Kathmandu, the fifty-first day

Once again I cursed my damn micro computer: thirteen days of diary are gone. This is of course not to have to blame myself because it was already a week that I promised myself every day to go printing the contents of my drive.
France, "The great nation," the Germans would say, is a country in which it is nice to belong when you can see your prose printed for free in a luxury place, at the other end of the earth, called „Alliance Française" where everyone treats you like an important person, able to speak perfectly the language they would like to master!

Kathmandu, the fiftieth day

it is good to have friends! After the long bus ride, arriving at my hotel at dawn, far from my usual civilization and to hear "There are eight pages of fax for you!" was unexpected. If my first reaction was to evaluate the exorbitant price that all those pages (which must have been written too big) would cost me, my joy was even more important when I realized that they were all written by different authors and very small!
Read, read, and reply ... I am far from you, but so close, I look forward to seeing you but I still have a few months...

Pokhara, forty-ninth day,

If we can feel pleasure by being slapped, why not by climbing a mountain without a reason. The climb up to Sarangkot was tough but enjoyable! The limited resistance of Mary was a plus in fact; leaving her moan and suffer alone, I ascended blithely (it is good not smoking) and wait for her with a cool Coke when the opportunity would appear.

"Hey, putaing, me, I can’t anymore! ... - "But no, you're dumb, we're almost there ..." After a difficult time sweating like an animal, a kind of "second breath" appeared. All the energy accumulated in recent days has begun to free itself, and I felt the need to run and scream (never mind the Nepalese porters on the way, I do not know them!). The satisfaction of those needs was pure enjoyment.

The insolence of that Israeli girl behind me in the night bus just upset me. Because I dared to recline my seat in rest position, she was "kicking my ass" dragging her feet in the space between the seat and the back of the seat! As I asked her to stop, she re inclined my seat in the opposite direction by pressure from these same disruptive feet. A Nepali man, who took my defense, showed a kind of anti-Semitism saying in the way we are talking about a defect that explains some oddities: “She Is from Israel!” But the denial of her origins followed: "No, no, I am frrom Gerrmany!

Pokhara, the forty-eighth day

Talking with Mary, or rather to Mary is actually quite rewarding. Far from the divine, the feeling is still a bit like predicating, "renounce your sins of wasting money, learn foreign languages, travel the world ... "I do not know if my exhortations bear fruit, but anyway, she shows the attitude of a zealous disciple and I love it!“Why would I ask it for you in English, you can do it by yourself! "-Bong, I go ..."
Pokhara is a bit like a gigantic "Club Med" in the middle of the Himalayas, bananas, palms, exotic birds, small huts housing the shops of pareos, small ethnic performances during dinner ...

Kathmandu, the forty-seventh day

The Nepalese drive on the left side. This feature is not so special, Indians and English, which is perhaps not an accident, act similarly. Walking the streets of these countries is a bit disturbing, far from clear that the cars come from the opposite side, the novice generally does not know on which side the cars could come, and shakes his head in all directions, seeking to which may arise the danger. Provided that there are one-way streets, and confusion reached its height. It seems that once some basic rules, the flow direction in this case, have been contradicted, it is very difficult to replace them by others and accepting their consequences, because subconsciously we are still struggling for the justification of our beliefs. Thus, if we are shown that cars can drive on the left, we continue to walk right simply because we drive right; it is difficult to accept that people would walk to the left just because they drive to the left! It is very easy to recognize the newcomers, in these countries moving to the left, in their stubborn fight against the current in a crowd, when on the other side of the too narrow street, everybody move in the same direction as them. The most intelligent will understand that by walking left, they can advance at least to same speed as the mass, and the others will go even slower. Once you discovered these subtleties you will be less irritated against this sea of people populating the streets that seemed permanently against you. The spirit, however, is still struggling, and to cross this morning in the stairwell of the hotel one of these children responsible for all the dirty work, required at least two minutes. Realizing that the way was too narrow for both of us together, I went right (!) to let him pass as he, himself put away to his left! We were stuck in front of one another! Only gestures indicating the way each of us had to go could help us (when the force of instinct usually takes care of these details,…, between persons of the same instincts.)

There are some days when we must spend money and nothing can really oppose to it. So, not content with squandering in tickets to Pokhara, the ordering of two silver rings set with coral brought the day complete. However, I had the satisfaction of feeling creative by having made the replica jewelry that I could not offer me in Europe ,because too expensive - which of course was one of the reasons of my desire - for a ridiculous amount!

Kathmandu, the forty-sixth day

I found back with pleasure the schedule of Benares, getting up at six o'clock, waiting for the sunrise, then breakfast in the morning mist.  

Seen from Nagarkot, Mount Everest is a bit disappointing, because from so far it's just a small pebble between two mountains in the distance. I chose as observatory the summit of the hill where our little “bungalow” is. The terraces of nearby hotels seemed to have better views, but ours by the presence of this little temple - where the Nepalese came to pray and shake its little bell – was looking more interesting, although a little too lush vegetation to appreciate the entire landscape. I felt an urge to applaud at sunrise as a performance executed with talent in an artistic setting.
“Save our self-esteem, do not encourage begging!”
The long walk from Nagarkot to Baktapur has revealed another aspect of Nepal, the agricultural life. Watching this sight, it is so easy to imagine the same life in France as here, two or three centuries ago. The "plows" pulled by oxen, the small villages with goats, cows, chickens and dogs around the streets. Religiosity is less present than in the city, maybe it is reserved for Sunday activities. Corn is drying in sheaf, small red chilies lying on mats, coconut, millet winnowed by women in public places. Children play on the floor and walk. The appearance of tourists raises those begging, and after each turn of the previous denial: "Helo, one rupee! "," Helo, one pen! "," Helo, sweet one! Is this a game, or the manifestation of true poverty? The ferocity with which the children were possessed of meager the slices of bread distributed by Mary, was reminiscent of a horde of hungry children, however, their laughter and good humor were more belonging to a game, a new one of their invention. Could the two be mixed up?
On the road, visiting the Changu Temple has not made as much fun as with my American poetess. I guess Marie is not really passionate of Newari architecture, even when it dates from the fifth century!

Kathmandu, the forty-fifth day

My French neighbor "cool" is called Marie, a year younger than me and comes “from Aigues-Mortes, Cong!” She accompanied me up there in the mountains in Nagarkot. She is not very pretty, works as a waitress, twelve hours a day, seven days a week and eight months of the year. Is this what is a normal life? We never know the lives of these hard-working waitresses of the small hostels where we stop in the countryside! And this simply because it does not interest us and that we show no curiosity about it. Marie's life, I do not know much except what I've asked her, I speak more readily of mine and realize from time to time that she didn’t said anything. Why are realistic films reserved for intellectuals and Hollywood romances to the masses? Because of the attraction of the exotic or the penetration of a world so different from them? Maybe a bit of voyeuristic side somehow. "Oh! Me Cong, I'm cool, I follow you ... "It's hard to satisfy her curiosity in these conditions. The main pleasures of Marie seem to be her cigarette and her "Walkman". For the rest, it seems she does not have time to think. Can we learn something of the ordinary or do we still need the extraordinary? Marie is perhaps already out of the ordinary, she travels (twice, Martinique and India), and does not speak of her monotonous life, which make her certainly ashamed. Marie is lying two feet away from me (No, no! No double-bed, Two separate-beds, please ...) and I think she enjoys my company more than the snowy peaks of the Himalayas. "Good night, Marie!"

Kathmandu, the forty-fourth day,

Three times ten years for these four times eleven days in Asia. I received calls from Michel and Micky, but silence from Damien, Danny and David, even Christopher has not called! It's like when we celebrate birthday, we are disappointed by the absence of a few close friends but welcome the unexpected affection received from casual acquaintances. Half the hotel expressed to me congratulations. French wine, (at least if it was not of good quality), cake, candles and more great gifts also came to surprise me from Robert, making me one last visit before his departure.

If the purchase of this gigolo watch is my gift to myself, the silver shell pendant of Le CLAC is at least as beautiful and less vulgar. A small Buddha in gilded copper, I seemed already to have seen somewhere, completed the list of my presents. I did not know what to think of Robert that I thought full of himself and snobbish; his generosity and his little marks of affection really touched me.

Kathmandu, forty-third day

Today D-Day-1 before the majority recognized. It is also the last day of "youth" in the logic of numbers. I remember when I was seventeen years old and a bit after another, watching those who had more than thirty years as another generation while I still felt something in common with their younger siblings. I'm the same, but people look at me differently and it makes me change. I can apply from tomorrow for a post of director of store without sounding pretentious. I could also hear: "But you know, he's young” referring to Chris that he is in his twenties.
, There was a little drama, of course, in all this psychological preparation for the breakthrough. Leaving for six months was the most spectacular! My desire is to be regarded differently, to take the initiative of my aging. "Since his trip, Philippe has changed a lot ... and I think that it was good ... and I think it did not help! ...” Everything, but not being forgotten!
Dinner at "Bhancha Ghar", which translated means "Nepalese kitchen“, was actually a little disappointing. I had just prepared a birthday dinner and had eaten before (as I always do before going to a good restaurant), in order to enjoy food for its taste and not for its nutritional qualities. (My sexual behavior is somewhat similar, superfluous sex is better than sex by need, the spiritual satisfactions against the physical satisfactions) There was one menu at will, if the taste qualities were there, the nutritional qualities were overabundant, given my state of satiety already!
The cuisine should not be luxury. Eat the best "chicken in the pot" of France for the same price as a tiny slice of "foie gras" at Robuchon does not perhaps bring me much pleasure. Am I a snob?

Kathmandu, forty-second day

I spent the last day of my twenties open to the outside world, with Karen. Just like Pashupatinath, Baktapur is one of her favorite places. The city is a little museum, ravaged by the earthquake of 1934; it has since the seventies, gradually been restored by westerners. While Kathmandu and Patan distinct themselves by their profusion of temples, Baktapur is very smooth and airy. The streets, pedestrian only, have all been recently re-paved with bricks and give a very relaxing soft pink color to the feeling of peace engendered by the extraordinary silence, for a city of this region. The fact of the mostly German initiative for the restoration of the city must have influenced the cleanliness and quietness that this city contrasts with. The German community is also much better represented here than elsewhere in Nepal. The German prestige seems everywhere present (each bakery having prices twice as high is automatically a "German Bakerei", where actually only the sale of "Apfel Strudel" could justify this name. There is no "French restaurant" or "British guest house”, but there is a “German terrace " and also a " Deutsches Haus). The persistent presence of the swastika -although it has a religious significance which is very different from ours is however printed on t-shirts sold to the tourists - ads to the discomfort that it is easy to feel. There was even a Nepali telling me in German his eight years with his Bavarian wife in Stuttgart and from whom he had been separated since.
Several times Karen and I were asked if we were mother and son and I think that we were not really surprised but flattered. We avoided the subject, but there've been a lot thinking latter, I guess. Of course, the nature of our filial confrontational relations (Karen was even pleased of the divorce of his own son which hopefully would bring the return of the "prodigal son"), had nothing to do with the pleasure of staying together.
Karen concluded the day by showing me her good will, she accompanied me "at Didi", which she did not subsequently criticized (although the lack of compliments could have been its equivalent).

Kathmandu, forty-first day

Second part of the initiation much more rewarding than before. My "classmates" looked a lot more involved in spirituality - not to mention the Dutch transformed by a revelation (the mystery of it excited my curiosity and my desire to experience such a spectacular event) - and the realization of the object of meditation (the friend, the difficult person, the anonymous person ...) has been a help to everybody. Failing to have been transfigured, I still saw Buddha! As I was engaged to expand sympathy to a small group of people in all humanity, a feeling of levitation has been felt. While the Himalayas were below my field of vision, a golden Buddha was in my vicinity. If the permanent presence of golden Buddhas in the windows of Kathmandu was probably the origin of my crazy imagination, I was anyway interested in some of them, after my conversation with the "black" Canadian -so elegant in my group- on the way home.

Kathmandu, Fortieth day

I put my ochre shirt not to be all in black for my first day introduction to meditation. One of the participants who stay in the hotel Sugat, noticed it. Great day for me, a little too expected perhaps, last night was very rough. Despite my fears, no nap came to interfere my concentration. I breathe, one, exhale, two, I breathe again, three, and so on ... The principle is simple, stay fixed more difficult. The visual can help (the form of respiration, its path), the auditory, but also the tactile (inspiration cool and dry, exhalation hot and humid) and feel on each body part. When one walks he lifts his right arm in the same time as the left leg - I learned that from my co-ordinations disorders resulting from my accident – it is the same for breathing, the body works automatically with no mind control . Control is still possible, it seems, but a little demanding.

Kathmandu, thirty-ninth day

 

Eleventh day (!) after the full moon and religious ceremonies supposed to be more numerous than usual at Pashupatinath. Karen wanted to accompany me on my pilgrimage to the Nepalese "Benares”. My New Yorker has often made the trip and knows the place but she is not boring like those old backpackers Damien was talking about. She has the curiosity of a new aspect of knowledge already acquired. We went along the banks of the Bagmathi, a tributary of the Ganges, which led nowhere, admired stencils beams ceilings, talked about art, clothing, and finally, as always, restaurants. "Grimy" is the term she used to describe these places, like "Chez Didi”, on the rocky trail of Bodnath in which I had raised the possibility of a break. So we stopped at a small restaurant, overlooking the gigantic stupa of Bodnath, the largest proof of Technology was formed by a "Hi-Fi" (an improved audio-cassette) illuminating in his heart - in the tempo - a lotus flower in plastic, with red and green lights.
I have discussed a long time with Robert, who comes from London on the way back of the "Free Movie Show." A bit pedantic, Robert, but more interesting, as all these people I meet now from that age, than the fierce "trekkers" that belong to my generation