Nagi Gompa
Originally uploaded by Alison J. L.
This is a real place. You can go there. It's a bumpy ride, but you can go there.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Where oh where
After a year doing my best to drill the infamous "5 W's" into the heads of attention deficit children (due only to attention determined parents) I am finding myself in the midst of an eternal questioning of where.
I am now sympathetic, especially, to a slightly thick headed chubby kid called Tom, whose main educational deficit was not a lack of smarts but a lack of cool which led him to things like talking smack in Korean and throwing things at teacher in an attempt to fight his own naturally sponge like mind. In any case, despite my constant remindings in both English and Korean, Tom always confused "where" with "why" or "who". I am now seeing that it's all one in the same, really, though you don't much want to ask "Who are you going?", especially to a stranger.
"Where?" seems to be the most popular question posed here in Nepal.
Where are you going? ~friendly banter--much like saying hello.
Where are you from? ~meant to guide you into a conversation during which you will be invited for tea, into a shop, or for a variety of other things. My standard answer has become "On top of California."
Where are you staying? ~meant either to create friendly conversation between two foreigners to pass the time and compare hotel rates and hot showers, or, to set up a date later in order to meet for some act more discreet than sidewalk chat.
Where have you been in Nepal? ~meant, it seems, to test out your Nepalese street cred and/or to see how much you might pay for a yak wool shawl, given prices in various places vary with popularity of the place and the item.
So I have learned the word "where" very well in Nepali.
But it has struck me many times over breakfast, or waking from dreaming at 2am that *where* is really of no consequence and it is much more *who* that is important.
I am not returning to a Portland where *where* matters. It is a beautiful city, of course, but it is the who that makes me excited to return.
I am not visiting a *where* in Korea but remnants of the *who* I knew when I lived there.
I will not visit the places where the extraordinary people I have met over the last year live, but the who that lives there.
The two are linked though, and in some way the places where you have been make you who you are, and can say something pretty powerful about you.
For example, the other day I went to a particular cafe to eat some chocolate monstrosity which I later regretted, recommended by an Argentinian man who works for the parahawking company in Pokhara. The only reason I was interested in the dessert at all was because of the way he talked about it and the slight accent mixed with a day's excitement about flying with vultures made the chocolate sound especially interesting. On the way, I met a Nepali man who runs a jewelery shop. In 5 minutes I learned where he was from (Kashmir), where his girlfriend was from (Colorado), where he had traveled (Australia, England, Canada, California) and where he will live when he and his girlfriend get married one, maybe two years from now which is less important than the where they will be. But for now, he has to be in Nepal for the family and the family business. Once he finished listing off places he had been, we had little to talk about and were able to move on, but it was incredibly important for him to tell us at the time. And so, I think of him as perhaps slightly hungry for conversation but also much the same as myself, or how I will be when I get back to Portland.
Home for the who moreso than the where or what that is there.
I am now sympathetic, especially, to a slightly thick headed chubby kid called Tom, whose main educational deficit was not a lack of smarts but a lack of cool which led him to things like talking smack in Korean and throwing things at teacher in an attempt to fight his own naturally sponge like mind. In any case, despite my constant remindings in both English and Korean, Tom always confused "where" with "why" or "who". I am now seeing that it's all one in the same, really, though you don't much want to ask "Who are you going?", especially to a stranger.
"Where?" seems to be the most popular question posed here in Nepal.
Where are you going? ~friendly banter--much like saying hello.
Where are you from? ~meant to guide you into a conversation during which you will be invited for tea, into a shop, or for a variety of other things. My standard answer has become "On top of California."
Where are you staying? ~meant either to create friendly conversation between two foreigners to pass the time and compare hotel rates and hot showers, or, to set up a date later in order to meet for some act more discreet than sidewalk chat.
Where have you been in Nepal? ~meant, it seems, to test out your Nepalese street cred and/or to see how much you might pay for a yak wool shawl, given prices in various places vary with popularity of the place and the item.
So I have learned the word "where" very well in Nepali.
But it has struck me many times over breakfast, or waking from dreaming at 2am that *where* is really of no consequence and it is much more *who* that is important.
I am not returning to a Portland where *where* matters. It is a beautiful city, of course, but it is the who that makes me excited to return.
I am not visiting a *where* in Korea but remnants of the *who* I knew when I lived there.
I will not visit the places where the extraordinary people I have met over the last year live, but the who that lives there.
The two are linked though, and in some way the places where you have been make you who you are, and can say something pretty powerful about you.
For example, the other day I went to a particular cafe to eat some chocolate monstrosity which I later regretted, recommended by an Argentinian man who works for the parahawking company in Pokhara. The only reason I was interested in the dessert at all was because of the way he talked about it and the slight accent mixed with a day's excitement about flying with vultures made the chocolate sound especially interesting. On the way, I met a Nepali man who runs a jewelery shop. In 5 minutes I learned where he was from (Kashmir), where his girlfriend was from (Colorado), where he had traveled (Australia, England, Canada, California) and where he will live when he and his girlfriend get married one, maybe two years from now which is less important than the where they will be. But for now, he has to be in Nepal for the family and the family business. Once he finished listing off places he had been, we had little to talk about and were able to move on, but it was incredibly important for him to tell us at the time. And so, I think of him as perhaps slightly hungry for conversation but also much the same as myself, or how I will be when I get back to Portland.
Home for the who moreso than the where or what that is there.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Thursday, Friday
Thursday ends, my last day in the clinic. I treated upteen people with post stroke paralysis, a million patients with knee pain. My room is clean, everything I remember to put in it's place is in it's place. I say goodbye to the clinic and cry my eyes out.
A microbus to Laghen-Kel, another to Radna Park, I get lost walking to find Thamel. I end up on freak street, which may as well be Thamel with the tourist shops and western friendly restaurants. I ask several people how to find Thamel, where Sonia is waiting for me at the Wonderland Hotel. I finally find it, we go for Korean food made by Nepali women. It mostly tastes Korean anyhow, which at this point tastes like home to me. It's comforting. We go to the shisha bar and I order a gimlet and a melon shisha. Smoking, anything really, is somehow appropriate in Thamel. The night is long and delicious and life altering. If I didn't remember it so vividly I would swear it hadn't happened, it's that sort of night.
6:00am comes too quickly and I find my way to the bus park to board the tourist bus to Chitwan. I made the mistake of drinking an entire bottle of water when I first boarded the bus, trying to shake off too much to drink and too little to sleep. An hour later my bladder feels like it's the size of a football. The bus is winding its way around dangerous mountain roads, doing it's best to not hit the other 9,000 tourist buses and the other million or so colorfully painted trucks. The men have an easy time of it, they step off the bus as it's going slowly and pee, gloriously over the cliff. I however am wearing pants, and do not have one of those amazing contraptions that allows women to pee standing up. I'm not sure how those work, but it sure would have been handy. We're now 3 hours into the bus ride and I wish I could sleep, but trying to sleep makes having to pee worse. Finally, it's all too much and I get off the bus as it creeps through traffic and run into a surprised family's house to use their toilet. They are gracious about the whole thing and I wonder if any tourists have come to use their bathroom before. I run back to the bus which has creeped another 20 meters or so through the traffic. I get to sleep.
A few men and a jeep pick me up to take me to my prearranged hotel, "Jungle Sunset Camp". All the hotels are named "Jungle" something or other and I'm glad I found the right people, and had kept the brochure given to me when I booked it. Babo, takes me through the programme. "Some people, mebbe they see no animals on jungle walk. Some people, they see many animals. It is not a jew, you know eh?" No, it is not a zoo. The ESL teacher in me cringes, but I am no one to judge. I am completely inept at the Nepali accent, even now and while I practice in my mind the ubiquitous "lla", which seems to mean everything from yes to ok to have a seat to finished to I'm really enjoying making out with you--I can't seem to get it right enough to start saying it myself as much as I would like to.
Another guide, an older man with even tempered speech and kind yellowed eyes tells me stories about the Tharu people, native to the area. We go for a walk, watch the sunset and drink cup of milk tea number 907. He tells me about his life and the many times he's been attacked by rhinos, what to do if it happens. I was given more pasta than anyone could eat in one sitting and I'm in bed by 8.
Another guide, an older man with even tempered speech and kind yellowed eyes tells me stories about the Tharu people, native to the area. We go for a walk, watch the sunset and drink cup of milk tea number 907. He tells me about his life and the many times he's been attacked by rhinos, what to do if it happens. I was given more pasta than anyone could eat in one sitting and I'm in bed by 8.
This morning, I woke up early for breakfast and a walk through the jungle. Apparently bright colors can startle the animals and initiate an attack. Though I am fairly tiger-colored, I tie my hair in a bandana for the first time in my life. I have two guides and we ride in a canoe type boat, pushed with bamboo poles to the edge of the jungle where we will start the walk back. About 20 minutes in the guide hears something and we see rhino ears about 10 meters ahead. My heart is beating wildly in my chest and I am internally chanting things like "I mean you no harm". In retrospect, maybe it wasn't so dangerous but it seemed so at the time. A little bit later I find a peacock feather and carry it with me. The two guides have large sticks in case of a sloth bear attack, I figure I should carry something as well--just in case and all. Walking along the trail, a peacock is startled and flies out from behind a bush, scaring the bejezzus out of all 3 of us. One of the guides takes off running, the other prepares to make large noises with his stick. I freeze and begin to think about what the hell I'm doing in the jungle anyway. I do my best to channel calm and peace for the rest of the 3 hour walk. Occasionally the guide in front says things like "I am getting rhino smell" or "I am getting monkey smell". I can't smell either, but wish I could. Sometimes he points out tiger tracks or claw marks. I think I am glad they are nocturnal. We saw two kinds of monkeys--rhesus and something else--cute!, and a huge male peacock in flight not 20 yards away. It made me realize all the kind of fake stuff we do, being 'cultured' and all to have a sense of very safe excitement--roller coasters and disney land and jet skiing, maybe they are all just replacement for things like walking through the jungle.
Back at the hotel I had something ridiculously faux american served to me for lunch and took a nap before my scheduled elephant ride this afternoon. It is a little strange to be doing all of these prearranged touristy things. I took a walk in the village and played with some kids and their puppies. It started with two puppies and as I pet them these kids kept bringing more and more puppies over, trying to pile them on top of each other. The puppies were squirming and fighting and we were all giggling. When I stood to leave they either wanted to give me a puppy or were asking for money, I couldn't tell which.
Riding an elephant is more thigh work than you would think. They walk kind of slowly and sort of lumber along in a way that has you gripping for stability with more muscle than you thought you had. It made me glad for doing all that running earlier in the year. I saw 5 rhinos up close, bison, and loads of spotted deer. The rhinos sort of looked like huge armadillos, and had the funniest buts I've ever seen. I have a million pictures to upload when the internet is faster than a boulder moving through a flat plain. The elephants seemed to be happy enough, but I wonder what they are like in the wild. The drivers hit them lightly in the rivet between either side of their skull, and kick them behind their ears with bare feet to make them walk. It doesn't seem particularly cruel, but I wonder if it is worth being taken care of to be a working elephant. I guess I will ask tomorrow at the elephant breeding center where I will get to see BABY elephants.
...more to come, I'm sure.
Riding an elephant is more thigh work than you would think. They walk kind of slowly and sort of lumber along in a way that has you gripping for stability with more muscle than you thought you had. It made me glad for doing all that running earlier in the year. I saw 5 rhinos up close, bison, and loads of spotted deer. The rhinos sort of looked like huge armadillos, and had the funniest buts I've ever seen. I have a million pictures to upload when the internet is faster than a boulder moving through a flat plain. The elephants seemed to be happy enough, but I wonder what they are like in the wild. The drivers hit them lightly in the rivet between either side of their skull, and kick them behind their ears with bare feet to make them walk. It doesn't seem particularly cruel, but I wonder if it is worth being taken care of to be a working elephant. I guess I will ask tomorrow at the elephant breeding center where I will get to see BABY elephants.
...more to come, I'm sure.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Monday {01.11.10}
I wake up fitfull, groggy, covered in chilly sweat from a vivid dream about a woman I am enamoured with. I think it over as dawn comes over the mountains. The room is faintly pink. There were tarantulas, and arguments, trucks and hoardes of people. Half dream, half nightmare. I wait as long as possible to get up, the morning is cold even under two goose down blankets lent from the witty British lady who runs the clinic. I walk upstairs to the kitchen, where the other doctor is re-heating the chickpeas the cook made us for breakfast the night before. I pour some hot water, ready to sit for a few minutes and wake up with instant coffee, powdered milk.
Two monks climb up the stairs, one tall and one small. The little one is holding his shirt up over his belly where there is a swollen wound. Tears and snot are running down his tiny face. He is maybe 5, 6 years old. "Can you help?"
I wake up faster this way than coffee could have done it and sit the boy on the bench in the kitchen. His belly is bleeding from a golf ball size swelling just under his ribs. The monks tend to get boils, really big gross boils filled with more pus and blood than you would think holy. It could be that. Then again, it could be an intestinal hernia. Never having seen a hernia before--in the flesh anyway--I ask any questions I can think of to differentiate. Neither of them speak enough english to answer. We go downstairs to the pharmacy/aid room. Joel, the dharma man in residence happens to come by and helps me ask questions. It is likely not a hernia, thank Buddha or Vishnu or whomever you like, as I have no desire to push anyone's intestines back in their stomach. The little monk squirms and crys as I try to clean his belly, dress it as best I can. I fully realize why little kids generally hate going to the doctor and I wish I had a lollipop or a toy or a something to give him.
I rush back upstairs, still in my PJs to start breakfast. Two spoonfuls of chickpeas in, my ride to the satellite clinic where I will be working that day arrives. I'm still in pajamas, hungry, reeling. We send him to have tea and I set a 15 minute time limit for myself to have breakfast, wash my face, change my clothes, pack a bag of medical supplies and get out the door. Small miracles.
Krishna is waiting for me downstairs, I apologise and we leave to get on his bike and ride to Godawri. He is a beautiful man, as any man named Krishna should be. I have been admiring him for weeks now. He has perfect teeth and almond shaped eyes and skin the color of toasted honey. Riding on the motorcycle to the clinic is pretty much the best way for a Monday to start. Half of me wants to be a Nepali girl in his village, help him look after his cow and rabbits and goats that he's told me about and half of me wants to simply be as handsome as he is. I think about this as we ride through the valley.
There is frost on the grass, this may be the coldest morning yet. I learn and forget the Nepali word for frost. All of me is cold save the insides of my thighs where the touch the bike and my driver. Motorcycles are inherently sexy. We ride sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly as the level of pavedness allows. The sky is completely clear, not a single cloud. The mist hangs in the dips of the valleys and the mountains are illuminated by the sun. Goats are chewing grass, ducks and dogs and chickens run around wildly. We pass two groups of donkeys carrying cloth or tools to till the earth. They are fuzzy and cute and seem to like being donkeys. We pass terraces of fields growing mustard and wheat. Fields of uncooked bricks glow.
Krishna likes to take me for tea at a place called "New Market". He likes to joke that new market is in an old place. The man at the tea-tent is happy to see me again. They generally like foreigners here, probably for the money but maybe because we look strange. His wife makes us 'special tea! special!" Krishna and I talk about places in Nepal. Maybe he will come to Pokhara as well when I am there, maybe he will take me boating on the lake. Back on the bike for another 5 minutes or so takes us to the converted school room that is now our clinic. The walls are a strange shade of green that makes everyone's tongues look purple. The patients, throngs of them it seems, are waiting to be treated. I do my best. Some are appreciative, some are getting better, some are whiney, some are needy, some tell me how to do my job. Mostly they are wonderful, but it is exhausting. One patient tells me where to put the needles, exactly. I do as a teacher had once told and 'follow patient predilection', only to have her complain once they were in, lesson learned. One patient wants me to buy her a magnetic belt to help her back pain. Many want miracles, and I only have tiny swords to chase tiny demons.
Sometime mid morning I realize that I have started my period, and am compeltely unprepared. I ask Sonia, our tiny Tibetan interpreter if she has anything that can help. She hands me a 'panty liner' that is about as big as she is, large enough for a mouse to menstruate on and a DIY OB tampon the size of my thumb, compressed. Considering the bathroom consists of a hole in the ground with no access to running, or still, water, I opt for the panty liner. I hope for the best at lunch, maybe they've put in a Walgreens next to the woman with her sewing machine in the street.
Lunch is instant noodles and chocolate and pepsi, care of Sonia and the market down the street. I find a pharmacy and buy what essentially feels like a pair of absorbant cotton pants, which is better than the alternative.
I give 25 treatments, drink more cups of milk tea than any sane person should do.
Krishna picks me up to take me home. It is nearly 5pm and the sky is slowly getting darker. He asks me why I didn't call over the last week, he had wanted to 'take me around'. How many answers do I have to this question? I sadly tell him it's my last time at Godawri, that maybe I'll be back in a year. I promise him an email. The snow capped mountains are blazing pink. This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen.
At home, the other doctor, the cook and the woman who cleans are in the kitchen speaking different langauges and making pumpkin and roti (chapati/bread) for dinner. Everyone is giggling and we drink coffee and eat "Lay's Tomato Tango!" chips. The cook tells me I've lost weight (Thanks, Giardia!) and I can't quite tell through the giggling if she takes this as an insult to her cooking, but given her nature I doubt it.
Dinner is ready but I can't bring myself to eat, as pumpkin is one of the many things I had been sick with in the weeks previous to the miracle known as anti-giardia anti-biotics. I lay my head on the table and am terrible company, moaning about being sad to leave.
It is time for the monks' clinic again and I head downstairs. The little monk I saw in the morning comes in again. His stomach looks the same and I decide to bleed it and cup it to help the swelling and pus and pain. Again, he cries and squirms and I feel like a monster.
The littlest ones are treated, and I am standing with 3 older monks-one interpreter and two others. One lifts his robe to reveal some scratches he got when he fell a few minutes earlier. I gasp in mock horror and clean his small wounds. He leaves. Radna, the interpreter says the 3rd monk has 'some problem'. He lifts his robe to show wads of cotton stuck to 4-5 patches of dried pus and blood. I have to tear off the cotton and clean his ridiculously infected leg. He's waited several days to come and see me and I half jokingly scold him. Sarah and I tag team the wounds. She is good with getting out the pus and I am good at cleaning it up once it's out. It may be the worst infection I've ever seen, it takes about an hour to clean and bandage. We are running out of bandaging materials and we only have the scratchy stuff left. We contimplate antibiotics. I decide to give him the strongest anti-bacterial, anti-viral herbs we have, lots of vitamin C, and wait till morning.
There is hot water enough for a shower, and I wash off the day only to find myself having to hunt for the hair dryer which had mysteriously been left behind the clinic front desk.
I crawl into bed generally feeling as if I'd been dropped off in the woods with a brick and a pack of juicy fruit and told to make a phone to call for a ride home.
Tuesday is slightly less dramatic.
Two monks climb up the stairs, one tall and one small. The little one is holding his shirt up over his belly where there is a swollen wound. Tears and snot are running down his tiny face. He is maybe 5, 6 years old. "Can you help?"
I wake up faster this way than coffee could have done it and sit the boy on the bench in the kitchen. His belly is bleeding from a golf ball size swelling just under his ribs. The monks tend to get boils, really big gross boils filled with more pus and blood than you would think holy. It could be that. Then again, it could be an intestinal hernia. Never having seen a hernia before--in the flesh anyway--I ask any questions I can think of to differentiate. Neither of them speak enough english to answer. We go downstairs to the pharmacy/aid room. Joel, the dharma man in residence happens to come by and helps me ask questions. It is likely not a hernia, thank Buddha or Vishnu or whomever you like, as I have no desire to push anyone's intestines back in their stomach. The little monk squirms and crys as I try to clean his belly, dress it as best I can. I fully realize why little kids generally hate going to the doctor and I wish I had a lollipop or a toy or a something to give him.
I rush back upstairs, still in my PJs to start breakfast. Two spoonfuls of chickpeas in, my ride to the satellite clinic where I will be working that day arrives. I'm still in pajamas, hungry, reeling. We send him to have tea and I set a 15 minute time limit for myself to have breakfast, wash my face, change my clothes, pack a bag of medical supplies and get out the door. Small miracles.
Krishna is waiting for me downstairs, I apologise and we leave to get on his bike and ride to Godawri. He is a beautiful man, as any man named Krishna should be. I have been admiring him for weeks now. He has perfect teeth and almond shaped eyes and skin the color of toasted honey. Riding on the motorcycle to the clinic is pretty much the best way for a Monday to start. Half of me wants to be a Nepali girl in his village, help him look after his cow and rabbits and goats that he's told me about and half of me wants to simply be as handsome as he is. I think about this as we ride through the valley.
There is frost on the grass, this may be the coldest morning yet. I learn and forget the Nepali word for frost. All of me is cold save the insides of my thighs where the touch the bike and my driver. Motorcycles are inherently sexy. We ride sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly as the level of pavedness allows. The sky is completely clear, not a single cloud. The mist hangs in the dips of the valleys and the mountains are illuminated by the sun. Goats are chewing grass, ducks and dogs and chickens run around wildly. We pass two groups of donkeys carrying cloth or tools to till the earth. They are fuzzy and cute and seem to like being donkeys. We pass terraces of fields growing mustard and wheat. Fields of uncooked bricks glow.
Krishna likes to take me for tea at a place called "New Market". He likes to joke that new market is in an old place. The man at the tea-tent is happy to see me again. They generally like foreigners here, probably for the money but maybe because we look strange. His wife makes us 'special tea! special!" Krishna and I talk about places in Nepal. Maybe he will come to Pokhara as well when I am there, maybe he will take me boating on the lake. Back on the bike for another 5 minutes or so takes us to the converted school room that is now our clinic. The walls are a strange shade of green that makes everyone's tongues look purple. The patients, throngs of them it seems, are waiting to be treated. I do my best. Some are appreciative, some are getting better, some are whiney, some are needy, some tell me how to do my job. Mostly they are wonderful, but it is exhausting. One patient tells me where to put the needles, exactly. I do as a teacher had once told and 'follow patient predilection', only to have her complain once they were in, lesson learned. One patient wants me to buy her a magnetic belt to help her back pain. Many want miracles, and I only have tiny swords to chase tiny demons.
Sometime mid morning I realize that I have started my period, and am compeltely unprepared. I ask Sonia, our tiny Tibetan interpreter if she has anything that can help. She hands me a 'panty liner' that is about as big as she is, large enough for a mouse to menstruate on and a DIY OB tampon the size of my thumb, compressed. Considering the bathroom consists of a hole in the ground with no access to running, or still, water, I opt for the panty liner. I hope for the best at lunch, maybe they've put in a Walgreens next to the woman with her sewing machine in the street.
Lunch is instant noodles and chocolate and pepsi, care of Sonia and the market down the street. I find a pharmacy and buy what essentially feels like a pair of absorbant cotton pants, which is better than the alternative.
I give 25 treatments, drink more cups of milk tea than any sane person should do.
Krishna picks me up to take me home. It is nearly 5pm and the sky is slowly getting darker. He asks me why I didn't call over the last week, he had wanted to 'take me around'. How many answers do I have to this question? I sadly tell him it's my last time at Godawri, that maybe I'll be back in a year. I promise him an email. The snow capped mountains are blazing pink. This is the most beautiful place I've ever seen.
At home, the other doctor, the cook and the woman who cleans are in the kitchen speaking different langauges and making pumpkin and roti (chapati/bread) for dinner. Everyone is giggling and we drink coffee and eat "Lay's Tomato Tango!" chips. The cook tells me I've lost weight (Thanks, Giardia!) and I can't quite tell through the giggling if she takes this as an insult to her cooking, but given her nature I doubt it.
Dinner is ready but I can't bring myself to eat, as pumpkin is one of the many things I had been sick with in the weeks previous to the miracle known as anti-giardia anti-biotics. I lay my head on the table and am terrible company, moaning about being sad to leave.
It is time for the monks' clinic again and I head downstairs. The little monk I saw in the morning comes in again. His stomach looks the same and I decide to bleed it and cup it to help the swelling and pus and pain. Again, he cries and squirms and I feel like a monster.
The littlest ones are treated, and I am standing with 3 older monks-one interpreter and two others. One lifts his robe to reveal some scratches he got when he fell a few minutes earlier. I gasp in mock horror and clean his small wounds. He leaves. Radna, the interpreter says the 3rd monk has 'some problem'. He lifts his robe to show wads of cotton stuck to 4-5 patches of dried pus and blood. I have to tear off the cotton and clean his ridiculously infected leg. He's waited several days to come and see me and I half jokingly scold him. Sarah and I tag team the wounds. She is good with getting out the pus and I am good at cleaning it up once it's out. It may be the worst infection I've ever seen, it takes about an hour to clean and bandage. We are running out of bandaging materials and we only have the scratchy stuff left. We contimplate antibiotics. I decide to give him the strongest anti-bacterial, anti-viral herbs we have, lots of vitamin C, and wait till morning.
There is hot water enough for a shower, and I wash off the day only to find myself having to hunt for the hair dryer which had mysteriously been left behind the clinic front desk.
I crawl into bed generally feeling as if I'd been dropped off in the woods with a brick and a pack of juicy fruit and told to make a phone to call for a ride home.
Tuesday is slightly less dramatic.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Things that could totally happen
There are several alternate realities that I feel as if I could now live given my most recent experiences in Nepal. Here are 2 of them.
1. Accept my invitation to join Nepali coverband "The Subtones". Play no instruments, attempt to sing jazz. Scandalize the Nepali community with off the shoulder dresses and general western-ness. Become famous for songs like "Ain't Nobody's Business" a la Billie Holiday. Eventually break up the band by having an affair with someone I shouldn't have, call them "mero mayalu" in front of the wrong person. Attempt to go solo, fail, return home.
2. Instead of returning home--now or after coverband fame--take refuge in Tibetan Buddhism, find a Rimpoche to call my teacher. Learn a lot about nothingness, shave my head, become a nun. Live at a nunnery in the middle of nowhere, go on pilgramage at several sites throughout Nepal and India. Eventually fall in love with another nun. Run away to Thailand.
3. Go home to PDX with my current ticket. Continue with 5 year plan of starting practice, buying house, raising a kitten, maybe get some chickens, rent out house, travel again.
1. Accept my invitation to join Nepali coverband "The Subtones". Play no instruments, attempt to sing jazz. Scandalize the Nepali community with off the shoulder dresses and general western-ness. Become famous for songs like "Ain't Nobody's Business" a la Billie Holiday. Eventually break up the band by having an affair with someone I shouldn't have, call them "mero mayalu" in front of the wrong person. Attempt to go solo, fail, return home.
2. Instead of returning home--now or after coverband fame--take refuge in Tibetan Buddhism, find a Rimpoche to call my teacher. Learn a lot about nothingness, shave my head, become a nun. Live at a nunnery in the middle of nowhere, go on pilgramage at several sites throughout Nepal and India. Eventually fall in love with another nun. Run away to Thailand.
3. Go home to PDX with my current ticket. Continue with 5 year plan of starting practice, buying house, raising a kitten, maybe get some chickens, rent out house, travel again.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
The evil eye
This last week before Chrismas in the clinic, both the other doctor, Sarah and I fell ridiculously ill one day. We were both having stomach trouble, trying to treat a million patients and generally hold it together. At lunch, the food sounded revolting though it's the same thing every day--Dal Baat, rice and lentils, so I layed up on the roof in the sun and fell asleep. The interpreters were all worried about us, and tried to think up reasons for being sick. Pradjil thought it was the chicken we had for dinner the night before, because apparently the butchers sometimes sell you 3 or 4 day old chickens (no refridgerators). Satya Mohan thought it might be that the walk we went on with him the afternoon before had been too long, though it was only maybe an hour and a half. Ramita called her mother, who said that while we were roaming the village someone had definately cast the evil eye on us, and we should be dewitched. She sprinkled some water on a bench, sat me down, and traced each side of me 3 times with different handfuls of uncooked rice. She then plucked a hair from my head, did the same to Sarah and threw it all off the roof.
I rolled around in pain for a while longer, but everything went away maybe faster than it should have and I'm now pretty convinced that the dewitching worked, but I don't think I'll have village chicken for a while.
I rolled around in pain for a while longer, but everything went away maybe faster than it should have and I'm now pretty convinced that the dewitching worked, but I don't think I'll have village chicken for a while.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Things to do to make a small monk laugh
1. While rubbing neem oil for head fungus, massage it in as if he were coming to a salon.
2. Sing songs from Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, dance along.
3. Waltz with another doctor to imaginary music.
4. Shadow puppets
5. Stand behind your collegue, put your arms through theirs and pretend to be their hands.
6. juggle
7. giggle back
2. Sing songs from Mary Poppins and The Sound of Music, dance along.
3. Waltz with another doctor to imaginary music.
4. Shadow puppets
5. Stand behind your collegue, put your arms through theirs and pretend to be their hands.
6. juggle
7. giggle back
Monday, December 7, 2009
Sacred refuse
Our little clinic is located next to a monastary, or Gompa, which is 5 minutes away from a tantric Hindu temple. The people in the village make their way, every morning starting about 6:30 to give and receive blessings to both. Women walk with plates of flowers--poinsettias and marigolds, incense, candles, dye powder and salt to take part in the blessings. The incense and candles get burnt, but the powder, flowers and salt are thrown and placed to color different parts of the temple.
What is even better though is that this is done not only at the gompa and temple, but all around the village so that seemingly random places are colored red and orange with dye and flowers, a rock here, a water spigot there.
The whole place is covered in the rubbish of blessing and thanks.
What is even better though is that this is done not only at the gompa and temple, but all around the village so that seemingly random places are colored red and orange with dye and flowers, a rock here, a water spigot there.
The whole place is covered in the rubbish of blessing and thanks.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
A slow day
I had 7 patients today, instead of the usual 14-19 which was a relief, as youthfully exuberant as I am practicing what I love every day.
The reason why is because the maoists decided they were unhappy, and led a citywide strike which shut down all transportation. Apparently some policemen killed 6 people, and so they see it as their civil duty to set fire to motorcycles and generally cause a disturbance that stops people from doing what they'd normally do. Apparently the strike is scheduled to continue until Tuesday. Wednesday, however, the 'untouchable' cast has decided to schedule a protest to make a point about being treated as untouchable, and so it seems the traffic may remain slow throughout midweek.
This is the news I have in my village. It took one of the interpreters an hour and a half to walk here after she had to abandon her scooter.
In other news, I live next door to a building of heavily armed mafia.
All in spitting distance are those guys with the guns, a gompa training quite a few young monks (whom I love to treat for their various ailments--mostly ringworm/fungus) and the clinic. It is a powerful little compound.
The reason why is because the maoists decided they were unhappy, and led a citywide strike which shut down all transportation. Apparently some policemen killed 6 people, and so they see it as their civil duty to set fire to motorcycles and generally cause a disturbance that stops people from doing what they'd normally do. Apparently the strike is scheduled to continue until Tuesday. Wednesday, however, the 'untouchable' cast has decided to schedule a protest to make a point about being treated as untouchable, and so it seems the traffic may remain slow throughout midweek.
This is the news I have in my village. It took one of the interpreters an hour and a half to walk here after she had to abandon her scooter.
In other news, I live next door to a building of heavily armed mafia.
All in spitting distance are those guys with the guns, a gompa training quite a few young monks (whom I love to treat for their various ailments--mostly ringworm/fungus) and the clinic. It is a powerful little compound.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Drive by Tilaka
Durbar square, 1st time in Kathmandu looking up at the carving of some ancient 14th century, 15th century Newari building. The history and life is real, more so than anywhere else I have been. Piles of garbage burning in the street as a family of cows lives next to an ancient temple previously guarded by fierce tribes in the middle of the middle of the city.
A holy man dashes by, throwing marigold petals on my head and blessing me with a red third eye. It has happened thousands of times before to thousands of travelers, but the mood of the day is still set. I have been made a gift. He was gone as fast as he came.
The 100 rupees hence requested could have been spent in worse ways.
A holy man dashes by, throwing marigold petals on my head and blessing me with a red third eye. It has happened thousands of times before to thousands of travelers, but the mood of the day is still set. I have been made a gift. He was gone as fast as he came.
The 100 rupees hence requested could have been spent in worse ways.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
4 buckets--2 to wash, one to carry, one to sit
If you have never washed your clothes in a bucket and then hung them by moonlight on the roof looking out over the village, then perhaps you have never lived.
I hadn't.
In some ways, I feel I've waited my whole life to do that.
Washing machines make me lazy, allowing me to throw my clothes on the floor whether or not they are particularly dirty, knowing that I can throw them in the wash in my wasteful and western way.
In other ways, it feels awkward hanging my big city panties emblazoned with their materialistic designs--hearts, stars, stripes, hand-painted skull and cross bones--on the roof next to the monastary where they are banging drums and playing prayer games.
Perhaps the pink string bikinis will embarrass the young monks.
I vow to collect them as early in the morning as possible to hopefully avoid affecting their early morning prayers.
I somehow feel that vows of compassion and devout Buddhism don't cover pink panty curiosity.
But what do I know, I've only been here for a few days.
I hadn't.
In some ways, I feel I've waited my whole life to do that.
Washing machines make me lazy, allowing me to throw my clothes on the floor whether or not they are particularly dirty, knowing that I can throw them in the wash in my wasteful and western way.
In other ways, it feels awkward hanging my big city panties emblazoned with their materialistic designs--hearts, stars, stripes, hand-painted skull and cross bones--on the roof next to the monastary where they are banging drums and playing prayer games.
Perhaps the pink string bikinis will embarrass the young monks.
I vow to collect them as early in the morning as possible to hopefully avoid affecting their early morning prayers.
I somehow feel that vows of compassion and devout Buddhism don't cover pink panty curiosity.
But what do I know, I've only been here for a few days.
Nepal, Day 2 morning one
Morning sounds.
No clock to know the time
wouldn't want to any way
early.
dogs barking, taking over the town. they decide they have collectively slept enough.
first-waking noises. then, fighting over some small scrap of something perhaps
eventually all falls silent.
the pack is somehow sated enough to give way to chatting birds
and the occasional howl.
then, two monks chatting on their way to prayers
passing by the window
car horns
sunrise turns the cacophony to music.
No clock to know the time
wouldn't want to any way
early.
dogs barking, taking over the town. they decide they have collectively slept enough.
first-waking noises. then, fighting over some small scrap of something perhaps
eventually all falls silent.
the pack is somehow sated enough to give way to chatting birds
and the occasional howl.
then, two monks chatting on their way to prayers
passing by the window
car horns
sunrise turns the cacophony to music.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
My favorite trick
I'm not sick, but this is the 3rd or so time this year I have lost my voice. It tends to happen from time to time but has happened more this year, probably due to dry air, more pollution and having to use a big voice everyday with the little ones. When it happened last fall, I taught the kids the expression 'I have a frog in my throat', and they remembered it for this time and said things like "teacher? frog in?" and of course I said yes.
They like to ask me how, and I've made up all kinds of things but my favorite has been for this past week. It has been exceptionally cold and windy, so I told them that frogs, since they can jump high, sometimes jump *too* high and get caught in the wind. I was standing outside singing (like I do), and a frog fell from the wind into my mouth and I've been unable to cough it out. Kids are gullible, so as long as I nod my head enough they tend to believe me, but my favorite part is giving them tangible evidence. I have always had pretty big tonsils, the kind that make nurses go "oh wow!" during routine checkups and they are palpable from the outside of my throat. So, I have the kids put their hands (one at a time please) over my tonsils and if I swallow, it feels kind of like a frog breathing or jumping or something. They all look at me with wonder after they feel it and often they'll go get their friends from out of the room to feel too.
It makes my day, and I'll giggle for years about it. I hope they tell their parents.
They like to ask me how, and I've made up all kinds of things but my favorite has been for this past week. It has been exceptionally cold and windy, so I told them that frogs, since they can jump high, sometimes jump *too* high and get caught in the wind. I was standing outside singing (like I do), and a frog fell from the wind into my mouth and I've been unable to cough it out. Kids are gullible, so as long as I nod my head enough they tend to believe me, but my favorite part is giving them tangible evidence. I have always had pretty big tonsils, the kind that make nurses go "oh wow!" during routine checkups and they are palpable from the outside of my throat. So, I have the kids put their hands (one at a time please) over my tonsils and if I swallow, it feels kind of like a frog breathing or jumping or something. They all look at me with wonder after they feel it and often they'll go get their friends from out of the room to feel too.
It makes my day, and I'll giggle for years about it. I hope they tell their parents.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I'd better write about China before I go to Thailand
So I went to China for my 28th birthday. It was the best trip yet, and I love China more than ever. While it is dirty--you can't find a clean bathroom to save your life--it is charming and full of surprises.
On the 29th I flew into Qingdao and we (Timber and I) made our way from the Qingdao airport on a slightly rickety but relatively normal public bus. Stopping off at the hostel to drop our few things, we made our way down to the beach where I saw more thongs, g strings and naked children than I probably, hopefully, will ever see again. I guess Chinese men aren't as shy about their skin showing as Koreans are. While it seemed like everyone was pretty into being at the beach, swimming and making sand sculptures, many many extraordinary precautions were made to not get sun tanned.
The next day we took a train to Tai Shan, one of the most famous mountains in China. The train ride wasn't too bad--lots of rice fields and countryside, 5 hours of chatting and music.
The hike up Tai Shan was longer than it could have been, and shorter than it should have been. Once in Tai'an, the city at the base of the mountain, we evaded hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to give us a "special rate" to get to the top of the mountain. We found the bus instead, and made our way to the stairs that would torture my legs for the next 2-3 hours. Halfway up the mountain, we found the oasis known as the cable car and took that the rest of the way up.
Once nearly to the top, there were more stairs but also a more relaxed pace since we knew we'd make it in time for our hotel reservation, having caught the very last cable car. There are lots of pretty temples and views from the top.
After staying the night in a schmancy hotel, we woke up at 4am for the sunrise and cheered along with hundreds of Chinese (we didn't see a single foreigner the whole time we were there) when the sun poked its head out from under the clouds. This sunrise is supposed to signify the beginning of the world, and it may have been.
After going down the other side of the mountain, we found a bus to get us back to town. While waiting for the mountain to town shuttle bus thingy to leave the mountain, we made friends with a super helpful mountain man who liked to scare me with cicadas. Once we were already inside the bus, he thought it was really funny to catch one and thrust it through the window at me, scaring me out of my seat. I think he wanted to crush it between some paper and gift it to me, but I insisted he let it go instead.
Now onto the absolute highlight of the trip. While waiting in line to buy a train ticket back to Qingdao, we met a guy who wanted to sell us two extra tickets he had for the next train out of town. In a snap decision, not knowing the train schedule, we bought them from him and boarded in the half hour, only to discover what should have been a 3-5 hour train ride was a 7-8 hour train ride. We'd had no lunch, breakfast several hours ago and only a bit of water, which turned out to be a good thing since the train bathrooms were squatter holes that emptied onto the tracks--and forbidden to be used while the train was stopped. After about two hours sitting separately, Timber came to tell me how long, exactly, our ride would be. She came to stay and hang out a while, and we ended up making friends with about 50 other passengers in the car.
We taught them to play a Korean game--3.6.9--with Chinese numbers and soon had even the train conductor wondering what was going on. It was the perfect opportunity to use our Lonely Planet phrasebook, since we had oodles of time to trains-late.
It turned out that most of the people in our car were on their way to an Amway convention, and couldn't understand why we didn't personally know the guys in their 80s brochure about the company. There was nothing about pyramid schemes in the phrasebook.
After getting back to Qingdao, we went to our next hostel where we stayed right on the beach. We had some amazing Schezuan noodles, saw some pretty temples, parks and music, and some good times at the beach before heading back to Daegu, and back to work.
Kimchi and Quietze/Eggplant out China! Hope to see you again real soon.
On the 29th I flew into Qingdao and we (Timber and I) made our way from the Qingdao airport on a slightly rickety but relatively normal public bus. Stopping off at the hostel to drop our few things, we made our way down to the beach where I saw more thongs, g strings and naked children than I probably, hopefully, will ever see again. I guess Chinese men aren't as shy about their skin showing as Koreans are. While it seemed like everyone was pretty into being at the beach, swimming and making sand sculptures, many many extraordinary precautions were made to not get sun tanned.
The next day we took a train to Tai Shan, one of the most famous mountains in China. The train ride wasn't too bad--lots of rice fields and countryside, 5 hours of chatting and music.The hike up Tai Shan was longer than it could have been, and shorter than it should have been. Once in Tai'an, the city at the base of the mountain, we evaded hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to give us a "special rate" to get to the top of the mountain. We found the bus instead, and made our way to the stairs that would torture my legs for the next 2-3 hours. Halfway up the mountain, we found the oasis known as the cable car and took that the rest of the way up.
Once nearly to the top, there were more stairs but also a more relaxed pace since we knew we'd make it in time for our hotel reservation, having caught the very last cable car. There are lots of pretty temples and views from the top.
After staying the night in a schmancy hotel, we woke up at 4am for the sunrise and cheered along with hundreds of Chinese (we didn't see a single foreigner the whole time we were there) when the sun poked its head out from under the clouds. This sunrise is supposed to signify the beginning of the world, and it may have been.
After going down the other side of the mountain, we found a bus to get us back to town. While waiting for the mountain to town shuttle bus thingy to leave the mountain, we made friends with a super helpful mountain man who liked to scare me with cicadas. Once we were already inside the bus, he thought it was really funny to catch one and thrust it through the window at me, scaring me out of my seat. I think he wanted to crush it between some paper and gift it to me, but I insisted he let it go instead.
Now onto the absolute highlight of the trip. While waiting in line to buy a train ticket back to Qingdao, we met a guy who wanted to sell us two extra tickets he had for the next train out of town. In a snap decision, not knowing the train schedule, we bought them from him and boarded in the half hour, only to discover what should have been a 3-5 hour train ride was a 7-8 hour train ride. We'd had no lunch, breakfast several hours ago and only a bit of water, which turned out to be a good thing since the train bathrooms were squatter holes that emptied onto the tracks--and forbidden to be used while the train was stopped. After about two hours sitting separately, Timber came to tell me how long, exactly, our ride would be. She came to stay and hang out a while, and we ended up making friends with about 50 other passengers in the car.
We taught them to play a Korean game--3.6.9--with Chinese numbers and soon had even the train conductor wondering what was going on. It was the perfect opportunity to use our Lonely Planet phrasebook, since we had oodles of time to trains-late.
It turned out that most of the people in our car were on their way to an Amway convention, and couldn't understand why we didn't personally know the guys in their 80s brochure about the company. There was nothing about pyramid schemes in the phrasebook.
After getting back to Qingdao, we went to our next hostel where we stayed right on the beach. We had some amazing Schezuan noodles, saw some pretty temples, parks and music, and some good times at the beach before heading back to Daegu, and back to work.
Kimchi and Quietze/Eggplant out China! Hope to see you again real soon.
Friday, July 24, 2009
So, what I really need to write about is my trip to Boryeong for Mud Fest, and the wild time that is cosmetic mud, torrential rain and comedic umbrellas. But for now this post is a palatable excuse. I've been working on organizing a fundraiser at a club here in Daegu, S. Korea, for my volunteer trip to Nepal this coming November. (See poster image above, thanks to a good friend here).
Some personal notes:
I'm exceedingly excited. I've never had a fundraiser before, and never done anything important enough to warrant one. It feels amazing, nerve wracking and all together too adult for my tastes. But, I guess I will be 28 in a few short days, so it's about time I at least feel adult, whist I go about doing adult things and making adult decisions.
In conjunction with the fundraiser is a photography show, something else that I never thought I would do. As it so happens, I take some pictures, and as it so happens, it seems that some of them are show worthy enough to perhaps raise some money for the project. Now, it's not like it's a *real* show, like I had to submit my photos, or even have the space for more than an evening, but I will be honored to have people purchase my photos for themselves or their families, and even more honored that it is for such a worthy cause. I am proud of the photos I've taken, and impressed with the way they are looking all matted in their little photo pockets.
Who knows? Perhaps this is the beginning of what may become being a more serious photographer? (...maybe you should buy prints now before I am world famous...wink wink).
So, this is why I haven't written about Mud fest, or anything else for that matter. After August 8th is finished however, I make a solemn web blog vow to share the hilarity that was the festival, one poorly remembered event at a time.
If you're not in Daegu and you'd like to see my photos, visit: http://www.internationalphoto.weebly.com
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Pride spectacular, Jeju Island adventures and exciting plans for the future!
So much has been done and happened since I last made kimchi (see last post) that it seems funny to write it all on one screen, so I'll chronologically compartmentalize.
Pride, Seoul!
I have been to a fair number of prides in Portland, OR, but none have felt as eventful or necessary as this one. It was a small event compared to any pride in the states, kept mostly secret from the public despite being held in one of the biggest cities in the world. Because coming out is dangerous for many people, the event staff handed out "no photo" stickers as well as press passes giving permission to take any photos at all. So, while I have a grip of excellent pride pictures, I cannot put them up anywhere on the web, save perhaps this one:
because there are no people in it. There were many booths giving out all kinds of information, just like your regular stateside pride, as well as a stage with a few "main events" just like home. But what was remarkable was the air of actual *pride* many of the Koreans exuded and the exuberance of the multitudes of foreigners. While there was a lot of information that I couldn't read, I gathered that there is a fairly organized if small undercurrent of GLBTQ activism alive in South Korea. This makes me really really happy, as there are no laws protecting anyone from anything happening to them because they are gay here. Even for foreigners, even for me. So, I too wore a sticker 'just in case', cause the last thing I need is some Korean parent claiming I'm corrupting their toddler with my 'choices', unless I want to be sent home early (which I've considered). The highlight of the day time was perhaps the parade, which is less of a spectator event like at home, and more a solidarity march. It was fab. At night a bunch of friends and I went to a "women's club" in Seoul, and had the time of our lives. Why a 'women's club', you ask, and not an all everyone queer fest? Because the gay bars are segregated into "women", "men" and "trans", which makes it hard to hang out with some of your friends. lame. This is sadly not for some sort of fist in the air decades behind the times feminist agenda, but for the protection of those who may go. double lame. I have hope that sometime Korea will catch up to the west, and the west will catch up to say--ancient Greece or something, but for now, I love what I got.
Jeju Island!
Because I am spoiled with travel in Korea, the following weekend 3 of us went to Jeju Island to see what the "Hawaii of Korea" was all about. It turns out that it's all about unpredictable weather, excellently variable modes of transportation and awesome beach swimming. We arrived Saturday to find out that we *did* indeed need our international driver's licences to rent scooters, but after many phone calls from the nicest hotel manager ever, we managed to rent three 50cc scooters for 20,000 won a day. This may be the best money I've ever spent. I'd never been on a scooter before, and my cursory lesson didn't do much to teach me how to ride, but I managed OK, even riding into a thunderstorm at 10pm, lost as lost can be on the highway. Over the course of 24 hours, I fell in love with scooting on scooters, and vow to get one sometime that I can call my own.
If this isn't the picture of happiness on my face, I'm not sure what
is.
The helmet w/goggles was especially great, though the goggles only hampered any effort at effective steering. I kept them off.
Saturday we took the scooters for a couple hour drive up the west coast of the island and discovered a great raw fish resterant, teeming with locals and other mainlanders on vaca. It was good, but I could have done without the live shellfish pulsating at me. (I have since re-vowed to become vegetarian). It was after this meal that we ended up scooting home on the highway, into a thunderstorm. This might have been the stupidest thing I've ever done, not having much experience driving a car, nevermind a scooter, nevermind in a foreign country, nevermind in the rain and thunder. But having survived it, I may one day be able to bungee jump, paraglide, or many of the other things that scare me senseless.
I slept like the dead (ha ha) Saturday night and woke up Sunday to lazily getting around to scooting over to some w
aterfalls and witnessin
g some old mermaids free diving. These ladies are amazing, and the last of their kind. They free dive, that is, do not use any scuba gear but can hold their breath up to two minutes and descend up to 20 feet to gather fish, shellfish and seaweed near the beach. All of the women are grandma-aged, and their daughters have not followed in their footsteps, mostly working in the cities and such. What is even more spectacular, is that they work as a collective and share all the profits from their catch, including what they make at their makeshift restaurants on the rocks, where they will cut you up some of whatever it is they've got, and happily serve it with some raw garlic and soju. When we went, much of what they had is what they call "sea squirt", which looks about as appetizing as it sounds. I have so much respect for these women and what they do--they're real life mermaids!
After this, we had to return the scooters and catch a bus/hitch hike to the famous lava tubes. While they were about to close and we could only go 250 meters into the some 7,000 meter long tubes, I got a good feeling for what it must have taken for Mrs. Earth to create something so spectacular. The tubes were underground, pitch black and rocky like nothing else I've ever seen. It was kind of like being inside a damp loaf of bread burned black, but way colder and much more inspirational. I wish I had a picture.
Afterwards, we took the bus again to Sanguang beach, with black sands purported to relieve arthritis, athlete's foot, and a variety of other ailments. I was barely there 5 minutes before I put on my swimsuit and jumped into the warm-ish water. My friends could hardly get me out, and I felt like I was 6 years old when they started with "Ali---aren't you hungry? Shouldn't you stop swimming now?" I did finally get out that evening to go eat, but was promptly back in again around midnight and then again around 5am. What can I say, maybe I belong with the old mermaid ladies.
I really hope I can get back to Jeju before I leave Korea, as there is *so* much more to see, if I can keep out of the water long enough.
Now, onto:
~~~The Future~~~
I am exited to announce, over this venue and many others, that I will be travelling to Nepal in November and December of this year to donate my time and money giving medical aid through acupuncture. This is a dream come true for me, and I feel very very blessed to be able to participate. I think acupuncture is amazing, and though I don't know much about Nepal or the specific community in need, I know they could use some help and I am happy to get in there and do it. It is so important to give what you can to the world, especially as westerners because no matter what our life's lot may be---we usually have more than our share compared to so many others. I balk at this injustice, and while I've come to terms with the whole "life's not fair" thing, I think I can do something to make it better, if not fair-er. We'll see.
So, to this end, I have fulfilled another one of my life's goals, which is to have my own website and share my love of the visual. While I may be an amateur photographer, it makes me endlessly happy to be able to share my photos and perhaps raise some funds to donate towards the trip to Nepal as well, since volunteering isn't free for the wallet, however free-ing it may be for the spirit.
I encourage you to take a look at:
http://www.internationalphoto.weebly.com
Let me know what you think, and get some photography to pretty up your wall space, or cross someone off your gift list.
And this brings me to today, which is again miraculously Thursday and two days away to a visit to the beach in Pohang. Maybe there'll be more swimming!
Pride, Seoul!
I have been to a fair number of prides in Portland, OR, but none have felt as eventful or necessary as this one. It was a small event compared to any pride in the states, kept mostly secret from the public despite being held in one of the biggest cities in the world. Because coming out is dangerous for many people, the event staff handed out "no photo" stickers as well as press passes giving permission to take any photos at all. So, while I have a grip of excellent pride pictures, I cannot put them up anywhere on the web, save perhaps this one:
because there are no people in it. There were many booths giving out all kinds of information, just like your regular stateside pride, as well as a stage with a few "main events" just like home. But what was remarkable was the air of actual *pride* many of the Koreans exuded and the exuberance of the multitudes of foreigners. While there was a lot of information that I couldn't read, I gathered that there is a fairly organized if small undercurrent of GLBTQ activism alive in South Korea. This makes me really really happy, as there are no laws protecting anyone from anything happening to them because they are gay here. Even for foreigners, even for me. So, I too wore a sticker 'just in case', cause the last thing I need is some Korean parent claiming I'm corrupting their toddler with my 'choices', unless I want to be sent home early (which I've considered). The highlight of the day time was perhaps the parade, which is less of a spectator event like at home, and more a solidarity march. It was fab. At night a bunch of friends and I went to a "women's club" in Seoul, and had the time of our lives. Why a 'women's club', you ask, and not an all everyone queer fest? Because the gay bars are segregated into "women", "men" and "trans", which makes it hard to hang out with some of your friends. lame. This is sadly not for some sort of fist in the air decades behind the times feminist agenda, but for the protection of those who may go. double lame. I have hope that sometime Korea will catch up to the west, and the west will catch up to say--ancient Greece or something, but for now, I love what I got.Jeju Island!
Because I am spoiled with travel in Korea, the following weekend 3 of us went to Jeju Island to see what the "Hawaii of Korea" was all about. It turns out that it's all about unpredictable weather, excellently variable modes of transportation and awesome beach swimming. We arrived Saturday to find out that we *did* indeed need our international driver's licences to rent scooters, but after many phone calls from the nicest hotel manager ever, we managed to rent three 50cc scooters for 20,000 won a day. This may be the best money I've ever spent. I'd never been on a scooter before, and my cursory lesson didn't do much to teach me how to ride, but I managed OK, even riding into a thunderstorm at 10pm, lost as lost can be on the highway. Over the course of 24 hours, I fell in love with scooting on scooters, and vow to get one sometime that I can call my own.
If this isn't the picture of happiness on my face, I'm not sure what
is.The helmet w/goggles was especially great, though the goggles only hampered any effort at effective steering. I kept them off.
Saturday we took the scooters for a couple hour drive up the west coast of the island and discovered a great raw fish resterant, teeming with locals and other mainlanders on vaca. It was good, but I could have done without the live shellfish pulsating at me. (I have since re-vowed to become vegetarian). It was after this meal that we ended up scooting home on the highway, into a thunderstorm. This might have been the stupidest thing I've ever done, not having much experience driving a car, nevermind a scooter, nevermind in a foreign country, nevermind in the rain and thunder. But having survived it, I may one day be able to bungee jump, paraglide, or many of the other things that scare me senseless.
I slept like the dead (ha ha) Saturday night and woke up Sunday to lazily getting around to scooting over to some w
aterfalls and witnessin
g some old mermaids free diving. These ladies are amazing, and the last of their kind. They free dive, that is, do not use any scuba gear but can hold their breath up to two minutes and descend up to 20 feet to gather fish, shellfish and seaweed near the beach. All of the women are grandma-aged, and their daughters have not followed in their footsteps, mostly working in the cities and such. What is even more spectacular, is that they work as a collective and share all the profits from their catch, including what they make at their makeshift restaurants on the rocks, where they will cut you up some of whatever it is they've got, and happily serve it with some raw garlic and soju. When we went, much of what they had is what they call "sea squirt", which looks about as appetizing as it sounds. I have so much respect for these women and what they do--they're real life mermaids!After this, we had to return the scooters and catch a bus/hitch hike to the famous lava tubes. While they were about to close and we could only go 250 meters into the some 7,000 meter long tubes, I got a good feeling for what it must have taken for Mrs. Earth to create something so spectacular. The tubes were underground, pitch black and rocky like nothing else I've ever seen. It was kind of like being inside a damp loaf of bread burned black, but way colder and much more inspirational. I wish I had a picture.
Afterwards, we took the bus again to Sanguang beach, with black sands purported to relieve arthritis, athlete's foot, and a variety of other ailments. I was barely there 5 minutes before I put on my swimsuit and jumped into the warm-ish water. My friends could hardly get me out, and I felt like I was 6 years old when they started with "Ali---aren't you hungry? Shouldn't you stop swimming now?" I did finally get out that evening to go eat, but was promptly back in again around midnight and then again around 5am. What can I say, maybe I belong with the old mermaid ladies.
I really hope I can get back to Jeju before I leave Korea, as there is *so* much more to see, if I can keep out of the water long enough.
Now, onto:
~~~The Future~~~
I am exited to announce, over this venue and many others, that I will be travelling to Nepal in November and December of this year to donate my time and money giving medical aid through acupuncture. This is a dream come true for me, and I feel very very blessed to be able to participate. I think acupuncture is amazing, and though I don't know much about Nepal or the specific community in need, I know they could use some help and I am happy to get in there and do it. It is so important to give what you can to the world, especially as westerners because no matter what our life's lot may be---we usually have more than our share compared to so many others. I balk at this injustice, and while I've come to terms with the whole "life's not fair" thing, I think I can do something to make it better, if not fair-er. We'll see.
So, to this end, I have fulfilled another one of my life's goals, which is to have my own website and share my love of the visual. While I may be an amateur photographer, it makes me endlessly happy to be able to share my photos and perhaps raise some funds to donate towards the trip to Nepal as well, since volunteering isn't free for the wallet, however free-ing it may be for the spirit.
I encourage you to take a look at:
http://www.internationalphoto.weebly.com
Let me know what you think, and get some photography to pretty up your wall space, or cross someone off your gift list.
And this brings me to today, which is again miraculously Thursday and two days away to a visit to the beach in Pohang. Maybe there'll be more swimming!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Baby's first kimchi
This weekend was an amazing weekend of food. On Saturday, Timber and I visited the home and kitchen of one of our Korean friends here, who taught us how to make proper Bi Bim Bap (rice and veggies with red pepper sauce). Sounds fairly easy, yes? But it took around two and a half hours just to prepare each of the 7 vegetables involved in the dish, as well as a side dish of ji jim, a type of green onion pancake. I have a profound new respect for perhaps Korea's most popular dish, which is maybe second only to bulgogi. On Sunday, I made my first kimchi, pictured above. I've found that for foreigners, kimchi is either a love hate relationship and for Koreans it is a life or death situation. I've never known such passion for any dish. I, however, got my kimchi recipie from a cookbook and made a traditonal type of daikon radish kimchi that has become my favorite here. It is easy to make, apparently chock full of vitamins and reportedly may save me from nasty things like SARS, cancer, swine flu and perhaps even death. It won't be completely ready till morning after it ferments overnight, but I can't wait to test it out on a Korean co-worker tomorrow at lunch.Perhaps my favorite thing about this kind of kimchi is that daikon radish is called "mu" in Korean, and there is a popular commerical on TV here that chants "mu mu mu". It makes me giggle every time I think of it and is yet another way kimchi makes me happy.
Tonight, we went to dinner at Bella Cucina, an excellent Italian restaurant with a couple of lovely friends and had one of the most delicious and properly plated dinners ever.
At the moment, Timber is making "massaged pork" for lunch tomorrow, another kind of Korean food she learned to make from our Korean mom friend here.
I am one spoiled lady.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Tokyo trip: 5-2-09 to 5-5-09
Day one:
6am to 10am--Flying first class! Story and Pictures
10am to 1pm--Getting to Tokyo from Narita and checking in. Tokyo's metro system is INSANE! There are several train systems working within the city, which is really just a bunch of individual prefectures. It was so frustrating that there were a few times I wanted to cry, and I've been used to the NYC subway before. yipes. It was also very expensive. Timber and I probably spent about US equivalent $15/day just on subway fare.
1pm to 6pm--After checking into our hostel, we took a walk down to the river, took the water bus into central Tokyo and made our way through the Hama-rikyu gardens. Gorgeous!
Story and Pictures
6pm-9pm--Shibuya crossing, one of the busiest intersections in the world. Story and Pictures
Day two:
I slept really great inside the crazy capsule bed in the doom room at the hostel. Timber didn't sleep as well, being a little claustrophobic, but I was happy to close the sliding door to my bunk enclosure and hunker down. I was surprised at how comfy the mattress on the floor was. Booking the room, I was honestly a little scared of Japanese bedding, but I'm sold.
After rousing a sleepy Timber with coffee and juice from the convenience store, we made our way to the Meiji-jingu gardens, which were full of lovely surprises. Story and Pictures
After the gardens, we walked to nearby Harajuku, a huge shopping area full of great fashion and lots of really interesting characters, including the cozplay kids and the Elvis gangs. Story and Pictures
Day three:
We set the alarm for somewhere around 5am to try to get to the Tsukiji fish market by 6, but overslept and only got up around 8:30. It turned out to be early enough to see some of the action of the world's biggest fish market and have the best sushi meal of my life.
Story and Pictures
After the fish market, we headed back to Asakusa to drop off Timber's treasure and go to Senso-ji temple. We had been to a couple of gardens and a Shinto shrine, but not a temple proper, so we figured we probably should. Story and Pictures
Day four:
We packed up and made our way across town (yet again) to go to the Ghibli museum. It was too lovely for words. Story and a few pictures. (cameras aren't allowed inside the museum)
After the museum, it was back to the airport and Korea. I loved Tokyo, and if and when I go back, I was LOADS of money to spend--and not just on Pachinko.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Glamorous: Tokyo Day one
So as not to forget...
After staying the night at a classy love motel in Busan (condoms and calling cards included), T and I made our way to the Busan Gimhae airport via taxi at 6am to check in for our 8am flight. While sleepy and very much not excited to be awake, I was thrilled to pieces when we were bumped to business class in order to "sit together". I still contend that it was my highly fashionable and sexy pleather jacket that got us the glamour, but no matter why, it was awesome! Two other girls we are acquainted with were also bumped and sat across the aisle. Sporatic garbled attempts at Fergie were made throughout the flight.
T had Sake, our friends had wine, and I tried some non alcoholic Japan airline specialty Yuzu, or Yuku, or something like that. It was delish. They served us actually really good food, and I had all the legroom I could shake a knee at. It was fabulous.
We arrived in Tokyo at around 10, made it through the swine flu infared detectors without a hitch, and thru customs etc by 11. Then it was a battle with Tokyo's mass transit system(s), which may be one of the most confusing in the world. I swear, I thought Seoul had it bad, but Tokyo is considerably worse. There are at least 3 if not 4 different systems working on different fare schedules throughout the city. Some share transfer stations, some do not. Sometimes, if you need to transfer from one line to another on the same system, you need to pay another fare, sometimes not. I took pictures, it was that confusing. Once, I almost cried. Really--New york, San Francisco, Busan, Seoul, Shanghai: cupcakes, not even regular size cake, in comparison. Tokyo: I would like to compare it to cake, but it is more like a snack that looks like it will be sweet and delicious, but a rude awakening when you bite into it and find out that it's dried squid flavored.
So, in any case, after figuring out where and how we were getting to Tokyo from Narita airport, we took a train trip into the city and checked into our hostel in Asakusa. We then took about an hour's walk to the pickup station for Tokyo's river bus "cruise", which we took to Hama-rikyu Gardens, sort of by accident. We were just trying to take the river bus, see some of Tokyo by water and get to another part of town, but a ticket to the Garden was included in the price so we strolled around there for a while. It was probably, aside from the garden for the blind in San Francisco, the coolest garden I've ever seen. Immaculately manicured and immense, it included a salt water pond, a red and white peony garden (herbs used in Chinese Medicine), a duck hunting field (kind of weird, but I guess royalty has to do something with themselves), a tea house and what seemed like miles and miles of paths.
From there, we headed to Shibuya Station, the busiest intersection in the world. We walked through the intersection twice, and had coffee on the 2nd floor of the Starbucks and watched the mobile people museum walk by. I have loads of pictures, but that will have to wait until I get home. I have to say that I have never seen that many people in one place before. It was absolutely stunning to imagine how many people must cross through every day.
We did some window shopping and watched people play Pachinko in awe, ate some dinner and headed back to the hostel around 9. While being part of the huge mass of people in that neighborhood was exciting, it was also one of the most draining things I have ever done, and I was more than ready to go back to the hostel after a couple of hours. I'm determined to play Pachinko before I leave however, and while I didn't buy anything this shopping trip, I'm sure I will soon. It was really hard not to blow all my cash on some of the coolest fashion I have ever seen, but I'm sure sooner or later I'll give in and buy some really spendy socks, at least.
After staying the night at a classy love motel in Busan (condoms and calling cards included), T and I made our way to the Busan Gimhae airport via taxi at 6am to check in for our 8am flight. While sleepy and very much not excited to be awake, I was thrilled to pieces when we were bumped to business class in order to "sit together". I still contend that it was my highly fashionable and sexy pleather jacket that got us the glamour, but no matter why, it was awesome! Two other girls we are acquainted with were also bumped and sat across the aisle. Sporatic garbled attempts at Fergie were made throughout the flight.
T had Sake, our friends had wine, and I tried some non alcoholic Japan airline specialty Yuzu, or Yuku, or something like that. It was delish. They served us actually really good food, and I had all the legroom I could shake a knee at. It was fabulous.
We arrived in Tokyo at around 10, made it through the swine flu infared detectors without a hitch, and thru customs etc by 11. Then it was a battle with Tokyo's mass transit system(s), which may be one of the most confusing in the world. I swear, I thought Seoul had it bad, but Tokyo is considerably worse. There are at least 3 if not 4 different systems working on different fare schedules throughout the city. Some share transfer stations, some do not. Sometimes, if you need to transfer from one line to another on the same system, you need to pay another fare, sometimes not. I took pictures, it was that confusing. Once, I almost cried. Really--New york, San Francisco, Busan, Seoul, Shanghai: cupcakes, not even regular size cake, in comparison. Tokyo: I would like to compare it to cake, but it is more like a snack that looks like it will be sweet and delicious, but a rude awakening when you bite into it and find out that it's dried squid flavored.
So, in any case, after figuring out where and how we were getting to Tokyo from Narita airport, we took a train trip into the city and checked into our hostel in Asakusa. We then took about an hour's walk to the pickup station for Tokyo's river bus "cruise", which we took to Hama-rikyu Gardens, sort of by accident. We were just trying to take the river bus, see some of Tokyo by water and get to another part of town, but a ticket to the Garden was included in the price so we strolled around there for a while. It was probably, aside from the garden for the blind in San Francisco, the coolest garden I've ever seen. Immaculately manicured and immense, it included a salt water pond, a red and white peony garden (herbs used in Chinese Medicine), a duck hunting field (kind of weird, but I guess royalty has to do something with themselves), a tea house and what seemed like miles and miles of paths.
From there, we headed to Shibuya Station, the busiest intersection in the world. We walked through the intersection twice, and had coffee on the 2nd floor of the Starbucks and watched the mobile people museum walk by. I have loads of pictures, but that will have to wait until I get home. I have to say that I have never seen that many people in one place before. It was absolutely stunning to imagine how many people must cross through every day.
We did some window shopping and watched people play Pachinko in awe, ate some dinner and headed back to the hostel around 9. While being part of the huge mass of people in that neighborhood was exciting, it was also one of the most draining things I have ever done, and I was more than ready to go back to the hostel after a couple of hours. I'm determined to play Pachinko before I leave however, and while I didn't buy anything this shopping trip, I'm sure I will soon. It was really hard not to blow all my cash on some of the coolest fashion I have ever seen, but I'm sure sooner or later I'll give in and buy some really spendy socks, at least.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Some party: Lotus Lantern Festival, Seoul, 2009.
The Lotus Lantern festival is held every year to celebrate Buddha's birthday, 2553 years ago. There are events all over Seoul, the main being in the Insadong neighborhood. There is a huge street festival with hundreds of booths offering everything from make your own mask, lantern and clay pot to face painting to acupuncture and tea ceremonies. We got free books, t shirts, wood prints and tons of photos. It was definitely the best birthday party I've ever been to. At night there was a 2 hour parade of a ba-jillion lanterns, most made of paper. There were the most amazing floats I've ever seen, also mostly made of paper and some anamatronic and breathing smoke and fire. There was incredible dancing and music. A sincerely incredible parade.
Photos can be seen here. (please click).
Videos can be seen here. (please click).
I can't say much that the pictures won't express. Really, take a look.
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