Catching up

I don't know where to begin...being in Varanasi... In  a room with a balcony view of the Ganges at Sunrise where smoke from The Cremating Ghat  rises into the filtered India sky, casting a haze over the constant din of bells, prayers, barking dogs and the incessant beep of motorcycles making their way through the bustling commerce of tourists, merchants, Sadus and holy garbage -grazing cows crowding the  narrow allies of this ancient  city of Varanasi,while thin, dark-skinned men with teeth, darkened from the constant chewing of beetle nuts, skillfully row a small armada of wooden boats filled with tourists and cameras along the  banks of the Ganges where thousands of Hindus bathe in its sacred,fetid waters and old shrines slowly sink into its muddy bottom.

Yes perhaps Varanasi is the best place to begin, at the Hotel Scindia with Norman recovering from whatever  it was that set him so low, but that was four days ago and right now I'm laying on a bed in a room located in a hotel that once was

A Maharaja's palace outside the village of Orchha.  Norman has Been asleep in the bed next to me all afternoon having suffered a slight setback from the intestinal problems he has battled since we left the monastery at Chhairo almost ten days ago.  

Yes, perhaps that would be a good place to begin catching up.

Coming soon...

Leaving Chhairo .... 

Or What To Do When The Planes Don't Fly!

                 ~~~~~

CK

RWI Volunteer Group

First there is Dawa,  without whom none of this glorious adventure could possibly occur.  Whether booking a helicopter to fly us to our destination when plane service to Jomsom has been cancelled or finding a piece of thread to mend a broken plastic watch band , it is Dawa who keeps us going.  He is the sweetest human being I know.  

Scrolling down is Subass. The smile you see is genuinely infectious.  Subass is the first recipient of an RWI scholarship. He is a Nepalese citizen and a graduate from journalism school.  He has also hosted a rock and roll Internet radio show.  His pet project at the Chhairo Gompa is conducting a series of interviews in Nepali with Tsashi Lama in order to preserve the history of the Chhairo Gompa.

Next is Norman.  He has been my friend for 45 years.  Norman is a sculptor who has a unique way of looking at life.  A problem solver by nature,  he has been extremely helpful in evaluating the work we do at the Chhairo Gompa. He was very excited to see his first yaks. You should have seen him run to get his camera from his room at Rita's Guest House; a stiff kneed old man moving with the enthusiasm of a young boy rushing to his first parade.

Mackenzie is from Calgary. She is the first person at the breakfast table every morning and greets everyone with an optimistic and engaging presence . Recently Mackenzie quit her job in Marketing and os celebrating the event by embarking on an intrepid bit of traveling. In addition to her work in Nepal, she has spent a week in India at a Yoga retreat, will fly to Goa to be with her father, tour Delhi, Agra and Varanasi, and finish her journey by spending two weeks in Thailand with her boyfriend.

And then there is Kat. Here is the story  that is so Kat.  Norman and I has just landed in  Seoul on our way to Singapore for an  8 hour layover before our flight to Katmandu when I received a  message that some woman wanted to know If there was still time to join the group. I replied that if she could get there before we leave for Pokhara in four days,she was more than welcome to join us. Since travel time is at least 24 to 30 hours and you lose a day to time zones, it meant she would have to be in the air within 2 days so I wasn't getting my hopes up.

4 hours later when we arrived in Singapore,  Kat had booked her flight and was due to arrive in Katmandu 1/2 hour before our flight to Pokhara.  So why did it not surprise me that Kat was 22 years old and had the fastest smart phone typing thumbs In the world(without looking at the virtual keyboard). .. a skill she developed texting under a desk while in class earning a degree from the University of Chicago. Very adorable young woman and,as with all the volunteers, she has a keen sense of humor.

And then there is me, Carl, husband, father, grandfather, former grump,retired school teacher etc. etc.

So I asked each volunteer why they chose to come to the Chhairo Gompa.  And this is what they said.

Dawa

" I like it around here.  Wonderful Valley. People is happy.

Is a little different part of Nepal."

Subass 

"A new experience day by day in Chhairo. Different than any place I have been in Nepal."

Norman

"It was time to go to do something different.... To put my life in perspective"

Mackenzie

" An after university reality check.  Something different from everyday life."

Kat

" like such a unique opportunity to get hands on work in such a unique location.... To work with art located in the place where it was done."

Carl

" After five  trips in 7 years, it feels like it's  coming  home.  I believe in the work we are doing here."

A day in the life

To sit beside those entrusted 

With the memory of it all

And listen in a language you 

do not understand

To  laugh because a smile 

In his all knowing eyes

Has shared the joy of moment

What sweet heart there is in holy work

To mix the paint for the painter

The orange for the fire

To paint the  sky blue.

Chhairo or Bust

T8:30 AM

I am  in the Jomsom airport with a group of RWI volunteers waiting for a plane to Jomsom.  We are sitting on the tiled veranda of the airport. Machhapuchhre , is etched in the blue sky, its giant fishtail dusted in snow, its base painted in pink clouds. 

Our flight was scheduled for 7:00 AM but wind conditions in Jomsom postponedthe flight.  

10:33

Plane is on the Tarmac .  We wait and wait.  And wait.

11:00

Dawa, our guide,  shows us a beat up old,white land rover we will use for the eight to ten hour drive to Jomsom if our flight is cancelled.  It is  a tedious route I had driven in reverse direction in a similar vehicle jammed with 12 volunteers last April. I had gotten ill and am not looking forward to the drive.

11:15

Our flight is cancelled.

11:20 

Dawa comes to the deck where I am takin a photo of our group with Machhapuchhre  in the background..

"Mr.Carl sir" he says , " we must return to the Tibet Resort for lunch."  

"Is the transport picking us up there," I ask?

" Oh no, Mr Carl, sir.  We must eat quickly and return to the Airport by 12:30. Our helicopter will leave then."

 "Helicopter," I ask?

"Yes , sir, come sir" Dawa replies.

And so like a swarm of bees we set off buzzing.

"Helicopter," asks Katherine who flew 40 hours to join us last night.

"I thought we were taking a land rover," says Norman' somewhat nostalgic for the long bus rides he had taken across Nepal and India in the late 60's.

"Have you ever been in a helicopter," Mackenzie, our young Canadian asks Subass Gauli, our young volunteer from Nepal.

"No, no," he smiles.  " Never."

My Heart

On the rooftop of the Hotel

Tibet in Katmandu I join my family

for Sunday Night dinner in Berkeley, California on video skype.  To me, who would,in1972 , wait days at the post office in a sleepy costal California  town for a letter from the hippie queen who was to become the mother of my children, grandmother of my grand children, this is a miracle.  To my Grandson Kingsie,

2 1/2, well, it's just life.  He feeds me a piece of chicken and apiece of love through the screen.  It is all the nourishment I desire for my Journey to the Monastery at Chhairo. 

I tell my family they are the food of my soul.  The joy in my heart.  I don't know if they saw my tears.

 I don't know if they heard my prayer before we dis connected...

Let me be

More,than the sum 

of all my parts

Before I die.

You, my family ,

make me so.

Morning to afternoon

From a hotel window
without a view
in dusty, dirty Katmandu

Above the rooftop's
curried breeze
Prayer flags hang in
faded symmetries.

Despite the pigeon shit
turned to grime
And certain words
trapped in rhyme,

Spirits find a way to rise
above the Buddhas,
above the skies.

From a hotel window
Without a view
In dusty, dirty
Katmandu

Treading on a rock path
I have not much to say.
That these children want
to hold my hand
is enough.

Letting words
age in cautious steps
is enough.