An End to an Era

If you are reading this blog for the first time, please consider backing up the the beginning. The very beginning if time allows it. Stories are always richer when told from where they first started.

       With my Fulbright experience officially concluded, I've had a lot of time to reflect, and a lot of time to continue sharing all that Nepal has meant to me.
         I characterize my experience by many things; by the 9-month period it lasted, by my officially grant duties of teaching English in a rural Nepali government school, by the culture and family that shaped my time there. It was an era of tea in the mornings and York Mints and Smarties at night if I still had any left to fish out of my bag; of Dahl Bhat eaten with my hands; of skeptically considering foods and then shrugging my shoulders and simply crossing my fingers with the hope that it wouldn't make me sick.

             It was an era of entering bare concrete classrooms in the arms of first and second grade students who had literally dragged me there (all the while fighting for the privilege to carry my school bag and hang it on the door knob); of my student Sanju crying "Miss, miss!" in her high-pitched voice, until she got my attention and could ramble off, in her six-year-old way, some new story that she'd been waiting all morning to share. An era of experiencing the indescribable happiness of placing a crayon in a child's hand. 

         It was an era of having a little sister and a newborn baby brother for the first time. Of loving every time a neighbor questioned in amazement how I'd managed to learn Nepali in such a short amount of time; An era of bus rides crammed next to locals, where I was either straddling a goat or handed a stranger's child to rest on my lap. An era of photocopies and lamination. An era of handing out chocolate and activity books and taking deep breathes in the thick of chaos. An era of loving new things, of tremendous learning curves, of humbling beginnings. 

This is Nepal. This is my Nepal. And I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

         Thank you for taking each step with me, for caring, and for spreading my words across the world. I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity to share Nepal. These pages allowed me to tell my stories to friends and family with much more clarity and richness. It allowed me to share with those who weren't here to hear them when I returned. For that, I'll be forever grateful. 

I hope you too find a way to share your stories. Please don't hesitate to contact me in person. I'm always happy to share more, to hear your stories, and to continue expanding our connections in this great big world. 

Namaste,

    Lisa

*This blog is dedicated to two of my biggest fans - two individuals who always encouraged me to share my stories, and who shared their stories with me. 

R.I.P. Leslie Schroeder

R.I.P. Grandpa Chuck Stelling

Calling Nepal

         When I came home, when I stepped foot off of the last airplane, I had three sets of loving arms to embrace, and a beautiful bouquet of roses from my boyfriend, John. I've enjoyed meal after meal of the things I craved for 9 months - salads and the crispness of raw vegetables, frozen yogurt, baked salmon, greek yogurt topped with granola, sushi, water straight from the tap. I've taken numerous hot showers - none of which I have taken for granted. I've felt carpet under my feet and the luxury of indoor heating. I've hiked along Port Townsend beaches and cherished the long-overdue conversations between good friends. 

       But every few nights I pick up the phone, abandon whatever I'm doing and leave the room, to "call Nepal." It usually takes a few attempts and some finger-crossing to get the call to go through. But it's worth it every time. From the other end I'll hear Sachina's cheerful laughter and my Bauju's accent as she answers the phone with a familiar "Hallo?"

      Our voices mingle in happy conversation as I ask the usual Nepali questions: "Are you healthy?" "Have you had tea?" "Have you eaten?" "Has Bai (the baby) gotten any bigger yet?"

      She'll answer, and luckily it's been only good news. My town was fortunately mostly unharmed in the earthquake. Though it's been an emotional burden for all, our house and school suffered only minimal damage and everyone I knew in the community is said to be alive and well. I feel very fortunate for this, though I wish I could have been there to hold their hands through the process and the fear of the event. 

     Now that the worst has past my family is enjoying the growth of the new baby and using the extended holidays to spend more time together. My Bauju often asks how I enjoy being with my American family and if I've been playing cards with John like I used to play with her every night. She often puts Sachina's sweet voice up to the phone, despite the fact that I can't understand her five-year-old Nepali over the phone. Bauju tells me every time that they miss me and to "come quickly." I always say I will. 

    It feels good to be home. As wonderful, inspiring, and joyful as the experience was, it was also exhausting, frustrating, and challenging. And for that, it was time to come home - to see family, to put exercise back into my lifestyle, and to mentally process everything. 

But I do plan to go back "quickly." Whenever that time may come.

 

        When I think back to it, when the pictures pull me back to that place, I miss the singing. I miss the smiles of the students when they came together in unison for a song. I miss the eyes looking up at me and the intense excitement and hope in their faces when we started a guessing game. I miss the tea and eating rice with my hands. I miss watching dots connect in a student's mind when they filled out the activity books I'd created. I miss playing cards with Bauju and holding Bai in the mornings. I miss his cooing laughs and Sachina's giggles.

I placed this quote on my cap at graduation exactly one year ago.

 But I suspect it's one I'll be using all of my life. 

"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."

- A. A. Milne

Goodbye, Nepal. Until I come again. 

*Photo credit to Sam Lovetro for the last three photos. 

Trekking

      After my grant officially ended, two other Fulbrighters and I spent two weeks trekking through the mountains of Langtang. Two weeks well spent. 

     It felt great to spend the day with no other focus or worry than simply hiking our way to the next village on our route. It was both mentally and physically refreshing. In addition, I encountered an almostly completely new culture (that of the Buddhism-influenced Nepal) and many new wonderful people. 

      Though I also have many of words to share about this experience exclusively, I'm limiting this to a post of photos. They capture the feeling, the awe-inspiring views and wonder, best. Long story short? If you ever find yourself asking the question, "Should I spend two weeks or more dedicating the entirety of my day to hiking through breath-taking mountains," know that the answer should always be yes. 

With the Mountains of Tibet in the Background

Skirting the Edge of the Mountains

Ellen with one of our trusted guides

A Buddhist Wedding

Forests and River Trails

Taking It All In

Here especially - Beauty is Everywhere

Bridge Crossing

Langtang Mountains

Kyanjin-Ri: The Day We Became "Real" Mt. Climbers

A Buddhist Gompa

A Bridge Along the Trail

Memories of a Lifetime

Other Note-worthy Travels in Nepal:

A Lake Near Pokhara

View over Pokhara

Kushma Bridge
(the longest and highest suspension bridge in Nepal)

*Unfortunately, the Langtang area in which we trekked was one of the areas hardest hit with destruction by the recent earthquake. If you are interested in donating, here is the link to an organization getting aid specifically to those communities. It is affiliated with people I knew while in Nepal and trust it will make good use of any donations. (You can donate through the little blue button in the top right corner of their page).

http://langtangdisaster.org/en/

Another local relief effort:  https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/relief-for-ramche/x/10975577
                            
Thanks!

Tika and Glass Boxes: How to Say Goodbye

        There are some things that Nepalis just do right. I've been through a lot of cultural adjustment over the past nine months, but there were a few Nepali customs that immediately caught my eye as significantly better in so many ways than the American customs I've grown up with. Example: Nepali hospitality. Their insistence on providing tea and a place to sit to all guests, though at times overwhelming, is one of the most consistent kindnesses I've ever experienced. The Nepali saying that "a guest is god" has developed into a loving warmth that has met me at every doorway. 

        Another thing Nepalis do right? Waste. or I suppose I should say the lack of waste. Almost everything we ate came package-free, straight from a local farm. Milk was bottled in reusable plastic jars; tea, flour, and beans scooped directly from a large burlap sack. Except for the wrapped candies and ramen from my Bauju's store, there was very little plastic or paper to throw out. A months worth of waste in Nepal is comparable to the waste we often accumulate in just a few hours in the U.S. 

       As my last days in Gorkha crept around the corner, I came to recognize another shining star in Nepali tradition: the art of saying goodbye. I grew incredible close to my students, co-teachers, and family after many months of living in Gorkha. I expected a heart-wrenching, tear-filled goodbye of people asking me not to go and me awkwardly repeating that I had to. I suppose I expected this in part because sometimes Nepalis show they care by guilt-tripping you: "Why were you gone so long?" "You'll forget about us the week after you leave," "You don't like the food, do you?" In America, we'd call it uncomfortable. In Nepal, it's called showing you care.

      So of course, going into my last days of goodbye, I suspected questions more difficult than the one's I normally got from my first and second graders

      But to my surprise, I was dead wrong. In fact I've never seen a group of people do goodbye better. It started with my Bidai, a farewell ceremony where the teachers covered my face in red tika as a blessing and students handed me armfuls of flowers. 

         The gifts and smiles overwhelmed me in love. The red powder took days to fully remove. So did the heartwarming feeling that came with.

         As my "Thank You" I created a scrapbook of photos for the school and wrapped/signed over 270 presents for all of my students (better not to leave anyone out). For my most cherished classes (1, 2, & 5) I printed out photos for each student, to give them something to remember me by, even when they are older and graduating to high school and beyond. I hope sincerely to be an enduring memory in their hearts and minds.

         On my final morning, students came early to sit with me and snap pictures together. As I said my final goodbye to teachers, they repeated with a happiness similar phrases: "Go well," "Safe Travels," "We will miss you," and "Don't forget us, okay?"

        The last one got me every time. But neither the hugs of my favorite teachers, nor my final wave to my students were tear-filled. In fact, they were filled with joy. And I was both amazed, and incredibly grateful, for the Nepali ability to say goodbye with joy. In the same way they drink tea in the mornings, in the same way they dance or sing songs to the beat of a madal drum - My Nepali family bid me goodbye with joy.

....and with several glass boxes filled with fake flowers and cheesy sayings from "Best Wishes" to "Happy Birthday." I don't know who started this trend, but they've really started quite a business. They also gave me and the other Fulbrighters a good laugh as we lined our gifts up in the Kathmandu apartment (over 25 glass boxes in all). "It's the thought that counts." But, of course, I don't need twelve glass boxes to remember my Nepali family and my time in Gorkha. That comes with ease.