Bye bye, Bigu
On account of a trek into the mountains and a stay at a lovely, misty village called Bigu in the Dolakha region of Nepal, I’ve basically been incommunicado for the last couple of weeks. There was only one phone in the entire village, to say nothing of the internet. How did I survive?
Well, on dal bhat, mainly.
The village experience was a memorable one. I danced with the villagers, interviewed teachers, the leader, a scholarly Lama, and I hung with a young Tibetan medicine man. I taught English to young nuns in Bigu Gumpa, and I played many a game of cricket with groups of eager kids, using a bat fashioned from firewood and a ball made of rubbish and twine. (I was, for the record, by far the best player.)
The trek into Bigu was arduous, taking two-and-a-half days and traversing massive mountains, frequent landslide, and monsoon-engorged waterfalls. I had blood sucked from me by my first leech, and then by 4,252 more. But the cold shower at the end of it made it all the more worthwhile.
Now I’m back in Kathmandu, with only a few days left before I move on to Thailand for the final leg of my holiday (sorry, I really don’t mean to brag). The interesting encounters continue.
This morning, I interviewed the foreign affairs spokesman, C.P. Garujel, from Nepal’s loved-and-hated Maoist party. Tomorrow, I may be interviewing the leader of the People’s Liberation Army.
Don’t ask me how these interviews came to pass — I’m struggling to figure it out myself. But their quotes will be translated into stories, which I’ll post here once published.
Three weeks left of my holiday, and then I’m back into work, roaring with enthusiasm.
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