My shoes! A kitchen! Cooking! My computer! My shoes! Oh and my sister.
So many long months without my beautiful Pumas. So many long months without cooking. Oh glory be! Hallelujah! And all that other tosh. I can cook again. I can wear my shoes again. I feel whole. Huzzah!
Its also nice to see my sister again after so long of course. But did I mention my shoes and the cooking? I'm cooking again. This is fantastic. New ingredients. New styles to learn. Old styles to integrate. Yes I'm a foodie and a damn good cook (as is my sibling). We enjoy our food, we enjoy cooking and of course food is always well accompanied by vino, and I'm glad to report the youngster has not let us down in that department. Sorted!
There will be more news from the Mexico front once I've got over myself. Gotta go create!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
LA Story
Ah, the bright lights, the big city, the sirens, the image. LA. Los Angeles. The City of Angels.
I landed in the City of "Image is Everything" stink, tired and maybe a little hungover, and greeted my absolutely angelic friend with all my pungentness as I collapsed into her car.
I was about to enter the "ghetto". As you can imagine I was expecting busted cars, graffiti everywhere, hookers on the corner, drug deals going down, the odd shooting, the occasional car chase, and the constant ear-splitting peal of sirens. Imagine my disappointment when we pulled into America Suburbia. I was to be denied the excitement of the movies! And here I thought film was a correct representation of the world. Such a rude awakening.
My time in LA was all about accomplishments. I ate Chinese take out from a box (yes I know for some people this is no big thing but where I'm from Chinese takeaway comes in a flat plastic container), I ate a hotdog at Pink's (where a "Martha Stewart" dog turned into a "Mushroom" dog. Dammit! Its not like I have an accent or anything!), had my first chilli cheese fries (also at Pink's, and it didn't get lost in translation), had my first taquitos on Olvera St, went to a LA bar (which was so suffocating in that everyone there was all about how they looked, how they looked when they danced and how much fun they weren't having. Ol' Maori here tho' just got on with it and had a bit of fun, much to the horror of some onlookers I suspect. But I did see some taking the piss on the dance floor as we were leaving. Hurrah!), got my Japanese cellfone unlocked (thanks Chinatownland), and went to the Jimmy Kimmel Live! show (he's pretty funny) and saw The Kooks (a bunch of British lads). Oh, and I got told by some Irish chap at another more fun bar, that having short hair was brave and empowering for a woman. U-huh. LA does some funny things to foreigners I reckon.
I visited Whittier Blvd, which architecturally speaking looks like you've stepped back in time. Very 1950's ish. Fantastic! Apparently its one of the main shopping streets for East LA* (the predominantly Hispanic part of LA) and once upon a time the young fullas (or perhaps not so young) used to cruise up and down the Boulevard. It must have been a sight to see in the 50's- all the guys in their Caddi's and Buicks and wotnot, with their hair in that duck tail thingy that was popular back then, their stove pipe jeans, and the girls in their puffy skirts, bouffant platinum hair and bright red lips. Ok so this is obviously Hollywood influenced but it still would've looked cool.
Leaving LA was just as bad as leaving anywhere for me. Stood in line for ages before figuring out that I was in the wrong one- I'd been standing in the line for passengers with boarding passes and I hadn't even checked in yet- typical! I'll blame that on the alcohol and lack of sleep as opposed to obvious stupidity. Once in the correct line, it was all about the wait. Various flights being called to various parts of the counter. My turn came and the dude disappeared! Just stepped out for a minute or two. This was at bout 12 (ish) and our flight left at 1300. When he came back he was gonna make me buy an onward ticket 'cos Mexican authorities require it (yeah right, like anyone cares about NZ passport holders), but in the end let me go without forking out any money. Success! Then up to the horrendously long line that I had been a part of before, where I got pulled aside for the pat-down explosives check thing. Sigh. Bright side tho', got on the plane more or less straight away.
LA. The non-touristy way. Latino flavour everywhere. Wonderful!
*its a good idea if you don't have an address for immigration to not put only "East LA" 'cos they want an actual street address. if you put only a vague whereabouts in that space you get pulled aside; like I did. American Immigration know how to complicate even the most simplest of procedures; you get shown a movie before you arrive in the US telling you what'll happen when you get there and being assured it'll only take a few minutes. Bollocks! Utter rubbish! and any other expletives you'd like to add.
I landed in the City of "Image is Everything" stink, tired and maybe a little hungover, and greeted my absolutely angelic friend with all my pungentness as I collapsed into her car.
I was about to enter the "ghetto". As you can imagine I was expecting busted cars, graffiti everywhere, hookers on the corner, drug deals going down, the odd shooting, the occasional car chase, and the constant ear-splitting peal of sirens. Imagine my disappointment when we pulled into America Suburbia. I was to be denied the excitement of the movies! And here I thought film was a correct representation of the world. Such a rude awakening.
My time in LA was all about accomplishments. I ate Chinese take out from a box (yes I know for some people this is no big thing but where I'm from Chinese takeaway comes in a flat plastic container), I ate a hotdog at Pink's (where a "Martha Stewart" dog turned into a "Mushroom" dog. Dammit! Its not like I have an accent or anything!), had my first chilli cheese fries (also at Pink's, and it didn't get lost in translation), had my first taquitos on Olvera St, went to a LA bar (which was so suffocating in that everyone there was all about how they looked, how they looked when they danced and how much fun they weren't having. Ol' Maori here tho' just got on with it and had a bit of fun, much to the horror of some onlookers I suspect. But I did see some taking the piss on the dance floor as we were leaving. Hurrah!), got my Japanese cellfone unlocked (thanks Chinatownland), and went to the Jimmy Kimmel Live! show (he's pretty funny) and saw The Kooks (a bunch of British lads). Oh, and I got told by some Irish chap at another more fun bar, that having short hair was brave and empowering for a woman. U-huh. LA does some funny things to foreigners I reckon.
I visited Whittier Blvd, which architecturally speaking looks like you've stepped back in time. Very 1950's ish. Fantastic! Apparently its one of the main shopping streets for East LA* (the predominantly Hispanic part of LA) and once upon a time the young fullas (or perhaps not so young) used to cruise up and down the Boulevard. It must have been a sight to see in the 50's- all the guys in their Caddi's and Buicks and wotnot, with their hair in that duck tail thingy that was popular back then, their stove pipe jeans, and the girls in their puffy skirts, bouffant platinum hair and bright red lips. Ok so this is obviously Hollywood influenced but it still would've looked cool.Leaving LA was just as bad as leaving anywhere for me. Stood in line for ages before figuring out that I was in the wrong one- I'd been standing in the line for passengers with boarding passes and I hadn't even checked in yet- typical! I'll blame that on the alcohol and lack of sleep as opposed to obvious stupidity. Once in the correct line, it was all about the wait. Various flights being called to various parts of the counter. My turn came and the dude disappeared! Just stepped out for a minute or two. This was at bout 12 (ish) and our flight left at 1300. When he came back he was gonna make me buy an onward ticket 'cos Mexican authorities require it (yeah right, like anyone cares about NZ passport holders), but in the end let me go without forking out any money. Success! Then up to the horrendously long line that I had been a part of before, where I got pulled aside for the pat-down explosives check thing. Sigh. Bright side tho', got on the plane more or less straight away.
LA. The non-touristy way. Latino flavour everywhere. Wonderful!
*its a good idea if you don't have an address for immigration to not put only "East LA" 'cos they want an actual street address. if you put only a vague whereabouts in that space you get pulled aside; like I did. American Immigration know how to complicate even the most simplest of procedures; you get shown a movie before you arrive in the US telling you what'll happen when you get there and being assured it'll only take a few minutes. Bollocks! Utter rubbish! and any other expletives you'd like to add.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Me. Hong Kong. No Money
Can I just say that Hong Kong is a pretty cool place. Ok so when I say Hong Kong I'm only talking about Kowloon. Its busy as all hell and soooo full of "brand name" shops, and the stink of wealth after Nepal is obscene. However, I was not wholely sucked in by the commercialism- well at least not straight away. It did take some booze before I succembed to the McD's virus.
And after being on the India sub-continent where 200 NC (Nepali rupees) or 200 IC (Indian rupees) is enough to get you a decent feed and/or a decent drink, but when converted to a stronger currency amounts to pennies, you get stuck in the mind-frame of triple digit prices are really not that expensive. Then you arrive in Hong Kong where 200 HKD is a whole helluva lot more that "pennies".
Course ol' on-to-it Maori here took a while to figure this out being a FOB or FOP (fresh off the boat/plane) and was spending like she was back in Nepal/India. Funnily enough it was a rude awakening when I figured out how much I was handing over for that bowl of noodles or whatever.
So what does one do when one realises they've got less than the minimum ATM withdrawl amount left in their bank account? One goes and gets a tatto then gets blind drunk of course! Yeah me and money never did have a really "committed" relationship.
I didn't mean to go out and get "happy", I figured I'd try and be "responsible" with my remaining pennies. I had it prioritized. Money for the bus; sorted. Money for my cellfone which I was trying to get unlocked; sorted. Money for beer; kinda sorted. Money for food... well I always did think food was over rated when beer fills you up anyway.
After getting my tatt, I wandered back into the hostel and met some of my room mates. We then went out to watch the lazer show down at the harbour front and came back to have a "quiet" bevvy or two. We had two Man U supporters in our midst who were dead set on watching their team play. Fair dues. So we went on a mish, found a bar, scored an awesome deal on some drinks (110 HKD each to get trollied for the evening) and plonked ourselves down in front of the tele to watch the game. We were quite a collection- two Brit actresses (the Man U fans), a Kiwi, a German, an Irishman, a Guatemalean, two other young Brits and during the course of the evening four young Hong Kong chaps who got caned in a drinking game by one of the actresses.
We ended up at home round 830am and I had to be at the airport by 1230 (ish). No worries. Had a bit of kip, woke up at 12 and went in search of my cellfone. Nothing is ever simple when I'm leaving a country. Nothing.
The buggers didn't have my cellfone. It was in the "office" which was just "in the back" but for which only one key existed (apparently) and that was with someone else who funnily enough couldn't be reached. Sigh. So an hour later, stink from sleeping in the same clothes I went out in, hoha from all the stares I was getting, and fed up with the chap with stink breath who was trying to keep me company,oh, and tired as hell, my fone arrived. Huzzah! I bolted amidst apologies (they couldn't unlock my fone) and other nonsense I'm sure they were saying, said some hurried goodbyes and caught the bus to the airport.
One day I will learn not to leave things to the last minute. One day. I just don't think it'll be any day soon.
And after being on the India sub-continent where 200 NC (Nepali rupees) or 200 IC (Indian rupees) is enough to get you a decent feed and/or a decent drink, but when converted to a stronger currency amounts to pennies, you get stuck in the mind-frame of triple digit prices are really not that expensive. Then you arrive in Hong Kong where 200 HKD is a whole helluva lot more that "pennies".Course ol' on-to-it Maori here took a while to figure this out being a FOB or FOP (fresh off the boat/plane) and was spending like she was back in Nepal/India. Funnily enough it was a rude awakening when I figured out how much I was handing over for that bowl of noodles or whatever.
So what does one do when one realises they've got less than the minimum ATM withdrawl amount left in their bank account? One goes and gets a tatto then gets blind drunk of course! Yeah me and money never did have a really "committed" relationship.
I didn't mean to go out and get "happy", I figured I'd try and be "responsible" with my remaining pennies. I had it prioritized. Money for the bus; sorted. Money for my cellfone which I was trying to get unlocked; sorted. Money for beer; kinda sorted. Money for food... well I always did think food was over rated when beer fills you up anyway.
After getting my tatt, I wandered back into the hostel and met some of my room mates. We then went out to watch the lazer show down at the harbour front and came back to have a "quiet" bevvy or two. We had two Man U supporters in our midst who were dead set on watching their team play. Fair dues. So we went on a mish, found a bar, scored an awesome deal on some drinks (110 HKD each to get trollied for the evening) and plonked ourselves down in front of the tele to watch the game. We were quite a collection- two Brit actresses (the Man U fans), a Kiwi, a German, an Irishman, a Guatemalean, two other young Brits and during the course of the evening four young Hong Kong chaps who got caned in a drinking game by one of the actresses.We ended up at home round 830am and I had to be at the airport by 1230 (ish). No worries. Had a bit of kip, woke up at 12 and went in search of my cellfone. Nothing is ever simple when I'm leaving a country. Nothing.
The buggers didn't have my cellfone. It was in the "office" which was just "in the back" but for which only one key existed (apparently) and that was with someone else who funnily enough couldn't be reached. Sigh. So an hour later, stink from sleeping in the same clothes I went out in, hoha from all the stares I was getting, and fed up with the chap with stink breath who was trying to keep me company,oh, and tired as hell, my fone arrived. Huzzah! I bolted amidst apologies (they couldn't unlock my fone) and other nonsense I'm sure they were saying, said some hurried goodbyes and caught the bus to the airport.
One day I will learn not to leave things to the last minute. One day. I just don't think it'll be any day soon.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Hair
My "do" has undergone some changes over the past few months.
I left Japan with long tresses. Got to China and chopped 'em. Got to Bangkok and decided to dread 'em. Got to Kathmandu, kids tried to comb out the dreads, so shaved 'em. Yup. In the space of 3 months I went from Rapunsel to Coolio to Sinead O'Connor. Ok, so Rapunsels a bit of a stretch but you get the picture. And Coolio is no stretch, 'cos my dreads did resemble his freaky-arse do of the nineties.
Coming to Nepal one realises that hair is important, if you are female. Some how or rather beauty is tied in with the state of your hair. I'm sure its not that shallow, but the amount of times I've had to explain why my head is covered by what resembles a salt 'n pepper swimming cap, is almost in the triple digits. So I shaved my head. Its only hair, it grows back.
My host mum just burst into laughter when I rocked up with my new look. And it sustained here for some time. When it was "number 2" the kids loved to rub my head- well at that length it does feel velvety.
I've also had people think I'm a Buddhist nun. Which I loved by the way. Imagine! Me! That was worth the hoha of the explanations right there.
I left Japan with long tresses. Got to China and chopped 'em. Got to Bangkok and decided to dread 'em. Got to Kathmandu, kids tried to comb out the dreads, so shaved 'em. Yup. In the space of 3 months I went from Rapunsel to Coolio to Sinead O'Connor. Ok, so Rapunsels a bit of a stretch but you get the picture. And Coolio is no stretch, 'cos my dreads did resemble his freaky-arse do of the nineties.
Coming to Nepal one realises that hair is important, if you are female. Some how or rather beauty is tied in with the state of your hair. I'm sure its not that shallow, but the amount of times I've had to explain why my head is covered by what resembles a salt 'n pepper swimming cap, is almost in the triple digits. So I shaved my head. Its only hair, it grows back.
My host mum just burst into laughter when I rocked up with my new look. And it sustained here for some time. When it was "number 2" the kids loved to rub my head- well at that length it does feel velvety.
I've also had people think I'm a Buddhist nun. Which I loved by the way. Imagine! Me! That was worth the hoha of the explanations right there.
Maori vs Nepali?
I seriously think our two cultures are long lost cousins.
Some similarities....
Some similarities....
- "Nepali" time
- "Aunty" and "Uncle" for older people, related or not
- men standing around in groups drinking tea after (or before) work that needs to be done
- inviting people into your home after knowing them only a short time
- not taking "No" for an answer from a guest with regards to food or drink
- quick to laugh and have fun
- quick to sing and dance (even if a bit of alcohol is needed first)
- family gatherings are important
You could take any Maori out of NZ, drop them into Nepal and there would be no problem. The natural friendliness and love of a good laugh of both cultures would break down any barrier that might arise due to the language thing.
Oh! Not to forget that whole "love of a good feed" thing too. If you were to venture into a Maori home or a Nepali home, there is NO WAY you would leave hungry. Absolutely no way.
So how say you? Long lost cousins or what?
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Perfurgulate
Is it a word? I highly doubt it. What does it mean? I have no bloody idea. But its the word that describes my time in Nepal.
Nepal...
A country of surprises.
A country where a movie is shot just down the road and shooting has to be interrupted because cars/bikes/animals/pedestrians are using the public road they are filming on.
A country where there are computers and cell phones, yet, where your laundary is done by hand.
A country where a lack of tact is not a bad thing (luckily for me).
A country where Maori time exists aswell (huzzah!).
A country where a herd of goats walking down the mainstreet of town is the morning ritual.
A country where children can run around unsupervised and enjoy the freedom of being young and energetic.
A country where having nothing is the same as having everything.
A country that is full of friendly faces and welcoming hearts.
A country that I love.
Perfurgulate. Perfurgulatory. Perfurgulation.
My time in Nepal. Fan-bloody-tastic!
Nepal...
A country of surprises.
A country where a movie is shot just down the road and shooting has to be interrupted because cars/bikes/animals/pedestrians are using the public road they are filming on.
A country where there are computers and cell phones, yet, where your laundary is done by hand.
A country where a lack of tact is not a bad thing (luckily for me).
A country where Maori time exists aswell (huzzah!).
A country where a herd of goats walking down the mainstreet of town is the morning ritual.
A country where children can run around unsupervised and enjoy the freedom of being young and energetic.
A country where having nothing is the same as having everything.
A country that is full of friendly faces and welcoming hearts.
A country that I love.
Perfurgulate. Perfurgulatory. Perfurgulation.
My time in Nepal. Fan-bloody-tastic!
Leaving Kathmandu. Leaving Nepal
It was three or four days in the making, but I did actually manage to leave. Sigh.
A goodbye to the kids that was only supposed to be a couple of hours but ended with me spending the night with them. I mean seriously, how is it humanly possible to resist rumbuncious boys and doe-eyed girls when they ask "You sit here tonight sister?"? I tried to resist. Really I did. But in the end they won me over. Like they knew they would. I know, I'm a complete sucker. Gimme a cheeky grin and I'm wrapped round your little finger.
Next on the agenda was achieved with little fanfare- printing out my ticket confirmation thingy for my Indian visa. Absolutely unexciting in its extreme ease of accomplishment. Course now obtaining said visa was a little less straightforward.
It was Sunday you see, and unlike any other governmental office in Kathmandu, the Indian embassy was closed. No biggie. I'll just rock up on Monday morning, get the visa and bugger off that night. I should have learnt by now that any plan I tend to make seems doomed to failure.
You can picture it can't you... It's Sunday night, I've got nothing to do, nowhere (really) to be, so lets have my farewell do! Fantastic idea! We hung out at my mate UV's place for a bit, had a feed, had a couple of cocktails* and then hit the local club for my belated birthday lapdances. The locals couldn't help but piss themselves laughing at the shinaniggins. My mates dragging some poor pommie lads into the lapdancing ensemble. T'were hilarious!
You know where this is heading don't you? Got home in the wee hours and then rocked up to the embassy round 1130am. They closed for visa applications at 12 noon. There were a lot of people waiting for the same thing as me. A LOT of people. So I flagged it and decided to go see my other kids (Hattigauda Kids) and say goodbye. But it started to rain. That idea got flagged aswell. I know, the queen of procrastination. So I hung out. Again. But this time there were no late night lapdances. In bed early and out to the embassy, application filled in, money paid, just had to come back and pick up the passport and go to the bus stop. Easy... Whatever.
Still had to say goodbye to the Hattigauda Kids, but I totally wussed out. Ended up just giving a letter to their new guardians and blah, blah, blah.
Headed back to UV's bar to drown my sorrows and discovered a French chap we had meet the night before was heading to India the next day in a car and didn't mind if I tagged along. Well! Do you really think my rubber arm needed to be twisted very hard to get me to stay? Hell no! A free ride to India- are you kidding me!?!? So I spent the night drinking UV's mates under the table. I mean seriously, I was the nana (grandmother) of the group and I was the only one still up and running at 530 in the morning when I had to go meet Jean (the French dude) to pick up my ride. Pasang (a newly acquired drinking buddy) played the role of the gentleman (having just woken up) and carried my bag to Jean's hotel and kindly asked Jean's driver if I could join the "party". Driver agreed and we where off!
Nepal. Good times. Great friends. Great memories. A lot of love. I will miss not being there.
An aside...
Turns out the driver didn't have the authority to give me permission to get in the car, so when we rocked up to Varanasi, Jean's travel agent tried to get USD140 out of us. Me having no money, I thought this was bloody hilarious. Jean refused to pay and we ended up in the cop shop. I was never really worried bout paying (arrogant I know), and turned out we didn't have to. The cops thought it was quite funny (I think) and after getting in front of an officer and explaining both sides, and the travel agent not handing over a bribe, the officer told us to go. Grumpy old bugger that he was. So 16 hours driving with some dude who was chomping on beetle nut to stay awake, followed by 1 hour trying to sort out the "permission" drama, and I was finally in India proper. To be continued the next day with another long arse journey by train to Mumbai (Bombay). Whistle-stop tour of India. Bring on a holiday!
*there are vids of UV flairing on the Vimeo link
A goodbye to the kids that was only supposed to be a couple of hours but ended with me spending the night with them. I mean seriously, how is it humanly possible to resist rumbuncious boys and doe-eyed girls when they ask "You sit here tonight sister?"? I tried to resist. Really I did. But in the end they won me over. Like they knew they would. I know, I'm a complete sucker. Gimme a cheeky grin and I'm wrapped round your little finger.Next on the agenda was achieved with little fanfare- printing out my ticket confirmation thingy for my Indian visa. Absolutely unexciting in its extreme ease of accomplishment. Course now obtaining said visa was a little less straightforward.
It was Sunday you see, and unlike any other governmental office in Kathmandu, the Indian embassy was closed. No biggie. I'll just rock up on Monday morning, get the visa and bugger off that night. I should have learnt by now that any plan I tend to make seems doomed to failure.
You can picture it can't you... It's Sunday night, I've got nothing to do, nowhere (really) to be, so lets have my farewell do! Fantastic idea! We hung out at my mate UV's place for a bit, had a feed, had a couple of cocktails* and then hit the local club for my belated birthday lapdances. The locals couldn't help but piss themselves laughing at the shinaniggins. My mates dragging some poor pommie lads into the lapdancing ensemble. T'were hilarious!
You know where this is heading don't you? Got home in the wee hours and then rocked up to the embassy round 1130am. They closed for visa applications at 12 noon. There were a lot of people waiting for the same thing as me. A LOT of people. So I flagged it and decided to go see my other kids (Hattigauda Kids) and say goodbye. But it started to rain. That idea got flagged aswell. I know, the queen of procrastination. So I hung out. Again. But this time there were no late night lapdances. In bed early and out to the embassy, application filled in, money paid, just had to come back and pick up the passport and go to the bus stop. Easy... Whatever.
Still had to say goodbye to the Hattigauda Kids, but I totally wussed out. Ended up just giving a letter to their new guardians and blah, blah, blah.
Headed back to UV's bar to drown my sorrows and discovered a French chap we had meet the night before was heading to India the next day in a car and didn't mind if I tagged along. Well! Do you really think my rubber arm needed to be twisted very hard to get me to stay? Hell no! A free ride to India- are you kidding me!?!? So I spent the night drinking UV's mates under the table. I mean seriously, I was the nana (grandmother) of the group and I was the only one still up and running at 530 in the morning when I had to go meet Jean (the French dude) to pick up my ride. Pasang (a newly acquired drinking buddy) played the role of the gentleman (having just woken up) and carried my bag to Jean's hotel and kindly asked Jean's driver if I could join the "party". Driver agreed and we where off!Nepal. Good times. Great friends. Great memories. A lot of love. I will miss not being there.
An aside...
Turns out the driver didn't have the authority to give me permission to get in the car, so when we rocked up to Varanasi, Jean's travel agent tried to get USD140 out of us. Me having no money, I thought this was bloody hilarious. Jean refused to pay and we ended up in the cop shop. I was never really worried bout paying (arrogant I know), and turned out we didn't have to. The cops thought it was quite funny (I think) and after getting in front of an officer and explaining both sides, and the travel agent not handing over a bribe, the officer told us to go. Grumpy old bugger that he was. So 16 hours driving with some dude who was chomping on beetle nut to stay awake, followed by 1 hour trying to sort out the "permission" drama, and I was finally in India proper. To be continued the next day with another long arse journey by train to Mumbai (Bombay). Whistle-stop tour of India. Bring on a holiday!
*there are vids of UV flairing on the Vimeo link
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Meet Craig Baker
He's young. He's kiwi. He's a tin arse.
He was my travel companion for the last week. Introducing me to "roof of the bus travel", Bandipur and Pokhara by motorbike. We had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs.
But by far the most impressive thing that mero bhai (my younger brother) did was get a Maoist propaganda car to relinquish one of their flags to him. If you don't know the situation here in Nepal, the Maoists are the "opposition" but you can find out more details if you google them, 'cos I can't be bothered going into it. So the day before a rally cars go up and down the streets advertising the "where and when". They are all decked out with flags and posters and loud speakers. We were eating lunch and young Craig wondered aloud if they'd give him a flag. I told him to go ask them, so he did. He stopped a car and asked them for their flag. Would you believe it, they handed it over! Tin Arse! With instructions to come to the rally the following day and to hand out flyers. We were planning to go anyway, but the flag added that extra incentive. Way to go kiwi boy.
The next day we headed off to the rally. Craig waving his flag proudly and receiving smiles and laughs and pointing fingers along the journey. We got to the stadium and I began to feel like a travelling interpretor. Craig not speaking a helluva lot of Nepali and the gathered masses not speaking a helluva lot of English. The "official" number of attendees was 500,000 or there abouts. We didn't stay to hear the leader speak, being bored well before he was due to arrive, but we had fun getting there and being there.
Politics in Nepal. Oh the fun to be had!
He was my travel companion for the last week. Introducing me to "roof of the bus travel", Bandipur and Pokhara by motorbike. We had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs.
But by far the most impressive thing that mero bhai (my younger brother) did was get a Maoist propaganda car to relinquish one of their flags to him. If you don't know the situation here in Nepal, the Maoists are the "opposition" but you can find out more details if you google them, 'cos I can't be bothered going into it. So the day before a rally cars go up and down the streets advertising the "where and when". They are all decked out with flags and posters and loud speakers. We were eating lunch and young Craig wondered aloud if they'd give him a flag. I told him to go ask them, so he did. He stopped a car and asked them for their flag. Would you believe it, they handed it over! Tin Arse! With instructions to come to the rally the following day and to hand out flyers. We were planning to go anyway, but the flag added that extra incentive. Way to go kiwi boy.The next day we headed off to the rally. Craig waving his flag proudly and receiving smiles and laughs and pointing fingers along the journey. We got to the stadium and I began to feel like a travelling interpretor. Craig not speaking a helluva lot of Nepali and the gathered masses not speaking a helluva lot of English. The "official" number of attendees was 500,000 or there abouts. We didn't stay to hear the leader speak, being bored well before he was due to arrive, but we had fun getting there and being there.
Politics in Nepal. Oh the fun to be had!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Bumps 'n Bruises
Pokhara. Pretty nice place. Pretty big lake. Good view from the hills surrounding it. Loads of hotels. Loads of tourists. And for me, a few bruises.
A good way to explore Pokhara is to jump on a bike (motorized) and zip around for a few hours. A good way to end up with some bruises is to zip around off road on a road bike with some young whipper-snapper who has grown up doing the dirt bike thing. His version of "gravel" and mine were vastly different. Same goes for "small slope". We rounded a corner of perfectly good tarmac, and he indicated a road that was heading straight up the bloody hill. Needless to say, I stalled the bike. And this was the easy part! And seens as it was a kick-start contraption, I had to yell at him to come down and start it again. That done, we started up the hill again, the small stones ie. gravel quickly turned into mini-rocks or huge friggin' stones! And the small slope quickly got steeper.
This is where my fun began. I think I held my breath the whole way up, only getting chucked off maybe 3 or 4 times. I reached the top and tired to get off the bike looking all cool, calm and collected, but my legs had turned to jelly, and my hands had developed quite a shake. Sigh.
The reason for the insane journey was a visit to the Peace Pogoda, from where an awesome view of Pokhara is laid out before you. Also a chance to get a bit of a tan, read a book and chill out before even contemplating the trip back down the "gravel" road.
The trip back down was uneventful by comparison. I got chucked off a few times, and this time was going slow enough to realise that it was a long way bloody down if I arsed off my bike. This of course was followed by thoughts of "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die", and "If I don't die I'm gonna get hurt REAL bad". Ok I admit it I'm a wuss. But quite frankly the size of those rocks, I'd much rather be dead than bleeding and broken.
At the bottom, on the tarmac, there was a quite religious moment for me. There exists a photo of me kissing and worshipping the asphalt. If I could have become one with it, believe me I would have.
Other than this one day of excitement, Pokhara is just like any other tourist town. Fun to visit, have a laugh and leave.
A good way to explore Pokhara is to jump on a bike (motorized) and zip around for a few hours. A good way to end up with some bruises is to zip around off road on a road bike with some young whipper-snapper who has grown up doing the dirt bike thing. His version of "gravel" and mine were vastly different. Same goes for "small slope". We rounded a corner of perfectly good tarmac, and he indicated a road that was heading straight up the bloody hill. Needless to say, I stalled the bike. And this was the easy part! And seens as it was a kick-start contraption, I had to yell at him to come down and start it again. That done, we started up the hill again, the small stones ie. gravel quickly turned into mini-rocks or huge friggin' stones! And the small slope quickly got steeper.
This is where my fun began. I think I held my breath the whole way up, only getting chucked off maybe 3 or 4 times. I reached the top and tired to get off the bike looking all cool, calm and collected, but my legs had turned to jelly, and my hands had developed quite a shake. Sigh.
The reason for the insane journey was a visit to the Peace Pogoda, from where an awesome view of Pokhara is laid out before you. Also a chance to get a bit of a tan, read a book and chill out before even contemplating the trip back down the "gravel" road.
The trip back down was uneventful by comparison. I got chucked off a few times, and this time was going slow enough to realise that it was a long way bloody down if I arsed off my bike. This of course was followed by thoughts of "I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die", and "If I don't die I'm gonna get hurt REAL bad". Ok I admit it I'm a wuss. But quite frankly the size of those rocks, I'd much rather be dead than bleeding and broken.
At the bottom, on the tarmac, there was a quite religious moment for me. There exists a photo of me kissing and worshipping the asphalt. If I could have become one with it, believe me I would have.
Other than this one day of excitement, Pokhara is just like any other tourist town. Fun to visit, have a laugh and leave.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Bandipur
Beautiful place. Bugger-all tourists. Beautiful people. Get there quick 'cos its gonna disappear soon!
Yes like all good pozzies, the buck has rolled in and they are making it more "comfortable" for tourists. Read here remodeling, loads of hotels, and now a cobblestoned road through town. Commercialism. Damn the mighty buck!
Anyhoo, we stopped off here for a night or two. Beautiful spot to snap a pic or two of the mighty Himalaya or chill out with them as your backdrop. Course its a beautiful view if you can see them. Alas the days that we were there, the snow capped peaks were playing hide 'n seek with the clouds, mostly hiding.
Being a small town/big village, you wouldn't expect that having "a night on the town" was an option. It usually wouldn't be I don't think, but add a very friendly hotel owner and a couple of kiwis with some rakshi and fun shall ensue. The night started harmlessly enough, bite to eat and a glass of the local hard stuff. Then Krishna-Dai (dai meaning older brother in Nepali) joined us and the flow of rakshi began in earnest! Add a bit of music, and us being ushered into the back room, and a bit of a Nepali traditional music disco was on the go. Huzzah!
My God tho', my night was quite an experience. I woke up with the most violent shaking I've ever experienced, followed by clambering up and down the stairs in the dark in a mad rush to get to the toilet! Needless to say my days of rakshi indulgence have come to an end.
If you ever go to Bandipur, stay at Pradhan Guesthouse. Meet Krishna-Dai, listen to some stories and have a great time!
Yes like all good pozzies, the buck has rolled in and they are making it more "comfortable" for tourists. Read here remodeling, loads of hotels, and now a cobblestoned road through town. Commercialism. Damn the mighty buck!
Anyhoo, we stopped off here for a night or two. Beautiful spot to snap a pic or two of the mighty Himalaya or chill out with them as your backdrop. Course its a beautiful view if you can see them. Alas the days that we were there, the snow capped peaks were playing hide 'n seek with the clouds, mostly hiding.
Being a small town/big village, you wouldn't expect that having "a night on the town" was an option. It usually wouldn't be I don't think, but add a very friendly hotel owner and a couple of kiwis with some rakshi and fun shall ensue. The night started harmlessly enough, bite to eat and a glass of the local hard stuff. Then Krishna-Dai (dai meaning older brother in Nepali) joined us and the flow of rakshi began in earnest! Add a bit of music, and us being ushered into the back room, and a bit of a Nepali traditional music disco was on the go. Huzzah!
My God tho', my night was quite an experience. I woke up with the most violent shaking I've ever experienced, followed by clambering up and down the stairs in the dark in a mad rush to get to the toilet! Needless to say my days of rakshi indulgence have come to an end.If you ever go to Bandipur, stay at Pradhan Guesthouse. Meet Krishna-Dai, listen to some stories and have a great time!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Birthday Wishes
How do you celebrate 31 years of life, love and fun in one day?
By living every day, enjoying every day and celebrating every day on your one "special" day.
Well at least that's what I did anyway.
The kids greeted me in their usual boisterous manner when I went into their rooms to say "Good Morning". Some shyly offering me their birthday cards, others thrusting them into my hands and running away giggling, but all of them wishing me "Happy Birthday" and receiving their hug and kiss in return. I mean how cool is that? Before 7am in the morning, 29 laughing, smiling kids wishing you a happy birthday and some breaking into song as well. Kids rock man!
After the kids left for school, I had my birthday dhal bat with didi (the older lady who cooks and helps round the orphanage) and Prakash (the manager) in the sun and enjoying the quiet.
It was a beautiful morning and once in Thamel, after a hot shower, myself and Anna headed out to find some new bars to venture into in the evening. We had no plan, we were just strolling. So we strolled into a book shop that had hidden depths. At the back of Pilgrim's, behind the books, was (is) a restaurant and a whole lot of Nepali crafty things. But don't you hate it when the interesting things are on the lower shelves and you have to stoop to get to them? Not this Maori. Stooping be damned! I (we) plonked ourselves on the floor in front of said shelves and took off anything that took our fancy. And when this involved buckets of jewellery being tipped on the floor, the staff seemed to get a bit nervous. Turned out tho' that the interesting stuff wasn't really that interesting so we moved on. The "mood" music inspired us. So we danced our way around the shop. Again the staff seemed uncertain about what to do. In the end they opted for the best defence- to laugh at the foreigners. Funnily enough the other foreigners in the shop behaved as if we weren't there. Sigh.
After purchasing two garish felt rings (one for Anna, one for me) we headed back into the bustling metropolis to resume our search. And we were justly rewarded. Huzzah! We found a garden bar down a little alleyway that had cheap beer and a good pozzie to enjoy the waning sun. We enjoyed our beer and the music (which again inspired dancing, much to the amusement of the staff and fellow patrons) and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
Dancing was to be the theme of the evening. We went back to the same garden bar for dinner with the rest of the crew, then headed to a less frequented establishment on the main strip. We commandeered the raised seated platform, and again inspired by the (this time cheesy) music, all seven of us broke into dance. It was a short lived moment of revelry . The management complaining that our combined weight dancing in an energetic manner on his floor would break it. He asked us to stop. We didn't. He turned down the music. We complained, as did other patrons. But we couldn't be bothered with the hoha, so we buggered off. And into another "chill-out" bar, (cushions on the floor, short tables etc.) where I was shouted some very strong cocktails and we danced some more. With all the dancing fueled by very little alcohol, it was unanimously decided we should head to the local club and I should receive a lap dance from everyone present. Fate, however, had a different plan. She wanted to keep my birthday PG rated, and had the club closed early due to some poor bastard getting shot. So we headed back to the previous bar where we met some Nepali chaps who insisted we help them polish off their fourth bottle of Vodka for the evening, then wandered home past the sandwich shop, had our sammies in the courtyard of the hotel where we got yelled out by a guest who we woke up, had a night cap beer and wandered off to bed.
A relaxing end to a fantastic day. Begin as you mean to go on huh? Love on ya.
By living every day, enjoying every day and celebrating every day on your one "special" day.
Well at least that's what I did anyway.
The kids greeted me in their usual boisterous manner when I went into their rooms to say "Good Morning". Some shyly offering me their birthday cards, others thrusting them into my hands and running away giggling, but all of them wishing me "Happy Birthday" and receiving their hug and kiss in return. I mean how cool is that? Before 7am in the morning, 29 laughing, smiling kids wishing you a happy birthday and some breaking into song as well. Kids rock man!
After the kids left for school, I had my birthday dhal bat with didi (the older lady who cooks and helps round the orphanage) and Prakash (the manager) in the sun and enjoying the quiet.
It was a beautiful morning and once in Thamel, after a hot shower, myself and Anna headed out to find some new bars to venture into in the evening. We had no plan, we were just strolling. So we strolled into a book shop that had hidden depths. At the back of Pilgrim's, behind the books, was (is) a restaurant and a whole lot of Nepali crafty things. But don't you hate it when the interesting things are on the lower shelves and you have to stoop to get to them? Not this Maori. Stooping be damned! I (we) plonked ourselves on the floor in front of said shelves and took off anything that took our fancy. And when this involved buckets of jewellery being tipped on the floor, the staff seemed to get a bit nervous. Turned out tho' that the interesting stuff wasn't really that interesting so we moved on. The "mood" music inspired us. So we danced our way around the shop. Again the staff seemed uncertain about what to do. In the end they opted for the best defence- to laugh at the foreigners. Funnily enough the other foreigners in the shop behaved as if we weren't there. Sigh.
After purchasing two garish felt rings (one for Anna, one for me) we headed back into the bustling metropolis to resume our search. And we were justly rewarded. Huzzah! We found a garden bar down a little alleyway that had cheap beer and a good pozzie to enjoy the waning sun. We enjoyed our beer and the music (which again inspired dancing, much to the amusement of the staff and fellow patrons) and congratulated ourselves on a job well done.
Dancing was to be the theme of the evening. We went back to the same garden bar for dinner with the rest of the crew, then headed to a less frequented establishment on the main strip. We commandeered the raised seated platform, and again inspired by the (this time cheesy) music, all seven of us broke into dance. It was a short lived moment of revelry . The management complaining that our combined weight dancing in an energetic manner on his floor would break it. He asked us to stop. We didn't. He turned down the music. We complained, as did other patrons. But we couldn't be bothered with the hoha, so we buggered off. And into another "chill-out" bar, (cushions on the floor, short tables etc.) where I was shouted some very strong cocktails and we danced some more. With all the dancing fueled by very little alcohol, it was unanimously decided we should head to the local club and I should receive a lap dance from everyone present. Fate, however, had a different plan. She wanted to keep my birthday PG rated, and had the club closed early due to some poor bastard getting shot. So we headed back to the previous bar where we met some Nepali chaps who insisted we help them polish off their fourth bottle of Vodka for the evening, then wandered home past the sandwich shop, had our sammies in the courtyard of the hotel where we got yelled out by a guest who we woke up, had a night cap beer and wandered off to bed.
A relaxing end to a fantastic day. Begin as you mean to go on huh? Love on ya.
Monday, February 19, 2007
An excuse to smoke pot
Shivaratri. It's a Hindu festival. There's a visit to the temple, there's special food, there's dancing, there's fire and there's weed. Its the only day of the year when smoking "electric puha" is legal in Nepal. I mean its readily available on any given day but not necessarily "legal" to indulge.
Before the youngsters toddled off to bed we shared a fire and some kheer (Nepali rice pudding), and some sugar cane with them. The sugar cane was heated in the fire for awhile, and then slammed into the ground making a noise not unlike that of an exploding fire cracker. Once "exploded" the kids were rushing up and grabbing at the still hot and sweet treat. I didn't think much of it myself but apparently it was wonderful!
Living with 29 kids can make indulging in the herbal side of this festival difficult, but as luck would have it, we had "load-shedding" (a set time for a blackout) that night, so after the little blighters were off to bed, we snuck away with some locals and had a bit of fun.
The fun did not only include the herbal indulgence. Some locals preferring a local beverage. But all willing and eager for a bit of a boogie, Nepali style, around a fire. It was a good laugh and a helluva lot of fun.
Before the youngsters toddled off to bed we shared a fire and some kheer (Nepali rice pudding), and some sugar cane with them. The sugar cane was heated in the fire for awhile, and then slammed into the ground making a noise not unlike that of an exploding fire cracker. Once "exploded" the kids were rushing up and grabbing at the still hot and sweet treat. I didn't think much of it myself but apparently it was wonderful!Living with 29 kids can make indulging in the herbal side of this festival difficult, but as luck would have it, we had "load-shedding" (a set time for a blackout) that night, so after the little blighters were off to bed, we snuck away with some locals and had a bit of fun.
The fun did not only include the herbal indulgence. Some locals preferring a local beverage. But all willing and eager for a bit of a boogie, Nepali style, around a fire. It was a good laugh and a helluva lot of fun.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Flight of the Bumblebee
A funked up version that is. In a teeny tiny van that is doubling as a people mover.
Picture it would ya...
A van the size of those little Suzuki things that flip when you sneeze too hard next to them, filled with a haphazard crew of passengers. Sardines. Human ones. Packed into a disposable moving object. With what sounds like a funked up Nepali version of "Flight of the Bumblebee" playing over the speakers. I would like to say "deck" or "radio" but maybe that's being overly generous. Hurtling (no embellishment here) towards our destination, weaving in and out of bigger disposable moving objects also carrying people and or inanimate objects. A constant sing-song from the open door as the young conductor is yelling his stops at people on the side of the road. The occasional whistle or a frantic banging which is his signal to the driver to stop. However, I still haven't figured out when he's whistling to stop or just vocalizing his admiration for a female passer-by. Its a credit to his vocal chords I tell ya. I've only been on one "bus" where the conductor who looked like he was 12 started out with a high voice, and ended up with something a baritone would be proud to own.
This day tho' it wasn't the conductor who brought everything to a halt- it was the driver. He interrupted his hurtling to bring us to a screeching halt to pay a social visit to some chicky on the side of the road. We were sat there for bout ten minutes while he (I imagine) tried to charm this lucky lady. Fair dues to the passengers, no one got mad or yelled or sighed or gave any indication that they were miffed. Me, I thought it was bloody hilarious! And couldn't stop giggling to myself.
Ah. Nay-pal.
Picture it would ya...
A van the size of those little Suzuki things that flip when you sneeze too hard next to them, filled with a haphazard crew of passengers. Sardines. Human ones. Packed into a disposable moving object. With what sounds like a funked up Nepali version of "Flight of the Bumblebee" playing over the speakers. I would like to say "deck" or "radio" but maybe that's being overly generous. Hurtling (no embellishment here) towards our destination, weaving in and out of bigger disposable moving objects also carrying people and or inanimate objects. A constant sing-song from the open door as the young conductor is yelling his stops at people on the side of the road. The occasional whistle or a frantic banging which is his signal to the driver to stop. However, I still haven't figured out when he's whistling to stop or just vocalizing his admiration for a female passer-by. Its a credit to his vocal chords I tell ya. I've only been on one "bus" where the conductor who looked like he was 12 started out with a high voice, and ended up with something a baritone would be proud to own.
This day tho' it wasn't the conductor who brought everything to a halt- it was the driver. He interrupted his hurtling to bring us to a screeching halt to pay a social visit to some chicky on the side of the road. We were sat there for bout ten minutes while he (I imagine) tried to charm this lucky lady. Fair dues to the passengers, no one got mad or yelled or sighed or gave any indication that they were miffed. Me, I thought it was bloody hilarious! And couldn't stop giggling to myself.
Ah. Nay-pal.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Maghesakranti
The first day of the month of Magh in Nepal is celebrated with the family.
Anna and I were lucky to be invited to Ram Krishna's place for this festival. Ram owns and runs the local chiya pasal near the orphanage with his wife. With his limited English and my bad Nepali we struck up a friendship almost immediately. His wife is as lovely as he is and they welcomed us both into their home.
So at 10am (11am in reality) we set off towards Ram's childhood village and his mum's home. Although its only half an hour out of central Kathmandu, the pace is as slow as if it were 30 miles away. His older sisters greeted us warmly but shyly on the roof of the house where rice mats had been laid to sit on. They spoke no English so smiles, gestures, and bad Nepali had to do. One of his sisters summoned her young son up to the roof with the purpose we think of being translator. At the tender age of 12 however, he collapsed in a fit of giggles whenever we spoke to him. Part of the celebration is to get "oiled". The mother putting oil on your head and slapping you a couple of times. We also had oil put on backs and massaged in by Ram's older sister. It was like being part of the family. Sitting around chatting, laughing, eating and taking photos. And my god! The food! It was never bloody ending!
First we had what we thought was lunch, but which we later learned was a snack. The best buffalo meat I've had in Nepal- spicy and so tender! Some beans and salty small fish thing, a potato salad concotion, chiura (bitten rice, not that nice really), and some typical Newar sweet which tasted like burnt molases. Our plates were full of this stuff, and after finishing it we were full aswell. An hour (at least it felt like that) or so later we had lunch. Dhal Bat. A meal which usually consists of rice (by the moundful), a lentil soupy thing and a veg curry or sometimes a meat curry. This is the staple Nepali meal. Most families will eat it twice a day for the whole of their lives. Sometimes its good. Sometimes its not. This dhal bat though was fantastic. But we couldn't eat it all, and in Nepal the hosts take exception to that. They thought something was wrong with the food. Through lots of pidgin Nepali and miming though we think they understood that the food was great but that we had useless appetites. This food was washed down with rakhsi. A usually rice based wine. Its usually potent. And Ram's mum's was no different. It was smooth but bloody hell it was like swallowing liquid fire. And Ram was swallowing huge mouthfuls while Anna and I were sipping at it. His big sister took control of the bottle, because according to her, after he has rakhsi Ram likes to fight. He of course vehemently denied this. Anna and I just laughed.
After the lunch Ram took us on a tour of his childhood village. Showing us the house he grew up in and introducing us to his cousins and childhood friends. We made the mistake of saying "yes" to an invitation to stay. This meant we had to eat more food and drink more alcohol. I was very nearly violently ill at the thought of it, but manners are manners, and we sipped and supped as best we could. Ram then took us to the family's plot of land where one of his sisters was picking saag (kinda like spinach). He then loaded us up with it and informed us it was for the orphanage. How cool is that?
Leaving was fun filled. The ladies of the house smiling and laughing. The kids running and playing and everyone promising to meet again. We had a great day, but if we thought it was over we were sadly mistaken.
Upon arrival at Ram's shop we were ushered into his home and rakhsi and snacks were placed before us. The thought was no longer there. At any moment I was about to bring up the entire day's scrumptious food and drink. I was only saved by the fact that Laxmi (Ram's wife) was working and Ram had a friend and child visiting. What should have been a 20 minute visit however took well over an hour as I refused more drink and tried hard to poison the potplant next to me with the stuff I already had in my glass.
Eventually we were allowed to leave and Ram joined us at the orphanage. The kids were happy to see us and the manager was happy with the saag. Ram then cemented his place in the kids' hearts when he went back to his shop and returned with typical festival sweets for them.
This is what I love about Nepal.
Anna and I were lucky to be invited to Ram Krishna's place for this festival. Ram owns and runs the local chiya pasal near the orphanage with his wife. With his limited English and my bad Nepali we struck up a friendship almost immediately. His wife is as lovely as he is and they welcomed us both into their home.So at 10am (11am in reality) we set off towards Ram's childhood village and his mum's home. Although its only half an hour out of central Kathmandu, the pace is as slow as if it were 30 miles away. His older sisters greeted us warmly but shyly on the roof of the house where rice mats had been laid to sit on. They spoke no English so smiles, gestures, and bad Nepali had to do. One of his sisters summoned her young son up to the roof with the purpose we think of being translator. At the tender age of 12 however, he collapsed in a fit of giggles whenever we spoke to him. Part of the celebration is to get "oiled". The mother putting oil on your head and slapping you a couple of times. We also had oil put on backs and massaged in by Ram's older sister. It was like being part of the family. Sitting around chatting, laughing, eating and taking photos. And my god! The food! It was never bloody ending!
First we had what we thought was lunch, but which we later learned was a snack. The best buffalo meat I've had in Nepal- spicy and so tender! Some beans and salty small fish thing, a potato salad concotion, chiura (bitten rice, not that nice really), and some typical Newar sweet which tasted like burnt molases. Our plates were full of this stuff, and after finishing it we were full aswell. An hour (at least it felt like that) or so later we had lunch. Dhal Bat. A meal which usually consists of rice (by the moundful), a lentil soupy thing and a veg curry or sometimes a meat curry. This is the staple Nepali meal. Most families will eat it twice a day for the whole of their lives. Sometimes its good. Sometimes its not. This dhal bat though was fantastic. But we couldn't eat it all, and in Nepal the hosts take exception to that. They thought something was wrong with the food. Through lots of pidgin Nepali and miming though we think they understood that the food was great but that we had useless appetites. This food was washed down with rakhsi. A usually rice based wine. Its usually potent. And Ram's mum's was no different. It was smooth but bloody hell it was like swallowing liquid fire. And Ram was swallowing huge mouthfuls while Anna and I were sipping at it. His big sister took control of the bottle, because according to her, after he has rakhsi Ram likes to fight. He of course vehemently denied this. Anna and I just laughed.
After the lunch Ram took us on a tour of his childhood village. Showing us the house he grew up in and introducing us to his cousins and childhood friends. We made the mistake of saying "yes" to an invitation to stay. This meant we had to eat more food and drink more alcohol. I was very nearly violently ill at the thought of it, but manners are manners, and we sipped and supped as best we could. Ram then took us to the family's plot of land where one of his sisters was picking saag (kinda like spinach). He then loaded us up with it and informed us it was for the orphanage. How cool is that?
Leaving was fun filled. The ladies of the house smiling and laughing. The kids running and playing and everyone promising to meet again. We had a great day, but if we thought it was over we were sadly mistaken.Upon arrival at Ram's shop we were ushered into his home and rakhsi and snacks were placed before us. The thought was no longer there. At any moment I was about to bring up the entire day's scrumptious food and drink. I was only saved by the fact that Laxmi (Ram's wife) was working and Ram had a friend and child visiting. What should have been a 20 minute visit however took well over an hour as I refused more drink and tried hard to poison the potplant next to me with the stuff I already had in my glass.
Eventually we were allowed to leave and Ram joined us at the orphanage. The kids were happy to see us and the manager was happy with the saag. Ram then cemented his place in the kids' hearts when he went back to his shop and returned with typical festival sweets for them.
This is what I love about Nepal.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Die Toten Hosen
The Dead Trousers.
There were truckloads of boxes filled with clothes from this German band. Sweatshirts. T-Shirts. Football (soccer) jerseys, football (rugby) jerseys, singlets, wife beaters (white singlets). You name it, it was in there. In all sizes. In all designs. For the kids... And cold volunteers.
Our kids at Hattigauda were freezing so we gave them some jumpers and t-shirts, taking photos for the band back in Germany (although we are unsure if they are aware of how generous they have been).
The kids at the new orphanage which has the poxy name "Shining Star", have had a lot of new things given to them but in the name of photos for publicity, we gave them some clothes to don aswell.
And let me tell ya, their sweatshirts are soooooooo comfy! I "borrowed" a hoody from the box to keep me warm as I'm seriously lacking in the warm clothes department, and I shall be sad to see it go when I leave here. Its just too damn heavy to carry onwards. Interesting point; I was waiting for a bus one day, I've never seen these sweatshirts for sale anywhere in Kathmandu, but lo and behold if the bus "conductor" wasn't wearing one of our sweatshirts. He looked too old to be one of our orphans, so I've no idea where he got it from. And its one of the nice ones!! A zip up hoody! Dammit! I missed the boat on that one!
There were truckloads of boxes filled with clothes from this German band. Sweatshirts. T-Shirts. Football (soccer) jerseys, football (rugby) jerseys, singlets, wife beaters (white singlets). You name it, it was in there. In all sizes. In all designs. For the kids... And cold volunteers.
Our kids at Hattigauda were freezing so we gave them some jumpers and t-shirts, taking photos for the band back in Germany (although we are unsure if they are aware of how generous they have been).
The kids at the new orphanage which has the poxy name "Shining Star", have had a lot of new things given to them but in the name of photos for publicity, we gave them some clothes to don aswell.
And let me tell ya, their sweatshirts are soooooooo comfy! I "borrowed" a hoody from the box to keep me warm as I'm seriously lacking in the warm clothes department, and I shall be sad to see it go when I leave here. Its just too damn heavy to carry onwards. Interesting point; I was waiting for a bus one day, I've never seen these sweatshirts for sale anywhere in Kathmandu, but lo and behold if the bus "conductor" wasn't wearing one of our sweatshirts. He looked too old to be one of our orphans, so I've no idea where he got it from. And its one of the nice ones!! A zip up hoody! Dammit! I missed the boat on that one!
Thursday, January 04, 2007
New Year's in Nepal
VSN Volunteers unite!
Once again the motley crew assembled in Thamel to celebrate the coming of the New Year. This time round no one was sick, we had lost a couple to onward travels, but the food was good and the atmosphere chipper.
My recollection of the evening is hazy, but, I know that there were bars and dancing galore. Not necessarily graceful dancing but dancing nevertheless. One new volunteer lasted til the wee hours of the morning, completely forgetting that he had to be up and at training by 9am that day. Ah bless!
The general mood in Thamel was happy before the midnight countdown. After however, as the morning wore on, the locals began to get restless and more than once a fight broke out. It was amusing I must say- Nepali people are not that big, and seeing them having a scrap for me was like watching over grown children at play. It seems when fueled by alcohol, the normally friendly, smiling Nepali male, needs no excuse to start throwing his weight around. All of the scraps I saw (at least six, on the road and in the club we ended up in) were between Nepali, no foreigners involved. Apparently when Nepali men scrap its because of a woman (as told to me by a Nepali man). Of course the alcohol and the excess of testosterone would have absolutely nothing to do with it.
We volunteers stayed out of the way and out of trouble. We had a good time, welcomed the New Year in style, and hoped that the various illnesses would keep away at least for the first month of the year.
Onwards and Upwards!
Once again the motley crew assembled in Thamel to celebrate the coming of the New Year. This time round no one was sick, we had lost a couple to onward travels, but the food was good and the atmosphere chipper.
My recollection of the evening is hazy, but, I know that there were bars and dancing galore. Not necessarily graceful dancing but dancing nevertheless. One new volunteer lasted til the wee hours of the morning, completely forgetting that he had to be up and at training by 9am that day. Ah bless!
The general mood in Thamel was happy before the midnight countdown. After however, as the morning wore on, the locals began to get restless and more than once a fight broke out. It was amusing I must say- Nepali people are not that big, and seeing them having a scrap for me was like watching over grown children at play. It seems when fueled by alcohol, the normally friendly, smiling Nepali male, needs no excuse to start throwing his weight around. All of the scraps I saw (at least six, on the road and in the club we ended up in) were between Nepali, no foreigners involved. Apparently when Nepali men scrap its because of a woman (as told to me by a Nepali man). Of course the alcohol and the excess of testosterone would have absolutely nothing to do with it.
We volunteers stayed out of the way and out of trouble. We had a good time, welcomed the New Year in style, and hoped that the various illnesses would keep away at least for the first month of the year.
Onwards and Upwards!
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Big Move
So what does one do after one's children have been abducted?
One moves on to another orphanage of course (whilst keeping up the visits with the other younguns). The new orphanage is in Narayanthan, just up from my old stomping ground in Hattigauda. We have 29 kids ranging in age from 4 to 12. Quite a difference from the old place. They are little ruffians that require a bit of taming but I'm sure I'm up to the task. Living with 29 kids and a Nepali manager should be and interesting wee challenge, and as the new place is the one that we helped set up, I've already met some of the locals.
Not bad for a couple of days on the job!
One moves on to another orphanage of course (whilst keeping up the visits with the other younguns). The new orphanage is in Narayanthan, just up from my old stomping ground in Hattigauda. We have 29 kids ranging in age from 4 to 12. Quite a difference from the old place. They are little ruffians that require a bit of taming but I'm sure I'm up to the task. Living with 29 kids and a Nepali manager should be and interesting wee challenge, and as the new place is the one that we helped set up, I've already met some of the locals.
Not bad for a couple of days on the job!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Kathmandu Kristmas
It was an interesting afternoon and evening. A call home in the morning, followed by a glorious afternoon spent having a beer or two in the sun, and topped off with a traditional Christmas BLT at a local restaurant. Complete with Santa.This was pretty much how the VSN volunteers spent their Christmas Day. Of course plenty of us were crook aswell. Not hungover. Fair dinkum crook. Dinner saw quite a few of us having to disappear to the toilet after every drink or after we'd had a bite to eat. Santa (James) got hounded by the Nepali kids at the restaurant for presents, but all the adults thought it was great, and a lot of "Merry Christmas"'s were being thrown about the place.
The sun drenched afternoon on the roof of our hotel was most reminiscent of home. It was scorching up there, and the beers were going down like water. (In my case it was just water, anything else resulted in a hurried dash downstairs to the loo). Will had bought some fake snow and the stuff was getting sprayed around like crazy. Course with it ending up in people's drinks, spraying it over the table was a quick way to get yelled at or hit. More than once was a lamentation at the lack of a barbie and some steak, the vegetarians among us however did not share the despair of the carnivorous few.
A disappointing dinner at Northfield's, the company was great, the service lethargic at best and the food way below average, was followed by a night on the town. Again a much abbreviated one due to the abundant illnesses floating about. Santa proved to be as great a hit on the dance floor as he had in the restaurant, and with little persuading managed to get us into a club for free.
Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 22, 2006
Taken
Where once you fail, so shall you try again. That at least was the thinking of the Umbrella Foundation, when they "rescued" our kids the Wednesday before Christmas. (By the way they excel at creative writing)
Now they are a very well funded and very well connected organization here in Nepal. And there is no doubt that they provide excellent facilities for the kids, but what happened that Wednesday night amounted to nothing short of kidnapping.
I rocked up to the orphanage to find a vast majority of the kids in a state of near panic, and discovered that the manager and his wife had been imprisoned. The kids had been told at school that they were to be "taken" that day and had been detained at school for that purpose. The principal of their school (wisely) decided that the school should not be involved and sent them home.
My fellow cohort James, I was later to learn had also been at the school trying to find out what was going on. He arrived at the orphanage just when all the drama began to happen.
I had been trying to tell the kids that they wouldn't be going because there had been rumours almost every week since the last time there had been a rescue attempt. But around 5pm ish, a very angry adolescent girl pointed out two very officious looking people and exclaimed "See! See!", in a tone that only an indignant juvenile can manage. They then disappeared for some chiya and were quickly replaced by two government officials and a dude who looked like he'd just walked off the set of the Nepali remake of "The Bodyguard". With his earpiece in and phone at the ready, shades on, arrogant swagger, he was not quite as smooth as Kevin Costner but he was trying, hard. Turns out he was a reporter.
The government dudes introduced themselves and wanted a quick tour of the premises. I obliged. All the while trying to calm down a dozen children or more. Most of whom loudly proclaiming their unwillingness to leave. Upon asking said officials if the kids were going to be taken or not, I received "Maybe", "We are unsure about the situation" and more such bollocks. Politicians everywhere can never give a straight answer.
So now we had, me, the kids, two government lackies (one of whom was apparently a "Head of Division"), the reporter, the police had arrived (minus their weapons this time) with the manager and his wife in tow, James, and the entire village looking on.
There was still no sign of any representative of from the Umbrella Foundation. It was starting to get dark, the kids had started cooking the evening meal, the police were standing over them whilst they were trying to pack, there were tears, there was a lot of anger and confusion (not only from the kids). Oh, and there was no transport as yet.
We had to witness most of the hardest parts from James' room opposite the orphanage. When it was pitch black our hungry kids got packed into taxis to be taken to their new homes. It was at this point that a rep from Umbrella rocked up. On his phone. Throwing namaste around at the kids like he'd known them forever. But, where was he when a couple of sisters started screaming? Where was he when they clung to the pillars of the house because they did not want to go? Where was he when they had to be escorted by the alleged "enemy" (the manager's wife) out to the waiting taxis? Not in bloody sight. That's where.
Oh and as we didn't know about the "rescue" do you think Umbrella tried to find out any pertinent information with regards to medical history/allergies/problems that may be plaguing the kids? Of course they bloody didn't. Too wrapped up in being the "Knight in Shining friggin Amour" they were. We were later to learn that said representative had sent out an email declaring that the kids had been "happy" to see him and that they had been "liberated". Yes I'm sure screaming and crying fearful children can always be seen as "happy to be liberated".
It was a crap night that saw me and James head into Thamel and get right royally plastered. Can't remember much of what happened after the "liberation", but the actual event is still a very vivid memory.
Now they are a very well funded and very well connected organization here in Nepal. And there is no doubt that they provide excellent facilities for the kids, but what happened that Wednesday night amounted to nothing short of kidnapping.
I rocked up to the orphanage to find a vast majority of the kids in a state of near panic, and discovered that the manager and his wife had been imprisoned. The kids had been told at school that they were to be "taken" that day and had been detained at school for that purpose. The principal of their school (wisely) decided that the school should not be involved and sent them home.
My fellow cohort James, I was later to learn had also been at the school trying to find out what was going on. He arrived at the orphanage just when all the drama began to happen.
I had been trying to tell the kids that they wouldn't be going because there had been rumours almost every week since the last time there had been a rescue attempt. But around 5pm ish, a very angry adolescent girl pointed out two very officious looking people and exclaimed "See! See!", in a tone that only an indignant juvenile can manage. They then disappeared for some chiya and were quickly replaced by two government officials and a dude who looked like he'd just walked off the set of the Nepali remake of "The Bodyguard". With his earpiece in and phone at the ready, shades on, arrogant swagger, he was not quite as smooth as Kevin Costner but he was trying, hard. Turns out he was a reporter.
The government dudes introduced themselves and wanted a quick tour of the premises. I obliged. All the while trying to calm down a dozen children or more. Most of whom loudly proclaiming their unwillingness to leave. Upon asking said officials if the kids were going to be taken or not, I received "Maybe", "We are unsure about the situation" and more such bollocks. Politicians everywhere can never give a straight answer.
So now we had, me, the kids, two government lackies (one of whom was apparently a "Head of Division"), the reporter, the police had arrived (minus their weapons this time) with the manager and his wife in tow, James, and the entire village looking on.
There was still no sign of any representative of from the Umbrella Foundation. It was starting to get dark, the kids had started cooking the evening meal, the police were standing over them whilst they were trying to pack, there were tears, there was a lot of anger and confusion (not only from the kids). Oh, and there was no transport as yet.
We had to witness most of the hardest parts from James' room opposite the orphanage. When it was pitch black our hungry kids got packed into taxis to be taken to their new homes. It was at this point that a rep from Umbrella rocked up. On his phone. Throwing namaste around at the kids like he'd known them forever. But, where was he when a couple of sisters started screaming? Where was he when they clung to the pillars of the house because they did not want to go? Where was he when they had to be escorted by the alleged "enemy" (the manager's wife) out to the waiting taxis? Not in bloody sight. That's where.
Oh and as we didn't know about the "rescue" do you think Umbrella tried to find out any pertinent information with regards to medical history/allergies/problems that may be plaguing the kids? Of course they bloody didn't. Too wrapped up in being the "Knight in Shining friggin Amour" they were. We were later to learn that said representative had sent out an email declaring that the kids had been "happy" to see him and that they had been "liberated". Yes I'm sure screaming and crying fearful children can always be seen as "happy to be liberated".
It was a crap night that saw me and James head into Thamel and get right royally plastered. Can't remember much of what happened after the "liberation", but the actual event is still a very vivid memory.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Nepali Nuptuals
A beautiful day. Music and dancing. Prayer and ceremony. Lots of food. Lots of colour. A Nepali wedding in a nutshell.
And it is a whole day affair. Starting early in the morning, people arriving bearing gifts, the caterers have been cooking their wee hearts out since first light, kids running around, women fussing over the bride, decorations up and about. Sounds "same same" as a European wedding yes? However, there are a few differences:
(i) the bride is sequestered in a room until the groom arrives
(ii) the bride can't speak to anyone or show any happiness or emotion
(iii) the groom can socialize to his little hearts content, so long as he performs the ceremonies properly
(iv) the bride makes an appearance after the groom has arrived (around lunchtime) is there to receive gifts, then buggers off back to her seclusion, only to reappear some hours later to actually "get married", then seclusion again.
(v) guests can rock up and eat the whole day (they don't even have to bring a gift or know the couple) cool huh?!
So we had a band heralding the arrival of the groom at about lunchtime. He looked quite dashing all decked out in his traditional Nepali garb, although I personally thought the excess of pink was a bit too much. The bride was equally eye catching in her red sari and veil. Bits of gold adorning her ears and nose, her eyes dark with kajal (khol), lips ruby red and exceedingly demure.
The wedding we went to was of a rich family. The food was great and abundant. The gifts never ending, and ranging from small bowls to a fridge (quite uncommon in the average Nepali house). The guests happy. The music infectious. The dancing continuous.
Sometime around sundown the groom left (I can only assume the bride went with him as I didn't see her leave but neither did I see her again). The band played on.
All in all it was a pretty cool afternoon. My host family had fun. The orphanage kids had a decent feed and got to run around and see how "the other half live". I got to experience a different part of Nepali culture. Ramro chha!
And it is a whole day affair. Starting early in the morning, people arriving bearing gifts, the caterers have been cooking their wee hearts out since first light, kids running around, women fussing over the bride, decorations up and about. Sounds "same same" as a European wedding yes? However, there are a few differences:(i) the bride is sequestered in a room until the groom arrives
(ii) the bride can't speak to anyone or show any happiness or emotion
(iii) the groom can socialize to his little hearts content, so long as he performs the ceremonies properly
(iv) the bride makes an appearance after the groom has arrived (around lunchtime) is there to receive gifts, then buggers off back to her seclusion, only to reappear some hours later to actually "get married", then seclusion again.
(v) guests can rock up and eat the whole day (they don't even have to bring a gift or know the couple) cool huh?!
So we had a band heralding the arrival of the groom at about lunchtime. He looked quite dashing all decked out in his traditional Nepali garb, although I personally thought the excess of pink was a bit too much. The bride was equally eye catching in her red sari and veil. Bits of gold adorning her ears and nose, her eyes dark with kajal (khol), lips ruby red and exceedingly demure.
The wedding we went to was of a rich family. The food was great and abundant. The gifts never ending, and ranging from small bowls to a fridge (quite uncommon in the average Nepali house). The guests happy. The music infectious. The dancing continuous.
Sometime around sundown the groom left (I can only assume the bride went with him as I didn't see her leave but neither did I see her again). The band played on.
All in all it was a pretty cool afternoon. My host family had fun. The orphanage kids had a decent feed and got to run around and see how "the other half live". I got to experience a different part of Nepali culture. Ramro chha!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)