Chickens roasting on an open fire
In the yard are buffaloes
Nepali folk songs being sung all the while
And women wrapped in sarees from head to toe

Everybody knows some fresh goat and some dhal bhat
Is the very best we’ve got
Nosy neighbors, Hindi pop blasting full
We’ll find it hard to sleep tonight

You know tomorrow is a busy day
We’ve got to cut the grass, weed the beds, and bale hay
And every mother’s child is going to spy
To see how much honey comes from the wild hive

And so I’m offering this simple phrase
In cities from New York to Kathmandu
I’m not sure it’s been said in quite this way, but
Merry Christmas from Nepal to You!

I wasn’t planning on celebrating my birthday this year. I thought I’d just buy myself some peanut butter & apples, video chat a few friends, and call it a day. Twenty-three isn’t a huge milestone, and besides, I’m in Nepal! What more could I want? I don’t need presents (I can’t fit much more in my backpack anyways). What more could I wish for? I’m already living an adventure.

Yet, when my host family found out I had a birthday coming up, they immediately started planning the celebration. They told me that we needed to have cake, presents, and dancing. I told them presents and dancing weren’t necessary, but I never turn down birthday cake. Akriti (my 13-year-old host sister) would be in charge of the cake. She told me I would need to find vanilla, chocolate chips, and Nutella. She would take care of the rest.

The whole family was excited to celebrate my birthday, but Ananta (my 8-year-old host brother) was the most excited of all. He was mostly excited for the cake, but I felt honored, nevertheless. The week leading up to my birthday, he was on the countdown. “Three days until your birthday… Two days… One!”

And then it was December 21st, my twenty-third birthday.

I woke up at 5:30am, too excited to sleep. I love celebrating birthdays and hope I never become one of those people who believe it’s “just another day.” I quietly made my way down to the kitchen with my headlamp and made myself a big thermos of black tea, unsweetened. I went back up to my room with my piping hot tea in hand. I pulled out a big jar of peanut butter that I’d bought in Bharatpur the day before when I was getting supplies for my cake. I sat in the dark drinking tea and eating apples with peanut butter as the sky outside turned from night to dawn. When there was enough light, I laced up the knock-off Adidas I bought in Kathmandu and went running through the fields of Chitwan.

If my birthday had ended there, that would’ve been enough. But the day was only beginning.

After I got done with my routine freezing cold morning shower, I went to the kitchen to prepare black masala tea for the family and other volunteers. I love making masala tea. Not only do I love the end result, but I enjoy the process. There’s something therapeutic about it: grinding the spices, throwing the tea in, and watching the boiling water turn from clear to rich brown.

This morning as I was making the tea, Akriti came in with a smile and something behind her back… A birthday present! It was small, just a few hair clips and a hand-written note. I was touched. A few minutes later, Ananta came in and gave me his present and a drawing (he was not going to get shown-up by Akriti). In a plastic box were a small bear figurine, a pom-pom, and some WWE wrestling stickers. Just what I wanted!

I brought my tea upstairs for the second time that day and got on my laptop for a video call with some close friends back home. Though we’ve been staying in touch via email, I hadn’t seen their faces in over three months. It was a fantastic reunion and I couldn’t stop smiling! We might have talked all day (or all night for them), but there were things to be done on the farm, birthday or not.

The task of the day was cutting grass around the fish pond, one of my favorite chores! We had worked on the pond three other days and had about a third of the perimeter to go. The three other volunteers and I grabbed some sickles (hook-shaped knives used for cutting grass) and headed out to the pond. Three of us worked in the water cutting the dense aquatic reeds and the last person worked on the bank hauling up the piles of reeds. It was about 75 degrees and the sun was warm on our backs. It felt nice to be knee-deep in the cool water, despite the occasional fish brushing against my leg.

After about three hours of work, we had finished the perimeter of the pond. We rinsed off the pond scum and laid out in the sun to dry. Anjana appeared with afternoon tea along with a birthday surprise… Crepes with lemon & honey! We sat on the front porch for the rest of the afternoon, relaxing and admiring the clean banks of the fish pond.

When Tara & the kids returned home from school, preparation for my birthday celebration began. Tara went out to the pond to collect some fish for my birthday dinner. Although I’ve been here for nearly two weeks, this was the first time we would be having fish. I was honored! Akriti and another volunteer got to work on the cake. It would be baked over a fire in the family’s new brick oven. The baking process is a little different than the electric ovens we have in the U.S. I was both intrigued and excited for my brick-oven wood-fired birthday cake!

After the cake was underway, Akriti grabbed my hand and took me to get dressed up… in a traditional Nepali saree! It was the whole nine yards: the vest, skirt, long beautiful cloth, bangles, and bindi (forhead jewel). Of course, Akriti had to do my hair and make-up as well (one of her favorite activities it seems). When I looked in the mirror after about an hour of beautification, I was in awe. The woman staring back had gold eye shadow, dark eyeliner, and bright red lipstick. Her hair was pulled back into french braids, and she wore a stunning blue and gold saree. It wasn’t Laura Berry in the mirror. I was Laksmi Adhikari.

Dinner was a feast! Of course, we had heaps of dahl bhat, but to accompany it we had relish, turnips, cucumber, and whole fried fish. Yes, I ate the fish head. And dessert? Brick-oven wood-fired birthday cake! It was frosted with Nutella and decorated with flowers. On top, they had painstakingly written “HAPPY BDAY LAURA” with mini chocolate chips. Happy Birthday was sung, the cake was cut, and served on recycled scratch paper. The cake both met and exceeded my expectations! There were no leftovers.

Then came the dancing. At first it was just me, dancing in front of the family and other volunteers. This was nothing new, of course. I’ve found myself dancing alone to Nepali songs in front of a crowd quite a few times. It’s becoming the norm. Soon other volunteers started to join in, and by the end, everyone was packed into a small room showing off their best Nepali dance moves. Anjana and Akriti were clearly the best dancers of the group, but I’m starting to get the hang of Nepali dancing.

Around 9:30pm, we decided to call it a night. Just before I went to bed, Tara appeared at my door with one last bite of cake. He told me it was tradition that he feed me the last bite. I laughed and obliged, despite having already brushed my teeth. After he left, I lay in bed, replaying the events of the day. It had been an incredible birthday. I did everything from work in a fish pond to dance to Nepali pop wearing a saree.

I wonder what future birthdays will hold…

I came down from the Himalayas, traveled through the Kathmandu Valley, and now I find myself in the expansive plains of Chitwan. This area used to be all jungle, but now the forest and wildlife are preserved within the borders of Chitwan National Park. The area surrounding the park is fertile farmland where people can grow crops all year round. This place reminds me of the Midwest with its patchwork fields, dirt roads, and big open sky. It feels like home. And it will be my home for the next month or two.

The family I’m staying with has been nothing but kind. Even before we met, Tara, my host father, was so much help when I traveled to his community of Bhagouli. As a matter of fact, I encountered many people that made my journey possible that day. The couple sitting in front of me on the first bus who told me where to get off. The man on the street who walked me to the next bus station. The bus driver who handed me his phone and Tara who was on the other end of the line to assure me I’d arrived at the correct bus. The woman on the second bus who I talked to in broken Nepali. The young lady who showed me my final stop. Then when I finally was dropped off at the end of a dirt road, there was Tara waiting to take me home.

When I arrived to the Adhikari Family home, I was met by Tara’s wife, Anjana and their two kids, Ananta (8) and Akriti (13). Anjana served me what would be the first of many hot cups of black masala tea and chiurah (beaten rice). Tara showed me to my room and told me to take my time and get settled in.

This experience of the journey and arrival to a host family has been repeated time and time again during my past three months in Nepal. The village and the family may be new, but the kindness I’ve been shown by strangers is not. Locals have walked me to my destinations, offered me tea in their shops, and welcomed me into their homes. With these people I’ve shared meals, attended weddings, and celebrated holidays. They’ve given me a home and a family when mine were half a world away.

 

Yak Post – December 1, 2017

Out of the mountains and back to the city. I’m feeling a bit melancholy this morning. Trekking through the Himalayas for the past two weeks was absolutely magical and now the adventure is just memories and photographs. The end of the trek also marks the close of my Dragon’s semester. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise; I’ve had three months to prepare. For me, the goodbye should be easier than it will be for my fellow travelers and friends. I’ll be staying in Nepal for another five months working on an organic farm, trekking, and visiting friends that I’ve made during these past three months. I don’t have to say goodbye to Nepal yet, but I do have to say goodbye to the people I’ve been sharing this experience with. Strangers turned friends. Even family. I’ve been traveling around Nepal with sixteen amazing individuals and they truly have become like family.

True, saying goodbye isn’t easy, but with every goodbye comes a hello. I’m about to start a new chapter for my time in Nepal. I’ll be on my own, a terrifying and exhilarating notion. Although I’m nervous about navigating Nepal by myself, this country no longer feels foreign. I know a little bit of the language, I know how to catch a bus, make a call, and find my way. Above all, I know that I’m not really on my own. I have a network of people here in Nepal who I can always go to for help and advice. Even beyond Nepal, I have a tremendous support system that loves me, cares for me, and believes in me. They’re the reason I’m in Nepal.

Thank you Mom, Dad, and Libby. I can’t wait to share this incredible adventure with you. It’s just begun!

Yak Post – November 9, 2017

It was difficult choosing an independent study project (ISP). There were so many things that I wanted to learn; Nepali cooking, sewing, traditional folk music, pottery… The list goes on and on. However, in the end, I chose yoga. In the back of my mind, I knew I would do yoga for my ISP. I started practicing yoga on-and-off during college and always marveled at how I felt during and after a good session of yoga. I did it for health, mainly. When my body was sore from a hard workout or even too much sitting, nothing was better than a good stretch on my mat.

I chose yoga because I craved that familiar feeling. Also, how cool would it be to say I practiced yoga from a Nepali yoga guru? My yoga instructor’s name was Rupesh. He was everything you would expect a Nepali yoga guru to be; slender with dark hair and a soft voice.  Before teaching  yoga, Rupesh was a massage therapist, but he had found something more in yoga. He brought a sense of calm when he entered the room and would take long pauses when he spoke. You could almost see the wheels in his mind turning.

Our class was divided into an hour of discussion followed by an hour of physical practice, or asana. We met on the fourth floor of the Dragon’s Program house, a large, open room filled with pillows and bordered with windows. Discussions were filled with ideas bigger than the room could contain. We talked about awareness of the thoughts that lead to feelings that lead to actions. We explored yoga beyond the physical practice that is recognized in the Western World. Rajesh told us that yoga was both a journey and a destination. Religions were yoga. Every moment of life was and could be yoga. This blew my mind.

After an hour of wisdom from Rupesh, we eased into asana. We would lie on our backs for a few moments and Rupesh would guide us through a meditation. Once we were in the right mindset, the chanting began. Ohmmm. Saha navavatu… The first time we did the mantra, I felt self-conscious, but by the end of our four weeks, the chanting became comforting. We would move through poses and sun salutations before closing our practice with another mantra. It only seems appropriate that I also end with that mantra.

Sarvesam svastirbhavatu,
Sarvesam santirbhavatu,
Sarvesam purnam bhavatu,
Sarvesam mangalam bhavatu.

Ausiciousness to all,
Perfect peace to all,
Fullness to all,
Prosperity to all.

Namaste.

Yak Post – October 13, 2017

Blue meets brown.
Quickly I turn my eyes down
To weathered shoes on cracked pavement.

I want to melt into this city,
Stand on the curb and watch traffic go by.
Instead traffic watches me.

The dust covers every crack, every crevice,
It mingles among vehicles and chats with people going by.

As I walk along the road I feel it coating me
Like a second layer of skin.

To dust, we are all the same.

I want to be covered in dust.
Roll in dust.
Be dust.

Maybe then I could blend in.

But the dust can’t disguise me.
Underneath I am still undeniably
White.

Yak Post – October 5, 2017

In the past 72 hours I’ve danced to a Nepali pop song on stage in front of a group of people that were once strangers. I gathered around a pot of embers with my ama (mother) and dai (older brother) grilling chicken. I received blessings and tikka on my forehead once when leaving the village of Balamchaur and then again when arriving to my new host family in Kathmandu. I exchanged a quiet life in the mountains for the rush and modernity of the city.

It’s a bit overwhelming, but this sense of confusion and uncertainty is one of many reasons why I came to Nepal.

Already, the village of Balamchaur is beginning to feel more and more dreamlike. I remember walking past large fields of rice with my ama & didi (older sister) on the way to a goat farm. Beyond the hills, the snow peaked Himalayas rose above the clouds, the very definition of majestic. Did that actually happen?

It did. It was beyond my wildest dreams. But now it’s time to move on and experience the next chapter: Kathmandu.

My host family greeted me yesterday at the program house and took me to their community of Kapan, about a 30 minute walk through a maze of side streets. I walked silently for about a minute, wondering if I should attempt conversation in Nepali or resort to English. My bua (father) resolved my internal debate when he asked in slightly broken English about my family. Soon we were swept away in conversation – it turns out my bua, Hari, is a very talkative guy!

We ended up at a 4-story cement building which I assumed was an apartment complex. I was surprised to find that it was the family house and that I was the newest member of a VERY large family. I live on the top two floors with Hari Basnet, his wife Binda, their three children, two daughter-in-laws, and four grandchildren. The first two floors contain even more family, but I have yet to learn their names and relationships. The ages in the household range from 4 to 70 and there is a lot of energy. I will be living here for about a month, and I’m looking forward to finding my place in this new, lively Nepali family.

Yak Post – September 28, 2017

This is my fifth full day in the village of Balamchaur, yet this is the first time I’ve taken a moment to write. There is so much to take in! Even now as I sit on the front porch, there is so much going on… my Ama is cooking dinner over a small fire behind the clay wall I’m propped up against. A cow in the shed across from me munches on grass harvested early this morning. Dogs are barking, chickens are clucking. Neighbors converse over daal bhaat in Gurung, their native tongue.

A century from now, this place and these sounds may no longer exist. A culture vanished among the towering Himalayas. Again I’m reminded how fortunate I am to be here now.

 

Yak Post – September 20, 2017

 

Bhaktapur. A city with over four centuries of history. When we walked into Durbar Square we were met by ancient temples. Some were piles of rubble and others were supported by beams. These were constant reminders of the megaquake that struck just two years ago. We were told that an earthquake strikes every century due to the two tectonic plates Nepal sits on. No one knows when the next one will strike, but until then, life continues for the people of the Kathmandu Valley.

In Durbar Square we split from the larger group to explore and complete our scavenger hunt. The hunt took us to various places around the city. On our list was a mini-mart, Pottery Square, and an STD shop (no worries–it’s just a place to call from). While we were running errands, we stopped at the rooftop restaurant Garuda Bar, looking over the city at the tallest temple in Nepal. We each had a soda or a cider–no program rules were broken!

At times, navigating Bhaktapur was challenging. Motorcycles, dogs, and chickens crowded the streets. Our eyes flew from shops to locals to vendors on the street. We were pulled back to reality by the honking of impatient motorcyclists rushing through the narrow streets. At times we were overwhelmed, but at the end of the day, we agreed we wouldn’t have it any other way!

Dhanyabad ra shubha raatri!
(Thank you and good night!)

Yak Post – September 18, 2017

Today we ventured beyond the gates of Bhaktapur Guesthouse, where we’ve been living the past two days. We made our way up a gravel hill in single-file silence. To our left was forest, to our right sprawled the city. I’ve heard many things about Kathmandu…it’s noisy, crowded, polluted, busy. These things are true, but above all, Kathmandu is beautiful.

After half an hour, we reached a Hindu temple of the god Siva. We were told to go into a small cement building where we would receive an offering from the holy man that tends the temple. One by one, we ducked through the small entrance to receive a mark on our head and flower petals. What this means? I’m not entirely sure. It all felt sacred, but the man inside the room had a warm, comforting smile. I want to know more about this kind of worship so I can experience it with the proper respect. I’m sure I’ll have more opportunities to practice!

Once we had received the offering, we had time to meditate and reflect. I perched on a ledge overlooking the Kathmandu Valley. The view was simply breathtaking. I let my eyes wander Over hundreds, probably thousands, of colorful houses. Beyond the mountains met the clouds and the sky. An airplane broke through the clouds and descended towards the city. There were gardens, laundry on the line, people walking the streets, and music. There is always music in the valley.