Oops! I'm sorry-at the end of last blog, I mentioned "sanchey panni"-and my good son, both Tibetan and American sons-keep correcting me: it's "Chesso Panni"-anyways, we finally cleared the border patrols, both sides and quickly kicked the old bus into top gear-India hit us with heat and humanity like no other country can. Cows, carts, exploding music-melee-it is an ordered chaos that mysteriously works. I had several books to read, but it was hard to keep my eyes off the amazing parade of unexpected scenes passing by. The heat and humidity rose in our tin can on wheels, and we all dozed off and on, occasionally the driver would pull over, on the "highway" for a toilet break, men staggered off to whiz right alongside the bus, but where were the women to go? Definately something for Indian women to create a movement about and maybe the next HANDS in Nepal project. Once, there was a stop by a field overgrown with weeds, and a few women holding their saris up around their knees, wandered way back of the field so I followed suit and joined them in trying our best to squat in a country known for cobras in fields.
We travelled all that day and into the night. The driver pulled over late, about 10 pm at a truck joint that looked like it was holding either a Xmas party or a disco night,so strewn with colored lights and sparkling adornments! We ate chowmein and talked to our new Tibetan friend about American myths: such as "is it true Americans kiss dogs? And sleep with their animals? Are Americans really really fat? Does every American own a car?" I think all the "myths" they asked were not myths at all and true, but I then ponited out some cultural things most Americans find hard to believe: is it true cows roam free here? Is it true you cannot marry out of caste? Is it true Tibetans really do walk over the Himalayas for weeks to escape Chinese oppression? All true.
The next morning I was giddy with relief and self-congratulations that we were about to pull into Delhi and the trip was soon over-well, the first leg of it. Delhi is huge-you come into it with slums, and industrial mish-mash of factories, and more and more traffic. Suddenly we were on a freeway overpass that seemed way too modern for our bus, and the shock of the modern world hit me with little warning. The bus trip ends at the Tibetan Colony in Delhi known as Manju Teela, and here is where we stepped into the wall of humid heat that knocks your sandals off. The usual taxi driver greeting met us, but I didn't have to worry with my two Tibetan friends to lead me across the busy street into the gates of Tibet Village and straigt to a Tibetan Guest House. The three of us got a room for the day, to shower, wash clothes and rest.
We were so shocked to open our luggace and find everything soggy and wet inside! Our bags had been under a tarp on top of the bus, so I was really surprised things got so wet. We had to wash out everthing becaue it smelled of mold and an entire suitcase of books I had brought for Tibet Hope Project had to be unpacked and spread about the room to dry. All the business cards I had printed in kathmandu for HANDS had to be peeled apart and spread everywhere to try and save them,(all 250 of them) and every article of goods, like yak hair blankets and hand bags, had to be hung to dry. The whole room looked like a camp of gypsies had set up shop in there, and we laughed despite our fallen spirits that our things were near ruin.
Tsering the girl knew a good Tibten tea house so we left our things to dry and went off to have some good butter tea and Tibetan bread and jam. Refreshed and so happy to be off the bus, we said our goodbyes to Tsering the girl, who left for her bus to south India and Tsering the guy and I bought tickets for that evening's bus to Mcloud Ganj, our final resting place. All too soon it was time to pack up our now dried goods and somewhat dry clothes, and head to a group of tourist buses with monks and Tibetans boarding.This bus was quite a bit more modern and nicer then the Nepali bus and we sunk into the plush seats thankfully. We slept most of that leg of the trip, completely exhausted by doing nothing but bus riding in heat, and by this morning, we were treated to the splendid sights of forests, villages in tea valleys and off in the distance, the Himalayas-and the cool air-what a reward!
Today, the crem de la crem was coming out of a tea house-of course it was Tibetan (!) to see a growing crowd of people lining up along the small main road here in McLo-we asked if someone important was coming, and were told the Dalai Lama's motorcade was coming into town! We got to see his car whiz by, but almost as fun was the crowd of well-wishers and jovial atmosphere as all his adoring fans waited in glee just to catch a glimpse of the great peace leader.
I ended today doing what I love to do in McLo-teach English to Tibetan refugees. As I sat across from a monk who only a few years ago walked out of Tibet to escape Chinese prosecution, and listened to his stories of before China and after, I felt this was so worth the 4 day bus trip. I wish everyone has this opportunity in this ilfetime to meet and work with these amazing Tibetan people! There is so much that can be done to help them, and I will write more in next blog about how to do that. It is a culture we need to preserve and help-I know of no other people who spend the great part of their lifetime praying and sending mantras out to the atmosphere for loving kindness and compassion for all living beings. Namaste-Tashi Delek and Tu de Chey for reading this-Jan
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Bus to Delhi-part 2
Let me see if i can do justice to the chaotic and ancient border crossing between nepal and india. First one goes from jungle greenery and bird chattering to carts pulled by handsome white brahmin bulls and steered by thin brown men wearing ragged shorts and white shirts. rickshaws painted in all sorts of red and yellow flowery designs, some with the extra protection of having Shiva or Krisna painted on them, some with interesting phrases like "love me tender" and next to it the Hindu god with a cow body and man's head. The traffic begins to congest, the tourist busses idle in line spewing diesel, motors at a quiet rumble, children lugging even smaller children on their hips are plying the line of tourist busses trying to catch your eye and maybe a rubee tossed their way. The many mongrel dogs sniff the street for any chance of a half-eaten roti or picked over trash. Trucks hauling all sorts of merchandise make another line, each facing their prospective borders, waiting for the long pole that is balanced at one end by a configuration of old tires all tied helter-skelter with rope and twine to weight down one end. Police from both sides chat with shop keepers, no one seems concerned about smuggling or any of the other kind of border riffraff that i'v become acustumed to with all my crossings into mexico. Their is hardly any to no private vehicles here-in fact, most are walking across, carrying their shopping bags and personal belongings balanced on their head, obediant children in hand.
There is a space of about 100 yards between both border "poles" and in this no man's land, free enterprise is going on. Hot chai is being peddaled, all kinds of wares one might need for a long bus ride, material in case you need to quickly sew up an outfit, I guess, hardware, roasted corn and juice in convenient travel sized boxes. But most interesting is the wandering of dazed and confused tourists, most Danny's age, with backpacks on their backs like turtle shells, tired and wondering which small shoulder-width shop is the immigration office, where you need to go twice, once for Nepal and once for India.
If it wasn't for my dear friend Kelsang, I'd be just as confused and wandering, trying my best to avoid the sleeping dogs, some so thin that when they lay in depressions in the road they are level with the ground and you could step on them thinking it just some fur. As Kelsang led me into a gritty dark immigration booth for India, with two very tired and bored officials, look all the world as if they were need of a tea break, although it was only 6:30 am, I took a quick note at the passports being shoved their way by tourists eager for attention. Ireland, United Kingdom, Germany, France-ah yes, the usual Europe contingent-and me, the only American.
There is a certain finese with which to get an indian officer to give you their attention, no I take that back. This applies to any Indian you need service from, whether for a bottle of "sanchey panni" (cold water) or your passport stamped.
There is a space of about 100 yards between both border "poles" and in this no man's land, free enterprise is going on. Hot chai is being peddaled, all kinds of wares one might need for a long bus ride, material in case you need to quickly sew up an outfit, I guess, hardware, roasted corn and juice in convenient travel sized boxes. But most interesting is the wandering of dazed and confused tourists, most Danny's age, with backpacks on their backs like turtle shells, tired and wondering which small shoulder-width shop is the immigration office, where you need to go twice, once for Nepal and once for India.
If it wasn't for my dear friend Kelsang, I'd be just as confused and wandering, trying my best to avoid the sleeping dogs, some so thin that when they lay in depressions in the road they are level with the ground and you could step on them thinking it just some fur. As Kelsang led me into a gritty dark immigration booth for India, with two very tired and bored officials, look all the world as if they were need of a tea break, although it was only 6:30 am, I took a quick note at the passports being shoved their way by tourists eager for attention. Ireland, United Kingdom, Germany, France-ah yes, the usual Europe contingent-and me, the only American.
There is a certain finese with which to get an indian officer to give you their attention, no I take that back. This applies to any Indian you need service from, whether for a bottle of "sanchey panni" (cold water) or your passport stamped.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Direct Bus To Delhi-36 Hours!!!
The hand-lettered sign on the window of the bus ticket store in Boudha practically shouted at you in large red writing: "Direct Bus to Delhi-36 hours!!!!" I though that could be interpreted two ways: You'd be crazy to ride the bus to Delhi because it's a 36 hour trip, or it's just amazing that you could ride a bus to Delhi in 36 hours. Ummm. There wasn't much choice for me and my Tibetan friend. Flying just isn't possible when you have a Dalia Lama passport, but India and Nepal have an open border, and crossing isn't to difficult if you are Nepali, or I guess, Tibetan. We bought our tickets to Delhi-for about $23 each, one way, and got some last minute advice from my yoga guru, Dr. Suboh, on how best to preserve my saniety on a funky bus on crazy roads in a beautiful but remote part of the world. First, give your day variety, he advised-miz it up-breathing meditation, reading, writing, watching scenery, some simple yoga exercises in seat, drinking water, do over. I was actually looking forward to rest and reading and packed two books I've been wanting to pour over, one Kim by Rudyard Kipling, and The Tipping Point.
We set off from Bouhda Stuppa, in a rather nice bus but with none of the advertised ammenities that were lettered on back of bus working. "DVD!! A/C!! Tinted Windows!! Music!! All spelled out a party bus for sure, but maybe during the first year of life for old betsy, who now looked as worn and down-trodden as a water buffalo at the end of its life span.
Tsering my friend sat up front next to another Tibetan lad and I had the good fortune to have a young Tibetan lady sit next to me, also Tsering (there is not "boy-girl name in Tibeten culture). She was reading and marking up a school paper on the Dalai Lama's Middle Way teaching, and intriqued, i rudely read over her shoulder and asked her about it. A high school student, she was mature beyond her years, full of vitality and life and opinions of the Tibet situation. We talked for hours as our old bus lurched out of Kathmandu, running into the usual traffic jam of busses and trucks that always seems to plaque the one two way highway in Nepal.It was hot and humid, but soon rain began to fall and I was hoping there would be enough light left in the day for me to see the infamous Terai of Nepal, home of rhino, elephant and tiger, and many nature parks, also Maoists and rebels. We actually did reach Chitwin area at dusk and many "jungle" lodges and guest house sprang up on both sides of the road, as did jungle and lush greenery. It was a beautiful ride through the mountains and terraced rice paddies and now this wilderness. God, I love Nepal,I thought, as darkness and more rain came, along with thunder and lightening. Finally, the driver and his "entourage" (about 4 guys sat up front in his "room" with him, closed off to the passengers by glass partition and curtains) and of course young male conductor, who stood at open door, occasionally being required to jump off and run ahead or behind or pound on bus sides in mysterious road signal code-so the driver pulled over about 2 am, shut off the lumbering diesel motor and the conductor yelled at us in Nepali, Tsering (male) told me it was where we would have tea (at 2 am?!!) sleep and hang out until border opened-we were actually within yards of the border to India and apparently the border closes and doesn't open until 6 am.
Weary and dizzy with bus bumping up and down, all passengers disembarked and staggered around getting our land legs under us again, Tsering, Tsering and I ordered milk tea which was refreshing and good in the jungle heat of night, and batted mosquitos away -realizing we were actually sitting next to a jungle bog on one side of us. Most choose to go back into the hot and humid bus with it's open windows and doors and swat mosquitos there throughout the rest of night, but I wrapped myself in my Nepali wrap around skirt and found a table to lay on, listening to jungle insects and watching a moon play hide and seek with clouds overhead, and drapped my bandana over my face to keep mosquitos from getting into my eyes or ears, and believe it or not, fell asleep for a little bit, being awakened at dawn by a Nepali lady open her chai stand with a banging of pots and pans, apparently I was asleep on her table and she had customers to get ready for. She laughed as I sat up and looked around-I must have seemed like a space alien with my strange American looks and as old as her! We namasted each other and laughed with her and felt good-I made it through one night, one night to go and then we'd be in Delhi! (end part one)
We set off from Bouhda Stuppa, in a rather nice bus but with none of the advertised ammenities that were lettered on back of bus working. "DVD!! A/C!! Tinted Windows!! Music!! All spelled out a party bus for sure, but maybe during the first year of life for old betsy, who now looked as worn and down-trodden as a water buffalo at the end of its life span.
Tsering my friend sat up front next to another Tibetan lad and I had the good fortune to have a young Tibetan lady sit next to me, also Tsering (there is not "boy-girl name in Tibeten culture). She was reading and marking up a school paper on the Dalai Lama's Middle Way teaching, and intriqued, i rudely read over her shoulder and asked her about it. A high school student, she was mature beyond her years, full of vitality and life and opinions of the Tibet situation. We talked for hours as our old bus lurched out of Kathmandu, running into the usual traffic jam of busses and trucks that always seems to plaque the one two way highway in Nepal.It was hot and humid, but soon rain began to fall and I was hoping there would be enough light left in the day for me to see the infamous Terai of Nepal, home of rhino, elephant and tiger, and many nature parks, also Maoists and rebels. We actually did reach Chitwin area at dusk and many "jungle" lodges and guest house sprang up on both sides of the road, as did jungle and lush greenery. It was a beautiful ride through the mountains and terraced rice paddies and now this wilderness. God, I love Nepal,I thought, as darkness and more rain came, along with thunder and lightening. Finally, the driver and his "entourage" (about 4 guys sat up front in his "room" with him, closed off to the passengers by glass partition and curtains) and of course young male conductor, who stood at open door, occasionally being required to jump off and run ahead or behind or pound on bus sides in mysterious road signal code-so the driver pulled over about 2 am, shut off the lumbering diesel motor and the conductor yelled at us in Nepali, Tsering (male) told me it was where we would have tea (at 2 am?!!) sleep and hang out until border opened-we were actually within yards of the border to India and apparently the border closes and doesn't open until 6 am.
Weary and dizzy with bus bumping up and down, all passengers disembarked and staggered around getting our land legs under us again, Tsering, Tsering and I ordered milk tea which was refreshing and good in the jungle heat of night, and batted mosquitos away -realizing we were actually sitting next to a jungle bog on one side of us. Most choose to go back into the hot and humid bus with it's open windows and doors and swat mosquitos there throughout the rest of night, but I wrapped myself in my Nepali wrap around skirt and found a table to lay on, listening to jungle insects and watching a moon play hide and seek with clouds overhead, and drapped my bandana over my face to keep mosquitos from getting into my eyes or ears, and believe it or not, fell asleep for a little bit, being awakened at dawn by a Nepali lady open her chai stand with a banging of pots and pans, apparently I was asleep on her table and she had customers to get ready for. She laughed as I sat up and looked around-I must have seemed like a space alien with my strange American looks and as old as her! We namasted each other and laughed with her and felt good-I made it through one night, one night to go and then we'd be in Delhi! (end part one)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Rain, Yoga, Savassana!
Pounding rain hits the stucco roof of the small room where I sit typing this. It seems the monsoon has arrived, and the rain is more frequent now and a bit more of it pours from the skies each time. It creates waterfalls of red mud on the walkways of the yoga center I am staying at for the next few days. Our friend Rajan Simkhada, who helped spearhead the village school project for HANDS encouraged me to retreat to the center for some well-needed rest, and I am so glad to be here! Guests stay in white safari style tents, each with two beds with firm mattresses and quilts. \flowers and tropical plants are everywhere and bird song fills the air, giving the feel of staying in a rainforest, and with the rainfall, we very well are! \from the flagstone porch of my tent I can look across the valley to Swayamboth, a famous Buddhist temple where Lord Buddha once taught, 2,500 years ago. Each morning guests are given freshly made mint tea and have a yoga class with Dr. Subodh Simkhada, a certified yoga teacher and Naturopathic physician. With no work scedule to hurry off to, participants can sip tea while listening to his lecture on yoga and spirituality, and then begin the day with a series of asanas meant to gently wake the body and mind. AFterwards, you are given a menu of simple, organic breakfast items to pick from, this morning I had homemade muesli and yogurt. Hiking, resting, writing, sitting are the acticities for the rest of morning, after lunch there is massage, yoga, evening meditation and dinner. I feel as if I am in yoga heaven! I have never treated myself to a stay like this in a place like this and it is dreamy! Nepal's prices fit my pocketbook-it is $45 a day all inclusive, spa treatment and food and classes and tent-and be assured-no HANDS funds are going into this stay! It is well worth my visit to the ATM I found in Kathmandu that actually works to draw out $7,000 rubees for my two day stay!
If you are curious to see pictures of this amazing place, go to their internet site:
www.yogainnepal.com I highly recommend such a stay here for anyone planning a trip to Nepal.
For now, I am off to my tent to finish an Indian novel I picked up somewhere and then start Rudyard Kipling's Kim novel, one I found at a guesthouse in Pokhara and have always wanted to read. IN two days I leave for \delhi by bus-a 36 hr. ride and then a 12 hr. bus ride up the hills to Dharamsala-wish me luck!!!
If you are curious to see pictures of this amazing place, go to their internet site:
www.yogainnepal.com I highly recommend such a stay here for anyone planning a trip to Nepal.
For now, I am off to my tent to finish an Indian novel I picked up somewhere and then start Rudyard Kipling's Kim novel, one I found at a guesthouse in Pokhara and have always wanted to read. IN two days I leave for \delhi by bus-a 36 hr. ride and then a 12 hr. bus ride up the hills to Dharamsala-wish me luck!!!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I go to Prison in Kathmandu
I had read in a book somewhere that there are often foreigners locked up in the jail in Kathmandu, and in need of help. I decided as part of my Bohdisattva vows (Buddhist intention to spread compassion and help eliminate suffering) I needed to go to the prison and check out the situation for any foreigners who might speak English that I could commmunicate with.
This was as much a mind-blowing exp. as you can imagine. The prison area itself is a compound of old and shabby brick two story buildings. There are several courtyards and even more surprised the dirt road that leads right into the middle of it is open and not blocked by gates or anything like we'd have in US. In fact, if not for the armed guards watching from four corners in the area, you'd mistakenly walk right into this yard-like prison-and yes, it is low secrity or so it seems, but this is where everyone is locked up-passport offenders to murders.
We waited at an imaginary line on the dirt road with a small group of locals hoping to gain entrance to see their incarcerated family and friends. At a mysterious signal, suddenly everyone rushed across the dirt road to a very old cement building where guards sat to check you in. I had to give up my passport, my ipod, my camera and batteries, but got to keep my purse, money belt and books and soaps I had brought in to give to prisioners. I had also brought a big greasy bag of freshly fried "rotis"-a type of Nepali donut, and got to keep those too. After a body pat down, I was taken to a room with a list of foreign prisoner's names written in chalk, their nationality and offense. I scanned the list looking for American citizens and only found one a "Geraldine Bush" from-yes, Texas! Could it be one of the Bush kin had got in trouble in Kathmandu? I wrote her name down for a request, along with a French man and a Tibetan who's last name was "lama."
Once you hand the names to a guard, you are taken to a waiting room, ouside, where you can see the jail entrance, and out in front are two concrete benches that hold about 7 people each, with a 3 ft. concrete wall separating people. Visitors sit on one side of the wall, prisioners on the other, and you can hand your goods to a guard that is watching and they then hand them to the prisoner. The first person brought out to meet me was not any that I had requested, but a very big, dark African from Nigeria-who said he had been on a trekking trip in Nepal and then used some drugs and got caught. "How long was that?" I aksed- "Oh, about 1997," he causually replied. O M G! In jail since then because he cannot post his bail. Despite his long incarceration and many more years to go (he said he got the max. sentence of 15 years.) he seemed pretty happy and in good health. I looked around at the row of prisionres chatting amiably with their kin and all looked clean, happy and in a pleasant sort of mood. I offered a magazine, book and some chapatis to my AFrican friend and we said our Namastes. He was very delighted to have my visit and expressed his appreciation and then walked back into the barred gate. The guard sitting there (none of the guards around here had guns or any kind of uniform, in fact it was difficult to tell the prisioners from the guards!) yelled another name and then we waited and were told to walk around to another small courtyard to meet our "lama" from Tibet. This courtyard was as pleasant and airy and nice as any outdoor cafe in the back streeets of Kathmandu. A large gold Buddhas statue,about 12 feet high, adorned with fresh flowers and kata scarfs sat smiling serenly over all. It lent a very non-threatening air to the whole place and made me reflect on how harsh our American society is to our prisioners and condemning them for a mistake-here, the atmosphere was so different. It is so hard to describe if you haven't been to this part of the world, where the hardships are so many that everyone has a very patient and tolerant attitude towards life and seems more resigned tht we are not perfect, mistakes are made and you attone for them and move on. You are not a horrible person in the eyes of Buddha, the statue reminds you that imperfection is as much a part of life as seeking perfection, and to not give up on taming the monkey mind we are all born with!
My next "guest" came out, a young Tibetan man with a large Om tatoo on one arm and a double dorje tatoo on the other (dorgee is a very powerful symbol, like lightening, to Tibetans). He had been on a trip to India to see the Dalai Lama and was involved in a bus accident, some people were killed in the accident he said and he was arrested-he thing\ks because he did not have the right immigration papers and was "caught". This is common-Nepal and India have a very open border, and while it is near impossible to fly out of Nepal without passport and visa, you can travel overland and cross the border fairly easily=paying off the guards there. That is how myTibetan son and I are going to Dharmasala, India soon, overland, a 4 day bus ride, because he cannot fly with "Dalai Lama" passport, as the Tibetans say.
This young man had been in jail here for several years and felt he had several more to go because he had no money for his bail or fine. I asked him if any Americans were locked u pwith him-"Yes, many" he said. Would I like him to find one for me and bring him out? Yes indeed! So off he went and soon a tall, dignified older man, who reminded me very much of Don, looking all the world like a retired trekker who just came back from Everest came out smiling. We Namasted and sat down-I was a little shocked to see such a man, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew he was not American by the accent. No, he said, I am French. He had been living some years ago in India and his visa expired so he tried to cross into Nepal-but with opium. Yes, he shook his head sadly, he wa sa total idiot at the time, but living in India you feel yo ucan do things like that, you know? And then you find there are laws and you can get arrested for drugs, despite the pot growing everywhere, free to pick and smoke. The opiom charge was the mx. he said, and he was slapped with a 16 yr. sentence and had about 2 years to go. How were things in jail? Not bad, it's okay, the same reply the first two prisioners had told me. I offered him shampoo, soap and books. He was so happy to see Danny's Henry Miller book-Yes! Yes! He knew this American author very well and liked him. Off he went with his package, but not without a warning to me and my son-"Be careful over here, " he said "many good hearted people come to Nepal to help-their hearts are in the right place, and they try to do good works-sometimes things go wrong, people get angry, business deals are messy, jealousies errupt between villages, violence lies close to the surface. He realted a few scary stories he had heard from Americans he met in jail here-people like my son, young and trying to do good, and something goes array, people get offended. Be careful! Nepal is no different from ther rest of the world he said-there are very good peole here-and very bad.
I left to find the America Bush. She was a woman locked up in the woman's jail that was down another road and in a different compound. her the guards were dressed in Nepali sari's all colorful and chatting amiably, and a few woman soliders with guns lingered in the heat near the entrance, look hot and bored. I asked for the American Bush. "Bush! Bush!" they yelled into the compound behind the barred gate. Finally, a very young, weet looking pale girl came out and sat across from me. Her eyes looked blank, like she was in shock. Are you Bush? I asked. No, she looked up-surprised at the name "I am ----(name I can't remember) from Finland. WHAT?? So we chatted. She said she was in jail for losing her passport! O M G again! Lose your passport, go to jail. Did her family know she was in here? Yes, they are coming to help her. How long has she been in here? Two months. That didn't seem right to me-it was taking two months for her family to help her? I aksed her if I could take some information home with me to try and reach her family. No, she was fine. did she know an American here named Bush? Yes, Bush from Texas, she is mental, she told me. Crazy. Says she knows the president. Hand gesture to head indicating lack of mental facilities.
A headache had been growing in my own head, the heat and humidity were oppressive, I had to go and get some food. I had been u since 5 am doing Kora first at Boudha stuppa with Karma, now this, I had to go-no more prison visits. My heart ached fro these lost soulds, yet it was good to see they are not mistreated here. I do feel the religious spirituality of Nepal prevails to create a climate of fairness and karma for all living beings. The dogs loose on the street are not mistreated but stepped over and tolerated with no bother, the animals are happy and content, the donkeys work hard but are not beaten, the people are terribley poor but happy and treat each other well. The prisoners I saw here were not sad or miserable, they were well feed and clean, they wore clean clothes they graciously accepted my gifts but didn't act like they really needed them. It was good to see the spiritual nature of Nepal doesn't end at the imaginary prison line that exisit somewhere on this dirt road into this interesting compound.
We gathered our mobile, ipod, camera, and dear, dear passport, which I kissed in front of the the guards and they laughed, knowing full well how much trouble that official document can cause if not in hand. It is in my neck pouch now and will stay there as long as I am out of the country!
This was as much a mind-blowing exp. as you can imagine. The prison area itself is a compound of old and shabby brick two story buildings. There are several courtyards and even more surprised the dirt road that leads right into the middle of it is open and not blocked by gates or anything like we'd have in US. In fact, if not for the armed guards watching from four corners in the area, you'd mistakenly walk right into this yard-like prison-and yes, it is low secrity or so it seems, but this is where everyone is locked up-passport offenders to murders.
We waited at an imaginary line on the dirt road with a small group of locals hoping to gain entrance to see their incarcerated family and friends. At a mysterious signal, suddenly everyone rushed across the dirt road to a very old cement building where guards sat to check you in. I had to give up my passport, my ipod, my camera and batteries, but got to keep my purse, money belt and books and soaps I had brought in to give to prisioners. I had also brought a big greasy bag of freshly fried "rotis"-a type of Nepali donut, and got to keep those too. After a body pat down, I was taken to a room with a list of foreign prisoner's names written in chalk, their nationality and offense. I scanned the list looking for American citizens and only found one a "Geraldine Bush" from-yes, Texas! Could it be one of the Bush kin had got in trouble in Kathmandu? I wrote her name down for a request, along with a French man and a Tibetan who's last name was "lama."
Once you hand the names to a guard, you are taken to a waiting room, ouside, where you can see the jail entrance, and out in front are two concrete benches that hold about 7 people each, with a 3 ft. concrete wall separating people. Visitors sit on one side of the wall, prisioners on the other, and you can hand your goods to a guard that is watching and they then hand them to the prisoner. The first person brought out to meet me was not any that I had requested, but a very big, dark African from Nigeria-who said he had been on a trekking trip in Nepal and then used some drugs and got caught. "How long was that?" I aksed- "Oh, about 1997," he causually replied. O M G! In jail since then because he cannot post his bail. Despite his long incarceration and many more years to go (he said he got the max. sentence of 15 years.) he seemed pretty happy and in good health. I looked around at the row of prisionres chatting amiably with their kin and all looked clean, happy and in a pleasant sort of mood. I offered a magazine, book and some chapatis to my AFrican friend and we said our Namastes. He was very delighted to have my visit and expressed his appreciation and then walked back into the barred gate. The guard sitting there (none of the guards around here had guns or any kind of uniform, in fact it was difficult to tell the prisioners from the guards!) yelled another name and then we waited and were told to walk around to another small courtyard to meet our "lama" from Tibet. This courtyard was as pleasant and airy and nice as any outdoor cafe in the back streeets of Kathmandu. A large gold Buddhas statue,about 12 feet high, adorned with fresh flowers and kata scarfs sat smiling serenly over all. It lent a very non-threatening air to the whole place and made me reflect on how harsh our American society is to our prisioners and condemning them for a mistake-here, the atmosphere was so different. It is so hard to describe if you haven't been to this part of the world, where the hardships are so many that everyone has a very patient and tolerant attitude towards life and seems more resigned tht we are not perfect, mistakes are made and you attone for them and move on. You are not a horrible person in the eyes of Buddha, the statue reminds you that imperfection is as much a part of life as seeking perfection, and to not give up on taming the monkey mind we are all born with!
My next "guest" came out, a young Tibetan man with a large Om tatoo on one arm and a double dorje tatoo on the other (dorgee is a very powerful symbol, like lightening, to Tibetans). He had been on a trip to India to see the Dalai Lama and was involved in a bus accident, some people were killed in the accident he said and he was arrested-he thing\ks because he did not have the right immigration papers and was "caught". This is common-Nepal and India have a very open border, and while it is near impossible to fly out of Nepal without passport and visa, you can travel overland and cross the border fairly easily=paying off the guards there. That is how myTibetan son and I are going to Dharmasala, India soon, overland, a 4 day bus ride, because he cannot fly with "Dalai Lama" passport, as the Tibetans say.
This young man had been in jail here for several years and felt he had several more to go because he had no money for his bail or fine. I asked him if any Americans were locked u pwith him-"Yes, many" he said. Would I like him to find one for me and bring him out? Yes indeed! So off he went and soon a tall, dignified older man, who reminded me very much of Don, looking all the world like a retired trekker who just came back from Everest came out smiling. We Namasted and sat down-I was a little shocked to see such a man, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew he was not American by the accent. No, he said, I am French. He had been living some years ago in India and his visa expired so he tried to cross into Nepal-but with opium. Yes, he shook his head sadly, he wa sa total idiot at the time, but living in India you feel yo ucan do things like that, you know? And then you find there are laws and you can get arrested for drugs, despite the pot growing everywhere, free to pick and smoke. The opiom charge was the mx. he said, and he was slapped with a 16 yr. sentence and had about 2 years to go. How were things in jail? Not bad, it's okay, the same reply the first two prisioners had told me. I offered him shampoo, soap and books. He was so happy to see Danny's Henry Miller book-Yes! Yes! He knew this American author very well and liked him. Off he went with his package, but not without a warning to me and my son-"Be careful over here, " he said "many good hearted people come to Nepal to help-their hearts are in the right place, and they try to do good works-sometimes things go wrong, people get angry, business deals are messy, jealousies errupt between villages, violence lies close to the surface. He realted a few scary stories he had heard from Americans he met in jail here-people like my son, young and trying to do good, and something goes array, people get offended. Be careful! Nepal is no different from ther rest of the world he said-there are very good peole here-and very bad.
I left to find the America Bush. She was a woman locked up in the woman's jail that was down another road and in a different compound. her the guards were dressed in Nepali sari's all colorful and chatting amiably, and a few woman soliders with guns lingered in the heat near the entrance, look hot and bored. I asked for the American Bush. "Bush! Bush!" they yelled into the compound behind the barred gate. Finally, a very young, weet looking pale girl came out and sat across from me. Her eyes looked blank, like she was in shock. Are you Bush? I asked. No, she looked up-surprised at the name "I am ----(name I can't remember) from Finland. WHAT?? So we chatted. She said she was in jail for losing her passport! O M G again! Lose your passport, go to jail. Did her family know she was in here? Yes, they are coming to help her. How long has she been in here? Two months. That didn't seem right to me-it was taking two months for her family to help her? I aksed her if I could take some information home with me to try and reach her family. No, she was fine. did she know an American here named Bush? Yes, Bush from Texas, she is mental, she told me. Crazy. Says she knows the president. Hand gesture to head indicating lack of mental facilities.
A headache had been growing in my own head, the heat and humidity were oppressive, I had to go and get some food. I had been u since 5 am doing Kora first at Boudha stuppa with Karma, now this, I had to go-no more prison visits. My heart ached fro these lost soulds, yet it was good to see they are not mistreated here. I do feel the religious spirituality of Nepal prevails to create a climate of fairness and karma for all living beings. The dogs loose on the street are not mistreated but stepped over and tolerated with no bother, the animals are happy and content, the donkeys work hard but are not beaten, the people are terribley poor but happy and treat each other well. The prisoners I saw here were not sad or miserable, they were well feed and clean, they wore clean clothes they graciously accepted my gifts but didn't act like they really needed them. It was good to see the spiritual nature of Nepal doesn't end at the imaginary prison line that exisit somewhere on this dirt road into this interesting compound.
We gathered our mobile, ipod, camera, and dear, dear passport, which I kissed in front of the the guards and they laughed, knowing full well how much trouble that official document can cause if not in hand. It is in my neck pouch now and will stay there as long as I am out of the country!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Om Shiva!
How do you take 23 orphans and 3 of their helpers on a field trip to the world's largest Shiva statue?
That was our task Saturday as Danny and I attempted to treat the children to an outing. Since the children rarely get out of their tiny compound to do anything, we decided to scrap up our "at home" coffee money and take the children on a field trip. Durga, the kind woman who runs the orphange, had the children washed, dressed and lined up for us when we arrived. Our Tibetan friend Kelsang, who often acts as our translator and "fixer" man, had found a bus that would hold 30 for us, for about $3,500 rubee-or about $50-this bus would stay with us for the day and included the driver and his "conductor"-a must for Nepali travels.
The children's eyes were bright and their smiles big as we set off trhough the dusty, winding, crowded streets of Kathmandu. Soon our little bus, painted with Shiva and his white bull Nandi on the back, began to clmib into the hills, past rice paddies and green fields, and slowly up to the ancient town of Bhactapur. AFter about anhorus drive, Nepali music playing loudly and the kids chattering, we spied our first view of the enormous Shiva-about 150 ft. up on a hill, overlooking all. Squeals of delight and awes as we all shifted to the left side of the bus to catch a better look. Up and up the bus down-shifted and the chatter inside grew louder. Soon we were pouring out of the bus and hiking up the hillside to the entrance. I had been trying to calculate in my head how much the entire day was going to cost-rubees for water, rubees for snacks, etc. everything times 30. Om Shiva, when we walked up to the entrance, and found they were giving free pepsi and box snacks to all who entered. AFter doing more thena few rounds of inspecting the statue from big tow to tip of trident spear, we settled in some shade to hear local Nepali musicians play "puja" music in honor of the Shiva shrine.
The children were hungry again and it was growing late, so we herded everyone down to our Shiva bus, loaded up and found a restaurant and green, grassy area to have some chowmein. 30 orders again, and 30 bottles of water! After enjoying our meal while sitting around a low table on the ground, we again loaded up the so very well-behaved kids and set off for Kathmandu. The driver and conductor had been enjoying themselves immensely, and I included them in our lunch and tea, so they were very happy, the kids were happy, Shiva was happy-it was a joyous time had by all. When we returned to the orphanage, the little ones who stayed behind came running down the short driveway to grab Danny Sir's big hands, and hanging onto his hands and legs, lead him up to the main yard. No one seemed to mind not going, these kids are just amazing in their equitable behavior towards each other. It was such a pleasure to be around such well-behaved children who appreciate and are so grateful for all anyone does for them. I had enjoyed talking to some of the older girls, who are high swchool age and telling me their dreams of becoming a nurse or teacher. "I will do my best to get you tuition for your school," I promised. It costs about $1,500 USdolalrs for the odler kids to go to boarding school to get their higher education-that includes everything-food and board. Not so much in US terms, but light years away when a poor orphan. The two girls I talked to, so well mannered and groomed, grew up in Buddhist Child Home, and seemed like exceptional human beings. So if you are reading this and feeling these girls are worthy of a good education and a chance to become something noble and do good with their lifes, you can send any donations to Hands in Nepal marked for Buddhist Child Home and I promise it will go to their education. I can and gladly will send pictures of the girls to anyone requesting this, and any other information I can supply on their education., As they say at Buddhist Child Home: "Love all, Serve All"-I so much want to thank anyone willing to help out-they are truly worthy girls!! Namaste!! Jan
That was our task Saturday as Danny and I attempted to treat the children to an outing. Since the children rarely get out of their tiny compound to do anything, we decided to scrap up our "at home" coffee money and take the children on a field trip. Durga, the kind woman who runs the orphange, had the children washed, dressed and lined up for us when we arrived. Our Tibetan friend Kelsang, who often acts as our translator and "fixer" man, had found a bus that would hold 30 for us, for about $3,500 rubee-or about $50-this bus would stay with us for the day and included the driver and his "conductor"-a must for Nepali travels.
The children's eyes were bright and their smiles big as we set off trhough the dusty, winding, crowded streets of Kathmandu. Soon our little bus, painted with Shiva and his white bull Nandi on the back, began to clmib into the hills, past rice paddies and green fields, and slowly up to the ancient town of Bhactapur. AFter about anhorus drive, Nepali music playing loudly and the kids chattering, we spied our first view of the enormous Shiva-about 150 ft. up on a hill, overlooking all. Squeals of delight and awes as we all shifted to the left side of the bus to catch a better look. Up and up the bus down-shifted and the chatter inside grew louder. Soon we were pouring out of the bus and hiking up the hillside to the entrance. I had been trying to calculate in my head how much the entire day was going to cost-rubees for water, rubees for snacks, etc. everything times 30. Om Shiva, when we walked up to the entrance, and found they were giving free pepsi and box snacks to all who entered. AFter doing more thena few rounds of inspecting the statue from big tow to tip of trident spear, we settled in some shade to hear local Nepali musicians play "puja" music in honor of the Shiva shrine.
The children were hungry again and it was growing late, so we herded everyone down to our Shiva bus, loaded up and found a restaurant and green, grassy area to have some chowmein. 30 orders again, and 30 bottles of water! After enjoying our meal while sitting around a low table on the ground, we again loaded up the so very well-behaved kids and set off for Kathmandu. The driver and conductor had been enjoying themselves immensely, and I included them in our lunch and tea, so they were very happy, the kids were happy, Shiva was happy-it was a joyous time had by all. When we returned to the orphanage, the little ones who stayed behind came running down the short driveway to grab Danny Sir's big hands, and hanging onto his hands and legs, lead him up to the main yard. No one seemed to mind not going, these kids are just amazing in their equitable behavior towards each other. It was such a pleasure to be around such well-behaved children who appreciate and are so grateful for all anyone does for them. I had enjoyed talking to some of the older girls, who are high swchool age and telling me their dreams of becoming a nurse or teacher. "I will do my best to get you tuition for your school," I promised. It costs about $1,500 USdolalrs for the odler kids to go to boarding school to get their higher education-that includes everything-food and board. Not so much in US terms, but light years away when a poor orphan. The two girls I talked to, so well mannered and groomed, grew up in Buddhist Child Home, and seemed like exceptional human beings. So if you are reading this and feeling these girls are worthy of a good education and a chance to become something noble and do good with their lifes, you can send any donations to Hands in Nepal marked for Buddhist Child Home and I promise it will go to their education. I can and gladly will send pictures of the girls to anyone requesting this, and any other information I can supply on their education., As they say at Buddhist Child Home: "Love all, Serve All"-I so much want to thank anyone willing to help out-they are truly worthy girls!! Namaste!! Jan
Ama and Karma go to Pokhara
Ama and Karma are Danny's other parents-the Tibetan family that takes diligent care of him as if he is one of their children,when he is in Kathmandu. Karma walked out of Tibet many years ago with his family and has made a decent living as a Tibetan Thangka painter-and Ama,his loyal Nepali wife, has completly adopted Tibetan culture as her own,wearing the Tibetan chupa dress and aporn and speaking fluent Tibetan and practicing the Buddhist faith as if her birth religion. The two have raised 6 children and through hard work have managed to send them all over the years to the USA. They have always sacrificed for their children, and have traveled very little,rarely leaving Kathmandu, so when Danny and I announced we were going to Pokhara, a lakeside city about 6 hrs.bus ride from Kathmandu, to visit the Tibetan Refugee Camp, I invited them both to come along my treat for all their good care of Danny, who they dote over as if their own son.
We left on a "tourist" bus, term used loosely here to note a bus that isn't going to stop every ten minutes to cram more bodies in, and immediately Karma,who showed up with a huge mala of bone carved in skulls and adorned with turquoise (you would have to know about Tibetan Buddhism to understand that this is a very powerful mala) slung over his left shoulder and under his right arm, began to chant a Buddhist mantra-something like "Om Mani Padme Hum" but many more syllables and over and over ina drone, that later he said was blessing the bus,driver and all the occupants. As we passed broken down busses, crashed busses and stalled busses, this became very reassuring.
We made several stops along the way for bathroom breaks and meals, as is typical in bus travel in Nepal. Karma and Ama took in the beautiful green scenery as we sped downhill from Kathmandu and then along the river, past rice paddies and fields of corn and terraced hillsides and Karma exclaming: "Oh My God" at the pristine scenery. We eventually made it to Pokhara about 3 that afternoon,and took a taxi, the 5 of us (Yungdung was also along, Danny's Tibetan brother) crammed in a Suzuki taxi, and found a guest house called "Moonland" a few blocks up from the lake that a tout had convinced us was a great bargain at 400 rubees a night ( about $6/night). We got two nice rooms, one with a double and a twin bed for Yungdung,Danny and myself,and a double for Ama and Karma. Then we ordered milk tea onthe veranda and sipped it enjoying crickets and frogs,and Karma noted there were no cars "singing" inthis peaceful town, compared to all the "singing" that goes on in Kathmandu!
I convinced them to take a stroll lakeside, and Karma, still wearing the protective mala,and Ama in her Tibtan apron, agreed to venture out before we had dinner and check out the lake. There are large wooden boats you can rent for a few dollars and I had a dream of rowing Ama and Karma around the lake, but they quickly shook their heads and waggled fingers they would not enjoy it at all/ Ama said she was once in a boat on a lake when they lived in India and did not enjoy it at all and Karma then told us a story about being in a rice pot when a child and playingiin the river and tipping over and water cominglike this (gestures as water is swallowed and belly grows large) and throw up water like this (again more gestures) and I understood then how scary it must seem to be on water when you can't swim.
Danny, Yungdung (who also can't swim) and I rowed about as Karma and Ama smiled and waved at us from shore. Then we found a lakeside cafe and ordered pizza to munch with a pot of milk tea and I realized this was also a first for Karma and Ama, who after that, insisted on eating only dahl bhat every night.
The next day we hailed a cab and paid the driver an extra 50 rubees (about .75) to take us all the way to the Tibetan Refugee Camp, which was built in1965 after China invaded Tibet and many Tibetans poured over the Himalayas to Nepal to escape the persecution and oppresion of China against their culture and religion. This camp houses about 1,000 refugees, or 'fugees, and our friends in Nepal say it, and is one of the largest and oldest. We came to see if HANDS could do something to help the children in their education here,and we were very surprised at what we found!
For part two go to http://handsinnepal.blogspot.com/p/tibetan-refugee-camp.html
We left on a "tourist" bus, term used loosely here to note a bus that isn't going to stop every ten minutes to cram more bodies in, and immediately Karma,who showed up with a huge mala of bone carved in skulls and adorned with turquoise (you would have to know about Tibetan Buddhism to understand that this is a very powerful mala) slung over his left shoulder and under his right arm, began to chant a Buddhist mantra-something like "Om Mani Padme Hum" but many more syllables and over and over ina drone, that later he said was blessing the bus,driver and all the occupants. As we passed broken down busses, crashed busses and stalled busses, this became very reassuring.
We made several stops along the way for bathroom breaks and meals, as is typical in bus travel in Nepal. Karma and Ama took in the beautiful green scenery as we sped downhill from Kathmandu and then along the river, past rice paddies and fields of corn and terraced hillsides and Karma exclaming: "Oh My God" at the pristine scenery. We eventually made it to Pokhara about 3 that afternoon,and took a taxi, the 5 of us (Yungdung was also along, Danny's Tibetan brother) crammed in a Suzuki taxi, and found a guest house called "Moonland" a few blocks up from the lake that a tout had convinced us was a great bargain at 400 rubees a night ( about $6/night). We got two nice rooms, one with a double and a twin bed for Yungdung,Danny and myself,and a double for Ama and Karma. Then we ordered milk tea onthe veranda and sipped it enjoying crickets and frogs,and Karma noted there were no cars "singing" inthis peaceful town, compared to all the "singing" that goes on in Kathmandu!
I convinced them to take a stroll lakeside, and Karma, still wearing the protective mala,and Ama in her Tibtan apron, agreed to venture out before we had dinner and check out the lake. There are large wooden boats you can rent for a few dollars and I had a dream of rowing Ama and Karma around the lake, but they quickly shook their heads and waggled fingers they would not enjoy it at all/ Ama said she was once in a boat on a lake when they lived in India and did not enjoy it at all and Karma then told us a story about being in a rice pot when a child and playingiin the river and tipping over and water cominglike this (gestures as water is swallowed and belly grows large) and throw up water like this (again more gestures) and I understood then how scary it must seem to be on water when you can't swim.
Danny, Yungdung (who also can't swim) and I rowed about as Karma and Ama smiled and waved at us from shore. Then we found a lakeside cafe and ordered pizza to munch with a pot of milk tea and I realized this was also a first for Karma and Ama, who after that, insisted on eating only dahl bhat every night.
The next day we hailed a cab and paid the driver an extra 50 rubees (about .75) to take us all the way to the Tibetan Refugee Camp, which was built in1965 after China invaded Tibet and many Tibetans poured over the Himalayas to Nepal to escape the persecution and oppresion of China against their culture and religion. This camp houses about 1,000 refugees, or 'fugees, and our friends in Nepal say it, and is one of the largest and oldest. We came to see if HANDS could do something to help the children in their education here,and we were very surprised at what we found!
For part two go to http://handsinnepal.blogspot.com/p/tibetan-refugee-camp.html
Monday, June 14, 2010
Hearts in Nepal Part 3 (and final chapter!)
As I mentioned in Part 2, it is definately worth the time to go back and read from the beginning of this rather long blog entry. There is so much to share and tell, and for those of you who have been on the journey with us since the beginning, you will enjoy so much reading of the fruits of your generosity!
One part of the ceremony that I do not want to leave out was the care and kindness offered to us by Protap, our project manager-and really every one of the villlagers, when Protap asked us all the stand for a one minute silent meditation in honor of our son Sean Chaffin. Earlier he has asked me to write the names of our family members, including Danny's brother who had died. Everyone in the village knows about Danny's older brother having fallen to his death 10 years ago, and they all take that great sorrow and pain into their hearts, knowing fully well how such a loss can affect one forever. So touched were Danny and I, standing side by side in our school, the fresh light pouring in through a gap in the tin roof that was still being put on, workers outside hammering away on the roof in fact, but now also falling silent as we all stood as one, heads bowed, reflecting on life, death, sons, family, two cultures joining together, children, our future. Danny touched my shoulder lightly in assurance that he was there with me, and it felt as if now I had so many sons I would never lack in my mothering practice!
AFter the speeces and ceremony, we wandered back out into the bright light of the mountains, and Rajan redirected us up the trail to the village heart, where there is a small cafe, and were we ate-yes-dahl bhat and hot tea. It seemed a good time to nap as a fat, piebald goat was doing at the small plaza built around a giant shade tree, his goat horns leaning against the low wall, eyes shut and almost snoring, so content in the heat and lack of diversions! Danny wanted to take us up the path a ways, to show us an amazing view of the upper regions of the village, so he, Kelsang and I did, stopping to say our Namastes at Manju, the school teacher's house. Once back from our side-trip, we descended to the camp below, to swim and cool off in the river. It was a welcome reward and the Ganesh Himal peaks broke through some building monsoon clouds to smile at us swimming below. I felt I could buy a house here and stay awhile, and floated on my back dreaming of life in Dharka.
One part of the ceremony that I do not want to leave out was the care and kindness offered to us by Protap, our project manager-and really every one of the villlagers, when Protap asked us all the stand for a one minute silent meditation in honor of our son Sean Chaffin. Earlier he has asked me to write the names of our family members, including Danny's brother who had died. Everyone in the village knows about Danny's older brother having fallen to his death 10 years ago, and they all take that great sorrow and pain into their hearts, knowing fully well how such a loss can affect one forever. So touched were Danny and I, standing side by side in our school, the fresh light pouring in through a gap in the tin roof that was still being put on, workers outside hammering away on the roof in fact, but now also falling silent as we all stood as one, heads bowed, reflecting on life, death, sons, family, two cultures joining together, children, our future. Danny touched my shoulder lightly in assurance that he was there with me, and it felt as if now I had so many sons I would never lack in my mothering practice!
AFter the speeces and ceremony, we wandered back out into the bright light of the mountains, and Rajan redirected us up the trail to the village heart, where there is a small cafe, and were we ate-yes-dahl bhat and hot tea. It seemed a good time to nap as a fat, piebald goat was doing at the small plaza built around a giant shade tree, his goat horns leaning against the low wall, eyes shut and almost snoring, so content in the heat and lack of diversions! Danny wanted to take us up the path a ways, to show us an amazing view of the upper regions of the village, so he, Kelsang and I did, stopping to say our Namastes at Manju, the school teacher's house. Once back from our side-trip, we descended to the camp below, to swim and cool off in the river. It was a welcome reward and the Ganesh Himal peaks broke through some building monsoon clouds to smile at us swimming below. I felt I could buy a house here and stay awhile, and floated on my back dreaming of life in Dharka.
Hearts in Nepal-Part Two
If you haven't read part one,you might want to pour some milk tea and catch up! It's a story worth taking a tea break for, and in this part of the world, Nepali spicy tea sweet wtih sugar and cooled with creamy milk is tops.
Got your hot tea?Cell phone off? SO there I was in Dharka, hot and sweaty but filled with happiness that our school stood before us, nearly finished when just less then a year ago, Danny and I had walked this area of terraced hillsides trying to imagine how they would fit a school on the shelf of land. But it was not as difficult for the villagers to visualize, those strong, kind hearted people who work this land with such determination to makea good life here, as they have for centuries. The children lined up with the help of adults who stood them from smallest to tallest, each child had in hand a necklace of hand strung flowers or a white kata ,the traditional Buddhist blessing scarf. Rajan, cheerful as always but even more so today, told us that we were to proceed between the two lines of children, bowing and saying our "Namastes" to them as they carefully placed the adornments over our heads and said their greeting.I could not help but claps my large old hands around each pair of sweet small hands and treid to match their innocent stares with the love I truly felt in my heart. I hoped they sense the swell of admiration I felt for how hard the villagers had work to make the school happen, and for these, their wonderful children. The children here in the village are so polite and so amazenly kind to us strangers-it is enogh to fill your heart over and over. They come up to you and "Namaste" with the most beautiful smiles, and observe all the correct protocol in ceremonies such as this.
AFter we walked the line of children,bowing and namasting, we light a candle that made up a small alter, with flowers and fruit. I presentd the villagers and children with my sheet I had brought, where I had painted a crude map of the world with a rainbow linking California to Dharka,and had had my own students in Guadalupe press their painted hands around the border,and now had paint to do the same with the Nepali children. Our cultural connection had begun! Rajan then gave me a tour with our project manager Protap, and I stared in wonder as we went into each of the 4 rooms and aborped the light and fresh air coming in from the doors and windows. The view was the most stunning of all. Right out the front doors of each four rooms spreads below the valley and river, with mountains and green jungle below. Way off in the distance are the towering peaks of the Himalayas, and of course the peak of Ganesh Himal overlooking all. How inspiring!
Rajan then told us we would have a ceremony and many speeches, and a table,bench for honored guests and straw mats for others, were brought into one of the classrooms. There we sat listening to village officials and those involved in the project making heartfelt speeches, that despite the communication gap,I felt deeply each carefully chosen word. Then is was Danny's turn to speak and the audience gave him thunderous applause, then me, "Amma" tried to add some words of wisdom and speak from my heart, and then Rajan gave a wonderful speech that went fromhumerous to stern to serious to funny,keeping all attention,even the smallest inthe crowd, listening intently!
Got your hot tea?Cell phone off? SO there I was in Dharka, hot and sweaty but filled with happiness that our school stood before us, nearly finished when just less then a year ago, Danny and I had walked this area of terraced hillsides trying to imagine how they would fit a school on the shelf of land. But it was not as difficult for the villagers to visualize, those strong, kind hearted people who work this land with such determination to makea good life here, as they have for centuries. The children lined up with the help of adults who stood them from smallest to tallest, each child had in hand a necklace of hand strung flowers or a white kata ,the traditional Buddhist blessing scarf. Rajan, cheerful as always but even more so today, told us that we were to proceed between the two lines of children, bowing and saying our "Namastes" to them as they carefully placed the adornments over our heads and said their greeting.I could not help but claps my large old hands around each pair of sweet small hands and treid to match their innocent stares with the love I truly felt in my heart. I hoped they sense the swell of admiration I felt for how hard the villagers had work to make the school happen, and for these, their wonderful children. The children here in the village are so polite and so amazenly kind to us strangers-it is enogh to fill your heart over and over. They come up to you and "Namaste" with the most beautiful smiles, and observe all the correct protocol in ceremonies such as this.
AFter we walked the line of children,bowing and namasting, we light a candle that made up a small alter, with flowers and fruit. I presentd the villagers and children with my sheet I had brought, where I had painted a crude map of the world with a rainbow linking California to Dharka,and had had my own students in Guadalupe press their painted hands around the border,and now had paint to do the same with the Nepali children. Our cultural connection had begun! Rajan then gave me a tour with our project manager Protap, and I stared in wonder as we went into each of the 4 rooms and aborped the light and fresh air coming in from the doors and windows. The view was the most stunning of all. Right out the front doors of each four rooms spreads below the valley and river, with mountains and green jungle below. Way off in the distance are the towering peaks of the Himalayas, and of course the peak of Ganesh Himal overlooking all. How inspiring!
Rajan then told us we would have a ceremony and many speeches, and a table,bench for honored guests and straw mats for others, were brought into one of the classrooms. There we sat listening to village officials and those involved in the project making heartfelt speeches, that despite the communication gap,I felt deeply each carefully chosen word. Then is was Danny's turn to speak and the audience gave him thunderous applause, then me, "Amma" tried to add some words of wisdom and speak from my heart, and then Rajan gave a wonderful speech that went fromhumerous to stern to serious to funny,keeping all attention,even the smallest inthe crowd, listening intently!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Hearts in Nepal
Danny and I have just returned from Dharka village today, tired, sore muscles and happy faces. We left a few days ago to travel up to the village to see the condition of the school. Rajan was anxious for us to go before the monsoon rains began, as the rough, dirt road will proably close once the rains fall and turn the already treacherous track to slippery mud. It had been a year since I last traveled to Dharka and my head was full of imagining what awaited us-on the road and at the end of the trail, high up in the Ganesh Himals at the village. Danny had recently returned from the village as I arrived in kathmandu, so our joyful reuniting was kept short by the necessity to repack and head out to the hills once again.
The road to Dharka is paved with good intentions, I thought, as we jostled along first in the overcrowded mini-van from Kathmandu with our Tibetan friend Kelsang Lodue and Rajan Simkhada. The ride was painfully slow in the heat and over-crowded conditions requiring passengers to sit sideways to accomodate shoulders and knees-and some bailing out for the fresh air and more spacious quarters rooftop with the luggace. Our stop was Dhading Besi, about 3 hours out of Kathmandu but today 6 hrs because of a terrible backlog of traffic on the one and only two lane highway of Nepal. Once in Dhading, we unkinked our limbs and wobbled to a cafe for Dahl Bhat (rice and lentils) and then procurred a jeep taxi for the now 4 hour rigurous route to the outback and then our hike up to Dharka. It is not a trip for the faint of heart, in all respects of the word, but the rewards are unbelievable beautiful scenery and an amazing step back in time. Farmers working fields with water buffalos and colorful Nepali women with baskets on their heads, children playing with stickes and hoops-there is a true self-reliance out here that we seldom get to see in the "modern" world. The rugged jeeps break down frequently and ours did so, shortly after we began the dirt track, it seemd something snapped on the frame and so all passengers had to disembark and we waited patiently, as you learn to do in this part of the world, for the next "taxi" to come by. Soon enough one did and we reloaded and left our old driver and his broken jeep on their own. The ride was bone crunching, the silt suffocating, and the heat unbelievable, but the excitement overrode it all as we neared the end of the trail, about 12 hours since we left Kathmandu. Now with dark coming, we hiked to the nearest overnight 'hostel'-a thatched roofed, wood bed arrangement near a roaring river with a kind Nepali woman who made us dahl bhat and hot tea. I was so exhausted from the day's travel i just wanted to eat, drink and collapse and soon did.
The morning broke with singing birds, a cool mist rising and several porters, who had stopped to sleep along with us for the night, smoking for their breakfast before gathering huge loads on their backs to set off in all directions for villages-pvc pipe, tin and wood were some of the things on small strong backs as loads were shouldered, a few words said, and off they went, most barefoot. We ate a simple Nepali breakfast of chickpeas and hot tea and watched several donkey trains come by, bells ringing and the boy walking behind whistling to the good donkeys to keep moving, although one diverted to make a quick stab at slurping some dish water by the dripping pvc hose. We began our own ascent up the smooth worn steps to Dharka village, way above us. We reached the village about 2 hours from leaving our camp, hot, sweaty and leg sore, but happy because some of the locals had come down to meet us, with Namastes and excitement in their eyes. I guessed something was up, Rajan had said the school was nearly finished but had made no mention of a ceremony. I soon so blue-clad children peering over the edge of a terraced field about us as Danny pointed out that we were soon to top off the steep climb at the school site. The anticipation of seeing "our" school finished-a reality and no longer a dream, gave me renewed vigor. And then we were there! A small group of two dozen villagers and children began to clap as we made our way to the flat area of the school, sitting almost impossible real, red clay and stone, tin roof shining, a hand-woven arch over the entrace, a banner with Nepali writing on it that later was translated to me as "Ganesh Himal Primary School" But mostly, the beautiful faces of the darling children, looking happy, excited and amazed at their foreign visitors who appeard on the rise! I wanted to hug all of them, wrap my sweaty arms around the whole group of villagers who clapped and sang out "Namastes!" to us with such happiness and joy on their faces! (This is part one, part two to come soon-time for kora!) Namaste!!! Jan
The road to Dharka is paved with good intentions, I thought, as we jostled along first in the overcrowded mini-van from Kathmandu with our Tibetan friend Kelsang Lodue and Rajan Simkhada. The ride was painfully slow in the heat and over-crowded conditions requiring passengers to sit sideways to accomodate shoulders and knees-and some bailing out for the fresh air and more spacious quarters rooftop with the luggace. Our stop was Dhading Besi, about 3 hours out of Kathmandu but today 6 hrs because of a terrible backlog of traffic on the one and only two lane highway of Nepal. Once in Dhading, we unkinked our limbs and wobbled to a cafe for Dahl Bhat (rice and lentils) and then procurred a jeep taxi for the now 4 hour rigurous route to the outback and then our hike up to Dharka. It is not a trip for the faint of heart, in all respects of the word, but the rewards are unbelievable beautiful scenery and an amazing step back in time. Farmers working fields with water buffalos and colorful Nepali women with baskets on their heads, children playing with stickes and hoops-there is a true self-reliance out here that we seldom get to see in the "modern" world. The rugged jeeps break down frequently and ours did so, shortly after we began the dirt track, it seemd something snapped on the frame and so all passengers had to disembark and we waited patiently, as you learn to do in this part of the world, for the next "taxi" to come by. Soon enough one did and we reloaded and left our old driver and his broken jeep on their own. The ride was bone crunching, the silt suffocating, and the heat unbelievable, but the excitement overrode it all as we neared the end of the trail, about 12 hours since we left Kathmandu. Now with dark coming, we hiked to the nearest overnight 'hostel'-a thatched roofed, wood bed arrangement near a roaring river with a kind Nepali woman who made us dahl bhat and hot tea. I was so exhausted from the day's travel i just wanted to eat, drink and collapse and soon did.
The morning broke with singing birds, a cool mist rising and several porters, who had stopped to sleep along with us for the night, smoking for their breakfast before gathering huge loads on their backs to set off in all directions for villages-pvc pipe, tin and wood were some of the things on small strong backs as loads were shouldered, a few words said, and off they went, most barefoot. We ate a simple Nepali breakfast of chickpeas and hot tea and watched several donkey trains come by, bells ringing and the boy walking behind whistling to the good donkeys to keep moving, although one diverted to make a quick stab at slurping some dish water by the dripping pvc hose. We began our own ascent up the smooth worn steps to Dharka village, way above us. We reached the village about 2 hours from leaving our camp, hot, sweaty and leg sore, but happy because some of the locals had come down to meet us, with Namastes and excitement in their eyes. I guessed something was up, Rajan had said the school was nearly finished but had made no mention of a ceremony. I soon so blue-clad children peering over the edge of a terraced field about us as Danny pointed out that we were soon to top off the steep climb at the school site. The anticipation of seeing "our" school finished-a reality and no longer a dream, gave me renewed vigor. And then we were there! A small group of two dozen villagers and children began to clap as we made our way to the flat area of the school, sitting almost impossible real, red clay and stone, tin roof shining, a hand-woven arch over the entrace, a banner with Nepali writing on it that later was translated to me as "Ganesh Himal Primary School" But mostly, the beautiful faces of the darling children, looking happy, excited and amazed at their foreign visitors who appeard on the rise! I wanted to hug all of them, wrap my sweaty arms around the whole group of villagers who clapped and sang out "Namastes!" to us with such happiness and joy on their faces! (This is part one, part two to come soon-time for kora!) Namaste!!! Jan
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)