One of the things I enjoyed most while trekking through Nepal, was passing through the small villages high in the hinterlands. Can you imagine growing up in a place so remote that you have to hike for days before seeing a car? In a place where yak carry the supplies? Or where you walk down a mountain and across swinging bridges to get to school? In some ways it sounds idyllic, in other ways like a hardship (I can't live that far from Target). But, I suppose for these families, it's just life.
Often when we walked by homes or through small villages we could hear the high voices of children. Sometimes they were flying kites, sometimes they were getting their hair washed, sometimes they were working on homework. Often, when they saw Matt walk by there would be whispers of "Geetar!" They liked that geetar.
Little Nepalese chatter is just the cutest sound.
One tea house we stayed at was run by a family with two lively little boys. They were probably about 2 and 3 years old and fairly wild.
The two boys ran in and out of the dining room recognizing they had an audience in the constantly changing tourists, guides and porters staying in their home.
Matt usually played his guitar in the evenings as we drank masala tea. Once he started plucking the strings those boys stopped, looked and slowly stepped closer to the bearded stranger. It didn't take too long for them to reach out and try it themselves. Ooh, they liked that. Several kids along our travels have tried out the guitar, but none have been so curious. The oldest brother wanted to figure out that sound- he looked behind the guitar, inside the guitar, he strummed it and tapped it. When Matt played a new sound his face had a look of sheer surprise and delight.
Meanwhile, I had brought some colored pencils along because every now and then I need to be creative and mountains tend to spur this creativity on. That particular afternoon, I thought I would use them, so when Matt started playing again, I pulled them out along with some paper from my notebook. I put a paper in front of each boy and offered to share my pencils. They liked that.
We drew a little bit. I drew a sun and the three year old applauded me when I showed him, so, you know, I was feeling pretty good.
Then, all of a sudden he handed a pencil to his little brother, scooped up the rest and took off. I told him no and pointed to the table, but conveniently, he couldn't speak English.... (Although I have no doubt he understood what he was suppose to do.)
About a half hour later I saw him outside still clutching pencils in each fist. How could I try to get them back after that? And he had clapped for my sun picture. So, they turned into my gift to the Himalayas. The way he clutched them, I think they were loved for a little while at least.
