Day 34: Pokhara
September 30
Sleeping schedule is still on tracking time. Woke up at 5am and couldn’t get back to sleep. So instead dozed and caught up on my correspondence i.e. the YouTube subscriptions I’ve missed over the last few weeks.
But experience utter, utter joy on discovering that the shower in my room dispenses hot water. No more shivering in the outside blocks of teahouses, trying to eke out any warmth from treacherous and flighty gas showers. No more using wet wipes to reach whatever bits became available as I strip off at the end of a sweaty day’s trek.
Left the hotel just before lunch to find out where I can do rafting. where I can buy gifts, and to do Tourism. Was so taken by Lakeside with its many chilled-out bars, shops and restaurants that I spent the whole day within about a 30 minute radius of the hotel. As for the objectives: there is no rafting I can find before the seventh, by which point I will be back in England. Gutted.
I have bought Noll’s gift and I’m in no doubt I can find the rest in Lakeside tomorrow or on the second. Visited no fewer than five cafes and loads of souvenir shops plus took a walk by the lake – which is beautiful. It lies, peaceful and languid, in the hollow between rising hills, moss green.
My response to people trying to sell me things unprompted remains the same as it was when I left India. Viciously unfriendly body language combined with a friendly smile and a ‘thank you’ in the local language. If nothing else, I think it confuses them enough to leave me be. Bumped into Lisa again.
She’s moving to a Kiwi hostel after a few nights. Might suggest a drink or something to celebrate the completion of Annapurna but only have her email address and Facebook has been unhelpful. I’m really looking for an excuse to return to the Roundhouse Pub I went to for lunch that does excellent pizza. This is an easy bar to clear as I could go back on my own, but that feels a bit too Benidorm, particularly for a man who has spectacularly failed to find any rafting this trip and is therefore just chilling out.
Day 35: Pokhara
October 1
Don’t think I’ll ever return to a normal sleep schedule. Any noise after 5:30 has me wide awake. And since the dog from nursery Mussoorie to have tracked me down to the Himalayan Inn guesthouse noise is guaranteed. That’s certainly true given that my floor is apparently full of Japanese teenagers who periodically forget that room 304 doesn’t belong to a member of their group and very loudly and persistently knock on my door while giggling. I’m sure the sight of a huge glaring Englishman has an impact on their mood. One kid physically stepped back in shock as I opened the door, stammering “Oh, oh, oh” while I shut it grumpily.
Today is sightseeing day in Pokhara. After wandering around for a bit around in the morning, went to meet the taxi driver to the first stop: the world peace pagoda high on a hill to the south of the Lakeside area. It’s a steep climb to its base, but it’s still looked down on from some villages on peaks.
It’s one of 50 plus such pagodas designed to be placed around the world. The structure itself is a large white dome on a grubby dais that doesn’t diminish its presence. The golden carvings of various Buddhas in various are very beautiful, with one particularly striking example of a temple with four asymmetric trees rising behind it. It’s been at times like this I’ve felt my lack of knowledge of Buddhist culture and history the most keenly.
On the walk back down past the omnipresent souvenir stores and cafes my right knee began aching again, and I was worried until it somehow clicked into place and was suddenly entirely back to normal.
Second stop was a cave, a genuinely very impressive natural limestone cavern that must descend a few hundred feet into the earth. An intricately carved spiral staircase round around what seems like a huge empty well takes you to the entrance at the bottom.
From here everything is much more rough-hewn, with water dripping from the roof, and the template the bottom feels like a space that could have inspired Indiana Jones. As it was the final section of the cave was flooded., and I get the impression I missed the best bit as a result, but I’m still really pleased to have visited it.
No photos allowed – which makes me happy for some reason – but it’s reminded me I basically stopped taking photos after the top of Thorong-La. I’d have loved a photo of the hot springs at Tatopani, for instance. Need to get back on it.
You really wouldn’t know the cave existed from the road. It sits right in the middle of a bazaar, and as such the area just feels like more of the city until you pass the ticket booth and this huge great hole appears. A madman sits near the entrance. He pouts and waves and reached out to passers-by. Made me very sad and a little uncomfortable.
Final stop on quite a short tour – less than two hours all told. Devi’s Falls, other than the falls themselves, are a bit underwhelming. It’s named after a Swiss woman who went bathing with her husband and was killed having been swept away. It’s a little desperate. Nothing there but little statues and artificial photo opportunities.
In the evening back to Lakeside to bathe and find food. No shortage of either: am enjoying the chilled atmosphere. It reminds me a little of Thamel back in Kathmandu, but with a wider sky and cleaner air. Picked up a cashmere shawl for Noll and some singing bowls for the mates. Ended up pinned down by rain for a few hours in a cafe- but the food is good and the beer was plentiful. Feel really, insanely happy.
Day 36: Pokhara
October 2
My last full day in Pokhara, and I suppose the last real day of the entire trip, given the next two days are essentially one long journey back to Gatwick. Mixed feelings that I need time to unravel. Set off relatively early to investigate boat hire, which turned out to be for a single destination, a temple on an island about 40 yards or so from the mainland.
After weighing up timings, cost, and the pissed off looks on the faces of tourists returning, decided against it. Instead took a walk along the beach. This turned out to be a lucky break. The route ran alongside tiny interesting stalls, cafes, jazz bars, and a fishing Research Institute.
Further along I watched a group of 10 or so fishermen cast from the shore. No equipment was apparently required other than a wooden cylinder, attached line and patience as I didn’t see a single catch the entire time.
More successful were the people engaged in picking weeds and crops from the lake. At one point the path had been commandeered by vast mountains of a green crop so bright it looked artificial, and I had to scramble across piles of the stuff. After all the mud on the day of the bus journey to Tatopani am very happy to report I’ve learned not to slip.
Found an unassuming little cafe at the far end of the path that turned out to also be a massage training centre – and more importantly, does an amazing Shakshuka and sourdough. Sat for a few hours reading and earwigging on fellow diners.
A table full of girls (three of whom were named Sophie) had all just completed short massage courses there. Would have happily undergone their ministrations rather than those of the guy from Rishikesh.
Eventually got tired of the complete case history of Sherlock Holmes – the only book left unread on the Kindle – and set back off to Lakeside. Think I finally have the hang of haggling: you pretend not to be interested in the item you want for a while before asking its price. You then immediately say no and that you’ve seen for for less than half that price down the road. Then magnanimously accept whatever reason they give for lowering the price to match. I managed to get a livid purple poncho for less than half price that way, quite by accident. Overate and drank too much whiskey on the way back to the hotel to pack. Still, if previous public transport experiences have been anything to go by I’ll need my strength for the five and a half hour coach journey back to Kathmandu tomorrow.
Day 37: Pokhara – Kathmandu
October 3
Decided last night to avoid Pilgrims Guesthouse the second time around in Kathmandu so have booked another hotel in Thamel instead. Trying to be more spontaneous.
Pack my bag hurriedly then down to the lobby to take a taxi to the coach stand. Despite the ticket saying I needed to be there at 6:30 for a 7:00 departure the hotel staff seemed horrified I was leaving so early and try to insist I stay for breakfast.
Glad I left early even though the bus didn’t leave until 7:40. I sat for a while in the golden morning light and watch the mania of the stand, which was really just buses lined up in a field, as more people arrived. One seemingly unflusterable man was handing out advice, tickets, and stingingly hot coffee to all comers, while ever-hopeful traders and beggars began to congregate around the main stall, so I wandered over to my coach to board.
By comparison to the buses I’d taken earlier this was a private jet: air conditioned, clean, and with some suspension. It would have been a delight save for the man next to me who constantly drifted off onto my shoulder. The road followed a river for most of the way, and while it was on the other side of the coach I loved watching the mountains and valleys speed past.
Eventually hopped off at a place I sort of recognised in Kathmandu about a mile from the hotel. Outside Thamel Kathmandu is very different. It’s very built-up and there’s plenty of exposed concrete surrounding the roads. Despite that it feels very much like many large cities, anywhere in the world, and has many of the same little discouragements that bring your mood down. like children asking for money as you pass. Going from that into the slightly artificial unreality of Thamel is both a relief and an abdication from the task of thinking about it all.
As if to compound that feeling the hotel had upgraded me to a king room. Feelings of guilt quickly faded as I luxuriated in the hot water and shaved for the first time in a long while. Set out in search of food and ended up in the Third Eye Restaurant for a great chicken Jalfrezi and garlic naan.
After a while the place busied up and a little Russian man covered head to toe in tattoos was so assiduously shown to a table and offered everything on a platter so readily that I have to assume he’s a powerful man around here. Thought of spending my last 4000 rupees on a pint or two, but then just ended up exploring Thamel a bit more. It’s an amazing warren of tiny streets and alleys down which you could suddenly discover the enormous Purple Haze rock club or a really wonderful-looking (and smelling) restaurant. It would make a fantastic location for a crime film, all neon and hanging fabric and overburdened power pylons. Venue names like Nepal Gothic and Tom and Jerry’s pub proliferate. It’s a tourist town and every other person seems up to offer weed – and it’s a hugely fun place to spend time. Back to the hotel for what is holy shit my last night’s sleep of the trip, feeling oddly sad, as though it’s the last day of school holidays.
Day 38: Kathmandu – London
October 4
Woke- predictably – at 5:00. Partly this is habit now, partly it’s the nervous traveller in me aware that missing a flight would be hassle. Slightly more experienced traveller in me overrode this and I slept until 6:45. Blissfully hot shower brought to mind the overflowing one in Mussoorie, but this time there was little mopping up and I was up and out by 7:50. Final taxi through Kathmandu just reminded me how inadequate the time I allocated for the entire trip has been.
Despite not having checked in or even having the Qatar Airways app to do so, security at Kathmandu airport was a breeze and I even managed to commit some light visa fraud. As it turned out my visa actually expired yesterday, as I realised with a jolt while queuing up. Was waved through no problem.
While New Delhi’s airport struck me as bland and anodyne when I first arrived, this one has a cheap and cheerful energy. It feels more like a UK bus station – or Haridwar ropeway station – than the airports I’m familiar with. It certainly doesn’t have the endless Duty Free labyrinth of Hong Kong International or Gatwick. Sat in a little cafe and had a chai, just chilling out and watching the inbound passengers. This all sounds very confident, but we’re 20 minutes to go and they haven’t announced my gate yet. So probably best not to count any chickens yet.
One chicken. I’m on the flight to Doha, but because of the late departure it’s possible I missed the connecting flight to Gatwick. Possibly writing ‘final’ over the top of this page was premature. Read some of this diary back to pass the time. I’m a little disappointed I let the everyday annoyances of public transport creep in. But for the most part, I’m happy with it as a recounting of the trip. That man who felt so helpless in the first four days in India is still me, I’m still not comfortable or confident enough to be sure I wouldn’t get that anxiety again. But I do feel more confident I’d be able to get out of situations like the hotel mix-up more easily now. It’s not growth, really, it’s just being a little more experienced.
Two chickens, though at the cost of the pen that has somehow lasted me right up until the last day of this trip. The delay at Kathmandu meant, inevitably, a mad rush across Doha airport. Myself and two other guys from the first flight, both of whom were in the throes of transfer madness. We were met at the gate by a Qatar Airways steward in smart red blazer, who seemed to take a perverse pleasure in waiting to ensure no other transfer passengers were forthcoming before walking us slowly across the airport to the new gate, where I was immediately stopped for a random search. The pen, it seems, was a security risk too far. Emergency back-up pencil fine, though, apparently.
Despite all that, arrived on the half-full plane with a few minutes to spare and a little pleased with my equanimity while the other two panicked. Time for a celebratory beer on the flight, I think, though I’m fully expecting British public transport to fail me at the final hurdle.
As we take off, I look out of the plane window at Doha beneath us. No idea what to make of it. Everything from the houses to the ground to the huge stadium we fly over is precisely the same grey-brown colour. It’s like God forgot to colour it in. Completely, utterly bizarre and, from the air, quite unappealing.
Against all the odds and in defiance of all kinds of drama I’ve never had a smoother journey back to London from Gatwick. It was as though all the bad luck I’ve had with the Gatwick express in the past was to balance the scales for this run. Back into Victoria, where I surprised by how instantly relaxed and at ease I was, until a man in the four foot between station and Underground steps tried to convince me to buy a watch.
A short tube journey and ten minute walk later and I was in front of Noll’s door in Moat Place, to see the door swing open and for Noll to greet me. Delighted to be back (and all of a sudden entirely, overwhelmingly knackered) and to have completed what was relatively a short solo trip – but one that I wasn’t sure at points I’d be able to complete.
Noll has made multiple barbs about my new poncho, so I’ll probably not be wearing it for a while.
Chris Across... 