October 29

9:50 AM

The last ten days have been experienced in a way that I think is what people mean exactly when they call a period of time a whirlwind.

The day after "goat day" the elder boys informed us that they were going into Lagankhel to buy winter shoes and that we were most welcomed to join. We did so (not only did an outing with the boys sound fun but we discovered an Australian restaurant in Lagankhel that sold the beloved meat pies of Hamish's home and, knowing how comforting a bowl of gumbo or some red beans and rice [ clarification: with sausage] would be, we wanted to help Hamish indulge) and on the walk to the buses, I told Saroj that we might break off to visit Patan, a collection of some of Nepal's most beautiful and historic temples and stupas. Saroj told me it was only a 5 minute walk and then, "Okay, no problem." A phrase almost all Nepali's say that seems to embody a Nepalese personality in the phrase itself and is said in a way that I wish everyone could hear the accent used as they read these words. It is just too perfect and Chanel and I gather much joy from repeating it.

Upon arriving in Lagankel, a major bus stop filled with 30-40 large buses and plenty o'street vendors, we began to walk and Saroj told me, "First Patan, then shoes." Either there was a miscommunication in which Saroj thought I was asking him to take us to Patan or they decided to come along. My thought that it was probably the first made me feel badly. That I ended up dragging these kiddos to this string of sights and museums that I was sure would bore them. But when I told them that we weren't going into the museums and that Chanel and Hamish and I would do it later, they said they wanted to. A pleasant surprise! Also nice because Nepal natives as well as foreigners from the SAARC countries get in for free! Yay for the kids! The museum of Patan was very informative and has some pieces/relics to make me really feel I was playing in the abandoned playground of a once roaring and sacred people. Perfectly full of belittlement and awe.

Afterwards, we had lunch with the kids. (We decided on this rather than venturing to The Red Dingo for meat pies.) As we were exiting our lunch venue, Saroj, after much confusion and crossing a long bridge between languages, asked us to accompany the one girl and two smaller boys that had come along on their bus ride home. He walked us to the congregation of buses and ensured we got on the right bus and we all had a proper seat. Very sweet, given that we more than could have done it ourselves. Little Manip fell asleep in my lap and arms on the bus ride home. It brought about a most tender happiness in both Chanel and I.

The next day, Chanellie Bellie and I left the orphanage for a three day adventure. That day we ventured to Boudhanath, a symbole, icon, and stunning stupa of Nepal. A giant white dome full of Buddhist symbology and graced with the eyes of Buddha. The eyes of Buddha are also an icon of Nepal. The brochure given at the entrance tells you it is "one of the largest and most significant Buddhist monuments in the world...It is a protective, purifactory and wish-granting stupa." So Chanel and I made the clockwise walk around the stupa, walking amongst monks and observing their rituals. We enjoyed lunch (yummy, yummy tofu pad thai), bought a few souvenirs, and before leaving, walked onto and up into the stupa.

We made it to the front and with the eyes of Buddha staring back into mine, I clasped my hand around Chanel's. I told Chanel that if we were to make wishes, this is one of the best places in the world to do so. We gave a few moments of silence. I counted to three and holding hands, we each wished our own. It was a moment that overcame and overwhelmed me as I tried to back away from it.

That night we were invited to another volunteer's house, whose host family was gone on vacation for Dashain. And with a group made up of Americans, Germans, an Englishman, and Tunisians, we all sat on the pavement and talked about the Nepal we've each experience. We slept there and in the morning set out for Swayambunath.

Now,  Swayambunath might sound like it could be any other temple, beautiful and ancient as time. And parts of it were. But, forgive me Buddhists everywhere, the temple was what I cared for the least. The carved stone equipments of worship did not sway me like the day before in Boudhanath because Swayambunath has a little nickname. One that changes everything. The Monkey Temple.

I wouldn't say that I have an obsession with monkeys. That seems too intense and irrational. I simple love them and want to be their friend and want one of my own to treat like my small human friend and want to cuddle and watch television and get really excited when they're near and sometimes see them when they're not there. T'is all. Nothing to be judged. So don't. 

We arrive and I am ecstatic. Utterly filled with joy of a small child that has arrived unknowingly at their own surprise party. I am squealing and bouncing up those stairs, littered with a lot of things but, clearly most notably, with loads and loads of monkeys. Baby monkeys. Momma monkeys. Alpha monkeys. The monkey gangs were all there! Life was so happy! And then the mood changed. I looked over to see a man with two children and a bag. In this bag was many, many crackers. I realized at the moment that I was a flawed human being and lacked the foresight that would make me a better human. Better like this brilliant man. Why had I not thought of it! I would love to feed the monkeys crackers! I want to! I will! I must feed the  monkeys! I turned to Chanel and told her that I could be Peter with this flute and all his rats, if only I had the crackers! Despair. But in this despair, I found the courage to break the Nepalese/English/stranger divide and I grabbed my wallet, thrusted a 5 Rupee bill to the man and asked to buy some crackers. He said, "No, no, no." and opened his bag to my hand. I took a few and again, "No, no." He grabbed as much as his two hands could fit and placed them in my open and very much receiving hands. I once again offered him my money, he smiled with a final, "No."

Victory! All the child-like happiness returned. Feeling sly, like I had cleverly gotten exactly what I wanted out of life, I bounced my way from monkey to monkey. I just can't, couldn't possiblly explain how happy those little monkeys made me.

The rest of the day was spent in Thamel, lounging at our favorite restaurant there, OR2K. We read and explored. We took the bus ride to the Kalanki hostel where we were to sleep. We took the bus with a duck on board. And shortly after settling into our beds, a fellow volunteer staying at the hostel poked his head into our room to tell us that he had bought a goat and, politely, to not let anyone sacrifice it. It seemed such a ridiculous notion and truthfully was just as ridiculous as it seemed. The guy, who was leaving in a few days, bought a dang goat. We ended up eating dinner with the goat at our feet. We also had a good time during the night decided which goat noises were the goat and which were volunteers mimicking the goat. 

The following day, which makes this, October 23, we spent some time in Thamel. And in the afternoon headed back towards the orphanage but stopped off in Lagankhel, to meet up with Hamish and get some glorious meat pies. And they were quite glorious.

October 24 was referred to as"THE holy day". Nepal's holy day is Saturday (much like Sunday in the US). But this was supposedly the big one and it was on a Wednesday. It was a filled day! We woke up early for tika- now, we had gotten the blessing of tika (mixture of yogurt/water, rice and red powder placed on the forehead) before but in addition to this being the holy day, it was the tika day. Where your tika is not a mere dot but rather covers the forehead- left to right, top to bottom.

Mother, Father and Ananda (Mother and Father's son visiting from Australia) gave the volunteers and all of the children their blessings and their tika. Chanel and I have begun to create the most southern accents we can and we have taken to calling tika our "teeker". "Awe shoot! I done knocked off some of my teeker. Now its just a'swimming in may daal bhat like some gater on the bayou!"

We also got the okay on this day to cook the kids some s'getti for breakfast. So the previous day we had bought the noddles, sauce, and veggies. It is so outside of the kids' normal diet that I think we all were half expecting them to hate it. And some did. Well one. Mohan. "Sister! Sister! I no like sauce." He would then smile and stick his tongue out at us, as he files in line to get another plate of it.

The way tika works is that the younger are blessed by their elders. They are given tika, given money, and as a final act, the crown of their head is touched by the blesser. This is all done seated. After breakfast, we each got a chance to give all the children tika.

And then, with all this teeker flying about and the sudden influx of cash, it is a dashain festival tradition to "play card". Gamble. We switched between a game called 17, which is Black Jack but with the number 17 and another game where card are shuffled, someone cuts the deck and whichever card is then on top..the hand out the cards until that card number is found again and that person wins. Though not good reinforcement for the kids, it was fun :) Nice bonding times. Just us and the kids. With all the adults gone for the day, I got the chance to make popcorn for snack for the kids. Happy day.

October 20

9:22 AM

Yesterday was one heck of a day! The past three have seemed a week! Chanel laughed at me in this "you're silly and ridiculous" way when I said that two days ago but I was the one laughing last night when she said the same thing. MUAHAHA!

Chanel and I had been planning a Happy Dashain! cake for the kids and I had been dreaming of it and wishing for it and yesterday was the day! I've been desperatley missing cooking and baking and mixing and having my hands on kitchen equiptment and sharing and hearing "this is good!" and all the gloriousness of cooking.

But here, in Nepal, with no diary, no eggs or baking soda or oven- it's tricky! Yeah, tricky, tricky, tricky. And it nearly broke my pride into two sharp and frazzled pieces.

Chanel and I had found a useable recipe online and bought all the ingredients we could find on our last trip into Thamel. Mother said dinner time would be best for cake time. So, we started at 2 pm because we couldn't wait any longer. Not one more minute could we wait! Nu-uh!

I start off so hopeful and sure. I mix all the dry ingredients. Looks normal. Mix in the wet ingredients. It looks a little different but I'm cooking it in a cast iron pot so, they can deal. This white, spoiled, western baking lady is being pushed to the limit of her capabilities but...I got this! Shit yeah, I do. Everything I bake, minus that one cheesecake (my first gluten-free attempt), is delicious. Bakingly, I'm untouchable. It'll be fine! I dip my finger into the foamy batter delicately and full of confidence and bring it to my tongue...dear lord. What. Is. That. That is not cake batter. I don't know what witches potion, April fools recipe we chose but...that is just bad. Maybe, just maybe all the nasty will cook out? That happens, right? This is where my soul starts its 5 hour death scare.

All the batter tastes awful. It's this bitterness, this inexplicable starchiness that with one small taste spreads through your entire mouth and coats it in a layer of unholiness. And this is Dashain. The whole purpose of this cake is for it to be holy.

But luckily, with some crushed chocolate and small tweeking, the cooked material, which from here on out will not be called cake, for ye who invented cake never meant for the name to be stretched so far as to include baked mush of these sorts, was able to pass as edible. Thankful, I was for finding this kind of cream cheese stuff, and this butter-like substance. I was able to make a killer-for-having-the-minimum-in-Nepal icing. And I drenched those poor excuses of baked "goods" in it. That icing was my savior. Three hours later, disappearing in a pile of used dishes, I feel defeated and mopey. I'd given up. Let them mock me! Let them belittle my skills and sense! Let them send me to the gallows! They know nothing of my troubles! Aye!

Over the next couple of hours, I shake it off and forget about the cakes with the appearance of a delivery man. The deliverance of a much talked about sacraficial goat. Though we ask many questions and assure each other that us volunteers have gotten the point and interest across, they make the chop-chop without us. It was the chop that wasn't heard around the world or even heard through the front hall. We walk down just as they are begining to scalp the headless goat. I was surprised by how often I turned my head away. Hamish took a whack at scalping it. After some time and as the sleeves began to really get rolled up, I remembered I had a crossword puzzle in my room. Yes. I may not know a 5-letter word for asian nanny, but it ain't no bloody goat.

The time for dinner comes and with the knowledge of what parts they threw into the pot, I'm halfway thinking of changing my "Sister eat meat?" answer. But I attempt to brave it, get a few pieces of small intestine down, and then end up trading all of Hamish's pickled relish for all of my pieces of goat stomach, bone and cartilage. Not one piece of meat.

But! Kids eat the cake and though I think some ate out of obligation given a couple of the faces I saw, most of them liked it! Especially Bijay. So in the end, it was a success! Happy cake and goat day to us! Happy Gaude goat day!

October 17

8:00 AM

Yesterday was a day full of celebrations (and fruit). It was the first day of Dashain. It was also little Mausam's birthday. The night before mother told Chanel, "We go to temple. All go. At 8 tomorrow."

All the volunteers set their alarms for the appropriate time so we would be ready by 8. (It is a requirement to wash your face before temple, so when you recieve the blessing of tika, you have a clean face.) But the next morning we were awoken at 5 by music. It is Nepalese Hindu religious music and it is very, very loud. Very. Broadcasted over the loud speaker from the roof of the orphanage. Which, makes me think either the entire village has agreed to this morning alarm or, like the people found in these volunteer rooms, they detest those moments and the person who would do such a thing. I woke up to the music and Hamish saying some drawn-out words of vulgarity. Luckily, Qatar Airways slipped up and gave me two goody bags containing ear plugs. I grabbed the two pairs and told hamish to catch what I was about to throw him. That they were ear plugs. He asked hopefully if they would be accompanied by a shot gun or some violent weapon. He called the music demoralizing and I tried to find a way to combine the ear plugs and my iPod headphones to create some kind of noise canceling device, and we went back to sleep. It was very loud, if that hasn't been made clear.

I managed to fall back to sleep and woke again at just about 7 am. I rose and went downstairs for morning tea. And kind of poked around, as we do every morning, to catch a glimpse of what's for breakfast. Every day we hope for good veggies. Every day we hope it is a special day. And everyday it is Dhal Baat. Chanel and I sat down and start helping to pick the insects out of the rice the sisters are about to cook. I assume and count on, as we all have come to, that her talling us 8 am means diddly squat and we'll simply leave when they feel inclined. So, remembering this, I am not ready for 8 am. Mother comes by, and I was right. Now it is 9 am. By 9 am, I am ready. By about 10 we leave. We left out of the orphanage a way we hadn't been before. It was about a half hour's walk to the temple. And a rather pleasant walk, too. We arrive at a pretty temple front and then look ahead to a very steep stairway leading up and beyond my range of view. Bijay said it was 167 stairs.

At the top there is a man in a cage (I was hoping it was a monkey) playing drums. But in the cage is also a desk and what appears to be a person's office. It was very strange and I still don't know quite what to make of it. There is a place for you to sit and remove your shoes, which are not allowed in the temple and on the ritualistic walk around it. From there on out it was follow the leader for us. Really, pick a kid and copy what he/she does. For this whole experience in Nepal, it helps to pick an insider as your informant. So, we follow in line and walk around the main temple 3 times, ringing every bell we can get out hands on. After, you enter the temple (it is not very big, about the size of a hummer on the inside) and you kneel to make a wish. Mother asks each of us if we have boyfriend because if not, she says to wish for that. Then it appeared to be playtime for a few minutes. All the kids ran around, touching all the statues of gods, ringing bells, and adding on to their tika. I should mention, we got tika. Our first time. Mother places the tika (blessing consisting of red colored powder, rice, water, and sometimes yogurt placed stratigically on the forehead, depending on relationship status) on our forehead, then touches the crown of our head, and gives us a treat. It smelt like sugar, looked like tar, and tasted like burnt nuts- so, your guess is as good as mine. It was very sweet of them to include us.

After playtime, they gave a piece of apple and coconut to each of us and to the gods. The kids stood in a group, hands in namaste/prayer position and sang a song. That too was very sweet. I think we all had the smiles of a person who knows they are lucky to see what they are seeing. And then worship was finished and we walked back to the orphanage. We ate breakfast afterwards (also, we found out today that you don't eat before worship and, generally, if you do eat, you don't go to temple. Though, they are understanding to the fact that this is not our culture and we are not Hindu.)

The day was spent relaxing, reading, meeting various families that came by, and setting up the festival swing. Every year for Dashain, the orphanage (and most villages across Nepal) build swings. "Pings" in Nepali. They are made out of bamboo, twine, and wood. As I write, they are finishing the swing up now. Everyone seems to be very excited about it.

One family that came by yesterday had an Irish woman staying with them. As we walked up to meet the family at the orphan house, she was taking a picture with the kids. We all sat down and I heard her turn to her host family and say, "I'm going to go sit with them because they speak English." She sat next to us, her eyes full of tears, and explained that being here and meeting these kids was all very powerful and she couldn't stop crying. Doing the half laugh, half cry, she said that her host family didn't understand why she was crying so it was nice for her to speak English and explain it to someone who understands. We, after the emotional sob-fest of our first night in the orphanage, told her we very much did.

She asked with very genuine affection about the realities of the orphanage, the kids, and our duties. And I have to say, not that I haven't been thinking about the answers my entire stay but in saying them aloud, I was very content and pleased with the answers I gave. They were all the answers I'd hoped I would give after being here. The most important of her questions and of my answers was- "And are they loved?" Yes. They are loved to the brim. They are the luckiest and most loved of any Nepali children I've seen thus far. No, they don't have much but they've more than I expected and really not many here do. Yes, they are "orphans" but many still have families to visit. Some even have parents, parents that just can't provide for them. They are fed. They are provided for. And yes, these children are certainly loved. Not one has a hint of bitterness or psychological issues- no matter what their story might be. (We've learned little bits here and there but besides asking the children straight foreward, which we would not do, it's hard to find out about the children's lives.)

They're given birthday celebrations. Yesterday was Mausam's birthday. When we asked him how old he was, he answered, "Eight..", which agreed with what we had been told by others but then, "and nine and ten." He looks like a small five year old so, once again, your guess is as good as mine. We all met on the second floor of the orphan house and clapped and sang songs. The kids played musical instruments like a drum, tambourine, and an instrument that has the likes of an accordian but sits on the ground to be played. Mausam was given by father a large bowl of coconut, bananas, and chocolate candies. Then the tradition is Mausam gets blessings from all those older than him with tika and in return they get a piece of coconut, one banana, and one chocolate candy. Each person then goes around, starting with mother and father, to every person older than he/she and gets touched on the crown of their head for blessing. We got to participate but because we are not of the Hindu religion, we simply say "Namaste", folding our hands together, rather than getting touched on the head but still only to those older than we are. Afterwards we danced, pulled to the spotlight by various children. I should use the word dragged. It was all glorious fun. Glorious fun and such an honor. They are just days now and I can't fully comprehend yet the fondness with which I will look back on them.

Some of the boys walking to temple. Manip, Manish, Sugam, Bimal, and Mausam.

The main temple

Srijana, I, Momata, and Monica. Momata is wearning some of the clothes we gave. Adorable!

Miriam, I, Chanel, and Hamish at one of the temple statues.

Saroj, the oldest orphan, brother Hamish, Sister (the kids call them Auntie) Sushila, and Sister Kalika at temple.
Sister Sushila and Kalika are the cookers and the cleaners at the orphanage.

Sugam and Mausam and breakfast. They are the two youngest of the orphans.

Manish, Sushila, Chanellie, and Sugam.

The birthday man himself, Mausam.

October 11

4:57 PM

Right now, I am lounging on a bed of cushions. I lounge in the bar/hut pavillion at Last Resort. Everything here feels organic. The walls are made of stone, different sized, shaped and colored stones layered upon each other. The roof is made of a base layer of wood slots, covered with more individual stones. All the furniture here is beautiful dark wood, blocky and big in design. It gives the same comfort as an oversized shirt or sweater that you know has more than enough room for you to move about in. There is small chatter, low though, so the insects still reign the auditory realm. We have found an oasis here. It has got every bit of relaxation, wonder, and adventure that one would imagine of a resort found in mid-jungle on the Nepalese-Tibetan border. Stone pathways. Woven wood columns. Bamboo gardens. Butterfly-littered waterfalls. Exotic flowers. Sauna. Hammocks. Beds with cushions. I'm sorry, what? BEDS. WITH. CUSHIONS. PEOPLE. Cushions, so you don't flop about like a fish out of water all night. You do what people do on beds, sleep. The whole resort is (and I'm not using this word mindlessly) flawless. Flawless and very far from how we found ourselves this morning. I vomited in a bag.

Let us delve in to it.  We were due at the Last Resort office in Thamel at 5:45 am. Because of this early hour, we left the orphanage the day before and found a cheap, cheap hotel close to the Last Resort office. Once in Thamel, we decided to grab some food. With safety calling for no uncooked/fresh fruits or vegetables, we've been avoiding them at all costs.(Fresh tends to implied rinsed and with the state of water in Nepal, you really don't want anything that hasn't reached a certain bacteria-killing temperature.)  But on this day we went to eat at OR2K, which claims to wash their lettuce in iodine water then rinse it with boiled water. We gave in. The craving for fresh vegetables came only a few days after having none, zip, zero. We'd also been craving meat and cheese. There has been none of those either. We at so much salad. And a cheese platter. And two baskets of fries. I don't know what else we would have eaten if we hadn't removed ourselves from the table. Good night.

At 5 am, the alarm goes off. I yell to Chanel instantly that she needs to get up already, though half asleep, I still hadn't moved. As soon as I sit up, nausea.

I try to eat something. Try to drink some water. It comes and goes, and we have to leave. No time to be gentle and stay still. Not only do we have to  leave our hotel to make it to the Last Resort office. I guess I should say why we're going there to begin with. We had to be at the Last Resort office at 5:45 am, to catch a bus, to drive to the Tibet border, to cross a 525 foot bridge, so Chanel and I could jump off of said bridge.

Now is not the time for nausiousness. Not this day. I tell myself to get it together. By the time we get on the bus, I'm already breathing deeply, in and out, and rocking back and forth. And Chanel is very concerned but poor darling. Sleep has a pull on her unlike  most. So she'd wake up from my shifting and ask if there was anything she could do and then abruptly, I am alone again. It's me. A very sensitive stomach. A bus. And some of the windiest, narrowest roads. And good lordy, they've got to be the bumpiest. Oh. There was one bag there, too.

The ride starts and I try to sleep it off. Eyes close, bad. Okay. So, eyes open? Bad. Dizzy. I can handle this. Look at something in the distance. Oh goodness me, we are so high. Eyes closed. Giant bump. Is it possible these tires are not circular? And we're just unevenly bouncing around? Or maybe not made of rubber at all? I don't know. I didn't look at the tires. What's wrong with you! You're in a foreign country, traveling up some of the world's largest mountains in a top-heavy, discounted, illegitamate greyhound bus and you didn't check the tires? Eyes closed. Calm yourself, lady. Nope, bad. Why do I keep trying the eyes closed? No bueno. I even tried chanting the words "no vomit" to myself. It ended up taking the beat of "My Humps" and that helped for a few minutes. Then, back to eyes closed.

There was a girl Margaret that we met the first day we arrived in Nepal. She was also staying in the hostel and she was from Latvia. She spoke English simply and with a very thick Russian accent. Adorable little blonde, she was. And on this morning, on this bus, I kept playing a memory of her. She was sitting on the hostel bed laughing at her experiences in Nepal and one experience in particular. She had been sick and called Hom (Global Crossroad's Nepal Country Coordinator). She told us, laughing through her entire story, "I call him. I tell him,'Hom. I am dying.' It was really funny."As the roads get higher and more narrow, the memory of her changes from her holding her own stomach in laughter to that hand now being extended and pointed towards us and it had become my story. But I didn't share Margaret's enthusiasm.

About two hours in, I decide if it's gonna happen, bring it on. "Smite me, oh mighty smiter." I grab a plastic bag and set it up in front of me.

Not a single person on that bus noticed. Not a one. I even had to wake Chanel up. Chanel rubbed my back. But when the rubbing stopped less than two minutes after the ordeal, I look over. Hand on my back, head back against the seat, sunglasses on, mouth open, she was out cold. Cher sister.

I hope to feel better but this is when the bumps in the road start getting serious. Srsly serious. We get some air off of our seats on two of them. It think about tapping Chanel, "Uhm. I hate to wake you but I really think we may have just run over something and no one else seems to be concerned and...I don't know..maybe a yak? Or a colossal boulder..maybe a small hut?" But I didn't.

I tried to become one with the tao and breath. It worked and then we arrived and we had to cross the bridge we were about to jump off of. As we walk onto it, I look back at Chanel, who is clearly following a different train of thought than I am. I can see on her face the thought of bungy. That incredible smile that she is known for is stretched, taking up her entire face. While I am looking at her, consumed with just making it across the swaying bridge, whispering to myself, "Why does everything in this country have to wobble? Whyyy? Even their heads. No yes or no shake. Everything is a wobble." And when Chanel says, "Risse! Look!", pointing to the beautiful heights, I stay to the course and reply abruptly, "I will not."

We made it across the bridge! And once I did, all was better. We placed our bags down and gather for bungy debriefing. We were put into groups and split up, dependent on weight. Due to the injuries that Chanel endured to her ACL a few years ago, she did the smart thing and opted for the canyon swing rather than the bungy. Canyon swing puts zero pressure or stress on the legs. Plus, it is the largest free fall in the world. Pretty gnarly. And I got to watch our Nellie brave it!

I was in the second group. It took about an hour and a half for the first group. During that time I was sitting on the viewing deck, trying to stake a flag in my own nervous system, claiming it mine and under my authority. I sat there and in a moment of calmness my voice said aloud, "There is no spoon." It startled me as if someone else had said it. Okay. I'll go with it. There is no spoon.

One crew man calls me over and asks my name. He says, "Okay, Carisse. I'm going to hug you." and wraps the harness around me. The tightness of the harness on my core is comforting. Then he sits me down and puts on the ankle harnesses. They are so tight, it feels like they might leave bruises and therefore, another comfort. As I'm sitting down, waiting through my last two minutes, I look out and start to say it but without hesitating metaphorically slap myself across the back of my head. "You're ridiculous. That is a big, big, large spoon." So, I stop with the montra and just stick with "Don't think".  There are a few things not allowed on the bridge during bungy- your camera, your bag, and your brain. Don't try to use it. This is not a matter for the brain's input.

They strap the bungy to me. I walk up. No brain. He scoots me to the end of the plank. He says wave to the camera man. I do. No brain.

3.2.1. BUNGY.

And I fly. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I just jumped.

October 9

1:35 PM

There have been so many things I've wanted to write about these past days but have barely had the energy! I'm hoping that today I am done with the sickness.

It has been taking much life out of me and I say to it, no more!! This morning we woke to the sight of the Himalayas! Stunning snow-capped mountains laced the horizon. The clouds have a constant presence but they are supposed to fade during the upcoming festival. There has been much talk about being able to see the snowy mountains. Each person telling you some place different to stand, some different direction to look. But we made no special maneuvers for the mountains this morning and there they were. The words 'the bold and the beautiful' came to mind while looking at them. And then the thought carried me to the soap opera daytime television program. Then to what the intro to that program is like. I started hearing the fast-paced rhythm. My head and hips followed its beat through about 20 seconds of of back and forth sideways bobbing before I realized that I was standing on a balcony in Nepal and not living the surreal luxuriousness of a soap opera. But I looked. No one saw me. Success!

Since I've been here I have been asking myself (many) a question about what this place feels like. And whether I've not spent enough time to tell or there will be no telling answer--I cannot tell. But I have discovered something.

The days past fast. You peer at the schedule and think "My golly, I've got five and a half hours free everyday. Whatever will I do with all that time?" but then you reach 8 PM, you've reached another day's end in the snap of your fingers and you're exhausted like you haven't slept in three weeks.

The days pass quickly but they seem to last longer in memory. As though each day multipies in length tenfold once placed in the past. I think the days will pass quickly. I think Nepal will pass slowly. I think once we leave it will feel as though we've spent months. So comfortabe. So accustomed. So set in routine. It already seems far longer than a week.

The sun isn't out today. A face that has left me cold and shakey. The weather already seems to be changing. The first few days it was warm and sunny. Now there is less sun and more needed layers at night.

Tomorrow we leave mid-afternoon for Thamel. Thursday morning we leave Thamel at 6 AM to make our way to Last Resort, our Nepalese adventure in bungy, high ropes, and canyoning! A change in scenery or place or whatevs will be nice. Just to break up the stay a bit.

October 7

4:20 PM

Feeling much better today!! Yay! And sister Sushila made popcorn for the kids snack! Double yay!!

I thought for today I'd write a bit more about the details of our program.

Chanel and I stay in the upstairs of the main house, along with two other volunteers. One is Miriam, from Switzerland, who has been here for a few weeks and will stay at the Aashna Orphanage a whopping 9 months total. And the other is Hamish, from Australia, who has been here about 4 weeks and will leave a week or so before we do. There are two rooms upstairs, each with one volunteer in it when we got here, so Chanel and  are in different rooms, but 4 feet away.

The beds consist of a piece of plywood and a "mattress". I use quotations because that is what they call it and not because this thing resemebles anything I've ever called a mattress. From my luxurious fancy-spancy standards, it is far more like a cotton mattress pad, maybe 2-3 inches thick.  Still does the job though! We've been talking and find that it does cause us to wake up many times during the night but also (and most times worth the waking up part) we remember so many more of our dreams. All the weird details, the confusing plot lines. I've been having the wildest ones. I feel that in them I can sense I am not quite at home.There is a different feeling to them all. Something is a tad off.

The 3rd and final door upstairs leads out to a beautiful balcony and bathroom area. The balcony is beautiful, not the bathroom. It's just a bathroom.

Our daily schedule:
7-7:15 optional tea time
7:15-8:50 help the kids with reading
8:50-9:15 breakfast
9:20-9:45 walk the kids to school
9:45-2:00 free time
2-2:30 optional lunch
2:30-3:15 free time
3:15-4:00 walk the kids home from school
4-5 optional snack/chores
5-7:45 help kids with homework
7:45-8:15 dinner
8:15-9:30 help kids with homework
9:30 bedtime
* Saturday is holy day, no school for kids
*Friday kids are out of school at 1:30 PM

Now, I wouldn't say this schedule is followed loosely...but it sure ain't snug. Everything has its own pace here. Nepal time. There's no real certainty or necessity to any one action. No one is every really late or early because I guess you can't really expect anyone to show up. Like one volunteer said, "If you're expecting someone to show up, don't". And it's not so much a lack of responsibility. I know that when our final day approaches, we will have to call once or twice to remind them (Global Crossroads staff) to pick us up. Its not that they're forgetful or unprofessional. They just work differently than we do. It'll get done. When and by what means, they may not know, but you'll get there. And being here, we really only have one good option. Learn to live on Nepal time. There are no to-go cups. No place you have to be that quickly that you can't sit and enjoy your moments. Let go of this western sense of obligation to time. Here, I owe time nothing. And here, time guarentees me nothing.

Just now, I looked through the window across the room, through to the setting sun, but rather than the view outside it, the window is what caught my attention. I can see in this light that some previous volunteer has written in the dust with their fingertips, "I love Nepal". How nice a moment.

October 6

6:36 PM

I have been in bed all day, except for tea/breakfast and lunch. Being this sick is the last...well..actually, on the list of things I don't want to happen to me in Nepal, sick ain't bad. But removed from that list and context, sick still ain't fun. I felt kind of bad yesterday and really not so well today. Being stuck in bed all day, ("Mother" told me to rest, no walking, drink Nepalese tea, and eat light. She also is not letting me eat either anything with tomatoes in it or anything red in color, I'm not yet sure which.) I have more to write than normal days. I've been left with nothing but my mind to play with, while the others play with the kids outside. But with little energy, I've only now made it here, to my moleskin notebook. I won't write much today. I'll tell you how far the brain will go for comfort whilst the body is hindered in a foreign country village.

I've been laying in this half sleep, half wake state, hearing the world move about around me. The pigeons (which make their way into the attic space of the main house through an open window) walk on the attic floor/ceiling above my head. The ceiling is made of plywood that can't be more than 3/4 inch thick. Their sound reminds me of Bruno prancing around with toy in mouth, hitting his nails on the hardwood floor. A pigeon flying into the tin roof (if there are some out there, these are not the most clever) (it happens often) sounds and it reminds me of branches hitting the house or shed at home during a windy night. The creaking of footsteps reminds me of our house. Banging of pots. I lay here, with nothing of home besides my sister in the next room and the trinkets that I brought with me that carry much meaning and heart. I lay here and am sincerely happy to be where I am. Sincerely happy that my brain is as healthy and as easily adaptable as it is. And sincerely, genuinely, and wholly happy that the life I have made myself at home is so sincerely worth missing.

P.S. I have never, never in my life been so excited to taste something and find it is ketchup and so, so very devastated when said ketchup has been taken away because "Mother" says "No Risse sauce." Boo.

P.P.S. The pigeons really are stupid. They get into the attic then have quite a fit trying to figure their way out. We figure that if they're not out by nightfall, they become rat food. After sunset, the noises from above change from pigeon (land, pat, waddle, tap, tap, tap, tap, coooo) to epic pigeon-rat fight to the death (slam, bang, run, scratch, screech, bang, scratch, scratch, run, run, run). I like to imagine the rats are in Mexican wrestling masks and the pigeons...I took a decent amount of time to think through this one and realized I image them to be just pigeons. Their only advantage lying in their numbers. I guess the winner is not a hard thing to figure.

I plan to feel better tomorrow. In 5 days, we bungy.