The Lepcha be dammed….
When I arrived in Gangtok, my first mission was to find the Hotel Potala, a dingy, poorly-lit mold farm on Tibet road that, though quite disgusting in its tastes and smells, is the only hotel of its kind that offers a hot shower (available occasionally), the treasure of cable television, and a room for up to 3 people for only 300 rupees a night. When I wasn’t walking around the city, I was smoking in my room and watching documentaries about bears on the National Geographic Channel, a real treat after spending so much time in rural areas. (did you know that the asiatic black bear is farmed in china for its bile? look, I’m telling the truth! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bile_bear)
On my way out to the bazaar, I kept seeing this demonstration of strikers, protesting the building of some dams on the Teesta River. Every time I’d walk to and from the hotel, I’d see some Buddhist monks or activists lying on a bed under a plastic tarp, taking strike shifts until the Sikkimese government halted operations on these dams. It was hard to really understand what was going on from their sloppy, hand painted propaganda, but the installation worked. No longer were bears running through my head during my free minutes. I had to know what this dam protest thing was all about, so I started asking questions and picked up some reading material. The more I learned, the more fucked up it got.
The people lying under the plastic tarp are hunger strikers. They’ve eliminated solid food from their diets since June, 2007! At first I found this a little hard to believe, but sure enough, some of these guys have iv’s in their noses, getting liquid nutrients pumped into their bodies to offshoot death from malnutrition for a few more months.
The protesters of this dam project have many faces, but it’s the Lepcha, an indigenous tribe of nature worshippers who were granted protected, “primitive tribe” status by the Indian government, who are making the most noise. They’re the ones leading the hunger strike charge, and the ones who will pay the most if these dams get built. Their cultural, religious, and economic holy land of Dzongu sits right on the Teesta river and the white collars of Gangtok hope to tap this unlimited flow of liquid power to meet the demands of New Delhi’s increasingly unmanageable power ambitions.
According to the Lepcha, these hydropower plants threaten to destroy the ecosystem on which the Lepcha Reserve depends for everything; farming, shelter, drinking water, the revenue from eco-tourism, it’s all going down the drain if the Teesta gets dammed in Dzongu. And aside from the practical problems, there’s also the issue of sacrilege, the Teesta being the Lepcha’s holy river, that ignites more and more anger among the indigents.
It’s a weird spot they’re in. While Lepcha organizers and religious leaders have been trying to raise a big fuss about this whole thing, the Sikkimese government simply approached the actual owners of the properties, who are largely illiterate, sustenance farmers, and offered gifts in exchange for land acquisition. These Lepcha landowners accept the immediate bribes and incentives held out right in front of them by the government, however meager they might be, and question why they would concern themselves with the ambiguous risk of ruin that would happen a whole 20 years from now. The Lepcha who are agreeing to give up their land or relocate stand to lose much more in the long run than they gain from the government incentives. They get persuaded with the immediate gratification from these bribes, but the ones really benefiting from this project are the engineers, politicians, business owners, etc. who are overseeing the project, almost all of whom live in Gangtok and almost none of whom belong to the Lepcha tribe.
I was lucky enough during my stay in Gangtok to spend some time with one of the engineers working on this water project. What a gentleman! He gave me a room for the night in his four story house, let me use his computer and his internet connection, fed me two meals, and let me watch movies on his dvd player, projected onto a white wall in my room. He didn’t express too many strong feelings on the Lepcha problem, he said they were upset because we were building dams on the “Jerusalem of the Lepcha”, and so of course they would be upset. But there’s only two real sources of income for Sikkim as a state, tourism and hydropower. He hopes that they can both have the right of way.
I also had the privelege of spending three nights in restricted Dzongu the last time I was in India. Because I was doing research, I was granted some pretty exclusive (and expensive) access to the Lepcha reserve. I’ve never seen any place so harmoniously in tune with nature. No cars, no plastics, no pavement, no uglniness really, just a lush permaculture farming community that keeps as much greenery around them as possible. Everything looked like it belonged there, and it was hard to tell where houses began and forests ended. Everywhere I walked I could hear the sound of flowing water, and not much else. I’m wondering what this place is going to look like after they bring in all that concrete.
See for yourself.
http://weepingsikkim.blogspot.com/
-Das
Limited Linguistic Liberation
Indian monuments require entrance fees in order to maintain their pristine condition. Makes sense considering the Qutab Minar was built in the late 1100s during the Mughal Dynasty. The fee charged to Indian nationals is a token at best because the government has decided to fine all travelers intent on traveling to these far off destinations for photos and memories. Americans who happen to look like Indian Nationals often use limited amounts of Hindi or Nepali and pass through undetected. Sometimes Americans who look like Nepalis and also happen to speak Nepali slide through as well. Well the white girl gets it every time. For instance, at the Taj Mahal, the difference in ticket price ranges from 20 rupees (a little less than a dollar) to the tourist fee of 750 rupees. That’s almost 25$! When the team landed at the Taj Mahal, all local languages sounded to me like a pile of gibberish. What were these words, where there words? Sentences all mushed together forming nothing of consequence.
After nearly a month and a half of continual exposure to Nepali, I made a breakthrough. Not only do works I know stick out, but I hear sentences and have even incorporated a number of phrases into my daily life. Success became apparent on my last full day in a Nepali speaking area. I asked the Darjeeling Zoo ticket lady to give me a ticket, “eota ticket dinnus,” using all two necessary words, shoved the local amount of money through the peep hole and voila! I got in at the local price! Next to me, the Bengalis were not convinced. The ticket lady- You live in Kathmandu? Me- Yes, I was there. Ticket lady- Are you a local? Me- I’m here now. And she gave me the ticket. I rushed into the zoo presenting my 30 rupee ticket to the guard and he waved me through! YES!!!
My experience proves, without a doubt, knowing four or five words of the local language saves money and makes the entire experience more enjoyable. Eckdom Ramro! (very good) And with that, I’ve presented my entire Nepali vocabulary, alternately entitled, the Top 10 Nepali phrases that have changed my life:
10. tikk- fine 9. namaste – hello (or, I bow to the divinity within you, although it actually means hello in everyday conversation) 8. subaratrie – good night 7. eck- one 6. duita - two 5. teen- three 4. paunch- five 3. ramro- good 2. eckdom- very 1. kati – how much
other good ones to remember: Hey Didi! - when you want to address some random girl/lady; Hey Bai! – when you want to address some random boy/man; Joom- let’s go; Jannai- I/You go: example to a taxi driver –> Kathmandu jannai? do you go to Kathmandu?; chineDineAh- I don’t want it; and when all else fails, wave your hands around and point at things.
Nepali Jello
PS: The Red Panda is the cutest non-bear/cat or raccoon ever. He looks like all three of those animals at the same time. Pictures coming soon.
Holy Cow! It’s definitely chewy…
The guest house director/head waiter/cleaning staff/tour guide/19 year old ambassador of the one and only restaurant in Mangan, Northern Sikkim saunters over to our table wearing his best Britney Spears t-shirt and sweatpants. He tilts his head in the sideways nod that, in this particular situation, means he wants to know what my companion and I want to order. He also fills the quintessential position of sou chef and official bartender. How about chicken butter masala, egg curry, garlic prawns, plain rice, two beers and veg pakora (fried veggie patties that look like mini hockey pucks with green and orange slivers throughout the tan, fried deliciousness). The interaction includes lots of pointing to the menu. Again, the sideways head nod. With a slight smugness he reveals the current secret of the town and probably a big reason why the two of us were the only tourists in this tiny one street village: No fish. No chicken. No eggs. No beer. Tikk (fine)- veg pakora. I look at my friend. So what is there to eat after 90% of the presented menu instantly becomes unavailable? There’s bird flu in Sikkim. All the chickens and their unborn omelets have been slaughtered. It’s definitely time to get creative knowing full well that experimentation can only go so far when pork remains mostly off-limits due to a quasi-religious self-imposed dietary selection. And is also mostly unavailable.
Three days, two nights, one restaurant: So what’s your beef? Presenting the Top 5:
5. Beef momos
4. Beef chillie
3. Pork sizzler (if the adjoining party eats the pork and leaves the veggies and rice around it)
2. Beef curry
1. Beef roll
*************And now presenting the first goballsdeep survey!!!**************** (from someone who doesn’t eat lowly bottom feeders or cloven hooved beasts, except the occasional sice of baccon at breakfast or a juicy lobster at any opportunity while visiting family in New Brunswick)
Silly Question: Is pork, in fact, the other white meat? Or is that just false advertising? And as a follow up: If a person’s diet consists of only white meat and someone eats pork thinking that he is following the food rules which could go one way or the other depending on the outcome of question #1, can he sue? This is a serious conundrum.
Sikkim is the only state in India, so far, where beef has been available to order. Indian cows walk unphased through the throngs of bikes, rickshaws, cars and trucks that clog the highways of New Delhi and Hindus risk their lives to save their four legged, milk-producing friends.
Sikkim, in the Eastern most part of India, happens to make sacred cow parts available for mastication. It is of poor quality, tough, presented as chewy morsels in various sauces and toppings. A wise man explains that Sikkimese cows work their whole lives pulling plows in the fields, using their muscles daily as opposed to slowly fattening up on quality green grass and feed (while hopefully escaping injections of BGH). Westerners, with a grandiose sense of entitlement, treat their cows specifically to gorge themselves on thick, juicy, fatty, delicious slices of tissue. In Sikkim, we travelers injest the three times daily Mangan diet of tough bovine protein as a blessing. At least there is something to eat.
beef jello - not available
Go Stealthily with a View
Feel that blissful satisfaction of all your weight in your rump, leaned back with the new Maxim magazine (man, that girl is hot!), the sun shining through the window illuminating you, on the pot, taking the perfect morning dump. …mmm… Now take away the book and the toilet and what’s left- a hole in the ground (sometimes porcelain) with two foot pads, a bucket and some sort of water procuring mechanism, usually a faucet. But you definitely still have to go. In this case, urgently, the body demands release. The strident internal clamor, the crushing abdominal pain won’t calm until- with perfect balance, knees bent into a crouch, bum hovering in position just over the hole- the duty is done. A productive session, pleasant, accomplished.
The case against using coloured toilet paper circulated in the ’90s and my family enjoys the white, two-ply, quilted variety. The post-grad youngish 20 year-olds enjoy the cheap kind while sometimes leaving the door open in order to continue an ardent discussion. After the hole, however, no fluffy or scratchy paper products are to be found. Enter in the faucet and bucket (or bucket/cup combination) from stage right… or stage left… And using *only* your left hand, either reach over or under and then fill the mug and splash splash splash. Oh yes, it’s wet down there. And clean. Which is nice because the water could be anywhere as one’s aim is a skill mastered over time and trial. But an effective alternative method of doing it. We all must. Daily feels best. Or more often if your dinner didn’t sit well, or at all, in your stomach.
Western style toilets exist, curiously, they are more often paired with the faucet, which doesn’t really make sense, because the position of the body and the toilet is off and everything just gets wet. Conversely, the hole in the ground with the paper is equally unappealing. Everywhere you go, it’s a surprise combination to be mastered.
Toilet situations can vary from dire to extremely pleasing. When the crazy bus with the broken windows and random iron pole jutting out from the side, (bobbing up and down with every bump threatening to decapitate whomever in its vicinity) pulls over to a random chia stop, one should avoid all giant puddles of “mud.” Hold your breath when you enter the dark chamber with rusty lock and your headlamp, if you remembered to take it out of your bag you left with your exhausted friends, will illuminate the little box in which you do your business. I’d estimate that about 40% of toilet visits are regular bathroom experiences with nice rooms, painted walls, art perhaps, a shower of some sort… But then I’d argue that the most enjoyable of Asian bathroom experiences have an aspect more magical than even the sexiest magazine might ever provide.
Sometimes, while traveling in this part of the world, you look out the window of your commode and see a vast expanse of beautiful nature revealed without any visual interference. No buildings, or power lines, or garbage, just green lush mountains with tiered rice fields, pink and red rhododendron forests tumbling down the vast spaces in front of you. Lots of air. You look out into the abyss and down against the hillside, built up with buildings or farmed, or colourful prayer flags. Or the most clear view of Annapurna at dawn with the cauldron below its peek visible for the very first time. Just amazing views. From the bathroom! The best views are always in the bathroom. If you can keep your balance, aim correctly and manage not to drench yourself with water while cleaning off, that view can be yours to keep as an imprint in your memory while doing your business. Using all variations of facilities, the views are spectacular.
ooo jello
Premonition
I knew the cow would be born last night. We traveled by night bus, crossed a border, took a rickshaw, boarded a jeep, spent the night in a nasty hotel complete with dead cockroach in the corner, walked a mile and a half with all of our bags to the little room next to the pregnant cow who was due any day. I knew the cow would give birth that night. We had arrived just in time.
In India, cows coexist with the army, traffic insanity, they eat garbage, they have a special holiday where people dress and greet them and feed them holiday foods. They are worshiped and blessed. On the night of our arrival in Kalimpong, a cow was born. There was electricity in the air, and lightning. It was beshert, it was meant to be. Animals give birth at night during lightning. At least that’s how it happens in books. We awoke to a beautiful new day and an adorable new life.
jello
Mr. Shit, I’d like you to meet Mr. Fan…now play nice you two…..
Tomorrow, Nepali citizens will go to the polls to vote for the party who will get to draw the new Nepali constitution, which is meant to fill the void left after the disastrous fall of the homicidal monarchy of just a few years ago. (yes, it’s a long story, look it up)
I’m not going to get into too many specifics about this, but my feelings about being here go something like this…
Anybody out there ever watch Bugs Bunny cartoons? You remember those encounters between Bugs and the Tasmanian Devil, and somehow Bugs would find himself in Taz’s boiling hot cauldron, and he’s just sitting there thinking that he’s taking a nice warm bath, confusedly watching his marsupial nemesis cutting carrots and potatoes to add to the stew? In a way, that’s us, 3 travelers taking a nice warm bath, or in our case, an innocent adventure in Nepal. Everything’s going just fine, we’re having a great time, what could possibly go wrong?
But I’m feeling the water get hotter, and I can sense that maybe soon, this warm bath will start bubbling. The water’s ready to boil, and all we can do is watch. Bombs have been blasting in and around Kathmandu all week. Nobody seems all that concerned, it’s just one of those things that happens with politics here. But everywhere I go, I see different flags in different neighborhoods meant to hail different party affiliations. There’s like 70 different parties fighting to draw up the new constitution, and not one of them really shows a clear hold of Nepali loyalty. Indeed, a recent polling determined that 10% of Nepali voters are going for the Maoists, 10% for the royal party, and 10% for the congress party. 60% of voters were undecided! Most people that I’ve talked to plan to decide who they’re going to vote for once they get into the polling stations. There aren’t any prevalent leaders here with any credibility or enough clout to sway the masses. Imagine America during the revolution, but in this context, no George Washington figure, no Thomas Jeffersons, no John Adams’, no Franklins, no hancock’s, not even a fucking patrick henry.
It’s anybody’s game, and no matter who wins, some group is just not going to play by the rules. This is not going to be seen as a free and fair election, even if it turns out to be one. People will be pissed no matter who gets it. At least some degree of chaos will ensue- there will be people demanding recounts, demanding rebellion, demanding civil war.
I’m not saying that these things are going to happen necessarily- Nepal could surprise itself. And I hope sincerely that it does. But the recipe that I’m seeing is one for disaster, not democracy.
Lets just re-examine that poll for one moment. If the Maoists, at 10%, have as much of a chance of winning as any other party, and they’ve already proven themselves a violent, coercive bunch of terrorizing pitch-fork throwers, then doesn’t that mean that this whole election is pretty much bullshit? By the very nature of their political ideaology, they have no business drawing up a constitution for the future of a nation. If the Maoists win, there’s going to be an uproar.
But wait, lets say they DON’T win, you think they’re just going to sit back and play nice? What are you, stupid?? The Maoists have muscled their way into the political sphere through guerrilla warfare and bomb threats, among other shady tactics. When we talked to the embassy the other day, they advised us to not leave the country before four days after the election, because if shit went down in the plains on the way to the border, there would be absolutely no way for us to get help. They know that when the Maoists play, they play dirty.
We’ll just have to wait and see…
-Das
i threw up…
Okay, I’m sorry to whoever had to clean up the mess I made. Please allow me to explain myself.
Everything was going fine until the third day. First two days up, my walk was strong, I was chugging along at a good clip, enjoying the vistas of Himalayan splendor, everything was in its right place. But then, on that awful third day, the mountain gods sent some malicious bacteria to infect my stomach, probably through the vehicle of bad eggs, and my goose was cooked. First the fever hit me, then body ache, then nausea, then diarrhea. By the time i got to the last leg of the walk to gorepani, from where we would summit the next morning, I was working harder to keep my fluids inside me than i was to keep my pack up and my body going. Each stair became a summit of its own, and the diabolical nature of the mountain, constantly insinuating that my walk would be over soon and then revealing a dozen more stories to go, was turning my mind to soup.
But no microbial henchmen of the mountain deities could quash my relentless resolve, my unquenchable drive for personal bad-assness. i WOULD make it up, without question, and that was all there was to it.
I took it one step at a time, just one more step and then rest, and then again, just one more fucking step, and then relief. I paused to lean on a tree every now and again, my body was ready to hurl, my mouth even salivated in vomitory anticipation, but alas nothing came from my empty retching. I kept going until I got to the heart of town, where I asked a kind trekking guide where i could find the nearest bathroom. He paused to think. At this point my body let me know there was no time to think. Just find a place, any place, and let it go. I left the pondering trekking guy standing there, trying my hardest to keep it together. I found an inn that had a bathroom in it for certain, it’s an inn for god’s sake, there has to be a bathroom but to my astonishment, there was a lock on it. I knew that if I tried to move in any direction, i would explode. I asked a kid who was sweeping the floor to bring me the key at once. This was a smart kid, he could read my face, he knew that i was working very hard to keep it together, and he ran and got that key as fast as he could. I fumbled with the lock and and shoved the door open. But once I got in there, nothing could stop the force that was bubbling this entire time. I threw up all over that fucking bathroom. Each retch brought on a ghoulish shriek as my stomach pumped its contents out of me in these awful spurts. I tried my best to clean it up, but it was all over the place. The damage was done. When I got out of the bathroom, the whole room was staring. I just shot out of there like a thief on the run… my bad.
I don’t throw up often, but when i do, I almost always manage to do it somewhere bad. In this case at least i made it to the bathroom. I’ve thrown up in bed, on the couch, in my shower, in museums, at the opera, on the dentist chair, in veterinary clinics, hair salons, internet cafes, in line at starbucks, while sitting at the dinner table, the list goes on. Rarely do the contents of my stomach, when expelled, reach the toilet where they should probably go. But maybe that’s the point of throwing up, letting it all just flood out into a mess wherever, whenever. It’s not supposed to be pretty. Though i do always manage to produce an interesting palette of colors.
-Das
the adventures keep coming
I am going to write to Lululemon because I believe my fantastic pants saved my life. Dog bites definitely suck but the luon in my pants prevented skin puncturing and thus, I intend to write to the company and inform them of the protective qualities of their pants. (I wore them for 6 days straight while trekking and they were fantastic in that capacity as well.) Go Canada!
A friend of mine went to New Zeland and for reasons beyond my total knowledge he returned to his homeland early. One idea he had was to just get on with life and do what he has to do. I feel that intensity. I want to get on with it too. But I’m going to enjoy the now part first because once it’s over, getting on with it will be the very next step. It’s coming fast enough.
And what might that next step be?? We’re definitely not there yet.
Nepal will hold elections, I will not get sick because of various dog bites and street meals, we will continue on our adventure for the next little bit. And after that? Well, I’m still thinking about it.
We went to Patan today. It’s a smorgasbord of Buddhist and Hindu minispotswithin a thriving (and very old) community. We took the bus back to Thamel and got lost in a bazaar. We reconvened at The Buddha Bar, our favorite spot, we have our own little table by the window in the back. We roll doobies there. And smoke them. The collective rolling skills of my team is improving day by day. Lots of practice.
I’m reading a great book called A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry. It’s so full of character description. It’s thick and full-bodied. You should read it too.
That’s all for now.
We at ballsdeep thank you for your recent comment. We congratulate you on taking an interest in the new and exciting world of participatory journalism and encourage you to keep reading and posting your thoughts.
It’s regrettable that you find these musings, as you put it, “lame”, however, and we lament your current dissatisfaction.
Please remember that the title of our forum, “goballsdeep”, is a figurative phrase, referring to the idea that when engaging in any activity, going full force with brio and vigor in your heart will best serve you and the activity in which you are engaging.
Take note Mike, “goballsdeep” is NOT an instruction manual for those looking to penetrate literal orifices of bodies, human or otherwise, and we cannot offer you any help in that department.
Also, we cannot take responsibility for the complete lack of direction and purpose in which your life is now going, and while travel blogs can entertain and delight you during your off hours, it will never substitute the companionship of a real, warm blooded friend, which we are very confident you can make if you try really really hard and work on a lot of your debilitating, psychological issues.
The good news is that while Jello Jiggler and I were strolling through the Darjeeling zoo, we observed an albino spider monkey who reminded us very much of your persona. He shared with you a remarkably similar appearance, sense of style, and concern for hygiene. We found him while he was crouched on his haunches, picking his taint and then putting the contents of his newly harvested treasures into his mouth. Even this spider monkey, after much howling and cajoling, was able to infiltrate the social goings on of the other monkeys in his cage, and create some semblance of interaction, however forced and charitable it may have been.
Again, we hope that you continue to engage our forum through the comments section, but if you desire to send us an email personally, you can write to us at:
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Happy blogging!
Dev Das and the good folks at goballsdeep
PS- Seriously though, tell marjorie to get off her ass and start posting again.