Departing Friends (4 February 2010)

Clive and Jude left today, leaving me behind in a wake of hundreds of flower garlands.   Flowers around the neck and a little red tikka powder on the forehead are the standard welcome or farewell offering at even the most minor of The Westerners’ comings and goings, so it was no surprise that the departure of two of Samibhanjyang’s ledgendary adopted sons called for garlands heaped past the eyebrows and tikka spread to the ears.   In addition to being loved madly by the locals, The Brits had been spectacularly helpful to me, teaching me a variety of useful Nepali phrases as well as giving me needed advice on everything from packaged cookies to the subtle art of politely avoiding being obligated to follow our host tramping over the hills every night on his insane quest show me off at every home in the region.   Now that they’ve left, I realize I’m in another one of those “first time ever” situations that I always enjoy with a little dread mixed in.  I’ve never been so completely separated from the English speaking world.  My host speaks passable but shaky English, as does one of the other teachers at the school, whereas the family whose home I share speaks three or four words between them.   I have never been in a place where the closest person with whom I can have an easy conversation is so distant, both in terms of physical proximity and time before I can expect to see them.  I’ll be here a month and that suddenly feels like it might be a challenge.

I’m learning a few fascinating things about this place.  For example, one of the amusing cultural idiosyncrasies of this hill country seems to be the inability of the average citizen to ignore a computer in action.   If I sit down in any public place to type out a few thoughts, I am instantly joined by a Nepali man or boy who sits shoulder to shoulder with me until I shut it down.  This does not seem rude to them.  They never wonder if I might like some privacy.  A moment ago, as I sat on my bed typing behind the locked door of my room, I heard voices outside, “Something something Computer!”  It became clear that a couple of teenagers were peaking through cracks in my wall, not at all trying to keep their voices down, attracted by the glow from my screen.
“Hello.” I said.
“What are you doing?” One asked.
“Writing.”
“OK.” They left after a few more minutes, apparently not quite fascinated enough by watching me type to continue standing in the street outside my bedroom.