Friends and Family,
I am sorry for it taking me this long to write, I know you will all be relieved to hear I have not, in fact, been struck down by Gyardia nor perished in a Maoist protest. I am alive and well, acclimating to life here in Nepal. As it turns out, there is an Internet cafe close to the program house (where we have been living during orientation) however, due to frequent nation-wide power outages, the long line, and the desire to catch up on sleep at every free moment; the Internet cafe may as well be all the way in Kathmandu.
In any case, I am writing to update you on my adventures. I suppose I should start at the beginning: After a grueling 40 something hours of travel I made it to the Kathmandu "airport" (more of a slab of a cement that such friendly security they don't mind waving a few pretty girls through.) Along the way I met a middle aged Belgian who kept showing me pictures of the aero show he attended in Wisconsin where he fell in love with his mid-western host. I don't know if I was more surprised that there are actually festivals where people gather to look at airplanes, or that he found love in the mid-west. Either way, he was much more entertaining than the Bollywood movies being shown. As we landed in Nepal, "Blue Moon" started playing on the loud-speaker. As far as I am aware, they don't have much jazz in Nepal, so I consider it a coincidence meaning Daddy is with me on this adventure.
Leaving the Kathmandu "airport" was a serious contender for most overwhelming moment of my life. Luckily, the Pitzer program director spotted my travel buddy Haley and I, jammed marigold wreaths over our heads and shoved us and our backpacks into a taxi. Nepal, as far as I can tell, has no road rules, no road barriers, and drivers crazier than Boston and Rome combined. I thought I was going to die several times. There aren't many cars on the road, just a few taxis, some colorful buses with young men riding atop, and about a million motorcycles, half of which was a sari-clad woman riding side-sattle on the back. After driving about a half hour we reached Balkot, where the program house is.
Balkot has sprung up in the last decade (like much of Nepal) and is not quite as rural I would have hoped. However, I am ensured our homestays will be more out in the country (an hour walk away) and frankly after more inspection the village of Balkot is quite backcounty enough. The buildings are packed together like a game of badly played jenja, all at odd angles. They are separated by narrow dirt roads, which are more like glorified mud patties due to the daily monsoon rains. Our program house is a lovely little three story building with mud floors and a kitchen on the top floor. The meals are cooked by our fantastic kitchen staff, most of whom are from the idyllic village of Shimigau up in the Himalayas. They are an invaluable resource for practicing our language, and are good at "laughing with you." As repayment for my language efforts they remember to serve my morning tea without milk, I'm touched.
The bathroom was another thing to get used to. Squat toilets are really an art form, especially in the middle of the dark night. Although we have minimal running water, we can't use it for anything other than the piercingly cold drip of the shower for fear of ingestion (all our drinking water must be boiled.) However, the real trick is getting under the water to rinse off the soap without opening o\your mouth in surprise at the iciness! My other favorite thing about Nepal is every one's name has a "ji" added to the end of it. I have become Eh-MAH-li-ji. The best one is our fantastic program director Margie, is known as Margieji.
Another thing to get used to here is the ungodly hour of the morning everyone gets up here. Around 5:15 every morning I am awakened by the old woman next door doing poja (Hindu prayer) where she scares away the evil spirits by ringing very high-pitched bells and laughing in a deep stage laugh that is really quite disturbing. The old women here, besides practising laughing like witches at dawn, are quite overbearing. My aamaa at the house likes to sneak up on me while I'm on the porch and grab my shoulder and ask how much such and such item of clothing cost. Another girl in the group, Marge (I can't help yelling Marge Berstein every time I see her) was feeling sick one night so she skipped dinner to be alone and rest. Her concerned aamaa after getting response knocking on the door for 10 minutes, went around and stuck her head in the window.
For the last 10 days we have been in the "orientation" period. However, I really don't think there is much that could actually prep us for Nepal, so they are content to attempt to teach us how to avoid heinously insulting our families. For example, what I thought would be a nice compliment to my aamaa (mother) at a meal "your rotti
Today we had a day off in which a did a glorious nothing but relax in preparation for moving into my family tomorrow afternoon. I am equal parts excited and nervous for the experience and really hoping I have little siblings who can help ease the awkwardness of the moment I have exhausted my minimal Neplai dialogue. There is only so much you can say about the names, ages and birth places of your family members (this is made even more difficult by my suspicion that Nepali don't quite have a grasp of adoption, and my teacher told my group to say the same phrase for divorce and a parent dying...) Regardless of what I am able to convey in the first week, I look forward to cultivating a deeper relationship with a real family.
I hope this small novel makes up for my silence. I am missing you all very much!
A special shout out to those at Del Mar, catch a wave for me!
All my love, Em
