Culture #10: Prayer Flags

Prayer flags are one of my favourite religious observances and a sight I’ve come to cherish and love in the Tibetan and Nepali world. Strung from every place, structure or object of height or significance, their 5-coloured squares of fabric are always fluttering in the wind. Big, small, vertical poles (Darchor) or long, sweeping strands (Lung Ta), alone or by the hundred, no scene in the Himalayan and Tibetan world is complete without them. The 5 colours are: blue, white, red, green and yellow, always in that order (left to right), the blue symbolizes sky, the white wind, the red fire, the green water and the yellow earth.

I love them for several reasons. Romantically and piously, I love the idea of prayers floating off the fabric in the wind to God (Buddha) and their deities. It is a supremely simple idea. The many mantras and prayers written on the fabric are blown upwards and promote peace, prosperity and wisdom to all who the wind reaches. As the images and flags themselves deteriorate with the elements, they become permanent part of the universe and are renewed by the Tibetans by hanging new ones alongside the old.



They also tickle my practical side for their supreme efficiency: Buddhism, without a doubt, has the greatest concentration of prayers per person than any other religion. How do we get even more prayers to the gods with our monks already reciting mantras and clicking of prayer beads 24-7? Simple, get the wind to do the work for us! (And enterprising as they are, they’ve also hooked up prayer wheels to streams for continuous water-driven prayers! What genius!). It does help that Nepal and particularly Tibet are very windy places.

But I think I love them most for their aesthetic beauty. On stupas and Chorten, their fluttering colour contrasts beautifully with the clean, simple lines and clean, white surface of the monuments. Placed on bridges, passes, peaks and even special trees, their human element contrasts, but somehow pleasantly, with the striking, but often stark landscape they are set in. Whether in front of barren, alpine valleys, gleaming white peaks or lush green forest, their translucent colour catches the sun and the eye, complimenting the scene. They would welcome you into town. They would welcome you to the monasteries. They would let you know you’d reached the top of the pass or peak.

Perhaps because of their simplicity and colour, it is not like a “Kilroy was here” graffiti scrawl or the discovery of a candy bar wrapper on a pristine beach, but rather a more subtle sign that, yes, humans were here and they found this place to be special and beautiful and went to the trouble of leaving an offering for it. You too can share this spot.

Although I am not about to turn Buddhist, I wanted a strand ever since being in Tibet last year and regretting not coming back with one. So this time I made sure to pick one up and now have it strung across 2 walls of my room. My room needed some colour. I turn the ever-present ceiling fan back on and they flutter satisfactory. It is not a mountaintop of course – any prayers freed are likely trapped swirling around my room like the moth that struggled chaotically about last night, but I hope, like the moth, eventually that some make it out of the windows and are taken up by the warm breeze.

Travelling #13: Traffic and Travel on the Trails

“You know what, we haven’t seen a single wheel since we arrived,” comments my trekking partner Harsh one day.

And as soon as he pointed that out, I knew he was totally right. In 10 days in the region, the last wheel we saw was on the airplane that dropped us of in Lukla – no wagons, bicycles, cars, trucks, carts or even a hula hoop. In a region dominated by sinuous, deep valleys and sharp peaks, much of the lattice network of “roads” and trails are rough and even the smooth, stone-paved ones have numerous stairs. A wheel, that time-worn invention of convenience, simply does not have a place or advantage in this vertical world.

Instead, due to geography and culture, the region is entirely run on the strength of humans and yaks. Despite the advances in technology, here it still makes sense for the entirety of trade and movement of supplies to be carried out by these twin foundations of the supply chain. Between the two, they carry up everything necessary for villages and for the significantly added needs of the thousands of visiting tourists. Foodstuff and beverages for the guesthouses and homes, gear for the tourists, supplies from detergent to light bulbs, and all building materials get carried up, load by load, up from Lukla or to a lesser degree over the high passes along the ancient trade routes from other valleys and even still from Tibet.

You quickly become part of this arterial flow of goods and people up and down the valleys and passes. They become your traffic on the trail – the honk of horns, grinding of gears and diesel cloud replaced by the tinkle of yak bells, the soft slap of the flat shoes or flip-flops of the porter and the cold, dry air that stings your nose if you breathe in too sharply. It is quiet and it is slow. Everything is measured by where one can walk in a day and no more. That is the world. It is amazing how fast you get used to the pace.


Yaks
On the trail, their oncoming presence is always known by the jangle of the bells around their neck. At the villages and settlements, their soothing tinkle provided a constant and pleasant backdrop through the thin walls of the guesthouses and often welcoming you to the morning as your alarm clock as well.

The yak is a foundation of the Himalayan and Tibetan economies. As well as providing a beast of burden for supplies and farming, the provide high-quality milk, meat (usually only when Yaks die naturally, due to Buddhist restrictions on slaughter) and strong, warm wool. For many of the rural, poor and nomadic families, they are their life. I saw this very strongly in Tibet last year, more so than the tourist-modified Khumbu region.

Yaks are funny creatures. They are surprisingly docile, not the brightest tools in the shed and have to be the laziest, most distracted beasts of burden imaginable. Big and bulky and with long, pointy horns, you might think they would be aggressive, but truth be told, whether by conditioning, breeding or just plain disposition, yaks are generally quite skittish. The ones on the trail in Nepal were usually reasonably calm or dazed enough, but the ones I saw last year in Tibet would bolt if you looked at them sideways.

Herding yaks down the trail seems like it would be an easy job, what with the yaks doing all the heavy lifting, but it actually looks like a really tiring job as it is quite literally and exactly like the visuals of the expression “herding cats”. They have to be constantly driven at all times to keep them from drifting aimlessly off the trail or in fact to keep them moving at all. They don’t seem too concerned with getting anywhere quickly. Really unconcerned. They plod down the trails in a daze and as slowly as they can get away with. They often have to be kicked into gear by their owners as if they just forgot all of sudden to move. I have not seen one go more than 10 feet without strong encouragement by their drivers via poke, prod, smack or curse. The yaks rarely complain, actually hardly seeming to notice, and continue on with whatever they were doing like someone on a ‘24’ Season 1 DVD marathon. I don’t think they mind the weight on their back. I think it is just that standing and grazing is their natural state of being and moving holds no interest or inspiration for them.

The result of this on the trail is that you can find yourself stuck behind one for a while. Since they are big, bulky creatures who obviously do not know how to go single file or pick a lane, despite their non-aggressive nature they naturally get right-of-way on the Khumbu highway system. This is fine if you’re approaching them, as you can simple step off the trail and let them pass with a smile and a “Namaste!” to their drivers, but if you come up behind one going the same way, it can be quite some time before you can manage to pass. Resigned to their pace and how much work it is to get the yaks moving in a semblance of a straight line, the drivers cannot afford to aid the passing of every trekker or porter. So you wait and find a passing lane as you can. On the plus side though, when you’re going uphill, the forced slower pace can be a nice excuse to snap some pics.

At narrow points and bridges though, opposing directions of yaks and people can get bunched up and stuck, a “yak jam” (which is not something you spread on toast). You just have to chuckle at it all and wait your turn as the drivers wearily, but good-naturedly coerce a placidly unhelpful group of large animals to negotiate whatever twist, obstacle, bridge or blockage has them stopped and milling again. Ah, the funny things that become your world on the trail.

In truth, I should say that many of the yaks we encountered on the trails are not proper yaks at all, but are actually crossbreeds. In the lower regions, the cross-breeds are actually the more common and trekking, you won’t likely see a real yak for several days. The name pedagogy is rather complicated depending on what type of crossbreed it is (yak-cow, cow-yak, male or female offspring) and the language (Nepali, Sherpa, Tibetan)so I won’t try to sketch it out, but they are variously called Dzomo, Dzo, Dzopko, Dzopkia, Mdzo-mo, or Dzum. So in the southern regions, most of the “yak” caravans were actually Dzopkia whereas higher up, we encountered more full-blooded yaks better suited for the cooler temperatures and thinner air. The crossbreeds have much shorter hair and are generally smaller whereas the full-blood yaks look more like big, walking carpets.


Porters
By far more numerous on the trails than the yaks and responsible for the lions share of the goods transport are the porters.

A porter will carry on average anywhere from 30 kg to a whopping 80 kg of weight and rumours swirled that they would cart as high as 100 kilos when building materials needed to be moved. And all this weight is carried fully off a strap across their forehead. Yes, their forehead. Strong backs and strong spines these men and women have. Most items are carried in V-shaped wicker baskets piled increasingly high and strapped down firmly to ensure it is balanced and doesn’t slip, often towering above their heads. When portering for tourist groups, they will take your heavy duffle back or pack, tightly tie it to 2 or even 3 others into a bulky rectangle, add something else on the top and then hang it off their foreheads. And off they go, slow and steady. Or sometimes not even that slow. The tourist porters often went quite slow since they had a closer destination to go to and very likely all day to reach it, but those carrying supplies to the distant villages would sometimes pass you at a good, solid pace as they carried 50 kg or more a distance in a day you planned to do in 3. Humbling to say the least.

Often however, you’d also pass groups of porters going really slow up the steeper stretches, taking a break every 5 minutes to rest and you can tell they are carrying a really tough load, even for them. The worst we saw were the guys carrying the plywood wall panels. All the guesthouses are built of them – thin, completely un-insulated, but I suppose the lightest wall material they could use. But light as they individually are, those panels, in stacks of 5 or 6 panels of 5x10 each has to be laboriously carried up, balanced on the back, over the rough trails, stairs, rocks and dust by a small, determined army.

Similar to the yaks, these heavily-laden people go at their own pace and their own path, taking the route of least resistance, whatever that appears to be to them. With head down they may not see you until a step or 2 away and even if they do, conserving momentum and concentration, they have to just keep moving. So like with yaks, as the more nimble and lighter on the road, you have to do the dodging or just step to the side and let them all truck by.

The need for breaks to take the weight off has let to a series of interesting innovations though. The porters with baskets use this waist-high walking stick with a T cross on top, which is sized to perfectly fit underneath the basket, so when they need a break, they just slip it under their back and stand there with the load off. Brilliant! For those without this option, you quickly notice benches and conveniently cleared flat boulders purposely laid all along the trail for the porters to rest on. Coming across a nice bench in a village didn’t seem that unusual, but discovering them out cut into some random hill miles from anywhere seemed odd at first. Places to get water too are similarly laid out. The entire community is structured around the needs of the transport system, as you would expect of course thinking about it. It is just that it is different and unusual at first.

The other thing you quickly note is the footwear most of the porters are using or the lack thereof. The most popular seemed to be basic flat sneakers with the second being flip flops. Yes, they carry giant weights up trails and over snowy passes in flip flops. At least they don’t seem to often go barefoot these days although I did see a couple examples of porters in the snow without socks. Some, often the tourist porters and those part of organised group tours where more money gets circulated, have runners or trail shoes, probably the most useful. Very few wear solid hiking boots, but if your ankles are strong enough, the cushioned and less stiff shoes are probably the more comfortable option.


So these were our traffic, our companions and our amusement on the trail every day. By hoof or flip-flop we saw our rice and macaroni, our treats of coke, beer and chocolate, our walls and mattress, our cooking gas and, for many trekkers, their packs, gear and supplies slowly work its way up beside us. Everest Base Camp had a constant train heading up and down to feed its temporary village of canvas and tent.

A whole world at walking pace. And no wheels for more than 2 weeks. It was wonderfully refreshing.

Travelling #12: What’s in a Name?

Harsh and I are sitting in the common room of our guesthouse poring over the trekking map in front of us. On it are strange and exotic names that are gaining comfort on our tongues and are becoming attached to real places and things on our journey. We revel in our new knowledge; discussing with fellow travellers of going to Loboche versus Dzongla or whether we can see Makalu from Kala Pattar becomes as normal as discussing London or Central Park. Here in this world of valleys and villages, they are normal, everyday parts of our lives.

As we gain comfort in the sounds and meanings of the Sherpa, Nepali and Tibetan names, these words on the map become things of substance, framing our journey, demarking our time and enriching our stories. They become our map.

The blank edges of the map of our mind quickly gets filled. “Lake” becomes “Tso” and "Pass becomes “La”, giving a picture to the Cho La we are to cross in several days. “Tse” or “Ri”, meaning peak/mountain, becomes synonymous with high places such as Cholatse and Pumori. And to make matters easier, as is common with English names, many mountains, ridges and features use the cardinal coordinates or other physical things in their name. “Lho” is south, “Nup” is west, “Shar” is east and “Chang” is north. So the famous towering mountains we see surrounding Mt. Everest, 8501m Lhotse and 7861m Nuptse, simply become “South Mountain” and “West Mountain” respectively. I’ll let you figure out what the mountain Changtse translates as.

Mount Everest itself has many names by many peoples: Chomolungma, meaning “Mother of the Universe”; to the Tibetans, Sagamartha, meaning “Head of the Sky,” to the Nepali. The Chinese call it Zhūmùlǎngmǎ.

As we travel, our guide fills us in on the meaning of other words and names that add clarity to our travels. The Dudh Koshi river is called that because “Dudh” means milk and its glacier-fed waters are a milky-white; the village of Phortse Tenga is called that because “Tenga” means rapids, in similar fashion to the US and Canadian co-towns Niagara Falls; and the famous lookout you will climb if you do the trek, Kala Pattar, means “black rock” for reasons obvious when you see it.

From all this, the place we were in has meaning, a new language to annotate and describe it with. We climb Gokyo Ri and later over the Cho La. From Island Peak I look down at the ice-covered Imja Tse and up at Lhotse Shar towering above me. We pass Buddhist chortens and stupas on the trail, knowing we are to pass on their left. We debate with new friends whether the mountain in a photo is Cholatse or Arakam Tse. We meet travellers coming up from Pangboche or down from Locboche and know where those are.

I brought home my map as a precious souvenir from the trip, awash in all these names and many more. Places that now have meaning and memory and stories of my own. As I spin tales of my wanders and pokes through this area, these will be my narration.

Travelling: Nepal Pics are Up

OK, so I've gotten my Nepal pics sorted, culled down and posted up on Flickr, so check them out.

Links:

Kathmandu pics: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mckaysavage/sets/72157600195488974/

Trek pics: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mckaysavage/sets/72157600191376713/

Island Peak mountaineering pics: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mckaysavage/sets/72157600213587148/

For those who have trouble with Flickr due to slow connections, I'm going to try to post a couple photoblog series here, but in the mean time, here are a couple shots to whet your appetite...

8000ers Lhotse and a shrouded Mt Everest behind a prayer flag pole at Tengboche Monastery.

Strings of prayer flags overtop the Buddhist Swayambunath Stupa in Kathmandu.

Two brightly coloured sadhus posing at the Hindu Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu.

Me on top of 5360m Gokyo Ri in front of the 8201m Cho Oyu.

Silhouette of another trekking group leaving Dzongla in front of Ama Dablam.

Me on top of 6189m Island Peak with giant Lhotse (8516m) towering behind.

Travellering #11: My Favourite Haunts in Kathmandu

As I was asked by someone the other day a recommendation of a place to go in Kathmandu, I thought I might as well post a list of my favourite spots and endorsements…

My Favourite Spots in the Thamel district, Kathmandu
(in no particular order…)

- Helena's restaurant for it's 5th floor rooftop patio where you can order chai and look out over the city...
- The New Orleans Cafe for its pretty courtyard and good coffee and food...
- The Organic Cafe for its excellent fresh and healthy salads...
- The Full Moon Café (bar) for live jazz Thursday nights, casual cushion seating and a fun, mixed crowd (I was becoming a regular there, see post!)...
- Fire and Ice restaurant for their excellent pizzas...
- KToo restaurant is good for steaks if you're hankering for one...
- My favourite Internet café was the large one next door to the Full Moon Café because it was large (always a computer available), cheap and the connection seemed the most reliable...

- I stayed at the Potala Guesthouse for $8 USD a night for a single room (double bed) with attached, private bathroom. You can get cheaper and you can get more expensive of course so it pays to look around. The doubles were $10 USD, which was a fine deal I thought. I liked the place and the staff was friendly and relaxed. I did not however, really care for their restaurant.

And I like all the restaurants when the power goes out as they've got candles everywhere. It adds atmosphere and many were actually nicer and cooler that way than with the lights on. It would be great for a romantic date actually!

As well as the often unplanned ones, the district apparently has regular “load shedding” outages every Tuesdays and Thursdays afternoons from 4 (or 5?) to 8pm (it was like clockwork) so you could actually time a date to one. I’m serious.

I cannot easily tell you, however, how to get to any of these places without you being there and knowing a little of the streets. Most of my directions by necessity will be based on landmarks such as “go right up the street from the Kathmandu Guesthouse” or “it’s right across from the North Face Official Store” (Fire and Ice). Just the way it is in the twisting streets and alleys of Thamel. If you're in town and can't find a place, let me know and we'll find a system that works for both of us. ;-)

Where are your favourite haunts? Did I forget or miss a great place? Add your comments. I’ll check them out next time I’m there.


My Endorsement of my Trekking Agency:
If you are interested in trekking or other recreation activities, as I posted before, I unconditionally recommend the agent and guide I had. They were excellent, helpful, easy going and good natured. I would (and probably will) use them again so I recommend them to anyone.

Puru the guide manager who co-ordinated the whole trek was flawless in planning and executing the trek and did an excellent job in hosting us for the whole time we were in Nepal. And Mr Shreeram Adhikari, our excellent guide, was such fun to trek with and highly knowledgeable of the local terrain. We could not have had a better person take us around this beautiful country. You can reach Puru or Shreeram at their mail ID given below:

Puru – tpurushotam {at} hotmail.com
Shreeram - shreeram20 {at} hotmail.com
And the company website: www.nepalguidetrek.com


Happy travels and if you’re there, have an Everest beer for me!

Trekking in the Sagamartha Region # 1: Our Flight

We had to start the trek with a little excitement. Up at 4am for a 6:30am flight from Kathmandu to Lukla. No problem. But then the guy who was supposed to pick us for the airport up doesn’t show. So we’re a little behind, but OK – taxis are outside and at this time in the morning, it is a fast route to the airport. Then disaster strikes: I’ve left my cowboy hat, my prided Lhasa hat, is the hotel lobby. I brought it specifically for the trekking and high-altitude UV and I very childishly just really want it. So snap decision: I’m going to try to go back for it. It’s 5:40 exactly for a 6:30 flight…15 minuts trip each way, but the driver assures me we can do it in 10. Plenty of time! So I’m going to risk it and go back for it. Silly of course, illogical and risky, but there it is. I believe I can make it so I am going to try.

With extensive bullying of his horn, generous use of back-alleys and speeds of the type my parents surely do not want to know about (the driving really doesn’t bother me, an adaptation from having been in India), we make it true to his word: round trip in 22 minutes exact. Back at the airport 6:02. No problem! We had plenty of time. This isn’t exactly an international flight. Whew! First adventure over and hopefully our last real gaff.

The 25 minute flight from Kathmandu to Lukla is great. An 18-seater, we each get a window. The flight is, in a couple words, casual and dramatic. If you have one of those ingrained fears of flying, then you might find this a bad experience, but luckily not being afflicted with such things, I thought it was great fun. The security check is very limited. We are not assigned seats, but each stoop and wander up the aisle in whatever order we enter. They pile any excess bags loose in the back and the plane starts down the runway as soon as the door is closed. There is no, fasten seatbelt notice, no captain's reassuring message or pre-recorded safety announcement mimed by the smiling air stewards. Instead, the pre-flight checklist consisted of the stewardess handing out candies to suck on and cotton balls to put in your ears (or the reverse, according to your tastes). They trust you to buckle your own seatbelt (or not, according to your tastes). And we’re off just like that.

Looking through the windows at the mountains you can imagine why they might not bother with safety checklists: given the proximity of the surrounding mountains and our height off the valley floor at times, we don’t have far to crash. We fly through clouds much of the way, but as we enter the Solukhumbu region, it clears and there to our left are the mountains, above us and shocking close off our port wing. It is a very odd, but very cool feeling flying through a valley looking out at someone’s house at eye level as if you’re in a bus driving by, rocky pinnacles above you and heavily terraced hill-fields below. We’re all glued to the windows. Then there is a gasp through the plane and everyone on the port side flumbles for their cameras. Rising like iceburgs above the sea of peaks are our first glimpses of the Himalayan giants, all white and gleaming. We’d come to know their beauty well, but here they were like mirages, so amazingly taller than anything else we'd seen.

Lukla appears in front of us, amazing nestled on a step of the valley backed by a headwall of peaks. Looking out the front windshield, we approach the town head on rather than from above and that plays havoc with my perception of what a normal landing should look like. The runway is short, uphill and backed by a natural rock wall, an emergency braking aid I assume. Not for the feint of heart or those with overactive imaginations. But the landing is super-smooth and at the low speed approach and uphill assist, we slow and are parked and out of the jet in 2 minutes flat. Literally in the time we take a couple pics of the airport and our new home for 2 weeks, we’ve got our packs, our guide has met us and we’re good to go. Oh if all flights were this easy!

Things are working out fine. My trekking partner, Harsh and I get along well and have a fair bit in common. He and I met over the Internet (I know, sounds like I’m introducing my date) on the Thorntree forum. He’s a native from Bangalore, not too far from me, so we chatted and figured we could trek together. He’s easy going too and loves photography. I covet his nice digital SLR camera. It doesn't however "accidently" find its way into my stuff over the trip. Our guide, Shreeram (sometimes ‘Shree’, but usually ‘Ram’ for short), is also easy going, smiles easily and tends to break into singing with little provocation. He likes his work, meeting all sorts of people and impressively speaks about 6 languages and can exchange pleasantries in several more. He was the chatty guide among those we met, always asking questions, joking or helping anyone in the guesthouses we stayed at. I also really liked that whenever we happened upon a good vista or the clouds rolled back to display a hidden wonder, he would exclaim, “wow!” displaying his love for the beauty despite having seen it all dozens of times. He carries about 1/3 of Harsh’s gear plus his minimal baggage, but I don’t bother. I’m already nicely packed and am fine with the weight, light compared with what I’ve often carried (no tent, minimal water, no food, no skis, no heavy crampons, ice axe or rope).

I’m happy with our setup of having a guide rather than or as well as a porter where we’re a team, not a tour group. Makes us more actively involved in the trip and of course, for me, a little hard work is part of the experience and value. As much as I know it helps the local economy, I cannot be comfortable with someone carrying what I can carry, my own cultural upbringing and a key component of my enjoyment, so having a guide is a nice balance. And Shreeram is a pleasure and improves our interaction with the locals and region so it works out great. I champion that everyone has their own strengths, abilities, desires for comfort and tolerances so don’t let me stop you from hiring a porter or 6 or going it cheap and just trekking without anyone – to each their own – but the guide route is my recommendation. I’m happy to provide contact info for the Agent, Puru, in Kathmandu as I highly recommend him and our guide Ram as top.

Getting off the plane, putting on the familiar weight of the backpack, breathing in the dry, pure air, I am immediately struck with the feeling of home and contentment. I love the mountains – they are truly in my bones and soul. The scrubby, rocky, treed and alpine landscapes before us remind me strongly of Tibet and BC’s drier Interior (e.g. Lillooet and Chilcotin regions) and I have wonderful memories of both. Every range is different, yet all high and remote places share a sense that they are so much greater and larger than we are, that we are privileged to be able to share the space so close to the sky.

Here we are, Harsh and I grin together: Sagamartha National Park, the Solukhumbu Distict, the Everest Region. Call it what you will. We’ll be calling it home for the next 2 weeks. Uphill we go!

Travelling #7: A Place to Hang Out

[Note: I didn't like the flow (or the grammer mistakes) of this one that well so I've edited it. Sorry to the purists.]


"I'll meet you at the Full-Moon Cafe later"

"Full Moon"
"Blue Moon"
"Half Moon"
"New Moon...? "

"Geez...It it's one of those anyway... you'll find it. It is next door and upstairs to the big Internet cafe just up from the Kathmandu Guesthouse (a major landmark)" "Ask around if you have any trouble"

"Meet you there at 8pm. "
"See you around 9pm..."
"We'll be there any time after 8:30pm..."


It is properly the Full Moon Cafe and has quickly become my semi-regular place to hang-out and have a couple beers. It is funny how nice it is to have "a place" you feel at ease and how quickly you can fall into one.

I really like the place. It is a very relaxed atmosphere, raised cushion seating and on Thursdays has a quite excellent live jazz band.

I don't know why sitting on cushions on the floor hasn't made the sell across the ocean in North America. It is so luxurious and comfortable. Everyone I meet in Asia loves the relaxed and casual feel of eating or drinking lounging on cushions on the floor. In India, Thailand, here in Nepal, people of all walks of life seem happy to fold their legs or stretch out and do it, chatting and laughing comfortably at ground level. So why have so few thought of it back home? Hmmn, maybe a business opportunity to file away. Feel free to steal it. I don't care if I make money on it or not, I just want it available. Especially for live music, if you're not standing at a concert, second best is in a concerted lounge position. Think of how nice it is sitting on the grass for summer festivals. It also promotes easy mixing as the tables and seating are not so regimented.


My first foray to the joint was 3 weeks ago before I left for my trek. I was emailing at the Internet cafe. I was alone at that point, my trekking partner not having arrived yet and I had not yet build a crew. Getting out of there I was thinking of finding a place to sit and chill for a couple hours. Wandering out the door to the street I can hear some sweet jazz emanating from the 2nd floor of the next building. Whew, that was a hard & long search. Up I go. Live music, especially decent jazz, is not to be passed up.

The place is small and L-shaped with all the seating on raised, cushioned platforms. I ask a couple in the corner if I can claim a space beside them, kick off my flip flops and settle in with my back nicely wedged in the crease of the bamboo wall paneling and an Everest beer within reach. Nice life.

I doubt Kathmandu is on the International Jazz Circuit, but the boys are pretty good, better than I would have expected. They played an hour and a half set straight (and in typical jazz format this was about 5 "songs") and started up again after only a 15 minute break for refreshment. Cool crowd. Not nearly as busy as I expected. It is not a large place. Mostly locals and people in the know it appears. I can't figure why more tourists don't wander in like I did. Did they not hear the music from the street? It isn't like most of us have any place to be. But who knows, maybe Shakira is playing down the street and I'm missing it. For me, coming from 5 months in Chennai (John McLaughlin excepted) this atmosphere and a place to hang out is bliss.
I make a mental "wish you were here" list of people I know who would really dig the scene.

Comfortably settled against the wall, I am in a very relaxed mood and I draw inward with the music and just chill. And in many occasions, that would be the end of the story: I enjoy the night and the vibe, but struggle with feeling isolated - like there's walls between us - and go home at the end of the night, satisfied, but not quite. But that isn't the story tonight.

I run through the Spanish girl sitting beside me with little rapport and then a pair of Israelis before eventually shifting over to join a couple I had been exchanging grins and laughs with the enxt table over (who were Filipino and not a couple, but I didn't know that then). We chat for a bit, listen to some more music and then somewhere along the way I found myself in the circle of the local crowd like we were all old friends. The Nepali are warm people and treat well anyone one who is open and friendly. They seem happy to include me. One offers me half his sub the restaurant staff went and got for them. I'm the Ferengi dancing unabashedly with the locals to the dance-ish music once the band quit. Many songs, laughs, stories and an extraneous couple beers later, I wander down the street puzzled as I regularly am about how this process all came about and how these things just happen somehow when you're not searching for them.

It is a funny thing. I count myself as a generally shy person, not the first to wander up to a group I don't know and strike up a conversation or hold everyone's attention as I entertain. I find cliques of chatting people intimidating (although here, like most traveling, you have to remember that most groups of seemingly close "friends" are likely only an hour old, but more on that later). And so I regularly feel isolated in an unfamiliar place. And of course sometimes you make connections, sometimes you don't. But though I find it hard to actively meet people, somwhere along the way I often do. It is a juxtaposition that I don't know how to make them happen, but they happen more often than not. Beats me how this juxtaposition fits together, but I thought I'd share it. I think partly is that I'm scared of openings, breaking the ice as they say, but once it is broken or in situations where you don't have to formally break it, I seem to be a naturally good skater/swimmer from there. So maybe if that is the explanation, it is not so mysterious. But then, I've long ago learned I do better, as most of us do, when I just be and not worry and over-think too much.

Anyway, back to my story,...the gate to my guesthouse is, unsurprisingly, locked when I arrive and I can't see a buzzer. Hmmn kink in my plan (what plan? I didn't get 10 feet from the Internet cafe before getting distracted for the night!). Thankfully after pondering my options for a minute, a woman cooking in a stall across the street points out the obscure bell toggle behind the pillar. Oh yes, cream toggle on a dingy, ivory pillar...at night. Silly of me to miss it. I worry briefly about getting hassle from the watchman as I don't know if they have curfew rules, but after chummily watching a cricket world cup match with the night staff last night, they just smile and usher me in warmly when I ring the bell.


So from there the Full Moon Cafe became a convenient and relaxed place to suggest as a meeting place. Citra, Mike, Raz and I meet up there before heading out for New Years. When my trekking partner Harsh arrives from Bangalore, we chat about our plans there over a couple drinks.

Now that I'm back from trekking, with a new crew met along the way, it again becomes a natural place to while away a few hours.

Last night Adrian (UK) and I were looking for a place for a drink after dinner and again we caught the music from the street. Ah, it is Thursday again (dates and days of the week hold very little attention when you're travelling) and the jazz band is playing again. Well, can't pass that up so up we go. It is similarly quiet for the jazz sets, playing to 10:30. We make friends with the others sitting in our half of the "L", some really nice people with the usual global spread: a couple from the UK, a German guy and Dutch girl, a couple German girls. My Filipino friends are there too and I happily catch up with them. After the band, the dance music cuts in and, as before, dancing starts, this time with a stronger contingent of our foreigner contingent. The place gets really busy and our "fun half" of the "L" becomes a full-fledged dance zone. Most everyone is up at least part of the time. More people join.

This is where I get a good, quick lesson in remembering to not be intimidated by groups of travellers who seem to be close friends and having a private riot amongst themselves. Partway through the evening, a newer joiner to our little dance party asks me how we all know each other, indicting the crew behind me of people laughing, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, calling out back and forth between the tables. I chuckle, looking around. "Well, Adrian, that guy there, and I met trekking, these two [Filipinos] I met here 3 weeks ago, the rest we've all just met here a couple hours ago." In traveller destinations like here, a seeming tight group might only be as long-lived as the lobby of their guesthouse. Close friends may have met last week and laughing groups might actually be new conglomerates of several pairs and individuals that just fell in together like this lively crowd. Such is the way of travelling and one of the most vibrant.

There are several people already that I will miss and as I head back to Chennai, I am going to miss my new hangout place.

If you're in Kathmandu, check it out and have an Everest beer for me!

Travelling #6: Happy Nepali New Year!

Happy New Year!

We’re living it up like it was 2064...

...actually, here in Nepal, it is 2064! Welcome to the future. It's nice. You'll see.

Yup, here they use a different calendar and count today (Sat, Apr 14) as New Year’s Day 2064. Cool, eh?

The calendar being used is the Bikram Sambat shared with Northern India. It is a solar one, so is 56.7 years ahead of the Western Gregorian one.

So the streets were bedecked with flags, shops in the tourist Thamel district were closed early (i.e. before 10pm) there was a parade through the streets, parties were held and dancing was had. Not wanting to waste an extra opportunity to celebrate New Years a second time this year, a few new friends and I stayed up very late (or early depending on your point of view) at an outdoor trance party with a whole whack-load of Israelis (the Israelis love trance more than any other nationality I've come across; me, for dancing, I'm personally more of a fan of techno, drum n bass and house).

What a riot! I love the diversity of the world's cultures. Gives one an excuse to revel every couple weeks. Being a multicultural country, I think Canada should officially adopt the holidays and festivals of every major culture resident. Bring 'em on!

I'm Back

Hello everyone. I'm back from trekking in the Sagarmatha (Everest) region and back in Kathmandu for a few days before heading back to Chennai, India and work. I'm excited to get back working on my project, but must admit being off travelling is very nice...

I'm going to try posting up a storm in the next couple weeks to catch up on the stories, adventures and random thoughts I've missed this past month. Many will be out of date and out of order so bear with me!

Cheers,
McKay

Travelling #5: Leaving for Nepal

I've got my backpack on full of hiking gear, a long sleeve layer on against the chill of the airplane aircon and my Tibetan cowboy hat, all foreign items to my daily life: my gear has sat unpacked under my bed, I haven't worn long-sleeves against the cold since I arrive in India. So I feel a bit odd with it all. But good weird, because it means I'm moving.

Goodbye sticky Chennai. Nepal here I come!

People seem to really like my cowboy hat. Both security check personnel in Chennai and my connection in Delhi specifically ask me about it and where I got it, saying they like it. A fellow traveller strikes up a conversation from it as it apparently looks like it is from Australia. Funny! I should wear it more often except it is far too hot to wear in south India.

It is super early. I was up at 4am and hadn't slept well, but the Chennai airport is quite small and pretty painless to get through. I nap on the plane.

Killing my stop-over in Delhi over lunch, my last meal in India is Subway. I feel a little about it, like such a lazy foreigner, but after 5 months nearly completely healthy, I actually came down with a stomach bug of some sort on the weekend and am feeling pretty tender, my appetite is gone and strong tasting food makes me feel somewhat ill. So simple, comforting food is the order of the day unfortunately. It doesn't really matter of course as I'm not exactly picky, I barely eat 1 western-style meal a month, if that and of course airport food of any nationality will be universally poor and unauthentic (although the dim sum at the Hong Kong airport restaurant was surprisingly excellent). And of course, I'm coming back, so it isn't a last meal really.

But it funny what little guilts strike you. You can feel not Christian enough, not Jewish or Hindu enough, you can feel not Indian or not Canadian enough, not patriotic, loyal or pious enough. For some reason, sometimes I worry about not being integrated enough, giving enough, hard core enough. Plight of the development worker I suppose. Most of us will fall prey to guilt over meeting some imagined or real standard or other I suppose in our work, personal and community lives. So there you go, eating Subway in India, even once in a blue moon is mine. Of course it also stems from a deep pleasure in eating diverse and interesting, rich foods such that I am disappointed when I miss an opportunity.

The exception to my non-Western food rule though is bakery. Travelling to Pondicherry with my mom and sister I rediscovered the joys of good croissants and buns filled with yummy stuff and really good breads. There are several in Chennai too so I think I will have to add a bakery run to my weekly schedule. No guilt for tasty things.

The food thoughts, stomach tenderness and exploration continues through my first few days in Kathmandu. I eat Nepalese momos on rooftop patios. Most the restaurants serve the eclectic mix familiar to backpackers the world over - global favorites of pizza, European soups, Chinese noodles, "sizzlers", pepper steaks, chicken cordon bleu, the Indian standards of butter chicken, tikka and tandoori. You can get muesli for breakfast nearly anywhere in the world despite no one I've ever met eating it at home. They have some good bakery here too. I'm totally on a bakery kick. I drink a lot of Nepalese (milk, masala) chai and banana lassis.

The tourist district of Thamel in Kathmandu has a strong familiarity to it: its twisting maze of streets cramped with signs and advertising stretching up 3 stories, the wall-to-wall traveler-oriented shops, the global "fusion" cuisine restaurants, competing music every dozen feet and of course all the kitch. It suggests a half-dozen other major backpacker meccas worldwide where travelers linger, socialize and put down temporary roots rather than just pass through. And as such has evolved that peculiar, foreign-yet-familiar mix of shops and services: craft and curios stalls and shops that spill out onto every street, clothing shops that are not representative of any original culture, but more the global "backpacker chic" and hawkers and touts trying to strike up conversations with "just look Sir". Restaurants that cater to global cuisine and always seem to sell muesli, sit shoulder with nightclubs, moneychangers, CD shops and Internet cafes. Bicycle rickshaws and taxis slowly weave the narrow, clogged streets hoping for custom (it is actually much faster to walk given the crowds). With a few differences, it could be Khao San Rd in Bangkok or much of Goa to name just two other stops. But its familiarity and pace is comforting and enjoyable right now as I too linger on my way through.

What have I been doing? Not much actually: wandering the narrow streets, dodging the bike rickshaws, soaking in the atmosphere, reading on rooftops, drinking lots of Nepalese chai. I've spend a morning standing in line at the Indian Consulate - getting a visa requires 2 all-morning waits, one to drop off the telex, another to pick it up and submit the visa, then a shorter, 3rd visit that afternoon to pick it up. I go back tomorrow. At least I'll know most of the line to chat with, half the line from Tues meeting back again to collect. I've spend a couple afternoons getting plans laid for my trek and mountaineering excursion. I haven't been inspired really visit the sites of Kathmandu. I should, but have been really enjoying the slow pace and a chance to consider "ambitious" plans to be buying route maps and browsing for trinkets to bring back to my housemates in between a long lunch and lazy dinner.

Funny enough, my cowboy hat is going over well here too. Here is a pic from when I was in Tibet. I just spent 15 minutes chatting with an Indian expat shop-owner on the street about what we each are doing here after he asked to try on my hat to see how it looked with his jeans and boots (good look actually, I recommended he request a hat from any guide friends heading to Lhasa). It gives the hawkers one more way to get me to stop and talk to them (about their wares), but I'm happier being distinctive and enjoying random conversations at the cost of a little more bother.

So welcome to Kathmandu, if you spot me in my cowboy hat on the patio, join me for a beer or a chai...

Where am I?

Alright folks, sorry for the delay in postings, but I've put my project into holding mode and have packed off for a week visit from my family, showing them around the Chennai area, and then for a month vacation in Nepal to renew my visa.

So greetings from Kathmandu!

I've escaped the building sticky Chennaiyan heat and have leaped to cooler climes and higher altitude. I suspect though that stilling on my ass in thick, sea-level Chennai won't help my trekking here, but under the principle of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I hold dimly to the prospect that dealing with the traffic pollution has increased my lung capacity. ;-)

I promise to post some more stuff about my adventures here as I can and will eventually post a whole pile of pics on my flickr account of impossibly high mountains.

Cheers and have a good April!