Nepal #14: How to cross the street in Kathmandu, and other scary things.

If I told you it was like Frogger, I'd be lying. Crossing the street in Kathmandu is much scarier than crossing the street in Frogger. What we learned was to gather in as large a group as possible and cross together as soon as there was any semblance of a gap in traffic. Once you start walking, keep your head down and keep a constant pace. If you stop suddenly or speed up you might confuse the oncoming traffic. Don't make eye contact with the drivers - this tells them that you're going to let them pass. This is a fairly simple process when there are only a couple lanes... it's a different story when there are 6!

Driving is also terrifying. There are no lanes, stop lights, or police to enforce the laws (which may or may not exist). Hypothetically, one should drive on the left side of the road, but this is somewhat optional. There are less than 5 stop lights in the entire city, so the most complicated (4+ lane) intersections are sometimes manned by a policeman standing on a concrete pedestal (specifically for this purpose) in the middle of the intersection, wildly waving his hands.

The system almost works, in a strange, terrifying way. Rather than blindly following laws while talking on their cell phones like we do in the U.S., they pay very close attention to the roads and use their horns liberally. Rather than using it to angrily complain when someone is driving too slowly, they use it as a means of communication. When passing another vehicle the driver always honks as they drive by. As you can imagine, this makes for some very loud streets. 

Single 'lane' mountain roads are also great places for horn usage. Every time our bus was approaching a turn at a terrifying speed the driver would honk the horn (which was usually some ridiculous ring-tone sounding song) to notify anyone coming around the corner to slow down.

Most of the buses we drove on had a neat system where one helper would hang off the back of the bus and tap it loudly to send messages to the bus driver. Another helper would take people's money and tap on the side of the bus to tell the driver when to stop and pick people up.

Speaking of buses, they certainly pack them efficiently. There were a number of times when we were all piled on top of each other. Here's a picture I took after I managed to get out of this bus (there were still a few of us trying to get out while all these people wanted to get in!):

Private cars are a rarity. When you do see them, they're usually pretty fancy/un-dented, and are driving very cautiously. Finally, when walking on the street in Kathmandu, the best way to avoid getting clipped by a motorcycle - I'm pretty sure we all got bumped at least once - is to stick as close to the side of the road as possible!

Nepal #13: Bathing will never be the same again.

What you're probably thinking is this: "Oh man, it must have sucked to shower without clean or hot water for 3 weeks." Well, that's not entirely true. Bathing in the village was a life-changing experience for this reason:

 

Sunrise at the public water tap: A breathtaking view!


Bathing in a Nepali village goes something like this (yes! back to lists):

1. Gather all the necessary shower items into a bag.
2. Take a gander (ha! I never use that word, but it's perfect) down the hill to the public water tap (hereafter referred to lovingly as the Big Tap).
3. As you get closer, you slow down once it comes into view down the steep hill ahead. One of two things happen: (1) You (a woman) see men bathing. This results in immediate return to your house until later. (2) You see no one or only women at the Big Tap. In this case we experience option 2.
4. Walk down the remaining trail (equivalent to 10 flights of stairs) until you arrive at the Big Tap.
5. You have arrived at the Big Tap. This tap is basically a parking spot-sized slab of concrete with a 3 inch metal pipe sticking out of a side wall constantly pouring ground temperature water onto the concrete slab. There's a drain in the corner that drains to who-knows-where.
6. Now it's time to shower. Since you're a woman, you take off all but your bottom layer of clothes (usually pants and a shirt). Now put on your lungi. Lungi? What's that? A lungi is basically a sarong. It's a tube of fabric that you step into and tie off at the top so it doesn't fall down. Once that's on, take your remaining clothing off from under it.
7. Approach the big tap, trying not to slip on the incredibly slippery/algae-covered concrete floor. Wash your hair first because once your lungi gets wet, you want to get out of there as fast as possible.
8. Now, get under the tap and completely soak your lungi with soap and water. Use the lungi like a giant sponge. Rinse.
9. While you're there and already drenched, you might as well do some laundry.
10. Squeeze as much water out of the lungi as possible. Repeat previous de-clothing process backwards. Yes, this results in very damp undergarments - hopefully you have a dry set to change into once you get home.
11. Return all your clean, wet laundry and lungi to your bag and start heading home.
12. Walk up the giant hill.
13. Yes! You're finally home, and you are even more sweaty/smelly than when you started this whole adventure.

And that is why bathing in Nepal is so wonderful. Don't forget about the incredible view of the mountains! Also, when men bathe they don't use a lungi. Don't ask me how they do it - I was a strict follower of the rules as stated in Step 3 above.

Unfortunately I didn't get any photos of the Big Tap or lungis, but here's a photo to give you the idea:

Nepal #12: Mmmmm Chiya!

As requested, a post about the delicious beverage that is omnipresent in Nepal. We had this multiple times a day for three weeks, and I still loved it at the end. I think that's a good sign...

Here's the step-by-step process that our host father (Rajendra-dai) taught us. I brought the tea and powdered milk back from Nepal, but I'm hoping that I can get a hold of something similar in the US. Powdered milk is powdered milk, right?

Step 1: The fresh spices are my favorite part of this recipe. Bring a saucepan of water (~ 4 mugs worth) to the point where it's just about to boil -- when spirals of bubbles start to come to the top, but it's not rolling yet. Crush ~ 5 cardamom pods between your fingers and drop them in the water followed by a few cloves.

Step 2: Bring the water to a boil and add a few tablespoons of the powdered milk mix (pictured below). The water will get frothy and try to boil over, so make sure to keep stirring.

Step 3: Once the milk is all mixed in, add a few tablespoons of chiya. The chiya seems to be crumbled up black tea leaves, so it kind of looks like coffee. I'm hoping that just using black tea will produce the same results, so stay posted for an update about that! After this step the liquid quickly becomes a beautiful rich brown color:

Step 4: At this point the tea is full of all kinds of crunchy things that you probably wouldn't want to eat, so the next step is to pour it through a very fine strainer. I went on an adventure in Kathmandu specifically to find this strainer, but it ended up being a 1-minute-adventure because Urja, the trek leader, came along with us and found one in the first store we went to.

Step 5: Enjoy! Preferably sitting next to a campfire watching the sun set next to a snow covered mountain. Or just in your apartment in chilly Ithaca, NY with a good friend!

Nepal #11: Working in Rajendra-dai's Store

** Disclaimer: At least half the Nepali words below are spelled incorrectly! If you speak Nepali and happen to be reading this, feel free to send me a message with the correct spellings! ** 

Namaste! Tapaii lai kecha hincha?

Hello! What can I get for you?

Sahuni/Sahuzi, malaii iota unda dinus.

Shopkeeper (female/male), give me one egg.

Iota matre?

Only one?

Malaii ioda unda dinus.

Give me one egg.

Iota unda linus.

Take one egg.

Iota undako koti porcha?

How much does one egg cost?

Iota undako ath rupeea porche.

One egg costs 8 rupees ($0.11).

Tick che.

Okay.

Paisa dinus.

Give money.

Das rupeea linus.

Take 10 rupees.

Ek chin porkhanus ... peerta paisa linus.

Wait one minute... take your change.

Danyebhad.

Thank you.

Peri aunus!

Come again!

Huncha.

Okay/Sure.

Karla and I spent one evening with our host sisters practicing this dialogue. The grand plan was for Karla to spontaneously pretend to want to buy something from me, the storekeeper, when our host father arrived home from working at his store. He would immediately be impressed and offer us the opportunity to work in his store. That was the plan.

The result was a lot of giggling while trying to remember our terribly pronounced conversation and Rajendra-dai (Rajendra is his name, dai means father) laughing and looking confused. However, we managed to convince him that we were competent enough to help out, so the next morning we trudged up the hill to the one main road that runs through town. Rajendra-dai's store is located right by the bus stop. Here he is giving a woman her change:

This photo captures almost the extent of the store. Customers approach the window and ask for the items they'd like to buy (usually only a few items at a time). It was interesting to see the types of things purchased. In the hour or so that we were working, we sold 2 toothbrushes, dried soybeans (weighed out on a big metal scale with weights!), a pouch of ramen-like noodles, an egg, spices, candy, and 3 individual cigarettes. They don't have any fresh produce or meat since everyone grows/raises those themselves.

After receiving the customer's money, Rajendra-dai goes to his cash register to get their change:

When I had to get customers' change, I had a really hard time finding it! All the bills seem to be a different shade of red, all mixed together, and Nepali numbers don't look like Roman numbers:

In the end, I think they all just thought I was terrible at adding and subtracting...

Here's a video of Karla restocking the light bulbs:




The store has a few regulars who just sit on the bench outside and watch other people buy things. Across the road from the store is a table where men sit and play cards (I'm pretty sure some gambling was involved). Next door is another store owned by the local women's group where they sell pretty much the same items. We asked how they both stayed in business and found out that Rajendra-dai's store is a bit more expensive, but open for longer hours (7am - 6pm) and more days every week.

This was definitely one of my favorite days of the entire trip because we had the opportunity to interact with many people from the village who we otherwise wouldn't have met. For example, we asked a passing girl if we could try carrying her rice basket. Here's a video of me attempting that!

Peri aunus!