Lighting up a village in Nepal----Impressions.
To Norung
Off go the porters at great speed, we follow more slowly and stop at the last tea shop along ‘the strip’, knowing that there will be nowhere else for many hours. With some trepidation, I approach a mother and small child to try out page one, chapter one of “Spoken Nepali”. “Mero nam Faith ho, wakiko nam ke ho?” and am gratified to get a reply. I get no reaction to “Mero ghar Canada ho”, understandably as no one in this area has ever heard of Canada.
One forgets just how rough the trail is and how draining are the heat and humidity. The first day we travel North and downwards to the Rawa Kosi. Considering the amount of foot traffic the trail is amazingly narrow and poorly marked in places. Without a guide we would spend much time back tracking from cottage doors and pig sties.
We catch up with the porters resting under a peeple tree, one of the frequent stops under these large shady trees where there is usually a spring or a tap and where Anthony soon becomes adept at using his new water filter. Following the contours of the wide, deep gullies, covering so little ground as the bird flies, the river remains tantalizingly far below us for most of the day. Light is fading rapidly as we reach the last house fairly close to the river. The porters are waiting for their chang. Breakfast in Kathmandu seems many, many hours away. Should we or shouldn’t we carry on to a tea house the other side of the river? Concern is expressed as we have to cross a mudslide and an area of treacherously slippery rocks with the aid of a few flashlights. The porters are rejuvenated by the chang and hurry off into the darkness. Two porters stay with us and we are shown into two tiny rooms off an upper veranda accessed by a rickety ladder. Each room contains two small plinths, covered with corn cobs. The dahl bhat finally arrives at nine p.m. “Charpai?” I ask hopefully. Netra translates: the “Charpai” is anywhere on the down hill side of the house.
The Slog
Next morning we pack and are on the trail by
6am. The mud slides and rocks are not too challenging by daylight. As difficult
is the balancing act along the few inches of ground between the edge of a
terrace and the deep water of the paddy field as we approach the river. At the
rickety suspension bridge, Netra and Sarina perform a ceremony with an
unidentified plant, placing some leaves on the first posts and throwing more
into the river to ensure a safe crossing. It’s probably warranted! Now the
4000foot climb to the village, the heat and humidity unrelenting from the river
onwards. As we approach Dunche, a little hamlet about the halfway mark, Netra
suggests a lunch (or breakfast, as we haven’t yet eaten) of noodles. Flagging spirits
are revived, salivary glands are active—all to no avail. All is locked and
barred. There are only a few chickens scratching around in the dirt, all the
other inhabitants are off visiting their relatives as this is the main day of
the festival. Somehow a Power Bar doesn’t have quite the same appeal!
