Kathmandu "Fun" Park I

A month-long hiatus can be nearly as crippling to your readership as pilo can be to your backside, if this December has taught me anything. I’d like to firmly announce that Jason and I are, in fact, NOT dead, but in fact suffering post-Christmas-traumatic syndrome. Ten consecutive days of shopping and a Christmas celebration that involves waking up at 5 am to deal with demon possession are enough to do in any man I know (much less a bear). I’ll give a full written update later in the week, but for today, I’ve got a ton of pictures that have gone unposted partially because of sickness, and partially because Internet in the Kathmandu Valley is a punchline as opposed to a public service.

There are a vast number of stark differences between “This American Life” and “This Nepali Life,” as any guidebook or Wikipedia cultural reference point can attest to. Nepalis don’t have indoor heating, pedestrian protection laws, vehicle emissions standards, or Desperate Housewives. The Super Bowl isn’t even broadcast in this country! But for all of my yearnings for American customs, I’ve discovered that one concept transcends international borders: exam week. Well, that and the love story that is Titanic.

Nepali exam periods take place within a relatively approximate time period when compared with their Western counterparts, usually falling within the last week of November and the first week of December, with a second round scheduled on the cusp of summer. The difference is that everybody takes them: a seven year-old will test on computer literacy at the same time as a teenager, and from what I've seen, often get better scores. Schools in Nepal suck, period, and while I'm not ethno-arrogant enough to suggest changing them over to Western standards, something has to change in the educational system for this country to move forward: teachers grade on the basis of completion of assignments rather than understanding of materials, students aren't held accountable for plagerism or cheating, and according to the most recent figures I was able to find, only 14% of Nepalis above the age of 10 are literate. Thus, the tutoring aspect of the work Jason and I are doing here in the orphanage takes on a more deliberate and intentional tone: these children have to learn if they are to have any future at all.

So somberness aside, examination week (shorten it to "exam" and get corrected by 50 orphans) was surprisingly a refreshing time for both us and the kids. They tested from 9-11 each morning, came home and watched the required 4 hours of cartoons and hindi suspense movies, and then studied all night. Overall, the kids did very well on their tests, and as a reward, Jason and I agree to hire a bus and take the youngest of the orphans into the city for a visit to Kathmandu's only amusement park as a reward for their hard work. What follows is a pictoral history of the day...

This is Kathmandu Fun Park. Just try and hold back your enthusiasm.
That girl picnicking in the foreground certainly is...

The boys jockeying for position in the ticket line.
Those actually looking at the camera from left to right:
Kumar (who broke a food cart before we even got into the park),
Bhidan, Dorje, David, Pratap, Lakpa, and Naresh (getting his armband at the counter)

Is it some sort of contractual obligation that every amusement park in the world have some sort of "Ride the Big Dopey Yellow Duck" ride? The way the ducks' eyes are painted on, I can't tell if they're gazing heavenward in fear of a nuclear holocaust, or if they're in a drug-induced trance. Either way, I wasn't allowed to ride the ducks. Jerks.

Bumper cars, fairly self-evident. But look at all the scrapes and dents in these things, not to neglect the fair amount of dirt settled on them. Makes you wonder if Kathmandu is actually the future site of the Terrordome from that old Mad Max movie...