Have you ever noticed that sometimes the people who appear to have the least, are the most generous? In Nepal, I noticed this plenty, particularly when I headed off the tourist trail and headed out into the country. For example, I spent a couple of weeks in a small village called Meghauli, which is in the Terai region near Chitwan National Park – it’s in the lower, flatter region of the country near the border with India.

I stayed at an eco-farm where I helped out around the farm in return for food and accommodation, along with six other travelers. It was monsoon season, so most days involved a couple of hours of work in the mornings and evenings, resting through the heat of the afternoons and sharing a meal in the evenings.  The monsoon rains came and went most days, and it was always a trick trying not to get caught out in the fields when the rain came in – first you would notice a change in the wind, then the sky would change to a deep blue-grey, and then you knew you had about five minutes to get undercover, or you could forget about staying dry!

Everything was green and lush and the air was clean and fresh. We planted beans and pineapples, pulled weeds and did some painting. In our free time, we helped with cooking, played cards and often walked into the village, where the friendly villagers would always greet us with a smile, if perhaps a curious one, and often the offer of a cup of tea. They lived a simple life, trading their wares or services, growing a lot of their own food, taking the bus to town when they needed to. There was a school, and a health post, and not much else. But they were happy, and they made us welcome. None of the shopkeepers tried to charge us more because we weren’t Nepali. Even the lady who owned the only grocery store kept her generator running so we could get a cold beer and an ice cream in the afternoons.

When I left the farm, I wanted to head west, to a place called Lumbini. It is known to be the birth place of the Buddha, 2,500 years ago, and curiosity was nagging me to go there. I couldn’t go on the day I planned as there was a general strike (that happened at least once a week) and Bishnu, our host at the farm, was concerned about me going at all, because of strikes going on in that part of the country. He wasn’t sure I would be able to get there at all, and was urging me to take the tourist bus back to Pokhara.

I found his concern very sweet, but I was determined to go. So the next day, I packed my bags, said goodbye, and hopped on a local bus, with Bishnu next to me, who was determined to see me off as far as he could. When we got to town, he walked me to the next stop, found the right bus and told the driver where I wanted to go. Three and a half hours later, with very cramped legs, I arrived in yet another town, and here, to my great surprise, the driver took the bus all the way into the bus station to make sure I could get another one. He got off, found my next bus, told the driver where I was going, and paid my fare for me! Nearly an hour later, we arrived in yet another town, the closest one to Lumbini. Here it turned out I couldn’t get another bus, as from this point the country was still on strike. There weren’t even any taxis – the only way to get there was by rickshaw.  To further my surprise, this final bus driver got off the bus, found me a rickshaw and negotiated a good price for me. I hopped in, feeling a little overwhelmed by the kindness of these people, who didn’t know me at all and could have got much more money out of me if they had wanted to – but it was in their nature to be helpful, and I was grateful. Even the rickshaw driver, who hauled me and my backpack along for two whole hours in the blazing sun, insisted on buying me tea and a snack when we stopped half way for a rest. It was a long day of traveling, but thanks to the help of these strangers it was easy and unstressful and I felt blessed to have spent the day among them.

It occurs to me, thinking about it later, that Nepali people live much more in the moment than we tend to in the west. They are never in a hurry, and never stressed about what they have to do or where they have to go next – so taking a few minutes to help someone out is no problem, because it’s not taking time away from something else. It’s the same with hospitality (especially with tea!). Partly it’s cultural – not offering refreshment to a guest would be incredibly rude – but also, I think, it’s because they know that the same will always be offered to them in return, and that they understand in their subconscious that there is always enough to go around. It is so different from the western mentality of lack, and of competition – the idea that giving something away means having less, or that sharing means letting someone get ahead of you. They just don’t think that way in Nepal, and I found it liberating and refreshing.

In Nepal, everyone calls everyone else by a family name. Young men and women are called sister or brother, uncle or aunty, grandmother or grandfather. Up in the mountains, the girl who did our cooking, Jamuna, always called me sister. She would knock on my door in the morning if I wasn’t up, and call out ‘Sister, breakfast!” Our host’s mother also lived at the lodge. She helped to maintain the crops and animals and would tut very loudly if we didn’t finish our meals. We called her Ama, which means grandmother.

Perhaps it is this inherent sense of other people as family that makes the Nepali people so generous – after all, why would you refuse to help your brother, sister, uncle or grandmother? And if everyone you meet is your brother, or sister, your aunt or your uncle, you need never fear that you won’t have enough, or that your kindness won’t be returned. So the young girl traveling on her own from Meghauli to Lumbini isn’t a stranger – she is kin. Surely, this is what it means to live in peace.