What's Going On : Last Few Months in Nepal

Bishnu Lodge, Khahare, Pokhara

My time in Nepal this year is drawing rapidly to a close. The months so easily slip by and now I find myself looking back on what I have achieved as well as what has been going on around me.

PART I - ME

August saw me privileged to explore Upper Mustang with my intrepid shooting partner Sophie - an exciting project she is working on for her company, Horsefly Films' Rare Equine Trust series. What a stunning place to have the opportunity to explore a little, and fascinating to see the horse culture there, that Soph's project is examining. That adventure, not least all the journeys involved in it, was an exacting, high-altitude and often bumpy challenge, from not long after we set off from Pokhara, until the moment we returned.

Mustang was closely followed by our return to Jumla for the final shoot of our documentary project. By now, so familiar to us, we slipped right back into village life, settled into our rooms, and faced the inevitable challenges that came up (power, transport) without batting an eyelid. Shooting itself, with our team, has become like spinning a well oiled wheel. We bounce around the village, up the mountain, knowing exactly what we need and how to do it. We shot the magnificent change in scenery, the lush and green post-monsoon Jumla - a stark contrast to the winter landscape; we shot the apple harvest and apples, apples, apples everywhere; we shot the colouful women's festival Teej - a fitting closing ceremony for our two years. It was a poignant moment when we shot the last shot, and called it a wrap on Sophie and Soraj's last day in Jumla. It was a relief at the same time as a fearful moment. Once again shifting into new territory: post-production, just when we had gotten the production thing down to a tee!

Nisha and I returned to Kathmandu a week after Sophie and Soraj had left Jumla. This autumn I made the decision to relocate for the season, to where it all began, my home in Khahare (north Lakeside) at Bishnu Lodge with my family here. After losing a few weeks to life, a cold, the edge of a typhoon and general acclimatisation in KTM, I gathered the belongings I wanted or needed around me and moved back to Pokhara. 

It is from my room downstairs, adjacent to my family's living quarters, that I have set up my life and routine for these past months. It is a nice, relaxed location with the lake a stone's throw away. I have been working on the footage, developing the story, studying Nepali and also doing some work for Empowering Women of Nepal (without whom I would never have gone to Jumla in the first place and none of this would have even begun). 



It is from here that I have observed history in the making. And tried to make sense of it.

PART II - NEPAL : Reflections on the Election

I have a limited understanding of the political situation in Nepal in spite of having been affected by it on a regular basis for the last three years. What I do know, is on the 19th November 2013 (or Mangshir 4, 2070 - Nepali calendar) Nepal held its second election for its Constituent Assembly (CA) since the end of the insurgency. The first was in 2008. For five years the multi-party coalition shambles that had been voted in, attempted to draw up the Constitution.

I have mentioned before, the bandh's or strikes, that so often cripple the daily workings of the nation. Any party, union, group, organisation, or so it seems, that has a cause/complaint/issue can call a 'strike' locally or nationally. This does not mean that the people calling the strike are striking from their jobs as we think of it. It means that EVERYONE is supposed to stop whatever it is they do. Transport is banned, shops, businesses, schools are closed. Depending on their cause, region and support, dictates how seriously the strike is adhered to. But essentially it is the threat of potential violence that stops people from spurning the bandh.

In the last five years, there have been multiple 'deadlines' for the Constitution. As a deadline approaches different political, social, ethnic groups have bombarded the country with a frenzy of bandhs. It is a means of making your 'point' known, wanting their issue to be in consideration. Due to the fact that there are so many different parties within the government itself, the process of creating the aforementioned document is seemingly endless. At each deadline, when it had not been completed, another deadline was set, until eventually, after five years, someone said 'enough' and the government was dissolved! Throughout this time, the country has continued to live in political upheaval with the prime ministers changing almost as often as the seasons it seems.

All year, there has been speculation from an understandably sceptical population as to whether this election would actually happen. And this is where I really do start to get confused. There are multiple parties, the three primary being Nepali Congress, CPN-UML and UCPN-M (Maoist). There is also a faction that splintered off from the UCPN-M, the CPN-Maoists. They, along with the so-called '30 party alliance' were opposing the election on grounds that it was not legitimate due to the lack of proper process or something. This is where it gets hazy for me.

Either way, the anti-poll campaign called a bandh in the 10 days leading up to the election. This was strategically only a transport strike which meant businesses and shops could stay open, and goods were still being delivered. But all public and private transportation was halted. This meant that the thousands of people who needed to travel back to their districts to vote, could not travel. In Nepal, you cannot absentee vote. I thought it ridiculous that everyone had to go home, often to far and difficult to get to mountain villages to vote, but I found out later that Nepalis can transfer their registered location. This however, is a whole process of getting a migration notice from your home district to transfer to your current residence. And it seems that most people, unsurprisingly, haven't done this.

What resulted during the fraught days leading up to the election, was a combination of things. Young people in Kathmandu took to the streets to protest the anti-vote campaign saying they had a right to vote. But in some regions, there was support for the shutdown, vehicles where torched, bombs were found in places. There was a general fear at not knowing what this slightly more renegade political group might do. Negotiations floundered.  The 33 party alliance slowly diminished in size and reduced, I was told to 13 parties. Everyone was confused. Would there be an election? Would there be bombs on polling day? Would it be fair considering how many people weren't going to be able to vote? And would the results be accepted by everyone?

The election day arrived, and it is customary that there is a bandh on that day too. People have to walk to their local polling station - apparently this is to avoid people trying to cheat and vote in multiple locations. When you vote in Nepal, you get a black streak made across your thumb, but I am told there are techniques of getting rid of it.




My family set off early in the morning in the hope of avoiding the crowds, but they had still had to wait hours to vote.  I heard somewhere, there was a 70% turnout. I'm not quite sure how accurate that is considering how many people don't live in their home districts and how many would have been prevented from returning to their home districts to vote due to the bandh. Nonetheless, there was a discernible air of excitement and trepidation as the day unfolded.

The days following the election were all about the numbers coming in. Televisions around the place had the 'First Past the Post' (FPTP) figures as different districts results came through. And now the dust has settled with Nepali Congress and UML coming in first and second and the Maoists significantly trailing in third. They are saying that this was likely caused by their party split, which I'm sure had a bearing. But nonetheless, it seems people were quite surprised at how much the Maoists (UCPN-M) popularity has waned. In 2008 they won the majority of seats.

In the week following the election while the votes were still being counted, the Maoists claimed voter fraud and said they wouldn't join the CA until an independent probe had been done. I think negotiations have simmered that... although it is hard to keep up.

I guess years of upheaval and a growing perception that no matter what party people are from, the whole government system and process is massively flawed has left many people in Nepal disillusioned and disinterested in the political situation. There is also, unsurprisingly, no trust in officials as corruption is rife. Some young people told me they didn't 'like' politics as their reason not to vote.

So what now? The new CA is potentially meeting in December, and with the two major parties having the most control, people are hoping that they will finally be able to draw up the long-awaited constitution. We'll have to wait and see if this election was the first step towards a new future for Nepal or if it was just a continuation of the tribulations this country faces.

Almost two weeks after polling day, you can still see traces of the mark of someone who voted. It is as though these people are symbolically marked by their participation in this historic election. The club of people whose voice was heard.

Mustang : Journey to Lo Manthang in pictures

Here is a selection of photos of Mustang - mostly taken from a moving vehicle - as we travelled up past Kagbeni to Lo Manthang in early August 2013.

The diversity of the scenery was remarkable... coming up and over a ridge to find a different, yet equally dramatic landscape. The bare, starkness of the terrain invokes respect for those who exist there. I can only imagine how bleak the winters must be.

There is a magic to Upper Mustang that is almost indescribable. An element of other-worldliness steeped in ancient traditions. It was surreal and mystical and I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to visit this stunning part of Nepal.

 

 

Mustang Journey - Between a Landslide and a Hard Place : Pokhara to Jomsom

It is a 15 minute journey from Pokhara to Jomsom by twin otter plane flying past Niligiri mountain.  We were all set and ready to head to restricted and mysterious upper Mustang. Sophie wanted to investigate the horse culture in the region surrounding the Yarthung festivals in Lo Manthang and then Muktinath – (a separate project to the film we are making in Jumla).

Our small team waited hopefully at Pokhara airport on the balcony overlooking the runway. The previous three days no flights had gone and the airport was teeming with disgruntled travellers and piles of luggage that were yet to be checked in. So we weren’t sure of our chances, but the alternative was a long journey overland. 

airport skies not looking hopeful             photo: RK

The flights are all scheduled early because by the afternoon it is too windy for the little planes to manage the landing in Jomsom.  We were reserved on the third flight and by 10am, with the first flight still not going, we resigned ourselves to the reality that we would not be boarding a plane that day.  We could either wait until tomorrow and hope to get on a flight – after the people scheduled for that day got their flights, or go by land.

In my initial research and planning I had been told the journey by jeep was between Rs 40-60,000 ($400-$600) – considerably more than the cost of four flights (two foreigners and two Nepali – it is cheaper for locals). But apparently there was an issue on the road so we could not get one jeep straight through and would have to make multiple changes, which didn’t sound too appealing, but how bad could it be?

We had driven from Kathmandu in a private jeep the previous day and had told the company that if we could not get on the flight, we would use them to transport us on the first leg of our journey. The jeep was conveniently waiting for us outside the airport as they clearly suspected our fate before we were prepared to give up hope.

We negotiated the price from Pokhara to Tiplyang (Rs 15,000) where we were told we would have to walk for a stretch before picking up another jeep. We were reassured that there would be transportation there. 

our first jeep and excited to be on our way

So we set off, in relative comfort, excited that at least, we were on our way. And it was a gorgeous winding drive west of Pokhara through the post-monsoon, lush, green hillsides alongside the Kali Gandaki river roaring through the valley at an impressive force. Thin waterfalls cascaded down from the cliffs as we wove our way round hairpin bends, snaking up the river valley.

Not far outside of Beni, a little more than halfway to Tip-lyang (where we had paid up to), the road stopped. Or the road was no longer passable due to a landslide, which had apparently only happened that morning. It was a short walk around the gaping hole in the road, but with our ridiculous number of bags (nine bags between the four of us, ranging from precious camera bags, to an enormous heavy duffle bag with two tripods in it, to a small, but heavy, hard case full of electronic equipment), it was a small mission lugging it all to the vehicles waiting on the other side. 

There were two taxis who it appeared were stranded in the 4 km stretch of road between this landslide and some other as yet unknown blockage. Luckily, one of them was bigger than the standard Nepali taxi as we would not have all fit with our plethora of luggage otherwise. I’m not quite sure how we did all fit in one taxi but we managed to squeeze in and off we went for all of ten minutes before the driver stopped and told us it was a minute walk to the next point.

It certainly felt like more than a minute carrying multiple bags as we negotiated the landslide, water-ridden road. There was no jeep or bus waiting, at the next spot, so there we were with a pile of luggage wondering what to do next. 

Sophie still looking chipper and fresh at beginning of journey    photo: RK

We had too much stuff to keep walking. Nisha and I left Sophie and Rajan with the bags and walked on to the next village to find out about transport. About ten minutes walk up the road was a village with restaurants. We couldn’t seem to get a straight answer out anyone other than a nod that some form of transport would come. I thought it would be better if we moved all our stuff to the village so we could at least sit and have a drink or snack in the shade, so we enlisted the help of a couple of villagers to bring the bags. But as we approached the spot we had left, a jeep came whizzing past us. We paid off the people for their trouble and hurried back to the others who were now in the company of a Belgian family and their guide. It was not long before all ten of us were piled into the jeep with all the bags bound to the roof. 

third vehicle of day after short hike across waterfall      photo: RK

This jeep (our third vehicle of the day) dropped us off about 45 minutes further, where conveniently, there were groups of men waiting around to help people transport themselves and their belongings. We piled various bags onto ourselves and porters and started hiking up the road. As we approached the river, a group of Chinese tourists stopped us to warn us of the hazard ahead, showing photos of a gushing river that we were supposedly about to cross. Not sure what to make of it, we carried on and as we first approached the river, both Sophie and I were aghast at the sheer force of the flowing water ahead thinking there was no way we could be so foolhardy as to even try this crossing. On closer inspection, it was up the river that we had to wade, not across. A dam, that usually holds the waters back leaving a pathway, had burst, so we had to wade, knee deep along a stretch of river with the main river gushing alongside at full force – with all our gear! Those porters certainly knew their use as we could not have managed without them, steadying us along the way as well as liberating us from unnecessary luggage. I think somewhere at that point, both Sophie and I wondered to ourselves what we had gotten ourselves into, but when you are knee deep halfway through a current, you can only keep putting one unsteady foot in front of the other.

wading through Kali Gandaki River with the help of porters       photo: RK

Once back on dry, if a bit soggy land, we had a short hike up a hill to the next spot where a hut and some vehicles were situated. We were trying to work out how far the next jeep or bus would take us as we weren’t even sure exactly where we were. The Belgian family (who I think were pretty shaken by the river escapade) piled into the only jeep and set off without so much as an au revoir. This left the bus. Bags on board and squeezed into our seats, we waited for the bus to fill to take us as far as we could go. It was getting late in the day and it wasn’t clear how much further we could make it that day but we figured, just go as far as we can and see from there. It was at this point that Sophie said she had never ridden on a Nepali bus. She certainly made up for it in the days to come!

squeezed onto the bus - vehicle 4          photo: RK

We set off down the rugged road, hugging the cliff, jerking and bouncing along. I was by the window, and decided it best not to point out to Sophie, how precariously close to the precipice above the river the bus seemed to lurch. 

flat tyre as dusk falls         photo: RK

Following a short delay while the driver changed the tyre, ‘as far as we could go’ turned out to be the side of the road somewhere past Tatopani with nothing of note seemingly within sight. Now it really was dark and the four of us and our multitude of luggage were left behind as the bus did a precarious three point turn and chugged off.

There was nothing for it but to somehow move on. I don’t know quite how we managed but between the four of us, we picked up all of our bags and headed up the road in the dark.

At the first village we came to, we dumped all our stuff into a pile to catch our breath and figure out what to do. Nisha went off into the darkness to find out if another bus was coming. Rajan, Sophie and I sat on a bench outside a house and waited. We were soon joined by the mother of the house, who seemed to be merrily drunk and very excited to tell us about her time in Korea visiting one of her children. Nearly an hour passed and we were starting to worry about Nisha, so Rajan set off with the drunk woman’s son to see where she had gone and find out where the nearest lodge was. Within a few minutes they were back. It turned out the next guest house was only a further five minute walk up the road but Nisha had been trying to organise a bus and hadn’t thought to come back to tell us that we were so close to a place we could rest our weary heads for the night. It was too late to travel further anyway and by then, all we could think about was food and sleep. With the help of some of the family, we again picked up all our stuff and trudged into the darkness to the lodge in a place called Guithe. The rooms were pretty basic, but at least had mosquito nets. We quickly settled in, glad to know we were at least done for the night. According to Nisha (who is sitting next to me as I type) the dal bhat dinner “wasn’t very delicious but it was quite good”, however, to me, it was much appreciated, tasty home-cooked food at the end of an unexpectedly long day. And we were still a long way to Jomsom.

In the morning, we decided to walk the hour to Dana, as the bus wasn’t leaving yet and the road was broken somewhere along the way, so we would still have to walk part of it anyway. We arranged porters from the guest house and I thought the older man and another young man were going to be accompanying us until I saw the two young boys excitedly strapping bags. With a large green rucksack on one back and the cumbersome hard purple case lodged in a basket (dhoka) with a strap to the head of another, these two tiny boys set off. I watched their figures disappear up the road with a mixture of awe, amusement and guilt. Surely this was not right. But I rationalised that aside from the income for the family, these youngsters were accustomed to carrying such loads and they certainly seemed quite keen to accompany us.

An impromptu stall had been set up selling snacks (and impressively, hosting a basket for recycling) at the place in Dana where the jeeps came. After paying the family and buying the boys a juice and packet of biscuits each, we settled down with our pile of luggage to await the next leg of the journey. 

waiting for the next jeep...   photo: RK

A jeep came along and we negotiated the price to Ghasa (Rs 6000) which was as far as he could take us as from there it was Mustang and another district so jeeps and buses were in a different jurisdiction. Again, we piled into the jeep with all our stuff in the back section with the sideways seats. We soon picked up a mother and son who were trying to get to Ghasa and after moving some of our stuff, they squeezed into the back with the bags.  That particular road wound upwards with stunning sights of waterfalls and landscape but it was also incredibly bumpy and muddy and the sheer drop into the still ferociously black frothy Kali Gandaki river below made our previous night’s lurches on the road’s edge seem tame. We couldn’t imagine how the buses managed. 

When we arrived at Ghasa we found that the bus apparently wasn’t leaving until noon. So we ordered breakfast at the restaurant there and watched as the area filled with tourists and locals who had clearly also just made the same journey by various means. The mother and son we had given the lift to ended up helping us with our stuff and said they would save us seats on the bus as soon as one seemed to be preparing to leave.

Somehow the plan didn’t quite work and just as we were eating (after waiting for over an hour for the food to come) there was a mad scramble as the bus that was leaving seemed to be full. Bags piled here and there, we boarded the bus to find the only seats left were the back row. Travelling on what can only loosely be called a road, at the very back of a bus that has never heard of suspension, it was not the most comfortable of journeys – aside from the fact that as both Sophie and myself are taller than your average Nepali man, we were unable to sit straight as we don’t actually fit in the gap between the seat in front.

Like all things, this journey eventually came to an end. The bus stopped and rapidly emptied as the passengers at the front and in the know, rushed to the next bus to secure the best seats. This journey was broken up, this time due to a broken bridge which made a change.

broken bridge/bus park

As we settled in to the 7^th vehicle of our journey from Pokhara to Jomsom, I wasn’t sure I believed it when we were told that this bus actually went all the way to Jomsom.  But it did, and we finally arrived in Jomsom around 2pm the following day, nearly 30 hours after we had left Pokhara.

Who wants a 15 minute flight when you can take a jeep, a taxi, another jeep, a bus, another jeep and then two more buses, not to mentioned wading through torrents and up mountains with over 100 kilos of stuff? That said, it was very pretty and it was something to write home about…

Mustang Journey: Part II – onward to Lo Manthang

If that sounds like a lot, that tale only takes us to where the flight was supposed to bring us, Jomsom and the gateway of Mustang. We still had to get to Lo Manthang in Upper Mustang, the forbidden kingdom and mystical high desert.

We continued on that very afternoon. And any hopes we had that the journey might get easier were quickly dashed.

We continued north by jeep, wading across another river, then another jeep, crossing another river (by bridge), then bus, tractor, and jeep to Samar where we spent the night. 

photo: SDP

The next day, another hike down and up the valley, fording yet another river (this journey saw our luggage travel on horseback). And then a few hours in the beating high altitude sun on the side of a road with no shade waiting for another jeep coming at some undisclosed time, that eventually arrived and took us to another broken bridge and our final jeep – our 14th vehicle in three days just from Pokhara. We arrived in Lo Manthang on the Sunday evening, four days of constant travel from Kathmandu, and for Sophie,  a week since she had left her home in Los Angeles.

Epic.

bumpy tractor rides make the buses seems pretty smooth - photo: RK

  photos by Rajan Khatet where indicated

Chaupadi : Beautiful Laxmi & Old Customs

On the second night of our Rara Trek, we stopped in the village of Bulbule. It is the last village in Jumla before the Gurchi Pass into Mugu. You could call it fairly remote. The main village was a strip of only a handful of houses, two of which were guesthouses as this is the main entrance to Rara Lake National Park.  I was quite taken by the picturesque place and in particular our young host.

Laxmi is a young mother of two. She had an incredible air of serenity about her. I marvelled as I observed her at work, juggling handling two small children along with other village kids playing in her kitchen, running her guest house and cooking dinner for us and her family. Her husband was away in Jumla Bazaar for a few days and her brother in law and his wife were also not around that evening so she was managing everything alone. As she and Nisha talked, we found out that she was educated and in the evenings was teaching local village women to read. Along with all else she was managing! An extraordinary woman for sure. We spent a very pleasant evening in her company around the fire and enjoyed a nice meal before going to our room that was simple, but clean (by Jumla standards).

 

I was so taken with our new friend and her guesthouse that I wanted to stay with her again on our return from Rara Lake a few days later. We arrived in Bulbule fairly early in the afternoon having spent the morning coming back up over the pass. Although it made sense to carry on further as we still had a few hours of daylight, I had liked Bulbule and Laxmi so much, I wanted to stay there anyway. When we got to the village there was no one around so we waited a while and were about to give up and continue on to the next village when Laxmi appeared.

She looked pleased to see us, but quickly explained to Nisha that we could not stay with her that evening because she was menstruating and was sleeping in the cow shed. Her husband was still away and there was no one in the house - and because of her observance of the chaupadi custom, she could not even enter their home. She could not go into the kitchen, she could not prepare food - not even to feed her two small boys. She was really hungry as she hadn't eaten much, relying on other people in the village to give her food. We gave her a packet of biscuits, which is all we had. We even offered to cook dinner in her kitchen for her.  The boys were also sleeping in the cow shed with her as no one else was there. A local village woman helped her by getting blankets from inside the house for her and the boys to sleep in the 'shed' which didn't even have walls on three sides.

 

I tried to imagine how cold that 'shed' must be in the middle of winter. 

 

I was horrified even though I am familiar with the practice of chaupadi. It has come up a lot in discussion as it is still widely practised in Nepal, particularly in the mid- and far- West. It applies to childbirth as well as menstruation. However, it is observed in varying degrees depending on where you are, the families attitudes etc. Some families just make women sleep separately and don't allow them into the kitchen but they are not made to sleep outside. This can still mean horribly cold conditions in the winter where the only source of warmth is around the kitchen fire. Some places have an actual chaupadi hut specifically for women to go to, although that in no way means it is pleasant. There is an ongoing hot debate about this archaic practice and there are many organisations working towards changing attitudes, particularly in rural areas, but of course, like any dismantling of 'tradition', it can be a slow process.

We talked further with Laxmi, trying to understand why she adhered to this archaic custom, even though it turned out her husband did not condone it. She explained that it was pressure from people in the village, these were their practices and it was the way it was.  It just all seemed so ridiculous that she could not make money by taking our business and could not enter her own kitchen and cook dinner for her children. Here she was, this amazing, literate and educated woman and yet still so trapped in this societal structure where she couldn't stand up to the close-minded attitudes of her fellow villagers.  Of course, Nisha had a lot to say about this.  But it was clear that we could not persuade her to break from custom at this point. 

Laxmi and another woman from the village had to go out to the fields because, of course, she still had to do her work. We walked along with them, heading to the next village and Nisha continued her heated dialogue about how they needed to make the change themselves and stand up to the old attitudes if they were to ever move forward. They knew these things to be true, but at the same time, somehow didn't feel able to take that stand. 

As we walked on after we'd parted company with Laxmi, we talked about how to combat this issue. How to raise awareness and change attitudes in these remote mountain areas? Even in so-called modern Nepal, educated women from middle class families (in particular Brahmins who are the most religiously strict) observe more manageable modified customs - usually not being allowed in the kitchen, eating separately from the rest of the family, not able to go to temple or attend ceremonies and celebrations (like weddings).  For married women, not sleeping in the marital bed for 3-5 days, for daughters, not being able to 'touch' their fathers. If the young people of urban Nepal are still observing these rituals it is not surprising that in the rural areas, these beliefs are still in practice.

There are organisations working towards abolishing these practices. In the news just a few days ago there was an article about a group of women taking action. So that is a start, but for women like Laxmi, articles on the internet aren't going to keep her and her children warm at night in that shed.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chhaupadi
http://www.myrepublica.com/portal/index.php?action=news_details&news_id=54180
http://www.actionworksnepal.org/program/chaupadi-free-community-jumla

Trek to Rara Lake : Part 2 - in pictures

Day 1

I was particularly taken with these horns

looking back down the hill we'd just ascended - you can't see those mountains from Nisha's village

this is the path up

final stretch to barren Kali (3642 M/11,948 ft)

Day 2

if in doubt, just follow the donkeys

amazing Laxmi, running the guesthouse in Bulbule with two small kids (and neighbour's)

Day 3

Ghurchi Pass  (3446 M/11,305 ft)

mandir (temple) at Ghurchi - looking towards Mugu

I was going uphill, completely out of breath while he smoked his pipe carrying a heavy load

We were told there was a place to stay in a small village called Jhyari (although the conditions couldn't be vouched for),  but upon arrival, we were informed that it wasn't suitable for us and we should go '15 minutes' up the hill to a place on the road. An hour later, I was dragging myself up the hill at a snail's pace as light faded and the 'hotel' was still nowhere in sight. As I joked to Nisha that we were about to stumble across a 3 star hotel, we heard the sound of children singing. We approached what could generously be described as a hut with a shelter to find an old woman and two small boys around a fire. They had just taken most of their pots and pans down to their house down the road as they weren't planning on staying the night but upon hearing of our plight, the old woman, Jaumati Budha, sent the boys running down the hill to their house to fetch pots so she could make us dinner.

As she prepared our meal (they had already eaten), she told Nisha her story. The boys were her grandchildren, her daughter's sons. Their father had gone off to India and never returned. When their mother remarried (apparently to a man who had raped her), the sons were offloaded on to their grandmother who had taken them in and was raising them. She was an incredible lady, facing a very tough life in her golden years. Very inspiring and kind woman for we would have been stranded had she not taken us in.

Hajur-aama (grandmother) and the boys slept in the back part of the room while we slept on a rather unstable assembly of planks, with my legs dangling off at the calves. We slept surprisingly well, probably out of sheer relief. It was a wonderful refuge from the cold and quite a memorable night.

our bed - although there was a padded matt(ress)

Day 4

our "3 star" hotel in daylight

In the morning, we walked on up the hill eventually reaching Rara Lake - a stunning body of water surrounded by snow-capped mountains.

we made it! -  at Rara Lake

 

 

Day 5

 the 'airport' in Mugu

 Nisha plays carrom (on a very wonky board) while we wait for lunch

the road winds around the valley and loops back on the other side

 you can see the road across so rather than going all the way around, we went down and up the other side!

 children gather to stare at the bideshi (foreigner)

as we made our way through the village of Topla

Day 6

looking back, you can see the road - we went down and up

and where the road ends on the right, is the runway

 donkey jam - back down the hill as we head up the the Ghurchi pass

Day 7

 moon in the morning

 

our host making roti for breakfast

the snowy, muddy road had actually dried up a lot on the way back

 donkeys on the road to Kali

Kali pass - also much less muddy just 6 days later

We approached Kali just before 4pm and were thinking we would sleep in Patmara as although downhill, we still wouldn't make it back to Urthu-Chautara before dark (it had taken us 6 hours on day 1 in the other direction but it was uphill all the way 1100 M/3608 ft). When we arrived in Kali, it turned out the tractor of Nisha's neighbour was there having just delivered goods. I still wanted to walk as we were in the final stretch but was happy to give them my rucksack (relieving myself of the shooting pains in my shoulder). Since we knew that we could jump in the tractor when they eventually headed back, we set off, and continued on past Patmara.

As darkness fell, just as I was pulling out my headlamp, we heard the growl and rattle of the tractor and its trailer, shuddering down the hill. It was a pretty slow and incredibly jerky, bumpy ride,  but eventually we were driving through the village and pulling up outside home. It had been a great week, after the initial trauma of day 1, we had settled into a nice leisurely rhythm. But it was great to be home again too.