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.

Kids of Kathmandu

Children in Kathmandu who are fortunate enough to attend primary school will be the first generation of non-college educated Nepalis to be semi-fluent in English. Every day on the street we’re greeted with at least one boisterous “Hallo!” from a child, quite often followed up by a loud “How are you?” One small boy asked Bonnie, “Where are you from?” She replied “The United States” and then asked him where he was from. Not expecting a question with such an obvious answer, he was speechless. Apparently, they had not gotten that far in their lessons. Bonnie has begun to surprise children with preemptive greetings, even to the point of hanging her head out of the car window to yell “Haaalllllooooo” as we pass by. This always elicits lots of smiles and waves. There goes the crazy foreign woman again.

These three little girls were walking together over a bridge and were completely oblivious to the fact that the moment was frozen forever. The one in the middle seems to be the den mother of the group, holding on tightly to the little one while reaching out to the other.

My favorite photo is of three sisters, ranging in age from 2-10, that Bonnie took at the Indrajatra festival last month at Durbar Square. Nepali children are so pretty. Their soulful brown eyes seem to absorb light like tiny black holes.

Bonnie, of course, can relate far better to kids than I. My size and unintended stern countenance usually scares away small children. However, a few weeks ago, I was sitting on a curb reading a book at a bus stop when out of nowhere a tiny 6-year-old girl in a blue school uniform marched over to me and demanded, “What is your name?” She had to be all of 4 feet tall and 50 pounds soaking wet, but her blue tie and glasses gave her an authoritative presence. Her eyes were piercing with a strong Tibetan geometry. When I told her my name, she ran back to her girlfriend and shared the information, both casting suspicious glances my way. I felt like the door of the haunted house at Halloween on which children dare each other to knock.

All of the mothers seem to be anxious to have their baby’s photo taken. Bonnie will coo over them while the proud mother holds her baby up in display. Bonnie could actually see herself reflected in this baby’s eyes!

The older kids are also very photogenic and love to be in front of the camera. A few days ago we drove by a Buddhist temple in the hills just east of Kathmandu where some prepubescent monks were sitting in their burgundy robes on a drain pipe biding their time. When I asked if I could take their picture, they automatically went into very non-monklike poses, just like boys would do anywhere else in the world.