Posts Tagged ‘mother in-law’

Posted on March 18, 2010

Holy Water!

By Monika Terfloth – Part 9 of 10 of the Mother in-law in Nepal and India series.

Hello Everyone, today we are again in Delhi.

We left Agra a few days ago to begin the drive through the Rajasthan countryside with our trusty driver Sovran at the wheel. "The monsoon have not been good this year" he says pointing at the dry landscape. "Many of the fields will not be planted". The last of the millet crop is being taken off, and only a few dried squash vines remain. Water is scarce. Men herd sheep and goats further to graze and women work in the fields gleaning the last of a meager crop.

Toiling in the heat, saris fluttering in the wind, the women are like tall and slender field flowers in saris of saffron, violet, rose, lavender, marigold and lime. The brilliant colors make the women easy to see even at a distance. They stoop again and again with such grace as though the breezes had bent them down. As the day’s heat builds they gather together in the shade of an acacia tree. The acacia is still green and is a valuable source of shade, feed for the animals and for firewood. The lower branches are cut and left on the ground as feed. Later the dry branches are bundled and carried home by the women for the cooking fire. Piled high on their heads as they walk along the roadsides. Women are gathering dung patties too. The patties are collected from the fields and roadsides and laid out to dry. Since cows wander freely everywhere there seems to be an abundance of patties. Once dry, the patties are stacked in a beehive shape about four feet high. The final patties are put on when fresh and plastered smooth to make an outer layer which also dries and sheds moisture to keep the inner patties dry. Some of the dung heaps have very decorative designs carved into this outer layer. When needed, a hole is cut in the side of the crust and the patties are taken, a few at a time, as fuel for the fire.

We have been doing our best to try to conserve water here as well and had packed our water bottles from home and so far had been able to use them, refilling with tap water and disinfecting with chlorine or iodine tablets and having the expected, but not horrible, resulting taste. However since arriving in Agra, we have tried adding iced tea mix to cover the taste of what we likened to used laundry water (not the rinse cycle either). Finally, despite our best intentions, we resorted to pre-filled water bottles. What a pleasure to taste pure clean water again. As Islam diplomatically pointed out on our first day here, visitors to India are not only known for our ’sensitive stomachs’ but also for our ’sensitive palates’ and our ’sensitive skin’.

Water is truly the master. We have come to realize this with such clarity, here in a part of the world where simple, clean water is a luxury. A few days of drinking iced-tea, iodine-flavoured laundry water was all it took.

Good night for now.

Posted on November 25, 2009

Holy Chicken Byriani

By Monika Terfloth – Part 7 of 10 of the Mother in-law in Nepal and India series.

Day 5 – Ghandruk to Naya Pul

Ghandruk is as beautiful this morning as it was last night. However, we wake up complaining, stiff and sore. It is our final day of the trek and despite the whining, we are all feeling sad that today is the end. After two hours of steep decline at the beginning, the way will be broad, and thankfully, rather flat. We can walk in pairs more easily now and we take turns walking and talking with one another. This is the last opportunity for Maina and Indra, our two porters, to practice their English. Randy is thinking that perhaps he won’t go to India and remain in Nepal to explore on his own. From the beginning, he was never really excited about that part of our adventure. None of us minds if doesn’t come, so we shall see. We depart after a traditional breakfast, but this time offered with a cup of marsala tea made with water buffalo milk. It’s not my favourite having a distinctly barnyard flavour…perhaps an acquired taste?

As we make our way downhill, a constant procession of people are walking in the opposite direction. Many are dressed in fine clothes and small children are dressed festively as well. Some people are carried uphill in a basket-chair on the backs of men. Since the chair faces rear-ward, we look back once they have passed to see who is in the basket. Invariably it is an aged Nepali man or woman, the odd one contentedly smoking or holding an umbrella for shade from the hot sun, others looking quite frail. They too want to be back with families in the villages for the climax of the Desain celebration which begins tomorrow. Women from the city in make-up with strings of beads over brightly colored saris wend their way up the pathway too. Many wear strappy heeled sandals, or plastic shoes to walk for many hours to their home village. They do not seem to find this a problem, rather skipping up the hills at times. I find this amazing as I look down at our own feet to see the heavy hiking boots that we all depend upon to keep us upright and to keep our ankles from wrenching. We pass through the middle of a village where clearly a sacrificial goat has just been slaughtered. Many people have gathered and there is a feeling of celebration in the air. A woman in the group smiling broadly, places a bright-eyed, adorable, but crying, child in my arms. I am rather taken aback as everyone gathers around giggling and coaching the little one to clasp together his wee hands and say ‘namaste’. He does and this brings more smiles and cheers from everyone. Donkey trains make their way steadily uphill as well. As they pass at a narrow stretch a few of us take a body blow from the side of a donkey laden with sacks. We step aside for a man with a Samsung refrigerator on his back followed by another with a bed and pillows.

We arrive in Naya Pul in great spirits. High-fives all around, as we congratulate each other and express our gratitude for the caring and assistance of the three women who have worked so steadily and without complaint. Renuka is looking forward to going back to her home village for Desain. She plans to leave later today, along with her only sister. They will take a two-hour bus trip to Baglung, the nearest stop. There they will wait overnight before setting out on the two-day walk up and down and around the mountains to their family’s home. She is eager to be home to help with the preparations for the festival. We let her know that we have a son just a few years older than she and that we would be pleased if she would agree to an arranged marriage. She would love to meet Alfred, and will make her decision then : ) She, like so many more Nepali women, has work and her own income and is now in charge of her own destiny.

We board the bus at Naya Pul and bump along back to Pokhara. On the way we see that in some villages the goat slaughter has begun. Groups of people have gathered along the roadside to divide the meat. In one place a blue plastic checked tablecloth lies along the roadside and heaped on it are nine piles of fresh red meat. The activity in the street heightens as we pass through Old Pokhara. Hundreds of people have gathered to barter and buy a goat for their own sacrifice. We arrive in Pokhara in the early afternoon and after a brief rest, head into the village for a hearty meal. As we walk, we see goats in every possible place… in the front seat of a car with horns tied to the door handle, tied onto the back of a motorcycle, tethered to a small patch of grass outside a doorway. We drop off a bag of clothes to be laundered and a small cheerful man comes out from a narrow passageway to greet us, his hand dripping with blood. Unphased he says “Line dried, pick up tomorrow between 12 and 2 o’clock” then offers to sell us a cold beer or anything else he might have in his small sidewalk stall. His goat has been slaughtered and he will have meat on the table for his family for the celebration.

After a hearty supper of dal bhat (lentil curry with rice) and a mug of thumba (a fermented millet drink) that is mildly intoxicating and leaves us giggling, we walk back to our guesthouse along the lakes now shining deep purple, in the dark past the rice padis flashing with blue fireflies. It has been a truly wonderful experience. Thank you for sharing it with me so far. I will have photos when I get back.

Posted on November 15, 2009

Holy Machhapuchhare!

By Monika Terfloth – Part 6 of 10 of the Mother in-law in Nepal and India Series.

Day 4 Tadapani to Ghandruk

We are up early again this morning still smiling and remembering the music and dancing from yesterday evening and beautiful Machhapuchhare (Fishtail Mountain) is clearly in view. It is about 6:30 when we pull on our smelly, damp, cold clothes that have not dried overnight. Actually, it doesn’t take long to dry them while wearing them but the smell lingers on. I am told that I smell particularly bad, and I think they mean it. I haven’t brought much clothing and no raincoat, opting instead for a black garbage bag. It’s done fine so far. Atop Poon Hill it became a shawl around my shoulders and kept out the cold wind. Slit up one side it became a cape that adequately covered my head and day pack to keep out the showers yesterday afternoon. Again this morning we look forward to the promise of warmth in the dining room; to once again slip our legs under the benches and gather the heavy, woolen blankets draped from the table’s edge, around us.

Still smiling, each of us have placed in front of us a toasty Tibetan Bread, warm deep-fried and the size of a dinner plate; local honey that tastes of flowers, a boiled egg and a cup of steaming spiced milk tea. Each day has been a feast for the eyes as well as well as the mouth; the lush green of jungle and rice padis, flowers of every color, amazing mountains, hand-laid stone beneath our feet forming an endless stretch of pathways and stairs. It seems I have gone on and on about that. However, Tlell tells me I have not said enough about the people. I will try.

The preparations of Deshain are continuing. Everything in the house must be scrubbed clean. Today, it seems that everyone is doing this. As we pass through the villages, the communal water tap is invariably busy as women and children gather to talk and share the task of washing up. Huge copper and brass pots blackened with deposits from the wood fires are brought to the washing area along with a bowl of ash from the cooking fire. The ash is scooped by hand and used to scour the pots inside and out. A young woman squats alongside the path on one side a stack of blackened pots and on her other side are those that have been made shiny again, all sparkling in the morning sunshine. There is plenty of water from the mountains at this time of year, running clear and cold across and along the pathways and bubbling from gaps in stone walls, down through the rice padis and to the river valley far below. Children play at the edge of steep bluffs and peek out of doorways offering a shy smile and ‘namaste’ as we pass by. Occasionally they ask for sweets (“mithai”?) We answer “chhaina “ (sorry, none to give) but they don’t seem to care. Thick brightly colored blankets are hung out to air on the stone walls and we look down on grey slate rooftops decorated with all sorts of laundry.

We reach the Gurung village of Ghandruk early. It has only been a four-hour trek today. Again it has been mostly downhill which has proven to be just as challenging as the uphill. Randy’s knee is okay, but the stones are wet, and we all slip and fall at least once today. Maina, Indra and Renuka?…not even a near miss. We meet many people laden with baskets of goods, and heavy sacks. They seem to float both up and down the stairs, no matter their age.

We have time in Ghandruk to walk through the village and to visit the small museum and the monastery. We share laughs with workman who are repairing the pathways by hand. Rex is wearing his new bangra and this seems to be quite amusing. He looks even more Nepali now with this large bag of woven nettle-fibre slung over both shoulders. He also speaks Nepali which at first confusing and then also amusing. These pathways are the lifeline. We observe a very sick man being carried downhill. He is tied into chair-like basket with a sling for the man’s feet and padded support for his head.

The basket-chair is carried on another man’s back. A dozen other people follow behind. “It is the only way” Renuka says, “Everything must be carried in and out”. She expects they will have to carry the sick man out to Naya Pul since the health centre in Ghandruk is closed. We walk out to the community health centre later in the afternoon. A small whitewashed brick building perched on the edge of a bottomless gorge. Next to it is a helipad with the ‘H’ clearly marked in white, flat, square stones. None could afford the helicopter trip out for this man. I entertain thoughts of returning to work in this village one day.

Perhaps?

Posted on November 12, 2009

Holy Tadapani!

By Monika Terfloth – Part 5 of 10 of the Mother in-law in Nepal and India Series.

Day 3 Ghorapani to Tadapani

We awake at 4am and in the darkness and head for Poon Hill. Six of us instead of seven this time. In the lead this time is Renuka. Maina has decided to remain at the teahouse having climbed Poon Hill before. It is a climb of 1.5 km almost straight up, and is expected to take an hour. It does take all of that and it is an arduous climb in the dark. The stone pathway is wet from the nights rain. Our glasses steam up and Randy takes a fall uphill slamming down on one knee.

Fortunately nothing serious. It is misty at the top, still half dark. We are among the first to arrive and gradually more trekkers come until there are about 60 of us, all quietly awaiting the sunrise over the Anapurnas. Slowly the sky begins to glow golden, and we are rewarded with gorgeous rays of morning sunshine on the snow covered mountains. We are standing on the hill in awe, well above the clouds that rained on our rooftop through the night.

After a quick breakfast near the oil-drum stove, we depart…falling easily into our ‘trekking order’ and into the Nepali jungle with endless stands of rhododendron trees, dark green and resting until they bloom again next spring. The jungle floor seems similar to our westcoast rain forest. Exotic, lacey ferns make the carpet and here and there are small woodland violets in purple, yellow and pink. Vines and dormant orchids with their fat leathery leaves drape down from the mossy tree trunks. Again accessible only on foot, we walk, bound for the village of Tadapani, which will be our stop for tonight. The footpath is dirt, which means leeches and we carefully check one another at every water break. How on earth did one get into my armpit? The path changes back to flat, carefully laid stone as we near the several small villages in the jungle openings on the way. We continue to marvel at the amazing amount of work that must have gone into these paths over the centuries. We brush against shoulder high, brilliant red canna lilies and hibiscus of every color, chartreuse green rice and millet grow at eye level as we pass along the stone walls that shape the terraced padis. The rice is not yet ripe, harvest is usually in July and October. The fall harvest is often near festival time, but Desain is early this year and the rice is not yet ready.

Today we have descended from 3200 m to 2600m and thighs and calves feel like jelly. This afternoon I passed the gorge of my recurring nightmare. It was at least 1000m deep and falling sharply from the side of the footpath. My head swam, but I did not fall over the side! I am here to greet another day.

We reach Tadapani in the late afternoon. Home for the night is another humble and cozy guesthouse. It has been raining and we hope for another oil-drum stove against which to warm ourselves. Instead, we find a smaller dining hall with a long wooden table that nearly takes up half the room. Heavy woolen blankets hang down from all sides of the table. Around the table are wooden benches covered with rugs. As we sit to share a pot of milk tea we lift the blankets to bring our legs under the table noticing that it is very warm under the table. It turns out there is a coal burning stove under there! What a great idea! Can we do this in Canada? While sharing tea, we learn that there will be a performance in the dining room that evening. The village women’s group will dance and sing to raise funds for their village projects. Women in these remote villages have been gathering to discuss and solve community problems ie: sanitation, schooling for their children, health, etc. and with the money they raise they are able to become more independent and improve the quality of life for their village.

After supper, the long wooden table is pushed to one side and women in their deeply colored long skirts and wrapped in woolen shawls, arrive in ones and twos. Long, shiny hair is smoothed away from each glowing face and a thick black braid hangs down each back. They spread blankets on the floor and sit in a close group smiling and nodding to those in the room. There is a moment of recognition as we see a familiar face. There is the woman who prepared our lunch when we stopped at a village earlier today. We are astonished to see her here. Renuka tells us that she has walked from that village, in the dark along the same narrow path by which we had come here and past the ‘gorge of my recurring nightmare’. "About one half hour" Renuka responds when we ask how long it would have taken her. That stretch took us more than three times that long.

One at a time the women get up to dance a traditional Nepali dance. Along with a drum and a tambourine, the accompanying music is the clear voices of the chorus of women seated on the floor. The men of the village and the male porters have gathered opposite side of the room. A contest begins. The men are clearly enjoying the performance and challenge the women to a duel. Back and forth they sing, each side teasing the other. Then the men get up and begin to dance as well. It has been wonderful to see the involvement of the men in rural family life. Fathers and grandfathers tend to the children as easily as their mothers. At the end of the dancing two women circulate the room, draping each of us with a garland of local wildflowers. We return to our simple rooms, cover ourselves with the slightly damp futon-type blankets, fully clothed beneath the covers. It is cold tonight in the mountains.

Posted on October 29, 2009

Holy Ghorapani!

This is part 4 of 10 of the “Mother in-law” series IN Nepal and India.

Day 2: Hille to Ghorapani

The monsoon rains came again overnight and I awake to the sound of a donkey bells. I look down over the narrow balcony railing to see a train of donkeys, laden with sacks making their way uphill, neck-bells clanging, past our tea house. They carry supplies in to the villages, as do any number of people, mostly younger men, shod only in flip-flops and carrying the most amazing loads on their backs. Everything that is not grown and made in the village must be carried in. Fortunate few are able to avail themselves the services of a donkey.

The overnight rains have washed clean the stone pathways and steps. We pull on our still damp clothes from yesterday, downed our breakfast of milk tea and oatmeal and set out to begin the arduous climb. Renuka advises us that if we begin to tire “don’t look up”. Just  put one foot in front of the other and take one step at a time. I discover that if I follow behind Indra I actually can fall into a rather meditative state. I don’t have to think about where to safely place my feet on the stone pathway or stairs. I just follow her step by step. Indra is one of two porters that we have hired to carry our things. She carries the pack that Randy and I share. We have tried to limit our take-along stuff to only the necessary items. A single change of clothes, toiletries, camera supplies, and sleeping bag liners. No sleeping bags – consequently the night was a bit too cold for a truly restful sleep. Tomorrow we will borrow a blanket.

Indra Rai is 18 and has grown up in the foothills of Mount Everest, in Solokumbu. She is one of seven daughters and was raised by her mother after her father died when she was only 3 years old. This is her first time working as a porter after completing the training offered by the trekking company that arranged this excursion for us. The “Three Sisters” organization is affiliated with the NGO “Empowering Women of Nepal” . In a rather revolutionary move, three sisters started a training program for women to gain the skills and knowledge to be employed as mountain guides. So, for our trek, we have hired a female guide, Renuka, and two female porters who each carry a pack (which had to be less than 8 kg). Renuka, as a guide, carries only her own things. We learn that some trekking companies do not set limits on the amount that porters carry. On our departure from Naya Pul yesterday we saw a family of six who had hired a single porter. Imagine two of the largest wheeled luggage possible tied to your back to carry up and down the mountainside for five days. It’s truly inhumane what they have asked this man to do.

Indra and Maina seem to carry our packs effortlessly up and down steep slopes, never slipping, never a misstep, like a slow dance. Indra climbs slowly and steadily, weaving gently from side to side up the steps and down. Conserving energy and choosing two or three smaller steps over a single large one. I follow Indra, her pace is perfect, I am less winded, I don’t slip either now. Indra checks on me often quietly asking “you okay mum”. She is shy and beautiful with a Buddha-like face. They have come to call us Mum, Dad, Rakesh (Rex), and Tal (Tlell)) and we have established our ” trekking order “. We fall easily back into our places after each much needed water break. Maina is in front, followed by Indra, I am next of course, Randy behind me then Tlell, Rex and finally Renuka, our careful watch-mother and guide.

During the last half hour of this seven-hour day it begins to rain, we take a short cut through a wooded area and arrive totally soaked at the ” Sunny Guesthouse” in Ghorapani. As we doff our boots we discover the leeches, many of them have crawled up our boots and beyond the top of socks. Quite a stir in the hallway as we shriek, laugh, jump about and carefully inspect one another to remove leeches and salt them down before entering our rooms.

The focal point of the Sunny Guesthouse is a large wood-burning 45 gallon oil-drum stove which sits on a low clay brick stage in the middle of the dining hall. A wooden rack surrounds this stove and guests and porters alike hang out their wet clothing. We welcome the opportunity to dry out as well. Benches surround the wooden rack, each covered with a Nepali woolen rug. We join the others already there on the benches and poke our feet under the racks of drying clothes toward the warmth of the stove, not bothered by the damp shirts and undies dangling in front of our faces. Hot milk tea all around and everyone is smiling and laughing yet again.

At supper, once ensuring that we have been well fed, Renuka gives us the breakdown for tomorrow’s trek. We are to be up at 4:15, out the door at 4:30, warmly dressed for the one hour steep climb, in the dark, to Poon Hill, the highest elevation that we reach on this trek. at 3180 meters and from where can have the best view of the Anapurnas. Sleep comes easily after what Rex swears is the equivalent of doing the Grouse Grind, up and down, four times in one day or perhaps the Kusam climb twice in one day? Shall I have to try them both when I get home just to see?