I said, "SERENITY NOW!"

After two days in the interesting but polluted Kathmandu, we were ready to head up to the mountain village of Nagarkot for some peace and quiet. Of course, these things have to be earned.

We started earning it the morning we left Kathmandu. Randy was flying in from Dhaka that day, and the plan was to pick him up from the airport on the way to Nagarkot. His flight was delayed, first one hour, then seven hours. At that point, it wasn't worth it for him to come out for such a short time. So, we missed his company while in Nargarkot.
Then, came the drive.
The driver we hired to take us up to the Nargokot Farmhouse was an excellent and very safe driver. The road up the mountain started out smoothly, but got rougher after we left the main, paved road. Eventually a hairpin turn in the road revealed, well, something one would be hard pressed to call a road. Recent rains had opened chasms into the road, and we didn't feel great about trying it in the beater minivan.
The driver called the hotel and they assured us the road was better after about 200 meters. A quick inspection confirmed this, but we still weren't thrilled with that 200 meters. So, the driver eased the van down the tricky area, while we followed behind. We rejoined him once the road was smoother (and calling it smoother is being generous).


The Nagarkot Farmhouse itself was wonderful. It seemed to have the peacefulness we wanted, and the views were only partially obscured by the monsoon season clouds.


The rooms were a bit rustic. When you are up in the clouds, the bedding will get damp. Hot water was present intermittently. The bugs were out of the Temple of Doom. Electricity was also intermittent, not that we needed it that often. But, the food was amazing, and the staff would bring tea to your door for the sunrise:



Did I mention this was right outside our room? This is what we saw when we woke up. No, really.
Everest would be a small dot on the right, if the clouds weren't in the way.

The Farmhouse wasn't just about sipping tea as the sun rose over the Himalayas; there were two wrinkles. We were warned about both by the caretaker when we arrived:

-He told us that a small group was staying there, and using the meditation room for "some sort of meditation that involves yelling and crying." When we asked what kind of meditation that was, he wrinkled his nose and said, "not any kind that I do."
Sure enough, as I was walking around the grounds below the meditation room, I could hear someone yelling, "Goooo toooo helllllllll...." repeatedly, followed by a women yelling "Say it louder! Like your life depended on it!" This was followed by loud sobbing. Fortunately, this soul-searching did not last for too long, but it kept us from taking any of those people seriously when we saw them in the dining room. Apparently this new state of enlightenment doesn't keep you from demanding extra toast and complaining that the internet connection is too slow.

-He also warned us to walk mainly on the sidewalks, as leeches often live in the grass during the rainy season. I only disregarded this a few short times, and only for 3-4 feet. But of course, as I got up from breakfast the first morning I felt an odd squish in my sandal. I took it off to find blood over my sole, and a leech falling off with the sandal. I tried to excuse myself as calmly as possible. I suspect it latched on on my way to breakfast, so it was probably on for 30-45 minutes. And as is often said, it didn't hurt at all. And yes, I took a picture of the wound, but I'll spare you all by not putting it up on here.

So now I can say I've had the full third world experience, in that I can say "Why yes, I was bitten by a leech in Nepal." But, I was not the only one to share in this joy. Later that day we went on a short hike to the village itself, and had a picnic lunch near the side of the road. We were greeted by two Nepalese women who tried to engage us in conversation. Anne was able to use some of her Bengali with them, but most of the conversation was fruitless. They seemed to be telling us to hike further up the road to eat, rather than eating there. When they finally left us, we discovered why. Anne felt the dreaded sensation on her ankle, and had the presence of mind to hand off the nephew to me before freaking out on the leech. Perhaps these kind women were trying to tell us, "Idiots, don't eat your lunch in a ditch where there are leeches."

It is times like these, when you just hike back to the hotel, have the staff bring some beers to your room with the amazing view, and stay the hell out of the grass.



And here's another Sam picture: