Wooden comfort

"She knew how immortally beautiful they were, great pistils of rose-coloured, snow-fed fire in the blue twilight of the heaven." - D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love

On the way back to Pokhara, I hopped off the rafting van in a small town called Dumre, where I waited to catch a shared jeep to the even smaller town of Bandhipur, renowned for its traditional Newari wooden architecture. It turned out to be easy to locate the jeep, and as I watched as more and more people piled onto the benches, floor, front seats, and back of the jeep, I realized I was in for another adventure! Up, up, up we went (all twenty of us) back and forth around he zig zagging curves. The only person who spoke English was a drunk man squatting on the floor of the jeep: he would ask me "Where you from? USA!! USA!!" and then his head would loll and he would pass out again. The other people were understanding to me and we offered each other smiles. Eventually I ignored the drunk man and the ride was fun, if squished.

Bandhipur is one of the sweetest, most beautiful places I have ever been. One main street winds through homes and temples, the wooden balconies and decorative elements intricately carved. Other paths lead to more temples and a place where people come to ritually cleanse their feet and hands in the morning. Children in uniforms, some shy, some friendly, some curious, seemed always on their way to school. Sometimes they asked me, "Where are you going?" I headed up to a ridge for the sunset and found an ancient tree with a stone platform built around it, perfect for meditation. My mind and body felt so full with life, it bubbled up into a perpetual smile, glowing from within me. I kept thinking, "The mountains are where the clouds are supposed to be!"

I spent the night in the cutest hotel, which had been renovated to play up the original dark wooden balconies, framework, and doors. The dinner and breakfast were delicious, the Nepalese staff so sweet. I took in as much of Bandhipur as I could in one night, and dreamed of doing a long trek through small Nepalese villages in the future.

In the morning, I decided to skip the shared jeep and walk down the old trail to Dumre. Few people take the old road anymore, so I was mostly alone on the stone steps through orange fields and steep wooded hills. I sang mantras to Kali and Lakshmi and sometimes heard notes of a flute floating up from the valley below. It was a long trek down; I probably dropped 1500 feet in a few hours. It was a beautiful day, however, and I had fallen in love with Nepal.

Back in Dumre, I was ushered onto a local bus: four hours to Kathmandu!