This post is dedicated to Deutschland Uber Ollis Shvoonkels. I’ve been saving it for her birthday
We occasionally play Hangman with the Bimeshwor Youth Group to help them learn English words. Last time we played, the subject was ‘Fruits’ and we sat on ‘G_apes’ for about ten guesses before someone piped up with the answer. I can’t wait to come back to Sundrawoti to see if we remember the words we learned. I’ll report back.
While you wait in suspense, see how well you do with Nepali hangman. The topic is ‘Really important things you won’t find in Nepal’:
And with that lovely thought, Shabbat Shalom!
Saturday night concluded Tevel b’Tzedek’s first seminar (of either three or four). As you might imagine, I had a lot of time for self-reflection. Towards the end of one particularly lengthy discussion, I tuned in just in time to hear one girl simultaneously laughing and apologizing to the group because she hates it when people state the obvious. From her embarrassed expression, she had clearly just stated the obvious. So, being of the curious sort, I asked another girl what she had said.
Her answer was appropriate:
The TBT House boasts a small library, about three-quarters of which is Hebrew books. I recently felt as though I were scraping the bottom of the barrel, which helped me to discover a book I might not have otherwise come across: Winesburg, Ohio, by Sherwood Anderson. Have no fear. I’ve no intention of writing a book review. Instead, I would just like to share something unrelated to the book’s content I found mildly amusing.
Here is an excerpt from the preface, reproduced on its back cover:
The only storyteller of his generation who left his mark on the style and vision of the generation that followed… Hemingway, Faulkner, Wolfe, Steinbeck, Caldwell, Saroyan, Henry Miller… each of these owes an unmistakable debt to Anderson.
For comparison, here is the original passage, straight from the preface:
The only storyteller of his generation who left his mark on the style and vision of the generation that followed. Hemingway, Faulkner, Wolfe, Steinbeck, Caldwell, Saroyan, Henry Miller… each of these owes an unmistakable debt to Anderson.
(Hint: Note the ellipses.)
I had originally hoped to head back to the Kathmandu on Wednesday, but rain on Tuesday and again on Wednesday morning delayed my departure until Thursday. I took advantage of some of the free time to walk around Sundrawoti with my camera between rain showers. As you shall see, Sundrawoti dries out very quickly, but as they* say, pictures always come out nicely after the rain.
*Specifically, Timna said this
Danny stopped by the Kathmandu for a couple of hours en route to his family seder (kind of jealous). He seems to have been under the impression that one counts the Omer up until Pesach.
I already shared a picture I took of our part of Sundrawoti from a slightly-higher vantage point. Now, I bring you a picture a satellite took of Sundrawoti from a not so slightly-higher vantage point:
You can click to enlarge the picture, or check out this link: Sundrawoti, courtesy of google maps
Once I get my computer back, with its conveniently English web browser, I’ll figure out how to stick in some pins and make a little virtual tour highlighting important locations around the village (e.g. where to buy chocolate cream biscuits, where to buy vanilla cream biscuits, our house). In the meantime, you’ll have to content yourself with what I linked to above.
If you would like to put this map (well, the link, really) to practical use: Your first assignment is to trace (with your eyes) my night hike home from Dolakha. Follow the road south out of Sundrawoti, and imagine me skipping some of the really terrible switchbacks right outside of Dolakha because some nice Nepalis showed me the shortcuts.