Nepal in Fall (a lame title)

There are multiple options for getting to Nepal from Varanasi. You can fly at a modest price, you can take a tourist bus to the capitol for about have the price of the flight or you can take the local bus nfor ten hours to the boarder, walk across and catch another local bus from there. We are intrepid travelers, makers of use of the local transportation, people of the people, travelers instead of tourists, so naturally we took the public bus. The guest house we were making use of recommended we take the tourist bus, as you might expect, and when that failed, they insisted that we use their taxi to get to the bus station at a cost nearly double that of the bus ticket its self. We passed on that too and had no problem what-so-ever finding a pair of rickshaws to chariot us to our departure point.

The bus ride to the boarder was less eventful. It was a long push in cramped space and we got into Sunauli as the sun set. The walk from the bus station to the boarder was brief and we crossed with a minimum of hassle. Negotiating the Nepali side was a little trickier, but not by much. We required passport photos, which we lacked. However, for an extremely modest price, we could photocopy our passports and use that instead.


The Nepali side of Sunauli is about as flea-bitten, depraved and dusty a town as I have ever seen and good only to pass through at as rapid a pace as possible. Feral dogs scrounged the streets for food, drug addled Nepalis and Indians worked various hustles and everyone attempted to separate you from you hard earned pocket money. We had to exchange our Indian rupees for Nepali rupees and were fleeced like golden sheep. I mean royally swindled on the rate. Then we purchased a bus ticket for Kathmandu at a slightly excessive price from an agent that seemed genuinely sorry to be doing it to us. Then we dealt with a drunken Nepali who admittedly hated Sunauli because he “drank and smoked too much.” We avoided him after that. We got to Kathmandu safely, though not one of us slept soundly for longer than maybe 30 minutes (it was a night bus). The road was sparsely paved and the seats were made for people who are six inches shorter than us on average.


We arrived in Kathmandu early in the morning and immediately headed for the Thamel part of town where all the other tourists stay, shop and arrange travel. We checked into the first hotel we could find that wasn’t too expensive, but still paid a lot more than we should’ve. We were promised hot water, but as it turned out, that hot water was only available when it was sunny because the entire town runs on solar power, which is great for the environment, and very respectable, but sucks when you are filthy from 20 hours of bus riding. We dealt with it and scouted out another, cheaper hotel. We spent the rest of the day getting ourselves together, gathering our wits and generally relaxing, resting and rehydrating. The next day we ventured out into the city to see what there is to see, which turned out to be much more difficult than we had expected due to the ineptitude of our map and the fact that every street in Kathmandu seems to bend slightly until you are going in quite the opposite direction of the one you intended. Also, there is a bare minimum of street signs. We first set out for Swayambhunath temple in the west of Kathmandu. The temple is affectionately called the monkey temple due to the number of monkeys that live on the hill that the temple is situated on. Somehow we ended up at Drubar Square where the city’s kings were once crowned and legitimized, and from where they ruled, or so our Lonely Planet tells me. If you enjoy being asked to take a tour repeatedly, this is the place for you. Don’t waste your time looking anywhere else. Durbar Square has more tour guides offering their services than tourists and travelers visiting. We passed. But we did pay to take a picture of a monk or Brahman or some such religious figure who had dreads he said he’d grown for 30 years. They were long. I also took a couple pictures of another similar man, but on the sly. The square its self was pretty exquisite, with extremely old pagodas and whatnot, all intricately engraved with images of various Hindu figures ranging from Shiva and Ganesh to Hanuman and Vishnu. The roofs all had dried grass growing out of them and the wood the structures were made of looked handsomely aged. It was nice.

From there, we headed to Swayambhunath and actually found our way there. The temple is atop a relatively steep hill and you climb a few hundred steps to get to it, but there are several benches along the way and monkeys to entertain you. The pictures we had seen of the stupa made it look stunning but they were not at all fair and could not capture the tranquil beauty of it. The white dome and golden spire are brilliant against the velvet blue of the empty sky. Even with monkeys screeching and taking food from tourists, people snapping photos and chattering on, the temple and stupa have an extremely peaceful feeling. The peace was only broken by a particularly large monkey that had staked his claim to an area and took offense when another monkey invaded it. There was a brief and terrifying moment when the monkeys, squabbling and shrieking, came tumbling toward where we sat. We narrowly averted being in the middle of it and were lucky to escape without rabies or any puncture wounds. It was
dangerous, I’m telling you. We walked around the base of the stupa clockwise, as you are supposed to, spun the prayer wheels and repeated om mani padme hum (hail to the jewel in the lotus – this is also what is inscribed on the prayer wheels). Atop the white dome are the watchful eyes of Buddha and the question mark-like “nose”, which is actually the Nepali number ek or one, and the symbol of unity of all life. It was quite a day.

The next day, we headed out to Bhaktapur, about 30kms outside of Kathmandu. We spent two days in this small town roaming the cobblestone streets and checking out the numerous pagodas which strongly resembled those in Kathmandu’s Durbar Square. In fact, the central area was also called Durbar Square. It turns out that there are Durbar Squares in most of the main cities of Nepal. I guess that’d be due to each city having its own ruler and each ruler living in a Durbar Square.

From Kathmandu, you can hardly make out the luminous mountains that are just beyond the valley, partly due to hills that obscure them but more so because of the thick smog that clouds the horizon. It was very disappointing. We had hoped that it would be different in Bhaktapur, but it wasn’t much. The only things that the city had over Kathmandu in this regard was a higher altitude and a different position in the valley. We could make out more of the awesome and jagged mountains but they were
still shrouded in dust and smoke particles. Also disappointing is the fact that I will not be able to stare in awe at the glory that is Mount Everest. It is impossible to reach a viewing point any other way than flight or trek, which is great because it protects the mountain, keeps it unspoiled and pristine, saves it from the hordes that would surely clutter it, me included, were there to be buses that would take you there. Once again, sucks for me but is good.

We are briefly in Kathmandu right now and head for Pokhara tomorrow. We will be staying at a yoga center for at least a few days and perhaps longer. The town its self looks spectacular, with a large lake and an excellent view of the Annapurnas. We have heard several excellent things about it and are really jazzed to spend some time there.

And now a side note about food. I have been eating Indian food and Nepali styled Indian food steadily from the moment we got into India and have been loving it. I’ve eaten paneers and dhals, rotis and naans, curries and chutneys, rice and raita, and loved them all, however, too much dhal gives you gas that is extremely foul and singes the nostrils. It smells like you hatched a rotten egg into a pan of burned butter and rotten garlic. I mean, it is awful, vile and despicable. Somehow, I keep ordering the dhal, despite this. It tastes too good and is easy on the stomach, no matter how violently it assaults the nose. Anyone who has been here can understand.


(For those wondering what the kids are saying in the video, they are say "Hilary Teacher is beautiful.")

Planes, Trains and Automobiles to India

Well, we made it. After two buses, three taxis, four subways, two planes and a train, all spread over more than 48 hours, we are here in Varanasi, India. We survived despite exhaustion and intermittent delirium, confused and uncertain travel plans, and of course, language barriers. The first thing that struck us upon arriving in Delhi International Airport (where we landed in India) was the poverty. It’s not so much its prevalence as it is obviousness and ubiquity. From the airport, we took a taxi to the train station. We had decided on our second flight that the best choice was to head to Varanasi and from there go to Nepal. We arrived at the train station early in the morning and had to wait for close to two hours before the tourist ticket office opened. The station its self is nothing like what you’d expect to see in the U.S. not that that’s surprising. What was somewhat surprising, at least for us, was the number of people who appear to live at the train station. There must have been more than 75 men, women and children sleeping in various places throughout the building, and everyone simply went about their business without paying them any mind. We had of course heard of the rampant poverty, but nothing really adequately prepares you.

Anyway, our train didn’t leave until 6:30pm so we had a considerable amount of time to use up before hand. We ventured through the throng of people that surrounded the train station, waving off offers of all kinds – I think I could’ve purchased a child or a kidney for a below market price, if I had wanted either, but it would’ve been too much of a hassle and our bags were full enough already. Straight across the street was a somewhat touristy area, though it was also a bit seedy. We spent the day walking around and eating at a rooftop restaurant where we almost surely wore out our welcome, but so it goes on the road.

Finally, departure time came and we boarded the train for Varanasi. The ride was simple and easy. We had purchased middle class sleeper tickets and the bunks were adequate. We shared with a pair of Japanese travelers and a pair of Indians. We got to Varanasi around 8am and got into a taxi. The taxis probably deserve a mention. They are beautiful little round-ish vehicles that look circa 1950s New York City, but they are either bright white or green and yellow. I love them. I want to buy one and ship it home. We took a nice white one to our hotel, the Yogi Lodge. We had thought we were going to the Yogi Lodge down by the Ganges River, but as we found out after checking in, the taxi driver had taken us to a different one. The one we’re at turned out to be better than the one we wanted to go to anyway. We made our way to the other one and found it cramped with shared bathrooms.

Varanasi is packed, same as Delhi. Again, like the poverty, nothing can adequately prepare you. The streets are absolutely clogged with cars, motorcycles, mopeds, bikes, rickshaws, carts full of fruits and veggies, cows and people. It is utter madness, especially at intersections. We spent most of our first day here getting acclimated to the chaos and traffic, and exploring the city. Varanasi is billed as one of the most holy cities in India because of its number of Ghats and its proximity to the Ganges River. There must be 30 or more Ghats all along the banks of the river and several temples within the city. Along the shoreline of the river runs a pathway with steps down into the water and there are people bathing (literally soaping up and rinsing off) and washing their clothes. Behind the path are the Ghats that range in style and use from prayer centers, to yogi centers to burning Ghats. There are two burning Ghats and you are forbidden to take photos at either one, so don’t expect any here, though we have visited both. At the first one, we witnessed the wonderful circle of life. A stack of wood with a shrouded body burned on the steps shortly before the water and directly next to it a pair of dogs were copulating. Now, I wish I could say the dogs were making wild and passionate love, however, that is not their way. It was more a quicky. A wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am (pardon the cliché). It did illustrate the cycle beautifully though.

The Ghats are somewhat better viewed from the water and to that end we arranged to take an early morning boat ride along the shore. So, at 6am we set out for the river where our guide, hired from our lodge, rented us a row boat and a guide and we set off into the great Ganges to pear at the Ghats and the people bathing in the holiest river. The sun was rising, red and cloaked, and the air was thick with smoke from morning fires. We scooted lazily along surrounded by hundreds of other tourists and travelers doing precisely the same. About an hour in, we saw something in the distance that resembled a dead body and as we approached we become more certain until the fact was undeniable. We asked our boat captain and he explained that there are five kinds of people that do net have their bodies cremated: Brahman, pregnant women, children, people killed by a bite from a cobra and lepers. This was one of those five. I have only seen one other dead body in my life and it was much more serene. This one was white and pickled, covered in a shroud except where the cloth had been washed away like around its tight, narrow toes and pail, thin scalp. It was ghostly and dead. Really dead. Not like the body I’d seen before at a funeral. That one was all rouged up and dressed to look like it was napping on the couch after Thanksgiving dinner. This one was not.

We moved on from there to a monkey temple – a temple dedicated to Hanuman, the Hindu god that resembles a monkey (I would call him the monkey god, but I don’t think monkeys are particularly concerned with religion being too busy with cleaning their mates and jumping from things to other things). It was alright. The monkeys that were everywhere were more interesting than the temple its self, if you ask me. That’s really about it thus far.

From here, we will head to Nepal. We should be in Katmandu by Sunday. Wish us luck. We’re having a great time and eating all the Indian food we can handle. I ate a vegetable thali and a half today alone. Go Ducks!

I will include more photos next time.

Moving On!

Well family, friends and felines (that means you Persia), I'm back to ramble, rant and write run-on sentences for to keep you abreast of what Hilary, Smith and I are up to. We're off for the road in little more than a week. We've eclipsed a year since we came to this fair-weathered nation and yet it doesn't seem hardly so long. I can't possibly recount everything that's happened in the past year, not simply because my memory doesn't have the capacity, but also because it would be downright droolingly boring and I wouldn't subject anyone to the minutia of everyday existence. It's just not that interesting no matter what country you are in. What I can say to cover that period of time is this: it was okay.


Next we are off to India and Nepal. Nepal is a recent addition to our itinerary. We didn't know whether or not we could cross into Nepal from India or how safe it is there until about a week ago, but it looks like a go. In fact, I think Nepal is our first destination upon arrival. We fly out to Delhi on November 10th and arrive in the morning, so we hope to make it to the border crossing that day. We'll firm it up this week. At this point, that's all we've got planned for Nepal, but we'll get it figured. From Nepal, we'll cross back into India over by Darjeeling. We're expecting Darjeeling to be spectacular and tentatively planning on staying there for near to two weeks. That's the way we like to do it. Pick a place and stay for a while to get to know it. We don't care for the mad, break-neck, scuttle. We're more dawdlers and loiterers, dalliers and leisurers. Anyway, if it doesn't work out there, it will somewhere else. Perhaps in the south.


So, that's where we're going. Now where we have been.


My sister Smith came to stay with us almost three months ago. She is in high school and doing her classes on-line. It's been great having her and she and Hilary have been getting along great. Smith will be accompanying us to India and on. She came right around the time of Chu Seok, which is a holiday here something like Thanksgiving, only instead of making a turkey, we make song peyon, Korean rice cakes. These cakes are not like the crisp round treats that come with buttered popcorn baked in or coated in carmel. Not the ones we enjoy in the west. These are glutinous, globular balls of rice paste with various sweetened things inside. Some have a mix of sugar and sesame that when cooked tastes a bit like honey, while others have sweetened red bean paste, which I find disgusting, or close to disgusting. Ghastly? Well, the tradition is that you make these confections. So, naturally, the school decided that we'd make them with the kindergardeners the day before we finished for the long weekend, however, no one bothered to explain to Hilary or me just how we were supposed to go about making these things. When it came time to make them with our kids, we were pretty much lost. To be fair, they assumed Hilary knew what to do and didn't give me a class, either because I'm a man or they thought me incompetent. Either way, I helped her and took pictures. It wasn't really a disaster, but while the other kids had bills, our kids had amorphous blobs and globules.


Also at Chu Seok, people wear the traditional clothing called hanbok. It is often characterized by vibrant colors and simple lines without pockets. The women's hanbok consists of a chima meaning a wrap-around skirt and jeogori which refers to a jacket. The ensemble is often called chima jeogori. The men's hanbok is comprised of jeogori and baggy pants called baji. Hilary and I wore normal clothes because a good hanbok is expensive, but most of the kids came dressed in them as you can see from these photos. Yeosu is still pretty small when compared to other cities in Korea, so I think the families are a little more tied to tradition. However, with the rapid growth of the factories here, that might soon change.


I spent most of the year teaching a private lesson in addition to my normal workload. The father of two of our students had been getting lessons from the man I replaced and I took them over. He is a really nice man named Mr. Kim and he took me out to dinner on several occasions. On one such occasion, he took me to the factory complex outside of Yeosu. The complex is around ten minutes drive from town and factories sprawl out over the terrain like mechanical spiders. They are mainly power, chemical and oil factories and they are all ensconced in masses of bending and turning pipes covered in bright white lights. It's a rather striking sight at night, what with the flame stacks burning off the excess gasses and the intensely brilliant bulbs all over. It's somewhat fantastical. Mr. Kim worked on one of the factories as some kind of planner, safety checker and trouble shooter. I'm not quite sure of his title right now. Anyway, he explained to me that many of the factories never shut down because they are far to difficult to restart. They run all day, every day, all year, which I thought was kind of wild.



Factories aren't the only attractions around Yeosu. The place is all hills and slight mountains, and every one has at least one trail to the top, if not several. And on all of these mountains, you will find Korean burial mounds. These mounds are commonly earthen and covered in grass, but in some places they are bade of stone. The largest mountain in Yeosu is called Chomchi Mountain (I made that name up because I don't know it's real name - chomchi means tuna) and is surrounded by apartments and rice paddies. The first time Smith, Hilary and I hiked it it was cloudy so I went back again later to get pictures and enjoy the view. By the time I got back there, they'd harvested most of the rice, but I managed to get some nice pictures none-the-less. It's a nice hike and goes almost straight up the side of the mountain. The trails around here aren't much for cut-backs, but then I never liked them anyway, and besides, the mountains are more hills anyway.


Hiking is very big here and Koreans have all the gear, even for a walk across town. I'm completely serious on this. It is a very common sight to see a Korean wearing a neckerchief, North Face jacket and pants, and a backpack, strolling down the street with a hiking stick in hand - and not some wooden thing they picked up from a park, but a high-end hiking pole or even two. They could be in the middle of the Patagonian steppe and be equally okay. They go all out for it, but then they're better prepared I suppose. They do seem to have better meals when hiking. I've seen a family at the top of a fair sized hill with a burner out grilling up some pork loin. I can't deny envy there, though I'm not big on pork per say.





Anyway, as we prepare to leave, I've been trying to reflect on the year and think of some grand coin of wisdom I came upon or some distinguishable moment of impact and I've got nothing, which isn't to say I didn't enjoy myself or see interesting things. I did however meet a lot of good people, mostly Canadians because they make up the majority of the foreigners here. I thought about giving a bunch of shout-outs here like some athlete on camera after a big win, but none of the people I would mention will read this save for maybe James and Brad (so, I'd like to give a shout out to my Edu Best homey, James and my Apple amigo One Ankled Brad). Working at Edu Best has been a great experience (that is a hideous cliche but I don't really know what else to say about it... that's kind of disappointing). We're going to miss the kids and teachers a lot. Hilary got really close with the youngest class, Hippo Class, and it's going to be sad to say goodbye to them. This is most of them. Hippo kids are around four years old and for most of them, Edu Best was their first experience at school so it has been really nice getting to watch them grow this year. When they first came, there were three kids that cried if I so much as walked by the class, but now they give me hugs and say "I love you." Hilary didn't have that problem. They loved her from the start. I'm getting a little choked up just sitting here writing this and thinking of leaving. They're just so damn cute. Anyway, I think they're the kids I'll miss the most. They were difficult for me because their language skills were so low but they've been great and they always give me something to laugh about at some point. They pick up the funniest things and bust them out on you at the most random times. Suddenly you'll have some kid telling you, "Josiah Teacher is monkey... I don't think so." Precious. Also, they'll say just about anything:


Well, I think that's about all for now. I wish I had more, but I don't think I do. Of course, if you have any questions, I'm happy to answer them, so feel free to send them. Otherwise, check back in in couple weeks for the latest.


I'll leave you with Moonie showing nostril and Robin showing monster face (Hippo Class):