Kathmandu, Nepal. We stepped off the plane, walked across the tarmac, and into an airport weathered by time. Actually, we kind of ran. You see, the airport customs and visa process is mostly handwritten. With only a few dated computers in use, you can imagine how long it takes to process a plane of international travelers. Common knowledge to frequent visitors. We all made a mad dash to the front of the line and our team fared rather well— we trained.
After a short time, we gathered bags and bodies, loaded into vans and made our way across Kathmandu. This is about when my senses went into overload. Fear not, the lens of my camera made for a great shield. Dirt roads. Hordes of people. Swarms of motorcycles. Bicycles. (Buses, taxis, pushcarts.) Beautiful women and children in traditional clothing. Stares of Nepali men. Power lines. Dilapidated building. Temples. Monkeys. Wafts of petroleum. Pollution. Animals. Curry. Sacrifices. All to the syncopated soundtrack of rush hour, the stock exchange and a recess playground in a really awesome Bollywood film. I was waiting for everyone to break out in choreographed song.
Kathmandu is unlike any place I’ve ever been to before. Nepal is a developing nation, in the deepest sense of the term. Something my eyes took in as we drove on and as we continued into the mountains. While I was boiling with excited to have finally arrived, I was faced abruptly with the poverty and underdevelopment that plagued the city— the nation— and it hit me hard. You can talk and read about something and conceive of images yourself, but seeing it -taking it all in- with your own eyes is entirely different. It’s powerful. I resisted the walls of protection mode and took it all in. And let it settle.
We arrived at the guest house in Kathmandu and after a while of unpacking I made my way up to the roof— to a view which overlooked all of Kathmandu. Impressive to say the least. That was when I got a glimpse of another side of Nepal. To my left stood the house of a Nepali neighbor. Weather worn bricks of a house strewn in a rainbow of Tibetan prayer flags. Two beautiful young girls sat together talking, staring and whispering perplexed at the obvious foreigners now on the roof. Maybe my camera gave it away? An older man stood on the same roof, arms crossed just staring at us. Taking us in. Kathmandu spanned panoramic in front, with its holy hill, a Buddhist-Hindu shared worship shrine, front and center. Its chaos was now silenced by distance. It laid quietly below. Behind me a Buddhist-Tibetan mountain zig-zagged likewise in prayer flags up to a monastery. One which would make its hidden presence known in the chanting and drumming at an unholy hour. (The neighborhood dogs made their own known nice and early too.)
I like roofs. Views. Summits. Places you get to usually after a long hike where you look out at where you’ve come and marvel at how big things really are. My venture through Kathmandu was at ground level. The sights and smells of people just doing life in Nepal. Chaotic. The view from this roof provided a little prospective— a bigger picture of things going on at ground level. The chaos didn’t seem so daunting from up there. That perspective followed me into the hills and settles with me as I write this sitting in South Korea.
I did not climb Mount Everest while I was in Nepal. Shocker? I didn’t even really climb the “mountains” of the Himalayas. But, I did trek the Himalayas and as their nickname suggests, it served for me as a roof. An awesome roof! The Himalayas. Seriously? It’s still awesome to think about.
As we trekked into the hills later that week we spent time in several villages along the way. We were met with the life of those outside of the city- separated by miles of mountain terrain- and experienced another kind of Nepali life. Slower. Quieter. Though seemingly more peaceful than that of those below, the poverty and unsettledness of the people up there matched the chaos in the city. In a different kind of way— a serene acceptance in the lack of essentials. These villages need clean, accessible water, immediate and longterm medical attention, and education. Lots of education. And with all of those come years of work and infrastructure. Essentials. While our first aid kits and stickers could bandage hurts and provide temporarily, long term investment is needed. At ground level, ground level even in the mountains, the task seems a little daunting.
As we hiked from village to village I felt the weightiness of it. How will we ever help all of these people? It will take so long. My goodness, we haven’t even touched the hard places yet! What about those that are still unreached?
Then a summit would come. A resting place with a view of where we had come. Between pants for air, even the quiet of these small villages was silenced. I was reminded that though the task, at ground level, seems daunting— big things can happen! I am a believer in big things— however, such a reminder in the face of real hardship is sometimes hard to trust. But I am convinced that big change -extraordinary things- happen through small actions. Strap on a backpack. Lend a hand. Offer a face of compassion. We were just a small puzzle piece in the big picture!
Seven days doesn’t really qualify me to say much about Nepal and its state as a country, but the Himalayas are in desperate need. Things are in need of desperate repair. At the ground level, in the thick of it, the task seems too big. However, I’ve been to a roof. I have seen a small glimpse of a bigger picture— and big things are to come! The view, though limited, is beautiful and breathtaking, and so worth every step up along the way!
Sarah Potts is currently living in S. Korea, and just returned from a trip to Nepal in September.
