December 30th
Pokhara
One of the many benefits of the lodge on the ridge is the chance to watch day dawn over the Annapurnas. A discreet knock at the door at 6am wakes us, admittedly to a very cold morning. Venturing out of the now-cold bed is worth the effort, however. The light is pink as it touches the peaks, and the sky is clear and cloudless. There are few guests, and some choose either to sleep in or to watch the dawn from their well-placed balconies. It is quiet and peaceful, watching the snowcaps slowly emerge and turn white. The dark peak of Annapurna II is forbidding, absorbing the light. Both mornings, we are treated to a lovely clear sky and good sunrise viewing. We breakfast on the verandah, continuing our discussion of the changes in the scene as the sun moves higher.
We leave mid-morning to go to Pokhara proper. It is a quiet little town, really just a starting point for trekking and a market. Our first stop in the afternoon is a Tibetan refugee village. There are many of these scattered around the country, all very well-maintained and all featuring a carpet factory (or so it seems). Nepali Buddhism is strongly Tibetan-influenced, so they seem happy here if somewhat self-segregated. Given the world's tacit approval of China's takeover, one wonders when the refugee villages will simply become villages. As we ponder this, the Mideast peace talks stall on the issue of Palestinian right of return. Another complex situation not quickly healed.
Next, we go down to the Lakeside district, a shopping and guest house district largely serving trekkers. The stores are all rather similar -- Dresses made in two hours! Genuine oriental carpets! -- as far as the eye can see. It is a pleasant walk, though, with lots of windows to browse. Due to the convergence of the King's birthday and the western New Year, there is a three-day festival on. Nepal actually celebrates three different New Years, the western, Hindu, and Chinese calendars all being different. A fine tradition. This celebration includes a street fair, an art exhibit, and a lottery in which the grand prize appears to be a live goat. We deduce the latter from the following pieces of information:
- On a podium, an official-looking fellow selects a ticket from a hat, calling out a number or name
- Several people in the crowd get very excited, jumping up and down and clapping each other on the back
- A goat is brought to the stage, wearing a ribbon around its neck
- The goat is passed, mosh-pit style, backwards by the crowd to the happy-looking folks
- One happy person goes to the stage, receives a certificate (the pink slip to the goat, perhaps?) and a hearty hug
- The goat is covered in flower garlands and red powder, then is the central figure of several posed photos
Alternative theories may be sent in for consideration.
Once the photo op is over, the goat is pulled off by a crowd of children and tied to a fence. We suspect the goat may be the guest of honor at a New Year's feast rather soon. We wander on. While wandering, I come upon one of many stores selling pashmina scarves and shawls. These previously faddish items are a Nepali staple, and apparently domestic pricing never inflated. A scarf can be had for $15-20, shawls for only about $30. A nice dress store next to our hotel in Kathmandu had already, despite rioting in the streets, provided somewhere between three and six shawls to our group so far. I had missed these earlier expeditions, but took advantage of this opportunity to buy a couple myself. This was fortunate, as the cold evening temperatures and unheated rooms continued. Melissa, Lesley and I took to wearing colorful shawls every night, revising our reputation for accessorizing from knives to pashmina, surely a move up.
Steve, meanwhile, has picked up a nasty cough. I am sure this is a combination of Kathmandu pollution and sleeping in the cold (not to mention pollen and dust). He doesn't care about the cause, as long as it stops. Skipping the hike and sleeping in the warm helped, but perhaps not quite enough. The cough stays with him, albeit decreasing, through the rest of our trip and for a week back home.