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The house with the healthy stuff

For Halloween this year, Hamid's first, we were at my parents' house carving pumpkins (Hamid has been bragging all night that his came out better than mine) and opening the door for little costumed people. My mom, of course, had purchased a two thousand pound bag of junk food and with so few visitors in the neighborhood (there's a big Halloween something-or-other at a mall nearby) we were pouring handfuls into their little plastic jack 'o lanterns. I always hated houses that gave out raisins and other 'healthy stuff' but hard gelatin and sugar globs are not exactly my ideal either. I don't know what's happened to candy since I was small; the chocolate seems waxy, the tootsie's got no pop, and the gumdrops are just plain nasty. Or, maybe I've just grown out of believing these kinds of things are delicious.

Anyway, we finally decided to call it a night when one little girl almost started crying because I asked her what she was and apparently she didn't like my guesses one bit. With a major stomp of the foot the mini Rastafarian/Bob Marley/Hippie/she never told me what she was supposed to be stormed off and I started packing up our stuff to go home, nixing my mom's suggestion that we cart the remaining one thousand pounds of candy home with us.

The thing is, I left the lights on in front of our house all the way down the hill to the street below so all the tiny ghosts and ghouls cruising the streets with pillow cases full of sweets think we're open for business. At the first knock we panick, realizing we're accidentally guilty of false advertising, and Hamid gives them ice cream sandwiches. As soon as they leave we turn off all the lights but almost immediately hear a small fist at the door - it's pitch black outside and it's no short trek from the street so we rush forward and open the door with still more ice cream sandwiches to offer. I don't eat candy so there isn't any in the house and I start opening cupboards and drawers looking for something I can give people. Apples? No way. Frozen spinach? Cans of clam chowder? And the cans of tuna or V8 just aren't going to cut it either. Then I spot my stash of Clif Bars, ordered in the multitudes a week before we even left Nepal - I live on these delicious organic vegan treats, they are my saving grace when I start fiending for sugar.

With a healthy snack to distribute to our Trick or Treaters we whip out the carved pumpkins and light them up, turn on all the outside lights and sit, waiting. We are: the house with the healthy stuff.

It's better than raisins.

I don't even know where to start

I am absolutely overwhelmed by the idea of how to articulate these last few weeks...it's impossible really.

Assume the following:
We got through our flights, customs, and immigration procedures just fine. All three of us are here - and no, Mooshy did not have to go through quarantine (a major "HA!" to everyone who sent me their horror stories about having to leave their dogs behind for months at a time...dooms-dayers are an inexplicable breed but I'm sticking by my 'assume it will all work out and it just might' philosophy.)

My parents are so much cooler than I remember.

The house I'd booked was *not* fabulous. It did not have a vineyard. It did not have internet. It did not have a view. It didn't even have proper water. It felt like the third world all over again. It did have goats, lots of dust, and a creepy RV full of shoes parked in the uh...'garden'.

We got our deposit back and moved into a hotel. This was kind of cool actually because the hotel did have interet and a swimming pool. We felt like we were on holiday and got lots of work done at the same time.

We found a gorgeous new house with an amazing view of the most insane orange and pink desert sunsets - and it's only five streets from my parents' winter home.

We've been busy catching up on work, dealing with ridiculous ongoing server issues (which finally seem to be under control; keep your fingers crossed!), and just getting used to being here. I feel like a foreigner but I like it that way. I don't ever want to get so comfortable anywhere that I forget how the rest of the world actually lives.

We're trying for a baby! We've been waiting for ages and it's time!
And I've just gotten off the phone with The Farm, an intentional community in smack-dab-middle-of-nowhere-Tennessee where we're going to go for prenatal care, a home-birth midwifery, and postnatal care. Who'd have guessed I'd ever willingly choose to go live in the deep South!? Truthfully, I'd go anywhere for the kind of birthing experience these women create.
The Farm is such an amazing concept - it's actually alot like the intentional community I lived in in India. The Farm desperately needs a new website, but you can check it out here to get an idea of what our life will be like in a few short months; well...as soon as we're pregnant anyway.


OK - not exactly the most poetic entry ever but there's no way I can wax eloquent about all the things we've been thinking and feeling lately.
XO from Arizona, U.S.A.!

P.S. McDonald's seems to have taken over the planet while I was away...does this frighten anyone else, or is it just me?

Kathmandu, Nepal

Kathmandu, Nepal

The irony is this

We don't watch TV...in fact, we don't even have one anymore, so it was only today that I came to learn about this interview on 60 minutes with the president of Iran which aired in late September.

It is, sadly, another example of agendized media, with the interviewer hardly even listening to his guest, asking blatantly biased questions, and generally botching another opportunity to learn more about Iran, it's philosophies, it's culture, and it's place in the global scheme of things - political or otherwise. Ahmadinejad, as always, was quiet and respectful in his replies; never giving on that he was the subject of yet another farce marquerading as diplomacy.

I've really struggled with my feelings about Iran these past few years - it's a beautiful country with ugly laws that strangle the voices and souls of it's people. It's a modern place with the latest technology and fashion but shuttles itself into the darkness of an age passed with a bizarre control on art, music, information, and the internet. I've also struggled with feelings about my own government - the war in Iraq, the way Bush came to office, the strange mythology we're building around Islam where now the very word is mutually exclusive with 'terrorism'...
But the crucial difference is, I feel entirely comfortable writing and talking about the American government; penning the name of the president and attaching all manner of frustrated, pointedly negative sentiments. He may not like what I have to say if he ever took the time to read it, but he certainly wouldn't question my freedom to have done so, and no one would punish me for it in any sense of the word.

These latest public interactions with Iran's leader have left me both disappointed and utterly confused. On the one hand I have questions of my own, and they can never hope to be answered if the only people Ahmadinejad ever speaks to are under-the-table henchmen for the Bush team or media personalities with government hands making deposits in their pockets. But on the other hand, I'd be pretty damn scared to actually voice my questions if given the opportunity. That fear itself would be the basis for one of my most important questions: Does it mean something to him to know that I am afraid to ask the very questions I am most curious to learn the answers to? Does it mean something to him to know that I am afraid to write, that I actually hesitate before every word I type, when the topic is the Islamic Republic?

There are many things I never wrote while I was there - oh, nothing major. There were no big scandals I kept hidden. No observations of mythic proportion. But there were a number of little things I kept to myself; feelings about what it was like to be a woman in Iran in particular. I've been there and experienced life in Iran, at least as much as I could in the brief two and a half month visit, and I don't think Iran is an evil place or that it's government is the axis of anything at all, other than itself. It's people weren't any different from anyone else I've ever met in my worldly adventures. I see Iran more as a strange, exotic place with even stranger regulations...but still, I'd like the opportunity to know why some things exist as they do. Why women ride in the back of the bus, even while traveling with their husbands, who sit near the front. Why my hair is illegal. Why my voice is illegal. Is my voice such a terrible thing? Is my opinion such a weapon? But most importantly, I'd like to know why I must feel afraid to ask those questions in the first place.

My questions aren't based in anyone's political camp. I'm not aiming to control, or manipulate, or even change anything with my questions. I just want to know 'Why', because I'm curious, like a child. I have similar questions for the leaders of Singapore where it was illegal for me to chew gum in public. Or the leaders of Thailand, where it was illegal for me to speak against the king. I have a multitude of questions for my own nation's leaders, and I'm dead certain those will never be answered; not truthfully anyway.

But, I'm really very proud of my connection to Iran and I was blessed to have been able to go, to have been treated so well and to have experienced one of the most feared nations on the planet from the inside and come out the other end unscathed and all the more educated. Many people openly said that they thought I was crazy to go there; but many people said the same thing to me about India, for different reasons obviously...but I chalked it all up to their own fear of the unknown and went anyway. Iran is an amazing country centered around a beautiful religion - nothing like what we've been conditioned to believe...still, I have a few questions that want to be answered. I'm just afraid to ask.

Like a camel through the eye of a needle

People have been asking me left and right if I'm nervous about going back to the States after four years out. The question started appearing in emails and phone conversations around two months ago, right about the time we bought our plane tickets. I always answered 'No.', and quite truthfully at that. I've never been one to anticipate a future feeling and live in it unnecessarily for weeks on end beforehand, preferring instead to do my best to pretend that everything is quite normal, at least until the last possible minute.

Well, it's hit me finally. And while I can't really say I'm nervous I'm having a hard time finding what is the right word for the butterflies that have once again taken up residence on my insides. I do know that as a result of all this I am in constant motion; I cannot sit still. I think this is what the experts call 'mania'.

Naturally, I had us half packed weeks ago. The rest of our stuff is still strewn about the house in utter chaos; picking it all up somewhere on my list of to-do's but not quite making it to the forefront yet. There have been other, more important things to worry about than the state of our house. We microchipped the dog and got his papers stamped at the American Embassy where they peered at me through the plexiglass inquisitively and asked, perplexed, 'You're exporting a dog??' To which I replied, 'Yes, a little Indian street dog.' which didn't exactly unfurrow any brows. But they shrugged and stamped and smiled and sent me on my way $50 lighter. One more thing ticked off the list.

Actually, my most anxiety-inducing concern and the biggest butterfly of all is Mooshy. I hate to think of him in the belly of an airplane (three airplanes, actually if you count the flight to Bangkok from here and the flight from LAX to Vegas.) and stuck in his kennel for a good 24 hours. We did have the good sense to take a hotel room near the airport in L.A. that first night as the last thing I want is to see my parents again after eons looking like a big dishevelled mess of a daughter. And I have no way of even estimating just how long it's going to take us to get through customs and immigration - with an imported street dog and an Iranian husband I anticipate something of an extended remix bordering on trauma.

For now, I've got three days to check off the rest of the items on my list; not the least of which is handwashing the rest of our laundry. We donated our washing machine to a local charity and so I'm back to bucket and hand to get the job done. It's an exercise in humility to be sure...wringing out sopping shirts and shorts with all the force my pathetic little hands can muster. A fitting tribute to my life in the third world. I'm dreaming, ridiculously, of a set of Kenmores.

Best places to eat in Kathmandu

Since we're getting ready to leave I thought I should make my obligatory 'best places' post...and since I've practically starved to death here with almost nothing but momos surrounding me at every turn I'll list the few places that have kept me alive and kicking these past few months.

Kotetsu is a sushi bar owned and operated by a local Japanese family. Considering theirs was the first sushi I'd had for nearly four years it was pretty damn good. However, I'd suggest calling ahead to find out when their last delivery of seafood came in from Japan as toward the end of the batch it can get kind of sketchy. Delicious miso soup, amazing tuna rolls, sashimi, endamame, sake - the whole nine yards. Kotetsu is located between the Japanese Embassy and the new American Embassy on Lazimpat, across from Pani Pokhari (not that I expect you to know what that is, but your taxi driver will...). Their number is 01-621-8513. Expect to spend at least $50 for two people. Twice that if you like sake as much as we do.

Him Thai calls itself the 'first Thai food of Kathmandu' but what I'm pretty sure they meant was 'premier Thai food...' (don't hold the bad translations against them...the menu is even worse but is worth deciphering!) Him Thai is also on Lazimpat, near the Bluebird department store. The service is superbly friendly, the food - while not the most incredible Thai I've ever had is by far the best facsimile in this area. The green curries and coconut milk based soups are amazing, and they have tofu! Their number is 4418683 but trust me when I tell you it's much easier to order in person, and their semi-outdoor dining area is casual but cozy in the evenings with candles. The bar inside is cute too. Expect to spend about $20 with bottled Carlsburg beer and dessert for two people.

Roadhouse Pizza is truly wood-fired pizza at it's best - and in a part of the world where 'pizza' can mean a slice of toasted white bread topped with ketchup, chilies, cheese, and the ever-inexplicable maraschino cherry Roadhouse is a dream come true. Roadhouse has three locations, the best of which is easily the one in Bhatbateni (just down the road from a supermarket with the same name.) The other two are in overcrowded Thamel, and Pulchowk. They have an interesting mix of menu offerings besides their famed gigantic and ever-so-inexpensive pizzas including: soups, sandwiches, desserts, burritos, pastas, and more. Their bar is nicely stocked and they also have an espresso machine. Expect to pay about $10 for two large pizzas with fresh gourmet toppings. Try the mixed veg or tuna pizzas. Their phone number is 4426587.

Mike's Breakfast is owned by a midwestern American which means a few things: the food is friendly to the western palate and the menu is diverse. Daily specials include homemade soups, quiches, and juices. They also usually have rainbow trout on the menu which I've not been brave enough to try - not being certain where it actually comes from, and beng privy to the sorry state of the local river system led me to indulge instead in fat vegetarian burritos, toasted sandwiches, and brown rice stir fry. Mike's is situated in the expansive and charming garden of an equally expansive and charming old Newari style home. There's also an art gallery upstairs that has lovely overpriced things to look at. It's virtually impossible for me to tell you just where Mike's is, but most taxi drivers know the name well as it's a tourist favorite. Expect to spend around $20 for two people.

Chez Caroline is Kathmandu's only real French cuisine. It's located in the back of Baber Mahal shopping center, a maze of converted stable buildings left over from an old palace. The rest of Baber Mahal includes high-end shops geared toward wealthy locals and the expat community. Chez Caroline is also a garden restaurant and is one of my absolute favorite places to sit on a stormy day, the atmosphere is just wonderful (assuming there isn't noisy construction going on nearby like the last time we visited). The bistro offers everything from smoked salmon sandwiches and soup to salmon croquettes with mashed potatoes. Of course they have meat and chicken and of course I didn't try any of it, but everything was presented well and looked delicious. Expect to spend $40 for two people, for the best of what's on the menu.

You may be wondering why on earth there is no mention here of a really good traditional momo place; fair question. Truth is, the momos here are not all that fabulous in my opinion and while a great place to indulge in Nepali momos may very well exist, I have yet to find it; and believe me, I've tried. I'm a complete noodle addict. Anything stuffed and steamed and I'm golden. But here the momos tend to be very thick-skinned and either quite bland on the inside or so spicy they hurt - maybe I'm still too accustomed to the western variations on these kinds of things. In any case, truth be told, the best momos I've ever had in my entire existence as a noodle fiend were at Tao, the Chinese restaurant in Ramaiiah that we ordered delivery from twice daily while we were living in Bangalore, India. Go figure.

Kathmandu, Nepal

No, no...1,000 times, no.

This is just plain creepy.

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