Volunteering Abroad

To all of the volunteer organizations that attempted to extort money from me so that I may freely offer my blood, sweat and tears… screw you. I genuinely don’t mean to sound negative or pessimistic toward every volunteer organization—some are legit (I think). But if you want to volunteer abroad for a worthy cause, PLEASE stop before pulling out your plastic card to register and read of my experience.

I’m currently residing in the beautiful, yet destitute country of Nepal. First question: how did I get here? I wish I could claim some elite institution offered me a prestigious fellowship to come and study the culture, but the reason is far less glamorous—I purchased a one-way ticket, booked a cheap hotel and got a three-month visa. Next question: why am I here? Again, the answer isn’t glamorous—I felt like being here and it sounded like fun.

Before arriving, I conducted due diligence on various volunteer organizations. I thought about teaching English to Buddhist monks, holding craft sessions in an orphanage, engaging in a photojournalism course and I looked at a host of other spiffy-sounding opportunities. The websites, in all of their colorful splendor and flash-based design, showed pictures of blonde-haired, happy volunteers holding babies or monkeys. Then I’d click on the “program fees” portion of the website and my stomach would churn. $800 to volunteer for one month?! I knew I could scrounge up the cash, but a part of me strongly resisted. First, the website typically offered no explanation of how the fees were allocated—perhaps a portion would go to the orphanage, but who could really tell? Secondly… I have an ego. Maybe I sound like a cold, heartless bitch for saying this, but I’ve worked my ass off to harness my unique skill set. I’m indebted to SallieMae for the next 30 years as a result of going to college. I think my soul was almost sucked from me as I sat through my intermediate macroeconomics course. I worked for the Man by spending three years in a cubicle learning the trade of accounting. Now, I completely understand that I have been afforded opportunities in my life by virtue of being born in the US. For this reason, I want to volunteer with no expected remuneration. But I’m not going to pay for the privilege. And guess what? You don’t have to, either.

Getting High in Kathmandu

At the oh-so-wise age of 25, I decided the time, place and company were right to smoke marijuana for the first time. Up until the evening of May 5th, I guarded my pot virginity with the same zeal as a Christian who pledges abstinence before marriage. In addition to never consuming an illegal substance, I hadn’t tried a cigarette, either. My decision to abstain from pot was one of practicality mixed with frugality: Most corporations perform drug tests as part of the employment process, and I also viewed pot as an expensive indulgence in the event it was habit-forming. I can’t even say I was pressured to smoke. Just one blasé suggestion from a temporary travel fling was the only thing necessary for me to hunt down the substance. Though I knew procuring marijuana was a crime here in Nepal, I’m grateful I only learned about the whole, “maximum 20 years in jail” consequence after my transaction was complete.

So let me back track to how I scored the goods: on the nightly walk back to my cheap hotel located in the congested touristy area of Thamel, I’d often get solicited for pot from seedy characters and would always say no. This time, however, I slowed my gait and looked every Nepali in the eye, awaiting the proposition. The first came from 70-yr-old barefoot man in an olive-green “Faded Glory” shirt perched atop his bike and carriage. He smiled, flashing his yellow crooked teeth at me.

“Rickshaw, madame?”

I smiled in return and gave a polite no. The next question was from a 20-something Nepali standing with one foot rested against the wall of the alley.

In a low, slurred voice he asked, “Would you like some hash?”

Without hesitation, I gave a firm, “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Playing Nice, or Why I Hate the BBC

Hair curled: check. Eyeliner applied: most definitely. Cab fare just in case? Yes. I confess I also skimmed an article in the Wall Street Journal in hopes of impressing my policy analyst date by brushing up on my knowledge of Portugal’s impending debt crisis.

When I knocked on the door of his five-star hotel room, I couldn’t help but be struck by the discrepancy between reality and what I envisioned in those two hours of getting ready for the date. Instead of him opening the door and receiving a warm reception, he gave me a quick hug and ushered me in. “Just one moment,” he said, motioning to the bed while he sat at the desk near the window. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I really have to get this report sent off—give me a few minutes.” He handed me the remote to the TV currently playing the BBC and implored me to change it to whatever station I wished. I gave a relaxed smile and told him how waiting was no problem at all. I took off my sandals and sat on the bed. While I certainly didn’t mind watching the BBC—in fact, most days I actively enjoy it—I didn’t exactly anticipate this picture as the start of the evening. For the next 30 minutes or so, I flipped between the BBC and Al Jazeera while he finished his briefing. I observed his furrowed brow and frantic typing on the keyboard of his laptop. While I had spent 45 minutes taming my unruly thick brown hair, he repeatedly ran his hands through his messy blond locks.

Solo Traveling in Nepal

“You’re going where, again?”

“Nepal.” 

“…by yourself?”
I paused for a while, letting the concept sink in. “Yes.”

Traveling as a single woman in regions beyond Europe’s gentrified cities is an undertaking that, while not for the faint of heart, is doable. Not just doable, but a soul-wrenching experience. The third-world country of Nepal welcomes an abundance of sojourners hailing from many backgrounds; some freshly-graduated students don nose piercings and buy bright pink saris to wear against their pale skin; others are Swiss financial consultants taking a break to hike the Everest base camp; others, like me, are going through a stereotypical existential dilemma wherein I wish--in vain--how a Buddhist meditation retreat at a monastery may help reveal my life's mission.

In actuality, solo travel to central Asia isn’t filled with spiritual revelations borne from Tibetan Buddhism classes. The more plausible (and less exciting) reality is incurring sinus infections from the cooking fires and motorcyclists. Bouts of traveler’s diarrhea are also to be expected in a region where greens and vegetables must be dipped in iodine to be fit for consumption. And then there are the times where you’re in your pancake-flat bed, aching to have conversations with people from home who know you best. On a brighter note, it only takes about a week to get used to Nepal’s routine power outages and fickle electricity. Here’s another tip--if you happen to find a toilet that flushes, star it on your traveler’s map along with any restaurant that doesn’t create a growling, uncomfortable churning in your stomach.