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Civilization and a world of ancient tradition was linked by a low lying suspension bridge that crossed over the rushing aquamarine river. It’s ferocity fed by snow that melted and ran down the fabled peaks of the world’s hightest mountain range. The Himalayas- in sanskrit meaning the abode of snows.
We crossed over and entered into the ancient world.
We stood on the other side of the bridge and were welcomed by a procession of donkeys saddled with heavy loads which bulged on both sides. The bells which were strapped around their neck clanged with every step, as a musical welcome. The herder swaddled in white cloth and topped with a topi – the traditional nepali hat- trailed behind them, and greeted us with a smile, a nod and a gracious, "Namaste!"
The journey began.
Every step took me further from all that I've known.
We climbed up stone laid stairs. Rickety old women, dressed in colorful skirts and gleefully engaged in conversation swiftly descended down the steps. I watched them with admiration and awe. Their frail demeanor deceived me for only a few seconds. Their distant sillhouette portrayed, grotesque hunchbacks. But as we got closer, the truth was revealed. Their backs were bent, heavy towered over them. Human snails. Their arms crooked over their ears as they gripped a strap which wound around their foreheads. It was connected to a heavily loaded conical basket which lay perched and expertly balanced on their steelike spine. Their descending steps down the mountain produced a chorus of clangs which which enabled us to decipher their heavy loads. The contents of the baskets varied significantly from fresh vegetables, empty soda bottles and even a gas stove and gas container. The familiar sounds of empty soda bottles sparked a memory. My guidebook had warned that the cost of soda increased the farther away we got from civilization since the glass bottles had to be transported up and down the mountains to replenish stock and vice versa when emptied. The loads on these resilient villagers were not just limited to the conical baskets. They also strapped on sacks of rice and maize or huge slabs of rock. Resiliency of minds overpowering the body by sheer determination and the will to survive.
Bright Metallic Green. I blinked my eyes twice. Is it real? It moved and glistened in the sunlight. Walking up the twig I had used to coax it off of Santi's shirt. It is real. "Oh my gosh. It's a beetle! I've never seen it in this color!" I stared at it in amazement. With childlike wonder I brought the twig closer to my eyes and inspected what looked like a freshly metallic green painted tin beetle. It walked across the twig as though prancing about showing off it's tinlike being. I was able to take a few photographs before my metallic angel spread it's wings and flew away.
He stood there next to the rushing water. Suddenly he swung his arms back to gain momentum and threw a large circular net. The heavy metal rings that clung to the net's circumference created a big splash as it dropped into the shallow water. The fish must have struggled against the weight of the net and entangled itself into the netting. The fisherman tugged at the rope attached to the center of the net. The metal rings closed in as the fish continued to struggle. The fisherman lifts the net out of the water, inspect his catch, disentangles it and places it into a little woven basket which is attached to his hip and smiles. It's lunch time.
Five hours later, my heavy legs shuffled against the dirt. My little backpack clung against the sweat on my back. My body sagged. We rounded a corner. Dried out rice terraces clung to the sides of the mountains surrounding us. In a distance a village awaits our arrival. Santi points at a home which was nestled high on a ridge,"That is where we will stay tonight." I sighed in relief.
The first day was over and it had been a memorable trek. One day has been ticked off in my mental calendar. Five more days to go. It wasn't easy but it was easier than I expected and the scenery more than compensated for my struggle.
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