Finally Off our Feet
After a lifetime of eleven hours walking down the steep mountains, we got to Sunil's house, just in time before my feet and knees staged a coup and refused to move forward. Our spirits though were somewhat restored. I had been picking up heavy pissed off vibes for press-ganging everyone to march on after the Shaman's, but now that we were in a clean guesthouse, with smiling hosts, a warm cup of tea in our hand, dinner on the way and only a three hour walk to the bus tomorrow to look towards (not forward to, definitely not that!), Robin and I were once again chattering happily, whilst unfurling our sleeping bags and making the room ours for the night, by strewing around clothes, shoes and whatever came to hand out of our backpacks.
As on my last stay at Sunil's, the villagers came in throngs around dusk to buy cigarettes, rice, dried noodles and other provisions from his one- shelf grocery store. Although he has no demand for bottled water, Sunil went off somewhere and soon came back with four bottles for Robin and me.
Aaahhh...the clean taste of that water! No sootiness from the wood-fire like our water in Bigu. And the safety in drinking it! So unlike the constant worry at the back of our minds at Bigu when we drank the spring water off the mountain. We guzzled it, luxuriating in its silk, cooling wetness at the back of our throat and forgetting that although Sunil's is a clean guesthouse, the toilet is still outside. The thought of having to traipse down the stairs, into the yard and into the squat toilet cubicle, at least probably twice in the middle of the pitch black cold night, was not welcome.
Thankfully, I had a brainwave based on a previous trip to the Everest, with my inventive husband. Take two empty water bottles, slice off the top to make a large enough opening and hey, presto you have two pee-receptacles. We designated a part of our room as the privy, opened the windows to be able to empty the bottles whenever needed and in the interest of convenience and comfort, we banned both shyness and embarrassment from the room.
Feeling pleased with ourselves we walked downstairs, or in my case, hobbled downstairs, trying to keep all contact off my toes. Believe me, it is not easy walking without using your toes. Try it. It's a duck-like waddle that threatens to topple you over at every step. I was in my socks, having left my flip flops with an admiring nun. I sat down, marvelled at my multiple blisters' shape and size and ministrated to them by applying those lovely Compeed plasters at various strategic angles.
The Chicken's Revenge
Whilst I was sitting on the porch, sorting out my feet, a customer walked into Sunil's shop. He had a dirty and very bloody rug around his thump. He sat down and contributed to the lively cacophonous discussion and cigarette smoke haze. A while later, Tashi came out and asked if I had any bandages. The man had sliced off a chunk off his thumb. He had been slaughtering a chicken and the knife bounced off the chicken's neck bones and took a slice of his thumb. The bleeding hadn't stopped yet. I got my medical kit out and handed over a bottle of sterillon and a roll of bandages. I really don't know what Tashi thought when I very clearly said that I wasn't touching the bloody hand and nor should he. He ignored me and cleared the man's would and bandaged it up. I felt bad. This was a human being in need and I wouldn't touch him. Yet, the drill about HIV in our society is too strong to ignore.
Later on the man complained of pain. I gave him a painkiller and wondered about leaving the packet behind. I didn't. I had visions of him taking too many or with alcohol or leaving them in reach for children to take. I thought about how vulnerable these people are. They have no medicine, not even a plaster or a simple painkiller. The nearest doctor is half a day's walk away. They have no way of dealing with simple wounds, what do they do in real emergencies?
Sunil's customers hang out to observe the two foreign women eating their dhal and rice. Over dinner, the injured man re-told the story of slaughtering the chicken and added that it was the bad karma of killing it that caused him to almost chop his thump off.
The Last Three Hours
I had hoped that my toes would heal miraculously overnight. Though I winced when I put on my walking shoes that morning, I was sure that after half an hour's walk my toes would go numb and I would be fine.
We had a quick breakfast of roti and asked Sunil and his wife for photos. Photos are a serious business in Nepal. Sunil and his wife have beautiful warm smiles. Yet, like a lot of the little nuns and most people in these mountains, the minute you ask them to pose for the camera, they become serious, unsmiling and stilted. Take the snap and the smiles return!
We started the walk under the auspices of a weak gold light from the early morning sun and a freshness in the air. We walked on a sandy, dusty road, encountering villagers collecting firewood and cutting vegetation for their animals. Children played and shouted "hello, hello", "hello,namaste". It was a fine day to be walking the final three hours to our bus ride to Kathmandu. Robin and I re-affirmed how right we were to have done the long walk the day before, leaving the tail end for today.
We walked past many villages and many houses. We said many Namaste. The sun got stronger and we got hotter and finally joined an endless series of steps taking us steeply down into the valley and to Barharbasi, the dirty, polluted, bus -stop- of -a -town.
After half an hour, I could not even pretend that my toes didn't hurt. They screamed at me, they moaned and winged their outrage for my abuse of them. They throbbed and ached. They felt like sharp needles were being stuck in them after a good sanding by ground glass. My toe nails added to the general misery. I tried to oblige by changing my gait and trying to tread lightly...but how lightly can you land 60kg going down relentless steps: one, two, three...fifteen...sixty...a hundred...five hundred...STOOOOP! I stopped and discovered that starting was harder every time.
A little longer in and my knees joined in the chorus. Step, ach...step...ouch..step...why did I ever want to do this...step...this is agony...step...I just want to sit down and cry...step...think of something else...step...it really hurts...step...I am getting old...step...why did I do all those step classes and jogging that buggered my knees...step...I wonder if my toes are bleeding...step...my heels are rubbing...step...step...step...
You'd have thought the last half an hour would have been a relief. Well, no, it most certainly wasn't. Seeing the town finally below and hearing the hooting and general bedlam, only made me more desperate. I wanted to just be there but I not to get there. I really just-wanted-to-sit-down-and-cry-bitter-tears. I really wanted Scotty to beam me up. I wanted my torture to end. I responded to no Namastes, I said nothing to no one. I just winced in agony and miserably I tried to not feel or think anything.
With the final step onto the town road, I winced again and stopped. We had to traverse through town to get to the bus. I just couldn't do it. I blindly walked to the first shop I found, randomly picked a pair of flip flops and handed the man the amount of money he asked for, not even registering the ridiculous price or even entering my mind that I should bargain. In the middle of the road, I took my shoes and socks off, purposefully avoided surveying the damage, donned my sky blue Angry Birds flip flops and waddled through town to the bus stop.
On the Bus to Kathmandu
We got there in time for the bus, except that it was full. We had to stand. No way was I going to stand. Besides the fact that my legs were like jelly, I could put no pressure on my blisters and I was not going to run the high certainty that people would trod on my toes. "When is the next bus," I demanded of Tashi. He mumbled something and said we should take this one and started loading my bags on. My mind went into overspin. I was in pain, frazzled, hot, thirsty and very, very bothered. "I am not getting on this f**** bus", I roared. "We'll catch the next one". And we did. We boarded the bus that was right behind the full one. It was completely empty. A few more people joined us and soon we were on our way. I settled smugly in my seat, sending triumphant text messages saying that I survived the walk down and joking about "...if all goes well, we'll be in Kathmandu in four hours. But, of course this is Nepal! ha ha..."
Was it just a coincidence or fate punishing me? 10 minutes into the journey, the bus came to a standstill behind many other cars, busses and trucks. After lots of hooting, our driver and most passengers went off to go see what the problem was. I was going absolutely nowhere. Putting my feet up, I got comfortably resigned to a possibly long delay. Wild horses would not have enticed me to move. Robin and I were the only ones left on the bus. We were told that a bus and a truck tried to get through a narrow part of the road and got wedged. 1000 people were trying to unwedge them. I had no desire to go see and an overwhelming need to sleep.
Around an hour later, a random man came and said "Come, another bus". Nooooo...I got out, made him take my backpack and did my toe-less waddle slowly behind him. We met up with Tashi who told us he had a fight to get us on the other bus that was somehow ahead of the wedged vehicles. After a bit of arguing about whether my bags should go on the roof or the boot, we boarded the new bus and found two seats in the back. I plonked myself down relieved we had seats, only to realise that our seat was over the wheel, which meant that our knees were around our necks, with no space to stretch them at all. Oh, that, and the fact that the bottom of our seat was broken, requiring Ronin and me to regularly count one, two, three and push it hard backwards, so we could sit up straight again. Other than that, only the back of my seat was a bit dysfunctional, falling on the man behind me, whose toes incidentally would slip between my seat back and bottom, wedging themselves in my bottom, until I'd yelp and glare at him...and off we'd go again.
All considered, the journey was not too bad. I couldn't sleep, so I just observed the dusty, dishevelled market towns with stalls selling colourful fruit, green vegetables, bright clothes, cooking ware, tyres....At every stop, enterprising young Nepalis would circle the bus or board and squeeze themselves in the overcrowd of standing passengers, selling water, coke, sliced cucumbers with spicy relish, samosas, sweets, or crisps.
The towns were interspersed with dusty mountains and verdant terraces and the trip was made all the more interesting by the decrepit busses, overloaded trucks, motorbikes with whole families astride and falling apart cars, all speeding and testing each other's nerves by holding onto the middle of the road for as long as possible, before abruptly one or both parties dropping on the road side ditch, whilst hooting loudly. I saw all this mayhem, I heard it and I smelled and tasted it in the dust and fumes that these confrontations raised.
In Kathmandu, we got off the bus, crammed ourselves and our bags in a taxi and soon we were once more cocooned in the welcoming volunteer house.
Scrubbed up and with the first make-up my face had seen in 16 days, I spent that evening and the next day before my flight, at Thamel, the swanky backpackers paradise, eating pizza and shopping with Robin, Kaela and Mingmar. All hardships were forgotten. Well..except from my toes still suffering despite being able to breathe in their Angry Birds flip flops.
A Promise Fulfilled
As I mentioned in my last blog entry, I didn't want to write the final part of my walk. I invented all sorts of excuses not to bring the trip to an end. On and on the excuses went...and would have probably still be going on if I hadn't had an email from the nuns at Bigu a couple of days ago. You see, I made a promise at Bigu. When I realised how poor the nunnery is, I committed that I would post the Bigu bank account details on my blog site and encourage my friends - if they want to and only if they really do want to- to send some money to Bigu Gumpa to support the nuns.
So, here I am doing something I really hate. I am asking you for money! I know that these days you get asked to sponsor lots of causes. I know that you have your preferred charities. If you however, you have been moved even a bit by my stories and pictures of the little nuns at Bigu and if you can spare a few euros or dollars, then please send it to them. A euro or a dollar in Nepal is the equivalent of around 100 rupees. 100 rupees buys you a good lunch dish in a local restaurant.
I copy below the email from Bigu:
My request for a bank account number created a bit of a stir. The nuns didn't know it, nor knew if they had a bank account at all. It has been confirmed now that the monastery has not got bank account. I asked Volunteer Nepal, the charity that organised my trip, if they would be willing to receive money for Bigu into their PayPal account and pass it on in cash to the nuns. They graciously agreed. The details are posted on the right hand side on my blog under Bigu Donations.
After a lifetime of eleven hours walking down the steep mountains, we got to Sunil's house, just in time before my feet and knees staged a coup and refused to move forward. Our spirits though were somewhat restored. I had been picking up heavy pissed off vibes for press-ganging everyone to march on after the Shaman's, but now that we were in a clean guesthouse, with smiling hosts, a warm cup of tea in our hand, dinner on the way and only a three hour walk to the bus tomorrow to look towards (not forward to, definitely not that!), Robin and I were once again chattering happily, whilst unfurling our sleeping bags and making the room ours for the night, by strewing around clothes, shoes and whatever came to hand out of our backpacks.
As on my last stay at Sunil's, the villagers came in throngs around dusk to buy cigarettes, rice, dried noodles and other provisions from his one- shelf grocery store. Although he has no demand for bottled water, Sunil went off somewhere and soon came back with four bottles for Robin and me.
Aaahhh...the clean taste of that water! No sootiness from the wood-fire like our water in Bigu. And the safety in drinking it! So unlike the constant worry at the back of our minds at Bigu when we drank the spring water off the mountain. We guzzled it, luxuriating in its silk, cooling wetness at the back of our throat and forgetting that although Sunil's is a clean guesthouse, the toilet is still outside. The thought of having to traipse down the stairs, into the yard and into the squat toilet cubicle, at least probably twice in the middle of the pitch black cold night, was not welcome.
Thankfully, I had a brainwave based on a previous trip to the Everest, with my inventive husband. Take two empty water bottles, slice off the top to make a large enough opening and hey, presto you have two pee-receptacles. We designated a part of our room as the privy, opened the windows to be able to empty the bottles whenever needed and in the interest of convenience and comfort, we banned both shyness and embarrassment from the room.
Feeling pleased with ourselves we walked downstairs, or in my case, hobbled downstairs, trying to keep all contact off my toes. Believe me, it is not easy walking without using your toes. Try it. It's a duck-like waddle that threatens to topple you over at every step. I was in my socks, having left my flip flops with an admiring nun. I sat down, marvelled at my multiple blisters' shape and size and ministrated to them by applying those lovely Compeed plasters at various strategic angles.
The Chicken's Revenge
Whilst I was sitting on the porch, sorting out my feet, a customer walked into Sunil's shop. He had a dirty and very bloody rug around his thump. He sat down and contributed to the lively cacophonous discussion and cigarette smoke haze. A while later, Tashi came out and asked if I had any bandages. The man had sliced off a chunk off his thumb. He had been slaughtering a chicken and the knife bounced off the chicken's neck bones and took a slice of his thumb. The bleeding hadn't stopped yet. I got my medical kit out and handed over a bottle of sterillon and a roll of bandages. I really don't know what Tashi thought when I very clearly said that I wasn't touching the bloody hand and nor should he. He ignored me and cleared the man's would and bandaged it up. I felt bad. This was a human being in need and I wouldn't touch him. Yet, the drill about HIV in our society is too strong to ignore.
Later on the man complained of pain. I gave him a painkiller and wondered about leaving the packet behind. I didn't. I had visions of him taking too many or with alcohol or leaving them in reach for children to take. I thought about how vulnerable these people are. They have no medicine, not even a plaster or a simple painkiller. The nearest doctor is half a day's walk away. They have no way of dealing with simple wounds, what do they do in real emergencies?
Sunil's customers hang out to observe the two foreign women eating their dhal and rice. Over dinner, the injured man re-told the story of slaughtering the chicken and added that it was the bad karma of killing it that caused him to almost chop his thump off.
The Last Three Hours
I had hoped that my toes would heal miraculously overnight. Though I winced when I put on my walking shoes that morning, I was sure that after half an hour's walk my toes would go numb and I would be fine.
We started the walk under the auspices of a weak gold light from the early morning sun and a freshness in the air. We walked on a sandy, dusty road, encountering villagers collecting firewood and cutting vegetation for their animals. Children played and shouted "hello, hello", "hello,namaste". It was a fine day to be walking the final three hours to our bus ride to Kathmandu. Robin and I re-affirmed how right we were to have done the long walk the day before, leaving the tail end for today.
We walked past many villages and many houses. We said many Namaste. The sun got stronger and we got hotter and finally joined an endless series of steps taking us steeply down into the valley and to Barharbasi, the dirty, polluted, bus -stop- of -a -town. After half an hour, I could not even pretend that my toes didn't hurt. They screamed at me, they moaned and winged their outrage for my abuse of them. They throbbed and ached. They felt like sharp needles were being stuck in them after a good sanding by ground glass. My toe nails added to the general misery. I tried to oblige by changing my gait and trying to tread lightly...but how lightly can you land 60kg going down relentless steps: one, two, three...fifteen...sixty...a hundred...five hundred...STOOOOP! I stopped and discovered that starting was harder every time.
A little longer in and my knees joined in the chorus. Step, ach...step...ouch..step...why did I ever want to do this...step...this is agony...step...I just want to sit down and cry...step...think of something else...step...it really hurts...step...I am getting old...step...why did I do all those step classes and jogging that buggered my knees...step...I wonder if my toes are bleeding...step...my heels are rubbing...step...step...step...
You'd have thought the last half an hour would have been a relief. Well, no, it most certainly wasn't. Seeing the town finally below and hearing the hooting and general bedlam, only made me more desperate. I wanted to just be there but I not to get there. I really just-wanted-to-sit-down-and-cry-bitter-tears. I really wanted Scotty to beam me up. I wanted my torture to end. I responded to no Namastes, I said nothing to no one. I just winced in agony and miserably I tried to not feel or think anything.
With the final step onto the town road, I winced again and stopped. We had to traverse through town to get to the bus. I just couldn't do it. I blindly walked to the first shop I found, randomly picked a pair of flip flops and handed the man the amount of money he asked for, not even registering the ridiculous price or even entering my mind that I should bargain. In the middle of the road, I took my shoes and socks off, purposefully avoided surveying the damage, donned my sky blue Angry Birds flip flops and waddled through town to the bus stop.On the Bus to Kathmandu
We got there in time for the bus, except that it was full. We had to stand. No way was I going to stand. Besides the fact that my legs were like jelly, I could put no pressure on my blisters and I was not going to run the high certainty that people would trod on my toes. "When is the next bus," I demanded of Tashi. He mumbled something and said we should take this one and started loading my bags on. My mind went into overspin. I was in pain, frazzled, hot, thirsty and very, very bothered. "I am not getting on this f**** bus", I roared. "We'll catch the next one". And we did. We boarded the bus that was right behind the full one. It was completely empty. A few more people joined us and soon we were on our way. I settled smugly in my seat, sending triumphant text messages saying that I survived the walk down and joking about "...if all goes well, we'll be in Kathmandu in four hours. But, of course this is Nepal! ha ha..."
Around an hour later, a random man came and said "Come, another bus". Nooooo...I got out, made him take my backpack and did my toe-less waddle slowly behind him. We met up with Tashi who told us he had a fight to get us on the other bus that was somehow ahead of the wedged vehicles. After a bit of arguing about whether my bags should go on the roof or the boot, we boarded the new bus and found two seats in the back. I plonked myself down relieved we had seats, only to realise that our seat was over the wheel, which meant that our knees were around our necks, with no space to stretch them at all. Oh, that, and the fact that the bottom of our seat was broken, requiring Ronin and me to regularly count one, two, three and push it hard backwards, so we could sit up straight again. Other than that, only the back of my seat was a bit dysfunctional, falling on the man behind me, whose toes incidentally would slip between my seat back and bottom, wedging themselves in my bottom, until I'd yelp and glare at him...and off we'd go again.
All considered, the journey was not too bad. I couldn't sleep, so I just observed the dusty, dishevelled market towns with stalls selling colourful fruit, green vegetables, bright clothes, cooking ware, tyres....At every stop, enterprising young Nepalis would circle the bus or board and squeeze themselves in the overcrowd of standing passengers, selling water, coke, sliced cucumbers with spicy relish, samosas, sweets, or crisps.
The towns were interspersed with dusty mountains and verdant terraces and the trip was made all the more interesting by the decrepit busses, overloaded trucks, motorbikes with whole families astride and falling apart cars, all speeding and testing each other's nerves by holding onto the middle of the road for as long as possible, before abruptly one or both parties dropping on the road side ditch, whilst hooting loudly. I saw all this mayhem, I heard it and I smelled and tasted it in the dust and fumes that these confrontations raised.
In Kathmandu, we got off the bus, crammed ourselves and our bags in a taxi and soon we were once more cocooned in the welcoming volunteer house.
 |
| Mingmar and Kaela |
A Promise Fulfilled
As I mentioned in my last blog entry, I didn't want to write the final part of my walk. I invented all sorts of excuses not to bring the trip to an end. On and on the excuses went...and would have probably still be going on if I hadn't had an email from the nuns at Bigu a couple of days ago. You see, I made a promise at Bigu. When I realised how poor the nunnery is, I committed that I would post the Bigu bank account details on my blog site and encourage my friends - if they want to and only if they really do want to- to send some money to Bigu Gumpa to support the nuns.
 |
| Doing the washing up |
 |
| A bowl of rice |
I copy below the email from Bigu:
" Dear Elena,
We thanking you in advance. We all (staffs and nuns of Bigu) wish you Many Tashi Delek. We also thanks to introduce the actual situation of the Bigu Gonpa to other peoples to get supporter and well wishers around the world. Currently we needed food expenditure and shortage of living rooms for nuns.Therefore please introduces these real condition of the nunnery to the people and request them their kind support. Presently nuns are performing 16 days fasting practice.
Thanks and we are looking forward your kind mail.
Your sincerely Geshe Lobsang Gyaltsen and office of Bigu nunnery "
The email is an understatement. When I was there the nuns were eating rice and potato curry on a good day. Mostly, it was rice with a watery lentil gravy. Some evenings their meal was a watery rice porridge with nothing else. No vegetables, no protein of any sort. They never have fruit. They can't afford a teacher that can teach them anything beyond Nepali and Tibetan. 150USD a month can hire them a qualified teacher to teach them Nepali, Tibetan, English and Maths perhaps. They have no classroom and take classes outside or at the entrance to the temple.
 |
| Learning Tibetan at the entrance to the temple |
 |
| Inquisitive minds |
My request for a bank account number created a bit of a stir. The nuns didn't know it, nor knew if they had a bank account at all. It has been confirmed now that the monastery has not got bank account. I asked Volunteer Nepal, the charity that organised my trip, if they would be willing to receive money for Bigu into their PayPal account and pass it on in cash to the nuns. They graciously agreed. The details are posted on the right hand side on my blog under Bigu Donations.
The rest, I leave to you.
Tahi Delek-Namaste
Tahi Delek-Namaste
 |
| Dinner time |
 |
| An ocatgenarian nun |
 |
| Cooking |
No comments:
Post a Comment