Toerke

And hoppa! My legs are in mid-air and all balance is lost. It’s just a split second and the next thing I know I am at the mercy of the whirling Kali Gandaki River. “Man overboard!”. I remember thinking “Kali will not get me!” and in no time the orders of the safety drill come to mind. I roll on my back, force the paddle between the lifevest and my armpit, look out for river rocks and wait for the saving hands of the team mates. A smiling sigh of relief appears on my face. Thank God for that! After this initiating it’s all smooth sailing. I look forward to the next rapid, can’t wait for the next river hole. The action adrenaline, the taming of primal fear, pumps through my soaking wet body. One with the force of water. We paddle to the beat of the water music, dance to the rhythm of the raft.

Paul and Steve (UK), Kate and Pauley (NZ), Kees and I and our Nepalese captain Wild Purna master the raft. Santos, Kali and Shalik run the supply boat and safety kayak. Together we spend three days on the Kali Gandaki River and its banks. We glide through ravishing ravines, pass fairytale waterfalls and find a paradise beach for the heroes’ camp at night. From the river banks, out of the jungle and from high up on the footbrigdes we hear the sounds of the children’s “namaste”. Far away from the city’s circus we pass villages where no bus ever comes, where porters carry supplies for ten hours on foot, where Nepal is a touch more Nepalese. We wave back with our paddles, smile at the peasants and look out for monkeys and birds. The surrounding beauty makes us happy.

It is in this “Hello world!” frame of mind that we pass a pebble beach full of villagers. We give our Earth buddies our best “Namaste!”, straight from the heart. They stare at us. Something is not quite right. One man seems to wave back discreetly or is chasing a fly from his face, we’re not sure. Something is not right. Then we spot the toes of the body. Covered in a purple cloth, the body lies on a bed of woods waiting for the flames. We try a stuttering “sorry” but the river has drifted us along and the echo of our greeting is but dust in the wind. At the evening campfire we grease our throats with beer. The singing machine comes into action. In the distance the ashes of a man float slowly to the holy Ganges. We’ve said our goodbyes.