The art of making smoothies with a fork

Ingredients:

• 3 Tbsp of yogurt
• 1 banana
• juice (of your choice or whatever's available)
• honey (optional)
• fork (not optional)
• glass (also not optional)

The other day I came home from work craving a smoothie. And although there are plenty of cafés along the way, I neither like nor trust their smoothies. If you're drinking something which kind of tastes of ass with sugar added it's not really a good sign or wonderfully appealing to the taste buds. Therefore, I decided to make my own. With a fork. It's not like I have a blender, much less electricity to use the blender so I've had to improvise a bit.

In order to make this smoothie in Nepal you need a fork. And a glass or mug, or any receptacle with high enough sides to mash the banana against the sides with the fork at a high speed without spilling the banana puree onto the laminated kitchen floor. So you have your fork and glass, great, now you need to locate a hole in the wall which sells dairy products. Perfect, you found one. Buy yogurt. Now go across the street and buy those shriveled looking black things which they call bananas. Go ahead and buy six of them, it may take a bit of practice, or it may be so delicious you immediately want another.

You have the yogurt, bananas (a carton of juice would also be a good idea), a fork and glass, wonderful. Wash bananas. Yes, wash them. You don't want to get street bacteria on the wrong side of the banana peel. Now peel the banana, and cut up into small pieces in glass. Grab fork, mash banana into mush with fork until it resembles baby food. The best way to do this is to start slowly, making sure all large chunks of banana come between the prongs of the fork and the side of the glass. Increase speed until the banana is thoroughly mushed.

The hard part is over, now you can add the yogurt. Fill half way full, mixing banana and yogurt as you go along. When the two are completely combined, add juice and/or honey to taste, a little at a time to make sure everything is properly combined. The trick is to make it feel and taste like a smoothie so you really need to makes sure it's well mixed. You really don't want to come across random pieces of green banana as you're chugging this down. Once everything is combined and the contents of the glass are all th same colour, find your sunglasses and sunny corner to sit down in and enjoy the fruit of your labour with a spectacular view of the snow peaked mountains.

Puja

I have just been anointed for Puja (ritual worship) with my first official tika (the little red dot). Apparently this is what happens when you pop out of the office to the little stationary store at the corner to buy ink cartridges and chocolate. You are suddenly accosted by a smiling, orange toga-wearing man carrying a flowery basket, muttering prayers under his breath and dangling an eye dropper of red ink over your forehead until you stand still enough to allow contact. The eye dropper is then lowered into a small pot of yellow ink held in his flowery basket, raised to your forehead again and orange flower petals patted on the top of your head, constant prayer muttering and head bowing during the whole process. Of course a donation is demanded after, and no matter how much the shopkeeper and I pretended to busy ourselves with the business of finding suitable ink cartridges, the man patiently waited until no more excuses could prevent us from handing 20 rupees over.

And so, literally 2 minutes later I walked the ten metres back to the laughing guard at the gates of my office, looking like a Nepali covered in flower petals, red ink on my forehead and a studded nose. I only need to improve my language skills now and I'm basically one of them. The shop didn't even have any ink cartridges.

Rain

Rain, rain, rain, beautiful rain. I've said this word so many times now it's currently undergoing a process of semantic bleaching in my head. Rain. But seriously, you don't realize how much you miss a good rain until after a month and a half of constant sunshine and blue skies it tumbles down on your doorstep in rolling clouds of thunder, banging on your door crying, "Let me in! Let me in! I'm here to wash all troubles away!", which in this case has a very literal meaning.

Maybe living in Glasgow for five years has made me particularly partial to rain. Funnily enough though listening to the pitter patter of rain immediately takes me back to Jijoca, Brazil, sitting in the damp sand under a palm thatched roof, intently watching the waves of the lake, the wind, the dancing palm trees, the billowing clouds, eagerly waiting for God to show his mighty hand through a terrifying and pulchritudinous act of nature. I must have been ten or eleven.

Here, the rain is comforting. A pleasant drumming fills the silence and muffles the noise of angry traffic. More importantly, rain is warm, and a sign of warmer days to come. The roads are cleaned, the air isn't dusty, people stay in their homes and don't get in your way as you cycle to work. It's not quite monsoon season yet, that'll be in another couple of months, but green life is already emerging. Potholes fill up with water and give roads an air of paved smoothness, and at the end of the day the city emerges cleaner and fresher, beautifully illuminated in the glow of the mountains and the setting sun's rays of sunshine peeking through the clouds. 

Conversations

“Namaste”

“Namaste”

Hands in prayer position, both heads bowed. Occasionally I receive a salute in response. I find I tend to greet and have conversations with people who aren’t used to receiving greetings from foreigners, and after a brief look of surprise, will break into a smile and proudly salute. They’re mostly older guards.

“Where you from?”
Smile, “Guess.” I can’t help but smile when this question comes up.
“You are not Nepalese, I thought you were Nepalese. Maybe Chinese or Korean?”
“German”
“German! You look more Chinese or Korean. Maybe Japanese”

Then there was that African gentlemen at Bangkok International:

“Where you fram?”
“Umm, I’m looking for the transit schedule”
“You look German”
“Oh. Well I suppose I am”
“German’s are strong,” flexes muscles, “are you strong?”
Mmmm, strange conversation here “Uh, I guess. Nice to meet you, bye!”

"Ebany! Ebany! Are you there? Are you alright?"

Sleeping. "Hmm? Yes, sorry, is something wrong?"

"Are you alright?"

Confused. "Yes? What time is it?", looking around for a clock

"Oh wonderful, you overslept!"

"Overslept, what? What time is it...10:30?!" Jumps out of bed, starts running around frantically.

"Oh yes, your office called to see if you were alright, but how wonderful you overslept. You must have had a very good nights rest after such a long flight..."

"They called?!" 

"...well yes, to check you were alright, but how wonderful you overslept..."

“500 Rp for a picture! Come, take a picture!”
“I don’t have money sorry”
“100 Rp!”
“I really don’t have any money”
“I will take whatever you have!”
I’m sure you will, “Sorry”

Looking at phone, phone rings, “hello?”
“You sent me a blank message?
“Yes sorry I was…”
“Why you send me a blank message?”
“I was trying to call you and…”
“So what do you want?”
“Actually I’d like some language lessons, do you teach Nepali?”
“Ahh, yes I teach Nepali. How many lessons? When do you want them?”
“Twice a week? When are you free?”
“I am always free. How about three times a week? Three times a week is better.”
“Are you free after 5 during the week?”
“No that is not good. What about during the day, day is better for me”
“Well I work from 9 – 5 so that wouldn’t work for me”
“How about 4-5? That is good for me. Three times a week”

"Ebany! Ebany! Are you there? Are you alright?"

Sleeping. "Hmm? Yes, sorry, is something wrong?"

"Are you alright?"

Confused. "Yes? What time is it?", looking around for a clock, panic, have I overslept again? 7:30, it's ok.

"I smell gas, do you smell gas? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." sniffs "I do smell gas though" Jumps out of bed, starts investigating. Roshana, my landlady is already in the room sniffing away at things.

"It's not the gas heater, and the cooker's off"

"Strange, well open the window and come have a cup of tea"

"Roshana? Hello? Roshana?"

"Upstairs!How are you?"

"I'm good thanks, is something wrong with the water?"

"What's wrong with the water?"

"Well I haven't had running water for two days now..."

She screws up her face in concentration, puzzledly thinking..."Ah! I turned off your water!"

"You turned off...?"

"...you said the toilet was leaking and I didn't have time to investigate so I thought I'd just turn off your water to stop it from leaking"

Oh, well that makes sense I guess. Mind you, this has happened twice since then and the toilet still leaks.

A Weekend Away

Long hours of nothingness, long weekend, long work-day of nothingness. This is starting to get unhealthy.

First weekend away from the city and it was lovely. Took a two hour taxi (paid 14 bucks all together :0) up to the village of Nagarkot - a lovely site for amazing sunrises - to not see an amazing sunrise. It was an exciting car journey, the four of us and the taxi driver jammed into a white suzuki, half asleep and unwashed, jerked awake in terror by careening mountain roads and monstrous tourist buses charging to overtake us. It was best to just close your eyes and retreat to a happy place.

Left at 8, an hour and a half later we were up in the mountains surrounded by pine trees and fresh air, stuck behind pick up truck and its billowing black clouds of exhaust fumes. Talk about irony. A couple of wild turns and near death experiences later, little Susuki chugged to a stop on the particularly steep hill that led to our pink monstrosity of a hotel. A rude receptionist man ignored us beyond awkwardness and directed us to the restaurant where we were asked to wait half an hour for our rooms to be tidied. An hour and a half, two English breakfasts, two Special breakfasts and four pots of coffee later, our rooms still weren't ready. It took four stubborn, whining females to get two clean and prepared rooms in an otherwise empty hotel. Despite the distinct unfriendliness, I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping in a comfortable bed and the luxury of the albeit luke warm water in freezing temperatures shower.

We hiked, walked, trekked and explored. Saw the backyards of villages, an infinite number of goats, chickens and kids playing and frolicking in the sun. The view wasn't amazing, it was too hazy to see anything, but the sun was warm and the exercise a welcome relief from keyboard workouts and bad posture. Seeing as it was a holiday weekend most Nepalis seemed to be in a particularly good mood, music and singing echoed through the mountains the way it does during festival season of the British summers.

Sunrise

Viewing tower

Sunday was an early start, 6:15, to catch the (un)amazing sunrise. Mountains were visible to the naked eye, but virtually invisible through a lense. This didn't stop hordes of Chinese, Japanese and Korean tourists from setting up mini portable studios on the hotel viewing tower and chirpily snapping away. It was amusing to watch the crowd dynamics. As soon as one discovered a new sight in the scenery - the emerging glow of the snow covered mountains, or the orange crescent of the rising sun - the rest would quickly follow, running from one corner to the other, external flashes, tripods and telephoto zooms in hand to capture that one perfect moment which never arrived.

The feeding of the masses followed and the hotel made sure to profit as much as possible by serving us leftover potatoes, toast, boiled eggs and instant coffee. We were ready to go and soon enough embarked on a 4 and a half hour hike from Nagarkot to Changu Narayan a world heritage site north-east of Kathmandu. For 100 rupees you get to go in and see an exquisitely preserved village with its tall intricate wooden temples and and metal idols, the faces of which are smudged in yellows, reds, and flower petals; incense and candles decorating the shrines on an otherwise peaceful Sunday. The initial idea was to hike all the way to Bhaktapur then catch a bus or taxi back into the city, but as the day wore on, and our feet grew weary of the sun, dust and mountains, our plans slowly evolved. The visit to Bhaktapur was abandoned and an orange, red and blue boombox of a bus decorated with all the appropriate hindi paraphenelia and blaring bollywood music drove us short of a half hour walk to our houses. Kathmandu city greeted us in all its glory of congested traffic, and suffocating air.

The pink dots on the map below are the points to which my group traveled to over the weekend. Starting in Lalitpur (Patan), taxi to Nagarkot. Spent the night, hiked to Changu Narayan. Collapsed in a heap for lunch, took the groovy love bus of perpetual happiness down to Bhaktapur, looked out the window and continued out journey back to Kathmandu where we were dropped off next to the river. In case you were wondering the bus journey from the world heritage site to Kathmandu cost a whole of Rp 30 - 40 American cents, 30 Euro cent, 25p. Amazing.

New week, new month, new outlook

Things are starting to look up again even though the load-shedding is supposed to get worse. Still, I feel more and more settled each day and the pattern of everyday life, working week and weekend life juxtaposed against each other, it's all starting to make sense.

Despite this new positive outlook, my brain hurts today. Sitting in coffeeshops full of screaming 3-12 year old blonde blue-eyed kids isn't exactly helping. Talk about culture-shock. It feels...strange. Exposed. I'm not the type who usually hangs out with prepackaged group stereotypes, yet here I am, in the heart of the expat life of cafés, restaurants, bars, gyms, and yoga centres, blogging no less. I have so much respect for those who manage to find a way into normal local life and stay there. That's what experiencing different cultures is all about. 

Yesterday I went to Patan's Durbar Square and explored the local heritage site. It was surprisingly enjoyable, not overly touristy, and if you walk down back alleys you're in the middle of local Nepali commerce, dodging meat trucks, water buckets and being sold numerous quantities of aromatic spices.

If you make it on to the square by following the main road, which you should, you're suddenly surrounded by beautiful indo-european architecture. Someone of course will come up to you as you're entering the square and tell you to buy an admission ticket on account of you being a foreign visitor. Here you have two choices depending on your willingness to contribute to increasingly corrupt and greedy system guarding Nepal's heritages sites. You can pay like a good tourist, but make sure you check the tourist officer's credentials first, or you can make like a Nepali and tell them you're a resident. Residents don't pay admission.

Walking along the square you'll see tall buildings and domes made out of a mixtures of stone and wood carvings, windows and statues. The buildings are accessible to the public, with the exception of a large hotel in the centre of the square, and some are even host to small restaurants and cafes where you can sit and enjoy the picturesque view. Locals and tourists alike seem to enjoy this view, and you hear couples giggling in the shade, and children playing in the alleys. Personally, I found Patan's Durbar Sq. to be more genuine and enjoyable than Thamel's, although this may all change as it increases in popularity.