We
are staying at Dawa’s sister’s house. Dawa had asked me if we
could go out of the way a bit so he could see his sister. And then
since it is on the way go on to his family village. Rather than an
inconvenience for myself, I saw it as a tremendous opportunity to
see rural Nepal.
We
are off the main trail and to get to the house, we wandered the
same tracks as the locals. Finally, I am away from the "me’s" on
the trail.
The house is just off the trail a few yards and sits on a very
narrow plot of land that drops steeply away. Across the chasm sits
another dwelling perched like an eagles nest. The land is lush
with vegetation, but here it is mostly too steep to terrace. The
family is poor.
Her two kids are at my feet watching my pen write. Their eyes are
wide and their runny noses center their round ruddy cheeks. Few
Westerners come through and I am the first to stay with them. I
offer a lot of fodder for their curious little minds.
The house is a one story, one room affair. Against the middle of
the north wall there is the traditional open pit fire where lunch
of steamed whole potatoes is cooking. When the potatoes are ready
they will be served whole with the peelings on. The trick is to
get the peelings off these small, russet style potatoes. By
placing them in the palm of the hand and placing the other hand on
top, with a twist a good section of skin is removed. Then the
potato is dipped in a hot sauce.
A
small glow fights back the darkness but the days chill lingers. Wood is conserved, as is most everything here; and, the least
amount is used to do the maximum job. Sitting next to the fire on
one end of a low 8 ft. bench which stretches along the wall, I am
waiting for dinner. In front of me is a narrow rough hewn,
wood table about six feet long, with a small 6" brass oil lamp
casting feeble shadows around the room by it’s tiny flame.
