Foreigner

Over the last couple of years I’ve learned to accept that the people in the community where I was raised have come to consider me an outsider.  No longer towing the party line of hard-core Orthodox Judaism, it’s difficult for the indoctrinated to accept my less restrained lifestyle.  But these feelings tip the other way too. When I return for visits, it’s just as much a struggle for me to relate back to the world of my childhood. Yet, I can’t pretend that that level of foreignness comes anywhere close to my initial experience here in the Swayambhunath neighborhood of Kathmandu.  As an outsider in this country and to this culture, my understandings of my observations are probably a bit distorted, but I’ll try my best to relay them as accurately as possible.

My current living quarters are located in the guesthouse of an environmentally conscious Tibetan monastery, within a short distance of the Swayambhunath Stupa, also known as the Monkey Temple because of the holy monkeys that inhabit the ancient sacred site.  Since there are no English street signs in the area, I couldn’t find the office of my host NGO on my first evening in town. Perhaps I missed the left turn because I was distracted after being swept into a procession of people circumnavigating the road around the stupa with prayer beads in hand; some fully prostrating themselves on the ground despite the traffic and mud puddles from the afternoon’s rain shower. I had seen religious processions before, but the magnitude overwhelmed my jetlagged senses.  

Monkeys scampered about the area, paying no attention to us Homo sapiens.  One climbed an electrical line like a tightrope walker.  Another enjoyed some leftover chips from a shiny metallic bag.  I finally understood the guesthouse’s warnings to keep the doors closed so that monkeys don’t wander inside our rooms.  Although, it does feel a bit selfish, since I happen to have an extra bed. : ) 

 Time seemed irrelevant during my immersion into this new world of religious devotion, but eventually, I surrendered to my jetlag (which surely enhanced this out of body experience) and returned to the guesthouse. 

The next day, Wednesday, I tried to find the organization again on my own (frankly, I was a bit ashamed for not remembering where it was located).  But I missed the elusive left turn again, and ended up walking around the Swayambunath Stupa in an even larger procession than the night before. I watched as followers turned prayer wheels at its base, lit countless butter lamps, prayed, and handed rupees to the rows and rows of people begging for money all around the holy site.  All the while thinking that this was an every day occurrence. Quite often, a motorcyclist or driver would screech his/her horn in my ear and scare the bejeezus out of me.  Apparently this is something one gets used to over time.  I guess I’ll also have to get used to sticking out like a sore thumb with my mix of Caucasian and Semitic features and western clothes. Even though I’ve had many experiences as an outsider, this one has been the most extreme.

As I continued walking around the stupa, it was nearly paralyzing to realize that there was not much I could do at the present time to ease the suffering of the adults and children with distorted limbs, open wounds, and emaciated bodies crouching on the ground, begging for money.  Instead of succumbing to these thoughts, I decided to try to focus on my original motives for visiting Nepal.  To learn about the award-winning community forestry initiatives this country has pioneered and perhaps do some reconnaissance on the very different waste disposal situation from the one which I am accustomed.  

Thanks to a college friend who teaches English here, next week I will be meeting with two of her students who have worked on community forestry initiatives and thanks to my days doing outreach for the documentary GARBAGE DREAMS, I should also be connecting with some people involved in the waste management arena. After that, a trip to the steamy forests of Chitwan!

There may not be as much time for such lengthy reports in the future (stayed in today to battle the side-effects of a typhoid vaccine), but I will try to update as much as I am able.

Beckett

P.S.  A lovely woman who works at the restaurant here at the monastery has been teaching me about the local culture, indoctrinating me into the world of motorbikes, and helping me not get ripped off in the market.  Turns out June 15, 2011 was a Buddhist holiday called Saga Dawa - a festival in celebration of Buddha’s birth, enlightenment and paranirvana (death).  And while people do walk around the stupa daily, the area is now much less frenzied and easier to navigate.

Benchen Vihar (Monastery Guest House)

Monkey on a tightrope.

Lighting butter lamps.

Burning spices?

Praying during Saga Dawa festival.

Snacking on the side of the road.

Turning prayer wheel on the side of the road.

Remnants from the festival.

One of the many trash heaps along the road.

In Buddha Park.

Maya and Beckett, post biking in the rain through the busy streets of Kathmandu