of the poor altogether does spell political peril in India, helping to topple parties in the last elections. For now, politicians seem more focused on the general issue of inequality than hunger.
Other experts point to the efficiency of an authoritarian state like China. In India, a sluggish and sometimes corrupt state has only haltingly put in place relatively simple solutions — iodizing salt, for instance, or making sure all children are immunized against preventable diseases — to say nothing of its progress on the harder tasks, like changing what and how parents feed their children. Yet as China itself grew more prosperous, it has had its own struggles with health care, as the government safety net has shredded with its adoption of a more market-driven economy.
While India runs the largest child feeding program in the world, experts agree it is inadequately designed, and has made barely a dent in the ranks of sick children in the past 10 years.
The $1.3 billion Integrated Child Development Services program, India's primary effort to combat malnutrition, finances a network of soup kitchens in urban slums and villages.
But most experts agree that providing adequate nutrition to pregnant women and children under 2 years old is crucial — and the Indian program has not homed in on them adequately. Nor has it succeeded in sufficiently changing child feeding and hygiene practices. Many women here remain in ill health and are ill fed; they are prone to giving birth to low-weight babies and tend not to be aware of how best to feed them.
A tour of Jahangirpuri, a slum in this richest of Indian cities, put the challenge on stark display. Shortly after daybreak, in a rented room along a narrow alley, an all-female crew prepared giant vats of savory rice and lentil porridge.
Purnima Menon, a public health researcher with the International Food Policy Research Institute, was relieved to see it was not just starch; there were even flecks of carrots thrown in. The porridge was loaded onto bicycle carts and ferried to nurseries that vet and help at-risk children and their mothers throughout the neighborhood.
So far, so good. Except that at one nursery — known in Hindi as an anganwadi — the teacher was a no-show. At another, there were no children; instead, a few adults sauntered up with their lunch pails. At a third, the nursery worker, Brij Bala, said that 13 children and 13 lactating mothers had already come to claim their servings, and that now she would have to fill the bowls of whoever came along, neighborhood aunties and all. "They say, 'Give us some more,' so we have to," Bala confessed. "Otherwise, they will curse us."
None of the centers had a working scale to weigh children and identify the vulnerable ones, a crucial part of the nutrition program.
Most important from Menon's point of view, the nurseries were largely missing the needs of those most at risk: children under 2, for whom the feeding centers offered a dry ration of flour and ground lentils, containing none of the micronutrients a vulnerable infant needs.
In a memorandum prepared in February, the Ministry of Women and Child Development acknowledged that while the program had yielded some gains in the past 30 years, "its impact on physical growth and development has been rather slow." The report recommended fortifying food with micronutrients and educating parents on how to better feed their babies.
A World Food Program report last month noted that India remained home to more than a fourth of the world's hungry, 230 million people in all. It also found anemia to be on the rise among rural women of childbearing age in eight states across India. Indian women are often the last to eat in their homes and often unlikely to eat well or rest during pregnancy. Menon's institute, based in Washington, recently ranked India below two dozen sub-Saharan countries on its Global Hunger Index.
Childhood anemia, a barometer of poor nutrition in a lactating mother's breast milk, is three times higher in India than in China, according to a 2007 research paper from the institute.
The latest Global Hunger Index described hunger in Madhya Pradesh, a destitute state in central India, as "extremely alarming," ranking the state somewhere between Chad and Ethiopia.
More surprising, though, it found that "serious" rates of hunger persisted across Indian states that had posted enviable rates of economic growth in recent years, including Maharashtra and Gujarat.
Here in the capital, which has the highest per-capita income in the country, 42.2 percent of children under 5 are stunted, or too short for their age, and 26 percent are underweight. A few blocks from the Indian Parliament, tiny, ill-fed children turn somersaults for spare change at traffic signals.
Back in Jahangirpuri, a dead rat lay in the courtyard in front of Bala's nursery. The narrow lanes were lined with scum from the drains. Malaria and respiratory illness, which can be crippling for weak, undernourished children, were rampant. Neighborhood shops carried small bags of potato chips and soda, evidence that its residents were far from destitute.
In another alley, Menon met a young mother named Jannu, a migrant from the northern town of Lucknow. Jannu said she found it difficult to produce enough milk for the baby in her arms, around 6 months old. His green, watery waste dripped down his mother's arms. He often has diarrhea, Jannu said, casually rinsing her arm with a tumbler of water.
Menon could not help but notice how small Jannu was, like so many of Jahangirpuri's mothers. At 5 feet 2 inches tall, Menon towered over them. Children who were roughly the same age as her own daughter were easily a foot shorter. Stunted children are so prevalent here, she observed, it makes malnutrition invisible.
"I see a system failing," Menon said. "It is doing something, but it is not solving the problem."
As many of you ask lately, since this has become a normal question for me, "How are those monkeys treatin you?" Well I thought I would update ya'll on the happenings at my abode.
The monkeys are back in full force!
It has almost become a regular occurrence, of sorts, around here. I feel like almost everyday I have a sighting of the monkeys at least.
Last week - who knows what day it was because time doesn't really exist here-I was in the shower, singing at the top of my lungs like usual, and I started to hear some noises. Telling myself to just enjoy this window of luke warm shower water, I thought nothing of it and kept singing. Our walls are pretty thin, so usually you can hear some odd noises coming from the flats above and below us. As I stepped out of the shower, my hair dripping wet onto the floor and my body covered in a skimpy travel towel I am using, I saw two monkeys sitting in my kitchen! Sitting there like nobodies business, there they were, just chillin and munching on my ripe tomatoes.
Freaked out of course, I ran into the bathroom looking for a weapon. Finding nothing, I grabbed a window cleaner and flung it into the kitchen. Using my best yelling voice I tried telling them to get the f$%* out of my house. Do monkeys really listen to a girl wearing a towel? NO is the answer.And you all know my loudest yelling voice, is well, probably not very loud.
So there they sat chomping away, while I continued to drip water on the floor and yell. They finally started to move a little bit, and as I ran back into the bathroom to hide I peeked through the window that is directly opposite to the kitchen window. One of them looked me right in the eye, grabbed a bag of chips, shook its tail and slowly meandered back out the window. Like, "yea I own this. These are my chips, thank you very much."
I slammed all the windows, but to my horror, they still wanted to hang out. Sitting right outside my window on the ledge below, there they were playing in a pile of flour and still eating tomatoes.
They eventually migrated to the trees, and continued spilling our food all over the place. My friend, who had come over right in the middle of my mayhem as I ran around the house in a towel, decided we should throw stuff at them. Stuff, meaning the food they had strewn around my kitchen floor. With our sharp shooter aim we started chucking more tomatoes at them. One literally sat there, and with his tail upright put his paw in the air and made the, come hither motion. As if saying, yea that's right, bring it on. Totally provoking us. Can you believe that?
After this incident, and since I was home alone for this once, has left me a little bit on edge...like insomnia, and nightmares where I wake up in the middle of the night screaming MONKEY. I might be kidding, but really. I took a nap the other afternoon, and woke up after the sun had gone down. So waking up in the middle of the load shedding hours (power cut) to a pitch dark house, I could hear some noises in the kitchen. Thinking my roommate was gone for the evening, panic mode switched on. I convinced myself that she had the window open again, and that the monkeys were back causing a ruckus. I lit a candle, and just as they would do in the dark ages, slowly poked my head through the door practically on all fours, and ready to throw hot candle wax into their eyes. My heart was thumping out of my chest, and I was about to pounce...when I realized it was my roommate cooking dinner.
She was so quite and stealthy with the pots and pans, I could have sworn it was a monkey. Too embarrassed to tell her, I quickly stood upright and smoothed my nap-py hair aside, and greeted her as if nothing had happened.
Is this the kind of paranoia that starts to creep in when you have been living alone too long with 37 cats? Like that crazy cat lady who goes on edge anytime she thinks someone might be there to catnap one of her babies. I'm not like that, right?......right?
So yes, I have monkeys in my tree, monkeys in my kitchen, and monkeys in my flour.
