Our First Year: Everywhere

Le Singe Est Disparu

"Le chat est sur la chaise, le souris est sur la table et le singe est sur la branche..." Eddie Izzard says in his "Dressed to Kill" stand-up routine as he mocks French language instruction in his native Britain. America uses exactly the same kind of lame and useless vocabulary when teaching introductory French.

"The cat is on the chair, the mouse is on the table and the monkey is on the branch...."

Eddie Izzard hilariously tries to imagine what real-life situation one might be in to make use of these phrases. So, he acts out trying to collect each animal and place them appropriately in his invisible home.

"Okay....le chat est sur la chaise....et le souris est sur la table.....et le singe....ou est le singe?? Le singe est disapru..."

Yesterday, that's exactly what happened - the monkey disappeared from the Swayambu Buddhist temple and he took two others with him. The three ended up sitting on the third story ledge of a building along New Road - miles away from their home and right along Emily's shopping route.

Crowds gathered around, blocking the street while many tried to talk the monkeys down - as if it was a monkey suicide threat. Clearly, the order of the universe as Nepalis knew it had been turned upside-down.

When I heard, I immediately wanted to talk to my friend, Joti. He and I lost touch after we moved out of our initial guest house where he was also staying. I didn't make the effort to stay connected because Joti is a five-year-old French-Nepali kid and it would have been really weird for me to come around looking for him.

But Joti's haunting question about why the monkeys weren't everywhere - why they didn't leave Swayambu was answered in a most unexpected way. What seemed at the time like the cute and naive question of a five-year-old turned out to be very valid. Joti was prescient.

He deserves to know.

Unfortunately - well fortunately in the big picture - he's probably back in France doing what he does best, coloring and playing. But if I ever run into Joti again, I will be sure to let him know, "Le singe est vraiment disparu."

That's the thing about Kathmandu - nothing is really that shocking or impossible to imagine. When Emily told me about the monkeys and the crowd, I wasn't shocked about the monkeys - I was just excited that Joti was right.

We have two days left of Nepal before we catch our flight to Mumbai Thursday afternoon. We're in the wind-up phase of what will be an exactly 30-day stay.

Rolling black-outs or "load-shedding" as they call it because their power plants literally can't meet the country's energy needs, have increased from two-hours a day to six hours a day. The government is discussing upping it to 16 hours a day - the way it was last year.

Almost every home and business has some sort of "back-up" which ranges from large generators like at our beloved Hotel Vajra to car batteries wired to lamps like in most small shops.

Mandira's house has solar panels to generate back-up energy which fuels basic essentials like some lights and of course her home-office. She may not be able to see her way down the stairs, but she never loses Internet. That's the price of being a successful human-rights leader.

Kim, the son of our hotel owner who pretty much runs everything at Vajra told us that he's not sweating the possible 16-hour outages because at this point, they can fuel the generators. Two years ago when there were both fuel and natural gas shortages on top of the rolling blackouts...that's when it got hairy.

"You have to make friends beforehand," Kim explained. Vajra got by because Kim has a friend who owns a gas station (aka two pumps) and would let Kim buy diesel early in the morning before the station opened....at a premium price, of course. It was what kept Vajra alive. "After that, anything's easy."

So, on top of Internet being touch and go at times, we also never know where there will and won't be power. Planning our day is a little like playing roulette. We take our best guess and hope for the best. The cafe we like for good lunch and decent Internet doesn't have working Internet during power outages. So, going to lunch is literally a gamble when we're trying to get our work done.

The good news is that Emily is working her way through her Kathmandu checklist. She managed to arrange one last dinner with her Nepali family for tomorrow night as well as some wander-around and shopping time yesterday. Tonight we have our last dinner with our Australian friends Yvette and Hugh, who we really enjoy. It's all coming together.

Today, I saw a man who gave my friends and I a historical city-tour eight years ago and who my friend Chad and I hired to help us round-up nurses for our Nepali nurse-recruiting attempt five years ago. Narayan was in the exact same spot in Durbar Square where I found him the last two times - a little sicker than I remembered him and not too happy with me that we weren't able to get the nurses hired as we had intended. But there he was - the same as always and as findable as ever.

Nothing surprises me here.

Except Joti. In my previous post about Joti, I had used a Little Prince and the fox analogy for my time with Joti back at the guesthouse. Unfortunately, I had forgotten one of the key lessons of Chapter 21 of "The Little Prince" - "One sees clearly only with the heart. The essential is invisible to the eyes." Happily, Joti can still see a boa constrictor swallowing an elephant.

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The Space Between

As we sat in the dining room of their beautiful home which detail for detail looked and felt like a very nice American house, Mandira and her husband Ram explained to us their fears about what might happen if their son goes to a university in America.

He could come to like life in America and not return. He could disconnect from his family. His values could shift and no longer be the same as his parents. Their son could slide away into another culture.

This of course, is a rightful fear. I have always liked Lee Kwan Yew's analysis that America's greatest strength is its ability to attract and assimilate the world's greatest talent. American culture has a powerful undercurrent which tells people they are welcome to participate and be one of us - just check your background at the door. We can have equality - as Americans. So, get with the program and join up.

Normally, I would feel deeply for parents concerned about something like this. They have given their son everything they have to give. He goes to the British School in Kathmandu which is very expensive and difficult for a Nepali kid to get into. He has braces - which neither Emily or I have ever seen before in Nepal. He has every comfort and amenity you could imagine. Mandira and Ram have poured their hearts, souls and bank accounts into their only son.

Only, as they talked about the potential losses and their fears, I found myself looking around their home - which if I didn't know better could have been in Westlake Village or Thousand Oaks, California - where I grew up.

Hardwood floors, big living room with giant "L" shaped sofa, a kitchen any American would love complete with granite counters, perfect insulation (rare in Nepal) and most importantly - the finest bathroom in the country are just a few of the jaw-dropping features of this Nepali home. I would pay just to have access to that bathroom - which comes complete with built-in bathtub, shower and a toilet I didn't think you could find in this part of the world.

While to Emily and I this appears to be a tear-inducing piece of home-like comfort, Mandira's house is beyond extraordinary for Nepal.

What I didn't say to her is that her son isn't in danger of straddling two cultures - he already is.

They talked about how he watches American and British TV and has ideas completely inconsistent with those they grew up with. He wants to go bungee-jumping, he wants to race a motorcycle and he wants to do his undergraduate education in the United States (which they sort of support).

Mandira received her LLM in London - so she sees the value of foreign education, but would prefer he wait until graduate school so that his Nepali-ness is a little more cemented. She says that Nepalis who attend grad school abroad usually return home, but not so those who go away for undergrad.

Don't think their son is some kind of terror. He's a little spoiled, but really very down-to-earth. He's a sweet, intelligent, grounded person who as far as I can see is just following the path that has been laid out in front of him. He lives in a home that would make most Americans jealous, he attends possibly the most prestigious school in Nepal, he has a front and backyard with a basketball hoop, he watches foreign TV - what would anyone think in his position?

Ram worked for four years in Japan. Mandira lived in the UK. They have worked to have everything foreign. Mandira's work as an internationally honored human rights attorney and leader has taken her around the world. She has a car and driver. They've had a taste of the world and they've incorporated it into every aspect of their lives. They have the financial success to do it.

Despite their genuine concern about cultures and values, Mandira and Ram have already crossed the line into the netherworld between cultures - more western than Nepalis, and too Nepali to be Americans or Brits.

Over the past several weeks, we've met several expats who live in Kathmandu and other Asian countries. Some are happy, some are conflicted - some are trying to make it work.

In countries like Nepal, an average American or British school teacher can live like a King or Queen. International schools - in exchange for a two or three year commitment - pay airfare (including an annual trip home during summer break), cushy housing, public holidays and all breaks including a full-summer vacation. Teachers make American salaries. So, let's a say a school teacher makes $40,000 a year - in Nepal, they can pocket just about all of it. What a change of economic status.

For someone who can appreciate a foreign culture and their amazing opportunity to save money - being a foreigner working in a country like Nepal is a wonderful thing.

Only it's rare to find a joyous, happy expat community.

When I lived in Bangkok, most of the Brits and Americans I worked with had been around awhile and spent much of their time complaining about what was wrong with Thailand and Thais and the way things were done there. Many confined their social lives either to drinking at bars with other expats, enjoying the company of prostitutes or both. It was a cliche taking place before my eyes.

In Singapore, where everyone speaks English and the standard of housing is excellent in almost any neighborhood, expat communities were very strong. They occupied some of the most expensive areas of town and kept a fairly closed community - separating themselves from what I found to be the most accessible local population in Asia.

I never understood it. I lived in wonderful condos in Singaporean buildings, that were among the nicest places I've ever lived. I had Singaporean neighbors - who were friendly and kind. I saved a lot of money too.

Many of the expats I met complained about how boring Singapore was or how hot. True, it's not the most exciting place on Earth - but one of the easiest and most comfortable places I have ever been.

Two nights ago we had dinner with three very successful guys from San Diego who were passing through Nepal and went to Nagarkot for their mountain view experience. They're all well traveled. One was British, one Australian one Los Angelino - all San Diego residents now.

They all talked about how horrible expat communities are - including communities of Brits and Aussies who live in the United States. The condemned how much of life people miss trying to stay in their bubbles of comfort.

One has a sister-in-law who has been in Orange County for eight years and refuses to get involved in anything because she always thinks they're moving back to Sydney next year. Only, her husband's contract has been renewed continuously for eight years.

My favorite part of the conversation was their conclusion that the constant putting-down of the host location and culture has to do with trying to make expats feel their culture is better. It's a superiority which helps them feel okay staying removed and not exposing themselves.

The miserable expats are neither participants in their own culture or engaged in the culture around them. This is the foundation of the misery. They live in the most awkward of all worlds - the space between.

I sympathize with the people caught in the cultural vacuum. Not everywhere is easy. I really struggled in Taiwan at times. Sometimes, it's hard not having the comforts and things you love about home around you.

Or, for the people in Mandira's situation - it's completely understandable to want more for yourself and your family. When you see something that you admire and works for you, why not pursue it? There is no shame in success or in stretching your horizons.

Many of us "cherry pick" ideas - taking pieces of the ideas and cultures we've known with us, putting them in our toolbox or displaying them proudly on the walls of our inner-worlds. The key - in my humble opinion - is to know that the parts we like are just that - the parts we like.

But being a cultural collector doesn't get you in trouble. In fact, it's very safe. Taking that next step and putting a foot firmly in another world - that's when the ground begins to feel shaky.

When you enter another culture - unlike another country - there are no embassies that can help you in case of trouble and there are no clear lines and answers. Everyone has to find their own way because each person is navigating their own uncharted waters for the first time. Some people sail smoothly around the horn, some battle through stormy seas, others crash on the rocks. Sometimes even experienced captains have momentary losses of control.

So, as we sat around Mandira's dining table, enjoying the best masala tea I've had in Nepal, in what appeared to be the calmest, most orderly space in Nepal, I realized that these people - for more than one reason - were engaged in a voyage not for the faint of heart. And I admire them.

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Five Month Anniversary

Yesterday was our five month anniversary. Given that Emily spent a good portion of it in the bathroom and the other portions looking like death warmed over, it wasn’t our best anniversary. Nonetheless, it was our five month marker and we still managed to acknowledge and appreciate in the moments Emily was lying comfortably.

Neither of us is sure that five months feels like five months. We live in a strange time warp. It’s not the time with each other part so much as the fact that four and a half months of travel feels like so much longer.

We experience the strange phenomenon that things we’ve done and the places we’ve gone seem so long ago. A month ago we were in Istanbul – which now seems like a fading memory. We hold onto Patmos like it was a distant and wonderful time in our lives. We were in Israel in August but I already feel like I haven’t see Ziv in such a long time.

Time is doing strange things to us.

The good news is that our year abroad is not slipping through our fingers. We don’t wonder where the time went. We don’t regret our choices - except buying street snacks from a man who probably used his left hand to handle them, thereby rendering someone violently ill for a day…. We still have almost two-thirds of our journey in front of us and we already have a lifetime of rich memories and experiences.

So, at five months of marriage, we’re doing well. We’re rich in memories and experiences. We have spent our marriage living our dreams. What more could one want?

At the same time, we spend so much time around each other that I’m not sure we feel completely like your classic newlyweds.

My friend Leanne talked about how during her first year of marriage, she was so excited to learn to cook new dishes and have a wonderful dinner ready for her husband when he got home from work. During my friend Mazyar’s first year of marriage, his wife, Makhameh turned their apartment into a meticulously laid out and beautiful home using all the gifts from their wedding. There was no mistaking the change in Maz’s living conditions.

We don’t cook for ourselves and we don’t have an apartment to decorate at this time. We have some fantastic wedding gifts which will eventually get used in a similar way – so we may have the joy of doing it all a year after getting married – which will be fun.

But those little surprises, the missing each other during the busy work week, the trying on the classic role of being married – we’ve skipped that.

I think we have instead dived in to some of the more advanced stages and dynamics of marriage. We work as a team constantly. We have taken the intensive course on each other’s needs and inner-workings. We have each other’s backs in situations where there are outside problems or challenges.

The occasional arguments or disagreements that could easily have faced a “I have to go to work, I don’t have time for this – we’ll have to deal with this later…” are now “Okay, we need a decision here because this guy over here is waiting for us to decide….” and then there’s just the phenomenon that no one really wants an ongoing disagreement when we live and work in close quarters in a foreign country. We’re pretty quick to move to resolution.

Maybe the fact that 95% of the time, we have a great time and work fluidly is “The Honeymoon Effect”. But I like to think that it’s the success of trial by fire.

My friend Tony who was here a few days ago stepped into our hotel room, looked at the backpacks in the corner and Emily’s work papers and files on the desk and remarked on how differently Emily and I are doing our first year of marriage.

“If you can survive this, you can survive anything,” he said referring to the intensity of time and togetherness. Given that Tony’s an avid traveler and an expat of 11 years, he has a special appreciation of the interpersonal dynamics of travel.

One unexpected part of spending all but two weeks of our marriage traveling has been meeting so many couples and seeing the lives they have and the choices they make. This weekend we met a couple (referenced yesterday) where he’s an American doctor from Michigan and she’s a Canadian school teacher at the American international school in Kathmandu.

They met in Kathmandu and their entire life as a couple has been in Nepal. They have three-month-old baby now. I asked David if they’ll be continuing to live here. He said, “It’s hard to say. It’s become harder with the baby.”

I’ll bet it has.

Yet at the same time, last weekend we met a British couple, Hillary and Paul, who are about our parents’ age and work together as development consultants. Developing nations hire them for their expertise. They moved their family to Bangladesh when their oldest was eight-years-old and raised their family not only internationally, but among some of the third-worldiest of third world countries.

They told us that expats in Kathmandu have some of the best quality of life in the world because the accommodations for expats are so nice, the help so cheap and available and people don’t work late hours and weekends – families have lots of time together.

Watching and seeing how people makes you think about your own values and perspectives. While I can understand how it works for people – because both financially and ease of lifestyle-wise, it must be great – I knew in an instant how much I want our future kids to be surrounded by family and friends. I can’t imagine choosing to keep my kids away from grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and our friends who will undoubtedly be another set of aunts and uncles. I want my kids to grow up around Mazyar’s and vice versa. 

Besides, who doesn’t need help? Whose marriage does better for not having help?

I also know that with the possible exception of Bali, I’m not a third-world parent. I want car seats and airbags and bottle sterilizers and knowing I can run to any emergency room and get decent care. I don’t think I could sleep at night without knowing that if something happened – because things happen despite your best efforts – I couldn’t get the kind of care that might have made the difference.

These things are good. We see the many ways in which people live and do marriage. We think about them. We learn about what’s out there and what does and doesn’t work for us.

My favorite arrangement is Hugh and Yvette’s. Our Australian friends who we were surprised to learn have been together for 24 years, but aren’t married. Hugh refers to Yvette as his wife. But Yvette refuses to get married because she doesn’t want to be “owned” and feels a strong, innate need to have an emergency escape hatch – even though she doesn’t see anything ever changing between them and plans to live her life with him. They have a son together – who she insisted have her last name. He has three other kids from a previous marriage, so he relented.

They aren’t traditional in one sense, but they adore each other – and it works for them. The lines seem like semantics which make Yvette feel comfortable. But whatever – they’re happy.

And that’s the part I like so much. As we travel along – developing our relationship, a step outside of our “normal” lives – we see and learn. There are so many ways to make marriage – and coupledom – work.

At five months, I think we’re doing great – and we’re aware that marriage isn’t a fixed set of steps to be followed, but a recipe we all take and tweak – adding in a little more of this and a little less of that to suit our taste. Maybe that’s why in each country, we buy a cookbook. Because you never know when down the line, you might need some good ideas about new and forgotten flavors.

Retreat

"I have something to tell you...It's a surprise, but I can't keep it
in! We're going to the Farmhouse this weekend!" Emily said to me over
lunch on Tuesday.

While my inner reaction was a mixture of happiness and relief, I
immediately became concerned. Emily had wanted to go "canyoning" or
repelling this weekend. Repelling involves wearing a body harness
while walking backward down the sheer face of a canyon. Then when you
reach the bottom, you hike back up and move to a new location to
repeat the process.

While she felt repelling was the most fun she's ever had, I found the
idea...repelling. So, I had wanted her to go without me or to go with
one of her Nepali friends. Yadda yadda yadda...the repelling place
requires at least two people and none of the Nepalis were available.

I had decided that we'd come a long way to be here and Emily should
get her repelling experience, so I agreed to go. When she told me that
she had "secretly" booked a trip back to the Farmhouse in Nagarkot
because I really wanted to stay there last weekend, I was worried that
she was giving up something very important to her for something I
would greatly enjoy, but would not spend the rest of my life bemoaning
if we hadn't done it.

Emily said that I had been a trooper being in Nepal still when if the
situation had been reversed, she would have wanted to leave - and that
a restful weekend away might be very nice before the chaos of India.
Besides, she had already booked it.

So, Friday afternoon we got in a private car (aka beater Toyota) which
took us all the way here to the Farmouse resort - no scaling hillsides
- with views of the Himalayas from big beautiful rooms with giant
windows and decks. It feels like another world. A restful world. A
world in which we slept in.

This weekend, like last we met very interesting people including a
group of three middle-aged guys from Del Mar (San Diego) who were all
owners/CEOs of their very successful businesses. They were doing a
"bro-man" trip to Nepal and Northern India together. A whirlwind trip
of less than two weeks with more planned that they could handle.

For their two days in Nepal, they came to the Farmhouse. We spent the
evening talking, dining and playing cards with them. One even went to
University High School in West LA - just like my father and aunts.

We also met an American-Canadian couple with a baby and a yellow lab.
David is a doctor who did his undergrad at University of Michigan,
just like Emily - only he's ten years older and looks about five years
younger than us. He now practices travel medicine at the premier
international medicine clinic in Kathmandu. His wife is from Winnipeg
and teaches at the Lincoln American School - the official American
International school of Nepal. We had a fantastically social evening.

Today, Emily woke up sick - purging herself of a poor choice of street
snack yesterday. She's now feeling better and David isn't too
concerned about her. She's finally taking down a little food. Emily
made the most of it by laying in bed, occassionally reading and
looking out our corner room at the Everest Range of the Himalayas.

Everything is peaceful and quiet - without steep hills and uphill
treks. For the first time in our Nepal experience, I feel rested and
relaxed. I hope Emily will feel the same tomorrow.

Wedding At The Party Palace

I reached into the bottom of my large backpack and pulled out the slacks and two button-down shirts I had been carrying around for precisely such an occasion. The black shoes I haven't seen since Cannes also got to once again see the light of day as Emily and I got ready for a Nepali wedding reception.

We were shooting in the dark with this one. We asked several people about what we should wear and what we should give, but there were as many answers as momo on my lunch plate.

"Wear whatever you want", "Wear anything", "Wear a black suit", "You can wear pants", "Wear a dress", "It's the groom's reception - so you don't need to bring anything", "Give flowers", "You can give 500 rupees - that's nice." "Give a watch." "Give a hat, maybe." "Give 1005 rupees and put it in a nice envelope." "You really don't need to give anything."

So, we decided to split it down the middle and wear the most conservative clothes we already had and to give 505 rupees (odd numbers are considered lucky) in a handmade artisan paper envelope. Emily had the black dress and pashmina I bought her in France, I wore my collared shirt and slacks and we went.

The etiquette confusions seemed to stem from two things - that it was a reception, not the wedding and that it was being thrown by the groom's family, not the bride's. While this event is perfectly normal - being the final event of the wedding after two ceremonies in two towns and a reception by the bride's family - it is the least formal and is taken more and less seriously by different people.

Everyone seemed to agree that we were under no obligation to give anything because all the giving events were done and we didn't even know the bride and groom. But because we weren't comfortable with that answer, the ideas about what to give were...interesting.... But apparently, you can't go wrong with cash as that's the gift of choice for weddings in Nepal. So it was.

When we arrived at the Anmo Party Party Palace, Emily's frustration with me running late due to my poorly anticipated ironing needs (which were resolved when instead of lending me an iron, the hotel took my clothes to the laundry room and pressed them perfectly for me) ended immediately when we saw that people hadn't yet arrived to the event. While we were 20 minutes late American time, we were about 40 minutes early Nepali time.

So, we didn't even step foot on the Party Palace patio when Devendra saw us and came up to greet us enthusiastically. The elation he had when we arrived only bloomed through the evening. Devendra was a proud papa and couldn't be happier to be hosting a reception for his son's wedding.

The Palace itself was really more of a clubhouse or banquet hall-type place with a very large patio space which probably exceeded the are of the building itself. Neon and strung lights decorated the Palace and a sign board meant to list the event of the day had nothing in it at all. Inside, four rows of seats ran the length of the room, leaving it so that guests sat shoulder to shoulder, not face to face - and there were no tables. It was clearly designed for maximum seating capacity without being theater-style. A buffet was being setup in the back of the room while on the patio a bar, barbecue chicken station and a hot soup station formed the "cocktail hour" attractions.

First we went with Devendra to meet his son and new daughter-in law who were seated inside, on a stage on special thrones - because where else do you sit a bride and groom at a Party Palace?

We stepped up to the stage, the rose to greet us, we congratulated them, handed off the envelope, enjoyed an awkward pause since we didn't know each other at all, and then stepped down. The couple remained on their thrones the rest of the evening and never at any time joined in the mingling and discussion of the crowd.

Then Devendra took us along with him and began introducing us to just about everyone there who spoke English. Among then was a psychologist Emily knew from her human rights work eight years ago. We spoke with this woman for some time while appetizers were enthusiastically passed by waiters who seemed to be genuinely concerned about whether we were eating enough. One wouldn't take no for an answer on the paneer pakoda and another was devastated that I didn't want anything to drink.

About fifteen minutes later, Devendra brought over his niece who is just graduated nursing school in India. She wants to go to America and he wanted me to explain to her how she can do that since I used to recruit foreign nurses for a living. The very well-spoken and intelligent girl got me some paper.

We sat at a table on the side of the vast patio where I gave her a tutorial on which exams to take and the steps she'll need to take to qualify for US immigration as a nurse. It had been awhile since I had explained things like Visa Screens and NCLEX exams to a Nepali nurse and it seemed like a very bizarre setting for it. Despite it all, I had a moment where I felt like I still had it....

As people arrived and the Palace began to fill, staff set up two empty half-oil barrels filled with long pieces of firewood and tons of newspaper which they doused and lit on fire in the middle of the patio.

The most surprising part was that despite the flames jumping up ten feet in the middle of the crowd, no one was surprised or affected. Eventually, the flames went down and the elders crowded around for warmth in the evening air. About a half hour later, one of the oil can-fire pits had a piece of wood crackle and explode sending embers and ash all around it as the elderly fled at top speed. Once the staff had it handled, the resumed their original positions.

While there was no central entertainment or organized ceremonies, events or speeches, contemporary pop dance music was playing. There were some interesting house-mixes of Black-Eyed Peas, Lady Gaga, Shakira and then later some Eurythmics. No dancing, just loud music with a fast-beat.

For almost two hours, beverages and appetizers floated. Wine with all the punch of water, whiskey mixed with hot water and soft drinks were the beverages of the evening to be enjoyed with deep fried cheese balls, spicy wontons and small pieces of fried chicken.

Meanwhile, people were crowded around the spicy barbecue chicken station as if this was the latest and greatest thing. It was equivalent to what the chocolate fountain was in America five years ago. You know that the next day, people will be sitting around saying things like, "Can you believe that soup?! I've tasted soup that great at a wedding and that barbecued chicken station was to die for! I have to ask Devendra for that caterer's number!"

Emily and I mingled with the psychologist and other of Emily's former colleagues for a good while. One man owns and operates a private business college. He wanted Emily's help to get American universities to accept his school's credits so that his students can transfer to programs in the States. He hadn't been able to get any schools to accept his classes as credit-worthy, but seemed to feel that being a professor, Emily could make a couple of calls and make it happen.

In exchange, Emily could come teach the classes of her choice at his school whenever she wants. We tried to explain to him that his curriculum would have to mirror that of US schools and that he would have to demonstrate how his students would be coming to America with an equivalent education. He seemed to feel that some clout and money should be able to fix this. We decided that he was kind of a douche - Emily's word.

Eventually we hit the buffet which was basically a very nice "make-your-own-dal-bhat" line. It contained all the highest quality, nicest variations of the same basic meal that Nepalis have for meal. It was one of the nicest dal-bhat meals we've had.

Eventually, we realized we had talked to just about everyone who spoke English and/or wasn't frightened to speak to the only two whities at the party. Some people were already leaving because receptions like this seem to be a revolving door. There's no set length of time to be there and no such thing as too late or too early. Our friend Tony was at the hotel and we wanted to see him before it got too late, so we started making our good-bye rounds.

We found Devendra, said our goodbyes. He talked to us in between his numerous cell phone calls he had been receiving throughout the evening. It seems that people who can't attend call and the custom is to take the calls and receive the congratulations no matter what. So, Devendra was busy with guests and calls. It was a little difficult to finish a conversation, but he was nothing but warm and clearly in the most elated mood. He even made his attempt at boogying to the music for us. He is truly one of the nicest people you could ever meet.

And just as we were heading out, the psychologist's husband came rushing over to us. He excitedly told us all about the fact that he's a PhD, has done extensive work on conflict management and wrote a book - both in Nepali and English - on the Maoist conflict in Nepal. He ran out to his car to get us a copy as a "wedding present" from them and then autographed the book for us.

It's a big hard-bound book with an illustration of a Maoist rebel on it. He wrote it in 2004, well before the conflict ended, but during a peak of tensions. He's very proud of the work and feels it has insights from which many countries can benefit.

And with that, we departed the Anmo Party Palace - a little amazed and definitely richer for the experience.

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Gratitude

Everything. We have everything to be thankful for this year. We have everything to be thankful for just about every year - but especially this year. There are these rare and exceptional moments in life when you can look around and realize you have only blessings. Everything and everyone is a reason to be thankful. We are fortunate enough to be in that place.

Any and all of our little glitches and frustrations are minor. In fact, they are more minor than most of the issues we would face at home. What's more remarkable is that in turning our lives upside-down, voluntarily giving up all the conventions and trappings that we usually associate with stability and safety, Emily and I have managed to sustain and create a moving foundation.

The floor never feels like it's going to drop out from under us - we never feel like we're walking a wire. We don't just get by, we don't just make it. In truth, we walk through the wonders of the world as if floating on air. We are all the more appreciative that this is our opportunity and experience at a time when so many are struggling to make ends meet and have faced such financial hardships.

And not to brush too close to a trite "Wind Beneath My Wings" metaphor, but this isn't some great achievement of victory of ours. This time and these experiences are a gift from so many of our loved ones. Some very special people love our dogs in our stead. Others tend our mail and help us with random, but important stateside tasks. All of these people plus so many others give us love, support and inspiration. They also bend for us in their lives.

Not to attribute a self-importance here, but we all impact one another. When one person picks up and leaves, others experience a loss, inconvenience or disappointment. So many of the people we love have given up something intangible with our departure and have been gracious enough to embrace it and still love and support us.

If the situations were reversed and these same people picked up and left us for a year, we would most certainly feel it deeply. We know this and are grateful we have such wonderful and giving friends and family.

While we are far away, we think and talk about "our people" - the people we carry around in our hearts. We're missing some pregnancies, births, wedding planning years, relationship turmoils, losses, emergencies, life changes, personal discoveries, holidays, celebrations, get togethers, happy hours, and everyone's birthdays. You don't realize how much happens in a year until you step out of your life.

A few amazing people have visited, met up with us or plan to visit. There are others who toy with it and play around with ideas. We're amazed by that too. Jumping a plane and heading around the world isn't an easy thing to arrange - especially for the kind of people we know with amazing, vibrant, interesting, challenging and complex lives.

I can't tell you how many times we wish we could transport different people to where we are to share in an experience or to have a talk. There are places and events that are "so " and the experience is a little diminished by not having that person around.

I like to think of it like Passover when we take a drop of wine out of cups for each plague because we can't enjoy a full measure of happiness at the loss of others. Those moments are our drops of wine - they remind us that life isn't complete without community, love and friendship.

Luckily, this Thanksgiving someone wanted us to be part of his community and graciously invited us to a Nepali wedding reception. Devendra, a former colleague of Emily's who I write about before in the "Behind Closed Doors" post, is hosting a reception for his son's wedding. What a wonderful way to spend Thanksgiving in Nepal. We are grateful to Devendra for his graciousness, generosity and friendship.

We are also lucky to have my friend, Tony in town for two days before he takes off on a two week trek around the Annapurna circuit. We even get to spend Thanksgiving with old friends.

This year, there may be no turkey, stuffing or pumpkin pie, we have more than a feast for ourselves. We love and miss all the wonderful people in our lives and want you to know how thankful and grateful we are for you.

Happy 17th Birthday, Arielle and Josh.
Happy Birthday, Lucy.

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Llamas For Lamas

Mandira's translators have nightmares. They turn reports of rape, torture and brutality into English documents that can be shared with the UN, Amnesty International and other organizations. But they aren't human rights activists -- they're just translators who sometimes get in over their heads in terms of the emotional impact of the work. So, she burns through them.

Mandira Sharma has won international awards for her human rights work and achievements. She's the founder of Advocacy Forum Nepal and Emily's former boss and friend. Mandira helps rescue the arbitrarily imprisoned from jails, provide legal defense to the resourceless, and demands accountability for cases of disappeared persons in Nepal. She has expanded from an organization of five at the time Emily left in 2003 to 150 with offices throughout Nepal.

Mandira's organization does the research and documentation work it takes for other international organizations such as the UN to step in and investigate human rights abuses. Mandira helps identify conscripted child soldiers and get them the help they need.

She also likes Korean food and makes for great dinner conversation.

Over kimchee, Mandira - who got her LLM from a prestigious human rights-centered law program in the UK - explained that Advocacy Forum wins all kinds of legal cases involving human rights and protection of victims, only the government doesn't heed the orders of the Nepali Supreme Court. The Court makes the right decisions but no one listens - their judgement is hollow.

We learned how the army works to maintain an authority separate from the executive branch of government. Given Nepal's confused and disorganized leadership and political structure, I wondered if the military might be planning a junta.

"We cannot rule it out. It's a definite possibility," Mandira said. She added that it would be highly unpopular at the present time, but that if things turned less stable than they are, you never know.

More importantly, we heard story after story about abduction, rape, murder, disappearances, and cover-ups that were the norm during the last decade in Nepal.

Mandira explained how with the recent peace after years of armed conflict and insurrection, gangs have formed and there are bands of people who extort the middle-class and wealthy with kidnappings. The Nepali business community suffers and life has become unpredictable in a new, yet vaguely familiar way.

Yet, irony and oddity of it all - with all the warring and trouble, all parties leave the foreign tourism community alone. No one wants to disrupt the flow of the cash into Nepal or bring excess international attention - except Mandira who hopes that international forces can play a part in pressuring Nepal into adhering to international human rights doctrines.

Of course, we didn't just talk about heavy things until we hit clinical depression. Mandira is a fun, brilliant and educated person with a teenage son who is trying to choose a university and husband who loves to cook amazing meals. She can laugh and even make light of some of the everyday and real challenges of Nepal.

I was personally very proud and pleased when Mandira liked my idea about supporting women's rights in Nepal. On our trek, we saw many women carrying huge and heavy baskets and bundles of wood on their heads and necks. We also saw farmers herding their cows and water buffalo along steep and narrow mountain paths.

Naturally, it occurred to me that perhaps it would be better to use the buffalo to move the cargo than the women. So, I asked our guide, Indra if people ever used the water buffalo for transporting goods.

He said that sometimes up in the mountains people might do that - but never so low (low being about 6,000 feet). That didn't fully make sense to me - but he indicated that it wouldn't be very nice for the buffalo to have to carry. I wondered why it was okay for the women....

Mandira said that it's just the way people think and that in many villages, Nepalis treat their women worse than their animals.

That's when I pitched it. I realized that with all the sharp hills and narrow mountain passes, llamas would be very useful in Nepal. Perhaps a nonprofit could form to bring in donated llamas and give them to village farming families to use for transporting goods, rather than having girls and women do hard labor?

I would want to call it "Llamas for Lamas" (and of course I'd like to have the spokesperson be Lorenzo Llamas). To my surprise, Mandira liked it and actually saw how if training was included to actually show villagers how to use a pack animal that it could, in fact, significantly impact the lives and roles of Nepali women.

Anyone interested in trying to change the course of women's rights in Nepal through the strategic use of llamas, please let me know.

Our discussion of llamas and women led us to other areas of rights and cultural difficulties with which I wasn't familiar. For instance, in villages when girls get their first period, they get locked in a dark room for 13 days and are not allowed to be in the presence of men or boys.

Thereafter, when they have their periods, they must sleep in the barn. Even in more enlightened families where they don't feel it's right to send a girl or woman out to a cow pen to sleep, a woman's husband might kick her out of bed and force her to sleep separately because she's "dirty" during her cycle.

A woman Mandira knows started an organization to try to educate Nepalis that menstruation isn't bad or evil and that good hygiene is good while kicking people out to barns and locking them in dark rooms is bad.

Another sad fact - there is a serious problem with women in Nepal developing prolapsed uteruses because of the intense physical labor they do - often within a very short period of giving birth. Because women in villages have little to no access to medical care, the condition goes untreated and often leads to premature death.

"So much to fix...." Mandira said.

But the people of Nepal have something going very right with someone like Mandira fighting for those who can't fight for themselves.

Happy Birthday, George.

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Pants, Stay On

"We haven't done a food blog in a long time!" Emily said in what I imagine was a hungry moment during The Long March. Earlier in our travels, it had been pointed out to us by several people that a large number of our posts were either about or greatly described our food.

Hugo, our brother-in-law, mentioned that it was clear that we went to the beach and ate - but what else did we do? When we were on Patmos, that was a fair question. For the record, we worked and walked around too. But not that much else. We often miss Patmos.

With Thanksgiving upon us and Turkey behind us, it seems like the time to put the craziness of Nepal aside and once again discuss the contents of our dinner...and lunch...and breakfast.

But first I want to discuss an important piece of food discovered at the end of Istanbul - candied chestnut, candied pumpkin pudding. I believe that when a country called Turkey invents such a phenomenally Thanksgiving-esque dessert, Americans should take the hint. Let us all be thankful to Turkey for that - it is delicious.

In Nepal, there is no pudding, no turkey and scarcely a Turk for that matter. Instead there is dal bhat tarkari - a platter of rice, lentils, curried vegetables and a spicy pickled vegetable or sauce for accent flavoring. Some people toss in spinach to the mix and non-vegetarian restaurants toss in the option to add chicken or "mutton" aka goat. Once in awhile they also offer fish. We never trust fish.

Nepalis usually eat dal bhat twice a day. There's some variety in that they change up the vegetables for the curry and the variety of dal - the lentils. Emily and I like the yellow dal best, but black is pretty common and sometimes a watery greenish-brown too. The pickled item/sauce changes frequently. Emily prefers the spiciest varieties and especially likes it when they add dried chilis to the spinach and the dal.

Sometimes, instead of having dal bhat - bhat being rice - Nepalis substitute dried, beaten rice which is considered more special and appropriate to holidays. Poorer people who cannot afford rice sometimes have millet and/or corn meal with their meals.

We've had a lot of dal bhat tarkari.

While I like it especially when I'm really hungry, my preference is for momo. Nepalis regard it as snack food, but I'll order one or two platters and make a meal of these tasty dumplings which combine the best of Chinese and Indian concepts. Imagine a Chinese-style dumpling filled with vegetables and/or meat with Indian spices. It's like eating the best of West Asia all in one bite.

They come in a variety of fillings - but most common are veggie, chicken, and buff (water buffalo). Occasional strike-out varieties include potato, cheese-potato, spinach, spinach-potato and cheese. While most momo connoisseurs agree that buff is the premier momo, I have recently come to develop an appreciate for chicken and potato cheese. But buff was my first-love momo and always the most beautifully presented.

There are a number of "snack" foods that are common as well - especially when you have a group of Nepalis sitting around socializing. These include chili chicken, buff or paneer (cheese), and a number of other versions of spiced meats and vegetables. There's one very spicy version of buff - sandeko - that Emily likes as well as a dried, fermented, spiced spinach called gundruk. Emily goes absolutely nuts for gundruk. I think it tastes like spicy seaweed.

Compared to Greece and Turkey, food preparation here has a lot less focus on esthetic presentation. Nepalis prefer substance and pour their love into the spices and flavors. Except at tourist restaurants, dal bhat is an all-you-can-eat thing. Nepalis want to make sure you're full. So, before you finish even half your plate, someone appears with one or more bowls of food from which they refill your plate. At Emily's Nepali family's house, one of the older sisters stands over eaters as if refilling their plates is an Olympic sport.

Of course, Nepalis have a much faster eating time than we do. Meals are eating time. No talk - just eat. Socializing is done before and after - thus the emphasis on quick refills.

Nepalis don't really have breakfast - just Nepali masala tea which is made in milk. It's pretty heavy and sometimes they use water buffalo milk, which is extra rich. So in restaurants, breakfast is really a Western breakfast - eggs, omelets, toast, fruit, etc.

The one culinary cross-over is yogurt or what they refer to as curd. Curd here is good. It's usually made from buffalo milk, so it's extra creamy and like the name suggests, it's sort of a chunky, blocky yogurt rather than a smooth, creamy Greek or Yoplait kind of thing. I can be happy with a bowl of plain curd for breakfast or maybe some curd and honey.

Then there's the snack of snacks - yak cheese. Somewhat like a softer, creamier parmesan, the deep flavor and mild pungency of yak cheese makes for a good afternoon snack. Let's be honest - the primary appeal is that it comes from a yak. How often does one get the chance to enjoy yak products?

Nepali custom doesn't seem to value the refrigeration of yak cheese, so we usually buy it at the government dairy where they have pieces hermetically sealed and refrigerated. Everywhere else it's just a block on the counter of the shop where the flies help finely age it for you.

Emily and I have recently had a strange juxtaposition when it comes to dessert. I'm the kind of person who can skip dinner and eat dessert. In fact when Emily's mom, Susan has made me her amazing cheesecake, that's exactly what I do to Emily's shock and horror.

In Greece, Turkey and Israel there were the great baklava expeditions in which I made it my personal job to sample the best and worst of baklava to further the public interest and understanding of baklava.

Through the hard work of searching and tasting and searching and tasting some more, I discovered that Israel has some of the best baklava, while Greece had very few great baklavas by comparison. However....there is one great baklava at Koukos restaurant on Rhodes and another at the bakery closest to the ferry dock in Patmos. Let the work be recorded.

No one needs to know what happened when I was left on my own in France.

Here, Emily is the dessert eater. Nepali/Indian sweets called burfees have captured her taste buds. They are a milk-based candy which involve a unique mixture of creamy and very sweet with some occasional nuts in a soft, sometimes doughy texture. I wouldn't have pegged it as Emily's thing. But it is.

I like the ones that are predominantly cardamom flavored. But honestly, I can take them or leave them.

I love Indian khir - their version of rice pudding. The Nepali take on khir is somewhat lacking and not widely available anyway. So dessert here has lost its luster for me.

Perhaps that, in combination with The Long March, stomach troubles and no longer being in Greece and France have led me to some weight loss. Technically, it was first noticed in France and has now come to the point that my belt is what keeps my jeans on - and not so nicely. I'm waiting for Bombay where there should be a better supply and selection to get new ones.

We'll see what happens, but I have always lost weight in Asia. Emily is baffled because it's not like I don't eat plenty. In my honest opinion - especially when we were in Istanbul - scientists should be flocking to study me because there's really no logical explanation for my weight loss. I'd like to give local parasites credit, but it started in Cannes.

My best explanation at this point is that we left America which always induces weight loss for me, only Greece came along and held it off. Perhaps the real scientific study needs to focus on how I didn't gain weight in Greece - because that was truly absurd.

Tomorrow, the U.S. Embassy is hosting a turkey and pumpkin pie reception for an hour and a half. We may go - it may be the only meal our tax dollars ever buy us - plus, it could be cool to see the Ambassador's Residence.

Otherwise, on Thanksgiving, we'll be thinking of everyone at home over momo and dal bhat tarkari.

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Aging

Aging has been on my mind. For several months, different aspects of how people age
have crept up and swirled around in my consciousness.

Faces are easy enough to ascribe to being just what they are - faces. We have stereotypes and caricatures that are so embedded in our outlooks that it's easy to look at a very old, wrinkled woman and find her "interesting" or "charming" or "pitiful".

We do this at home. An old person is an old person and has certain expected traits. A child is a child with things we assume about them on a glance. On a "normal day", in my "normal life", I don't think much about age.

I'm not someone who cares much about my birthday other than it's an excuse to get together with friends and get a cake I really like. I know I'm older than I used to be - especially at the end of a multi-day trek. But I also don't feel old in anyway. It helps that I wasn't wild, crazy or rebellious in my teens and 20's because it helps reduce the amount of contrast between then and now.

Other than a ring on my finger, a more responsible attitude about credit cards, some white hair in my beard, and a sometimes nagging worry about what our (formerly my) strange and wild Kintamani dog's guest behavior while staying in his foster home (he occasionally eats door frames) - I don't feel and see age as part of my life.

But there it sits on display for all to see in the faces, bodies and attitudes of the people we see - especially in Nepal. Passing through villages on our trek, we saw women who looked worn out and aged from years of working in the sun and carrying heavy loads strapped to their heads and backs.

Emily pointed out that so often, girls start working at age four - and women are the ones who do far more of the heavy and hard labor than the men. In fact, Nepal is one of only two countries in the world in which women do not on average outlive men. Look into the rice terraces and unlike Bali or Thailand - you'll see women and girls toiling in the sun. So, who knows exactly how old these exhausted, wrinkled, joyless looking women are? They might be 50 and look like they're 80. I just don't know.

Meanwhile, at breakfast at The Farmhouse resort in Nagarkot, I struck up a conversation with a French woman who was part of a tour group staying there. She lives in Marseilles, is probably in her late 50's or early 60's and looks radiant. The woman told me how she's in Nepal for about a month - several weeks with the group seeing every part of Nepal and then, when the group disbands, she'll stay for another couple of weeks with a guide and go for a two-week trek. Bravo.

More surprisingly, she worked for more than 30 years for Chase Manhattan and was stationed in locations throughout the world. She's seen, she's traveled, she adores the West Coast of the U.S. and she said that Chase gave her a marvelous 30 years of experiences which she couldn't be happier about.

This woman might be older than some of the head-carrying village women, only she looks fantastic. She has an infinitely better life, she was dealt a much better hand at birth and her outlook comes with a mixture of hope, empowerment and joy that keeps one younger.

She's also very French. As has been well-established on this blog, I'm rather pro-French. In France, I have always marveled at the French ability to age well. Unless they toss all their decrepit people into a receptacle and lock them away, the French appear to have a flair for aging well.

One day in a cafe in Cannes, the entire staff was busy fawning over a woman who must have been in her 80's. She was dressed impeccably, hair done, make-up and jewelry perfect - but she walked very slowly and had trouble cutting her food.

Nonetheless, she liked a good lunch out as much as any French woman and the local cafe people knew her and attended her - cutting her food, putting a napkin on her and checking on her constantly. The waitress kissed the woman's head when she passed. They told me after she left that she's like their grandmother.

I saw the woman on the street a few days later, slowly making her way around the neighborhood to do her errands and see people. I asked her how she was today. She told me that she feels older and has fewer people in her life than she'd like - but she's okay, gets around and feels well enough today. An amazingly honest and thoughtful answer to give to a stranger.

There were many women like her in France - women who felt that age is not an impediment to femininity, independence or enjoyment. You can see them throughout the streets, cafes and shops. Old men too walk around in nice slacks, collared shirts, sweaters, nice shoes, hats - all dressed up to go sit and talk with their friends or play some petanque at the park. Apparently, being French is an occupation that lasts until you can't get out the door.

Meanwhile in Greece, I spent time wondering what was the day when a woman woke up - decided she'd had enough of taking care of herself or being feminine in any way, went to the store, bought the ugliest, most unflattering clothes she could find and called it a day? Similarly, for men - when do you burn all the jeans and shorts and replace them with nothing but cheap slacks and button-down shirts?

Greek women are a strange anomaly. Young women are stunningly beautiful and very feminine. Young Greek women with their olive complexions, and curvy figures love to show it off and turn heads. But older Greek women are so often the menopause poster-models in their housecoats and bulky, heavy shoes that clop when they walk. And exactly what triggers a woman to change her self-image and therefore her presentation?

I can't decide if older Greek women are liberated in that they feel that age is natural and nothing to fight or to be ashamed of, or if they're defeatist - because something about them feels like they've thrown in the towel on life.

Strangely, in Greece, the men in their cheap slacks and button-down shirts look far more put-together. They feel more as if there's an air of presentation and image that they try to preserve, while the women are just out there with their, "I'm 55 and I'm done with all the cosmetic BS."

When I lived in Singapore, my friend Alex pointed out how frail and seriously aged many of the elderly looked. He felt that because Singapore imports all its food and that produce often is sprayed with chemicals to give it a longer shelf-life, Singaporeans are getting less nutrition out of their produce, and therefore fewer anti-oxidants. Mix that with the fact that all three of the main cultures there love to fry and simmer their foods, vegetables are often left dead and lifeless by the time they are eaten.

I don't know if his theory holds true or not. I do know that Singapore has the highest percentage of people with kidney failure in the world - and a giant and sophisticated dialysis program studied the world-over. Their lifestyle has changed dramatically in two-generations and like America and other Western countries, obesity and diabetes have become serious issues in Singapore.

The elderly so often look weak, frail and somewhat broken.

When I moved home from Singapore and took a job for a system of skilled nursing facilities, I saw people who were what one of my favorite Speech Language Pathologists called "train-wrecks". People sometimes as young as their 60's whose lives and life-choices led them to severe illness and frailty make up much of the long-term population of nursing homes.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between an 80 year-old in a nursing home who can barely move and my Grandpa who at 80 was golfing, bowling, driving and socializing - or my Great Aunt Rose who was still going out dancing with her boyfriend in her mid-80's and got married last year at age 90.

Aunt Rose ascribes her longevity and her always gorgeous appearance to not getting angry and letting things go. According to the Aunt Rose handbook, it's the poison you create and hold onto that ages and kills you. As she told my dad recently, with laughter in her voice, "Forgiveness is good - I forgive you all!"

How we age seems like such a mix of culture, socialization, physical environment, life experiences and our inner make-up. Why do Thais look 20 years younger than they actually are? Why isn't everyone an Aunt Rose? When do we toss on the shmatas and call ourselves old? Why do the faces of old Nepali men and women look so incredibly worn?

Most importantly, as I move along in life - and I know that life flies by in a heartbeat - how do I want to approach it? I look at the faces of the people we pass, at the way they stand, the choices they make and the light or dimness in their eyes - and think about it.

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The Long March Or The Things We Do For Love

We're exhausted. Three days of up and down and up and down the Kathmandu Valley led to Emily's grand conclusion on the final steps on the journey, "We are not trekking people!"

I was glad to see she had come around to that, because I think I caught that Friday at about 3pm.

My grand conclusion from the weekend was that we learned more about one another than anything else. Our "two-day" trek - actually a two and a half day trek since that "little walk" to Nagarkot Friday involved a 6,000 foot climb - actually caused a moment of rare confusion between us.

I went because I thought it was what Emily wanted from her time in Nepal. She had talked consistently about trekking, we're here largely for her, and it seemed to be what she was excited about.

Emily viewed the trip to Nagarkot as being something for me - because I've hated Kathmandu and how difficult it's been to work here, so she felt that a weekend away, seeing the beauty of the Nepal outside the city would be what I needed and would change my view of Nepal.

It did and it didn't. Nepal outside Kathmandu is gorgeous - and I liked infinitely better than Kathmandu. I was thrilled to be out of the city and to have a a few days without work and Internet hassles. In that way, the weekend was just what the doctor ordered.

However, I would NEVER have gone trekking left to my own devices. I'm not actually a mountains person. I never think a hike sounds fantastic. I like water, beaches, oceans. I have never lived anywhere without an ocean - because something about water is critical to me. Landlocked and mountain areas just don't do it for me.

But we're in Nepal.

When we got to the Farmhouse, the resort hotel in Nagarkot, one of the first things out of my mouth after seeing our room with its amazing veranda and view was, "Let's just stay here!"

After dry heaving and nearly passing out on the way up the mountain and being sick in one way or another for most of our stay in Nepal, a restful weekend at The Farmhouse - complete with organically-grown vegetables from their mountainside gardens and the hottest, most-powerful shower we've had this entire trip - sounded ideal.

We had already purchased our trek and had a very nice guide to whom we would have to explain that he would get paid anyway, but we didn't need his services anymore.... It didn't feel right and we had already laid-in our plans.

The next morning, after our sunrise viewing of the Everest Range of the Himalayas, I was FAR from enthusiastic about trekking 7-9 hours. In the conversations, Emily said, "Look, I hate trekking too! But people come here from all over the world to do this!" as well as, "I'm doing this for you! All you have done since we've gotten to Nepal is complain, complain! I did this so you could get out of Kathmandu and see other parts of Nepal you can only reach on foot!"

So it was that our major disconnect began to surface.

We agreed that I would shake off the horrors of the 6,000 feet that gave me such trepidation and have a nice day. We did just that.

It wasn't until today (Sunday) coming down a mountainside that it came out that Emily figured that since I'm not lazy or out of shape (relatively) how could I not enjoy a trek? She felt that she's the lazy one who doesn't want to walk places and complains when going to the gym. If I go to the gym, I just go. When we walk around places, I'm the one who wants to walk further to go and see. I'll run more errands. And I don't complain when breaking a sweat.

Emily had absolutely no idea why I wasn't in constant awe and in love with the trek.

To me, the steep uphill climbs and distances to cover are challenges to be undertaken and tasks to be accomplished. I lose the forest not for the trees, but for the persistence that I put into the hard work that it takes to get from here to there.

Add in feeling badly, having digestive issues - and by the end of yesterday - a very tight IT band causing major pain in my left knee. I was all about achievement and the beauty and enjoyment sort of faded away.

Meanwhile, my wife is photographing and marveling at village life, livestock and mountains in between struggles up and down hills.

To give an example, during the 6,000 foot climb, Emily kept commenting on the beauty around us and in my head, I was remembering a chapter of Antoine de Saint-Exupery's "Sand, Wind and Stars," in which he told the story of his friend and flying buddy Guillaumet, who crashed his plan in the Andes and walked for days without stop until he reached Mendoza, Argentina. Guillaumet relayed that the success of his self-rescue was because he willing himself to keep walking and he thanked his heart for continuing to pump and help him.

I thought, "Well, if Guillaumet can walk his way out of the Andes, I can at least make it up this stupid hillside - even though a water buffalo and a cow just passed me."

That's not to say that at the top of the hill I wasn't helping to drag my wife along or that at the end of Saturday when we were running late and walking through the mountains by moonlight (because our guide forgot a flashlight and the restaurant where we were scheduled to have lunch took an hour and a half to cook our food), Emily wasn't exhausted and moving slowly - but she came with a different, and better outlook.

Of course, she said several times, "I forgot trekking was so hard!"

Yes it is.

All that said, Saturday and today were really very nice days. The were beautiful and sunny with gorgeous views. Our guide quickly figured out that "shortcuts" - which mean steep uphill footpaths - were not for us and that we should stick to the main trails and roads. That worked much better for us.

By Saturday afternoon, we had made it past our steep uphill segment of the day's journey and were enjoying a leisurely downhill windy walk through a gorgeous, lush forest - talking away and laughing.

The laughing stopped when darkness came and we weren't to our destination. Thanks to a full moon and a not very difficult road, we made it fine.

Our guesthouse in Chisapani was not the Farmhouse. It was nothing near the Farmhouse. These were people who despite having space heaters in their restaurant, refused to use them because they had two - and if they turned on one for us, then everyone would want heat, so it was best just not to heat the room at all.

The owner wouldn't let the Nepali guides eat with the foreigners - which really pissed off a French couple I had been chatting with. They wanted to dine with their guides and found the treatment deplorable - as did we.

I won't go into room details other than these few words - plastic pillow, breath visible inside the room, blankets not big enough and me saying to Emily, "How could YOU do this to ME?!" as I shivered in bed after my shower with my aching knee.

Sunday morning started with another steep uphill as we headed from Chisapani to Sundarijal - the end point to our trek. Steep uphills are a mood killer - but compared to the first day, it was cake. The path had stone steps and breaks between inclines since it was part of a national forest.

The Himalayas start out shrouded in cloud cover and then came out in their splendor as we neared the summit.

The several hours of downhill that followed were pleasant. We passed through forest, meadows and villages.

Emily loves villages. They are absolutely her favorite part. While I'm not such a village person (no pun intended), I enjoyed the fact that goats seemed to outnumber people everywhere. The kidds' moms need to teach them better, because the babies always laid right out in the middle of the roads. They were kind of adorable.

Both the villages and the trails taught me a lot about poop. Nepalis keep goats largely for the poop that is used for fertilizer in the terraces and fields. Cow poop is used to make paint and to sanctify people's homes because apparently, cow dung makes everything "clean" since its a holy animal.

Water buffalo live on the bottom of the chain, being the ones most likely killed for food or religious sacrifice. However, they too are part of the poop continuum - leaving droppings of a size I thought only elephants could produce. Toss in the fact that Nepalis are very comfortable stopping to relieve themselves on mountain trails (we watched one woman stop and urinate right in front of us) and you never know what size and shape poop you need to watch for. Anything is possible.

Of course the end result of all the poop and the people are rice and farming terraces pouring down gigantic mountainsides, looking phenomenal. Some hills are completely sculpted into terraces where little girls and women carrying bundles (sometimes exceeding 60 pounds) on their heads walk up and down hills that would leave us moaning like they were a light, breezy stroll.

I was also excited to see ferrets running in the wild, chasing one another in play. I've never seen that before. My friend Mazyar and I have a certain respect for animals whose names are also verbs. So, that was exciting.

I was a little less excited to see just up the road from the ferret sighting, little girls of no more than ten years-old carrying timber on their heads while another who might have been six was doing the family laundry.

All in all, while it wasn't what I would consider a relaxing weekend, by the end we had enjoyed it and had some meaningful discussion in which we learned something about one another. Emily got to see places and things she really wanted. We both stumbled from the end of the path to the car that picked us up sore - but feeling happy and accomplished.

Now we will go to dinner and celebrate our last trek ever.

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