By tierneybb
Traveling by road in Nepal is not for the light of heart , but mostly it's not for anyone prone to motion sickness, acrophobia, or concerned about a head on collision in cars that have mysteriously been stripped of all the padding from their frames. Barring such concerns its easy to enjoy the jolts and jarrs of the rough road and the scenic views provided by steep drop-offs overlooking the valley. While this had a number of the students clutching the stripped frame of the land rovers in which we rode up to Namo Buddha, the professional drivers here are probably just as skilled as any Nascar driver, and collisions are incredibly rare despite the harsh road conditions.
After a three hour ride from the city up to the surrounding hills (made considerably shorter by the bund, or strike, against inflation that had all Nepali businesses and cars shut down for the day) we arrived at the new Thrangu Tashi Yangtse Monastery's guesthouse above the village of Namo Buddha. Namo Buddha itself just means "Name of the Buddha," as this is the site where the seventh Buddha achieved the Perfection of Compassion in a former life by feeding his own body to a hungry tigress. The original name of the area was not said as it contains "tiger" out of respect for the dangerous animal, and instead Namo Buddha was said as a protective charm, as saying the name of the Buddha is beneficial, and this has become the recognized name of the region.
From this retreat we went on excursions to holy sites in the surrounding hills to interview locals (with the help of translators as the local languages were all Nepali not Tibetan) as hands on experience for our field methods course. While one of my friends was shown a degraded 400 year old monastery by a village elder who was selling rare wood prayer beads to restore, and he gave her one of his nicest sets for free, another sat with an 82 year old woman as she brewed fresh arak (local corn liquor) and had a hot glass during their interview. I on the other hand, wandered through farm country and got a lot of conflicting dates for the new road construction, and had no real meaningful or special interactions other than joking around with Nyima our interpreter. Fieldwork proves to be a matter of luck, the right place, the right time, and an interested participant. The next day my group had better luck as we were invited to tea with the 90 year old former village leader, whose emphatic storytelling style transcended the language barrier between us (which was lucky as he rarely paused for long enough for poor Nyima to get in a translation). Nepal has really given me a greater respect for elders. They seem to be limitless stores of knowledge built up over long and difficult lives, yet even with fingers and joints puffed from arthritis will do kora around the stupas and prostrate before shrines every day, with many of the elderly constantly spinning prayer wheels and reciting mantras to accumulate as much good karma as possible before their next life.
At each site we visited; the site of the Buddha's sacrifice, Padmasambava's cave retreat at Temal (we went to the cave where he attained enlightenment above Pharping the week before last), and Sankhu, a Newari temple keeping a fire that has continually burned for thousands of years under the careful eye of various protectors, we were briefed on the history and significance of the spot by our program head, Hubert Decleer, who pioneered the program thirty years ago. Hubert, as he is affectionately known by everyone in the program, was introduced to us as a sage on every topic, Nepali or Tibetan, art or jazz, which has proven true. He remembers every final project completed over the course of the past thirty years. His aura of expertise on life is added to by his Belgian accent, long narrow beard and full gray moustache. His "better half" Nazneen, originally from Pakistan, is Hubert's only equal in sheer amount of knowledge, and their constant banter is an informative and enjoyably meandering form of lecture.
The other students and I have noticed something after three weeks in Nepal. Something strange and wonderful. Without regular access to full length mirrors, few large glass windows to reflect us as we walk past, and with the complete social acceptability of staring at strangers, our self esteem is through the roof. Our occasionally washed bodies and clothes attract more open stares than Kim Kardashian on a good day. This, perhaps combined with the sub-par casting standards of the Indian soap opera my home-stay watches every night, has done wonders for our self esteem. I only even realized I had really lost track of my American image consciousness upon walking into one of the few expensive clothing boutiques in Kathmandu (you can tell it's nice when there's a "prices non-negotiable" sign) in muddy pants, hiking boots, and had to drop my day pack with spare shoes dangling from straps before trying on a silk crepe shirt. Even with my hair greasy and starting to curl as a telltale sign of sweat, I knew I looked good in that giraffe print. Maybe this isn't realistic, or acceptable, by my normal standards of looking presentable, but my self esteem is climbing faster and higher than Mallory and Irvine (too soon?).