Aloha Nepal!

A cacophony of noise and a kaleidoscopic crush of colors, all sensors firing and I have arrived to a place destined. Welcome to Kathmandu.

***

My last night in Italy was perfect. Dear friends, clear skies, and this:

Molly dropped me off at the airport Thursday afternoon and I began the two legged journey to Kathmandu. Predictably, I had spent that entire morning finally reviewing the compilation of Nepal websites and blogs I had been stockpiling as survival guides. Nothing beats a state of procrastination that is miraculously devoid of stress. As I sat in Naples, reading what probably should have been read much earlier, I felt nothing but unrestrained excitement. The night before I had re watched "180 Degees South," a documentary that sparks nothing short than the desire to explore open spaces and do good. To quote: "The world adventure has gotten overused, to me, adventure is when everything goes wrong. That's when the adventure starts." I felt like my spirit already had one foot in Nepal.

After a long layover, exacerbated by a delay, in Istanbul, I touched down in Kathmandu at 9 this morning. I felt energy surging through me as we landed. How could I not smile in such a place as dreams are made of? The largely western crowd of passengers deplaned and we boarded busses, packed like sardines, and were transported 20 meters (necessary?) to the airport. 

I was prepared. A sense of coiled calm spread through me as I waited to greet the certain mayhem of the Kathmandu airport. All the accounts I had read promised chaos, hundreds of weary passengers colliding into the confusing visa process, stampeding the baggage claim, before bargaining down a crush of taxis. All this with the backdrop of an airport that hasn't been updated since the 1970s. I was prepared for an hours long ordeal filled with tooth and nail fighting and extreme body odor. Imagine my happy surprise at the well marked visa and visit forms, the long but orderly visa line, and my luggage waiting for me in a neat row beside the baggage claim.

The surprisingly subdued visa line. $100 for a 90 day visa...done.

Breezing through customs, I exchanged $20 and was out the door searching for a taxi less than 90 minutes after touchdown. 

I will admit, that rather than bargain for a taxi, I paid a whopping $6 for the 15 minute ride into Thamel, the touristy district of Kathmandu. From my very first interaction with the Nepalese in the airport, I felt embraced with the unabashed warmth and kindness of these people. My taxi driver inquired into my itinerary in Nepal and seemed genuinely excited that I was going to be in his country for so long. Kathmandu swept pass the windows; dirt paths, colorful yet grubby storefronts, and dogs, men, children and women squatting, kneeling, standing, walking absolutely everywhere. There was no sense of calm or quiet, yet I felt peaceful. 

When I told my driver that I was in the market for a potential guide to Everest Base Camp (after reading a few blogs, it seemed we would be missing out on local knowledge of the Himalayas if we went sans guide...not to mention neither Em or I have any experience with overland trekking navigation), he proceeded to dole out the merits of quite a few trekking companies. Without further ado, and with no additional charge, he took me on a tour of trekking offices to shop around, giving me an opportunity to understand the personalities of the different companies.

Just a bellowing calf walking down the street. 

The Dream Nepal Hotel is base for the next few days until Emily and I head out on the trek. Emily flies in on Sunday evening and I will be there to pick her up. The hotel is set in the heart if Thamel, down a maze of alleys and side streets.

After collecting myself briefly in the hotel and drinking my first cup of masala tea, I headed out into the romance of Kathmandu. Apparently, honking your horn is a sign of creativity, because it is a constant ring along the streets. Storefronts and vendors display goods to be bought, everything from trekking gear to CDs to Yak meat. Pedestrians, dogs, scooters, rickshaws and cars all compete for the precious little pavement on the narrow roads, and I was almost sideswiped more times than I care to count as I was pulled into the crowd and carried from plaza to alley to temple. 

A future rescuee?

My goal was to get a feel for the bustle and layout of my surroundings, since I will be living in Kathmandu for two months upon my return from the trek. My initial sensation of being in the city was as a vulnerable foreigner. Within minutes though, I was in the rhythm of the people. Most everything in the tourist area of Thamel is in English, and there is a curious combination of poverty, and North Face merchandise. Sadly, one of the first things I noticed was the overwhelming pollution. By day's end, my nose was running and I could feel a tightness in my chest. A good percentage of Kathmandu's residents wear face masks or scarves to protect them from the air that is second only to Mexico City for worst pollution. 

My free city map was mostly useless as the streets are little more than alleys, and what seemed to be major plazas were unmarked. After many wrong turns, I eventually made it to Durbar Square, a world heritage site with dozens of unique temples. After being approached by a dozen or more Nepalese in the street offering some trinket or service, I finally decided to take a guide up on his offer of touring the temples. My working knowledge of Buddhism and Hinduism, the two main religions in Nepal, is dismal, so I listened intently as Devi explained all that was around me. The 43 temples, landmarks and significant buildings in this small area are for worship of Buddha, Shiva, Krishna, the Kama Sutra and more. Most fascinating was the temple of Kumari-ghar, the Living Goddess. 

The Living Goddess is believed to be the reincarnation of the goddess Taleju, and right now a nine year old girl lives in this temple with her priestess guardians. When she reaches puberty, a new little goddess will be sought and she will have to undergo a battery of tests to include spending three nights alone in a temple with the bodies of 324 sacrificed animals. Pretty traumatic for a 3 year old. Thanks to Devi, we timed it so that we could witness the Living Goddess during her daily reception of admirers and so wish her Namaste. 

Somehow the cost of the tour went from $20 to 40 Euros during the hour. I compromised with $30. 

The oldest temple, from whence Kathmandu received its name, was built in the 12th century, and legend has it, from a single tree. It is called Kasthamandap, and in Sanskrit, means "wooden house." 

A view of Silyan Sattal from Kasthamandap. 

As the sun began to set, I climbed the tallest temple, Taleju Temple, and watched the bustle of the street market below. This temple was nicknamed the "hippie" temple when in the 1960s many expat hippies came to Nepal and congregated here to get high. The nearby "Freaky" street was another popular hangout. According to Devi, now only "nice hippies with nice clothes and nice cameras" come to Kathmandu.

Legend has it that if your heart is lying as you pray before this destructive manifestation of Shiva, you will die.

Navigating my way back towards Thamel, I heard a loud commotion coming from an uncharacteristically wide boulevard. Deciding to investigate I ran smack dab into a group of armed riot police. In an attempt to dodge them I was nearly ran over by a moped, before being bumped into the crowd protesting in front of a large white building. Adrenaline! Nepal is holding elections this month, and there is political unrest amongst some groups. 

I stayed to linger, but realized I didn't know where I was and it was getting dark. Continuing on, I stumbled upon a cozy and popular restaurant, and ate some incredible Indian food. For whatever reason, I assumed the portions would be small in Nepal, but I couldn't even finish what I ordered. The scheduled blackout for the area descended midway through my meal, and I enjoyed my food by candlelight.

$5 = tofu curry, veggie biriyani, and a pot of hot water with honey and lemon

Leaving the restaurant, the streets still bustling, I figured it would take me ten minutes to find my hotel. An hour later, I was starting to get seriously concerned. Finally, I just stopped in a corner and looked really confused staring at my map. A Nepalese to the rescue! A man immediately came up to me, and instead of giving me directions, walked with me the five minutes to Dream Nepal Hotel. It may have only been five minutes away, but I would never have found it. I was so grateful, and he just smiled and continued on his way. Oh, I may really fall for this place.

Kathmandu is dynamic. She is beautiful and ugly, loud yet serene, swelling but collapsing. I feel so lucky that I will be able to spend this time here and in other areas of Nepal, exploring, learning and maybe having an adventure or two. 

To all, namaste!

Little America in Italy

A week of little America in Naples, a perfect combination of laziness and the 20-something social scene. 

Maks dropped me off at the Naval Base at dusk on Halloween. American children scampered around, darting beneath the street lamps, totting bags laden with sweets. This is a place where children can walk freely, without a care in the world (after all, they live in a place with gates and guards). I rendezvoused with my dear, dear friend Molly, her boyfriend Alex, his son Murphy and a gaggle of other American Naval officers and their children. 

Molly is one of the most passionate, big-hearted individuals I know. When I was going through a personal crisis in April, I fled to Italy to be with her and in her embrace. At the same time, Molly was going through a very difficult time, and I was there to pick her up as much as she energetically pulled me back into full life. Sometimes the path from Point A to Point Happy can take a strange and circuitous route, and I am filled with joy that Molly is in love and laughing again. 

As culturally shocking as it was to walk across a Spain, so it was returning to mini America. Suddenly surrounded by children and their 360 degree energy called for a quick adjustment. Somehow I found myself pushing a baby carriage and walking a dog named Sugar, as parents tried to corral/run their sugar filled childen into exhaustion. 

In all honestly, being amongst these children was a big moment. In the last few months, I have started to really confront the realities and the hopes I have for my life. Growing up, and all the way through my 20s, children were not something I thought too hard about. It was a part of life I figured would organically work itself out. I envisioned that marriage and children were a logical next step, but didn't actively push for their realization. Yes, I have had relationships, and there was a vague notion that being a mother was all part of some predestined plan. When my close girlfriend, Maria, had her first child, about a year and a half ago, the first twinge of motherhood hit me (albeit, not in any kind of consuming way). I saw Maria with Genevieve, and witnessed truly unconditional love. It is a beautiful thing to behold. And yet, even now, I feel no driving need to have children of my own. Kelsey and I had many conversations on family and children on the Way, and she opened my mind to the possibility of different paths. Ultimately, I am existing in a grey area, which is always the hardest to be in. I am not bent on motherhood and working towards that known eventuality, nor am I certain that I don't want to be a mother. At 28, I don't really feel any pressure (yet) to make a decision, but for the first time, I am realizing it is a decision and not a forgone conclusion. Even more to sort through during this period of hopeful discovery.

Friday afternoon, Molly and I went to a typical JO party. A JO (Junior Officer) is a person in the military who occupies a junior officer rank, and is usually in their 20s or early 30s and not so distantly graduated from college and being commissioned. In the Navy, they can be stationed in such places as Hawaii (the best), San Diego, Virginia Beach, Naples, Mayport etc. and tend to have quite a bit of disposable income. So in some ways it can resemble an extension of college, but with more money, more responsibility, and better living arrangements. In any case, a typical gathering of JOs will involve shenanigans, big personalities (both good and bad), very often alcohol, and hopefully wonderful memories to mark an incredible time in our lives. 

The most wonderful part of the party, were these two:

Tony and Carmella.

Look at that connection.

Saturday, Molly, Alex, Alex's American friend Ken and I picked up another former STOCKDALE JO, Jeana and we headed out for wine tasting. After the hour and a half drive, we arrived at the imposing winery to find reservations had been a must. Va bene! So instead we went and had a huge lunch with a fair share of table wine. That evening was a Halloween party, the likes of which you go to when you are bridging the gap between being a classy adult and still wanting to act a little bit of a young fool. It was a reunion however, as the Navy is a small community, and you greet old friends and meet mutual friends everywhere you turn. 

Molly, Jeana and I pre costume.

Molly and I awkwardly making cider. Thankfully Molly has a chest of costumes (this girl!).

We were mobbed on the streets of Naples. Italian teenagers clamored for photographs, like we were celebrities. Mugatu and Smurfette were particularly popular.

Funny how being in Naples makes me feel like I am still enveloped in Navy social life. Part of me finds it comforting in the familiar sense and a part of me wants to still be quietly on El Camino with people of different backgrounds and stories from me. Even when I was a JO, I was never fully plugged in to the JO lifestyle, being a little introverted and not a big drinker (although there are always moments of exceptions), so I find it interesting to now be even more on the outside as a civilian. Being with Molly, Alex and Maks however, has made me feel amongst family and friends, giving me a dose of home before Nepal.

The following day, Jeana, Molly and I ate famous Neapolitan pizza and gelato.

We wandered the alleys of Naples, past the Duomos and street vendors. This place is full of loud life.

The remainder of this week has been full of semi motivated attempts to prepare for Nepal, such as going to the brightly lit, squeaky clean, American-ized grocery and shopping centers on the Naval base and stocking up on such delicacies as Wheat Thins, Gold Fish and Kashi cereal. I am trying to gear myself up for the promised chaotic experience of the Kathmandu airport and visa process, and read up on basic do's and don'ts of living in Nepal. It has also become clear that structure is an important part of life, even if it is self imposed. Imperceptibly, my sleeping schedule has shifted to being awake until the early hours of the morning, then taking naps during the day. No bueno.

I am filled with barely contained excitement, a little anxiety and a whole lot of Italian food as I get ready to leave for Nepal tomorrow. Italy has been a truly wonderful stop over, making me all the more grateful for my giving, passionate, full of life friends. Sitting here in Molly's comfortable apartment, I can hardly wrap my mind around the dramatic shift my daily life will undergo living and volunteering in such a foreign place. I will see with my own eyes Mt. Everest, and I know I will be left in breathless (literally) wonder. I will see animal suffering and the passionate appeal to alleviate that suffering during my time volunteering. I will remind myself to live in the present, to take it all in as best I can, and smile.

Ciao bellas e bellos.

 

Tuscany! Oh, Tuscany!

Tuscany, the land of David and divine eats. Upon arriving into Rome on Monday morning, Maks swooped me and we headed straight to wine country. Before returning to the fabulous flat in Montepulciano that Maks routinely spends his weekends (his heart is forever in Tuscany), we had two wine tastings, pici (Tuscan pasta...think Italians do udon), and I had charged $1000 to my credit card for approximately 100 bottles of wine. So basically I had exceeded my entire budget for Italy within 6 hours. Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) the wine is not for me, but after putting close to $2000 on his credit card for wine, Maks' card was wisely shut off by Navy Federal. Before you start judging both Maks and I, none of this wine was for us, but special orders from American friends. If you had a friend as crazy charismatic as Maks, who is chummy with some of the most talented wine makers in Tuscany, you would have him go to the source for you too. I also learned an obscene amount of intricate knowledge regarding wine making, specifically in the miracle that is brunello. In all, we visited Vasco Sassetti (met stoic Massimo and his wild vineyard dog Rocco), Il Palazzone ( and received a world class education on wine and olive oil from Laura - she made me take a shot of olive oil, with a wine chaser), and Tenuta Valdipiatta (with lovely Miriam and a family crest that looks like a wave at Sunset Beach). 

Massimo, Rocco, and our pallet of wine.

Laura directing our order.

Brunello and a shot of two day old olive oil.

For dinner, we went to a place Maks has determined is worth the trip to Tuscany alone: Osteria Acquacheta. Steps from his flat in Montepulciano, we were swept into the warmth and aroma of mouth watering Italian cooking. Sitting family style, sandwiched between both locals and tourists, Maks was greeted like the regular he is, with double kisses all around. Leaving the ordering to Maks, we were soon devouring two plates of melted fresh pecorino, one with truffle shavings, the other with pears. We followed this with TWO plates of pasta each: tagliatelle with freshly picked mushrooms, and pici with chili and garlic. Holy s*%t. Please everyone come here. Then it was custard with truffle shavings for dessert...seriously! Oh Italy, I have arrived. 

Pici.

Giulio, Anna, Chiara, Maks and I at Osteria Acquacheta.

Attempting to walk off our meal around town, we came upon the piazza grande, and it seemed rather familiar. Ah yes, (Monika this is for you...) it was the piazza from the Twilight movie. Maks and I promptly re enacted the scene of Bella saving Edward. 

Piazza at night.

By day.

Good thing we were stuffed to the brim, when after an hour long Skype session with the beautiful, indomitable Kate, we realized we had to carry 272 bottles of wine up three flights of stairs to Maks' flat. Pouring sweat, off balance with our belly's all out, we blasted the new Lady Gaga and struggled through the task. Finally around 0130, we collapsed with high hopes of waking up at 0630 to be in Florence at 0830 and thus avoid long lines.

Arising the next morning at 0930 (ha) and letting Maks sleep until 1200 (ha!) we finally departed Montepulciano at 1300. Oh but it was all so perfect! We arrived in the most wonderful city, with its wide streets, sweeping piazzas, and enough breathtaking art to make anyone's heart burst. We found free street parking close to the action, and made our first of three gelato stops for the day (according to Maks, Florence is the only place that has any gelato worth eating...) First was the famous, Antica Gelataria Fiorentina with its signature three flavors of strawberry, ambrosia (my favorite) and persimmon. It was enough to almost make me weep. 

Now, I have secretly been in love with a certain man since the tender age of 14. His beauty is unsurpassed, he is both strong and vulnerable, delicate and bold. He stands where no one can touch him, and is the most perfect specimen in the world. I am talking about Michelangelo's David. Oh be still my wild heart. After gaining entry in an absurdly short 15 minute line, I laid my eyes again upon him. Speechless, I circled around his being, minute upon beautiful minute. I had Maks witness my profusion of love and witness as close to an engagement as you can with an inanimate object. I would never have left, but anther spectacular Florence adventure awaited. 

Pictures are not allowed of the actual David, but here is imposter David in front of the Uffizi.

Momentos of my love.

Walking past pedestrian streets lined with Prada, Gucci, and all things froufrou, we made our way to the unmistakable Florentine Duomo. Timing it quite splendidly, due to our late start, we climbed the 463 steps to the pinnacle dome in time to see the sun sink below the horizon. Ah, perfection. 

Contemplatation.

Up close with the dome.

After the walk back down, we meandered through the streets, second gelato in hand (dark chocolate) and went to the Italian gold market Ponte Vecchio. Glitter aside, it was a breathtaking. 

Dinner at Porcospino was outrageously good. Maks greeted Franco, the exaggerated waiter, like old friends and we left it in his capable hands to bring out delicious vegetarian dishes. Lingering over a hilarious meal (Maks is quite hilarious) we were entertaining all of the patrons around us. The only down side, is we were sitting in close proximity to a basket of gourmet meats and cheeses and I was being stared down by a slab of lard for over two hours. 

Meat basket. 

As we walked back to the car to make the 90 minute drive back to Montepulciano, we had our final gelato of the day. Bacio, a chocolate, hazelnut kiss. Bellisima!

Waking up the next morning, at a much more reasonable 1100, we decided a lovely walk through Tuscany was in order. So post lunch at Osteria Acquachet, and more pici, this time with pomodoro sauce, we began the 8 km walk to Montefollonico. Our belly's full, it was a little like we tottered there, but we started feeling fit and fast on our way back. Trotting down a rolling Tuscan hill, we decided to off road, just a little, and shortcut it through a benign looking group of trees. Forty-five minutes later, after a series of controlled falls through spider filled, prickly bush thickets, being ultimately defeated by a gorge requiring a Tarzan leap of faith, and then scrambling back up the hill we just descended, depending life and soul on the strength of tree roots, we were back on the road to Montepulciano. Also, Maks probably got slapped by poison ivy. 

Making a food venture for burnello risotto (that's right, risotto made with wine), we drove an hour of winding roads to Il Giglio in Montalcino. Sated and fully in love with the beauty of Tuscany, it was back to Montepulciano for our last night. 

Waking up this morning, we preceded to carry the 272 bottles of wine back down the 3 flights of stairs. After a latte with honey, which I envisioned as a delicious blend of coffee, honey and steamed milk, and was actually steamed milk solo with a pot of honey, we were back at, where else, Osteria Acquachet for lunch. Pici with chili and garlic for me, and this for Maks:

My heart broke a little at this, and it was probably the most educational and guilt ridden meal of Maks' life.

Now the three hour drive back to Naples and my chica Molly. 

Happy Halloween!