I couldn't stop myself. I did something I thought I'd never do. Something that will change the way I live, perhaps forever.
I bought a bluetooth headset for my cell phone.
Whenever I see someone wearing one of these in public, I wonder what they could possibly be thinking. I mean, I guess I can understand the convenience of having both hands free while talking on the phone. But is it worth looking like some sort of alien, with a colorful hunk of metal and plastic jutting from your ear?
It's worse when someone is wearing one but not actually talking on it. That person is making a bold statement. They're saying "Look at me. Look how important I am. Someone could be calling me at any moment. And when they do call, I will be ready to answer." Yeah, whatever. Keep telling yourself that. Tool.
But at the end of the month, a new law goes into effect in California. It will make it illegal to use a non-hands-free cell phone while driving you car. Because I don't enjoy receiving tickets, and because I don't want to get hassled by The Man, I bought myself a little blue and black Motorola hands-free wireless attach-it-to-your-ear-and-look-like-an-alien headset. I feel so dirty.
I vow to only wear it while driving. I vow to always remember to take it off when I exit the car. And I vow to never take myself seriously again.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
down the Garden Path
new music video for singer/songwriter Shannon Hurley's "Garden Path” is up!
and like all previous videos, you can also see it at manic turtle youtube, manic turtle myspace and manicturtle.com.
the manic turtle gets around.
and like all previous videos, you can also see it at manic turtle youtube, manic turtle myspace and manicturtle.com.
the manic turtle gets around.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
When a Man Loves a Dog
I went to the Creative Screenwriting Expo a few months ago. They had this big spontaneous writing competition called the CS Open. They give you a scenario, then you have exactly 90 minutes to make up a scene that fits it. Below is the scene I wrote for the first round (you needed to score a 91 or higher to get to the second round. I got a 98).
The scenario: "Your protagonist, who has been a humble failure all of his or her life, meets up with an uber-successful high school sweetheart. Sparks fly; the attraction is still there. But both are involved and live in different worlds. Write the scene in which the sweetheart decides to try to help the protagonist -- who is not all that sure he wants to be helped. How you handle this scene, the era, setting and style -- dramatic or comedy -- is entirely up to you."
-- please forgive the shoddy script formatting --
INT. PETS N' STUFF -- DAY
JAKE, 35 and tired, looks at the dogs for sale in a row of open-air crates. Some dogs play, some sleep, some just look bored. Jake looks longingly at a small poodle.
FEMALE VOICE
Jake? Is that you?
Jake turns toward the voice but sees no one.
FEMALE VOICE
Down here.
Jake looks down and sees PRINCESS, a stunningly beautiful cocker spaniel with jewels around her neck and a golden ribbon tied around her tail. Jake is stunned.
JAKE
Oh my god -- Princess. What are you doing here?
PRINCESS
Good to see you too, Jake.
JAKE
I don't mean -- I, I'm just stunned is all. I never thought I'd see you again. At least not in person. I watch your TV show all the time.
PRINCESS
Ahh, yes. Dog in the Family. We still do pull in the ratings.
JAKE
I never miss an episode. Sometimes I even TIVO -- never mind.
PRINCESS
I need a new collar. Would you like to walk with me?
JAKE
Sure.
Jake and Princess walk down an aisle.
PRINCESS
How long has it been? Five years?
JAKE
Eight.
PRINCESS
My goodness. Time does fly. It seems like just yesterday when we met at -- what was the name of that place again?
JAKE
St. Fluffy's School for Wayward Dogs and Confused Humans.
PRINCESS
Of course. Forgive me for forgetting such details. They had me on a lot of drugs back then. I was such a wild pup.
They stop in front of some dog collars hanging on racks. Princess examines a leather collar with spiky metal studs.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
Ha! No chance I could pull off that look anymore.
Jake laughs.
JAKE
You're still beautiful. Your fur looks as thick and lustrous as it ever did.
PRINCESS
Thank you, dear. My groomers do excellent work.
Princess puts the leather collar back on the rack.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
So tell me, Jake. What have you been up to?
JAKE
Well, I got married.
PRINCESS
Really? To a woman?
JAKE
Yep. It hasn't always been easy suppressing my urges, so I just take it one day at a time.
PRINCESS
That's good, that's good.
(then)
Ahh, those were amazing times back at St. Fluffy's, weren't they? The romps in the park, drinking the water from the headmaster's toilet, those late night rendezvouses behind the kibble shack.
JAKE
The sweet taste of forbidden love.
PRINCESS
Indeed.
JAKE
But, umm, you know...I'm much happier now. It's like my doctor says -- dogs belong with dogs, humans belong with humans.
A male dog barks loudly from the back.
PRINCESS
Sounds like Rex is donw with his pedicure.
JAKE
(disappointed)
Oh, yeah. Rex, the golden retriever from Three Men and a Dog, right? I remember reading you were together.
PRINCESS
Yes, we're dating. But don't believe everything you read in the tabloids. They've had it out for Rex ever since he bit that paparazzi.
REX barks again from the back.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
I have to go. But it was wonderful seeing you again.
JAKE
You too.
Princess turns to leave, then stops herself. She extends her tail to Jake.
PRINCESS
Jake, I want you to have my ribbon.
JAKE
No, I -- I just can't. It would just be a reminder of what could never be.
PRINCESS
Don't think of it that way. Think of it as something pure and sweet. A perfect memory of our time together. No one can ever take that away.
JAKE
I shouldn't --
PRINCESS
Please, take it. I want you to. No matter what ever happens, we'll always have St. Fluffy's.
Jake slides the ribbon off Princess' tail. She starts to walk away, then turns back to Jake. They share a smile. Princess walks away.
The scenario: "Your protagonist, who has been a humble failure all of his or her life, meets up with an uber-successful high school sweetheart. Sparks fly; the attraction is still there. But both are involved and live in different worlds. Write the scene in which the sweetheart decides to try to help the protagonist -- who is not all that sure he wants to be helped. How you handle this scene, the era, setting and style -- dramatic or comedy -- is entirely up to you."
-- please forgive the shoddy script formatting --
INT. PETS N' STUFF -- DAY
JAKE, 35 and tired, looks at the dogs for sale in a row of open-air crates. Some dogs play, some sleep, some just look bored. Jake looks longingly at a small poodle.
FEMALE VOICE
Jake? Is that you?
Jake turns toward the voice but sees no one.
FEMALE VOICE
Down here.
Jake looks down and sees PRINCESS, a stunningly beautiful cocker spaniel with jewels around her neck and a golden ribbon tied around her tail. Jake is stunned.
JAKE
Oh my god -- Princess. What are you doing here?
PRINCESS
Good to see you too, Jake.
JAKE
I don't mean -- I, I'm just stunned is all. I never thought I'd see you again. At least not in person. I watch your TV show all the time.
PRINCESS
Ahh, yes. Dog in the Family. We still do pull in the ratings.
JAKE
I never miss an episode. Sometimes I even TIVO -- never mind.
PRINCESS
I need a new collar. Would you like to walk with me?
JAKE
Sure.
Jake and Princess walk down an aisle.
PRINCESS
How long has it been? Five years?
JAKE
Eight.
PRINCESS
My goodness. Time does fly. It seems like just yesterday when we met at -- what was the name of that place again?
JAKE
St. Fluffy's School for Wayward Dogs and Confused Humans.
PRINCESS
Of course. Forgive me for forgetting such details. They had me on a lot of drugs back then. I was such a wild pup.
They stop in front of some dog collars hanging on racks. Princess examines a leather collar with spiky metal studs.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
Ha! No chance I could pull off that look anymore.
Jake laughs.
JAKE
You're still beautiful. Your fur looks as thick and lustrous as it ever did.
PRINCESS
Thank you, dear. My groomers do excellent work.
Princess puts the leather collar back on the rack.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
So tell me, Jake. What have you been up to?
JAKE
Well, I got married.
PRINCESS
Really? To a woman?
JAKE
Yep. It hasn't always been easy suppressing my urges, so I just take it one day at a time.
PRINCESS
That's good, that's good.
(then)
Ahh, those were amazing times back at St. Fluffy's, weren't they? The romps in the park, drinking the water from the headmaster's toilet, those late night rendezvouses behind the kibble shack.
JAKE
The sweet taste of forbidden love.
PRINCESS
Indeed.
JAKE
But, umm, you know...I'm much happier now. It's like my doctor says -- dogs belong with dogs, humans belong with humans.
A male dog barks loudly from the back.
PRINCESS
Sounds like Rex is donw with his pedicure.
JAKE
(disappointed)
Oh, yeah. Rex, the golden retriever from Three Men and a Dog, right? I remember reading you were together.
PRINCESS
Yes, we're dating. But don't believe everything you read in the tabloids. They've had it out for Rex ever since he bit that paparazzi.
REX barks again from the back.
PRINCESS (cont'd)
I have to go. But it was wonderful seeing you again.
JAKE
You too.
Princess turns to leave, then stops herself. She extends her tail to Jake.
PRINCESS
Jake, I want you to have my ribbon.
JAKE
No, I -- I just can't. It would just be a reminder of what could never be.
PRINCESS
Don't think of it that way. Think of it as something pure and sweet. A perfect memory of our time together. No one can ever take that away.
JAKE
I shouldn't --
PRINCESS
Please, take it. I want you to. No matter what ever happens, we'll always have St. Fluffy's.
Jake slides the ribbon off Princess' tail. She starts to walk away, then turns back to Jake. They share a smile. Princess walks away.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Lost in Thamel (and finale ultimo)
May 15 -- 8:13pm
I get back to my Kathmandu hotel exhausted. My legs hurt from the knees to the toes. All I want to do is lie in bed and watch TV while eating room service food. That and go downstairs to use the internet in the business center, to check my fantasy baseball scores.
But no. I always have to push myself too far. I decide that since this is my last true vacation day (and who knows if I'll ever be in Nepal again), I should do something I haven't done all trip -- shop. I figure I can mostly get gifts for others, though I wouldn't mind finding that elusive perfect floppy hat for myself. I'll use the internet in the business center after I’m done shopping.
With my legs ready to snap off in a stiff wind, I walk back to Thamel. And as the sky grows darker, I do my touristy shopping. I even find a cool floppy hat! I call the Western Hemisphere from a cybercafe to let them know I'm still alive. I wander around a bit more for just one more gift. By the time it’s totally dark, I am lost.
I try to find my way out to the main street of Durbar Marg, but my locale works against me. So many blocks look nearly identical. The maze of little streets and alleys keeps causing me to lose my sense of direction. I feel like I’m walking in circles. I pass the same stupa that I passed fifteen minutes earlier. I keep seeing the same street person sleeping with his head cocked to the left side.
I am so tired. I need to get out of here. I need to lie in bed and watch TV while eating room service food. And I need to check my fantasy baseball scores.
Thamel is crazy, especially at night. A chaotic mishmash of cars, bikes, motorcycles, pedestrians and bike rickshaws (I guess that’s what you call them) fighting to get through. Everyone going every direction at once. I suppose I could hire one of the cabs or bike-rickshaws to take me back to the hotel, but that wouldn’t feel right. It’d be cheating. I need to find my own way back out. I need to earn it.
Beggar children accost me from all angles. Shopkeepers seem pushier than they did the other day, more forceful with their buy-my-items "namaste"s. Is it just my imagination?
My legs ask what they ever did to deserve such punishment. They threaten to stop working entirely if I ever mistreat them again. I tell them to shut it. Their job is to walk, not to talk back.
And then it happens -- I find Durbar Marg. Finally. I trudge back to my hotel, gulping down a strawberry smoothie along the way. The hotel's business center closed five minutes ago. Guess I won't be checking my fantasy baseball scores today. Good. I need to rest already.
May 16 -- 6:04pm
I'm in the Delhi airport, my stopover on the way back to Bangalore. When my flight came in, they announced the temperature was 43 degrees Celsius. I never got the hang of Celsius conversions so I didn’t bother to think what that would be in Fahrenheit. I just knew that it was hot. Very, very hot.
I remember that I have a temperature converter in the cell phone I haven't used in a week. 43 degrees Celsius = 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Oh well. At least there’s no air conditioning.
My connecting flight is delayed. There's an announcement that anyone on my delayed flight should proceed to the snack bar "for refreshment.” I choose a different kind of refreshment by using the bathroom. As expected, it’s very, very hot.
May 16 -- 9:45pm
The plane touches down in Bangalore. My vacation is over. I'm glad I didn't start it until I was totally done with work out here. I had no responsibilities and a clear head.
I did things on this trip that I'd never done before. I learned to scuba dive in the warm waters of a tropical island. I trekked through the hills and villages of Nepal. I became close friends with all sorts of insects and pests and cows and goats. It was all fascinating and tough and gorgeous and sweaty and fun and exhausting and amazing. I'm glad I took this trip while I had the chance -- I may never get back to this part of the world again.
The passengers have all exited the plane but I'm stuck in the window seat, next to a very old couple who need help getting off. As the flight attendants decide how to assist them, I hop over the seat in from of me. I exit through the door in the back.
I get back to my Kathmandu hotel exhausted. My legs hurt from the knees to the toes. All I want to do is lie in bed and watch TV while eating room service food. That and go downstairs to use the internet in the business center, to check my fantasy baseball scores.
But no. I always have to push myself too far. I decide that since this is my last true vacation day (and who knows if I'll ever be in Nepal again), I should do something I haven't done all trip -- shop. I figure I can mostly get gifts for others, though I wouldn't mind finding that elusive perfect floppy hat for myself. I'll use the internet in the business center after I’m done shopping.
With my legs ready to snap off in a stiff wind, I walk back to Thamel. And as the sky grows darker, I do my touristy shopping. I even find a cool floppy hat! I call the Western Hemisphere from a cybercafe to let them know I'm still alive. I wander around a bit more for just one more gift. By the time it’s totally dark, I am lost.
I try to find my way out to the main street of Durbar Marg, but my locale works against me. So many blocks look nearly identical. The maze of little streets and alleys keeps causing me to lose my sense of direction. I feel like I’m walking in circles. I pass the same stupa that I passed fifteen minutes earlier. I keep seeing the same street person sleeping with his head cocked to the left side.
I am so tired. I need to get out of here. I need to lie in bed and watch TV while eating room service food. And I need to check my fantasy baseball scores.
Thamel is crazy, especially at night. A chaotic mishmash of cars, bikes, motorcycles, pedestrians and bike rickshaws (I guess that’s what you call them) fighting to get through. Everyone going every direction at once. I suppose I could hire one of the cabs or bike-rickshaws to take me back to the hotel, but that wouldn’t feel right. It’d be cheating. I need to find my own way back out. I need to earn it.
Beggar children accost me from all angles. Shopkeepers seem pushier than they did the other day, more forceful with their buy-my-items "namaste"s. Is it just my imagination?
My legs ask what they ever did to deserve such punishment. They threaten to stop working entirely if I ever mistreat them again. I tell them to shut it. Their job is to walk, not to talk back.
And then it happens -- I find Durbar Marg. Finally. I trudge back to my hotel, gulping down a strawberry smoothie along the way. The hotel's business center closed five minutes ago. Guess I won't be checking my fantasy baseball scores today. Good. I need to rest already.
May 16 -- 6:04pm
I'm in the Delhi airport, my stopover on the way back to Bangalore. When my flight came in, they announced the temperature was 43 degrees Celsius. I never got the hang of Celsius conversions so I didn’t bother to think what that would be in Fahrenheit. I just knew that it was hot. Very, very hot.
I remember that I have a temperature converter in the cell phone I haven't used in a week. 43 degrees Celsius = 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Oh well. At least there’s no air conditioning.
My connecting flight is delayed. There's an announcement that anyone on my delayed flight should proceed to the snack bar "for refreshment.” I choose a different kind of refreshment by using the bathroom. As expected, it’s very, very hot.
May 16 -- 9:45pm
The plane touches down in Bangalore. My vacation is over. I'm glad I didn't start it until I was totally done with work out here. I had no responsibilities and a clear head.
I did things on this trip that I'd never done before. I learned to scuba dive in the warm waters of a tropical island. I trekked through the hills and villages of Nepal. I became close friends with all sorts of insects and pests and cows and goats. It was all fascinating and tough and gorgeous and sweaty and fun and exhausting and amazing. I'm glad I took this trip while I had the chance -- I may never get back to this part of the world again.
The passengers have all exited the plane but I'm stuck in the window seat, next to a very old couple who need help getting off. As the flight attendants decide how to assist them, I hop over the seat in from of me. I exit through the door in the back.
Friday, August 31, 2007
trek
May 12 -- 10:12am
I sit in a 30 seat propeller plane which will take me to Pokhara, 30 minutes away. I'll start my trek from there.
I'm flying on Yeti Airlines. It sounds made-up, but it’s actually called Yeti, which is awesome. We're next in line for takeoff, right after a small plane from Buddha Air.
May 12 -- 5:01pm
Trekking is hard. It’s long and strenuous. Seems like it’s just one uphill stone step after another. And just when you reach what you think is the top step -- bam! -- ninety more. Then another two hundred after that. I like to walk, but walking all day is tiring. Maybe I'm just old and out of shape.
By Trekking standards, I'm doing a very short trek -- just four days. Day one is done. I can’t wait for day four. Tuesday afternoon. Just getting back to where I started from, taking the one hour car ride back to the small Pokhara airport. Sounds restful.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful up here in the Annapurna region of the Himalayas. Walking along a stony path past churning waterfalls, elaborate steppe farmland, roving oxen and horses, cute little villages. And the rickety suspension bridges are cool too.
For the first few hours, the sun is shining. Since I burn easily, I (finally) decide to put on some sunscreen. I apply it liberally, then look up as ominous dark clouds form overhead. Then the rain comes. Nothing torrential, just enough to make me feel silly for slathering on the sunscreen. My timing sucks.
Now I sit in one of the surprisingly comfortable twin beds in my room at the Chandra Guest House in the little village of Tikhedhunga. I write by the natural light that comes in the window since the electricity doesn’t come on until 7pm. Oh well, I'm just glad they have electricity at all.
May 13 -- 7:41am
I sit in the Chandra Guest House's restaurant. I pour some sugar from the sugar bowl into my coffee, but I accidentally pour in way too much. Coffee and sugar/coffee sludge spill all over the table. I'm such a slob. Of course my porter (the guy who carries the bags) immediately runs over. He cleans up my mess and brings me a fresh cup of coffee. It’s odd -- when eating at these little restaurants, my guide (Ang Kazi Sherpa) and my porter (I forget his name, he only speaks Nepali) go in the kitchen as the food is prepared. They make sure everything is sanitary and such. I asked Ang Kazi if the restaurant workers are offended by this. He said they aren’t, that it’s pretty standard along the trek routes.
My guide and porter eat in the kitchen (also standard, it seems). I wish they'd eat out in the dining area with me. It’s weird eating alone while the few other trekking parties eat with their groups, keeping to themselves. It’s not the busy trekking season so there aren't that many people around. If there were, I' m sure I'd end up talking to some of them, which would be nice. Oh well. At least the scrambled eggs are tasty.
May 13 -- 9:32am
An hour and a half walking up a mountain, up (roughly) a zillion stone steps. I am exhausted, though my calves love the workout. Stupid calves. Today is Sunday. Tuesday afternoon feels so far away.
May 13 -- 11:00am
The path goes from steep incline to not-as-steep incline. It is wonderful -- like a vacation for my feet. I have a fine pace going but my guide wants to stop at a restaurant for lunch. Fine, whatever. Guess I could eat. So now I sit outside at a little table with a spectacular view of the hills and valleys that I’ve spent all morning climbing up. I wait for my potato rosti (with egg) to be served.
I have a nice conversation with two British girls (Grace and Kate), med students. We'd passed each other numerous times on the way up to this point, climbing the (roughly) zillion stone steps. There's a small handful of trekkers that I’ve repeatedly passed and been passed by, depending on where we'd all take our breaks. A few travel solo but most go with guides. And sometimes porters. I was against it at first, but I quickly embraced having a porter to carry my heavy backpack. It’s strenuous enough without a twenty pound weight (or whatever my bag weighs) strapped to my back. And these porters do this all the time, they're good at it. My porter (I need to find out his name but I' d feel weird asking again) has it easy compared to some of the others I’ve seen, carrying up to four (!) backpacks at once. Impressive.
May 13 -- 11:20am
I just talked to a nice couple from Holland. They're on day 20 of a 21 day trek (with no porter or guide), on the tail end of a post-graduation, five month trip through Asia. That’s awesome. Wish I did that after my graduation.
I am glad that I'm meeting and talking with people a bit now. I don’t need to do it a lot just enough to break up the monotony. Because I am quite enjoying all the “me” time.
May 13 -- 5:28pm
According to a map I just bought, we ascended 1210 meters today. 3939 feet. That’s a lot of ascension, at least for me. But I have grown to dread declines in the path even more than inclines. Because I know that the more we walk down, the more we'll have to walk back up later. I love steady, flat ground. Steady, flat ground is my friend.
I'm staying at the elegant Kamala Lodge in the relatively large village of Ghorepani. What makes it so elegant? The bathroom is indoors! And on the same floor as my room! I mean, sure, there’s no real toilet, but still...
I watch some Ghorepani guys play volleyball on a paved court. They have some skills -- they' re more fundamentally solid than we are at our games in Santa Monica (pass -- pass -- THEN hit!). And the stunning Himalayan vista certainly beats our view of the beach. The only drawback here is when the ball goes off court over the adjacent schoolhouse. It takes a player ten minutes to climb down and retrieve it.
May 14 -- 6:34am
We start trekking toward Poon Hill at 4:30 in the morning, leaving our bags in the lodge. We'll be doubling back after watching the sun rise against the snowcapped mountains. Poon Hill is the highest elevation we'll reach on the trek. I forget how high it is exactly, I forget where I put the elevation map.
Guided by the light of the crescent moon, we go up and up and up. 500 meters up in the 45 minute journey. My right knee is killing me. Every time I step up with my right foot (which I do, surprisingly, every other step), a sharp pain shoots through my knee. It started hurting yesterday afternoon, so I was sure to stretch when I woke up this morning. It didn't help. Neither does the frigid temperature. I can deal with the pain, I guess. Not much other choice.
We reach the top of Poon Hill...finally. A few other people mill about. Within half an hour, there are sixty. Ang Kazi tells me that during the busy season, thousands of people show up every morning.
The sun rises behind Fishtail Mountain (I forget the traditional Nepali name for it), illuminating its shape. It’s pretty, but not as spectacular as I'd hoped. Aren't sunrises supposed to be shades of red and orange and such? Or is that just sunsets? I forget. I haven’t been awake for many sunrises.
I eat breakfast and sip coffee back in the Kamala Lodge. The Nepali bread is okay, but the scrambled eggs are amazing. They have an ever-so-slight sweetness to them. I don’t know how they do it, but those Nepalis sure can scramble an egg.
Soon we will start our overall trek descent. I can't wait. My knee doesn't hurt as much walking downhill and, obviously, it’s just plain less strenuous. I'm enjoying seeing so much nature out here but I'm glad I'm only doing a four day trek. Anything longer than four days and I'd lose my mind. Or my leg might fall off.
May 14 -- 7:38am
From the top of some big hill (dagnabbit, I thought we were done going up big hills)...
Right after breakfast I had a pleasant conversation with a girl from Korea. Finally another person (who admits) that trekking is hard, that it’s not really her thing. I'm sure others feel that way too, but are too macho (or for girls, ‘macha?’) to admit it. She was on day three of her trek too -- but she had six more to go. And she was not thrilled about it. I wished her luck, playfully told her to be strong and was off on my merry way.
May 14 -- 10:07am
I’ve complained a lot about the trek (mostly the going uphill part) but it really is beautiful. Crossing stunning mountain passes, over riverbeds, through quaint Nepali villages with cheerful Nepali people. They seem to talk a lot. Sure, I don’t know what they're saying, but I can appreciate that they say it in a friendly manner. And only occasionally do I suspect they're talking about me.
May 14 -- 4:41pm
For a while, it’s just up and down, up and down. The rough stone stairs are horrible when there’s hundreds of them in succession. Walking down, I now feel pain in both knees, especially the right one.
A “village” here usually means a lodge, a restaurant, a few trinkets for sale, a few families, wide stone slabs covering the ground and random wandering chickens. And most villages also have a big hand-painted map of the trekking region. It doesn't list the distance from one place to another, it lists the time it takes to get there. I have learned that, say, a nine inch distance between two points marked as three hours is WAY better than a three inch distance marked as an hour and a half. Why? Elevation changes. When the times seem unusually long for what appears to be a short distance, you know there will be a lot of up and down.
So when I see that the village of Ghandruk, today's destination, is three very spread out hours away from my current location, I am excited. And with good reason. The trekking is mostly flat (hizzah!), through a gorgeous rhododendron forest. Surrounded on all sides by lush (I’ve noticed I use the word "lush” a lot. I like that word. Lush.) green plants and trees. Thick moss sweeps over rocks and sticks, creeping over anything in its path. The beauty here is sublime. This is why I went trekking.
We arrive in Ghandruk around 2:30 in the afternoon. So early! Much time to relax and rest. I notice one lodge that looks nicer and more modern than the others (and nicer and more modern than any lodge I’ve seen the last three days). Please let this be our lodge, please let this be our lodge. And it is!
The Annapurna Guest House is da bomb. It's a five star Hilton by trek lodge standards. The room is comfy with big windows and an awesome view of the snowcapped Himalayas. There are electrical outlets. And the bathroom has a shower with hot water. And it’s indoors. And there’s a toilet! A real toilet, not just some ceramic-edged hole in the floor. (Sure there’s no toilet paper, but why quibble over such unimportant details?) It's amazing how being without modern amenities for a few days can really make you appreciate them.
After gaining cleanly refreshment, I walk through the village to purchase necessities: bottled water and candy bars. It would also be nice to find an internet cafe, but that is the longshot of longshots.
I like Ghandruk a lot. It's a village of 8000 people, which is ginormous out here. The locals are friendly. I exchange smiling "namaste"s with many passing villagers and uniformed schoolchildren (a few kids follow up with "want a sweet?,” which I politely decline). Even an adorable two year old, wobbly in his footsteps, gives me a "namaste.” That’s cool.
I pay an old man thirty Nepali rupees to go inside a tiny museum and see the traditional items that the local Gurung people use. I'm done in four minutes. Afterwards, the old man invites me to sit down. He seems friendly, so I oblige. The younger woman who runs the adjacent shop (the old man’s daughter?) joins us. I chat for a little while, mostly with the daughter since she speaks decent English. My Nepali is a tad rusty.
The daughter shows me the men’s traditional attire: a wraparound vest-type thing. She invites me to try it on. I have no idea how so they old man helps me into it. It’s neat -- just a random bit of hanging out with genuinely friendly villagers. And I think they liked having someone new to talk to.
May 14 -- 7:14pm
Mmm...tuna fish pizza. Now there’s a fine dinner. Actually it’s not bad, though it could do without the tomatoes.
May 15 -- 12:19am Okay, so this lodge isn’t so perfect after all. Turns out to be infested with fleas and a few other little pests. Yuck, gross. Not what I wanted to find all over my mattress.
May 15 -- 10:37am
Well, the trek is practically finished. We spent the first hour walking down another lovely long series of stone steps. After that, it was (mostly) flat, walking alongside a narrow river until we hit a point I remember from the first day. I write this from the same little outdoor restaurant we ate at when the trek began.
My calves have grown so rock hard I could hammer nails with them. I never want to see another stone slab. The trek was really tough and grueling at times. But it was amazing and beautiful too. But too often, I couldn’t really look around aimlessly as I walked, instead having to carefully watch the ground in front of me. Trying to avoid slipping or tripping or falling and sprawling, cracking my head open on the rocky terrain. I probably slipped 80 times these last four days, at least half those times yesterday, when my legs were really tired and I wasn’t lifting them high enough. Thankfully, after each trip, I'd manage to catch myself and not actually fall. Though I would get paranoid right after and close my mouth tight. My thinking was that if I did fall and my face hit the rocks, at least with my mouth closed I couldn’t knock my teeth out.
It was neat seeing how the Nepali people lived in their little villages. Seeing how they carry everything -- stone slabs, laundry, leafy green plants -- with their heads. Whatever items need carrying would be in a large bag or basket, the wide, flat handle of which would rest against their forehead, bearing the weight. I don’t know how they do it. They must get lots of headaches.
Much of the time, they would just carry baskets of these leafy green plants. I asked a village woman what the plants were called and she just said "jungle vegetables.” They collect them from the forests, then dry them out.
Despite my original misgivings, it ended up being good to have a guide and a porter. A few times I felt a little self conscious (many other trekkers just had one guy to do both jobs), but whatever -- this is what I ended up with and it was fine.
Ang Kazi, the guide, was helpful arranging which villages to stay at overnight and such (he obviously knows the area a little better than I do). And he was pretty good at answering the numerous Nepali-way-of-life questions that I peppered him with, all of which I had never wondered about until that very moment.
Ang Nima, the porter (aha -- I got his name!) was cool too. In the villages, he’d randomly burst into song to make the young lady shopkeepers laugh. Or swing on a random vine hanging over the trekking path. He seemed like a really funny guy. It’s just too bad we didn't share the same language. I'd like to have known what he had to say.
In a few hours, I take the little Air Yeti plane back to Kathmandu. Then tomorrow I fly back to Bangalore, then back to the states the day after that.
purty pictures from the trek: CLICK HERE
I sit in a 30 seat propeller plane which will take me to Pokhara, 30 minutes away. I'll start my trek from there.
I'm flying on Yeti Airlines. It sounds made-up, but it’s actually called Yeti, which is awesome. We're next in line for takeoff, right after a small plane from Buddha Air.
May 12 -- 5:01pm
Trekking is hard. It’s long and strenuous. Seems like it’s just one uphill stone step after another. And just when you reach what you think is the top step -- bam! -- ninety more. Then another two hundred after that. I like to walk, but walking all day is tiring. Maybe I'm just old and out of shape.
By Trekking standards, I'm doing a very short trek -- just four days. Day one is done. I can’t wait for day four. Tuesday afternoon. Just getting back to where I started from, taking the one hour car ride back to the small Pokhara airport. Sounds restful.
But don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful up here in the Annapurna region of the Himalayas. Walking along a stony path past churning waterfalls, elaborate steppe farmland, roving oxen and horses, cute little villages. And the rickety suspension bridges are cool too.
For the first few hours, the sun is shining. Since I burn easily, I (finally) decide to put on some sunscreen. I apply it liberally, then look up as ominous dark clouds form overhead. Then the rain comes. Nothing torrential, just enough to make me feel silly for slathering on the sunscreen. My timing sucks.
Now I sit in one of the surprisingly comfortable twin beds in my room at the Chandra Guest House in the little village of Tikhedhunga. I write by the natural light that comes in the window since the electricity doesn’t come on until 7pm. Oh well, I'm just glad they have electricity at all.
May 13 -- 7:41am
I sit in the Chandra Guest House's restaurant. I pour some sugar from the sugar bowl into my coffee, but I accidentally pour in way too much. Coffee and sugar/coffee sludge spill all over the table. I'm such a slob. Of course my porter (the guy who carries the bags) immediately runs over. He cleans up my mess and brings me a fresh cup of coffee. It’s odd -- when eating at these little restaurants, my guide (Ang Kazi Sherpa) and my porter (I forget his name, he only speaks Nepali) go in the kitchen as the food is prepared. They make sure everything is sanitary and such. I asked Ang Kazi if the restaurant workers are offended by this. He said they aren’t, that it’s pretty standard along the trek routes.
My guide and porter eat in the kitchen (also standard, it seems). I wish they'd eat out in the dining area with me. It’s weird eating alone while the few other trekking parties eat with their groups, keeping to themselves. It’s not the busy trekking season so there aren't that many people around. If there were, I' m sure I'd end up talking to some of them, which would be nice. Oh well. At least the scrambled eggs are tasty.
May 13 -- 9:32am
An hour and a half walking up a mountain, up (roughly) a zillion stone steps. I am exhausted, though my calves love the workout. Stupid calves. Today is Sunday. Tuesday afternoon feels so far away.
May 13 -- 11:00am
The path goes from steep incline to not-as-steep incline. It is wonderful -- like a vacation for my feet. I have a fine pace going but my guide wants to stop at a restaurant for lunch. Fine, whatever. Guess I could eat. So now I sit outside at a little table with a spectacular view of the hills and valleys that I’ve spent all morning climbing up. I wait for my potato rosti (with egg) to be served.
I have a nice conversation with two British girls (Grace and Kate), med students. We'd passed each other numerous times on the way up to this point, climbing the (roughly) zillion stone steps. There's a small handful of trekkers that I’ve repeatedly passed and been passed by, depending on where we'd all take our breaks. A few travel solo but most go with guides. And sometimes porters. I was against it at first, but I quickly embraced having a porter to carry my heavy backpack. It’s strenuous enough without a twenty pound weight (or whatever my bag weighs) strapped to my back. And these porters do this all the time, they're good at it. My porter (I need to find out his name but I' d feel weird asking again) has it easy compared to some of the others I’ve seen, carrying up to four (!) backpacks at once. Impressive.
May 13 -- 11:20am
I just talked to a nice couple from Holland. They're on day 20 of a 21 day trek (with no porter or guide), on the tail end of a post-graduation, five month trip through Asia. That’s awesome. Wish I did that after my graduation.
I am glad that I'm meeting and talking with people a bit now. I don’t need to do it a lot just enough to break up the monotony. Because I am quite enjoying all the “me” time.
May 13 -- 5:28pm
According to a map I just bought, we ascended 1210 meters today. 3939 feet. That’s a lot of ascension, at least for me. But I have grown to dread declines in the path even more than inclines. Because I know that the more we walk down, the more we'll have to walk back up later. I love steady, flat ground. Steady, flat ground is my friend.
I'm staying at the elegant Kamala Lodge in the relatively large village of Ghorepani. What makes it so elegant? The bathroom is indoors! And on the same floor as my room! I mean, sure, there’s no real toilet, but still...
I watch some Ghorepani guys play volleyball on a paved court. They have some skills -- they' re more fundamentally solid than we are at our games in Santa Monica (pass -- pass -- THEN hit!). And the stunning Himalayan vista certainly beats our view of the beach. The only drawback here is when the ball goes off court over the adjacent schoolhouse. It takes a player ten minutes to climb down and retrieve it.
May 14 -- 6:34am
We start trekking toward Poon Hill at 4:30 in the morning, leaving our bags in the lodge. We'll be doubling back after watching the sun rise against the snowcapped mountains. Poon Hill is the highest elevation we'll reach on the trek. I forget how high it is exactly, I forget where I put the elevation map.
Guided by the light of the crescent moon, we go up and up and up. 500 meters up in the 45 minute journey. My right knee is killing me. Every time I step up with my right foot (which I do, surprisingly, every other step), a sharp pain shoots through my knee. It started hurting yesterday afternoon, so I was sure to stretch when I woke up this morning. It didn't help. Neither does the frigid temperature. I can deal with the pain, I guess. Not much other choice.
We reach the top of Poon Hill...finally. A few other people mill about. Within half an hour, there are sixty. Ang Kazi tells me that during the busy season, thousands of people show up every morning.
The sun rises behind Fishtail Mountain (I forget the traditional Nepali name for it), illuminating its shape. It’s pretty, but not as spectacular as I'd hoped. Aren't sunrises supposed to be shades of red and orange and such? Or is that just sunsets? I forget. I haven’t been awake for many sunrises.
I eat breakfast and sip coffee back in the Kamala Lodge. The Nepali bread is okay, but the scrambled eggs are amazing. They have an ever-so-slight sweetness to them. I don’t know how they do it, but those Nepalis sure can scramble an egg.
Soon we will start our overall trek descent. I can't wait. My knee doesn't hurt as much walking downhill and, obviously, it’s just plain less strenuous. I'm enjoying seeing so much nature out here but I'm glad I'm only doing a four day trek. Anything longer than four days and I'd lose my mind. Or my leg might fall off.
May 14 -- 7:38am
From the top of some big hill (dagnabbit, I thought we were done going up big hills)...
Right after breakfast I had a pleasant conversation with a girl from Korea. Finally another person (who admits) that trekking is hard, that it’s not really her thing. I'm sure others feel that way too, but are too macho (or for girls, ‘macha?’) to admit it. She was on day three of her trek too -- but she had six more to go. And she was not thrilled about it. I wished her luck, playfully told her to be strong and was off on my merry way.
May 14 -- 10:07am
I’ve complained a lot about the trek (mostly the going uphill part) but it really is beautiful. Crossing stunning mountain passes, over riverbeds, through quaint Nepali villages with cheerful Nepali people. They seem to talk a lot. Sure, I don’t know what they're saying, but I can appreciate that they say it in a friendly manner. And only occasionally do I suspect they're talking about me.
May 14 -- 4:41pm
For a while, it’s just up and down, up and down. The rough stone stairs are horrible when there’s hundreds of them in succession. Walking down, I now feel pain in both knees, especially the right one.
A “village” here usually means a lodge, a restaurant, a few trinkets for sale, a few families, wide stone slabs covering the ground and random wandering chickens. And most villages also have a big hand-painted map of the trekking region. It doesn't list the distance from one place to another, it lists the time it takes to get there. I have learned that, say, a nine inch distance between two points marked as three hours is WAY better than a three inch distance marked as an hour and a half. Why? Elevation changes. When the times seem unusually long for what appears to be a short distance, you know there will be a lot of up and down.
So when I see that the village of Ghandruk, today's destination, is three very spread out hours away from my current location, I am excited. And with good reason. The trekking is mostly flat (hizzah!), through a gorgeous rhododendron forest. Surrounded on all sides by lush (I’ve noticed I use the word "lush” a lot. I like that word. Lush.) green plants and trees. Thick moss sweeps over rocks and sticks, creeping over anything in its path. The beauty here is sublime. This is why I went trekking.
We arrive in Ghandruk around 2:30 in the afternoon. So early! Much time to relax and rest. I notice one lodge that looks nicer and more modern than the others (and nicer and more modern than any lodge I’ve seen the last three days). Please let this be our lodge, please let this be our lodge. And it is!
The Annapurna Guest House is da bomb. It's a five star Hilton by trek lodge standards. The room is comfy with big windows and an awesome view of the snowcapped Himalayas. There are electrical outlets. And the bathroom has a shower with hot water. And it’s indoors. And there’s a toilet! A real toilet, not just some ceramic-edged hole in the floor. (Sure there’s no toilet paper, but why quibble over such unimportant details?) It's amazing how being without modern amenities for a few days can really make you appreciate them.
After gaining cleanly refreshment, I walk through the village to purchase necessities: bottled water and candy bars. It would also be nice to find an internet cafe, but that is the longshot of longshots.
I like Ghandruk a lot. It's a village of 8000 people, which is ginormous out here. The locals are friendly. I exchange smiling "namaste"s with many passing villagers and uniformed schoolchildren (a few kids follow up with "want a sweet?,” which I politely decline). Even an adorable two year old, wobbly in his footsteps, gives me a "namaste.” That’s cool.
I pay an old man thirty Nepali rupees to go inside a tiny museum and see the traditional items that the local Gurung people use. I'm done in four minutes. Afterwards, the old man invites me to sit down. He seems friendly, so I oblige. The younger woman who runs the adjacent shop (the old man’s daughter?) joins us. I chat for a little while, mostly with the daughter since she speaks decent English. My Nepali is a tad rusty.
The daughter shows me the men’s traditional attire: a wraparound vest-type thing. She invites me to try it on. I have no idea how so they old man helps me into it. It’s neat -- just a random bit of hanging out with genuinely friendly villagers. And I think they liked having someone new to talk to.
May 14 -- 7:14pm
Mmm...tuna fish pizza. Now there’s a fine dinner. Actually it’s not bad, though it could do without the tomatoes.
May 15 -- 12:19am Okay, so this lodge isn’t so perfect after all. Turns out to be infested with fleas and a few other little pests. Yuck, gross. Not what I wanted to find all over my mattress.
May 15 -- 10:37am
Well, the trek is practically finished. We spent the first hour walking down another lovely long series of stone steps. After that, it was (mostly) flat, walking alongside a narrow river until we hit a point I remember from the first day. I write this from the same little outdoor restaurant we ate at when the trek began.
My calves have grown so rock hard I could hammer nails with them. I never want to see another stone slab. The trek was really tough and grueling at times. But it was amazing and beautiful too. But too often, I couldn’t really look around aimlessly as I walked, instead having to carefully watch the ground in front of me. Trying to avoid slipping or tripping or falling and sprawling, cracking my head open on the rocky terrain. I probably slipped 80 times these last four days, at least half those times yesterday, when my legs were really tired and I wasn’t lifting them high enough. Thankfully, after each trip, I'd manage to catch myself and not actually fall. Though I would get paranoid right after and close my mouth tight. My thinking was that if I did fall and my face hit the rocks, at least with my mouth closed I couldn’t knock my teeth out.
It was neat seeing how the Nepali people lived in their little villages. Seeing how they carry everything -- stone slabs, laundry, leafy green plants -- with their heads. Whatever items need carrying would be in a large bag or basket, the wide, flat handle of which would rest against their forehead, bearing the weight. I don’t know how they do it. They must get lots of headaches.
Much of the time, they would just carry baskets of these leafy green plants. I asked a village woman what the plants were called and she just said "jungle vegetables.” They collect them from the forests, then dry them out.
Despite my original misgivings, it ended up being good to have a guide and a porter. A few times I felt a little self conscious (many other trekkers just had one guy to do both jobs), but whatever -- this is what I ended up with and it was fine.
Ang Kazi, the guide, was helpful arranging which villages to stay at overnight and such (he obviously knows the area a little better than I do). And he was pretty good at answering the numerous Nepali-way-of-life questions that I peppered him with, all of which I had never wondered about until that very moment.
Ang Nima, the porter (aha -- I got his name!) was cool too. In the villages, he’d randomly burst into song to make the young lady shopkeepers laugh. Or swing on a random vine hanging over the trekking path. He seemed like a really funny guy. It’s just too bad we didn't share the same language. I'd like to have known what he had to say.
In a few hours, I take the little Air Yeti plane back to Kathmandu. Then tomorrow I fly back to Bangalore, then back to the states the day after that.
purty pictures from the trek: CLICK HERE
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
and then i flew to Kathmandu
May 11 -- 10:29am
I’m sitting in the Delhi International terminal, my stopover before I jet off on Jet Airlines to Kathmandu, Nepal. I’m excited about going to another country. After five months and three weeks, I’m India-ed out. Tired of the queues, tired of the crowds, really tired of the rickshaws. Seriously, I don’t ever want to see another auto-rickshaw ever again. I don’t know why, I just don’t.
I’m ready to go back to the states. Back to my American creature comforts. Back to rest. I’ve had a really good time at this end of the world, but I’m ready to go back now. Hopefully a short trek in Nepal will rekindle my adventurous spirit, at least for these last few days.
May 11 -- 11:45am
I’m on the plane, which is taxi-ing to the runway. Guns n’ Roses’ “November Rain” plays quietly over the intercom. Surprising choice, though not a bad one.
May 11 -- 12:25pm
More unexpectedness, this time in the air, as the flight attendants give everyone a Heineken. Free beer -- pretty cool for just an hour and a half flight.
May 11 -- 6:49pm
Customs at Kathmandu’s airport is challenging, it takes a while. Not because the lines are very long (in fact they’re quite short), but because I have to pay for a short visit visa to enter. It doesn’t cost a lot ($30 American), but they don’t accept my Indian rupees at the customs desk. So I go the currency exchange counter. They don’t take Indian rupees either, not even to exchange. They tell me there’s a cash machine outside the airport. So I go there and, with only a passing knowledge of what a Nepali rupee is worth, take out a fat wad of Nepali cash.
I walk back into the sparsely populated airport. Passing by the two bored security people, I start to explain my situation, telling them why I need to get back in even though my flight had already landed. They barely listen, instead just waving me in with a ‘yeah, whatever’ attitude. Works for me.
I go back to the customs desk to pay for my visa. Unfortunately they don’t accept Nepali rupees. In Nepal. They don’t accept Nepali rupees in Nepal. I’m taken aback, but I deal. There’s not really any other choice. So I go back to the currency exchange counter, exchange a few thousand of my Nepali rupees for thirty American smackers, use that money to pay for the visa and I am set to jet. Finally.
On my way out of the airport, I notice a clock. Apparently Nepal time is fifteen minutes ahead of Indian time. Where that extra fifteen minutes comes from, I have no idea. I’d originally wanted to trek by myself, to enjoy the peace and solitude of being alone up in the mountains. But everyone I’d spoken to convinced me that this was a bad idea, that I’d get lonely or get harassed (or worse) by Maoists. So I relented and tried to latch onto some group trek. But I couldn’t find one to latch onto, so I enlisted the services of a company recommended by a friend, Snow Leopard Trek.
One of the good people from Snow Leopard Trek meets me at the airport and takes me to the office. They really are good people. They're ever so friendly. And I honestly don’t think it has anything to do with the healthy sum of money I'm paying them. We discuss trek details, then I'm off to my hotel. My trek doesn’t start until tomorrow.
Snow Leopard had given me a choice of local Kathmandu hotels back when I made my reservation a month earlier. I chose the one noted as being comparable to a five star hotel since it was at a good location and only cost $70 (US). Yep, 70 bucks for a five star hotel. I'm always fine with a simple Motel 6 back in the states, but I'm not complaining now.
The Hotel de L'Annapurna is nice -- but not too nice. It’s got the standard doormen in funny hats and the bellboys to carry your bag to your room, but it’s not as fancy schmancy as other swanky hotels, like yesterday's in Calcutta. And I mean that in a good way. The carpet isn’t spotless and the walls are a little worn. It’s a little grubby around the edges. But it’s comfortable, and so much more my style than those uber-pristine hotels where they seem to encourage snobbiness among the staff. It’s like when I was a kid and I'd go to a rich friend's house. It would have all this neat expensive stuff, but it all felt so antiseptic, like you'd be afraid to touch anything because you might break it. I always preferred to be in the slightly messy house where you could throw a ball around until your mother told you to stop, which was handy since that’s the kind of house I grew up in. The Hotel de L'Annapurna is like that house. Except now I don’t have a ball to throw around.
I resist the desire to watch the second half of "The Queen” in the comfy confines of my hotel room. Instead I brave the on-and-off rainfall and walk to the nearby district of Thamel, looking to buy four things that could be useful for my trek: a rain poncho, a rain poncho for my backpack (it’s rained every day of my trip so far, monsoon season is rolling in), sunscreen and a big floppy hat (for the rare moments when it’s not raining). I actually bought a floppy hat back in Bangalore but it’s rather ugly (too orange). I bought another on the street yesterday in Calcutta but it’s rather ill-fitting (too small). So now I have two floppy hats I don’t want to wear while I look for a third. Yeah, I' m logical.
Thamel is very cool. Narrow, meandering streets packed with trekking gear shops, knitwear shops, Nepali tchotchke shops -- really just a ton of little hippie shops tightly squeezed together. I love hippie shops. This is a great place to buy my first souvenirs on this trip, but I can’t go pverboard buying stuff just yet. I have limited bag space. And besides, I should have a little time back in Kathmandu after I finish the trek. That would be a better time to shop. Right now, I just need to find my four things.
I find the backpack rain poncho and the Jeremy rain poncho in the first trek shop I enter. I'm halfway to my goal. After a few failed attempts, I buy some sunscreen. But the big floppy hat proves more difficult. There are tons of big floppy hats for sale (Thamel seems to be a leader in the big floppy hat industry) but none of them feel right. The patchwork ones are too colorful, the plain ones are not colorful enough, the ones that say “trek Nepal” are too touristy, the hemp ones are too heavy. I admit it, I' m a picky bastard. I end up not buying a big floppy hat. I guess I can wear my ugly orange one.
The shopkeepers in Thamel are similar to the ones in India. If you pause to look at anything, they spring into action, ready to assist and/or pester you. But unlike in India (generally speaking), the small shopkeepers are more polite here. They don’t keep badgering me when I walk away. They don’t act nearly as desperate for a sale.
As I wander, it starts raining harder and harder. I don’t realize just how hard it is until I'm completely soaked. I remember that I have a freshly-purchased rain poncho with me. Feeling a little silly since I'm already sopping wet, I put on the poncho. And of course the rain immediately stops.
Now I sit here at Nepali Cholo, a restaurant recommended by one of the trek company guys. I'm in my socks, sitting on a flat cushion on the floor, watching a woman dance with a candle on her head. Someone in a furry Yeti costume comes up to me and shakes my hand, then playfully squeezes my head. All in time to traditional Nepali music.
The food is excellent -- 12 courses (!), though each is very small. The local whiskey is strong and the entertainment is entertaining. It all makes for excellent background ambience as I write this (I can’t see the dancers most of the time anyway since my view is partially blocked by a wall). But I do wish I had someone to share the experience with. I wish she was here with me, instead of being back in L.A., going about her daily life. I don’t talk about it much (at least in my writing), but it really is hard being away from her for so long. I'm glad she's stuck with me as I quench my wanderlust. And I'm glad she'll be there when I return.
pix from Kathmandu: CLICK HERE
I’m sitting in the Delhi International terminal, my stopover before I jet off on Jet Airlines to Kathmandu, Nepal. I’m excited about going to another country. After five months and three weeks, I’m India-ed out. Tired of the queues, tired of the crowds, really tired of the rickshaws. Seriously, I don’t ever want to see another auto-rickshaw ever again. I don’t know why, I just don’t.
I’m ready to go back to the states. Back to my American creature comforts. Back to rest. I’ve had a really good time at this end of the world, but I’m ready to go back now. Hopefully a short trek in Nepal will rekindle my adventurous spirit, at least for these last few days.
May 11 -- 11:45am
I’m on the plane, which is taxi-ing to the runway. Guns n’ Roses’ “November Rain” plays quietly over the intercom. Surprising choice, though not a bad one.
May 11 -- 12:25pm
More unexpectedness, this time in the air, as the flight attendants give everyone a Heineken. Free beer -- pretty cool for just an hour and a half flight.
May 11 -- 6:49pm
Customs at Kathmandu’s airport is challenging, it takes a while. Not because the lines are very long (in fact they’re quite short), but because I have to pay for a short visit visa to enter. It doesn’t cost a lot ($30 American), but they don’t accept my Indian rupees at the customs desk. So I go the currency exchange counter. They don’t take Indian rupees either, not even to exchange. They tell me there’s a cash machine outside the airport. So I go there and, with only a passing knowledge of what a Nepali rupee is worth, take out a fat wad of Nepali cash.
I walk back into the sparsely populated airport. Passing by the two bored security people, I start to explain my situation, telling them why I need to get back in even though my flight had already landed. They barely listen, instead just waving me in with a ‘yeah, whatever’ attitude. Works for me.
I go back to the customs desk to pay for my visa. Unfortunately they don’t accept Nepali rupees. In Nepal. They don’t accept Nepali rupees in Nepal. I’m taken aback, but I deal. There’s not really any other choice. So I go back to the currency exchange counter, exchange a few thousand of my Nepali rupees for thirty American smackers, use that money to pay for the visa and I am set to jet. Finally.
On my way out of the airport, I notice a clock. Apparently Nepal time is fifteen minutes ahead of Indian time. Where that extra fifteen minutes comes from, I have no idea. I’d originally wanted to trek by myself, to enjoy the peace and solitude of being alone up in the mountains. But everyone I’d spoken to convinced me that this was a bad idea, that I’d get lonely or get harassed (or worse) by Maoists. So I relented and tried to latch onto some group trek. But I couldn’t find one to latch onto, so I enlisted the services of a company recommended by a friend, Snow Leopard Trek.
One of the good people from Snow Leopard Trek meets me at the airport and takes me to the office. They really are good people. They're ever so friendly. And I honestly don’t think it has anything to do with the healthy sum of money I'm paying them. We discuss trek details, then I'm off to my hotel. My trek doesn’t start until tomorrow.
Snow Leopard had given me a choice of local Kathmandu hotels back when I made my reservation a month earlier. I chose the one noted as being comparable to a five star hotel since it was at a good location and only cost $70 (US). Yep, 70 bucks for a five star hotel. I'm always fine with a simple Motel 6 back in the states, but I'm not complaining now.
The Hotel de L'Annapurna is nice -- but not too nice. It’s got the standard doormen in funny hats and the bellboys to carry your bag to your room, but it’s not as fancy schmancy as other swanky hotels, like yesterday's in Calcutta. And I mean that in a good way. The carpet isn’t spotless and the walls are a little worn. It’s a little grubby around the edges. But it’s comfortable, and so much more my style than those uber-pristine hotels where they seem to encourage snobbiness among the staff. It’s like when I was a kid and I'd go to a rich friend's house. It would have all this neat expensive stuff, but it all felt so antiseptic, like you'd be afraid to touch anything because you might break it. I always preferred to be in the slightly messy house where you could throw a ball around until your mother told you to stop, which was handy since that’s the kind of house I grew up in. The Hotel de L'Annapurna is like that house. Except now I don’t have a ball to throw around.
I resist the desire to watch the second half of "The Queen” in the comfy confines of my hotel room. Instead I brave the on-and-off rainfall and walk to the nearby district of Thamel, looking to buy four things that could be useful for my trek: a rain poncho, a rain poncho for my backpack (it’s rained every day of my trip so far, monsoon season is rolling in), sunscreen and a big floppy hat (for the rare moments when it’s not raining). I actually bought a floppy hat back in Bangalore but it’s rather ugly (too orange). I bought another on the street yesterday in Calcutta but it’s rather ill-fitting (too small). So now I have two floppy hats I don’t want to wear while I look for a third. Yeah, I' m logical.
Thamel is very cool. Narrow, meandering streets packed with trekking gear shops, knitwear shops, Nepali tchotchke shops -- really just a ton of little hippie shops tightly squeezed together. I love hippie shops. This is a great place to buy my first souvenirs on this trip, but I can’t go pverboard buying stuff just yet. I have limited bag space. And besides, I should have a little time back in Kathmandu after I finish the trek. That would be a better time to shop. Right now, I just need to find my four things.
I find the backpack rain poncho and the Jeremy rain poncho in the first trek shop I enter. I'm halfway to my goal. After a few failed attempts, I buy some sunscreen. But the big floppy hat proves more difficult. There are tons of big floppy hats for sale (Thamel seems to be a leader in the big floppy hat industry) but none of them feel right. The patchwork ones are too colorful, the plain ones are not colorful enough, the ones that say “trek Nepal” are too touristy, the hemp ones are too heavy. I admit it, I' m a picky bastard. I end up not buying a big floppy hat. I guess I can wear my ugly orange one.
The shopkeepers in Thamel are similar to the ones in India. If you pause to look at anything, they spring into action, ready to assist and/or pester you. But unlike in India (generally speaking), the small shopkeepers are more polite here. They don’t keep badgering me when I walk away. They don’t act nearly as desperate for a sale.
As I wander, it starts raining harder and harder. I don’t realize just how hard it is until I'm completely soaked. I remember that I have a freshly-purchased rain poncho with me. Feeling a little silly since I'm already sopping wet, I put on the poncho. And of course the rain immediately stops.
Now I sit here at Nepali Cholo, a restaurant recommended by one of the trek company guys. I'm in my socks, sitting on a flat cushion on the floor, watching a woman dance with a candle on her head. Someone in a furry Yeti costume comes up to me and shakes my hand, then playfully squeezes my head. All in time to traditional Nepali music.
The food is excellent -- 12 courses (!), though each is very small. The local whiskey is strong and the entertainment is entertaining. It all makes for excellent background ambience as I write this (I can’t see the dancers most of the time anyway since my view is partially blocked by a wall). But I do wish I had someone to share the experience with. I wish she was here with me, instead of being back in L.A., going about her daily life. I don’t talk about it much (at least in my writing), but it really is hard being away from her for so long. I'm glad she's stuck with me as I quench my wanderlust. And I'm glad she'll be there when I return.
pix from Kathmandu: CLICK HERE
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Oh! Calcutta!
May 10 -- 6:08pm
The Hindustan International Hotel is in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta). It was the cheapest hotel I could find online that was at least vaguely close to the airport. But it turns out to be uber-swanky. The shower even has hot water. And it stays hot the whole time! It makes me realize just how sunburned my kneecaps really are.
I shuffle out of the hotel at 2pm. It’s hot, but the downpour an hour earlier keeps the temperature at a reasonable level. I walk to a big cafeteria-style veg (vegetarian) restaurant. The food looks good, but each pick-up area has a long line. And of course by “long line,” I mean an unorganized crush of people jammed up against each other. No thank you. I leave and grab a masala dosa and a pineapple juice in a grimy eatery a few blocks down.
I go to the creatively named Indian Museum. It’s the oldest museum in India and you can tell. Looks like little has changed in the 200 years since it opened. The exhibits are old, the placards are dusty -- but at least there’s a lot of stuff. Man, is there a lot of stuff. But so little of it is even remotely interesting. There’s an inverse relationship between the sheer volume of stuff compared to how much you’d actually care to see. Thousands of rocks on tables and spices in jars. Barely-there fossils and mediocre dioramas. A whole room devoted to hundreds of cross sections of different kinds of wood, which all look exactly the same. Not to mention the animal skeletons covered with pen-scrawled graffiti.
The tiny Egypt room is neat though. There’s a cool 4000 year old mummy with a visible skull. And air conditioning.
I walk in The Maidan, a big green park with wide open spaces. Seems similar to Central Park in NYC, only with more garbage on the grass. But still, it’s surprisingly nice.
I must say, I expected Calcutta -- err, Kolkata -- to be depressing. I thought I’d see a lot of poverty, a lot of suffering. Maybe that’s prevalent in other areas, but not so much where I’m at.
Since this is the only Indian city that still allows human-pulled rickshaws (they tried to ban it a few years ago but the rickshaw pullers protested), I wanted to snap a picture of one in action. I personally think it’s an inhumane practice, but it would still make a good shot. Unfortunately I don’t see any, so I have to settle for photographing extraordinarily decrepit buses.
Two young-ish women stride toward me as I cross the street. I know what they’re after. I try to sidestep them, but they block my path and start begging for money. I say no as I keep walking. One follows alongside me. I snap “don’t follow me!” and she stops cold. I immediately feel terrible. I probably wouldn’t have felt so bad if she’d ignored me and continued following.
I don’t regret saying what I said, I just didn’t like the tone I said it with. Entirely too harsh. She was (shockingly) the first person all day to ask for money, and one of only a handful during my weeklong trip. But I guess this had built up after six months of dealing with countless persistent beggars. And while I did have a nasty tone with the woman, I know I’m making too much of it. I have too much empathy. It’s annoying.
I walk to an old planetarium and grab a seat inside for a space show. Before the lights go down, I watch a screaming match between a man sitting near me and a woman by the doorway (husband and wife?). It must take a lot of anger to fight so loudly in a room full of people. After a few minutes, the woman leaves. I have a growing paranoid vision of her coming back in with a gun and shooting the guy. I know it’s unlikely, but I still move to a seat at the other side of the planetarium.
The space show is pretty boring. The live narrator is dry and doesn’t say much of note. At least I don’t think she does. Hard to be sure since she’s speaking Hindi. The next show is in Bengali, and the one after that in English. I’d prefer to actually understand what was being said, but I don’t feel like waiting. My eyes close, I sleep during much of the show. Why do I always fall asleep in dark rooms in public places?
The pavement outside is wet. It had poured while I was in the planetarium, enjoying the dull Hindi space show. I still feel bad about telling off the beggar woman. I decide to set things right and get my karma back (this seems an appropriate place for karmic matters). I decide I should give money to a beggar on the street. I’ve done this every now and then, but I rarely give money to anyone who asks and (as much as it breaks my heart), almost never to children. I just don’t think it teaches the right lesson.
As I walk back to my hotel in the light drizzle, I look for a beggar to give a 500 rupee ($11 U.S.) note. But, for a change, I don’t see any beggars. Finally I spot a barefoot woman with a dirty face leaning sadly against a wall. I offer her the 500 rupee note. She doesn’t take it. Too proud to take my money? Not actually a beggar? Not sure. Perhaps I wasn’t truly meant to give anything away. I resign myself to this.
A couple blocks from my hotel, I see an old man sitting on a step. Clearly a beggar. He doesn’t notice me until I hand him the 500 rupee note, which he takes without hesitation. I continue walking.
pix of beat-up buses and other fun Calcutta stuff: CLICK HERE
The Hindustan International Hotel is in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta). It was the cheapest hotel I could find online that was at least vaguely close to the airport. But it turns out to be uber-swanky. The shower even has hot water. And it stays hot the whole time! It makes me realize just how sunburned my kneecaps really are.
I shuffle out of the hotel at 2pm. It’s hot, but the downpour an hour earlier keeps the temperature at a reasonable level. I walk to a big cafeteria-style veg (vegetarian) restaurant. The food looks good, but each pick-up area has a long line. And of course by “long line,” I mean an unorganized crush of people jammed up against each other. No thank you. I leave and grab a masala dosa and a pineapple juice in a grimy eatery a few blocks down.
I go to the creatively named Indian Museum. It’s the oldest museum in India and you can tell. Looks like little has changed in the 200 years since it opened. The exhibits are old, the placards are dusty -- but at least there’s a lot of stuff. Man, is there a lot of stuff. But so little of it is even remotely interesting. There’s an inverse relationship between the sheer volume of stuff compared to how much you’d actually care to see. Thousands of rocks on tables and spices in jars. Barely-there fossils and mediocre dioramas. A whole room devoted to hundreds of cross sections of different kinds of wood, which all look exactly the same. Not to mention the animal skeletons covered with pen-scrawled graffiti.
The tiny Egypt room is neat though. There’s a cool 4000 year old mummy with a visible skull. And air conditioning.
I walk in The Maidan, a big green park with wide open spaces. Seems similar to Central Park in NYC, only with more garbage on the grass. But still, it’s surprisingly nice.
I must say, I expected Calcutta -- err, Kolkata -- to be depressing. I thought I’d see a lot of poverty, a lot of suffering. Maybe that’s prevalent in other areas, but not so much where I’m at.
Since this is the only Indian city that still allows human-pulled rickshaws (they tried to ban it a few years ago but the rickshaw pullers protested), I wanted to snap a picture of one in action. I personally think it’s an inhumane practice, but it would still make a good shot. Unfortunately I don’t see any, so I have to settle for photographing extraordinarily decrepit buses.
Two young-ish women stride toward me as I cross the street. I know what they’re after. I try to sidestep them, but they block my path and start begging for money. I say no as I keep walking. One follows alongside me. I snap “don’t follow me!” and she stops cold. I immediately feel terrible. I probably wouldn’t have felt so bad if she’d ignored me and continued following.
I don’t regret saying what I said, I just didn’t like the tone I said it with. Entirely too harsh. She was (shockingly) the first person all day to ask for money, and one of only a handful during my weeklong trip. But I guess this had built up after six months of dealing with countless persistent beggars. And while I did have a nasty tone with the woman, I know I’m making too much of it. I have too much empathy. It’s annoying.
I walk to an old planetarium and grab a seat inside for a space show. Before the lights go down, I watch a screaming match between a man sitting near me and a woman by the doorway (husband and wife?). It must take a lot of anger to fight so loudly in a room full of people. After a few minutes, the woman leaves. I have a growing paranoid vision of her coming back in with a gun and shooting the guy. I know it’s unlikely, but I still move to a seat at the other side of the planetarium.
The space show is pretty boring. The live narrator is dry and doesn’t say much of note. At least I don’t think she does. Hard to be sure since she’s speaking Hindi. The next show is in Bengali, and the one after that in English. I’d prefer to actually understand what was being said, but I don’t feel like waiting. My eyes close, I sleep during much of the show. Why do I always fall asleep in dark rooms in public places?
The pavement outside is wet. It had poured while I was in the planetarium, enjoying the dull Hindi space show. I still feel bad about telling off the beggar woman. I decide to set things right and get my karma back (this seems an appropriate place for karmic matters). I decide I should give money to a beggar on the street. I’ve done this every now and then, but I rarely give money to anyone who asks and (as much as it breaks my heart), almost never to children. I just don’t think it teaches the right lesson.
As I walk back to my hotel in the light drizzle, I look for a beggar to give a 500 rupee ($11 U.S.) note. But, for a change, I don’t see any beggars. Finally I spot a barefoot woman with a dirty face leaning sadly against a wall. I offer her the 500 rupee note. She doesn’t take it. Too proud to take my money? Not actually a beggar? Not sure. Perhaps I wasn’t truly meant to give anything away. I resign myself to this.
A couple blocks from my hotel, I see an old man sitting on a step. Clearly a beggar. He doesn’t notice me until I hand him the 500 rupee note, which he takes without hesitation. I continue walking.
pix of beat-up buses and other fun Calcutta stuff: CLICK HERE
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