This is Chapter 6 in a blog series. If you’re new to the series, visit the series homepage for the full table of contents.

We are on the way to Ulleri, a small village on the outskirts of Pokhara, and I must be the only passenger in the city wearing a helmet. I am okay with this as my driver is Bradley, and who knows what might happen.

There are four of us on two bikes: Bradley and me, and Amit and Sajana, and we make it no farther than ten minutes down the main highway—which is nothing like those of the States and more like a wide road with non-existent lanes—before we pull over at one of the many small shops lining the sides of the drag for reasons I’m not yet aware.

Bradley engages in safety precautions.

Another bike pulls up behind us and it is Seti Chama, the woman whose house we are staying at in the village, and her son Robin as driver. She has a wide smile and an infectious, cackling laugh, and we exchange Namastes before perusing the shops.

The market is filled with treats and sweets—bread, donuts, puffed rice, cookies, biscuits, and veggies too—and we purchase all of them and set off.

Got the puffy rice goods.

Six people and three bikes, we weave up the road and soon find ourselves ascending the foothills outside the city where the shops and homes slowly fade as we climb. There is only a small market stand at every large turn of the mountain road and even those disappear. We are told the ride to the village is about an hour and a half, so I sit up straight and grasp the backseat of the scooter with both hands as I’m still uncomfortable with the hands-free approach taken by all other passengers.

The city is far behind us and green terraces line the distant mountain sides like stairs falling into the valley.

Green stairwells and rocky roads.

The farther we travel and the higher we climb, the faster the road descends in quality. Our scooter is wimpish compared to the bikes of our friends and it shakes and bounces along the rocky road, sending us from our seats into the air then onto our tailbones with a thud. Bradley is keenly aware of any potholes and rocks, which are everywhere, as such obstacles might send us toppling over, worse case into the ravine below, but I’m beginning to trust Bradley’s scooting skills.

Eventually, the uphill becomes so steep that I must jettison the vehicle and hike to the hilltops as Bradley scoots up. To remedy this problem, he discovers the snake strategy, S-turns as one might do when skiing downhill, which gives us enough traction to inch forward with both of us onboard. I grasp tightly to the vehicle, ride the rocks, and await our arrival.

The village town of Ulleri is nested high in the mountains and it welcomes us with a foul scent from a nearby poultry farm but the smell passes quickly.

There are small homes made of rock and clay aside fields filled with crops of varying heights. We Namaste the villagers with prayer hands as the black and brown water buffalo roam the roads and fields, staring up at us with big, curious eyes.

We park the scooters and a village dog scampers toward us. His name is Baloo, a name which reminds me of the bear in the Jungle Book, and he guides us up the path made of grass and stone. I feel like I’m walking in The Shire as my sandals find footing atop stones and climb over walls which have stepping rocks built mid-height into the walls.

See those stepping stones on either wall? V helpful.

Eventually, we reach the house—Seti Chama’s village abode. Seti does not speak English but Sajana tells us she rarely comes here but to escape the city. It looks nice and simple to me. Shelter is shelter and I’ve learned to appreciate any and all roofs that hang over my head, especially one as special and remote as this. So many of my worries fade away amid the village silence as I peer out to the distant haze and the valley beyond. The vibes are peaceful and calming away from the sounds of the city—the barking dogs, the humming of motorcycles, and the man who wakes at 5am to practice his yelling for as long and as loud as he is able, which is actually rather impressive.

The home is all one room, no more than ten by ten feet with two beds, an armoire for storage, a corner kitchen with campfire stove and an upstairs loft filled with a hundred or more potatoes. Everyone in the village has basic electricity—enough to power small lights and the WiFi modem. Bradley and I roll our eyes and laugh as we were just speaking about how nice it was to be without internet before happily asking for the password.

Seti Chama kneels down to build a fire, Amit cuts potatoes, and Bradley and I polish and prepare fresh candles. Lighting lights is a common ritual for sending well wishes to friends, family and all beings, and the preparation involves polishing small candle chalices, inserting new wicks, heating ghee (butter) in a pot and pouring the liquid into the chalices to cool. The work is successful and a snack is prepared and eaten.

Bellies filled, we depart to trek the mountain, which is essentially the houses’ backyard, and I have a good feeling about it. Sajana leads the way with Baloo alongside and we are joined by three older village women plus Amit, who is now one of our close friends—family, here in Nepal.

We scale a chunk of the mountain passed a huge landscaping project that will one day be a soccer field and find a spot to sit and omm, connect with nature, and gaze at the inspiring landscape.

On the return trek home, Sajana tells us to hug a huge boulder and we become hippies for two solid minutes. This is important she says, feeling the nature. When we love the nature, the nature loves us, and we feel a part of it.

It’s a concept I’ve understood intellectually but never cared to practice. How do I show love to nature? This is part of what I’m learning here. It’s something I’m down for, so I grasp the rock which offers a cold and refreshing kiss against my cheek and arms.

As night falls, we head to the village temple called the 21 Taras—it is an outdoor space filled with white altars for lighting lights, building fires and chanting.

Chanting is new to me and I feel an initial resistance to it as I have no idea what I’m saying but I keep doing it because there is psychological benefit. Firstly, it is a syncing up of sorts with both oneself and those involved. It’s an easy way to feel, as the vibrations coming from my body are gross and apparent and take me out of thinking. It shakes things up, unclogs the pipelines of emotion and thought for new things to flow through. Don’t listen to what anyone else is doing or how they sound, Sajana says. Just be in yourself. Listen to yourself, your own heart, your own soul, your own potential.

I do this and find it a good practice to tune-in and check-in with the moment.

My eyelids are heavy and I am more than ready for sleep, but as we walk back to the house, the sounds of music arise, the kind of noises one might expect from a middle-school band’s first practice.

Sajana turns to us and laughs and says the villagers recently purchased nine new instruments and want to play tonight for us at the house.

I glance at Bradley sidelong. We laugh and surrender into the flow of the experience.

There on the front porch of the house are nine young men each equipped with a noise-making device. None of the instruments are recognizable to me except the two drummers holding giant mallets and of course the cymbals. The rest are wind instruments, loud and harsh, and Indian-sounding. There is no singer, only the ringing and clashing and piercing of the village orchestra.

As soon as we step over the stone wall and into the front yard, the band calls us to dance and Bradley and I are pushed to center stage.

Although initially reluctant, the two of us are not shy when it comes to dancing. Our moves are wide and strange and involve the entire body; not a joint is missed. Our limbs twist and turn and at times I am crawling on the ground or high-kicking or shaking my shoulders. It is unlike anything the villagers have seen before and our boisterous movements send them into a frenzy of laughter and clapping.

We are already sweating after only one song as the songs are deceptive and filled with trickery. Each seems harmless at first, starting slow and methodical, but there is a gradual and subtle increase in tempo without stopping, and eventually, the music reaches a point of no return where it is too late for the dancer who is ensnared in the music’s grasp.

About three songs into this madness, Bradley has the bright idea to call upon the village children with an intense stare that signals a challenge. Eight boys flock onto the dance floor to form a troupe and begin to mimic our every move. We feel like they are mini-reflections of ourselves and will do whatever they are told. Bradley and I take turns leading the group in a natural way going with whosever moves seem most fun in the moment. There is chest-pounding, roaring and holding hands while running in circles. They laugh and clap the whole way through and after the song is over they want more. And more. Our fate is sealed and Bradley and I take turns resting. I laugh when one of my songs is short and Bradley must make his way back onto the stage for another round in the ring. I turn to him and ask if the band is playing the same song over and over as I can’t tell. It entranced in such a way that it is difficult to tell. He thinks for a second, cracks a smile, shrugs and embarks for another go in the spotlight.

The night drags on into infinity and we chug water while sweat runs down our faces. The music ends and we and the band thank each other for the mutual entertainment. The tourists can dance, one of the little boys says to us in English. We laugh, and head inside the house. It was a memorable night for everyone involved—tourists and villagers—music and dance transcending the boundaries of the spoken word.

The fun does not stop there. Even though there are two beds downstairs it’s decided that for some reason all five of us will sleep in the second floor attic space, which is filled with hundreds of potatoes. We climb the ladder and pile in, but the potatoes pose a problem.

Work in the village doesn’t stop, laughs Amit as he pushes the spuds into the corner to clear room for our makeshift beds. Pretty soon we are cracking up about all these potatoes. Bradley says they make for a fine footrest as they are still invading his sleeping space.

Amit then takes apart what seems like a perfectly good bed and I’m dying of laughter wanting to know why he’s done this. We have to sleep closer to the potatoes, he says. We end up like sardines, Sajana and Seti Chama sleeping in the corner farthest from the potatoes, and shut our eyes for some well-earned sleep.

I wake in a haze, but it is not the psychological kind—there is smoke filling the attic. Seti Chama is cackling downstairs; she woke and made a breakfast fire, which sits right below us and directly funnels up to the second story of the small house. We’re being smoked out, yells Bradley, the laughing continues, and we climb down the few steps from the attic and escape outside for some fresh air.

I breathe and gaze at the nearby village fields, the distant mountains, then glance at my watch. It is 6 o’clock. For the past two weeks we’ve woke at 4am and I feel the rest is needed, symbolic of what awaits us.

After eating rice and potatoes there is a climb up Thaple Tiger Hill—a decent sized mountain, and we are once again joined by two older village women who are sisters, and Baloo when about halfway up, we break for meditation.

The spot is peaceful and after the long sitting, Sajana calls me over.

What did you feel? she asks.

Good, I say. Very pleasurable.

She shakes her head. No, she says. We’re not just doing this for good feeling. In everything we do there is meaning. What is the meaning? A lot can be learned from this. This is important to remember.

Her words take me off-guard and resonate deeply. It reminds me of how in my writing, and thus my life, I sometimes tell stories without reflecting on what I learned—the hidden and subtle meaning behind the events. I need to look for this more often, I think to myself, as there are missed lessons if I’m only focused on feeling good or bad. I nod and breathe as she calls to Bradley.

Bradley? she asks softly. He looks up. Why do you think we stopped here?

He breathes deeply. So I’ll let go of wanting to climb to the top?

We burst out in laughter and she says mmhm and nods. We’d been so focused on hiking to the top that we’ve lost track of the present and become unbalanced, and she reminds us of the importance of the moment to moment nature of life.

About this time, Mansing shows up. He is the local patriarch in managing the village and leading its development, and he is with two other men, one an engineer and the other a local, each holding a long tape measure. They are measuring the path and looking to make it more developed for future tourism, so are making their way to the top.

Sajana gives us permission to join and while she and Amit stay behind, Bradley, the two village women, Baloo and I embark up the final half of the mountain.

Baloo and I forge ahead while Bradley is left watching over the village ladies, who I later learn are crawling up the mountain on hands and legs.

Since I am no longer in a hurry, I’m able to take the time to capture some thoughts on video:

We hike down the mountain and our last visit is to Mansing’s house—it is a bed and breakfast, and he says we should return to stay after our 21-day trek of Manaslu and Tsum Valley. Seeds planted for the future.

We shake hands with Mansing, hop on our bikes, take the bumpy road back to the city, and as we make our way down the mountain, there is a man in a field of mud behind two oxen pulling a plow. I feel fortunate for the life I live and wonder why our lives are so different. Why do I have the opportunities that I do, and him none of these opportunities?

It makes me think of concepts presented in the bio/psycho/social model of Spiral Dynamics—that each one of us has different Life Conditions: the setting, time, and moment-to-moment circumstances that influence so much of what we are able and unable to do in this life. Life Conditions influence the practices we hold, the beliefs we believe, the thoughts we think, the programming we receive, the problems we face and opportunities we are given.

He has his Life Conditions and I have mine. And you, too, have yours. Neither is better nor worse. They are simply different.

In this way, I feel no problem and no opportunity is too big or too small. Comparing or quantifying experiences is of no importance. Instead, what is of upmost importance is whatever is arising in this moment. All we can do, all we need to do, is face our moments in the way we feel is best for ourselves. All the answers we need for now exist in the now. They are inside us, in this moment, and they will come from no other place and no one else.

It makes me think of how silly I once was for thinking I had answers for others, how at times I’ve pushed my own beliefs, practices and ideas onto others, or more subtly, held absolute belief in my beliefs, thinking these beliefs will work for all people without first considering that each person has their own Life Conditions, their own perception.

Knowing I’m guilty of this behavior—for instance, in believing meditation is a panacea that works for all people, or judging non-vegetarians as unaware and unhealthy—I tend to see this same behavior everywhere, but swapped for different ideologies.

I see it in political stances, diet preferences, and religion. I see it from the left and right. Capitalists, socialists, communists and libertarians. Vegans, vegetarians and paleo-dieters. Christians, Buddhists and Atheists. Spiritual-types, skeptics and scientists. Meditators, yogis and cross-fitters. It does not matter the ideology, only the degree to which one is attached, cemented and judgmental.

I see this negativity spread mostly on social media as these mediums make it easy to attack others, outsource our thinking to the latest study or article, and signal our values. One solution offered by Braving the Wilderness author Brené Brown—people are hard to hate close up, move in.

I think our inability to accept others as they are and proselytize our own worldview is mostly done with good intentions. When our beliefs work for us, we share them out of excitement, a desire for other’s happiness, or a paradigm we think is worth protecting. We think we know what’s best for them. But I now find myself unable to cross the line between sharing my beliefs and believing my beliefs are the right ones, especially for others. I know the effort it takes to craft solutions for others: a deep consideration of their wants, needs, culture, upbringing, education, psychology, and all the prior moments they’ve experienced.

So I think it best, at the very least, to first make a concerted effort to understand others before impressing onto them the solutions that work for us. Maybe they need something else entirely. Or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe everyone is exactly where they need to be.

For those who believe whole-heartedly in their -isms and practices, would this be what is best for the aforementioned man in the field?

Likely not, but for our family, friends, and neighbors—yes, we think! And so we push our agendas and worldviews onto them in subtle and not so subtle ways. We think: if only more people thought the way I do, the world would be a better place.

I sometimes see the world in this way: a battleground of ideologies with people staking their flag atop a hill representing a single perspective, thinking their one perception is the absolute truth without considering the value of the other hills, or spending any significant amount of time atop those hills. Here we stay, perhaps for our entire lives, stuck psychologically, surrounding ourselves with others who believe the same, the echo chamber grows louder, more affirming, the attachment to our idea strengthens, and we become willing to die atop an ideological hill for the sake of preserving homeostasis. It is us alone who build our own mountains of suffering.

Perhaps you might be thinking yes, I see this behavior too and from so many people—how can I change them? Ah, this again is the trap. We must look inward and ask these questions of ourselves. Even those who are proponents of raising consciousness, who feel themselves as woke, are so deeply trapped in this cycle. For as many people who are woke, there are those who are unwoke, and this duality alone perpetuates the cycle. Wherever there is judgment and intolerance and feelings of egotism within us, there is a psychological plateau.

My wish is for us (myself) to give up our hills. Or at least to stop demonizing the hills of others. I wish that we give up trying to change the world, pointing the finger at others, and placing blame on the outside world. To stop scapegoating, spreading negativity, wildly reacting to every news article that comes our way, picking sides, and digging in our heels. Attachment to our beliefs and to changing others is the cause of much suffering, and it is self-inflicted.

Instead, if change is what we desire, may we start with ourselves, point the finger inward, take responsibility, spread what we love, not what we hate, move in, and offer real solutions. For other’s solutions, we listen to each other, seek understanding, and point them inward. And for our own solutions, we ask them of ourselves.

In this way, I see how perfect everything is, how everyone is exactly where we need to be. Given our Life Conditions, our moments, how could it be any other way?

For both myself and the man in the field, change is inevitable, the moment is what matters, and I wish to surrender to its never-ending flow without judgment, without demonization, allowing everything to happen naturally and loving myself and others no matter what hills we stand atop or villages we choose to live in.

Thanks for visit.

I hope you enjoyed the read. If you did, please share it with a close friend and consider following the journey:

Wishing you well.

Love,

David

PS — thanks to my patrons who support my work.

PSS — you can purchase my hiking memoir, The Trail Provides, on Amazon and Audible today.

PSSS — a special thanks to Bradley for helping me bounce ideas off him and offering his own, which helped make this post what it is. Check out Bradley’s blog, Dhamma Diaries for his side of the story. I think you’ll enjoy. 🙂

That’s the end of Part I of My Nepal Story! I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave a comment below to let me know and consider subscribing to the blog for future updates:

To keep reading Part II of My Nepal Story, click here or the image below:

Part II features Bradley and I trekking the Manaslu and Tsum Valley trails in the Himalayas with a Tibetan Lama. It’s quite the adventure, to say the least. Enjoy!