No more baby monks. I taught them all the English I know in two short weeks and gave them the art of sarcasm. I think they are ready to converse with westerners if it comes up.
So I’m back to traveling after a two week rest to teach English. I’ve moved on to Pokhara. And by moved on, I mean I piled into a van with my two travel partners and 17 other strangers and bumped along a jagged mountain road, with no AC and a very high-functioning radio set to a Bollywood drama station, for 4 hours (it should have been 6 hours driving, but we had a “good” driver). The upshot is that I got a good glimpse of the countryside beauty that people flock here for.
So now I’m in this sweet little mountain town that makes me think I should appreciate the mountains back home more. While here I’ve been…recovering mostly. The host I was staying with created a small prison for the two weeks I was fortunate enough to spend with him. The suffix “Ji” is a form of respect that I adore in the Nepali language, but when we spoke of Chandan-Ji it was dripping with sarcasm. I’m pretty impressed that I managed to find this dude in a land of happy, smiling faces. Nepali people are beyond nice, or maybe I’m still just shell shocked from “Indian realism” and almost anyone would seem nice right now. A real one-upper, this man was even competitive with his amazing wife.
“Dinner is great, your wife is a wonderful cook”
“[clicks one side of cheeks, as I’ve heard far too many times when he’s about to say something annoying] she’s ok. I’m a really good cook, though. I’m just too busy (he’s not) to cook.”
Every dinner was a battle waiting to happen. He really had an issue with Siddarth, which escapes me, so he would try and best him.
“You competed in Debate? That’s not a thinking sport. Bee spelling is a thinking sport.”
So yes, I’ve been laying low for the past few days to recuperate and enjoy not having to listen to all of Chandan-Ji’s get rich quick schemes that are bound to fail because Kharma is a real thing. Respect your wife folks: rule number one.
I’ve also spent my time going back and forth on a big decision: my return ticket. I’ve landed with the decision to extend my trip. I’m missing a lot back home because of it. I hate to think of the events that I’m missing, chief among them is my cousin’s wedding and I don’t know what else. Yet.
A visit from a friend in Florida? My dear grandmother’s 80th birthday? My darling nephew (in law?) growing out of the cute Nepal shirt I bought him? My best friend’s closing on her new house? I have to stop, because that side of it sucks. A lot.
Here’s the side that doesn’t suck: Thailand.
I don’t know when I’ll ever have this opportunity again. I have to make sure that I have no regrets and take this opportunity.
I don’t have the details worked out yet. I’ll be home June 27th and I hope that doesn’t mean I’m missing something amazing with you, reader. If I will, I will happily take you out to a nice meal in a very fancy dumpster behind a five-star kitchen, because I’m coming home dirt-poor. I hope our dumpster date makes up for my dereliction as a friend.
If not that, then maybe these pictures will help: