Rejuvenation in the mountains

Nov. 29, 2008

I may have been a mountain goat in a prior life. For the second time on my trip, I have found peace and rejuvenation in a lakeside town at the foot of a major mountain range.

In Europe, my heart melted for Interlaken, Switzerland. In Asia, I have found Pokhara, Nepal.

Skirting Phewa Lake and within sight of the Dhaulagiri, Annapurna and Manaslu ranges, each with peaks over 8000 meters, Pokhara is actually the third largest city in the country. The city proper though is far from the lakeside along which a bustling tourist village has sprouted up. Thirty years ago my dad came to Pokhara when it was still a small village. He asked me if the old women still come up to tourists trying to sell magic mushroom omelets. Not anymore, Dad. Sorry.

Pokhara's lakeside district is lined with lots of good restaurants, Internet cafes and trekking gear shops. Everyone, rich tourist and poor Nepali alike, wears North Face gear. It's not the most authentic place in the world, but I admit it's nice to be back in a First World-feeling place after a few weeks in India where coming into intimate contact with extreme poverty is unavoidable.

Pokhara is actually a lot like Interlaken complete with its clear lake and paragliders in the sky. The town has even been called the Switzerland of Nepal. But in place of the apple orchards and crisp, cold air, there are rice fields and warm, hazy weather in the valley.

I've spent several days here doing some minor hikes and bicycling around town. One night I walked up to Sarangkot, a peak overlooking the valley, and then marched along the ridge to a small village called Kaskikot. There I was invited to spend the night with a Nepali family. Now this was an authentic experience.

Manbahadur, a man in his mid-thirties, offered me a room for the night in his family's house for 60 Nepali Rupees (less than $1). I had been heading toward a larger village where there was a guesthouse someone recommended to me, but this seemed like too good an experience to pass up.

Manny's elderly mother and sister kept busy around the fire in the middle of the floor of the house's kitchen/living room/dining room/bedroom. Manny's children
gathered around me asking all the questions they could think of in English. I sat with the family around the fire while the women squatted on their heels cooking up a meal of spicy chicken, curried vegetables, lentils and rice. I ate like the others with my hands, devouring the tasty food. Soon after the meal, I ended up going to bed in a room to myself adjacent to the main house. It was only about 8 p.m., but the electricity in the town was out and there isn't much you can do in the complete darkness in the hills of the Himalayas. I felt a little guilty about taking the room, knowing that on nights when they don't have guests, it probably is the bedroom for the old woman or the children.

I woke up before dawn and Manny's 17-year-old niece, and 10-year-old son climbed with me up to the peak over Kaskikot where there stands a modest Hindu temple. The children and I watched the sunrise over Pokhara from the temple for Kali.

When I left, I ended up giving Manny 400 rupees, more than I would've paid for a room in a guesthouse. The whole experience was well worth it.