The heist

It’s 10:30am and it’s time to meet the Guru’s first son. I hold the door open, as he enters the coffee shop. We’re meeting to discuss the concept of making a film on dying Shamanism culture in his remote village, which we had initially discussed with our trekking guide – his cousin. We’re not film makers, but we’ve made a pact to say ‘yes’ to opportunities that come our way. The Guru’s son is smartly dressed, with a checkered jacket, aviator sunglasses and has a personal chauffeur waiting outside. He’s got a strong presence, which demands respect. I have a million questions to ask, but ensure that I’m careful and considerate in everything I say. We drink coffee and talk about Nepalese culture, religion and Shamanism. I spend most of the time listening. He tells us he is a social activist and runs a charity for orphaned and disabled students in Nepal. He owns a high end restaurant, currently under refurbishment. He runs a company that buys sand from his local community and then sells it at a profit in Kathmandu for construction projects. He also harvests a rare spiritual bead that grows naturally in his village, which sells for thousands of dollars in China. It’s safe to say he is an entrepreneur and I‘m sure he has many other ventures and plans he didn’t have time to discuss. After about 30-minutes, his phone rings and it’s time for him to leave to his next meeting. As he walks out, he hands us both a walnut, informing us this is an official invitation to his sister’s wedding happening later in the week. This feels like a massive gesture after such a short meeting, and we have a flight booked to Delhi the following day, but this feels like an invitation we can’t refuse. We exchange numbers, promptly cancel our flights and await further details.

We now find ourselves crammed into an 8-seater, 4×4 jeep, headed East of Kathmandu. I’m excited about what’s to come and feeling very privileged to have been invited to the wedding of the Guru’s daughter. The jeep has a 3-3-2 formation and I’ve been selected as the centre-back. Right-back is our trekking guide, who is from the same village as the Guru – his uncle (although it’s quite difficult to figure out the exact family tree, as everyone seems to refer to family members as either brother or uncle). Left-back is a man we have just picked up – a captain in the Nepalese army. He speaks broken English, but we communicate over videos on his phone from his recent tour in Lebanon. The Guru’s son isn’t present, but his close friend and business associate is. He’s on the left-wing. He’s been speaking on the phone from the moment we arrived at the restaurant, where our driver met us. He seems to be receiving more calls than when I worked in a call centre. Jo is on the right-wing, and our trekking guide’s sister is centre-mid. An interesting team for sure. The drive is a long one and as the conversations start to run thin, my mind starts to wander. I start thinking again about this lucrative bead business and whether this is really a wedding we are heading to. Maybe this is some kind of a heist? I mean, why do we have an army captain with us and why is this other man receiving so many phone calls? I can’t imagine there’s much of a demand for these beads in the UK or Netherlands, but I’d certainly be happy to post something on Facebook and see. If this is a heist, I wonder what my role would be…?

We stop briefly for petrol and the army Captain tells Jo to watch out for the metal barrel poking out from his bag. He says it’s a part from his ‘Hookah’ pipe which he bought from Lebanon. I wonder whether this is really what it is. An AK47 rifle would certainly add some more weight to this heist idea. I notice that he glances over my shoulder every time I take out my phone to send a message or take a picture. I’m not sure he trusts me yet, but we have only just met after all. I hope he doesn’t think I’m an informer! His role in this is perfectly clear to me. He will provide all the necessary protection and tactical guidance. The man receiving all the calls is most likely liaising with all the others in this operation to ensure everything goes like clockwork. Our trekking guide knows all the back roads, should we need them. Our chauffeur will remain in the driving seat as our getaway, of course. But what about Jo, our trekking guide’s sister and I? We’re all clearly dressed for a wedding, which I guess is the perfect decoy, should anyone get suspicious. Two westerners who wholly believe they’re on their way to a Tamang wedding wouldn’t give anything away, should they get interrogated. What a great idea! I can’t yet figure out the role of the young guy in a baseball cap sat in the front in control of the music, but I’m sure we’ll will find out sooner or later, once he’s finished singing.

We drive for around 4 hours out of Kathmandu and into the mountains. The roads gradually change from tarmac, to stone, to boulder. I’m confident the driver, army captain and jeep combo are competent for our survival, but the 1km vertical drop on the side of the road turns my stomach, especially when passing large numbers of colourful, menacing trucks carrying sand from the mountains to Kathmandu. Our driver calmly opens his window and folds in the wing mirror to give us an extra inch of room each time we pass, preventing us from certain death. I have no idea what to expect when we reach the village. A heist? A wedding? We have made a concerted effort to buy suitable wedding gifts and outfits for the occasion, so hoping they don’t go to waste. I’m also excited to let my hair down after all the physical exertion on the trek. As the sun starts to go down, we arrive at the village…