Tales of the Obnoxious Tourist

DO enunciate and speak clearly when communicating with someone who has difficulty understanding your native langue.

DON'T speak in caveman talk to someone who clearly speaks articulate English.

For example(from an actual conversation):

Local: That's a very amusing idea you have, installing beds instead of chairs in the back of my little movie theater here. But somehow I doubt the novelty of it would attract very many customers. The installation would probably cost more than the extra revenue it would generate.

Obnoxious tourist: Yes, make beds in theater, no chairs. People happy, like beds very much, you make more money!

Local: Um... No, I don't think so... Very funny... [Just leave me alone, you ignorant, condescending fool!]

No hair square

...Featured here next to super pal and most excellent volunteer Jenny! She's left town some time ago, but her good works with the children of Charan live on. Many amazing folks have come and gone, it gets a bit quiet here as the monsoon rains pick up and the tourists, volunteers, and spiritual seekers return home. Soon it will be just me and the evil robot cow, face to face on the desolate streets beneath the pelting rain, two warriors engaged in an epic timeless battle between good and evil.

Have I told you about the evil robot cow? Technically he's a bull. He gives me the evil robotic eye when I pass by, and he whacked me in the leg with his razor horns.

Speaking of wacky animal hyjinks, I was attacked by three stupid yipping white Tibetan dogs. They gnawed up my ankles pretty good. Nasty little suckers! Watch out! They look cute, but at night, they become evil, just like the cow...

I'm not sure how much longer I will survive here. The animals are out to get me, and the scorpions come out soon. If I don't write again soon, send help.

Charan Episode IV: Imperialism and Nipples

Check out the Charan kids in this week's feature photo! After we took some photos of us looking organized and proper, I told them, "Everybody DANCE!!" just a half-second before the picture was taken. Hilarity ensues. I think little Sanjay (a.k.a. Yellow Monkey) is enjoying that nipple tweak a little bit too much!

Shankar, on the left, is our translator, Hindi instructor and co-disciplinarian. Lives in the Charan, no formal education, awesomely productive in every facet of Tong-Len's work. He distributes medicines, transports the ill and injured to the hospital, keeps the classroom from falling apart, etc, etc.

Class was cancelled today (hence I am sitting here writing my blog), the wind/rain/hail/cats/dogs storm last night knocked over a bunch of homes so they need to make some major home repairs (find new bamboo poles, tie down the tarp). Met with Runa, our new English teacher from Norway (where the sun shines for two glorious months), to sort out Tong-Len's very first curriculum for the next school year. 'Been researching local schools to see how things are run. Private schools are posh (they have desks), government schools are often dumpy (teachers arrive to class when they feel like it). I dare not blast the schools here too harshly, some real smarties come from India, but the country is still working on providing equal education for all castes/incomes. They have a ways to go, so does America.

Speaking of India: The term "Hindu" used to refer to anyone from this region of the world. Peoples of all religions and walks of life lived in harmonious diversity; nobody cared if you worshiped Vishnu or Allah. Then the British came along, divided the nation in two (Muslim and Hindu), then conquered. The reign of England has ended here, but the unfortunate results of colonialism live on in the conflict between Pakistan and India. Imperialism leaves a bloody footprint in its wake.

Monks talk fitness

Lobsang says, "If you eat enough, your body will be stone." Why is it important for a monk to have jacked muscles? "If you are not strong, you cannot meditate for a long time, you will get tired. You need energy if you want to help people." I'm always looking for an excuse to chow down on that extra bowl of pak (roasted barley with a touch of butter and sugar).

On the days the water is clean, Lobsang, Tenzin and I head to a nearby pool for a sunrise swim. The water comes directly from mountain streams (fed by melting glaciers and rainwater), down through stone lion heads into a Hindi temple swimming area. Brrr. Afterwards we kick around a hackysack for a half hour. Great way to start the day.

Rock jumping with Boon

Here are some pictures of me and my dad at Hickory Run State Park in PA. I have foggy memories of this day. We went back there with my cousins at least fifteen years later; when I watched him jumping from rock to rock I knew something seemed familiar.

I was rock hopping a few weeks ago on my way back from Charan; instead of taking the path I came up the river valley. It sure is fun. I wonder if I enjoy it so much because I did it so much as a kid.

My parents usually make me crazy after a few days, but I miss them anyway. They must be real saints, because they sure put up with a lot of crap from me. I was an intolerable teenager. I didn’t get much better in college. These days I’m finally starting to appreciate everything they’ve done for me. I sure “took my merry ass time,” as my mom used to say.

My father's nickname is “Boon.” These days he's patient, good natured and silly, but when my brothers and I were growing up he had a short temper. When he was really young I think he was a real trouble maker. There was one time when he threw some dirty socks into someone’s water well. I think he also pushed a piano (or a stove?) out of a third floor window. I hope he doesn’t mind me telling these stories. I appreciate that he’s open and honest about his imperfections. If he can live with his mistakes, I can learn to accept my own.

Anyway. When I was little he taught me to play chess and speak some French. I think a lot of my values about respecting nature and treating others with compassion must have came from him (and of course from my mom, too). Like my mom, he’s an amazing artist. I don’t remember them teaching me a lot about drawing per se, but my whole family went out of their way to foster my creativity. Most of my childhood was spent in old Civil War forts, castles, Dungeons and Dragons, Tolkein books, make shift rafts in the ocean, magic talismans, home made video games, and hand-painted lead figurines (I just made a grammatical error but you get the point). I think the lead figurines contributed to my mediocre memory and occassional autistic behavoir, but everything else was good for my development.

The point is, I think I turned out pretty okay, my family fostered in me some neat qualities (and some weaknesses too, to be fair, but that's part of being human, right?) and I’m thankful for that.

Charan Episode III: One-legged hop tag

After class another volunteer and I played a game of one-legged hop tag with my students. They were whispering something in Hindi to each other, I didn't catch on to what they were saying. One by one, each student seemed to fall on their butt before they could catch me. Finally, it dawned on me: They were letting us win! I told them, "Try! Try!" But one by one, each child feigned a fall to the ground until the other teacher and I were the only people left standing. Suddenly they all stood up, encircled us with their arms in the air, some of them hugging us, some of them giving us handshakes, all of them shouting, "Winner! Winner!"