THE ADVENTURES OF THE JAC ATTACK!

A Blog about a clever boy and a mom determined to out-smart him.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Perfect Day #2

I watched a horrible movie yesterday.  The plot was terrible and the acting was worse.  Nevertheless, there was one line in the movie that was completely true.  "Parenthood is really really bad and then something awesome happens and it is worth it.  Then, it is really bad again." 

Forgive me.  I know this seems like a negative outlook but so many things about parenthood are really difficult.  Many days seem like an endless practice in self control but today was a great day. 

Jess gave me maps for Christmas.  I have an irrational love of maps.  I open a map and drool at possibilities.  Modern people have GPS but I crave a good map.

I had spent a week digesting my Kathmandu map and this morning I was ready to enlist my fellow adventurers.  I fed them a carb-packed pancake breakfast and cleaned out our pink backpack.  I replinished the supplies with a fresh package of goldfish and bottled water.  Jess played navigator and we drove towards the mountains. 

We made wrong turns and backed out of one lane roads.  We asked locals for directions and stumbled up a steep road until we reached the gate of the national park.  Two smooth faced army soldiers guarded the gate and after paying our entrance fee we embarked on an adventure.

The road was steep and pitted with large rocks.  We lumbered forward and were waved down by two young men with spiked trendy haircuts asking for a lift.  They had missed their bus and their cargo was too heavy to carry up the mountain.  We obliged and Jess helped them load heavy boxes of beer and liquor into our trunk.  They talked loudly in Nepali and broken English attempting to entertain our son JAC.  They insisted on flagging down every passing motorcycle to inquire about directions.  No one knew where they were going and Jess and I looked at each other sideways.  We were ready to be free of our passengers.  We rounded a wide curve and our passengers let out a cheer from the back seat.  Their friends stood next to a disabled bus.  We were heroes.  We had brought the beer and five eager young men helped unload it.

We silently cheered the departure of our new friends and moved forward up the road.  We parked at a monastery and JAC exuberantly launched himself out of the car.  Jess and I desperately wanted JAC to love hiking.  Hiking is a thread that runs through our relationship. But with JAC, most hikes end in disaster.  JAC whines, cries, refuses to move forward or simply sits playing in the sand.

Today JAC rushed forward delinghting in every element of the trail.  He commented on butterflies, climbed rocks and relished sliding down too steep sections on his bottom.  We hiked under red, blue and yellow prayer flags and the narrow trail opened to a small clearing.  A white man wearing robes sat poised in mediation.  His dread locks and beard met together and to create a heart shaped brown mass around his head.    He chanted rythmic sounds -"zzzzaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, aaaaaaaaaa." 

JAC asked, "What that man doing?"  When Jess replied, "Praying," JAC wanted to pray too.  "ZAAAAAAAAA"  JAC loudly repeated.

On the hike back to the car JAC rode high on Jess' shoulders.  He started singing.  He was singing an army cadence we had taught him last year.  He had remembered it from previous hikes and trail runs.  The air was clear.  The sky was blue.  We were on a mountain together and we were a family - who all loved the same things.  It was a perfect day.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Remittance

The mountains stand as ivory sentinels over Kathmandu today.  It feels obscene that something could be that big.  They stretch the mind to an unknown distance.  I understand why the Himalayas are a mountaineer’s prize.  To conquer these behemoths is to understand a distance greater than the imagination.

Today is a clear day – an unusual treat for this season.  A slow breeze has pushed the smog from the valley granting us a perfect vista.  My roof serves as a vantage point to both the ordinary and the extreme.  The giant icy glaciers loom on the horizon but just below my feet I can spy through my terrace bars at the neighbors below.  Their average lives are a mix of century old traditions and mobile phone carrying advances.

Kathmandu is groaning from growing pains.  Half finished high rises stand like erect skeletons in every direction.  In the valley behind my house a foundation the size of a football field has been poured with re-bar protruding out of the smooth gray surface.  It lays fallow unable to produce the promised children’s hospital due to lack of funding.

Nepali homes express defiant hope.  Each three level house has the beginnings of a fourth level left unfinished.  This section will be completed when the family has extra money, perhaps ten years in the future.  The fourth floor supporting columns stand erect.  The family is prepared to build the moment funds come in.

There is a word in Nepali that means “She is a person whose spouse works abroad.”  Every corner advertises remittance transfer.    You meet ordinary people on every street who have lived in Turkey, Dubai or Qatar earning money to complete a fourth floor dream.  In the distance I hear the steady thud of a hammer against metal.   Bricks are stacked and iced together with cement.  Plaster is smoothed to perfection.  Hope has come to fruition.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Traffic In Kathmandu

Each building lining the main road is marked for demolition.  The red-bricked chicken momo shop is marked.  The towering beige wall of the Japanese embassy displays the same signage.  Each shop whether falling down or long established will be torn down soon.  The government is enforcing encroachment laws and I am expecting a new series of protest when the structures are reduced to rubble.

The property owners were compensated for their property over thirty years ago but the inept government is just now starting the project.  In Nepal a good idea might take 30 years to implement.

In the morning I drive Jesse to work.  We ease out onto the street and a shining blue and silver jingle bus flies up from behind us honking non-stop.  Hurried motorcycles pass on either side weaving in and out of traffic.  A man carrying a refrigerator tied to his head for support waddles down the edge of the pavement.  His progress is steady but slow.  Three bull calves covered in runny manure chew a clump of dingy grass.  They share the same grass and the same painful fate.

A motorcycle comes to a complete stop ahead of me.  His wife rides clinging behind him and his baby sits in front of him holding a rope tied to the handle bars.  The motorcyclist answers his cell phone and chats happily deep in conversation in the middle of the road.  I swerve to miss him.  A small private bus moves without regret into my lane.  This is a head on game of chicken and he flashes his lights at me.

Anger is choking my throat.  This is the Nepali driving habit I hate the most.  A driver flashes his lights demanding - "You stop for me."  I doesn't matter that he is driving head first into your lane.  I am becoming more Nepali every day and flash my light returning the obnoxious demand.  I chuckle to myself.  Nepal demands a strong sense of humor.

The police are motioning drivers to either side and issuing tickets for expired licenses or lack of registration.  They do not issue speeding tickets.  There are no enforced speed limits in Nepal.  I bypass the checkpoint thankful for diplomatic immunity.  A motorcycle weaves in the gap between  two cars so small a person can hardly stand. 

I ease into the turn lane marked by orange cones and a man changes the spark plugs on his motorcycle in the middle of the lane.  A young woman walks awkwardly in the street.  Her heels are pretty and she does not want to walk on the dirt shoulder.  She pretends not to notice the traffic jam growing behind her and pretends to be prettier than she really is.

I honk loudly and she responds only by sticking her hand up in annoyance.  I am now joined by a collection of irritated honking drivers and she finally relents moving onto the dirt shoulder.

I drop my husband off at office and wave to the guards.  One eager police officer  tries to stop traffic to allow my car onto the street but he is ignored.  I finally wedge my car forward irritating drivers in all directions but demanding my place on the road.  Slowly I am forgetting all driving courtesy and becoming a Nepali driver. 

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Happy Birthday JAC!



JAC turned three today.  Oh my heart!  He woke up so excited and spent the morning racing around the house screaming.  "My Birthday! I get presents and I get cake and I make cookies."  He was practically dancing all morning.  I loved seeing him so happy.

Jess stayed home from work and helped put together a little party.  A few friends came over and we decorated cookies, ate cake and opened presents.  JAC opened each gift and would shout, "I love it."  He was exhausted by nap time but I caught him playing with his new toys on his bed instead of sleeping.  Later we took him out for pizza and he fell asleep without even eating his dinner.

I know every mother says things like this but, "He seems so different from average three year old."  He seems smarter, more thoughtful, more confident and capable.  I think he could be turning five today or maybe eight.  He frustrates me and challenges me but mainly I'm crazy about this kid.  I am so happy to spend the day celebrating JAC. He is a complicated creature and I would have it no other way.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Bandh Day

Kathmandu is mute - devoid of its usual honking and jingle trucks.  We are in the middle of a bandh.  This has become a common political phenomenon in Nepal.  Opposing parties shut down roads and demand vehicles stay home.  Any issue might spark a bandh.  Today's bandh was called in protest of the death of a key leader of the youth party who died while imprisoned.

I walked to them embassy today.  I wanted to use the gym and visit my husband but I also wanted bandh pictures.  I stepped into our intersection and young men crowded a pile of rocks holding red and white flags.  Young boys joined in wavy the flags and wishing they were important.  The riot police stood shoulder to shoulder, stoic and agitated.  I joined the pedestrians walking down the road marveling at the quiet. 

We walked  in groups.  Young men held hands with friends and mothers carried babies.  A young man laughingly asked me, "Aren't you having a great walk?"  He moved on flirting with a young girl, shouting "Wow! Beau-ti-ful!"  A row of dusty brown ducks marched down the highway filled with self importance.  A young father excitedly tried to teach his little boy how to ride a two-wheeler down the usually heavily trafficked road. 

Nepal feels alive every day.  The movement and color feel addicting and overwhelming at once.  This bandh Nepal showcases the patience of the people juxtaposed against the background of political deadlock.  There is no constitution.  Progress seems impossible and yet the people walked resiliently to work or home displaying infinite patience with the inconvenience of these street protests.  

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Saturday

Saturday mornings are sleepy in Kathmandu.  The city wakes up slowly enjoying the day's reprieve from work.  Traffic is light and my neighbors bathe each child outside in a bucket while the adults gamble in a nearby alley.

I woke up and the house was chilly.  Our gas heater battled to no avail against the cold.  I wrapped up in three blankets on our gold sofa and formulated a plan.  Saturday was the perfect day for an adventure.

I did a map recon, analyzing routes and possibilities.  Finally I settled on an uphill day hike at a nearby mountain.  I packed a picnic lunch of leftover pasta salad and cookies.  I dressed my son in sturdy shoes and an extra jacket.  When my husband awoke we were ready to go.

I felt like Lewis and Clark on the edge of something wild and grand.  We were armed only with the memory of a computer map and our enthusiasm.  We made the short drive down our road and when we arrived at our intersection crowds mingled uneasily. A few blue clad police officers with batons met us at the corner gesturing for me to roll the window down.  "You can not go this way.  There is a strike - a bandh," they said.  This was not a sleepy Saturday.  This was a restless creature with its own identity.

I turned around quickly formulating an alternative plan.  We would go visit the waterfalls instead.  "Waterfalls, I want to go waterfalls," chanted my son from the back seat.  At least we had a sole supporter of the new plan.  We bypassed the main roads traveling tiny pot hole covered back alleys instead.  An unknown alley would dissolve into a tiny footpath and we would slowly inch the car backwards.  I navigated using gut instinct and the location of the mountains.  A curved stone advertised we were close - only three kilometers from the falls.  "Waterfalls!" JAC demanded from the backseat.  We passed through a tiny village with houses stacked and crumbling on top of each other forming a tunnel around the road.  We emerged and were met with smoke and a small crowd of young men standing back on their heels with their hands in their pockets.  They blocked the road with a small fire and stared at us quizzically.  Every local knew this road was impassable today and a lazy eyed police officer reinforced the idea.  "You can not not pass.  It is a strike," he informed us.  We made a slow u-turn. Defeated, we returned home.

We chewed cookies and laughed on the way home.  Our son fell asleep in his carseat with his head and arms spilling over the edge.  Every winding back road was an opportunity and we wove carefully past pedestrians through the streets of Kathmandu grateful to be near the main road.  We slid onto the main road and the air felt heavy and gray.  Unnerved I rolled my windows up and locked the door.  There was a sole car on the road and then we were alone.  We drove slowly forward and every kilometer the foot traffic grew more dense.  The intersections were lined with riot police and hundreds of pedestrians walked on both side of the car.  We were in the middle of the strike.  We unwittingly missed the road block by utilizing back roads and instead positioned ourselves in the middle of the unrest.  We needed to get home. 

We crested the hill and I saw our intersection engulfed in black smoke.  Tires were burning.  The people were too dense to pass through.  Our cell phone chirped with the alert, "Kathmandu unstable, remain in a safe place."  We could not make it home but were relieved to stop at friend's house for a few hours.

In Miami they have hurricane parties.  In Kathmandu we have bandh parties.  With the streets shut down and nowhere to go we opened a bottle of wine and sampled cheese.  We walked down to the intersection with our cameras and snapped pictures of protesters.  When night came the protesters walked home, happily chatting about the days events.  The bandh was over.  The end seemed to lack a suitable climax and we drove home expecting something more.   We never did hike up a mountain but we drove through a smokey protest instead.  

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

When?

When will I get back to serious writing?  I don't really know.  I'm taking a serious writing break for two reasons.  First, I'm taking Nepali class and it falls smack in the middle of my prime writing hours.  Secondly, I've been spending my free time applying for part time jobs.  I still don't have a job so maybe I'll just stick with recreational writing.  Oh - I just thought of another reason I have not been writing.  I am suffering from the holiday blues.  Luckily my awesome friend Jenn sent me a package of Holiday joy just in time.  I really wish I could UPS that girl to Nepal!

Back to my Holiday blues - Its hard to get into the mood to celebrate without your friends and family around.  Once I let a little bit of Grinch in it took over and for weeks my heart has been extra small.  Today I woke up and things just felt a little better.  I had a really good parenting day.  JAC and I really got along well all day.  Last night I heard from my good friend Becca and my husband surprised me with tickets to a holiday concert tonight.  I started making Christmas candy and JAC and I have been doing Christmas craft projects.  Today traffic even seemed a bit better and I think Christmas might come to Kathmandu after all.  Happy Holidays Friends!  Maybe tomorrow I'll finally write about riding and elephant in search of a tiger.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Trees

The Kapok Tree grows in the jungles of the southern Nepal.  The trunk rises straight in a vertical line to the sky and branches make their appearance as a round clump towering over the forest.  Black and white, wide faced monkeys chirp from the branches to the Barking Deer who graze in the underbrush below.  These two creatures have a symbiotic relationship.  The monkeys toss leaves to the grazing deer and sound an awkward howl to warn of nearby predators.  The deer mirror the favor, standing guard while the monkeys forage on the forest floor.  The tree sanctuary in anchored by massive roots that grow high and attached to the trunk creating the appearance of a giant webbed foot.

Juvenile Kapok Tree trunks are covered in sharp thorns to protect against predators.  As the tree matures the thorns slowly fade into the bark first becoming warty numbs and eventually disappearing as the tree nears maturity.  These thorns allow the tree to grow into largest tree in the jungle.

I first saw this try while riding on top of a two ton elephant, clutching my son in my lap.  I immediately wished my son could be granted a similar protection against the perils of youth.  I wished he had a thorny coat for the days his mother had no patient, the hour he might be betrayed by a best friend or the moment he needed stitches. 

I returned from a short trip to India this week.  I felt apprehension about leaving my son for four days.  I didn't want him to miss me or wander from room to room asking for me.  When I walked in the door my son was playing happily with his babysitter.  In my absence he had great adventures with his father.  They visited Santa together, had pirate sword fights and went to dinner with new friends.  JAC seemed at ease and oddly knew dozens new vocabulary words.  He hadn't missed me at all.

Later his dad confessed that JAC had asked for me but Jess gently explained I was on a short trip.  They would have a "guy's weekend" at home.  Slowly I realized that I wanted to protect my child but thorn covered armor would never work.  A better analogy might be strength training.  Each sore muscle is caused by tiny tears in the muscle.  As the muscle heals it reforms stronger and more resilient and that is exactly what I want for my child. I can't protect him - every mother knows this.  I can soften tiny bits of saddens as he grows stronger.