I was nervous to return. I had visited Balamchaur five months earlier and fell in love with this rural Gurung village nestled in the shadow of the Mansiri Range. There was something magical about it; a quaint village tucked away in the hills with the massive Himalayas keeping constant watch. My arrival in September had aligned perfectly with the Dashain festival, fifteen days filled with extended family, feasting, and dance (a typical celebration here in Nepal). It was an exciting time to be in the village and my first real taste of Nepali culture. When I left the village after ten days, I told my ama and didi (host mom and sister) that I would try to return, but I couldn’t make any promises. I had tears in my eyes as I hiked down the hill, away from the mountains and away from Balamchaur.

Returning to a rural village isn’t easy. Communication is difficult not only because of the lack of internet connection, but also because of the language barrier. Even if you are able to communicate, transportation can be an issue with places only accessible by jeep or hiking. However, I had Becca. With a stroke of good fortune, I had met Becca near the end of my stay in Balamchaur. She was a Peace Corps volunteer just starting a two-year stint in the Lamjung area working on a food security project. We soon discovered we were both Midwesterners (she from Iowa and I from Wisconsin). We connected right away!

When Becca found out I would be staying in Nepal until May, she invited me back to the village and gave me her contact information. I made plans to return in early February and she helped me with everything: contacting my original homestay family, instructing me on which permits I would need, and connecting me with the local jeep driver. Returning to Balamchaur wouldn’t have been possible without her.

I planned to return the first week of February and stay for a couple weeks. I went to Pokhara to extend my visa, get a permit for the Annapurna Conservation Area, and mail a few letters home. I didn’t see much of Pokhara, the most popular tourist city in Nepal. I was eager to return to Balamchaur. I imagined hiking up the hills to catch sunrise over the Himalayas and sitting out at night watching the stars. I imagined walking down the stone path into the village and seeing familiar faces. I was especially excited to see my ama who had been a gracious host and the definition of a strong, resilient Nepali woman. I imagined a homecoming.

But as I bounced up the dirt road in a jeep bound for Balamchaur, I was second guessing my decision to return. Back in September, Nepal had been exotic and new. There had been a celebration going on and the village was alive. I had a group of fellow travelers to share the experience with. What if the village wasn’t as I thought it was? What if things had changed? What if I had changed?

However, two hours later as I sat cross-legged on the mud floor of my ama’s kitchen drinking sweet masala tea and conversing in broken Nepali, I knew I’d made the right decision.

Of course, things had changed. Time doesn’t stop when you leave a place. First of all, the colors were different. Being winter, the mountains were painted with an extra coat of white snow. The formerly green rice paddies were now a dusty brown, soon to be plowed and planted with corn. A new water project was in progress and pieces of the village were dug up to make room for the network of pipes that would bring clean spring water to every household in the community. When I had arrived in Balamchaur, my ama had been digging a ditch for the new pipe. She wore her hair in a tight braid and carried a shovel. It matched my image of her perfectly.

The village was quieter this time of year. Extended family had returned to work in the city and the children were in school. I had told Becca that I was fine hanging around the village and exploring the valley. I had brought my journal, some postcards, and a few books. I would have plenty to do. However, being the excellent host that she is, Becca had found some things for us to do during my time in Balamchaur. There were a couple weddings and a week-long school celebration going on in the community. She also proposed an overnight hike to the famous Gurung village of Ghalegaun and a mural project at the school. I was game for anything and everything!

Two weeks flew by. I followed Becca up and down the valley, watching her give lessons on growing mushrooms and planting fruit trees. We gave lessons on hygiene and healthy eating at the local primary school and painted a big mural that summarized what we’d taught. We ate dal bhat masu (rice & lentils with meat) at a wedding in a neighboring village and hiked down into the valley to another wedding for another round of dal bhat masu. We danced to Nepali folk songs, pop songs, and even grooved to an American song (Hey Ya, by Outkast, if you’re wondering). We did a sunset hike to Ghalegaun and explored the famous village the following day, stopping for local tea and real coffee (surprisingly hard to find in a climate perfect for growing coffee).

Despite all our travel throughout the valley, I still spent plenty of time enjoying village life and time with my family. I ate my morning and evening dal bhat with my ama and shared a room upstairs with my didi. During my free time, I would walk around the terraced fields and up past the school to a beautiful spot overlooking the mountains that I remembered from last time. In the village, I visited nearly all of the roughly twenty households and had more cups of tea than I could count. I brought them pictures that we had taken in September and they gave me letters to be delivered to the students they hosted. They asked me when the students would return to Nepal. Maybe after they finish university, I said optimistically, knowing well that it would be difficult if not near impossible for any of the other students to return.

It was surprisingly easy to leave Balamchaur this time around. Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to goodbyes. Or maybe now I’ve proved that goodbyes aren’t always permanent.