Well, the buffalo made me sick. At least, I assumed it was the buffalo, but just to make sure I had another dose the following day. Yep, definitely the buffalo.
Now, I have a confession to make. While I posted an upbeat message last week, I was actually feeling quite down. My first impression of the city was that it was hectic, dirty, smelly and hotter than a camel's armpit. I was feeling tired and sickly and was expected to endure the rubbish three-ingredient menu twice a day. I tried to save my sanity with a bar of Dairy Milk but it just wasn't the same. I couldn't even rely on Cadbury's to bring me comfort.
But, slowly and surely, as the hot hours ticked by, I started to cheer up. The initial culture shock subsided and I came to my senses. How had I not noticed the beauty of the city; the surrounding mountains, the helpful locals, the cheap beer? How could I feel low at 1,300m above sea level? So I learnt how to sleep on a solid, paper-thin mattress (not on my side), how to manoeuvre between homicidal tuk-tuk drivers, and how to squat above the hole-in-the-floor without losing balance. I remembered the showers were unheated before stepping in, accepted the wave of congratulations on my abnormal height, and no longer smirked when I saw two men holding hands.
Most of all, I began to enjoy the eccentricities of Kathmandu. For example, the main VSN office is situated in an area of the city officially called ‘Pepsicola’, as the Pepsi factory is its predominant feature. Pepsi seems to have a stranglehold on the whole city, as I haven’t seen anyone flogging Coca-Cola anywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entrance to the city reads ‘Kathmandu – brought to you by Pepsi’. I live a bus ride away from the office with the Shrestas, a lovely family of five (son Parshant, daughter Sudha, uncle Madhap, mother Mongola and father No-Idea). Through my family and semi-productive language lessons, I’ve learnt some helpful Nepali phrases such as ‘Mero naam Joe ho’ (my name is Joe), ‘Malai sancho chhaina’ (I don’t feel well) and ‘pugyo bhat, malaai ek botal gaaiko masu dinus?’ (enough rice, may I have some beef?) I had the opportunity to meet some other volunteers on Wednesday afternoon but it was rather short lived as I was still suffering from buffalo-bum.
On Thursday and Friday, I visited a few temples around the city – two Hindu and one Buddhist. I have to say, the Buddhists beat the Hindus hands down. They're colourful and flamboyant but without a sniff of homosexuality. All the temples have decorated cylindrical 'prayer wheels' which each person must ritually spin clockwise as they enter and exit. I watched some Buddhist kids pissing around with a six-foot version, spinning it as fast as they could until the tiniest one went soaring into a well-placed rug. Well, I suppose you only live once!
On Friday night I went out with some of the other volunteers. We went to a rooftop restaurant and I ordered something random off the menu. I ended up with bloody rice again, but I swapped it with someone else for a naan bread and had a tofu curry sandwich. It was a really enjoyable evening, but I discovered that I have arrived at somewhat of a transition period; several volunteers left last week and everyone I have met so far has now left for Pokhara for varying lengths of time (between two weeks and two months). This means I am one of very few volunteers left, so I'll have to get used to hanging out with the monks – obviously maintaining a strict teacher-student relationship – until the new intake arrive!
Most of Saturday was spent walking from Thamel (where we had stayed in a hotel the previous night) to Pepsicola. I figured it would be nice to walk the 8km journey once so that I got a better sense of the geography of the city. Unfortunately, due to my complete incompetence at map reading, it took me over four hours, having spent at least an hour walking 2km in the opposite direction. During one of my diversions I went to get my phone unlocked so I could put in a Nepalese SIM card. This was a success, but in the process I managed to lose my English SIM, complete with fifty pounds credit. On the plus side, I saw two shop signs on the long way home that more than made up for it. One boasted 'STD available here', while the other was a sweet shop with the unfortunate misprint 'sweat shop'. It was only when I got home that I considered the sweet shop may be a cunning front for an actual sweat shop, and the sign may be a desperate attempt by a worker to reach out to an enlightened Westerner who could help them escape their terrible oppression, but by then the Liverpool vs. Sunderland game was on. Well, that's until fifteen minutes in, when the power was cut. These blackouts occur between 6 and 8pm most evenings because the city does not generate enough power for all its residences. What baffles me is that the power remains on all night – why not cut it for two hours then? When the sun goes down at 7pm, an hour with no electricity, no candles and a chargeless iPod can seem a very long time.
On Sunday I got a lift to the VSN office on the back of a motorbike. Never before have I clung onto another man with such vehemence. I had my language lesson first thing (well, 10.30) then went to visit the orphanage in Gathaaghar where I will be working. I then went for lunch in Baneshwor and ordered a ‘sizzler surprise’ – the surprise being that it was ox and goat meat – and I decided that I really needed some familiar food. So I went to the supermarket and stocked up on chocolate, crisps, chocolate, bread and chocolate. I spoke to Mongola in the evening about having my own rice-free breakfasts and she seemed quite happy with that. So first thing this morning I had suspiciously dark honey on dry, Nepalese bread…and it was bloody lovely! My poos are still weird though.
Today, I finally learnt what will occupy my time over the next six weeks. I teach intermediate English in a Pepsicola school from 10am-1pm, then get a bus to a monastery in Baneshwor where I teach advanced English from 3.30-4.30pm, then quickly hop on another bus to the orphanage for 5-7pm. However, it is a national holiday tomorrow and the school and monastery don’t have lessons, so I’m just going into the orphanage in the afternoon to meet the kids. I start at the school on Thursday, but I’m sharing lessons with a Nepali teacher until Monday. After that, I’m on my tod in a government school with sixty hormonal teenagers and no fixed curriculum. As this is hogging all of my available terror, I’m feeling quite relaxed about teaching fifteen monks from Wednesday, probably because I’m assuming they’ll all be pretty well behaved (unless they want to revert to cockroaches - or Frenchmen - and start climbing the reincarnation ladder all over again).
So there you have it; by this time on Wednesday I’ll be a proper, bona-fide teacher – cushy hours, crap pay and a class full of skinheads staring up at me. I’ll let you know how I get on with the orphans, the monks and the school kids and, more importantly, try to find out what the hell my Nepalese dad is called!
Namaste,
Joe x
