January 29, 2000 Night. Another authentic night with “the real Nepal.” The kids of the village sang to us, watched us sing, clapped. Vincent recorded them with his MD player. All the morning we walked from 1600 Meters up to past 3000 Meters then we walked twice that time over even ground. Downhill we ate great Dal Bhat in a village with generous children, a beautiful cook, and two cute goats. There was also a nightmarish toiltet with a big black pig on the way – just waiting to eat some poop (or so said the French lama woman). I learned to sing a short song from Vincent’s porter Temba (“I am not a guide” Timba attests). The one deep thought I had today was about the other type of backpacker, those of “full moon parties”, smoking in Goa beachfront cafes. The party, drugs, and prostitutes set. I thought “it is only by being that other type of traveler that you stay fat. They don’t even leave the confines of the foreigner-designed environment and learn anything new – they lower the currency of our experience.” What else can one say about this?

When I offered to Vincent to tell him about something he refused so I’ll try again now. He bit, I guess a man can change. So, today I thought about the pain in my left shoulder blade being the guilt I felt from my family, crying with my mother driving to the airport to leave for this trip, etc. Its hard. I want to call them and talk with them. Especially with my father who has suddenly had a large life change that he may not be prepared for. Man. I think my talking to him like a friend embarrasses him. He has a very definite mental boundary set on what the son/father relationship consists of.. Where it begins and where it ends in terms of day-to-day interaction. I wish I knew what to do about that. I want to connect with him so badly. I should make another overture like my email letter to him from Thailand. One grandfather once a musician of dance music (swing, I believe) and another family’s great-grandad a merchant on the Silk Road. Two great parents who are professional successes in America. Me?

January 30 , 2001 Morning. Lat night our dinner was fried rice followed by a shared plate of dried buffalo meat masala all washed down by pitchers of sour chang (homemade millet beer that tastes like unsugared lemonade). Christophe made two of his special hand-rolled cigarettes which we all shared after dinner. The father of the family we stayed with had served in the Nepali army’s assignment to the UN on the border of Lebannon, Israel, and Syria. 800 strong, each regiment serves for 6 months and then returns to Nepal. He was there only six years ago. His wife was messing with me all night by asking me to sing my little bit (only two couplets) of a Nepali song I learned. I had two bad dreams last night. One was of my parents visiting me in some yuppie neighborhood where I was living. We want together to an event where we had to pay to get in and then once inside there was nothing provided to us but the opportunity to pay too much for various silly breads being sold by vendors there. Chocolate bread, made of wheat for outrageous prices. Perhaps this is a symbol of the other adventure I might be having now persuing The Career if I did what everyone else wants. Perhaps the symbolism of the wheat bread is that that alternate reality is not good for my mind/body at all -but here’s the catch: On that trail I would not have the guilt. Then I had another bad dream (bad sleep last night -way too much indulgence in everything: chang, tea, too much rice, tobacco, etc..). The dream was about my parents having a beauty pageant in a large Borders book and game store. My father was the object of a great deal of anger and frustration for me in this dream. I was annoyed with my mother also for how she handled him, and then I died as a result. My specter floated around the store watching everything. In the dream my parents somehow lived in this Borders book store. My mother was unable to do anything there but cook for my little nephews -the delicious food expressing all her feelings of great loss and love. From sadness I bleated like a baby goat at the butchers in the dream, awakening myself thus. Bad sleep. Made me think of the other adventure I am missing and sigh. All in good time, all in good time- Lunchtime. Spoke to my parents for 20 minutes. All is well in the western front. Some people have colds, job situation unclear, dad wants to drive in to work, mom wants him to stay home, distract with her and leverage his projects down to others. What a relief. Eve. We are now in Tolua village, Dudh Khosi river was too far and we were feeling too tired to continue quickly. Nepali Lesson Euna chao cho bhonai dinuhos molai -please give me a ramen soup Chito, chit, mitho, mitho, way wey chao cho -quick quick tasty tasty ramen