When one is on the Tamang Heritage Trail, Tamang villages are obviously the yolks of the journey. But to depart onto lesser known desolate lands is a luxury on its own – be it to face the solitude, or to find oneself nurtured in pristine nature, or just to explore the depths of our consciousness. Whatever the motive, service is rendered. Read Previous Blog: Tamang Heritage Trail, Langtang - Nagthali Part I From Tatopani, the trail ascends through a deep damp forest of old rhododendron trees. One is forgiven for getting lost in the dense forest with virtually non-existent trails. I find myself divided in various occasions, not being able to choose a path or sometimes, it is all onto me to sculpt one. Whichever path you choose, or wherever you may wander, all paths lead to a huge pointed rock at the hilltop visible throughout the forest. Brindang, a small settlement is based a little far below the rock. It is early morning, and the sunlight penetrates and glows through the dews on leaves as if each dew holds a sun within itself. After a couple of hours of huffs and puffs on the climb, Brindang is a pleasurable pause for sun basking and sweat drying. This small settlement boasts a community of 6 houses, all cluttered one after another. As with traditional Tamang settlement, each house is only a room big and shelters 6-8 members in a family. After being in Gatlang for a couple of days, I am pushed back to seriously reconsider my definitions of space per capita. Read Next Parts: Nagthali – Part II Nagthali– Part III
When one is on the Tamang Heritage Trail, Tamang villages are obviously the yolks of the journey. But to depart onto lesser known
Lapton is 23 years old, running Community Lodge and a commuter to Kathmandu. His younger brother, 18, married with children of 5 and 4, is settled in the village and serves hands to his father. Child marriage is well beyond acceptance, and in fact, encouraged by the elders. You probably were ignited by the feeling that your adolescence ‘puppy love’ was all you would die for. Well, that may just come true here. Read Previous Blogs: Gatlang - A traveler's epitome Part II Without a second thought, adolescents marry their chosen crush as early as 13, ofcourse with a ceremonial approval by the villagers. It’s feast time! Lapton confronts the convention. He questions the choice of decision. With a grin on his face, he avows, “… there are beautiful girls outside Gatlang, you know, in Kathmandu.” He chuckles. I am stoned. I nod. Hail to the city! Or lament? I do not know. Previous Blog: Gatlang – Part III Part IV Part V The differences arise when there is a frame of reference. Without that, all is same, and the same is all. I take my excuse, and thank them for their warm hospitality. Next stop – the secondary school. The school introduced 10th grade this year, with only one teacher for all subjects. The teacher himself had studied till 6th grade and had been teaching for 15 years. What say? Lack of expertise or admiration of experience? Either way, I hear no complaints. I guess that doesn’t matter after all. Route back to the village, and it unfolds seamlessly as morning rises above the heads of the people. There’s only one thing that triggers the synchrony of the people here – survival! The hardship is valued beyond measures, and why not? It is the feeding stream in this remote land.
Lapton is 23 years old, running Community Lodge and a commuter to Kathmandu. His younger brother, 18, married with children of 5 and
On a distance, I catch up with four children, carrying loads of dry twigs and green leaves for firewood and cattle feeding. We talk about life in the village, and at a distance, it appears. Apparently, it looks like Lego’s building bricks – each systematically concocted as in an orchestra. My imagination is stirred by a herd of cows and mountain goats. I excuse myself from their way. We shared the same path. Read Previous Blogs: Gatlang - A traveler's epitome Gatlang- part II Imagine the remoteness of Gatlang when I, with typical newar-looking face from Kathmandu, am mistaken as a westerner. No surprise, Nepali is a second language here after Tamang. The view of Langtang II (6561m) is impressive at sundown. Views captured, and set to shelter. The first feeling I get – in Gatlang, life seems to be suspended in time; and time, with all its might, defies changes of ‘so-called-modernity’. Here, life unfolds at its own pace regardless of what minor events and petty changes occur in the world outside. I question, how long the threads of isolation for? If I am to paint this hamlet in few tangible semantic colors, I would come as close as the Shire from The Lord of the Rings. I stray around the village for a while. People have a curious but twitchy look on their faces. Outlanders! But that anxiety soon fades and blends with warm reception. Children are driven with gaiety and glee, and ‘Namaste’ is the first notch of words I hear. They guide me to Community Lodge – a lodge run by the community. There is also a home-stay and a private lodge. The differences are minimal to non-existence. After all, it’s a close community with 300 households of homogenous folks, flanked by their isolation and self-sufficiency.
On a distance, I catch up with four children, carrying loads of dry twigs and green leaves for firewood and cattle feeding. We
In a world where culture, language, religion, identities are bland with globalization, Tamangs have preserved their unique culture and identity over hundreds of years. We owe them appreciation in that regard. Here, time is still a product factor of sunrise and monsoon, full moon and harvest. In a place like this, something like clock flunks to command recognition for its existence. In contrast, in our modern lives, the same mechanical tick-tuck decides the pace of life – when to eat, when to sleep, when to work, when to shit. That last phrase was probably too much. If there’s anything that is moving with the pace of life in Gatlang, that is covalence and harmony between the people and nature for hundreds of years. And, their lifestyles still retain similar characteristics of the lifestyles many grandfathers ago. Read Previous Blogs: Gatlang - A traveler's epitome Part II A simple dinner with the locals – millet and potatoes, and I am set to roll out. But that was a failed quest. In glimmering light of firewood and kerosene lamps, neighbors talk about daily affairs in their language. The houses are made from stacked stones and wooden roof. That allows enough space and air for sounds to escape. Result? Neighbors five houses apart hear what one talks about in his house. I am no exception. I am hung on thin air without sleep. The twilight stricken Langtang II and Langtang Lirung (7246m) make up for the stolen sleep. Not too long, the sounds extinguish, and suddenly a freezing silence stalks the narrow alleys of the village. It’s 9:00 pm, and smoke cease to exit chimneys. We are deep asleep. It’s another 6:00 pm, and I was one of the last souls to rise. The sun gilds the flanks of Langtang Lirung, and I
In a world where culture, language, religion, identities are bland with globalization, Tamangs have preserved their unique culture and identity over hundreds of
From Syabrubesi, the trail is a narrow sketchy climb that angles steeply uphill. I exhale a deep breath looking at the straight up hill I am to climb. I try to distract myself with immediate views. Flunked. Counting steps, panting, sweating, stopping for a sip, breathing… and before I know it, the sun warms my back and I am high above the valley on a new terrain – a viewpoint at 2300m. Ganesh Himal range, Kerung range in Tibet, Langtang Himal range and Gosaikunda range – all come to view, and my eyes’ attempt to merge them fails miserably. Read First Part: Gatlang – A traveler’s epitome With the view, comes all too familiar torrent of emotions that precede any Himalaya trekker. Inertia comes into play. Balancing fear, energy, urge, temptation, intuition, and action is all too exhausting sometimes, when our bodies can only afford to give so much energy. I am stoked with contradictions – motionless, restless, mindless, and yet I am pretty certain I am present at the moment, facing the mighty ones on my face. My intention to continue the trek is filled with friction – it is peaceful and turbulent at the very instant, and I am denying the unhappy truth that nothing is permanent. Few clicks and I am on a descent. It’s a flat walk from the viewpoint to Gatlang. I am psyched. I have no impression, no expectation – what’s its like? About 150 years ago, Nepal fought with Tibet over salt, and some of the regions were in Langtang. The trails were used by Tibetan traders for bartering salt with food items from Nepal. Now, we trek in those trails. Gatlang is inhabited by Tamang people, who are believed to be the descendents of Tibetans from Kerung and Tamangs from Helambu region
From Syabrubesi, the trail is a narrow sketchy climb that angles steeply uphill. I exhale a deep breath looking at the straight up
Not so far away from Kathmandu, on an aerial distance of merely 30 km to the north, lies a series of valleys that hold secrets to our hiccups and hitches of the modern civilization. The secrets that we have turned our backs on – in a constant struggle to enliven the firths of our lives in the city – may just remind us to reconsider widths and lengths of our lives. We try to achieve more, wish more, demand more… living less, caring less, being less. What for? Answers, I do not know. I never promised I knew. But there are experiences, places, and events that sign us towards them. One of those places is Gatlang – an ordinary Tamang village in Langtang. This journey is a spontaneous sprint to get away from the programmed life of the city. A mere 130 km bus drive from Kathmandu to Syabrubesi is a time wrap. You get on a bus surrounded by amenities of a modern life, and an hour later, you are surrounded by high hills, rivers, trails, deep gorges, and monasteries. There are no signs of mindless beings, no pollution, no crammed crowd. It is plain magic! After a day bus drive through nature’s wonders, I am set at Syabrubesi, and honestly, it does not fail to surprise me. The roaring of Bhote Kosi River, smoke escaping the crafted walls of the monastery, the soaring mountains, and countless stars in a clear sky – all ensure that I am safely home. It is a choice I made, and I regret none, not a bit. In a moment, under a moon lit night, I am flooded with emotions unwarranted - excitement, fear, sheer joy, appreciation, reverence, and confusion. Bliss! I try to subside myself. It is 6:00 am in the morning
Not so far away from Kathmandu, on an aerial distance of merely 30 km to the north, lies a series of valleys that
