September 14, 2014: Life outside the bubble

I’m exhausted. The last few weeks have been wonderful, but taxing physically and mentally. As a result, I’ve spent this weekend doing nothing more than drinking coffee and having deep discussions with my friends in cozy places. My literary brain isn’t fully operational, but due to requests from family, here’s a somewhat tired update…

I’ve spent the last two weeks experiencing “real” Nepal, getting a small taste of the rural areas outside Kathmandu. The contrast between town and country in this place is unbelievable. I am once again sitting in a coffee shop on a rainy day, drinking my caramel latte and listening to music on my laptop, surrounded by white people doing pretty much the same thing, all of us cozy in our expat bubble, pretending we are home, ignoring the fact that we are not. This experience is the opposite of what I’ve been doing for the last two weeks. So opposite that my “field trip” seems more like a dream than reality.

For work, I spent fourteen days visiting more of our research sites in the mountains, hills, and terai of Nepal. This time I was more actively involved in the research and organized some group discussions with local Nepali women. Having an active role made the experience much more enjoyable than my first trip to the field, and although twice as long, the trip went by twice as fast.

Two weeks ago, I set out for Arghakhanchi, a village in the hills west of Nepal, crammed into a jeep with four colleagues and two drivers. On our seven (or was it eight?) hour trip, we sped down winding mountain roads with no guardrails, past huge trucks and buses, on the only main road that leads in or out of the Kathmandu Valley. We arrived in the town of Arghakhanchi in the evening, welcomed by the field staff and directed towards our luxurious hillside hotel room. I’ve now grown used to Nepali hotels. The questionable stains on sheets, ground-level toilet, bucket shower, and cohabitation with giant spiders and various other bugs was easier to adjust to once I stopped expecting an American-style hotel room wherever I go. While in Arghakhanchi, we hiked up to the top of the “hills” (higher than most of the mountains I’ve seen in the U.S.) to reach the research sites. Despite frequent leech checks, the hike was beautiful and (at least in my mind) the exercise balanced out the mountains of rice I inhaled every evening and gallons of sugar and whole milk with a splash of tea that I drank every day. I also did an early morning hike on our last day there to watch the sunrise over the hills.  Nestled in the clouds with panoramic views of terraced hillsides, it was hard to leave Arghakhanchi.

Unfortunately, our stay in the hills had to end, and we drove out of paradise down into hell. Or at least that’s what it felt like to me. As we drove south on winding roads towards our next destination, Banke district, I could feel the air getting hotter, the people getting meaner, and myself getting more depressed. Because I had such a hard time during our first visit to the terai in July, I was anxious about returning there and spending more time in the hot, flat, and to me, more depressing region. But to the terai we went. And after another long car ride (complete with a carsick driver) we arrived in the glorious city of Nepalgunj, one of Nepal’s “second largest cities.” Nepalgunj was hot, humid, and dusty. I spent the first day in misery, counting down the minutes until we could move on to the mountains. The A/C in our hotel room only worked when the power was on, which was not very often. I felt uncomfortable walking down the street because people stared at me more than in the hills, and the heat of the place seemed to make people less friendly in general. This is all my speculation, and I am very biased against the terai, but I have never felt so much hatred for a place and anxiety over being there as much as I have with the terai. This trip has made me realize more than anything that I am not a hot weather person. I sound like a spoiled westerner making these complaints, and I realize that there are many people who have it much worse than me, but when I am in a place that makes me feel so horrible, it is hard not to complain. But I did manage to spend three days there and after some rainfall and a successful meeting with local women for work, I know that I can manage in such a place if I must. Still, I was elated to board our tiny 20-seater plane and head off for our last, and best, destination: Jumla.

Jumla is a mystical place in the mountains famed in Nepal for its apples, cool weather, and fantastic views. Its climate was blessedly cool after Nepalgunj, with crisp mornings and nights cool enough to warrant a thick comforter and a long sleeved shirt. During the day, the sun shined bright and hot, and I definitely felt like I was a few thousand feet closer to the sun than in Kathmandu. We were so excited to eat organic apples not doused in chemicals that word of our apple obsession spread quickly among the field staff, and we were presented with a plate of them almost everywhere we went. The place had an interesting feel, with generally friendly people, but a sinister vibe at night. Alcoholism, especially among the men, is apparently a big problem there, and Jumla at night was not so welcoming as Jumla in the day. I’m not sure how much of this feeling was real though, and how much was invented in my mind because I’d been warned not to walk alone at night due to the drunk men walking around. Like so many places, I had my own preconceived idea of Jumla in my mind and when I finally visited, I molded what I saw to my preconceived notions. Is this good or bad? I don’t know, but a three-day stay in a place is not enough time to truly understand it, so I am left with my own opinions. Luckily, they are mostly positive.

When I got back to Kathmandu, someone asked me which place was my favorite. Both Arghakhanchi and Jumla were lovely and it was hard to leave both places. But, as often happens when I travel, I think I prefer the place that felt most like home: Jumla. I do not come from a mountainous area in the States, but I felt a sort of kinship with the people of Jumla because their hardship is partly due to the climate of their home. Jumla, like Paradise, gets heavy snowfall in the winter. I can empathize with a community that braces itself for a hard winter and emerges in the spring feeling like a battle has been fought and won. I can’t relate so well in Banke, where the weather war is against extreme heat, which must be endured, but cannot be escaped or conquered. Like I said, not a hot weather person.

So now I’m back in Kathmandu and quickly slipping back into my yoga-obsessed, coffee-drinking self. Most of my work from here on out will be in the office at a computer, and I will cherish my field visit and the memories of the wonderful people I met there. I’m not so enamored of Kathmandu after that trip, and plan to make more of an effort to get out of the city on the weekends and try not to hang out exclusively with expats. In two weeks, I will be going on a five-day trek in the mountains, and am excited for another chance to explore this beautiful country. 

August 10, 2014: Hash, fear, and other fun things.

Once again, I’ve avoided writing an update because I wasn’t sure I had much to write about. My life since returning from the field has felt very…normal…for lack of a better word. Not that I haven’t done exciting things (I’ll get to that later), but my day to day life consists of waking up at the crack of dawn, walking to work, arriving at the office (sweaty), working (sweaty), going out to lunch (still sweaty), going to yoga (more sweaty), coming home (blissfully cool), sleeping (not sweaty!), and starting all over again. As you may have gathered, it’s still hot here and I have pretty much given up trying to look good (as in, not a sweaty frizzball) beyond the first five minutes after I shower. I have adopted a very laissez faire approach to dressing, and, although Kathmandu is a city with lots of stores, none of the stores seem to have clothing that is 1) made well or 2) made to fit a body type other than a tiny Nepali woman. I’m planning to get some traditional Nepali clothes made, because they are more flattering than the shapeless stuff I brought from home, but I’ve otherwise given up hope of finding good quality western clothing here that is comfortable in the heat. 

So this may seem like a mundane topic, and it is, but it kind of represents the low level of day to day excitement or challenge that I encounter here. Embracing yoga as a way to accept this slower pace has been great, but I still crave danger and excitement, and now that I am settled in to my new home, I have started seeking out more adventuresome activities. 

So on to the exciting stuff. You’re probably wondering why the title of this blog starts with “hash.” While I haven’t embraced the stereotypical trekker’s recreational activity you may think I’m referring to, I have found an activity with the same name that, to me, is equally effective at maximizing my happiness. A couple weeks ago my roommates and I heard about a group called the Himalayan Hash House Harriers, a subgroup of an apparently global group of people who meet up on weekends and go running. While I’m not sure what the Hash is like in other countries, in Nepal it is a fantastic way to get outside the crowded, smoggy city and into the nearby hills, to meet a hilarious and friendly mixed bag of expats and Nepalis who share a common passion for exercise, the outdoors, food, and beer; and who also all may be a wee bit crazy and find some thrill in extreme running. Joining this running club has given me a way to get my “outdoors” fix as well as expand my social circle. (I’m learning that the expat community in Kathmandu is very small, and after meeting someone once, it is virtually impossible not to meet them again the next day or week.) At the Hash, I’ve met people from a variety of ages, nationalities, and abilities. Although the run is typically at least 10 kilometers over more hills than I’ve ever tackled in one run, I’m learning that the goal of the run is not to train for a marathon or compete, but to be outside and meet new people in a beautiful setting. So while I say I’ve been “running,” I’ve actually been doing a fair bit of walking up giant hills. 

While all of the runs so far have been beautiful, a couple have been exceptional. Two weeks ago, we got lost on the way to the meeting site and were standing on the side of a dirt road trying to explain to our cab driver why we didn’t know where we were going, and a Nepali guy and his friend drove by, saw our running attire and obviously non-local skin tone, and asked us if we were going to the Hash. Although we had already given up hope of finding the meeting spot in time to join, he invited us to ride the rest of the way with him and make our own, smaller running group and catch up to the main group. Not wanting to return to Kathmandu and sit in a boring coffee shop writing blog posts, we agreed to try it. 

The way the Hash works, someone sets a trail beforehand and marks it with bits of paper, so we figured we could find our own way. Without our Nepali friend as guide and translator, however, we probably would have been lost somewhere in a village or hillside. With his help though, we weaved through the hills and villages, slowly ascending from rice paddies, to jungle, to pine-crested peaks. At one point, we turned a corner and found ourselves at a long, narrow suspension bridge swaying over a deep river gorge. The bridge bounced as we tried to run across, and the view was so breathtaking that we had to stop in the middle, let out gleeful screams, and drink in the pure mountain air. What had started as a stressful day and a near-botched attempt to run had turned into one of the most beautiful and memorable moments of my experience in this country so far. At that moment, I realized that, to truly enjoy these six months and avoid slipping into complacency and false security in my expat bubble, I have to take chances and overcome my fear of uncertainty. This weekend’s run, while not as breathtaking, was similarly exhilarating and involved hopping on rocks down a riverbed, running through leech-infested forest, climbing an even higher pine-crested hill, and finishing the run in the pouring rain. Traversing the top of a ridge in a monsoon downpour, with my shoes squelching, dirt-red water dripping into my eyes, and thunder rumbling in the distance, I experienced some moments of fear, but more importantly, some moments of pure joy. When I returned to the starting point to a welcome circle of equally drenched runners and walkers, a cooler of beer, and delicious snacks, I started to ……SHIVER!!!!! I was so excited to actually feel cold – people kept telling me I looked cold and offering their raincoats, but I just kept saying, “No, I’m great. I’m a cold weather person. This is the best I’ve felt in a month.” The combination of beautiful scenery, challenging conditions, friendly people, and cool weather was just what I needed to feel perfectly content to be where I am. 

Now, just to assure you, mom and dad, that I do not purposefully seek out dangerous conditions (most of the time) or to make you worry about me more while I am here than you already are, I’d like to point out that the people who set the trail are familiar with the territory and they’ve been doing this for decades. There is some element of danger in many of the things that I do here, but that is a part of life. I would not be here if there was not some part of me that enjoyed challenging and sometimes dangerous situations. Fear is relative here. I cross a busy street every morning where there are no stoplights or crossing signals, but I’ve stopped being afraid because I’ve learned that there are much more scary roads to cross where the cars drive faster and the pedestrians are fewer. Riding in a taxi used to seem scary because there don’t seem to be many road rules. But everyone who drives here recognizes that and is well practiced in weaving between cars and being assertive without being idiots. In the United States, we have laws that govern virtually every aspect of life. Here, the rules are not so pervasive, or at least not enforced, but the society has nevertheless found a system that works. While there are many things that could benefit from stricter laws or more oversight, people find a way to make things work. Learning how to exist and flourish in this society and to overcome my fear just enough to experience wonderful things is possibly one of the most important things I will learn here. Already I’ve stopped longing for the order and cleanliness of home and started to adjust my view of the city and its people. 

To continue adventuring and explore more, I am hoping to take a weekend trip or two and go on some longer hiking trips. Because it’s monsoon season, it’s tricky finding a safeish place to go, and the views of the snowy Himalayas are obscured by the clouds right now, but I keep reminding myself that even though I can’t see The Mountains right now, the views are still beautiful and there are still glorious experiences to be had (for a cheaper rate, too, since many tourists stay away during monsoon because of the rain and leeches). Hopefully the next post will include some of these experiences. 

Also, I feel like I should mention that I haven’t ONLY been working and going to Hash – I’ve also walked through the city to visit the Monkey Temple, an impressive Hindu/Buddhist temple on the west side of the city with a million steps to the top and more breathtaking views of the valley. Last weekend I also went to Bhaktapur, a city about 10 miles from Kathmandu with its own well-kept ancient city center full of beautiful architecture, temples, old palaces, and narrow, winding streets. I’ve enjoyed these activities and visiting these places, but they are definitely touristy things that sometimes are more enjoyable for their photo-snapping value than for the actual experience of visiting them. Because they are tourist attractions, there is usually an entrance fee (at least twice as much for foreigners as for Nepalis), which can be frustrating when they are literally just areas of a city that, when you live here, you just want to walk through to get from point A to point B. But as a “rich” foreigner, I will shut my mouth and do my part to support Nepal’s tourism industry. There are a number of cool places like this in the valley that I plan to visit on weekends, and will post pictures on Facebook of those places.

July 19, 2014: This is what the future looks like.

Welcome to Nepal, the Himalayan home and birthplace of Buddha. The year is 2071. Seriously. Nepal doesn't follow the Gregorian calendar, but something else. A British (Australian?) expat I met in a restaurant said that means I'm actually 82 years old in Nepal, but I prefer to look at it as a trip to the future, where I'm still 25 and have been granted a rare opportunity to glimpse the future. So what does the future look like, you ask? Hopefully, after six months here I will be able to answer that question.

As yet another attempt to quench my thirst for adventure, I've started a six-month fellowship in Nepal to fulfill a requirement for my master's degree in public health and nutrition. I'll be spending most of my time in Kathmandu working in an office and getting a taste of the expat-in-a-developing-country life, and spending a few weeks in the "field," visiting research sites in the rural areas of Nepal. I'm here with two classmates from school and living in a very nice, expensive (by Kathmandu standards) apartment in the expat/NGO district of Kathmandu. I may not be getting a truly "Nepali" experience here because I am not doing a home stay or throwing myself into the culture here, but in a way, the expat culture is as fascinating to me as the local culture, and I am excited to experience both.

Since arriving in Nepal, I have spent a couple weeks getting settled in Kathmandu and about a week in the field observing household surveys in rural communities and meeting with some local NGOs. I've been here almost a month, but I have put off writing this because I wanted to get a feel for the place before I started making judgments/cracking jokes. Nepal is so much different from anywhere I have been before that I have a hard time explaining what it's like to friends and family back home. When visiting other places in the past, I parsed out the most obvious cultural differences between the new place and my home in the U.S., but in Nepal there are so many differences that I don't know where to begin. So I'll start with some observed similarities instead.

1. People here smile a lot. Unlike in France, smiling at strangers is acceptable and welcomed. This has come in very handy when trying to communicate with Nepali people. I have only mastered a few words of Nepali so far, so it's nice to be able to express my gratitude, excitement, happiness, etc. with a nice big smile. The Nepali people seem to be rather shy and reserved, and very soft spoken, but in a friendly way. They are also very hospitable and offer delicious masala tea (with lots of milk and sugar) to guests. The day doesn't begin without masala tea, and no meeting or gathering is complete without it.
   
2. The hospitality here deserves its own bullet point. Last week I visited a small village in the terai region (the plains near the Indian border) and met with a group of women who are participating in a program supported by an INGO. We expected to simply visit the community and observe the women's meeting, maybe get a tour of their vegetable gardens. Instead, when we climbed out of our jeep, we were greeted by a line of beautiful smiling women holding flower wreaths and bouquets for us. As we approached, they adorned us with flowers and streaked our foreheads with red stuff (still haven't figured out what that is). They had us sit in chairs in front of a porch/stage under an awning. As guests of honor, we lit twelve candles to begin the meeting and sat down, shocked and grinning ear to ear, as the women began to sing us a welcome song. The whole event involved numerous speeches by the women, translated through our guide, and finished with another song and dancing (which we were pulled into). At the end, they served us a light "snack" of beaten rice, yogurt, and cooked gourd. The welcome we received from this women's group was unexpected but wonderful, and gave me hope that international development programs can be successful.
   
3. Like in the U.S., people drive cars here. That's about where the similarity ends, though. They drive on the left side of the road (still not used to that). This, in addition to the lack of stoplights, road signs, road lines (in many places), and road rules, makes a ride in a car or a walk down the street a harrowing, yet exhilarating, experience. It took a few days to learn how to cross the street in Kathmandu. At first, I thought the local Nepali wading through the sea of motorcycles, smoke-belching buses, taxis, and people were crazy, but I've since learned that the cars don't go that fast and generally stop instead of running people over. Sidewalks are also suggestions, and it is often easier to walk in the road because of the rubble/trash/dogs/people blocking sidewalks. I'm also amazed that people know where they are going, because there are very few road signs and none of the buildings have numbers. Directions are given by referring to landmarks, and because there are so many buildings crowded together, I usually don't see the landmarks and end up (temporarily) lost. Because of the crazy traffic and poor environmental regulations, the air pollution in Kathmandu is horrible. Someone told me it is the second worst city in the world for air pollution, and I believe it. Luckily, now that the monsoon rains have started the air is cleared in the mornings and breathing is somewhat easier.
   
4. Similar to the United States, there is actually a variety of foods available here, at least in Kathmandu. Because it's so cheap to eat out, we've been eating lunch and dinner mostly in restaurants in Kathmandu. In addition to traditional Nepali food (which is delicious) there is a surprisingly good selection of Chinese, Indian, "Continental" (American-ish?) and other types of food. What's most surprising is that the same restaurant often serves all of these foods, and they all taste good. Usually restaurants that try to make food from a different nationality seem to not quite get it, but in Nepal they seem to be good at cooking everything. I haven't had a bad-tasting meal yet, except for the ones I've tried to make myself. Brownie sundaes are also a common dessert option, so I may go on a quest to find the most American-like brownie here.
   

   In the terai, there is much less variety. The traditional food is "daal bhat," a dish of rice, lentil soup, and cooked vegetables (usually okra, potatoes, and squash). The daal bhat is delicious, and filling. We ate it for breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner while in the field. Breakfast itself is often just masala tea in the early morning, followed by an early lunch of daal bhat.
   

Welp, that's all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more insights on language barriers, transportation, and bowel movements.

*A note on the title of this blog: I'm not actually at the top of the world, I'm a few thousand feet below it. But since foreigners trekking in the Himalayas and climbing Mt. Everest contribute significantly to Nepal's economy, there are many "Top of the World" references here. I like to sit in a café called "Top of the World" and write. I was going to post this from that café today, but, being Saturday, the café is closed. (Saturday is the "weekend" in Nepal). Instead, I am writing from Café Soma. But "Musings from Café Soma" doesn't sound as cool as "Musings from the Top of the World."