A Goat Ate My Hair, & Other Tales From The Villages

It was a back breaking, nail biting, fly infested, shit stinking, buffalo blinking, rice filled week. Bugs buzzed, goats bleated, roosters screeched and the sound of death filled my ears. No, this was not me accidentally getting stuck in an abattoir (heaven forbid), but voyaging through the villages around the Kathmandu Valley and 'getting in touch with nature'. The four of us volunteers - Radha (Robin), Jamuna (Julie), Kabita (Kenzie) and I were reunited for seven days of hiking up hill and down dale. We had forsaken our daily comforts - makeup, showers, light at night, beds (Nepal's beds aren't the most comfortable, but they are still beds!) - for a life without running water or electricity, to really get to grips with Nepal's countryside culture.

 

We started off with a bus ride out of the city, followed by daal bhaat for lunch (no change there then) then strode off into the hills, carrying all our stuff for the week, including sleeping bag, first aid kit and other essentials (chocolate and Oreo cookies in my case). As soon as we set off I felt so free - the scenery was gorgeous right from the start, and we were all excited to be out of the city, catching up on our various volunteer experiences (some interesting stories emerged over the time we spent together...).

 

After crossing fast flowing rivers in our bare feet and tramping up goat trails, we arrived at our first house for the night in the hills. Our guide, Birman Dai (older brother) prepared what he called a "five star hotel" for us - essentially us crammed in a little room in the "Land of the Thousand Flies". You get the picture and unfortunately, flies were to be a recurring theme.

 

As I sat to take in the view, a frisky chicken ran by and goats jumped on the walls. A short while later, Mr Frisky met his match. I was just looking at the mountains when our host came out with a massive knife, and there was the noise of a very unhappy chicken - a chicken with its very life flashing in front of its eyes. Over the week, I would get used to this noise, as other chickens faced their sentences. The next thing I knew, the chuck was being prepared, its guts being removed. This was cool, and not a big deal - but for me as an ex-vegetarian it was a little strange! Some of you will know I had a bit of a fear about the prized hen being killed, and me having to eat its beak or feet. But Mr Frisky tasted great, I have to say, and there's nothing quite like fresh food. I did find something on the plate that scared me (some unidentified bit of offal, maybe a chicken heart?), and while in life you should do things you're scared of (like fly to Nepal and volunteer for example) we came up with the following rule - "if you're scared of it, don't eat it".

 

The following days were filled with more new experiences, trekking through valleys and up mountains, over rivers and long bridges. We sampled chang, the local rice beer, and Jamuna and I got to grips with drinking raksi, the traditional and potent alcohol that is brought out on special occasions - it's not that bad, but it does kind of remind me of drinking meths. Not that I make a habit of drinking meths you understand (I'm not that desperate, yet) - but the taste resembles the smell. We got used to living without being able to wash our faces, to watching meals cooked over a fire with no electricity, roosters waking us up with their squawking, trying to breath in the smoke filled houses and having everyone stare at us as we walked by. You'd think we were celebrities, but I guess in the remote areas we visited they aren't used to seeing different/white people - or people as hot as me ;-)

 

Day two we went down and through the valley, to stay in relative luxury in Dhulikel - with cold water and the only chance for a shower all week. I didn't take it. Just kidding, I made sure I got clean in the freezing cold water!  Day three was cool - we started by hiking up a massive load of steps (no joke) and taking tika at a temple at the top (yes, I know, more tika - but this was special, as we could see right round the valley). Seconds later, massive heavy rain started pelting down, and I used both my raincoat and my umbrella! That day we ate the spiciest chowmein in the world which nearly burnt my lips off, and arrived in another new village for the night.

 

Now, don't get me wrong, I think Nepali people are great, and very friendly. Sometimes a little too friendly. Especially when you are sleeping in someone else's living room, and you want to take your clothes off and go to sleep. We had heaps of men just sitting round, just watching us like we were museum specimens, and had to battle to get them to go so we could go to bed (by bed, for me, I mean attempt to sleep on the floor between Kabita and the wall).

 

By the third day, I had raised itchy bumps on my arms and legs from some random and slightly freakish allergy (to grass? straw? goat crap? manky toilets? eating daal bhaat every fricking meal?) and the quest for "white gold" was on (toilet paper, as Radha struggled to breath in the smoky house and to find something to blow her nose on). We had also started grading the toilets of everywhere we went, based on factors such as accessibility, space, water, smell and general grossness, and this one scored an all time low (except for on the sixth night, which got a zero, as there was no toilet in sight except the one mother nature provided). This toilet was rank; as Radha put it "I'm SO not in love with this toilet".

 

Anyway, I digress. There were some definite tough moments, cramped together every night on the floor, sleeping in lofts among the corn as the roosters crowded, the flies buzzed and chickens tried to sleep on my head. On day five, we had to go steeply downhill in the blistering heat, before hiking up the river bed - 'The Valley of the Shadow of Death' - where we saw massive jaw bones and teeth and nearly collapsed with heat exhaustion. We stopped to soak our towels in water to manage the slog uphill, only to find the "restaurant" Birman had in mind for us was closed (basically a hut on the hill above the river bed). Luckily we were able to persuade the people at the only other building in site in the whole area to feed us, and I ate the most noodles I've ever eaten in my entire life to propel myself up the hill for the rest of the day. Noodletastic.

 

I don't think I've ever sweated so much - we were hiking around six or seven hours a day, and at home you wouldn't dream of doing that without taking a shower, let alone doing it for seven days straight! Physically there were sometough moments, when my brain was screaming "stop this madness and go and get a beer", but somehow I always managed to find that little bit extra. This is definitely the roughest I've roughed it, away from any creature comforts. Unless you count animals getting a little too close for comfort, such as the friendly buffalo that stood in front of the toilet as I tried to get in, nuzzling me (by toilet I mean shack with a door that didn't shut, which the buff could open!).

 

There were some really major highlights too, and it makes you realise what you can achieve in seven days. I was chuffed with myself for being physically strong, and glad I had done at least some exercise before I came (thanks to Ziz for making me run up those hills near the Pentagon!). While some of the others struggled, I generally felt good and even my knees didn't really give me any gip. I was also labeled "the practical one" - something which might surprise my family. All through being in Nepal I've been so pleased with my practicality, and the fact that I always have ideas and know how to handle most situations - both for myself and for other people too. It's surprised me, but I am the one with good Nepali, and the best sense of direction, as well as being very resourceful. I've also been told I'm very nurturing - there's clearly more of my parents in me than I realised!

 

Seeing how Nepali people really live was incredible, and I feel like the experience was one I'll remember for the rest of my life, cheesy as that sounds. It was like stepping back in time at least a hundred years. Most of the houses are small, made of mud or similar, with the animals living downstairs - generally we'd sleep on the floor above them in a loft-style situation - and we ain't talking Manhattan-style loft apartment here! The lives of the locals were so simple, but difficult, working on the land and struggling to put hand to mouth. It was quite humbling, and something very few 'tourists' would ever get to encounter - we didn't see a road, let alone any kind of vehicle or another white person, during our whole trip. Everyone was so kind and friendly and generous, despite the communication difficulties and despite having so little. One day, we spent ages singing and playing with the little kids - the whole village had turned up to see us!

 

And the scenery, my God, it was spectacular. I don't think the pictures will really capture it, but the views were awesome - mountains, rivers, streams, graded farmland, so much variety - it was like being in Lord of The Rings (in case you're interested, apparently I'm Frodo). And so still and quiet at night - I loved standing outside and looking at the stars in the clear night sky, or watching fireflies zoom over the maize and corn fields. Day Four was particularly hot, and we came across a river that was just crying out to be swum in. There was a gorgeous clear pool, a waterfall and a natural jacuzzi, so we stripped off and jumped right in. I even washed my hair under the waterfall - I've always wanted to do that!

 

On Day Six, we hiked the steep hill up to Birman's house and had the most awesome day chilling out among the locals. We drank tea with various families, and Jamuna and I got down with hoes in the maize feels - getting those weeds out is tough work in the sweltering heat! In our free time, we had endless chats about life, the universe and everything. I felt SO far removed from my life not only in the UK, but as Amrita Miss too, especially standing outside under the stars.

 

Oh yes, and that day, a goat ate my hair. Well, when I say it ate my hair, I don't mean all of it - but that cheeky little bugger was trying to! He was so friendly and kept sitting on me, so we named him Gilbert, Gilby for short. And there was seriously the smallest baby goat I've ever seen, just hanging out in the farmyard with us, along with a whole host of others, shitting, farting and belching - and that's just the volunteers ;-).

 

That night, we sang songs in the dark as some more chickens were sacrificed. What seemed like the whole village came over for dinner - and what a good dinner it was. After that, it was time for the 'raksi party'... We got some bevvies in, and the locals started singing, playing the drums and dancing - and getting steadily more drunken, which was pretty amusing. Of course, being me I had to join in with the dancing, getting more and more OTT to make them laugh - they loved it! Ain't no party like a raksi party, so they say...

 

By Day Seven, it was time to bound down the most steep hill to take a couple of buses back to Kathmandu for Momos (Tibetan dumplings) with Birman's family. I tell you, I've never eaten so many Momos in my life, and right now, I'm still Momoed out. The village trek was such a fabulous experience, and it's made me think about a lot of things - how little you really need, but also how small things really do make a difference - practically, mentally and emotionally.