Swayambhunath—or Monkey Temple—is probably one of the most dizzying experiences I have had in Kathmandu. I have been fascinated with Swayambhunath since I saw it—and its monkeys—on a National Geographic special eons ago. Of course, after the show was over I could not tell you the name of the place, or even that it was a Hindu/Buddhist hybrid temple…I just knew it was colorful, exotic…and packed with monkeys.
And I HAD to see it.
My husband makes his living showing others how to avoid disaster. And much like his insistence on getting a rabies vaccine in case of a dog bite, he also made it clear that we were staying clear of the Monkey Temple because of the probability of disaster—a monkey bite. However, after a bit of coaxing, batting of eyelashes and “I am going with or without you,” he caved and agreed to spend the afternoon of his birthday on a visit to this “forbidden” site. (When we had a flat tire on the way there I was hoping it wasn’t a God telling us to “go back.”)
There are two ways to get to the temple (I am going to refrain from using Swayambhunath because, well that is just too many consonants to keep typing correctly): one by car on a long and winding road and one by foot…375 steps up. Now, these steps are old!! Built in the 17th century by King Pratap Malla (I think I have mentioned him earlier) these steps are steep—Sue (if you are reading this), think eight risers in a step class. And, these steps are flanked by monkeys who check out hands for any food for the taking. These guys are crafty and you really do have to watch your step around them. Guess which way we chose? If you guessed the road, well you win a Momo (more on that later).
The temple is really a compound with a large white stupa topped by a gilded spire (and Buddha’s eyes) as the centerpiece. Smaller temples and shrines flank the main square and the area below all the action. As we entered from the car park we were met with smaller temples and stone carving, most lit up with bright paints much like we saw in Kathmandu Durbar Sq. I didn’t notice loads of monkeys straight away but was taken with the peacefulness around me (even though there were hundreds of people swarming around). As we made our way up a short length of stairs, up to the main stupa, there on the other side of the handrail were monkeys (finally) hiding in the shade, casually snacking on trash or some foreign object they picked up in the woods around this area. Docile and seemingly uninterested in me, this was going to be a piece of cake. What is “he” worrying about?
And then we hit the last step…here is where the action starts…and the real monkeys begin.
It was almost funny at first. There were so many people up here in a relatively small space that you had to sort of jump on the ride—think Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride or those vomit-inducing Spinning Teacups. Most people were moving around the stupa in a clockwise direction and turning the large prayer wheels that circle the main stupa. Better watch your hands here folks, because there are monkeys taking up shop on most of these wheels; some of them not paying attention to you, some paying too much attention to you and even more paying too much attention to the other monkeys around them (fights are commonplace). It was wild. We weren’t yet ready to “spin the wheels,” so-to-speak, so we stepped away from the circling throng and stepped into the hundreds of stone carvings that took up most of the foot space on the temple ground. It is like one of the finest sculpture gardens in the world…inhabited by monkeys. Keep your hands in your pockets or your camera close to your face. I swear these monkeys make a good living off pinching and then selling hardware off unsuspecting tourists.
While all this chaos is around you, there are spiritual services going on at the same time. The sounds of horns and bells somehow erase the nonsensical action and draw you to what this place is really about. I stood and watched a service where loyal followers sat, prayed, lit incense and chanted. Soon after this outdoor service finished another one filled the square when hundreds of people exited a temple and chanted as they too circled the main stupa. It is not my religion, but I was moved to bow in reverence to their beliefs and convictions to be peaceful. They don red robes or flowing scarves. They carry orange malas or burning incense. They sound a horn or bang a drum. This is more festival than service but nonetheless religious.
When this service died down, your attention was brought again, well my attention, to the monkeys. This time I noticed, not to my surprise, that the monkeys also share this sacred place with the dogs of Kathmandu. I could not help but laugh watching the monkeys scuffle with some of the dogs as they played king of the hill, kicking one another off some of the larger sculptures.
Every vendor here owns a slingshot and is not afraid to use it! When one monkey gets too close to grabbing something off a sales table, the vendor is poised to hurl something from his rubber shot to halt the thievery. Sometimes monkeys make a clean get away, complete with scarf or hat, and sometimes they get it straight between the eyes. And yes, as I had my trusty video camera out I got just a little too close to two monkeys when a rather loud and scary fight broke out. I scurried off like I was hit with a slingshot! Ok better half, I get it…don’t get too close to the monkeys!
But, my friends, I am really burying the lead here, for the monkeys really aren’t the story here, the story here is Buddha’s eyes. Look up. Swayambhunath Stupa is an impressive whitewashed dome featuring four faces of Buddha. Buddha’s eyes stare out into Kathmandu valley in all directions. Below the eyes is a squiggle-like symbol. Some would think it is a nose, when it in fact the Nepali number “ek” (one), signifying unity. Above the eyes is a “third eye” signifying the insight of the Buddha. The while dome itself represents the earth. And it is all topped off with a golden spire. (And on the day we visited scaffolding obscured it all! Again, I had to laugh.)
You can barely see the sky here for all the prayer flags. Thousands of prayer flags literally ceiling the area above the stupa and the smaller temple area below as well. Prayer flags contain mantras that are said to be carried to heaven by the winds. New brightly colored panels join the weatherworn flags. The old faded flags are never taken down. The mess of old and new is a sight to see.
The world could learn a thing–or-two about how two religious groups can live and worship peacefully together here at Swayambhunath. While Buddha may watch over the place from above, down below, on the temple compound, both Hindu and Buddhists worship, separately but together. It is a very unusual concept for religious sites here, and it is refreshing to witness.
We ended our stay at the stupa when we did a ceremonial circling of the prayer wheels, praying for my father-in-law, who was raised Hindu and I think would get joy out of being remembered in this place of hybrid worship. And if you asked him today, my husband would tell you this was his most memorable, and enjoyable, experience in Kathmandu.
We love you Big Papa.
Namaste
Friday, January 29, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tea is the New Black
We interrupt this travel blog for a recipe!
I’m a coffee drinker. In my “youth” I was known to drink an entire Mr. Coffee pot of the real stuff. Just last month, there was nothing sweeter to me than a big tumbler of iced espresso mixed with splenda and soymilk. Yum!
That is until I had my first taste of Masala Tea, then my world tilted ever so slightly.
We had been in Kathmandu for a couple of hours when we headed to the Summit Hotel to get a bite to eat. We were exhausted from three-days of travel and no sleep. We knew we needed to eat and then we knew we needed to collapse. I had enjoyed a few pots of Tea in the lounge at the Doha Airport so when my better half ordered Tea and the waiter asked “Masala?” little did I know that I had said goodbye to coffee.
Masala Tea is the “National Tea” (sort of) of Nepal. It is actually Tea brewed with milk and water with any number of spices that give it its special quality. My first “fix” was poured from a white china pot into small white china cups. It was the color of mocha as it steamed in my hand; and the smell, while faint, was altogether enticing. At first sip, I was in: “You had me at hello.” We later told the manager of the hotel about my utter obsession with this beverage and he offered his “recipe” on how it is brewed. Needless to say we galloped to the grocery, loaded up on milk and loose “cheap” Nepali Tea, and grabbed a couple of bags of different spices so “Cookie” could make it her own (cardamon rules).
How do you brew this you may ask? Here’s where this blog morphs into a cooking blog!! Mix one-half water with one-half milk (soy works nicely I might add); depending on the amount of liquid add loose Tea, the cheaper the better here. Then add some whole spices of your choice: cinnamon, cardamon, coriander, anise, cumin, peppercorns, the sky’s the limit. Bring it to a boil for a few seconds. Take it off the heat to let the boil die down then put it on the flame to boil again. Do this three or four times. After the final boil, put a lid on it to sit a bit. When you are satisfied it is properly steeped, pour through a strainer into a warm mug. I choose to add sugar, which is an acceptable way to drink Masala Tea. (Plus, I am a southern girl that prefers her Tea sweet, whether hot or cold.)
I am quite the regular at the Summit these days, I bring my trusty MacBook here every morning and hang out for the day working. I have my own "special" waiter who brings me a nice pot of Masala Tea every morning, without even ordering. I will attempt to resurrect this habit when I get home to Barbados. But the chill in the air will be replaced with warm humidity and I fear that the location is one of the things that makes this tea taste so special...the location and the sweet waiter. Something tells me I won't be able to get my husband to brew me a pot and serve it to me every morning.
I am going to miss my morning tea.
Namaste
I’m a coffee drinker. In my “youth” I was known to drink an entire Mr. Coffee pot of the real stuff. Just last month, there was nothing sweeter to me than a big tumbler of iced espresso mixed with splenda and soymilk. Yum!
That is until I had my first taste of Masala Tea, then my world tilted ever so slightly.
We had been in Kathmandu for a couple of hours when we headed to the Summit Hotel to get a bite to eat. We were exhausted from three-days of travel and no sleep. We knew we needed to eat and then we knew we needed to collapse. I had enjoyed a few pots of Tea in the lounge at the Doha Airport so when my better half ordered Tea and the waiter asked “Masala?” little did I know that I had said goodbye to coffee.
Masala Tea is the “National Tea” (sort of) of Nepal. It is actually Tea brewed with milk and water with any number of spices that give it its special quality. My first “fix” was poured from a white china pot into small white china cups. It was the color of mocha as it steamed in my hand; and the smell, while faint, was altogether enticing. At first sip, I was in: “You had me at hello.” We later told the manager of the hotel about my utter obsession with this beverage and he offered his “recipe” on how it is brewed. Needless to say we galloped to the grocery, loaded up on milk and loose “cheap” Nepali Tea, and grabbed a couple of bags of different spices so “Cookie” could make it her own (cardamon rules).
How do you brew this you may ask? Here’s where this blog morphs into a cooking blog!! Mix one-half water with one-half milk (soy works nicely I might add); depending on the amount of liquid add loose Tea, the cheaper the better here. Then add some whole spices of your choice: cinnamon, cardamon, coriander, anise, cumin, peppercorns, the sky’s the limit. Bring it to a boil for a few seconds. Take it off the heat to let the boil die down then put it on the flame to boil again. Do this three or four times. After the final boil, put a lid on it to sit a bit. When you are satisfied it is properly steeped, pour through a strainer into a warm mug. I choose to add sugar, which is an acceptable way to drink Masala Tea. (Plus, I am a southern girl that prefers her Tea sweet, whether hot or cold.)
I am quite the regular at the Summit these days, I bring my trusty MacBook here every morning and hang out for the day working. I have my own "special" waiter who brings me a nice pot of Masala Tea every morning, without even ordering. I will attempt to resurrect this habit when I get home to Barbados. But the chill in the air will be replaced with warm humidity and I fear that the location is one of the things that makes this tea taste so special...the location and the sweet waiter. Something tells me I won't be able to get my husband to brew me a pot and serve it to me every morning.
I am going to miss my morning tea.
Namaste
Monday, January 25, 2010
Times Square Complete With a Living Goddess...Not Some Tacky Nekid Cowboy!!
I wish that I had my camera cable so I could download some pictures. There is just no way I can do justice to the temples here with words…and not that my photographs would even come close to capturing the history and beauty that make up the Kathmandu Valley Area… photographs would at least not betray this landscape. My greatest fear is that my words will somehow defame this sacred place, Kathmandu.
One Saturday, we took advantage of another sunny day here, and fit in quite a bit of sightseeing. First stop: Kathmandu Durbar Square. I hadn’t read much about this square of holiness, so I sort of assumed that it would mirror what we saw in Bhaktapur. WRONG ignorant tourist.
You must know that Nepal, well Kathmandu, is littered with UNESCO World Heritage sites, and Durbar Sq of Kathmandu (and Bhaktapur) is just one of them. Most of the squares around the city date back from the 17th and 18th centuries, but many of the original buildings are MUCH older. Kathmandu suffered a major earthquake in 1934 and many buildings were destroyed, and were rebuilt, although I am told not all in their original state. But they are all nonetheless awe-inspiring and breathtaking. I’m thinking by the 1900s the artisans did not lose their hands after creating such beauty (well I would hope).
Durbar Square is in the heart of chaotic Kathmandu and there is as much life and commerce going on inside this area—filled with holy shrines, stupas and temples—as there is in the busy Thamel tourist area. This, my friends, is Times Square. Only, the neon lights are replaced with stone carvings; the high-rise buildings are replaced with wooden temples; the suit-clad business people are replaced with holy men donning flowing-robes lighting candles, ringing bells or saying prayers. Instead of dodging yellow cabs, pedestrians dodge rickshaws and motorcycles. The pretzel and hot dog venders are here soybean and fruit purveyors. It’s frantic and loud and at times puzzling and annoying, but that is what makes it absolutely beautiful.
The temples here display vibrant colors not seen in mellower Bhaktapur. Reds and blues and yellows and white adore the wooden gods and dragons and doorways and window frames that dot the cobblestone landscape and wooden structures. Colorful marigold flower “malas” (garlands) drape walls and gates and doors and sculptures. Holy men here walk around the area in golden orange robes, their faces painted with white and blue markings. These men, known as Sadhus, actually make a living from charging tourists to take their photograph. They are quite striking, however, I nicely refused the offer. The guys wanting to sell you a flute or a pashmina, well they distract you far too much from what surrounds you here. Here, you are surrounded by history and art and more culture that you can even imagine.
There are alleys here that offer surprises of small and large shrines featuring Gods…the most popular, I have found, is Ganesh (he is the elephant-like god – god of good fortune), who watches over the home where we live. There are cows lying about amidst a plethora of pigeons. (It took me back to Venice, but without the cows!) And the fabric stores shilling saris dot every alley and street. At my dear Indian-descent husband’s urging, we ventured into one shop in hopes of picking out a “sari” of my very own. Now, I have never met a store I didn’t want to buy something in, but these sari shops, I was gob-smacked. I stood, with my mouth wide open and my eyes glazed over and didn’t even know where to start! I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t hear anything…dear better-half is talking to me but I could only see his mouth move. I was stuck in a vortex of over abundance…we left, sari-free.
One place that sticks out the most is the Hanuman Dhoka. This was originally the royal palace and was constructed by King Pratap Malla in the 17th century (the original structure, however, was founded between the 4th and 8th centuries AD). This is also where no cameras are allowed inside, but it is outside where I got my most memorable sight. Here, cloaked in red and sheltered by a large umbrella is a Hanuman statue (monkey god), although I didn’t see the statue due to the large red robe covering. This statue is doted on by reverent followers. I think it has its own fulltime employees who tend to the lit incense and floral offerings that are placed in an almost consistent procession. The statue sits up high off the ground, which is one of the things that drew me to it.
And again, I cannot speak of the ancient architecture without mentioning the erotic art. No, I am not a pervert, but it is everywhere, and clearly some of the most eye-catching decorations to be found (well, outside of Buddha’s eyes, more on that later). And while some are PG-13, there are even a greater number that are explicit, and the themes evidently have a tantric element, which is a connection to the intermingling of Tibetan Buddhist and Hindu beliefs. No one here can really explain the importance of the addition to these “scenes” on the temples. I suppose I can live with that.
You can’t talk about Durbar Sq in Kathmandu without mentioning the Kumari Devi. I am pretty taken with this Living Goddess, and if I am telling you something you already know, then skip to the end of this post. The Kumari Devi is a real living goddess. She is a young girl who lives in a building, I like to think of it as a temple, as many people here worship the Kumari Devi, in Durbar Sq (my husband has a co-worker here who lives next door to her holiness, which I think is just too fabulous). She is chosen from a group of girls that “audition” so-to-speak, for the title. The girl who serves this role—or title—is between four years old and puberty. She must meet 32 strict physical requirements from color of eyes to sound of voice. Once chosen, she moves into her new “temple” with her family and only appears in public once a year. And let me tell you, this girl is worshipped. During festival time, all the adolescent girls dress like her with amazing eyeliner (the eyeliner here is quite abundant on women and girls of ALL AGES and can be quite startling at times, and sort of scary in the beginning) and red flowing saris. Once the Kumari Devi has her first *cough* period, or any “serious loss of blood” (?) well she is out and they look for a new goddess. Much like how they treated members of Menudo. But she departs with a nice dowry, so don’t feel sorry for her being sent off to pasture. I read that it is bad luck to marry a former-goddess! (the Lonely Planet guide thinks maybe it is just a pain in the backside to be married to a former pampered “goddess.” Hummmm)
Kathmandu Durbar Square is VERY busy, VERY colorful and VERY spiritual. You have to look past the chaos in front and around you and look up, look to the symbolism and the “religion” of this place. It is living history and people live in the middle of it. Look and marvel at the people lighting incense, laying flowers at shrines, getting a tika on their forehead, saying prayers while others around them make their living selling everything from a wood Buddha to AAA batteries.
New York’s Times Squre ain’t got NOTHING on Kathmandu’s Durbar Square. I hope I never lose the sights, smells and sounds of this place that is now embedded in my soul.
Namaste
One Saturday, we took advantage of another sunny day here, and fit in quite a bit of sightseeing. First stop: Kathmandu Durbar Square. I hadn’t read much about this square of holiness, so I sort of assumed that it would mirror what we saw in Bhaktapur. WRONG ignorant tourist.
You must know that Nepal, well Kathmandu, is littered with UNESCO World Heritage sites, and Durbar Sq of Kathmandu (and Bhaktapur) is just one of them. Most of the squares around the city date back from the 17th and 18th centuries, but many of the original buildings are MUCH older. Kathmandu suffered a major earthquake in 1934 and many buildings were destroyed, and were rebuilt, although I am told not all in their original state. But they are all nonetheless awe-inspiring and breathtaking. I’m thinking by the 1900s the artisans did not lose their hands after creating such beauty (well I would hope).
Durbar Square is in the heart of chaotic Kathmandu and there is as much life and commerce going on inside this area—filled with holy shrines, stupas and temples—as there is in the busy Thamel tourist area. This, my friends, is Times Square. Only, the neon lights are replaced with stone carvings; the high-rise buildings are replaced with wooden temples; the suit-clad business people are replaced with holy men donning flowing-robes lighting candles, ringing bells or saying prayers. Instead of dodging yellow cabs, pedestrians dodge rickshaws and motorcycles. The pretzel and hot dog venders are here soybean and fruit purveyors. It’s frantic and loud and at times puzzling and annoying, but that is what makes it absolutely beautiful.
The temples here display vibrant colors not seen in mellower Bhaktapur. Reds and blues and yellows and white adore the wooden gods and dragons and doorways and window frames that dot the cobblestone landscape and wooden structures. Colorful marigold flower “malas” (garlands) drape walls and gates and doors and sculptures. Holy men here walk around the area in golden orange robes, their faces painted with white and blue markings. These men, known as Sadhus, actually make a living from charging tourists to take their photograph. They are quite striking, however, I nicely refused the offer. The guys wanting to sell you a flute or a pashmina, well they distract you far too much from what surrounds you here. Here, you are surrounded by history and art and more culture that you can even imagine.
There are alleys here that offer surprises of small and large shrines featuring Gods…the most popular, I have found, is Ganesh (he is the elephant-like god – god of good fortune), who watches over the home where we live. There are cows lying about amidst a plethora of pigeons. (It took me back to Venice, but without the cows!) And the fabric stores shilling saris dot every alley and street. At my dear Indian-descent husband’s urging, we ventured into one shop in hopes of picking out a “sari” of my very own. Now, I have never met a store I didn’t want to buy something in, but these sari shops, I was gob-smacked. I stood, with my mouth wide open and my eyes glazed over and didn’t even know where to start! I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t hear anything…dear better-half is talking to me but I could only see his mouth move. I was stuck in a vortex of over abundance…we left, sari-free.
One place that sticks out the most is the Hanuman Dhoka. This was originally the royal palace and was constructed by King Pratap Malla in the 17th century (the original structure, however, was founded between the 4th and 8th centuries AD). This is also where no cameras are allowed inside, but it is outside where I got my most memorable sight. Here, cloaked in red and sheltered by a large umbrella is a Hanuman statue (monkey god), although I didn’t see the statue due to the large red robe covering. This statue is doted on by reverent followers. I think it has its own fulltime employees who tend to the lit incense and floral offerings that are placed in an almost consistent procession. The statue sits up high off the ground, which is one of the things that drew me to it.
And again, I cannot speak of the ancient architecture without mentioning the erotic art. No, I am not a pervert, but it is everywhere, and clearly some of the most eye-catching decorations to be found (well, outside of Buddha’s eyes, more on that later). And while some are PG-13, there are even a greater number that are explicit, and the themes evidently have a tantric element, which is a connection to the intermingling of Tibetan Buddhist and Hindu beliefs. No one here can really explain the importance of the addition to these “scenes” on the temples. I suppose I can live with that.
You can’t talk about Durbar Sq in Kathmandu without mentioning the Kumari Devi. I am pretty taken with this Living Goddess, and if I am telling you something you already know, then skip to the end of this post. The Kumari Devi is a real living goddess. She is a young girl who lives in a building, I like to think of it as a temple, as many people here worship the Kumari Devi, in Durbar Sq (my husband has a co-worker here who lives next door to her holiness, which I think is just too fabulous). She is chosen from a group of girls that “audition” so-to-speak, for the title. The girl who serves this role—or title—is between four years old and puberty. She must meet 32 strict physical requirements from color of eyes to sound of voice. Once chosen, she moves into her new “temple” with her family and only appears in public once a year. And let me tell you, this girl is worshipped. During festival time, all the adolescent girls dress like her with amazing eyeliner (the eyeliner here is quite abundant on women and girls of ALL AGES and can be quite startling at times, and sort of scary in the beginning) and red flowing saris. Once the Kumari Devi has her first *cough* period, or any “serious loss of blood” (?) well she is out and they look for a new goddess. Much like how they treated members of Menudo. But she departs with a nice dowry, so don’t feel sorry for her being sent off to pasture. I read that it is bad luck to marry a former-goddess! (the Lonely Planet guide thinks maybe it is just a pain in the backside to be married to a former pampered “goddess.” Hummmm)
Kathmandu Durbar Square is VERY busy, VERY colorful and VERY spiritual. You have to look past the chaos in front and around you and look up, look to the symbolism and the “religion” of this place. It is living history and people live in the middle of it. Look and marvel at the people lighting incense, laying flowers at shrines, getting a tika on their forehead, saying prayers while others around them make their living selling everything from a wood Buddha to AAA batteries.
New York’s Times Squre ain’t got NOTHING on Kathmandu’s Durbar Square. I hope I never lose the sights, smells and sounds of this place that is now embedded in my soul.
Namaste
Friday, January 22, 2010
Dogmandu: Or, Where are all the cats?
Almost every store here has a dog. Almost every corner shop here has a dog. Almost every street vendor here has a dog. Almost every dog here has a dog.
They are everywhere. They are dirty. They mingle in the large piles of trash that line the streets and alleys and sidewalks. Some are lucky enough to follow their master on their master’s daily jaunts. Others trot down streets, sometimes in packs, much like motorcycles travel to and from. But mostly they just bask in the sun. And I love each and every one of them.
It isn’t unusual to see people holding puppies up to your car window hoping that the sweet puppy face will entice you to roll down the window and take a new family member home. I tell you, I get no better pleasure than seeing sweet puppy faces, and it is mighty hard to not roll down my window, but I just think about my sweet Desi and Olive that will be waiting at home, slobber and tongues and all, and I feel a bit better for resisting.
Most of the dogs I have encountered, 99.9% of them, are sweet gentle beings that just want to be left to do their thing, which again is mostly basking in the sun. But there are the rogue beasts who, well, want to throw their weight around and let you know who’s boss. They bark and tumble with their “partner” I think in an effort to scare you, when I am sure they are just like the Cowardly Lion and wouldn’t hurt a flea.
However, there is reason for caution: rabies! This country has its fair share of rabid animals (dogs and monkeys for instance) and it is wise to be cautious. When we were making our initial plans to move here, we contemplated bringing our kids (of the four-legged variety) and pretty much found out there is so much rabies here our kids would have to sit in quarantine for six months in the UK before rabies-free Barbados would let them back home. Needless to say we nixed that idea quickly. And there is the occasional dog bite here, which also sends the bitee to get the lovely multi-round of rabies shots. My husband, who is quite the cautious type, did the preemptive rabies vaccine…just in case. But in his defense, he did have a coworker who was bitten by a dog one dark evening; so, well he had reason for his caution.
Kathmandu really is Dogmandu. And I know that name has been used a gazillion times before, but you have to see them—all shapes, sizes and colors—to realize the validity of that name. Dogs rule here, well they rule in my heart. I will miss the dogs of Dogmandu.
(Now that I think about it, I am not sure I have seen any cats in Kathmandu…humm, what is this chicken I am eating?)
Namaste
(Sorry I haven't posted lately. Don't you hate when your day job gets in the way?)
They are everywhere. They are dirty. They mingle in the large piles of trash that line the streets and alleys and sidewalks. Some are lucky enough to follow their master on their master’s daily jaunts. Others trot down streets, sometimes in packs, much like motorcycles travel to and from. But mostly they just bask in the sun. And I love each and every one of them.
It isn’t unusual to see people holding puppies up to your car window hoping that the sweet puppy face will entice you to roll down the window and take a new family member home. I tell you, I get no better pleasure than seeing sweet puppy faces, and it is mighty hard to not roll down my window, but I just think about my sweet Desi and Olive that will be waiting at home, slobber and tongues and all, and I feel a bit better for resisting.
Most of the dogs I have encountered, 99.9% of them, are sweet gentle beings that just want to be left to do their thing, which again is mostly basking in the sun. But there are the rogue beasts who, well, want to throw their weight around and let you know who’s boss. They bark and tumble with their “partner” I think in an effort to scare you, when I am sure they are just like the Cowardly Lion and wouldn’t hurt a flea.
However, there is reason for caution: rabies! This country has its fair share of rabid animals (dogs and monkeys for instance) and it is wise to be cautious. When we were making our initial plans to move here, we contemplated bringing our kids (of the four-legged variety) and pretty much found out there is so much rabies here our kids would have to sit in quarantine for six months in the UK before rabies-free Barbados would let them back home. Needless to say we nixed that idea quickly. And there is the occasional dog bite here, which also sends the bitee to get the lovely multi-round of rabies shots. My husband, who is quite the cautious type, did the preemptive rabies vaccine…just in case. But in his defense, he did have a coworker who was bitten by a dog one dark evening; so, well he had reason for his caution.
Kathmandu really is Dogmandu. And I know that name has been used a gazillion times before, but you have to see them—all shapes, sizes and colors—to realize the validity of that name. Dogs rule here, well they rule in my heart. I will miss the dogs of Dogmandu.
(Now that I think about it, I am not sure I have seen any cats in Kathmandu…humm, what is this chicken I am eating?)
Namaste
(Sorry I haven't posted lately. Don't you hate when your day job gets in the way?)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Rear Window...And Front...And Side
In the Caribbean we do a lot of outdoor living. I suppose that is one of the realities of living in the tropics. We have pretty consistent temperatures 12-months a year; and when the skies are not giving us liquid sunshine, we like to sit on our patios, relax on our porches and even lounge in our pools. It is nicer to sit outside in the shade in the tropics and way more comfortable to eat your meal outside where the breeze helps cool you than sit in your non air-conditioned house in the stifling heat. That’s right kids, most homes in the tropics are devoid of central air. Fact of life.
Here in Kathmandu I have also discovered, that much to my surprise, this city lives outside as well! Never in my wildest dreams did not expect to see entire families, families who have large seemingly expensive homes, spending most of the daylight hours outside in their yards or up on their roof decks conducting the day-to-day chores of everyday life—in the dead of winter at that. But after the first five minutes inside my refrigerator—oh I meant to say house—I understand completely why they do it…it is much warmer outside than it is inside. (Am I complaining too much about the cold?)
Plastic chairs are gathered in circles; granddad gets his face shaved; mom picks through lentils for the evening dhal; someone is washing their hair; someone else scrubs clothes in a basin; someone is knitting while someone else is sewing pants; boys and girls study their schoolwork while other kids play cricket…daily life goes on for all to see. I find it fascinating to watch people, as far as my eye can see, out and about with their home life…if you do it inside, well they are doing it outside here (well, not EVERYTHING). You see, it is just far too cold to conduct life inside during the winter (that was a strange sentence to type). You freeze inside because these houses are made of concrete (no good-old insulation in the walls here) and have no productive heating elements. The concrete structures pull the cold into itself and push it back out inside. And gaas space heaters, well they heat about a four-foot square directly in front of it. You would need a dozen heaters to provide any sort of comfort for these big rooms. And with gas being a sacred commodity here, well you have to have plenty of money to afford such luxury. So, outside you head…to the sun and the warmth.
The street corners are the same way. Corners here are gathering places for area residents. It is very common to see men huddled over hand-cranked sewing machines whipping up a pair of slacks or shirt. (My mother would have gotten a kick out of all the sidewalk tailors here.) Men gather around taxis with glasses of Masala Tea or fiddle with broken down motorcycles. Momos (more on these later) are steamed at one corner while soybeans are shelled nearby. Ladies tend to their grooming and kids play nearby. Dogs dot the sidewalks and shop fronts much like the dirt covers the ground. They are everywhere; either being stroked by a hand or just working on their tan in the sun. Someone is peddling fresh eggs as he walks down the street, while someone else is selling pillows from the “Sherpa” bundle on his back. If you need it, you can get it on the corner or from the peddlers in the streets. Be careful for the men who spit no matter your proximity to them and the shopkeepers who sweep or throw water on the dirt outside their shop—hit by either could send you back home promptly.
I’m not sure what goes on here in the summer. I won’t be fortunate enough to witness it firsthand. I know it rains a lot and that rain turns the dirt—dirt is everywhere here—into mud. I would assume that in the summer it is warmer inside your house so it isn’t as uncomfortable to live indoors. I would also think that in the summer months, with the monsoons, it is drier indoors than out. So I bet it is back inside for all these yard dwellers when the rain and the heat come.
In the summer, I would miss seeing my neighbors and being part of their everyday life…I wonder if they watch me as I watch them? Lest you think I am like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, well it’s not snooping if it is going on in public, is it? And we do bow at each other from time to time when we catch each others eyes. They must wonder what in the world this lady does, or doesn’t do, during the day, to spend most of her time indoors? I have to work indoors at home here (long wireless story) so I cannot take my work outside as they can.
People don’t hide in their homes here. People in Kathmandu are outside and insight and from what I can tell, terribly happy about it. So, whether it is January or June, find yourself a spot of sun, grab yourself a glass of tea and take a little time to live your life outside!
Next post I swear I will tell you all about some more Temples. They are as intimidating to write about as Be Haas is to edit. ;-)
Namaste
Here in Kathmandu I have also discovered, that much to my surprise, this city lives outside as well! Never in my wildest dreams did not expect to see entire families, families who have large seemingly expensive homes, spending most of the daylight hours outside in their yards or up on their roof decks conducting the day-to-day chores of everyday life—in the dead of winter at that. But after the first five minutes inside my refrigerator—oh I meant to say house—I understand completely why they do it…it is much warmer outside than it is inside. (Am I complaining too much about the cold?)
Plastic chairs are gathered in circles; granddad gets his face shaved; mom picks through lentils for the evening dhal; someone is washing their hair; someone else scrubs clothes in a basin; someone is knitting while someone else is sewing pants; boys and girls study their schoolwork while other kids play cricket…daily life goes on for all to see. I find it fascinating to watch people, as far as my eye can see, out and about with their home life…if you do it inside, well they are doing it outside here (well, not EVERYTHING). You see, it is just far too cold to conduct life inside during the winter (that was a strange sentence to type). You freeze inside because these houses are made of concrete (no good-old insulation in the walls here) and have no productive heating elements. The concrete structures pull the cold into itself and push it back out inside. And gaas space heaters, well they heat about a four-foot square directly in front of it. You would need a dozen heaters to provide any sort of comfort for these big rooms. And with gas being a sacred commodity here, well you have to have plenty of money to afford such luxury. So, outside you head…to the sun and the warmth.
The street corners are the same way. Corners here are gathering places for area residents. It is very common to see men huddled over hand-cranked sewing machines whipping up a pair of slacks or shirt. (My mother would have gotten a kick out of all the sidewalk tailors here.) Men gather around taxis with glasses of Masala Tea or fiddle with broken down motorcycles. Momos (more on these later) are steamed at one corner while soybeans are shelled nearby. Ladies tend to their grooming and kids play nearby. Dogs dot the sidewalks and shop fronts much like the dirt covers the ground. They are everywhere; either being stroked by a hand or just working on their tan in the sun. Someone is peddling fresh eggs as he walks down the street, while someone else is selling pillows from the “Sherpa” bundle on his back. If you need it, you can get it on the corner or from the peddlers in the streets. Be careful for the men who spit no matter your proximity to them and the shopkeepers who sweep or throw water on the dirt outside their shop—hit by either could send you back home promptly.
I’m not sure what goes on here in the summer. I won’t be fortunate enough to witness it firsthand. I know it rains a lot and that rain turns the dirt—dirt is everywhere here—into mud. I would assume that in the summer it is warmer inside your house so it isn’t as uncomfortable to live indoors. I would also think that in the summer months, with the monsoons, it is drier indoors than out. So I bet it is back inside for all these yard dwellers when the rain and the heat come.
In the summer, I would miss seeing my neighbors and being part of their everyday life…I wonder if they watch me as I watch them? Lest you think I am like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, well it’s not snooping if it is going on in public, is it? And we do bow at each other from time to time when we catch each others eyes. They must wonder what in the world this lady does, or doesn’t do, during the day, to spend most of her time indoors? I have to work indoors at home here (long wireless story) so I cannot take my work outside as they can.
People don’t hide in their homes here. People in Kathmandu are outside and insight and from what I can tell, terribly happy about it. So, whether it is January or June, find yourself a spot of sun, grab yourself a glass of tea and take a little time to live your life outside!
Next post I swear I will tell you all about some more Temples. They are as intimidating to write about as Be Haas is to edit. ;-)
Namaste
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Solidarity in the City
Have you heard about the Bandhs in Kathmandu? What is a Bandh (pronounced ban) you ask? The city stands still, sort of. Let’s go back a bit.
Here’s the Third Grade version of local politics. There are basically three political parties in this country: the CPN-UL-Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist Leninist), the Nepali Congress (NC) and the Unified CPN-Maoist. In the last elections the Maoists won. However, the two losing parties decided if they put their followers (and votes) together and created a working coalition THEY could be the winners. Interesting notion. So they did, and they kicked the Maoists out of the Oval Office (so to speak).
Now, the Maoists want what’s rightfully theirs; they did win fair and square. So they make noise a lot. And on top of that, most of the people of this country want peace and stability. So, every so often the Maoists and a variety of other smaller groups, announce a citywide strike as an effort to have their voice heard by the ruling “party.” On Bandh days there are no cars allowed on the streets (bikes, scooters and motorcycles seem to be ok) and most shops and businesses close for the day. During some Bandhs riders are made to get off their motorbikes and walk (there are lookouts on the streets). Sunday—the first day of the workweek here in Nepal—was a Bandh day, thus, our driver could not fetch us for any shopping or sightseeing we might want to do. Boo. I am only here for a short time and Bandh’s can seriously cramp my style.
So, what do a couple of short-timers do on a Bandh day? Well, we hit the streets on foot. After a quick walk to my satellite office, The Summit Hotel, for a nice hot breakfast, we hoofed it to Pulchowk, a major thoroughfare, for a walk on the wild side. Well, it wasn’t so wild…but the streets were filled with people, rather than motor vehicles, and almost every corner had a contingent of riot police, complete with body shields and machine guns. The highest concentration of riot police happened to be outside my husband’s place of employment. When I voiced my surprise at the large number there, he mentioned that was pretty normal. Not sure if I feel good about or concerned for his safety. If you did see a car or truck whizzing by, it had a “Press” or “Police” sign plastered to the windows (aka “Please Don’t Shoot!”). We saw one motorbike with a sign on his scooter that said “Going to the Hospital”; I hope he made it. And while I would say that the majority of Bandhs are peaceful, on Sunday a bus of local hotel workers, on the way to work, was overturned on the road by protestors. They mean business…no business today!
But, street vendors were out selling socks and slippers, t-shirts and hats, crunchy soybeans and juicy papaya. We were hoping that some of the local shops would be open for business, but alas the only shopping refuge we found was the Pilgrim Book House, an absolutely amazing bookstore and a place we could spend HOURS. We had the shop to ourselves and after browsing for an hour or so, we picked up a Nepali cookbook, a DVD on Buddhism for Dummies and “1001 Pearls of Buddhist Wisdom” (I am frantically searching for the Zen inside me).
We made our way around our area of town, marveling at the massive number of people out-and-about with seemingly not much to do other than enjoy the warmish sun. When we finally got back to our refrigerator—oh I meant to say house—we hightailed it to the roof deck seeking the warmth of the sun (the power was off anyway so there wasn’t much else to do). While we were up there, a large motorcade of motorbikes carrying red-wearing, flag-waving protesters paraded down our street showing their solidarity for today’s mission. Their point was made loud and clear (evidently), but I don’t know what the point was exactly. Power to the People?!?
Later in the afternoon, we took our juice glass of red wine back upstairs and were greeted with an almost crystal-clear view of the snow-capped Himalayas. A haze of smog usually somewhat mutes the view of the mountains from our house, but this Bandh day lessened the exhaust in the air and gave us a jaw-dropping sight of Mother Earth’s majesty. We greedily grabbed our cameras and clicked away, but I fear what we get from the camera will not even come close to what we got with our eyes.
It’s interesting the things I have found in the “dark” here in Kathmandu. I was sort of dreading Bandh days. I thought they would be terribly boring and quite restrictive on discoveries during my short time here. While I have spent some cash on local crafts to bring back with me (like jewelry and woodcrafts) this day I got my most-treasured souvenir…I got the amazing Himalayas...the rooftop of the world…priceless!
Namaste
Here’s the Third Grade version of local politics. There are basically three political parties in this country: the CPN-UL-Communist Party of Nepal (Unified Marxist Leninist), the Nepali Congress (NC) and the Unified CPN-Maoist. In the last elections the Maoists won. However, the two losing parties decided if they put their followers (and votes) together and created a working coalition THEY could be the winners. Interesting notion. So they did, and they kicked the Maoists out of the Oval Office (so to speak).
Now, the Maoists want what’s rightfully theirs; they did win fair and square. So they make noise a lot. And on top of that, most of the people of this country want peace and stability. So, every so often the Maoists and a variety of other smaller groups, announce a citywide strike as an effort to have their voice heard by the ruling “party.” On Bandh days there are no cars allowed on the streets (bikes, scooters and motorcycles seem to be ok) and most shops and businesses close for the day. During some Bandhs riders are made to get off their motorbikes and walk (there are lookouts on the streets). Sunday—the first day of the workweek here in Nepal—was a Bandh day, thus, our driver could not fetch us for any shopping or sightseeing we might want to do. Boo. I am only here for a short time and Bandh’s can seriously cramp my style.
So, what do a couple of short-timers do on a Bandh day? Well, we hit the streets on foot. After a quick walk to my satellite office, The Summit Hotel, for a nice hot breakfast, we hoofed it to Pulchowk, a major thoroughfare, for a walk on the wild side. Well, it wasn’t so wild…but the streets were filled with people, rather than motor vehicles, and almost every corner had a contingent of riot police, complete with body shields and machine guns. The highest concentration of riot police happened to be outside my husband’s place of employment. When I voiced my surprise at the large number there, he mentioned that was pretty normal. Not sure if I feel good about or concerned for his safety. If you did see a car or truck whizzing by, it had a “Press” or “Police” sign plastered to the windows (aka “Please Don’t Shoot!”). We saw one motorbike with a sign on his scooter that said “Going to the Hospital”; I hope he made it. And while I would say that the majority of Bandhs are peaceful, on Sunday a bus of local hotel workers, on the way to work, was overturned on the road by protestors. They mean business…no business today!
But, street vendors were out selling socks and slippers, t-shirts and hats, crunchy soybeans and juicy papaya. We were hoping that some of the local shops would be open for business, but alas the only shopping refuge we found was the Pilgrim Book House, an absolutely amazing bookstore and a place we could spend HOURS. We had the shop to ourselves and after browsing for an hour or so, we picked up a Nepali cookbook, a DVD on Buddhism for Dummies and “1001 Pearls of Buddhist Wisdom” (I am frantically searching for the Zen inside me).
We made our way around our area of town, marveling at the massive number of people out-and-about with seemingly not much to do other than enjoy the warmish sun. When we finally got back to our refrigerator—oh I meant to say house—we hightailed it to the roof deck seeking the warmth of the sun (the power was off anyway so there wasn’t much else to do). While we were up there, a large motorcade of motorbikes carrying red-wearing, flag-waving protesters paraded down our street showing their solidarity for today’s mission. Their point was made loud and clear (evidently), but I don’t know what the point was exactly. Power to the People?!?
Later in the afternoon, we took our juice glass of red wine back upstairs and were greeted with an almost crystal-clear view of the snow-capped Himalayas. A haze of smog usually somewhat mutes the view of the mountains from our house, but this Bandh day lessened the exhaust in the air and gave us a jaw-dropping sight of Mother Earth’s majesty. We greedily grabbed our cameras and clicked away, but I fear what we get from the camera will not even come close to what we got with our eyes.
It’s interesting the things I have found in the “dark” here in Kathmandu. I was sort of dreading Bandh days. I thought they would be terribly boring and quite restrictive on discoveries during my short time here. While I have spent some cash on local crafts to bring back with me (like jewelry and woodcrafts) this day I got my most-treasured souvenir…I got the amazing Himalayas...the rooftop of the world…priceless!
Namaste
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Ancient Temples and Elephant Erotica
My friend Del said, "tell us more about the temples." Well Del, I am not smart enough, nor eloquent enough, to properly describe my first experiences with the temples and stupas in the Kathmandu area. And while I have only seen a few, too few to wax elaborately about the subject, I am struck by the differences and the commonalities they share.
The Kathmandu area has three areas named Durbar Square: Kathmandu, Bhaktapur and Patan. My first weekend here, my better half and I took the one-hour drive to Bhaktapur. The drive out of the chaos of Kathmandu—on a Saturday, the official day of rest here—was no less frantic as any other day in the city. But our driver, Sujendra, suggested Saturday the best day to travel the short distance. The area in and around Bhaktapur used to have very fertile land, and in its prime was full of farmland. Now, the dusty and dirty road that takes you to Bhaktapur has a few “gardens” scattered along the road. These gardens are no doubt fertilized by not only the dust and dirt from the roads, but also from the gas and oil that spill from the exhausts and motors of the vehicles that travel these tributaries. But the farmers, many dressed in red, tend to them as if they were crafting bonsai trees. They squat and till and weed and even wipe the dirty leaves of the rows of green shooting up from the land.
We arrived in Bhaktapur early morning, paid our fee to enter the city (it is a working city where people live among these temples), said “yes” to a local guy who wanted to be our tour guide (for a fee) and started our journey back into time. The Durbar Square is actually several squares, all of which contain their own temples and shrines to various Gods that are worshiped. The temples in Bhaktapur have elaborate woodcarvings and sculptures at adorn the windows, doors, roofs and walls and are thousands-of-years old. Many are guarded by large stone animals. [Mary Campbell, if you are reading this, cover your eyes!] Early in our two-hour tour, and the only time our “guide” left us to examine a temple without his running commentary, was at one particular X-rated shrine. Here were 51 windows (one for each of the King's wives) and some of the most explicit erotic art, chiseled in large pieces of wood, this side of cyber porn. I think my favorite were the erotic elephant “positions.”
A running commentary from our “guide” was about the absolutely stunning stonework or woodwork inside and around the temples. On several occasions he would add as a footnote: “When this was completed the King ordered the hands of the craftsman be chopped off so he could never again create such beauty.” Talk about penis envy.
The temple squares also have large “baths” where the locals would bathe. The King, being the King and all, had has own private bath that is adorned with a golden cobra. Today, I noticed that the baths are used as places to hang clothes and fabrics for drying in the hot sun. Bhaktapur is also the city where once-a-year animals are sacrificed during a particular festival. I read about this festival this year in our local newspaper as a certain animal rights organization was protesting the “heinous” act. As it was being explained to us, well as weird as it might sound to you, it made sense. This is their religion, not my religion. And I cannot and will not fault nor condemn something that has been practiced for thousands of years. (That is the Baptist rebelling.) Non-Hindus cannot enter the temple where this is done, and only Hindus can enter on special occasions. A guard stands watch with a gun in case someone was to make a mad dash into the scene of the crime.
Ok, the temples and the sculptures and monuments are stunning and breathtaking and awe-inspiring. I will not even attempt to describe them to you. Other than to say this city is made up of a lot of wood and some metal and stone. You don’t see the gold and the vibrant colors here that you see at some of the other temple areas. What you see evokes peace and reflection. And compared to Durbar Square in Kathmandu (more on that later) it is as quiet as a library.
Bhaktapur is a tranquil place where potters fill a square and turn their clay on giant wheels. Where men sit and chisel pieces of wood and craft amazing works of art. Where small old women spin wheels of cotton that will be made into sweaters and handbags and hats and countless other items tourists will take home with them. Where dogs lie in the sun, locals sell their wares and visitors marvel at a place where time stands still.
When I come down off my high I will tell you about my Saturday adventure to The Monkey Temple…a place I was initially forbidden to go…a place where my better half and I spent his birthday!
Namaste
The Kathmandu area has three areas named Durbar Square: Kathmandu, Bhaktapur and Patan. My first weekend here, my better half and I took the one-hour drive to Bhaktapur. The drive out of the chaos of Kathmandu—on a Saturday, the official day of rest here—was no less frantic as any other day in the city. But our driver, Sujendra, suggested Saturday the best day to travel the short distance. The area in and around Bhaktapur used to have very fertile land, and in its prime was full of farmland. Now, the dusty and dirty road that takes you to Bhaktapur has a few “gardens” scattered along the road. These gardens are no doubt fertilized by not only the dust and dirt from the roads, but also from the gas and oil that spill from the exhausts and motors of the vehicles that travel these tributaries. But the farmers, many dressed in red, tend to them as if they were crafting bonsai trees. They squat and till and weed and even wipe the dirty leaves of the rows of green shooting up from the land.
We arrived in Bhaktapur early morning, paid our fee to enter the city (it is a working city where people live among these temples), said “yes” to a local guy who wanted to be our tour guide (for a fee) and started our journey back into time. The Durbar Square is actually several squares, all of which contain their own temples and shrines to various Gods that are worshiped. The temples in Bhaktapur have elaborate woodcarvings and sculptures at adorn the windows, doors, roofs and walls and are thousands-of-years old. Many are guarded by large stone animals. [Mary Campbell, if you are reading this, cover your eyes!] Early in our two-hour tour, and the only time our “guide” left us to examine a temple without his running commentary, was at one particular X-rated shrine. Here were 51 windows (one for each of the King's wives) and some of the most explicit erotic art, chiseled in large pieces of wood, this side of cyber porn. I think my favorite were the erotic elephant “positions.”
A running commentary from our “guide” was about the absolutely stunning stonework or woodwork inside and around the temples. On several occasions he would add as a footnote: “When this was completed the King ordered the hands of the craftsman be chopped off so he could never again create such beauty.” Talk about penis envy.
The temple squares also have large “baths” where the locals would bathe. The King, being the King and all, had has own private bath that is adorned with a golden cobra. Today, I noticed that the baths are used as places to hang clothes and fabrics for drying in the hot sun. Bhaktapur is also the city where once-a-year animals are sacrificed during a particular festival. I read about this festival this year in our local newspaper as a certain animal rights organization was protesting the “heinous” act. As it was being explained to us, well as weird as it might sound to you, it made sense. This is their religion, not my religion. And I cannot and will not fault nor condemn something that has been practiced for thousands of years. (That is the Baptist rebelling.) Non-Hindus cannot enter the temple where this is done, and only Hindus can enter on special occasions. A guard stands watch with a gun in case someone was to make a mad dash into the scene of the crime.
Ok, the temples and the sculptures and monuments are stunning and breathtaking and awe-inspiring. I will not even attempt to describe them to you. Other than to say this city is made up of a lot of wood and some metal and stone. You don’t see the gold and the vibrant colors here that you see at some of the other temple areas. What you see evokes peace and reflection. And compared to Durbar Square in Kathmandu (more on that later) it is as quiet as a library.
Bhaktapur is a tranquil place where potters fill a square and turn their clay on giant wheels. Where men sit and chisel pieces of wood and craft amazing works of art. Where small old women spin wheels of cotton that will be made into sweaters and handbags and hats and countless other items tourists will take home with them. Where dogs lie in the sun, locals sell their wares and visitors marvel at a place where time stands still.
When I come down off my high I will tell you about my Saturday adventure to The Monkey Temple…a place I was initially forbidden to go…a place where my better half and I spent his birthday!
Namaste
Friday, January 8, 2010
Finding The Bright Light In The Dark
Before I was leaving Barbados for Nepal, I was obsessed with getting new pool float/chairs. My “chair” was a victim of the sun and had pretty much disintegrated. I was going to be one unhappy redhead if I didn’t get a new chair! So, my sweetest friend, who just happened to be coming down for a visit, obliged and brought two that I ordered online. Life was good again; I had my chair in which I could float a few hours away on sunny, hot Barbados afternoons as I gaze at the Caribbean Sea.
And then I stepped into Kathmandu.
And a very cold house…funny how you learn about priorities mid-life.
Nepal has a critical shortage of water. With the shortage of water comes a shortage of power… electricity. During the monsoon (summer) months, well there is a goodly amount of water to fill reservoirs and thus help churn out electricity. In the winter…not so much. So, the government institutes Load Shedding. Twice a day your power is cut; and unless you have inverters and generators at your disposal, well you do without until they flip a switch and turn it back on. At the moment we are entering 12-hours-a-day of power cuts. Yesterday, for instance, we were without in the morning from 4am to 9:30am and again from 2pm to 9:30pm. During the time it is on, you hope your inverter will recharge enough to give you some help for the next cut. Seeing how locals live here (not the pampered expats), I am venturing a guess that the majority of Nepalese do without when forced to do so. I am a spoiled American/Bajan and the thought of doing without is not part of my vocabulary.
Or maybe I should say WAS not part of my vocabulary.
Our rental house has an inverter. If we were to stay here longer, we would also invest in a generator. But you know my story, so best not waste money for four weeks of “comfort.” We will make do with the small inverter we have. The inverter, well it “might” power one light for a couple of hours. But that is about the extent of its usefulness. Yesterday, it did give me Internet (yes it is finally fixed at home) for two hours and for that I am eternally grateful to Ganish who watches over this house.
At night, when we dine at home, we eat by candlelight. Sounds romantic doesn’t it? I am getting quite stingy and I don’t want to waste the inverter on silly things like lights and television (7 Bollywood movie channels!!). So, I am learning to do without. And I do without quite nicely. Last night we watched one candle burn out and were excited to start another one. We lounged on comfy sofas and chatted about things we want to do, things my better half doesn’t want me to do (visit the Monkey Temple) and things we wish we could change about the way people live here. We talked, my wonderful husband and I, and I didn’t miss the television or the light one bit.
Sitting in the dark I have discovered the brightest light of all: it is the small things, things many of us take for granted, that are most important in life. Life’s Lesson after one week here: I can do without. I live with far too much privilege and accouterments. To have power, hot water, someone to love and someone that loves you, well that is about as good as it gets in life.
I don’t think I will look at that pool chair the same way as I did when it arrived.
Life is good…with or without power.
Namaste
And then I stepped into Kathmandu.
And a very cold house…funny how you learn about priorities mid-life.
Nepal has a critical shortage of water. With the shortage of water comes a shortage of power… electricity. During the monsoon (summer) months, well there is a goodly amount of water to fill reservoirs and thus help churn out electricity. In the winter…not so much. So, the government institutes Load Shedding. Twice a day your power is cut; and unless you have inverters and generators at your disposal, well you do without until they flip a switch and turn it back on. At the moment we are entering 12-hours-a-day of power cuts. Yesterday, for instance, we were without in the morning from 4am to 9:30am and again from 2pm to 9:30pm. During the time it is on, you hope your inverter will recharge enough to give you some help for the next cut. Seeing how locals live here (not the pampered expats), I am venturing a guess that the majority of Nepalese do without when forced to do so. I am a spoiled American/Bajan and the thought of doing without is not part of my vocabulary.
Or maybe I should say WAS not part of my vocabulary.
Our rental house has an inverter. If we were to stay here longer, we would also invest in a generator. But you know my story, so best not waste money for four weeks of “comfort.” We will make do with the small inverter we have. The inverter, well it “might” power one light for a couple of hours. But that is about the extent of its usefulness. Yesterday, it did give me Internet (yes it is finally fixed at home) for two hours and for that I am eternally grateful to Ganish who watches over this house.
At night, when we dine at home, we eat by candlelight. Sounds romantic doesn’t it? I am getting quite stingy and I don’t want to waste the inverter on silly things like lights and television (7 Bollywood movie channels!!). So, I am learning to do without. And I do without quite nicely. Last night we watched one candle burn out and were excited to start another one. We lounged on comfy sofas and chatted about things we want to do, things my better half doesn’t want me to do (visit the Monkey Temple) and things we wish we could change about the way people live here. We talked, my wonderful husband and I, and I didn’t miss the television or the light one bit.
Sitting in the dark I have discovered the brightest light of all: it is the small things, things many of us take for granted, that are most important in life. Life’s Lesson after one week here: I can do without. I live with far too much privilege and accouterments. To have power, hot water, someone to love and someone that loves you, well that is about as good as it gets in life.
I don’t think I will look at that pool chair the same way as I did when it arrived.
Life is good…with or without power.
Namaste
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Best Plan is Not to Plan
I was going to blog about Nepal. I had it all planned. I was going to be here for eight months and I thought during that time I would learn a thing or two about the place and I would want to share it with people. Well, not really people people, but the couple of friends who knew I was going to spend some time in Asia and might be interested to hear about the trouble I would be getting into, or the “kooky things” we were doing…my wonderful, incredible husband and I.
But things change, and what I have learned is to never make plans as plans have a way of changing on you. In November, after I had packed a bag with brand-spanking-new winter clothes and shoes, our world was rocked with some terribly traumatic news: my father-in-law was diagnosed with brain tumor(s). While he is being treated, the treatment is to give him time not give him a cure. My husband, an only child, is a selfless man who has resigned his job here with a Humanitarian Organization and will return to our home in Barbados, reclaim his office and position with a Humanitarian Organization, and be close to care for his ailing father…and he wouldn’t have it any other way, that is just the way he is.
Since we had already purchased my ticket, and I am not selfless and shamelessly admit I wanted to experience some of the things my dear husband had already experienced, we decided I would travel back with him (he came back to our side of the world for 6 weeks when his father became ill) and we would come back home together.
So, dear friends, I am only here for five weeks, six tops. And since I have to keep my day job, Monday thru Friday I will spend working as I would normally do in Barbados; however here I work outside at a hotel where I have purchased wireless internet access (our internet is down at our house) with cold hands but a warm heart as I am surrounded by the beauty of this land and its people. On the few weekends we have here I hope to be a tourist and get out and experience this frantic, dirty, chaotic, yet startlingly breathtaking place, Kathmandu.
I am not going to write and give you history and spout founts of knowledge; what I will try and do is show you what I am experiencing and maybe offer a bit of some of the local color that just might not be in the Lonely Planet Guide to Nepal.
Namaste
But things change, and what I have learned is to never make plans as plans have a way of changing on you. In November, after I had packed a bag with brand-spanking-new winter clothes and shoes, our world was rocked with some terribly traumatic news: my father-in-law was diagnosed with brain tumor(s). While he is being treated, the treatment is to give him time not give him a cure. My husband, an only child, is a selfless man who has resigned his job here with a Humanitarian Organization and will return to our home in Barbados, reclaim his office and position with a Humanitarian Organization, and be close to care for his ailing father…and he wouldn’t have it any other way, that is just the way he is.
Since we had already purchased my ticket, and I am not selfless and shamelessly admit I wanted to experience some of the things my dear husband had already experienced, we decided I would travel back with him (he came back to our side of the world for 6 weeks when his father became ill) and we would come back home together.
So, dear friends, I am only here for five weeks, six tops. And since I have to keep my day job, Monday thru Friday I will spend working as I would normally do in Barbados; however here I work outside at a hotel where I have purchased wireless internet access (our internet is down at our house) with cold hands but a warm heart as I am surrounded by the beauty of this land and its people. On the few weekends we have here I hope to be a tourist and get out and experience this frantic, dirty, chaotic, yet startlingly breathtaking place, Kathmandu.
I am not going to write and give you history and spout founts of knowledge; what I will try and do is show you what I am experiencing and maybe offer a bit of some of the local color that just might not be in the Lonely Planet Guide to Nepal.
Namaste
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