The Hidden Utopia Between India and China

Summary: My recent trip trekking to the Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal was not without surprises or setbacks, but it was the perfect vacation at the perfect time. Pictures are available here.

The word Nepal conjures up fond memories of breathtaking mountains, stunning scenery, beautiful and friendly locals, numerous and fun tourists, and good food.




Things that mercifully escape the forefront of my memory include:

1. Unrelenting cloudy skies peppered with rain, wind, and cold.
2. Leeches, leeches, and more leeches.
3. Steep stone steps. Lots of them.
4. An unnecessarily heavy pack (~10 kg), especially when compared with that of my guide.
5. Having diarrhea the first 6-7 days of the 12-day trek, resulting in too many meals of daal soup and rice.
6. The day we walked 5.5 hours just to end up 2.5 hours from where we started, due to relentless rain, which created swollen and dangerous river-waterfalls. The next morning, we put on our cold, wet clothes and trekked 7.5 hours in suboptimal (cold, windy, and wet) weather to make up for lost time.
7. A 7-hour bus ride from Pokhara to Kathmandu which ended up taking 14 hours due to a landslide.
8. A “postponed” (i.e. cancelled) flight back home discovered at the last minute, and the resulting panic. Don’t worry, I ultimately got an extra day in Kathmandu (hotel and relevant food eaten at the hotel paid for).
9. Potholes on the runway, causing flight delays and slight, amusing fear of missing my overnight train back home from Delhi to Lucknow.

In spite of all this, my three-week trip to Nepal turned out to be the perfect vacation, a well-timed and much-needed break from Lucknow. (See pictures from the trip here.)

To give you a sense of how much I’d lost it by the time I left, I found myself standing in the perfume section in Delhi airport’s duty-free shop, bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. (How long it had been since I smelled such “fresh,” wonderful smells!) This almost maniacal laugher resurfaced when I looked out the window of the plane and saw the lush, seemingly endless green hills of Kathmandu Valley.

Though this purely joyful first impression largely remains with me, it has since been deepened by a greater understanding of the cultural complexities of Nepal. True to its geographical position, Nepal feels like something that’s four parts Indian and one part Chinese: underdeveloped, divided, hierarchical, and poor, but rich in history, culture, joy, and love.

In my 12-day trek to and from the Annapurna Base Camp, I was consistently struck by the stunning natural beauty juxtaposed with tremendous poverty. On the trails, I was frequently passed by locals carrying unbelievable loads, sometimes barefoot. One afternoon, while relaxing at the lodge, I witnessed three men make three separate trips up and down the mountain in the course of an hour, each time carrying what must’ve been 50+ pounds of wet sand on their foreheads.


Such sights conjured up a mix of often incongruous feelings, including embarrassment, gratefulness, awe, sadness, helplessness, admiration, destiny, injustice, privilege, guilt, weakness, and strength.

However, one feeling that never surfaced was pity. In the place of pity stood admiration and respect: admiration of their persistence in the face of seemingly insurmountable life obstacles and their ability to find joy amidst everyday hardships, and respect for their pride and strength.

These people might not be able to teach me about the Pythagorean Theorem or the String Theory, but I’m sure they can teach me a thing or two about what’s important in life.

The Doctor is: IN

Summary: “Fiddle dee dee, that will require a tetanus shot.” (Homer J. Simpson)

In terms of efficiency, India seems to be binary: speed of light or slower than a slug.

Upon reaching a locked gate one evening, Anna decides to ceremoniously climb over as one of her last hoorahs, and Elizabeth and I follow. It’s an easy climb, with footholds and handholds in all the right places. Swinging my foot over the top, my foot grazed the sharp tip and I felt a slight, but sharp, pain. Ignoring it, I hopped down.

Glancing over at the wall, we see a spot of red. “Looks like blood,” I comment. “Nah, it’s probably just paint,” one of the girls reply. Lo’ and behold, turns out it was blood. My blood.

I’m sure the wound will heal and forget about it, but the word “tetanus” kept coming up in conversation. I can’t recall when I had my last tetanus shot, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that long ago. After all, I had had a series of vaccinations before my previous India trip two years ago. One friend convinces me that if I can’t remember, it ‘s been too long. Sure enough, records say it was just over a decade ago.

In my mind, I weigh the pros and cons of getting a tetanus shot (a) before I leave for Nepal in a few days, (b) when I get back from Nepal, and (c) when I get back to the States. For everyone’s peace of mind, I go with option (a).

Apparently tetanus is very common here, as are tetanus shots. I walk into the office of one of many doctors in the neighborhood, and instantly feel claustrophobic. (The entire office, partitioned into a waiting area, the doctor’s desk, and the assistant’s station, is smaller than my room in SF.) Our conversation, as I experienced it, was as follows:

"Hello. I want to get a tetanus shot."
[Confused.]
"Te-ta-nus shot chahie." ["Te-ta-nus shot I want."]
"Kaun se?" ["Which?"]
"Vaccine. Shot." [Imitate a drug addict shooting up.]
"Sit." [Still confused.]
"Tetanus. Rusted nails. Shot."
"Tetanus shot!" [Spoken by the assistant in the “back.”]
"Ji!" ["Yes!"]
[Assistant opens package containing syringe, takes out a vial, prepares shot. Doctor wipes syringe with a piece of a cotton ball pre-soaked in alcohol, wipes an area on my arm, and shoots some liquid from the syringe.]
[Getting nervous.] "Tetanus, right? T-e-t-a-n-u-s."
"Tetanus." [Head bobble.]
"Can I read the package? The box?" [Hand gestures to indicate reading.]
"Haa...." [Hands over vial. Vial reads: “Tetanus toxoid....”]
[Still uncomfortable.] "Tikh hai."
[Gives shot. Leans back, pauses, looks at me.] "Okay?"
"Okay."
"50 rupees."
"Tikh hai. Thank you." [Pay. Point at blood still oozing out. Ask for something to stop the bleeding, receive another cotton piece. Exit.]

I was in and out within five minutes (half of which was waiting time).

As I walked back across the street, the ridiculousness of my experience struck me and I burst into uncontrollable laugher. In my mind, I was imagining a parallel universe in the U.S., where a Band-Aid and even a lollipop wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary.

Staying Alive, Staying Alive…

Summary: Elizabeth recently contracted scabies from some village kids, and was gracious enough to share her new friends with both me and Anna.

When you visit villages, holding babies, playing with kids, touching things and drinking the water, you’re bound to catch something sooner or later. A coworker contracted jaundice earlier this year, and typhoid and lice found their way to Anna last year.

These past 6 months, stomach and hair problems (and potential malnourishment) notwithstanding, we’ve all managed to be relatively healthy. (Relatively is, after all, a relative word.) A few weeks ago, however, Elizabeth had developed a rash on the webbed part of her hands. Conducting a thorough self-diagnosis (with the help of WebMD), she concluded that she contracted scabies, courtesy of some kids in the village she recently visited.

One evening, when Anna was away, Elizabeth and I sat in her bed, watching a movie. After the movie ended, my attention drifted to an itch on my leg. Examining it closer, I found a trail of small, red bumps. I spent the next hour online, fervently reading everything I could about scabies, learning about what it is (mites that dig under your skin and lay eggs), how it is contracted (direct or indirect contact with someone who has it), what the symptoms are (incessant itching, a characteristic S-shaped trail of small red bumps), how to treat it (Permethrin, 5%), and potential side effects of the treatment options (minimal).

Check, check, and check. I had scabies, now what can I do to put my mind at ease? I read on some sites that one should wash everything that came in contact the body (e.g., sheets, clothing) in boiling hot water to kill the mites. So I figured, why couldn’t that work on the body itself?

Project Scalding was underway. Elizabeth and I boiled some water and started methodically burning the skin that had scabies. (When Anna found out the next day, she vowed to never leave us alone again.) A few days later, we finally got a hold of Permethrin, coated our entire bodies with it, and left it on overnight. The next morning, we congratulated ourselves, and proclaimed ourselves scabies free.

Another bullet dodged. What’s next?