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.

Nepali Basketball

Thursday afternoon I was recruited to play on the Kathmandu University faculty basketball team. The term “faculty” is used pretty loosely since it includes teaching assistants with BS degrees and lecturers with MS degrees. I was the only professor on the team and therefore more than twice the age of anyone on the court. My only advantage was my height (6’4’’) and the fact that I vaguely remember playing in high school 35 years ago. The only player as tall as me was Anuroop Manandhar who, fortunately, was also on my team and is an excellent basketball player. Of my six teammates, two were excellent players, one was pretty good and the other three were, how should I say, "less experienced."

The outdoor court at the main campus in Dhulikhel has great views of an expansive, emerald green rice field to the west and the mist shrouded Himalayan foothills to the east. I stopped a minute before the game began to wonder what the odds were that I’d ever be playing basketball in this kind of setting! After helping the others shoo away some cattle and goats from the court, the game got underway.

We took a decisive 12 point lead in the first quarter. Anuroop and I were able to clog up the middle of the lane on defense so that they couldn’t get off any good shots. He and our pint-sized point guard did most of the scoring while I concentrated on rebounding, defense and handing out assists. I knew that my shooting needed practice so I only took four shots the entire game, making two of them. Our big lead continued into the fourth quarter, so in the spirit of letting everyone play we let the "second-string" members of our team play – a nearly fatal decision since they turned the ball over on nearly every possession and couldn't score any points. Within a span of five minutes the other team had pulled to within 2 points, mostly from steals and fast breaks. Anuroop signaled for me to come back in and we were able to stem the blood flow. We had been playing a zone defense, but I decided to go man-to-man on their best player who was scoring all their points. Between that and a few buckets by Anuroop, we held on for a 30-28 victory. Not having played for 8 months, my legs felt like rubber after the game, but I still had to find my way back home (20 miles away).

One of my teammates also had to go back to Kathmandu, so we walked to the bus stop at the main road. A local bus came by within a few minutes. We paid our 40 rupee fare (about 60 cents) and settled back for the 1 ½ hour ride. Unfortunately, we hit a terrible traffic jam caused by a line of trucks and buses waiting for a diesel station to open along the very narrow road. There just wasn’t enough room for them and two more lanes of traffic, so a few trucks had become wedged together and couldn’t move. Everyone got off the bus and started walking the mile to Banepa hoping to catch another bus there. By this time it was 6:30 pm and completely dark. We waited for at least 30 minutes but no bus came along. Emsar, my teammate, then commenced to flag down passing trucks and vans, hoping that we could negotiate a reasonable fee for passage to Kathmandu.

A small covered truck finally stopped at 7:30 and Emras was able to negotiate a 500 rupee fee ($7) for us and the freshman girl who had latched on to us for protection. I’m sure it would have been much less, but the driver saw my pale face and jacked up the price. In Nepal there are always two prices for everything: a Nepali price and a foreigner price. We three wedged into the front seat with the driver while three men jumped into the bed. Along the way we picked up another 4-5 people, so the driver was making a good “moonlighting” wage that night. While stopping to pick someone up, the girl next to me looked like she was going to upchuck, so I hurriedly let her out to do her business. She had to get out one more time along the way. She was either car sick or I really smelled bad.

It was kind of eerie driving at night on the dark, poorly maintained, and deeply potholed road that is the major thoroughfare between Kathmandu and Tibet. There is a significant amount of smuggling that goes on along that route. We were stopped twice at police checkpoints, but they let us through quickly – one look at me and they knew I wasn’t Tibetan. Police usually don’t give foreigners a hard time, except for the few crooked ones who try to entrap them in order to extort money. We’ve had no trouble at all, though.

Finally, we reached Kathmandu at 8:30 but the driver let us off more than 3 miles away from my apartment. Emras and the girl waited for a minibus to get home, but I knew it would take more than an hour for me to make it home that way. Instead, I took off walking through the dark streets (the power was off again). As long as you stick to the main streets and stay out of the alleys at night, we’ve found Kathmandu to be a very safe place. I eventually got home at 9:10. My average speed from the bus stop in Dhulikhel to my apartment was a turtle-like 8 mph, but well worth the hassle to get in a good game of basketball.

We all have to make sacrifices -- or do we?

There was a little excitement here over the past few days. The new government came out with its new budget last Friday and decided to omit funds in support of the numerous Hindu religious festivals. Since communists are typically not a religious lot, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that a Maoist-led government would do this. They’re trying to find money to improve transportation and hydroelectric production – two of the biggest issues in Nepal’s development – so something had to give.

Well, it went over like a lead balloon, especially since the announcement came during the Indrajatra festival and just before Dashain – two of the biggest Hindu festivals of the year. In the past the government has given nearly $700,000 per year for festivals, with $166,000 of that used for purchasing animals for sacrificing at temples. Indrajatra and Dashain are big animal sacrificing holidays, with water buffalo sacrificed at the end of Indrajatra and lots of goats, chickens and ducks sacrificed during Dasain.

Last Saturday, on the last night of Indrajatra, there was a riot at Durbar Square where the chariot carrying the Kumari (Living Goddess) was to be pulled by young men one last time. Angered by the government’s new policy, the crowd took it out on the police and five people were injured.

The next day, a “bandh” (strike) was called in protest. I was waiting at my bus stop at 7:50am when someone got the news on their cell phone that our bus to Kathmandu University wasn’t coming because the main road was blocked by demonstrators. So, I walked back home and went with Bonnie to the American Club at Phora Durbar, had a cup of coffee and swam in the pool for an hour while she had a Pilates lesson. On the way back home we passed a group of protestors who were enforcing the bandh by making shop owners close down. Many of them opened back up again after the protestors left.

Many people we’ve talked to, especially the younger ones, aren’t really tied to the animal sacrificing and wouldn’t mind if it disappeared completely. But they all thought that the government’s timing of the announcement was pretty bad. The Prime Minister is out of the country on a trip to India and the U.S., so maybe he wanted to deflect some of the criticism away from himself and had the announcement made in his absence.

I’m looking forward to seeing President Bush receive Prime Minister Prachanda, who I think is still on the U.S. terrorist list since he headed up the Maoist insurgency for 10 years. A terrorist in the White House!! Run away!!

Assorted Bits and Pieces

Last week the other Fulbright professor and I decided to split the expenses of a driver and car. We figure we’ll spend at least $250 each per month, but it will give us a lot more flexibility in our transportation – and it has to be more comfortable than the Kathmandu University commuter bus.

Our driver, Sachin, is an extremely pleasant young man in his late twenties with perfect English. The first place we asked him to drive us was the Godavari Botanical Gardens south of Kathmandu. There were few flowers blooming this time of year, but it was cool, shaded and a very nice respite from the noise and heat of the city. After walking around for a few hours, a group of six Nepali girls (not too much older than twenty) came running up to Bonnie all excited. It was obvious that they had never met a Western woman before, especially a blonde. They wanted their photos taken with her and gave her some of their bracelets. As small as Bonnie is, they were all a head shorter than her and all their bracelets were too small to get over Bonnie’s hand. But one girl managed to force one on even though she took some skin with it. After five minutes of giggling and screaming, they hugged and kissed Bonnie and then pranced away. While watching all of this from the sidelines, little did I know at the time that a leech had fallen into my boot and was making a meal of my foot. Bonnie has all the fun and I get to be dinner.

Earlier this week we decided to have Sachin drop me off at Kathmandu University in Dhulikhel and then drive Bonnie back to Bhaktapur which is between Kathmandu and Dhulikhel. She wanted to see Bhaktapur’s version of Darbur Square (there are three Darbur Squares in the Kathmandu Valley). She convinced Sachin to walk around with her and get “Nepali” prices for her on things like camera batteries. She took some nice photos, especially one of Sachin posing with a cobra sculpture. Then after lunch Sachin drove Bonnie back to join me at campus. We had been invited by the biotechnology students to attend the opening night of their weeklong film festival, so we thought we’d grab a hotel somewhere in Dhulikhel after the movie.

After the film, the students told us that they’d walk us to the hotel since they were having a party near there anyway. I told them to wait for me at the main gate since I had to grab my bags from my office. Unfortunately, when I got there the entire building had been locked up. I found a custodian to let me in while Bonnie went to tell the students I’d been delayed. I thought the guy knew that I’d be right out, but he misunderstood and locked me inside in the building! So there I was yelling through a wrought iron gate trying to get someone to help me. I finally called Bonnie on my cell phone and she brought half a dozen students with her. They eventually found another custodian with a key but not before getting a good laugh at my expense and insisting on photographs before letting me out. They say the photos will be displayed prominently in their upcoming student magazine. Great.

On the way off campus, we passed a professor I’m working with who insisted on calling the K.U. International House in Dhulikhel to make reservations for us since the university would pick up the tab. It was over an hour’s walk to Dhulikhel with a few delays caused by some students wanting to change clothes before going to the party and some others forcing me to eat hot noodle soup since I was just catching a cold. They took us to the International House and checked us in before taking us to their party headquarters – a big, dingy conference room in a two-bit hotel just down the road from our place.

All together there were us and about 20 guys, all third year students and all in the recombinant DNA class that I’ve been helping to teach. There are 11 third year female students, but it would not have been appropriate for them to attend the party with the boys. So Bonnie was the lone female. We started out by having a little beer or whiskey and then a plate full of food. My cold was progressing fast and all I wanted to do was lay down, but the boys were ready to party. Someone cranked up the music and all twenty guys broke out in frenzied dancing. They dragged me into the middle of their circle and

made me dance with them. A little later they

asked Bonnie and me to dance together, and one

of the more daring ones asked Bonnie to dance with him.

We stayed there for about an hour and a half then politely excused ourselves. A few of the boys escorted us back to our room. I had one of the most uncomfortable night’s sleep I can remember. I was feverish, hot and cold, and overstuffed. The room was too hot and in the morning there was no hot water for a shower. Bonnie let me sleep until 9 am and then we decided to split. The caretaker tried to charge us 800 rupees ($12) for the room, but with the help of his English-speaking son we convinced him that we were official KU guests. Actually, only KU guests are allowed there, so I think he was just trying to make a little extra money on the side.

We walked back to campus and waited until noon when I was supposed to meet with a few students to get a research project going. I was feeling pretty miserable, but they had been looking forward to isolating potato DNA all week so I couldn’t let them down. My colleague and their advisor, Dhurva Gauchan, arrived with a bag full of small potatoes from a local farmer and we got down to business. Bonnie and I spent the next three hours in the lab supervising the students, Arjan and Dipali, as they went through the procedure. Once we get some good DNA, then we’ll start doing some DNA fingerprinting to see if we can tell the difference between the various potato varieties in the area.

At 3:30 we left the lab to reserve our seats on the K.U. “G” bus that would take us back to Kathmandu. There are three drivers that I’ve had on this bus. One is a very patient driver, one is generally patient, and the guy who drove that day has no patience at all. He was weaving and swearing and flipping off everyone the whole way back to town. He’d alternately slam on the brakes and then speed up, obviously trying to make me puke. He came dangerously close on a few occasions. I was so happy when we got back home. I didn’t even care that the power was out (again).

The Teej Festival: Red Saris and Well-fed Husbands

This is the last festival I’ll write about for awhile. There are so many festivals here in Nepal, I can’t keep track of them all! Last Saturday we went to the Father’s Day festival at the Gokarna temple where there were thousands of people praying and giving offerings (puja) to the Hindu god Shiva for the souls of deceased fathers.

This week is the festival called Teej where women dress in red and are especially good to their husbands, and, if unmarried, pray for a good future husband. The Sunday before Teej (which fell on a Tuesday this year) was a big shopping day, because on Monday the women cooked tremendous quantities of food, the purpose being to make their husbands happy and to fatten themselves up a bit for their day-long fast on Tuesday. Only the women fast, and that includes not drinking any liquids.

If they just stayed home to fast it might not be that difficult, but many get up in the wee hours of the morning to go to the Pashupati temple to give an offering and pray for the long life of their current or future husbands. The only problem is that about 100,000 other women have the same idea and the lines to the temple can be well over a mile long. It may take 5 or 6 hours of standing in line, sometimes in the hot sun, to reach the temple. And when there is no food or water intake that day, it’s not unusual for some women to faint, so there are always medical personnel on hand to help out. But, on the fun side, after the puja at the temple the women sing and dance down by the river in a demonstration of sisterhood. Some of the old-school women will bathe their husband’s feet that day and then drink the water as a sign of submission and respect. According to a Nepali friend, that ritual is falling out of favor in the cities and among the younger generation.

Bonnie was invited to observe the Monday food preparation at the home of our Nepali guide and historian, Kabindra. Bonnie took some sweets (cookies and chocolate) and a drawing/painting set for his 5-year-old daughter. While Kabindra and his wife cooked, Bonnie played with the little girl, Sajanathala, who drew a picture and then labeled it “jorila.” It took awhile for everyone to realize that she had drawn a picture of a “gorilla.” Her English is still a lot better than my Nepali.

Our maid Sita, the short one in the photo, invited Bonnie to accompany her to Pashupati on Tuesday morning. Since it was a “girl thing” I was not invited. That’s good, because if there’s anything I’ve learned in my life it is not to be in a crowd of thousands of hungry, thirsty and tired women! They left before sunrise at 4:30 am and when Bonnie came home three and a half hours later, Sita was still in line with quite a distance to go.

Bonnie took some photos of the throngs of lined up women decked out in their red saris. She said that for relatively small women they’re pretty good at shoving and throwing elbows in line. Bonnie said it’s very similar to what happens when Macy’s throws open its doors for the day-after-Thanksgiving sale.

Before I left for work, Bonnie wished me a long life and then went off to the Fulbright office to see if they could help get our internet service working again. It’s true all over the world: a woman’s work is never done.