Fare Thee Well Nepal

Friends, Family! Folks! Freaky people!

My time in Nepal is rapidly coming to a close. This may very well be my last update/entry to you all. Thank you for reading, for responding, or maybe just for scrolling pictures and saying "to hell with it!" I'll here the stories in real time when this little lady gets home soon.

So, whats been happening since I last wrote? The wedding has come and gone. (As did a parentally sponsored honeymoon to New Zealand?!? Wild to go from landlocked Nepal to southern hemispherical island nation!) I returned to site in the dead of winter to greenhouses of broccoli, cauliflower and the like. I was lucky in February to receive two gems from the homefront for a few weeks (shneeves and meddie, to use their usual aliases) and the three of us musky-dears went on a full on Nepali gumnu (the verb to visit/wander/gallivant etc) which took us all the way down to the terai (the flatlands of this country - hot and dry and dusty) including to the birthplace of lord Buddha - Lumbini. We gaped at the various temples and offerings constructed in honor and reverence of the enlightened one, and even sat for a few minutes inside the "princely palace" - much to the snickering of Nepali tourists looking on at this strange and rag-tag crew practicing for a minute under the shade of (what I will poetically reconstruct in my memory) as a Bodhi tree. From Lumbini we headed north to Tansen, the capital of Palpa district, and oggled traditional dhaka fabrics and ate the best damn momos (basically Nepali dumplings) that I've had in Nepal yet. We finally meandered (more like survived death defy bus ride!) back to my village and spent a few lazy (vomit ridden for some of us, sorry meddie) days around the homefront before I wished my homies off and on their way back to Kathmandu and back to the motherland. What a splendid adventure. I underestimated the effect hosting my friends would have on my mental state. Somehow being the "translator-guardian" (as they christened me) of the group gave me new eyes with which to see Nepal. Some of the frustrating things that would bother me to no end (endless staring/gawking at white girl) became somehow tolerable, and almost a point to rally around for the three of us.

Yes, this phenomenon speaks to something mysterious that is happening as I have entered my last month in village. I am somehow surrendering to all of the aspects of this experience that I felt extreme resistance towards throughout the preceding two years. Life itself somehow serves as an apt allegory? Is it not documented that as death draws near, people often become soft and sweet, surrendering to the end of things? Why hold on to any of the bullshit at this point? (Excuse my french...cow shit, incidentally, is now one of my greatest allies, as it is a fundamental ingredient in Nepali life!) Anyhow. Yes, I am becoming more zen these days as I see my time here as short. And yet! I recognize that life is still tough. I still have an aching back after hours of digging and sewing the millet nursery with didi. I am still low blood sugar on buses and annoyed when it stops constantly and I am pushed to the back, standing for three hours - my space invaded by sweating Nepalis and loud, screeching music. Yes. It is still hard. I am still in it. Still loving it.

So, what's the news from the nursery? We have moved our two plastic tunnels. Un-earthed the bamboos and relocated them to the front of the house. Punk boys on their way home from school had taken to throwing rocks and perforating the plastic of the tunnels in their previous location, and hence the re-location was necessary. The large one is now planted with 180 (ish) tomatoes, and the adjacent tunnel is boasting beds of chilli peppers, eggplant, and more tomato seedlings for sale. Bitter gourd and cucumber have also been sewn. OH! The flavors of monsoon soon to grace all our tongues! We have grown tired of cauliflower and mustard greens. Onto the new seasonal palettes. Bring on the sponge gourds! My zinnias and poppies and sunflowers are finally peaking out of my well tended flower beds. Alas, I am unlikely to see them bloom after all as my tenure in village is now short. But, I am happy to be leaving my house in such good agricultural shape. My didi has her work cut out for her. We have also been sewing oyster mushrooms in rice straw as well, spreading the mycelial love to all the women within a 5 minute radius of my house. A last little project to leave my ladies with.

Those are the main updates. But I would like to write you a little list, well, two lists actually. A composite list, if you will. A list of a few of the things I will dearly miss in this strange land, and a few of the things I will be glad to take my leave of. A summary of sorts, a way of acknowledging and honoring, saying good bye (and good riddance) to many aspects of my experience over the past 2 years in Nepal.

What I will not miss in Nepal. AND YET! What I will also miss:

1. I will not miss entering the bathroom and immediately doing a check for the one (hand sized!) spider that lives there. That is something I will surely not miss. Hell, I won't miss that whole bathroom at all actually. It stinks. AND YET! I will miss squat toilets. Truly. It is a way more ergonomical way of taking a dump. Try it sometime if your knees will abide. I swear you'll be stoked.

2. I will not miss people asking me the same questions over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and OMG could you really possibly be asking me that same question AGAIN? This goes hand in hand with not being able to leave my house and be barraged by questions as to where I am going and what I am up to. Is anonymity dead? AND YET! Embedded within this, there is something that I will miss. I will miss people acknowledging my presence, saying "namaste" and generally taking note of my existence. I remember the (sometimes crippling) anonymity we experience in the US where you'de be darned to catch the eye of anyone while riding the BART, walking down the street, waiting in line at the post office. Everyone in their own world, alone together. I will miss being integral in the community, acknowledged and seen - however annoyed I may be in the moment.

3.I will not miss super loud music on buses. But really, truly awful music that is blaring in your ears and unceasingly accompanying you all the way to your destination. Nir has taken to "pulling wires" - furtively disconnecting the shoddily conjoined electrical system that gives power to the speakers in the back of the bus - where the music is the most spiritually raking. I have followed him in developing this habit of (literal) quiet rebellion. If Nepali's are onto us during the act, they have never said anything. (I think they too are glad to be rid of the din!) AND YET! I will miss the bus rides somehow. Careening on mountain roads through patchwork jungle and terraced fields, breezes playing on closed eyelids, sunshine on dappled cheeks. A moment of moving through space with others, nothing to do but go where we are going, be transported, and somehow still be still.

4. I will not miss the monotony of diet. Yes, I have been eating millet paste (dhiro), dhaal, rice and some combination of the same vegetables twice a day for the last 27 months. I have actually had dreams (like, at night, during REM) about baguettes and brie and chocolate mousse and all those crazy concoctions imminently available to us in the developed world. I will be stoked to have some variety (and spice other than masala!) in my life when I return. AND YET! The food I have been eating here is straight out of the fields. It is perhaps the most fresh, the most local, the least processed and the most healthy diet I have eaten (and will ever eat?) in my whole life. I am thankful for every bite that makes it to my mouth (delivered, dutifully by my right hand!) And, admittedly, despite the monotony, it is damn, damn miTho! *Delicious.

5. I will not miss feeling trapped by my own cultural competence. What I mean by this is: say I am in a public space with Nepalis (especially those I don't know). Staring and judgements abound. I can often see (and hear!) people commenting on me, not yet knowing that I can understand. In these moments I want nothing more than to break out into my most colloquial Nepali and show those suckers that, in some aspects, I am one of them! I too live in a mud house, I too eat dhall bhaat daily! I am on their side, I am part of the crew! However, this impulse is often counteracted by the knowledge that should I blow my own cover, I will be committing to engaging in a conversation - likely a conversation that I have had a million times before, and that the intellectual rewards of (for me) at this point abide by the law of diminishing returns...(See point #2 from this list). And so, I feel trapped, both wanting to engage and shying away from it, preferring to live on in my own little world. AND YET! I have never lost sight of the fact that my cultural capital, my ability to speak and relate and engage with people whose lives are so wholly different from mine back home is one of the most special capabilities, and skills I have ever developed. To have lived in a rural village in Nepal and become a part of the whirring bastion of life in the hills is radical and far out. To be asked by Nepalis if I am a light skinned Nepali (this has actually happened to me a number of times!) never ceases to make my heart sing.

6. I will not miss massive hail storms that crush crops and devastate our fields. Monsoon can be violent in its own way, and it is crippling to realize the intense work put into a patch of cabbages can (and was!) destroyed in 20 minutes by tiny ice balls falling from the sky. AND YET! The monsoon is so lovely. Taking refuge during a big storm on the porch with my didi, nothing to do but sit and stare at the buckets coming down, the cool winds to break an otherwise scorching day. In general, I will miss the seasons, each so stark and each with its sweetness. Hunkering down in the cold season, wrapped in blankets and waiting for morning to wash dishes when the prospect of plunging hands into icy water can be tolerated. The warming of springtime too, as the days get longer and I can now see the sunrise at 6 when departing for my morning run. Have I ever been more in tune with the phases of the moon? So in touch with the patterned pulse of a place?

7. I will not miss the lack of work that stimulates my intellect/pushes my mind in an academic way. Don't get me wrong, there are always books to read and small engineering and agricultural problems to address in village, but deeply, truly, I miss being part of a group of people absorbing and reflecting on their world in similar ways that I do. This is a tough point to make, but it is deep. I miss the sanga of spiritual seekers, those people whose perspectives are pointed towards expansion, and engagement. Folks who can talk to me about the "set of all sets," or read me a poem they've written, or process the new way in which they are approaching some problem in their lives. I miss the progenitors of the new paradigm! The tradition and coherent culture in village is beautiful, but it is decidedly "stuck in its ways." I will not miss this stagnancy, and the adherence to outdated practices such as the caste system, and the overall oppression of women in general. AND YET! I will miss the simplicity, the sweetness of the society. I will miss how creative people are in their own work - their carpentry projects, their gardens, in doing the work they have done for ever. I will miss seeing and being with people, witnessing their ability to expand into the spaciousness, the peacefulness of having a role (a dharma!) in life, and allowing that to guide them in the unfolding of their days.

8. I will not miss being considered unclean while on my monthly moon. AND YET! I will miss getting to take 3 days off from all work involving cooking, cleaning and hauling water during this time of the month. I find this double edged sword of the period prescriptions quite instructive in itself. How strange that in order to give a woman a break in this society, she must be considered unclean, lower, lesser than? My didi sleeps on a mat on the floor for those three days, booted from the bed, literally "lower than." And yet, women look forward to this time (myself included) as a guaranteed reprieve from the unrelenting housework every month. A time to be served one's food, and not to be serving it.

9. I will not miss being away from my friends and family. My heart longs for my mom, dad, brothers, friends on both coasts, ability to drive to someone's house for dinner, to cruise to the beach for ceremony, to make plans and see them through. AND YET. Now I have a family here. To say nothing of my dear husband, Nir, and the prospect of our immanent separation for a year (I am getting teary eyed just thinking about this), but my Nepali family as well. I will miss the hell out of my didi and dhaai and the two sisters in law who live next door with their two newborns, and 7 year old Mousi. I will miss my place in the family, sharing cups of tea, chatting and planning what seedlings to sew, when to dig the fields. My didi is going to be the real emotional struggle to leave. I think it is rare to find such a soul mate in life, and yet here I have, all the way in Nepal, a woman with whom I can be my unadulterated, full on freaky self with and who receives me, cares for me, challenges me, and works patiently with me, day in and day out. I took didi to Kathmandu in March. She had never been. She is 35 years old and had only ever been 3 hours away from where she was born. (For reference, Kathmandu is only about 8 hours from where she was born!) We gumnu'd the city and drank lassis at Indra Chowk (best lassi in Kathmandu) and went up to Swembunath, the famous monkey temple for puja and views of the sweeping city. I feel lucky to have had my mind and life expanded by this woman, and I know deeply that I have done the same for her. She said in passing once when we were in Pokhara together, pointing up at a few paragliders in the sky above Fewa lake, that she too would like to paraglide once. And so, once I leave village and finish out my paper work in Kathmandu, I'll be coming back to Pokhara to meet up with didi so we can both take to the skies as a final goodbye. (Okay, I am really crying now...shesh!)

10. Finally, I won't miss feeling like I am away from the "other world." There is a deep sense that I am separated from the whole reality of my home since living here, a churning of the world that I have no grounding in any more, no place in, no context, no way of relating to. I won't miss that feeling of aloneness, of separation, of being disconnected. AND YET, I will miss feeling deeply a sense of global community that I did not know was possible before I entered Peace Corps. The world, as it were, is more connected than I knew, and becoming more and more so. Didi is threatening to have me help her open a facebook so we can video chat sometimes. And the people in this world are also more alike than I imagined. Yes, our lives and their day to day rumblings are different. Definitely. And yet, the sweetness of the human spirit, the ability to find common ground, to collaborate, to laugh at life's incongruities, to shudder at a giant clap of thunder, to giggle with a newborn baby together; the threads of universality and my ability to discover them on the daily, is something I will surely, and consistently miss and cherish for my life(times) to come.

Yow. Well, folks. There it is. My last entry in this here silly blog. I will be in village through May 18th. Then to Kathmandu to wrap up paperwork/loose ends with Peace Corps through May 25th. Paragliding in Pokhara with didi, and then serving a Vipassana course here from June 1stthrough 12th. Ten days later I'm headed to Dharmasala, India to get certified as a yoga teacher. (It is high time I get on a first name basis with the asanas I've been practicing for years!). I will be home to Palo Alto for the month of August and then off to grad school in Massachusetts come September. (Masters of science in ecological design at the Conway School - look it up if you're curious.) So, that's the download. As a dear friend of mine in village - a lovely 70+ year old grandmotherly figure who I go and chill with when I need solace tells me, "Yestai chha sansar, ke garne, Jaya?" - "Such is the way of the world, what to do, Jaya?" My name - Jaya - incidentally means "Onwards!" or "Strive hard" and so my grandmother's words take on another tenor entirely: Such is the way of the world. What to do? Jaya! Onwards!

Thanks for reading. Much love and much gratitude. Hope to see a few of you in California before too long. Blessings.

-Jaya/Aja