Nepal Trip: April 16, 2007 Email, Part I

Below is part I of my final email detailing my Nepal experience:

American Airlines wouldn’t let me make changes to my ticket and wanted to charge me something like $2500 to extend my trip. Ridiculous. I was pretty bummed about it for awhile because I was in the mindset of staying an extra week, but now I’m excited about coming home.

I went on my Tibetan monk picnic on Wednesday (April 11) and had a great time. I was a bit tired throughout the whole thing b/c I had to be up at 6 AM because the picnic bus was picking us up at 7:30 from the monastery. Of course the bus didn’t get there till about 8:30 and we piled in to this ancient bus that was blasting Indian music. I sat next to this mute mini-monk (he spoke no English and looked miserable) and asked Dawa (the trip organizer) to tell him I would move, but the mini-monk said no. After a good hour in traffic, (I got out of the bus and was taking pictures at some point) we arrived at the picnic grounds and food was waiting for us. I was starving, but when they served us, there was some pita-like bread and hard-boiled eggs. I wanted the eggs sooo badly, but knew it was probably safer not to eat them, so I just had bread and Tibetan tea (salty and made with butter, milk and black tea). Thank God lunch came about an hour later and was pretty delicious. While I was eating, I got to sit with the older monks and was treated like a special guest, which is just strange because all I did was walk into the monastery and start taking pictures one random day. There was also a Swiss girl there who was working with an NGO and had befriended Dawa.

Hanging out at the picnic

Me and Nyima, the gracious doctor

Most of the time everyone played soccer, volleyball and cricket and the mini-monks ran around like normal little kids do. I didn’t bring proper shoes, so I just watched most of the time, although I did play some soccer. I got some great pictures though.

Around 4:30 PM we headed back to the capital, but didn’t get home till about 6:30 because the traffic was atrocious. I promised the monks I would return before I left.

On Thursday, Paul invited me to photograph an event at Tribhuvan University's library, one of only six universities in the country. The university invited the US ambassador to view a small art exhibit, which featured pictures of iconic New York City structures. I met up with Paul and his boss, Sharon in the afternoon, and we discussed the state of Nepali affairs on the ride over to the university. Paul introduced me to the ambassador and told him I would be photographing the event. I parked myself with the other 3 or 4 male photojournalists, all of whom gave me curious looks because I was an obvious newcomer. I felt a little out of place, but after a few minutes, I felt like I was part of the team. As the US contingent (Paul, Sharon and the ambassador) made it's way through the exhibit, I weaved my way in and out of the crowd, snapping pictures of the action and feeling like a bonafide photojournalist. It was a bit of a rush. The coolest part of it was witnessing firsthand the US foreign policy apparatus---official statements, the interaction with the press and guests, reverance for our diplomats. It was strange and fascinating to see it all in practice.

Friday night (April 13) was the Hindu New Year 2064. Paul brought home a newspaper advertising a lavish event at the five-star Yak & Yeti Hotel in central Kathmandu. For $35, you would be treated to an all-you-can-eat buffet, unlimited drinks and some undisclosed live entertainment. I thought the fee outrageous (funny how one gets accustomed to a country's prices so quickly), but was persuaded to attend after some more discussion.

Thank God we decided to go because that night may have been the highlight of my trip. After curling my hair and donning my one nice dress that I brought in case of a special event, Paul's driver shuttled us to the Yak & Yeti around 8pm. Too bad we were running late because when we arrived, the red carpet excitement had died down. Apparently, this is THE event of the year in Kathmandu, and people line up outside the hotel to watch people enter the hotel. Needless to say, we weren't met with much enthusiasm from the few spectators loitering around the red carpet, and we strolled into the large, rather unimpressive ballroom. On the far right was a large, elevated stage with a dance floor set up in front of it. Where the dance floor ended, a sea of tables were set up, occupied by women in Western-style cocktail dresses and men in business suits. To the left of the entrance were a few large tables with various dinner selections and desserts. The tables were first-come-first-serve, so Paul and I found a half-full table of young people along the far wall of the ballroom. I'm almost positive we were the only non-Nepalis at the event, so we got some strange looks as we searched for an open table.

Red carpet ready

Our table

While Paul and I chowed down on delicious Indian food, the live entertainment started up and everyone turned their attention to the stage. What ensued was one of the most bizarre shows I have ever witnessed. Actually, it was the most bizarre I have ever witnessed. Young men and women in tight, glittery outfits danced around the stage for the next two hours to some well-known pop songs. At some point, the men began ribbon dancing. In between, some singers took the stage, giving the exhausted looking dancers some much needed breaks. But the main event of the night was yet to come. The Meat Brothers, a duo of bhangra singers, made a splashy entrance in tight druglord-esque attire and big sunglasses. The crowd went wild and people flooded the dance floor. And by people, I mean ONLY men. Paul and I, drawn by our curiosity and confusion, made our way to the dance floor to gawk at the performers. I have to say that the Meat Brothers had some catchy tunes. We did a bit of dancing, but mostly I just swayed because I felt too uncomfortable by the fact that I was surrounded by only men.

The Meat Brothers

A change of outfits for the Meat Brothers


Men dancing it up at New Years 2064

At some point, I made my way to the restroom. As I was washing my hands, I looked in the mirror at the Nepali girls around me. Some of them were staring at me. Was it my cute dress? My stunning looks? Nope. It was the fact that in my 3.5 inch heels, I was a good 12 inches taller than most of them. I truly felt like a giant and, uncomfortable with the attention, I hurried out of the restroom.

At the end of the night, Paul and I decided to opt out of the midnight techno party that was to take place in one of the ballrooms at the hotel. We found a cab outside and asked him to take us to the apartment in the Baluwatar neighborhood. On the drive home, giddy from the randomness and excitement of the night, Paul started yelling "namaste!" and waving to random motorcyclists on the road. The driver mistook our odd behavior/enthusiasm for drunkeness (which were far from), and when he dropped us off at our gate, the meter read 300 rupees. Paul and I literally laughed out loud because the trip should have only cost 80-90 rupees. We gave the driver 100 rupees and called it a night.

The following morning we awoke rather early to attend a festival in Bhaktapur celebrating the Hindu New Year. Alicia and Beven came to pick us up in their American-made SUV and we started our 30 minute journey to the small town. There was lots of slow moving trucks on the two lane road, and Beven (manning the wheel) would pass the trucks on their right because people in Nepal drive on the opposite (i.e., British) side of the road. This presented a small problem, as Beven's car had the steering wheel on the left side of the car. When confronted with a slow truck, a highly stressful game would ensue. Beven would move the car slighty into the lane with oncoming traffic so Alicia, sitting in the passenger seat, could tell him if the lane was clear for him to pass. They did this twice, but on the third attempt as Beven crept into the other lane, Alicia screamed out, "HUGE TATA!" and Beven jerked the car back into our lane as the Tata whizzed by. Tata is an Indian carmaker and any truck in this country is most likely a Tata. We eventually passed the truck in front of us with no problem, but it was certainly a scary moment.

After we parked the car, we made our way into central Bhaktapur, which was packed with people. We spent the late morning and early afternoon wandering the streets. We eventually came upon the chariot that was being constructed during my last trip to Bhaktapur on April 4. At the head of the chariot was a young man holding a chicken. We weren't sure what he was going to do with the chicken until the man sawed its head off with knife, causing blood to spurt everywhere. The main event of the day was several meters from the chariot, in the middle of a huge square. An enormously tall tree, completely stripped of its limbs so that it resembled a giant lingum, wrapped in rope and anchored to the ground by more rope on one of its ends. On the anchored side, a large group of men was holding the ends of the rope. If they could lift the tree and get it to stand up straight, it would be a good omen for the next year. Not getting it up would mean an unlucky year. Unlucky in what? I'm not sure.

The chicken post-sacrifice

The lingum trunk gets some support

The crowd waits for the main event

Much to the dismay of the crowd, the men struggled to lift the tree and ultimately failed at raising it. How unfortuitous. And just plain dangerous.

Afterwards, the four of us explored the city. As we passed by this tiny house, I saw an old lady sitting directly in some interesting light. Alicia, who speaks fluent Nepali, asked the lady's permission to take her picture, and I started snapping away. After a few shots, the lady got up and became extremely agitated. She said something to Alicia, who responded and then the lady waved her hand in front of my camera, knocking it away from her. As we walked away, I asked Alicia what she had said to the lady. "I asked her if you could take pictures of her house. She said yes as long as you didn't take pictures of her." Luckily, I got a good shot.

Before my hidden agenda is unearthed