Postcard from Michelle

Swayambhunath Stupa, Nepal

Known popularly as "The Monkey Temple"

Michelle writes: 

Last day in Nepal...sad to leave. It's been great: great people and food. Annapurna trek was definitely the highlight...seeing beautiful landscapes and industrious people. They live close to the earth, although tourism--especially trekking--is changing the rural landscape. Farms are being abandoned, as the money is more lucrative with trekkers. The higher up the mountain, the higher the prices. Pony freight is costly (ha ha). A hot shower and a bed thicker than two inches of cotton batt will be greatly appreciated.  Was at this Monkey Temple yesterday. One of the buggers grabbed my arm--Eeek!

Eating on Pangkor Island

Michelle writes from Pangkor Island, Malaysia: 

Roti stuffed with egg and onion. 

Pancakes with dollop of creamed corn.  

Banana pancake cooked in banana leaf.

Hornbill dining on spilled junk food.

ABC, the best cold snack, shaved ice with pinto beans, cream corn, crystallized ginger, jello, chocolate syrup, coconut, lychees, jello chunks and more! 

Sitting on the balcony looking for treats, at the coffee shop in the lobby. Someone had left out a glass with juice.

Volunteer

Michelle writes:
After great volunteer experiences in Guatemala, I was excited to connect with the Nepali people on more of a community level. To some degree, this had been the case on the trek, staying at tea houses and having a guide provide cultural education. On the trek, we had a daily agenda: hit the trail around 7 after a healthy breakfast of Dal bhatt, lentil soup, rice, sautéed veggies, and " pickle" (a zippy relish). No shortage of food here: 2-3 helpings of any of these tasties was to fill you with the needed level of carbohydrates to power you up the mountainside.
At the farm, there were not many expectations from the hosts, as they receive some renumeration in addition to our labor. We had come prepared to pitch in. I was excited to be at a permaculture site and hoped to garner some new gems of wisdom.
Another rustic location: hard cotton mattress, equally hard pillow, the room did have electricity and big windows. Bathroom outside in a tin topped shack, a single holer Turkish squatter with no receptacle for TP (who uses that?). Scoop and rinse water provided in a bucket you refilled out back from a black plastic drum. Shower down a path of shifting bricks. Once again a scoop and water bucket you'd fill out back. Glad I had my shower sandals! To wash my hair, I used the spigot with fresh spring water at the community faucet. This water we also drank, unsure at first, but no ramifications. Sure was nice to be able to put a toothbrush under the tap! 

The first day, we picked plums, lots of plums. Like any any fruit, it typically ripens at the same time as does the neighbors. So hearing that they only get around .25 USD for a kilo, I thought I'd employ my farm girl approach--drying, canning, preserving mentality. Then the realities of a Nepali kitchen manifested themselves.
Hygiene here is a much different concept! This rural kitchen had all the best! Brown washed floors, stove, sink area--that is, brown washed as in dung/soil mix freshly painted on all surfaces on a weekly or more frequent basis. This keeps the insects down, as they are not attracted to the dung mix. Strange, most cowpies I've witnessed were covered with flies, I guess that is if it was fresh! Not this mix though, only a dozen or so flies were visible at any given time. Needless to say you don't use the counter top directly for food prep. Big, flat woven baskets serve as the work surface for food prep.
Plums! Large metal bowls with water to wash, as there is no sink basin per se.  Then put them whole in to a kettle. Vishnu promptly lit the stove--think wood stove, middle of the day, small vent to outdoors, hot and humid tropical climate, windows that didn't open for cross ventilation--got the picture? So we got one pot going. Then with another bowl of washed fruit, we started pit removal. Chicago cutlery it is not! A gal, Moran from Israel, had brought a knife with her, a coveted item in this kitchen during her stay, since it actually had a sharp blade.

A boiling cauldron of sticky plums scented the kitchen. The others wondered what my intentions were. I had thought of fruit leather, since they dry everything here in the sun.

I'm including this picture for you of drying wild spinach and fiddlehead fern fronds on the rooftop or sidewalk. It works until it starts to rain. Spinach processing: pick in the wild, carry back in large baskets suspended by strap from crown of head, boil, pound the stem with a rock, then pull the stems apart to break down its tough, stringy nature, place on plastic sheeting, rooftops or other surface safe from dogs, chickens, wandering ponies, goats and cows. I couldn't think of a surface appropriate for pulpy fruit leather, so placed the plum pulp in a plastic grid basket, squished it through removing pits and peel. Made chutney with some by adding fresh red chili pepper that had been crushed with mortar and pestle. It was great-- fruity with a kick, a nice addition to beans and rice. For another batch, I added sugar and made a jam for chapatis. The volunteers were more interested in eating these than the hosts; it was not part of their diet.

I made a cobbler with the pitted plums. The white flour crust was more like dough drops of heavy glue. My oven idea hadn't worked so well. I tried to simulate Dutch oven cooking from my many river trips. We placed a metal plate on the kettle and filled it with glowing wood coals from the fire to create heat on top. An hour later, the dumpling like topping was not fluffy or thoroughly cooked, but it was edible and we enjoyed it nonetheless.

Momo making, no simple task: rollout the dough, spoon on vegetable mixture, then pinch shut, steam. A fun group activity! Notice the bamboo basket with dough disks, and Vishnu enjoying the spotlight.
No other activities were planned for the volunteers, so the following day we hiked up the road to Namo Buddha.
The only planned activity each day was yoga with Andres from Columbia - Spain - most recently India. Life is pretty casual here. Not much of an agenda, at least by western standards!

Organic Farming

Michelle writes:
I had an interesting day, as we went to visit an organic farm owned by an American couple.
We asked Mithu, our home stay mother, how to get to the farm. As we looked across the valley, she said, "See the white house, there's a brown one, then see the one with the blue window in the lower corner, up the hill to the one with the round window." We never did spot the round window, but had the general idea as we set out.
Down the narrow winding road we walked, our hearts racing as we rounded corners with 50-75 foot drops. Trucks honked as they flew around the same corners spewing their diesel fumes.  We greeted passersby with "Namaste."

We came to a sign: "everything organic nursery," a 10-minute walk uphill or 2 km, then right 1 km. Opting for the uphill, we set off, winding up the steep slope past the waterways, concrete culverts for the monsoon season. Trail led into trail--which to take?  Uphill, the sign had said! Entering people's yards, I would ask, "organic farm?" The elderly woman would indicate with her hand and a smile "up and around." Onward, past the goats and cows, more terraces. At the next house, I asked the same question. "Up and around" came the response. They are so helpful and friendly! (Loving the Nepali people.) Came across women bathing at a water tap. "Organic farm?" Finally, someone spoke English and indicated down and around.  We had come too far up the hillside and needed to drop down to the main trail. "Where are you from?" she asked as we walked on. "America," I responded. There are more Europeans than American travelers here in Nepal, because it's a shorter flight.

Sure enough, down around the bend there was a main trail that a motorbike could navigate. We could see the "more western" stone house, complete with solar panels and nice large windows. We walked by the bleating goat, our landmark. The incessant wail had caught my attention earlier; I wondered what was causing so much discomfort--separation from his buddies, I guess.

Three men greeted us as we arrived at the nursery. One understood English. I explained that we were volunteering at Hasera and had come to see the farm. He went to get Roshan, the outreach in chrage (that's the title from his business card; spelling here is interesting). 

Roshan, a delightful man, gave us the grand tour as Jim had gone back to California  recently and Judy went to Kathmandu for the day. They are in their 70s and have lived in Nepal for 35+ years, returned to the states for 5, but then came back 3 years ago to start this nursery. Wow, impressive what they have done in 3 years, with the help of 12 Nepali gardeners. A mix of trees, shrubs and forbs, beautifully landscaped terraces, color abounding. Everything labeled, genus and species, common name, country of origin, appealing to the western mind.

 
 

They had originally focused on vegetable varieties not common to Nepal. Now with one full time grafter, they are experimenting with fruit and nut trees from around the world. They are looking to develop a new niche in the agricultural market. Almond trees from many countries are being tested. Farmers wanting to take a risk can buy young almond trees hoping for a big payoff down the road. The nursery does offer free classes and workshops. Almonds are very expensive here and could yield a great return in this lush agricultural environment. 

We were given samples of raspberries and cherry tomatoes as we wandered around looking at almond, kiwi, grape, strawberry, blackberry, peach, pear, cherry, apple, asparagus, many varieties of squash, purple peppers, and herbs. They are experimenting with various methods of pest control, some working better than others.

They invited us to join them for their mid-day meal: milk tea, garbanzo bean curry with rice, and a snack item of dried noodles, peas, with spices. Starchy food is plentiful here! Where's the beano?
We had an easy walk back, and stopped for a cold soda along the roadway. 25 cents for a 7-Up in a well-worn reusable glass bottle. Life moves at a slower pace here in the heat. Walking and resting make the day enjoyable as one goes about one's business!

Annapurna Trek

Michelle writes:

We started the trek on May 6. Left at 7:15 am amidst the choir of cicadas and birds singing their morning songs. Around 80 degrees, cloud wisps clinging to the top of the hills, as the mountains here are anything over 16,500 feet. There are 14 peaks over 8000 meters (or 26,300 feet) in the world and 8 of those 14 are in Nepal.

Following a stream  of crystal clear, glacier-fed water, we walk along a well-worn path traveled by trekkers, local folk, and ponies carrying supplies. This is part of the Annapurna conservation area, so all trekkers are required to have a permit, paying the fee to maintain and preserve this region in the middle of Nepal. I was expecting less, not a developed 3-abreast limestone walk. This particular stretch is heavily used by those on the 21-day circuit as well as those having only a day to catch a closer glimpse of these impressive peaks. We are out for 10-12 days.  It's easily accessible from Kathmandu, a 6-7 hour bus ride to Pokhara, then a 1.5 hour taxi ride to the end of the navigable road (by car). Motorbikes can go a bit farther.

A verdant landscape surrounds us. Warm, perfect temperatures this morning, as I recall the snow and cold I left back in the States one month ago. With hiking poles and knee brace, I'm prepared for an assault, and here I have a walk in the park (but I'm not complaining). I am accompanied by Greg, a friend I met in Colorado while working at the YMCA. Greg's a fellow hiker and outdoorsman who also was interested in the Himalayan treks. Sujan, our guide, also works with the volunteer agency I've lined up for after the trek. He is a part-time guide, and after contacting his references, I felt it was a wise choice to have a knowledgeable local navigate. Bibek, the porter, in his later 30s, speaks very little English but smiles all the time! 

As we start out, it seems to be one village after another, with little shops with the same junk food: potato chips, crackers, Coke, catering to Western tastes...

 ...but swinging wooden suspension foot bridges,

log sections used for a bee hives,

fields being plowed by water buffalo or cattle,

and loads being carried in woven baskets suspended from the heads of these strong, agile people are the real world here. 

Gurkha

Michelle writes:
Just was given the label off the Gurkha beer bottle we had been drinking here at happy hour. The waiter is Gurkha, the mighty fighters employed by the British army! He showed me on Google maps where he's from and proudly told me of walking 1 hour to school, 2 hours during monsoon season. Here, children eat dal bhatt in the morning, walk to school which starts at 10, attend until 5, then walk home! No buses in the mountains. No school lunch, just a hearty dal bhatt meal twice a day. 

Greg's Selected Photos

Michelle's traveling companion, Greg, writes:

Headed to Malaysia in the morning...starting with a week on the beach, followed by some time trekking into the Cameron Highlands (tea plantations, rain forests, sanctuaries), lastly on Penang Island for food and culture. 

Cold showers the last few days but Pramilas food is great. vegetarian but all fresh green with fruit and beans. Lots of garlic, lime, and peppers. Great flat breads and pancakes. It's mango, watermelon and lychee season.

Here are some selected photos. 

News from Bhaktapur, Nepal

Michelle's traveling companion, Greg, writes:

The ancient enclave of Bhaktapur is pretty sweet especially at dusk when all the cooking is going on in the alleyways and crevices of the village.

It got dark on us and we ended up outside the walls inadvertently. Foreigners are supposed to pay $15 for a pass to enter the area but yesterday no one was at the gate (typical Nepali) so we skated. As we attempted to come in a little while ago the guard said $15, but I interjected that we had paid and our passes were back at the hotel. He said which hotel? So I pulled the hotel card out of my pocket as he said, ok, bring it tomorrow. Yeah, right, sure.

There are a lot of craftsmen working on pottery, wood carving and others selling their wares that are made by them and their families off site. Musical instruments, brass works, jewelry, and especially all grades of cashmere, among other things.

Checked out the old palace (which is now a museum) for 100R, about $1.20. Not much of it is open so it's a little bit of a disappointment, especially compared to the detail of the 2-3 hundred year old hand carved temples abounding nearby.

Spent the day meandering and exploring impossibly narrow alleys, hobbit doors leading to hidden restaurants, small shrines, and hooka bars. It looks like a combination of the casbah and old England. Bought some great gifts for prices about a tenth of US prices assuming you can find this stuff at home. It won't be in statesville.

Some of the snacks today:
Muesli with bananas, apples, and a fantastic water buffalo yogurt (famous Bhaktapur curd) and a real cup of coffee.
Cheese toast(yak?)
Fried momos ($1) which are small veggie egg rolls with a spicy sauce.
Fried soybeans with sautéed carrots, peppers, and onions (very spicy).
Everest beer
Lychee (a small spiney fruit that is easy to peel and tastes like a lemony peach but the consistency of muscadine grapes). $3 per kilo.they are about the size of a ping pong ball. Very delicious and just in season. I didn't get those growing up in Leaksville, NC.
Oh yeah, more water buffalo yogurt which is best very cold but the electricity was off all day.

Well, back to my Everest on the roof (found a place for 250R about $3 for a 22oz.).
Namaste

Not Just Another Haircut

Michelle's traveling companion, Greg, writes:

As I was walking up a steep alley way in Bhaktapur to get some of that ice cold water buffalo yogurt I noticed a small barber shop with a youngish barber cutting some kids hair. It's been 5 or six weeks since my last one and I felt a little shaggy so I thought, "Ok, it's just dead skin, the comb can't be dirtier than some of the bunks I've slept in on the trek, so get a haircut already".

After my not so cold yogurt (power has been out all day) I stopped by on the way back down the hill dodging motorbikes and other foot traffic and pulling picks (think basketball) on the little persistent beggar boys. Alas there were two people waiting for their beauty treatments so I thought, "come back later since nothing is too far away in Bhaktapur".

About an hour later the shop was even more crowded but the barber smiled and shrugged his shoulders in a friendly way. Ok, return tomorrow morning.

The next morning after a my breakfast and fortified with 4 or 5 cups of really good coffee I made my way past a cow, several vendors selling fruit, vegetables, and pretty much anything else. The pervading smells of the place evoked reminiscences of my time in Viet Nam (stale foul smells mixed with incense and the other end of the spectrum, aromas of exotic spices simmering and fresh breads being baked). You don't so much smell these things; instead you feel them wrapping you like a heavy early morning mist.

As I turned up the alleyway off the main drag I looked back on this time warp of a street scene. Except for the 2 or 3 motor scooters this could have been the Bhaktapur of Chaucer's era with the uneven brick pavers, open gutters filled with garbage, and melancholic, wailing music in the background.

Focusing my attention on my intended goal I was pleasantly surprised that only the friendly young barber was in the shop smiling at me as if he had expected me and quickly brushing off the homemade chair. As I sat down he made a big show of cleaning his instruments, a big red comb, a small thin long black one, and an old pair of well sharpened scissors (with what looked like the old greasy rag I heep hanging in my garage that I check the oil in my car with....for years). Anyway, I had resolved not to blanch and settled in for what is always too short an experience. Someone taking care of one's head in a careful manner.

Without a word he proceeded to start snipping expertly with rapid comb/snip motions moving rhythmically up the side of my head and then on to the next parcel of the shaggy gray brown weed field that passes for a good head of hair for a man my age. By this time I was practically dozing off listening to the snip snip and feeling the almost ticklish touch of the comb dancing through my hair. The guy was deft and didn't have a single misstep in his motions. You could easily tell this wasn't his first parade.

Pretty soon after switching combs a couple of times he put down his tools and started rapidly mussing up my hair with his fingertips all through my roots, kind of a scalp/follicle massage. This went on for quite a while and I wasn't complaining as it felt pretty good. This motion finally proceeded to a temple massage and then on to a full neck, shoulder, back, shoulder, arm, hand, finger, back some more, neck again and again until I began wondering if this guy had may be either fallen in love with me or was just getting his daily work out routine out of the way.

Just when you think the gig is over he says in heavily accented lilting Asian flavored English,"you wan facial?" Uh, duh, sure.

He smiled and went into the other room and came back with a tray full of jars and bottles and an even more decrepit yellowish towel (I am still hoping it started out as a natural fiber towel and not a white one).

He opened a white jar from his tray of tricks and scooped out two fingers full of what appeared to be my grandmother's crisco and the poured a goodly measure of a pinkish liquid from a bottle into this goo and hand mixed it in his palm and proceeded to gently massage this concoction into my face and neck, ears, eyelids, nose, etc. it felt cooling, smelled pleasant and wasn't the least bit greasy. He then wiped my face off with this brown/yellow greasy rag. The next step in my beautification (is that a Catholic term?) was to spray my face down with water from a spray bottle and wipe it off again with that left over mechanics rag.

He disappeared into the back room again and came out with what looked like a small side grinder with a rubber wheel on it (did this guy have a body shop on the side in the other room?).

Btw the power had come back on and really good Nepali music was playing across the alley. I remarked on how muchI liked their music and he seemed to understand. A few minutes later the music stopped and when I asked about it he stuck his head out of the door and yelled something across the alley to an upstairs window. A woman's voice answered, he spoke again and after a moment the music resumed. Evidently she had changed the channel.

Back to the facial he plugged this thing into a dirty, yellowed electrical cord (after first clearing away rubble) and clicked it on. He seemed as surprised as I was when the device started whirring with a smooth soft buzz. As he applied this soft rubber disc to my face he simultaneously squirted a bluish lotion into the vortex and went all over my face paying particular attention to my chin, upper lip, nose, and ears. Next came a lower, slower speed with deep vibrations. This went on for a long time and felt really weird and pleasant at the same time. After a while he turned it off, made up a new mixture from his lotions and potions and thoroughly massaged my eyes, ears, nose, and throat (just kidding about the throat).

You can probably guess what happened next, you guessed it, another trip to the back room. As I bent around to see what was happening (there was no mirror on the wall) I was almost expecting a screwdriver or may be sandpaper or something but he came out with a small stack of obviously freshly laundered, bright, white hand towels bound together with a string. Was this the years supply?

He sprayed my face down with water again and wiped it with a brand new clean towel. Then came another bluish, but different lotion (aqua velva?). As I started to get up he started massaging my scalp again and before he was through I had another full thirty minute scalp face neck eyebrow lip shoulder arm hand finger nose ear nose....did I mention back? massage including a chiropractic cracking of the neck, spinal realignment and knuckle popping. Then came a complete cleaning of my hair face neck and shirt with quick light brush strokes from the no longer clean towel.

When I finally got up after almost two hours he smiled and ask me if I wanted hair creme....to which I replied no as it looked like 90 weight gear oil (penzoil ?).

We settled on 700r (around $8.50) which probably thrilled him. As I left feeling a little drained but very handsome I was wondering how many more clients could he get out of that towel.

May be I'll go back there just for the massage as it is a lot cheaper than the one I got in Thamel.

Bhaktapur Temple

Michelle at Bhaktapur, Nepal, 

in front of the ornately-carved wood of an ancient temple

Annapurna Sanctuary Trek...Along the Way

World's Largest Rhododendron Forest

Bridges of all types--I'm glad I'm not afraid of heights!

Terraced Hillsides

Annapurna Base Camp Trek

Michelle's fellow-traveler, Greg, writes:
I am back in Katmandu from my trek up to the Annapurna Base Camp. I kept a pretty detailed journal during the trek but here I am going to send out some highlights from this 12 day journey through the back country of Nepal the apex of which was a clear sunrise (not a cloud in the sky) surrounded by 8 Himalayan peaks several of which were above 8000 m. Anything below 6000 meters is not considered a mountain, just a hill.

Annapurna South Face

The actual hiking was 11 days but I have counted 12 because the journey there was pretty wild with a bus ride (more local, no ac) where we were a definite minority.

The tea houses were varied with a couple being very well appointed with private baths and hot water, western toilets, and great views. A few others were more simple but clean with Turkish (and a couple of times western) toilets down the hall. A couple were dumps with pretty bad smelling Turkish toilets outside in a separate room. All had spectacular views of the snow covered peaks, bamboo forests, or jungle complete with monkeys.

In the sanctuary all the menus were the same (except in layout) with the prices steadily rising the further into the hike. For example a 22 oz Everest beer was about 350 rupees at the beginning but 850 up at the base camp. 1 USD is 86 rupees. I didn't drink any until we got back down to the next to last day. Da bhat ranged from 300 to 480 rupees.  I ate a lot of dal bhat which is lentil soup with rice and a little vegetable curry on the side; sometimes with chutney, always with this great hot green pepper sauce. Also some fried noodles with veggies (mostly carrots and cabbage) and some pretty good yak cheese pizza a couple of times. No meat as it is frowned on in the sanctuary. There is a classic sigh at the entrance to the sanctuary (about 3 days into the trek) that has many misspellings. It warns of dangers and personal accident to those who bring in meat. Kinda pisses off the gods of the mountains.
Oat meal with apples for breakfast, dal bhat for lunch, noodles for dinner, gallons of either black, mint, lemon, or ginger tea. All the food was either delicious or I was famished enough to cover up any deficiencies. Toward the end one of the best well appointed tea houses that we stayed at had a baked apple/banana turnover (totally fresh and homemade) served hot for 240 rupees.

The villages we hiked through were peopled by simple peasants going about their daily business but always acknowledged us with a smile and a polite Nemaste. Marijuana grows everywhere and is ok to smoke if you want to. Most villages have electricity from small water powered generators.

Some of my best photos are of them working: plowing with an iron tipped wooden plow pulled by small water buffalo in impossibly tight, steep terraces, sawing planks with a two man saw, weaving with a hand loom, drying wild spinach, and breaking larger rocks into smaller pieces to either put in mortar or to repair an sidewalk. Almost all labor is done by hand.

The people are friendly, industrious, and hard working. They routinely climb 2 or 3 or 4 thousand feet with 50-60 kilo loads, carrying anything and everything up the hills on their backs: coils of black pipe too wide to believe, 60 kilo slabs of flat granite, doors, rebar in coils, 30 gallon propane tanks (empty back down, ponies carry them up).

We climbed over 25,000 feet during the 12 days. We had one day over 5000. One other day we descended 6550 feet with 1500 feet of climbing that day. There were a lot of steps.  It rained every day but we only got rained on once for a few minutes ( my weather Kharma held).