Took a little time saying goodbye, for the final time, to the family at x, especially the farmer. He appeared with his knitting, and of course Val immediately rushed over to ask if she could have a try – it does not take much to get Val trying a handicraft. Not that this was a new venture for her, for she is an experienced knitter… if a little out of practice. But these were seriously thin needles, and homespun wool, so it is to be hoped that she hadn’t ruined his home-made socks, for, judging by the fact that he was wearing some, this would appear to be his task. He suddenly had orders for about half a dozen pairs; he has children living in Dhangadhi, so it was not an impossible task to have them delivered. And he took down various people’s numbers… on his satellite phone. A serious, and seriously expensive, piece of kit, but necessary in his circumstances, being out of range of any signal. And judging by the livestock he had there, and by the frugal lifestyle, one would judge he had a few rupees to his name.
For once, we did without breakfast; we were all keen to be getting on our way, and put some serious miles behind us, though we did stop for hard-boiled eggs at y. There vwas brief thought of stopping there for the night – we did not fancy another night stumbling in in the dark – but it was too early to stop, and I think we were all kee4en to return to something a little kinder and less strenuous.
Though our journey was, of course, still tough. We were staying roughly at the same altitude, but there was virtually no flat walking; it was all either steeply up, or steeply down, and both were killing. There was one pause for a few minutes refreshment, and at that point an eagle came swooping over us. Then, tracking him in the sky, he was joined by two others, high up, but magnificent.
Our decision to carry on was vindicated when we arrived at Siti at just about the perfect time. I coud not quite believe it, arriving ar a viewpoint over the valleys below, at about 5, and to be told that the village was just half an hour away. Wonderful.
Even better, it turned out to be the absolutely the best homestay we had stayed at for the entire trip. It was a very impressive building, three storeys high, and with ghat unimaginable luxury glass filling the windows at one end. And when Val and I were show3n our bedroom, we nearly wept. Two beds, with two soft mattresses, two warm quilts, and four pillows (we had virtually been forced to do without pillows, making do with my rolled up fleece up till then.
We were invited up to their living-room; it did involve going up to the top floor, up two sets of difficult stairs, but it was worth it. A fire burning in the stone fireplace, carpets laid around, the whole family there, from small three-year old up. And what followed was utterly magical, with great food (largely the same food, but I could manage a plateful this time, and enjoyed it.) And music.
As has been mentioned, I was definitely the weak link in the group, but if I was able to contribute one unique aspect, it was song. I was able, even in some of my darkest moments, to raise everyone’s spirits by bursting into song out on the trail, and some of the people we met were quite clearly enchanted. I thought my repertoire would be pretty limited, but gradually more and more songs came into my head. Wonderful World you already now about, but then there was the chorus of the Two Magicians, a folk song; a whole suite of marching songs from the First World War; There’s a hole in my bucket, sung as a duet with Val; the first part of a couple of Monkees’ songs; and tonight, for the first (and only) time, Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
But tonight was even more special, for a relative was fetched, a young girl who, we were told, was also a singer. And though she took a little coaxing, she most certainly was, with a beautiful, beautiful voice. There were three utterly magical moments during the evening: her first song, which was mesmerising (though I very quickly shushed Bharat, when there was a danger of him talking over her (there is very little audience etiquette in Nepal, even at times like this.) The second, which went down a storm, was my own performance, with appropriate actions, of four verses of “If you’re happy and you know it…” And maybe the best of all, an unrepeatable moment: Val had brought her penny whistle upstairs, and started to play, an improvised tune. And as she began, our young singer began at the same time, the two sounds going back and forth in an improvised set of harmonies – very, very special. And unrecorded. Val had caught some of the proceedings on her phone. But even she, talented multi-tasker as she is, could not both play and operate her phone simultaneously.
