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Sunday,
November 23
Pokhara
In
the early morning, there were 2 or 3 more tremors, but shorter
in duration and not as intense. I wasn't sure whether the
second one was real or just a dream. I got up about 5:30 and
started organizing my pack for the trip back, which would
start the following day. We had the traditional breakfast
of porridge and coffee. Then Krishna showed up with a taxi
van and we drove out of Pokhara to the foot of the trail up
the mountain to his village, where his family home was located.
I had put some band aids on my 2 blood blisters, but one of
them was pretty deep. Normal walking did not bother it, but
I thought the climbing up and down the mountain might. I took
one of my walking sticks as a walking cane, which helped.
Rob was not feeling that well, having caught the cold that
I had had and Andy was getting over.
It was maybe a 45 minute climb, stone steps and grades. As
we walked, I asked Krishna if they have snakes there, and
he told me a story about his next youngest brother, Prem,
when he was a young boy. There are poisonous snakes that lurk
in trees, and apparently Prem climbed a tree and got bitten
several times. He was on the verge of death and they called
upon a folk healer, an old woman who used herbs and such,
and eventually he recovered. We kept our eyes in the trees
for a while, but Krishna said the snakes usually appear in
the rainy season.
After reaching the
top, we followed a trail along the crest. There were some
farmhouses along the trail, but there was no road. On the
other side of the mountain, it plunged steeply down into a
valley. In some places where the mountainside leveled out
were terraced fields. Beyond the valley below was a spectacular
view of the white Annapurnas, even though it was not a particularly
clear day.
His father was on
a stone patio on the valley side of the house, where the entrance
to the house was. His father was using carpentry hand tools
and some wood from the forest to fashion a new yoke for the
ox. His mother came out to greet us, a woman who smiled and
laughed a lot and made us feel welcome, despite the language
barrier. Krishna's parents had beautiful faces, leathery and
expressive. The house was a story and a half. In a shed connected
to the house was a water buffalo, a couple of young goats,
with chickens and a rooster running free. The house was basically
2 rooms. The main room for living and cooking had a loft where
the parents slept. There was one of the wood burning clay
stoves I described before. The water supply was rain run off
from the mountain, which was gravity fed and stored in a large
black plastic tank with a faucet.
They brought out
some small, hand made wooden stools, and we sat out on the
patio and had some tea. They brought out plates of some tasty
cooked home grown field peas. Krishna's youngest son and Andy
had great fun sword fighting with dried corn stalks. Krishna
explained more about his responsibilities as oldest son. Krishna,
being the oldest son, was responsible for the financial solvency
of the family. His father certainly contributed with his farming
skills. It was an immense responsibility, I thought, yet Krishna
was a very good natured guy who never seemed stressed.
Krishna's mother,
speaking through him, invited us into the house for dahl bat
with turnip greens, which was very good. I used all of my
Nepali words, including mitha, which means tasty. His parents,
especially his mother, were delighted and amused by my attempts
at speaking Nepali. After talking for a while, we decided
we needed to head back. I gave his mom some packets of English
tea and she tucked them into her sash. And wished I had thought
to buy a bottle of apple brandy for his father. They had bought
2 liters of it in Marpha, but half had gone to Krishna's father
in law, and we learned that there was some shrinkage of the
contents of the other bottle, which had been intended for
Krishna's father.
To be invited into
their home was an honor. To sit together with them there in
the shelter that housed so many experiences for this family,
sharing their food, much of which was the direct product of
their labor, made me realize how much we have in common, despite
the language and cultural differences. Our lives in the west
come dressed with many more things, but the fundamentals of
shelter and food and love of family are the same. These parents
had raised a wonderful family with their labor, and they were
obviously proud of the four sons who were there, and surely
as proud of the daughter who didn't live with them. Three
of those sons had wives who were there, and Krishna had three
sons of his own. And Prem's wife was expecting. The fulfillment
of life surrounded us there on that farm, with family and
food and the beautiful Annapurnas in the distance.
We took some photos
of the family and said our good byes. Pheri bhetaunla, I told
his mother. I hope to meet you again. She cracked up. We hiked
back down the mountain, and were overheated by the time we
got to the bottom, to the highway. There was a little shop
there that had sodas, so I got a lemon Fanta. But it was warm
and provided little relief. Andy had two and probably could
have had four.
How to get back to
Pokhara was the issue of the moment. We were far from the
city and it could be a long wait until an empty taxi happened
by. A nearly empty bus like the one I had ridden the day before
stopped in front of the shop. Krishna said we could ride it
to where we could get a taxi, but Andy flatly refused to ride
in any bus. He said he would wait for a taxi. The other three
of us were not happy about it. After the bus left, Rob said
if another one came before a taxi showed up, he would take
it whether or not Andy was willing. We stood by the side of
the road in the shade of a tree, beside a river and farm fields,
watching the traffic go by.
Eventually a very
beat up, worn taxi going the wrong way stopped. Krishna talked
with the driver and he said for us to get in and he would
take us down the road to where his friend had a taxi and would
take us to Pokhara. We crammed in. It was dirty and smelly,
and I thought about how much less grungy the bus had looked.
But the plan succeeded. We changed to a newer and smaller
taxi a few miles down the road in the wrong direction, and
rode in it back to our hotel. Along the way we passed a place
where the river was shallow and they droved buses down into
the shallow water. Along the banks were simple houses where
people lived who made their living washing the busses there.
Coming into town we passed through an old section with aged
brick buildings that had storefronts of exquisitely carved
wood, now dilapidated.
I walked down the
road along the lake to an internet café, where I ordered
a cup of good coffee and sat at a PC connected over a slow
phone line, and spent the next hour deleting junk from my
email account. And I answered a few. Rob had admired the broom
I had bought in Mindapul so I had offered to get him one.
I walked toward Mindapul until I found a shop selling them
and picked out the best one for him. Then I went to a little
food store and bought packets of spices. I didn't know that
they were and there was no shared language whereby the shopkeeper
could tell me, but they smelled good.
Back at the hotel,
the three of us discussed our admiration for Krishna. As the
oldest son, he seemed to have a lot of responsibility. He
was the leader of the family in the world outside the farm.
He was the one who became the guide and was most responsible
for the shop and the cash income. From our perspective, the
family responsibility could be more evenly spread among the
four brothers. But the other brothers might do a lot more
to support the family than was evident to us. And we realized
that our visit to their home, and indeed our entire journey
was both a window on their world and also a mirror that showed
us about ourselves. By seeing how people face the problems
that we all face in life, but with some different solutions
from ours, our own cultural biases were revealed. For example,
it seemed like a lot of people living in that one small house,
but then, who were we to judge? What works in our culture
might not work in Nepal, where opportunities are so different.
I thought of one day on the trek, when we had passed a tiny
woman on the rocky, windblown riverbed, miles from any settlement,
who wore no shoes. Her feet looked like leather, like maybe
she had never worn a pair of shoes in her life. And she walked
at a good clip. You would have trouble finding any person
who had no shoes in our countries. Look at our huge packs
for the trek, so many things that we couldn't carry them ourselves,
when so many people here get by with so little. Look at how
we longed for a hot shower after one day without it, contrasted
to the countless families that bathe at a public faucet. Look
at all the rich food we eat and complain about our weight.
Look at all they accomplish with a few simple tools. Look
at our houses and our amusements compared to theirs. And look
at all that we are missing by being so self-absorbed and possession
oriented, The glimpse of their lives certainly gave me a different
view of myself and made me think about how much we take for
granted. And I realized that so many things are different
in Nepal, and we might misinterpret and/or misunderstand them.
For example, the trek.
I asked Rob why Krishna
had shortened our trek by a day when it was a bit of a rush
and they could have made an additional $75. He said that Krishna
felt that we were more like friends than the average customer,
so he felt more comfortable with sharing his own problems
with us. Krishna's work kept him away from home if business
was good, and he wanted to return home as soon as possible
because he didn't want to be away from his wife and children
any longer than necessary. Krishna was caught between competing
responsibilities. He believed that we were capable of covering
the trek in six days and he thought we would enjoy the challenge.
But he also thought of us as friends more than clients, friends
who would understand his need to minimize his absence at this
time.
I suppose the poor
in any country are, in some ways, stuck in the past compared
to the wealthy. And this is especially true in Nepal. Even
though we do not think of ourselves as wealthy because others
in our cultures are so much more so, we are accustomed to
health care and education and material wealth. We are addicted
to and influenced by the electronic media, the internet, MP3
downloads, DVDs, and advertisers telling us that we are not
satisfied and what we can buy to fix it. We are connected
by cell phones and televisions and email and chatrooms. And
though these things are true also of the wealthy in Nepal,
there are so many poor whose lives are in a different age
almost. Almost, but not quite, because these things are in
their world, too, even if they cannot reach them. I tried
to see myself through their eyes, to imagine what it is like
to be that person and see me passing through with all my possessions,
attitudes, and freedoms. It made me understand Rob's quest
for worthwhile charities to support, and to plan for more
of my own contributions. And it made me better understand
why there are Maoist rebels, even if I don't agree with their
methods any more than Rob did.
Back at the hotel,
I read some more of Into Thin Air, and discovered that a lot
of the major figures in the book had stayed at the Hotel Garuda
in Kathmandu. These were guys whose profession was taking
reasonably fit but inexperienced people to summit Everest.
I remembered seeing the photos on the walls in the stairwell
and mentioned it to Rob. He hadn't made the connection but
agreed that we needed to look more carefully at the photos
when we returned.
Krishna had wanted
us to come to the shop where he would cook us dahl bat for
dinner. None of the three of us was up for that, so we suggested
that we take him and his family out to dinner instead. It
was quite a festive event in the best restaurant we had found,
the one with really good Indian food where we had been dining
nightly since our return from the trek. Krishna said the owner
was a former Ghurka (soldiers of the elite India Ghurka Regiment
in the British army). They put some tables together to seat
the three of us, Krishna, his two older boys, and Prem. We
kept a steady supply coming of delicious garlic naan and other
appetizers and drinks to keep the boys from getting fidgety.
Everyone had a wonderful time and the food was good. Walking
back to the shop, one of the boys rode on Andy's shoulders
as if riding a camel. Andy and the boys got along famously.
Once we reached the
shop, Krishna surprised us with gifts. A colorful toque for
Andy, bedspreads for Rob and Kay and one for Susan and I,
plus a scarf for Susan. We were floored, having not expected
this at all. It was a merry good night. Krishna said he would
arrange a taxi to take us to the airport the next morning.
The
next day
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