Game Plan for 2066

Folks have been asking. So here it is. The game plan:

First stop: Boulder to reconnect with home, tulips and kind-hearted friends.
Next stop: Maine to scream Swahili football cheers at Mar while she breathes through contractions. I will be staying throughout the month to teach baby Grady about fashion, cook tagines with my mom and convince Billy to practice morning yoga with me.

June - ?: I’m thinking about a road trip to share late-night kitchen conversations and sun-filled games of Frisbee golf with many of you. Holler if you’re game.

Along the way, I’ll be working on web projects for the organizations that I visited during the trip. Hoping to write a few freelance pieces about the adventures. And lastly, I’m working on securing funding for the Push Play project.

Push Play is an idea to expose the lives of 8 extraordinary female athletes around the world through a video podcast series. I’d set off on another trip to capture the stories. Additionally, I will give each woman a simple digital camera and teach her how to blog. Lastly, I will set up a Web site that would share the professionally produced videos, the blogs and give users the opportunity to donate directly to the athlete’s organization. Here’s the full Push Play game plan. Any and all leads or suggestions are welcomed with open arms.

This was my first attempt at blogging and it became a really important rhythm in my days, as a practice and a way to make my experiences feel shared, even when they were experienced independently. Thanks for following the blog over these months. There will be more stories to tell in this blog on future adventures, but for now....

The End. 

2065: What A Year It Has Been

I left Nepal one day before their biggest celebration - the Nepali New Year. The streets of Kathmandu were buzzing with preparations to usher in 2066. My next destination: USA. Personally poetic that I’m leaving on the last day of the year and coming back home at Easter – when many folks are also celebrating a rebirth. I’ve decided to postpone South America for now. My sister, Mar, is on the verge of having her first baby and I wouldn’t miss it for the World (literally).

I went on this journey in search of something colorful and bold – in the world around me, and in myself. Did I find it? Hard to tell. I'm not sure I can sum this experience up in any sort of neat conclusion. Every day was surely a ride – emotionally, socially, and practically. In this blog, you saw a lot of the happy drama -- so much beauty out there. But there were tough times.

One day, I was in Jeffrey’s Bay, South Africa. My credit card had been cloned. Waiting on money to be wired, I only had a few bucks. I had not hit my stride -- feeling more lost and lonely than ever before. I went to yoga in this woman’s living room. She said something that I clung to, writing it in my journal in huge, page-filling letters:

“What if, we didn’t need to add anything to this moment…if we viewed it as complete and not in need of change?”

For the rest of the trip, I kept it close, like a mantra or motto. If there is one change I’ve noticed in myself, it’s that appreciation of the moment. The constant motion of the trip combined with the uncertainty of a major life shift, has challenged me to find happiness in staying present. Smelling the apple before biting. Listening to the songs kids sing thru school windows. Not living for what was or what will be - just what is.

I guess I’ve changed in that way. That, and, I’m far more likely to dip my bread in food and 100 times more humble.

Thanks to all those who took me in, fed me, hugged me and shared the days. Thanks to all the strangers who made me feel less strange. And all the gratitude in my heart to my family and family of friends for the never-ending support and encouragement.

Love.
Sarah

Kdu Wins Me Over

Kathmandu made me want to bury my head in my hands for the first 24 hours upon arrival. The dirt caked in the gaps of my teeth. The cacophony of car horns. The badgering salesman. But then, like stray cat with fleas, the city sidled up to me with an intrigue and I couldn't help but pick it up. Sitting in one of the main "chowks" (intersections), slowly eating pomegranate seeds next to a statue of Ganesh, I watched the city slide by and found her kitschy charm.

Today, Kathmandu looked like this....

Joyrides

My feet have been my mode of transport in Nepal prior to yesterday. There was the 1960s-era, toy plane I flew into Pokhara on before the trek. A ten-seater. Security? None. Walked up to the plane on the tarmac when I was ready. A boy was on a step stool, washing the windows of the plane with a squeegie. No flight attendant. Just us and the pilot who chatted the whole way. He balanced us according to weight. We flew real low, weaving in and out of the mountain folds . Felt sporting. I loved it.

The bus ride to Kathmandu yesterday was quiet another story.

Look. Y'all know I am not a faint-hearted traveller. I will roll with many-a-sketchy situation. But that ride was just not right. Ten hours of hairpin turns, up and down Himalayan mountain passes with death drops on each side of the crumbling road. Side of the bus covered in puke. And I would have been fine with all that. It was our driver's lust for passing constantly around blind corners, as though he was on a suicide mission, that drove my hands over my eyes so frequently. The true reminder of our mortality was the dozen or so burned up, accordian-resembling, crashed buses, just like ours, that dotted the side of the road. It's no wonder all the buses have Hindu deities painted on them. Shiva, have mercy.

I wish I could say I was relieved when we pulled into Kathmandu. But that would be a lie. I was alive, but the city hit me like a slap in my dirt-caked face. Incessant car horns, bloody, dead goat heads for sale and a touch of food poisoning from a veggie burger passed to me thru the bus window.

Last mode of transportation for the day: rickshaw. It was a truly a joyride. Have a quick look. Meet Bhopal. Turn the volume up for the conversation.

Saru's Song

This is my friend Saru. She is one of the top guides at Three Sisters. Saru is a warrior of a woman in all senses of the word. She also has a beautiful voice and likes to sing traditional Nepali songs. Click above to hear her. 

p.s. I looked at her cell phone today. Had me listed. "Sarah Didi." Means big sister. No greater honor. 

Home Away from Home

Today the whole country of Nepal is on strike. I was supposed to travel by Jeep and foot to a real remote and area called Sicles. Guess they have a women's movement happening in this super traditional Gurung village - microloans, daycare, women-run unions, the whole bit. But, when strikes happen, no vehicles are allowed on the road. Word on the streets has it that the strike is because its the birthday of a government official that the folks don't like - so they want to spoil it. Logical? No. But Nepal does as Nepal damn well pleases. Decided to take the time to update this baby...

Spent the past week hanging in Pokhara - a beautifully laid-back town tucked away in the foothills of the Himalayas. Lovely place to rest my battered feet, but the real sauce has been spending every day with my Nepali guide friends and their families. I have had an invitation to lunch and/or dinner every day. Becoming quick, caring friends is the Nepali way. The gals can't understand why I am so blown away by their immediate closeness. My buddy Saru even pantsed (flagged) me this morning in front of a bunch of European vacationers. Yeah, it's like that. 

Come see Pokhara...

The Maoists Are Coming

Prior to coming to Nepal, I learned about the volatile political situation here. The U.S. State Department warns against even visiting. Quick briefing before the real story: In 1996, Maoists (Communists) waged a "People's War" against the Hindu monarchy. Many young people in Nepal are Maoists and would tell you that the insurgency is truly about giving rights to members of lower castes, holding the government accountable for the overall well being of the populace, fighting corruption, etc. I tend to believe this. Even though Maoists have gained sizable political influence in the government, they are still basically using backwoods terrorist tactics to assert their power. The Kathmandu Post reported a house being damaged by home-made explosive and a rape of a 20-year old woman just yesterday.

Maoist rebels are most active in the hills. However, the Annapurna Sanctuary trek was reported to be basically safe, with the possible exception of one Gurung village - Ghandruk. I read this news, while...in Ghandruk.

After dinner one night, I was needing a little space from the group (two weeks is a long time to spend every waking moment with a group after solo traveling for 3 months). Put on my headlamp and stroll the cobblestone mule paths around Ghandruk. Moon is peeking from behind clouds. Smell of home-cooked food fills the air. Families tucked tightly in their warm cottages. Suddenly the serenity is disturbed by a megaphone barking something seemingly scripted in Nepali, that I cannot understand. Odd. Figure it is coming from the small village across the very deep gorge/valley.

I sit down on a stone wall and dangle my feet into the valley below. Ten minutes later, the echoing megaphone fills the valley again - this time the source is much closer. I look in a nearby window to see if I can gauge the reaction of the farmers. They seem unfazed. I follow their lead and continue enjoying my peaceful evening thoughts.

Uh oh. Footsteps. Heavy, booted, man footsteps in a land of mostly flip flops. Then massive moonshadows of a band of people. They came over the ridge so quickly that I didn't have time to move. A group of men, one with the megaphone, filled the path around me and start announcing their presence loudly to the valley. Frozen with fear. Do I make a run for it and risk being chased? Do I stay still and hope that the Maoist rebels truly don't want to mess with trekkers?

Not one to sit idly and take a beating, I decide to get up. Move briskly and confidently, without running, towards the teahouse. Leave headlamp off. Heart is pounding. I don't dare look back.

I make it into the teahouse breathless, but safe. Shaken to my instinctual core.

The next morning, I ask Aman, one of the porters, if he heard the megaphone and what the men were saying. His reply?

"Everyone could hear it. That was an announcement for free dental cleanings for villagers in the valley."

Of course, it was.