Friday Adventure

I felt caged in my own house, behind my gigantic security walls.  Outside the never ending din of car horns and traffic penetrated the walls.  There is no quiet place in Kathmandu.  The city that is historically remembered as a slow laid back hippy haven in now a busy metropolis.

Our driver must have sensed my restlessness.  This morning I locked JAC into his carseat,  packed a day bag and told the driver,  "Take me someplace interesting - your choice."  We filled the gas tank, slowly weaved through traffic and an hour later we were in quiet bliss.  The driver wanted me to see the rice harvest and he said he took me to the most peaceful place he knew.

We bumped down a rotted old dirt road and the city dissolved behind us taking the noise with it.  Quiet fields of deep green and bright yellow replaced it.  We parked the car and started walking.  We walked into the countryside and on a road that quickly became a narrow trail.  On each side of us the fields were spotted with families harvesting rice.  Some members cut the rice garnering short sickles in a sweeping motion.  Others gathered the rice in tight bundles while a small grouping beat the long green shafts.  Small yellow pods of rice were collected in large piles to be dried and then ground.  The remaining roughage was fed to the goats and cows.

As we marched along taking it in we met clusters of women carrying heavy loads of rice home.  They would laugh and gently tease our driver from walking with a white baby.  Every person wanted to touch my fair child.  Every person seemed content with the work of the day. 

The workers are from the Newari people.  They have been harvesting rice in Nepal for generations and have almost a proprietary feeling about the task.  They preform the work with pride.  While people rush through life in Kathmandu only a few kilometers away these proud people quietly accomplish their work.