My encounter with the man down by the lake upset me so much, I just started walking up Lakeside with nothing in mind except putting as much distance as possible between me and him.
His harassment had made me so uncomfortable, and totally ruined my idea for the day. All I had wanted to do was sit on the side of the lake and read a book — was that too much to ask? Apparently.
That was my first negative interaction with a Nepali person so far, and it shook me up a little bit.
I woke up the next morning with the intention of spending my day lounging by the lake.
There was a nice little park right down the street from Hotel Snow Leopard; I had a nice little Instagram photo in my mind of me sitting on a bench, reading a book or writing in my journal next to this impressive mountain lake.
I had American breakfast at a cafe by the lake, and then went to go sit down.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to get the peaceful morning I had imagined.
By the afternoon, my feet were sore from a long day of walking around Lakeside Pokhara. That’s all I was thinking about as I slowly beat a path back to my room at the Hotel Snow Leopard. Walking along the shores of Fewa Lake, staring at my feet and wondering if these cheap boots would be at all comfortable for trekking, I was flagged down by an old man.
He stood astride a bicycle, and was chatting with a fruit vendor. Perhaps it was because I’d walked around all day and hadn’t spoken to a soul, or perhaps it was something about this old man’s demeanor, but I felt drawn to him. I knew he was going to try and sell me something I didn’t want, but the prospect of bartering – of conversation – was appealing.
So much of my time in Nepal had been spent in bleak loneliness.
Coming to Pokhara cleared my mind the way a big chunk of wasabi clears the sinuses.
I woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and refocused. Everything seemed clear.
I’d hang out in Nepal until I resolved things with the Austrians. I’d return home with a job offer in hand, ready for a new adventure, or I’d return home with that particular door closed. Obviously, one of those was the preferable option.
Once I had an interview or an offer, then I could work out the exact details.
Having finally escaped Kathmandu (and escaped is the right word), I was able to turn my attention to the only question that really mattered:
To even begin probing that question, I needed to go back to the start of this trip. I needed to go back to Holly and myself.
thisisyouth 