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  • Writer's pictureVoita

The Bamboo Resort, day two

For centuries the traditional working day in Indian villages has been six hours, four days a week, with the exception of sowing rice and harvest. Three hours before lunch, and three after. Women, managing the household, had even shorter 'working hours'. It made sense, since the goal wasn't to become a billionaire, but to survive off of the owned land. The rest of the time was devoted to children and the village community.

A lot of the original lifestyle has survived in the rural areas; short working hours, togetherness, and hours daily devoted to meal preparations, each day made afresh even though fridges have become rather commonplace. Different picture from Nepal six years back, where fridges were still a rarity...

Typical homestay, running by local rules, regularly drives me crazy. Trying to set off for the day's trip or the next leg of my journey is a futile effort, ruined by breakfast at nine. It's only then I begin to appreciate the mountain teahouses, where trekkers rule, and can negotiate breakfast to be served at seven or possible even earlier.

in-house pizza oven

outdoor areas

here, a little angel

Considering the sorrowful weather today, I've been moved to the cleaning unit. There are still good two months until the main fall season and I'm not sure if today's business was due to lack of other work or a practice, to keep the cleaning squad in shape. But everyone was running around, dusting, moping, polishing all surfaces.

This gave me a chance to see the most luxurious part of the hotel; an entire apartment on the third floor, complete with two bedrooms, kitchen and two balconies... priced at 15K INR, or $180 per night. What a bargain for a family of four, nested in a green eco-paradise. There must be several hundred plants in pots around the property. I'm darn glad I didn't come in time for re-planting.

apartment's living room,

kitchen and bedroom

my roomie and co-Workawayer Joseppe

and an innocent kitten, hard at work...

Even though breakfast gets served late, people arise early. And likewise early they head off to their beds. Dinner at eight has most everyone in their room and getting ready for bed by nine. That leaves only me haunting the common space so as to give my Italian friend chance to rest himself as he's contentedly in line with the local regimen. This lets me uncover the hotel's darkside, creeping and crawling out of the deep, dark places. Facing them I'm thinking, maybe the leeches aren't so bad after all...

getting some water to drink, little did I realize the cup's been taken...

the little angel's nightly entertainment

I thought it's on a milk diet - I was wrong

in the eve's silence, the crunching was especially loud...

a triffid to settle the mind

Day two through, although it's been a close call. Maybe there's a reason why everyone retreats into their rooms once the night falls...

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