tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81194113829179563642024-03-20T04:37:13.253+05:45Fate's ClayFate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-31631846199337552432018-01-04T19:22:00.000+05:452020-06-03T16:39:47.633+05:45Trouble in Paradise<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to spend the past two
Christmas seasons at a top-rated island resort in the Maldives, in a sort of
workaway situation provided by a close friend who has a higher-level position
in the company. This season, I have come to learn about some of the dark inner
workings of this place, which I find disturbing and feel compelled to put into
writing here. I don’t dare to name the resort or any of the sources of this
information for fear of any repercussions that might befall my friend here, but
it really doesn’t matter, because this particular one has a reputation, which
it loves to emphasize, of being an ethical leader in the industry, so one could
assume that all the others are similar or worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The most central of my concerns is the quantity and quality of
outsourced labor present in the resort. It is common practice in South/Southeast
Asia, the Arabian Gulf, and other parts of the world to bring in cheap labor
from impoverished countries, who are supplied by employment agencies that often,
notoriously (https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2017/06/nepal-unscrupulous-recruiters-given-free-rein-to-exploit-migrants/),
entrap their workers in exploitative situations, essentially forcing them into
indentured servitude. They are coaxed into these bad deals by desperate
financial situations at home and promises of a salary higher than they could
ever earn otherwise, but trapped by exuberant interest accruing on the loans
that covered their visa fees and international travel. They often return home
at the end of their contract with little savings to show for their years of
work. A common method of preventing people in these situations from escaping is
to hold the workers’ passports somewhere that they can’t go, so that they are
unable to leave the country where they’re working until the terms of their
contracts are complete. The fact that there are Nepali workers in this
situation here came up in a conversation I had the other day with an HR
manager, who explained to me that this can’t be held against the resort since
they are technically not employed by the resort, but by their third-party
agency. Very convincing. I had a chat later with some of the Nepalis, and they
told me that their passports are in the capitol island of Male, far away from
here, that some of them would quit and go home straight away if they had the
chance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another manifestation of exploitative labor present here is
the many “casual” (read: without the protection of an employment contract)
workers, largely from Bangladesh, who are not provided work visas by the resort
and, therefore, are working and residing illegally. They sleep in dismal
16-person dorms which are little more than shacks in their construction, and they’re
not allowed to eat with the other staff. They can never go home, out of fear
that they will be barred re-entry into this country and lose a precious work
opportunity that isn’t available in their own. The resort’s obvious response to
any criticism about this is that if they don’t like it they’re free to go
whenever they please, since they aren’t contracted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Beyond these looming problems, which I have witnessed, are
the rumors from other staff, such as Jewish guests having been served non-kosher
food with kosher labels, hiding evidence that they purchase meats from slaughterhouses
that don’t meet their advertised ethical standards, and selling resort
properties to more than one owner since they’ll probably never be here at the
same time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The clientele here are truly the global elite, well-known
Hollywood actors, world-famous musicians, London real-estate tycoons, CEOs of
major corporations – the type of people who would probably be terribly embarrassed
to associate with a resort using such labor practices. Or maybe they just wouldn’t
care. The resort isn’t solely accountable for these issues, as these workers
are provoked into coming here by the lack of opportunities in their own
countries, as the exploitation of poor workers is certainly not limited to the
hospitality industry, and as the Maldivian government must know that this is
happening since their country is half occupied by such resorts employing
foreign labor but does nothing about it. However, with an average per-night
charge of around $6000 (seriously), food not included, this resort undoubtedly
has the means to uphold their self-mandated ethical standards by employing
people in better situations, and I can’t help but conclude that they choose to
participate in these practices purely out of greed. This is enough to keep me
from returning next year and, someday, may be their downfall if someone like me
comes along who is in a position to openly expose them.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-28660340500861580322017-04-13T18:33:00.000+05:452017-04-13T18:33:53.728+05:45Parkmandu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm here today to promote <a href="https://www.generosity.com/community-fundraising/transforming-kathmandu-one-park-at-a-time">a cool initiative happening in Kathmandu</a>.<br /><br />I tend to be skeptical of foreigner-run projects like this, as I have seen many of them miss their mark (or not have much of a mark to begin with), but this one passes muster. From the organizer:</span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">...all the projects are actually owned, built and maintained by communities. We are only facilitators in the ideas spreading and design process as well as helping with the construction process. Parkmandu is not driven by donations but is completely owned by local communities who find the resources needed for the creation of the parks. They find the land, the government approval, and the budget.</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kathmandu could certainly use more parks, although some of those that already exist are lovely, like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ratna_Park">Ratna Park</a> and <a href="http://www.travelingonepal.com/destinations/godavari-botanical-garden/">Godavari</a>.<br /><br />More content coming soon...</span></div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-81839285117311177562017-02-02T22:02:00.002+05:452017-02-02T22:02:40.879+05:45Unexpected Photo Dump #3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hello again, dear readers. <a href="https://goo.gl/photos/CgMDZ8jMfrDmg3qM6" target="_blank">Here is the latest installment of my dabbles in photography</a>. This time the pictures are from some of the other countries that I've been fortunate enough to visit in the past year. The organization is by country and/or chronological, take your pick.</span></div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-47940105939839335692017-01-23T15:24:00.000+05:452017-01-23T15:28:29.525+05:45Why Do I Travel?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">As I prepared to go to Nepal, for what would be the
first of my world travels I was asked to read <a href="http://picoiyerjourneys.com/index.php/2000/03/why-we-travel/" target="_blank">this essay</a> and write a response. At the time, I think that I just made something up
(forgive me, instructors!), and I don’t have my response anymore. The question
has returned to me with a vengeance lately, though, as I find myself in
Southeast Asia with some free time and no plans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m ridiculously fortunate to have the means to
travel essentially anywhere in this region that I choose, and it’s important to
acknowledge that. My issue is that I’ve caught myself several times looking at
flights to countries that I know nothing about, and am not particularly
interested in, just because I <i>can</i> go
there, to tick another box on my travel list, and that bothers me. There are
loads of equally privileged people around here who are just going on the
‘tourist circuit’, who never connect with local people or their cultures,
barely eat any local food, and party with other foreigners every night. I
really don’t want to be like that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, why do I travel? <i>Is it just to see new things?</i> No, there are plenty of countries
full of new things that I have no interest in seeing whatsoever. <i>Is it just to tick boxes on a list of
countries?</i> No, I’ve felt unfulfilled during my few bouts of aimless
independent travel, even in countries that I like. <i>Is it just for work?</i> No, I could probably find work at home. <i>Is it for the food?</i> Yes, but sadly I can
only spend a portion of each day eating. I think that it’s a combination of
things. My best travel experiences have consistently had these qualities:</span></div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<li>I can talk to people. For me, this applies wherever English is prevalent, and in places where there are lots of Nepali people. Malaysia scores well in this category.</li>
</span></ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<li>I have a companion to share the experience with. I’ve been fortunate enough to share most of the past few months on the road with dear friends, which has brightened my experience regardless of place.</li>
</span></ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have a strong interest in the religion, culture, and history of the place. This largely includes places in the Indic sphere and places where Buddhism is still alive. This also largely excludes major tourist sites such as the main temples of Angkor Wat, the remnants of which are daily trodden upon by the unwashed masses.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m going for work. I love my job, my coworkers, and my students. I have had a fantastic time everywhere that my work takes me, even in some places that I would otherwise not have enjoyed nearly as much.</span></li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Good food. Duh.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
I’ve also learned that it doesn’t really matter to me if it’s a place that I’ve already been to or not. I’ve stayed in Kuala Lumpur a number of times when I could have gone elsewhere, and it’s always been great fun. This all seems to boil down to three key elements:</span></span><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<li>Cultural engagement, through communication and the drive of my personal interest. And food.</li>
</span></ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<li>Companionship, both with local people and fellow travelers.</li>
</span></ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Having some purpose, either in work or the pursuit of knowledge and personal growth.</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This fits rather well with my fanatical love for
Nepal, as all of my criteria are satisfied everywhere in that country. It also
explains my surprise love for Malaysia, a country that I had never imagined
visiting before my job took me there, and in which I have now spent more time
than in any other country after the US and Nepal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now, following my criteria, I should first travel
to wherever my work takes me, which right now is nowhere. After that, I should
go to places that I find very interesting, whether they’re new or not. So, what
should I do with a period of not-work, during which I need to move around every
so often to avoid overstaying visas? <i>Should
I go to Laos just because it’s nearby, even though I don’t know the first thing
about Laos?</i> Not without first doing enough research to determine my
interest level and knowing enough to engage with some of what I might see there.
<i>But you might love it anyway, and you shouldn’t
miss the opportunity!</i> Thanks, Travel FOMO, but I’m having a great time
right where I am.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I’m concluding that for me, at least right now,
the best thing to do is to revisit places that I would like to connect with
more deeply, and to explore new places as the opportunities and interest arise.
There’s something appealing about trying to visit as many countries as possible,
but that approach to travel doesn’t suit me. Is ‘because I can’ a legitimate
reason to visit a new country? I don’t know, but I think this happens a lot,
and the results can be unsavory. I would rather know a few places very well
than many places superficially. I suppose it’s like making friends. Quality
over quantity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now back to the
question at hand. One of the paramount reasons that I always come back to is
that travel brings light and novelty into even the simplest mundane tasks.
Grabbing a coffee in Boston doesn’t strike one as being a particularly
memorable experience (or perhaps a negative one, depending on where you go),
but grabbing a coffee in Bagan, Bangkok, or Battambang can be hilarious,
frustrating, and confusing all at once, in the best way. The great beauty of it
is that the novelty extends back to Boston, upon returning home, having
shattered assumptions and routine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am continually blown
away by the fact that I can speak to people in another language, and that for
most people in the world this is completely normal. The journey of learning and
using a new language, a different kind of travel, cultivates the humility that
comes with knowingly speaking like a child and saying things incorrectly, while
simultaneously opening doors otherwise closed to outsiders, both physical and,
more significantly, mental and emotional. To reach a level of fluency which
allows one to hear the depth and poetry of others who, when speaking our
language, may sound simple, creates so much new wonder and reverence. And to begin
expressing thoughts that cannot be articulated in English is an experience of
truly broadening the aperture of the mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">To really travel, to
exit one’s own culture and comfort zone, is of unsaid benefit to personal development
simply through increased exposure to the world, and to spiritual development
through connections with kind and generous souls outside of our usual circles
and through facing physical hardship perhaps for the first time. This must be
the best way of generating openness, understanding, and compassion, as these
are only hindered in ignorance and fear of the outside world. Therefore, I
travel.</span></span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6kL_kaBIQ6OPJaqUfzFb4DCtbZ-cK9i4cr3jGknC-M44NkmtNMjeWxg6Yuf98z6dxTrfh0orNnghwN9oCXpLPxj5zqQQFyuGx2thqOXGHtXfxTUQrF4WM3Kb3xc_pG5CzA_dCdNIuxI/s1600/IMG_9672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6kL_kaBIQ6OPJaqUfzFb4DCtbZ-cK9i4cr3jGknC-M44NkmtNMjeWxg6Yuf98z6dxTrfh0orNnghwN9oCXpLPxj5zqQQFyuGx2thqOXGHtXfxTUQrF4WM3Kb3xc_pG5CzA_dCdNIuxI/s400/IMG_9672.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Giggling, she asked</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Can we take a selfie, please?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yes, five-hundred kyat</span></i></div>
</span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-10074075792521646722017-01-19T10:35:00.001+05:452017-01-19T10:35:07.360+05:45A Change of Pace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Nursing a mediocre cappuccino in a café
in Chiang Mai, the intrepid blogger ponders how he is to revive his prosaic
outlet amidst a year-long departure from the dear lands of its subject. He
considers a stubborn forge ahead into his encounters with the Nepali community
abroad, presuming expertise in a dark and tragically understudied world of human
trafficking and indentured servitude. Equally enticing is a merge into the
online masses – yet another white male wandering across Asia and sharing his sweeping
judgement of the homelands of several billion people with only a month’s
experience in each country contained therein. In either case, he is, truly, a
hero of the modern world…</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Just
kidding. That was me parodying some actual people who I actually met who are
actually like that – like the guy who missed his flight out of Bangkok because
he had spent the entirety of his forty-eight hour visit to Thailand partying in
our hostel, wrote a blog post about Thailand, and told everyone there, many of whom
also have travel blogs, that we should follow his blog. Or like the so-called
expats found across Southeast Asia who never bothered to learn a local language
and only eat western food (don’t even get me started on the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/global-development-professionals-network/2015/mar/13/white-people-expats-immigrants-migration" target="_blank">‘expat’ vs ‘immigrant’debate</a>).
Even pretending to talk like them leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Or maybe
that was the coffee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Anyway,
I really have decided to shift the focus of this blog. I began with the idea of
focusing narrowly but deeply on the little world that I have devoted much of my
life to for the past few years, but I didn’t account for the extended periods
away from Nepal that I will inevitably continue to face. After the better part
of year away, a bit of denial, and minimal literary output, I’ve decided that
my desire to write overrides my original goal. So, moving ahead, this will be a
Blog About Nothing, full of stories, poetry, rants, philosophical ponderances, and
meaningless meanderings. This will probably alienate any readers who don’t know
me personally, which is fine since I’m mostly writing for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Misty old
temples<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Abound with
ancient wisdom<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And Chang
Beer tank-tops</span></i></div>
</div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-1845504236402705742016-09-11T19:17:00.000+05:452016-09-11T19:26:35.659+05:45Gurung Uncle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yikes, what a summer! Kathmandu has a new <a href="http://roadsandkingdoms.com/2016/whoopeeland/">water park</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pushpa_Kamal_Dahal">guerilla-general-turned-prime-minister-turned-political-outcast Prachanda</a> is prime minister again. I've been abroad for some time due to visa difficulties (grumble), and between gallivanting and working, little time has been left to me for the upkeep of this site. Hopefully my glorious return to Nepal will come in 2017, and meanwhile I'll try to keep things moving in the old Fate's Clay newsroom. This one was dredged from the murky nether region of my journals, written about six months ago:</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzuAgj72ZPenzUPYqDVfL4Np0o5ziu7a_d9qUCHk_boElbxkniuyCGIycOgEn0sBDsHjn8pu1ckqz1Ui3wE3pv8uvtutdLAnktTkI2VKYpyTHSAVJkFwsC41uEebne1-rqGXX07koY7AE/s1600/DSCN0786.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzuAgj72ZPenzUPYqDVfL4Np0o5ziu7a_d9qUCHk_boElbxkniuyCGIycOgEn0sBDsHjn8pu1ckqz1Ui3wE3pv8uvtutdLAnktTkI2VKYpyTHSAVJkFwsC41uEebne1-rqGXX07koY7AE/s400/DSCN0786.JPG" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">I wish I could rock a hat like that</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't know this man's real name, but we all affectionately refer to him as Gurung Uncle, Gurung being his caste / ethnicity. He is a groundskeeper and guard at Surya Boarding School in Khandbari, where he has worked for more than twenty years. Every morning he dresses up in his uniform and <a href="https://youtu.be/9bB8TD2RpgI">plays with the kids as they enter the school</a>. He's a really sweet old guy and I've loved him since I arrived here.<br /><br />Gurung Uncle is now about sixty, by my reckoning and has a son studying in college. They lived together in a one-room thatched-roof hut in the countryside about ten minutes' walk from the school. Gurung Uncle's lifelong dream has been to buy the terraced fields surrounding his house so that he can retire and live off of the land. The cost of the land is $1,500, and he had managed to save about $1,000 so far in his many years of work.<br /><br />Last month his house burned down in an electrical fire. Since it was entirely wooden and very small, it was quickly engulfed in flames and impossible to save. We saw the smoke from a distance, but we didn't know what caused it until the house was already destroyed. He lost everything he had, including his life savings, his food, and all of his clothes except what he was wearing. We raised money for him through the local branch of the Red Cross, and some friends have given him sacks of rice and other supplies, but it's not nearly enough to cover his losses. Now he's staying at our school, and on his own he'll probably be unable to rebuild his house, and will certainly never achieve his goal of purchasing that land.<br /><br />That's where we come in. The owner and benefactor of our school has, in gratitude for Gurung's many years of service, funded the replacement of an old shack in the school's fields with a three-room house, which will belong to Gurung until his death. He will also get complete health insurance coverage, which is unheard of in Nepal. A while ago, a bunch of us teachers tore down the shack and leveled the land, all in less that three hours. That's the power of teamwork! The next day, much to my amusement, I caught Gurung working there, expanding the area of the leveled plot. A group of Japanese tourists later came to Khandbari to volunteer as construction workers on the project and made somewhat notable progress. For the time being we'll have to file this one under It'll Get Finished Eventually, but Gurung Uncle is down there every day building it on his own.<br /><br />Since then, the school forced Gurung to retire with a pension, but he comes up to the school in his uniform and salutes all the kids every day anyway.<br /><br />That's all. It's nice to get a success story like this once in a while amid so much difficulty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Water pours</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Without words</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Showing me the Way</i></span><br />
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-80194161810833439162016-07-11T11:06:00.003+05:452016-07-11T11:06:47.469+05:45Unexpected Photo Dump #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yikes, it's time to dust off the old blog. My goal was to post monthly, and I'm disappointed to see that I couldn't even do it for one lousy year. Anyway, <a href="https://goo.gl/photos/bEqmjqmF3JmyFZqv8" target="_blank">here are some more notable higher quality photos from the last six months or so</a>. Like last time, they're organized by how far I had to go from my room to take them, and include such locations as Downstairs, Surya Boarding School, Tumlingtar, Chainpur, Itahari, Bhaktapur, Kathmandu, and Boulder, Colorado (upon Mr. Kitty's request). I've also standardized my formatting in past posts (hard to do on a smartphone with very slow WiFi), and even removed a few grammatical errors (gasp!) from past entries. Fate's Clay has a couple regular readers (or perhaps, by now, even several!), so sorry for the delay. More written material will follow soon...</span></div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-12703923482796503892016-05-13T20:26:00.002+05:452016-07-11T10:41:11.505+05:45Narayan Shrestha<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I don't know where to begin with this one. I'm trying to write just a few pages about someone who deserves an entire biography. Although not well known in the United States, Narayan Shrestha is renowned across Nepal for his philanthropy and eccentric-rich-guy antics. In Sankhuwasabha, people talk about him all the time, even when he's not here. When he comes, the army and police both send escorts, and people start gathering at his office before he arrives. His typical day in Khandbari starts with meetings from seven until lunchtime, followed by some public function, inspecting his projects at our school and elsewhere, and then wining and dining some local official - not out of gluttony, but for bringing them under his influence. In Kathmandu he does the same thing with congressmen and ministers. He doesn't always drink beer, but when he does, he drinks Tuborg, because it's the only imported beer that's widely available in Nepal. He's the most interesting man in the world. He's also my employer, friend, Nepali grandfather, and teacher.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCeKeTrxky_O7qYn8_aitYSTqNuN0fnr3C0GaQAleXCIcT0yzV0xASvGKbwO7WZuEc2yP0Olsvmi3dhUataa5KiYOnqlAxwugiOkWZAciY4usFLaze3FvZVm-N5guHJp7xo3Cos4IU6o/s1600/IMG_1380-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCeKeTrxky_O7qYn8_aitYSTqNuN0fnr3C0GaQAleXCIcT0yzV0xASvGKbwO7WZuEc2yP0Olsvmi3dhUataa5KiYOnqlAxwugiOkWZAciY4usFLaze3FvZVm-N5guHJp7xo3Cos4IU6o/s400/IMG_1380-1.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In the words of a friend, all that's missing are a few explosions in the back</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Narayan grew up in a village close to Khandbari, at a time when there was no electricity and no vehicles, and when Khandbari was little more than a village itself. He got a job at Tumlingtar Airport, which was only a dirt landing strip, and he rode a horse one hour each way to reach there. By meeting and helping foreign trekkers at the airport, he got connections and assistance in the United States and was able to hop over for college. That was about forty five-years ago. After graduating, he got an office job and shortly thereafter opened Old Tibet in Boulder, Colorado, the first kitschy Nepal/Tibet tourist shop in the United States. Anyone who knows Boulder can imagine how well that went. Riding on his success, he opened many other stores and restaurants across Colorado, and gave most of them to his Nepali friends and relatives. He has helped many more Nepali people come to the United States for studies and other work, along with helping refugees of Nepal's civil war to get asylum. The number of Nepalis legally residing in the United States due to his intervention is about three thousand now. However, I'll be the first to say that the solution to Nepal's problems is definitely not having everyone leave, so let's talk about what he has done on his home front.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz14CX3fbNtmw_2AZFWjpYHlgTyjB2S6Y6axT9FpLpVfFwYclF5mn-soeYzk2mnqFzURjIK2a_42og0us4_SpMXxzXW-iWSZI9bKovWPUDOcZdeU4DIfgv6Vgke9jE-wH8nbmhUSezgP0/s1600/IMG_1381-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz14CX3fbNtmw_2AZFWjpYHlgTyjB2S6Y6axT9FpLpVfFwYclF5mn-soeYzk2mnqFzURjIK2a_42og0us4_SpMXxzXW-iWSZI9bKovWPUDOcZdeU4DIfgv6Vgke9jE-wH8nbmhUSezgP0/s400/IMG_1381-1.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Total baller</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Some of Narayan's early antics include bringing the first land vehicle to Sankhuwasabha, via helicopter, no less, in the '70's, and founding our school, the first private school in Sankhuwasabha, in 1989. After creating Helping Hands Health Education, he began bringing countless medical professionals, both American and Nepali, to provide a caliber of healthcare far beyond what was available locally, and built Sankhuwasabha's first hospital. He was also involved with the building of Sankhuwasabha's only major paved road, which is considered a rare success story among Nepal's government-led projects. At one time he owned a sizable proportion of the land in Khandbari, but he has donated most of it to people in need and to various development projects. Just about every public building has a plaque in it thanking him for his contributions. Everyone in town has a story of how he helped their family.<br /><br />Lately he's been expanding outward, giving particular attention to Chainpur, a lovely little hill town nearby that has gone unnoticed by the outside world despite its natural beauty, remarkable cleanliness, and unique enterprises such as a fantastic winery and traditional metalsmithing. He's sponsored an ongoing series of free medical clinics, and is working with the town's committee to create and promote tourism. In Bhaktapur, which is perhaps the greatest cultural and historical treasure of Nepal, he has built two thousand temporary houses for those who lost theirs in the earthquakes last year.<br /><br />Outside of Nepal, he's building a school and hospital in Nicaragua, following the successful model used in Khandbari, developing trade and educational relationships between Nepal and Bhutan, and bringing the Japanese NGO Shumei to create a permanent presence Khandbari. In the typical month, he spends ten days in Colorado, ten days in Nepal, five days in Japan, and five days traveling. He also has a wife, two kids, and his very successful business. I don't know how it's possible.<br /><br />The dark side of all this is that he attracts greedy, selfish people like a magnet. Even in the face of this and the seemingly endless corruption of the developing world, he forges ahead, sometimes drawing criticism and intrigues disseminated by those who have failed to abuse his kindness. The thing that is really incredible about him, though, is that he finds ways to improve the lives, and minds, of even the people who are trying to take advantage of him, and he does it without ever losing his temper or good humor.<br /><br />I could go on and on telling stories, like the time that he called the Prime Minister to un-cancel a flight to Tumlingtar during last autumn's fuel crisis, or the time that he came with a battalion of soldiers to retake our school from Maoist guerrillas, but I'll leave it at that. We may soon be hearing much more about him in the United States, as the Democratic Party of Colorado is conspiring to have him elected to a significant local office, followed by a potential Senate run. I have a general distaste for politicians, but I'd have to make an exception for him. He's shown me nothing but kindness and I'm honored to work in his shadow.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-57044540659063719402016-03-30T10:38:00.001+05:452016-07-11T10:39:48.821+05:45Holi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">March 22nd was stained in vivid contrast against all others of the past year in Nepal. The country once again descended into the state of unmitigated chaos which is all too common here. Gangs roamed freely, some containing even young children, heavily armed with a variety of firearms and explosives, some homemade and some brought across the Chinese border, brutally attacking anyone who dared venture into the streets. The police were out in full force to curtail this menace, but were largely outnumbered and outgunned. Some of them even defected, whether for ideological reasons or simply from fear we shall never know. I suppose it doesn't matter now. Two of us were caught outside when a gang entered our neighborhood. As they unleashed their unholy barrage upon us, I managed to run inside and bar the door in time. My friend was not so lucky. I peered out through a crack, and I could only see a growing pool of red where he had stood before.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8uygS1GMVF1fti-vdsDszOfKHzbxs3owtnJnTJNUdpV0a_w29W25_UzmgISD5FDYy0a-5MU9sjBvracNghAXLsL1FV807wW8_nWnxE85FqIR7D2jZhEs4yTLcDQbgpZQqYbRcirHCcQ/s1600/RSCN0508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8uygS1GMVF1fti-vdsDszOfKHzbxs3owtnJnTJNUdpV0a_w29W25_UzmgISD5FDYy0a-5MU9sjBvracNghAXLsL1FV807wW8_nWnxE85FqIR7D2jZhEs4yTLcDQbgpZQqYbRcirHCcQ/s400/RSCN0508.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Khandbari thugs</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course, I mean to say that the day was stained in vivid contrast by a various dyes, that the gangs' arms consisted of water balloons and super soakers, the growing pool was colored by vermillion, and that all of this occurred in celebration of Holi. Unlike the Protestant holidays of the United States, in which we compensate for the undeniably dull prescribed worship by appropriating Pagan rituals such as decorating the floors of our homes with dried pine needles and searching for the leavings of a particularly anti-gallinacean rabbit, all the while trying our best not to ask questions about how it all flies in the face of the predominately exclusivist outlook of the Church, Holi is unabashedly nonsensical.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">9th graders trying to get some work done</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Depending on who you ask, it celebrates the coming of Spring, the victory of good over evil, or the universal chaos that we futilely spend most of our time trying to quell. However, much like the Protestant holidays of the United States, most people aren't concerned about the religious underpinnings of Holi and really just want to have a good time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The day begins when someone smears dye powder all over your face. The day continues when everyone else comes and smears dye powder all over the rest of you. After that, everyone gets drunk, dances, eats tons of good food, and has an all-around fantastic time. One of the things that I admire most about Nepali people is their seemingly boundless ability to relax and enjoy themselves regardless of the pace at which the world is disintegrating around them (sometimes literally - immediately after the first big earthquake last year, many people of Khandbari gathered in the bazaar and, thinking that they were all going to die soon, had a big dance party - not a bad way to go, in my opinion), and it's rarely more appreciable than during Holi.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q_l0vrrw-kr6AmVelY_VBRjzDUoDrQV0ZQzIYJft63Zfo549SwdhGcVj7Sf-ECMOndfgFyH8bYf1wK9ptNdugVD2xWhfuz5MNMQ1-DW0EwafVSLWqaCj7BZxw_rubMKltRgPw2-CeTE/s1600/DSCN1144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q_l0vrrw-kr6AmVelY_VBRjzDUoDrQV0ZQzIYJft63Zfo549SwdhGcVj7Sf-ECMOndfgFyH8bYf1wK9ptNdugVD2xWhfuz5MNMQ1-DW0EwafVSLWqaCj7BZxw_rubMKltRgPw2-CeTE/s320/DSCN1144.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Waking the next day</span></span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Light reveals a teacup's steam</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>And purple ceiling</i></span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-77984954743918353572016-03-03T07:37:00.002+05:452016-07-11T10:37:45.826+05:45Nepaliaustralian 2015 Blog Awards<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Hello friends, enemies, frenemies, and other dwellers of the Internet. One of my big sister blogs, <a href="http://nepaliaustralian.com/">Nepaliaustralian</a>, is hosting a contest to name the best blogs of 2015 in a variety of categories. Fate's Clay is a baby compared to several others in the Nepali realm of blogging, and I don't aspire to win, but I'd really like to get the publicity of being nominated. So, if you're inclined to help, please click on the big, shiny button below and write a nomination.</span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /> Thanks, stay reading, don't eat junk food, and have a nice day.</span></div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-77221879924652623572016-03-01T20:54:00.002+05:452016-07-11T10:36:06.166+05:45On the Importance of Public Transportation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Picture the scene: You're rocketing down the side of a mountain on an unevenly paved road in a flamboyantly colorful bus with poor suspension. The next landmark on your path, a small bridge, is visible at a sobering downward angle. The sparsely placed roadside barriers are only one or two feet high and will do nothing to stop the bus, should it stray in their direction. The air is thick with the smoke of incense burning on the dashboard shrine, and the positive karma thusly accrued is the only thing preventing the bus from briefly transforming into a plane and shortly thereafter into a fiery coffin several thousand feet below. The seats are minimally cushioned, and, if you're a normal-sized person, are too small. The radio is playing a mix of Nepali and Hindi dance music, primarily drawn from Bollywood and Kollywood films (Kollywood, the Kathmandu film industry, is to Bollywood what Bollywood is to Hollywood), along with the occasional top-ten American rap song of yesteryear, the awful, vulgar nature of which dawns on nobody other than you, and which would almost certainly not be broadcast if the censors understood them. It goes without saying that this is all at a completely excessive volume.<br /><br />After careening around a particularly sharp bend in the road and finding, to your pleasant surprise, that you're still alive, the guy sitting across from you leans over to explain the count and details of past deadly bus crashes that have occurred on this stretch of road. At such a moment, there's little else to do other than remember that your odds aren't much better in a plane, laugh at the illusory nature of life, and join with the other passengers who are all having a great time singing and dancing in their seats. For you New Englanders, it'd all be just like going down the Mount Washington road in the Magical Mystery Tour bus.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Magical Mystery Tour is waiting to take you away...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This describes the greater part of the journey from Khandbari to Dharan, the closest city to the south, which I've experienced several times now. It takes 7 - 10 hours, depending on the size of the vehicle, the recklessness of the driver, and the condition of the road. The scenery is really spectacular; the road passes through low-lying fishing villages, alpine forests and hill station towns, and countless terraced mountainsides, many of which offer stunning views of Mount Makalu and its surroundings. Sometimes the bus gets stopped by a homemade roadblock in a village, providing the locals with enough time to jump on board and try to sell everyone their sugarcane or oranges or something like that. Sometimes it's stopped for a police search, although nobody knows what they're looking for or, with their very cursory searches, how they'll ever find it. If they happen to notice me, there's about a 50% chance that they'll take me outside to fill some forms about my passport, itinerary, length of stay, etc, but they're usually far more interested in watching the giant foreign guy who can speak Nepali than in checking the completeness of the forms.<br /><br />Now we move to Kathmandu. This time, you're in a small minivan, although it contains about as many people as the full bus from last time. You had to play a game of Twister to find a space for yourself, and now you're standing in an L-shaped position holding on for dear life with your one finger that could reach a handle. You don't know where you are since you can't see out of any windows, not that you would recognize most of the mottled streets of Kathmandu anyway, and the only indication that you've reached your stop comes in the form of a shout from the teenage boy whose job is to hang out of the sliding door and wrangle new passengers. The situation on the roads would be akin to rush hour in Boston if one were to remove the saner drivers, and yet, somehow, there are never any accidents.<br /><br />Sadly, I don't have many pictures of any of this, partly because I prefer not to act like a tourist when I'm with a bunch of Nepali strangers, and partly because letting go of one's handholds on a bus even for a few seconds can result in serious injury from face-to-back-of-seat impact.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I like to pretend that all the flowers are tiny airbags</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">These days I always travel by public busses for the completely practical reason that I can't afford to make a habit of using taxis on my meager Nepali salary, but I think I'd choose to travel like this anyway. Aside from saving money and allowing one to see more of the country than by plane (flying over Nepal on a clear day is an experience that would reduce even the most calloused person to tears at the ineffable majesty of the Himalaya, but the domestic airlines charge double for foreign passengers and flights are regularly canceled due to dangerous weather conditions), it also helps with our public image. Nepali people really appreciate seeing foreigners who aren't higher-than-thou rich jerks, too good for the typical ways of doing things here, as, unfortunately, so many are.<br /><br />Also, public busses have provided me with many of my best memories while living in Nepal. There was the time when, due to lack of space, a girl wearing the clothes of a Hindu devotee had no choice but to share my seat, raising a riot of heckling from other passengers. There was the time when the goat tied to the roof became too upset, so they decided to shove it in the trunk instead. There was the time when I was sitting in the back-center seat to get better legroom, and I ended up having to spend hours bracing a several-hundred-pound pile of rice sacks from toppling over me and crushing the little boy sitting on the other side. There was the time when I was the only passenger in a Kathmandu minivan, so the driver decided to close the door, crank the stereo (it was playing a techno remix of Toto's "Africa," if I remember correctly), and drive as fast as possible across the city. There was the time in the mountains when my bus was the first to happen upon an impasse caused by a fresh landslide; the driver, totally unperturbed, produced some shovels, and everyone started digging out the new road.<br /><br />The last time I went to Kathmandu, I got my best bus-related story yet. When I got in my bus (jeep) in Khandbari, I asked one random guy sitting next to me if he would help me buy my ticket from Hile, my first transfer point, to Dharan, so that they wouldn't give me a bad price (giant foreign guy). He was traveling through Dharan himself, so he offered to stick with me until there and help me to get my ticket to Kathmandu from Dharan, as well. In Dharan, the people selling tickets to Kathmandu were charging too much and claiming to have a very nice bus that they were unable to show us. It smelled like a scam, so my random bus friend offered to take me to his house in Biratnagar, a city several hours south but equidistant from Kathmandu, give me dinner there, and then provide me a ticket on a nice bus for a cheap price, since he had friends who work for a local bus company. We went to his house, had dinner, sat on the floor watching "People Are Awesome" YouTube videos until 10:30pm (very late, by Nepal standards), and then he drove me across town to catch the bus at its scheduled departure, which was, at that time, fairly dangerous for him as the driver due to road strikes in the area. The next day, both he and his wife called me to make sure I had arrived safely and to ask when I would come to visit them again. This was all from some random guy on a bus, and what's truly amazing is that this kind of story is common in Nepal. When I told one of my Nepali friends what had happened, he just smiled and said, "I'm glad our people are still like that."<br /><br />That's why I love this country, that's why I prefer living here, and that's why you should travel on public busses in Nepal. It's not for the faint of heart, or the faint of stomach, but for the rest it's always a heck of a ride.</span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-41936930207975412042016-01-31T18:10:00.001+05:452016-07-11T10:34:49.625+05:45Washing Clothes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday was the first sunny day in a while; it had been cold and foggy every day for some time, leading to such problems as the cancelation of all flights to Tumlingtar (the only alternative way to get here is a harrowing multi-day bus ride - more on that in a future post) and low morale in the mornings. However, my boss was flying here on Saturday, so the universe conspired to facilitate his arrival. I decided to celebrate the heat in the best way possible in far-afield Nepal:<br /><br />1. I made a mug of unsweetened tea, which is nothing short of an assault on the very foundations of Nepali society;<br /><br />2. I went up on the roof of my house, from where one finds a spectacular view of the "hills" (regular-sized giant mountains that are dwarfed by the extremely large giant mountains behind them); and<br /><br />3. I washed my clothes.<br /><br />I've been doing my best to ignore the political nonsense happening in the US - Nepal has more than enough of its own to hold my attention - but I support whichever candidate will make it mandatory for every American kid to wash their clothes by hand one time. There's no doubt in my mind that this will directly lead to the eradication of most of the world's dire problems.<br /><br />For those of you youngsters who have never washed your clothes by hand, let me tell you that it's a Herculean task. After my first few attempts at doing it myself, I felt like I had finished a forearm-marathon. I'm more fit now than I've ever been in my life, partly because I have to walk up and down big flights of stairs to get just about anywhere, and partly because I always wash my clothes by hand.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Buckets!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Here's how to do it: collect two buckets, one bar of detergent soap, several gallons of water, and about a thousand Calories' worth of effort. Combine vigorously, while maintaining an air of actually knowing what you're doing, so that all of the Nepali people who may be watching you don't laugh. Repeat weekly ad infinitum.<br /><br />That's all for now.</span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-7001676107479645682015-12-19T20:08:00.000+05:452016-07-11T10:46:05.435+05:45Unexpected Photo Dump #1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Due to certain technical challenges (such as the catastrophic meltdown of my laptop's face), it's been difficult to access the hundreds of higher-quality photos I've taken with my camera. Today I borrowed another computer and transferred some to my other device, so now I can share them! <a href="https://goo.gl/photos/RK582Z8tthvbApu69">Here are some notable ones, available for download in their full, glorious 6+ megabyte size</a>. They're vaguely organized by how far I had to go from my room to take them (except the first one, duh), and include such localities as Khandbari, Malta, Num, Lulungma, and Chyaksedada, the latter three of which are villages on the Makalu base camp trail.</span></div>
Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-89966615673743480652015-12-13T20:28:00.001+05:452016-07-11T10:33:01.062+05:45Surya Boarding School<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is an overdue post about the place where I actually work, Surya Boarding School.</span><div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Welcome!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">First of all, the school's main gate can be reached from the main drag in Khandbari via a picturesque back alley in just two or three minutes.</span><div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: xx-small;">Our alley</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">However, reaching the classrooms takes an additional five minutes of walking, as the grounds are quite extensive. Alas, the whole place is built into the side of a steep mountain slope (this can't be helped; very few places around here are flat), so going across the grounds is more like hiking than walking.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So many stairs</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The entire campus can't be captured in a single photograph from the ground and is beyond my limited artistic capacity to recreate on paper. It consists of an office, a cafeteria, six buildings containing multiple classrooms, two outdoor assembly areas, a soccer field, and a few acres of terraced fields used for teaching sustainable agriculture. Currently under construction are one classroom building, an additional office which will contain a new library, an expansion for the cafeteria, underground wiring, and better outdoor paths/stairs. It's great; I can only imagine what kinds of fun my childhood friends and I would have had exploring such a place during recess.</span><div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Primary/secondary level classrooms</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Occupying this space are about 650 students [7/11/16 edit: 700 in the 2016-17 school-year], 40 faculty and staff, and a small army of temporary construction workers. The students range from nursery level to tenth grade, and many of them have attended only this school since the beginning of their education. The school aspires to offer eleventh grade (which is like junior college in Nepal; see my earlier post about the Nepali education system) starting next year.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslPVeF90rclts7HbHrZTspBedCYQzvkTki9cnpIEohOG0ZltGBrXRKQsq4zkJoNerRoWdDkgw5BRSMtsqwfVX_aO2-ks93j88Mvmfnn0P7694H0jCHz_nn9SH0Pf48cVBQavU9OHTS1o/s1600/20151210_161359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslPVeF90rclts7HbHrZTspBedCYQzvkTki9cnpIEohOG0ZltGBrXRKQsq4zkJoNerRoWdDkgw5BRSMtsqwfVX_aO2-ks93j88Mvmfnn0P7694H0jCHz_nn9SH0Pf48cVBQavU9OHTS1o/s400/20151210_161359.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Primary level classrooms</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Students take all compulsory subjects with the addition of computer science, trigonometry/precalculus, and sustainable agriculture, the last of which is integrated into the curriculum of the mandatory Occupation, Business, and Technology class. Each school-day runs 10-4, with eight 40-minute periods, a 30-minute recess, and a short assembly at the beginning and end of the day.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv5kEFzlZjnvhLpfLhyphenhyphen5jXB84BoP6TMlBpPwwb4l81xCTlgVmCLQGYvnmkFjfi-Uj3BFsg1k-_s7Up3xfm6e0nkj6a__GqVu_9UsUmqqX-E1P-IOv9cDedZpMPbdMHs4GFS9gKBZ0Cn8/s1600/20151210_161303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHv5kEFzlZjnvhLpfLhyphenhyphen5jXB84BoP6TMlBpPwwb4l81xCTlgVmCLQGYvnmkFjfi-Uj3BFsg1k-_s7Up3xfm6e0nkj6a__GqVu_9UsUmqqX-E1P-IOv9cDedZpMPbdMHs4GFS9gKBZ0Cn8/s400/20151210_161303.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">New construction</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There are few teaching resources beyond textbooks, whiteboards, an offline computer lab, and whatever can be found or improvised from local materials (some of these improvised things are actually really neat, particularly in the science classes), but we do our best with what we've got. The teachers are paid significantly less than their peers in government schools, which, sadly, is the norm here, but the school recently began a pension program for teachers of 5+ years to encourage long-term retention.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEh9s451o-f8_hpC73DV5qofpL5fvbWUNO0FvrWU7A14LFUYOKnQdSNUMuV94ZhQlKc_W19BiBEIwwvMJugAjTFA2bk0e8hwytKH93AoSh4-FX6f4irSzbCX83IuNKv_gAkFG8u9q_IU/s1600/20151210_100641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpEh9s451o-f8_hpC73DV5qofpL5fvbWUNO0FvrWU7A14LFUYOKnQdSNUMuV94ZhQlKc_W19BiBEIwwvMJugAjTFA2bk0e8hwytKH93AoSh4-FX6f4irSzbCX83IuNKv_gAkFG8u9q_IU/s400/20151210_100641.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Assembly</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Current projects at the school include trying to ban junk food, improving the quality and variety of healthy food available at the cafeteria, improving the availability of multimedia in the classrooms, and trying to make the school a litter-free zone.<br /><br />The infrastructure going up here is beyond anything else happening at schools in this district, or in most others. I've heard more than one Nepali person say that they didn't think a school in the mountains would ever be like this. There are two or three other developments happening which are secrets for now, but which will probably make an appearance on this blog in the coming months...</span><div>
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<span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5_B28a7icrWxSXLAVDLZTwEUgUPZ4M4QKU6Cg71l8Sx6iPo02WRh65q1TX_sCIOXhUDNvX5gtWY64oeIMfIFPNX7xIq-jAxmj7gxDj1bhfLPwRVdg_R7FweGcwOyNBcBQFcsRATWNsA/s400/20151210_095729.jpg" width="400" /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Here, ancient temples</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Mountains up above the clouds</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And rusty tin roofs</span></i></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-4362511817327103052015-11-06T08:15:00.000+05:452016-07-11T10:29:42.158+05:45The Current Situation in Nepal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As always seems to be the case, Nepal is not having a great time overall these days. I'll save myself the trouble of writing an entire essay by including <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/11/02/in-nepal-the-pols-play-their-game-of-thrones-but-winter-is-coming.html">this excellent article summarizing what has been happening at a national level</a> (just skip the contrived title).<br /><br />Here in Khandbari, few people are still visibly reeling from the effects of the earthquakes, as the epicenters were quite far away from here and the damage was not as serious. This town is growing at such a fast rate that it's difficult to tell which construction projects are new and which are earthquake repairs.<br /><br />However, the shortage of gasoline, caused by protesters in the Tarai region, and probably also by the Indian government, has had a markedly negative effect on Khandbari. In the past month, I'm aware of just two deliveries of gas, 500 liters each, of which motorists could only purchase two liter increments, and which was quickly exhausted. I've heard that some people have been able to buy smuggled gas for a whopping $5 per liter. Cylinders of cooking gas are also very scarce. It's a very strange situation; there's so little fuel that people are cooking with fires and riding their motorcycles downhill with the engines off, but somehow there's enough for two private helicopters to land here this week (probably heading toward Mount Makalu to rescue overzealous tourists).<br /><br />Also in short supply here are construction materials and various foods - onions, potatoes, rice (though the next harvest is coming shortly), and lentils, among others. This district does not produce enough food to sustain itself indefinitely; instead, it imports foodstuffs from other districts, paid for by exporting cash crops (primarily cardamom and <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rudraksha">rudraksha</a>). There's plenty of other food for now, and the things which are running out are still obtainable at outrageous prices, but as anyone who has been to Nepal knows, having no cheap rice and lentils greatly interferes with the typical Nepali diet. In a sad irony, the shortages do not seem to extend to the surrounding villages, because they had no choice but to be mostly self-sufficient even before these current problems began.</span><div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurbj3POmenQRpWRLA5Qf90DYr5lgsQrvSWyT4aLROcsv_aYR0s1SS2JFBnXfjCWRplKlw-r6kRSjsT8Mr5RiOejVKM8yfksA8-XFYaSCuIUyLQsKs8UohbDabHtSKOXTZu8cPMAtJcEY/s1600/20151025_070808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurbj3POmenQRpWRLA5Qf90DYr5lgsQrvSWyT4aLROcsv_aYR0s1SS2JFBnXfjCWRplKlw-r6kRSjsT8Mr5RiOejVKM8yfksA8-XFYaSCuIUyLQsKs8UohbDabHtSKOXTZu8cPMAtJcEY/s400/20151025_070808.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Village scene</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Every day there is some story in the news about gas convoys coming from China or a number of tankers making it through the Indian blockade, but none of it is coming here as of yet. In the meantime, school continues, everyone is eating overpriced daal bhat, and we're making tea over a wood fire, in the old way.</span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-51911097729646022342015-10-17T10:04:00.001+05:452016-07-11T10:28:36.590+05:45Devitar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Two weeks ago I had the sort of adventure that made me fall in love with this country three years ago, and it was too great not to share.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I recently met a lovely woman named Sunita through a mutual friend in the States. She works for the Himalayan Education Center, an NGO that promotes rural education. They run a hostel in Khandbari where they host women from rural villages and subsidize the cost of their higher studies, and they also create libraries for government schools in rural areas. They happened to be working on such a library last weekend and Sunita invited me to join them, so I happily bumbled along, as is the way of my people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My impression of what was going to happen was that we would walk for a few hours to a village and assess their resources and needs, or something like that. What actually happened is that we took a five hour drive in a truck packed with five people, boxes full of maps, charts, and about three hundred books, and one very heavy bookshelf. We drove past <a href="https://www.google.com.np/maps/place/Chhuyankutti,+56900/@27.4481099,87.1970916,17z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x39e8c0c1074d1473:0x6e5afbc77599a13d?hl=en">Chainkuti Danda</a>, a pass from where one has a panoramic view of the not-so-distant high Himalaya on a sunny day, and the farthest point down the road that I had previously seen. Continuing on, the road condition quickly declined from "Rural Maine" to "I'm Pleasantly Surprised That We Didn't Tip Over," though the scenery was, of course, gorgeous. We wound through terraced rice paddies wafting the divine scent of the coming harvest, rocky switchbacks ravaged by monsoon downpours, forests of thick bamboo, and villages of increasingly rustic appearance. We drove all the way across a valley, down one side and back up the other - no small task when in the vicinity of the Arun Valley, the deepest valley in the world - and finally came to our destination.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fZ4Ko0vqAHSYtVTdxhtB_dGdY1_9nz7UL9hPo7X4o9t8AcYEbD1LCKTII8EGSDXvofE2B-EYCgs1AZs6xspDjJsU444TN8oipxAhyphenhyphenqrIFdFERGYr1r1ZIXxILyDYKsvERnhKr6LmRyA/s1600/20151003_150434.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2fZ4Ko0vqAHSYtVTdxhtB_dGdY1_9nz7UL9hPo7X4o9t8AcYEbD1LCKTII8EGSDXvofE2B-EYCgs1AZs6xspDjJsU444TN8oipxAhyphenhyphenqrIFdFERGYr1r1ZIXxILyDYKsvERnhKr6LmRyA/s400/20151003_150434.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">On the Doorstep</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The village of Devitar (<a href="https://www.google.com.np/maps/place/Devitar+Marga,+Matsyapokhari+56900/@27.4658605,87.2714209,17z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x39e8beefdef6417f:0x6863831d6bd3e63?hl=en">here...?</a>) is way out there - thatched roofs, little evidence of packaged foods, and only solar panels for electricity. Their school, though, seemed to be fairly new. After we unloaded all of the supplies and ate lunch, the faculty of the school held a big ceremony to celebrate the new library. Nepali people love having such ceremonies, but this one was over-the-top even by their standards. I've received a lot of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tilaka">tika</a> in my day, but never so much as this. The principal, some teachers, and Sunita all gave speeches, and some students sang and performed traditional dances of their castes. Nobody there knew that I was coming, but they asked that I give a talk to the students, because most of them had never heard a native English speaker before. After all the fanfare had ended we promptly made our departure, since we wanted to get home at a reasonable hour.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is where things get interesting. About a minute up the road from the school, our truck got stuck on a section of "I'm Pleasantly Surprised That We Didn't Tip Over"-type road. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cWXDnPYbRI">So we called 'Triple A'...</a> but once we walked up to where the truck had stopped, we noticed that it had one less wheel than before. Bummer.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4vO2FwL81uwySoP1SuOVOhiyZOpRCPR5k6ceBCi75k8f6Z6B-EwWj42vj2TCQcL2JxtFaVY3lUIPUh8ayj9PpS183fZ1TVVAO7AU1q2lWGEg5i17y6I3vH5peZtuuEztsrxvecEaN5c/s1600/20151004_070005.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs4vO2FwL81uwySoP1SuOVOhiyZOpRCPR5k6ceBCi75k8f6Z6B-EwWj42vj2TCQcL2JxtFaVY3lUIPUh8ayj9PpS183fZ1TVVAO7AU1q2lWGEg5i17y6I3vH5peZtuuEztsrxvecEaN5c/s400/20151004_070005.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Out of the Frying-Pan Into the Fire</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Our driver tried to figure out if he could fix the problem, and after a few minutes a local guy came down the road and invited us to hang out at his house while we waited. He had a lovely home composed of two buildings with a stone courtyard in between, a common old-school Nepali layout.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A Short Rest</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After a while we learned that our driver had called a mechanic who wouldn't arrive for several hours and that there was no way we'd make it home that evening. Upon hearing this, another local who was there invited us to sleep at her home that night, and we gladly agreed to. We took a very picturesque walk through banana groves and rice fields perfectly lit by the setting sun, and came to another beautiful village home.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDKX2IuMmnQsIolAJBdjNRIXpo7My2orX-kBlEsUbv1-HLmwm7PFd3rl1uC79CewTWaruLRmfniMmOmy7HvoUr5xxoTdV657ExDMN6k76E1Qdj-Q2h_HyxfBlCXy4EaZyLeApgroY9_k/s1600/20151004_055743.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDKX2IuMmnQsIolAJBdjNRIXpo7My2orX-kBlEsUbv1-HLmwm7PFd3rl1uC79CewTWaruLRmfniMmOmy7HvoUr5xxoTdV657ExDMN6k76E1Qdj-Q2h_HyxfBlCXy4EaZyLeApgroY9_k/s400/20151004_055743.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Queer Lodgings</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Our host's father came out to greet us and showed us a great time. He was a real character - probably about sixty or sixty-five and wearing a vest that would make any hipster bartender jealous. He also smiled when I took his photo, which isn't so common among rural folks.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6npRTQYmCHYmtVdOdJUwe66rbCgGT4A2HasYJmBhfL6dTyuemt6o1IKgvwO_gdunr1i8uT1Tf34oPo6UANR3ZyAJGEbtcqAHJuO-uMB1qkovvLdNnqS8S-lJIdiScn2t_L_Hml25w3mk/s1600/20151004_063408.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6npRTQYmCHYmtVdOdJUwe66rbCgGT4A2HasYJmBhfL6dTyuemt6o1IKgvwO_gdunr1i8uT1Tf34oPo6UANR3ZyAJGEbtcqAHJuO-uMB1qkovvLdNnqS8S-lJIdiScn2t_L_Hml25w3mk/s400/20151004_063408.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">An Unexpected Party</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">He talked almost non-stop from when we arrived until when we went to sleep four hours later. He told stories about everything from politics to his memories of countless Tibetan monks walking past his house during the diaspora in 1959 (the Dalai Lama himself came through Taplejung, the next district east of here). I wish I could've understood more of what he said, because he had everyone else in stitches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We were given a great abundance of food, including tongba - a very taste home-brewed beer, shishnu - a soup of nettle, and a really fantastic curry of iskus (this one is ubiquitous here at this time of year - <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chayote">a</a><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chayote">pparently it's called 'chayote' in English</a>), string beans, and guava. There was also a rice dish, a specialty of the Rai ethnic community, which is somehow made with chicken feathers (!) and which, after facing the ethical conundrum of whether such a thing is vegetarian, I decided against trying.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY-rC_NNCeen9FirwQZ94HtKi0JDKiTRluSoM5rCweN63B2hyh7V444KZseAzt-Og79NUNQQQigjhmXBZIwoCzVkElMf_0zip9xuPIqdqhgI6miYnkTyq9SDjPABCgeBKsABkveJaphOc/s400/20151003_164438.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Not at Home</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We slept that night on the porch with a delightfully warm blanket (if there's one way that Nepal totally outperforms the US, it's in the field of blanket development). I slept more soundly than I have in a long time and woke in briskly cold morning air, just like the air back home this time of year. After tea we said our thankful goodbyes, walked back to the truck to find it almost back in working order, and departed shortly thereafter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is where things get interesting again. About a minute up the road from where the truck had stopped, we ran into another impassable uphill section of "I'm Pleasantly Surprised That We Didn't Tip Over"-type road. This time we didn't bother with 'Triple A', and instead got some shovels and started fixing the road. We ended up doing this in a few different places, but despite our best efforts the troubled wheel sustained additional damage. This time, the driver got out, briefly inspected the wheel, unscrewed the outermost piece, threw it in the ditch, and said, "Okay, let's go!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We did make it back to Khandbari eventually, about five minutes before I was supposed to proctor an exam at school. It was a fine excursion, through and through. If you happen to be in the area I highly recommend visiting Devitar. But take a motorcycle, not a truck.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrFmXlnNywOw6og6YS5-KblAL9FPcEVvQraBBAjDQXbPpasKOQX358qg8g_pwYr1w4ZgegNrtgFzlC97UbKs_Ix2x2nqYqNZjMkFv-H4u063z9Pn7aoPd32HG6N7d0Toi8x2RbLe5FMA/s1600/20151003_165552.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrFmXlnNywOw6og6YS5-KblAL9FPcEVvQraBBAjDQXbPpasKOQX358qg8g_pwYr1w4ZgegNrtgFzlC97UbKs_Ix2x2nqYqNZjMkFv-H4u063z9Pn7aoPd32HG6N7d0Toi8x2RbLe5FMA/s320/20151003_165552.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The Road goes ever on and on<br />Down from the door where it began.<br />Now far ahead the Road has gone,<br />And I must follow, if I can,<br />Pursuing it with eager feet,<br />Until it joins some larger way<br />Where many paths and errands meet.<br />And whither then? I cannot say.</i><br />-Bilbo Baggins</span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-49279929465598056602015-09-21T18:44:00.000+05:452016-07-11T10:25:28.118+05:45The Nepali Education System<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the last few weeks I've had something of a crash-course in the Nepali education system, and I'd like to share a bit of what I've learned in order to give some context for future posts about Surya Boarding School.<br /><br />Firstly, public, government-run schools are (in theory) free, including the cost of textbooks in lower grades, and are available to students throughout the country, but attendance is not universally enforced. Most people place a high value on good education, but in rural areas some students are compelled to quit and work at home. These schools use the Nepali language as their teaching medium, except, of course, in English, which is a required subject for all students. The quality of these schools is generally thought to be inferior to that of private schools, and in my limited experience I have found this to be true.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The heavily earthquake-afflicted Himalaya Higher Secondary School</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Private schools, on the other hand, are run by many different organizations, ranging from Cambridge University, to religious charities, to some person with extra money and a kind heart. They obviously vary in quality, but are regarded as being the preferred option for those who can afford them. At my school, which typically ranks second or third in this district by student exam scores, fees for first-time enrollment and one year's tuition for a kindergartner total less than $100, but unfortunately this is prohibitive for many families. Many/most private schools use English as a teaching medium. This is problematic, because students are limited in their ability to understand new materials by their level of English fluency. However, English-medium schools tend to yield better results than those of Nepali-medium schools.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_mLI2-g4V4v1DXe_6BTk0k5dI0NzcDI57G0IrxdMS0kYU09NDk6_xwV9PzAqcMNiQ9Wpm2ufx1f9zwu2SfDwz58xWENbrLp4_XqYD7Vk6dueHuq0YgMfBAj4VP4FhjpPCQGyyf8AnVY/s1600/20150917_160731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_mLI2-g4V4v1DXe_6BTk0k5dI0NzcDI57G0IrxdMS0kYU09NDk6_xwV9PzAqcMNiQ9Wpm2ufx1f9zwu2SfDwz58xWENbrLp4_XqYD7Vk6dueHuq0YgMfBAj4VP4FhjpPCQGyyf8AnVY/s400/20150917_160731.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A typical Nepali classroom</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The division of levels within schools is a bit different than the American system. Grades 1-5 are Primary, 6-8 are Lower Secondary, 9-10 are Secondary, 11-12 are Higher Secondary (sometimes referred to as "+2"), and beyond this the same university levels apply. At the secondary level, the compulsory subjects are: Nepali language, English language, social studies, math, science, and "Health, Population, and the Environment." Optional additional subjects include economics, management/accounting, computer science, geography, history, and agriculture, but not all of these are widely offered.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCySeZer3OOYKUQl8M2USXPniEFb0ONP38LgbWCpxuuXlpJlj7dMT6sZpu9cJm1NKbJVNHsKHr0_xnQQmgdFXxDhI5uorlL6pXY7-l76ZqG9ZR_2-wex_Kag_yOfjItI-7k_XJdYMqqA4/s1600/20150917_142634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCySeZer3OOYKUQl8M2USXPniEFb0ONP38LgbWCpxuuXlpJlj7dMT6sZpu9cJm1NKbJVNHsKHr0_xnQQmgdFXxDhI5uorlL6pXY7-l76ZqG9ZR_2-wex_Kag_yOfjItI-7k_XJdYMqqA4/s400/20150917_142634.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nepali textbooks</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the end of secondary school, students take the School Leaving Certificate (SLC) exam, which is a lot like the SAT/ACT but covering every subject. The results of this test are of central importance for students who continue their education. Starting in higher secondary school, students take a concentration according in large part to their SLC scores.<br /><br />Bachelor's and Master's programs are available in larger towns throughout the country, as is the case in the US. In Khandbari, which is the relatively small headquarter of Sankhuwasabha District, I know of two colleges. Unlike in the US, however, this presents a great obstacle to students from rural places. Given the condition of Nepal's roads (or, in so many places, lack of a condition), university students from rural areas are obliged to either rent a room in town or live there with relatives if they can, but, unfortunately, many can't make the financial cut. A decent price for a small rented room in town is $20 per month, while the common practice of renters taking two daily meals with some other family costs about $60 per month. I think it'd be difficult to spend less without having some help. That cost alone, not including tuition and other expenses, exceeds the <a href="http://data.opennepal.net/content/district-wise-capita-gross-national-income">per capita income in this district</a>.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTE9EtnvUxX445CYtG9r3LQqygWwf8fe1vLHvSfAz7Xl5qi1f0mdPx259oI0jXA-B4evZzlXVV7X3p2wd0cC22vzoIz2ksQ9KCax2jzH36Vn7eddxDavOzvKrhyphenhyphenf1jo5dcjneln8sUYc/s1600/20150916_062931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTE9EtnvUxX445CYtG9r3LQqygWwf8fe1vLHvSfAz7Xl5qi1f0mdPx259oI0jXA-B4evZzlXVV7X3p2wd0cC22vzoIz2ksQ9KCax2jzH36Vn7eddxDavOzvKrhyphenhyphenf1jo5dcjneln8sUYc/s400/20150916_062931.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">College-level classrooms at Himalaya Higher Secondary School</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_vLx-IWU0YULYUNE3Wc0GE9Mx1Q50El1PnHoii_SI9JGhUQ5lTrn9r1zdMgNhM2T5xDEWiVeLGA3FVv-hqrkNGeJ1UnqPj6zRAbUmnahBwmEn24H42j8VDxmq7MaTlpKh7BBfHtOOhk/s1600/20150915_160719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV_vLx-IWU0YULYUNE3Wc0GE9Mx1Q50El1PnHoii_SI9JGhUQ5lTrn9r1zdMgNhM2T5xDEWiVeLGA3FVv-hqrkNGeJ1UnqPj6zRAbUmnahBwmEn24H42j8VDxmq7MaTlpKh7BBfHtOOhk/s320/20150915_160719.jpg" width="192" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Definitely not James Watt</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've mostly been studying the materials for English and social studies classes, but in these two subjects, at least, I've been impressed by the rigor of the curricula. Although some textbooks have frequent and, occasionally, hilarious mistakes, the overall quality is not bad, considering that they were created entirely by non-native speakers. The courses are designed such that students cover more-or-less the same topics each year, but with increasing depth and complexity, like how we all learned math - first algebra, then trigonometry, then calculus, and so on. Eighth graders study all the major rules of English grammar and must answer straightforward questions, while tenth graders study the same rules in greater depth and must answer nasty trick questions like those we might find in the SAT. My only complaint about it all is that some discriminatory biases, which are </span>addressed in the social studies curriculum, find their way into the books.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsBiJOVRk9CoNBdTCsoyn9cKInmTlI2E7vZXcYTvr4TWlh4-QY5Axg8QLLM_m5EYFVeORGTpw58bZyEbii2ivNHjDCqaXEWrFOQWL3PWNXxMR9V2StdMe7tNwAmOiw92s-QHF6Mh1a6g/s1600/20150913_133853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsBiJOVRk9CoNBdTCsoyn9cKInmTlI2E7vZXcYTvr4TWlh4-QY5Axg8QLLM_m5EYFVeORGTpw58bZyEbii2ivNHjDCqaXEWrFOQWL3PWNXxMR9V2StdMe7tNwAmOiw92s-QHF6Mh1a6g/s320/20150913_133853.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm not sure if this is a mistake...</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcacY3eS-juo3mwt4lVQGjXkQtPl_HclXnXp4cyOq4X6SdSwz1W0FokZsZ7me0hbPb4upof3hxNFCn8Q7IVojDozGFQK4qt-X8vq-CBqH-p7URf-5m-1NX-uWHJaH254zu7GveVJXLzCc/s1600/20150913_133952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcacY3eS-juo3mwt4lVQGjXkQtPl_HclXnXp4cyOq4X6SdSwz1W0FokZsZ7me0hbPb4upof3hxNFCn8Q7IVojDozGFQK4qt-X8vq-CBqH-p7URf-5m-1NX-uWHJaH254zu7GveVJXLzCc/s320/20150913_133952.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">...or just sexist</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The toughest thing for me to see in the Nepali school system is how discipline is enforced. Students are held to a much higher standard of behavior than in American schools. Indeed, I think many American students couldn't handle it. They are expected to stand whenever they speak, to always show great respect toward teachers, and to be paying attention at all times in class. To a an extent I think this is really beneficial, but my problem is that if they are found to be misbehaving they are usually given either a threat or a beating. This last bit, I think, warrants more discussion at another time.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2-kOfVeDrciaiQwZANHO7uHZWU25nZTuIMGDxLdDEmfZTASsecmEPxxLMs9JQNXXdrpBRgevLLmhgsz-s7VfmxrLm3vRy0VrHRsja9l8Ff2Gc4QN-sH74CMhFz1AXCk1smRv3XOl8og/s1600/20150831_082036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2-kOfVeDrciaiQwZANHO7uHZWU25nZTuIMGDxLdDEmfZTASsecmEPxxLMs9JQNXXdrpBRgevLLmhgsz-s7VfmxrLm3vRy0VrHRsja9l8Ff2Gc4QN-sH74CMhFz1AXCk1smRv3XOl8og/s400/20150831_082036.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Unrelated clouds</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">That's all for now. Lately the days have been sunny and quite hot, and the nights have brought extremely heavy rain. The clouds are slowly receding though, and the long-awaited end of the monsoon will come in a few weeks. I think everyone is looking forward to it.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnJrSU7SXGHbEGpvqQ1O5s6z1whrsnbKvGLxfCEY_D7OKRn5xEiYN3-svdYrA1mH9i9Y2pA4taFuCdJbS1LIoP65Is22O9IOmhIad1swBWJxrvSp7w5Zi_gGukxMUBnyyulScBrryf8w/s1600/20150919_172536.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnJrSU7SXGHbEGpvqQ1O5s6z1whrsnbKvGLxfCEY_D7OKRn5xEiYN3-svdYrA1mH9i9Y2pA4taFuCdJbS1LIoP65Is22O9IOmhIad1swBWJxrvSp7w5Zi_gGukxMUBnyyulScBrryf8w/s400/20150919_172536.jpg" width="400" /></span></a><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Silent in the dark</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The old man sits, watching me</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Spill half of my cup</span></i></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8119411382917956364.post-79053371882881219972015-08-29T18:56:00.001+05:452016-07-11T10:20:32.951+05:45Arriving in Khandbari<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today I learned that the “a,” “f,” “g,” “j,” “l,” “2,” and “/” keys on my laptop’s keyboard no longer function, so when I type without correctin ny mistkes it ooks ike this. This wi be diicut...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is the start of a journal about my work and adventures living in Nepal. If you know me personally then you’ve probably already had to listen to me blabber on and on about this country, and if not then this is your opportunity to join in the fun. I’ve come here to improve my Nepali language fluency, gain personal- and work-experience, further my spiritual and educational growth as a student and practitioner of Buddhism, and because I love this country and had a really good time living here in the past. I hope that I can be of some benefit here through my work as well, but we shall see in time. The journal will start with my coming to <a href="https://www.google.com.np/maps/place/Khandbari/@27.361935,87.2045804,11z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x39e8c78f2948a4ef:0x5f0e5b00025c5f3a?hl=en">Khandbari</a>, in the Eastern Region, to work at Surya Secondary Boarding School. My job is to teach upper-level English, topics in Western history and culture, and some emergency medicine, according to my limited ability.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So it begins. I arrived at <a href="https://www.google.com.np/maps/place/Tumlingtar+Airport/@27.3157402,87.1948384,17z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x39e8c868eb5c6beb:0x7d26cb8943f5a9e7?hl=en">Tumlingtar Airport</a> on Sunday afternoon and was met there by my host Shankar, a friend of his, and the principal of Surya School. After going through the necessary airport formalities (taking my bag from the pile of luggage [I can only type two of the letters in “luggage,” ha!] on the tarmac and writing my information in a logbook for foreign visitors after a policeman happened to notice me walking away), we drove in a small motorcycle convoy for about half an hour uphill to Khandbari. This was my first ever motorcycle ride, but I played it cool and only thought I was going to die a little bit at the beginning. This main road was actually pretty solid, better than most roads at home, and there was a big national strike that day (the day before that nasty incident with the protests in Kailali, for those who follow Nepali news) so we were the only ones out driving.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">We arrived in Khandbari and I spent the afternoon making a fool of myself trying to speak Nepali with my new host family and neighbors. It’s good to be back, and I get the impression that people have a positive opinion about me once they know why I’m here, as this school has had American teachers come in the past. I have to get used to being stared at by everyone, since I’m probably the only Westerner living in this town (the population is 25,000-50,000 people, depending on who you ask), I’m blond-haired, an extreme rarity in these parts, and I am, even by American standards, somewhat of a giant. Anyway, the town seems quite safe, peaceful, prosperous, and even clean! This area is far from the epicenters of the earthquakes that plagued the country several months ago, and Khandbari only lost a few dozen buildings out of, I would guess, several thousand (though many more sustained minor damage). I suspect the destruction is much greater in the surrounding countryside where fewer buildings are of modern architecture, but I haven’t yet ventured out of the town’s central area to see for myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My accommodations here include a good-sized room on the top floor of a three-story house with windows overlooking a portion of the main drag in town, and meals provided by Shankar’s wonderful wife Sajana.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0w8vhPi5iN1ijCSnZLxMVNksUd_nWobl4hGHhGeFFA0xZon8vn1TolMvAGi3ha6r5-6QAhia6BTIzjSBXCnNW5m5txH6rRrdDzLR_xvqHfbdgajzNRStpcHBin0o6lwMw4U7VugacNk/s1600/20150829_165311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0w8vhPi5iN1ijCSnZLxMVNksUd_nWobl4hGHhGeFFA0xZon8vn1TolMvAGi3ha6r5-6QAhia6BTIzjSBXCnNW5m5txH6rRrdDzLR_xvqHfbdgajzNRStpcHBin0o6lwMw4U7VugacNk/s400/20150829_165311.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A bit spartan, but nice </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I share my hallway with two renters, Nabin and Dichandra, who work at different banks in town. Half of this top floor is outdoors, directly facing the Makalu range of the Himalayas, and will have an inconceivably righteous view once the monsoon clouds pass in October. Right now the mountains are mostly hidden, revealing themselves only enough to remind of their presence. On the first floor lives Shankar’s family - Sajana, Shankar, his two sons Saugat and Sanis, and his parents, who are currently visiting from their usual home in London. On the ground floor is the kitchen, a small courtyard, a chicken coop, and a textile store, run by Sajana, facing the street.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lYoNgM9NJbkIVoT28_lc3mzCAPU5IyG-E1_gIN5KGRD-2La6s1fEXzWC60EbWelaBFP3iUhyM6O1UboMHjht6kwIDzs49IoSBbsA6p3Bwm38cpWKdZ2LWPhtTsv7iunrEccR46W5QEk/s1600/20150827_182423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lYoNgM9NJbkIVoT28_lc3mzCAPU5IyG-E1_gIN5KGRD-2La6s1fEXzWC60EbWelaBFP3iUhyM6O1UboMHjht6kwIDzs49IoSBbsA6p3Bwm38cpWKdZ2LWPhtTsv7iunrEccR46W5QEk/s400/20150827_182423.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Right outside - Gai Jatra dancers blocking the road</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The morning after my arrival, in perfect form, I puked out my meal from the previous night, thereby losing some serious street-cred that I had tried to earn by eating tons of daal bhat (lentil soup, rice, and miscellaneous side-dishes, the staple Nepali meal) with my hands, in the Nepali way. I felt pretty bad, but the strike was still happening so schools were closed for one more day, and I resolved to drown my sickness in sleep and water. About ten minutes later, a teacher from the school came to tell me that they were opening in spite of the strike and that I should come with him. I was feeling a little better, so I went, thinking that I’d probably just observe classes on my first day anyway. About ten minutes later, I was taken to the 9th grade English class, introduced, and informed that I would be teaching their class, by myself, starting right then. This day was just full of surprises! I fumbled my way through the class, and given my illness and complete lack of preparation, I think it went well enough. The next day I felt much better (I think I just had some bad food in Kathmandu), and I’m starting to settle into this new rhythm. More to come shortly….</span><br />
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<span style="clear: left; color: black; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNxuiAByMOfnHYKGcjQk46pu6Kl1UxTHfvtEbCCurc1NHZ0KbaLUI2WI9REc1cZUGGp31iP61lNYd2_Zr1oA4CoWR4iPHZyQhB0VA5uELBbL5mXVupF48cRNvchIjYl2PwRYRtin6zYqE/s400/20150829_165730.jpg" width="400" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 1.38; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Dissolve into clouds</i></span></div>
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Fate's Clayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06039213168476420603noreply@blogger.com0