Mountains and Moxie

Three days on the river have left us all exhilarated, but a little worse for wear. There are sunburns all around (the monsoon finally stopped) and the injury count is adding up. I’ve got a broken toe as does Martin (his is worse). Adam dislocated his shoulder and has a bruised rib. And several of us had a pretty serious collision with a rock this afternoon.
But wow – what a spectacular experience!
Our morning in Bandipur was discouraging to say the very least. We awoke eager to see the breathtaking Himalayan views the area is famous for, but were greeted instead by only rain. And lots of it. Monsoon season is meant to end by early September, but this year has been especially bad.
We all headed out for a little exploring on our own after breakfast. Martin, Emma, and I headed off in one direction, others in other ways. Jamal went off for a haircut after a bad butchering with his clippers. Bandipur is a beautiful town, high in the hills with lush fora and fauna. After about an hour we all met up and Chit took us on a more extensive tour of the area, pointing out the juniper and pomellos growing wild, as well as the marijuana on every corner.
One of the most beautiful things about this country is the affection people show each other. It’s very common to see men holding hands in a very tactile, but not romantic way as the walk down the street. There is always touching and it always seems genuine.
Our tour of the town was interesting and informative, but it was wet! Very, very wet and rapidly very uncomfortable. Our group, which is remarkably good spirited and prone to laughter got progressively more sullen as the morning wore on. By the time we got back to the hotel, we were all soaked to the bone and not at all looking forward to our river trip.
We had a quick lunch at the Inn, cold meats, french fries, cole slaw – all delicious – packed the essentials in our boat bags, turned over all our other belongings, including computers, to the hotel staff and piled into our van. A short drive later we were on the beach meeting our guides.
They surveyed us, conferred a bit and assigned us our boats. The two couples in one and Chitra, the rest of us in the other. The rain had tapered off as we donned life jackets and helmets and by the time we were navigating the waters smiles had returned in full force. The river was especially high – a benefit of the long monsoon – and the hills that surrounded it were a vibrant, lush green. There were crystal blue waterfalls breaking the green every few minutes for a magical effect. When I asked everyone later for the words to explain it we could only come up with films – Avatar, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, or Anaconda. After a short ride we reached the beach that would serve as our camp for the first night. Pulling the boats up on the dock, we took off our shorts and t-shirts and jumped into the river (bathing suits were underneath). That’s how I did my toe in – twas quite a rocky river and I hit one pretty hard.
By the time we’d figured out how to build our tents, the guides had completed a kitchen area and had tea, coffee, and hot chocolate waiting for us. We sat by the river willing the clouds to clear and began to feel better. By dinner time – chicken curry, veggies, rice, cole slaw, and bread – we were back to ourselves and Jamal was trying with all his might to get another “Would you rather” game going.
The clouds cleared and the sky filled with stars. Alison and I sat with our toes to the fire and talked about our lives til it was time to sleep. We all crawled into our tents for our first night on the ground.
I was up early the next morning, which brought with it the benefit of using the latrine before it got to busy or hot. Our guides dug a small hole in the ground and tented it. A few feet away a paddle was propped in the sand topped by a rafting helmet. If the helmet was atop the paddle, the latrine was free; in the ground, it was occupied.
As the camp came to life, our guides pulled a huge iridescent silver fish our of the river. We all gathered to take photos and congratulate him and quickly learned that that would be our dinner. Breakfast, which they laid out for us lovingly, included fresh eggs and sausages. I don’t know how they got the eggs into the boat and with the rapids, how they kept them intact, but, oh was it good!
We piled back into our boats and made it a little ways down the river before stopping. The guides taught us Nepali games which we played enthusiastically, but really, there were rapids ahead that they wanted to check out before letting us through them.
We did fine. In one particularly hairy spot Jamal fell out of our boat, but Martin was there to pull him back before I realized what had happened. That was how Martin’s toe was done in.
We beach a little further on and had lunch. Shortly after arrival, we were joined by a young boy leading a heard of cattle. The beach was overrun with butterflies with patterns I’d never seen before, and at one point a bright indigo bug, looking like a two-inch kidney bean flew by us. It happened so quickly that no one could capture it on film, but it was something none of us had seen before.
Our camp for our second night on the beach was bigger than the first and between a lagoon and a long suspension bridge. As we built camp, starting to get the hang of it, Chit walked into the town to get us beer and soft drinks. Periodically, people would wonder out of the woods to look at us. They’d talk to our guides a bit and disappear back into the woods. At one point a boy with a machete made the circle, which was momentarily daunting, but fine of course.
There was a line on the beach where the sand changed from light, soft white to a darker color and texture. Upon stepping on it, we learned that it was a form of quicksand and down we went. Not deep, but it did suck you in. Adam and Anna were about knee-deep, the rest of us ankle.
Once camp was built, we went in for a long swim, this time with no injuries. The current was strong and the water cold and, as we realized how refreshing that was, we realized that we’d escaped the monsoon and were now in the sunny weather we’d all hoped for. the sky was a bright blue with puffy white clouds over the brilliant green hills. We also realized that in two days on the river, we’d never seen another boat. Our aquatic caravan consisted of the two rafts for our team, each with a guide, a safety raft with two guides, and a kayaker who rode ahead to check out what was coming up. And we were it on the river. I’ve spent some time on rivers before, but never felt so alone and so safe simultaneously.
As the sun came down the men gathered wood for a bonfire and the women made tea. We hated that it came down to stereotypes, but it did. Chit came back carrying a giant log, followed by the four guys all carrying the next log which was only slightly larger. They triumphantly dropped it in the fire and we drank our tea and beer and told our life stories. The sand was mica heavy and, as we were all covered in sand, we sparkled like Twilight vampires.
The next morning came early. The pancakes with lemon sugar sauce got us up right and we packed up for our last day. We knew this would be the hardest day and Anna’s fear of the water got the better of her. She decided to ride on the safety boat and took her perch on a couple of barrels behind the rower, looking like Cleopatra in a sedan chair.
We hit a couple rough patches of rapids, bigger than the previous two days, and made it through. It was exhilarating, actually. The Seti joined with another river and the water got calm and deep. Our guide suggested we jump out and swim and we eagerly took him up on his word. The current pulled us quickly, but the water felt good after being in the hot sun. It was as though we were alone on the planet, just our group – the nine travelers, Chitra, and our four guides – in the wilderness. We swam for a long time. Martin, Jamal, Emma, drifted far from our boat. We saw the other boat’s passengers load back in, even pulling Fiona onto theirs. The safety boat captain called to us to cling to his boat and we all grabbed on. From above, Anna warned us of what was coming – “there’s a whirlpool to the left, a bit of a drop now, ooh – big splash.” We all just hung on, knowing it would be over soon. Anna’s face calmed and she said “Ok, that’s about it,” and we all relaxed a bit. Suddenly she changed and said, “oh, there’s a big drop coming up.” We all clung tightly as the boat was battered. All I could think was just hang on. Just don’t let go. The water came up over our heads and the boat tossed, and finally my knees bashed into something hard and painful and it was over. We all took a breath and then looked left and right to make sure ever one else was ok. Then we compared experiences. We’d all been hit by the rock, but it seemed, one again, that Martin bore the brunt.
We loaded back onto our boat and floated the rest of the way down the river in mostly silence. Along the way we passed a three funeral pyres. Slowly roads came into view along the river and the houses became more dense. Around mid-day we pulled to the shore in a densely populated area. We had arrived in Chitwan and at the end of our rafting.

Its been a few days of adventure without access to wifi, so there’s a lot to catch up on, but here’s a little start.

Upon waking in Bhaktapur early Tuesday morning, I realized I’d left my toothbrush and paste in Kathmandu (I did actually realize it the night before, but could only deal with it in the morning.) I replaced both for 80 rupees (about $1). It’s shocking how cheap everything is. We’re told we’re meant to bargain for things, that they expect it. But when you’re paying a dollar for something someone made by hand, its hard to find a reason to do it.
After breakfast Jamal and I headed out again, he for a memory card for his computer, me for a new battery. We couldn’t find what we needed and asking a shopkeeper, were informed that what we wanted was available just on the other side of the gate. Bhaktapur is a gated city. It costs about $15 to enter and each time you leave and re-enter, you must pay again. $15 isn’t much, especially given the battery would probably cost less than one, but we suddenly felt like we were in the Hunger Games. We looked at each other and decided not to venture past the gate. Luckily Chitra came to our reduce and managed to procure our goods for us.
And with that, we were off to Bandipur. We were told it would be about a 5 hour drive and we’d stop for lunch along the way. We made our way back to Kathmandu, fighting the cars, scooters, and cows that crowded the roads without any obvious rules. Leaving the Kathmandu valley our small, very old van started fighting its way up a narrow mountain road. Barely room for one vehicle, we all held our breath each time one of the brightly colored trucks came towards us from the opposite direction. Along the way, Chitra would point out landslides that had obviously happened the night before due to the monsoon, and we’d all say a little prayer as the driver steered us towards the cliff to move around it.
After about an hour we adjusted to the perilous conditions and started chatting again. After a couple we were laughing and a bit oblivious to the danger.
That’s when we hit the traffic jam. We joined ht line of cars idling for a while until the driver finally switched the van off. We sat in the car for a while and Adam began a game of “Would you rather…” with the scintillating question “Would you rather be well-adjusted mud or an emotionally disturbed leaf?” The game devolved from there and after about 30 minutes of it without any movement from the cars, we braved the monsoon and ventured out of the car. It was great to stand and Alison, Martin, and I decided to go have a look at what was going on. Up to this point it could have been an accident, a landslide, we had no idea. Walking to the front of the jam, we still didn’t know. There were several dozen kids in blue jerseys yelling. It was hard to tell who was yelling at who, but we didn’t want to stay around to find out so we quickly headed back to the safety of the van.
Chitra was doing a little recognizance of his own and discovered that a group of students from the school nearby were protesting police who had beaten a student. OK – I’m for that protest, but it was very inconvenient.
After another hour or so, Anna charmed a local family into letting us use their bathroom. Sometime later, Chitra negotiated a deal with the leaders of the protest to let our van through as we were tourists. As we got close we were approached by a blond boy about 17. He was seemingly the leader (and a Nepali albino – honestly) of the protest and he shouted a few things at us and the driver, hit the outside of the van and we were on our way.
We stopped for a very needed lunch at a spot by the river and, after a great meal, walked cross the narrow suspension bridge and back and then hopped back on the van. All was going well for about an hour and then we came of the next jam. Once again, stopped traffic for more than an hour. This time the river had overflowed because of the monsoons and cars couldn’t pass. There was an American from one of the vans ahead of us who was eager to tell us what was going on (and to borrow Chit’s phone). My group was eager to learn about him (me not so much – I want to be the American) and asked where he was from. New York City was the answer. When I asked where, he hesitated, said it was a big city if you didn’t know it and eventually admitted it was Hoboken. After he left, I pointed out to my group, rather indignantly, that in fact Hoboken was in New Jersey and he was a jerk. They teased me about that for some time to come.
As the sun went down, we were able to cross the river. One by one, and swapping with cars from the other direction, we approached the fast flowing high water. The van plowed through it making a lot of noises I’m sure it’s not supposed to make and we were back in action.
After a short drive we began winding up again. And up. And up. And again it was a narrow road. I was sorry we weren’t doing it in the light, as the views were likely spectacular, but part of me was also quite happy to be in the dark, so I couldn’t see just how close to the edge we were.
About 5 hours later than we were meant to, we pulled up at the Old Inn in Bandipur, which can only be compared to the inn Karen Allen ran in Raiders of the Lost Ark, with its low ceilings and exposed beams. Its rooms were filled with candles which seemed very inviting, but was in fact because it was in the middle of one of the daily power outages that hit Nepal. We had yet another lovely dinner and retired to our rooms to settle in. Re-grouping in the bar, we played a heated game of Uno and then went to bed optimistic that the monsoon would end for our rafting the next day.

THey say if you can’t identify the annoying one then its you. I don’t think I’m the annoying one (don’t think we have one), but I am the needy one. I’ve borrowed so much lately its gotten to be a joke. Good job I brought the xanex. That’ll make up for everything.

Lots of updates, but they’ll have to wait a few days. For now I’m in Bandipur. Our five our bus ride through the mountains yesterday became a nine hour ride because of landsldes and a student protest that blocked the road for several hours. I love a protest, especially one with an albino Nepali student leader, but not so much yesterday. Our hours of car would you rather and alphabet games got tiring.

But we arrived, I’m looking at the Annapurna and am off to raft for a couple days. I’ll fill you in on it all when we get to Chitwan jungle on the 20th or so.
My camera is in working order, so photos to come!

Its the first day with the our liftle band complete. Breakfast was much more sensible than yesterday’s, though I did make myself noticed when, while trying to make a significant point about human sacrifice (don’t ask), I gestured grandly knocking the waiter’s arm and ending up with his tray of iced lattes on my lap.

Our plan for the day was to see a few of the holy sights in Kathmandu and then head to Bhanktapur, a UNESCO world heritage site and the one-time capital of the area. We met our guide, who told us his name quickly and then said, but you can call me Raul. He had a bandana, long dreadlocks, and an ever-present smile.

We piled all our gear and ourselves into a small van and headed out to our first stop – the Monkey Temple, so named because of the many, many monkeys wondering freely there. As we approached, Raul cautioned us not to look any of the monkeys in the eyes or it might irritate them. “Oh, its the same as with opera singers,” quipped I to absolutely no response.

As promised, there were monkeys everywhere. Lots and lots of monkeys. We took dozens of photos and began to walk around the site. We learned that you always walk around a temple clockwise as the goddess is meant to always be on your right. Similarly, prayer wheels, which I was itching to spin, are always spun clockwise.

Up a steep set of stone steps and around a corner we came to the main section of the temple. I wasn’t quite prepared for it. The cover of every guidebook on Nepal, and really the stereotypical image is the golden roofed temple, streaming with prayer flags and featuring the eyes of Buddha. And there it was. In person. As we madly photographed the temple and the monkeys around it, Raul told us its history. I don’t know it, because I was so distracted by being there I couldn’t listen. He told us we’d have 20 minutes or so to explore and then we should re-group.

The Monkey Temple is high on a hill (higher than the highest point in Brittian we learned). It is surrounded by patios that looked out over KAthmandu far below and with the mountains in the distance. I wondered around the whole of it taking pictures and just taking it in. Anna leaned over and said “You look like you’re totally in awe.” “I am!” And I was.

We made our way back to the van and headed into town to see the “Living Goddess.” A young girl is selected as the living goddess and may make an sequestered in a palace. She may make an appearance at her window if you ask it of her, but she may not. When the girl begins menstruation “she is no longer a goddess” Raul told us. The next goddess is then selected through a process that includes putting all candidates (infants and toddlers) in a dark room filled with taxidermy animals and loud noises. Children who cannot stay calm are eliminated as choices.

We gathered in the courtyard of her palace. Her guardian appeared at an upper window and told us to wait 10 minutes, but that we could not take photos if she appeared. About that many minutes later a little girl, probably about 8, heavily made up, wearing a colorful sari, and chewing gum appeared at the window. She stayed for a minute or so, turned her head towards some noise from inside and ran off.

It was about this time that my camera stopped working so I am relying on my fellow travelers to upload their photos at some point.

We then traveled to Pashupatinath Temple. This is on the Tiger River and is the site of Hindu cremations. As we arrived on one side of the river, we saw piles of wood on the other side where pyres would be. One was burning and we were told that was a funeral. The wood and ash was swept into the river as it burned. A few feet away, small children were swimming and playing a ball game in the river.

We learned that this site was a tribute to the god Shiva and that his sign was the phallus, the sign of fertility. Raul mentioned this so many times that Fiona finally said, “I think he just likes saying the word.”

The temple was home to several Sadus. Beggers dressed in saffron robes, with floor length dreadlocks, performing incredible feats of yoga. They asked us to pose with them and all in my group said no. As we walked away, I thought, oh come on – that’ll be a great Facebook photo, and I called upon Jamal to take my photo with them. After one leaned in and whispered in my ear. We headed back towards the van and Fiona asked, “what did he say to you, it seemed very intimate.” I smiled at her. He said “That’ll be 500 rupees.”

Back in the van we headed on to Bhanktapur. The gated town was bustling. This is the site of many movies including Little Buddha, The Golden Child, and some scenes from Indian Jones. The narrow streets had a Harry Potter feel to them. We ate lunch in a pagoda-like structure in the middle of town. Emma, Fiona, and I indulged in our favorite Everest beers and everyone was in jolly but tired spirits.

We are resting now and meeting soon for dinner and to talk through tomorrow,

Maybe by then I’ll have sorted out my camera!

Emma is now my roommate, which is quite nice actually. She’s got the british quick dry wit that I love.

We settled into the room together going through the usual, what temperature do you like, do you mind if I draw the blinds rigamarole and chatted a bit about our days. At 6 we decided to go down to the bar for a beer before meeting the rest of the group.

The Everest local brew is a quite nice local lager. We drank large bottles of the limited edition concocted in celebration of  some anniversary of Everest, but could make out exactly what.

By the time we realized that 6:30 had come and gone, the group was convened in the lobby and we were laughingly labeled the difficult ones. In addition to Chitra and Jamal, our group includes Brit sisters Alison and Anna. Anna fiancé Adam, and Alison’s husband Gary, and their friend Martin. All were in their mid-30s. Fiona, in her late 50s or so was a former adventure travel guide herself and visiting Nepal before heading off to South Africa. I am the sole American on my little team.

The group of 5 had booked their trip 18 months ago and had t-shirts and hoodies made up. They joked about past trips and had inside jokes that only they understood like “I really like rice.” Alison and Anna had a quick sisterly spat about whether Alison had ever been to New York without her sister , prompting Gary to instructs all to never travel with siblings and me to miss my sister a bit.  But it was clear they would be good fun and game for anything. Also – their range of body types makes me feel a bit better about my chances on the trek. Anna said she was hoping to lose half a stone during the trip, but did not embrace my suggestion that she merely drink the water to accomplish that.

We got our briefing from Chitra. Monsoon season is lingering here so we will not begin our trek this week as planned. Rather, we’ll start out in the jungle and rafting and then hope that the rains have subsided .We compared notes on who forgot what and if anyone else could offer it up for them. I traded a promise of xanex, which it seems like I won’t need, for a pillow, which I most certainly will.

Chitra left us on our own to dine and get to know one another. Spicy curries and a few more Everests and we are all feeling good about the trip.

Tomorrow we leave in the morning. I’m not back to Kathmandu until September 30. Though I’ll still be writing, I may not be able to post until then.

30 plus hours of travel during which I set my feet down in four countries (the US, Hong Kong, Bangladesh, and, finally Nepal. I was so exhausted when the plane finally landed that I could think of little else then taking my shoes and bra off, brushing my teeth, and sleeping for 12 hours or so.

But the minute I walked into the airport filled with bustling crowds, my second wind hit. While I couldn’t appreciate the cultural chaos as much as I might have after a few hours sleep, I loved the noise of it all. Not so much the onslaught of cab drivers trying to convince me they were my ride to the hotel. I found Chitra, who I learned would be our guide for the trip, waiting with a sign from my tour company outside the small airport and he lead me to a waiting cab. Though Chitra was carrying my pack, drivers still tried to woo me into their cars for the ride.

Chitra explained the ride would be no more than 15 minutes to the hotel and off we went. The streets were narrow and unpaved, buildings were crumbling, and I began to wonder how easy it would be to print the company logo off from the website and, knowing that every day someone will likely be arriving looking for the sign, stand at the airport in wait for an unsuspecting and tired traveler.

We turned a corner into an alleyway that I doubted the car could squeeze through, then another barely missing a thin cow by the side, nibbling on garbage. One more and gleaming in front of us was a neon sign reading Radisson. We made a sharp turn just before the gates to the Radisson and pulled up in front of the far less grand, but in every way far more charming Hotel Tibet.

After a good night’s sleep in the small, hard and so inviting bed, a long morning shower, I was ready for a day of cultural immersion.

The breakfast buffet featured mango juice, an omelette station, grilled veggies, noodles, and toast. I ate all of it, taking a guess at some of the unfamiliar options for my omelette, I ended up with something delicious, but very spicy. The iced latte was pre-sweeted but good. Throwing caution to the wind, the two glasses of mango juice I consumed worked wonders on chasing away the last bit of tiredness I was feeling.

As I paid to go, Bikram (yes, like the yoga, he told me before I asked) the 20-something at the desk as me where I was from. When I told him he brightened saying “you are Barack Obama’s neighbor.” “not exactly,” said I, “but I do like him.”  “I love Barack Obama.” Bikram said with a huge grin.

At 9am, I met up with Chitra and the two other members of my group who’d already arrived. Both in their 20s. Emma, from London, is taking some time between finishing her training and beginning a job as a lawyer.  Jamal, from Qatar, is just out of college and looking for work as a business consulting.

Chitra whisked us through Kathmandu’s maze of alleyways. Saturday is the Nepalese day of rest so shops would be closed except in the tourist areas.  The city is a beautiful assault on the senses. Incense filling the air, cars and scooters zipping wildly by, seemingly without any rules with regard to the side of street they belong on, and colorful beads and saris for sale in small storefronts alongside tacky t-shirts. Interestingly, men everywhere were dressed in a very Western style, while the women were all dressed very traditionally.

We tried to take it all in, and keep some sense of where we were with regard to the hotel while Chitra zipped on down the next alley and tryg to get to know each other.

At the convergence of three streets Chitra pointed out a restaurant and suggested that’s where we should lunch and he left us on our own. Only 11:30, we weren’t quite ready for lunch, but all ready to sit for a minute we went in to check it out. After navigating a pile of broken bricks in the narrow entryway, we made our way to a rooftop cafe and sat looking out over the street.

Two iced beverages each later (coffee for me, pepsi for Emma, and papaya lasse for Jamel) we were laughing and debating like old friends. we compared tastes in music, food, television, and opinions on Apple products. We talked about the books we’d brought to read and my choice of The End of Men and How to Be a Woman sparked a lively chat about women’s issues in our respective countries. We each claimed to be the one that will slow the rest of the group down and apologized to each other for our lack of preparedness for the trip.Our group would increase by six tonight, a group of friends traveling together, and we vowed to take care of each other through our days ahead.

Emma left us to meet a friend and Jamal and I spent the next couple hours walking further from the center of town towards the mountain we could see in the distance. We both a had the idea that at a certain point we would have a view uninterrupted by buildings. We never did find that spot, but it didn’t matter. The journey took up into residential neighborhoods. We talked politics and religion. Jamal is a Palestinian Muslim with strong opinions about American politics. He was passionate about his beliefs and eager and open to mine. He asked me about Todd Akin and Michael Bloomberg, and told me about his ultimate desire to be a vet. We shared how nervous we each were in coming on the trip, but how glad we were that we had. “I’m going to enjoy this trip, I’m certain of it,” Jamal said to me shortly after we shared out thoughts on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs with regard to global politics.

We both got to the “I must eat lunch” place at the same time. Looking around for a taxi to take us back to the restaurant where we’d had our earlier beverage, we spied a place selling Nepalese momos, a dumpling. we got two vegetable dumplings each, filled with a spicy chickpea paste, and something that looked like a fried onion ring, but was actually a doughnut like pastry with a slightly crunchy texture from sugar crystals.

Now sated, tired, and completely lost we headed in what we thought would be the right direction for the hotel. Trusting each other’s instincts we made it back in short order with only a few wrong turns.

Its time for a nap and a probably another shower. At 6:30 we re-convene to meet the rest of our group.  I’m sure I’ll like them, and I hope they’ll like me, but if not no matter. Emma and Jamal are great company and this country is astounding.

Oh my god, there’s no wifi on the plane.  It’s 14 hours to Hong Kong and there’s no wifi.  “We’re getting it next year,” the check in attendant told me. He was funny and helpful and I hated him pretty intensely.  None of my usual upgrade techniques had worked and I’d just come to grips with the idea of 14 hours in a window seat in coach (not great given my water consumption) and now this.

I’m not sure when the last time I went 14 hours without email, Facebook, or words with friends was, but I’m doubted my ability to handle it.

It took every bit of positive thinking I could muster but I managed to conjure my aunt’s voice in my head instructing me to “find good and praise it.”  Really what have I got to complain about.  I have a dozen movies and books on my iPad, a charging dock at the seat, and Barbara and Cy, the lovely couple from North Carolina blocking me from the aisle and easy bathroom access, could not have been nicer (though their bionic camel bladders baffled me, given they have at least 20 years on me.).

Oh – and I’m embarking on a great adventure.  (I refuse the phrase trip of a lifetime as I’m hoping for many more adventures to come).

I think about my mom a lot on planes.  She would talk to anyone and everyone and relay their stories with glee.  I’m not that friendly, but I did learn that Barbara and Cy were headed to visit their daughter in Shanghai, and I spent a little time chatting with a woman bringing her toddler home to Hong Kong to meet his grandparents for the first time.

I also love watching people’s airline food choices, it’s not quite the Tanglewood picnic assortment, but almost.  Some folks have beautiful hand prepared baskets of farmer’s market quality delectables, others stock up on whatever the airport concessions have to offer.  My approach to plane-trip nutrition is a lot like my approach to a Tanglewood picnic – I have big dreams about what I’m going to bring and then I either forget or run out of time and end up relying on what they have to offer me.  For this trip I did manage to grab a couple remarkably good apples from the hotel before I left and the Asian-inspired lunch was as good as one could hope for on a flight.  I’ve also downed a lot of water, so overall, I’m in good shape.

6 hours in, I’ve watched two movies and started this blog post.  After 8 hours, three movies, the first episode of Aaron Sorkin’s Newsroom, and a little bit of what seemed like a promising documentary, but ultimately disappointed.  12 hours down I’ve gotten in a brief nap and caught a fun French documentary called Apple, The Tyranny of Cool, which is exactly as it sounds, and watched Hong Kong tv’s cooking shows “Itching for Kimchee” and “Pretty Soup Brewers.”

I’ve also spent a good deal of time following the flight progress on the little in seat monitor and gotten very into checking the stream from the camera mounted on the outside of the plane, something I’ve not seen before.  Reading, I have not done.  And I have several books I’m eager to get to, but alas.

Best part of the flight are my periodic breaks in the back of the plane. Lots of seasoned passengers putting vanity aside to stretch out stiff muscles.  An international flight from JFK naturally draws an international passenger roster. It is, of course, mostly Americans and Chinese on the flight, but I’ve made new, if short-term, friendships with folks from Germany, Ireland, Canada, and the U.K. Each with their own tale of what put them on our plane.  It’s a kind of socializing unique to solo-travelers – that need to connect with other human beings after so much time together in a confined space.  I probably wouldn’t need it if I’d had access to my friend stream, so I find myself oddly grateful for Cathay Pacific’s lack of technology.

I’m in the airport Sheraton (paying an absurd amount of money so that I don’t have quite so much stress in the morning). I’m alone on purpose – I wanted a night to get myself in the right headspace for the trip – but I’m feeling really alone. Turns out jumping off the cliff is scarier than I thought. Even though I know it’s the right thing to do and that I’m going to be glad I did it.

I’ve packed and repacked a dozen times so far and still can’t find a way to bring everything I want and still be able to carry it on my back  – and still have room left in my pack for souvenirs. I have my global phone, but am waiting to activate it til the morning. I’ve downloaded hours of movies and television onto my iPad, and I’ve made sure that aspirin and, lets face it, Xanax, will be within arm’s reach through the flight.

Its been a fun process getting ready for this trip and people have been so enthusiastic, although more than a few have said they’d never do it themselves. Hitting up the Upper West Side Lush for solid shampoo, the wonderful Emma, Kia, and Molly loaded me down with products and pampering to send me off feeling and smelling pretty (possibly for the last time in a month).

My friend Esme gave me a weird little product so I can pee standing up, and more importantly a giant hug and loving send off.  I’ve talked to my sister, my step-mom, and a handful of friends. I’ve re-read all the supportive emails from friends from all over.

Everyone thinks I’m ready. And looking at my pack and the empty wine glass next to it, it seems I am.

I’m sure that by wheels up to Hong Kong tomorrow morning, I’ll believe it too. For now, though, I think I might get another glass of wine.

Last week’s Beethoven 9 at Tanglewood was spectacular, but bittersweet for me. Sunday afternoons on the lawn at Tanglewood are one of my favorite ways to wile away a day and I’m certain there are many more in my future even though I won’t be working there anymore, but it certainly had by second-guessing my choice to leave.  The first concert I heard at Tanglewood was Beethoven 9, on the lawn, in 2001. I knew the minute I walked through the gates that day that I wanted to work there. I never actually thought it would happen, but lo, 5 years later, I was walking onto t he grounds as an employee. And seven blissful summers later, moving on. But it was painful to realize that my special relationship with the place, my sort of claim on it, would be no more.

But if last week made me question my decision, this week, confirmed it was the right one. Not because it was a bad week. Actually, because it was so good. For a completely not superstitious person, I can be really superstitious when I like the messages the universe seems to be sending me.

And the universe wasn’t terribly subtle when it arranged for the final piece of music I heard the Boston Pops perform whilst still an employee to be Liza Minnelli singing “New York, New York.”

When I got the call on Sunday morning that Liza Minnelli was making a surprise appearance with the Pops, I was nothing but grumpy. My plan for my final concert and day of work was to be very busy getting hugs goodbye, but nothing else. So to have to call press and arrange backstage photos was less than happy-making.

For fun, the Pops artist assistant had me escort Liza. I’ve met a lot of icons over the years and am rarely starstruck, but Liza is Liza. We all have so many expectations of who she is and what the experience will be.

We sat on the back porch of the venue, waiting for her cue and talking about her life, mine, music, and life. She was warm, quick-witted, and slightly fragile. Exactly what one would expect only so much more wonderful.  I told her it was my last day and she was interested in every detail of what I was going to do next. Or at least she was polite enough to appear that way. She let everyone who wanted one take a photo with her and she made me laugh more times that I can count. She also borrowed my Covergirl Cranberry Fruit Spritzer lipgloss before going out on stage.

And Liza on stage! She turned it on in every way. She gave it her all and showed in every way that her icon status is more than just a function of who her parents were.

So thank you Liza, and the Boston Pops, for sending me  off in the best possible way. It was a blue moon this weekend as well. The next one isn’t until 2015. Somehow that seems relevant as well….the moon and New York City await!

It’s the final concert of the Boston Symphony Orchestra season at Tanglewood, the dramatic opening notes to Beethoven’s 9th symphony flood the lawn. Its one of those ideal days at Tanglewood. The sky is such a perfectly clear, soft blue, punctuated with fluffy white clouds that it’s almost like sitting inside a Tiffany box. There is a light breeze and, while the lawn is crowded everyone is happily sharing the grounds. Sleeping on the blankets or sharing champagne and cheese with friends. There are also thousands of seated audience members inside the shed, but one of my favorite traditions over the seven summers I’ve spent on staff of the Boston Symphony is to spend this particular Sunday afternoon on the lawn. Soaking in the sun and reflecting on the summer that’s gone by.

Today though, it’s so blissfully serene that all I can think is –What  the fuck have I done?

This is my final BSO concert as an employee of the orchestra. I will work a few more days and one more concert with the Boston Pops, but today feels symbolic. I know I’ve made the right decision. With profits from selling the house I inherited I paid off all my debt and have a bit of money in the bank to support myself for a while. My job is constantly thrilling, but also demanding. I am single and, assuming I live have a normal lifespan, I’m at its exact middle point. So it seemed like a time to blow it all up.

In less than three weeks, I leave for Nepal. I will see the sight that’s fascinated my entire life – Mount Everest. I will not be climbing it, of course, but even looking at it from below seemed completely out of reach. It still does. I periodically have to look at my credit card statement to see that since I’ve paid for the trip, I must actually be taking it.

I don’t know what the future holds. I’m pretty certain its more beautiful afternoons on the Tanglewood lawn. I really hope so, ever though I’ll be just as a regular ticket holder, not an insider. But beyond that I have no idea. I know what I want to do first is connect with the outdoors for a while. I’m a city girl at heart and I love the pace and energy of the Big Apple, where I shall hang my hat when this trip is over, but nothing gives perspective like being outside in nature.

The Tanglewood Festival Chorus is singing the exhilarating chorus and I am filled with optimism about what comes next.  I’m going to be singing this as I trek my way through the mountains (actually – I’ll probably be huffing, puffing, and swearing under my breath, but I like to think I’ll be singing….)  All creatures drink of joy At natures breast. Just and unjust Alike taste of her gift; She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine, A tried friend to the end.