A jhakri of the Limbu community performs a ritual at Cholung Park. Photo / Community Homestay Network
Tired of being a tourist? Avoid the attraction-bagging and try a community homestay instead, writes Carolyn Beasley.
Some tourists travel like a cyclone, competitively ticking items off their bucket list. But if you prefer a deeper cultural experience, it may be time to consider a different style of travel. lean in. You’re going to love Nepal.
The Community Homestay Network of Nepal (CHN) has been depositing curious visitors into Nepali family homes since 2012. Nationwide, the company works with 50 village communities who offer accommodation, or experiences like cooking classes, bike tours, or cultural events. CHN particularly empowers women, helping them earn money, often for the first time.
Boarding a plane in Kathmandu, I’m embarking on CHN’s newest “circuit”, Eastern Nepal: The Road Less Taken; an eight-day guided tour exploring Dhankuta, a region that has received almost zero international tourism to date.
Dhankuta clings to a misty ridgetop, rising above forested mountain slopes and farm plots bursting with rice, millet, and vegetables. Once famous for its orange production, climate change-induced water scarcity has scuttled that industry.
The region needs a supplementary income, and sustainable tourism is the preferred candidate. In the historic heart of the town, the gorgeous wooden houses are all painted orange, a nod to the town’s previous orange-growing fame, and a bid to kickstart tourism.
Our local guide is Ms Sabita Shrestha, proudly of the Newari ethnic group, and dressed in a traditional black and red saree. We follow her into the weekly market, where farmers sell excess produce. Piles of snake beans are rifled through and lentils inspected. Prices are negotiated on traditional knives, while goats bleat. Locals call out “Hello!” and there’s friendly curiosity about us foreigners.
Dhankuta was a stopover point on the trading route between India and Tibet and the ground floor of houses included an open-fronted lounge room and a bed, available for strangers. As we speak, a home-owner spies us and invites us in to try out her visitors’ couch. With our guides translating, we chat and laugh together.
Next, Sabita serves us tea in her own back garden. She explains that in Nepal, it’s still rare for married women to work outside the home. But after receiving training from senior women in CHN, like our own guide Ms Kalpana Bhattari, Sabita became a Dhankuta guide, and an inspiration to her two young daughters.
“They are surprised, and they say: ‘Oh, did you lead the tourists?’ I say: ‘Yes,’ and they are very proud,” Sabita beams.
The next day, it’s our trainee guide’s time to shine. Mr Nabin Rai is just 22, and a member of the Aathpahariya ethnic group, indigenous to eastern Nepal. On a relaxed mountain hike through pine-scented forest, he pauses to deliver snippets of culture.
Nabin’s community worships nature gods, and high above the mighty Tamor River valley, we see a small stone yard used for chicken or goat sacrifices.
“When we come here to this mountain, it feels like our own house,” Nabin says. “Here is our God and we feel safe. If we pray with this God, there’s going to be good in the future.”
We enter the village of Khambela, a sparse cluster of colourful houses. Nabin points out his own house, where his family farms, sleeps, cooks and worships. These subsistence-based farming communities are particularly vulnerable to climate change, especially water scarcity. Nabin points out the new community water tanks, installed by CHN’s partner organisations. As tourism develops here, they plan to enhance water security.
Following Nabin, we carefully pick our way through his neighbours’ cornfield. At an aqua-coloured home, four ladies are preparing our lunch. They’re dressed in traditional Aathpahariya woven maroon skirts, with golden nose piercings. They greet us with garlands of bougainvillea, fragrant jasmine, and shy excitement. Seated on woven grass mats in a courtyard, we’re served a delicious dal bhat, a set of small dishes including lentil dahl soup, pickled vegetables, rice, and a tomato and Sichuan pepper sauce.
We are only the second group of foreigners to visit this community, and while additional tourism income will be welcome, it’s not the only motivator.
With guide Kalpana translating, our host says: “We cannot travel the world to see you guys from different cultures. But if you are coming to us, what could be better than that?”
Checking out of our Dhankuta hotel, we’re relocating to nearby Sipting Homestay, where we’ll sleep in the homes of another Aathpahariya community. Our group will be spread across five houses, and my host is Ms Kavitha Rai. Following Kavitha up a steep track, between climbing beans, cucumber vines and paw paw trees, we pass the family’s tethered water buffalo and calf, before arriving at her pretty pink house.
There are three bedrooms downstairs for us travellers, while Kavitha, her husband, their 4-year-old daughter and parents-in-law live upstairs. My room has a light, a power point, and a mosquito-netted bed. The window openings are covered with hinged wooden doors. While the language barrier makes communication challenging, our stay here is full of meaningful connections.
Seated on mats in a floral courtyard, our host “mums” are teaching us how to fold the leaves of the sal tree. Said to have anti-bacterial properties, the leaves are fashioned into bowls for ceremonial meals. Sitting side by side with our hosts, we all laugh as our clumsy fingers make the roughest leaf bowls Sipting has ever seen.
Before the special evening cultural performance, Kavitha dresses me in Aathpahariya clothing. The men of the community play traditional drums and cymbals; a welcome song. As the light fades, the entire community is on their feet and we’re drawn in too, stepping and clapping through the ancient beats.
Kavitha grins at me across the circle, and I’m struck by this moment. I’m on a remote Nepalese mountainside, dancing under the stars with an indigenous community, being embraced like family. It’s a wonderfully surreal moment; a reminder that communication encompasses so much more than language.
The next day, we’re meeting with another indigenous community, the Limbu. At Cholung Park, a sacred mountainside for Limbu, a small museum recreates the traditional two-storey Limbu houses, complete with thatch roofs and ornately carved door frames. Preserved inside are rare Limbu family records, wooden masks, jewellery and weapons.
Suddenly, the parkland is alive with the rhythmic clanging of a steel drum. A whirling, dancing jhakri, or shaman, is resplendent in flowing white robes, jangling bells, and a headdress of peacock feathers. In a shady grove, the jhakri is offering blessings, a ritual said to extend life.
As I step forward, the jhakri quietly chants. Using the shaft of a feather, he flicks holy water and a tiny fragment of leaf onto my neck. I imagine this is an honorary recreation of a bygone tradition, but behind me, I see local Limbu residents, solemnly awaiting their blessing. As Kalpana explains, this is not a tourist show. This is living and breathing indigenous culture, and respectful travellers are welcomed with open arms.
This trip contained no bucket-list glory. But forming real connections with three different ethnic groups led to a far deeper experience. These are the travel memories that will last a lifetime.
Getting there
Fly to Kathmandu via Singapore, Kuala Lumpur or Hong Kong with Air New Zealand, Singapore Airlines, Malaysia Airlines or Cathay Pacific.
Details
This eight-day tour starts at US$1329 (NZ$2210) per person for two, excluding domestic flights. Includes all accommodation, transport, most meals, and local guide.
communityhomestay.com
The writer was hosted by the Community Homestay Network.