Sketching Nepal: At home in the jungle

During my first trip to India in 2011, I took a quick detour north and spent a week in Nepal, ending my time there in the southern district of Chitwan, whose name in Sanskrit means “heart of the jungle.” The moment I want to share today is from a village in Chitwan called Sauraha, and the story itself is taken straight from my journal.

One note before we get to the story — five years after my time in Nepal, I’m struck now by my focus on the cost of meals in this journal entry. But I think that what I was getting at was that for me, the higher-priced restaurants I’d been to in India and Nepal also felt more removed from the very cultures I was wanting to connect with. The smaller restaurants and street food stalls felt closer to the ground; their owners more open to connection; each meal significant in its simplicity.

A love for this simplicity is one of the greatest gifts my time in Asia gave me — or as Rilke says above, a love for “the small things…great and immeasurable.”

October 4th, 2011, Belahiya/Sonauli border crossing:

I spent all of yesterday planning to sketch in the afternoon. I thought about setting up a chair at the back of the Chitwan Forest Resort and painting the field of rice paddies and a few trees. I thought about getting out another bicycle and returning to the small river I’d crossed the night before in that gentle dug-out canoe. But when the time came to pick up my sketchbook and paints, I found that all I really wanted to draw was the Yabes Restaurant.

Yesterday morning after returning from the elephant ride, I set out for breakfast. My first night in Chitwan, I’d paid a total of 211 rupees for a veg enchilada. I’m not saying it wasn’t good — two massive flour tortillas, heaps of veggies, shredded cheese on top. It was okay for one night, at least. After the chaos of Kathmandu, to sit in a simple outdoor restaurant comprised of six brick booths, white paper lanterns, in the middle of palm trees and sweet-smelling flowers — it was worth it.

But for breakfast, I knew I could do better. I followed the manager’s directions to the ATM — “Take a right at the elephants,” he’d said, referring to a statue of two elephants just up the street — and the first restaurant I came to was a little family-owned place.

It wasn’t much — just two small wooden tables set under the tin roof of their front porch, and a three-shelf glass counter that formed the division between shop and home. I could see a bed right in the front room, next to the single-burner gas hob and counter. The menu was a sheet of white paper displayed behind the glass. For 40 rupees, I could get two eggs and four pieces of toast — whereas the hotel charged 190 rupees for their continental breakfast. For another ten rupees, a cup of milky chai.

I was sold.

I spent an hour there that morning, watching the family’s 3-year-old boy push himself on a homemade swing — just a length of cloth with rope around it, hung from the rafters of the roof. I went back for lunch — eating a delicious veg fried rice for 50 rupees — with another cup of chai, of course. And when it came time to eat dinner — there was no question of where I was going.

Night had already fallen like a cloak over the town, but the front room was still open. I walked up to the counter, but hesitated when I saw the mother breast-feeding the toddler. They’re out of dal so I order noodle soup. The second eldest daughter prepares it, for 25 rupees. It’s ramen in a delicious broth with the same cut onions, chives, potatoes, tomatoes — and delicious.

Finally, I sketch the front of their house — not because it’s the most beautiful or central scene in Chitwan, but because it’s the place that feels like home.