Nepal

Nepal 45: Howl

Daniel 3 Comments
Alan Ginsberg Howl

My search for breakfast again took me along the touristy Lakeside strip. I didn’t much mind though—after a month of having the “local experience” in Taiwan, I was more than happy to play the tourist for a little bit.

And the Nepali love tourists. Not in a snide, disparaging way like you might find in some other places— the Nepali genuinely love their visitors, and are happy to help them experience the culture and natural beauty of their country. This is the only touristic place I visited on this trip where I didn’t feel any sort of tension between the tourists and the locals. So if you’re going to be a clueless tourist looking for a piece of home, Nepal is as good a place as any to do it.

My search for familiarity led me to the Pokhara branch of Himalayan Java. I had spent some time at the Himalayan Java in Kathmandu.

Apparently it’s a chain, I thought to myself as I spotted the signs. Maybe not a chain, could just be a second location. After all, the Himalayan Java in Kathmandu hadn’t seemed particularly slick or reproducible. And although Nepal’s a wonderful country, there probably aren’t too many opportunities to open a western-style coffee chain. Kathmandu, Pokhara, maybe Chitwan, I mused as I crossed the road and headed to the coffee shop.

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Nepal 44: Looking Down

Daniel 9 Comments
nepal buildings

It was early morning in Pokhara, Nepal. I was standing atop the roof of the Hotel Snow Leopard, breathing deep, taking in the view, and trying to come to terms with my life. A life which had brought me on a whirlwind tour of seven Asian countries, torn up my relationship of two and a half years, and spit me out here: 23 years old, alone, standing on a rooftop in Nepal. Gazing towards the Annapurna Range, hidden behind a thick layer of haze. Looking for something which didn’t seem to want to reveal itself to me.

I walked to the edge of the roof. Put my toes over the edge. Looked down.

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Nepal 42: Hallelujah

Daniel 2 Comments
Gerald Ford Ampitheater

Drinking tea, smoking hash and playing chess, our afternoon whiled away in the most pleasant fashion. We did nothing, worked towards nothing, and simply spent our afternoon enjoying the simple pleasures of drinks, conversation, and each other’s company. I had to agree with the Malaysian: I didn’t know what day of the week it was, but it certainly felt like a Sunday morning.

[this is an installment in an ongoing series about my travels in Nepal. The story starts here. It’ll make a good deal more sense if you start there, but feel free to make your own decisions]

Dusk fell, and a chill set in on the open-air cafe. The Spaniard had taken his leave late in the afternoon, off to enjoy a siesta. I was wearing only a t-shirt, all I had needed when I set forth that sunny morning. Now though, the cold was cutting at my bones, and my teeth were on the verge of chattering. I conceded the chess game—the hash was doing my play no favors— and bid the Malaysian adieu.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” I asked, as I settled my bill with the owner.

“Of course,” the Malaysian answered with a gracious smile. “I am here every day.”

“I’ll be back,” I promised with a pointed finger. “And I’m going to win some more games next time!”

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Nepal 41: American Politics

Daniel 21 Comments
Chess in the cafe

I was sitting in a dingy local cafe in Pokhara, Nepal. My companions, an old Malaysian man and a young Spaniard, were passionately arguing about the American presidential primaries. An American journalist myself, by March 2016, I’d heard far too much about this election already. I sat quietly, smoking hash and watching the conversation with a detached interest. One can learn a lot about their own home by seeing how foreigners perceive it.

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Nepal 40: Traveling is Like…

Daniel 21 Comments
Chess in the cafe

As we were queuing up for another game of chess, a young Spaniard came up the steps and into the cafe. He saw the Malaysian and broke out into a big smile.

“Ah good, you’re still here!” he said.

“Of course,” the Malaysian answered with a single nod. “I am here every afternoon. I have nothing else to do.”

He turned to me, and said: “You know how I describe traveling? I say: traveling… is like Sunday afternoon.” We both laughed.

I sipped my tea and thought: Sunday afternoon…

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