Update: every day goings on...

Chili Cook-off in Nepal !

Well, I guess it’s not really a ‘cook-off’ if there’s only one cook, so nobody got to taste a hundred different chilies, but I think I hooked into that main vein of American overindulgence all the same. I have now cooked several western dishes for my Nepali friends and family, and it seems chili has now usurped barbeque as the obvious favorite. Despite using ground water buffalo meat, the dish was delicious, if I do say so myself. And my inflated self-image as cook was reinforced by the fact that no one even wanted to eat rice. They just stuffed themselves with one bowl of chili after another. I savored the moment, watching them gorge themselves like good Americans. Despite the odd mixture of food and context, and often questionable recipe substitutions, I always feel like our bond is strengthened by that afterglow of bloated satisfaction that comes with the overeating of some calorically dense new meal. Cooking for hours over an open fire in an enclosed space is never pleasant, and I usually reek like a full ashtray for the next day or two, but it’s totally worth it.

Another successful American dining experience!

Groundbreaking…

The organization that I volunteered for finally had their much anticipated groundbreaking event for the huge new school they are going to build in the village. There was a great turnout with plenty of speeches by community members and the organization’s staff, much to the chagrin of the 300 children who came to the event and can’t sit still for long periods. It was wonderful to see all the kids that I used to work with on a daily basis. It always surprises me (and makes me feel old) to see how much they’ve grown in the past three years and how their wonderful personalities are developing. It’s always a great feeling to hear a chorus of “Jen sister!” and get battered by a bunch of little hands eager for attention. The older kids couldn’t stop talking about how much they hated the leeches until I took off my shoes and showed them how much they love white feet (see nasty photo ;) It was an awesome afternoon and it was great to see the kids from Kathmandu mingling with the village children.

Congratulations Tiuri...

My lovely young neighbor Tiuri is getting married and I'm going to miss her terribly. Tiuri is the strongest young woman I've ever met and she's got a great sense of humor. She's one of my favorite village personalities and I'm going to miss hearing her shouting from the top of the hill, "Ooooh Jenni!" and harassing me about my bad Nepali. I wish her all the best and just hope that she visits often.

Another attack!

It’s been a rough month for my poor dog, Lucky. Apparently there’s a new dog roaming the village assaulting the smaller ones and we haven’t been able to track him down. This Nepali Cujo is wreaking havoc and must be stopped! I came back from a visit to Kathmandu to find Lucky hopping around on three legs and whimpering L. His left hind leg was swollen and filled with fluid from a nasty, infected puncture wound on the back of his butt cheek. It was so deep it looked like he had been shot. I actually had to trim a bunch of hair from around the wound so I could clean it well enough before packing it with antibiotic ointment. I gave him an aspirin to ease the pain and bandaged him up (perhaps a little excessively, he looked like he was hobbling around the village in a diaper for the next few days). He’s back to normal now, but the hunt is on for this phantom beast trolling the terraces of Gurje. The villagers have grown particularly fond of Lucky and several of them have sworn revenge if they see the other dog again, one of my neighbors even promised to shoot it on sight. I would pity the beast if it weren’t for the giant wound on my lovable Lucky’s ass. You better start running Cujo!

The dirt road less traveled...

It wasn’t until I wrote Opa an e-mail today that I realized how confused I am about my life. I know that I am floating, in limbo about my future, but there’s a lot more to it than that. Perhaps I am beginning to truly discover myself now that I am completely independent. I can’t say for sure why these thoughts never surfaced so clearly while I was living in Tokyo. Perhaps I was too busy with work or simply preoccupied with hating that godforsaken city to think about myself and where I want to be in my soul.

That may sound strange or just hippy-ish, but I’m honestly thinking about things on those terms lately. What does one need to really feel whole, or maybe just good about life and the future in general. I hate the idea of the unknown, and yet I am drawn to it so intensely that I end up half way across the world discovering who I am rather than staying home and wondering what I will be.

Can’t I just live in this moment, in this place at this time with these people? I want to live here; I want to be a part of this family. I want these kids to be my kids, always. I don’t want them to grow up and I don’t want to grow up either. How does one come to grips with the fact that this is something so good, maybe even the best, but that it can’t last and it won’t last, and in fact it will probably be fleeting enough to leave you desperate to find it again somewhere else.

This past week may have been the best of my life. Truly, I can’t think of a time where there has been such an intense cycle of emotions so varied and so pure. The excitement and horror of the goat sacrifice, the anticipation and curiosity, and the feelings of family and tradition that came with the feast that followed. Later, feelings of pity and sadness, the questions of humanity that came with the arrival of the two starved and ill children, and ultimately the fulfillment that came with caring for them and finally, seeing the smiles on their faces.

The satisfaction of the show after the extreme tension and scrambling around. The hard work that paid off, the pride in the kids as well as myself.

Sitting here, smoking for christ’s sake, don’t ask me why, looking at Swoyambunath glowing like a beacon on top of the hill, it’s flags flapping gently in the cool night air. Why would I want to leave this? Where am I going to find this kind of feeling again? How can I leave this without a deep sense of loss and sadness? Like I’m passing something up, letting something slip through my fingers never to return. Like this week, this week will never happen again. Of course there will be other weeks other times in my life that will be inspiring or amazing, but I want this, I want this time, these experiences. I don’t want to even think of what might come next. I want this.

as close to the bones as I could get

I hope that this writing reflects all the divergent attitudes that I felt about these foreign places and all my experiences in them. Though I may be a cranky bastard most of the time, and may write like one too, I don’t get pissed off or regretful about my time spent abroad; any of it. I only have an eager hope that in the future I will be able to take yet another insane journey without loosing all my money and the majority of my sanity in the process. But, then again, it seems that going broke and going mad are what creates the proper state of mind to make you try anything pushed in front of you while traveling, whether it be food, work, a ride, or something more dangerous. This is my account of all the sites and smells and ideas that intrigued, captured, or just plain disgusted me; as honest and direct of a record I can give while curbing my obscenities. I just hope that someone, somewhere, finds the whole thing amusing enough to inspire them to travel somewhere far away and do something completely foolish.