Off to Humla

(5/11 Simikot) We made it! Okay, we made it to Humla anyway. Charles and I got into Simikot this morning. I've never been so glad to be shivering in my life. Our pitstop last night (between Kathmandu and Simikot) was Nepalgunj and 'Jesus Mary and Joseph' is it hot! It was 110 degrees if it was -3 I swear. I do not handle heat well, as most of you know, so I nearly cried when Charles said lets go out walking. Honestly, though, it was hotter inside than out. The language is really the only thing that reminds me we're still in Nepal and didn't get accidentally dropped off on the wrong side of the border. And America thinks she's the only diverse country. Nepal's people live everywhere from the desert to the jungle to the top of the highest mountains in the world. (may 15, Yangar, end of day) Logically I know the people here are dirt poor. Poor nutrition, no medicine, and rocky soil to name a few examples. Yet I don't see that when I look around myself. I see a joyful, peaceful people. They are thankful for what they have and share it willingly. I have to look past the playing children and loving families to see the poor standard of living, the dirt, and the trash. But I should start at the beginning. We arrived at the airport Thursday the 10th on time despite the strike. Well, on time for Nepal which means 45 minutes before our flight was scheduled to leave. Charles was biting his nails. The taxi had to take back roads and actually had a spotter that would get out of the car and peek around the corner to make sure the coast was clear of rooters with molotov cocktails. When there's a strike on, the hardcore demonstrators will actually burn taxis or businesses that flout it. Nepalgunj, on the Indian border, was brutal. 110 degrees and muggy is not my idea of good working conditions. But Charles wanted to shoot some footage of the town so off we went on an hour long walk. Ugh. Why people would live there is even more baffling to me than why someone decided to settle in Upper Humla. But, apparently, Tibetan DNA demands they live up high. Someone told me about trekking around Nepal and whenever they gained enough elevation all the faces changed from Nepali to Tibetan. To my great astonishment no mosquitoes! I don't understand it. When I was there before I stepped outside and nearly inhaled six. Not that I'm complaining, mind. After a short flight through the mountains we arrived in Simikot. It is exactly how I left it, just much greener. I showed Charles my favorite spot on the edge where you can look down and see the tiny, tiny river at the bottom of the valley. The tiny river that we have to climb down to, back up to the same height, down again, then a little up. Fun stuff.

Unreal

(guesthouse at breakfast) Leaving Seattle, a 13 hour flight, even picking up our bags at the KTM airport did not make returning real to me. But now, after being on the street again, seeing the people, and smelling the smells (good and bad) I feel well and truly back. Everything here is timeless. The places, the people, everything. It's exactly the same as I left. (mid afternoon snack in Thamel) Charles gets major props for trying the fried rice this morning and now chips chili. And he liked them both. So far so good. Unfortunately my lunch plans are shot because it started pouring rain but never fear. I will get my favorite momo by hook or by crook. I think Charles and I are starting to feel nap time coming up. At least I am.

Here we go again...

(sea-Tac airport) 9:00am Woohoo! Charles and I are about to board the first leg of our 30 hours of travel. I can't believe im going back just a month after I came home. To film a documentary no less! Who would have thought? I have a feeling Charles and I are going to get a long just fine. In my bag I have an iPod, iPhone, iPad, and Kindle. Anyone seeing a theme emerge?

Now, where were we?

For some background: While Mother stayed with me at my monastery i was introduced to a former monk, Chembal Lama. He asked me if i could help him translate some letters to his school children's sponsors. Of course i said yes and one night during the program mother and I joined Chembal for dinner where he told me his story. Most of the story I recorded in "A people with no country" but just for a refresher. Chembal, along with most of the monks at my monastery come from Humla, in nw nepal on the tibetan border. Up until 2006 this area suffered severely from the 11 year civil war fought between the Maoists and the Royal Nepali Army. Children were routinely stolen for child soldiers or slaves. Consequently as many children as possible where sent away, mostly to Kathmandu or India. This means that these communities lost an entire generation that will most likely never come back. Why does that matter so much, as long as the children are safer? It matters because Upper Humla is one of the last pure examples of tibetan culture and Buddhism. It is escaping the cultural genocide China is perpetrating in Tibet itself because at the time of the 1949 invasion Humla luckily belonged to Nepal. But no one could accuse me of being political. Never. Rather than go off on a Tibet/China rant (and if you're ever in the mood it's a good one) I'll stick to my original topic. Because these children leave at such a young age they are not taught their sacred cultural heritage. Not only that, but because they often don't return the community never benefits from the education their children received. Chembal's life's mission is to resolve these issues. He works tirelessly to expand and improve the local school in his area, as well as build more hostels to allow more and more students to attend the school. In 2006 the Yalbang school had 12 students. Today in 2012 it has 187, 118 of which are girls. Chembal's hostel provides beds, food, clothing, school supplies, and medicine for over 30 students. This is the story we heard from Chembal in January. Mother got back from visiting me in February. Shortly there after she approached a local producer we knew at Nena and Jamie's wedding. After a skype meeting with me (at 3 in the morning my time) Jeff made the decision that we had the makings of a great documentary. Now, after having about a month to prepare, Charles and I are heading back to my second home to tell the story of my second family. P.S. A shout out and big thank you to all who attended our "Friends of Nepal" gathering. Please enjoy as we record our adventure.

Privacy and Dickens

(Feb 19)

The kids cry the least of any kids I've ever met. They'll fall down steps, a low wall, push each other on the gravel, and throw rocks at each other. No tears at all. The new biggest brother has some attitude adjustment issues so every few days I'll hear him but even that's settled down since they first got here.

Ok, I'd like to preface my next statement with this assurance. These boys are well loved, taken care of, and valued. They never want for food and stay warm enough. Of course socks have holes, some jackets are old and warn, and all robes carry stains but there is no neglect here. Mini monks share with each other, big monks share with little monks. However it astounds me, sometimes, what the adults don't know about the little ones. Chouying hasn't noticed that they all have new toys (other than the ones from Mamma and I). Some don't known every body's names. (In all fairness there are a few I'm missing too but you'd think names in someone's native language would stick after a few months let alone years.) Beyond that I'm continually amazed at what the boys don't get in trouble for. My efforts to stop them throwing rocks at each other is somewhat undermined by the big monks throwing rocks right back. Luckily I've only gotten hit in the head once and the bruise lasted only a week.

On a different but jot unrelated topic the lack of privacy and personal property is getting on my nerves. I'm very used to the boys visiting when they please or just peaking their head in as they walk by. But a few days ago a girl who was visiting walked by my door (while is was sitting on the wall watching) pulled back the flap and totally checked it out! The boys are one thing but come on. Would that even occur to an American? Whether or not she knew who's room it was and that I was watching her the whole time is somewhat besides the point. If she knew it was my room she knew I was watching since I was less than fifty feet away facing her and she did it anyway? If she didn't know who's room it was what was the point? There's another great example from yesterday. I spent all day, basically, at my favorite cafe next to Nadyanthan Chowk (the center square in Budhanilkantha) using their wifi and reading. (I'm so proud of myself. I'm over half way finished with Nicholas Nicklbey! Which those familiar with Dickens and his loquacious tendencies will appreciate.

By the way if I may offer a general suggestion for high school English teachers. Please give up on Great Expectations and switch to NN. I spent several years hating Dickens because of GE and thinking his only redeeming work was A Christmas Carol (which I knew from A Muppet Christmas Carol). A Tale of Two Cities raised him in my esteem slightly but since he kills off every woman's favorite character he only gained so many points. With the exception of a few tangents reminiscent of Alexander Dumas (though not anywhere close to as painful) Nicholas Nickelby is a delightful engaging work and a surprisingly fast read for it's length.

Back to my point. Several happy hours corresponding, drinking tea, and reading were hampered slightly when the father of the family took it upon himself to sit at my table and engage me in a halting conversation. Why does every man I talk to for more than five minutes ask me if I smoke and what I drink? Anyway, after an hour or so he moved to my bench on my side of the table to check out my Kindle. A normal enough curiosity that I wasn't in the mood for yesterday. So not only is he leaning over my shoulder he eventually just takes the Kindle out of my hands without saying anything, turns it over, weights it in his hands and puts it back on the table. Ugh. At this point not only am I irritated by this behavior but distinctly uncomfortable with his proximity to my person. This episode lead me to the conclusion that my Indian trauma is not as far behind me as I thought. Damn it.

Poor Tommy

(Feb 14)

Happy Valentines Day! This morning got off to a bad start. I just stepped out of my door when i saw one of the boys dragging Chouying down the hill and saying something about Tommy. Turns out a tragedy occurred last night. Tommy was eaten by a leopard or something of the kind. So class started late as the boys who found him made fast work of informing all of us with rather graphic gestures.

I'm really proud of most of the boys today. Mamma brought picture/word flashcards so I gave three to each boy and told them to write sentences. To my surprise and delight nearly all did really well and wrote something besides 'I like sock.' Getting a few to focus presented difficulties but in the end all but one finished by the end of the class.

A new volunteer was supposed to come yesterday so I spent all morning furiously cleaning and straightening but no such person arrived. Today we called and Hom told us plans changed and the volunteer will be here on the 26th. Which means I'll either have to exercise a great deal of self discipline so i don't scatter all of my stuff over everywhere again, or furiously clean and straighten on the 25th. Which do you think is more likely?

Cows vs Potatoes

Chouying and I had an epic battle about cows vs potatoes. As you know Buddhist monks, along with many regular buddhists, are vegetarian because it is bad karma to harm a living thing. So my question was, why isn't it bad karma to kill and eat a plant? Plants are living things too. He replied that it is a little bad karma to kill a plant but worse to kill an animal. "But why?" I asked. "Why is a cow inherently more important than a potato?"

This argument lasted a month before he told me that animals feel fear and pain while potatoes do not. The pain you cause the animal is the reason for the bad karma.