Happy Christmas from Kathmandu!

To Our Dear Friends and Family,

We hope this finds you all well and enjoying a joyful Christmas season. Amos and I think of you all especially this time of year, when homesickness rises to the surface a bit more readily than usual. But while we miss everyone at home, we are thankful for new friends to celebrate with here and for making creative twists on old traditions.

The past 12 months have been adventurous as ever (whether we were up for it or not)! We've ridden elephants in the jungle, went to Cambodia (Heidi) and Bangladesh (Amos), got swept into throngs of festival celebrants and political strikers, discovered new hikes and villages, done yoga on the roof, took a spontaneous trip to Thailand, gallivanted about with my parents for 2 weeks, started a vegetable garden, said some sad farewells to friends (including Ben, who was here for a year with MCC), met many fabulous new friends, got stuck in monsoon rains and rutted rural roads, got burgled (and discovered the strange world of Nepal's justice system), danced at a Nepali wedding, visited friends in Lebanon and Syria, trekked in the Himalayas (Amos), entertained friends from home, and are winding up the year with cookie baking, ornament making, and an upcoming Christmas feast with some of our fellow Kathmanduites.

It's a very silent night here in Kathmandu, ending day #2 (of 3) of nationwide strikes. Shops are closed, roads are filled only with pedestrians, children playing cricket or football, and the occasional skateboarding expat. The Maoist party has been enforcing this strike or "bandh" in their attempt to overthrow the current government (at least according to some). This marks the end of another year of political instability in Nepal. Although the country has been working through a peace process since 2006, frequent strikes, political disputes and corruption continue to make life difficult for many of Nepal's people. Yet, despite all of the challenges, the people of Nepal continue to display a resilience and generosity of spirit that humbles us. We pray that 2010 will be a year of peace and security for the people of Nepal.

Our work is going well. I am continuing to do some editing work for our MCC partners, and assisting them as needed with English writing skills. I am also working with a brilliant women's craft group, doing some designing--mostly cards, but am hoping to help with jewelry design as well. Amos has settled into his role as program administrator for MCC's work in Nepal. He works closely with eight Nepali partner NGOs- developing new projects, monitoring current projects, assisting these organizations in building their capacity, etc. In addition, Amos volunteers two days a week as a peace program advisor with one of MCC's partners. We are grateful to MCC for this incredible opportunity they have given us.

We look forward to 2010. Our tentative plans include hosting good friends in March, venturing to India in April, and otherwise savoring our final months in Nepal, seeing and experiencing as much as we can before the end of our term comes around.

It's hard to believe that we have only 8 months left here. While we are making a conscious effort to be present in each moment, we are beginning to think and dream about our post-Nepal future. There are many unknowns, which is both exciting and unsettling, but we're grateful for this upcoming chapter of our lives. Amos is currently looking at possible graduate programs in the US; he hopes to get his master's in Urban Planning/Community Development, possibly starting in the spring of 2011. I also hope to finish out my bachelor's in the future, but am first of all looking forward to finding a place to call home and settling into a community for a bit. We plan to return to Lancaster next summer, enjoying time with friends and family, before we move on to our as-yet undetermined destination.

An immense thanks to you all for being supportive and loving us in such creative ways: sending pretzels and books, notes and e-mails, skyping, praying, and loving from afar. We are truly grateful.

May you have a wonderful Christmas and New Year!

With love,
Heidi and Amos

Mountains Beyond Mountains

"...let the mountains teach our hearts to reach upward to heaven." -Rabbi Harold Kushner

A few weeks ago, I, along with four friends, spent 8 days hiking in the Langtang, a part of the Himalayas that lies north of Kathmandu. For the fist day and a half of our trek, we walked through a lush forest, which at times felt more like a jungle filled with moss-covered trees and many varieties of birds. The forest is also home to the red panda and 3-5 snow leopards (or at least that what the signs claimed). Unfortunately, these endangered animals stayed out of sight, although I'm sure they were close by. A glistening blue river, on the other hand, was a constant companion, guiding us toward the mountains in the distance. Eventually, as we climbed, the forest thinned, and the valley widened taking us through open, almost barren, land. We passed yak pastures and stacks of prayers stones. Beautiful snow-covered peaks reminded us of our destination. The hiking was difficult at times, but, in true Nepali fashion, we stopped for many tea breaks along the way. We spent our evenings in lodges that are scattered along the trail. After long days of hiking, our evenings consisted of  huddling around wood stoves, eating lots of fried food and crawling into our sleeping bags way earlier than what we would normally consider respectable.

On our third day, we reached the small town of Kyangin Gompa, named for a monastery that sits just above the village. I'm not sure if I've ever been in a more picturesque place. The views of the mountains were stunning, and I couldn't stop taking pictures of them. We spent the next three days, taking day hikes from Kyangin Gompa. We climbed to the top of Kyangin Ri, a 15,000 ft. peak that looms above the town. Again, absolutely spectacular views of the glistening mountains. We spent Thanksgiving Day, exploring a valley beyond Kyangin Gompa, and I was reminded of the many things I have to be thankful for...good friends, the opportunity to live in a beautiful country like Nepal, health that allows me to hike in the mountains, sunshine, good food, etc. Since there were no turkeys in sight, I celebrated the day by eating other comfort food- tomato soup and chapati with cheese (almost as good as a grilled cheese).

After three days at Kyangin Gompa, we headed back to Syafrubrensi, where we had started. We took an alternate route back, following a high ridge that provided a bird's eye view of the trail we followed the fist two days. We stopped for lunch in small, Tibetan town where a boisterous wedding was under way (apparently two Germans were getting married...weird, I know). After a torturous downhill descent, we finally arrived back in "civilization". I had a week's worth of dirt and dried sweat on my body but a smile on my face. It was a fabulous trek!

Click here for pictures-

Langtang Trek

05.25.09

05.25.09

Life is this day, whether I want it to be or not. Life is this cloudy morning, these long and tiring meetings, this dusty city, these moments of desperation. This is life.

But is it all right to want a different kind of life? A life of a different name, a different place, a different color? What about the one I have? Why can't I find a moment of contentment in this particular life?

How is it that I'm always reaching for the Other--for what I think I want--and ending up with the same thing I had before? The same life, the same me, the same discontent?

Sounds of Nepal

These are the sounds that fill our days...

the neighbor's puja music too early in the morning,
the rooster next door that cock-a-doodle-doos at the strangest times,
cooing pigeons,
barking dogs,
ringing bells,
the trash collector pushing his cart and faithfully blowing a whistle every morning at 7AM,
the horn from the tea kettle,
children laughing and then crying,
news from BBC Radio,
the recycling guys making their daily rounds, calling "bottle kaagaaj",
blaring horns,
planes flying overhead,
the neighbor constantly talking on the phone,
our gate rattling as a Sadhu waits for a donation of rice,
clanging from our bamboo wind chime,
the hiss of pressure cookers from nearby houses,
the mournful moaning of the neighborhood cat...

These are the sounds that someday we will hear in places far away which will immediately bring us back to Nepal.

Festivities

We've just finished festival season here in Nepal. First, we had Dashain, which is the biggest festival of the year. Many people spend this time with family- eating, drinking, dancing, playing games, etc. Nepalis really know how to celebrate. They don't waste their time with one day holidays like many of us are used to. Dashain last for two weeks (or three depending on who you ask) and spills into Tihar (which is called Diwali in India), the second biggest festival in Nepal.

Tihar, or the festival of lights, is probably my favorite festival, and not just because it includes a day that honors dogs. For us, Tihar feels like a combination of July 4th, Halloween and Christmas. Lights and decorations adorn houses and shops, reminding me of the days leading up to Christmas. The air is filled with a festive spirit and the noise of firecrackers, usually set off by giggling boys. Many children (and a few adults acting like children) do the Nepali version of trick or treat, gathering in front of stores and singing until the shopkeeper offers a few rupees or pieces of candy. All in all, it's a wonderful holiday.

Here are a few pictures from Tihar...

Kitty on "Khukur Puja"

Garlands for Tihar

Our house, ready for Laxmi

 

Children "trick or treating"

Swings which are set up for Dashain and Tihar

Lovin On Lebanon!

For the past week, we've been trying to figure out what we should write on this blog about our incredible vacation in Lebanon. It was one of those experiences that is difficult to put into words...so we're not going to try. Instead, here's a link to many, many pictures that will give you an idea of how amazing our vacation was.

Lebanon

Road Trip To Raamechhap! (09.18-20.09)

Disclaimer: I got a bit long-winded, so feel free to read this post in bite-sized portions if necessary. But, in my humble opinion, it will be worth your time. Plus there are great pictures to keep you entertained.

We (Amos, myself, Jim & Mavis from MCC Akron, Bal Krishna--one of our MCC partners--& his wife Shanti, our interpreter Sunita, and Petra, from a German INGO) left this morning for Raamechhap district in Eastern Nepal to visit one of MCC's partners for the weekend. I just came along for "fun"...mostly to get out of the noise of Kathmandu.

We were under the impression that it would be a 6-hour drive. So, confident in our rugged 4WD jeep and capable driver, we began our journey. At the first major intersection, the driver asked Bal Krishna if he should go left of right (something even Amos knew). OK, so maybe he is a new driver. But we still have that 4WD!

After emerging from the choking pollution and chaos of Kathmandu, the road grew windier and the buildings fewer; the terraced hills and dales lush and green, rivers rushing below us. We wound up and around the tree-lined hills, reaching a peak of about 6,500 feet, where we stopped for lunch after 4.5 hours on the road. The air was clean and cool (and a bit thin for my altitude-sensitive self). We ate at a rustic hole-in-the-wall (literally) and got back on the long and winding road again.

We made a gradual descent into the valleys, giving way to occasional exhaust-spewing trucks and buses (somehow you can't fully escape them no matter how far into the sticks you go), squeezing around precarious corners. Small waterfalls gushed through the trees and onto the road. A family of monkeys scampered across our path.

We took a snack break about 6.5 hours into the trip. As I munched away on my gargantuan cucumber, happily thinking we'd be there any time now (and calculating how much longer I could go without a toilet), Amos asked Bal Krishna how much longer it would be. When I heard him say, "3 hours...at the most," I immediately had to decide whether to choke on my food or spit it out in shock. Apparently that 6 hour estimate was, um, flexible. (And so was the 3 hour estimate.)

Back to the trusty jeep: we piled in, rather grumpy and wrinkled, sweaty and full-bladdered (I hope I'm not just speaking for myself here.) Here, the pavement ended and the real adventure began. For the next 4 hours (yes, FOUR), we bumped and crashed over a "road" that mostly consisted of skull-sized rocks jutting vertically out of dirt and mud, the occasional stream and/or pond, and ruts so deep I could bury myself in one. At one hopelessly sludgey place, we encouraged our slightly nervous driver to just put it in 4WD and ram through it. This is when we were told that there was no 4WD. Oops. Thankfully, a larger vehicle went ahead and cleared the way for us (and also mentioned that our tire was damaged as he drove by).

Minutes later, we were encouraged to see bright yellow construction vehicles ahead in the distance, a sign that someone was doing something about this "road"...but it wasn't until they scooped up massive piles of earth and rocks (no doubt undoing work they'd just done), swinging it dangerously close to our windshield, that we could pass by. How kind! Our obstacles from here on out were smaller, but many: hogs, goat herds (and stick-wielding herders), semi-naked children (who also tried to latch onto the back of our jeep), dogs, unafraid birds, roosters, cows, bucking water buffalo, cows, and of course oncoming vehicles on a road barely wide enough for one. It seemed, in fact, better suited for pack animals. I found myself dreaming of a ride on a sure-footed donkey (which we also encountered later on the road), rather than the whiplashing jeep ride (complete with a slam to my thigh with the gearshift every time the driver changed gears). Meanwhile, my bladder capacity was in great danger.

We passed by beautiful, rough houses made of mud, brick, wood and stone, mustachioed with bunches of field corn drying under the eaves. Laboring men, women, and children of all ages struggled past with impossible loads of stone, branches, firewood, bricks. The terraces surrounded us, a world of greenery on every side. Distant village homes dotted the hillsides on precarious ledges. If I forgot myself and my discomfort for long enough, this surreal and ancient landscape captivated and transported me. And seeing women my age sweating through their daily chores sobered me. "Why not me?" I thought. I could've been born here, inheriting this life of labor.

And as day grew into night (and the driver still hadn't turned his lights on, causing much angst in my already troubled heart), we finally, FINALLY pulled into the little village of Mithili, our destination. A nameless (and perhaps the only) hotel welcomed us with its climbing bouganvilla and modest mint green rooms, complete with the unexpected luxuries of a ceiling fan and TV! (Too bad the only channel in English was ESPN...although Amos was pretty excited about this.) We capped off the night with daal bhaat (traditional Nepali meal of lentils, rice, and curried vegetables), and slept like dead (wo)men.

Saturday morning began with crowing roosters, bleating goats, and a laughing yoga session being led on a nearby hill (if you don't know what this is, just use your imagination). In spite of all the headaches, this is unarguably a place of beauty and serenity, where time stands still.

From 7:30-9:30 AM, we attended a special program the school had arranged for the Desain Festival (the Nepali equivalent of Christmas). What a treat! (Insert sarcasm here.) Garlands of flowers were put around our necks and bouquets of flowers put in our hands by some of the young girls (decked out head-to-toe with fancy dresses and stage make up) who performed a variety of dances for us--in between all the monotonous, redundant speeches and introductions. The dances started out as lovely and traditional, but hit a low point when one pre-pubescent girl, dressed in what could have been an ice-skater's costume, busted out some hesitant moves to a Nepali pop song. Oh, how I cringed. This was followed by a speech (given by Jim Olsen, the only one brave enough to offfer a few words on behalf of MCC). It became apparent, however, that our interpreter had disappeared. After a few throat-clearing moments of awkwardness, she returned, a bit frazzled, and did her best to translate "MCC" & "Global Family Program", of which she knew nothing about. (Poor girl, it was also her first time translating.) It was clearly painful for all involved. Meanwhile, a few respected guests--government officials, police officers, etc. avidly read their morning papers while the program dragged on and ON. Trying to wrap it up, the emcee of the program announced "the last item of the program...", followed by "and now, one more item..." and yet another "last dance",  which was, of course, followed by another item. We squirmed, sweaty legs sticking to our plastic chairs, dying flowers irritating our necks. Not to be outdone by the girls (and to truly finish out the program), the boys wowed (and possibly frightened?) the crowd with some very spirited barefoot karate kicking...of flourescent tube lights. I worried, but no feet were visibly damaged.

Finally free, I was able to enjoy what I had come here for: silence and relaxation. And I was not disappointed. BUT. I should've bottled it up to use for Sunday, for The Trip Home. Importantly, I was now mentally prepared for this 10-hour journey, which is half the battle. What I wasn't prepared for was our near carbon monoxide poisoning after a collision with wayward rocks jammed our exhaust pipe up into the bumper, and was feeding us a steady stream of exhaust. Thank God for Nepali's innovations, though: at the next rest stop, our driver knocked it back down as far as he could, and attached a bit of hollow bamboo on the end to ensure that the smoke would blow out, not in. Genius! By this time I had a small migraine brewing and was more than ready for decent food, a toilet and home--all of which would come much later than hoped for.

Our next food stop redefined shady. As I was deciding reluctantly between rice or cold lentils, a farmer burst into the restaurant with a large (and quite stubborn) ram, and let it up the stairs. I chose this moment to walk out in search of ibuprofen.

After lunch, our group mysteriously dispersed. The three Nepalis in our group were nowhere to be found, while us impatient foreigners stood, arms crossed, by the jeep. Amos went off to search for them, and after about half an hour, returned with the rest of our crew, who had decided to take advantage of the cheap local prices and bought giant Chinese woolen blankets (which we then had to find space for in and on top of the jeep). At this point, I admit that my patience was out the window and dashed upon the river rocks far below.

Thank God, nothing else too out of the ordinary (whatever that means) happened the rest of the way home (oh, except a very near head-on collision with a giant bus, and an animated discussion with some Maoists at a checkpoint, who were demanding premium fees from us foreigners).

At long last, Kathmandu welcomed us back with loud, dusty, crazy arms. The city never looked so inviting. It's been a long weekend.

We're Still Here!

It's been a bit since we have written. The past month has been full of visitors (mostly from MCC), rain, meetings at the police station, and other "normal" adventures of Nepali life (dodging puddles, dancing at a Hindu wedding, battling an army of cockroaches in our kitchen, etc). Because we didn't have our camera at the time, there are (unfortunately?) no pictures of the wedding, but surely you can create some fascinating mental pictures of us taking a stab at traditional Nepali dance.

Amos and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary on the 6th of this month. We enjoyed a lovely, romantic dinner to the sound of rain pounding on the window panes. The monsoons are dwindling now, and we're approaching the most glorious time of year in Nepal, full of blue,kite-filled skies and magnificent mountain views.

Unfortunately, both of us have been dealing with various sicknesses in the past week or two, but are feeling better now...and just in time for our upcoming trip to Lebanon! We also received our new camera a couple weeks ago, which will greatly enhance our otherwise dull blog posts. Thanks to all who made it possible for us to replace our camera. We are so thankful! We'll certainly make great use of it in Lebanon. The quirks are still being worked out of our laptops, and we hope that they will be completely back to normal soon. For now, we're still borrowing another MCC laptop. It will be a relief to have all the dangling bits and pieces of this scenario finally behind us. Here are a few photos from our new camera!

 

Surprise, Surprise!

On Friday afternoon, we received a phone call from the local police department. They had recovered some items and asked us to report to the police station to see if any of the things were ours. With our friend Bruce in tow, Heidi and I went to the station, purposely keeping our expectations low. We were quite surprised when we saw our Macbook and the MCC laptop I use for work among the items that had been recovered. The details as to how the police were able to find our stolen computers are still quite sketchy. Apparently, they were able to track phone calls that were made from one of the cell phones, taken from our neighbors. Four men were apprehended at a police security checkpoint. When the police searched their bags, they found our computers, along with our neighbors' laptops. The police suspect the men were taking our computers to a different part of Nepal where they could easily sell them.

Yesterday, we received another call from the police department, asking us to go to the station for a press release. We weren't sure what to expect, but we accompanied our landlord to the station. After a few minutes of waiting, we were ushered into a small room. The four men who are suspected of breaking into our apartment were standing along the wall, handcuffed to one another. Since we didn't realize that we would be meeting these men, Heidi and I had not prepared ourselves for the feelings this meeting brought. The men stood with their heads bowed. Their clothes were dirty and torn. They ranged in age from around 25 to probably close to 60. As reporters asked questions and took their pictures, two of the men began to cry. I had many questions that I could not ask. Do they have families? Why had they chosen this lifestyle? Did they not have other options? Were they just trying to feed their children? Or did they need money for other reasons? Our landlord also peppered them with questions about the burglary. Did the dog bark at them? How did they manage to get up on our balcony? Had they been watching our house? The men answered some questions. They gave their names, stated where they were from. But most of the questions went unanswered. I thought of the restorative justice work I did while in Lancaster and was reminded that most victims of this type of crime, regardless of where the crime happens, have similar questions. And most of our justice systems have not found ways to answer these questions.

Today, I was once again called to the police station. The police needed me to sign the report they were writing. As I waited for the report to be finished, I asked the inspector to fill in some details. He was able to tell me that only one of the men actually entered our apartment. Apparently this man is quite skilled at climbing so he was able to scale up the pipes on the side of our house and get up onto our balcony. I also found out that at least one of the men had watched our house. They knew which room we slept in and which room they could break into. Although I have no way of knowing how accurate these details are, they at least help me to make sense of this event. The details take away some of the mystery, answering at least some of our questions.

We now have to wait two weeks to get our computers back. I think they may have wiped out our hard drives, since the computers weren't working properly when I checked them at the police station. The police suspect that these men sold our other items before they were apprehended, but they are continuing to look for them.

On Friday, as we returned from the police station, we again saw a rainbow in the distance. Another sign of God's faithfulness? Perhaps. The rainbow did remind us of the support we have felt from friends and family during this process. We are also thankful to the police for their work, although we have some reservations about it. We are grateful to have some of our items returned, but we still have too many unanswered questions to call this justice.

Breaking & Entering

Last Sunday, Heidi and I woke up and realized that our house had been broken into overnight (or burgled as the Brits say). It had rained hard during the night, and I guess the thieves took advantage of the noise, managing to get in and out while we slept. They clearly knew what they were looking for- portable electronics and cash. The neighbours in the apartment below us woke up to a similar scene: broken window, missing electronics and a lingering sense of insecurity. We spent most of Sunday in a bit of a daze, trying to make sense of this experience. We replayed images in our minds: strangers going through our things, drawers opened with their contents strewn on the floor, Heidi's purses dumped on our balcony. This violation of our space came at a most inopportune time. Over the past few weeks, we were finally feeling a bit more settled, beginning to adapt to the rhythms of a place that is still quite strange to us. And then this happened and effectively threw us off balance. Our apartment has served as a refuge for us, allowing us to escape the reality of living in one of the poorest countries in the world; a reality that sometimes threatens to overwhelm us. When we need to forget that we live in Nepal, we can always retreat to a place that feels a bit like home. We can turn on happy music, drink a glass of wine and be filled with renewed energy. In subtle and not so subtle ways, the break-in last weekend threatened this space that we have relied on. We are doing what we can to restore the security of this space, recognizing that the process will take some time.

In addition to the fears and sense of helplessness that this experience has brought, we have also been encouraged by the many people who have expressed their support- our family and friends at home as well as our friends here. We have received emails, phone calls and visitors, reminding us that our most important assets cannot be stolen from us. Yes, it's quite annoying many of our things, some of which we had recently purchased, are now in strangers' hands, but they're just things after all. When you live so close to many people who struggle to put food on their tables, you realize that losing a computer or an ipod is not such a big deal.

Last Sunday, Heidi and I took a walk, since we needed something to do other than sitting at home thinking about the break-in. We stopped by the house of a Nepali friend. As we explained what had happened to our friend's father, a Nepali pastor who does a lot of work with handicapped people and is himself in a wheelchair, he compassionately assured us that with suffering comes blessing. Of course, we had heard these words many times before, but they held new meaning on this day, coming from this man. He read a few verses from Psalms and promised to pray for us. As we left his house and walked toward home, we saw a rainbow in the distance, the first we had seen in Nepal since on the day we arrived. We're probably both a bit too cynical to see this as a sign from God, but at least temporarily, we put aside our cynicism and felt a moment of peace.

Ode to Ben

A few days after Heidi and I arrived in Nepal last August, we welcomed MCC Nepal's first Serving And Learning Together (SALT) participant, Ben Ippel (pause between first and last name). I'll admit that we were a bit nervous about meeting Ben. We realized that we would probably be spending a lot of time together, since the three of us were in unfamiliar territory and with the same organization. We knew Ben was young, only 20 years old, and you know how young people can be- needing lots of attention, thinking they have all of the answers, etc. Of course, these are unreliable stereotypes, but I was young not so long ago, and these stereotypes would have been a fairly accurate description of me at 20 years old. We had no reason to be nervous. I think we both realized we would get along well with Ben when he openly talked about his diarrhea during our first dinner together (in Nepal, it happens…a lot).

Over the past eleven months, we've had a lot of fun together. We traveled for three hours on top of a bus. We risked our lives paragliding and rafting. We've encountered elephants, monkeys and Sadhus. We've eaten hundreds of momos and our fair share of daal bhaat (although Ben ate much more than a fair share). We did spend a lot of time together. Ben is one of those rare people who are easy to be around. We spent hours hanging out on our balcony, eating ice cream and talking about life. Ben did his best to fit into Nepali life, despite being 6'4" and very white. His host family loved him, as did the children he worked with. It was not unusual for the three of us to be walking down the street and be stopped by someone from Ben's church or work. Everyone who met Ben became his friend.

Last night, we said our sad goodbyes at the airport. Ben is headed back to the U.S. to finish his degree. For Heidi and me, Nepal won't be quite the same without him around. In honor of Ben-ji, we wrote this heartfelt poem:

Ben in Nepal

Fairest of them all

He trekked & climbed

Nickeled & dimed

And won the hearts of us all

Ben is hot

And ate daal bhaat

With kids he played

But didn't get paid

He slept on a really short cot

La. Hunchha. Has.

You are one of us

Our dear saathi

You rode a haatti

La. Hunchha. Has.

Baby bear, don't go

Back to New Mexico

Kathmandu needs you

But not as much as we do

We love you so.

At the Boudha Stupa with our language teacher

Ben hanging out with Sadhus

At the peace pagoda in Pokhara

Traveling on top of a bus

Saying goodbye to Ben's family

Rafting on the Trisuli River

Orange life jackets, black helmets, yellow raft, white water.

Not much else was necessary on our little trip down the Trisuli River. Amos, myself, and 4 other friends ventured a few hours out of Kathmandu over the 4th of July weekend to the Royal Beach Camp along the river.

After a lovely thatched-roof-bungalow-banana-tree sort of welcome, we were off into the wilds of the Trisuli, accompanied by our very comical Nepali guide, Himal. The river was at times calm, allowing us to take in the gorgeous, green, rolling hills and wildlife (mostly wild children and goats), but began to pick up speed after a while. After stopping for a picnic lunch on the sun-baked river rocks, we forged ahead, into the great unknown. We bounced along happily, taking on the not-so-big rapids fairly well, gaining confidence...maybe a bit too much confidence. Before we knew it, we had flipped end over end, totally rocked by a rapid called "The Butterfly". (Embarrassing, I know.) After a bit of fear and trembling and bleary-eyed searching for survivors, we congregated (all surviving) and heaved ourselves back upon the raft. (If not for my tight-as-a-corset life jacket, I'm sure my heart would have lept from my chest into the river.) The last hour of the trip was pretty uneventful, for which I was grateful. Rafting is fun. Falling out of a raft involuntarily is, in my opinion, not fun.

The trip down the river lasted only a few hours. After returning to our Bungalow Heaven, we did nothing but sit, eat, drink, wade in the river and relive our life-threatening/adrenaline-producing experience for the rest of the quiet evening, exaggerating in all the right places, just to makes ourselves feel more brave. We spent just one night there, falling asleep to the sound of the rushing river and a gentle overnight rain. After a morning of food and ample relaxation, we hopped onto a bus and wound our way back to Kathmandu, leaving the Trisuli behind...until next time.








here we are! L to R clockwise: Eka, Jez, Paul, Amos, Ben

Our Garden

The song of earth
we recognize
it courses through us
makes us dance, moving
to its rhythms

The texture of earth
we learn
it flows through us,
our fingers, our toes
rich with life
wet with monsoon rains

The color of earth
we wear
the depths of its browns
the aura of its iridescent golds

In earth we see, feel, become
alive with what gives us life
giving & taking
sowing & reaping
our coexistence.

Everywhere a Bandh

Children enforce a bandh by deflating a bicyclist's tires.

"Aaja, bandh chha" (today, there is a bandh) is a fairly common phrase these days. "Bandh" is a Nepali word that literally means closed. And this is a fairly literal description of what happens when one group or another calls a bandh. With over 50 ethnic groups, 103 languages and a still prevalent caste system, Nepal as a country has a long history of giving opportunity to a few, and excluding many. At some point, these groups realized that their voices would not be heard by conventional methods of democratic participation. They turned to bandhs as a way of getting what they wanted. For the most part, the bandh has proven to be a successful method of raising awareness about an issue, receiving compensation for an injustice or getting the government to agree to a list of demands. Unfortunately, many groups now view bandhs as the only viable option to achieving their goals.

This is how a bandh typically works. A political party, ethnic group, union or some other type of group with a grievance calls a bandh. Sometimes, these are announced days in advance and sometimes they happen without warning. During a bandh, shop keepers are not supposed to open their businesses and transportation is limited to walking. The organizing group usually employs young men and sometimes even boys to enforce the bandh. They roam the streets, harassing shop keepers who attempt to defy the shutdown and position themselves at major intersections to block any vehicles who venture onto the roads. In recent months, the enforcement of bandhs has become quite strict, and violence is often used as a way of punishing those who attempt to resist these closures. A few weeks ago, a bus, carrying school children, was attacked. Thugs threw rocks, smashing the windshield, while the frightened children attempted to escape. Last week, a surgeon who was on his way to a local hospital was stopped. He tried to reason with the bandh enforcers, attempting to persuade them to let him through so he could perform a surgery that was waiting for him. Instead, they burned his motorcycle. Some bandhs shut down a city for a day, others basically shut down the country for weeks on end. Although bandh perpetrators burn vehicles and basically terrorize innocent civilians, it's rare that anyone is arrested, and in most cases, the organizers gain something from the bandh.

Bandhs have become so commonplace in Nepal that they are now almost a part of the culture. In the current calendar year, there have been 511 bandhs, according to the website www.nepalbandh.com. The demands of these strikes range from requesting the resignation of the President to collecting money for a football trophy. Like so many other inconveniences, Nepali people tend to take these protests in stride, as an annoying but necessary part of life. Having said that, it's beginning to feel like even the most gracious and accommodating of Nepali people have had about all the bandhs they can take. For Heidi and me, these shutdowns are sometimes a welcome break from the noise and craziness of Kathmandu. During a strike, we can actually walk down the street without being assaulted by horns and traffic. However, the increasing frequency of bandhs has been devastating for most Nepalese and for the economy in general. Many people here have to work every day in order to feed their families. Missing several days of work a month due to strikes is seriously jeopardizing their ability to survive. Aid agencies have not been able to deliver supplies which are desperately needed by many rural communities in Nepal- communities that have been devastated by war, famine and now a loss of access because of bandhs. Children cannot regularly attend school. Sick people are prevented from accessing medical facilities. Many bandh organizers claim to be working for the common people, but it is quite clear that the average person is the one who suffers the most from these frequent disruptions.

What will it take for Nepal to move beyond the current bandh culture? It seems two things will need to happen. The people of Nepal will need to create other systems which allow those with grievances to be heard in a meaningful and participatory way. There simply needs to be viable alternatives to the use of bandhs- alternatives which are now non-existent in Nepal. In addition to these alternatives, there will need to be a coordinated effort of resistance. Ordinary citizens, business owners, civil society leaders, government officials and many others will need to join together and non-violently resist the demands of the bandh organizers. This effort needs to include appropriate law enforcement. Although it doesn't appear that bandhs will end anytime soon, it looks like the seeds of a bandh resistance are being planted.

Empty street during a recent bandh.

The Real Nepal

For months after Heidi and I arrived here in Kathmandu, people would tell us that this city is not the "real Nepal". They said that if we wanted to experience the glory of Nepal, we would have to get out into the villages where life happened at a different pace and where modernization had not yet altered the landscape. A few weeks ago, I had my first encounter with the real Nepal. Along with Bal Krishna, the director of one of MCC's partner organizations, I flew to a place called Okhaldhunga, which is about 150 kilometers east of Kathmandu. It was a 30 minute flight but felt like a world away. The adventure started in the small plane as we bounced around during a thunderstorm. At one point, when we were within sight of our destination, the flight attendant walked down the aisle, yelling over the roar of the engines, informing us that we were turning around due to bad weather. Thirty seconds later, we turned around again, and the flight attendant said we were going to "try" to land…not the most reassuring words I have ever heard. Fortunately, we were able to land without too much difficulty, just the normal jarring caused by landing on what looked more like a field than a runway.

After I recovered from the landing, I was immediately struck by the beauty that surrounded me. The place around the airport was the only flat surface that could be seen for miles. I was enveloped by lush valleys and giant hills (which would dwarf the "mountains" of PA). Terraced plots were literally carved out of the sides of the hills. I can't imagine the work it took to create them, but I marveled at their beauty. The air was clean and pure, the small village almost eerily quiet. I definitely wasn't in Kathmandu anymore. From the "airport", we planned to walk three hours to the town where we were going to meet with several partner organizations. Just as we started out, the rain returned, and a friendly shopkeeper informed us that we could get a ride on a jeep that would arrive in the next hour or so. We decided to wait and sure enough a Land Rover arrived. After bouncing around for about an hour, a small town materialized out of the fog and rain. We had arrived in Okhaldhunga.

It wouldn't be accurate to say that places like Okhaldhunga have been untouched by modernization. As we walked through the small town, I noticed many groups of people gathered in tea shops watching the news. Like every other place in the world, everyone in Okhaldhunga seemed to have a cell phone. There was Coca Cola and young men wearing Britney Spears t-shirts. The towel that I bought, because I forgot to take one along, was covered in the ubiquitous face of Mickey Mouse. But I could understand why people referred to this as the real Nepal. There was a night and day kind of difference from Kathmandu. I saw very few vehicles, probably mostly due to the difficult terrain. No one seemed to be in a hurry, and everyone seemed to know each other. Some of the differences were hard to describe. A sense of serenity filled the air as I watched children playing with toys they had obviously made themselves. The houses were not surrounded by gates and barking dogs like most of the homes in Kathmandu. This helped to make the people and culture feel more accessible, less isolated. One evening as we walked back to our guesthouse, thousands of stars filled the sky, and I commented on their beauty. Bal Krishna responded saying that you have to be in a dark place to fully appreciate the stars. I think he might be right.

Of course, it would not be fair to idealize places like Okhaldhunga. The geography that makes these places so beautiful also makes life quite difficult. One morning, Bal Krishna and I got up early, planning to walk to the top of a nearby hill to see the sunrise. Unfortunately, the hike was longer than anticipated, and we arrived about a half hour after sunrise. On the way down from the lookout point, we saw a number of porters, carrying huge loads on their backs, headed to even more remote places. They carry these loads, weighing 130-150 pounds, for up to a week. Several of the people we met were quite young, maybe a few years older than my nephews. Working as a porter is the only option for many women and men in remote parts of Nepal, particularly during non-harvest times. There are few economic opportunities for people in these communities, which is why many of them leave their serene villages lives to find work in Kathmandu or India.

Although I enjoyed my time in Okhaldhunga, I quickly realized that I probably would not survive if I had to live in a remote part of Nepal. After two days, I grew tired of eating lentils, rice and vegetables at 9 o'clock every morning and then again in the evening. Of course, there was no filtered or bottled water so I had to drink boiled water, which never seemed to cool down. The showers were so cold that I couldn't stop gasping. After five days, I was ready to get back to crazy Kathmandu, drink a cold bottle of water and have a hot shower (and of course, be with Heidi). On the day before we were supposed to fly home, we headed to the town nearest the airport in the middle of a torrential downpour. It was easily the scariest ride of my life. Several times, we had to back up to gain momentum for the steep climb, and I was sure we were going to back off the side of the road and plunge into the never-ending valley below us. My fear was combined with an uneasiness that was caused by the hand a stranger had decided to rest on my knee. I couldn't tell if he was trying to brace himself, keep me from bouncing around or if he just liked clutching my knee. I decided to go with one of the first two options.

Unfortunately, all of the rain caused our flight to be cancelled. This meant we were stuck with nothing to do but watch the rain and pray for a break in the clouds. I was so bored that I started rereading a book I had just finished. Fortunately, we met up with some friends from Kathmandu who were in the same predicament. We spent the afternoon playing rummy, and when the sky finally cleared, we ventured out for a game of basketball with some local boys. I awoke the next morning to a bright sun and a group doing yoga outside my window. The high hills were once again visible, and I again had to stop and catch my breath as I marveled at the beauty surrounding me.

We almost didn't make it onto our flight. The only plane that was coming to Okhaldhunga that day was from a different airline than the one we had originally scheduled. Bal Krishna managed to secure two seats that are typically reserved for government officials. However, thirty minutes before take-off, a government official showed up to claim one of the seats. At that point, I had given up hope. However, Bal Krishna made some phone calls, and just a few minutes before the flight was going to take off, they confirmed that we had seats. It was an appropriate ending to an adventurous journey. Now I can say that I have experienced the real Nepal.

The town of Okhaldhunga

Random man-powered ferris wheel

Waiting for the rain to end

And I thought the Harrisburg airport was small

Yes, this is the runway

Birds I & II

Birds I

The birds are singing wild songs
harmonizing in jagged leaps and bounds
of voice...
like the frenzy of humanity
speaking different words
to the same, ancient tune

Birds II

A pigeon nurtures her young on my balcony, and so I write softly, whisper-words, tiptoe-sounds, hoping I can fool her into believing that I'm just another fixture...a tree, a plant, a flower...in her world of root and branch.

If I could only fool myself as well, maybe then I could be happy...to sway in the breeze, drink life from earth and sky, bear fruit that is worth savoring, quietly, a picture of peace.

Catholic Church Bombing

Heidi and I were shocked last Saturday when we heard that a bomb exploded at the Church of the Assumption in our neighborhood here in Kathmandu. It happened just a few minutes after the beginning of Saturday Mass. Three people were killed and thirteen others were injured. A small, fundamentalist Hindu group, called the Nepal Defense Army, has taken responsibility for the bombing. Although reports of violence in Nepal have been increasing in the past few months, for the most part, this violence has not been of a sectarian nature. As small minority religious groups, both Christians and Muslims have faced opposition in Nepal, but this opposition has rarely resulted in violent attacks during worship services. Actually, the most similar event in recent years, the bombing of a mosque, was done by this same group. Many have hoped that the declaration of Nepal as a secular state would result in greater tolerance among different faith groups. Within hours of the bombing, Hindu, Buddhist and Muslim leaders arrived at the church to offer their support.

This latest violent event hit particularly close to home for us. The Catholic church is about a five minute walk from our house. We occasionally attend the Sunday Mass, which is conducted in English. We have heard reports of other bombs being detonated around Kathmandu, but they are usually used as a tactic to draw attention to a particular cause- designed more to scare than to do any lasting damage. This incident was different. It seems that it was intentionally set off near the beginning of the church service, at a time when many people would be in the building. The pressure cooker bomb was filled with nails and other shrapnel; obviously intended to kill and seriously injure people. Personally, we are not sure how to react to this news, and I think we are both surprised by the fact that even though this feels close to home, it hasn't really affected us.

This event reminds us of the fact that, in many parts of the world including our own country, religion is used as a platform to perpetrate acts of hatred and intolerance. One of the partners that MCC supports here in Nepal is the Inter-Religious Council Nepal, a group of religious leaders who are attempting to build bridges between the different faith communities. It's encouraging to know that although there are those who use religion to destroy, there are many more who are using their religious values to create, build and sustain.

Up A Hill

Those of you who have been reading our blog since we arrived in Nepal may remember this post (http://neffusinnepal.blogspot.com/2008/08/monkeys-mountains-and-music-videos.html). It was one of our first hiking outings in the Kathmandu Valley, and this "hill" kicked our butts. We ran into a herd of crazy monkeys, ran out of water and were constantly harassed by mosquitoes. After two hours of uphill climbing, with no end in sight, we gave up and followed our wobbly legs back home. Since that fateful day when we left the hill broken and defeated, Ben and I have talked about going back to conquer that monstrous mount. Okay, maybe "monstrous" isn't the right word. We're not talking about the 30,000 foot peak of Mt. Everest. We're talking about a 7,000 foot high hill, not even the tallest in the Kathmandu Valley. Of course, this is probably an even stronger reason to go back. It was after all, a hill…and even Jack and Jill climbed up a hill.

Ben's time is running out in Nepal. He leaves in two months. With the monsoon season quickly approaching, we decided it was now or never. Heidi opted out. For some reason, she didn't share this drive to take on the hill that had so easily defeated us. On Saturday, Ben and I, with much sweat and many breaks, gracefully ascended to the lookout on the top of Nagarjun Ban. When we arrived at the top, I had one of those "this is why I love Nepal" moments. Next to the lookout tower, there is a small Buddhist stupa. On this particular day, there were probably a hundred Buddhist nuns, seated cross-legged next to the stupa. Holding prayer beads, they chanted their prayers in unison, with a few of them chiming in with traditional instruments. With this as the background, we sat on the tower and looked out over the valley. It was a scene that would be hard to capture anywhere else in the world. Here in Nepal, it is almost commonplace, but not commonplace in a way that causes you to forget how beautiful it is. It's just that you can almost expect that the unexpected will happen here. On Saturday, we expected to reach the top of the hill and enjoy a pleasant view. We did not expect to stumble upon a vibrant and enchanting ceremony. It was certainly worth the climb.

Our destination is the high point of this ridge.

Sweaty Ben resting on the lookout tower.

The stupa, surrounded by prayer flags.

The praying nuns.

As you can tell, Ben fared better than I did.