Sunni Dawson

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There and back again…

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‘Where you go Ma’am?’

 
‘Kathmandu’
 
‘Kathmandu??? Ok, sit here.’
 
I take a seat in a small room in a building somewhat larger than a demountable, but barely so. I am surrounded exclusively by Nepali men. I watch these men. They are calm, at ease. Some were even bold enough to move to seats that were empty in our flight to this first stop.
 
These men have a confidence that I did not observe in the Nepali men as I left Kathmandu a month earlier. A midnight flight surrounded by eager, anxious eyes. They huddled together, not a hair space between them. Uncertainty in their faces as they fixed in an awkward makeshift line not daring to make a move towards the men in white sheets behind big fancy desks. Holding uneasily to their brothers’ side as they clutched their pink papers and little dark green books. 
 
Official men a foot or two higher emphatically point, as the brothers timidly shuffle towards the counter. They each carry a small stringed bag on their back. A couple of them carry a medium sausage duffel bag, their small brown hands each clutch a simple woven handle.
 
As I found my bag on the conveyor belt, I watched a white sheeted man shout at the young bai’s worriedly looking about.
 
 
This time, the journey home, I wait for my well travelled backpack to emerge from the 70s style luggage belt. I am forced to stand closer to the conveyor belt than I’ve ever been before as I watch the young men push against each other to get a glimpse of large TVs wrapped in cardboard and packing tape, and woven hessian bags over large square boxes.
At the Souq Waqif in Doha



This blog post contains some observations on the vastly different experiences living in Doha, Qatar and Kathmandu, Nepal. I would love to hear what you think!

 

Restaurants…

 
Sitting on a hard wooden bench, beeps of horns, traffic noise and the cool of a late summers evening after the rain. I’m comfortably wearing pants and a scarf around my neck. Bags of clear plastic water hang from the roof. I thought this was something mystical.
 
‘Its to keep away the flies, but I’m not sure if it actually works.’
 



I drink in the cool air and await the squidgy softness of the momos, soon to love my oesophagus and filter down into my appreciating stomach.

….
 
I maneuver myself ever so slightly, becoming just that little more precisely comfortable in my pink and green cushion striped chair. I clutch my steaming soy chai latte and watch the immaculately white robed men strut past, catching glimpses of sparkling silver watches behind their perfectly pressed cuff linked wrists. Jet black abayas follow behind, hints of fashion decorating slits of eyes, and pointed shoes.
 
Me in one of the famous Doha Malls

‘I go to the Mall to drown a few hours. There isn’t much else to do here.’

 
My driver’s summation of the tops things to do in Doha. The white glean of the walls and shimmer of the floors makes me want to reach for my sunnies. Loud shops and brighter advertising surrounds everywhere I look.
 

Transport…

 
I straighten my back and tighten my grip around the hard plastic handle behind. Tiny 1980s Suzukis just scrap my knee. Summer drizzle spreads over my rato gala, (red cheeks). We move between the rocky curb and cars in lightening pace. I stare at my drivers back. Its just better not to look up.
 
…
 
I place myself down with ease, gratefully breathing in the air-conditioned comfort of the Mercedes.
The Souq Waqif

 

‘Where would you like to go Ma’am?’
‘The Souq Waqif, please. Thank you.’
 
‘Is Ma’am comfortable?’
 
‘Yes, the air-conditioning is perfect, thank you.’
…
 
The bashed off white van rushes past, ‘NUTDISA, PARK, ICKABATE, BEROASDFNOT!’
 
‘GOLFUTAR?’ I hope that my voice is heard.
 
‘Yes, yes.’
This is the usual view in the microbus.
The people are literally on top of me.

 

I barely have time to put my right foot into the van before it zooms onward. I look around fruitlessly for a place to sit. The yeller points to a seat that is already taken. I look at him and the occupiers quizzically. They inch. I attempt to rest half a cheek down, ending in balancing most my weight on my bent left leg pushed against the side of the ‘isle’ chair besides us.
 
A minivan that would, in any other circumstance, fit 10 people relatively comfortably, now holds 25 bodies of varying sizes, pushed into each other like aeroplane overhead compartments, one jolt and its sure to spill. I try to find a space to breathe in amongst the saris and well worn shirts.
 
This is the ‘microbus’, Kathmandu’s primary form of public transport. It cost me 15 cents for a 30 minute ride.

A space to capture a relatively empty microbus – usually
there is no space to bring out a camera!

Evenings…

 



‘Nothing inspires like excess!’

 




My couch companion, Doha.

The TV blares out as I sit with a large curled up cat on an even larger sofa. The airconditioning is set to a perfect 23 degrees. I have a cup of ‘Love’ (my favourite Pukka herbal tea brand) and a cup of strong black beside me. I am nibbling on some organic dark chocolate with mint whilst cruising Facebook and watching for the first time ever ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’. 

 
I switch it off in 10. For some odd reason I thought it may improve with the passing of minutes. Sometimes my patience and hope for something better even surprises me.

Traditional celebratory singing @ the Souq Waqif, Doha
….
 
It is 8pm and its pitch black. No wifi, computer battery is low. The windows emit a slightly lighter shade of incredibly dark. Monsoon rains hit the roofs above with determination, rivers pound the concrete outside.
 
I pull my blanket up closer and curl into it. Buzzing sounds surround the wafer thin sheath above my bed. Please let them be outside the net. I try to adjust my body to the hard surface beneath me. If I could just move myself in such a way that this bed could become comfortable. 
 
I close my eyes. Eventually I drift into dreams.
Back to Nepal, just a little contrast from Doha!
 

Going out…

I make my way through the wide eyed security guards on the lower level. I ask for the Belgium Cafe. The guard describes each exact step I need to take to get up to the first level.

Beach @ the Katara centre, Doha
 
Shuffling through the crowded smokey bar and not one abaya or thobe. But more white faces I’d seen since leaving Australia.

Is every ex-pat in Doha here? Well at least every ex-pat who smokes.
 
I join an ex-pat meet up group and scan the menu. Great, the cheapest beer: $15. Totally catering for white wages here in Doha and not long term travellers, obviously.
 

‘What do you do?’, ‘Where are you from?’, ‘How long have you been here?’. Conversations surrounding safe subjects echoed around me as I slurped my beer. 

….
 
Preparing a Newari veg feast for friends


The cement floor is bumpy and cool against my legs as I sit down. Dried leaf plates, flattened dry rice, small black translucent beans, potatoes and bamboo shoots, spiced tomato and soya nuggets, potatoes and green beans. Bite into the hard and soft.

Typical Newari cuisine, KTM



‘You like Nepal?’ a young girl asked me eagerly.
 
‘I love Nepal’, big smiles ensued by my fellow floor sitters. 
 
‘What you like about Nepal?’
 
‘So many things: the mountains, the friendly people, the food: I love khana and momos, the colour everywhere, colour in the women’s dresses, the diverse and interesting culture!’. It’s always when I describe the food for some reason I see the smiles around me grow to watermelon strength.
Love the colour of Nepali women!

Laughter, banter and fast talking follows. A young man picks up a guitar, croons a little louder as he awkwardly strums. He smiles as he sings out the words with more force. The hum of surrounding voices join in. Hours pass in group singing, clapping and joy with the moment. 



Morning routines…

The CBD at the end of Cornish, Doha
I throw the washing into the machine. I move the dial to the ‘Quick 30’ and walk out the door.
 
Its 8.30am. Sweat slides spontaneously down my back as I walk the 30 metres to the air-conditioned gym. Putting on my sunnies I crank up the running machine.
 
“The more I want the less I’m free.” My automatic response to my favourite hip hop song spurs out of me in my solitary glass walled exercise experience.
 
Kettle on, hummus opened, I munch as I fling the perfectly perfumed clothes over the hanger.
 
…
The Monkey Temple, KTM

 

Slap, slap, pause… slap. My wet feet uneasily slide across the polished stone staircase. 
 
I reach the top of the three flights without a puff.
 
The cool of the water splashes against my legs as I squat and methodically punch the clothes around the shallow green bucket.
The sun dances around me as I wring the clothes one by one and hang out to dry. Spotted clouds gather around the light blue sky. The cool air circles my body and I smile. Home.

View from my home in KTM.

 

Hey, Namaste!

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‘How do you say ‘hello’ in India / Hindi?’ I asked my friend as we were about to land in Bangalore.

 
‘Namaste.’
 
‘Namaste?’ I am not very reserved in my facial expressions, which elicited the following response from her.
 
‘Yes, it’s way over used in the west, but this is where it comes from.’
 
‘Wow.’
 
That was about 4 years ago. Since arriving in Nepal recently, I found out that despite the languages being completely different (and there are over 122 languages in Nepal) a lot of the Nepali language is derived from Sanskrit  (one of the worlds’ oldest languages and the liturgical language of Hinduism, Buddhism & Jainism), many words are used the same way as in India.
 
I always thought that ‘Namaste’ was reserved for the flowing robed, spaced out yoga peeps with supercilious smiles. And for the uber spiritual new age types that look a little too long into your eyes with expressions reserved for those painfully private toilet moments, expressing their deep knowing of who you ‘really are’.
 
Since arriving in Nepal in June, I have come to like the word ‘Namaste’. Maybe it’s because everyone says it here.
 
I like that most people take the time, especially when I’ve initiated a namaste with sincerity (and no, not in the aforementioned ‘I’m more holier than thou’ type way), that they respond by pressing their hands together in prayer position across their chest, with head movement slightly bowed and say in return ‘Namaste’, with beaming features. I’ve also observed this when Nepalis meet new people, at work meetings and restaurants.
 
Of course my heart melts into a runny strawberry gelato when a small child says ‘Namaste’ as they press their hands together and look up at me with wide eyes and shy smiles. 
 
It seems to be more like a proper ‘hello’, more than the brief acknowledgements of ‘hi’ when meeting groups of people in Europe or Australia. It’s a moment of time that appears to be filled with a bit more pause and consideration here. It’s a respectful term that is also used when saying ‘goodbye’.
 
As the standard greeting for everyone in Nepal, the literal components of ‘Namaste’ break down to ‘I bow  / to you’, and in Hinduism it means ‘I bow to the divine in you.’
 
Understanding this meaning and everyday practise feels like there is less distance between people. And in Nepali culture, this is only enhanced with the broader concept and understanding of family.
 
‘Ohhhh, one month, that means you’ll be apart of our family.’
 
I glowed back at the receptionists broad, smiley enthusiasm to me

booking a room with them for a whole month in Thamel. It gave me a sense of reassurance and ease. Being apart of a family means that people generally care and look out for each other. As I travel alone, this is more than comforting.

 
Within the week, the young men working at the hotel started to call me ‘Didi’. Didi means older sister. I felt warm fuzzy feelings when I heard a few of them call me that for the first time. Even though they had been teaching me some Nepali words throughout the week, they didn’t know that I knew what ‘Didi’ meant.
 
My mission the next day was to find out the word for ‘younger brother’. I knew the word for older brother, but that didn’t work in this instance. That evening when I came back from my volunteer work and waited as usual for my large pot of black tea to be boiled, I talked with the affable young men about their days (which were always ‘good’) and about my day. Every day I looked forward to that moment, laughing, talking and learning from these super friendly boys.
‘Hey, Didi, do you know what ‘Didi’ means?’
 
‘Ho, Bai!’
 
They nodded their heads in appreciation, beaming broadly. ‘You do know.’
 

And that was it. It was ‘Bai’ and ‘Didi’ from then on.
 
Then it started happening in the restaurants I frequented. I was just ‘Didi’. I started to observe more how people interacted with each other on public transport, in workplaces and restaurants. It was all Bai or Dai (older brother), Didi or Bahini (younger sister). Then there was Uncle or Aunt and any much older woman was always called ‘Amma’ (mother). 
 
Everyone is family.
 
I have a friend in Australia who regularly calls other men ‘brother’. I always thought ‘that’s a bit too personal isn’t it?’ And wouldn’t people want to smack you in the face if you say it? He says he has never had a bad reaction from men when he’s called ‘brother’. I always thought what he did was nice, but I would be too shy to do the same.



Now, in Nepal, I am doing it. Everyday. And I like it. Using these terms for people unrelated to me makes me feel less separation between me and them. It makes me feel more comfortable and more at home, wherever I travel in Nepal. 
 
This, I believe, is one of Nepal’s greatest cultural strengths and something the rest of the world can learn from. Because we aren’t so different from each other, really. Lets use this example and start treating your friends, co-workers, that stranger on the bus, as your sister, brother, aunty or uncle. 
 
Let me know how it works/doesn’t work for you. I’m interested. 🙂
And hey, Namaste!



We need you!

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Nepali people speak. Nepal needs both volunteers and tourists, now.
I read the articles. I’m sure you did too. ‘Don’t come to Nepal’ was the persistent and continuing message from writers across the globe. Everyone cited Haiti.
 
Haiti was a disaster. Volunteers put a strain on resources, preventing emergency crews and doctors from saving lives. A horrid situation indeed. Contributed to by well intentioned people. So the message for Nepal was clear: unless you are a doctor, or a trained recovery worker, we don’t want you.
 
Who doesn’t love a trishaw?

Fair enough. Makes sense to me. Disaster zone, too many people getting in the way of the vital emergency work.

I decided to come to Nepal anyway. I’m not a doctor or an emergency worker, but I am skilled. I knew I would bring skills that could be utilised. I arrived just under 5 weeks after the first earthquake of 7.8, and 2 weeks after the second 7.3 earthquake hit.
 
I thought that arriving 4 weeks or so after the disaster would allow time for the initial emergency work to be completed. I heard reports of the whole of Kathmandu being a disaster zone, that there would be nowhere to stay, and no basic facilities like water, electricity.
 
I had a friend in Kathmandu at the time of the earthquake, who luckily remained unscathed, but slept outside with pretty much everyone else for the first few days post earthquake for fear of aftershocks. She informed me that 3 days after the quake she found accommodation and restaurants open in Thamel, the tourist area of Kathmandu.
 
This first hand account settled my initial fears from the gargantuan disaster reports I’d heard in the news and from ‘friends of friends’ who left Nepal back to their countries of origin after the quakes.
 

Since arriving here 3 weeks ago, the time has flown by. Every day I have spent hours chatting with locals about their towns, villages and homes being destroyed by the quakes. I have spent the majority of my time working with two amazing local NGOs documenting, project planning recovery projects and strategising options for their continuing work. 

 
I’ve also been approached by many other Nepali people and groups to assist them. Unfortunately, I have not been able to help everyone, as much as I have wanted to. There are just not enough hours in each day.
 
I’ve spoken to many many locals who have formed groups to go out and help affected villages and towns. For the first days / week after the quake, the focus was getting supplies to decimated villages, but in terms of recovery work, there was little that could be facilitated by untrained helpers.
 
In the subsequent weeks and still continuing now, locals people and organisations are forming groups to go out into villages to help the most affected areas. 
 
The continuous refrain from local Nepali people here is: ‘We need
volunteers to come here, get to know us, come out to our villages and see if you want to help us rebuild.’ The message I’ve heard is that they don’t want money, but they want supplies and people to invest time in their communities. Have a read of the stories on my second post on Kathmandu.
 
But aren’t the government and big NGOs helping?
 
Yes, they are. But many villages still not have been reached, those villages in really remote and unsafe mountainous terrain. I met one man walked in for days to a village that had not had any assistance. From anyone. He said even the walking path was dicey. He brought much needed solar supplies to the village who had not had any electricity since the quakes.

Overwhelming it seems that local solutions from and with local people appear to be what’s making the greatest impact. There are many articles and organisations that have documented this, see list below (please note however, a lot of the work done by locals remains unseen – it truly is amazing the impact of locals helping locals).

 
Is it safe?
View from Thamel burbs were all is ok!

Many buildings have been destroyed across Kathmandu and in Thamel, the tourist area. But the great majority of buildings in Thamel are still standing. And are open for business: there are ample options for accommodation and food (really, really great food – my taste buds have loved me since I arrived!). I’ve had continual access to fresh water, electricity, wifi and did I mention great food? I have been in many other districts around Kathmandu and had access to all of this too (there are obviously areas that don’t due to the destruction, but most do).

 
I have also travelled by myself all over Kathmandu, and been completely fine.


Quakes.
KTM

I have experienced ‘medium’ sized earthquakes a few times since arriving. Its a weird feeling indeed to have your whole hotel building move around and with you. These secondary earthquakes haven’t caused a lot of damage in Kathmandu, but have affected some of the smaller villages outside of Kathmandu severely. And the hotels that I’ve been in still stand. And those around me.

 
More and more businesses are opening in the streets surrounding Thamel, particularly in the past week (Thamel has had pretty consistent openings of restaurants and hotels since the quakes). People who fled after the quakes are returning to Kathmandu. It’s where they can get work.
 
But they need people to buy from them. I’ve spoken to business owner after business owner and all say that even if their business is fine and home is fine, they are not getting any business because there are no tourists. This is depressing and dire situation.
 
 
What about the monsoon?

 The monsoon should have started by now. But it has not yet properly hit, so yes it will hamper the building of shelters and homes, but it does not mean that shelters and other help in affected areas are not needed. It is. 

 
KTM

It means that things will take longer, and be delayed. There is other work that can be done here in the meantime, like local building help around Kathmandu, project work, fundraising for various local organisations and skill sharing. 

 
Alternatively, plan to come when the monsoon ends. 
 
One of the fabulous brainstorming sessions we’ve had!




Tips for making fabulous contributions when you get to Nepal:

  • Get to know a little bit about Nepal before you come. Besides its beautiful mountains, Nepal is an incredibly diverse country with over 123 language and cultural groups.
  • Learn some of the national language, Nepali. You can learn Nepali basics by downloading apps and practising with locals when you get here. It is much appreciated.
  • Meet locals, ask what their needs are. Visit the communities, find out what they want. Understand what they are currently doing and work out ways that you can help them achieve their goals. Think like and act like it’s a long term partnership and friendship. Because, it most likely will become this.
  • Be respectful to local customs and people. 3 simple things you can do:
Observe. Look at what locals are wearing and how they
                behave when they greet each other and enter spaces.
Ask.        If you don’t understand something, ask a local. 
                They will be more than happy to share with you! 
Follow.    Follow and respect local customs.
  • Don’t volunteer or give money to orphanages. Children are not tourist attractions. Importantly, 2 out of 3 orphans in Nepal are ‘paper’ orphans. This means that they have at least one or both parents alive. The majority of parents are from disadvantaged communities who are promised by convincing men that their child/ren will get an education if they give the child to the orphanage. Usually the orphanage is a money making machine getting money from unsuspecting tourists and treating the children incredibly poorly.
  • If you come during the monsoon, be prepared. Be patient, know that things will take longer. Get creative and work with the Nepali villages you are helping. See what can be done in current shelters or communities. Ask Nepali communities what they need and how you could best assist them.
So many advertisements seeking volunteers!!

Be thoughtful, consultative and guided by Nepali people in all that you do! They are some of the most friendliest, kind people on the planet. Enjoy your time here, its guaranteed to be an enriching experience!

 
 
Oh, and if you just want to be a tourist….
Last night street scene in Thamel

Please come! I met a father and daughter from the States the other day in Thamel. They were trepidatious about coming at this time. They spent a week here and loved it. They enjoyed the differences between India and Nepal (they had just come from India and were enjoying a ‘break’ from the amazing crazy state that India induces!).

 

Thamel in Kathmandu is still a fabulous place to be, restaurants, bars, pubs, live music, great food.


9 out of the 10 National Parks are safe and able to be explored. Also, famous areas like Pokhara in Nepal were not greatly affected. The mountains, lakes and beauty await you! Its only 6 hours by bus from Kathmandu (or you can fly there!). So please come and support Nepal getting back on its feet (tourism supports around 500,000 jobs in Nepal). You are sure to have a great time!

And finally, check out #YouHikeTheyRise campaign and videos demonstrating just how beautiful and crucial your visit here is.

Articles / Sources:

‘Kopan – Helping hands’, www.fpmt.dk/kopans-thousands-of-helping-hands/, www.kopanmonastery.com/kopan-helping-hands.

‘Nepal’s aid system is broken, so these lifesavers hacked it’, www.wired.com/2015/05/nepal-earthquake-aid/

‘Himilayan Climate Initiative’ (Nepali youth driven sustainable housing initiative), www.himalayanclimate.org

‘Association of Youth Organisations in Nepal’, www.facebook.com/AyonNepal?fref=ts

‘Bhukampa Engineers’, www.bhukampa.net

‘Abari’ http://abari.org

‘Nepal Rises’, www.nepalrises.com

‘Nepal425’, www.nepalitimes.com/blogs/thebrief/2015/06/02/nepal425/.

‘GMIN, Grassroots Movement in Nepal’, www.gmin.us
‘#YouHikeTheyRise Campaign’, http://himalayanenchanter.com/youhiketheyrise/

‘Reasons why you should visit Nepal now’ http://nepaltraveladvisory.blogspot.com/2015/06/reasons-why-you-should-visit-nepal-now.html

If you are interesting in helping stop children being trafficked and getting children back to families (where they should be), consider donating to Forget Me Not: www.forgetmenot.org.au.

Yes Yangon! My 3 top tips!

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This is my first Vlog!!!!!! Tres exciting! In contains 3 ‘off the beaten path – Sunni tips’ for Yangon. I loved Yangon, and you can read about my first moments here. Your options for this blog: read the tips or just scroll down and press ‘play’. :))
 
1. Eat like a local
 
Everyone Yangonian it seems eats off and on the streets. It’s quite simply fabulous. And I’ve never seen a city eat together as much as I have in Yangon. Everyone, everywhere. Little plastic kids tables, dirt, stench and fabulously fresh, delicious food.
 
And surprisingly, there is something for everyone (even people like me!). You’re sure to find anything from chunks of boiling frothing tongues on sticks, to crispy circadian, to tasty soupy-salads.
 
2. Wander the Chinatown streets
 
Chinatown in Yangon is unlike Chinatown I’ve seen before. In Australia, the States and parts of Europe, China towns are mostly decorated red lanterned, ornate wooden carved bliss. Here its cram packed full of people, aged high apartments and life. Food, stalls, bent over vendors, bikes, carts, rubbish and smiles for curly haired foreigners.
 
It’s a street photographers’ wet dream. And a people-curious persons’ muse. I loved singing out ‘Megellaba – sheng’ as I passed the wide gazes, and in return being given bigger smiles, giggles and appreciative ‘Hellos’.
 
 
3. The Shwedagon Pagoda
 
One of the most captivating temples I have seen. Scintillating in its glittering gold with matching sparkling white and halcyon stupas surrounding its base.
 
Totally mesmerising in its aurulent, twinkling beauty!
 
And it’s OLD. The story goes that two dudes (or merchants if you prefer) met Gautama Buddha whilst he was travelling in ‘seven directions’ about 600 BC. As the helpful blokes that they were, they offered him honey cakes and other goodies. Buddha was so thankful he gave them 8 strands of his hair as a blessing. They returned back to Yangon and the King at the time thought this was great. He enshrined the hairs along with relics of three Buddhas before him. Because it contained relics of the four Buddhas who had attained Enlightenment, it was known as the Reliquary of the Four. It’s called ‘Shwedagon Pagoda’ or the golden pagoda, for obvious reasons.
 
And every dynasty since has maintained it, raising the ground underneath it higher and higher, ensuring all for miles can catch a glimpse of its majesty.
 
It is a shimmering, bell ringing wonderland in the heart of Yangon. A must see.

  PS. If you can count how many times I say ‘amazing’ in this vlog, you win a prize (yet to be determined!). 🙂

Wild Yangon

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Wild lunch views


I remember the exact moment. I was sitting on a tiny pink plastic stool under some make shift umbrella plastic. It was 11.45am. I felt my legs dribbling, matching the matted hair stench from my scalp. I didn’t want to touch my bloated face with my hands, lest the dirt get smeared more fully across my body. I couldn’t resist.

Heaven.

I picked up my metal spoon and took in a little of the balmy coloured liquid. My eyes flicked open. 

I quickly tried some of the green, then the chickpeas, and finally the crusty chopped remnants of a samosa.
I felt water coming from behind my eyes. Water joy as I call it. Water joy.
Ingredients for the ‘salad’.

This is called a ‘samosa salad’. It was more of a soup than a salad, but the combinations of salty, crunchy, sour and heat were truly remarkable.

 
Sugar cane machines & tobacco

More than remarkable. Bliss. Bliss on a plastic toy chair surrounded by sugar cane juice motors, loud conversations, wide eyed locals staring at the crazy haired white girl, wafts of road water odour and red splashed dirt.

I avoided at all costs looking behind me. I didn’t want the hanging carcass of another animal to disrupt this moment. Because it was this moment, this moment, I fell in love in Yangon.

A street for everyone and everything!
Yangon kinda hits you. Like a wet fish slap across your back. The chaotic roads barely have any sense of order. This is not helped by the fact that the cars (unlike neighbouring countries of Thailand and India) drive on the right side of the road. Now this in itself is not a problem. The problem is that the driving wheels are situated on the right side of the vehicle. 

This means that until a car pulls out into traffic, they cannot see what is coming up behind them. Safe much? Myanmar traffic direction changed overnight in about 1970 by General Ne Win, which most say was to establish distance from the former British rule. People use honking as a means to let people know they are there.
 
A garbage truck

The primary manufacturer of cars in Asia is Japan and the majority of these cars are RHD vehicles. There have been discussions of only allowing LHD vehicles to be imported, but a high ranking police officer says that it is the skill and safe practises of the motorist, rather than the driving side the wheel is on that is the problem of accidents. 

This food stall is coming fully onto the road.

Add to this pedestrians coming out into roads (the pavements are either non-existent, or broken messes of drains and precarious slabs of concrete), bikes and other wheeled contraptions, random stray dogs, and food stalls. Accidents happen all the time, and I saw evidence of this the other day when a car pulled out and hit a motorbike directly in front of me. 

 
You have to be on full alert to walk out into the streets of Burma. Cars, bikes, trishaws, trolleys, horse and carts, garbage ‘trucks’ (large open thatched reed things on wheels with smaller baskets inside) and any manner of wheel based operations with super large stuff balancing on top (or not). And people (including their attached contraptions) go wherever and whenever they want. 
Nerves of blue plated titanium. And constant turning of your head from right to left, making your presence is known to as many moving things around you as possible. No shrinking violets allowed here. You face certain death at any and every moment. 


The peace of the Buddha feels much needed here!
This chaotic state is mesmerising. Completely. It is different from other South East Asian countries I have visited. Fuller, smellier, more random. The closest I could come to comparison is India, but India is, and always will be, on a league of its own. India’s sheer numbers of people give it its prize position of pure chaos of bodies, wheeling vehicles, rubbish, dust and stench…. . There is also one tenth of the amount of begging here as in India. And there are no cows in the midst of homes, streets, railway stations. 
 
But the blending of peoples, religions and ethnic groups is noticeable, being more distinct in its meshing than what I’ve observed in neighbouring countries. Myanmar borders with India and China, and the influences of the migrating peoples are clear. Burmese food and drink is a great example. Chinese tea is served everywhere. The food mixes a lot of Chinese food influences: stirfrys, oil, heat and meat with Indian flavours and spices. I got obsessed with the ‘traditional lentil soup’ which strongly reminds me of dahl, but with crispy onions swimming on top of the soup. Delectable! Samosas and dosa on are prevalent on roadside stalls. Did someone mention DOSA???? 
 
More than cute. Everyone uses them.

What I did find both interesting and unique to Yangon is the sheer numbers of food stalls taking up substantial portions of any and all roads. And everyone eating or drinking at these stalls, on children’s plastic chairs with teapots. It couldn’t be more cute. The freshness of the produce, the succulent, ready to eat fruit, and the betel leaf. Almost as common as the motorbike is a betel leaf stall. The fresh green leaves are spread out, white paste smeared on top, tobacco, herbs and I’m unsure what else. They are meticulously rolled up into thumb nail sized squares and popped into mouths quicker that a fly chasing excrement. 





 








His teeth are pretty good in comparison to what else I saw!


Bloodied mouths follow, the betel juice dribbling out of smiles and spat… well everywhere. One really has to be careful walking the streets of Yangon! Really careful. The spray of crimson polished every sidewalk, bus and building. The betel leaf is addictive. The consequences of this over time mean crumbling specks of white and black encased in red stained lips.



In my next post I will discuss some of Yangon’s scintillating sights.

 

Shrine of remembrance for Aung Sun assassinated in 1947

Kathmandu: the next days

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On the second afternoon I met a principal of a school from a small village close to the epicentre of the first quake. The whole village was destroyed. Including the school. He had come to Kathmandu to talk options and seek help for his village.

 
“We are starting from zero. We need all the help we can get.”
 
He explained that he met an Australian man two weeks ago who volunteered to fund and assist building a small temporary school shelter, but it’s just the start. Start of everything. Water pipes have been broken and homes turned to rubble.
 

“If the children can’t get fresh water, they will get sick and we won’t be able to teach them. If the children don’t have homes, they will be too tired to learn. If they children don’t have food, they will be distracted. Everything works together. So I need help to fix everything. We are starting from zero.

“It’s like if a woman is pregnant. If it is a boy or girl, it doesn’t matter, and we are happy we are giving birth to it.”
 
I looked at him quizzically.
 
“The earthquake is the pregnancy. We have to be happy it’s come and work with it.”
 
I asked him what sort of support the government has given for the school.
 
“The government has given 25,000 rupees to each school. But that is nothing.”  (Note 25,000 rupees is the equivalent of $250 USD). In relative terms, this is about the cost of one shelter, which could fit a small family.
 
Thamel, Kathmandu

I asked him what sort of help the village needed or how people could contribute.

“We need people to come with supplies to the village. To meet the people and bring housing supplies. We need civil engineers. We need people to help with the school and homes. The monsoon is coming and that is a very big problem for us.”
Another man I met whose family is in a village 75 kms from Kathmandu says his family is fine, but the village was destroyed. He has moved his family to another location for the monsoon season and then they will look at rebuilding the village and homes after the monsoon. This is a family that is fortunate to be able to move.
 
Another man I met by wandering into a closed restaurant. He invited me to sit and talk. We had tea and he passionately told me about all the things he wants and needs to do for his village and community which were right at the epicentre of the earthquake. I ended up spending hours with him and subsequently helped him draft a funding submission to an NGO. I will be writing more about him and his work in future posts.
 
And this was all in one afternoon.

Hotel in Thamel, Kathmandu
 
And then there was a quake. Yup.
I was in bed at about 10pm at night (ok, ok, I was tired!). I felt the walls move and loud sounds. At first I thought it was my new neighbours in the room next to mine, being very loud, like a kind of slamming doors and such. But then I realised, no neighbours could move the whole building. My room and bed moved completely, taking me with it on this ‘I’m more powerful than you’ swirling motion around my room. Oh, so this is a quake! 

It was an odd feeling having everything move around me and involuntarily moving me with it. And the whole six storeys of the hotel I was in. 
 
I figured it mustn’t be a huge one or that it could have been far away since it seemed to last for only about a minute or so, but certainly impossible to miss! So I stayed in bed. I found out it was a 4.5 the next day and not too far away from Kathmandu.
The following night I woke up at 4am, but I didn’t know why, everything was so silent. Later that day I heard there was another quake around that time. The continuing earthquakes like this, even 4.3 – 4.5 are uncommon for Nepal. Locals say there was a 4.5 quake in 2011, but that seems to be the only in recent memory, which didn’t cause a whole lot of damage. 
 

The wrap

I guess one could describe my first few days in Kathmandu as being very ‘full’. Full of people helping and seeking help. A few quakes.
 
And momos. Don’t forget the momos. I love momos. Always have, always will. And I can eat them to my hearts’ content here. 
Veg momos. Amazing sauce. Heaven.
So please don’t be surprised if I start looking all squidgy, soft and saucy in my coming months’ photos. If I happen to turn into a momo, I am ok with that. It is worth it. Believe me.

Pumpkin momos with a chili chocolate sauce!