I can't even begin to think of a title for this one...

List of accumulated items from our (somewhat) successful trip into Kathmandu is as follows:
- One traditional Nepali-style shirt for Kevin because he is got invited to a wedding =]
- Even more DVDs because they're so darn cheap (including How I Met Your Mother Seasons 1 - 3 [YES!], Across the Universe, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Henry Poole is Here, Martian Child, and some guy flicks for Kevin. At less than $2 a pop, I can't resist...)
- One beeeeeautiful sari that I had fitted last week and picked up today. Gonna wear it to the wedding as well =] Plus two custom kurtas, which are reeeeally preeeeetty. And a pair of matching dress shoes that I got for less than half the price the man was asking. I am a bargaining queen!
- Groceries from Thamel Supermarket.
- A layer of dust, grime, and who knows what else covering all exposed skin, hair, and garments.


Our day began when we headed to Banepa's bus stop. All the buses look alike, so to find out which one is heading to Kathmandu, we listen. There are men at each bus designated to holler the destinations of the buses over and over again and herd people to their appropriate transportation. Kind of hard to understand sometimes though, because they tend to mush all the words together. For instance, "Banepa!" is usually pronounced "Banepabanepabanepabanepa!"

We found our bus and got situated. Kevin was happy because the seats were spaced farther apart, so he actually had leg-room this time. But our good fortune abandoned us soon after when the bus ground to a stop about 20 minutes later and the driver turned to everyone and motioned them out the exit door. At the time, I had thought the bus had broken down. Later, we realized that someone forgot to inform us that there was a riot and a road-block on the main road to Kathmandu today. They just pushed us out and said nothing.

Unknowing to the predicament up ahead, we got out and found another bus. It was also "headed to Kathmandu" as well and the designated shouter quickly ushered us inside. We got to our new seats, but Kevin's knees were now up to his chin. This the the part where I actually like my short legs. They come in handy over here in Nepal =] Thinking this was the final ride into Kathmandu, we settled in. Designated Shouter Guy collected the usual travel fare from everyone without a word. But less than 20 minutes later--AGAIN--our new bus jolted to a stop. The driver turned to everyone and told them to go outside. Kevin and I demanded to be reimbursed for our travel fare, but the man refused to give us any more than 5 stinking rupees apiece. I asked a man outside, who appeared to know a little English, what was going on. He merely looked at me and said "You have to walk now. Walk to Kathmandu."

Seriously? Kathmandu is still about a 45-minute drive away. But we had no choice but to continue up the road a little bit, hoping there was another bus stop. But a couple minutes later, all we found was a barrier across the road, reinforced by people in military uniform. A thick funnel of black smoke was rising up beyond the next hill. A group of drivers and their taxis sat off to the side of the road, waiting for the chance to pounce. One man ran up to us and said, "You cannot get through. There is riot. Main road blocked. I take you to Kathmandu. Very cheap price!" Even after we agreed, he kept assuring us it was a cheap price. When they say that, I assure you, you are getting ripped off. Even Kevin knew this, but was in no mood to bargain and said yes. Even as we climbed into the taxi, he assured us yet again "You get very good price!"
Whatever.

We finally managed to get to our destination in Thamel, a good place for shopping and eating. We took a little time to fill up on Hawaiian pizza and blended mochas at Himalayan Java. Then we set out to buy Kevin's shirt, acquiring our random DVDs in various stores along the way, and then my sari and kurtas in New Road. I almost got my foot ran over by a rickshaw, had various necklaces and bracelets and mini chess-sets practically thrown in my face in order to get noticed. And each violent presentation was followed by "Miss! You like, yes? You want to buy, yes? I give you good price, yes?" I feel like saying "You are exasperating, yes?" but I normally say nothing and keep walking, because any if you give any sort of indication that you are interested (such as eye-contact or slowing down because they are in your way, or even breathing differently for that matter) then they are on you like flies to flypaper, and they are never going away...

I hate being a white tourist here. I might as well have a bullseye on my forehead. Geez... I've even received a couple "Excuuuuuse me, miss... You smoke hashish, yes?" What the...? Do I look like I smoke hashish? White Girl must have loads of money that that's what she's gonna spend it on: good ol' cannabis indica, which is surprisingly grown in abundance here, but only legal to smoke on one day--Shiva's birthday, I believe--and Shannon told us that everyone parades around Pahsupatinath (the local crematorium) naked and dances to super-loud music and sets off fireworks and well... you get the picture. Sorry that I have now emblazoned your minds with that horrendous sight, but it just shows you how crazy things can get here. It's such a sad situation. For instance, I saw a man (who was obviously not right in the head) walking down the road on our way to Kathmandu today, and he was was wearing about four or five thick coats... That's it. Apparently he thought the numerous coats made up for his complete lack of other garments. I guess he's well known for parading up and down the streets like that, because I have heard about him from other people, and hoping I would never actually see him...

To get on with the story, we decided to head back to the bus stop after our list was complete, hoping that the route back to Banepa was now clear. Someone said it still wasn't open, but that the buses were now taking the long route back. We hired a taxi to get us to the bus stop, who was blocking traffic to talk us into his cab. Cars began to honk with impatience, and a traffic officer started towards us. The driver still insisted on the higher price, but I knew he was stuck. Either he could keep arguing with us and get hounded by the police or accept and get outta there as fast as he could. He chose the latter with a frown. Hee-hee. No more ripping off the white tourists... I'm so good.

Back at the bus stop, we found our bus to "Banepabanepabanepabanepa!" and climbed aboard. Problem was, there were no more seats, so we had to stand with the five other people who were already standing. And Designated Shouter Guy kept pushing us back farther and farther into the bus to make even more room for more passengers. I grabbed the rail on the roof and started thinking about how much my feet already hurt. But a man in the back, my savior, smiled and offered me a seat atop his five-gallon bucket which was resting in the aisle. Why would he pick me? Crazy White Girl standing amidst the crowd. And he picked me. Maybe I like being a white tourist after all. Thanking him, I set myself atop the bucket and held Kevin's giant backpack in my lap. Poor Kevin was about 3 inches taller than the roof of the bus, so he was hunched over, and I think I once heard him mumble something about a temporary bout of scoliosis. Right after, the bus squealed to a sudden halt and my bucket seat and I slid down the aisle about two feet and into the mass of bodies. Everyone watched--Nepali-style-- with that soul-melting stare. Although they had more reason this time. I had squealed on my way down the aisle, just as loud as the bus. More and more people begin to fill up the cabin and when there was obviously no more room, all other passengers start climbing onto the roof.

The bus lurches forward again, helping me slide back to my original place. The bucket tries to tip over with every dip and bump, but I can't really go anywhere. I'm pretty much sandwiched in. Then I feel that something cold and wet is leaking from the lid of my bucket seat and dripping onto my foot. I pray to God that it isn't some kind of insecticide or radioactive slime. And I've attained this chronic coughing since my arrival in Nepal, and I now feel a bad tickle in my throat coming on. But where do I cough? My arms are pinned under Kevin's backpack, so it's either in someone's ear, or the back of someone else's kneecaps. I decide let go in Kevin's backpack. Meanwhile, Kevin is communicating Morse code to the people on the roof with his head. I can see he is now standing butt-to-butt with his neighbor, and turning a violent shade of red. I want to joke that this is his first "friendly" interaction with a Nepali stranger, and later I ask, "Did you get to know him?" He screws up his face in torment. "Too well..."

Later in the trip, the man who had offered me his bucket started up a conversation. When I informed him I was a volunteer in Banepa, he quickly asked, "Scheer Hospital?" I was surprised, because not many people know about Scheer. I said yes and he said his daughter is in Grade 1 at the school and his son Rupak works in the canteen. Quite a coincidence because Kevin and I know are getting to know Rupak pretty well. The man introduced himself as Krishna, and he was a really nice fellow. I just wish I could have been standing a little farther away when we talked, so that I wasn't staring at the gap that was his missing front tooth, or sprayed with spit every time he pronounced the letter "s". But still... Quite a neat coincidence.

Eventually we made it back to Banepa, and a drunken man stood at the bus exit and kept touching Kevin and slurring his speech. I just could only stand back and laugh hysterically. Seriously, the drunk people here are so funny. The Nepali language is quite intriguing, but it's even better when the person speaking it is flat-on-his-face drunk.

And there you have it. Yet another adventure into Kathmandu. Stay tuned for more.

Driving in Nepal

Pieces of text taken from Holy Cow!, a novel I am reading by Sarah MacDonald. I found it too funny and too true, because India and Nepal are very much alike.

"Everyone seems to drive with one finger on the horn and another shoved high up a nostril. The ring-road soundtrack is a chaotic symphony of deep blasts, staccato honks, high-pitched beeps, musical notes and a weird duck drone. It's as if Delhi [and Nepal is no different] is blind and driving by sound -- except it seems that many are deaf. Women are curled up on the pavement sound asleep, and a man is stretched out on the median strip, dead to the danger."

This is so true!!! Here's another piece about "the strict species pecking order in the traffic jungle":

"Pedestrians are on the bottom and run out of the way of everything, bicycles make way to cycle-rickshaws, which give way to auto-rickshaws, which stop for cars, which are subservient to trucks. Buses stop for one thing and one thing only. Not customers -- they jump on while the buses are still moving. The only thing that can stop a bus is the king of the road, the lord of the jungle and the top dog.
The holy cow.
...These animals clearly know how they rule and they like to mess with our heads. The hump-backed bovines step off the median strips just as cars are approaching, they stare down the drivers daring them to charge, they turn their noses up at passing elephants and camels, and hold huddles at the busiest intersections where they seem to chat away like the bulls of Gary Larson cartoons. It's clear they are enjoying themselves."

I just had to share these with you, because they are so true here in Nepal. It's the funniest thing. And I get to go back into Kathmandu tomorrow for Town Day and experience it all again.

The Day of Surprises

Rejoice! Rejoice!
I have finally managed to install Photoshop onto my netbook (which lacks a cd-rom). Now I can begin creating that web page for Scheer School. I am so proud. To celebrate I went to the canteen with Kevin after school and received a huge surprise...

Kevin ordered "finger chips", a.k.a. French fries. They looked so tasty that I decided to get some too. While waiting for our food it began to rain. Then it began to pour. Then that downpour grew so strong that I felt we would drown if we so much as stuck our heads out a window. And it all came down on the tin roof of the canteen, so none of the customers could hear their own thoughts let alone convey a simple order from the menu. And then that downpour turned into a lightning storm and hail.
That's right. HAIL.
And not an hour ago it had been sunny and in the 80s. Where the heck could hail be coming from? The weather here is so strange. Kind of reminds me of good old Oregon... It never ceases to amaze you. And I was indeed amazed. I love thunderstorms, but the hail caught me off guard. But at least the air cleared up for a little bit, so much that you could almost smell the rain in the air instead of dust and smog. I kinda liked this surprise.

And then there was another surprise...
During the storm, we enjoyed our meals in the canteen. At least, I had been enjoying my meal until I discovered that the ketchup I had been eating was rancid. Don't ask me why I hadn't noticed it before. Things just taste funny over here, so I took the weird taste for granted.
But then I smelled that ketchup bottle... Wham-O!

(Luckily, Kevin doesn't believe in condiments in any shape or form so he dodged a bullet there.)

I have since been dealing with horrendous tummy cramps and so on. I won't go into many more details. All I know was that my stomach was doing backflips last night and my body didn't like it.
This morning I woke up uber-hungry, so I managed to scarf a bowl of oatmeal like it was manna from Heaven. So far, only a little queasiness. I think I'm over the worst.

So here's a few random words of advice:
If you're in Nepal, carry an umbrella with you or you just might drown or get pummeled to death by hailstones...
And always, always, always smell that ketchup bottle before you use it...

Overstuffed

Today was Sabbath and I wasn't sure when services began. Someone told me that everything goes by "Nepali time" here so no one knows when things will begin or end. Kevin slept in til noon from being up so late the night before. I gave him a while to get ready and was informed that services usually begin around 12:45 or so.
So Kevin and I show up at 12:45 just in time for the main sermon and then the service is over. We almost missed the entire thing. Another woman told me services begin around 11. The pamphlet said noon. I have no clue what time to show up next week...
But the thing we did not miss was the enormous pot luck held in the canteen after services. There is a pot luck held every second Sabbath of every month in honor of the guest speaker that visits that week. Everything was vegetarian and quite good. I feel that I've gained a couple pounds from stuffing myself ( be happy, Dad ;D ). Kevin had told me he was not hungry before the pot luck began. But once everyone laid out their four different kinds of rice, mashed potatoes, baked beans, veggie loaf, mixed lentils, cucumber salad, daal, noodle salad, veggie chili, cookies, crackers, Nepali potato chips, tangy yogurt, and Shannon's CHOCOLATE CAKE from Katmandu, he couldn't resist. He dug right in.
I feel like I will never eat again... nor do I ever want to see another piece of chocolate cake ever again (or maybe for the next 24 hours, whatever comes first).
I feel so full I must now take an afternoon nap and lay around the house for the rest of the day trying to digest...
Gotta love Sabbath here. =]

Stomach vs. Brain

WHY?! Curse you, vile monstrosity! Why must I be so dependent on you...?
I don't know whether I feel like crying or screaming every time I light a match and turn on the gas stove to heat up yet another pot of water. The burner sizzles and makes an attempt to scorch my fingertips in revenge, for I have awaken the fiery beast from its deep slumber.
Honestly, I'd much rather leave the thing alone, but my stomach tends to control me in my moments of weakness and I'm getting tired of crackers and peanut butter... My body goes numb as my stomach leads my hands to that matchbox to light up that foul stove, hoping for a serving of instant mashed potatoes or noodles, and all the while my brain is pleading "Please no! No more burns! No!"
But my stomach ignores my brain's pleas. Stomach tends to ignore Brain quite often, and the Body pays for it just as often.
"Don't eat that! You could get sick!" Brain warns.
"Ice cream can't make you sick! Ever!" says Stomach and commands gullible Left and Right Hands to buy a half-melted ice cream cone from a questionable-looking vendor and his cart on the side of the road. An evil clown is painted on the side of the cart, half faded and half covered in dust, pointing at an ice cream in his hand with a menacing grin. But Stomach doesn't care. Does Stomach ever really care? When standing in line at Home Town Buffet, who always wins? In one corner there is Brain, who advises Stomach at all times "Modest portions... Modest portions..."
And in the other corner, Stomach yells "Screw this! I'm gonna eat every freaking thing in this buffet! Just watch me!"
Next morning, after eating the ice cream, the Body is paying dearly for the brash decision and cursing stupid Brain for not taking a stand. Stomach is aching, but the Body and Brain fear it will never, ever learn its lesson...
Who will win the next battle...? Your guess is as good as mine...

Our First Trip via Local Bus

Yesterday Ram, the man in charge of volunteer visas, told us that we needed to go with him to Kathmandu to renew our visas, which were long past their expiration date. Having been in Pokhara and soaking up the sun, listening to live music and sipping ginger tea, important things seem to melt away and seep into the back of your mind. But getting back to Scheer, reality slapped us in the face, and Ram seemed irritated but nonetheless remained calm and took us on our first trip via local bus into Kathmandu...

It was an interesting trip. I lucked out and found a window seat before someone could steal it. Shannon sneaked in next to me. Kevin's legs were too long to fit behind any seat, so he sat at the back of the bus, in the middle of the row of seats with his legs in the aisle. The trip was fair enough--30 rupees or less gets you to any number of places between Banepa and Kathmandu. That's about $.40 US. We are dropped off in the middle of Kathmandu about an hour and forty-five minutes later and head to the Department of Immigration with Ram. He gives us the proper forms and we fill them out. When it's our turn at the counter, Ram smiles at the little man who is stationed there and talks with him in Nepali, all the while we are praying that we can save face with the Nepali government and receive our new tourist visas. We did receive them, however, we were still saddled with a heavy fine and giant frown from the little man across the counter, who had barely flashed us with more than a single glance the entire time we were there.

Later we met up with Shannon in Thamel to do a little bit of shopping. We had lunch at Himalayan Java (THE best blended mochas EVER!!!) , walked over to the Last Resort office and received our bungy-jump DVDs, and then took our fabric to a seamstress to be made into kurtas (the traditional Nepali outfit). We also saw some amazing material for making saris (the traditional Indian outfit) while in the shop. So, being the girls that we are, we each bought one and got fitted. My kurtas and sari should be ready Wednesday and I'm very excited. It took us so long to go through all the sari material that we kind of forgot about Kevin sitting in the corner of the shop, bored out of his mind. So we promised him we'd let him go to his gurkha knife shop to look at his "manly knives". All-in-all, it was a productive trip into Thamel.

The return trip to Banepa via local bus was definitely more memorable than our first trip into Kathmandu. Shannon showed us to the bus station and then left us to go back to her guest house in Thamel. I wasn't so lucky in finding a window seat on the bus this time, so Kev and I squished our way past everyone to the back of the bus and sat down in the two available seats in the back row. There was a man on my right who kept making a guttural noise before hocking loogies out of his window. It was hot and for some reason he only preferred to keep the window open a fraction of an inch, enough to stick his muzzle out to spew, but to prevent any resemblance of a strong cool breeze from reaching me. I begin to sweat profusely. To try to divert my attention from the occasional "AAAAAACH... PUH-TOOEY!" I try to read my new book that I bought in Thamel. But the light steadily dims because it is evening and I can hardly read more than one chapter. More people begin to get off at each stop and when the man and woman to Kevin's left squeeze past him to get off, Kevin and I fight for the window seat. Kevin wins.
I squeeze in next to him to be as far away from Loogey Man as I possibly can... And yet, my nightmare has just begun.
All remaining daylight has disappeared and I must put my book away. The super-dim cabin lights come on, just strong enough to reveal what we have been breathing for the past hour--a brown cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. In the dim light, I can still see those million giant particles wander ever so close to my nose, teasing me... I hold my breath as long as I can. A man who has been standing in the aisle for the past hour suddenly sees that there are two vacant seats next to me. He makes his way to the back, and is jostled about with every bump we hit. He manages to elbow every person in the face who has the pleasure of sitting in an aisle seat.
Does he decide to sit in my former seat, next to Loogey Man at the other window? No.
Does he split the difference and sit in the middle with room to spare on each side? No.
Does he decide to practically land in my lap and use me as his backrest? Yes.
Seriously, he is uncomfortably close, and keeps inching closer with every dip and pot-hole. So now I am stuck shoulder to shoulder (rather, shoulderblade to shoulderblade) with Kevin and this stranger, who, thank God, does not give any hint of B.O. just yet. In fact, he's nicely-dressed, slacks and sandals and all. Still, I am more than mildly uncomfortable. Kevin ceased to notice my predicament when he conveniently put on his headphones and began rocking out to his heavy metal. I decide to follow suit and move to grab my purse below my seat. My neighbor is almost behind me now... I pull out my own iPod, and feel that my every move is being watched.
You know... That's the problem with the people here. They don't just glance at foreigners, they full-on STARE, with no regard for courtesy whatsoever. It's enough to make me fee l like I'm the size of a pinpoint, the way they scrutinize every facet of my being. It's like they're searching for my soul or something... So irritating. It's something I feel I'll never get used to...
So, I try to ignore my neighbor, and succeed for only a couple of minutes until he pulls out his cell phone and begins yelling into it.
"Hallo?! Wha...? 'Hallo?!"
Any louder and he won't need the phone. I can hear him through my earphones, and believe me, I turn them up so they are loud enough to even drown out the cheesy Euro-Funk that is expelling from the bus speakers. Yet I still hear him from his cozy nook behind my back... Each of his four conversations begin with that phrase "Hallo?! Wha...?!" and then he surrenders and hangs up. Eventually, Loogey Man and my friendly neighbor get off at their bus stop, not a moment too soon. I thankfully grab the other window and breath in some cool (although not so "fresh") air. Banepa arrives, and we walk home.
What a day it has been...

Gas for the stove = Shmorgishborg at home!

Finally found a maintenance worker on the hospital campus to bring us a tank of gas for our gas stove. The one that had installed for us to begin with was on its last fumes and went out in a fizz of glory the other night. So a nice little maintenance man dragged up the enormous tank to the second-floor to our home. I still find it so funny when anyone removes their shoes before entering our house, when in the States people post warning signs about removing shoes. Everyone here just politely shakes their shoes off and walks right in. It's not uncommon to see ten or more pairs of shoes outside the doors at the Red Cross building or our little church during services.
Anyhow... We now have gas and can boil our own water and make FOOD!!! Shannon and Kevin and I had a movie night in celebration of Shannon's last night at Scheer and we made instant mashed potatoes with instant onion gravy and corn chips and salsa, a real shmorgishborg! So tasty. Our first meal in our new home. And we watched Brian Regan and Russel Peters on Kevin's laptop to celebrate it all.
Fun night... I am now going to clean up a little bit so the bugs and mice won't find our leftovers in the night, and then go to bed.
Goodnight all. <3