This is the story of how we tried to get there, but didn't get there. So we went somewhere else instead.
Me and Hedge in our wonderful deserted hostel in Pokhara
So first of all, I'm writing this from home. In the Netherlands. I'm sitting here behind my computer with endless electricity and endless internet trying to relate to my adventures in Nepal, but it's a little bit difficult because everything is so different. If you walk around in the sun-scorched streets of my home town you find they are practically deserted of people, sounds and dirt up to the point that it's almost boring. But I'm enjoying nontheless to meet up with my friends, to go swimming all day because there's nothing else to do, and to eat all the vegetables and fruits I can get my hands on (also in the hope of reversing the development that my hair is falling out). But other than that I could say that I'm missing the people and children (who are also people, yes) of Nepal terribly and I'm definitely making plans for a come-back.
But anyway.
So first of all, I'm writing this from home. In the Netherlands. I'm sitting here behind my computer with endless electricity and endless internet trying to relate to my adventures in Nepal, but it's a little bit difficult because everything is so different. If you walk around in the sun-scorched streets of my home town you find they are practically deserted of people, sounds and dirt up to the point that it's almost boring. But I'm enjoying nontheless to meet up with my friends, to go swimming all day because there's nothing else to do, and to eat all the vegetables and fruits I can get my hands on (also in the hope of reversing the development that my hair is falling out). But other than that I could say that I'm missing the people and children (who are also people, yes) of Nepal terribly and I'm definitely making plans for a come-back.
But anyway.
Changing in Lahan for the bus to Gaighat
As I had so many wonderful stories to tell of the Udayapur children, my mum agreed that she wanted to go there too. Only for one week, because we have a flight to catch, but still---these mountain-children deserve a visit. So after two nights of acclimatizing in Pokhara (turns out my mum hates rice, so Pokhara was food-heaven for her) we were on my way. On a wonderful bus which I arranged myself which was going to bring us to Lahan, and then we'd have to get to Gaighat somehow by catching another bus. Now a problem with arranging a seat last-minute and not having any good connections with the buscompany is that you get rather poor seats. Which in this case meant: In the back of the bus (which means bouncy), next to a really bright light which wouldn't turn off, and with a leaking window. And that for twelve hours.
As I had so many wonderful stories to tell of the Udayapur children, my mum agreed that she wanted to go there too. Only for one week, because we have a flight to catch, but still---these mountain-children deserve a visit. So after two nights of acclimatizing in Pokhara (turns out my mum hates rice, so Pokhara was food-heaven for her) we were on my way. On a wonderful bus which I arranged myself which was going to bring us to Lahan, and then we'd have to get to Gaighat somehow by catching another bus. Now a problem with arranging a seat last-minute and not having any good connections with the buscompany is that you get rather poor seats. Which in this case meant: In the back of the bus (which means bouncy), next to a really bright light which wouldn't turn off, and with a leaking window. And that for twelve hours.
Happily biding my time in the bus. With my umbrella.
Now, personally, I can see the humor of these things, but at the end of the night you do get rather tired from flying through the air all the time (literally-I'm not exaggerating). So when, early in the morning, we all had to get out of the bus and walk for some unclear reason (my nepali isn't very good when I haven't slept well), we were a little confused. Turns out, a dam broke, and the river was flowing wildly, so the buses couldn't go on. Mind you, this was 6 (!) kilometers out of Gaighat (though we didn't know that at this time) and we were told that we had to wait until the water stopped flowing so fast so that the buses could drive through it. I went to ask someone else about the situation further on, and he, happily, told me that further on it was much worse (making his point by putting his hand way above his head to show the water level). This is where my mum and I got into a little bit of a struggle.
Mum: No way I'm going through that river, I don't want to die.
Me: But mum, it's all going to be fine, the people told me the water is going to go down in half an hour..they are fixing the dam as we speak.
Mum: And you believe that? Still we would be driving through a river, even though it's not such a wild one anymore, and no way this is going to stop in half an hour.
Me: But we drove though many rivers before, didn't you notice?
Mum: Yes I noticed but I kept my eyes closed because I was so scared.
Me: But we are so close to Gaighat, we can't possibly turn around now?
At this point, it was raining heavily on our heads and our bus, which was going to take us to Gaighat, decided to turn around. There we were, on the edge of a road in a village without a name, without a bus and without any way of getting further-or getting back.
The prospect of *getting* to Gaighat was getting rather bleak, and the prospect of getting there on time so that we could still catch the bus going up to Chisapani was getting even bleaker. If the bus was going at all, which was to be questioned, looking at the rain. In which case, a wonderful 4-hour walk up a hill was ahead of us. Which is all doable, with the right amount of willpower and craziness. But my mother pulled the mother-card. We were going back, no discussion. Why did I decide to travel with my mum again? (Just kidding mum--it would have been quite horrendous to walk up that hill with our backpacks in the rain).
But kossari janni (how to go)--no bus, and I personally had no idea where we were.
Hungry as we were, we went to eat at some chadpate stand at the side of the road before going any further. And this is where the real adventure of nepali hospitality starts:)
Now, personally, I can see the humor of these things, but at the end of the night you do get rather tired from flying through the air all the time (literally-I'm not exaggerating). So when, early in the morning, we all had to get out of the bus and walk for some unclear reason (my nepali isn't very good when I haven't slept well), we were a little confused. Turns out, a dam broke, and the river was flowing wildly, so the buses couldn't go on. Mind you, this was 6 (!) kilometers out of Gaighat (though we didn't know that at this time) and we were told that we had to wait until the water stopped flowing so fast so that the buses could drive through it. I went to ask someone else about the situation further on, and he, happily, told me that further on it was much worse (making his point by putting his hand way above his head to show the water level). This is where my mum and I got into a little bit of a struggle.
Mum: No way I'm going through that river, I don't want to die.
Me: But mum, it's all going to be fine, the people told me the water is going to go down in half an hour..they are fixing the dam as we speak.
Mum: And you believe that? Still we would be driving through a river, even though it's not such a wild one anymore, and no way this is going to stop in half an hour.
Me: But we drove though many rivers before, didn't you notice?
Mum: Yes I noticed but I kept my eyes closed because I was so scared.
Me: But we are so close to Gaighat, we can't possibly turn around now?
At this point, it was raining heavily on our heads and our bus, which was going to take us to Gaighat, decided to turn around. There we were, on the edge of a road in a village without a name, without a bus and without any way of getting further-or getting back.
The prospect of *getting* to Gaighat was getting rather bleak, and the prospect of getting there on time so that we could still catch the bus going up to Chisapani was getting even bleaker. If the bus was going at all, which was to be questioned, looking at the rain. In which case, a wonderful 4-hour walk up a hill was ahead of us. Which is all doable, with the right amount of willpower and craziness. But my mother pulled the mother-card. We were going back, no discussion. Why did I decide to travel with my mum again? (Just kidding mum--it would have been quite horrendous to walk up that hill with our backpacks in the rain).
But kossari janni (how to go)--no bus, and I personally had no idea where we were.
Hungry as we were, we went to eat at some chadpate stand at the side of the road before going any further. And this is where the real adventure of nepali hospitality starts:)
Me in the village causing quite the attraction
I happily chucked down some delicious chadpate (fluffed rice mixed with oil, taste enhancer, chilli powder, and onions) and ended up telling the lady of the stand our story. After which she invited us to her house. After which we got invited to another house. And another one. And we had lots of milk tea at each house. After which we got a tour of the local cement factory, of the village, of the local market, of---everything really. It was so wonderful, I knew many nepali people were hospitable, but this still came as a surprise to me. We were treated like real honorable guests, not the smelly, unwashed creatures that we really were (wearing the same clothes for 4 days-not a good idea).
I happily chucked down some delicious chadpate (fluffed rice mixed with oil, taste enhancer, chilli powder, and onions) and ended up telling the lady of the stand our story. After which she invited us to her house. After which we got invited to another house. And another one. And we had lots of milk tea at each house. After which we got a tour of the local cement factory, of the village, of the local market, of---everything really. It was so wonderful, I knew many nepali people were hospitable, but this still came as a surprise to me. We were treated like real honorable guests, not the smelly, unwashed creatures that we really were (wearing the same clothes for 4 days-not a good idea).
My mum making a kite for one of the girls
The local cement factory
We stayed there for one day longer, my mum talking english to the local children, me trying to keep up a conversation with the parents, and one man even got up at 5 in the morning to stop the Kathmandu bus for us. I can only say, not getting there was probably better than getting there easily.
After getting back to Kathmandu, crossing yet another broken bridge -which was quite scary because it was snapped in half- we decided we might as well go and visit the last Maya school, the Syangja school. It wasn't running at that time because of some land-issues but still, Syangja seemed like the place to visit. And it was.
We stayed there for one day longer, my mum talking english to the local children, me trying to keep up a conversation with the parents, and one man even got up at 5 in the morning to stop the Kathmandu bus for us. I can only say, not getting there was probably better than getting there easily.
After getting back to Kathmandu, crossing yet another broken bridge -which was quite scary because it was snapped in half- we decided we might as well go and visit the last Maya school, the Syangja school. It wasn't running at that time because of some land-issues but still, Syangja seemed like the place to visit. And it was.
Me and Ram in some deserted house during our 'trek' up the hill
It was like holiday, pure, delightful holiday. Eating mangoes from the mango trees, eating nespoties (a sort of pear), drinking milk-tea with Manjil's third mum, Nirmala aunty (Joypote is a high-cast village, so they don't eat meat -only goat sometimes- but they drink lots of milk and milk products) and taking walks in the beautiful surroundings together with Ram (the local teacher). It was sunny all the days that we were there, and maybe I was even happy that I didn't make it to Udayapur (where it's misty most of the time). Joypate is definitely a wonderful place, and I wouldn't have seen it hadn't it been for the troubles of the monsoon.
It was like holiday, pure, delightful holiday. Eating mangoes from the mango trees, eating nespoties (a sort of pear), drinking milk-tea with Manjil's third mum, Nirmala aunty (Joypote is a high-cast village, so they don't eat meat -only goat sometimes- but they drink lots of milk and milk products) and taking walks in the beautiful surroundings together with Ram (the local teacher). It was sunny all the days that we were there, and maybe I was even happy that I didn't make it to Udayapur (where it's misty most of the time). Joypate is definitely a wonderful place, and I wouldn't have seen it hadn't it been for the troubles of the monsoon.
Me and my mum enjoying another cup of milk tea:)
Anyway, as I said I'm home now. 'home'. Because I feel home almost anywhere I go (I'm not sure whether that's a good or a bad quality but it's there), and even being home, I can definitely say I'm missing my nepali home. In Kathmandu for the last couple of days we were shopping, sightseeing, and all those other ridiculous things you would expect tourists to do (except we never reached Thamel again, such a horrible neighborhood, ugh). We spent time with Sushila too, who showed us around wonderfully (and cooked us fish and roti, hurrah to my mothers hungry stomach), but in the end we still had a plane to catch.
Anyway, as I said I'm home now. 'home'. Because I feel home almost anywhere I go (I'm not sure whether that's a good or a bad quality but it's there), and even being home, I can definitely say I'm missing my nepali home. In Kathmandu for the last couple of days we were shopping, sightseeing, and all those other ridiculous things you would expect tourists to do (except we never reached Thamel again, such a horrible neighborhood, ugh). We spent time with Sushila too, who showed us around wonderfully (and cooked us fish and roti, hurrah to my mothers hungry stomach), but in the end we still had a plane to catch.
Was it hard to leave Nepal? Nah. It's not so hard to leave a place if you know you're coming back.