Part II of Lhasa Apsos

When Paisa reached puberty, she was mated with a snow-white Lhasa belonging to a Tibetan chap who ran Himalayan Movers, a friend of Alice L. Paisa Rani was a gentle and good Mom. Mangal, Maheswori, Gyano, and the kids Gayatri and Madhav, and and the rest took turns feeding them with special food. We turned the tool shed into a "Doggie Hotel" and some of the furnishings, canine vitamins and special tins of doggie food came from Germany, courtesy of Brigitte-Memsaab of Neckermann Travel. There were four in the first litter: Rakshi and Phorba stayed with us while good homes were found for La Bamba (the Garcias of UNDP) and Donna. (Am writing this in Bangkok, most of the Lhasa puppy photos are in the Seattle bodega).

Then on one trip out at Boudanath, I found a shoe repairman who had a gorgeous Lhasa puppy wrapped in his leather apron: I offered the equivalent of ten dollars to buy him, and he bargained for twelve. So I came home with another Lhasa puppy, all white and streaks of tan. Gorkha was covered in fleas and ticks. Had to use a kerosene bath to get rid of them. And for days and days he smelled of leather and kerosene. A few weeks later, he contracted parvo virus before I could take him to the vet for his shots.

Then Brigitte-Memsaab boarded her Khukri with us until he was ready to be shipped out to Munich, in two years. He was supposed to be pedigree but turned out to be a mutt: a snout longer than the others, shorter legs and coarser hair than the other Lhasas. And limpid eyes that looked at you as though he was reading your thoughts. But the group lived as a pack. They knew their limitations: they were not to play with Snowy, Elizabeth Hawley's white Lhasa who was kept on a leash close to the Himalayan Fund office in the compound, and who spent only a few minutes outdoors with his Ayah.

They were not allowed to go out the confines of Kosi Compound. I used a tailor just across the busy-traffic street: I witnessed a near-collision between a three wheeler and a pedestrian, when Phorba decided she wanted to come with me for a fitting at the tailor's: not even the chowkidar's chasing her away prevented her from crossing the street. And she had a habit of jumping and catching the pleats of saris of visitors in the compound. I had often offered to pay for the tooth-damaged saris but was always dismissed with a smile.

The times when Brigitte arrived with her travel group, Khukri would stay with her, often at one of the Bhandary apartments next to us. Khukri would be returned for his meals and playtime with us, and smelled richly of Nina Ricci.

Photo: Russell, our XXL Tibetan mastiff, and the backside of Phorba. Russ was a large beast: this breed is meant to be fierce guard dogs. He ate like a horse and there was no such thing as leftovers with the others. He had a lovely thick coat, all the more to be out there in the Himalayan snow. One day he bit David in the wrist: that was the end of him because there is no telling when the vicious genes would turn up. He ended up in Karma and Margot's farmhouse at the fringe of the King's Forest. Their property , formerly a rice field, was unfenced but had large tracts of space he could run around in, just doing his chowkidar duty.

Part 1: Lhasa Apsos in Our Lives

I guess each one of us have fallen for these critters. Alice L. had MisMis, named after the Arabic word for apricot. Indeed he had shaggy blond locks, with a dark mustache and a muzzle about the size of a large black strawberry. He was larger than his mate, Rani Lanaria, who had gone gray but was originally dark gray-black. What a lovable, huggable pair.

Because of the history of inbreeding as indoor sentinel dogs to guard the monasteries, their pups, particularly the eldest, had hips higher than the rest of its trunk and had an uneven gait. But even then this pup had deep brown eyes and I can tell you she looked straight into my soul. So when it was time for Alice to give up the litter of about 4 pups, Paisa Rani Domingo-Barker came to Shanti Niketan at Dilli Bazar, from Lazimpat. I could tell that Malla, Alice's helper, was sad to see the pups leave. I had to stop by UNDP to get my mail, and got admiring comments on Paisa, from several people at the mailbox area. She was a beaut: soft tawny double undercoat and with a gentle disposition.

She had a habit of shaking nervously when there were strangers and children around, and had a distinct upper and lower tone bark. Sort of HOO (high) hoo (low) in quick succession. But Gopal our Kosi Compound chowkidar, when he brought up the Rising Nepal in the mornings, had a gentle way with Paisa, soft words and patting would make them fast friends. We had concrete steps along a small pond to go up our residence. Paisa would navigate these steps with difficulty, often flopping and not making any progress from one step up to the next. And would try again. But when excitement overtook her, she could huff and puff and use those stairs quite normally.

Steve Glovinsky of UNDP house-sat the flat while I went on mission to Beijing, for six weeks. He and Paisa became friendly: she really was good company especially on those nippy cold evenings.

MORE PAISA STORIES SOON!! SEND IN YOUR LHASA STORIES, OR OTHER PET STORIES, PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE!!

The Takahashis: Junji and Evelyn

Focus on Zambia

September 2006(excerpt from JICA website)

Villagers in the tiny hamlet of Mwalongo had reason to be well satisfied, at least for now. For centuries they and their ancestors have lived on the very edge of survival, growing meager crops of maize in the windswept landscape and always subject to the vagaries of a harsh climate, drought, pestilence, and famine.

But help has begun to arrive for the residents of Mwalongo, who are among the more than 70% of Zambia's population of around 11.5 million who live in isolated and arid or semi-arid regions. As JICA increases its developmental focus on the African continent, a major emphasis has been placed on projects designed to help the inhabitants in these areas to escape the poverty trap in which they have lived all of their lives.

Mwalongo is in Zambia's Chongwe District and, since 2002, Japanese experts and Zambian colleagues from the Ministry of Agriculture and Cooperatives have been working there and in some 30 other nearby villages on a program called The Project for Participatory Village Development in Isolated Areas.

Mwalongo is reached along a rutted, twisting dirt track which becomes impassable during the rainy season, when the village is isolated from the outside world. There is constant dust or mud, low scrub and stumpy trees, but the region is luckier than other surrounding areas because two small rivers flow nearby. It is not even a village in the traditional sense, but a series of isolated, mud brick homes scattered across a huge area.

Asian-African Differences

For the first time, this village has been able to buy cows and other animals on a collective basis to boost their standard of living.

When Junji Takahashi, the chief advisor to the project who supervises four other Japanese experts, arrived, that was the first thing he noticed. "In Asia, village houses are packed closely together," the Yokohama native said. "Here, houses can be kilometers from each other and ‘neighbors' may not even meet except at weddings and funerals." And, he added: "In Asia there is always rain, and always at least some food. Here, in the dry season, there is nothing. Nothing."

In Mwalongo, villagers have bought small numbers of pigs, goats, and cattle to help generate both food and cash. In the past villagers used to water small, individual plots with buckets of water hauled laboriously by hand from the nearby rivers. Now, simple pumps and pipes irrigate a growing area of old and newly introduced crops. A storage shed and brick water-storage tanks are being built.

In exchange for the infusion of some $16,000 dollars and the agricultural expertise, villagers are expected to do virtually all of the actual work themselves and on a communal rather than an individual basis.

The results thus far may appear laughably modest to more sophisticated town and city dwellers, but to villagers who have had almost nothing for their entire lives, a few animals or an extra crop can make a significant difference in their lives.

It is already planned that Phase II of the Chongwe project will begin in 2007, and a similar program is being launched this year in the northern part of the country covering an additional 15 villages and 10,000 people.

Junji Takahashi cautioned that such projects offer "no quick fix" to eradicate poverty. "There are no instant results. Community development is extremely difficult and slow."

Divali Greetings

Another Festival of Lights: 2009. Here's wishing everyone a Happy and Delightful Divali. The first October I spent in Kathmandu, I decided to spend a few of the holiday days in Pokhara, my travel there for the first time. Stayed at that famous hotel near the airstrip, Snowland (the one with a "past"). At its rooftop garden, the clay vessels with oil and cotton wicks were lit at sundown: it was quite a sight, and other places as far as the eye could see, also had those lovely flickering lights.

Kumari

How have the times changed the living goddess? The previous One likes bubble gum. While the Macchendranath chariot was being pulled through Durbar Marg, it is reported that she blew a bubble while the cheering crowds pressed forward for a blessing. She is still draped in red silk with the Third Eye on her forehead. At 4 years old, Priti Shakya, was subjected to the ancient rites of identifying the Kumari: horoscope, imperfections, spending the night in a room with 108 animal heads: she passed. Along with the 32 other Perfections. And went into isolation at Durbar Square. Until October 2008, when a new goddess, Matani Shakya, was named. Priti is adjusting to a life that - suddenly - is supposed to live a normal girl's life. This cycle has been repeated for about four centuries, holding out against modernity as Nepal slowly began to change.

Kumaris now have been sucked into the politial maelstrom, from Maoist militants to the Prime Minister. Public debate is taking place, on child's rights and a very ancient form of worship. The present nascent democratic government refused to allow King Gyanendra to receive the goddess' annual blessing - thought to be an important living deity of the king. When the king went without permission, the Nepalese government slashed the number of royal bodyguards.

Among the Shakyas, the caste that chooses the goddess from its daughters, it has become increasingly difficult to find families willing to send their girls away. For some people, all this is simply too much. Some politicians now focus on the kumaris for political gain: any criticism at all would have been unthinkable just a few decades ago, when Nepal was emerging from centuries of isolation. It was a nation bound by strong and feudal traditions, a country that handed out visitors' visas very reluctantly, and where few people could imagine a king without power.

While change did eventually come - foreigners began arriving regularly in the sixties, Kathmandu became notorious for its inbound Western vans, budget passengers and cheap drugs - it came slowly. For example, a law was passed five years back, so women can now have equal inheritance rights.

In 2008, the Nepalese Supreme Court has asked the government to guarantee basic child rights to the living goddesses, after a three-year debate on whether the practice of keeping a child secluded infringed on rights guaranteed in the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child. The court also ordered the government to ensure social security for the former goddesses.

Today, Nepal is a fragile democracy and change is coming even to the kumari. Television in available in her palace these days, giving access to everything from movies to the local news. She can probably watch Gossip Girl after her puja.

Kumari Ghar, Durbar Square.

VANITY FAIR Features Kathmandu

Sacred History Resonates in Kathmandu: Traditional building practices coexist with global trade in Nepal's capital

“All the scholarship in the world could not match the living heritage of people who know how to carve in this way—people, furthermore, who actually care which god goes where.” - Lucinda Lambton, Vanity Fair

Decades of restoration have kept up the medieval splendor of a region long hidden from the world: Kathmandu Valley. Started by Germany in the 1960s and later spearheaded by a Harvard professor, the repairs have maintained many of the area's stupas and pagodas, Lucinda Lambton writes for Vanity Fair—but one must visit to see how the architecture infuses the sacred in the everyday.

“And what a noise," Lambton writes. "With prayer bells ringing, carpenters chiseling, metalworkers hammering, horns tooting, loudspeakers blaring, people shrieking and chattering, food sizzling. What other great historic urban space is there in the world that has flung itself so wholeheartedly into modern life while retaining its spiritual soul and stately beauty?” Harry Kimball

You can find the Vanity Fair article in: (7 pages, with color photographs)

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2008/09/kathmandu200809

Photo: http://www.nepalpackagetour.com/kathmandu.htm

Thekis from Nepal

Ching and the Magar ladies: it jogged my memory to one of the best treks David and I had. It was connected with our work with Products of Nepal: we were to visit some of the far flung sites where some potential Performance Contractors could possibly join in a program to groom their local products for export. We set out by taking the project wagon toward Gorkha and Manakamna, together with two chaps from the project: Roshan and Riddhiman. We left the vehicle with our driver Bishnu right up to the end of the navigable road. Then we started our trek on foot after lunch at the bus depot.

It was a clear day where the blue sky was so sparkling blue, like seeing through Windex-treated glass. The scenery that was unfolding before our eyes is really so wonderous, as any trekker will tell you. Alive, clear (no pollution), sharp colors: even some of the hills in the horizon were outlined in a lovely bluish tone. The rice planted at the terraces were a brillant green. By mid-afternoon, some fluffs of clouds started to pass by and by and a few droplets of rain started to fall upon us. We were now on an uphill climb, where stairs were carved from the hillside and propped with rocks and pebbles. Just right behind us was an eighty-year old woman, who had evenly-spaced , slow steps to go up. She soon began to overtake us: Roshan asked where she was headed to, and she said she was on her weekly visit to her ninety-year old sister who lives just beyond two hills away, a total of half a day's walk. She had a basket balanced on her head, loaded with potatoes and cauliflowers as presents. And much to our shame she did carry on and overtook us, whose legs started to feel like lead.

The droplets turned into a torrent and were forced to seek shelter at the nearest habitation: it happened to be a hut a few meters away from the trail. No one was at the home without locks: local hospitality rules state that any stranger can start a fire, rest, take tea at anytime. So we did just that and the rain abated on our second round of most-welcome tea in small clay cups (which you can just smash on the ground: no washing and goes back directly to the earth), surrounded by a young baaaa-ing kid and clucking chickens for entertainment. We left a little cash by the tea jar and a packet of Indian biscuits and placed high in theblackened-by-smoke rafters so the kid could not reach it. And carried on.

We were told that there was a brook close by and where a fellow was making thekis, a wooden canister with a lid, used to store milk, yoghurt, grains and other foodstuff. (The hardwood used is called "dar" which I do remember since we used to slip down to the Daughters of the American Revolution auditorium in DC to attend the National Geographic lecture series on Thursday evenings.) Sure enough, we found our fellow: a wheel was being fed with water trickling downstream, and a metal rod was attached to the wheel which could gouge out wood from a cross section of a log, and shaped into a container through pressure from the chap's hands. He was making large ones this time, to be purchased by his neighbor as wedding gifts for a friend. He also made a demo theki, a smaller version of what he was doing. And after laboriously putting in the details and a lid, he offered it to us: this was without any thought of compensation but as a gesture of hospitality for not-so-frequent guests in his, literally, neck of the woods. David took photographs, and perhaps one day we would make the trek again and offer the good fellow some photograph copies.

The afternoon light was slowly fading: we headed toward the top of the next hill, where the school was situated. It was still under construction, but the townspeople said it was okay for us to spend the night right below the rafters. The ladder going up was high and steep: but it was the last climb before spreading out our sleeping bags among the construction debris, and having a good rest, after a satisfying meal of dhal and rice, and sips of rakshi (local brew) for the boys, courtesy of one of the households. This is another hospitality offering: many schools in the remote areas, especially where no guesthouses are available, make their building available for visitors staying overnight .

The early morning light got us out of our cocoons: tea, chapattis and hard boiled eggs were offered by the schoolmaster, a most welcome treat. These remote areas have a strong hospitality ethic: who knows when they would find themselves in a village and wanting rest and food. The village we were searching for, was known for its weaving: this was one of the objectives of the trek. It seemed that no one really knew exactly how long it would take us to get there: we had counted on noontime as our ETA. However, each time directions were asked, the distance became longer and longer. We had to traverse a dry river bed: that was really hard on the knees. Then another hour from there, and a "few minutes" more, according to the village people. We did not stop for any rest since we were told the destination was so close by.

And so after a couple of hard trek hours later, in the noontime heat, we came upon a suspension bridge made of stout grass rope and planks of rough wood. My red Sony baseball cap flew away in midstream: the gorge was a bit on the deep side. Retrieval was waay out of the question. Thankfully there was habitation soon after the bridge: there was even a semblance of a tea shop, where we asked what were the day's offeriings: only lassi and tea were available. Lassi won out: David had about six servings in stainless steel cups, since he felt highly dehydrated. Aaaahhh, lassi never tasted so good, ever.

There were two ladies at their weaving looms: their products are mostly for local consumption, and they weave in the spare time and none at all during the planting and harvesting season. We sought out a shop which bought some of the woven goods on consignment, and were told that the supply is erratic: sometimes one weaver will do only two blankets a year, and more if the household needs cash for a celebration. (each blanket has three panels, the width of each panel being the width of the portable backstrap loom). And, moreover, the supply of cotton thread was irregular, being bought from Kathmandu shops. They also had some work-in-progress: pressed wool to make into small rugs (radhi paki), usually in black, white, tans: depending on the sheeps' coats. But the finishing would only done after the next shearing.

We now use the small theki at our table, which contains our daily doses of vitamins and medication. You are invited to view our 47 thekis which are displayed prominently along the walls of our lounge at our Seattle home. Some of them still smell of rancid butter, bits of yoghurt, mustard oil or whatever they were used to contain. But this is bested by Thangka James' collection of 400 thekis! (More on James later).

The Magars and Ching

Unicef Nepal hired Ching as consultant for early childhood education and care. The photo was taken by Jan Salter, near Gorkha. The ladies are from the Magar tribe, one of the earliest groups where the world-renowned Gurkha soldiers were recruited from. Magar girls have a special status among other tribes: they are considered auspicious for every occasion and therefore need to be treated and fed at every puja. They are considered avatars of Vaishnu Devi of Jammu, who is believed to appear to devotees always in the form of a little girl. Ching, if you still have a copy of your 1993 Unicef report, I'm sure others would love to share your findings!

Happy Vijaya Dashami 2009

Dashain Festival is coming!

During the month of Kartik, (late September and early October), Dashain or Vijaya Dashami, comes in as the biggest Nepalese festival, all of fifteen days. It ends during the day of the full moon. (Last year it was on October 8).

The godess Durga is worshipped with pujas, offerings and animal sacrifices for the ritual holy bathing of Durga in animal blood. I recall that I was traveling at Dashain: the RNAC fleet was lined up while a group of priests were applying tika and garlands to the noses of the aircraft. Very photogenic.

In the Bhandary compound at Dilli Bazaar, the goats would be lined up, the tikas offered to the residents (including us, somehow we were part of all of the Nepalese Festivals). Somewhere we have a photo of Pema with a red tika, stroking the head of the goat that was soon the sacrifice.

But our Barker Durga story is one that is set in Calcutta. As it was also a holiday in Bangladesh, David and I decided to have a long weekend in Cal: staying at the Fairlawn Hotel (another story in the making!). One of the events recommended by the Indian Tourism Board, was to get on a night tour to view the Durga images all over town. The rickety tour bus picked us up in the evening at 11. The city was alive with holiday buzz. I guess we find this somehow also in the Philippines, where the fiestas would be as loud and as colorful as anyone could make it, or contests on the best bands, best lanterns, best street decorations, whatever.

In Cal, the various districts also had their contests of the biggest and best Durga displays: these were to be floated the next day in the Hoogly River. Each district’s Durga had its own set of the usual Calcutta sights and sounds: beggars, loud screeching sopranos on scratchy speakers, the aroma of spicy cooking, stray animals, loads of barefooted running children, vendors with bells or huge voice boxes, people in stages of swaying inebriation. A stage would be set up, the Durgas decorated in coloured paper, sateens, spangles, banners, flowers, whatever. There were small and large Durgas. High and low Durgas. Entouraged and single Durgas. Monotone Durgas. Technicolor Durgas. One after the other. And another.

And, mercifully, we sighted some familiar landmarks close to the Fairlawn. Bleary-eyed, we asked the bus driver to kindly let us off, this was about 3 am; the tour was to end at 5 am, but we’ve already had our lifetime-and-beyond fill of Durgas.

Carmensita

Ching found this photo: it looks like Carmensita is dressed in her baptismal outfit. Perhaps this was taken in 1980, or a bit earlier? I remember her as a little girl, during Kurt and Jama's second round of SATA duty in Kathmandu. She was highly active: the afternoon we were having Jama's apritada for lunch, the chowkidar reported to Jama that Carmensita was climbing up on the steep brick roof of their Patan house (rented from Parisia Rana Nath - more on her later on). And when I visited the Kuenzles at their beautiful home in Sirnach (canton of Thurgau) in 2002, Carmensita had bloomed into a confident lovely lady, maintained her sparkling eyes as she had as a small girl, and speaking the vernacular Swiss dialect!

That same visit, it was getting close to Christmastime. I mentioned to Jama that David and I enjoyed panettone, that yeast bread from Milan which is oftentimes served for Christmas meals. It was on a Sunday that I was leaving: we could not find it at the supermarket the previous day. Kurt was gone a good part of that morning, and came back with a giant box of panettone! We do remember Kurt, Jama and Carmensita each time we come across panettone. And Christmas.

Tech Problem

When you read this page, do you get funny characters, something like this:
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When I opened this page at the Taipei International Airport two days back, these characters appeared in the blog entries. But this morning at home in Bangkok, these characters were gone! Please let me know, I may have to do some corrections, re-formatting or some solution. Thanks! (Just click on COMMENTS below and type in your message...)

More on Jan Salter

Jan has two passions: her painting and social work. She has been well-associated with Faces of Nepal, a portrait series of ethnic faces which a number of us are fortunate to own some prints. Since 1975 this English artist from Southampton has been painting Nepali people and has held a number of exhibitions. Girl trafficking, homeless women and mentally disturbed people are some of society’s issues she has been grappling with. In 2004 she founded KAT, the Kathmandu Animal Treatment Centre. (See photo above, with KAT staff).

It focuses on the thousands of stray and sick dogs that abound in the Valley: their diseases ranged from injuries, mange, rabies and others. Jan’s model was one located in Jaipur, India called ’Help in Suffering’, an organization which manages a dog problem. KAT was registered as non-profit, charitable animal welfare organization in June 2003 and formally opened on 9th May 2004. It main mission is to create a dog friendly, rabies-free, non-breeding street dog population.

The tourist Jan arrived in Kathmandu in 1968, secured a job as a hairdresser in Boris Lissanevitch’s Royal Hotel, traveled some more, and returned in 1975. Her first portrait was of a boy who lived near Basantapur, Prem Lal. She later became her guardian: he now runs a motorbike shop. Then she found and supports two children from the Bote tribe, whose father commited suicide.

In 1997 she was decorated with the Gorkha Dakshin Bahu by King Birendra Bir Bikram Shah Dev.

Jan lives in Lazimpat (If I'm not mistaken, near Balaram Motors?) with five rescued dogs and four cats in a small upstairs flat. In only five years she and her team had dramatically reduced the dog population through an organized spay and neutering program as well as treating other serious animal health issues. The following is a story of Mango, KAT’s mascot:

http://www.katcentre.org.np/links/downloads/kat-mango.pdf

Le MoMo Part 2, with Chadda Co-starring

But here is the best MoMo story ever: He was away for a couple of days, and one late evening we found him miawwing frantically at the front door: he was badly hurt, a flap of skin by his side exposed, about the size of a cell phone. It was too late to take him to Dr. Shrestha, so through my tears I put the electric bar heater in the spare bathroom, placed towels on the cold floor, sterilized and bandaged the wound as best as I could, and cut up some leftover steak and water.

David was watching all these with amusement. Later on just before retiring I checked up on him: well well well, there was a vase with a single rose, the portable radio, an alarm clock, a new tennis ball, and extra towels. Placed there by Guess Who.

We had only two cats in Ktm. After MoMo's longtime disappearance and the mysterious appearance of three very tiny Siamese-like kittens (who died one day after they were discovered in the back of the flat, the three of them could fit into David's shoe), we had Chadda, who was specially flown in from Dhaka by Mel and Tony Drexler: they were scouting for a high school for Maya and thought of Lincoln School at that time (Maya ended up in Singapore while the Drexlers went to Pakistan). Chadda was All White, with one grayish ear, and slept probably 98 percent of the time. Pema would call out "Tadda, Tadda Teeping!!" to wake her up from her stupor. It was also the time we had to pack and leave Kathmandu for a posting in Bangkok.

Our Tibetan carpet man Phuntchok of Thamel, took Chadda in: when we checked with him a couple of days later, he said, "She is always sleeping!". Tamad. Probably Marlon Brando's white cat was also Tamad. Or Saddot in Iloko.