Life's Perfect Moments -- Bhadaure, Nepal

I'm starting this post from the rooftop of View Point Guesthouse in Bhadaure, Nepal. The soaring Himalayas are hidden behind a dense veil of clouds, but I have high hopes of seeing them in the morning.  Chicks trapped under a basket chirp incessantly, poking their little heads through the wicker holes in desperation. I half expect them to cry out, "Chocolate? Sweets? Five rupees?"

A pleasant, chilly breeze rustles the jungle leaves. Women chide children in the narrow streets below (even if I don't understand Nepali, I can usually deduce when chiding is occurring). Laundry billows on a makeshift line to my left, baby girl clothes making me think that this could be my older brother's version of prayer flags.

Matt has wondered off somewhere, phoning his father for his birthday.

That. Is not a cheap call. Nepal to New Zealand. Oofta. 

So I'm here. Contentedly writing in the sunshine while trying to convince the restless chicks that I haven't got chocolate, sweets, five rupees. With limited success. Chuckling at the sign posted on the wall to my left, which proudly declares, "Sunrise View" and "Friendly Behaviour."




Today's short trek was sublime. If every trek could be like today's, I would gladly forfeit my dreams of yoga, French cheese and travel, and spend the rest of my life blissfully wandering the foothills of the Himalayas.

Matt and I lingered underneath our blankets this morning until it was properly sunny outside.

I feel rather ashamed about missing a Himalayan sunrise. But... my body hurts too much to move. And I'm all out of cough drops. Blurgh. Excuses. 

When my excuses finally ran out of energy (which can take awhile), Matt and I emerged from our tiny room and faced the brisk, bright morning. We ordered hot drinks, massive breakfasts, and then went for a stroll through the trekker village while our host prepared the meal.

The sky was so clear that I could finally see why the peak is called "Fishtail".

After devouring our mountainous breakfasts (and congratulating ourselves for not making yesterday's dire mistake of settling for paltry ones), we packed our bags, asked the Nepali trekkers for directions, and set off towards the village of Bhadaure.

There were plenty of stairs to be scaled, but shimmying up and down stairs with a full stomach and breathtaking views is significantly more agreeable than trudging up and down stairs whilst famished and surrounded by impenetrable jungle.

It was chilly, and I wished for the 72nd time that I'd thought to bring my extra sweater and warm red gloves. Snow speckled the ground, nestling in moss, ferns, dead leaves. My warm breath hung suspended in the cool air. My bare toes were a brilliant shade of red and tingled with cold.

But the rest of me simply glowed with happiness.

This is the experience I wanted. 

How? How am I lucky enough to be here? I felt nearly euphoric. Gleeful. Giddy. Positively overwhelmed with happy. 

These are the moments wherein my life feels far too beautiful to be real.

My only qualm with today, was that regardless of my enormous breakfast and recent consumption of two dal bahts, my pants persisted in falling down.  

All the weight I gained in the Balkans is gone, I mourned. And then some. None of my pants stay on anymore. 

I morosely tied one of Ellie's many straps to a belt loop of my trousers, creating makeshift suspenders. 

Now we're really attached at the hip. As it were. 

The Nepali trekkers in Panchase Bhanyjang had mentioned something about a house with a blue roof. So when we came across a blue roof, I stopped in my tracks and racked my brain.

"Matt, there's the blue roof. Do you remember what we're supposed to do here? All I remember is that something is supposed to happen at the blue roof. Which isn't very helpful." 

"Maybe we go towards it?" 

"Umm... okay." 

This is why we get lost.

Fortunately, going towards the blue roof was the proper move, and my Kiwi and I ambled into Bhadaure early this afternoon. 

For once, I'm actually a little disappointed that we've arrived. I could have spent the entire day walking like that. Even with all the bloody stairs.

Matt and I both found the authentic little village delightful, so after checking into our guesthouse and warming up with some hot lemon and chia, we spent the rest of the daylight hours exploring Bhadaure.

This chicken just hung out in front of the temple all afternoon.

After shivering my way through a delicious chicken curry dinner (Matt ate something else. Because Matt doesn't eat delicious chickens), we returned to our room. Where I read aloud from Mark Twain because Matt's book continues to be crap.

Days don't get any better. 

Well. I mean. I would appreciate uninfected sinuses and pants that would stay up. But other than that...

These are life's perfect moments. Moments I will always look back on and feel such gratitude. Such wonder. Such melancholic longing.