On the road, we stopped at the celebrated Ghoda Ghodi temple and the homonymous lake, which we found full of blossoming lotus flowers. After visiting the tranquil and colourful temple and getting lost in the smooth white and pink layer gently rising on a vivid green carpet on the water’s surface, we moved towards another community located near the entrance of Bardiya National Park.
Here, the culinary experience was the centre of the group activities and it took place in different moments. First, literally immersed in the river, then in the forest and finally around the fireplace.
If you haven’t already, remind yourself of Elisa’s first taste of Nepal and the Bhada Community.
At the River
I happily freed my feet from the constriction of my trekking boots and carefully descended the rocky hills to run towards the sandy dunes formed by the waters of the Geruwa River. It was an extremely hot day, and the softness of the sand turned into a burning torture after only a few seconds of standing on it.
Regularly dipping my feet in the water was the only option I had to continue walking along the river. And it was in the water that I met them.
They were moving effortlessly like they were just strolling on soft grass during a mild summer afternoon. Nothing in their gestures or expressions would suggest that they were walking barefoot against the current on slippery rocks, submerged in water up to their knees.
They were using the current to their advantage to guide the small fishes, snails and tiny prawns onto their round net. Now and then, you would see them pause and bow to the water and, with a rhythmic gesture of their hand, collect the capture and throw it with extreme precision into the tall grass basket they were holding on their heads. They were collecting our dinner.
In the Forest
Our group had more active participation in our dinner preparation while in the forest. After a delicious lunch spent sitting in the treehouse observing some of the indigenous species of birds on nearby branches and chatting with the local guide, we went exploring. Strengthened by the meal, we agreed to defy the scorching ground and take a little walk to a thickly green area that I renamed ‘our forest market’ for the day. Our mission was to collect as many fiddlehead greens as we could. The niyuro, in Nepalese, is a popular small vegetable with a curious tight spiral top, which we learned would be included in our menu that evening.
We were outdone by the locals, as expected, who were armed with an efficient technique and the right knowledge. Finding the right ones – those tender light green tips – turned out to be harder than we thought. However small our contributions were, they filled us with pride and some scratches left by the thorns we accidentally brushed against, which were a testament to our courageous efforts.
I thanked the forest for the food we had collected and joined the others under the ruthless sun on the way back to the big tree.
Around the Fireplace
When we returned to the community centre at sunset, the fire was ready, and two of the women we met earlier that morning in the river were crouched next to it, adding cooking oil to big pots and several pans lined up around them.
Shortly after our arrival, the roles were assigned and everyone started working on something.
Peeling, cutting, slicing, chopping. The spices needed to be ground, and the garlic crumbled. Combining rice flour and water to create the perfect dough is a fine art only a few of us who were from the Asian continent knew about, the others were assisting, positioned before and after, passing on the ingredients and starting to create the different shapes in which they will be cooked. Others took turns around the fire to rotate the meat skewers, turn the frying items and stir the pots.
After going around each workstation and taking pictures of the entertaining activity which would feed us in the next few hours, I also joined in the preparation effort.
I found it quite tricky to recreate the shapes my cooking teacher was patiently showing me. My request to her to slow down the moves, in the hope that it would help me process the fine details, was not enough for me to grasp what only years of practise can provide; it cannot be described but only felt perhaps.
Eventually, my floppy creations also reached the fireplace and were steamed with the more refined ones. I thought that on the cooking tray they looked pretty good and didn’t differ much from the high-quality ones, but the lady still found them hilarious.
Although they had gained the master chef’s approval, gracefully she could easily point out at them amongst the others and, with a smile confirm the identity of their maker.
At the Table
The feast lasted hours. We ate everything we could, but there was still a lot of food left on the long table in the middle of the communal courtyard. It looked like we all enjoyed it, taking pride in having participated in the acclaimed results, and the personal satisfaction of being part of a collective effort added that exceptional flavour to the dishes.
The evening faded into night, and the sky turned pitch-black while our resonant laughter continued spreading a special kind of brightness, keeping the dogs, the roosters and everyone in the village happily awake.
The stories shared while passing on the serving plates and filling the glasses replaced the sparkles of the fires left to rest, adding layers of meaning to our limited cultural knowledge of that remote place and bonding us as only food and storytelling can do, while we rediscovered our common human roots.
to be continued…
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(This blog has been written by Elisa Spampinato, a travel writer & Community Storyteller, CEO & Founder at Traveller Storyteller. Photo Credits by Elisa Spampinato)