Dal Bhat Power, 24-hours

02:00 - I wake to the sound of mosquitoes relentlessly buzzing around my ear. After slapping my face several times and seeking refuge under the sheets, I roll out of bed and turn on the light. The battle begins. I take my nightly position at the corner, flip-flop in hand and eyes scanning from wall-to-wall in search for the bloodsuckers. 15 minutes into the battle, one mosquito down and nine more to go, I give up. Instead of fighting, I open my door and then my fellow volunteer’s bedroom door, hoping that their fresh young blood will draw the mosquitoes out. This has probably worked seventy percent of the time. The battle ends and coast is clear. I head back to bed.

06:30 - I wish I could wake up with birds chirping outside my window and the sunlight peeking through the curtains as if I were some princess in a movie. The reality is that I never really wake up peacefully. I awaken to a pack of dogs howling at each other, cows mooing, roosters screaming (not even cockadoodledooing), and heavy monsoon rain beating at my window. I roll out of my bed for the second time, covered in sweat and longing for a nice fresh shower. When I get to the sink, toothbrush at the ready, the tap is running dry. No water? No problem. I walk outside to our balcony and do my morning routine in the rain without a second thought.

Oh by the way, our toilet isn’t working. Clogged from too much toilet paper, and now it just won’t flush. The alternative to fixing it, which of course is way too much work, is to face our enemy - the squat toilet. It makes going to the bathroom much more of an effort. Toilet paper in bra, one leg of my pants crossed over to my other leg, I brace myself for the worst. I then flush it all down with the rainwater collected overnight. That took longer than it should have. Good news though - bowel movements are going a-okay. Thanks for the Chinese medicine, mom.

07:30 - Downstairs, I wait as the children are finishing up their breakfast. Auntie tells me to clean up after them, and I do as I am bid. Eventually I sit down with my own breakfast - steaming milk tea and malpuwa (Nepali fried pancake) with drizzled honey. I do not eat in peace - Auntie’s 3-year-old daughter Paticha yells my name over and over again, shaking my table and spilling my milk tea. All the while, Auntie’s other daughter Ichya is pulling my leg trying to grab my attention. I guess she wants to show me how attractive she is slobbering all over her food. Finished with my breakfast, I hurry over to the kitchen to wash up my dishes only to be greeted with a “NO WATER, JACKIE!” said in unison by Tenzin, Nuwong, and Tsering Dickie. Pasang just grunts, as usual.

08:15 - I don my ready-for-anything pants - black, quick-drying, somewhat okay looking, shitty quality, and easy to roll up for emergency nasty bathroom situations. I head out the door, waving goodbye to Paticha as she yells “Bye, Miss!” from the balcony. Here starts my 45 minute walk to the tourist area in search for stable WiFi connection in order to Skype with my college friend from back home. I plug in my ear phones to avoid the taxi drivers’ “TAXI?” yelling and random men’s “Namaste” callings. Works every time. The rain is still beating down my umbrella, and I watch as it washes away the piles of cow shit I saw earlier yesterday. It has transformed into running streams that I now have to jump over. Traffic isn’t so bad today, but there is still the occasional beeping from drivers to alert me that they are behind. As I am crossing the street, a van is coming towards me and does not stop. I see him, but do nothing and continue walking. He continues driving. Who will stop first? I refuse to do so because pedestrians should have the right of way (passively trying to impose Western traffic rules here). He eventually stops and lets me pass. One of these days my stupid pride is going to get me killed.

09:30 - A stable WiFi connection was obtained but I realized that my laptop’s built-in mic barely works. Now at an internet cafe and successfully bargained down the price from 100 rupees to 70 rupees per hour. Mind you, I went from around 1 US dollar to 70 cents. Why bother negotiating, it’s so cheap! Maybe in America, but in Nepal this is expensive. I have become Nepali cheap and proud.

10:30 - Bathroom break. I split a tissue into two and stuff them in my nostrils. I kick open the door to expose a surprisingly adequate cleaning job and a western toilet. Thank you! But of course no toilet paper. No worries, I am prepared.

11:00 - Ken, a previous volunteer that I spoke with via Facebook before coming to this country, recently asked me to do him a favor and try to relay a message to a dear friend of his named Pema. Pema and her mother come down to Lakeside almost every day trying to sell items in order to make a living and currently reside in a Tibetan refugee camp. I spent a good amount of time wandering around this area and speaking with several Tibetan women selling things on the street, asking for Pema in attempts to find her whereabouts. Two hours and no success. I’ll try again, Ken.

13:30 - A tad bit exhausted and starving, I head over to one of the more foreigner-occupied coffee shops around here called Pokhara Java Coffee House. I don’t know how many times I have been here, but enough that the workers know me now. It’s nice to feel like a regular. I am greeted with familiar smiles. I sit down with my fellow volunteers/floormates and chat a bit about our mornings. Emma, Kathleen, and Sarah are journaling away as Chia reads her book. I decide to splurge a little today and get myself an egg and cheese grilled sandwich. “Dai!” I shout to one of the waiters. The father and owner of the coffee shop catches my eye and laughs. “Yes, I know a little Nepali.” I shout to him and smile. Food was splendid, as usual.

14:15 - A familiar woman with bleach blonde hair gets up and is starting to leave. She looks up for a moment and I wave to her. I haven’t seen her in a long time. From what I remember, she told me she was only staying here for another two weeks. I thought she was gone by now. Turns out she wants to stay a little longer and continue working on her book, since Pokhara is a pretty inspiring, relaxing place to be writing books. I told her I was leaving Pokhara in two days. Perhaps we will see each other again, perhaps not. She is a very intelligent, welcoming, interesting person and I will miss bumping into her around here. A good conversation over coffee would have been nice. As I watched her walk away, I thought to myself that I would probably never see her again. Goodbye, nameless Finnish soon-to-be author.

15:00 - Bored. I make my way to Hallan Chowk, wave for a local bus to stop for me because official bus stops do not exist in Nepal, and squish into their Nepali-sized seats that make me feel way more fat than I actually am. “Mahendra Pul” I say to the money collector as I hand him over a 20 rupee bill. Several people squish in next to me - a fat old lady, a young soldier in training, and a mother with her child, both donning beautiful luscious lavender silks. I yell “Dai!” and get off at the location I want. Let the cheap Nepali carpet search begin.

15:40 - Finally found a carpet place that was actually open on a Saturday - a small little shop with shelves stuffed with different kinds of fabrics. I guess fabric stores, be it New York City or Pokhara, are all the same - messy, musty, and confusing. The owner of the store ripped through her entire collection to find me the perfect carpet. The only one I ended up liking was a beautiful design, but mainly of a forest green, which sucks because my room to be decorated back in my rented house in Rochester has rooms with the same exact green. No no no. I’m sorry for all the trouble, fabric store owner lady.

16:00 - Hail for another bus. This one isn’t even a bus, its a shady tiny van whose standing room is three-quarters of my height. Aka, with no seating available, I hunch over those whom are already seated, my sweat dripping down the side of my face, off my chin, and onto a woman’s sari. I don’t think she notices?

16:30 - And of course, in the middle of my 30 minute walk back home from the bus stop, a dude on his motorbike asks me if I need a lift. Sometimes I thank my shaved side of my head for drawing attention.

17:30 - One of the kids and truly the diva out of all the girls, has a LOT of energy today. Sampton takes both of my hands and begins dancing with me. Fun for the first 15 minutes of jumping around and crap, but after that I am out of breath and begging for a break. Am I unfit or am I just getting old?

20:00 - For what seems to be the 50th time I have been to this shit place called Busy Bee, I join Felipa and Tatjana on the crowded so called dance floor. Every other time has sucked because the music is terrible but perhaps it will be different tonight. But it is never different. We enter the cloud of sweaty, smelly guys and stand in the corner. Are these people dancing to Guns N’ Roses? Don’t get me wrong I love Guns N’ Roses, but one doesn’t really dance to this kind of music..Feeling extremely awkward, we run out of that dance floor as fast as possible. Welcome to the nightlife of Pokhara - the best in the world.

23:00 - The taxi driver asks where I am from. “Oh, but your face is so Asian.” Really? I did not know. You’re only the millionth person to tell me that. Then he charges me 800 rupees. “No, no Dai. 800 is too much - I’m not stupid. Make it 300 and we have a deal,” thus beginning a lengthy series of haggling for 10 minutes before we finally reached a compromise of 400 rupees.

01:30 - Nightly dog gang fight. Roosters. Mosquitoes buzzing. I slap my ears like an idiot trying to get these mosquitoes to die. Frustrated, I roll out of bed, turn on the light and situate myself in the corner of the room ready for battle.

#travel #Nepal #backpacking