Monsoon Tales: Dancing Geckos and Vinegar

Gecko Flashlight Disco

About two weeks ago, one of my closest Nepali friends broke the news that she’d accepted a new job in Kathmandu and would soon move. Celebrating life’s transitions seems to be a truly cross-cultural tradition and we accordingly held a small farewell party for her. I showed up at her house around 5pm to assist with cooking. The evening company predominately consisted of the other building occupants who overtime had become her Baglung family.

It gets dark around 7:30 here, and my friend’s house was on the farthest possible end of town from mine. Thus as darkness fell and the rain began to fall my friend insisted I stay the night. No problem. No sooner had it been decided than the power went out, and did not return until the morning. This is a frequent occurrence: when a thunderstorm rolls in, the power generally rolls out. So despite the fact that over 90% of the electricity in this country is from hydro-power stations, the power is actually far less consistent during the wet monsoon months. We finished preparing the feast and setting up plates by lamp light in a neighbor’s kitchen upstairs. It took quite a while to prepare the food for so many people. This combined with the fact that most Nepalis don’t eat until 8 or 8:30 in the summer months, and our feast wasn’t ready until 9:30. By lamplight we sat in a circle cross-legged on the floor eating beaten rice (it’s flat, dry and cruncy), delicious spiced chicken, curried potatoes with green beans, salty fried bread, soda, and sweet Indian desserts.

Once we’d finished eating it was decided: we would dance. We MUST dance. Plates cleared, lamp moved higher, rain still pouring down outside, song selected – the dancing began. But how did we play music without power? Using cell phones! My friend broke the ice by being sufficiently goofy to warm everyone up. But for as much as Nepalis love to dance, they also love to refuse to dance – so dragging one another onto the dance floor became half the fun. Over the course of the evening pretty much everyone had their 10-60 seconds of goofy dancing glory. It was great fun. The geckos scuttled around on the ceiling above, contributing a chirp now and again.

Around midnight we drank milk tea and drew henna designs on each others’ hands. Late to bed, the rain soothed us to sleep.

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Vinegar is my new best friend

Of course I read about it, but it managed to surprise and terrify me all the same. Mold. Yes, that wondrous thing called mold. In Nepal the continued humidity from on-again-off-again downpours and drizzle combined with the heat of a northern hemisphere July and ill-sealed, concrete home construction creates the perfect environment for mold to thrive. Now, I expected to find it here or there – most likely on my freshly washed cloths as they failed to dry over two days. But no. My cloths have been fine. Instead I poked around by my shoes one day to discover: the leather insoles of my Tom’s fuzzy and green. Yum. And, to my horror, a layer of white fuzz on the straps of my backpacking backpack. All of the 20-odd straps. Ugh. That won’t do. This discovery was made on the day I had meant to depart for Pokhara for a week long peace corps training. But I stayed behind – making a cursory search for additional mold-ed items, determined to secure control of the situation. Other molded items included: my soft mandolin case (outside only, thank goodness), my suitcase and some of my cooking utensils. Manageable, I thought to myself. I scrubbed everything down with a lysol mix, prayed for an hour of sunshine, and ultimately left everything outside on a covered porch to air out in my absence.

So end-ith round one.

Round two:

Upon returning from Pokhara one week later, I found the fuzz on my backpacking backpack and mandolin case in the beginning stages of returning. Hmm. Looking around a bit more, mold was popping up in numerous new places: on my bamboo stool, my prayer beads, my purses, my camera case and strap, and – to my absolute horror – on my camera itself. My fancy, expensive, Nikon D80 SLR, along with the case for another lens. How the *@$# did mold grow there?! Aghhh. This simply will not do. Must. Obtain. Control.

The lysol clearly didn’t do the trick, so a bit of information-era google searching was in order, with the help of mama of course. The most accessible, applicable solution we found: vinegar. Vinegar kills around 82% of molds while being completely non-toxic and non-damaging to most surfaces. And, thank goodness, it’s readily available and CHEAP. Ah, vinegar. After another scrub down of the infected items, all were thoroughly sprayed with pure vinegar. And, for good measure, so was just about everything else I own. Yes. You are free to imagine the absurdity of me filling a spray bottle with vinegar and proceeding to pick up everything in my room, spray all sides, then put it back again – including my mattress. For good measure, I re-washed all my winter cloths, vinegar-ed them, let them thoroughly dry, then stuffed them in plastic for storage until they are again needed.

Now, nearly two weeks later, I can happily report that the situation appears to be under control. Yes, this means periodic spritzing of vinegar on any mildly suspicious surface. And (if I can find it) it also means keeping buckets of charcoal in my room to attempt to reduce the humidity. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win this war. Official battle results to date: Round one: mold. Round two: Amanda. I have a sneaking suspicion round three is lurking around the corner….