The goal of the project, as outlined by Tripbase, is:
To unite bloggers (from all sectors) in a joint endeavor to share lessons learned and create a bank of long but not forgotten blog posts that deserve to see the light of day again.
Thanks to photographer Kirsten Alana, I have been nominated to participate by sharing my own 7 links. My blog has been around since March, 2006, but my readership hasn’t. So I’m pleased to present to you now…
Most Popular Post. Landslides & Leeches: a Trekking Journal, Nepal Transcribed from hand-written journal pages, this is my personal experience of a trek where the forces of nature took over and lives were lost. Additionally, this post is popular with Google and any search term involving leeches.
Most Controversial Post. Probably this one. Published in the Rough Guide to India! None of my posts thus far have resulted in any sort of commentary debate or backlash. I’ve regretted the instances where I’ve participated in some controversial comment strings on other blogs. I really don’t feel good about insulting or offending anyone; when I have, it sits on my conscience like a thorn. Sometimes I’ve hit “send” in the heat of the moment, and have thrown words like daggers. I’m truly sorry to those who were ever at the receiving end of some of my sharper words. That said, the choice for my most controversial post is purely subjective. It was an issue which wreaked havoc in my mind; so I felt I should try to make right of it in a blog post. Here are the facts: a) I photographed someone, without their knowledge, in a very personal moment of practicing their faith. b) 10 years later, I scanned and uploaded the image into an online portfolio at the now defunct Digital Railroad (DRR), ticking the licensing box making it available strictly for editorial use, which means, among other things, that I had no model release (permission). c) Digital Railroad quite suddenly fell apart and left thousands of photographers high and dry without receiving commissions earned from images licensed through their website, or even knowing which images of theirs had been purchased or downloaded. d) a former DRR employee and mentor/friend with a good heart helped me out by providing a list of what he knew of my DRR downloads and sales, finalized or not, paid for or not. e) a record showed this particular image had been licensed, and the payment status was “pending”. f) I contacted the publisher who eventually replied that they had already paid DRR for the image license, but failed to send me any record for proof. Because they were a big name and reputable, I took them on their word, thanked them, and asked if they would send me a tear sheet or copy of the book. They did neither. g) So, when the Rough Guide to India was published, I rushed to the bookstore and thumbed through it. I quickly found my image occupying a full color page. My first sigh of relief came upon seeing that the image use was not in any way derogatory; in fact, I couldn’t have asked for more appropriate context for putting this image in a guidebook. I bought the book, brought it home and confirmed that I was properly credited for the image. Indeed I was, a second sigh of relief. h) Because the image and context touched on the delicate subject of religion and faith, and the person in my image was expressing his own, I felt it only right for me to expose something of my own faith. I did just that in my post (don’t be fooled by the SEO-driven title): Published in the Rough Guide to India! The photo:
Most Helpful Post. Samantha Brown and Rick Steves – the Best in the Field This post provides helpful insight for anyone in the business, or desiring to be in the business, of travel writing, publishing, and presenting (that includes you, my fellow travel bloggers!). It is especially helpful to anyone aspiring to host their own travel show someday. Apparently, I’m not alone in having that ambition.
A Post Whose Success Surprised Me. Stand Up Paddle Surf Safari…in China? I penned this humorous little piece because I was fed up with the Hawaiians getting credit for anything and everything to do with surfing. The ocean spans the entire globe, you know, not just the Hawaiian islands! Many forms of surfing have taken place in many different parts of the world throughout history. I really didn’t think people would take this too seriously, but based on traffic and search terms, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find SUP board rentals set up along the banks of the Li River some day.
If you read only one link from this post, please make it this one. This was my debut blog post back in March, 2006. I didn’t know where to start, but I knew that every picture has a story, right? So I picked a random photo taken on my travels and then opened up my journal from that trip. Turns out I have some pretty cool travel stories tucked away in these journals, and it was time to bring them out. This is one of my favorites, which I think only my web-designer-mentor/friend has ever read.
It’s not so much the post itself, it’s finally being able see my work come to fruition (thanks to incredible editors) in my first foray into documentary film-making, so that I could share this inspiring story with others. For me, this was a profound experience, a chance to use my talent to give something back. It is a beautiful story of inspiration, which I am both proud and humbled to share with you.
Thank you for visiting, and if you were even moved to follow some of the links, I am especially grateful. Please comment so I know you’ve visited!
Now here’s the tricky part – nominating 5 more bloggers. My first choices had been previously nominated, so I had to reach beyond the obvious….in fact, why not reach for the stars!
Here are my 5 nominations for the next participants in the My 7 Links project. They are all great sources of inspiration, and whether or not they have or take the time to participate, they are definitely worth your time to check out:
As many of you know, last October I had the incredible opportunity to travel to Nepal as a videographer/filmmaker, to document the story of Loving Arms Mission Orphanage. It was a profoundly moving experience, much of which I have previously blogged about (see links at end of this post).
This was my first effort at documentary film making. When the opportunity arose, I had only a portfolio of still images and my passion and enthusiasm to offer…not to mention my camera – the Canon 5D Mark II, with the technology to shoot HD video in addition to stills. Fortunately, the experience mattered less than the ability to dedicate my heart, mind, and spirit into my work, and for me, that’s just a given in everything I do! So after only a short 2-day intensive film making workshop with Pat Darrin, and a significant investment in audio equipment, I was on a plane to Kathmandu.
Today, I couldn’t be more honored and proud to share with you these three shorts, produced and edited by the team at Loving Arms Mission. Each is about 6-8 minutes long, and all three are different. I had no idea what the final pieces would be like, there was no specific shoot list nor storyboard; I was entrusted with full confidence to simply shoot what I saw and let the camera “tell it like it is”, which is what documentary film making is all about. As I began taping, the story just began to tell itself, and all I did was listen…with the lens.
1) Stranger in a Strange Land Part II
Notes: * THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAVORITE – the children are truly inspirational for their triumphs and resilience; and to see their joyous spirit now, their love for music, their complete comfort with self and others, well, listening with the lens couldn’t have been easier! * 4:00 minutes in – this song echoed through the home as the girls rehearsed, learning the lyrics off an ipod
1) Stranger in a Strange Land Part I
Notes: * .30 seconds in, camera on tripod, you’ll see me on the right – the joy of being welcomed into the family as “Auntie Kymri” and to both document and participate in everyday life at the orphanage was truly a special experience. * 3:45 minutes in, this was how dinner happened every night, with all the children helping with the cooking and serving and cleaning. Shovah, the mother, is a wonderful cook of tasty and healthy vegetarian meals.
3) Stranger in a Strange Land Part III
Notes: * Opening – the longer I was there, the more I relied on the tri-pod, because too often I’d be drawn out from behind the camera to be included in this amazing loving family. * 4:50 minutes in – nice montage of still images to tell the story. * throughout – more great scenes of life with the children
In the end, it is Kent’s words that sum it all up best, for himself, for the children, and for my own experience in the making of this film:
“…to embrace life without fear….is just a great, beautiful reward”
Which means I finally have some time to share a few back to school photos and stories. So in sticking with the theme, here are some of my favorite images of kids and schools I’ve had the pleasure to meet and visit during my travels.
When I think of the stories parents tell kids, of how they used to walk miles to school, in the snow and rain, uphill, BOTH ways(!), I can’t help but reflect upon these children heading off to school near Ghandruk in Nepal. I was on the descent of my 6th day of trekking in the Himalayas, having survived 86 hours of monsoon rains and traversed mudslides in action, when taking an early morning start I met these lovely children walking to school – uphill, up a very steep mountain actually, in their tidy uniforms with not a single complaint.
And speaking of high elevations, the Andean town of Cusco, PERU forms a quaint backdrop for these girls walking home from school arm in arm.
As for the classrooms I’ve visited, what fun it is to find them outdoors as weather permits!
From this very crowded kindergarten class in the Hutongs of Beijing, CHINA….
to not just a class, but the entire school’s student body enjoying lessons outside in the remote Osa Peninsula of COSTA RICA….
And speaking of remote, in BRAZIL‘s Pantanal region, where it is far too hot to have class outside, I visited this classroom (with the entire student body of 6).
Regardless of class size, country, or culture, children everywhere appreciate school and learning, and it shows!
Peruvian school girls in uniform
Brazilian school girls proudly showing off their English notebooks
Chinese first graders on a field trip in Kunming
While I believe there is no greater education than travel, circumstances don’t permit such a life experience for most kids. There are many children around the world for whom a school and an education of any kind would be a treasured gift. That’s why, last year, I helped to build a school in Cambodia through a program called Passports with Purpose. This year, they will be raising money to build not just a school, but an entire village in Southern India. More details are forthcoming, and you will soon see the widget here on my blog so that you can donate and participate. Meanwhile, you can get the latest details on the Passports With Purpose facebook page.
Finally, if you are a parent like me, I hope you are sending your child(ren) back to school with a great big smile and thumbs up! Have a great school year!!
Be sure to visit Delicious Baby every Photo Friday for more fun blogs and travel photos!
These are excerpts from my journal written each night of a 7-day trek.
This was supposed to be the “bunny hill” of trekking – a short loop passing through Ghorapani and Gandruck (and many other villages), with a detour to Poon Hill for a spectacular view of the Himalayas. Fairly easy, good for all levels of trekking experience. Plenty of nature, plenty of culture, and nights in cozy teahouses along the way.
End of Day 2 – October 4 I am in a small village called Banthanti high in the mountains. We began climbing yesterday afternoon, and stopped to sleep last night in a village called Hile. Already 3 of our 10 people have turned back, too unhealthy (physically or fearfully) to continue the journey. We all have our own mountains to conquer.
So now we are 7, and though it will continue to be challenging for 2 of the others, I believe all 7 of us will complete the trek. We’ve had rain and clouds since we began yesterday (though it was extremely humid and warm below). Now we are slowly but surely moving above the clouds and the snowcapped peaks are beginning to emerge all around us. The entire trail is large stone steps, and sometimes waterfalls run right along and on the steps, sometimes we cross a suspension bridge over the river and see waterfalls on all sides. I am really glad to be doing this to wind down from the film project and reflect on everything I’ve learned from the children. One child’s story and message, in particular, stays with me. “Don’t give up.”
Morning of Day 3 – October 5 Last night I was kept from sleep, haunted by a cry outside. The moon had been full and bright, and my room (which I insisted be a single this night), on the ground floor, hung over a deep chasm, beyond which lay another mountain, and beyond that, snow-capped peaks. I had three windows: one faced the courtyard where everyone gathered so I kept the curtains closed; one faced the chasm and peaks, and I kept the curtains wide open to be drenched in full moonlight while I slept; the third faced the back of the property, some sloping rice terraces and a grassy area where campers could pitch tents, but no campers were here this night. I drew those curtains closed. As I lay trying to put myself to rest, a creature emerged from the rice fields with a haunting mournful cry. As it grew closer, it’s cry grew louder, until it stood right outside my window (the third window with curtains shut). I froze in my bed and held my breath, waiting to hear someone else open a window or something. All was quiet, everyone else was fast asleep. I dared not look out for fear of what I might see. It cried and bellowed, while I lay wrapped tight and clutching my pillow. The cry was everything painful – from a woman mourning death, to a woman giving birth. And it came to rest right outside my window. Was this the Yeti perhaps? Was a baby being born? Or was I being affected by altitude. Why was I hearing this so loudly while everyone else slept? Why did it come to my window? If the creature wanted to get to me, it had only to turn the corner and pass the next window, which was wide open to the dark moonlit chasm.
Eventually, it quieted, and I figured it had moved on. I had to pee really bad. I mustered up my courage, found my headlamp, turned it on, and headed to the bathroom. Outside the window, a muffled moan. I had awakened the beast. It stirred and bellowed more as I hovered over the toilet then hurried back to bed pulling up the covers all around me and turning off my light. It screamed louder, begging for my attention, as if it wanted to keep me from sleep all night. Finally, out of frustration more than anything, I sat up and tore open the curtain just as it was screaming it’s loudest.
The moonlit grass glowed blue and still, and I saw right there in front of me….nothing. I stared into the emptiness, the beast screaming now, but I saw NOTHING!! Must be the altitude I thought to myself, jumped back into bed, and waited. The creature hmmphed and mellowed, and somewhere between the moon’s rise and set, we both slept. The last thing I remember hearing before I fell asleep was a whisper ‘the mountain lies ahead”.
The next morning (this morning as I write this), I asked if anyone else had heard the sound, the cries, the creature. No one heard a thing. I asked our guide, the sherpas, the locals…no one had heard it. Only me. I tried to describe the sound to our guide (a cross between someone dying and someone giving birth, or a cow in pain, etc.), and he immediately repeated the call back to me, a perfect imitation of the bellow. That was it!! That was the sound!!
So what was it then? What was this creature? “It is a bird,” he tells me with a smile. A bird. Of course. He went on to tell me the name of this bird, a Himalayan Quail, which is common in this region and elevation of the Himalayas. Many hours later, we stopped for lunch in a village. As I sat watching buffalo high up on the mountainside, the guide tells me “There is the bird you heard, on that sign.” Note: I later learned that indeed, a baby was born that day, and her name – Avia. More on that in another blog! Meanwhile, the whispered message remains. The mountain lies ahead….my mountain lies ahead.
Later – same day The rain pours down in gusty sheets. We are at our highest point of elevation on this trek, 3300 meters. I feel my head tingle in the clouds. This teahouse “Best View Hotel” creaks and shakes – I wonder if it will blow over, or perhaps crumble and slide down the mountain. The clouds are refusing to lift, clinging to the peaks like custard to chocolate cake. There is no visibility in any direction. When there is no view outside, then we must look within. The journey heads inward.
End of Day 4 – October 6 A storm has come in and slowed our journey a great deal. We have had to stop at a very small home which was supposed to be where we would eat lunch and then keep going. But some people are tired and weary, and need to rest more. Our clothes are soaking wet. I’ve pulled 5 leeches from my legs and socks just today (I’ve had 3 others before this day). There is no running water (other than the river), no toilet (other than a pit), and no electricity.
It is pouring rain and hasn’t let up all day. The views are impenetrable, we are in a thick wet cloud all around. There is evidence of landslides everywhere, and we are perched in a ravine with a growing river tumbling down between and granite cliff on one side, and on the side we are on, damp wet earth which I pray doesn’t give way. I am really really nervous here. We have descended waterfalls today, and crossed some bridges which may or may not be around tomorrow.
The rain continues to beat down. There is just a small common room with a stove to heat ourselves and hang our wet clothes to dry, but the room gets very smoky and I am having trouble breathing. We can’t open doors and windows for fresh air because the wind will blow the candles out. It is cold. It is wet. It is dark. And it is pouring.
I would rather keep going, continue our hike and get to the town where there is internet, but it will be another full day away now.
A lone monkey clings to the cliff and picks grubs from the wet earth. I watch him for a bit, take some pictures, then something tells me to turn around. I do, and there I see a row of rooms half swallowed by earth. My heart pounds and races, yet I try to stay calm. I wanted to run in and tell everyone, but I didn’t want to create any more panic or fear than was already present. It was dark now, and the decision had already been made to stay for the night.
Instead, I poke my head into the kitchen where the meal is being cooked. A young mother emerges holding a baby, and I take their picture, as well as a short video to show back to the baby. Baby points, and the young mother giggles loudly. I asked her about the mudslide, when did it happen? “Three weeks before” she tells me, then quietly slips back into the warm kitchen and sits holding her baby close.
After we have eaten and the candles have burned out, everyone goes to bed. I cannot. I am restless. I can’t sleep. I wander outside in the pouring rain and look around. I talk to our sherpas, still awake. “I have never seen rain like this in my life” says the oldest one, who has seen it all. I asked if he is nervous, and his eyes told me so.
For the first time that I can ever think, I am scared. I am terrified. And I am wondering how I will ever rest through this night with the damp earth pressing against the back of this inn and the river roaring down out front. And the rain that won’t quit.
End of Day 5 – October 7 I’m still here!
I have survived the scariest night of my life, and am writing now from a place where at least we are not in ravine, there is electricity, and I feel safe.
The rain poured thick all night long, it didn’t let up. Every time I lay flat on my back, I felt the vibrations in the earth beneath, and overnight a new waterfall formed and poured down only 10 feet from the door. The river raged and rushed and was twice as wide and deep by morning. Rain or not, we had to get an early start as we had a long way to go, and much time to catch up on.
Many lives were lost last night in Nepal, and we’ve heard that a group of 8 which was headed to Ghorapani didn’t make it. We had just come from there. It’s a really eerie feeling to have so narrowly escaped a deathly landslide. I’m sorry to say that I think the place we stayed last night will soon be washed away if this rain keeps up.
So today we crossed many many waterfalls and rivers. Our sherpas are very strong men, one is a gherka, and one had to carry some of us across a raging river, knee-deep, on his back – a river to our left which dropped into a waterfall on our right. He was solid, I felt as if I was being carried by a petrified tree trunk, something somewhere between a tree and a rock, but which moved steadily from one bank to the other, while water raged and rushed past.
Many people have taken falls – our trail and the rock slabs are slippery and in some places the waterfall just spreads to run right down the steps of our path. So far, I have managed to keep my balance – I take deep breaths and listen to the earth. I carry a rock I picked up the day before yesterday. I touch the moss on the trees. I hold my hands in the river and feel the water – how fast, which direction, where it has been, where it is going. It is so important to pay attention and look for signs all around to avoid landslides, and to cross rivers safely. When I hear birds singing, a waterfall is near. When I hear monkeys chattering above in the trees, there is usually deep thick mud coming. When I feel the earth is solid beneath my feet, I stop and look around, appreciating the beauty of the trees, thick with moss, the fragrant flowers, the way the water glistens as it runs over rocks. The rain continued to fall the entire day today as we made our gradual descent in elevation, sometimes following the river, other times on a narrow trail clinging to the mountain slope. Once, we passed through a mudslide in progress. Slowly and with careful attentive guidance, I stepped ankle deep, then knee deep, as I felt the mud move slowly around and past each leg. The earth was moving, under my feet, like I’ve never experienced before. I thanked the trees which stood their ground and reached out to lift me from the sliding mud. And I was grateful for every step which took me farther away from that gorge, that ravine….that deathtrap, for lack of a better word. I watched the short video I took of the mother and baby who lived there. And I watched it again. And I cried my own waterfall.
As we neared our next lodging for the night, the snow-capped peaks teased us, just shy of coming out of the clouds. Perhaps the weather will clear somewhat tonight – it seems to be a bit lighter, but it is still raining as I write. While there is electricity here, the internet tower is broke, so I am still unable to post any news. Tomorrow they say we will reach a bigger place with more communications.
End of Day 6 – October 8 We woke to clear blue sky, with snow-capped peaks and lush green hills of Landruk. As the day grew, the clouds formed. I am completely and utterly exhausted – today was the longest day of trekking, but so worth it. We passed children in uniform climbing to school. We climbed down down down, crossed a river, then climbed up up up. Most of the day we journeyed along a ridgetop, through the clouds. We reached a peak of 2100 meters. Late in the day we began a descent, and it grew dark. The ground was still slick and slippery, and it was pretty scary. I was glad to have my headlamp. I was glad to have brought several things – like trail mix, a water purifier, and a shirt I’ve had for almost 20 years that doubles as a towel and dries quickly. I’d wished I’d had a third pair each of socks and underwear.
I have been using the UV water filter with great success, it works fast and I can get the water from any source. The locals say this is the best way to go, using rechargeable batteries, nothing is wasted. I’m really pleased I picked the right one. I’ve offered it’s use to others in the group, but either laziness or fear kept them dependent on buying and using plastic bottles. Thanks to Puja (one of the orphans whose life story I documented), a vision of her river home and the piles of plastic that she scoured for food or drink come back to remind me what a horrible ugly waste it is to buy bottled water. Now I know firsthand where those bottles end up.
I haven’t seen a warm shower since Kathmandu. Tonight I bathed with a small bowl of boiled water. I first wet and washed my hair and face. I then splashed it on my body, and treated my feet to a warm bath with the remaining water. Then, still some water in the bowl, I washed my socks. It’s been such a great lesson to make the very most of every drop of water, take nothing for granted.
Did I mention yesterday how many leeches I have had? Too many, I’ve lost count now. I’ve named one of the sherpas my “leech gherka”, as he calmly treated the leeches off his own wounded and infected legs, then turned to treat mine. (image source: yeungstuff.com) There are two things to carry to deal with leeches. Salt and sugar. First, sprinkle some salt near the leech and it will immediately wither away and roll off. Then you are left with a small hole and lots of blood running out. Sprinkle the wound with sugar. Sugar attracts the hemoglobin in the blood, and helps the blood to clot so a scab can form. Never stretch and pull a leech off. If you have no salt, or no tweezers, use your fingernails and scrape it gently out from the hole.
I have surprised myself on this trek. I have been faced with two of my biggest fears – landslides and leeches – and I have survived them both, and no longer fear them. But…
I’m so glad it’s over! I don’t feel the need to summit Everest. While I admire and respect those who do, I am quite content to have conquered my own mountains in 7 days. from left to right: my “leech gherka”, me, and my river-crossing sherpa
As I was preparing and packing for my trip to Nepal, I came across a BBC headline “Nepal hit by severe goat shortage”. Already loaded up with my own bags and camera gear, and a 50 lb. bag of donated North Face gear which I agreed to transport to Nepal, I joked that I would not be forking out another airline baggage fee to bring a goat with me, especially considering the fate awaiting the beast.
I am arriving in Nepal during the 15 day festival of Dashain. (one moment please while I resource some local experts, wikipedia, and some other blogs). Basically, Dashain is a blend of Hindu worship to the goddess Durga and animistic harvest traditions, ultimately translating into the ritualistic sacrifice of animals, particularly goats.
This is hard to stomach for a vegetarian as myself. Our drive from the Kathmandu airport passed several roadside goat gatherings, where they are amassed and roped and living out their last few days before taking their turn at the makeshift guillotine for goats. I can’t imagine what goes through their minds, if anything, as they watch their goat brothers being slit and skinned and stretched and hung, blood everywhere. I would probably be freaking out. But the goats, they seem at peace with it all. Or just stupid. I prefer to think the former, because it takes in incredibly wise and evolved soul to transcend the impending mass slaughter that these earthly humans perform on them. Tell me again who is the more evolved species, in a spiritual sense? I often wonder…
Any other time of year would find Nepal an easy place to be a vegetarian. I can always fill my belly with the traditional staple meal of Daal Baat (rice and lentils). But Dashain marks the time when families gather and meals are all part of the celebration – so families will serve the very best meat they have available, and that varies somewhat depending on the caste and wealth status. For most Nepali families, this is a goat. There are some who sacrifice a chicken, while a very few of only the very wealthiest families will slaughter a water buffalo (I’m not certain how that creature is all that different than the sacred cow, but they’ll kill, cook and eat it while the cows and bulls are left to roam free on the streets).
I observe, and I question; and when necessary I put the lens between me and what I am watching to lessen the impact on my conscience. Such was the case when we wandered past a courtyard where a young boy sat dangling his little legs off a wall as he watched his father and uncle prepping the goats. The heads of the goats sat nearby in puddles of blood, their eyes facing away, as their bodies were pulled from a tub and scraped of hair. (Just telling it like it is, folks).
I learned that not all goats are sacrificed – only the castrated males (BBC didn’t mention this). So nearby, just around the corner in fact, a couple of female goats hung out by some motorcycles and nibbled posters off walls. They weren’t the least bit concerned with the puddles and rivers of blood trickling past, it was ladies night out for all they cared.
Then dinner. Apparently the Ama Ghar Orphanage where we were invited to dinner was amongst higher status – water buffalo was served and shared with everyone from a high ranking Nepali police official to the 8 or 9 kids we brought from the Loving Arms Orphanage to the guests from America whose knees crackled as they sat awkwardly and struggled with scooping food in their right hands.
The dining room floor was only so big, so we ate in shifts of 15 at a time. I lost track of how many kids there were around, and how quickly they ate and ran off together to various other rooms to play as one big giant family.
Family. [Allow me a digression. My husband and I made a conscious choice to have only one child. But that does not make us a small family. In fact, I am an auntie, a great auntie, and an auntie to children all over the world. Come to think of it, I first became an auntie when I was only 4 months old. Here in Kathmandu, I have been introduced to a family of Nepali orphaned children as “Auntie Kymri”. I have always adored being called “Auntie Kymri” by my sister’s children, who are now grown adults, and who still affectionately call me Auntie, probably because they get a kick out of watching me become overwhelmed with nostalgic pride. Now I have this big beautiful family of children at the Loving Arms Mission who call me Auntie, and I am overwhelmed with pride, not for nostalgia, but for what is to come for this world, and the hope and inspiration these children have to share. The youngest, at just over 2 years, little “Babu”, called me “Auntie New” the first afternoon until my name had been repeated to him enough to learn. (Which he did much faster than many adults do!). To be the auntie of these amazing children who have endured a childhood that no child should ever have to live through, well, I am utterly humbled, and honored, to be their auntie. All the more family to be proud of!]
So what does this all have to do with goats? Nothing really, except their fate. You see, my nieces and nephews all share their home at Loving Arms Mission, where parents Kent and Shovah raise 12 kids in one home, and Nadine and Rajindra raise another 10 or so in their home. (Their stories are another article unto itself, and film in fact, stay tuned!). Because neither sets of parents were too keen on the idea of getting a goat and slaughtering it with all the kids, they began a tradition several years ago.
Kent came up with the idea of a piñata. A goat piñata. Every week of Dashain, Nadine gathers materials (cardboard boxes, tubes, paper) and builds a goat, filling it’s middle with treats and sweets.
When the day of celebration and sacrifice arrives, the family and friends gather in the garden and the piñata is hung from a basketball hoop for all the kids take their hand at slaughtering the beast. Blindfolded, the kids make strikes, as Kent raises and lowers the goat’s “noose” until the beast is dismembered limb by limb and blood pours in chocolates and candies.
Eventually, Auntie Happy came in for the kill!
On the road outside, an endless stream of goats makes their way through the village to meet their gods, their heads held high, crowned in pink tikka. Happy Dashain.
There’s something about Kathmandu that just makes everything all right. After chasing the sunrise from the other side of the planet and being somewhat exhausted and overwhelmed, Kathmandu is utterly energizing. The last thing I want to do is sit still while life happens around me. So out we go, to Swayambunath Temple.
Along the way there’s this oversized painted door, and an undersized square room. In the middle of the room is a floor to ceiling prayer wheel, rotating gently clockwise. The idea is to walk around it and with it clockwise also. Odd how it works, but it does. I go around, and come out the same door I walked in, only moments later, but with a heartbeat half the speed and an instant relaxation and groundedness. It’s like taking a plunge into the ocean – the immediate sensation (for me anyway) that this is where I belong, this planet is my home, and everything is all right. The simple act of walking around a prayer wheel, or stepping into the ocean, both equal homecomings.
A dog barks through the night. In the room next door, a prayer is said aloud for all people in the house. Further down the road, hundreds of goats are awaiting to sacrifice their lives for the festival of Dashain. A few firecrackers echo in the valley. And I’ve just signed off Skyping with my daughter, who had her toes painted at a birthday party yesterday. Her sun is rising, and mine has set. Goodnight Kathmandu. It’s good to be back.
First, a few images from Nepal – Himalaya flightseeing with Buddha Monks & Holy men River scene
Now, excerpts from the journal of my first trip to Nepal in December 1999
Bardia, Nepal Awoke before the sun, thanks to creatures of the night and of the imagination. Slept well, though still somewhat anxious and leary of everything….my home a jungle hut with no electricity or running water, my bed a cot draped in mosquito netting with lots of big holes. But a warm welcoming breakfast of milk tea and banana rice pancakes hit the spot and helped to jump start the day. It began with a walk thru town, a small rural village inhabited by the Tharu people. The children laughed and played marbles on the dirt road while cows meandered everywhere, along with chickens and the occasional sheep. The houses are quite spacious compared to other third world living quarters. They are made of clay – the walls, the floor, the rice containers, all but the roof which is thatched grass. A fire pit in the center of the room is the kitchen. A few blankets in the corner of the room is the sleeping area.(family beds – a concept long lost on western society). Baskets hang everywhere holding things like potatoes, eggs, chicks, even chickens. The only furnishings are large clay pots to store the rice, surrounded by mortar/pestle type clay fixtures to grind it. Basically, these homes are all about the rice. This village is all about the rice. Tharu life is all about the rice. And my lunch, too, was all about the rice. Accompanied by curried vegetables, potatoes, and kale, it made for a traditional Nepalese meal, complete with milk tea of course. A welcome dining experience for my vegetarian appetite. Yes, I could live a life all about the rice too, and I’d never know hunger. In the afternoon we set out for our first tiger trek into the park. It was a very odd feeling being on foot, with only a small barefoot Nepalese dude carrying a stick as our guide. We followed him closely through the tall grasses and along the edge of a river to a large tree, where we climbed the branches and watched and waited for a tiger to appear. It didn’t. But the excitement lingered in the air, as did the scent, the strong fresh unmistakable scent of Tiger. Anyone who has visited a zoo knows what I’m talking about, only there were no cages, no barriers, no signs to read. Just that familiar pungent smell of the big cats. We crept through the tall grasses and along the river bank following fresh tiger tracks. Fresh, as in today, this morning, just hours, maybe even only minutes ago. Every once in a while our scrawny little guide would crouch down and wave us to do the same. The adrenaline raced through my blood as I held my breath and readied my camera. But the elusive tiger kept her cover, and the guide would slowly stand upright and creep onwards, scanning the surroundings and keeping one eye always on the tall grasses lining the river bank. Our ears were as fine tuned as our eyes, and every rustle in the grasses sent us to our knees. I cannot begin to describe the fight with my instinct this gesture proved to be. My instincts said run….screamed RUN….but again and again the guide would insist on us crouching down motionless. I felt utterly defenseless in this position, just waiting for the tiger to leap out and start swatting me around like a ball of yarn. Apparently though, tigers, being cats, prefer a good chase. So the LAST thing you want to do is run. The little barefoot Nepalese guide assured us again and again it’s safest to crouch down, it’s dangerous to run. As we continued wandering the river’s edge, suddenly, or perhaps at last, we got a fright when the grasses rustled behind us and something came right out at us, just about 10 feet away. I crouched down, shut my eyes, and prepared to meet my fate. (I’ve always said that when I go, it’s gonna be at the jaws of nature, not man). When seconds passed, which felt like a lifetime, and I noticed I was still alive, I peeked up to see a very startled deer staring at a very startled human (me). I breathed again. I slowly rose and looked around. Much to my surprise, my guide was nowhere to be seen crouching along the river bank. Then I heard him call out – he had legged it to the other side of the river in what must have been one serious leap, cuz I never heard a splash. I still don’t know how he got there. Needless to say, I returned to my jungle hut that evening not disappointed, but rather, much relieved that I didn’t see a tiger today!