Ah, Saturday. Ah, electricity.

This morning I woke up to a big pot of tea and a wonderful conversation with a Visnja, a Croatian from Zagreb – the city that I fell in love with when I visited - a VSO volunteer that I met last night. This is one of the best things about traveling, I think. The people I get to meet, their stories and life experiences and perspectives they share. To be able to have an intimate, honest conversation with someone the first time you meet is rare. But when you are traveling, you know that you might not ever get to speak to this person again, so you should make the time count – to be real. The situation creates it’s own rules for engagement, I think. And – as someone who doesn’t find small talk fulfilling – I am always grateful to have good conversation wherever and however I can find this.

She has left, however, and right now I am enjoying 3 hours of blissful, uninterrupted electricity. I’m in my room lazily reading emails, and am enjoying hot tea and the knowledge that my computer is recharging itself. Interrupted only by street theatre outside my window- a creative way to gather a crowd and to maybe get a few rupees. The actors are stellar. Saturday is also my day to recharge. To sleep in a bit, think about what I need to do this weekend while I am still in Kathmandu, and to enjoy not having a schedule.

Last night I enjoyed a fabulous evening across town, at a place that felt worlds away. It was African night at a local restaurant that is run by Maria, from Ghana. She hosts these parties once every three months. They are famous at this point and it felt like every foreigner in Kathmandu must have been there. At least all of the Africans must have been… my friend, Peter, from Uganda – traveled 7 hours from where he lives just to attend.

There were perhaps 300 people at the restaurant – all outside and warmed by small fires scattered about. People from local NGOs, volunteers, UN staff, some expats who have settled here. African music all night. I think I only recognized a song or two all night. But my friends from Africa knew them all. It was so fun to see them hear a song that they loved, to get so excited and to run up to the dance floor. I enjoy watching how music connects us to memories, to one another, to joy, to a feeling of home, or perhaps the exotic.

The best part? They had injera bread!!! Anyone who knows me well knows how much I LOVE Ethiopian food, and injera bread. I couldn’t have been happier. A warm fire, injera bread, people absolutely enjoying each other’s company through music and dancing…. life is good. I know I must be getting acclimated to Nepal when a full dance floor after 9:00 pm and food other than daal baat feels really foreign.

It was also a nice way to celebrate ending the week – and finally having my placement get settled. For the last 2 ½ months there has been a question about whether my placement would get switched to be based here in Kathamandu working out of my organization’s head office instead of Hetauda. I was feeling pretty flexible about either outcome, as I can understand the interest in having me in either place. But not knowing where I would land and settle month after month has been wearing. At this point I’ve been living out of a suitcase, packing, repacking, packing for the last almost three months.

I miss my morning routines that seem to get disrupted, feeling settled in a place that is “my” home, and I really miss being able to shop and cook for myself.
It was decided that I will be living in Hetauda as my main base, and supporting the head office and other district offices from there. I feel like it is the best of both worlds. I’ll get to support the district offices and live in a sweet town, but will be working in close contact with the head office and everything that happens there, doing lots of travelling. So – two more weeks to enjoy Kathmandu and to think about what I can do here that I won’t be able to do in a small town for awhile. Pretty sure they don’t have African nights in Hetauda….

To Hetauda and back.

So, I thought I'd be able to write a post with some pictures at some point while I was in Hetauda last week, but, no luck. Ke garne (what to do)? No access to the internet there until I get set up properly in a home, figure out the electricity schedules, or find a way to visit the internet cafes between work and getting home without having to walk in the dark.

I arrived back in Kathmandu today for a two-day conference and a meeting with my head office to decide if they will change my placement to be based in Kathmandu. But more on that at another time.

The ride here was an exciting four hour Jeep ride. Made more exciting by the fact that I shared the ride with 14 others. Yes, 14. There were 12 of us squeezed inside the Jeep, and when they couldn't squeeze in any more, 2 people jumped on top of the Jeep in the luggage rack. I have completely let go of any need for personal space here.

Most of the way we were on a lumpy, one-lane dirt road with some severe drop-offs to the side giving way to winding rivers in canyons and villages scattered along the way. Occasionally we had to share the road with cattle and goats, waiting for them to cross until we could continue. The man sitting next to me and the boy in front would touch their chest and head with their right hand (as people do here) every time we passed a temple. Which was often. Cell phones would ring every once in a while when we were in range, but generally everyone was quiet.

The silence seemed to be much more comfortable once I finally said a few words in Nepali and the driver and passengers were able to establish that I was a volunteer who was living in Nepal for a while. Maybe, because even if it's just a few words, knowing that you can communicate with someone and ask them a couple of questions makes all the difference.

I was glad that we passed only one jeep that had tumbled down the hillside. On the way to Hetauda several days earlier - which is considered the safer journey - we passed a total of 7 overturned buses. These accidents happen at night when people drive fast, often drunk. Daytime travel is the way to go here. And getting to know the right drivers, who can be amazingly skilled and safe if you know where to go.

My week in Hetauda was memorable. As memorable as my first week in Kathmandu when I came with such fresh eyes and such a different environment to get to know. And as memorable as my week in the village during our training course.

I love Hetauda. It is vibrant and city-like by day and quiet and village-like as soon as dark comes. There are no cars in Hetauda. Except for the few transport Jeeps. Just tuk tuks, motorbikes, bikes, an occasional large truck coming through, and (most of all) people walking by foot. My walk to work was 25 minutes along a dirt road from where I was staying just out of town with another volunteer until my placement location gets settled. I would usually pass a young boy around 6 herding a group of buffalo in the afternoons and a man carrying 25-30 chickens on his bike along the way, as well as many, many children walking to and from school.

In my week in Hetauda I found out where to buy oats (this took me three days of wandering around after work each day), I met the head of police (so they know who the foreigner in town is), met several folks in charge at the district education office, spent 4 days in the office getting to know the staff and their work, figured out how to read the electricity schedule in the daily newspaper, ate a Dosa (South Indian dish) for the first time, was invited in the future to two village homes for meals. A whirlwind, I tell you! Oh, I also spent a lot of time hanging out and chatting, drinking tea, making oatmeal and warming water for showers in the morning. And drinking tea. I learned a lot about the woman I was staying with, Doreen, who has had an amazing 68 years of life. A very wise and witty woman with more energy that I have these days, I think.

Now that I'm back in Kathmandu I am exhausted and happy after making it here today and after such a beautiful (albeit slightly uncomfortable) journey. Off now to my Kathmandu "home", Pacfic Guest House, to unpack and make myself at home here again for a few days. Maybe longer - we'll see!

Bartering for wool

I woke up this morning wondering how to best spend my second-to-last Saturday in Kathmandu. At least as part of my official language and culture training period. I will, of course, be back to Kathmandu many, many times over the next couple of years for work.

I walked around today appreciating how familiar I’ve become with the city over the last couple of months- at least on a surface level. I had to do all of my shopping today as there might be a strike tomorrow. And you never know how long they’ll last. So I headed out from the guest house with my shopping list: snacks and Masala mix from the corner market, bread from the bakery, a glue stick from one of the small stationary shops that are scattered around town, cheese and yogurt from the one dairy in Kathmandu I’ve seen, and bananas from a street vendors who sells fruit from his bike that he walks around street to street. My shopping ended with some bartering for a pashmina shawl for my mother, a gift for her 60^th birthday that happened last month.

It took me several days to gather the energy and headspace for bartering. Something that definitely doesn’t come naturally to me, but that I hope becomes more comfortable with time. In the right mood, it’s actually quite a lot of fun, and a fabulous way to connect on a personal level with someone you’re buying something from. A complex system it is here, bartering and shopping.

I realized as I walked to the area of town that sells shawls that I don’t even take notice of the severed pigs heads that caught me quite by surprise the first day I came here. But I did notice a group of hooves displayed on a table side right next to my path. I wondered for a just a second if they were also from pigs, but have learned to let certain things come in and out of my consciousness more quickly these days.

Today I have walked by a woman washing her friends’ hair on the sidewalk – this is Saturday, the day of going to the temple and bathing, men shining their shoes and playing chess on the side of the street, countless businessmen walking around selling their wares, sheep being brought to the butcher just a couple doors down from where I’m staying, a woman roasting corn at the corner of a building, and a group of youth staying warm by a pile of burning trash.

I have become adept at navigating the spit on the road (and can almost always anticipate when someone is about to spit near me now so I jump away as quickly as possible), as well as the dried flowers and red vermillion powder that is set outside doorsteps every 200 meters or so as an offering to the gods. If you didn’t know what it was an offering you would assume someone has just littered on the road and wouldn’t guess it an act of sacredness and something to be respectfully avoided.

I’ve also have learned to remember the goats in the village as I walk down the sidewalks with holes two feet wide and many more feet deep, one after the other: their playfulness and amazing agility. It takes quite a lot of nimbleness to walk with any speed and confidence here.

And I’ve learned that if you hear honking – doesn’t matter if it’s a car or a motorbike or a Tuk Tuk – you have to get out of the way as quickly as possible. There is no such thing as pedestrians having the right of way here like they do in Portland. I have had a few near misses, motorbikes brushing me as they whizz past. Which is commonplace here. People somehow miss each other despite being so close. Everything seems closer here than at home. People stand close to you. They look right in our eyes and ask you anything they like. They tap the car passing by to let the car know they are standing right next to it. Shops and streets are narrow and right next to one another. Animals stand right next to you. So far – I’ve only experienced quite friendly and calm animals. Someone in a shop will finish a conversation with their neighbor and friend before they will serve you. People are helped one by one, informally, personally. Even in the big city. If our group orders 5 omelets at our guesthouse they will cook one omelet at a time. Partially, because their pan and set-up only allows one omelet to be cooked at a time, I imagine. But I also guess that it doesn’t cross their minds to do it any other way. There is something beautiful about this: an attention to process and each individual. Even if I’m the fifth person I have to practice my patience.

When I leave for Hetauda in a week I won’t miss now hard it is to ever speak a word of Nepali here in Kathmandu – everyone speaks to me in English whether I like it or not. And I will not miss the pollution that has started to settle in my lungs. But I imagine that – despite this or in spite of these things- I will still be excited every time I come back to Kathmandu. I’ve started to feel at home here. It’s so satisfying to know where the good places to get food are, where to warm up when there is no electricity or heat at the guest house, and where to buy a good shawl. Speaking of which, I found a wonderful man to buy them from if you ever come here…. There is something so satisfying to me about knowing a city. And as I feel this level of comfort here finally, I get myself prepared to move to a new town and to start the process over again.

For my friends who love dance...

Photos of a professional dancer from the Tamang tribe . I have some video that I will see if I can upload onto my blog when I can find a faster connection. Fabulous dancing that was a mixture of choreography and improv.