Dopo neanche un mese di viaggio sono già stato adottato da una famiglia nepalese. Kim mi ha invitato a festeggiare il Tihar festival con la sua famiglia nel villaggio sperduto su una collina della foresta in cui vivono. Il festival indù delle luci è molto sentito in Nepal, durante questi cinque giorni tutte le case vengono illuminate da candele o lampade in cherosene. Si celebra ogni giorno un tema diverso ma principalmente la vita e la sua prosperità. Arrivo in tempo per l’ultimo e più importante giorno. L’ultima celebrazione riguarda fratelli e sorelle un legame molto forte da queste parti.
La famiglia di Kim ha deciso di farmi partecipare a questa cerimonia come uno dei fratelli ed io non posso che essere onorato. Sono il primo straniero che viene invitato nel loro villaggio che si trova in una valle completamente fuori dagli itinerari turistici e poco accessibile. Ho camminato alcune ore nella foresta tra scimmie e farfalle per raggiungere la loro fattoria.
Inizia la cerimonia, vengo cortesemente invitato nella sala centrale della casa, una stanza di terracotta utilizzata per cucinare attraverso un braciere scavato nella terra. Mi siedo assieme ai miei nuovi due fratelli nepalesi. Le quattro sorelle ci camminano attorno lasciando cadere fiori sulla nostra testa. Si siedono in fronte a noi e augurandoci una lunga vita iniziano una alla volta a decorarci la fronte con tika di diversi colori, un marchio religioso che si pone sulla fronte con le dita. Ci donano diverse collane floreali con un fiore arancione che appassisce molto lentamente. Infine riceviamo del cibo e una birra. I fratelli per concludere la cerimonia devono dare un piccolo dono o un’offerta in denaro simbolica alle sorelle dopo aver segnato la loro fronte con il tika.
Terminato il rito si festeggia tutto il giorno sorseggiando Rakshi , il disgustoso vino nepalese. Poche ore dopo mi accorgo che son tutti ubriachi e naturalmente son tutti concentrati sullo straniero adottato. Si scherza, si balla e canta fino a notte fonda.
Il giorno dopo Kim mi accompagna alla fermata del bus sull’unica strada al limite del praticabile che arriva vicino al villaggio a ben due ore di cammino. Per pochi minuti perdo l’ultimo mezzo partito, saluto Kim ed inizio ad aspettare il prossimo. Non avevo idea di che avventura mi stava accadendo. E’ stata la più lunga attesa per un bus senza successo della mia vita. Ho aspettato 20 ore dormendo sul marciapiede nel mio sacco pelo in attesa che si facesse vivo qualcuno.
Alle 6 del mattino ho deciso di iniziare a camminare lungo la strada per capire che succedeva. Sono partito con poca acqua, pochissimi soldi - perchè non ho incontrato bancomat per 2 settimane - e soprattutto senza cibo. Appena ho iniziato a camminare mi sentivo già meglio, sentire che ero di nuovo in movimento verso qualcosa di sconosciuto mi rilassava. Dopo un ora circa fortunatamente ho incontrato un furgone cassonato, colmo di gente locale, che mi ha caricato al volo. In uno spazio del cassone di sei metri per due circa c’erano una cinquantina di persone ammassate una sopra l’altra in posizioni improvvisate. Mi rendo conto di non essere stato l’unico ad avere problemi di trasporto in quei giorni. Vengo a sapere che il traffico si era paralizzato per un giorno a causa di un incidente mortale sul mezzo che ho mancato per pochi minuti. La benedizione delle sorelle ha funzionato !
Ho sofferto per quattro ore su quel furgone provando varie posizioni senza successo. Tuttavia mi sono reso conto che la vera avventura in posti come il Nepal è viaggiare con i mezzi di trasporto pubblici o di fortuna assieme ai locali. Scordatevi la comodità, anzi le vostre ossa e i vostri muscoli soffriranno parecchio ma c'è qualcosa di speciale nella complicità e solidarietà che si crea tra i viaggiatori, anche con me che spesso sono l'unico straniero. Da tutto ciò si forma la base culturale di questo paese.
Not even a month of travelling and I was ‘adopted’ by a Nepalese family. Kim invited me to celebrate the Tihar festival with his family in a remote village on a hill in a forest. The Hindu festival of lights is really important here in Nepal. In the five days it lasts, all the houses are lit with candles and kerosene lamps. Every day a different theme is celebrated, but basically life and prosperity. I arrived just in time for the last and most significant day, which celebrates the very important bond between brother and sister. Kim’s family decided I could take part in the ceremony as one of the brothers, something I felt greatly honoured by. I was the first foreigner to be invited to their village, which is completely off the tourist track and not easily reached: it took several hours on foot through a forest full of butterflies and monkeys to reach their farm.
The ceremony began and I was politely invited to the central room of the house. The room was made of baked clay and the cooking was done on a brazier dug into the floor. I sat next to my two
new Nepalese brothers while the sisters first walked around us, letting flowers fall on our heads, then sat before us, wished us a long life, and applied different-coloured tikas, religious marks, to our foreheads with their fingers. They gave us several flower necklaces with orange flowers that wither very slowly. Lastly, we were served food and beer. To conclude the ceremony, after marking their sisters’ foreheads with tikas, the brothers had to give them a small gift or symbolic sum of money.
After this ritual, everybody drank Rakshi, a rather nauseating Nepalese wine. A few hours later,
I realised that everybody was drunk and, of course, all interested in their ‘adopted’ foreigner.
There was singing, dancing and joking well into the night.
The next day, Kim walked with me from the village to the bus stop on the nearest road, which was not only almost impassable, but also a good two-hour walk away. Unfortunately, I missed the bus by just a few minutes, so we said goodbye and I got ready to wait for the next one. I had no idea that it would be the longest I’d ever waited for a bus: twenty long hours, with only the side of the road to sleep on in my sleeping bag, whilst waiting for some form of transport to show up.
At six the next morning, I decided to set off down the road. I had little water, hardly any money – no sign of a cash machine for two weeks – and, above all, no food. But as soon as I got moving, I started feeling better, knowing that I was on the way again towards something unknown. Luckily, after an hour or so I came across a box truck and managed to get a lift, although it was already jam-packed: fifty-odd people squashed like sardines in the space of only six metres by two. I was clearly not the only one finding it difficult to be going places, and later learned that the traffic had been paralysed for a day because of a fatal accident involving the bus I had missed by just a few minutes the previous day. The sisters’ blessing had worked!
I tried several times to find a comfortable position in the lorry, but none worked and in the end the journey was four hours of suffering. It struck me that travelling with the local people on public transport or whatever turns up is part of the adventure in places like Nepal. You can forget about comfort, your body will ache and ache - but there is something special in the togetherness and mutual support that grows between travellers - even with me, and I’m often the only foreigner. This is the basis of this country’s culture.
Not even a month of travelling and I was ‘adopted’ by a Nepalese family. Kim invited me to celebrate the Tihar festival with his family in a remote village on a hill in a forest. The Hindu festival of lights is really important here in Nepal. In the five days it lasts, all the houses are lit with candles and kerosene lamps. Every day a different theme is celebrated, but basically life and prosperity. I arrived just in time for the last and most significant day, which celebrates the very important bond between brother and sister. Kim’s family decided I could take part in the ceremony as one of the brothers, something I felt greatly honoured by. I was the first foreigner to be invited to their village, which is completely off the tourist track and not easily reached: it took several hours on foot through a forest full of butterflies and monkeys to reach their farm.
The ceremony began and I was politely invited to the central room of the house. The room was made of baked clay and the cooking was done on a brazier dug into the floor. I sat next to my two
new Nepalese brothers while the sisters first walked around us, letting flowers fall on our heads, then sat before us, wished us a long life, and applied different-coloured tikas, religious marks, to our foreheads with their fingers. They gave us several flower necklaces with orange flowers that wither very slowly. Lastly, we were served food and beer. To conclude the ceremony, after marking their sisters’ foreheads with tikas, the brothers had to give them a small gift or symbolic sum of money.
After this ritual, everybody drank Rakshi, a rather nauseating Nepalese wine. A few hours later,
I realised that everybody was drunk and, of course, all interested in their ‘adopted’ foreigner.
There was singing, dancing and joking well into the night.
The next day, Kim walked with me from the village to the bus stop on the nearest road, which was not only almost impassable, but also a good two-hour walk away. Unfortunately, I missed the bus by just a few minutes, so we said goodbye and I got ready to wait for the next one. I had no idea that it would be the longest I’d ever waited for a bus: twenty long hours, with only the side of the road to sleep on in my sleeping bag, whilst waiting for some form of transport to show up.
At six the next morning, I decided to set off down the road. I had little water, hardly any money – no sign of a cash machine for two weeks – and, above all, no food. But as soon as I got moving, I started feeling better, knowing that I was on the way again towards something unknown. Luckily, after an hour or so I came across a box truck and managed to get a lift, although it was already jam-packed: fifty-odd people squashed like sardines in the space of only six metres by two. I was clearly not the only one finding it difficult to be going places, and later learned that the traffic had been paralysed for a day because of a fatal accident involving the bus I had missed by just a few minutes the previous day. The sisters’ blessing had worked!
I tried several times to find a comfortable position in the lorry, but none worked and in the end the journey was four hours of suffering. It struck me that travelling with the local people on public transport or whatever turns up is part of the adventure in places like Nepal. You can forget about comfort, your body will ache and ache - but there is something special in the togetherness and mutual support that grows between travellers - even with me, and I’m often the only foreigner. This is the basis of this country’s culture.
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