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.