To trek or not to trek

To Trek or Not to Trek

From a tourist's point of view, Nepal doesn't have a whole lot going for it. Sure there are some nice historical buildings in the Katmandu area, but to see them you have to put up with the stench of Katmandu. The food doesn't hold a candle to Indian food. There are no important museums, to speak of. Unless you are into observing the local Hindu culture, and have access to it, you are left with only one thing, trekking. Nepal has the Himalayas, and that's what makes it unique. My theory that each country has only two things it does really well (China, food and circus; USA, movies and bombs) holds here, except Nepal does only one thing well, trekking. So the big question when you arrive here is, are you going to trek or not?
If you are going to trek, the question becomes, are you going to go alone, or are you going to have a guide? When you first arrive in Kathmandu, the tourist scouts will pick you out of a crowd in an instant, get you into their office and convince you that you need a guide for 60 dollars a day. That is a tremendous amount of money here to be sure, but their arguments are convincing, especially the ones about safety. Then you hear about and meet other people who just go it alone, after all, there are guide books that tell you basically where to go and what to do. There are people living back there, even guest houses. So the question becomes, to trek with a guide or to go it alone?
A point of clarification. What is trekking? It simply means walking for great distances . It doesn't mean mountain climbing, it doesn't mean rock climbing. Generally it means, walking on a path from point A to point B. Of course sometimes that path will go up and up and up for what seems forever over a large hill or even small mountain, but generally you are walking on a path. And generally there are people around, farmers, local villagers, trekking guest houses, or lodges. However, it is not always easy because invariably you come to that fork in the road, with no sign or marker, and you are stuck there making a choice, is this the path or is that the path? Maybe you have a good map, and maybe you are skilled at reading that map and working with a compass, but, maybe you aren't. If you are lucky you will see a local, and you mangle the name of your next location and they will point left or right, up or down. If you are unlucky, there will be no local, and you will take the wrong way and end up at the bottom of a ravine, jumping desperately off rocks and gambling your life that the questionable vine you are holding onto will not break, all in an effort to try to get back on the path and not have to backtrack. Thats what I did. That's when you wish you had hired a guide.
Personally, I'm not really fond of climbing steep mountain paths. It's hard work going up steep rocky paths for up to an hour at a time. The footing is often treacherous. It's often cold. There is a good likelihood of injury. Once you've gotten to the top, thoroughly exhausted, you are only halfway there. Walking down, while easier, in some respects, is more dangerous in others, because you have gravity pulling on you and your fragile, brittle joints. Nonetheless, I decided that I wouldn't be happy with my life unless I trekked. What would I say to people when they asked? "What? You went to Nepal and you didn't trek? What's wrong with you? What a loser." So I decided on the easiest trek possible without a guide, a 2 night 3 day trek that would skirt the Annapurna mountains.
It started in the city of Pokhara, a 9 hour bus ride west of Kathmandu. I asked around, consulted the guidebooks, pumped the trekking companies for information by pretending I wanted a guide, then charted my course. I would take a taxi down the valley to Pedi, and start by trekking up to Dampus. Dampus was a great place for viewing mountains. From there you had a front row seat to see 2 mountains over 8,000 meters high, among the highest top 14 mountains in the world. From there I would trek over to Kande, take a bus to Nuadarot, and hike from there to Sarangot. Stay over there and walk down the mountain to Pokhara. Easy, and no guide necessary. Well that was the plan anyway.
I took the 30 minute taxi ride out, looking uneasily out the window the whole time. It didn't look good. By the time I got out of the cab it was sprinkling. I started up the mountain. It was steps straight up as far as I could see. I climbed steadily for 30 minutes and the rain continued to increase. Finally I had to admit, this just wasn't working out. I passed a shack with a sign, "hot tea and coffee". I decided to stop and sit out the storm. An old farmer came out and I ordered a milk tea. His roof didn't leak too much. If I leaned
a bit this way and that I didn't get too wet. The man spoke English a bit. He told me he had worked as a bureaucrat and then retired to his birthplace and he loved it. "I am a natural man. 100% organic", he bragged. He was a very sweet old guy. He had a buffalo for milk, butter, to help him plow his fields, and he grew some veggies in his garden. He didn't need electricity or indoor plumbing. He gave me the grand tour of his home. It took about 2 minutes, only 2 rooms. I was impressed. "This is great", I exclaimed. "I want to live here like this. Can I move in with you"? He smiled, but answered seriously. "Yes that is possible. You can live with me. I will teach you. You will learn our ways in a while." I looked at him. He looked serious. I had been kidding but now it struck me that it was possibility. "If I move in, can I call you Dad?"
"Yes......Son,"he said laughing. We shook hands (but didn't embrace). It had finally stopped raining and I bid my second father goodbye and continued climbing for another 30 minutes. Just as I reached the top it started raining again. Luckily there was a sign in front of an old shack at the top, Best View Guest House. Hmmmmm...not in this weather I thought. I looked over to where the mountains were supposed to be. I could only see about 20 meters in front of me. There would be big trouble if i didn't have some major mountain viewing moments. I walked in and found a woman sitting before a small fire cooking. We made arrangements for me to rent the room for 200 rupees (about 3dollars). I took my things up the rickety ladder to the room. It was less than 4 stars, maybe 1/4th of a star. Looked like a closet with a wooden bed frame with a piece of foam on it, a sheet, and a blanket on it. There was no light but there was a window and the floor below was made up of planks with large gaps. Perfect!!!!!
It had stopped raining by now. I looked around. I found out later it was a Gurung village. The houses were mostly made out of wood and stone. By the time I got back the father and son were home. It was starting to get cold. The wife invited me in to sit by the fire. I watched her cook.It was fascinating. She made a perfect small fire by sticking in the ends of small sticks of wood. She controlled the size of the flame by pulling sticks in or out. The father came in with a large cistern containing about 8 litters. "Buffalo milk", he pronounced proudly. The first order of business was boiling the milk to purify it. She filled up a large wok-like pot and poured the liquid in. As it was heating we talked in broken English. He was a soldier, a Gurkah warrior, famous for their fierce fighting and uniquely shaped knives. He worked in India for 30 years and then retired back to his village at the age of 48. He then married a 16 year old girl and built this shack in his birthplace village. That was 13 years ago. He now had a 13 year old son who was extremely cute and sweet. He kept playing with his mothers hair all night, occasionally stopping to flash me a bright smile. I asked the man about the famous curved Gurkah knife. He smiled and opened a drawer and rummaged around a bit and then pulled out a rusty authentic Gurkah knife. I was impressed. I cradled it in my hands, pretending to cut off someones' head. He laughed and nodded. I held onto that knife that evening as we talked in front of the glowing cooking fire. I noticed the milk was getting ready to boil. I felt some apprehension. Did she see it? Where would she put the hot pot when it started boiling so it wouldn't overflow. They didn't seem to understand why I was concerned. Just then the milk started to boil. In one swift gesture she pulled all the sticks out from under and the milk settled down, just the opposite of what i would have done. Her way was much better. She put the milk off to the side to cool. That would later be used for yogurt, a lot of milk tea, and butter. She started cooking Dahl-bat, which seems to be what Nepalis eat at least once a day every day, sometimes 2 or 3 times. Dahl is a curried lentil soup and baht is rice. Also included in the national dish is some curried vegetable, maybe some pickled vegetable, and some sweet yogurt. All this is served with milk tea. The nice thing is you can get seconds and even 3rds on the Dahl and the vegetables. Initially they serve you with an enormous portion of rice that almost entirely takes the flat large metal flat plate they serve it on. After eating it was about 8 pm and without lights there wasn't a whole lot we could do. I was surprisingly tired. When was the last time I had fallen asleep at 8 pm? Hey what was in that buffalo yogurt anyway? I climbed up into my room and fell asleep without taking my clothes off. The problem with going to bed at 8 pm is that after 6 hours I woke up. It was 2 am. There was no electricity. What was I going to do for the next 4 hours? Wait. What was that on the floor? A shadow. A shadow. I swung open the wooden window. Cool silvery moonlight streamed in. I rushed out of the room to look out the back window. Standing there in naked pleasure were 2 of the most famous mountains, one of them an 8,000 meter peak, Anapurna. I wanted to go outside to look but I would have to wait till 5 am came along and they would open the door. I quickly got back under the covers, it was freezing out there.
I fell back asleep and woke up early when I heard them get up. I went down about 15 minutes later. I rushed out to look at the peaks. Gorgeous. They were outlined in white and seemed so far away yet incredibly detailed, with sprays of white escaping from some borders where the wind was gusting. Then I had to make a big decision, should I follow the Gourka husband around, or watch the sunrise. Hmmmmmm. Toughie. I decided on the sunrise. It was spectacular, with the colors spreading and changing every second. I probably took 50 pictures. As I can back, winded from my peak experience, the husband was trudging back lugging a milk container. He went ahead of me into the cooking room and set it down. "buffalo milk", he smiled. Damn. Damn. I had missed the milking of the buffalo. I had really wanted to see that and maybe even give it a squirt. We went in for some milk tea. As we sat down to drink, the husbands cell phone rang. Tragically, his father had died in the night. We were all stunned. Finally I said, "I'm sorry for your loss." He looked me squarely and nodded. "don't speak of it," he said in a hushed voice and went back to his tea. He had to go the the funeral in the city. He told me the family couldn't eat any salt for 24 hours. All they could do was drink milk tea. We set off at the same time, he down, me to the west. I followed the path for awhile until it came to a Y. I looked around and saw no signs or pointers. I didn't know what to and was about to walk back to the last village when 2 older woman walked by."Kande", I said the name of my destination. They nodded and pointed. They were going the same direction. Each was carrying an empty bamboo woven bask by means of a strap around their forehead. I motioned to one of them and she laughed and nodded. In a few moments I was carrying her basket on my forehead. It was empty but I was surprised how heavy it was and how strange it felt to be carrying it with my neck muscles. I couldn't imagine carrying a full one. These Nepali women were strong. The women took up a nearby path. It was different from the path I had been on. "maybe it's a shortcut I thought optimistically." I walked with effort (remember my neck) for about 5 minutes and then the women stopped. They indicated that they would take the right fork that had suddenly appeared, and I would take the left fork. Alone. I tried to ask them if the path was clear and they gave me that maddening wagging gesture which in this case I interpreted as, I was probably never going to see civilisation again. They further illustrated that with a gesture that on a better day would have been razor straight but today looked more like a fish swimming upstream. Then they were gone and I was alone. Really alone.
I bravely forged onwards. It wasn't 3 minutes before there was another fork in the road. I didn't have a clue. I became a famous tracker and looked on each trail for signs. Yes, a fat Chinese man had walked on this path 6 months ago. He had 3 children, one who played the piano well......but. so much for fanatsies. Neither path looked like it had been used for a long time. I choose the right path because it was right. Wrong. I came to another fork, and chose right again. Wrong. That led to a ravine. The bright side was that at the bottom of the ravine there was a river, rivers usually lead to civilisation, eventually. . The dark side was that the ravine looked impossible to get down. "Hiker missing for the 9th day", flashed across my mind. I slid down to where the rocks started. I searched for footholds. There were none. Famous last words,"but there was a vine that looked like it would hold me" I could rappel down I thought dangerously. I grabbed the tree vine tightly and started down, (like I had seen hundreds of times on tv). Deviously, the vine waited until I was halfway down before it let go of the Earth. We fell the remaining 6 feet together, and to add insult to (literally) injury, the vine fell on top, scraping my face. That's using your (not head) ass, man. I picked myself up and dusted off, kicking the vine viscously, ouch. Amazingly there were no major problems with my clothes or body. The river was reachable, I started down. This was more like it. I walked down until reached the bottom of the valley. I could see a trail. It was way up on the next mountain ridge. I saw some buffalo walking on it. I headed up that way. That meant climbing up again to the terraced rice paddies. Most of them were pretty dry, they were waiting for the monsoons. As I headed up, I ran into a farmer. He was in the middle of repairing his plough. The blade had slipped out of the yoke. The farmer patiently cut a new wedge to secure it. It was fascinating watching him work. He didn't seem to mind at all. In no time he had whittled the pieces. I mentioned the name of my destination and he smiled and pointed up and to the left. Walking up, I had to go through many many dry rice terraces. Farmers and people were surprised to see me, but friendly. It was easy to bring my folded hands to my forehead and say ,"namaste". If there was a child around the mother would usually nudge the kid to namaste me or maybe they to get him to say "hello" or even shake my hand. The paddies themselves were like giant works of art. Like monster pods, the edges were built up painstakingly from rocks laying around with a small moveable damn for when the monsoons came, the water would trickle down. Up and up I went, passing farmers, goats, buffalo until finally I hit the top of the ridge, which was a large trail, large enough for a car to travel down. I asked the way to Kande and they pointed right, to Naudarot, they pointed left. I had walked halfway to the second city through the forest, the hard way. Now that I was on the main trail again, travel was easy, just like walking up a flat riverbed. The way was also dotted with villages along the way. So it was a few structures, then 100 meters of just farms, then a few more structures. This was fun. Each small village seemed a little different, had it's own character, or had something going on. Also this path was somewhat better traveled than the path I carved out through the wilds, so people were not so surprised to see a tourist. The first one I came to there were about 20 men sitting on the floor of an unfinished concrete house. The men were chanting away, burning incense, and a fire, and blowing a big white conch. I couldn't imagine what was going on. I hung around watching for a while until a teenage boy who spoke English and wanted to practice came over and told me the people were moving into a new house so they were having a puja or religious ceremony for that. The entire village joined in, kids even staying home from school for that. I trudged on and came to another village. An older man invited me to sit down and have some milktea. We had a nice conversation for a few minutes as I watched some women in the background fetching some water from a tap that was built into the bottom of some concrete steps. They used the same metal water container that looked like a large metal milk can that I had seen all over Nepal. Here however, they didn't carry it on their hips like in the other places i had seen, but put it in a basket and used a rope to strap that basket to their foreheads. That was interesting. I asked the man if he thought the women would mind if I took their picture. He invited me to do just that. I walked over to where they were loading up. They smiled broadly and openly to me. They were beautiful happy people. I snapped some pictures. They were so friendly that I had the idea that I wanted to try to carry the water like they did. They all broke out laughing and clapped and wanted to see me try. I bent down and they fixed the strap around my neck. Then I tried to stand up but nothing happened. It didn't budge. It was too heavy. Laughing, the woman whose load I was carrying came over and helped me boost it up onto my back. I finally got it up there. I couldn't believe how heavy it was. Everyone was laughing as I followed the woman to her house. Along the way, I increased the hilarity by moaning and complaining loudly along the way. About halfway there, the strap slipped down off my forehead, around my neck. It wasn't really dangerous, as I pulled the straps on the sides to take the pressure off. While this was happening though, in pretended to be choking, sticking my tongue out and making choking sounds. I was becoming a pretty good slapstick comedienne. After we reached her house and I set the water down, I stayed in character, walking away twisting and rubbing my neck. The laughter followed me down the road.
There was another blank spot and then up the road another adventure. Each village I entered, I imagined I was the gunslinger entering a western village in the old West. Everyone, straining their necks to see what the stagecoach had brought in. I passed a simple house and looked up and saw a pretty woman smiling at me. I smiled back automatically. We both turned away in embarrassment then turned back and looked again. "Come here, up here '" she stammered. "ok" and I did. There were 2 girls up there. Mitra, 19, and her sister Bimole. They were in the process of cleaning their house in a way I had never seen before They were spreading mud on it. They had taken everything out and in a large bowl, had mixed some clay from a nearby field with water and using that to paint the house. I guess it was a kind of re-sealing process. Needless to say, I had never seen anything quite like that before. The girls were very friendly and also quite shy at the same time. The older one, Mitra, blushed often, surprised perhaps by her boldness. Their father had died from TB a few years ago, and they lived with their mother and brother in this 2 room adobe house. They cooked outside on the porch. They had an outhouse. There was no indoor plumbing, but water was available at numerous water taps along the ridge. I found it fascinating to watch what they were doing. They seemed like regular girls that you might meet anywhere, at the mall for example, but at the same time, here they were painting a house, fetching water, cooking a delicious meal using sticks of wood as fuel, cleaning pots and pans with a stone. We had a nice time together, they as curious about me as I was them. After just 15 minutes, Mitra spoke up, "Stay with us tonight." The invitation caught me by surprise. Then i thought about it for a minute and decided, Why not? I had everything I needed. No one was waiting for me. I had time. I was a little afraid I would be cold but they assured me I would be ok. I looked in the room where in would sleep. It looked dark and dank in there. There were 2 beds , a large and a small one. You sleep in here with my brother. Me and Mitra and my mom will sleep in the other room, which had one large bed. I tested the mattress. It was a board.
Once I decided to stay there everything changed. I put my things away and planted myself on the porch and just watched. The girls were finishing up the mud painting. I helped them move things back in the house. It was about 5:30 pm by then and starting to get dark. They started cooking. The stove was just a hole in the ledge on the one side of the porch. They had a grill set up over it and starting the fire quickly with some plastic and kindling. Quickly and expertly, they washed a large bowl of rice and got it cooking in minutes. They prepared the dahl or lentil soup while the rice was cooking using a pressure cooker. In about 15 minutes they had that going and started on the curry which consisted of cauliflower and potatoes. They threw in some oil made from the flowers growing in the nearby fields, salt, and some mystery spices. Cooking took a long time, about an hour and a half. I watched how they did things with interest; holding things with their feet, minutely adjusting the fire to adjust the temperature, peel the potatoes and cut them by using a device that consisted of a blade held up at a 45 degree angle on a piece of wood and slicking downward on this without having to hold onto the knife. It was like these girls lived in 2 different worlds, one modern and one prehistoric. Sitting on the porch there with them was like going back in time. I felt like we were camping, but this was their life, not a camping trip. Once I adjusted mentally to the fact that it was like camping, it became a lot easier, even fun. After all, I love camping; making fires, sitting on the ground, sleeping out in nature. That's what it was like. As they cooked various people of the village walked by and of course everyone noticed. It created no small stir I'm sure, but I felt also that people accepted me as well. Her mother had a small store in the center of the village about 100 meters away. Bimole and I walked down to meet her. She was very nice and beautiful. I could see where the girls got their good looks. She wore a brilliant blue shawl and a colorful red sari. The girls wore loose fitting Nepali pantaloons and jackets. It was getting a bit nippy up there. Her uncle lived another 50 meters down the path. They had a house with electricity and batteries for when the power shut off, which happened frequently. Being in that house felt almost like being in a real home, except that all the bulbs were blaring without shades and the floors were hard packed earth. I couldn't understand why one part of the family lived with and one without electricity, but they just said they liked it like that, didn't need it. Her younger cousin was a boy of about 10. He became my buddy as he was eager to interact with me. Walking back to the house, we passed a large clump of bamboo trees that was filled with invisible birds. They were making an incredibly loud symphony of sound. It sounded like there were 1000 singing birds in there. I listened in amazement. "Watch this", said the boy. He bent down and picked up a stone and threw it into the lower branches. It went into the clump and hit one with a thud. The birds were instantly silent. It was like someone had suddenly turned the volume off. Then in about 20 seconds they started up again. Cool. What a fun thing to know about. I tried it. It worked. Fascinating. I tried it again and again. The boy was pleased by my delight. Walking up and down the path between the girls house and the rest of the village,I saw many cool things. All of the women came out to get water at the well. It was fun to watch. They stood around waiting and as they did they chatted amicably. Nepali Facebook. Sure indoor plumbing is a great convenience, but I think so much is lost in the way of community connection, conservation and respect for a valuable resource, and connection to nature. I know that you won't waste water if you have to carry it home. Water is heavy. Everyday they started out with a milk jug full of water and they used that for all their needs. The water was right from the earth, sparkling fresh and cool. It seemed so simple and natural.
Walking around the small village, it seemed like I got to meet everyone in ashort time. It seemed like a good time to play a song on my saxophone. I set up outside the mother's store and let loose. Many people crowded around, never having heard something like that. Some seemed to like it, most were transfixed but didn't show pleasure or a reaction, and a few seemed to not like it and walked away. Just towards the end of my song, we heard the rumblings of a different kind of music. Someone in the next village was getting marriage and they were marching to nearby villages to shae their good news. A raucous wedding band made up of 3 or 4 drums, trumpets, a clarinet, some tubas and some long tubelike instruments that looked like they belonged in a Dr. Suess book, marched by. Their music was wild and energetic. For fun I tried to follow the clarinetist as he produced streams of sound. The marching never stopped but they waved as they went by. I played another song for "my" village. At the end a crowd of about 15 people just stood there and stared at me. The silence was awkward. I looked right at them and then in exaggerated slow motion, I clapped once. They finally joined me and started smiling. I pantomimed, great relief, and then started asking specific people if they liked my music by making a thumbs up sign and then pointing to myself. If they gave me a thumbs up back I tried to get them to high-five me and if wouldn't do that, I would point to them back with thumbs up. If they just wagged their heads I would wag along and pantomime something funny to the audience like "he doesn't know....I don't care". If someone gave me no response I would either pantomime cry or point and give them a down thumb. It was especially rewarding to get the old toothless grandma who may have been the village elder to high five me. Then she gave me a big black and white grin that was wonderful. Everyone enjoyed that.
By the time I got back to the house, it was starting to get seriously dark. That meant it was time to eat. The girls served up the food and mom and big brother showed up just in time. The food was served on an enormous metal dish with raised sides called a thali. The girls spooned enormous amounts of rice in the middle, then poured on about a cup of the lentil soup. The curried cauliflower and potatoes was served on the side of the rice. They were considerate enough to give me a spoon though they all ate with their hands. I feel comfortable eating with my hands, but not when my hands have been so dirty. They served me first and then out of courtesy I waited for everyone to be served. The mother however interpreted this as me not knowing how to mix everything up, so she helpfully stuck her fat hand into my plate and my rice and started gumming everything together. Yuck. Who knows where those hands had been (carrying manure?), so I wasn't too thrilled by that move, but there was nothing I could do. I just ate it and hoped didn't get too sick. It was delicious. Amazing that they could do that with the tools they had.
We all sat on the dirt floor and ate our Dahl-bahts. As we did, the sun went down and it started to get cold. The stars came out brightly and the birds from the bamboo clump stopped singing. At first I felt uncomfortable sitting on the floor, and not having lights on. Then I reminded myself, "hey it's camping. I love camping, especially the playing with the fire part. I sat next to the fire and started playing with it. The mother asked me if I was cold. I looked around. The girls didn't seem to be cold even though they were wearing flimsy Nepali pantaloons. I had to admit that I was. With a deft stroke of one of the sticks, she spread the ashes out in a circle between all of us. The heat radiated up nicely and i felt warmed up. A neat trick. Also it was beautiful to look at the undulating embers all spread out like a galaxy in front of us. Were we gods? Is this how the gods felt? After we had all eaten our fill, the girls put the dishes aside to soak (just like I do at home). It was all of 8 o'clock by then and with no electricity and only a bit of mutually intelligent language between us, I wondered what we would do now. I had the idea to sing. I would sing an American song, and they a Nepali song. I went first and sang a rousing rendition of "I've been Working on the Railroad". I think they especially were moved by the "fee fi fiddle I-O portion. Everyone except Bimol refused to sing. She sang a sweet Nepali folksong. Her voice was small but clear. I enjoyed it. That took about 30 minutes. Now it was 830 pm and I was feeling very tired. It had been a long day. Everyone else seemed tired too. That's village life i guess, go to bed with the sun. They had told me that I would be sleeping with the brother Laxshum. I had feared we would be in the same actual bed together, hugging each other for warmth, but it wasn't like that at all. We merely slept in the same room. I had my own bed. It wasn't long before we were all in bed. I might of wished after a few hours that I had been in the same bed with her brother, because it was cold. The mattress (really a board) was hard and the blanket way too thin. I fell asleep off and on, but every time I woke up, my feet were cold. I even went so far as to
put gloves on my feet. That may have been the longest night of my life. Finally, it was 530 a.m. and I heard someone get up. That was my cue. I got up too and looked around. It was the mother. I decided to follow her. She went down to the water tap and got in line with the others. I showed up a minute later. Everyone gave me the namaste sign, or nodded or waved. It was very friendly for 530 am. I hung around for awhile, then went back to the house. The girls were up again and Mitra was starting the fire for lunch. They didn't eat breakfast, just milk tea. I sat around the fire and had a bunch of tea with the girls, and played with the fire as the sky caught up to us.
I went to school with Bimole. I talked to her English class. They understood me fine, but were a bit too shy to ask me questions. I asked them to comment on the saying, " The best things in life are free." they all strongly disagreed with that. "oh no, sir. The best things are very expensive, like iPods, cell phones, and tickets to your country." In a country where money is hard to come by, luxuries seemed impossibly far away. I challenged them, "which is better, a parents love, or a tv. "They had to agree with me. "the fresh water you get everyday from the spring, or an ipod?" In the end they all agreed with me, and I tried to make them appreciate the incredible beauty that existed in their midst, in their lives. Really it was stunning. "Nepal is a great country. You have the Himalayas and amazingly beautiful village life" when I left, they all held their heads a little higher I think. I went back to the house and watched Mitra cook. She served me lunch around 11 am. It was the same menu as the night before, and also very delicious. I felt like I was in a dream world, which was rapidly ending. It was time to go. I wanted to play in more villages along the way to Sarangot. I said goodbye to everyone and as I walked through the village for the last time, it felt like a farewell parade. Everyone was smiling, waving goodbye. I mentioned to Bimole, who I saw as she walked home for lunch, that I wanted to live here in Kashikote Molla and without hesitation she said, "if you do, you stay with us. You are my new big brother". I was touched. I had a new little Nepali sister!
I kept walking and stopping and playing until the last bus came at 4 pm. I got on and road to Sarangot, which was much more developed, and found a guest house. My mini- trek was almost over. The next morning, I hiked down the steep trail for 2 hours to Pokhara. As I went I noticed that there were many paragliders, jumping off the mountain side in Sarangot. It was the Nepali International Paragliders competition. I watched them swoop around as I went down. Paragliding was cool. Climbing up and down mountain trails was fun, but for me it was the people that I met along the way that made my mini-trek unforgettable.