Full Press

I haven't had time to write a new post in the past few weeks, but here are a few written tidbits for you to enjoy:


A vivid, inspired, and oddly accurate parody of Peace Corps experience, composed by a very talented (now Returned) Peace Corps Volunteer who served with me in Nepal:

http://daalbhaat.wordpress.com/2014/09/28/peace-corps-moon/


A little old, but a NPR piece by a good friend serving with me about what it's like being a volunteer:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/goatsandsoda/2014/07/16/331675736/nepalis-treat-this-peace-corps-volunteer-like-justin-bieber


Something I wrote-up about Nepali cuisine for a blog dedicated to the food in the Peace Corps:

http://cookinginthecorps.tumblr.com/post/100826379088/nepal-khaana-khaam

The Circus in Town

“There’s a man over there playing with a snake,” said a passerby.

I was sitting in my village bazaar, chatting with a Nepali couple about family news. I turned my attention to the rapidly growing crowd, and, excusing myself, I went over to see what the fuss was about. The mass of people was encircling a man crouching next to a small wooden box, in which sat a shiny, black snake with a hood that screamed: cobra! It rose out of its box and glared at the man taunting it, who showed no fear.

Suddenly, it struck at his hand and seemed to sink into skin, but the man was unhurt (reveal: the snake was fangless). The man even convinced a young man to wear the snake like a necklace, which made everyone squirm. I tossed in a few rupees in thanks for the show and walked away.

As I was leaving the bazaar, a woman I didn’t recognize called me over to her. She introduced herself and informed me that she could tell the future. She kept saying absurd things like: “I’m a vegetarian, but I eat snakes. I mash them up and eat them.” She offered to tell me my fortune for about $0.55, so I agreed. Presenting me with a plate of uncooked rice, she told me to pick up a handful and then place it back on the plate. Then she mixed all the rice back up and began separating them into small piles. From these, she began pairing off grains of rice and telling my fortune in rather odd language. One of the women from the village helped translate for me.

Even with the translation, very little of what she said made much sense, so I asked a lot of questions. Several times the fortuneteller grew very frustrated and said, “I can’t do this, he doesn’t understand anything!” I understood a lot, actually, I just disagreed with most of what she said. At one point, she told me that, in the future, I should give everything with my left hand and receive everything with my right for good luck. “But in Nepal it’s rude to give things with your left hand, isn’t it?” I asked. “He doesn’t listen to anything I say!” she said. In the end, I walked away a little annoyed at having wasted my money on a sham, but my amusement with her ridiculousness almost made it worth it.

Since they arrived a few weeks ago, the snake man and the fortuneteller have been living in a tent next to the bazaar. No one really seems to want them around, but people occasionally give them food because that’s what you do.

Color Me by Number

Five-A-Day Confections 

On the first day of Deshain my host family gave to me: a sacred blend of five cow products. Milk, curd, unrefined butter (so far so good, right?)… and urine and manure. I learned many months ago that such a mixture exists and is consumed during certain Hindu rituals, but there is another holy delicious concoction also made of five ingredients with a similar name that I’d previously had on similar occasions. What I’d just put in my mouth was no gustatory delight—I knew what I’d done the instant it touched my lips and ran out of the room gagging. I might have thrown up, but I hadn’t eaten anything yet that morning. It’s good for digestion, my host brother claimed between bouts of laughter (though I could just as well have been laughing at him—he’d taken it knowingly). A few days later, a good Nepali friend (a science student/Hindu priest explained that because cows have such a superior digestive system, eating the aftermath of their digestion bestows that advantage upon the consumer. Still not buying it.

Four Newborn Felines

My family’s cat had a litter of four kittens! They are adorable, but that doesn’t stop my host mother from smacking them on the head when they come too close to the milk jug.

Three Tummy Drugs 

Nine months of documented intermittent gastrointestinal discomfort, ten stool samples, two blood draws, and a full abdominal ultrasound. All were inconclusive, save for the test for one pesky little bacterium called Heliobacter pylori, which had given me some problems back in the seventh grade. With a regimen of a couple antibiotics and a PPI, along with some dietary selectivity, I’ve been relatively symptom-free for the past month. Here’s to being completely healthy in year two! Wait, what’s that…

Two Pink Eyes 

My host sister got conjunctivitis last week, which within a few days spread to one and then both of my eyes—just in time for Deshain! The priest who performed my family’s Deshain ceremony warned me that pink eye can spread just by looking an infected person in the eyes, which several other people reiterated over the next couple of days.

My face at the end of Deshain celebrations. That’s as much as my eyes would open!

And a Consanguineous Runaway Bride 

While I was away, my youngest host sister (who lives in the U.S. but has been on holiday in Nepal for the past three months) eloped. People—especially women—in the village have been gossiping about it a lot, asking me whether she’s come home and whether my family is angry with her. I was curious too. Here’s how my conversation with my host mom went.

“Aamaa, Binita bahini Deshainma yaahaa auchha?” (Mother, will Binita sister come here for Deshain?)

“Nai, aabaa Kathmanduma baschha.” (No, now she’ll stay in Kathmandu.)

“Kina?” (How come?)

“Hami dherai risayeko chau.” (We’re very angry with her.)

“Kati samaya ko laagi risaaunuhunchha?” (For how much time will you be angry?)

“Dui barsa samma” (For two years).

Nostalgia in Kathmandu

The day before the new batch of trainees arrived in Nepal, I had a day off and decided to live it up.

I began at the weekly farmer’s market, which a few of us had discovered on a previous trip. Beneath a large tent, a crowd of people moved amidst the farmers, bakers, and other food artisans offering samples of honey, cookies, cheese, salsa, and more. The venders and patrons were an interesting combination of expatriates and Nepalis, conversing in Nepali, English, French, or Italian depending on the pairing. I bought a few avocados (which I later made into guacamole...)



... dried strawberries, a glass of wine, a panini, and bagel with cream cheese—all things unavailable within several hundred miles of my village. It was like being back in Vermont.

Next I headed to the Garden of Dreams, a once private estate that has been restored and converted into a park. Its fountains, pavilions, greenery, and high walls serve as a peaceful egress from the hustle and bustle of Kathmandu. I had to wander carefully, however, as the garden is full of semi-secluded benches with Nepali couples holding hands and kissing. I sat down on a vacant bench to read some Dostoevsky, and for a time lost all sense of time and place.

In the early afternoon, I made my way to Kathmandu’s Civil Mall to catch a movie. The film-going experience is something I’ve missed immensely since coming to Nepal, and watching a Hindi movie in a rundown theater (as I did six months ago) just isn’t the same. Waiting in line, I met a Nepali guy who also happened to be traveling alone. We struck up a conversation and decided to sit together. I paid about $4.50 (which is expensive by Nepali standards) to see Guardians of the Galaxy in 3D, selected my seat on the touch-screen display, and ascended the stairs to the floor where the movie was to be shown. Being forty-five minutes early, I decided to wander around for a bit. I came across a bowling alley and an arcade, where I spent $0.50 playing the basketball shooting game.

The theater was very nice, with comfortable seating, air-conditioning, and a huge screen. As the movie started my new friend offered me some of his popcorn, and I gave some of my dried strawberries to him. Watching an American movie in a theater full of foreigners was a unique experience—there were times when I was the only one in the theater who laughed (having understood some cultural reference or play on words), and other times when everybody in the theater laughed but me (probably due to cultural discrepancies in sense of humor). There was an intermission halfway through, which was something I’d never experienced before.

When the movie ended, my friend invited me to go to a motor show. Despite my not having a pass, the people at the gate let me right in. We wandered around the new models of motorcycles and cars, chatting about life in the Nepal and the US.

I had never been to a motor show in the US and, not being a gearhead, found it uninteresting. Neither, as it turns out, did he. Later, we sat with some of his friends and had ice cream. As it started getting dark, I took my leave and headed back to my hotel.

A year ago, I would have said nothing was particularly special about my day. You can do all the things I did—go to a market, park, movie, or expo—without much effort in the US. This time, though, everything felt extraordinary. The flash of lights of an arcade, the crash of bowling pins, the buttered upholstery smell of a movie theater, the flavor of a hearty chili, the anonymous intimacy of a park bench—these represent just a few items from the volumes of sensory and cultural familiarity I’ve yearned for over the past year. When I do return in just over thirteen months, I hope, for as long as possible, that I will relish these everyday pleasures as much as I did on that Saturday in Kathmandu.