Rock Bottom

As promised in my opening entry, I am committed to detailing both the good and the bad times while stationed in Asia. Granted, I complain a fair amount, but it is usually done in a good-natured manner because I am confident that the positive elements of a situation will eventually override the negative ones. However, that was not the case during my fifth night in Nepal. To be blunt, it was rock bottom for yours truly. This unedited text (which I scrawled by candlelight nearly 7 weeks ago) has been confined to the pages of my notebook until now...

2/27/09

The time is 4:30 A.M on a Friday and I am in Bhaktapur. Currently I am in a prone position on a wooden bed and desperately trying to soak up some comfort from an uncooperative mattress. It has been a restless night for a number of reasons (most of which I would find hilarious if they happened to someone other than me) and I have decided to write down my thoughts because, at this point, sleep is an exercise in futility.

We had an enjoyable day in Bhaktapur exploring the sights and natural surroundings of the small city. (By the way, when I write "we," I am referring to my fellow volunteer Lucy, our guide Hari, and myself.) Additionally, we soaked up the last bit of civilization (read: Internet access) before we head out to our teaching placements tomorrow. Our accommodations for the evening were supposed to be homestays with local families who spoke a bit of English. In my case, I am bunking in the spare room of a restaurant operated by folks who speak no English...and they locked me out.

I returned to the house around 7 P.M. so that I might order some dinner from the restaurant next to which I was sleeping that evening. However, the kitchen was closed...and the power had been shut off for the night. As I stood gently knocking on the door in the hope that someone would let me in, one of the building's other shopkeepers helped out by screaming at the inn's proprietors to remind them of the lanky American whom they were quartering that night. My hosts were eventually roused and let me into the house. I declined their offer to reopen the kitchen (I didn't want to bother them, although who closes a restaurant at 7 P.M.?) and instead devoured two Snickers bars that I found at the bottom of my backpack.


After reading by flashlight (or torch for my non-American readers), I tried to get some shut-eye. This is usually not a very difficult task for me. However, when you are are freezing and in a strange (and uncomfortable) bed, sleep becomes slightly more difficult to come by. To clarify, my room tonight was ringed with open-air windows that did not fully close (see picture above). Thus, the room was a bit drafty...and I only had a light blanket with which to cover myself. (I didn't have my sleeping bag because our project coordinators had deemed them unnecessary. In retrospect, I shouldn't have listened to them.) Nonetheless, I managed to sleep for a few hours before being awoken around 3:00 A.M. by the incessant click of a night watchman's walking stick. A night watchman? Really? He'll go away soon. He'll go away soon...

After the Nepalese Javert completed his rounds in the courtyard outside my window, I drifted off again...for an hour. This time my slumber was disrupted by the sweet melodies of several locals...spitting. Yep, spitting. My bedroom was unfortunately located across the street from the town bath/dishwasher/loogey depository. Around 4:00 A.M., a small crowd started convening to begin their morning routines and said routines apparently included some serious throat maintenance.

As I sat there shivering, hungry (I am accustomed to eating more than two small candy bars for dinner), and exhausted, I felt a desire to go home for the first time since I arrived in Asia. I realize that there are far worse things than living in Nepal for seven weeks and that I am extremely fortunate to be here right now. However, as I stare at the sagging ceiling of a restaurant's spare room in freaking Bhaktapur, I am struggling to see the forest for the trees. Or the light at the end of the tunnel. Or whatever euphemism that most eloquently expresses that I am not quite sure why I relinquished access to my own bed and my mother's cooking. The warm breezes of Thailand seem a long way from here.

(For dark humor, both literally and figuratively, I took the picture below. It accurately captures both my desolate physical surroundings and my gloomy mood at the time. Enjoy...I guess.)