Just Keep Calm and Curry On

Boudhanath, Nepal

August 22

At breakfast Tuesday morning, Patty, Dylan, Andrew, Ben and I mull over our first night in Kathmandu. Our Nepali crew was picked up in a small white pickup truck carrying our luggage (mine bombarding most of the trunk space.. thought I packed light… OY!!). Our driver, Raju, a sweet young Nepali man bursting in smiles, would soon become one of our close friends. He helps out Father Greg Sharkey aka GShark at the Jesuit Desidary House, an intercultural learning center that would become our home base in the twists and turns of our coming adventures. We arrived at Sharkey’s Nepali brownstone, which was decorated simply in modern ethnic style and the views from his terrance were almost too much for me to handle. The fluttering reds, yellows, greens, and blues of Tibetan Prayer flags filled me with joy and we could even make out the top of the Stupa, the Buddha’s eyes. Chandra, the chef of the Desidary house who would also become one of our buds, prepared for us some chai tea and delicious cinnamon walnut cookie bites. The cardamom, clove, cinnamon and grounding spices of chai tea (known in Nepal as Chia) warmed my belly and heart, my favorite part of the Southeast Asian diet!! Trying to get our ears accustomed to the subtle intricacies of Nepali speech, Raju and Chandra attempted to teach us some local words. Even after repeating them a billion times, Namaste is the only real bit of Nepali language that seems to stick. I can’t wait to begin learning Nepali in class so I will be able to communicate with my family and locals and start adjusting my ears to musical sounds of this native tongue.

After inhaling my Masala omelet mixed with flavorful Indian spices (a month of eating spicy tacos this summer to train my heat tolerance is actually paying off!!), I left the Nepali crew to exchange their US dollars for rupees and get cell phones while I darted off to my first yoga class at Pranayama yoga, a convenient ten feet away from our breakfast stoop at the green hotel. A lovely British accent welcomed me as I opened the doors to the studio. I already felt at home. My first Nepali yoga class was a major success. Emily, the yoga teacher, was amazing. It was just me and one other woman, Nadia from Parkistan, so it felt like a private session. My lungs felt adjusted to the altitude and I was so happy to be back in a yogi space where the asanas, or postures, are meant to bring a sense of stillness, groundedness, and centering onto the mind, body, and heart. The flow was challenging in the best way possible. We began the class by closing our eyes for Emily’s guided meditation. Sending our senses inward, we withdrew into the mind, scanning the body, listening, and retreating from the physical world. The class was a disciplined flow focusing on alignment, opening, and releasing tension. Mid flow, Emily reminded Nadia and I that our teacher can guide us through the asanas, through the physical poses of the yoga practice, but the intention of why we come to class and why we seek inner calmness is ultimately up to us.

After yoga, I met up with the Nepali crew for our first walk through the Stupa. Words cannot even come close to describe the ambiance of the Boudha Stupa. I immediately started to feel the hot sun beating down on me, I was sooooooo overwhelmed with this special place, this cultural treasure and pilgrimage site for people of all faiths. My senses were operating on overdrive. I was trying to soak in and absorb everything around me—the endless sea of mala, yak bone, sacred seed bead prayer necklaces, unbelievable Tibetan and Nepali jewelry trademarked by their silver, turquoise, and coral design, colorful prayer flags, wooden and bronze masks of Hindu gods and goddesses, Buddha statues large and small as far as the eye could see, prayer wheels, and just about the most vibrant assortment of handmade crafts I have ever seen in my life all in such a concentrated area. The Stupa of Boudha is one of those places that transcends National Geographic’s list of Top 10 Places You Must See Before You Die. It is filled with an energy that is as entrancing as it is exciting. Its mystery and cultural richness make it one of the most interesting places I have ever been. And almost every day is some sort of Hindu or Tibetan festival, so the Stupa grounds are always swarming with activity. The eyes of the elderly women are wrinkled with such character and wisdom. These Sherpa women look as if they had descended from villages high in the Himalayas. The stupa itself works in the same way a Tibetan prayer wheel does. The traffic spins in one direction, clockwise. You always walk with and not against the current of colorful saris, sherpa men and women kneading their mala prayer beads, tourists with their Canon cameras strapped to their checkered collar tees, backpacking hippies in multicolored gaucho pants, skinny Nepali street children begging for money, and eager shopkeepers standing on their stoops beckoning for you to come see their collection of treasures.

The day has come. Our first day of orientation at the Shedra Institute. It is Wednesday morning and I wake up energized and ready to start learning more about the culture I have already fallen in love with. We walk through the labyrinth of Boudha streets and alleys, past Sherpa women peeling vegetables and sorting spices, eying us curiously as we watch them and small street children hopelessly begging for money. We see tables full of lit candles in small metal dishes, for morning puja… a Hindu ritual for making offerings and worshipping the gods. As we pass what looks like third world shacks of Nicaragua neighboring beautiful pagoda style homes, we approach the gated monastery known by locals as the White Gompa. Since there are hundreds of monasteries in the Nepali region, each one is identified by a certain characteristic. Ours is the White Gompa, known for its beautiful white buildings. Entering an ornately decorated overhead gate painted in reds, golds, and blues, I am already mesmerized by the sacredness of the Sanskrit engravings overhead. These huge Chinese Fu dogs guard the campus, a remnant of Tibetan Buddhism reminds me strongly of the Chinese tradition.

We entered this oasis of lush green grass and brick path leading toward a huge shrine temple, a holy place of the deities. I looked to the roof of the temple to see two gold deers facing a prayer wheel in the shape of a gong. Before I even knew what was going on, I realized I had burst out in tears. It was a messy combination of laughter and salty teardrops. I felt like I was home. I had been dreaming of this scene for months now and it seemed my whole life had fallen into place… I was meant to walk past those sacred Fu Dogs and enter this sacred place. My last name, Hirsch, in German actually translates as ‘deer’ and those two deers on top of the Buddhist temple had this magnetic sort of energy that had somehow brought me here. Out of all schools in the country, I had randomly picked Boston College, a Jesuit institution that had absolutely nothing to do with my upbringing in Scarsdale. Out of all schools in the country, Boston College is one of two universities who sends their students to Nepal. Out of all schools in the country, I had chosen this program, this path and ended up in this remarkable world.

Greg, the principle of the Shedra, told us in his Nigel Thornberry accent that a spark had brought us all to this place, this ethnic community of Sherpa, Newar, Nepali, Tibetan, Indian, Chinese, Bhutanese faces. Forty-five major languages are spoken here, although some argue for a figure around ninety. With sublanguage dialects, the number skyrockets to a whopping 200-250 tongues spoken in these parts. Many people come here for years to study the linguistics of Himalayan languages, which become entwined under an anthropological, sociological, and historical umbrella. The movement of language traces the movement of people around this region. Not only do the Indian and Tibetan continental plates ram together to form the Himalayas, but their cultural differences have merged, blended, and conflicted with one another across this permeable membrane. So many people have lost their lives trying to cross this mountainous plateau, and it is only recently that travel to this largely inaccessible part of the world has become commonplace. The faces of Nepal show an incredible amount of diversity, as they range from the darkest of browns to the palest of whites. Father Greg and Raju, along with a few others now have told me that I could pass as Nepali, as part of the brahman caste with my fairer olive skin and dark hair. Possibly the best compliment I’ve received in my entire life!!!

I am writing now from a small table at the Shedra’s outdoor restaurant with my new friend, Karma, a monk from Mustan. We are sitting outside sipping our coffee and he is teaching me a few phrases in Nepali. The language itself sounds so musical to my unattuned ears. My favorite line so far is the translation for what is your name…. tapaaii ko naam ke ho (tapay ko nam kayho). Culturally, Karma and I could not be more different from one another. He is wearing his deep red and gold monk robes and I’m sporting my green and black genie pants (compliments of an Arabic market in Israel) with an off-white long sleeve from Urban Outfitters. But here we are, sitting together eating our Nepali burritos and delicious vegetables prepared for us by Asha, the adorable ever-giggling Shedra chef. Around the monastery, I see monks of all ages wandering in their own red and gold drapes. There is a ghandi look-a-like, baby monks that are too cute to be true, and wise old monks who have been studying Buddhist teachings for many decades. I pretty much have decided I was once a baby monk in one of my past lives.

On our tour of the monastery, we are taken into the shrine hall where I almost faint in awe. There are long low wooden tables with Sanskrit chanting books for when the monks come to chant and meditate on small circular gold cushions. Every inch of the wall is covered in beautifully hand painted and carved design with reds and golds, the woodwork is unbelievable, and the Buddha shrine hosted three enormous golden Buddhas with flowers and Tibetan necklaces draped around them. There are students from over 32 different countries in our orientation class. Many have sacrificed so much to come to the Shedra, and the class roster ranges from places in Central South America, North America, Bhutan, Tibet, Bengal, Germany, Austria, Sweden, and Ukraine. Students from all over the world, from all religious paths and practices, have come to this remarkable sanctuary in the heart of Boudha as seekers to explore that special aura that permeates this extraordinary environment. Some have come to escape the corporate world, others to experience an entirely new culture, and all to experience beauty and diversity of this rich and mysterious landscape. Where else can you study dharma from a monastic monk and then retreat into the mountains to go trekking, kayaking, bungee jumping, parashooting, paragliding, parahawking (para-anything) and rejoice in the splendor and vibrance of such adventures & opportunities. The monkey temple and Himalayan lake in beautiful Pokhara are awaiting. There is just SO much to do here, and definitely not enough time in between classes to fully explore the city, let alone this magnificent country, in its entirety.

Filing into rows of low wooden desks, we each took our cross-legged lotus positions on circular cushions. The classes and courtyards vibrate from the deep chanting of the monks. We feel their mantra energy resonating from the ivory and white walls and dark wood floors of our classroom. Every morning monks will come to pray and chant as part of their daily schedule. Birds flutter in and out of the open windows, with a nice breeze that provides some relief from the ninety-degree heat and humidity of these summer monsoon months. All of a sudden, the energy of the room changes completely. Everyone stands up and brings their palms together at heart center and bows their head as a sign of respect. I am last to get up, of course, because I was zoning out to the Oms and Aaahs of the monks down below. I jump to my feet and bring my hands to prayer position, bowing when I see the Khenpo enter the classroom in his red and gold robes. This comes almost instinctively to native Nepalis and Tibetans, because this is their greeting for teachers and lamas. But for me, as someone growing up outside the tradition, it takes a bit of getting used to. Khenpo is just another word for Tibetan professor, a monastic—equivalent to our version of someone with a PhD. His tanned face is Tibetan, but looks like a combination of Chinese and some sort of Pilipino blend. With black frame glasses, a mustache, and goatee, the Khenpo with the help of his translator Miguel, spoke to us about the importance of the dharma and the study routine in a monk’s daily schedule that goes something like this:

5am : 45 minute prayers and offerings to the Buddha

7am : Breakfast (Tibetan Tea Bread and Nepali Spiced Potato)

8-11:30 : Classes

12-1pm : Lunch

1-2:30 : Self-Study, doors must be open to keep transparent atmosphere

4-5pm : Puja prayer for protection

5:30-7pm : Tibetan Class

7pm : Dinner

8-10pm : Self-Study, memorize texts of the day, read & write

Just being able to study how monks study is such a rare opportunity. To learn the dharma from these teachers will be intensive, yet so rewarding. There is sooooo much to learn about Buddhism, it would take many lifetimes to learn even half of this rich and profound tradition. There are so many schools of Buddhism including Sutrayana, Vajrayana, Hannayama, and Mayahana Traditions, all of which offer different but overlapping paths to enlightenment and awakening. The Khenpo continued to speak to us about certain methods of study to open the mind of awakening. Visualization and sound, symbols, thousands of meditations, music and instrument are all on the menu of enlightenment options.

We were versed on all the typical Nepali do’s and don’ts. We talked about the Namaste greeting and a bit about what it means. In yoga practice, I learned that Namaste is the traditional Indian Sanskrit greeting. You take a pause in the constant movement of your day to make meaningful eye contact with your teacher, friend, shopkeeper, or stranger. The bowing gesture means something along the lines of ‘the inner goodness within my soul recognizes the inner goodness in yours.’ A Buddhist and Hindu sentiment that surrenders the ego. We talked about prostrations, something we will be seeing around quite often. Bodily prostrations are a physical ritual… you bring your hands to prayer position and go from forehead (body) to mouth (speech) to heart (mind) and then bow in child’s pose or lay down belly-first on the floor. Buddhist rituals and meditations are meant to cultivate the mind through the mediums of body and speech. That is why things like chanting and prostrations are so important in this tradition.

There are certain Nepali Hindu and Tibetan Buddhist festivals and pilgrimages where people do thousands of prostrations around cities and holy Stupas. In fact, almost every place in this part of the Himalayan region is considered a holy place… classrooms, bedrooms, kitchens, puja prayer shrines in houses and temples, and many others. Flip-flops and Toms sandals have become a daily staple in my wardrobe. We are constantly taking off our shoes when entering rooms, a ritual I was first introduced to in India last summer. This Southeast Asian culture is grounded in beliefs of purity and impurity. Certain people of certain castes are considered as impure as a menstruating woman and the feet, especially the heels and bottoms of our feet, are considered the most impure part of our body along with saliva and other things. Our feet are never allowed to face a teacher, khenpo, or high lama. There are other small cultural nuances that are very different from the things we do at home. For instance, here, we cannot step over one another in the classroom or on streets, or really anywhere. The same goes for books and other dharma objects. Spoken words are very sacred, especially those spoken and written in the holy and ancient Sanskrit. Something that completely shocked my cultural barometer in India but now comes as second nature to my understanding of Southeast Asian culture, is the right-hand left-hand dilemma. The right hand is ritually pure and is used for accepting objects and eating, while the left is ritually impure as it is used for wiping in the bathroom. It is very inauspicious to take things with your left hand. Privacy and public displays of affection between men and women are also very foreign concepts in this foreign culture. There really is no such notion of privacy, doors stay open and even when you are changing in your room, your family members will not knock when they come in. Better watch out for that when I move in with my fam!!! PDA is very uncommon here. Only in the rebellious youth or the unheeding foreign couple will you see men and women holding hands or kissing. This is a very community-oriented society where everyone knows everyone, including each other’s intimate affairs. The local shopkeepers will know who you are before you even get to know them. Tina from Austria tells us that Nepalis often cringe when they see men and women hug and kiss, even something as innocent as a European double-cheek-kiss greeting. On streets, men will hold hands and women will dress extremely modestly—even skinny jeans are frowned upon. But, in the last two years, young Nepalis and Tibetans are dressing more in Western fashion and romance seen on streets is not completely taboo. Tina also warned the men in our orientation class about wearing shorts and plastic sandals—a fashion faux-pas that will mislead locals to think you are of the working class. Seemingly innocent things in the West can be totally misconstrued here in Nepal. Dance bars are undercover brothels, most massage places are not exactly what they appear to be; if you go to a local café with a monk or language partner of the opposite sex, much more will be assumed than a simple chat over chia. Western women are stereotyped as promiscuous while if a Western man goes on a date with a Nepali girl, her family will assume you are planning for marriage and will start prepping the bride-to-be. Here, marriage to a Westerner equals visa and a guaranteed better life in the United States. General note to self: simple actions here have deep cultural assumptions.

Cleanliness and hygiene in Nepal are definitely among the hardest things to adjust to. Coming from the overly sterile and germophobic United States, the quality of Nepali water alone would wreak havoc on anyone’s efforts to stay somewhat sane and healthy here. We had our health seminar today in the East Classroom at the Shedra. I was giggling uncomfortably for an entire hour. Words like Hepatitis and Typhoid, Rabies, and meningitis were thrown around oh so casually. A whole alphabet of diseases spews out of our shower heads and sink taps every time we wash our hands and bodies. One wiff of the toilets here and you could knock yourself unconscious. A putrid smell of sulfur and other dank stenches follows you into the stall of any public or private bathroom. Both Western and Nepali squat toilets wear the same perfume. It is a known fact that Hepatitis and Typhoid are swimming around in the water systems, especially during the rainy season.

Typing frantically from my laptop at the Ariya café, a modern Soho-esque coffee shop, I glance around at the international faces seated besides me sipping their black coffees and herbal teas. Our conversation dwindles as we hear the onset of torrential downpour…. Monsoon Madness. I see a pigeon trying to stand its ground on the stained white stone of the Stupa’s base, feeling so sorry and helpless for this poor little guy’s struggle. We are told that almost every animal here is rabid. The dogs, the monkeys, the bats. Even the hairy caterpillar is a carrier of some potentially fatal disease. There is a widespread case of bird flu going around, not so bad for the chickens, but will leave the non-vegetarian wishing he had not tried that chicken masala or chicken club sandwich. Come to think of it, probably should not have eaten those poached eggs this morning at breakfast (mom and dad, don’t freak!!! At least not until I emergency dial you from the SIWEC clinic!!). The SIWEC clinic is not only known for being one of the best in the Kathmandu region, but is also hailed as a renowned worldwide research center on diarrhea. Here in Nepal, you come to welcome diarrhea as a friendly guest, only hoping it does not last more than a few days. If so, you might have anything from Hepatitis A to E (a real thing) to traveler’s diarrhea. It is not enough to simply avoid drinking tap water. Almost every fruit, vegetable, poultry, or dairy product is a red flag. If it is not cooked completely in boiled water and served on a dry plate with dry utensils, you will get sick. Coughs and colds are standard and almost laughed at as nothing compared to the hookworm that will seep into the leather sole of your shoe and into your body without you realizing a thing. Pinkeye and bacteria are ever-present. Fecal contamination has infiltrated every nook and cranny of Nepali streets and nonexistent plumbing systems. The water that collects on the unpaved dirt streets with loose cobblestones are a guaranteed cesspool of gnarly diseases, worms, and microbe critters waiting to victimize the poor soul who opens his eyes or mouth during shower time or brushes his teeth with the tap. I have been totally paranoid and want to buy rubber gloves for myself especially because no one washes their hands here with soap! According to local legend, even bottled water is contaminated…… AAHH!!! Dehydration can sneak up on you with as much stamina as that cockroach hiding out on your windowsill. Pretty much, it is merely a matter of time before one of us gets sick, let’s just hope the illness doesn’t last for more than a few days. We all came to Nepal knowing we were leaving our comfort zones and exposing ourselves to new thoughts, ideas, and cultural traditions, but none of us really knew the extent to which we were exposing our bodies to a completely new fecal platter of diseases. At least the whole contaminated system will be a humbling exercise as we all mentally prepare ourselves for those imminent sickly days. Seems like a near-death experience is floating above us like a Nepali thunder cloud rumbling, waiting to dump its dark insides on the overheating oven of Boudha streets.

Om Mani Padme Hum, the catchy mantra for universal compassion fills the main artery of the Stupa. We catch ourselves humming it while waiting for our vegetable and yak buffalo dumplings, called momos. They are a Tibetan delicacy that look exactly like gyoza dumplings. Tibetans drink something called butter tea, which tastes and looks like a steaming cup of melted butter. Carbs are eaten in plenty here, as dhaalbat (Nepali cuisine) and nearly every Tibetan and Nepali dish feature rice, roti (flatbread), or potatoes. The food frenzy, delicious and mouthwatering as it excites my taste buds for exoticism, sends me into a food coma. I feel at peace, totally content with this savory mouthful of masala vegetables and potato slivers. The feeling fades when I think back to Wednesday, a day filled with complete fear and apprehension, a day that made me question what on earth a New York girl who loves her sushi and cosmopolitan comforts was doing here in a place like this.

Wednesday was arguably the most challenging day so far, in every sense of the word. Adoption day had arrived. In my mind, I envisioned a sort of adoption process that goes into choosing a puppy at a pet store. You look for the cutest goo-goo puppy-dog eyes and that spark of energy you want in a good pet. Or even picking players for a sports team in gym class, the most promising being chosen first and the loner left behind. Slim pickins. Well, this was nothing like that. Our families had been pre-assigned, something that none of us had known ahead of time. We climbed up the three flights of stairs to GShark’s apartment flat, now realizing his dojo-like place was one of the nicest in Boudha, to meet our Nepali and Tibetan families. Hot waves of anxiety washed over me as I took off my green Toms, now completely soaked with fecal infested rain (lovely thought), and walked in first to greet Father Greg and the families. I saw two eldery Indian looking men sitting at a round table drinking chia with Father G speaking in a foreign tongue. GShark introduced me to my host father, the older man in a simple linen shirt and dark pants. I graciously bowed my head and hands in Namaste to my new father (sorry to the Big Daddy back at home, you have been replaced!! Just kiddin…) His name was Ramprasad, a name I had to repeat about six times to finally be able to pronounce. He was going to be my bua, my father for the next four months. I realized then with his lack of English, him knowing all of what seemed like five words in English, that this would be really difficult. How could I communicate without language? How would I be able to ask about laundry, and boiled drinking water, and basic Nepali survival needs with my New York accent of a handicap?!?!? I felt crippled and helpless in the situation, not being able to speak to this man whose doors he was graciously opening to host me for the semester. He and I knodded our heads Indian style (shaking no like a bobble-head doll, which actually means yes), not understanding a single word the other was saying. With Raju, Chandra, and the taxi driver’s help, we were able to pile my embarrassing amount of luggage onto the top of this small rickshaw taxi. I wish I had photographed the scene because it was so beyond ridiculous. I sat in the backseat while Ramprasad gave directions to the driver in the front seat. We were worlds away from each other, but only about 300m from our home. Winding through the narrow streets of this endlessly stimulating labyrinth, our taxi butted heads with motorcycles, rickshaws, stray dogs, Sherpa women spinning their prayer wheels, and hoards of skinny schoolboys in white button downs and blue ties. We passed the Stupa and went up a few small alleyways to what seemed like a collapsing tenement building. Home sweet home!

More to come,

Xoxo Julia