Temple Midgets

Ah.

Passed through the congestion of Thamel, the tourist strip of Kathmandu, and am now up in Bouddha, the Tibetan area of town part way to Kopan, where I start retreat in two days.

Spent the weekend in KTM with new friends, the party crowd that surfs around asia for the good scene. Funny people, interesting people. Omanis, (have you ever met an Omani? I hadn't. They weren't particularly amused by my excitement, but they were gorgeous.)Greeks, Italians, Nepalis, Tibetans, Indians, and me.

Spent yesterday sleeping off a touch of sickness, finally emerging this morning to head down to the stupa. Bouddha is built around a massive and well-kept stupa. Huge and white, its adorned with hundreds of strings of prayer flags, thousands of cups of marigolds that the devout must place around every morning, prayer wheels, and images of the Buddha and Guru Rinpoche (Not to mention Garuda and Ganesha--interesting how Buddhism and Hinduism mix here) carved into the side and covered in red paint.

It is always interesting to be a foreigner trying to find a place in a different land. You can embrace the full on tourist identity, shopping up a storm and drinking imported beer. You can be the sensitive traveler, keeping your camera to yourself and trying not to be obnoxious. But what if you really want to embrace part of a different culture? That's a whole different picture entirely. Walking around the stuppa, thinking, "what if i believe this? what if i believe in this faith?" Will that seem odd to locals? Where does that put you?

Anyhow, onto temple midgets. So I've circled this stuppa and finally come to the small room with the two prayer wheels about the size of a small VW. I hear squealing in the corner- children, perhaps. Then a very small man emerges, no taller than my waist, and encourages me to spin the prayer wheel. As I round the second, another temple midget, clad in the same marshmellow coat, is being tossed around playfully by an older Nepali/tibetan and laughing gleefully. Laughing loudly, and fully expecting to see Gene Wilder around the next corner, I walk around perhaps three times, more to see the happy little men then to accumulate any kind of merit. As I pass again, they motion, laughing, to their little bags of rice and money- offerings. Yes, little men, I will leave you some rupees, if simply for being the happiest people I've seen in a long time.