Living Right

As our time in Pokhara draws to a close, Abbey and I have been thinking back over the past few weeks. We went through a roller coaster of emotions during our time here. From not sleeping the first week to extreme frustration the second week to impatience the third and happiness the fourth, we have seen quite a bit. We have come to a few conclusions after our time here.

Living somewhere for a month is different than visiting. Being in a house, staying with a family of five, and working at a small local hospital all made us feel like we were living here, not just visiting. We fought conflicting emotions the entire time, of feeling like we should be out experiencing all Pokhara had to offer and of being tired and wanting to hang out at home. There were days we wanted to sit on the porch and talk with our family and days we wanted everyone to just be quiet. It was difficult, but once we accepted that it is okay to need time alone (away from kids), we felt a lot better about our time in Pokhara.

Own your trip. It took almost four weeks for me to realize that no one is looking over my shoulder. Yes, I want to explain everything well to the people back home, but they aren't here living this trip with me. If I want to sit on the couch and watch an American movie after work, I can do it. No one can judge my time here but me. It is okay to crave comfort. It's okay to be frustrated and maybe yell once or twice at the men who KEEP STARING AT YOU even when you stare right back. My eyeballs are looking in your eyeballs! I see you staring! That's just rude, man. We're all people.

The best experiences we have had have been spontaneous. We decided to go to Sarangkot when neither of us could sleep at 4 am. We hiked up the mountain behind our house and found 360 degree views of the entire mountain range and the valley of Pokhara. We found the perfect route home after getting fed up with the dust and traffic on our first day of work. We have had some incredible planned day trips for sure, but there are so many blessings in the unexpected.

We unexpectedly found ourselves sad to leave work yesterday. We had been counting down the days, I'll admit it. We have been ready to hike and see something new, but we were pleasantly surprised at our sadness in leaving. It is odd to leave a place you have been for a while. I don't think I will miss that hospital, but it was unsettling to leave knowing that their lives would continue on in much the same way, as ours will take us on a few adventures and then back home. I started to feel sorry for them a little bit until I realized that doing so is not only arrogant, it's incredibly closed-minded. Just because they live a life I don't want doesn't mean they don't love it. I have been surprised and relieved to find that life in Nepal is not what I expected. It is also not the life for me, not now anyway. Dreams of opening a clinic here no longer seem like the future I desire. I'm so glad I found out now.

I think one of the most important things we have done during our time here is constantly take stock of how we're doing. Constantly check in with ourselves and find out why we are frustrated, or what exactly has made this a great day, or how to best deal with today and prepare for tomorrow. There should be consistent evaluation and notice taken. After all, if we don't know what we're feeling or why, we have a smaller chance of getting what we want or need the next time.

Our best advice for traveling, or living, or visiting, or anything? Checking in with Jesus. Constantly. Consistently. In need and joy and worship and in asking and seeking and rejoicing. This isn't a season in my life in which I feel the overwhelming or sudden presence of The Lord. I'm not swept up in the Spirit. But I am diligently seeking and pleasantly surprised by what I have found. I find truth every morning when I read my devotional. I find answers and focus each time I journal and pray. I feel peace that surpasses all my understanding when I listen to a sweet song of praise. Instead of the huge peaks of passion I used to feel (and yes, I think seasons like that will come and go again in my life), I feel a constant humming of activity in my heart. It's as though God started a lawn mower in a yard down the street and the sound just stays with me all day, comforting me. I find smiles that creep up on me just because. It's not groundbreaking (although, really, it kind of is) or earth-shattering. But it is very, very lovely. It's a lovely world and a lovely God.

PS I drove a motorbike today and only almost died twice. Good day.

Fears

I used to be terrified of flying. Not so much flying itself, but any turbulence at all. And when they down-shifted once you got to cruising altitude. Horrifying to me. I always thought the engines were stopping. Any slight disturbance, any stray from the norm, and I was positive we were going down. Then I took a ride in a tiny four passenger plane over the mountains near San Diego. Our little plane got tossed back and forth in the air currents and I swore we were going to crash, but everything was perfectly normal. Since then, a little turbulence doesn't make my heart skip a beat.

I also used to be terrified of tornadoes. We would have tornado warnings a lot when I was in elementary school, and every time I thought I was going to get sick I was so scared. I can remember huddling down in the garage at Char's house one time and thinking that either the hail or the wind would do me in. I couldn't breathe I was so scared when storms came. Then I met some friends in college who decided storm chasing was the thing to do, and we ended up a few hundred yards away from one of the most destructive tornadoes in Alabama history, running (hobbling with my leg brace) into the music building for cover and praying for safety. Tornadoes don't scare me much anymore. I respect the storm and know it is incredibly powerful, but for the most part, I've seen the enemy. And while the enemy could still kill me, at least now I know what it looks like.

The unknown is scary, as everyone already knows, and it always will be. I am scared of so many things. I'm scared of PT school and whether I'll make it, of falling in love, getting married, taking care of patients, parenthood, and a million other wonderful things. I'm scared of bad things as well, but who isn't? It's fear of the good things that gives me pause. I'm excited, I want those things, but they still scare me. I can't wait for all of these things to happen, but man! Talk about responsibility. For this short little period of time, it's just me hanging out. Yes, I have the responsibility of not disappointing the people I love and of taking care of myself, but when compared to the list above, those two responsibilities seem manageable. I have duties at work and school and to friends and family, but really I'm just taking care of myself and exploring my options. I have this tiny window during which I'm allowed to be unabashedly selfish. And the responsibility to come is beautiful, breathtaking in its magnitude and sweetness, but this little window I'm in right now? It's roomy. I get impatient, but I can breathe pretty easily here. Too often I wish it away when I should be savoring its specialness. Is that a word? I've been sitting here trying to think of the right word to put there, the right word to describe this time that is unlike any other I will have in my life, but I can't nail it down. It's just special. There is time to learn. There is time to read and listen and wake up early and go to bed late and get lost in the woods with my iPod and no pressing need to answer to anyone when I make it back to the car. There are wonderful things to come, but there is so much wonder here as well. I'm afraid of losing sight of that just as I'm afraid of what comes after it. Fears all around, healthy ones and unhealthy ones, but fears just the same. Overcoming them, getting to the unknown and walking through it, that's where life is.

 

Motorcycles

Abbey and I went to meet the pastor of a church in Pokhara this afternoon. We got to talk and laugh with his daughter and learn about how he became a Christian and started this church. We shared tea and encouraged Nabaraj to go to church with us for the rest of our time in town. It was incredible to meet believers whose stories are so different from ours but whose hearts made us feel right at home. What a great afternoon. But the real kicker? I took my first motorcycle ride.

It was wonderful. It felt like riding a bike down a really long hill that I didn't have to pedal on. Go figure. I absolutely loved it. Watch out, world. Or perhaps more accurately, watch out, boys with motorcycles. Here I come (music to my mother's ears I'm sure).

I never thought my first motorcycle ride would happen in Nepal. First of all, I swore them off when I got to the city after I saw how the locals drive. Lanes don't really matter much here. Secondly, they're more like a motorcycle's wimpy kid brother. Not quite a moped, not a full motorcycle. We just call them motorbikes, but it sounds way cooler to say I rode a motorcycle.

I wanted to learn about the world on this trip, but I also wanted to learn about myself. I wanted to try new things and discover new interests and ideas, and I've done both. I've discovered I love riding motorcycles on poorly paved roads in Nepal. I enjoy hot tea in the morning, especially when it has a ton of sugar in it and is served with a side of biscuits (cookies for kids that I eat every morning and sometimes before bed). I've learned that mountain goat gets stuck in between my teeth and ramen tastes a million times better in Asia.

I think what I've most enjoyed learning about myself so far on this trip is that I know myself. I will always grow and change and develop new ideas and ways of thinking, but for the most part I have discovered who I am and I like that person. When I was younger I always dreamed about coming back from summer break totally different. You know those girls who would go to camp in another state for the summer and come back with cool hair and an older boyfriend and miraculously bigger boobs? Everyone wanted to be that girl. When I left on this trip I wondered how I would change and if I would come back a totally different person. I'm delighted to realize that I will most likely come back just a little more myself. A little more comfortable in my own skin. A little more assured of my ability to handle uncomfortable situations and meet uncomfortably, beautifully different people. A little more in love with Jesus. It's a messy transition from college to "real life", but it's one that has firmly and deeply rooted me in faith. The challenges I've faced over the past two years are nothing compared to what I will face in the next twenty, but I can now feel the stability of the Rock beneath my feet. It is scary and peaceful and invigorating. A little like riding a motorcycle.

 

Noise

Have I talked yet about how noisy it is here? I can't remember. I'm going to talk about it.

It's so loud here. Everything is loud. I think I complained about this in a previous post in which I ranted about all things Nepal. As I've settled in and adjusted to the culture, this may be one of the things I'll never get used to. Everywhere we go it is loud. Right now the tv is blaring, there is a child toddling around who will undoubtedly start screaming in the next five minutes, and music can always be heard from down the street. I use the word music loosely. And don't get me started on the dogs. Roosters I can handle, but dogs all night? Nope.

Our favorite part of the trip so far, our little lookout on the mountain (foothill) used to be the quiet place where we could get away, and it will be again very soon. However, with Dasain still lingering, (seriously longest holiday ever) our little sanctuary of peace has even been transformed into a blaring speaker of heinous music. Yes, I understand that they find their music beautiful and alluring. But hell, no I do not agree. And while I like to think I am accepting and open-minded, that music is where I draw the line. It's like screaming cats and squeaky mice and screeching kids were thrown into a room together with drums, a sitar, and an out-of-tune clarinet, and asked to see who could make the others' ears bleed first. And they all won. And kept going.

There is one loud sound, however, which warms my heart on this trip. It has faded in the last few minutes, and the enormously loud sound of the television is now blasting into our sweet little room, but for ten lovely minutes it roared outside our doors like a comfy blanket. The rain. It quiets the dogs. It drowns out the music from the temple. It sounds like a storm at the cottage and waves on the beach joined in a chorus with the most peaceful, contented sigh. In case you hadn't guessed, I love the rain. So rain, rain come every night. Clear up every day so we can walk to work, and stay away during our trek, but come on and rain all night in Pokhara.

 

Solitaire

I've played quite a bit of solitaire this week. It's been rainy the past few days and entertainment has become scarce. On Saturday night we loved the idea of rain. Rain, it seemed, was the only thing that could make the incessant dog barking stop. Monday afternoon, however, as we wrung out our clothes and hung them on the staircase, I no longer appreciated the rain. We need to be outdoors. For longer than a soggy walk around the block.

Solitaire has always been a wonderful game to me. When the rest of my family sat reading at the lake, before I caught the reading bug myself, I could play for ten, even fifteen minutes. That is an eternity in bored-kid time. Now solitaire is a way to engage my brain and wake it up, or provide my eyes a little relief from reading. I enjoy being quiet and focusing on something completely for a little while.

Solitude, on the other hand, has always been a bit trickier. I need to be around people. I feed off their energy and feel useful and included. I also am exhausted by them. I need time to recharge and be alone. I straddle the introvert-extrovert fence in a way that often confuses me and leaves me frustrated. But one thing I am not confused about: solitary travel.

I have met more than a few people over the past two weeks who love to travel alone. They enjoy exploring new places on their own and having the freedom to go where they choose. I love their passion for travel and admire their independence, but I do not count myself among them. I don't enjoy traveling alone. I find it lonely. Give my a day to myself exploring and discovering new things and I will be such a happy girl. I love walks on my own and finding out-of-the-way places and eating by myself. But an extended trip by my lonesome? No, thank you. I want to see things and point them out. I love hearing what someone else thinks about what we've seen and done. I need someone to bounce ideas off and get advice from. No, solo travel is not for me, but solo exploring most definitely can be.

My favorite thing about this trip to Nepal has been the people I've met. They are fascinating and different and weird. I love getting to know them and hearing their stories. Most of them travel on their own and meet other fascinating people along the way. At first glance, they make me feel inadequate. Why don't I love traveling by myself? Am I not independent enough? Am I, heaven forbid, needy? And then reason settles back down in my mind and I realize that I am not the only one who longs to share experiences when I travel. As Abbey so eloquently put it just a few minutes ago, I want to come home and know that someone else felt just the same as I did. It doesn't mean I'm immature or scared or needy, it means I love to travel with people. And one day I could find a place I feel so comfortable in that I want to experience it alone, and that will be a wonderful thing, but for now I'll keep my solo day trips and solitaire. And when I meet them along the way, my friends and I will buy those solo travelers a beer, or an ice cream, and welcome them into our little traveling home for the night, and listen to their wonderful stories. Traveling, in its purest form, is about the people you meet and the God you love along the way.

 

Sarangkot

This could have just been any ordinary day. Yesterday we didn't get down to Lakeside, via city bus, until about 11:30, and it was wonderful. Today we got to Lakeside around 10:30, but we took a slightly different route.

I awoke around 4:15 to pee and realized I was actually pretty awake. I thought I'd catch a couple hours more sleep before Abbey and I headed out to hike up to the Peace Pagoda. As I flipped over to possibly doze back off, I heard Abbey thrashing in her sleeping bag. Hmmm, I thought to myself, and jumped out of bed to look out the window. It was pitch black but I could see some lights on the far hill. I ran to the living room to boot up our computer and check the weather. 6% cloud coverage. Today just might be the perfect day.

I ran my idea by Abbey and we both hopped out of bed, scurrying to brush our teeth and make peanut butter and banana sandwiches for the road. We inevitably woke Shailee up, who made us some tea and woke up Nabaraj to help negotiate a taxi for us. Once we had finally agreed on a price, we began our ascent.

My heart beat faster and faster as we climbed up the mountain, realizing that the sky was beginning to lighten before we made it up to the top. We finally came to where the road ends, threw our money at the taxi driver, and began our steep final ascent up the mountain. We didn't make it in time. However, we did find a nice patio mid-way up the mountain to catch the first stages of the sunrise. I'll post it once photostream actually catches up.

After catching the first rainbow-like stages of the sunrise, we decided to leave our crowded little post and head for the top. Sarangkot. We quickly realized that we weren't as close to the top as we had guessed. Thirty minutes later we arrived, drenched in sweat (me) despite the chilly air, and set up to watch the rest of the morning light soak the mountains. It was breathtaking.

We took a ton more photos than this, but wifi here isn't great so getting them posted is a little difficult. After we hung out and had some quiet time on Sarangkot, we decided just to walk back down to Lakeside. Turns out just because it's downhill doesn't mean it's easy. Our legs were jelly but it was so worth it! Nothing like a couple hours sliding down a mountain to make you appreciate that taxi ride up.

 

Dudes with Cameras

I don't know if Abbey and I looked fantastic yesterday or if we had boogers on our faces that we didn't know about, but people could not stop taking our pictures. We've been very aware of everyone staring at us since we've been here, something understandable since we live in a part of the city that rarely has non-Nepali visitors, but we were pretty astounded by the level of attention our pale faces got yesterday.

We have both been very sensitive about the pictures we take. I think I may only have one picture in which the sole purpose of my photo is to show a Nepali person. We'll get to that in another post. We like to take pictures of the experiences we have here, and yes of the family we stay with, but never try to make the locals feel uncomfortable. Apparently it is not customary to return the favor.

We first realized the extent of our stunning beauty yesterday morning on the way to work, wearing our typical hiking pants, dri-fit shirts, and chacos. We were rounding the corner before our favorite bridge when two teenaged boys stopped walking on the other side of the street. They started to laugh and one took out his phone, aiming it at us. We were both a little confused and just continued to walk, a bit stunned that someone would blatantly take our picture, even if we do look very different from them.

The next paparazzi encounter came later that evening in Lakeside, the super touristy part of town down by the lake (go figure) where people from all over the world can be found at any given restaurant or shop. As we walked along the length of the river back towards the restaurant to meet some friends, we both noticed a man a little older than us taking a picture of a sleeping dog on the sidewalk. We had overheard his conversation with friends on our first pass, which stood out because he was speaking English with a British accent, something which always catches our ears in a foreign place. The closer we got to Telephoto Lens Man, the more confused our facial expressions appeared, as it seemed that the dog was not the subject of his photography. We finally passed right by him, his lens following us the entire time as he turned around in his seat to get a better look, and we each gave him our meanest faces and picked up our pace. He put down his camera and smiled as he muttered "Sorry," and we continued our walk in amazement.

We were a little surprised by the local boys who took our picture that morning, but were so confused by the grown British white man who followed us with his camera in touristy Lakeside, where people who look like us can be found in just a few minutes of people watching. Then again, I can't say I blame him. If I were a guy and hadn't seen a cute (cute=freshly showered) girl in a few weeks I'd try to capture her image forever as well. Too bad we were mean-muggin.

 

The Porch Men

I imagined a lot of things when I imagined what our lives would look like in Pokhara. I pictured mud huts, sandy streets, grass fields, and animals everywhere. Some of this is true, but actually being here is so much more.

We live on the bottom floor of a two-story home on a back road in Matepani. Nabaraj and Shailee have three kids, ages two, three, and five.The floors are always a little dusty but it is a cozy place and we have our own room. Shailee makes us incredible food every day, rice and lentils and a few veggies, and I've started to enjoy her tea in the morning. It's super sweet. Life with the family has been relatively easy to adjust to, but the men on the porch have woven their way into our story as well.

We first saw the men as we stepped out of our late-night taxi ride home from the bus stop. As we approached the front door of the house, we saw two people sleeping on mats under the front steps, just below a window. Turns out that was our window. Turns out there were four of them. I vaguely remember it being noisy, with unfamiliar music and dogs barking, but sleep came quickly and sweetly that first night.

Night two. Zero sleep. Zero. None. After nearly 50 hours of no sleep over the weekend, I was pretty fed up with staying awake all night. I could deal with the snoring and even the occasional dog bark, but those men! They played music all night, talked on speaker phone with people the didn't know, and yelled to each other throughout the night. How dare they interrupt my precious sleep!

By night four we had had enough and directed all of our frustrations towards the four young men separated from us by the thinnest of walls. We banged on the window and even stepped outside to ask them to be quiet, something that seemed frightening to us at the time, and then miraculously on the fifth day we returned home to an empty porch. We high-fived and asked Shailee how she got them to leave.

The men had been sleeping on the porch because their employer, a man who owned a construction company, had been telling them for a week that he would pay them tomorrow. He kept the money allotted for their housing during the construction project and instead put them on the porch of another house he happened to own. They probably played music and talked on the phone because they were uncomfortable and unable to sleep, wanting to leave just as badly as we wanted them to go. He finally ended up paying them a small portion of what they were owed, and they headed back to their village.

As much as I would like to say I felt mortified at my selfish attitude when I heard their story, I also still felt a bit relieved they would be gone. After my third night of less than four hours of sleep, my exhausted brain couldn't quite grasp how awful I was acting. It still hasn't hit me yet, they severity of my calloused reaction. For the record, I still haven't slept well since, so it's not all sunshine and roses, but I'm glad this encounter happened. I'm glad I started off my trip with a very blunt realization of the condition of my heart.

As we start to settle into our new home, I hope my heart towards these people and this place changes to one of joy and delight. I love the people I've come to know and enjoy exploring this town, but constantly have to check my thoughts and frustrations. It is difficult to fully experience an unfamiliar place when I crave comfort. Not a plush bed and a real toilet, but people who don't stare at me or laugh at me and who understand my jokes. I crave sleep, just normal sleep, and quiet. But I'm in Nepal, a place I will most likely never be again. I get to hike up to a monastery with Abbey every night and talk to our monk friend whose name I still can't pronounce. I get giddy when I buy an oreo and 20-second cold showers have never been so refreshing or effective. This place, covered in clouds and rain this week, is still the most stunning place I've ever been. And the clouds will clear one day soon, and I'll stand face to face with the tallest mountains in the world. Five weeks to go. I can't wait to see what happens next.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Well I've learned my lesson about waiting too long to blog. It seems like so much to describe in just one post, so I'll start with the trip over here and see how far we get.

Turns out sleep doesn't come easily for this girl on planes. The flight from Atlanta to Seoul was incredible, 4-seater row just to ourselves, lots of leg room, plenty of areas on the plane to stretch. My food, however, was horrible. I decided to request kosher food for the trip. Why would I do this? I mean really though, why? I thought to myself, "Hmm, if they have to prepare this a special way I bet it tastes great!" It doesn't taste great. Frozen pickled veggies, some kind of olivey loafy pate thing, jelly rolls. It was not the best. Luckily, Abbey shared her grapes with me.

The airport in Seoul is absolutely incredible. They had sleeper sofas upstairs, massage rooms, free showers that were surprisingly nice and clean, and tons of things to do. Unfortunately, we only had a few hours to spend in this place. We hopped a six hour flight over to Bangkok for our next layover of ten hours. This airport is not quite so easy to sleep in, but after a sleepless ten hours and some wonderful thai food, we boarded our last flight to Kathmandu.

After squeaking by the menacing customs officers (two women who just waved us through impatiently when we tried to show them our customs forms), we walked into the dusty heat to find a man waiting with our names on a piece of white paper. He gave us necklaces made of beautiful flowers and went to negotiate a taxi ride to the bus stop. As we waited, I was somehow conned out of ten dollars. As someone who prides herself on streetsmarts while traveling, my pride took a much bigger hit than my wallet.

The "bus stop" turned out to be a gravel pit on the side of the road in dusty Kathmandu. And when I say dusty, I mean dusty in the most foul sense of the word. We were ushered onto a 15 passenger van and squeezed into the last row with a man and his young son. "Tight squeeze," I thought to myself. Ha. Over the course of the next twenty minutes we managed to squish another woman and her toddler into our seat, while five other passengers stuffed themselves into the other rows. We settled into our six hour bus ride with positive attitudes fully intact. For about an hour. After stagnant heat, an hour and a half stopped on the side of a mountain because of a tipped truck, and our first encounter with the infamous Nepali "toilet" we finally found ourselves at the last bus stop in Pokhara. A jovial man hopped onto the bus and rescued us from the backseat as he introduced himself as Nabaraj and loaded our packs into a car bound for his family's home. Nabaraj and his wife Shailee would be our family for the next four weeks, and we settled into their modest home exhausted and grateful to be in our own beds.