Pokhara

Of course, only an idiotic optimist could have expected to enter the virtual cowshed of Tribhuvan’s domestic terminal and expect to leave it on time. The weather was fine and bright, all passengers had presented themselves for check-in by the required time and none of the flights into Kathmandu had been delayed – and yet, we still sat around in the departure ‘lounge’ for over an hour, twiddling our thumbs. When we finally saw our plane, it became apparent that we’d been caught in a plane juggling exercise.
At this time of year flights heading to Pokhara are usually busy and easily fill one of the jets used by Cosmic Air. However, the current political situation is obviously still putting off tourists – there were only 3 Westerners on our flight of around 20 passengers and we had obviously been dumped off onto the smaller turbo-prop that required Don and I to fold ourselves through its tiny door. Fortunately, the two air-stewardesses were delectable and as friendly and welcoming as any of the Nepali people I’ve come across. It was a truly pleasant flight of about 30 minutes with magnificent views of the rugged Himalayas and, by contrast, the lush green fields and geometric appeal of rice terraced hillsides.
We were met at the airport by an agent from our hotel (all booked through Mahendra at The Great Wall, using Asian Adventure Treks) and soon ensconced in a respectable twin room, but 30 seconds walk from the idyllic peace and beauty of the lake (‘pokhara’ being the Nepali for lake). It would have been pleasant to spend an afternoon idling in a boat (with someone else rowing, of course!) but there were more immediate concerns such as food and e-mail (both frustratingly slow!) and, by the time we emerged into the warm afternoon, an ominous bank of dark cloud was advancing down the valley and we decided to retreat indoors and catch up on a little sleep after two nights of celebration.
Come evening, we took a longer stroll to find an LP recommended restaurant and discovered just how badly Pokhara has been hit by the downturn in tourism. There were many places that were just shut down on account of a lack of business; no restaurant we passed had more than a couple of customers; and everyone was desperate to entertain our custom. It was slightly depressing to see the place like a ghost town – especially now, April, in what should be coming into high season.
We weren’t in the mood for carousing in so subdued and atmosphere and, besides which, we still had to get back to the guest house and meet our guide.
Once again the Maoist situation reared its ugly head as we were informed that our guide had been unable to come on the bus from Kathmandu due to the national strike that had started that morning. Fortunately (for us!), the same situation had prevented another guide, Suriya, from returning home to Kathmandu. Despite having just completed a Jomsom trek with another client, he was willing to take us - and I’m sure he welcomed the extra income. We arranged to meet at 6.30 in time for our 7.40 flight to Jomsom. Don and I toddled off to bed with English football on the cable to send us off.