27th of September
It's a clear beautiful morning after breakfast when I sit and read my book to slowly wake up from the early morning prayer and digesting the nutrition meal of more rice. I sit by the passing stream in total calm, taking a short retreat to the proper English only books can provide here. There is guaranteed no one in the nearest miles that's able to understand this book, still I've got 20 kids around me trying to follow along in the story.
The breakfast is directly after the almost two hour pray we have each morning. I would call it night however because of the numbers my clock shows at that time, and of course the fact that it's pitch black. After breakfast does the monks tend to their area of cleaning and then some personal studying until lunch at eleven. Then there is more study.
They really study a lot these kids, but usually it's only trying to remember the spares workbooks they've got. You can hear them from far away plowing through the book over and over, chanting the content in a monotone jingle. Usually I try to go around a help them with this chanting, correcting the pronunciation or just giving some encouragement. To actually try to learn them some useful English, like making a discussion or just have a conversation have been entirely impossible. They just don't understand the use for this, which I can understand when every test is on the concept of writing the answers to questions from the workbook.
It's such a brainless learning, but without more founding I can't see a solution. These kids need money for better education, not an other teacher eating their food.
Around four in the afternoon it's time for some physical exercise. Anything from shopping wood to sow on the field. You really feel like a real farmer doing these things, plowing through the field with an old classic wooden tool and big blisters on your hands. The back hurts constantly, but the work have to be done. No one ever complains about anything. Ever.
At this time it's important to pay attention, because suddenly the evening prayer starts. It starts of about the same as the usual morning prayer by rounding everything holy in the monastery three times, but then it's slightly different. For starters we don't use the same temple as for the morning prayer. Either we use a slightly bigger temple filled with instruments and colorful drapery in front of three human sized figures of what possibly could be gods and goddesses or maybe Buddhas, or we are outside.
If you didn't pay attention when it all started you have to do an other round of chanting after this two hour sitting of preaching, before it's time for rice. Even the kids call it "Eating rice", not "Eating food". I found that somewhat amusing. Amusing and sad.
By now it's dark enough to get lost and end up in the stream or latrine, so many go to bed. Maybe because it's dark without much to do with no electricity which often goes out now, or because in eight hours a new day starts off with morning prayer.
Balloons
26th of September
There is a risk that i accidentally happen to spread capitalism and suffering in this monastery. In some way did one of the monk boys manage to spot the balloons I'd packed to brighten up the life of the young children I was looking forward to help. We all know the magic of balloons. Soon everyone came to me asking for balloons, which was a great motivator to make them talk English.
When I first got to the monastery I never looked my door. A simple Buddhist non-violent vegetarian monastery, I never thought anything could happen to my stuff except possibly getting dusted sometime. Everybody was always so helpful and caring. After a couple of days I had the feeling that around a thousand rupees was missing that had been laying under a couple of books on my bed. As the slouch I am I was sure I'd just misremembered and left that, but when I a couple of days later saw a some of the children play with balloons on the yard I got suspicious. There was only 4 balloons left in my bag and I'm sure I packed more then that.
I've got a favorite amongst the monks, it was kind of hard really not to get one. He's 15 years old, extremely helpful and dedicated and trying all he can to be the big brother for the kids that he always wanted for himself. I'm sure he looks up to me and he also gave me his bracelet, a link of 12 wooden pieces with pictures of Buddha. I feel like a very over appreciated rich white guy amongst all these poor monks and therefor it feels really awkward that he gives me anything at all. How can I repay him?
Most of the boys have been asking me constantly for balloons for a couple of days. They really have nailed the begging part of the English language, just like the beggars in the city. They haven't quite understood the answering part yet thou, so they keep asking, begging for these balloons like that's all they need at the moment. Some of them have still got their balloons left and keeps them unbanged like it's the an old heirloom. Anyone not being the closest of friends looks at the balloons with sad eyes, as they are the reason for their suffering.
Every student here also seems to enjoy the music players I brought along, being deeply fascinated by the western songs I listen to for a brief retreat home. Since I brought two, would giving one of them to my 15 year old little monk brother be such a bad idea? He is always sharing whatever he got, always helping who ever needs help and never show any egoistic features. Then again, he never got one of these western capitalist balloon.
There is a risk that i accidentally happen to spread capitalism and suffering in this monastery. In some way did one of the monk boys manage to spot the balloons I'd packed to brighten up the life of the young children I was looking forward to help. We all know the magic of balloons. Soon everyone came to me asking for balloons, which was a great motivator to make them talk English.
When I first got to the monastery I never looked my door. A simple Buddhist non-violent vegetarian monastery, I never thought anything could happen to my stuff except possibly getting dusted sometime. Everybody was always so helpful and caring. After a couple of days I had the feeling that around a thousand rupees was missing that had been laying under a couple of books on my bed. As the slouch I am I was sure I'd just misremembered and left that, but when I a couple of days later saw a some of the children play with balloons on the yard I got suspicious. There was only 4 balloons left in my bag and I'm sure I packed more then that.
I've got a favorite amongst the monks, it was kind of hard really not to get one. He's 15 years old, extremely helpful and dedicated and trying all he can to be the big brother for the kids that he always wanted for himself. I'm sure he looks up to me and he also gave me his bracelet, a link of 12 wooden pieces with pictures of Buddha. I feel like a very over appreciated rich white guy amongst all these poor monks and therefor it feels really awkward that he gives me anything at all. How can I repay him?
Most of the boys have been asking me constantly for balloons for a couple of days. They really have nailed the begging part of the English language, just like the beggars in the city. They haven't quite understood the answering part yet thou, so they keep asking, begging for these balloons like that's all they need at the moment. Some of them have still got their balloons left and keeps them unbanged like it's the an old heirloom. Anyone not being the closest of friends looks at the balloons with sad eyes, as they are the reason for their suffering.
Every student here also seems to enjoy the music players I brought along, being deeply fascinated by the western songs I listen to for a brief retreat home. Since I brought two, would giving one of them to my 15 year old little monk brother be such a bad idea? He is always sharing whatever he got, always helping who ever needs help and never show any egoistic features. Then again, he never got one of these western capitalist balloon.
Imagine this
25th of September
The sun set a couple of hours ago and the moon have risen over the treeline to spread its dim beams of light through the evergreen jungle and give everything long unsteady shadows. The jungle creaks in its own mystical way while the crickets sing their ordinary song. There is an overall atmosphere of calm you know isn't exactly real.
Some of the shadows are moving quickly. Not that you see them but you certainly can feel that there's something not as calm as everything seems. Just out of sight are they advancing slowly and cautiously. They are many, maybe 10, maybe 20, maybe 30. They are everywhere.
They are thieves of the night and you know what they want. They want what is yours and they will take it unless you stop them, but then you must stop them all. They are many.
You step back in defense as the lonely guardian against the oncoming horde of thieves. You search for a strategic point from where you can protect your belongings from every direction. You can see them now. They poke at your defenses, looking for the weakspot which you do all you can to hide. You reach for a weapon, a long and solid stick perhaps, or a couple of rocks would also do fine.
Even thou you fend of a couple of these bandits at the time there are always someone testing you from a different angle. They keep up the assault, the siege, like a pack of monkeys attacking an immobilized tiger. Talking about monkeys...
It isn't in the middle of the night, it's a warm sunny day and the crickets are playing their ordinary song in the calm shadow of the jungle. A couple of butterflies pass playfully. You can't see them yet, but you can certainly feel the approaching monkeys. The entire jungle sens it.
They got what they wanted this time eventually, as they always do. These persistent thieves are determined to raid you of all that is precious and trash whatever you're not looking after.
I like these monkeys, I find them very exotic and cute. Can't see why no one else here seems to like them.
The sun set a couple of hours ago and the moon have risen over the treeline to spread its dim beams of light through the evergreen jungle and give everything long unsteady shadows. The jungle creaks in its own mystical way while the crickets sing their ordinary song. There is an overall atmosphere of calm you know isn't exactly real.
Some of the shadows are moving quickly. Not that you see them but you certainly can feel that there's something not as calm as everything seems. Just out of sight are they advancing slowly and cautiously. They are many, maybe 10, maybe 20, maybe 30. They are everywhere.
They are thieves of the night and you know what they want. They want what is yours and they will take it unless you stop them, but then you must stop them all. They are many.
You step back in defense as the lonely guardian against the oncoming horde of thieves. You search for a strategic point from where you can protect your belongings from every direction. You can see them now. They poke at your defenses, looking for the weakspot which you do all you can to hide. You reach for a weapon, a long and solid stick perhaps, or a couple of rocks would also do fine.
Even thou you fend of a couple of these bandits at the time there are always someone testing you from a different angle. They keep up the assault, the siege, like a pack of monkeys attacking an immobilized tiger. Talking about monkeys...
It isn't in the middle of the night, it's a warm sunny day and the crickets are playing their ordinary song in the calm shadow of the jungle. A couple of butterflies pass playfully. You can't see them yet, but you can certainly feel the approaching monkeys. The entire jungle sens it.
They got what they wanted this time eventually, as they always do. These persistent thieves are determined to raid you of all that is precious and trash whatever you're not looking after.
I like these monkeys, I find them very exotic and cute. Can't see why no one else here seems to like them.
Crash course in morning prayer
24th of September
It's night and you are sleeping, not particularly good but you are sleeping. You've even moved down to the floor because it was a little bit softer then the bed, and longer then 1,50. You slowly start to realize that it's your alarm that is waking you up, which should mean that the time is close to 4 in the morning. It could also be something else if you are a clever person and wake up after 7.
You can't find the alarm so you try to open your eyes to ease the search. It doesn't work. So you try again to find out that you'd already opened your eyes and was now only lifting your eyebrows in a surprised manner. You take a deep breath and prepare to get up. It's pitch black, not the slightest of contrast and you try to remember where you put your cloths. Sometimes does the light in your room work, but you don't count on that anymore.
You tumble down the stair in your flip-flops and after avoiding falling down in the passing stream or crashing in to a tree, a pile of wood, a house or even the latrine, you reach the meeting point at the sutra in the middle of the monastery. Usually you're not able to avoid all of this obstacles.
After a couple of minutes enough of the monks have gathered, so the line up and start a slow walk around the sutra, which looks somewhat like a very fancy and pointy birthday cake, while drowsy chanting in nepali. They do this 3 laps clockwise and then the line goes on the the next place, a house that supposedly have some very holy power. You really don't know, you just follow and try not to show how awkward this feels.
About now all the 80 monks have shown up an the line get's some trouble fitting around this small house in their clockwise circle motion, but you really don't see it, because it's still pitch black. You just feel it and continue to go by sonar as you had since you woke up. After 3 laps the line continues to the next house which is a quite bigger and have a statue in front. These you also round 3 times clockwise, while singing what you by now had translated to what ever was on your mind. In my case most often chocolate mousse.
As a final touch everyone start bowing to holy rocks along the way on the final lap, but since your back already started to hurt due to the bad sleep and now about 40 minutes of holding your hands together in front of you, it doesn't feel quite optimal. The line now goes in the one of the bigger houses where you take a seat in front of a big altar with a Buddha statue. Of course you don't get an actual seat, you just sit down on the hard cold floor.
The chanting continues, now led by one of the elder monks. Besides the excruciating pain in your back this feels kind of cozy, almost like you could fall asleep here. That's why some of the monks goes around slapping anyone who logs off for a second, and I'm not talking about a soft clap on the cheek. I'm talking full golf-swing across the face, so the burning pain will keep you awake for the next hour of praying.
The chanting continues, sometimes standing up, sometimes sitting down, often shifting in complex bow- and hand-movements. You struggle to keep up, while trying to stay in the shadow of the blinding one light-bulb in the ceiling. This is proven to be kind of hard since you are about a head higher then anyone in there.
One of the lucky kids gets to skip some of this to go to the altar and prepare for the final praying. I don't really know what he's doing, maybe clean some of the cups and take away the ashes, maybe repaint the Buddha, maybe take a leak in the corner while drawing an elephant.
The word you're listening for is Laso, because one of the times it's said the final prayer begins. Now everyone gather close to altar and sits down on all four legs and arms. Now two of the monks in front seems to have a dialog, maybe an oral examination of jingles, where everyone is supposed to clap their hands on the ground for each syllable of the answer. This is proven to be a very effective way to pray, because after this it's all over.
The time is now about 6 in the morning and it's an other hour until the sun rises. We do this everyday.
It's night and you are sleeping, not particularly good but you are sleeping. You've even moved down to the floor because it was a little bit softer then the bed, and longer then 1,50. You slowly start to realize that it's your alarm that is waking you up, which should mean that the time is close to 4 in the morning. It could also be something else if you are a clever person and wake up after 7.
You can't find the alarm so you try to open your eyes to ease the search. It doesn't work. So you try again to find out that you'd already opened your eyes and was now only lifting your eyebrows in a surprised manner. You take a deep breath and prepare to get up. It's pitch black, not the slightest of contrast and you try to remember where you put your cloths. Sometimes does the light in your room work, but you don't count on that anymore.
You tumble down the stair in your flip-flops and after avoiding falling down in the passing stream or crashing in to a tree, a pile of wood, a house or even the latrine, you reach the meeting point at the sutra in the middle of the monastery. Usually you're not able to avoid all of this obstacles.
After a couple of minutes enough of the monks have gathered, so the line up and start a slow walk around the sutra, which looks somewhat like a very fancy and pointy birthday cake, while drowsy chanting in nepali. They do this 3 laps clockwise and then the line goes on the the next place, a house that supposedly have some very holy power. You really don't know, you just follow and try not to show how awkward this feels.
About now all the 80 monks have shown up an the line get's some trouble fitting around this small house in their clockwise circle motion, but you really don't see it, because it's still pitch black. You just feel it and continue to go by sonar as you had since you woke up. After 3 laps the line continues to the next house which is a quite bigger and have a statue in front. These you also round 3 times clockwise, while singing what you by now had translated to what ever was on your mind. In my case most often chocolate mousse.
As a final touch everyone start bowing to holy rocks along the way on the final lap, but since your back already started to hurt due to the bad sleep and now about 40 minutes of holding your hands together in front of you, it doesn't feel quite optimal. The line now goes in the one of the bigger houses where you take a seat in front of a big altar with a Buddha statue. Of course you don't get an actual seat, you just sit down on the hard cold floor.
The chanting continues, now led by one of the elder monks. Besides the excruciating pain in your back this feels kind of cozy, almost like you could fall asleep here. That's why some of the monks goes around slapping anyone who logs off for a second, and I'm not talking about a soft clap on the cheek. I'm talking full golf-swing across the face, so the burning pain will keep you awake for the next hour of praying.
The chanting continues, sometimes standing up, sometimes sitting down, often shifting in complex bow- and hand-movements. You struggle to keep up, while trying to stay in the shadow of the blinding one light-bulb in the ceiling. This is proven to be kind of hard since you are about a head higher then anyone in there.
One of the lucky kids gets to skip some of this to go to the altar and prepare for the final praying. I don't really know what he's doing, maybe clean some of the cups and take away the ashes, maybe repaint the Buddha, maybe take a leak in the corner while drawing an elephant.
The word you're listening for is Laso, because one of the times it's said the final prayer begins. Now everyone gather close to altar and sits down on all four legs and arms. Now two of the monks in front seems to have a dialog, maybe an oral examination of jingles, where everyone is supposed to clap their hands on the ground for each syllable of the answer. This is proven to be a very effective way to pray, because after this it's all over.
The time is now about 6 in the morning and it's an other hour until the sun rises. We do this everyday.
Isolation
23rd of September
I've had a couple of reality shocks. Everything is so different, but even thou I don't mind different I find it really hard to withstand this life, even for my short period. How do I usually go by when no one needs me at the moment when I'm back at home? I usually contact a friend, watch a movie or some series, maybe play a game. What do I do when no one understands me? I might do some work, watch a movie or some series, maybe play a game. What do I do here? Nothing.
Sure I participate in all the ceremonies during the day, but after all those hours of chanting and praying I still got some hours left. With no one to talk to, nothing they need from me, nothing I understand. I've read my books, I might do it again. Trying to learn nepali will only help me when I can speak it, and I'm not sure I've got what it takes to learn it before I go insane.
Everything is so different, but I usually don't mind that. It's just the isolation that boosts that feeling of different, of not belonging. I thought I was better on my own, guess i was wrong.
There is a man from America coming to the monastery some day, I just don't know when. I'll try to talk to the manager of this place to get some info, but i will ask for a replacement as well, somewhere I don't have to take a 3 hour drive to get to a computer.
I feel awful that I'm this obsessed with staying in contact with people. I feel so spoiled. It just feels awful not being understood.
I've had a couple of reality shocks. Everything is so different, but even thou I don't mind different I find it really hard to withstand this life, even for my short period. How do I usually go by when no one needs me at the moment when I'm back at home? I usually contact a friend, watch a movie or some series, maybe play a game. What do I do when no one understands me? I might do some work, watch a movie or some series, maybe play a game. What do I do here? Nothing.
Sure I participate in all the ceremonies during the day, but after all those hours of chanting and praying I still got some hours left. With no one to talk to, nothing they need from me, nothing I understand. I've read my books, I might do it again. Trying to learn nepali will only help me when I can speak it, and I'm not sure I've got what it takes to learn it before I go insane.
Everything is so different, but I usually don't mind that. It's just the isolation that boosts that feeling of different, of not belonging. I thought I was better on my own, guess i was wrong.
There is a man from America coming to the monastery some day, I just don't know when. I'll try to talk to the manager of this place to get some info, but i will ask for a replacement as well, somewhere I don't have to take a 3 hour drive to get to a computer.
I feel awful that I'm this obsessed with staying in contact with people. I feel so spoiled. It just feels awful not being understood.
Tourist among monks
21st of September
It feels weird to be so endlessly appreciated as I am here. Everywhere I look is a smile, even from those who seemed skeptical when I first arrived. Everyone is so polite with their deep bows and courteous greetings.
Not even the children lets me help them with even heavier tasks like carrying wood are big buckets of water. So far I haven't started teaching which means I don't have to do anything at all. Where even I enter there is always someone offering me their chair or a pillow. Often they bring me food or water even though I was on may way to the food queue, bowing before me with a big smile and holding out the a filled food plate. Then after dinner they take my plate again and wash it for me so that I don't need to queue for the water tap.
I never asked them to do this and did the first days try to stop them and do this by my own. I still try some of them times, but it's like I dishonor them but not letting them help me. I feel like such an outsider, like a tourist who doesn't understand anything but just goes where they point.
Everything is so different. My camera fills up pretty fast, and how the children love the camera. Still, this just adds up to my feeling of not belonging here, just being a tourist. There are so many things I don't understand, so many rituals I hide at the back during, trying to not make a fool out of myself.
I'm tremendously appreciated here, but I don't want that. I want to be understood.
It feels weird to be so endlessly appreciated as I am here. Everywhere I look is a smile, even from those who seemed skeptical when I first arrived. Everyone is so polite with their deep bows and courteous greetings.
Not even the children lets me help them with even heavier tasks like carrying wood are big buckets of water. So far I haven't started teaching which means I don't have to do anything at all. Where even I enter there is always someone offering me their chair or a pillow. Often they bring me food or water even though I was on may way to the food queue, bowing before me with a big smile and holding out the a filled food plate. Then after dinner they take my plate again and wash it for me so that I don't need to queue for the water tap.
I never asked them to do this and did the first days try to stop them and do this by my own. I still try some of them times, but it's like I dishonor them but not letting them help me. I feel like such an outsider, like a tourist who doesn't understand anything but just goes where they point.
Everything is so different. My camera fills up pretty fast, and how the children love the camera. Still, this just adds up to my feeling of not belonging here, just being a tourist. There are so many things I don't understand, so many rituals I hide at the back during, trying to not make a fool out of myself.
I'm tremendously appreciated here, but I don't want that. I want to be understood.
Himalaya
20th of September
I didn’t see much of the mountains when I arrived by plane to Khatmandu, and the sight from the valley was limited. First when leaving for Chitwan could I for the first time see and feel the scene of the mountains. The landscape which unfolded before me was astonishing but yet so modest. We followed a big river down for a while, that gently expressed every curve of the mountain and never seemed to force its way through. From all over the mountainside sprung small waterfalls which, as the river they were joining, didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Along the way did farmers what they could to grow on these slopes, often steeper then 45 degrees. The stairs they’d created went on for kilometers, persistent to use what they had. The small villages where spread out with just a couple of houses in each, most of them along the road. Some where placed inconvenient on the other side of the river and either suspension bridges or cableways had to be built to access these. All this made for a very picturesque view.
I’m now at the Buddhist monastery, located just as it should on a mountaintop over a village, only available by endless amounts of stairs. From the top you can see as long as the humidity allows even thou that aren’t particularly far. During the day it gets very hot, unless it’s raining, so the naturally clean stream that runs through the monastery is most welcome for chilling showers.
On the ground I sometimes find the rests of figs and starfruit which apparently grows in the forest around the monastery. The local shy monkeys are often seen close to our houses, or at least you hear when the dogs go off chasing in amongst the trees. These woods are old and tall, with an undergrowth that makes it a struggle to enter.
This place is really isolated, as well as exotic. Thou mostly isolated, and I’m not used to it.
I didn’t see much of the mountains when I arrived by plane to Khatmandu, and the sight from the valley was limited. First when leaving for Chitwan could I for the first time see and feel the scene of the mountains. The landscape which unfolded before me was astonishing but yet so modest. We followed a big river down for a while, that gently expressed every curve of the mountain and never seemed to force its way through. From all over the mountainside sprung small waterfalls which, as the river they were joining, didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Along the way did farmers what they could to grow on these slopes, often steeper then 45 degrees. The stairs they’d created went on for kilometers, persistent to use what they had. The small villages where spread out with just a couple of houses in each, most of them along the road. Some where placed inconvenient on the other side of the river and either suspension bridges or cableways had to be built to access these. All this made for a very picturesque view.
I’m now at the Buddhist monastery, located just as it should on a mountaintop over a village, only available by endless amounts of stairs. From the top you can see as long as the humidity allows even thou that aren’t particularly far. During the day it gets very hot, unless it’s raining, so the naturally clean stream that runs through the monastery is most welcome for chilling showers.
On the ground I sometimes find the rests of figs and starfruit which apparently grows in the forest around the monastery. The local shy monkeys are often seen close to our houses, or at least you hear when the dogs go off chasing in amongst the trees. These woods are old and tall, with an undergrowth that makes it a struggle to enter.
This place is really isolated, as well as exotic. Thou mostly isolated, and I’m not used to it.
Travel to Chitwan
19th of September
Last nights wake for the aftershock had kept me up until morning. Little did I know that the upcoming bus ride would provide such discomfort that the catch-up sleeping I was planning to do would be impossible.
The view from the bus was amazing, even breathtaking from time to time. First over the cloud covered mountains surrounding Katmandu valley and then down, following a river that never stopped turning.
Even thou I was amazed, kind of mesmerized by the view, I would still be able to log off mentally for an hour or two if it wasn’t for the, as I assume, squared wheels. This problem of bumpiness might have an origin in the road that seemed to stop improve during its first weeks of construction. It might also be a lack of tending which made it this severely decadent.
Although this was grim enough for my tired body, a child in the seat behind mine was obviously bored and found the space somewhat insufficient, but not even this kicking kid would have kept me awake. It was the leakage from the roof, with droplets constantly hitting my head and lap, that forced me to stay logged in. I guess the bus wasn’t especially waterproof and therefore had taken a lot of extra weight during the last 24 hours of rain.
As we reached the flatlands had the road smoothed out and the roof was out of water. I was soon told that we were slowing in for my stop there I met the scooter driver who was going to drive me the last one and a half hour. It was a tiny scooter and I had a lot of luggage.
After just 10 minutes were my back and shoulders soar and I asked how long it was left.
Last nights wake for the aftershock had kept me up until morning. Little did I know that the upcoming bus ride would provide such discomfort that the catch-up sleeping I was planning to do would be impossible.
The view from the bus was amazing, even breathtaking from time to time. First over the cloud covered mountains surrounding Katmandu valley and then down, following a river that never stopped turning.
Even thou I was amazed, kind of mesmerized by the view, I would still be able to log off mentally for an hour or two if it wasn’t for the, as I assume, squared wheels. This problem of bumpiness might have an origin in the road that seemed to stop improve during its first weeks of construction. It might also be a lack of tending which made it this severely decadent.
Although this was grim enough for my tired body, a child in the seat behind mine was obviously bored and found the space somewhat insufficient, but not even this kicking kid would have kept me awake. It was the leakage from the roof, with droplets constantly hitting my head and lap, that forced me to stay logged in. I guess the bus wasn’t especially waterproof and therefore had taken a lot of extra weight during the last 24 hours of rain.
As we reached the flatlands had the road smoothed out and the roof was out of water. I was soon told that we were slowing in for my stop there I met the scooter driver who was going to drive me the last one and a half hour. It was a tiny scooter and I had a lot of luggage.
After just 10 minutes were my back and shoulders soar and I asked how long it was left.
Earthquake
18 of September
How did I really react when my roommate came running in to my room screaming that the house was moving? I just remember his face and that I seconds later was quickly moving out on the road with my small backpack under one arm, which I apparently snatched with me on the way. The ground was still moving a bit and I think I was smiling. I've just experienced my first earthquake.
We packed our bags as soon as it all had calmed down and then moved everything down next to the front door. Down town there had been some severe damage to a couple of buildings, and three persons had died.
We stayed up that night waiting for the aftershock that never came. Even in this serious situation I was still all excited, this would never happen back home. I would never experience an earthquake back there.
How did I really react when my roommate came running in to my room screaming that the house was moving? I just remember his face and that I seconds later was quickly moving out on the road with my small backpack under one arm, which I apparently snatched with me on the way. The ground was still moving a bit and I think I was smiling. I've just experienced my first earthquake.
We packed our bags as soon as it all had calmed down and then moved everything down next to the front door. Down town there had been some severe damage to a couple of buildings, and three persons had died.
We stayed up that night waiting for the aftershock that never came. Even in this serious situation I was still all excited, this would never happen back home. I would never experience an earthquake back there.
Matlab - To Care
17th of September
The money almost feels like taken from a game Monopoly and it's like I don't care about the cost of things. I haven't counted the change since I got here and I don't care about being ripped of for two times the original price. It's still not even a quarter of what I would pay back home.
The guide took me too the hospital today, just to be safe about the monkey scratch so I would be entirely defended against rabies. He gave me detailed instructions on how my insurance would cover this if I only followed his complex instructions... I'd stopped listening as soon as he mention the price for exam and the two shots they were gonna give me. It wasn't more then half an hour of work at the local supermarket for an hourly rate, considered that I didn't get any bonus. The actual work of getting the insurance money would take longer time then that. My guide didn't realize that.
Even though the kids are playing cricket with planks of wood and broken bricks from the close by construction, on a stony mud-covered road next to the rice fields right outside our house, they don't seem to mind it. They always shine up when I bring out the camera and take pictures of them, and due to the noise they make every single day they don't seem to be that low-spirited when I'm not around either. It's just an ordinary week and it doesn't get much better for them. I've got some trouble to process this.
My teacher and guide did teach economics and math before joining this volunteer program. He seems like an educated man and will continue his studies soon. Even he lives with three other guys in a small room behind a liquor store. When he cut of one of his fingers a couple of years ago he didn't even visit the hospital.
The fearlessness I sometimes admire is also the culture of not affording to care. If the guy selling fruit next to the heavily trafficked road did care about his health he would survive, to take an extreme example. I asked the young men I've seen carrying massive bags of sand to a construction everyday from sunrise to sunset, if their back hurt. I'm pretty sure my question went through the language barrier, but they just shook their head and continued.
I've learned a new sentence today from the guide. It's Malaai Matlab Chhaina. It means that I don't care.
The money almost feels like taken from a game Monopoly and it's like I don't care about the cost of things. I haven't counted the change since I got here and I don't care about being ripped of for two times the original price. It's still not even a quarter of what I would pay back home.
The guide took me too the hospital today, just to be safe about the monkey scratch so I would be entirely defended against rabies. He gave me detailed instructions on how my insurance would cover this if I only followed his complex instructions... I'd stopped listening as soon as he mention the price for exam and the two shots they were gonna give me. It wasn't more then half an hour of work at the local supermarket for an hourly rate, considered that I didn't get any bonus. The actual work of getting the insurance money would take longer time then that. My guide didn't realize that.
Even though the kids are playing cricket with planks of wood and broken bricks from the close by construction, on a stony mud-covered road next to the rice fields right outside our house, they don't seem to mind it. They always shine up when I bring out the camera and take pictures of them, and due to the noise they make every single day they don't seem to be that low-spirited when I'm not around either. It's just an ordinary week and it doesn't get much better for them. I've got some trouble to process this.
My teacher and guide did teach economics and math before joining this volunteer program. He seems like an educated man and will continue his studies soon. Even he lives with three other guys in a small room behind a liquor store. When he cut of one of his fingers a couple of years ago he didn't even visit the hospital.
The fearlessness I sometimes admire is also the culture of not affording to care. If the guy selling fruit next to the heavily trafficked road did care about his health he would survive, to take an extreme example. I asked the young men I've seen carrying massive bags of sand to a construction everyday from sunrise to sunset, if their back hurt. I'm pretty sure my question went through the language barrier, but they just shook their head and continued.
I've learned a new sentence today from the guide. It's Malaai Matlab Chhaina. It means that I don't care.
Colorful
16 of September
If it's not roosters then it's something else. Tonight I had a long one-way discussion with the dogs of northeast Kathmandu, who really had a lot on their mind. They might just had been talking to each other, bit I'd like to feel that I was included since they kept me up.
It's possible they were talking about how colorful it is up here. What I could tell from the monologues, each dog had his own, was that even thou the city is sort of covered by that dense smog old vehicles create, Kathmandu was still sparkling with colors. The dogs carried on by describing the temples as lit with clean nuances of all the colors there where, and flags hanging from every top in long lines with more beautiful fragrances. One of the dogs had a long rant about how they didn't seem to care beige, gray or any other soil-like paint. This dog continued by explaining that the only soil-like color you'd find in this town was the actual soil, if it hadn't been passively colored when painting something else.
I did visited an other Stupa today, with a complementary temple at the side. It was just as the dogs had described to me, with these amazing long lines with flags, in all the rainbows colors, hanging from every temple- or treetop. These temple areas are seriously covered in flags, dancing playfully in the wind, washing all your bad emotions away. I just felt like there was something bigger when I was watching this, something to see behind all these playful flags. This made my mind wander, only the beggars could take me back down to earth.
The dogs never really quite convincing me about the colorfulness of the city, but closer to 5:00 some of the roosters could sit back any longer but just had to give me a piece of their minds. They where still doing one monologue each, but they all seemed to be about the upcoming sunrise. The dogs continued with what now more was a sort of discussion with just a few dogs arguing at the time, while the roosters filled me in about the sunrise over Kathmandu.
In the distance you could see one mountainside after the other, leading down to the sleeping city, with a couple of big clouds covering the rest of the mountain. These clouds then created their own mountains, as tall and majestic as Mount Everest it self. From this a bright red sun would emerged, and paint the sky in pink and yellow. In the foreground the silhouettes of houses would slowly come to life and birds passing in the sky in clusters. The further the sun travel of the ...., the more you could see the deep green color of the mountains and the blue shade of the sky. Soon even the colors of the houses would appear and one by one the residents would wake up and continue to paint this silhouette in more bright colors.
It's better then that, I took some pictures.
If it's not roosters then it's something else. Tonight I had a long one-way discussion with the dogs of northeast Kathmandu, who really had a lot on their mind. They might just had been talking to each other, bit I'd like to feel that I was included since they kept me up.
It's possible they were talking about how colorful it is up here. What I could tell from the monologues, each dog had his own, was that even thou the city is sort of covered by that dense smog old vehicles create, Kathmandu was still sparkling with colors. The dogs carried on by describing the temples as lit with clean nuances of all the colors there where, and flags hanging from every top in long lines with more beautiful fragrances. One of the dogs had a long rant about how they didn't seem to care beige, gray or any other soil-like paint. This dog continued by explaining that the only soil-like color you'd find in this town was the actual soil, if it hadn't been passively colored when painting something else.
I did visited an other Stupa today, with a complementary temple at the side. It was just as the dogs had described to me, with these amazing long lines with flags, in all the rainbows colors, hanging from every temple- or treetop. These temple areas are seriously covered in flags, dancing playfully in the wind, washing all your bad emotions away. I just felt like there was something bigger when I was watching this, something to see behind all these playful flags. This made my mind wander, only the beggars could take me back down to earth.
The dogs never really quite convincing me about the colorfulness of the city, but closer to 5:00 some of the roosters could sit back any longer but just had to give me a piece of their minds. They where still doing one monologue each, but they all seemed to be about the upcoming sunrise. The dogs continued with what now more was a sort of discussion with just a few dogs arguing at the time, while the roosters filled me in about the sunrise over Kathmandu.
In the distance you could see one mountainside after the other, leading down to the sleeping city, with a couple of big clouds covering the rest of the mountain. These clouds then created their own mountains, as tall and majestic as Mount Everest it self. From this a bright red sun would emerged, and paint the sky in pink and yellow. In the foreground the silhouettes of houses would slowly come to life and birds passing in the sky in clusters. The further the sun travel of the ...., the more you could see the deep green color of the mountains and the blue shade of the sky. Soon even the colors of the houses would appear and one by one the residents would wake up and continue to paint this silhouette in more bright colors.
It's better then that, I took some pictures.
Fearless
15th of September
Tired as I was after my long flight, the idea of a long night sleep was very tempting. Even thou I'm not a hostile or in an way fearsome person, I do like to think that it's a bad idea to be in the way of my sleep. This fearless rooster had an other view of this, even after I went out in the dark and stared hungry at him.
These roosters don't seem to get much attention during the day, but what they lack when the sun is up they well enough make up for against the stars. They other stars. From 3:00 to sunrise these tasty overgrown chickens, destined to keep me mentally present, clearly had a lot of saved up energy to spend, not giving it a thought that I might glue their beaks together in the morning.
Soon the morning came, and with it all the sounds of the city. The sun seems to be in a hurry over here, it rises as quickly as it sets, in just a few minutes. There is a huge difference between how shining it is during the day and how pitch-black it gets during the night. As soon as the sun goes down, everything shuts down. Since there is no streetlights to these dusty roads there can't be any traffic during the night, nor can there be any constructions who continues as long as the sun does it's part. No more cars, scooters, no more house being constructed or even dogs barking. It's just the crickets who never stops singing.
At a close by hill there is a big Buddhist temple devoted to monkeys. At least that's what my teacher in Nepali said. He called it the Monkey Temple and took us for a guided tour around it, but we found it a bit lacking of monkeys with just a few here and there. My idea had been the view Mowgli saw at his Monkey Temple, but that's what I get for entering with a cup almost full.
Since I am sort of stupid as many of my friends would agree with, I tried to get a good close-up photo of this seemed to be calm and nonchalant monkey. He was by a short fence, scratching his bottom and looking empty out on the view. I took a step a little bit closer. He looked at my, it felt like he sighed, and continued to scratch his bottom. I took a little step closer. He now found the spot he was looking for and scratched it really hard, neglecting my very existences just beside him. So I took a little step closer. This monkey was probably done scratching his ass by now, because he launched for my face in a, what most by but certainly didn't feel like, defensive manner. He rasped my arm before he went back up on the fence for an other assault. Even his monkey-friend came and pushed me, actually pushed me like you do when you say "Back off, bitch", while I was retreating. I bet that monkey would have done it even if I hadn't been on the retreat, because even if I'm four times the height these brave monkeys seemed to know what they where doing. I on the other hand will never do that again, maybe cause I'll die of rabies. That will have to wait until the morning.
Taking the car in Kathmandu is not for any Scandinavian driver, nor Italian for that matter. There are people walking everywhere, scooters passing by and even cows just hanging around just about anywhere. Still they drive like everything's wrapped up in protective rubber and can't be harmed. I kept calling our driver mr. Fearless, but even he got tired of that after a while.
Our driver had apparently also been scratched by a monkey some time ago, but he didn't visit a doctor about it. I'll do this as soon as possible, don't get me wrong, but these people feel somewhat more fearless then me. I don't say it's good, just inspiring.
Let's see if that fearless rooster dare to keep me awake tonight as well.
Tired as I was after my long flight, the idea of a long night sleep was very tempting. Even thou I'm not a hostile or in an way fearsome person, I do like to think that it's a bad idea to be in the way of my sleep. This fearless rooster had an other view of this, even after I went out in the dark and stared hungry at him.
These roosters don't seem to get much attention during the day, but what they lack when the sun is up they well enough make up for against the stars. They other stars. From 3:00 to sunrise these tasty overgrown chickens, destined to keep me mentally present, clearly had a lot of saved up energy to spend, not giving it a thought that I might glue their beaks together in the morning.
Soon the morning came, and with it all the sounds of the city. The sun seems to be in a hurry over here, it rises as quickly as it sets, in just a few minutes. There is a huge difference between how shining it is during the day and how pitch-black it gets during the night. As soon as the sun goes down, everything shuts down. Since there is no streetlights to these dusty roads there can't be any traffic during the night, nor can there be any constructions who continues as long as the sun does it's part. No more cars, scooters, no more house being constructed or even dogs barking. It's just the crickets who never stops singing.
At a close by hill there is a big Buddhist temple devoted to monkeys. At least that's what my teacher in Nepali said. He called it the Monkey Temple and took us for a guided tour around it, but we found it a bit lacking of monkeys with just a few here and there. My idea had been the view Mowgli saw at his Monkey Temple, but that's what I get for entering with a cup almost full.
Since I am sort of stupid as many of my friends would agree with, I tried to get a good close-up photo of this seemed to be calm and nonchalant monkey. He was by a short fence, scratching his bottom and looking empty out on the view. I took a step a little bit closer. He looked at my, it felt like he sighed, and continued to scratch his bottom. I took a little step closer. He now found the spot he was looking for and scratched it really hard, neglecting my very existences just beside him. So I took a little step closer. This monkey was probably done scratching his ass by now, because he launched for my face in a, what most by but certainly didn't feel like, defensive manner. He rasped my arm before he went back up on the fence for an other assault. Even his monkey-friend came and pushed me, actually pushed me like you do when you say "Back off, bitch", while I was retreating. I bet that monkey would have done it even if I hadn't been on the retreat, because even if I'm four times the height these brave monkeys seemed to know what they where doing. I on the other hand will never do that again, maybe cause I'll die of rabies. That will have to wait until the morning.
Taking the car in Kathmandu is not for any Scandinavian driver, nor Italian for that matter. There are people walking everywhere, scooters passing by and even cows just hanging around just about anywhere. Still they drive like everything's wrapped up in protective rubber and can't be harmed. I kept calling our driver mr. Fearless, but even he got tired of that after a while.
Our driver had apparently also been scratched by a monkey some time ago, but he didn't visit a doctor about it. I'll do this as soon as possible, don't get me wrong, but these people feel somewhat more fearless then me. I don't say it's good, just inspiring.
Let's see if that fearless rooster dare to keep me awake tonight as well.
Total panic and meditative calm
14th of September
This is so different from Stockholm.
After just some minor problems at the airport of Kathmandu, I was out, finally here, and there where people everywhere wanting to take me somewhere. After losing about 20 pounds to people who seemed to be my friends I found my dispatched driver. He kept telling me how sorry he was about this but I didn't knew what to respond. 20 pounds isn't the biggest deal, but I didn't know how much it was here, and I didn't want to come out as a complete spoiled western showoff.
The road was crowded with people all the way from the airport. Many seems to work just on the street, which was in so bad condition it had that massaging feeling, almost like riding a boat in heavy wind. I'd spent the last 24 hours of traveling, beside the actual inconvenience of travel, telling myself to let go of all expectations, emptying my mind and arriving with an empty cup. With so much new input I found it hard to process it all.
The first thing I noticed was the surrounding mountains, nothing of the sort I've seen before. Most surrounding mountains I found big and proud, distant but really trying to look bigger then they actual where. These had an other, more humble attitude, still reaching above the clouds. They just were there, covered in trees and full of life. I can, and will later, make a more in depth analysis of the mountains.
Then you notice the people, they're everywhere. It's a much more living city then any European city I've been to, everything seems to be made right in front of you on a bench next to the street. It's a weird combination of old traditions where bricks are carried in big bags in the head, next to a businessman in a suit talking on his cellphone. Everybody at the same place, no one treats anyone different.
The two kind gentlemen who picked me up I would guess to be Saroj and Rajesh. It was just too much when I met them at the airport, so many people telling me they knew me. Anyway, these real friends took me in to town and bought me lunch. I didn't care so much for the food, but I guess it was alright. They seem very friendly, just that the first encounter with the Nepalese people was 10 men trying to take my money, this cause a little bit of awareness. Then again, who else should I trust? I'm not gonna make this on my own. After lunch they took me to an office and asked me to sign some papers. No problem. Then they asked me if I either had the money to pay them, or if I could go and collect them from an ATM. I still wasn't sure what was their name and since they kept asking me all these questions I already had answered by mail I got more and more suspicious. But what else was there to do? I took out half of the money and told them I could take out the other half first tomorrow due to my card.
They drove me to my current location after a short guide through the tourist area. There really is people everywhere, and even dogs, cows, monkeys and even chickens running around on the streets. Now it's past 19:00 and the crickets have take over the hectic street life. It doesn't seem to quite down anytime at all. I'm at least here now, at the cloud covered but not so lonely mountains of Nepal.
This is so different from Stockholm.
After just some minor problems at the airport of Kathmandu, I was out, finally here, and there where people everywhere wanting to take me somewhere. After losing about 20 pounds to people who seemed to be my friends I found my dispatched driver. He kept telling me how sorry he was about this but I didn't knew what to respond. 20 pounds isn't the biggest deal, but I didn't know how much it was here, and I didn't want to come out as a complete spoiled western showoff.
The road was crowded with people all the way from the airport. Many seems to work just on the street, which was in so bad condition it had that massaging feeling, almost like riding a boat in heavy wind. I'd spent the last 24 hours of traveling, beside the actual inconvenience of travel, telling myself to let go of all expectations, emptying my mind and arriving with an empty cup. With so much new input I found it hard to process it all.
The first thing I noticed was the surrounding mountains, nothing of the sort I've seen before. Most surrounding mountains I found big and proud, distant but really trying to look bigger then they actual where. These had an other, more humble attitude, still reaching above the clouds. They just were there, covered in trees and full of life. I can, and will later, make a more in depth analysis of the mountains.
Then you notice the people, they're everywhere. It's a much more living city then any European city I've been to, everything seems to be made right in front of you on a bench next to the street. It's a weird combination of old traditions where bricks are carried in big bags in the head, next to a businessman in a suit talking on his cellphone. Everybody at the same place, no one treats anyone different.
The two kind gentlemen who picked me up I would guess to be Saroj and Rajesh. It was just too much when I met them at the airport, so many people telling me they knew me. Anyway, these real friends took me in to town and bought me lunch. I didn't care so much for the food, but I guess it was alright. They seem very friendly, just that the first encounter with the Nepalese people was 10 men trying to take my money, this cause a little bit of awareness. Then again, who else should I trust? I'm not gonna make this on my own. After lunch they took me to an office and asked me to sign some papers. No problem. Then they asked me if I either had the money to pay them, or if I could go and collect them from an ATM. I still wasn't sure what was their name and since they kept asking me all these questions I already had answered by mail I got more and more suspicious. But what else was there to do? I took out half of the money and told them I could take out the other half first tomorrow due to my card.
They drove me to my current location after a short guide through the tourist area. There really is people everywhere, and even dogs, cows, monkeys and even chickens running around on the streets. Now it's past 19:00 and the crickets have take over the hectic street life. It doesn't seem to quite down anytime at all. I'm at least here now, at the cloud covered but not so lonely mountains of Nepal.
Prolog
13th of august, 2011
The lonely mountains awaits. It's way past 3 in the morning and i can't sleep. I can't find a rhythm in this meaninglessness. I've read somewhere that it's destructive for you to lust for things. The idea of looking forward to something can be good of course, but to actually lust for this is negative because you miss out on what's going on around you. Destructive maybe isn't the proper word, but it ain't constructive at least. It's now August and I'll be leaving for Nepal in a month. I've been lusting for this since last year.
I can't seem to get up in the morning, there's not enough to be done, no motivation, no goals, not enough meaning. All I've got on my mind is the big mountains of Nepal. It's probably nothing like that, but I have this amazing picture of big cloudy snow-white mountains in my head, most likely created by DiscoveryChannel and movies. I've got no idea what to expect, apart form these big cloudy snow-white mountains, all I know is that I'm supposed to teach English at a monastery. It's ironic. I've just learned to spell monastery, I always seemed to mix up the a's and e's.
It could be time to start reading up on Nepal, read some history and geographic, get to know the culture from wikipedia, hear the national anthem and learn the name of the president or king. Then again, I've never payed much respect to knowledge collected in secondhand. Of course you have a chance of knowing more what to expect if you read about it, but with an already filled up mind, how are you supposed to be objective when arriving there? Maybe I'm just being dull and lazy. I've done everything else on my "To Do"-list, everything except googling Nepal and packing my bag. Maybe I should at least get to know the climate so I know what to pack... But there is an entire month left until departure, that can wait for later.
Since this meaninglessness is driving me mad I figured some activities could fill up my mind. I took a boat trip for a couple of days, went out to our country house, drank a lot of alcohol and met both old and new people. I did everything I could think of to make the time go faster and found the alcohol to be somewhat of the best way to do it. I did it way to often and to be fair; it didn't helped that much anyway. When reaching a certain level of drunk I often space out and lock my mind on what ever that is closest. The lonely snow-white cloud-covered mountains of Nepal. Therefore I booked some other trips, both to London with my sister and to Dublin. Unfortunately we never came to London due to the major riots that started just days before departure. My sister is still angry with me for cancelling the trip, even thou her temper is slowly regressing. Probably.
With most my friends I know most of the gossip. I just love that, it feels like I can trust them. No charades, we don't have to pretend something when we're around each other. I really love these people, which makes it sort of unfortunate that there is no one I'll really miss. Sure I'll miss my ex-girlfriend, but that's a complete other and pretty predictable story. With her I had the most trustful relationship I've ever had. Maybe I can learn to trust the monks at the monastery that much? Sure, that'll probably work out equally good.
I'll be leaving for Dublin, Ireland, in a couple of weeks, to travel the amazing landscape and see the fogged summits of Wicklow Mountains National Park. I did the same trip this winter and I've been dreaming of returning there ever since. Not lusting, just dreaming. I did this by myself last time and it was wonderful, just as beautiful as I wanted it to be. Plus I got to get pissed with the National Irish Chamber Choir who I ran in to at a bar. Even thou I last time thought it would be nice to have some company, I don't think I'll feel lonely now. It's a different feeling this time, I've started to say goodbye to friends and family. Right now all I want is to see the wide stretched mountains and fogged summits of Wicklow.
31st of august, 2011
I sometimes realize that I'm not made to travel. The last couple of adventures all went horrible, like last time when I forgot my ticket. I'm afraid to fall asleep on transfers, losing stuff or get lost to mention some things that makes travel not suited for myself. It's basically the ordinary discomfort of traveling and every time something goes wrong I realize I'm not made to travel. Then there is this amazing thing I know as human goodness, which most of the times solves all my problems. Therefor I realize equally often that traveling is the most fun I ever have.
I've been visiting my grand-parents in the hometown both my parents. Maybe it isn't as small as I'd like people to believe, but I love to make colorful descriptions of how ridiculously small this town is. It was weird being here this time since I've actually came to say goodbye. My grandma isn't doing that well and somewhere I thought about this visit as a chance of saying goodbye if she passes while I'm gone. It was hard, even grandpa opened up about how he felt about their situation. I've never heard him speak of feelings before. In the three days I was visiting we kept the conversation to limit of about seven topics. To list a few of them: my dad isn't here but he's coming this weekend, the day of the week it was, what I will be doing this upcoming month and things grandma thought she remembered but that was the other way around. I tried to ignore it but I could feel that grandpa was struggling. I noticed that I've already distanced myself from whatever was going on at home, that I didn't want to be liable. I even said goodbye to the town like I never was to return. Hopefully I was just being overly melodramatic.
On the way back there was delays and I got to spend some time at a tiny little train station somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It took two minutes to be as bored as a nosy little five year old. But what to do? After just an other eight minutes I'd thoroughly examine the two floors of the station, four of them spent in the bookstore. It ended with me taking the stairway up and down until my next train came, with final count of 42 completed laps.
I love that I do these things. Right now all I want is to be 40, in a steady relationship and watch my kids grow up. Besides my happy kids, the most important thing in this scenario is for me to have done stuff, to have stories to tell. Sure I've got some time left, but then my list of stuff to do is long. Being a monk at a monastery is one of these things on my list and it's partly therefor I searched for a monastery to work on. Then there is only one question; will they accept me? As preached before, I've got no idea what to expect.
... The lonely mountains awaits.
The lonely mountains awaits. It's way past 3 in the morning and i can't sleep. I can't find a rhythm in this meaninglessness. I've read somewhere that it's destructive for you to lust for things. The idea of looking forward to something can be good of course, but to actually lust for this is negative because you miss out on what's going on around you. Destructive maybe isn't the proper word, but it ain't constructive at least. It's now August and I'll be leaving for Nepal in a month. I've been lusting for this since last year.
I can't seem to get up in the morning, there's not enough to be done, no motivation, no goals, not enough meaning. All I've got on my mind is the big mountains of Nepal. It's probably nothing like that, but I have this amazing picture of big cloudy snow-white mountains in my head, most likely created by DiscoveryChannel and movies. I've got no idea what to expect, apart form these big cloudy snow-white mountains, all I know is that I'm supposed to teach English at a monastery. It's ironic. I've just learned to spell monastery, I always seemed to mix up the a's and e's.
It could be time to start reading up on Nepal, read some history and geographic, get to know the culture from wikipedia, hear the national anthem and learn the name of the president or king. Then again, I've never payed much respect to knowledge collected in secondhand. Of course you have a chance of knowing more what to expect if you read about it, but with an already filled up mind, how are you supposed to be objective when arriving there? Maybe I'm just being dull and lazy. I've done everything else on my "To Do"-list, everything except googling Nepal and packing my bag. Maybe I should at least get to know the climate so I know what to pack... But there is an entire month left until departure, that can wait for later.
Since this meaninglessness is driving me mad I figured some activities could fill up my mind. I took a boat trip for a couple of days, went out to our country house, drank a lot of alcohol and met both old and new people. I did everything I could think of to make the time go faster and found the alcohol to be somewhat of the best way to do it. I did it way to often and to be fair; it didn't helped that much anyway. When reaching a certain level of drunk I often space out and lock my mind on what ever that is closest. The lonely snow-white cloud-covered mountains of Nepal. Therefore I booked some other trips, both to London with my sister and to Dublin. Unfortunately we never came to London due to the major riots that started just days before departure. My sister is still angry with me for cancelling the trip, even thou her temper is slowly regressing. Probably.
With most my friends I know most of the gossip. I just love that, it feels like I can trust them. No charades, we don't have to pretend something when we're around each other. I really love these people, which makes it sort of unfortunate that there is no one I'll really miss. Sure I'll miss my ex-girlfriend, but that's a complete other and pretty predictable story. With her I had the most trustful relationship I've ever had. Maybe I can learn to trust the monks at the monastery that much? Sure, that'll probably work out equally good.
I'll be leaving for Dublin, Ireland, in a couple of weeks, to travel the amazing landscape and see the fogged summits of Wicklow Mountains National Park. I did the same trip this winter and I've been dreaming of returning there ever since. Not lusting, just dreaming. I did this by myself last time and it was wonderful, just as beautiful as I wanted it to be. Plus I got to get pissed with the National Irish Chamber Choir who I ran in to at a bar. Even thou I last time thought it would be nice to have some company, I don't think I'll feel lonely now. It's a different feeling this time, I've started to say goodbye to friends and family. Right now all I want is to see the wide stretched mountains and fogged summits of Wicklow.
31st of august, 2011
I sometimes realize that I'm not made to travel. The last couple of adventures all went horrible, like last time when I forgot my ticket. I'm afraid to fall asleep on transfers, losing stuff or get lost to mention some things that makes travel not suited for myself. It's basically the ordinary discomfort of traveling and every time something goes wrong I realize I'm not made to travel. Then there is this amazing thing I know as human goodness, which most of the times solves all my problems. Therefor I realize equally often that traveling is the most fun I ever have.
I've been visiting my grand-parents in the hometown both my parents. Maybe it isn't as small as I'd like people to believe, but I love to make colorful descriptions of how ridiculously small this town is. It was weird being here this time since I've actually came to say goodbye. My grandma isn't doing that well and somewhere I thought about this visit as a chance of saying goodbye if she passes while I'm gone. It was hard, even grandpa opened up about how he felt about their situation. I've never heard him speak of feelings before. In the three days I was visiting we kept the conversation to limit of about seven topics. To list a few of them: my dad isn't here but he's coming this weekend, the day of the week it was, what I will be doing this upcoming month and things grandma thought she remembered but that was the other way around. I tried to ignore it but I could feel that grandpa was struggling. I noticed that I've already distanced myself from whatever was going on at home, that I didn't want to be liable. I even said goodbye to the town like I never was to return. Hopefully I was just being overly melodramatic.
On the way back there was delays and I got to spend some time at a tiny little train station somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It took two minutes to be as bored as a nosy little five year old. But what to do? After just an other eight minutes I'd thoroughly examine the two floors of the station, four of them spent in the bookstore. It ended with me taking the stairway up and down until my next train came, with final count of 42 completed laps.
I love that I do these things. Right now all I want is to be 40, in a steady relationship and watch my kids grow up. Besides my happy kids, the most important thing in this scenario is for me to have done stuff, to have stories to tell. Sure I've got some time left, but then my list of stuff to do is long. Being a monk at a monastery is one of these things on my list and it's partly therefor I searched for a monastery to work on. Then there is only one question; will they accept me? As preached before, I've got no idea what to expect.
... The lonely mountains awaits.
Wicklow
September 3rd to 6th
In the afternoon I arrived at Dublin airport and took the transfer in to Dublin just to prepare for the next day. Nothing much happen, so let's just skip to the next day right away.
Day 2, September the 4th, was unfortunately a Sunday which means that the bus drivers of Dublin was out last night and need a couple of hours to organize their heads. When they all found the proper head and connected it to the nervous system without causing to much ache the buses start of and I ended up in Enniskerry at 10:30. On the way i was chatting with this amazing 83 year old bloke I met at the bus station, who also was about to take a walk in the wild. Amazing fella, with so much energy to share. He told me I was brave to take the trip I proposed.
I started of walking from Enniskerry in the northern Wicklow and headed southwest on the small country roads. Appropriately the song Take me home, Country road popped in to my head and we took a stroll on the wild side together.
The roads were sided with blackberries and beautiful thorned leafs. The view was just amazing as I passed Glaskenny and Knockree on my right side at about 11:15 and stayed there for a break with horses playing in the foreground. I reached the foot of Maulin at about 12:00 and sat on the parking for my first food break. There where a lot of fellow walkers at this parking, but most of them had left earlier and where now returning to their cars. The sun that had blessed me all morning had now gone hiding behind a soft rain but i was certain it would end soon enough. Also i was somewhat after my schedule but this didn't worry me right now. The view was just to beautiful.
Now I entered the forest and started climbing Maulin. I took the paths that took me the steepest up and soon enough I reached the end of the forest. The fog had increased all the way up, and now the sight was only to the closest summit on the other side of the valley. I still passed some wanderers who, as I, where amazed about the purple hillsides covered in Calluna.
There is something special about reaching a summit in Wicklow, maybe anywhere, but as I took the last step and could see the hilltops all around me there was very few other things that could reside in my mind. Not that I was 50 minutes after my schedule, not that it was raining and not that the wind made it hard to stand, even for me and my leaded walking boots. How can i justify this emotion in a picture?
I took the next bearing towards Tonduff North in the west and headed on. To this point I had regularly take pictures and written comments in a notepad, but the increasing wind and rain made this impossible for a couple of hours. After just some 10 minutes the sight range was below 50 meters which made the compass all the more important. By now I had even hidden the map away from the rain. Halfway to Tonduff North, in my calculations, had the water gone through the so called raincoat. The cottonpants had been soaked even before I climbed Maulin, so by now I was pretty cold. No time to stop and rest, just to push on! By Tonduff North I had planned to take a break but that didn't happen. It was impossible to find even the slightest of shelter from the wind and rain, besides in the eroded valleys that where around one and a half meters deep, filled with mud. This was no place to stay on, so I took a risk and picked up the map for a new course, this time I wanted to head for lower ground. The original plan was to hill jump, therefor avoiding the extra time and energy consumed by walking down a hill and then up the next, but the next hill side was further west, and I needed to get to Roundwood in the south by nightfall.
The next course was the between Djource and Laggula, which hopefully would get me beneath the clouds and the wind. Also this might get me to a road that hopefully could, with some spectacular view on the way, take me to Roundwood. Unfortunately I was still at the summit of Tonduff North, and this direction was straight against the wind. The sight range was below 20 meters now because of the fog, and with so much rain covering the sunglasses I put on it was almost impossible to locate myself with the map. So for about an hour I climbed down the mountain, solely looking at the compass for direction. It wasn't rare to be walking almost 90 degrees wrong suddenly, but when I got a bit lower the fog slowly faded away. Before me was about two hours of Calluna swamp.
The flatter it got, also the harder strangely enough. These beautiful colorful tussocks of purple or pink Calluna had grown strong, but in between it was half a meter down to mud. Therefor the easiest way to walk was to jump from bush to bush, and just hope you didn't fall through. The hill to the west I skipped is called Kippure, which I found myself yelling each time I fell in to the mud.
It had almost stopped rain when I got in height of Djource and in the distance I could see Laggula before what looked like blue sky. At this time water had been pouring from my body for almost two hours, so a bit of sun was were welcome. Before me I could see a pack of deer. They where skipping forth, as calmly but also as stately and nonchalant as the antelopes on the savanna. It looked so peaceful with their easy skips, always with a proud straight neck and big wondering eyes, almost seductive. It was like a ballet of nature. Much unlike them I was almost crawling from tussock to the tussock, trying to avoid the deep mud in between which by now almost had turn to streams because of the massive amounts of water coming down the hills.
I can now understand from where child stories could be born, especially those about fairies in the wood, those who lured you in before you was forever lost. As these majestic deer where dancing before me they seemed more and more to be fairies, seducing me and making me watch them, calling for me to follow. As I tried to watch for big Calluna tussocks to walk on, I couldn't keep my eyes from the fairies when suddenly I couldn't find the ground. I fell through and just barely got my hands on some Calluna. Below me I could hear a big stream, unseen from above. The bushes of Calluna had grown over it, covering it entirely, while the stream it self had eroded further down in the ground. I would say it was almost two meters deep, but I can't be sure. I pulled myself up due to the strong growing purple Calluna who covered this entire valley, as well as the next. The deer were stroppily looking at me from the next crest. This occurred in the similar fashion a couple of times more before I figured that this stream most likely had the same course as I and I took a new route, now towards the top of Laggula.
At about 16:00 the sun had finally broken through and I could have my first break for a long time. I took of almost everything I had besides the pants and tried to dry everything in the sun while I made myself some lunch. A pack of freeze-dried curry rice, cooked by the almost warm water I brought from the hostel in a thermos. Hunger is the best spice there is. I had tried to take a couple of pictures of those self important deer strolling before me, but my hand had been so cold I couldn't operate the camera. First now I had some good shots on them in the distant.
This wasn't the place to stay for too long, so I kept on going, telling me that the body heat, the wind and the sun would work together and dry my cloths faster. I pushed on and passed a road by refused to take the easy way to Roundwood. I was going to Laggula first. By now had the flies bravely crawled out again and swarmed me as I went further down towards a river. At this river I shot some of the best photos during the trip. A sparkling vivid river sided with leaf trees and big randomly placed rocks with a Loch in the end before even more hills, like it's been made for a studio. I passed the river by jumping on these random rocks, almost falling in. The flies followed me up the hillside until the wind caught up with me. At the top I took an half hour break photographing the lake, dangling with my feet from the hills edge.
The view was exceptional, hilltop after hilltop, continuing all the way around me. Of course I tried to capture it in photos, but this was just impossible. But the best feeling most be that I got there by my self.
By now I got pretty tired and thought about the fastest way to Roundwood. Unfortunately had the map didn't quite made it through the rain, at least not the part surrounding Roundwood, but I had an idea of where to go. I somewhat fell down the southeastern hillside of Laggula and crossed an other hedge full of sheep. I once again tried to make a shortcut, there are no shortcuts, and went across someones front lawn. It was covered in even more deer, maybe 40-50 of them, who all scattered when they saw me coming. Half of them went to the left, to the east, and was now spread out all over the vegetation, mostly fern. As I once again refused the easy way following the road I tried to go up this hill through the massive amounts of fern, but once again I wasn't as agile as the deer-like fairies. As I reached the road passing over the crest I swore to always take the planned way, no more shortcuts. Besides this, I'm very good at keeping my promises.
By now it was getting dark. It was past 20:00 and I was walking down a road I just prayed would take me to Roundwood, but it was heading further east, I needed to go south. The map was no use, but with my calculations from earlier today when the map was still solid i had estimated the distance to be about an hour walk, if you where going straight there. This wasn't the time to be proud, my feet hurt from being constantly soaked since the last seven hours with plenty of walking on top of this. This was a time to hitch for a ride.
Luckily I was in Ireland, to me one of the most helpful countries I've been to. The first person passing by, after about 20 minutes, responded to my high held thumb and pulled over. He gave me a lift back to Dublin, by now I didn't want to knock doors to search for a warm bed for the night. I new a good place in Dublin, Abigail's at the Quay.
Second day, or third
This time I cheated and it felt amazing. I took the bus down to Glendalough which meant that I couldn't start walking before 13:00. Still, I got there rested and was in the heart of what was supposed to be the most beautiful part of Wicklow. It wasn't, just endless woods on a hillside, with a tiny lake at the bottom. Sure, the town was pretty, with some old forgotten houses, but that's it. I've got that at home.
However, this was just a pass through which meant putting one foot before the other and head on in to the forest. This time I wasn't gonna take any shortcuts, I was gonna keep to the Wicklow Way and make good distance in no time. Then I got lost in the woods. In my sincerest attempt to bargain with the thick forest I found a way who should take me to the top and beyond. This was when it started raining, like the day before. It rained a lot. As the previous day I tried to save the map which only lead to me getting more lost. In some miraculous wonder I ended up on the right way, in retrospect I've got no idea how I got there, but I made it to the other side of this hill.
Here I was forced to walk over a swamp on to thin planks of wood, and with a wind who could fell even the strongest of walkers with leaded walking boots. I made a halfhearted attempt to take some photos but the wind and rain didn't do their part to help.
On the way down I started to take some shortcuts. Later this would make the start of my motto; "There are no shortcuts...". It took forever and I got incredibly soaked, more then the day before when i crawled in mud and fell in to rivers. It was a thick undergrowth all the way down, but at least I got down somewhat where I wanted to, just some hours later then expected.
At this point I decided it was more fun to reach the summit of Lugnaquilia then to be at the close by town at time for the last train. I'd seen a route going up this hillside from the other side, so I took a shortcut to find it. As my motto would state, this was a bad idea.
Much much later I found that route, which I'd now had a lot of bad names for, and headed for the top. I passed some sheep and headed on. Towards the top. That was supposed to be here somewhere. Maybe at the next crown.
In the afternoon I arrived at Dublin airport and took the transfer in to Dublin just to prepare for the next day. Nothing much happen, so let's just skip to the next day right away.
Day 2, September the 4th, was unfortunately a Sunday which means that the bus drivers of Dublin was out last night and need a couple of hours to organize their heads. When they all found the proper head and connected it to the nervous system without causing to much ache the buses start of and I ended up in Enniskerry at 10:30. On the way i was chatting with this amazing 83 year old bloke I met at the bus station, who also was about to take a walk in the wild. Amazing fella, with so much energy to share. He told me I was brave to take the trip I proposed.
I started of walking from Enniskerry in the northern Wicklow and headed southwest on the small country roads. Appropriately the song Take me home, Country road popped in to my head and we took a stroll on the wild side together.
The roads were sided with blackberries and beautiful thorned leafs. The view was just amazing as I passed Glaskenny and Knockree on my right side at about 11:15 and stayed there for a break with horses playing in the foreground. I reached the foot of Maulin at about 12:00 and sat on the parking for my first food break. There where a lot of fellow walkers at this parking, but most of them had left earlier and where now returning to their cars. The sun that had blessed me all morning had now gone hiding behind a soft rain but i was certain it would end soon enough. Also i was somewhat after my schedule but this didn't worry me right now. The view was just to beautiful.
Now I entered the forest and started climbing Maulin. I took the paths that took me the steepest up and soon enough I reached the end of the forest. The fog had increased all the way up, and now the sight was only to the closest summit on the other side of the valley. I still passed some wanderers who, as I, where amazed about the purple hillsides covered in Calluna.
There is something special about reaching a summit in Wicklow, maybe anywhere, but as I took the last step and could see the hilltops all around me there was very few other things that could reside in my mind. Not that I was 50 minutes after my schedule, not that it was raining and not that the wind made it hard to stand, even for me and my leaded walking boots. How can i justify this emotion in a picture?
I took the next bearing towards Tonduff North in the west and headed on. To this point I had regularly take pictures and written comments in a notepad, but the increasing wind and rain made this impossible for a couple of hours. After just some 10 minutes the sight range was below 50 meters which made the compass all the more important. By now I had even hidden the map away from the rain. Halfway to Tonduff North, in my calculations, had the water gone through the so called raincoat. The cottonpants had been soaked even before I climbed Maulin, so by now I was pretty cold. No time to stop and rest, just to push on! By Tonduff North I had planned to take a break but that didn't happen. It was impossible to find even the slightest of shelter from the wind and rain, besides in the eroded valleys that where around one and a half meters deep, filled with mud. This was no place to stay on, so I took a risk and picked up the map for a new course, this time I wanted to head for lower ground. The original plan was to hill jump, therefor avoiding the extra time and energy consumed by walking down a hill and then up the next, but the next hill side was further west, and I needed to get to Roundwood in the south by nightfall.
The next course was the between Djource and Laggula, which hopefully would get me beneath the clouds and the wind. Also this might get me to a road that hopefully could, with some spectacular view on the way, take me to Roundwood. Unfortunately I was still at the summit of Tonduff North, and this direction was straight against the wind. The sight range was below 20 meters now because of the fog, and with so much rain covering the sunglasses I put on it was almost impossible to locate myself with the map. So for about an hour I climbed down the mountain, solely looking at the compass for direction. It wasn't rare to be walking almost 90 degrees wrong suddenly, but when I got a bit lower the fog slowly faded away. Before me was about two hours of Calluna swamp.
The flatter it got, also the harder strangely enough. These beautiful colorful tussocks of purple or pink Calluna had grown strong, but in between it was half a meter down to mud. Therefor the easiest way to walk was to jump from bush to bush, and just hope you didn't fall through. The hill to the west I skipped is called Kippure, which I found myself yelling each time I fell in to the mud.
It had almost stopped rain when I got in height of Djource and in the distance I could see Laggula before what looked like blue sky. At this time water had been pouring from my body for almost two hours, so a bit of sun was were welcome. Before me I could see a pack of deer. They where skipping forth, as calmly but also as stately and nonchalant as the antelopes on the savanna. It looked so peaceful with their easy skips, always with a proud straight neck and big wondering eyes, almost seductive. It was like a ballet of nature. Much unlike them I was almost crawling from tussock to the tussock, trying to avoid the deep mud in between which by now almost had turn to streams because of the massive amounts of water coming down the hills.
I can now understand from where child stories could be born, especially those about fairies in the wood, those who lured you in before you was forever lost. As these majestic deer where dancing before me they seemed more and more to be fairies, seducing me and making me watch them, calling for me to follow. As I tried to watch for big Calluna tussocks to walk on, I couldn't keep my eyes from the fairies when suddenly I couldn't find the ground. I fell through and just barely got my hands on some Calluna. Below me I could hear a big stream, unseen from above. The bushes of Calluna had grown over it, covering it entirely, while the stream it self had eroded further down in the ground. I would say it was almost two meters deep, but I can't be sure. I pulled myself up due to the strong growing purple Calluna who covered this entire valley, as well as the next. The deer were stroppily looking at me from the next crest. This occurred in the similar fashion a couple of times more before I figured that this stream most likely had the same course as I and I took a new route, now towards the top of Laggula.
At about 16:00 the sun had finally broken through and I could have my first break for a long time. I took of almost everything I had besides the pants and tried to dry everything in the sun while I made myself some lunch. A pack of freeze-dried curry rice, cooked by the almost warm water I brought from the hostel in a thermos. Hunger is the best spice there is. I had tried to take a couple of pictures of those self important deer strolling before me, but my hand had been so cold I couldn't operate the camera. First now I had some good shots on them in the distant.
This wasn't the place to stay for too long, so I kept on going, telling me that the body heat, the wind and the sun would work together and dry my cloths faster. I pushed on and passed a road by refused to take the easy way to Roundwood. I was going to Laggula first. By now had the flies bravely crawled out again and swarmed me as I went further down towards a river. At this river I shot some of the best photos during the trip. A sparkling vivid river sided with leaf trees and big randomly placed rocks with a Loch in the end before even more hills, like it's been made for a studio. I passed the river by jumping on these random rocks, almost falling in. The flies followed me up the hillside until the wind caught up with me. At the top I took an half hour break photographing the lake, dangling with my feet from the hills edge.
The view was exceptional, hilltop after hilltop, continuing all the way around me. Of course I tried to capture it in photos, but this was just impossible. But the best feeling most be that I got there by my self.
By now I got pretty tired and thought about the fastest way to Roundwood. Unfortunately had the map didn't quite made it through the rain, at least not the part surrounding Roundwood, but I had an idea of where to go. I somewhat fell down the southeastern hillside of Laggula and crossed an other hedge full of sheep. I once again tried to make a shortcut, there are no shortcuts, and went across someones front lawn. It was covered in even more deer, maybe 40-50 of them, who all scattered when they saw me coming. Half of them went to the left, to the east, and was now spread out all over the vegetation, mostly fern. As I once again refused the easy way following the road I tried to go up this hill through the massive amounts of fern, but once again I wasn't as agile as the deer-like fairies. As I reached the road passing over the crest I swore to always take the planned way, no more shortcuts. Besides this, I'm very good at keeping my promises.
By now it was getting dark. It was past 20:00 and I was walking down a road I just prayed would take me to Roundwood, but it was heading further east, I needed to go south. The map was no use, but with my calculations from earlier today when the map was still solid i had estimated the distance to be about an hour walk, if you where going straight there. This wasn't the time to be proud, my feet hurt from being constantly soaked since the last seven hours with plenty of walking on top of this. This was a time to hitch for a ride.
Luckily I was in Ireland, to me one of the most helpful countries I've been to. The first person passing by, after about 20 minutes, responded to my high held thumb and pulled over. He gave me a lift back to Dublin, by now I didn't want to knock doors to search for a warm bed for the night. I new a good place in Dublin, Abigail's at the Quay.
Second day, or third
This time I cheated and it felt amazing. I took the bus down to Glendalough which meant that I couldn't start walking before 13:00. Still, I got there rested and was in the heart of what was supposed to be the most beautiful part of Wicklow. It wasn't, just endless woods on a hillside, with a tiny lake at the bottom. Sure, the town was pretty, with some old forgotten houses, but that's it. I've got that at home.
However, this was just a pass through which meant putting one foot before the other and head on in to the forest. This time I wasn't gonna take any shortcuts, I was gonna keep to the Wicklow Way and make good distance in no time. Then I got lost in the woods. In my sincerest attempt to bargain with the thick forest I found a way who should take me to the top and beyond. This was when it started raining, like the day before. It rained a lot. As the previous day I tried to save the map which only lead to me getting more lost. In some miraculous wonder I ended up on the right way, in retrospect I've got no idea how I got there, but I made it to the other side of this hill.
Here I was forced to walk over a swamp on to thin planks of wood, and with a wind who could fell even the strongest of walkers with leaded walking boots. I made a halfhearted attempt to take some photos but the wind and rain didn't do their part to help.
On the way down I started to take some shortcuts. Later this would make the start of my motto; "There are no shortcuts...". It took forever and I got incredibly soaked, more then the day before when i crawled in mud and fell in to rivers. It was a thick undergrowth all the way down, but at least I got down somewhat where I wanted to, just some hours later then expected.
At this point I decided it was more fun to reach the summit of Lugnaquilia then to be at the close by town at time for the last train. I'd seen a route going up this hillside from the other side, so I took a shortcut to find it. As my motto would state, this was a bad idea.
Much much later I found that route, which I'd now had a lot of bad names for, and headed for the top. I passed some sheep and headed on. Towards the top. That was supposed to be here somewhere. Maybe at the next crown.
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