I've been writing a little bit each day since we arrived in Kogate. This post is long, so get yourself comfortable and enjoy. We've been in Nepal for almost a month at this point, but it feels like longer. This blog post is a mix of observations and descriptions. It's my experience so far. If it's discombobulated, well, it's been written over several weeks. Thanks for reading and feel free to share your thoughts with me.
The basics: I arrived in Nepal around noon on Monday, but by the time we went through customs, arrived at the hotel, showered and regrouped it was time for dinner. Exhausted, we all asked questions about the clinic and went over a few basic logistical bits before returning to the hotel to sleep. All jet lagged, we've been waking up around 3AM for the last week, the first night included.
Tuesday, we went to the temple mentioned in the previous entry as well as a pagoda. A lot has happened since then and details are lost on me. We went to two different art galleries in Kathmandu. Andrew is an artist and, unknown to many, Nepal is a gem of original art. I hope to buy several pieces if finances work in my favor. Wednesday we had a local man named Anil take us around town to various temples, including the Monkey Temple, and eventually to his art gallery. He is an artist of mandalas, amazingly intricate and detailed pieces of deities and meditation symbols. He also has a steady spiritual practice; by culture he's Hindu, but religiously he's Buddhist. He was very successful for a Nepali (or just in general I believe) and had a recent exhibition in China. He's only 24, but so ambitious I think life will be good to him. At least, I hope it will.
We also went to Durbar square, the oldest part of Kathmandu. Construction for this started in the 11th century, a time when the US was still untouched. When I visit places so ancient I try to picture myself there at that time. The smells, the views, the people, the sounds. I can never really do it and all I have are lame images from a movie- someone else's creativity imprinted as factual in my head. Either way, the square has architecture different than any other area in the city, but since I know nothing of architecture I'll say it just looked older than anything else. Thousands of people were crammed in this square that day in preparation for the Kumari festival, which started Thursday. Kumari is a living goddess and can only be seen by the layperson at certain times of the year. Kumari is usually a young pre-pubescent girl chosen around 5 years old and taken to live in a temple until she reaches menarche, then she is no longer a goddess and another little girl is chosen. The test to become this goddess involves being locked in a separate temple filled with 'demons' and if the little girl doesn't cry, scream or run away, she passes the test and is honored by becoming a goddess. There are no kickbacks to her family, not money exchanged, and when the little girl is no longer a goddess she is able to return to her family. Back in the day, despite the extreme honor of the title, the Kumari was destined to a life of poverty because after she is stripped of her title she is not allowed to work or marry. That has since changed, but could you imagine spending ages 5-13 in a temple, worshipped, guarded and honored, then return to your family?
There have been many hilarious moments on this adventure so far and I will do my best to describe them here. On the first day in Nepal we ate mo mo's, which are Tibetan pot stickers, and after I bit into one I looked at the piece and noticed half a decent sized bug remaining. The rest was in the bite in my mouth. Welcome to Nepal. I spit it out and felt a bit queazy the rest of the day, but no digestive ailments yet.
Another silly bit occurred when Allissa, another volunteer, and I went shopping in Thamel. Thamel is the touristy area in Kathmandu. The streets are crowded, all look the same and are lined with knockoff cheap outdoor gear, pashminas, yak wool, and various knickknacks. It can be overwhelming and it's very easy to get lost, which we did. We were supposed to be back at the hotel at 5:30 for a debriefing, but we were walking in circles unsure of where we were and not seeing any familiar markers (which aren't easy to spot). Allissa insisted we take one of the rickshaws back, I was resistant because I didn't think we'd fit but we took it. Rickshaws are bicycles attached to a small two person seat, I'll assume you can see them on the internet or around Portland if this doesn't make sense, but the seat is tiny and so was the driver. First of all, he didn't want to lose our business, but he didn't know where the hotel was. Secondly, I did not think this tiny little man could pedal us girls who combined probably weighted more than his entire family. Well, I was wrong, that dude hauled it, until we reached a small ramp in the road. The driver tried to gain as much momentum as possible beforehand, but we didn't make it. We started to roll backwards and I was certain we'd fall out. The driver jumped off, held the handlebars and attempted to pull, but his sandals had no traction and he just slid and we rolled back. The rickshaws are certainly not sturdy and we aren't light. We kept offering to jump out for this part, but he wouldn't let us and had to get help pushing, in total it lasted a few seconds but we were hysterically laughing the entire time. Once we make it up Allissa realized she knew where we needed to go, which was actually just around the corner. This made us laugh even more- from where we started we could have turned the corner and been back in seconds, but the ride was worth the 2 USD we spent purely because we laughed so much.
Thursday morning we left for the clinic. All seven volunteers squeezed into the equivalent of a clown car and prepared for a very long, bumpy, sometimes scary ride. We took videos of our reactions to the driver passing motorbikes on blind hairpin turns and of the roads. I hope to post a few when I have a reliable internet source. I wish the videos could truly convey how scary the roads can be at times. We were followed by a tiny truck carrying all the gear for the clinic. Several times we had to stop and wait for the truck to cool from overheating. When we passed Bhemphedi, the road, which is an overstatement, turned into riverbeds and steep inclines. The truck got stuck a few times and our van rolled backwards while the driver was out helping the truck. This was terrifying because I was in the very back and unable to abandon ship if necessary. Luckily, the driver placed a tiny rock under the driver side wheel, so we wouldn't roll anymore, but we still inched back. I guess these cars don't have emergency breaks... The ride was long and filled with nervous laughter. We made jokes about the snack we stocked up on (the Reese's Pieces and cookies I brought were a hit), the strange looks we received from locals, the roads and wondered what the clinic would be like.
To say the clinic is remote doesn't seem to convey how far we really are from anything. There is sporadic electricity, but no running water. The clinic building doesn't have electricity or running water. Dust is everywhere, even though we sweep constantly. The buildings are made of cinderblocks with screen-less windows. Massive spiders (larger than my hand, seriously, with fur! I am so terrified of them I can't sleep at night, but they don't bite) and leeches are everywhere (some leeches hurt, others are just gross and leave blood stain reminders of their presence). This is not a place for phobias. I haven't felt clean since I arrived in Nepal and I'm getting used to my own smell. At least everyone else smells too.
The area is beautiful. We have a million dollar views of mountains and a cool stream runs by. There are goats, chickens, buffalos and cows freely roaming the area. Corn stalks are turning brown across the water and the air is always damp. Clouds and fog roll in throughout the day and when the sun comes out it's hot. It smells clean here and there is no light pollution at night. It's been cloudy, but I know when it's clear the stars will be amazing. It's quiet, but sometimes I hear an occasional bus horn in the distance. There are no cars here. The buildings share the land with a school and the children peer in through the windows and watch us, but won't answer when spoken to. Instead they shyly back away, but come running back when we turn around. Their ability to watch us for hours is amazing, I wonder if these kids ever struggle with ADD. Then again, we are the first white people they have ever seen, not to mention we are moving into their space with strange things, speaking a strange language. I'd watch us too.
We are fed three meals a day and are served tea in the late afternoon. We had milk tea yesterday, which pleased me to no end, but it's not a regular occurance. The food is salty and filled with carbs and sugar. My body is adjusting, but I'm generally hungry about 3 hours after every meal and when I wake at 4AM I think it's from hunger. The beds are a finger-length thick pad on wooden frames and we sleep in sleeping bags. The bathroom is a squat toilet on the floor and we are very lucky to have toilet paper, but once they install a hose we won't get toilet paper anymore and will have to use water. There is no shower, but yesterday we set up a camp shower on the roof. I haven't used it yet; I'm waiting for the sun to come out. I've resolved to limited showering and hair washing maybe once a week, but that's a stretch.
We spent yesterday unpacking all the supplies and gear for the clinic. Then we washed and sterilized everything in bleach and boiling water. It was a lot of work. Setting up a remote clinic such as this takes so much planning I can't imagine the logistics of everything and something is always forgotten or doesn't work. We'll just have to learn to deal if we don't have it or get creative.
Signs have been placed all around the area saying "come see the famous white doctors!" We are called doctors here. Given what Andrew has been prepping us for, this is true. A doctor is a qualified practitioner of medicine and that is what we are. Andrew reminds us to take the acupuncture out of it, we are helping these people any way we can, acupuncture is our medium, but we are trained to do so much more.
We had training with the interpreters yesterday too. They are all Nepali, all very young and all scared. We are scared and anxious too. Two interpreters speak english very well and have worked with ARP for two years. The rest have never spoken to a native english speaker and seem apprehensive about their abilities. I'm apprehensive too. We are expected to treat 20 patients a day, that's 4 an hour, and the communication breakdown can slow us. It feels like we will be mostly doing triage style treatments for the first few weeks until we get to know our patients and become accustomed to the swing of things.
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Sunday was the first day we treated patients. It was overwhelming. My first patient was a 14-month old baby with a fever. The child was wailing and not happy to be there. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I've never treated a child and acupuncture isn't easy on them. Not to mention he was crying as though I was killing him. Later the other volunteers told me they were happy that child wasn't their patient. I just gave him liquid tylenol and told them to come back tomorrow. I hope his fever goes down and I hope he doesn't cry (side note, he did come back and he did cry, but his fever was gone). At the end of the day, self doubt and various ideas of things I could have handled differently pop into my head. I struggle to let it go and trust myself, but it's a challenge, especially without my support group from home. Everyone here is encouraging, but I think we all feel thrown in the deep end and expected to swim. I hope it gets easier or at the very least I become slightly more confident.
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Day three of treating patients. I was in the weeds the whole day. I started with a challenging patient with dysmenorrhea. It feels impossible to diagnose patients. The interpreters don't know all the words I'm trying to use, and I have to think of different phases. For example, there is no way to ask if they have eye floaters. Sweat is a challenging word. The Nepalis are on a lunar calendar, which is completely different than ours. Therefore, their concepts of time are different. The interpreters have to convert what the patient says into our language and time frame, but I doubt the accuracy. Patients come in with menstrual issues, but every one of them says their cycle is 28 days. I doubt this. Plus, half the patients come in with "whole body pain". That is a broad subject.
Life for the locals is hard. Their skin in sun weathered and tough. The needles don't go in easily and everyone looks either really young or very old. I've treated two pregnant patients, one was 16 and the other 17- both married and living with their husbands family. A lot of the men here go to Dubai to work on the oil rigs, leaving very young women to live with a different family.
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It's amazing how self image improves when you go weeks without seeing yourself in a mirror. My pants fit much looser, but I think it's because I don't have a dryer to shrink things back. If anything has been lost it's water weight. I do think I'm burning more calories than I'm eating and as it gets colder, my shivering will burn more. There isn't really any protein in the diet and the spoonfuls of peanut butter don't cut it.
Clothes washing is done in the river. We get a large metal bowl, dump in camp soap and a little lavender scented Dr. Bronners (not that it helps). Clothes go in a little at a time and we use our hands to recreate what a washing machine does, minus the spin cycle. Then the clothes are rinsed in the river and line dried. I don't think they are getting very clean and I think our technique could use some work. Scrubbing on a rock may eventually be in order.
An update to the clothes washing, we now let out clothes soak in a bucket of soapy water all day. This technique is less laborious, but I miss the scent of fresh washed clothes in a washing machine. I miss good smells in general.
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My stash of Reese's Pieces is getting smaller and I dread the day they are gone. Chocolate is a necessity here and each day after lunch I allot myself 5 little pieces and yearn for more the rest of the day. I bought granola bars in Kathmandu for backup, but when I tasted one I did not like the flavor and doubt I'll end up eating them. I also bought spicy peanuts. This may not have been the best choice. Sugar is what I crave. I'll soon have to start eating a spoon full of peanut butter, but it's not sweet and doesn't quell my sweet-tooth.
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We are operating three clinics; one in Bhimphedi, one in Kogate and one in Ipa. Bhimphedi is pretty close to the size of a village and has been the most crowded clinic. From the day it opened they have been slammed, treating over 40 patients a day with only two practitioners. Here at Kogate, with 4 practitioners, we've averaged about 34 total a day. All I can say is I'm glad I'm not in Bhimphedi, but we have to rotate at each location and I'll soon have to spend a week down there. Luckily, we'll have three practitioners there soon; maybe then it won't be as overwhelming as it sounds.
There is a satellite clinic in Ipa, a region we have to hike over an hour to get to and we have to carry all the supplies we'll need. The path is "Nepali flat", which means it's arduous and far from flat. We climbed up, then dropped all our elevation, only to have to gain it again. The views are stunning- when it's not cloudy. We wanted to be able to see the Himalayas off in the distance, but it was too hazy. Andrew and I walked to the clinic with Ratesh, the most fluent translator. I was sweaty and tired by the time we reached the clinic. It just so happened to be the warmest day yet. We treated 29 patients. Andrews interviewed the patients while I scrambled around on the floor needling them. The clinic in Ipa is operated in a school. We have several chairs set up and a mat on the floor if we need to treat abdomens or backs. Keeping with the theme in Kogate, there is no electricity and no running water in the school.
Nepalese have hard lives. They hike up and down the mountains carrying ridiculously heavy loads of grains, vegetables and various grasses to feed livestock. At Ipa, most of the patients complained of knee pain, which acupuncture treats with high success rates. We use the electric stimulation machine attached to needles in the eyes of the knee. Most patients felt a little better after the first treatment, but still had to hike back home, sometimes over 4 hours away.
After a busy day at the clinic we still had to hike the difficult trail back. My back was sore from sitting on the floor all day and I felt exhausted. I swear my pack felt heavier than it did that morning. I was hating life for the first half hour of the path. The elevation makes me winded (or as my Australian colleague says, "puffed"), plus it was dark. The trail seemed even more difficult when we couldn't see what's ahead. I was exhausted by the time we made it back. I even took a super cold shower in the dark afterwards because I felt so gross. Believe me, that says a lot.
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It's currently Friday, the clinic opened last Sunday. We are getting in the swing of things and people are coming. Earlier this week some government officials came to the clinic. They took video and photo of us, asked questions to the interpreters and had a none too friendly way about them. Turned out they gave us some bad press on TV, but printed a positive article in the newspaper.
Nepal had a revolution in 2008, Maoists took over, making promises of improving the country and equally dividing wealth. Of course, this didn't happen. There have been no elections since the take over and the country has only gotten poorer, which doesn't seem possible. Supposedly there is to be an election this year, so all government officials are spinning their propaganda, including negative press about helpful acupuncturists. I don't think the election will actually happen.
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Many of the patients come in for pain, gastric issues and fever. I've also noticed many of the children have sores and scabs all over their bodies, I don't know what from, but I'm guessing poor hygiene is a large contributing factor. Two patients presented with what we are guessing is impetigo, a highly contagious bacterial skin infection (think MRSA).
We also get to drain many carbuncles, boils and various other puss related issues. I say we, but what I really mean is someone else. Just talking about it in our classes makes me want to gag. I'm sure I'll eventually have a patient with a puss-filled something or other, but I haven't yet. All the skin issues the patients come in with really makes me want to compulsively wash my hands. We're supposed to palpate pretty much everything, but touching a dirty scabby leg really takes me out of my comfort zone. I'm sure by week 7 I'll be an old pro at squeezing ooze out, but right now I feel trepidatious.
One practitioner had to pop a pingpong sized cyst on an elderly woman's ankle. I didn't witness the actual popping, but I treated the same patient a few days later. We had to drain it again, but I had help and only clearish-cloudy liquid came out.
There is another patient with a huge lump the size of a baseball on the back of his neck. A few of the practitioners were very excited at the prospect of popping this, despite my reservations about puss, I would definitely watch. Upon further inspection we realized the mass is vascular, which means it has a blood supply and we can't pop it. It also increases the likelihood it's a tumor and not a cyst.
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A few nights ago the sky released a fury that I haven't seen in years. The rain poured down and lightning flashed all around. Given our elevation, we were particularly close to the flashes. It was a little scary, but lovely at the same time. The storm happened at 2AM; we found out the next morning that two buffalo and a goat were struck by lightning and a man fainted- so the locals say.
I love thunderstorms and they are a regular occurrence.The only downer is if we have to hike to Ipa in the rain, that's not fun. Allissa had to do this and she came back with 7 leech bites and at least five more on her pants.
I can see a mountain peak from my window and last week I declared I would hike to the top. Earlier I'd seen a wicked switchback trail up to it and since I'd made the claim I figured I better follow through. So, when everyone else was watching Crazy Stupid Love on Saturday I decided to hike up there. Now, I made the mistake of not telling anyone I was going and sort of just wandered off. Not my brightest moment, but it was really nice to have some time alone.
The hike crossed the stream and climbed up to a ridge-line. I discovered another trail leading up to the mountain and figured I could take the switchback trail down and back to camp creating a nice loop. Well, I went rogue towards the top, lost the trail and just wandered up. I felt like I was in the Sound of Music. The peak had patchy grassy areas and provided views of all the valleys around. I was awestruck. I could see a hawk soaring below, the clinic, another river and the beginnings of the Kathmandu valley. Unfortunately, clouds began to roll in and I could hear thunder. The top of one of the higher peaks around is not a good place to be when a storm is coming. Since I'd deviated from the trail I couldn't find the one I took up, but I could see the stream that passes our home in the valley below, so I headed in that direction. The fog rolling in made visibility a challenge and I started to panic a little bit. I hiked past some grazing cows and found a trail. All I could think was how dumb it was not to tell anyone where I was and how awkward the conversation would be if I tried to ask a Nepali for directions. I cursed my inept language abilities and walked a little faster. As many impending storms do here, it dissolved before reaching me and I lost elevation fast enough to release my freak out. I made it back fine, although I did find a nasty orange leech (the kind with a cruel venomous bite), but it was only stuck on my skirt and hadn't settled in on my skin yet. They bite trough clothing, so you're never really safe.
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At the end of my shift yesterday I had a patient come in with a wound. It was a three-year old girl who had fallen while playing with the"bigger" kids. She had an almost three inch gash across the lateral side of her forehead. The bone was visible, but the blood clotted enough that the bleeding had stopped. My first reaction was, "that needs stitches. Now." But Bhimphedi is too far away and the bus only goes once a day leaving Kogate at 7AM and returning at 5PM. The mom and little girl's only option was to come to us. I decided to clean the wound and told the family to go to town first thing in the morning, even though stitches would be more of a challenge at that point. The girl was such a trooper, she only winced a little when we cleaned in the wound, a single sad tear dripping down her cheek. I hope they come back after having the wound addressed so we can see how it looks and make sure it's not infected.
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We constantly have patients who have never been to a doctor. Ever. So we are the first to see whatever their ailment is. I treated a woman with a softball sized palpable mass in the right lower quadrant of her abdomen. Sometimes the pain was sharp, sometimes not. I wanted to tell her to go get that checked out immediately, what if?? What if it's cancer? What if it's a tumor? Uterine fibroid? I have no idea, but I'm treating it. She's coming in twice a week for 10 visits, let's see what happens.
Andrew always says the first thing to really get to know an ailment is to look at it and touch it. A few weeks ago when we were unpacking and cleaning clinic supplies we noticed speculums of various sizes. I remember thinking, why do we have these? School did not prepare me for vaginal exams! Or really a lot of the physical exams we might have to do- genital or otherwise. I have a woman coming in with hemorrhoids and I'm a little nervous I'll have to take a look...
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I'm starting to get regular patients. I haven't had any break through, amazing healing moments with anyone, but I'm hopeful it will happen soon. The patients come in and say they feel a little better, but that's not measurable and I wonder if they just say it to be nice, when really nothing's changed. This is where all those orthopedic exams come in handy. I lament brain dumping after all those tests we repeatedly learned in school. Luckily, we have classes here reviewing a few. This week we talked about knee pain. Everyone here has knee pain. Understandably, the terrain is rough and they squat all the time.
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Stray dogs run rampant. They all have a similar look about them, but the coloring is different. A curly tail, fluffy dirty dreaded hair, adorable faces and a perpetual puppy mannerism. It's difficult not to pet or feed them. They sleep in curled up little balls in the middle of roads and walkways. The Nepalese don't keep dogs as pets- they throw rocks at the strays and kick them. All of us volunteers become irate at witnessing this. Animal cruelty is never ok, but we have to realize we are visitors in a culture different than ours.
There is one adorable little pup that lives around our compound. He has a fluffy black and white coat, hot spots over his body and goopey eyes. I'm sure he has a nasty infection in his eyes and may even be partially blind. I feel bad for him, but at the same time I can't help him either. I just coo at him when I seen him and make sure he knows I'm not a threat to his wellbeing. It's nice to have the pups around, but I miss cats and haven't seen any since I arrived here. I think their fate is worse than the dogs.
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Rockshi is a locally made liquor. It's flavor is part moonshine, part rubbing alcohol. Every time I took a sip I got goosebumps. It smells and tastes terrible, but surprisingly get better the longer it breathes. By better I mean bearable, it never gets good. It's fermented grain, either millet, corn, barley, whatever they can find around here; corn being the most abundant. I didn't drink much, I couldn't, the taste is too rough. But a huge bottle of it is only eighty cents, so if a difficult week creeps up, I may have to fork up the big bucks and have a few sips.
Last Saturday we had a bonfire, listened to the interpreters play guitar singing Nepali folk songs and passed a few bottles around. Lightning bugs floated around us casting a magical air around the group. It was lovely.
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We laugh all the time. It makes dealing with the challenging situations bearable and is a stress relief. Unfortunately, not all of us are having a fabulous time. It throws a wrench in the group dynamic to have one person unhappy, but then again, one of the best ways to grow is to persevere through uncomfortable situations. Take away our ability to easily distract from what we desperately want to ignore and we either complain or deal. Haley, a fellow volunteer, has a bracelet that says,"Harden the fuck up". It has become our group motto, in the most loving and caring manner. When we have to hike to Ipa, we take one of the bracelets. When we complain, we remind each other to harden the fuck up, then laugh. It's not easy being here, but having a group all feeling the same and supporting each other is worth the discomfort.
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It's currently a cloudy, drearily lazy Saturday. Yesterday we hiked 3-hours from Kogate to Bhemphedi to meet up with the group down there. We could have taken the bus, which in hindsight would have been the better option, but we slept too late and missed it. It was raining when we hit the road and continued for the rest of the hike.
I go to great lengths to avoid leech bites at this point. I've had a few, including an unfortunate one found on my upper thigh happily sucking away. The bites don't hurt when the leeches are present, but they release a chemical slowing blood clotting which leaves a large bloody mess alerting you of the violation. A few days later, the bites start to annoyingly itch.
The hike down to Bhimphedi was filled with leeches. At one point I found well over 15 on my boots. While I no longer scream and beg others to get them off me, I do feel gross to have so many on my person and resolve they all must die a violent death. Immediately.
We don't have the internet in Kogate. We've tried with several different techniques, but each raises our hopes just enough to crush our dreams of contacting the outside world when technology refuses to appease. Yesterday we learned the clinic in Bhemphedi has internet. It works sporadically and reminds me of the days of dial up, actually, it is a dial up connection. If you remember this time in the early internet days then you also remember the tests of patience required. All four of us crouched around someone's laptop sending the internet gods our most positive vibes in the hopes of receiving just a word from home. Luck was on our side and I was able to contact my mom and boyfriend (they were even awake and responded!!). Hearing from home always leaves me homesick, something I'm pretty good at suppressing given our lack of contact with anyone other than each other.
Bhemphedi is like another world compared to Kogate. It's an actual town with shops, cars and buses. The clinic down there has electricity, but I didn't get to see it because we went straight to the house the volunteers live in and tried to use the internet. We took the bus back up to Kogate in the afternoon. It's been a long time since I took a bus in the third world. It was crowded with people, large sacks of grain or what appeared to be sawdust. Goats were shoved in the undercarriage of the bus and those passengers who couldn't fit in the bus road on top. The bus stopped often, with each stop the crowd thinned just a little. We are the last stop on the bus line and were in it for the long haul. I listened to my iPod and when one of the ear buds fell out of my ear, a little girl sitting in the isle on a sack of rice placed it in her ear. Eventually everyone wanted to listen. I don't think they liked my music choices, but I enjoyed watching the excitement on their faces as they passed the iPod around the bus.
-----------------------------------Week 4---------------------------
I'm finding it hard to be in the moment. The days are long and tiresome. I haven't meditated and when I go hiking I'm not processing what I've seen. I think about the beauty of the scenery and how I don't want to reenter the real world- not that I am for a while. I love being out of a city. There are literally no cars here. Occasionally we see a plane fly by, but mostly it's just the sounds of nature, people, cows, buffalo, goats, chickens, dogs and bugs.
At night we scream, we call it night screaming. It's amazingly therapeutic. We just stop out into the dark and scream as loud as we can. One of the translators, Ratesh, does this nightly and introduced us to the idea. It might sound strange, then again, life here could be considered strange to anyone not experiencing it.
The power goes out often and while it's annoying when it goes out during dinner or a lecture, it's great for sleeping. It's a darkness I haven't been in. The cloud coverage and elevation block any chance of moonlight. I can't even see my hand a few inches from my face. We keep candles and headlamps handy at all times.
I leave tomorrow to hike in the Langtang region of the Himalayas for 10 days during the festival mentioned several posts back, I'm already looking forward to having internet again!
The basics: I arrived in Nepal around noon on Monday, but by the time we went through customs, arrived at the hotel, showered and regrouped it was time for dinner. Exhausted, we all asked questions about the clinic and went over a few basic logistical bits before returning to the hotel to sleep. All jet lagged, we've been waking up around 3AM for the last week, the first night included.
Tuesday, we went to the temple mentioned in the previous entry as well as a pagoda. A lot has happened since then and details are lost on me. We went to two different art galleries in Kathmandu. Andrew is an artist and, unknown to many, Nepal is a gem of original art. I hope to buy several pieces if finances work in my favor. Wednesday we had a local man named Anil take us around town to various temples, including the Monkey Temple, and eventually to his art gallery. He is an artist of mandalas, amazingly intricate and detailed pieces of deities and meditation symbols. He also has a steady spiritual practice; by culture he's Hindu, but religiously he's Buddhist. He was very successful for a Nepali (or just in general I believe) and had a recent exhibition in China. He's only 24, but so ambitious I think life will be good to him. At least, I hope it will.
We also went to Durbar square, the oldest part of Kathmandu. Construction for this started in the 11th century, a time when the US was still untouched. When I visit places so ancient I try to picture myself there at that time. The smells, the views, the people, the sounds. I can never really do it and all I have are lame images from a movie- someone else's creativity imprinted as factual in my head. Either way, the square has architecture different than any other area in the city, but since I know nothing of architecture I'll say it just looked older than anything else. Thousands of people were crammed in this square that day in preparation for the Kumari festival, which started Thursday. Kumari is a living goddess and can only be seen by the layperson at certain times of the year. Kumari is usually a young pre-pubescent girl chosen around 5 years old and taken to live in a temple until she reaches menarche, then she is no longer a goddess and another little girl is chosen. The test to become this goddess involves being locked in a separate temple filled with 'demons' and if the little girl doesn't cry, scream or run away, she passes the test and is honored by becoming a goddess. There are no kickbacks to her family, not money exchanged, and when the little girl is no longer a goddess she is able to return to her family. Back in the day, despite the extreme honor of the title, the Kumari was destined to a life of poverty because after she is stripped of her title she is not allowed to work or marry. That has since changed, but could you imagine spending ages 5-13 in a temple, worshipped, guarded and honored, then return to your family?
There have been many hilarious moments on this adventure so far and I will do my best to describe them here. On the first day in Nepal we ate mo mo's, which are Tibetan pot stickers, and after I bit into one I looked at the piece and noticed half a decent sized bug remaining. The rest was in the bite in my mouth. Welcome to Nepal. I spit it out and felt a bit queazy the rest of the day, but no digestive ailments yet.
Another silly bit occurred when Allissa, another volunteer, and I went shopping in Thamel. Thamel is the touristy area in Kathmandu. The streets are crowded, all look the same and are lined with knockoff cheap outdoor gear, pashminas, yak wool, and various knickknacks. It can be overwhelming and it's very easy to get lost, which we did. We were supposed to be back at the hotel at 5:30 for a debriefing, but we were walking in circles unsure of where we were and not seeing any familiar markers (which aren't easy to spot). Allissa insisted we take one of the rickshaws back, I was resistant because I didn't think we'd fit but we took it. Rickshaws are bicycles attached to a small two person seat, I'll assume you can see them on the internet or around Portland if this doesn't make sense, but the seat is tiny and so was the driver. First of all, he didn't want to lose our business, but he didn't know where the hotel was. Secondly, I did not think this tiny little man could pedal us girls who combined probably weighted more than his entire family. Well, I was wrong, that dude hauled it, until we reached a small ramp in the road. The driver tried to gain as much momentum as possible beforehand, but we didn't make it. We started to roll backwards and I was certain we'd fall out. The driver jumped off, held the handlebars and attempted to pull, but his sandals had no traction and he just slid and we rolled back. The rickshaws are certainly not sturdy and we aren't light. We kept offering to jump out for this part, but he wouldn't let us and had to get help pushing, in total it lasted a few seconds but we were hysterically laughing the entire time. Once we make it up Allissa realized she knew where we needed to go, which was actually just around the corner. This made us laugh even more- from where we started we could have turned the corner and been back in seconds, but the ride was worth the 2 USD we spent purely because we laughed so much.
Thursday morning we left for the clinic. All seven volunteers squeezed into the equivalent of a clown car and prepared for a very long, bumpy, sometimes scary ride. We took videos of our reactions to the driver passing motorbikes on blind hairpin turns and of the roads. I hope to post a few when I have a reliable internet source. I wish the videos could truly convey how scary the roads can be at times. We were followed by a tiny truck carrying all the gear for the clinic. Several times we had to stop and wait for the truck to cool from overheating. When we passed Bhemphedi, the road, which is an overstatement, turned into riverbeds and steep inclines. The truck got stuck a few times and our van rolled backwards while the driver was out helping the truck. This was terrifying because I was in the very back and unable to abandon ship if necessary. Luckily, the driver placed a tiny rock under the driver side wheel, so we wouldn't roll anymore, but we still inched back. I guess these cars don't have emergency breaks... The ride was long and filled with nervous laughter. We made jokes about the snack we stocked up on (the Reese's Pieces and cookies I brought were a hit), the strange looks we received from locals, the roads and wondered what the clinic would be like.
To say the clinic is remote doesn't seem to convey how far we really are from anything. There is sporadic electricity, but no running water. The clinic building doesn't have electricity or running water. Dust is everywhere, even though we sweep constantly. The buildings are made of cinderblocks with screen-less windows. Massive spiders (larger than my hand, seriously, with fur! I am so terrified of them I can't sleep at night, but they don't bite) and leeches are everywhere (some leeches hurt, others are just gross and leave blood stain reminders of their presence). This is not a place for phobias. I haven't felt clean since I arrived in Nepal and I'm getting used to my own smell. At least everyone else smells too.
The area is beautiful. We have a million dollar views of mountains and a cool stream runs by. There are goats, chickens, buffalos and cows freely roaming the area. Corn stalks are turning brown across the water and the air is always damp. Clouds and fog roll in throughout the day and when the sun comes out it's hot. It smells clean here and there is no light pollution at night. It's been cloudy, but I know when it's clear the stars will be amazing. It's quiet, but sometimes I hear an occasional bus horn in the distance. There are no cars here. The buildings share the land with a school and the children peer in through the windows and watch us, but won't answer when spoken to. Instead they shyly back away, but come running back when we turn around. Their ability to watch us for hours is amazing, I wonder if these kids ever struggle with ADD. Then again, we are the first white people they have ever seen, not to mention we are moving into their space with strange things, speaking a strange language. I'd watch us too.
We are fed three meals a day and are served tea in the late afternoon. We had milk tea yesterday, which pleased me to no end, but it's not a regular occurance. The food is salty and filled with carbs and sugar. My body is adjusting, but I'm generally hungry about 3 hours after every meal and when I wake at 4AM I think it's from hunger. The beds are a finger-length thick pad on wooden frames and we sleep in sleeping bags. The bathroom is a squat toilet on the floor and we are very lucky to have toilet paper, but once they install a hose we won't get toilet paper anymore and will have to use water. There is no shower, but yesterday we set up a camp shower on the roof. I haven't used it yet; I'm waiting for the sun to come out. I've resolved to limited showering and hair washing maybe once a week, but that's a stretch.
We spent yesterday unpacking all the supplies and gear for the clinic. Then we washed and sterilized everything in bleach and boiling water. It was a lot of work. Setting up a remote clinic such as this takes so much planning I can't imagine the logistics of everything and something is always forgotten or doesn't work. We'll just have to learn to deal if we don't have it or get creative.
Signs have been placed all around the area saying "come see the famous white doctors!" We are called doctors here. Given what Andrew has been prepping us for, this is true. A doctor is a qualified practitioner of medicine and that is what we are. Andrew reminds us to take the acupuncture out of it, we are helping these people any way we can, acupuncture is our medium, but we are trained to do so much more.
We had training with the interpreters yesterday too. They are all Nepali, all very young and all scared. We are scared and anxious too. Two interpreters speak english very well and have worked with ARP for two years. The rest have never spoken to a native english speaker and seem apprehensive about their abilities. I'm apprehensive too. We are expected to treat 20 patients a day, that's 4 an hour, and the communication breakdown can slow us. It feels like we will be mostly doing triage style treatments for the first few weeks until we get to know our patients and become accustomed to the swing of things.
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Sunday was the first day we treated patients. It was overwhelming. My first patient was a 14-month old baby with a fever. The child was wailing and not happy to be there. I had absolutely no idea what to do. I've never treated a child and acupuncture isn't easy on them. Not to mention he was crying as though I was killing him. Later the other volunteers told me they were happy that child wasn't their patient. I just gave him liquid tylenol and told them to come back tomorrow. I hope his fever goes down and I hope he doesn't cry (side note, he did come back and he did cry, but his fever was gone). At the end of the day, self doubt and various ideas of things I could have handled differently pop into my head. I struggle to let it go and trust myself, but it's a challenge, especially without my support group from home. Everyone here is encouraging, but I think we all feel thrown in the deep end and expected to swim. I hope it gets easier or at the very least I become slightly more confident.
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Day three of treating patients. I was in the weeds the whole day. I started with a challenging patient with dysmenorrhea. It feels impossible to diagnose patients. The interpreters don't know all the words I'm trying to use, and I have to think of different phases. For example, there is no way to ask if they have eye floaters. Sweat is a challenging word. The Nepalis are on a lunar calendar, which is completely different than ours. Therefore, their concepts of time are different. The interpreters have to convert what the patient says into our language and time frame, but I doubt the accuracy. Patients come in with menstrual issues, but every one of them says their cycle is 28 days. I doubt this. Plus, half the patients come in with "whole body pain". That is a broad subject.
Life for the locals is hard. Their skin in sun weathered and tough. The needles don't go in easily and everyone looks either really young or very old. I've treated two pregnant patients, one was 16 and the other 17- both married and living with their husbands family. A lot of the men here go to Dubai to work on the oil rigs, leaving very young women to live with a different family.
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It's amazing how self image improves when you go weeks without seeing yourself in a mirror. My pants fit much looser, but I think it's because I don't have a dryer to shrink things back. If anything has been lost it's water weight. I do think I'm burning more calories than I'm eating and as it gets colder, my shivering will burn more. There isn't really any protein in the diet and the spoonfuls of peanut butter don't cut it.
Clothes washing is done in the river. We get a large metal bowl, dump in camp soap and a little lavender scented Dr. Bronners (not that it helps). Clothes go in a little at a time and we use our hands to recreate what a washing machine does, minus the spin cycle. Then the clothes are rinsed in the river and line dried. I don't think they are getting very clean and I think our technique could use some work. Scrubbing on a rock may eventually be in order.
An update to the clothes washing, we now let out clothes soak in a bucket of soapy water all day. This technique is less laborious, but I miss the scent of fresh washed clothes in a washing machine. I miss good smells in general.
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My stash of Reese's Pieces is getting smaller and I dread the day they are gone. Chocolate is a necessity here and each day after lunch I allot myself 5 little pieces and yearn for more the rest of the day. I bought granola bars in Kathmandu for backup, but when I tasted one I did not like the flavor and doubt I'll end up eating them. I also bought spicy peanuts. This may not have been the best choice. Sugar is what I crave. I'll soon have to start eating a spoon full of peanut butter, but it's not sweet and doesn't quell my sweet-tooth.
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We are operating three clinics; one in Bhimphedi, one in Kogate and one in Ipa. Bhimphedi is pretty close to the size of a village and has been the most crowded clinic. From the day it opened they have been slammed, treating over 40 patients a day with only two practitioners. Here at Kogate, with 4 practitioners, we've averaged about 34 total a day. All I can say is I'm glad I'm not in Bhimphedi, but we have to rotate at each location and I'll soon have to spend a week down there. Luckily, we'll have three practitioners there soon; maybe then it won't be as overwhelming as it sounds.
There is a satellite clinic in Ipa, a region we have to hike over an hour to get to and we have to carry all the supplies we'll need. The path is "Nepali flat", which means it's arduous and far from flat. We climbed up, then dropped all our elevation, only to have to gain it again. The views are stunning- when it's not cloudy. We wanted to be able to see the Himalayas off in the distance, but it was too hazy. Andrew and I walked to the clinic with Ratesh, the most fluent translator. I was sweaty and tired by the time we reached the clinic. It just so happened to be the warmest day yet. We treated 29 patients. Andrews interviewed the patients while I scrambled around on the floor needling them. The clinic in Ipa is operated in a school. We have several chairs set up and a mat on the floor if we need to treat abdomens or backs. Keeping with the theme in Kogate, there is no electricity and no running water in the school.
Nepalese have hard lives. They hike up and down the mountains carrying ridiculously heavy loads of grains, vegetables and various grasses to feed livestock. At Ipa, most of the patients complained of knee pain, which acupuncture treats with high success rates. We use the electric stimulation machine attached to needles in the eyes of the knee. Most patients felt a little better after the first treatment, but still had to hike back home, sometimes over 4 hours away.
After a busy day at the clinic we still had to hike the difficult trail back. My back was sore from sitting on the floor all day and I felt exhausted. I swear my pack felt heavier than it did that morning. I was hating life for the first half hour of the path. The elevation makes me winded (or as my Australian colleague says, "puffed"), plus it was dark. The trail seemed even more difficult when we couldn't see what's ahead. I was exhausted by the time we made it back. I even took a super cold shower in the dark afterwards because I felt so gross. Believe me, that says a lot.
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It's currently Friday, the clinic opened last Sunday. We are getting in the swing of things and people are coming. Earlier this week some government officials came to the clinic. They took video and photo of us, asked questions to the interpreters and had a none too friendly way about them. Turned out they gave us some bad press on TV, but printed a positive article in the newspaper.
Nepal had a revolution in 2008, Maoists took over, making promises of improving the country and equally dividing wealth. Of course, this didn't happen. There have been no elections since the take over and the country has only gotten poorer, which doesn't seem possible. Supposedly there is to be an election this year, so all government officials are spinning their propaganda, including negative press about helpful acupuncturists. I don't think the election will actually happen.
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Many of the patients come in for pain, gastric issues and fever. I've also noticed many of the children have sores and scabs all over their bodies, I don't know what from, but I'm guessing poor hygiene is a large contributing factor. Two patients presented with what we are guessing is impetigo, a highly contagious bacterial skin infection (think MRSA).
We also get to drain many carbuncles, boils and various other puss related issues. I say we, but what I really mean is someone else. Just talking about it in our classes makes me want to gag. I'm sure I'll eventually have a patient with a puss-filled something or other, but I haven't yet. All the skin issues the patients come in with really makes me want to compulsively wash my hands. We're supposed to palpate pretty much everything, but touching a dirty scabby leg really takes me out of my comfort zone. I'm sure by week 7 I'll be an old pro at squeezing ooze out, but right now I feel trepidatious.
One practitioner had to pop a pingpong sized cyst on an elderly woman's ankle. I didn't witness the actual popping, but I treated the same patient a few days later. We had to drain it again, but I had help and only clearish-cloudy liquid came out.
There is another patient with a huge lump the size of a baseball on the back of his neck. A few of the practitioners were very excited at the prospect of popping this, despite my reservations about puss, I would definitely watch. Upon further inspection we realized the mass is vascular, which means it has a blood supply and we can't pop it. It also increases the likelihood it's a tumor and not a cyst.
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A few nights ago the sky released a fury that I haven't seen in years. The rain poured down and lightning flashed all around. Given our elevation, we were particularly close to the flashes. It was a little scary, but lovely at the same time. The storm happened at 2AM; we found out the next morning that two buffalo and a goat were struck by lightning and a man fainted- so the locals say.
I love thunderstorms and they are a regular occurrence.The only downer is if we have to hike to Ipa in the rain, that's not fun. Allissa had to do this and she came back with 7 leech bites and at least five more on her pants.
I can see a mountain peak from my window and last week I declared I would hike to the top. Earlier I'd seen a wicked switchback trail up to it and since I'd made the claim I figured I better follow through. So, when everyone else was watching Crazy Stupid Love on Saturday I decided to hike up there. Now, I made the mistake of not telling anyone I was going and sort of just wandered off. Not my brightest moment, but it was really nice to have some time alone.
The hike crossed the stream and climbed up to a ridge-line. I discovered another trail leading up to the mountain and figured I could take the switchback trail down and back to camp creating a nice loop. Well, I went rogue towards the top, lost the trail and just wandered up. I felt like I was in the Sound of Music. The peak had patchy grassy areas and provided views of all the valleys around. I was awestruck. I could see a hawk soaring below, the clinic, another river and the beginnings of the Kathmandu valley. Unfortunately, clouds began to roll in and I could hear thunder. The top of one of the higher peaks around is not a good place to be when a storm is coming. Since I'd deviated from the trail I couldn't find the one I took up, but I could see the stream that passes our home in the valley below, so I headed in that direction. The fog rolling in made visibility a challenge and I started to panic a little bit. I hiked past some grazing cows and found a trail. All I could think was how dumb it was not to tell anyone where I was and how awkward the conversation would be if I tried to ask a Nepali for directions. I cursed my inept language abilities and walked a little faster. As many impending storms do here, it dissolved before reaching me and I lost elevation fast enough to release my freak out. I made it back fine, although I did find a nasty orange leech (the kind with a cruel venomous bite), but it was only stuck on my skirt and hadn't settled in on my skin yet. They bite trough clothing, so you're never really safe.
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At the end of my shift yesterday I had a patient come in with a wound. It was a three-year old girl who had fallen while playing with the"bigger" kids. She had an almost three inch gash across the lateral side of her forehead. The bone was visible, but the blood clotted enough that the bleeding had stopped. My first reaction was, "that needs stitches. Now." But Bhimphedi is too far away and the bus only goes once a day leaving Kogate at 7AM and returning at 5PM. The mom and little girl's only option was to come to us. I decided to clean the wound and told the family to go to town first thing in the morning, even though stitches would be more of a challenge at that point. The girl was such a trooper, she only winced a little when we cleaned in the wound, a single sad tear dripping down her cheek. I hope they come back after having the wound addressed so we can see how it looks and make sure it's not infected.
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We constantly have patients who have never been to a doctor. Ever. So we are the first to see whatever their ailment is. I treated a woman with a softball sized palpable mass in the right lower quadrant of her abdomen. Sometimes the pain was sharp, sometimes not. I wanted to tell her to go get that checked out immediately, what if?? What if it's cancer? What if it's a tumor? Uterine fibroid? I have no idea, but I'm treating it. She's coming in twice a week for 10 visits, let's see what happens.
Andrew always says the first thing to really get to know an ailment is to look at it and touch it. A few weeks ago when we were unpacking and cleaning clinic supplies we noticed speculums of various sizes. I remember thinking, why do we have these? School did not prepare me for vaginal exams! Or really a lot of the physical exams we might have to do- genital or otherwise. I have a woman coming in with hemorrhoids and I'm a little nervous I'll have to take a look...
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I'm starting to get regular patients. I haven't had any break through, amazing healing moments with anyone, but I'm hopeful it will happen soon. The patients come in and say they feel a little better, but that's not measurable and I wonder if they just say it to be nice, when really nothing's changed. This is where all those orthopedic exams come in handy. I lament brain dumping after all those tests we repeatedly learned in school. Luckily, we have classes here reviewing a few. This week we talked about knee pain. Everyone here has knee pain. Understandably, the terrain is rough and they squat all the time.
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Stray dogs run rampant. They all have a similar look about them, but the coloring is different. A curly tail, fluffy dirty dreaded hair, adorable faces and a perpetual puppy mannerism. It's difficult not to pet or feed them. They sleep in curled up little balls in the middle of roads and walkways. The Nepalese don't keep dogs as pets- they throw rocks at the strays and kick them. All of us volunteers become irate at witnessing this. Animal cruelty is never ok, but we have to realize we are visitors in a culture different than ours.
There is one adorable little pup that lives around our compound. He has a fluffy black and white coat, hot spots over his body and goopey eyes. I'm sure he has a nasty infection in his eyes and may even be partially blind. I feel bad for him, but at the same time I can't help him either. I just coo at him when I seen him and make sure he knows I'm not a threat to his wellbeing. It's nice to have the pups around, but I miss cats and haven't seen any since I arrived here. I think their fate is worse than the dogs.
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Rockshi is a locally made liquor. It's flavor is part moonshine, part rubbing alcohol. Every time I took a sip I got goosebumps. It smells and tastes terrible, but surprisingly get better the longer it breathes. By better I mean bearable, it never gets good. It's fermented grain, either millet, corn, barley, whatever they can find around here; corn being the most abundant. I didn't drink much, I couldn't, the taste is too rough. But a huge bottle of it is only eighty cents, so if a difficult week creeps up, I may have to fork up the big bucks and have a few sips.
Last Saturday we had a bonfire, listened to the interpreters play guitar singing Nepali folk songs and passed a few bottles around. Lightning bugs floated around us casting a magical air around the group. It was lovely.
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We laugh all the time. It makes dealing with the challenging situations bearable and is a stress relief. Unfortunately, not all of us are having a fabulous time. It throws a wrench in the group dynamic to have one person unhappy, but then again, one of the best ways to grow is to persevere through uncomfortable situations. Take away our ability to easily distract from what we desperately want to ignore and we either complain or deal. Haley, a fellow volunteer, has a bracelet that says,"Harden the fuck up". It has become our group motto, in the most loving and caring manner. When we have to hike to Ipa, we take one of the bracelets. When we complain, we remind each other to harden the fuck up, then laugh. It's not easy being here, but having a group all feeling the same and supporting each other is worth the discomfort.
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It's currently a cloudy, drearily lazy Saturday. Yesterday we hiked 3-hours from Kogate to Bhemphedi to meet up with the group down there. We could have taken the bus, which in hindsight would have been the better option, but we slept too late and missed it. It was raining when we hit the road and continued for the rest of the hike.
I go to great lengths to avoid leech bites at this point. I've had a few, including an unfortunate one found on my upper thigh happily sucking away. The bites don't hurt when the leeches are present, but they release a chemical slowing blood clotting which leaves a large bloody mess alerting you of the violation. A few days later, the bites start to annoyingly itch.
The hike down to Bhimphedi was filled with leeches. At one point I found well over 15 on my boots. While I no longer scream and beg others to get them off me, I do feel gross to have so many on my person and resolve they all must die a violent death. Immediately.
We don't have the internet in Kogate. We've tried with several different techniques, but each raises our hopes just enough to crush our dreams of contacting the outside world when technology refuses to appease. Yesterday we learned the clinic in Bhemphedi has internet. It works sporadically and reminds me of the days of dial up, actually, it is a dial up connection. If you remember this time in the early internet days then you also remember the tests of patience required. All four of us crouched around someone's laptop sending the internet gods our most positive vibes in the hopes of receiving just a word from home. Luck was on our side and I was able to contact my mom and boyfriend (they were even awake and responded!!). Hearing from home always leaves me homesick, something I'm pretty good at suppressing given our lack of contact with anyone other than each other.
Bhemphedi is like another world compared to Kogate. It's an actual town with shops, cars and buses. The clinic down there has electricity, but I didn't get to see it because we went straight to the house the volunteers live in and tried to use the internet. We took the bus back up to Kogate in the afternoon. It's been a long time since I took a bus in the third world. It was crowded with people, large sacks of grain or what appeared to be sawdust. Goats were shoved in the undercarriage of the bus and those passengers who couldn't fit in the bus road on top. The bus stopped often, with each stop the crowd thinned just a little. We are the last stop on the bus line and were in it for the long haul. I listened to my iPod and when one of the ear buds fell out of my ear, a little girl sitting in the isle on a sack of rice placed it in her ear. Eventually everyone wanted to listen. I don't think they liked my music choices, but I enjoyed watching the excitement on their faces as they passed the iPod around the bus.
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I'm finding it hard to be in the moment. The days are long and tiresome. I haven't meditated and when I go hiking I'm not processing what I've seen. I think about the beauty of the scenery and how I don't want to reenter the real world- not that I am for a while. I love being out of a city. There are literally no cars here. Occasionally we see a plane fly by, but mostly it's just the sounds of nature, people, cows, buffalo, goats, chickens, dogs and bugs.
At night we scream, we call it night screaming. It's amazingly therapeutic. We just stop out into the dark and scream as loud as we can. One of the translators, Ratesh, does this nightly and introduced us to the idea. It might sound strange, then again, life here could be considered strange to anyone not experiencing it.
The power goes out often and while it's annoying when it goes out during dinner or a lecture, it's great for sleeping. It's a darkness I haven't been in. The cloud coverage and elevation block any chance of moonlight. I can't even see my hand a few inches from my face. We keep candles and headlamps handy at all times.
I leave tomorrow to hike in the Langtang region of the Himalayas for 10 days during the festival mentioned several posts back, I'm already looking forward to having internet again!
