a theory of neo-nomadism
‘The conclusion reviews the neo-nomad as a phenomenon that seduces and threatens
sedentary civilization, and as a concept that serves to rethink new forms of subjectivity in a global age’. (p.98)source: Mobilities, Vol. 1, No. 1, 95–119, March 2006
(Source: lauralotti)
a trip through chromo-topia
and here, little by little, it is what it all looked like
After exactly one week from my ‘homecoming’, last night my lulu fell from my hair, by itself. That was a sign.
Of an end.
And a new beginning.
Or better, simply a continuation.
Same same, but different.
After my last post many amazing thing happened, I’ve met incredible people and lived the greatest experiences of my life.
But these things are listed under ‘my personal amazing things’ category. And I keep them for myself, or I tell them to my friends, in person - not to a laptop, excuse moi.
(This should be a proof that I still preserve some my mental health, I suppose.)
So for now that’s all folks!
..but beware, I might come back..
3 - 2 - 1 … BUNGY!
On October 3rd 2010 I decided to take my life, attach it to a rope and throw it down a 160mt luxurious gorge above Bhote Koshi river - 10 km from the border with China (technically, Tibet).
Eventually, I didn’t die.
If that had happened, it would have been spectacular, crashing into the crazy Bothe Khosi surrounded by that wild nature.
Strangely enough, I am kind of glad I’m still alive (even if, in a far far uncertain future, this could potentially involve departing myself from this beautiful mad East side of the world to go back to the life I left in stand-by a while ago) so that from now on I can big myself up and tell everybody that I did bungy jump.
Actually, bungy jump itself is not such a big deal. Those 2 and a half seconds of free fall in one of the most breathtaking corners of the planet is definitely an experience I will remember forever. (Jumping, looking at the river coming straight to your face - as if you were looking at it through a fish-eye camera, bouncing and realising you are still alive, and you made is pure adrenaline.) But I will remember forever also the blood pulsing into my ears and the steep hike up the valley with the sole support of my jelly legs… Uh and my first encounter with a leech. That I will definitely never forget.
Now that I’ve broken the seal, now that I know I can fly, the sky is not a limit anymore. Money always is though..
A more long-lasting (therefore more enjoyable?) kind of jump is the one offered by canyon swing - 8 seconds free fall, and then swinging attached to the rope at 150 km/h. Sounds like fun. I still have to try it, but I’ll let you know.
Nepal is definitely the place for adventure sports. And The Last Resort are the ones that make them happen.
I’ve got a confession to make
I am not a compassionate person.
I’m not one of those people that by volunteering for a few weeks think they’re going to change the world.
I don’t cry in the toilet at the sight of babies rolling on the floor among bugs and flies - I’d rather roll on the floor with them, make them happy, and have lots of fun myself.
I change cotton diapers full of baby shit, clean up milky vomit, spin the kids around, let them beat me up with puppets and skanky toys. And I laugh as I’ve never done before.
I take the piss of greedy NGO managers that try and rip volunteers off by making them pay overpriced “registration fees” and even cheat on the exchange rate.
I pretend not to see that avid look in their eyes, that fake sleazy smile. I try not to listen when they openly want to discourage me from doing this job. I breathe in and out, count till 10 and bite my tongue when they call me ‘filthy’ for wearing keen-long trousers and 5 minutes later candidly admit of touching a teenage girl’s boobs to let her understand that “their intentions were not bad”.
But I can’t ignore what I’ve discovered about the place to whom I’ve committed my time for weeks - thanks to the many foreigners living in Kathmandu and working in the field I’ve spoken to and Google’s infinite knowledge - without ever feeling welcome or particularly useful.
The story goes pretty much like this.
I thought a lot about that, about that bad vibe that those slimy people gave me since the first meeting, about those babies’ guiltless smiles and the words of a 14-year-old girl living in that place.
I tried to get explanation, and I have been accused of being unethical by the same people that run this business of innocent lives.
And I walked away.
Noemi once told me off for having too strong morals (but that was another story…). The truth is, I might have some kind of morals hidden somewhere in the back of my head, but I haven’t been strong enough to cry out loud all my disgust for the international adoptions business, the babies business.
So I just whisper it here.
On one thing, though, one of those greedy midgets was right. ‘You are not going to change anything’, he told me once with that pathetic face.
You are totally right, Mr Motherfucker. I am not going to change anything. That whole system is so wrong that best thing to do is just turn your head away and keep going. Being coward, basically. As I might have been in this situation.
The only thing I would suggest to anyone who is going to do an experience as volunteer somewhere in the world is: first, get to the place where you’d like to work and secondly, get first-hand information about the different institutions, so to make sure your effort will serve a right cause.
If I did that, I would have surely had a different kind of experience.
Kathmandu I heart you / 2 / One day in Patan Durbar Square.
Being there, I could see why it’s considered Cultural World Heritage by UNESCO.
We ended our trip with a yummy lunch atHonacha, renowned dhaba crammed with young Nepalis and families, where we feasted with typical Newari food and chaang before going back to Thamel and keep the food-party going with the orgasmic Kiss From Zuri cake from OR2K (195 rups, but it’s worth every penny…) - stocking up with energies before the trekking…
Kathmandu I heart you / 1
Some of the things that made me enjoy my stay in Kathmandu
Pokhara I hate you
or
The Traveller’s survival guide: what to do when you are stuck in Pokhara - where anything is expensive and not that fun (and locals are real dicks) - for 11 nights.
First of all, make sure you are with a big group of like-minded friends, take over a whole guesthouse (we chose Diamond guesthouse, Central Lakeside. They hated us at the end of our stay, and couldn’t wait for us to leave) and stock up with whiskey and pot (it’s going to find you. Just go up to the World Peace Pagoda, stop up there for a chai and enjoy the breathtaking view, and sooner or later an old goatherd will come and offer you some very gentle organic weed for so cheap you almost want to cry and hug him).
And if the weather doesn’t allow you to do the Annapurna Circuit trek yet - as it happened to us - just free your creativity!
Here a few suggestions:
- have a swim in Phewa Lake
- have a boat ride on Phewa Lake
- get pissed on whiskey and mazza every night so you wake up at 12 and half of the day is gone and you don’t have time or enough brain cells left to realise it
- rent motorbikes and drive all around Pokhara (Sarangkot, Begnas and Rupa lakes, the already mentioned WPP, Devi’s Falls, any corner of green grass with a river nearby… - these are all actually worthwhile). Remeber to buy loads of petrol in advance - or at least take into account 1 hour queuing and fighting against other bikers for the last drop of fuel at the petrol station
- cook shakshuka the way it should be and have it for breakfast (or make your Israeli friends cook it for you, while you make yourself helpful by rolling up)
- learn how to knit (the miracles of boredom)
- get into didge
- listen to travel stories of places you still haven’t been to and get inspired
- have one or two new piercings…
- if it’s the right time of the year, get into other culture’s traditions and celebrations (in Kat I had celebrated Jewish NYE, and in Pokhara I celebrated Yom Kippur - I did it my way, but I did it)
- rediscover your own culture’s traditions and celebrations - and realise they are not that bad [grazie, ‘Federico’]
- sing every now and then
- every evening around 6 (which is, straight after breakfast) go somewhere high enough and try and get a ‘sbasciata’. Since it was not season yet, too many black clouds were always around, so make sure you’ve got something with you to soothe your frustrations (the aforementioned pot and whiskey will do quite well)
- take it with irony, it’s the only way to go when you’ve got all the natural agents against you
- be a group. A group of like-minded lazy fuckers all on the same boat. A boat sinking into Phewa Lake.
But don’t worry, keep sinking. It’s fun. And it won’t be too deep.
Nepalese ’sbasciate’.
sbasciata
-noun
(Not so correct) Italian term used by a suspect crew of backpackers in the Kathmandu Valley and subsequently in Pokhara to describe the moment just before sunset when the sky becomes electric and the clouds turn all different shades of pink and orange.
To best enjoy on a rooftop, maybe with a guitar or a didge to provide the soundtrack or in some location with view on the Himalayas - like Sarangkot.
