Author: Jay Schneider

Date: Wed, 20 Dec 2000 09:33:34 -0800 (PST)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Joe Camel

Comrades!

I’ve returned to the Oppressive Kingdom of Siam. Though having been spared the colonial yoke of Imperialist European powers, capitalist bourgeois opportunists still abound, exploiting the workers and oppressing the peasants, poisoning minds and thwarting the revolution. But fear not, The Great, Unfailing Wisdom of The Party will heroically lead the masses to the proletariat dictatorship under which all will finally be free and equal!

(I’ll explain this, I promise I will…)

The final 2 weeks of my India trip, on the surface, could seem pretty straightforward: I traveled through Rajasthan, then headed to Calcutta to fly out. But this was made all the more interesting due to two factors. First, I had no business doing all I did with such an absurdly low amount of money. Second, I went to Calcutta from Jaipur (Rajasthan’s capital) via Bombay. (Those of you needing some geography assistance can feel free to take some time and look at an atlas.)

The Money Issue—

In past mailings I’ve mentioned my ‘meager means’ and ‘limited funds’ and so first off, I should like to clarify this point a bit.

I’ve had a bad habit, when traveling, of carrying far too much money with me. This habit, I decided, was not a good one to take with me to India, a place infamous for its scams, theft, and other things which make travel so ‘character-building.’ So prior to my departure for the sub-continent, I took a reasonable amount of cash and traveller’s cheques (traveler’s checks) for a couple of weeks in Nepal and a few months in India, and a bit for emergency, leaving the rest and my credit card in my safe deposit box in Bangkok.

Interruption — I must say it’s so cool to have a safe deposit box in a foreign country. Sure it’s no Swiss bank account, and admittedly I sometimes store my dirty laundry in it, but it’s still really cool and I can say things like “I have the negatives in a safe deposit box in Bangkok, in case you get any funny ideas…” (This is true, I have incriminating pictures of Ava, naked in front of Himeji Castle. Why she would do such I thing, I’ll never quite understand…)

So, I left with a more-than-adequate budget, and spent 2 months in Nepal instead of 2 weeks (time and money very well spent, though). When time for India came around, the money was understandably low.

Now, India’s a cheap country for travel, and I could’ve spent many months hangin’ out in some cool places, but my goal wasn’t just to go for as long as possible on as little. I had big plans, and little things like ‘money’ and ‘lack of it’ weren’t going to get in my way (power of positive thinking).

Off to the Indian state of Rajasthan. Really cool forts and palaces, colorful turbans on men with funky mustaches, and, what we’ve all been waiting for, CAMELS!

Yes, I did my camel safari, and it was so cool, I’m thinking of taking up smoking (Joe Camel lives!). I spent 3 days and 2 nights in the Thar Desert, which straddles the India-Pakistan border. Though, my camel was a bit of a slacker, had a bad eye and stepped on my toe (this, I believe, had nothing to do with his lame eye. It was personal.), the scenery was spectacular (in that way that barren nothingness can be), and I slept in the open air, on the dunes under the stars (and a few blankets–winter’s cold in the desert).

Camel Treks are heavily marketed for the tourists Rajasthan, so I was a little worried that it’d be a bit like Disneyland, but it wasn’t at all. And while “riding a camel through the desert” sells it to the tourists, and is great for telling the folks back home (as I’m doing now), what was most enjoyable for me were the things that weren’t necessarily so unique, such as cooking over an open fire, and sleeping out in the open under a full moon. These are things that I’ve done before, and it’s my desire to do again and again.  

Each night, I went to sleep giddy and giggling, having one of my frequent “damn, my life is so good” flashes, and woke several times rewarded by views of the constellations and a full moon. Also, in the late, quite desert night, I discovered that the sound of urine hitting the sand is REALLY LOUD!  

Okay, what was the icing on the camel cake? What made this already wonderful trip so much more unique and cool? After a long negotiating session, a complex and elaborate package was arranged. I got the camel safari, 2 free nights’ accommodation (the safari was booked through the guesthouse), one free meal, and as many cups of chai as I could drink while I stayed with them. They got a small amount of money, and, get this, my watch! Trading a watch for a ride on a one-eyed camel (even toe-crushing camels) is so cool, in that “having a safe deposit box in Bangkok” sense of the word.  

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, money low and butt sore, and drinking a lot of chai, I relaxed around the guesthouse and was approached for more negotiations (I thought they were after a draft pick). I was offered a job. I went with one of the staff to the city of Jodhpur, which many tourists come to on their way to Jaisalmer (where I did the camel safari). My job was to tell other tourists about their hotel and camel safari. For this, they would pay for my expenses, and give my 200 rupees a day. I didn’t like the thought of “going to the other side” and becoming one of the touts I despised so much, but I had no objections to advertising their hotel and safari, as they were good products. Besides, you know my money situation, and my plan had been to hole up in Jaisalmer doing nothing (and eating nothing) for a few days.

Anyhoo, I had fun meeting loads of travelers (ran into friends I’d made elsewhere, and met a guy who’d cycled through China, Pakistan and now into India–got me thinkin…) and was very honest and forthcoming in what I was doing (my employers would have been disappointed, I’m sure). I only did this one and a half days, because I wanted to get on the road again, but now I’ve got that touting, er, I mean “Public Relations and Advertising” experience employers love so much…  

Jaipur, is home to a number of forts, palaces, and really cool astronomy instruments, but the most enjoyable was running into a friend I’d made in Delhi, and going to see a Hindi movie, Bollywood Blockbuster: “Mission Kashmir.” Action, song, dance, tears, romance, I can see why it was one of the hits of the year (but had I seen one of the hundreds of other “hits of the year” I may not have been able to tell the difference between them).

During the intermission, the man in front of us turned around and started speaking Hindi. When he realized we couldn’t understand, he spoke English, and asked why, if we couldn’t understand Hindi, we had come to see a Hindi movie? I answered that while I couldn’t understand Hindi, I had no trouble understanding the movie. Actually, that’s not true. I could understand the basic plot: super-cool army leader’s son dies. Supercool guy, wearing a mask, goes on mission to kill Muslim terrorists. One of the men killed was survived by a son. Sad wife of supercool guy suggests adopting the orphan. They do. Orphan has some issues, having witnessed a bloodbath in which his father was gunned down by a masked man. Finally, in a dream in which the supercool guy’s son appears and dances around in his underwear, everyone becomes happy and they all play cricket. One night, the now-happy boy (orphan-boy, not underwear-boy) finds the mask, puts two and two together (and the mask on), and decides to try and kill supercool guy. Failing, he runs out the window into darkness. Time passes, and we know this because supercool guy has a different hairstyle and a mustache. The orphan boy (now a supercool guy in his own right), returns as part of a Muslim terrorist group…. etc. (sorry, we’re not even at the intermission yet. It goes on and on, and eventually, after much singing and dancing in the strangest moments, it all works out, and they’re a happy family again (minus the mother whom the orphan mistakenly killed while trying to knock off his foster-dad, supercool guy.)  

My point is, I had no difficulty following plot, but, as one raised in a different culture, I couldn’t understand the spontaneous outbreaks of singing and dancing around trees and fake gardens. Cultural differences, I guess…

After leaving Jaipur, I would be spending 55 out of 65 hours on a train, and decided I may want something to read. Checking all the bookstores, my budget couldn’t cover anything more than an Archie comic, and those were over-priced and wouldn’t last me long). What I needed was the maximum amount of pages, for the least amount of rupees. Content was of little importance. Finally, I stumble upon a store filled with dusty, and worn books, which looked promising. Oh, yeah, on the window was painted “Soviet Books.” Communist and Socialist essays, literature and propaganda of all sorts could be found, at VERY reasonable prices. “The Soviet Union: a Successful Future” was a particular bargain. I stocked up on “The History of the Communist Party in the Soviet Union,” “What is the Party?” and “The Theory of Revolution” for a piddling 30 rupees (60 cents). (And now, the ‘Comrades’ intro makes sense! It all comes together!)  

You may be wondering why I didn’t go directly to Calcutta, but instead traveled hundreds of kilometers out of my way to Mumbai (formerly Bombay) for only a matter of hours. No, this time the answer is not as simple as “Erotic Temple Carvings”. I can’t really explain it other than to say I just had to go. It’s Bollywood, home of the stars, glamour and glitz, not to mention the Indian Mafia and red-light districts. But, it’s more than that, it was sort of a calling from my childhood. I remember standing in line outside my 2nd grade classroom next to J.P. and looking through the window at a globe, making stupid, 2nd grade jokes which all ended “…in BOMBAY!” and this was enough to send us into hysterics. I really don’t know why, but I suppose it requires a 3rd grade level kind of logic and humor. Anyhow, I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m not sure why I’m choosing to share this childhood memory with you all, but something about actually going to this place which almost 20 years ago had no meaning to me other than a faraway place whose name would induce laughter, well it was just something I had to do, even if only for a matter of hours.  

And the simple explanation: why would I choose to spend 55 out of 65 hours on a train just to catch a glimpse of a place? Because I’m that cool. (See earlier definitions of ‘cool’ above.)  

40 train hours after Bombay, and a day and night in Calcutta later, I left India with 100 rupees in my pocket (it would have been 120, but the security guy who searched me at the airport suggested I give him some so he could buy himself tea. He was so cute with his toothless grin. I just couldn’t resist making my final ‘donation’ to India.)

Final thoughts?

I’ll rip-off, and misquote and modify-to-fit-my-purposes a bit from William S…..(I forget)’s book “Are you Experienced?” (A great read by the way). The set up: two fresh, first-time travelers arrive in a dormitory in India, and find an experienced, “cooler” traveler lying about…

“Hi!”

“Peace.”

“Wow, it’s really hot here, isn’t it?”

“Let me guess, you’re new here, right?”

“Yeah, just off the plane! How long you been here?”

“Oh…” he says, chuckling slightly in that way an adult laugh’s at a child’s innocent question “long enough…long enough. Long enough to love it….and hate it.”

“So, what’s that, like a week or something?”

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year for all those to whom it applies!

I’ll be hangin’ on the beaches of Thailand for a while with a Berkeley friend (Chucky) and another friend I’m going to try and blackmail (Ava).

Until next time,

Jay “on holiday till 2001” Schneider

Date:     Mon, 3 Dec 2000 22:52:36 -0800 (PST)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   Beware the monkeys…

A few things before we get started:

In my last update, I told you Nepal is 5 hours 15 minutes ahead of GMT.  This was, of course, a mistake. The correct time difference is 5 hours FORTY-FIVE minutes ahead of GMT. I apologize for the confusion.

And while on the topic of confusion (no, this isn’t about the US presidential election I ended up not missing after all), some of you have been asking when I’m coming home. Others are under the impression I’ll be home before Xmas. I think I understand why you may be confused. Your mistake was in believing me when I said, “I’ll be home for Xmas.” You should have known better than to trust my young and naive words. The fact is I won’t be home for Xmas (Thailand, again), but you can expect me after about 4 or 5 countries (don’t worry, one of them’s really tiny).

And now, on with the show…

After finally getting my visa for India, I left Kathmandu, and after a long, uncomfortable bus ride (they don’t let you sit on the roof at night), and a brief side trip to the birthplace of Buddha, I left Nepal. It was a spectacular 2 months, I hope to make it back someday.

Walking into India is a bit chaotic, and it’s quite easy to miss the immigration check post, wedged in between shops, food stalls and street vendors. Fortunately, when I tried to get my passport stamped by a woman selling eggplant, she pointed me in the right direction.

I had finally arrived in India, and all the bad things meant to happen did.  At the end of a long, cramped bus ride (half my butt had a seat!), before I could get off the bus, some man was kind enough to take possession of my backpack (I was able to grab it back through the window), and the travel agent from whom I was to pick up my already-paid-too-much-for train ticket, held said ticket for ransom using a most ridiculous and absurd scam.  Finally, at the train station, I spent several hours waiting for a train which seemed not to exist, and nobody seemed to know anything about. It finally arrived, and I slept hard and well, only being woken by hungry mosquitos, and thoughts of malaria, which I have yet to contract.

At last I arrived in Varanasi, India’s holiest city, on the holiest river in the world, and stayed for a week. The touts, pushers, and ‘friends’ weren’t nearly as bad as I’d prepared for, but it took a day or two to realize this, and finally I relaxed, let my guard down and simply enjoyed myself. I hung out on the Ganges, sunrise, sunset, and under a full moon, and watched the bodies burn and corpses float down the river. aaah…so relaxing.

Next was Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, and a number of other, until quite recently very affordable sites and monuments. I spent a huge amount of money in one day, and enjoyed bitching about the India-wide price hikes with other travelers and people in the tourist industry. To be fair, perhaps tourists should share more of the burden of protecting world heritage sites and other points of interest. But when you’re low on funds, and only weeks ago could have paid pennies instead of dollars (Taj Mahal, 40 rupees —> 960 rs./ Red Fort, 2 rs –> 235 rs., for example), bitching and whining seems like the right thing to do. And it’s a lot of fun, too!

My next stop was Khajuraho, and if you’ve never heard of it, I hadn’t either until my guidebook flipped open by chance to that section. It’s a little bit out of the way (“on the road from nowhere to nowhere” — Lonely Planet), I had to do some backtracking (“…but most travelers fit it in between Varanasi and Agra” — LP “D’oh!” J.S.), and a bit costly (UNESCO World Heritage Site = $$$), but while reading my guidebook on the train to Agra, something captured my attention. Three words: Erotic Temple Carvings.  Okay, actually, just one of these words motivated me to ride a crammed train, two rickshaws, and so, so full bus for 8 hours (half-butt on seat!).  Man, oh, man, it was worth it. I’ll refrain from saying more about the carvings as mixed-company and minors may read this list.

Delhi, for a couple days, mostly to do errands (train/plane tix, laundry, e-mail…), and then up to the Pakistani border to Amritsar, home of the Sikh’s Golden Temple. I spent the night in the pilgrim’s lodging and ate in the temple kitchen. In spite of my being sick (not to be confused with Sikh), of the fever, ache, and cough variety, I really enjoyed my time there. The temple is open to all, and many people were very helpful and friendly to me, and here’s the kicker, didn’t once ask me for money. Even the room and food are free. Of course I gave a donation, but after weeks of feeling nobody will even tell you the time for free, it was a refreshing change of pace. Also, the Sikh’s are bad-ass, and quite proud of their assassination of Indira Gandhi. Lesson learned, the Sikh will help and serve all–but don’t fuck with ’em. (sorry, ‘f-ck’. mixed company and minors…)

And finally on to Dharamsala, which apart from being home to His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Tibet’s Government-in-exile, is also rather cold. I was further North than even Nepal, though the altitude was not as high. In spite of the cold, I was happy to be back in the Himalaya, and realized I really love the mountains.

In addition to experiencing a slice of living Tibetan culture (something nearly impossible to do in Tibet), I enjoyed many fine walks and hikes, and came to a better understanding of the Buddhist Philosophy of the impermanence and suffering of life, when a monkey stole my donut. (I think the same thing happened to Homer Simpson once…)

There are many opportunities to take classes in Tibetan Buddhism/Philosophy, yoga, and meditation retreats where you don’t talk for 10 days, but I needed something a little more practical and down-to-earth. I chose a 6-day hand healing course taught by Lama Lobsang Thamcho Nyimna, a recognized thulku (reincarnation, though of whom, I never found out). My health insurance had just expired, so I figured being able to heal myself was the most practical thing I could do.

Naturally, with my study of Japan and Asian cultures, I’d learned quite a bit about Buddhism, though mostly second-hand, as a means to better understand literature and culture. In Dharamsala, I decided the time was right to more directly and deliberately study Buddhist philosophy, and had some difficult questions. For instance, does love and compassion for all living creatures include cockroaches? Because, Buddhism makes a lot of sense, and I’d be tempted to sign on, but I’ve got a thing against cockroaches, and a firm belief that if I see one in my home, it must die at all costs. So I went to the Security Office and asked when the Dalai Lama would have his next public audience, but no dates have yet been fixed. I decided to address my issues in my own private meditation, though I began with a simpler question: Will my path to enlightenment be hindered by swiftly kicking donut-stealing monkeys?

But D-sala wasn’t all monks and meditation. My guidebook told me that it was a good place for chocolate cake, and always wanting to experience local culture and foods, I experienced as often as possible. I never questioned why this Tibetan community in Northern India would have chocolate cake as a local specialty. Ours is not to ask why, only ‘where?’ and ‘how much?’

And to show that old habits die hard, I spent the evenings volunteering, teaching English to Tibetan refugees.

Finally, healing certificate in hand, chocolate cake in stomach, no hair on head (I had it shaved again), it was time to bid farewell to Dharamsala. I did discover, however, that the following week, there would be a festival celebrating the 60th anniversary of the god-king’s installment as Dalai Lama. He would make speeches and prayers, and perhaps I could have the chance to meet him. I struggled with this decision for days. Even without the festival (and chocolate cake), Dharamsala is the kind of place where one can easily spend a month. But I realized it was time for me to move on.  Even the Dalai Lama could not fill the void inside me. The emptiness I feel is a result of missing the Pushkar Camel Fair, and I knew it could only be satisfied by heading south to Rajasthan, and finding an adequate substitute.

I’ve got a camel safari in my future. Jay “Camels, Ho!” Schneider

Date:     Mon, 6 Nov 2000 07:52:08 -0800 (PST)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   TAIMINGU! (Timing)

タイミング!

It’s time to talk about time. First of all, Nepal is 5 hours and FIFTEEN  minutes off of GMT, so let’s just get that out of the way. S, I’ve been hangin’ out in Kathmandu for over a week now and passing the time, rather well, I must say. But I admit the last day or two, I’ve started to get a  little restless, and a little antsy, and apart from reading books, writing in my journal, and reading what the people next to me are typing in their e-mails (see, it’s Japanese, so I figure I’m just doing my duty to keep up my proficiency), I’ve had a lot of time to think and reflect.    

I’ve told you about my luck and good timing (festivals, living goddesses, and goat sacrificing), but there’s a flip side to that, the bad-timing (arriving in Kathmandu after the India visa office closed on Friday, having to wait until Monday to begin the process).    

I missed the Olympics. Completely. My volunteer project was the same two weeks as the Olympics.    

I went into the mountains for 3 weeks, and when I came back, Milosevic was out, and that Mideast Peace process which was just about all settled and done, had totally blown up (unfortunately, quite literally). And now, it looks as though from the moment the polls open in the States until the votes are tallied and a winner declared, I’ll be sitting on a bus to India.    

But these little bits don’t bother me. Heck, I can read about them after the fact, it really doesn’t make too much difference. (Upon returning to the  States, it’ll be easy enough to ask, “Say, who’s president these days?”)  The poor timing comes into play regarding my trip to India.    

I was sitting in front of a computer with nothing to do (the Japanese person next to me had left), I started “surfing,” as the kids call it these days,  and discovered that the entrance fees for all of India’s major and world heritage sites had gone up. Now, I don’t mean just a slight nudge.  Admission fees which were previously anywhere from $1-$6 have all gone up to  (brace yourselves) $21. And they also got rid of the ‘Free  for Foreigner Fridays’ (perhaps because it’s so hard to say. Go ahead, try  saying it 3 times real fast.) As steep as that may sound, one could argue seeing the Taj Mahal could be worth ten times that. But India is more than the Taj Mahal. And apparently more than my budget.    

So, perhaps my trip will by-pass the world-heritage sites and wonders of the world, and turn into the infinitely cheaper finding-myself/spiritual journey. Maybe I’ll check out the Hare Krishna’s. After all, I already got the haircut.    

Well, I gotta go reset my watch. India is 5 hours and THIRTY minutes off  GMT.      

Jay “the times, they are a changin'” Schneider 

Date:     Wed, 1 Nov 2000 05:39:10 -0800 (PST)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   Letters from Nepal

To: Pushkar Camel Fair Committee

Dear Sirs,

It is with a heavy heart and deep regrets that I must inform you I will be unable to attend this year’s Camel Festival in Pushkar, India. Time constraints and other factors have resulted in this unfortunate situation.

When I began my broad-stroked planning of this journey, I had originally intended to put most of my emphasis on India, after spending a couple of weeks in Nepal. As it stands now, I am nearing the end of my second month here, and not a bit of this time has been ill-spent (though, admittedly, some of the time has been spent ill). After my two weeks of volunteering, I spent three weeks trekking around the Annapurna mountain range, followed by a 3-day white-water rafting trip. In my remaining time, I still have much to explore in the Kathmandu valley, and I should also hope to visit the birthplace of Buddha on my way out. Deciding to give this beautiful country the time it deserves has made for an overall experience that is not only unforgettable but also true to the spirit and purpose of my travels. As they say, you get out what you put in. (Though what came out in my frequent and urgent trips to the toilet looked nothing like what I put in…)

I’ve not given up on your country entirely, though my sub-continent budget of time and money has definitely favored Nepal. To tell the truth, at times I have been so overwhelmed by the the possibilities of things I want to see and do, I’ve nearly cancelled the whole thing entirely, in order to save India for a future trip. I would fall asleep convinced India would have to wait, then awake the next morning, determined to go at all costs.  Unfortunately, my funds have been depleted considerably, and this fact would invariably result in my decision to finish out my visa here, then head back to SE Asia. But when I heard word of your magnificent festival, drawing over 200,000 traders and 50,000 camels each year, I was sold. I’d go to India, even if only for the camel festival (as that’d probably be all I could afford to do).

As things go, however, my India visa will not be approved for another week, and even if I get lucky with train connections and push straight through to Rajasthan, I’d only catch the final day. And that’s assuming all went smoothly, and nothing is smooth about Indian travel. I think it’s best I make this difficult decision now, rather than fuel my hopes, and end up broken-hearted later. I hope you can understand.

So, the camels must go on without me. I wish you the best of success and hope your beasts fetch fair prices, and your acquisitions have humps of the highest grade!

Sincerely,

Jay “No camel, No cry” Schneider

TO: Indian Embassy, Kathmandu, Nepal

Hello, again!

Remember me? I was the one applying for a tourist visa to your country.  Yeah, that’s right, there were about 80 of us there this morning.

Anyhow, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and kindness during my 3 hour stay with you this morning (and the hour sitting outside, I must say your curbs rank right up there with the best of them!) I appreciate how each of the lines moved progressively slower, as I moved from the unmarked line, then to “line B” and finally, my favorite, “line 3”. The fact that for a 45 minute stretch there was absolutely no movement, gave me the time to catch up on some reading and re-do that form because, silly me, I used blue ink, not black.

I know you said I only have to repeat this once more in 7 days, before returning a third time to get the actual visa, but I was encouraged my the many ‘returnees’ who found they still had not been approved after 7 days, and would get to try again the next day. I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.

Since we’re becoming so close, why not call me Jack, as the many Nepali do, despite my repeated corrections and explaining that “Jay” is my real name. Or “Jake,” if you prefer, as the German girl in my volunteer program did for two weeks, without my being aware of it. Perhaps I thought it was her accent or the coincidence that when she said my name, the next word began with a ‘k’ sound. (“Jay, could you…?” and “Jake, could you…?” sound very similar.) When saying our good-bye, she apologized for her mistake (we had exchanged e-mails, so she’d seen it in writing), and I, this being the first I’d known of it, apologized for not noticing her mistake.

Call me what you want, call me what you will, just call me as soon as my visa’s ready!

See you soon!

Jay “If I were from Uruguay, I wouldn’t need a visa” Schneider

P.S. — would it speed things along if I told you I have a camel fair to get to?

TO: Mom

Hi, Mom!

Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but, you know…(and I promise to clean my room as soon as I get back).

Can I ask you a favor? See, I’m applying for a visa to India. In the first stage, a form is faxed to the States to make sure I’m not a criminal or other unruly character. For some reason, this process takes about a week. I was thinking maybe a note from you, telling them I’m a good boy and a nice guy would speed things up a bit. I mean, why bother to contact the authorities and officials back home when they can just get the goods direct from a boy’s mother?  So, just drop a line, or give a call. Tell them good things, and don’t’ mention my bedwetting phase or that time I broke your favorite vase because I was playing ball in the house, but glued it back together before you ever knew about…(wait, forget that).

Thanks!

Jay “Not a hooligan” Schneider

P.S. – I shaved my head and became a monk. Ha-ha-ha, I didn’t really become a monk.

TO: Drift Nepal River Rafting Expeditions

Hey, guys! I really enjoyed my last trip with you down the Kali Gandaki river. The rapids were exciting, the scenery was beautiful and the people were great. You run a safe and professional operation, and I had total confidence in our guide. I’m sure that time he fell out with over half our members was just a test to see if we remember how to pulled people back into the raft.

Anyway, as it turns out, I’ve got some time left in Nepal while I await my Indian visa, and I was thinking about doing another trip. But I have some doubts about whether it’s the best thing for me.

With one rafting trip under my belt, do I really need to be spending more time (money) on a second one? After 3 weeks of walking over 350 kilometers, followed by 3 days of physically demanding rapids, do I have the strength (money) and endurance (money) to raft again so soon? Even though I’ve been on one trip, do I really have the skills (money) and experience (money) required for your more advanced (expensive) trips? It’s not about the money (it’s about the money).

I’ll do some thinking, but maybe I’ll sign up for your 2-day Bhote Kosi trip. Though a shorter (cheaper) trip, it’s a technically difficult run, with near-continuous rapids from put-in to take-out. Of course, 2 days is a short period of time, but I’m sure the “team” will be able to rapidly (“rapid”-ly, get it?) develop deep and close bonds that will last a lifetime. (Screw the people, just give me the action!)

We’ll be in touch.

Jay “2nd timers discount?” Schneider

Date:     Sat, 28 Oct 2000 08:50:49 -0700 (PDT)

From:   Jay Schneider

Subject:   Jack is Back!

And so, dear readers, let us move right along as I summarize my time faster than a speeding yak, and leap 2 weeks in a single bound…

Namely, my two-week volunteer work camp. 7 volunteers, 2 German, 2 French (again with the French!), 2 Canadians (one English, one French) and I our Nepali camp leader left Kathmandu aboard one of the many fine metallic buses painted with various slogans in various colors (or colours, if your prefer). I noticed while on ours was painted “Happy Journey,” a neighboring vehicle read “Good Luck”. At the time I wondered which was better.

Barreling along the very narrow, and very winding roads, next to very steep and very high drops into nothing, the bus carrying my very precious body seemed determined to give us our money’s worth. The act of passing on blind corners (again, next to those very steep and very high drops into nothing) was certainly not just a bad habit of our driver, but apparently the custom of the land (along with honking the musical horn as often as possible and for no discernable good reason), as on several occasions we came around those already mentioned blind corners and came face to face with two on-coming buses (one the passer, the other the passee). Don’t worry, on each instance, plenty of horns were blown, so it all seemed to be on the up and up.

At one major junction, the bus picked up a large number of passengers, and the bus filled so newcomers had to stand. As many of the people boarding the bus seemed more in need of seats than us, we all had thoughts of offering our seats. Our camp leader, half a step ahead of the game turned to me and asked, “Do you want to go on the roof?” I knew he wasn’t joking because I had seen other busses filled to the brim, and on top sat happy Nepali (and a few goats). Before anyone could answer, I think I was already half-way up the side of the bus an securing a good spot on the luggage above.

MAN, OH MAN, WHAT A RIDE! It’s the only way to go! The sky was clear, the views were spectacular, and as long as someone was on branch and low-hanging wire duty (yelling “duck!”), life was never better. I realized how nice it is to ride in the open, and thought back to my choice to ride on top of the boat in Cambodia. Thinking of boats, I remembered my summers sailing in Southern California. In the races, we often had to dangle our legs over the edge of the boat. I remembered this and advised my co-passengers to do the same, hopefully keeping the bus upright at every hair-pin corner.

Suddenly, the bus stopped (some hours had passed) in the middle the road, and seemingly, in the middle of nowhere. There being nothing distinguishing about this stretch of road from any other bit ahead or behind, I assumed in must be a pee break. Then our guide informed us, “this is the bus stop. We get off here.” Well, of course…  And so after a 20 minute hike up (and I mean UP) the mountain, we arrived at our home for the next two weeks. We lived with a family of 13 (four generations represented). There was a separate loft next to the house, large enough for 7 of us, plus 2 Nepali leaders to sleep. Below, we would cook our own meals (more of that to come). On the other side below us, the goats spend their days. By the way, October hosts one of the largest and most important festivals in Nepal, the Dasain festival. The whole of Nepal celebrates, and at the height of the celebration, one of the brothers of the family told me while I admired my new flea-covered neighbors, they would sacrifice a goat. I’m going to say that again. They would sacrifice a goat. As fate would have it, the camp would be well over, and we’d miss the event. “Don’t worry,” the brother consoled us,” goats all over Nepal will be sacrificed. I’m sure you won’t miss it.”

The house overlooked a valley, and we had fine views of terraced rice-fields behind which stood the largest mountains I had seen to date. We were just on the cusp of the Annapurna Mountain range.

Our project was to help begin construction of a water tank (future career: plumber?)which would serve 12 families. This was phase one, so our job was simply to begin the process which future work camps would continue. First we needed to make a flat area, and for those of you who don’t know, flat is something Nepal lacks. We dug for three days alongside the villagers making a large flat area in the side of a steep mountain. In the following days, because we needed many stones, we collected many stones. We walked up the hill, picked up one or two stones, and carried them down the hill. Repeat, over and over again. In the final days, we cleared the trail, and path, widening it, smoothing it, and destroying large boulders which impeded movement (future career: road builder?). Smashing large boulders is really fun, by the way. If you have the means, I highly recommend it as a stress reliever.

All in all, the work was hard, physical labor, and it was exhausting. The locals laughed at the funny foreigners who sweat constantly (the Nepali never seemed to perspire), constantly drank water (boiled or treated at that), and were so strange to take a break in the middle of the day to eat lunch (the Nepali ate in the morning, and then at night). While we felt a little silly that we were so challenged by tasks which the local children and housewives were performing with ease, I realized that this kind of work was a way of life for these people. I’m sure if our roles were reversed, and the Nepali were forced to sit on their asses, watching t.v. and eating potato chips for two weeks straight, they would perform pretty lousy at that.

But it wasn’t all hard labor (though at times I thought this was the kind of stuff prison camps do). Every 10 minutes or so, suddenly a big discussion would erupt amongst the villagers, and everybody had something to say (or yell) about everything. Even the passers-by from neighboring villages taking their buffalo to the river had to put their two-cents in.  The volunteers, not understanding a word, just stood around trying not to look too stupid, thankful for a break in the action. Sometimes, the rain, too, would give us relief. After doing a lot of digging, the showers came down creating one giant mud pit. I was tempted to entertain the crowd with my magnificent mud tricks, but as not motorcycles were present, and my flip-flops were back at home, we all just went inside and had tea.

We also had two “free days” and on both occasions I was able to (after walking long distances over very unflat land) stay with Nepali families. I also had the chance to visit some local schools.  After a lot of work, but mostly good times (oh yeah, I got sick, had a fever, and lots of other bad things happened physically), our two weeks finally came to an end. For our final night, we invited all the families over and give a show, followed by some dancing and general merriment. For reasons I still can’t comprehend, we sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in French and English, a Beatles song, some Nepali folk song we learned and for our show-stopper, a little ditty I had composed (perhaps in my sick state of delirium, I don’t remember) in praise of our food.

So I’ll leave you, as we left them, with my very own “Dal Bhat Ditty”

explanation: Dhal Bat, is traditional Nepali food. It’s pretty much all there is in Nepal. It’s rice and lentils, but often vegetables and maybe pickles go with it. It’s food in a generic sense, and it’s perfect not when you want something special, but when you’re hungry and you just want…FOOD. Though we got creative on a few occasions and changed the menu, at least one meal of every day (though usually two) was Dal Bhat.

1-2, 1-2-3-4…. (I’m hearing folk-guitar, are you?)

Dal Bhat in the morning,
Dal Bhat in the evening,
Dal Bhat in the afternoon.
To eat your rice and lentils
You don’t need a knife, fork, or spoon.
Eat it with your right hand,
Never with the left hand,
This is rule number one.
‘Cause the right hand is for eatin’
And the left is for when you’re done.

(and I’m singin’ ’bout)
DAL BHAT! — don’t you know I love you
DAL BHAT! — can’t eat enough of you
DAL BHAT! — you will always be my NUM – BER – ONE!

DAL BHAT! — everybody say it!
DAL BHAT! — every meal I pray it’s
DAL BHAT! — and now this song is DONE – DONE – DONE

Thank you and good night!

Jay “future career: street performer” Schneider

Date: Sat, 28 Oct 2000 08:50:49 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: You don’t know Jack!

So, I seem to have a bad habit of dropping little comments without ever getting around to explain them. For example, I never did tell you all the circumstances surrounding my “fun with firearms” in Cambodia. And in my last message (“Call me Jack…”), I failed to tell you what that was all about. ooops.

Kathmandu’s spell wasn’t broken my second day in Kathmandu, but its glimmer was slightly tarnished, as I was having difficulty tuning out all the city’s inevitable detractions. I’m accustomed to the pollution, chaos, and aggressive hawkers trying to sell their wares and services, and so I can usually tune it out, and enjoy the positive aspects of the city. In the morning, I wandered contentedly the maze of alleys, courtyards, and explored the various temples and religious monuments. But as the day wore on, so did the countless numbers of people approaching me with the hopes of parting me and my money. I don’t mean shop owners or pedicab drivers who seem convinced that my walking deliberately toward a visible and definite destination is body language for “Hey you! I need you to take me 10 meters and I’m willing to pay absurd amounts of money for it, so please, please come over here and harass me!” These don’t get on me, as a simple “No,” or my preferred method of plain ignoring them eventually solves the problem. What began to get on me (by the 20th or so person), was the one who’d walk up alongside and start asking questions as if he were interested in my friendship. “Hello. What’s your name? Where are you from? How long have you been in Nepal? I’m a student here. DO you like Nepal…” yada, yada, and ending 10 minutes later with me saying “I don’t need a guide, I’m not interested in exporting precious gems to Thailand, and no matter how many times you ask me in the next several blocks, I’m not going to buy your drugs. Namaste.”

Again, such are the ways of travel in Asia, and I generally don’t have a problem with it, but I prefer those who are more direct and to the point (“taxi?” “you need guide?” “hashish?”)and whether I ignore them or politely decline, we can both go on about our daily lives. The people who use the “friend” approach begin to annoy me because apart from wasting time for both of us, it means I have to behave counter to my human instinct which never wants to ignore another chance for human connection, or totally disregard a man’s plea of “excuse me”. It’s a little depressing.

But the day rebounded well. I headed back toward the Durbar Square to see if much would happen on this final night of the festival. While sitting in the square, a Nepali man approached me, we started a conversation, and at no time did he ask me to export gems or buy his opium. In fact, he bought me a cup of tea. He worked for the Nepali National Department of Forestry, and we chatted up about the state of Nepal’s natural parks, festivals in Nepal, and Nepali language. It was a great way to end the afternoon and restore my faith that not everyone is out to sell me something.

As our conversation ended, I was shocked to hear shouts of “Jay!” My reflexes readied me for the inevitable near-riot chase through the city streets with an angry mob at my heels (I’ve had nightmares about this), until I recognized the voices as two friends, fellow ex-English Teachers from Japan. I was surprised and amazed that we would run into each other here, but I quickly quelled the feeling and realized that things like this happen in travel and life. And that’s what makes it so cool…

more in a bit (I promise to speed things up a bit, as I’ve oozed on about 2 days out of 6 weeks)…

Jay “come to think of it, I DO want to pay $20 for that plastic bracelet you’re selling” Schneider  

Date: Fri, 27 Oct 2000 06:03:03 -0700 (PDT)

From: Jay Schneider

Subject: Call me Jack…

When we last all joined together in peace and love to hear more of my continuing travel ramblings, I was landing in Kathmandu. And now as I type this, I am in Kathmandu. So what happened in the past 6 weeks? (I’m sure you all spent every moment of every day wondering just that) Well, let me tell you…

But first (it’s never straight to the point with me, is it?), I’d like to welcome two new-comers to the list. One is a mother (mine, in fact), and the other is a mother-to-be (IT’S NOT MINE!!! I swear!). I’m glad my own mother has returned to the cyber-world with a new e-mail address, and as far as the expecting mama, I’ll let your minds go to work, and the rumors mills spin as you scan the TO: and Cc: list.

ahem.

KATH-fucki (wait, now my Mom is reading this)

KATH-friggin’-MAN-friggin’-scooby-dooby-DU!!! (that’s supposed to convey my enthusiasm and excitement for the Nepali capital)

After safely, er, after landing in Nepal(thank you Bangladesh Air!) and getting my visa sorted out, I stepped out of the Airport and found myself looking at the expected sea of touts all shouting and waving at me, guaranteeing me their hotel was both the cheapest and cleanest place in all Nepal. They yelled, screamed, begged pleaded, and waved signs of their establishment’s name. “Kathmandu Guesthouse” “Himalaya Hotel” “Welcome Jay Schneider” wow! what a great name for a hotel, that’s kind of…wait a minute! See, the neat thing about doing this volunteer work is just when I’m trying to figure out what my next move should be, there’s a car and driver waiting to take me where I need to go. I grabbed my friend “Mar” (Japanese guy with whom I shared a room in Bangladesh. 35 years old, looks 20. Nicknamed “Mar” because he likes to smoke marijuana. Travels a lot, lived in New York for a while serving at UN functions, acupuncture professional.), and we were on our way to the Thamel district of Kathmandu. After checking in, settling in we headed out into the streets with no purpose and no direction, just to get out and about, and that’s when the Magic of Kathmandu took hold. (See “KATH-friggin’-MAN-friggin’-Scooby-dooby-DU!!!”)

I was instantly taken by the energy, sights and sounds (I was ignoring the smells, for the moment). Perhaps because the culture is Hindu and not Buddhist, it seemed new to me. The chaos and pollution I’d seen plenty before, but the colors and the architecture and the life of the various neighborhoods we wandered through totally absorbed me. Then we noticed every window was filled with eager faces looking out, and the corner shrines were now filled with what seemed to be an audience. They were waiting and watching for something. Then we saw in. Huge wooden floats, pulled, pushed and steered by 30-40 men were coming our way. The gigantic floats could barely squeeze through the cramped streets, and every so often, for no apparent reason, would turn of their own will and glance into the houses and storefronts before being laboriously corrected by its attendants. Point of advice: try not to be standing in front of those houses and storefronts like those two fools who just got off the plane. (Don’t worry, we’re okay). The second float came, much larger (how could that be?) and grander than before, and before we knew it (We honestly didn’t know it until later that night), we sere staring at KUMARI, a young girl who is Kathmandu’s very own living goddess.

As luck would have it, the day we arrived happened to be the heigh of a 3-day festival in which KUMARI (I think she’s about 9 years old now, but I’ll check on that) is paraded around the streets. Also during this festival, certain statues and sculptures are opened for the public to view. As all this happens only once a year, our timing was perfect. We continued to weave our way around the neighborhoods, darting in and out of alleys on a whim, at one point being handed (as in from hand to hand) some vegetables and rice flakes. Not wanting to disappoint, I downed my handful of curried potato (SPICY!) with a smile, much to the delight of the watching crowd.

As Mar and I sat on the roof of our guesthouse, looking at the full moon above, I had a warm feeling of satisfaction filled me. That, or I was well on my way to dysentery from the less-than-hygenic serving I had eaten earlier.

————————–

Okay, though I’ve only told you about 6 hours of the past 6 weeks, I need to go and answer some individual e-mails now. I’ll start with one from Dan P. in California:

Dear Jay,

I’ve got a title suggestion for your travel updates: “How my life is infinitely better than yours, you pathetic losers!”.

Dan P.

Dear Dan,

Ha-ha-ha, that’s kind of you to say, Dan. But really I’m sure everyone on my list (with the possible exception of Jake who sells tea) is perfectly happy with their own lives. It’s just YOUR life that is pathetic compared to mine.

Thanks for the advice, Dan!

Keep those comments coming!

Jay “I swear I’m not the father” Schneider