Detached connection

A spirit of true hospitality, right in the heart of nature

by TEXT AND PICTURES BY WONG SHU YUN

FROM ISSUE # 148 (April 2008) | IN THIS ISSUE
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Destination: Nangi

How to get there: From Kathmandu, it's a 12-hour bus ride to Beni. From Beni, the trek uphill to Nangi can take from six to eight hours, depending on the individual. The first four hours consist of rocky paths and numerous steps. After that, the stairs even out and the walk becomes smoother.

What to take along: Lots of water, about 2 litres' worth. However, on the trek itself there are some stand-alone shops that sell dry food and drinks.

Best time to go: From March to May, when spring beckons.
A mere six hours from the town of Beni, I had envisioned that the trek up to the village of Nangi would be a walk in the park. In contradiction, residents from Beni had earlier warned: "It's a vertical ascent up!" They also added that there were simply no roads, only pebbly paths made by villagers.

But having not done a trek for the longest time meant that my eagerness had superseded their prophesises. Besides, six hours translated to barely half a day on the clock – it would all end in a jiffy, ascent or not. Such an underestimation translated to ill mental preparation for the trip and it reflected in the way I had packed – forgoing food, I hurriedly bought a litre's worth of hydration before crossing a bridge that would mark the start of it all.

"Ready?" asked Kishan Pun, a teacher who was also heading to Nangi from Beni Bazar. He lives in Nangi and often leaves the village to visit relatives. I smiled – a way of giving him the green light. Perhaps having overdone it in a bid of enthusiasm, he added a final warning: "We'll have to trek up three hills."

From Beni, we had walked through Mangalaghat to a bridge that immediately opened up the trek with rock-strewn pathways. It was initially bearable, until I realised that there was no stopping to these seriously pebbled grounds – they went on forever and soared higher with each step I conquered.

"Why are the paths so rocky?" I asked Kishan in frustration three hours into the journey. He laughed and replied: "It's intentional so the donkeys can walk on them and not destroy them."

Though the trek was a beating to our bodies, the view was an undeniable feast for our eyes. Brown grass fields pleat against each other to form a massive, minimalistic canvas of earthy tones. The excitement was also in the way we had to tactically walk through forests. Within the canopy, the path changed its face and temperament, morphing into a slippery climb plastered with the needle leaves of pine trees. Yet, therein lay the adventure of grabbing the rubbery branches and twigs just to save one's life.

Seven hours after what seemed like an eternity on the Stairmaster, Kishan points out the first Nangi cottage to me. "We've arrived!" he told me in elation. This time, it wasn't just the weariness of the climb that had rendered me speechless, the sight of the mountains as a backdrop for the village was much too breathtaking.

Nestled between the Dhaulagiri, Annapurna and Nilgiri ranges, Nangi is a heaven 2,250m above sealevel. It was five in the evening when we reached the village, and the setting sun highlighted the peaks with neon orange. "Tomorrow morning, the view will be magnificent," said Hira Kantel, also a teacher at Nangi.

The next morning, I awoke to Hira's rightful predictions. The mountains were in their most glorious innocence of white, while their sharp, crystallised peaks glinted with supremacy. Yet, as Hira brought me around, I gradually realised that the village was also food for the soul. The Magar people are warm and welcoming, and are often seen meddling with a task or walking about to fulfill a mission, their lives brimming with a sense of purpose.

Take for example 70-year-old Moti Purja, who looks after a greenhouse that neatly lines itself on terraced steps 23m in height. Nurturing 21,000 seedlings for the wealth of the village, Moti explains that the greenhouse was done up so as to "sell vegetation for income or regenerate even more plantations here in Nangi."

But what has made Nangi even more reputable is its wireless technology that has helped it connect with the global village. About a decade ago, computer engineer Mahabir Pun returned from the United States after his studies to set up the Internet for his own village. Today, Nangi is thriving largely due to the painfully modest 53-year-old's contribution. It has helped the community garner international exposure, new e-projects and interactions with the outside world such as the Om Hospital in Pokhara.

Still, the simplicity of the villagers' lives provides solace and recluse from the hustle and bustle of the city – women are busy making paper out of lokta while men saw wood and pick grass for the construction of their homes. But one could always saunter into the computer lab in Nangi's Himanchal Higher Secondary School to tap onto the Internet and access the lurid pace of the outside world.

This is perhaps the magic of Nangi – you can exist on a quiet and secluded part of the planet, yet still be part of the happenings out and around it thanks to the village's high-speed wired capabilities. Also, an unassuming Magar community flourishes in their own little ways here, living with only the basic necessities and zilch materialism, yet still generously receiving you with wide, open arms. It has been no walk in the park up to the village of Nangi. But then again, whoever said it was easy getting up to the top of the world?