Saturday is the Nepali weekend - no school, no work - and halfway through our stay in Dolpa, Hillary and I decided to take the opportunity of a day off from teaching to hike down to the Bheri River in the valley below Juphal. It's perhaps 2000 feet down by my estimate, and being the smart hikers that we are, we chose the paths that went most directly down the mountainside. Fast, sure, but not exactly easy on the legs. We were rewarded with a very different vista from what we had grown used to in Juphal: the river is wide, freezing, swift, wild, and very muddy because of the monsoon rains. We sat by the bank in the roar of the water and waded a bit - the first time our toes had touched water in days. Down the river a quarter mile or so, we found a suspension bridge and crossed to the other side, where we said hello to some grazing buffalo. It was disappointing to see that from this vantage point, the walls of the valley did not look nearly so impressively large as they did from the roof of the lodge. We were too close, and their tops were hidden from view. Slowly, and a bit painfully, we made our way up the mountain again, in our infinite wisdom still choosing the steepest and shortest route, and the mountains grew again into cloud-shrouded giants.
This same Saturday was the first day of the fourth Nepali month, Shrawan. Just as it was beginning to grow dark, at about 6.00, our host Tarak called us outside onto the mud roof. His mother was lighting small piles of fragrant wood all along the edge of the roof, and looking around, we saw little glowing flames jumping from the roofs of every house in the village. The air was soon full of pungent wood smoke, and the darkness was lit by hundreds of fires like little stars outlining each roof. We could see the other villages, too, sparkling up and down the valley. Tarak instructed us to grab a bit of burning wood and hurl it off the roof as far as we could; with this gesture, we were throwing away our illnesses. Slowly the fires died and the families clustered on their roofs drifted inside for dinner, leaving the village only a bit smokier than it had been before.
On our last day of teaching, afternoon classes were canceled for our farewell ceremony. After tiffin, the three of us volunteers were given seats of honor next to the principal, and with a few words of thanks, he put tikka (red powder) on our foreheads and a white scarf and a garland of marigolds around each of our necks. Two of the school's founders (including Tarak), the town's postmaster, and the teachers followed suit. Then each student came forward and gave us a flower, and as it began to rain, the older students also gave us tikka with our flowers. Soon we were dripping with red powder and flower petals. Some of the students sang and danced for us, and we were asked to join them. I'll always remember that one Wednesday in July, covered in tikka and thick with marigold garlands, in a schoolyard high on a mountain in Dolpa, we had a dance party with Nepali students to a traditional song sung by the school's principal.
The day after our farewells at the school we made the short trek upriver to Dunai. We passed over mud and sand and packed earth and loose rocks, through hamlets and past steep green mountainsides and under an ornately painted chorten. We passed the junction to Phoksundo Lake, of The Snow Leopard fame, and rounded a bend in the river to see before us a low town hanging with colored flags. Dunai felt like a true metropolis in comparison to Juphal. While it is also devoid of all wheeled vehicles, it boasts streets paved with flat stones, dozens of shops, even a money exchange. It is also muddier and darker, clustered tightly on the banks of the river with the mountain rising steeply less than half a mile from the churning water. Across the river from the town is a small stupa strung with prayer flags. Walking up to it means coming out of the chaotic world of the town and into the pure air of the mountains themselves, even though the sounds of the town can still be heard below. Inside the stupa are two gold Buddha statues, butter lamps, dishes of marigolds, and shelves of books wrapped in cloth and silk. These are Buddha-relics, the Buddha's teachings, sacred words. I was honored to be allowed to step inside to see these treasures. It was so clean and beautiful, in such a contrast to the town itself - a tight, dark, muddy, sad place, it seemed to me. But at sunset, as Hillary and I sat beside the water and watched the sun dip between two mountains to the west, and the moon rise slowly in the east, I thought that perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps this town had just as much mountain splendor as the monastery, in a truly alive kind of way.
Next morning, it was back to Juphal - slowly but surely we moved through the heat and up the steep mountainside. We took a break at a small sandy beach and put our feet into the water, feeling Himalayan stones beneath our toes and listening to the roar of the river drown out every human noise. This was our last taste of nature's pure noise, for back in Juphal, the sound we most hoped to hear was the growl of the airplane, signaling that the weather was good enough to allow us to leave our hillside home. Luckily, on Saturday morning we packed our bags into the nose of the tiny plane and found ourselves flying between the arms of the valley once again.
27 July 2010
25 July 2010
In the Land of Dolpa
Two weeks in Dolpa... what an experience.
The bus ride from Kathmandu was not as long as expected, a mere 12 hours to Nepalgunj (which the other volunteers, Hillary and Mackenzie, and I have dubbed "Purgatory" for its oppressive heat and humidity) and then a half-hour plane ride into Dolpa. It is a stunning flight: the little 12-seat passes between steep forested hills and past stark snow peaks, then lands without losing any altitude on a high strip of grass just barely long and wide enough to be a runway: the only airport in Dolpa, the largest district in Nepal. The village of Juphal lies just below the airport, clinging to the steep mountainside at 10,000 feet, 5 days from the nearest road. Several thousand feet below runs the Bheri River in a steep, narrow valley that is as dry, pine-covered, and beautiful as Colorado. When the clouds part, snow peaks show their white noses to the west.
In this town of 1,000 people, prayer flags flutter from tall poles and men lean on intricately carved and painted balcony railings. The bells of a pony train tinkle from the main path, a rooster crows, children shout to each other as they kick around a soccer ball. The wind carries the smells of wood smoke and pony dung, which is refreshing after the cacophony of smells that filled the streets of Kathmandu. Up here in the mountains, the air is fresher and cooler, days are slower, there are no motorcycles or even bicycles to harass walkers.
Tarak Shahi met us at the airport and took us to his parents' trekkers' lodge, where we stayed in a very comfortable room; "very comfortable," in this case, means whitewashed clay walls, sporadic electricity, running tap downstairs, squat toilet rather than hole in the ground, no bedbugs, and not too many giant spiders - my standards of cleanliness and comfort have drastically changed since coming to Nepal. (Actually,, in my eyes, a squat toilet is preferable to a Western one. With a squat toilet, you need not worry about touching any unclean toilet parts, and the utter lack of toilet paper is made more bearable.)
My daily routine in Juphal looked like this:
5-6am: Wake up, write in my journal or read as the fog clears out.
8am: Breakfast of tea and chapati with jam.
9.30am: With Mackenzie and Hillary, begin walking down the impossibly steep hill to Dolpa Educational English School, about 5 minutes, then wait with the children until assembly.
10am: Assembly. The 60-70 students stand in straight rows as the principal calls out "Attention!" "At ease!" "Turn left!" etc. and the teachers make sure that all students have clean hands, teeth, and uniforms. They sing the national anthem, recite a prayer, and march back inside.
10.15am: First class begins. We taught all subjects (except Nepali) to Nursery class (age 3) up to class 2 (age 7 or 8). I mostly taught math, and one class of "Rhymes." It was extremely difficult, since only the older kids understand enough English to communicate, and my Nepali is limited to counting to 10, asking your name, and "basni!" (sit down!).
On the first day, the principal assigned us to classes and then pushed us out the door, saying, "Go teach." The first half of each class consisted of merely ascertaining what the students were supposed to be learning, and trying to figure out how to control them, let alone discipline them, in a foreign language. The normal teachers were of little help, in part because they did not speak very good English and in part because they didn't know any better than we did. They expected us to bring in some flashy American teaching methods that would revolutionize their school (or perhaps just lure more parents into enrolling their children at a prestigious English school that had Americans), and it was difficult to explain to them that we couldn't do that, especially not within the existing Nepali teaching style, which relies on copying and memorization rather than concepts and creative learning. In spite of all that, though, the students were very sweet, and it got easier with each passing day to make teaching fun and effective.
1.15pm: After four morning classes, we hastened back up the hill for tiffin (lunch) of dal bhat - rice, watery lentil soup, mushy curried vegetables. Occasionally we were treated to a steaming bowl of ramen soup. The food was less than ideal, since the lodge's cook had left to accompany a big trekking expedition. We all felt undernourished and thus treated ourselves to one small handful of gorp a day (it had to last us two weeks), a few coconut biscuits every three days, and a Frooti mango juice - mostly sugar but maybe a touch of vitamin C - once a week.
1.45pm: The three afternoon classes begin.
4pm: Afternoon assembly. The best students in each class are asked to stand in front of the school and recite a lesson, tell a joke, or sing a song. We taught them a few songs, like Old MacDonald and The Itsy-Bitsy Spider, and they loved to dance.
4.30pm: Up the hill to the lodge, where we rested after our exhausting day at the school. Tarak would often ask us to help him with a computer problem or tutor his 5-year-old son Sogan; other times we would walk around the town or play with some of the kids from the school.
8pm: Dinner of dal bhat.
8.30-9pm: Bed time. The electricity was often out, so we would read for a few minutes by flashlight before falling asleep.
The bus ride from Kathmandu was not as long as expected, a mere 12 hours to Nepalgunj (which the other volunteers, Hillary and Mackenzie, and I have dubbed "Purgatory" for its oppressive heat and humidity) and then a half-hour plane ride into Dolpa. It is a stunning flight: the little 12-seat passes between steep forested hills and past stark snow peaks, then lands without losing any altitude on a high strip of grass just barely long and wide enough to be a runway: the only airport in Dolpa, the largest district in Nepal. The village of Juphal lies just below the airport, clinging to the steep mountainside at 10,000 feet, 5 days from the nearest road. Several thousand feet below runs the Bheri River in a steep, narrow valley that is as dry, pine-covered, and beautiful as Colorado. When the clouds part, snow peaks show their white noses to the west.
In this town of 1,000 people, prayer flags flutter from tall poles and men lean on intricately carved and painted balcony railings. The bells of a pony train tinkle from the main path, a rooster crows, children shout to each other as they kick around a soccer ball. The wind carries the smells of wood smoke and pony dung, which is refreshing after the cacophony of smells that filled the streets of Kathmandu. Up here in the mountains, the air is fresher and cooler, days are slower, there are no motorcycles or even bicycles to harass walkers.
Tarak Shahi met us at the airport and took us to his parents' trekkers' lodge, where we stayed in a very comfortable room; "very comfortable," in this case, means whitewashed clay walls, sporadic electricity, running tap downstairs, squat toilet rather than hole in the ground, no bedbugs, and not too many giant spiders - my standards of cleanliness and comfort have drastically changed since coming to Nepal. (Actually,, in my eyes, a squat toilet is preferable to a Western one. With a squat toilet, you need not worry about touching any unclean toilet parts, and the utter lack of toilet paper is made more bearable.)
My daily routine in Juphal looked like this:
5-6am: Wake up, write in my journal or read as the fog clears out.
8am: Breakfast of tea and chapati with jam.
9.30am: With Mackenzie and Hillary, begin walking down the impossibly steep hill to Dolpa Educational English School, about 5 minutes, then wait with the children until assembly.
10am: Assembly. The 60-70 students stand in straight rows as the principal calls out "Attention!" "At ease!" "Turn left!" etc. and the teachers make sure that all students have clean hands, teeth, and uniforms. They sing the national anthem, recite a prayer, and march back inside.
10.15am: First class begins. We taught all subjects (except Nepali) to Nursery class (age 3) up to class 2 (age 7 or 8). I mostly taught math, and one class of "Rhymes." It was extremely difficult, since only the older kids understand enough English to communicate, and my Nepali is limited to counting to 10, asking your name, and "basni!" (sit down!).
On the first day, the principal assigned us to classes and then pushed us out the door, saying, "Go teach." The first half of each class consisted of merely ascertaining what the students were supposed to be learning, and trying to figure out how to control them, let alone discipline them, in a foreign language. The normal teachers were of little help, in part because they did not speak very good English and in part because they didn't know any better than we did. They expected us to bring in some flashy American teaching methods that would revolutionize their school (or perhaps just lure more parents into enrolling their children at a prestigious English school that had Americans), and it was difficult to explain to them that we couldn't do that, especially not within the existing Nepali teaching style, which relies on copying and memorization rather than concepts and creative learning. In spite of all that, though, the students were very sweet, and it got easier with each passing day to make teaching fun and effective.
1.15pm: After four morning classes, we hastened back up the hill for tiffin (lunch) of dal bhat - rice, watery lentil soup, mushy curried vegetables. Occasionally we were treated to a steaming bowl of ramen soup. The food was less than ideal, since the lodge's cook had left to accompany a big trekking expedition. We all felt undernourished and thus treated ourselves to one small handful of gorp a day (it had to last us two weeks), a few coconut biscuits every three days, and a Frooti mango juice - mostly sugar but maybe a touch of vitamin C - once a week.
1.45pm: The three afternoon classes begin.
4pm: Afternoon assembly. The best students in each class are asked to stand in front of the school and recite a lesson, tell a joke, or sing a song. We taught them a few songs, like Old MacDonald and The Itsy-Bitsy Spider, and they loved to dance.
4.30pm: Up the hill to the lodge, where we rested after our exhausting day at the school. Tarak would often ask us to help him with a computer problem or tutor his 5-year-old son Sogan; other times we would walk around the town or play with some of the kids from the school.
8pm: Dinner of dal bhat.
8.30-9pm: Bed time. The electricity was often out, so we would read for a few minutes by flashlight before falling asleep.
08 July 2010
Orientation here at the Volunteer House consists of short language lessons in the morning (tapai ko nam k ho? what is your name?) and visits to cultural sites around Kathmandu in the afternoon. Kathmandu is rife with history; legend has it that the valley was once a lake, and a Nepali hero sliced open one side of the lake and let all the water drain out so that he could build his capital city. About twenty sites all over the Kathmandu Valley are together classified as a World Heritage Site, and this valley is one of the most holy places for Hindus and Buddhists alike.
On the first day, we went to Swayambhu, or the Monkey Temple. This Buddhist stupa is crowned with a golden spire and sits atop a hill absolutely draped in prayer flags. Worshippers (both Buddhist and Hindu) mix with athletes who have just finished running up the 425 steep steps to the top and with the occasional camera-toting tourist. There are multiple smaller shrines and stupas around the main dome, some with Hindu gods and goddesses painted on them, and all have prayer wheels inscribed with the mantra "om mani padme hum" around their bases. As worshippers circle around the shrines, they spin the wheels, sending the mantra into the universe and gaining merit for the community. Hundreds of stray dogs and thousands of pigeons and monkeys (hence the nickname) scramble for scraps of food, sit around or atop stupas, and pose for the cameras. I've heard stories of monkeys trained by beggars to steal people's purses and cameras when the curious tourist gets too close.
The next day, we visited Durbar Square, the ancient main square and palace compound of the city. Just as everything else in the city, the buildings are slowly but surely crumbling away, but it is still obvious that Durbar Square was once a jewel. Dark, intricately carved wooden window screens and lintels adorn each building, and brightly painted shrines are set out in the wide boulevard. (Fake holy men sit on some of these; they've realized that by dressing up in orange, painting their faces, and getting tourists to photograph them, they can make some extra money.) In one of the buildings lives the Kumari, a living goddess. The current Kumari is about four years old, and lives in perfect luxury inside her palace, only showing her face one day a year during her festival. Once she reaches puberty, a new Kumari will be found.
Another major Buddhist stupa is Boudha, much larger than the monkey temple. There are no attendant stupas or shrines here, only a tiger belching incense and a dark room with a massive prayer wheel constantly spun by worshippers. Travelers can climb partway up the stupa and walk around it (always in a clockwise direction), admiring the dome above and the shops of the square below. This stupa has become the Nepali focal point for Tibetan Buddhists in exile.
Last on the list was Pashupati, holy to Hinduism, Nepal's majority religion. This temple complex is predominantly a cremation ground. It extends on either side of a shallow, muddy river, with one bank rising up a hill in well-worn steps flanked by small shrines, and the other bank a line of cremation platforms. It's very moving to see a family light a marigold-encrusted pyre with the wrapped body of of their father or mother atop it. The whole riverbank smells of smoke, and it comes as a shock to realize, as Mackenzie put it, that by breathing in the smoke we are actually breathing in people.
This morning I'm leaving for Dolpa, a very remote village in western Nepal. Transportation to this village is characteristically long - a 15-20 hour bus ride (if all goes well), then a short plane flight. There are no roads leading in and out of Dolpa. Along with two other volunteers, I will be teaching English to young elementary-age students for two weeks.
05 July 2010
First Impressions
Traveling around the world is not fast. I had dinner over New Jersey, breakfast over England, lunch over the Black Sea, and the next day's dinner over Afghanistan.
Looking out the window as we flew over India was surprising. The entire landscape is shaped by people - small towns and villages surrounded by a haphazard patchwork of fields, broken only by muddy rivers. No empty space, no forests, no wild fields. Soon, though, the landscape got a little greener, patches of forest appeared, and hills started to rise up. We must be over Nepal. I looked to the other side of the plane, and there - there! - were the Himalayas. Huge cliffs of snow rising in jagged peaks and ridges out of the bank of clouds. It was not a complete range; individual peaks, or small groups of peaks, rose far, far above the surrounding cloud, which hid the lower mountains. Looking straight down again, we were flying over steep green hills and valleys with small houses perched on the slopes. The houses became more and more numerous, and then we were in the Kathmandu Valley. The valley is an open plain surrounded on all sides by steep hills. Over two million people live in this relatively small area.
I've now been in Kathmandu for almost 32 hours, and every hour it gets easier and more comfortable. Still, it is so radically different from what I am used to that simply walking down the street is exhausting. Nepalis do not pay attention to rules of the road in any capacity. They have no concept of "yield", and even though officially they drive on the left side of the road, even this basic rule is adhered to at best 75% of the time. The roads are a mess of microbuses, normal buses, cars, taxis, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians, and cows all trying to get where they need to go as fast as they can (with the exception of the cows, I guess). It doesn't help that many of the roads are narrow, twisting affairs, jumping over hills and jogging around houses. (Another thing Nepalis have no concept of: city planning.) I won't even try to estimate for you how many times we came within half an inch of a terrible accident. Drivers assume that the more they use their horns, the more likely it is that the driver/cyclist/pedestrian in front of them will get out of their way. There are so many horns in constant use, though, that no one pays any attention. The city is very polluted, and it is thick with the smells of exhaust, dust, open sewers, rotting fruit, burning trash (trash cans are one more thing Nepalis don't have), cooking food, incense, and many many people. Piles of trash, muddy holes, and tight rows of corn or other crops line the roadsides, and the weeds are munched by goats, cows, and chickens. Stray dogs bark from every front step. Buildings are in every imaginable state of repair or disrepair, from shiny new glass structures (rare) to heaps of crumbling brick (common).
But don't assume that the city is ugly. Shrines and stupas, gilded and painted bright colors, seem to be on every street. (Several large temples, such as Swayambu and Pashupati, are actually complexes of religious buildings in a haven from the noise and pollution of the street - but not from the crowds of people. More about them later.) Women do their shopping in brilliantly colored saris and kartas (sp? Nepali costume of long shirt, trousers, and scarf). Fruit stands spill apples, mangoes, pomegranates, coconuts, and several foods I've never seen before. The top terraces of houses are covered in potted plants, and the terraces themselves have intricately carved balustrades. The weather is lovely (though somewhat humid for my tastes) - clear skies and bright sunshine until late afternoon, when torrents of rain pelt the streets for half an hour. Then the clouds dissipate again, and the puddles dry up. Everyone's face is graced with a smile. While Kathmandu is not a city I would want to stay in for any long period of time, it is certainly an incredible - and overwhelming - place to visit.
Looking out the window as we flew over India was surprising. The entire landscape is shaped by people - small towns and villages surrounded by a haphazard patchwork of fields, broken only by muddy rivers. No empty space, no forests, no wild fields. Soon, though, the landscape got a little greener, patches of forest appeared, and hills started to rise up. We must be over Nepal. I looked to the other side of the plane, and there - there! - were the Himalayas. Huge cliffs of snow rising in jagged peaks and ridges out of the bank of clouds. It was not a complete range; individual peaks, or small groups of peaks, rose far, far above the surrounding cloud, which hid the lower mountains. Looking straight down again, we were flying over steep green hills and valleys with small houses perched on the slopes. The houses became more and more numerous, and then we were in the Kathmandu Valley. The valley is an open plain surrounded on all sides by steep hills. Over two million people live in this relatively small area.
I've now been in Kathmandu for almost 32 hours, and every hour it gets easier and more comfortable. Still, it is so radically different from what I am used to that simply walking down the street is exhausting. Nepalis do not pay attention to rules of the road in any capacity. They have no concept of "yield", and even though officially they drive on the left side of the road, even this basic rule is adhered to at best 75% of the time. The roads are a mess of microbuses, normal buses, cars, taxis, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians, and cows all trying to get where they need to go as fast as they can (with the exception of the cows, I guess). It doesn't help that many of the roads are narrow, twisting affairs, jumping over hills and jogging around houses. (Another thing Nepalis have no concept of: city planning.) I won't even try to estimate for you how many times we came within half an inch of a terrible accident. Drivers assume that the more they use their horns, the more likely it is that the driver/cyclist/pedestrian in front of them will get out of their way. There are so many horns in constant use, though, that no one pays any attention. The city is very polluted, and it is thick with the smells of exhaust, dust, open sewers, rotting fruit, burning trash (trash cans are one more thing Nepalis don't have), cooking food, incense, and many many people. Piles of trash, muddy holes, and tight rows of corn or other crops line the roadsides, and the weeds are munched by goats, cows, and chickens. Stray dogs bark from every front step. Buildings are in every imaginable state of repair or disrepair, from shiny new glass structures (rare) to heaps of crumbling brick (common).
But don't assume that the city is ugly. Shrines and stupas, gilded and painted bright colors, seem to be on every street. (Several large temples, such as Swayambu and Pashupati, are actually complexes of religious buildings in a haven from the noise and pollution of the street - but not from the crowds of people. More about them later.) Women do their shopping in brilliantly colored saris and kartas (sp? Nepali costume of long shirt, trousers, and scarf). Fruit stands spill apples, mangoes, pomegranates, coconuts, and several foods I've never seen before. The top terraces of houses are covered in potted plants, and the terraces themselves have intricately carved balustrades. The weather is lovely (though somewhat humid for my tastes) - clear skies and bright sunshine until late afternoon, when torrents of rain pelt the streets for half an hour. Then the clouds dissipate again, and the puddles dry up. Everyone's face is graced with a smile. While Kathmandu is not a city I would want to stay in for any long period of time, it is certainly an incredible - and overwhelming - place to visit.
01 July 2010
Why Nepal?
Rather try to answer this question myself, I will do what I love to do and answer it in other people's words.
"In a thousand ages of the gods I could not tell you of the glories of the Himalaya; just as the dew is dried by the morning sun, so are the sins of humankind by the sight of the Himalaya."
- Skanda Purana
"High up among the mountains, mind grows clear and expansive:
Perfect as the place to bring freshness when dull, or to practice visualization.
Snow-clad regions make meditation limpid, awareness bright and lucid,
Ideal for cultivating insight, and where impediments are few."
- Longchenpa
"Almost imperceptibly, something in my worldview began to change. The comfortable life I had grown accustomed to was challenged by the hardship and simplicity of village life... If one measures a life by material accumulations, these humble people were poverty-stricken. But if gauged by their connection to family and community - and by their buoyant optimism and happiness - our hosts were wallowing in riches... The mountains taught me humility, but the people who live in the shadows of these mountains have taught me acceptance, respect, and kindness."
- Conrad Anker
"The greater the force of your altruistic attitude toward sentient beings, the more courageous you become. The greater your courage, the less you feel prone to discouragement and loss of hope. Therefore, compassion is also a source of inner strength."
- His Holiness the Dalai Lama
"Once in their lifetime, every person should journey to a place where legends live, where everything is bigger than life."
- an American climber
The next time you hear from me, I will be in Kathmandu, nearly halfway around the world.
"In a thousand ages of the gods I could not tell you of the glories of the Himalaya; just as the dew is dried by the morning sun, so are the sins of humankind by the sight of the Himalaya."
- Skanda Purana
"High up among the mountains, mind grows clear and expansive:
Perfect as the place to bring freshness when dull, or to practice visualization.
Snow-clad regions make meditation limpid, awareness bright and lucid,
Ideal for cultivating insight, and where impediments are few."
- Longchenpa
"Almost imperceptibly, something in my worldview began to change. The comfortable life I had grown accustomed to was challenged by the hardship and simplicity of village life... If one measures a life by material accumulations, these humble people were poverty-stricken. But if gauged by their connection to family and community - and by their buoyant optimism and happiness - our hosts were wallowing in riches... The mountains taught me humility, but the people who live in the shadows of these mountains have taught me acceptance, respect, and kindness."
- Conrad Anker
"The greater the force of your altruistic attitude toward sentient beings, the more courageous you become. The greater your courage, the less you feel prone to discouragement and loss of hope. Therefore, compassion is also a source of inner strength."
- His Holiness the Dalai Lama
"Once in their lifetime, every person should journey to a place where legends live, where everything is bigger than life."
- an American climber
The next time you hear from me, I will be in Kathmandu, nearly halfway around the world.
Reading List
Due to completely unforeseen and unwanted circumstances involving a trip to the emergency room, I was not able to leave for Nepal when I had planned to. However, in spite of the advice of several illustrious doctors, I will be leaving tomorrow, two and a half weeks later. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?
This delay has allowed me to finish some of the books I've wanted to read about Nepal and the Himalayas generally, though the list is still much longer than I can tackle in a short amount of time. If I DO decide to write my anthropology thesis on Nepal, you can be sure I'll very quickly become intimate with quite a long list of books. This is what I have read (or watched) so far:
The Himalayan Letters of Gypsy Davy and Lady Ba - Robert and Katharine Barrett
Servant of Sahibs - Rassul Galwan
Three Cups of Tea - Greg Mortenson
10 Questions for the Dalai Lama - film by Rick Ray
Baraka - film by Mark Magidson
Lonely Planet Nepal
Culture Shock! Nepal
Himalaya - edited by Richard Blum, Erica Stone, and Broughton Coburn
and selections from:
A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms - Faxian
Tibetan Book of the Dead
In the Circle of the Dance: notes of an outsider in Nepal - Katharine Guneratne
From the Mango Tree, and other folktales from Nepal - Kavita Ram Shrestha and Sarah Lamstein
My other preparations have included getting immunizations, sewing up a skirt, making gorp, finding a watch with a working alarm (harder than it sounds), reading Nepali news, and trying to learn the Nepali script.
This delay has allowed me to finish some of the books I've wanted to read about Nepal and the Himalayas generally, though the list is still much longer than I can tackle in a short amount of time. If I DO decide to write my anthropology thesis on Nepal, you can be sure I'll very quickly become intimate with quite a long list of books. This is what I have read (or watched) so far:
The Himalayan Letters of Gypsy Davy and Lady Ba - Robert and Katharine Barrett
Servant of Sahibs - Rassul Galwan
Three Cups of Tea - Greg Mortenson
10 Questions for the Dalai Lama - film by Rick Ray
Baraka - film by Mark Magidson
Lonely Planet Nepal
Culture Shock! Nepal
Himalaya - edited by Richard Blum, Erica Stone, and Broughton Coburn
and selections from:
A Record of Buddhistic Kingdoms - Faxian
Tibetan Book of the Dead
In the Circle of the Dance: notes of an outsider in Nepal - Katharine Guneratne
From the Mango Tree, and other folktales from Nepal - Kavita Ram Shrestha and Sarah Lamstein
My other preparations have included getting immunizations, sewing up a skirt, making gorp, finding a watch with a working alarm (harder than it sounds), reading Nepali news, and trying to learn the Nepali script.
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