- I bet I know where I'll be staying: a guesthouse with lots of plants and flowers at the entrance. - I say this while the off-road vehicle slowly blocks off the pedestrians of Syabrubesi, who pay no attention to our vehicle. Padàm and the driver look at each other in amazement, nod vigorously.
- I've seen it in the videos, - I add, - I've studied -, and they laugh.
A boy takes my backpacks, signals me to follow him. He takes me to the first floor, puts the backpacks on the floor and gives me the key. It's cozy.
- The bathroom is in the room. There is hot water, - he tells me. Next to me is the kitchen. The smells of spices and rice awaken in me atavistic appetites.
The roar of the river fills the valley. The inhabitants of Syabrubesi no longer pay attention to it, just as in our villages we no longer pay attention to the chimes of the bell tower clock but we do pay attention when those chimes miss the mark.
The existence, the very survival of Syabrubesi is one with the roar of the Langtang, not only for the benefits that a river brings but the sound, the voice of the river is one with the physiology, with the air, with the biorhythms of Syabrubesi.
Compared to the mountain villages, Syabrubesi is already a town that enjoys privileges, there are roads, rickety but they are there, and there are connections with Kathmandu, there are school buses and there are heavy vehicles that guarantee the delivery of goods. In Syabrubesi there is also a construction site of considerable strategic importance, the construction of a dam and the drilling of the mountainside on the opposite bank to the town for the purpose of building a power plant.
Padàm takes my lunch order. We arrange to meet, then he leaves the room. With the door closed I sigh. It is not just relief. It is a state of ecstasy. It is realizing where I am, a place I have seen hundreds of times on YouTube. From there the real journey will begin. The absence of me begins to take shape. During my trek I will sigh often.