Dad blog #3: Playing Ping Pong with the Yeti

That's right. The abominable snow man loves table tennis...but as usual I'm getting ahead of myself.

We got up at 600AM the next morning to catch a one hour flight to Mt. Everest on Yeti Airlines. Sure, you can spend a minimum of 3 months and $100,000 trekking to Everest but for $150 do the whole deal in 60 minutes. Either way you get a certificate of having done the mighty Chomolungma ("Mother Goddess of the Universe") as its known to the sherpas.








I had recently proven my manhood by enduring the 24 hour flight from LAX to Kathmandu not to mention having finished Peter Matthiessen's "The Snow Leopard" on the plane. Matthiessen's detailed account of what its like to spend the night in a rain soaked sleeping bag in the Himalayas (as he pondered the koan given to him by his Zen Master: "All the peaks are covered with snow---why is this one bare?") is the Eastern counterpart to Proust's 50 page description of a Madeleine cookie.

Back on the ground we faced a danger more frightening than doing Everest without oxygen: the taxi ride back into Kathmandu. There is no other way to do it. We'd been invited for breakfast at the three star hotel managed by two of Lauren's Nepalese friends. I won't give their names or the hotel because then I couldn't say how much I envied their life of managing the hotel by smoking the best Nepalese grass and playing ping pong all day on the viewing deck on top of the hotel. We had a delicious Nepali breakfast and then got out the paddles.



I was expecting to be easily beaten by anyone who plays hours of daily table tennis but I hadn't factored in the world's most powerful majijuana. I could have beat them with my eyes closed. I probably had some kind of contact high because I began to see my worthy opponent as a yeti with gold jewelry. Then he morphed into cookie monster. We went back to Lauren and Mer's apartment and took a three hour nap. I was beginning to see the attraction of this place.

Dad Blog #2: Held Hostage for 75 Cents

Day 2 started off innocently enough. We were invited to the rice harvest at a farm about 2 hours South of Kathmandu owned by the son of Lauren and Mer's landlord, Projjwal Khadka. I was looking forward to getting out into the pristine countryside after less than a day in Kathmandu. After being on an cramped airplane for 24 hours and then in Kathmandu (which I swear means "Klaustrophoia" in Nepali) I was ready for the wide open spaces of the green terraced hillside farmland I'd see in travel guides.



So after some embarrassing bargaining with a taxi driver (I felt like the fare we bargained for would probably mean one of his children would starve to death that night) we were off. It was a delightful day. Projjwall is a Che Guevera tee shirt wearing, four gold earring humanitarian farmer (and Kathmandu DJ). Here's Lauren and Proj inside Proj's families house where they're storing and drying the corn they harvested before the rice:



He is trying to introduce organic farming back into his region of Nepal. Through a combination of successful results and his low key charisma he is succeeding is changing decades of destructive farming practices by his fellow Nepalis. We watched the rice harvest where they used centuries old methods for gathering the rice, threshing it using a pedal driven device, and then seeing women carrying 100 pounds of rice up the hill for eventual transport to the mill. Hopefully this blog entry will be accompanied by at least one photo of this backbreaking task (which never seems to break their back and for which they are richly compensated, about $1.50 per day).

Threshing:


Carrying:


We had lunch with the rice field workers that was as good as any Indian (Nepali food and Indian food are indistinguishable for me) restaurant meal I've had. I was completely inspired by our day which felt like an Asian combination of Walden Pond, Johnny Appleseed and a Winslow Homer watercolor painting. I felt all warm-and-fuzzy and very "clean" as we got into the same taxi for our ride back to Klaustrophia.

After about an hour of bumping down pot hole ridden roads a young man suddenly stepped into the road in front of our taxi. I caught the look on the taxi drivers face which gave me a bad feeling, I didn't think the young fellow in the road needed a ride into town. No, he was a Maoist guerilla and he was demanding money. He didn't ask for our wallets, he didn't make us get out of the vehicle. He was extorting us for about 75 cents. I guess his mother taught him not to be greedy, but come on. . . what kind of self-respecting terrorist asks for 75 cents? And then he wrote us out a receipt which would allow us to get back any other Maoists we might encounter on the way home. I think I'll check the receipt for the guys address, I'd like to send him some more money. Feel free to send me any contributions you feel moved to donate. However, it occurred to me that maybe the taxi driver and the "Maoist" were in cahoots and they've developed a small business (shake down the tourist) with a microbanking loan courtesy of Muhammed Yunus ("Banker to the Poor").

Dad Post: Day 1

Below is my father's account of his arrival in Nepal:

I loved every minute of my stay in Nepal, but couldn't wait to leave. But I'm getting ahead of myself so back to getting off the plane in Kathmandu after a 25 hour plane flight from LA. I knew I was in a Third World country when they unloaded the 300 passenger jet onto the runway and we walked the final 100 yards to the terminal (which had the feel of a Midwest high school auditorium in desperate need of repair (and fumigation). All my initial doubt and skepticism vanished however when I saw Lauren's wry smile among the crowd of Nepalese locals waiting at the gate. I knew from that smile that the fun was about to begin. We found a taxi (slightly larger than a MiniCooper but with more of a Neo-Tijuana look and a driver who couldn't have been more than 16) and Lauren started bargaining on the fare. Later I would find out that she was going toe-to-toe with the guy over 50 cents. Would we pay 250 rupees ($3.75) or 300 rupees ($4.25) for a 40 minute drive half way across town? I'd never seen Lauren bargain before but she seemed to know what she was doing. Turns out this was nothing compared to the near sadistic glee Meredith would later show as she trims rupee after rupee off the slave wages fare where most cabis start the bidding. I had a lot to learn and would probably need these negotiating skills given the way the US economy is going. Forty minutes and a harrowing taxi ride later we arrived at Lauren and Mer's apartment in the nicer part of town. When I say harrowing I mean bumper cars with no bumpers, I mean the only thing saving everyone from head on collisions was that there was so much traffic everyone was forced to drive under 35mph. If not there would certainly have been massive pile ups and loss of life. Once in Lauren's apartment everything was calm and quiet. We had some tea in her living room which had a front row window seat to the back of the North Korean Embassy. The Axis of Evil in our back yard! I suddenly felt very Republican. Its not a good feeling. The next thing I know I'm being introduced to Projjwal, the son of Lauren's landlord. He's wearing a Che Guevera tee-shirt, 4 gold earrings (in one ear), and spoke with a British/Southern drawl. I'm told he's a DJ,a businessman, rice farm owner and. . .I forgot the rest. He invited us to participate the next day in the rice harvest at his farm about 2 hours South of Kathmandu. We accepted not knowing we would be stopped by a Maoist guerrilla and shaken down for 75 cents as we returned to Kathmandu from the rice harvest. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

The Peace Corps is Homophobic

Lauren,

Thanks for the email and your interest in serving in the Peace Corps. Since the Peace Corps is a federal agency we are required to use the Federal standard/definition of marriage and would not be able to place you and your partner as a married couple.

Michael Salazar

Kazakhstan 2001-2003

Recruitment Coordinator

Peace Corps Los Angeles Regional Office

2361 Rosecrans Avenue, Suite 155

El Segundo, CA 90245

Telephone: 310-356-1110

Fax: 310-356-1125

Dad Is On A Plane

My Dad left yesterday afternoon for the States. We had a great time and he has promised to write the whole trip up in a detailed account of what we did and how we survived. I'll give him some time to re-adjust and then start pestering. Maybe I'll do my own version too. Here's a sneak peak:

My Dad Is Here!

My dad is here and we're busy doing things!

Shivapuri Hiking

I'm still sore from the hike Meredith and I went on two days ago. We went on a six hour hike through the Shivapuri National Park. We took two microbuses up to the park and then had to walk 2 km to the entrance. Meredith stuck out her thumb to a huge car and they stopped and took us the 2 km...hmmmm.

We paid 500 rupees to get into the park and then started hiking up up up to a Buddhist Nunnery called Nagi Gompa. It took about an hour to get there. We were hungry, so we asked if they would feed us and they gave us some of the best dal bhaat I've had so far. MMMM. We also met a Belgian woman who was doing her Bachelors research on the nunnery.

Then we decided to walk to Boudhanath, which was a three hour hike along a ridge and into the city. The Belgian woman said it was kind of complicated to get there and that it wasn't the best idea. Luckily, we met three Nepali boys who were on their way to Kopan, which is on the way to Boudhanath. They were like mountain goat sprites and had to wait for us to catch up. (See if you can spot them below...)



They would etch arrows into the dirt to make sure we were going the right way.



The hike was gorgeous and we saw beautiness like this the whole way:



We made it to Boudhanath before it got dark and had some Vegetarian food at the Saturday Cafe. We were tired and went home to sleep.

This is me blogging with underwear on my face.

The Wedding

I went to a Nepali wedding. It's ironic because I've been desperate for someone in the States to get married (c'mon friends, speed it up...). Whatever, I'll take what I can get and this was quite an interesting ceremony. Not for its intricate systems, but its brevity.

Shusila, my friend and cook, got married to her boyfriend Tara. They are of different castes so it was probably rushed on account of this possible/probable tension for their families. I found out the wedding was happening about a week before it occurred. They decided to have it on "Tika day" which is one of the holiest days of the year. Usually you have to check with an astrologist to make sure you're having your wedding on holy/lucky day, but Tika Day is perpetually awesome so no consultation was necessarily.

At around 1pm Meredith and I took a taxi to Bhaktapur, where Shusila's family is from. Bhaktapur is only 15-20 minutes outside of Kathmandu, but is amazingly rural and pastoral. Before the wedding we wandered around Bhaktapur with Shusila's brother Saroj. He took us to one of many brick factories.



He also took us around the rice paddies that are just busting to be harvested. There are these nice little pathways that you can walk around to see all the paddies. We found this ladies shoes and basket but had no idea where the lady was:



We also did the requisite fondling of baby goats. This one is two days old!!! Jesus.



We hung out with Shusila and Saroj's relatives that live in Bhaktapur. It's strange how much the clay Bhaktapur houses look so similar to some Native American abodes. Here's Mer sitting under their clay house. (This paragraph is crap)



Then we watched the wedding. First, Shusila and Tara sat in a small room and got tika's from the main relatives:



Second, they stood up and exchanged rings and lei-like things:



Third, the stole my camera to take awkward (to me) and unsmiling pictures of the family. Here's me and Mer in the wedding room (yes, I'm wearing a cute vest):

Goat Sacrifices

It turned out that our neighbors/landlord downstairs were slaughtering their own goat for Dashain. They asked us if we wanted to watch the ceremony and sacrifice. Meredith said yes. So, around 11am they told us they were starting and despite all my thinkingthinkingthinking I still hadn't decided whether I would watch! We could see what was going on from our third floor balcony so Meredith positioned herself up there and so did I. The goat was tied up looking around and bleating and it was so sad to see him have no idea what was happening while they sharpened the knife and got the boiling water ready. But, I liked all the flowers and colored powders of the ceremony so I watched some of the preparations. But as they prepped the knife I decided that i would go to a place on my balcony where I couldn't see: but I could hear. I sat there for a while and suddenly it was like there was an earthquake and the whole world shook. So I didn't watch, I just felt it.

I decided to go look at the damage and there was a headless goat and lots of blood. This part wasn't too bad; I saw this scene at the local butchers. Then I watched them prepare the goat to eat by taking off the hair and cleaning it.

Later on we went to the main square to watch more sacrifices/ceremonies but there was nothing going on and we didn't care to search them out.

Nepal Appoints 3-year-old As New Living Goddess

KATMANDU, Nepal - Hindu and Buddhist priests chanted sacred hymns and cascaded flowers and grains of rice over a 3-year-old girl who was appointed a living goddess in Nepal on Tuesday.

Wrapped in red silk and adorned with red flowers in her hair, Matani Shakya received approval from the priests and President Ram Baran Yadav in a centuries-old tradition with deep ties to Nepal's monarchy, which was abolished in May.

The new "kumari" or living goddess, was carried from her parents' home to an ancient palatial temple in the heart of the Nepali capital, Katmandu, where she will live until she reaches puberty and loses her divine status.

She will be worshiped by Hindus and Buddhists as an incarnation of the powerful Hindu deity Taleju.

A panel of judges conducted a series of ancient ceremonies to select the goddess from several 2- to 4-year-old girls who are all members of the impoverished Shakya goldsmith caste.

The judges read the candidates' horoscopes and check each one for physical imperfections. The living goddess must have perfect hair, eyes, teeth and skin with no scars, and should not be afraid of the dark.

As a final test, the living goddess must spend a night alone in a room among the heads of ritually slaughtered goats and buffaloes without showing fear.

Having passed all the tests, the child will stay in almost complete isolation at the temple, and will be allowed to return to her family only at the onset of menstruation when a new goddess will be named to replace her.

"I feel a bit sad, but since my child has become a living goddess I feel proud," said her father Pratap Man Shakya.

During her time as a goddess, she will always wear red, pin up her hair in topknots, and have a "third eye" painted on her forehead.

Devotees touch the girls' feet with their foreheads, the highest sign of respect among Hindus in Nepal. During religious festivals the goddesses are wheeled around on a chariot pulled by devotees.

Critics say the tradition violates both international and Nepalese laws on child rights. The girls often struggle to readjust to normal lives after they return home.

Nepalese folklore holds that men who marry a former kumari will die young, and so many girls remain unmarried and face a life of hardship.

Kites

I know this post will force you to reconsider your thoughts on my intelligence. However, I ask you to suspend your judgment for a moment because that would be nice.

In Kathmandu and I'm guessing most of Nepal, kids love to fly kites. All over the city you can look up into the air and find a least one kite soaring over your head. Currently, it is the biggest holiday of the year. It's called Dashain and one of the traditions besides the public beheadings of goats and oxes (they eat the animals) is kite flying.

I took Shusila's 12-year-old nephew Netus rock climbing the other day and since I was in kid mode (maybe I always am?) I decided we should buy a kite. Netus is a really awesome kid and speaks almost perfect English. He prepped the kite while I did some work and then we set off to fly it. The wind was a bit pathetic, but I forgot that mattered. We tried unsuccessfully three or four times and then ripped our kite. I fixed the kite with some tape, but our spirits were defeated to try again. Plus, I figured it was the wimpy winds fault. Right?

The next day Meredith and I smoked a cigarette and then decided to try flying the kite because that's easy to do. Plus, look how pretty the view from our roof is:



Our roof was, like, made for kite flying. It basically has a runway to throw the kite up into the wind and then run with it to keep it flying. Meredith and I tried 10 or 12 times with no success and then broke the kite. Then we tried to imitate the knot Netus had tied:



Is this boring? Not for me.

The whole point of this story is that we broke all the kites I had bought and didn't get the kite higher than 9 feet in the air and couldn't keep it up for longer than 10 seconds. I can't do something that the 8 year old on the adjacent roof can do. His kite was so high in the air you could barely see it.