We wound our way down the mountains and approached a river in our jeep, the Gypsy. The village we were going to was on the other side of the river. A man on a bicycle started across, we followed. If he made it, so would the Gypsy. On the other side we shifted and bounced across a road of boulders all to come to this tucked away village at the base of the mountains, I mean Nepali hills.
Chendra, our new friend and translator, beamed as we made our way down the road. She spoke of her family and father with pride. He had built the entire village. I thought her home was beautiful.
We sat down for a cup of tea as we greeted her family. They took out their finest dishes and cups. Right away they began to prepare a 4 course meal.
A walk was needed once we finished eating, since once again, I felt as if I had just eaten two Thanksgiving dinners. We followed the village aqueducts into the hills where we were going to pick bananas.
Banana picking..not quite like picking apples or oranges. My mouth dropped as Chendra’s 60 year old mother took out her machete and began hacking at the tall banana trees as if she was a young teenager. Trees dropped all around us. Never in my life have I seen a women of that age barefoot, with a machete in hand, attacking trees with so much energy.
To top off our meal they prepared fresh coconut for us.
The land was as always breathtaking, the sound of the flowing aqueducts soothing, the chickens slightly annoying, the idea of sleeping under the stars wonderful, and most of all the people…simply beautiful.