Today is one of those days that might be called catching one's breath between two storms. It seems fitting to me to start the day with a breakfast on the roof terrace, accompanied by countless birdcalls, letting the eye wander over the hills shining in all shades of green and brown. Like yesterday, the mountain ranges of the Himalayas have hidden behind a wall of haze.
No Annapurna, just a shimmering curtain of moisture.
The sweetness of the morning
This morning seems very special to me. Sometimes happiness doesn't unfold by itself. You have to search for it.
Anyway, I'm sitting there, no one around, only me and the birds and the sweetness of the morning. In front of me a banana pancake, who finally deserves its name again; those in the Langtang Valley could be almost anything, but never real pancakes, even though the menu card said so. You might have called those things cardboard cakes.
I would like to know the name of the birds sitting on the wall conjure up their mutual affection. It is reminiscent of love scenes from films and books, in any case romanticism seems to play a role. Or do I simply like this show because it fits so well to the mood of this morning?
It doesn't really matter. I sip my coffee, the iPad next to it, but it will stay deactivated today and for the rest of the trip. The constant problems with the poor WiFi have not only worn me down, but have driven me to white heat. So let's leave it …
Humans - a strange species
The area around the village basically consists of hills, in between a few footpaths and some isolated houses. So you have to go up and down all the time. In order to prepare myself for the expected efforts, I take a coffee in one of the numerous restaurants at the bazaar street and let the hustle and bustle go by.
An old lady calls out to a friend, both laughing and pointing to an elderly man walking down the street with dignified steps, as if it belonged to him and him alone.
I notice a little girl, she radiates something lively, she reminds me of my granddaughter, my sweet little Mila.
But there arrives, umbrellas above the head, protective mask in front of the pale faces, a Chinese group up the alley, they look around, pull out the mobile phone and the selfiestick, click - click - click, and also this attraction is in the box.
So time passes, filled with observations of the human species, this totally mysterious creature, amazing me again and again.
Tadchi Mai - searched in vain
The cup is empty, as is the street, so the time has come to move my muscles. The highest point of the village, a hill called Tadschi Mai, seems to be particularly suitable for this. One last look at the map and Google Maps and off we go.
So I happily follow an initially steep, sweaty path up the slope, leading me along ramshackle houses (have I ever seen different ones?), barns and gardens and small meadows higher and higher until the village lies below me.
It is a wonderfully stimulating walk through blooming and fragrant meadows, which, unlike our latitudes, are still populated by humming bees and insects. Sometimes the path follows horizontally between meadows, then again on dusty paths steeply uphill. Tractors cross my way, you wave to each other, friendly.
Somewhere then a blackboard, on it is written „Cave“, with an arrow pointing downhill. I think for a second whether I ought to do this to myself, but refrain generously. The Tadchi Mai will be reward enough.
The top of the hill that I have identified as the Tadchi Mai still seems to be quite distant. Also, the path now runs between the trees, but in a different direction. Something is wrong, so I ask the nice gentleman, stepping out of the trees.
“Tadchi Mai?” I ask, pointing to the hill above our location. His laughing is a bit incredulous at first, but then it gets louder, and he points with his hand to the opposite side of the valley, where a stately hill also rises.
“That's the Tadchi Mai?” I ask in disbelief, once again surprised by my lack of sense of direction, which has once again led me astray.
I open Google Maps and realize that the direction is the other way around. I laugh too, tap on my forehead, which seems to amuse the friendly gentleman even more. He is right.
The right Tadchi Mai
It doesn't really matter to me at all. I have seen one side of the valley where normally no tourist goes. The way down to the village is as beautiful as up, but now a burning heat has settled over the world.
It takes a while until I find the path up to the Tadchi Mai, but then I realize that my fate in the morning had tried to stop me from climbing the thousand steps.
It is actually another exercise in strength and stamina paired with puffing and swearing and groaning. The village stays behind, the space opens up, becomes wide and bright and great.
Parkour
After all, there is even something like a resting place, probably created explicitly for older people like me. But the resting place halfway up is occupied. A young man moves with all sorts of strange movements, jumps a few meters up the slope, heaves himself over the stone table, lands on his feet and makes one last long jump that brings him in front of the feet of his pretty girlfriend.
As a big fan of Casino Royale, Of course, one of the best Bond films ever, I know immediately what the young man is doing there.
However, I have never seen anyone doing it live who seems to have mastered this technique. It's a couple from Italy, travelling like me, but obviously not tired from the ascent. We talk about Daniel Craig and his adversary in the prologue of Casino Royale, Sébastien Foucan, one of the founders of a similar sport, l'art du deplacement.
A temple at the top
Then I reach the top quite fast, although a yelling school class is holding me up for a moment. The pupils want to practice their English skills to the panting and wheezing gentleman from Switzerland.
The view at the top is outstanding, but it would be even more outstanding if you could see the mountains. But the curse that began in 1990 and has been in effect since then can also veil the mountains this afternoon. A note on 1990: The trek along the Kali Gandaki Gorge leads between the giants of the Himalaya massif. So on the right the Daulaghiri, on the left the Annapurna. A wonderful view, something that you won't forget for a lifetime.
Respectively would not forget in the subjunctive. We managed to walk between the most beautiful mountains for a whole week, without even seeing them for a single second.
Anyway, I just admire the countryside, sit on a wall and let the view take effect.
No idea why the temple is cordoned off with ropes, there's not much to see or steal, and the function of the strange building is unclear
The best momos ever
The best momos of all time await me for lunch. While a young American woman gives the cook detailed instructions on how to prepare the desired menu (“I hope you don't use the same frying pan for the potatos as for the chapatis”), my eyes sweep across Bazarstrasse, but except for a few of them No one can be seen in the heat defying tourists.
But the Chicken Momos are a poem. Not only a reward for my morning walks but above all for the heroic climb to Tadchi Lai.
Tudikhel
With the exception of green hills and a relaxed village atmosphere (which in itself is great), the tourist naturally looks for everything that the travel guide has to offer in terms of sights. Thus, there should be a view point called Tudikhel, a kind of sports field that occasionally is used for helicopter landings.
So I follow narrow paths and dusty roads again and finally reach the viewpoint. Its special significance can once again only be described in the subjunctive, because as much as I try to recognize something, I only see blurred landscapes in the haze.
But at least the disappointment is somewhat mitigated by the presence of colorfully dressed ladies who give me enthusiastic looks. Apparently, tourists are a rare species in this place, so the occasion needs to be celebrated. I would like to talk to them, but the language barriers are once again too great. Pity!
Cricket training
Despite Lagaan Cricket is still a book with seven seals to me. But on the way home when I see a young guy desperately practices punches with very little talent, I can't resist giving him a little help. At least I can remember exactly how the thrower throws the ball (a strange movement from the outstretched arm).
And so an uneven couple evolves. I giving instructions in English (although I have no idea), he cursing in Nepalese when he misses for the umpteenth time. But after half an hour the miracle happens: he now hits almost every ball, cheering and at the end thanking me a thousand times for the unexpected progress of his art. He probably thinks he has met a true cricket master.
An evening like a long time ago
The end of this memorable day at the Bazaar Street. Children playing, adults strolling by, even the lively little girl who I noticed in the morning is back. They play with tires (like we did a hundred years ago), with everything available, and are completely happy.
I could watch it forever.
Memories awaken - children playing on the street
But the day, as well as the visit in this small wonderfully relaxed place, comes to an end. Tomorrow a new chapter begins, the almost last of this journey. Chitwan.
P.S. Matching Song: Black Sea Dahu - In case I fall for you
And here the journey continues ...
