October 25, 2024, day 9:
The length of the route to Sing Gompa is just seven kilometers but with a thousand and fifty meters of altitude difference, a nice climb.
The route is almost entirely covered by the crowns of the conifers of the forest. The profiles of the snow-covered Himalayan peaks peep out from between the branches. There is also the peak of Langtang Lirung, the highest in the Langtang Valley, seven thousand two hundred. It is there at the end, very far from us, and from afar you can understand its grandeur. At Kjiangin Gompa we were at its foot, the perspective did not do it justice. From here I can perceive the vastness of the spaces and the distance of what we have traveled so far. I have come all that way. I have come all that way, I repeat to myself like a mantra.
Sing Gompa is a village perched on the side of the mountain, on one side the buildings, on the other the valley and its abysses. It is a village of a fair size, very lively, there is even a temple. I promise myself to visit it.
At dinner, a few, silent guests in the dining room. A woman is preparing our dishes. There is a little girl buzzing around her, running from one end of the dining room to the other. While she prepares the dinners, the woman holds a baby swaddled on her shoulders. The baby cries, he is hungry. When the guests are all served, the woman sits down, unwraps the baby, brings him closer and offers him her breast.
At about 7:30 pm I am already in the room. The window overlooks the valley. I rinse out some underwear. While I hang the clothes on the lines, I observe the lights in the dark, the distant villages in the mountains in the background. Someone has lit a fire, everywhere there is an inebriating smell of vegetal resins.
The night passes peacefully. The sciatic exhibitionist has been sleeping with me for a while.