My Experience While Staying in a Community Homestay in Nepal

When I came to the Ghandruk community homestay in Nepal, the first thing I was welcomed with was a red tika coating my forehead, and one of the warmest smiles I had ever received with a welcome party – I felt like I was at home. There was a calmness in the place, and in the people a calmness I had not felt in a long time. The room was bare but colorful, and bordering on the ridiculous if you considered the window opening onto miles of barren field, but the peace and calm I felt deep in my bones at this homestay made me never want to leave.

Every morning, I was awake by the very loud roosters crowing and the smell of milk tea bubbling on the begrudging fire stove, a very thick breakfast of sel roti and fresh greens they had pulled from the field outside, beyond what is western. Then, I sat with the family on a straw mat and finished my tea while they gathered in a circle to talk about their day, story after story of their life, where time stood still. Every ‘one meal prep’ joined my host mother over the fire to help prepare the meals, which became an absolutely spectacular moment in my time.

Every day was an adventure through the terraced hills, to the temple, and through the joyful voices of children enjoying their names: “namaste.” I was meeting neighbors, catching glimpses of rice paddies, and even attempting farm work. Everywhere and everyone was nice, friendly, and jolly; it was art.

Every Night

The rest of every night was very magical. After the family and I enjoyed a customary meal of dal bhat, we rested outside under the stars. They sang songs and stories about festivals and life in the villages. I remarkably remember when the grandmother was speaking, particularly with her own, integral pride. She seemed to have a wisdom of memory coupled with the loveliness of a grandmother. It was during that in between silence. Before getting up, and in the very place of what I had allowed to settle in my thoughts.

As I slept, that I had realizations about the deeper significations of place. And how food, family, and community sometimes make visible. An understanding of the past. Usually because the act of recording history is often offered as a kind of performance.

When the moment finally came. I left with a heart of lead. I was leaving family, not a guest house. The experience taught me a valuable lesson that true travel is not just going to a new place. But being at home in the mind and heart of a stranger.