You asked for it, you got it. The Grit, Photos from Nepal 2011. 

R

oundup of my favorite things this week…
From HOUS to a (Sensation White House
Follow it, don’t judge it!  

Festival. Sensation White, America 2012.
Because all we need is another festival. But if there’s one to add to the books, it’s the all-white bash from across the pond. Sensation White is the original OG fest, so get your glowsticks ready for Cirque de Soleil ala Ultra. Good thing @Austyntatiouss has been there, we’re gonna need all the prep we can get.  

Fashion. HOUS.
HOUS is here to fill a fashion void — edgy styles that appreciate the scene and the people who wear them. As clothes become a part of the person, HOUS is a part of the music scene. The company has partnered with elite DJs like ATB, Bob Sinclair, Erick Morillo, Robbie Rivera, Sander van Doorn, and Sasha to create specially designed T-shirts for their fans. Other established names spotted in HOUS gear include Calvin Harris, Chuckie, Congorock, Dada Life, Darren Emerson, Drek Martinez, DJ Paulette, DJ Reach, EC Twins, Jeremy Carr, Junior Sanchez, Fareoh, Max Vangeli, Rony Seikaly, Sharam (Deep Dish), and Steve Aoki. Scoop it up. 

Event. DJ’s in The Sky, Nepal.
What’s that you see? The spot for the first ever outdoor musical event in Nepal. Ok, so maybe that’s Everest, but jump over a mountain or two to the district of Rasuwa, next to Tibet and you’re in the right spot. Think of a picturesque plateau, complete with pristine forests and traditional mountain villages.  Then, layer on three full days of comprehensive music across three stages. DJ’s from Nepal, India, Turkey, UAE, Macedonia, Lebanon, Israel, Italy, Russia, Pakistan, USA, and more are flying in, so why shouldn’t you? Tribal vibes, groovy beats and evocative styles, up in the clouds. Chillin’ 

I’m not bothering with a book or researching for researchs sake. “Let’s just go with it” is big for a control freak, but I’m going with it. The team: Taryn (imagine the reaction to our rhyming names) of Wanderista, an Aussie named Ruby, Tim and Daniel of Ride2Rescue, and of course, Oneal… The Kathmandu Chronicles, Part III. 

Thamel.
It’s a black market… for hiking gear. North Face holds a strong monopoly here… my country-signed hiking sneakers and worn-in fleece are actually in fashion. Thamel is a third-world stereotype. The dry, dirt filled air permeates the snake like streets filled with Moo Moo shops, Pashmina outposts and WiFi-fueled (good luck with that) cafes - and tourists, lots and lots of tourists. But that’s what makes Thamel authentic, and inauthentic at the exact same time. A pilgrimage for artists and spiritualists in the 70’s, its soul seeking culture remains much unchanged, despite the influx of Nokia cell phones and misunderstood American influences like the Facebook Café. But to understand Kathmandu, is to simply except it as is – pirated DVDs, souvenirs for days, a seedy Red Light district and historic hostels, concentrated in one veracious valley. I roam the market, chill out at New Orleans Café, down a beer at Tom & Jerry’s and rent a motorbike in this hippie hub. It draws me in, it begs me to stay and fall deeper through its cracks. I change my flight, twice. It’s contagious and infectious and it gets me.

Monkey Temple.
I wake before dawn and make the morning move to Swayambhunath (translation: sublime trees) before dawn (aka before the herds). I watch the Buddhist and Hindu pilgrims ascend the 365 steps from eastern side (sans entrance fee), pass the gilded Stupa or Vajra and begin a series of clockwise circumambulations. Sitting on a hill, west of Kathmandu proper, the shrine, temple and well, holy monkey filled spot is one of the most sacred Buddhist sites, second only to Bodnath in the south. If the history (or primates) doesn’t do it for you, maybe the 20 karat gold structure will grab your attention…

Pashupatinath Temple and Cremation Ghat.
I watch a body burn at Pashupatinath Temple’s Cremation Ghat. I watch a family as they watch their daughter burn. I watch the family watch the crowd, watching, staring at her anonymous face, uncovered and unmasked. The crowd snaps photos of the family, watching the body burn. I watch, and I too take photos. It’s hauntingly beautiful; the lifeless figure under the full of life fabric and flowers, the glow of darkness and the smoke and fire. And as I judge and shake my head at the loud travelers with their Canon Rebels and rupees for the Baba G’s, I snap away. I tell myself – this, is what, I do, but is it any different? Or is it just a way to justify taking a photo of a family watching me, watching them, watching a body burn in the most sacred temple of Hindu Lord Shiva…the most sacred Hindu temple in the entire world. ‘The Temple of Living Beings’ dates back to 400 A.D, the sister site to the more infamous Ghats of Varanasi. I explore in silence: Brahma Temple, Gauri and Arya Ghats, the Gorakhnath and Vishwarup Temples and then the people, dead and alive, along the holy Bagmati River. 

Bhaktapur.
There are three cities within Kathmandu Valley and we skip the most touristy of them. I’m sure Patan has its charms, but we opt for Bhaktapur, an ancient Newar town in east corner of the city. It’s a close to a Forbidden City as you could expect a 15th century town to be. It is the home of traditional art and architecture, monuments and temples and it feels completely uncomplicated. It’s the same as it always was, as a stop on the trade route between Tibet, China and India. Durbar Square is full of life - teeming with toddlers and artists sketching the day away. Sit on the top of Changu Narayan and watch life as it was and is lazily meant to be. Cheer to the curd, known as the best in all of Asia. 

Drive.
I plug in my music and I grab on. I’m not a fan of bikes, it’s an easy danger to steer clear of, but in Kathmandu, you just do. I hop on, and close my mouth shut. The debris and dust is harsh and cutting… so is the traffic. We play Frogger with the crowd, fruit, cars and cows. We drive towards a Monastery at the top of the hill. We drive to the world’s largest statue of Shiva. We drive through Thamel and beyond. I watch and listen and smile… just smile. 

We’re parked at a dusty intersection. After 24-hours of traveling, this is totally what I’d planned on doing. A man comes running towards the car, he flags us down. Great, another passenger I’m sure. But he waves me out of the car and carelessly, I listen. “The Sparkling Turtle, just up that way.” That way, being a dark alley.

I’m not even sure this is where I’m meant to be - the hostel that my friend in Nepal is staying at - but as far as he’s concerned I’ve come to the right place. We head down a dark, small path. The roads here make Mykonos seem well paved. It’s noisy, in a welcoming way, and they direct me to the candle-lit roof… full of travelers from all over the world, drinking, eating, comparing their 6-month plans, jamming on the guitar and saxophone… There is joy here, and I’m curious as to whether or not I’ve crashed a private get together. But before I can settle in to the fact that I - am - in - Nepal, there’s a hot chocolate in my hand, a steaming plate of chicken and rice (and um, butter) on the table and five new friends searching for me on Facebook. Check.

The Sparkling Turtle.
The Sparkling Turtle is just one of the many, many hostels and guesthouses in Kathmandu Valley. It sits on the outskirts of the main town, in Swayambhunath, a few steps from an ancient religious complex atop a hill known as the Monkey Temple. Check. It’s quiet here, by Kathmandu standards (exchange barks with yells and bells with honks), and the air is fresh and dewy. I drop my bag in a room for four. It’s cold and there is no power (nothing new for Kathmandu) but it’s clean as a whistle, which in hostel world is all you can really ask for. 

Five Everest Beers, a jetlag induced sleep and a Chai for breakfast later, the plan for the day has been planned - we’re riding out to Bhaktapur (Nepali: भक्तपुर), an ancient Newar town outside of Kathmandu. Evidently, I’m part of the group, I’m a part of the community. A dynamic, diverse, eclectic and eccentric community (check), which is exactly what Judith Wade designed the The Sparkling Turtle to be. 

Judith, or mam as the house calls her, has been saving lives for decades. In the early nineties, Judith was running Living Foods, an educational health center in Victoria BC. She was approached by a young man named Akash who was, like most of her patients, ill with cancer. He also dreamed of opening a teahouse, an obsession so contagious that Judith was hooked. After 8 months under her care, Akash was healthy again, and the two embarked on a journey - an eight year journey that would ultimately take them to Nepal, to open Living Foods at The Sparkling Turtle Hostel. “He wasn’t in the space to exist on his own,” Mam explains gently. “What you see in Akash is my work. When I closed down Living Foods BC in 1984, I had over 300 clients, most of them dying of cancer. They still walk the planet today.”

That sense of savior is clear here. It’s a push and pull, a give and take from one life to another, far from the Russian hustle of Thamel. Judith trained Moti and his brother Chotte, the 19 and 21-year old eager (and cute-as-can-be) chefs who make just about the best French Toast I’ve ever tasted; Pari, the estate manger, whose dedication and resources made the project possible; Alex, the front desk manager, whose outfits are as humorous as his nightly hangovers; Akash, a Canadian import, Living Foods success story and founder of Garden in the Sky teahouse collective; Praveen, the house DJ and ladies man who is currently developing DJ’s in the Sky - the first ever 3-day music fest in the Himalayas (Check) and then… there’s Oneal.

Oneal is 21-year-old Nepali man from a small tea village near Darjeeling, India. He lives in Kathmandu with his cousin and works the night shift as the front desk manager of the hostel. He’s studying physics, he likes riding motorbikes and he’s a fan of Pink Floyd. He says what’s on his mind (just like me) and loves Moo Moos. He has Facebook and email. His father is a philosopher and lecturer. You can tell, because his English is almost perfect and he thinks about life in a deeply touching way. And he is spending his days off, showing us all over Kathmandu. 

A journey is not always what you make of it. Often, it’s what they make of it - the people you meet along the way, the lives you fall into, change or in many cases, interrupt. And in my case, what Oneal has made of us, is friends… fast, but true friends. 

I’ve stayed in my fair share of fancy hotels where the water is warm and the food is five-star, but here, I’m at ease, comfortable and cared for. There’s no need for locks, or water purifiers. Through these walls, sharing is second nature. And that is worth far more than the 400 rupees I’m paying for my bed each night. Translation = 5 US Dollars. Check.

I’ve never seen so many beards before. And not just your run of the mill, average facial hair - but proudly grown, who knows what’s hiding in there, I’m-a-man burly beards. It’s like a right of passage, a sign if you will, that you’ve arrived in Nepal. No, it’s not the locals, but the travelers who are of a distinct set (think faux-North Face and dreds, carefree yet thoughtful) and it’s the first time I’ve been to a place, where beard or no beard, I feel as though I’ve joined a secret club. A really dirty, but awesome, secret club.

Nepal is not a stop over, nor is it a vacation destination. It’s intense, it’s uncomfortable, it’s frustrating and chaotic and surprising. It’s the kind of place only a certain kind of traveler visits, and most turn a visit, into a life, for a period of time or so. I’m the only person in this town crazy enough to come here for 10 days, but every traveler in this town, is crazy in some way. And I mean that in the best of ways. There are two types of tourist here: those finding themselves in the grit of Kathmandu, exploring the Hindu sites and small hill-top villages, working at an Orphanage or a hostel or school. And then there’s the Everesters. Those who come to Nepal for a dare. But being in Nepal in itself, is a challenge, with and without the climb. 

Before I even knew where it was, I knew I would go to Kathmandu and I knew I would love it. It’s one of those places that my curious, childish mind wandered with. I always said “I’ll go to Kathmandu,” and now, while in a big transition, starting a new chapter, with two weeks before my reincarnation, I’m fulfilling a promise I made to myself long ago, in another life.

Let’s start from the beginning. I land in a small airport with a hazy fog and orange hued lights glowing on the wet runway. And… the power goes out. I’m alone, in Nepal, in an airport with no power. I’m on 24 hours of no-sleep and my backpack feels like it has gained 20 pounds. My phone has been dead since Dubai (so much for that Flashlight app) so in darkness, I find my luggage and pass through the Nepalese passport line. I’m greeted by men - men everywhere - wooing me into their cabs (nothing new for a New Yorker) so I find my man, and give him the name of the obscure off the path hostel that I’m heading to. He shakes his head, yes, yes, gives me all the good universal gestures that will assure me I am safe, and he knows where he is going. We turn down dark, unpaved roads, bicycles and mopeds speed past with no regard for lanes (nothing new for Asia). We go for miles. He picks up a friend. I think he forgot there’s an American girl in the back… Welcome to Kathmandu.

@

Mt. Everest, Nepal
Himalayan Region, November 15th 9 am….
#Legend. Period.  

I love nothing more than dressing the part…. especially when that part comes face to face with Mr. Everest. But it’s only our first date - I’m not climbing all over him just yet. Come Friday, I’ll be sitting pretty in Pokhara, roaming around Kathmandu and boppin’ around Everest Basecamp. Here’s What To Pack: Nepal…

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I love nothing more than dressing the part, especially when my outfit comes with a harness and a hawk….Birds of prey say hello to Paragliders…. Parahawking (possibly the best sport ever after dating) was pioneered in Pokhara, Nepal by Scott Mason and two friends, Adam Hill and Graham Sunders-Griffithsin in 2001. Two months into a world tour Scott Mason met Adam, the owner of Frontiers Paragliding, and the idea took off… literally. 

Bridging the extensive training of bad ass birds and the experience of flying, crazy kids like me can Parahawk by day and set up shop at Maya Devi Village by night - a traditional lakeside guesthouse in Pokhara. It’s home to some of the worlds largest raptors like Himalayan Griffon Vultures, White Backed Vultures, Red Headed Vultures, Cinerious Vultures, Egyptian Vultures plus Steppe Eagles, Bonellis Eagles, Black Eagles and even Peregrine falcons… similar to a bar full of broads in NYC. 

So snag your very own Egyptian vulture and soar over Lake Fewa, Nepal. Just don’t fall in love… these aren’t the type of vultures you bring home to the parentals.