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Your Ticket to a Natural High

This is such a Western thing to say, but I haven't had a warm shower in six weeks and the weather is not getting any warmer here in Nepal. I find myself stretching the duration of time between showers from one, to two, to three days or longer. They told me I would get used to it. I haven't. It's one thing if you are taking cold showers in a tropical environment, but I would not call Kathmandu in November "tropical". Well, enough of my bellyaching - I have established a routine for cleaning which thus far seems to be effective in getting the job done while minimizing the hypothermia inducing effects of the shower.

Tomorrow I will be flying up to Lukla and the Everest base camp circuit. Somebody mentioned that they have hot showers there - go figure. But the hot showers aren't the only reason I am going. There are several clinics high up - above 4000m - that I would like to check out. Apparently the doctors in one of the clinics are running a diamox trial, testing the drugs efficacy on reducing the symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) - diamox stimulates the respiratory system to breathe more regularly. Several of the other clinics in the area are also staffed by American doctors, so it will be interesting to get their take on the health and human rights situation in Nepal. Regardless, I am looking forward to engaging the Sherpa culture, as this population has always symbolized the spirit of groups who have overcome incredible obstacles to thrive in a harsh environment. Their humor, their devotion to Buddhist principles, and their unmatched work ethic have made them some of the world's most intriguing and endearing people.

Yesterday, I spent a grand total of 7 hours waiting in line for my Indian VISA. I can't recall a more painful or frustrating process, but if I remember correctly, those aforementioned emotions are India in a nutshell. It was a reminder that life moves at a different pace in India, and it was a good test of patience for a traveler who is too used to getting their way. Anyhow, at the end of the day, my passport was returned to me with the double entry, six-month VISA properly affixed. Game on Mother India.

The 11th of November - A Day to Remember

Hello folks. I wanted to share with you some thoughtful words from an old friend of mine from the days of undergrad at UW, Laura. On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, Laura reflects...

The poppy. Have you ever wondered why we as Canadians continue to embrace the symbolism of the poppy? Why is it that as soon as the veterans and the poppy boxes are out we naturally gravitate to them in force? And why do we wear them on both our outer and inner layers? Why is it that when we lose our poppy we replace it as soon as we see the next poppy box? It doesn’t seem to matter who you are or even how old you are, it is an ingrained part of our identity as Canadians.

Lately I’ve been noticing the commitment to the poppy more and more. One of the librarians I work with is an American who commutes daily from Buffalo and to her, this poppy-wearing behaviour seemed so unusual and she became immediately curious. We’ve talked about it, what it means to people, its origins and how it is something that we all just seem to do. Like any good librarian, she has researched it and from there has decided she likes what it means and is making the choice to wear a poppy - she even picked one up for her daughter. Invariably, she comments about how she never noticed people wearing the poppy before, but now she sees it everywhere, even in the stands and on the team benches at a recent Buffalo Sabres game she attended. So, in looking through her eyes and more consciously looking for the poppy and paying attention to it's medium of expression, I see it more and more – it truly is everywhere.

The CBC, through the news, the web and regular programming, are reminding us of not only what the poppy means in remembrance of the past but also of its meaning in the present. We have connections to the past signified by the poppy but many of us hold the poppy as a symbol of hope for future peaceful generations. While I am a supporter of the poppy, I acknowledge that there are those who choose not to wear the poppy because of what it represents to them - i.e. the ideologies of war/acts of violence - and so I agree, if that is what the poppy says to you and is in opposition to your personal ideology, then definitely don’t wear it and don’t be self-conscious or ashamed for not doing so. It is a symbol, and like all symbols, it means different things to different people.

A special thanks to Laura for reminding us about the importance of remembering our past and the sacrifices of those who gave everything to ensure the freedom we enjoy today (at least in part).

To everyone, a solemn Remembrance Day/Veterans Day.

Outraged

It is believed that there are roughly 200,000 Nepali women currently working in Indian brothels - women forced into the sex trade by traffickers who trick young girls into thinking they are heading for better jobs and a better life in India. It is also believed that approximately 30,000 of these women are infected with HIV/AIDs. Another 60,000 within Nepal are also infected. The implications on individual and societal health and well-being are obvious. The trafficked women and girls experience a hell which none of us will ever understand. We can sympathize, but most of us will never be able to empathize with the level of abuse these girls have been subjected to. And it might surprise you to know that when it comes to trafficking, there are just as many women involved as there are men. That's when NGOs like the Kathmandu based, Maiti Nepal, step onto the scene and nail those guilty of trafficking, in addition to brothel owners, to the cross. Thank god there are folks out there working on behalf of these women.

The landless of Nepal, in many ways, don't fare much better. Their abuse is more structural in nature than physical, but the result is often the same: exclusion from the fruits of Nepali society and a discrimination that is perpetuated by ignorance on behalf of policy-makers. Whether the poor are landless, tenant farmers whose rights have been exploited, bonded labourers, or simply those unlucky enough to be born into the dalit caste system, these people are systematically excluded from the basic rights to citizenship status simply because neither they, nor any relative, owns a piece of land. Outrageous.

Children also have a rough go of it. Orphanages are full-to-brimming with the offspring of those killed during the fighting between rebel forces and government soldiers over the past decade. I've heard horror stories from my fellow volunteers about six children sharing a bed meant for one and other children sharing sleeping accommodation with the winter's potato stash. Children often lack diapers and end up peeing all over themselves and the floor (which they end up dragging themselves through). It appears that many of the orphanage owners are more interested in collecting the donations which filter in - donations which may never find their way to the children. Again, outrageous.

And the beggar continues to beg in the middle of the road. The lady in the chowk continues to hawk her apples and oranges in the hopes of collecting a few rupees each day. The bus fare collector continues to hoot and holler at passersby, exhorting them to step onto his bus to satisfy all of their conveyance needs. This really is the Third World.

Since we are on the topic of social justice, elections for the House and Senate are currently underway. I would encourage my American brethren to make their voice heard through the voting process. Perhaps then, the process of impeachment can be initiated to bring to justice one of the world's biggest war criminals. Please excuse my political interjection into this travel blog, but the world we live in is an intimately connected web of international relations, and what happens in one geo-political region often has wide-ranging implications in numerous others. Anyhow, I digress.

Mixed Emotions

And for the second time in as many days, you turned me away at the gates of your Indian Embassy. Please kind folks, all I want to do is submit myself to your VISA process, but your hours of operation are making Marty exceedingly frustrated!! It's definitely a special trip from my house on the fringes of Kathmandu into the craziness of the heart of the city where your compound is located, and despite my best attempts to conform to the hours of your consular service, I have been grossly unsuccessful. Apparently your embassy does not issue new VISAs on Sunday (when everybody else in the city is open for business). Who knew? Aarrgh.

On a similar note...

It's difficult to describe just how disparate the days can be here. You can have the absolute worst day imaginable, and the following day the world is full of rainbows and smiling faces. For example, last week I had a day where the only thing I successfully accomplished was taking the laundry I had hand-washed off the clothesline (and even then, the house dog, Lucky, had chewed a hole in my underwear). And then yesterday, the clouds parted to reveal a beautiful, blue afternoon sky as I made new friends with the landless, migrant community down by the river. The juxtaposition of extremes is confusing and draining. But hey, that's Nepal.

The organization I am volunteering with is preparing to receive a group of 15 from the United states in a few days time - which is by far the largest group the organization has ever entertained. Apparently the American crew is coming for the same reasons as myself; that is, to get a sense of the state of health of the average Nepali and to try to do something to raise quality of life. I'm sure the new recruits will be shocked to see just how poor the state of health is here in Nepal - from the subclinical on up to the most blatant case of leprosy, there is a lifetimes worth of work here for the ambitious healthcare provider.

Dear Disillusioned in Nepal...

Well folks, many apologies for the lack of regular updates. I have returned from Pokhara to the Kathmandu Valley for the time being, although these days, my eyes rarely stray from the jagged, white 8000m peaks of the Himalaya. I will soon be heading for those hills, to get a sense of how the issues of public health and human rights manifest themselves on the slopes of the world's greatest water towers.

Here in Kathmandu, volunteers continue to come and go in a non-stop parade of altruistic potential. In truth, most leave Nepal slightly disillusioned by the volunteer experience, feeling as though somehow their contribution did not amount to anything substantial. It would be easy to slide into this mindset if one did not remember that simply by their presence, one can offer somebody hope. In a strange twist though, the presence of relatively affluent westerners in the midst of a sea of poverty perhaps serves more often than not to remind people of the lifestyle and the material existence they will never achieve, despite considerable attempts to emulate the life of westerners. There is clearly no easy answer, and the process is one I continue to grapple with.

The pollution is again becoming overwhelming. In the mornings, I wake up and blow my nose only to find a disgusting accumulation of yellow phlegm in the kleenex. I am beginning to understand why the incessant horking of snot into the street occurs. I am also beginning to understand why the average Nepali only lives to 58 years of age. This knowledge makes it urgently apparent that somebody here has got to step up and be a stud - Nepal needs a leader and a unified approach which will see the country through the hard times; somebody to help alleviate the ubiquitous abuses of human rights which meet the eye no matter where one turns. The NGOs and INGOs can only shoulder so much of the burden.