Band of Brothers

Two weeks traveling with forty-five Theravada monks wasn’t at all what I expected it to be. My first exposure to the rules and regulations of Theravada was during a trip to Thailand, where it was drilled into my head not to touch them or even hand them anything. As a woman, in order to give something to a monk you set it down on a surface and they pick it up.

So you can only imagine my trepidation of traveling in a bus full of them! 

Turns out I needn’t have worried. Within days I was like an adopted sister and they wasted no time in messing with me. Especially the Burmese monks; every time I was attempting to get them on a bus, on a plane, into the temple, they would smirk and either not move or move in the opposite direction. 

I also had my preconceived notion that monks just hang out doing monk things all day completely squashed. While some monks do dedicate all of their time to studying the dhamma, more often they have other interests or causes they are engaged in. 

One Burmese monk is a social activist through the poems he writes! His poetry has been so controversial that it had never been published. But with the election of a new government this past November, one of his poems about the farming class and poverty in Burma is being published this spring.

Another monk dedicates his time to ensuring the children in his local community receive an education. He has set up schools in three different locations which teach over 350 kids! He has also found a donor to give free eye exams and surgeries once a year in his remote village.

Forms of exercise purely for the sake of exercise are strictly forbidden - which is crazy given the rate of diabetes among monks - and is actually punishable by the government in Burma. Working around the monastery - no problem; go for a jog, lift weights, play volleyball or football - problem. Thankfully common sense reigns and most of the monks under 40 that I spoke to are avid footballers (soccer, that is) and a few have a weakness for volleyball. Come to think of it, I forgot to ask what they wear when they partake in sport. Can't imagine playing volley in robes!

U Zawana teaching me the Abhidhamma

The best part about all this monk time was the ability to ask burning questions about the dhamma. U Zawana became a personal favorite after one of his dhamma talks where he assured the crowd that the Buddha's teachings are really very simple. Do good things. Don't do bad things. 

Of course doing bad things also refers to thoughts, not just actions. I was sharing with U Zawana that, generally speaking, refraining from harmful actions isn't a problem, but stemming the flow of negative thoughts is a real challenge. "Oh Shantel, you clearly have a mental condition that is beyond the scope of Buddhism. I suggest you seek professional help in the form of a psychiatrist," he quipped completely deadpan as he patted my head. Love you too, U Zawana! 

Oy Vey, My Head

Today was one of those life-in-a-developing-country-recovering-from-disasters-head-exploding sort of days. The kind of day where I spent hours winnowing the wheat from the chaff and am still unsure which pile to keep.

It all started off well enough. I had a great conversation with the director of Shechen clinic about the challenges of managing donor expectations and beneficiary realities. He had story after story of well-meaning donors wanting to give - but with strings. Wanting to give what they felt was needed without taking the time to learn what was really best for the beneficiary of their supposed generosity. Wanting to “turn Kathmandu into New York” without any consideration for what Kathmandu would like. 

My second meeting left me feeling like an enabler. I had read before jumping on a plane that the Nepalese government had yet to distribute one lousy rupee of the USD $4.4 billion in aid they have received from various aid organizations, governments, et al. Chatting over tea with a Bangladeshi-born Princeton graduate and Nepali resident I learned that I am potentially just a cog in the wheel of the larger problem. (Well, not me exactly - but NGOs as it were.) You see, the more NGOs step in and raise money and fix Nepal, the less likely it becomes that $4.4 billion will ever be used for rebuilding. The various political parties can go on for ages not agreeing on a reconstruction plan and that aid money will go the way of Ecuador’s fund to prevent oil drilling in the Amazon. Slight of hand, wave of wand and money is gone. 

The day rounded out with a discussion about a post-earthquake camp of residents from a certain mountain village. A camp I visited my first day in Nepal. Turns out the “representative” from the village who filled me in on events has a house in Kathmandu and has never actually lived in the village. He claims the villagers are unable to return home and they need to make a life in KTM for at least a year. Yet the new information I received today is that rebuilding of the village has begun and the people from this camp want to go home now.  Given that my source for this information is the head of a large, reputable organization that supports communities in creating cooperatives to become self-sufficient, I’m sort of inclined to believe the original story was the chaff. 

By four o’clock I was having flashbacks to a night in college where I was literally banging my head on a frozen Minnesota sidewalk alongside my roommate’s boyfriend as we chanted, “What am I doing here?” (Note: that night involved the consumption of what was clearly more than the recommended dosage of Two Fingers - the beverage, not the band.) I was sent to Nepal to get the story on projects that had already been agreed to. Projects I thought had been vetted. Now I’m seriously questioning, what am I doing here? 

Monk on a Bike

If ever you find yourself being picked up at the Kathmandu airport by a monk on a motorcycle, I strongly encourage you to just roll with it. Especially if the monk in question has a seriously mischievous twinkle in his eye. You just know it's going to be a crazy ride!

Two months of a border blockade with India has made petroleum products of any form pretty damn tough to find. I recently counted 75 buses, trucks and cars lined up at just one gas station - waiting up to two days for just a small bit of fuel. Thus the reason for my motorcycle tour of the Kathmandu Valley; hiring a car just wasn't a feasible option.

The first day we bumped along a potholed rode to Pharping. Aachung wanted to show me Asura Cave and the shrine containing a self-arisen Tara. I consider myself a pretty open-minded gal, but I'm afraid my belief in the supernatural just doesn't extend to images magically appearing in stone. It simply exceeds the boundaries of my woowoo-ness - although I fully respect those who have the faith.

Day two was when the real adventure began. Four kilometers through the forest on a road that can only be meant for walking. Midway up a particularly steep and rocky section, Aachung's twinkling eyes were super sparkly as he asked, "Are you scared yet?"

The few days I spent with Aachung reminded me what I love about travel. Finding myself wondering how the heck did I get here and why can't I just take a normal vacation?