Bangladesh and Beyond!

Flashes of a trip, impossible to record completely because we sent so many of our words off into the wind like prayer flags.

lush forest, a green foretold by the monkeys that had lined the roads on the drive up. waterfalls breaking up the walk with shaky suspension bridges. cool pools below. kevin asks if we can go swimming but WangDi, our guide, tells us the cold water is bad when moving up in altitude. at the beginning of the day we are at 1780 meters. by evening we have already climbed to 2740 meters.

kevin and i spot and identify our first bird: a red-billed blue magpie. has a long thin tail with white polka dots. but our attention is elsewhere. now we are in pine forests, walking to the sound of bells that hang from the necks of the dzhos (half yak half cow) and pack horses as they accompany us up the trail. the next night we are in Phedang, 3760 meters, where we walk into the snow.

a cold night. justin wakes up with a swollen face and fever. We climb to Dzongri, 4025 meters, meadows with round patches of red and green vegetation. kevin and i walk up to the ridgeline where four manes (square stone shrines) bring us to our knees in prayer. the clouds have already come in so we don't even see the mountains that rise up in front of us.

the next morning before sunrise we climb up to Dzongri La, 4550 meters, to see the sun rise over the Darjeeling hills and light up the mountains that we can now see clearly in the cloudless morning sky.
at the top of Dzongri La there is a place for trekkers to leave prayer flags. WangDi explains the flags' colors. Blue is for sky, white is for peace, red is for danger, green is for earth, and yellow is for the monk. We hang our flags and say our prayers. Then, as per WangDi's instructions, we whisper three times "Om Mane Padme Om." Our prayers are released to the wind.

Justin is feeling sicker and needs to go back down to an elevation where his body can fight whatever is inside him. after a difficult conversation, Ari decides to accompany him back to the trail head. kevin and i choose to keep on trekking. that day the two of us march on to Lamony, the last place to camp before approaching Khangchendzonga -- to some the 3rd highest mountain in the world (shorter than K2 by only 13 meters); to local Buddhists, God. that evening we watch the clouds creep up our valley and swallow us. we go to sleep by a stream; we awake by solid ice.

the next morning we are up at 4:00 am. a cup of "bed tea" (tea in bed) and we start our hike. in the dark. in the cold. we start at 3840 meters. the sun starts to rise and we see the mountains surrounding all.

we walk alongside glacial lakes. clamber across boulder fields. play in expanses of sand that must, sometime long ago, have been at the bottom of the ocean. we are always hiking up. breathing gets harder and I am especially tired. but the mountain is calling. "Would God let you approach without some diffuclty?" Kevin asks. and we keep going. one foot in front of the other. we keep going. around 9:00 am we reach the top of Goecha La Pass, 5000 meters. we dig our hands into the snow. we are touching Khangchendzonga.

the next day we move out of the valley, away from Khangchendzonga, but still the mountain is watching over us. pushing us out as we push out our own emotions and realizations. shed tears. share thoughts. i am so grateful kevin and i are together.

one last stop before the end. we are in Tsokha, a small village established in 1965 by the Dalai Lama when he first fled from Tibet. we wake up and watch the sunrise from the monastery. spend some time at the two beautiful manes. and then we head down, back through the pine forests, back through the lush green, back to Ari and Justin, and at some point, back home.

the crew that made our trip happen. from left to right: Beerka (assistant guide), WangDi (guide), dzho herders 1 and 2, cute old man (porter and assitant cook), Chandra (porter and assistant guide) and Leela (drunk cook).

A day in the life of our washing machine: (in song) bum da dum dum dum. I’m a washing machine. I love washing clothes. I am washing Sonya and Kevin’s brand new cushion covers. Round and round and round I go! Oh no! what’s rumbling in my belly? Did I eat too much "jhal" (spice)? Oh my god, I’m exploding! There are flames leaping of my insides!

[Enter Kevin]: holy schmoly! There are clouds of black plastic smoke billowing through our apartment. And what do you know…three foot flames leaping from our friendly musical washing machine…I’ll save you! [At which point our fearless hero braves the searing heat and toxic smoke to douse our flaming friend in water. The cries of terrified women and children only a distant echo in his otherwise determined head]

Ten frantic minutes later, the whole apartment building has crowded to our front door to check out the scene. There’s plastic soot blanketing our apartment. A smoldering stump of melted plastic sits where once there was a washing machine.

A haiku for the recently departed:
in life you kept us
clean; in death your gross sticky
ashes cover all.

the machine

the brave hero

This one works best backwards. Everywhere we go people greet with us jokes and huge smiles of recognition. As if we hadn’t already felt like celebrities in this country, suddenly we are rock stars, religious gurus, and newly-landed aliens all rolled into one.

Several days earlier Bangladesh’s most popular TV show, the Eid special of Ittadi (translated: “Etcetera”) was aired. It is, by all accounts, the most celebrated and anticipated TV event of the year, described by a friend as the “Superbowl, the Oscars, and the finale of Seinfeld combined.” Estimated audience: 20 to 40 million (Bangladesh’s population: 140 million). It’s a schmorgus board of a show: part classical dance, part drama, part American Idol, part jeopardy, part Saturday Night Live and dash of Richard Simmons. One of the popular annual features is the Bideshi Sketch. Every year, a group of foreigners (preferably white. Justin’s Chinese characteristics almost made him look “too tribal”) acts out uniquely Bangladeshi scene. This year, the sketch portrayed a rural country court scene. Kevin played the judge's assitant. Sonya was accused of flirting under a tree with Justin and was sentenced to marriage.

Three weeks earlier, Sonya, Justin, and I were sitting awkwardly in the green room surrounded by a catty crowd of Bangladesh’s biggest celebrities. After a few hours, and only four rehearsals, we were ushered onstage to perform our skit in Bangla in front of five movie cameras and a stadium full of eager Bangladeshis. In typical Bangladeshi fashion, they had only four clip-on mics for about 12 people. So what should have taken 10 minutes, turned into an hour long mic juggling performance in front of thousands. The sketch was funny enough, and we were assured ample applause since the host introduced us as famous actors and actresses from our respective countries, but thanks to Sonya’s insistence only one day prior, the performance culminated in a choreographed song and dance routine. OMG. If we can figure out how to post video clips, we’ll pass along some of the absurdity.

Ramadan is the month in which Muhammad received his initial revelation and made his migration from Mecca to Medina. During this month, “able-bodied” Muslims fast during the day. Everyday from dawn to dusk they are prohibited to eat, drink, or smoke. Some musings on why the Koran requires this fasting: “fasting makes one think…it teaches self-discipline; one who can endure its demands will have less difficulty controlling the demands of appetites at other times. Fasting underscores the creature’s dependence on God. Human beings are as frail as rose petals; nevertheless the assume airs and pretensions. Fasting calls one back to one’s frailty and dependence. Finally, fasting sensitizes compassion. Only those who have been hungry can know what hunger means. People who have fasted for twenty nine days within the year will be apt to listen more carefully when next approached by someone who is hungry” (The World’s Religions, Huston Smith).
We decided that traditional fasting wasn’t a good option for us (although Sonya did begin the month with a 10 day fast of her own). That said, we have wanted to open ourselves to experience some part of the this yearly ritual. The Koran stipulates that those who are unable to fast during Ramadan may instead provide a month’s worth of food for a hungry person. Hopefully, when Ramadan is over, we will be able to make such an arrangement. Until then, we have been trying internalize more empathy for the hordes of hungry in Dhaka. But nothing is simple. Handing out little foods to beggars, we have been turned down more often than not. They want money, not food. The dynamics of the begging industry are a bit startling. Most beggars belong to some sort of organized gang. Most kids have beggar pimps that collect high percentages. Women can rent babies by the hour to induce greater empathy. It’s difficult to know how to respond, and a dilemma we face tens of times daily. There are moments when you can’t help but feel the gravity of these peoples’ situations. Other times, like when a woman tried to sell us her baby for 100 taka (US $1.50), you have to laugh at the absurdity of it all. For example, there was an article in the newspaper the other day about a man who sold his child for 100 taka without telling his wife. When his wife got home and freaked out about her missing child, a neighbor informed her of her husband’s actions. She raced to the station just as her child was about to board a train with another woman. The mother ended up buying her child back for 10 times the price her husband had received, having to borrow the money from friends and neighbors.

In our first two weeks we got hit by the “tail end” of the monsoon season. A crocodile tail if ever we’ve seen one. Knocked us clear off of our feet and into overflowing with waist high water. Luckily, flooded streets haven’t been the only thing keeping us from getting stuff done. When the streets aren’t flooded with water, they’re flooded with people.

Sonya painted red at the hindu festival of Durga Puja