It was early morning when we set off for Dapcha Bazar, a small, unassuming village tucked away in the hills of Kavre. The hustle and bustle of Kathmandu quickly faded as we ascended the winding roads. Soon, the vibrant city gave way to tranquil forests and sweeping views of the terraced hillsides. The deeper we ventured, the more the world seemed to slow down, until we arrived at the entrance of Dapcha, a place untouched by time.
As we stepped into the village, it felt almost surreal. The streets, once bustling with traders and villagers, were empty. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Dapcha Bazar was quiet, as though it had been waiting for us for centuries. The old Newar-style houses with red-brick facades and intricately carved wooden windows stood stoically, bearing witness to a history few seemed to remember.
Wandering through the narrow lanes, we felt like we had entered a forgotten chapter of time. The marketplace, once alive with the sounds of traders calling out their goods, was deserted. Empty stalls lined the streets, their once colorful awnings now faded and weather-worn. We could imagine the village in its prime—a bustling hub of commerce, where people from nearby hills would gather to trade goods and stories. But now, it stood in quiet dignity, as though nature had reclaimed it.
Despite the village’s emptiness, it was far from abandoned. Life still pulsed through the stone walls and narrow alleys. We noticed the flicker of lamps inside a few homes and caught glimpses of villagers peeking out, curious about the rare visitors in their quiet world. They greeted us warmly, offering smiles and waves from a distance, as if they too had grown accustomed to the stillness that enveloped their home.
We stopped at a small tea shop, one of the few open establishments. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a welcoming smile, poured us steaming cups of sweet, milky tea. He spoke of days long gone, when Dapcha Bazar thrived as a bustling marketplace and travelers would fill the village streets. His eyes gleamed as he shared stories of festivals, music, and celebrations that once filled the air. “Now,” he said softly, “it’s peaceful, quiet. But that has its own beauty.”
The day passed slowly, each moment suspended in the quiet of the village. As the sun began to dip behind the hills, the colors of the village deepened, casting a golden glow over the old brick houses. We climbed to a small hilltop overlooking Dapcha, the panoramic view revealing the sheer beauty of the surrounding landscape. Below us, the empty village looked like a painting—still, timeless, and utterly serene.
As we made our way back through the quiet streets, we realized that the emptiness was not a sign of abandonment, but a reflection of a simpler way of life. The people of Dapcha had found a rhythm of their own, one that didn’t need the noise and rush of the outside world. In their quiet existence, there was a lesson to be learned—one of contentment, of patience, and of embracing the beauty in stillness.
Leaving Dapcha Bazar behind, I felt a sense of calm wash over me. The village, though empty in one sense, was full of stories, history, and quiet strength. As we drove back towards the city, I carried a piece of that peacefulness with me—a reminder that sometimes, it’s in the emptiest places that we find the most profound experiences.
, nur der richtige soll ja die Lorbeeren bekommen 