Its Always Tea Time in Cchulemu

As I update the calendar on my iPhone I realize that each day, and it is not everyday that I input an event for, has just one event! "Walk to Taksindu", "Teach at the government school", "Visit with the 'doctor'", etc ... Back home I had lists of things to do each day! But here one event per day is enough because preparing meals is about all one has time for when living in a remote, Himalayan village.

The Sherpa people believe that one can become ill if allowed to become hungry.  Lucky me! So we spend our days centered around food. Maybe I am part Sherpa because that is what I do back home too! 

All ingredients must be gathered, fresh, for every meal. There are no shops or stores, nothing is packaged or processed for storage. Therefore, there is no need for refrigeration in Cchulemu! 

The people of the village wake at dawn to stoke the coals in the sacred, kitchen fire. Black tea is quickly brewed and mixed with salt and milk. Get this my fellow countrymen, the milk is NOT pasteurized! It is not even refrigerated! It's left in a pot, in a cupboard overnight! 

By the time we polish off a pot or two of the salty brew its time to do some work. The cows and goats are taken out of the barn and tethered in areas throughout the terraces that are in need of a bit of weeding. The dog, who spends his nights guarding the corn fields against hungry bears, is let to relax in his shelter during the day.  The calf is brought to one of the lactating heifers for inspiration and a few cups of milk are gleaned from her. The corn, beans, or barley that we gathered the day before, are taken out of the first floor shelter and laid out in the courtyard to continue drying. 

All the houses in the village look exactly the same when you first arrive. But after several weeks you begin to notice the little things like Pemdeki's roof is darker than the others, Doma's house has a small railing attached to the window on the second floor and Dawa's house, my home, has the largest prayer flag in all the village. 

Each home is made from heavy, dark wood logged from the nearby jungle and stones quarried from above timberline.  All have three stories. The first floor is used for dry storage and to keep current food related projects, such as corn kernels spread out on mats to dry. We leave our shoes here before climbing the dark stairwell.  

The second floor is for sleeping and praying. This room is lined with wooden cots covered with mats and cheerful colored blankets. The household's Buddhist shrine is located in this room.  The shrines size and ornateness depends upon the wealth of the family. In the home I am staying in, the shrine fills an entire wall with a gorgeous, gold-leaf statue of the Buddha as the center piece.  However, last week I saw a household shrine that consisted of only a small wooden box lined with seven steel bowls filled with water. It was the only offering that that family could afford. 

The top floor is the kitchen. Cooking is done on a low sitting, open fire in the middle of the room.  There is a hole for the smoke to go, yes, but still the room is filled with smoke! The "dark wood" I mentioned earlier, is black in this room due to the fire that is never extinguished. The kitchen room has a pitched ceiling and one small window.  Although there are open shelves for keeping dishes and utensils, there are no tables or counters. Chopping and preparing food is done while squatting over ones work on the floor. 

Whoa! Its been nearly two hours. We need more tea! Solja she! - "Drink your tea!" Tea and the first meal of the day are prepared around 10a. Breakfast could be left overs, roasted potatoes or corn on the cob. 

After a meal its back out onto the terrace fields.  There are beans, wheat and corn to pick and brought up to the courtyard. This is my favorite time of the day.  The entire household and often a neighbor or two, sit on the ground in the courtyard for a couple of hours shelling beans, shucking corn, and chatting. I cant understand what they are saying but its the same everywhere around the globe isnt it... Who is doing what to whom! 

Oh my gosh! We haven't had tea in more than two hours! Best rush inside and stoke the coals. Maybe this afternoon we will have sugar with our milk tea instead of salt? Besong throws together rice flour and water and makes everyone a few rounds of Tipton (Tibetan) bread to dip into the sweet tea. 

In the afternoon, as the cool air begins to settle in on us from the high peaks above, the food projects are put away into the storage areas on the first floor.  Vegetables for the evening meal are gathered from the small terrace just outside the courtyard.  

Sherpa people are vegetarians but not in the western "Ooo-gross-I-cant-eat-that-it-touched-a-spoon-with-chicken-broth-on-it", sort of way.  They don't kill animals and hence it makes it very difficult to prepare chicken kiev for dinner. However, the Rai people just down the hill are of a lower caste and can kill animals, which they do, for a fee of course, for the occasional Sherpa festival and feast.

Meals are always tasty here as the Sherpa people use lots of fresh, curry-style spices in the veggie stews.  In the kitchen I watch, asked questions and take copious notes on how to prepare these fabulous dishes! And they cook it all over a fire with one pot! I really hope I can replicate some these dishes at home. If you can, meet me for a Sherpa feast when I get home! 

Conversations in Nepal

I have been sitting on a bench in Besong's house for two hours having said only about three words.  They are speaking a mixture of Sherpa and Nepali, neither of which I understand at all! The four men speak at least a little English, but the women in the room do not speak a word.  Nursong, Besong's three year old little boy, is playing a game with a ball and so that gives me some distraction. But over all I am bored and daydreaming about what my friends back home are doing right now.

Ive been in Nepal for two weeks.  This is not my first time abroad and not the first time I've sat in a room full of people I can not communicate with.  However, I just finished three months volunteering at summer camp for Rocky Mountain Village and have a new perspective. There, I made friends who have difficulty communicating due to a physical disability, others due to an intellectual disability and some due to the proximity of the conversation being held (i.e.; a person using a wheelchair trying to converse with a group of people standing up). My thought are of them as well. 

Dan is a friend who has physical difficulty with speech. His disability has not affected his ability to hear, listen, or comprehend. Before I was introduced to Dan, my friend the Welshman warned me not to dismiss him during a conversation or give a patronizing nod and smile if I did not actually understand what he was saying. "Ask questions, have him repeat himself as many time as you need, have him spell the word if you can not figure it out. But don't blow him off"  That is what is happening to me here in the remote Himalayan village where I am volunteering to teach English for one month.  I am being blown off! Sure it is difficult to communicate with someone who speaks differently; language, word use, accent, sign, talking through technology, or physical impediment. Don't get me wrong, I do not blame people in the village for blushing and turning away from me. They don't know how to deal with my complete ignorance of the Sherpa tongue. And so it is for Dan back home. 

I took the Welshman's advice and got to know Dan over the days that he hung out at camp and I am very grateful that I did. Dan has offered me insightful advice, showed me new way of being a friend, and has helped me become more patient and open minded when it comes to communication.  I am betting that having met Dan over the summer is going to help me over the next few weeks as I try to make my way and fit into this community of thirty-four households, tucked away in the Nepali countryside. 

Grammar! Who Needs It!

Everyone here in Cchulemu seems to be related in one way or another. Tsering introduces everyone as bother, uncle, auntie... We can not walk the mountain terraces for even a few minutes without being stopped to answer questions about where we are going, who we have seen and what is the tourist (me) doing here?

Yesterday I taught the beginners class at the non-government school, Bridges Between. Yongde, the 40-something year old aunt, real aunt of Tsering was in attendance. I have lived in her home, sharing a room, for three days and only said "thank you" and "good morning" to her. She didn't respond and seemed not to understand English so I stopped trying. But this morning I returned from doing a supply inventory at the school to find Yongdi, sitting in the courtyard shelling white beans. "Can I help?" I asked hopefully. "Yes." She whispered and motioned for me to sit on the step beside the heaping pile of legume pods.  I was so happy to have a friend and also to have some chores to do!  Coming to Nepal has done more for my goal to "be still", than 100 yoga class could do back home! 

We shelled beans together in silence for a long time before Yongdi asked in a soft, shaky, voice, "Do you have a mother?" Yeah! Conversation! "Yes. She lives in America." I replied. "Do you have a father?" She added. "Yes, also in America" I responded. desperate that our friendly banter would not end I added quickly, without thinking, "Do you have a mother and father?" "No." She said sadly. One of Yongdi's brothers had told me that both their parents had not long ago, passed away. I was afraid that I might have squelched our blooming friendship before it even began but she continued, "Are you married?"

We chatted for a few more minutes before her English was exhausted and charades was out of the question as white beans were on the menu for dinner that night. 

The next day at English class Yongdi was even more shy and soft spoken. But I MADE her, and all the women in class speak, speak, speak! "The men do all the talking around here, so when you speak, you need to speak loudly!" I told them. Master Nima interpreted this for me and it got a roaring response! 

When I first arrived in Nepal and really began to think about teaching English in the Khumbu Region, I panicked to think that my motives might be ethnocentric. I asked my Sherpa host, Furba if the ladies in the village even wanted to learn English or was it just my colonizing DNA rearing its ugly head? 

"They need to learn English" he assured me, "and they really want to learn but it is very difficult.  They can not spend so much time in the classroom or studying like people in Kathmandu. They have children, fields and animals to attend to." Furba explained to me that many good schools in the cities teach all subjects, save Nepali Grammar, in English. And, if one is to find work in the tourist industry (Nepal's number one source of revenue) then speaking English is compulsory. 

So I teach English to a half dozen Sherpa women, most of whom are illiterate in Nepali as well as Sherpa, their native tongue. Therefore, I have nixed grammar right off the curriculum!  And if you read my blog you will likely sigh in relief that I am NOT attempting to teach grammar in Nepal! 

Just the Way Things Are

Walking down the plane's stairwell to the tarmac the smells of the city hit me hard in the nose. Burning coal, rain evaporating off concrete, and fruit rotting in wicker baskets mingle together easily in the intense heat and humidity.

To my right the massive hills that are the gateway to the Himalaya are lush and green and dotted with tiny villages, each made up of small white-washed buildings surrounding a single temple which is topped off with a saffron color, ornamental roof. 

Thank goodness Ngima gathers me at the airport door. How would I pick out a trustworthy taxi driver among the lot strewn in front of me? Like so many street urchins from a Dickens novel, they each beg me to take a ride in their dressed up cab as we pass by. So Ngima choses our good man, and our taxi is just as cheerfully painted up as any other.  We fill the roof-top carriage with my trekking gear and climb in. I am excited to get my first glimps of Kathmandu! But hold on, we are abruptly pulled over by the police. We are still within the airport gates. I cant even see the street! But what's a few more minutes wait after 32 hours of travel from the U.S.?  

Our trusty driver sits patiently, acceptantly, like a father surrounded by his screaming children, while the officer scribbles down notes and circles our car. A few minutes later our driver accepts the ticket issued by the copper, not gladly with a nervous smile as I might have done, but begrudgingly and with a sense of defeat, knowing that this is the way things are. 

Now as we speed across town in between dead stops, Nepali people are buying colorful umbrellas at garage door shops, moving desk chairs on the backs of motorbikes and quickly navigating youngsters through bumper to bumper traffic.  Everyone with a horn is using it as if their lives depend on it, and the way they are driving, it just might! Our driver is stoic, efficient and accepting of the chaos all around us. 

On the plane from Denver to LA the woman sitting next to me was asked by the flight attendant to please put her bag completely under the seat in front of her. She turned to me and said with a touch of resentment, "What is with this false sense of security?".  However, knowing that any protest she could bring up would immediately be defeated, she did exactly as the flight attendant instructed her, just as my taxi driver took the ticket from the police officer without question. Did he resent the officer for providing a false sense of security too?

I remember telling a friend that graduate school was one of the biggest disappointments of my life.  I looked up to my professors and naively believed that they were smarter, harder working and more passionate than I. I thought that they possessed so much wisdome to impart upon me! But two years in I saw that my superiors were back-biting, insecure, and lacking in ethics.  I was disappointed in all of them and in the system that inadvertently cultivated these behavoirs. I completed my research, begrudgingly handed it to my advisor and with a sence of defeat, I walked away without my papers. 

I wonder is that what happens to individuals who grow up in a system that does not protect its people?  If the traveler next to me was resentful of seemingly unimportant regulations, and I became disillusioned after a mere twenty months at university what could happen to a person after twenty years of living within a governmental system that reneges on its promises and flaunts its corruption? Apathy? A feeling of Defeat? An acceptance of the way things are? 

I am in the birthplace of The Lord Buddha and he would say, "desire is the source of all suffering". The desire to change the way things are, causes much anxiety, true!  But if the Buddha were sitting next to me now I would ask in my entitled, first world, global view kidda way, "But is it wrong to try to make things better?" 

El Nepal del solo

"You are going alone?" Is one of the first responses I got when I told friends that Im leaving for Nepal for two months.  

It got me thinking about being alone. I used to think that I hated to be alone, that I needed to be around others all the time. 

But why would I think that? How could it possibly be true? I choose to be alone a lot! When I go hiking I don't typically invite anyone to join me (except for Houston, woof) never when I go for a run and when I'm road cycling... Well I really have to be on my own for that!  I love watching my favorite movie, Under the Tucson Sun (stop laughing!) Bu myself. Ive traveled solo many times! And I did it on purpose! 

Maybe I think that I don't like to be a lone  because Ive lived with other people for 43 years (save a few months after a big break up years ago). I love having people in my kitchen, someone to have a chat with while the laundry is going.  But then I like to be able to retreat behind closed doors. 

Im in the international terminal at LAX waiting for my flight to south China then on to Kathmandu. It is very posh here! Hermes, Armani, Michael Kors. People are dressed very smartly. I, on the other hand am in the hiking pants I wore up Jones Pass two days ago, a tattered Patagonia 1/4 zip fleece and Teva flip flops that should have been retired last summer. Gucci bag you ask? Why no, Im carrying an old EB day pack stuffed with M&M's and Chex Mix slung over one shoulder.  Im planning on leaving a lot of my gear behind for the porters who will haul my crap up to Everest Base Camp for me (so that I might be able to breath) then I can happily re-fill my bags with plenty of incense, spices and wool hats from the markets in Thamel. 

A middled aged gentleman is sitting alone a few yards from me. There is a bright red hand bag in the empty seat across from him and he keeps looking around anxiously almost annoyed.  She finally returns to him holding a fruit drink. She smiles warm and lovingly. His expression doesn't change. He stands, places his shoulder bag on his chair and mouths the words, "...be right back." Alone, she too seems agitated and fidgets with her clothing until he comes back with his orange juice. He still doesn't smile at her as he sits back down, should bag in lap. But they seem to become more relaxed in each  others company.  They are not alone, like me, and that makes them feel more secure. 

The guy to my right just picked up my tab for two glasses of red. The bar tender winked and said, I knew someone would end up buying your drinks if you stayed here alone. 

Camp savasana

Twelve weeks working at camp! Not just any old camp but one that accommodates adults and children with disabilities. I volunteered for room, board and life changing experiences, at the climbing wall and zip line at Rocky Mountain Village.  

My goal for the summer:  learn to be still! It was quite possibly the worlds worst goal to set while working at camp. 

In real life I am consumed with -
1. beginning a new project
2. completing a project
3. making a lot of money for someone else

"Do you think I have ADHD?" A few months ago I asked my friend Natalie who works in education.  She said that I just have a lot of energy.  Ok, I thought I was alright with her diagnosis.  However having 'high energy' just keeps coming up.  New friends, old friends, friends of friends... comment that I am a "high energy person".  It is beginning to feel like a back-handed complement.

A couple of days after camp ended, Ben told me he feels that in life you only have a given amount of breaths and when you have used them up, your time ends.  I feel like I might be using my breaths too quickly!  However, as I was sitting at the pond a few weeks ago I found myself simply watching the fish as they searced for insects flying too close to the surface of the water, they jumped.  I wasn't trying to be still, it just happened! 

Camp life was similar to a yogic practice for me.  I had to spend 12 weeks in consent motion, moving so fast that I could not even process what might happen tomorrow.  Moving every muscle so that I was so tired at the end of the day I fell asleep before I could begin planning all my moves for the following day. I was completely focused on all things outside my own head. 

Then camp ended - savasana did not begin right away (old habits die hard) but that day I felt it. Stillness. 

Om and Namaste!

fresh tomatoes are no reason to stay in a relationship

Break ups are hard and they are particularly difficult for the person who has to find a new place to live and move on - as they say.  Two years ago we both knew it was time to move on but I hesitated for months because I didn't want to leave the cozy home we had created together.  I would miss the house, the neighbors, the garden, we were even building a chicken coop.  But I knew I would not really miss the relationship so I slept in the guest bedroom for several weeks while I tried to figure out where I was going to live and how I was going to afford to live without him.  One night I cried myself to sleep as it started to wash over me that I would never again get to work in the raised beds or pick the apples in our beautiful garden.  But fresh tomatoes are no reason to stay in a relationship!

Last week I was hiking up Quandary Peak.  Not far from the summit I saw a woman with a dog sitting off the side of the trail.  Asking her how she was doing was a great reason to stop and catch my breath.  At thirteen thousand feet she felt the desire to tell me all about her most recent break up.  He was hiking to the summit, she was too tired to finish.  "Why are you hiking with him if you just broke up?" I asked  "We are still friends." she replied.  But she already told me how devastated she was that he was taking another woman on the vacation that they had planned together.  "Also, I don't feel safe hiking alone" she added.  I pointed out that the trail was very well used and that I have hiked this peak alone several times.  She continued to come up with reason why she was spending the day with this guy so I stopped pointing out her contradictions.  "If you see a guy in a blue ball cap, walking with a collie let him know I'm still down here waiting."- When I passed said guy I didn't mention the pining ex one thousand feet below us.  When he caught up to me at the summit he asked if I would shoot a snapshot of he and his pup.  He seemed very happy. 

I think I used to be like her, I think I could possibly be like her again if I'm not careful.  A friend at camp said to me this summer, "When a woman is not confident with who she is, then she is destine to become whoever he wants her to be." - Well said! But what happens if you find out he didn't really know what he wanted?

Reciprocity:  I have decided is the basis for all relationships. 

She gets a hiking buddy, I got fresh tomatoes.