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Tapestry of a Traveler
Tapestry of a Traveler
Tapestry of a Traveler
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Tapestry of a Traveler

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Many authors of travel memoirs become introspective. Ingrid has given more than her personal experiences. She has a vision of the land, culture, people, history as well as the natural history of the places she travelled. The book includes a serious accident in a national park in Nepal; a wedding in Rajasthan, India; invitations into homes in Egypt and Morocco; unique indigenous groups in South and Southeast Asia; spectacular Southwest China; adventures in the Himalayas of Pakistan; pristine islands in Thailand; the largest religious temple of Ankor Wat in Cambodia; outstanding scenery in Vietnam; impassable waterfalls in the Mekong River in South Laos; amazing golden stupas of Myanmar; various cultural influences of Malaysia; Crusader castle and ancient Roman city of Palmira in Syria; Petra in Jordan; colonial cities and antiquities of Mexico; the Maya culture of Central America.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherIngrid Wild
Release dateOct 8, 2013
ISBN9781301225620
Tapestry of a Traveler
Author

Ingrid Wild

I believe that experience is still the best teacher. A college education in any subject does not make us an expert. Education gives us knowledge but not practical experience. There is no substitute for first-hand experience.I successfully raised my children and 70% single-handedly. My book primarily addresses the parent, although it has many examples of what works with children.Much in our world is out-of-balance. To regain that balance we must become conscious of our thinking and our actions. We also must first heal ourselves in order to save and heal our earth. This in turn allows us to bring up balanced, conscious, and responsible children.

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    Tapestry of a Traveler - Ingrid Wild

    Introduction

    The most exciting and fascinating life I can imagine, is a life of independent travel to exotic international destinations. Travel can be mind boggling and exhilarating. It broadens one’s horizon, and makes one a more interesting person to talk with.

    Stepping onto unknown territory makes one more courageous and fearless. One becomes more alive and alert. And, hopefully it makes one more understanding and tolerant of other’s beliefs and cultures, and because of it our planet, as well as ourselves, will benefit from a peaceful world.

    I have to warn you that travel can be addicting, but it is a healthy addiction to treasure.

    My favorite continent is Asia. One of my passions is far-out indigenous markets, usually located in mountains where life has changed little in hundreds of years. The ethnic groups living there with their colorful costumes, hand-embroidered garments, outrageous hairdos and plentiful ornaments are enchanting. These tribes are still in great abundance in South and Southeast Asia. For example, in the state of Yunnan in Southwest China there are 26 indigenous groups. These tribes don’t know any borders; they reach into Thailand, Laos, Myanmar, and Vietnam.

    Not only for this reason is that part of the world bewitching, it has also ancient history, the most variety in religions, temples, palaces, and forts; and a multitude of European influences. This part of Asia has the highest mountains, stunning landscapes, and the most pristine beaches with the whitest sands on this planet where one can take a much-needed rest in between extensive travel. Islands, wonderfully serene, can be found with spectacular and unusual limestone formations.

    My most cherished country is Myanmar, the former Burma. The Burmese call their country the Golden Land, and so it is. Everyone I know that has visited Myanmar falls in love with this country. It just feels good to be there, probably because it has always been a very spiritual land. The architecture is so intricate and unusual, different from any other country. My second favorite country is China, especially Southwest China. I also enjoy and admire the many, varied incredible sites in India. Malaysia is a highly interesting country with its different religions and variable Asian and European influences. Morocco I like for its great assortment of geographical features.

    Without a doubt, the most hospitable people are the Muslims. As a single woman I have been invited many times to people’s homes for dinner or breakfast. Hindus are also very kind and accommodating. The most helpful are the Chinese and the Indians. They walk up to me to inquire if I need help, they don’t mind spending half an hour to help a stranger, and foreigner at that. Their help comes from the heart without any strings attached.

    So far, I have traveled to over 50 countries, about half of them after the age of 60. Starting at that time, I traveled for long periods, usually six months at a time. It was always my wish to travel without any time constraints, and one day at a time. The only way to truly get acquainted with a place and get a real feeling of it is to travel slowly. This gives me a chance to interact with the locals. The unforgettable encounters I have had with the locals will stay with me forever. These incidents are true treasures to take home; they are more memorable and precious than souvenirs.

    I have traveled in ways you could never imagine. I have slept out in the open on a trip with friends to New Mexico. I have camped in a tent, and I have spent many weekends in the mountains of Arizona and the Southwest and West of the USA in a camper. I wholeheartedly enjoyed those days of hiking in spectacular scenery. I have been on cruises to Greece, Southeast Asia, and twice to the Caribbean Islands, as well as in 5-star hotels. But my most treasured way to travel is independently, staying in small family-owned hotels, called guesthouses in Asia.

    For various reasons I prefer this type of travel. When one travels for long periods it is much less costly. One will save thousands of dollars. Reasonable lodging is also safer. Terrorists don’t target these small hotels. After all, that wouldn’t make big news. There is much camaraderie in these hotels amongst budget travelers. One can find people to share meals, taxis or accommodations if one happens to like someone enough. Exciting travel stories are exchanged, as well as tips on what not to miss in the area. In an up-scale hotel one finds mostly couples and tour groups and they don’t have time to communicate with a solo traveler, because they are always on a schedule. These large hotels are expensive and not much fun to stay in for a single independent traveler.

    Nepal    »

    I flew from Los Angeles to Bangkok, Thailand. The first thing I did after my arrival was apply for a visa to Nepal. Next, I booked a flight to Kathmandu. While waiting for the visa I relaxed, and made sure I got sufficient sleep to get over my jet lag. I enjoyed some tasty Thai food, and walked in the cooler hours of the morning.

    Arriving at the Kathmandu Airport, I met a woman named Diny. We, and a Japanese couple, shared a taxi ride to the hotel, located on a quiet side street in the old quarter of Kathmandu. Diny and I decided to share a room for US$8 per night that included telephone and cable television.

    After some conversations we realized that we both have a passion for hiking and nature. Hiking the Annapurna Circuit, a 375-km trail in the imposing, magnificent Himalayan Mountains was a dream of mine for at least five years. But as it turned out, it was not to be.

    We decided on hiking the Annapurna trail together and sharing a porter/guide. The total cost for the porter/guide came to US$6 each per day. But before this month-long adventure, Diny followed her other passion. She went on a nine-day rafting trip in eastern Nepal.

    After a restful night I had a delicious breakfast on the terrace. While I was waiting for my meal the cleaning lady was sweeping and washing floors dressed in a beautiful burgundy salvar kameez, which consisted of loose cuffed trousers and a below the knee matching tunic with slits on the sides up to the waist. She wore gold filigree earrings, a gold stud on the left side of her nose, and a golden neck chain. Hindu women always wear their wealth, even when working in the fields.

    I visited the historical Thamel area of Kathmandu, which is one of the seven World Heritage Sites in this area. After absorbing some of the sights I had a delightful, vegetarian curry lunch at the lovely courtyard of the Kathmandu Guesthouse where I met a woman, named Maggy, from New Zealand. We spent several days sight-seeing together.

    We had to see Freak Street, a former hippie hangout, where I was asked if I wanted to buy some marijuana. Hippies freaked out on this street in the 1960s and 1970s en route from England to Australia. At that time one could buy marijuana in restaurants. Locals did not abuse these substances. Only Sadhus, holy men, used them for religious purposes.

    In the evening we went to the historical Durbar Square. The buildings were constructed of red brick, with intricately carved wooden dark brown window frames and doors. The windows had lattice screens from which one could see out, but not look in. We listened to chanting monks at a Buddhist temple. Then, we finished the evening with a cup of hot chocolate and banana fritters with honey.

    One day we explored the suburb of Patan, and admired the superb architecture and art of the Newari culture that reached its peak in the 17th century. Patan was better preserved than Thamel in Kathmandu. We treated ourselves to a good meal in the most expensive restaurant, Layeku Kitchen at the Mangai Bazaar, where the waiters were dressed in traditional costumes. The restaurant was located on the second level from which we could look down over the historical square and observe life, and take great photos. Last we visited the Golden Temple. A pizza restaurant with décor and painted walls that had the feel and look of a Mexican restaurant completed the day.

    On another day we went native by taking a van with the locals for 8 cents to the Tibetan Temple Boudhanath, which was a distance away from Kathmandu. This temple lies on an ancient trading route that Tibetans used for eons to reach Kathmandu. The temple dates back to the 6th century. The houses around the temple area were built in the 16th and 17th century. All were very well preserved. It was a pleasant place to stroll around without the noise and fumes of cars. We did some shopping. I bought a red wrap-skirt with mirrors, then had it washed and pressed for 25 cents. In a restaurant we ordered a few spring rolls and a most delicious banana lassi, a drink made of liquid yogurt from buffalo milk. With our bill we received a plateful of anise seeds and toothpicks to freshen up our mouths. It worked!

    From here we took a taxi to the Hindu Temple Pashupati for 84 cents. The temple is revered and worshipped by Hindus and Buddhists, and is one of the holiest Hindu temples in the world. It has set a shining example of religious harmony. Lord Pashupati and Lord Buddha were teaching the same values of love, humanity, and universal peace. Every Sadhu hopes to make it to Pashupati in his lifetime. The area spreads over 264 hectares along the holy Bagmati River. Some Hindus were bathing in the filthy river. We witnessed several cremations. Before cremation the corpse is wrapped in white cloth. White is the color of mourning. A final dunking in the river finalizes the ritual.

    The following day the Swayambhunath Stupa was on our list. To reach this sacred place we had to climb hundreds of stairs. Men were sitting on the steps embroidering cloth pictures with a punch needle. Monkeys were jumping onto walls and trees, picking each other’s fleas, and munching on temple offerings. The temple ground consisted of a large Buddhist stupa with Hindu temples surrounding it. Both religions and temples have existed in harmony for eons. This is an excellent and perfect example for other religions that still cannot accept each other’s differences. The dome-shaped Buddhist shrine with its colorful prayer flags made a beautiful photo. The flags are attached to lines that were fastened at the center of the top of the stupa. The prayers on the fluttering flags are sent off to spirits.

    While Diny was still on her rafting trip I went with Jhalak, our hired guide, on a five-day hike to the Shivapuri National Park northeast of Kathmandu. We set out one October morning, taking a taxi to the bus park. I always enjoy going native to see how the local populace interacts. This gives me an insight into the soul of a country. And the cost is next to nothing. In this case it was 20 cents for a one-and-a-half-hour bus ride.

    The trek started at the end of the bus line in the town of Sundarijal. We climbed continuously up a jungle mountain over cemented stairs for one and a half hours next to a raging river past waterfalls. Each waterfall was a totally different creation. Finally we arrived at our lunch spot, the Mulkharka Restaurant.

    We ate on the patio and enjoyed the scenic view over Kathmandu Valley. Two very good meals, two freshly squeezed lemonades and one liter of mineral water came to less than US$3. As soon as we finished eating, a storm passed through. It started out with huge scattered raindrops and ended with several heavy downpours. The rainy season was not over yet. The only thing to do was wait it out, watch several unperturbed buffaloes grazing in the pouring rain and taking notes in my journal.

    All trails in the jungle and Himalayan Mountains are the highways of the ethnic tribes living there. They have used them for hundreds of years and perhaps much longer as trade routes. Anything brought in, like furniture or refrigerators must be carried in on the backs of porters.

    A young, very sick woman was carried down the mountain on a young man’s backside to get her to the village doctor. A board was attached to two ropes and a wide band in the center of the ropes held the whole assembly to the man’s forehead. Her legs straddled the carrier’s hips. Seeing these kinds of things in action in countries like Nepal makes me a humble human being.

    Children were playing outside and following us, always curious about foreigners. They were as interested in me as I was in them. Some of the children looked unhealthy. One girl had a large bald spot on her head. A boy had huge enlarged testicles. He was not wearing any pants, perhaps because of the discomfort this situation caused. Many children had runny noses, sinus or lung infections. I suspect in this humid climate, lung and bronchial problems are common. There are special hospitals in Nepal that strictly concentrate on diseases of the lungs.

    Many households owned a buffalo. The domesticated Asian buffalo is squat, has short gray hair and horns. It has no resemblance to the North American buffalo. These animals are used on farms and for hauling. Ghee (liquid butter), and a liquid yogurt are made from buffalo milk. Cows are holy in the Hindu World, and not to be consumed.

    Corn and long red chili peppers were drying underneath rooflines. These were rations for winter as one must be self-sufficient. There was no grocery store close by.

    Little will ever change in these steep, mountainous, agricultural regions because most fields are too small to use animals or machinery.

    In the lower river valleys, rice is grown in terraced fields. At higher altitudes corn, millet and marijuana are cultivated, and higher yet, beans, carrots, cabbage, and other vegetables were flourishing. In the dry season potatoes are grown. They are a fairly new arrival in Nepal and they were introduced in Nepal after the hippies had arrived.

    As the trail narrowed towards the top of the jungle mountain ridge, I took a closer look at the plant life. Trees were covered with mosses, a small variety of fern, and orchids. Lavender penstemon speckled the ground. The showiest flower was a vivid pink primrose growing underneath the jungle canopy. On top of the jungle mountains, in some forest clearings, were carpets of purple penstemon showing off their beauty. They were a feast for my artist eyes.

    After lunch we had hiked two hours up and one hour down. In all we have ascended 1,000 m, of that at least 2,000 stairs, a total of 12 km. It was a healthy ‘A Hike’ in moist air. The humidity exhausted me. It was hard to breathe with the heavy, humid air filling my lungs. Having lived the last 24 years of my 62 years in the desert where the air is dry, and going uphill is much easier.

    We arrived at the Annapurna Hotel at 5 PM on top of the jungle mountain rim with a panoramic view of the Himalayas. There were two other hotels to choose from. Only one other had guests, a German group. I decided on the quieter hotel with lots of rooms to choose from. I settled into a bright corner room, from where Jhalak said, I could get a glimpse of Mount Everest from my window in the morning. Sorry, no such luck, it had rained heavily for most of the night. The valley was fogged in at sunrise and Mt. Everest was covered with clouds.

    Two rooms cost US$2.78. The hotel had wind-powered electricity. No wind meant no lights and no hot water.

    We had a candlelight dinner and chatted with a Frenchman, the only other guest, who was quoted a price of US$380 for a two-day jungle hike from an up-scale Kathmandu Hotel. Luckily for him, he was not that gullible to pay such an outrageous price. Instead he took a taxi to the trailhead for US$5 and did the hike on his own for about the cost of no more then US$20, including everything. He was working for the Railroad in Bangladesh and had a good sense of what things should cost in this part of the world.

    After a hearty breakfast, I did not feel satisfied. Jhalak mentioned that lunch would be mediocre, noodle soup or the like. We had a 31-km hike ahead of us, on fairly level ground, except for the last hour. That information prompted me to order a second breakfast. And I also had spent all my energy the day before climbing innumerable stairs. In hindsight a second breakfast was necessary in any case.

    We set out at 8:50 AM. By this time the valley had cleared up and some villages below and Himalayan Ranges were visible, but Mount Everest was still obscured.

    Trekking along, the only humans crossing our path were men carrying huge milk cans in baskets on their backs, held with a broad band to the forehead, heading to a cheese factory. Some were barefooted on this slippery rocky road, at best they wore rubber thongs, but they were as surefooted as mountain goats. These men were short and slender. Their loads must have equaled their body weight.

    Jhalak suggested a shortcut at one point up a steep sandy embankment. I declined because it looked treacherous. At a later time, he said again, Let’s take a short cut. I turned around to take a look, and to my amazement slipped and fell. I had no sense or feeling of falling. Getting up and looking at my aching swollen right hand I had the shock of my life. Because of several fractures, a broken wrist and fractured forearm, and a crushed knuckle, my hand was pointing in a different direction than normal. Things looked very distorted and scary. The lucky thing was that I carried a long cotton scarf with which Jhalak made a sling to keep the hand and arm immobile. This allowed me to rest the damaged wrist and hand on my shoulder and above the heart. It also helped keep the swelling down as much as possible. I knew I was in dire need of an operation, not something I cherish, but I was far from any medical help. I took several aspirins, the only medicine I carried for swelling and pain. The most fortunate thing was that the fractured forearm did not cut the main artery; otherwise I would have been dead on the spot. I suppose it wasn’t my time to go.

    We changed our itinerary. We walked downhill for eight miles to the historical town of Sankuh. Along the way we stopped in a village to see a nurse, but he said, I won’t touch it as the injuries are too serious. The hike down through terraced fields, where women dressed in brightly colored saris cut dried rice stalks, was a tranquil sight indeed. I regretted not being able to take many photos. The slightest movement of any finger caused excruciating pain.

    We hoped to catch a taxi in Sankuh, sorry, no such luck. We arrived in Sankuh at 3 PM. The bus left at 3:30 PM. A one-and-a-half-hour bumpy bus ride brought us into Patan, a suburb of Kathmandu, from where we took a 30-minute taxi ride. The accident had happened at 10:30 AM. We checked into the emergency room of the best hospital for broken bones in Nepal, the B&B Hospital at 5:30 PM.

    In retrospect it was a blessing to have eaten two breakfasts, and no lunch. Because of my empty stomach the doctors could operate at 7 PM, although they were concerned about the four aspirins and the water I had taken. But not drinking any water or taking aspirins would have put a lot more stress on my body. In fact, I would not have been able to walk an eight mile distance without any water. Jhalak did, he was used to it. He never drank a drop between meals.

    The emergency physician told me that they never had a combination of fractures like mine. That statement brought no comfort to my mind. Since this was a new case, five doctors sat down and consulted. What was the best way to tackle the problem? I am not a big fan of using any kind of medication and refused a pain shot before taking x-rays, but the nurse convinced me to decide otherwise. She said they had to straighten my hand and I would not be able to tolerate the pain. So I succumbed to a pain shot, and still, I was whimpering on the x-ray table. Then I received a total physical, like ECG, chest x-ray and they checked my blood sugar, etc. My blood pressure was 130/90.

    Because my forearm and hand would not get the pleasure of soap and water for six weeks, besides I felt dirty and sticky, I insisted that a nurse give me a shower before the operation.

    Lying on the operating table I decided not to worry, and leave it up to a higher power to watch over the doctors and me.

    The physicians elected to do an operation without cutting. They pulled the long broken bone of the forearm that is connected to the thumb and elbow back into place and watched the progress on an X-ray-machine. There were three pins for the crushed knuckle and a heavy cast that kept all the bones in place. Gaining consciousness after the one-and-a-half-hour operation, I was wheeled back to my private room with bath. The doctors insisted that Jhalak sleep on the bench in my room.

    Next morning my blood pressure was 120/80, a bit on the high side for me, but fine. The big chief came to see me; made sure I could straighten all my fingers, and then released me.

    The total bill came originally to 31,400 Rupees, but in the end I paid only 25,000 Rupees, or US$344, with the help of the Trekking Manager, Dholak. This price included the emergency room, doctors, medicine, x-rays, one-and-a-half-hour operation, and a private room. Dholak claimed they were overcharging, and I needed to bargain with them. Dholak mentioned that I still paid about five times the amount that a Nepali would be charged. After all, 5,000 Rupees are for them what US$5,000 are for us. Daily average income was 150 Rupees, or US$2.

    Three days later I returned to see the doctor who wanted me to come again in a week. Why? I wanted to go to Pokhara, where life is a lot more serene than in Kathmandu. He said, We would like you to stay close to the hospital, but we can’t stop you from leaving. He advised me, in case of any problems like pain or fever, to see a doctor immediately. I called his attention to a burning sensation in my little finger. It was nerve damage, which healed in two months time. I wanted to know why my elbow was black and blue. The doctor said, It was from pulling the long bone in my arm back into place.

    After reporting the accident to my family and friends, one of my friends asked, Are you going home now? No way! I could not even cut an onion; hence it was necessary to eat out every day. I could do that more pleasantly at the many quiet outdoor lakeside restaurants in Pokhara with majestic Himalayan mountain scenery and tropical flowers abound.

    One week after the accident, Diny, Jhalak and I rode by bus to Pokhara. A few young men from our hotel helped with the luggage to a nearby bus stand.

    What a glorious day it was with a clear bright blue sky. Riding the winding, jungle mountain road below a wild turbulent river, we were treated to periodic sightings of the magnificent snow covered Himalayan Ranges.

    The Blue Horizon Hotel in Kathmandu called, ahead of our arrival, the Pleasant Home Guesthouse in Pokhara. The manager of the hotel gave us a free taxi ride to my home for the following six weeks. Staying long-term I received a better rate. The spacious room and bath cost a bit over US$2. My room had a spectacular view of the Annapurna Mountains that I wanted to circumvent.

    A few days later I watched sadly as Diny and Jhalak geared up for the month long trek around the Annapurna Circuit without me.

    My extended stay in Pokhara turned into many pleasant unforgettable experiences. The broken arm turned into a conversation piece. Everywhere I was invited for tea and a chat, and not only that, I was part of the community and included in all the festivities. Pokhara turned out to be a welcoming pleasant temporary home.

    A young tour guide, named Ram, invited me to his village home in Maula in Koskikot for the most important holiday in Nepal, Dashein. Ram’s family was very accommodating. I was given my own room. I was the only tourist and non-Hindu amongst hundreds of villagers. Lots of children gathered around me wherever I was. Perhaps I was the first foreigner they had ever seen?

    Dashein is the most celebrated feast of the year, very much like Christmas in the West. Nepalese spend their entire year’s savings on a goat, the traditional meal. They have new clothes tailored, and they buy gifts for family and friends. The extended family is invited for a grand meal.

    The goats are bought at special markets and brought home on a leash, or transported on top of the car or bus, or pulled alongside a bicycle. Many goats were fighting for freedom; they must have sensed their destiny.

    A goat can cost around US$40-$60, which is a big drain on the family budget. The leftover meat, that cannot be consumed during the holidays will be dried on a line, therefore, preserved and eaten at some later time.

    While visiting Ram’s family in Maula, I observed many customs, rituals and taboos of Hindu Life.

    There was no need for an alarm clock in rural Nepal. At 5 AM the village caller woke the peasants by sounding a huge mountain horn. But some of the workers were busy tending the fields by 4:30 AM, long before the sun rose over the mountains and lit up the farmland. Early up, early to bed! Right after dinner at 7 PM the family settled down for the night.

    The landowners, called Brahmans, are the upper class. The Brahmans reap 50% of the harvested crops; the remaining 50% are shared between the peasants who work the fields.

    All villagers owned their own homes. Many of the houses were painted gold or whitewashed. The floors and a two foot base were painted with a burnt orange color. Most roofs were fabricated of corrugated aluminum instead of the conventional thatched roofs. Baby cribs were large deep woven baskets with ropes hanging from rafters indoors or outdoors under covered verandahs.

    Almost all kitchen utensils, plates and cups were made of stainless steel, a very durable, unbreakable, and most sanitary material. These stood on shelves attached to walls.

    Some people used bottled gas for cooking, but I was told the food tastes better when cooked on a wood fire.

    The mainstay of the diet consists of lentils and rice (dhal-bhat) and spinach. At certain times of the year other vegetables are consumed as well. Breakfast included eggs, noodle soup, unleavened bread and ghee.

    In Hindu households guests and elders are served first, then men. Always women eat last and separately.

    While I was visiting Ram’s family neither of the two women, his mother and wife was allowed in the kitchen. Both were menstruating and considered unclean. What a great custom, giving women at least a break from one of their many daily chores. Before re-entering the kitchen they wore freshly laundered clothes. Ram’s younger brother was assigned the kitchen duties for the time being.

    Ram’s mother came home at dusk from the rice field with a huge basket of food for the buffalo. Her day’s work was still not finished. On the terrace she did a sort of millet dance, with bare feet in a twisting motion extracting the tiny seeds from the millet heads. Millet flour is used for baking cakes and breads, and also for pudding. Each family makes its own light alcohol from millet, called Rocksy.

    Young married men never leave home in traditional Hindu families. Brides move in with in-laws.

    Ram’s wife did all the cooking, hand laundry, cleaning, and hauling water in stainless steel jugs from the community fountain for the family of five, besides nursing their 18-months old son. Time permitting; she also worked in the fields.

    Women do almost all of the hard labor. This is true in many Asian countries and the reason why women’s life expectancy is lower than that for men. Men seem to find ample time to chitchat, play games or read the newspaper, while women are occupied with physical labor from dawn to dusk.

    The only duty I saw Ram’s father do, was milking the buffalo in the morning and in the evening, a job he could do while sitting. What he did best was entertaining his grandson. It was no bother for him to get up three times in one night and sing to his grandson when he was crying. At the age of 45 he looked splendid, in contrast to his 43-year-old wife, who appeared older than her years. She also worked at least ten times as hard as he did.

    Traditional men, usually the middle-aged or older men, wear a light-colored tunic with a Mandarin collar. Their heads are topped with a hat that resembles an upside-down boat. The cap is white with pastel colored geometric designs.

    Women, more so than men, wear traditional garb. Saris come in brilliant colors, currently in red, considered a happy and lucky color. For that reason brides in many Asian countries wear red. Hindu brides receive gold adornments as wedding gifts from their families. At least this would be an ornate filigree gold stud or nose ring worn on the left side of the nose, at times another gold ornament for the forehead. Ears were often totally covered with hoops, gold neck chains with pendants, finger and toe rings. Arms show many bangles of glass or gold and heavy silver anklets. The amount of jewelry a woman wears depends on the wealth of the family. But all the jewelry one owns is to be worn every day for every task.

    All married women have a tika or red dot on the forehead, but men use them too when going to the temple. Sisters adorn their brothers with tikas on Diwali as well, the Festival of Lights, representing a symbol of good luck and prosperity.

    Diwali lasts seven days, each day is devoted to a different ritual or meaning. Before electricity, oil lamps were used on the perimeter of the flat roofs, entrances, and the surrounding property of the house. Nowadays, electric Christmas lights are used and strands of fresh yellow, gold or orange marigolds, and/or silver or gold artificial garlands around windows and doors.

    Children went from house to house to sing and dance, a few with tape recorder in tow. Some girls were putting on a great show with many expressive hand movements while dancing in unison.

    Every family puts up a temple or shrine in their home. To enter, one must remove shoes. Every person entering makes an offering of flowers, food, or sweets.

    Children honor their mothers by touching their mother’s feet and then their own forehead. The head is the highest part physically and spiritually, and the feet the lowest part of the body.

    Sons hand-feed their mothers, which is a rather unique custom, showing great respect. I became a substitute mother for a 27-year-old Indian man from Rajasthan, named Anand, who had never been away from home on Diwali. He felt that the holiday was empty without showing his mother the respect she deserved. I stayed in contact with Anand and I went to his wedding in Rhajastan on my third visit to India. I cover the wedding in my next chapter on India.

    Diwali also marks the beginning of the business year. One puts a swastika, an ancient Asian symbol, in the front of the business ledger for a prosperous year.

    On the last day of Diwali, the most important day, all businesses were shut down, except the ones owned by Tibetan Refugees.

    • • •

    Tibetans are Buddhists. Many have fled to Nepal since 1959 after the Chinese Uprising in their country. Four Tibetan Refugee Camps around Pokhara housed the population.

    A young Tibetan man who gave me a free ride and tour of one of the camps invited me for a cup of complimentary Tibetan tea at his family’s home. My palate did not savor the taste of the Tibetan tea with rich yak milk and salt added.

    The Tibetans are totally self-sufficient. They take care of their older family members in one building, who seemed very content and happy. Young, orphaned boys join the beautiful on ground monastery to become Buddhist monks. They usually remain in the monastery for life. Monks often become teachers in schools.

    Donations from tour groups and a large carpet factory help support the community. The carpets, woven from yak wool, are sold worldwide. Many Tibetan women had worked in the carpet factory before becoming independent, now selling artifacts and jewelry to tourists on streets, and then later opening their own store.

    • • •

    Anand, my new Indian friend, which I call my adopted son, took me to the Indian Hospital in Pokhara when it was time to remove the pins and cast from my arm. He said, It is my duty to take my mother to the doctor.

    The Indian Hospital lobby in Pokhara was impressive and looked like a 5-star resort with historical architecture. The admission charge was 60 cents, plus X-rays and stretch bandage. There were no other charges. While waiting for the development of the X-rays, we ate lunch in the cafeteria. The big moment came, which was the good news that everything had healed fine. Thanks to the knowledge and care of the fine doctors and my body’s ability to mend well. But gosh, my arm and hand did not look like my own. The hand was still swollen, the arm undernourished, my skin looked and felt like chicken skin. Two days later I was allowed to remove the bandage, finally wash all the layers of old skin off, and baby my hand with much love and Vaseline. The doctor advised me not to lift anything heavy for two more weeks. Lots of white light or love, and my own therapy over the next six months have brought it back to a normal state. I still had morning stiffness when I made a fist and intermittent pain at the knuckle that had been crushed to pieces. As I am writing this book I have had no pain or problems whatsoever with my arm or wrist for years. While reading my book I still get teary-eyed about the accident. I am so happy that everything turned out well, as if it never had happened.

    My visa was running out in early December, five days after the removal of the cast. The last day in Pokhara was an ugly one weather-wise. A storm dropped two inches of hail, and brought heavy rains. Needless to say, the temperature dropped considerably too. This helped make my good-byes and departure easier.

    Anil, the manager of the guesthouse, with his wife and visiting relatives from Hong Kong, cooked a complementary farewell dinner. They insisted that I try the national drink, the Rocksy, and promised it is all natural and chemical free. The alcohol did agree with me, I suffered no stuffy nose or headache.

    • • •

    The bus ride south through the jungle mountains and the Terrai, the dry mountains to the Indian Border, was absolutely stunning and picturesque with vertical gorges, racing rivers, terraced terrain and villages clinging to hill sides. For the duration of four hours I could see the snow covered Himalayas in the rearview mirror, my last flashes of those spectacular pinnacles.

    • • •

    To keep myself entertained while waiting for my food preparation in restaurants I took notes of the funny spellings on menus. After my accident I had to take these notes with my left hand. Not easy! My computer complained about all these bizarre spellings, but you will get the idea.

    Water Milan Juice, Exelent chesse Tosty, Veg. Minstron Soup, Sandwitch, Sand Wich, Wuldorf Salad, Muschroom, Cutlate, Penapple Pancake, Greild chicken, Fooding and Lodging, Mashroom Soup, Spinich Soup, Spanich.

    Corn Flex, Chineese veg. Choinmien, colslow, spaggettu, Egg scrumbled, Tost, Millate (Millett), macroni-spaggetti, French Frices or Finger Chips (the British term).

    We stich clothes on your choice, two peaces of tost, German Beckery (Bakery), filtear coffee, musterd, spegetti, shampoo with condisner,

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