A piece of home in a strange land

It’s been a week since I finished the vipassana course and I’m back in Pokhara. It feels like a lifetime ago. Did I really go through all that? Did it really happen? It’s amazing how efficiently our minds can box away incidents and experiences in little files, with labels such as “refer to later”, “archive” or “processing”, and keep on moving, experiencing and storing new items and events. Our minds are definitely great little computers.

In the past week I’ve ridden an elephant, gone in search of rhinos in the forest, rowed in at least 5 canoes and made it to all three durbar squares in the Kathmandu Valley (Patan, Kathmandu and Bhaktapur). I played Bagh-Chal, a traditional Nepalese board game, with a street vendor, was sweet talked by a toothless Nepalese woman into buying her wares, and am currently walking around with henna tattoos on my hand and leg, drawn by an incredibly beautiful and intelligent 13 year old Nepalese girl who does not know how to stop talking. I’ve waved to countless uniform-clad school children walking in ordered lines on school excursions, or on their way home from school. I lost my voice, found myself with a crazy cold, have been hobbling along with blisters from our unsuccessful rhino quest earlier in the week, and smashed my head getting into a tuk-tuk (it still hurts!). All in all I’ve really had an amazing week.

The week has been filled with lazy breakfasts, followed by chocolate-banana momos and even lazier afternoon drinks, with attempts to head out and sightsee thwarted by even more tempting shopping opportunities. Eggs, eggs and even more eggs, fruit salads, coffee, lassis of all varieties and of course a chocolate-banana milkshake at Perky Beans in Pokhara. I’ve taken many photos, met up with old and new friends, and had some unforgettable experiences.

Yet something shook me this week. Until Tuesday, I hadn’t spoken Hebrew in over two weeks and I was totally fine with that. Since leaving Pokhara for the vipassana course, I had barely seen any of my fellow Israelis, yet alone spoken to them, quite an accomplishment in a country that is teeming with Israelis (seriously, how are there people left in Israel?). After the course I went straight to Sauraha, in the Chitwan region, an area which, unlike Pokhara and Kathmandu, is most definitely off the “humus trail”. There were no Hebrew signs, and no Hebrew speakers in hearing range. When I came back to Kathmandu, I started hearing Hebrew on the streets, but never really felt any desire to be sociable. I was enjoying my status of solo traveller, meeting new people from all nationalities, and discussing how amazing Australia is with all the excitable locals whose brother/sister/uncle/cousin are studying in Australia. It’s refreshing to be around people who don’t identify (or judge) you based on where you went to school, which part of the country you live in, and what your religious status is/was. That’s one of the things I was looking for when I went away, and one of the things I’m most enjoying, the ability to forge my own identity away from the stereotypes and expectations that we are all faced with every day in Israel.

On Tuesday I heard the news of the terror attack in Jerusalem. I was in Kathmandu’s Durbar Square, on my way to meet a friend to celebrate her birthday. It shook me, badly, as does every piece of bad news coming out of Israel. When I hear about everything that is happening back home it all seems so far away, so far removed from my current reality. And yet, it’s still so close, so real, and it hurts so much. That night I went to the Chabad House in Kathmandu for the first time since my first night in Nepal, when I was there for just a few minutes. I didn’t go there to meet people or to plan my trip, as most people do. I didn’t go to dump my stuff before searching for a guesthouse, or to have a kosher meal. I had no real need to be there, but, still reeling from the news, I felt that I needed to hear some Hebrew, and to be with my people for a bit.

It’s difficult to explain to the people I meet exactly what Israel means to me, and to most Jews; the concept of “Kol Yisrael Achim” (all of Israel are brothers) is so foreign. The idea that a government would do anything to help one of its citizens, irrespective of where they are in the world, is unfathomable to most. The idea that I would move to Israel from Australia and never consider going back, in spite of the terror and uncertainty is incomprehensible. While I love each and every one of the people I’ve been spending time with, and have made some great friends, it can be hard sometimes, especially when there is bad news from home.

I went to the Chabad House, not expecting to know anyone, not really needing to know anyone, just wanting to be there. I walked in and sat myself down among the loud, noisy chatter, with the smells of falafel and chips, humus and pitot and opened my laptop. All of a sudden I felt calmer than I had all day. And then two familiar faces walked in. And then two more, and then another one, and another one, all people I’d met during my first week here. People who I barely remembered, made themselves known to me (you’re Tammy “the dolphin”, who stayed in the water for hours in Begnas, Tammy who had the gluten-free “Hello to the Queen” at Sarita). I was overwhelmed. Speaking to them, speaking to new people there, catching up, and sharing travel experiences, I actually started losing my voice again from all the conversation, and for the first time I understood why people congregate at Chabad when they are traveling. It’s not because they need to, but because they want to.

I was there for five hours that night, talking, eating (gluten-free falafel in Kathmandu!) and working on my laptop. I met friends from Israel who had just returned from a trek, who supported me through my credit card stress (first or probably many) the following evening, in addition to having a great dinner (Avital and Shoko, it’s all ok, the bank was just screwing with me, I now have money!). When finally I left that night I was comforted, knowing that if I ever need my slice of home in a strange land, that I now know where to find it, whether in Kathmandu, India, Vietnam, or any other place with a Chabad House or a Lev Yehudi. I may not need it, but it’s good to know that it’s there.

I have a few more days here to rest before heading to Lumbini, birthplace of Buddha, the place where I will be starting the next stage of my travels and crossing the border over to India, first stop Varanasi. I’m traveling with two great Argentinian guys, and am anticipating lots of laughs and great adventures. I may need to disconnect for a while, as is it’s hard to travel while my heart and head are constantly at home, but as always, my thought are with my friends and family around the world,. Wishing everyone a peaceful Shabbat, my last one here in Nepal, at least for this trip, and may we only hear happy news. As per request, I’m hoping to get an album of shots up soon, dependent on internet quality, speed and my own concentration span. Looking forward to your feedback and comments, I love reading your responses to my posts and photos, so keep them coming!