I am in bodhgaya. Many people! But we found a room ok. I am using another travelers cell now. She says internet cafes are hell in india. Good news is I am happy and having a good time! I got to spend the day in varanasi onthe way here. Gorgeous, laid back place where buddha made his first teaching and a sacred shiva fire has been burning on the ganges for 3,500 years for the cremations.
Now I am waiting in line (an oxymoron in india) to register for kalachakra. Its a bit hot but I am keeping my cool. Not overwhelmed as I was fearing. Holy shit I am in india! That's pretty much the extent of my thoughts right now. Don't expect too many blog entries because internet is hard to come by. But pleasse trust I am ok! All is well.
Love and namaste !!!! Xoxoxoxo
Melissa
Friday, December 30, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Nakote School, Helambu
11/8/2011
Helambu is a land of rocky mountains and sloping hills covered with terraced fields. "He" means potato, and "Lambu" means radish in the language of the Hyolmo people, whose ancestors migrated to the region from Tibet long ago. Most people here are indeed farmers, and grow maize (corn), millet, beans, potatoes, radish, onions, garlic, and several kinds of vegetable including leafy greens, cabbage, snap peas, and some squash varieties. They bring their rice in from other areas as the elevation is too high for it to grow here. Many families have one or two water buffalo, who are large, black, cow-ish beasts with long curved horns. Villagers spend a lot of time cutting grass and leaves for the buffalo to eat. The buffalo produce a heavenly delicious milk, sweet and creamy. (I actually used it to make mashed potatoes for my host family on Thanksgiving). Buffalo meat is also tasty, if at times a bit chewy, and reminds me of a gamey beef.
To be continued...
Here are some photos of the school where I taught dance and English for 6 weeks:
Helambu is a land of rocky mountains and sloping hills covered with terraced fields. "He" means potato, and "Lambu" means radish in the language of the Hyolmo people, whose ancestors migrated to the region from Tibet long ago. Most people here are indeed farmers, and grow maize (corn), millet, beans, potatoes, radish, onions, garlic, and several kinds of vegetable including leafy greens, cabbage, snap peas, and some squash varieties. They bring their rice in from other areas as the elevation is too high for it to grow here. Many families have one or two water buffalo, who are large, black, cow-ish beasts with long curved horns. Villagers spend a lot of time cutting grass and leaves for the buffalo to eat. The buffalo produce a heavenly delicious milk, sweet and creamy. (I actually used it to make mashed potatoes for my host family on Thanksgiving). Buffalo meat is also tasty, if at times a bit chewy, and reminds me of a gamey beef.
To be continued...
Here are some photos of the school where I taught dance and English for 6 weeks:
Pashupatinath
This entry is from before I left Kathmandu for Nakote, about 1.5 months ago:
11/4/2011
Today and tonight was possibly the coolest part of my trip so far. This morning I walked to Pashupatinath, an area of Kathmandu with many Hindu temples by the holy Bagmati River. This is where families come to cremate their dead relatives, and Shiva is worshipped as Lord of all the animals. From the moment I arrived I sensed the strong presence of Death. Rather than being repulsed, I was intrigued and mystified by this place of many temples, where the river runs dirty with pollution, ashes, flowers, and colored cloths from the funeral ghats (pyres).
As I gingerly picked my way through the various statues of Hindu gods, a holy man offered to unlock the door to a meditation cave for me. I accepted the offer, removed my shoes, and quietly stepped inside. In front of me there were many sacred items, including a stone lingam and yoni encircled by a snake. The lingam is a phallic-looking object, representing Shiva and the male creative power, while the yoni is circular, and surrounds the base of the lingam to represent the Divine Feminine.
A small candle was burning. The faces of Hindu saints, gods, and goddesses had been plastered around the ceremonial table in front of me. Other small stone objects vibrated energetic power, such as a stone hand growing up out of the corner of the room. I gazed up at the images of Ganesh, Sai Baba, Laklshmi, etc, and offered a few grains of rice. Then I closed my eyes and allowed the vibrations of the room to penetrate me.
It felt like I was inside a time capsule, or a little droplet from another Universe. The vibrations indie the cave spoke to me and held me close, as though I was remembering what it felt like to be inside the womb of the world. It was effortless--countless sages and spiritual men had carved out this niche in space-time for hundreds of years. It was like all the repeated meditations and pujas (ceremonies) of this place had poked a hole into another reality, and the intense spiritual power of that reality was now seeping into this one.
After 1/2 hour or so, I left the cave and meandered downriver to where crowds were gathered by the funeral ghats and temples. After crossing a stone bridge, I had intended to continue climbing up the hill to explore the other temples, but a sadhu (wandering ascetic) dressed up as Hanuman (the hindu monkey god) danced around to my right, and my intuition told me to follow him. I ducked under an archway and into a new courtyard where other sadhus had taken up residence. I heard the tabla drum beating from inside one of the small buildings by the river. Someone was also singing and playing the harmonium (a classical Indian instrument, like a cross between a keyboard and accordion). I walked past the doorway several times, scoutin out the situation and thinking, "Do I go in? Do I not go in? I want to go in, but I don't want to interrupt anything."
As I peeked through the doorway I caught the extraordinarily happy face of the tabla player. He smiled at me several times. When I approached the door step and asked with body language if I could enter, he gave me the signature Nepali side-to-side head wobble of agreement. I slipped of my shoes and went inside.
The musicians were sitting cross-legged on the floor, along with a smiling holy man dressed in orange robes. A woman sang bhajans (devotional songs praising God), while the insanely impressive tabla beats went tippety-tap tap tap and thumpety-thump thump thump. I grinned and closed my eyes, allowing my head to move from side to side while I listened to the irresistible rhythm. The music switched on a glow inside me that I had not tasted in a long time: the glow of playful, inspired joy. There is an intensity about Kathmandu, and about Pashupatinath, that I feel I must protect myself from. This lovely burst of live music allowed me to lower my defenses to a point where I felt safe, comfortable, and at home/
When the music stopped, the listeners clapped and smiled contentedly. I introduced myself, and learned that the tabla player was a resident musician here at Pashuptinath, and had been playing since he was five. He had a callous at the base of his thumb that was the size of a marble. His name, I learned, was "Sukhadev," meaning "Happiness," and it suited him from all the joyful grins I saw on his face. The holy man, Babu, was his father. This was Babu's home and headquarters for classical Indian music. He also had a library of books stacked on the floor of Hindu philosophy.
Sukhadev walked down the hallway, reemerging a few minutes later with a tray of biscuits and tea in metal cups. The tea was very sweet (as it usually is in Nepal), and slightly pungent with a spiced chai flavor. Babu unwrapped the biscuits and handed me one: a vanilla sandwich cookie with a creamy center. The music began again. I stayed and listened for several hours, letting the melodies twinkle into my heart and soften every rigid bone in my body. Ooh it felt good to be alive again.
My hunger finally got the better of me, so I said a few words, "Rice," and "Dahl," pointing to my stomach and motioning towards the door. Sukhadev joined me, escorting me out of the Pashupatinath complex, past the sellers hawking tourist items, and into one of the local grungy-looking restaurants. I had long since let go of my fear of eating what the locals eat, so I stepped inside and sat down.
I don't remember what we talked about, just that his black eyes flashed and his white teeth gleamed against his chocolate-colored skin. He smoked a cigarette, which surprised me somehow, and drank tea while I ate rice, vegetable curry, beans, and chapati. Sometimes there are benefits to being a young Western woman in Nepal, and this was not the first time I found myself being shown around by a friendly young Nepali guy.
After lunch Sukhadev took me on a tour of Pashupatinath, explaining the significance of all the different temples and statues. I nearly died of shock when a monkey jumped on me as I was offering a few grains of rice to a goddess statue (they are everywhere in Pashupatinath). "The monkeys here are very bad," Sukhadev told me. "They jump on you if you have anything in your hands, especially food, and sometimes they jump even when your hands are in your pockets." I abandoned the rice offering procedure, walked around with open hands, and steered as clear of the monkeys as I could.
After my tour of Pashupatinath I felt pulled to watch the cremations at the edge of the river. Each stone tablet reminded me of launching pad for the soul to spring upward into the sky once the body had been received into the flames. One woman below me was wrapped in simple white fabric, her brown face peeking out from behind the cloth as her body was lowered onto the stack of logs. A man began lighting a fire underneath her. To the right, a man wearing a turban and wrapped in golden and white cloths was being circled by his family members. As they walked, each person tucked a few rupees into his collar. Someone removed the flowers that had been lying on his chest and threw them into the trash-infested river. Another person sprinkled red and yellow powdered paint onto his body. Several family members took pictures and video of the ceremony with their cellphones. I saw many tourists taking pictures, but even though Sukhadev said it was okay, I felt strange about using my camera in such a somber situation. To the right of the turbaned man, a group of men were honoring the life of a Lama (Buddhist priest). They walked around the burning body, one person ringing a bell. Sukhadev said that these ceremonies go on continuously, all day and into the evening.
It was time for Sukhadev's regular evening performance. As resident tabla player of Pashupatinath, he played his instrument every evening at 5:30 pm for the daily Aarti, or ceremony, that honored Lord Shiva. He was accompanied by his friends on harmonium and vocals. He brought me up to the stage to sit with him and his friends. and we were bathed in stage lights as we sat on mats overlooking the river and audience below.
Three Hindu priests walked onto the stage, their places already prepared for the ceremony. Each one had a small table in front of him with various ritual items and offerings, including butter candles, conch shells, incense, and rice grains. The ceremony itself was a beautiful dance of light, sound, and devotion. As the musicians played and sang, the priests blew their conches, danced with incredibly large snake shaped butter lamps, sprayed rice grains everywhere, and lit incense. The priests looked a bit bored--I could tell they'd been doing this exact same thing every day for a log time, but this did nothing to dampen my sense of enchantment.
At several moments during the ceremony I recognized a tune or phrase that the musicians were singing. My memory lit up when I heard the same tune from the puja I'd heard so many times while growing up in the Transcendental Meditation movement in Fairfield, Iowa, USA. I also couldn't help smiling when the aarti finished with a familiar Sanskrit phrase which I'd learned at the Maharishi School in Fairfield, "Purnam adah, purnam idam. Purnat purnam udacchyate. Purnasya, purnam adayah. Purnam eva vashishyate." (That is full, this is full. From fullness, fullness comes out. Taking fullness from fullness, what remains if fullness.")
After the aarti, Sukhadev and his friends gave me small sugar candies which had been blessed by the ceremony, called "Prasad," or "The grace of God." By this time it was dark out, and I still had to return to my room in Boudhanath, a 20-minute walk away. I asked Sukhadev about the safety of walking around this area at night, and he replied, "Don't worry. We will walk with you to the bus." We walked out the main entrance down to a busy street. They flagged down the next minibus bound for Boudhanath, and I was on my way.
11/4/2011
Today and tonight was possibly the coolest part of my trip so far. This morning I walked to Pashupatinath, an area of Kathmandu with many Hindu temples by the holy Bagmati River. This is where families come to cremate their dead relatives, and Shiva is worshipped as Lord of all the animals. From the moment I arrived I sensed the strong presence of Death. Rather than being repulsed, I was intrigued and mystified by this place of many temples, where the river runs dirty with pollution, ashes, flowers, and colored cloths from the funeral ghats (pyres).
As I gingerly picked my way through the various statues of Hindu gods, a holy man offered to unlock the door to a meditation cave for me. I accepted the offer, removed my shoes, and quietly stepped inside. In front of me there were many sacred items, including a stone lingam and yoni encircled by a snake. The lingam is a phallic-looking object, representing Shiva and the male creative power, while the yoni is circular, and surrounds the base of the lingam to represent the Divine Feminine.
A small candle was burning. The faces of Hindu saints, gods, and goddesses had been plastered around the ceremonial table in front of me. Other small stone objects vibrated energetic power, such as a stone hand growing up out of the corner of the room. I gazed up at the images of Ganesh, Sai Baba, Laklshmi, etc, and offered a few grains of rice. Then I closed my eyes and allowed the vibrations of the room to penetrate me.
It felt like I was inside a time capsule, or a little droplet from another Universe. The vibrations indie the cave spoke to me and held me close, as though I was remembering what it felt like to be inside the womb of the world. It was effortless--countless sages and spiritual men had carved out this niche in space-time for hundreds of years. It was like all the repeated meditations and pujas (ceremonies) of this place had poked a hole into another reality, and the intense spiritual power of that reality was now seeping into this one.
After 1/2 hour or so, I left the cave and meandered downriver to where crowds were gathered by the funeral ghats and temples. After crossing a stone bridge, I had intended to continue climbing up the hill to explore the other temples, but a sadhu (wandering ascetic) dressed up as Hanuman (the hindu monkey god) danced around to my right, and my intuition told me to follow him. I ducked under an archway and into a new courtyard where other sadhus had taken up residence. I heard the tabla drum beating from inside one of the small buildings by the river. Someone was also singing and playing the harmonium (a classical Indian instrument, like a cross between a keyboard and accordion). I walked past the doorway several times, scoutin out the situation and thinking, "Do I go in? Do I not go in? I want to go in, but I don't want to interrupt anything."
As I peeked through the doorway I caught the extraordinarily happy face of the tabla player. He smiled at me several times. When I approached the door step and asked with body language if I could enter, he gave me the signature Nepali side-to-side head wobble of agreement. I slipped of my shoes and went inside.
The musicians were sitting cross-legged on the floor, along with a smiling holy man dressed in orange robes. A woman sang bhajans (devotional songs praising God), while the insanely impressive tabla beats went tippety-tap tap tap and thumpety-thump thump thump. I grinned and closed my eyes, allowing my head to move from side to side while I listened to the irresistible rhythm. The music switched on a glow inside me that I had not tasted in a long time: the glow of playful, inspired joy. There is an intensity about Kathmandu, and about Pashupatinath, that I feel I must protect myself from. This lovely burst of live music allowed me to lower my defenses to a point where I felt safe, comfortable, and at home/
When the music stopped, the listeners clapped and smiled contentedly. I introduced myself, and learned that the tabla player was a resident musician here at Pashuptinath, and had been playing since he was five. He had a callous at the base of his thumb that was the size of a marble. His name, I learned, was "Sukhadev," meaning "Happiness," and it suited him from all the joyful grins I saw on his face. The holy man, Babu, was his father. This was Babu's home and headquarters for classical Indian music. He also had a library of books stacked on the floor of Hindu philosophy.
Sukhadev walked down the hallway, reemerging a few minutes later with a tray of biscuits and tea in metal cups. The tea was very sweet (as it usually is in Nepal), and slightly pungent with a spiced chai flavor. Babu unwrapped the biscuits and handed me one: a vanilla sandwich cookie with a creamy center. The music began again. I stayed and listened for several hours, letting the melodies twinkle into my heart and soften every rigid bone in my body. Ooh it felt good to be alive again.
My hunger finally got the better of me, so I said a few words, "Rice," and "Dahl," pointing to my stomach and motioning towards the door. Sukhadev joined me, escorting me out of the Pashupatinath complex, past the sellers hawking tourist items, and into one of the local grungy-looking restaurants. I had long since let go of my fear of eating what the locals eat, so I stepped inside and sat down.
I don't remember what we talked about, just that his black eyes flashed and his white teeth gleamed against his chocolate-colored skin. He smoked a cigarette, which surprised me somehow, and drank tea while I ate rice, vegetable curry, beans, and chapati. Sometimes there are benefits to being a young Western woman in Nepal, and this was not the first time I found myself being shown around by a friendly young Nepali guy.
After lunch Sukhadev took me on a tour of Pashupatinath, explaining the significance of all the different temples and statues. I nearly died of shock when a monkey jumped on me as I was offering a few grains of rice to a goddess statue (they are everywhere in Pashupatinath). "The monkeys here are very bad," Sukhadev told me. "They jump on you if you have anything in your hands, especially food, and sometimes they jump even when your hands are in your pockets." I abandoned the rice offering procedure, walked around with open hands, and steered as clear of the monkeys as I could.
After my tour of Pashupatinath I felt pulled to watch the cremations at the edge of the river. Each stone tablet reminded me of launching pad for the soul to spring upward into the sky once the body had been received into the flames. One woman below me was wrapped in simple white fabric, her brown face peeking out from behind the cloth as her body was lowered onto the stack of logs. A man began lighting a fire underneath her. To the right, a man wearing a turban and wrapped in golden and white cloths was being circled by his family members. As they walked, each person tucked a few rupees into his collar. Someone removed the flowers that had been lying on his chest and threw them into the trash-infested river. Another person sprinkled red and yellow powdered paint onto his body. Several family members took pictures and video of the ceremony with their cellphones. I saw many tourists taking pictures, but even though Sukhadev said it was okay, I felt strange about using my camera in such a somber situation. To the right of the turbaned man, a group of men were honoring the life of a Lama (Buddhist priest). They walked around the burning body, one person ringing a bell. Sukhadev said that these ceremonies go on continuously, all day and into the evening.
It was time for Sukhadev's regular evening performance. As resident tabla player of Pashupatinath, he played his instrument every evening at 5:30 pm for the daily Aarti, or ceremony, that honored Lord Shiva. He was accompanied by his friends on harmonium and vocals. He brought me up to the stage to sit with him and his friends. and we were bathed in stage lights as we sat on mats overlooking the river and audience below.
Three Hindu priests walked onto the stage, their places already prepared for the ceremony. Each one had a small table in front of him with various ritual items and offerings, including butter candles, conch shells, incense, and rice grains. The ceremony itself was a beautiful dance of light, sound, and devotion. As the musicians played and sang, the priests blew their conches, danced with incredibly large snake shaped butter lamps, sprayed rice grains everywhere, and lit incense. The priests looked a bit bored--I could tell they'd been doing this exact same thing every day for a log time, but this did nothing to dampen my sense of enchantment.
At several moments during the ceremony I recognized a tune or phrase that the musicians were singing. My memory lit up when I heard the same tune from the puja I'd heard so many times while growing up in the Transcendental Meditation movement in Fairfield, Iowa, USA. I also couldn't help smiling when the aarti finished with a familiar Sanskrit phrase which I'd learned at the Maharishi School in Fairfield, "Purnam adah, purnam idam. Purnat purnam udacchyate. Purnasya, purnam adayah. Purnam eva vashishyate." (That is full, this is full. From fullness, fullness comes out. Taking fullness from fullness, what remains if fullness.")
After the aarti, Sukhadev and his friends gave me small sugar candies which had been blessed by the ceremony, called "Prasad," or "The grace of God." By this time it was dark out, and I still had to return to my room in Boudhanath, a 20-minute walk away. I asked Sukhadev about the safety of walking around this area at night, and he replied, "Don't worry. We will walk with you to the bus." We walked out the main entrance down to a busy street. They flagged down the next minibus bound for Boudhanath, and I was on my way.
Backlog of Blog Posts
It has been an amazing 6 weeks in the small Himalayan village of Nakote. I have filled a journal with many thoughts, poems, and tidbits that I will share eventually, as internet time allows. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the stories! ;0)
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas in Kathmandu
Merry Christmas everyone! It has been a fabulous six weeks in Nakote village, Helambu, Nepal. I was teaching dance and English at a school there and arrived back in the city yesterday after a bumpy, nine hour bus ride. The bus left directly from Nakote at 7:30 am, and as the morning sun was hitting the mountains around us and I looked out the window at the many miles of rolling peaks, I had to remind myself that I was on a BUS, not an airplane. I had to smile as the bus driver cranked up the Bollywood tunes in Nepali and Hindi.
I am happy to report a slight change in plans which has flowed in a wonderfully serendipitous way. Instead of returning to Nakote to continue teaching, I will accompany th e guest house owner of where I stayed in the village on a trip to Lumbini, Nepal and Bodhgaya, India. This woman is truly wonderful. She goes by the name, "Jimmy's Mom," as her son Jimmy operates a nonprofit NGO from her guest house and is well respected. In the community for helping to improve the quality of education in the village. Jimmy's mom cooked me threemeals a day. For much of my time I Nakote, I was the only guest at her house. Everymorning I awoke to the sound of her starting a fire in the next room, blowing on the small sparks through a steel pipe. the smell of shukpa incense and her Buuddhist prayers at about 6:00 am let me know that the day was about to begin. I would roll out of bed around 7:00 and step into the kitchen for a cup of butter and salt tea by the fire.
Anyway, when I heard that Jimmy's mom was going to meet the dalai lama, I immediately wanted to go with her, and was happy that she invited me to come along. The kalachakra is a special series of teachings/initiations with his holiness the dalai lama. There will be many people there, foreigners, Tibetans, Indians, Nepalis. I feel confident that my time there will be enjoyable, especially since I am traveling with a "local." check out kalachakra2012.org for more info. As my 6 month India visa will start upon entry into the country, I will stay there and continue traveling after she goes home.
Christmas in Kathmandu has been great so far. I am staying with Eva, another helambu project volunteer, at her apartment. Today we made no bake cookies and pasta with tomato sauce paneer. As we listened to Christmas songs on her iPad, and I grooved around the modern kitchen, I could almost imagine that I was back in the U.S. we lit some candles and drank some cheap white wine with dinner. Now we are headed to Thamel, the tourist district, to check out the nightlife and see if there are any other Merry foreigners to hang out with. It should be a good time.
Merry chiristmas and namaste!
Melissa
I am happy to report a slight change in plans which has flowed in a wonderfully serendipitous way. Instead of returning to Nakote to continue teaching, I will accompany th e guest house owner of where I stayed in the village on a trip to Lumbini, Nepal and Bodhgaya, India. This woman is truly wonderful. She goes by the name, "Jimmy's Mom," as her son Jimmy operates a nonprofit NGO from her guest house and is well respected. In the community for helping to improve the quality of education in the village. Jimmy's mom cooked me threemeals a day. For much of my time I Nakote, I was the only guest at her house. Everymorning I awoke to the sound of her starting a fire in the next room, blowing on the small sparks through a steel pipe. the smell of shukpa incense and her Buuddhist prayers at about 6:00 am let me know that the day was about to begin. I would roll out of bed around 7:00 and step into the kitchen for a cup of butter and salt tea by the fire.
Anyway, when I heard that Jimmy's mom was going to meet the dalai lama, I immediately wanted to go with her, and was happy that she invited me to come along. The kalachakra is a special series of teachings/initiations with his holiness the dalai lama. There will be many people there, foreigners, Tibetans, Indians, Nepalis. I feel confident that my time there will be enjoyable, especially since I am traveling with a "local." check out kalachakra2012.org for more info. As my 6 month India visa will start upon entry into the country, I will stay there and continue traveling after she goes home.
Christmas in Kathmandu has been great so far. I am staying with Eva, another helambu project volunteer, at her apartment. Today we made no bake cookies and pasta with tomato sauce paneer. As we listened to Christmas songs on her iPad, and I grooved around the modern kitchen, I could almost imagine that I was back in the U.S. we lit some candles and drank some cheap white wine with dinner. Now we are headed to Thamel, the tourist district, to check out the nightlife and see if there are any other Merry foreigners to hang out with. It should be a good time.
Merry chiristmas and namaste!
Melissa
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