Belly of the Whale

Did I mention the cows before? There are cows, and they sit in the road. They are oblivious. I can't imagine how they do it. They walk along the sidewalk and graze on the garbage that piles in the gutters. They are all around town. I saw a herd of monkeys today for the first time as well.

I rather enjoyed the ride to the monastery today. I love listening to the young boys who work the buses: "Boeda,boeda,boeda. . . Boeda,boeda,boeda,boeda" None of them are over thirteen years old, most of them going hoarse. They hang out the door of the buses scanning for needy commuters. They have some aura of pride about their work, a sort of professionalism. They all have it; they share an intensity of their eyes. Sometimes it is only comical to see in a child.

I arrived to the monastery only by luck - I got off at the wrong spot, mistaking a landmark. But the stupa was only a block away. I laughed at the rare bit of good fortune. I ate a bowl of rice quickly before walking into the monastery. Tenzing, an admimistrator of the monastery, took me to my classroom. As we arrived, five young monks scuddled quickly into the room, filing behind the wooden benches. The room can only fit three, or is it two? I think is only two benches. My sixth student was absent, but Tenzing said he would surely be present tomorrow. This was my first class. I liked the look of my students. There was no resentment, or even aloofness, but a curiousity and awareness. They comforted my confidence and encouraged me. In some sense, they restored a portion of my dream - they were, or they seemed to be, the sort of pupals I had hoped for.

And for the hour, they proved to be so. They smiled and were courteous. They spoke well. Some were shy and other less so. All but two were from Tibet. The word of the day was 'repression.' We talked mostly. I hoped to hear tense shifts or faults and then work with their own sentenses on the board. This worked to pass the time and then it was over. All to soon for me.

I went back to the cafe where I had had the rice. It was a rooftop cafe overlooking the great stupa. I ordered a coke and felt very much like one of the characters in the Hemingway novel I am reading. They were always eating out. I doubt Hemingway ever cooked a meal in his life - except maybe while in a hunting lodge in the woods. Maybe I doubt that as well. I sat, drank, and read the novel, The Sun Also Rises. As the rain came I put my book in my bag and headed down to the street with all of its excitment. I catch a bus and headed home.

My problems still remain. The new one is that the monastery only wants me to teach one class one hour a day. THis is hardly work. I was told I would get at least four, maybe six hours. Last night I stayed up thinking how, if I wasn't able to get the monastery to give me a room there, I would not take the job at all and simply travel for the three months. Everything is so cheap. But then I thought how I really want to teach, and I how shouldn't worry about the commute so much. Now, with so few hours to work, I should consider my own proposal more strrongly. But having now taught a class, having started, it is much less acceptable to quit. Tomorrow I will talk to Tenzing and try to work something out. It would cost me little to pay for my own lodging nearby, and I can also look for other teaching positions in the area. But I am interested in pursuing other opportunities if I can find any. I am not excited about living in such a big city. i had not counted on it. Even the monastery is surrounded by tourists. Is this the challenge I came for? Is this what I need to experience? Maybe. I certainly won't run from it if it is. I'm not sure.

So now I am home and the sun has fallen. I read nearly half of my book today. I drank some Nepali tea. I rolled a cigarette. The horns outside never cease. I am ready for my dahl vat dinner, or rice and curry. The Nepalis are such a beautiful people. I am growing comfortable with them and this place. They love to smile and laugh; they are open and curious. They are a kind people.