Shed a tear for load shedding

You may curse the non-stop rain of the monsoon season in Nepal, but at least you don’t have to curse in darkness. The rains fill up the reservoirs that power the hydroelectric turbines that generate most of Nepal’s power. But, in October, the monsoon season ends and the reservoirs recede meter by meter each time the floodgates are opened to generate another megawatt of electricity. To manage this precious potential energy, the government begins the process of “load shedding” (rotating neighborhood power cuts) at the end of summer in hopes of conserving enough water to get the country through the dry season until the monsoons return in the Spring.

When we arrived at the end of July, the outages were only a few hours per day and were hardly noticeable, but now they’re up to 63 hours per week: 10 hours per day 6 days per week, and 3 hours per day 1 day per week.

Several nights each week we find ourselves sitting in the darkness sharing a rechargeable flashlight, reading to pass the time. Last night we pitched in the towel early and went to bed at 7:30 pm. Of course, I woke up at 1 am and am now writing this at 3 am to take advantage of my “power window.”

The nighttime temperature has been dropping to the mid to high 30’s (Fahrenheit) and without central heating the temperature in our apartment has been dipping into the low 50’s at night. So, we’re spending more and more time huddled in sweaters in the dark. We need to count our blessings, though, because the bad winter in the U.S. has knocked out power to over a million people the past few weeks. Those poor folks would absolutely love to be sitting in 50 degree houses right now!

The problem has been exacerbated this year by flooding of the Koshi River in the southern part of the country which knocked out transmission lines bringing in power from India. Someone told me that the monsoons dropped less than an average amount of rain this year, so the reservoirs aren’t as full as usual. The government is trying to get more hydroelectric projects going, but it will be a few years or more before they’re up and running.

Nepalis take load shedding in stride along with all of the other infrastructure problems they face. On moonless nights it’s difficult to walk on the dark streets without running into people, so we carry a flashlight or penlight with us. The only other illumination comes from the headlamps of speeding motorbikes and cars. Some of the larger restaurants and shops have generators, but most just light candles.

Even at 45 hours per week the outages were manageable if you planned around them, but now at over 63 hours they are impossible to ignore. In early December we planned a Christmas party for the evening of Dec. 21st, assuming we’d have power that night based on our 45 hour load shedding schedule. Then, just a few days ago (four days before the party), the new 63 hour schedule went into effect with the power set to go off from 4:30-8:30 pm – and our party starts at 6:00 pm.

So, instead of cursing the darkness, we went out and bought a dozen large candles.

Graduation day at Kathmandu University

Sorry for the nearly month-long delay in posting anything. They’ve been keeping me extra busy at Kathmandu University with lectures, presentations, and research.

Just a few photos here of the graduation ceremony held in mid-November for the 2008 K.U. graduates. It was delayed several months in order to accommodate the schedule of the speaker, a former President of India. The ceremony was held in a huge tent set up on the soccer field that held at least 2000 people.

The photos below are of the graduates from the Biotechnology Department who dragged me into a few pictures with them. The family portrait is with Deepak and Prajwal, two of the M.S. students who went to Langtang with us.

Hopefully before Christmas we’ll have some good photos from the holiday party we’re hosting for all the Fulbright students and faculty, and our Nepali colleagues and friends. After Christmas we’ll be going to Chitwan National Park near the Indian border to ride elephants and look at crocodiles and rhinos. There should be some good photos from that trip posted by New Year’s Day. And then, come Jan. 9th, we’re headed back to the U.S.

Langtang National Park Trek - Part Three

(Continued from the previous posting)

I fully expected to wake up a mess after yesterday’s tough hike, but other than some sore muscles I felt amazingly good with no symptoms of altitude sickness. We were fully packed by 5:15 am and went downstairs in the pitch dark to see if any of our group was outside yet. Not finding anyone, we sat inside on a cold bench waiting for dawn to arrive. Finally, at 5:45 we peeked outside and saw Prajwal with a cup of tea shivering in the predawn – it was probably in the low 20’s. Eventually, the others trickled outside.

Dawn did not explode with a fury that morning. Instead, she very slowly unwrapped herself, gradually illuminating the mountain peaks with indirect sunlight. It wasn’t until after 6:30 that the first direct rays hit the tallest peaks, turning them into golden spires. We walked around taking photos of mountains and nearby yaks until 7:00 then went inside for breakfast. My oatmeal porridge was bland, but I hadn’t eaten much and knew that I needed high density food in order to make it back down the trail.

We met the others outside at our agreed upon departure time of 8:00 am. Deepak offered to take my pack, knowing that I had struggled yesterday, but I wave him off. I felt good and, after all, it was downhill this time. Unfortunately, Keshab’s knee was throbbing and Bonnie had developed some nasty blisters on her feet, so we took things a little slower going back.

Janardan, Bonnie and I took the lead with Deepak and Prajwal falling back to keep Keshab company. It didn’t take long for the temperature to start rising once the sun came out. By 9 am it was close to 50 degrees and very pleasant. As we passed yaks and prayer walls, it struck me just how much we had ascended the previous night in the dark. Within an hour we could see Langtang Village spread out below us. Bonnie and I were determined this time to find that bread and cheese place.

We got to a sign that pointed west at a building on the hill with a red roof. Printed on the roof in big white letters was “Bread and Cheese.” That must be the place, we thought. We headed up the pasture toward it but took a wrong turn and ended up having to climb over a couple rock walls to get to it. There were two workers inside, both extremely friendly and glad to have customers. We ordered some small baguettes and 100 grams of yak cheese and then decided to have them prepare a few toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches for us. From our vantage point we could see trail and were able to flag down the boys when they came past. By the time they got to us, the sandwiches were ready. We had a leisurely brunch in the sun which was most welcomed since Janardan and the boys only had tea for breakfast.

By 10:30 we were headed out of Langtang Village to meet up with Ma’am again back in Ghora Tabela. We had told her to expect us by noon. I was the first one in and plopped down next to her at 11:59 on the bench where she was having a cup of tea. She was glad to see us and said that she had a very pleasant time while we were gone looking at plants and basking in the sun. We had a quick lunch and took off to Lama for the Jungle View Lodge where we’d spend another night.

Along the way, Deepak climbed a tree on Ma’am’s orders with a khukuri (Nepali knife) and began scraping off some of its bark that she thought might have some medicinal value. The inner bark was bright yellow. After that, the collecting was over for the day. Everyone had at least one small bag of plant material tied to their packs. We arrived at the Jungle View Lodge at 4:30. I attempted to take a shower, but it had been cloudy there all day and there was hardly any warm water available. Bonnie decided to nurse her feet and stayed wrapped in her sleeping bag with a book while I went into the dining room for dinner. It was packed this time with barely a seat to spare. German, French, English and Nepali conversations were all mixing together as the proprietor ran around taking orders and serving hot plates of rice.

I finished my dinner and checked in with Janardan about our departure time in the morning. He wanted to leave at 6 am to get off the sunny side of the hill before it got too hot. I looked at Ma’am and raised an eyebrow. She just winked at me and smiled. Janardan said, “ I’ve convinced Ma’am that it’s a good idea to leave early.” I responded, “If it’s OK with Ma’am, then it’s OK with me,” and winked back at Ma’am. Planning is so easy among friends.

In the morning we had tea in the dining room while the proprietor’s wife was still in bed (in the dining room). After awhile she raised up, wiped the sleep out of her eyes and looked over at us with a smile. We finished off the last of the snacks Bonnie had brought along (oatmeal cookies) and took off down the steep hill at 6:45 am. Bonnie, Ma’am and I took up the rear this time. We took a break at the Landslide Lodge around 11:00, and it wasn’t until Domen sometime after 12:00 that we caught up with the others. They had taken a wrong turn at a fork in the trail and had lost nearly an hour.

Bonnie knew that if she sat down for too long her legs would sieze up and her blisters would start barking, so she didn’t stop. I rested about 5-10 minutes and took off after her while the others waited for Ma’am to finish her soup. I caught up with Bonnie after 20 minutes. The next 1 ½ hours was the only time we’d had alone on the trail as we made our way back to Shyafru Bensi. Crossing the last bridge, we we struck up a conversation with a young Buddhist monk and his younger brother. The monk was on leave from his monastery in India to visit his family for two months. He said he was extremely board in these little villages. We came to a dead end on the road and had to scamper up a small hill to the next road. The monk took my hand and his brother took Bonnie’s. They managed to pull us and our packs up the hill.

Finally, we dragged ourselves into town and through the door of the Buddha Hotel. A German trekking group that we had been bumping into all week arrived just after us, so we raced into the bathroom ahead of them to make sure we got some hot water for a shower. We took a well-deserved nap then went down for dinner. Janardan and Ma’am, who were in a hotel down the street, came to visit with us for an hour before turning in.

The next morning was our most leisurely. We didn’t have to leave until 8 am since the office at Dhunche, where we had to show the officials what we had collected, didn’t open until 9 am. The rest of the trip back to Kathmandu was as butt-busting as before, and even a little more so since the driver seemed to be in a hurry to get back home. We stopped in Trisuli again for lunch, this time at a slightly better place, and were back in Kathmandu by 3 pm.

Just before descending the hill back into the city there was a nice vista to the north of the Langtang mountain range. From a distance they seemed so much bigger than when we were actually there. But to experience the Himalayas, it doesn't really matter how close you get to the mountains. Just walking towards them is enough.

Langtang National Park Trek - Part Two

(Continued from the previous posting)

There is no point trying to sleep late in a trekking lodge. Shortly before dawn a cacophony of coughing, throat clearing, door slamming, tooth brushing, foot stomping, and various other sounds of unknown origin rose to a crescendo that no human being could sleep through. One German fellow in Syafru Bensi obviously had his fill of this early morning noise and started singing in the hallway, “I can talk louder than you can. I can talk louder than youuuuuuu!!!” We usually rose by 5 am, taking turns using my L. L. Bean cap with LCD lights in the brim to find our way to the toilet or to rummage around for clothing in our packs.

While our group breakfasted on tea and the English tea biscuits we had brought along, the proprieter’s mountain pony came to the front door for his breakfast treat: something in a bucket from the kitchen. The horses are short and stout with large chests adapted to the thin air. This particular one had burs in its mane but was exceptionally friendly. Later in the day while walking up a steep part of the trail, a man came by leading a horse down the trail. It was spooked just a little when it saw us and bumped against Bonnie and Janardan, nearly stepping on them. The only damage was a slight smear of horse doo on Bonnie’s arm as its hindquarters rubbed against her. A small price to pay for such an experience!

The next stretch of the trail to Ghora Tabela was also steep, but a night’s rest had given new life to my legs and sore shoulders. There was a distinct change in vegetation to more of an open forest of oak, fir and beech, as opposed to the more lush plant communities at the lower elevations. It reminded me of hiking in the Sierra Mountains of California. But the forest abruptly ended as we approached Ghora Tabela, turning into a more scrubby pasture although the shaded hillside to the east was covered with what appeared to be pine. By this time we had reached an elevation of 9,000 feet and the air was getting noticeably thinner.

After resting for half an hour we rented one room at the lodge for Ma’am who would be staying there while we would be continuing on later to Langtang Village and Kyanjin. We tossed most of our gear into the room and then proceeded to collect some plants around Ghora Tabela. Ma’am pointed out two species right away: Dipsacus mitis (wild radish) and Rumex nepalensis (dock). The aerial parts of both had already dried out, but the roots were fully developed and fleshy, so the students went to work with their digging tools until they recovered 5-10 pounds of each. Rumex has very strong astringent properties and a paste of its roots can be applied to swollen gums. It is also used a general pain relieving tonic. Dipsacus has fairly strong contraceptive properties and can be used as an analgesic and diuretic. Next they collected leaves from a small, bushy rhododendron (Rhododendron lepidotum), the extracts of which are thought to “purify” the blood. These plant materials will be washed and dried back at the KU campus, crushed to powder and then extracted with various solvents to pull out any active ingredients for biological and chemical analysis.

We had a quick lunch, said farewell to Ma’am and took off up the trail toward Langtang Village and Kyanjin. Our original goal was to reach Kyanjin before dark, but it wasn’t looking very good since we didn’t leave Ghora Tabela until 1:30. Janardan thought it was a 2 hour trek to Langtang and then another 3 hours to Kyanjin, but he wanted to press on anyway. The purpose of going there was to see the morning sun hit the mountain peaks. As we passed by lodges, the proprieters would ask us to stay for a meal or to spend the night. When Janardan told them we had to press on to Kyanjin, they all looked horrified that we would even attempt it so late in the day. A page out of a guidebook we saw cautioned not to go beyond Langtang Village from Rimche in one day, otherwise you’d be flirting with altitude sickness from a lack of acclimatization. But damn them all, we were going to Kyanjin!!

By the time we got to Langtang Village we had a clear view of one of the mountain peaks to the north, probably Langtang II at approximately 20,000 ft. To the south was the very tip of another, maybe Naya Kanga or Ponggen Dokpu at 17,000-18,000 feet. As we got to the north end of the village, I saw the next hill on the trail and immediately lost my will to continue. I was really tired, and the altitude (now over 10,000 feet) was taking its toll. I suggested we stop for a drink at the last lodge. A Fanta buoyed my spirits and the 15 minute rest allowed a little oxygen to seep into my blood again. I convinced myself that there was no point going halfway around the world to see the Himalayas and then throw in the towel when I was just a few hours away from them. So, despite my aching feet, legs and shoulders I continued on. But it was already 4 pm and sundown would be no later than 5:30. The temperature was falling rapidly and would soon be near freezing.

After half an hour, Janardan pointed out a dip between two hills in the distance where one could barely make out a building. “That’s Kyanjin,” he said. OK, I said to myself. If I can see it, I can get to it. But from that point, it was all uphill with no relief. Our steps grew shorter as did our breathing. By 4:30 the sun had gone behind a tall western hill but still gave us some twilight until 5:30. Just when we thought we’d be enveloped in darkness, a full moon peaked out from behind the mountain in front of us. Between the moonlight and the light from my baseball cap we could see well enough not to fall on the trail. I was too tired to talk, but I realized that I’d probably never see the sight before me ever again – a full moon over the Himalayas. Much to her chagrin, I made Bonnie stop so that I could pull the camera out of her bag and take a photo.

At that point, Janardan announced that we’d be there within 20 minutes. I can do that, I told myself. Had he said it would take 45 minutes (the amount of time it actually took), I probably would have curled up in a fetal position and died. Janardan showed the mark of a true leader by knowing what to say to keep his troops on the march. He saw that I was flagging and offered to carry my bag the rest of the way. As much as it hurt my male ego I let him take it, because the strap had almost eaten its way into the back of my shoulder blade.

Through the darkness I could see the ridge of the hill we were ascending not too far in the distance. I would walk that far and if Kyanjin was not within a stone’s throw from there, I decided that I would sit down and wait for a helicopter (or a dogsled, or a fireman, or the end of the world). By the time we reached the top my breathing had quickened to two breaths for every one step, and each step seemed to take forever. But there it was, less than 50 meters away: Kyanjin. And there were the boys, waiting for us in front of the first lodge. Prajwal’s first question as I staggered down the last slope wasn’t “How are you feeling?” but “Do you have any biscuits left?” The poor fellow was starving to death. I wanted to laugh but had to conserve what little energy I had left just to make it into the lodge and up the stairs to my room.

Langtang National Park Trek - Part One

Syaphrubesi.
Syafru Bensi.
Shyafru Besi.
Syabhrubensi.

No matter how you spell it – and I saw it spelled at least half a dozen ways – that’s where the trek really began. But first, we endured a winding three hour drive on the main road leading north out of Kathmandu to the dusty river town of Trisuli. The ride there had not been very comfortable due to the potholed road and constant swerving to avoid hitting the people, goats, cows, dogs and buses we met along the way. Lunch in Trisuli consisted of cold dal bhat (rice, thin lentil soup, curried vegetables, and spinach) served by an unusually large Nepali woman dressed in a bright orange mu-mu. The dining table had not been wiped off from her previous customers, and her two small grandsons didn’t help the situation when they climbed on the chairs and rubbed their faces on it. We ate quickly, hoping to digest any germs before they could infect us.

Janardan Lamichhane, head of the Biotechnology Department at Kathmandu University (KU) and my host, was the leader of our expedition to Langtang National Park. Also on the trip, aside from Bonnie and me, were three Masters students (Deepak, Prajwal and Keshab) and a botanist from KU’s Pharmacy Department known only to us as “Ma’am” since we were never formerly introduced. Her job was to identify plants used for medicinal purposes by the locals in the Langtang Valley. These roots and herbs will be the basis of a natural products research project by the three students who hope to identify active anti-cancer or anti-bacterial chemicals in the extracts. Janardan wants to start mining the vast biodiversity of Nepal to find useful products that might help kickstart the country’s nascent biotechnology industry. Being a foreigner, I am not allowed to collect anything, so Bonnie and I had to go along as observers, carrying our official Tourist Information Management Systems (TIMS) cards which all non-Nepali trekkers must show upon demand by park officials.

While the drive to Trisuli was bone-jarring, the next three hours to our final destination was bone-shattering. The pavement ended at the edge of Trisuli, replaced by a narrow, hard packed road of cobble-sized rock. Our neck and abdominal muscles were soon sore from our bodies’ involuntary contractions as we tried to keep from pitching forward and sideways with each lurch of the jeep. As we rose higher and higher out of the valley, the Trisuli River was reduced to a small rivulet in the distance, a mere 2000 foot drop over the edge of the road. We climbed up the seemingly endless mountain, once having to get out of the jeep to reduce the weight so the driver could get up a steep grade covered with scree from a previous landslide. At the crest of the mountain, at an elevation of 6000 feet, we arrived at the headquarters of Langtang National Park in Dhunche where we spent an hour getting together our official stamps and letter of approval for the collecting activities.

It was dark by the time we came to the end of the road, at the small village of Syafru Bensi (don’t ask me why, but this is my preferred spelling). The main drag was no more than a few blocks long and consisted almost entirely of small lodges catering to the trekking industry. Bonnie and I checked into a spartan $3 room at the Buddha Hotel. The small dining area was being monopolized by a group of South Korean trekkers, one of whom was obviously feeling good from high altitude drinking. In a deep, but not unpleasant, baritone voice he alternated between singing a nearly correct musical scale (do-re-me-fa-so-la-SHE-do) and an odd version of “My Darling Clementine.” Really beaten by the day’s rough drive, we hurriedly wolfed down a little dinner and then retired into our sleeping bags for the night, serenaded by strains of Clementine wafting under our door.

At 5 am we got up for hot showers, only to realize that the hotel ran off of a solar hot water system. The heat from yesterday’s sun had long dissipated overnight. So, standing away from the spray of cold water, we took the best possible shower without actually getting too wet. After a short breakfast of black tea, eggs and toast we hoisted our packs and went outside to meet the others at 7 am.

Syafru Bensi is at the junction of the Bhote Koshi and Langtang Khola rivers which, once merged, become the Trisuli River. Our goal was to hike up the Langtang Khola river canyon for two days all the way to the village of Kyanjin in the Langtang Valley, a total elevational change of about 7,000 feet. Kyanjin, at nearly 12,000 feet, is nestled at the base of several 20,000-22,000 foot snow capped peaks of the Langtang Himal section of the Himalayan Mountains. Mount Everest was less than 100 miles to our southeast, and the Tibetan border less than 5 miles to our north.

We all took off in buoyant moods, quickly making our way through the village and down the hill to the two suspension bridges that took us to the trail along the southern bank of the Langtang Khola. The rocky trail was steep in places, but with fresh muscles and packs weighing only 20-25 pounds we scrambled up the ravine like mountain goats. Even Ma’am, who is 62-years-old, made excellent progress. At one point we passed several yaks grazing along the trail and a couple of yak herders milking them. After two hours we arrived at the first lodge in Domen where we stopped for mid-morning tea.

Bonnie and I had not done much pre-trip study and really didn’t know what to expect in terms of facilities along the way. We had brought enough dry snacks for 4-5 days’ worth of lunches, a few liters of water and some water purification tablets. As it turns out, there are lodges every one or two hours along the trail where you can purchase bottled water, Coke, Sprite, Fanta, Snickers, Milky Ways, crackers or order a hot meal or room for the night. Since all supplies are carried up on the backs of porters, the prices rise with the elevation. In Syafru Bensi, a liter of bottled water cost 40 rupees ($0.50) but three times that price in Kyanjin. Our group did not use porters, but we passed many foreign trekkers who carried either no packs or very light day packs while porters followed behind them laden with mounds of heavy bags strapped to their foreheads. We saw a few porters carrying two large bags of rice, each bag weighing nearly 70 pounds. Janardan told us that the standard daily rate for a porter was 600 rupees – that’s less than $8 a day for backbreaking work.

By noon we had reached the lodge area called Bamboo. We stopped there for nearly 1 ½ hours to rest and have lunch. I had a filling, but unappetizing, bowl of Knorr packaged vegetable soup while the Nepalis went for the traditional dal bhat. Bonnie eats like a sparrow and was happy to carry on a conversation with two young Frenchmen. I sat a short distance from them and could only make out occasional exclamations of “Voila! Voila!” every few minutes as one of the Frenchmen agreed with whatever point Bonnie was making.

Uphill from Bamboo the trail became steeper and then crossed over to the sunny north side of the river. I had started out that morning layered in a T-shirt, light long-sleeved flannel shirt, a fleece vest and a windbreaker, but by 1 pm I had stripped down to the T-shirt. The temperature had risen into the low 70’s by then and the sunshine at my back made it feel even warmer. But still, November is the optimal time for trekking in the Himalayas. The early mornings and evenings can get down to freezing or slightly below depending on the elevation, but the days are clear and pleasant and the mosquitoes have disappeared. There were moments during our trek when there was the perfect combination of warm sun and cool mountain breeze that stopped us in our tracks and extracted a simultaneous “Ahhhhh” out of us.

The last leg of our journey that afternoon took us up the steepest part of the river. By then the straps of my pack were eating into the meat of my shoulders. The lactic acid burned in my thigh muscles like hot coals, and raising my feet high enough to step onto the next rock was getting harder and harder. Prajwal had gone ahead of us to reserve rooms at a lodge in the little settlement of Rimche. Bonnie, Janardan and I were in the middle of the pack, and the other two students were with Ma’am who brought up the rear. We had to stop for breath every ten minutes and take advantage of a few lodges along the way to rest and have a drink. Janardan somehow managed to actually sleep for five minutes at a picnic table, feeling young and refreshed when he woke up. I still felt old and wasted.

We arrived in Rimche at 4 pm and settled into our rooms at the Jungle View Lodge which was run by a very nice Tibetan Buddhist couple. There were two buildings: one a two-story sleeping area with small rooms and cots, the other a small stone structure for cooking and dining. There were also 5-6 other lodges crammed together in the same small clearing. In one building a bunch of Czech trekkers were already singing Moravian hiking songs as someone pounded on a drum.

Bonnie and I had learned from our earlier experience and decided to take a shower before the solar heated water got cold. Although not hot, it was warm enough to stand in. After getting into some clean clothes, we joined the others in the 15 x 15 dining area where a small wood stove in the center kept the room nice and toasty. We struck up a conversation with a middle-aged American from Seattle who was trekking Nepal and India. He had just come down from Kyanjin and let us take a look at his topo map. Bonnie ordered vodka and popcorn while I opted for roast potatoes.

The proprieter moved around the room taking orders and delivering food while at the same time fingering his prayer beads. In a deep, monk-like voice he muttered the same short prayer in Tibetan, once for each of the 108 beads on the strand. The resonance and repetition of his voice was very soothing, almost hypnotic, and reminded me that I was, in fact, a stranger in a strange land.

The best tomato soup in the world

As we approached the slightly run down two-story building that makes up the Tara Gaon “Resort” in the hilltop village of Kakani, I was resigned to the notion that my lunch choices would be limited to the standard fare of dal bhat (rice with lentils), veggie chow mein, or my old friend the cheese and tomato sandwich. Having been a vegetarian for the last 33 years, the chicken and water buffalo dishes held no allure for me although Bonnie has become a big fan of chili chicken – despite all of the bones she has to eat around to get to the good parts.

Sachin backed the car next to the old Massey-Ferguson tractor in the parking area while we debated whether to dine there or look for something else. But, knowing that Kakani was very small and the choice of eating establishments was limited, we decided to take a chance.

Sachin had driven us up the steep landscape northwest of Kathmandu for over an hour to get to Kakani which has a breathtaking vista of the Himalayas on a clear day. But, as is typical by late morning, clouds had formed and obscured all but the very craggy tip of Ganesh Himal, the tallest mountain in this part of the range. We came upon the waiter and cook lounging in front of the building waiting for us, their first customers of the day. The waiter escorted us through the tiny indoor dining area to an umbrella-shaded table on a large patio perched on the lip of a precipice overlooking the valley and cloud-covered peaks. The nearby bright orange flowers, terraced hillsides, circling hawks and lounging buffalo almost made up for the inability to see the mountains clearly.

I had eaten a pretty big breakfast and wasn’t all that hungry, so I ordered mushroom soup and an egg sandwich. The waiter came back to say the mushroom soup was unavailable and asked if I could make another choice. “Tomato,” I said without looking at the menu. It was a safe choice even though I expected it to be little more than a generic version of the Campbell’s tomato soup that nourished me as a child. At least the liquid warmth of it might counter what I knew from experience would be a cold fried egg trapped between two pieces of dry white bread.

Since my order was simpler to make than the others, the soup was delivered first. In mid-conversation, I brought the first spoonful of it to my lips. After that initial taste, I said nothing more for several minutes as I closed my eyes and savored the red nector as it dribbled down the back of my throat. This can’t be true, I thought. This stuff is amazing! Then, as a break from the soup-induced ecstasy, I selected one of the ten lazily floating croutons and popped it in my mouth. It softened like cold butter on a warm stove, releasing its herbal, slightly spicey flavors ever so slowly. Then back and forth, back and forth went my spoon between the soup and the equally delicious croutons until I was scraping the glaze off the bottom of the bowl trying to get the very last drop and soggy crumb.

I then announced to Bonnie, Sachin and the rest of the world that this bowl of tomato soup was not only the best tomato soup I had ever tasted but, in fact, the best soup I had ever tasted. And all I had to do to find it was travel halfway around the globe and drive up the side of a treacherous 6800 foot high mountain. But it only cost 100 rupees!!! Less than $1.50 for the best soup in the world!! This was the soup I imagined only Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi could make.

Jesus, you can take me home. For even though I have not seen the mountain, I have tasted Heaven.

Bandhs, bandhs and more bandhs

A bandh is a strike called by any group of people who feel they’ve been cheated, harmed, ignored, repressed, or otherwise disenfranchised. In fact, the very day we arrived in Kathmandu there was one in effect because the newly appointed vice president gave his acceptance speech in Hindi instead of Nepali. That didn’t go over very well at all since Hindi is the official language of India and many Nepalis are tired of Indians meddling in Nepal's politics. Imagine what would happen in the U.S. if Obama gave his acceptance speech in Arabic?

Sometimes a bandh shuts down the whole city. Roving groups of young men force stores to close and protestors block the major intersections. In other cases, like the one that happened this week, the blockade is on a road leading into Kathmandu. Last Monday there was a man murdered in Dhulikhel by some thugs. The Transportation Workers, of which the victim was a member, called an immediate bandh in the small town of Banepa which is on the main road between Dhulikhel and Kathmandu. That road, the Arniko Highway, is the major artery for commerce between Tibet (China) and Nepal, and it is also the only way to get to the Kathmandu University campus in Dhulikhel.

In a situation involving a murder or negligent death (such as being hit by a bus), the purpose of the bandh is to force the government to provide compensation to the victim’s family. The common Nepali worker has no life or accident insurance, so the Transportation Workers’ demands included a 1 million rupee ($15,000) payment to the family, guaranteed employment for the widow and an educational fund for the children. They set up their roadblock early Monday morning and only allowed motorbikes, ambulances, tourist buses and embassy vehicles to pass. Most of the students, faculty and staff of Kathmandu University commute in buses from Kathmandu, so a bandh essentially cancels classes.

Our plans for that Monday were to have Sachin drop me off at the campus and then take Bonnie for some sightseeing around Dhulikhel. We didn’t know about the bandh until we got to Banepa. Sachin was concerned about driving through the protestors even when some of them waved us through (the car we use has embassy plates) because there are always a few in the crowd who are looking for any reason to resort to violence. But, we were able to drive through without incident. However, when we arrived at the University, hardly anyone was there and the door to my building was locked.

Having driven that far, we decided to spend the day going to Namo Buddha about an hour’s drive south of Dhulikhel where Buddha, out of compassion for their hunger, was said to have cut off a part of his thigh to feed a hungry tigress and her cubs. There’s a small temple and an engraved plaque depicting the scene. On the same hill is a large and very beautiful Buddhist monastery and retreat where lots of new building is being funded by wealthy Chinese Buddhists (from Taiwan, Malaysia, Indonesia – not mainland Chinese). The ride there wound through steep, rocky roads but the temple and views were well worth the bumps.

Going back home through the roadblock, Sachin seemed to be even more concerned by the look of the protestors. They had been there all day and were hot and tired. But, once again, we drove through with no problem, although there weren’t nearly as many smiling faces in the crowd as there were in the morning.
On Tuesday, Sachin was schedule to pick up the other Fulbright professor and his wife who had spent a few days at a hotel in Dhulikhel. I usually take the bus on Tuesdays, but learned from a student at the bus stop that the bandh was still in effect. It would have been potentially dangerous for Sachin to drive through the roadblock by himself, even with embassy plates, so Bonnie volunteered to go with him. “They won’t hurt an old white woman,” she said. Sachin had told us that having a Westerner in the car helps because the protestors know they can get into far more trouble beating up Westerners than their own countrymen. It’s bad for tourism!

They got through the bandh just fine going both ways, although the wife of the other Fulbrighter was starting to make scared sounds when they came back through Banepa. Bonnie had to distract her by asking about their recent trip to India. After that experience, Bonnie says she’s considering hiring herself out to the Fulbright Commission as a bodyguard.

An early call Wednesday morning to Anuroop, my basketball buddy and a K.U. teaching assistant, confirmed that the bandh was still going and that classes were cancelled for the third straight day. Between the 15-day Dashain holiday, the upcoming 4-day Tihar holiday and these bandhs very little teaching was going on this month at the University. The graduate Research Methods course that I teach twice a week will end up meeting only twice in October.

There was also a rumor on Wednesday that the street vendors were calling a bandh in Kathmandu for the following day. They are upset over a recent decision by officials to get them off the sidewalks. The government feels that having so many vendors under foot is starting to turn off tourists by blocking their path and by the constant “hard selling”. From a tourist’s perspective, I see their point, but then again this form of business is the only income for hundreds, if not thousands, of people. Fortunately, the bandh was called off when the vendors and government officials agreed to hold talks to see if a compromise could be reached.

I have mixed feelings about bandhs. On the one hand they are extremely damaging to an already fragile economy – people can’t get to work, goods can’t flow in and out of the city, and tourists are hesitant to go out and spend money. But on the other hand, what alternative do people have? Without taking such extreme measures, no one listens to them. The level of frustration seems to be getting even higher since the new government came to power this summer. The hoped for reforms have not been forthcoming due to political maneuvering between opposing political parties, and people are feeling that nothing will ever change. So, until things do change they have no recourse but to “strike up the bandh.”

Holiday in Pokhara

We took advantage of the long Dashain holiday to take a trip to Pokhara, a popular vacation spot for Nepalis and foreigners alike. The two big draws there are Phewa Lake and the spectacular views of the rugged Annapurna Himal mountain range.

Although a flight from Kathmandu only takes 30 minutes, we chose to take the 7 hour bus ride instead in order to see more of the countryside. Fortunately, the Greenline Bus company has very comfortable coaches with air conditioning, stops for a complimentary lunch at a resort and a couple of potty breaks. Pokhara is only 100 miles northwest of Kathmandu but the terrain between is extremely steep, having been carved out by a couple of major river systems. The main road follows the rivers and winds through many small villages along the way.

As we drove into the outskirts of Pokhara I was impressed with the number and size of the water buffalo we passed. Once in town, we walked right past cattle on the sidewalk like they were any other pedestrian, but we crossed to the other side of the street when buffalo approached. One bull gave Bonnie quite a stare when she got a little too close once.

The first thing you notice about Pokhara, after living for two months in Kathmandu, is how quiet it is. It has a very low density of cars and therefore has very little noise and air pollution. There are even signs in the Lakeside tourist district prohibiting the use of horns. We also noticed a higher proportion of Western tourists there compared to Kathmandu. Even a Nepali here in Kathmandu called Pokhara “Heaven” in comparison.

Speaking of Heaven, ten minutes after arriving at the bus park, the skies let loose with a monsoonal downpour of Biblical proportions – just as we were getting into a taxi. Little did we know that our hotel, the Castle Resort, was not accessible by car. The taxi took us to the foot of a hill at the northern end of the Lakeside district where a half-mile set of stone steps led up to the resort. The staff had come to meet us with ponchos and helped us carry our bags in the rain up the hill. I have to admit that the view of the lake and surrounding hills was fantastic from the resort, but the relatively steep price ($45 compared to the standard hotel rate of $8-15) and the steep hike made us wonder if it was actually worth it. Older folks and anyone with a disability should think twice about staying there. The staff was great, though, and we had a few nice evenings in Branigan’s Pub talking to them, other tourists and the owner, an old reprobate Irishman named Joe.

On our third day we took a 45 minute taxi ride to the small village of Naudanda, where we hiked along a very bad road that led east along the ridge for 6 miles to our destination, the tiny settlement of Sarangkot which is perched atop a big hill between Pokhara and the Annapurna range. People go to Sarangkot for only two reasons: 1) to get a killer look at the mountains from the viewing platform or 2) to jump off the hill strapped to a paraglider and wing their way back down to the lake. It was our mission to do both.

The walk took less than 3 hours and passed through several small villages along the way. We were immediately accosted by a small boy who demanded money. He walked along with us for nearly half-an-hour before getting bored, but he didn’t shut up the entire time! “Give me 5 rupees. Give me 5 rupees. Give me 5 rupees . . .” But this small inconvenience was more than made up for by our next companion, a little boy leading a tiny goat. All he wanted was our company. We were later joined by other very pleasant children who received a treat from Bonnie’s candy jar for their politeness.

It’s a stretch to call Sarangkot a village. It’s more like a collection of lodges and resident vendors taking advantage of the tourist trade. There are at least 5-6 small hotels, each with a restaurant, strung down the steep southern side of the ridge just below the big telecommunications tower and viewing platform. They seemed to be of better quality the further we went down, so we settled on the View Top Hotel which was priced at a very reasonable 500 rupees ($7.50) for a corner room with a great view of the lake. The managers were very friendly and had the cutest little daughter who kept making faces at Bonnie and actually blew her a kiss when we left.

We rose at 5:00 am and were at the viewing platform by 5:30 where only one other person was waiting for dawn’s early light. By 6:00 over 60 people had arrived. Popular spot! It was a partly cloudy morning and the peaks took turns going in and out of the dark clouds. When the sun finally came up, it only briefly illuminated a few of the crags before it too ducked behind a cloud. Despite this, the mountains were spectacular, especially Machhapuchhre, a triangular peak of 23,000 feet. Annapurna I to the north is higher at 26,500 feet but looked smaller due to its distance from our viewing spot. (On our last morning from the roof of the Green Park Hotel in Pokhara, we finally got clear views of the mountains.)

We bit the bullet and decided to spend the money ($100 each) on a paragliding trip back down to the lake. There are three paragliding companies in Pokhara, all with offices in the Lakeside district and they all have take-off points just below the hotels in Sarangkot. Our take-off time was 11:30 but it was delayed until noon because the earlier customers had to wait awhile for the winds to pick up. We got a good view of some gliders the day before from our hotel window and also got to watch the four 10:30 am customers take off.

For people like us with absolutely no paragliding experience, the pilots strap you to what looks like an adult car seat attached to the front of their harness. Then, once the glider’s chute is laid out on the ground in back of you, the pilot says “Run!” and you both go galloping off the cliff, hoping the chute follows and fills up with air. Bonnie took off before me, strapped to Ilya, a former Russian MiG fighter pilot.

Once airborne, you settle into the seat and enjoy the ride – except for the fact that I started to have some feelings of motion sickness immediately after take-off. My pilot, Jason, was very kind and didn’t do lots of twirls or other fancy acrobatics, so I didn’t hurl my breakfast into the lake or onto the other gliders below us. Bonnie didn’t get any ill feelings until right at the end when Ilya got bored and did several pirouettes just prior to landing. Despite the nausea, the views were fantastic and it was worth experiencing once (but I’ll never do it again).

After that, we pretty much chilled out for the next few days. Our biggest sojourn was going to the Gorkha History Museum where there were lots of photos and displays of the famous Gorkha Rifles battalion made up of Nepalis who have fought in the British Army since 1815. Our last high point was sitting in the Amsterdam Bar and Restaurant listening to the Nepali house band perform covers of Eric Clapton. Whatever you do, don’t order a drink at Zorba’s Restaurant. My $4 tequila sunrise was the size of a very large thimble. “But it’s a lady’s drink,” the waiter said. Not in Mexico it ain’t! And don’t eat at the Gorkha Restaurant – apparently the Gorkhas fight much better than they cook.