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!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
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!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Jane and Jenna's Art and History Project
Jane Vance has just been featured in another story in the Roanoke Times. This time it's for a neat art and history project at Jenna's school, Prices Fork Elementary, in Montgomery County. Here's the link to the story . I especially like the way she fit a South Asian elephant into a painting of a Prices Fork coal mine. Verisimilitude, for sure.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Premiere Date!
Jane reports that she's secured a premiere date for our film in Blacksburg during the week of February 20th as part of an international students event sponsored by Nepali students on campus. We'll have more details soon.
Things continue to move forward. Thanks to portable hard drives Jenna was able to work with Jane and made a big push just as summer was ending to get the film in a state of near completion, and now I have the files here in Cambridge, Mass. and have been tweaking, tightening, and mixing audio for the last several weeks (while also working on finishing a really fun Hindu wedding Jenna and I shot October 2 in Blacksburg.)
We have some good news on the narration front: a nationally known narrator is going to take a look at the film in the coming days and let me know if she's willing to help us out. I won't give her name just yet but she is perfect for the job, and we hope she'll say yes. In the meantime, Jane's producer friend Dee in San Franciso has been sent multiple copies of the latest version of the film to critique and may be providing some professional help with color correction and finalizing the video - depending on budget cuts and other variables. Even if she's unable to help, I think we have a great film on our hands. It feels so good to have a finish line for this production marathon.
Things continue to move forward. Thanks to portable hard drives Jenna was able to work with Jane and made a big push just as summer was ending to get the film in a state of near completion, and now I have the files here in Cambridge, Mass. and have been tweaking, tightening, and mixing audio for the last several weeks (while also working on finishing a really fun Hindu wedding Jenna and I shot October 2 in Blacksburg.)
We have some good news on the narration front: a nationally known narrator is going to take a look at the film in the coming days and let me know if she's willing to help us out. I won't give her name just yet but she is perfect for the job, and we hope she'll say yes. In the meantime, Jane's producer friend Dee in San Franciso has been sent multiple copies of the latest version of the film to critique and may be providing some professional help with color correction and finalizing the video - depending on budget cuts and other variables. Even if she's unable to help, I think we have a great film on our hands. It feels so good to have a finish line for this production marathon.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Jenna has been rockin!
While I've been busy packing up our house for a one year move to Massachusetts and starting the school year, Jenna took the editing controls and has been hard at work for the last week or so, tightening up previously edited scenes and tackling the sequence that shows the festival in Jomsom, which is some of our most complicated work, shot with two cameras and requiring a lot of thinking! Jane reports that it looks great, and the next step will be to keep tightening the entire program and start the graphics work, along with color correcting and more work on the soundtrack. It feels like a big corner has been turned, and I for one can't wait to see the results of Jenna's latest efforts.
T.
T.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Progress feels great!
This week we came together once again to do some more editing and we're pleased to report several new developments.
First, we continue to add new content to our program and keep finding little nuggets of video that we knew existed but hadn't yet pasted into the timeline. With almost 40 hours of raw video to choose from, we keep finding things that astound us. The trick is to find a way to fit it all into our alloted time of just under an hour.
Second, we seem to be closing in on an order of things for the program that makes sense. Deciding where to introduce Tsampa and Jane, for example. Beth Macy watched what we'd done to date and asked really good questions that helped us focus on what is really important and to think of information that viewers will want to know.
Third, we met with some folks who are offering some help and support to us as we work our way through the end of the editing process. We paid a visit to Cabell and Shirley Brand in Salem. The two of them have traveled all over the world, and are the owners of a beautiful Thangka that I wanted Jane to see. While we were there we showed them a preview of our work, and it appears that soon we will be able to do some fundraising under the auspices of the Cabell Brand Center for International Poverty and Resource Studies. We'll have more to report on that soon.
We also met with Mike Gangloff and Nathan Bowles of the Black Twig Pickers, a tremendous band. They are going to provide us with background music for several of the Virginia segments of the program, and we couldn't be more pleased about it.
We're meeting in Blacksburg on Monday to shoot more video of Jane's art, so stay tuned.
First, we continue to add new content to our program and keep finding little nuggets of video that we knew existed but hadn't yet pasted into the timeline. With almost 40 hours of raw video to choose from, we keep finding things that astound us. The trick is to find a way to fit it all into our alloted time of just under an hour.
Second, we seem to be closing in on an order of things for the program that makes sense. Deciding where to introduce Tsampa and Jane, for example. Beth Macy watched what we'd done to date and asked really good questions that helped us focus on what is really important and to think of information that viewers will want to know.
Third, we met with some folks who are offering some help and support to us as we work our way through the end of the editing process. We paid a visit to Cabell and Shirley Brand in Salem. The two of them have traveled all over the world, and are the owners of a beautiful Thangka that I wanted Jane to see. While we were there we showed them a preview of our work, and it appears that soon we will be able to do some fundraising under the auspices of the Cabell Brand Center for International Poverty and Resource Studies. We'll have more to report on that soon.
We also met with Mike Gangloff and Nathan Bowles of the Black Twig Pickers, a tremendous band. They are going to provide us with background music for several of the Virginia segments of the program, and we couldn't be more pleased about it.
We're meeting in Blacksburg on Monday to shoot more video of Jane's art, so stay tuned.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Every great film deserves a great theatrical trailer, right?
Though we missed Jenna horribly (she's in Sweden serving as part of the support team for an extreme cross country race), Jane and I huddled in Roanoke over the last few days and spent an equal amount of time getting organized for an upcoming edit session and working on a video segment that will serve as both the trailer and opening segment of our film. What do you think?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Still making progress!
Imagine a mobile studio that instantly materializes on a kitchen or dining room table - one minute an empty space and the next a surface covered with multiple computers and monitors, a spider web of cables, and lots of notebooks, tape cases, and external hardrives which hold the current state of the documentary. Jenna, Jane and I have met several times like this in various locations - at Uncle Frosty's river house last year, in our dining room, and most recently at Jenna's house in Blacksburg. With each meeting we make a little more progress and set the agenda for our next working time. I'll be posting a short snippet of some of what we've accomplished so far here soon, but I wanted to take a minute to remind our friends that one day, hopefully soon, we'll have a film for all to see.
T.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
What Exactly is a Thangka?
A recent story in the New York Times does a pretty good job of explaining the importance of the thangka painting in Tibetan Buddhism. The reporter visited a site in Tibet where the traditional style of thangka painting is still practiced. If you're interested, here's the link to the story: NYT story on Thankgas.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The story spreads...
Not too long ago a story was written on the Blacksburg online news site, "Planet Blacksburg" about Jane and our project. That story was then picked up by The Buddhist Channel, USA Today, and news outlets as far away as Finland. You can read the story by going to http://content.usatoday.com/topics/article/Organizations/Schools/Virginia+Tech/0cuUcPI99Sc91/34
Today Jenna and Jane and Tom are working on the documentary, aiming for a July showing, location t.b.a.
Today Jenna and Jane and Tom are working on the documentary, aiming for a July showing, location t.b.a.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Making Progress
Tom here: Our 5 days on the Chesapeake Bay are almost over and Jenna Jane and I are feeling pretty fine about our progress on the documentary. We're tackling segments of the video and gathering our best footage so that we'll all know what kind of images we have as we go forward with scripting and additional interviews. As I write this we've done a rough cut that is almost 19 minutes long and focuses on festival preparation and the day of the festival. It feels GREAT to be making some headway on this huge undertaking.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Off to the river for a productive week
Jenna, Jane and Tom leave on July 16 for a week of "video camp" at Tom's uncle Frosty's house on the Rappahannock River/Chesapeake Bay. It's our hope that by getting away together we can make some more progress on the film. In the meantime, watch our You Tube video!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
It's been a while....
Hello to anyone who might still check the blog occasionally - hopefully it will begin to reactivate again as we start making progress on our next phase - editing the documentary.
Last night was Jenna's 40th birthday and Jason was reminded that one year before we had been teaching the children of Jomsom to play Twister and singing Happy Birthday to Jenna and a guy from New York who happened to also be in town and dropped by the Dancing Yak to see what all the commotion was. That also means that today, June 26, is the one year anniversary of the actual festival that celebrated the painting's arrival in Jomsom. Wow.
In about 3 weeks Jenna and Jane and I will go to my uncle Frosty's place on the Chesapeake Bay, right at the mouth of the Rappahannock River, to work on the documentary. Jane has been "writing the script in the air" recently and it will be good to leave with something concrete. We did produce a brief video about the ceremony that Tsampa held in honor of the Virginia Tech shootings, and soon I hope to figure out how to post it here in the blog, or at least on You Tube for those of you who are interested. Namaste!
Last night was Jenna's 40th birthday and Jason was reminded that one year before we had been teaching the children of Jomsom to play Twister and singing Happy Birthday to Jenna and a guy from New York who happened to also be in town and dropped by the Dancing Yak to see what all the commotion was. That also means that today, June 26, is the one year anniversary of the actual festival that celebrated the painting's arrival in Jomsom. Wow.
In about 3 weeks Jenna and Jane and I will go to my uncle Frosty's place on the Chesapeake Bay, right at the mouth of the Rappahannock River, to work on the documentary. Jane has been "writing the script in the air" recently and it will be good to leave with something concrete. We did produce a brief video about the ceremony that Tsampa held in honor of the Virginia Tech shootings, and soon I hope to figure out how to post it here in the blog, or at least on You Tube for those of you who are interested. Namaste!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Mark your calendars for November 14
Hello from the long-lost trekkers. It has been pretty crazy in all of our worlds since the last of our crew returned in August. Jenna had to start planning for a new year of teaching 5th graders and an especially challenging student, who she is of course dedicating every moment to helping in the classroom, as well as working weekends at North American River Runners. Jane came home to a houseful of expectant cats and immediately had to face the prospect of teaching 2 courses this semester at Virginia Tech, along with her day job working at the middle school. I began a new job teaching online, and the learning curve has been steep. Jason has been up in West Virginia guiding trips (the season ends this weekend, I believe). Reba is full-tilt into teaching her class, and we are all missing our friends back in Nepal as they wait expectantly for the political situation to stabilize.
All of this does NOT mean that we've stopped forward progress on our project, but it has been laying fallow and we're just beginning to poke it with a stick and wake it up for a fall and winter season of making progress. Jenna and Jane are making plans for a program to take place at Virginia Tech on November 14 - the event that we had to cancel after the tragic campus shootings last April. As soon as we have a web link for the presentation, I'll post it here.
T.
All of this does NOT mean that we've stopped forward progress on our project, but it has been laying fallow and we're just beginning to poke it with a stick and wake it up for a fall and winter season of making progress. Jenna and Jane are making plans for a program to take place at Virginia Tech on November 14 - the event that we had to cancel after the tragic campus shootings last April. As soon as we have a web link for the presentation, I'll post it here.
T.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Home - From Jane
This is Jane, writing from my Glade Road computer, with one of my fourteen cats,
Mary, insistently on my lap. It is Friday, August 10th, and our crew of seven
have now all returned and disbanded, with Jason in West Virginis to guide a
lucky whitewater rafting crew, and Tom and Diane in Roanoke, and Sherrie,
before she returns to Hawaii, enjoying her family and friends in Dublin and
elsewhere.
Jenna and I were at Carl's and Reba's early this morning, to sit on the porch
with the hot pink geraniums, ruby-throated hummingbirds, and heady rubrum
lilies, to help send off Sunil, Sarita, their son Manoj, his girlfriend
Sheetal, and her best friend, Haseena--our friends from Nepal. Will Landon and
Mary and Ella Hoffman were there, too, hugging our Nepali family goodbye, and my
son Emerson would have been, except that he was in Roanoke, shopping in
preparation for his flying soon to Malibu, where he will start in less than two
weeks at Pepperdine University. And my daughter Iris sent her love from New
Orleans. She especially appreciates how hard Sunil's and Sarita's son Manoj
has had to work to come from Kathmandu with little English and then to graduate
from the University of Kentucky, his English now surpassing many Americans'.
Like Manoj, Iris has had to work 40 to 60 hours a week, several concurrent
jobs, while taking heavy courseloads, and like Manoj, she has done the
impossible.
We cried, parting with our friends, who at least this time know that we hope to
complete the documentary and raise the funds to return, to show the film in
Kathmandu and Jomsom, as soon as possible. Sunil and Sarita thanked Carl and
Reba for hosting them so generously; and thanked us for showing them Virginia
Tech, especially the April 16th memorial in progress, the horticultural
gardens, Price's Fork Elementary and Blacksburg Middle School, a house being
constructed, Pandapas Pond--where Sarita learned to skip rocks, Claytor
Lake--where Sunil tried valiantly to get up on water skis ("Trying, trying, but
not possible," he laughed), and all of our homes for many dinners. They enjoyed
the 20-minute collection of video images that Tom Landon has put together as a
teaser of what we have to work with for our film, and this only from his camera
(Jenna and I now will be reviewing and logging her hours of video footage too),
since none of these Kathmandu Valley friends has ever traveled out west in
Nepal, where our festival and our treks were. They enjoyed having kids sit in
their laps, love them, hug them good morning, and entertain them--Mary and Ella
and Will did such a good job being friends to "the Nepali people," as Ella
called them so casually. For me it was amazing to see Manoj and Emerson
together, who had known each other when Emerson was three and Manoj was eleven.
Back then, Emerson sat on Manoj's lap. Today, they are two handsome young men,
discussing college and how they will link up in Calirfornia, with Emerson in
Malibu and Manoj in San Francisco soon. All of us in the crew of A Gift for
The Village see our friendships already happening in the generations following
ours, and, as many speakers said during the festival in Nepal, and as Jenna
said at the end of her speech that day, may this friendship between our two
parts of the world last a thousand years.
So this is, in a way, the first day that Jenna and I, and probably Reba too,
feel "back," simply because now we are not with our Nepali friends, and no one
from Kathmandu is in the kitchen.
Jenna has been working already to post some photos on-line. These are photos
from her video-camera's still shot capacity. If you have already seen them,
you know how excellent they are.
A few of our friends have received their presents--Suzi Gablik and Dollie
Cottrill and Andrea Langston. What a pleasure to bring back little pieces of
Nepal! Emerson's two masks from Swayambhunath made it home safely, thanks to
bubble wrap. So did the lama table that Tsampa carved and painted and
presented to me at the festival. So did all of our things from Mr. Bhatt. Now
that we are back, we really look forward to seeing so many of you!
I have noticed a few changes since I have gotten home. One is that I want
strange things for breakfast, and I want my breakfast between four and five
a.m.; for example, a plate of pickled okra and diced raw onion. Another
morning, I ate a cereal bowls' worth of Virginia peanuts soaked overnight in
lime juice with minced garlic and minced hot green peppers, like a cold spicy
soup. One morning I ate two giant sliced tomatoes with olive oil and basil
leaves and raw sliced garlic. One morning, when Jenna and Reba and Mary and
Ella and I took Sunil and Sarita to Crow's Nest, to meet Charlie O'Dell and to
pick raspberries and blackberries, I ate two pints of berries. Jenna is making
blackberry smoothies, and I wish I had one right now.
I also noticed that the oldest of my cats were the happeist to see me. Mary,
the undisputed queen of this pack, walked up to me as if to hug me when I
returned. She was vocal and physical and her expression showed that she really
understood my absence and my return. Rare, the second-oldest, was also
delighted, and didn't stop purring for the entire day. Even my backyard
hoodlum cats didn't shy when I went out to visit them. Poor things, in this
hundred-degree heat.
It is good to be home. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that Nepal
and Tsampa and his family and his village all treated us like family. It was
good to be home there as well. Tashi Deleg.
Mary, insistently on my lap. It is Friday, August 10th, and our crew of seven
have now all returned and disbanded, with Jason in West Virginis to guide a
lucky whitewater rafting crew, and Tom and Diane in Roanoke, and Sherrie,
before she returns to Hawaii, enjoying her family and friends in Dublin and
elsewhere.
Jenna and I were at Carl's and Reba's early this morning, to sit on the porch
with the hot pink geraniums, ruby-throated hummingbirds, and heady rubrum
lilies, to help send off Sunil, Sarita, their son Manoj, his girlfriend
Sheetal, and her best friend, Haseena--our friends from Nepal. Will Landon and
Mary and Ella Hoffman were there, too, hugging our Nepali family goodbye, and my
son Emerson would have been, except that he was in Roanoke, shopping in
preparation for his flying soon to Malibu, where he will start in less than two
weeks at Pepperdine University. And my daughter Iris sent her love from New
Orleans. She especially appreciates how hard Sunil's and Sarita's son Manoj
has had to work to come from Kathmandu with little English and then to graduate
from the University of Kentucky, his English now surpassing many Americans'.
Like Manoj, Iris has had to work 40 to 60 hours a week, several concurrent
jobs, while taking heavy courseloads, and like Manoj, she has done the
impossible.
We cried, parting with our friends, who at least this time know that we hope to
complete the documentary and raise the funds to return, to show the film in
Kathmandu and Jomsom, as soon as possible. Sunil and Sarita thanked Carl and
Reba for hosting them so generously; and thanked us for showing them Virginia
Tech, especially the April 16th memorial in progress, the horticultural
gardens, Price's Fork Elementary and Blacksburg Middle School, a house being
constructed, Pandapas Pond--where Sarita learned to skip rocks, Claytor
Lake--where Sunil tried valiantly to get up on water skis ("Trying, trying, but
not possible," he laughed), and all of our homes for many dinners. They enjoyed
the 20-minute collection of video images that Tom Landon has put together as a
teaser of what we have to work with for our film, and this only from his camera
(Jenna and I now will be reviewing and logging her hours of video footage too),
since none of these Kathmandu Valley friends has ever traveled out west in
Nepal, where our festival and our treks were. They enjoyed having kids sit in
their laps, love them, hug them good morning, and entertain them--Mary and Ella
and Will did such a good job being friends to "the Nepali people," as Ella
called them so casually. For me it was amazing to see Manoj and Emerson
together, who had known each other when Emerson was three and Manoj was eleven.
Back then, Emerson sat on Manoj's lap. Today, they are two handsome young men,
discussing college and how they will link up in Calirfornia, with Emerson in
Malibu and Manoj in San Francisco soon. All of us in the crew of A Gift for
The Village see our friendships already happening in the generations following
ours, and, as many speakers said during the festival in Nepal, and as Jenna
said at the end of her speech that day, may this friendship between our two
parts of the world last a thousand years.
So this is, in a way, the first day that Jenna and I, and probably Reba too,
feel "back," simply because now we are not with our Nepali friends, and no one
from Kathmandu is in the kitchen.
Jenna has been working already to post some photos on-line. These are photos
from her video-camera's still shot capacity. If you have already seen them,
you know how excellent they are.
A few of our friends have received their presents--Suzi Gablik and Dollie
Cottrill and Andrea Langston. What a pleasure to bring back little pieces of
Nepal! Emerson's two masks from Swayambhunath made it home safely, thanks to
bubble wrap. So did the lama table that Tsampa carved and painted and
presented to me at the festival. So did all of our things from Mr. Bhatt. Now
that we are back, we really look forward to seeing so many of you!
I have noticed a few changes since I have gotten home. One is that I want
strange things for breakfast, and I want my breakfast between four and five
a.m.; for example, a plate of pickled okra and diced raw onion. Another
morning, I ate a cereal bowls' worth of Virginia peanuts soaked overnight in
lime juice with minced garlic and minced hot green peppers, like a cold spicy
soup. One morning I ate two giant sliced tomatoes with olive oil and basil
leaves and raw sliced garlic. One morning, when Jenna and Reba and Mary and
Ella and I took Sunil and Sarita to Crow's Nest, to meet Charlie O'Dell and to
pick raspberries and blackberries, I ate two pints of berries. Jenna is making
blackberry smoothies, and I wish I had one right now.
I also noticed that the oldest of my cats were the happeist to see me. Mary,
the undisputed queen of this pack, walked up to me as if to hug me when I
returned. She was vocal and physical and her expression showed that she really
understood my absence and my return. Rare, the second-oldest, was also
delighted, and didn't stop purring for the entire day. Even my backyard
hoodlum cats didn't shy when I went out to visit them. Poor things, in this
hundred-degree heat.
It is good to be home. And I think I speak for all of us when I say that Nepal
and Tsampa and his family and his village all treated us like family. It was
good to be home there as well. Tashi Deleg.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Nepali Friends in Blacksburg!
Sunil and Sarita arrived in Blacksburg Tuesday, July 31, after attending their son’s graduation ceremony at the University of Kentucky.
Their son Manoj and his strikingly beautiful female friends Sheetal and Hasina (also Nepali) arrived with them on Tuesday afternoon, and after dinner I convinced them to stay here instead of going to a motel for the night before their drive back to Kentucky. In one evening, I am in love with these youngsters. They came into this house and made themselves instantly at home, working around my kitchen washing and drying dishes, making us Masala tea, talking and laughing and answering all of our questions, and translating for us with Sarita.
Manoj is a 25 year-old handsome boy who coaxes and plays with my too-shy-to speak-or-look-at-anyone daughter Ella until she comes TOO far out of her shell and becomes obnoxious in his presence. After dinner our friend Tim came by with his kids, (Kayla,10 and Austin, 8) and Manoj, Sheetal and Hasina showed us how to write all our names in Nepali ...so beautiful it looks like art.
They leave us the next day, promising to keep in touch and to come back and visit, and for that I am glad. Manoj has since called his dad and mom several times a day to check on them.
That afternoon, Sunil and Sarita go with me to take Mary and Ella to their swim lesson at the pool (I wonder what they thought of that), then to the Oasis International market. Imagine my surprise when within minutes of entering the store, they are chatting with a Nepali woman and 2 Nepali men! We leave with a few things that Sarita has chosen to make us a meal the next evening.
Dinner that night was a cookout at Carol and Joe's, which sprang out of a morning that Carol, Andrea and I spent at Virginia Tech with a group of international teachers from Switzerland, South Africa, Brazil and Vietnam. We enjoyed meeting them so much we decided to host an All-American Barbecue, during which Sunil invited everyone to come to Nepal.
On Thursday I drove them up to Wythe County where my parents live, and my dad goes with us over to Foster Falls State Park where we eat a picnic lunch and watch people canoeing, kayaking, and tubing down the river. Sarita rolls up the pant legs of her salwar khameez (I hope I spelled that right) and wades in with Mary to pick up mussel shells. We tried fishing but we forgot to get bait and the leftover cheese from our sandwiches refused to stick on the hook.
Back home for dinner, Sarita has brought her own spices (which she has ground herself, one of which is a red chili) from Nepal and cooks us a meal of tomato pickle, cabbage, cauliflower with potatoes, chicken and rice. She goes about cooking with no fuss or fanfare, and any concern I had about communicating with her while cooking quickly vanishes when I realize she doesn’t need me for anything except to get her down a bowl (she says “bol”) or to chop the onion more, which she communicates by motioning to the chopping board in a way that I know means “chop those pieces smaller!” She has Sunil food-processing 2 heads, not cloves, of garlic and a whole ginger root. We had purchased a bag of basmati rice and in my desire to contribute in some way I read directions and measured the ingredients in a pot to place on the stove. Sarita quickly spoke to Sunil, who told me that I had done it wrong, and Sarita would show me the right way to cook it. It was the coolest thing...she simply put some unmeasured amount of rice in a large bowl, filled it with water, stuck her open hand fingers-down in the top and showed me that the water level should be up to the second joint on the middle finger. She motioned for me to put it in the microwave and told Sunil to tell me “twenty”. We had to add a few more minutes, but it came out perfect. The food tasted amazing.
The next morning we went down to Blacksburg’s Steppin’ Out Festival before I took them to Roanoke to stay with Diane and Ken. I will miss Sarita combing and braiding Mary and Ella’s hair and hugging them, Sunil playing chess with Mary and Chinese checkers with Ella on the front porch, Sarita taking a walk around my house and up my street every morning before she has her tea, Sunil reading Carl’s notes he attempted to write in Nepali, Sunil taking pictures of everything that I take for granted (or used to), long conversations with Sunil comparing our way of life with Nepal; our roads, homes, cars, shopping, food, marriage, crime, sickness, religion. Having them here is like having a little piece of Nepal with me, only now that piece is part of me, like family. That Carl and my girls know Sarita and Sunil makes me so happy. I hope it helps them understand in some way how Nepal affected me and perhaps will create a desire in them to go experience it for themselves.....with me, of course. And we will need Jane and Jenna. Anyone else want to go? We also went through a drive-through laser car wash. Hearing Sarita laugh was worth every penny.
Their son Manoj and his strikingly beautiful female friends Sheetal and Hasina (also Nepali) arrived with them on Tuesday afternoon, and after dinner I convinced them to stay here instead of going to a motel for the night before their drive back to Kentucky. In one evening, I am in love with these youngsters. They came into this house and made themselves instantly at home, working around my kitchen washing and drying dishes, making us Masala tea, talking and laughing and answering all of our questions, and translating for us with Sarita.
Manoj is a 25 year-old handsome boy who coaxes and plays with my too-shy-to speak-or-look-at-anyone daughter Ella until she comes TOO far out of her shell and becomes obnoxious in his presence. After dinner our friend Tim came by with his kids, (Kayla,10 and Austin, 8) and Manoj, Sheetal and Hasina showed us how to write all our names in Nepali ...so beautiful it looks like art.
They leave us the next day, promising to keep in touch and to come back and visit, and for that I am glad. Manoj has since called his dad and mom several times a day to check on them.
That afternoon, Sunil and Sarita go with me to take Mary and Ella to their swim lesson at the pool (I wonder what they thought of that), then to the Oasis International market. Imagine my surprise when within minutes of entering the store, they are chatting with a Nepali woman and 2 Nepali men! We leave with a few things that Sarita has chosen to make us a meal the next evening.
Dinner that night was a cookout at Carol and Joe's, which sprang out of a morning that Carol, Andrea and I spent at Virginia Tech with a group of international teachers from Switzerland, South Africa, Brazil and Vietnam. We enjoyed meeting them so much we decided to host an All-American Barbecue, during which Sunil invited everyone to come to Nepal.
On Thursday I drove them up to Wythe County where my parents live, and my dad goes with us over to Foster Falls State Park where we eat a picnic lunch and watch people canoeing, kayaking, and tubing down the river. Sarita rolls up the pant legs of her salwar khameez (I hope I spelled that right) and wades in with Mary to pick up mussel shells. We tried fishing but we forgot to get bait and the leftover cheese from our sandwiches refused to stick on the hook.
Back home for dinner, Sarita has brought her own spices (which she has ground herself, one of which is a red chili) from Nepal and cooks us a meal of tomato pickle, cabbage, cauliflower with potatoes, chicken and rice. She goes about cooking with no fuss or fanfare, and any concern I had about communicating with her while cooking quickly vanishes when I realize she doesn’t need me for anything except to get her down a bowl (she says “bol”) or to chop the onion more, which she communicates by motioning to the chopping board in a way that I know means “chop those pieces smaller!” She has Sunil food-processing 2 heads, not cloves, of garlic and a whole ginger root. We had purchased a bag of basmati rice and in my desire to contribute in some way I read directions and measured the ingredients in a pot to place on the stove. Sarita quickly spoke to Sunil, who told me that I had done it wrong, and Sarita would show me the right way to cook it. It was the coolest thing...she simply put some unmeasured amount of rice in a large bowl, filled it with water, stuck her open hand fingers-down in the top and showed me that the water level should be up to the second joint on the middle finger. She motioned for me to put it in the microwave and told Sunil to tell me “twenty”. We had to add a few more minutes, but it came out perfect. The food tasted amazing.
The next morning we went down to Blacksburg’s Steppin’ Out Festival before I took them to Roanoke to stay with Diane and Ken. I will miss Sarita combing and braiding Mary and Ella’s hair and hugging them, Sunil playing chess with Mary and Chinese checkers with Ella on the front porch, Sarita taking a walk around my house and up my street every morning before she has her tea, Sunil reading Carl’s notes he attempted to write in Nepali, Sunil taking pictures of everything that I take for granted (or used to), long conversations with Sunil comparing our way of life with Nepal; our roads, homes, cars, shopping, food, marriage, crime, sickness, religion. Having them here is like having a little piece of Nepal with me, only now that piece is part of me, like family. That Carl and my girls know Sarita and Sunil makes me so happy. I hope it helps them understand in some way how Nepal affected me and perhaps will create a desire in them to go experience it for themselves.....with me, of course. And we will need Jane and Jenna. Anyone else want to go? We also went through a drive-through laser car wash. Hearing Sarita laugh was worth every penny.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Last Blog from Jane in Kathmandu
Friends, Andrea, Carol, Joe, Tom, and most of all Ike, THANKS for your latest encouragement and e-mails as we ready to return. I am tired, and it must be the emotional kind of tired, because I had only a grand total of three sips of rakshi (rice wine) tonight with dinner--Jenna will tell you about our fun meal at Bhancha Ghar--and I can't think of any other sufficient reason for all this yawning and for the feeling that somehow I have a sodium i.v. drip slowly knocking me out tonight.
I know that when Jenna and I picked up our last little Tibetan stone things at Mr. Bhatt's, we had yet another amazing talk with him, and a last overview of what we would be doing until we should see one another again, hopefully with our film in hand. We planned to cook together next time, momos and vegetarian spring rolls, and sweet and sour vegetarian soup. Apparently Mr. Bhatt is also a chef. Mr. Bhatt apologized for not having us to his home this time--and Reba, I think YOU and Carl have some very special company just now, bless your heart, and THANK YOU all for taking such good care of our Sunil and Sarita! We can't believe they are in BLACKSBURG!--and Mr. Bhatt and Jenna and I talked about world politics and the 2008 American election and terrorism and Tibetan culture and American awareness of the Tibetan issue and the Dalai Lama's accepting our government's highest civilian award, The Congressional Medal of Freedom, this October 18th (also my brother Charles' birthday).
We talked, and laughed, and Mr. Bhatt told us the parable about a man walking on a sea shore, where the tide had beached a school of fish, who were all flapping, but lost, and destined to die out of water. This man was stooping down to pick up the fish, and to throw them gently back into the water, one by one. He was at this task for hours, when another man came walking by, who saw that for the length of the beach, as far as the eye could see, there were such beached fish, thousandsm who would die without being rescued in this way. "Why do you stop to save these fish?" The man asked. "Can't you see how many there are? Many are doing to die, no matter what you do, so what does it matter that you stop and save any?" The man saving the fish paused for just a second before he threw the present fish back into the ocean, and said to the sceptic, "See this fish? This one? To this one, it matters."
Mr. Bhatt said that we can not stop all the terrorists, but we can be sure that our own actions, our own hearts and jobs, are right. We can love, and take care of each other, and do good wherever we can, in our own lives. We can find beauty and make beauty, and string these amazing necklaces of our times with our human and our animal friends. My Virginia Tech students know that I am thinking of A River Sutra, Gita Mehta's excellent book, and that a sutra is the connecting string that holds together the stories and the karma which all touch and add up to the weight of your own narrative. You can not do everything, but what is near you, you should do, if you see that you can try. This kind of practical compassion is enabling, I think, and makes good sense to me in a world where fundamentalisms clash violently, while detached intellectuals hold up magnifying glasses merely to show the severity and folly of the clashes. Mr. Bhatt is right, and I will take heart from his lesson.
What I will most remember from our trip, outside of the festival on my best friend's birthday, and the time our entire team spent together to create the Gift for The Village, is that as the time came for Jenna and me to leave, Mr. Bhatt stood up and came out from behind the counter. I am well aware that he is a Tibetan Muslim, and out of respect, I would never, ever have assumed to do anything but shake his hand goodbye, even though I have known him for many years, and even though I am a southerner with a passionate heart (I hope). He looked up at me with a Tibetan face almost stern and full of honor and courage and then reached for me and hugged me long and hard, and came away from this long hug crying. He hugged Jenna the same, long and hard and firmly, as if we had all crossed oceans of time and thousands of past lives to reach this recognition of how deeply connected we are. We said not a word, but all stood crying, and then we held our hands up to one another in namaste, trying to smile, but being too sad and yet also too sobered by the bare truth of our affection and love for one another as friends to do anything but stare at one another with tears in our eyes for a few more seconds. These moments were one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Iris, Emerson, all my our friends and family, we are coming home, with hearts full, and luggage heavy. Jessica and Barbara Vance, you have been my greatest of all friends, and I owe you a debt from my heart--for taking care of my cats all this time, and for knowing how wonderful it is to have loved ones in my home. Thank you again. To our teammates already returned, we know you must be smiling, because you understand the journey. Sherrie, Jason, when you read this, thank you for staying on. Our time together with Tsampa and Tsewang and Narayan and Bishnu and Ganesh and Gopal and Hari was astonishing. And Jenna, you still amaze me. Love, Jane
I know that when Jenna and I picked up our last little Tibetan stone things at Mr. Bhatt's, we had yet another amazing talk with him, and a last overview of what we would be doing until we should see one another again, hopefully with our film in hand. We planned to cook together next time, momos and vegetarian spring rolls, and sweet and sour vegetarian soup. Apparently Mr. Bhatt is also a chef. Mr. Bhatt apologized for not having us to his home this time--and Reba, I think YOU and Carl have some very special company just now, bless your heart, and THANK YOU all for taking such good care of our Sunil and Sarita! We can't believe they are in BLACKSBURG!--and Mr. Bhatt and Jenna and I talked about world politics and the 2008 American election and terrorism and Tibetan culture and American awareness of the Tibetan issue and the Dalai Lama's accepting our government's highest civilian award, The Congressional Medal of Freedom, this October 18th (also my brother Charles' birthday).
We talked, and laughed, and Mr. Bhatt told us the parable about a man walking on a sea shore, where the tide had beached a school of fish, who were all flapping, but lost, and destined to die out of water. This man was stooping down to pick up the fish, and to throw them gently back into the water, one by one. He was at this task for hours, when another man came walking by, who saw that for the length of the beach, as far as the eye could see, there were such beached fish, thousandsm who would die without being rescued in this way. "Why do you stop to save these fish?" The man asked. "Can't you see how many there are? Many are doing to die, no matter what you do, so what does it matter that you stop and save any?" The man saving the fish paused for just a second before he threw the present fish back into the ocean, and said to the sceptic, "See this fish? This one? To this one, it matters."
Mr. Bhatt said that we can not stop all the terrorists, but we can be sure that our own actions, our own hearts and jobs, are right. We can love, and take care of each other, and do good wherever we can, in our own lives. We can find beauty and make beauty, and string these amazing necklaces of our times with our human and our animal friends. My Virginia Tech students know that I am thinking of A River Sutra, Gita Mehta's excellent book, and that a sutra is the connecting string that holds together the stories and the karma which all touch and add up to the weight of your own narrative. You can not do everything, but what is near you, you should do, if you see that you can try. This kind of practical compassion is enabling, I think, and makes good sense to me in a world where fundamentalisms clash violently, while detached intellectuals hold up magnifying glasses merely to show the severity and folly of the clashes. Mr. Bhatt is right, and I will take heart from his lesson.
What I will most remember from our trip, outside of the festival on my best friend's birthday, and the time our entire team spent together to create the Gift for The Village, is that as the time came for Jenna and me to leave, Mr. Bhatt stood up and came out from behind the counter. I am well aware that he is a Tibetan Muslim, and out of respect, I would never, ever have assumed to do anything but shake his hand goodbye, even though I have known him for many years, and even though I am a southerner with a passionate heart (I hope). He looked up at me with a Tibetan face almost stern and full of honor and courage and then reached for me and hugged me long and hard, and came away from this long hug crying. He hugged Jenna the same, long and hard and firmly, as if we had all crossed oceans of time and thousands of past lives to reach this recognition of how deeply connected we are. We said not a word, but all stood crying, and then we held our hands up to one another in namaste, trying to smile, but being too sad and yet also too sobered by the bare truth of our affection and love for one another as friends to do anything but stare at one another with tears in our eyes for a few more seconds. These moments were one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Iris, Emerson, all my our friends and family, we are coming home, with hearts full, and luggage heavy. Jessica and Barbara Vance, you have been my greatest of all friends, and I owe you a debt from my heart--for taking care of my cats all this time, and for knowing how wonderful it is to have loved ones in my home. Thank you again. To our teammates already returned, we know you must be smiling, because you understand the journey. Sherrie, Jason, when you read this, thank you for staying on. Our time together with Tsampa and Tsewang and Narayan and Bishnu and Ganesh and Gopal and Hari was astonishing. And Jenna, you still amaze me. Love, Jane
From Jenna on our last day
Today our last full day was beautiful and sunny--- most days we have had at least an hour of rain. Jane and I got up early to watch the streets come alive. Imagine a narrow street lines with metal car garage doors, side by side and all closed, next imagine the sound of these clunky nosy doors being lifted to reveal the goods inside, except the shop is not contained within the walls, the shop spills on to the street, tables are brought out and set right in the way of the traffic, making the narrow ONE lane road even more impossible. It takes a shop owner close to an hour to set out the masks, bells, carved rocks, beads, thankas (paintings), prayerflags, and other goods that STILL tempt us as we walk by. Then the streets begin to bustle with activity.... the street sweepers and trash pickers are up early to clear the streets. A large dump truck rolls slowly thru town and the three men on the back catch trash being thrown to them and they sort the cardboard, plastic, glass and other trash into piles in the bed of the truck. Rickshaws come out to find the choice spots where a tourist might be. Slowly the noise level begins to rise and before you know it, there is full chaos on the streets again. I LOVE IT!!
Today while Jane was with Mr Bhatt, buying the last necklace, and Jason and Sherrie were getting massages, I went to visit Mia's "home." Mia is woman who I have become freinds with, she walks the streets with a big smile on her face, a baby girl tied to her back and a hand full of silk purses i nher hand. She buys these purses whole sale, on credit, for 30 rupees and tries get 35 to 100 rs for each one. The beautiful baby on her back is always sluggish and sleeping. Mia's oldest daughter is always in school, so until today I had not met this 5 year old. Mia, her husband, (who has not worked in 6 months because of health problems) and her two daughters live in a room that is 10 feet by 15 feet, there was one small window, but the window opened to a brick wall less than a foot away, there was one bed and a pile of blankets on the floor, which her husband was sleeping on when we walked in. One large, chest-like piece of furnature was on one wall, but I could see that the slightly opened drawers were empty except for a few articles of clothing, one blanket and some broken barbie dolls. The few pictures on the walls were tear outs from a magazine. One one wall, there was a low shelf supported by bricks. This shelf had a small propane cook stove, (which was out of propane), two cooking pots, one frying pan, and a few wooden stiring utencils. There were a few dirty plates sitting in a bucket of water near the shelf. That was all there was. Mia told me that she was out on the street from 8 to 4 (when she walked to her daughter's school to pick her up), then if she had not made ANY slale for the day, she would come back on the street till. Mia explained how she was happy when she was outside with her daughter on the streets, but that she cried everytime she walked into her house. Her marrage was arranges, and her parents and his parents are not in the picture to help out. She explained that the rent on their room was about 1200 rs a month ($18) and she was allowed to make it in three payments when tourism was slow (which is this time on the year).
There are a lot of scams on the street used against tourists...
Kids ask you to buy them milk or something to eat, but then they take the goods back to the shop owner who gives them some pocket change, and the goods are returned to the shelf, then there are the kids who ask you to buy some piece of art work they have colored, of course most foreginers can't resist, but then the kid goes back to a shop owneer who has a stack of these "coloerd pictures" and again they split the profits. Finally, the most heart renching are the mothers carrying their infants and an empty bottle of milk. They ask for you to buy milk for their baby, but the baby never gets that milk even if you buy it for them
There are many people in desperate situations here, so desperate they will do anything to make money. It is hard to decide who to help, and it is even harder to say no to people who you really believe need your help. I bought two of Mia's bags for 500 rs each (she asked for 35 each), and I am sure I will give her more before I leave tomorrow. I'll miss seeing Mia each morning.
We just returned from a great dinner with Cy (Jane's cousin) and Pema, a friend of ours from the village called Kagbeni. Pema made the journey to Jomsom with us and then met us in Kathmandu, she has been here all week. She is a mother of two girls and is pregnant with her third child. Becuase of the pressures of this culture, she is hopeful for a boy this time, so she does not have to have yet another child. She had her first ultra sound (EVER) today and was too nervous to find out if it is a girl or boy.
We took her to Bhancha Ghar for dinner, a traditional Newari Restaurant with dancers and music and great Nepali food. We took off our shoes and climbed to the third floor of the 100 year old building, then we were served peanuts roasted in a lime, onion, cilantro sauce and popcorn. We were then given finger potatoes (french fries) Then my favorite part, we were served Rakshi in small unfired clay cups. Jason drank my rakshi and I kept the little hand made cup(they are thrown out after one use)Pema had never been to such a place and she was mortified how expensive the food was (about 500 to 1000 rs per person) Pema loved the dancers in their traditional costumes doing the traditional dances, and said she had never been to such a place. Dinner was served one floor down, we had more food than we could possibly eat--- mostly, you guessed it, RICE!!! The highlights of dinner, besides the company, a flat pancake- like corn bread, and a wonderful sweet curd for dessert.
the cyber cafe is closing and I have to pack. See you all soon! Jenna
Today while Jane was with Mr Bhatt, buying the last necklace, and Jason and Sherrie were getting massages, I went to visit Mia's "home." Mia is woman who I have become freinds with, she walks the streets with a big smile on her face, a baby girl tied to her back and a hand full of silk purses i nher hand. She buys these purses whole sale, on credit, for 30 rupees and tries get 35 to 100 rs for each one. The beautiful baby on her back is always sluggish and sleeping. Mia's oldest daughter is always in school, so until today I had not met this 5 year old. Mia, her husband, (who has not worked in 6 months because of health problems) and her two daughters live in a room that is 10 feet by 15 feet, there was one small window, but the window opened to a brick wall less than a foot away, there was one bed and a pile of blankets on the floor, which her husband was sleeping on when we walked in. One large, chest-like piece of furnature was on one wall, but I could see that the slightly opened drawers were empty except for a few articles of clothing, one blanket and some broken barbie dolls. The few pictures on the walls were tear outs from a magazine. One one wall, there was a low shelf supported by bricks. This shelf had a small propane cook stove, (which was out of propane), two cooking pots, one frying pan, and a few wooden stiring utencils. There were a few dirty plates sitting in a bucket of water near the shelf. That was all there was. Mia told me that she was out on the street from 8 to 4 (when she walked to her daughter's school to pick her up), then if she had not made ANY slale for the day, she would come back on the street till. Mia explained how she was happy when she was outside with her daughter on the streets, but that she cried everytime she walked into her house. Her marrage was arranges, and her parents and his parents are not in the picture to help out. She explained that the rent on their room was about 1200 rs a month ($18) and she was allowed to make it in three payments when tourism was slow (which is this time on the year).
There are a lot of scams on the street used against tourists...
Kids ask you to buy them milk or something to eat, but then they take the goods back to the shop owner who gives them some pocket change, and the goods are returned to the shelf, then there are the kids who ask you to buy some piece of art work they have colored, of course most foreginers can't resist, but then the kid goes back to a shop owneer who has a stack of these "coloerd pictures" and again they split the profits. Finally, the most heart renching are the mothers carrying their infants and an empty bottle of milk. They ask for you to buy milk for their baby, but the baby never gets that milk even if you buy it for them
There are many people in desperate situations here, so desperate they will do anything to make money. It is hard to decide who to help, and it is even harder to say no to people who you really believe need your help. I bought two of Mia's bags for 500 rs each (she asked for 35 each), and I am sure I will give her more before I leave tomorrow. I'll miss seeing Mia each morning.
We just returned from a great dinner with Cy (Jane's cousin) and Pema, a friend of ours from the village called Kagbeni. Pema made the journey to Jomsom with us and then met us in Kathmandu, she has been here all week. She is a mother of two girls and is pregnant with her third child. Becuase of the pressures of this culture, she is hopeful for a boy this time, so she does not have to have yet another child. She had her first ultra sound (EVER) today and was too nervous to find out if it is a girl or boy.
We took her to Bhancha Ghar for dinner, a traditional Newari Restaurant with dancers and music and great Nepali food. We took off our shoes and climbed to the third floor of the 100 year old building, then we were served peanuts roasted in a lime, onion, cilantro sauce and popcorn. We were then given finger potatoes (french fries) Then my favorite part, we were served Rakshi in small unfired clay cups. Jason drank my rakshi and I kept the little hand made cup(they are thrown out after one use)Pema had never been to such a place and she was mortified how expensive the food was (about 500 to 1000 rs per person) Pema loved the dancers in their traditional costumes doing the traditional dances, and said she had never been to such a place. Dinner was served one floor down, we had more food than we could possibly eat--- mostly, you guessed it, RICE!!! The highlights of dinner, besides the company, a flat pancake- like corn bread, and a wonderful sweet curd for dessert.
the cyber cafe is closing and I have to pack. See you all soon! Jenna
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
August 1, Kathmandu. Tomorrow is our last full day in Kathmandu, and I suspect Jenna and I will get up early and surprise one of the rickshaw drivers who always park so hopefully in front of The Kathmandu Guest House gates. All the drivers have asked us each day for our business, and we say no, thank you, we are walking; but tomorrow we will say yes, please, we would like a bicycle rickshaw to
Swayambhunath Stupa, but no, thank you, we don't want you to wait: we will be there for who knows how long, just watching the mani stone carvers and the sleepy monkeys and the pilgrims always climbing the hundreds of steps to the top of the hill.
Swayambhu will be busier with monkeys than when Tom and Diane and Reba were here with us, because we had the blazing sun then, and monkeys are no fools. They know very well how to hide in the shade of tangled lantana and bougainevillea thickets, and in the highest ferny and bromiliaded branches of mango trees. But tomorrow is likely to be rainy, or at least extremely cloudy, so I expect the monkeys to be bold and daring, baring their teeth if they think we keep eye contact with them for too long.
I can't wait to walk on their hill with them again. These monkeys are rhesus. They have tiny pink faces with intense burnt sienna eyes. They look forlorn for a second, then irate, then sanguine, then melancholy, then terrified. Each expression, Raphael would have given anything to paint, but god help any artist who tries to use a monkey for a model. The changes come like playing cards folding and fanning and clapping over one another when someone knows how to shuffle in a bridge. Still, a monkey goes through more than 52 expressions a minute, so could more than fill a deck of cards with states and emotions: regret, confusion, self-pity, senility, numbness, agony, exhaustion, hunger, meaninglessness, loneliness, fury, challenge, zen. Every possible face and more, always a passing perfect mask.
There is something comforting about seeing every completely convincing intensity arrive but also vanish, and so I like to walk with all the monkeys. Their angry face subsides; their hatred evaporates; their fear vanishes. In a second, their posture of confrontation and menace relaxes. The desperation goes, and a monkey
is left, contemplating the sinuous and languid eyes of Buddha looking out in each
direction from Swayambhunath stupa. A blinking, not particularly verbal monkey, sighing or remembering, or hoping, or thinking of the shape of its own shadow.
Today Jenna and I visited Mr. Bhatt and Yusef, and talked more about Tibetan stones. Jenna wanted to see fake red coral next to real red coral, and fake dzi beads next to the rare and unaffordable real dzis. Mr. Bhatt said that he and his brother-in-law Yusef can now see a dzi from five meters and guess its authenticity and worth. How, exactly? Jenna asked. There are no criteria to be certain, Mr. Bhatt said, but the recognition is sensual. And there are numerous stories about what dzis are. To be certain, they are agates, but where do these agates come from? Mr. Bhatt's grandfather and most Tibetans of that generation believed that you could see a small snake, if you were very lucky, and if you were quick enough, and threw a handfull of dust on that snake, the part you touched with dust broke off and hardened on the spot into a dzi stone, while the rest of the snake wriggled down and disappeared into the earth. Which means, of course, that this was no mere snake, but one of the wise race of nagas, who occupy a different realm, which westerners would call mythical, but which Tibetans understand as being "in a different room." Occasionally these creatures from a different realm appear here, or occupy a form that we think of as familiar. So you must always be on the alert for these opportunities to see what isn't usually possible, and which usually does not exist, but, on rare occasion, suddenly does exist.
Other stories about the rare dzi stone--which is a banded or circled agate, in browns and blacks and whites, cylindrical (the circles are called "eyes")--include the belief that they come from dragon's breath, or another story has dzis coming from the minds of dragons, who decide to implant them in secret and unexpected places, especially inside the hollow, discarded horns of dead yaks. Even the most scientific explanation of dzis say that they are simply agates which must have been prehistorically acid-etched somehow, to achieve these strange patterns, but the carbon-datings, which verify their age, leave no hints of how the prehistoric jewelers managed to do this acid-etching, since no one can replicate the effect now. (You pronounce the name of the stone ZEE, by the way.) Ask Reba Hoffman where dzis come from. She has a necklace of baby dzis, the most miniature form, very rare and beautiful. Or ask her daughter, Mary, the most expert dragonologist in North America.
Dragons earlier today, and monkeys tomorrow, in the morning. And earlier this evening, an excellent book find in Pilgrim's, a gorgeous little edition of Indian beasts, each page a sumptuous silkscreen, a collection of ethnic folk renditions of foxes, elephants, anteaters, cows, snakes.
And also time to browse in Pilgrim's section of essential oils, scents affordable only here. I selected neroli, the extremely rare Egyptian essence, and cajput, which is eucalyptus-stong. Any of you who sneeze at overpowering scents will now, at least for a time, unfortunately die in my home, because the only way for me to re-suture myself back into America without hurting too terribly and to continue something of the experience of being in Nepal is to heighten every flavor and aroma I can. So beware, my friends. Just for a few weeks, dinners on Glade Road will roar with chilies and cardamoms, and the house will smell like a harem. My cats will all be disgusted, but I will feel like Nepal came home with me.
We can't wait to see all of you. Love, Jane
Swayambhunath Stupa, but no, thank you, we don't want you to wait: we will be there for who knows how long, just watching the mani stone carvers and the sleepy monkeys and the pilgrims always climbing the hundreds of steps to the top of the hill.
Swayambhu will be busier with monkeys than when Tom and Diane and Reba were here with us, because we had the blazing sun then, and monkeys are no fools. They know very well how to hide in the shade of tangled lantana and bougainevillea thickets, and in the highest ferny and bromiliaded branches of mango trees. But tomorrow is likely to be rainy, or at least extremely cloudy, so I expect the monkeys to be bold and daring, baring their teeth if they think we keep eye contact with them for too long.
I can't wait to walk on their hill with them again. These monkeys are rhesus. They have tiny pink faces with intense burnt sienna eyes. They look forlorn for a second, then irate, then sanguine, then melancholy, then terrified. Each expression, Raphael would have given anything to paint, but god help any artist who tries to use a monkey for a model. The changes come like playing cards folding and fanning and clapping over one another when someone knows how to shuffle in a bridge. Still, a monkey goes through more than 52 expressions a minute, so could more than fill a deck of cards with states and emotions: regret, confusion, self-pity, senility, numbness, agony, exhaustion, hunger, meaninglessness, loneliness, fury, challenge, zen. Every possible face and more, always a passing perfect mask.
There is something comforting about seeing every completely convincing intensity arrive but also vanish, and so I like to walk with all the monkeys. Their angry face subsides; their hatred evaporates; their fear vanishes. In a second, their posture of confrontation and menace relaxes. The desperation goes, and a monkey
is left, contemplating the sinuous and languid eyes of Buddha looking out in each
direction from Swayambhunath stupa. A blinking, not particularly verbal monkey, sighing or remembering, or hoping, or thinking of the shape of its own shadow.
Today Jenna and I visited Mr. Bhatt and Yusef, and talked more about Tibetan stones. Jenna wanted to see fake red coral next to real red coral, and fake dzi beads next to the rare and unaffordable real dzis. Mr. Bhatt said that he and his brother-in-law Yusef can now see a dzi from five meters and guess its authenticity and worth. How, exactly? Jenna asked. There are no criteria to be certain, Mr. Bhatt said, but the recognition is sensual. And there are numerous stories about what dzis are. To be certain, they are agates, but where do these agates come from? Mr. Bhatt's grandfather and most Tibetans of that generation believed that you could see a small snake, if you were very lucky, and if you were quick enough, and threw a handfull of dust on that snake, the part you touched with dust broke off and hardened on the spot into a dzi stone, while the rest of the snake wriggled down and disappeared into the earth. Which means, of course, that this was no mere snake, but one of the wise race of nagas, who occupy a different realm, which westerners would call mythical, but which Tibetans understand as being "in a different room." Occasionally these creatures from a different realm appear here, or occupy a form that we think of as familiar. So you must always be on the alert for these opportunities to see what isn't usually possible, and which usually does not exist, but, on rare occasion, suddenly does exist.
Other stories about the rare dzi stone--which is a banded or circled agate, in browns and blacks and whites, cylindrical (the circles are called "eyes")--include the belief that they come from dragon's breath, or another story has dzis coming from the minds of dragons, who decide to implant them in secret and unexpected places, especially inside the hollow, discarded horns of dead yaks. Even the most scientific explanation of dzis say that they are simply agates which must have been prehistorically acid-etched somehow, to achieve these strange patterns, but the carbon-datings, which verify their age, leave no hints of how the prehistoric jewelers managed to do this acid-etching, since no one can replicate the effect now. (You pronounce the name of the stone ZEE, by the way.) Ask Reba Hoffman where dzis come from. She has a necklace of baby dzis, the most miniature form, very rare and beautiful. Or ask her daughter, Mary, the most expert dragonologist in North America.
Dragons earlier today, and monkeys tomorrow, in the morning. And earlier this evening, an excellent book find in Pilgrim's, a gorgeous little edition of Indian beasts, each page a sumptuous silkscreen, a collection of ethnic folk renditions of foxes, elephants, anteaters, cows, snakes.
And also time to browse in Pilgrim's section of essential oils, scents affordable only here. I selected neroli, the extremely rare Egyptian essence, and cajput, which is eucalyptus-stong. Any of you who sneeze at overpowering scents will now, at least for a time, unfortunately die in my home, because the only way for me to re-suture myself back into America without hurting too terribly and to continue something of the experience of being in Nepal is to heighten every flavor and aroma I can. So beware, my friends. Just for a few weeks, dinners on Glade Road will roar with chilies and cardamoms, and the house will smell like a harem. My cats will all be disgusted, but I will feel like Nepal came home with me.
We can't wait to see all of you. Love, Jane
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
