Welcome, Day 100!

It's here! Our 100^th day on the road. We left October 16^th, and now it's January 23^rd.

That said, it's been nuts. We've been all over the place (so far: Japan, China, Tibet, Nepal, and India), heard all sorts of languages, and walked probably more than is healthy. 

Just joking. You can never walk too much.

So, what am I doing to celebrate our 100^th day? Writing this blog post, full of small snippets of our life over the past hundred days.

Before I begin, though, something Melly, a friend from the Write Write And Write group, said before we left:

Write Your World (amino): Coincidence

Write Your World (amino): Coincidence: (this was first published in Maria's blog)

On the last day in Nepal, while hurrying up and down three flights of stairs in order to eat breakfast, make our bags, tell people the food was ready… grab the Nutella (have I ever mentioned our recent obsession with Nutella?)… etc.

THREE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS.

While buttering my slices of toast and spreading jam on them, Mom was talking to a young Asian woman in her early twenties about writing and our travels. Mom introduced me, and we talked a bit about writing blog posts (here's a secret: writing about traveling is hard), gave her our card (we're that cool!), and said goodbye, hurrying down three flights of stairs to check underneath our beds, shake out the sheets, and in general make sure that important things like plastic spoons and razors were not forgotten.

Asian TRAFFIC

We have had a hard time dodging Asian traffic.

It is crazy, except in Japan. There you get nice drivers who pay attention to the rules. You can wait for a long time for the traffic light to change. Most people in Japan wait through this, even if there are no cars.

Then you get in China and you feel like people don’t care if they run you over. They just want to get to their destination, but of course they care that they might break their car. In some parts of China they have built bridges where you can go over traffic, YAY!

That's just some. In China and Tibet (which is in China) the traffic wouldn’t stop, so we usually followed the locals, or time really well, and RUN!

Nepal was mostly the same with narrower streets and so is India. Here we jumped into a bus while it was moving, because the drivers don’t stop, they just slow down.

If you are reading this, it means we are ALIVE!

Guitars & Nepal

blog: 1. (noun) a personal website or web page on which an individual records opinions, links to other sites, etc., on a regular basis. 2. (verb) add new material to or regularly update a blog.

Well, that was helpful. I still don’t know how to blog.

Anyways, y’all didn’t get a blogpost on Nepal from me. So sorry about that. I like to blame lack of computer due to selfish parents, but then again, I’m biased.

Nepal in one word: Phantasmagorical (I swear to you I did not make that word up).

Nepal in more words: gorgeous. Great. Loud. Noisy. Fascinating. Colorful. Ridiculously interesting. Great temples. Cool people. Epic clothes. Fun.

All in all, I loved Nepal. I loved seeing the temples (did not love reading up on them beforehand, though), and I loved seeing the clothes, and, sadly enough, I loved walking by the guitar store and nearly bursting into tears*. Our hotel was right outside a school, and I actually liked hearing all the kids screaming and laughing outside (I didn’t like the kid upstairs, though, who, according to Mom, was playing with a hammer). The only part I didn’t like were the vaccinations, as I do not, in general, like vaccinations.

*This is the part where I start moaning in regret. The things I miss most from home are my piano and guitar. I’ve been studying piano since I was six, and have been avoiding it religiously ever since my first lesson. Guitar, however, I’ve only been studying since I was eleven, and avoided just as religiously until this summer, when I started to play it much more often. But now that I’ve gone and there is no way for me to play them (Apps are not adequate replacements), I’d like to go home and spend a ridiculously huge amount of time just playing**.

**Of course not “just playing”! I have compositions to compose! Accompaniments to arrange!

Oh God I sound like Maria.

Ahem. Anyways, I’ve been informed that blogposts don’t have to be a million words long. Just 500 is OK. So, I’m just going to talk about Chitwan, Nepal, which was the most epickingest part of Nepal (I didn’t make that word up either. Your spellcheck, however, will disagree).

To reach Chitwan from Kathmandu, a bus must be taken. The road will occasionally have bumps, but it’s mostly a smooth ride. After many hours, Chitwan is reached. We get to Sapana Lodge, which is beautiful and bright, and are given the welcome drink, which is delicious. Naran, the manager, comes up to us to discuss rooms (we’d originally booked two, but they had an overbooking problem and he wanted to know if we were willing to have just one big room instead), program (if we want to go to the village, through the jungle, bird-watching, canooing, etc.), prices, etc. We go to our one big room and quickly acquaint ourselves with three little girls and an even littler boy. I cannot remember their names for the life of me, but they were very sweet and would kiss us, hug us, put flowers in our hair, and ask for pens, hairties, money, candy, and my crucifix. The pens we needed and didn’t give, the hairtie I wouldn’t have minded giving if it hadn’t been my only purple one (sobs into handkerchief), candy I did not have, and my crucifix was mine, and, considering how possessive I can be of my things, I’m surprised they escaped unscathed (I think it was the cuteness factor). And as for the money, before we left the US, I took out all the cash from my wallet ($6) and put it in one of the many pockets from my Scottevest, which was what I’d been wearing when we met the children. As they were putting flowers in our hair, it occurred to Maria that she and Mom needed hairties (of which I was in possession). The hairties were in the same pocket as the money. Later, as I was putting the hairties away, one of the girls stuck her hand in my pocket and came out with the cash. She gave one to each of them and kept one for herself, then gave me the remaining two dollars. They hugged me and left. Since then, I have not carried cash longer than necessary.

That evening we went to a Tharu village not that far from the lodge and we met with more children. They asked us our names and we asked them theirs, and some brought us flowers. One of the little boys took to taking dramatic poses and shouting, “ILENA!”* at the top of his lungs. Pretty soon all the kids where shouting my name and by the time we left the village, I had my hands and my hair full of flowers.

*Meeting non-Romanians that can pronounce my name properly is just short of astounding, and results in having that non-Romanian reaching a very high level of respect in my eyes (so far it’s just Nick). For those who can’t say my name, Ilena/Alana is [just barely] acceptable. Nicknames are suitable.

On the way back from the village I ceremoniously dropped the flowers on the Grandmother River and watched them float away. I kept the little boy’s purple flower in my hair, though.

After dinner there was a Tharu stick dance demonstration. It was pretty much indescribable. It was like martial arts a bit, but still dance. It reminded me a bit of the hora, which is a traditional Romanian dance, mostly because of the dancing around in a circle, I guess, and probably the white outfits. After they showed us the harvest dance, the fire dance, the war dance, and more—there was one last dance in which they asked us to join in. I failed worse than snowman with a hairdryer, but GOLDARNIT I HAD FUN.

The first full day in Chitwan was spent like so: a lovely elephant ride through the jungle, where we saw trees, leaves, plants, and occasionally even (gasp!!!) animals. It was lovely, so long as you ignored the elephant driver as he beat the poor elephant with his stick, but besides that it was gorgeous. Then, after the elephant riding, we went elephant washing. It was very wet. But it was amazing! The elephant is so huge and so rough, but so soft and loving... I can’t believe that such a huge animal, one which could easily overcome an unarmed human, puts up with the sort of treatment it receives from its handler. Not all handlers are bad, though. As we were walking into the jungle for the elephant ride, we passed a handler and his elephant. He was sitting on the elephant’s neck, eating crackers, then the elephant would then reach up with his trunk and would receive a cracker.

After the washing, we lazed around in the room, attempted to connect to internet, and in Maria’s case, swung in hammocks, until the evening where we took a canoe ride to the elephant breeding center, which, unlike the Beijing Zoo, did not have cages, but was no less saddening.

The next day, Ioan and Dad were going to go bird-watching, but Ioan had developed a fever from the Typhoid shot, and so stayed home, to his infinite sadness. Mom stayed in the room with him as Maria and I played badmington with Jamal our waiter, Paras the assistant cook, and another waiter. Then Dad came back from bird-watching and it was Maria and Jamal vs. Dad and I. They won, but only because the wind was on their side. Then Dad and Jamal faced off and Jamal won again. I played a bit of football soccer with Jamal as Maria played more badminton, and then we went back to our room.

Later, I was writing outside as Jamal was drying the glasses. One thing that I’d noticed about him was that he liked to sing, but, unfortunately for me, he sang quietly. So I asked him what he was singing.

“Nepali love song,” he said.

“Oh. Will you sing it for me?” I asked, being the insatiably curious one that I am.

“Nooooo,” he said, embarrassed. “What about you, do you sing?”

“Well, um, yeah. You know. A bit.”

“Sing something for me,” he said, making encouraging gestures.

“Oh, okay.” I said. “I like to ride with a jungle-machine repair man. Na na na na na na na na na... He was high on individualism. I’ve never been there but the brochure looks nice... Jump in, let’s go. Lay back, enjoy the show. Everybody gets high, everybody gets low. These are the days when anything goes. Everyday is a winding road... I get a little bit closer. Everyday is a na na sigh... I get a little bit closer, I’m feeling fine.” (In my defense, I don’t really know this song. It was just stuck in my head since the elephant ride.)

Jamal clapped, complimented my voice, and asked for another. The result was “Fearless” by Taylor Swift. He said I sang like this boy, he didn’t know the name... The waiter from earlier came over with his cellphone and they found the singer, so I came over and listened to one of Justin Bieber’s earlier singles. Is it okay to be told you sing like Justin Bieber if you’re a girl? Dad’s bird-watching guide came over too and they asked me to sing more. I brought out my iTouch and sang some of my own lyrics. They recorded me, took pictures and video, and added their compliments to Jamal’s. Almost thirty feet over, the director, Dhruba, heard me and shouted that my voice was beautiful and that he thought someone was playing a CD. Then he said the most beautiful thing that I had ever heard in my whole entire life: his friend had a guitar, and they could bring it over tonight. Naturally, my reaction was, “A guitar?!! Where?!! When?!! Can I have it now? Can I keep it?” but instead I just said, “Really? Thanks!” (how unoriginal).

All throughout dinner, everyone was coming up to me saying that, sorry, the friend is late, but he is coming and we can play around the campfire after dinner. Then, when the friend arrived and the food was eaten, they ushered me to the campfire and I played.

And then, the worst possible thing happened: I forgot all the chords.

Naturally not the lyrics. Lyrics can be sung in the shower and at the top of one’s lungs in empty hotel rooms. But chords require guitars (or guitar apps). But I’d forgotten to copy the chords to my songs somewhere other than in notebooks. Which happened to be in a big, plastic box. Beneath my bed. At home.

(Lucky me, I know exactly which notebook. It’s green, spiral-bound, has 70 sheets, cost about ten cents, and has “Thirteen” written in black ink on the cover. The chords are on the last page of “At a Gas Station”, which is in the middle of the notebook.)

Even luckier, I still remembered the chords to my favorite song I’d written, “Last Time (The Rain Falls)”, “Na Na Na (Campfire Song)” also by me, and “I Love You” by Avril Lavigne. The guitarist friend played more songs, mostly Nepali songs, but also Pink Floyd. At one point he asked me who my favorite singers were, to which I quite naturally said Guns N’ Roses.

“Do you know ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door’?” he asked.

The answer was a yes, so he played it and I sang along. Later we also sang my all-time favorite, “Don’t Cry”, which I forgot the lyrics to.

Of course, I was not the only one singing. Mom sang a song about a man who meets a wolf, to whom he says, “Don’t eat me, wait for my wife.” The wife comes along and the man says, “You can eat me or my wife, better yet, eat my mother-in-law!” Another of the guests who’d heard me singing the day before sang a song like “Just look on the bright side of life...” All in all, we had the most lovely time around the campfire, singing and guitar-playing. I hated leaving the next day, but while waiting for the parents to get in the jeep to get to the bus, Maria and I started planning.

“When I come back here,” I said, “I’m bringing Lydia and Ingrid.”

“I’m bringing Helen.” Said Maria. “Oh, but I have to take her to France first.”

“Maybe I should bring Michael?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Um, because it’s Michael, and he’s sweet and fun and hilarious?”

“Yeah, but still.”

Write Your World (amino): Dec 14, 2011: The Kumari

Write Your World (amino): Dec 14, 2011: The Kumari: Nepali religion includes the Kumari ; aka Living Goddess. She is chosen from the young girls of the Buddhist sect born on the full moon of...

Write Your World (amino): Dec 12, 2011: Nepali Religion

Write Your World (amino): Dec 12, 2011: Nepali Religion: Nepal practices both Buddhism and Hinduism. Added to the enormous amounts of Hindu gods and goddesses are the Buddhas. It's hard to u...

Nepal

Namaste Nepal!

We’re driving on a zig-zag road with a slope at variable angles. We’re coming down from the rarefied atmosphere of the Tibetan plateau toward the place where clouds are born. The first wave of humidity spoils our lungs: how easy it is to breathe! From the valley white steam is rising and clings onto branches from the opposite mountain. There is so much green and we even see flowers. We’re close to the border. In the town, the houses are backed by the mountain, the road is so narrow, very little space for trucks. It’s a mix of people and clothes. We cross the border on the Friendship Bridge. It is a simple one that unites two different worlds. Best foot forward over the yellow line: “Welcome to Nepal” said a guy who noticed my gesture.

On the Nepali side the houses are in the process of being constructed and used in the same time. They are tall and narrow, with three floors. The business is always on the first floor: a tea house, a store or a travel agency.

We wait for the private car to take us to Kathmandu. I leave them at the immigration office and with Ioan I take a climbing road to take some pictures. We climb in search of a spot from where we could take a photo of the valley, but vegetation covers everything. Finally we arrive in a hamlet.....heeeey, I took a picture of this one from the Tibetan side. It looks idyllic, roofs made of straw, the creek beside the fence, red flowers, green terraces...

Water, there is an abundance of water, flowing freely between rocks, making waterfalls, it is captured in hoses and released in faucets covered with a rag, so it will not splash. Women sit and scrub the laundry with soap, and then with a brush and after that they rinse. Water is carried in buckets on a shoulder stick to the construction site, it is sprinkled on the floor before sweeping... what century are we in?

We meet with Anu, a cousin of the hotel owner from Kathmandu, and we climb into minivan. They drive on the right side. Immediately the driver starts honking, he drives on the wrong side of the road between trucks which transport goods to and from the border. At one point our driver is forced to wait and turn off the engine; in front of us is a line of trucks that are driving on the correct side of the road (the side without pot holes). In the curve made by the road in a streamlet is a woman crouching and scrubbing the lunch plates with dust to clean them. The last truck signals to us with the headlights that no one is coming after him and that we can continue on our way.

There are many signs that we are in another country. The road hugs the mountain, but whereas in Tibet it was asphalted and the pot hole areas were announced by large red rocks in the middle of the road, in Nepal it’s just pot holes. If you look up, you see the piles of sand and rocks which slipped down last monsoon season. Occasionally we drive on a brand new road, as Maria termed it, newly dug because the old one fell apart in the monsoon. Only now do we understand Tsewang’s and the driver’s eagerness to leave the valley quickly—if something happens to the road, there is no way to go anywhere for a few days.

The honks are different: short, hurried, repeated —tit-ti-ti-ti-TIIIIIIIT! I won’t even mention the ones with melodies. The driver accelerates for a few meters and then brakes so hard our noses hit the seats in front, just so he can pass over a hole. However hard he tries, he can’t surpass 40 km/h (25 mph).

In wider areas there is sometimes a village, with the houses built close together. Most of them are unfinished brick. The old ones are from adobe. All of them have corn ears hung up to dry on the roof’s rafters.  On the unfinished stories the rice sheaffs, the corn or other agricultural products are drying. In front of them some short, improvized shed shelters a bag with weeds from which some goats are eating. Rice is strewn over the road and we drive over them to thrash it. A bit further, it is winnowed with a huge plateau by a woman dressed in a saree.

We pass through the mountains, but the road is still hanging on the side of the hills. The valley offers us a privileged view of the opposing hills. The road is constantly on the crest. Here, also, is the greatest concentration of people and houses. The stairs start where it becomes steep, next to the terraces and water. I continuously look out the window and the landscape keeps its elements: road, houses with yellow, brown, green terraces, without pause. Like Peruvian roads they’re surrounded by rocks, but only set on top of each other, without any special care. 

As we get closer to Kathmandu, the road gets more crowded and passing is a bit more rare. There is almost continuous honking, like a sort of announcement—I’m approaching the curb, pay attention. The differences between the city and village are mainly the height of the buildings and the greater concentration of people, cars, and garbage. A woman rocked her baby at the second floor of a block that had no walls, despite the fact that the ground floor was finished and with windows. The street exists and is asphalted (and with holes, but smaller), but the sidewalk is nonexistent, the people walk through dust. On the side, the store-owners struggle with little broom to sweep the dust from the steps, but in a few minutes it’s back. The wares are dusted several times a day with hands, rags, brooms. The dust enters between your teeth and you begin to understand why they keep spitting. Where does all this dust come from? On a radius of 50 meters we have at least four construction sites and a demolition site.

We reach Thamel, Kathmandu’s touristic quarter. There are lots of shops full of souvenirs, clothes, and restaurants. On the four rows of narrow, outside-opening double-doors, the wares are hung. On the stairs sit baskets, and between them sits the owner and maybe a few friends with whom he speaks. In general they’re quiet, but it’s enough to catch your eye and they start to speak... in English! How easy it is to make yourself understood, to ask for an extra blanket because you’re cold, to ask for “not spicy” food. The majority of the people speak English, not just the ones in the tourist business. The slogan “Education is the national defense” makes sense.

We finish the day at the Italian restaurant Alchemy at the hotel’s ground floor, because we’re starving, tired and we don’t have any energy to search for some edible Nepali food.  During our stay in Kathmandu we will return again and again to eat here because the food is good and the staff is friendly.

One of the things we have to do in Nepal is to vaccinate ourselves against rabies, yellow fever and typhoid. In United States it would cost us $4000 for all five of us while here it’s only $650. We weighed the decision if we should get an anti-rabies vaccine or not and in the end it mattered that one lick on a little scratch and you have to have five injections instead of three, two in the first 24 hours. What if we are on some mountain top attacked by hungry monkeys? How do we know that if we get to the hospital they have what they need? The other two vaccines are necessary because we intend to get to Africa in endemic areas.

Teak door with Buddhist motifs.

It was a little hard to find the clinic, there are no clear addresses and even the neighbors cannot tell you clearly where it is. The first impression was of a country dispensary. They had an old consult table in the office, a metal screen with a curtain, a baby scale with sliding weights on the top of the cabinet, but they had new posters on the walls. The people were very nice and the nurse was very careful to show us the expiration date on the vaccines and to give us the shots.

We immediately took homeopathic remedies to prevent the pain and the toxicity (Vaccinotoxinum, Arnica C5, Horse serum C30, and because the next day we were tired and grumpy I added Drenor Hepatic and Solidago C7). For those interested we did not have pain with movement, just at touch, Ioan is the only one who had fever, three days after.

“We don’t have pictures from Nepal!” Mihai declared while trying to find some to put on the blog. I know, and we have many reasons for this. I read a book written in 1923, Percy Brown’s “Picturesque Nepal”, he described two types of architecture and their distribution in the country, depending on what areas were conquered and when. Now all the building are about the same: narrow, cramped, decayed or unplastered. Filth everywhere, garbage, bags of cement or rubble in the middle of the street. 

The temples, so white and free in Brown’s pictures, are now hidden under dust or merchandise. We tried to take a walking trip to the Durbar Square (the Palace Square), reading along the way about the temples that we passed by. We gave up after 1,500 meters, flooded with too much information and by too many people. We should be open to the differences, as we try to learn more about this culture, but it is very hard to understand their religion, a mix of Hinduism and Buddhism. In Tibet, Tsewang did a very good job, I was able to learn the ABCs of Buddhism, I was able to recognize the statues. Here there are three gods, they reincarnate under different manifestations, plus their wives, their children, the demons, I don’t know where they come from... I can accept this, as well as the symbols of fertility, but I had enough with what is to me a lack of respect: they are on the ground, at dogs level, I could step on them by accident, some are so old they are underground, and the blessing red paste that they add every day gives them a dirty appearance.

On the second try we took a guide, as we stepped out of the cab. He asked us where are we from and he excitedly showed us Romanian money. Prakash (pronounced Prah-KAHS) walked us through the three squares, telling us about the new palace (looks like the Bank of England), the old palace, in dreadful shape, with cracks in the brick walls and bent teak windows (there were some wood scaffoldings in front of it, I presume they are going to renovate it), about the temples, which one’s who’s and how to recognize them from the animal that is in front of it (Maria described it here), the hippies who came and found a country without laws for what they wanted so they expressed themselves fully, about Kumari, the living goddess ( read here), about customs.

To the left a Hindu temple, to the right the Old Palace.

The courtyard of the living goddess' house,  Kumari.

Detail of the courtyard step.

Detail of a window, front of Kumari's house.

Kumari house. The golden thing on the roof is the representation of the way to Nirvana.

This is where one could find the constructions described by Brown, those reddish buildings, with decorative teak windows, that would allow the regal family to see outside, but not to be seen, delicate wood sculpture, simple interior courtyard. We climbed the steps of the Hari Krishna temple, just to have a view, but we saw the same dirt and disorder. I looked inside a Hindu temple and saw the women sitting on the floor in every direction. I was told that they were praying. In some other place it was a god with a face of a demon (painted in loud colors). Once a year beer pours out of his mouth and men fight each other to drink it.

Courtyard with temples, Buddhist and Hindu.

Two Buddhist temples and around them, the market.

Hindu Temple

Wherever you turn you find a Ganesh, a lingam or the feminine equivalent, a six point star, a Buddha. In the guide’s words, the Nepalese want that the first thing that they do to be religion related, then they will have a good day. So that’s why every courtyard has a small Hindu and Buddhist temple. If one wants to reach Nirvana one has to do good karma, good deeds. If one gives money, because he has them, it doesn’t count, but if the one who receives them is happy, then karma is good. If you give him money to go to school, and instead uses them for drugs, your karma is good, his is not. If you believe in Shiva, he will help you, if you don’t believe, then this is just a rock and you have no gain.

Swayambhunath temple or the monkeys' temple

Prayer at the Swayambhunath temple.

Swayambhunath Temple, the one that so many Tibetans dream to visit, is swarming with monkeys, dogs, hawks and vendors. The praying hall is small, and the monks, gathering for the evening prayers, gave me the impression that they were just doing their job. Nothing from the austere atmosphere and quiet resistance from Gyantse. But we had the Kathmandu valley at our feet.

Patan's Palace Square

Temple in the Durbar Square, Patan

An emperor had three sons and he divided his kingdom in three parts, so they would not quarrel. But after he died, they did fight each other. Patan is one of those kingdoms and it has a single square with temples, statues, water fountain and palace. It was clean and neat. We hired another guide who told us many things about the king and the royal family, the Nepalese garuda (the vehicle of transport of one of the gods, lion body with wings) has a human face, not a bird one, like the Indonesian one, and those two kiosks were actually two beds, on which people who visited the city for different reasons would sleep (the motel business wasn’t started yet). I don’t understand what was special about the golden temple, maybe just that the priests would heal the different ailments of people with vibrations of a bowl. We were taken for a demonstration and saw the droplets of water jumping from the outside toward inside because of vibration and I felt its concentration in my chest when he put it on my head (this gave me a headache, which it would have been cured if I had it in the beginning). We also visited the museum, started with Austrian help, with few objects and succinct explanations (though too many for our brain’s hard-drive, as Ioan says).

The people with whom we had contact were very nice and obliging. “You just have to tell us and it will be done” it was their answer to anything. Dhanyabad, thank you.

The days spend in Chitwan were nice and relaxing. We slept at Sapana Lodge Village, a few villas, an office and a riverside restaurant. Started with Netherlands funds, the project invests part of the earnings in a local school. The first night we saw traditional Tharu dances: war dance, New Year dance, Thakara— for harvest, Thumara dower (?) — when someone dies, friends try to bring a smile to the relatives’ faces, boys dressing in girl’s clothes, the fire dance and Jilly, wedding dance. We were invited to participate in the last one.

Around us where blooming mustard fields, buffalos, goats, elephants and Tharu villages. Originally they are Hindus who used to live in the jungle, but since the park started they were forced to live outside of it and learn a new skill: agriculture. Their houses are from elephant’s grass, a kind of reed, that is coated with mud and dung. They rebuild them every year, leaving just a small part of uncoated reeds for a window. 

A mat hanged on a wood frame stops the mice and snakes. They embellish them with their right hand fingerprints in different colors (the left hand is considered unclean). The roof is from straw. Women who already have a tattoo cook on an open hearth and their chopping block is a two stone system.

Water comes from a well with a bucket or from a pump (we saw an elephant drinking from one, his trunk glued to it and the owner pumping; when the trunk was full, the owner would stop and the elephant would empty the trunk in his mouth). The weights are carried in a basket on their back supported by a  strap on their foreheads.

Even here are many construction sites because of the park that brings tourists. At the corner is a general store, and next to it is the butcher, today he has chicken, what part of it would you like? When we visited the village we were surrounded by children. Learning our children’s names they started repeating them, especially Ileana’s. They were having fun before evening’s chores.

In Kathmandu women wear saree or dhaka, a knee-length shirt with pants. Hair in a pony-tail or a low bun, bindi (over the “third eye”) and a red color in the middle of the hairline if they are married. Men wear western clothes. In front of our hotel there was a middle school where children dressed in uniforms were learning in classrooms without doors, windows without panes, repeating after their teacher or one of their classmates reading from a book, from 10 to 4 pm. They had a lunch break to go home and eat. In recess they would go in the courtyard and jump rope or play with a small ball. Saturday is free and they have two vacations of 10 days, plus many religious holidays spread around the year. Soldiers are present all over the place and they will check your papers, but is not the same feeling as in China. They are relaxed, they smile, they are just doing their job.

Farewell Nepal! Namaste!

Nepal by day

"I don't understand all these people, from Germany, Thailand, Romania... From America, Japan, Romania, what do they find in Nepal? I don't understand why they come here!" said my taxi driver. We are returning from the Thai Embassy and I am probably the first Romanian that he took there. He pointed to me the new American Embassy, an absurdly huge and bunkered construction that could house half of Nepal, but it's actually designed to keep Nepal out. He also pointed to me a couple of other embassies and the palace of the former king's son. Theoretically, the king, now deposed, is living in a simple two bedroom apartment, but from different people I learned that he is a very rich businessman and they need his business in the country, that he has a summer and a winter residence, and, now the taxi driver shows me the son's residence guarded by the army and protected by huge walls. I never had a chance to explain to my driver why people come to Nepal, but I listened to him complaining about their politicians and I assured him, that they are just as bad all over the world, surely in Romania and America. Possibly, with only the five years of democracy their politicians might be better than ours, just beginners, players in the little leagues.
I would have explained to him that people come to Nepal because it has some of the most important historical relics in the world, the highest mountain range, some interesting cultures and a great tropical jungle. But he probably knows that.
As we left China, we crossed the Friendship Bridge. Ileana wanted to take a picture but we were still on the Chinese side and somebody stopped us. Two Chinese soldiers stood at the half point, no Nepalese soldiers countered them, an amoebaen crowd by foot on this small, sorry bridge. When I read about it, I imagined a fantastic construction, but it's nothing. We entered Nepal. I read Marie's account of her trip, and I did not want not to miss the immigration booth. It's there, down the road, after a few houses. We are clearly in a different country, the mix of people is a bit different, but mostly there is something in the air. It's freedom. It's the lack of a militaristic attitude, people smile differently, they wear their head on their shoulder differently.
We travelled for several hours on the worst road we've ever seen, they call it highway and it's a vital link for Nepal. Obviously not as important as their connections to India, but this is the only road to China. It gets washed out in some sections during the monsoon season, they redo it every year. At some point we saw our road and below and above the remnants of the roads from past years. The occasional potholes on the Chinese highway turned into occasional patches of asphalt. We were in a banged up van, Ioan was unhappy that the driver drove too fast. He mostly stopped, waiting for trucks to pass the opposite way, but sometimes he sped up to 30-40 km per hour, for 10-20 seconds at a time. We stopped at some point to see some bungy jumpers, and another time at some restaurant. The landscape was magnificent, the mountains, the river below, the vegetation. On the side of the highway, people and horrible constructions, maybe their houses. Slowly but surely, the road got better, the houses got bigger and nicer, we passed a couple of little towns, after a while we entered the Kathmandu Valley. We went through Bhaktapur, we would have to come to visit here, but later. There were several lines per sense, occasional police officers directing traffic. We got to our hotel after more than 5 hours for 111 km. There are so many images of this trip in my mind, but one will stay for some time. A beautiful young lady washing dishes in a puddle, on the side of the highway, 5-10 ton trucks passing by, her dishes took a bit of the space of the road, we stayed watching her for a few minutes because there wasn't room for two way traffic.
We had an interesting discussion with the children about the different worlds, Nepal being the first third world country and the difference with China, a second world country or with the first world Japan. Ioan reluctantly accepted that our beat up van was a luxurious mode of transportation.

Traveling through Nepal, a break on the side of the road.

Kathmandu has a special allure in the traveling community, apparently in the 60s it was a major destination for hippies, coming to a world where everything was permitted. Things changed significantly since then, but they have this touristic quarter, Thamel, with countless hotels and about 2500 stores! My guidebook mentions the risks and dangers of Kathmandu, and besides the serious warnings, they warn that one of the mistakes is to stay too much in Thamel and miss the real Kathmandu. Our hotel was a bit over our budget, but we had a "family room", actually three connected rooms with two bathrooms. We chose it because we were tired of having the children in a separate hotel room as we did for the past month in China. It was nice to be altogether for a change. The hotel was at the end of Thamel, a little quieter but still crazy. It had an Italian restaurant on the ground floor and we ate there repeatedly. We had nine nights, split four and five.
We had goals, getting vaccinations and the Thai visa, getting some rest and also some school done. The first day we got the bulk of our vaccines, we spent $475, but getting exactly the same injections, same preparations, same company, would have been $4000 in the USA. These are real prices for five people, not estimations! We checked it, we called, we know. We just walked in and we were done in 1 hour.
Next day, following the Lonely Planet guide, I tried to take my family to the most important place, the Durbar Square. We couldn't make it. Maria didn't want to go, it took a bit of energy to pull her against her will, but mostly, it was the street of Kathmandu that killed us. We had to walk 1.5 km, normally a 15 minute fast pace walk, but after two hours we were only halfway. We decided to return home, we already saw countless temples and shrines, windows and balconies, doors and plazas.

First attempt at Kathmandu

A temple. Just a temple. People selling stuff on its stairs.

It seems that almost every house had something historic, a little Ganesh, a little other statue, reading about it, looking at it, trying not to be run over while doing this and then just advancing in the crazy crowd. We couldn't make it. The next day we didn't move (I went to the Thai Embassy by myself) and then we went to Chitwan National Park.
This former royal hunting ground is another World Heritage Site, famous for the rhinos and the tigers, as well as many other mammals, snakes and countless species of birds. It is a tropical jungle at the base of the Himalayas and it's also known for the elephant rides in the jungle.
We took our time there and we enjoyed it. Ileana wrote about the first day, I wrote a bit about the second day. Overall, it was a good experience, despite the two days spent on the bus. It was good to be out of the city for a change.

First night in Chitwan. Sunset

Sapana Lodge, the bar.

Saying goodbye after the elephant ride

Taking of off the back of the rhino

Stuck in traffic on the way back to Kathmandu

Coming back to Kathmandu, we were determined, we had to make it to the Durbar Square. First we had the second shot of rabies, $175 (compared to $1500 in America). Next day we took a cab, 150 rupees, about two dollars and we were there in no time. Maria gave information about Kumari here. Ileana will also write about this here.
We learned a valuable lesson. As we both got tired reading in our book the description of all the temples, we followed their recommendation to pick a local guide. The guide was nice, showed us the pictures of his six year old son and of his wife, he had a good command of English and he seemed genuinely interested to make us understand the basics of their religions and traditions. We payed him more than what he initially requested, then we invited him to lunch to a restaurant that he or other Nepalese cannot afford. It was next to the former royal palace, on the terrace with a beautiful view. We wanted more inside information, specifics about their lives, politics and history. We learned that just a few years after the referendum that decided to replace the monarchy with a republic, now 65% of people want the "good" king back. Big surprise. Of course, they could have asked me, I would have told them that the republic is not a viable form of government. We talked a bit about the other things to see and we decided to go with him to the monkey temple. We got all in a tiny Maruti Suzuki, seven people in a car for four people. We payed him some extra, we thought we were very generous and he was unhappy, he wanted double. He got a little bit more than I wanted to give and the whole experience left a sour taste. We should have stopped after the first sight, we learned that it is important to know when to say enough.

But again, he did a good job of showing the Durbar Square, that is actually a three squares collection of palaces, all of them part of the World Heritage site and really good to see.

Entrance to the Kumari Temple, Kathmandu 

One the squares of Durbar Square, Kathmandu

Royal Palace, King's Observation Tower, Kathmandu

View of Kathmandu from the monkey temple

Swayambhunath, a temple, tourists, sellers and monkeys

They do have a funny side

The children liked the Swayambhunath (monkey temple) and being able to see it on the same day freed up the Friday for another embassy run and more school. Ioan got a haircut, the first in his life with a real professional barber and he was amazed and excited, he wanted to show everybody, he stopped the doormen at the hotel and told the waiter at the restaurant!
On our last day we made it to Patan Durbar Square. There were three rival kingdoms once, Kathmandu, Patan and Bhaktapur, they all had their king and the royal palace and the royal plaza, in front of the palace (Durbar Square). The Patan king "was very very good", he would go up in the observation tower to watch over his people, and if he didn't see smoke coming of some house it meant they didn't have anything to cook for dinner. So he sent them food or brought them to the palace to share dinner! Several other temples, another guide, good experience and we liked it better than the Kathmandu one. The highlight was the Patan Museum, arranged with help from the Austrian government in a restored section of the old royal palace. Small, nice, quiet, with exquisite pieces of old Nepali art and very good English descriptions. A gem.

Patan Durbar Square

Patan Durbar Square

Trying to get the monkey's attention. It has special powers. Golden Temple

We had 13 days in Nepal. At some point we wanted to make it to Pokhara, but we decided to keep it simple and the schedule was more relaxed. We got enough of Nepal for now. We loved many things about it but we also got a little introduction to a crazy, chaotic, dirty and poor Asian metropolis. They have these amazing cultural values in a state of horrible misery, but apparently some things are better now than 30-40 years ago. Any country that would have such a 700 year old statue or temple by the side of the road, would do something to acknowledge and protect it, but in Nepal they have so many, they are probably getting tired of them. I know we did.

Because of water shortages this time of the year, Kathmandu had twice a day power outages, all the hotels, restaurants and most of the businesses had solar panels and alternative circuits. All the rooms had multiple switches and there would still be some light but no electricity. The garbage was another issue, apparently because of their religion people would not have trash cans in front of their house, but they would just dump it in the street and collection trucks would dump it in the river. Watching people drive in Nepal is an unique experience, but it's also a good example of our adaption and on how we are doing so far. You have to trust the driver and believe that all ends well. After a few hours in the car, two buses were coming toward us occupying the whole road and I had no reaction! No reaction!