The warmest welcome

by Fanni Daniella Szakal (Hungary)

Making a local connection Nepal

I was almost there... maybe 15 minutes and I could have rested in one of the lodges tailored for rich western tourists, but my bag was heavy and I’ve lost count of how many stairs I’d climbed to get up on the steep slope of the hill. A hill that would dwarf the highest mountain peaks of my home in comparison. I was walking through the foothills of the top of the world, the Himalayas. I was always drawn to the mountains - I find that just walking a few days alone through the unrelenting nature of alpine environments seems to put my life into perspective every time I feel lost. This time I was walking towards the village of Ghandruk during my trek in the Annapurna region. I was completely out of breath and famished - just when I saw a teahouse emerging at the end of the path. The wall was flaking and the house seemed like it was expanded multiple times, resulting in a somewhat chaotic exterior. A man was sitting at the front on a small stool, listening to music. I asked for some Dhal Bat for lunch and watched him as he slowly walked to the kitchen, humming a tune. Biswas - as I learnt his name later on - split his time between helping his mother run the teahouse and looking after the farm where his aunt and grandmother lived. In his broken English he told me about his life, his love for nature and his passion for birdwatching. Four hours later we were still talking and he invited me to stay at his grandmother’s farm for a night. I politely declined, but I promised I would come back on the way out of my trek. Travelling as a single woman has its challenges, challenges that you cannot afford to ignore. I pondered over his offer for a few days and in the end I came to the conclusion that serial killers and rapists are rarely avid birdwatchers. So a few days later I returned to him to set out for the farm. We were off the map, walking on unmarked trails through the Nepalese wilderness. He pointed out species of birds and butterflies and told me about the landscape. As we passed some small mud houses, he would stop and talk to the inhabitants, often sitting down to drink tea or buttermilk. Everyone we passed by greeted me saying ‘Namaste’ with the warmest smile and an open heart. Upon our arrival I received the same warm welcome from his aunt and I met his grandmother. 96 years old, bent into 70 degrees, but still going. We had lunch and set out to work on the rice paddy. I learnt to use a sickle and separate the rice stalks from the grass. In the afternoon Biswas took me around the hills finding birds with his binoculars. Again, I was amazed by the generosity of the locals we met. People living under makeshift roofs made out of rice stalks and plastic bags were eager to welcome me and share whatever they had. For dinner we had Dhal Bat while sitting around the fire. Before going to bed I turned off the lights and looked out into the night. It was the first time on the trek when the clouds cleared away and I could see the stars. The specks of light from the villages on the nearby hills were blending in with the sky, as if they were stars themselves. I saw a firefly whizzing by and becoming one with the starry night. Laying in bed that night my whole body was buzzing with the experience of the day. I wanted to soak it into my bones to conserve this feeling of being alive a little longer. It reminded me that I still had the capacity to find wonder in the world and that life still held magic. I just needed to let go of plans, let go of fear, and embrace it. In the morning Biswas walked me down to the bus station. Before saying goodbye he picked up a wild flower and placed it gently in my hair.