POKHARA

Written February 18th

Sitting on the bus, waiting to leave from Pokhara. Early morning, Sunday. It seems to have been here for an entire week, but it's only three days actually. My husband made me happy with this wonderful surprise, it was long time I wanted to visit this place famous among tourists and Nepali as a holiday destination.

It was a real holiday, despite the brevity of the time spent, there were all the ingredients for a relaxing time, fun and enjoyable. As usual, the way out from the city is like a horrible rollercoaster. unpaved roads turn an ordinary trip into an adventure. A flat tire is a normal experience, remain still for hours in traffic, literally stuck between cars and trucks driven in every direction, it can become a habit in Kathmandu. What will never become a habit, it is the breathing dust ... the road is so dusty, the air so dry that breathing becames difficult, it gives you the sensation to fill nose and lungs of waste and stench. That's why, the first breaths ofthe lake's air were so invigorating and pleasant. 

The hotel was good, not exceptional, but good. Clean, tidy, very friendly people.  The child played with the receptionist every free minute, was always telling her with her proverbial excitement experiences she had done and that she intended to do. After two days she was friend of each employee, everyone greeted her by name and she was sad at having to leave.Although the weather was not the best, the mantle of pollution and clouds made everything hazy and foggy, we tried to see as much as was possible around the lake. 

Rejecting the proposal from the child to do paragliding and bungee jumping (as if she was brave enough, the little timid), we asked to cross the lake to go up to the temple of peace. The intent was, as always, to see the mountains, as well as to experience the peace and quiet of the Buddhist temple. The sailor who rowed for us was a characteristic type, English limp but very chatty. Like all Nepalese fond of children and smiling despite the fatigue.

 Stay on that boat was really scary, we did not dare move for fear of falling into the water. The water was like the typical mountain lakes lake, dark and ominous calm.The crossing lasted about half an hour or maybe even less, but we had the perception that never end. The climb to the mountain was pleasant and lonely even though finding the path was not so easy: we saw the temple on top but could not find access. Other tourists after we showed the same  difficulty. 

The little girl walked

 with enthusiasm and 

without complaint because

 it was driven by the idea 

exciting horseback ride that 

he would wait in the afternoon.

The temple really instills peace and serenity,

despite the mountains that should be 

framed on this show you are seen at all the problem of young people were Nepalese

 or Indian tourists who just

 could not respect the rule

 of silence: they chattered and laughed in order to make 

funny selfies.

The afternoon passed by
 having a drink in the
 lakeside, looking at the
 little girl who rode happy
 silhouetted on the colors 
of the sunset ... just poetry.

The activities around the lake
 kept in an almost magical stillness:
 the woman who washes clothes, 
the guy who takes pictures,
 the workers who carries his "doko" ...

 everything as if time had stopped, enclosed in these normal 
activities. And the bustle of the city seems light years away from
 here.The light dinner in the most famous restaurant in the village,
 go to sleep early in the morning because we expect the sunrise, 
all these activities we have
turned down in a real holiday.
After seeing the dawn light 
the mountains in the fog, and 
the mount fishtail turn pink 
in the gray sky, we agreed
that it was worth it to do
a early rising at five in 
the morning.
As if it were a football game, 
on the lookout at Sarankot,
 there were so many people,
 unfortunately, some of them 
really thought of being watching 
game and quacked or listened to
music. 
At the dawn moment, however, a chorus: "Ohhhhh !!!" 
 has silenced everyone. The kid also, nervous about
 waking up and climb to the top, took full beauty 
of the moment. The photos do not give a good idea.


After a quick nap in the hotel we went to vist the


 “International Mountain Museum”.
Interestingly, although the 
rooms are pretentious than in reality 
there is to see.Just to give an example:
 the part about the yeti that could be so
 interesting for children that many are 
inclined to visit the museum, consists
 of a panel with a photo and description
 of legends and a reconstruction 
(rather ugly) of the beast . 
That's it, in a sad and dark corner,
 


at the bottom of a dusty shed.
But we realized that, despite the 
great wealth in culture
and history of Nepal, the
organization of museums is not
 the best.


The Gurkha Memorial Museum,
which could attract the 
attention of many visitors,
the special view of these
 brave soldiers, is a building
 (naturally dusty) sad, with 
narrow stairways and dark
 halls. It often recalled 
the Naval Museum of Venice,
 but without presenting the 
same abundant historical path, so the museum's (the building
I mean) antiquities 
represents a message in itself.
The museum of gorka, the bravest of the brave, is interesting 
only to the insiders. Yet it is an obvious reflection of the culture
 and life of the Nepalese. Become a Gorka represents for a 
Nepalese boy a turning point in his life and in his family, 



earns much more than to do 
any other work, has a 
prestigious role in 
society and then, 
after just 16 years
of service is entitled
 to a substantial pension 
and his British citizenship. 
This is emphasized from 
the first room, sadly
 accompanied by the sound 
of gunfire and heavy moving vehicles ... makes it clear
what the price of a choice as prestigious as courageous. 
For the rest I found the museum very boring and I preferred
 to be chatting with the driver in the meantime he already 
knew all about the horseback ride that the child would have 
done in the afternoon. 


And and the next evening was
 pleasantly same as the previous, 
with drink on the lakeside while the
 girl was riding. Last round of shopping 
in fair trade that deal to employ 
disadvantaged women, dinner 
by candlelight, over vacation.
And here I am on the bus, waiting 
to face six hours (if it fits) of roads 
partially paved the Nepalese call it
 boldly highways ... the occasional 
presence of asphalt strips makes
 them different from the side streets, 
covered only with earth and boulders.