My life in a buddhist monastery

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Hi wonderful friends and family!

Here's a bit of an insight into my life as ''Miss'',
the English teacher at a buddhist monastery.

There's more to tell about my other Nepali
experiences, but I'll send another email to keep it
digestible. Photos to come, also.

Thanks for your birthday wishes. The big 2-5 came
without much of a bang, unfortunately, and all day I
wished I was at home by the barbie with my mates,
followed by a dance-a-thon of a night on the town. I
was on a bus for half of the day, but managed to get
in a couple of beers nonetheless and a meal that
wasn't dahl baht. The kids were gems, really making me
feel special, buying me small gifts that they would
have struggled to afford. I'm about to go home to a
belated birthday cake, the ingredients for which I
left with them this morning!

Much, much love, warmth and best wishes to you all.

Bec/clarky ...

I'm jolted from my sleep at 5.30 each morning by the
muffled sound of a heavy gong, hit continuously to
rouse 80 buddhist monks from their sleep, and signal
the first puja (prayer time) for the day.

It's only minutes before the monks are chanting
prayers in the temple, next door to my room, the
chorus punctuated by the mournful, discordant sound of
horns and beating drums.

I'm so used to the sound now I barely open an eyelid.

At 9am I have the first of three English classes for
the day at the Matepani Gompa - a stunning, bright and
colourful buddhist monastery on a commanding position
atop a hill, overlooking the entire city of Pokhara.

My name is 'Miss' in the complex, and I've become a
face about the place, a friend, even. I try to be
funny, but much of what I say gets lost in
translation. Instead, I use mime/sign language, dance
and throw my arms and legs around like a ninja. They
like that. I'm also teaching them 'G'day' and
'bugger'. They like that, too.

I leap out of bed at 7.30am and get creative with
posters to decorate very uninspiring classrooms.

The 7am breakfast is too early for me (I like a lazy
morning!), so I skip it. As do I a shower, because
cold water is the only option. Stuff that. I wait for
my weekly visit home for a hot bucket shower (no one
can seem to make a shower head work here).

My first class has only two students - Karma Lode
(KL), an 8 y/o reincarnation of a 400 year old lama,
who told me he would cry when I left (I have that
effect), and his 'secretary' Jhamyaung, a sweet 13
y/o.

It's my favourite class, with KL's bedroom the
setting. I'm served hot milk and am invited to tuck
into the many food offerings - sweets, fruit, sell
roti (a Nepali doughnut) and buscuits - that KL
recieves from those who come to be blessed by him.

Actually the 2-hr class is often interrupted by such
people. They kneel in front of him, throw rupees on
his lap and he throws a sash around their neck then
pats their heads. During the formality, his eyeballs
circle the room and flick over to me in nonchalance.
The visitors don't notice, too excited by his
presence.

We are alerted by a kitchenhand, who dings a spare
motorbike engine part with another (not unlike a
musical triangle), that lunch is ready at 11.30am. We
make a beeline to the dining hall for dahl bhat - the
Nepali national food of rice, lentil soup and curried
vegetables.

On a special day we might get spinach and a papadum.

I used to kill time before what I called my '1pm
Headache Class' by reading a book or preparing
classes, until I made the mistake of letting the
little robed terrors in my room one day to look at
books.They trashed my room and nicked chocolates I
keep as rewards (for them, ahem).

Now, at the same hour every day, they bash at my door
to be let in. I let a couple of little shits in at a
time and lock the rest out. The unlucky ones peer
through the window enviously.

One of the oldest monks, aged about 70, the 'Old Man',
as he is known, hits a proper gong at 1pm to signal
class time.

It used to be 2 hrs I dreaded. 20 monks, 8-12 years
old, who thumped and slapped eachother, jupmped off
desks, spat on the floor, read loudly and incoherently
to the tune of their prayer chants, and didn't listen
- or understand, more to the point - anything I said.
An older monk (he would only have to be a teen to
command respect from a kid) would walk by the
classroom however, and they sat up ramrod straight and
shut up. The devils.

So, I split them into two one-hr classes. Thrilled
with the extra hour to play, they have returned the
favour by being attentive during class. Now they only
spit and ocassionally thump.

The best time of day is 3pm, when the man with the
motorbike parts signals chia time. Down to the dining
hall for oh so yummy sweet milky tea and buscuits, or
rice bubbles, or cooked 2 minute noodles - that's up
to the kitchen men.

The monks have taught me to drink drowned rice bubbles
in hot tea, and make a meal of soggy biscuits, by
shoving as many as I can into my mug until not a drop
of tea is left.

Until my next class at 6.30pm, I'll read a book, email
in the cafe across the road, or walk 20 minutes into
town, the bazaar, to do photocopying, etc.

It's often a bit nippy by the time I return for my
night class, but the 420 chunky steps to my room at
the gompa sure makes me hot. Who needs a bicycle for a
nice butt!

My 6.30-8pm night classes of older boys are a breeze.
I alternate each night between low level and high
level English. The high level boys are the only ones
who I can actually learn something from, with much
patience and an open mind, that is.

''Why do you have to walk clockwise around
everything?'', I once asked.

''It's very nice, Miss'', was the reply. See what I
mean!

Friday is the Monks' 'washing day', when the little
monks doff their robes and run their lathered-up
little bodies under a hose. The 'Old Man' washes their
robes.

It's also the start of my weekend, when I take a 1 1/2
hr walk, 45 min cycle or 1hr bus ride into Lakeside
and don my mother hen hat.

Eight kids are waiting, ready for Rebecca's weekend
activities. Often it's shopping, emailing, cooking,
eating by the fire, then taking the older ones (or all
of them if I can deal with it) to a pub to watch a
live band. I took them all out to a pub on New Year's
eve and the kids were a hit with the tourists. With 10
kids in tow, one tourist asked, ''What organisation
are you from?''. Haha! I had to laugh. What
irresponsible organisation takes 8 y/os into a pub??!!


Often I head in for a drink alone, though, for the
beer I've waited for since last Sunday's 1pm Headache
Class. I vent relentlessly on unsuspecting tourists,
who I can speak fast, direct and fluent English to.
One that understands ''fair go'', ''too right'' and
''cheers mate'' makes my day!

I've got to keep abreast of the curfews, however. I
live in a beautiful spot in Lakeside. Only
disadvantage is, I've got to pass a police checkpost.
I disobeyed an 11pm curfew one night, having too good
a time out and thinking I could float by the coppers
with a wink and a smile. I was severely reprimanded
when I passed through at 11.30pm and rightly scared.

It's been a tense time recently, with government
elections and the Maoists imposing nation-wide strikes
(shops, cars, roads, people, everything) to discourage
people from voting.

But, the worst of it is over. So if anyone's thinking
of visiting ...

Here are a couple of sites on the monastery (gompa):
http://www.karmadhubgyuchokhorling.com/monastery.html

http://home.tiscalinet.ch/partypeople/home/home.html

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