Hello Friends and especially our BMS friends in exile, I may be 13,000 miles from home, but let me say first that I am so sad that our School Board has taken the decision to move the Middle School to Old Christiansburg High School.
We have made it to Jomsom in the Annapurnas. Our flight happened yesterday, solving many frightening problems.
This morning, Pema Dhoka Thakuri from a village three hours up the Kali Gandaki came to the Dancing Yak because word had traveled upvalley last night that we had arrived. She is the Tibetan friend who came to stay with us in Blacksburg two years ago. It is so amazing to see her!
And Tsampa was standing at the edge of the tarmac to greet us, and so was Cy and Karma, Tampa's wife, and Lhakpa Dolma, Tsampa's daughter. It feels GREAT to be here!
Yesterday we were ushered into our new rooms--built on the back side of the hotel--with our OWN bathrooms! An we were given a basket of Tsampa's orchard's fresh apricots which ALL of us can't stop eating. Ella says they are the best things she has ever eaten. And pretty soon, we were hiking--across the iron bridge, up to Dhumpa Lake and monastery, where the air is full of dakinis, the locals say--sky-dancing female spirits who can intervene in the lives of people, and who are present but not visible.
We are in high country now, with snow-capped mountains all around us.
And last night we showed the film to Tsampa! And to his family, and to friends. The Dancing Yak was the theatre. What an uproarious great hour! I think we will have a reshow tonight. Everyone was thrilled, and it was anarchy in the audience, laughing and being amazed and yelling out approval and joy. Jenna videoed. WOW.
The thang-ka I painted in 2001 is hanging up and looks completely at home. We have made it to the first position of the Dancing Yak menu, where the hotel lists its specialties and services, for example, having a Tibetan doctor on call, or being able to help a tourist rent a trekking pony. But the first listing: Amchi thang-ka of Holy Man Tsampa Ngawang lineage portrait hangs here.
It is thrilling to have made it here, and thrilling for Emerson to be back in the really high mountains with me, and wonderful to see Ashleigh and Mary and Ella drop their jaws at the land and the vistas and the sheer age of the buildings here--and great to see Reba walking with her completely free fossil- and bone-hunting daughters--and as always, a privilege to be with Jenna.
Tsampa looks as young as ever-- Emerson says he looks exactly the same as the last time he saw him.
We are full of apricots, popcorn, dhal batt, greens, AND summer worm/winter grass liquor, a rare Tibetan herbal (well, for a vegetarian, the summer worm part is disturbing!) concoction to celebrate the film and to give us long life.
Our love to everyone. E-mail is expensive and unpredictable, but the trek to Lo is on schedule, and our friends are here with us. Emerson will be leaving with Cy tomorrow to head downtrail on foot--should be a spectacular adventure--and it looks like we are on target to show A Gift for the Village both in Kagbeni at the Red House and to Raja Jigme, the King of Lo Monthang. Love, Jane
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
a few side notes from Jenna
ON BIKING: did i mention that i had to ask which side on the road to ride on and several times during our ride in town I could not figure out why cars and motorcycles were heading straight for me? In Nepal, I am pretty sure there is a law saying that anytime you are driving a car or riding a bike or motorcycle you should beep your horn or ring your bell as much as possible. I have to say that Ashleigh was much better with the bell ringing than me-- I was so busy dragging my feet to stop the bike on down hills and trying to figure out why everyone else was on the wrong side of the road to worry about the darn bell. Thanks Ashleigh-- your bell ringing saved us a few times!
ON FLYING TO JOMSOM: I have to say that i was really nervous about the flight. We were looking out the airport window at a cloud covered sky and a light rain and the lady told me "Jomsom weather very bad mam, very difficult for plane land" After waiting 5 1/2 hours we were led onto the tarmac. tHE RAIN HAD STOPPED AND THERE WERE HINTS OF BLUE SKY, BUT NOT MUCH, (oops caps) We were told that the pilot would take us up and see if he could land. It wasn't until I saw the female co-pilot look out of the cockpit and smile at Mary and Ella that I started feeling okay about the attempt. Then as were were just about to take off the pilot looked over his shoulder, surveyed the FULL flight of 16 passengers, smiled and turned back around. It was if he was saying, I see you, I see who you are, and I will take care of you. The flight is no more than 20 minutes. Today, after 20 minutes, we had circled about five times, dropping and ascending to dodge clouds-- mind you our pilot was flying by sight! no instruments helping with navigation, only altimeters and a few other gadgets....
ON HIKING: that last two days, despite the oppressive heat we have done two amazing treks to the mountain tops around Pokhara. Ella joined us for the trek to the World Peace Pagoda and Mary trekked to the top of Sarangkot Mtn. today. It feels good to be getting our legs ready for the long trekking days ahead. Our walks took us up steep rock stair cases, threw villages and rice fields, past men herding water buffalo in for the evening and women carrying massive baskets of corn or rocks, or buckets of water on their heads. It never ceases to amaze me where women have set up their tables or blankets full of goods-- we climbed up a steep rock ledge to find women up there waiting for us. As we trek threw villages, we are greeted in one of a few ways..."Namaste-- which country?" or "Hallo-- what your name?" "Come, just a look, no cost to look."
ON BLOGGIN: As I was nearing the end of this blog, my computer started beeping, as if the timer to an explosive was counting down-- I tried to post, no luck, I tried to copy and save, no luck, so I called over the attendant who simply nodded his head back and forth side to side and ran his fingers a few keys on the keyboard and the beeping stopped and the computer seemed to unlock. HUM????? I hope this is the last blog for a while. If it is, it means we have flown. Keep your fingers crossed for a clear sky and safe journey. Also, as i am typing there are 3 laughing geckos in sight of me. We see them everywhere and they really do laugh. There was one right above Mary's head as we ate dinner the other night.
I'm going to post now before a gecko drops down on my keyboard and the beeping starts again!
ON FLYING TO JOMSOM: I have to say that i was really nervous about the flight. We were looking out the airport window at a cloud covered sky and a light rain and the lady told me "Jomsom weather very bad mam, very difficult for plane land" After waiting 5 1/2 hours we were led onto the tarmac. tHE RAIN HAD STOPPED AND THERE WERE HINTS OF BLUE SKY, BUT NOT MUCH, (oops caps) We were told that the pilot would take us up and see if he could land. It wasn't until I saw the female co-pilot look out of the cockpit and smile at Mary and Ella that I started feeling okay about the attempt. Then as were were just about to take off the pilot looked over his shoulder, surveyed the FULL flight of 16 passengers, smiled and turned back around. It was if he was saying, I see you, I see who you are, and I will take care of you. The flight is no more than 20 minutes. Today, after 20 minutes, we had circled about five times, dropping and ascending to dodge clouds-- mind you our pilot was flying by sight! no instruments helping with navigation, only altimeters and a few other gadgets....
ON HIKING: that last two days, despite the oppressive heat we have done two amazing treks to the mountain tops around Pokhara. Ella joined us for the trek to the World Peace Pagoda and Mary trekked to the top of Sarangkot Mtn. today. It feels good to be getting our legs ready for the long trekking days ahead. Our walks took us up steep rock stair cases, threw villages and rice fields, past men herding water buffalo in for the evening and women carrying massive baskets of corn or rocks, or buckets of water on their heads. It never ceases to amaze me where women have set up their tables or blankets full of goods-- we climbed up a steep rock ledge to find women up there waiting for us. As we trek threw villages, we are greeted in one of a few ways..."Namaste-- which country?" or "Hallo-- what your name?" "Come, just a look, no cost to look."
ON BLOGGIN: As I was nearing the end of this blog, my computer started beeping, as if the timer to an explosive was counting down-- I tried to post, no luck, I tried to copy and save, no luck, so I called over the attendant who simply nodded his head back and forth side to side and ran his fingers a few keys on the keyboard and the beeping stopped and the computer seemed to unlock. HUM????? I hope this is the last blog for a while. If it is, it means we have flown. Keep your fingers crossed for a clear sky and safe journey. Also, as i am typing there are 3 laughing geckos in sight of me. We see them everywhere and they really do laugh. There was one right above Mary's head as we ate dinner the other night.
I'm going to post now before a gecko drops down on my keyboard and the beeping starts again!
July 6, evening, from Jane
Hi Friends, My eyes are drooping but I wanted to wish Blacksburg Middle School no amputation and no dislocation.
On our unexpected day in Pokhara, Jenna and Mary and Ashleigh and I walked up to Sarangkot, the big hill between Machupuchchare and Phewa Lake. From this hill, hang-gliders take off. We walked in fields and along the one switchback-looped road, past mahogany and neem forests and stone walls covered in ferns and wild crown-of-thorn. This was a really vertical walk, and I for one was as drenched from the exertion as if I had jumped in a swimming pool.
At the top, we met a little girl named Pushpanjali, thin and beautiful-eyed, but extremely forward physically, touching our necklaces, and wanting us to sit near her. I wondered if she might be a child who at Blacksburg Middle School would be one of my special kids, and I guess so: her older sister gestured to Pushpanjali and said (to our sadness), "No mind," shaking her head. Maybe not, but we would have taken this little girl with us so quickly, if we could have spoken to her easily, and if there weren't a Great Wall of regulations to barricade such a bond. She was cheerful and lithe, and happy. She seemed bright, but eccentric, possibly repetitive, or plaintive, in her affection. So far, where is the flaw?
On the drive downhill (because we decided to take a car down, to avoid the time of evening when black cobras cross the road), let's just be glad that our raft guide was in the front seat. Our driver seemed at one point distracted by a vision in the faraway distance,, and our car began to drift toward the cliff. Jenna TOOK that steering wheel and turned it, and the driver was good-natured about the correction. Go Jenna! May your raft guiding always extend to other service fields, like saving your friends from a car-flight over a Nepali precipice.
So again we try to fly tomorrow. Looking in the direction of Mustang is like looking into a mix of octopus ink and milk. I can't imagine the break in the clouds that we will need, but then again, not much of what we are doing is easy for me to imagine, even when I am seeing and being here. Like watching the silk Amchi shirt-artist: a blur and whir of stitchery keeps turning into adventures which keep turning into gifts which keep turning into friendships and then back into celebrations. Sounds as if I am drunk, but in fact I am too tired to lift a beer.
Goodnight, Pushpanjali. You may never remember us in your life, but we will never forget you. Tiny wisp of a mountain girl, walking near the stars, looking down on Phewa Lake from such a height that you could believe your own mind is nothing but clear light and empty endless sky-space. May all your dreams be as fresh as cloud and as light as mist. May flowers be bright every season of your life. May your unchecked sweetness and enthusiasm heal a thousand sadnesses in your village.
We miss our friends and family. Iris, you are always in my heart. Love, Jane
On our unexpected day in Pokhara, Jenna and Mary and Ashleigh and I walked up to Sarangkot, the big hill between Machupuchchare and Phewa Lake. From this hill, hang-gliders take off. We walked in fields and along the one switchback-looped road, past mahogany and neem forests and stone walls covered in ferns and wild crown-of-thorn. This was a really vertical walk, and I for one was as drenched from the exertion as if I had jumped in a swimming pool.
At the top, we met a little girl named Pushpanjali, thin and beautiful-eyed, but extremely forward physically, touching our necklaces, and wanting us to sit near her. I wondered if she might be a child who at Blacksburg Middle School would be one of my special kids, and I guess so: her older sister gestured to Pushpanjali and said (to our sadness), "No mind," shaking her head. Maybe not, but we would have taken this little girl with us so quickly, if we could have spoken to her easily, and if there weren't a Great Wall of regulations to barricade such a bond. She was cheerful and lithe, and happy. She seemed bright, but eccentric, possibly repetitive, or plaintive, in her affection. So far, where is the flaw?
On the drive downhill (because we decided to take a car down, to avoid the time of evening when black cobras cross the road), let's just be glad that our raft guide was in the front seat. Our driver seemed at one point distracted by a vision in the faraway distance,, and our car began to drift toward the cliff. Jenna TOOK that steering wheel and turned it, and the driver was good-natured about the correction. Go Jenna! May your raft guiding always extend to other service fields, like saving your friends from a car-flight over a Nepali precipice.
So again we try to fly tomorrow. Looking in the direction of Mustang is like looking into a mix of octopus ink and milk. I can't imagine the break in the clouds that we will need, but then again, not much of what we are doing is easy for me to imagine, even when I am seeing and being here. Like watching the silk Amchi shirt-artist: a blur and whir of stitchery keeps turning into adventures which keep turning into gifts which keep turning into friendships and then back into celebrations. Sounds as if I am drunk, but in fact I am too tired to lift a beer.
Goodnight, Pushpanjali. You may never remember us in your life, but we will never forget you. Tiny wisp of a mountain girl, walking near the stars, looking down on Phewa Lake from such a height that you could believe your own mind is nothing but clear light and empty endless sky-space. May all your dreams be as fresh as cloud and as light as mist. May flowers be bright every season of your life. May your unchecked sweetness and enthusiasm heal a thousand sadnesses in your village.
We miss our friends and family. Iris, you are always in my heart. Love, Jane
From Jane, July 6th
Hello Friends, We are NOT in Jomsom, but instead still in Pokhara.
The skies this morning were heavy with low clouds, and although we were at the little airport by 5:30 a.m., we had to wait until about 11 a.m. to hear that the first four flights to Jomsom were all totally canceled but that Agni Air WAS going to try the fifth and final flight of the day. So our team of seven and a sprinkling of locals (sixteen, counting crew) boarded the tiny twin-engine, with some trepidation and some hope.
And although we came face to face with the mighty Goddess Annapurna (over 26,000 feet, her stone face), and although we circled and circled among the thick clouds, our landing was not to be. Jenna gave thumbs up to the pilots in their open cockpit when they announced there was no entering Jomsom today. We appreciated the attempt AND our crew's reluctance. Flying into Jomsom--as our documentary shows--is not cake. You have to commit to a ravine, descend along the river, arc hard in a bowl, and stop before the runway turns into a mountain face. Today, the ravine was a cauldron of cloud, and, as Nepali pilots like to say, our clouds have rocks in them.
So we came close.
Fortunately we are already booked for attempting the second flight tomorrow morning (Usually if you miss a flight, you are pushed to lowly stand-by position, stressful for us since we are a group of seven, and don't want to split up). But the Agni representatives were excellent, and stored three of our heaviest bags at the airport, making tomorrow morning's attempt a little less burdensome.
Still, our position is not easy. Each day we can't fly, the roads--sorry, the "roads"--to Jomsom are more waterlogged and possibly blocked by mudslide or rock-avalanche. Each night in Pokhara is another $30 per person for an air-conditioned room--an expense we weren't counting on, ideally. A jeep is devilishly expensive, as quoted here in Pokhara, and so we have our friend Mingma in Kathmandu trying to get us a better deal on a good jeep. May I add that having a shop owner connect a phone here to our friend Mingma in Kathmandu is itself a trip.
If we DO opt to be driven, we will do so ONLY in a good jeep, not on public transport. Jenna and I have seen the roads, and a public "bus" on those "roads" is outside my definition of reasonable. We have considered a heliocopter, but we doubt we can afford the option.
Anyway, we spent a decompression lunch upstairs at a familiar restaurant and navigated everyone's response to the mild trauma of circling but not being able to land in Jomsom.
Most disappointed was Mary, partly because her ears ached a little fom the flight and partly because she so much wanted to land in our next place and get that much closer to snow leopards.
Mingma informed us, upon my asking the dire question of whether any of our Upper Mustang fees would be refundable, if we can not get to Kagbeni at the appointed time to start the trek to Lo, that no, unfortunately, our contract is signed and the fees are paid for the special permissions given by various government ministers for us to enter the Forbidden Kingdom. Those are big bucks to have flutter out of our grasp. And big hopes to lose from our grasp.
So wish us well, getting to Mustang. My young cousin Cy is there (he took the local bus, but, for the life of me, I can't feel great about that choice for my team), who informed Emerson last night by crackly phone that there may not be a working projector in Jomsom, and therefore we may not be able to show the documentary where the festival was held, which is a shame. But in the walled fortress-city of Lo, there IS a generator, a projector, and a King expecting us and the documentary.
All we have to do to show A Gift for the Village there is, first, to solve the puzzle of how to outwit the monsoon sky and its wrath upon the roads, and, second, to walk 155 miles. As our friends here often say: Is problem? No problem.
But outside the ring of obstacles I have described, what an amazing event in Pokhara yesterday! I met a young man, Udhav Shrestha, 23, and his handsome father, Krishna. There was something about Udhav. I wish I knew how to recollect exactly what made me sense that he was an artist. All he did is name some prices on t-shirts. But there was something...
I can honestly say that until I SAW Udhav I had not had the idea, but something in his expression...
I said, "I have a project I want to suggest. It may be impossible, and you can simply say no. I can not imagine you wlll say yes, but there is something in your face, something in your smile, which causes me to ask."
So I showed him a photograph of the Amchi Painting.
I told him about our project, our documentary, about Tsampa Ngawang and my long support of Tibet, and I read him the Dalai Lama's letter endorsing A Gift for the Village. Udhav listened.
I said, "I wonder if you could, with silk thread, reproduce this Amchi painting--in silk--on a black t-shirt. I know it is complicated. It is possibly impossible."
Udhav smiled and shook his head, as if in disbelief, and then introduced me to his father, who had been listening, and who said, "I think you are very lucky. If you had asked any other person in all of Pokhara, not one other person would even try. I don't tell you this as a selling point. But to do what you ask requires more than tailoring skills. As it happens, yes. We are father and son, and yes, we can do this work. We are the only two within sight of Phewa Lake who can sew like artists. How did you know to ask?"
Hopefully, Tom Landon can link our site to Krishna and Udhav's business, Shrestha Embroidery Shop, where you can see the kind of artistry these men have, although I can not imagine that ANY custom design on their site can compare to the Amchi shirt I am currently wearing. Their site is: www.embroiderynepal.weebly.com. As soon as we can, we will send a jpeg of the Amchi shirt, so you can see for yourselves.
Unbelievable. Quite a feeling, to have your large Tibetan lineage painting sewn into a silken t-shirt design, before your eyes, with son and father bent over the hoop, and the son reminding the father how to shape the grimace of the snow lions' faces, and the father working all the necessary colors into the peacock feathers (each, smaller than a cumin seed).
I think we will take a walk today. Just to stretch our legs and work out the kinks from the disappointment of not being able to land in Jomsom. Not yet.
Love to all of our family and friends, Jane
The skies this morning were heavy with low clouds, and although we were at the little airport by 5:30 a.m., we had to wait until about 11 a.m. to hear that the first four flights to Jomsom were all totally canceled but that Agni Air WAS going to try the fifth and final flight of the day. So our team of seven and a sprinkling of locals (sixteen, counting crew) boarded the tiny twin-engine, with some trepidation and some hope.
And although we came face to face with the mighty Goddess Annapurna (over 26,000 feet, her stone face), and although we circled and circled among the thick clouds, our landing was not to be. Jenna gave thumbs up to the pilots in their open cockpit when they announced there was no entering Jomsom today. We appreciated the attempt AND our crew's reluctance. Flying into Jomsom--as our documentary shows--is not cake. You have to commit to a ravine, descend along the river, arc hard in a bowl, and stop before the runway turns into a mountain face. Today, the ravine was a cauldron of cloud, and, as Nepali pilots like to say, our clouds have rocks in them.
So we came close.
Fortunately we are already booked for attempting the second flight tomorrow morning (Usually if you miss a flight, you are pushed to lowly stand-by position, stressful for us since we are a group of seven, and don't want to split up). But the Agni representatives were excellent, and stored three of our heaviest bags at the airport, making tomorrow morning's attempt a little less burdensome.
Still, our position is not easy. Each day we can't fly, the roads--sorry, the "roads"--to Jomsom are more waterlogged and possibly blocked by mudslide or rock-avalanche. Each night in Pokhara is another $30 per person for an air-conditioned room--an expense we weren't counting on, ideally. A jeep is devilishly expensive, as quoted here in Pokhara, and so we have our friend Mingma in Kathmandu trying to get us a better deal on a good jeep. May I add that having a shop owner connect a phone here to our friend Mingma in Kathmandu is itself a trip.
If we DO opt to be driven, we will do so ONLY in a good jeep, not on public transport. Jenna and I have seen the roads, and a public "bus" on those "roads" is outside my definition of reasonable. We have considered a heliocopter, but we doubt we can afford the option.
Anyway, we spent a decompression lunch upstairs at a familiar restaurant and navigated everyone's response to the mild trauma of circling but not being able to land in Jomsom.
Most disappointed was Mary, partly because her ears ached a little fom the flight and partly because she so much wanted to land in our next place and get that much closer to snow leopards.
Mingma informed us, upon my asking the dire question of whether any of our Upper Mustang fees would be refundable, if we can not get to Kagbeni at the appointed time to start the trek to Lo, that no, unfortunately, our contract is signed and the fees are paid for the special permissions given by various government ministers for us to enter the Forbidden Kingdom. Those are big bucks to have flutter out of our grasp. And big hopes to lose from our grasp.
So wish us well, getting to Mustang. My young cousin Cy is there (he took the local bus, but, for the life of me, I can't feel great about that choice for my team), who informed Emerson last night by crackly phone that there may not be a working projector in Jomsom, and therefore we may not be able to show the documentary where the festival was held, which is a shame. But in the walled fortress-city of Lo, there IS a generator, a projector, and a King expecting us and the documentary.
All we have to do to show A Gift for the Village there is, first, to solve the puzzle of how to outwit the monsoon sky and its wrath upon the roads, and, second, to walk 155 miles. As our friends here often say: Is problem? No problem.
But outside the ring of obstacles I have described, what an amazing event in Pokhara yesterday! I met a young man, Udhav Shrestha, 23, and his handsome father, Krishna. There was something about Udhav. I wish I knew how to recollect exactly what made me sense that he was an artist. All he did is name some prices on t-shirts. But there was something...
I can honestly say that until I SAW Udhav I had not had the idea, but something in his expression...
I said, "I have a project I want to suggest. It may be impossible, and you can simply say no. I can not imagine you wlll say yes, but there is something in your face, something in your smile, which causes me to ask."
So I showed him a photograph of the Amchi Painting.
I told him about our project, our documentary, about Tsampa Ngawang and my long support of Tibet, and I read him the Dalai Lama's letter endorsing A Gift for the Village. Udhav listened.
I said, "I wonder if you could, with silk thread, reproduce this Amchi painting--in silk--on a black t-shirt. I know it is complicated. It is possibly impossible."
Udhav smiled and shook his head, as if in disbelief, and then introduced me to his father, who had been listening, and who said, "I think you are very lucky. If you had asked any other person in all of Pokhara, not one other person would even try. I don't tell you this as a selling point. But to do what you ask requires more than tailoring skills. As it happens, yes. We are father and son, and yes, we can do this work. We are the only two within sight of Phewa Lake who can sew like artists. How did you know to ask?"
Hopefully, Tom Landon can link our site to Krishna and Udhav's business, Shrestha Embroidery Shop, where you can see the kind of artistry these men have, although I can not imagine that ANY custom design on their site can compare to the Amchi shirt I am currently wearing. Their site is: www.embroiderynepal.weebly.com. As soon as we can, we will send a jpeg of the Amchi shirt, so you can see for yourselves.
Unbelievable. Quite a feeling, to have your large Tibetan lineage painting sewn into a silken t-shirt design, before your eyes, with son and father bent over the hoop, and the son reminding the father how to shape the grimace of the snow lions' faces, and the father working all the necessary colors into the peacock feathers (each, smaller than a cumin seed).
I think we will take a walk today. Just to stretch our legs and work out the kinks from the disappointment of not being able to land in Jomsom. Not yet.
Love to all of our family and friends, Jane
Monday, July 5, 2010
From Mary
Wow! Pokhara is Hot! At least 100 degrees when the sun is at it's peak. I hope it's not that hot in Blacksburg. After being in Pokhara for a few days, a mountain trek is welcomed. Jane and I are getting ready to go see a shirt she's having made by a silk tailor-artist, of her painting. Hopefully it'll be good, But it might be horrible. We went to Devi's Falls the first full day we were here. There was a waterfall (Of course,)and a double rainbow in a area off to the side. There was also a wishing well with Ganesh on a isolated perch, the edges going off into a shallow well. Of all of us who tried, Emerson managed to get a rupee coin on the island and have his wish granted. As we were leaving, I saw a really beautiful brass Snow Leopard, but the woman priced too high. As everyone else was browsing other stores, Emerson goes back and buys the Snow Leopard for me. That almost put me in tears. I then saw a necklace with a pheonix and a dragon around a marble and Jane gave me 100 rupees to get it. That was very nice also. Then, when we were at the Tibetan Refugee camp, we went in and saw the woman who were making the rugs, and one pats her bench for me and Ella to get up. She even showed us how. Then Mom got a huge Wind Horse, Ella got a small square Snow Lion, and I got a medium-sized Black dragon. This morning, we got up early to go out on the Lake, which I kept calling a river. On the way there, we got caught in between a dog fight. The bad thing was, the fight followed us. So as Jane was getting ready to get Emerson, I tried to join up with the rest of the group, but was cut off several times. I finally got through though. When we got out on the lake, We paddled over to a temple on the island. There were many pigeons, but in the water over a certain point, was a huge school of fish. When we looked through the polarized lenses, it was so much clearer. On the way back, There were a couple bottles out on the lake, Ashley, Ella , Mom, and I (Our boat), We went to go get them. It turned out they were buoys. Then we went to a German bakery, 2 hours before lunch. Lunch for Ella and I was a plate of French Fries. Mom didn't come because of her ear-splitting headache. Don't Worry Mom, I've been there before. So, now we are going for the T-shirt. Hope it's good!
Mary
Mary
a quick post from Reba
Holy cow. I just read through the rest of the team's posts. It seems that I am traveling with a team of gifted writers, my oldest daughter included. I am grateful I will have a wonderful travel journal with these blogs when I get home.
This morning we got up and out at 6 am to get breakfast and get on the lake before the sun got too hot. As we walk up the street from our hotel there is the occasional shop owner opening up to start the day, but mostly everything is closed....even breakfast places, much to Ella's chagrin.
We were joined by a large dog wearing a collar. A healthy-looking male who trotted along with us, weaving in and out of the 6 of us. Emerson had not joined us yet. It wasn't long before another couple of dogs, who seemed scrappy and steet-wise, joined the parade. One was a cute female dog who seemed sweet. Jane and Jenna have warned us not to touch any dogs, and the girls remember this now. But we talk to them and they wag their tails and trot along......then more dogs peel off from their intended paths to hook up with the women and dog entourage. Yeah, you can see it coming, can't you?
First came a few warning growls and positioning of bodies between the female and the other males. Jane told us to stop and let the dogs go on ahead of us, or we were about to be in the midst of a dog fight. We stopped. So did the dogs. We walked faster. So did the dogs. We crossed to the other side of the street....and here came the dogs. They seemed intent on hanging with us, even with the distraction of rivals in the mix. We even stepped up into the outside section of a restaurant (it wasn't yet open) and several of the dogs even followed us there, continuing to snarl and growl at each other.
Finally, the dogs lost interest as we got further up the street. We learned that no one serves breakfast in Pokhara before 7 am. We decide to head back to find Emerson, by now it is 7 and we knew we could find somewhere to eat. We choose a nice outside table by the lake and order black filter coffee (not Nescafe) and scrambled eggs. Jenna and Ashley order banana porridge and Jane ordered an indian breakfast. She's all spicy, all the time!
Three of the dogs find us again. They came right up on into the restaurant, wagging and waiting on a handout. We resisted the temptation to feed them, but our young waiter who was so polite looked at Jenna and said, "Your dogs, Madame"? Jenna sweetly told him no (her face revealed, "Sure, I brought them with me from America!") and he ran them out, and they were not patient enough to wait for us to leave.
We finished our breakfast, discussing our all-time favorite films then our plans for the day, which included renting boats to paddle to the little island of shrines in the middle of the lake.
I'm not sure what kind of internet, if any, is in Jomsom and beyond. If possible, we will post again. If not, the next time you hear from us will be when we return from our trek.
We miss everyone back home, and love you even more.
R
This morning we got up and out at 6 am to get breakfast and get on the lake before the sun got too hot. As we walk up the street from our hotel there is the occasional shop owner opening up to start the day, but mostly everything is closed....even breakfast places, much to Ella's chagrin.
We were joined by a large dog wearing a collar. A healthy-looking male who trotted along with us, weaving in and out of the 6 of us. Emerson had not joined us yet. It wasn't long before another couple of dogs, who seemed scrappy and steet-wise, joined the parade. One was a cute female dog who seemed sweet. Jane and Jenna have warned us not to touch any dogs, and the girls remember this now. But we talk to them and they wag their tails and trot along......then more dogs peel off from their intended paths to hook up with the women and dog entourage. Yeah, you can see it coming, can't you?
First came a few warning growls and positioning of bodies between the female and the other males. Jane told us to stop and let the dogs go on ahead of us, or we were about to be in the midst of a dog fight. We stopped. So did the dogs. We walked faster. So did the dogs. We crossed to the other side of the street....and here came the dogs. They seemed intent on hanging with us, even with the distraction of rivals in the mix. We even stepped up into the outside section of a restaurant (it wasn't yet open) and several of the dogs even followed us there, continuing to snarl and growl at each other.
Finally, the dogs lost interest as we got further up the street. We learned that no one serves breakfast in Pokhara before 7 am. We decide to head back to find Emerson, by now it is 7 and we knew we could find somewhere to eat. We choose a nice outside table by the lake and order black filter coffee (not Nescafe) and scrambled eggs. Jenna and Ashley order banana porridge and Jane ordered an indian breakfast. She's all spicy, all the time!
Three of the dogs find us again. They came right up on into the restaurant, wagging and waiting on a handout. We resisted the temptation to feed them, but our young waiter who was so polite looked at Jenna and said, "Your dogs, Madame"? Jenna sweetly told him no (her face revealed, "Sure, I brought them with me from America!") and he ran them out, and they were not patient enough to wait for us to leave.
We finished our breakfast, discussing our all-time favorite films then our plans for the day, which included renting boats to paddle to the little island of shrines in the middle of the lake.
I'm not sure what kind of internet, if any, is in Jomsom and beyond. If possible, we will post again. If not, the next time you hear from us will be when we return from our trek.
We miss everyone back home, and love you even more.
R
now i feel grounded here...
From Jenna
It was strange for the fourth of July to pass with no fireworks....
After our biking adventure yesterday and canoeing on the lake early this morning, I feel more at home. off and on the last week I have thought about my friends running the rapids on the New River and the mtn bike trails I love so much at the pond. the only thing I need to do now to heal my mild homesickness is work in a garden somewhere and eat a BIG salad and some icecream! Jason and Jon, please tell me what foods you are eating from the garden and how the flowers are doing......
To add to Ashleigh's description of the ride, I must fist say that the bikes in Nepal are just like the ponies in the high mountains-- COMPACT!! i was riding the biggest bike they had, and it was still a bit small. in the end, it was probably a good thing because there were no brakes. All i had to do was drag my feet on the down hills. I loved riding between the water-fulled, terraced, rice paddies and watching men, women, children,and water buffalo harvesting, planting and plowing the fields. I am always amazed how well people here use the land and how hard they work. Water from mountain streams is channeled and diverted to the fields, and each field drains water into the terraced field below it until it is returned to a creek or the lake at the bottom. It was 200 rupees to rent the a bike for two hours-- that was the best $2.65 I have spent in a while.
We were up early to get out on the lake before the heat and sun made it unbearable. Jane, Emer and I shared a wooden canoe, and Ashleigh, Reba, Mary and Ella shared one. Fewa Lake runs the length of "Main Street" in Pokhara, it is lined with poinsettia TREES, jungley forests, blooming jasmine and bougainvillea vines. We were hoping to see monkeys playing in the trees, but they must have been taking it easy because of the heat. In the middle of the lake there is an island with many little shrines. We are able to tie our boats up and walk around the island. Surprisingly enough, several women had loaded up their bracelets, necklaces, small statues and purses and set up tables on the island. Because people bring offerings to the shrines there is also a nice pigeon population hanging around hoping for a treat. Reba commented that it felt pretty lucky to roam around the whole island without getting pooped on.
Ella had 5 rupees that I gave her the other day. She was trying to decide what to do with it, and in the end she picked a sweet old Sadhu wearing saffron colored clothes to give it to. It was very sweet watching her walk up to this holy man with her hands in prayer position as she said "Namaste" and placed the rupee note in his hands. Carl, Naomi, and Hugh you would be proud of your girls! today Mary took one of her drawings to a tailor and discussed the idea of turning the design into an embroidered short. She discussed the color, size and even negotiated the price. In the end she decided that she should probably wait till KTM to get the shirt because she did not want to have to carry it on the trek.
Jane's bag was found!!! Our wonderful porter Naryan will bring it when he comes to the mountains. What a relief! It is hard to believe that in this 104 degree weather she could possibly need the fleece tops, capaline underwear and wool socks from that bag, but she will need them when we hit the high mountains.
We leave our hotel at 5am tomorrow-- for a 6 am flight. The 20 minute flight is going to be exciting-- the small twin engine plane will probably transport out team of 7 and maybe 5 other passengers. we will take off, climb and climb and climb over the snowy peaks and then descend into the village of Jomsom. This time the runway will be paved, but the first time Jane and I were here it was a gravel runway. I already know that Tsampa and his wife Karma will be there to greet us with blessing scarves to drape around out necks. I am hopeful that little Laxmi, the street girl Tsampa and his wife took in a few years ago, will be there as well. We all fall in love with her last time. She is between Mary and Ella's ages, and we are looking forward to the girls getting to know each other.
Write us if you have a minute, today will the our last EASY day to read comments until we return to KTM in 3 weeks. J
It was strange for the fourth of July to pass with no fireworks....
After our biking adventure yesterday and canoeing on the lake early this morning, I feel more at home. off and on the last week I have thought about my friends running the rapids on the New River and the mtn bike trails I love so much at the pond. the only thing I need to do now to heal my mild homesickness is work in a garden somewhere and eat a BIG salad and some icecream! Jason and Jon, please tell me what foods you are eating from the garden and how the flowers are doing......
To add to Ashleigh's description of the ride, I must fist say that the bikes in Nepal are just like the ponies in the high mountains-- COMPACT!! i was riding the biggest bike they had, and it was still a bit small. in the end, it was probably a good thing because there were no brakes. All i had to do was drag my feet on the down hills. I loved riding between the water-fulled, terraced, rice paddies and watching men, women, children,and water buffalo harvesting, planting and plowing the fields. I am always amazed how well people here use the land and how hard they work. Water from mountain streams is channeled and diverted to the fields, and each field drains water into the terraced field below it until it is returned to a creek or the lake at the bottom. It was 200 rupees to rent the a bike for two hours-- that was the best $2.65 I have spent in a while.
We were up early to get out on the lake before the heat and sun made it unbearable. Jane, Emer and I shared a wooden canoe, and Ashleigh, Reba, Mary and Ella shared one. Fewa Lake runs the length of "Main Street" in Pokhara, it is lined with poinsettia TREES, jungley forests, blooming jasmine and bougainvillea vines. We were hoping to see monkeys playing in the trees, but they must have been taking it easy because of the heat. In the middle of the lake there is an island with many little shrines. We are able to tie our boats up and walk around the island. Surprisingly enough, several women had loaded up their bracelets, necklaces, small statues and purses and set up tables on the island. Because people bring offerings to the shrines there is also a nice pigeon population hanging around hoping for a treat. Reba commented that it felt pretty lucky to roam around the whole island without getting pooped on.
Ella had 5 rupees that I gave her the other day. She was trying to decide what to do with it, and in the end she picked a sweet old Sadhu wearing saffron colored clothes to give it to. It was very sweet watching her walk up to this holy man with her hands in prayer position as she said "Namaste" and placed the rupee note in his hands. Carl, Naomi, and Hugh you would be proud of your girls! today Mary took one of her drawings to a tailor and discussed the idea of turning the design into an embroidered short. She discussed the color, size and even negotiated the price. In the end she decided that she should probably wait till KTM to get the shirt because she did not want to have to carry it on the trek.
Jane's bag was found!!! Our wonderful porter Naryan will bring it when he comes to the mountains. What a relief! It is hard to believe that in this 104 degree weather she could possibly need the fleece tops, capaline underwear and wool socks from that bag, but she will need them when we hit the high mountains.
We leave our hotel at 5am tomorrow-- for a 6 am flight. The 20 minute flight is going to be exciting-- the small twin engine plane will probably transport out team of 7 and maybe 5 other passengers. we will take off, climb and climb and climb over the snowy peaks and then descend into the village of Jomsom. This time the runway will be paved, but the first time Jane and I were here it was a gravel runway. I already know that Tsampa and his wife Karma will be there to greet us with blessing scarves to drape around out necks. I am hopeful that little Laxmi, the street girl Tsampa and his wife took in a few years ago, will be there as well. We all fall in love with her last time. She is between Mary and Ella's ages, and we are looking forward to the girls getting to know each other.
Write us if you have a minute, today will the our last EASY day to read comments until we return to KTM in 3 weeks. J
Bicycle Adventure in Pokhara
A Joyful Hello from Ashleigh
In her last post, Jenna mentioned being on edge of a bicycle adventure: I am still beaming from the fun. Rather than ride our mountain-bikes (functionally speaking: beach cruisers) up the mountain to the World Peace Stupa, we decided to follow a small road that snakes along the edge of the lake. Asphalt turns to dirt and gravel; city turns to mountain huts and terraced rice fields. My heart soars as we steer our bikes, sans brakes, between slurping mud puddles and sharp rocks. "This feels like running a rapid," I say to Jenna, the expert raft-guide who always chooses the smoothest line. I laugh as I fly over the biggest rocks and dodge the puddles on edge. As my pedaling legs dissolve into my joyful smile, I am reminded of what a country mouse I am. Remember the children's story? I can play the city life for a little while: the electric glow, the exhaust pipe face-powder, the loud sounds of street shops, stereos and car horns. But how I come alive when I fade into green! Village life, knee deep in rice-paddy mud and oxen-drawn plows, holds the alchemical magic that accesses my brightest glow. This is where I recharge.
Jenna and I laugh our way through small roadside stops like the Hungry Feel Guest House and the Benign Cafe. We laugh again at the two young Nepali men who follow us for miles on their motorbike: just smiling and staring at these two crazy women pedaling so freely. "Where did Tom and Lisa Hammet live when they were here?" I ask Jenna. "I hope it was here in the rice fields," says Jenna. "Just what I was thinking," I reply as I nearly swerve off the road, lost in the beauty of green.
We return our bikes after the gorgeous adventure and walk to the hotel dripping mud and sweat. A pot of lemon tea, a shower, reunion with the glowing faces of our team: what a way to live an afternoon.
In her last post, Jenna mentioned being on edge of a bicycle adventure: I am still beaming from the fun. Rather than ride our mountain-bikes (functionally speaking: beach cruisers) up the mountain to the World Peace Stupa, we decided to follow a small road that snakes along the edge of the lake. Asphalt turns to dirt and gravel; city turns to mountain huts and terraced rice fields. My heart soars as we steer our bikes, sans brakes, between slurping mud puddles and sharp rocks. "This feels like running a rapid," I say to Jenna, the expert raft-guide who always chooses the smoothest line. I laugh as I fly over the biggest rocks and dodge the puddles on edge. As my pedaling legs dissolve into my joyful smile, I am reminded of what a country mouse I am. Remember the children's story? I can play the city life for a little while: the electric glow, the exhaust pipe face-powder, the loud sounds of street shops, stereos and car horns. But how I come alive when I fade into green! Village life, knee deep in rice-paddy mud and oxen-drawn plows, holds the alchemical magic that accesses my brightest glow. This is where I recharge.
Jenna and I laugh our way through small roadside stops like the Hungry Feel Guest House and the Benign Cafe. We laugh again at the two young Nepali men who follow us for miles on their motorbike: just smiling and staring at these two crazy women pedaling so freely. "Where did Tom and Lisa Hammet live when they were here?" I ask Jenna. "I hope it was here in the rice fields," says Jenna. "Just what I was thinking," I reply as I nearly swerve off the road, lost in the beauty of green.
We return our bikes after the gorgeous adventure and walk to the hotel dripping mud and sweat. A pot of lemon tea, a shower, reunion with the glowing faces of our team: what a way to live an afternoon.
July 5, from Jane
Apologies to those of you who are following the blog and have had plenty already of Jane-thought, which may have seemed nice and organic in your first few bowls full, but now may have cooled for you, and started to taste pasty, like so much old oatmeal. But I doubt our ability to communicate easily if at all starting hopefully tomorrow, thus the impulse to write while I can.
This morning, though, we had a sinister sky, unbearably low clouds, not right for allowing our hummingbird flight into the high country. I fear that we may not be able to fly tomorrow morning if we have a sky like today's. I am feeling like a bad trip organizer since we COULD have flown yesterday morning. Luckily, Emerson pointed out that my horoscope today encouraged me to "let go quickly of your dumb ideas."
Before attempting to fly up to Jomsom village--hopefully tomorrow morning, though the clouds have me worried--I am thinking about what it is you decide--what gods and which thoughts guide you--when you willingly go into a place of higher risk, or imagine the risks as greater.
I do always remember how the urbane French theorist Roland Barthes died: not in the Himalayas, or along the Amazon, or on an expedition like Shackleton's icy polar imprisonment, but in Paris, I think, as he crossed the street, distracted. He was hit and killed by a laundry truck.
I also always remember what the Tibetan lama Venerable Dudjom Rinpoche said when someone told him the sad news that a dear friend's health had suddenly declined and that the friend would most likely die. "Yes," the Rinpoche smiled, "Of course he will not recover. We are all dying."
There was a time when the inevitability of a Buddhist response like the Rinpoche's made me roll my eyes, seemed merely clever, or troublingly aloof and blithe.
Now I try to steer by a set of prayer flags that I think I see fluttering in front of me, knowing the boat (or tiny airplane) that sails them is always already disintegrating as I glide. The prayers printed on the flags I strain to glimpse announce wishes: may all creatures suffer less; may we all gain wisdom and compassion; may the Buddhas of the five directions prosper, inspiring good intentions, non-violence, right action, and right livelihood. May we, to recontextualize the title of an essay I love by my friend Suzi Gablik, see and be moved by Art and the Big Picture.
A great article by Sushma Joshi (e-mail her at sansarmagazine@gmail.com) impressed me in yesterday's Kathmandu Post, called "Killing our Nagas: Our disembodied society views the rvers as spearate, rather than as part, of the social fabric." The article highlights the noxious and sordid condition of the Kathmandu Valley's rivers and alludes to the Buddhist idea that Nagas, river dieties, are responding to the disrespect that forgetful and selfish humans have shown to their own life-sources.
Joshi sees her own condescending relation to the Buddhist literature she has grown up learning--sees how she has been directed in her education to relegate Buddhism to "inventive and charming" parable. But "Scientists predict water shortages all over the continent [of Asia] in the coming decades. Predictions are dire--millions may be without drinking water. Thirsty times have begun." Like D. H. Lawrence in his Sicilian poem "Snake," Joshi rethinks what really repels her in this world.
Joshi remembers that "Killing snakes was forbidden in Vedic times. Snakes, myths said, were the embodiment of Nagas, serpent guardians of rivers and rains. They carry the elixir of immortality. When Nagas were protected, the monsoons arrived on time."
Immortality and death are not oxymoronic. It is in the turning of the continuous wheel of life, death, and rebirth where immortality resides. After all, the contribution of any human being can be only to nurture and celebrate life before the point of death--to fly or raft with faith and gusto, to do as little harm as possible where you are--and, importantly--to do as much GOOD as you can, while you can.
No choking of rivers allowed. No breaking of spirits or hearts. No desecration. No cynicism. No armchair sarcasm. No apathy. No giving up. Or to put the pith otherwise, as my friend Jenna likes to say (quoting a t-shirt she admired), come to the end of your life in a great slide, like a baseball player giving 100% to reach home base, dirty, sweaty, exhausted, and thinking, "Amazing! What a ride!" Jane
This morning, though, we had a sinister sky, unbearably low clouds, not right for allowing our hummingbird flight into the high country. I fear that we may not be able to fly tomorrow morning if we have a sky like today's. I am feeling like a bad trip organizer since we COULD have flown yesterday morning. Luckily, Emerson pointed out that my horoscope today encouraged me to "let go quickly of your dumb ideas."
Before attempting to fly up to Jomsom village--hopefully tomorrow morning, though the clouds have me worried--I am thinking about what it is you decide--what gods and which thoughts guide you--when you willingly go into a place of higher risk, or imagine the risks as greater.
I do always remember how the urbane French theorist Roland Barthes died: not in the Himalayas, or along the Amazon, or on an expedition like Shackleton's icy polar imprisonment, but in Paris, I think, as he crossed the street, distracted. He was hit and killed by a laundry truck.
I also always remember what the Tibetan lama Venerable Dudjom Rinpoche said when someone told him the sad news that a dear friend's health had suddenly declined and that the friend would most likely die. "Yes," the Rinpoche smiled, "Of course he will not recover. We are all dying."
There was a time when the inevitability of a Buddhist response like the Rinpoche's made me roll my eyes, seemed merely clever, or troublingly aloof and blithe.
Now I try to steer by a set of prayer flags that I think I see fluttering in front of me, knowing the boat (or tiny airplane) that sails them is always already disintegrating as I glide. The prayers printed on the flags I strain to glimpse announce wishes: may all creatures suffer less; may we all gain wisdom and compassion; may the Buddhas of the five directions prosper, inspiring good intentions, non-violence, right action, and right livelihood. May we, to recontextualize the title of an essay I love by my friend Suzi Gablik, see and be moved by Art and the Big Picture.
A great article by Sushma Joshi (e-mail her at sansarmagazine@gmail.com) impressed me in yesterday's Kathmandu Post, called "Killing our Nagas: Our disembodied society views the rvers as spearate, rather than as part, of the social fabric." The article highlights the noxious and sordid condition of the Kathmandu Valley's rivers and alludes to the Buddhist idea that Nagas, river dieties, are responding to the disrespect that forgetful and selfish humans have shown to their own life-sources.
Joshi sees her own condescending relation to the Buddhist literature she has grown up learning--sees how she has been directed in her education to relegate Buddhism to "inventive and charming" parable. But "Scientists predict water shortages all over the continent [of Asia] in the coming decades. Predictions are dire--millions may be without drinking water. Thirsty times have begun." Like D. H. Lawrence in his Sicilian poem "Snake," Joshi rethinks what really repels her in this world.
Joshi remembers that "Killing snakes was forbidden in Vedic times. Snakes, myths said, were the embodiment of Nagas, serpent guardians of rivers and rains. They carry the elixir of immortality. When Nagas were protected, the monsoons arrived on time."
Immortality and death are not oxymoronic. It is in the turning of the continuous wheel of life, death, and rebirth where immortality resides. After all, the contribution of any human being can be only to nurture and celebrate life before the point of death--to fly or raft with faith and gusto, to do as little harm as possible where you are--and, importantly--to do as much GOOD as you can, while you can.
No choking of rivers allowed. No breaking of spirits or hearts. No desecration. No cynicism. No armchair sarcasm. No apathy. No giving up. Or to put the pith otherwise, as my friend Jenna likes to say (quoting a t-shirt she admired), come to the end of your life in a great slide, like a baseball player giving 100% to reach home base, dirty, sweaty, exhausted, and thinking, "Amazing! What a ride!" Jane
Small Wonder
July 5th: Greetings from Ashleigh
While lazing around the hotel in the blistering afternoon heat of this surprising tropical village set in the gaze of some of the highest, snowiest mountains on Earth, I smile at how familiar Pokhara feels to my travel-worn feet. Banana trees
surfing the breeze, electric-chirping cicadas, curiously independent toddlers dancing through the streets: have I been here before? I sit quiet and calm and think to myself: not every day has to be a revelation or a revolution, for that matter. Why is it that we so often place what is new and novel on a pedestal that glares at what is ordinary and similar and strangely familiar? Some of the most extraordinary gems of life hide in the soft shadow of every-day moments. The kind of moments that are easy to live thoughtlessly are full of mica-like gifts just waiting to be recognized by seeing eyes. I laugh at myself for how I have to coach myself through the beauty of a lazy afternoon; how I have to remind myself that the binding glue of a journey does not reveal itself all at once like the light explosion of a festive sparkler; how I am integrating the many teachings of Jane's Creative Process class, of Yoga, of vagabond feet into the present moment: re-weaving theory as practice. And just then, as I am lost in thought and laughing at myself in joyful quiet, Ella and Mary boom onto the seen with grace and invite me to play. Of course! And out of the ordinary afternoon, heavy with tropical laze, booms the firework-wonder of two young girls who remind me of the magic hidden in the walls of the hotel garden. We dance through the green and pink buzz and speak in British accents as if we are tour guides pointing out every movement, every sound, every small wonder hidden in rocks, in trees, in rusty spiral staircases and mountain views: bliss blooms in the crystal-shine of our silly voices. How grateful I feel to learn the world through the eyes of these two sisters, Mary and Ella, whose eyes, like telescopes, find new constellations hidden in the everyday sky. We sing ourselves silly: a round of In The Jungle that lets us try our hand at harmonizing. Such fun: barefoot in the garden; raising our voices in song. Thank you Mary and Ella: for your eyes, for your laughter, for sharing the joy of spirited song. You remind me why I want to spend my life learning from children. -Ashleigh
While lazing around the hotel in the blistering afternoon heat of this surprising tropical village set in the gaze of some of the highest, snowiest mountains on Earth, I smile at how familiar Pokhara feels to my travel-worn feet. Banana trees
surfing the breeze, electric-chirping cicadas, curiously independent toddlers dancing through the streets: have I been here before? I sit quiet and calm and think to myself: not every day has to be a revelation or a revolution, for that matter. Why is it that we so often place what is new and novel on a pedestal that glares at what is ordinary and similar and strangely familiar? Some of the most extraordinary gems of life hide in the soft shadow of every-day moments. The kind of moments that are easy to live thoughtlessly are full of mica-like gifts just waiting to be recognized by seeing eyes. I laugh at myself for how I have to coach myself through the beauty of a lazy afternoon; how I have to remind myself that the binding glue of a journey does not reveal itself all at once like the light explosion of a festive sparkler; how I am integrating the many teachings of Jane's Creative Process class, of Yoga, of vagabond feet into the present moment: re-weaving theory as practice. And just then, as I am lost in thought and laughing at myself in joyful quiet, Ella and Mary boom onto the seen with grace and invite me to play. Of course! And out of the ordinary afternoon, heavy with tropical laze, booms the firework-wonder of two young girls who remind me of the magic hidden in the walls of the hotel garden. We dance through the green and pink buzz and speak in British accents as if we are tour guides pointing out every movement, every sound, every small wonder hidden in rocks, in trees, in rusty spiral staircases and mountain views: bliss blooms in the crystal-shine of our silly voices. How grateful I feel to learn the world through the eyes of these two sisters, Mary and Ella, whose eyes, like telescopes, find new constellations hidden in the everyday sky. We sing ourselves silly: a round of In The Jungle that lets us try our hand at harmonizing. Such fun: barefoot in the garden; raising our voices in song. Thank you Mary and Ella: for your eyes, for your laughter, for sharing the joy of spirited song. You remind me why I want to spend my life learning from children. -Ashleigh
Sunday, July 4, 2010
from Jane, July 4th evening here
A breeze! The internet shop I have chosen is open to the lake, and now that it is dark outside, the air is sweet. It carries frangipani tree-perfume and Nepali filmi music and albino gecko chirps and NO pitchfork heat.
At dinner tonight, under a thatch upstairs restaurant roof, Ella, having split a pineapple pizza with Mary (please put "pizza" in quotation marks), was looking out at the street life, and swaying to Nepali music, more and more vigorously--in her own world--in the literal rhythm of this place. Reba leaned over and said, nodding toward Ella, "Too bad Nepal has shut Ella down."
Mary and Ella get to alternate at lunch and dinner who gets to choose which dish to order for them to share, and they are being good cooperative sisters, only occasionally jealous of who has the camera.
Mary said to me today, as we were walking, "I am so glad I came on this trip, Jane. i feel so privileged. But not in the way of that Kathmandu guy, Aslan."
"Were you suprised at how rough I was with him, Mary?" I asked. She paused. "No. I wasn't surprised. It doesn't surprise me that you would protect me. You thought he wasn't safe. So you became rough." "I did. And it made me shake to speak to someone that way. My hands were shaking. It doesn't feel good to be rough, but I knew it would have felt worse to tolerate him near us. So I don't regret being rough. But it didn't feel good. Do you understand?" "I think so," Mary said. "You aren't naturally rough. Just when you need to keep us safe. But I'm not sure I will ever be able to be rough like you. I hope so, though. It was awesome."
So our friends in Kathmandu have alerted me that I have an early birthday present: they have found my missing backpack, and our guide, Narayan, will be bringing it to Mustang before we meet to head into the Restricted Territory. So I will have a sleeping bag liner and cold-weather gear after all. Amazing! Thanks to Jenna for realizing what I didn't have (MY BACKPACK!) before I did, and kicking into gear to send the alert out in time.
Ashleigh and Emerson, and our already-trekking teammate Mika, young people in their twenties, like all my Creative Process students at Virginia Tech, or like my Blacksburg High School friend Jessica, who is taking care of my gazillion cats when she is not impressing the Coach of the Metropolitan Opera House (GO JESSICA!): Jenna and Reba and I (the elders) are SO proud of you, as we are of Mary and Ella.
What a team. Happy 4th to our friends and family back home--our extended team! Jane, The Rough Elder
At dinner tonight, under a thatch upstairs restaurant roof, Ella, having split a pineapple pizza with Mary (please put "pizza" in quotation marks), was looking out at the street life, and swaying to Nepali music, more and more vigorously--in her own world--in the literal rhythm of this place. Reba leaned over and said, nodding toward Ella, "Too bad Nepal has shut Ella down."
Mary and Ella get to alternate at lunch and dinner who gets to choose which dish to order for them to share, and they are being good cooperative sisters, only occasionally jealous of who has the camera.
Mary said to me today, as we were walking, "I am so glad I came on this trip, Jane. i feel so privileged. But not in the way of that Kathmandu guy, Aslan."
"Were you suprised at how rough I was with him, Mary?" I asked. She paused. "No. I wasn't surprised. It doesn't surprise me that you would protect me. You thought he wasn't safe. So you became rough." "I did. And it made me shake to speak to someone that way. My hands were shaking. It doesn't feel good to be rough, but I knew it would have felt worse to tolerate him near us. So I don't regret being rough. But it didn't feel good. Do you understand?" "I think so," Mary said. "You aren't naturally rough. Just when you need to keep us safe. But I'm not sure I will ever be able to be rough like you. I hope so, though. It was awesome."
So our friends in Kathmandu have alerted me that I have an early birthday present: they have found my missing backpack, and our guide, Narayan, will be bringing it to Mustang before we meet to head into the Restricted Territory. So I will have a sleeping bag liner and cold-weather gear after all. Amazing! Thanks to Jenna for realizing what I didn't have (MY BACKPACK!) before I did, and kicking into gear to send the alert out in time.
Ashleigh and Emerson, and our already-trekking teammate Mika, young people in their twenties, like all my Creative Process students at Virginia Tech, or like my Blacksburg High School friend Jessica, who is taking care of my gazillion cats when she is not impressing the Coach of the Metropolitan Opera House (GO JESSICA!): Jenna and Reba and I (the elders) are SO proud of you, as we are of Mary and Ella.
What a team. Happy 4th to our friends and family back home--our extended team! Jane, The Rough Elder
from Jane on the 4th of July
Fourth of July in tropical Pokhara: the entire region is a lit firework. Sizzle-heat.
I had no idea it WAS the 4th of July today until I was wondering today's date for this post, and now, I think of fireworks in my back yard, with Jenna, and with my friends and my neighbors, the Bowyer family, and Sammy and Izzy Robbins and their family, and Iris and Emerson being the firework masters on the lawn near the apple tree, just outside my painting room.
I love fireworks, and have always tried to afford them. I love what Truman Capote said, that fireworks were his favorite art form. But as we would shoot off sometimes two hours' worth in my back yard, I always felt a little conflicted, enthralled by the fizz of colors, but also sorry for the sleeping birds, who lose their magic at night, and can not fly, either from their fears, or toward their needs.
I will measure this 4th of July in threads instead of sparks.
Today, we visited the Tibetan Refugee Center on the back side of Pokhara, where there is a carpet workshop. I bought two small square carpets of Tibetan wool: a yak for my son (Emerson picked it out--rose, dull magenta, and tan) and a snow lion for my daughter (Iris will love the colors--apricots, sage, and pale blue). Both the yak and the snow lion will live in Charlottesville, in my children's apartments, this fall.
We saw the work-room where the carpets were hand-loomed. It was a Tibetan woman named Dawa (whose name means "moon") who packaged these purchases for me. She liked my necklaces.
In Martin Scorscese's film, Kundun, about the life of the Dalai Lama, I can never forget the scene when His Holiness has had to flee Lhasa and finally manage to reach safety at the Indian border. The handsome young Indian soldier who greets the young Dalai Lama approaches and says, "Excuse me, sir. May I ask: Are you the Lord Buddha?" And when the exhausted Dalai Lama finds the strength to reply, He answers: "I think I am like the moon, reflecting in water. When you see me, you see yourself."
See that film, with Philip Glass' gorgeous musical score, if you haven't. I weep each time I see it. Think of fireworks, fireflies, yaks, snow lions, the moon, the thread, and a free Tibet. Jane
I had no idea it WAS the 4th of July today until I was wondering today's date for this post, and now, I think of fireworks in my back yard, with Jenna, and with my friends and my neighbors, the Bowyer family, and Sammy and Izzy Robbins and their family, and Iris and Emerson being the firework masters on the lawn near the apple tree, just outside my painting room.
I love fireworks, and have always tried to afford them. I love what Truman Capote said, that fireworks were his favorite art form. But as we would shoot off sometimes two hours' worth in my back yard, I always felt a little conflicted, enthralled by the fizz of colors, but also sorry for the sleeping birds, who lose their magic at night, and can not fly, either from their fears, or toward their needs.
I will measure this 4th of July in threads instead of sparks.
Today, we visited the Tibetan Refugee Center on the back side of Pokhara, where there is a carpet workshop. I bought two small square carpets of Tibetan wool: a yak for my son (Emerson picked it out--rose, dull magenta, and tan) and a snow lion for my daughter (Iris will love the colors--apricots, sage, and pale blue). Both the yak and the snow lion will live in Charlottesville, in my children's apartments, this fall.
We saw the work-room where the carpets were hand-loomed. It was a Tibetan woman named Dawa (whose name means "moon") who packaged these purchases for me. She liked my necklaces.
In Martin Scorscese's film, Kundun, about the life of the Dalai Lama, I can never forget the scene when His Holiness has had to flee Lhasa and finally manage to reach safety at the Indian border. The handsome young Indian soldier who greets the young Dalai Lama approaches and says, "Excuse me, sir. May I ask: Are you the Lord Buddha?" And when the exhausted Dalai Lama finds the strength to reply, He answers: "I think I am like the moon, reflecting in water. When you see me, you see yourself."
See that film, with Philip Glass' gorgeous musical score, if you haven't. I weep each time I see it. Think of fireworks, fireflies, yaks, snow lions, the moon, the thread, and a free Tibet. Jane
it's a sauna here
Greetings from Jenna in Pokhara, I was up at 5:30 am hoping to watch the sun rise over some of the largest peaks in the world-- Annapurna I and II, to name a few. Once in a while the clouds broke and revealed the snowy peeks, which seemed so surreal, because the temperature was already in to the 90's on the roof of our hotel.
Now, at 2:30 in the afternoon it is over 100 degrees. Everything seems even more lush and jungle like than I remember-- lots of banana trees and poinsettias trees (though not in bloom). I look forward to canoeing on the lake tomorrow before the heat sets in.
Today we took a jeep up to Devi falls and Tibetan Refugee Camp-- what a great surprise to step off a market street, through a gate and to the edge of a deep water fall (for all of my river friends-- it's not runnable). We saw beautiful double rainbows and amazing rock formations carved from flood waters.
Ashleigh and I just bought a map of lake side Pokhara. We were going to rent two mtn bikes and try our luck riding to a hill top temple called the World Peace Stupa.
I have really enjoyed seeing Nepal with Ella and Mary's eyes. They bring so much to our experience and they are doing so well here-- bargaining on the streets, trying new foods, and asking the best questions. People respond to our group favorably because we are traveling with kids--- way to go Reba. What a gift you have given to us all.
Jane my not post this, but you should know that yesterday as we were about to board our flight-- we discovered that her backpack with all her trekking gear did not make it to our hotel. The last place we had it was when we put it on the plane to Nepal. Jane was so busy making sure we were all okay and that all the bags with gifts for the nunnery had arrived, she never noticed the missing bag--somehow we all missed this one bag. She did not really need anything from the bag in KTM, but as we prepared to leave the city for the trek, she realized it was gone. We have our friends at Gurkha travels trying to track the bag down, and we are hopeful our porter can bring it from KTM when he comes. Keep your fingers crossed!!!!
more later after the bike ride-- wish me luck-- the bike has no shocks, there are not helmets for rent and I don't have my padded biking shorts, not to mention we have NO idea where we are going. Should be an adventure.
Now, at 2:30 in the afternoon it is over 100 degrees. Everything seems even more lush and jungle like than I remember-- lots of banana trees and poinsettias trees (though not in bloom). I look forward to canoeing on the lake tomorrow before the heat sets in.
Today we took a jeep up to Devi falls and Tibetan Refugee Camp-- what a great surprise to step off a market street, through a gate and to the edge of a deep water fall (for all of my river friends-- it's not runnable). We saw beautiful double rainbows and amazing rock formations carved from flood waters.
Ashleigh and I just bought a map of lake side Pokhara. We were going to rent two mtn bikes and try our luck riding to a hill top temple called the World Peace Stupa.
I have really enjoyed seeing Nepal with Ella and Mary's eyes. They bring so much to our experience and they are doing so well here-- bargaining on the streets, trying new foods, and asking the best questions. People respond to our group favorably because we are traveling with kids--- way to go Reba. What a gift you have given to us all.
Jane my not post this, but you should know that yesterday as we were about to board our flight-- we discovered that her backpack with all her trekking gear did not make it to our hotel. The last place we had it was when we put it on the plane to Nepal. Jane was so busy making sure we were all okay and that all the bags with gifts for the nunnery had arrived, she never noticed the missing bag--somehow we all missed this one bag. She did not really need anything from the bag in KTM, but as we prepared to leave the city for the trek, she realized it was gone. We have our friends at Gurkha travels trying to track the bag down, and we are hopeful our porter can bring it from KTM when he comes. Keep your fingers crossed!!!!
more later after the bike ride-- wish me luck-- the bike has no shocks, there are not helmets for rent and I don't have my padded biking shorts, not to mention we have NO idea where we are going. Should be an adventure.
Memories....from Reba
Ahhh, we are in Pokhara....a where it is not an exaggeration to say that you can fry and egg on the sidewalk (just ask Emerson who took a quick barefoot walk in the hotel garden).....where showering is just an interruption to being wet with sweat. It makes me remember the last time we were here, and our whole team was on one floor of the UN-air conditioned Guest house. We were so desperate for a breeze that we opened all of our doors on the hallway and stipped down to undershorts and tops to lay across the beds and nap....or at least that's what I remember doing :)
We haven't taken the boats out yet, but that's our plan for this evening or early in the morning. The spelling on the signs here is keeping us laughing, I remember Sherrie being so good about taking pictures of things like that. Sherrie, Jason and Tom, we DO miss you...very much.
Today we went to the Tibetan Refugee camp where the women spend months hand weaving beautiful wool and silk rugs. We entered a small room where three woman were sitting before huge looms, threading strings through with their fingers. One woman looked and Mary and Ella and patted the bench beside her, and they scrambled up. She showed them how she did it, then she let them try. I got good pictures! It was really sweet and I was proud of how Mary and Ella didn't hesitate to "give it a go." Even more amazing, and what I couldn't figure out, was how in the world the woman figured out when to stop one thread color and begin a new one in the design. We were told that for a large rug, 4 women must work for 4-5 months to complete it.
Ella wants me to tell you that she loves the food in Pokara. So far she has had pizza twice (pineapple and garlic) and spaghetti once. They are both eating like horses, so all is well...
And she still loves baby monkeys!
We haven't taken the boats out yet, but that's our plan for this evening or early in the morning. The spelling on the signs here is keeping us laughing, I remember Sherrie being so good about taking pictures of things like that. Sherrie, Jason and Tom, we DO miss you...very much.
Today we went to the Tibetan Refugee camp where the women spend months hand weaving beautiful wool and silk rugs. We entered a small room where three woman were sitting before huge looms, threading strings through with their fingers. One woman looked and Mary and Ella and patted the bench beside her, and they scrambled up. She showed them how she did it, then she let them try. I got good pictures! It was really sweet and I was proud of how Mary and Ella didn't hesitate to "give it a go." Even more amazing, and what I couldn't figure out, was how in the world the woman figured out when to stop one thread color and begin a new one in the design. We were told that for a large rug, 4 women must work for 4-5 months to complete it.
Ella wants me to tell you that she loves the food in Pokara. So far she has had pizza twice (pineapple and garlic) and spaghetti once. They are both eating like horses, so all is well...
And she still loves baby monkeys!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Aslan and Aslan: Emerson on July 3rd
Well, this is an interesting experience! I haven't gotten to be a contributor the blog just yet, perhaps because everyone else seems to do such a good job. From mom's diligent chronicling of where we have been and her keen insights into what going there means to the youthful enthusiasm of the Hoffmans (if, in some cases, ie Reba, slightly immature enthusiasm), we seem to really have a good thing going here. Nevertheless, I wanted to share some of my thoughts as the sole male on this expedition.
This morning we left Kathmandu for Pokhara, but before we did, we came face to face one more time with someone who had been frustrating our team leaders and creeping on the young women in our group. This guy was from San Francisco, and had the entire Californian cliche down pat: the bleached blonde hair, the flip flops no matter what the weather, the lazily sexually aggressive surfer energy, and of course the liberalism that expresses itself not as a generous and benevolent desire to help others and build community but as a disturbingly self-centered, drug-addled narcissism. I went to school in California, and fortunately my peers were not really this sort of person, but you saw them, and really pitied them. But the average hypocritical surfer would have nothing on our friend, who incredibly was named (at least he claimed) Aslan. That's right, Aslan. The Lion from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. C.S. Lewis's representation of Christ. The thing Liam Neeson voices in the movies. His name was Aslan. What incredible irony.
He came stumbling drunk to our breakfast table around seven in the morning, if not earlier, which should tell you something about his personal habits and behavioral patterns. Anyway, a strong charge led by mom and Jenna (with some choice quotes that I will leave for them to relay), he wandered off (or rather, was driven as far away as he could get, which was several yards). The incident wasn't that big of a deal for me, because I was too tired to really pay much attention and because his energy was directed anywhere but me, since I was the only other guy around. But his intrusiveness, and even more so his somewhat pitiful demeanor and obvious lack of wisdom, did get me really thinking. Namely, what a difference between Aslan the spoiled drunk boy playing in a Nepali toy box and Aslan the lion who saves Edmund from his own folly and leads the charge against Jadis, The White Witch. What a tremendous difference, not just of situation (the real world versus the fantastical), but also a difference of character.
I thought about how this difference might relate to our trip in Nepal, trying to decide if my observations and armchair psycho and literary analysis were worth sharing. And I decided, with not a hint of self-regard, that they were. It began with wondering why C.S. Lewis chose to make the most heroic character in The Chronicles of Narnia, the Christ figure, a lion. I think partly it has to do with traditional Christian iconography (Christ being both lamb and lion), and partly it has to do with the lion being the traditional king of the jungle (just ask Simba!). But I think he also meant to convey that a powerful force for good in the world would be "lion hearted". Aslan the lion certainly is lion-hearted. Aslan the deadbeat, not so much. And I think that as important as being lion-hearted is to leading an army or even saving humanity (as Lewis would suggest), it is also important to be lion-hearted if you wish to travel to Nepal, in two ways.
First, in the negative sense. Nepal is really hard. For instance, we are in Pokhara right now, where the temperature was over 100 degrees before the sun rose all the way. It is hot, it is humid, and the air conditioning in the hotels (air conditioning that only comes in particularly luxurious rooms) randomly does or does not work depending it seems on nothing more than the whims of the Olympian gods. It's easy to get sick here, either from making poor food choices, not being hygenic, or (hopefully in my case) just by being unlucky. In Thamel in Kathmandu, people are constantly begging and trying to sell you things, often refusing to take no for an answer. I was asked if I wanted to buy hash about ten times a day. We flew today, and the airports are crowded and chaotic. Nowhere seems to have rules that exist as real enforceable rules; they rather seem to be based on whims, momentary decisions, and other ephemeral, untraceable criteria. Being in Nepal can be uncomfortable, it can be bad for your health, and it can be frustrating.
A person accustomed to the good life would have a meltdown instantly. But even someone who has strength could easily find themselves questioning why they came or how they will ever be able to survive Nepal. But if you are lion-hearted, bold and courageous, you can meet the challenges of the heat, or the diarrhea, with swagger and smiles rather than moans and groans. Many, I think, would wilt in the face of the adversary of Nepal. Or, like our human Aslan, they would stay in the bosom of tourist luxury, drinking until all fears and hardships evaporated in an alcoholic, perhaps hashish as well, induced haze. But a lion-hearted person, like the lion Aslan, would face such hardships as route markers on the path to real reward and embrace them.
But I don't think that being lion-hearted only has to do with bravery and courage, even though that is what we often associate with lions. Certainly the character Aslan is admirable not just because he is courageous, but also because he is wise and merciful. Similarly, facing Nepal and staring down its bizarre, and often comically disturbing, idiosyncrasies is not enough to be lion-hearted. One must truly appreciate its good qualities. Aslan represents Jesus Christ in C.S. Lewis's Christian view of the world, and perhaps it might be good to relate to western audiences that bringing a Christ like presence is a good way to begin to be lion-hearted. That doesn't mean to evangelize, to grab poor Hindu boys off the street and yell at them that they must accept Jesus or face the fiery flames of Hell (a horrible and perverted misreading of a great faith that I actually witnessed my first night in Kathmandu). Far from it. Instead, it means that a visitor to Nepal should have the wisdom, and the compassion, to act as the prophet Abraham (Lincoln, not the Old Testament one), said, "with malice towards none, with charity towards all."
That means understanding that the Buddhist monk who wishes to bless you is as wise and as generous as the best people you know back home. It means understanding that the merchant trying so hard to rip you off does so not because of his own malice, but because of economic desperation. It means that witnessing the ritualistic slaughter of a goat, as I saw at the Hindu temple Dakshin Kahli, is not a barbaric practice of the past but rather a different culture's way of dialogging with the notions of transience and loss. It means recognizing that we bring immense privilege into Nepal by virtue of our American money belts brimming with dollars and rupees, and that we have a responsibility to act kindly towards those we meet, no matter how repugnant they might seem. I think a lion-hearted person would have the wisdom to see that when someone travels abroad, they are ambassadors from their country, and that they should act accordingly.
Nepal is wonderful, insane, difficult, challenging, and rewarding. There was a terrible movie made once called Crazy/Beautiful, but I think the title really captures what Nepal is all about. I hope that our team of people, from Jane my mom who has been to Nepal so many times to Mary and Ella Hoffman, who are seeing outside the United States for the first time, can be like Aslan. That we can be brave in facing hardship and magnanimous and generous in our actions. That we can avoid being like the other Aslan, hiding from our responsibilities and consuming Nepal in a fetishistic attempt to outrun our own demons.
I think our team, our project, those of you following at home, and even our United States of America would do well to have the spirit of the lion Aslan, and to shun those tendencies that turn us into the human Aslan. In so doing, perhaps we can appreciate another place with both strong pride and generous humility.
Maybe Aslan the lion does have a cure for mild fever and diarrhea? If so, I'd DEFINITELY like to be a bit more like him....
This morning we left Kathmandu for Pokhara, but before we did, we came face to face one more time with someone who had been frustrating our team leaders and creeping on the young women in our group. This guy was from San Francisco, and had the entire Californian cliche down pat: the bleached blonde hair, the flip flops no matter what the weather, the lazily sexually aggressive surfer energy, and of course the liberalism that expresses itself not as a generous and benevolent desire to help others and build community but as a disturbingly self-centered, drug-addled narcissism. I went to school in California, and fortunately my peers were not really this sort of person, but you saw them, and really pitied them. But the average hypocritical surfer would have nothing on our friend, who incredibly was named (at least he claimed) Aslan. That's right, Aslan. The Lion from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. C.S. Lewis's representation of Christ. The thing Liam Neeson voices in the movies. His name was Aslan. What incredible irony.
He came stumbling drunk to our breakfast table around seven in the morning, if not earlier, which should tell you something about his personal habits and behavioral patterns. Anyway, a strong charge led by mom and Jenna (with some choice quotes that I will leave for them to relay), he wandered off (or rather, was driven as far away as he could get, which was several yards). The incident wasn't that big of a deal for me, because I was too tired to really pay much attention and because his energy was directed anywhere but me, since I was the only other guy around. But his intrusiveness, and even more so his somewhat pitiful demeanor and obvious lack of wisdom, did get me really thinking. Namely, what a difference between Aslan the spoiled drunk boy playing in a Nepali toy box and Aslan the lion who saves Edmund from his own folly and leads the charge against Jadis, The White Witch. What a tremendous difference, not just of situation (the real world versus the fantastical), but also a difference of character.
I thought about how this difference might relate to our trip in Nepal, trying to decide if my observations and armchair psycho and literary analysis were worth sharing. And I decided, with not a hint of self-regard, that they were. It began with wondering why C.S. Lewis chose to make the most heroic character in The Chronicles of Narnia, the Christ figure, a lion. I think partly it has to do with traditional Christian iconography (Christ being both lamb and lion), and partly it has to do with the lion being the traditional king of the jungle (just ask Simba!). But I think he also meant to convey that a powerful force for good in the world would be "lion hearted". Aslan the lion certainly is lion-hearted. Aslan the deadbeat, not so much. And I think that as important as being lion-hearted is to leading an army or even saving humanity (as Lewis would suggest), it is also important to be lion-hearted if you wish to travel to Nepal, in two ways.
First, in the negative sense. Nepal is really hard. For instance, we are in Pokhara right now, where the temperature was over 100 degrees before the sun rose all the way. It is hot, it is humid, and the air conditioning in the hotels (air conditioning that only comes in particularly luxurious rooms) randomly does or does not work depending it seems on nothing more than the whims of the Olympian gods. It's easy to get sick here, either from making poor food choices, not being hygenic, or (hopefully in my case) just by being unlucky. In Thamel in Kathmandu, people are constantly begging and trying to sell you things, often refusing to take no for an answer. I was asked if I wanted to buy hash about ten times a day. We flew today, and the airports are crowded and chaotic. Nowhere seems to have rules that exist as real enforceable rules; they rather seem to be based on whims, momentary decisions, and other ephemeral, untraceable criteria. Being in Nepal can be uncomfortable, it can be bad for your health, and it can be frustrating.
A person accustomed to the good life would have a meltdown instantly. But even someone who has strength could easily find themselves questioning why they came or how they will ever be able to survive Nepal. But if you are lion-hearted, bold and courageous, you can meet the challenges of the heat, or the diarrhea, with swagger and smiles rather than moans and groans. Many, I think, would wilt in the face of the adversary of Nepal. Or, like our human Aslan, they would stay in the bosom of tourist luxury, drinking until all fears and hardships evaporated in an alcoholic, perhaps hashish as well, induced haze. But a lion-hearted person, like the lion Aslan, would face such hardships as route markers on the path to real reward and embrace them.
But I don't think that being lion-hearted only has to do with bravery and courage, even though that is what we often associate with lions. Certainly the character Aslan is admirable not just because he is courageous, but also because he is wise and merciful. Similarly, facing Nepal and staring down its bizarre, and often comically disturbing, idiosyncrasies is not enough to be lion-hearted. One must truly appreciate its good qualities. Aslan represents Jesus Christ in C.S. Lewis's Christian view of the world, and perhaps it might be good to relate to western audiences that bringing a Christ like presence is a good way to begin to be lion-hearted. That doesn't mean to evangelize, to grab poor Hindu boys off the street and yell at them that they must accept Jesus or face the fiery flames of Hell (a horrible and perverted misreading of a great faith that I actually witnessed my first night in Kathmandu). Far from it. Instead, it means that a visitor to Nepal should have the wisdom, and the compassion, to act as the prophet Abraham (Lincoln, not the Old Testament one), said, "with malice towards none, with charity towards all."
That means understanding that the Buddhist monk who wishes to bless you is as wise and as generous as the best people you know back home. It means understanding that the merchant trying so hard to rip you off does so not because of his own malice, but because of economic desperation. It means that witnessing the ritualistic slaughter of a goat, as I saw at the Hindu temple Dakshin Kahli, is not a barbaric practice of the past but rather a different culture's way of dialogging with the notions of transience and loss. It means recognizing that we bring immense privilege into Nepal by virtue of our American money belts brimming with dollars and rupees, and that we have a responsibility to act kindly towards those we meet, no matter how repugnant they might seem. I think a lion-hearted person would have the wisdom to see that when someone travels abroad, they are ambassadors from their country, and that they should act accordingly.
Nepal is wonderful, insane, difficult, challenging, and rewarding. There was a terrible movie made once called Crazy/Beautiful, but I think the title really captures what Nepal is all about. I hope that our team of people, from Jane my mom who has been to Nepal so many times to Mary and Ella Hoffman, who are seeing outside the United States for the first time, can be like Aslan. That we can be brave in facing hardship and magnanimous and generous in our actions. That we can avoid being like the other Aslan, hiding from our responsibilities and consuming Nepal in a fetishistic attempt to outrun our own demons.
I think our team, our project, those of you following at home, and even our United States of America would do well to have the spirit of the lion Aslan, and to shun those tendencies that turn us into the human Aslan. In so doing, perhaps we can appreciate another place with both strong pride and generous humility.
Maybe Aslan the lion does have a cure for mild fever and diarrhea? If so, I'd DEFINITELY like to be a bit more like him....
from Jane on July 3rd
Today has been an intense day, partly because we have reached Pokhara, the middle city, but also because my student Mika Maloney split off from the rest of the team.
She went with a friend of ours on a long journey of her own, to reach Besisahar, the starting point for the Annapurna Trek. If you think of a horseshoe with the round curve on top, like an upside-down letter U, Besisahar is at the bottom right point. The entire Annapurna Circuit is about two weeks of long walking, with its climax at the top of the horseshoe, the Thorung-la Pass, at almost 18,000 feet.
Jenna and I crossed the Thorung-la in the winter of 2000, with Tsampa-la, in the first snowstorm of the season. Mika will not face a blizzard, although she could see snow or sleet. If our paths do not intersect, we will miss each other by just a few days and have promised to leave one another notes at certain points along the Circuit. We know her guide, who will accompany her like a loyal brother for the entire Circuit, so we feel comforted. But we already miss her. Last night, everyone at dinner felt that odd anxiety, the trekker's misgiving about parting ways, the feeling of The (Buddhist) Last Supper, where betrayal is not the problem, but only the poignant inevitability of separation.
Mika, we wish you safe safe and gorgeous travels. We will always be your team.
The town of Pokhara is positively sweltering, 104 degrees Fahrenheit when we landed, before the sun was at its peak. Coffee grows here, and bananas. Fortunately, our hotel rooms have air-conditioning, although Reba pointed out that the AC unit, though set in a beautiful wooden-arch window, has an inch of open sky to every side. Carpentry smarpentry.
Fever birds are calling around me, the koila bird you can hear in Richard Attenbourough's film, Gandhi, when Candice Bergen, playing the photographer Margaret Bourke-White, interviews the elderly Gandhiji during his millionth imprisonment by the doomed British Raj. She is asking him about whether non-violence could be used against a leader as ruthless as Hitler. Not without defeats, Gandhi reasons, because non-violence takes a long time, but in the end, there is no weapon stronger than civil disobedience when used with the right intentions.
Pokhara is a city built on the rim of a lake, Phewa Tal. We see the giant famous Machupuchchare looming over it, Fishtail (just Google this famous mountain and you'll see what is on Ashleigh's and Reba's cameras from this morning). Along with Everest and the Jungfrau, Fishtail is the most photographed mountain in the world. It is a steep pyramid, extremely pointy, a classic, sharp, snow-covered white and ageratum Himalayan peak.
Later, if we have not completely dissolved from this constant sauna, we will take long canoes out, and paddle ourselves over close enough to observe the shore of the wild side, where monkeys and tigers live. Peak season to be here is in the Fall, when the skies are clear. In this season, Fishtail plays hide and seek, but we may, if we are lucky, see the moutain reflect in the lake.
Non-violence takes a long time. My friend Suzi Gablik sent me her most recent blog this morning, where I saw a photograph of cola-colored streaks of the Gulf oil-spill veining horribly upon an Alabama beach.
There is not a single old Tibetan artefact in the Pokhara stalls today, only plastic Chinese copies of junky tourist items, hawked by the Tibetan refugees here who have never, in fifty sad years, been able to go home.
There is a moment in the film version of Out of Africa in which Denys Finch-Hatton tempts Karen Blixen to go on safari with him: "There is land there you ought to see," he promotes, "because it won't be there much longer."
In three days we will be on our way to what must be some of the last land where the Buddhas have always curbed what makes people hasten their own demise.
We will not find this pristine wisdom anymore in Lower Mustang, we are told. But I do still expect to find it in the Resricted Territory. I had better tank up there, before something explodes and plumes all over the Annapurnas, something ruinous and toxic, melting the glaciers, sinking the fish, bludgeoning the Buddhas I love. Jane
She went with a friend of ours on a long journey of her own, to reach Besisahar, the starting point for the Annapurna Trek. If you think of a horseshoe with the round curve on top, like an upside-down letter U, Besisahar is at the bottom right point. The entire Annapurna Circuit is about two weeks of long walking, with its climax at the top of the horseshoe, the Thorung-la Pass, at almost 18,000 feet.
Jenna and I crossed the Thorung-la in the winter of 2000, with Tsampa-la, in the first snowstorm of the season. Mika will not face a blizzard, although she could see snow or sleet. If our paths do not intersect, we will miss each other by just a few days and have promised to leave one another notes at certain points along the Circuit. We know her guide, who will accompany her like a loyal brother for the entire Circuit, so we feel comforted. But we already miss her. Last night, everyone at dinner felt that odd anxiety, the trekker's misgiving about parting ways, the feeling of The (Buddhist) Last Supper, where betrayal is not the problem, but only the poignant inevitability of separation.
Mika, we wish you safe safe and gorgeous travels. We will always be your team.
The town of Pokhara is positively sweltering, 104 degrees Fahrenheit when we landed, before the sun was at its peak. Coffee grows here, and bananas. Fortunately, our hotel rooms have air-conditioning, although Reba pointed out that the AC unit, though set in a beautiful wooden-arch window, has an inch of open sky to every side. Carpentry smarpentry.
Fever birds are calling around me, the koila bird you can hear in Richard Attenbourough's film, Gandhi, when Candice Bergen, playing the photographer Margaret Bourke-White, interviews the elderly Gandhiji during his millionth imprisonment by the doomed British Raj. She is asking him about whether non-violence could be used against a leader as ruthless as Hitler. Not without defeats, Gandhi reasons, because non-violence takes a long time, but in the end, there is no weapon stronger than civil disobedience when used with the right intentions.
Pokhara is a city built on the rim of a lake, Phewa Tal. We see the giant famous Machupuchchare looming over it, Fishtail (just Google this famous mountain and you'll see what is on Ashleigh's and Reba's cameras from this morning). Along with Everest and the Jungfrau, Fishtail is the most photographed mountain in the world. It is a steep pyramid, extremely pointy, a classic, sharp, snow-covered white and ageratum Himalayan peak.
Later, if we have not completely dissolved from this constant sauna, we will take long canoes out, and paddle ourselves over close enough to observe the shore of the wild side, where monkeys and tigers live. Peak season to be here is in the Fall, when the skies are clear. In this season, Fishtail plays hide and seek, but we may, if we are lucky, see the moutain reflect in the lake.
Non-violence takes a long time. My friend Suzi Gablik sent me her most recent blog this morning, where I saw a photograph of cola-colored streaks of the Gulf oil-spill veining horribly upon an Alabama beach.
There is not a single old Tibetan artefact in the Pokhara stalls today, only plastic Chinese copies of junky tourist items, hawked by the Tibetan refugees here who have never, in fifty sad years, been able to go home.
There is a moment in the film version of Out of Africa in which Denys Finch-Hatton tempts Karen Blixen to go on safari with him: "There is land there you ought to see," he promotes, "because it won't be there much longer."
In three days we will be on our way to what must be some of the last land where the Buddhas have always curbed what makes people hasten their own demise.
We will not find this pristine wisdom anymore in Lower Mustang, we are told. But I do still expect to find it in the Resricted Territory. I had better tank up there, before something explodes and plumes all over the Annapurnas, something ruinous and toxic, melting the glaciers, sinking the fish, bludgeoning the Buddhas I love. Jane
Friday, July 2, 2010
Ella's post
Nepal is a place that not many 3rd graders will see. It's very different. You have to drink from bottles water and bottled water only! I am very impressed that they have Fanta! Fanta is really common in Nepal! So is Coca-cola, Pepsi, and other USA drinks. The crazy streets are very bumpy but awesome!
My favorite Hindu god is Ganesh because he looks like an elephant.
I liked the monkey temple because it had cute baby monkeys, but I did NOT like the 403 stairs that we had to walk up.
I had a gnat in my hot chocolate this morning (I got it out), and Mom forced me to eat scrambled eggs because I ordered a banana pancake but didn't like it.
Oh yeah, and Emerson and I saved Mary from a mama monkey! See? I DO care about her!
That's all for now
I LOVE BABY MONKEYS!
Love, Ella
Additional note from Reba:
Yesterday, as Mary and I were lying around our room feeling puny, Ella was back to her sassy self. She spent her afternoon playing Uno and journaling with Mika, Ashley and Emerson. They taught her how to cut pictures from the brochures to glue in her pages. She has loved Emerson for a long time, and now she loves Mika and Ashley. Two beautiful, kind and brave young women as role models. What more can a mother want?
My favorite Hindu god is Ganesh because he looks like an elephant.
I liked the monkey temple because it had cute baby monkeys, but I did NOT like the 403 stairs that we had to walk up.
I had a gnat in my hot chocolate this morning (I got it out), and Mom forced me to eat scrambled eggs because I ordered a banana pancake but didn't like it.
Oh yeah, and Emerson and I saved Mary from a mama monkey! See? I DO care about her!
That's all for now
I LOVE BABY MONKEYS!
Love, Ella
Additional note from Reba:
Yesterday, as Mary and I were lying around our room feeling puny, Ella was back to her sassy self. She spent her afternoon playing Uno and journaling with Mika, Ashley and Emerson. They taught her how to cut pictures from the brochures to glue in her pages. She has loved Emerson for a long time, and now she loves Mika and Ashley. Two beautiful, kind and brave young women as role models. What more can a mother want?
3rd try from Jenna
Sorry to be bad about communication. I have tried to post two times and both times I spent over an hour and then lost what I had worked on. Frustration, time, power outages and slow internet have kept me away from the computers. I am fine and doing well. It is hot here, but our guest house garden provides shady spots for rest. We have been going non stop.... the monkey temple, the cremation temple, the potters square, shopping in the markets, dinner with friends and a beautiful day trek to Nagercot-- the mountain top site where we can see Everist and several other giant peeks. Unfortunattely the clouds were so thick that the mountains were hiding. luckly we will see the big mtns when we head out west tomorrow.
I am struck this time by the street kids-- i see a new problem I have not really encountered here before. The young boys spend their days sniffing STRONG glue out of paper bags. They are almost delerious as they wonder the streets. I talked to our friend who is a gem dealer and he told me about picking these kids up off the stoop in fromt of his store and noticing their dry, almost scaley skin and their brittle bones. He told me about all the organizations which collect $ to help these kids, and how it hardly ever makes it to the street kids. Then he told me about an Amreican woman and her organization who does really great work to help. Apparently she feeds them all one good meal a week, some times she pickes them up and takes them to a place where they can get haircuts and sometimes to a place to get a bate. I want to find out more about her and the organization.
Our flight tomorrow morining will take us even further awaty from the city, computers and the chaos of KTM. We will spend a few days in Pokara, the lake city where we will canoe thru terraced lands and trees teeming with monkeys, we will visit a cave, and a tibetan refugee camp-- we can expect jungle temperature there (100 degrees)and we will probably run into monsoon rains. Next we fly to Jomsom where the festival was held and where Tsampa lives. After a few days, we will meet our porters and our favorite guide Naryan, and we will start our trek to Lo. We already have worries about monsoon rains at the end of the trek, so we have a plan B which gives us time to do the extra 4 day walk out of the mtns if our plane can't fly-- this is what we had to do last time and I was actually glad for the extra trek. That part of the trek takes us back thru the low land jungles-- where the rest of the trek is in the high mtns and in view of snowy peaks.
I worry about the changes I will see as we head to the west. I have heard that there are now roads on most of the Annapurna Circut. In 2007, Jomsom village had a tractor, and a car and a few mororcycles now has traffic passing by---Cars and maybe even busses. It used to be that cars were disassembles, flown in and reassembled, and that they were only used in Jomsom and the boardering villages-- rivers flowing down from the mtn tops prevented further travel. Now cars can drive all the way from Beni to the holy site of Muktinath in about 2 days-- when we trekked, it was about an 8 day walk. Luckly, Lo, the remote region we will travel to does not have roads YET, but I suspect we will see more evidence of the roads to come!!!
Today we took bags of clothes to a monistary for nuns-- they were thrilled. We were invited in for a cup of tea, and thanks to Jane we were served YACK BUTTER tea rather than sweet milk chai. She thought it would be funny to request the salty, thick, butter tea so our new comers Ashely and Mika could try it. Though we all had to choke the stuff down, Jane was the only who was served a second cup before she could stop them, so in the end her plan back fired. Jason, Sherrie and Tom, we tosted you with this tea!!!! After tea we were given a tour of the main temple room, the nuns blessed our journey with a singing and paryer, then they beleest Ashley, Mika ande Jane's malas. It was a beautiful monistart right next to the Monkey twemple build over 125 years ago. There are 125 nuns at this monistary and the youngest is 7 years old. It was great to be able to deliver about 17 pairs of shoes, dozens of tooth brushes, clothes, (jeans, shirts, and coats). The nuns will make sure the goods get to the people that need them. We have already been invited back for a vegetarian lunch after our trek. I will make sure to order a POT of Yak butter tea for Jane.
I have not given myself time to edit. I want to post before i lose this... forgive my errors.
I am struck this time by the street kids-- i see a new problem I have not really encountered here before. The young boys spend their days sniffing STRONG glue out of paper bags. They are almost delerious as they wonder the streets. I talked to our friend who is a gem dealer and he told me about picking these kids up off the stoop in fromt of his store and noticing their dry, almost scaley skin and their brittle bones. He told me about all the organizations which collect $ to help these kids, and how it hardly ever makes it to the street kids. Then he told me about an Amreican woman and her organization who does really great work to help. Apparently she feeds them all one good meal a week, some times she pickes them up and takes them to a place where they can get haircuts and sometimes to a place to get a bate. I want to find out more about her and the organization.
Our flight tomorrow morining will take us even further awaty from the city, computers and the chaos of KTM. We will spend a few days in Pokara, the lake city where we will canoe thru terraced lands and trees teeming with monkeys, we will visit a cave, and a tibetan refugee camp-- we can expect jungle temperature there (100 degrees)and we will probably run into monsoon rains. Next we fly to Jomsom where the festival was held and where Tsampa lives. After a few days, we will meet our porters and our favorite guide Naryan, and we will start our trek to Lo. We already have worries about monsoon rains at the end of the trek, so we have a plan B which gives us time to do the extra 4 day walk out of the mtns if our plane can't fly-- this is what we had to do last time and I was actually glad for the extra trek. That part of the trek takes us back thru the low land jungles-- where the rest of the trek is in the high mtns and in view of snowy peaks.
I worry about the changes I will see as we head to the west. I have heard that there are now roads on most of the Annapurna Circut. In 2007, Jomsom village had a tractor, and a car and a few mororcycles now has traffic passing by---Cars and maybe even busses. It used to be that cars were disassembles, flown in and reassembled, and that they were only used in Jomsom and the boardering villages-- rivers flowing down from the mtn tops prevented further travel. Now cars can drive all the way from Beni to the holy site of Muktinath in about 2 days-- when we trekked, it was about an 8 day walk. Luckly, Lo, the remote region we will travel to does not have roads YET, but I suspect we will see more evidence of the roads to come!!!
Today we took bags of clothes to a monistary for nuns-- they were thrilled. We were invited in for a cup of tea, and thanks to Jane we were served YACK BUTTER tea rather than sweet milk chai. She thought it would be funny to request the salty, thick, butter tea so our new comers Ashely and Mika could try it. Though we all had to choke the stuff down, Jane was the only who was served a second cup before she could stop them, so in the end her plan back fired. Jason, Sherrie and Tom, we tosted you with this tea!!!! After tea we were given a tour of the main temple room, the nuns blessed our journey with a singing and paryer, then they beleest Ashley, Mika ande Jane's malas. It was a beautiful monistart right next to the Monkey twemple build over 125 years ago. There are 125 nuns at this monistary and the youngest is 7 years old. It was great to be able to deliver about 17 pairs of shoes, dozens of tooth brushes, clothes, (jeans, shirts, and coats). The nuns will make sure the goods get to the people that need them. We have already been invited back for a vegetarian lunch after our trek. I will make sure to order a POT of Yak butter tea for Jane.
I have not given myself time to edit. I want to post before i lose this... forgive my errors.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
from Jane, July 1
Hello, Friends. Our third showing of A Gift for the Village this evening was a wonderful success, with a sweet group of Nepalis and travelers, including a social worker from Spain and university administrators from Minnesota. Again, the film created great emotion, and brought people to tears. We are so gratified.
We spent the day walking from Pashupatinath to Boudha, from the cremation ghats along the Bagmati River, to one of the two holiest Buddhist stupas in the valley. At Pashupati we saw an incredible ceremony which Jenna filmed: the one-year anniversary remembrance of a beloved Pashupati sadhu's death.
Most incredible was a sadhu (holy man) dressed as Hanuman, the monkey god, with a huge hairy tail-appendage, curled up higher than his head, and his lower face masked with half a coconut hull, painted livid red. The effect was to make him seem as if he were really a monkey, but tall and dancing like a man, and in splendid garish marigold and silver and ruby swaths of ornamented cloth.
Jenna admitted that the costume actually spooked her, because the piercing painted eyes of this Hanuman figure seemed convincingly like a monkey-god's. I felt the same eerieness, and Mika later made the same observation, about the strange intensity of this dancing Hanuman.
Among the gypsy sounds of the sadhus, the manic tinny tambourines and the hoarse thigh-bone horns, and amidst the billowing smoke of the smouldering cremations, I saw the most impressive retinue of committed sadhus I have seen in my 25 years of traveling to south Asia. These men were handsome and elegant, emaciated and languid, classic in their statuesque features, like the Roman art of Praxiteles in the 5th century B.C.; like the Dying Gaul, or later, the Laocoon. Some were dressed in pastels, apricots my grandmother would have selected, and others, in acid lemons and pomegranate crushes of color. Some looked as if their faces had not produced sound for all eternity, and others were sweating, singing metallic plaintive prayers.
At Boudha, the world smells like juniper, and the Tibetan women walking round in their striped aprons look like sturdy satellites to the beautiful hemispheric reliquary, with its blue and golden eyes facing the four directions. I always feel relieved to be near Tibetans, especially when they write me an e-mail:
Date: July 1, 2010 07:49:43 +0000
From: Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Dear Jane Lillian Vance,
I have been directed by Mr. Chhime R. Chhoekyapa, Secretary to His
Holiness the Dalai Lama, to response to your letter.
He sends His prayers and good wishes for the success of your
film.
We very much appreciated and congratulated for completing your film
project on Tsampa Ngawang Lama of Mustang, Nepal, which took over 9½
years to complete. We are very much sure that your film will bring about
greater awareness of the rich cultural heritage of the people living in
places like Mustang.
We once again very much appreciated your thoughtful gesture for sending us
NTSC version and PAL format of your documentary film.
With best wishes,
Yours Sincerely,
Tsultrim Dorjee
Administrative Assistant
--
Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Thekchen Choeling
P.O. Mcleod Ganj
Dharamsala 176219
HIMACHAL PRADESH
--------------
For now, goodnight from Kathmandu. Everyone on the team sends their love. Jane
We spent the day walking from Pashupatinath to Boudha, from the cremation ghats along the Bagmati River, to one of the two holiest Buddhist stupas in the valley. At Pashupati we saw an incredible ceremony which Jenna filmed: the one-year anniversary remembrance of a beloved Pashupati sadhu's death.
Most incredible was a sadhu (holy man) dressed as Hanuman, the monkey god, with a huge hairy tail-appendage, curled up higher than his head, and his lower face masked with half a coconut hull, painted livid red. The effect was to make him seem as if he were really a monkey, but tall and dancing like a man, and in splendid garish marigold and silver and ruby swaths of ornamented cloth.
Jenna admitted that the costume actually spooked her, because the piercing painted eyes of this Hanuman figure seemed convincingly like a monkey-god's. I felt the same eerieness, and Mika later made the same observation, about the strange intensity of this dancing Hanuman.
Among the gypsy sounds of the sadhus, the manic tinny tambourines and the hoarse thigh-bone horns, and amidst the billowing smoke of the smouldering cremations, I saw the most impressive retinue of committed sadhus I have seen in my 25 years of traveling to south Asia. These men were handsome and elegant, emaciated and languid, classic in their statuesque features, like the Roman art of Praxiteles in the 5th century B.C.; like the Dying Gaul, or later, the Laocoon. Some were dressed in pastels, apricots my grandmother would have selected, and others, in acid lemons and pomegranate crushes of color. Some looked as if their faces had not produced sound for all eternity, and others were sweating, singing metallic plaintive prayers.
At Boudha, the world smells like juniper, and the Tibetan women walking round in their striped aprons look like sturdy satellites to the beautiful hemispheric reliquary, with its blue and golden eyes facing the four directions. I always feel relieved to be near Tibetans, especially when they write me an e-mail:
Date: July 1, 2010 07:49:43 +0000
From: Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Dear Jane Lillian Vance,
I have been directed by Mr. Chhime R. Chhoekyapa, Secretary to His
Holiness the Dalai Lama, to response to your letter.
He sends His prayers and good wishes for the success of your
film.
We very much appreciated and congratulated for completing your film
project on Tsampa Ngawang Lama of Mustang, Nepal, which took over 9½
years to complete. We are very much sure that your film will bring about
greater awareness of the rich cultural heritage of the people living in
places like Mustang.
We once again very much appreciated your thoughtful gesture for sending us
NTSC version and PAL format of your documentary film.
With best wishes,
Yours Sincerely,
Tsultrim Dorjee
Administrative Assistant
--
Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
Thekchen Choeling
P.O. Mcleod Ganj
Dharamsala 176219
HIMACHAL PRADESH
--------------
For now, goodnight from Kathmandu. Everyone on the team sends their love. Jane
from Reba
Thanks, Everyone for your sweet and supportive comments. I'm almost afraid to tell you guys that Mary, Ella and I have been out of commission for a couple of days from a stomach bug. We are all ok now, not to worry. I don't think it was food or water because we all got it but nobody else has so far. I was really worried that being sick here would make them want to come home, but they have been troopers. Jane has this plum concentrate, a very strong, sticky goo that helps with stomach problems. Grudgingly the girls took a couple of doses and are much better now. Ella is completely better, Mary and I are working on it.
It is so fun to watch the girls here. Mary acts so grown up and doesn't hesitate to talk to people or greet them. Ella is finally "Namaste-ing" and smiling at people, whereas at first she would act shy. She always runs up to the desk when we enter the guest house and asks for the key. (A skeleton key on a large wooden key-holder) She also isn't afraid to leave our room and run down to Emerson or Ashley and Mika's room without me or her sister. Yesterday morning when the girls were not feeling well, I went down to get myself some tea at the guest house cafe and the manager asked how we all were. I told him that the girls were not feeling well, and he responded, "Which one? Mary or Ella?" I was surprised that he knew their names, but then again, not. People here seem genuinely happy that we are here.
Dinner at Sunil and Sarita's was just like Jane described...too much. It was so fun taking Mary and Ella there. As we were getting out of the rickshaws, Mary leaped out and her feet came out from under her. She got quite a bump as her head hit the rickshaw. We teased her that she now has a great story to tell about fighting with a rickshaw in Kathmandu! Mom and Dad, Sarita asked about you. Her mother is close to turning 100!
We had a very nice dinner courtesy of the Gurka trekking company at this very old palace I believe of a royal priest. We sat on the floor, were served spicy peanuts, popcorn, momos, potatoes....and those were just appetizers! Then came a Thali (sp?) plate of about 6 traditional Nepali dishes. Very good!
This morning we went to Pashupati, the creamation temple. Mary and Ella saw some very hard things. Not so much the 2 bodies that were burning or the two that were being prepared (wrapped in clothes and draped with marigolds), but rather the poor and disfigured people who sit and beg for a few rupees to eat. We did get to see a celebration for the 1 year anniversary of the death of a Sardu. (I hope I spelled that right, probably not) We also took pictures of a group of Sardus, with and without Emerson, Mika, Mary, and Ella.
We are all having a great time, but we miss everyone back home a whole bunch. Lots of love from Nepal, ya'll.
R
It is so fun to watch the girls here. Mary acts so grown up and doesn't hesitate to talk to people or greet them. Ella is finally "Namaste-ing" and smiling at people, whereas at first she would act shy. She always runs up to the desk when we enter the guest house and asks for the key. (A skeleton key on a large wooden key-holder) She also isn't afraid to leave our room and run down to Emerson or Ashley and Mika's room without me or her sister. Yesterday morning when the girls were not feeling well, I went down to get myself some tea at the guest house cafe and the manager asked how we all were. I told him that the girls were not feeling well, and he responded, "Which one? Mary or Ella?" I was surprised that he knew their names, but then again, not. People here seem genuinely happy that we are here.
Dinner at Sunil and Sarita's was just like Jane described...too much. It was so fun taking Mary and Ella there. As we were getting out of the rickshaws, Mary leaped out and her feet came out from under her. She got quite a bump as her head hit the rickshaw. We teased her that she now has a great story to tell about fighting with a rickshaw in Kathmandu! Mom and Dad, Sarita asked about you. Her mother is close to turning 100!
We had a very nice dinner courtesy of the Gurka trekking company at this very old palace I believe of a royal priest. We sat on the floor, were served spicy peanuts, popcorn, momos, potatoes....and those were just appetizers! Then came a Thali (sp?) plate of about 6 traditional Nepali dishes. Very good!
This morning we went to Pashupati, the creamation temple. Mary and Ella saw some very hard things. Not so much the 2 bodies that were burning or the two that were being prepared (wrapped in clothes and draped with marigolds), but rather the poor and disfigured people who sit and beg for a few rupees to eat. We did get to see a celebration for the 1 year anniversary of the death of a Sardu. (I hope I spelled that right, probably not) We also took pictures of a group of Sardus, with and without Emerson, Mika, Mary, and Ella.
We are all having a great time, but we miss everyone back home a whole bunch. Lots of love from Nepal, ya'll.
R
From Mary
Wow. The Hoffman's have been sick for a while. We're starting to get better....I hope. Today at Pashupati I got 'up close and personal' with a mamma monkey. If Ella hadn't pulled me back, I probably would've been jumped on. Brrrrr. Sends a chill down my spine how close I was. Anyway, Let's head to good news. I finaly got a dragon, thanks to Mom and Jane. It's a big black one. Jane said Black Dragons are guardians in Nepal. Tomorrow is our last day in Kathmandu. I'm feeling a little homesick, but excited for the new adventures to come. I hope no more close monkey encounters though. Also at Pashupati, we saw body's being prepared for burning, and body's being burned, understanding that it's an entirely different culture, but was also very moving. On the 29th, I think, Mingma took us to a very nice hotel with a nice restaurant with pretty good food, (I probably would've enjoyed it more if I wasn't feeling sick,) and amazing dancers. In one dance, the man dancing took a liking to Ashley, which made his girlfriend mad. There were about four or five performances before they finished. I heard last night's show was big success. That makes me happy people care. I miss everyone back home and hope you are all having a nice summer.
Mary
Mary
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
from Jane, June 30th evening
Our time in Kathmandu is only accelerating in intensity, and I wanted to post a blog to celebrate our premiere at The Indigo Gallery in Kathmandu, just a few hours ago. Jenna Swann and Tom Landon and our Gift for the Village project are soon to be featured in a beautiful glossy magazine here in the Kathmandu Valley. We were interviewed in the garden just before the film showed tonight. And afterwards, a reporter from the Kathmandu Post (the valley's largest English-speaking newspaper) who watched the documentary interviewed us and wants to do a story on our film.
Indigo Gallery's owner and master of ceremonies, James Gambrione, and his beautiful wife Linda were unbelievably gracious and generous hosts in their grand film space, and our guests were an accomplished and varied group, with expat professors and Tibetan and Nepali academics, art critics, poets, service group representatives, and our porters Binod and Hare and Narayan (again), who all helped us reach Lo in 2007.
We had a rich question and answer session after the film, with Jenna videoing, and James and Linda want to set up another showing, perhaps at the American Embassy, perhaps at the Ambassador's private home.
We had a LOT of interest and joy in our audience after the film. It seems that what Jenna and Tom have made is really inspirational. The energy tonight was joyful. The bridge between our cultures is growing sturdier each time this film shows.
How beautiful for me personally to have our team there to support these moments. Jason and Sherrie, the porters all asked about you by name, and wish so much that you could be with us again on the long trek to Lo. Do you remember the Dog Lady in Kagbeni, who made the dog warning signs? She came to our Indigo Gallery premiere!
Tom, cheers! It is good to know that you and Beth and Max and Will and Lucky Dog are back from Harvard. Roanoke is lucky to have you home.
Lisa Mullins, our gorgeous narrator, if and when you read this blog, I'm not telling you what present we got for you in Kathmandu today, but BE EXCITED! It is so amazing to have our work carried by your incredible voice. Huge thanks to you for your faith in our script and in our story.
And Suzi Gablik, to have you here, in the film, makes me feel so comforted and thrilled. Without your mind and your work and your love, I don't think I could have understood Art and the Big Picture (to quote the title of one of my favorite pieces of your writing) soon enough to help accomplish the correct ripening of our work.
To our family and friends, and to my Virginia Tech Creative Process students especially, we all send our love. Tashi deleg, Jane
Indigo Gallery's owner and master of ceremonies, James Gambrione, and his beautiful wife Linda were unbelievably gracious and generous hosts in their grand film space, and our guests were an accomplished and varied group, with expat professors and Tibetan and Nepali academics, art critics, poets, service group representatives, and our porters Binod and Hare and Narayan (again), who all helped us reach Lo in 2007.
We had a rich question and answer session after the film, with Jenna videoing, and James and Linda want to set up another showing, perhaps at the American Embassy, perhaps at the Ambassador's private home.
We had a LOT of interest and joy in our audience after the film. It seems that what Jenna and Tom have made is really inspirational. The energy tonight was joyful. The bridge between our cultures is growing sturdier each time this film shows.
How beautiful for me personally to have our team there to support these moments. Jason and Sherrie, the porters all asked about you by name, and wish so much that you could be with us again on the long trek to Lo. Do you remember the Dog Lady in Kagbeni, who made the dog warning signs? She came to our Indigo Gallery premiere!
Tom, cheers! It is good to know that you and Beth and Max and Will and Lucky Dog are back from Harvard. Roanoke is lucky to have you home.
Lisa Mullins, our gorgeous narrator, if and when you read this blog, I'm not telling you what present we got for you in Kathmandu today, but BE EXCITED! It is so amazing to have our work carried by your incredible voice. Huge thanks to you for your faith in our script and in our story.
And Suzi Gablik, to have you here, in the film, makes me feel so comforted and thrilled. Without your mind and your work and your love, I don't think I could have understood Art and the Big Picture (to quote the title of one of my favorite pieces of your writing) soon enough to help accomplish the correct ripening of our work.
To our family and friends, and to my Virginia Tech Creative Process students especially, we all send our love. Tashi deleg, Jane
News coverage in Nepal
Here's a link to a story on our film that appeared on a South Asian news website.
Kathmandu Premiere: Jane on the 30th
June 30 from Jane
Our days are so full that we cannot remember which events happened two days ago. Before I could write this blog, I had to check in with Emerson, whose handsome burgundy handmade book from Jenna is the team’s best journal-record of our tracks.
We all go to sleep so tired that the effort to pull our sheets down at night feels like pulling back the rock slab to enter the dark cave.
TWO days ago was Jenna’s birthday. What a day! Three years ago on June 28th was the Festival of the Gift for the Village. This year, we premiered our documentary.
In the morning, we navigated ordering breakfast in the front courtyard of the Guest House. Ordinarily a blissful and sensible retreat, for a little while the courtyard was where the crow of madness happened to be perched. A sample: We would like a pot of ginger tea, please. Sorry, Madame, we don’t do pots. But just last night we had pots of tea! Sorry, Madame: what you want is not possible. Thirty seconds later, Reba comes out and says: May I order a pot of tea? Why not, madame? What you like? Then Jane tries to make a substitution, no fresh fruit but instead one scrambled egg. Two kitchen conferences are convened. The request is not possible. Why not, exactly? Explanation: we are not moving the items. Then a new waiter arrives, with a notepad, nearly manic: but what are your room numbers, and is your breakfast included with your room? We don’t know. We are all happily surprised that each room is approved as breakfast-included, until Mika names her and Ashleigh’s room number, which is directly under Reba’s, and the same kind of room. Quick retaliatory answer: NO. No, Madame: you are NOT approved. Apparently Mika’s room is accursed, but probably only for that hour.
It is very sweet for me to see my half-Swedish former Virginia Tech student castigated to the realm of the inexplicably unapproved, only to smile with the pleasure of observing the mirage. Mika is doing a brilliant job on her first trip to Nepal. We are going to miss her sorely when she diverges from the group, to be driven up and over the valley, on her own, past Gurkha village, to Besisahar, the start of the horseshoe-shaped Annapurna Circuit—the favorite trek of the British Royals. As I write, Jenna is teaching Mika yoga on the Guest House Garden lawn, where Ashleigh was already up, practicing early, with the docile Guest House mother cat curled on the edge of her mat.
After breakfast, we were seated at the dignitaries’ table at Gurkha Encounters to review with Mingma Sherpa the trek tailored for our group: how many porters, where to bargain for the horse we’ll need just in case for Mary and/or Ella, where we meet our guide out west, and what vegetarians want to be sure the porters remember (no chicken broth in our ramen noodles, please). For lunch, we sang happy birthday at Pilgrim’s and ordered masala dosas (onionskin-thin lentil crepes bigger than the old New York Times with its pages open, rolled and stuffed with potato curry, with tomato and coconut chutneys, and rasam, spicy local vegetable soup). Jenna got chocolate-covered m&m pretzels and chocolate bars, among her birthday haul.
We visited our friend Sunil’s cashmere sweater and silk scarf shop and picked out unbelievable gifts, and only Jenna’s stern demand made Sunil accept any of our money.
Emerson and I visited Gem’s Empire, where a Nepali Muslim old friend of mine, Firoz, talked life and politics and religion with my lion-hearted son. They exchanged e-mail addresses, and made a connection heart-to-heart. I like doing business within the context of emotion. I also like bargaining when I see jewels that I could not have even dreamed existed. Only in our other friend Mr. Bhatt’s shop do we never bargain, because we are already taking his pieces at shameful friend-prices. But with Firoz, there is ritual bargaining, and it was a pretty struggle. I won, and so did he.
And then, in the late afternoon, our group reconverged at the Kathmandu Guest House for the world premiere of A Gift for the Village.
To be honest, I think no filmmakers anywhere in the world have ever had a richer and more satisfying and amazing film premiere than what we experienced. It was thrilling.
The Guest House Film Hall is relatively small, but the roster of attendees—let alone the responses after the film—held so many honors for us that I can say the feeling of that night will always rank among the most amazing times of my life, and I am sure for Jenna as well, and Tom, for you, too—our film shot straight home, like that arrow in Jomsom, a perfect bull’s-eye.
Who came? On her last night before leaving with her beautiful half-French, half-Tibetan daughter Clara Dolma, Anne Lelong, the accomplished photographer and patron of children in the rough western Nepali region on Dolpo. Maya, the street vendor, who is one of hundreds of poor trinket-sellers who are usually depicted as just the accosters of tourists, but who, three years ago, tried to sell Jenna little purses. Jenna, instead of brushing her aside, said to Maya: I am here for a week, and I will not buy these purses from anyone but you. Until then, you can greet me without trying to sell to me. We can just speak to one another as friends, and at the end of our trip, I will buy from you. Not only did Jenna keep that promise, but she accepted an invitation to Maya’s “house.” This kind of crossing of the boundaries almost never happens, but leave it to Jenna to have penetrated the veneer. That street-vendor, so easily a nobody in our experience, was at our premiere, and was introduced to everyone, and had a GREAT time. She LOVED A Gift for the Village, and we were so honored to have her sweet presence. Our guide Narayan was there (who is in the film in several shots), with his breathtaking young daughter, Nikita. The chief musician whose Nepali music plays in our film was there, BEAMING to hear his music. Several of the Guest House management were there, including Uttam, whose responses meant incredibly much to me personally. Cy Kassoff was there, my cousin, who translated for us when we were in the King of Lo’s Palace in 2007. Sunil Shahi was there, who is like family to us. Radhakrishna was there, the little boy we met on a walk in 2000, now a young man. A Swiss couple were there, who had heard about our film. Our new friend Helen, a world traveler from Portand, Oregon. Mingma Sherpa was there, representing Gurkha Encounters, whose Buddhist roots and home near Boudhanath stupa made him a formidable audience member, if anyone were going to see inauthenticity in any little moment of the film. Our team was there. My son was there. My girl Iris was there in spirit. And others.
We were overwhelmed by the emotional responses to A Gift for the Village. People loved the story, loved the art, loved our connection and tribute to Virginia Tech, loved hearing the reasons for our dedications, simple LOVED our film.
I got some of the strongest hugs I have ever gotten, and Jenna and I were showered with the heartfelt thanks of people whose hearts we love and admire.
In our documentary, Jenna speaks at one point about what it was like for us to bring a painting about Nepal to Nepalis, potentially quite a critical audience. And at the premiere of our film about Nepal, in Nepal, with many Nepalis of so many different backgrounds in our audience, I really found so much joy with Jenna, and Tom with us in spirit, and all of our family and friends who have followed our long efforts to make this story possible—so much genuine joy in being the bearers of A Gift for the Village.
Let me speak for a moment about the dedications in our film. The film is dedicated in four parts: for His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet, who turns 75 this year in July; we are so grateful for His blessings to our project. For the great people of Nepal—and they ARE great. I have traveled here for 25 years, from the time BBW (before bottled water), to now, the time ACP (after cell phones)—and I know some of the sad shorelines where some parts of the old culture are weathered and eroded day by day, choked now from the polluting grip of industrialization.
I have one friend who has always been my teacher by doubting the effect of my being here at all: as if by being here, I AM inevitably the degradation and the pollution of what I encounter. Maybe. But I believe in bridges, and in right livelihood, and in the power of ambassadorial presence. The great people of Nepal have made us all rich, but I think that Jenna’s and Tom’s film is a real gift in return, and as Georgia O’Keeffe has said, To see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
The film is also dedicated to our friend Cindy Goad, who died before our team traveled here in 2007. Her sister is our team’s still photographer, Sherrie Austin. We miss you here, Sherrie, and we remember Cindy. Her gorgeous smile, her stunning heart.
And our film is dedicated to my beautiful student Morgan Harrington. Morgan’s ashes are going with me wherever I go, and I will see to their ritual honor in the west of Nepal, where she had wanted to travel with us. I miss you, Morgan, but you are with us. To Morgan’s parents, Gil and Dan, I am with you. And your story has moved the hearts of our dear friends in Nepal. We are proud to be arm-in-arm with you.
After the film, we rickshawed to Sunil’s house. Rickshawing through Kathmandu is like bicycling in an acid trip (I do NOT speak from experience). The feast at Sunil’s was the greatest birthday party Jenna could ever have been given. A thousand appetizers, ten thousand dishes, and uncountable joys. Sunil’s daughter-in-law Arundhati is due to have Sunil’s first grandchild on my birthday (July 26). Yet she cooked with Sarita and made us feel so much at home. Jenna had a huge birthday cake and, from Sunil’s rooftop, a view of a spotlit Swayambhunath stupa against a starry Kathmandu valley sky.
As we walked back to the Guest House from Sunil’s, down alleys where no tourist walks, we saw the Kathmandu that the locals still own, the women asleep on burlap in the cool of the evening, the boys talking around small fires, the street dogs finally at ease (except for the one who did not love Mika). I saw Ashleigh walking ahead and thought how glad I am for this incredible 25-year-old to be taking in the real Nepal, as unlikely as it is for any foreigner to have gained such access, and as representative as the city can be of a mostly utterly rural Himalayan country. As we walked, a car came by, and it happened to be Raj Bajgain, our friend, and a leader of social causes in Nepal, a champion for women, children, the destitute, and the environment. He rolled down his window and pointed to Jenna, giving her one last amazing birthday gift. With his bright smile, he said, simply, “Big film maker!”
And though we had a really late night, and fell to bed dizzy, we had the desk give us wake-up calls for 4:00 a.m. Sunil arranged three cars, and all of us, and Sunil and his wife Sarita, and our Oregonian friend Helen, headed the hour and fifteen minutes up to the rim of the valley. In peak season (October to January), the views from Nagarkot village on the rim of the valley are stunning panoramic Himalayan eye-candy. Our view was more a landscape of sweet fog and hill, with a two-hour walk through pine forest, cicada song, mica and black tourmaline-encrusted rock, fern and rhododendron, wild marijuana and canna lilies, red hibiscus and tall ageraturm, oversized lantana and mango trees. I loved walkin g with Mary, telling her about geology and flora and fauna, and how learning a new culture impacts the way your imagination works from now on. On a side-trail with Cy, Emerson noticed a dog acting unsettled and staring at a bush. No wonder. Out emerged a long black cobra, the length of two trekking poles, moving to his destination at leisure. Lions can be kings, but so can cobras be. Well done to Emerson for reading the dog’s behaviour and stepping back before the appearance of the snake.
We walked to the oldest temple complex in the valley, Changunarayan, with its famous carved god and goddess struts on the famous ancient wooden and brick Newari pagodas (pagodas originated in the Kathmandu Valley, not in Japan). What a walk, to what complex clusters of shrines, old and worn down from the worship-smudges of red and yellow tilak powder, like the stone shrine of Hanuman, the god whose mother was a monkey and whose father was the wind: Hanuman’s monkey face is now a soft unfeatured formless bald of stone, eroding for reasons of centuries of loving touch.
I will stop for now. A girl can’t keep writing when Mr. Bhatt’s Tibetan stone shop is so close by. Our team sends love to each of you reading. We head to Pokhara if the cloud-gods agree on July 3rd, are there for three nights at Hotel Kantipur (Google it! We get a big friend-discount), and then move to high country, where the spirit of Tibet still lives despite the new roads and clog of vehicles we are hearing spoils so much of the lower Annapurna trails, and despite fifty years of Tibetan occupation to the north. Thanks to everyone remembering us. Jane
Our days are so full that we cannot remember which events happened two days ago. Before I could write this blog, I had to check in with Emerson, whose handsome burgundy handmade book from Jenna is the team’s best journal-record of our tracks.
We all go to sleep so tired that the effort to pull our sheets down at night feels like pulling back the rock slab to enter the dark cave.
TWO days ago was Jenna’s birthday. What a day! Three years ago on June 28th was the Festival of the Gift for the Village. This year, we premiered our documentary.
In the morning, we navigated ordering breakfast in the front courtyard of the Guest House. Ordinarily a blissful and sensible retreat, for a little while the courtyard was where the crow of madness happened to be perched. A sample: We would like a pot of ginger tea, please. Sorry, Madame, we don’t do pots. But just last night we had pots of tea! Sorry, Madame: what you want is not possible. Thirty seconds later, Reba comes out and says: May I order a pot of tea? Why not, madame? What you like? Then Jane tries to make a substitution, no fresh fruit but instead one scrambled egg. Two kitchen conferences are convened. The request is not possible. Why not, exactly? Explanation: we are not moving the items. Then a new waiter arrives, with a notepad, nearly manic: but what are your room numbers, and is your breakfast included with your room? We don’t know. We are all happily surprised that each room is approved as breakfast-included, until Mika names her and Ashleigh’s room number, which is directly under Reba’s, and the same kind of room. Quick retaliatory answer: NO. No, Madame: you are NOT approved. Apparently Mika’s room is accursed, but probably only for that hour.
It is very sweet for me to see my half-Swedish former Virginia Tech student castigated to the realm of the inexplicably unapproved, only to smile with the pleasure of observing the mirage. Mika is doing a brilliant job on her first trip to Nepal. We are going to miss her sorely when she diverges from the group, to be driven up and over the valley, on her own, past Gurkha village, to Besisahar, the start of the horseshoe-shaped Annapurna Circuit—the favorite trek of the British Royals. As I write, Jenna is teaching Mika yoga on the Guest House Garden lawn, where Ashleigh was already up, practicing early, with the docile Guest House mother cat curled on the edge of her mat.
After breakfast, we were seated at the dignitaries’ table at Gurkha Encounters to review with Mingma Sherpa the trek tailored for our group: how many porters, where to bargain for the horse we’ll need just in case for Mary and/or Ella, where we meet our guide out west, and what vegetarians want to be sure the porters remember (no chicken broth in our ramen noodles, please). For lunch, we sang happy birthday at Pilgrim’s and ordered masala dosas (onionskin-thin lentil crepes bigger than the old New York Times with its pages open, rolled and stuffed with potato curry, with tomato and coconut chutneys, and rasam, spicy local vegetable soup). Jenna got chocolate-covered m&m pretzels and chocolate bars, among her birthday haul.
We visited our friend Sunil’s cashmere sweater and silk scarf shop and picked out unbelievable gifts, and only Jenna’s stern demand made Sunil accept any of our money.
Emerson and I visited Gem’s Empire, where a Nepali Muslim old friend of mine, Firoz, talked life and politics and religion with my lion-hearted son. They exchanged e-mail addresses, and made a connection heart-to-heart. I like doing business within the context of emotion. I also like bargaining when I see jewels that I could not have even dreamed existed. Only in our other friend Mr. Bhatt’s shop do we never bargain, because we are already taking his pieces at shameful friend-prices. But with Firoz, there is ritual bargaining, and it was a pretty struggle. I won, and so did he.
And then, in the late afternoon, our group reconverged at the Kathmandu Guest House for the world premiere of A Gift for the Village.
To be honest, I think no filmmakers anywhere in the world have ever had a richer and more satisfying and amazing film premiere than what we experienced. It was thrilling.
The Guest House Film Hall is relatively small, but the roster of attendees—let alone the responses after the film—held so many honors for us that I can say the feeling of that night will always rank among the most amazing times of my life, and I am sure for Jenna as well, and Tom, for you, too—our film shot straight home, like that arrow in Jomsom, a perfect bull’s-eye.
Who came? On her last night before leaving with her beautiful half-French, half-Tibetan daughter Clara Dolma, Anne Lelong, the accomplished photographer and patron of children in the rough western Nepali region on Dolpo. Maya, the street vendor, who is one of hundreds of poor trinket-sellers who are usually depicted as just the accosters of tourists, but who, three years ago, tried to sell Jenna little purses. Jenna, instead of brushing her aside, said to Maya: I am here for a week, and I will not buy these purses from anyone but you. Until then, you can greet me without trying to sell to me. We can just speak to one another as friends, and at the end of our trip, I will buy from you. Not only did Jenna keep that promise, but she accepted an invitation to Maya’s “house.” This kind of crossing of the boundaries almost never happens, but leave it to Jenna to have penetrated the veneer. That street-vendor, so easily a nobody in our experience, was at our premiere, and was introduced to everyone, and had a GREAT time. She LOVED A Gift for the Village, and we were so honored to have her sweet presence. Our guide Narayan was there (who is in the film in several shots), with his breathtaking young daughter, Nikita. The chief musician whose Nepali music plays in our film was there, BEAMING to hear his music. Several of the Guest House management were there, including Uttam, whose responses meant incredibly much to me personally. Cy Kassoff was there, my cousin, who translated for us when we were in the King of Lo’s Palace in 2007. Sunil Shahi was there, who is like family to us. Radhakrishna was there, the little boy we met on a walk in 2000, now a young man. A Swiss couple were there, who had heard about our film. Our new friend Helen, a world traveler from Portand, Oregon. Mingma Sherpa was there, representing Gurkha Encounters, whose Buddhist roots and home near Boudhanath stupa made him a formidable audience member, if anyone were going to see inauthenticity in any little moment of the film. Our team was there. My son was there. My girl Iris was there in spirit. And others.
We were overwhelmed by the emotional responses to A Gift for the Village. People loved the story, loved the art, loved our connection and tribute to Virginia Tech, loved hearing the reasons for our dedications, simple LOVED our film.
I got some of the strongest hugs I have ever gotten, and Jenna and I were showered with the heartfelt thanks of people whose hearts we love and admire.
In our documentary, Jenna speaks at one point about what it was like for us to bring a painting about Nepal to Nepalis, potentially quite a critical audience. And at the premiere of our film about Nepal, in Nepal, with many Nepalis of so many different backgrounds in our audience, I really found so much joy with Jenna, and Tom with us in spirit, and all of our family and friends who have followed our long efforts to make this story possible—so much genuine joy in being the bearers of A Gift for the Village.
Let me speak for a moment about the dedications in our film. The film is dedicated in four parts: for His Holiness the Dalai Lama of Tibet, who turns 75 this year in July; we are so grateful for His blessings to our project. For the great people of Nepal—and they ARE great. I have traveled here for 25 years, from the time BBW (before bottled water), to now, the time ACP (after cell phones)—and I know some of the sad shorelines where some parts of the old culture are weathered and eroded day by day, choked now from the polluting grip of industrialization.
I have one friend who has always been my teacher by doubting the effect of my being here at all: as if by being here, I AM inevitably the degradation and the pollution of what I encounter. Maybe. But I believe in bridges, and in right livelihood, and in the power of ambassadorial presence. The great people of Nepal have made us all rich, but I think that Jenna’s and Tom’s film is a real gift in return, and as Georgia O’Keeffe has said, To see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
The film is also dedicated to our friend Cindy Goad, who died before our team traveled here in 2007. Her sister is our team’s still photographer, Sherrie Austin. We miss you here, Sherrie, and we remember Cindy. Her gorgeous smile, her stunning heart.
And our film is dedicated to my beautiful student Morgan Harrington. Morgan’s ashes are going with me wherever I go, and I will see to their ritual honor in the west of Nepal, where she had wanted to travel with us. I miss you, Morgan, but you are with us. To Morgan’s parents, Gil and Dan, I am with you. And your story has moved the hearts of our dear friends in Nepal. We are proud to be arm-in-arm with you.
After the film, we rickshawed to Sunil’s house. Rickshawing through Kathmandu is like bicycling in an acid trip (I do NOT speak from experience). The feast at Sunil’s was the greatest birthday party Jenna could ever have been given. A thousand appetizers, ten thousand dishes, and uncountable joys. Sunil’s daughter-in-law Arundhati is due to have Sunil’s first grandchild on my birthday (July 26). Yet she cooked with Sarita and made us feel so much at home. Jenna had a huge birthday cake and, from Sunil’s rooftop, a view of a spotlit Swayambhunath stupa against a starry Kathmandu valley sky.
As we walked back to the Guest House from Sunil’s, down alleys where no tourist walks, we saw the Kathmandu that the locals still own, the women asleep on burlap in the cool of the evening, the boys talking around small fires, the street dogs finally at ease (except for the one who did not love Mika). I saw Ashleigh walking ahead and thought how glad I am for this incredible 25-year-old to be taking in the real Nepal, as unlikely as it is for any foreigner to have gained such access, and as representative as the city can be of a mostly utterly rural Himalayan country. As we walked, a car came by, and it happened to be Raj Bajgain, our friend, and a leader of social causes in Nepal, a champion for women, children, the destitute, and the environment. He rolled down his window and pointed to Jenna, giving her one last amazing birthday gift. With his bright smile, he said, simply, “Big film maker!”
And though we had a really late night, and fell to bed dizzy, we had the desk give us wake-up calls for 4:00 a.m. Sunil arranged three cars, and all of us, and Sunil and his wife Sarita, and our Oregonian friend Helen, headed the hour and fifteen minutes up to the rim of the valley. In peak season (October to January), the views from Nagarkot village on the rim of the valley are stunning panoramic Himalayan eye-candy. Our view was more a landscape of sweet fog and hill, with a two-hour walk through pine forest, cicada song, mica and black tourmaline-encrusted rock, fern and rhododendron, wild marijuana and canna lilies, red hibiscus and tall ageraturm, oversized lantana and mango trees. I loved walkin g with Mary, telling her about geology and flora and fauna, and how learning a new culture impacts the way your imagination works from now on. On a side-trail with Cy, Emerson noticed a dog acting unsettled and staring at a bush. No wonder. Out emerged a long black cobra, the length of two trekking poles, moving to his destination at leisure. Lions can be kings, but so can cobras be. Well done to Emerson for reading the dog’s behaviour and stepping back before the appearance of the snake.
We walked to the oldest temple complex in the valley, Changunarayan, with its famous carved god and goddess struts on the famous ancient wooden and brick Newari pagodas (pagodas originated in the Kathmandu Valley, not in Japan). What a walk, to what complex clusters of shrines, old and worn down from the worship-smudges of red and yellow tilak powder, like the stone shrine of Hanuman, the god whose mother was a monkey and whose father was the wind: Hanuman’s monkey face is now a soft unfeatured formless bald of stone, eroding for reasons of centuries of loving touch.
I will stop for now. A girl can’t keep writing when Mr. Bhatt’s Tibetan stone shop is so close by. Our team sends love to each of you reading. We head to Pokhara if the cloud-gods agree on July 3rd, are there for three nights at Hotel Kantipur (Google it! We get a big friend-discount), and then move to high country, where the spirit of Tibet still lives despite the new roads and clog of vehicles we are hearing spoils so much of the lower Annapurna trails, and despite fifty years of Tibetan occupation to the north. Thanks to everyone remembering us. Jane
Monday, June 28, 2010
From Mary
Hello, Namaste!
It took a while before I finnaly got to blog here but I'm finaly doing it now. Nepal is a place that very few people will ever get to see, but is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Not to mention the crazy taxi rides. Wow! I feel safe as long as a Nepali is driving but if an American were driving....... Watch out! The sights in Bhaktapur, a ancient village with many hand carved statues, windows, and even had royal baths with nagas all around the edges,(which art collecters sadly stole the heads of,) but two brass ones were saved. there was a peacock window, that was absolutly stunning, (again art collecters stole the head,) and the statues were amazing. Just today I brought a drawing of a Kangaruchi, which I drew myself, to a shop where they sew designs on shirts and other things, and Ella brought a drawing of, who else, but Leo. They took the drawings, and used them to expertly put identical drawings of stiches on the shirts. It was amazing to see them do some of the work. Well, We have to go, so I'll try to blog later about our new Nepali adventures.
It took a while before I finnaly got to blog here but I'm finaly doing it now. Nepal is a place that very few people will ever get to see, but is one of the most beautiful places in the world. Not to mention the crazy taxi rides. Wow! I feel safe as long as a Nepali is driving but if an American were driving....... Watch out! The sights in Bhaktapur, a ancient village with many hand carved statues, windows, and even had royal baths with nagas all around the edges,(which art collecters sadly stole the heads of,) but two brass ones were saved. there was a peacock window, that was absolutly stunning, (again art collecters stole the head,) and the statues were amazing. Just today I brought a drawing of a Kangaruchi, which I drew myself, to a shop where they sew designs on shirts and other things, and Ella brought a drawing of, who else, but Leo. They took the drawings, and used them to expertly put identical drawings of stiches on the shirts. It was amazing to see them do some of the work. Well, We have to go, so I'll try to blog later about our new Nepali adventures.
From Reba
Namaste Everyone!
Sorry it took us so long to blog, but when we came last night to do it, I had the password wrong and couldn't get in.
The trip over was long, and we had to endure security checks of our bags at every single airport, even though we were in transit and had not left the airport since our last flight, we still had to put our bags through xray and walk through the metal detectors. When we finally arrived in Kathmandu, the gentleman who was manning the xray machine would not let Ella and Mary put their bags on the belt, he just motioned for them to walk on through, smiling sweetly at them.
Sunil and Sarita were waiting on us when we arrived at the airport, seeing them brought lots of hugs and a few tears of joy. Sunil rode with us the to the Kathmandu Guest House where we checked in then walked to Swyambunath (spelling is iffy) where we walked up 403 steps.(yes, we counted) But after all that time sitting on the plane it was good to walk. We saw many sights along the way, including a huge pig rummaging through a large pile of garbage (their refuse system needs work) and several monkeys with babies. (We got video!)
Yesterday we went to Bhaktapur (again the spelling!) which is a very old village in Kathmandu. The buildings there are over 500 years old! I love this place, because this is where I met the sweetest kids when I was here the last time, and this time was no different. This tiny little girl with a red dress approached us and asked for a rupee or a "sweet". I couldn't resist her, she was so little, and cute, and bold. So I gave her a coin and asked if I could take her picture...she happily obliged. I have a great shot of Ella with her.
I also ended up buying another singing bowl because I just could not say no to this man who I'm sure was selling me a sad story about how he had NO business that day and he was selling it to me at his cost. (yeah, right!) But he was so sweet about following me up the street, dropping the price from 1000 rupees to 700 that I could not say no to him.
Today is Jenna's birthday! We had lunch at Pilgrims which is a bookstore near the guest house that has a restaurant in the back. After an interesting conversation between Emerson and Ella about greek mythology (Ella's knowledge came from watching the Percy Jackson movie)
Jane created two new goddesses of her own: Dialysis and Sarasquatter. Those of you who know Jane can imagine the relevance of those names. Please ask her about them when you see her. :)
Our first movie premiere is in about 20 minutes, so we have to get back to the guest house. Mary and Ella are treated special wherever we go, they even got little gifts from the clerk at Pilgrims when we checked out.
They are both doing GREAT. I am so proud of them, although I give Emerson most of the credit for them being happy here so far.
All our love to everyone.
Reba
Sorry it took us so long to blog, but when we came last night to do it, I had the password wrong and couldn't get in.
The trip over was long, and we had to endure security checks of our bags at every single airport, even though we were in transit and had not left the airport since our last flight, we still had to put our bags through xray and walk through the metal detectors. When we finally arrived in Kathmandu, the gentleman who was manning the xray machine would not let Ella and Mary put their bags on the belt, he just motioned for them to walk on through, smiling sweetly at them.
Sunil and Sarita were waiting on us when we arrived at the airport, seeing them brought lots of hugs and a few tears of joy. Sunil rode with us the to the Kathmandu Guest House where we checked in then walked to Swyambunath (spelling is iffy) where we walked up 403 steps.(yes, we counted) But after all that time sitting on the plane it was good to walk. We saw many sights along the way, including a huge pig rummaging through a large pile of garbage (their refuse system needs work) and several monkeys with babies. (We got video!)
Yesterday we went to Bhaktapur (again the spelling!) which is a very old village in Kathmandu. The buildings there are over 500 years old! I love this place, because this is where I met the sweetest kids when I was here the last time, and this time was no different. This tiny little girl with a red dress approached us and asked for a rupee or a "sweet". I couldn't resist her, she was so little, and cute, and bold. So I gave her a coin and asked if I could take her picture...she happily obliged. I have a great shot of Ella with her.
I also ended up buying another singing bowl because I just could not say no to this man who I'm sure was selling me a sad story about how he had NO business that day and he was selling it to me at his cost. (yeah, right!) But he was so sweet about following me up the street, dropping the price from 1000 rupees to 700 that I could not say no to him.
Today is Jenna's birthday! We had lunch at Pilgrims which is a bookstore near the guest house that has a restaurant in the back. After an interesting conversation between Emerson and Ella about greek mythology (Ella's knowledge came from watching the Percy Jackson movie)
Jane created two new goddesses of her own: Dialysis and Sarasquatter. Those of you who know Jane can imagine the relevance of those names. Please ask her about them when you see her. :)
Our first movie premiere is in about 20 minutes, so we have to get back to the guest house. Mary and Ella are treated special wherever we go, they even got little gifts from the clerk at Pilgrims when we checked out.
They are both doing GREAT. I am so proud of them, although I give Emerson most of the credit for them being happy here so far.
All our love to everyone.
Reba
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Jane 6/27
Hello Our Friends, It is Jane, typing on the laptop provided by her VT student Bailey. We can’t believe we have been at the Guest House for only one night so far, because our time has been unbelievably packed already.
Last night Jenna and I had a call while we were in our room: it was Radhakrishna, the little 12-year-old boy we met ten years ago while we were hiking along the rim of the valley. He was a village boy who wandered up to and walked for hours with us, under eucalyptus trees and through sal and strangler fig forests, on goat-herder trails, from one temple village to another—the Nagarkot to Changunarayan trek. In 1999 we exchanged addresses and parted after that friendly chance meeting. Tomorrow, this young man, now 22 and in his second year of medical school, will come to the premiere of A Gift for the Village. What a nice birthday present for Jenna!
Last night was the healing deep sleep we needed after our two days of flying to arrive here. This morning we woke early, to the loud grey-headed crows, the silent thin mother cat and her huge-eared nursing kitten, and the forlorn three-legged monkey, all resting in the security of the Guest House garden, with its Buddha statues, terracotta lotus pool,, pomelo and pomegranate trees. We can’t see the pomelo tree without thinking of Joey, who was one year old when he came to the festival in 2007, and who pointed up at the green grapefruit-like shapes then and declared “ball!” We will ALWAYS see this beautiful tree as Joey’s Ball Tree. Jenna and I found yoga mats and were our on the lawn by 5:30, to find Ashleigh already doing yoga in another part of the garden. Mika, Emerson, and Reba and the girls wandered out eventually, rested and happy, ready for pots of masala chai.
At 8 a.m. we met Andrea Clearfield and Katey Blumenthal here at the Guest House. Jenna met Andrea on Facebook, an amazing musical composer who is working on a composition called Lung-ta, which is Tibetan for Wind-horse, the kind of horse whose hooves never touch the ground, and who carries mind-jewels on its saddle. Lung-ta is the carrier of hope and wisdom, and it gallops like wind toward clear minds. Katey is a brilliant young anthropologist who had just traveled back from Lo with Andrea, and so these two women could bring us fresh news from the Forbidden Kingdom, where we will travel in mid-July. Andrea told us that everyone in Lo knows about our visit and can’t wait to see the film. After many years of hoping we could one day take our completed film to Lo, and show it to the King, we are now expected. The breakfast with these women was full of confluent interests, and all of us feel sure we have some collaborative projects ahead. And then we showed them A Gift for the Village (they leave tomorrow for a conference in Germany), They were really moved, and gave us gorgeous responses. These women are doing work as close as ours to the Tibetan inspirations that have excited our project, so their excitement at our film was really gratifying.
Later this morning, Sunil helped us drive across the valley to explore the old kingdom-city of Bhaktapur, where Mary especially loved the famous elaborately carved peacock windows and Ella worked with no prompting as a serious photographer. For Emerson, visiting Bhaktapur was a trip down his rich memory lane. He remembered so many of the winding narrow medieval alleys that he last walked as an eight-year-old, and he enjoyed the wizened faces of old villagers almost as much as the loving company of his steady young Hoffman companions. Jenna had her video camera close on some amazing moments, an ironsmith hammering, a potter rotating a wheel with a pole, and who knows what else. Reba is relaxed and thrilled to watch her daughters seeing so well and feeling so at home. Mika took some of the most amazing photographs I have ever seen—a pile of chilies drying or a child’s face. Asheigh made friends constantly, and a lot of children in Bhaktapur will remember the friendly young American woman who really talked to them.
I drew a sketch of a possible design for our new team patch today, and Jenna took it to a tailor who will have a sample made for us tomorrow. This time, A Gift for the Village patch will feature a snow leopard in front of a snow-capped mountain, in front of which hang the five colors of Tibetan prayer flags.
Tomorrow is Jenna’s birthday. Our dinner will be at Sunil’s house. We will each therefore gain twenty pounds from Sarita’s amazing feast! More soon! Jane
Last night Jenna and I had a call while we were in our room: it was Radhakrishna, the little 12-year-old boy we met ten years ago while we were hiking along the rim of the valley. He was a village boy who wandered up to and walked for hours with us, under eucalyptus trees and through sal and strangler fig forests, on goat-herder trails, from one temple village to another—the Nagarkot to Changunarayan trek. In 1999 we exchanged addresses and parted after that friendly chance meeting. Tomorrow, this young man, now 22 and in his second year of medical school, will come to the premiere of A Gift for the Village. What a nice birthday present for Jenna!
Last night was the healing deep sleep we needed after our two days of flying to arrive here. This morning we woke early, to the loud grey-headed crows, the silent thin mother cat and her huge-eared nursing kitten, and the forlorn three-legged monkey, all resting in the security of the Guest House garden, with its Buddha statues, terracotta lotus pool,, pomelo and pomegranate trees. We can’t see the pomelo tree without thinking of Joey, who was one year old when he came to the festival in 2007, and who pointed up at the green grapefruit-like shapes then and declared “ball!” We will ALWAYS see this beautiful tree as Joey’s Ball Tree. Jenna and I found yoga mats and were our on the lawn by 5:30, to find Ashleigh already doing yoga in another part of the garden. Mika, Emerson, and Reba and the girls wandered out eventually, rested and happy, ready for pots of masala chai.
At 8 a.m. we met Andrea Clearfield and Katey Blumenthal here at the Guest House. Jenna met Andrea on Facebook, an amazing musical composer who is working on a composition called Lung-ta, which is Tibetan for Wind-horse, the kind of horse whose hooves never touch the ground, and who carries mind-jewels on its saddle. Lung-ta is the carrier of hope and wisdom, and it gallops like wind toward clear minds. Katey is a brilliant young anthropologist who had just traveled back from Lo with Andrea, and so these two women could bring us fresh news from the Forbidden Kingdom, where we will travel in mid-July. Andrea told us that everyone in Lo knows about our visit and can’t wait to see the film. After many years of hoping we could one day take our completed film to Lo, and show it to the King, we are now expected. The breakfast with these women was full of confluent interests, and all of us feel sure we have some collaborative projects ahead. And then we showed them A Gift for the Village (they leave tomorrow for a conference in Germany), They were really moved, and gave us gorgeous responses. These women are doing work as close as ours to the Tibetan inspirations that have excited our project, so their excitement at our film was really gratifying.
Later this morning, Sunil helped us drive across the valley to explore the old kingdom-city of Bhaktapur, where Mary especially loved the famous elaborately carved peacock windows and Ella worked with no prompting as a serious photographer. For Emerson, visiting Bhaktapur was a trip down his rich memory lane. He remembered so many of the winding narrow medieval alleys that he last walked as an eight-year-old, and he enjoyed the wizened faces of old villagers almost as much as the loving company of his steady young Hoffman companions. Jenna had her video camera close on some amazing moments, an ironsmith hammering, a potter rotating a wheel with a pole, and who knows what else. Reba is relaxed and thrilled to watch her daughters seeing so well and feeling so at home. Mika took some of the most amazing photographs I have ever seen—a pile of chilies drying or a child’s face. Asheigh made friends constantly, and a lot of children in Bhaktapur will remember the friendly young American woman who really talked to them.
I drew a sketch of a possible design for our new team patch today, and Jenna took it to a tailor who will have a sample made for us tomorrow. This time, A Gift for the Village patch will feature a snow leopard in front of a snow-capped mountain, in front of which hang the five colors of Tibetan prayer flags.
Tomorrow is Jenna’s birthday. Our dinner will be at Sunil’s house. We will each therefore gain twenty pounds from Sarita’s amazing feast! More soon! Jane
Saturday, June 26, 2010
WE ARE HERE FROM JENNA AND JANE
Hi Friends and Family,
We are here and VERY VERY tired. In fact Mary and Ella about fell asleep in their soup tonight. Our first adventure was walking to the Monkey Temple with our dear dear friend Sunil. We have just run into the musician who plays a song in the documentary. He will come to the show on the 28th. So will several friends we have already made since we arrived, and several other old friends, including Mr. Bhatt, our beloved jeweler, who knows that he makes an appearance in the documentary.
Our flights over were all comfortable (at least for those of us with short legs) and it was fun to watch Mary and Ella as they looked out of the plane window and asked Jenna, "What are those white things down there?" "Clouds," Jenna told them.
We are well. We have spun giant prayer wheels already, watched tiny baby monkeys ride their loyal mothers, and eaten our first fine dinner at The Third Eye, where Emerson had his first bowl of special Nepali tomato soup in twelve years, and where his cousin Cy joined us.
Jason, Sherrie, and Tom, we miss you! You should have been sitting across from us on the rooftop. It is hard not having out team with us.
Can't wait to report as our days play out! J and J
We are here and VERY VERY tired. In fact Mary and Ella about fell asleep in their soup tonight. Our first adventure was walking to the Monkey Temple with our dear dear friend Sunil. We have just run into the musician who plays a song in the documentary. He will come to the show on the 28th. So will several friends we have already made since we arrived, and several other old friends, including Mr. Bhatt, our beloved jeweler, who knows that he makes an appearance in the documentary.
Our flights over were all comfortable (at least for those of us with short legs) and it was fun to watch Mary and Ella as they looked out of the plane window and asked Jenna, "What are those white things down there?" "Clouds," Jenna told them.
We are well. We have spun giant prayer wheels already, watched tiny baby monkeys ride their loyal mothers, and eaten our first fine dinner at The Third Eye, where Emerson had his first bowl of special Nepali tomato soup in twelve years, and where his cousin Cy joined us.
Jason, Sherrie, and Tom, we miss you! You should have been sitting across from us on the rooftop. It is hard not having out team with us.
Can't wait to report as our days play out! J and J
Monday, June 21, 2010
from Jenna: pre-departure
Friends and Family,
In four days I leave for Nepal with Jane, her son Emer, Reba, her two girls Mary and Ella, and two other friends Ashley and Mika. We will be in Kathmandu for a week. While there will will have three showings of our documentary, two at the Kathmandu Guest house and one at the Indigo Gallery.
Our next stop will be Pokhara, the second largest city in Nepal. After that we head out west to the village of Jomsom where the festival took place. We plan to show the documentary there as well. The final phase of our journey is the long trek into Upper Mustang (12 days of walking, 155 miles, over 16,000 ft peaks). We now know that there is one generator, a projector and a Monastery wall where we can show our movie to the king (who is in the documentary) and to the rest of the villagers.
I may not check email after the 24th, so follow the journey here and to comment if you'd like....
We are also on FB, (be our friend) and may post there if it proves to be easier than this bog.
www.facebook.com/pages/A-Gift-for-The-Village/183800545072?ref=ts
To see a trailer from the new documentary film: www.youtube.com and search "A gift for the village, Jane Vance".
If you are interested in looking over the team website from the trip 3 years ago, it's at: www.agiftforthevillage.com
See you in August. Have a wonderful summer.
In four days I leave for Nepal with Jane, her son Emer, Reba, her two girls Mary and Ella, and two other friends Ashley and Mika. We will be in Kathmandu for a week. While there will will have three showings of our documentary, two at the Kathmandu Guest house and one at the Indigo Gallery.
Our next stop will be Pokhara, the second largest city in Nepal. After that we head out west to the village of Jomsom where the festival took place. We plan to show the documentary there as well. The final phase of our journey is the long trek into Upper Mustang (12 days of walking, 155 miles, over 16,000 ft peaks). We now know that there is one generator, a projector and a Monastery wall where we can show our movie to the king (who is in the documentary) and to the rest of the villagers.
I may not check email after the 24th, so follow the journey here and to comment if you'd like....
We are also on FB, (be our friend) and may post there if it proves to be easier than this bog.
www.facebook.com/pages/A-Gift-for-The-Village/183800545072?ref=ts
To see a trailer from the new documentary film: www.youtube.com and search "A gift for the village, Jane Vance".
If you are interested in looking over the team website from the trip 3 years ago, it's at: www.agiftforthevillage.com
See you in August. Have a wonderful summer.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Remembering Morgan
Yesterday Jane spent the morning with Gil Harrington at her home. Gil's daughter, Morgan Harrington, who was missing for 101 days before her body was discovered five months ago, had just been one of Jane's much-loved Creative Process students at Virginia Tech, and our film remembers her in its dedication. Thanks to Gil, herself an oncology nurse, and her husband Dr. Dan Harrington, in one week from today, our team will be carrying a load of precious supplies to villagers in extremely rural Himalayan villages: reading glasses, collapsible water carriers, solar and crank flashlights, retractable kitchen knives, sewing kits, birthing kits, and more. We wish to thank our friends the Harringtons for these donations and for their interest in our work.
Please visit Gil Harrington's beautiful and brave blog posts at www.findmorgan.com.
Please visit Gil Harrington's beautiful and brave blog posts at www.findmorgan.com.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A new article from Planet Blacksburg!
As some members of our team prepare to return to Nepal to show our film to Nepali audiences, Planet Blacksburg, an online "paper," wrote an article on Jane that explains the project nicely.
Friday, April 16, 2010
April 16, 2010
Today is April 16, the third anniversary of the killings at Virginia Tech. This sequence from the film shows a memorial sequence held in Jomsom to commemorate the dead and wounded from that tragic day.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Premiere Date in Roanoke, VA
Those of us who will be unable to go to the Nepali premiere of our film in Jomsom in June with Jenna and Jane should mark their calendars for September 23, 2010, when our film will be shown at the Taubman Museum. More details to follow - we'll be limited to 300 seats (two showings of 150 each) and we look forward to seeing you there. There will also be a showing in Blacksburg later in the fall, and we'll keep you in the loop on that one too!
Monday, February 15, 2010
What a difference a pro makes...
If you've clicked on the video above, you've heard the voice of Lisa Mullins, who has kindly agreed to narrate our film. Lisa's a Nieman Fellow at Harvard University, where Tom's wife Beth Macy is also in the program, and is the host and senior producer of WGBH Radio's "The World" which is heard daily around the country and in Roanoke on WVTF's Radio IQ. She's interviewed presidents and artists and thinkers from so many walks of life, and her smart voice is a huge lift to our project.
As I was re-editing the trailer with Lisa's voice the other day, Beth walked into our apartment and literally stopped in her tracks as she heard it coming from the speakers of my computer. It really does make all the difference in the world to have Lisa's calm and authoritative voice attached to our film. Thanks Lisa!
As I was re-editing the trailer with Lisa's voice the other day, Beth walked into our apartment and literally stopped in her tracks as she heard it coming from the speakers of my computer. It really does make all the difference in the world to have Lisa's calm and authoritative voice attached to our film. Thanks Lisa!
Friday, December 18, 2009
A Gift for the Village Trailer Revised 2-11-10 from Tom Landon on Vimeo.
Our latest video upload: let us know what you think!
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