Family wordlwide

Nepal is a country filled with magic. Crazy spontaneous travels, cosy mornings on the balcony with Himalayan views and endless cups of tea with loud laughter while visiting family. In 2010 I did my journalism internship in Kathmandu, where I stayed with a beautiful family I soon called my own. All of a sudden I had a Nepali mother, father, big brother and sister. And a sweet Australian sister. Family on the other side of the world. It was like a dream come true.

Walking through 'my' street in Kathmandu again felt like coming home. Visiting family is something I enjoy so much, just ringing their bell and catching up over a chai. How great it was to see my Nepali family! Filled my soul with happiness. Old friends yelled out "baaph re baaph!" when they saw me, which means "oh my god" in Hindi. I used to say this phrase a lot, it made me laugh every time again. So people started calling me Baaph re baaph. Four years later I still have my Hindi name, my family is still my family and Nepal feels like home. Always will.

Dahl baath for the soul

One thing I always look forward to when I'm coming back to Belgium, is the food. I'm not talking about Flemish fries, Brussels sprouts or expensive chocolates. It's mama's cooking I crave before/during/after traveling. Because mom's food is the best food. My mom beats every tv chef and fancy restaurant. I could even say my mom beats your mom's cooking. But that would be rude. But true. She IS one hell of a cook. The only reason I'm homesick once in a while is because 'home' equals her divine meals.

A very important part of traveling for me, is trying local dishes. It's like tasting the soul of a place. Sometimes I enjoy a beautiful meal prepared by a family, other times I find tricky looking food stalls that sell things I might regret eating. But I try it anyway. And a whole new world opens up to me. Four years ago, my stomach didn't agree with some Nepali dishes, but this time my belly was having party. I ate crispy noodles with a piece of cardboard instead of a fork, goat lungs that tasted like soft chicken, dahl baath until I fainted with happiness. And for a second, I forgot about Belgium and mom's homely food. 

Love note to Nepal

Fifty years from now

I'll still remember how

Nepalese mouths always curl up

they love to laugh non stop

maybe they joke about

that sour faced tourist crowd

the funny things white people say

seems like the only Nepali word they know is namasteeeeeeeee

I feel inspired

how they never get tired

of smiling for hours

it must be one of their superpowers

maybe they want to tell the world

read the news, have you heard?!

The only way to lead a happy life

is to smile until you die.

O momo, I love you so

Momo making

got my legs shaking

who would have known

kneeding dough

would be so therapeutic

you may think I'm a lunatic

but I promise it's true

why did I waste my time at school

while I could have been making momos

have people ask for more and more

of that dough wrapped goodness

a bit weird but tasty nonetheless

the most creative filling

dressed up in a dumpling

what would you say

of chicken satay

or would veg and egg

please your needs

no wait

there's no need to debate

because what I've got in store

is all you ever longed for

a momo so damn fine

it'll make you laugh and cry at the same time

banana-honey-peanut butter-chocolate

what do you think about that?

We have a home!

I've been traveling like a snail for a while now; slow, sticky and with my home on my back. The urge to put the backpack down lead to waving around some rupees and paying rent for the first time in a looong time. An apartment in Nepal to call home for one month. Thirty days of cooking our own curries and inviting friends over for dinner parties. Sleepovers, pyjama parties, housewarmings and casual Tuesday afternoon cocktails, just because we can. 

Nepal works like a magnet to me, there are so many things about this country I adore. The mindblowing nature, the smiliest people I've ever met, the inspiring way of life. Four years ago Kathmandu was where the heart is. While doing my journalism internship I was blessed to move in with a beautiful Nepalese family who adopted me as their white daughter. Especially the conversations with Ama (mum) were hilarious. She would be talking to me in Nepalese and I replied in English, both laughing because we had no clue what the other was talking about. After a couple of Nepali classes I was telling her all the time how delicious the food was, oooh derei mito chaaa! Chai? Mito chaa! 

After a lovely visit to my family (filled with mito chaaa and loud laughter) I headed to Pokhara on what must have been the bumpiest busride of my life. Next time I take the bus, I'll remember to wear a sports bra. This city felt like the right place to settle down. For a month. That's the absolute maximum my itchy feet are willing to stay in one place. Oh, it feels mighty fine not having to live in and out of a backpack and being able to invite friends over to 'our place'. It does. But my ass is not made for sitting still and I'm craving adventures. So we are planning trips, treks, travels and festivals. And we booked flights! To Belgium! On june 18! But for now: we stuff our faces with curry and climb mountains until we faint. 

Colour madness

In Pokhara I learned that the Nepalese love to celebrate the start of the new year by running. Good resolutions, I guess. Well, it worked for me because all of a sudden I love running. This never happened to me before. I don't think I would enjoy hopping around purple faced by myself, but sharing sweat and receiving motivational shouts from a bunch of people is actually a lot of fun. Plus I'm not the only one who is glowing in the dark with a face the colour of an overripe tomato. Everyone looks like that when you're running like a maniac.

That's probably exactly the reason why some genius came up with the idea of a colour run. You can't tell whose face is more fluorescent while running because everyone is covered with coloured powder. It's a paint race without the race. People are smiling, yelling with joy and getting paint out of their eyes all while running through clouds of colour dust. There is one rule only: you have to start off with a white T-shirt. Just to see how much of a rainbow you turned into after a couple of kilometers. When the colour run hit Pokhara I wanted to be a part of it. I felt like I belonged amidst running hippies who shower themselved with coloured paint. I was in. But I didn't own a white Tee. But somewhere in the dark corners of my backpack I had a wedding dress crying to be used again.

Off I went, in the whitest outfit a woman can own. My love on the sideline, his legs too sore from the race the day before. It was hilarious, it was crazy, it was like I ran straight into a rainbows guts. That's exactly what I looked like at the finish. But then there was that bag full of red powder. What looked like a colourful hippie before, turned into frankensteins bride. Especially the walk back through town was hilarious. People didn't know what they were seeing. Like a wave, shopkeepers ran out of their stores to get a glimpse of that zombie bride in her bloody wedding dress. Tourists asked me if they could take a picture with me, women burst out laughing and children followed me all the way home. I was the local freakshow, and I didn't mind. I felt strangely at home.

Running for the new year

While Belgian friends are bragging about the amount of easter eggs they found in the garden, I'm still busy celebrating Nepalese new year. In Pokhara we started 2071 with a race through the streets. Nice prizes were to be won, like paragliding trips and free dinners. Even for just participating, I received a voucher for a free cocktail and a T-shirt. And I choose free cocktails over free dinners anytime of the day, that's why I ended up last in the race. Dean was more ambitious (and sporty) and became fifth... Barefoot! True Aussie style ;) 

Purple and proud, I arrived at the finish long after the others. But I got my certificate and to celebrate, we went out for cold beers. It was already 10 am so that's alright. Tomorrow was going to be a new year, so we would enjoy 2070 while it lasted with more beers and happy hour cocktails. At 8 pm we were neck and neck at the snoring competition. We even forgot to get our free cocktail.

But here it is, proof of our running abilities, fuelled by liters of coffee (Dean) and buckets of sweat (me). 

Happy 2071 everyone!

Organic farming in the mountains

We decided to take a holiday from the Kathmandu chaos and disappeared in the Nepalese mountains for a couple of days. We met the amazing Krishna, ever smiling trekking guide and owner of an organic farm homestay with a view people just can't get enough of. Well I can't. So for days and nights we sat on our balcony or in one of the huts and just stared at the horizon. Watching the mountains come and go. Sometimes there would be three of them, then the mist would move and four others would pop up. Nature tv, it's the best. As we watched the mist and the mountains play their game of hide and seek, Krishna told stories of Hindu goddesses, trekking adventures and the happy organic farm life. Smiles and chillum were shared. They call marihuana a weed for a reason, the mountains are covered in the green goodness. 

Apart from the endless amounts of ganja, Krishnas farm was busting with corn, hairy potato, yam, bananas, monkey fruit, ginger, garlic, grapes, almonds and more. All organic and planted with love. We learned how to make ginger jam and monkey fruit candy by using his home made drying house. Krishna was happy to share his knowledge of organic farming and jungle exercising. He told us all about bio gas (your poo becomes light and fire!) and how to make organic insecticide (your pee mixed with herbs!). The days started with a jungle run and a yoga session under the rising sun. After teaching us all about organic farming, making endless cups of lemongrass tea and feeding us hairy potatoes and dahl baath, Krishna would light a camp fire, play the djembe and shant until the stars started to dance. 

Home sweet Nepal

It starts as soon as you land in Kathmandu and walk out of the airport. The combination of freshly steamed momos and freshly polluted air. But no hint of freshness to be found. Hundreds of taxis and motorbikes spitting black smoke in your face. The drivers, smiling friendly but still charging fifteen times the amount you should pay to get to the center. I remember to buy toilet paper before checking into Friendship Peace Guesthouse. My last experience taught me well and clear: in Nepal, toilet paper is your best friend. No power so no shower for now, we wait until the water gets warm to wash the dust off our smelly travel bodies. We leave our backpacks in the room, look at each other and laugh. We are here! Nepal, the place we will be calling our home for the next three months.

We use the half priced coissants in the bakery window as our clock: it's 8 pm or later. Live bands blast one cover song after another. All with a Nepalese twist or some in a made up language that sounds a bit like English. Rikshas riding over our toes while flems fly through the air from inside shopkeepers throats to the other side of the street. Colours of bright pink, green, yellow and red on yak wool scarves, books, handmade paper, necklaces and flowerdresses in thousands of little stalls. Endless shopping delight. More discounted pastries, motorbikes, clothes, spiritual books visitors love to read. Young travelers walking with their noses in the ultimate tourist bible. Bumping into grey nomads, who used to live in Kathmandu's Freak Street in the sixties, still floating around with their heads in opium clouds. Locals trying to sell tigerbalm and in a whispering voice every kind of drug you can imagine. Or they just want talk and practise their English. Sometimes without teeth. Never without a smile. Namaste! Baaph re baaph! Every one is busy. But there is always time for tea.