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.

Norway. Not someplace I planned to go during my gap year, but when adventure calls, I always answer.

Earlier this year, I met with a couple good friends from running club in the UW-L’s Student Union. The reason for our meeting? Norway. One of my friends, Tess, had some distant relatives in the town of Sandnes, on the Western fjords of Norway. She’d visited them several times, but not for a few years. They had reached out to her to ask if she had time to visit over the summer – friends were welcome! Both Tess and my other friend, Alyssa, had a two week break and I had a whole year break. With a little re-working of my schedule, I lined up a flight from Uganda to Norway. A culture shock? Absolutely.

After a 12-hour layover in Amsterdam and a sleep-deprived flight, I arrived in Stavanger, Norway. Immediately after baggage claim, I was greeted with big hugs from Tess & Alyssa. Not far behind them was Ståle and Kristi, my hosts for the next ten days. I was treated to lapas (pancakes) and with homemade jam. This was also the first time I was introduced to Norwegian brown cheese. It would become a staple in my diet for the remainder of the trip.

We chatted for about an hour and I got to know my new family. Ståle had a booming voice and a great sense of humor. Kristi was softer, but had an air of confidence about her. Tess had told me she was an incredible biker and had once been the second ranked biker in Norway! Later, when we biked with her I would see her incredible endurance and competitive edge. Ståle and Kristi also had three girls about our ages who were attending college in Oslo. It seemed appropriate that Tess, Alyssa, and I would be taking their place as honorary daughters for the next ten days!

After lapas, the three of us said goodnight to Ståle and Kristi and went downstairs to our bedroom. It was actually more like an apartment. There were three mattresses for us arranged in a row, a sitting area with a couch, our own bathroom, and a kitchenette with a fully stocked fridge! Already, I could tell these next ten days were going to be amazing.

It was dark when I arrived at their house from the airport, so when I awoke the next morning, I was surprised to look out the window and find a fjord! Across the water was the city of Stavanger, located on Gandsfjord, just West of lysefjord. By then end of our trip, we had explored many miles of both of these fjords by bike, by ferry, and by foot.

The biking in Norway was incredible. Of course, we had a professional biker to show us all the best routes! Kristi also had quite a collection of bikes – both road bikes and mountain bikes. It was out of pure luck that we all had roughly the same shoe size, so I also had my first experience with clip-in bike shoes. I’m proud to say I never fell once… until the last day. Every free morning, we would hop on the bikes and explore the area. On our longest ride, we made it all the way to the North Sea – a 30 mile loop!

We took the ferry a couple times: an hour ride along Lysefjord on our way to Fløre and again to Preikestolen (Pulpit Rock). Preikestolen was a must-see tourist attraction. And it did attract tourists! Standing out on the flat slab of Preikestolen, over 600 meters above Lysefjord, we were surrounded by an explosion of languages and cultures. Dozens of cameras captured the same picture looking out over the fjord and fjellene (mountains). I’m not ashamed to admit that my camera was among them – the view was breathtaking!

Fløre was one of my favorite places we visited. Only accessible by foot or ferry, Fløre is the location of the world’s longest wooden staircase, built to accommodate the development of a hydropower plant in 1916. There are 4,444 stairs leading up to a lake and a beautiful view over the fjord. 4,444 steps didn’t seem like much until we reached step number 1000. We were 15 minutes into our hike and I was sweating even though it was only 50 degrees out. Kristi could’ve ran up the whole thing in under an hour, but she patiently waited for us and bribed us with seigmenn, Norwegian gummy candies. It worked! We made it to the top and were rewarded with an incredible view and a peaceful hike back down through the woods.

Then there was the hiking. We hiked every single day, rain or shine. Most days, we just explored around the town of Sandnes where Ståle and Kristi lived. In their backyard, there were trails leading up to a system of hiking trails. We climbed a couple peaks and watched the sunset over the fjord. However, my favorite hike was to Kjerag. The main attraction is Kjeragbolten, a massive boulder wedged roughly 1000 meters above the fjord. This was unbelievable and walking out onto it definitely gave me an adrenaline rush. However, we all agreed that Nesatindane was actually our favorite spot on the climb. Nesatindane is a well kept secret at Kjerag – a rock feature that sticks out above the fjord like a beak. We sat out on it and dangled our feet above 1000 meters of cool mountain air.

Traveling over the fjords and up the mountains was incredible, but what really made the trip was Ståle and Kristi, our Norwegian parents. They were so gracious and happy to show us their beautiful country. The promised we’d always have a place to stay in Norway when we come back. It’s hard to say what the future holds, but I would love to return to Norway. There are many backpacking trails and much uncharted territory. If there is a next time, I’m bringing my trusty pack and a few maps!

And of course, no trip is complete without a mandatory epic jump shot.

 

I’m going to take a step back to another place, another time, and another world.

It’s late August on a Sunday morning in a small Ugandan village. A large tent has been erected and a crowd of over fifty people gather underneath. Most are from the village, but a few have traveled from Kampala. Three guests came all the way from the United States. Sunday mass is always a big gathering in Uganda, but today is a special. This morning the crowd has congregated in front of a new cement house. A crumbling mud hut lies just to the right of it. This celebration is for the new house and the family that will soon be living in it. Rose’s house. Rose’s family.

Like many others in rural Uganda, Rose’s life has not been an easy one. She’s dealt with more sickness, loss, and pain than anyone should have to bear. But one thing you should know about Rose is that she is a survivor. She raised a son who was crippled by the effects of malaria. She buried her husband and kept raising their eight children as a single mother. She overcame an unforgivable intrusion of her home and her body. Through everything, she has remained focused on raising her children to be both educated and compassionate.

We met Rose during our second trip to Uganda in March 2016 and immediately recognized her strength and resilience. When we saw her crumbling mud hut and heard about all her struggles, it was she could use some good in her life. One of the members from our group recognized that and soon after returning back to the U.S. had raised the funds for Rose’s new home. It would cost just $1,200 to build Rose a brand new house, complete with a sturdy door and lock.

The completed house was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Rose and her family. Rose absolutely glowed. She couldn’t express her gratitude in our language, but we could see it in her eyes. Her eldest son, David, gave a beautiful speech in nearly perfect English. His voice broke when he mentioned how happy his father would have been to see the new house and the family thriving with all children in school. The second son, Vincent, turned to Sister Salome to express his deep gratitude for helping him attend school at Our Lady of Guadalupe. His words will stick with me forever: “How can I ever repay you? All I can do is study so hard in school and make you proud.”

The power of community was present on that Sunday morning. Many tears fell and spirits soared. Though we may be worlds apart from that small community in rural Uganda, we breathe the same air and share the same heart.

Of course, where there is inexpressible emotion, there must be a poem. So here it is!

Hands & Hearts
By Laura Berry

She gazed at the house, could this be a dream?
It was all hers, like nothing she had ever seen.
The walls were smooth cement, as was the floor,
Complete with a tin roof and a thick, sturdy door.
She glanced back at the tiny mud hut just feet away,
Which had given in to rains and years of decay.
Today was a celebration, but she had tears in her eyes,
She thought of her husband gazing down from the skies.
Looking at her children, she knew he would be proud,
We must study hard to show our thanks, they had vowed.
In school they would work hard to create a better life,
Seeking every opportunity, escaping familiar strife.
She took a breath and walked into her family’s new home,
Though she was worthy, she could not have done it alone.
This house had been built by open hearts and strong hands,
By people of all colors from different cultures and lands.
She lingered in each room, praying thanks to the God above,
For revealing a community of compassion and limitless love.