Arriving in Nepal; we had no prebookings, could not get a direct flight to Taplejung, the town near Hangdwei, and so we decided to fly to Bodrapur, in the south of Nepal near the border with India. The brightly painted rickshaws decorated with tinsel, and the red saris made our eyes glisten as we came out of the airport. We tumbled into a jeep that by UK standards would have been a write-off, with Neil saying that “a brief inspection showed a broken windscreen and a bald spare tyre, but that was OK as it matched the four already on the vehicle!” So the jeep ride began, and when we stopped briefly in a village, eleven men saw their opportunity, and quickly jumped on the roof with our luggage to join us for the ride. The road winded and meandered through tea plantations, with high bushes of poinsettias in full scarlet bloom. Ten hours later were in the back of beyond, in a wooden village and in a dingy hotel.

The next day as we journeyed on, to our surprise, we left the tarmac behind us; as the road turned to rocks and deep trenches, we were travelling at walking pace. The big hills were all around us, with sweeping slopes of wavy terraces, planted with rice, and as our eyes moved up to the horizon we could see the snow covered Kanchajunga mountain range. This mighty mountain range is the third highest in the world. It was truly ‘wow!’ and, as we were thrown from side to side for fourteen hours, it was also ‘ow!’- eventually, the road got too much for the jeep to handle and the steering gave out with a bump. As the long 'road' (150 kilometres) is single track with occasional passing places, which overhang the precipitous edge, our jeep blocked the road. Gradually a queue built up in both directions, which consisted of tinsel painted lorries, two buses and another jeep. From these, gathered a hundred men, all of whom had a view on what to do, and they eventually pushed the jeep up the hill and abandoned it. So we hitchhiked a lift from a lorry and continued moving onwards but it, too, found the going tough so we caught the last bus of the day and, as the night came upon us, we trundled into town, in the remote eastern part of Nepal. Moti and most of the village had walked to meet us that morning and had been waiting for twelve hours to greet us.

The next morning, as we walked to the village, more and more people came to see us. Over the three lots of two hundred feet of landslides, and across several rivers, and one and a half hours later, we were shown a fragile wooden building, big enough in the UK for a family of four, which was school to one hundred and twenty five children aged five to ten. Each classroom, which was no bigger than nine square meters, had crammed in over thirty children. On a little further, and, as I looked down the hillside through towering bamboo poles, dark green leafed cardamom bushes and more scarlet poinsettia trees, I noticed a golden terrace with a white-washed, thatched cottage beyond. Behind were the huge green hills, the 'big hills' that I had heard about. I thought 'this is just heaven'. And Moti said, “that is where the community would like the school built”.
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As we sat outside, garlanded with marigolds and flaming red flowers, we drank black tea and talked about what the school should be like with the village elders. The women sat towards the back of the group and, beyond, the children were gathering in crowds, as they all wanted to be close. When I realised they were there, I smiled and they raised their hands and said 'namaste' with giggles. I gave them all a Q. Learning pen and they sat and wrote on their hands. How silly of me not to have brought paper too.

As evening came, we were fed with a chicken that was walking an hour before we ate it. We sat near a flaming bonfire, the drums arrived, the music started, and as the women sang, everyone all had a turn to dance beyond the fire. Several hours of impromptu entertainment went by without a need for refreshment. As midnight arrived, the men put bundles of broken bamboo into the fire for torches to light the way home for their families. The whole village left still talking in high excitement about the school project.

After sleeping in a trekkers' tent, with the sun still hot and the sky so very blue, we were ready to meet the villagers’ ‘overseer’ – a man dressed all in white as he was in mourning for his father for a year. The women wore red saris, the older girls in every bright colour invented, and the men in long tailored shirts, matching trousers and dark felt jackets, hats were patterned in orange and maroon. This particular ‘overseer’ was to provide us with drawings and price estimates for us to verify with the Mountain Trust, as agreed with Charlie our helpful contact based at the charity in the UK. The village and site are cling to the steep mountainside and the site all needed measuring out. Slowly, Neil, with his surveyor's tape measure, and the young village men, put stakes in the ground where the school will be built, where the playing field will be dug and where the toilet block will be placed. We were all in awe to suddenly see it as if it were already built. The ‘overseer’ reckoned it would take 600 man-days to level the ground. It looked a huge job to Neil with his expert eye and, to me, seemed impossible. However, the rock, which will be dug out, can then be used for the walls, providing a key building material.

We talked about school uniform; the men wanted traditional dress (not the universal UK school uniform worn throughout the country) and I also made sure I asked the women what they thought. The women liked bright colours; orange and red, which are the Nepali traditional colours and, coincidentally, the Q. Learning brand colours. Only the name of the school to be registered was not debated; Moti originally wanted it to be called 'Big Hills' and, having seen the name on the pens, the villagers wanted ‘Q. Learning’ included and so it will be 'Big Hills - Q. Learning Community School'.
We talked late into the night about what needed to happen both at the village end and in the UK. They fully understood it all had to be done legally and 'The Western way'.

At six the next morning, we arose for the bus ride back on the rocky, terrible 'road' and we passed our jeep, still stranded by the side of the road. We returned to Bodrapur, leaving Moti and Apple behind, as there were no seats for them on the plane. It felt like returning to the middle of civilisation when we touched down in Kathmandu, a madly busy place ringed with nearly all the tallest snow-clad mountains in the world. Our final mission was to open a bank account in Kathmandu where the money can be transferred from the UK; we can now begin raising money, and turn the concept into reality. Our trip was at last complete. What an adventure!