Only two weeks in the magical ancient city of Bharaktapur, Nepal, where we’d come to do volunteer teaching through Workaway. And before we knew it, the second week was upon us, and we were trying to cram in as much sightseeing as we could, while also winding up our projects at the school.

One thing we certainly had to do was roll with the punches, because unexpected things kept popping up, for better and for worse. One day at school, we were invited to attend a feast that evening, being mounted by the of a teacher celebrating the purchase of a home. And we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to feast like the locals, so we accepted.

We were supposed to meet our contact, a fellow teacher, at a temple; so we figured that’s where the event was. But we arrived and waited a while and saw no sign of anyone, and we were beginning to suspect we got our wires crossed somehow. And then we got word that we were supposed to walk down some steps beside the temple, where we’d see a big pavilion. And that’s where the party would be. Sure enough, a large gathering had gathered already.

It was a rather odd setup we saw, with several rows of chairs, one row facing another. There was a table with some snack food on it — guests were eating before they ate. But the snack food was mostly meat hors d’ouevres, so there was nothing for us to nibble on but some chip-type snacks. There were also drinks, of which we did not partake, as they were alcoholic and/or sugary. Mountain Dew was in abundance, and we’ve noticed it’s very popular everywhere in Nepal.

After a little while, the main banquet was ready, so we were ushered to another section over on the side where mats for everyone to sit on were placed near the wall, and plates had been placed in front of the mats. Then, piece by piece, we were served.

There were boiled eggs covered with some kind of crust. There were vegetable dishes with dal (lentils), chick peas, and things we didn’t recognize. There were also plenty of meat dishes, but we had assistance in avoiding those. Seated next to us was one of the teachers, who was also a vegetarian. So whatever she declined, we declined. She did, however, accept a small serving of meat, but it wasn’t for herself. It was for “the gods”. It’s apparently the custom to place a bit of food in front of the plate as an offering to the Hindu deities before helping oneself to the food on one’s plate. And if you’re a vegetarian, meat is the most logical thing to give up for such a cause.

Some of the more solid items were served with hands rather than tongs or whatever. That’s a common practice in this part of the world, so you just have to get used to it. It’s also traditional to eat with the hands, though many people cheat a little bit and use western style utensils (as we tend to do). We saw a couple of people washing their hands before beginning to eat, but the “washing” consisted of just pouring a little water over the fingers from a bottle.

One of the last things served was yogurt — that heavenly homemade Nepalese yogurt that you just don’t get anywhere else. (And it was definitely homemade, as it was brought out in a plastic cement bucket.) This was also eaten with the fingers, though we first mixed it with crunchy “beaten rice” (or “bitten rice”, as they say here) so the fingers would have something to grab onto it. After we finished the meal, we partook of another local custom: washing the hands and the mouth after eating, at a nearby faucet. before exiting.

One of our teachers walked along with us for a while on the way home; and thanks to the generous liquid refreshments at the party, he was about four and a half sheets to the wind, and was having a great time. When we passed a certain little storefront, he expressed an urge to smoke a cigarette, and asked Dennis to buy him some. So, not willing to pass up a generous gesture, even for such a dubious cause, we acquiesced; and for the first time ever, our bookkeeping ledger shows that we paid $1.50 for cigarettes.

He took us by his home so we could meet his wife, brother, two children, and a pair of grandparents. And he took us to his other workplace; each day, after he was finished teaching in the afternoon, he would go and put in a few hours at what is essentially a small advertising agency. In fact, on this night, even after going to a party, and even after getting rather impaired at the party, he still went to work there for a couple of hours. (The next day, he reported that his time at the office had actually been productive.)

That next morning we stopped at one of the clothing shops we’d been eyeing (while trying not to encourage the hawkers who were always trying their best to lasso us in) so Dennis could reevaluate a shirt that had caught his eye, Ultimately, however, he settled on a different one, But when the shopkeep cited a price of 1700 rupees (much higher than prices we’d seen elsewhere) we were prepared to hit the trail. Ah, but then he told us about his “morning price” of 1000, and since that amounts to about $6.50 USD, the deed was done. We’ve always been fond of garments made in Nepal, and this was the second shirt Dennis had bought in Bhaktapur, Now he could ditch one of his old shirts, namely the one with the stretched collar that Kimberly had been wanting to burn and perform an exorcism over.

We started seeing what looked like large crosses made of bamboo, erected all over town. This was puzzling, because the Christian element is not very strong here. These were actually placed in anticipation of Indra Jatra, the coming 8-day festival that serves several purposes: it honors Indra, the god of heaven and rain, as well as Kumari, the “living goddess” (whom we’d encountered previously) and ancestors, all in one multiple-day bout of pomp and revelry. The “crosses”, are actually yosin, also called lingo in the Hindu lingo, and they’re essentially sacred flagpoles to honor Lord Indra. But dang, they sure do look like crosses.

At our homestay, there had been a new guest moving into the room next to ours, a young Canadian woman named Kaylee (and we hope we spelled her name right), who is one of the most genuinely cheerful people we’ve ever met. She was also in town to work as a volunteer teacher for a while (at a different school); and we invited her to accompany us to our favorite local restaurant, Mayur, for dinner one night. She loved it just as we did, and we had a great little chat with her.

Meanwhile we were enjoying our gig volunteering at the school. And one reason we were enjoying it was the satisfaction of responding to challenges, And one of the challenges was the curves we were constantly being thrown.

Wednesday was our penultimate day, and the last day we had to run the performance pieces with the students before they presented them before the school on Thursday. Our classes had barely gotten underway in the morning when a teacher came into Dennis’s class with Grades 4 and 5, and announced that the older students would be dismissed so they could go play “kho kho”. We’d never heard of kho kho before, but Dennis was intrigued and went along to investigate. (Kimberly was working with the Kindergarten, who did not go, so she stayed behind.)

It was a hike of nearly a mile through town to get to the playing field. And then it took about 45 minutes to set up the playing field — the teachers insisted on measuring the exact distances to regulation specs, and marking off the line carefully and precisely with chalk dust. Finally, the kids were able to actually play the game. And a frenzied game it was.

Kho kho is a sort of organized tag game played between two teams. It’s rather hard for a novice to make sense of, but basically the players from one team are trying to tag and eliminate the players from the other team. The chasers are lined up in a narrow rectangle in the center of the playing field, facing alternate directions; while those being chased run around the long rectangular box to evade them. Only one chaser runs at a time, but he or she can tag a teammate to replace him or or her, closer to wherever the runner is. Or something like that.

After the students had exhilarated themselves for a while, the rain began, and they huddled under an awning for it to pass, which it never did completely. So they hiked back to school in a bit of a downpour and came back as drenched as drowned rats. But hey, that’s what being a kid is all about.

Anyway, the next day was the big showdown, when the classes all assembled in the tiny courtyard to see what presentations we had prepared to present. And the show went on, despite inadequate rehearsal time and the absence of several participants. The second grade sang “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad”. The first grade performed The Gingerbread Man. The combination class of fourth and fifth graders sang a song naming the continents and performed a skit from one of their English books. And the climax was the third grade acting out the story of Simple Ivan, which they did with panache and pizzazz; the lead boy was especially dynamic, one of the best we’ve ever had in that part. (And Dennis played the mama, which everyone got a kick out of.)

At the conclusion, the school presented us with certificates of appreciation and some really cool Nepalese scarves. Then we left, and were touched to see students leaning out of the upstairs windows saying goodbye. Despite the short time we had at the school, and the unexpected setbacks, we feel that we accomplished something worthwhile, and we as well as the students had a great time in the process. This is just one more thing to add to our rich storehouse of memories of the short time we spent in the amazing, dazzling little city of Bhaktapur.

Events occurred 9/21-24/2026