Nothing is Impassible

Lonely Planet Nepal says "you should absolutely not drive through western Nepal to the Indian border during monsoon season due to impassible roads caused by landslides, washed out bridges and Maoist activities." As I sit here in Rishikesh, India, our caravan of motorcycles has accomplished the impossible impassible...and it was one of the best adventures and learning experiences (for growth) that I have ever had. Danuvad (thank you) again, life! Day 1: There is finally petrol! We fill up the bikes and some tanks of reserve. Ed, Alex and I joined a five bike caravan of an Australian named Simon and an English couple named Fern and Sharif. Sharif gives 'Honey' - the bike I fell in love with and hope to ride some day if I return to Nepal - a lovetap on his way out. Rick tells us that we should definately not camp as we are heading through "tiger country." Alex and Ed seem unfazed. I am not so nonplussed, but remain silent. As it turns out, the weather keeps us in guesthouses throughout our trip. We stop at a shanty little hill town in a few hours and have dahl baht for lunch. I break my no-beer policy and share a tepid beer which is cooling in the Nepali heat. After another couple hours of driving through the sunny heat, we stop at a river and decide to go swimming. I swim in my full pants and tank top to avoid offending any of the dozens of Nepali children screaching and smiling at us as we flounder about in the soothing, clear water. We get back on the bikes in dripping wet clothes and are dry within 15 minutes. That is, until the rain storm comes and we pull over alongside a bus so that we won't be blown over the stunning hillscape that surrounds us. A landslide occurs on the road we've just crossed and rocks start falling onto the road. Without a second's thought, Alex and Ed run back onto the road to warn the others that there is a landslide. They successfully warn the others and no one is hurt. A few hours later, we reach our destination of Tansen. At the entrance to town, we savor chocolate, as well as Beetle Nut juice - I don't like this, except that the final taste is a sharp peppermint. Nonentheless, spitting red juice is not my cup of tea. Tansen is nestled against a large hill and has multi-leveled structures built into the slope of the mountain. It is a lively little town of switchback streets and street vendors. Alex knows a man in town who takes us to an underground restaurant in someone's home with a pool table. We have the omnipresent dahl baht and enjoy a bottle of Australian red wine that Fern has brought with her. We then play pool with the two little boys of the home until the proprietors kick us out. We go back to a stinky hotel room and sleep, even though Fern and Sharif have discovered a little insect with lobster claws that isn't a scorpion or a bedbug, but not too attractive to share a bed with. I share a room with a nice Australian guy named Simon with dreadlocks and a giant smile, who is in our caravan. He's easy and respectful. He was the first to come upon the falling rocks earlier that day and I'm glad that he's so easygoing as this won't be an easy journey. The next morning we set out early after stocking up on petrol at the station. Within a few kilometers through the stunning valley between the mountains, we must go through the aftermath of giant mudslides that cover the road. Alex dexterously maneouvers the motorbike through the sludge again and again and my confidence in him as a driver grows and grows. I think about how a bus would handle the same and feel safer on the back of Alex's motorbike than any other mode of transportation. Plus, he's funny, amiable and a good laugh. Lucky me. As we stop for some tea at a dusty, busy little town, we meet a Nepali boy who speaks English and will not stop talking. I become acutely aware of how much I appreciate the usual quiet aspects of travelling on the road. Alex and I drive along and it's fun to flirt with him on the back of the bike. That night, we stop at another dirty hotel along the banks of a river in a busy little village with not much to do. Fern and I are advised that the lads are having boys night and we are not allowed to play cards with them. Neither of us care and go to sleep amid the laughing of the boys as they outman eachother in a game of shithead. The next day, we sleep in and get a late start. We drive through breathtakingly beautiful countryside and forests. We come across a flooded road and plot how exactly we are to drive across a flooded road that extends for about 1/8 mile. Fern and I walk across the flood and the lads adventurously drive through. When they've successfully accomplished the mission, Ed and Simon decide to drive back and go it again. They are having so much fun and it's clear that they're only 25 and 20 respectivley having an incredible adventure on their giant Enfields. We carry on in the pouring rain and it subsides after a while. After some time, Alex stops on the side of the road to purchase a net bag of mushrooms from a beautiful group of Nepalese country girls. The mushrooms smell just like truffles and I'm amazed he was able to buy them for pennies. It is of no consequence to Alex that we don't know how to cook them, he just assumes it will all work out. Per usual, he's right. The rain starts pouring down and we pull over to see that Ed has also pulled over to take refuge in a large open air structure that has tables and an outdoor kitchen. The whole of the village joins us and while Ed and Alex cover eachother's faces with lavender tikka chalk to the amusement of the villagers, I am writing down the names of the children. They are beautiful names like Susmita Kadka and Sangani Kadka and Resra Suestra and Moisa Suestra and Savista Basnet and Suraj Kanal and Sarosj Kanal. We take pictures of the entire party as the rain pours down around us. It finally stops and we are on our way again. A lovely woman gives me her contact information (snail mail via a local hotel) and tells me to keep in touch with her. We carry on through absolutely stunning countryside along rivers and forests. It is so peaceful and although stormy and grey, the bright pink and yellow saris worn by the women dots every landscape. Children play happily and there are speckled umbrellas through all of the rice fields and rippling concentric circles through the water as people pluck and pluck and pluck at the rice within the watered patty fields. It is absolutely beautiful. Again, I can't believe my luck and appreciate the pace and ability to experience so much of this country via motorcycle. During the ride, I suddenly feel like singing the national anthem, but spare Alex and sing a Hindi mantra instead. He likes those, I think. We end up in another washed out hotel after checking several guesthouses in the next busy little town. The proprietors have the lads drive their bikes in through the back gate and the mud is so thick that every one nearly falls over. Simon does, in fact, fall over. He's unhurt. There is a bat swirling around inside the "conference room" and we sit quitely on the floor and watch it - more b/c there's nothing to do than b/c it's so interesting. Then, we proceed to the roof and watch the hospital nearby remain illuminated with the sunset as the rest of the town blackens with the regular electricity blackouts from 7:30 - 9:30 that we've experienced the entire way. We have a nice dahl baht and play some shithead cards and sleep. The next day, Alex and Ed go to a nearby town to get some cash from an ATM. I wake up and realize that yesterday was the 4th of July and I didn't celebrate. No wonder I had the urge to sing about America. What do you know? Alex and Ed pull up to the hotel with a radio and a cassette of Creedence Clearwater Revival to celebrate America's 4th of July. They mixed up the dates, thinking today was the 4th, and I am truly touched. We pack up the bikes and Alex positions the radio behind me so we can play it as we ride. It works for about 40 seconds then oozes into silence. It was a valiant effort. We stop in a town close by for dahl baht and it takes 2.5 hours to cook. I walk along the village and find a woman in a little shed 4x4 ft who is selling only vegetables. That's it. That's her business. I wonder how I'd like to have that business. After a delicious dahl baht that includes the mushrooms Alex bought on the side of the road (and they ARE truffles!), we proceed. Several times, the boys line up there three bikes (Fern and Sharif are not part of this) and race on the flat parts. It's as if we have the entire road to ourselves. After one of these races, Alex and I hear a loud pop and both say "what was that?" I look at the tire and can't see anything, but hear a hissing sound. Suddenly, there is a giant explosion and the back tire bursts. The bike starts swaying back and forth from the back side and Alex masterfully pulls over to the side of the road without losing control. The tire has a giant nail in it. We are in the middle of rice field after rice field after rice field...Villagers suddenly appear as if by magic and tell Ed and Simon where they can go to fix the tire. They go. Without missing a beat, Alex turns on the radio and puts in a tape of indian music he bought. He rolls a cigarrette while I lay out the tarp and backpacks to create a sitting area on the side of the road. The villagers accumulate to a swarm of about 20 and they fascinatingly watch everything that he and I do. We start attempting to skip stones on the river and the village kids join us. Alex starts making farting sounds with his elbow and strange sounds out of his mouth and very soon after, we are surrounded by the onomotopeas of the village children brilliantly mimicking local birds and crickets. It's beautiful. And it's fun. After about two hours, Ed and Simon return with the tire and I give one clever and adorable little boy one of my lucky charms as we drive off to the west. We get to the outskirts of Bardia National Park and the road is washed out by a flash flood. We decide to wait to see if the water will subside in an hour. It doesn't. It's getting dark. Alex and Ed are determined to camp by the side of the river. We set up a tarp and gather large stones to build a fire while Ed looks for firewood. Fern and Sharif say we can stay in a little hotel that is a mud hut. I decide to stay with them even though it is beautiful by the river and the air is clean. We all go back to the hut/restaurant after Ed returns to the camp with wood. There is a Nepali man playing a violin type of instrument and singing about "sometimes rafting, sometimes trekking,.., some pareeree." The first time is charming. The sixth time, not so much. We take turns singing songs that we know. It's a fun dinner. We hear a giant crash nearby and a wild elephant has destroyed someone's fence and disappeared. The rain is pouring down and the lads go back to their camp as I go upstairs to my mud hut room. I get the mud bed. Simon gets the mud floor on a mat. Sharif and Fern share the only other room in the place. I wake up in the middle of the night to go to the outhouse and laugh to find a wet pair of Ed and Alex sleeping on the restaurant table and bench. It's still pouring outside. They disclose the next morning that a "river" went through their camp and they had to seek refuge in the restaurant. They also lost the radio/cassette somehow. We meet a tout for a guesthouse in Bardia National Park that Fern and Sharif have heard of and decide to go into Bardia national park. We first wade across the river and are then picked up by a jeep that carries us in for about 20 miles to a guesthouse. It is again spartan. We go for a lovely walk along a river where Alex and Ed swim and we end up at an elephant sanctuary. I get to pet and feed a beautiful little one year old elephant with Fern. No one else wants to pay the 50 rupees. It makes me very happy to be in such close proximity and eye contact with the elephant. As we walk, we also see Shiva, the domestic rhino. He is only five feet from us, but not a threat. He is a giant, massive beast from the prehistoric age and it is again fascinating to be so close to nature. Everywhere around Nepal, marijuana is growing naturally. It smells very good. Most of the plants are male, i.e. not for smoking. There are also fresh mint and tiger balm amid the ever present rice fields and small village huts. We play a game like dodgeball with a bunch of kids on the side of the river and finally head back to the lodge for a nice dinner. In my bathroom, I feel a giant insect land on me and bite my behind. I don't see it, but I have a stinging giant welt on my butt. The mystery insect.
The next day, we go for a morning safari and don't see tigers or elephants. We do see a spotted deer and a mamma and baby rhino from very far away. It's not an eventful trek as it's monsoon season. We get back to the hotel and are told that we have to spend another night b/c the jeep is unavailable. We start walking and two by two get picked up by motorcyclists and tractors (there are no cars) until we meet at the river. We have to ford the river again and this time it's much higher. We help eachother across through the current and slop through slippery mud to get to the other side. Back at the restaurant, we check the other road we need to take to head west. It's still drowned out by a flash flood. What do we do? We hire two tractors and for 100 rupees per bike, the Nepalis load the bikes onto the tractors and we throw on our luggage and our bodies and cross TWO rivers with the tractors to continue on our path. It is crazy! We cross the border to India, have a final Thali and I part with the lads. They want to drive very fast up to Leh and me and my luggage impede that progress. They have limited time to get to Kashmir and back to Delhi and were thrown off by the fuel shortage. I am terrified to be alone in India, taking a local bus on an overnight trip to Rishikesh, but Alex is very soothing as he tells me "India will take care of you. They you will take care of India." He also says this is the true way to truly experience India. After they have left and I wait for two hours for the bus to leave, I realize I'm not that culture struck. After all, I'm used to the stares of villagers, to shanty villages, to hole in the wall restaurants and hotels and to waiting patiently through many situations of which I have no control. This trip across Nepal has brought my maintenance level to an alltime adult low and I am once again grateful for the way that life so beautifully unfurls from one experience to another.
I don't know why the lads asked me to join them. I asked Alex if he thought I'd say yes when he asked me to join them. He didn't think I would. He said he asked me b/c I seemed like fun and they missed female energy and he wanted the company. So, it worked for all of us. Sometimes, it's best to just go with the flow b/c the flow just gets sweeter and sweeter and then anything that happens is not only passable, but enjoyable. I thank the lads for sharing this with me. I wish them well.
Now, I am in Rishikesh and have been for several days. It is beautiful here, too. There are saddhus lining the streets and it is hard to tell which is a legitimate holy man and which is a drug addict. The Ganga is gorgeous and powerful. The pujas along the river at sunset are filled with sari clad ladies and respectful men who sing and clap and release beautiful flowers and candle into the Ganga every night. There are ashrams everywhere and I have stayed at one: Sri Vet Niketan. It has two swamis and I appreciate the lectures by one about the way we are constantly changing from one level to another in life. He says we are all of the Brahman ilk b/c we are seeking spirituality in a foreign land. He says to marry someone of the same class to complement eachother and to compromise. It gives me hope that b/c I've been shifting to my Brahman state for so long, I wasn't actually ready to meet my man yet b/c I didn't realize who I was.
I got a vedic astrological reading and was told I'll meet a man at 36 years old and die at 71. Venus is my ruling planet. I am 60% pitha (fire) and 40% vatta (air). I found a great ashtanga yoga teacher. I learned some new mantras, but prefer the singsong of the west to the vedic monotone of the east. I leave Rishikesh tomorrow b/c a giant Shiva festival is coming to town with thousands of indian men that get drunk and raucous. All female foreigners are strongly advised to leave during the festival as the police can't control the situation. I'd like to come back to Rishikesh and do some yoga at a different time. The monsoon is closing in - it rains more and more every afternoon and evening. I leave tomorrow on a train to Delhi and will fly to Leh. I don't want to deal with landslides and wild Indian driving on precipitous cliffs on a bus. I wish I had a motorbike...

Motorcycle Diaries

The Lonely Planet guidebook says in no uncertain terms that you should "absolutely not cross the western Nepal border during monsoon as the roads are impassible due to landslides and washed out roads and bridges." Well...not absolutely impassible is what I discovered.

Just as I was getting really antsy to go on a trek and see the nature around here, a nice Nepali guy named Mahendra offered to take us out for a kayak trip to a waterfall. The lads chose to go on their ever vigilant search for petrol, so I went with him in the early morning. It was sprinkling as we paddled through the still lake just 10 minutes away to the other side of the island. We went alongside a river to a small, but heavy waterfall where you could plunge into the pool and actually go under the waterfall as it massaged your shoulders. It felt wonderful! As I came out of the pool, Mahendra said "show me your feet" and proceeded to pick off about six mini leaches on either foot. Ugh! But, he was so expert at flicking them off and they were so small, that they came off without leaving any blood at all. Impressive. Also impressive was the fact that I didn't freak out. We walked back down through the river currents to avoid leaches and after another foot check and leach removal, paddled to another cove to have some tea. At this point, Mahendra pointed silently with a smile: there was the Annapurna range blazing out from the clouds in a momentary glimpse of greatness. Their statuesque white beauty was so overwhelming that I cried. It was awesome!
While having tea, my diarreaha returned. Bummer. Mahendra started cracking jokes. He said that Jesus took credit out from Shiva and hadn't repaid him, so that was why Jesus wouldn't show up in Nepal. He also said "I saw Jesus in Goa on a harley davidson, I swear it." I paddled to the other end of the lake and met Mahendra there on his motorbike. Mahendra returned his kayak where we started and picked up his bike. The paddle over was calm and sweet and lovely. Beautiful birds swooped by me and I was in the middle of a field of purple and greed hyacinths at one point. There were local people fishing off the side of the lake and the sun was slowly peaking out from the rain clouds. He asked if I want to see how real Nepali people live. I said yes. We then went to his adobe compound up a hill which he shares with a landlord and lady and had lunch from his landlady. It was pre-packaged noodle soup with some fresh vegetables. There were several children around and I played with them for a while while Mahendra did some errands around his house. We then proceeded to the top of the hill, where there is a yoga center. As it is down season, it was closed, but the view was magnificent and the hike up entailed interaction with several local people who smiled broadly as we approached.
That night, I joined the lads at the local bar for some pool and soda water. Mahendra was also there and said I should sing. So I did. And it sounded really good. So good that the band asked me to come to rehearsal the next day. The next morning, I actually vomited several times in one sitting, had a tid bit more diarreaha and passed out sleeping until 2 pm, when I went to the rehearsal even though I was sick and delirious and shared with them various songs from my i-pod.
All of them were amazed at my i-pod b/c it was such great quality and not available at all in Nepal. They were also impressed with the hours and hours of songs I had (15 days worth) saved on the i-pod. I spent 5 hours with a friend in Koh Phangan who downloaded beautiful songs for me to play while teaching yoga before I left. I had an incredible, incredible music collection on that i-pod. There were several other characters around the bar whom I considered of a shifty nature, but I didn't think much of it as I was sharing the i-pod with two of the band members with whom I sing only. I drank my own bottle of water while there.
The band members themselves are young and eager to be stars - not thieves. I say this b/c after rehearsal, I went back to my hotel room and fell asleep from 4 pm to the next morning. I woke up in the middle of the night and heard something, but didn't inspect (didn't even open my eyes) b/c I figured it was the lads arriving in their room next door and making a lot of noise. Well, mom, it wasn't the lads. I woke up the next morning to find my screens sliced open just enough for a hand to get through and grab my purse located on my bedside table next to the window. They stole my i-pod and my camera, about $25 dollars in rupees and a cheap pair of imitation designer sunglasses. They left the rest, including my good luck charms and my silver wallet case and a notebook outside my window. So, I'm trying to look at the bright side here: it's just stuff and I still have my passport and air ticket and traveller's checks and a whole lot more cash in rupees that I stored elsewhere, as well as my journal - these are the most important things. Of most importance of course is that I wasn't physically assaulted even though I was RIGHT THERE sleeping in my room - they didn't see this presumably as my curtains were closed, I guess. Unfortunately, the proprietors who are very, very nice people are distressed and said it's the first time they've had a break-in in 30 years and they feel terrible. The police have already come to the sight and I'll go make a report in the next hour with the hotel proprietor. I trust the hotel people - they're very, very nice. The lads have one slice into their screen, but nothing was close enough to the screen to steal, I guess. There is no one else in the hotel as it is down season. It makes me feel really bad. Fortunately, I saved all my thailand photos on my computer back at Bangkok with a friend. All Nepal photos are gone, but the memories are there. All my i-pod tunes are gone, but now I know a lot of songs from Pyramid and I'll be able to hear ALL of Nepal and India all the time. The petrol is gone, but someone said there was a meeting yesterday, so hopefully things will look up. My diarreaha appears to be gone and I don't feel nauseous even though I just ate a croissant. My lonely planet book says vomit and exhaustion are signs of traveller's diarreaha, so no need to worry if it all passed in 24 hours. At this point, I just feel like a fool for bringing such a fancy instrument into a bar of all places and flashing it around. It's just another lesson of how extremely pampered I am and how oblivious to the desperation of others I am. As I was drinking my water and chatting away with my magic i-pod, who was watching me and seeing my i-pod as a quick fix of whatever addiciton they have? Or who needs it to survive a little better? Who followed me to the hotel and waited until nightfall to get it? Whoever it was, I trust that they needed the i-pod and the camera more than I did. What else can I do? In a way, it's probably nicer to travel with less things to worry about, but it bums me out. I feel like I brought bad luck to nice people at the hotel and it was my fault for being so oblivious to dire conditions. Lesson learned. I am an American, after all - ripe for the picking. For the first time today, I thought "I want to go home." Although the lads are fine and we've had some nice explorations together, we don't really inspire eachother much. Why Ladakh holds such appeal to me is a mystery and perhaps it's not worth this exciting journey on motorbikes to get there. We are, after all, not going anywhere. We have now assembled a crew of four other people to join us on their bikes to cross over to India once the petrol comes: an English couple in their early 20s, a 20-something Australian guy and a 30 year-old documentary filmmaker from Australia. So, do I go with this crew of people onto India or just come home? It sounds like we'll be driving through a lot of rain to get there. That doesn't sound like much fun, does it? I did yoga today to calm my nerves, but I just feel beaten up all the same. So, today is a rough one. I'll head to the police station now and see what happens next.

Petrol-free Pokhara

We're stuck in Pokhara due to the petrol shortage and it's a great place to be stuck. It's got a lovely lake that is surrounded by mountains and a lovely breeze. We've spent some time, hours actually, searching for petrol on the black market and waiting for leads that take anywhere from 30 minutes to four days to come through. Obviously, the Nepalis are experiencing more of an adjustment. They, however, are used to fuel shortages so there is an abundance of stored fuel in people's homes all over Nepal. It's an interesting experience of life without oil. The world would truly do well to come up with alternative fuel resources as Nepalese life has slowed to a trickle all around us. I spent an hour last night looking for a taxi to get us up to Marco's. I finally went to a tourist resort parking lot and asked some men smoking under a tree for a taxi. One man made a call on his cell phone. He told me that for 100 rupees, as opposed to the usual 600 rupees, he could take the three of us up the hill as long as we went at 4 or 5 in the morning b/c there was a taxi strike and we needed to go secretly. I felt like I was making an illegal transaction, negotiating in the dark of a tree in a parking lot. I brought him to the lads with his "deal" and we decided to wait out the taxi strike. There is currently a bandha/strike down the road. The Nepalese people are standing in the only (main) intersection of town and let only one car go by at a time. It is very peaceful. They just stand there in silence. I think I hear some music coming from there now. I wonder what impact their bandha will have.

India won't bring oil into Nepal b/c Nepal's debt to India remains unpaid. The main oil distributor has cut off the supply of petrol and won't turn it back on until it can speak with the government. There is, however, no working government - the former government and the maoists are at the tail end of their dialougues re. the shift of power. I've also heard that the Maoists finally gave up and left the government. It's not clear what government there is. It's not clear whether petrol will come back, miraculously, tomorrow. I've heard another rumor that it will come back tomorrow. According to Rick (see below), the taxi drivers get news that petrol is coming to town. They line up for 48 hours at the petrol station and take all the fuel from the first two tankers that come into town. Then, more tankers come in and people have acess to oil again. Today, there are many more cars and motorbikes and taxis on the road. The taxi strike must be off and perhaps there is petrol coming into town for the masses shortly. There is no controlled way of knowing except to observe the amount of functioning taxis. It's definately an improvement today. Yesterday, the vehicles stood silent all along the streets and were peppered along the roads empty and forgotten. Today, the buzz is back on the streets. It is palpable. I never knew I could feel the rhythm of a place so acutely as this. It's nice. I like it here. I feel comfortable.

Yesterday, the lads introduced me to an English man named Rick who runs a motorcycle club of Royal Enfields and Yamahas with his dutch Girlfriend Monique. BTW, Ed and Alex drive Royal Enfields. They're lovely, classic motorcycles. 70% of Rick and Monique's customers are women that come to Nepal, take riding lessons from Rick, then go on tours of 4-7 days with Rick around Nepal. I fell in love with one lovely cream and gold Royal Enfield called 'Honey.' She is not for sale. He is working on her and she'll be available for tours in October. Yet another reason to come back. Just to be nice, Rick took me into town on his motorbike so I could buy the safest helmet available in Nepal. As town is far and fuel is limited, this was an exceedingly generous offer. He speaks Nepali and has run his business here for four years, so I got the same price that the locals do: 1500 rupees (about $21) for a quality helmet from Thailand that has a mirrored viser that goes all the way to my chin - this will be excellent for dust and exhaust - and at the same time, I look like a living video game on the back of the bike.

We have been talking about visiting Silke's duch friend Marco, who lives on the top of a hill nearby, for three days now. We can not, however, leave town b/c we keep waiting for leads on petrol. Yesterday, Rick told me that he can get fuel on the black market for a four day wait. The lads agreed to go this route, so we will wait four more days and will hopefully visit Marco today and stay for a while overlooking Pokhara. I hear there is a beautiful waterfall in the jungle nearby - I believe this will be our next adventure. But, first I'll go for an ayuverdic massage for my lady's day.

We were very close to making it up yesterday, but there was a taxi strike, so we couldn't get a taxi up the mountain. It was too hot and sunny to walk with all our luggage. BTW, I've now downsized from a 70 liter bag of luggage on wheels to a 60 liter backpack to a 45 liter backpack. it's really great to lighten my load! I was very pleased to leave the hotel as the second night we stayed there, I was ravaged by bedbugs and mosquitoes. I couldn't sleep due to the constant assault on my face, even my lips, by mosquitoes, who found every spare uncovered millimeter of me to bite. Even though I was wearing long pants and covered by a sarong with a head wrap and around my arms, my legs and arms and even a spot below my right eye have little bumps and it's itchy and disgusting. I thought the leaches were bad. Nepal is really testing my resolve to just go with the flow.

Last night, we went to a hotel and the lads asked me to take a look to see if it was acceptable while they waited downstairs with the bags. I saw blood marks on sheets and walls and a chain link fence outside the window and smelled dust and mildew - we moved on from there. I was more than relieved when we went to another place with a lovely grass courtyard in the center of the hotel. It was late and the proprietors didn't wake to our knocks, so we pitched camp in the middle of the lawn. I had just traded a pair of trekking pants for a mosquito net and bought a sleeping bag for the journey, so I just hung the net from some trees and laid my bag on top of my yoga mat. There were no mosquitos, no bedbugs. I had a bottle of red wine, chocolate, a mosquito coil and a candle with me in anticipation of the visit to Marco - so we made a little camp and enjoyed our party under the stars before falling asleep. Thankfully, it didn't rain.

The rain is rolling in right now. You can see it approaching like a thick cloud of varying shades of grey slwoly oozing over the atmosphere. The wind takes on a moister, thicker, windier way and again, the changes in this little lakeside town are palpable. I think I will go for an ayuverdic massage and see if they can bring some relief to the bedbug bites.

I like Ed and Alex. They are good company. Alex is much more chatty and charismatic than Ed. Ed has a silent manner and seems to tolerate small talk whereas Alex transforms small talk into something of substance or entertainment. Both are genuine, good listeners and open minded. We've met a host of characters here and I'm pleasantly surprised by their total lack of judgment as to each of the people we've met. For instance, one woman has turrets and is constantly chattering like a chipmunk and slapping her legs or her torso. We've met the sterotypical drunk irishman who waxes on about his woes and his muddled and fuzzy life. He has clear, watery blue eyes and a smile that always spills out from him whenever we make eye contact. He told the lads they were lucky to find me in Kathmandu b/c he just likes me - he can't say why - but he just feels better whenever he sees me - I make him feel peaceful. The lads agreed and said that just about everything about me is special. That made me feel nice.

We met a mad man from Holland who is 30, looks 50 and boasted about living off of disability b/c he is legally insane. He threatened Rick for selling his friend a bad bike. Apparently, this has been going on for two years and sometimes turns physical, so Rick avoids him. According to Rick, he sold the bike to a man who got ill and had to quickly go home. He gifted the bike to this dutch man, who proceeded to ride and crash it regularly for a year without upkeep or maintenance. He then returned to Rick and demanded all the money his friend paid for the bike plus 20%. Rick obviously refused. The vendetta has lasted for two years. Rick asked me last night why I though he had it out for him so much. Perhaps a past life, perhaps he was in love with the man who gifted him the bike and misses him and is taking it out on Rick, or perhaps all of the anger and rage he has broiling around in his insane head unfortunately are projected onto Rick. Who knows? Rick thought the second idea sounded plausible.

As a long term resident of Nepal and a man who has motorcycled all over the world, Rick is a nice man, but is cynical just about everything. We had a long talk about yoga and he hopefully can see now beyond "the kooks that come from India, get rid of their stuff, buy something orange and ask for money on the street as "saddhus"/spiritual seekers" and "men that take advantage of young, unsuspecting girls who are looking for enlightenment." He's an engineer who studied physics so I got to correlate the teachings of electromagnetic energy that I received in Thailand with phsycial theory. It all matches up. Even Rick had to admit it. I think yoga would be good for him. Perhaps I'll tell him that if I see him again. Alex later asked how I felt about Rick's direct challenge to something I believed in so strongly. I wasn't offended - each of us has our own opinon. I only hope that I opened his perspective a little and if not, that's his choice and I respect that. As I was saying this, I was surprised at how rational and logical I sounded, whereas before I might have judged Rick for being too cynical and closed-minded. I continue to grow.

We met a 20 year old angel faced girl from Idaho who introduces herself like this: "Hi, I'm American. I'm from Idaho. I'm here to volunteer in an orphanage. Where are you from?" She is so innocent and sweet. She almost broke down crying last night as she said to the lads, the Irishman, Rick and I how nice it was to meet nice men who didn't want anything from her and gave her a respectful distance. I knew what she meant. She wasn't referring to a physical intrusiveness. Instead, she's referring to the Nepali men who greet every single woman with "hello, where are you from, come into my shop, want a smoke, would you like some tea, how are you?" etc. While this is perfectly pleasant and unconfrontational, after a while, you really just want to be invisible and talk to no one. When people continue to get in your space, your energy begins to become depleted. I saw this in the girl and told her how she could empower her energy field by laying down protective forces of Durga all around her and envision a white gold purple bubble around her so that she can decide who can come in and out of that space. It's a little new agey, I know. But I do it every day and did every time I got on my bike in Thailand - and I swear it works. I put my hand on her shoulder and told her everything was going to be allright. She hugged me and said that I made her feel so peaceful and safe. I am glad. I remember how vulnerable I felt when I travelled through Africa at the age of 20 - anytime I met an older female traveller who offered me advice, it was a very welcome gift. Now, I am that woman for younger travellers. What luck.

Alex referred to me as "like his friend's older sister or dare I say mother." It's weird to be seen not as a young lady, but as a mature woman. Am I really 35? Where did the time go? How lucky I am to still have such vitality and perceived peace and "special"ness from others around me. I accept my aging just as I accept the circumstances of this journey through Nepal - patiently, gracefully and going with the flow. I relish the opportunity to live my time now, so that I indeed can mark the passage of time with gratitude, not a vaccum.

Motorflow

With all of its chaos, there are several places in Kathmandu with lovely gardens and booming sound systems. The DJs rival any that I’ve heard in San Francisco or Burning Man. You put that combination together with one drop of Kyra and you have me dancing in the gardens under the stars at night with my trusty dutch companion (who is the social queen of Kathmandu, having lived nearby for one year), Silke. I notice two particularly dapper and polished young men with a certain poise and bearing that speaks of creativity and good breeding at the same time. I bring my soda water with me to take a breather from the dance floor and sit beside them under the stars, “Lovely evening in the garden isn’t it.” “Quite,” he says. We chat amiably – perfectly nice gentleman. I later return to the dance floor and meet the other one in the garden while taking a break. We’re standing in an open air courtyard with arched brick side walls and stars as the ceiling. There is moss covered bricks underneath us and tropical foliage spilling all around us. It smells fragrant and invigorating and exotic. I point out that this is a great space, thinking of how nice it would be to perform there. Just then, he says “a perfect stage, indeed.” We speak the same language. Minutes later, when he asks my travel plans and I say I’m somehow going to Ladakh, he says that I am welcome to join the two of them on their motorbikes as they, too, are headed to Ladakh on their way to Kashmir. “Okay,” I say without even thinking about it – just going with my intuition – and he says, “right then, we’re off tomorrow morning” and there it is: I’m heading west through Nepal to India via motorbike!
Alexander Robertson and Edward Fromson – these are my traveling companions. They are both 25 years old and actors – both stage and film – in England. They’re both strikingly handsome – Alex blonde, Edward brunette – both tall – both genteel – both intelligent – both adventurous – both resourceful – and both funny. They are staying in the same guest house as Bob, so I swing by Bob’s in the morning to say goodbye. He loans me a waterproof jacket and pair of pants for the journey, which I promptly don and knock upon the door of the lads’ room to greet them for our day and our journey. The door is unlocked as I knock and open it. There they are, sleeping in bed, just rubbing their eyes to wake up and make sure that they’re seeing correctly. It’s the Californian they met last night wearing full waterproof gear (hood latched around the chin included), standing at the foot of their bed smiling “good morning, are we still on for our journey west?!?” We’re on…Within several hours, the bikes are packed – Alex has my backpack and Edward has me – and off we go. They both travel with next to nothing. There is no problem. Their tanks are nearly full as we head off, for which I am grateful b/c we are, after all, smack in the middle of a petroleum crisis in Nepal. There are blockades and protests nearly every day as a result of the petrol and we’re not sure we can get any gasoline on our journey, but we go anyway. It is chaos leaving Nepal and I wonder if I’ve completely lost my mind and at the same time, I’ve never felt more free or happy or just plain in harmony with the rhythm of life.

I quickly learn that traveling by motorbike is the “best way to experience a country” as Ed says. We drive through fields and mountains with children smiling and waving along the way. We wend around potholes and slow cars and cross bridges with white rapids far below. We stop for lunch at a town that has several roadside stalls selling dahl baht and sweet tea. Our food is brought to our table and both of them proceed to eat Indian style with their right hand. I’m surprised that even while eating with their hands, they maintain the ever so English element of etiquette and decorum. I remember eating this way in Kuala Lumpur with my old boss and friend, Chandra. She says food tastes better when you eat with your hand, so I joined her and indeed eating the food off the banana leaf with my bare hands was sumptuous. Nonetheless, I’m on the brink of adventure overload, so I stick to the spoon. Alex buys all three of us mangos. Our flow together is very fluid, very easy.
They have collectively spent two years plus in India, Tibet and China. Ed learned to ride his bike in India. Both of them have already driven these motorbikes around India. They are both very road savvy in the eastern realm and this is extremely comforting as it takes a special kind of driver to drive in Nepal (and India, I hear) without going mad. They’re as cool as cucumbers. I look at Ed as he’s cruising along with an easy smile on his face and wild blonde hair spiking around his head and I can’t help but think of a young Peter Fonda – handsome and free, riding across the universe. This is a good thing. At every single petrol station along the way, we stop and ask for petrol – the answer is always the same – “no petrol. Try next station 5 kms.” We see the valleys and mountains of Nepal as we glide along the river at high noon in the blazing sun into twilight where everything is silver and sparkling and fresh. The air is so clear that it tastes like thick water when you inhale and you feel nothing less than bliss at being alive and gliding through Nepal on a motorbike – free as the wind – and blessed as can be. We ride along in this fashion until we’re nearly to Pokhara (26 kms).
Alex runs out of petrol. Ed knocks on doors in the neighborhood to ask for petrol. One man walks by and offers to let us stay for the night, saying also that there is a petrol station 2kms away. Alex questions whether he should walk down there and I say “sure and I’ll stay here on the side of the road by myself, like the stupid American girl that gets killed first in every bad horror movie.” We laugh and decide that Ed is probably walking there right now if he can’t find any black market petrol in the neighborhood. Another person appears and invites us to his home for the evening. We decline. Suddenly, the first man reappears and stands in the middle of the road to force a bus hurling down the road to stop right in front of us. A brave move. He tells Alex that the petrol station is only 2 kms away. I look at my empty water bottle and gesture to Alex. I say I can take the bus. Alex says “I wouldn’t take that bus” and I see a giant indentation on the side of the bus from an obviously gigantic car crash. Just at that moment, Ed calls out from the distance – he’s found an ex army man who sells us one litre out of his gasoline tank for 150 rupees. About a 50% increase from the petrol stations.
As we transfer the petrol from the army man’s tank to Alex’s bike, the entire family of about 10 is gathered around staring and giggling at us. They obviously find it humorous, perhaps, that we’ve decided to take a road trip in the midst of a fuel shortage. Quite right. Very funny. In fact, it’s the funnest idea ever and running out of petrol turns out to be our ticket to true Nepali hospitality. There is a gaggle of little girls gathered at the neighbor’s next door and they are singing a chorus together across the yard to me. I approach them and they bounce joyously up and down increasing the volume. They sound like the sweetest little chipmunks I’ve ever heard and all I can do is smile. We make it another 19 kms before Alex is again out of fuel. This time, Alex goes knocking while Ed looks at Alex’s bike’s fuel tank to see if there is a leak. I ask what I can do. He suggests I knock on some doors. The houses in this neighborhood are nicer. They all have security gates. I take out one bamboo stick and walk over the barrier to a modest looking home. “Namaste” I say from the dark into the illuminated hallway where a lady resides within. I tell her I’m out of petrol. Out comes a young nepali girl named Jyoti – a nursing student of 20 years old - who understands my English immediately and grabs a plastic container, nods her head, disappears into a side room and promptly returns with a half liter of petrol. She comes out to the bikes with me, as does her mother and her brother. I offer to pay her and she refuses, saying she would instead like my e-mail address and would we please stay for dinner or sleep at their house tonight. I give her my e-mail and decline the invitations of hospitality.
It is late now and dark. Althought it’s been raining every day since I’ve been in Kathmandu, we’ve successfully managed to avoid any rain all day. But now, it’s a little chilly. We’re tired. Alex returns from his search with one liter of petrol. We decide we will gladly accept Joyti and her mother Rama’s invitation. Although it is now 10:00, the family sits us in front of the television and quickly disappears into the kitchen to prepare a delicious nepali meal for us of spicy potatoes, moist rice, delicious dahl and hot sauce with green vegetables. They also give us glasses of purified water. We offer to help. They just want us to be comfortable. The lads sleep on the large bed that has been made for them on the floor and I’m slightly elevated on a couch. The hospitality is genuine and pure and simply sweet. We talk with the son and daughter about what they like to do when they’re not at school. “Nothing,” they say, completely content. Their English is remarkable and they are bright and articulate. There is a calm to them that I wish even half of the American teenagers could emulate. It’s really, really sweet to be their guests. In the morning, I wake up and start to do yoga. I set up an extra mat alongside me and invite Jyoti to join me. I teach her for nearly 30 minutes and she is laughing the whole time. I finish without her after she decides that she’s had enough. She watches, still smiling. I’m smiling, too. Alex wakes up to the sight of me in shoulder stand with legs and body straight up in the air, one knee touching my forehead as I stimulate my third eye chakra. He sits on the mat next to me and I guide him through some exercises to deal with the saddle stretch from riding so long. We om together three times and greet the day. We take a tour through their grounds – barley and corn and vegetables and herbs, goats, chickens, an ox and a bull. The mother takes care of all of the land on her own. The brother helps with the cooking and goes to school. Jyoti is the career girl who works at the hospital. Her graduation photograph is proudly displayed in the living room amid posters of Krishna, Gopala, babies, a mother and baby elephant saying ‘mother’s love’ and other such sweet posters that I loved when I was 9
years old. They feed us a delicious brunch and we’re off again.
We make it to the stunning lakeside town of Pokhara. It is another beautiful sunny day and the lake is so calm and clear and quiet (no horns), that I feel completely relaxed even though I’m still gliding along on the back of a motorcycle. It’s all fluid now. We check into two rooms. The hotel is charming and called “the Hamlet” which the lads love for obvious reasons. Ed specializes in Shakespearean theater, btw. Our balconies abut eachother and we relax overlooking the lake for an hour reading and writing and painting. We continue in the flow and decide to venture into town. I direct us to a side dirt path and we end up in front of the glistening lake with boats to our right. Alex and Ed say they’d hire one without a driver. I asked a man sitting on a bench if we could rent it. Yes. The gents rowed to the other side of the lake as I sat at the other end of the boat trailing my hands in the cold, clear water, feeling once again as lucky as ever. They head for a beautiful stupa atop a large mountain. We get off and wordlessly begin climbing through the forest to the stupa. By the time we make it to the top, we are drenched in sweat and breathing only relatively heavily. This is the World Peace Pagoda – a place specially selected by Buddha as a place where people from anywhere in the world could easily come and meditate on peace because it was nothing less than inspiring to look out any direction of the 360 degree views of the stupa. The stupa has four altars to Buddha in gold. I circle it three times and wai and om each of the buddhas each time. I turn around and admire the view, watch birds sailing through the air, hear the wind billowing from on high in the Himalayas. It’s not clear enough to see the Himalayas, but their presence is felt everywhere and in everything. It is peaceful. It’s getting late and the path up was mostly moss covered stones – not good to walk down in the dark. I’m also mindful of the travel advisory saying this is a regular grounds for thieves, particularly at night. Although they are aware of impending darkness, the lads order a cuppa' (of tea) on top of this beautiful place (and some candy bars, I admit) and it’s so hot that we have to wait even more precious minutes to drink them. We’re told by the security guard as he leaves that we have 15 minutes to nightfall. It took us about 1.5 hours to climb up. Just like we miraculously made it to Pokhara despite the fuel shortage and just like we’ve had two full days of travel without rain despite the monsoon season, we miraculously make it back down the mountain with only a tiny bit of darkness. The lads paddled the boat out about half way home and noticed that the whole of the mountain that we'd just climbed was covered in showers. Showers that were quicky approaching us.
I think to myself that I’ve just seen us go over a fence wire, but don’t say anything b/c I think my eyes must be playing tricks on me in the dark. Actually, we ended up being trapped in a fish farm (at this time it was dark and visibility was poor) and had to paddle back from the direction we came for five minutes. As soon as we righted the boat around the fish farm, the storm overtook us and it POURED on us! I stared singing songs as they paddled on either side of the boat-it seems like the right thing to do somehow. We got to shore 10 minutes later, secured the boat, met two young nepali students and all went together to dry off and warm up with another cup of tea under a tin roofed restaurant. I went to the bathroom and had to wade through a puddle to get there. I met my first leach! On my left foot as I discovered upon inspecting my feet at the restaurant again. As I’m making some sort of reviled sound over and over again, Alex is telling me to burn it off and leaning toward me with a lighter. I can’t help it, I flick it off of me and writhe with horror. A splot of blood drips to the ground. Alex gently suggests later that it’s best not to make a scene b/c then everyone else at the table becomes paranoid and checks themselves non-stop for leaches. “A bit of a conversation stopper, really…”
We walk back home without a torch and no streetlights. My shoes are open toed. I can’t get over the disgusting feeling and every time I walk in a pothole/puddle, I utter the same visceral sound. The guys just laugh. It’s funny. I’m the only one of the three of us who kept landing in puddles all the way home. We go to dinner and it’s lovely. We’re in warm dry clothes with closed-toed shoes. I like it this way. Today is again sunny, my shoes are still closed-toes and my feet are sweating, but I’m not ready for exposure again – even when it’s dry and I can see...not yet, anyway.
We’re still waiting for the mechanic to return to town so that the bikes can get tuned up and we can see to Alex’s bike’s tank. I painted with watercolors on my balcony this morning and brought hot tea to the lad with which I warmed their feet to get them up and moving this a.m. I feel light, creative and peaceful. We’ll soon continue on to western Nepal and start camping. They set up a tarp on the top of the bottom between two motorbikes. This is really roughing it. I’ll need to buy a sleeping bag. I wonder if they have not “hair nets” but “leach nets” to protect my head and face while sleeping on the ground. Alex pointed out that leaches can jump and I can’t quite get the image out of my head. I guess I’ll have to become more leach savvy. I am surrounded on either side by good chaps that know how to camp, speak hindi, live with little money and maximum enjoyment of life, know how to haggle and charm any kind of person we’ve come across and know how to live in the eastern fashion and meditate. Did I mention that they’re chivalrous and gracious to me as well? They both have sisters and said they missed female energy and how nice it is to have me with them. What more can I ask for? Life and the universe continue to flow: an unbroken wholeness in flowing movement, indeed.

Mystical Music

Rumi says it is rare to hear the call to explore, let alone to act on that call and leave all that you know behind you. So, I suppose I've heard the call and acted on it. Now, I'm in Kathmandu - going on week two with a brief escape to the outlying valley, and it's really time to move along. You see, it's hard for me to delve into my spiritual side or even my yoga too deeply here - it's just too chaotic. So, just as I'm feeling this, I go to a cafe for mushroom soup on a rainy day and there it is: "The HiddenHarmony & The Singing Mysticism" flyer advertising an eight-day retreat to Osho Mystery School in a jungle 5 kms outside of Kathmandu. The flyer speaks to me: "Osho says the person who hears the inner music becomes capable of hearing the celestial music of the speres. He has learned the first lesson, now he can hear it all around in the stars. That music has to be heard. hearing it, one's life becomes sheer beauty, bliss and benedicition." This is an 8-day program on Buddhism, yoga and tantra and "initiation into bliss of existence," i.e. the sound of silence, by a living master/mystic. Well, well, well...THAT sounds interesting. Beginning July 1. We will see.
Yesterday, my dutch companion Gus and I went to a shiva temple called Pashiputinath on the banks of the Bagmati River. This is the head of the river that goes to Varnasi and merges with the Ganges. It is considered a sacred river. There are creamation ghats along the temple/river edge and we watched bodies being cremated as our guide told us about hindi birth and rebirth. If a body is cremated, there is another life. If buried, not another life. The exception is a baby less than six days old - who is buried, but given another life b/c (s)he was too young to know about rebirth. There is a sacred plan to who lights the fire - always the son - a daughter can't do it - or the father if the son pre-deceases him. If there is no male figure, a "son" can be hired at the temple to light the flame. It was surreal, yet real, to stand amid billowing smoke of the pyres and contemplate whether these souls were indeed going to be reborn. Does the sweeping of one's ashes into sacred water really bless the soul for the next journey? I was allowed to enter a cave where the saddhus (spiritual holy men) sleep and meditate on my own for 10 minutes. It was beautiful - I felt vibrations rippling around me as I meditated and chanted to Shiva (lord of creation from destruction, among other incredible things) - and the flowing river outside was absolutely lovely, fresh and invigorating.
On our way to the temple, I saw my first accident - behind me - literally - a motorcycle crashed into our taxi. We were all fine. That was a first.
There is an int'l music festival this weekend that I will stay inKathmandu for, but then I am leaving. I believe Gus and I will river raft on our way down to the tiger/elephant/rhino reserve, then maybe do some trekking near the famous lake Pokhara. Perhaps I'll do the Osho thing on July 1-8, then head out to India. I bought a book on Osho's theories and will see if it resonates.
I have a feeling that when I leave Kathmandu, peace will fall back into place. I hope so.
Time is up on my hour, here. Kathmandu is the only place where I can seeburning bodies, be blessed by a saddhu to help my anger issues and give me love and peace, then attend an egyptian rock concert and watch the euro cup within 24 hours. Interesting life. Interesting place.

Perspective a la Decrescendo

Life ebbs and flows. So, unfortunately, does my churning stomach and frequent toilet visits. I'm sick. I have traveller's dysentery, which everyone said I would get. And guess what? It sucks. Then I remind myself that it could be much, much worse. I'm reminded of tearing my ligaments in Peru at the beginning of my five week journey around South America. I'm reminded of the little parasites that resided in my belly for a spell in Guatemala. I pass an old man on the street with gouged eyes and stumps for limbs begging for money as I shield my eyes with a lotioned arm and return to my hotel garden to sip some tea. The other day, I was riding straight up a rock peppered dirt road in the rain and I said "this is torture." Just then, I looked at the side of the road and saw five Nepalis bent over doing back breaking work in their rice fields. At least their actions are productive - and I doubt they complain of torture - not until the Maoists come, anyway. All in all, my life, with bugs, bouts, etc. is charmed and I have no right to complaint. However, I feel a bit down these days and want to write about it.
I am tired of being hassled on the streets of Kathmandu: "one rupee, I'm hungry," "rickshaw madam?," "want to buy...," "namaste, where you from?," "are you married?," and so on...I am tired of meeting ex pat men who live in Kathmandu and within 30 minutes receiving a proposal to be their lover while I am here. "I want to touch you" seems to be the phrase of choice as they look longingly across the table directly into my eyes and I am grateful that this culture dictates full coverage of all limbs so that only my face is exposed. It's funny, in San Francisco, there were never enough men to actually come forward and BE manly. Here, the ex pat men ARE manly - there is the reporter, the photographer, a UN worker, an escapist romantic, a scientist - yet there is something so sad and desperate when each man says the same thing in the same way: "I want to touch you." I retort that it is pointless without love and they say love is pointless and doesn't last. Who's right? I don't intend to find out in this way. How strange the world is.
Kathmandu has lost it's lustre somewhat. I am tired. I am fatigued by my gut and spend time in my hotel room watching Aljezeera news broadcast. It is much better than US news coverage and I am reminded of the main source of American information - the media - and wish that more Americans would look outside, perhaps online, to see what other perspectives there are on the world and current affairs. I was talking with the UN employee last night (it's a small ex pat community in Kathmandu, so we frequently see eachother out and about) and the UN is leaving Nepal as the elections are over. His next station? Iraq. All I could say was "God Bless Iraq." Where that came from, I don't know. Perhaps the desperate situtation with all of the militias fighting for survival and a weak government with no one to lead the people out of chaos. This has been created by the Americans who failed to think of the long term repurcussions...right? How could this have happened? Where is there any end in sight? It makes me very sad to think about it. It makes me even more sad to look at this bright man who will soon go there, by choice, to document the goings on. I hope he finds somebody to love him. I wish the same for the Iraqi people - I hope they find a strong leader to love them back to peace.
I spent five hours yesterday trying to find a bra to buy. I ended up on the other side of town and finally found a stash hidden in a corner. The selection was coarse and ugly. The Nepali women adorn themselves so beautifully with headscarves and colorful prints. It's surprising that this loveliness doesn't go all the way down to lingerie. Instead, it seems like a shameful necessity. It makes me appreciate the choice and freedom women have in America.
Likewise, the lack of sanitation around the hotel and the frequent power outages in the hotel that last two hours only to be greeted by the surrounding neighbors with little cheers when it comes back on make me appreciate american cleanliness and efficiency. As I walk the streets of Kathmandu and witness or experience near collissions of rickshaws, people, little children, bicycles, cars, motorcycles, signs jutting out on the road and dogs - all heading in several directions all at once on a tiny little street - I am grateful for the traffic lights and safety regulations of the United States. I have a soar throat due to all of the traffic and pollution in Nepal - just taking a cab across town made me sick and soar. It's gross. Of course, this makes me appreciate the clean, fresh air of San Francisco.
I will leave Kathmandu shortly. I looked into other activities in Nepal and unfortunately have come at precisely the wrong time. No trekking due to muddy trails that are slippery and dangerous going up with lots of leaches and severly impaired visibility of all mountains and views due to rain clouds. Lodges in the National Park where tigers and rhinos and elephants live are closed during the monsoon season, muddy roads/trails are impassible, leaches are everywhere. The rivers are too high for rafting. Sightseeing is okay as long as you factor in two to three rainstorms a day. That brings me to reconsider whether I want to trek through the Valley in the rain with a guide to a saddhu in the woods, to lakes and to a monastery..right now. I caught a glimpse of one snow covered Himalaya yesterday from my hotel room and it took my breath away - I must come back when it is not monsoon. Moral of the story is plan ahead when you book a ticket somewhere. Big whoops on my part.
Ladakh in India sounds absolutely beautiful by all accounts - monasteries, trekking, rafting and a beautiful, clear, peaceful landscape. That, after all, is what I came to Nepal for, and will return to Nepal to enjoy some other day. Not now.
Now, I will go to the pharmacy and cash some more traveller's checks. The shopping scene here is overwhelming and I'm tired. I'll come back to the hotel and read, do some yoga, meditate, breathe my hotelroom air and practice my waterpainting. I'll take a bath. I just feel tired today. I am lucky, I know. But, today, I am tired.