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in case you're forgetting to read my blog...
December 19, 2007, 5:21 pm |
I can tell that time is passing swiftly by the trash puppies that have suddenly, without warning, grown into real trash dogs. These are the strays whose lives revolve around the enormous piles of garbage that line the streets here - they eat, sleep, and fight atop these moldy mountains, and one little honey-colored pup that I used to admire in my first days in Swoyambhu is nearly as big as his pals now. Luckily, there’s a new batch of puppies outside my house, and I won’t let them grow up so quickly…
My love/hate relationship with this city is growing more complex every day. I haven’t been writing much about the frustrations I encounter because they seem insignificant. I do think it requires a great deal of patience of live and to work in Kathmandu, but I have very little to complain about. Just when I think I’m fed up with the pollution, noise, and pace of life here, I’ll glance Northeast on a particularly clear day and there in front of me, looking as if they’ve been yanked out of a painting and placed in the middle of this dusty, dirty city, are the snow-capped Himalayan peaks soaring into the sky, reminding me that there’s much more to Nepal than smog and traffic-choked streets. Last weekend Tom and I visited Nagarkot, a peaceful town high above Kathmandu, whose panoramic views of the Himalayas were every bit as breathtaking as Lonely Planet promised. I can’t wait to get a bit closer to those mountains, one of these days.
In the meantime, the other immense source of comfort I find in Kathmandu comes early in the morning right here in Swoyambhu. I wake most mornings to music of the Tibetan mantra Om Mani Padme Hum wafting through my window. If I drag myself out of bed early enough, I can join the Tibetan pilgrims on their clockwise kora (circuit) around the base of the hill the Buddhist stupa sits on, which takes about 45 minutes. One morning I ran into Viva, the founder of Umbrella, and she told me that for years she couldn’t start her day without that walk, that you get addicted, and I can see why. While the sun rises over the city, and the cold air hangs thick with mist and juniper incense smoke, hundreds of people are out, clutching prayer beads in one hand, spinning prayer wheels with the other, murmuring chants, carrying lit candles, even performing prostrations in the street. Monkeys line the side of the hill and swing across telephone wires to the rooftops below. Elderly men lounge in storefronts sipping tea, women kneel on blankets stringing flower garlands together to sell, children practice tae kwon do, and Buddhist monks and nuns of all ages stream in and out of the gompas (monasteries) that surround the hill. I’ve found no better way to clear my head than to take part in these morning walks alongside the community. It’s not all harmony and peaceful co-existence in Swoyambhu though. This morning’s walk was a bit disquieting, and included 100 soldiers jogging past me and nearly hitting me in the head with the enormous rifles slung over their shoulders as they turned to stare at me (I’m not even sure what boys of that age are doing carrying guns twice their size), a monk throwing rocks at two monkeys fighting in a tree, which has forever ruined my image of Buddhist monks as peaceful animal-lovers, a goat as big as a large cow standing unphased amidst the chattering monkeys, and an old woman striding up to me, half slapping and half stroking my face twice, and cooing “Haaalloooooo, Haallooooo” at me a few times before walking away again. Wacky Wednesday.
I’ve spent the past three afternoons visiting Himalayan Healthcare, an NGO devoted to medical access, literacy education, and income generation in several villages. They’ve trained 1,000 villagers to make handicrafts out of the non-biodegradable discarded plastic wrappers that line the streets and choke the river in Kathmandu, which are then sold both in Nepal and abroad. The products are beautiful, colorful bags, baskets, household items, and accessories, and the project seems like such an innovative approach to both cleaning up Nepal and providing a source of income for villagers, particularly disadvantaged and low-caste women, that we’ve decided to implement the same strategy (with Himalayan Healthcare’s assistance) in Gurje as the first stage of our vocational training program. Right now, we’re applying for one grant that will cover the start-up costs of that, as well as another to pay for a biogas unit that will be built next to the main primary school in Gurje. It’s been a busy week, but we’re finally moving forward with some of these ideas, and it’s exciting to see them forming shape.
What else? I had another cold last week (maybe my body is adjusting to this climate, as my colds are fewer and farther between these days) so I allowed myself a few relaxing days off. I got to read the first full novel I’ve completed since being here: Kissing Snowflakes. This is teen fiction at its finest: an awkward 15 year old girl, a new stepmom, a ski lodge romance with not one but two guys, and best friend drama - the kind of novels I’d pick up 20 of at the rummage sale every year when I was 12-13 and that I secretly still have a soft spot for, literature degree and all. It’s nice to know that not much has changed in this genre since the 70s (when most of those rummage sale books I read in the 90s were published), save the hairdos on the cover. I can’t pretend to have snuck this one into my backpack for lonely nights in Kathmandu though - in fact it was written by one of the volunteers currently staying in my house, and she had brought several copies with her. I’m secretly jealous of her, not only because I spent quite a few years writing countless first chapters of junior high novels, but because she’s also been published in my very favorite guilty pleasure: Modern Love. It’s like I’m living with a celebrity!
So, it’s Christmas, and rather than launch into a guilt trip about how much money you have and how comfortably you live compared to, say, orphaned, trafficked, and conflict-displaced children in Nepal, I’d just like to encourage you to consider donating to a cause of your choice, and suggest to your family and friends to do the same, even if it’s only a small amount. There are thousands of non-profit organizations and charities doing wonderful work in the world, but unfortunately there are at least hundreds more that greatly misuse donations for their own benefit (such as many of the orphanages and charities right here in Kathmandu), so I’d strongly suggest that you do a little research into your options before handing over your money. If you’d like to give to Umbrella (and without begging, I can assure you that we could really use the money), you can donate here (”how to donate”) or here (our registered US non-profit).
Happy holidays.
December 19, 2007, 5:21 pm |
I can tell that time is passing swiftly by the trash puppies that have suddenly, without warning, grown into real trash dogs. These are the strays whose lives revolve around the enormous piles of garbage that line the streets here - they eat, sleep, and fight atop these moldy mountains, and one little honey-colored pup that I used to admire in my first days in Swoyambhu is nearly as big as his pals now. Luckily, there’s a new batch of puppies outside my house, and I won’t let them grow up so quickly…
My love/hate relationship with this city is growing more complex every day. I haven’t been writing much about the frustrations I encounter because they seem insignificant. I do think it requires a great deal of patience of live and to work in Kathmandu, but I have very little to complain about. Just when I think I’m fed up with the pollution, noise, and pace of life here, I’ll glance Northeast on a particularly clear day and there in front of me, looking as if they’ve been yanked out of a painting and placed in the middle of this dusty, dirty city, are the snow-capped Himalayan peaks soaring into the sky, reminding me that there’s much more to Nepal than smog and traffic-choked streets. Last weekend Tom and I visited Nagarkot, a peaceful town high above Kathmandu, whose panoramic views of the Himalayas were every bit as breathtaking as Lonely Planet promised. I can’t wait to get a bit closer to those mountains, one of these days.
In the meantime, the other immense source of comfort I find in Kathmandu comes early in the morning right here in Swoyambhu. I wake most mornings to music of the Tibetan mantra Om Mani Padme Hum wafting through my window. If I drag myself out of bed early enough, I can join the Tibetan pilgrims on their clockwise kora (circuit) around the base of the hill the Buddhist stupa sits on, which takes about 45 minutes. One morning I ran into Viva, the founder of Umbrella, and she told me that for years she couldn’t start her day without that walk, that you get addicted, and I can see why. While the sun rises over the city, and the cold air hangs thick with mist and juniper incense smoke, hundreds of people are out, clutching prayer beads in one hand, spinning prayer wheels with the other, murmuring chants, carrying lit candles, even performing prostrations in the street. Monkeys line the side of the hill and swing across telephone wires to the rooftops below. Elderly men lounge in storefronts sipping tea, women kneel on blankets stringing flower garlands together to sell, children practice tae kwon do, and Buddhist monks and nuns of all ages stream in and out of the gompas (monasteries) that surround the hill. I’ve found no better way to clear my head than to take part in these morning walks alongside the community. It’s not all harmony and peaceful co-existence in Swoyambhu though. This morning’s walk was a bit disquieting, and included 100 soldiers jogging past me and nearly hitting me in the head with the enormous rifles slung over their shoulders as they turned to stare at me (I’m not even sure what boys of that age are doing carrying guns twice their size), a monk throwing rocks at two monkeys fighting in a tree, which has forever ruined my image of Buddhist monks as peaceful animal-lovers, a goat as big as a large cow standing unphased amidst the chattering monkeys, and an old woman striding up to me, half slapping and half stroking my face twice, and cooing “Haaalloooooo, Haallooooo” at me a few times before walking away again. Wacky Wednesday.
I’ve spent the past three afternoons visiting Himalayan Healthcare, an NGO devoted to medical access, literacy education, and income generation in several villages. They’ve trained 1,000 villagers to make handicrafts out of the non-biodegradable discarded plastic wrappers that line the streets and choke the river in Kathmandu, which are then sold both in Nepal and abroad. The products are beautiful, colorful bags, baskets, household items, and accessories, and the project seems like such an innovative approach to both cleaning up Nepal and providing a source of income for villagers, particularly disadvantaged and low-caste women, that we’ve decided to implement the same strategy (with Himalayan Healthcare’s assistance) in Gurje as the first stage of our vocational training program. Right now, we’re applying for one grant that will cover the start-up costs of that, as well as another to pay for a biogas unit that will be built next to the main primary school in Gurje. It’s been a busy week, but we’re finally moving forward with some of these ideas, and it’s exciting to see them forming shape.
What else? I had another cold last week (maybe my body is adjusting to this climate, as my colds are fewer and farther between these days) so I allowed myself a few relaxing days off. I got to read the first full novel I’ve completed since being here: Kissing Snowflakes. This is teen fiction at its finest: an awkward 15 year old girl, a new stepmom, a ski lodge romance with not one but two guys, and best friend drama - the kind of novels I’d pick up 20 of at the rummage sale every year when I was 12-13 and that I secretly still have a soft spot for, literature degree and all. It’s nice to know that not much has changed in this genre since the 70s (when most of those rummage sale books I read in the 90s were published), save the hairdos on the cover. I can’t pretend to have snuck this one into my backpack for lonely nights in Kathmandu though - in fact it was written by one of the volunteers currently staying in my house, and she had brought several copies with her. I’m secretly jealous of her, not only because I spent quite a few years writing countless first chapters of junior high novels, but because she’s also been published in my very favorite guilty pleasure: Modern Love. It’s like I’m living with a celebrity!
So, it’s Christmas, and rather than launch into a guilt trip about how much money you have and how comfortably you live compared to, say, orphaned, trafficked, and conflict-displaced children in Nepal, I’d just like to encourage you to consider donating to a cause of your choice, and suggest to your family and friends to do the same, even if it’s only a small amount. There are thousands of non-profit organizations and charities doing wonderful work in the world, but unfortunately there are at least hundreds more that greatly misuse donations for their own benefit (such as many of the orphanages and charities right here in Kathmandu), so I’d strongly suggest that you do a little research into your options before handing over your money. If you’d like to give to Umbrella (and without begging, I can assure you that we could really use the money), you can donate here (”how to donate”) or here (our registered US non-profit).
Happy holidays.