Namaste

I am currently hunched over a keyboard in a largely deserted Nepalese Internet shop. A rat just scurried down the wall to my left and there are two monks updating their Facebook pages to my right. I've lost 20 pounds in the last 6 weeks and my head can now effectively be used as a mop. I haven't puked (yet) from my new malaria prophylactics, but I am fighting off bouts of dizziness more often than I'd like. Soooo, how are you?

This is my third post in three days. Since Internet access was not readily available at either my teaching placement or along the Everest trail, I will be forced to bang out reports on the last seven weeks in Nepal over the course of the next few days before I scramble off to India. As such, I will maintain a rapid-fire pace in transferring my handwritten scribbles to the digital realm. Just remember that I work this hard...for you.

I was sad to leave Thailand. She had embraced me fully and unconditionally. Although it was emotionally draining, I stiffened my upper lip, wiped the tears dry, and got on a plane. Like Mr. Bob Seger, I was "goin' to K-k-k-k-k-k-Kathmandu." After bidding adieu to the Land of Smiles, I flew via Thai Airways (with its accompanying eye candy, er, I mean helpful in-flight staff) to the biggest (and pretty much only) city in Nepal. During the flight, I was eagerly anticipating the many sights, sounds, and smells typically associated with Nepal: the towering, snowcapped peaks, the low, droning melodies of chanting monks, and the delicious aroma of hearty Sherpa stew. Surely I flew over some places that could have provided all three...but I got off the plane in the low-lying capital. The blaring horns, headache-inducing smog, and vulture-like touts who aggressively try to persuade everyone to part with their rupees quickly put the kibosh on any of my daydreams coming true.


Kathmandu is, by far, the dirtiest, most congested, and most chaotic city that I have ever seen. It would be futile for me to attempt to fully convey the sheer madness that occurs on a daily basis along Kathmandu's streets. From dogs running wild to various vehicles (cars, vans, rickshaws, motorbikes, bicycles) jockeying for position to ceaseless offers for everything from trekking to cocaine, the city is a frenetic mass of people, products, and pollution. Indeed, it can be a pretty intimidating and exasperating place. However, emboldened by my previous Asian traveling experience, I was able to meet the challenges of the metropolis head-on with the resolute confidence of a globetrotting veteran...although it helped that we only spent two days there before hightailing it to far more manageable locales.


Once the initial shock wore off, we set out to explore the main sights: Durbar Square, Bouddhanath (one of the largest stupas in the world, seen above), Swayambhu Stupa (otherwise known as the "Monkey Temple," which offered sweeping views of Kathmandu, seen above), etc. Our guide Hari was very informative about both the cultural significance and pertinent historical details of each sight. However, our fearless leader truly proved his worth by shuttling us safely around the city via "public bus." I employ the preceding quotation marks because the use of the word "bus" to describe these vehicles is entirely inappropriate.

Based upon my experiences in these minivans (and as evidenced by the photos below), it would be my opinion that Kathmandu residents do not require either of the following when utilizing public transportation to get from A to B: organization and personal space. Most of the shuttles are driven rather impetuously by cocky teenage drivers while their partner (usually just a slightly smaller version of the driver) hangs out of the space vacated by the sliding door and relentlessly hollers to alert potential riders of their services. After verifying that the van is going to your destination, you are then shepherded into the box on wheels where you await the inevitable overload of passengers and subsequent invasion of the six inches of space directly in front of you...as well as the occasional Nepali on your lap (my too close for comfort seatmate, of course, was a gentleman holding a leaking bag of onions...good times). Although our seating positions were never ideal, I could at least take solace in the fact that I was not forced to precariously hang from the side of the van (see third picture below).


My first couple evenings in Nepal were spent in the cozy home of a local family (the view from their small terrace is pictured below) who had agreed to house and feed me in the interest of cultural exchange. While I was able to keep up my end of the bargain with the young Bobbin (the 13-year-old son and only person in the house who spoke any English), it was impossible to converse with any of the other family members. So when Bobbin went off to his friend's house for Shivaratri (the Hindu festival honoring the god Shiva that was in full swing during my second night in Nepal), I was forced to go it alone when joining the intimate family celebration taking place around a small campfire set up in front of the house.

I emerged from my first Hindu festival certain of two things: Nepalis can squat on their haunches for extraordinarily long periods of time (I suppose using the squat toilet is good practice) and being unable to speak to anybody in a group conversation is really uncomfortable. The family bonfire lasted approximately two hours and largely involved me stiffly bending my body in and out of a squatting position. I tried, I really did, but I can't squat for more than two minutes without my knees exploding. (The "homemade whiskey" that I was given did help me stay in the position for three minutes...but the concoction tasted like lighter fluid.) Several of the party's attendees gave me confused looks (probably because they were wondering why I was having so much trouble staying low to the ground) and I was relieved when we finally headed inside for dinner.


Dinner was daal bhat, the traditional Nepali dish consisting of lentil soup and rice. It's not bad, but not great. However, its taste is of little importance within the context of this embarrassing episode. As my host mother served dinner, I was instructed to both sit and eat first. I don't know if I had been squatting for too long or if the two sips of alcohol were too much for my brain to handle, but I started enthusiastically shoveling the food into my mouth with my hand. My left hand. In case you are unaware of Hindu custom, the left hand is considered unclean because it is to be used to um...clean oneself (with water) after using the lavatory. Thus, you are never supposed to eat with it. But I did, and for about thirty seconds before I noticed the disgusted look plastered on the mother's face. I instantly realized my dining misstep, accidentally muttered an obscenity, and shifted the duties of food shoveling to my right hand. Bobbin and his little sister laughed, the mother shifted her gaze away from me, and the meal was eventually completed without further incident.

I sure know how to make a first impression.