I don't exactly know. But these past few days were definitely different.
Here's what you need to know:
- The drive to Simbarwati, a small village nestled in the Himalyans (himal= mountain) took about ten hours. It was the WORST ride of my life. I was crammed into a tiny pink bus (cross between the van from Scooby Doo and the Magic School Bus), and my knees were touching my chin for about ninety percent of the way. Also, apparently these buses are meant to be double-decker because there were around twenty more people lying on the roof for the duration of the ride.We drove with our horn blaring the entire time (drivers have to honk when going around bends because there are no lanes and we drove uphill around corners the whole time). The village roads here aren't paved and many of them are washed away, so there was severe bumping (aka terrible turbulence) for ten hours straight. Add some screaming children, two goats and three chickens on the roof, a steep cliff, and you might get some idea of what I went through. (Mom- it was actually totally safe!)
- Our first encounter with the village was incredible, straight out of National Geographic. We climbed up a small mountain and waiting on top, was the entire Taami community (the local ethnic group) waiting for us, strings of flower garlands in hand. Little boys and girls peeked out behind their mothers' skirts and toothless old men beamed at us as as the youth performed tribal dances accompanied by local songs. They then anointed us with tika (red stuff) and gave us Nepali names. Mine- Maalaa which means....Garlic Dirt. Just kidding. But that's what I thought it was at first. Then someone clarified that it actually meant wreath of flowers and the person who explained it just had a really thick accent (Garland= Garlic Dirt)
me with my maala and tika-Our host family: Aama, Bua, Bhai and Bahini (named Dilku Mari- cutest kid ever). They live in a hut like structure, the 'lower level' consists of the common/kitchen area (meaning a fire and three shelves on a mud wall) with a ladder leading to the 'top floor', which has a small common area with two tiny bedrooms on the side. Culture confusion number one: Dilku Mari leads us upstairs after dinner to show us the TV. Culture confusion number two: our Bua squats on the kitchen floor, some sort of clay tool in hand, cutting vegetables when a ringer sounds and he takes a cell of his pocket. (Yes there was minimnal service and electricty, no internet however!)
- Speaking of dinner, our aama put every Jewish mother to shame. We were pre-warned about the holiness of rice and the requirement to finish every little grain on our plates but nothing prepared us for this.
Bru and I sat down to our first meal and watched as our hostess ladled out a HUGE mountain of rice onto our plates. And then another. And another. And so on. First we tried our broken Nepali. "Ada, ada (half, half)!" Aama just laughed and ladled on some more. Then, we tried"pugiyo (enough)!" More laughing, more ladling. Even"ukus mukus bayoo (s/t like 'there's no room in my stomach for that')" didn't work! By now there was about four or five Chinese takeout cartons worth of rice on our plate (not to mention potatoes, spinach and hot peppers). So we gave in. Well, not entirely. There was no way I could even dream about eating all of that! So when my pariwaar wasn't looking I stuck a handul of rice into my pocket. It wasn't the easiest thing to do as we were watched the whole time. Sometimes I had Bru create a distraction so I could get some more rice in. (I know this sounds insane but if you were there you would have done the same thing!). By the end of our stay I had a very heavy sackful of secret rice hidden in my bag upstairs.
my stowed away rice-Also, the theatrics here are ridiculous.
Scene: Beruria and I trying to tackle our mountains of rice. Two minutes into the meal Aama asks "Mito Chaa? (it's tasty?)" Mito chaa, mito chaa!" we reply enthusiastically. Aama turns her face down and cries (literally!) in a pitiful voice "Mito chinaa! (it's not tasty!)" We, cry back "Dherai mito cha! ekdam ramro! (It's very tasty! Very good!)" This satisfies her for about five minutes until we hear again "Mito Chaa?" One time, after a couple of rounds of this she asked her usual "Mito Chaa? (it's tasty?)" and I jokingly replied "Mito china! (no, it's not tasty!)" Aama laughed her head off. Score one for me!
our family- Dilku Mari on my lap-During out stay we got to see hands on some of the work Tevel B'Tzedek does for this community. It's rather amazing- they've basically set up a self sustaining system in which the youth build and then farm community gardens and sell the produce. Not only has it turned a profit, it continues to grow. It's been a great way to show the (mostly dubious) elders that it's a worthwhile time commitment for the kids of the village. And, it's taught the kids about leadership, reliability, initiative, community development and so on.
one of the many amazing Himalayan vistas-The ride back was a little better than the ride there, due in large part to a better seat. A few things I saw along the way
*A family of six riding on one motorcycle (very common sight here) Two infants on the mother's lap and a toddler holding the handlebar as the father weaves in and out of traffic.
* Street vendors, aged five or six, hopping on and off the city buses in the hopes of selling their wares for a nickel or dime
* Old men and women, bent over, carrying enormous loads on their backs, straps tied to their foreheads and waists to help distribute the weight evenly.
*Women bathing in the polluted water of the river and doing laundry there as well
Lots more to say but I don't want to keep this too long. If I think of anything super exciting I'll add it later.
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Fascinating stuff! And you look so happy in your pictures! Can't wait for the next installment!
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