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Besides the clear lush nature of Nepal, another reason for traveling there was that we got to meet many of the family of our Nepalese students. After our arduous 45-mile trek through the Annapurna circuit, we headed back to the capitol city of Kathmandu where I nursed a knee injury and anxiously awaited the parent-teacher meeting. A day before we were to leave Nepal, we walked into a dusty, small school auditorium and sat in a neat row before all the curious eyes of the family members.
Naturally, I lost it.
I scanned the room, looking for reminders of my students in the faces of mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers of our ten Nepali students. There were Anuj’s eyes behind her sister’s eyeglasses. Gishay’s mom was a mature duplicate of Gishay, wrapped up in a sari with a broad and gentle face. Stoyi’s smile appeared her father’s face as he beamed at us from a wooden bench.
Zoya’s father walked up to us, “How is my daughter doing? Is she a good student? How is she getting along”? Zoya’s younger sister peeked at us from behind her father, “How is my sister? Does she miss us?”
I breathed in deeply and tried desperately to keep my tears behind my eyes. But they came anyway. I turned and cried as I let myself be overwhelmed. I could hear Zoya’s sister asking why I was crying. I wanted to explain myself. That, yes, your sister misses all of you, but she doesn’t tell you because she doesn’t want you to worry. Yes, your daughter is an inspiring student and she is the reason I remain in Bangladesh. Yes, she has adjusted, but not without hardships and many sleepless nights of weeping and aching from homesickness.
But words did not emerge from me, just shallow gasps for air as I cried.
“She’s a great student. She studies very hard and is one of my best,” I told Gishay’s father.
His wife turned to him, pointed at me and said something in Nepali, and he turned to repeat it to his son who translated it to me. “My parents say that you look a lot like Gishay. They said that it is like she is here with us now.”
Later that day we were at Stoyi’s parents’ home when I was speaking with her sisters. I lamented how I only had brothers. “Well,” they pointed at themselves, “now you have two sisters.”
My favorite shot from Kathmandu. It’s a convergence of so much energy and I’m surprised my point-and-shoot captured it at the right moment.
More: Nepal photo set.
Here’s round two of photos from Nepal. There’s one more set of photos that feature the capitol city, Kathmandu. Stories to come soon.
More: Nepal photo set.
We’ll walk, I thought. I’m good at walking.
It was supposed to be a leisurely affair, a comfortable four-day hike in the southern section of the Annapurna circuit. The Annapurna Conservation Area Project is in central Nepal and a destination for most folks traveling through the country who trek through the hills to take in the beauty of the varied natural environments ensconced within the Annapurna mountains.
Instead, there was a strike. Something vague about the dissatisfaction with the latest government.
Until recently Nepal was lead, in part, by a monarchy (239 years of it). But within the past year, the country made a move to strip the king of his power and install a republic. It worked. Months ago they elected their first president and vice president. Things seemed peachy, except that in mid-August the leader of the Maoists (a Nepali rebellion group who is still on the US’s banned terrorist organization list), Prachanda, was elected as the Prime Minister. Even though he received the majority vote from representatives, the peoples of Nepal might not be completely satisfied- hence the strike.
We were told that we had to leave our guesthouse at 4AM on Saturday morning, so that we could load into our van and drive to our trekking departure point. The early wake-up call was given to avoid closed roads in case of a strike. We wound through dark empty streets of Pokhara and slowly ascended to roads outside of the city. As we approached a long stretch, a small sedan heading the opposite direction slowed next to our van. The driver exchanged terse words with our guides and we were summarily told that the road ahead was blocked and we wouldn’t be able to get to our departure site.
Still groggy from sleep in the middle of the stillness of night, we crawled out of the van to revise our itinerary.
“It will be more work. Nine-hour trek days,” Deepak our guide described the alternative. “We will go a different route. It will be a little harder. Is this okay?” The combination of adrenaline and lack of sleep clouded our collective judgment and we enthusiastically agreed to the new plans. The new Nepali government made it so that we were about to squeeze in an 8-day, 45-mile trek into four days.
Headlamps were snapped onto foreheads and our group of nine trekkers, three porters and two guides walked down a long stretch of highway in predawn darkness. Before we reached anything that remotely resembled a hill, we had to walk the length of the road because our driver refused to risk it. We passed the roadblocks, which consisted of a few neatly lined rows of watermelon-sized rocks. There were no rowdy, disgruntled citizens jostling with picket signs at the roadside- just rocks. We cursed those lumps of heavy stone as the sun rose behind us and the road seemed like it would never end.
It looked like we got up at 4AM to hike on a paved highway. Little did I know that days later, I’d remember that smooth, paved ribbon of cement so fondly.
After breakfast, we eventually snaked our way up through steep improvised rock/stairs for a couple hours until we reached great heights with views across the valley and of the Annapurna mountain range. At first sight of the snow capped peaks, we decided that we needed a group shot to commemorate it.
More photos and little stories of the trek to come!
