The Blithe Traveler

The Trek: Day 1

Some background. This is what we packed for our trip. For the entire two week trip, mind you, for four people. There are two proper hiking backpacks, one for Jeff and one for me. There are additionally two small backpacks, one for Tom and one for Hope. The thinking was that if we were going to be schlepping all of our crap along on the trek, we were going to schlep as little as possible. 

What's inside the bags looks something like this: khaki + zippers. Yeah, we finally broke down and bought those stupid touristy Zip On! Zip Off! trouser/short combos. The thinking was that the temperatures would vary quite a bit, and that there might be some comfort in having short and long pants without actually carrying both. Plus, this stuff is all easy wash/easy dry fabric. Since we all had two trousers, three pairs of knickers and three shirts, washing and drying quickly was an important consideration. 

An added consideration is that both Indian and Nepalese people are modest: men don't really wear shorts, and women properly don't parade around in anything that shows much in the way of knees or collar bones. So, no shorts or tank tops for me. It's a bit more lax for children, so they were able to wear more conventional length clothing for the weather. Which, was mostly quite warm and comfortable, until we were at 3200 meters, then it was freezing, and until we got to India, when it was hotter than hot. 

Really, this is about all we brought (for three people; Jeff doesn't photograph his stuff before he packs it, because, hello, normal person, every crowd has one). Those stupid backpacks weren't even full. 

We thought long and hard about what footwear to bring, too. The children don't like to wear shoes. Honestly, they would go to school barefoot through the city streets if they could, and as I was the same way as a child, I get it. Jeff and I discussed getting them proper hiking boots, but decided that the break-in period would be horrible (for us, as the children threw themselves on the ground and wailed about their feet being encased in concrete), so we went with (a) crocs and (b) already broken-in sneakers.

Me? I lost the plot somewhere. I skipped off and got a mani/pedi for this trip. I know. Cray. OPI "Blue My Mind," if you are curious. Did you know I have a precious side? This is it in its entirety, so admire my preciousness and move on. 

When we met our guide, Genesh, he took one look at my sparkling toes and my Tevas and said, "Well, you have hiking boots, right?" My, "Ah, no, these are just going to have to do," did not give him the warm fuzzies, let me tell you. Particularly given that this conversation happened while he was packing up the down sleeping bags and down jackets that were included as part of our trek. You might ask yourself why someone who knew there were "down" things involved in a trek would think that sandals would be appropriate footwear. Listen, what it comes down to is that I am just not very detail oriented.

On the upside, Others of Us were a little more thoughtful. Someone thought to purchase metal water bottles and bring along iodine pills in order to use local water sources for our drinking water instead of buying plastic water bottles as we went. Someone also insisted on buying rain ponchos when others of us thought that they would be a waste of money. I can cut the tension right here: they were not a waste of money.  

Here's the other key detail that I missed: our tour price included our own porter. I had packed with the idea that we would spend five days trekking carrying our own bags. I thought wrong. Or rather, I read the itinerary wrong, because, let me tell you, I saw over the course of almost a week, exactly one tourist dude carrying his own backpack. Our porter would carry our bags. Porters are a pretty integral part of the trekking gig, because, if most people had to carry their own crap, tourists would not hike in Nepal.  

Plus, and this is a more important consideration than you might think initially, there is the income generated by being a porter. Jobs are scarce in Nepal; remember the Gurkhas? So, it's an important to consider the economy when you are thinking, "Wait, so why am I paying someone to carry my bag, when I should really do it myself?" If you are not paying a porter, you are taking a job away from someone who probably really needs it. That sounds incredibly lame when I type it, particularly when you actually meet our porter who was most decidedly not one of the young whippersnappers you see pictured here.

No, this was our porter: not a young man (I'll come up with a better photo later on, this was the best I could do quickly). 

So suddenly, packing took on a whole new dimension: while I was initially worried about what I would be carrying, suddenly, I realized, I needed to actually worry about what some poor other (older!) human being was going to be carrying. Which plunged me into guilt mode like you would not believe. We stripped down to half of what you see in the initial packing photos above, and left it back at the hotel.

Stripped down to our definition of the bare essentials, which still included more i-devices than the average family owns, I think, we drove about an hour outside of Pokhara to begin trekking for the first day. The schedule was about an three or four hour hike, from the river bed with very little elevation: it was a Flat Hike, which in Nepal is defined as "a little bit up! a little bit down!" Only, a "little bit" is one of those things that is kind of relative.

Things got off to a rocky start as we were all of ten minutes into it when Hope reminded us that we had failed to pack her any snacks (!!) and, we realized we had no water. Seriously, our planning was all kind of there esoterically, but not really appropriate focused in the moment. We were still in a town, so I called a halt, bought some water and Snicker bars, refreshed the troops, and we started off again.  

Genesh was giving us the serious hairy eyeball that this point. We had the shoeless one, two medium sized children who seemingly melted down all of ten minutes into it, to be revived with the application of bottled water and Snickers, and a lack of thoughtfulness around water that was disconcerting at best. But, Genesh is a Nepalese trekking guide, which makes him quite stoic, one can only imagine the sorts of things he has seen. He smiled, lead us across the bridge, registered us for the five day trek around the Annapurna small loop, and we were off, right and proper. 

Next: Day 1, We Manage Just Fine

 

 

 

 

Pokhara

Our goal in heading to Nepal was to do a nice, easy trek with the children. We planned five days, hired a guide, and set ourselves out to have a fine time. You know, strolling through the hills and dales of Nepal. Our specific goal was a trek called "Poon Hill," which has as it's apogee, watching the sun rise over the Himalayas.  It's a touristy sort of route, so lots of people, guest houses and places to stop for water along the way.  

One begins such a trek in Pokhara, either a short flight or a long bus ride from Kathmandu. We decided to fly there and venture the bus on our return. Kathmandu was suffering from the sort of weather we referred to as "pollution" when we lived in China, so we were looking forward to getting out into the sunshine and wilderness of Pokhara and environs. 

The aforementioned dodgy Kathmandu domestic airport left us feeling rather "meh," but, Pokhara was just the ticket to chase away the pollution blues. Hello, blue sky!

And cows! Hello, cows! Since something like 80% of Nepalese identify themselves as Hindu, it is not at all surprising to find Bovines lolling about, being, all, like, "Hey, no burger for you!" In fact, we did see the word "burger" on several menus, but, in general, there was clarification that they were talking about CHICKEN burgers or some other such non-cow burger-type food. As they say, when in Rome; we did not venture to try the non-beef burgers.

It was also apparently "New Year" while we were there. Although my reading would suggest this is the closest thing Nepal may have to a Hallmark holiday. I'm not clear that it's all that a western style New Year is meant to be; but there were sponsored signs all around town, so Jeff and I raised a glass of red wine in celebration. Because, why not? 

Pokhara is located on a terrifically beautiful lake. I did not get any closer than this, which is a bit of a shame, but such is my lazy holiday self.  

Here is the Peace Stupa. Also meant to be really spectacular. I did not get any closer than this. Lazy! And, maybe distracted.  

Cashmere. Sister Mercy, I was surrounded everywhere by fiber! And "JUST FEEL ME" signs?? Yeah, so, hard to hike off to the lake or the Peace Stupa when it was all I could do to keep moving past the softest wooly things ever. 

We had a nice last meal in a place we did not have to hike to, enjoyed the sun setting over the electric grid, and tried not to be too nervous about how much we should be packing for our five days of trekking. 

Tomorrow: We're Off! 

Hope's Bansuri

This is a total bragging on my Special Snowflake kind of post, so feel to ignore it if kids are not your gig. 

Hope has been playing the flute for about a year. She also dabbles in piano, and plans to add the saxophone to her repertoire once we are back in the US (mostly because, I have one and she really, really wants to learn to play the thing). She's no protegee, but she has genuinely enjoys music; it's easy to indulge her, without putting too much pressure on her to perform. She'll join the elementary school band next year, and she can decide at that point if she really needs to up her game, or if she can continue playing just for fun. 

There were vendors all over Durbar Square in Kathmandu selling wooden flutes, ostensibly called "Bansuri ." They are maybe Nepalese, maybe Indian? But they are cheap, and she was delighted to get her little hands on one. 

The vendor we bought it from was absolutely stunned when the child put the thing to her lips and started to play. This guy decided to give her a lesson, and we ended up hiring him to give us a tour of the Square. Fair trade, I thought.

This might be my favorite photo from the entire trip. The domestic Kathmandu airport was dodgy at best, but Hope fit right in. Our astonishing ability to be all matchy matchy blue has nothing to do with actually attempting to all wear the same color clothing, but everything to do with the fact that I like blue, and I buy most of the clothing. 

The best part of this post, for those of you who suffer through it, is that you are getting glimpses of our trek. Life is a bit of a rush right now, and I don't feel as though this trip is getting the attention it deserves. It ranks right up there in the Best of the Best All Time (with Tanzania and Mongolia to name some old fan favorites), so I need to come up with something more interesting than what I've managed so far. 

So, the basuri does not work exactly like a flute, and there aren't easily accessible sharps and flats. But the kid was determined. She didn't have any actual music, but she worked out a few songs based on what she thought they should sound like. At the point of this photo, which was Day 2 trekking, she had managed a pretty decent rendition of Amazing Grace. Right about here, a gaggle of Taiwanese tourists came upon her and burst into song. Have you ever heard Amazing Grace in Chinese? I certainly hadn't, and I lived in China for three years.  

A girl and her flute. Would you like to hear her play it?  

 

She's a charmer, our Hope. 

Next: Pokara! 

The Gurkhas

"If a man says he is not afraid of dying, he is either lying or is a Gurkha." Indian Army Chief of Staff Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw. 

The Nepalese are a tough people. Remember the Trial By Dead Animal any four year old girl had to go through to become the Living Goddess? The Gurkahs, Nepalese warriors, have an even tougher row to hoe: 

The soldiers are still selected from young men living in the hills of Nepal - with about 28,000 youths tackling the selection procedure for just over 200 places each year.The selection process has been described as one of the toughest in the world and is fiercely contested. Young hopefuls have to run uphill for 40 minutes carrying a wicker basket on their back filled with rocks weighing 70lbs. BBC News

This guy actually has a pretty cushy job right now, as he's there basically to protect the Hanuman Dhoka Palace (seen below) from tourists. Although, if you will recall your recent history, the last Palace Massacre in Nepal was in 2001. 

In 2001, the Crown Prince Dipendra reportedly shot and killed ten people, including his father King Birendra, and was himself mortally wounded by what was allegedly a self-inflicted gunshot. Ultimately, this lead to the establishment of Nepal as a democratic state in 2008. The story, according to Wiki goes as follows: 

"According to reports, Dipendra had been drinking heavily, smoked large quantities of hashish (a drug extracted from the cannabis plant) and had "misbehaved" with a guest, which resulted in his father, King Birendra, telling his oldest son to leave the party. The drunken Dipendra was taken to his room by his brother Prince Nirajan and cousin Prince Paras.

One hour later, Dipendra returned to the party armed with an H&K MP5, a Franchi SPAS-12 and an M16 and fired a single shot into the ceiling before turning the gun on his father, King Birendra. Seconds later, Dipendra shot one of his aunts. He then shot his uncle Dhirendra in the chest at point-blank range when he tried to stop Dipendra. During the shooting, Prince Paras suffered slight injuries and managed to save at least three royals, including two children, by pulling a sofa over them. During the attack, Dipendra darted in and out of the room firing shots each time." Wiki

 One imagines the Gurkahs were just the right people to have in place at that time. 

Right now, Dudes with GoPros are more the norm for Palace Trespassers: 

This is pretty tangential, but it was pretty entertaining to watch these three guys try to bully the local law enforcement to let them through the Palace with their bicycles. They were not successful. Score one for local law enforcement. 

But back to the Gurkhas: the reason that one would want to become a Gurkha is to raise the standard of living for your family. The Gurkahs are technically part of the British army, and so are paid quite well, relatively: 

For those who are chosen, they will receive a salary of around £1,000 a month, a guaranteed 15 years of service, possible promotion and a good pension. In a country where the average income is $1 (58p) a day, the "British camp" is spoken of in reverential tones. This is the place in Nepal that can change things for ever. The Guardian

So, while the road to their current jobs is incredibly difficult, the actual day to day is a little easier: here the Gurkah stands guard while Hope plays here newly acquired Bansuri. Although, if he is not a fan of Amazing Grace, it might have been a little hard for him. 

Which brings us right up to the topic for Next time: the Basuri

 

Kumari Chowk

Onward (finally!) to some specifics of Durbar Square.

Continuing the tradition of really interesting phenomena illustrated by incredibly crappy photography, let me introduce you to the concept of the Living Goddess: the Kumari Chowk. In a nutshell, every dozen years or so, a four year old girl is chosen to become the human incarnation of the Hindu mother goddess, Durga. 

She lives in this house. 

The choosing process is lengthy and intense. First, girls are reviewed to be sure that they meet the basic criteria: she must be a Buddhist from the Newar Shakya caste, she must be in excellent health, never have shed blood or been afflicted by any diseases, be without blemish and must not have yet lost any teeth. There are an additional list of physical characteristics that read a bit like the description of a Disney Princess: a neck like a conch shell, a body like a banyan tree, eyelashes like a cow, thighs like a deer, chest like a lion, voice soft and clear as a duck's, etc. 

Once a candidate has been identified, she runs through the final selection gauntlet. Remember, this is a four year old girl we're talking about: 

On the kalratri, or 'black night', 108 buffaloes and goats are sacrificed to the goddess Kali. The young candidate is taken into the Taleju temple and released into the courtyard, where the severed heads of the animals are illuminated by candlelight and masked men are dancing about. If the candidate truly possesses the qualities of Taleju, she shows no fear during this experience. If she does, another candidate is brought in to attempt the same thing.

As a final test, the living goddess must spend a night alone in a room among the heads of ritually slaughtered goats and buffaloes without showing fear. The fearless candidate has proven that she has the serenity and the fearlessness that typifies the goddess who is to inhabit her. After passing all other tests, the final test is that she must be able to pick out the personal belongings of the previous Kumari from an assortment of things laid out before her. If she is able to do so, there is no remaining doubt that she is the chosen one. Wiki

And what does the winner receive behind the proverbial Door Number Three? Basically, life in a gilded cage. Here's a fun bit: her feet are never allowed to touch the ground. On the rare occasions she leaves her small compound, she is carried in a palanquin. She's not allowed to touch other children. For many years, she recieved no education (although, that is no longer true). 

Until she hits puberty, whereupon they toss her back out to live like a normal human again, and the choosing process begins again. It is said that any man who marries a Kumari Chowk is doomed to die within six months by coughing up blood, but given the way the young girls are completely spoiled during their time as Living Goddesses, and then the harsh realities of the real world when they return to it, one imagines that men may well have swallowed glass to get away from being married to an ex-Living Goddess. 

The Raj Kumari may not be photographed by lowly tourists, although, she does poke her head out at specific hours of the day if you wish to see her. We didn't really think it was worth hanging around. Honestly, I felt more sorry for the poor child than anything else. If you are interested in seeing what she looks like (or has looked like, as there are multiple photos of different Kumari on the wiki page): click.

She does seem to get one treat, though. Poor thing. I wonder if she has problems with homesickness?  

Next: The Gurkhas

#31 Prodigal Summer

And, another nearly perfect book! Clearly, as I am no longer trying to read these in order, I am stacking the deck. Life of Pi, Joy of Cooking, White Oleadner, these are falling to the bottom of the list. My last few reads are going to be the toughest.

I am a fan of Barbara Kingsolver; I read (listened to, brilliant reader) the Lacuna last year and just about turned inside out with love for it. 

This book, though, interestingly enough, was a close call. Ms Kingsolver herself reads it, and, I say this gently, kindly, and with absolutely no malice, I had a really, really hard time getting through the first hour. There are readers who try to "act" a book; they can kill a good read quickly, or make an okay book better. There are brilliant readers who make you want the book to never end, because the sound of their voice just makes your life better. And there are readers who do not do the book justice. 

Ms. Kingsolver just didn't sit right with me. I did grow accustomed to her through the course of the book, and, honestly, the beauty of the story, the wonderfully engaging characters, the background information on farming, and the natural world overcame all obstacles; it's a wonderful book. 

Buzzfeed has this to recommend it to the reader seeking life changing literature:

In this book, we meet three different characters whose stories eventually intertwine. It all takes place in southern Appalachia and deals with their relationships toward the balance of nature around them. It will make you question your own relationship with evolution, and put into perspective what a small part of that we really are. The novel also explores the ideas of life and death, love, and the importance of the community around you. 

Jeff and I were working on creating a farm life for our children when we decided to head off to China for three months. So Prodigal Summer, a story based in a farming community and detailing the changes modernity have wrought really struck home. As our three months turned into seven years, our connection with farming has been tangential at best, but, we are returning to it, starting this summer (1).  Ms Kingsolver's writing was inspirational, as she explores fictionally the landscape of small time farmers attempting to remain solvent. 

I can imagine that if I had read this in my 20s, that the story would have made me sit back on my heels and really think about farming as an industry. Today, as someone who raised chickens for eggs and meat and suffered through pigs becoming bacon, I am too jaded to have found anything in the book 'educational,' but, definitely, definitely inspirational. I am thinking it's time to get some dirt under my fingernails again. 

It has also been brought to my attention that Ms. Kingsolver has penned a non-fiction work about her own family farm: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. I have put that on my goodreads list for future reference. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

(1) We are officially moving back to the US "forever" (2) as of July 8, 2014. At some point I may provide more details, but for now, "things," whatever those "things" might be, are under contract, and best left sleeping in their beds until "i"s are dotted and "t"s are crossed. 

(2) Your definition of "forever" and my definition of "forever" may diverge, so let's just agree to disagree on what "forever" exactly means. 

#9 Middlesex

Not! Nepal! We've been super busy since we got back from our Easter holiday. Plus, I always find facing writing about one of these big trips a bit overwhelming until I actually get started. But, I have been reading (listening?). So, here's some filler, until we can mosey on back to Nepal. 

Middlesex: now this is my idea of a perfect book: it was both a fascinating story and it was written beautifully. The story was brilliant, witty, clever, clever, and weirdly fabulous, although, fair warning, one must have the stomach for consensual incest and off beat genitalia in order to appreciate it. I will also add, the reader was pitch perfect. *Le sigh* I will have to listen to that one again in the near future. 

This sort of writing makes me just beam with happiness: 

“It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the porch, you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.” 

Or these: 

“Here it comes, I thought. The first ex-boyfriend had been summoned. Soon the rest would follow. They would file around the table, presenting their deficiencies, telling of their addictions, their cheating hearts... But that didn't happen with Julie. This was because Julie isn't husband-hunting. So she didn't have to interview me for the job.” 

“We Greeks get married in circles, to impress upon ourselves the essential matrimonial facts: that to be happy you have to find variety in repetition; that to go forward you have to come back where you began.” 

I'm not exactly sure why Middlesex is on the Life Changing list. Perhaps because it talks about human hermaphroditism and other human sexual traits that are pretty far out on the bell curve? Again, my age makes me jaded: you think I didn't know about this stuff? 

The book traces the history of three generations of immigrant Greeks/new Americans, who come to the Detroit area after fleeing Turkey during the Greco-Turkish war. The blend of history, psychology, immigrant story, and the weird intersex story was completely engrossing. The author also did a masterful job of including what must have been a mind-blowing amount of research into a story. I learned a lot about history and assorted other topics without ever feeling as though I was being lectured. 

And, again, this is a case where just the right reader read the book to me: Kristoffer Tabori did a masterful job making the reading come to life in exactly the right way. 

Middlesex did win a Pulitzer Prize, so other people must have enjoyed it. On the downside, it is also described by critics as being verbose. As a verbose sort of writer myself, I tend to appreciate verbosity, rather than see it as anathema.  The author also switches perspectives (between first and third person) during the story, which is traditionally a no-no. It worked for me; it might not work for you.

I will also mention that I have read Eugenides Virgin Suicides and Marriage Plot and found them not at all to my liking.

But, Middlesex worked for me as one of the most engaging reads/listens of this reading challenge. 

Warning: your mileage may vary. 

Next: #31 Prodigal Summer (Barbara Kingsolver)

Durbar Square

Durbar Square is the generic name used to describe plazas and areas opposite the old royal palaces in Nepal; there are technically three of them in the Kathmandu Valley. This one, located in the heart of Kathmandu city, is more properly referred to as Hanuman Dhoka Durbar Square. As the ancient seat of Nepalese Royalty, the royal palace was used not only for royal living quarter, but also used as the center of administration, cultural activities and festivals.

It's also the place hippies used to come in the 1960s to smoke Hashish (legally, at the time). Do you see Tom, Hope and Jeff in the photo below? They are apparently sitting in an area more historically reserved for the stoned. This comes from our impromptu tour guide, but he seemed like an honest soul, so what's not believe? I did Google looking for photos, but when I didn't find any, decided that my Google skills must just be lacking. 

 

You can see Old Freak Street in this photo, it's the small street to the left of the market square: 

"Freak Street was the epicenter during the Hippie trail from early 1960s to late 1970s. During that time the main attraction drawing tourists to Freak Street was the government-run hashish shops. Hippies from different parts of the world traveled to Freak Street (Basantapur) in search of legal cannabis. Direct bus services to Freak Street were also available from the airport and borders targeting the hippies looking for legal smokes. Freak Street was a hippie nirvana, since marijuana and hashish were legal and sold openly in government licensed shops." Wiki

This is all of historical interest, only, of course, as it is no longer the 1970s, and now Freak Street is just another touristy sort of shopping area. 

This is what Hope bought: an entirely different sort of pipe: 

More on her Bansuri in a later post. 

We Arrive

At some point toward the end of our trip I had a few minutes of internet time and I read over my India/Nepal: The Plan post. Oh, how I laughed, and laughed, and laughed: the naiveté, the utter guilelessness with which I flippantly chat about how we were going Trekking in Nepal, but, you know, "Trekking Lite," because, they have apple pie! And maybe totally glossing over the "it's an easy hike because you only climb to 3200 meters." 

3200 meters = 10,500 feet. We started trekking in a river bed. And in the space of three days climbed 10,500 feet. On our feet. Hope's feet are only 9 years old. That's a lot of climbing for such small feet. 

*snicker* 

There's worse, actually. The whole India thing was pretty well bungled. Luckily, it was only a few days, and easily rectified with an infusion of the cash we saved staying in cheap hotels in Nepal. Whew. 

But, the beginning. We arrived at the New Delhi airport at midnight. Jeff pulled some of his Million Mile Flyer strings and managed to get us in Business class for the flight over (it was back to coach for the ride home, just in case you think we're getting too spoiled). It's a relatively short flight, about seven hours, but as we were landing so late, it was nice. Hey, one imagines Business Class is always nice? Not that I would know. 

We were leaving for Kathmandu the following morning, so I had booked a cheap hotel (20€!! for four people!! including brekkie!!) close to the airport so we could catch some zzzzs. The New Delhi airport is a High Security sort of place, and once you leave the terminal, you are not allowed back in the terminal until six hours prior to your next flight. We did not quality. 

This is only important because once we left the terminal, we discovered that our Cheap! Room! had been rented to someone else. Our taxi driver called the hotel to ask for specific directions and the hotel manager told us to find somewhere else to lay our weary heads. 

Okay, fair enough, this was India, and we had been warned that this sort of thing happens all the time. Generally not to reservations I make on booking.com, but such is life. One of the oft repeated catch phrases in India is, "Everything is possible, sir!" so Jeff whipped out his i-Phone, opened a Google map of the airport and located a hotel nearby. He called them, negotiated a room rate (hey, the night was half gone already!), and we were on our way. 

The hotel was a "resort" of sorts, where one used the phrase "resort" to describe any place that has a pool, and ended up having a really lovely morning unwinding pool-side until it was time to rev up for our flight to the hurly-burly that is Kathmandu. 

And hurly-burly it was. I am so glad my children spent their early years in China; this kind of jam packed humanity/motor vehicle/bicycle, hustle-bustle, chaos doesn't phase them in the least. 

Kathmandu is not for the faint of heart, and crossing the street requires some maneuvering. Unlike in Austria or the Czech Republic, where drivers stop at the zebra crossings for pedestrians, Kathmandu drivers stop for nothing short of the Rapture, and I'm not even sure that would quell the most intrepid. 

Unless you are the clever monkey sort, in which case, it's a breeze. 

Same street, monkey dude had a much easier crossing. We were looking for a lunch place at this point, and realized that we had ended up quite accidentally right next to the Fire and Ice restaurant, a place Lonely Planet describes as being an amazing pizza (??) restaurant, perfect for the traveler who is tapped out on local food.

We don't typically go in for that sort of thing, and we were as far from tapped out as one could be, but Tom the Unadventurous had voiced a few concerns about what he would be eating on this trip. So we cut him some slack and feed him a pizza. We figured he might not eat much of the next few weeks; one last top off wouldn't hurt.

Now that is the face of a grateful child. 

Next: Durbar Square