An Excursion to Langtang Mountain Villages

The Langtang region of north central Nepal is known for pristine forests, high-elevation meadows and terraces, Tibetan-like culture and lovely mountain views. Over the last few days, I visited a number of villages in the “Buffer Zone” outside the Langtang National Park, in the company of managers from WWF-Nepal and local governments, who have mounted a joint project to sustain livelihoods and reduce environmental degradation in the region. Our delegation included (L to R) Ashok Binaya, WWF field manager, Pasang Tamang, chairperson of the LNPBZ governing council, myself, Roshan Sherchan, WWF coordinator for Himalayan programs, and Mitch Silver.

Saturday, October 9

After crawling through the congested streets of greater Kathmandu in our Land Rover, we ascend out of the Kathmandu valley along numerous switchbacks and are treated to views of the Langtang Himal peaks towering above the clouds in the distance. The next day we follow the Trisuli River on the largely unpaved, rutted-out road that serves as the main highway to the north, covering about 40km in 3 hours (the atrocious condition of roads everywhere in Nepal is but one indicator of the ineffectualness of a corrupt national government). At the military checkpost in Kalikastan, an overhead gateway sign greets visitors with the words, “Welcome to Langtang National Park ‘Tamang country’,” flanked by pictures of a snow leopard and a red panda.

The Tamang people live in the Nepal Himalayas and originated from Tibet, like the Gurung, Thakali, and Sherpa hill peoples. Although the Tamangs form the largest ethnic group in Nepal, they are also widely held to be the most backward and disenfrachised group, with low levels of education and job attainment. Our fellow traveler Pasang Tamang hails from these parts and was a Maoist rebel prior to the ceasefire that ended Nepal’s 10-year Maoist insurrection in 2006. In fact, the Communist Party of Nepal received a plurality of votes in the last national election, but there remains an uneasy balance of power among the numerous political parties, and between central and local governments.

Compromise legislation now dictates that half of the annual park revenues from visitor fees be given to the LNPBZ Council to be distributed among the surrounding districts and their constituent villages. We make our first stop at the village of Jibjib in the Rasuwa District, a short downhill walk from the end of the road, where the Council and WWF are jointly funding a project to introduce sustainable intensified planting and integrated pest management to rice cultivation. Here we walk through one rice paddy planted planted intensively (16 day-old seedlings planted 2.5cm apart), and an adjoining paddy planted in the traditional way (35 day-old rice seedlings placed randomly), thus providing a simultaneous control group. The new methods are being taught by an agricultural extension instructor and TV programs, and implemented by a newly formed farmer’s cooperative.

Our group is then treated to an elaborate welcome in which village women bestow ceremonial scarves (called katas) and necklaces strung with flowers or vegetables on each guest, amidst burning incense, and then sings three songs, including one composed specially for the occasion.

A welcome song from the women farmers collective:


A lengthy farmers cooperative meeting follows, emceed by the local primary school teacher, during which everyone introduces themselves, the agriculture teacher gives a lecture, and a number of farmers stand up in turn to speak. The majority of the farmers are actually Brahmin-Chhetri (the Hindu priest and warrior upper castes, respectively), and are quite voluble. During a lively Q&A session, one women voices concern that the new cultivation methods are more labor-intensive, and it still isn’t clear whether they would result in higher rice yields.

The guests then speak in turn. To my chagrin (since I know nothing about rice farming), I’m asked to speak last, and so I make some platitudinous remarks about the interelatedness of health, economic development, and conservation (to explain why a doctor like me would be traveling in the company of the WWF), and encouragement for not only their well-designed scientific experiment, but also for their cooperative social experiment. The whole scene reminds me vaguely of China’s communal worker and peasant meetings during the Cultural Revolution.

As we file out of the meeting, the women dab Hindu tikah marks (red sindur paste) onto our foreheads. At one of the farmer’s houses, we have lunch consisting of rice pudding, dahl (lentils), potatoes, mustard greens, and pickled peppers. I try to eat using only my right hand.

We then trek northwards for an hour and a half, the afternoon sun threatening to melt the tikah paste into my eyes. At the village of Bhorley, we inspect a newly installed biogas stove, in which animal manure is sealed into a chamber to produce methane that is piped into the house for gas cooking, while the aged solid remnants are turned into organic fertilizer. We also walk by a woman who is brewing kodo rakshi, the traditional Nepalese alcoholic drink, by spooning fermented millet into an large earthen pot, then adding water and heating over a fire to distill the mixture into liquor.