Category Archives: Travel Adventures

Nyune Festival – Part II

Leave a comment

The Nyune Festival took place at the monastery just a few days after we arrived. Everything was abuzz. The eight older monks (age 20+) ran around like crazy making preparations for the three Rinpoches (high lamas) who were to arrive at any time (the exact day and time was impossible to estimate as one can only travel by foot in this region and can never guess what social obligations may arise while walking through the endless string of villages). The nineteen younger boys basked in the excitement and just added to the chaos with all their eagerness to help. Nyune is a festival marking the beginnng of a one-to-two-month-long celebration of Buddha’s birthday.

Once the Rinpoches arrived (2 days and 4 hours later than first expected), the festival launched into full swing with 3 days of puja (chanting). Puja started at 4am on the first and second day, and at 3am on the third day. After a giant lunch on the first day, fasting began, continuing through the second day and ending the morning of the third day with bottomless rice pudding for breakfast at 6am. Devout worshippers who had come up to the gumba (monastery) – a 40 minute walk straight uphill from the nearest village – brought sleeping mats and were given blankets as they set up beds for the nights in the gumba’s upper room and in makeshift shanties outside. After puja ended at 6am on the third day, everyone went home or to relatives’ houses, dressed up, and came back around 4pm for the big performance.

I started out with the best of intentions and got myself up at 3:30am the first day, walked up to the smaller monastery above ours (10 minutes up the mountain) by 4am and earned a front-row seat in the monastery. I was under the impression that the morning session would be four hours long, and mentally prepared myself to sit cross-legged for that long without squirming, as stretching one’s legs out during puja is insulting. I had been given some bad information, however, because the morning session lasted until noon...EIGHT hours of chanting. I was exhausted and went home to sleep after a lunch of dal bhat (lentils with rice).

That night, sitting around the kitchen fire, I was excited and relieved when Pasang, one of the monks my age, asked if I would like to help him with decorations the next morning. I desperately wanted to be involved with the community event, but unlike the two other volunteers, Jenny & Joanna, I’m not Buddhist – so though it was interesting to see how the first few hours of puja went, I didn’t ask for prayer beads and wasn’t interested in chanting “Om-Mani-Pad-Meh-Hom” for two more days. Plus, someone had directed me to a conspicuous seat in the front row, and though this isn’t a problem in and of itself, one of the older monks gave me the evil eye when I didn’t join in the prostrations before the golden Buddha statue. I stood, out of respect for everyone and their tradition, and I know that overall my own faith is respected here, but it just happened to be unlucky that my location in the monastery put my different faith in the spotlight. I knew that I would feel much more comfortable hanging out with the monks upstairs and decorating.

It turned out to be so much fun! I turned out to be a big hit with the locals, probably due to my curiosity to see and learn how to do everything, and I became a sort of unorthodox novelty – a female doing the work of male monks – with unrestricted access to their sacred rituals and traditions. Perhaps it’s because I realized what I privilege and opportunity I had been given and treated it as such, that no one objected and even the stodgiest old men were gracious and friendly towards me. It was a beautiful experience!

(see www.shirah.mobi for photos!)

Lesson 3

Leave a comment

“If it doesn’t bite, don’t bother.”

Anyone who knew me when I was a kid and witnessed one of my hysterical reactions to a large flying bug might be hard pressed to believe this, but I’m not exaggerating when I say that I can’t be bothered to run, swat, kill, or even care about the moths, beetles, mosquitoes, and spiders which plague every living thing here. I’m completely outnumbered; I’d be incredibly stressed out if I allowed myself to fear them, and I’m not willing to let this stupid aversion to insects affect the only eight weeks of relaxation I foresee in the next two years. After my second night in Kathmandu I woke up in my bed in the hostel with a huge cockroach on my chest, and after my second night at Pema Choling I woke up with a giant spider (3 inches in diameter) in my bed. Every night I hear the pitter-patter of insect legs on my down sleeping bag, and if I turn on my Kindle for some late night reading I’ll have summoned in thirty seconds a collection of the region’s arthropods which only a biologist would envy. The first (and only) night I tried reading late without illuminating -in addition to my Kindle light – the bare light bulb adorning my ceiling, I was fighting a flock of moths circling my head when, to my horror, a long line of mini-cockroach-beetle-looking things emerged from a hole in the wooden shelf built into the side of my bed, climbing out quickly in an orderly fashion and then spilling onto my neatly-folded pile of clothes. I didn’t want to squash bug guts into all of my clothes and had no more energy to chase them back into their hole, and I knew deep down that any efforts to exterminate them would only result in more appearing the next morning and that a vicious cycle of frustration would ensue, so in a moment of brilliance I chose the Buddhist thing to do – accept my suffering for what it is. I closed up my Kindle, bugs and all, pushed it onto the shelf, carefully avoided poking any of the long, skinny, multi-legged insects wallowing around next to my pillow, and retreated into my sleeping bag, zipping it all the way up and pulling the drawstring really tight. I pulled the little tiny hole left at the top down to my mouth level so as to prevent suffocation, and then, curled up in the dark with only two layers of fabric to protect me from the creepy crawlies of Sherpa land, my only thought was how my dad always told me that if I wasn’t happy and wanted to change my attitude, the best way to do it is to just start smiling. And that’s how I fell asleep: happy, smiling, and even laughing a little as I rolled over a few times and felt the muted crunch of the unlucky invertebrates who interrupted my late night reading session. Every structure here is built from either stone, wood, or some combination of the two. The long building of rooms in which I live is completely made from wooden slats. When we returned from trekking last week one of the other volunteers had left, so I moved into her abandoned bed, mostly because the nun who lived above my old room had a habit of mopping her floor in the morning and the water would drip right through the slots in her wood floor that doubled as my ceiling. No more waking up to dirty rain now, but there was a trade off to be made — 14-year-old Pasang, who lives above my new room, wakes up at 5 AM to start his chanting and seems to like to stomp around a little first thing in the morning, starting the incessant shower of dust and dead bugs that assaults my bed all day. I’ve given up trying to keep anything clean, and plan on either throwing away or heavily sterilizing all garments upon my return to the modern world. Overall, though, I really have learned that it’s rather pleasant to not worry about the little things crawling all over. Plus, Cook told me that nothing in this region will kill if it bites, so there’s not even a legitimate reason to fret.

Nyune Festival – Part I

Leave a comment

“The Rinpoches are coming! The Rinpoches are coming!”
That’s not what they were saying, but I likened the monks’ excited conversation and incessant runnings around to the American colonists’ excitement when Paul Revere rode through Concord announcing the arrival of the British.

I was handed three katas – Buddhist prayers scarves – and told I should roll up 50 or 100 rupees in each. I went to my room and fished some local currency out of my money pouch – not because I believed the blessing of the Rimpoches (supposed incarnations of gods) would bring me a lifetime of good luck, but because it seemed like the culturally sensitive thing to do, and because $3 USD wouldn’t break my budget. I then watched as a procession of monks in their “Sunday best” – really not a relevant term here as Sunday is just another work day in Nepal and holds no religious significance – paraded through the monastery, the finery of their ceremonial regalia indicating the significance of their visitors. Some oboe-clarinet-looking instruments, outfitted with segments of plastic straws for reeds, and the loud ringing of gongs and bells heralded the arrival of the three Rinpoches.

The Tibetan term Rinpoche means “Precious One” or “Treasured One” and is the title given to those who have been recognized as incarnations of great lamas (teachers). As I would learn first hand, Rinpoches are lauded by Buddhists and treated like kings by both the monks and lay people alike.

(see www.shirah.mobi for photos)

Lesson 2

Leave a comment
Over the past two weeks I’ve learned that I need very little to be happy. I have three changes of clothes. I have three pairs of socks. I have ten rubber bands, two pens, and a pretty little notebook to keep my thoughts. I have soap to keep myself clean and lotion to keep myself protected from the sun which shines down so strong here on the roof of the world.

I most look forward to the sound of my little boys waking up in the morning; drinking hot milk tea in the kitchen with them while jostling for a place in the standing-room-only radius of the fire underneath our 20-gallon pot of breakfast; and reading my Bible on the patio in the warm sun with the neighboring snowy peaks in view.
I feel a sense of accomplishment when I see my hand-washed laundry hung up on the line and blowing in the wind; when I hear my Sherpa boys using English words in conversations with each other; when I sprint up the side of a mountain which I used to climb slowly and laboriously; and when I succeed in communicating a new or more complex thought in Nepali.
I find myself smiling at the sight of water flowing out of the faucet in the yard; grinning hugely when I see that it’s clean and clear; and practically jumping up and down with joy when the pipes are in tact and a hot shower is available thanks to the solar panel coils mounted on the roof.  I find myself marveling at the multi-functional nature of pine needles: their ability to keep weeds to a minimum when spread between the plants in a vegetable garden; their ultra-comfortability as a cushion for yaks, cows, and horses to sleep on when the soil around is hard and rocky; and their convenient use as a moisture and odor absorber in our wooden hole-in-the-ground outhouse.
My rent at Pema Choling is $150 per week. This is exorbitant for the region and most of this money is a donation to the monastic school. A room for a tourist in the region costs no more than $2 per night; a hot shower – if available – no more than $3; and each meal between $2-$5.  Not to mention that I am here as a teacher, an occupation which – at the school in the next village over – earns 8000 rupees ($93) per month.  I could live here as a king on $3000 a year.

Life at Pema Choling is so simple, but meaningful because in the simplicity no change of circumstance goes unnoticed and every small joy is magnified.

Letters Home

Leave a comment
I’ve just arrived in Namche – a grueling 6 hour walk from the monastery in Pahding.  Besides Lukla, this is about the nearest wifi to the monastery. This country is absolutely beautiful; I wish I could transport everyone here for a little dose of heaven!

The first thing I do is usually to check my email and read the heartwarming messages from friends and family.  I look forward to these so much.  It makes me happy to hear from you who are following my adventures, and I feel just a little bit more connected to you despite the physical distance between us. In replying to your messages, I often start writing with such enthusiasm, wanting to share everything with you individually, and then realize that I’d like to share these things with everyone! So here are some snippets of my letters home...

The scenery is breathtaking at every turn and the people are warm, friendly, so generous. In some ways it reminds me very much of Guatemala. The little farming villages scattered around are quaint and with their low rock walls keeping in the yaks and buffalo – it’s almost like a time warp.
It’s 2069 in Nepal!  I got a text message a few days ago from my Nepali cell service company which read, “Happy Constitution Day 2069!”  I’m living in the future! I must say...the future looks a lot like the 18th century, prior to the industrial revolution 😉
The trekking is difficult, but not impossible. A reasonably fit person could certainly do it.  There are times when we bound up and down the trail, and then there are time that we trudge slowly, stopping every ten steps to catch our breath. And it is so rewarding!  Every day I feel as though I’ve accomplished something great!
My breath is literally caught in my throat at least four times a day, at moments when the clouds blow out of the valley and another snow-capped peak, which I’ve somehow failed to notice before or has been completely obscured, emerges from the white mist.  There’s no way I can capture the majesty of these mountains in the lens of my camera.  The best I can do is try, and keep encouraging you to come see for yourself!

“Each Day More Random Than the Last…”

Leave a comment
That’s how Jenny first described the monastery to me when we arrived at Pema Choling last week. And I must say, she did not exaggerate.  The funniest part is that the randomness of this place actually inspires pretty random thoughts on my own part. I find myself contemplating things I’d never think of anywhere else.

***
After flying into Lukla at 7 AM, we walked all the way to Pema Choling, stopping for lunch in the village of Ghat, and finally arriving here at 4 PM.  We were ushered into a long dark, cool room lined with built-in wooden benches along the walls and were seated at an end table. Then it seemed that we were basically ignored for a good twenty to thirty minutes, while three older monks worked with clay and paints and a nun stood by with four large thermoses of milk tea, refilling the monks’ mugs after almost every sip.  “If they’re drinking out of a cup that never gets empty, how would they ever know how much they drank?” I thought.  After a few minutes I decided it didn’t really matter. They live three fourths of the way up a giant mountain. I’m sure no matter how much milk tea they drink, they’ll burn it off by dinner.
The smallest thermos (2 liters) was light pink with a Hello Kitty design on it. Random.
This was my first hint that perhaps the monks don’t take themselves as seriously as I expected they would.
All the while I was growing colder and colder as a breeze swept through the open doorway of the long room and turned the sweat on my back ice cold.  I wondered why the old monks sat there chatting among themselves and drinking heaps of hot tea, not offering any to us or even acknowledging our existence. Finally someone brought us mugs and filled them with a cold orange juice drink that tasted like a powdered Gatorade mix.
That was my first lesson.  Just because I don’t perceive an activity or intention doesn’t mean it’s not being done or intended. Though they seemed to be absorbed in their work and conversation, the monks were considerate to note that we were hot and tired from trekking and – seeing as they were drinking only hot tea – ask that a cold drink be mixed up for us.  I didn’t understand anything substantial of their conversation in Sherpa, but as we were led to our rooms, through the kitchen and out the door at the end of the hall opposite the one we entered, I imagined that what the Lopon (teacher) said to me meant, “You have much to learn, young grasshopper.”
***
Later, the monk who served us the orange juice introduced himself as Lopon La Nawang Ladop, the head teacher of the school.  Lopon La is the title given to those who have a Ph.D.  Nawang (which we call him for short) is a title which means “monk” and precedes every monk’s name.  And Ladop is the name given him by his teacher.  Nawang is a very learned man in many senses of the word. He serves as both a mother and father figure for his students (aged 7 to 12) who have left their families to come live here. I looked through the book from his university in India – a sort of admissions guide and course catalog – and noted that his 14 years of study there included courses in Philosophy, Literature, Metaphysics, Logic, Tantric Studies (one type of Buddhist scripture), Ritual Prayers, Meditation Practices, and English.  But despite this attempt at a well-rounded education, I don’t think Nawang has ever taken a course in Geography or perhaps even set eyes on a world map. For during one of our first conversations he asked, “You’re from America, right?  And is America part of Europe?” I graciously explained that the U.S. is on a separate continent but thought to myself: Hmmm...il y a quelque chose qui cloche. Random.
***
The morning before our first day of class Jenny, the volunteer who’s been here for six weeks, told me that when we’re ready to start, we just need to hit the old oxygen tank hanging from the corner roof of the classroom and all the boys will come running.  I inquired about the oxygen tank, and she told me that it’s one of Sir Edmund Hillary’s – one that he left here while visiting Pema Choling on his way up to summit Mount Everest in 1950 (He was the first ever to reach the summit).  It’s really cool to have this souvenir, I thought, but why was it empty already here at 10,000 feet?  I was bounding around yesterday during a little morning trail run no less than 18 hours after I arrived here – my first time ever at such high altitude – and I’ve been diagnosed with exercise-induced asthma, something which should make it harder for me than most people to breath thinner air.  An experienced mountaineer using oxygen at this altitude? I’m sure there’s a good reason, but again – Random!
***
This morning during chanting one of the boys, Pasang, was asked to light a stick of incense.  He bustled around  lighting candles and such and then pulled a long stick of incense out of a red Pringles can that must have been exactly the right height for keeping incense. I smiled and tried to keep from giggling as the monks went about their somewhat solemn rituals, all the while pulling their sacred materials out of a container which formerly housed American junk food.  Random.
***
I’m sure this won’t be the end of the randomness; every day I wake up and something new is happening which I could never preconceive.  I usually don’t really understand or even know what’s going on until after the fact.  But it makes every day fun and exciting.  And just a little bit random.

Pema Choling

Leave a comment
The monastery is incredible.  I wake up to the sound of the monk chanting in the room above mine and splash my face with water on the way to the kitchen to start the day with a cup of hot milk tea.
Lopon La Nawang Ladop came to Pema Choling a year ago and started the monastic school.  There are now 20 boys between the ages of 7 and 12. They say even the smallest one, Pemba, is seven years old, but I’m certain that he’s closer to 5.  In the Sherpa community boys (I don’t know about girls) are named after the day of the week on which they were born.  The up side of this is that you really only have to learn about seven names in this new language, but the down side is trying to keep track of who is who.  Among the 20 boys, five are named Pasang (Friday), two are named Pemba (Saturday), and at least one is named Dawa (Tuesday — you read about the Dawa mix up in my last post).  Some of them, like Chimi, Toshi, Kogi, and Pemerin are not from Sherpa families and so have other Nepali names.
The young monks have a total of four hours of class per day. From 6:30-8 AM they practice chanting.  A big gong rings out and the boys come running from their rooms, red shawls thrown over a shoulder and prayer books in hand. They kick off their shoes hastily and rush through the curtain that is the doorway to the monastery, leaving a pile of forty identical black sandals outside. After bowing before the giant Buddha in his glass museum-style encasement (surely erected to keep out the dust), they file onto low cushy benches lining the interior walls of the room. Each boy has a prayer book consisting of long 4″ x 10″ sheets of loose leaf paper filled with Tibetan script. The older ones have the entire thing more or less memorized and help the younger ones, some of whom are still learning to read. Nawang leads the chant in his low voice, and I smile as the younger boys enthusiastically pipe in with their higher pitched sing-song voices, mimicking Nawang’s every intonation. This morning, out of curiosity, Joanna, Nate and I asked to join them, and a long carpet was rolled out for us to sit on cross-legged in the middle of the room.  I really enjoyed sitting there with the crisp morning mountain air ruffling the curtain behind me, studying the statues, prayer flags and ornate decor in the monastery, and watching the sun come up over snow-capped peaks while sipping a bottomless mug of milk tea, surrounded by a chorus of happy, chanting little boys.
After about an hour the curtain was pulled back and I heard 10-year-old Pasang call “Net! Sita! Sapana! Breakfast!”
“We’re being summoned,” Nate said, as I remembered to listen for my Nepali name – Sita – which means “queen”. There is no “SH” sound in the Nepali language, so it’s practically impossible for most of them to pronounce my name correctly. Some of the other volunteers were having this problem, too. So my language teacher back in Kathmandu gave us all Nepali names.
Breakfast was a huge pot (I’m talking 10 gallons) of instant noodles – a sort of Top Ramen Curry Chicken Flavor.  So I had chicken broth and milk tea; it certainly wasn’t gluten free but I’m lucky not to have had too bad a reaction to the wheat. I think my stomach is so busy trying to figure out the spice situation – i.e. why it’s being saturated with curry and such three times a day – that it has better things to worry about than a little gluten contamination.
After breakfast the boys have one hour of class, then an hour break, then one more hour of class before lunch. Meanwhile, the other volunteers and I have mornings off while Nawang teaches. Besides memorizing scripture, the boys learn the Buddhist teachings about morality and how to read and write in the Tibetan language.  Outside of the classroom they speak a mixture of Sherpa and Nepali, but classes are given in Tibetan, which is, naturally, the lingua franca of Tibetan Buddhism. Nawang has a Ph.D. in Philosophy (a 12-year degree) from one of the top monastic universities in India and speaks at least seven languages himself: Nepali, Sherpa, Tibetan, Bhutanese, Hindi, and two different types of what he called Sikhanese – the latter being spoken in a few regions of India.

Lunch is at 12, and then at 1 PM we ring the bell to start English class.  We teach Monday – Thursday from 1-2, except for Tuesday, which is “Rubbish Day.” This means that the after-lunch class is only one half hour, and the second half hour is spent picking up any bits of litter around the grounds while reciting a chant that starts with “Rubbish is bad...”  So basically my obligations at the monastery total 3.5 hours per week.  The rest is vacation time in the most breathtaking place on earth.  Not a bad deal.

It’s not a bad deal for the kids, either, because since we live here we hang out with them between their classes and get to “teach” them English in fun ways, just through joking, talking, and playing. Some of them pick it up like little sponges and they’re all really eager to learn.  Since today was a Tuesday our first class was only a half hour. Joanna (Sapana) and I taught the lower-level group together, which was 14 boys.  After introductions we reviewed numbers and then learned some new words and sentences revolving around farm animals – things like “The horse eats hay. The cow eats grass. The sheep eats grass.”  Then we got to dogs. Joanna and I looked at each other and wondered, what do dogs eat here?  So we asked the kids in Nepali... Baloo ke khanne? (That one week of Nepali language class continues to pay dividends!)
We started cracking up when the kids responded, Baloo daal bhaat khanne! Baloo (the monastery dog) eats daal bhaat!  Daal bhaat seems to be Nepal’s national dish – rice with lentils – some form of which you will eat at every meal.  Whereas in America we feed our dogs dog food, the dogs here just get left overs from the kitchen, which is, inevitably, daal bhaat. So the boys were correct – in Nepal dogs eat daal bhaat.  We ended our first English lesson with the sentence, “The dog eats rice.”  A little unorthodox, but I guess you have to allow for cultural adaptation.
We’re treated like kings and queens by the little monks.  We’re always the first to be served at meal time, and the servings are enormous.  They scurry to clean up afterwards, collecting our dishes and washing them before we can even move to do it ourselves.  Since the cook left five days ago with several of the other monks who went to Namche and then to Lukla for two different festivals, the boys have taken over the kitchen. They cook like pros – everything from Sherpa stew to steamed rice, fried rice, noodle soup, daal bhaat, timos (boiled dough rolls), tea...and that about exhausts the culinary repertoire of the region, I think. While we were leaving the dining room tonight Nate said, “Being here is like staying at a hotel run by little kids.”  I couldn’t have said it better!
Tiktik, one of the four monastery dogs, is sleeping under my bed now. The alpha male, Baloo (which means bear – like Baloo the Bear in The Jungle Book) accompanied us today all the way down the mountain to a little farming village during our afternoon hike. He seems to know that we belong here now. And I do, too.  It feels homey here.  I love the boys, the community, the peace and quiet, and this feeling of being at the very top of the world.  It’s been a day and a half now, but I still find myself in awe every time I look up and out at the towering Himalayan peaks surrounding us and the enormous valley below.

A New Home in the Clouds

Leave a comment
Several times today I stopped and thought about how this entire experience seems surreal.  I had no idea what to expect, but when our plane soared out of the clouds and I saw those first snow-capped peaks my heart jumped and I was instantly elated to be here.  Arriving in Lukla and walking to Pema Choling has been like climbing a ladder to the top of the world. They say that Lukla is the gateway to the Everest region, but I’m convinced that it’s the gateway to heaven.

The day started early for us – by 4 AM we were packing up at the hostel and headed for the airport. Today is Monday, May 28th and the deadline for Nepal’s General Assembly to have written the country’s new constitution. Strikes have been declared daily for over a month – a cry out by various ethnic groups who want to have their voices heard and rights secured in the constitution. By 4:30 AM we were in the car with Bhagwan, who informed us that a constitution had not magically materialized overnight and no one knows what will happen next. The country is in a state of limbo. No one was out making a ruckus in the streets at 5 AM, but as we were walking into the airport terminal we heard several (at least 6 or 7) distinctive gun shots.  All we were thinking is that if Kathmandu is about to break out in a revolution, we picked the right time to head for the hills.
Nate, Emma, Joanna and I were on the first flight of the day. The 40 minute flight from Kathmandu offered our first breathtaking views of the Himalayas. I was a little concerned when the pilot appeared to be using a Garmin GPS system to navigate. It was sort of a crash landing, but we survived.
Having claimed our baggage, we looked around for Dawa, the RCDP coordinator in Lukla who was supposed to meet us at the airport. He wasn’t any of the seven guides and porters trying to sell their services to us right outside the one-room-shack terminal, but when one of them heard we were looking for Dawa he said, “Oh. Yes. I know Dawa. I take you him. Come!”
And so we followed him into one of the many guest houses overlooking the airport, where we were introduced to a man who reacted as if he were expecting us.
Dawa invited us to sit down and we ordered breakfast in what we learned was his guest house and restaurant.  I decided the yak cheese omelet was exactly what I needed to fuel up for the day of walking ahead. Once we were settled Dawa walked to one of the many windows lining the lodge and said, “This is good, you come early.  See the clouds, the weather is changing quickly and no more flights will come in today.” Landing in Lukla requires being able to see the runway, and apparently – due to exceptionally cloudy weather – we’d gotten on the first flight that was able to land during the past five days.  Many others had teased passengers by getting so close and then having to turn around right before Lukla, as heavy clouds obscured the huge himals through which the plane would have to navigate.
It wasn’t until about 15 minutes into our breakfast with Dawa that we realized we had the wrong Dawa. But in the end, no harm done, because the Dawa we were looking for is married to this Dawa’s sister.
“Ohhh...you are looking for my brother in law,” Dawa finally concluded.
Our Dawa was in Namche for the day, but we called his cell phone and he said he’d send us the porters.  “Porters” are what they call the Sherpas who carry loads of gear, food, wooden planks – and just about anything else you can imagine – up, down, and through the precarious mountain trails.  These small men with incredible stamina are vital to the region’s economy, as none of these trails are conducive to motorized vehicles & helicopter landings are expensive and require flat landing areas (and if you can’t tell by my photos, flat land is scarce in these parts).
You can imagine our surprise when the porters that showed up were mere kids! Our one week of intensive language courses equipped us to find out at least names, ages, and hometowns, revealing that Simba was 16 years old and the smaller boy Babu was only 13.  I honestly didn’t think it possible at first, and was constantly astounded as Simba and Babu practically bounced over the steep, rocky mountain trails with loads of over 90 pounds each.  They carried these loads – consisting of 2 of our big packs strapped together – for over 6 hours!
We stopped in the village of Ghat for lunch, at Dawa’s house, which is also a guest house and the place where Emma will be staying. She’ll be teaching English at the primary school just 5 minutes up the hill, along with Adriana, an Australian girl whose been here for a week.  Emma is adorable; I miss her already! She’s 22, my age, and originally from Chonqing – a province in southwestern China.  Emma just finished her bachelor degree at a university in Hong Kong, and this fall she’ll be moving to Bloomington, Indiana to start a five-year PhD program in Math.  Her uncle is a professor at the University of Oregon, so after our trekking adventures to Namche, Everest, and other places here in Khumbu, I’m looking forward to traveling with Emma again when she comes to visit her aunt and uncle – and now me, too! – in Oregon.
After lunch Nate, Joanna and I continued our trek with Simba and Babu, finally reaching the monastery around 4 PM. The last hill, from the river at the bottom of the valley up to the monastery, was especially grueling. It was quite an exciting and equally exhausting day!

“Nepal Falls Into Political Turmoil” – (But I’m Alive!)

Leave a comment
The Wall Street Journal
May 29, 2012
KATMANDU, Nepal—Nepal sank into political turmoil Monday after lawmakers failed to agree on a new constitution, leaving the country with no legal government. The premier called new elections, but critics said he lacked the power to do so.

Security forces went on high alert and riot police patrolled the streets after several political parties called for rallies to demand the resignation of Prime Minister Baburam Bhattarai and protest his unilateral decision to call elections for November. Only a few peaceful protests were reported.

“The country has plunged into a serious crisis,” said Ram Sharan Mahat, a senior leader of the country’s second-largest party, the Nepali Congress, who said that six months would not be enough time to prepare for new polling.

“This government has no legitimate grounds to continue,” he said.

The squabbling political parties in Nepal’s Constituent Assembly had failed to agree on a new blueprint for the Himalayan nation by their own deadline of midnight Sunday, despite repeated extensions of the due date over the past four years.

A key sticking point was whether the country’s states should be drawn to give regional power bases to ethnic minorities.

Writing the new constitution was supposed to cap an interim period aimed at solidifying details of Nepal’s democracy after the country turned the page on centuries of royal rule and resolved a decadelong Maoist insurgency by bringing the former combatants into the political mainstream.

Mr. Bhattarai, from the party of the former Maoists, said the previous constitutional assembly, elected four years ago, had failed and must be dissolved, and that he would head a caretaker government until the Nov. 22 elections.

“We have no other option but to go back to the people and elect a new assembly to write the constitution,” Mr. Bhattarai said in his announcement.

However, his plan immediately drew criticism from legal experts, who said any plans for new polling should be made in consultation with the country’s other political parties.

“It was politically, legally and morally incorrect of the prime minister to announce fresh elections,” said constitutional and legal expert Bhimarjun Acharya.

Police spokesman Binod Singh said thousands of police officers had been deployed in the capital, Katmandu, and major cities across the country to stop any violence in the coming days.

At a rally Monday in Katmandu, small groups of college students burned effigies of Mr. Bhattarai and demanded his resignation. Police quickly put out the flames.

Separately, a group supporting the abolished monarchy also demanded the prime minister’s resignation, blaming him for the country’s political crisis. Police allowed the demonstrators to march through the center of Katmandu.

On Sunday, police had clashed briefly with protesters outside the Constituent Assembly, where political leaders from the country’s four main parties had been meeting in a last-minute attempt to agree on a new constitution before the deadline.

Much of the debate was over whether to draw state boundaries in a way to boost the political power of the country’s ethnic minorities.

Nepal’s minority ethnic groups and low-caste communities were overshadowed for centuries by the country’s elite. In the past couple of years, as Nepal has struggled to create a new government, those divisions have given rise to caste- and ethnic-based politicians, who insist their long-marginalized communities deserve to live in states that maximize their influence.

The Constituent Assembly was elected to a two-year term in 2008 to draft a new constitution but has been unable to finish the task. Its tenure has been extended four times, but the Supreme Court rejected any further extensions.

—Copyright 2012, the Associated Press
Though there is certainly some turmoil in the capital, I am fortunate to be in the high Himalayas, beyond the reach of its influence.  Pema Choling is perhaps the safest place I could be in Nepal during a time like this.  I’m thankful that we flew out early in the morning on the very day the constitution was supposed to be completed, and that we actually made it to Lukla, as we are officially the only flight which the clouds permitted to land here in the past two weeks!

Life in the Himalayas revolves around tourism, and as long as the trekkers keep coming and eating, the Sherpa people are happy. As far as I know, the Sherpas are not very politically active beyond their isolated communities, have not declared any strikes, and are not included in the minority ethnic groups which seek to maximize their political privileges and influence.  In fact, I don’t believe the political situation in the country is even a hot topic of discussion up here.

I’m just glad that I won’t be flying back to Kathmandu until August; hopefully in the next three months things will die down. And if it is still unpredictable, I’ll simply book my ticket home and, upon arriving at the KTM airport from Lukla, stay there until boarding my connecting flight.


In other news, seemingly unrelated to the constitution business, but equally tragic...
“Nepal Supreme Court Judge Killed”
The Wall Street Journal
May 31, 2012

KATMANDU, Nepal – Motorcycle-riding assailants shot and killed a Supreme Court judge under investigation for allegedly taking bribes as he headed to work in the Nepalese capital Thursday, police said.

Rana Bahadur Bam’s bodyguard and another passenger in his car were also wounded in the attack as the judge was driven to work after worshipping at a Hindu temple.

Mr. Bam was being investigated by the Judiciary Council for allegedly taking bribes from suspects charged with abduction in 2010 in exchange for releasing them with light sentences and fines.

Police official Rabindra Shah said two masked men on a black motorcycle drove by the judge’s car and opened fire. Mr. Bam, his bodyguard and another person identified as the judge’s friend were hit but the driver managed to escape. The attackers fled the scene after the shooting and the injured men were rushed to the hospital in a taxi.

Mr. Bam, shot several times, died at the local Norvic Hospital as he was being treated for internal bleeding, said hospital doctor Bharat Rawat.

The other two men were undergoing surgery and their condition was unknown.

Police set up checkpoints in Katmandu and were searching for the motorcycle and culprits.

Again, I’m not able to follow the happenings in Kathmandu very closely, but I’m not in the least bit concerned for my own safety during my time here at Pema Choling and along the trail to Base Camp.

The Hostel

1 Comment

I’m sitting on the roof – my favorite place in the hostel, especially at sunrise. This is the fourth floor. Its concrete walls are about 3.5 feet tall, and a light pink salmon color – like the rest of the building. There’s a great view of the city from here, and if it’s not too smoggy – the outline of the low mountains as well. A ladder up to a 10 ft x 10 ft perch gives access to the black plastic water tanks. Though we don’t technically have hot water, the sun heats these tanks so well that the water coming out of the faucets actually gets pretty warm.

This fourth floor deck only covers half the width of the building, so the third floor is part roof as well. There are potted plants and lines to hang clothes on both. Our language teacher, Biplap (say Beep-lop), has a room on this floor, and the male volunteers have opted to occupy the adjacent room. Outside, there’s a spicket in the wall flowing into a tiled washing area where we wash our garments in a light metal basin.

An indoor-outdoor staircase leads down to the second floor, where four rooms hold 11 beds. In addition to the bathroom on the third floor, there are two bathrooms on the second. Western style toilets are a plus, but the shower situation is kind of funny. Between the toilet and the sink there is a faucet coming out of the wall and a drain in the floor. You basically stand there and turn on the faucet, drenching the entire bathroom. It’s completely tiled, and so hot outside that everything dries completely within a half hour after your shower, so there’s no opportunity for mold to grow or anything. Takes some getting used to, but at least we know the bathroom is getting cleaned daily.

Taking the stairs down one more flight, we end up on the ground floor. This is where we eat our meals in a small dining room and have our morning language course in a small classroom. There is also a kitchen where our meals are cooked on a camping-style propane burner. Prakesh and Portimah (Por-tee-ma), the husband and wife who run the hostel, have a room on the first floor with their 14-month old daughter, Porcimah (Por-see-ma), whom everyone calls Naani, which means “little girl”.

Prakesh and Portimah don’t speak a whole lot of English, but they’re both very friendly. Naani basically wanders the house all day, calling “Babu!” from the balcony when she wants her daddy and undressing to play in the spicket while her mom is washing clothes. She’s a smart but spirited little thing and screams when she doesn’t get her way.

We play with Naani around mealtimes, when Prakesh and Portimah are busy in the kitchen. Mealtimes are at 8am, 12pm, and 7pm, with an optional tea time at 4pm. My first morning, we were given corn flakes and hot sweet milk for breakfast. Apparently any dairy products will be hot because its not safe to drink them – even for locals – unless they’ve been boiled, due to a lack of refrigerators. (Owning a refrigerator would do little good, as electricity is unpredictable. A generator makes sure we always have a few lights, but the general rule is that if the electricity is on during the day, it’ll be off at night, and vice-versa.)
As you might imagine, pouring hot milk over corn flakes turns them instantly to mush – just the beginning of my Nepali culinary experience.

Breakfast yesterday morning was ramen noodles in a spicy mutton broth. Unfortunately there wasn’t a gluten free option, but I wasn’t that hungry anyway, so instead I enjoyed two cups of dudh chhiya – milk tea. Imagine the best chai tea latte you’ve had at Starbucks, and then quadruple the experience. That’s dudh chhiya. I think being here and having this as my one treat every day makes it that much better.

After breakfast we have language class from 9-12. Then at twelve is lunch – the biggest meal of the day. This consists of daal bhaat, steamed rice with lentil soup, accompanied by steamed or fried yellow potatoes, two to three stir fry dishes, and a large, 8-inch-in-diameter crispy bread-cracker, kind of like the Indian bread naan but not as thick. I can’t eat it, of course, but the others say it has a fishy flavor. Nepal is nearly 80% Hindu, so most of the food is vegetarian, but every now and then you’ll get chicken, mutton or sea food. Certainly never expect beef, as cows are sacred in their religion and basically lead the most comfortable lives of anyone in this country (When they wander into the middle of the road, where you’ll often see them, traffic literally stops and goes around them. Drivers are more respectful of cows than people!). Nevertheless, there are a few non-vegetarian selections at mealtimes. The first day I had octopus stir fry and enjoyed it.

Dinner is pretty similar to lunch. The stir fry varies a little bit from day to day, but pretty much consists of the same ingredients: carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, white onion, bell pepper, yellow potatoes, and zucchini. It’s always cooked in some type of curry or other spice, but in general the food isn’t very hot spicy. I only eat cooked food and never touch the platter of raw cucumbers and carrots that’s put out at lunch. Raw vegetables are mostly water, and after walking around this city, I wouldn’t trust for a minute anything grown in local water. Luckily the hostel keeps purified mineral water in basins on the first and second floors for us, so I do stay hydrated.

I haven’t had any food yet that I necessarily disliked, but I also haven’t felt exactly normal after any meals. I’m sure this diet will take some getting used to.

I complained a while back about the filthiness of the city, which, fortunately, isn’t the case with the hostel. It’s rather clean here, and pretty comfortable. Although yesterday morning I woke up, feeling a rather large bug with many legs on my chest, and whisked it away without even opening my eyes. It wasn’t until I woke up about twenty minutes later that I saw it on the wall next to me. It was really big! “What is that, you guys!?” I asked. One of my roommates, Emma, from Hong Kong, said “Wow, you’ve really never seen a cockroach!” Eww. Apparently I was sleeping with a cockroach. At least it didn’t bite.