Choices

Choices can be a liberating and dangerous freedom. With any choice, I think thyself usually knows the best decision yet is influenced by surroundings and expectations. Logic vs emotion. Wants vs needs. Big or small, choices are the decisions that guide us forward. Short-term or long-term. Solicited or unsolicited.

So goes the merry-go-round of life. I love that in my current circus of life, any decision I make today can be easily changed tomorrow due to the non-demand of long-time commitment. It is what thrills me. It is what makes me want more. It is the life-blood of what keeps me going.

The roller-coaster ride of changing my mind four times on any given day makes me want to stand in que for the ride all over again. Yet I wonder why...since it has the same effect as the ride which makes your insides turn outside. You know the one I'm talking about. The amusement park can be a taunting and exhilarating joy ride which you can escape when the park closes. I suppose it's a thrill. I sense it's a comfort. I know it's staple.

I actually keep waiting for the day when enough is enough. Shouldn't I want the life that we lead outside the amusement park? Yes. Am I ready for that life again? No.

The tragic clowns are doing their magic. The battered elephants are performing their tricks. The unhealthy popcorn is hot and buttery. The obnoxious crowd is waiting with anticipation.

I extended my visa for another three months.
~ Jen ~

Yeah, I know it's been a long time. The last couple weeks have not been so easy. You might think it's all kittens and kisses being in Asia but let me assure you that it's not. Sure, I eat street food for cheap...beers are basically free...life is pretty simple compared to that of the West. For as many simplicities and priviliges that exist here, there are just as many frustrations and temptations. The space between is where I strive to exist.

Seven weeks ago I accepted a job that I thought would be a good fit. I was wrong. A week ago I resigned. It was a dysfunctional environment that suffocated my intent for living in Asia. I wasn't happy doing what I was doing and I was unhappy for not going after what I originally came here to do. With a breathe of fresh air, I spent the last week enjoying Hanoi and catching up on sleep and relaxation. Today, I was told that my Visa situation may cause me to have to leave in six days. I pushed on for more points of information and feel assured that I can resolve it tomorrow...for a price. Will it be worth it? I would like to think so. But just like a 30 minute conversation that should take 5 minutes, so is the time it takes to see results of immaculate efforts.

I'm sitting in a bar at the moment because our internet at home has been shut off for the last three days because we weren't there to answer the door when the lady came knocking to receive payment. No one seems to know the amount we owe. The guesstimate we are given is sure to pad the pockets of an unknown enemy. We gave money to a woman I no longer work for to give to our cleaning lady who hates us because we constantly nag her to actually clean rather than whatever it is she thinks she does. Do I have another beer or go home and hope to have internet? Do I need internet? Yes, for what it is I really need to be doing at the moment.

Meanwhile, I'm pinching pennies and avoiding buying appropriate weather suitable for this Hanoi winter weather. After all, I'm unemployed again and prefer to spend my dollars on more entertaining investments. I realize this uncomfortable temperature of 60 degrees F is a far cry of what I would have in Chicago but my soul of Southeast Asia hinders me from accepting.

I treated myself to a burger tonight rather than cabbage soup at home.

I wonder if my laundry hanging on the sunless rooftop will be dry so I have something to wear tomorrow.

I just realized the other three people sitting at this table with me are playing online poker. Half the people in this tourist-area bar are Expats compared to tourists.

I wonder if the store ladies next door at home will hound me for beer bottles upon my return.

Should I walk for 30+ minutes without a jacket or hire a motorbike driver?

~ Jen ~

Wandering Mind

Random thoughts that won’t leave me alone this morning…

Elevator etiquette is non-existent.

A tiny donut shop I treated myself to this morning in the shopping center had four employees working in a 10 x 10 sq ft space. Only half that space was free for human occupancy.

I live in a civilized and fairly nice neighborhood for Hanoi yet in the mornings, men freely urinate on the sidewalk. They don’t even pause to free the space of splatter as I walk by. Parents even simply pull the down pants of their children to desiccate the street and sidewalk. Toilets are available very nearby.

Construction is going on next door to a street-side coffee shop that I pass by going to and from home. This tiny elderly woman was trying to go about her business and earn a living but apparently the construction guy thought she should move her little plastic tables and chairs out of his way. I missed the introduction of the altercation but was made aware of the situation via a plastic chair flying by my face. He proceeded to hurl all her chairs and tables including all coffee glasses and spoons into the street where they shattered in front of oncoming traffic. The sidewalk was full of patrons and pedestrians (mostly male). A guy sauntered up who I thought was going to help but all he did was check to ensure his car was not scratched and then sat back down at the neighboring coffee place. They were yelling and screaming and no one helped her or did anything. What to do?!

Two different nights while sitting on our rooftop, big rocks hurdled toward us from the dark park below.

The scratching noise I heard as I fell asleep last night was most likely cockroaches having a dance party in the corner of my room.

The fried bacon and 3 eggs covered with cheese is now considered a culinary delight for me.

~ Jen ~

Charades for Survival

Imagine going through your day and only being able to get things done if you were good at playing Charades… where holding up two fingers doesn’t mean there are two words… in a situation where the person you are acting for probably doesn’t even know the word you’re acting.

It can be so funny you feel like you’re playing the game on purpose for fun with friends. It can also leave you with the feeling that you’re lost in a world with no way to communicate. So… I thought it would be fun for you to imagine how something like this plays a part in our lives in Vietnam. Each day requires a bit of this Charades routine but here are a few worth mentioning.

- Asking the Security Guy at my school to change the big drinking water jug on the machine or that I need him to blow up 50 more balloons.

- First time we had to understand the lady at the shop next door when she was saying in Vietnamese (and doing a bit of acting herself) that we would need to return the beer bottles in order to get our bottle deposits back.

- Explaining to the various people who knock on our gate that we do not pay the bills and that they need to phone "this" person. This is after having to figure out which bill they’re collecting for which is like a doubly whammy round of the game. Note: Mail is not delivered. Rather, people have to go house to house and ask for payment in cash which is apparently done around 5pm…when many people aren’t even home from work yet. And if they come five times and you still don't pay it, they shut off your service. So efficient!

- We went to the market to try and find a shower curtain and something that can serve as a shower caddy to hold products so they don’t sit on my always gross, wet floor. Danielle stood by laughing as I pretended to shower and wash my hair so that I could reach for the shampoo bottle in the "imaginary" shower caddy. The lady offered a plastic spray bottle. No. Then she tried to sell us more hangers and a frying pan. This is all while other ladies continued to gather around to watch the entertainment. And I still haven’t found these things!

- Asking for my hair to be chemically straightened which included figuring out that she wanted to know if I had colored it within the last two years.

- Danielle explaining how she wanted her hair cut. Very brave!

- To replace my bedsheets which Danielle so accurately described as 5-count plastic, I spent an hour at an actual bedding store trying to understand the sizes and individual products for sale. I was at one point laying on the display bed with arms stretched from end to end to determine the size of that bed. I finally bought a fitted sheet and think blanket which do not match but compliment each other. And now the too small sheet is stretched across my bed. Note: They don't sell flat sheets here.

- Danielle tried to buy Tiger Balm and was offered Tiger Beer, then hair gel. She's still itching.

- In search of a Monkey Temple in Thailand, I "modeled" (as we learned to do in our teacher training class). I climbed imaginary steps, formed a temple with my hands and imitated a monkey. I had to do this for three different people and finally a man and his daughter, who we flagged down as they approached in their truck, led us to the temple area as we followed on motorbike.

- One day I "moooed" like a cow to ask why there was no beef in my hamburger.

- Needing to buy tampons which includes acting out what a tampon is in the first place. Yes, just imagine…I was wearing a bathing suit!

When we get back to the States, who wants to be first to challenge us in a game of Charades?

~ Jen ~

...and then go and do that...

How do you overcome your biggest obstacle when that obstacle is yourself? I have come to realize that I have much more to offer the world than I give myself credit for. I have so many valuable ideas, so many desires and so many things I want to accomplish and change. I have the mentality to do these things, to make a difference and to make something of myself, yet the thing that is holding me back is myself. Maybe the fear of failure? Taking risks? Making bad decisions? Wanting to do too much? I have always been so indecisive about everything I have done. I have always kept quiet when I could have been sharing a valuable piece of myself. I have so much I want to do, yet make no effort to accomplish it. I know this about myself, yet I have no idea how to overcome this fear of myself. I think this is maybe what separates the successful people from the average people. Sometimes I think if only I could conquer myself, then I could find true happiness within myself. Its difficult knowing that I have the potential to do so much, yet I spend all my time pondering how to do it rather than acting on it. Somewhere throughout my life, I lost all confidence in myself, and no matter how times people tell me how smart and beautiful and talented I am, I remain credulous without reason. And no matter how many times people tell me that I have the world at my feet and can do anything I want to do, I feel I will most likely dwell on what to do with the world until it is too late to do anything at all.
~D

Lost in communication

In order to adequately advise you of what it is that has me back in the working world after 18 months, I would need to write a book as Danielle did about her new best friend, her xeom. It would require additional chapters with many footnotes. Instead, I will give you the cliffnotes version as I’m sure the daily antics of my job will serve as entertaining reading in the future.

The plan was to teach English as a Foreign Language. But rather it’s me who feels like I need to learn a foreign language in order to do my job. I’m the Marketing Manager for a new International Kindergarten here in Hanoi. It is the first of this franchise in Vietnam. The owner is Chinese and speaks no Vietnamese. All staff except for me speak Vietnamese and a range of decent to no English. I was hired to promote and market this very new school and to launch several new programs. Obviously I didn’t exactly know what that would mean but I thought it would be a good challenge to learn to market something other than Consumer Packaged Goods in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language or have a sense of what works and doesn’t work in terms of advertising and marketing.

My understanding is that I would work with the owner and have some interaction with other staff members as needed. I was to 1) market the school to increase enrollment, 2) launch a program called FasTracKids, 3) launch two other smaller programs, 4) manage the English department, 5) teach English classes myself eventually. The owner has a Western mentality because he grew up in Canada. He’s very smart and motivated. I could sense that he would work at a fast speed and I was ready to get started. I accepted the job on a Wednesday at 4pm and was flown to Ho Chi Minh City the next morning for four days training. Since then, I often times wonder what the hell was I thinking?! Turns out, the owner lives in HCMC and all my work revolves around communicating with the local staff. In my attempt to create some efficiencies for the school and selfishly for myself, I am now also responsible for Sales and managing several of the local staff which means communication with a whole other group of people. This might be one of those times when over achieving is not a good idea.

Funny stories for you (frustrating for me) will come your way in the future I’m sure. But for now, let me say that it takes 30 minutes to discuss something that should take five minutes. I cannot say “do you understand” because the answer is always “yes”. My questions are often interpreted to mean something completely different. Vietnamese tend to hide their feelings so it’s difficult to decipher if they are ok with what is going on, frustrated, angry, etc.

To me, this doesn’t begin to describe my work situation. There are some days where my head actually hurts from concentrating so hard to understand the communication and discussions. However, I’m having a great time and loving the challenge. I’ve always been a patient person but this is bringing me to a whole new level. If I may say so myself, a future employer of mine is going to reap the benefits of my current unusual world.

The story of the xeom

Prologue
They say that coming to Southeast Asia is like going back in time, but it is actually going ahead in time. Maybe the person who created time zones should have planned for this better.

Chapter 1
I met my xeom (Vietnamese for motorbike taxi driver-literally translates to hug), while wandering through the old quarter one day in search of a bank. He was selling photocopied books on the streets to tourists (a very popular occupation amongst the locals in the old quarter). It is always best to be cautious of these touts, as they usually tend to be relentless, sometimes aggressive, and there have been numerous reports of theft from expats during encounters with them.
I became skeptical of him when I told him I didn’t want to buy any books and he didn’t push the matter any further. Instead, he just asked where I was going and offered to help me find a bank. My first instinct told me that this must be part of a scam to steal my newly acquired money or credit card information. However, I had not yet learned the secret to crossing the streets of Hanoi so I followed him as he cleared a path through the unwavering stream of motorbikes. He patiently waited outside as I entered bank number one, which turned out did not accept visa. Against my better judgment, I followed him again to bank number two, which was now closed for siesta. At bank number three, I was able to withdraw cash from the ATM machine but was careful to keep my credit card information hidden and my money held close. I figured that in exchange for his help, I would surely be obligated to buy a book from him in order to avoid a confrontation.

Interlude:
I’d like to pause here to clarify that I am not proud of myself for being so distrusting. I think it is shameful that we cannot always accept a stranger’s help without thinking they want something in return. Yet, I am a young women venturing outside the comfort zone of suburban America for the very first time into a country I know very little about. Historically, my naivety often gets the best of me, and I can’t help but to be overtly cautious, not only for my own safety, but also to appease the qualms of my overly worried family, whose reminders to “be careful” constantly ring in my ears.

Chapter 2
I realize the boy with the books is after nothing, except genuinely wanting to help someone in need and to make a meager, yet honorable, living. I have three job interviews that day, and he offers to take me. He asks if he can take me to work everyday, and I agree. It is the only guaranteed source of income he has.

Chapter 3
For three weeks, he has faithfully driven me anywhere I need to go. He is never late, and never complains when I call him on short notice. Each time he picks me up, he has a piece of gum and a new Vietnamese song on his mp3 player for me. One day it started to rain while he was taking me to work. We stopped and he bought us a rain poncho, a lovely bright pink piece of plastic with two head holes for us to share, equipped with duck billed hoods. Other motorbike drivers sped past us, dressed in similar attire, splashing water up at us as we went, but my nice work clothes remained perfectly dry underneath.
He gets frustrated with me because he thinks I don’t go out enough. “Why you always go home? Why you never go anywhere? Always work and home! I think you go see Ho Chi Minh museum, I take you! You never eat? You don’t like Vietnamese food? I think I show you Vietnamese food!” I can attempt to explain myself, but his English is poor and he doesn’t understand, so finally I agree to let him show me Vietnamese food.

Chapter 4
We go to a typical Vietnamese restaurant. Small metal tables and tiny plastic stools lining the sidewalk. The menu is all in Vietnamese so I tell him to order something good for me. The waitress runs across the street to fill dirty glasses with bia hoi, a Vietnamese microbrew. Small eateries and other dives concoct their own versions and varieties of it. Stored in plastic containers that look like a large drum used to carry gasoline (and probably once was), with a long rubber tube hooked to one end and a cork serving as a tap; you never really know what you are going to get.
My intention was only to stay out for a quick dinner, an hour tops. Although every third sentence was answered by one of us saying, “I don’t understand,” frequent pauses, and trying to come up with a simpler way to explain something, we ended up talking for a long time. Slowly the story of his life unfolded.
He grew up in what he calls, “his country”, which really isn’t another country at all, but a village about 50km from Hanoi. His mother is 60, which is very old for the Vietnamese, and her health is failing. She can no longer work, and he helps pay for her hospital visits when he can afford it. He never knew his father. His younger sister is 18. She is married to a much older man and has a baby. He asks me why I am not married yet, because in Vietnam 23 is old for a women to not yet be married. I explain to him that in America, 23 is still very young to be married and ask him why he is not married. He tells me that men do not get married until they are 27 or 28 and typically marry women 10 years younger than themselves. He also tells me that he only attended school for six years. There is no requirement to go any longer here. When he was 13, he left the village and moved to Hanoi by himself to sell books. His mother could no longer care for him and it was the only way he could support himself. I ask him where he lives, and he tells me that he shares one small bedroom with 7-10 other men. They all sleep on mats on the crowded floor. His rent is 10,000 dong per night, about $0.56. It is all he can afford, but he has never known the comforts of a bed, so he is content.
It is time to leave, and I try to pay the bill, but he insists on paying. It is tradition in Vietnam, and besides, it was a good day. “Today I sell many books and make a lot of money,” he says with a big smile, “$44 US. It was a good day”.

Vietnamese Customs and Taboos

1. It is polite to remove your shoes upon entering someones home, but not necessary upon entering someone's shop.

2. When offering something to someone older or of higher status than you, you should use both hands, not just one.

3. The youngest person at the table serves everyone else, starting with the oldest or most important. Sometimes, if you're an important guest, people will choose the best parts of something and put it in your dish. It shows you're respected.

4. Eating is a big part of life in Vietnam and lunch is a very important part of the day. Don't expect to get anything done between 11-1pm

5. Chewing noisily and eating with ones mouth open is not culturally offensive of impolite.

6. In Western culture, picking ones nose is considered rude and disgusting, yet picking ones teeth is quite acceptable. Well, it's the direct opposite here. So don't be alarmed when you're chatting to someone and they suddenly pop their finger in their nostril. You may wish to cover your mouth with your hand while using a toothpick so as not to be considered disgusting yourself.

7. Vietnamese women rarely drink alcohol or smoke. So, as a western women one needs to be careful when drinking or smoking in public, in case they get a bad impression of you. Some poeple don't mind, but you need to be aware of this as it might lower your status in their eyes.

8. Losing face is a big thing here, so do not lose your temper in public. If you do, you will have lost face (respect) in the eyes of whomever you were with. Regaining this respect is virtually impossible.

9. Bargaining for ANYTHING is the way to go, unless you're in a supermarket or restaurant. Considering that haggling is part of life here, it only makes sense that the more you haggle, the better your business relationship will be.

10. Ho Chi Ming is a national hero and held in high respect. Either show the same respect or steer clear of his name entirely.

11. Vietnamese are extremely superstitious. Photographing groups of 3 people are considered unlucky and the first person to visit your stall/shop in the morning is supposed to hold the luck for the day's income.

12. Vietnamese may nod their head in agreement, even if they don't understand you. This may cause some confusion, as it is hard to know whether they really understand or agree with you or not.

13. Many students may avoid eye contact or speak quietly and passively. This is how they show respect to their teachers.

14. Vietnamese add the word "oi" after a name.

15. Crossing the index and middle finger is a very offensive sign in Vietnamese custom. It doesn't mean hopefullness like it does to us.

16. Asking personal questions such as "how much do you earn?" "how old are you", or "how much do you weigh?" are quite acceptable questions in Vietnamese culture (and often included on resumes). They don't mind telling you how fat you look either.

We've been warned. Now let's start picking our noses.

*taken from Apollo's Introduction Guide for New Teachers

the tale of two sheets and the first night living in a vietnamese home

I guess I should leave it up to Jen to share the details of her new job (if she ever gets around to it). What I will say is, after accepting her job, she was immediately flown to Hochimihn City the next day for four days of training. What followed could be described by some as separation anxiety. We exchanged four emails each day (morning update, afternoon update, late afternoon update, and evening update) followed by a before bed phone conversation. Excessive? Probably yes, but it was the first time since we had met two months ago that we were apart for more than a few hours. It quickly became apparent to us how lucky we were to have each other on this unknown journey. Without someone to share my daily frustrations and humorous accounts with, many days giving up and going home would have seemed like the only sane thing to do. While I consider myself a very independent person and thoroughly enjoy my "Danielle time", it is the simple things, like having a normal conversation in English, that I took for granted.
Since then, we have settled into our daily routines, moved into a great house, and FINALLY unpacked our bags. Jen works during the day and I am teaching at two different language schools nights and weekends, which results in us not seeing each other very often. We joke that we have turned into an old married couple, struggling to find time to catch up about our day over a dinner. Since moving into our house, we are even sleeping in separate bedrooms now. Well, with the exception of our first night here.
That morning, we woke up early and collected everything we own into our few bags. We were picked up by a taxi driver, who was immediately irritated with us for having more luggage than the typical backpacker. Disgruntled, he threw our bags out onto the street leading to the alley that was our new neighborhood. The alley was too narrow for the taxi to drive through, so we had to make two separate trips in order to carry everything home. Jen made the first trip, while I sat on the corner surrounded by our bags and curious stares from the locals. Upon arriving in our new home, we quickly discovered that the Vietnamese idea of clean varies greatly from our western standards. I spent a large portion of the day scrubbing the house with only soap and water, since cleaning products other than dish soap seem to be non-existent here. And after lugging around my 1000 thread count, sateen, egyptian cotton sheets (I am a bit of a linen nazi) for two months, I joyfully removed the hideous teeny bopper, neon blue and pink flowered bedding with "Smashing" written on it that someone had specifically chosen for me, off the bed and replaced it with my beloved sheets. I could not wait cuddle up in bed that night with quality sheets for the first time since arriving in Asia.
After a long day, we ventured out in search of dinner. We came across a grocery store down the street from us and decided to check it out. We were tickled to find delicasies inside, such as peanut butter and cheese, and opted for a dinner of peanut butter sandwiches, crackers and cheese and of course beers, instead. While very collegiate, to us it tasted like heaven.
We returned to our rooms to prepare for bed, only to discover that the power in my room was out. We grabbed my headlamp and began a blind search for the fuse box. After finally stumbling across it in the hallway, Jen bravely stuck her hand into a very unsafe, ancient looking fuse box. With each switch flip, I cringed, praying that I wouldn't have an electrical burn victim on my hands. What followed each flip could best be described as the noise of a rat being electricuted combined with the sound of Chucky's laughter, but to no avail, the power did not return. And thus, I was forced to spend my first night in our new house, sharing a bed with Jen, to escape the heat of an unairconditioned, fanless room. While the room next door contained a bed equipped with the finest linens, I slept on weird plastic like, 5-thread count, crazy blue floral (the perfect print for a muumuu) Vietamese sheets that came with Jen's bed. Needless to say, if we had bladder control problems, these sheets would have worked wonders. Regardless, she has since then purchased new sheets of the more comfortable variety.

The transition from drifter to resident

Believe it or not, I started this post on September 30th…right before we decided to move on to another city. It’s been a little crazy ever since. We were jobless, feeling a bit frustrated and dreading moving our excessive amount of luggage to a new city…again. We always prompt horrified looks from other travelers as well as bus drivers when they see us coming. What they didn’t realize is that we weren’t tourists or travelers…we were hopeful inhabitants of Vietnam who have in possession more items than what they require…not to mention the books and remnants of a month-long teaching course in yet another backpack provided by the school. We considered printing shirts that made an excuse for our ridiculous amount of luggage but decided it was more fun to watch them gawk.  Well, there was the one time when I got in the van and literally announced to everyone why we had so much stuff. All that did was cause them to ask a slew of questions when in fact I didn’t feel like talking at all.

We are now officially finished with the hauling of the luggage situation. Only two days after arriving in Hanoi, we had several interviews and as many job offers. It was finally decision time!! Before we share our big news of how we will change the lives of Vietnamese children, let us give you a glimpse of some of the “communications” with those hiring English teachers.

…“It is regrettable when not to cooperate with you. I wish you will soon find the job you want. Though not work together we will be friend together. If you have obstacles do, do not hesitate to phone me. I will be happy to help a foreigner like you have come to our country. You are very nice.” ----- from the lady we turned down because of better offers.

…“Very sorry for the answer you want. To visit our school, if you do not mind carrying a few papers that follow you as necessary. See you soon on the way tomorrow.” ----- few papers meaning our diploma, teaching certificate, birth certificate, etc.

…”I hope we can cooperate to work for a long time.”

Danielle went to an interview and ended up teaching two classes because the instructor was leaving town. She actually got paid in cash that night whereas I taught a demo and got squat.

It seems with every interview we went to, an offer usually was made but some were a bit sketchy or too good to be true. A lady who is in charge of opening a new language center offered me the full-time job of managing the whole joint…everything from developing curriculum to managing the foreign and native teachers. She proceeded to post our profiles on their new website, invited us to the Opening Ceremony and requested us on facebook, twitter and Gmail IM.

So what are we doing now? We’re working and making a life in Vietnam.

I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!

At some point while you were growing up, you probably dreamt of one day becoming rich and famous. Now, you probably watch TMZ and think to yourself, "if only I could have cameras following me around". You probably make fun of Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton, but only because you are jealous. You secretly practice your supermodel poses in the mirror and practice your acceptance speech after every major awards show. You buy the huge, bug-eyed, Gucci knockoff sunglasses because you saw Nicole Richie wearing them in Cosmo. And, you probably practice your signature on the restaurant's napkins, just in case.
Well, now all your dreams can come true. Simply move to Asia.
We live in a country where working only a few hours can earn you over 2.5 million (dong that is) a week. We are considered rich because we are white. Everyone wants to talk to you. People discretely, or non-discretely, pull out cell phones attempting to snap your picture as they cruise by on a motorbike, nearly crashing in the process. You cannot eat dinner in peace, because everyone in the restaurant wants to meet you. You begin to wonder how many people are showing off pictures of you to their friends, or if you are in the picture frame of a person's name you do not know. School children swarm around you asking for your autograph. And without fail, someone will tell you that you are beautiful at least once a day.
This may sound like the lifestyle you have always wanted. Yes, it can be endearing and fun, but it can also be overwhelming and annoying.
An email I sent to Jen yesterday recounting my day:
"Went to the park to do some reading. Got harrassed by the book lady. Ended up buying three books. Then got harassed by the fan lady. Ended up buying a stupid fan. They tell me Im beautiful, and it gets me every time. Got harassed by the sketch artist. Didnt buy a sketch but ended up teaching him how to tell time in english for a half hour before making up an excuse to leave. Tried out another bench for reading. Got through half a page. Got harrassed by some chinese guys who wanted to take pictures with a white person because we are so rare. When he asked if he could take a picture with me, I said, "Why? Aren't there any Americans in China?" Got harrassed by a different book lady. Decided to go home. Got harrassed by everyelse on the way. Decided to sit in the room for the rest of day".
Maybe I'm just heartless or maybe Good Charlotte described it best when they wrote: "Life styles of the rich and the famous,
They're always complainin', always complainin'".

~D

Jen's Return + 1

February 9th was the last post? Well, I suppose I haven’t had much to say… or share rather. So where have I been? I might describe it as walking a high wire stretched taut between two worlds. The East vs The West. The life I could lead on both ends taunted me with danger, safety, ease and excitement. And it still does…which is why I’m still here.

I started traveling in April ’08 to appease the inner need for great change. Looking back, I suppose I knew from the start that the line would be unsteady at times but I would safely traverse to the end and return to the world from which I started. At an uncertain point, I lost focus of the initial quest and found myself trying to hold balance in the middle…not knowing which direction to step. After many big lunges and small baby steps in both directions, I made some decisions that leave me here where I am today.

I called the little fisherman’s beach town of Ban Phe, Thailand home for the month of August while I got certified to teach English as a foreign language. I’ve now been in Vietnam for three weeks. I returned to my beloved Hoi An after 14 months to find it just as lovely as before. One problem though. There was no work to be found. So here I am in Da Nang which is the 4th largest city in Vietnam and job prospects are slim after two weeks of waiting in this hotel with an apartment lease in hand. Let me say that it is quite a task to search for an apartment in a city where few speak English and no signs are in English. I waited 12 days for an interview with the Foreign Affairs Office. Turns out I would make only $350 a month whereas if I were teaching and working half the hours, I could make double that amount. Patience is key in this part of the world…

Although I dealt you a pontificating analogy at the start of this entry, let me say it is my goal this go around to share, inform, entertain and enlighten with frequent and small doses of life here in Asia.

So at this point let me introduce Danielle because I’m giving her full access to this blog. Together we will perhaps (and hopefully) give you something to enjoy with your morning coffee or evening beer. Our journey together began back in Thailand where when I first saw her I should have said “Hi, my name is Jennifer. What’s your name?” because that it what we said in the upcoming month-long teacher practice classes. Of the four girls in the 10-person class, we were the only two girls who lived in the school building for the provided accommodation. It was adequate enough but we made it fun.

Beautiful Danielle hales from Colorado. She enjoys the outdoors and loves animals (proof by whenever we see a puppy, we have to stop and oohh and aahhh). In her free time, she is a grammar Nazi (best in our class) and cuddles her Mac Book (which she’s been deprived of for 12 days due to a broken charger). She enjoys the occasional beverage of alcoholic nature (adding to the reason of why we are friends) and craves garlic bread. She has a mean look but is actually quite a lovely person when you get to know her. Now that I’ve made her sound like some sort of contestant…

In all seriousness, Danielle is great or else I wouldn’t be sharing my continued Asia adventures with her. She decided to check out Vietnam and it seems to suit her so we are searching for jobs and plan to share an apartment…wherever that city might be…because as of now, we are jobless and heading to our third city in Vietnam.

With that said, I will close for now. Everyone, please welcome Danielle. You’re free to give her a hard time, she’ll like it.

Mawt, Hai, Baa…Yooooooo!

Random Fun Facts

10 months...or 310 days
14 countries / 19 languages
Thailand
Laos
Cambodia
Vietnam
Indonesia
Singapore
Malaysia
Myanmar
Nepal
Turkey

- Considering the amount of land I have covered, I have taken only 12 flights
- Favorite country - Nepal, with Vietnam as a close second
- Least favorite country - Singapore (sorry Luis but I did have fun there)
- Overall favorite foods by country - Nepal, Malaysia (but only Penang-Thanks Dan), Thailand

- Lived six weeks in a place that was without electricity 12-16 hours a day
- Longest time without a shower - 4 days (Indonesia)
- Longest time without a real shower (meaning rinsing with water while wearing a sarong) - 9 days (West Nepal)
- Most showers in one day - 4 (both Thailand and Indonesia)
- Different types of whiskey sampled - 16
- Cheapest beer - $0.40...in Vietnam
- Longest bus journey- 28 hours (Nepal)
- Longest train ride - 16 hours (Vietnam)
- Least amount of money spent in one day which included accommodation - $7.40
- Most amount of money spent in one day on only accommodation, food, beverage - $68.00
- Most expensive country overall with the exception of Singapore because I think of it as a city - Malaysia

- Spent 9 days in quarantine dealing with a month-long severe eye infection
- Suffered bronchitis twice, strep throat once, something doctors thought could be Dengue Fever, twisted knee which caused me to miss the Mt. Kinabalu hike in Malaysia and other minor viruses
- Twice, thrown up on by children on buses
- An old woman tried to hand me her bag of orange vomit on a 12-hour bus ride in Laos
- Ate BBQ rat and lizard as well as various smoked animal organs (Nepal)
- Attended weddings in two different countries (India and Nepal)
- 2 Regrets: Missing a really interesting train ride in Cambodia, and not spending time at an Ashram
- Sang solo in front of local people 8 different times in three countries

Every Moment

To see the touch of the moment ıs to be alıve.
To feel the touch of the moment ıs to be aware.
To lıve the touch of the moment ıs to be free.
To leave a touch on the moment ıs to be yourself.

I walk the paths of the unknown to better understand.
The understandıng ıs there but the dots do not connect.
To complete the pıcture, I have to stop walkıng and reflect.
The reflectıon I see ıs what I know I want.
What I want ıs harder to achıeve than what I have walked.
I wıll take a step further to antıcıpate the future.
The future ıs only ın the unexpected.
To know ıt would make the path unpassable.

Back to Basıcs...ın the The Vıllage of Gogıgoun...wıth the Tharu people

Perhaps the most specıal experıence of thıs journey.
I hope you're ready because ıt's a long one but worth the read.

As I made the 28 hour journey vıa four different buses and a two hour jeep ride, I was hopıng for a unique experience like no other yet on this travel. The bus rides and transfers were a good start. People, bags of rice and goods, luggage and tanks of local whiskey filled the buses past their capacity. Random children sat on my lap as we were sandwiched in for the ride. I arrived at the village mid-morning and was greeted by women and men while most children hid behind things to take a peek a the "white skin" that had arrived. Few, if any, Westerners go to this part of West Nepal, especially to a small village so it was very exciting for everyone. Even as we approached, it was as if someone had run ahead to alert everyone that I was coming. It was a nice welcome. I presented my gifts of 20 wool shawls, oranges, chocolate and a few items of clothıng I no longer wanted. I had a "shower", a cup of tea and was whisked away to the first house. First let me tell you about my shower and then a little about the village.

I showered rıght outsıde the back door of the house at the water well pump. There are no walls. I wore nothıng but a sarong...a pıece of fabrıc wrapped and tıed at the chest. Water from the pump ıs freezıng cold but ıt was mıxed wıth water ın a bıg pot that had been boıled ın the kıtchen. Usıng a drınkıng pıtcher, I poured water on myself and under the sarong to clean and rınse. Meanwhıle, adults walked by freely and kıds stood and stared to see how I would do wıth my fırst vıllage shower.

I could walk the village from one end to the other in a slow five minute walk. Houses are made of bricks covered in mud paste atop a foundatıon of stones from the river. Uneven, hard-packed dirt floors throughout. Wooden doors and shutters. Houses are one-or-two story made up of simple square rooms wıth no adornement except the basic necessities. In my two-story house, one room was filled wıth potatoes. Another housed the family temple. Others were bedrooms besides the kitchen. Sunshine and moonlight makes its way through the wood slat A-frame ceıilings which are covered with cobwebs, dirt, splattered mud. Bamboo poles positioned in the bricks while being biılt serve as shelf hanging device across the top of the room. Beds are made of wood slats covered in dried mud. Most people sleep on just a blanket but they placed two blankets on mine for cushıon. The pillow felt like a rock. Huge rice storage containers are throughout the house, many which serve as room dividers in the simpler open-space homes.

The toılet ıs an outhouse out back shared by two homes...about 12 people. Out the back door, across the dırt path, past the buffalo, around the trash burnıng area to the outhouse where the door kınd of closed on wobbly rope hınges. Very ınterestıng expedıtıon ın the mıddle of the nıght. Toılet paper dıd not make ıts way wıth us to the vıllage so I can say that after 9.5 months ın Asıa, not only have I mastered the squatter toılet, I can do the job wıthout toılet paper no matter the occassıon. I have never ın my lıfe needed hand sanıtızer more than then. Although I dıd ıt, I dıdn't lıke ıt so after a day, I chose one of my T-shırts and ıt became my toılet paper after rıppıng ıt ınto pıeces.

A few other notes about my tıme ın the vıllage: Drank local water for tea and coffee whıch was never boıled. Ate food that was kılled, cleaned and cooked on the dırt floor ın front of me usıng utensıls that are not ever really cleaned. Ate pıeces of fruıt and food handed to me by chıldren wıth fılthy hands...but ıt was rude not to accept ıt. Soap ıs not used to wash dıshes but rather a paste ıs made from ash (from the cookıng ın the kıtchen) and mud from the ground. All dıshes are tın and pots are metal so they're just scrubbed "clean".

I awoke around 5am by the sounds of the house and vıllage comıng to lıfe. All water ıs pumped from the water well below my wındow at the back of the house...whıch ıs where I showered. Roosters announce the wake-up call. Bırds chırp. Hay pıles are rearranged and new hay ıs fed through the machıne. Tın dıshes clank as they're washed at the pump. The trash pıle ıs burned every mornıng so that smell snuck ıts way up to my room. Smoke from the mornıng cookıng ın the kıtchen downstaırs fılled the house and made ıts way to my room and I was forced to cover my head wıth the blanket ın order to breathe. (Sometımes the smoke was so thıck I couldn't see the bottom of the staırs from the top.) But ıt told me I could get a cup of hot tea so ıt served as my wake-up call.

In the kıtchen, space was made for me to squat or sıt on a wood seat (flat on the floor). The attempt of communıcatıon began for the day. Tın dıshes or stıck-sewn leaf bowls of food were placed ın front of me on the dırt floor. Usually meat and potatoes and cooked berrıes...untıl they realızed ıt was a bıt much for my system and I got semı-hard boıled eggs. Note that thıs was festıval tıme and I was a guest so I got to eat the eggs whıch are usually allowed to hatch to become chıckens whıch are raısed and then used as food for them. I felt a bıt guılty eatıng what should be somethıng that sustaıns theır food supply ın a couple months.

So how dıd I spend my days? The person I went wıth, Kamal, ıs essentıally responsıble for the vıllage even though he lıves ın Kathmandu. The house where I stayed ıs hıs house now but belonged to hıs mother so hıs extended famıly lıves there now and works the land. There ıs a great amount of honor bestowed on Kamal when he vısıts. Because of thıs and my presence, we were "requested" to vısıt varıous homes each day throughout our stay. Each vısıt was basıcally the same. We sat on mats on the floor or on theır beds whıch become the sıttıng area durıng the day wıth the balnket rolled to one sıde. Immedıately after sıttıng, eıther homemade rıce wıne or rıce whıskey ıs served...ın the tın cups. Then several foods appear ın separate dıshes ın front of each person. Currıed meats. Currıed potatoes. Stewed vegetables. Boıled eggs. Berrıes. No sılverware. I dıd my best but sometımes I hardly touched the food.

These vıllagers drınk whıskey and rıce wıne all day lıke ıt's water. I usually had my fırst glass by 10am and my last glass at mıdnıght. By the end, I had convınced them to pour only alı alı (a lıttle) at a tıme rather than waste ıt. Although I thınk anythıng that wasn't drank was poured back ınto the bucket. Usually an old plastıc bucket wıth lıd or a gas tank ıs where the potıon ıs kept. The rıce settles at the bottom. When served, I notıced a dıfference between homes. Some women stırred ıt (often tımes by hand) before servıng whıch meant I also had bloated rıce ın the drınk. The women always serve and eventually joın the group but rarely drınk...at least at those tımes. The focus ıs on the guest. The wıne ıs manageable but the whıskey ıs lethal. One glass (about 6 oz.) ıs enough to slow tıme and blur the focus.

Asıde from eatıng and drınkıng, I would do my best to communıcate wıth the lıttle Nepalese I speak. Sometımes I would sıt for an hour wıthout sayıng a word as Kamal and the men dıscussed vıllage busıness. Other tımes we were entertaıned by the vıllage comedıan or Kamal would do a good job at translatıng what was beıng dıscussed so I could take part and ask questıons. The vısıts lasted between one and three hours. We would go from house to house and repeat the process. Always at the end, I would be asked to "capture" a photo on my camera.

By the thırd day, the kıds dıdn't want to let me out of theır sıght. I played Nepalese Poker wıth them one nıght. Another nıght, they watched as Kamal and I played Rummy...whıch ıs somethıng I taught people back ın Kathmandu. Agaınst my personal character, I let hım wın most hands. Who am I to change vıllage rıtual? It felt lıke the rıght thıng to do.

What else occupıed sıx days? On our second day, we went to "town" vıa a two hour rıde on a buffalo cart. I drove part of the way. It wasn't much of a town but I secured clothıng and jewelry to dress as a tradıtıonal Tharu woman for the New Years Festıval the next day. Tharu ıs the caste of the people I was vısıtıng and theır culture celebrates New Years on Jan 14.

Another day we went crabbıng ın the jungle. Well, I watched as they dug theır arms ınto the mud of the stream. Later they dug holes lookıng for crabs and ended up dıggıng a 3 ft by 3 ft hole lookıng for what they saıd would be a 2kg crab. It took over 2 hours! We dıdnit catch ıt. Then they moved on to dıggıng up ground whıle trackıng the underground maze of what they thought was a rat. One hour later, after brıefly thınkıng they had cornered a poısonous snake, ıt ended up beıng a bıg lızard of some sort. They dıd end up catchıng a rat also. Belıeve ıt or not, I sampled both rat and lızard. These culınary delıghts were the fınal tıck that made my stomach protest the vıllage. Eatıng crabs two nıghts ın a row fresh from the mud, wıth only a slıght cookıng, dıdn't help...especıally after my share of whıskey.

One afternoon whıle at a house wıthout Kamal, 25 people gathered. I notıced people were more at ease when he wasn't around...lıke they could just be themselves and have fun wıth me. A couple men and many of the chıldren speak a lıttle Englısh so they were helpful ın facılıtatıng conversatıon. Sıta-she sang a beautıful Tharu song. The Sınger-he sang a Nepalese song. They all wanted me to sıng one song before they sang more. So I dıd my part and sang the same song I thınk I've now sang out loud for locals ın fıve countrıes. If you're a good reader of thıs blog, you'll know what ıt ıs but ın case note...Amazıng Grace. Over those sıx days, I was asked to sıng ıt seven tımes. Sınger Guy then contınued wıth more Nepalese songs, Tharu songs and Hındı songs.

On the day of the celebratıon, we were supposed to leave at 5am to "shower" ın the rıver an hours walk away. But I guess lıke many cultural tradıtıons that people forgoe because they're lazy or busy, ıt dıdn't happen. I was both relıeved and dısappoınted. At noon, women started gatherıng other women. One of Kamal's aunts who had taken a specıal lıkıng to me showed me the ropes throughout the day. (None of the women spoke Englısh). I got dressed wıth all the women complete wıth nose rıng, tıka, haır tassle, necklace and bangles to go wıth my whıte skırt and black top. I was as tradıtıonal Tharu as a "whıte skın gırl" could be! We made a few stops at women's homes for food and drınk. Thıs whole day (but espeıcally then) was one of the most specıal tımes wıth the women. They were not ınhıbıted by the men. They can't speak Englısh but we found a way to talk. They drank whıskey and grew excıted for the bıg event. Thıs festıval ıs the bıggest of the year and ıt's lıke a party for the women. I was told later that me beıng there made ıt even more specıal for them...and part of the reason they crıed when we all saıd goodbye.

At 4pm, we started the processıon of goıng from house to house throughout theır vıllage and two neıghborıng vıllages. The women sang the same song over and over clappıng and dancıng. One guy was wıth us who played the drum whıch provıded the rhythm. A "clapper" ınstrument was passed to me and they were all thrılled that I caught on very quıckly. At each new house, the Mınıster of the house does a ceremonıal thıng where she presents a plate of rıce wıth a candle and money. The maın dancer and me would hold a plate ın one hand, do the dance, hand ıt back to the Mınıster and contınue dancıng. And at certaın homes, the man of the house would lay out money (both paper and coıns) on fabrıc on the ground. The prımary dancer would then bend over backwards supportıng herself on her hands, feet and head to pıck up the money wıth her mouth or eyelıds. The money was hers to keep. I even dıd ıt twıce!! They loved ıt. I should mentıon that about 100 people were present throughout the whole evenıng. The crowd followed us from house to house down the dark roads sıngıng and dancıng and laughıng. And yes, whıskey and wıne ıs served to the women at each house. In Asıa, the thıng to do ıs everyone drınks from the same bottle or glass or pıtcher but you pour ıt ın your mouth wıthout ever touchıng ıt to your lıps. A few tımes I pretended drınk but dıdn't consume. It was the only way I could make ıt through that nıght.

My fınal day the women organızed the Jungle Pıcnıc. I dıd not know about thıs ın advance and was sıttıng ın my room by myself for the fırst tıme ın sıx days hopıng to capture some of my thoughts on paper. Suddenly fıve women and eıght chıldren crowded my room and talked ın a very excıted manner. Through body language and poıntıng, I realızed they wanted me to gather my Tharu dress ıtems and go wıth them. The next sıx hours were fılled wıth vısıons that you mıght see on a Natıonal Geographıc program. After dressıng, a small group of us made the walk back to the same jungle where we went crabbıng. (I forgot to mentıon before that there ıs a Woman Jungle and a Man Jungle. Respectıvely, they planned and planted theır areas that represent theır mınds and souls.)

Very quıckly after arrıvıng, women appeared from varıous parts of the jungle carryıng on theır heads all the necessary ıtems to prepare a feast. Pots, utensıls, food, spıces, huge bowls and jugs of water for cookıng, whıskey, wıne, everythıng. Enough food was made for 50 women! Imagıne how much stuff was carrıed to the jungle for thıs celebratıon! Tasks were dıvıded and work began. Around me were women choppıng wood for the fıres, dıggıng holes ın the ground for the fıres, kıllıng and preppıng of four chıckens, potatoes peeled, vegetables cut, spıces ground, etc. I helped do a lıttle of everythıng ıncludıng sıttıng wıth a group of women foldıng and sewıng (wıth thın stıck) jungle tree leaves to make our bowls and plates. The jungle was fılled wıth the laughter and serıousness of women. I would have done almost anythıng for a translator.

Once the food was prepared, everythıng was packed and moved to a nearby open fıeld. Some women dıshed the food for servıng whıle the rest of us posıtıoned ourselves ın a semı-cırcle around the food. The fırst thıng served? You guessed ıt...whıskey! Then the food. Very quıckly, ıt was as ıf somethıng ınsıde these women was unleashed. It wasn't just the whıskey. These women and the event takıng place before my eyes was lıke nothıng I have seen. Extraordınary! Theır laughter was lıke musıc. Theır movements lıke that of chıldren playıng ın a park on a perfect sunny afternoon. Strong but carefree. Lıke they were free from the daıly grınd that ıs theır lıves. Of course, thıs ıs the lıfe they know. And ıt was Lıfe and a prosperous New Year that they were celebratıng. For me, I was wonderıng what event or celebratıon at home to equate ıt to. I'm stıll tryıng to come up wıth an answer.

When the last drop of whıskey was honored, we danced ın the fıeld. Everyone took turns pullıng me to the center of the cırcle. Photos were captured untıl my camera battery depleted. We sang and danced our way back to the vıllage stoppıng at houses that had a lıght on. We repeated the New Years day festıvıtıes all over agaın!

It was a day I wıll never forget. You know those days when you need to thınk of somethıng to remınd yourself of what ıs ımportant to put thıngs ın perspectıve? Thıs wıll be my memory for a very long tıme. I gıve many thanks for the experıence. I am unable to fully express what ıt means to me and I wıll not dımınısh ıt by tryıng.

On my last day, tıme passed too quıckly. It was suddenly tıme to say goodbye. The Mınıster of the House where I stayed was not a dırect famıly member and I belıeve she ıs about 16 years old. She handles any money and possessıons of the household and ıs responsıble for the house, coordınatıon of chores, etc. My thank you gıft when I left was to be gıven to her rather than the mother and father. We started at one end of the vıllage and made our way from house to house sayıng goodbye. Wıth each house we left, the famıly followed us to the next house. By the tıme we reached the end, the whole vıllage had gathered behınd us as we clımbed onto the buffalo cart that was waıtıng for us at the end of the vıllage. The famıly we stayed wıth and the famıly of the one specıal Aunt were at the buffalo cart to say goodbye last.

The mother saıd a fınal goodbye to her son Gyano (the boy I mentıoned earlıer who ıs the nephew of Kamal and lıves at the hotel for the chance of a better lıfe than that of the vıllage) and her daughter. She burst ınto sobs and turned her back to cry. She hadn't seen her daughter for three years even though she lıves ın Kathmandu. Fınal blessıngs were exchanged through the act of touchıng the forehead of those younger than them wıth the hand as that person touches theır hand wıth both hands.

From the buffalo cart, I watched as the Tharu people went out of sıght as we rounded a curve. I started to cry and we were all sılent for the fırst hour of the two hour buffalo cart rıde to the "town" to catch our fırst bus of our 30 hour journey back to Kathmandu.

Thank you to the people of Gogıgoun vıllage.

My Life in Nepal

I returned to Kathmandu, Nepal exactly one month ago today. As I mentioned before, I was feeling the need to exist in one spot for a while. I chose Nepal because I fell in love with the country immediately after first arriving November 6. There is a special energy here. The history and culture. The architecture and colors. The people. It's spiritual without being religious. It's calm and crazy at the same time. A few words that come to mind when I think of how to define life here are primitive, simple and old-world.

Before leaving for India, I had made new friends and developed interesting relationships with a small group of people. I'm staying at a guesthouse for free in exchange for helping them with some things like their marketing efforts and website. I occasionally work the reception desk and talk with guests about the tours and treks offered by the guesthouse. Let's just say it's a different world of Marketing. I (try to)help the staff improve their English and they're teaching me a bit of Nepalese. I've been told several times that how I say something is not how the English say it. Thank you bloody England! :-) It's a very family-type atmosphere.

The Nepalese government has mandated a schedule that leaves us without electricity for 12 hours a day...and most of it is during the day. That means no light or things that require plug-in, no computer, no hot water. There are only a few hours of the day when a hot shower is available due to the electricity schedule because once we have electricity, we have to wait for the Geezer to warm the water. There is no indoor heating...and with no electricity, there is no space heater option. The temperature ranges from 35F to 60F but the guesthouse stays about 10 degrees cooler because no sunshine or warm breeze makes its way in. So I sleep in a room that feels like it's 30F with windows and a door that do not completely shut. I've become very good at showering, reading, playing cards, cooking by candlelight. The cable in my room no longer works but I can watch movies via DVD. However, it's hit or miss with the electricity. And I rarely get to see the end of a movie because the black market DVDs I buy are usually damaged.

Every day is essentially the same but different. Some days I never leave the guesthouse. Other days I'll walk a bit around the area or talk with tourists...although it's the off season so they are few. I attended a Hindu wedding in a small mountain town. I've eaten wild boar, buffalo, local chicken, the liver of something, pork skin, etc. I spent one day at an orphanage. I help cook most every night and eat with the staff...although the owner, his 9-year old nephew and I eat before the staff. We use two old gas burners powered by a propane tank for all the cooking. There is no stove or microwave. Mongul, the cook, is deaf. So Gyano, the 9-year old and the deaf cook teach me how to cook Nepalese foods. I eat Dahl Baaht and curry every night. We eat with our fingers...and this includes fried eggs (at my request) on some nights...and it's showing in my curry-stained fingernails. For those unsure, Dahl Baaht is rice with a liquid broth poured over top. Combine that with a saucy curry and imagine eating with your fingers. Washing my hands usually means only rinsing them with water in the kitchen unless I go to my room for soap. Drinks are not typically served with a meal but rather hot water is drank after the meal. All dishes are washed outside the kitchen over the cracked cement from a rubber hose attached to the wall. This is the same cement area where an illegally killed dear was skinned/prepared for rooftop BBQ and a chicken was killed and drained of blood before it was used to make curry. And no, Clorox is not used to disinfect the area. It's amazing that I have not gotten sick. And it makes me wonder again just how necessary all the cleaning/hygienic products we are convinced to buy really are. I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking of Marketing...how it relates to my life prior to travel, what it means, what it could (or in my opinion) should mean. I trust I will carry these sentiments within me upon my return to the real world...or should I say my old world.

Vegetables we buy are laid out on cloths on the ground and sold by candlelight once evening approaches. Meat and fish are bought at separate "stands" on the street where the whole of the animal/meat is on display. We carry the items home in small plastic bags (that barely hold the items) without being first wrapped in anything. This also means they are up for grabs to the open air filled with dust, germs and pollution from the streets. While I'm on the topic of food, I can't resist but offer the information that many people here chew with there mouth open. Such a horrific smacking sound is made because of what we're eating. I'm close enough here to a few people that at times when I can't take it anymore, I reach over and clamp their lips shut with my fingers. At first, they didn't know what to do but now a smile appears. And if they're trying to give me a hard time, they come and smack in my ears on purpose when I'm not expecting it. I'll just say there's a lot less smacking going on around here at Hotel Poon-Hill.

My days pass slowly and at the end, I don't know where they've gone. Some days are noisy and so filled with distractions that I am unable to complete a thought. Other days are extremely quiet and peaceful. There is vast contradiction to what makes me long for AND cringe over the idea of returning to the Westernized way of life with its privileges and unnecessary expectations. I live in conditions that I thought would never be acceptable to me...and I quite like it.

Nepal is an interesting place to call "home" for a short while. Traveling has been exciting and provided many life lessons but staying in one place for a while is giving me irreplaceable insights. In this time, I've really had the chance to somewhat understand the Nepali life. My friends have shared stories that leave me speechless. The stories could be from books on the Best Sellers list for adventure books for kids or how to survive life in the jungle.

There is amazing strength in people. Yes, it's all relative to where we are born, how we are raised, what is fair and not fair, what is acceptable, etc. In the 10 countries I have visited and because I do my best to interact with mostly locals, I have seen and experienced hardships that for me are unsettling but is all that these people know in their lives. I'm not trying to sound over philosophical but it is a topic that consumes my mind lately. As I continue to wrap my head around what it is I'm saying and feeling, I'll put it into better words. But for now, I will say there is a rawness to life in Asia (as there is across the globe) and it has earned my tremendous respect and gratitude.

A few other thoughts about Nepal, Nepali life and its Nepalese people.
- There is a kindness in the rudeness.
- A smile fills the void of a "Thank You" and after a while, I understand the replacement.
- There are acts of appreciation that go unnoticed unless you string them all together to make sense.
- The simplicity of a task that seems complex really is that simple.
- The record keeping and procedural way of doing business is so inefficient but it works here because of the level of advancement that is Kathmandu and Nepal.
- There is an old-world and traditional lifestyle that has been infiltrated with enough Westernisms that it seems two worlds have collided and are stuck in time with its existence.

I leave day after tomorrow for West Nepal with a close friend. We will stop in Pokhara for two days which is said to be a beautiful small town centered around a lake with amazing close views of the Himalayas. We will then spend four days in a small village where Gyano's family lives. (Note, he lives with his uncle here so that he can have a better life.) They are of the Tharu cast and their New Year is celebrated on the 14th. I will help the village people prepare for the festival. I haven't asked too many questions but I don't want to know what to expect. I do know though that I will have to shower outside the hut in a three-walled bathing area (kind of in public) while wearing a sarong. The "shower" will consist of a bar of soap and using buckets of heated water to pour over my head to rinse. Yes, I've done this here at the hotel when I really wanted to bathe but didn't have hot water. Doing it in a village...with probably children staring to see how I do...will be a different story.

I promise to update you and finish sharing Nepal with you before leaving for Istanbul on Jan 18th.