Characters > Katherine

I have been feeling creatively pathetic recently, and I haven't had a clue what to write about for months.  Then I remembered this old little thing.  The characters that I have met in Nepal.  This post is about one of my favourites.  Katherine.

[joint birthday party hilarity]

She's an American who arrived here just two weeks before I did on a program called Princeton in Asia.  She's working somewhere between Child Protection and Education at the US branch of Save the Children [SAVE THEM!  SAVE THEM!].  She's the only one amongst my close friend circle living in Lazimpat and it means we get to do a lot of amazing stuff together.  She could fall asleep inside a lion's mouth, or on the tracks of an oncoming steam train at the drop of a hat which makes her a rather bad movie-watching buddy but is an amazingly good-hearted and optimistic person.

Our first encounter pretty much was an epic 30km uphill bike ride (man, those ARE beautiful photos, and I wish I was writing stuff like that now) through mud and rain in the middle of the monsoon, where we got lost and had images of appearing in the newspapers back home as "two stupid Western tourists lost in the forest"*.  

This even was closely followed by an adventure through the Nagarjun Forest - an area in which the former king lives.  It was organised in the heat of the moment on a Friday night over drinks.  "Its the weekend tomorrow and we don't even know what we are going to do?!?!!" Luckily, Gemma's friend Jaya (you should remember him from such adventures as Mero Charpi Explode Chha) came to the rescue and recommended the walk.  Amindst talk of "making the most of our time in Nepal" and doing something every weekend and totally embracing the outdoorsiness we climbed up another hill and I can't seem to find any post that has shared those photos with you [gasp].

Of course, the frequency of these adventuires deteriorated, once we established ourselves with routines and discovered that we might actually need to do work while we are here.  So, while we still try to organise the occaisional adventure, or get ourselves out the Hash, we usually content ourselves with hanging out between my place and hers and our favourite locales in Lazimpat.  

And we still have 4 months of adventures to enjoy!

*Incidentally I have heard rumours that there are mass graves in that particular national park from the insurgency (just in case this post left you with too good of a "happy feeling")

"Jatra"

My first weekend back from a big week in Australia, I was really looking forward to a few days packed with ex-patness. What better way than to start Friday afternoon with round of karaoke at the place next toe Mike's Breakfast, you say? Well yes. The plan was to follow that up with a nice brunch on Saturday at somewhere outrageously expensive, hit the Hash, and then kick on the to the Scottish night of dancing that Becci politely invited me along to.

Remembering that I was determined to get a little bit more involved with my work colleagues, who had so far been immune to my approaches for a Friday afternoon drink, I invited Nhukesh - the one most likely to say yes - along to karaoke. Unsure what he had signed himself up for, he was appropriately nervous. I think its safe to say that he had a whale of a time. He might not have been an expect at most of the English songs we were singing, but he was the most unbelievable backup dancer we could have ever hoped for.

As happens with most activities in Nepal with less than 24 hours notice on that Friday night, Nhukesh asked me if I could go to his house on Saturday to see his village's festival. The celebrations were scheduled from about 2pm - midnight. Horribly aware of the clash this proposed not only to my addiction to Hash, but the massively anticipated Scottish dancing night (with the guarantee of a nip of whiskey at the door) I found myself in a little dilemma. While in Australia, I confessed my concerns that I wasn't really getting into the culture all that much, with the exception of Bhai Tika day. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I needed exercise more than a nip of whiskey and I piked on poor Becci and my other Scottish friends (who I am sure had a marvelous time without me destroying everything in my path on the dance floor).

I went to the Hash (which was out the arse end of nowhere) and then called Nhukesh (pretty exhausted) to find out where I had to go for this festival. He came to pick me up from Jawalakhel and took me to the Municipality of Kiritipur (about 10km away) where his village of Nagoun is located. He took me on a tour of the village and then to his parents' house where we sat down to eat a very special Newari meal.

Said meal consisted of:
- something that resembled pig fat that was white and jelly textured, I was assured that it was boiled buffalo meat (called Tarkha), specifically prepared for the evening. It tasted pretty much like what you would expect when you see something that resembles pig fat with the texture of white jelly flopping around on your plate
- a red coloured version of the above - "careful Rob-ji, this one is spicy" - and spicy it was - let me assure you
- beaten rice (this was my saviour) - pretty much a found of chiplike chunks of rice
- curried soy beans (another saviour)
- curried pickles - there was nothing particularly alarming about these - except that Nhukesh said - I don't think your stomach will handle that - its very hard to enjoy a particular food item if you are already having images of lonely hours on the family dunny

I was able to wash it all down with 3 different concoctions:
- rice beer (Thoa [in Newari] or Jaad [in Nepali])
- rice wine (Rakshi - good old Rakshi - imagine the heaviest wine you have ever drunk - now double it - that's about half as strong as this stuff)
- red rice beer (Yhamu-Thoa - stronger than the Rakshi this had a hint of that red flavour [you know, like the thing that makes strawberry ice cream taste like strawberry ice cream even though we all know its not strawberries, or red cordial - that kind of thing])

I listened in on the conversations but unfortunately I couldn't follow any of it, and was extremely frustrated for about 10 minutes, wondering why on earth I had spent any money at all on Nepali lessons. It was about that point that Nhukesh pointed out that they were speaking Newari - their ethnic dialect.

From there we went out on the town to see the villagers massing outside a house. Soon enough, their brought out an idol of the god Bal Kumari (Kumari is the word for a female virgin apparently). They loaded the little guy up in a shoulder mounted chariot, and we were led by 4 trumpets, 4 drums too many sets of cymbals and the chariot down the main street towards the temple on the other side of town that was to be Bal Kumari's home for the night. People came out of their homes to give offerings, one lady even had what looked to be a bottle of cough syrup on her offering plate. In her defence, it has been getting really cold, and Bal is going to have to hang out in a temple exposed to the elements all night. The journey was only about 200m, but with many drunk men and all the women and children with their offerings - it was slow going. Nhukesh and his friend Sunil cranked up the dancing again and there are a few photos of me getting into it as well.

At a few point I thought that some people were objecting to the movement of the chariot, because they kept pushing the guys carrying it backwards. After questioning Nhukesh on the point however it turns out that they were all just playing. Is very special to get a chance to carry the chariot, so many people jostle and push each other for fun, and if you happen to fall over or let go of the chariot, then someone will take over your place. You have to be tough!!!!

I'm not sure why we moved Bal Kumari, but it was a hell of a ride.

[photos to come - when Nhukesh remembers to bring his camera to work]

The Great Hash Bash

Going into this weekend's Hash I was determined to be a little more prepared. These little weekend jaunts were a little more than that, and probably deserved a higher level of respect paid to them. Meaning, these were not simple walks around town, but insane, mountain-climbing, mosquito-biting, leech-infested, beer-guzzling, sweat-inducing hyphen parties that probably warranted some sunscreen and at least 2 litres of water.

Determined not to be caught out as quite the novice again this week; I came prepared with muesli (or granola) bar, mosquito repellent, salt, sunscreen and some water (which I promptly finished drinking moments before arrival at the starting line...)

I might not have given it quite enough emphasis in my earlier post. The last Hash was leech infested, with one of the holding points being skipped entirely due to the fact that it was in fact, a leech farm. An infestation, I will clarify, I actually mean it was like taking a bath amongst the things. At one point in climbing I looked down to see my entire hand covered in blood*. I never saw the leech, whose presence at the time was assumed, but without hard evidence I am now not prepared to rule out CIA involvement.

On Saturday we started at Peter's house. Interestingly enough, the guy had been conned into joining this week for the first time, because he had a beautiful house with a lovely Tibetan family who made us all momos (mmmm mo mo).
He had a beautiful view over the rice fields to what appeared to be a pretty hill (later I discovered it to be Kopan Monastery again [also discovered that we would be running UP it, yay**])

So off we trotted, getting lost in the first 50 metres, but eventually finding our way into the middle of the rice fields. I have never been amongst rice fields (as far as I can recollect) and found the way quite hard going. When you are trying to run on a little ledge not much wider than your foot, with someone's crops dropping down 1-2 feet on either side of you in rather muddy water, you would think it's hard going too.

The occaisional calls of "How ARE you?" and its associated responses of "I don't really know" and "ON-ON!" signifying the presence of the Hash trail, would ring around the rice fields, particularly funny when you couldn't see any of your colleagues.

There was one brilliant moment where the 30 runners found themselves spread across three seperate little ridges that made me wish I had my camera. We were weaving in and out of rice patties and jumping up and down hills inbetween little creeks. I was equally glad I didn't have my camera during a river crossing and a seperate Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style moment where one girl's leg when straight through the bamboo bridge.

Bring on next week.

* Actual scale of incident: not quite as bad as the Ice Skating Eye Gash of 1999, worse than the Crazy Pressure Hose incident in Colorado, and not quite as terrifying as the Amazing Assassination Attempt of January 2005.

** Note sarcasm

Hashing the Field

I'm getting behind in my adventures. Two weekends ago, Katherine (my little insane trekking buddy) and I tripped to Nagarjun Forest (where incidentally, I have since found out the ex-king [how can you be an 'ex-king?] is in exile in a cottage [that probably more resembles a palace]).
Is was a 5 k walk to get to the entrance, 10 k's to the 'summit' and back and another 5 k back home - because it seems we were either too emotionally or intellectually disabled by this point to barter with a taxi driver for a realistic fare home. Looking back upon that moment, 5 km really is probably worth $6, still, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger (or at the least sore, which generally makes you feel like you've acheived something).

Just after we had arrived at the entrance to the forest, and potentially naively handed over Katherine's only ID to the Armed Policeman (not that he had a gun, that's just the term for the service) it started to rain. Not to be put off at yet another reminder that this is not the right time of year to be going walking in Nepal we donned out next to useless raincoats and started up the hill on what some people might call a track* (see footnote).

Within 10 minutes we looked like drowned rats, but we by the time we reached the top, the worst of the rain had passed, we had de-leeched, killed about 40 bazillion mosquitoes and had (again) a most exquisite view of Kathmandu (that's 3 weeks running for me folks!). Eww icky leeches...

The Buddhist stupa at the top is apparently a common pilgrimage point for Buddhists around the world. We wouldn't really know except for the signs because apparently they got the memo about not trekking in the monsoon...

Needless to say we hiked back down, which was pretty, slippery and fun although a little less wet (but twice as exhausting) but there is more to tell you of the last week, so I shall continue.

On Thursday at approximately 3.29pm (i knock off at 3.30) I was asked if I would like to go on a field trip to Nuwakot on Friday. "FIELD TRIP!" was my instant excited response, but to be responsible and follow the rules, I had to ask, "where are we going?, how are we getting there, where are we staying?" etc. The response was, "well if you don't want to come..."

Quickly I arranged for approval and before I knew it found myself outside Hotel Shangri-La waiting for the car to pick me up at 6.30 am Friday morning. We drove for 2-3 hours, along the side of a hill allowing buses and the like to pass us on seemingly tiny one-lane roads. Constantly pausing for me to get a good photo, and trying to teach me Nepali and explaining what exactly it was we were going to do in Nuwakot all at the same time, the 5 of us (Menoj [the driver], Mohan [the counterpart], Bhoj Raj [the self-appointed Rob assistant, regardless of whether he wants one or not], and guy who's name can't be remembered and now too much time has passed for Rob to ask]) made our way to the town of Trishuli.

There we spent an entire day teaching Female Community Health Volunteers about how to recognise the signs of childhood blindess so they could go back to their villages, screen children and send them on to the Community Eye Centre in Trishuli. Some of them had travelled more than 5 hours on foot to be there. Of course, I assume this is what happened because the entire day, and all the handouts were in Nepali. "How obvious" you might say, well its not so obvious when a chunk of the women were actually illiterate. It could have been in Swahili for all they knew.

The night we stayed at a "5 star resort" according to Whatzisname "haha I make joke" where the mattresses were like rocks lying on a bed of rock. The food and beer was unbelievable though, and we ate by candlight as the hydroelectric power station above the town didn't seem to be on the clock 24/7. We shared an 8 bed dorm and they tried to make me more comfortable by putting one rock mattress on top of another. The boys (Menoj, Whatzisname and Bhoj Raj) acted like it was a 14 year old slumber party and wouldn't let me sleep. My Mp3 player and rubik's cube were the hit of the party. [I was sitting there twitching as they destroyed 2 hours of work on that damn Rubik's cube, but I did love to see them so excited].

Our return to Kathmandu was an adventure, as large portions of the road we took to get to Trishuli had been washed away overnight. Every man and his spade was out on the road trying to help out insane motorists (like ourselves) to get through. So I can add a spot of road maintenance to the list of achievements in Nepal.

After returning, I met up with Avi, who I had foolishly agreed to go 'hashing' with. Some of you may have heard of the "Hash House Harriers". Well, the Himalayan chapter of the club describe themselves as a drinking club with a walking problem. Before I knew it, I was back at Nagarjun Forest running up a hill on all fours, in the most non-eco-friendly trekking experience of my life, following random shouts of "on-on" which I took to mean that someone had found the trail we should be on. There was a moment where we had to jump a brick wall, when someone said "I think we're meant to pay to be in here, I think the ex-king lives in here" the serious reply was, "yeah, if you see an Armed Police officer carrying a rifle, run faster".

I'm putting hashing on my list of 10 most awesome experiences in my life, I shall see if I can keep up the momentum when I meet them all again next week!

* Of course, you would only call it a track if you were descended from mountain goats and had some kind of miraculous glue shoe that allows you to stay on it.