Tough old broads

I love old biddies. They've put up with more crap in their lives than men, generally speaking, and they make great bodyguards. Don't judge an old woman because she may be small, frail and have maybe, maybe, three remaining teeth. I decided to hike up to the brilliantly white world peace pagoda hidden in the mountains above Pokhara. This was, as I discovered walking into the jungle, a stupid idea. I had ead that walking alone, especially as a white woman, was dangerous. The gusthouse owner assured me taht it was fine, but I saw by the looks of the Nepalese men (who tend to be very innocent and sweet) that maybe I should put y trust in Lonely Planet (aka the Bible) and four Nepalese women. They took my under their wrinkled saggy wings off the main trail away from men offering to serve as "guides" and towards angry buffalo and leeches. No matter. We collected firewood and laughed at our inability to communicate. When they saw me reach down to pull off a small black worm nestled between my toes, which I later discovered, seeing blood, was a leech, we sopped and the youngest removed a small colorful handkerchief from the bundle tied to hger abdomen with cloth. Inside were small, thick-skinned tomatoey looking fruit, which she crushed between her fingers and rubbed on my exposed feet and legs, a natural insect repellent, which surprised me, seeing as the Nepalese, like the Indians, find feet repulsive. In exchange, I pulled out pieces of papaya that I had brought along or sustinance. We all enjoyed the fruit, especially the eldest, who was practically moaning with satisfaction. Her dental history limited her to certain foods, one of which I managed to produce. From that moment on,she watched over me like I was her favorite great granddaughter. We trudged on, poassing incredible views. I left them at a clearing loaded with quality dry branches, just twenty minutes from the pagoda. I'd be back, I indicated to them, but didnt get a hundred feet before a disgruntled buffalo blocked the path in front of me. He was above me, and he stood legs apart, head up and to the side, glaring at me with one eye as if challenging me to a duel. Again, the women came to my rescue, armed with wticks, rocks, and loud tsk-tsking voices. With the path buffalo free and my seedy, sticky feet protected, I made it up to the pagoda. I met a loe traveller who offered to share a boat ride back across to central lakeside. I headed back to inform my team, but they were gone, probably spead out looking for sticks. I wrote a note in pidgin English, and included a happy face, remembering that they not only could not speak English, they were also illiterate. I hope they got the note I tied to a nice big stick I picked up for them as a present on my way down to catch up with them.