Wow

There are a few new pics in the Nepal ODFL link... I'll upload more when I get a chance.

"Mike...Mike," these words are among the loud noises coming from the "cool kids" in the back of the bus. My seat, as usual, is in the very front. You may recall from your days in high school that this row is specifically reserved for dorks and teachers... its a perfect fit for me. I've made a policy of never answering the first time someone calls my name, so I give it a second to see if this kid, whose name is Katie in this instance, can find their own answer to whatever question they may have... "Mike... Mike!!!" Apparently she cannot. I turn my head back and make I eye contact. This wordless response is my way of letting her know that I am listening, but also that I know where this conversation is headed. "Will it rain in the village?" Its the monsoon season here in Nepal and rains every day so I know that she is joking. All good jokes, however, start with a grain of truth. When we first got here, I made the mistake of pointing out that many questions in this seemingly endless chorus could be answered before they get to me... But they love to tease me so the number of silly questions has reached astronomical proportions. I always play along, first because its funny and I make a good straight man, and second because its the easiest way to keep 14 high school students that haven't showered in a week happy. These sorts of interactions were the norm for us. We laughed a lot... it was usually at my expense.

It took us just over 36 hours of planes and layovers to reach Kathmandu. A combination of sleep deprivation and the fact that it is not possible to get much farther from home made the culture shock run rampant. My first impressions when we stepped out of the airport are that its hotter, darker and muggier than I remember. The ongoing sanitation strike in Kathmandu means more smells and piles of garbage than usual in the narrow streets. My feelings of apprehension blended nicely with the humidity in the air. There are sixteen people on this trip, one teacher, fourteen students from California, and me. I am the only one that has been here before and I can't help but wonder what they are thinking if these are my impressions. Thankfully, it was not a very long bus ride, and all those negative feelings were washed off of us as we entered the air conditioned lobby of the nicest hotel in Kathmandu... We are going to be OK.

If I were to provide a theme to our experiences in Nepal, it would have to be the amazing contrast that we felt as we went from one place to the next. There is no better example of this than sitting in the serenity of the courtyard in our hotel (the former Royal Palace) and listening to the muffled sounds of horns and traffic on the other side of the wall. We spent our first few days between these two extremes, venturing out into the chaotic city and enjoying the swimming pool at the hotel. The former is where the real adventure of travel lies, but it was nice to be able to leave one for the other.

It was during this time that I had my first "I'm back in Nepal" moment. We had stopped along the side of the road for no reason whatsoever, at least as far as I could tell. These sorts of things happen all the time. They could drive a person crazy if they don't go with the flow, so I found myself a seat in the mud and took in the scene. On the highway in front of me were taxis, cows, elaborately decorated semis, motorcycles, bicycles and a man herding goats... somehow no one ever gets hit (at least not as much as you would think). The pollution and sediment in the air can make your throat raw and all the buildings that I could see were covered in advertisements. Meanwhile, the bus drivers use their horns constantly. They provide the urban soundtrack here and come in all sorts of pitches and funny little jingles. On the horizon, though, is a glimpse of the other side of this country. I could see green hills stratified with rice farms. Many people would say that this scene in the distance is where "the real Nepal" is, but there is a lot to experience on the side of the road too if you just sit there and take it all in for a minute. Our next destination, however, was straight into those hills.

We left our amenities behind on day four and set out for the village of Dalsinghe (Dall-sing-gee). Our new setting was beautiful, the hills were scattered with houses and there are no roads. Its the kind of place that fills your stomach with butterflies and "there is a god" thoughts from the moment you step off of the bus. We split the kids into pairs and sent them off in various directions to meet their home stay families and explore the area. Our new accommodations were a far cry from Kathmandu. The "beds" were literally wooden planks with a thin blanket for a mattress, and there was no running water. Many of the homes kept their goats and bulls on the ground floor, so there was an omnipresent scent that is hard to describe. There was very little, if any, English spoken in the village which made for a few awkward afternoon teas... I just tried to smile a lot and play with the children as much as possible.

Perhaps the most pleasant surprise, though, was to see the school that our fundraising efforts helped build. In Nepal, a little over 9000USD will buy 3 classrooms, a 25 meter well, and toilets with a septic tank. The principle difference between this trip and the one last year in Kenya was the amount of need in the area. None of these facilities were previously available to the 80 children in Dalsinghe. They would meet every day under a tree for school.

Finding ways to help build the school was difficult at first. The first question that Lisa, the other chaperon, had to answer was "how do you paint a classroom when there is no paint?" This was a major detail that was lost in translation during the preparation. It wasn't until the 3rd day of work that the paint arrived and the kids were happy to see it. We had been digging trenches and hauling bricks in the sweltering heat the entire time. Please make sure that your mental picture of our trip so far includes sweaty pink faces and the entire village coming out to watch us work.

Our routine in the village was as follows. We woke each day with the sun, or the roosters, whichever came first, ate breakfast, painted, played with/tickled/chased/tossed/caught children, lunch, and more of the same in the afternoon. The day's transition into evening is the best time to sit back and reflect. The homes in the hills become dots of lights and the darkness is intermixed with fireflies... everywhere. It was a magical backdrop and we always made time to stare for a while before heading back to our families and "beds." The only bad part of days like these is that, like all good things, they have to end... damn Einstein and his relativity of time.

This is not to say that everything was easy for us. The list of injuries and ailments is a long one. We had a total of 4 trips to the hospital, sporadic, yet rampant diarrhea (guess who got that one), bed bugs, two stomach infections that necessitated a plain rice only diet and anti-amoebic drugs, and a flesh eating virus that took the top layer of skin off of one girl's fingers... ouch. But we could never truly appreciate the good without a healthy dose of the bad. The kids on the trip just shrugged it all off as part of the experience... they amaze me. These kids are the future leaders of the world. Their compassion and selflessness fills me with optimism about our longevity as a species. I am happy to play a small part in their lives.

Flash forward to a new picture. Its our closing ceremony and I'm dancing, or at least attempting to dance, to the tune of a drum. The rest of the village is laughing and watching my gangly limbs fly out in every direction as I try to mimic the moves of my smaller and more graceful Nepalese friends. My parting gift from the village is a traditional hat that the men in the village wear. Its a lot like the one that Aladin wears in the movies... unfortunately it is not appropriately sized for my large American brain and feels more like a dunce cap sitting on top of my head. We were all given Hindu third eyes in chalk as part of the celebration. This was all planned... then comes a slap to the side of my face. A cute little boy in the village has grabbed a handful of the chalk for our Hindu dots and covered my face in red. He loves me and he knows that he can get away with anything... the cute ones always seem to know that. After few minutes of escalation and retaliation, the whole village, from the children to the grandmothers, are covered in red chalk. Now we're all laughing and dancing in the rain together.

Its amazing how quickly laughter can turn into tears. Young children never understand the reality of saying goodbye until its time to walk away. One little girl from the village started to cry as we prepared to walk down the road, then another, then another. Now we're all crying because maybe we didn't understand the reality of our departure either. Walking away from Dalsinghe was one of the toughest things that I have ever done.

But the trip was not over... so we did our best to keep it all in perspective and drove into the jungles in the south. We spent three days living in little bungalows listening to the melodies of the birds and insects, and riding and swimming with elephants. I can't think of a better way to finish a trip like this one. We spent our last hours together on the dirty carpet of the Hong Kong airport. We laughed and made up songs about the trip and eachother. We delayed our goodbyes as long as we could, but all good things must come to an end. Every person has said that this was the best, and the most fulfilling three weeks of their lives... I agree.