TSA is here to stay

DIA was buzzing this morning when I arrived by skyRide at 0930 for my 1140 flight to New York/JFK. Looking down over the security checkpoints, the situation seemed grim; the line of passengers flowed out of the cordoned-off chute and down the hall. On the upper concourse, there was an official-looking woman directing folks to security at the “other end” of the terminal, which, she claimed, was moving faster. I headed in the direction she indicated (east, I think) past families breakfasting, couples kissing long goodbyes, and a woman struggling to corral her two children and football-sized dog.

The forced-voluntary morning constitutional was surprisingly brisk as TSA workers cranked us through the ID check and spit us out in the metal detector line. It was in this line, while removing backpack, jacket, and shoes from my person and laptop and quart-sized bag of liquids and gels from the backpack, that I noticed the advertising lining the trays that cart travelers’ belongings through the x-ray machine. The advertisement in the top tray was for Zappos; I remember thinking, how appropriate, that’s where I’m gonna put my shoes. And also, uh oh, these trays have been pimped out; TSA is here to stay.

Perhaps this was obvious to everyone else, but it hadn’t occurred to me that domestic travel would forever more involve limiting oneself to 3oz of any gel or liquid personal care product and then producing that product for inspection on command. That air travel would always be preceded by partially undressing in front of lines of strangers and doing a catwalk through a metal detector. I thought some day some fearless leader would receive the OK from an all-knowing source, air travel would be declared safe, and air travelers would no longer be subject to the aforementioned pre-flight indignities. But then I saw the advertising in the trays.

In what were once clean public spaces (no, really, let me show you a photo of a main street in Kathmandu) of the US, advertising has been slowly appearing. Bus shelters, public restroom stalls, most means of public transit, and even the backs of grocery store receipts now sport advertising. These institutions have been around for my entire memory; if these pillars of day-to-day life are worthy of sporting brands, what does it mean that the (relatively) new TSA trays are also worthy of touting commercialism?

It means that my dreams of a future of flying a domestic route security-free have been dashed, smashed, and smithereened into advertising oblivion. These trays, embodying the dangers of North American airspace post-9/11, have been quietly incorporated into society in the same manner of such long-lived and upstanding institutions as grocery receipts, bus shelters, and public toileting facilities! These trays have been slathered in commercialism in half the time it took more ubiquitous institutions to become slathered.* Why were they so readily assimilated? Is it heightened awareness due to proliferation of The Container Store that made them seem innocuous? Is it American's ongoing fascination with closet organization systems? Or ramped up promotion of the ultimate organization system – the alphabet?

It will take a team of social scientists years to parse out this cause and effect relationship. Meanwhile, formerly pristine public spaces will fall to media advertising everything from airlines to Zappos. And whom do we have to thank for this? This is another of society’s ills that can be attributed to al-Qaida and Osama bin Laden. Damn them.

*I have no evidence for this except memory, which can be questionably reliable.

What's quickly becoming my annual holiday newsletter

Below is the text of my holiday newsletter; I have mailed it to some, but I can't get cards out to all y'all, so those of you who are web-savvy are just going to have to make do without a pretty missive from me in your mailbox. If you're really good, maybe you'll be on my mailing list next year ;)

December 2008

Hello hello!
Last y’all knew I was on my way to Nepal. Well, I successfully navigated the other side of the world and am back to tell the tale; I met good people, started running with the Kathmandu Hash House Harriers (a drinking group with a running problem), and have a confirmed case of the travel bug. Alas, I have been very busy searching for a job, volunteering, and moving so there hasn’t been time to plan my next international adventure: I’m aiming for Ethiopia during Lent, as that’s when folks abstain from meat in an otherwise carnivorous society.

Meanwhile, I (finally!) moved to Denver in August. I have settled into a one-bedroom place in a 16-apartment building just off of the notorious Colfax Ave; I live on a good strip of the road, though across the street from a bar with poor taste in music. I don’t know any of my neighbors, but have connected with lots of new folks through running. I swing dance ‘bout twice a week and have renewed old friendships and forged new ones in the dance community. And at least once a week I plant myself on Julie’s couch to knit and get my TV fix (I don’t own one).

While looking for work I have been donating my time to the Grant Avenue Street Reach Soup Kitchen, where I bus tables and make coffee, and Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains. The work at PPRM is particularly challenging, as I must draw boundaries between being trained an NP and working as a volunteer, but I love talking about reproductive health and feeling efficacious and appreciated has done wonders for my morale.

Speaking of morale, being an unemployed nurse practitioner that loves her work is frustrating; there’s no one to help! I have had six interviews in the past five months but am still seeking the right job for me. I think I am getting closer; Thursday I was told that my professional goals are a good fit for the position for which I was interviewing. Cross your fingers for me, eh?

(You know this part...) For news on a more regular basis, with witty commentary to boot, check out my blog at www.tallpalegrrl.blogspot.com

Be safe and healthy!

Love, Jennifer

My (current) knitting nemesis

Have I introduced you to my most recent nemesis?

It's the Starsky sweater pattern from Knitty.com. I love Knitty, but... Well, this pattern marks the first time I have ever... ...ever? Ok; not ever. It happened once before and that project is still unfinished (for the knitting record, my only unfinished project). This pattern marks the second time I have put a project aside. Granted, I put the left front aside in order to start the right front section, but giving up is not my style. I'm a perfectionistic follow-througher. So, what is it about this sweater that led to such a dramatic change in knitting philosophy? The cables.

I love cables. They add texture to a knitted garment. They're easy to put in. They look great. However, this is not a cable pattern I have encountered before or will attempt again. These aren't strict cables. The "cabled" stitches form a vine pattern from both the front and the back; the pattern repeats over 12 rows. Clearly you can envision that this pattern is not as predictable as plain cables. To complicate matters, the pattern calls for decreasing stitches to shape the sweater meanwhile maintaining the vine pattern. This is mucho complicado. (The arms are pictured at left; they don't have any pattern on 'em. They were a breeze!)

Working this pattern (the part shown in the photo to the left in particular) requires an attention span I don't possess combined with an attention to detail I lack whilst doing multiple things at once (I have been watching the TV show Heroes while knitting this garment). An indication of true tragedy, both the TV show watching and the knitting have suffered.

Trouble started when the two characters who speak mostlyJapanese were introduced. The producers were kind to us ethnocentric Americans and subtitled the Japanese dialogue. However, I can't work the cable pattern without watching the stitches nor can I read the subtitles without having my eyes on the screen. I am going to come out of this experience knowing only half the plot of Heroes with a sweater that has mismatched bits. The mismatched bits sweater (a.k.a. Dollar and a Half Cardigan by Veronik Avery, Interweave Knits, Spring 07) was going to be the next project! What happened here?

In fact, this whole mess started with the uncooperativeness of the mismatched sweater. I had started the mismatched sweater using the very same wool yarn that is now the Starsky sweater, but it was not turning out properly. So, I went on a hunt for yarn appropriate for the mismatched sweater pattern, found it (Butterfly mercerized cotton in a sage green), and was all excited to get going on mismatched sweater when Julie gave me the Starsky pattern (damn her!). I was so hell-bent on using the wool yarn that I started right in on the new pattern without a second thought to my new, beautiful green cotton yarn and formerly coveted mismatched sweater pattern.

So here I am, struggling through the Starsky sweater out of principle and no longer out of desire to finish the sweater. The lovely green cotton yarn beckons to me from the knitting basket aside the couch. And the hand knit Christmas presents (the ideas for which were born of my last blog post) remain concepts of my imagination.

P.S. - Photos of the completed sweater to follow someday. The photos above depict the pieces drying having been rinsed in cold water and then pinned to the towels to work out the curled edges to make sewing up easier.

Season Snippets

Although my belief in the religious origins of Christmas have drastically changed since last year, I have not abandoned the spirit of the season (which, I could argue, I have been living for at least the past year, but that's another post). As the following examples illustrate, I am playing nicely with society.

Never mind that Christmas is two-plus weeks away, today at the soup kitchen I responded in kind when one of the men wished me a Merry Christmas. Easier to go with the flow than to debate it. And, I am grateful he didn't start Merry Christmas-ing me before Thanksgiving in the fashion of the major retail establishments.

Last weekend I accompanied a friend in decorating and eating sugar cookies and choosing and carrying her Christmas tree home. She was hell-bent on getting a 4-footer, but when she realized that the trees meeting her height requirement were mostly trunk, she decided in favor of a 'Charlie Brown' tree from a local store. When I left Saturday night, its branches were still raised to the ceiling thereby completely inhibiting the decorating process. Hopefully it's relaxed a bit and can be properly trimmed this week.

The most telling example of my espousing the Christmas spirit, at least according to retail America, is that I am on the verge of succumbing to the pressure to give gifts. Granted they must be of the free variety, but that's where we start counting the thoughts rather than the cash value. I have a few ideas -- no I can't disclose what they are 'cause the recipients might just read this blog -- but I am excited to have a contribution to the pile under the tree.

Finally, in the most oxymoronic gesture of the season, I expressed some holiday cheer by Hashing. This is ironic because the Hash is not known for invoking warm, fuzzy feelings. These are groups of people who assign nicknames based on embaressing personal traits, blunders that happen on trail, or just out of spite. The hares purposefully make folks run through rivers and punish those who don't. The mismanagement relishes having new folks run because afterwards the group gets to 'sacrifice the virgins'.

So much to my surprise I was given the opportunity to benefit some economically disadvantaged folks living near Boulder, CO as a participant in the Boulder Hash's annual Tits Buys Toys for Tots (TbTfT) drive ('course the name couldn't be wholesome; did you not read the above explanation?). Sunday, in the negative degree temperature, a group of dedicated hashers ran a short trail; had an even shorter On-In in a shopping plaza parking lot; then descended upon Target to buy presents for our assigned families per their XMas lists.

Alas, the Hashers were less inappropriate than I had expected and I don't have any stories about hashers being ejected from the store by the seat of their pants or being called out for suspicious behavior. Instead, I will brag about being part of this raunchy, ribald, riotous "drinking group with a running problem" which raised $1800 from amongst its members in order for three families in Boulder to have Christmas presents from Santa.

I didn't set out to write a reflection on Christmas, but I've gone and done so anyway. Thus I will do the reflection justice by taking this opportunity to thank mJ for introducing me to the concept of Hashing; fellow hashers who provided yet another excellent holiday experience; and friends, family and acquaintances who allow me to be a part of their lives.

Photo caption: Julie's cat Rodger giving us a death look while wearing his newest holiday gear: reindeer antlers!

Colfax

The streets in Denver, so I'm told, are very organized. Those that run east <--> west are numbered (truth) and those that run north <--> south are alphabetized (lie).

This lie first became apparent to me in driving around my neighborhood. The streets in Capitol Hill/City Park West are not alphabetized; they are a random mish-mash of ego stroking. A few of the presidents made the 'A' list: Adams, Cook (not so much a president...), Madison, Monroe, Garfield, Jackson, Harrison (...was Harrison a president? Oops. Yes. And yes again.) and some of the Midwest: Clayton, Detroit, Fillmore (Minnesota? Nebraska?), Milwaukee, and St. Paul. In order to find the organized sections of the place, one must be east of Colorado Boulevard or west of downtown. (Where, in fact, the alphabet works well, according to this explanation by Wikipedia.) Oh, but wait. I've just discovered in reading Google maps that the street west of Broadway are alphabetized, too, although that run appears to be missing 'H' and 'P-Z', though they probably pop into and out of existence. It is this popping behavior that causes navigational confusion.

You come to a park and sometimes the road continues on the other side, but sometimes not. Or, a highway bisects one section of the street from the rest, but it's all the same street with continuous numbering. Or the street abruptly ends in a jersey barrier just to continue right... over... THERE. Who does that? I have been told the streets are organized and logical; they aren't allowed to just end!

And here, folks, is another case where the Buddhists are right: expectation leads to suffering. Each instance of my getting lost can be chalked up to the expectation that the streets are consistently organized and logical when they are not, which causes suffering in the form of lost time and gained anxiety. Well, you say, you claim to get lost in a paper bag, why is doing so in Denver different than doing so elsewhere? Allow me to use Boston as an example.

Despite this article in the Boston Globe, I maintain that Boston streets were laid out by cows. Once one is informed of this historical 'fact', navigational disarray of the city is a given, and from the moment one leaves the house to the moment one returns, it is expected that some degree of 'lost' will be encountered. But not so in Denver.

Upon learning I have navigated a car in Boston, a Coloradoan's first statement is, "You'll find Denver easy then!". Thus setting me up for unmet expectation and the aforementioned suffering. If it was just one iteration, perhaps I'd be able to buffer myself against it. But every Coloradoan I meet says it; I don't have the energy or the will to argue with every one of them! So, let me close with a note to the natives in hopes that my advice will be promulgated to the masses.

Deluding newbies is not helping your cause of convincing everyone in the US to move to Colorado. It is causing distrust and excessive CO2 emissions. Be honest. Be up front. Live up to your reputation for friendliness and buy us a GPS device. Or at least a map.

It's you and me against them, and they're presently winning

Alas, my local REI is not currently hiring. But I've had meaningful communication with one potential employer and am moving forward with the screening process prior to being hired. And quite a process it is, although that's all I'm going to say about that.

In other news, I am volunteering for Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains, which is a cause near and dear to my heart. I hope to provide patient education and perhaps some form of direct patient care, but, for the moment, am pleased to be pulling charts, calling to confirm appointments, and learning from the uber-friendly and knowledgeable staff.

In addition to working in the health center, I am also a member of the 'street team', which provides staff for booths at public health fairs and drops 'goodie bags' off at local bars at apropos times of the year (ahem, New Years' Eve, ahem). Finally, I worked with the political action arm of the organization (in addition to volunteering with NARAL) and helped to defeat Colorado Constitutional Amendment 48, which sought to expand the definition of 'person' to include a fertilized egg (NO GOOD!). So very pleased to have this opportunity to work with such an upstanding and positive organization.

As my friend J.H. observed, I'm not getting paid for much that I do. However, I enjoy it and feel that it is a good use of my time as I wait for the puzzle pieces of paid employment to fall into place.

Photo: The full moon from approximately 5800 West 50th Ave. Denver, CO

Have master's degree, will work for food

There might be something to be said for playing by the rules, something at which I often fail. For instance, in my first year of university, I decided to take an upper level philosophy class. Even with the help of my friend and classmate Stephanie I was lost the entire semester (although did retain understanding of some of the concepts, which was useful in graduate school eight years later). I took the lower level classes in my final semester of uni and realized the error of my ways. But that hasn't stopped me from succeeding at making the same mistake twice.

I took the most direct way into nursing I could find: the entry-level master program. This is a relatively new concept in nursing education. One, I've realized, that hasn't quite made it to Colorado, which usually translates into curious and confused interview questions despite the explanation I offer in my cover letters. So, graduate level education was your mistake, you say? No, no, I assure all of those amassing copious amounts of debt for a string of letters after their names the education wasn't the mistake; it was my employment choices during and after that could prove to be my professional demise.

I had an interview at a local correctional facility during which the administrator told me she'd hire me, but she was afraid I'd be bored working as an RN when I'm trained to work as an NP. She used herself as an example of a person being happiest when she's met her professional goals. I appreciated her example... but where does that leave me?

That leaves me with my big principles and little income since I bucked nursing tradition and chose not to be a nursing assistant (moved to Colorado for a summer instead) then a floor nurse (hospitals make me nervous) thereby, in the eyes of nursing traditionalists, leaving me completely unprepared to work as a nurse practitioner (although I can make a good argument that one is not related to the other). So, if employers won't hire me to work as an RN or an NP has my disobedience to 200 years' worth of nuring 'rules' damned me right out of nursing?

Undetermined, but the application to be a sales associate at REI is completed and in the car. Although the discount on gear may very well negate the paycheck.

The election has set things right

I am impressed with the US's efficiency during this election. Granted, I moved timezones, but I was able to know the results of the presidential election before I went to bed; heck, several hours before I went to bed.

Indeed, I imagine that there were some wrinkles in the national fabric of the election though I can only speak for Colorado: voter records were purged that shouldn't have been, mail-in ballots weren't mailed because the NGO to which the task was farmed out failed to deliver, the lines at the polls were anticipated to be hours long and at least 1000 voters were sent home from the polls without voting for one reason or another.

Though I had a feeling of dread going into it...
Though I had a feeling of resignation going into it...
Though it took me months to want to get involved in a campaign...
(because the election is all about me...)

Barak Obama has been elected the 44th president of the United States.
Amendment 48 to the Colorado State Constitution was defeated, 75% NO to 25% YES last numbers I saw.
Colorado is a 'blue' state.
My friend and his mom (no joke) somehow got those 1000 voters back to the polls and they successfully voted.

My life's cloud suddenly has a silver lining.

Fall photos

The eggplant for which I'm still trying to find a recipe.

Sunrise looking East (duh!) on 13th Ave at Sherman St.

The view from the 29th floor of a building downtown where I did a flu shot clinic earlier this week.







Farmer's market bounty. I attended the farmer's market instead of Obama's rally... Not entirely sure I made the right choice, but it was the last farmer's market of the season, so in a sense both were once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.

Language abuse

I have recently noticed that I over use the phrase 'thank you'. For instance, after I have given someone a flu shot, they often say thank you. I respond to this with, 'thank you', but why? Why am I thanking them? *I* did *them* a service, not vice versa. Sort of.

It is true the person chose to get a flu shot from me and by extension the Visiting Nurse Association of Colorado. In these times, when one has many choices of where to get a flu shot, it is nice that they have chose Colorado's only not-for-profit nursing agency, thereby supporting their community, etc. If this is actually that for which I am thanking them, however, I should be specific, so they remember the substance of the thanks and don't just brush it off as a stock answer. Although after saying to 70 people in a two hour period, it could very well be considered a stock answer.

I have also caught myself in situations where the 'thank yous' being exchanged seem to negate each other. For instance, after a colleague and I had finished a flu shot clinic the other day, we thanked the other -- for what? For doing our jobs? Or was something above and beyond the call of duty done for which to thank the other person?

I worry that 'thank you' is going the way of 'how are you?', which long ago became a generic greeting and not actually a question to which the other person wanted an answer. To lose this most basic expression of gratitude would be a shame. Then again, perhaps English speakers have always been too polite and this is just a move in the opposite direction to correct the problem. Now, before you give your top five examples of English-speakers' rudeness, hear me out.

In the three non-English languages I have taken at least a moment to study, there is no direct translation of 'you're welcome'. French and Spanish both use the equivalent of 'it's nothing' as a reply to 'thank you' and in Nepali one does not use the actual words for 'thank you' unless the person has done something truly spectacular. So, maybe against the backdrop of English-speakers' acute politeness at the back end of the interaction, a more casual use of the phrase at the front end is acceptable...?

On that last point, I disagree with myself, actually, and shall take pains to watch my language when it comes to the use of 'thank you' in order to preserve its integrity. Please join me in my quest to avoid the bastardization of our fine language.

Photo: Self-portrait of me and my newest scarf, patter courtesy of Vogue knits (I think) by way of Nine's grandma.

More than one would expect at the grocery

On a daily basis I am astonished that I have the privilege to live as I wish; today this feeling came over me at the grocery store. I was shopping for molasses at King Sooper's, a local grocery chain. Just before I located the molasses, I came across a bottle of fruit-flavored syrup bearing a sticker of the image at left.

Though I had no need for this syrup I nearly bought it because I am so stinkin' excited that I live in Colorado (finally) and that that local goods initiative exists, which makes it possible for me to easily show my support of local businesses by purchasing their wares at my major grocer. In addition, it's empowering to communicate via my puchasing power to the management of my local grocers that I prefer to buy local. Finally, it's heartening to know that people at a more powerful level than the one at which I exist also care about supporting local businesses (and perhaps the environment, too, though I don't know that the environment was a consideration).

Indeed, it was quite a powerful moment in aisle 7 of the King Sooper's at 10th and Corona.

Image from: http://www.colorado.gov/cs/Satellite/Agriculture-Main/CDAG/1167928162081

Pre-meal moment

I am in the process of adopting a pre-meal moment of 'thank you' to which I was introduced during the meditation retreat in which I participated in Nepal.

I sit with the meal before me, stretch my arms over my head then behind me in an effort to let go of the stresses of the moment, close my eyes and say 'thank you' to the people who made it possible to have food to eat, such as growers, packers, shippers and grocery employees.

The personal and the political

I recently finished reading Embryo: A Defense of Human Life by Robert P. George and Christopher Tollefsen. I picked it up at the library to do a bit of reading about the other side of the argument and ended up agreeing with the authors -- to a point. The premise of the book is that an embryo is a human being and a person and therefore should neither be experimented upon nor terminated.

I have mixed feelings about the argument against experimenting upon embryos; I consent to participate in research studies on a regular basis. If the embryo, a minor by age as it is not 18-years-old, has a parent consenting for it, what's wrong with performing research upon it? But I also firmly, unapologetically, and undebatably continue to support legal abortion, even after reading a book in defense of human life.

I disagree with the author's argument against 'moral dualism', or that one object can not have two moral statuses. I believe a fetus, until the point of viability (which, for abortive purposes in many states is defined as 26 weeks, although I believe that gestational age could be pushed to 30-32 weeks if one takes into account wanting to avoid having a severely medically compromised infant on life support), is not yet a person. A person is one who can exist outside the womb.

As for the book, I wish I remembered more of my undergraduate courses in philosophy and ethics in order to fully appreciate the author's arguments. However, even without such recall, I was left feeling that some of their conclusions lacked evidence to back them up.

I am struggling with my part in the pre-election season. Last Sunday I attended a house party for moveon.org and made phone calls to Moveon members, who are also Obama supporters, to make known to them opportunities to work for the Obama campaign. I was handed a script written by Moveon.org and a list of folks in Boulder to call. No trouble, right?

Part of the script was to ask folks if they've been following the campaign, and then to as a follow-up question or two. This implies that the caller has been following the campaign and knows enough to sound intelligent. I followed up with the next scripted line on the page. What a foul Obama supporter I am, or am I an Obama supporter at all?

I have very mixed feelings about having helped his campaign even for those two hours. It's not that I agree with the current administration. It's not that I think McCain will be any different than Bush, Jr. and therefore whole-heartedly support him. It's that I'm not sure Obama will be any different, either.

Maybe I'm too cynical to be alive, but what's keeping him from saying the right things now, and then changing his mind later? Or just not being able to carry through on his campaign promises? Really, what it comes down to is that I'm not sure I can get excited about another candidate; I'm still too politically tired from Gore's bid in '00. So, what to do? as the Nepali would say.

I've signed up to volunteer to register voters at Denver's Oktoberfest on Saturday. It's not a particular candidate's campaign, but it's still a contribution to the election effort. I won't have to make small talk about the presidential race I'm barely paying attention to. And I won't have to profess belief and faith in something I don't believe in. Although voting failed us in 2000, didn't it?

Shite. I wanted something to believe in.

It’s official, I’ve moved in

It’s official, I’ve moved in; I’ve started hanging pictures on the walls of my apartment. Found three crazy affordable frames at the Salvation Army on Colfax, took them apart, and reassembled them with my photos in place. I keep forgetting to take ‘before’ and ‘after’ photos of such projects to impress y’all. Dang it!

The job hunt is not going quite as well as the picture frame hunt. I’ve determined that I don’t really want to work, so I’m having difficulty mustering the motivation to get excited enough about a job to convey that excitement to a potential employer. Unfortunately, the funding to support my not working is quickly dwindling; perhaps once I start panicking about making rent, then the job-hunting motivation will kick in?

Actually, I have successfully convinced the Visiting Nurse Association that I want to give flu shots this fall. I’ve been to a day of training, mostly about company policies and procedures, and my first flu shot clinic is in 10 days. I also have the option of working at other ‘wellness’ clinics, such as blood pressure and cholesterol screening. So, technically I am not unemployed, but I am under employed.

I ran with the Denver Full-Moon Hash House Harriers on Thursday. The Hash was a bit disorganized, as the car of the harrier (the guy setting the trail) had broken down and he was taking at least two forms of public transport to get himself to the on-in (the start), but there was running and beer and rabble-rousing, so overall it was a good time. As a result of meeting folks there, I’ve signed up for HashSpace.com, the online community for Hashers. So, if I know you, come find me; my Hash name is ShaggyMama (of course there’s a story; I’m not posting it here).

Photo by Josh Bartok (www.shobophoto.com), framing by moi.

A little more settled

Last we spoke, dear readers, I believe I was apartment and job seeking. I've managed to lay the apartment seeking to rest; I moved in August 28th to a place close to everything. It's in a really quiet building on a noisy street; fortunately I'm a heavy sleeper. I've been struggling a bit with not having a schedule, but that may quickly be coming to a close as I had an interview for a registered nurse job this past week and I'll have an interview for a nurse practitioner position next week. YAY!

I've started running, and the breathing is getting easier, but I'm told it takes three months at altitude to get to 75% of one's sea-level conditioning... or is it 25% conditioning per month up to 85% and then *much* longer for that last 15%? Oh heck. In other words, it's gonna be a while before I'm running any marathons. The best part of the running is not the conditioning, but that I've found some folks with whom to run, as I continue to miss the camaraderie and the folks from the Himalayan Hash House Harriers. Unfortunately I haven't made it out to any Hashes here, so no drinking group for me... yet.

I've had a million and one ideas to blog, but now, of course, can't remember any of them so all you're getting is this mundane update on my life. I'll be more philosophical next time. Promise.

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We have arrived

We have arrived. Saturday, actually. It will take me years to off-set my carbon emissions from towing a trailer with Sarah, my 1998 Honda Civic, but she survived and is resting in front of Julie’s neighbor’s house. The trailer is due back tomorrow; I’m hoping to have an apartment by then so I don’t have to pack and unpack my schtuff numerous times. The apartment field is not looking promising. Correction: there are lots of apartments I like, but no one is calling me back. Grrr.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, ‘bout what I want to get involved in here, ‘bout who I want to get involved with, ‘bout job prospects and apartment prospects. I’ve expressed interest in volunteering with moveon.org and signed up for the emailing list for the Denver Hash House Harriers. I know the dance scene already, but I think I’ll try to branch out a bit, and not get stuck in the “It’s [day of week], I must go dancing” mindset.

Even with all that thinking, being here still feels temporary. Despite the loooong drive, despite the trailer of schtuff, despite the job applications and the phone calls about apartments, the whole scenario feels temporary, as it has been for the past five years of visits. Julie says her move two years ago didn’t start feeling permanent until winter came along, but she moved in March, so had been in town for eight-ish months by the time winter rolled around. Granted, winter’s not right around the corner, but I’m not sure four months is long enough. I was in Nepal for four months; did that ever start feeling ‘permanent’?

In terms of social scene it did; with the Hash House Harriers and the American Club I got involved as much as I felt comfortable. However, each time I saw an ad for an apartment, I would have to remind myself that I didn’t need to look for my next place to live, as I was leaving. In Denver, it’s the opposite. I keep having to remind myself that I need a place to live, that I can’t be at Julie’s house for the duration of this visit, as this ‘visit’ doesn’t have a terminus.

So, back to craigslist I go…

Moving week

The road trip has commenced, yesterday actually. I decided to take route 90 to 80 to 76 into Denver. So, it's lodgings on route 80 for last night and tonight. Last night we stayed in Toledo, Ohio at the Howard Johnson's. Don't recommend it; breakfast was donuts and Capri Sun whilst the restaurant is renovated. Julie was quite upset about this. I was a bit annoyed, but realized that the problem isn't found in the actual breakfast, or the staff who decided that donuts and sugar water are adequate nutrition, but in our expectations of the breakfast. We read "breakfast provided" and interpreted that as "continental breakfast" and were disappointed when reality didn't match up to our interpretation.

Tonight we're at a the Red Carpet Motel in Walnut, Iowa (we've seen the breakfast area; there's at least cereal on the premises, although I can't drink milk and didn't bring any soy beverage). She thinks this a seedy motel. I think we have a (free) hot shower, cable TV, wireless internet, and beds with sheets and are therefore staying in luxury. What I am not happy about is the price of the motel; $60 for a motel in the middle of nowhere Iowa! The Super 8 (which we eschewed) was $80 for the night! Cripes. Something tells me we're not in Nepal, anymore, Dorothy.

Tomorrow hopefully we zoom through the rest of Iowa and all of Nebraska in order to get to Julie's house in Denver in time to sleep. It's slow going with the trailer attached to the Honda Civic, but we can hit 70mph on the downhills. In fact, it was really smooth sailing through Ohio, which I can now tell you is flatter than Iowa, with an average speed of 70mph. We're a bit nervous about the ascent into Denver, although neither one of us remembers it being a sudden incline. Maybe the final stretch won't be as slow as we're anticipating...?

JetBlue red eye

My time in Denver is drawing to a close... for now. My return flight to Boston is at 12:55am Tuesday morning (love JetBlue red eyes!). I'll be in Boston for a month and then Julie and I are driving my car with a trailer of my schtuff attached back to Denver. We're considering a route through Hanover, PA (Rt. 76); Peoria, IL (Rt. 80); and Omaha, NB (Rt. 80) to Denver (Rt. 76). Do you live in one of those places? Do you know someone who does? Drop me a comment via this blog!

Americans hike where Nepalis trek

I know I've settled into Colorado because I have three house keys! However, getting from one house to the other is a challenge; I think public transportation is worse here than in Nepal (although something can be said for having a published time table and a little bit of breathing room on the bus). I thought to augment the bus and train systems with a bicycle, but it's having issues with the rear tire and/or brakes, so I've opted for inconvenience over potential accident for the moment. When I return from hiking segments 7 and 8 of the Colorado Trail with Julie I'll take the bike over to a local shop and have it sorted out.

This hike will be lots different from the trek (why do folks in America 'hike' while those in Nepal 'trek'?) Mark and I did in Nepal. On the Colorado Trail there are no places of lodging or to stop food or tea (I miss 10AM and 3:30PM tea times...). The mountains aren't as tall, and there will be no monkeys in the trees. Julie and I may see deer, bears, and certainly less animal excrement than is on the trails in Nepal.

So, with that said, I'm off to negotiate the Denver public transportation system to get to REI and then Julie's house. Though I'm not the tallest, whitest person around anymore, I will be the one on the bus with the largest backpack, so wish me luck entertaining the locals!

Photo: Sunset looking westward from Mark's parent's porch.

Hot water on demand

Photo: Looking west on Mass Ave. in Harvard Square, from the sidewalk in front of Mr. Bartley Burger Cottage.

T-minus seven hours until I have to be at the airport for a flight to Colorado. I have cleaned up the huge sewing mess I created in the last three days, including vacuuming, am mostly packed, and am in the middle of lunching. Rough life, you say? No, not by any means. But I have had some trouble settling back into it.

For instance, I pause before getting a glass of water from the tap to think: do I need to do anything to this water to make it drinkable? Iodine tablets? Chlorine treatment? Filter? Boil? All four? And the reality is my water is probably more filtered than bottled water, given my dad's propensity for gadgets.

And how amazing is it to have hot water on demand? Just twist the left faucet and there it is! No turning on the water heater, or checking one's watch to see if the solar water heater has had a chance to work its magic, or, reality for most of the population, boiling water. Just turn a knob. Just wonderful.

And while I'm on the topic of commodities, electricity 24/7 is certainly a great convenience. "Load shedding" as they call turning off the power for up to six hours at a time on most days of the week, was not as big an inconvenience as not being able to drink the water, for instance, but sure is nice to flick a switch rather than fumbling around for a flashlight for middle of the night wanderings.

Additional adjustments include:
1) Looking left-right-left when crossing the street
They drive on the left hand side of the road, which necessitates looking right-left-right when crossing the street. Took me weeks, and a few close calls, to get used to.

2) Being able to eat salads when I go out to eat.
The fear being the veggies being washed in local water and then served wet; most/all bugs are killed with proper cooking or once the veggies have dried.

3) The American Health Care System
While reassuring in that it has taken good care of me for this long, it was a hassle getting health insurance again, particularly since I had confounded the state's new heath insurance program by not paying and then leaving the country. Oops. On the other hand, unlike in Nepal, in the US one needs a prescription for most medications, although that's supposed to be more of a protection than an inconvenience.

And on that note, we're at t-minus 54 minutes until I must leave for an appointment in Harvard Square, so I must skedaddle.

Back in the States

"You're back in town! How long are you visiting?"

Little did I know I'm visiting; I thought I live here. This is a question I started grappling with before I left Nepal (indeed, I'm back in the States as of 5 June at 0845) and am facing head-on here in Boston; where do I live?

At this moment, I'm staying with my parents at their house in Massachusetts, but is that where I live? Heavens help me, not that I'll admit! But does lack of a home indicate that I'm homeless? A homeless, upper-middle class woman with a storage locker, mailing address, and savings account; I'm certainly not included in the statistics summarizing 'homeless' people.

In response to my statement about needing to find a job, my friend Julie suggested moving to Denver for the summer and couch surfing while looking for work. She realizes Denver is not where I will necessarily end up actually working, but she's offered her back bedroom and internet connection to get me started. Denver's a place I love, where people I love live; not a bad place to call home for a few months, at least.

If it's that easy to change one's concept of 'home' in one's mind, what of one's possessions? How do they factor into the definition of home? I'd been content for four months with just two large backpacks o' stuff; what the heck is in that storage locker?

Buddhist teachings tell us that attachment to people or things leads to suffering, suffering leads to unhappiness, unhappiness leads to additional attachment, rinse and repeat. Seeking freedom from the circle of Samsara [circle of suffering] by means of enlightenment is one of the goals of all Buddhists. But does that include divesting myself of my grandmother's bureau, numerous boxes of books, and my kitchen accoutrements? Depends on why I have them.

The kitchen stuff is functional and, all told, expensive to replace; depending upon how long it's to be in storage it's probably cheaper to store it than to replace all of it. Buddhists would see this as a rational explanation for keeping the kitchen stuff; kitchen stuff stays (hopefully not much longer in the storage locker, though!).

In contrast, my motivation for keeping the few furniture pieces that are in there is pure emotional attachment; one bureau was my grandmother's, how could I part with it? The bookshelf, well, I don't know why, but it makes me very sad to think of parting with it. Never mind the photographs and knick-knacks; oy! Best not to even bring those items to the table during a discussion of Buddhism!

And there is the demon I must tame this summer -- emotional attachment to the contents of a 5x5x8 storage locker in Medford, Massachusetts. My immediate goal isn't even as lofty as enlightenment; I want to put that $40.00 per month towards something else -- plane tickets to see my nephews, maybe sponsoring a child in Nepal. But long-term I have much to gain through freedom from attachment: the ability to be present in the moment without thoughts of that 'stuff', less encumbered geographical mobility, maybe even closer relationships uninhibited by 'mine'.

Photo: Me and my stuff in the back of a taxi to the Kathmandu Airport.

Namaste, Nepal -- the other way 'round

I'm already late for getting to the airport and I don't have to be there until 1513! I spent the morning futzing about making last minute purchases; I have one and three-quarter hours to pack. Wish me luck!

I am sad to be leaving Nepal and my friends here. I am excited to see friends in the US, have safe drinking water pour forth from the tap, and access to internet 24/7.

Don't know if y'all will keep reading, but I imagine I'll have more to blog once I start reintegrating. For now, wish me safe travels.

Gulphu Bhanjyang to Sundarijal to Kathmandu

Day of the second earliest departure of the trek: 0800.

Swear I saw a 2 inch bug on the door jamb last night when I was up to use the toilet, but it was gone when we woke later on. Probably better that way; as it stands now I can pretend it was a dream, that bugs that large don't exist in the world.

Warm, sunny -- better weather than we've had for several days.

We agreed that we would walk as far as we could today in order to be in a good position the next day to hike to the end of the trail and catch the bus home. Turns out, catching the bus isn't a big worry; they run all day several times an hour. So we ended up pushing through to the end, Sundarijal, and getting home two days early.

The last uphill was a dozy (doozy, duzy...?), but the training paid off (i.e. the previous 11 days) and I made it faster than Mark expected (damn runner, walking up the hill like it's nothing!).

P.S. – I'm gonna write and complain to Lonely Planet; what they don’t tell you is that the last 2km of the trek is downhill via stone stairs. Lovely to look at, terrible on the knees. I was sore for several days afterwards. But more on post-trek life in the future.

Tharepati to Gulphu Bhabnjyang via Kutumsang

Elevation: 2141

Departure: 0700 = very early.

Today we played trail tag with the Israeli, his guide, the Australian couple, their guide, and the pair of New Zealanders and their porter. And then we couldn’t find anyone with whom to consult when we hit Kutumsung and couldn’t quite figure out the trail. So we hiked on knowing we’d either find more of Kutumsung or find Chanauti from which we could take the bus back to Kathmandu.

We found the Israeli man and his porter and were joined by the Aussies shortly after ordering lunch. We never did see the Kiwis again; wonder if they got swept away by the downpours that afternoon?

This afternoon has the auspicious honor of beholding the worst trail I have ever navigated on any continent. It was a trail cum rain gully lined with slippery, red mud down a hill with a grade of 70-ish%. In how many languages can you say ‘miserable’?

That night, for the first time, lodging was a challenge. There were two lodges in town we passed up in favor of finding the gompa, which has an affiliated lodge. ‘Course no one knew what we were talking about when Mark asked about this lodge, but we got what we thought were reliable directions uphill to many lodges. Up we went. Mind you, I was ready to stop once we hit town, so I was not thrilled to be continuing, but I had agreed to search for this mythical gompa.

One stupa, too many steep hills, and a giggling group of girls later, we came to what seemed to be a new, clean lodge staffed by three girls under 10. Onward to the Lama Hotel, where the guide of the Israeli man was trying to save rooms for the Aussies and their guide. Onward to a private home where the residents looked at us askance when we asked for a room. Onward to a very pathetic, dark lodge we just kept walking past. Onward to another modern, but very locked up lodge at the top of the hill. We sat after agreeing to give her 15 minutes and in 13 she, her son, and their buffalo had turned up to let us in.

Laurebina Yak to Gosainkund

Elevation: 4380

In the background is Gosainkund the day we were leaving -- blue sky finally!

Elevation: 4380

Dreadful up hill. Made worse by the clouds that accompanied us and then hung around all afternoon. Took a walk around Gosainkund [Gosain Lake]. Legend has it that after Shiva rid the Kathmandu Valley of snakes, he took a drink from this now sacred lake. Not sure about the legend, but I know there were many, many underpants strewn about the lakeside. Many more than one would expect in such a sexually repressed society... or maybe that's exactly what one would expect at a secluded lake in the mountains in a sexually repressed society? Quite a hike for some nookie!

Managed to beat off the hoteliers in order to walk through town to check it out. Ended up choosing the same lodge as the two Canadians (different people than from Langtang Valley), whom we had also encountered in Laurabina Yak, and we exchanged stories and heckling.

Also of note were the three Nepalis in their mid-thirties who joined us for the night at the guesthouse. These were not the noisy ones the proprietor of yesterday’s lunch spot had warned us against, but Mark did have an interaction with one of them that left a sour taste in his mouth. What to do?

Life on the trail has settled into a familiar rhythm: Breakfast. Walk, walk, walk. Snack. Walk, walk, walk. Lunch. Walk, walk, walk. Snack. Walk, walk, walk. Collapse. Dinner. Play cards/knit/read. Sleep. Repeat.

Gosainkund to Tharepati via Laurebina La

Elevation: 3600m

Photo: One of the Gosainkund area lakes

Warmer and warmer and warmer. But still wearing two shirts and the down vest. No long johns under the skirt, but that’s cause they’re still wet – the joys of doing laundry too late to catch the sun and in high humidity to boot.

Played ‘tag’ with the group of Nepalis. They hadn’t slept much the night before due to headache, probably caused by the speed at which they ascended 1500m the day before. At the lodge the night before, I advised them to stay put for the day to acclimatize, but they ‘don’t have time for that’. We played tag again today, but had lost track of them once we climbed the first half of the 10-minute-long stretch of up hill.

We stopped at the only hovel on the trail for second lunches where three Tibetan guys were hanging out playing chess. They ended up passing us on the trail a few kilometers before Tharepati, therefore closing their lodge. Hopefully the other lodge near the hovel remained open so the Nepalis had somewhere to stop.

Stopped for the night at the first lodge we encountered (the other two were up hill where I was just not feeling able to go). Again encountered the Canadians, and added two Aussies, two Kiwis, an Israeli, and a gaggle of guides and porters to our rag-tag circle.

Thulo Syabru to Laurebina Yak

Buddha’s Birthday
Elevation: 3925m

Rained all day, although not the downpour variety from a few days’ back; United States Pacific Northwest sort of rained all day. Lots of moss on the trees. Mist and fog floated by. Threat of leeches high, though none sighted.

Knew we were in Sing Gompa because of the cheese factory. It’s not actually a factory, the cheese is made somewhere downhill; it’s just sold at the factory. No use asking additional questions, I’ve found; they don’t translate well. We bought cheese, had lunch at a local teahouse and shoved on after receiving a warning from the proprietor of the teahouse not to stay at the same lodge as the large group of Nepalis who passed by during our lunch. “Very noisy. Bed late, up early. Two a.m.!” Having not encountered any trekking Nepalis on the trail to date, we had nothing to which to compare. We ended up ahead of them on the trail and never saw them again.

Dreadful up hill.

Managed to beat off the hoteliers in order to walk through town to check it out. Ended up choosing the same lodge as the two Canadians (different people than from Langtang Valley), whom we had also encountered in Laurabina Yak, and we exchanged stories and heckling.

Also of note were the three Nepalis in their mid-thirties who joined us for the night at the guesthouse. These were not the noisy ones the proprietor of yesterday’s lunch spot had warned us against, but Mark did have an interaction with one of them that left a sour taste in his mouth. What to do?

Life on the trail has settled into a familiar rhythm: Breakfast. Walk, walk, walk. Snack. Walk, walk, walk. Lunch. Walk, walk, walk. Snack. Walk, walk, walk. Collapse. Dinner. Play cards/knit/read. Sleep. Repeat.

Rimche to Thulo Syabru

‘Thulo’ means ‘big’ in Nepali, so I was wary of this place, and its hills, with good reason. The entire town is built on the side of a small mountain, which we climbed to the top of before stopping for the day. I don’t remember removing my boots at the end of the day because I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one to do it; I think I passed out from tired before that happened.

On the way to Thulo, we managed to acquire a stray dog, which followed us for five kilometers or so before deciding that the group with the woman formerly on a horse smelled better, or worse, or something. Mark and I carried on sans dog after checking our directions with some locals and then backtracking for 20 minutes to the correct path.

Looked for the lost map as we backtracked. Map china. [Map I haven't got.]

Kyangjin to Rimche

Elevation:

Early on in the planning for this trip, it was decided that we wouldn’t risk taking the Ganja La [Ganja Pass] south, as it can be complicated by snow even in May and there are no lodgings along that route. So, today we started backtracking down the Langtang Valley. We saw Steve’s water project, which you can see more of on Mark’s website. From there, we ran to a nearby teahouse to escape what ended up being a two-hour downpour. Unfortunately, this afternoon set the tone for the rest of the trip; the afternoon rains followed us through Gosinkund and Helambu until we got to Shivapuri National Park on the last day of the trek.

We stopped at a lodge we had by-passed on the way up – the proprietor had been very confident in her cooking, her lodge, and the view it afforded. Of course it was cloudy the next morning. Turns out it was nearly a full house, complete with an outspoken Italian man, two Americans from Seattle, WA, and two French-people who would later save me from my hiking boots.

The female from Seattle is getting a Masters degree in international development some such from a university in London and doing her practical experience in Nepal. The project involves empowering Nepalis through video. Her male counterpart, like so many others we met on the trail, was on a longer tour of Southeast Asia. As it turns out, she was involved with the Room to Read crew in Seattle in its nascent days; it was enlightening to discuss both ‘Leaving Microsoft to Change the World’ (about the development of Room to Read) and ‘Three Cups of Tea’ (about a man who starts schools in Pakistan) with her.

Kyangjin, from a more philosophical perspective

Elevation: 3750m
Time on the trail: Day hike

This pretty view comes at a price. For me right now that price is an uncomfortably cold temperature, but I leave tomorrow. For the folks who live up here, it’s more than just temperature; it’s limited gastronomic, reading, and recreational choices amongst many others. Is that worth a pretty view?

Maybe not, for me as an over stimulated Westerner, but for a person who hasn’t known any differently, is it worth it? The Tibetan man, Lhakhpa, owner of this evening’s lodging, prefers the settlement of Kyangjin to Langtang Village, just two hours’ hike from here. He also has a price to pay, however.

His wife spends much of her time in Langtang Village where their families live, so he sees her only when he takes time away from the lodge. His elder sons, ages 16 and 14 go to school in Dhunche, which is a three day walk from Kyangjin, and the 9-year-old goes to school in Kathmandu, which is a three-day walk and then a nine hour bus ride from home. For Lhakpa the cost of the view includes separation from his family.

Another factor is money – how much is it that he likes the view and how much is it that this is where he can earn a livelihood? Private school is expensive, but the public schools are viewed as worthless, so his sons must be in private school. Then again, getting supplies up here is expensive since everything is carried on a human’s back or head for three days. So maybe it really is a love for the environment that keeps him this far into the mountains?

Langtang Village to Kyangjin

Elevation: Really high
Time on the trail: 1½ h

So cold, but the view is beautiful, breath taking, awe-inspiring. There is a ¾ moon illuminating the mountains, which are ringed by fog at their peaks. There are distant voices from other guest houses in the village, and the dull roar of the Bhote Koshi [River from Tibet] to the southeast.

There are probably a dozen lodges up here – more than one would think humanly possible given the difficulty in getting supplies, the cold, and the isolation. It is this plethora of lodgings that make it possible for Mark and I to have the entire place to ourselves, even though we’ve been playing ‘tag’ with four groups of people as we travel up the valley – two Canadians and their guide, three Dutch, a Swiss/French team of two and the group with the woman on the horse. Today we’ve seen all but the group with women on a horse ‘round town; wonder where they got to?

Because we had a short day – only two hours, but up 500m and into the zone for altitude sickness (we’re both fine), so it’s necessary to ascend slowly – we took a short hike into the foothills of the Himalayas. I saw my first glacier, a handful of new types of wildflowers, and weather changes that rival those of New England. No wonder people die in the mountains! (Not us, though, I’m writing this blog upon our return, remember?)

Tomorrow, after waking up to see the sunrise and then taking a nap (I’ve been promised a nap!), we’ll take another day hike, probably in the opposite direction of today’s hike and towards Langtang Glacier. I could stay up here hiking, knitting, and taking in the scenery for weeks, but we head back down the mountain, and on to Gosinkund area, in two days’ time. Speaking of knitting, check out the socks I’m making – follow the link for photos on the right side of the first page of the blog.

Riverside to Langtang Village

15 May (or 16 May according to the Army Checkpost Guard)
Elevation: 500m
Time on the trail: 5½ h

Easier hike today, or maybe it just seemed so because the pack and I weren’t fighting? Or because the blisters had already formed? Or because the cows started morphing into yaks?

One gets many recommendations for lodges on the trail, mostly from the friends and family of those who run the joint. We don’t usually shop around much, so it’s difficult to judge if there really are differences in accommodations, but Peace Full Lodge is nice as lodges go. Dinner has been had; the magazines delivered; and stories traded. We’ll wait on seeing the water project until we return this way, as we’re anxious to get to the top of the valley to see what we can see.

Steve and his wife got married earlier this year after five years of on-and-off long distance relationship from Nepal to Australia. They’re applying for citizenship for her in Australia and the plan is to spend half the year in Sydney (I think) and the other half in Langtang Village. It has yet to be seen if she’ll like Australia, Lord only knows what will become of them if she doesn’t.

If you’ve read one of my first blog posts about feeling at home in places where one has keys, then you’ll know I’m a bit jealous of these folks. Ah, to arrange such a life for myself. Wonder if I’d enjoy it in reality, though. For the past seven year I’ve moved every year; wonder how 2-3 times per year would suit me?

Syabrubesi to Riverside

Elevation: TBD
Time on the trail: 8½ h

Moved and moved and moved. My feet hurt lots. The usual spots on my collarbone are sore from the pack and I did something to my left shoulder. All in all, a good day of hiking.

Went two hours past our original destination, so that’ll make for a shorter day tomorrow – hopefully leaving enough time to do washing of body and clothes. (I originally wrote ‘selves’ instead of ‘body’, but the self, according to Buddhist philosophy, doesn’t exist. I’m trying to be mindful of my wording and how it impacts my perception of the world.)

Mark ended up a courier, or sherpa, if you will, when we stopped at a teahouse/lodge in Rimche to escape the pre-monsoon rains. This Englishman’s girlfriend had brought him current scientific magazines when she joined him in Nepal for holiday. The Englishman met up with an Aussie who wanted to read them, but the Englishman wasn’t done with them when time came to head downhill, so he agreed to leave them at this teahouse where the Aussie could pick them up at his leisure. Turns out the Aussie, Steve, is working with his Tibetan-Nepali wife, a German friend-volunteer, and local Nepalis on a water diversion project to bring running water to Gumpa, a village 200m above Langtang Village. And this teahouse was chosen as the post office because the proprietor is the aunt of Steve’s wife.

Had two helpings of spicy pasta a.k.a. chow mien for dinner and now, at 1950, I’m ready to sleep. Gonna try to stay up past 2000 so as to sleep through the night (like timing a kid’s bedtime, eh?). We’ll see how that goes for me. Yawn.

And Mark lost the map.

Kathmandu to Syabrubesi

Elevation: TBD
Time on the bus: 10¼ h

Ten and a quarter hours bus ride up, down and over. Had a very full bladder, which nearly made me cry, particularly when the bus conductor (like a train conductor: collects money, keeps track of folks’ stops) told me we didn’t have time at that stop for me to find a loo! I went anyway and, no, the bus didn’t leave without me.

Got rained upon before we got the tarp up and even a bit afterwards, too. Oh, and rode atop the bus, hence the getting rained upon. Beautiful scenery, cautious bus driver, but very crowded bus. Had to haggle over the price of the ticket once we reached Syabrubesi (yes, yes, should have figured it out before we got on the bus…), but were comfortable with the final outcome of 460 NRs for both of us.

Walked ‘round the stupa, found a rain cover for my pack (a kid’s rain poncho, we got a picture), and ate our first trail meal.

On the road... by foot

1... 2... 3... TREK! Mark and I leave tomorrow for a 14 day trek in the moutainous area north of Kathmandu, actually two areas -- Helambu and Langtang. We will see mountains. We will breathe mountain air. We will not get lost, dismembered or hassled by the Maoists (well, the former actually could happen, but they just want money).

I am bringing the socks I'm knitting that I swore I would finish in Nepal (I work best under pressure, four weeks' worth seems sufficient) and a light paperback Murakami book. And of course my mind, with which I can meditate.

[/meditation]

After ten days of learning, two days of silence and then hanging out all day Saturday to catch up on all we didn’t say for those two days, my meditation friends and I parted ways as I leapt out of the taxi we were sharing in favor of catching a Ring Road bus to Mark’s house. But I’ll see them tonight for dinner in Thamel.

So now it’s back to Nepal-flavored life as usual. Except that I’m trying to incorporate meditation into my daily life. Already difficult, as I didn’t leap out of bed at 0545am to drink tea at 0600 to meditate at 0630, breakfast at 0730, etc. How to do this?

To make matters more complicated, because my work at the clinic is complete, I had to move out. So I’ve relocated to Patan (Mark’s flat) and don’t really have space to call my own for the next month. And we’re going trekking. Hm. Maybe I’ll put meditation on hold and work to maintain the five layperson vows of Tibetan Buddhism:

1. No killing
2. No stealing
3. No sexual misconduct
4. No lying
5. No drinking, smoking, drugs

Well, ok. I’ll work on four out of five; the ‘no drinking’ is out of the question; a beer is a rare pleasure, but one I’m not willing to renounce quite yet.

[meditation]...

The young monk's chanting has begun and our first day of silence is coming to an end. For me, it hasn't been complete silence as I've spoken to shop clerks. But the folks in the class aren't supposed to talk to each other, including making gestures, smiling, etc., and as far as I'm concerned, I haven't. Any and all communication is off-limits in favor of introspection.

As one is not supposed to boast about one's meditation/Buddhist practice, I shant say much about it. I will say that I understand why people meditate, as I do feel calmer and more focused, after only eight days of practice. It has also, as last night's guest speaker observed, filled in some of the gaps in Christian teachings in regards to applying one's goodwill to benefit others, albeit with a slightly different bent than Christianity would recommend.

I have added numerous books to my 'Read List'; I particularly recommend 'The Perfect Mirror' by Adrian Feldmann for an accessible, explanation of Tibetan Buddhist philosophy and religion. Turns out there are at least two publishers of Tibetan Buddhist materials in Easter Massachusetts -- Weston and Somerville, so I'll have more books to add to the list once I've visited those fine establishments (didn't make sense to pay Rs. 100 to cover shipping of a book that's available in my home state!).

[meditation]

Today I will walk up a steep hill to the Kopan Monastery where I will live for the next ten days in dorm-style accommodations. I will take neither computer nor iPod nor PalmPilot; what the hell am I going to do with myself? That has yet to been seen, although if all else fails I have a book and a really tricky knitting pattern for socks. I'll be back 10 May; blog then!

Today was my last day at the hospice

Today was my last day at the Hospice. It’s a bit earlier than originally planned, as I am taking a meditation course that runs 30 April through 9 May. I am looking forward to the class, though I do wish I had a few more days between ending work and beginning the class; I am afraid I will not be fresh to meditate. But, what to do?

My feelings about completing my work here run the gamut (Thanks Kate!) from relief to sadness. I know my work was appreciated, but there is so much more to do; just in preparing my report to the clinic administrators and head nurse and doctor, I thought of additional ideas and programs I would have liked to implement. But that is me working anywhere. That’s the sadness part.

The relief part comes from not having 100% of my heart in my work. That’s the part that made returning to Boudha on Sunday morning difficult. That’s the part that led me to leave some of the “morning duty’s” work (a concept I disagree with, but is certainly the culture here) for the afternoon, despite the disapproval of the afternoon duty nurses. That’s the part that makes me wonder about ever working in a hospital. Sigh And we’re back to that again…

Mish Mash Mentor

I just talked with one of the women my friends recommended as a good resource for helping to puzzle out my future. Indeed, she gave me lots to think about. Here’s an outline of my options:

a) Do I want to provide health care to patients, or not?
1) If not, then what do I want to do and how do I get experience in that?
i) Can I get experience in that without more clinical experience?
2) If yes, in what capacity, and how do I get experience in that?
i) Registered nurse
a) In-patient labor & delivery or antepartum; OB/GYN office
ii) Nurse practitioner
a) In-patient antepartum; OB/GYN office; prison; community clinic

Frankly, providing health care terrifies me; so much could go wrong! But on the other hand, most of it goes right and it’s satisfying to help someone meet her health care goals.

Even if I listen to the part of me that thinks that clinical practice is terrifying, I could still meet my goals in nursing – to ensure women have access to reproductive health care services – through advocacy or education. Granted, jobs in either of those specialties might require clinical experience.

If I choose to continue on with clinical practice, then I need to decide in what setting I want to practice and in what capacity. Questions that arise here include: do I need experience as a registered nurse in order to be an effective nurse practitioner? Do I need in-patient experience, or would out-patient be sufficient? If I choose this option, I need more experience in general, and specifically before trying to take those skills to the developing world (again); the United States is probably the best place for me to get that experience.

Some of these are questions I’ve struggled with since nursing school. And who knows if I made the right decision when I went to Colorado instead of starting on the traditional trajectory of a nursing school student by getting a nursing assistant job that summer. But, as I was just telling my friend Kathy, though it’s difficult to keep in mind, I like to think that everything happens for a reason. At this point, I’m waiting for that reason to become apparent in the form of a job offer!

Psychic map tune-up

I don’t want to write any more. I wonder if this feeling stems from the discipline of the blog or jadedness about Nepal? In the former, tell me, blog writers, what keeps you writing? And for the latter, travelers, how do you keep a place fresh for yourselves, to keep from wanting to maim every non-English speaker that crosses your path?

Yes, yes. Of course I jest. I am not experiencing homicidal ideations (that’s feelings, for the lay-folk). But I am feeling annoyed and frustrated and fed-up with my current situation. The charm of the gaggle of pre-teen boys hanging around the nurses’ office has worn thin. My inability to communicate, except on the most basic level, with most of the people I interact with every day has lost its novelty. And it doesn’t help that I’ve had two bouts of diarrhea in five days.

Mark’s friend Ian bounced ‘round the world for something like 700 days. And I ask myself, ‘Self, how the hell did he keep going? How did he continually adjust to changes in language, food, social norms, and traffic laws? And what affect did those adjustments have on his “psychic map”, that sense of who we are in relation to friends, society, even the geography of home?’ And I wonder if my irritability stems from being full up on adjustments to my psychic map.

Adjustments such as instinctually looking right then left, rather than left then right, before crossing the street; responding to a question first in Nepali and then translating the answer into English to make sure I meant what I said; and not eating in public out of awareness that I have the luxury of eating between meals that many do not. No, I admit, not the most difficult personal changes to execute. But even little stressors, when experienced for, for example the 77 days I have been in Nepal, is exhausting; I sleep nine or ten hours a night and still need a nap in the afternoon.

Perhaps what is needed to balance these Nepali-influenced changes is an anti-Nepali measure. Wearing shorts and a tank top – so much female skin exposed, so not culturally appropriate! Or abandon the culture all together for a night in a Western hotel, as a former fellow volunteer suggested? Or a healthy dose of American macaroni and cheese from a good tourist restaurant. Or maybe all three.

Nargarkot, Kathmandu, Nepal

This weekend Mark, his friends Leisha and Jeff (visiting from Boston), and I went to Nargarkot, which is a town about one hour from Kathmandu on the eastern rim of the Kathmandu Valley. Its main draw is the chance one might see the mountains from 'The Tower' at sunrise. Oy. After rising at 0500, indeed, we saw a mountain (Leisha continues to try to convince herself and Jeff, who was too sick to go with us, that we saw Everest) and I've included a picture here for your viewing pleasure. Can you name that mountain?

I can't speak for the rest of Nargarkot, apparently it's quite the tourist town, with hotels crowding the main street, but somehow we missed all of that. We had very nice accommodations on the road to The Tower and then had to leave town too early Sunday morning to do much sight-seeing. Alas. I'm not all that disappointed, I think we hit the main sight. And really, how many handicrafts can one person look at? Plus, if I haven't said it before, I'll say it now, being a tourist is exhausting!

P.S. - The mountain is in the top left corner of the photo.

Snippets

I've not been on the internet in days, and I've been feeling really cranky too boot, so this is what I've got for you thus far. We'll see how long my patience with the heat in this internet store lasts; you might get more of me, you might not.

ξ ξ ξ

I didn’t realize it until a few weeks back at breakfast with Caroline and Brian at Caroline’s house, but I am seeking a mentor. Trouble is, I’m not entirely sure what I want to do within the field of nursing, so it’s difficult to seek someone in that niche to talk to. Brian and Caroline gave me a few names and I will call them and inquire about conducting informational interviews. I imagine it will happen over the phone, although it would be nice to meet face to face, too. Maybe I'll get a mentor out of the process, maybe not, but it'll be good to bounce some career ideas off of other nurses.

ξ ξ ξ

You know I’ve been studying yoga with the French-teacher doppelganger, but I bet you didn’t know that I have also enrolled in a meditation course. It’s 30 April – 10 May. I’m not sure if there is Internet access, so take note! I might be even more uncommunicative that week than usual.

ξ ξ ξ

Yesterday I observed at a government-funded abortion clinic. It is part of the only exclusively women’s health hospital in the country. The basic procedure is the same as in America, although up to twelve weeks, the only option is manual vacuum evacuation (MVA), as opposed to also having the option to use a vacuum that uses electricity. Medical termination, where the woman takes medication in order to end the pregnancy, is not yet available, but is under consideration, according to the doctor with whom I spoke.

Abortion was legalized in Nepal in 2002, though training for providers wasn’t available until 2004. Now there are trained providers in 71 of 75 districts of Nepal. Given the constraints on women in the realms of citizenship and childbearing (the abortion folks are working on this one, too) and the general lack of respect from society, I am very impressed by the reproductive health choices they have. Dare I say it, but their access to abortion is more secure than women’s in the United States! To boot, registered nurses can be trained in the provision of abortion – I am jealous.

Do you remember the first iPod ads?

Do you remember the first iPod ads, with the people walking down the street, creating their own soundtracks to the world as they went? This was my intention yesterday, walking from Mark’s house to the Ring Road to catch a bus back to Boudha. I was successful until I got on the bus where loud, raucous music was blaring through the speakers. I decided it was futile to try to orchestrate my own soundtrack; so I gave in, removed the ear buds, and hunkered down to tolerate the bus driver’s taste in tunes. Ke garne? [What to do?]

I remember critics wondering about the effect of the iPod on American society: would it further fractionate an already individualistic society? Completely cleave one from another? Drive the final nail into the coffin of ‘community’? I haven’t gotten an update on critics’ perception of American society all these years later, but I know I am a happier traveler in Nepal while taking advantage of these side effects.

You see; so much of life in Nepal is lived in the public eye. And I don’t mean just as the tallest, palest thing walking the streets; I mean as anyone. Poor Nepalis bathe at public waterspouts. Their houses are so close together so as to pass the mustard. The concept of personal space is nonexistent.

I, as an American who was raised in the suburbs, tolerate this poorly. I get cranky and bug-eyed with each additional stimulus. I wander into traffic and potholes.

The music is a form of ambulatory meditation, which helps me tune out the din. Thus I maintain some semblance of personal space and sanity derived therein. I imagine if more people owned such devices here, it could do for Nepal what the suburbs did for America; give us all a little more breathing room. Even if it’s electronic air.