Sensei and Sensibility
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
Little Darlings
Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to be awarded the opportunity to eat school lunch with my cute but energetic elementary school third-graders.
One boy, sitting opposite me, decided to shove an entire hard-boiled egg in his mouth. Then, he tried to fill the remaining space with all the milk from his drink box. Then he shoved his bun in his mouth too. Then he puked all over the table right in front of me. Ahhhh, the joys of education. That lesson was on "cause and effect."
After lunch, a third grader came up and looked at me questioningly, " Sabine sense - Niku," (pointing to my stomach). "Punchi shite?" : " Sabine sensei, can I punch your meat?"
At which point he drives his fist into my stomach. Sweet little darlings, they are. They know that my Japanese is limited, so they try to simplify things for me: niku is meat, while kin`niku is muscle. That student perhaps thought that demonstrating what he meant would help me....
And my teachers wonder why I look pale, why my clothes are covered in dirt, why my hair is frizzed out so badly that it resembles a bad afro from the 70`s when I get back from elementary school days.
The JHS teachers are kind - they ensure that I don`t have to teach immediately upon my return - they give me a chance to recuperate first....
:)
 Sabine . 9:12 PM . Comments
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Bureaucracy Part 2
Some of you may recall my slight nenkyu (vacation days) nightmare from waaay back in the fall and winter. The resolution was this: I would receive extra vacation days for the amount of time I worked extra during our school`s exchange. Plus, I would have lots of vacation days carried over from the previous year when I apparently didn`t use many (don`t ask - this came about because my Principal was calculating my days on a different system from the Board of Ed). So, I was promised that I would be able to go to Nepal, and I would be able to go home in the summer for a couple of weeks.
So, summer being a popular time to travel, I approached my school a few weeks ago about when I would be able to go so that I could book my trip. I was then told that I didn`t have enough vacation days. I insisted that I arranged this with the Superintendant of Education before I re-contracted. Then they made me go back and account for all the extra work I did since last August. I presented this to them. It was refused on the grounds that it was in English and told me to give it to them again once it was translated. So, I did that - after all, they still owed me 13 days under this new system.
There were whisperings in the office - there were problems and they were fighting everything every step of the way. You see, people in Japan do not use their vacation days unless they are sick. So, they have no idea what to do if someone actually wants to use their vacation time!
Finally today, I am told that it is OK for me to go back to Vancouver in the summer. Then I am told that there is one stipulation, a small problem, they said. I sighed a huge sigh and questioned what that problem was. It turns out that they decided that I am not going to have to use vacation days. I am also not going to have to use the overtime days (13 of them!) that I have saved up (does this mean that I can carry those over?!). Instead, they are going to call this trip a "training trip". HUH??? Yes, I am to go back to my friends and family this summer for the sole purpose of "training". In what? English???? That`s not quite a joke - all I know how to speak now is a strange mix of English, Japanese, and flailing hands. The problem is that I will have to write a report when I return, though no one can tell me what exactly I have to write this report on. One teacher thinks that I should study Japanese food in Vancouver. Another one thinks I should do a dissertation on the subtle differences between Japanese and Canadian beer (I like this one the best...!) Finally, another teacher would like to see me write a report on "Canada`s Beautiful Nature".
Any ideas? Please keep in mind that they want this report to be in English, and it will not be translated (which means that NO ONE will ever read it). It will be filed at the town hall, in a folder marked, "Random Paper-Trail Thingamajigs"
:)
Sabine . 11:07 PM . Comments
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
Nepal - Saigo (The End)
I am sorry to plague you with one more entry about Nepal! I just realized that I forgot to write about my last 30 hours in Nepal and *GASP* our 30 hour party in Thailand (well, Bangkok, at least). So, in order to have a record of these events that I can reflect upon in my old age (so, like, next year), I feel I must record those days!!!
Where did I end off.... Oh, yes, the trek - on the final night I went to bed.
A knock on the door disturbed me from my deep sleep. I immediately jumped up and shouted, "I`m getting the first aid kit - who`s sick now?" Ah. It was only Mr Ram, waking us up at 5:30am to see the sunrise.
I looked over at Nicole, who was still in her clothes from the previous evening, sprawled face down and spread-eagled across her undisturbed bed covers. Her tangled blonde hair was splayed in every which direction and she was moaning slightly. "What the heck happened to you last night???" I queried, suddenly realizing that I sounded like my mother. "Um, I kind of finished off the rest of the beer, and then the guy brought some more, and so I had to finish that off too, " she mumbled from between the creases of her comforter. "Ahhh. I see. Well, get up, we have a sunrise to watch over the Himalayas!" I replied. My goodness, I AM sounding like my mother (she never let me wallow in my hung over self-pity!)!!!
A few minutes later I managed to climb up the stairs (my knee was still killing me) to the viewing platform. Mr. Ram was a star and ordered us all coffees. We pulled up lawnchairs and sank into them and waited for the sun to poke its head through and hopefully give us a glimpse of the mighty Himalaya. Nicole sank into her chair and immediately proceeded to fall asleep. A silence fell over the group, as we were still trying to shake the cobwebs from our brains. And then, ever so slowly, a pinprick of light emerged from through the mist. The sliver got larger and larger. A hush fell over the 9 people gathered there. Finally the small, glowing orb emerged, and much to our chagrin, it did not bring with it miraculous views of the mountains. I was not ready to navigate my way back down the stairs to our cabin (not enough coffee!), so I ordered breakfast as the others made their way back to their rooms to pack and shower.
Eventually, the Himalayas did poke their heads out from the mist. We were graced with views of Himal Ganesh and Langtang mountains. Unfortunately, my camera was waaaay down the hill in my cabin. Hopefully I can get a picture from someone else!
Then, after a few hours of groggily trying to get ourselves organized, we were off to Bhaktapur - though not before I happened to run into the same German lady that we had encountered at the very first lunch stop near Sundarijal - she was following the same route as us!
Slowly, we descended down the hairpin curves from Nagarkot to Bhaktapur - in a rickety red bus that was designed to drive on the other side of the road. The group was relatively quiet. There was a sort of transformation that happened after last night`s party. The air was sombre and pensive, as though everyone had suddenly become aware that this was our last day in Nepal, and no one was happy about it.
Bhaktapur, I think, was actually one of my favourite areas that I went to. It was shockingly clean and well organized, even though parts of it certainly seemed to be a bit of a tourist trap. It turns out that earlier in the 20th century, there was a great earthquake which damaged many buildings in the city. The German government donated the resources to repair this historical town, with the stipulation that the Nepali government look after it from that point onward - and it has! During our free time, I wandered off to explore the maze of narrow streets by myself. I wanted to be alone to process all that had happened, and I think I gave off that vibe, as for the first time in the whole trip, I was not bothered by street vendors or beggars.
On the bus back to Kathmandu, once again, almost everyone fell asleep. I couldn`t stop looking around and wishing that I had more time to explore this amazing place. Sadly, the afternoon was all about packing, arranging our scenic flight over the mountains for the next morning, buying souvenirs and such. I only had about an hour finally to buy souvenirs, so I ended up giving everyone the same thing: tea. Then I was off with Dan, Nicole, and Himal for one last shopping trip to Thamel. I was in search of the perfect omiyage for my teachers. I already had snacks and tea for them all, but I wanted to get them something small that they could each use. This is very difficult, for if it looks like it was too much trouble for you financially or to carry, then they will feel obliged to give you a bigger and better present in return. They also like things that are not too different from what they already have (hence the tea and snacks), so I opted to give them each some incense sticks. Small, and most people use incense in their homes. Done. Then it was off to the restaurant, Mike`s Breakfast, one last time for our farewell dinner. At this point, I was not doing too well. My knee was killing me and now, my hip was too (something about twisting it oddly to get up all those stairs to Chisopani, no doubt).
After dinner, Himal insisted on giving me a ride on his motorbike. I had wanted one earlier, but now I wasn`t so certain that I could even get on the darn thing! In any case, it was one of the best bike rides of my life! There was almost no traffic, so we could go fast. I quite enjoyed flying over the potholes and dodging other traffic. Every intersection (of course, uncontrolled) was like a game of "Chicken" - good thing Himal was driving - I wouldn`t have had a clue as to who had the right of way! We stopped off for a last drink at the Irish Pub. Nicole and Mr. Ram soon joined us and we were toasting our last evening in Nepal. Then, it was time for me to close my eyes and get some sleep - I am, after all, an old lady now! So we made our way back to the hotel and I crawled into my bed at the Manaslu for the last time.
Before I knew it, the alarm was going off. It was time to get to the domestic airport for our scenic flight over the mountains. The scene was insane - and I could only deal with it after a few cups of bad coffee and a Power Bar. The toilets were nothing but holes in the ground - not even any partitions between them. Good thing I was the only person in there. Or perhaps others came in - but the sight of my great, white butt scared them off. Our flight was delayed, and then again, and then we started to get worried because we needed to leave for the international airport by 11am. Finally, it was cancelled. The Himalayas seemed more elusive than ever.
Everyone made it safely and with all their belongings (afer a scare from Sara) to the airport, and we sadly said our good-byes to Sanjay, Ram, Himal, and Mr. Nabaraj. We went through one security check, and I have never felt so...um...violated before (everyone gets patted down). Our carry on was emptied and everything was questioned. Then we went to our gate, where we were patted down once again (I swear I do not have anything hidden under my underwire!). We were told to wait at gate one, though really all the international gates were just one big room with doors opening out onto the tarmac. The team did a wee presentation for Nicole and I and gave us thank you cards and a gift - a full colour copy of "The Kama Sutra" (cough, cough!!!). Finally, they called our flight and we walked out (through gate 2, or 3, or 4 or even 1, if we wanted to) and across the field to our plane. What were we to find there? YES, another full-body frisking station (and this time there was cuppage!!! There was NOTHING HIDDEN IN MY BRA, DARN IT!). I just suddenly burst out laughing - I had seen more action trying to get to this one flight than I`ve seen in all my life!!! The lady who was frisking me also started to laugh - in an instant we both felt sympathy for each other. She understood how uncomfortable it was for me, and I understood how strange it must be for her to do this all day as a source of employment.
Sabine . 11:26 PM . Comments
Bangkok Blast Off! (Or, April 5th - the lost day)
Three hours after departing Kathmandu, we landed in Bangkok to the sounds of Annie`s announcement, "OK guys, I don`t mean to scare you, but we have exactly 29 hours left in Bangkok. I hope you slept on the plane because you`re not sleeping tonight!"
And with that we were quickly off to change traveller`s cheques into Baht and get vans to take us to our hotel. We arrived there with a gasp - I was told it was a nice hotel, but I didn`t expect it to be THAT nice!!! After 15 minutes to shower and change, we congregated in the lobby and hired taxis to take us to the entertainment district of Koh Sarn Road. Immediately, we noticed that we were in the area where all the young foreigners congregated. There were markets and restaurants and bars and everything had a fluorescent energy to it. We stopped off to get dinner and noticed how grubby we were in our trekking and house building clothes. Everyone here was dressed so stylin`! Daniela suddenly took off. We perused the menu (mmm, Thai food - wish I could have ordered everything!)for about 3 minutes and then Daniela came back - sporting a flash new pink dress. The inspiration hit. We would "relay - shop" during dinner. Amanda would go next, and she would have to try to find a new outfit in the same amount of time it took for Daniela to. I would go next, followed by Andrea, and so on. I ended up shoving my trekking clothes in a shopping bag and sporting my new 10 dollar outfit - a new, snazzy, shell-decorated linen tank top in wine and a hand-embroidered linen sarong in navy. Plus some funky shell-decorated jute thong sandals! It took me 20 minutes to get my outfit, but I was forgiven because hey - I got three pieces!
There was a stall that was blaring loud music on the street. Infused with enough banana daquiris to satisfy a troupe of monkeys, we proceeded to get down and boogy right then and there in the road. We moved on to game number 2 - try to get picked up by a "Gap Year" (a young guy, around 18 years old, who is taking a year off in between High School and University). I nabbed mine within 15 minutes:
"Hey," I shouted, "How old are you guys?"
"18," they replied.
"Really? So you guys are `Gap Years` then?"
"Yah. How old are you?"
"21."
"Oh! So you`re not a gap year then?"
"No! I`m on Spring Break from University!"
And they believed me and continued to dance with me. When they left, I high-fived my team mates - they actually believed that I was 21!!!
On to game number three, and bar number one (and I think Daquiri number 50...). Game three is Vix and Annie`s favourite - their goal is to give themselves a time limit and then try to get a guy to kiss them within that time. Koh Sarn Rd being the kind of place it is, they gave themselves 15 minutes - and succeeded in 5. Most of the other team members refused to play this game though.
After the games were finished, we bar hopped until about 2am, when suddenly everyone stopped selling alcohol. Except for in one place, where if you sweet talked the army guy in the back, he might allow the bartender to pour you one - as long as you stayed at the back to drink it. We were not feeling like being so far away from the vibe of the street, so we were determined to find a convenience store that would serve alcohol. Hushed requests were made and we were told of one lady who would sell us vodka if we brought our own bag. We found the lady, bought the vodka and went back to partying in the street. By about three though, the street had begun to empty and Andrea and I decided to go back to the hotel.
The next morning, I was informed by Melissa that Michael was once again sick all night long. We hopped in a cab after breakfast to go to the drugstore to find him some Gravol. The rest of us stopped off for lunch and then were off to sightsee at the Grand Palace. I had always thought that Thailand was a poor country, but Bangkok was so glittering and modern compared to Nepal. In fact, it looked like it could be a city in any first world country - except for the food stalls, negotiable prices, and tuk tuks everywhere! After the Grand Palace, we found ourselves wandering around trying to find Wat Pho - where a really large, gold, reclining Buddha resides. Then we were exhausted and decided to go back to the hotel and hang out by the pool (with more tropical drinks). Michael seemed to be doing better, but he would not be joining us for dinner. We walked around and around searching for a place to eat and finally decided upon a south asian styled restaurant that was run by a Nepali guy (of course we serenaded him with "Resham Firiri") and served Thai food as well. So, my last meal for this trip was dahl bat, vegetable pakoras, momos and a big tub of tom yam koong. To be honest, the soup was the best thing that I ate the entire trip - I was so sad when it was gone (though the fire in my mouth lingered for quite some time!).
And with that, we were off to the airport. The lines to check in were scandalously long, but we got to creep through more quickly, as Michael decided that then it was appropriate to once again go into convulsions and need to get to a doctor. Frantically (and a bit grumpily) I collected passports and hoisted our groups bags onto the conveyor belt and such. I thrust the boarding passes into the hands of the rest of the group as Security wheeled Michael away to go to the clinic in the airport. I ran off to join them and waited for the doctor`s verdict (as we anxiously pondered how and who would stay the extra day in Bangkok if it was necessary for him to be admitted to the hospital again). The verdict was in - he would be OK to fly after they pumped enough medication into him. We ran to catch our plane - luckily they held it back for us, and we were finally all seated. At this point I was downright grouchy - I felt like all I would remember about this trip was the meetings and the insides of hospitals and clinics. Volunteering to be a team leader proved to be one of the most difficult and thankless jobs I have ever done. It was also one of the best jobs that I have ever done. Sure, I got almost no free time. I got to deal with all the problems. I had meetings just about every waking minute of the day. Before I arrived, my mind was run down from dealing with details and my body was run down from lack of sleep. After I arrived, my mind and body became further run down due to the physical labour and continual problem solving, to the point where I thought I would collapse. Then, because I was also a tourist, and had less time than the other team members, I rushed around to take it all in the best that I could. It was really, really hard, but also really satisfying (especially when it was over!). To the team`s benefit - they are a great group of people, and were super easy going. I coudn`t imagine what it would have been like if I would have had a group which was high maintenance or didn`t get along as well. For 16 days, I had 14 other people living in my pocket. We laughed together, cried together, sang and danced together, got drunk together, sweated together, helped each other with illnesses and such - I knew that it would be hard to go home to the quiet and solitude of my apartment. And it was hard. We bade each other farewell at the airport and went our separate ways. I remember driving home from the station and noticing that there were no people around. It was too clean. Everyone had walls or shutters in front of their windows. Everything was too new. When I got back to my apartment and dropped off my bag, I just stood there and watched the river for a little while. Sadness filled my heart and tears trickled down my face. It was over. This had been my baby, my project for over a year. These people had become my new family, and wherever they were had come to feel like home - not this strange, plastic coated apartment of mine.
I put on my "Resham Firiri" CD, and then the strangest thing happened. A small bird flew up to my window and rested on the screen. It started pecking at the screen and hopping around the window, continuously trying to get in. I thought that it would only last for a minute or two, but this bird kept on at it. I slid open the glass door to reveal the screen, and I put my finger up near the bird, and it calmed right down. We stayed there for a few moments just looking at each other. And then it flew off, and once again, I was alone with my memories.
There was something about that bird though. I will never forget that. It was then that I decided that I am going to go back to Nepal, but for much, much longer. And so here I am, once again, planning a trip to Nepal (just for myself this time!)with the help of Sanjel.
Watch for it online: Nepal - Winter 2005.
Sabine . 11:25 PM . Comments
Kaiten Sushi Fortune Telling!
Click here to learn your fortune!
Choose 5 plates of your favourite sushi from the Sushi-go-round conveyor belt. Then click on the button on the left to find out your fortune! The button on the right will clear all your selections.
ENJOY!!!!!
:)
Sabine . 6:17 PM . Comments
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Election Time in Ikuno
It seems that the race is on. Ikuno is electing a new mayor. Now, the sure-fire way to guarantee success in a Japanese election seems to be by following these steps:
1. Paste your picture and your name on all sanctioned "elections poster boards", so basically, everywhere.
2. Mail every resident a post card asking them to be members of your Fan Club.
3. Post your friends (Fans?!) outside the local banks and supermarket so that they can tell everyone "Good Job!" when they are finished their banking and shopping.
4. Decide on a colour for your team, and make all your friends dress in that colour. Hire one of your friends to be your spokes- person. Hire a van with giant loudspeakers. Have a group of your friends (all wearing the same colour) drive around in said van (decorated with your name and picture) and have them blare out speeches that you made while driving 5 Km an hour.
5. Start blaring your speeches from said van at 6am. Finish every night at 10:30. Make sure that ever car that is stopped behind you because they cannot pass gets a huge wave and smile.
6. Make sure, when you see a high profile town member such as a teacher or a foreigner, that you run up to them to shake their hand. After all, someone could see you.
7. If there is a house with a garage in the area of your residence, plaster it with posters. Sit with all your friends around a table drinking coffee and talking politics. When people pass, drag them in to drink coffee and talk about politics.
8. Wear a suit at all times. Even to bed.
Yes, it is election time in Ikuno. I think that maybe a dozen or so candidates are running for the position of mayor. This means that I don`t need to worry about listening to music, the TV, or the radio - I have continuous shouted speeches blaring at me from the street so loudly that I wouldn`t be able to hear them anyhow....
WHEN WILL IT END?????
:)
Addendum: Today I almost got into three traffic accidents. I almost hit a truck. Then I almost hit one of my students who was riding her bike to school, and then I just about hit a granny riding her bike also. Why?! Because of these darn elections!!! Today there were people at every intersection standing and bowing and waving and shouting at me!!!! Now, when someone bows to you, the only polite thing to do in this culture is to bow back - even if you are driving! Usually I give a wee bow and wave to someone who lets me in, or to a friend walking down the road, but today (there are at least 18 candidates in this election after all), I had to pretty much bob my head up and down the entire drive to school. I say this practice should be banned - when one`s head is bowed low, it becomes very difficult to see any obstacles that might be veering in one`s way - like a truck, a junior high school student, or a granny....
Sabine . 10:55 PM . Comments
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
Nepal: Week 1, Final Entry
I woke up the next day feeling great! The doctor had said that the "symptoms" would last 4 days, and he was right. Thankfully. The teams went off to their final day at the site for a small ceremony and final photos. The houses were only half finished, but we knew that the bulk of the work (that we could do anyway) was finished. The homeowner at site 2 cried, and she sent off her little girl to go buy us banana gum. We finally got to see the river of sh*t, and indeed, it was horrible. There was a dog chewing on the leg of some unfortunate animal and another gnawing at the placenta of something. The stench was horrible, and I looked at my team-mates who had braved those conditions with awe.
There was another ceremony on the rooftop of the Habitat for Humanity building, and we, dying from the sun, were anxious to get back to the resort. Nicole was on the brink of collapse - some tummy bug had gotten to her this time, so she slept in the room while we had our special good-bye lunch. At least only one of us is getting sick at a time!
With one last glance over the hills and terraced rice paddies, we bade the Godavari Resort, Lalitpur and Chapagaon good-bye, and we were on our way back to the Hotel Manaslu for our rest and relaxation adventures.
Dinner was at "Mike`s Breakfast" and this time it was Dan who looked like he would die. 9pm rolled around and we were informed that the army had barricaded the street out front (this, I`m told is normal, as there is a police station across the street. It is also normal that vehicles with even numbered plates can only drive on even days and vice versa). So, for the expensive price of 600 rupees (about 7 USD) we got the honour of taking the restaurant`s private bus home. Drivin by a drunk man. And his drunk friend, sitting on a sheepskin rug at the front of the bus (or rather, sliding around drunkenly on the rug). The friend asked us where we`d been in Nepal. We replied, "Chapagaon." He shouted, "ChapaGAON?!" Apparently it is such a wee village that no tourists are even supposed to know about it. To prove our newfound Nepali knowledge, we broke into song - "Resham Firiri" of course! He proceeded to slide backward and almost go through the windscreen. He was too drunk to talk - every time he couldn`t find the right words, he`d break into the refrain of "Resham Firiri". Poor Dan looked like he would either die, or kill someone if he could only find the energy.
The next day was free for the team, but Nicole and I had to head off to the National office for HFH to pay our donation and meet everyone. Around 3pm, we were finally released from our team- leader duties, and were off to Pashupatinath - the Hindu temple we had previously missed due to illness and poor weather. The stench of the burning bodies was horrible, so we went for a little hike in the woods. After that, we made our way to Hanuman Durbar Square in Kathmandu to look around. We got a little bit lost on the way home and had some problems with asking directions. Somehow, they didn`t understand our points and questions, "Lazimpat? Thamel?" I dunno. Luckily, we arrived just in time for the short trek meeting, at which point we met Ram and Himal and proudly declared, "Nicole and I are finally finished our duties - they`re all yours guys!" To celebrate, we all went out to a bar in Thamel, and then another one, and....well, that`s another story! :)
Sabine . 10:56 PM . Comments
Nepal: Week 1, Part 4
1am: there`s a knock at the door. A slightly frantic Melissa is standing there - her husband Michael has a fever. Nicole and I grab the first aid kit an make our way upstairs to their room. I take his temperature: 40 degrees (104 F). We give him some ibuprofen (no Tylenol/Paracetamol in the kit - darn) and put a cold plaster on his brow. We wait for a bit and decide to go downstairs and nap for 40 minutes or so to see if it helps. Half an hour later, Melissa knocks again. It is 41 degrees now. We go back upstairs. I enquire about any neck pain (meningitis is not unheard of here), I feel his stomach for tenderness, and there`s none. We suspect maybe heatstroke - everyone only got 1 L of water that day and it was hot. We give him oral rehydration solution to sip and change the plaster. We wait. Still 41 degrees. Finally, I run a tepid bath for him and tell him that he is going to be cursing me soon. True to form, he does when he crawls in it. We wait again, and then check his temperature again. 39. It`s gone down a bit. More oral rehydration fluids. Finally, he falls asleep, and Nicole and I crawl back to our rooms to grab the one hour that we can before it is time to get up.
We check up on Michael in the morning. He`s still slightly feverish, but feeling much better. However, sometime after breakfast, his fever peaks again and we decide to call the doctor. We arejust about to get on the bus when we get a frantic call from Melissa - Mike has started to go into convulsions. We cancel the doctor and locate a clean, good hospital nearby (well, 30 mintues away). The guys go down and carry Mike up. We go straight to the hospital and enroute replan our day off. Michael is admitted, and the doctor also thinks it might be heatstroke. He`ll test for other stuff too. Melissa, Annie and Sanjel stay behind at the hospital (Annie speaks Nepali), and the rest of us head to Patan to explore. To be honest, the day was a blur. We went to Durbar Square and the temple of 1000 Buddhas. I bought some stuff. I was feeling like crap and wrote it off to exhaustion from being up all night. Then we were on to Swayambunath temple - it was amazing, but cold - I was shivering and dark clouds were rolling in. Then a torrential downpour began. Still, we headed through the flooded streets of Kathmandu to Pashupatinath temple - a famous and important Hindu temple where bodies are cremated and their ashes are deposited into the Bagmati river (tributary to the Ganges). I stayed on the bus, still shivering and feeling like death. We went back to the hospital to visit Mike after that and I crawled under a blanket. We listened to the doctor telling us that Mike had severe dehydration and Salmonella poisoning. I looked at Nicole and said, "Uh oh. I don`t think I am feeling the way I do from exhaustion!" I had suspected that I had a fever during the day, and now I was sure of it. Mike and I both needed special meals, and so we ate the same lunches. Now, I was certain that, if I was to check my temperature, it would be very, very high.
Back at the hotel, I use the thermometer. 35 degrees - quite low. I crawl into bed to try to warm up. 30 minutes later, I check again: 42 degrees (almost 106 F). I have no recollection of the next few days. There were hospital visits, room service meals delivered but uneaten, b-movies watched and heckled, an attempt at watching the Oscars, Michael was released from the hospital. That`s it. I had the salmonella poisoning as well, but fortunately not the dehydration. My journal for those days reads: fever day - conked out, or diarrhea day (yes, that came 24 hours after the fever, as the doctor predicted) - camped in the loo. All this from bad chicken - chicken in the lunches that sat outside for three hours before being consumed. Both Mike and I were ordered by the doctor to not go back to the worksite. Sigh.
March 29th - I am still hurting - could not get out of bed. Was lying curled up in a ball on my bed moaning. However, today I am not allowed to be sick. We have to go change traveller`s cheques into rupees so that we can make our donation on the Monday. It will take all day, because each bank can only change 500 dollars, and we have 5000. I have to go, because it is my signature on the traveller`s cheques. I promptly take every kind of medicine in the first aid kit - pepto bismal, ciprofloxicin, gravol, immodium, tylenol - I figure that either the drugs will work, or I will die - either option was fine by me at that point. Luckily, the Gravol knocked me out and I slept the whole way to the city. In a haze I remember counting hundreds of 500 rupee notes (like a 5 dollar bills). We finally made it back to the hotel. They caringly enquired how we were and we told them that we needed sleep. Our heads hit our pillows like rocks. 5 minutes later, the front desk calls: "Do we need any medication?" no. Housekeeping calls: "do we need anything?" No. Room service calls: "Would a cup of tea help?" NO. Front desk calls again - "WHAT?!!!! WE`RE TRYING TO SLEEP!.......Oh! Hi Himal.....you heard we were sick and are at the hotel to visit us...um...ok...be up in a couple of minutes." (it`s not good to yell at the person who is going to be leading you through the wilds of Nepal in a few days..)
Truthfully, after having a few cups of coffee with Himal, his cousin, and Nicole helped to energize me - good thing too- tomorrow is our last day!!!
Sabine . 12:05 AM . Comments
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
Nepal: Week1, Part 3
We were excited that morning. Two whole days had passed and as of yet, no one was sick. Everyone was wearing their scrubby clothes and work gloves and they had the energy to build 10 houses.
We hopped in the rickety bus and made our way down the road (HAHA!) that would lead to our sites. We would be building about 6 Km away from the resort - seemingly all uphill. Members of the team entertained us with stories about bus trips in Cambodia and Vietnam swearing that this dirt track was in much better condition. I don`t know, I mean, there hadn`t been any rain, so there were no wash outs, but there certainly were enough drop-offs and potholes. One time, the bus even got stuck on a 45 degree angle and we had to take a detour and couldn`t get up hills and such.
We finally arrived at site one and distributed water and packed lunches and bade half of our team a great day. Another kilometre away and we arrived at site 2. Instantly, we were greeted by a big stack of bricks - foreshadowing, no doubt! We were immediately stunned by our view. We were walking alongside fields where goats were grazing, children too poor to go to school were playing, and women were huddled around pipes spewing water and showering. 500 metres away or so, there was a lush ravine, and across from that, more mountains and rice paddies. In a little corner, a group of people were huddled around a pile of rocks and dirt, and we learned that was our site. After introductions were made and we were shown where the toilet was, we admired our pile of dirt, I mean site, and took pictures. Then they told us what our work was for the day: we were to move the 2000 bricks we saw by the road to the build site, and with that, we were left to it.
I had read numerous reports of previous builds, so I knew the methods that other teams had employed to move bricks. I also knew that everyone had said that it was important for the team to come to discover what was the most efficient way on its own. Team building, per se. So I bit my tongue and wondered how long it would take until we formed a bridk line. Everyone went off to the road, grabbed as many bricks as they could and carried them back. On the next trip, people grabbed fewer bricks. There was talk of using the "basket on the head" method like the locals did, but no one bit. Finally, Dan suggested that we split into two groups. One would bring the bricks to the halfway point, and the other would take those bricks and bring them to the house. Still, everyone was tiring quickly. It was then decided that we would split up along the trail. The first person would grab a stack of bricks and take it about 10 metres to the next person, who would walk it to the next and so on - BINGO! This was the brick line I had been told about - and it only took about 5 trips for us to discover it on our own! Next, we had to figure out a number of bricks to carry that would not leave us feeling dead from exhaustion. We started with 9. Then there was the method of stacking the bricks (one with distinct edges on the bottom for better grip, and the rest on top, alternating in direction for stability) for carrying. Then we had to stop - we decided that we needed our water out near us in the 30 degree heat. Then we decided it would be best if one person stayed at either end to get a pile of bricks ready and to stack at the other end. Then our distance grew greater, so we reduced the load to 8 bricks. By about 11am, we had finally come up with a rhythm that could suit everyone! At 12:30, we wearily stopped for lunch. Everything had either eggs or chicken in it, and people were a bit concerned about the freshness (they had been sitting in the shade since 9:30 am). However, we devoured them just the same and no one had any problems. We took an hour long break, as everyone was exhausted from carrying the bricks. We were covered from head to tail in red dust. It was time to get back to work. The sun and exhaustion had taken its toll, so we reduced the load to 7 bricks. Then we started to walk more slowly. Then a miraculous thing happened - the children showed up and started to carry bricks with us! They were excited and were talking to us and singing songs. Then the teenagers showed up, and a group of young men, and suddenly there was a whir of activity and conversation and we were re-energized. We happily carried our bricks and were asking each other questions and playing broken telephone on the brick line. Finally, it was time to call it a day. We decided that we didn`t want the bus to take us back to the resort, so we walked to site one, and gathered the other part of the team (who were surprisingly clean - they had no bricks!). They were surrounded by kids as well, and we all felt like pied pipers as we walked through town and towards home. We were covered in dirt, and when it started raining heavily, we could only laugh and sing. After a nice hot shower, fresh clothes, and a beer, we were already forgetting about the strain of the day. And still, no one was sick!
The next day, we were greeted by a 6am knock on the door. One of the team members had slight stomach issues. We quickly dispersed the appropriate medication and looked at each other, "well, if this is the worst that happens, then we`re doing OK!" However, I was still distressed that I couldn`t work anything in the hotel. I couldn`t plug anything in, or flush the toilet, or get the TV to work. Nicole, however, had a talent for these things. Much bonding occurred over my shouts of, "Nicole, could you please flush for me?" Nasty, yes, but the tables turned in the last couple of days when it would no longer work for her either!
The next day, we had to carry more bricks. In fact, on this day, over 4000 more bricks were delivered. The previous day, we started out lively. This day, we were at around 60 percent. We were dejected by the never-ending bricks. As soon as we finished a pile, more would be delivered. We couldn`t see anything for all our hard work. The previous day, the kids and curious townsfolk were cute and fun, but today, they were getting in the way. Even the clucking chickens were annoying. Luckily, I mysteriously developped the skill of talking to chickens in their own language and after I spoke with them, they left us alone.
A couple of us got brace and tried to use the baskets on the head (a Dhoko) - it was actually surprisingly easy!!! Sanjel came by and we stopped for lunch under a grove of trees. It was a true break - to be away from the dirt and away from the build site. However, when we returned to the brick line, we were downright snappy. Finished for the day, we decided to bus back to the site. We were a little ticked off that once again, the other team seemed clean and energetic at the end of their day - we wondered what they were doing while we were carrying bricks!
Day three - two members down on the other team. There was a Jihad going on in their stomachs. One decided to stay at the hotel. Sara and I are mildly nauseous, so we want to take work slowly. I talked to Sanjel and begged him to let us do something other than the ubiquitous bricks, and he agreed. So, we got to shovel dirt into the foundation - it was like we were kids again - throwing mud at each other and jumping around on it to stomp it down! We were re-energized and finished in great time (the townsfolk were surprised!). We looked at our work and could suddenly see a home forming. We were so lively, in fact, that after lunch we decided to carry more bricks, of our own accord! Dan left us to help out the other team - they had one member down - so we had to walk farther than usual. I felt great and was dancing as I carried the bricks and singing "Resham Firiri" with the kids. I swear that Sara and Nicole (my before and after people on the brick line) were about ready to kill me. Nicole was rapidly losing steam. She sat down to rest and drink more water and we were a bit concerned. I looked at my watch and at the people around me. We still had a half an hour left for ork, but everyone was looking like they were about to die. It didn`t help that they forgot to bring us water today, so we were working in the 30 degree heat with only 1 L each. We decided to call it a day, and kicked around our soccer ball with the townspeople. Himal stopped by to see what it was that we were doing, and together, we all went back to the hotel. Thankfully, there was a rest day planned for the next day. We thought that we`d be fine, but no - we definitely needed it. The other team finally got their bricks and they were as knackered as we were. We slowly made our way home.
Sabine . 11:26 PM . Comments
Nepal: Week 1, Part 2
We had done it: we had survived our first day in Nepal. Everyone was in great spirits as they were enjoying the buffet breakfast and discussing plans for the day. I had to be back at the hotel at 11am to go to the airport and gather the other 5 members of the team. Everyone else was off until 1pm - free to shop, explore, whatever. I decided to get myself organized while everyone else made their way to Thamel. The rest of the gang would be going to the resort near the build site by one bus, and myself and the other members were going to the resort directly from the airport. I guess I should clarify - 10 members of the team (my group) were from Hyogo-ken, and the other 5 members (led by my friend Nicole) were from Kanto and the north - so they departed from Tokyo and not Osaka. This meant that us Hyogo-ites arrived a day earlier.
So, after packing up and getting my papers organized, I made my way to Thamel ( the shopping and backpacker district of Kathmandu) to explore for an hour or so. It was about a 15 minute walk away, and I made the faux pas of walking on the wrong side of the road. The side of the road where the palace is. The side of the road that has army guys with machine guns hiding behind the trees. The side you`re not supposed to walk on, and if you do, you are immediately surrounded by machine gun toting men, so I found out. Luckily, I was obviously a tourist, and this was obviously not the first time they had encountered this. However, this meant that I had to cross an extremely dangerous, uncontrolled intersection. Obviously, I made it across alive (though I am ashamed to admit that I basically hid behind an elderly Nepali lady to get there). Upon entering Thamel, I was immediately accosted by people trying to sell everything and anything. Saying, "No" didn`t help. Nor did ignoring them - they followed you. So, there I was, the pied piper of street vendors, trying to make my way down the tiny crowded streets. I made it only two blocks, when I suddenly snapped and told the group that was shoving stuff in my face, "Look. You can follow me all you want but I am NOT going to buy anything. So please stop it." I think that I made a major faux pas, and travellers to Thamel are going to forever pay for it. They all looked like they were slapped in the face (even though I swear I didn`t raise my voice, I just spoke firmly!), and one guy said, "OK then" and they all left. Faux pas or not - I was relieved! I ran into a few others from our group and we walked around and went window shopping. We happened upon a random Buddhist Stupa somewhere in the maze of streets and stopped for coffee (about 15 cents). A young boy came up and started explaining stuff to us. We told him that we didn`t want a guide and he assured us that was OK. Basically he follwed us around. I had to catch a cab back to the hotel to meet Sanjay from Habitat, and the kid negotiated one for me for only one dollar (later I would learn that if you insist on them using the meter, it is only about 30 cents. Hm! In Japan, it is 7 dollars just to get into the cab!). The rest of the group continued on their way and were followed by our new friend ( who later demanded money from them). Luckily, we all learned quickly the ways of this city!
So, of I was with Sanjay to the airport again. Being a Christian, and it being a Sunday, he had just come from church. We stood outside the airport and waited in the heat. Sanjay started to entertain himself by singing hymns. I kept looking at my watch. 30 minutes passed. Then one hour. One and a half hours ( went to check for the millionth time that their flight had indeed already landed an hour ago). People came and went. Two hours. Finally, after 2 hours and fifteen minutes, I saw Nicoles blonde head bobbing up and down on the way to the exit. She did NOT look happy. It turns out that one of the new arrivals had mistakenly packed her 300 dollar camera in the front pocket of her checked luggage. It mysteriously "fell" out enroute to Kathmandu and they were late because they were filling out a million police forms. Daniela, whose camera it was, did not seem that upset. She knew that she had made a mistake and was in good humour about it, luckily. I looked at Nicole and said the ominous words, "Well, if this is the worst that happens, then we`re doing OK." NEVER say that on the first day!!!
After more introductions and a bit of a bumpy ride, we made it to the Godavari Village Resort, nestled in among the terraced rice paddies of Lalitpur (south of Kathmandu). Now, the entire group of 15 people were there together, and things were getting exciting. Rooms were assigned, and everyone was anxious to check out the 4 star facilities. Now, this requires a little explaining. We originally wanted to do a community stay and sleep on the ground and live very simply. However, due to restructuring at the NGO, we were contacted late and could not possibly set it up. So, they found the best resort around and negotiated a drastic price reduction for us volunteers - from 150 bucks a night down to 20 - including all meals. At first, people were complaining. When they saw the resort, they couldn`t help but be pleased though. Nicole and I had a short meeting with all the NGO representatives, dropped our bags off in our room, and made our way to the meeting room for our orientation. There were introductions and speeches and descriptions about the NGO and stuff - really, I don`t remember much more than this!!! Soon enough it was adjourned and Sanjel, Sabina (the construction supervisor - it`s a popular Nepali name), Nicole and myself all sat down for another meeting. We had to divide the team into two groups because we were going to be building two houses. We had to organize the bottled water and food and all sorts of stuff. Finally, we were released and said our good-byes to everyone. It turns out that we are only the second international team that Chapagaon town has hosted! Nicole and I then got ready for our meeting with just the two of us. Immediately, we went to the bar fridge and pulled out all the beer. We went to the patio and started organizing the build teams and such. The rest of the team was in the swimming pool or playing cricket - they were bonding very quickly and we were like proud parents: "Look at the children playing nicely together!" Truthfully, when you throw 15 people from all over the world together, you do tend to get a bit nervous that everyone will get along....
After watching the sun set over the paddied hills, we decided to go for dinner - it was delicious! The great thing about Nepal is how far our money goes (well, it`s great for us, but not for the Nepalis!). They were telling us not to use the bar fridge and that drinks at the resort were expensive, but when we saw the prices, we could only laugh - 1L water - 60 cents, a beer - one dollar, martini - dollar fifty!!! Needless to say, we weren`t feeling any pain at that night`s team meeting (noticing a theme here???). We adjourned just as everyone was falling asleep. It was after all 9pm and we did have a house to start building the following day!!
Sabine . 10:27 PM . Comments
Nepal, Week 1, Part 1
I remember leaving work early that day, the 21st, the day that would mark the beginning of the new me. It isn`t very often that I can say a trip has changed me, but Nepal certainly has. However, on this day, I had no idea.
My teachers were excited as I went through the motions of all the closing ceremonies. All I could think of was the pile of stuff sitting in the middle of my tatami room and my empty backpack sitting beside it. And my plane departed that evening. And I was still at work. And I was STILL doing organizational stuff for the trip. Remind me never again to organize almost all aspects of a trip to an unknown country for 15 people...
My principal approached me in the morning, "Sabine - secret! Go home soon. I don`t look. Don`t tell teachers!" My teachers approached me, " We make Principal busy. He can`t see. Go home soon! Secret!!!" I love my school! Everyone was very supportive throughout this whole thing, even though I saw some of them secretly pulling out atlases to see where exactly Nepal was. They knew it was exotic. They knew it was poor. They knew it had mountains. They weren`t exactly certain that it wasn`t a part of either China or India. They knew they`d never go, but they secretly wished that they could. I am here for "Internationalization", the new buzz-word in Japan. They were proud that I was going to "Internationalize" and do volunteer work at the same time. And maybe they thought of the strange omiyage I might bring back for them. They were great about the whole thing, whatever their reasons, and I love them for it!
2pm: Rush home. Exhausted from being up until 2am for the last couple of weeks (don`t ask - we had trouble getting in touch with the NGO in Nepal and so all the in-country stuff had to be planned in about two very rushed weeks), I was faced with a choice: sleep or pack. I opted for the former, realizing that I wouldn`t be able to organize the team at the airport if I was that tired. Train was at 6pm. Sara (another team member) was to arrive at 5:30. Apartment needed to be cleaned. Slept until 4:30, threw stuff in my pack, took about 1/2 of what I thought I would need because I was carrying the team first-aid kit, presents for the NGO people and our guide (my friend Tomoko`s, friend, Himal). So, I left for my 2 week trip with three pairs of socks and underwear, two pants, three t-shirts, a jacket, a sweater, a hat, toiletries, my hiking boots and a pair of sandals. My stuff occupied only 1/3 of my pack. Next time, I`m going to Nepal with just a day pack!!!! Time check: 5pm. I have 30 mintues to clean my apartment. Sigh. Thanks mom ("Never go on a trip and leave your apartment dirty - you will be sorry when you come home!"). Bleach flew into all corners of my speedily swept place, and I was soon ready to go. I sat down and waited for Sara and fell asleep again. Soon enough, she arrived and we left for the train. I felt so proud walking through town to the train station - I was wearing my shiny new hiking boots (worn in as my indoor shoes at school), sporting my new backpack. People looked at me with awe - this crazy foreigner was obviously departing on quite the adventure (too bad she was practically falling over from the weight of everything on her)! After fuelling myself with enough coffee to keep a horse up all night, I was good to go!
And so it went: a 2 hour train ride to Himeji, a one hour ride to Kobe, a short stop off to get a Subway sandwich, an hour and a half bus ride to the airport, a 2 hour wait at the airport (filled by changing money and checking everyone in), a 6 hour flight to Thailand, a 5 hour wait in the Bangkok airport (playing cards, watching the news about the war, and buying ridiculously expensive coffee), a three hour flight to Kathmandu - and we were all there - PRESTO!!! Safe and sound! And all the luggage too!!!!!!! When the plane hit the tarmac, I wanted a beer but had to be satisfied with a bummed cigarette from a friend as we walked from the runway to the airport. So, this is Kathmandu - a sprawling mass of low red-brick buildings, trees sprouting up all over the city, surrounded by green mountains, covered in a haze of yellowed pollution. "OK," I thought, "I can handle this." I lined up, paid my visa fee, grabbed my backpack, paid off the lady squatting in the squalid toilets for the privilege of using what can only be described as a hole, and made my way, the last of the group, to the exit.
I immediately am spotted by Himal and the Habitat team (thank goodness my picture is all over this site) and they start waving at me. The only one I recognize is Himal though, from Tomoko`s pictures, and he immediately runs up and grabs me by the arm just as I am about to be mauled by about a million hotel/bus/taxi vendors. The first thing I notice is that people do not seem to care what is in the middle of the road. In Nepal, when crossing any road, you are definitely taking your life into your own hands. Introductions are done hastily and I am rushed off to the waiting bus. It seems like no one wants to spend any amount of time at the dark, military controlled airport in Kathmandu!
On the bus, the team was downright hyper - for all of five minutes - then they fell asleep. I couldn`t manage to shut my eyes. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of trying to get the group here, perhaps it was from the large number of machine-gun toting military guys at the airport. Perhaps it was from the excitement of finally having arrived, and of having met all these people that I had been e-mailing for a long time. I think it was a combination of these things, plus the fact that there was so much to see!
Immediately, I took to the vibe of Kathmandu and felt comfortable there. It can only be described as chaos. My senses were confronted with the sights of garbage, buildings of red brick in various states of disrepair, there were people, cows and dogs everywhere, and children were running around in rag-tag clothes in a helter-skelter fashion. There were no lines in the road, nor were there traffic signals or sidewalks (only orange coloured dirt), so busses, trucks, cars, motorbikes, bicycles, tuk-tuks, rickshaws, pedestrians, animals, and weird tractor-like things all fought for space in the streets. I guessed that people were supposed to drive on the left, but it didn`t seem to matter where you drove as long as you didn`t hit anything. There were smells of curry and chai tea and garbage and other refuse, all fighting for space in my nose. Colourful saris were everywhere, and everyone seemed to be engaged in animated conversations with everyone else. I was struck by the poverty and lack of sanitation. I was also struck by the fact that no one seemed to notice or care or even know any different. I was in love with this place.
After what was both too long and too short of a time, we ended up at our hotel: The Manaslu. It was a pristine oasis in a quiet cul de sac in the Lazimpat area of Kathmandu. Himal (bless him) was very organized and checked us all into the hotel. All my papers and books were somewhere in my pack, and even though I remembered making them easily accessible, my jetlagged haze prevented me from having the desire to look for them. No problem - Himal had all the copies there. I sent the team off to their rooms and then a tug-of- war ensued. Everyone who was organizing any part of our trip wanted to meet with me to discuss details. One part of my brain was handling all the administrative stuff, and the other was dreaming of a hot shower. I saw the rest of my group leave to go explore, all clean and showered and rested. And still there I was, talking about details.
Finally, I was released. I dropped off my pack, enjoyed our pool/garden view from the balcony for a few minutes, showered, then went off to have a small meeting with Himal. He suggested that we go to eat at Bojan Griha (meaning: eating place), which was not only a foreign tummy friendly place (read: not known to give dysentry), but also a cultural experience. We invited him along. We were a few hours late (ah, we adjusted to Nepali time with little trouble) getting going, but soon enough we were walking our way to Dili Bazaar to get to the restaurant. Seated at a low table, we were soon poured rice wine from this great brass teapot -type container. The man`s aim was impeccable, so I unwisely asked him to aim for my mouth. He was all too glad to oblige, but I nearly died when the firewater went down. It reminded me of another vile liquor - Escorial. Plate after plate of delicious curries and foods were brought out, while we were entertained with live music and traditional dances. There was never a moment`s silence, and we soon became very full and very drunk. Luckily, Himal had thought this through and ordered a bus to take us back to the hotel. I will never forget Annie`s trying to convince us that she was only drunk because of the altitude - 1300 metres isn`t that high! And so, excited, drunk, and happy, we all climbed into our beds on our first night in Kathmandu, no doubt dreaming of the adventure that was about to unfold before us over the next two weeks...
Sabine . 8:28 PM . Comments
Thursday, April 10, 2003
More Songs
Bear with me as I put down my Nepal memories in cyber-space!
Ours was a musical group. Perhaps it is because Nepal is a musical country. Perhaps it is because we saw so many kids, and we are all teachers, or perhaps it`s because we had Daniela on board. Daniela is a girl whose life is a musical ("the hills are aliiiiiive, with the soooouuund of muuuuusiiiic"). Every painful step of the brick line (even through sh*t river), and every step of the trail, she had a new song for us.
Here was her invention for Mr. Ram, our sole married guide, whom she enjoyed teasing:
Left, left, left, right left,
I Left my wife in Kathmandu
With nothing but a pair of shoes,
Left, left, left, right, left.
I Left my wife in Chapagaon
With nothing but the clothes she had on
Left, left, left, right left.....
and so on and so on. Each of us got to take a turn coming up with a verse, but to be honest, I have forgotten most of them...poor Ram!
Other notable favourites were, of course, Resham Firiri, and "Alice the Camel" and "Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes." In Chisopani, we attempted to teach the "Frog Song" in Japanese to the kids:
Kaeru no uta go
Kikko ete kuru yo
guwa, guwa, guwa, guwa
gero gero gero gero
guwa guwa guwa!
(basically, it means that the songs of the frogs are coming, and then you are supposed to imitate their sounds). It sounds really pretty as a round, but unfortunately, all the Nepali kids could get were the frog sounds....
:)
Sabine . 11:44 PM . Comments
Gasp! ( Back to Japan)
A couple of months ago, in the dead of winter, all the students at Ikuno JHS rebelled. I didn`t know what was happening, all I knew was that there were countless meetings and whispers and that all the students were wearing gym shorts instead of their long pants. ?@It being 0 degrees outside (and therefore inside), I just assumed that everyone was crazy. They weren`t.
The students were protesting their gym uniforms. The current uniforms have really tight-legged pants with a cuff and a zipper at the bottom. Totally tacky and uncomfortable. They wanted pants that were straight-legged. There were meetings about things like, "would the students be able to run in straight-legged pants?" and so all the teachers went for a jog. There were meetings about how new pants would look pulled down and how they`d look pulled up. Finally, after about a month of debate (and all the students now sporting a new fashion: blue legs) they decided upon a new pair of pants - not exactly straight-legged, but definitely not so tight: power to the people!
At first, I couldn`t understand what all the hullaballoo was about, and why there were so many darn meetings about it. Now I do. You give them an inch and they`ll take a mile. The students won that small coup, but now, the school is paying for it.
No, the students do not want more changes to their uniforms, but the parents do. One student is not allowed on school property except for when she is wearing her gym uniform. Why? Because her mother, over spring break, hemmed her skirt too short and refuses to change it. Her mother is young, and progressive, and thinks the uniforms are archaic. She has seen that the school is willing to be a bit flexible from the gym pants episode, so now she is on a one woman crusade to change things. The problem is this: her daughter does indeed want to be more fashionable, but she does not want to stand out as much as her mother is making her. It is like her mother is trying to relive some of her JHS angst through her daughter, but now the mother has more power. She is citing the individual styles of the Canadian students as a point of reference.
What she is neglecting to note is that "fitting in" is important to EVERY 13 year-old. Yes, the Canadian students had more individual styles, but they all wore either jeans or khakis or black dress pants and skirts. If there is no uniform imposed at school, then the students will, of their own volition, determine what is appropriate dress. It won`t be exactly the same, and it won`t be regulated as it is in a japanese JHS, but there are definitely social-acceptance rules in every JHS - perhaps just a bit more subtle and more self moderated.
This is definitely one of the problems that an ALT encounters here. "Western" ideals and pholosophies are understood only on a surface level. For example, the idea of independance of thought and of self-presentation: here, it is believed that "Westerners" are absolutely independant. They cannot permit themselves to see us as being able to function as part of a group. "Group" thought, is seen to be a purely Japanese, or perhaps Asian, phenomenon. If they were to explore "Western" culture ( quotation marked because everywhere is west of somewhere, as the Earth is a globe), they would discover that the external rules of Japanese group society are merely replaced by internal rules/values of group acceptance in the "West".
This way of superficially exploring a culture is endemic to the concept of culture, and as such, it is not so easily changed. As soon as you have an "us" and "them" scenario, you have set up a system whereby people look for similarities and differences. People don`t often take the time to explore cultures much more deeply than this. People like the ALT`s on the JET Programme can try to alter the superficial understandings that occur, but there is too much reliance on the individual`s personality traits (for example, shyness, willingness to share and be open). Which leads me to ponder the questions: Is this whole process that I am involved in futile? Are there things here that I am exploring only superficially? Can I identify what they are? Do I wish to understand this culture more fully and deeply?
These are important points to ponder now as I enter my third year here, for culture is not a vacuum. In this global environment we can only understand if we are open to understanding, if we can accept that we may never understand another culture fully, if we are willing to make mistakes: if we are willing to become citizens of the world, rather than citizens of a country.
Sabine . 5:20 PM . Comments
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Working Backwards - Trek Part Two
Sunlight filtered in through our sparse room, while someone rang a bell outside. The sounds of trekkers excitedly preparing for the day echoed through the brick chamber of our bedroom. Morning had arrived. Nicole immediately sat up and asked me what the person with the long, dark hair had wanted in the middle of the night. Huh? Apparently, someone had come in and whispered my name, trying to wake me up. I had slept like a stone and hadn`t heard a thing, but Nicole sat up and asked the apparition what it wanted, at which point it turned and snuck out of the room.
Slightly shaken by this story, I went downstairs to question the rest of the group. I was carrying the first aid kit - perhaps someone had wanted medication in the middle of the night. None of our group was to be found, and when finally questioned, none of them had entered our room in the night. The dark-haired stranger who wanted me awake remains a mystery even today. So do the elusive Himalayas. When we awoke, we discovered that they were shrouded in mist. Ram, one of our guides, had woken at 5:30 to check on the views. When he poked his head in our room he thought we looked like peaceful, sleeping children and decided to let us lie.
We thanked him for his kindness and consideration over coffee. The children were back, and wanted to sing more verses of Resham Firiri. Alas, we had to eat our breakfast of banana pancakes and get going if we were to make our next stop in Nagarkot, 20 km away, by nightfall. Waving to the children and humming our song, we departed the sleepy town of Chisopani. The trail wound up and down along the ridges of more mountains, um, hills, but the going was quick. At times, we entered pockets of cloud-forests and admired the vegetation. At times we scaled cliffs of compressed dirt. Sometimes we just walked peacefully along the road. The fast group, led by Ram, was gaily singing and tramping ahead of the rest of us. I was walking as fast as I could, almost jogging in some parts, but could not keep up with the long legs of team one. I ended up in the middle - the section with no guides. For a long time, it was just Amanda and I walking and talking about literature. Every hour, we stopped to rest. We were making good time and enjoying the views. Suddenly, we made it over a ridge and were confronted by views of what could only be termed endless rice paddies. Houses popped up sporadically - we were now out of the communal Newar areas and into the territory of the Tamangs. Old men and ladies walked alongside us carrying dhokos of goods on their heads. The mid-day sun beat down on our sunburnt brows and our water slowly dwindled. Down, down through the terraces we plodded, heading towards the 3-horse town that was to host our lunch. Our guides had learned quickly the way to our hearts - as we waited for our standard trek lunch fare (chow mein), we were given snickers bars and juice to soothe our famished stomachs and energize our bodies. We had already hiked about 12 kilometres by then. Lunch ended, and we made our way along the dusty road through town. By this point (and perhaps because of the frisbee we brought along), we were being followed by about 30 of the town`s children. "Pen? Rupee? Sweet?" was their never - ending call. Amanda and I became separated from the troupe with Ram and Mr. Nabaraj ahead of us, and from Himal and a few others behind us. We looked for the arrows that Ram had scratched in the dirt to find our way. The greatest help to us, however, were the tracks of 5 or 6 different pairs of shoes. The local people in these parts wear only flat-soled sandals. Up and up we once again travelled, until the ridge hit a sort of plateau. Spread out in front of us were more mountains and endless paddies. A shout came from up ahead - on the mountain across from us, Andrea was calling out our name and telling us to come join them on break. We quickly walked the kilometre or so that separated us from the group. They had found a flat section on a cliff that overlooked the terracces that stretched off into the distance. It was like a painting, and there were both children and old people gathered around our group. They were fascinated by our cameras, as though they have never seen one before in their lives, which is a distinct possiblility. We relaxed completely in the golden afternoon sun. Everything glowed. We were sweaty and tired, but we could once again make out the shape of our lodge about one and a half kilometres in the distance. We picked up our tired but happy bodies and made our way along the trail. I didn`t want to leave that spot. When I think back to Nepal, I still remember that one place. The warmth of the sun, the sounds in the distance, the closeness that I felt with my trek friends and guides - I didn`t and don`t want that feeling to end. It is now but a snapshot from the past etched into my brain.
With one final glance, I made the final push up the hill to the lodge.
The lodge was gloriously and precariously perched atop the ridge. Our team managed to occupy one whole section of the thing. It was luxury compared with our previous night`s lodgings, and we were all anxious to break out the beer and marshmellows and start the campfire.
We soon discovered that it is a prerequisite for a quide to be able to magically produce a musical instrument form his pack, whether it be a flute, a drum, or a tambourine. Beer was poured, glasses were accidentally broken, everyone was singing and dancing and trying to play the instruments. Enormous spiders were found in our bathrooms as we tried to clean away the grime of the day, and the boys came to our rescue and promised to check our rooms before bed. We went up for dinner, but my appetite had not yet returned. We changed into our pajamas and roasted marshmellows (note to self: the coconut ones are not as delicious roasted as they would seem) and sang and danced some more. The hours ticked on, and people started to sleepily disappear into their rooms. A few of us were committed to waiting until the last ember died, but soon discovered that there was a person hired by the lodge to make sure that as long as people were awake, the fire would not die. The beer ran dry, the first stars of the evening had long since made their twinkling revolution of the sky, and I decided that 2:30 am was a decent hour to turn in. I had my room checked for spiders and as I lay my head down on my pillow, I wished that the night, and this whole trip, didn`t have to end. I will forever more have the sound of the drum and the floating notes of the flute in my heart. The campfire is one more scene that is etched into my brain forever, and I will treasure my memories of it as I would a cherished gift from my mother.
Sabine . 11:59 PM . Comments
Working Backwards -Trek Part One
I am going to start my reflections on my trip to Nepal by starting at the most logical point: the end. This is logical to me because I haven`t yet written about it in my journal, and because it is the most fresh in my memory. So, my notes from the field will begin on April 1st of this year (2003):
Incredibly hung over from the partying of the night before, I hauled my sorry self out of bed. The previous evening`s libations were still fresh on my mind. We weren`t hungry, so we headed to a rooftop patio in Thamel, Kathmandu for some cold beverages. I had a vague sense that my body would be about to need many vitamins (perhaps this is because we had planned a trek for the next day), so I ordered the healthiest drink I knew: a Bloody Mary. Slowly, more people filled up the tables, and more drinks were poured. Feeling peckish, we ordered some of the tastiest Pakoras around. We talked about Himalayan adventures and listened to the random stories of the Dutch, French and German trekkers around us. It was a fairy tale, listening to these adventurers` stories. Himal felt the urge and excused himself to attend to nature`s call. Ten minutes later, we looked behind us for any signs of him, and there we saw him, dancing in his place in line. No longer able to hold back the force of 5 Bloody Marys pressing on my bladder, I opted to join Himal in his waiting dance. In line, we met more travellers and once again, the conversation shifted to adventures on the road. Suddenly, the door to the sole washroom popped open and out stumbled a very drunk, very soaking wet man. Perhaps he tried to shower in the toilet. I may never know. I erupted into my old Nepali standby greeting, guaranteed to form fast bonds with anyone one meets in Nepal: Resham Firiri. So, this is how it came to be that myself, Himal, one very wet and drunk man, and a couple of his friends were dancing in front of a bathroom in Kathmandu singing a traditional Nepali folk song. I knew then and there that the night had only begun. I also knew that this trek was going to be much more difficult as a result...
There I lay, one leg under the covers and one placed over the bed and on the floor. Sparkly dots danced along the rim of the ceiling and I tried to forget the jihad that was happening in my stomach. "Negotiate a peace treaty, negotiate a peace treaty!" I repeated as my mantra. After a good 10 minutes. I decided that it was no use - I would have to call in the UN, otherwise known as Immodium. Another 10 minutes passed, as I lay there waiting for the uprisings to subside. I decided that it was the shot of Tequila at the Irish Bar In Kathmandu that had pushed me over the edge.
After much effort, I packed my bag (a detail easily forgotten in the course of the previous evening) and crossed my fingers that I hadn`t forgotten anything. Wearily, I sat down on the rickety red bus that was to be our transport to the trek start point. There was to be a stop at Bauddhnath Stupa - the largest stupa in Asia and an important Tibetan Buddhist pilgrimage point - on the way to Sundarijal. The bus started bumping up and down the battered roads. I turned my head and moaned - Jihad was starting up in my stomach again.
At Bauddha, we listened with fascination to our guide, Mr. Ananta. I swear, this man knows everything, and we were mesmerized by his speaking style. Walking along the walls of the stupa, we could hear the chanting of the mantra, "Om mani padme hum". Well, everyone but me could hear it - my insides were too busy screaming, "The uprisings! The Uprisings! Everyone take cover!!!" Finally, I found a tea shop restroom that could handle my issues, and I could finally relax and enjoy the temple - as long as no one spoke too loudly.
Back on the bumpy bus heading towards the mysterious Sundarijal. A stop off at a famous Hindu temple on a river which is a tributary to the Bagmati river which is a tributary to the great Ganges. For those of you not in the know, the Ganges is extremely holy in the Hindu world, and as such, all its tributaries and their tributaries are considered to be holy as well. Again, Mr Ananta fascinated us with tales of the Hindu Gods and Goddesses and vehicles and symbols and such. I found the fertility wheel to be most fascinating and, well, ...graphic. Then we were shown the funeral pyres, the places where Hindus are cremated and their ash is scraped into the river (which incidentally has people not 100 feet away washing themselves and their laundry in it). Today, there were no cremations on the covered pyres, only some lazy cows looking for respite from the heat.
Back on the bumpy bus, the jihad and hang-over both subsided. We arrived in the 5 horse town of Sundarijal. Since I haphazardly threw things into my pack in the blur of the morning, I spent 5 minutes getting organized and setting up my trekking pole. I look up, and everyone had already begun their ascent of the hill. Stupidly, I forgot to buy more water, and I secretly prayed that my measly 200ml would last me until I could buy more.
I bowed my head and proceeded to make my way up the mountain. Well, mountain is a relative term. It was 2500 metres high, but in Nepal they laugh at you if you try to call it a mountain. As proof that this is nothing but a minor hill, they have built a concrete staircase to take you almost to the top. Bravely, I tried to make my way up the stairs. But, due to a freak chorus line accident when I was 17, my knee immediately began its protest and swelled up an ached. Now stairs have always been a problem for me and my knee, perhaps because my legs just are not the length required for that kind of repetitive strain, but today was especially bad. Perhaps it was partly due to my hangover and the jihad in my gut, or perhaps it was just the thought of being confronted with 1200 vertical metres of the concrete bastards, but my poor knee decided to give out. It poofed up like a blowfish and felt spikey to match. I knew my gimpy gait would be the source of much evening merriment, as people would try to imitate my attempts to mount each step. After much sweating and struggling, and almost no water, I made it to the lunch rest point and immediately asked, "how many more stairs are there?!" I tell you, using the squat toilets at this point was a bit of a challenge. Everyone was worried about me and my ability to complete this part of the trek before dark. I am a stubborn cow, however, and refused to let either my embarassment or my pain hold me back. I would relent slightly though. One of our guides offered to carry my pack for me and I consented to letting him carry it to the top of the next round of stairs. Poor Mr. Nabaraj! This was his first trek as a guide, and there he was, looking like a pack-yak with his backpack, a drum, and my pack all lashed to his back. I was mortified! But, one foot in front of the other, and before I knew it, the stairs had ended. We were almost at the top of the mountain, um hill, now. Nowhere to be found was my pack (with all my newly purchased water in it) or Mr Nabaraj. And although the stairs had ended, the trail went straight up hill. I still couldn`t bend my knee more than maybe 15 degrees. The rest of the group was nowhere to be found. It was just Nicole and I, and Himal. A good guide will follow up the rear to make sure that all the wee lambs are doing OK, but we had long ago kicked Himal out from behind us. A baby could have crawled up the hill faster than I could have at that point, and having someone behind me made me feel like I was being pushed. But, there he was, the ever-patient Himal, walking ahead and then stopping and waiting for us just around every turn. I was feeling MUCH better now that the stairs had ended, even though I still couldn`t bend my leg. Poor Nicole was now feeling the effects of the hangover, and she required more and more frequent breaks. We made a trade - I`d carry her pack for her if she would give me a few sips of her precious water. Done deal. We started taking breaks just to enjoy our surroundings. Looking back over the valley, we could see waterfalls, forest, and Kathmandu in the distance. Every once in a while, we would pass through a collection of houses and the children would shout "Namaste!" or more often, "Hello! Sweet? Pen? Rupee?" at us. In the distance, we could hear the soft tinkling of a cow bell, and we knew that the ubiquitous animal would be waiting for us just around the next bend. Or the next.
We stopped for a rest at the top of the mountain. Ours was a short respite, as the rest of the group was about 30 minutes ahead of us now. To be honest, I liked our leisurely pace. I liked to smell the flowers (and manure) on the breeze. I liked to stop to watch families at play and goats bounding through the hills. I liked laughing and talking with Nicole and our guides. I liked to feel the heat on my face and the cool, curry scented wind that would come along and cool my parched lips. I liked to look over the valley and watch the soft glow of the sun sinking further away from us. The quietude. The movement and pace of life. The soft dirt under my feet. I wanted to stay in this moment forever.
But alas, it was time to press on. Both Himal and Mr Nabaraj had now disappeared. The trail turned downhill and Nicole started racing ahead. Soon, I found myself to be completely alone, surrounded by nothing that wasn`t provided by Mother Nature. Over the ridge the scenery had changed. Houses were more distant, the mists were filling up the far side valley, and dark clouds that threatened rain with every step coloured the forests a deeper shade of green. I no longer cared if I made it to the lodge before dark. I just wanted to drink it all in, lazily and entirely.
Suddenly, Himal appeared from the bushes, carrying a handful of rhodedendrons - Nepal`s national flower. We stopped for a moment to admire the view, and he pointed out where our lodges were in the distance. We stood in silence for a bit, and then carried on, walking in silence and contemplating the beauty of this place.
Without fanfare, we arrived at our teahouse. We were, in fact, only about 20 minutes later than the rest of the group. There, on my bunk, was my backpack and the 2 litres of water I desperately wanted to consume. I heard the sounds of the drum we had brought along, and I looked out the window to see a group of children sitting on a table and drinking it. Two chickens were ordered from the town for our evening`s dinner. We sang and talked and drank beer as the dark clouds consumed the remaining sky. The chickens were brought for inspection, clucking and flapping. I followed the men to the back and said a brief "Namaste" to the birds just before their necks were wrung and their throats slit. We spent the evening teaching the children of that one-horse town English songs and dancing and drinking. Perhaps from the drink, perhaps from all the fresh air, we all started to fall asleep. We had made it up the first part of our trek - 8 kilometres (7 of which were uphill) in about 5 hours. We had 20 kilometres to walk the next day, and a 6am wake-up call to see the Himalayas. Our bellies full of chicken and dahl, and our souls full of music and new-found friendships, we climbed into our pajamas and soon were all asleep.
Sabine . 11:15 PM . Comments
Monday, April 07, 2003
Resham Firiri
Here is a Nepali Folk Song that was taught to us at the worksite. At first, it became our brick-carrying mantra and bus-riding mantra. It seems that most of our work consisted of carrying about 16000 bricks 500 metres from the road to the site, shovelling dirt, mixing cement, and carrying sand. One team had to carry theirs across what was lovingly termed "the river of shit" - which was, in fact, where the refuse from a tannery was deposited. I visited their site to discover the leg and placenta of some poor large animal being chewed upon by dogs - not a pleasant journey to make about 500 times in a day!!! Anyway, the song helped us take our minds off the work and concentrate on something else. It seems that EVERYONE in Nepal knows this song, and we ended up singing it ALL the time.
The best was when we sang it on the last night of the trek - we had a bonfire and our guides had brought along a drum and a flute - it was so awesome dancing around the fire to traditional music.
The funniest was most certainly when we got a ride home on a bus from the restaurant, "Mike`s Breakfast" and both the driver and his friend (a guy who was sitting on a sheepskin rug at the front of the bus) were plastered. (It`s OK - everyone drives like they`re drunk in Nepal). This guy asked us where we had been staying and we told him the name of our town. He kept shouting out "chapaGAOn!" the entire ride as he slid around the front of the bus on his rug (almost went through the windscreen a few times). To entertain him and the rest of us, we all sang this song an insane number of times.
The cutest was a tie: when kids were around while we were carrying bricks, they`d dance and wave their arms around while singing this song, and the second one was when we were at the teahouse in Chisapani and all the kids in the 5-house town came by to play the drum and exchange songs. The refrains of Resham Firiri were only broken long enough so that everyone could watch our dinner (two roosters) being slaughtered. Ahhhhh....my memories of Nepal will forever be tied to this song. I wish I could find it on line and post a link - but alas - no sound card on my computer!
Thank you, Mr. Ram (one of our guides) for providing me with the words and the translation.
Mr. Ram: "Bundles of thank all of you for the gratitude. It is my pleasure"
The Song:
Resham firiri, resham firiri
Udeyara jounkee dandaa ma bhanjyang
Resham firiri.
My heart is fluttering like silk in the wind. I can not decide whether to fly or to sit on the hill top
Ek nale bunduk, dui nale bunduk, mirga lai take ko.
Mirga lai mailey take ko hoeina maya lai daukey ko.
One barrelled gun, two barrelled gun, targeted at a deer. It`s not the deer that I`m aiming at, but at my love
Resham firiri, resham firiri
Udeyara jounkee dandaa ma bhanjyang
Resham Firiri
Saano ma sano gaiko bachho bhirai ma, Ram, Ram
Chodreh jauna sakena mailey, baru maya songhai jaum
The tiny baby calf is in danger on the precipice, I couldn`t leave it there. Let`s go together my love.
Resham Firiri, resham firiri
Udeyara jaunkee, dandaa ma bhanjyang
Resham firiri
Kodo charyo, makai charyo, dhan chareko chaina
Pachi, pachina au kanchi manpareko chaina.
Millet is planted, corn is planted, but not the rice. Don`t follow me little girl because I don`t like you. (?? interesting ending to an otherwise romantic song...!)
Resham Firiri, resham firiri
Udeyara jaunkee danda ma bhanjyang
Resham firiri
(repeat until blue in the face)
Then there`s Dan`s version:
Resham Firiri, resham firiri
climb up a mountain, fall down a mountain,
Resham firiri.
Or, the dirty version, as told to me by a friend in Nepal:
Resham firiri, resham firiri
Sometimes f*cking, sometimes rocking
Resham firiri.
So, there you have it. I wish I could get the tune for you, or even find a programme where I could write out the tune for you all - will have to consult the new music teacher here (incidentally, my new downstairs neighbour!)
:)
Sabine . 10:25 PM . Comments
Sunday, April 06, 2003
More Lessons.
Those who were there will know where I`m coming from on these...
Many people will walk in and out of your life.
But only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.
To handle yourself, use your head;
To handle others, use your heart.
Anger is only one letter short of danger.
If someone betrays you once, it is his fault;
If he betrays you twice, it is your fault.
Great minds discuss ideas;
Average minds discuss events;
Small minds discuss people.
He, who loses money, loses much;
He, who loses a friend, loses much more;
He, who loses faith, loses all.
Learn from the mistakes of others.
You can't live long enough to make them all yourself.
Sabine . 11:17 PM . Comments
Lessons
I just came back from the most incredible trip of my life! I have never been challenged more in such a short time, and I have never grown so much in that time either.
Nepal is a glorious country. At first, driving to the hotel from the airport, I could only see the dirt and despair. I thought, "they are so poor and unlucky!" Now I realize that it is US who are poor and unlucky. We have things but they have each other. I think now that there is nothing more beautiful than children playing with empty water bottles, people sitting on the side of the road around a big pot of chai (or "chia" in Nepali). There is nothing more beautiful than sitting around a fire with friends, and having nothing but a simple drum and flute and singing and dancing the night away. There is nothing wrong with walking from town to town, it only takes time. Time is something that one has in Nepal, but not here in our overly busy lives. I learned that I could find more pleasure in talking with real people than in watching people talk on TV. I learned that carrying a basket on your head is easier than carrying a backpack.
I learned that everyone can help if he/she wants to. There was a little three year old boy who saw us all carrying bricks to build the house. He wanted to help, but he didn`t know what to do. He approached me as I was making the long journey from the house to the road where the bricks were dumped. Without saying a word, he grabbed hold of my gloved finger and walked with me to the pile of bricks. Back and forth we went all day - when I was carrying bricks, he`d walk beside me. When my hands were free, he`d hold onto that finger. I gained more strength from that three year-old boy than I have gained from most adults in my life. He helped me so that I could help others.
Everyone can do something, even if your hands are only big enough to wrap around a finger...
Sabine . 10:34 PM . Comments
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