Kathmandu, March 2006

I really wish I had streaming audio for this one….feel free to sing along….

It’s a celebration! Woohoo!

It’s a celebration! Woohoo!

Celebrate good times, come on

Celebrate good times, come on

There’s a party going on right here

A celebration, to last throughout the years

So bring your good times

And your laughter too

We are goin’ to celebrate your party with you!

Come on now, Celebration

Let’s all celebrate and have a good time

Celebration

We goin’ celebrate and have a good time

It’s time to come together

It’s up to you

What’s your pleasure?

Every one around the world, come on!

Woohoo! It’s a celebration!

Celebrate good time, come on!

It’s a celebration

Let’s celebrate

Thank you Kool (and his Gang) for that timeless piece of joyous merriment and commemoration. I definitely couldn’t have described the last week here in Kathmandu better than this!

It has truly been a week of parties, celebrations, dancing and general merry-making. As I have described in early entries, the mix of Hinduism and Buddhism here is very apparent and very seamless. Where one temple begins another shrine begins. Where one devotee’s Hindu chant ends, his Buddhist mantra begins. It is a real wonder and joy to witness when most of the world these days is so wrapped up (and brought down) in the religious jihads and racism that pervades the nightly news and mass media. Here at least in this (somewhat unstable) mountain kingdom, two of the major religions are living peaceably and symbiotically, side by side.

The end of February saw the very fortuitous timing of both Shivaratri and Losar, basically only days apart. Shivaratri, Shiva’s birthday, was on Sunday, February 26^th and Losar, Tibetan New Year was on Tuesday, February 28^th. The whole of our neighborhood, Boudha, which is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites in all of Asia and only a 15 minute walk from Pashupatinath, one of the subcontinent’s four great Shiva shrines. (Does anyone know the other three? – I’d love to know….)

Shivaratri is the celebration of Shiva’s birthday and one of the most important (and fun) celebrations for Hindus. “The Night of Shiva” takes place at the large temple complex of Pashupatinath (which I have also described in an earlier entry). The festivities draws literally thousands of pilgrims as we soon found out while trying to unsuccessfully enter the complex from the back side (as is our usual route) and politely being directed to the front entrance. But on the way through the mass of humans trying to do the same thing (break in line and find the easy way in), we passed the music temple on the hill that was filled to the gills with audience as this wonderful combo of musicians played kirtan -devotional chanting - and beautiful ragas. The sun was going down and the light was the magical golden that happens at only two times of the day – dawn and dusk. (I’m so happy that the ancestors of English had the forethought and appreciation to those two moments in the day to separate them out (and honor them) with their own words of distinction.) After many heartbeats and breath of appreciation for the moment of music and light (and praying it was the beginning of one of those small sacred sections of life that happen so rarely but when they do mark themselves on the soul in such deep yet gentle language they will be some of the moments you remember most clearly), we joined the throng of brightly dressed women in their finest saris dragging along neatly coifed children, like it was Sunday church or something. Everyone was in a jolly mood. Smiles were plentiful and laughter came easy. There is something very special walking with hundreds of people in a stream of humanity heading to a very special celebration…there is excitement in the air, a hint of expectation, enthusiasm at the fun about to ensue, party atmosphere, and a feeling of solidarity, yet unrealized shared experience with total strangers – in this case most of whom didn’t even speak the same language as us!

After a rather brief time standing in line in a very poorly constructed bamboo queue and a few wrong lines (as some of them led to the ‘Hindus Only’ temples), we were finally able to make it inside the complex and witness the absolute party going on inside! The temple grounds, that were so quiet, subdued and grave the last time we were here (this is the place they have funerals and burn the bodies on the ghats and the ashes to be pushed into the Bagamati river), were now transformed into a brightly colorful fairground with vendors selling marigold necklaces and butter candles or fried doughnuts. There were sweet milk tea stalls; many, many beggars; TV camera crews, a scattering of brave injis (foreigners) like us and even a special dignitary or VIP – at one point some dignitary, diplomat or minister showed up with his entourage of vehicles and security and they had to basically block off a large section so they could go make their worship undisturbed.

There were basically two very distinct and separate sections of the festival and these were mostly divided by sex and age. Standing in a tremendously long line were the women, children and elderly heading to the main temple to give offerings and pay homage. Very solemn, very earnest, very devotional, very proper….The women were also lining the large stone stairs the edge the sacred river and clapping & singing what in Christian terms would be hymns while lighting butter candles all along the river. A marvelous sight to behold!

While we were admiring this beautiful and peaceful sight, our attention was diverted by this dancing man by the steps leading up to the upper level of the complex tucked away in the trees. Upon closer witness, the man was totally naked as a newborn and seemed to care less that there were hundreds of people around, men, women, young, old, native, foreign, that were watching his very amusing spectacle. I mean, how often do you see a grown man dancing around naked in a crowded public space? American hippie festival attendees cannot answer.

This leads me to the main side attraction - the hundreds of Indian and Nepali sadhus – long haired, bearded male Hindu ascetics - (I estimated over 500). Sadhus are after all devotees of Shiva, so it is only appropriate that this is really their festival. They come from all over the subcontinent to bathe in the sacred river (same river that has dead bodies, garbage and stinky sewage in it), worship at the many small shrines with sacred linga, and enjoy the festivities. Most of them, as well as most of the young men in attendance, spend the day and night smoking mass amounts of bhang or ganja (marijuana), the sacred plant Shiva is known to have favored. Following the bridge across to the opposite bank, we exited the land of female worship and entered the territory of males – and I think every single one of them was smoking the herb! At first it took us both by surprise at how many sadhus were there. Then it took us by surprise to see how many of them were either smoking ganja or rolling ‘special’ cigarettes for themselves or to sell to the hundreds of young Nepali men crowded around them smoking too. Culturally speaking, this is the one day of the year anyone (I think it is only men) can smoke pot. To help celebrate Shiva, why not indulge in what Shiva did? Makes sense….if only Jesus smoked….actually, now that I think about it, I’m sure He did, but no one will acknowledge it because one of the approved Gospels talks about it. Anyway, there was herb everywhere and everyone was having a GREAT time….Walking through the very smoky dusk, it was like walking through a Grateful Dead or Phish lot (for those of you who know). Pot smoke everywhere. People gathered around fires cooking, eating, drinking and talking. Everyone having a great, great time hanging out and getting stoned. And basically around every shrine corner was another impromptu musical concert. In addition, everyone wanted us injis to join them in the sacrament. Politely declining at each offer, we felt uplifted just in being there and sharing in the celebrations. Not a bad idea for my next birthday bash….

Just two days later came Losar, the Tibetan New Year. Keep in mind we are living in Boudha, a large majority of which is Tibetan. Basically we are living in ‘Little Tibet’ here in KTM. There are many similar aspects – prayers, sacred music & dancing, incense, candles and offerings. Tibetan New Year is a time for prayer, feasting and visiting friends and family. It is definitely a family oriented event, but this does not preclude it from being fun, because it sure is! The preceding week is marked by intense rituals and pujas in the monasteries. It is a time for clearing of obstacles, casting out the old stuff, cleaning house and preparing to begin the New Year with a fresh beginning and clean home. I’ve been told that one reason to clean is so that no evil or negative spirits have a place to hide. Another reason would be to ‘cast light in dark places’. During the days leading up to Losar there were Lama Dances or Cham Dances at some of area’s many Tibetan monasteries. Wearing brightly brocaded robes and colorful masks of vultures, tigers and skeletons, the monks (only monks can learn these special religious dances) enact the casting out of evil which they put in effigy made of dyed butter, wood, string and other various materials, which they call torma. At the end of the 2 or 3 days of dances, the torma is then placed in a large pile of dried hay (along with anything else anyone in the audience wishes to removed negative energy and obstacles from – for example I put a business card in the pile to remove obstacles to my photo success) that is then set aflame and left to burn. There is also plenty of kapse (fried dough) which shops will pile as high as they can because the higher you can pile your kapse, the better the year you will have upcoming. It is also an integral part of a family’s New Year shrine offering. Public activities climaxed on the morning of the third day (Thursday) as hundreds of Tibetans dressed in their finest chuba (woman’s dress) offer incense, string up prayer flags, and make prayers at the Stupa early in the morning. Later in the morning, everyone follows a magnificent procession of monks (and what seemed to be the entire Tibetan population living in Nepal) parading a very large photo of the Dalai Lama around the Stupa (which would NEVER happen now in Tibet unfortunately – where photos of the Dalai Lama are very illegal and torturous prison terms handed down if discovered) and eventually leading the procession into a nearby monastery. There prayers and offerings continued until at the right auspicious moment everyone grabs a handful of tsampa (barley flour - like corn for the Mayans or potatoes to the Irish) and on the count of three, tosses it into the air in a jubilant blessing. A tsampa-free-for-all then ensues followed by singing and shuffling Tibetan line dances. Then everyone disperses to visit friends, relatives and the many chang (barley beer) shops for an afternoon of celebration and feasting. Fun, fun, fun to be had these days in Kathmandu!

For those who are interested, it is the Fire Male Dog Year, 2133 – reminds me how absolutely arbitrary dates are…..2006, 2133, whatever year the Jewish calendar is at this point – 5000 something…..it’s all just numbers….I mean at one point in time there were thirteen months (for the thirteen moons of the year)….whoever decided that it should be 12 months?....and why was it poor February that got the shaft?....Captain’s Log, Star-Date 20-4-76….

Have I mentioned that we are living in an apartment rent free since February 20^th? And the apartment comes with a 4-day-a-week didi (household employee), named Soonum? People here call them ‘sister’ and everyone here (that can afford it) has at least one. Soonum comes Mon. – Thurs. and cooks us delicious lunches and cleans the house and sometimes if we have laundry she’ll do that too. We give here 500 rupees a week (equivalent of 7 dollars) for food and we get yummy dal bhat or veg curries or squash carrot soups or aloo roti. It has been the strangest experience having someone who is there to cook and clean for you. Neither Leigh nor I have ever had anything like this and our awkwardness is very genuine. It has been difficult to tell her if we have something we need done like laundry or to sweep, etc. But I have to guiltily admit, that after the initial stage of weirdness, I have really begun to enjoy the freedom it adds to my day. With the apartment, which some new friends of ours (very nice and fun Fulbright scholars from Harvard) let us stay here during their current 3 ½ week trip to Lhasa (the same trip we had hoped to be on when we first arrived in KTM before the slight visa delays), and with Soonum helping around the house, Leigh and I have been able realize huge savings of both money and time. As I’ve mentioned the apartment is rent free (though we will be leaving a substantial donation to the gas and electric bills) and Soonum is already paid for by the month so she is no cost to us either! No longer do we have to stress about breakfast or lunch. Nor do we have to spend an hour for either going to a café or restaurant, ordering, waiting for it to be cooked and then eating it. And on top of all the temporal and financial savings, we both have a very comfortable bed to sleep in, hot showers whenever we want, a kitchen to cook our breakfast and dinners and probably most importantly a comfy workspace so we can concentrate and get good work done. We are full of both gratitude and delight for this very kind gift and unforeseen blessing. Thank you Cameron and Sara!!!

I had a haircut here the other day and it was quite the experience. It was so much fun and not your typical SuperCuts occurrence. After a few weeks without a decent shave, I was feeling (and looking) wildly hairy, so it was time for a trim. As in most Asian countries that I have traveled in, barbers are fairly easy to find as there seems to be one on every block. Just around the corner from where we are living is a small, dark shop that I’ve passed several times in my wanderings and errands around the neighborhood. Accompanied by Leigh, a great source of confidence, I bravely walked in one morning and handed my face and delicate neck to a total stranger who didn’t know a lick of English. However, as I’ve discovered, you can have a very lengthy and surprisingly in-depth conversation with someone using only hands. So with earnest gesturing and many head nods, I got across that I needed a beard trim but don’t touch the hair. (In my best John Travolta accent, “Don’t touch the hair!”) Now I thought I was anal about my grooming…HA! This guy was a real pro. He must have spent 45 minutes on trimming my beard. And of course since I was an inji, a small curious crowd had developed outside. He was so intense about it that I thought he was going to keep trimming until I told him to stop. Just as I had built up the courage to say something, he was applying generous amounts of really cheap aftershave. But as I rose to leave, he gestured I stay seated. Curious about what he was about to do, I sat back down and was so thankful I did. What followed is something I think every barber should offer – a 30 minute head, shoulders and back massage! It was incredible. He spent lots of time slapping the head and banging the back but I loved every minute. Man, did it feel so good! This barber, who spent 3 years in India studying to be a barber and an hour and half on me, charged the extraordinarily ridiculous fee of $1.50! Can I say again how cheap Nepal is?

Finally, I have to brag about my wife. Before we left, she began a relationship with a non profit organization called Fiadante (www.fiadante.com). Their mission is to promote Asian artists. They do this a couple different ways. First they can purchase the original piece of art, have it shipped to the US, resell it and give back a percentage of the proceeds to the artist. Basically the artist gets paid twice in this way. On top of that, Fiadante will scan the original piece and then make glycleé prints to sell and give a percentage of the proceeds back to the artist, or they will make the digital image available for licensing and each time the file is sold the artist makes a percentage like royalties. So it promotes contemporary Asian art as well as works in a Fair Trade process with the artists to help them get their due proceeds from the sale and resale of their art. There is paperwork and contracts and copyright agreements and all that, so the process relies on trust and having a face to the company. Leigh agreed to work with her group of Tibetan artists and since we were kind of stuck in Kathmandu for a while inquired whether Fiadante was interested in any Nepal art. They were and she went out on a quest….and was quite successful at it actually. In less than 2 weeks since she’s been working on the project intently, she has met with 7 artists and purchased 13 pieces! She’s out doing the same thing today as I write this. It’s fabulous and so much fun. Fiadante has given her an allowance and she has gone out and collected both pieces (all oil paintings as they are the easiest to ship, scan and work with currently) and contractual agreements from these Nepali artists. So, when you get the chance, check out the website, read their mission statement, check out the artists already committed (from south India), and keep checking back to see the Nepal art and the soon to come Tibetan art!

This will be the last entry from Nepal for the foreseeable future. We depart for Lhasa on the early morning of Tuesday the 7^th. It should take us 3 days of steady driving and I will be sure to update you on our arrival. Stay tuned for more adventures!

Final thoughts:

Like the desire for drink or drugs, the craving for mountains is not easily overcome….Having once tasted the pleasure of living in high, solitary places with few spirits, European or Sherpa, I could not give it up. The prospect of what is euphemistically termed “settling down,” like mud to the bottom of a pond, might perhaps be faced when it became inevitable, but not yet awhile.

– H. W. Tilman, When Men and Mountains Meet

Helambu, February 2006

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love to hike. When I was living in Atlanta, I would try to visit the woods at least once a month, sometimes I’d get out even more than that. I like to car camp very much, but my real passion is backpacking. Strapping everything you’ll need on your back and walking deep into the woods where there are few people and signs of civilization. Self- sufficiency, the exercise, the isolation and solitude, the deep woods, the meditative qualities of walking and breathing, the camaraderie felt between packing buddies at the end of a long day….I swear nothing in this world tastes better than a freshly pressed cup of coffee early in the quiet morning deep in the wild with the sun starting to filter in over the ridge and the melodies of birds launching into their morning gossip sessions. God it gets me excited just thinking about it! I live for that stuff! Walking with a pack in the woods is something I really love to do. And I think I’m pretty good at it….at least by Appalachian Hills standards. So when Leigh asked me what I wanted to do for my 31^st birthday, trekking in the Himalayas was my immediate reply.

Our criteria was something close, something that could be done in a few days to a week, something that was going to be open and not snowed in, and something not too high requiring acclimatization. Referring to our trusty guidebook (10 years out of date yet pretty deceptive about many things….including this trek), we decided to go on a ‘moderate’ 4-5 day trek in the Helambu valley. It was between this and a 4-5 day trail in the Annapurna range, but the 9 hour bus ride to Pokhara (the jumping off point for Annapurna) really wasn’t attractive.

From the guidebook - “Considered the most easily accessible of all trekking regions is the upper valley of the Melemchi Khola, called Yolmu, Helmu, or Helambu by its Sherpa (an ethnic group like the Newari or Tamang) residents….This is a ramble rather than a distinct trek…Pleasant oak forests, thick rhododendron stands, occasional snow topped mountain views, and interesting Sherpa villages…The lower valley is comparatively dull and depressingly hot much of the year, so we spent most of our time up high in mountains. The trek provides a sudden and dramatic contrast between high and low regions and their characteristics cultures.”

He’s right about many of the things listed here, but let me tell you right now, this was no ramble!

Day 1: Sudarjinal to Chisapani

Rising early in the morning to get a good start on the day we caught a taxi to our starting point on the northeast side of the valley, Sudarjinal (1,480 meters/4,868 feet), an end-of-the-road row of crappy teashops and dilapidated houses. There, where the road literally ends, was a stone staircase ascending past a small waterfall and following a large water diversion pipe taking millions of gallons of mountain water to Kathmandu to feed its ever growing and dangerously unsustainable thirst. Very soon the steps transformed into a footpath heading steeply (Climbing will be a theme for the next 3 days….we will come to discover there are over 52 different types of steep here in the Sherpa world, much like there are over 52 types of snow in the Eskimo world) up into the Shivapuri Watershed and Wildlife Reserve. Signing in at the park entrance checkpoint, I looked at the tourist log and from what I could tell; we were the first tourists to walk this way since October 2005! The dirt track continues up, up, up and through the Tamang village of Mulkharka and Harkatol, where the villagers were just beginning to lay out the compost and manure piles to be plowed into the very terraced (and very dry) fields in anticipation of the upcoming monsoon rains which begin around June/July. Up some very steep and eroded sections, up through the first of several beautiful stands of oak forest, and finally reaching our first pass, Burlang Bhanjyang (2,438 meters/8,019 feet). So if you were paying attention that was our first 1,000 meter climb.

From the pass, we began our first downhill and continued following the forested ridge for the next hour before finally having to climb up to the small and non-descript town of Chisapani, or first day’s goal. Located on the top of a tall ridge with commanding views for almost 360 degrees (and if it weren’t so damn hazy, I’m sure the views would have been commanding), Chisapani was quite windy (I knew I should have brought my kite!) and quite disappointing. After a filling meal of dal bhat (a Nepal staple meal consisting of curried cauliflower, potatoes, and green beans; either yellow or black dal (lentils); and mounds of rice; Leigh surprised me with a wonderful and appropriate birthday present of a walking meditation book by Thich Nhat Hanh. So sweet….so sweet. We then settled in for a nice night of sleep, content with our first day on the trail.

I consider these words by Thich Nhat Hanh my birthday thought –

When he was challenged by Mara – who personifies delusion – the Buddha touched the Earth with his right hand and said, ‘With Earth as my witness, I will sit here in meditation until I realize true awakening.’ When he did that, Mara disappeared.

Sometimes we too are visited by Mara – when we feel irritated, insecure, angry, or unhappy. When that happens, please touch the Earth deeply with your feet. Please practice walking meditation. The Earth, our mother, is filled with deep love for us. When we suffer, she will protect us, nourishing us with her beautiful trees, grasses, and flowers.

Day 2: Chisapani to Golphu Bhajyang

Our second day started with a very long and somewhat painful 1,500 foot descent to Pati Bhanjyang.

In hiking circles there is a long standing debate on which is worse – uphill or downhill. Personally, I think downhill is more demanding physically, uphill is more demanding mentally. But Leigh doesn’t agree. In fact she thinks the opposite – down is mentally harder for her; whereas, uphill is more physically challenging.

Nestled in a saddle between two high peaks, Pati Bhanjyang was a pretty place and would have been a nice spot to spend the night if we could have made it the last 1 ½ miles from Chisapani on the first day. But we didn’t and so it was a nice place to walk through on our way to the next climb. (Already at this point we were beginning to judge our hiking time by our next climb or next descent). I will say that Pati was the only place in Nepal where we have been invited by a sadhu (Hindu holy man) to stay and learn meditation at his “very powerful temple”. I think he was talking more to Leigh than I, however….

This was the first place I really experienced ‘trekking impact’. As we were hiking out of Pati, the local school children were coming down the trail to begin the day’s lessons. We must have passed at least 20 of them in a 10 minute period. After the customary “Namaste” greeting (though many kids preferred a series of shouted, giggly “Hellos”), every single one of them would then demand “Gimme pen. Gimme chocolate. Balloon? Gimme rupee. Gimme candy. Pen? Candy? Rupees?” It was really kind of disturbing to me. I had no idea that these young kids were already so ingrained to associate white skin with hand outs. I must again argue against the giving out of anything to children directly as this is a perfect example of how their perceptions are distorted regarding tourists. They now see us as mere repositories of stuff to be asked or begged for. It seems that the only thing that trekking has brought to these hills is a little bit of money, a whole lot of trash and a great deal of cultural havoc. According to one study (done about 10 years ago), only about 20 cents out of the average trekkers daily expenditure of US $3 goes into the local economy. There are very few local products sold to trekkers as most are carried up from the lower region of Kathmandu. The steep prices we pay go mostly to portage fees. And honestly, the influx of money only affects a very small portion of the region; that portion along the trail. In some places it is less than 1% of the total population. I won’t even go into the environmental impact I saw with huge piles of garbage (mostly plastic bags, empty beer bottles and toilet paper) just out of view from the main trail, to the large areas of deforestation in and around the trekking villages. But it is the cultural loss that concerns me (and many others) much more. This seems true worldwide, but where we were, fewer and fewer young people even lived there. It seemed mostly very young and older. And those that remained seemed somewhat contaminated by the trekking business. Obviously, Leigh and I tried our best to minimize this impact. We coordinated and simplified our meals and always asked what the hosts were eating so they wouldn’t have to go out of their way to make us something special or unusual. We didn’t take a shower the whole time (yeah, we were r-i-p-e after six days!) and used local toilets. We dressed modestly, minimized our consumption (though I have to admit I bought a couple Cokes along the way….damn, why they gotta be so good?!), totally discouraged begging and always asked people if we could photograph them before taking pictures. And of course we carried out our own trash.

OK….off the soap box….From Pati to our lunch spot at Chipling, we were blessed with a really nice, long section of flat trail walking. We were able to watch men drive their water buffaloes along their terraced plots, plowing up the ground and getting it ready for the yearly pre-monsoon planting season. The women were busy either using the hoe to dig up large rocks before the plows or gathering shrubbery and foliage from the surrounding hills to carry back to the water buffaloes or goats. The morning sun was warm but not too hot, the trail was flat and wide, the scenery beautiful and interesting.

At first, I was a little skeptical of walking through villages and fields. It made me feel a little uncomfortable walking in people’s backyards. Where was the wilderness? Where was the sense of adventure if you’re always around settlements? Do these people really want a bunch of smelly, sweaty foreigners tromping through everyday? But as I noticed most people ignore me along the way and then being able to sit and have a warm meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner cooked for you (with hot milk tea breaks occasionally); I began thinking that I could definitely get used to this. You could carry a tent and a stove and all your food and fuel if you want, but then at the same time you’re kind of missing the point to trekking, which isn’t backpacking or seeking solitude necessarily….it’s about walking through people’s backyards and staying with them and meeting them and saying hello and exchanging experiences and sharing laughter & smiles with other human beings on the other side of the world.

Of course the flatness didn’t last and after a brief tea break (more milk and sugar than tea), our climbing began again. And up we go again another throbbing 1,500 feet to the very pretty village of Chipling. Perched on the shoulder of a high ridge, Chipling was very charming, had a good vibe and had fantastic views. This was the first place where Leigh could begin to understand what the villagers were saying. From Sundarjinal (the lower elevations) to here it was all Hindu, but from Chipling upward and enduring until the very last day (the higher elevations), we were in Sherpa (i.e. Buddhist) country, which means at least some dialect of Tibetan. Let the cultural transition begin!

Up and over the high ridge to the north of Chipling, passing around our first of many chortens, and we entered an entirely different ecosystem with large oaks, large ferns and beautiful white orchids seemingly growing out of the oak trees bark. It was really beautiful and since it was on the north slope, pretty cool. Dropping down, we entered the small saddle town of Golphu Bhanjyang. Arriving as the sun was setting; we spent the night here with a nice Sherpa woman.

Day 3: Golphu Bhajyang to Mangengoth

Starting in Golphu the trail went straight up and ran along ridge for a few miles to the small and empty village of Kutumsang where we had a relaxing but less than rejuvenating lunch. The constant climbing is beginning to take its toll on us – mentally for me, physically for Leigh.

From here are no permanent settlements till Therapati, at least 3,000 feet up and a good 13 or 14 miles away. And considering we were not really moving very fast and it was already past lunch, this had Leigh and I a little concerned. We had food with us, mostly snacks, but some dinner makings and breakfast things. And I had the tent and my stove, so we weren’t going to starve or die of exposure (at least we didn’t think so). The trail traverses high, desolate pastures seldom visited except by the shepherds and woodcutters; the solitude and wilderness like this is rarely experienced on a main trail or that close to Kathmandu. The views are superb if you can catch your breath to enjoy them, because by this time in the climbing we were above 10,000 feet and the breathing was becoming more and more desperate, looking for the precious oxygen to feed our overworked muscles.

This was the lofty land of the tree people. I call them that because as we were in the midst of this ridiculously steep and tall scramble, we passed through the ‘funky tree forest’ as Leigh called it. Imagine a thick forest of oak trees where there are no branches and the leaves grow directly out of the trunk. Sounds weird doesn’t it? Well it is and for the longest time, neither of us could figure out how the hell trees could grow like that. Was it the wind? Was it that particular species of tree? The mystery was finally revealed when I spotted a man 50 feet up in this tree cutting away some foliage and gradually moving up the trunk basically stripping it of any outgrowing material. So in this way, this group of high pasture dwellers had essentially trimmed an entire forest of branches and kept them trimmed by taking the cuttings home to their livestock. So here is a forest with nothing but bushy trunks and crazy people who climb them to their tops, trimming the foliage as they go. It was amazing and quite wild.

Once above the very steep land of the tree trimmers, the wind took over the landscape. We were high on the ridge and hiking in the midst of the clouds. It was cold, windy, desolate and eerie. The mountains began to take on more a dark, sinister energy. There was no one around and we couldn’t see much beyond 50 feet on either side of us. This constriction of vision and the closely bunched rhododendron forest on either side of the trail lent a very powerful claustrophobia to this section and it was extremely disconcerting. To add to the mood was this incredible dusty and rocky climb we were in the middle of. All of these factors led to a very gradual but very apparent mental meltdown and I eventually sat down and told Leigh I couldn’t keep climbing. I had hit the wall and I gave up. I’m embarrassed to say, I quit. I was close to tears and my legs, my lungs and my mind just could not take another step straight up. You must understand the trails I am used to usually follow the elevation contours and are typically old logging roads so there is some sort of sanity to their loss and gain. Not here. No way. The trail we were on was developed and worn over centuries of generations of Sherpa, Tamang and Tibetan peoples walking the most direct route possible - straight up and over the mountains and then straight down the mountains. There was no conscious planning. No gradual gains or losses. The Nepal Gov’t just slapped on an official trekking trail label on these ancient footpaths in the mountains and now we out-of-shape, white recreational walkers have to deal with those painful ramifications!

Leigh, bless her heart, saved me. She was such a trooper, I can’t even tell you. She helped me up, reminded me the ascent was almost over and kissed me for strength. Without her support, I would have turned down the hill and headed down. I didn’t care where, just down. But once again, she saved me and together we completed the horrendous ascent (from 2,470 meters to 3,514 meters or 3,434 feet all in less than 3 miles!).

By the time we reached our sleeping destination, Mangegoth, the environment was completely alpine. It was cold, there was snow in the dark places and from the pass we could see the really tall, glacier-capped Langtang mountain range (finally!). This pitifully poor collection of 4 stone houses (3 of them closed and locked tight) had a total population of 3! But of those 3 people living here, one of them gave us a place to sleep, a warm fire to sit by and real Tibetan tea to revive our tired bodies and souls. Real Tibetan tea! Black tea, milk, butter and salt. I know it might sound kind of gross to those who aren’t used to it, but goddamn! At 11,500 feet, it nurses the body and spirit back to health in indescribable ways. The butter and milk give you fat to burn, the tea gives a little spark of caffeine and the salt replaces all lost by sweating. Sitting by that wood burning stove, sipping on the piping hot butter tea and feeling life return to my limbs, my thanks and praises were numerous and strong!

After licking our wounds during a self made dinner of spaghetti with tomato sauce and tuna, we both went to bed….completely exhausted but content.

Day 4: Mangegoth to Melamchigoan

With the sky crystal clear, the waning moon setting in the West, and the early sun illuminating the majestic, craggily, jutting peaks of the Langtang range to the North, we started our alpine adventure the morning of the fourth day with some more butter tea and a breakfast of tsampa. Never was there a more ideal breakfast for the upper altitude hiker! Sticks to the ribs, know what I mean? I really have to hand it to the Tibetans. They really know what works at high altitudes – butter tea and tsampa (roasted barley flour with butter tea mixed to make a thick porridge paste – rich, earthy, hearty). I guess after living above 10,000 feet for thousands of years, you might have an idea of what works and what doesn’t, huh?

In answer to our spirited prayers the evening before, the trail gratefully stuck to the gently rolling ridge line for the remainder of the morning. With gorgeous views of deep canyons and jagged ridges falling sharply away below us (and I was really considering ‘escaping’ by climbing down that?!), the walk this morning was breathtaking, totally enjoyable, and a strong reminder of Earth’s majesty, beauty, and variety. Passing through high meadows dotted with crumbling shepherd’s huts, otherwise known as Sherpa’s Hotels, the clean air and stunning views brought a renewed sense of accomplishment and joy from making it over the dreaded 3^rd day, or ‘hump day’, when everything starts to pile up and thoughts of quitting or defeat begin to creep into the mind.

Timing it perfectly, we arrived at the highest settlement on our trek, the collection of stone and wood buildings that occupy the wind-swept, cold, rocky pass of Therapati (3,510 meters/11,536 feet). Above tree-line combined with the thin air, swirling clouds, the thick falling snow (our first!) and the towering massive of rock surrounding us created for me a scene out of Lord of the Rings and my child-like imagination took hold. Leigh and I were on our way through the Misty Mountains, avoiding the probing eyes of orcs and goblins, to see our trusted friends, the elfish Tibetans in the hidden valleys far below. I was half expecting at any moment to see hobbits dashing by or the faint blur of a mountain sprite darting between boulders. But this was the land of dwarves, kings under the mountains. Diggers, delvers, drillers. A harsh land for man or beast, but the underworld, inside the rock was where the real treasures dwell. Crystals, metals, minerals….all hidden gems growing below our feet, hiding from man’s greedy eyes.

Just to recap for you, the last 3 days we have climbed and climbed and climbed. Well, you know all that elevation we gained over those last three days? During the next 3 hours, we lost almost half of it (about 3,000 feet in about 3 miles!) From Therapati, the track went straight down a steep, steep ravine. Through the falling snow of the afternoon, through the thick oak & rhododendron forests, in between two towering canyons with powerful and loud cascading creeks we dropped. With shaking knees screaming, we finally came out of our crazy descent at an old swinging bridge spanning a deep rushing mountain creek below. This being my first swinging bridge in Nepal, I was not to excited to see it. Give me something solid and concrete, not this slap-shod of rotting wooden boards and rusted wires. But as to be expected, it held our crossing (though the sway was very discomforting).

Walking up and out of the creek’s canyon, we were greeted with such a wonderful view of old stone walls, orchards, agricultural fields, tidy stone houses, a landscape dotted with prayer flags, and a superior view of the entire Melamchi Khola valley falling away from us to the South. We had entered the beautiful and most enjoyable valley community of our entire trek – Melamchigaon.

Melamchigaon (2,560 meters/8,421 feet) is Helambu’s finest Sherpa village. The Helambu Sherpa’s are distant cousins of the Khumbu Sherpas, speaking a related but distinct dialect. Like the Khumbu, they emigrated from Tibet several centuries ago. According to legend, Helambu was one of Guru Rinpoche’s “hidden valleys” and is very much based around the Nyingma School of Tibetan Buddhism. To be somewhat crude, like divisions in the Christian church – Baptist, Episcopalian, Lutheran, Presbyterian – there are divisions, or different branches of Tibetan Buddhism – Gelukpa, Nyingma, Sakya, Kagyu. Each one has their particular great teachers and methods of attaining enlightenment. For example, the Gelukpa are the youngest of the branches but the most rigorous in their studies. They are the scholars. The Nyingma on the other hand are more experiential and believe more in directly experiencing the Path. If any of you have read Narcissus & Golmund by Hermann Hesse (highly recommended reading! in my top 5 books of all time), the Gelukpa school is Narcissus, who believes the path to God is in the mind - through study, discipline and meditations. The Nyingma school is Golmund, who believes the path to God is through the body and the senses and the direct experience of living. I’ll give you one guess as to which one represents Leigh and which one represents me……

Day 5: Melamchigoan to Doring

I do not believe in coincidences. So I feel everything that occurs happens for a reason. There is a reason for everything….even chaos. Anyway, when we were looking for a place to stay in Melamchigaon, we stopped at 2 different places before we found the right one, the only one we could have stayed in. The first one didn’t ‘feel’ right. Call it a hunch; a gut feeling; instinct…I call it one of the senses. The next place we tried, a lodge established to support the local gompa, was closed. So as we were continuing our search, we finally came to the Tashi Delek Lodge, run by the sweetest woman I’ve ever met in my life, Lhamo Lama. Her husband, Palsang Lama, was a very pleasant & courteous man, but it was Lhamo (who runs the house) who brought the soul and magic of the place to life. We were total strangers, yet she cared for us, nursed us, and tended to us like we were her own flesh. Her laughter came easily and was totally infectious. Her respect and generosity was genuine and was given to us, her guests, but also to her neighbors and friends. She is an absolutely incredible human and I will never forget her. If her house wasn’t so difficult to get to, I’d would go and stay with her all the time! Obviously, if anyone reading this ever comes to Nepal and decides to brave the Helambu trail, the only place to stay when you arrive in Melamchigaon is the Tashi Delek Lodge. I can’t recommend it enough! Awesome, beautiful, wonderful place…definitely a very magical place. The location can’t be beat. Guru Rinpoche and Milarepa knew where they were going when they came here to meditate. The hospitality was the best I’ve experienced almost anywhere in the world and definitely in Nepal. The food was simple and delicious. And they spoke very good Tibetan (as well as Sherpa and Nepali too), so Leigh could converse with them almost fluently. He had come over the mountains from Kham in 1959. I believe she was born in or around this valley.

We spent the first part of the morning relaxing and enjoying the warm sun, great views and calming environment of this special valley. The second half of the morning we were led on a mini pilgrimage to one of Guru Rinpoche’s meditations caves and a Guru Rinpoche blessed spring. Both very interesting places. It is always so encouraging seeing the Earth’s wonder being so powerfully revered.

After our lunch and a reluctant farewell, we began walking south for the first time and continued our descent out of the mountains. Another precipitous drop in elevation to the river and another (though better constructed) swinging bridge across and we were on our way out of the high valley culture and entering into the lower areas again. Forsaking the traditional trek that would have taken us back up the ridge, we decided we would take the ‘local’ trail and roughly follow the elevation laterally across the faces of the vertical ridges and quit climbing straight up and down them. Sounded like a good plan, but there is no gradual here; and though the ups and downs were not as long, and the trail was technically following the river gorge (though higher up on the canyon walls, not the river banks) there were still so many that by the time we reached our resting spot that evening, I was literally shaking with fatigue and on the verge completely shutting down with heat exhaustion. These mountains were kicking my ass! I am humbled and will never, ever complain about the ups and downs in the Appalachians again…..

Day 6: Doring to Mahakanal

OK, last day….we’re almost done. Thanks for sticking with me so far. From our place of sleep, Doring, the going got much easier, much flatter and we made good time to our final destination, the bus stop in Mahankal. The farther south we went, the farther down we went, the wider, more populated, hotter and more irrigated the valley became. We passed hydro-powered grist mills grinding corn. We passed fields and fields of potatoes being irrigated by hand dug channels following the trail. It was a nice, easy, interesting (several hand painted signs along the way that said “The Communist Party of Nepal (Maoists) Heartily Welcome All Tourists.”) stroll for the last day. The walk only took us about 3 ½ hours before we were passing into the bus stop ticket counter and buying our one ways back to Kathmandu.

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Some facts and figures….not for the faint of heart….The total elevation loss/gain (add up all climbing and descending) for our trek was 8,280 meters…or over 27,200 feet! The total mileage for our ‘ramble’ (as the guidebook described it) was around 40-45 miles or averaging 9 miles a day. Doing the math, it comes to roughly 3,000 feet of ascent or descent a day. To put it into a little more concrete perspective, that is about 600 feet gain/loss per mile. In other words, every mile we walked, it was like going up or going down a 6 story building! Every mile!

Now, what’s the highest point on the East Coast? Mount Mitchell in North Carolina at around 6,700 or 6,800 feet. An anthill compared to the Himalayas. For example, in the Helambu valley Langtang I (they number the peaks a lot here – Annapurna I, II, III; Langtang I, II, etc), which is not a very tall Himalayan peak compared to the many 8,000 meter mountains here, is 2 ½ times the height of Mitchell at 4,872 meters/15,960feet….and that is just below half the size of Everest at over 8,000 meters! I say all this to remind you that hiking 6 days in the Smokies is one thing….hiking in the Himalayas for that long is something totally different.

For those of you who have persevered through this extraordinarily long and winding entry, you now have a sense of the pain, suffering, reward and joy Leigh and I experienced on this almighty birthday trek. Like the trail we survived, you have survived this blog entry. Now go fix yourself a drink and thank the Gods you have a couch!

Kathmandu, February 2006 #3

Well, Leigh and I finally got our Chinese visas for Tibet. Yay! It is a bittersweet situation, however. After 5 ½ months of waiting we finally know we are permitted to live in Lhasa. That’s the sweet part. The bitter part is twofold – the visa apparently expires on the 30^th of July (a full 6 months before we need it to!) and we cannot enter Tibet until after Losar, the Tibetan New Year (which was our preference). So while we got what we wanted, we didn’t as well. Sounds strange don’t it? Well, from what others are telling me, I should get used to it, because that’s how it works where we’re going. Honestly, we are both relieved beyond words to finally know something concrete. We have dates and permission and the paperwork in on its way. That is a major load off our minds. It was beginning to look like we weren’t going to get in at all (at least I wasn’t because of my photo background). Now we have to swallow the bitter disappointment of not being in Lhasa for the extraordinary New Year’s celebrations and worry about how to extend our stay once we arrive. For now, we take solace in knowing we are going, the New Year’s celebrations are pretty spectacular here in Kathmandu (did I mention Boudhanath, where we’re staying, is a Tibetan neighborhood?), and that eventually things will work out.

This slight misfortune has affected a very fortunate situation for Leigh and me, however. We had planned to drive overland with three other people, two of them Fulbright scholars from Harvard whom we have befriended here. With our inability to leave before March, they will go on without us (Yet another disappointment). However, since one couple lives here full-time, they have offered their house for the remainder of our stay! They will not return until after we leave and in fact we could cross paths again in Lhasa. So for the next month, we have a rent free, maid & cook included, apartment all to ourselves. We are so excited! Living in a guest house for the last 2 ½ weeks has gotten really old at this point. There is nowhere to work productively, the beds are less than comfortable, there is no private bathroom, and though I find the morning puja rituals romantic and exotic, to have them start every morning at 5 AM with drums banging and horns blaring is not what I consider conducive to good sleep. Couple that with the fact that Kathmandu has numberless dogs, both domesticated and homeless, and it seems they prefer to sleep during the day and talk to each other across the city barking all night long. There have been a couple nights when certain yippy son of bitches stake out our window in particular and howl and yap loudly. It is as annoying, aggravating and maddening as living next to a rooster. Oh, give me a sling shot and I’ll shut that dog up! And finally, living in a guest house for a long period of time gets expensive. Yes, we are only paying 440 rupees a night (about 6.50$), but it all adds up quickly. Granted, our living expenses are much less than they would be in the US or China, any money we can save can prolong our adventure another day.

I want to talk about the political situation here for a second. It is a fairly complicated mess but I’ll try to explain as I understand it. For some time, Nepal was a constitutional monarchy. There was a ruling King and his family, an appointed Prime Minister, a democratically elected Parliament, a Supreme Court, etc. For a time, things were going pretty well for this Himalayan Kingdom if you don’t mind rampant corruption and constant internal political bickering. But during the middle part of the 90’s, events began to take shape then that are now shaping the face of Nepal’s struggles today. The Maoists started in the rural western hills. Their rhetoric was trying to find the source of poor people’s suffering and trying to alleviate it. There is a certain Marxist mentality which theorizes the poor are exploited by those in power, be it the economic, political or caste system powers. And most of me has to agree with that theory. For several years, their enemy was so incomprehensibly abstract (American Imperialism, capitalism, etc) their movement was basically ignored by the capital valley and the administration. Around 1996 though, the King started a campaign of military and police suppression. This lead to violent retaliation by the Maoists and a gradual solidification of the current face of their enemy: the King, the army, the police, and the government of Nepal. Lately, there have been numerous skirmishes between governmental forces and the Maoists throughout western and southern Nepal, gradually creeping ever closer to the Kathmandu valley. Fatalities reached an all time high in 2005 with over 700 deaths in 5 months. Since the official beginning of the ‘conflict’, which ironically shares my birthday – February 13^th, 1996, over 12,000 Nepalis (including police, military, civilians, and Maoists) have been killed. In the meantime, trouble grew for the royal family. In June 2001 tragedy struck that would shock the world: the royal family – the King, the Queen, and the crown Prince – was assassinated by the half mad nephew (he was the son of the current King which has flamed many conspiracy and coup theories). Soon, the King’s brother was installed as the new King and things degenerated even more. The Parliament was dissolved on the advice by the Prime Minister. Shortly thereafter, the new King sacked the Prime Minster! This left the King in almost total, authoritative control. (I’m sure ol’ George W. was watching from Crawford wondering how he could execute something similar). So now we have three main antagonists – the King (who controls the army and the police, so he’s got most of the guns), the seven party coalitions (which is the former members of the very corrupt Parliament and they want their jobs back, not altruistic democracy for the people), and the Maoists (who have a good number of rural people and guns on their side and want equal rights for the poor, in favor of something more radical than democracy though in their opinion anything would be better than the King). Within this context, any of these parties (except the King’s) can call for general strikes or bandhs, where those who support that party will not drive, close shops, etc, which is construed as a show of support. But unfortunately the bandhs are used as terror tactics as well and many people who don’t support the party will close their shop or not drive so they won’t get beat up or vandalized by the calling party. So in essence, when a general strike is called (and these could be anything from one day to one week), all the shops are closed, all the taxis and buses stop running. Yet in true Nepali fashion, most observe in half-hearted ways. For example, they will close their garage door style shop front, but only 75% of the way down. Or a restaurant will close the door…mostly. With a quiet knock or pushing it open and walking in, you will see tables full of people eating and talking but warily watching the door. But then there are the demonstrations and these are really the most disturbing of all outward signs of political instability. There is a rally almost everyday somewhere in Nepal, usually several that coincide in the major cities and towns. These are people gathered to protest their government’s inability to listen to their needs or abuse of power or any other number of things a democratic populace has the freedom of speech to say, right? Except Nepal isn’t technically a democracy right now, it is just a King. The balance of power between the elected Parliament and the religiously appointed Royal Family’s King doesn’t exist right now. And so there is heavy handed, violent, aggressive suppression of these rallies by the military and police. Citizens are arrested and beaten. It is very dramatic and all seemingly useless. Yet if not for the activism by the Maoists and the coalition, many believe the King, who many believe to be less than mentally stable or in touch with reality (can we say George?), take over total control and that would be disastrous as well. Confused yet? So are most Nepalis, international journalists and probably those vying for power as well. This is the mess that Leigh and I land right in the middle of! It is a complicated mess and the ones suffering the most, feeling the full brunt of this political firestorm, is the average Nepali citizen.

Now for those parents out there reading this, there is little to fear regarding our safety. Like I have said, we are staying in Boudha, which is a very quiet, safe, and non-politicized area with lots of smiley, happy people holding hands, singing songs and watching rainbows fill the sky. We have our choice of numerous tasty restaurants. We can buy groceries and bootleg DVD’s (the latest and greatest – Memoirs of a Geisha, King Kong, Narnia and the like….all for less than 2$ a movie!). So, to allay fears that might have arisen during this last paragraph, Leigh and I are not in any danger and you should not worry about us being here. The world of tourists is not anywhere near the same as the world of Nepalis, though they do have to intersect from time to time. And that is true no matter what country you find yourself in.

I will say life here is raw. It is in your face, in your nostrils, you taste it in your mouth. Shit and piss in the streets. Life is bitter, sweet, sour, foul, beautiful, sad, ugly, amusing, hectic, painful, joyful, depressing, encouraging, nasty, gross, simple, small and grand. Take for instance the beggars. You think Atlanta or New York has beggars? For many here it is a way of life they have known since they were children. On a daily basis, I pass mothers of no more than 14 or 15, using their newborns and small infants as begging bait. You can see them coming. They spot you, you spot them and the game is on. She approaches and looks pitiful (even if she was laughing and cutting up with her other begging mother friends just a moment before she spotted you) and in this whining, defeated, sad voice asks in broken English, “Milk, Baba. Milk for my baby. So hungry. So hungry. Please sir, milk. Milk for my baby”. There seem to be two possibilities and both are really, really distressing. One, she really is that poor and can’t feed her baby. Probably not the case though. This means that she is probably using the infant as a begging tool to tug on your pity strings and make you feel guilty. Then there are the street kids. The professionals I call them. They are so dirty, so pitiful, so disheveled that sometimes you catch your breath when you see them in such a state. I, however, see yet another ploy by mothers and fathers to gain some extra income from the guilt and pity afforded these kids. Too many times have I seen them working in conjunction with adults, like pimps and hookers, except the hookers are the kids. I know it sounds cold, but when you see enough of them and talk to enough people, you begin to see patterns and plots and it disgusts me to no end to see the children brought up in such squalor and mischief. Now before you go thinking that I’m just totally cold and unfeeling (which of course you know is not true), I do give without hesitation to one group – the deformed and the elderly. Most of the deformities come from either polio or leprosy here. When there is no other possible way, either because of physical deformity or cultural ostracizing, for this individual to earn a daily wage, then I am happy to contribute to their needs with a few rupees here and there. I feel that if you want to donate for street kids, or homeless etc, there are too many good organizations (wherever you are – even here in Nepal) that deal specifically with this social problem. When you give street kids money then you only encourages that child to continue this behavior pattern, which in essence damages any chance or any motivation to seek a different reality. Maybe it sounds cold or uncompassionate and maybe I’m not describing what I feel to be true in clear words for you to understand, but everyone has their own way, and in general I just don’t agree with giving money to street kids or working age, relatively healthy men & women. Being here and becoming familiar with so many of them, my opinions have really solidified on this issue.

Leigh and I went on a visit outside Kathmandu for the first time since arriving two weeks ago. We visited the ancient capital of Bhaktapur. I was itching to get out of the city and the valley and I think Leigh was too. It was time to see some country and something different than the Boudha stupa and surrounding neighborhoods. We awoke early one morning, before the sun had risen, and caught a taxi for the 30 minute drive through misty vegetable fields and sleepy rural towns. The road to Bhaktapur was very beautiful, very green and very quiet – something of a change from the scenery we’ve been accustomed to here in the smoggy, noisy, big city of Kathmandu. Within 10 minutes of leaving our hotel, we were in the country and surrounded by fields of vegetables – mostly cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli and potatoes – and the early morning fog that likes to hang out in low places in when in the mountains. Bhaktapur is about 15 km east from the outskirts of Kathmandu. Once the capital of the entire valley, it is now the most isolated and unchanged of the three former kingdoms (Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur). Stretched out on a ridge above the Hanumante River, the city grew from a collection of villages strung together along the old trade route to Tibet. Bhaktapur is almost 100% Newari and adamantly rural at heart. Women in red bordered, black saris raised in the back to revel the blue tattooed above their ankles. It began as a collection of farming villages as early as the 3^rd century, when irrigation was first brought to the valley’s fields. In the 12^th century, King Ananda Deva, ruler of a powerful mini-kingdom just outside the valley rim, shifted the capital to Bhaktapur and built a royal palace there. For 300 years, Bhaktapur ruled as the capital of the unified valley. It was a heavily fortified, walled city that finally fell to the invading Gorkhas in 1768. Over the next two centuries, its status diminished and progress passed it by. Earthquakes took a heavy toll as well. Over 70% of the city was destroyed in the earthquake of 1934 and the one in 1988 did a great deal of damage as well. As a result, few buildings over 170 years old remain intact. It remains, however, a perfect example of Newari architecture and town planning. Neighborhoods are organized by caste and centered around a main square, or Durbar Square, with a public water source, temples and the local Ganesh shrine. The tall brick houses are tightly packed together to preserve precious farmland but every few hundred meters the narrow alleys open to spacious squares. This is where Nepali life really takes place. Merchants selling vegetables and chilies, weavers spinning wool, women washing clothes or nursing babies and many sitting and chatting in the sun. We began our day of adventure with visiting the main square, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site (just like the Boudha Stupa that we have been walking around everyday). After paying a whopping 10$ US dollars to enter (because I couldn’t find my Nepali ID card – free admission for locals of course), we had the square almost to ourselves. Besides the occasional woman devotee visiting the many statues and mini-shrines located throughout the square, the early morning hour sat lightly and magically on our experience. With the sun rising and the mist still clinging to the ground, it was a very special, meditative, joyful, mystical experience walking through the old square. Many visitors have said that this Durbar Square (there is one in each old kingdom capital – Patan, Kathmandu and Bhaktapur), is the most entrancingly picturesque city scene in Nepal. And I would have to heartedly agree. Beautiful.

After a great view but less than filling breakfast atop the Golden Gate Guesthouse roof, we marched steadily past the dozen or so Japanese tourists that now explored the square, seeing life through the lenses of their cameras. What is it about Japanese traveling in dozens and with their ever present cameras? I should talk though, huh? Anyway, we headed down one of the various narrow alleys to Potter’s Square. A charming and bustling neighborhood of the potter’s caste, there are literally hundreds of vessels of all shapes and sizes set out to dry in the rising sun. A wonderfully dark gray, almost black, clay is used to create tiny oil lamps for puja, teacups and yogurt bowls, flowerpots, water jugs and money banks. The men are typically the ones spinning, while the women and younger folks help mix and moisten the raw clay extracted from the surrounding hillsides. Remember, the KTM valley was once an ancient lake so there must be meters upon meters of thick, rich clay! Unafraid to make new friends, I literally just walked into someone’s house following a woman delivering a new batch of black clay to her husband potter. Using an electric wheel (an upgrade from the traditional large wooden kick wheel or slightly more modern large truck tire fitted with crossbars), the man, about 40 or so, was cranking out incense bowls – probably about one every 3-4 minutes. Being an amateur potter myself, I was duly impressed. His son, a potter in training, could speak really good English and so we had a very educational conversation with him. Their family has been potters for as far back as his grandfather’s grandfather. And though he is lined up to be another one, this young man wants to introduce more technology and machinery into the process. With machines he reasons, they could produce even more products and more products mean more profits, right? Aaaahhhh, capitalism – selling out tradition for an extra buck all across the globe.

It was during lunch when the world of Nepalis and the world of tourists became appallingly distinct. We were eating lunch at this place on the corner of a secondary square. Very nice view, less than prompt service and only mediocre food. Well, I ordered a small pot of milk tea, seeing on the menu that the price for a small pot was 3 times that of a cup. So one would figure that in a small pot there is at least 3 cups of tea, right? Totally wrong! When emptied the pot only filled 1 ½ cups! Not acceptable. So I ask the waiter, who was coming back from waiting on a Nepali couple behind us, to see the menu he had in his hand. Well, he froze like a deer in headlights and looked around confused. So I asked again and he reluctantly gave it to me. Well lo and behold…the prices on this menu were less than half the prices we saw on our menus! When confronted about this, his response was that what I was looking at was the Nepali menu, what we ordered from was the tourist menu. TWO MENUS!!! Though I shouldn’t have been that surprised, I was still insulted. Yes, yes, I know. Foreigners can afford more so why not charge them more? Nepalis can only afford so much so charge them that. Still…same food, same service, different prices. It’s the discrepancy of half a dollar or something, but like I was steaming to Leigh, it’s the principle. Bastards!

I wish to leave you with a poem –

Dust in the sunlight

Rising ever higher

On God’s own breath

I share the same path

Floating, calmly

Dancing in the light

Of Heaven on Earth

Within, without

Ever the same, always different

Does the dance exist

Without my witness?

Breathing in, I calm my body

Breathing out, I smile

Living in the present moment

I know this is a perfect moment.

Kathmandu, February 2006 #2

Leigh and I have settled into a nice routine here in Kathmandu. Wake up during or slightly after the morning puja; read a little by dawn’s early light (still chewing on Centennial); walk down the road to the Double Dorje for a simple breakfast of banana porridge, Tibetan bread and milk tea or coffee; work on business or school stuff or wander around photographing for the next few hours; eat a simple lunch of vegetable and water buffalo momos (pretty tasty actually) or chowmein; explore the narrow streets and alleys of the city or visit some very famous stupa or temple complex during the bright afternoon hours; as darkness falls over the land and the last colors of sunset hit the high atmosphere wisps of clouds, we settle in for a nice dinner of vegetable then-thuk or thukpa (hand pulled noodle soup – very yummy!); and finally an evening kora or two before returning to our basic room that costs 5$ a night (kind of pricey for this place) for semi-warm showers and more reading until sleep overtakes us (which usually happens before 10!).

I’m glad I feel comfortable with the routine because we still do not know how long we will be sitting here in KTM before we hear word on our Chinese visas. We have been here since the 23^rd, Monday and it is now the following Wednesday, the 2^nd. That’s about 10 days now we’ve been here and the total length of time we ever thought we’d be here. Because of the Chinese New Year, which fell on Friday or Saturday, the government and university offices in China and here in Nepal have been closed since then and will not re-open until at least next Monday. Yikes! Granted we are spending much less per day in Nepal than we would be in Atlanta or Lhasa, so if we look at it that way, there’s no place we’d rather be stuck!

The food here is sensational – Nepali and Indian curries and all you can eat thali (daal, rice, curried veggies, fried lentil cakes and sweet yogurt), Tibetan momos (dumplings) and noodle soups, spiced masala milk tea or the rare and delicious treat of milk coffee. We have been pretty good at finding the local spots too. Where are living right now is a pretty touristy area so the prices are pretty inflated to match. For example, a plate of momos around the Boudha stupa runs about 70 or 80 rupees (about a $1). When Leigh and began asking around where the locals go to get their momos we discovered that not only were they tastier but they were half as much! At the local breakfast spot, a bowl of porridge (think watery oatmeal) with bananas, scrambled eggs, Tibetan bread with apple jam and a large pot of milk tea or coffee run us less than $2. Currently all our living expenses (excluding taxis or any other extraneous costs) are running us about $11 or $12 per day. And that’s for both of us! Sometimes I spend that much on just lunch in Atlanta. Obviously, we would be hard pressed to find a cheaper place to be living right now. Bolivia, Nicaragua or Thailand maybe. I can tell you right now that Lhasa won’t be this cheap (or delicious). Kind of makes me a little sad to be honest to get used to this kind of food and these prices and know that sometime in the near future it will come to an end and I’ll enter into the land of MSG, greenhouse grown bland veggies, yak jerky and instant noodles. Ok, so I doubt it will be that bad, but nonetheless I’m having doubts about losing any weight while here in Nepal.

I will say that to balance out the delicious food, KTM has some hellacious traffic! The snarls that occur during the morning rush and evening rush would give New York, LA or Atlanta a run for worst traffic. And as any of you who have ever visited developing countries, there are no traffic rules. There are no lanes per se, there are very few stop signs or red lights and even these are obeyed rarely. There does seem to be a rhythm or an organic pace to it though. And there are some understoods – the larger vehicle gets the right of way…always, the horn is the most important part of the vehicle…more than the wheels or engine, and pedestrians are merely to be missed…don’t ever yield to them. It’s like when we are jumping into a tiny beat up taxi we are putting two quarters into the video game called Taxi Ride. How many points will you get this time? How close can you come to that motorcycle without hitting it? How fast can you go thru a pedestrian filled alley that is only the width of your car? I mean who need to go jogging when they can just jump into a (insert foreign country here) taxi and ride white knuckled, heart racing, forehead sweating, eyes closed for 30 minutes across town? And there is no such thing as emissions inspections here. It is inevitable that at some point during your ride, you will get stuck behind the slowest, dirtiest construction or transport truck that just billows black exhaust into your taxi and therefore face. Ah, the lands of black boogers….I have already purchased a breathing mask. Might be the most essential piece of equipment next to clean underwear and socks…oh how mom was right! And to make things even worse (if possible), this has been the driest dry season Nepal has seen in over 15 years. It is incredibly brown and almost unbearably dusty on some days. Recently the winds have come in to blow some of it away, but when we first landed, we couldn’t see the high mountains that surround this valley for the dust, haze and smog. Hmmmm, just imagine what it’s doing to my lungs…..yum.

As we were walking around the other day, Leigh made a very astute observation: neither one of us have ever seen a place that mixes religion and commerce more completely than what we’ve seen here. There is no distinction really. There are holy days and holy places in the US and they seem to be kept separate from the commercial areas. For example, you typically don’t see vendors hawking their rosaries, votive candles or prayer books on the steps of the First Baptist Church. But here there are no distinctions. Here you have the most sacred Buddhist site in Nepal and at least fifty store fronts within 15 yards of the walls. And that’s not even counting the merchants that have set up shop on the streets in front of the store fronts. Vegetables, cheap watches, colorful clothes, spices, incense, prayer books, thangkas, freshly butchered meats can all be found crowded close to the sacred stupa of Boudha. A natural and almost unnoticeable gumbo of sacred and profane. A perfect mirror of life if you ask me.

Did I mention Nepal seems to be Bindu or Hinddist? They not only mix the religious and the commercial, but they mix the iconography, architecture and ritual of these two predominant religions often. Coming upon a very old temple located in the narrow, crowded, animated, colorful and totally stimulating alleys located in the old heart of KTM where the crumbling traditional wooden architecture (such a shame that there isn’t enough money to preserve it right now) is now side by side with the high rise glass and brick structures, there on the temple were both Hindu and Buddhist aspects. The mix was so natural and seamless it seemed to be a temple for both and neither at the same time. Totally bizarre yet interesting. I wish I had more time (and inclination) to study up on my Buddhist and Hindu histories because they have been meeting and mixing in this area since at least the 5^th or 6^th century BC.

Speaking of sacred spaces, I want to mention a couple that we have visited recently. One, Swayambhunath, is Buddhist while the other, Pashupathi, is Hindu. The golden spire of Swayambu stupa crowns a wooded hill about 2 km west of KTM. Historical records of its existence date back to the 5^th century. It is also called the “Monkey Temple” for the hordes of pink faced, mischievous devils roaming the temple grounds and surrounding forest. The roots of the temple go back to the legendary beginnings of Kathmandu’s valley. Once a miraculous lotus blossomed from the lake that once covered the valley, radiating a dazzling light called “Swayambhu”, the Self-Created or Self-Existent. Gods and men both came to worship this miracle, until a wise monk named Shantikar Acharya, sensing the coming of the current Dark Age, buried the magic light underneath a stone slab and atop it built the stupa. Swayambhu’s worshippers include the Vajrayana Buddhists of Northern Nepal and Tibet, but the Newari (the indigenous inhabitants of the KTM valley) Buddhists are its most fervent devotees. Just past the colorful main gate and the three orange and yellow stone Buddhas are the real test of devotion – 365 worn stone steps leading straight up to the top. At 5000+ feet, it only takes a few before the breathing gets heavy! At the very top is a gigantic gilded vajra resting on an embossed mandala, set on a stone base carved with the 12 animals of the Tibetan calendar. The views of the valley are outstanding here and the nice cool breeze makes it enticing to linger for a moment. The stupa behind has grown in layers over the centuries, as it has been repaired from earthquake damage and from destruction in the brief Muslim invasion of 1349. It is by far the most magnificently decorated stupa complex I’ve ever seen and according to records, a typical 17^th century repair session required 39 kilograms of gold…that’s almost 20 pounds! Very much like my experience many years ago at Borabordur, this is a site where the architecture is truly inspiring and lends itself to the direct experience of the sacred moment of enlightenment. It is difficult to describe but after slogging up the many steep stairs, occasionally looking up to see the goal of my struggles, and reaching the top of my climb where the golden stupa gleamed in the sun partially blinding me and the blue colored eyes gazing down at me serenely, I experienced a direct connection with the divine and had an instant of complete understanding and awareness. I was drained of all thoughts, all egos, and all carnal distractions and felt the high, piercing light of oneness with my surroundings, the earth and for the faintest second, the universe. There was nothing but my awareness and I felt empty yet full. It was so amazing. The feeling departed quickly, but knowing that once can feel that way, even for just a second, is inspiring. And to evolve the thought, if one can feel that way for a moment, one can feel that way for all moments. Sacred places lend themselves to sacred thoughts….

The second I mention is Pashupatinath. This temple is Nepal’s most sacred Hindu shrine and one of the subcontinent’s great Shiva sites, a sprawling collection of temples, ashrams, images, and inscriptions raised over the centuries along the banks of the sacred Bagmati River. The essence of Hinduism is condensed into a rich brew, as pilgrims, yogis, priests, and devotees worship Shiva in his form of Pashupathi, “Lord of the Beasts” and divine protector of Nepal. Pashupatinath is a magical place. The largest temple complex in Nepal, it retains its integrity as a living place of worship. Pashupitnath’s grounds are set with rows of linga, long lines of stone Nandi (the name of the bull who acts as Shiva’s vehicle), and Licchavi-era (Hindu dynasty which ruled the valley from 300-879 AD) sculpture fragments jumbled in careless heaps. The two most sacred things about the temple complex are the Shiva linga (among other things a phallic symbol of masculine generative power) enshrined in its main temple (which unfortunately or fortunately is “For Hindus Only”) and its location on the banks of the Bagmati. Little more than a stream in the winter months, it flows past ghats where worshippers and mourners mingle with pilgrims intent on mundane tasks like laundry and dishwashing. We watched as devout Hindus dipped themselves three times in the holy (and polluted) water. Spiritually equivalent to a dip in India’s Ganges, the ritual assures a release from the cycle of rebirth. Even as appealing as that sounds, after taking one look (not to mention the smell) of that water, I think I’ll suffer through a few more cycles before taking the big plunge on that one. A man’s got to know his limits! In addition, Pashupatinath is Nepal’s most renowned cremation site as well. During our exploration of the complex we were able to witness cloth wrapped bodies carried by barefoot pall bearers (male relatives mostly as women are supposed to stay at home and weep….this is still a much divided culture). At the cremation ghat, the eldest son performs rites to assure the soul a smooth transition into the next world. The body is then placed on a log pyre and the white clad mourners (not black like in the West) watch the slow (and smelly) destruction of the body. A couple hours later, when there is nothing left, the ashes are swept into the river where they are carried south to join with the Ganges. These ceremonies were being carried out with apparent disregard to the many Nepalis and scattered tourists watching or photographing the scene.

After taking in my first public cremation (and the aroma that comes with it), Leigh and I continued to wander through the sprawling complex and at one point encountered a very magical and mysterious scene. Pashupatinath is also a mecca for wandering yogis or sadhus, ascetics who have renounced family and caste to follow Shiva. They are usually bearded and long haired, typically dread-knotted. They wear on their faces the colors signifying their particular sect. They may be naked or wrapped in beautiful robes. Some spend their lives performing austerities, refusing to lie down for years on end or surviving on a diet of milk (while we were there the “Milk Baba” was giving audience). Some are red-eyed and smokers of tremendous amounts of Shiva’s favorite herb, ganja. Others are skilled musicians, and on this day we encountered the musicians. Coming up some steps admiring the rows upon rows of sacred lingas, we heard live music and followed the sound to its source. An older Nepali man wearing a traditional hat was playing the harmonium and giving what seemed to be a teaching in both song and speech. Fascinated and drawn in by the mesmerizing drone of the harmonium and the hypnotic rhythm of the accompanying tablas, Leigh and I drifted over and found a place within the group surrounding the musicians to sit. We stayed for at least an hour or more listening to verses we could not comprehend but somehow understood, bobbing our heads in time with the beats laid forth by the skillful drummer. At one point there was a changing of singer and drummer and they were even better than the first pair. The voice was strong though a tad raspy and the passionate devotion shined. The ash covered sadhu who took over the tablas was exceptionally skilled and I became lost in a mental space of warm sun, sacred song and beautiful beats. It was a very mystical series of moments that afternoon. We felt privileged to experience such wonderfully expressed and blessed compositions.

I feel magic occurs everyday if my heart is open to receive it.

Kathmandu, February 2006 #1

Leigh and I went to a rally today at New Road in Kathmandu (bad idea #1). Gotta say it was pretty upsetting and powerful experience. It was a new experience as well. It became clear to me early on in the rally that there is a difference b/t photography and photojournalism. And today it was obvious I do not want to be a photojournalist. Basically I was running around, not really running but kind of observing more than anything, taking a few shots here and there (nothing I’m really proud of, nothing that’s really any good). As this is a new start for me this year, it is a year to try new things and this was something I wanted to try – more hard news, more photojournalism, and more international press type of photography. I also wanted to see first hand the state of affairs in the country I’m staying in. Seems like there’s a protest or rally everyday and there’s a picture on the front page of The Himalayan Times everyday. Leigh wanted to join me (against my objections), but she insisted on coming and was interested to see for herself too. So we made our way down to New Road casually, leaving plenty of time to get down there and walk around, waiting for something to happen. There were a whole lot of police in their blue camouflage, and I mean twice or three times more than we have seen any day previous (as these protests are announced and usually grace the front page of the papers, the police know where and when things are going to happen). They were congregating around the major road intersections, especially the entrance and end of New Road. New Road is a very short paved road in the heart of Kathmandu. At one end you have the Durbar Square, or old square, where the King and his court used to have residence and now is one of the major historical (and therefore touristy) areas of the country. The other end intersects at a T with Kanthi Path, a major artery for the inner sections of the city. So this is a very short section of road that basically dead ends at either end. There are a few minor side streets branching off of New Road and these lead to the narrow, crowded alleys that maze their way throughout KTM. So Leigh and I kind of walked up and down the road for about an hour, putzing our way around, waiting for things to happen. The rally was scheduled for 3:30 and at around 3:45 with still nothing happening, we decided to visit a rooftop café at the Durbar Square end of New Road. From this high vantage we could see virtually all the way down to the other end of New Road and of course as soon as we ordered our drink I had the gut feeling something was about to happen and I should get down there now. Brushing aside the feeling (always a bad idea because the gut is almost never wrong), I sat and waited for our soda to arrive. And sure enough, as soon as it did, there was quite a large commotion down on the street at one of the minor road intersections with New Road. (Later we were to find out that corner is the place for political gossip in the city, so it only makes sense that things erupted at that appropriate spot). It seemed to be a fairly spontaneous start to the rally as Leigh and I had walked by that same corner several times just minutes before. As soon as I saw the shooting masses and other press people running down the street to the scene, I dashed down the steps to go do what I didn’t know, photograph it I guess, leaving poor Leigh to pay the bill and try to find me in the chaos (bad idea #2). Oh, and I’m running into the face of unknown danger without having equipment insurance and without having confirmation on my medical insurance (bad idea #3). Needless to say the day was full of dumb, rash ideas – it will be the theme of the day. We didn’t have a coordinated plan or a meeting point if things got hairy, which they did. When I arrived at the scene, I was actually surprised to see so many press people and photographers, both still and video. I don’t know why I was thinking that somebody wouldn’t be assigned to Nepal or the political troubles specifically but for some naïve reason I didn’t think Nepal would be that important to the international press. With some 20 or so photojournalists and video journalists there and about that many writers, I stopped and watched a very grotesque circus-like theater develop before me between the protesters, the police and the press. Between scattered, disruptive groups (there was no one large protest or group marching in one direction) shouting slogans and such, there was always a smaller yet more visible group of fluorescent yellow vested photojournalists hovering around the most animated or vocal enclaves like vultures or jackals smelling blood from a wounded, near dead animal. They would literally chase down the street the story, the image. It is very difficult for me to describe accurately all that was happening, all that I was seeing, and all that I was feeling during these hectic, frenetic moments. The whole thing seemed like a spectacle. It didn’t seem to me to be a very organized rally because the groups were small, there was no discernable direction they walked and there were no apparent leaders. But as events progressed and the police there on the scene became more aggressive, this flexible and organic system seemed to protect the protesters most effectively. As the police would come in and break up one group, the members of that group would split up and melt into the surrounding crowds. Then when the police were moving off to chase another group, that previously dispersed group would coalesce once more to form a strong nucleus of shouting protesters. And in this way the large crowd that was watching would become amused and laugh like it was a joke and the police would become more frustrated and angry at being mocked and taunted. It was this tense, strangely amusing game of cat and mouse for awhile. It really didn’t seem that serious for the longest time. There were Human Rights Watchers present, wearing their blue vests. There were UN staff, not soldiers, there with their light blue vests (one of which I watched eat her lunch while this was all going on…so strange). The police had their padded riot gear vests on. Then there were the press with their yellow vests. Boy, I really felt left out of the vest game! In fact, there was this one photojournalist who came walking by me with his climbing helmet on, oversized hip bags dangling from his waist, his two cameras yoked around his neck and his yellow vest on with a printed paper saying “PRESS” taped to his back. And as he came by me, he asked me in what I think was a British accent, “Is that new?” indicating my camera. Confused by his question, I asked him what he was talking about. To which he replied, “It looks like its right out of the box”. I then realized he wasn’t talking about the camera at all, but me. It was as if he was asking me whether or not I was in the right place. Of course if this is what he meant, then he is obviously an asshole. Was it a hazing? A teasing? An accusation of being green behind the ears? Regardless, the spectacle of the press interacting with the protesters and police and the relationship they seemed to have in this food chain, to me was fairly gross. The strength of that feeling surprised me. And I was relieved to feel that way. I was relieved to know that I didn’t like what I was seeing, nor did I want to be a part of it or have people like that British press photographer as my work colleagues. How does this leave me feeling about press? I still distrust them and still think they are vultures and too opportunistic. I still feel like I did back in 1993 when I took Journalism 101 at UGA and when we hit the section on sensationalism my interested in journalism died. I am not the type of person, nor do I ever want to be, who can coldly handle a camera when death, grief, heartbreak, terror, fear or pain are in the viewfinder. I am not the type of person who could work in a war zone, risking my life for what could hopefully be my next career making picture. I feel that international media works for propaganda, whose depends on the situation. I feel that generally the press (or media, the words are interchangeable) only increases or continues stereotypes. I feel that generally the press is only focused on disasters, death, conflict and negative events. Are most international press photographers adrenaline junkies, looking for the next reckless rush? Probably. Do the media serve a purpose? Yes. If the international media (the Nepali media are repressed and censored in heavy handed, dirty ways presently) were not there, who’s to say that the police wouldn’t have used guns instead of just batons to break up the rally? If it were not for media, then world leaders would not be held accountable for their actions (at least before the corporate takeover of journalism this was the case). Yes, there seems to be a place for media, but that place has become corrupted and twisted and now seems to be more monstrous and harmful than beneficial. Let those who choose that path walk it the best and most conscientious way they know how, and I will walk my path as a humanitarian-documentary-travel-human-interest-story photographer. The question of whether or not I ‘had what it takes’ to be a hard news press photographer was never really a question for me. I have always known that I don’t. Listening to my heart, I have always been more attracted to the beauty in the world, not the ugly. And that’s what I want to share to my viewers. Today was a strong confirmation of all this: it’s not me nor do I want it to be me – some hard skinned, cynical, aggressive, rude photographer running from bad news to bad news. Anyway, watching the press during the rally was almost more fascinating than watching the rally itself! Maybe I could do a story on the press? Burn all my bridges everywhere! Today’s events have left me confused in some ways and also somewhat depressed. As the rally continues, I eventually filter into the middle of things and start shooting some pictures. I felt like I had to do this to see for myself and experience it directly: do I have what it takes or will I like doing this? The images I was making were all uncomfortable and clichéd. I don’t feel strongly about any of them really and I think the discomfort and inexperience shows in them. At one point there was a police truck that was trying to make its way through the crowd when someone from the crowd threw a brick and smashed the front window. And there were the journalists, all over it; like now things were really starting to heat up and things were getting more intense. Eventually there were a couple of police baton charges where they run at the group swinging their batons at anyone who is Nepali (they carefully avoided the international press people and only abused their own). There were several hundred people there, not all of them actively demonstrating. Waving flags, shouting slogans, throwing pamphlets. With the tension mounting and the police getting more aggressive, Leigh and I should have left. Neither one of us was comfortable nor is it not like this was some Nepal tourist destination. Hey, instead of going trekking, we’re going to the rally today! But with some sort of gross fascination, I wanted to keep watching. I think that deep down I wanted something more dramatic to happen and I was soon to be granted this wish. It soon became obvious that the police were starting to move methodically down the street from the Kanthi Path intersection down towards the Durbar Square intersection, chasing people down the side alleys and trying to systematically disperse the crowd. They also started to use water hoses from the fire trucks to push people back. Thinking I could get some images of that scene, I started to walk towards that end with Leigh much farther behind me (bad idea #4). As we approached the police turned the hose on the crowd and then as the water subsided, they charged with their batons swinging. And the crowd Leigh and I were in, turned en masse and started running the other way, almost sweeping me away. Sadly, it did sweep Leigh away. She was seeking shelter in one of the side alleys (bad idea #5) when this stampede of people ran into her, knocking her down and with it her 500$ camera fell to the street where it was promptly stepped on my several feet and broken. Luckily, the crowed did not step on Leigh at all and she managed to narrowly escape serious injury. When she found me a few minutes later and I saw her ashen face and that she was visibly shaken, she told me what happened, showed me the bused camera, her bleeding knees, and it was only then did we finally scramble out of there. My shame was very great at having put my wife in such danger. It also made me very angry at myself. How could I have been so rash, so stupid, so naïve, so blind, so irresponsible to the serious danger I was putting both of us in by coming down her for mere curiosity, for mere show, for a personal experiment? For shame Jason, for shame. What else did you expect was going to happen at a forcibly suppressed political rally? I was upset with myself, I was upset with her. At that point, the game was definitely over and we left the area as fast as we could. The scene was only going to get more violent and aggressive and after reading the paper the next day our fears proved true.

Kathmandu, January 2006

I feel like the white rabbit – I’m late, I’m late! Always looking at his watch and running around. Or the serpent who is eating his own tail – what mythology is that? I forgot. Anyway, we are having too many adventures these days and not enough time to catch up on the writing about them. I’m afraid this will be a continuous theme throughout my time here. Too much fun and not time to talk about it! So it is now Friday the 27^th and we have been in Katmandu since Monday afternoon. 4 ½ days and there is so much to tell.

Let’s skip briefly over the 30+ hours of traveling we endured just to get here and just say it was the longest span of continuous traveling I’ve ever experienced. The long lines, the stuffy planes, the terrible airport/airplane food and the ever present and stressful connection times – all make one exhausted. And that’s what we were when we landed in KTM: bone tired. Not only that but our worst nightmare had occurred – we had arrived, but our luggage had not. Yes, that’s right, all 4 precious pieces of our baggage; our lives for the next 1+ years; untold amounts of money in equipment, clothing, gear, documents, etc; all of it was completely missing, somewhere between SF and KTM and neither China Air nor Royal Nepal Air could locate it! It was a disaster of highest magnitude. Amazingly, in all my travels all over the world, I had never lost any luggage. Not once on all those terrible airlines I’ve flown like Pakistan International Air or Indonesia Air or Delta, had my baggage been misplaced. Yet on the one journey that I had literally all my ducks in one basket, that basket goes missing. Ouch. Leigh and I had only what we could carry on the plane which was as we both realized the most important things we owned anyway. For me my camera equipment, laptop and money were all in hand. Same for Leigh. So the utter despair was lessened somewhat knowing our physical bodies and our totally irreplaceable things were safe and accounted for. Nevertheless, can you imagine packing up your lives into 4 relatively small bags and then losing them? It’s not a pleasant feeling and we were not happy campers. Anxious thoughts of insurance claims, replacing irreplaceables, the loss of so many sentimental attachments, the loss of necessary camping gear and computer equipment…..it was the most hollow feeling in pit of my stomach…..and one of the worst things about it was there was little we could do about it. It was virtually out of our control which made it even more infuriating. So with our barest of possessions with us and after filling out the necessary (yet seemingly futile) paperwork, Leigh and I left our prayers with the baggage gods and entered KTM.

Since Leigh has been here on more than one occasion and since she speaks Tibetan (which many people here speak), I have deferred to her in almost everything – where to stay, where to eat, where to visit. It has been a really nice exercise of letting go and made the last few days much more enjoyable as well.

We are staying in the Boudha area of KTM, whish is in the east, slightly outside the main city area. It is mostly Tibetan in population. There are at least 5 major monasteries in the immediate vicinity. It is very quiet (except for the really obnoxious barking dogs right next door!). It feels a little touristy, but not nearly as much as the tourist center of KTM: Thamel. There is still some very definite charm here that hasn’t been swept away by the tourist machine or the civil conflict that has been simmering in Nepal now for over 10 years. The feature attraction here is the Boudha Stupa, which if any of you have seen the movie ‘Baraka’ (and if you haven’t, you should), it is the very large, very beautiful stupa with the large eyes painted on all four sides of the golden pillar (which symbolize the stages toward enlightenment) sitting atop the large rounded white base. Built in the 5^th or 6^th century, it has an aura that transcends time and is one of the most revered sacred places in all of Nepal for Tibetan Buddhists. And built up around the stupa are many buildings in traditional architecture. Many of these are filled with vendors selling malas (similar to a rosary and made of polished stones or sandalwood mostly), turquoise and coral (both revered by Tibetans), thangka paintings, various incense, bus tickets to Delhi or Lhasa, a many, many restaurants to serve not only the Western tourist (of which there are few currently) but the Indian, Nepali or Tibetan pilgrim. At any one time there are hundreds of people doing kora around the stupa. Kora means circumambulating a holy place – monastery, stupa, mountain, etc – in a clockwise manner and in doing so gaining merit.

During the taxi ride out from the airport, I did not get to see the stupa because of traffic, my weariness, and the darkness of night. But once Leigh maneuvered the taxi to the Lotus Guest House where we are staying, a simple yet comfortable place run by a local monastery, we put our stuff down and walked down the narrow alleys back to the stupa. After walking down the narrow winding alleys for 5 minutes and then coming abruptly to the square where the stupa is situated and the view opening up and there towering before you is this gorgeous work of architectural art with all these people walking in the same direction around it….it really stopped me in my tracks and I was really taken back by how truly impressive it is. And this was at night with garish fluorescent lights shining on it. When we came back the next morning and saw it in the beautiful golden morning light (it is the dry season currently - the weather is cold at night and warm in the sun during the day), it literally took my breath away. Simply stunning. Just seeing this sight with the golden cap gleaming, hundreds of birds sitting on the white shoulders, pilgrims from various parts of the world enjoying a communal moment of spiritual unity and the all seeing eyes gazing out serenely, just this moment lifted my spirits and I felt a genuine smile creep onto my face for the first time since the baggage disaster. After doing kora ourselves we settled down for a nice breakfast of banana porridge, milk tea and fried eggs at the Double Dorje (infamous within Leigh’s circle of friends). What a welcome to Katmandu!

Like most places in the real world, the senses are totally stimulated. So much color in the dress and skin tones, so many different types of people which means so many different languages to hear – Hindi, Nepali, Tibetan – so many sidewalk markets selling vegetables and fruit, thick smoke from the juniper and cedar incense burning from every shop doorway or window, the calming meditative chorus of early morning puja (prayers) coming from the nearby monasteries, the thick choking smog of exhaust or burning garbage, the cacophony of various bird voices mixing in with the other sounds of the city, the sound of the colorful prayer flags snapping in the stiff breeze, children’s laughter (a beautiful universal sound), Bollywood pop music blasting and in competition with the soft melodic chants of kirtan (spiritual chanting) music….this is the kind of stimulation I want from a city!

We had hoped to be in KTM for only a week or slightly more, but after hearing from our people in Lhasa who are working on our visa for us, that has now been extended for at least another week or more. First there is Chinese New Year’s which started today and the offices there will be closed for at least a week. Bad timing, eh? Next, it seems that my background as a photographer has raised some red flags there. And now our paperwork has to be sent to yet another office that deals with media/photographers type of thing specifically. This is not good news and we have tried to reassure anyone there that will listen that my background is in photography, not journalism and there is a big difference. Our quoted chances have not gone from 90-95% down to 80-90%. And yet hear again, a major turning point in our lives is out of our hands. We have virtually little control on how they will handle this new development and it could mean the difference between getting our visas and not. I can tell already that this bureaucratic process will cause me more trouble in the future as well. If they are wary of me now, before I’ve even gotten into the country, how are they going to feel when I need to leave and come back several times over the next year? How can I expect them not to keep tabs on me since I’ve now raised a red flag? This will only compromise my freedoms there….to the point where I feel it isn’t even worth it to be there anymore? We shall see. So now we must wait until after the Chinese New Year holiday and then hope that they will approve our visas in a somewhat timely manner. Ultimately, our goal is to be there by the end of February, so we still have some time to pray.

Let’s recap shall we? NO BAGGAGE and NO VISAS. Oh, and a week later, I’m still sick. Sounds fun doesn’t it? This concern over our baggage continues thru Monday, Tuesday and into Wednesday. For 2 ½ days we do not know if we will ever see our bags again.

Finally, on Wednesday afternoon, our luggage arrives in KTM!!! It had been flown from Bangkok, not to KTM where it should have gone, but Brisbane, Australia! From Brisbane it was flown to Singapore then back to Bangkok and finally to KTM. When we found our bags on the luggage carousel, all 4 of them no doubt, I literally fell to my knees, hugged them all and gave all the thanks and praises a hoarse man with a sore throat and nasty cough can give! And now that our luggage is safely in our hands, we both feel 1000% better about our situation. Yes, hearing that our visas have come thru will be the icing on the cake, but for now, we are content and happy to explore KTM together.

San Francisco, January 2006

The city of fog, the city of wind, the city of hills, the city of liberal thought, the city of citizen activists, the city on the bay, and the last city of America we shall see for some time.

We arrived on here on Wednesday evening, driving over the Golden Gate Bridge a little after sunset. I still feel a thrill driving over that span of water. Such a national icon! And for those of you who need to know for your next trivia game, the color of the paint is international orange, whatever that is. At least it’s not Home Depot orange. We drove down after spending time in the redwoods and visiting some of my old haunts around Arcata (about 60 miles south of the Oregon border, 230 miles north of SF – basically in the middle of absolute nothing except rocks and woods – they don’t call it the Lost Coast for nothing).

The redwoods are simply magical. They are beyond description in beauty and dimension. You can’t do them justice with words. They are ancient, strong, solid, tall, and all around perfect creatures. I won’t ever forget seeing Leigh’s eyes light up with joy and delight as we entered the first groves of redwoods. Her inner child came out to play in the big, beautiful woods. And the redwoods welcomed her. Massive pillars of living green energy, they are sacred and every step we took filled our hearts with love, admiration, humbleness and love. They were magnificent in their virtual cloud forest that hangs over the North Coast from November until May. Regal and noble beings, the redwoods. Redwoods are some of the oldest species of trees on Earth and at one point (during the Jurassic) they stretched all the way to Michigan. I am always humbled yet honored to be in their presence, and I sensed this was how Leigh was feeling too. There is something uplifting and energizing about walking in their shadows. An instinctual and ancient sense of security seeps into your soul when walking in the deep groves. On the other hand, it also saddens when I enter the redwoods (or any ancient forest) because I am always stuck so profoundly by the perfection in balance of these ever shrinking forests and the bitter fact they are disappearing much too fast as well. It must have sparked something deep in Leigh as well, because as we drove farther south and began to leave redwood country she got very teary and emotional. I had always felt strongly about these primeval guardians of the forest, but to see someone else feel such emotion and love so quickly after meeting them....it was a blessing to be witness to the glory of Mother Earth.

Kowanasqatsi, a Navaho word meaning ‘life out of balance’. A great and powerful film. Highly recommended.

Speaking of trees, I just have to spend a second on what I consider to one of the most beautiful trees in the world: the madrone. Whereas the redwood is a giant among its peers, a solid, thick, commanding tree that is not know for its diversity; the madrone is unassuming, graceful, elegant, and quite colorful, everyone is unique and completely different than its neighbor. Ranging from 25 to 50 or 60 feet tall, the madrone is an evergreen of sorts (it is not a conifer, nor does it have needles….it just never loses its leaves during the year). The most striking thing about the madrone is the colorful trunks. Reds, coppers, tans, browns, greens, yellows, all can be found in the attractive trunk of a madrone. There is a back of course, but the bark over time peels away to revel the inner hardwood that has an uncanny resemblance to skin. It is smooth and feels wonderful to the touch and runs a wide spectrum of color. To help accentuate the transition from bark to skin-wood, the different layers peel back much like a beech, so there are these beautiful scrolls of madrone. And the farther up the tree you go and the more narrow the branches are, the more bark-less the wood is, so by the time you reach the upper canopy of a madrone there is this beautiful play of color between the copper-red of the wood and the deep green of the leaves. They are simply a treasure to behold and the hills coastal northern California are covered in them. Visual poetry in tree form.

Sadly leaving the land of big and elegant trees, we continued south into the hill country just north of San Francisco. The visual cornucopia continued as the weather was anything but boring. There was hail the size of acorns twice during a 3 hour span, there was rain, drizzle, broken clouds, strong winds and even some warm sun during the 250+ miles we drove that day. Down thru the vineyard country and then west over the small coastal hills to the Pacific, we connected with the scenic highway 1 for the rest of our journey south. The ocean, whose power has affected all we’ve seen so far on our West Coast journey, welcomed us with warm sun and glorious views. The road was not the quickest I’ve ever taken as it twisted and turned over the hills and bluffs that marks the western terrestrial border. Past Point Reyes and Muir Woods, down thru Sonoma and Marin counties we traveled, enjoying each other’s company and the visual splendor created by the sometimes delicate sometimes harsh dance between the land and sea.

As night approached and the sun was setting (first Pacific sunset since our Panama honeymoon), we drove over the icon of San Fran: the Golden Gate Bridge. Such an incredible feat of engineering, such a marvel! But once across the bridge, we both immediately started feeling the strong anxiety of being in a larger city. Our senses were assaulted with horns, lights, fumes and so many people. It was such a dramatic switch from the peaceful, slow, quiet places we were enjoying for the last week. Even Portland, a large city by comparison, never felt this urban or crowded.

Trying to readjust to the pace of the big city, we tracked down an old Humboldt State friend, Steve who had offered us a place to stay in his communal house located between the Mission and Castro districts. This location could not have been more convenient. Basically in the heart of the city, between two very engaging and very different neighbor hoods (the predominately gay and colorful Castro district and the predominately alternative and ethnically diverse Mission district), this Victorian style two story summed up SF perfectly. We were offered a room with a comfortable bed (our first real bed since leaving the east coast!) for 5$ a night. Talk about getting the hook up! And it was wonderfully San Francisco. What I mean, all the roommates were pretty liberal and pretty activist. Much of the talk around the breakfast table centered on which protest or rally you were going to attend that day. And it was one of the only houses in the area to survive the 1906 earthquake and subsequent fires, so it was a really old house but totally charming. After dropping our bags at Steve’s and dropping the rental car off, we had an interesting Indonesia meal and then an even more impacting walk back to the house. Much like Price Siddhartha’s departure from the palace, Leigh and I came face to face with suffering during that walk. Passing more homeless than I care to count, we also saw prostitutes, drug users, shady characters and unhappy souls. I was starkly reminded of all my privileges.

My other friend from HSU, Kathleen, came up to visit as well, so it was a really nice reunion for a couple days. Besides a brief visit in ’01 with Steve as he was passing thru back to SF from his stint in Senegal for the Peace Corps, I had not seen either one of them since leaving Arcata (home of HSU). They were 2 of 3 friends I made and kept from those isolating and lonely days spent out here. We enjoyed the next few days of unusual sunny SF with walks to the parks, lunches of Pakistani or Mexican food, good deep conversations about ‘the broken system’, politics, compassion, our lives and our dreams. It was very pleasant to reconnect with these two great people and I hope it won’t be another 8 years before we see each other again.

We also had great time hanging out with our friend Laura, her roommate Ryan (only other girl I’ve ever met named that besides my sister) and her friend Rob. They took us around as well and showed us lots of great places to eat, including this one sushi place that had extraordinarily creative rolls, really beautiful servers and played Godzilla movies on the wall while you ate. Very SF, very fun. Did you know there are over 260 sushi places in the bay area? I mean it boggles the mind. I think I would eat sushi and nothing but sushi if I ever lived here. Personally, I don’t want to live in SF. Too big, too urban, too concrete. Leigh and I agree that we want to live somewhere smaller.

Finally the big day arrived: Saturday, D-day, departure day, and last day in the States. Throughout the morning, I helped Leigh repack all 4 of our luggage bags as 2 of them were well over the 70 lb limit China Air had set. Filled with a strange sense of calm, I felt naively ready to leave. It was odd, but I didn’t really feel anxious or stressed or excited or anything really. I just felt like this was the next step we had to take, the next stage or our adventure. I can’t explain it, but this sense of calm, which sometimes approaches numbness, overcomes me in advance of a big trip. Even during my stint with CARE, I would feel this way. Maybe it is a defensive response, maybe it is ignorance, maybe I am too functional or practical in someway. Or maybe I just show my anxiety in other ways, like getting sick (which I am and have been for a week now!). Nonetheless, the day passed and evening approached. We said our good-byes to Steve, Kathy and SF. Laura came to pick us up and took us out to dinner at a nice restaurant called Home (appropriately named as this would be our last meal at home). Leigh had the city’s best Mac ‘n Cheese (and it was delicious), I opted for the green salad and vegetable medley. I felt the need to really store up on raw foods, fruits and veggies before entering the land of dried yak meat and roasted barley!

Northern California, January 2006

Today we reached the Pacific!!!

Right after the sun went down we descended down from the Siskiyou Mtns, following the absolutely pristine Smith River and passed thru the ‘seen better days’ town of Crescent City. This was also right after Leigh had her first Redwood experience in Jedidiah State Park on the way out of the mountains. She was just in total awe (for good reason) and was feeling very sad when we left them. But then we just kept driving west thru town until we couldn’t drive anymore and there she was, the glorious and stormy Pacific!

Such a profound site to see, especially after coming thru such winding, narrow canyons following the river then thru the dark, tall temperate jungle of the Redwoods, finally arriving at the end of the country, the border between terrain and aquatic. Land of mammals makes way to world of fish. I can really understand how early explorers like Lewis and Clark or Jedidiah Smith felt upon arrival at the Left Coast….awe, humility, gratitude, rapture, excitement….all of these same emotions washed over me as I gazed out over the dark waters, watching the sun make its final exit for the day. The soothing sound of waves crashing and the refreshing but chilly kiss of the sea breeze were my first moments out of the rental car.

The figurative waves of memories washing over me came next. For those who don’t know, I spent over 1 ½ years out here on the coast during a student exchange between Humboldt State University and the University of Georgia. And if it weren’t for a particular red head pulling me back to the East after my student exchange was over, who knows if I would have ever moved back? My time in Northern California was both very challenging and enriching. Yet at the same time, I know that I was not living up to my full potential either. Like the land around me, I was in a fog most of my time here and was not aware at the time (or choose to ignore) my self confidence and self esteem. It was a dark time for me, a lonely time. I felt more alone out here than I ever did before or since. The coast here is very inhospitable, with jagged rocks and very few deep harbors, and it avoided settlement until the middle of the 19^th century when gold was discovered nearby. So it is a somewhat isolating place and living here I definitely felt isolated and alone.

Friends were hard to come by out here. There is an unfortunate air of paranoia out there that I believe prevents people from opening up to others are readily as they would in say Portland or Boulder or Athens. I kept knocking on people’s hearts only to be left out in the cold. Maybe everybody here was too stoned to say hi. Maybe the weather and constant winter rain disrupted normal social norms. Maybe I was young and stupid. After all this was over 10 years ago (10 years…WOW!) and I have grown stronger and surer since those tentative days. But I honestly believe there was something more going on that to this day bothers me and feels like rejection. I’m dealing with it in my own time (or no time apparently).

However, I did make a few friends while I was out here, and as a matter of fact, I’ll be visiting two of them while in San Francisco! I am very excited to see them again, especially after so many years of just keeping in touch through phone or email conversations.

But I digress (which if you haven’t noticed by now, happens a lot…..the tangential mind is a terrible thing to waste)…..

It was a perfect day for a drive! The weather for our drive through Oregon today was out of this world. There were colors in the sky today I have never seen before – patches of peach and green and blue. Cloud patterns and colors that were sublimely beautiful (and totally distracting). The sun was shining down on us today almost all day. Sometimes through breaks in the clouds, sometimes in the clear blue sky, sometimes through the mist and fog, and sometimes the poor sun was pushed away by the occasional bully cloud who just didn’t get the memo that today was a sunny day. The scenery driving south from Portland was very nice too. We followed the Willamette River for about a third of the trip, and then into the Umpqua River drainage for another third and the final third we followed the Smith River in California from the snowy mountains to the pounding sea. Towards the southern end of Oregon and on through to Northern California was a striking covering of snow on the tops of the tallest ridges and mountains. It had only just fallen the night before and down to only a certain elevation. So where we were driving was nowhere close to the snow, but driving and looking out to either side we could see the snow crowned hills standing tall over the sun touched river and farming valleys full of dairy and sheep (yes, I said sheep) farms. It added such a surreal dimension to the drive.

We started the day renting our car in Portland. A red Toyota Corolla. And following the tradition we started on our honeymoon in Panama where we named our little green rental car La Raña Verde (the Green Frog), we named this one La Raña Roja (the Red Frog). This will probably be the last car either of us drives for quite awhile. Even after not driving for a week, it was weird to get behind the wheel. After a warm farewell on the streets of downtown Portland from Deb and Moon (her wonderful canine companion), we headed off for a quick ‘ciao’ to Sasha (Leigh’s other best friend here and who we had a delicious and most enjoyable chill night of wine and conversation at their place one night while we were here). The trip has worked out wonderfully so far. The first part of it being all Leigh’s friends – Christy, Deb and Sasha. This next part, the second half, is all my friends – Jeremy & Mebyne, Steve, Laura, Todd and Kathy. So besides tonight, we have a place to stay with friends. It has been so great and I can only imagine it continuing as such.

From Seattle to Portland is only about 3 hours or around 200 miles. But after you get to Portland, the next big city is San Francisco, about 12 hours or 600 miles away. Like I said, with its un-navigable harbors, rocky and cliff -like shores, not many people wanted to settle here back when the white man thought he owned everything he saw or touched.

So we find ourselves, after 6 hours or so in the car, and a beautiful drive later, staying in the Redwoods National Park in the Redwoods Hostel. We would have preferred camping in the woods and experiencing the coast a little more directly (not to mention saving some much needed $$), but the threat of rain here is ever present and we did not want to have to deal with wet gear in San Francisco or on the plane. So we played it safe, bit the bullet, and paid for a bed. And I have to tell you, this place if really charming. It has the set up of a B & B – Victorian house, you stay in a bedroom, there’s a cute couple running it, a kitchen, common room, etc. Very cozy, very pleasant. But you definitely have much more independence and autonomy here. You fix your own food, do your own dishes. Personally, I like it a little more than feeling like I’m staying in someone’s house and making them cook and clean for me (after all I just got away from living with mom again!). The Hostel overlooks the ocean and we can hear the waves thru our bedroom window. It is still warm enough here to leave the windows open for fresh air and not get cold.

Before I get too much distance from my last couple days in Portland, there are a couple of experiences I want to share. The first is the Japanese Gardens, located in Forest Park (the largest urban park in the United States). These are world renowned gardens and after visiting them I can understand why. They are breathtaking, even in the winter! While walking by sculpted green trees; meticulously raked white rock gardens; and waterfalls, ponds, bridges and stone arranged in such a visually ordered yet naturally harmonious way; I realized that this is probably my favorite garden style. It resonates very deeply with me. The interaction of man and nature in a harmonious yet creative way. The structure and order sculpted from the apparent chaos of the natural world. The deep meditative qualities that bubbles to the surface after spending just a few minutes sitting in such a place. To see everything around me treated sacredly, respected and cherished for its inherent qualities. It was 3 hours spent walking through a Temple to Life, a Temple to Earth…..This undeniable reverence to Nature and Mother Earth is the main reason I go out into the woods and camp or backpack so much. To experience life directly, with all the senses opened, I believe brings me closer to the Divine and closer to my true Self. And it was so amazing to be contemplating these thoughts or others that would drift by on the mental screen when the sun would break thru the clouds and completely change the mood and feel of the scene before and thus my thoughts, my mood as well. Then the sun would go away and the rain would come and then again, the visual mood or resonance would shift ever so slightly (or sometimes quite dramatically) and the thought pattern would shift as well. I feel so grateful for moments like that – personal, private, transformative – seeing clearly a universal truth. And this was all during the gray drizzly cool winter season. I can’t imagine what my reactions or thoughts would be during the spring and summer when there are flowers, steady sunlight and warm air!

After visiting what I consider to be a mini-Mecca to me, the Japanese Gardens, we then left the gardens to visit one of Leigh’s mini-Mecca’s – Powell’s New & Used Bookstore. Imagine a 3 story city block of books, floor to ceiling high. This place is amazing! A virtual maze of literature, history, humor, politics, science….you name it, they have it. We spend over 2 hours perusing, reading, looking up, and getting lost in words. They have a coffee shop in the middle of it so you can get fueled too. Border’s and Barnes have nothing on this place. It is so refreshing (and necessary) to see large, successful, independent bookstores doing well. We both picked up a couple more books for the road (like we need anymore weight at this point – d’oh!)….for me Centennial by Michener, Dune by Herbert, and Confederacy of Dunces….for Leigh she got a couple academic books and an art book….in other words, I got the fun ones and she got the heady ones.

Now, before we leave Portland, there is one more place I have to describe – The Kennedy School. Nothing probably sums up the quirky cool of Portland like this place does. Built in the early part of the 20^th century, it was an elementary school for many, many years. At some point it closed down and began to fall into disrepair. At another point in the not too distant past, the school was either bought or donated and it was renovated very creatively. It is a large single floor building with beautiful dark hard wood floors and paneling. During the renovations, tile mosaics where created on the walls and snake down the halls in vine like patterns erupting in colorful flowers or sun splashes every random while. There are large b&w photographs on the wall displaying the’ Class of 1919’, the very first class of Kennedy, the very last class at Kennedy, and images of the city of Portland during the 10’s, 20’s & 30’s. There are also a variety of paintings done by local artists following an education/school/Kennedy theme full of color and craziness. There are two bars – one is called the Dunce Room, the other called the Honor Room. There is a pretty good restaurant that serves microbrews and pub food. There are a couple large cafeteria style rooms that were rented out the night we went there by a crawfish boil and a family reunion. And the piece-de-resistance for me was the small swimming pool they have converted into a hot bath. It is located outside so we were lounging in 102 degree water while the cold Portland air and drizzle kept our hair and heads chilly. Closest thing to a Colorado winter hot tub post skiing I’ve had! It was fabulous. Deb had invited a bunch of her friends down to join us so we could meet some new people and enjoy a nice sense of community with her. And after the very relaxing soak we headed into the pub for some good beers and food. The place is eclectic, creative, relaxing, stimulating, historical, educational, fun, and totally enjoyable….much like Portland.

Portland, January 2006

You will never guess what we saw today….THE SUN!!! It’s amazing how much a Georgia boy can miss the sun even after just a few days of gray and drizzle. And you know it’s bad when someone from Oregon tells you it’s the worst week of rain they’ve seen in 4 ½ years. Ouch. But today the sun came out and stayed out. It was an epic battle in the skies between the clouds and sun, but the star won out and it was an absolutely gorgeous day. Still chilly and very breezy, but bright and sunny, blue skies and brilliant greens everywhere. Gave quite the nice impression of Portland. So, so nice. And we spent virtually all of it outside walking.

We got to Portland late last night after a friendly hand off in Olympia outside The Lemon Grass, a delicious Thai restaurant in the sleepy capital of Washington. Olympia is a very convenient place basically half way between Seattle and Portland. Christy (Leigh’s Seattle friend) and Deb (Leigh’s Portland friend) were with Leigh during her year long stay in Nepal back in 1997, so it was quite the reunion between them all, if only for a few minutes.

Deb is such an amazing woman. She is basically single-handedly running an international NGO called the Pangaea Project (www.thepangaeaproject.org). The mission of Pangaea is “By engaging teenagers from underserved neighborhoods in local and international service-learning projects, The Pangaea Project promotes the development of leadership skills, increases global awareness, and fosters a commitment to work towards social change, profoundly transforming both the participants and their communities.” As I understand it, the Project recruits 15-20 middle school to high school students from a couple local schools to participate. Once selected, the kids are educated on several global issues, such as oil, deforestation, the global market, etc. Then at the end of a 6-8 week education process, the kids go on a trip to Ecuador for 4 weeks. There they stay with host families, meet communities directly impacted by the issues they have just learned about, and they take on a community development project working with the local people to help make it a better place. Like a very short Peace Corps but with a cross cultural community development mission. She only started it a little over a two years ago, but already it is taking off….The Everyone Orchestra (members of Phish, String Cheese, Jazz Mandolin Project, Spearhead and many other very talented and well know musicians) puts on a fundraiser every year, the community of Portland (and yes, it is really still that small feeling to call a major city a community) is totally behind the Project and Deb, and her 1^st newsletter mailing has already exceeded their expectations by thousands of dollars! It is absolutely so inspiring to see someone, much less a friend, take an idea, turn it into reality, and gain the enthusiastic support of her community, and then start changing the world. Simply amazing. Thinking globally, acting locally. That’s it right there. That’s all any of us need to do – Think Global, Act Local.

I’ve only met a couple of Deb’s friends and heard about a couple more and though I’m traveling to Tibet and starting my own photography business, I feel like a slack ass extraordinaire compared to Deb & them! It makes me wonder what this world would be like if we all met our full potential. Yes, I said the P word. Potential. The one word I heard again and again growing up….in school, in sports, that word was my nemesis. Let’s face it; it is easy to be lazy; it is easy to stay ignorant; it is easy to maintain the status quo. Yet there came a time in my life when I realized that there are certain doors, certain actions, certain levels of awareness that once opened, once committed, could never be closed. Once the faucet of realization has been turned on, it is nearly impossible to turn it off. Not that I ever would turn it off. I couldn’t imagine my life now without this growing compassion, spiritual awareness and social dedication. I don’t know when it stopped being a dirty word to me, but I now look at Potential as a goal or something to strive for and no longer something to be scared of or overwhelmed by. In fact, I’m beginning to think that this time, this life we experience here on Earth is only a small part of the evolutionary journey toward our true Potential. Maybe it manifests as vibrating as pure energy, maybe discovering Paradise is locked within, maybe the prison of Reality slowly erodes along with the false Fear of separation. Maybe my potential is what your potential needs.

May I be my dreams…may I be your dreams…may I be my idealism…may I be your idealism…may I be my Potential.

This is one reason why I am so excited and anxious at the same time about this trip. This journey represents the ultimate opportunity to both expand and possible meet my full potential, at least on a few different levels (specifically as an artist, photographer, story-teller, husband and global citizen). This is such an incredible opportunity to really see what I can do. No longer bound by ‘working hours’ of 9 to 5, no longer restricted to the 2 or 3 trips a year outside my box, no longer do I report to anyone else but myself. I can tackle the stories I find gripping. I am fully open to explore the photograph my heart and eye compel me to make. There are no line to color outside of….I am making the drawing as I go along! This also means there are no limits, no boundaries, no rules (except maybe those imposed by the Chinese authorities), and no guidebook. I know I will get lost. I know I will stumble. But I am so ecstatically happy to really see what I can do without anyone or anything holding me back.

Today was a great, great Portland day. We took advantage of the sun and blue skies to walk around and visit several neighborhoods and one really nice city park. (For those of you who give me shit about ‘knowing everyone in Athens and Atlanta’, you will appreciate this: I kid you not, but every single place we went, be it a store, a restaurant, a coffee shop, or even the park, Deb knew at least someone if not more than one someone! It brought a smile to my face thinking that Deb could be Portland’s me). We began the day with a delicious breakfast at the Tin Shed (for those of you familiar with the area) and then a nice leisurely stroll down her neighborhood’s main drag. Full of galleries, co-ops, coffees shops, cute boutiques, artists, hippies, punks and your everyday weirdoes, it reminded me of Little 5 Points in Atlanta but 15 years ago. It is a neighborhood in transition as the urban pioneers move in and begin rejuvenating the area.

Whereas Seattle is a large city of corporations, high rise buildings, interstates and suburbs; Portland is a large group of neighborhoods bunched together in four quadrants (NW, SW, NE, SE) around a fairly small downtown. Whereas Seattle reminds me a lot of Atlanta, Portland reminds me of Athens and Boulder combined. In other words, my kind of town!

After breakfast, we took off to Mount Taber Park, an extinct volcano right on the outskirts of town. There were beautiful views of Portland and the surrounding hills from the top. And then the rain returned and we stopped in at the local used bookstore, Powell’s, for a cup of coffee, some chat time and a few lazy moments of book perusal. When the clouds broke again an hour or so later, it was time for Leigh and Deb to go for their acupuncture appointment, which left me hanging at the house catching up on some nice quiet time writing and photo editing.

Long ago I realized that to be happy and content, I need some good alone time everyday. I really cherish my time alone. I love my wife, I love my friends and I love to meet new people, but I use my time alone to recharge my batteries by being quiet, listening to music, dancing, doing yoga, reading a book, etc. It’s good for the spirit, being alone, being quiet. Without the recharge, I would not have nearly as much of myself to give out.

Seattle, January 2006

Jet lag is a bitch. It’s 5:45 in the morning Seattle time but of course my body thinks its 8:45. This might be an ongoing theme as we continue to move west, chasing the setting sun. But to be honest, I love the early morning hours. The world is still very quiet with sleep and darkness, but the mind (at least mine) is clear and alert.

I’ve just finished a very brief but insightful round of yoga. Brief because the space is not the best as they are no sticky mats to really get good grip. The session was insightful because during the 15 minutes stretching and breathing, my body berated me for ignoring it the last 6 months. There is really no excuse besides laziness. So as we begin our adventure abroad, I begin a series of lifestyle changes, including more yoga, more walking and bike riding, better diet, and less alcohol (i.e. beer). Because my body has been slowing down a bit and my mind is a little more stubborn to change as I grow older (I turned 30 this year), I believe this is a very crucial time in my life to re-develop good living habits and rid myself of the bad ones.

The trip has been going fairly well so far. We left Atlanta and the relative comfort of my mother’s house on Thursday the 5^th. We had been living there since May to save as much money as we could before leaving the country without a secure job (yet) or any grant money (yet). The accommodations were nice but cramped. I find it refreshing and necessary to occasionally reduce your life down to the bare essentials and in this case that was 1 ½ rooms – our bedroom, a small bathroom and part of an office. We should expect nothing more from our Tibetan housing, so it has been a good exercise in simplicity.

The only thing (well, really two things) that really bothered us living with mom was her smoking and her failure to reduce, reuse and recycle. Her smoking is going to kill her. It has already begun. The coughing and the scratchy throated voice have gotten noticeably worse even in the time Leigh and I have lived there. It deeply pains me to see my mom, the most important woman besides my wife, slowing destroying herself – not only physically, but spiritually as well. Smoking doesn’t just kill the body, but interferes with and disorients the spirit, the chi, as well. When I’ve tried to talk to her about it, I only met stubborn resistance to change and sad acceptance of her habit. She unfortunately does not think she can quit or does not want to quit. Either way, it is very depressing to witness. Her failure to reduce, reuse and recycle is not really her fault (although she has had ample exposure and training from me). It is more a cultural thing that sees this type of thinking or behavior as alternative, and is especially ingrained in the southeast, east and mid-west. For Leigh and I, this has only reinforced our decision to live in a community where this is not the alternative but the norm. Where respect for the environment and good stewardship is not sacrificed on the alter of profit or convenience (as it seems to us in Atlanta, where developers run wild with chainsaws, sewage regularly dumps into the rivers and creeks, and one has to fight tooth and nail to get a bike lane established).

Honestly, I am quite curious about moving out of a consumer based, Capitalist economy into something more Socialist, utilitarian and Spartan. Even if that means after 5 months I come back praising the land of Liberty and the almighty dollar, I feel the need to experience something different. I realize there will be many, many things I find more disturbing, more destructive or more unjust about living in China, but I need to experience them for myself, to see them with my own eyes, and ingest them personally to form my own opinions.

I feel that is such a big problem currently with the majority of people – they form opinions, make decisions and judgments without ever having experienced it themselves. They get their information from friends, parents or pastors (who are just as ignorant) or they listen to or read the mass media (who have bottom lines and special interests). These opinions, which can be reverently held, are the reasons for war, greed, injustice and in large part poverty. You have two sources of action – fear and love. Ignorance is the son of fear and main tool for abusive power.

But I digress into personal opinions which, as I’ve just said, lead to conflict.

We drove from Atlanta to Winston-Salem to visit Leigh’s parents and her sister and her husband (our brother in law) came down too. It was a very pleasant visit, we had good weather and fortunately I get along well with Leigh’s whole family. Her mother kept us well fed throughout the 4 day visit and we returned in kind with helping them with little projects they haven’t been able to tackle since moving into this new house – like hanging pictures, installing lights, moving boxes in the basement and putting a new birdfeeder up. The extended weekend passed quickly with laughter, good company and long sunset walks. On Sunday, her parents drove us the 30 miles to Greensboro Int’l Airport where we said the second round of our good byes (the first being in Atlanta with all my family).

Of course there were some major overweight baggage fees as we both have two large bags stuffed to the gills, plus our carry-on bags and each our ‘personal item’. All in all, I think we have around 275 pounds of luggage with us! It’s insane how much stuff we have. But when you consider we are moving to the other side of the world to live AND work, it’s amazing we could get our entire 30+ years of life down to 3 bags each. I’m sure there are many things we think we’ll need, but won’t use, and many things we have forgotten. I am going to keep a running tab on what we are using and later evaluate how successful or overzealous we were with our packing. Right now, after hauling it around 2 airports, I definitely think we brought too much!

Can I just say how much I dislike Delta? If I never have to fly them again, I’ll die a happy man. The flight was late leaving Greensboro, both of our seats were broken (mine wouldn’t lock up, her’s wouldn’t recline back). The so-called ‘meal’ we had listed on our printed itinerary was cheese and crackers with a very small bag of granola. And the movie was just awful. Some Cameron Diaz crap about good girl and bad girl sisters. Blah! If not for an angel of a flight attendant giving us some extra snack packs, the whole flight would have been a wash. Did I mention the overweight baggage fees? Ouch.

It is Monday morning and we are now in Seattle, staying with an old friend of Leigh’s (who is generous enough to give us a bed and taxi from the airport). Her condo is to the east of Seattle and is built on stilts over Lake Washington. It is a pretty nice view over the water to the other shore sprinkled with house lights, but it is also fairly typical January weather for Seattle – cool, grey and overcast with a light drizzle. The house is beginning to stir…as is my empty belly!

January 10^th

The wind is roaring outside this morning. It has been constant and strong for hours. Seemingly no rain yet, but let’s wait a minute….it’ll show up soon. I should say that the rain, though heavy and oppressive at times, keeps this area brilliantly green, clean and very fresh. There doesn’t seem to be any trash or debris anywhere because I assume it all gets washed away. The effect to the inexperienced eye is a city decorated with green – mosses, grasses and conifers are simply everywhere. It has a very pleasing affect on the mind, all the green, it is quite calming.

But I don’t think it quite makes up for the lack of sunshine from November till April. To compensate, SeATLiens overcompensate for the constant gray and drizzle with caffeine. In one ½ mile stretch, we passed 8 different coffee shops…and only 2 of them were Starbucks! (Though we did pass 5 in 10 minutes at one point yesterday). From little espresso drive up shacks in the parking lots of hardware stores where you can get your shot for the road to airy all wood corner store establishments where the bar itself is longer than most boats.

Seattle is a city wired. And as you know, wired people like to talk. During our day, Leigh and I had long conversations with complete strangers about omelets and warm coffee (of course), the differences and similarities between Target and Fred Meyer’s (both one stop shopping), and the use of character versus plot in Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Herman Hesse. It was great! But I find it very interesting that the combination of gray and coffee somewhat counter-act each other, so in a way, people here drink so coffee (or tea) to just stay sane. Coffee as self medicating therapy….I could get used to that.

Yesterday was a very pleasant day of just driving around and exploring the greater Seattle area. Fortunately, we had a car loaned to us. I say this because I’m afraid that Seattle, like Atlanta, is a car town. There isn’t a Metro or Subway at all, everything is buses (and there are a lot of them), but everyone seems to drive everywhere. Seattle is a little spread out too, basically settled around Lake Washington and the Puget Sound, so there are islands (and therefore bridges) everywhere as well. That and the winter drizzle makes for a difficult journey on a bicycle.

We started our day with nice mile walk along the shores of Lake Washington to a greasy spoon diner down the street from where we where staying. Our first coffee stop. It was run by Greeks and as friendly and good a breakfast as one could ask. I just don’t think Seattle sells bad coffee. Even the greasy spoon had coffee better than Caribou’s or Charbucks. Walking back we were amazed at how many waterfowl there are here. We counted 6 different species of duck, Canadian geese, cormorants (sp?), and Great Blue herons (though not a waterfowl, a water bound bird). And the flora was very different too. From yellow limbed weeping willows to 100 foot tall cedars, we were constantly asking “Wow, what is that beautiful thing?!”

Our first stop was the Golden Gardens Park, which is on the west side of Ballard (slightly north of downtown Seattle). A Puget Sound shoreline and some restored wetlands gave us some nice windy and rocky beach time and the opportunity to see some big cargo ships heading down from the Juan de Fuqua (sp?) Straight towards the port of Seattle (one of the largest in the world). We also watched some extraordinarily large fishing vessels heading out to the Pacific. With cages the size of Mini Coopers, I gathered they were looking for lobster and giant crab. Experiencing the wind, the cold and the sting of the salt water, I tip my hats to those fisher-folk. That is a hard, hard life they led hauling a livelihood from those big, dark waters.

After wishing we could bring home some beautiful stones and driftwood found on the beach, we headed down to the Ballard locks, which separate Lake Washington from Puget Sound. The locks work on exactly the same principle as the great Panama Canal locks (which we’ve seen by the way!). Boats line up going one way inside the locks. The locks close and then fill or release water (depending on which way) so when the locks open again, the water level is the same and the boats keep trucking along. They are large enough to accommodate the larger shipping vessels, but today there were only recreational boaters – sailboats and yachts, with a couple tug boats thrown in for spice.

Filling up on our second coffee stop shortly after the locks, we headed into the city for a mandatory stop at Pike’s Market, the open aired public market located right on the water almost directly downtown. Yes, it is rather touristy, but for good reason. The place is really, really cool. You can buy everything from fresh seafood (best and biggest fish I’ve ever seen – 50 lb salmon not uncommon, halibut the size of small deer), to fresh produce (raspberries the size of golf balls), to cheap Chinese fake leather purses, to small sculptures “Made from St. Helen’s Ash”. Unfortunately, it was closing up when we got there, but we still managed to enjoy the brief but colorful hour we had to peruse, taste and gawk.

Some random visions –

Cargo ship stacked high, skirting through the fog, far out on the horizon….

A barking Monk fish (fisherman induced joke) making my poor wife jump nearly thru her skin….

Giant crab legs as large as baseball bats….

Iridescent black and blue herring on ice hauled from the sea not 6 hours earlier….

Not a single Bush sticker to be seen…

The neon blue arches of Qwest field…the closest thing I’ve seen to a UFO here since….

The towering Space Needle….

Dark maroon seaweed pieces mixed with beautiful red, green and black stones…

Meticulously landscaped yards, most with pools or fountains (like there isn’t enough water here!)…

Stumpy red tugboat with a stumpy, yellow-slickered captain….

Fat little Buddha on a slinky spring bouncing along on a car dashboard…

A thousand variations of gray….

Broken clouds racing across the sky…

The burnt sienna of Cedar bark complimented with the deep green of the Cedar leaves…

Barnacled encrusted rocks washed up on the shore…

Rotten wooden stump reminders from a pier or dock long gone beaten from the waves ….

Large gray squirrels that look they could scrap with any cat…

Long lines at bus stops…

Double buses attached with the accordion middle…

Wind whipped waves crashing against the condo’s stilts….

A Cocker Spaniel sitting regally at the bow of a large yacht waiting to pass thru the Ballard locks…

Reasonable traffic at 5 pm….