Youngs Around the World

After Kathmandu, Pokhara was like a breath of fresh air. Set against a backdrop of the Annapurna Himalayan mountain range and surrounded by lakes, the unabashed tourist town is a jumping off point for a host of outdoor and adventure activities. The streets were wide and the town had a very intimate, laid-back feel. Children played in the streets. Shopowners sat in their doorways. Everyone smiled and said “Namaste” as we passed by and there were as many cows and bicycles on the streets as cars.

We took a room at Hotel Snowland in the Lakeside area and negotiated a smokin’ deal for a deluxe room with A/C. It is monsoon season in Nepal, which means scorching hot days, wet evenings, and few tourists, so everything’s negotiable. We even witnessed a penny-pinching traveler haggling over the price of his latté. Our room was excellent and we stayed for a record nine nights, much to the hotelier’s delight.

With trekking off the table, we spent our days wandering the streets, eating lavishly in Lakeside’s cozy patio restaurants, wiling away the oppressive afternoons with HBO and A/C, shopping for knockoff North Face gear, reading, writing, and fretting madly over this temperamental little bean inside me. I’ve been a basket case at times and Aaron has been unconditionally patient, understanding, and supportive.

I was in the frame of mind to lay low in Pokhara and do everything possible to stay relaxed and prevent any further emergency room visits. As Aaron was feeling physically fine and needed some good distractions, we signed him up for a few adventure activities, the first of which was paragliding. I rode along for that one (in the truck, not the chute) and watched him leap from the top of the mountain and glide through the air over the breathtaking Pokhara Valley. I knew he was okay shortly after take off when I heard an ecstatic “Woohoo!” echo through the valley to which I replied, “You’re flyiiiiiing!” I excitedly snapped a dozen pictures of my falcon-like husband. As the driver and I made our way back down the mountain, we stopped to pick up an amazing sixteen locals, mostly women and children, to carry them down to town. I saw one woman pass him a bill but most paid nothing. There is just an unwritten rule that, if you have an empty truck and people need a ride, you stop for them. Though the extra stops prevented me from reaching the landing point in time for the landing, I was very moved by this beautiful yet commonplace Third World gesture.

The next morning, Aaron left early on a guided mountain biking adventure. One look at the incline of the surrounding mountains told me that I should sit that one out and the fact that the ride began at 6:00am just sealed the deal. He came back about four hours later, sweaty and covered in mud.

Mornings in Pokhara are a special time. All of the restaurants serve up hearty hot breakfasts, the air is cool, and the town shows its organic side as the farmers push their wheeled carts through streets and business owners step out to purchase fruits and vegetables fresh from the field. The farmer carries an old-fashioned scale: a wooden pole with a metal pan hanging from each end. He balances the scale on his shoulder, loads small lead weights on one pan and produce on the other. We noticed that he always erred a bit in the customer’s favor.

Women walk the streets with freshly caught lake fish dangling from a hook. They walk to each hotel and restaurant, opening the gills to display the red freshness of their insides, until they find a buyer. The town awakens slowly as shopowners groggily arrive to raise the doors of their garage-style stalls and set out their colorful displays. In the low season, there may be days where not a single customer comes in but still they go through the motions. Many of the shopowners live above or behind their shops. I stopped into a small garment shop to look at some shirts. An antique but very operational sewing machine sat on a table at the rear. When I asked the proprietor – a soft spoken, middle-aged man – if there was a place where I could try on the shirts, he led me through a small wooden door at the rear of the shop. Behind the door was a claustrophobic little box of a room with a bed, a small window, a two-burner stove, and some makeshift shelving. On the shelves were neatly arranged pots, pans, dishes, cups and utensils. Above the stove was a single shelf lined with canisters of tea and spices. It was clear that someone lived in that room. After seeing it, I bought three shirts and barely bargained at all.

On the main street in Lakeside, small-statured Tibetan refugee women walk all day long, peddling Tibetan handicrafts, which they keep in their backpacks, to all of the tourists. They are the meekest, most unimposing women with genuinely sweet smiles. They don’t harass in the slightest but they ask every time you pass if they can show you there wares. I sat down with them once in the beginning of our stay and let two of them unpack their booty of silver and beaded jewelry and traditional Tibetan trinkets. To be honest, it was all junk and I didn’t want any of it. I inquired about a couple of pieces, just to be nice, but that’s when I learned that their sweet smiles were those of savvy little extortionists. They wanted serious rupees for their wares and after a few minutes of haggling in the sun over things that I didn’t want in the first place, I thanked them both and walked away empty handed. After that, they still smiled and beckoned me to have another look every day, as did all of their friends, but the first sitting was painful enough and I couldn’t bear it again. Still, I can’t help but to think of them with anything less than total adoration.

As in India, there are many Hindus in Nepal. As such, the crime of killing a cow can land you in prison for up to two years. Cows walk, lounge, and relieve themselves wherever they like. We have grown accustomed to them by now. They’re docile, harmless, and they eat the garbage that people toss in the streets with reckless abandon. After only a few days, I had picked out my two favorites – a lookalike mother-calf pair – that walked our street each day. Strangely, and this is in stark contrast to India, you see beef on almost every restaurant menu. Not only that, there are steakhouses! This can only be explained by the synergy of Hinduism and Buddhism in Nepal. There is no religious tension and religion does not factor into politics. The peaceful synergy is most strongly evidenced by the fact that Buddhists and Hindus often worship at the same temples in Nepal.

Pokhara, in its hazy mountain splendor, owes its most remarkable beauty to its people. Their vibrant colors brighten the valley like a blanket of flowers. The joy of Pokhara is in watching and interacting with the people; reciprocating their gentle smiles and humble manners and witnessing the beautiful simplicity of their lives.

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