I decided
to spend the allocated month of vacation time in one place. I had the increasing desire to go somewhere and unlike most my previous travels, thoroughly get to know the country instead of steadily moving through it from one border to the next. The choice was Nepal...Nothing else was even remotely as appealing, and now, only a handful of places are even remotely comparable.
I got to the airport in Seoul with an overloaded carry-on, a sleeping bag and jacket sewn into a pillow case (suckers), and for the first time checked a bag full of nothing else but sub-zero temp hiking gear, a camping stove, pocket knife, and 2 lb's of food. Two delayed layovers and 30 hours later I was staring at the wall of Himalayas out of the airplane window and thought they looked quite a bit like the "mountains" we call the rolling foothills of South Korea, not.
I slept at the Rural Community Development Program's (free) guesthouse for volunteers in Kathmandu, woke up at 6 and caught the 7-hour bus ride south through rural Nepal to Chitwan, where I'd meet my new home-stay family and volunteer in the local orphanage for the next 5 days, ridiculous schedule to remain a constant. The orphanage consisted of a small classroom, kitchen with a few wooden picnic tables, and a good sized dormitory for the 26 kids who have lived their for the majority of their lives. I got a brief tour and rundown of my duties, then anxiously awaited their return from school. For one of the few times I've traveled with a vague idea of what's ahead, this was one of those great, anticipatory moments you can only sum up with a , "well, here we go!" as you brace for the dive.
I think of a homestay as an opportunity to learn more about the area and people that you otherwise, in a hostel or your own place, would not get. You're comfortable, you're offered food and a place to sleep, and able to come and go as you please. Perhaps this was the fleeting thought I had before being dropped off next to a rolling field grazed by several cows, and a small row of houses lost in the clouds of dust left by my disappearing vehicle. I was greeted by an 85 year old grandmother, received the matching red smear of a tikka on my forehead, and led to the well where I unceremoniously filled the first of many buckets of water, and hauled it to the animals. I was introduced to the other family members throughout the day as they came to and from their own chores and obligations. I was added to the ranks, and when I wasn't drinking milk tea, I was watering, and milking the animals. When I wasn't milking a buffalo, I was falling asleep to the melodic sounds of nightly Hindu bible encantations. At dawn, I left for the orphanage.
Little did I know,
these kids were used to volunteers and even though they were excited to see me, it wasn't the scream-and-run-to-the-foreigner scenario I originally envisioned. My biggest surprise was their casual English speaking abilities. A few minutes earlier I came to realize that for the 26 children filling this rural orphanage, 1 teacher is responsible for all ages, and all subjects. There are 3 "mothers" who function as the entire 24-hour staff, and a few cooks and cleaners show up to help out on the occasional afternoon. For such amazing English skills I was a little more than impressed, and the mothers' hard work and authority was the model of inspiring. I was asked to help with the English lessons, so I sat down and found myself in a discussion about the complexities of the water cycle (in English, I remind you) for the next hour and a half, with a bunch of critical 8 year-olds.
it was meal time or free time. My time restraint was feeling more frustrating, but I simply kept in mind: frustrations are a waste in time well spent. I was busy from sun-up to sun black.out. I was having a great time with children, and developing the brief but significant relationship with each of the five members in my host family. Our nights fell into the routine of eating around the cooking fire, and repeatedly having some of the most meaningful, and enlightening conversation I've had to this day. They days were numbered but the moments immeasurable, my return to Kathmandu feeling like I woke up from a month-long crazy dream with dirty clothes and forehead covered in red paint to show for it. What just happened?
Day 10.
Return to the free guesthouse where I was supposedly meeting a longtime friend flying in from Australia, sometime between the hours of midnight and 4 am before catching the flight to begin the trek to Everest Base Camp. This was it. This was the traveling and living for outrageous plans that I thrive on. I took the first shower of the trip, caught up with a few other volunteers over several hot plates of rice and lentils, and went to bed. The sun was shining through the barred window when I woke up and was immediately convinced Michelle hadn't made it...The flights, an unexpected turn to work with. Then I heard the booming voice of another volunteer down the hall, "You Sara's friend?" Yep, she made it. Waking up to a new friend I hadn't seen in several years over, in the back alleys of residential Kathmandu, the stains of red paint still in my scalp and wearing the clothes I'd arrived in, was a reunion that emphasized that moment more than ever.
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