When I finally reached the coffee shop where I had played chess with the Malaysian, I ran up the stairs with a spring in my step.
I had my interview. I had time to arrange a trek. I would trek, I would leave Nepal, return home, and show up on Holly’s doorstep with a dream in hand, ready for our next great adventure.
That was one option, anyways.
Regardless, as the Malaysian I was coming to see had said; it was time to rearrange my life.
I walked out of the bathroom shaking in silent mirth. I had just been forced to use letterhead from a 5-star hotel as toilet paper.
The absurdities of travel.
Wrenching my attention away from the paragliders, I looked back to my coffee. It was cold. I downed the ristretto in one shot, and chugged the remainder of the Americano. I opened my computer, and then immediately closed it.
I got up and asked the barista where the bathroom was.
I was sitting alone on terrace in Pokhara, Nepal, sipping coffee. My eyes stared out across a serene lake, looking but not seeing. My mind was far away, across the ocean.
Instinctively, I looked to the hills above the lake. The mountains behind the hills still remained shrouded in haze. I’d been in Pokhara for a few days now, and still not caught a glimpse of the famous Annapurna Range; the towering Himalayan massif I’d come to Pokhara to see.
The Lonely Planet guidebook I had plundered from the Hotel Snow Leopard suggested catching a sunrise from the high hill of Sarankot was the best way to see the mountains. So as I sat on the terrace, I looked to Sarankot.
I was in a Himalayan Java in Pokhara, Nepal. A dog-eared copy of Howl lay on the table, while an old essay of mine, “My Modern Day Beat Experience,” was up on my computer. Reading Howl had reminded me of the piece—one of the first things I’d ever felt truly “compelled,” “driven,” or “called” to write.
thisisyouth 