Gina and I walked to the school and to the house she had lived in during her time as a volunteer teacher with the Peace Corps. She pointed out the window of the house through which you could see the river. We found the school, a drab, mildewed, two-story concrete structure. It was still in use. But was empty that the day. It still looked the same, she said, despite the passage of three decades. Because it was surrounded by newer buildings, Gina's house was harder to find. A small structure of faded red, it seemed forlorn. She asked neighbors about her landlord. He and his two wives had died. His 12 children had moved away, some to Russia, others to the U.S. and to Katmandu. For Gina, it was a bleak return until the gray headed Muslim tailor, who had been her friend, dashed from his shop across the street and gave her a big hug.
RPCV Gina returns to Nepal after 30 years
Flashbacks from Here and There: Journey to Nepal 1996
By NICK ELLENA
Article Launched: 08/03/2008 12:00:00 AM PDT
"Where are the temples?" Gina asked.
The tiered Buddhist and Hindu temples that dominated the skyline of Katmandu, Nepal's capital, were dwarfed by high-rise concrete boxes that were not yet conceived when she was here 30 years before, during her service in the Peace Corps.
For me it was all new.
The Kingdom of Nepal, we found, is a tiny land of ups and downs, a zucchini-shaped country squeezed between Tibet and India in the Himalayan chain that boasts many of the highest mountains in the world.
At the time of our visit there was only one road across the Himalayas into Tibet. The tiny country, which was under Chinese rule, was first opened to foreigners in 1951 after which its population quickly ballooned to a million people. Urban sprawl began to devour its small pool of rich farmlands in its heartland, the Katmandu Valley.
A land of steep mountain slopes it was not suitable for the construction of factories and the like. Its rulers turned their attention to tourism. It flourished. Gina and I were among the tourists.
The old city of Katmandu became a large bazaar, its streets lined by souvenir shops and tourist agencies. Tourists could be sent on treks into the remotest mountain reaches or raft on tumultuous rivers or be deposited on postage stamp landing strips.
A few miles away from bustling Katmandu, mountain villagers had to haul water over steep trails to their primitive homes.
We read in our Nepal Handbook purchased in the states that,
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ironically, "Tourists inevitably change the traditional life they've traveled so far to see."
Gina learned that male dominance was instilled from childhood and boys were pampered more than females.
Peeking inside a household, Gina and I noticed the daughter-in-law floating about, outwardly serene, cleaning, cooking, washing and serving while managing to keep her unruly son in check with sweet words. She seemed to be barely acknowledged, not even by her husband. She told Gina she had trained as a microbiologist. If she produced male children, her status would rise.
Her mother was a merry, tiny, wrinkled lady who moved about as unobtrusively as her daughter-in-law. She and Gina seemed to hit it off like long friends. Gina reveled in speaking Nepali. I got the benefit of translations.
Gina and I walked to the school and to the house she had lived in during her time as a volunteer teacher with the Peace Corps. She pointed out the window of the house through which you could see the river.
We found the school, a drab, mildewed, two-story concrete structure. It was still in use. But was empty that the day.
It still looked the same, she said, despite the passage of three decades.
Because it was surrounded by newer buildings, Gina's house was harder to find. A small structure of faded red, it seemed forlorn.
She asked neighbors about her landlord. He and his two wives had died. His 12 children had moved away, some to Russia, others to the U.S. and to Katmandu.
For Gina, it was a bleak return until the gray headed Muslim tailor, who had been her friend, dashed from his shop across the street and gave her a big hug.
Nick Ellena, is a retired reporter with the Enterprise-Record who covered Butte County government for decades, shares his memories of his world travels in this column.
