Our trip to Pokhara, Nepal's second city, began bright and early at the domestic flight terminal of Kathmandu Airport. It was the domain of smaller turboprop aircraft, owned by private airlines with names such as Sita Air, Agni Airlines, Buddha Air, and the gloriously-named Yeti Airlines. Our flight was with Buddha Air and as we sat in the tiny departure lounge, we came across The Family.
The Family was from the USA. Dad looked the typical mountaineering type, the sort of man who'd been to Nepal many time in the past. His wife looked the part too, kitted out in all the latest gear. But it was their two children who caught our attention first - a girl aged about twelve and a boy of around eight. Outwardly they seemed normal enough and we probably wouldn't have even noticed them had I not overheard the girl suddenly order her brother to chase him around the terminal. I raised my eyebrows at Angela. Surely by eleven, most girls would have grown out of chase games, but not so this individual, she was loving it, but it was about to get even worse. Upon their return they asked their parents if they
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Boats on the lakecould play the Spelling Game. Beside me, Angela put down her guidebook. What normal children would actually ask their parents to play a game based on a spelling test? These two it seemed. Mum smiled and asked the boy to spell to 'processed'. He thought for a moment before spelling it out correctly. Dad then asked him to put it into a sentence. There was a brief pause before he spoke. “The man at the airport processed our visas!” Next to him, his sister raised a hand and demanded her own spelling.
Two seats away from this family bliss, I leaned close to Angela. “How do you spell: I am an annoying little bastard? which made Angela laugh but wasn't really fair to the family. After all, the four of them were clearly happy and there was no denying that the children were intelligent, even if they did seem to lack certain social skills.
Our flight to Pokhora was a quick one, lasting only thirty minutes, but it did offer an impressive view of the Himalayas along the way. We were soon on the ground, walking into the tiny terminal building on a warm and sunny morning. Collecting
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A myriad of hotel signsour luggage was an interesting experience. There were no mechanical carousels in use; instead a couple of men dragged a cart directly from the aircraft and began unloading suitcases onto a shelf.
The New Pokhara Lodge was located in an area known as Lakeside, due to its proximity to Phwaw Tal, the picturesque lake that Pokhara had grown around. Our room was a bargain at only $23 per night - and that was for a deluxe room - and it even had a rooftop terrace offering a magnificent view of the Himalayas. We soon got chatting to the owners. “First you should visit the World Peace Pagoda,” said the man who cooked our breakfast. “I will get you a driver and he will take you and show you around. Afterwards, he will take you to Gupteshwar Mahadev Cave, and then to the Devi's Fall.”
The drive up to the World Peace Pagoda was a hair-raising experience. Angela and I sat in the back of a tiny taxi and began a manic climb up a cobbled pot-holed track interspersed with hairpin bends that overlooked sheer drops into the valley below. Our driver seemed to know what he was doing
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Street Scene, Pokharathough, and deftly maneuvered his vehicle around women carrying bundles of sticks, as well as other vehicles coming in the other direction. “I can't believe we're climbing a mountain in a car,” said Angela. I laughed because I could already read the headlines: British Tourists killed in Mountain Plummet.
The white pagoda was perched above the lake and the views were breathtaking. Pokhara could be seen below and the Himalayas provided the perfect backdrop. As promised, our taxi driver led us on a short hike to the pagoda but then waited patiently as we wandered around.
The way back down was just as hair-raising. If the car's brakes had failed we'd have gone over the edge to certain doom, and the lack of seatbelts wouldn't have mattered a jot. Ten minutes later we were back down and dropped off near the cave. Inside was dark and damp and there wasn't that much to see. Angela told me that she wasn't impressed, and if truth be told, neither was I. We climbed back out and crossed a road to reach Devi's Falls, named after a Swiss woman who had been washed away by the falls. “As waterfalls go,” I
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This was the view from our guesthouse!said to Angela as we peered down below at the rather weak display of falling water, “this is rubbish.”
Back at the hotel we both agreed that despite the rather boring cave and lacklustre waterfall, Pokhara was beautiful. The fresh mountain air was in direct contrast to the smog of Kathmandu. Everywhere we looked was just gorgeous. And the people were so friendly too. Nearly everybody we had passed had greeted us with the word 'Namaste', the universal greeting in Nepal.
The next day we were up at the ungodly hour of 5am to catch a ride to Sarankot. The taxi driver was the same man as the previous day. It was dark outside and because of the total lack of street lighting, our driver was constantly beeping to warn other road users (cyclists, pedestrians, and cows) that we were coming their way. Eventually we left the road and headed upwards on a track that only 4-wheeled drives should have been allowed on. As we weaved our way up the mountain I could smell the taxi's clutch burning in agony.
Eventually we parked and the driver told us that a guide would take us the rest of
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A woman sitting on board her boatthe way. The guide turned out to be a young Nepalese man who was studying management at university. “But I am a guide every morning to earn extra money.” It was still dark when we set off on the trek to the top, but sunrise was only fifty minutes away. The guide set off up some steep stone steps at a hefty pace and we followed on after him. We soon arrived at a viewing platform which had some comfy-looking chairs set out. Beyond them, in the distance, the shadows of the Himalayas could just about be made out.
“You have a choice,” said the guide. “We can stay here for the sunrise, or we can climb to the very top and watch it from there. There is no real difference in the view but perhaps you want a good hike?”
I looked at the chairs and could see myself sitting in one of them quite nicely, thank you very much, perhaps drinking a cup of tea to remove the chill from my bones, but Angela had other ideas. “We'd like to go the top please!”
Within minutes I was panting and wheezing like an old man.
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Angela at the World Peace PagodaAngela was fairing much better but compared to the guide, we were both amateurs. The pace he was setting was hellish, and for me in particular, it seemed like too much. At one point I actually thought I might die or at the very least throw up. Every now and again we would stop (to allow me to catch up) but with the clock ticking away there was not much time for dallying.
Along the steep upwards trail we went, passing local people setting up stalls or else carrying bundles of straw up the path. Old women were gathered around water pipes, collecting it into large jugs, and with all thoughts of comfy chairs gone, my delirious mind turned to helicopters and Medivac personal. And though my lungs were burning and my heart was racing, we still managed to pass other climbers, such was the pace we were being pushed at. And miraculously, only twenty minutes later, we finally reached the top and it was only then that I experienced what Sir Edmund Hillary must have felt when he'd scaled Everest. All I needed was a flag and an oxygen mask.
While my body stopped palpitating, we joined
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View of Pokhara from the World Peace Pagodathe other twenty or so people who'd also made it to the top. “When the sun rises, the peaks will turn pink,” informed our guide. “You will take many good photos.” We found a good vantage point and waited.
“It's stunning,” said Angela as the range of mountains began to catch the first rays of sunlight. Three peaks were visible, the highest of which was Dhaulagiri, at over 26000ft tall, but the most impressive was the spiky triangular peak of Machhapuchhare, coming in at just under 23000ft. This mountain was also known as Fishtail Mountain because of the way it resembled the dorsal fin of a fish. We spent a good while taking photos and just admiring the view.
On the way down I began to realise just how much of a weakling I had been. Old women were walking up the trail carrying large bundles that were supported by bands around their foreheads. Children ran up, laughing and giggling and calling out Namaste. Half way down we passed a small crowd that had gathered around what looked like a magazine shoot. Two Indian models, a man and a woman, were striking up poses against the backdrop of
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A comedy shot taken by accidentthe mountains. Even though it was still early in the morning and the temperatures still low, they posed like true professionals even though they must have been freezing.
For the remainder of the morning Angela and I hired a rowing boat and we powered ourselves around the gorgeous lake. “It's so peaceful,” commented Angela. “And just look at the view.” We spotted a small island in the middle of the lake and after some furious rowing we eventually reached it. My exercise quota for the month had already been exceeded in just one day, and when we parked our vessel I was well and truly knackered.
The island contained a Buddhist shrine and we would have had a look around had we been able to moor our boat. We waited around in case anyone would offer to do this for us, but with no one forthcoming we pushed back into the lake, fearing the boat would drift away without someone waiting near it.
“Right,” announced Angela when we'd parked our ship, “I'm going for my massage at Seeing Hands.” Seeing Hands was an establishment staffed my blind masseurs. It was a charitable organisation that helped support Nepalese
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A cow beside the lakeblind people. An hour later I met up with Angela and asked her how it had been. She told me it had been fantastic. “The woman was only twenty but so strong. She really worked on my knots. I'd go back there again for sure.”
The rest of the afternoon was taken up by shopping along the Lakeside strip. Shoe shiners plied their trade as did barbers who worked in tiny open-fronted stores. Whenever I passed one, the patron would always say the same thing, in a most polite voice. “Hello Sir! Namaste! You need a shave?”
There were also a few beggars about and one couple caught our eye. They appeared to be a husband and wife in their seventies. The man was clearly blind and was being led along the street by his wife who held one end of a short stick while the man grasped the other. At every bar or restaurant they would stop and beg for a few rupees. They were often disappointed and so off they would shuffle towards the next group of tourists.
Sadly for Angela and I, the next day, December 1st was our final day in Pokhara. The
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A small statue near the cavejourney to the airport from our hotel took only ten minutes and we were soon aboard our Buddha Air flight back to Kathmandu. It was amazing to think that only a year previously, neither of us had even heard of Pokhara.
Strengths:
-The breathtaking scenery
-The friendly people
-The gorgeous lake
-Bargains in the shops
-Watching the sunrise over the Himalayas
Weaknesses:
-Not much!
