Falling in love with Hanoi

We love Hanoi.

This place rocks. It has all the modern conveniences we're used to (multiple constantly functioning outlets in the hotel, no power outages, I haven't squatted once to use a public bathroom yet!) and the weather has been completely clear since we arrived. So, we begin when Seth and I got off a red-eye flight into Hanoi with a stopover in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. When you look at the map, it seems we took a bit of a roundabout way of getting there, but whatever. Also, sidenote: Air Asia, I hate you. Since we were flying through and into Southeat Asia, and we hadn't needed a jacket since we were near the Himalayas, we didn't think to bring a jacket on the flight. We got on and some people were wearing their heaviest down coat. Seth was in a tank top, and I a very thin cotton shirt. Neither of us was wearing long pants. And unlike most airlines which come with a complimentary pillow and blanket, with Air Asia, you buy a blanket. On the flight out of Kuala Lumpur, we broke down and bought the stinking $12 blanket, complete with a blow-up travel pillow and a sleeping mask. The flight attendant wouldn't take our $20 bill that wasn't crisp and new (i.e.- 2004 issue or newer), which happened to us also once in Hanoi (that one was ripped a little in the corner) with the local currency, I mean jeez people, and then she gave us our change in Malaysian ringgot (their currency which kinda sounds like an unfortunate parasite you would call in sick to work with, right?) And we still haven't been able to exchange it.

But I digress. Immediately upon checking into our hotel in the Old Quarter of the city, with about 2.5 hours of sleep under our belts, we set out to explore. The sun was shining and we were not about to waste it! We had a tourist map which told us that the nearest attraction was Hoan Kiem Lake, so we walked that way. About five minutes in, a woman selling bananas and pineapple off an enormous old scale which she balanced on her shoulder came up to us and put her hat on me. Then she put the scale on my shoulder. I posed for a picture, then she did the same with Seth and put his hat on her head, posed for a picture and told him he needed bananas so she gave him a plastic bag of them. Then she wanted $10. This time though, I was prepared! I gave her $5. Which still was too much, but at least it wasn't the $60 the Indian guy in Kathmandu got out of us, which still makes me kinda sick. The bananas, on the other hand, were decent but not the tiny explosions of flavor we have experienced elsewhere. Also this is a scam to watch out for, and we've seen it happening about 3 times since. All the women selling *specifically* bananas and pineapple do it, and they're not the only ones with the big scales (I'm sorry but that's the fastest way I can describe it. I'll include a picture). Anyway we kept going, pretty unphased since we at least got some bananas out of the deal. We found the lake and hung out at the temple in the middle, which had a $1 entrance fee. This is something else really great about Hanoi: no exorbitant white person tax so far, with the exception of the $45 visa on arrival. Ngok San Temple is otherwise known as the Temple of Jade Mountain, and it's dedicated to Confucian and Taoist philosophers, as well as war hero Tran Hung Dao, who " commanded the Đại Việt armies that repelled three major Mongol invasions in the 13th century" (Wikipedia). According to the legend, he was granted a sword by the gods, and after his victories he was hanging out by the lake when a turtle God appeared to take the sword back. Naturally there's also an enormous 450lb. stuffed turtle encased at the temple. 

OK so next we ate our first authentic pho bo. Everybody said: don't eat at the nice restaurants, go to the little holes in the wall. So, we found one that was crowded and went for it. The foodies will like this part. When  you eat pho bo, you get a big plate of sticky white rice noodles and a separate bowl of soup. The broth is a yellow, kinda sweet tamarind broth, usually made with honey and fish sauce. Inside the broth you will find pieces of barbequed pork, but not Southern US style -- we're talkin generous brown fatty slabs of meat, which progressively melt more and more into the broth as your meal goes by. The pork lady, whose job appears to be solely cooking the meat, also grinds up the pork and makes it into little succulent patties, which the cook adds to the broth. There are a few more leafy vegetables in the broth as well as pieces of green papaya (adding a crisp freshness to every bite), and at every table there is some sliced mildly-pickled ginger in clear vinegar for you to spoon out and add to the flavor, along with the red chili sauce. You just put the rice noodles into the soup and grab them (and some meat) with your chopsticks, put it all on the spoon, add some fresh mint and other leafy herbs from the 3rd plate provided, and stick it in your mouth. We got two orders of pho bo and two delightful Vietnamese spring rolls, all for a whopping price of $5. It was unreal.

Walking around the city, trying to find the Hanoi Cathedral for about an hour, we did our usual quiet absorbing of a city. One thing we noticed immediately about Hanoi is that it has sidewalks! But the sidewalks are mostly used for motorcycles and mopeds. The mopeds are a force to be reckoned with here, and must make up about 70% of all the traffic in the city. So, you can technically walk on the sidewalk, but you just have to dodge the occasional moving moped, walk around the parked ones (many of which are for rent so there are also men asking if you want one), and walk around the people eating outside cafes, the people chilling outside their stores, the stores outside of the stores, etc. There is car exhaust in the air which makes you stop breathing one second, but then you smell the delicious pho bo, or other grilled meat, or exotic fruit, spices and incense so keep sniffing like a baset hound ignoring the car exhaust! But then a moped revs its engine next to you and you have to hold your breath again. On one street, you might find a lot of hole-in-the-wall restaurants (of which we have officially frequented many at this point) which all have tiny plastic stools about a foot off the ground onto which people sit while eating something with chopsticks from a stool about two feet off the ground. All on the sidewalk mind you. On another street, maybe there are a lot of cafes, or bars, or fruit stands, or on another, people will be people selling shoes and working on them right outside the store -- I saw a guy sawing down a woman's stiletto, right on the edge of the sidewalk with a loud, round saw thingy. There are different streets dedicated to selling different things. Besides the whirring of power tools, buzzing of mopeds, and car engines, there are people constantly honking and announcers trying to sell things, random bells from all directions, and people speaking in every language all around you. This city is so alive, but also very pleasant: people ask us if we want to buy their service, but usually after we say no, they leave us alone. It's so laid back. We really like Hanoi.

We stopped by a cafe and I got some "hazelnut jelly freeze coffee" which is basically a hazelnut frapuccino with sweet hazelnut-flavored jello blocks. I bought it out of intrigue, and was a little disappointed to find out it was exactly what it sounded like and not so delicious so I don't really recommend it to anyone unless they're REALLY big fans of both of those things, and even then proceed with caution. We went to an army museum where we learned about the Vietnamese resistance to the French and American forces in Vietnam for the majority of the 20th century. It made me feel happy for the Vietnamese people that they finally gained independence after about 60 nonstop years of fighting, but also a little uncomfortable as an American. There was a courtyard with some of their military conquests on display, i.e. American army cars and planes. There was a MIG fighter jet, a Huey helicopter, and surface-to-air balistic missile used for shooting down B52 bomber planes, and American bombshells that had been harvested for their explosive material to make bombs for the Northern Vietnamese troops. There were also several artilery and anti-aircraft pieces, because a lot of the war was Vietnam trying to shoot down American planes. We watched (OK Seth watched; I slept through) a 10-minute video about the war in Dien Bien Phu, which is a city in a valley and the Vietnamese won and it was hard. I WAS TIRED. But Seth says I have to tell you: Dien Bien Phu was the decisive battle that meant the permanent end to French occupation and colonialization of Vietnam. Impressive factoid (says Seth): the Vietnamese troops hauled artilery pieces by hand, with lots of elbow grease, to the tops of the mountains surrounding Dien Bien Phu, AND created a massive tunnel system that encircled the entire city. So between shooting really big guns from the tops of mountains onto the French troops and having so many fortifications around the city that nothing could make the Vietnamese troops retreat, it was a pretty decisive battle.

We took a stoll over to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum and had to walk through the enormous Hanoi Botanical Gardens to get there (a whopping cost of 5 cents per person, and a really delightful experience with people playing and exercising outside, peacocks, doves, friendly children saying hello, and a big beautiful pond with a fountain). At the mausoleum, President Ho Chi Minh (1890-1969) is usually on display there, but wait! He wasn't this week. He won't be until December. But wait, you might say. There's a bigger "but wait." "Patrice, don't those years in the parentheses mean he died 55 years ago?? Patrice, you're a fool." No, I'm not a fool. Ho Chi Minh's embalmed body is always on display glass coffin in his mausoleum. I'm completely serious. And when you go visit the 55-year-old corpse, according to Wikipedia: "Rules regarding dress and behaviour are strictly enforced by staff and guards. Legs must be covered (no shorts or miniskirts). Visitors must be silent, and walk in two lines. Hands must not be in pockets, nor arms crossed. Smoking, drinking, eating, photography and video taping are also not permitted anywhere inside the mausoleum." But alas, Minh was not in his box when we tried to go. In fact, there were armed guards around the perimiter who (very kindly) informed us that the Mausoleum is closed until December, because, and I'm not making this up, he occasionally goes to RUSSIA to go through a renewed embalming process in order to slow down the decaying of his body. Luckily the museum was open for another ten minutes that day so we ran through with a guard behind us, making up facts about the items we saw on the spot since we didn't have time to read the placards. They didn't make us pay the $1 entrance fee to run through the museum so I guess they could rush us out all they wanted.

We looked for a 5-story pagoda on the nearby Thuy Khue Lake to watch the sunset, but we couldn't find it (it's a really big lake!) and instead just watched the sunset, which was really beautiful anyway. We hit the sack by 8:30, completely exhausted. The next day we woke up and got ready for a street food tour of Hanoi at 11. I could lie to you and say I was grossed out and it was all super unsanitary and not worth hanging out with a woman I didn't know and hardly understood, but why would I tell such a terrible lie? Maybe to talk down my experience. The truth is we were completely blown away by everything we consumed, and in the end each gained at least five pounds. Before we came, we were determined to treat Vietnam as a buffet. We ate lots of dishes I will never be able to pronounce the names of, much less remember, but a few that stood out:
- a dash of coffee, crushed ice, and on top a layer of whipped egg whites and honey. It's called "egg coffee."
- hoa qua dam: fruit (jack fruit, watermelon, avocado, melon, lichi, dragonfruit, banana) plus sweet coconut milk plus crushed ice. Wow.
- pig heart. Not my favorite.
- beer.
- mushrooms and ground pork in a thin rice "pancake" dipped in the tamarind/fish sauce/lime juice/honey broth, plus garnishing
- spring rolls with green papaya and sea crab
Our tour guide was one of the happiest, most delightful people I've ever met. She was 24 and always referred to herself in the 3rd person as "Ms. Moon" and called me "LADY." Everytime we needed to cross a street together, she would say, "Sticky RIIIIICE" as in, stay together and nobody will get hit by a moped. Obviously, Seth and I have absorbed that into our lives and will forever anounce "sticky RIIIIIICE" whenever we need to cross a street together.

We vowed not to eat after the street food tour, but had expanded our stomachs and inevitably went back for more hoa qua dam (FRUIT) and I found people selling rambutan on the side of the road so I bought half a kilo and ate it. THAT'S INCLUDING THE STICKS AND LEAVES AND SHELL AND PITS SO I'M SURE I DIDN'T EAT HALF A KILO OF ACTUAL RAMBUTAN FRUIT. Oh god I can't believe I'm coming home right as the holiday season starts. Afterward we walked across a 115-year-old concrete and iron Long Bien Bridge, a famous spot in Hanoi that was bombed some during the war in the '70s but is still in pretty good shape considering its age. It stretches 1.5 miles long and goes over what looked like a banana plantation as well as the Red River.

Oh yeah! Then we saw the Thang Long Water Puppet Show! This puppet technique was developed by farmers who worked in the rice paddies. From behind a curtain, puppeteers control puppets with long poles while the puppets dance around on the water. It's a traditional, unique form of puppets and was accompanied by beautiful live music.

On day three we had a museum day. A short summary because I need to go to bed but I also want to finish this post:
- At the History museum, we learned about how the Vietnamese were basically occupied from about 1890 to 1975 by the French, Japanese and then the US, and they fought constantly from about 1910 to 1975. This is a nation to be reckoned with. They fought hard for their independence and what a country they have become after all that work! Makes you wonder how all that fighting and influence effected their culture. But one thing I thank the French for: making the Vietnamese switch from Chinese characters to the Western alphabet (minus the tonal markings) so we can at least read things here. That's pretty great. But still, occupation bad.
- At Hoa Lo prison, we learned about how poorly Vietnamese prisoners were treated when the French occupied Hanoi, which was terrible and included famine and executions, overpopulation and disease. Interestingly, we also learned about how well American POWs were treated at Hoa Lo, which I'm not positive wasn't a bit of Vietnamese propaganda (sorry for the double negative: it was propaganda). There was a picture of John McCain getting treatment for illness, POWs playing all kinds of games and celebrating holidays, and getting souvenirs when they were released. I'm no huge fan of John McCain, but I thought it was because of torture in Vietnam that he can lift his arms about the same amount as a turtle can lift his front legs. But whatever, everybody does propaganda. Overall the museum was really interesting and well done!
- At the Ethnology Museum, we really tried to read everything but at this point we were completely museumed-out. Basically all I can tell you is that there are 54 different ethnic groups in Vietnam, 70-80% of which is the Viet. The remaining populace is a bunch of different groups with there own languages, lifestyles and religions. A lot has changed in the last 25 years and these people are becoming more modernized (like less elephant riding or breast-bearing and more English speaking) but they still retain their heritage. Ok, duh Patrice. You get it, they're still unique. Behind the museum are about 10 to-scale replicas of (or in some cases relocated) houses. Each house is associated with a different kind of ethnic group. They're made for visitors to be able to walk inside and see how the people live. A few of them are on stilts (accessible by steps carved into long logs), and many have cool bamboo flooring that's a little scary to walk on. First, I thought it would be cool to have in my own house, then I thought I'd probably trip over it and/or fall through a hole I accidentally created while tripping over it, so I'll let the Tay people keep their bamboo bark flooring.

OK! Well, if you made it this far, congratulations!! You must have had a lot of time to kill. I'm off to bed. Halong bay cruise tomorrow, then Hoi An\ on Sunday. Have a fantastic weekend everybody.

Trekking and touristing in Chitwan

The last two days we spent trekking were awesome, and exhausting. The foothills of the Himalayas don't exactly have flat paths, so about 97% of the time you have to keep your eyes really focused on the ground so you don't fall (in a new record, I only got two bruises!).

Dat view tho

I took all of these pictures with my Samsung Galaxy S3 -- that still amazes me.

This is hard to do on a clear day because the views are so unbelievable, so maybe it was a blessing that we spent the first two inside clouds. The ground is usually made of a combination of stepping stones and dirt, but also donkey poop, yak poop, tree roots, and a never-ending incline or decline. Turns out, declines are really hard on your legs and feet. Here's a tip, especially if your shoes are a bit snug: make sure your toenails are clipped before going down a mountain for 2+ hours. Otherwise it feels like you're stubbing your toe, very softly, over and over again. Anyway, on day 4 of the Poon Hill trek we went to Jinadanda, where there were some marvelous hot springs. 

Very fabulous, and very much needed.

Oh my poor toes

Of course, after trekking for 5 hours we had to go down another half hour to get there, and then back up to the guesthouse afterward, but it was totally worth it and not so bad without a 15lb. backpack. Oh how our muscles needed those hot springs. We stayed until we couldn't get any more raisiny and the rain started rolling in anyway. The only other guests at the guesthouse were also at the hotsprings -- an Australian butcher and an Englishman studying to be a Civil Engineer, so we talked to them for a little while before leaving. On the way back up from the hot springs, we got our first leeches! When I first saw a leech on day one, I thought it was just a really quirky cross between an inchworm and a worm. I guess I'd never seen a leech before. Our guide got one on the first day and instructed us to dab salt on our boots and ankles just in case, which seemed to keep them away pretty well. We must be immune, we thought. But going coming back up from the hot springs in flip flops with no salt, they found me. I was lucky -- I only got three. One between two toes on my left foot, one between two toes on my right, and one on my ankle that didn't appear to break skin before I caught the little bugger. Interesting fact: they have gross little mouths on both ends, so if they get stuck between your toes, you can bet on the fact that they will biting both toes. Apparently they secrete an anticoagulant when they bite, so it's easy to bleed a lot when you take them off. The good news is, their heads don't appear to get stuck inside you like the common American ticks. The bad news is the whole two-mouth thing. So on my left foot, after I removed the leech from between my toes, I was bleeding more than I was comfortable with. I stepped in the shower when we got back from the hot springs and realized (1) the leech was STILL IN MY SHOE (luckily a flip flop), and (2) the reason I was bleeding so much was because he got me with both ends. Somehow it had stopped sucking -- maybe I injured it when I pulled it off or maybe it had just satisfied its appetite, but that was its last meal. I'm pretty sure it died a long, painful death, or at least I hope so. Anyway, the Australian butcher had it way worse -- either he wasn't paying attention or the leeches got aggressive, but either way at dinner, his feet looked like he'd gotten stuck in a landmine. While we were playing cards with him, a street dog tried to lick his wounds. He got spooked at the idea of infection on open leech bites and chased it out. It was a weird afternoon, but the relaxation was super welcome.

The last day of the trek, I was hurting. Seth was hurting too, but my backpack was really starting to piss off my back. Seth had had the same problem a few days before, and now it was my turn: a dull pinch inside my left shoulderblade kept screaming at me to stop moving. I tried stretching it out and bending over and Seth rubbed it for me, but I couldn't shake it. About 4.5 hours in, our guide said: "OK so now we can take the bus back if you want or we can--" I interrupted him with a resounding "YES. BUS." It was probably another 6 miles to go, and I was just miserable. Seth was a little disappointed but could see that if I had to walk for more than another 15 minutes I might just fall over, or go on a killing spree. He was nice enough to take my backpack for a little while, but then I was just in pain AND feeling guilty. We took a jeep back along the incredibly bumpy road, with the driver calling out to people on the side announcing our destination in case they wanted a ride, too, for a little cash. Everybody who joined in the jeep was afraid to sit next to the white people (us), so they crammed into the front and the trunk (which had installed benches) and we got the middle to ourselves. We didn't really shave much time off of what would have been our arrival time in Pokhara because the road was mostly potholes and big rocks, but it didn't matter to me -- I wasn't walking. We got to the hotel and collapsed. Then we went out and ate too much food. The next day was pretty much the same, except for a leisurely canoe ride around Fewa Lake and some shopping, but we definitely took it as a recovery day. We met some cool people at a restaurant that night and hope to meet up with them again in Kathmandu on Monday.

Fewa Lake!!

So Friday we hopped on a bus for five windy, bumpy hours along with all the Asians and backpackers to get to Chitwan National Park. This is an area with lots of animals (rhinos, crocs, elephants, birds), the point of which is to encourage the propagation of these endangered species, which has overall been pretty successful. Our guide at the hotel was 26, and he explained that up until he was 16 he lived in a house in a tree (maybe he meant on stilts) inside the park until the government forced the local population outside of the reserved area. He didn't seem too bothered by this, since apparently the park is doing pretty well. He took us out to see a "Tharu traditional village," i.e. a string of mud huts where the Tharu people were living, probably not dissimilar to the style he used to live in. A manager of the hotel explained to us that the Tharu are another Nepalese ethnic group and caste, who have their own language and religion and set of skills. All the castes in Nepal also speak the common tongue, i.e. Nepalese. But they can't understand the languages across castes. Turns out our guide on the trek, by the way, was not a Sherpa but rather a Brahman (guess I'll need to edit that other post), which is a higher, more educated caste. It's all Nepali to me! The cooler thing though, was the man on an elephant just walking down the street. It was a big elephant, too and it wasn't like an "elephant street," but rather a real (albeit not very crowded) paved road where cars and horse-drawn carriages and bicycles ride, just this one also had an elephant. Apparently this is a totally normal thing in Chitwan. Then we watched the sunset by a lake next to some loud Indian men with beer bellies who kept spitting. After dinner with the group of ten Koreans who were also staying at the hotel for the same package deal -- can't seem to get away -- we saw a Tharu traditional dance, which was pretty cool: a bunch of people dressed in white tribal costume were playing drums and singing and dancing with sticks, choreographed perfectly so that their sticks hit each other to go with the beat of the music. So I guess you could say it was like Stomp.

So, after a lovely evening of traditional dancing, and more Chinese tourists with super-flash cameras, we decided to hit the sack. We were supposed to go on an elephant ride at 6 the next morning. The next morning, of course, was raining cats and dogs, so, like fat, American, pig-dogs, we slept in. The staff looked: a) perplexed, b) distraught, and c) unbelieving that we didn't want to go in the rain. We assured them that everything was fine and we simply didn't want to go out in the rain. We'd had plenty on Poon Hill. We spent the better half of the day reading, and trying to find a signal to the outside world. In hindsight, smoke signals would've been easier. But, time passed and we were geared up to go bathe some elephants instead of ride them. 

Now that was cool. We both climbed onto the back of this mighty beast while a whily Nepali man danced on the elephant's butt to give it commands. At one point, I swear to God, he yelled out, "Pizza Hut!! Pizza Hut!!" If I'm ever a mahout (fancy Nepalese for "elephant trainer"), I'll try out that one. The elephant was accommodating, to say the least. It's not often we have to take a bath while smaller animals sit on ours backs, and they are deceptively hard to sit on. Multiple times we would fall off into the water because the elephant would tilt its shoulders. We were pretty sure that was how we were going to die. We could already see the headlines: "YOUNG AMERICAN COUPLE SQUISHED BY NEPALESE ELEPHANT." Afterward, we posted up in some lounge chairs and watched more tourists take a crack at the elephants while we dried off in the sun. We sipped some more masala tea and thought, while watching the other people, "damn, we forgot to scrub the elephants!" because the whole idea was an elephant bathing. But oh, well...

So, we headed back for lunch, which wasn't quite ready, so we went to the Mom n' Pop store about 20 feet outside the gate to see if they had a little something to hold us over. We found some cookies and chex mex-looking stuff, and got that. Later, we ate lunch and headed back to the room. After some resting, we took a jeep to the breeding center and it was. So. Cool. Our guide explained that the elephants usually do work in the morning (like elephant rides), then go out into the jungle with the staff to play and eat, and then hang out at their posts under roofs for the rest of the day and nighttime. They are chained to posts, but he also explained that the breeding center will soon start to integrate an electric fence system so they're not so bored. We learned a lot, like how an elephant's trunk has 40,000 muscles. Also in Chitwan, a lot of the elephants are wild and come impregnate the females they raise. So usually there's a baby at the center, and the one we got to see was just a week old. He was hanging out with his mom next to her post (he wasn't tied up) and just kept slipping and sliding in her poop. We could have watched the baby all day. Sometimes he would fall down and his feet would be splayed out like a ragdoll. Well, you know, an elephant ragdoll. Then he would get back up and nuzzle his mother before going down the poop slide again. Once the babies become more independent, the guide explained, they have to be tied up too, because they get "naughty" and go around bothering all the other elephants or get too close to the tourists. I was sad to see some of the younger ones getting annoyed and trying to pull themselves out of their ankle chains, but relieved to know they were doing other things in the day and also the breeding center seemed to be doing their best to keep the elephants happy and healthy. We went out on the town for a dinner at a place called K.C.'s and then got a great look at the Milky Way on one of the rare clear nights we had in Nepal.

The next day, Damo our guide took us on a nature walk (apparently still distraught about us having turned down the rainy day activities) and showed us another side of the breeding center, but also taught us a lot about the distinct flora and fauna of Chitwan. He showed us a "sighing plant," which is a little round pink flower which looks like a spiky ball, with leaves that look like ferns. You touch the ferns, and they immediately ... well, sigh. They fold up. It was amazing. I kept doing it. Seth had to tell me to stop because Damo was waiting for us and I was going to leave the whole patch of sighing plants without an open fern. I'm sure they open back up soon afterward.

We took another long, bumpy, windy busride back to Kathmandu on Sunday, went to a restaurant called "Rumdoodle"where we decorated a small cardboard Yeti foot (apparently a very popular activity), and then spent the last 24 hours we had in Kathmandu repacking our bags, sending stuff home, getting pedicures and henna, and eating all the authentic Nepali food we could before taking off for Vietnam. Next stop Hanoi! ... Hello, Hanoi! (Don't know any Vietnamese, shoot...)

cool Chitwan mosquito net!

Apparently we didn't take so many pictures in Chitwan. I think we were too exhausted.

Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. Oh yeah, and the Himalayas.

The night before our first trek out of Pokhara, we went out for dinner and ate wild boar curry at a happy hour at a bar we found which was playing live music and offered lounge chairs on the terrace overlooking the lake. It was dark, but we could still see little lights on the other side of the water of families who live in these incredibly remote areas on mountains. We also accidentally ordered two drinks each, but c'est la vie. Then we ordered one more because it was still happy hour and a "dirty banana" sounded like a really good investment (it was). Pokhara is a charming little area, and much, much cleaner than Kathmandu. They apparently also have power outages, but the hotel we got uses a back-up generator for those several hours per day. Despite the fact that it sounded like there was a truck waiting outside our window to take Dumbo back to the jungle, it was still nice. It's almost like a beach town, with a lot of tourists and a strip of hotels, restaurants and shopping, all next to the enormous Fewa lake. A little more laid-back than Kathmandu, much less crowded and much less polluted. We liked Kathmandu a lot, but I could feel my throat starting to react to the extreme amounts of exhaust you constantly breathe in there, along with the incense and ... occasional monkey poop. The weather was beautiful that day, so of course we went out without our umbrellas and decided to go for a post-dinner stroll. And of course it started raining exactly when we were about to turn around, about 15 minutes away from the hotel. It came down, though. The Hindu gods were just urinating all over us. It didn't let up, so Seth and I walked back to the hotel in the rain, just accepting the fact that we'd have to let the sun dry our clothes the next day on our trek. Because of course it would be sunny. Right? 

Wrong. The first day, we walked for 3.5 hours, and it came down in buckets for approximately 3. Eventually Seth and I accepted the fact that we'd have to pay too much money for a big plastic cover for our backpacks, and also that we'd have to use our Japan-level tiny umbrellas. These things were made for chiwawas, I swear. We figured out how to jerry-rig them to our backpack straps and attach a giant piece of plastic to each of our 20-pound bags, and set off.

A rare moment of less rain

The path that day was mostly dirt road for jeeps with some gravel, with pretty easy inclines and eventually amounting to 500 meters that we climbed over the course of three hours. It was a breeze (except for the whole swimming through the rain part) and we thought:"This is going to be too easy. We should have gone to Annapurna base camp, or Everest base camp! We are such good hikers." We ate lunch and dinner at our first tea house (tiny hotel area), witnessed a Buddhist ceremony performed by Tibetan sherpa monks for a reason I still don't really know but has something to do with a rite of passage maybe, then spent the night at the lodge where we ate and read books.

Rite of passage or naptime? Either one sounds pretty cool.

A few people we talked to said they were nervous about the next day. Something about stairs. We shrugged. We'd just climbed to the top of Hideyoshi Toyotomi's tower a week before, and that was eight tall floors! We can do stairs. Wrong. The next day, Reywati our guide took us to a place they call the THREE THOUSAND STAIRS. I have no idea if that number is accurate, but god did it feel like it. Try to imagine big slabs of rock. Now, imagine them in stair form. Now, imagine you are going up these stairs, and every time you think you see the end, it's not the end. Imagine doing this for FIVE HOURS. I'm being conservative here, because we hiked for about seven hours (starting around 7:30AM) and we didn't climb exactly that the entire time, but it took up a good chunk of the time. Also, because of global warming, monsoon season has not been as predictable as normal. Usually in September, the skies would be at least mostly clear and we would be able to get some kind of visual reward for hanging out on the never-ending stairclimber. But instead, we were inside a cloud. The whole time. It didn't rain as hard as the day before, but it drizzled, and we couldn't see more than about a 25ft radius from ourselves. Reywati is very kind. He's about 5'3'' and has a body built like a soccer player (although his sport of choice is Nepal's national sport kobardi, which involves running into another team and holding your breath until you reach the finish without getting tackled to the ground, but I digress). The point I'm trying to make is that this is extremely easy for him. He's not even wearing hiking shoes, but rather shoes that resemble crocks which he uses to walk through water and kick heavy rocks into a safer place for us to step on while holding an umbrella (and while we wobble on rocks across streams). After the first two hours or so, Seth and I wanted to fall over and attack the next donkey we saw and eat the whole thing. He hardly broke a sweat. He looked so bored going at what I've named his "tourist pace," but didn't seem to mind and has been carrying a bunch of apples and pomegranates for the two fat Americans to munch on for when we start to whine that our feet hurt.

Even though the path is mostly stairs, we were really surprised at how well-maintained it is. Reywati explained that it's the "main highway" from the bottom town of Noyopool to the Annapurna base camp. Then how, I asked myself at first, do they actually make BUILDINGS of concrete with restaurants and beds and tin roofs and toilets (sometimes)?? Well, my question was quickly answered after we passed the third group of five to ten load-bearing donkeys being herded up the mountain. Basically what happens is they each get about 60kg (130-ish lbs.) of stuff, and then a guy in flip flops walks behind them, whipping them with a stick or a whip if they take a break when they're not supposed to.

Badass donkeys coming down asshole stairs after a trip up asshole mountain

Also, porters. Porters are guys who carry lots of weight (up to 45 or 90lbs depending on the area) for any purpose. You can hire a porter if you're hiking and you don't want to carry all your stuff and he'll take your backpack, or if you're building something like a guest house on the mountain and the donkeys can't be trusted to carry the enormous windows because they might break them. So how, you might ask, do porters carry these heavy loads up the mountain? Well, that's a great question. They strap the loads to their foreheads. At some point the cost-benefit ratio of putting a backpack around your waist with the straps doesn't cut it anymore, so they do it the traditional Nepali way: they have a basket, or a backpack, or in some cases a big glass window pane, bring a strap around it and fix the strap on their foreheads (sometimes with a folded towel under it to make it more comfortable), then just bend over a little and voila. Don't try this at home kids: foreigners trying to do it have broken their necks, since any movement in a particular direction can literally paralyze you. It's amazing to see and I know it's their job, but I'm really glad we didn't hire a porter because I would feel like a total asshole watching someone else carry all my stuff by their forehead. The tops of my hips are starting to bruise from my own 20 pounds of burden, but I definitely don't want to triple or quadruple that onto someone else for my own comfort. Usually though, it appears porters graduate to guides like Reywati, whose job now consists of babysitting foreigners on long hikes to see outstanding views and getting free room and board on said hikes, which beats some other jobs.

Badass porter and Seth with slightly less badass 20-lb. backpack (also notice asshole stairs)

Anyway, this morning we woke up in Ghorepani at 3:45 in preparation for a clear sky to watch the sunrise from Poon Hill. We had climbed 1,300 meters the previous day, then we hiked another 400 by the light of the moon for an hour to witness a view of a section of the Himalayas with about 50 to 75 other tourists. It was spectacular, and perfect timing for the only clear skies we've seen thus far, in all three days we've been hiking. We saw Annapurna 1, Fishtail, Dhaulagiri 1 (which is over 8,000 meters) and several other mountains I really couldn't remember if my life depended on it.

WE MADE IT TO MOTHER F-ING POON HILL

We must have asked poor Reywati the names of these mountains about 47 times, but eventually we just took a video of him telling us the names again so we wouldn't have to ask. We could have seen even more if there had been even fewer clouds, but we took what we could get. It was the reason Seth wanted to come to Nepal, and thank Buddha (or Vishnu, or the Shinto kamis or whomever) he got it. I did a timelapse photography of the sunrise and it turned out really well.

Then we walked down 400 meters back to Ghorepani and had breakfast. And then, guess what?? We went up another hill, for an hour, and got to the same elevation as Poon Hill. Rephrased: This morning, at 4:30, we walked up 400 meters, saw the sunrise, went back down, ate breakfast, AND THEN WE WENT BACK UP. Oh sorry, THEN WE WENT DOWN. Very far. For two and a half hours. Oh yeah. THEN WE WENT UP. For another half hour. My butt muscles are so pissed off. And so are my feet, from going downhill for so long.

So, so tired.

Map of Poon Hill Hike (which we are doing, in case I did not make that clear)

And that brings us to our guesthouse, which, as we've officially come to expect from Nepal, has very steep stairs. Up to the room, then back down a hill and up a hill again to the dining room for dinner. Then back down the second hill and up if the first you forgot anything (phone charger), like some kind of cruel joke. I can't believe I will be doing this again tomorrow. But! We shall be rewarded at the end of the day with hot springs.

Some observations on the point of view I have acquired:

- I get excited when I get to sit on a toilet, instead of squat over it. If it flushes (instead of having to scoop water out of a bucket and doing a manual flush), well, I feel like a queen. Especially when I remember to bring toilet paper. Last night we had our own private toilet and gas powered-shower, and it was glorious even without the sink. Oh, but we had to turn on the gas out of an enormous gas container, then one of us had to hold a button because it was broken while the other showered, and vice versa, and then we realized we didn't have towels and the room was freezing, so we had to use our sarongs then hang them up to dry. But still... private toilet.
- Even here, in the foothills of Nepal, in a village that can only be reached by foot, yak or donkey, THE BEDS ARE STILL MORE COMFORTABLE THAN IN KOREA. I would just like to say, that's pretty sad, Korea. Maybe some food for thought.
- New foods I love: yak cheese, Tibetan bread, roasties (big fancy hash browns), and curds with fried things.
- The caste system is very prominent here, and effects everything. This probably doesn't surprise a lot of worldly people, but Reywati explained that since he's a Brahman and the highest caste, he will sacrifice a billygoat (or several) during their holiday Gadhimai in October, whereas lower castes will sacrifice a yak which they can share with other families. (In Gadhimai, animals are sacrificed to appease the gods, then eaten. We're talking lots and lots of animals.) Also he didn't really understand what was going on in the Tibetan Sherpa ceremony because it wasn't his caste, and different castes practice different forms of the same religion. There are 104 castes in Nepal. It's all very fascinating.
- It's totally normal now for us to see a chicken or ten just kinda wandering around outside a restaurant or a store or guesthouse. Also, cows. Not in the mountains, but cows hang out everywhere in Pokhara. Goats, donkeys sometimes ducks and buffalo, roosters waking us up (whenever they want, not just at dawn): these are all completely normal parts of this surreal life we have now gotten pretty used to.

Next time we write it will be done from a hotel room in Pokhara, in two nights. I'll have another update then! :) Seth slept through the entire making of this one so maybe he'll have more to say then.

And now, a few more pictures...

There is a mountain there.

Holy cow, right??

Pano shot with a lost explanation of which one is Anapurna II etc. somewhere in my memory card

Seth in his hiking boots and Reywati in his crocs, on the way down from Poon Hill (dat sun tho)

Bhaktapur and Paradise in Pokhara

Good news everyone! Tomorrow we will set out on a trek near the Annapurna Mountian Range. The trek is called Poon Hill and it's super popular among backpackers. Our itinerary is as follows:

Friday: fly to Pokhara
Saturday through Wedensday: trekking from Mayapul, Ulerig, Ghorepani/Poon Hill, Shinadanda, then back to Mayapul and Pokhara
Thursday through Sunday: sightseeing etc. in Pokhara and Chitwan National Park
Monday: Take a bus back to Kathmandu
Tuesday (the 22nd): off to Hanoi

We are really excited and relieved the rest of the trip was planned for us by our trusty hotel owner and his trekking experience and connections. Our wallets took a beating, but that's why we're on vacation! When we get back Seth wants to go see the Himalayas in a plane! We'll see how the weather is, and how our wallets are feeling then.

So now, the past few days in a nutshell:
To recap Thursday, we went to Bhaktapur. Similar to the day trip we took to Patan, Bhaktapur is another ancient city which we're super glad we saw, even though there's a lot of tourist-specific pricing. The buildings and temples were impressive and beautiful. They are medieval in origin, and Bhaktapur acted as the captial/central hub of Nepal from the 8th to the 15th century. Our cab driver, who we met taking us to Patan, drove us to Bhaktapur and gave us some tips on the city. He explained that since the Nepalese government is fairly corrupt (and what government isn't nowadays?), it jacks up the prices for tourist spots all over the country. So, like before at Pashupati, it cost a certain amount per head to get in. Our driver, Assok, told us how to get around these rules and get into the city, undetected, which was super cool of him, since we were trying NOT to bleed money.

Patrice in front of a super old temple

We wandered down an alley or 10 before we got too lost. We came up to an alley that put us right next to the entry gate: much too close to not be seen. So, we sighed, and turned around to start walking the way we came, and then heard a "psst." We turned around and one of the elders sitting on platform motioned for us to go just around the corner. The 5-year-old nearby old confirmed his instructions with a nod of his head. The people of Bhaktapur had come to our aid!!

So, we made it in, no problem, and then walked through the city, meandering and taking pictures of all the cool old buildings and streets. Unfortunately, we turned down the wrong street for some street samosas and missed the gate (those samosas were like a damn delicious Nepali poison apple). A guy stopped us and said we needed a ticket, so we said, "ok, we'll just leave." We then walked the perimeter of the city trying to find our new way in, but eventually found our way back to Assok at the taxi spot. We were pretty defeated and were ready to go back to Kathmandu. Assok could see that we needed a morale boost from getting caught, so he suggested going south to see the pottery market. So, we did.

Scenes from Bhaktapur

Even more cautious than before, we snuck through even more alleys to find it. I guess the potters hadn't set everything up yet, but there was an old man making clay bowls on his spinning wheel. It took him about 30 seconds to make one and then start the other. An efficiency unequalled. We walked another 50 feet up the hill to Taumadhi square. Like nervous little squirrels, we peeked around the corner expecting a gaurd, but...there was no one there. But there were the most impressive temples I'd seen thus far. I forgot to mention, the whole morning the sky was overcast, but by the time we got to Taumadhi square, things started to clear up. We could see some of the mountains that cup the valley and had an even better view from the top of the largest temple:

(Patrice provided for scale)

We walked to the cafe next door and ordered lunch: our beloved masala tea, and aloo paratha (like a quesadilla with curds) and the other was paratha (fried naan/bread) with a curry soup. Of course, it was the best food ever. So, with our bellies full, the sun shine doing its thing, the incredible sights and ambiance to keep our zen thing groovin', we quickly got the morale boost we needed. 

We then hopped back in the cab with Assok and drove back to Kathmandu. While there, we found out that one of the guys who always says hi to us in the morning was the owner of the hostel. Not only that, but he also had a trekking business. So, we stepped into his office and set everything up in about an hour. Awesome! The remainder of the evening was spent with our new friend, Saurav, who took us out to try some momos (like really good dumplings) and tongba. Tongba is a lot like Argentinian mate (a tea), where there are ground up leaves and you put hot water in them and then drink the liquid out of a straw that has a filter on the bottom. Except tongba has millet, and it's alcohol! It was delicious, tasted a little like Japanese sake, and would have been even better if it had been cold outside. Anyway, Saurav is the cousin of my Aunt Patti's friend and colleague. He's a really cool dude, and we like him, so you can too! He too, as it turns out, runs a travel agency, so if anybody interested in going anywhere, we know a guy. The name of his company is Caligo. He's on facebook.

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Drinking Tungba!

So that takes us to today. We got up this morning and left about half our possessions in the care of Trekker's Home, the amazing hostel to which we shall return when we spend our last night in Kathmandu. This way our bags only weigh about 16 pounds, as opposed to the 35 we had before. Anyway, this morning we took a plane to Pokhara -- oh I'm sorry, did I say we "took a plane"? I meant we climbed into a tin can with a bunch of Koreans out of a really sketchy domestic airport. Actually it wasn't that bad. The plane was 3 seats across and had a really nice flight attendant who happily gave us a caramel, peanuts and fanta! Also, and this is very important for people who have known Seth for a long time: the name of the airline was Yeti Airlines. No joke. The yeti is supposed to have been "seen" or "tracked" in Nepal so I guess a smart person decided to capitalize, and what a great decision. I also wanted to share that the first woman of three patting me down at the airport -- there was no metal detector -- found my bag and said, "This no. What is this." I said, "it's an ostomy bag." "Money bag? No." She indicated I would have to take it off. "No." I said. "POOP BAG." Confused, and possibly a little terrified, she waved me through.

The views of Nepal from the plane were breathtaking. I mean wow. The lush, green mountains all peaked right into the clouds. Some of the water was extra blue. Sometimes we were flying just above the elevation of the mountain peaks. 

Pictures obviously do no justice.

The hotel is $35/night and it's the biggest, fanciest one we've seen on our entire trip. We have a guide who picked us up from the airport and took us here. His name is Reywati. HE IS A SHERPA. Look, the only thing I think of when I think of Sherpas is Owen Wilson's character on Zoolander who is walking through his reallly awesome house and introduces Zoolander (Ben Stiller) and their friend to his Sherpa buddies, wrapped up in really warm clothes and chilling together. So to meet a real Sherpa and know we're going to be hanging out with him for the next 5 or 6 days and he's going to be telling us about all the effing amazing things we're seeing, well that just makes me really stoked. In fact, as I write this I am sitting on the balcony at our hotel and I can see an amazing screensaver-worthy mountain poking up behind the green one in front of me.

EDIT: Reywati is a Brahman, which is the highest Hindu caste. It sounds cooler to have a Sherpa, but is more realistic to have a highly-educated person who can speak English. Oh well, we really like him so he can be whatever the hell he wants.

Don't mind the awkward infrastructure, it's actually really nice here.

 I saw Reywati walking up to the hotel. I pointed out the mountain and he told me the name: Fish Tail, and that it's 6,000 meters high. He knows all the elevations we'll be walking to (up to 3,210 meters) and apparently all the names, too. He's been to Everest Base Camp, up to 5,000 meters (of course he knows the exact number but I definitely don't remember) and he doesn't need oxygen at that elevation because, and I want to be very clear here: he is a Sherpa. His English is great. We took him out to lunch and then he showed us around a temple on an island on Fewa Lake, where a monk put rice with the red powder on our heads again.

 Fewa lake, by the way, is also gorgeous. We have gone from beautiful, polluted chaos in Kathmandu directly to paradise in Pokhara. In fact, if the name "Paradise in Pokhara" isn't the title of something, then nobody has been paying attention.

Well, we're off tomorrow! Not sure how much wifi we'll be getting on Poon Hill but Seth and I will be sure to keep a record of what we do. 

Temples, Stupas, and Hinduism 101

Hey gang, Seth here. I'll be recounting our exploits for day two so Patrice and nurse those typing blisters (she doesn't really have blisters...I'm...I just wanted to be funny. Please like me...)

So, after one heck of a start, we took a much more zen-like approach to Nepal and put the high-octane, let's-get-destroied-by-a-mob level adventuring on the backburnner. We transformed and rolled out of the hostel around 9am with a burning purpose: find the fabled Swayambhu Temple (a.k,a. the "monkey temple.") We asked our intrepid hosts of Trekkers' Home hostel, "what's the direction we should head in?" and, ever stalwart, they told us to head south...ish.

We were determined to hoof it, because the map said it was close enough, and we did just that. We do have a reputation to uphold now. Our trek was, like it's predecessors, "memorable." We found a path less traveled by non-locals, over a river, ponds of mud and a construction site that wasn't totally unlike a war zone. Patrice broke in her new sandels reeeeaaaal quick; however, after about half-hour of finding routes through peoples' yards and driveways, we made it to the steps of Swayambut.

Like any place a tourist might visit, the steps were crawling with beggars and touters. We are no strangers to these sorts of things, so we, unphased, marched on. We mad a pit stop after the first 50 steps or so for some fresh watermelon and bottled water. Nepal's climate isn't exactly what I had envisioned it to be. Instead of cool and perpetually breezy, it's hot and muggy AND I DON'T LIKE IT!! Anyhoo, the gentleman selling the fruit and water kindly warned us about the monkeys that would, understandably, attempt to rip the tastey fruit from our unsuspecting hands. No sooner had he said that, we heard a rustle in the tree above. At least 6 hairy little imps were staring holes through our watermelon. I told Patrice, "eat quick," but just then, the fruit-man whipped out his trusty slingshot and fended off our evolutionary cousins, lickity split. Hilarious!

So, after properly hydrating and Patrice having had her fruit fix, we climbed the rest of the stairs. We didn't count, but we could make a conservative estimate of 200+ (rather steep) stairs in total, but that's what it takes to see the entire Kathmandu valley. The view, for a lack of a truely better word, was stunning: mountains that put my beloved Appalachians to shame form a momumental bowl to cup the lush, green, and very urban valley. Clouds rolled across the sky like waves on the ocean and a moderate breeze kept the uncoutable prayer flags aloft and the humidity to tolerable levels. Swayambut is a "stupa," a style of shrine that Patrice will explain in Day 3, which stood an additional 40-45 feet tall and was adorned with the ever-vigiliant eyes of Buddha. We shopped for nick-nacks around the stupa and had a lunch equally as pleasing as the view on one of the local cafe's rooftops. Picture provided.

We finished lunch and headed back down the stairs (in hindsight, I guess we forgot to count them twice...) bought a small "singing bowl", which is a meditation bowl made of 7 silvers. You rub the edge of the bowl with a wooden pestle and makes a pretty tone. Then we caught a cab back to our hostel in Thamel, the touristy area. There, we regrouped, dropped off our treasures, and decided on Pashputi (another local temple) as our next destination. Unfortunately, nothing we looked at about Pashputi said, "NO FER-NERS ALLOWED" so, our very non-Hidu selfs were denied access and ushered over to the kid's table equivalent of the compound. We could check that part out, no pro-blamo, ...for $10 a head. Yeah, I don't think so. Only slightly perturbed, we walked to the other side of the road as Pashputi, to see what, if anything, was worth looking at. We found another, small temple with immaculate woodwork and got a small bag of samosas and fried dough for 50 cents. We walked, and munched, and realized, "there's nothing here for us to tour...", so, we turned around and walked back to the street. One last beggar met our eye, so I gave him what was left of our snack. I told Patrice that I felt a little bad for giving the guy our half-eaten bag of food, to which she replied, "yeah, well 'beggars can't be choosers!'" OOOOOHHHHHH, SNAP!!
Well, I thought it was funny...

We quickly found a cab back to the hostel and decided to explore the immediate area (i.e.- J.P. Road). The road is basically a backpackers candyland. I kinda felt like Charlie when he found the golden ticket. We got some shopping done and got to sit for a quick drink in a beautiful courtyard down a little alley to finish off the day. We both were in agreement that we had a much more enjoyable experience since we set our own culturally-driven pace as opposed to the afore-mentioned "high octane" one. I think we found our status quo.

I'm Patrice and I'm back! Isn't my fiance entertaining? Well anyway. The next day we headed off in a cab to Patan, a little city a half hour south of Kathmandu with some pretty great stuff. As soon as we got to the Golden Temple (one of those cool things), a short, friendly Nepali gentleman greeted us, who said he worked at the temple. We paid 50 cents to get in, so we figured he was just a tour guide. In the end we were wrong (again) but he accepted $10 graciously from us, instead of cheating us out of $60 worth of groceries, phew! He was really, really Hindu: a vegan who never smokes or drinks, and is just one of the at peace people I've ever met. He explained many things, but most notably the circle of life in the Hindu faith (I included a picture from google because apparently I forgot to take one): Divided into six parts, heaven is the pinnacle of existance; very good people go here, and become gods. At the bottom is the Hindu hell, which is pretty similar to the Christian idea of Hell: fire, brimstone, eternal suffering, etc. On either side are two additional sections: one one side right below god is the level of "demi-god," where humans go if they are exceptional in the previous life, but not so great that they are godly. The demi-gods and the gods argue over a fruit-bearing tree that connects their sections of the wheel. The gods claim that the fruit is reserved for them, but the tree grows out of the section of the demi-gods so they feel they have a right to the fruit. Anyway, the section below the demigods is the section of animal life: if you aren't kind to animals (like if you're a butcher), you go here. There are about 80 different levels of animal, monkey being the first and dog being the last because dogs are so compatible with humans and loving. After you finish the life as a dog, you go back to being human and are eligible for the demi-god or god level, depending on your accumulated karma as a human. If you're a bad human again (you get two chances), you will go to the level below the humans on the wheel: hungry ghost. This level sucks. It's kind of like purgatory. You have to spend a lifetime in perpetual thirst and hunger as punishment for the bad karma you accumulated in your previous life. If you eat or drink anything, you die immediately, which means you probably didn't have enough time to make up for the bad karma, so you go to the bottom of the wheel of life (i.e. Hindu Hell). In the middle is a depiction of hen, a snake and a pig, symbolizing lust, ignorance and laziness respectively. The goal is to eliminate these vices. Buddha has none of them, which makes him the head hancho (Hinduism treats Buddha as one of the Gods).

Our new friend also showed us his physical-chakra therapy practice using the singing bowls, and demonstrated to us how they (allegedly) help with ailments. Basically, the shape and craftmanship of the bowl give it particular vibrating properties, which massage the body. He demonstrated this by filling one of the large meditation bowls with water and ran a mallet around the rim to make it "sing." The sound waves bounced through the bowl and made the water jump like little fireworks. He explained that since the human body is predominantly water, the bowl's vibrations create a similar effect with your body tissue when you hold the bowl up to the body and vibrate it, enabling the body to relax, thus opening your chakra. We're not sure how much of it we buy into, but when our friend demonstrated this on us, we did feel good and relaxed, and also really in-the-moment, similar to how you would feel if someone gave you a quality back rub. He then explained the seven chakras: you have a crown-of-the-head chakra, for your brain and thoughts; your third eye chakra for healthy eyes, ears, nose and mouth; your throat chakra, for a healthy voice; your heart chakra, for a healthy heart and lungs; a chakra below that for kidneys and spine; a chakra for your intestines; and a chakra for your lower extremities. He also explained that the right side of your body is the male energy, and the left side is the feminine energy. Thus according to legend, Buddha was born not of  traditional delivery, but rather was born through the left armpit of his mother. Yes. I said armpit. Not kidding. But when you think about it, this is all not wholly dissimilar to Christ's virgin birth.

The last thing our friend taught us was about prayer wheels. They're everywhere here around temples and stupas, and basically you are supposed to walk clockwise around the structure in question and spin them as a form of meditation. They're pictured below in a few different places. We've circled several temples and stupas now, making a point to spin all the prayer wheels. And I can confidently say we at least partially get it. There's something extremely peaceful about just walking and spinning one prayer wheel after another, after another, after another. I'm sure we've just dipped our toes into the ocean that is Hinduism and Buddhism but Seth and I have both just really enjoyed zenning out with it. There's a meditation song that's always played (and sold on CDs) around these temples, and I found it on  youtube! So here it is:
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gx1SrxDwxXo
The words are "Om Mani Padme Hum" (just like the title, duh) and bring it all back in a ... CIRCLE... (eh? Eh???) those are the names of the different stages of life on the circle of life.

Finally, after seeing some more temples in Patan and drinking some more masala tea (we are officially hooked on chai), we headed over to the Boudha stupa. A stupa is like a burial mound for the creamated remains of significant individuals, and you can usually find one in front of every Hindu temple. The more sacred you are, the bigger your stupa. The Boudha stupa supposedly contains some of the ashes of the Buddha himself, so you can imagine how enourmous it is. According to the pamphlet, whoever walks around it (which takes about 6 minutes, as long as you don't stop to buy anything, which is hard) enough times, or does enough nice things for the stupa, will get what they want in the next life or just get their wishes granted. Just a preview of a very big paragraph: "All of those who circumambulate it will acquire the seven qualities of the higher existences. Whoever makes entreaties to it will effortlessly accomplish the two purposes. All of those who make offerings to it will be born in a place that knows no drought. Whoever offers flowers will be sure to obtain an excellent human birth with al of the conditions required for the practice of Dharma." Etc. etc. etc. It goes on and on.

So that brings us to now, Wednesday morning. A few cultural observations before I... PEACE OUT. Oh man I have to stop.
- They turn off the electricity twice per day, city-wide here, for about 2-3 hours. These hours seem to rotate (every day each one starts about an hour earlier), but luckily they don't turn off the wifi in the hostel. Everybody seems to have a back-up gas-powered generator for the necessary stuff during those times.
- On a related note, our hostel has one functioning outlet, and Seth and both use our devices a lot for reading, taking pictures, writing the blog, etc. So we are constantly charging something, when there is electricity anyway.
- Our hostel room is old. The ceilings are high, the wallsare eggshell blue, we have a wooden wardrobe and an enormous window overlooking the street of Thamel, and the window isn't very sound-proof, so we always hear something like honking or pigeons or rain. There's a fan on the wall, and a non-functioning outlet below it, but the fan chord doesn't seem to be able to reach the non-functioning outlet. I don't get it. We also have a huge skeleton key for getting in and out. Honestly, I love it. Ants and all.
- Someone tried to sell Seth drugs! Actually three people. Within about thirty minutes That's pretty common in this area. There was a cop right there. Seth told them to get the hell away from him.
- Just like your favorite yoga teacher, everyone, EVERYONE here greets each other with "namaste" and then says it when you leave too, like a "peace be with you" kinda thing.

The Bouhda Stupa

A Hindu monastery

Prayer wheels

Swayambut,  or monkey temple

Lunch on top of Kathmandu: goat cheese and tomato salad, curry, chai tea. Amazing.

tside a temple

More prayer wheels

Chakra therapy

Prayer flags and people at Swayambut

Swayambut