Motorcycles in Mustang

After finishing SIT - I'm a senior in college now, which feels incredibly bizarre - four of my friends and I headed West to Pokhara. Transportation was challenging; I had some GI issues and a fever on my way out to Pokhara and the way back the bus was stopped by a strike. And in Pokhara, we tried for three days to take a plane north to go trekking in Mustang. A 72 hour wait with two delays, all for a 15-minute plane ride. But unbelievably worth it. Mustang is one of the most incredible places that I have ever been: dry and windy and eroded like the Southwest, with green oases of wheat fields surrounding villages that seem medieval. The houses have flat roofs rimmed with dried firewood and crowd along narrow alleyways. Electric wires and the occasional motorcycle are the only sign of the twentieth century - the twenty-first is nowhere up there. I had to rush back to meet Kate in Kathmandu, so I took a motorcycle for an hour, during which the landscape changed from the Southwest, to Alaska with pine hills and giant braided riverbeds, to the lush Pyrenees. Then an hour of walking in the pouring rain through fields of wild marijuana and a night in a tiny porter's lodge. Up at six, hours of hot walking against trains of donkeys 80 animals long, fording rivers, and then back to motorized transport just before my legs gave out.
And now Kate is here and I'm back up trekking in the Everest Region with her and my friend Sarah. Tomorrow there is a marathon from Everest Base Camp to Namche Bazaar, a 42 kilometer race from hell - I plan to watch the finishers struggle over the hilltop and then lounge around acclimitizing for another day. Then up higher into the hills to the Gokyo Lakes, at 4,800 meters, before descending all the way to Jiri, a ten-day walk up, down, and over the ridges and valleys of the Solu-Khumbu.

One month of research finished! I got back from the mountains a few days ago and need to work on my final paper, the last thing between me and the end of SIT! My month up in Monjo was incredible. The town is the smallest I've ever lived in, only about 30 to 60 people (more during the off-season for trekking, when all the men come back from guiding). Only about 25 houses, pine trees, and the wind running through the prayer flags. I spent the time interviewing people from Monjo, Jorsalle, Bengkar, and Chumoa, the four towns who are part of the Himalayan Community Forest User Group. I used to be more intimidated by interviewing, but after almost forty, I am much more self-confident and enjoy listening to people's stories even more than I used to! A typical interview would begin with me sitting down in some public place - along the path, on a bench where porters rest, across from a house - and just hanging out for a while until people got used to me. By the end of the month, this was much easier than the begining since I was the only white person staying in the area for longer than an overnight and everyone started to recognize me. I would eventually ask someone if I could talk to them, explain what I was doing, and then would pull out my tiny notebook (apparently less intimidating than a large one, according to my advisor) and start asking questions. Passers-by would inevitably gather to listen and laugh at my seemingly inane questions, and I'd sometimes end up with five people listening in. Many of the women around the area welcomed me into their kitchens, and I would sit, drinking many cups of tea and just relaxing and chatting with them - my favorite place to be up in Monjo, in the Sherpa women's kitchens I felt completely accepted when one woman handed me a stack of plates to dry - as a guest I usually wasn't allowed to help. And the last day there was a fantastic windstorm, blowing petals off the apple trees and clouds up the mountains around Monjo.
And now back in Kathmandu, gorging on fresh fruits (it's mango season!) and vegetables, discovering the pomegranate tree behind my house the day I moved out, eating large amounts of delicious Nepali yogurt, and trying to write a 25 page paper between great thunderstorms.