A Double Wedding

The past two days we have been attending the wedding of two of Claire’s new cousins, two brothers, Sujan and Suman, and their respective new wives, Liza and Marena. For those who know Dilli Padu who came to the U.S. for the wedding in December, they are two of his nephews.

On Thursday we dressed up and left at 9:00 a.m. to go to a temple just outside of town. Several different weddings were going on at once in the temple area, most of them Hindu, and it was explained to me that the Newari Buddhist customs are somewhat different from the Hindu ones. We were at the temple all day until the evening. First all the guests arrived and were fed tea, hard-boiled eggs, and sweet breads. We chatted, watched the other weddings, met more relatives, and after awhile the two brides arrived, dressed in the bridal color, which here is red.
There were first some rituals inside the small inner part of the temple with just the couples, priest, and parents, and whoever else could crowd in. Then there were other rituals outside with everyone watching. Unlike Western weddings, in which everyone stays quietly in their seat, here everyone was crowded around, coaching the couples, telling them what to do next, handing them necklaces, rings, etc., to give toeach other, helping them, and so on. There were not that many words, it was mostly actions.

We were told that the customs in the two brides’ families are somewhat different, so different adjustments were made to accommodate the three family traditions involved. There was one part later in which all the family members lined up and gave the brides money and were given nuts and candies in return. There were other parts that involved the giving of different gifts of food and clothing. When it was lunchtime, lunch was served, and when it was dinner time, dinner was served.

After everything was finished at the temple some of the family members (including us) rode in a van to the grooms’ parents’ home, where the two couples will live. After much preparation, a ritual was conducted there in which the new mother-in-law, Pushba, came out dressed in a bridal sari herself and, after several blessing, held out a key, which one of the daughters-in-law grasped, by which she was pulled into the house. Since there were two of them, the second daughter-in-law grabbed the first one’s sari and came behind here. As one of the cousins put it, “They got their ticket, they got their visa, and this is the entrance permit.”

Yesterday evening we dressed up even more in saris (with a lot of help from Dilli Mama, Erika, and Auntie Sunila, who had just arrived from Italy) and walked through the neighborhood to the wedding feast. Thirteen hundred people were there. It was outdoors, there was a live band, an open bar, and dinner. The brides sat in a small alcove and received guests and gifts all evening, but the grooms roamed around greeting the guests. All of the “aunties” wore new identical red saris given to them by the grooms’ parents.

Between the two events we met a great many of Claire’s new family members, many of whom will travel to Pokhara next week for her and Sajal’s wedding. It will be very interesting to see how it is similar and how it is different. Since both Sajal’s parents and we had made so many modifications in the way we do weddings to fit it to their international and interreligious situation and the differences in customs, Claire was very relieved to hear that even among Nepalis families must make adjustments to account for differences in families.

All of Sajal’s family have been very warm and welcoming to us. Getting to know them has been very reassuring as I consider my daughter living here with them. This evening the first of the other guests from the U.S. arrive, Teri Lloyd, Erin and her husband Chris, and Colin, and tomorrow morning Don and Ian and Leyla arrive. Wednesday we will travel to Pokhara.

From Pashupatinagar back to Kathmandu

Below are several days' worth of entries, saved up during our trip.

On Monday morning, having exhausted the possibilities of the town in the rain, including the joy of squat toilets, we were ready to begin our long drive back to the airport and to Kathmandu. Our original driver from a week before, Shiva, picked us up in the morning, telling us he would take us anywhere we wanted all day. His oldest son was with him. So we took a leisurely trip down the hillsides, stopping often to enjoy the tea gardens. At our first stop we scrambled up a tea hill to see the view. These are steep, muddy, and tricky, but quite doable if you can trace a path between the bushes. We came down and talked to the tea pickers. They told us they pick the new growth, the brighter leaves on the top of each plant. They make 7 rupees per kilogram, and pick 2-3 baskets per day. Our driver, who is a farmer in Damak, estimated that the baskets would hold 20-25 kg. each, so we figured they were making about $6/day, which isn’t much in the U.S. but is pretty decent in Nepal, if we did our math right.

Next we stopped at a German-owned tea factory that had a visitors’ viewing area. We were told the process takes 17 hours from the time the pickers bring the tea in till it is ready to ship. It is first dried, then rolled, then fermented, then graded and sorted, then dried again, then packed. Some of this was done with machines, but much by hand. Unfortunately, since we were viewing through plastic windows, most of the pictures didn’t come out. We had heard that cardamom was also grown in Ilam, so we asked about it. He showed us some plants, but said that there was a disease among the cardamom throughout the region that had begun to ruin all the plants. I later read that it had sent the price of cardamom sky high without benefiting the farmers.
We stopped again at the knob hill we had seen on the way up, and took the time to climb it and take in the view. Shiva told us couples come here to fall in love. It would be pretty easy.

As soon as we hit the boundary of Jhapa it was hot again. We rode along through the countryside seeing so many people. We stopped once again at the hotel in Damak for lunch, and then on and on and on—we must have seen thousands and thousands of people, plowing fields, raking hay into the street to dry, leading goats or cows along the road, riding bicycles while holding umbrellas against the sun, riding on tops of jeeps and buses, walking hand in hand, dickering in the market, sitting under trees, washing their hair or clothes, bicycling goods to the market, carrying baskets of rocks, digging holes, driving trucks that said “push horn” or “horn please” on the back, walking in a funeral procession, peddling a rickshaw, painting a rickshaw, sleeping on a rickshaw, pushing an ice cream cart, carrying small children. And that was just one small stretch of road in one very small country. Unfortunately, picture-taking out the taxi window proved too challenging; I could not capture this montage.

Biratnagar’s airport was like a bus station. You could walk to it down a one-lane road lined with tropical plants, the kind we think of as houseplants. I don’t think anyone looked at our identification, and the glance into our backpacks was cursory. We just walked out the door to the plane. It was refreshing. The landscape changed quickly from flatland to steep mountains as we approached Kathmandu. Quickly we were home.

Sunday in Pashupatinagar

Sunday it rained on and off all day. We had been hoping to take whatever small roads we could find out into the countryside, but at first we couldn’t find any. So we walked the length of the town from our hotel near the Indian border down the one street, which led down the hill, sometimes steeply. We found a shoe store, with a cobbler sitting in the corner actually making the shoes. We were so impressed with that that we each bought a pair.

At the very end of the town we saw a path with Buddhist flags lined up on poles, so we took it. It led us up a hill to a beautiful building, where young Buddhist monks came to learn. The adult monk who was there showed us around inside and gave us incense to offer to the various gods lining the walls, then blessed us with aromatic water. Having been in many Christian churches and monasteries that were somewhat less than eager to welcome visitors, I was struck with how open and warm they were, even though we had come in from nowhere. I had begun to get used to Nepalis innocently wearing shirts with English writing or symbols that we would consider puzzling or inappropriate, but the lay man’s Playboy shirt was too funny. Unfortunately when I tried to get him into a group picture I couldn’t subtly get the shirt front and center, so you have to take my word for it.

Everywhere we go are not only rickshaws that have been elaborately painted, but freight trucks that bear pictures of flowers, landscapes, mountains, gods and goddesses. I finally got a good picture of one that was parked nearby the monastery.
As we made our way back up the hill toward the hotel we found a dirt road too muddy and rutted for autos, but fine for careful walkers, so along with several other pedestrians we took it. It led into a woods of ferns and overhanging trees, simply beautiful. A passerby told us that the path would lead to the next village, some 8 km. away. We didn’t go all the way, but enjoyed it very much. Later we took a small foot path that branched off from this road and climbed a hill to discover a large soccer field and a stunning view.

Finally, at sunset we went to the roof of the hotel and took a few pictures of the darkening clouds and landscape.

Rainy, Sleepy Saturday in Pashupadinagar

After lunch it was raining, but we set out anyway with umbrellas to do a little exploring. First up to the border, a very sleepy place with not one official in sight. Then down into town, also very sleepy with most businesses closed. We stopped in a couple of shops, and then went to a tea house: two tables, two women, all open to the street. The most delicious masala tea, with milk, cloves and cardemom (which also grows here), not too much sugar, and another conversation. They told us that there were several different population groups represented here, each with their own language. They said the reason it was so quiet was that most of the town’s business is from Darjeeling, and today there was a strike going on there, so few people were coming to town. The tea was 16 Nepali rupees, but we didn’t catch why they specified “Nepali” till we were buying something in the next store. If we had had Indian rupees the store keeper (who came out to see us along with his wife and two daughters, and weren’t half as impressed with the baby swallows nesting in their store’s eves as we were) could have made change, but he didn’t have Nepali rupees. That’s how Indian this town is.

Now we are in the dining room, intermittently watching the World Cup with the hotel staff. Intermittently because the electricity comes and goes. It’s still rainy and rather cold, a sleepy Saturday evening.

Tea Country

On Saturday morning we packed and left Damak, saying goodbye to all our gracious hosts. The brother of the driver who brought us from the airport was there to pick us up and drive us up to the district of Ilam. The hotel manager gave us a couple of recommendations for hotels and we took off. First we drove east through the Turai, flat country but much less industrial than between Biratnagar and Damak, more woods and even plantations of trees (they appeared to be eucalyptus). Again we saw the little graves shaped like houses—in fact, the driver had a flat tire right in front of one of them, so I hopped out and got good pictures. He told us they were graves for Buddhists. One, in fact, was shaped like a stupa.

Our poor driver. Not only did he have a flat tire, but he also ran over a chicken. A whole flock was out in the road. Ugh: the other hens immediately started eating their squashed sister. The driver stopped and walked back to talk to the owners, who demanded 200 rupees (about $2.60) from him. He paid it, even though he told us it wasn’t his fault the chickens were in the road. Later we added it to our fare, because it seemed like a lot for a dead chicken, especially when our room tonight is 800 rupees.

Soon we got into the hills and we saw what a good driver he was. Once we started climbing we never stopped climbing and winding around blind corners. He went fairly slowly, honking his horn before every turn, since one never knew what was ahead—a pedestrian, a boy on a horse, a motorcycle, a truck, a jeep with 15 people inside and 3 on the roof, chickens, goats, or pigs. Soon we felt cool air for the first time in a week. There was mist everywhere, and everything was green. Then we began to see the tea gardens. They are planted on the slopes with footpaths running through them. Frequently we saw groups of people picking the tea, baskets on their backs supported by straps across their foreheads. We stopped at a particularly scenic spot near the summit and watched for a little while. There was a small knobby hill nearby, and the driver told us music videos are often filmed on top of it. Sure enough, there was a man sitting by the roadside, having make-up applied to his face.

We drove into Fekkel, Ilam, a market town on a hillside, and stopped at two hotels. The first was very dirty, and the second had a very uncertain restaurant schedule—with the only other food in town roadside fare. So we drove on another 40 minutes to Pashupatinagar, another town right on the Indian border, very close to Darjeeling. The hotel there was a hundred yards or less from India. None of the hotels had western toilets, but this one had an adequate though smoky and uncomfortable room, the unique experience of a squat toilet next to a broken window with moths, dragonflies, and other bugs coming in, an evidently reliable dining room, and friendly staff, so we went for it.

By then it was lunch time, so after dropping our luggage in the room and bidding goodbye to our driver, who had managed to find another fare while we were checking in, we went to lunch. It turns out the hotel is part of an Indian chain, and the food is more Indian than Nepali. It was a delicious meal of typical Indian vegetable dishes, rice, and paratha. The large family who was also dining sent their children over to the table to find out who we were, and we, or rather Claire, ended up having a long conversation with them. It turned out they had driven up from Damak as well. Like everyone else, they complimented Claire’s Nepali language skills, expressed delight that she was marrying a Nepali, asked what tribe and family he was from, and asked how I liked Nepal: “Ho, malaai Nepal manparchha” (new expression of the day: I like Nepal. I haven’t learned “very much” yet).

By then it was raining, but we set out anyway with umbrellas to do a little exploring. First up to the border, a very sleepy place with not one official in sight. Then down into town, also very sleepy with most businesses closed. We stopped in a couple of shops, and then went to a tea house: two tables, two women, all open to the street. The most delicious masala tea, with milk, cloves and cardemom (which also grows here), not too much sugar, and another conversation. They told us that there were several different population groups represented here, each with their own language. They said the reason it was so quiet was that most of the town’s business is from Darjeeling, and today there was a strike going on there, so few people were coming to town. The tea was 16 Nepali rupees, but we didn’t catch why they specified “Nepali” till we were buying something in the next store. If we had had Indian rupees the store keeper (who came out to see us along with his wife and two daughters) could have made change, but he didn’t have Nepali rupees. That’s how Indian this town is.

Saturday night we stayed in the dining room, intermittently watching the World Cup with the hotel staff. Intermittently because the electricity comes and goes. It was still rainy and rather cold, a sleepy Saturday evening.

More Birds

We are back in Kathmandu with internet access now. I will post more bird pictures from Damak here, taken the night before we left Damak for Ilam.

Bird Forest

Last night I went to meet Claire after her teaching was finished. On the way I found a footpath through the jungle right in the middle of town, next to the busiest intersection. I was attracted into it by the sheer green and quiet, but then discovered that it was filled with birds, these white birds that look like egrets that we had been seeing high in the sky in Kathmandu. Here they were roosting in the trees, flying in and out of them, making quite a racket. As I was taking pictures of the birds a group of children began gathering who I am sure were wondering why I was aiming the camera into the trees when I could be taking pictures of them. So they too posed for a few pictures.

After the woods we went on to the downtown area and went from shop to shop. We visited several shoe stores. Claire is a pickier shopper than I am, so I got a pair of shoes, two curtas (they need to be sewn, but they sell the fabric for the tunic and pants together, along with the matching scarf), and bangles and tikkas (the forehead jewelry) for the wedding. She got nothing but a lot of nice conversations with shop keepers who were very taken with her Nepali language skills. We rode home in the dark in a bicycle rickshaw. The economy here is so different—about a ten-minute ride, human powered, for sixty cents. We overpaid because it felt so strange. We are stimulating the economy more here than we do at home.

We have a young guy here who likes to check on me about every hour or two while Claire is gone. “What do you need? Are you hungry? Would you like Coke, Fanta? Is the AC working okay? What can I bring you?” I had just come up from breakfast, but he just now came anyway to see if I was hungry. All the teenagers who are here for their workshop are in their last day. The first evening they mobbed Claire and took us on a walk around town. Now they have calmed down and merely stopped by our table to “namaste” us and exchange pleasantries. They are so sweet. Tomorrow we plan to leave for Ilan in the tea country close to Darjeeling, India. We don’t know where we are staying so it will be an adventure, probably not one with internet, but with plenty of pictures to share when we return to Kathmandu.