on our way to the goddess of the sky...

No doubt that our week in Pokhara was relaxing, cathartic, and gluttonous.  We ate at every 'German' bakery that tempted us with their apple strudels and not-so chocolate cakes, and enjoyed delicious Indian and Nepali food every night.  Fortunately, we came across early in the week two staples:  a small breakfast eatery for which the name escapes me & the Almond Cafe.  We ate at this small family business and enjoyed every breakfast of our time in Pokhara, and at the Almond Cafe, where we were sure of its food because only locals ate there, the waiter took a liking to us and we got a few tummy aches from eating ourselves silly with Nepali food.  

One day we took a day hike to the neighborhood Stupa which would have been the most delightful view of the town if the Annapurna mountain range hadn't remained elusive until our very last morning (those mountains were just a tease, really, insisting that next time we spent our trek-time on their grounds and paraglided through their skies), and made two friends along the way.  One, a 9 year old Nepali boy and two, a 60 year old French female artist.  He served as our cute porter who knew flawless English, showed us his school in the mountains, could say hello in 6 languages, and educated us of his hometown.  She became an instant friend who was a bit insecure with her English (though, of course, she was brilliant), picked up pieces of trash along the hike to add to an art piece she was working on in Pokhara, and had traveled the world (and was on her way to Calcutta for one of her shows) to present her art.  She was strong, beautiful, and a creative spirit.  It made me look forward to the array of characters we will inevitably meet on our trek.  

We arrived back in Kathmandu yesterday afternoon to the unbelievable hospitality of an old high school friend of mine, Osborne, who is working at the American Embassy for the next year and a half (total of 2 years).  In the midst of catching up on each others' lives, Britta and I found ourselves being astounded by his apartment filled with washer/dryer, refrigerator, and microwave (thought we'd been teleported back to America for a second there), and being overwhelmed by his hospitality.  Above and beyond.  He should go in to hotel management...or more friends should visit him in Kathmandu (:  

Tomorrow morning, bright & early at 5:45am, Britta and I catch our longggg bus to Jiri, the starting point of our 25 day adventure.  Like the vast majority of our time in Nepal, many unknown stories await us, and hilarity to be sure.  I look forward to sharing with you all many a ditty when I return to K-du April 11th.  

Until then, Namaste.... 

photosphotosphotos

Britta has been able to add many great pics of the kiddos on her website, so you should definitely check them out:

www.morethanmountains.blogspot.com

And I have added a great cluster more to my Snapfish album (I promise to use an easier method to view when I'm not paying money for computers):

www.snapfish.com

email: bereccasmith@yahoo.com
password: bereccasmith

More blog entries to come!

playa from the himalayas

Britta and I find ourselves sitting in a town called Pokhara, surrounded by too many hippies with bad dreads, high speed internet (I've had dreams of this for 2 months now), bakeries to satisfy our dulled diets of dalbaht and biscuits, fogged-in Himalayan mountains (in which we've only actually seen 2 days since January...come on now), and a vacant room in our hearts for children 97 kilometers and worlds away from this touristy haven of lakes and supposed mountains.

Our last few days at Harka we spent each minute with the kiddos playing familiar games and taking a multitude of photos and videos. Ashish continued to try to snag the scraps of potatoes and cauliflower we cut for dinner, Jamuna kept on eating the orange rinds off the ground, Tulie's 24 hour snotty nose still ran, Soniya didn't stop with the notes and illustrations to her sitaras, Sirjana couldn't stop giving me her photogenic smile, and Secil never even thought about ending the constant, "Photo, one minute." (his adorable plea to be photographer for more than one minute.)

Britta made the comment on the morning of our departure that the night before the last night seems to always be better than the last night: less pressure & expectations. And so it was that after dinner the night before the last night with no electricity and a sky filled with glitter I sat on a bench with Manish on my left, Soniya behind with arms draped around my neck, and Sarswati leaning on my right side. We sat like that, silent, for a good 15 minutes. They knew, I knew, but there was no pressure or expectations...not this night. And so we communed together under stars and with the comfort and trust of knowing you're where you're supposed to be. A beautiful gesture of love that needs no translation.

But this is not to say that the night before our departure was not good...besides the inevitable stress, it was hilarious. After a morning of finishing the wall mural and packing, we started cooking in the afternoon with the anticipation of Laxmi's arrival (when it always gets unpredictable and dramatic). As Britta and I sat in the firepit fort making roti (bread) and veggies, a more excited than usual voice beckoned our attention. I went to Laxmi as she was waiting outside our door and she, acting with teenage giddiness whispered, "Backa [my name], beer...beer." That's right, Laxmi bought us both a liter of Mt. Everest beer. Of course, we candidly placed them away from the childrens' eyes (but later got pictures, encouraged by Laxmi, with our beer and the kiddos). This was our first drop of alcohol since our departure, and we're both lightweights; therefore, we didn't finish our liter.

We had an absolute feast, wore saris, and gave all the children their gifts. The biggest hits by far were Sheena's suckers,

glowsticks I brought from home, the bandanas my mom sent, the frog with a crown that has 'Kiss me' on its stomach and smooches 3 times when you press it (Rachel, I thought it an appropriate gift for Tulie Bulie--Levi would approve), and all the bracelets we gave the kids (including, the colorful collection of Friendship bracelets). We danced, the little bits stayed up to 10:30, Sirjana added a blanket headwrap to my already strictly Nepali wear, and we slept hard. I woke up early with the expected shallow pit of the stomach feeling. We took more pictures, we did final Febreze sprays on their school uniforms (the remaining bottle yet another gift they were ecstatic over), and Soniya refused to smile for the last photos. Our bus left at 9:30. The kids were purposefully late to school and we were late to the bus (though it waited). Hugs and kisses were all around, and in the midst of it all, Tulie cried out to Britta, "Mith, gu, pani, bye." (Translation: "Miss, poop, water, bye.") Britta took her and Jamuna to the squatter, and later I hugged and kissed Tulie as she tried her best to gu. The only youngster that really lost it was Ashish because Kumari (neither one of us are big fans) kept on telling him that we were leaving...no concept of childrens' emotions, that woman. Soniya and Budi kept screaming goodbyes from their school path, and I cried my way to the bus.

There is less devastation than when I left Hajari and crew in Hong Kong, however, because we both want to sustain our relationship as Didi with these children who have had little sustainability (besides baisi dung to oven gas) in their own lives. We seriously have every desire to return...couple years from now, perhaps, but return nonetheless.

If nothing else, I have to see Manish as a teenager. I am speaking of this middle school blog title's namesake. Manish, a twelve year old boy who loves wrestling, somewhat gently invites Gonga and Secil to participate, quietly goes about chores, and who will win any person over with his startling and suppressed smile.

The first day, way back when, we had the crazy immersion of 15 children, their names, attention, personalities, and quarks. Since I had no set remembrance of any names until day five, I called Manish, Fender, because someone gave him a Fender guitar tee shirt and he wore it well. The nickname stuck even after his real name did, and 2 weeks into our going to school ritual, Manish surprisingly took my hand and bestowed the name Giraffe for me, Tiger for Britta. It was actually more like Geeraph.

Manish (Fender) with Radhika (Bright Eyes)

The first week Britta and I pretty much decided that if we were in middle school we would totally have a crush on this boy...he's an introverted, sometimes too cool for school, doll. What a cutie. We were also terrified, after saying how darn cute he was in front of him, that he was actually fluent in English (thankfully not the case). That first month, after he came a tad bit out of his shell, he would be picked up by his best friend, Bullay, on bike and return with little fruits that resemble crabtree droppings as secret presents only for Britta and me. And in the middle of these small gifts, one night while cooking dinner, he grabbed my wrist and put a black plastic bracelet on...I haven't taken it off yet.

He had his weeks of being the introvert he is, but once I found out that he was the most ticklish creature God ever created, no matter how distant he was, a smile always came when I attacked the ribs.

One bad habit we immediately broke him of was saying, "Goodnight, Baby." That only lasted one night. He took the photo project very seriously, and stole our cameras whenever he got the chance. Even as a twelve year old he would shed his cool demeanor to hold our hands and allow us to hug him. And on the last morning as I watched him on his top bunk rummaging through his gifts, I caught him writing 'Becca' and 'Britta' with marker on his bandana, and when he found the giraffe sticker we specifically gave him he looked up and excitedly said, "Becca, look, Geeraph."

___

We will be in this relaxing haven for another 3 days, go to Kathmandu for the weekend where I get to reunite with a high school friend who is conveniently living and working in K-du, and then Monday we take the interminable busride to Jiri...the start of our 25 day trek to Saggarmatha, or Mt. Everest.

I will definitely blog once more before the 25-day hiatus...and hopefully a whole bunch of photos to peruse.

dog dimples

"It is only now, these years later, that Rahel with adult hindsight recognized the sweetness of that gesture. A grown man entertaining three raccoons, treating them like real ladies. Instinctively colluding in the conspiracy of their fiction, taking care not to decimate it with adult carelessness. Or affection.

It is after all so easy to shatter a story. To break a chain of thought. To ruin a fragment of a dream being carried around carefully like a piece of porcelain.

To let it be, to travel with it, as Velutha did, is much the harder thing to do."

Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things is one of the many novels Britta and I have gone through since we've been in Nepal. This excerpt is a reflection of the central character, Rahel's, childhood in which she, her twin brother, and cousin would use their 7-year-old imaginations to create an entire universe all to themselves. And during the day they would entertain their neighbor friend, Velutha, an Untouchable (lowest level of the Indian caste system) in his twenties who protected their childhood by going along with their imaginations...edifying their make believe.

I started to cry (I know, way too early for that) the other morning while playing with Ashish and Secil next to a morning fire cooking rice. It was the usual games of tickle fits and peek-a-boo but at one single moment I got a rush of realization: I have had the rare opportunity to sit in on young childrens' stories and dreams and conspiracies of fiction.

It happens just about every day when the older kiddos are at school that the younger four gather flowers, grab a huge stone, and start pounding them into 'chutney' (mimicking the salsa we make with tomatoes and stone and cilantro)...that concoction is then served on large leaves on an elegant floor of dirt and mud. I will miss this delicacy along with Secil's treasures of pencil tops and trash, Jamuna's facial expressions, Tulie's snotty smooches. Their whispers and giggles have been the grandest gesture of an invitation to childhood once again. It breaks my heart that they have no idea we're leaving in five days. Okay, still too early to start crying.

Seeing that our departure is Sunday morning, we are busybusy getting together our going away presents for all the children...and 17 is quite the task. Both Britta and I have a couple pieces of jewelry that we will leave, several goodies that we brought and have saved for such an occasion, and Sheena sent material for Friendship Bracelets that we have been mass producing. I seriously feel like I am 8 years old again going to summer camp (and I can still picture them all the way up my oldest sister's arm as she sported her '80s look (: ). The children have exams all this week which not only means working on our English reading and Algebra skills but also having all children home the vast majority of the week. So these last days are certainly l.o.n.g. ones. In addition to compiling gifts, we have taken the task of a wall mural in the children's room. And I'm not gonna lie, it's amazing! Britta brought a shoebox full of craft paint that we have turned into pictoral ABCs and 123s next to their beds. And being the talented artist that she is, Britta painted the most adorable pictures next to every letter including B for Balloon, G for Giraffe, R for Rhino, and J for John Cena (for those who don't know [I'm expecting most of you] he is the WWE world wrestling champion)!!

The older children have been reacting differently due to our upcoming departure...Sirjana could not be more sweet and clingy, Ramesh could not be more obnoxious asking for 15 different gifts, and both Sima and Soniya go in spurts of being snuggly and giggly to being super mad and giving us the cold shoulder. Which brings me to my girl, Soniya.

I see more of myself in this 9-year-old jokester than any of the other children, barnone. It all started at the beginning (as it tends to do), when for the first week or so Soniya did her best to not speak the words she knew in English and keep us confused as she spattered off directions and ditties in Nepali. She would laugh and carry on, making me entirely annoyed until I finally learned to play her game. So whenever she would jabber on, I would repeat the same speed talk in English making exaggerated facial expressions and cackle all the while...she would laugh hysterically as if to say, "Alright now, you can roll with my game." The game being sarcasm, of course. Those close to me know that I have used this since I was a wee lass (much to the chagrin of my middle sister), and can sense it out even through a different language.

Around the same time we realized yet another, and even more unique, similarity. We both have a scar on our right cheek that disguises itself as a dimple...and hers was made by a dog's clinched jaw as well.

Needless to say, we've been best buds ever since. Her impeccable posture, dark, rich skin, thick short hair, and loud, honest laugh are the characteristics to a young girl who wears her emotions on her sleeves (she can't help but cry when one of the older boys makes her mad) and who was born to nurture as she continuously takes Babu to her side or gives Tulie a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Soniya with Babu

Yesterday while I was painting she asked me if when I went back to America if I would forget about her. Sooooo something I would have thought and most likely said to any of my camp counselors growing up, and it's as if they've had us for an entire summer. By living with her emotions so loosely dangled around her neck, she allows herself to hurt more and get far too upset over simple things, but she also makes herself available to love with a strong, passionate, profound, even sarcastic language.