Pokhara
The morning brings good news and bad. The bad news first: yesterday's demonstrations resulted in about a dozen deaths and hundreds of injuries. Nervous police forces fired into a crowd, killing two children among others. This seems to have shocked the population into silence. The good news: few demonstrations were started this morning, and the roads are free of burning tires. They are also free of traffic. A curfew has been called, and most usual business seems to have been halted. Our (extremely) faithful bus arrives, seemingly none the worse for wear, and sporting printed "Tourist Vehicle" signs.Fortunately, the little dress shop next to the hotel is open for business this morning. Some of us investigate deals on pashmina shawls. Lesley and Melissa both have already gotten some, and a cult is slowly forming. Getting a chance to check the stock before we leave is a rare treat. After our morning shop, on to the airport. The domestic departure terminal has improved security a bit since yesterday -- checked luggage is passed through an X-ray, and one of the two metal detectors (the men's) is now plugged in. Since one carries one's bag through, it goes off every time someone passes through. Its beeping goes unheeded. Lesley and I learned our lesson and packed our knives in our checked bags. We pass through unmolested this time.
The plane to Pokhara is the same type as the mountain flight yesterday. Seats are unassigned. Weight limits are theoretically quite strict, but no scales are in evidence. There are two other passengers on the flight in addition to our group. As there are no overheads and little space anywhere in the plane, their rollaboards sit in the aisle. We happily climb over and prepare to meet some new people. It turns out that we hit a gold mine -- this couple are elephant polo players! They are returning to Tiger Tops for a New Year's celebration. They tell us all about Tiger Tops and polo rules and other fascinating tales. Our curiosity is hardly satiated during our 40-minute flight, but we look forward to seeing them again, as they are staying at the same hotel in Pokhara. Nepal is a small country with relatively few tourists (fewer than 500,000 in 2000). There are even fewer who venture beyond Kathmandu or the Everest trekking routes. Hotels are small, flights are smaller, and we often see vaguely familiar faces. It's a friendly and cosy feeling one hopes will remain. The service on the Pokhara flight is quite good -- in addition to the candy and cotton balls, the air hostess brings back a liter of Pepsi and some paper cups.
Pokhara is a sleepy little town, so much so that the first bullock cart arrived in 1951. By air. Or so the local color section of the guide book tells us. Perhaps a better measure of the place is that this story seems likely, whether or not it is true. We head out of town and up a ridge to our lodge, a small collection of cottages with a stunning view of the Annapurna range. The mountains only really come out in the early morning and are hidden behind clouds the rest of the day. We are lucky that both days we are there they stay out until midday. They seem so close that you can touch them, and yet wholly impossible for humans to reach. It is easy to see why so many of these peaks are invested with gods and myths.