My passport got its first set of insert pages this week. This last month has been busy as usual, perhaps even more than usual, but the main highlight was visiting the American embassy, slapping my little gold and blue baby on the counter and saying, “I ran out of room for stamps." The knowledge that I have traveled to a sufficient number of countries and obtained enough visas to fill my 21 page time capsule, makes me almost as proud as I am of the other work I've done here over the past year. It makes it all that much more real. Now there is a record, legally endorsed by the immigration departments of over 9 countries, that I've busted my ass in one way or another nearly all over the world. Go me.
I had another rare experience this last week, thoroughly less pleasant, and upon reflection, upsetting enough to completely overshadow my exciting embassy experience. I have often been speculating about my future here in Nepal and have admitted to myself that it will be impossible for me to continue as I have been for much longer. It is for this reason that I applied for a job at a fairly large tourist 'adventure' company (trekking, rafting, climbing, etc.) to try and get an income; an income that would hopefully support me enough to continue my work with orphans and villagers while being able to still take a hot shower and use the internet once or twice a month (and eat chocolate that doesn't taste chalky). Later, however, while hanging from a tire swing, 20 feet off the ground with my legs covered in leeches and blood, I wondered how badly I needed chocolate and hot showers.
I had a successful interview; the job was mine if I wanted it. I just had to come the next few days for orientation and training at their resort outside Kathmandu valley and help to set up an obstacle course for a leadership retreat that a lot of important Indian businessmen would be attending. After hours of lifting barrels and tying ropes we had set up a two hour course full of problem solving and physical challenges. 'We' meaning me and my new co-workers, including one gigantic British man who I can only describe as beastly. Tall, unshaven, and massive in all the ways Nepali people expect us to be: a booming voice, insensitive nature, and horrifyingly offensive sense of humor. Apart from talking directly to my breasts rather than my face, he also asked inappropriate personal questions, commented on my body, and was so disrespectful to his Nepali co-workers that even I felt ashamed. He was repulsive… and he was going to be my boss.
Clinging to ropes and swinging from trees to test the course we'd created I wondered what was more worrying; a potentially paralyzing fall from a giant tree into a mass of leeches, or someone like that telling me what to do (and having to do it).
Later I was to find out that it was a six days a week job, and during the peak of tourist season I would be required to live for up to three months at their resort. With that schedule I would never have time to spend with the kids or live in the village. Why would I work a job I hate in a third world country when I could just as easily do that at home? At least at home I could watch T.V. and eat pizza at the end of the day, and maybe save enough money from each of my paychecks to buy some cool piece of shit that I don't really need anyway… and chocolate.
I worked two more days and then decided that I had no other choice but to run screaming from their resort and find a way to make a living from my artwork; or just carry on and starve to death as defiant and honorably as possible. It is for this reason that I have just sold my first serious painting created in the village for bottom dollar to a totally sweet couple of other volunteers from Australia who helped me photograph my work and get it organized on 'flickr.com.' I have started grinding my own pigments and drawing more portraits, printing photos and buying canvas, making the time to do it all, I have committed myself once again to making truly good art and trying to live off of it. I want to say more about this, but I'll write about it soon, when I feel more like thinking and less like rambling.
A few people have been asking permission to forward my mail; please feel free to send them to whoever you like, (and suggest that they send me packages of chocolate). I appreciate any and all feedback or advice from anyone who may be interested to give it. And thanks again for reading these epic narratives and continuing to support me on this irresponsible undertaking. I miss you all (and I miss extra-large sizes… extra-large anything!)
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