The Last Chapter
It is now three weeks since I returned from Nepal. Three weeks, a weekend trip to Beijing, a week-long trip to The Netherlands for work and lots of catching up with friends, work and chores. Yet, Nepal, or to be more precise, the people I met there, are still with me.
I run out of all -but -one-story to tell of my time there. And I have been resisting telling it. It is about my walk down the mountain from Bigu and on to Kathmandu. For the last two weeks I have been telling myself to go write it and every day I find reasons not to: the story is told and done with no need for the last walk, I need to move on to China stories, I am too busy, too tired, not inspired enough, need to do "real" work, I can't remember those two days clearly...Deep down I know that I don't want to write about that last walk because it signifies an ending, the close of a chapter that I am reluctant to close.
But last night, at 3am, in my very lucid jet lag sleeplessness, I realised that closing the chapter does not mean I have to close my heart to Nepal or to the little nuns. I realised too that I do need to close this Nepal story, to enable me to start on another thread, perhaps China, perhaps something else. I'll only know where my imagination takes me once I release this last part of my trip to the Nepal Himalayas.
So here it is....
Leaving Bigu Behind
On my last night at Bigu Gumpa, I lay for hours, wide awake, in my sleeping bag. I was wondering if I should just change my mind and stay a few more days. I was thinking of all the little nuns' faces; their innocence and mischievousness. I was grateful for the hospitality of the head nun, the warmth of Nwang, the head teacher, and her tangy fresh lemonade which we drank in front of her room by her beautiful sweet peas and the belly- filling kindness of the cook with the big smile and sadness behind the eyes.
I looked around the room in the darkness. A tiny cell with two cots, two tiny windows letting in the star light. I got up, padded quietly outside and stood on the narrow wooden balcony. The night chill gave a caress to my exposed face and then seeped through my thin sleeping clothes. I ignored it and breathed in the mountain breeze. I looked up at the sky canopy and gasped. Zillions of stars clamoured for space in the vast dome above the mighty mountains. They twinkled like precious brilliant diamonds. There were so many that my eyes could not decipher the space between them. I tried to find the most brilliant ones and looked at them in awe. The moon, half crescent, played shadows with the stupas and the gently fluttering prayer flags in the square below me. The door to the monastery temple was closed. All I could hear was the sound of profound silence and I fancied that the energy around me was gently vibrating with peace, generated by the soul waves of all the sleeping nuns. I asked myself to store this feeling for times of trouble and I returned to my bed refreshed, feeling safe, peaceful and very alive.
I am not sure if I slept at all that night, but by the time I got up I felt positively energised. I waited for the 4am morning puja conch to boooooo its way around the valley and bounce off the high peaks and I smiled at the predictable outraged barking of the dogs.
At 6.30am the nuns took a break from their puja to say goodbye to us. They came out into the morning light and we all posed for group photos and hugged. Robin and I had to promise again and again that we would go back: "Come back miss", "Miss coming back, please miss", "When you coming back miss?" It was hard to hold back the tears of both happiness, for having the precious opportunity to experience such love and acceptance and of sadness, for living them behind. Would I return? I wasn't sure I knew how to answer that question.
The head nun and the visiting monk presented us with long white long Buddhist friendship scarves, wishing us safe travels and good speed. With a large entourage of nuns we walked to the monastery gate.
One step over the threshold and we were on the wide mountain slope. We looked back, with tears in our eyes and smiles on our lips, at the waving nuns until we couldn't see them any more.
With Spring in our Steps
The mood changed. We were on our way back. Robin was chattering, telling me stories from her intriguing life. I was grateful for that. We were both wary of the walk back and this was keeping our minds off the road. I was also grateful for the trust that she was placing in me and felt privileged for the intimacy. Our experiences here cut through the niceties and pre-ambles of new friendships and created a closeness that I hope will last a lifetime and will override geography and time differences.
The morning air was fresh and soon we were walking through a pine forest that strangely reminded me of the Ionian Islands, so much so, that though absurd, every time the trees opened up a little to offer views of the valley below, I was expecting to see the Greek blue sea, dotted with white sails sliding across it. The smell of fresh pine was invigorating and the carpet of thick brown pine needles cushioned our steps.
There were four of us. Robin and me, Tashi and our new porter, Gopal, a twenty three year old stroppy youth, that shouldered my heavy backpack. We were walking downhill at a steadily fast pace, knowing that after an hour or so we would hit a very steep relentless upward slope, which would last for at least 3 hours and would take us back to the plateau at 3,300 feet.
Through our laboured breathing and the weight of our backpacks, we carried on talking, as we started our steep upward climb. My admiration goes completely to Robin who opted for carrying her own bag, whilst Gopal carried my heavy load as if in a breeze in the park!
Soon we were stopping for photos. In the week that had passed since my descend on this road on the way to Bigu, the mountain slopes and deep crevices had bloomed riotously. Giant white magnolias, red, pink and white rhododendrons and a sweet smelling purple bush with a strong sweet aroma reminiscent of lilacs, delighted our senses. We were lucky that the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the cool mountain breeze gently trailed our skins, bringing relief from the heat we were generating in the effort of walking uphill.
At a beautiful roadside waterfall we stopped for photos. My crazy American companion shed her shoes and top and stood under the cold freezing water cascades, whilst I enviously looked on, the shackles of sensibility (yes, sometimes I am sensible...no heckles please!) keeping me dry. Next time, Robin, I am joining you!
When a silence descended, each in our thoughts, walking at our pace, I alternated admiring the views with hatching plots again on how to ambush Tashi and minimise our time at our lunch stop, the dreaded 3,300m inn. I felt like Baldrick, with a cunning plan, in Black Adder. I wanted us to stop only very shortly at the dreaded high inn, so that we could walk on to the Photang Shaman's house early enough for me to suggest that we should push on to Sunil's house. Sunil's house, was only three hours away from the bus to Kathmandu, whilst the Shaman's was six hours away. I wanted an easier day's walk to the bus the next day. Besides, Sunil's house was cleaner than the Shaman's. Robin agreed with me, but I still had to reckon with Tashi.
Eyes Locked at 3,300m
After four hours we were at the inn at 3,300m, where the toddler was more benignly behaved than at my last visit. The lady welcomed us with large smiles.
Sitting at the hearth waiting for my instant noodles soup, I felt watched. I turned my head to the right and through the doorway of the kitchen, across the narrow hall corridor and past the threshold to the bedroom, my eyes locked with those of the inn keeper's husband. He was sitting up in bed and was staring at me. I met his gaze unflinchingly. I am not sure what the stares were really about. But it felt like a combat of sorts. A combat of wills? A measuring of strength of opponents, waiting for a gauntlet to be thrown? Perhaps we had met in a previous life with scores to settle. Or maybe, he was just responding to my "watch out dude, you don't fool me, nor do you scare me" vibes. He got out of bed, put his pants on and walked outside.
We slurped our noodles and 45 minutes later we were on the road again.
Down the Long Slope
From this point on it was a continuous descend. You might think, like I did, that this would be good after the hard climb. Well, it did feel good. Letting gravity take its toll, speeding as fast as my legs would allow, I slowed down the momentum that would have had me tumbling down the mountain in a heap, by applying 3 break systems: holding my body backwards as parallel to the decline as possible, controlling the angle of my knees and applying pressure with my toes. I left Tashi, Robin and Gopal behind, taking pride in my manic speed, even though I knew I would pay for it with knee pain and toe blisters. Yet, the exhilaration was great and at that point, and fool that I am, I was prepared to pay the price.
Eventually, my pace evened out and Robin, Tashi and I played a game of taking the lead, being overtaken and catching up to put the worlds to rights on issues ranging from the environment to NGOs and our futures. We walked at our own speeds, stopping to check if the others were ok, to chat and then moving on again.
We still stopped on the way to make photos of children and flowers, Robin dispensed her English children's books and gracious love at both young humans and young sheep and goats.
There was fun and there was intimacy and there was soltude on that walk. The mountains and the flowers brightened the spirit. The children and young animals seemed hopeful. There was spaciousness and a special energy that talked directly to your soul.
By the time we were approaching the Shaman's house in Photend, we were all tired with weary legs, so when I said: "We'll be at the Shaman's by three. If we have a break and are on our way by 3.30, we'll make it to Sunil's by 6.30, just before nightfall", Tashi stiffened. Robin looked from him to me, trapped between our wills. I steeled myself for a confrontation.
As it happened, no confrontation was necessary. Close by the Shaman's we were greeted by loud socialising coming from the kitchen and a tall, shaggy haired German in a loose shirt, opened to his navel, revealing a long necklace of thick beads. Aha! A Shaman-to-be, I thought remembering Tashi's information about the German group wanting to learn Shamanism, on our way up the mountain. "You comin' from up ze mountain? Brave legz". I was delighted! Tashi would definitely not want to stay around drugs and god -knows -what -other- imagined and real depravities.
We sat on the low wall in front of the house and unlike last time I was here, no one bothered to come and greet us. Nepali guides, both women and men, flitted self-importantly past us completely ignoring us. We could hear the voices of foreigners laughing and mingling with home grown accents and we caught the occasional glimpse of a blond woman in a wooly hat and a strappy tank top, tightly fitted around her heavy breasts.
Finally, the Shaman's wife, came out to replenish the jugs of rakshi, the frothy alcoholic drink favoured in these parts. Tashi and she exchanged a few words and soon we were on our way again, looking at three more hours of leg- numbing, mind- bending walking.
Part of me was intrigued by the foreigners at the Shaman's and as we walked away I wondered a few times if we should have stayed. Might have made for interesting stories.
The mood now was glum, everyone in their own world, weary and fed up. Tashi was trying and failing to ring Sunil by phone, worrying if he and his wife might not be there. I was feeling alternately guilty and defiant for making everyone walk the extra hours to Sunil's house, but mostly I didn't care. I was happy to be moving on.
The macho stomping down the mountain finally caught up with me to collect its toll on my, by now sore toes, and the shortcuts became steeper playing havoc with my fear of falling. I was thankful to Tashi for his kind consideration and helping hand with getting down the sometimes vertical steps.
On and on we went, trying to keep up with the changing light that would soon fade. We passed more houses and more villagers, more often than higher up. The terraces were now planted with the luscious lime green of spring wheat and corn. The sun that had caught up with us after the Shaman's house was shedding orange hues across the houses and in the yards people were gathering to rest and chat with their neighbours after a hard day's toiling in the fields. The mountain peaks were gradually casting their shadows and a chill was starting to surf the atmosphere.
And three and half hours later, at 6.30pm, just as the light was being replaced by a purple grey dusk, we arrived at Sunil's.
Eleven hours after leaving Bigu, our new hosts, Sunil and his wife, graciously welcomed us.
The final walk to the bus bound for Kathmandu to follow....
It is now three weeks since I returned from Nepal. Three weeks, a weekend trip to Beijing, a week-long trip to The Netherlands for work and lots of catching up with friends, work and chores. Yet, Nepal, or to be more precise, the people I met there, are still with me.
I run out of all -but -one-story to tell of my time there. And I have been resisting telling it. It is about my walk down the mountain from Bigu and on to Kathmandu. For the last two weeks I have been telling myself to go write it and every day I find reasons not to: the story is told and done with no need for the last walk, I need to move on to China stories, I am too busy, too tired, not inspired enough, need to do "real" work, I can't remember those two days clearly...Deep down I know that I don't want to write about that last walk because it signifies an ending, the close of a chapter that I am reluctant to close.
But last night, at 3am, in my very lucid jet lag sleeplessness, I realised that closing the chapter does not mean I have to close my heart to Nepal or to the little nuns. I realised too that I do need to close this Nepal story, to enable me to start on another thread, perhaps China, perhaps something else. I'll only know where my imagination takes me once I release this last part of my trip to the Nepal Himalayas.
So here it is....
Leaving Bigu Behind
On my last night at Bigu Gumpa, I lay for hours, wide awake, in my sleeping bag. I was wondering if I should just change my mind and stay a few more days. I was thinking of all the little nuns' faces; their innocence and mischievousness. I was grateful for the hospitality of the head nun, the warmth of Nwang, the head teacher, and her tangy fresh lemonade which we drank in front of her room by her beautiful sweet peas and the belly- filling kindness of the cook with the big smile and sadness behind the eyes.
I looked around the room in the darkness. A tiny cell with two cots, two tiny windows letting in the star light. I got up, padded quietly outside and stood on the narrow wooden balcony. The night chill gave a caress to my exposed face and then seeped through my thin sleeping clothes. I ignored it and breathed in the mountain breeze. I looked up at the sky canopy and gasped. Zillions of stars clamoured for space in the vast dome above the mighty mountains. They twinkled like precious brilliant diamonds. There were so many that my eyes could not decipher the space between them. I tried to find the most brilliant ones and looked at them in awe. The moon, half crescent, played shadows with the stupas and the gently fluttering prayer flags in the square below me. The door to the monastery temple was closed. All I could hear was the sound of profound silence and I fancied that the energy around me was gently vibrating with peace, generated by the soul waves of all the sleeping nuns. I asked myself to store this feeling for times of trouble and I returned to my bed refreshed, feeling safe, peaceful and very alive.
I am not sure if I slept at all that night, but by the time I got up I felt positively energised. I waited for the 4am morning puja conch to boooooo its way around the valley and bounce off the high peaks and I smiled at the predictable outraged barking of the dogs.
The head nun and the visiting monk presented us with long white long Buddhist friendship scarves, wishing us safe travels and good speed. With a large entourage of nuns we walked to the monastery gate.One step over the threshold and we were on the wide mountain slope. We looked back, with tears in our eyes and smiles on our lips, at the waving nuns until we couldn't see them any more.
With Spring in our Steps
The mood changed. We were on our way back. Robin was chattering, telling me stories from her intriguing life. I was grateful for that. We were both wary of the walk back and this was keeping our minds off the road. I was also grateful for the trust that she was placing in me and felt privileged for the intimacy. Our experiences here cut through the niceties and pre-ambles of new friendships and created a closeness that I hope will last a lifetime and will override geography and time differences.
The morning air was fresh and soon we were walking through a pine forest that strangely reminded me of the Ionian Islands, so much so, that though absurd, every time the trees opened up a little to offer views of the valley below, I was expecting to see the Greek blue sea, dotted with white sails sliding across it. The smell of fresh pine was invigorating and the carpet of thick brown pine needles cushioned our steps.
There were four of us. Robin and me, Tashi and our new porter, Gopal, a twenty three year old stroppy youth, that shouldered my heavy backpack. We were walking downhill at a steadily fast pace, knowing that after an hour or so we would hit a very steep relentless upward slope, which would last for at least 3 hours and would take us back to the plateau at 3,300 feet.
Through our laboured breathing and the weight of our backpacks, we carried on talking, as we started our steep upward climb. My admiration goes completely to Robin who opted for carrying her own bag, whilst Gopal carried my heavy load as if in a breeze in the park!
Soon we were stopping for photos. In the week that had passed since my descend on this road on the way to Bigu, the mountain slopes and deep crevices had bloomed riotously. Giant white magnolias, red, pink and white rhododendrons and a sweet smelling purple bush with a strong sweet aroma reminiscent of lilacs, delighted our senses. We were lucky that the sun was hiding behind the clouds and the cool mountain breeze gently trailed our skins, bringing relief from the heat we were generating in the effort of walking uphill.
At a beautiful roadside waterfall we stopped for photos. My crazy American companion shed her shoes and top and stood under the cold freezing water cascades, whilst I enviously looked on, the shackles of sensibility (yes, sometimes I am sensible...no heckles please!) keeping me dry. Next time, Robin, I am joining you!
When a silence descended, each in our thoughts, walking at our pace, I alternated admiring the views with hatching plots again on how to ambush Tashi and minimise our time at our lunch stop, the dreaded 3,300m inn. I felt like Baldrick, with a cunning plan, in Black Adder. I wanted us to stop only very shortly at the dreaded high inn, so that we could walk on to the Photang Shaman's house early enough for me to suggest that we should push on to Sunil's house. Sunil's house, was only three hours away from the bus to Kathmandu, whilst the Shaman's was six hours away. I wanted an easier day's walk to the bus the next day. Besides, Sunil's house was cleaner than the Shaman's. Robin agreed with me, but I still had to reckon with Tashi.
Eyes Locked at 3,300m
After four hours we were at the inn at 3,300m, where the toddler was more benignly behaved than at my last visit. The lady welcomed us with large smiles.
Sitting at the hearth waiting for my instant noodles soup, I felt watched. I turned my head to the right and through the doorway of the kitchen, across the narrow hall corridor and past the threshold to the bedroom, my eyes locked with those of the inn keeper's husband. He was sitting up in bed and was staring at me. I met his gaze unflinchingly. I am not sure what the stares were really about. But it felt like a combat of sorts. A combat of wills? A measuring of strength of opponents, waiting for a gauntlet to be thrown? Perhaps we had met in a previous life with scores to settle. Or maybe, he was just responding to my "watch out dude, you don't fool me, nor do you scare me" vibes. He got out of bed, put his pants on and walked outside.
We slurped our noodles and 45 minutes later we were on the road again.
Down the Long Slope
From this point on it was a continuous descend. You might think, like I did, that this would be good after the hard climb. Well, it did feel good. Letting gravity take its toll, speeding as fast as my legs would allow, I slowed down the momentum that would have had me tumbling down the mountain in a heap, by applying 3 break systems: holding my body backwards as parallel to the decline as possible, controlling the angle of my knees and applying pressure with my toes. I left Tashi, Robin and Gopal behind, taking pride in my manic speed, even though I knew I would pay for it with knee pain and toe blisters. Yet, the exhilaration was great and at that point, and fool that I am, I was prepared to pay the price.
Eventually, my pace evened out and Robin, Tashi and I played a game of taking the lead, being overtaken and catching up to put the worlds to rights on issues ranging from the environment to NGOs and our futures. We walked at our own speeds, stopping to check if the others were ok, to chat and then moving on again.
We still stopped on the way to make photos of children and flowers, Robin dispensed her English children's books and gracious love at both young humans and young sheep and goats.
There was fun and there was intimacy and there was soltude on that walk. The mountains and the flowers brightened the spirit. The children and young animals seemed hopeful. There was spaciousness and a special energy that talked directly to your soul.
By the time we were approaching the Shaman's house in Photend, we were all tired with weary legs, so when I said: "We'll be at the Shaman's by three. If we have a break and are on our way by 3.30, we'll make it to Sunil's by 6.30, just before nightfall", Tashi stiffened. Robin looked from him to me, trapped between our wills. I steeled myself for a confrontation.
 |
| The flags approaching the Shaman's house |
We sat on the low wall in front of the house and unlike last time I was here, no one bothered to come and greet us. Nepali guides, both women and men, flitted self-importantly past us completely ignoring us. We could hear the voices of foreigners laughing and mingling with home grown accents and we caught the occasional glimpse of a blond woman in a wooly hat and a strappy tank top, tightly fitted around her heavy breasts.
Finally, the Shaman's wife, came out to replenish the jugs of rakshi, the frothy alcoholic drink favoured in these parts. Tashi and she exchanged a few words and soon we were on our way again, looking at three more hours of leg- numbing, mind- bending walking.
Part of me was intrigued by the foreigners at the Shaman's and as we walked away I wondered a few times if we should have stayed. Might have made for interesting stories.
The mood now was glum, everyone in their own world, weary and fed up. Tashi was trying and failing to ring Sunil by phone, worrying if he and his wife might not be there. I was feeling alternately guilty and defiant for making everyone walk the extra hours to Sunil's house, but mostly I didn't care. I was happy to be moving on.
The macho stomping down the mountain finally caught up with me to collect its toll on my, by now sore toes, and the shortcuts became steeper playing havoc with my fear of falling. I was thankful to Tashi for his kind consideration and helping hand with getting down the sometimes vertical steps.
On and on we went, trying to keep up with the changing light that would soon fade. We passed more houses and more villagers, more often than higher up. The terraces were now planted with the luscious lime green of spring wheat and corn. The sun that had caught up with us after the Shaman's house was shedding orange hues across the houses and in the yards people were gathering to rest and chat with their neighbours after a hard day's toiling in the fields. The mountain peaks were gradually casting their shadows and a chill was starting to surf the atmosphere.And three and half hours later, at 6.30pm, just as the light was being replaced by a purple grey dusk, we arrived at Sunil's.
Eleven hours after leaving Bigu, our new hosts, Sunil and his wife, graciously welcomed us.
The final walk to the bus bound for Kathmandu to follow....
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