Change.

We had really settled into the comfort and routine of Pepsi Cola. Heath seemed fairly bored of it, ready to get back on the road, I was ready for change, but Raven struggled against the idea of it, especially since Karen had arrived back from trekking. We celebrated Karen's 'homecoming' with another s'mores event on the roof top patio. The two of them are such junk food junkies- they come back from the shops laden down with sugary treats such as choco-pies, (wagon-wheel style snacks) custard cakes (similar but with custard in the middle) and traditional snacks of sweetness. They bought a big 'chocolate cookie' that was perhaps baked with flour and molasses which was as hard as a brick. It was too hard to eat and tasted like molasses, so we threw it off the roof of the house, trying to get it to smash on neighbour's brick and concrete wall. In the last few days in Pepsi Cola Raven crammed in as much school work as she could, Heath and I visited Patan again, this time skipping the zoo, in favour of wandering around the centuries old buildings and temples. We stopped for lunch in Heath's favourite bakery, indulging our taste buds with pizza and bakery goods. We took home some slices of chocolate cake to share. Heath calls me the 'Plastic Bag Nazi', as I continually try not to accept the thin small plastic bags that all the shop keepers put your purchases into. In Canada we can recycle them, but here they end up in garbage fires. Remember the picture of the cow in a previous blog that was grazing in a field of refuse? I can't accept being part of that mess. There is a movement afoot to ban these bags in Kathmandu, which I think is a great step, but I have seen little 'action' to this ideal.

                                             A sign in the school

I also took another walk to Boudhnath area in search of a geocache that was created by students of a nearby school, the Mahan Siddhartha High School. The principal invited me in for tea and a chat, as the students were on Winter Break. I think he was trolling for donations, but his school seemed quite excellent and worthy of international support. (Google it online- or look at the photo closer- it is on the name sign) When I left the school I wanted to go back a new way, but had no map on me, so I used the Bagmati River and the airport as landmarks. I came to an intersection with an old bridge over the river, a forested area and monkeys. There was an entrance to a small temple situated on a hill. I went through the gates and up, hoping for a better view as to where I needed to go. From the top of the hill I saw the smoke and temple tops of Pashupati (the cremation area we had visited months ago). I would have to walk through a forested area to get there. Being alone and female, I was concerned about my safety in the forest. Luckily I met some tourists who had just come from the site. They said the path was large and took only a few minutes, so I quickly walked through and arrived at the backside of the temples. A few cremations were taking place as I walked through. Bodies are wrapped tightly in sheets before they are incinerated. It is such an impressive and public event. Mostly men take part in this part of the funeral process. I am not sure where the women are. At home grieving perhaps. Last time we were here I noted that the hospice was located steps from the river. Morbidly convenient.

I was excited to be riding a fancy tourist bus to Chitwan. We purchased tickets last week, bartering to get a good price. We were assured that the bus left at 6:30 from Kantipath, (a busy road during the day, and the busy Tourist Bus stop in the early morning hours) so we had to arrive by 6am. That meant a 5am wake up and a 5:30 taxi. Kumari kindly brought us milk tea at 5am. They gave us a lovely Buddhist farewell, placing ivory coloured ceremonial scarves around our necks to bless our travels. We exchanged huge hugs and I had tears welling in my eyes when Kumari told Raven “I love you”.

The taxi extorted a hefty fee from us, complaining that he had to get up early and then drive back to Pepsi Cola with out a fare. Mahesh had arranged the driver the night before, so I was a little peeved that he hadn't negotiated a price over the phone for us before the guy showed up and had our bags strapped to his roof rack. Oh well, what can you do? It was much nicer and a little cheaper than spending the night in Thamel. We ate our last dhal baat dinner with the family and Karen, then went to bed early, ensuring that our final pack up in the morning consisted only of toothbrushes and Pjs.

As things turn out, we were one half hour ahead of schedule. The bus was to leave at 7am. We got on the big roomy bus and settled in, snuggled up with our blankets against the chilly morning air. Ten minutes later, we were told to get off the bus, as it sounded like it wasn't going to be full, so the bus line was to bring a smaller bus. Now we waited on the sidewalk, hawkers passing by with baked goodies, packaged convenience food, juice and bottled water. We purchased more sweet milk tea to drink. It is sold in these impossibly thin tiny plastic cups. I have no idea how the plastic doesn't melt through, as chia is always served boiling hot. 

                                                                                                assume the long bus ride position

                                                                                                               

Our bus got downsized, and Heath's knees now pressed against the seat in front of him. As we drove off, I saw the other bus was still travelling towards Chitwan and it didn't appear full. I wonder if we were chosen to be downsized because of my bartering? I seem to remember the travel agent saying something like “You're making me trouble” when I refused to pay more than R500 per seat...

Smaller and less comfortable, we pulled out into the convoy of Tourist Buses heading Southeast out of Kathmandu. Because of the wait for the 

 bus switch, we were now travelling at the end of the line of buses. Once we left the city and started driving the windy and hilly highway, we got stuck in traffic as a convoy of trucks were heading in the opposite direction and sometimes only one vehicle could pass at a time. Regardless, we made it in fairly good time to our destination. Our first pee stop was classic- a side of the road black tarp communal toilet. When I entered the door (black tarp flap) I was met by a  sloping concrete slab with a gutter in it. About 4 or 5 women could use it at the same time, and it thankfully wasn't used for solid matter,        as      there was no running water in this location. You   can guess the smell wasn't very nice. Another pee stop was the side of the highway- everyone running in to their little patch of forest to do their business. Raven came back from that one with countless burrs attached to her pants.

Our lunch stop was nicer, a tourist food stop- you could select a plate of fresh, pre-cooked veggie fried rice, chow mien, or pakoras for the 25 minute stop. Running water, privacy and sinks           pee stop

with soap in the toilet area! Every place the bus
stops enroute, hawkers try to sell fruit, water, chips or candy outside the windows. Some have no qualms coming aboard to do the same. Sometimes beggars also try to board the buses, but the bus jockey usually ushers them off in a hurry. When we arrived in Chitwan probably 15 jeep drivers from local hotels wanting our business surrounded us, clamoring for us to take their jeep. It was insane. We put our backpacks on and huddled in a little circle, These men were yelling so loud that Heath and I couldn't even hear ourselves talk, to make a plan. Raven was amazing. She just stood there, not looking at them, not anxious or agitated, blocking their requests out. 

Stay Tuned for Incredible Jungle Adventure in our next blog!

On the Road Again. I just can't wait to get back on the road again.

  2013. It sounds strange, a present that seems to exist in the future. I was sick on New Year’s Eve,  eventually sleeping  16 hours before getting up in time to see the clock strike twelve, then sleeping some more. There seemed to be quite a few people celebrating around Pepsi Cola. I guess the Nepalese enjoy a good excuse to party!  We’re getting ready to leave Kathmandu early on the 16^th. Su started packing three days ago, not wanting to leave it to the last minute…We have our Indian visas, bus tickets to Chitwan, and an account with the India Rail online booking website. This really has been a home away from home. Our host family has been so gracious, helpful and friendly, and the house itself is warm and spacious. It would be nice to have a more reliable hot shower, but otherwise, I have absolutely no complaints. Pepsi Cola is a beautiful, quiet suburb, full of the contrasts that new development brings. Huge four and five story houses mixed in with little shacks and small fields of assorted produce. When we first got here, the rice crop was just being harvested, then there was cabbage and cauliflower, assorted greens, and now carrots are the main crop. Even though it is frosty every night, there are still tomatoes growing, and people are starting to plant new crops all the time. There are also many colorful flowers continuing to bloom, the dazzling red poinsettia trees are huge, and there are big green papayas on the trees. It seems to be badminton season, too. The main soccer field is still busy most of the time, but badminton nets have been set up in the other fields. People have always played in the streets, without nets, just rallying back and forth, casually dodging the cows, dogs, pedestrians and traffic. All the kids from the school know us well now, and greet us whenever they see us, calling out from across vacant lots, from rooftop balconies, or just running up for a handshake. The only thing I’m not going to miss is the barking dogs! The round of puppies born while we’ve been here are still young, but the females have gone into heat again. There are roaming bitches pursued by packs of competing males, fighting and yelping all night long.

  There is something immensely satisfying about learning to navigate through the chaos of Kathmandu, either walking or using public transit. Like the city itself, the transit system is old and battered, crowded and dirty, but somehow it manages to work. We’ve made many trips around town lately, getting and extending visas, sending a box of singing bowls and souvenirs home, and finally picking up our mail. We’ve even walked around the airport to Boudnath, about five kms each way. It’s so much fun to walk through neighbourhoods that would rarely, if ever, see tourists.

   Raven and I played some mini-golf in the Civil Center Mall while Su made her first trip to the post office. Highly recommended, if you happen to be in Kathmandu and feel the need to putt 18 holes. There is also a coffee shop that makes a delicious café latte. Mmmmm. Coffee.  As our time started growing short, we decided to explore a few more sights around the valley. Last weekend, despite my reservations, we went to the zoo. It costs five times as much to get in if you’re a foreigner, 1500 rupees for the three of us, which is nearly $20 US. It’s hard to argue, as it’s obvious that they need every penny they can get. We started looking at the collection of colorful and exotic birds before a wandering elephant caught our attention. The handler was presenting the old girl for people to ‘donate’ small bills in return for touching their forehead to the elephant’s trunk. This seems like a novel idea, but unless you’ve ever stood next to one of these creatures, you don’t know how immense they really are, and how cautious you instinctually become. An elephant can, and wild ones often do, crush a human with little effort, so rubbing your head on its’ trunk is much more intimidating than it sounds. Su got in line first, before Raven, buoyed by her mother’s successful return, also joined in. The relatively small elephant was scratching up against a tree, rubbing its’ tusks and ears on both sides of the tree before starting to ram it gently with its’ forehead. The entire tree shook, leaves falling all around, and then she started looking for fallen fruit, the vacuum cleaner nozzle/hand searching the ground with amazing dexterity, eventually grabbing some branches off the closest hedge.  Such powerful creatures, no wonder they have been domesticated and turned into heavy machinery.

 After touring the assortment of wild cats, large and small, including a gorgeous cheetah, and then the sloth bears (think small black bears), we came to the primate section. The langurs we’d seen while trekking to ABC were in a pitifully small cage, but the chimps, their more famous relatives, had a large enclosure filled with ropes and platforms to frolic on. Still, even knowing that they were born in captivity and had never experienced ‘freedom’,   it was pretty sad. ‘The Life of Pi’ provides a great perspective on the life of zoo animals, and I tried to keep that in mind as we made our way past the lone hippo, to the grand finale, the Royal Bengal Tiger enclosure. The biggest reason that I didn’t want to go to the zoo, was that I would much rather take my chances trying to see these amazing creatures in the wild on our upcoming trip to Chitwan Park, along with their endangered companions, the One-Horned Rhinoceros. There were two tigers in separate enclosures, neither of them putting on much of a show for the gathered crowds, the more ignorant of whom were shouting and whistling, trying to stir the tigers out of their afternoon slumber. Sigh. With that, we made a hasty departure to the bakery we’d passed on the walk from the bus park, where we indulged in some pizza and amazing chocolate cake, but the bad taste in my mouth lingered on.

On a lighter note, Su made me a fabulous  birthday dinner of fettuccini alfredo and buff sausages, washed down with two of the giant sized bottles of San Miguel beer, before breaking out the birthday cake she had brought home on her lap, while riding on the back of a scooter! School is out again, this time for winter break, but VSN had arranged a ’winter camp’, where I was finally scheduled to teach yoga classes. I was a little fuzzy after my birthday dinner, but excited to continue teaching three classes a day. The first group in the morning was always the grade six class, who are just great. Focused and attentive, they are a real joy to teach. The next group was the grade seven class, who are normally even better. The problem, I soon realized, was that Su was playing games in the field next to the school, and by the time I took over, even the older kids were totally jacked up on adrenaline and freedom from the discipline that they are so used to. The only place large enough for me to teach 30 kids is the courtyard behind the school, which is dusty, noisy, and currently under construction.

The boys and the girls automatically cluster together in separate groups, like oil and water, chatting and giggling. It took a great deal of patience and persistence to get them to be quiet and listen to their breath, before we even started moving mindfully through the sequence of postures I had planned out. Since we have no mats, and the courtyard is so dusty, the entire yoga class has to consist of standing poses, which makes it even more difficult to regain a semblance of calm after Su’s frolic-fest. Eventually, I broke the spell by asking them to close their eyes, breathe, and consider the following:  You have a house, but you are not your house. You have a school, but you are not your school. You have friends and family, but you are not your friends and family. You have clothes, but you are not your clothes. You have a body, but you are not your body. You have thoughts and emotions, but are not your thoughts and emotions. What are you? Ahhhh. Finally, silence.

   All too soon, it was on to the grades fives. These guys are a handful, and I was soon reminded how diverse a class of twelve year olds can be. Some were eager and disciplined, while others were completely uninterested and unresponsive. I had to give up any expectations I had, and remember what I put my teachers through at that age. I let the ones who obviously had no plans of participating go play and gossip, and focused on those who were still ‘present’.  After that first day, Su and I had a little talk, and she promised to bring it down a few notches at the end of her session, so I might have more of a chance to get the entire class to connect with their breath, at least for a few minutes. I kept the same sequence of poses, hoping they would be able to focus on the breath more and more as they became familiar and fluid. Most of the kids showed amazing improvement, while some just stopped showing up, just like any group, I suppose. I am incredibly thankful for the opportunity to share the gift of yoga with anyone interested, and for the opportunity to challenge myself as a teacher. Adults who have paid to attend yoga classes are much more focused and attentive, but patience and discipline are valuable tools for any teacher.

  All too quickly, our time in Kathmandu was coming to an end. On our last Saturday, Su and I went back to Patan, leaving Raven to enjoy her freedom and continue to focus on her schoolwork. I had hoped that she would be slightly ahead of schedule by the time we left Nepal, as it’s much harder to stay focused on a daily routine while travelling. The fact that she is able to complete grade 7 as we travel around the world, and not be overwhelmed by the contrasts, experiences and challenges we face along the way, leaves me even more amazed, inspired and proud. I am one lucky Daddy! Patan used to be one of three separate and competing kingdoms in the Kathmandu valley, but has been swallowed up by the sprawl to become a mere suburb. Never the less, it is home to some of the most impressive architecture in all of Nepal.

Between the 14^th and 17^th centuries, Patan produced intricate wooden temples that are unparalleled. We wandered circuitously around the ancient city, passed temple after temple, stupa after stupa,  some built of stone, others of wood, some showing Indian influence, others more Tibetan.  Many of the Hindu temples have erotic carvings (think Karma Sutra), while others depict battle and torture scenes, depending on the deity honored and the fancy of the king who commissioned the building. We ended up in magnificent Durbar Square, and immense collection of superb temples, pillars and palaces. Before long, a uniformed guard asked to see our tickets. Tickets? We’d come in through an obscure alleyway in the back corner, where there is no gate.  Tourism is the number one resource for Nepal, but the entry fees to the major sights are skyrocketing. Since we’d seen enough temples for one day, and have devoted considerable time and money to the country already, we just made our way back to the same bakery we’d eaten at after the zoo, salivating at the thought of more chocolate cake…

  Raven isn’t too happy that we have to leave Nepal, but I’m excited to get back on the road again. I do love Nepal, but it will be great to get out of the city, see some wildlife in the wild, enjoy warm sand between my toes, and be swept up in the magic and chaos of India.  Stay tuned, there are many more adventures in store in the coming months!

 

Volunteering at VSN

One of the community services that VSN runs is a women's center. It is housed in a second floor room and large balcony of the family sized (six children) orphanage, Bright Futures. For no charge, a small group of women come together for a few hours every weekday morning to gain sewing and English language skills. A Nepalese woman is hired to instruct the sewing lessons while they rely on volunteers to teach English.

There is a sign in the VSN office showing two young blond women wearing traditional dress, called a kurtha. The women at the centre will make these to size for a very reasonable R500 (6$). Raven and I searched for fabric in Salleri, and eventually we both found some appealing and affordable cotton-poly blend. The Kurta fabric comes in pre-cut coordinated colours, with embroidery at the ankle, neck and bottom of the tunic, as well as a matching scarf or veil. I was hunting for red, as that denotes married status, but the red top fabric was always matched with green bottoms, and I did not want to look like Christmas! I settled for a bright fuchsia and blue set, while Raven chose a more pastel tone purple and green. When we returned to Pepsi Cola, the women of the centre took our measurements and our preferences (longer short sleeves with slimmer pants). They had these sewn to perfection in a week. Ever resourceful, the seamstresses use newspaper for the pattern material. The scissors they use are like your (great?) grandmother's- huge iron behemoths and the sewing machines work without electricity because they are the ancient black trundle kind that can be operated either with the foot pedal or the side hand wheel. We got to try them- it took me a few attempts before I was able to make a straight seam in scrap fabric.

I volunteered a few days with these grateful women, teaching them English when the other volunteers had not yet returned from their Christmas and New Years holidays in Pokhara. It was a lovely experience, as these women are supportive of each other and eager to learn. In retrospect, I wish I could have spent more time with them, as I don't feel I've had the most meaningful experience at the school in Pepsi Cola. During our time here the students have been either on holidays, in exams, or the teachers have been doing review with them. I was hoping to have my own class like in Salleri, but in CBIA (Career Building International Academy) there are enough staff, so I was a teacher's 'shadow' for review days, then I helped invigilate exams. Luckily the mural painting brought some creativity to the days.

Change is happening within the infrastructure of VSN. Tej (Director) has hired a capable staff member to better facilitate the volunteers' experiences, so he can focus on the growth of his organization. One of Tej's strong points is adapting to change at an organizational level. I don't think I was the first volunteer to tell him that volunteers come here (with our western mindset) to be useful, helpful and productive, which can be challenging because we aren't told in advance when the holidays are, or we float around CBIA following teachers. Because CBIA is his 'baby', he has responded to the volunteers' plea by changing the school day slightly. After winter break there will be a block in each class' day that is scheduled PE/Art/Library. There will a paid teacher's assistant supervising in the case of no volunteers, and now the volunteers can have their own block in the day to teach or facilitate any appropriate activity. I think this is a great plan, because the principal doesn't have to use his time to coordinate the volunteers any more, and the teachers don't have to put up with 'shadows' that may make them feel like they are being criticized.

Jan 11.

This week has been a super fun one for me. Exams are over and school is out for winter break, but the teachers are present and classes still show up in their uniforms to practice extra-curricular dance and singing in preparation for parents night. It is also Winter Camp for the grade 5-7's. These classes rotate through 45 minute activity blocks daily for the week. Heath is facilitating yoga, two Chinese volunteers are teaching Chinese music and language, while I am running Adventure Based Learning activities and games. Raven joins me for the grade 7 group, then returns home to do school work until we join her for lunch.

The ABL experience with Nepalese kids has been interesting. The most open spot that I could find to play games in was a dusty vacant field across from the main entrance. There is rusty bared wire along one side, the playing surface is uneven with random rocks and bricks and is littered with plastic garbage. There is the remains of a burn pile by the road. At the start I did a walk through to pick up broken glass and ankle turners. The kids must only know the sight of plastic garbage everywhere, because a few questioned me when they saw me picking up the broken balloon bits after our balloon activity. “Is Canada a clean country?” I replied that we make garbage too, but we leave it all in one huge place. Our lifestyles are so different. Sharing the field daily was a small group of men beating cotton, then quilting it into fabric creating heavy blankets for sale. Sorry about the dust we raised while cavorting about!

The games that were strictly 'FUNN' went really well, but the ABL initiatives were more challenging for these kids, as they have been instructed to remember only what they need by rote, to earn the highest placement in their classes and exams. This way of learning doesn't bode well for activities that promote thinking 'outside the box', teamwork and 'everyone wins'. Another issue that made it challenging for the students were boy-girl collaboration. By this age they are instructed not to be physically close to someone of the opposite sex, and some of the activities involved being in close proximity- in this case the boys simply would not work with the girls. (And vice versa) It worked better for them when I split the group by gender, the girls excelled at working cooperatively (a characteristic similar to western girls of this age) and without the girls, the boys deemed it a competition and could also work well together. Some of the games aren't as fun with lower numbers, but as a facilitator, you learn to roll with whatever the group presents and make the best of it.

Most of the activities went really well- the kids had a great time, and most of them received the teamwork message I was sending out. In our rotation, Heath had the group after their games session. He wasn't super impressed to challenge them to do deep breathing and yoga after they had been chasing each other around the field. Sorry Heath!

The last day I attempted a game that involved a tarp and a toy. The kids were to hold on to the edge of the tarp and working together roll the toy from one corner to the other without touching it with their hands, or dropping it. The only toy I could find at the last minute was a baby doll from the patio of VSN that was unfortunately missing a hand. The kids mastered the activity incredibly quickly, then the game took on a life of it's own- it became Bounce the Baby as the kids threw it up and down like on a trampoline or parachute. Invariable one or two of the smaller kids would jump on the tarp to get tossed around as well!

Patiently Perplexed at the Post Office

Oh where is our parcel? When we left Canada we thought we had all of Raven's schoolwork with us. As it turned out, we were missing 4 sections of math as well as a chemistry section. Cathy and Dave live the closest to SIDES (South Island Distance Education), so we asked them to pick it up and send it to us. (SIDES doesn’t mail outside of Canada, much like Canadian Tire MasterCard, but that is another story). Cathy and Dave mailed the parcel in early November, and it left Canada November 8^th. It never arrived at it's destination. By late December I was getting really worried that it was lost, strayed or stolen somewhere in the third world. We had received only one small package to the VSN office, so I knew the mail system worked, but I didn’t trust how well, as there was another small package mailed from Canada at the same time, and we never received it.

By early January I decided to go in person to the main post office in Sundara, downtown Kathmandu. I was sure that the package had arrived, but was sitting in limbo, on a shelf, waiting patiently for me to claim it after paying an exorbitant amount of ransom, baksheesh or customs cash.

Friday was my first visit to the large central post office. It consists of two large airy cement buildings, one each for outgoing and incoming correspondence. I was sent from building to building, then room to room after my enquiries as to where I should commence my search. Once I entered the correct building, I was directed to one table in an open hallway where I searched for my name in a pile of papers housed in the folder for unclaimed parcels. While I was searching, a frustrated European woman stood next to me and was asked for R10 by the man behind the table. She had a bit of a temper tantrum, venting about the amount of time she had been at the post office, how much money she had had to pay to receive her package at customs and why should she pay more money? Whenever I come across someone raging, I ensure to calm my mind and place a smile on my face to increase my own patience. My name wasn’t in the book so I was sent to a room with both incoming and outgoing parcels behind a long counter. I was ensured that my package could not possibly be in that section, as only outgoing parcels to Canada were held there, never incoming. Back to the first table I returned, where I was then ushered through the hallway into a vast room, room 29. Room 29 seems a bit of a misnomer, as it is also the hallway table in front of room 29. I enquired of one man behind a desk about my situation. There were many boxes stacked haphazardly behind him. He asked me for the tracking number, which I didn’t have on me. I asked him if I could look myself (the incoming boxes were right there....) “It’s not possible.” “Are you sure?” I asked, “The boxes are right there.” “It's not possible. We need the tracking number.” I thanked him and asked for his name and phone number before I left.

The next working day, Sunday, I left the package details with Mahesh, our house father, and he kindly called the post office officer on our behalf while we were visiting the zoo. When we arrived home he excitedly told us the package had just arrived. (Sure it did...) What great news! I jumped up and down, hugged him and gratefully thanked him for his trouble. He is so caring that he offered to come downtown to assist us in picking it up. That would have too much. We were planning on going to town to pick up our Indian Visas on Monday afternoon, so the timing was perfect. My only worry was that I knew I needed to show my passport for ID to claim my parcel, but as the Indian Embassy had ours until 5pm, I planned to take along a photocopy and hope that would be sufficient.

Monday morning I volunteered at the women's centre until noon, then our family lunched together. We weren’t sure if we all needed to be present to pick up our passports and visas, so we decided it would be a more efficient use of Raven's time if she stayed at home and completed schoolwork while we went. Luckily the bus dropped us off in front of the post office. (Sometimes it takes us a little further down the road). We went directly to the officer I had previously spoken to in room 29. He was in his office and remembered me. I think he must have been a manager, as he had his own office. He ushered us to sit down. I gave him my tracking number and he looked it up on his computer. Gotta say, the fact that the post office had a computer system completely floored me. He stated again the that the parcel had “just arrived”. I almost believed him. He found my number, wrote down another number, told Heath to stay in his office, and walked me over to the pile of boxes I had seen the other day. It took a few minutes and the help of a fellow worker to locate the medium sized brown paper covered box with my name on it. It was so close but I had to follow due process. I was given a slip of paper or form with the parcel's information on it and told to take it to the desk in front of this warehouse room. The man at that desk looked at my form, asked me for a copy of my passport (phew!), stapled it to the form then directed me to room 30. In room 30 I handed in my form and was asked to fill out a pink sheet of paper (old school carbon copy in triplicate). The pink form was all in Nepali script, so the woman directed me where to write my name, country, local address and phone number. She also asked for R35 before sending me to room 31. In room 31 I found a man in a suit behind a desk. He was the customs officer and I showed him my pink form and he signed it, then sent me back to room 30. Room 30 sent me to room 29. I gave the pink form to room 29 (which is actually the hallway in front of room 29) guy, who motioned me to “basnus” (sit). I sat, and a different woman from room 30 came out, sat next to me and indicated that getting my parcel would take half an hour. That perplexed me a little, as I could have jumped up, walked through the door and grabbed it in under a minute. At this point I remembered the frustrated woman from before, so I chose to laugh at the situation instead. I wondered what kind of a conversation Heath was having with the post office manager.

Luckily I only waited a few minutes before the box appeared. I identified it as mine, and the name on the parcel was verified with the name on my sheet in front of buddy from room (hallway) 29. With a big box cutter he opened the parcel and looked inside. Content that the box contained nothing hazardous, he dropped it on the floor behind the counter, signed the pink sheet and motioned me back with it to the customs officer. The customs officer signed it again, then sent me back to room 30. In room 30 I was motioned to a different desk, that had a small sign “cash counter”. Oh no- here it comes I thought. This is where I get soaked of some serious cash...

Happily, this was not the case. This worker signed the sheet then sent me back to room (hallway) 29. Room 29 asked for R10 before handing over my parcel. Now to collect Heath and continue on with our day! The whole zany process took about half an hour. Lets hope the rest of the day goes as smoothly I remember thinking. Heath was sitting in the office where I left him, and the manager had just ordered tea. They had been chatting about America, as he is in the process of obtaining his green card. Apparently he teaches as well, and has been working at the post office for 30 years. He sounded pretty pessimistic of the Nepali postal system! Tea arrived through the window! We stayed as long as politeness dictated, then as we were leaving he asked for our Pepsi Cola phone number because he may be coming this way tomorrow. Sounded a little strange, but we gave him Tej's and told him we'd be at the school facilitating winter camp..

The rest of the afternoon was incredibly productive. We withdrew money from the bank machine, drank tasty cafe o laits, purchased bus tickets to Chitwan, bought bakery snacks for Raven and received our Indian Visas (waiting only half an hour longer than we thought we would!) Back home again on a rush hour-standing room only-bum touch-neck tilt bus just in time for some tasty dhal baat. 

 There are not many horse riding traffic officers, but here is one!

 Raven and Heath walking along a quiet moment in Kathmandu

Busy Bus Butt Touch

We've ridden the bus numerous times to central Kathmandu and back, as well as once to Paten. It can be a 'standing room only' affair, and this morning's bus ride was exactly like that, a very busy, crammed ride. All of the local buses are privately owned, so there is no uniformity among them. There are about three sizes of buses painted different colours, and there may or may not be a small sign in Nepali script (that we can't read) on the front window, stating the destination. There are no route numbers because there is no municipal system. To catch a bus, one has to stand at the side of the road, in what looks like a random spot, because there are no bus stop signs anywhere in this country, and the bus stop is either anywhere, or by local knowledge. It depends where you are. Leaving Pepsi Cola we walk out to the main road and wait on the corner. Leaving downtown area we catch our bus at another corner, that itself is around the corner from a main bus area called Ratna Park.

To discover where the bus is going you have to ask the bus jockey if his bus is going to your destination. The bus jockey works in conjunction with the driver. The jockey is typically a younger man in flip flops who hangs out the side door of the bus yelling destinations, whistling, hitting the side of the bus and and taking fares. On a crowded bus the driver wouldn't be able to see his jockey, so they rely on a system of bangs. Buses drive on the inside 'lane' of traffic, while the jockey yells out the destination. It took a while for us to understand these calls, as the jockey will quickly string multiple sub- destinations before calling the end of the line one. He will bang on the outside of the bus when he wants the driver to stop to let a passenger on. He'll also bang to tell him to go on, and I have no idea how the driver tells the difference. The jockey is perched in the stairwell and will jump off frequently- walking beside the bus for a few metres while calling to the crowds to attract customers. The bus will start to pull away, and the jockey (in flip flops) will run beside before swinging himself up and neatly jumping back on board.

In peak hours, when is it standing room only, double the number of passengers as there are seats can be riding. The last bus we were on had seats for 24 passengers and another 24 (or more) were standing up. When it is that busy my bus joke is to ask Heath and Raven how many butts they are touching. The more butts we are touching (with our butts), the busier the bus! Hand rails have been welded to the ceiling and top of the inside walls for holding on, as the bus can lurch and stop without warning. Near the stairwell is typically an open space for standing room only, and most buses have seating up at the front next to the driver, who may be driving either a left or right hand drive. Heath is too tall for most of the buses, so if he doesn't get a seat, he has to stand with his head tilted to the side for whole the half an hour ride. 

 Heath's standing bus ride head tilt

 Raven crammed on the side of the seat, attempting to play on her Ipod..

There is usually music playing, varied from rocking Nepalese- Western fusion ,traditional Nepalese, Western or the radio. The dashboard typically hosts a mini altar- either a statue of a god, a rotating prayer wheel, dried marigold chains or pictures with various tikkas applied to or around them to ensure a safe journey.

The roadways in Nepal appear to have little order. When a small gap opens up then that is space enough for passing, and drivers, especially the motorcyclists will take the opportunity. It is not unusual for vehicles to be so close to the bus that if you wanted to reach your hand out the window and touch the riders, you could. I think the bicyclists are the boldest of the all. They ride at almost the same speed as the rest of the traffic, and think nothing of passing a larger vehicle, including a bus at very close range. Many of the bicyclists and cyclists are laden down with an assortment of bulky items. We have seen whole families on motorbikes; parents with small children perched on the front or in between the adults, as well bikes laden down with things like panes of glass, large boxes, or fresh vegetables hanging in plastic bags from the crash bars. Any thing you could imagine can be transported creatively this way.

None of this roadway chaos happens at great speed. Jay-walking is the norm in Kathmandu. There are so many bicycles, pedestrians, mopeds, small CC motorcycles, cars, trucks and buses on the road that the only way to cross a roadway is to wait for a small gap, then start boldly walking across, in front of oncoming traffic, which will honk to let you know that they see you. My strategy is to wait for a local to initiate the crossing, then make sure that I am beside and slightly behind them. If a vehicle is to slam into us, hopefully it would not hit me first.

The Swayambhunath Incident

Christmas crept up on us this year. There are no decorations, trees, or rain to make it feel wintery at all. It’s frosty almost every night now, but apart from the smog, the skies are clear most of the time, and it still gets up around 18-20 degrees. The time is flying by as we enjoy the comforts of Kathmandu. We had some new housemates when we got back from Salleri, and Raven especially enjoyed the company of some girls closer to her age than to ours. The daily morning yoga class was such a treat, but everyone has left for either home, warmer climates, or to Pokhara for the New Year’s Eve Festival. We aren’t very tempted by a 6-8 hour bus ride each way, just to go party. It’s pretty quiet around Pepsi Cola, but we splurged on some Christmas morning treats that we could consume instead of carry, and decided to go exploring. Vincent and I had gone to Swayambhunath, the Monkey Temple, before he left for India, but Su and Raven wanted to see it, and I certainly didn’t mind going back. It’s a beautiful place with sweeping views of Kathmandu, incredible, ancient temples, and loads of monkeys running and climbing everywhere! Afterwards, we would have a fancy Christmas brunch somewhere in Thamel, the tourist district, before heading home for Christmas dhal bhaat.

  We brought a few stale peanuts to coax the monkeys in for some photo opportunities, as I had seen many people do on my first visit. The rhesus macaques thrive in the treed hillsides surrounding the giant, golden spired stupa, with pilgrims constantly leaving offerings for the many Buddhist and Hindu deities providing a steady food source. There are some security guards patrolling with bamboo canes, keeping marauding hoards of monkeys in check. They can be very aggressive, and will bite and scratch readily, competing violently for food. We found some younger, independent and gentle examples to feed our peanuts to. The older ones are grabby, but weren’t too aggressive, allowing the babies to pick their own peanuts from our outstretched hands. Everything was peachy, and after running out of snacks, we parted ways. Su had a geocache to hunt down, so we descended towards the forest behind the main complex. There is a wishing well along the way, crowded with people tossing in coins, soliciting favors from the goddess in the center of the pool. We separated, so Su could wander and Raven and I could find some more cute monkeys to feed. We bought some slices of coconut from one of the many vendors, and went looking for a quiet spot to sit. On the path down to where we could see some benches, an older hungry looking monkey started eying and grabbing for the coconut treats in Raven’s hand.  She charged forward, stomping, hoping to scare off the rude little monkey. Instead of running off, it attacked Raven, leaping up and bouncing off of her chest. Wow, those things move fast! It might have been trying to bite her face, because she had a small red mark rear her lip that went away after a few minutes. I had to get between them because it was still shrieking and baring its teeth.  It stalked us until we could blend into the crowd up near the pond. I don’t think monkeys are going to be on the list of Raven’s favorite animals. She was pretty shaken up, but there was no broken skin, so no need for the nasty round of rabies shots.

  We decided to hide out on one of the ‘roof top’ restaurants at Swayambhunath, and have lunch overlooking Kathmandu. There is no central ‘downtown core’ that you might expect, even from humble Nepal, just a sprawl of buildings and isolated agriculture that disappears into the smog. Su had a decent veggie burger(sorry no buns, just bread), Raven had a cheese burger that seemed to just be a patty of melted yak cheese. I was sensible, and stuck with the chicken fried rice. It’s pretty hard to screw up fried rice. Su and I split a Christmas beer and worked at cheering Raven up. We ended up just heading back home on the bus, to feast on our Christmas goodies:  Red wine, Pringles, Toblerone, and rice and lentil soup. We all went to bed a little deflated, I think. Our first Christmas in a very strange land, far, far from home just wasn’t the same. We were missing our friends and family, and felt a long way away, even though Skype sure makes the world much smaller! With most of the other volunteers away, Raven has been keeping busy with school work, I have been teaching yoga at the school, and Su is, as usual, omnipresent.  We have a few things to do during our last few weeks in Nepal. We still need to get our Indian visas, but at least after three tries, the first step is complete. We need to extend our Nepal visas, so we have time to look for tigers and rhinoceros on the way to Buddha’s birthplace in Lumbini. Also, we still need to get over to Patan, one of the jewels of Kathmandu, home to some of the finest temples in all of Nepal. Our time here has gone by so quickly, it’s hard to believe that we’ve already been gone a third of our time away. There are many adventures to come in the months ahead, and I’m sure we’ll look back on our time here as a chaotic introduction to the developing world. The Nepalese are friendly, humble, and resourceful, and will always remind me of the community and spiritual values that have somehow slipped away from our culture.

Random Events in Nepal

The only thing that has been vaguely Christmas-y this year has been the mandarin oranges. They started appearing in the markets in Salleri, and by now they are getting sour again. I thought they were imported from China, but I have been assured they grow in Nepal, in the warmer southern regions. I only half believe this, but I suppose when we travel to Chitwan Forest and Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha, we'll see if there are any citrus trees. This may explain why we can buy a kilo for R80, the equivalent of 1$. They have seeds in them and are slightly smaller with a rougher peel than what we are used to. Oranges are the only fresh food we have in our diet, besides a random apple and the slice of carrot and a slice of radish with our typical twice daily daal baht.

Christmas breakfast looked like this: 

We each received a hard boiled egg. It appears the Nepalese aren't satisfied with just the boiling of an egg- they like to take it a step further and fry it in a bit of oil and spice after peeling off the shell. It does add another dimension of taste. Turmeric is cooked with all the vegetable curries, especially by Kumari, our homestay mother. My toothbrush is stained yellow due to the prolific amount of this spice in our food! We appear to be served eggs only when there are no other volunteers at the house. This may be a cost saving measure- or perhaps Kumari likes us best? She seems quite fond of our chori (daughter), Raven. 

Dec 26

We went to town for another early morning attempt at applying for our Indian visas. The night before, we filled out the very detailed forms online, and printed them off to hand in. Questions on the form asked about our parents' previous and current nationalities as well as our Nepalese, Indian, permanent and work addresses. We arrived at the entrance at 8am, and waited until the gates opened at 9am. It wasn't as crowded as it was last time, probably because we are in the middle of the Christmas – New Years week. Being first paid off, as our numbers were A3, A4 and A5 (we weren’t sure if we needed individual numbers or just one for the family). By 10am the ticket numbers started being called in rapid succession. The machine had broken. Most of the tourists took a chair and waited, after the officer behind the counter said to wait. I noticed a line begin to form in front of his wicket- people with higher numbers than us were being served before us. Some of them the attendant was serving, and others he sent away. I approached with my number and we began our process as a family. Unfortunately he found an error in our form. We had followed the advice of a previous tourist who told us she was turned away because her permanent address and her Nepalese address didn't match. We took a gamble and made both our addresses the one where we are staying in Pepsi Cola. Rumour was that if you were turned away because of an error on your form you had to come back the next day. This is such an inconvenience. When I asked for clarification, the officer said that as long as we came back before 12, with a fresh, correctly filled-out form, it would be OK.

We frequented the shop down the road that had retaken our visa photos last week. These guys make a killing off of people like us. We didn't have time to find an internet cafe with printing capabilities in Thamel, so we paid this business 300 rupees each to retype our forms online. As I was sitting in front of his computer wishing he would type faster, a motorbike helmet that was sitting on a shelf 1 metre above my head randomly and with no provocation fell and smashed onto the back of my head. He was kind and was apologizing, but I told him through my tears to not worry about it and type faster! In Canada, I may have gotten a discount in service for my pains, but not here. He kindly apologized again while handing me my R100 change from the R1000 bill. All things added in, getting our Indian visas in Nepal as opposed to Canada is still more affordable.

We squeaked in before noon, the second set of paperwork was accepted, and we were given a receipt with the date of January 4^th. On this date we are supposed to show up in the morning with our passports, hand them over, then return at the end of the afternoon to reclaim them with our valid visas.

Dec 27

One of the volunteer activities we have been involved with in Pepsi Cola was the painting of two murals at the school, C.B.I.A., Other volunteers, Tina and Karen, sketched the drawings, and Raven and I helped fill in the colours. The girls had great fun painting their faces and hands afterwards. The blue paint was oil based, so Raven had blue hands for a number of days. The murals are on the first floor of the school, on the bottom of the stairs, where all the big kids see them as they continue up to their classes, and the little junior kindergarten kids whose classes are on this floor see them on their way out to play or to the bathroom. “So nice” was heard many times by the curious smiling little faces watching us work.

One of Raven's school subjects fine arts. Distance education leaves this subject very open ended, but it is probably the most difficult subject to do while we are traveling as there doesn't seem to be enough time left in the day after the rest of her subjects. I also don't 'make' her do it, as I know she's not going to fail grade 7 because of an 'Incomplete' in art. Opportunities like the mural will also arise, which can be documented in photos and emailed to her teacher. Because we have a constant home now and easily accessible internet, she has been working industriously on her academics. 'Fingers crossed' that her math package arrives before the 15^th.... Some of her work, such as socials, involves creating 3 dimensional objects. We take pictures of the finished results and put them in her SIDES dropbox for marking. What did we do before the internet? For socials she's had to recreate a pyramid and a canopic jar with very limited resources. (See above) The clay used for the jar was left in a generic unlabelled plastic bag by a previous volunteer. We weren't sure what kind of clay it was, or if in fact it was clay, but we took the opportunity, slowly added water to it, and made clay. Raven created a replica of a canopic jar, a container used to hold a mummy's internal organs. When we showed Darcie her creation- she informed us that the clay was left for her, as it was to be used as a stomach settler, much like charcoal! Apparently when your stomach is upset you mix some with water and drink it. Oops! Who'd of thought?!