Rangi Changi Kathmandu

Thoughts on the last night in KTM

creatingcarrie — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 17:23:13 +0000

Tonight is my last night in Kathmandu, and I’m feeling a million different things. Sad to be leaving both Nepal and the friends that I’ve made here. Excited to see India. Excited also to get back to NYC (eventually). We’ve had a busy last few days with presentations and papers to finish.

In our semester course, the identity of Nepal was hard to grasp. It is multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-ethnic. It is rangi changi. I remember all of us asking, “Who is Nepal?” After eight weeks here, I am not sure I could tell you. I know. Well, I know as much as I can know in eight weeks spent primarily in Kathmandu, but it is hard to put into words. I can try to describe it by analogy:

In New York, if you walk down an avenue, any avenue, for long enough (which will not be long at all), you will hear a thousand mother tongues and see a thousand different people, all New Yorkers. There are days when you find yourself in the middle of this Avenue of Babble and those sounds flow over you and through you. And then it passes and you are left walking and suddenly silent (you were part of the melody too). It is one of those moments when you feel completely part of the city, mixed in with the rest of the world.

Who is Nepal is like that feeling of not one thing but many and only grasped through living it. I have been a guest here, and I am sure there thousands of things that I do not understand. Perhaps I will be lucky enough to return to keep discovering and defining and redefining Nepal.

Rooftops and Reflection

kiminktm — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 19:00:14 +0000

“For the love of God please take the local bus and insist upon sitting with the locals up on the rooftop.” – David Korn, personal friend and on-call guru

Riding the bus rooftops; apparently the most important thing to do on my visit in Nepal, spoken by one of my wise friends who had visited Nepal for the past three summers to teach English in Buddhist monasteries, find the best cup of Nepali tea and apparently, ride on many, many bus rooftops. When I asked him for a list of things to do and people to see, the riding of the bus roofs quickly rose to the top of the priority list. Although he had always been a spiritual fellow, this was the first time he had mentioned the man upstairs so I knew not to take the suggestion lightly. Accordingly, prior to leaving the United States, I made it my mission to ride on the top of a roof of a bus, or be prepared to live with the consequences of knowing I missed out on something big. Much to my surprise, after many bus trips through the countryside and many missed opportunities to ride on the roofs, the occasion finally presented itself on the (seemingly) never-ending ride to Chitwan National Park.

Originally, I thought riding on the rooftop of a bus, in Nepal, with the landslides and the too-close-for-comfort passing of vehicles and the cliffs and the rain and the fallen bus on the side of the mountain on the way to Nuwakot was a suicide mission waiting to happen. A death wish for sure. A crazy “When in Nepal…” decision with the potential to go very, very wrong. I had been talking about it since the day I arrived but knew it wasn’t exactly a Nobel Prize winning idea. Yet there I was, on the roof of the bus on my way to Chitwan, with the wind blowing in my hair and a smile on my face stretching cheek to cheek. After that moment, I could finally cross it off my to-do list, and see for myself what all the rage was about. Needless to say, my friend was correct, and it was an incredibly enjoyable and reflective moment amidst the horns of other vehicles and kids waiving on the side of the road. Somewhere between the mountains in the distance and the steel bars too close for a comfortable ride, a few moments arose where I was able to stop and think about all that experiences I have had in my first trip to the country.

I remember my first blog was all about the chaos and the contradictions and the surprises and adjustments seemingly inherit in Nepali society and operations. On the bus rooftop at the end of the two months however, I set my eyes and thoughts on a completely different perspective of Nepal. This perspective was much deeper and peaceful than the original thoughts that had run through my head upon arrival to the country. It was nice to look back and think about how at first, everything took me by surprise and caught me off guard in a shocking kind of way. Even the clouds and the mountains that I loved so dearly from the very beginning stopped me in my tracks because I had to document them, I thought it was the only time I would see something that beautiful and so I had to stop to show others so they would believe me back at home. On the bus however, I began to realize how much I had adjusted to, how much felt normal about the life I had been temporarily living, how all the little surprises had transformed into everyday life, and soon I would have to transition back into the NY minute I spoke so much of on arrival.

Once again, traveling has forced me to re-acknowledge my appreciation for the capacity of people to adapt to new environments and situations out of the norm. Overall, I think my peers and I have done a pretty amazing job. We got in touch with our inner-teenage selves with newly imposed curfews and the guilt that arose when we happened to be late. We ate momos and dal baat until we couldn’t eat anymore, and washed it down with fresh lemon sodas the majority of us came to love so dearly. We squatted in toilets next to signs telling us to hurry up because 2.4 billion people wanted to use it and rode elephants through a jungle like it was another walk in Central Park. Out of all it however, the rooftop bus ride is up there on my list. Whether my intent was to take my friend up on his advice or simply escape the heat of the confined walls of the bus, it was a much-welcomed moment of reflection on the time that has certainly flown by me in Nepal. As I climbed back down the ladder to suit-up in my river rafting gear, I realized as much as I’m ready to go back to New York, I’m certain a second visit to Nepal is somewhere in my future too. After all, while some seek enjoyment in the fact that they know they will be returning home after traveling, others seek enjoyment in the prospect of coming back.

Reflections

tobianeufeld — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 18:34:01 +0000

The Kathmandu Guest House, situated in one of the rare quiet corners of this City’s chaotic Thamel district, has become the chosen refuge within which I will analyze my research findings and write my final paper. Sitting here on the patio, gimlet in hand, with a dear friend working diligently across from me, I can’t help but let my mind wander to the diverse range of experiences I’ve had over the course of these last two months. The moments of joy, the challenges, and the lessons learned are all tangled together in a mess of memories that I’m sure will distill with more clarity in the weeks and months to come.

Our introduction to Kathmandu began with a bang. Amanda, our skilled program coordinator, quickly gave us an overview of the myriad things this city has to offer – not only the food, music and people, but also how to cross the seemingly anarchic streets without getting smashed by a motorbike and where to find a bacon cheeseburger that would rival the best of New York’s boutique burger joints. We were quickly educated in the importance of carefully placed footsteps (sinkholes, puppies and poop!) and to keep our ears guarded against the piercing horns that permeate the soundscape of city streets. We often learned lessons the hard way, too. Maxi dresses, the kind that flow gracefully to your toes, are not practical and will collect everything the street has to offer, dusting your ankles with soot and other joys that will remain unnamed. Watermelon juice, though delicious, has crippling effects that will test your sprinting skills and keep you in close proximity to a bathroom for days. Do not approach the monkeys.

The education I acquired from the streets of Kathmandu was augmented by my six week stay with a Nepali family. I will miss my morning cup of warm sweet chia (tea) and my host mother’s buckwheat pancakes with spicy tomato mint sauce. While at dinner, my host father, slowly sipping his evening glass of whiskey, would often tell me nightmarish tales of the poisonous snakes, spiders and scorpions I was bound to meet while in the jungles of Chitwan National Park. “Shake your shoes out in the morning,” he would warn with a chuckle. “Shake them once, twice and even thrice to get the biters out!” I developed a bit of a phobia prior to that weekend trip, but was ultimately prepared when I saw a snake hanging from the rafters of our river hut (scream and run). Walking home through the evening streets of my neighborhood was always interesting – friendly kids shouting ‘hello!’, dimly lit butcher shops distributing dinner to local residents, grandparents sitting on stoops monitoring the movements of little grandbabies. The telltale ring of the local Chundevi temple always signaled that I was close to home.

This summer was peppered with moments of sheer fun and moments that were quite challenging. My internship with an organization for migrant women workers gave me the opportunity to see first-hand the hardscrabble work that is being done to empower and protect women who are vulnerable to trafficking for both labor and sexual exploitation. Through interviews with returnee women workers, I unpacked and examined the dark side of foreign labor; when processes of trafficking intersect with and corrupt the migration process. Their stories, though unique in many ways, share common threads of deceit, exploitation and abuse. I also heard very positive accounts from women who have worked abroad. My time with these women has brought to life many of the themes that we explored in our preparatory course, Society and Politics in Nepal. Issues of caste, class, ethnicity and gender in Nepal have now become tangible for me as I’ve seen and felt them in various ways during my travels around the country. In the coming week I will try to bring together the data that I’ve collected not only to map the relationship between women’s migration and trafficking in Nepal, but also to look at what interventions can be employed throughout the labor migration process to ensure that women are empowered to pursue foreign employment that is safe.

My time in Nepal has been quite the experience. I’m in the home stretch with just a week of writing to go. After it’s finished I’ve carved out some time to relax and reflect in Pokhara where I’m sure the lessons of the last two months will emerge more concretely. In the meantime, my second gimlet has arrived. Cheers, Nepal.

Solutions Create More Problems Which in Turn Create More Solutions Which in Turn Create More Problems

tbahri17 — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 16:50:39 +0000

I always knew that research was the attempt to answer questions that no one has asked before. Perhaps questions that no one has had the expertise, knowledge, and tools to be able to answer or the questions that no one has ever dared to ask/answer in the past or simply questions that were of no interest to anyone. Having grown up in a family of doctors and PhDs, I often heard the term “research” without really thinking about the true definition of the word. I associated it with in depth thoughts, analysis, long sleepless nights and impossible questions that my parents were constantly wondering about. Despite not fully understanding the concept, I knew in the back of my mind that it is something that I wanted to pursue. I wanted to solve this “unknown”. Hence, I was always drawn to the world without really understanding the underlying process that it takes to be a true “researcher”. Although most of my family has chosen the route of science and mathematics, I always took an interest in the “people”. I was always fascinated by different people, different cultures and always wanted to understand the differences in how people truly live, how they change over time, and how societies evolve not only within their own borders but also globally as one. As such, the development concentration seemed very appropriate for me to pursue. Upon joining the team of Nepal IFPers, I was very excited to finally experience my own independent research. I was excited at the thought of not watching my parents write-up their findings but picturing myself solving those mystery questions and making my own analysis and conclusions about them.

On the field, I quickly found out that social science research was a complete different ball game than solving advanced math equations or looking under a microscope for the answers to cancer. My challenges were dependent on reality vs. lies. My research was completely dependent on the accuracy of the answers that people were given me and how likely will they let me get familiar with their world. This was dependent on so many factors such as who is present during these interviews, who do these people think they are speaking with, what institution does the researcher represent and how is that going to make a difference in their lives? Unfortunately, the likeliness of unbiased interviews while conducting social science research is very rare unless I get to know the people on an intimate level. I also learned that I have to account for (and attempt to avoid) many biases, including my own. People will attempt to influence my perceptions to serve their own agendas. For example, when I informed one of the managers of my research project and asked to meet with people from the village he selected a very specific sample composed of mostly Brahmins and Chhetris who have been very successful with microfinance, leaving out other castes and classes. Overcoming that obstacle was a challenge, but Suniti and I got on motorcycles and chased more people for my interview:) Working around the challenges was very insightful.

Despite the challenges, the experience was extraordinary. l learned to adjust to different situations and adapt in order to produce results. I could never have learned this in a classroom setting or read about it in any book. An important lesson I also learned from the experience is that research only finds solutions to more problems which could potentially lead to future research projects. In this complex world in which we live in, there will always be more questions to the solutions we dabble with..
I can honestly say that this was an important step for me in my future career. I loved Nepal, the people, the experience, and I feel privileged to have been part of this program.

Show Some Love

anthonywille — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 12:54:42 +0000

I left Blue Horizon Hotel at 11:30 a.m. I was going to my homestay to pick up my suitcase and some other things I had left between the move out and the weekend in Chitwan. While carefully tiptoeing around puddles on the way I had an epiphany, I should call my host family to see if they would be home! I thanked my brain for working so early in the morning; my host dad told me they would be out for the day. We decided I should come over the next morning to pick up my stuff and have lunch. Not bad, one last day of homemade dal bhat. Problem was most of my stuff was in that luggage. I was dodging the puddles with the gross blue shower sandals the hotel had provided because I didn’t have socks and my flops were at the homestay. I also needed toiletries as bad as I needed a shower, so I decided to go pick some things up while I was out and the stars were lining up. On the way back, a man looked at me and said “Tashi Dilek! You were in Lhasa, I know your face! You were in Lhasa!” I was taken aback and didn’t know what to do, long weary and suspicious of these sorts of encounters, so I ignored him. I turned the corner and kept walking. But he followed me, once again exclaiming “Tashi Dilek! You were in Lhasa, I know your face! I know your hair, you have short hair, you were there with your friends.” As he was talking I was trying to simultaneously listen and size up the situation. It was, after all, a long shot for him to say he saw me in Lhasa, and he seemed quite excited about the fact. On the other hand, to say “you were there with your friends” wouldn’t have been much of a stretch, but I couldn’t resist my natural inclinations. I said I was recently in Lhasa, and what a beautiful and complicated experience it was. In Namaste form he grabbed both of my hands, “I am…what is your name?” He grabbed my head and put his rather large cranium against mine. It was certainly an odd moment with a stranger, but one that at the time seemed very, very special. With a happiness that was startling he grasped my hands, and told me again he knew my face. Then he said, “but the Chinese,” and turned in pain. I had to agree, and when I started talking about it he asked to go somewhere in private to discuss the situation. Still unsure, I let up a little. This was patented behavior in Tibet. I reminded myself to stay on guard, but decided to ask him to go for tea. I suggested the place we were standing in front of. He asked, “is it Chinese?” I told him I didn’t know for sure, but I had been there a few times and the whole staff was Nepali, so I didn’t think so. He agreed to go. We walked upstairs. He said it was too packed, so we went up another floor and found an empty room. When we sat down his paranoia became palpable. This was something I had experienced firsthand while in Tibet. He looked under the table for microphones. No microphones. He put the necklace he was wearing around my neck, said thank you, and that it would help me in whatever I did and wherever I went. We went on. He had been in the monastery since he was five years old, but around a month ago his parents had been murdered by the Chinese government. He then paused in a silent and unmistakable pain, as if he wasn’t being stabbed in the chest. He pushed the thought aside with a swipe through the air, sat silent and reflective for a brief moment, and then reached across the table and grabbed my hands. He asked about me, what I was doing here, how long I have been here, and where I was from. I told him. Then he lifted up his hand to show me the crusty and fully exposed nail bed on his index finger. “The Chinese,” he said. He then lifted up his foot to show the same thing on his toes. It was difficult to be there at that moment. I asked him how he got into Nepal, but while talking the buttons on my unlocked Nepali cell phone were pressing against my pants and beeping. “What’s that?” It was an anxious moment. I assured him it was just my phone, so we proceeded. He had been in Nepal for ten days now. He told me he had walked over, but was apprehended at the border. The guards on the Nepali side didn’t alert any of the authorities, instead they told him he would get the documents he needed on the Indian border as he made his way down for a pretty hefty fee. As the conversation went on there was some serious talk, usually conducted in an uneasy whisper and with a great deal of pain. To lighten the mood we sprinkled in some small talk of sorts, he said things along the lines of “Americans have big hearts, Obama doesn’t care the Chinese are angry for meeting the Dalai Lama.” There were also many silent moments, many times where he just grasped my hands and smiled. His ultimate destination was to a U.S. city to meet with 10 or so other monks, where they will tell the stories that need to be told. The Dalai Lama would be there, and he wanted me there too. He asked for my email and when he got to the States, he would get into touch with me and we would meet again, and when we did we would have a big embrace. He made the motion. It was a strong embrace. He told me he needed help financially. Ah, yes, I knew it was coming from the beginning; it was only a matter of when. So here I was confronted with a tough decision. Do I, perhaps against better judgment, write down on a piece of paper my name and contact info? Do I give some money? Was I being taken for a ride? Maybe, but in this situation I’d rather be wrong on the right side. I paid for the tea, gave him my email and number, and 210 rupees. It wasn’t much, I still had to be careful. But more than that I had to show some compassion and trust that his story was real. Nearly 27 years on this earth has given me at least a little insight into nonverbal communication, and his spoke louder than any of his accented words. Missing finger nails and the pain on his face when he talked of his family or the Chinese presence just seemed too real, and the happiness and joy he showed when asking about me, when reminding the both of us that he had seen me in Tibet and thanking the Buddha for being together now was all enough for me. And if I was had, if I see him later riding down the street on a motorcycle with a smartphone in hand, I won’t even care. I would do it again, and besides, he’d deserve it for giving me an Oscar winning performance. At the stairs on the way out he reminded me that I came in with a plastic bag. Ah, right, my shampoo and face wash. Somehow I had forgotten about those. When I got back he stayed at the top of the stairs, proceeding slowly and several steps behind me. When we got to the second floor he stopped, giving me an intent look and Namaste hands. I took the cue and gave it back. On the way down I turned around, and we repeated the process. When I got to the sidewalk he started down, one last look and one last Namaste. And that was that. Good luck friend.

A little bit of reflection

alexiscs — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 11:52:52 +0000

This past weekend we made the trip to Chitwan’s Island Jungle Resort to reflect upon our time in Nepal, the good and the challenging; more importantly to raft down a river and ride elephants. My time here in Nepal has certainly had its up and downs. From an academic perspective, I think I spread myself too thin trying to accommodate a part-time internship along with independent research which did not correlate with each other. I think I could have been more effective if I chose either interning full time or researching full time while editing one day a week at a newspaper or NGO. As frustrated as I got with this balancing act and not being able to accomplish what I wanted, I need to remember that this trip has been a learning experience. Even if things did not go as planned, that is part of the experience, and I can turn these negatives into positives as long as I have learned from the frustrations and mistakes.

My research this summer is to look at the politics of naming Nepal’s 10-year violent conflict and its repercussion. I think that the most valuable lesson I learned is that it is okay to have an opinion regarding sensitive issues. While writing my op-ed I struggled with the notion of whether or not it was okay to have an opinion about such a complicated national issue as someone who is not only unaffected by the conflict, but does not even live in Nepal or have anything to lose. In the end I wrote an op-ed on my true thoughts regarding the conflict; the bottom line is the importance of remembering why it happened, remembering who lost their lives and why, and furthermore addressing the issues so not only will such a conflict not happen again, but make sure that the human rights violations as a whole get addressed.

I am very interested in the notion of transitional justice: what it is and how to use it affectively. I would like to find a job next year in that field. Through my own research and working at INSEC I have learned that I need some kind of training and experience with people who have gone through traumatic events-living through experiences that I cannot even fathom.

On a different note, we all have officially moved out of our homestays upon our return to Kathmandu from Chitwan. My homestay experience was overall positive; the hardest part had to be the fact that I had home in time for dinner before my host parents got too worried! While they were nice and only meant well, it took some time to get used to having to be accountable to someone again after living mostly on my own for the last 5 years.

I already find myself preparing to be in New York, looking for roommates, an apartment, setting up weekends to visit family and arranging a fun weekend in the city with my mom. This next week is jam packed with wrapping up our research, internships, and more importantly Kathmandu as a whole. We are all experiencing a new ‘freedom’ from our homestays by staying out past 8pm and living life a little on the ‘wild side’. The end of this trip will go by in a blur, the excitement mounting to return home. Once we all get our New York fix I am sure we will be itching to get out of the States for another trip and will remember some of the great times that we had in Nepal.

A Lesson in Democracy

ninogpia — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 09:04:24 +0000

Bhaktapur- Allow me to set the scene….this perhaps odd yet intriguing scene. A group of young people, mostly students and young professionals, are prioritizing the Constitution, starting from 1 and ending with 30, with each proceeding number signifying the amendment’s significance. A group of 16 youth were divided into three groups, each having to review, analyze and reflect on their chosen Constitution, as well as incorporating any amendments they wish to see in their finalized national Constitution. So you might ask yourself why a group of youngsters are partaking in such an exercise. Didn’t a group of governmental officials, reputable and trustworthy I’m sure, already make the Constitution and its corresponding amendments that guide everyday life to a bigger and brighter future? Wait a minute. That’s right! This isn’t the United States. This is Nepal. Nepal doesn’t have a Constitution. As an observer, and at times a clueless participant, during a youth retreat titled Political Culture, Democracy and Society organized by one of Nepal’s most active youth organizations, Youth Initiative, I found myself perplexed yet filled with an unfamiliar sense of wonderment. All of the training workshops, lectures and exercises seemed proverbial, almost as if I was blasted back to the past in one of my social studies courses, a required course I probably at the time dreaded during that adolescent haze we call middle school, but this was amongst a different crowd. A crowd more eager and attentive to participate in every activity and to listen to every lecture. Nepali youth are clearly different than what I am used to seeing in a classroom. Nepal is in democratic transition. A time when all of society is patiently waiting for their government to timely write and implement a functional and fair Constitution. Well that time has been nearly 5 years now and society is sick of holding their breath. Nepali youth are the ones who plan to make a change and pressure the government to act. But first, Nepali youth need to understand their political culture, gain the necessary knowledge and experience before they can take action, which is why the Youth Initiative non-profit organization hosts these enlightening retreats. Throughout the three-day retreat, I met all 16 participants and quickly found out that they are all on the same page and our striving for the common cause: Democracy. As an American, I honestly can say I didn’t know what to feel or what to say during these retreat exercises, exercises consistently asking all participants to express their views of what constitutes a successful democracy and how a democracy can better the Nepal society. I live in a Democracy; one of first democracies successfully implemented, fully embraced and practiced by all, a democracy still thriving today. To some parts of the world, America’s democracy is the epitome of what a true democracy makes, a beacon of freedom and justice that all budding democracies look up to. Growing up in an exceptionally comfortable and stable political environment, I have never once questioned the credibility or accountability of my democracy, most likely making my American character appear to be apathetic and perhaps arrogant. During the Constitution exercise, the mock up Constitution we were looking at was the American Constitution, listing all of the amendments I have seen many times beofre. My group consistently asked me which amendments I thought were the most important and why. In all fairness, why should I, as an American, question a Constitution that has been fairly governing its country, a country where everybody is given the freedom and liberties to live a life of equal opportunity? As far as I’m concerned, I could just sit there and watch them do all the heavy lifting. But for a mere moment, I realized that this is what makes a true democracy. A room filled with chatty individuals questioning their rule of law and cooperatively engaging with one another to create a better legislative body that all of society can trust. This extensive yet brief retreat taught me more lessons in Democracy than I could have ever expected. Despite its classroom like setting, the students were engaging and endearing, teaching me about Democracy and making me question my own nation’s governance and rights. Such a small country with big aspirations for its future, Nepal is a nation that is chasing the coattails of the other national democratic unions in hopes to wholly represent its people and enter the international political arena. Although the United States initially seizes the chance to fully introduce democracy and strengthen its ideological roots into the soil of other societies, its super power stature can still learn a thing or two from Nepal’s budding democratic individuals.

A Few Of My Favorite Things

creatingcarrie — Mon, 18 Jul 2011 14:00:56 +0000

The following are a few samples of what I love about Kathmandu and Nepal.

Happy Stray Dogs

Stray dogs are everywhere. When I was traveling in Guatemala last year, the dogs were skinny, mange-y and definitely afraid of people. Being an animal person, I wanted to pet them and love them, but it was not a good idea. The people of Guatemala were warm to both me and RF as we traveled, but the same kindness was not extended to the strays. As a result the dogs looked downtrodden and depressed most of the time. You would see a relatively happy one occasionally, but on average, their lives seemed very stressful trying to survive.

Here in Kathmandu, the strays are happy. Often they look well-fed, perhaps because of the large amounts of food in the easily accessible garbage piles. More importantly, they do not look depressed. Some will even run up to you. I had one dog stick his nose in my hand as I walked by the temple he was sitting in. They have such a trust in the human beings around them.

The people here seem to take extra care to avoid hurting an animal. I have been on buses full of people that will stop so as not to hit a chicken in the road, a far cry from the roadkill littered highways of my youth. I am heartened by the presence of dogs that seem to think “I may have a skin disease, but life is awesome!”

Men Holding Hands

Within the first week of being here, I noticed men holding hands with other men. Grown, conservative looking men. Of course coming from NYC, my initial thought was that they must be couples. But I kept seeing more. And more. And more. Now, I know Nepal is trying to be more gay- and trans-friendly, but I also know that the law often seems to move ahead of society in this respect. Finally, I had to ask and was told that it is a cultural thing, not a gay thing.

Two Nepali Men Holding Hands

It is probably my favorite thing about Nepal. Men can be affectionate with each other without their (heterosexual) masculinity being threatened. This is possible. Among the IFPers here, we have all commented on this and thought about our own cultures’ takes on masculinity. In thinking about the USA, I can only come up with the following situations where it is “okay” for non-related heterosexual men to touch:

Fights
Funerals
Football (Sports, really, but I love alliteration)

I am absolutely (and hoping) to learn that men in my country can and do physically touch one another in other situations and circumstances (Bromance hugs, maybe?), so please comment if you can come up with other times. The idea of the lack of touch makes me quite sad. I have experienced it myself, so it is not some maudlin assumption about men missing out on something wonderful in life because they have to protect some silly idea of what it means to be a man. Touch has power. Let us learn from Nepal and expand our understanding of masculinity.

Nepali Hands

As you walk through Kathmandu, you see tons of construction. When you go to a restaurant, you have to wait longer than you do in the USA for your food. Men and women sit at sewing machines making or fitting clothes for their customers. The work in Nepal is done primarily with human hands.

To me, there is something magical about working with your hands. Perhaps because I often do not get to (evidence of this can be seen in how raw my hands got while canyoning). I have made blankets and clothes before, but most of my time is spent like I am spending it right now: in front of a computer, trying to avoid Facebook and Google+ in order complete what I deem as work. I buy my premade clothes and food in highly anonymous ways (even when I can make it to the green market), and I know the buildings I live and work in are made by machines run by people. My life is mechanized, ordered and templated. The specificity that seems to come from something made by hand (this building, this road, your sari) gives me joy. Working hands have a beauty to them, and work done by hands has a personality.

I know I am romanticizing the handmade. I know that the work that I witness can be backbreaking. I can guess that it may be underpaid and underappreciated. I am sitting and thinking about why it is that I find (other people’s) physical labor so comforting. Perhaps it is related to the anonymity of the people that make and grow my necessities. Perhaps because I feel very accomplished when I have completed a physically taxing challenge or even just had time to cook my own meal. Perhaps I am just looking for ways in which to slow down my urban life. I hope that the people actually doing this work find it far more satisfying than I do, and that this connection of the work to the people behind it lasts past my journey through Kathmandu.

Crossposted at creatingcarrie.

Boys Will Be Boys

greenjoanna — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 12:38:53 +0000

When you travel you begin to realize that human nature really does not vary from place to place, from ethnicity to ethnicity, culture to culture. As it has been said, “boys will be boys”. Living with a Nepali family for 6 weeks and spending a great deal of time in and around Kathmandu and other parts of Nepal, I have realized that no matter what religion we practice or where we come from we are all the same. Parents will always struggle to get along, all the time, with their growing kids, celebrations are celebrations and everyday life always has a routine. When I was younger I constantly fought with my mother about being allowed to go out with my friends and the time in which I was to return. After fighting a losing battle with my mother the silent treatment was never far behind. I watched this happen while staying in my host family. I felt like I was watching a movie of my earlier years except it was a son fighting the losing battle with his mother and instead of the silent treatment he went to bed early and skipped our late dinner. I was also always forced to eat more veggies growing up and hated it every moment. I frequently watch this scene being played out as I sit with the family for dinner. Though I don’t speak Nepali the gestures are enough to let me know this family could have been mine, if you remove the gender difference.

Birthday celebrations, though they too carry their differences, (not all the candles were blown out on the cake, one was kept lit), there are still similarities that make it hard to argue that people are not the same where ever you go. While living with my host family I had the pleasure of celebrating two birthdays; the sons and the mothers. The son hung out with his friends all day and celebrated his birthday. That evening we, the family, went out to the restaurant of his choice for his birthday. When I was younger, birthdays were a big deal but as I get older, my birthday celebration with my family is exactly as the one I attended for my host brother, dinner at the restaurant of my choosing. My host mother’s birthday celebration was more of a party. A few of her close friends and family were invited to dinner where we all enjoyed good food, drink and conversation. At the end of the evening a surprise cake with candles was presented to her. Though the conversation was mostly in Nepali, a language I have yet to pick up, the laughter and smiles let me know again, that this is a birthday celebration I have not only had for myself but have attended for many others.

Lastly, the family get-together. One evening another couple and their young son came over for dinner. The grown-ups, which I was a part of this group, drank cocktails and talked about random things. The husband of the other family spoke to me about how and where he learned English, while the other adults had their own conversation. As the night moved on the men became engrossed in their own conversation, one separate from the ladies, however, both groups came together from time to time forming, yet another conversation. While the adults ate and drank the boys were mesmerized by the video games they were playing. If someone were watching this scene from afar with the sound off so that no one could hear the language in which the couples were speaking, you wouldn’t be able to tell if the scene was happening in an apartment in New York City or in Kathmandu.

My experience with the host family, though it was an adjustment for me, solidified my idea that people are people no matter where in the world they are from. That we are all human and have similar experiences and in the end we all have more similarities than we do differences.

Risking My Life for the Thrill or the Tourism Industry?

kiminktm — Sat, 09 Jul 2011 04:21:05 +0000

At the edge of a bridge, dangling above a raging river on the Tibetan border, I think to myself “I must be out of my mind” before I laugh nervously into the lens of the video camera. Ankles bound together, looking out into the george, I attempt my best swan dive into the 160m of sky below me as every vocal chord in my body strains itself to scream bloody murder. After the adrenaline rush is over, I convince myself the strain on my ankles from hanging upside down is better dying on impact or drowning in the river. The best part of it all, of the fear, the thrill, and the pain? Before the trip began I actually paid about 125 USD to do it.

It was less than two weeks ago that I read about Kathmandu’s decline in restaurant customers, a disappointment for many despite the governments Tourism 2011 Year campaign. For the country as a whole, only 35% of the tourist immigration goal has been met in the first six months of 2011 and marketing is now being geared to the Chinese and Indians who are able to take cheaper, direct flights. Yet, as I stood on the bridge with my fellow Americans, South Africans, Indians, British, a Pakistani, and Nepalis to boot, it was hard to imagine that the restaurant owners of Kathmandu, linked to the survival need of food, could be struggling as The Last Resort raked in currency from around the globe for in the name of extreme sports and adrenaline. Perhaps it has something to do with the “Resort” in the name, or the spa services offered on the side, since a weekend getaway of massages certainly lured some members of the group? Nevertheless, a company dedicated to jumping off bridges, canyoning down waterfalls, high ropes courses and extreme river rafting can only sound so relaxing for so long.

For myself, the decision to pay someone to jump off a bridge is mixed. Partly bragging rights, to say I did something most people never do, in a place most people never go to, like great white shark cage diving in South Africa or jumping out of a plane in Hawaii. Partly to make sure I come out alive from whatever risk I’m taking; no matter how calculated it may be, something about the horror stories of that one time when something went wrong, make a person much more monetarily generous than usual. Last but not least, to get the same feeling you get when you watch a horror movie, but 100 times the intensity and for a little bit longer than when your hiding behind your hands, waiting in suspense for the scene you know is coming up, but you’re not exactly sure when. Whatever the reason, even after the strained ankles and the screaming and the half hour hike up the hill from hell, I would still pay to do it all over again. If I wasn’t on such a strict budget this summer, I would have even paid to do it twice.

The food service and airline industry of Kathmandu may be disappointed, but the more I talk to fellow tourists, the more stories and plans I hear of going to Mt. Everest base camp or parasailing in Pokhara. My advice to the tourism industry of Nepal? Save the slogans of “Together for Tourism, Tourism for Prosperity, Prosperity for Peace” and “Guest is God”. Just keep pushing us to jump off those bridges, raft down your rivers and dangle from a rope at amazing heights. Restaurants might not be the ticket for Tourism 2011, but adrenaline-fueled foreigners will do just about anything, and might even pay you to show them the way. Maybe in the future, I’ll think about the tourism industry of whatever country I am in before doing the next crazy thing I’m going to do. It’s a nice thought to have, but honestly, as much as I’d like to consider myself a charitable person, I’ll probably forget all about it and continue to scream my lungs out like always.