Admitting this both to myself and to my readers is obviously difficult, as you can tell by my disclaimer. I fancy myself a robust international citizen, a lover of world cultures, and most importantly: a documentary filmmaker. These identifiers signify a necessary rapture and awe at all things related to getting from point A to point B. Alas, my truth is that I do not feel rapture for three particular things that are inherently part of my travels:

o Long travel times
o Physical burden
o Poverty

When I glamorize the journeys that I take, I often ignore this part of the story. I adore the experience and the lessons that I learn so much that I forget that they aren’t always handed to me in neat little packages. Sometimes they are downright painful. Let’s break these things down a bit.

LONG TRAVEL TIMES

Being that the majority of my long-term travel takes place in far-off countries, it’s a wonder I’m ever surprised at how long it takes to get to these places. Crossing the pacific alone takes at least 10 hours and then you have any number of connecting flights to get to your final destination.

Because I’ve yet to strike it rich (notice my purposeful insertion of hope here), I have never traveled in first class on one of these trips. Every time I board an international flight and walk past the reclining lounges and see the premiere travelers being handed hot towels, I cringe with jealousy. I fidget over to my economy class seat and stuff myself into the allotted space. At least most airlines have private television screens nowadays so that I can catch up on all the movies that I’ve missed or never heard of.

No matter how good the selection (I caught up with Salt and The Social Network on this last flight), I get bored and cramped. I’m rarely a good sleeper on planes, so I tend to be fully awake and alert. Every baby cry. Every passenger getting up to use the restroom. I experience them all. I wish planes could travel faster.

Being in Laos, where I currently write from, I experienced the most taxing one-way journey of my life. I boarded a minivan and was driven for 10 hours through the Northern Laotian mountains at high speed. They literally pass out plastic bags before departure should your stomach not be able to keep up with the engine. There is a flight that goes the same distance, but it’s expensive and we’re in high season. Unfortunately, there is no way to get out of this place other than by the same method in reverse. This time we’re doing a “VIP bus ride.” I’ll let you know if that’s any different than the minivan.

PHYSICAL BURDEN

This provides a perfect segue into the physical toll that travel can have on your body. I recently wrote about injuring my knee, but I’m talking about more than that here. Sitting still for extended periods of time in cramped spaces is hardly what our limbs were designed to do. Walking for extended periods while carrying huge backpacks (and in my case extra bags of camera gear) is not what my back tells me it wants either. On each trip I take, my feet suffer greatly from blisters and dry skin.

Don’t even get me started about the stomach ailments, air pollution, and coughing/sneezing/runny nosing that is almost certain to accompany your voyage. The desire for a steaming hot shower can be overwhelming. I know- even I’m sick of hearing myself complain. But on some of the trips I’ve taken, it has dawned on me that I am lucky to have two working feet and ankles that can make it through almost anything. I’d rather try a new food and honor my hosts’ hospitality than decline in order to avoid getting sick. After all, I got to borrow from The Devil Wears Prada and repropagate a familiar quote recently by declaring “I’m only one bout of Delhi Belly away from my goal weight.”

The consequential weight loss while on the road is something I could never achieve if I was home actually trying to shed a few pounds, so at least that’s a plus. I also enjoy the pride I feel when I’ve successfully gotten to another country with all my bags and bones still intact. My legs get more toned and my arms seems to more easily swing my massive pack into it’s familiar position behind an ever-stronger shoulder.

Did I mention I also am severely allergic to mosquito bites? Enough with my complaining. Travel means moving- and moving your body takes work. If the travel I am doing does not involve swaying on a hammock (which I’ve really got to learn to incorporate more), then I can’t be surprised when I am physically exhausted at the tail end of a trip.

POVERTY

If the last section was about the physical toll on your body, then this section is about the toll that travel takes on your mind. My current journey and revisit to the land of Nepal sunk this message home more than ever.

When visiting the third world, there are many things you might expect to see- but many more that you can never be prepared for. Malnutrition, illness, and poverty are words on paper to most of us in the Western Hemisphere. Sometimes we watch the history channel or read about wars in books. Seeing these people and the ravages of nature and government is a lesson that no television screen or history book will ever adequately capture.

There are so many lessons to learn while witnessing the results of poverty. The most obvious is just how little it takes to make a difference- a simple smile can change lives. Looking more inward, there is also an immediate sense of appreciation for the joys that our own privileged lives provide us. We fight about silly things back home. We wage culture wars at a time when some people are living in real ones. Entire populations and their offspring are on the other side of the planet suffering and we are quick to complain if our latte isn’t extra hot.

These latter elements of travel are the ones that aren’t often pictured on the cover of Lonely Planet Travel Guides. The destinations many of us grew up dreaming of going to aren’t filled with killing fields, destitute families, and children who appear half their age because they’ve never eaten a proper meal.

Something in my soul continues to guide me towards these communities, however- those who are ignored or don’t know how to get featured on the evening news back home. I bring my camera in the hope that their faces will touch the hearts of my friends and family. And though I know that they have irreversibly changed my life, sometimes I hate to see their pain. I leave knowing that I will return to a different place- full of amenities and things that are so easily taken for granted. It takes me a long time to heal when I get back into my safe place and begin to process all that my eyes have seen. And it’s hard.

IT’S ALL WORTH IT

It would be inappropriate to have this post stand on it’s own as part of a travel blog. It’s easy to complain about the things that make travel hard. Sometimes people don’t talk about them. Sometimes it seems ungrateful to write such things while being in countries others only dream they could visit.

I will happily cramp myself into a minivan for 10 hours in order to witness the sunset on the Mekong River. I will endure freezing cold showers for weeks at a time so that I can see the faces of the children in Nepal whom I love more than I can express. Four connecting flights and three sicknesses will not keep me away from experiencing the truly amazing food that is in Thailand.

Let me drive home my point by saying this: Getting to see amazing things on this planet is certainly a luxury. But it’s not always easy.

##  I’d love to read your comments on this one. Are there particular things that make travel difficult for you? What elements of travel (if any) make a trip not worth it?  Write in the comment section below with your thoughts…##

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Returning to a country that I love so much has been more than fulfilling for me. I wake up, look out a window and see prayer flags flying in the breeze. I spend my days with camera in hand and attempt to capture the stories of children who’s lives inspire me. By night I watch the sunset reflect off the snow-white Himalayas and breathe in the honor that has been bestowed on me to witness all of this.

It is not always easy to do this work. Within 24 hours of my arrival I was gravely ill and lost a night of sleep to the dreaded Delhi Belly sickness. Our gear is constantly in use and thus constantly in need of recharging, but the inconstant and pouty electrical system refuses to keep us charged. Our equipment is not as reliable as it is when plugged in at home with a Best Buy nearby in case of technical difficulties. I had to ask my colleague tonight to remind me that I love the challenge. And I do.

What I am incapable of putting into words is how much this means to me to be here. I was accidentally introduced to Nepal just over one year ago and to be here again supporting the children of this country feels both overwhelming and dreamlike. To be tasked with the responsibility of capturing the images and feeling of a country and a people that are so giving, so open, and so inspirational is often lost on me. I know it is impossible to truly “get” just how amazing it is, so I have to trust that what I bring to your eyes is in itself worthwhile. I wish you all could be here with me to witness it with your own lens.

In the meantime, I gift to you some of the images that my lens has captured:

Related posts:

1. Nepal: Child to Child
2. About India

Standard tourist shot of the Taj Mahal

If you read my recent blog post about how much I am missing Nepal, then perhaps that can serve as a disclaimer before you read about my experiences in India.

Culture shock is not descriptive or clear enough of a term to describe my immediate introduction to India. For the sake of not having a more extensive vocabulary, however, “shock” will have to do for now.

I am shocked by how dirty this country is. I am shocked by how poor the people and the animals are. I am shocked by how poor the air quality is. I am shocked by the way that people stare at us as we walk down the street- gawking and analytical. I am shocked that I do not love this country as much as I hoped I would.

So much of traveling has to do with the experience that you have in the moments that you are present. A bad experience can shape your entire association with the same place that someone else lists as a “must-see.” I have read much about India, seen pictures, heard some horror stories; but until a person steps foot into the country that seems simultaneously ancient and metropolitan, there is no way of understanding just how overwhelming it can be.

North Indian Food with multiple sauces and spices

For this reason, I am glad that we came to India. We saw the Taj Mahal. We rode a sleeper train for six hours. We made many an international friend at the Nirvana Hostel we are staying at. We have had some delicious food. I have taken some amazing pictures. These are the reasons that I wanted to come here in the first place- these are the experiences I signed up for.

While I am beyond elated that I can check them off my proverbial list, it will take much for me to return to this country. I will need a guide that I trust and that is well connected. I will need clean places to settle into for the night and a hot shower to wash away the day’s grime. I will need regular access to a driver- perhaps one that I can hire for the entire day.

For those of you reading this, I acknowledge that the tinge of my words is slightly disappointed. In the same way that I chose to come to this country to experience India for myself, I hope that you will do the same if you want to come here. Do not let someone else’s experience shape your own openness to all the beauty and potential that exists in this majestic and humongous place.

I will recommend that you read my forthcoming list of recommendations. There are many other lists by many other travel bloggers that exist out in the blogosphere as well. Take my words and the words of other travel bloggers into consideration- but you need to experience India for yourself in order to truly understand what we are all talking about.

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Kids from the Sharada School in Bhaktapur

Are you calling me fat?

The answer is yes. The school Principal was speaking about us, and he referred to us as fat.

It just so happens that Mr. Rude Principal man is in fact a very good man. He is the lead educator at Shree Sharada School in Bhaktapur, Nepal. This school was chosen by our fellow traveler Clinton Bopp as the site for a “Child to Child” project. Clinton, working with said “Principal Name Caller,” has transformed the front of the school from a dilapidated wall full of political graffiti into one of the most beautiful buildings in the village.

In order to make this impressive project happen, Clinton took advantage of Ramesh- the man in charge of the Unatti Home. Ramesh’s family has lived in Bhaktapur for 7 generations, so he knows his way around and is well-connected. Clinton and Ramesh established a great relationship with a local paint store owner and the work that has been accomplished at Sharada School is beyond the dreams of anyone who knew of Clinton’s aspirations.

The “fat” incident happened on the first day that Patty and I showed up to assist Clinton in all his glory. We arrived at Sharada School where we realized that Clinton needed some more paint. Ramesh offered us to give us a ride to the Paint store on his motorcyle (thrilling for me and terrifying for Patty).

Patty films while Nepalese schoolchildren look on

Ramesh’s motorcyle carried himself, Patty, and I the very short distance to the paint store. When Patty and I returned (without accident or injury) to the school site, the Principal came outside to greet us and struck up a conversation with Ramesh. Suddenly they burst into laughter. We are so fat, this man could not believe the bike had managed to carry all three of us. He was apparently very impressed.

I am very impressed I didn’t punch him in the face once Ramesh translated why they were laughing so hard.

This seemingly unbearable mental abuse is of course a great cause for reflection. In Nepal, Patty and I are considered fat. Nepali people, especially in the small village of Bhaktapur where we live, are often malnutritioned. Considering the fact that the school we are painting is a public school for the poorest children in the village, it should not offend us that comparatively speaking, we are HUGE.

What’s hilarious about the timing of this Principal’s comment is that Patty and I are, in fact, losing a ton of weight while we are here. Without a car to sit in, unnecessarily large meals served to us at restaurants, or unhealthy food in general… we are both slimming down at a rapid pace. We have dubbed it “The Nepal Diet.”

Clinton Bopp paints while Sharada schoolchildren look on

Every day that we “fat girls” show up with Clinton to the Sharada School and paint, the skinny children of Bhaktapur gawk at us, practice their English, and seek positive reinforcement. It is very easy to swallow our proverbial Western Thinness Pride when we look these children in the face every day.

This fat chick is comfortable with the name-calling. I’m focused on painting a school. After all, these skinny kids deserve it.

Related posts:

1. Nepal: Child to Child

Volunteers organize donated clothing in Santa Monica, CA

Before leaving for Nepal, Patty and I participated in a massive folding and packing day for the clothes and toys being sent to Nepal. Piles and Piles of clothes were organized by quality, size, and appropriate age group and then piled into big black bags. Each of the 15 or so of us that traveled to Nepal had to bring a 50 pound bag with us on the journey in order to get all of the donations here.

Patty and I also traveled to Brentwood, CA with Stephanie Waisler-Rubin, the Unatti Foundation’s founder. There, we met the girls of brownie troup 965- mostly American-born residents of the posh parts of Southern California. They had gathered clothing to send to Nepal for the girls in the Unatti Home. They wrote letters and sent pictures of themselves to personalize the gesture.

California girls show the faces of their new Nepalese friends

Some of the items were set aside just for the Unatti Girls. Certain toys, games, and clothing items were collected specifically to meet the needs of the orphanage. The rest of the clothing items and shoes were then distributed to street children.

It was one thing to sit in the Unatti home and watch these beautiful girls’ faces light up when they saw dress up clothes, games, and the simplest of items- like glow bracelets. A wall full of empty shelves was suddenly full of dolls, cards, building blocks, teaching tools, and opportunities to get ahead. Zooming a camera in on their shining and glowing faces can only do so much to convey just how appreciative they are.

But their beauty shone through even more later that same day. The girls held our hands and guided us through their home town of Bhaktapur. One girl, Rupali, pointed up and said a word I didn’t understand when we passed a temple. When I looked up and asked her to repeat the word she said “G-d,” and I realized she was telling me that that temple is where G-d lives.

While we were out on our walking tour, the street children of Bhaktapur gathered in the garden next to the Unatti Home. They waited for hours in anticipation as they’d been told they’d get free clothing that day. Returning from a magical walk, we were suddenly smacked in the face with reality. There were needy children all around us. With sores on their faces and no shoes on their feet, they needed help.

The Unatti girls stepped in. All the bags that had not been set aside for them were distributed by the Unatti Girls, item by item to each of these neediest of children. Underprivileged children gave to the non-privileged.

The poorest children in Bhaktapur graciously accept the clothing

The street children scrambled for toothbrushes like they were gold pieces. They bowed their heads and said “Namaste” so many times that it was hard to keep from crying. They asked us what our names were and loved to stand behind us as we filmed so that they could watch the viewfinder. I loved to turn the viewfinder around so that they could see themselves as I was recording them. It was a beautiful and appropriate metaphor that they only smiled and giggled more when they saw themselves with handfuls of new clothes.

The full weight of the day is going to hit me soon. Even as I write this, I recognize that I set up a defense mechanism so that I could get through. So that I wouldn’t look at these children with pity. How do you process the fact that the very camera you hold in your hand to capture these stories is valuable enough to feed and clothe many of these children for years to come?

I know that moral dilemmas like these will continue to be a part of my journey. All I know is that in these moments, I am exremely thankful. To have parents that love me and didn’t give up on me. To have an education. To have freedom and opportunity. Thankful for what I have and thankful to have been able to give some of it to these beatiful children a world away.

Related posts:

1. Calling me Fat?
2. Namaste from Nepal