Research and Revolutions

And we're back... research was called off early on account of the now indefinite national strike declared by the Maoist party. They are demanding the PM to step down to form a new government, even though they hold the majority in the current Congressional Assembly and, for the sake of their "people's movement," have forced thousands from their homes in the villages to demonstrate in the capital where many have now gotten diarrhea or worse, business owners are forced to close shop indefinitely (or pay the Maoists and lose more than from closure alone) and farmers from the poorest regions are forced to abandon their produce because nothing is moving in the capital. As the current government provides free medical care and transportation to those worst affected, the Maoists blindly carry on, demanding a new democratic leader through entirely undemocratic and hypocritical means. So you see where my allegiances lie.

On our end, the strike means nothing more than a strict confinement to Kirtipur, fewer fruits and vegetables available, and a more careful rationing of water. Best of all, with no cars, trucks or motorbikes about, Kirtipur is quite beautiful. I can smell the flowers that have bloomed with the recent rains and my boogers might just stay their natural color.

Now about research... with it being called off early, I didn't accomplish nearly as much as I would have liked. We traveled along the major Annapurna trek, staying in two villages along the way before clambering over the Thorung La Pass which stands a little over 17,000 ft above sea level. Let me just clarify - there is NO oxygen up there, but it sure is perdy. In the end, I learned far more about my own capabilities than anything about domestic water usage in Manang. My research assistant and I took some getting used to one another, considering he was far more taken with trekking than actually performing research for an extended period of time. And yet it was this extended stay, relatively alone in a foreign country with a foreign language, that got to me most. My 2.5 weeks in Manang were more emotionally (and ultimately physically) demanding than anything I've ever done before. The more time passes, the more I can put aside the discomforts and disappointments I experienced, and appreciate what I actually learned in the process. The best way I can describe it is from something I wrote in my journal a few nights after I got back:

"As the days go by, I'm able to look back at my research as a valuable lesson - a short stint that took me away from my security blankets (while still leaving many intact) for the first time, challenging my own maturity and self-value. I have some regrets (though I promised myself I never would,) and yet it is this very philosophy - a strict adherence to moral and active excellence - that for the first time was sharply called into question. I cannot possibly expect perfection - I see now perfection is painfully impossible - but in fact those chance imperfections, the unexpected and fortuitous, may be the most beautiful, particularly if I am open and flexible enough to consider what lies in the delayed, tabooed or simply simple and unremarkable. Achievement is not success alone - happiness likewise is not measured in achievement. Not even measured but experienced, relished and enjoyed. Those (sometimes hellish) weeks became so valuable in all the ways I would have never imagined - not in 1,000 years or more."

Hi Ho... It's off to Manang We Go!

In case the cheerful title didn't tip you off, I couldn't help but hum this song as I walked back from daal bhaat today.

"Oh what a beautiful MOOOORning, Oh what a beautiful day. I've got a wonderful feelING, EVERYthing's GOing my way."

Since Joanne is off on her internships, Mel, Jon and I have had one-on-one language classes. In class this morning, Sunitaji threw around the word "fluent" a couple times which just about sent my spirits through the roof. It felt GREAT to just talk in a completely different language... write sentences off the cuff in a completely different language. A notable part of our discussion: after talking about Jon going off to Chitwan (in the hot, lower area of the Tarai) to research an indigenous Chepang community, Sunitaji said "dherai pichhaDhiedko jaati" which means "a very backwards group of people." I've heard this word "backwards" thrown around a lot, always meaning "undeveloped." People with "bikas" (development) are, according to Sunitaji (and many other Nepalis I've talked with), the higher castes and people who live in the city. And so the backwards people must develop, through government aid, to become unbackward and have access to "facilities." (America is always a land where you can find "dherai facility"). This entire philosophy seemed to me incredibly misinformed - after all, aren't the "unbackwards" people of Kathmandu already wading through their own garbage and sewage, weaving through deadly traffic, and generally suffering under the government's inability to provide for the ever-increasing urban population? Is this bikas? Is this not backward?

Back to the beautiful morning... I met with my advisor who frankly is an omnipotent god of generosity and resources. He comes skipping down the hall in his Santa Claus pot belly and Nepali topi (hat) and, in a mere 30 minutes of huddling round a map and several textbooks, allays every fear and anxiety I had about my upcoming month of independent research. He's like the Indiana Jones of Nepal, bumbling and adorable where Harrison Ford of course was the epitome of suave and debonair. I finally got to speak with a great friend last night, and Kirtipur looks more beautiful every day since I know I will be leaving soon. Finding out that after a second try, I am finally a Udall Scholar (a scholarship I've been agonizing over) is simply a cherry on top of an already delicious sundae, a small push forward to say everything you've done is just thik chha (good.)

So what is my research about exactly? Good frikkin question... Here's what I have so far:

I will be living/trekking for a month in Manang District in northern Nepal at elevations of 3 - 5000 meters. There I will look at water issues and climate change, probably comparing water scarcity in two villages: one that relies on glaciers in the south and another that relies on glaciers in the north (glaciers in the south are much larger and less likely to disappear, but they are less reliable.) I have one research assistant/translator who will help me conduct interviews with women, religious figures, farmers, community leaders and trans-Himalayan herders. It takes about 4 or 5 days to reach Manang since I have to trek most of the way - poor me, slowly lumbering through mountain valleys in the shadow of Himalayan glaciers, finally clearing my nose (the pollution has turned my bogies black) with alpine breezes. It should be nothing short of gorgeous, an excuse to trek again under an academic banner. Then I come back, stay in Kirtipur for 10 days, and fly home!

I likely won't have internet access during my month in Manang. If you're skypeable, maybe we can chat before then! (hperls123.) Emails of course are also welcome, provided you include a joke or two (if you can find a way to attach a slice of pizza, that would fantastic.)

Trekking!

And we're back...

Trekking was glorious. Chitwan was hot as hell (no exaggeration there) and despite all the build-up to my elephant excursion, I was uncomfortable riding these creatures that should be lumbering along under their own volition rather than under the whip and yells of a trainer. Worse yet was the realization that I was paying for it. Once we left Chitwan however, the days were blissfully filled with early breakfasts in the shadows of snow-capped peaks, exhausting hours bearing our packs up stairs, through jungle and along the crevasses between valleys and finally dinner, made all the more delicious after 5 or 6 hours of hiking. Though in Spring the farthest mountains are clouded in fog, I have never seen more rhododendrons in my life! The knobbly trees covered in bright green folds of moss, practically falling over under the weight of bright pink, red, and white flowers - I felt like the princess in a fairy tale or Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream (I told Melanie the same thing, and promptly received her now practiced "you are such a geek" look.)

At the different stops along the way, we ran into the best breed of tourists - mostly Europeans from Sweden, the Netherlands, France and Germany. We received many a strange look as Nepalis and Americans (speaking in Nepali!) dueled over never-ending card games and endless plates of french fries. I realized what a difference it makes to be able to speak in Nepali (thank you language teachers!) Our porters were fantastic and so nice, but without any language we would simply have been client and employee rather than the fast friends we became. It might have helped that I was an American girl and they were all Nepali boys my age, but we'll ignore that for now. Our last night we celebrated with some home-made "alcohol" (the Americans couldn't feel a thing) and plenty of Nepali dance, laughter and finally exhaustion under a bright moon. As relics of our tour, I have returned with an enviable farmer's tan, the knees of a 60-year old man and a serious distaste for classes, the polluted streets of Kathmandu and days filled with sitting on my ass.

In the midst of my post-trek depression, it's nice to feel a larger system of order coming into place. Completely unbeknownst to me three years ago, Columbia seems to be THE place for climate research, be it entirely theoretical, anthropological or empirical. At first I feared branching into this new anthropological field would open a Pandora's Box of unknown names, terms and theories. Instead, I see names I know (personally!) and ideas of indigenous climate justice I've always felt but could never articulate. One article cites Ben Orlove... I know him! Another cites Agrawala again and again... wait, my mentor co-authored a paper with him and now he's drafting OECD development reports for the Nepalese government! These incredible resources just seem to fall into my lap, coinciding with an incredible month-long excursion in one of the most beautiful mountain areas in the world. I'm practically counting the days when I can head off and not only discover the limits of my own independence, but leave behind the structures and regimentation of CNSP.

Updates

1. I invested in a 65 cent haircut.

2. Trekking (though initially off the burner because of strikes on the trekking routes) is now back on again! We will definitely be going to Chitwan and Pokhara which includes all things elephants. Then hopefully we'll be allowed on the trekking routes for 5/6 days of 7 hours of hiking in the mountains!

3. Banu seems to be doing better. Her husband has stayed in the States while she is here, but she is now eating and talking a bit. We will be visiting her again this afternoon.

4. St. Patty's Day with the ex-pats last night at the "Manang Celtic Pub." Very entertaining and miracles of miracles everyone speaks English. Mel desperately wanted to stay out but Jon more desperately needed to finish his already way overdue 10 page paper. We cracked a deal and promised to stay out tonight since tomorrow and the week after that is officially off limits. The repeat offense is largely in response to the general "High School" aura that hangs around the walls of CNSP - not the catty, crappy parts, but certainly the curfewed, highly scheduled, this is definitely NOT college part.

5. I, the poster child of contact sports and "yoga is for woosies" T-Shirts, have completed 6 full sun salutations. I now wear that really cheeky, please-with-yourself grin a lot. It really completes my overall ensemble and goes really well with the haircut.

A Death in the Family

Our daily rhythms are all shaken up. Yesterday Banu, the director of our program, received a call from the States telling her that her son had been killed in an accident. Between 10 and 11 am when I had hunkered down alone in the library, everyone changed. I didn't understand what I was supposed to do or say - loss seems to fill up a space and only leave this empty haze. Without any idea who this man was, or what it could possibly feel like to outlive your own child, I was stuck. I felt nothing - I just wanted to keep living like it never happened. But everyone else just looked through things. Smiling, joking or talking felt like a sin, a sign of disrespect for the soul I never knew. For that first day, all I wanted was to hide in my room until everyone could forget about it.

I have no idea what death is like. Uncle Klaus was the closest thing, and I still don't believe he's really gone. We visited so seldom that he might as well still be sitting in Westchester, staring out the window through clouded cataracts with his pump-up Nike kicks and hospital gown. Denial is a powerful thing, and generally I just keep building up that wall until something brings it all crashing down. We visited Banu today (in Nepal when someone dies, you just show up at the family's house as soon as possible.) I walked into Banu's bedroom and found at least ten people sitting along the walls and on the bed in mutual silence, all sucking in the same weighted air. It was like meditation curled up on the edge of that bed, not knowing who or what to look at, whether to smile or even if I could get up to go to the bathroom. I sat there, through the hugs and the crying and the silence. At some point, I found myself sitting next to Banu, this powerful woman reduced to a silent mound with eyes that said it was alright if she never smiled again. Suddenly her head was on my shoulder with shaking sobs that tore the air from my lungs. All I could do was sit there stroking her hair as tears welled in my eyes for reasons I still cannot explain. Here I was, curled around the woman who always took care of me, who was supposed to have all the answers. Walking out was like slowly wading out of a bog - it took several minutes to realize I was out, then to find my voice, and finally to look at anything but the ground.

There is no proper conclusion here - I don't think there can be - except that after leaving that house, everyone in the program seemed to breathe a little easier as if we were able to leave our baggage behind and move on. We paid our respects and now it was time to appreciate the lives we had, even if others could not.

Hum dee Dum

In an attempt to preclude any parental complaints, this is officially the pre-trekking time filler.

Melanie and Jon have officially become Nepalese (aka they're sick), skipping two meals each and our planned evening outing to attend salsa night at a bar in Kathmandu. We will have to save that incredible oximoron for another evening and just enjoy the many possible and amusing scenarios that could have been.

In other news, I am no longer bed bound though of course it's not that simple. The incredible pharmacy my father equipped me with has turned into more of a shopping list than a safety net. Moving on from the stomach, having exhausted all possible options, we now move on to the right eye which has taken on an interesting reddish hue and itches like the chicken pox. Though I never did quite learn to put on eye liner, I am getting VERY good with this gelly clear goo that has a similar application and clouds your vision for a bit. I'm hoping later for a showdown between Erthromycin Ophthalmic ointment and beer goggles.

Note: Parentals - I am FINE (thanks to your incredible ability to predict my medical future.)

Just as my Columbian peers head off to Spring Break, we are entering our own version of midterm week. One paper, one quiz, one research proposal, several homeworks and a lot of Gilmore Girls episodes officially complete (don't ask.) Now I just have that 15 page paper to finish (or start, depending on your perspective) plus finalizing my research plans (think literature review without internet or motivation) and IRB stuff. Plus sick people. Plus confined quarters. Thankfully my roomie went into Kathmandu tonight to visit her new husband (she got married by the way... did I mention that?) which means I can hold my own private rock concert/dance party. Truly the workload gives me zero rights to complain as compared to my normal semester of sedentary studying (I enjoy alliteration... deal with it) but it's still weird to go from a homestay where I climb mountains and milk goats to sitting, staring, sleeping, eating and generally not moving. I could jog, but let's not get carried away. And I still can't seem to get past those looks of "wait a tic! that's a white girl! she's running... and nothing is chasing her. what a strange girl. maybe if we look a bit longer... yes over the shoulder is good... we'll know why."

So yes... trekking. Lots and lots of trekking. We leave January 20th and arrive in Chitwan National Park. There are elephants involved including riding them, bathing with them (they're trained to throw you in the river) and visiting the breeding center. Jungle walks with rhinos and something called a stick dance. Kayaking or swimming or canoeing... there's a lake involved. A CLEAN one! That's a large body of water that isn't filled with sewage, smells of sewage or potentially sources the local butcher! Through the 28th we climb mountains (ahem... the Himalayas to be precise) for 6-7 hours a day with rice and lentils, rice and lentils and chiyaa. If you care for the short version, I will be in heaven. I never was sure if heaven really existed, but now I'm sure. And we haven't even left yet. OH MY GOD I'M SO EXCITED.

Anyway back to my desk and my sleeping bag and that slow feeling of leg muscles disintegrating. Also to address a past complaint, an anonymous reader questioned the meaning of baller. Oops - my choice collection of slang words ranges from middle school where I was just bored and college where we're just strange. A baller is... someone really really awesome? Somehow it's sourced from the NBA and that strange swishing motion people make to look cool, but I just like the word because it starts with a strong consonant and Nick gets embarrassed when I say it in public. Love you brother dearest.

Keep the emails coming (again parents, I'm fine. The eye is fine and getting better.) and I will try and finagle pictures post-trekking, I PROMISE. Until then, enjoy all the Spring Breaking (no limbs please!) and try not to be too incredibly jealous of me (though a little green I hear is good for the complexion.)

Cheerio,

HP

Mannegau

Sorry for the delay. I had to first conquer nausea from hell and then a degenerated computer battery to finally reload several times and get the blogspot gods to hear my plea. Not that I'm religious but with my stomach getting less suicidal (thank you Pepto Bismol) and a charged computer, things are looking up.

We returned from Mannegau the day before yesterday after the bumpiest, chunkiest, ker-THUMPiest ride home. Imagine a dirt road complete with dents and boulders just two inches wider than your rickety vehicle, then throw in some 180 degree turns and slant it down at 25 degrees. Over five hours. So yeah, yesterday was more of a bedridden neverending parade of sailor swears at my stomach which apparently has ears and does not appreciate my dirty mouth.

I will do my best to repaint our homestay. It will be long so if you care to back out now, I promise not to hunt you down later.

We arrived in the bus at the town below Mannegau and began to hike up and up, over bridges and a surging blue river (the first blue river I have seen since arriving here) and then oodles of stairs. Very sweaty, but very satisfying. We show up smelling like roses and the leading women's group of the village serves us tea and then we are distributed to our host families. My Didi (older sister) Malati (her name) brought me to their home across from the main road and store where I walked past a chicken coop, the central water tap, a huge buffalo and a 3 day old goat who for some reason found my pants very interesting. The first night was, well, awkward. I was babysat for a few hours by the grandmother and grandfather. Lots of smiling and nodding without a prayer of understanding rapid Nepali or Tamang (it's not a good sign that I couldn't tell which language they were speaking.) I was given a bed in the TV room (with what I think was the nicest mattress the family owned) while Didi slept in the bed next to me. That first night she found out that my parents were doctors and immediately asked if I had any medicine for the discolorations under her eyes. Whenever I tried to write something in my journal, it usually ended up being a language lesson with whomever was around - everyone was so curious to see writing in English, and the older women always wanted me to write their names first in Devnagari, then in English, and then in my slanted, cursive mess.

Things got easier with my family. At first I was worried they would get exhausted with my constant "bujhina" (I did not understand) or "ke ho" (what's that?), but then it became more of a joke than anything else. I was the adorable, clueless house pet rather than the awkward visitor from abroad. It took me a long time to notice the lack of anything (mirrors, indoor plumbing, chairs, chimneys etc.) simply because Didi made it look so easy. I had imagined coming in that, during our mini-research projects, I would come in and "fix" something. But when I arrived, I couldn't find that something to fix. Water was flowing, they produced their own crops and purchased only spices, tea and other occasional odds and ends. The kids walked two hours to school in the morning while Didi prepared more rice, dhaal and vegetable curry than I ever hope to eat again. The morning I finally ate with my hands instead of a spoon, my Didi and her husband looked at me as if I had just said my first words.

Let me also just take a moment of silence for the public shower. It was AMAZING. If heaven exists, it was in that shower. There is a large public tap down the mountain that looks out on green terraced fields and mountains on all sides. The water is cool and clean (at least to the eye) and was the first time I have been slightly able to satisfy my incredible craving to go swimming. After getting clean as a whistle in our lungis (the coverings we had to wear cause the shower was, well, public) we got to air dry in the mountain breezes. Very very noice.

I marked my progression in Mannegau from discouraged to ecstatic by the small moments when I felt myself being actually useful. I helped Didi with the goats, then washed my dishes, poured my own chiyaa, helped peel vegetables and then graduated to even asking for seconds at meals (BIG deal.) For my mini-research, though I had planned initially to study water usage, I found the most efficient way to do this was actually to record the history of the women's group. When I asked where the water came from, all I got was "below." But the women's group was the group responsible for installing the main water taps and handling political/infrastructural disputes within the village. With Kavita as a translator, I met with six older women who told me how Educate the Children (an NGO) came in and first formed the group. With the support of only two men, they built the current building they now work in completely by themselves, collecting monthly donations of 5, then 10 Rupees (about 1 or 2 cents.) They lend money to impoverished women with low interest, they are working on local education and just generally kick some major ass. (Plus make a mean roti.)

Within the family, I was able to joke my way into my own little niche. Didi and I talked under the stars about going to the moon. My bahini (little sister) Rima gave me a makeover every other morning, never failing to say my hair was like "gundruk" (dried vegetables that smell funny.) Over dinner, we shared dance moves with my bahini and bhai (little brother) dancing a little Nepali and me pulling out some Saturday Night Fever. I taught them some shadow puppets and how to snap your fingers; they taught me to milk a goat and make Nepali chiyaa (tea.) On the last night during our large party (complete with large amounts of raksi - alcohol) we danced and sang and I was hugged so fiercely I started to scrunch my shoulders in anticipation whenever an older woman approached me. The raksi may have helped (though the Americans certainly held their own while some anonymous Nepali students quickly went under) but for the first time I was the first to jump on the dance floor without inhibitions or embarrassment. It was simply fun.

Now we're back, I have consumed one peanut butter sandwich in the past 24 hours and there's a paper due tomorrow. It's strange to jump from one world to the other, and Mannegau feels incredibly far away. I will send my host-family photos though it may take two months to actually reach them.

I also may have forgotten, but did I mention we go trekking for 10 days starting on the 20th?! Hell to the yes! (This trekking includes riding me some elephants! Wahoo!) I also might have finalized a location for my independent research project: Manang, a mountainous area and common trekking intersect for tourists going through the Annapurna range. There is a glacier there that feeds into a lake and may require a few days of hiking to reach. I still hope to study domestic water usage and climate change though it's always up for revision.

Did you make it to the end? You must be some kind of superhero. Congratulations and keep following if you have the stamina.

Nepal Rocks

I apologize for the really lame pun that's about to happen, but the concert last night was AWESOME (reexamine post title.) After walking off a delicious dinner down a sketchy alleyway and up several flights of stairs, we paid our 100 rupees and suddenly I was in a completely different Nepal. Compared to the very proper, structured world of CNSP, here were drunk, rockin teenagers lettin loose to rock music! It was all Jon's idea - the backup singer is the friend of a friend. In the absence of a sound byte, know that the lead singer wore a plastic apron covered in oranges - and pulled it off. I would have proposed marriage if the music wasn't so loud and I could have stopped jamming long enough to form a sentence. Compared to the slight cabin fever that was creeping in after hours of class and isolation in Kirtipur, it was the night out I had always imagined at Columbia, yet never had either due to my underage-ness, too many exams or simply a lack of cajones. Finding your cajones (metaphorically of course) is empowering. Me gusta mucho.

Knowing that we will be leaving for Mannegau tomorrow, I've suddenly started to think what it will be like when I leave for good. Despite the occasional illness and complete lack of decent, greasy pizza, CNSP is home. These other students have become my family (even if we're all a bit nuts) and mostly I'm afraid I'll forget all this when I go back to the world of GPAs, YouTube and 24-hour electricity. Before dinner, I sat on the kitchen floor with Tildai trying to make momos and botching it entirely... and all I could think (besides "wow, my momos look like saggy brains") was how impossible this scenario would seem in the States. Little things like sitting on the floor during dinner, reading during my free hours instead of watching the Food Network, or someone foolishly letting me near a stove unsupervised. Without cell phones, without internet, without television, I have been first forced, then encouraged and now, finally, independently motivated to spend my time talking rather than vegging, learning and screwing up rather than hiding away. Best of all is the range of things I get to learn - to read SYMBOLS for God's sake! How cool is that?! To cook delicious food, to have my first exposure to women's studies and anthropology (thank you Mel), to discuss religion, spirituality, independence, hallucinogenic drugs (discuss, not try)... and all because we have the time and curiosity in a space unstructured and free, outside of the classroom.

And now I remember I have 3 months left. Yahoo! More and more I am so thankful I made this decision (especially since Santiago was second on the list.) As expected, my favorite moments are entirely unexpected. Now all I have to do is defy all odds and defeat my obscene short-term memory loss when I come back. Family - be forewarned - I'm considering establishing no-TV days when I get back. We might even have to bond. (For those unfamiliar with Perls traditions and my younger brothers, I may be exiled for this.)

Finally, I want to thank everyone who has replied to my email and sent notes of home. I've loved hearing from all of you! (If you don't fall into this category, I suggest you fix that soon. I'm keeping a list.)

Holy Holi

Holi is the best, nastiest, craziest, most colorful holiday ever. As Mel said, "This would never fly in the US." Starting this morning, Kavita and I woke up early so we could run to the program house (a distance of about 50 m maximum) before the neighbors stocked up on water balloons. Think war zone with turrets everywhere and enemy fire, except the enemy fire is water-filled bags dyed with colored powder. A nationwide paintball fight with no rules, beautiful weather and LOTS of college students with pent up stress and aggression. After our daily rice and lentils, all the kids headed to the boys' hostel courtyard and very quickly things went nuts. Green dye thrown down shirts, buckets of water upturned over unsuspecting heads, and not-so-careful kitchen staffers thinking they could just sneak by without get noticed. Oh how foolish they were. Tildai got soaked; Parnudidi got mauled with red dye and we all became absolutely and entirely filthy. A few stray bags (rockets really) hit me in the eye but all was good (I promise I'm totally fine!) and generally I would now take Holi over Christmas any day.

Some quick updates on the past few days. Yesterday I went to a lunch at a restaurant called Mike's Breakfast (started by an ex-Peace Corper) with Laurie, the director of the Fullbright Office here in Nepal, Laurie's sarcastic Indian husband, the husband's best friend interested in water issues in India (hence the reason I was invited) and some other random dudes. 1. Best food EVER. I do not exaggerate. 2. These guys are absolute ballers. It was a fantastic conversation, despite the fact that I was at least half as young as the youngest person at that table. Even better, I held a lengthy conversation IN NEPALI with the taxi driver on the way over. No need for applause though it is appreciated. Though we didn't speak much about water issues, I had a fantastic time and it was incredibly encouraging to know I could travel around this city on my own, as well as hold a very normal, casual conversation with a woman whose credentials would normally have me shaking in my boots (if I wore boots that is.)

The night before that, Mel and Jon and I grabbed a quick dinner in Thamel (tourist district) complete with a sweet cover band, beer and just general good, American, college student fun. I never thought I would miss seeing night lights as much as I do. But simply walking through the streets with stalls lit up and music blaring was so refreshing and a taste of home without the stress of midterm season. It was a fantastic, casual blast of bonding - an event which we hope to repeat tonight as we count down to Mel's 22nd birthday. Tonight we plan to return to Mike's Breakfast, my new favorite place of worship, for Mexican Food, some Amurrican beer (drinking age here is about 5) and a reggae concert. Our research proposals are due tomorrow and then Tuesday morning we leave for our homestay in Mannegau. It is a Tamang village populated mostly by Tibetan-Buddhists, beautiful mountains and absolutely no internet whatsoever. Therefore you will simply have to hold your breath until I get back. : )

New Forum..

Welcome to the new home of Hannah's study abroad adventures. Even one new router later, online pictures are now obviously impossible. I will try and do justice to my longstanding absence though let's just say right now that, with my incredible short-term memory, I will fail miserably.

Did I mention my roommate is getting married? In about 12 hours? She abandoned us around last week to go home before the scheduled strikes ("bundas") shut down the capital's entire transportation system. She's a grad student and therefore in her mid-20s but STILL - I've never known any of my friends who have gotten married before. Unfortunately her marriage is the same time as our language midterm (which I should be studying for right now - whoops) and five hours away in Chitwan... still we'll call her tomorrow and tell her she's beautiful and amazing and that her husband better be incredible - or else he'll have to answer to the Amurricans.

I'd like to think my Nepali has gotten much better. I can understand and say more, participating in daily conversation (how are you, what did you do yesterday, what's for dinner? - you know, important stuff.) I don't think I fully comprehended how wonderful our staff really is. Truly I've fallen madly in love with each and every one.

Starting next Tuesday we head off to our home-stay in Mannegau - a rural, Tamang (Hills ethnic group) village in what we hear is an absolutely beautiful location. But, just like college, any vacation-esque trip absolutely must be preceded by loads of work. Hence, our first paper was due, our midterm is tomorrow and our research proposals are due on Friday. Really compared to Columbia I have no right to complain, but in this context it makes me feel better.

Looking towards my research proposal, I think more and more I want to focus on water rights and how rural mountain communities will be able to adapt to fluctuations in water supply based on how water is used, where it comes from, and how these uses change throughout the year. Certainly not your normal lab report, but so far students at the University here as well as some professors back home in NYC have been really helpful, sending me more articles than I ever hope to read. It's just so difficult to buckle down and read when there's a sunny rooftop calling your name (my book of crosswords is nearly exhausted - again, whoops.)

Banuji says that when you get sick, it means you're becoming a Nepali. Suffice to say, I am REALLY Nepali. Last weekend, Mel, John and Kavita and I visited a Newari food festival. Before I knew what I was getting into, there I was holding a huge bowl of steaming spicy, oily, buffalo momo with a side of achaar (sauce) that may or may not have been boiled first (the sauce, not the momo.) That felt awesome the next morning, let me tell you.

I'm sure this has not nearly satisfied my parent's curiosity, but as for the rest of the not-so-dearly invested audience, thanks for tagging along. I'll be sure to keep you posted after Mannegau and hopefully post Holi which is on Sunday. FYI Holi is like a nation-wide paintball fiesta o' fun involving water balloons and colored powder and should-be adults acting like 5 year olds. Aka anything goes. Already the staff and students have started calling their shots... it is going to be RIDICULOUS. Until this wonderfully delicious event of colorful aggression, however, I have to study. Crap.

Making Banana Pancakes

Hokay so... two nights ago was American Cook Night/Culture Night. We have been agonizing about this one because, frankly, what’s American Culture that doesn’t involve beef patties and what’s American Cuisine that doesn’t involve Mexico, Italy or beef patties? The answer? A HUGE pot of chili plus Ina Garten’s Banana Sour Cream Pancakes and a failed attempt to make apple pie, realizing there is ZERO power and instead making empanada/apple momo lumps that look more like reshaped vomit than palatable, delicious bundles oh sugary joy. American culture turned out to be “summer camp 101” with a pitied singalong with Puff the Magic Dragon (we didn’t explain the alternative interpretation of the lyrics.)

Earlier that day, we had schlepped up to Sarjanidid’s small village of Gamchhaa where we were supposed to practice our participatory research techniques including community mapping, pairwise preference ranking and seasonal calendars. Divided into two groups, I was paired with Atma (my roommate) and Ambika, another Nepali student. After arriving and awkwardly standing about in our kurtas (Nepali dress) while the villagers stared at us, finally Atma jumped in and rapidly blasted off some Nepali, laid out some paper and markers and began to draw. For the next two hours, I sat in the back feeling like inside jokes were being exchanged back and forth and I was the one who just didn’t get it. Even when I did have a problem with how things were being done, I couldn’t do much of anything without disrupting the whole process and forcing Atma or Ambika to translate.

Don’t worry, it’s not as depressing as it sounds. When the group all joined up again, even Mel the miraculous Nepali seto maanche (white person) speaker was wicked confused. After having such a fantastic experience in Machyagaau, I had been incredibly disappointed and anxious that perhaps this interview style was what I had to look forward to on our independent research trip. Simply decompressing over Phish, chopping vegetables and some Amurrican conversation with John, Mello (Joanne is still very sick and out of commission) and a well timed Jack Johnson appearance pretty much hit the spot. I realized briefly that I’ve been in Nepal for three weeks; the longest I’ve ever been abroad is one month and by this time I was already counting the days till I went home. But whether it’s college, getting older, more travel experience, or better banana pancakes (thank you Ina!) I’m pretty darn comfortable here. I know the students better, yoga is incredible, and the staff are even more incredible and possibly the nicest, craziest people ever (Shesh Daddy still helps me cheat on my Nepali homework.) Perhaps most importantly (in terms of wanting to stay) I have at least two or three “blow your mind” moments every couple days - our coursework and/or conversations continually defy or expand whatever I have learned about sustainable development and management at school or in the States. I’m both excited and afraid to go back to Columbia and reorient myself to an entirely different perspective.

Nargarkot

I am officially a mountain girl.

This past weekend we spent three days in Nargarkot - a touristy getaway 7200 ft above sea level that offers the cleanest air, the clearest skies and the most satisfying days I’ve spent yet in Nepal. From sunrise to sunset, followed by my first night sky since Peru where I could actually glimpse the arc of the Milky Way, I was very, very happy (except after the dinner “sizzler” which brought up a different kind of not-so-happy memory.)

The sun shines differently at the top of the world. Everything feels alive when there’s no pollution, no honking, no dogs barking... nothing but birds flying through sky that goes on forever and jagged, snow-topped peaks marking the limits of the horizon. Waking up early isn’t a chore but a gift; walking nine miles is a joy rather than a pain. It was like taking my favorite pieces of past trips and throwing it into a single pot of exhilarating, hyper discovery: the early mornings of Peru with the hikes and clambering hills of Death Valley (plus a raucous game of Spoons which I admirably sucked at.) Trekking up and down the hills, I couldn’t stand still - if there was a side trail I ran after it, if there was a small ledge I had to jump rather than just step over it. Even just smelling sunscreen again made me grin. We spent our Valentine’s Day morning hiking to the next peak (about 10 km roundtrip) with a small tower/temple at the end. Following a small road up through the hills, each turn would bring a brand new glimpse at the mountains which we always knew were hidden behind the fog but never quite believed actually existed. Equipped with a generous heaping of chocolate from Banu-Ji as a VDay gift, I might just have been the most exhausted, happiest girl in the world.

Maachhyagaau

I’m alive - our internet has been completely on the fritz. Currently we get a signal for five minutes at a time during little surprise surges from the magic internet gods. Suffice to say, if you’re reading this, you have just witnessed a miracle.

Yesterday we went to Maachyagaau - a small village just a quick drive up towards the mountains south of Kirtipur. After waiting at the bus stop for far too long (busses here are actually white, unmarked vans with small children dangling off the sides to collect money at each stop), our language teachers snuck off to return in a small, rickety blue van/bus/car thingy. It was awesome - the gas tank is actually a large ceramic cylinder tied under the seats. Let me also just preface with this quick note: our language teachers are absolute BALLERS. Not only can I read in Nepali and speak quite decently now (after only 3 weeks thank you very much), but they also might just be the three chillest ladies of all time. Anajala-ji is the ring leader who tells us about her nightmares involving black cats and cockroaches; Sunita-ji is the kindest, most organized woman ever and finally Sarita-ji is somewhere between the two with a badass intensity that makes you think she was a fullback or Hilary Clinton in a previous life.

This small trip was a substitute for language class - we were supposed to conduct solo interviews with random strangers in Nepali in this small isolated village where “bideshi” (foreigners) are a rare sight indeed. In the ride up, our taxi driver quickly established himself as Joanne’s (aka Thulo didi or big sister) bhai (little brother) and almost hit 3 dogs, 2 children, 4 fruit stands and 1 cow. On the clearest day we have had yet, we stepped out and saw the entire Lantang range complete with snowcapped Himalayas to the north and green hills behind us. Quickly the teachers ushered us up a hill and began distributing us out to families like leaflets - “wahaa Ameriki bidhyaarti ho” (she is an American student)... “Nepali bhaasaa” (Nepali language) was about all I understood. (My new favorite phrase is “ma akaamaaka chhu” or “I am confused.”) First Jon left, then Melanie and then we came across an old woman who sounded like she had started smoking in the womb. Knowing an absolute badass when I see one, I jumped forward and soon we began talking (me smiling and nodding) about how expensive lentils are, her sons who work in Saudi Arabia and her dog “Sweetie.” Honestly I understood only about 10%, but I did get that she invited me in for chiyaa about 12 times and there is no way to mistranslate a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek after jumping into a woman’s life for only ten minutes.

My second interview was with a man who owned a small “pasal” drugstore and sported a Yankees cap (so I knew we’d have something to talk about.) Turns out, we had more than something - he had worked for the Nepali army with the United Nations and had been shipped to Haiti four years ago to work as a “shooter” in Port au Prince. 10 minutes later he promised me that he and his family would gladly host me anytime and that the hat was as good as burned. His daughter was perhaps the sweetest thing on two legs and according to him, my Nepali is “dherai ramro” (very good - and a huge lie.) It still blows my mind that these people offer so much to near strangers when living with so little material wealth and no promise of any return. Maybe it’s the mountains or maybe they put something in the chiyaa, but through my research I am hoping to learn enough to find a way to give something concrete back to those who have and will help me in the next 3-4 months.

Finally, Guman (one of the Nepali students in the program) now calls us his “rangichangi momoharu” which means “colorful/crazy dumplings” (FYI momos will change your life; John says they could solve world hunger and create world peace at the same time.) This is the same kid who used to interrupt stories about drunken evenings at college with a political discussion on caste. Oh the glories of American culture exposure. I’m so proud.

Per Request...

Dad said I need to write a new entry or come home. I don’t want to go home.

Since my last entry, we’ve had A LOT of class, I’ve done laundry once and despite four meals a day I am considering buying a smaller belt. We’ve had one self-cook day that involved a peanut butter-banana sandwich, about 30 donuts and 12 leftover momos (aka dumplings from God.) Hopefully when I return to the states I won’t make such a poor showing in the kitchen.

I suppose it has been over two weeks since I first arrived in Nepal. I’m starting to get a little nervous about our research projects. They already have us conducting interviews (with the help of our Nepali roommates as interpreters) but John and I (as the beginner Nepali speakers) are making some serious progress. We have finished the alphabet, and I can even read signs if the car is driving slow enough. I can make basic conversation at mealtimes and even pick up on a few words here and there. The Nepali students are quite proud of us.

Some highlights from the past week:

1. I absolutely DESTROYED Kamal at tigers and goats (a Nepali strategy game that is like checkers, only on crack.) Kamal is to tigers and goats what Yoda is to the Force. You may now call me Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker.
2. Kamal, Kavita, Mel and I climbed to a temple at Cho-something. It was absolutely beautiful out and it was so nice to escape our small area in Kirtipur and get some serious exercise.
3. Not only is my GI tract back in business, but the food seems to get tastier every day. Daal bhaat (rice and lentils) every day at 10 am, crepes with pomegranate for breakfast, and even lasagna for dinner a few nights ago.
4. My application for the Udall scholarship is finally in and over with!
5. YOGA! Believe it or not, the contact-sport fanatic has, against all odds, fallen in love with the Tuesday/Thursday afternoon yoga sessions. Our teacher always adds “please” to the end of each sentence - “please relaaaaax your left side, relax, relax.”
6. Our newest acquisition into the CNSP family is a neon blue guitar Mel, Joanne and I purchased on a side trip to Thamel (tourist district of overpriced hippy clothes and french fries.) Instead of Hulu and YouTube I am instead slowly learning to jam. Typing this blog is far more difficult than I expected with overworked fingers.

In the next few weeks, we will start preparing for our independent research projects. I was shocked at first to find that my research would probably involve mostly interviews rather than empirical research. All I’m working with now is I want to study water. I have books and documents to peruse, but without a focus it sometimes feels like an overwhelming wave that gets bigger and bigger every day (granted I’m not doing much to help it, playing guitar or doing Sudokus when I could read or study.) Today, for the first time in a while, I missed High School with its clear structure and defined benchmarks. Now I want to change the world with less than a month of isolated research on an undecided topic... uh oh.

This entry would not be complete without a serious shoutout to Melanie. With only 4 Americans here, and John separated from the girls’ hostel by gender taboos, Mel (“Mello” to the Nepalis) and I have quickly become attached at the hip. I am so thankful she’s here, whether it’s teaching me guitar, joking about old school TLC songs or simply having an outlet for our small, daily frustrations. As we decided today, not being best friends is impossible.

Up next: bed time. We have a quiz tomorrow and being out of my sleeping bag this long could mean a serious case of pneumonia. This week will be exhausting with the amount of class and research prep thrown in, but the weekend is a 3-day trek in Nargarkot where we have been promised a mountain sunrise.

There you go Pops. Love you.

Start Your Engines...

I’ve received a complaint against the general lack of information on “how I am actually doing.” Here’s the status update: all system are a go.

Food - delicious

Weather - f*** freezing

Stars - glorious : )

People - surprising and wonderful

(Ps. If you’re only getting emails through RSS feed but are not in the reading mood, check the site for pictures.)

I realize that today marks my one week-aversary of arriving in Nepal. I can hardly believe it. It seems like forever ago that I landed here, that I felt so nauseous and desperate that I almost wished my GI tract would sentence me to a 747 home direct to Logan Airport. At the risk of sounding bipolar, this place already feels like home. The smells and dirt paths, the sun rising over the mountains, even the cold air in the morning that reminds you just how much it sucks to get out of your sleeping bag... it’s comfortable. It’s encouraging. I think I love it here.

The people: there’s Tildai, the flamboyant, fantastic cook who has a quiet attitude and grace to his morning routines. “Shes” Daddy who helped me fake my Nepali homework until the teacher finally showed up. Banu of course who I could try to describe but truly her chuckle alone is beyond description - she gives off a warmth you feel that is wholly Banu (not in that warm, shmoozy way that makes you want to puke... like the fun, crazy aunt everyone waits for at reunions to remind you just to let go and have fun.) I still don’t know all the names of the women who help us in the hostel... there’s Sha-something who wakes us up with breakfast and always knows that “Hannahji” will be in bed while everyone else is wide awake. Ram-something accommodates my baby-Nepali and calls me “pom-pom” after all the loopy hats I wear. Kamal is the adorable 24-year old who silently keeps this entire place running and taught me several Nepali constellations which I promptly forgot.

The students: my roommate Atma - all the Nepali students really - are fantastic. I don’t know when it happened, but the “loopy” is officially out of the bag. Beyond goofy, we now understand everyone’s highs and lows. There are days when you’re “off” and we keep our distance. But mostly it’s just a jumble of crazy, unprompted laughs, holding hands (straight men do it here! it’s AMAZING!) and teaching everyone how to say stupid things in a mix of English swear words and Nepali nasal tones. Sarita is small and quiet, but certainly knows how to laugh at herself in dance class. Ambika is beautiful and at first was aloof, but as Joanne would say, “oh my GOSH” can she be loony. Kavita our “tulu didi” (big sister) is my fellow chocolate addict and hands down an absolute life saver. Truly if I ever had a big sister, I think she would be a lot like Kavita - down to earth, hilarious and a little bit of a weirdo.

Melanie and I take walks every day to work off the 4+ meals, talking about men, politics, Nepal, food, mountains... you name it. She takes cigarette breaks which remind me of the smog outside Butler (sorry Dad, but I think second-hand smoke has become a permanent sense-memory for me.) Joanne has toned down a bit since she arrived, but we take our American moments together listening to reggae and watching Tyler Perry movies. John and I chill through beginners Nepali and slowly he is filling my male void and desperate need for some testosterone. His roommate Goman is pretty indescribable - half of him is all set to be Prime Minister (discussing politics while the rest of us are lying in stitches joking about ferrets or something stupid) and the other acts out the walk of a drunken hobo after a serious overdose of dhaal baat (rice and lentils.)

I’m sorry this is SO LONG (feel free to quit.) I’m trying to kill all the questions and requests in one go... Finally: classes. Nepali is long, but I am making really satisfying progress. John and I can now speak in basic sentences, write out words, read words and phrases (at a crippled snail’s pace) and carry on small convos with the staff. Contemporary Issues was difficult at first - we began with straight-up anthropology (not my drink of choice,) discussing demographics and the interpretation of caste. At the time I felt it all was beneath my oh-so-sophisticated scientific understanding of the world. But so much here has already changed or challenged the way I see things. The recommended readings (partly because I now have the time to truly read them) describe new forms of study in sociology that I never considered a science before. David, an alumni of the program who now studies medical interventionism in Nepal, spoke today about the true determinants of health - social hierarchy and the inequitable distribution of wealth, civil infrastructure etc. versus just focusing on the provision of medical services.

Everyone always asks why my brothers and I don’t want to be doctors like dear old Mom and Dad. It’s true that I don’t want to be a doctor like Mom and Dad - I don’t want that job. It has always seemed like a binary choice - the environment or medicine. The environment, or long hours in a hospital, helping patients one by one while the larger world picks people off like flies. And so I chose. And then today, for the first time, I recognized that the environment is not just lightly applicable, but possibly a huge determinant of public health in a way that specific, medical treatment could never be. I don’t just have a role to play, but an enormous niche to fill within the public health discussion. I could study what I love and at the same time do something to disrupt the injustice that says I get clean water but Indians in Mumbai don’t. Today was the Pandora’s Box moment - probably for my parents as they read this (I never told them I was interested in public health since it never seemed like a possibility) and certainly for me. I can still pinpoint the day I became interested in the environment - Luke Taylor came into High School senior soc. and told us about biodiversity and species extinction. Since then, it’s been trial and error: Environmental activism? No way. Environmental politics? Maybe. Environmental education? Perhaps. Today I felt that same excitement, that same “Big Bang” where suddenly my horizon exploded exponentially into a world of new possibilities, all of which I wanted to follow to the end.

I hope that answers some of your questions.

~Management

Deja Vu

Everything here happens twice. We lose electricity for 5 hours each day... twice (morning and evening.) It was only today that I fully considered the consequences of this - what about major manufacturers? Businesses? Water treatment and hydropower plants? Like so many questions here, I don’t yet have the answers... I have now visited the Monkey Temple, Kathmandu Darbur Square and Thamel (think Disney World except instead of crazy animals walking around, you get LOTS of white tourists) all twice. We have a two language class each day - twice. Just to make sure you got that, that’s four hours of continuous Nepali language every day. I would like your pity right... now.

My days are much less exciting than the time I spent with Mom. Our schedules are tight though we’ve been promised relief soon (we get to go to Nargarkot and Bhatkapur - another “twice” for me.) All this replay can and was incredibly discouraging, but the culture shock and bipolar ups and downs are slowly mellowing out. I still don’t know what to think about four meals a day - Melanie and I finally rebelled and took a quick walk around the block which made me suddenly realize how sedentary we have truly been. I had come to this country hoping to jog up and down mountains like the blue people in Avatar (minus bioluminescent mushrooms though there are drug pushers here for that kind of thing.) Instead, I found food, nausea, class, food, sleep, COLD, food - you get the idea. Did I pushed myself a little too far this time? Should I have gone to New Zealand where they have balmy breezes, beautiful scenery and men with sexy accents?

I have no event to point to, no revelation or major epiphany (though Azithromyacin and pasta night with chocolate ice cream might be it.) But for some reason, it’s all going down a little bit smoother today. As my expectations become a little more realistic and a little less cinematic, I’ve started to feel more in control. (And anyone who knows a Perls knows that control makes us happy.) My body isn’t freaking out anymore, I’ve picked a specific Nepali newspaper I like and the load setting electricity outages are more predictable. Mealtimes still sometimes feel like an impending execution, but I have yet to find a full-length mirror in Nepal and my pants still fit. Best of all, I found I’m not the only one. With Mel by my side, a roommate I’ve finally bonded with and a fellow chocoholic just next door, I think this might just be a good idea after all.

Plus, the word for milk is “duhd” (pronounced “dude”). Pretty sweet.

Abdication of the Biscuit Queen

Mom hates to eat meals on a regular basis. Almost every day, I was forced to watch breakfast or lunch slowly tick away as my belly growled out the minutes (it wasn’t nearly as pathetic as all that, but hopefully she reads this and feels a twinge of guilt.) In place of these glorious meals, we purchased nearly a lifetime supply of wonderful little treasures called “Fiber Biscuits.” After hours of complaining and crunching on these glorious little brown discs, Mom eventually changed my nickname from her “most smartest daughter” just to “biscuit.” More efficient, you see.

Anywho, these biscuits came in mighty handy when my GI tract decided to go on strike (likely inspired by the political goings-on here in Nepal,) making my first few days here rather unfortunate. Nothing makes you regret going to a foreign country like freezing cold, a lack of appetite and realizing that even your own body doesn’t like you. In 24 hours I had officially graduated from simply “biscuit” to the “Biscuit Queen.” (Thankfully an uncontested office.)

Everyone has been incredibly nice in nurturing me back to tolerable, if not top shape. Ironically this morning we went to our health orientation in Kathmandu where I learned all about my symptoms and the scientific names for what I simply refer to as “hell.” Though I can’t put my finger on it (maybe it’s my recovering health, maybe it’s just the simple passing of time) but all the CSNP students have definitely warmed to each other. Now I find I have to hold my stomach at least twice a day not from nausea but from laughing too hard.

There are only four Americans here: me, Melanie, Joanne (Cornellians) and Jon (Haverford.) Joanne is an absolute trip - a Masters student in political science who never fails to make us laugh. Really only Banuji (our FANTASTIC headmistress of sorts) can rival Joanne as the mischievous chucklemaster. I really think it was Joanne’s belated arrival (the UK had an issue with her Kenyan passport) that allowed everyone to officially chill out. Mel is a junior like me with aspirations of being a midwife and with 1.5 years of Nepali under her belt... needless to say, quite a baller in her own right. Finally Jon is the isolated y chromosome forced to deal with being utterly and completely outnumbered by females. (I apologize for boiling down my peers into a matter of sentences... tis the curse of a blogger.)

Four more hours of Nepali tomorrow followed by a field trip to Patan. I think there are more monkeys involved. : )

Home in Kirtipur

Sorry for the delay - since Agra, Mom and I visited the erotic Hindu temples at Kajuraho, then the holy Ganges in Varanasi. Finally we flew into Kathmandu on January 24th where it slowly dawned on me that I would not be leaving this country for another four months at least. After so many days of constant traveling, it was a relief to think I would finally be settling down, unpacking my clothes rather than just living out of my oversized duffel bag.

I arrived yesterday at the girls’ hostel here at Tribhuvan University in Kirtipur. We’re only 20 minutes or so outside of Kathmandu, but it certainly is slower paced without the crazy, near suicidal traffic or the large collection of tourist and trekking shops that reminded me of Broadway in New York. The building is absolutely gorgeous, and my room is nicer and larger than those I ever had at Columbia. We are completely pampered here, with a delicious breakfast brought to our rooms at 7 am, lunch cooked at 10, snack at 3 and dinner finally at 7pm. I haven’t yet figured out how to eat less than what you are given and post-meal nausea is given until I can get better acquainted with the meal time customs here. 3 out of the 4 Americans have arrived - Melanie and Jon and me - and we are waiting for Joanna who had customs trouble traveling through London Heathrow. We each have a Nepali roommate - mine is Atma, a Sociology grad student at the University. It’s a small community and our world are the three connected buildings - girls and boys each with a hostel and the common building for meals and the classroom.

We have been relatively unaffected here by any political issues in the capital - a strike scheduled for the 24th was canceled, but would otherwise have shut down all transportation for several days. We have no electricity for 10 hours every day, split into morning and evening 5 hour blocks that change for each day of the week. Yet everyone just takes it all with a shrug and we end up with candlelit dinners instead. So far, meals have been pretty quiet as everyone gets used to one another. It’s also FREEZING once the sun goes down, and we seem to have adopted the angriest dog in the world who conveniently lives right outside my window; during the day it’s much warmer outside than inside (I’m writing on our beautiful rooftop deck overlooking Kantipur right now.) I can’t emphasize enough how welcoming and kind everyone is - Banu Oja is like our headmistress. She reminds me of a mix between a female Santa Claus and Julia Child (in mannerisms, not the cooking part.) There is also “Shesh-Daddy” who cooks, Janak who teaches CI (Contemporary Issues of Nepal) and of course Banu who teaches Nepali speaking and writing.

That’s the lay of the land so far: delicious food in epic quantities, beautiful people, wild dogs, fresh air and the occasional lack of electricity. Not too shabby. I was so worried about getting settled in this new country - now that it has all gone so smoothly, I find myself bobbing along in a happy limbo until the next big challenge comes.

Day 4: Agra

We finally caved and purchased internet at the hotel. Since Delhi we have visited Jaipur (via a 4-hour delayed plane,) and drove from Jaipur to Agra yesterday. It has become painfully obvious that without a guide and a driver, we would be hopelessly lost. I don’t think even New York taxi drivers could survive the streets of India. The speedometer is a new thing here, and at least three times a day we see a well-sized truck heading towards us on the wrong side of the road in a two-lane highway, barrier and all. It’s amazing how despite the fact that millions of people are squashed into such a small area, India always smells amazing. Everywhere we go, the air smells like incense and burning wood. Pigs, cows and goats are always on the side of the street rooting through trash - Mom and I think this is why there’s no foul stench, even though we see at least five men a day relieving themselves on the side of the highway. Maybe NYC should get some pigs of their own... No street food for our delicate tummies, but Indian takeout during finals week is a surprisingly good representation of the restaurants in India so far.

In the winter, India is blanketed with fog except in the mid-afternoon when the sun peaks through. This means that our morning visit to the Taj Mahal was more like sneaking up on a shark in muggy water, where suddenly this enormous structure appeared through the mist, domes, turrets and all. At every major historical site we have visited, there are always young boys running forward thrusting cheap jewelry and postcards under your nose for purchase - yesterday Mom finally just caved and bought a few postcards so we could keep moving. Though I expected that Mom and I would stick out like sore thumbs, it still is my least favorite part of the day when I have to walk through the streets pretending to be a penniless, deaf mute. Though I am truly enjoying our tour through India, I am getting more and more excited to finally arrive in rural Kirtipur where not only can I finally see the stars through a fogless sky, but I won’t be so easily pegged as the tourist “Madame.”

Delhi: Day 1

Today I woke up in India. We arrived in Delhi this morning around midnight and surprisingly defied all varieties of jet lag and woke up at 8 am (9 pm to our friends on the east coast.) We are in a beautiful hotel in New Delhi (the “old” and “new” seem to be defined by the strength of Western influence on the area.) After a short breakfast with butter and toast on one side and lentils and parathas on the other, we headed out with our guide Nijit who turned out to be quite the character. In the fog and bleary-eyed stupor of our arrival, we couldn’t see much beyond the borders of the streets. They are filled with cars (mostly small, compact things either in silver, white or taxis which are multicolored black, yellow and green.) Even these smaller vehicles have trouble weaving among the hundreds of motorcycles, cows, dogs, goats, pigs and the occasional camel. Lanes don’t really exist and a driver must always have one hand on the horn at all times. Along the major highways from the airport, the city largely resembles a work-in-progress with construction materials abandoned and barren expanses for miles where the homeless have encamped themselves for the night. As we entered Old Delhi towards our first stop of the day, most of the cars were replaced with even shabbier motorcycles and fearless bicyclists, narrow lanes and overhanging apartment buildings that looked as if they were stacked together by a drunken 5-year old. All the colors on the signs were faded and hundreds of tangled electric wires pass from poles over the alleys to the buildings. I began to wonder where Asia’s second largest economy fit into all this, until our guide told us that for 50 sq. ft. along these dirty, crowded streets cost anywhere from 100,000 - 500,000... in US dollars.

(Note: this will be a long entry - feel free to back out now.) Our first stop was Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India - an open courtyard at the top of a hill, separating the Moslem and Hindu areas of Old Delhi. Once we took off our shoes and put on some neon wraps straight out of Scooby Doo to make ourselves more presentable, Nijit pointed out that while hundreds of birds dotted the skies to our left, there were absolutely none on the right. On the left - Moslems eat cow, cow falls on the ground, birds eat cow. On the right - Hindus worship cow, no cow on ground, and so no birds. Just walking from one side of the mosque to the other was like being teleported - Hindi versus Arabic, black head scarves versus colorful saris. And all within spitting distance of one another. There were also oodles of pigeons - apparently they have given Nijit the inspiration to pioneer a pigeon racing/gambling tourist venture. Throughout the day he emphasized always how competitive India is - 13 million people live in Delhi alone, and if you can do something, chances are someone can do it better. That is why you must be original, and even then, originality won’t last long. “India, like China, is a great copier,” he said. “You show us something, we will take it and reproduce it here. Probably make it better.” As we were driving home, he said to us “if there is one thing you will learn here, it’s humility.”

After Jama Masjid, we passed the Red Fort and saw Rajghat, the cremation site of Mahatma Gandhi. Nijit was a one-stop shop for Indian history, and I’m ashamed to say I learned more history from him than anything I can remember from High School. Afterwards, we saw Humayun’s (one of the 6 Moghul emperors) Tomb - a grand palace surrounded by gardens that many say was the inspiration for the Taj Mahal. Finally, we saw Qutab Minar, site of the oldest mosque in India created in 1197 AD with a large tower to give calls to prayer. The site was covered with ancient Arabic scrawl and beautiful sandstone arches (and a few green parrots.) It was my favorite site by far - even though the ruins were incredibly old, everyone was allowed to just walk right up and touch everything. Many of the faces on the figures had been scratched out, but this was the work of the emperor who created the mosque. There was no available stone, so he simply plastered over the remains of destroyed Hindu temples, scrubbing out the faces to make it appropriate for Moslems.

So far India has not thrown me into the culture shock I anticipated. Granted, we have been shuffled and coddled the entire way (which is wonderful; we would be completely screwed without guidance.) It seems that most people here are used to white tourists jumbling around their streets in rickshaws, blocking traffic to snap photos. So far the most uncomfortable thing has been when sellers or children approach you, pushing their wares in your face or begging for money. Living in NYC has been great preparation, but still it feels terribly awkward and even shameful to refuse when you know you have the money in your pocket to pay $15 for a cheap necklace.

Tomorrow we catch a 6:20 plane to Jaipur (leaving the hotel at 4:30 in the morning!) where we continue on in our crazy Indian adventure. If you got this far without falling asleep, congratulations and thanks for following along!

I Leave Tomorrow!

January 15, 2010

I’m not freaking out, surprisingly. There’s an enormous pile of slightly sorted clothing, medications, first aid supplies, warm accessories and odds and ends on my floor. For about five seconds, my room was “clean,” but alas no more. Later today I will try to pile this all into a bag and then tomorrow at about 2 pm my mom and I catch a plane from Logan to Chicago, and then Chicago to Delhi (I’ve learned that the airlines operate on a completely different understanding of geography than the rest of the world.) I now have a camera that is not broken (thank you Ale!) and baggy pants and shirts which in no way suggest that I am a woman. Throw in some Purel, a little Black Eyed Peas to remind me of American trashy pop music, and of course some Immodium and I think we’re in business! Most importantly, I found out that Kirtipur does carry our deliciously fatty, creamy yet chunky version of peanut butter - and now I know that a god does exist and he loves me oh so very much!

I will be reachable by cell until my flight Saturday afternoon... then it’s mostly gmail, iChat and, of course, this blog.

Less than 2 Weeks to Go!

January 5, 2010

I can barely believe that in less than two weeks (January 16th to be exact,) my mom and I will be flying from Boston to Chicago, and then Chicago to Delhi. Delhi, INDIA. Now that the wisdom teeth are officially out, it might be time to maybe, almost, kind of start considering what kind of crazy business I have gotten myself into. Mom and I will be spending 10 days in India, traveling from Delhi to Jaipur to Agra to Vanarasi and finally to Kathmandu where we spend two days. Then I head to Kirtipur and my mom heads back home. Did I mention there’s an elephant ride included in India? That’s TWO, count ‘em, TWO elephants I will be riding in the next five months. YES!

Packing should happen soonish - but it’s not soonish yet, is it?

Recently I keep running into folks who have requested the link to this blog. If you know anyone who would be interested, please send this link along to them and apologize for me for not sending it to them in the first place (there’s a LOT of you out there.) Also, if you’ve been to India or Nepal before, I could really use the advice - or just some really cool stories!