The Adventures of Ginger

Photos: Me!

ginger_droog — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 16:26:00 GMT

The ground is trembling, and so am I

ginger_droog — Mon, 28 Nov 2016 10:33:00 GMT

It happened again. I knew the possibility was real, and that the chances were high, but you never expect it to actually happen TO YOU, until one second it just does. In a country such as Nepal this experience is all too common. This time is was early in the morning, about 5:00am. I was already awake when I felt the Earth begin to move below me. Like a house on stilts. "Is this what I think it is"..."Is this happening?", I thought to myself, as a million other thoughts went through my mind. Claudia! Is she awake? Okay? feeling this too? Then the knock came at my door. She was there. "Put your clothes and shoes on Melissa and we are going downstairs. "Was that an earthquake?!" I ask. Trying to not show the panic and fear too much in my voice. "It was a tremor, we have about 3o minutes to see if there will be another one. Just put your clothes on come downstairs". She sounds so calm and reassuring.

We sit in the courtyard with the people who run the hotel. "Everything is fine, it is fine". They try to reassure us, yet they have their whole family in the courtyard as well, and some apparently rushed down as they are standing in their underwear. The trauma from the quakes last year is still fresh.

I always knew that we were here for this purpose. That these woulds still neeed mending, but this really makes it even more real.

We were very lucky last night. The center of the earthquake was closer to Kathmandu and only registered a 5.6. There are open spaces to run to here. In KTM, there is no where to run, the buildings can crumble beneath you, topple over you, with grids of powerlines overhead.

I am most scared of telling my family about this. Already uneasy about having my so far away with so many variables out of their control. I worry this might confirm all of their worst fears. But I cannot hide the truth from them forever. Even a place as beautiful as Nepal has a dark side.

From Kathmandu to Pokhora: A poem about the road.

ginger_droog — Sat, 26 Nov 2016 16:30:00 GMT

The drive from Kathmandu to Pokhora is like nothing I have ever seen.

Our jeep clings to the side of the mountain, while Suman gracefully guides the wheel. Dodging between buses and motorcycles, left side of the road to the right.

They all have different sounding horns, war calls of beasts playing a fierce game of chicken with our lives.

The cliff is sheer at times, and the roads (mostly paved) are filled with crevices which could consume a small child.

We pass through a constant stream of villages. People going about their day.

I look out my window and see mothers washing their children, people tending to their field and animals.

I glance back at the road and suddenly there is not one but two buses heading straight for us.

Suman edges to the side, narrowly missing them both. Claudia and I make eye-contact and I know exactly what she is thinking without saying a word.

The result of years of close friendship.

The beauty in undeniable.

The river seems to follow the road down below, and there are spots of people washing their clothes.

Shops on the roadside sell Coca-cola, fruit, liquor, and snacks.

Many houses still lay in rubble.

Some have been partially rebuilt. Often there are piles of bricks outside homes. Lives and dreams that have yet to be rebuilt.

Healing that is left in limbo.

Ladies in brightly colored sarongs carry baskets and children and hundreds of years of tradition on their backs.

They wear gold earrings and smiles that could light up this whole valley.

"Road King" are the words I see, printed on the bus heading straight for me.

He swerves at the last minute. Back into his lane.

The mercy of a king is sweet, and timing is everything.