Wow - you weren't really kidnapped were you?

No, but abducted might be a better word!

The day started bright which meant we could see the fishtail mountain clear against the blue sky and intervening hills from the roof top. Crows were playing their form of musical chairs on the posts on the roof of the house opposite to their own raucous accompaniment. My walk today was through the backsides again but then on to the north west and round the Phewa lake towards the far villages. I hoped to get far enough to warrant taking a local bus back again as it is not much fun walking into the sun. Every so often a lorry or bus would pass and I would have to cover my face with my shawl to stop choking on the swirling dust. To begin with I went through the long stay areas where hippies with dreadlocks and beards abound – guest houses were called things like Shangri La, Lonely View, Green Peace and Namaste Lodge and several places had joint western and Nepali ownership. Fish from the Phewa lake were advertised – grilled, poached, fried and roasted with lemon sauce and later on I passed women hunkered down selling large fish that they chopped up, heads, tails, fins and all on a small curved hook knife which was firmly held in place by one foot. The pieces were placed on scales and then bagged up, money taken and put in the purse. The fish baskets were woven out of bamboo and only had a small hole through which it would have been difficult for a large fish to have escaped.

A water bird dived amongst the water hyacinth, lotus and other lily pads and egrets were eagerly snapping up insects where a pony grazed. A woman walked much of the way in front of me swinging a new brightly coloured plastic broom so perhaps she had sold the contents of her doku in the town. I found a small wooden boat hewn out of a log and beautiful vegetables on a barrow complete with calculator lying beside the scales. A windsock fluttered on a headland of harvested rice paddies and later I watched as hang gliders spiralled downwards from Sarankot above, tandem riding tourists on a hair raising half hour descent. But that was after I had been kidnapped.

A fence made entirely of plastic water bottles prevented me from seeing down one side of a freshly painted house – something has to be done with them, they lie everywhere, and there is a limit to the amount of fleeces and blankets that can be made out of spun recycled bottles. Some were also being used as floats for the bamboos that supported the nets of the little fish farms. I could see one woman tending her patch out on the water but she was too far for me to see what she was doing.

Several farming families were busy harvesting the contents of their rice stacks, dismantling them, threshing the sheaves by hand on a tarpaulin and then unbinding them and shaking them out under the hoofs of oxen being driven round a post trampling the straw to release the final stubborn grains.

As in the rest of Nepal building new houses seems to be the major occupation. With many sons being sent abroad to work in the Middle East, Korea and India quite a lot of money flows back and for many this means the family can build a modern home. Lorries and noisy tractors and trailers delivered stones and breeze blocks. Ground shale was flung at sieve netting to filter the finer grains out to mix into cement and even on the steep hillsides new buildings were growing or had had grown – none blending in as gracefully as the older buildings for pattern and paint and decoration is what is wanted now.

I followed a little old man down to his boat as he was carrying a bundle under one arm and a paddle in the other and I thought I would ask him for a photo. He put his hand to his mouth to indicate eating and asked for rupees so I gave him a note and took my shot. He then asked if I'd like to go out in his boat and as it was full of fishing nets I thought it might be fun to get involved. So I sat on his bundle at one end of the boat and he squatted at the other with his paddle and off we went out into the lake, four strokes to one side, change hands and paddle three over the other side. We gently zigzagged our way from the shore – each change of side involved water dripping into the boat. On and on, no sign of the fishing nets being put overboard. My end of the boat was deeper in the water than his for I probably weighed at least twice as much and the water drips began to accumulate my end, sufficient to make me take off my sandals and stack them on a ledge.

To begin with all you could hear was birdsong from the shore as well as distant traffic, the steady beat of his paddle and his grunt every fifth or sixth stroke. Occasional clumps of insidious water hyacinth or a family of ducks floated by and a cormorant flew low as we gently moved further and further on with no sign of putting the fishing nets out. The water got deeper my end of the boat and the old man threw a half plastic water bottle to me to bail with. As I did so I noticed water creeping in through the poor caulking – obviously the boat was unused to being so low in the water. I renewed my efforts and finally got the leaking area above the waterline but had to continue bailing every so often to keep it there.

The old man put his hand to his lips as if tipping a bottle, was I thirsty or did he mean did I want a drink (there's a distinct difference here!) but I said no. There was still no sign of the nets being used and after about an hour and a half we finally reached the far side of the lake and started paddling along the shoreline, thickly covered with shrubbery and trees that grew up the steep hillsides. Occasional steps and paths led from the water to little houses perched up among the trees. The birdsong was loud and butterflies were everywhere. There was no sound of any machinery nor sight of any electric lines – at night this area is lit either by oil lamps or generators.

Another little wooden boat paddled out from the shore and the two men greeted one another and held a conversation. Then in very good English the other man asked whether I intended staying out all day fishing and I said I possibly would. He said that my fisherman was off to drink the lethal fermented rice rakshi for most of the day, sleep it off afterwards and then fish all evening, did I still wish to spend the day with him? Well, I couldn't really could I, so I shuffled my very pruney feet over into the other boat, gave my fisherman some more rupees which he's probably drunk by now and had an interesting ride back across the lake to within half a mile of home.

My new boating friend was taking his very beautifully dressed wife, complete with her own gold wedding jewellery round her neck, ears and hands, to the wedding of a friend. He had learned English at school, been in the Indian army for 16 years in cold, cold Nagaland so the long paddle went by quickly as we chatted and he translated for the benefit of his wife who never said a word the whole trip. However they were thrilled when I rather over paid them due to only having large notes left but I said it was because of the wedding.

more pics here