Belly of the Whale

The week has snook by; I didn't believe myself when I deduced it was indeed Thursday. Tomorrow is then Friday and the harbinger of free time, my first time off in Nepal. What to do? I haven't made a plan. How the weekend has a way of slipping up on you when you are distracted by other more pressing things - like lesson plans for instance.

Today we talked futball. All the old soccer terms I could muster, we went through them all. I discovered yesterday that this is what they like to play on the weekends. The class passed like one of those small snicker's bars I love, two bits and they're gone. Lots of words - they knew many of them. As my time waned, I got out the J.D. Salinger for them to read. I enjoy hearing them. I love the bashful, shy look on there faces as each of them takes up the book from the last to read. They each stand to read; it must be the way of the monastery. I find them hansome, wearing slightly uncempt red robes of the monastic life. They are all so warm. They make my job easy and meaningful. Also they have a healthy respect for authority. Today, after I dismissed them, one stayed to ask a question. His name is Sangpo and he is one of my early favorites - especially now. He was curious about a few of my comments I made on his homework. I was so happy. I felt like Bob Baker, so anxious to have someone care about their work and to take advantage of what I might offer him.

I took my camera with me to work today. I want to start making the attempt to capture the picture of the poor, the beggar, the lepper, the cripple - the elderly lady next to the stupa, I caught her today. I gave her two rupees. I think that is the way it must be done. I am uncomfortable photographing people, but they are so beautiful that I must. The women, I can hardly tell the rich from the poor. They dress so beautifully, so traditionally in their saries. Their faces are always elegant, smooth, and thin. Their lips always defined, distinguished from all else. They never share more than a half smile - not unless you stare at them or make them laugh or blush. I love the red Hindu spot in the middle of the forehead. Today I saw a woman who had a petite ring though hers, as some actually are humped like a mole. I am still unsure if it was really a ring it was so small, but it had a glimmering quality about it. The nature of their dress, the saries and gowns, does not allow men to appreciate the bodies of the woman. But obessity is not a problem for the Nepalese. Sometimes I get to see bellies, but nothing more. Their skin is enough to see, their faces, hands, neck. I love the shadowy color. I can feel it simply by seeing it - it is soft, maybe cool and smooth, water would run smoothly over it without beading or stuggling for a path downward. They are quite mesmerizing, but the culture is still an ancient one. They do not talk to tourists, do not shake hands with men, I am ginger about even sitting next to them on the bus without necessity. That seems to be the way of it.

The men no longer dress in the the traditional way, the western style in now more popular and proper. I am not going to waste my time in describing them. Who wants to hear about men - a boring sex.

My weekend though, this interests me - what to do? I may take a bus to Pokara, a place about six hours away. It should be a fun journey through the mountains. I was a fool yesterday when I said that I could not see the mountains from the cafes. They are all around, everywhere. Living in Missoula I have become too accustomed to them that I hadn't noticed that my Rockies had become the Himalaya. I am now aware and correct myself before someone does it for me.

I have a friend now, the chap I met in the cafe and shared a ruckous of a bus ride with. He is a Kiwi, a good guy. He told me about this site to write my words. He may go out with me one of these weekends. We played a hell of some fun pool in a dive down in the shadows of nowhere Kathmandu on our walk back to Thamel. THe quality of the tables was something out of a fairy tale - perfect new felt, lively rails, flat and fast slate, large - but with the smallest pockets I have ever seen. The sides were the wider, so the stratagy changed toward the middle of the table as opposed to the ends. I never really adjusted, but my shooting improved in the corners. I won, and had a a little run that felt awfully good. But this was days ago - I digress (as Bob would say. I miss Bob. Where is Bob? Bob is my professor that has given me so much. I need to say a prayer for Bob, as well as for Libby, Stu, Genny, Lorie,and my brother Heathy - god bless them all, in whatever means this means to you. It means somethng quite different to me. Thank you Bob. Thank you Bob. Thank you. I miss Hegel.)