[Funny the Way It Is]

[push play, read]




I listened to this song on the bus home tonight. I realized a few lines of the lyrics captured the culmination of some debate going on inside me about convenience and comfort and what they cost.

standing on the bridge
watch the water passing under-
neath it must have been much harder
when there was no bridge just water
now the world is small
remember how it used to be
with mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars...

I live in the country of convenience. We have the fastest Internet; we have the most efficient airport in the world; we have ridiculously affordable health care; we have free shipping with online shopping; we can order food and have it delivered in a park, on the sidewalk, in an alley. And that delivery guy will come back later to pick up your dishes. We live in apartments surrounded by every kind of convenience you can imagine. Korea is saturated with convenience. Everything is done for you. You don't even pump your own gas in this country.

And I will tell you, dang, it's comfortable. I sit around and think about ways I can make my life even more comfortable. And generally, I discover how many things I need to achieve this. I need a better rice cooker so my rice will stay fresh longer and cook faster. I need a car so I can go where I need to go exactly when I like and skip the 10-minute-wait between buses. I need a better computer so I can spend more of my time in front of it. I need cable TV so I can watch programs I have seen before in English. I need a better cell phone so that I can Twitter on the go (because does Twitter really count if you must be tied to your computer and an Internet connection?). I need a personal trainer who will roll my belly out of bed in the mornings and march me to the gym. I need a personal chef (okay, I sort of have this one covered with the HubbO, but still) who will force me to eat things that are good for me while at the same time relieving me of the worry about and proximity with the food I consume. I need a lot of money so I don't have to teach. Because then I could spend all my time on the Internet, and everyone knows how great the Internet is!

And all of those things are fine. I love things. They're great. And I love easy and fast.

But what I don't love is who I become when everything is easy and fast. I don't love how those things prompt me only to consider further what more I need in order to be comfortable.

These things never stir me to create, to commune, to care about the person next to me. These things never allow me to test my patience or my discipline, both things running on empty. I am beginning to be drawn to the simple things in life. And I want to find beauty in waiting on the bus, instead of inconvenience. I want to order my life so that I don't need my rice cooker to keep my rice for 49 hours. And I want to stop seeing only my needs and the things that would make my life easier, instead of discovering the ways I can reach out and embrace a bit of difficulty or complexity. I want to stop complaining about being busy and having no time, and rejoice that I have a community to be a part of and people to care about. I want to work hard and build something for myself instead of ordering it to be done for me and delivered to my door for free.

I never understood why artists and writers always went to the woods or sparsely furnished shacks on the beach. I always wondered why they needed to seclude themselves from everyone else to get their work done. But it's not the people or the place they're running from. It's the things. The convenience and the comfort. Because let's face it; how many times can you site comfort as the great motivator? It's not. It just doesn't move us. It doesn't make us dance. It doesn't help us value vulnerability with each other or even within ourselves.

And we're ruining things with it. I crossed a good number of swinging rope and stone bridges built across small streams and hung across large coursing rivers in the Himalayas. And I was so thankful for those bridges. They held me and led me to places I couldn't have dreamed up. But the bridges are simply not enough. It's not enough that people can walk through the mountains and cross the water with relative ease now. People can't drive their cars through the mountains, and well, that's just annoying, isn't it? So not only do we want bigger and better bridges, we want roads. We want a clearly marked line to follow on the map. We don't want to twist and turn and investigate corners. We want to know where we're going and exactly how many minutes it's going to take us to get there.

The roads that are being constructed and laid through those mountains are destroying Nepal. Eventually, it won't be any big deal to hike through the Himalayas because you'll simply be able to drive through it. Without relying on the generosity of mountain farmers to feed you. Without poking dirt-bathed babies tummies on a stone wall. Without talking to the people of this land and trying your tongue at their names for the earth and its inhabitants. Nope. You'll be able to drive through it, with your air-conditioner on, your iPod plugged in, and all other experiences drowned in the comfort of your leather seats and the convenience of your four wheels.

Perhaps if I was Nepalese and walked everywhere, I would think differently. Perhaps speaking from the heart of comfort and availability and the opposite of hardship, I find the simplicity of others' lives beautiful. Yet, I have felt that simplicity work within me. I have walked through those mountains, trying to avoid the roads and being thankful for small bridges. I have seen what it is like when there are "mountains and oceans and winters and rivers and stars." And I met myself clearly there. My vision was not blurred by modern gadgets that keep me busy. Because the longer I think about it, the more convenience hides me from myself. Extremely comfortably hidden, actually. I don't have to look inside myself to, to examine myself, to reflect on my character, my choices, my heart. I certainly don't have to consider anyone else in this scheme of the easy life. If it's easy then it's good. If it's difficult, or complex, or fuzzy then it needs some work and someone needs to fix it so I don't have to do that work myself.

I'm tired of it. I'm tired of feeling the things I have within me being hushed by my comfortable life. Of course, we'll see where all this weariness gets me the next time I have to, God forbid, stand in a line and wait for something. Or when I need to order my time more wisely so I'm not 5 minutes late to everywhere. Or when I need to turn off the TV and shut down the computer in order to sit in front of the looking glass. We'll see. I am looking to simplify my life. Hoping to ignore the comfortable and choose instead the creative.

But y'all. I still want a car. Really, really bad.

Opposite of Early Bird

[From my hiking journal]

March 12, 2009

From Ghorepani to Tatopani

Old Kamala Guest House, Room 503

Day 11 of Hiking

Last night I had awful dreams about being burned by fire because I saw the fire burning in a long line down the mountain before we went to sleep. I dreamed I lost my cat and my baby in the fire. Today as we made our way from Ghorepani to here, we saw several burning, the smoke rising from all the different fires making one huge cloud above us.

I could still see the lengthening line of fire as we started up Poon Hill at 5:30 this morning. It was not as cold going up as I thought it would be, but at the top the wind was serious. I tried to think happy thoughts on the hike to the top, but I just got so angry because every time I thought I was at the top of the mountain, there was a turn and 100 more stairs to climb. It was 3,000+ meters high. It probably took me close to an hour to reach the top. There was a lookout tower, but I assumed the wind was even worse up there and let Kenny and CB check it out on their own. Needless to say, I was not a happy hiker. When the sun rose, it was pretty and the mountains were bigger than life, but it was still hazy and I was cold. I did manage a smile for one or two pictures, but I was not awed by the mountains.

Perhaps that is one of my defects. We come out here and I'm confronted by the Himalayas themselves, and yet, I remain nonplussed. I would have rather hiked up later, not in the dark, missed the haze, and seen the mountains at a decent time of day. Or just skipped it altogether. Even at Annapurna Base Camp, I wasn't blown away. I guess mountains just aren't my thing. Oh well, no one can say I didn't try. 

After hiking back down, we had a beautiful breakfast including delicious hashbrowns and headed down toward Tatopani. Tato being hot in Nepali and pani being water. And by down, I mean down. It was downhill all the way. If you ask, my knees will tell you all about it. I listened to the Funeral album by Arcade Fire and ended with In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel, both fitting perfectly and suprisingly motivational on hikes! [Thank you, Rob, so much!]

We didn't get to Tatopani until 4:00 pm so it had been a slow day. We headed straight for the hot springs. I was unimpressed. The water wasn't anywhere near hot-tub hot and due to all the fires, the pool was filled with ash. I didn't last long, being the only woman in the pool anyway. It was weird. The fires had come all the way down to the tree line, where the people who lived there had started fires of their own to make sure it didn't pass down into the town. 

Tonight we met a British man who talked to us during dinner. He says the roads they're constructing will kill the tourist trade. Why hike somewhere if you can just take a taxi instead? After dinner we played Go Stop with CB again. I'm giving him my trekking shoes and izen because the shoes fit him perfectly. Our feet our the same size. Exactly. We were so lucky to have him as our guide.

I got blisters today- on our last day of real hiking!

Life of Anonymous Celebrity Part VI: International Edition

I do not travel well. I travel a lot, but I do it by stirring up an insane amount of nervous energy and then letting that explode all over the airport, bus station, husband, you get the idea. It usually ends in tears. Creating this nervousness is easy because all you have to do is imagine all the things that could possibly go wrong and then follow each thing out to its logical conclusion: this makes the domino effect of wrong-going things clear and seem unavoidable. Hence, the nervous energy. All this energy must be stirred up and expelled by the time the first thing has not gone wrong. So, once I am through security, holding my boarding ticket and passport like a meth addict clings to whatever it is meth addicts cling to, I'm pretty much okay. I'm definitely okay once the airplane takes off, and I remain okay even when the plane starts to do that dippy thing that makes your stomach flip. 

But when you're on the ground, off the bus, out of the train, the whole process must begin once more because well, another whole slew of things could go wrong with the transit process. The taxi driver could be a complete bastard and say he's not going to take you to the hotel you wish (check), the train could leave gasp! on time (check), or you could spend the early morning hours before sunset with your baggage on steps in front of the Ganges because no one is awake to admit you to their hostel (and check). 

All this to say: nervous before the plane takes off. (One time I cried because they hadn't yet posted our gate number for the flight. I was completely undone by the little blank in that row of numbers. ) Not nervous in transit at all. Nervous at the end of the journey that marks the beginning of another one. 

So, anylongestintroductioneverway, we left Bangkok and flew to Nepal. The flight was great and as we flew in over Nepal, the sky was incredibly blue and the world beneath us glowed green and grew mountains. I was in a pure state of bliss as we landed, but when we exited the plane, the nervousness hitched up its britches and got serious. After navigating the visa-issuance line and process, we picked up our luggage and headed out of the airport to find the transportation supposed to be provided for us by the hostel we had booked. We didn't change any money at the airport because the rates were ridiculous and we didn't need a taxi. So we walked out to the parking lot and BAM! 

I have not ever been mobbed before. Except in the tens by small non-intimidating and only mildly annoying Korean children under the age of 7. But on February 28, 2009, I was mobbed. By Nepali taxi drivers. There must have been upwards of 100 stationed outside the airport, milling about the parking lot, standing in large groups, and aggressively surrounding every passenger to exit the airport. Kenny had tried to prepare me for this, but there's just no preparing yourself. So, with nervousness at full capacity and our hostel taxi service nowhere to be seen, I panicked. We had walked out into the parking lot in hopes that the hostel transporters were simply lazy and leaning against a car we couldn't see while carelessly flipping a sign with our names on it. We had been followed by 8 or 9 taxi drivers violating all sorts of personal space rules, even the revised ones I had amended in Korea. They all talked at once and I couldn't understand anything they seemed to be saying. Kenny was also talking to me, asking me what I thought we should do. It was so crazy for me I couldn't think. And so, in true Nervous Traveller fashion, I put my hand over my ears, closed my eyes, and screamed.

Not really a scream. More like a sound that happens when a groan and a shriek get married and procreate. It came up through my belly and echoed in my spinning head before exiting my mouth and falling at my feet utterly inefficient. Nothing had changed except that now the taxi drivers were laughing as they attempted to haggle with us. Kenny probably thought his new wife was losing her mind already and we retreated back into the safety of the airport. (We did eventually find the hostel guy holding a sign with other people's names on it, but he took us anyway. Booking online for a place in Nepal that only has electricity in 4 hour increments means that your booking is often futile.)

So, I know you're all, "Isn't this supposed to be an LAC post? Will there ever be any anonymity or celebrity?" Yes to both. After making it to the hostel, getting settled, and venturing out into Thamel to explore, a young Nepali man yells across the street at me.

"Hey! I know you! Didn't you just get here today?" 

"Um, yes?" 

"Yeah, I saw you. At the airport. You were yelling a lot."

"Well, I wouldn't say a lot."

"Definitely you. I remember your hair. I like this hair. But you were yelling."

"Overwhelmed. I was simply overwhelmed." 

"Well, it's nice to see you again."

He introduced himself and we did, in fact, see him again. He had a nice smile. He wore a business suit. The jacket showed his wrists, his arms too long. And he proved that when you do stupid stuff in the airport parking lot, people are going to remember you. Especially if you're a white girl walking around with dreadlocks. They won't know your name (anonymous), but they'll know who you are (celebrity). 

The Day of the Elephants!!!

First of all, let me just say that bacterial diarrhea= NO FUN. Because not only are you going to the bathroom every 30 minutes, but you are also puking your guts out at the same time. Logistics can be tricky. I was so incredibly thankful that we paid the extra money to have a hotel room in Kathmandu with a bathroom attached. Because bacterial diarrhea in a shared bathroom?? Even worse. I was sick all week, basically the minute after I posted last. But I'm recovering now in fine style in Chitwan National Park.

Let it hereby be known that the day of March 26, 2009 was officially declared The Day of the Elephants and shall be celebrated every 26th of March from here on out until the ends of our lives with much rejoicing and possibly the baking of cookies that look like elephants and of course, cake. So, on with the show....

The Day of the Elephants began with a beautiful bike ride through a small village to the Elephant Breeding Center in Chitwan. Here, I fed the baby elephants some cookies and when I was all out, I got charged and received a baby elephant head right in the breadbasket (or stomach, for all of you who didn't get an awesome word of the day calendar in 2006 from Carmen Butcher). After being almost bowled over by the hungry babies, we rode back to the town and it was bath time... with elephants of course.

I had a fabulous time being shimmied, thrown, and rolled off the bare back of my elephant. I think he was having a pretty good time, too. And I went for my bath before Kenny could get down to the riverside to take pictures so this is after all the fun. Kenny took a bath as well!

Now, I know that this was The Day of Elephants, but you can't deny THE PUPPY! This fur ball rolled and ran around by the river at the restaurant where we often went for drinks at sunset. He was a biter, but how could I possibly resist??
Okay, back to the Elephants...

Our next elephant adventure was a jungle safari through the national park. We saw huge rhinos and baby rhinos, many different kinds of deer, and monkeys. Our elephant driver told us that elephants are faster than rhinos, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to get so close. No tigers, though. It was a lovely two hour ride and once when Kenny dropped his hat, our elephant turned around, picked it up with his trunk and passed it over to our driver. It was awesome.

And thus concludes The Day of Elephants, one of the greatest days of my life, following my wedding day (which was actually pretty stressful come to think of it) and my many surprise birthdays thrown by the Mumsie, who is the Mother of Birthday Surprises. Anyway, mark your calendars. Only a year until the celebration!

[I am currently in India, enjoying the air conditioning and high-speed cheap internet of Kolkata. Took forever to find a place I could upload pictures! More later...]