OK, it's been far too long since the last update here. Let's start 2009 off with a humorous one...
The title on this post is no joke. There is a cleaning fluid with that precise name, and below is an exerpt from some correspondence between two engineers on the use of this fluid for cleaning a machine-hall. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.
It all started with a very normal and humdrum request: "I have brought a bottle of Easy of BANG along in order to check whether it works or not for the cleaning of clinic floor. You might have noted the stains on clinic floor looking very ugly. I have tested it today and the result is fantastic. Pls arrange to buy 20 bottles and send at the earliest possible."
On 7th of November this mail came from the same person:
"Cleaning work is in progress. Since the floor was very dirty, cleaner is being consumed quite a lot. I think we need an equal quantity of Easy of BANG again."
This meant that 20 bottles of cleaning -liquid had been consumed in two days of work. Some swift calculations in our maintenance department established that each bottle was enough to clean 1000 sqm of area. Naturally, eyebrows were raised and the level of consumption was questioned. The following reply came back:
"It’s not a surface which you clean by soap-water or some simple cleaners which you mix with water in the proportion of 10ml cleaner: 10L of water. We are talking about the dirt leftover by construction works – its white cement stick to tile and the dirt on the top. My colleague did try many alternative ways to clean it but unable to do so thus dirt remained there for such a long period of time. Recently an Indian in his visit at Kirne suggested us to try with Easy of BANG. I brought one bottle (200ml) along last time and tested in my toilet – it worked and then tested at clinic floor- it worked there as well."
The key here is the last sentence above. I have no idea, and don't want to know, if the home toilet is a good testbench for industrial grime removal. But the fact that this engineer did indeed think it was a good place to test tells me much more than I ever want to know about his toilet...
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Images from a few short hikes.
Most people think "hiking" when they think of Nepal. We have started exploring Kathmandu's immediate surroundings a little, and have so far found that the walking is excellent and child-friendly almost wherever we go. In many cases it pays to leave the main track behind:
Surrounded by bamboo-forests, flowers, trees and other greenery, with sunlight dripping through the foliage, the walk becomes more fun for all. As you can see on the pictures, it is steep going at times, but the kids are amazing in dealing with the terrain. Through the trees we can spot prim and well-kept farmhouses, surrounded by land tended to for generations. Terraces are carefully hewn from the hillsides, and elaborate watering systems spread water around.
The kids soon found a good diversion: Some introductory climbing. This was a clay-wall, where there were ample grips and holds so they were scurrying up in a profusion of arms and legs. Callista fell down once (into my waiting arms) and creid her head off. Not because she was scared or hurt, it was because she was angry! Her brother had managed to get up, and she was livid that she couldn't make the same ascent.
I also tried and soon discovered that this wall was child-friendly, but hard for adults to get up. The clay would crumble if too much pressure was applied, so it took quite some time before I found a stable route up the face. While I was struggling, the kids ran down and started all over again... They have a way of making me feel old, bloated and sluggish.
And after the walking, the climbing and the looking at the countryside, we come round a bend and are rewarded with a majestic view:
Little farmhouses dot the landscape, hillsides are dotted with farms and meadows - it's all so idyllic, so basic and achingly beautiful. Above it all, the Himalayas tower in their white-capped silence.
The hilltops are forested, with a relative of the pine populating a certain altitude. It grows some impressively large cones, and when one falls it becomes the ultimate tool for balancing, climbing and playing.
Our experience thus far is simple: It seems that no matter which direction we drive, after 15-20 minutes we can simply park the car and amble along paths. We will be met by smiling villagers and farmers, have a good walk and leave the hustle and bustle of the city far behind. If we bring a picnic, we're all set for a long day outside. If the timing is right, we will be introduced to some new additions to the farm - and the kids love it:
We're pretty happy so far!
Surrounded by bamboo-forests, flowers, trees and other greenery, with sunlight dripping through the foliage, the walk becomes more fun for all. As you can see on the pictures, it is steep going at times, but the kids are amazing in dealing with the terrain. Through the trees we can spot prim and well-kept farmhouses, surrounded by land tended to for generations. Terraces are carefully hewn from the hillsides, and elaborate watering systems spread water around.
I also tried and soon discovered that this wall was child-friendly, but hard for adults to get up. The clay would crumble if too much pressure was applied, so it took quite some time before I found a stable route up the face. While I was struggling, the kids ran down and started all over again... They have a way of making me feel old, bloated and sluggish.And after the walking, the climbing and the looking at the countryside, we come round a bend and are rewarded with a majestic view:
Little farmhouses dot the landscape, hillsides are dotted with farms and meadows - it's all so idyllic, so basic and achingly beautiful. Above it all, the Himalayas tower in their white-capped silence.The hilltops are forested, with a relative of the pine populating a certain altitude. It grows some impressively large cones, and when one falls it becomes the ultimate tool for balancing, climbing and playing.
Our experience thus far is simple: It seems that no matter which direction we drive, after 15-20 minutes we can simply park the car and amble along paths. We will be met by smiling villagers and farmers, have a good walk and leave the hustle and bustle of the city far behind. If we bring a picnic, we're all set for a long day outside. If the timing is right, we will be introduced to some new additions to the farm - and the kids love it:
We're pretty happy so far!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I love load-shedding!
What's great about load-shedding and chronic shortage of electricity?
(This is a near carbon-copy of a question a friend of mine posed recently when addressing a university in Shanghai (see the full story here: http://coachbay.com/). On the face of it, the question seems to come from a stand-up comedian or a satirist in the press. But the question is genuine and flips a situation 180 degrees. There is much to be said about asking the right questions, as the questions you ask will guide the direction of your thinking and through that your ability to find one or more solutions. But my friend speaks better of this than I do, and I recommend you peruse the link above.)
We live in Nepal where load-shedding is endemic. We are without power 45 hours per week. The lack of investment in hydropower and the required transmission infrastructure means that demand by far outpaces supply of power. Hence load-shedding.
It is easy to grumble about it, when the lights go out, the wireless router stops working, the TV goes off and so on. So what's great about it?
Well, for a start it keeps certain traditional artisan crafts intact! Only today I discovered a small bakery tucked away from the narrow lanes of Lalitpur. It has lots of wooden benches evidencing years of labour and toil over doughs, spices, fillings and yeast. Dominating the room in a corner is a huge wood-fired oven.
I start talking to the proprietor (a name with a quaint, traditional lilt to it) about this hidden gem. He is happy to meet an interested and engaged customer, and we soon have a good conversation going. With the lack of electricity, the only way he can reliably produce his goods is by sticking to woodfiring. He also finds that wood-fired breads have a subtly different flavour when compared to the breads spewing forth from electrical ovens.
As we talk, he opens the cast-iron door to the massive oven. Inside I see a baking-area of at least 4-5 sqm, and it's festooned with goodies: There are fresh herb-foccaccias, cinnamon rolls, croissants, pain-aux-chocolat, breads - even pizzas. Now, most of you know that I'm a food-addict and I can only say that the flavours wafting forth from this oven were otherworldly. The faint smokiness of a wooden fire, the zesty fragrance of fresh bread baking, the herbs roasting on top of the foccaccias, the trace of cinnamon, the sting of tomato-sauce baking...
For a few moments I was transported back to a time where people knew the person who had made their bread, their sausage, their chairs. A time of craftsmanship, a time of taking pride in what you do and a time where time itself was of less importance. On the spot I was moved back to when I was a young boy of around 11 years of age: My father had found a nearby farm where they still had a traditional wood-fired oven for baking, and he brought me over there as he was making breads the old-fashioned way. The smells, the textures and the taste are still with me today - and it all comes rushing back to me as I stand surrounded by these heavenly aromas.
As I place my order for a croissant and a pain-aux-chocolate, the baker tells me I will have to wait another 2-3 minutes as he can see they are not fully done yet. When did you experience this last? In an age of instant gratification, being asked to wait for a product lovingly prepared and shaped seemed liberating. Exactly 3 minutes later, the baker starts wielding what looks like an oar from a boat. In an elaborate shuffle of baking trays and molds, the ready items are lifted out and placed on the wooden benches around me. My steaming order is wrapped in a little paper and handed to me. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I ask to add a small tomato and olive pizza which had just been taken out.
I return to the office with my treasure in hand and sit down to enjoy what very few can enjoy these days: A genuinely hand-made work of craftsmanship, made by someone who takes pride in his profession. The croissant is crispy, flaky, yet substantive and with that elusive flavour which speaks of just enough butter. The pain-aux-chocolat is evidencing this same flavour, accentuated by molten chocolate in the center. The small pizza has achieved caramelisation of the sauce on the edges, adding a sweetness to the sharp tomato-sauce which was hugely pleasing. In a wood-fired oven, it takes a high level of skill to achieve this without burning the crust.
So one good thing I can say about load-shedding is that it preserves a traditional craft like this. Once electricity is endemic, odds are that the rules of mass-production and economies of scale will take over and the artisan baker will be a part of Nepal's history.
(This is a near carbon-copy of a question a friend of mine posed recently when addressing a university in Shanghai (see the full story here: http://coachbay.com/). On the face of it, the question seems to come from a stand-up comedian or a satirist in the press. But the question is genuine and flips a situation 180 degrees. There is much to be said about asking the right questions, as the questions you ask will guide the direction of your thinking and through that your ability to find one or more solutions. But my friend speaks better of this than I do, and I recommend you peruse the link above.)
We live in Nepal where load-shedding is endemic. We are without power 45 hours per week. The lack of investment in hydropower and the required transmission infrastructure means that demand by far outpaces supply of power. Hence load-shedding.
It is easy to grumble about it, when the lights go out, the wireless router stops working, the TV goes off and so on. So what's great about it?
Well, for a start it keeps certain traditional artisan crafts intact! Only today I discovered a small bakery tucked away from the narrow lanes of Lalitpur. It has lots of wooden benches evidencing years of labour and toil over doughs, spices, fillings and yeast. Dominating the room in a corner is a huge wood-fired oven.
I start talking to the proprietor (a name with a quaint, traditional lilt to it) about this hidden gem. He is happy to meet an interested and engaged customer, and we soon have a good conversation going. With the lack of electricity, the only way he can reliably produce his goods is by sticking to woodfiring. He also finds that wood-fired breads have a subtly different flavour when compared to the breads spewing forth from electrical ovens.
As we talk, he opens the cast-iron door to the massive oven. Inside I see a baking-area of at least 4-5 sqm, and it's festooned with goodies: There are fresh herb-foccaccias, cinnamon rolls, croissants, pain-aux-chocolat, breads - even pizzas. Now, most of you know that I'm a food-addict and I can only say that the flavours wafting forth from this oven were otherworldly. The faint smokiness of a wooden fire, the zesty fragrance of fresh bread baking, the herbs roasting on top of the foccaccias, the trace of cinnamon, the sting of tomato-sauce baking...
For a few moments I was transported back to a time where people knew the person who had made their bread, their sausage, their chairs. A time of craftsmanship, a time of taking pride in what you do and a time where time itself was of less importance. On the spot I was moved back to when I was a young boy of around 11 years of age: My father had found a nearby farm where they still had a traditional wood-fired oven for baking, and he brought me over there as he was making breads the old-fashioned way. The smells, the textures and the taste are still with me today - and it all comes rushing back to me as I stand surrounded by these heavenly aromas.
As I place my order for a croissant and a pain-aux-chocolate, the baker tells me I will have to wait another 2-3 minutes as he can see they are not fully done yet. When did you experience this last? In an age of instant gratification, being asked to wait for a product lovingly prepared and shaped seemed liberating. Exactly 3 minutes later, the baker starts wielding what looks like an oar from a boat. In an elaborate shuffle of baking trays and molds, the ready items are lifted out and placed on the wooden benches around me. My steaming order is wrapped in a little paper and handed to me. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I ask to add a small tomato and olive pizza which had just been taken out.
I return to the office with my treasure in hand and sit down to enjoy what very few can enjoy these days: A genuinely hand-made work of craftsmanship, made by someone who takes pride in his profession. The croissant is crispy, flaky, yet substantive and with that elusive flavour which speaks of just enough butter. The pain-aux-chocolat is evidencing this same flavour, accentuated by molten chocolate in the center. The small pizza has achieved caramelisation of the sauce on the edges, adding a sweetness to the sharp tomato-sauce which was hugely pleasing. In a wood-fired oven, it takes a high level of skill to achieve this without burning the crust.
So one good thing I can say about load-shedding is that it preserves a traditional craft like this. Once electricity is endemic, odds are that the rules of mass-production and economies of scale will take over and the artisan baker will be a part of Nepal's history.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
International Folk Music Festival
Yesterday saw the opening of the 25th International Folk Music Festival here in Kathmandu. My employer HPL assists this festival in cooperation with the Royal Norwegian Embassy in Nepal. This year, for the first time ever, the authorities had agreed to open up a part of the Durbar Square compound which is normally off-limits to all except those working on preserving this remarkable location. Here's a video of what it looks like from the inside:
Now, there are representatives from Palestine, South Africa, Malawi and Norway attending this festival. They were all going to give a short demonstration of their skills. Here is one display from a Nepali group of performers:
It somehow fitted the surroundings well to have this display here. Now, I'm not particularly inclined to folk music in any shape or form. I still have to say that hearing a flute being played solo in these surroundings triggered the odd spot of goosebumps on my arms - in fact, it so consumed me that I completely forgot to take any video or picture.
The thought that lingered most in my mind after leaving was not about folk music though. It was about my secondary-school teacher who is still going strong and who has a passion for music in general and folk-music in particular (to the tune of spending months in remote locations in Europe to study and learn more about this particular niche). I'm thinking to organise a "march of dimes" or similar among all his former students to pay for him to partake in the festival next year. That would be a suitable retirement-gift from all those who have benefitted from his dedication to the teaching profession over the years.
Now, there are representatives from Palestine, South Africa, Malawi and Norway attending this festival. They were all going to give a short demonstration of their skills. Here is one display from a Nepali group of performers:
It somehow fitted the surroundings well to have this display here. Now, I'm not particularly inclined to folk music in any shape or form. I still have to say that hearing a flute being played solo in these surroundings triggered the odd spot of goosebumps on my arms - in fact, it so consumed me that I completely forgot to take any video or picture.
The thought that lingered most in my mind after leaving was not about folk music though. It was about my secondary-school teacher who is still going strong and who has a passion for music in general and folk-music in particular (to the tune of spending months in remote locations in Europe to study and learn more about this particular niche). I'm thinking to organise a "march of dimes" or similar among all his former students to pay for him to partake in the festival next year. That would be a suitable retirement-gift from all those who have benefitted from his dedication to the teaching profession over the years.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A trip to Kirne
I've been to the power-plant for the first time. In my mind, powerplants conjour up images either of smoke-belching coal-fired monstrosities, or massively disruptive projects such as Three Gorges dam in China.
So here is what I found along the Khimti river:
Let's start at the top, where the water flows in. Notice a few things here. First, there is no large dam blocking the flow of the river. There is a small crest (and all the rocks on the lower part of the picture are placed there - they are not naturally there). The intake is under the concrete wall in the centre of the picture. By doing it this way, the river does not die from lack of water and you avoid making large structures across it. I really, really wanted to fish along the concrete wall, as there were some nice ones swimming in the clear waters there! The picture is taken from a bridge, and you can see the bridge clearly in the next picture.
The water coming in carries lots of silt, sand and rocks with it.
These will wear down a turbine very swiftly, so you need to build some pools where the water can "rest" and get rid of most of the sediments. Again, this can be done either with the landscape or against it. Take a look! Here, the pools are lodged between hill and river, not obstructing the natural flow of the water and not forcing people to move away from farmlands or similar. It is very unobtrusive, and I quite like that. There is a tunnel through the hill behind the two small houses you can see here, and this leads down to a mountain-hall containing the turbines. The water-level is not too high as this picture was taken at the end of the wet-season. For the next 4-5 months, water-levels will fall and hopefully pick up again around May next year.
So the water flows through the tunnel, hitting the turbines with a pressure of 60 bar. The aim is to convert this pressure to energy, and to leave just enough energy in the water to let it just clear the turbines and drain away. This pressure increased the water-temperature, so some smart souls have started looking at building fish-farms using the water from the turbines! The temperature is ideal for that, apparently.
The water flows out into this river.
This is the Tama Koshi, and upstream of this there will be developments over the next few years. Along this river is a small village called Kirne, and this is where the workers in the plant are settled. Himal Power (my employer) has built a school, a clinic and a small sports-field for the local community. This ensures that there are good education and health-facilities around, and these are an important part of our CSR efforts.
All that aside, it is jawdroppingly beautiful there. Little prosperous homesteads dot the landscape, kids are playing (and they love the instant gratification of a digital camera), and people go about their business.
Note the lightpost behind the kids. The whole area is electrified and does not suffer the loadshedding endemic to the rest of the country. How? The hydro-powered generator used to provide power during construction has been handed over to the local community. With our support and their efforts, 3500 homes have been electrified and another 3500 will be added over the next 12 months. That is making a difference for these villages, and it sets them on the road to a singificant increase in their opportunities and their quality of life. It is hard not to feel inspired by seeing such clear progress on the ground - companies can make a difference for the better.
So here is what I found along the Khimti river:
Let's start at the top, where the water flows in. Notice a few things here. First, there is no large dam blocking the flow of the river. There is a small crest (and all the rocks on the lower part of the picture are placed there - they are not naturally there). The intake is under the concrete wall in the centre of the picture. By doing it this way, the river does not die from lack of water and you avoid making large structures across it. I really, really wanted to fish along the concrete wall, as there were some nice ones swimming in the clear waters there! The picture is taken from a bridge, and you can see the bridge clearly in the next picture.
The water coming in carries lots of silt, sand and rocks with it.
These will wear down a turbine very swiftly, so you need to build some pools where the water can "rest" and get rid of most of the sediments. Again, this can be done either with the landscape or against it. Take a look! Here, the pools are lodged between hill and river, not obstructing the natural flow of the water and not forcing people to move away from farmlands or similar. It is very unobtrusive, and I quite like that. There is a tunnel through the hill behind the two small houses you can see here, and this leads down to a mountain-hall containing the turbines. The water-level is not too high as this picture was taken at the end of the wet-season. For the next 4-5 months, water-levels will fall and hopefully pick up again around May next year.
So the water flows through the tunnel, hitting the turbines with a pressure of 60 bar. The aim is to convert this pressure to energy, and to leave just enough energy in the water to let it just clear the turbines and drain away. This pressure increased the water-temperature, so some smart souls have started looking at building fish-farms using the water from the turbines! The temperature is ideal for that, apparently.
The water flows out into this river.
This is the Tama Koshi, and upstream of this there will be developments over the next few years. Along this river is a small village called Kirne, and this is where the workers in the plant are settled. Himal Power (my employer) has built a school, a clinic and a small sports-field for the local community. This ensures that there are good education and health-facilities around, and these are an important part of our CSR efforts.All that aside, it is jawdroppingly beautiful there. Little prosperous homesteads dot the landscape, kids are playing (and they love the instant gratification of a digital camera), and people go about their business.
Note the lightpost behind the kids. The whole area is electrified and does not suffer the loadshedding endemic to the rest of the country. How? The hydro-powered generator used to provide power during construction has been handed over to the local community. With our support and their efforts, 3500 homes have been electrified and another 3500 will be added over the next 12 months. That is making a difference for these villages, and it sets them on the road to a singificant increase in their opportunities and their quality of life. It is hard not to feel inspired by seeing such clear progress on the ground - companies can make a difference for the better.
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