Pokhara

Day 80: 26 hours of travel to Varanasi

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We were going to fly from Kathmandu to Delhi. But that meant a 6-9 hour bus from Pokhara to Kathmandu, and then a pricey flight from Kathmandu to Delhi, so we decided to take an 8 hour bus from Pokhara to the Indian border, take a 3 hour bus from to border to Gorakpur, and then take a 7 hour train from Gorakpur to Varanasi. Basically a little less than double the travel time for about a fifth of the cost? 

This made complete sense, until our first bus broke down on the side of the Nepalese mountain road we were on. Forty (I think possibly more) passengers climbed off the bus and sat on the side of the road and watched the driver assess the situation. Some passengers offered to help, pouring water on the steaming brake plate, or maybe it was the axel itself? Whatever it was, it was hot, and everyone was surrounding it, trying to help, or taking close-up shots (I have no idea why) of the conundrum. After about an hour, some got ansty and started jumping into passing buses, many of us needing to cross the border before it closed. We followed suit and ended up on another crowded bus. Women and children were kicked out of their seats for us, which made me feel terrible until I saw that they (along with the majority of the packed bus) got off at the next village stop less than ten minutes later.

We arrived at the border and saw everyone (except the two Koreans) who were on our original bus. We chatted and made our way through the Nepalese immigration and sighed with relief when they didn't demand we pay the $30.00 extension for being one day late on our visa. We bumped into everyone again on the Indian side at immigration, and then Andrew and I headed for the government bus to Gorakpur where we had tickets for the overnight train to Varanasi.

And then we see the Koreans. Their hired jeep broke down and they were waiting on the side of the road for the government bus we were on to catch the same train. We smiled, waved, but then lost them once we got into Gorakpur. Once we arrived at the train station, we were worn out and hungry, and not necessarily prepared for all of the looky-loos in the station. After living in Korea for five years, I'm a little familiar with sticking out… Sometimes being the only Caucasian on a train platform, train, or even in a whole part of Seoul. But living in Korea for five years had NOTHING on how many stares we received walking onto the Gorakpur platform. Unabashedly, people would just watch. our every. move. At one point, a man stood in between us facing the platform, and the platform itself and just stood two feet away, looking down on us, for about ten minutes. I have to admit, I was more amused by it than uncomfortable. I always am amused though, when I get attention for the color of my skin, size of my face, and shape of my eyes. Growing up in a 99% white community does not prepare you for these conversations, nor experiences of being the minority. It's interesting, and gives me a completely different perspective on life in a homogeonous society- be it Korea, or where I'm from in Kentucky.

Our Korean friends, and two others from our original bus showed up on our same train platform, and we all waited (miserably) through the hour delay before the train arrived and we crawled into our appropriate bunks for a cold, mosquito filled First Class (that did not feel like it) overnight to Varanasi.

Day 79: Paragliding in Pokhara!

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In all honesty, we simply didn't have the experience in Nepal we were hoping for. We did not go (nor plan on going) trekking. We didn't have warm enough clothing, coats, boots… and I am positive my bum ankle/foot would not have survived without proper shoes. We were totally ok with this. We just went trekking in Laos, and I was all about sightseeing and taking pictures and drinking tea by warm fireplaces… Only there weren't fireplaces, there wasn't any heat, half of the time there wasn't warm water. We both got sick. We were ALWAYS accosted by travel agents pitching trekking tours to us. Coming from countries like Vietnam and Thailand, we were paying more for rooms in Nepal and getting half of the amenities. And then my polaroid camera was stolen. And there wasn't a nice view (nor nice hotel) in Nagarkot. And then the jungle safari was full in Chitwan because all of Nepal was off work and traveling around the country as well. It was just one thing after another for us. I wanted to fall in love with Nepal, but that simply didn't happen this time around.

So I decided we needed to go paragliding. We needed to do something fun and a little bit scary to help make up for being sick, being cold, being without electricity so many nights, and being a little disappointed with Nepal. Andrew was afraid going paragliding would be another bad decision (We even practiced how he would call my Mom if something happened. He was terrible. Let's hope nothing ever DOES happen on this trip to me because he will fail miserably if he has to talk to my Mom about it), but luckily it turned out to be possibly the best decision we made in Nepal. PARAGLIDING OFF THE SOUTHERN RIDGE OF THE HIMALAYAS as Andrew typed out in his Thanksgiving Facebook status was pretty fantastic. I can only hope that the video comes even a teensy bit close to giving the experience justice.

We drove up the mountain around nine in the morning, and when we arrived gliders were already running off the mountain and floating away. Andrew and I went our separate ways (me with a HOT Hungarian pilot, and him with a fellow American from Colorado) and while my pilot was fluffing out the paraglide sail(?) chute(?) all of a sudden I turn and see Andrew and his pilot running down and then floating away. 

"So, you're saying you want me to literally run off the side of the mountain?" I asked my hot Hungarian. (Andrew later said he was "keeping an eye on my pilot" during our flight. This made me laugh. a lot. He relaxed when I told him the hot Hungarian was married.)

"Yep." He replied, somewhat bored with my nervous humor. He goes paragliding three times a day. I'd probably be bored with nervous first-timers as well…

As it turns out, paragliding is probably the least scary thing I've done to date. You run off the mountain side and then when the wind picks you up, you sit down in your seat that is strapped to you and then it's kinda like sky-diving after your chute opens up. You just float around until your pilot asks if you want to do some ''acrobatics" over the lake and suddenly you're swinging back and forth and dropping in the air until he tells you it's time to land and you put your feet up and land safely on the ground not to terribly far from a flock of goats chewing on some grass in the same field.

It was well worth it. We might even do it again on this trip (although Andrew heard that it's the cheapest and best in Nepal). 

Afterwards, we finally caved and sat down at a Korean restaurant steps away from our hotel. It was tiny, dirty, and proudly displayed a "Dokdo is Korea" shirt on the wall. All signs clearly pointing to having tasty kimchi based dishes. We surprised the owner ordering three different kimchi based dishes in Korean. kimchi jeon, kimchi chiggae, and kimchi bokem-bab. I think everyone was amused (to say the least) when we left leaving nothing on our plates. The food was not only just like "home" but it was cheaper than it would have been in Seoul and it more than made up for the 78 days we've been without kimchi. 

We attempted to go to the post-office. (For the third time in Nepal thanks to The Festival, it was closed the first two times) And failed. Not any of the three people we asked for directions thought to mention that packages could not be sent from Pokhara. Thanks, Nepal. So instead, we carried bags of gifts and souvenirs with us to Old Pokhara, where we attempted to see what the fuss was about. As it turns out, Old Pokhara is not worth the trip at all. It's a deserted part of town with few storefronts and even less people milling about. We walked down the main road, and went back to lakeside for dinner and then "home" to pack up for our bus to the Indian border the next morning.

Sidenote: I haven't completely written Nepal off. I would like to go back. But if I do, you better believe I'm rolling into the country decked out in Northface GoreTex, sturdy hiking boots, and trekking tours pre-arranged and booked. Nepal in November simply isn't destined for either a "Round the World" trip to mostly warm countries with a budget of $50.00 a day. I'll go again, with more money, and maybe even a personal guide if for nothing else, to ward off anyone who tries to pitch me anything. Female trekking guides are available in Nepal. You know I'm going to get me one of them as well.

Day 78: Pokhara’s Peace Pagoda

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As it turns out, Phewa (or Fewa) Lake is one popular spot with the locals. We walked down towards the lakefront and were stunned to see crowds of Nepalese, school buses lined up on the street, food and souvenir vendors lined up on the sidewalk. It was a zoo. And then once we got to the lake itself, we could see why. It was beautiful. Brightly colored rowboats floated next to the dock with the Himalayas in the distance. And the Peace Pagoda looked down upon all of it on the other side of the lake. Lonely Planet offered three different routes up to the pagoda. Having the whole day ahead of us, we opted for the longest route. 

That is, until we had to ask for directions. Twice, and still didn't understand where we were supposed to go. Lonely Planet: You totally failed this one. Not wanting a repeat of yesterday's failed attempts to find Old Pokhara, I opted to take a taxi halfway so we wouldn't end up walking up and down a mountain without reaching the pagoda. This was a fabulous idea, until our driver dropped us off at a small dirt path and said something neither of us could understand. The dirt path wasn't all that bad, but when it dumped us back on a main road, with little shade, lots of dust, and lots of traffic (stirring up said dust)… I grew weary of our decision. We've come to accept that most of our decisions in Nepal weren't good ones, but that doesn't make them any easier. By the time we reached the pagoda, we were covered in dust and a bit worn out.

The World Peace Pagoda is an initiative for peace and a Buddhist stupa built by Most Honorable (as it stated on the information plaque at the entrance) Fuji, a Japanese Buddhist monk. The 80 (possibly more) pagodas around the world were inspired by Most Honorable Fuji's meeting with Gandi in 1931. The pagoda was peaceful, the view was breath-taking, and then there was the descent down the mountain.

One of the NGO workers we met and lunched with in Chitwan said she climbed up and down the Pagoda in a pair of flip flops. We followed her lead, and then cursed ourselves for not asking specific questions about her shoe choice. The trail we descended (although easier to find, less dusty, and full of shade) required hiking boots. At least a pair of shoes with more padding than our worn down flip flops! By the time we got to the bottom of the mountain and crossed the lake, we were not happy campers.

A little advice if you find yourself in Pokhara anxious to climb up to see the Peace Pagoda: take taxi the entire way there and back (although it'll cost you at least 1000-1200 Rs) or cross the lake by boat (300-400 Rs each way) and take the trail from the lake there and back. Wearing the proper shoes, of course!

Day 77: I’ve been wanting to try one of these huge bamboo swings…

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I've been intrigued since we got here by these giant bamboo poles tied together at the top. I wondered if it was an old Nepalese teepee or maybe it was staking out the four corners of a garden? And then I saw some kids FLYING in the air on a swing strung up on a pole balanced on the bamboo poles. It. looked. Awesome. and I wanted to try it. 

We were on our way (or so we thought) to Old Pokhara. Andrew expected a similar Kathmandu old city vibe, while I was unsure what we would find, as Pokhara felt more like a spread out suburb than compact city. We asked for directions, and were pointed in a general direction with various time estimates. We were told to take a taxi or a bus, but we prefered to walk (you would too, after an entire day on a bus). So we walked. and walked. and then I came face to face with a bamboo swing. (kinda) A handful of children were playing on or near it and they waved when they saw us. I pointed to my camera and to them and they screamed "Yes! Come play! Come play with us!" 

And so I did.

When a handful of Nepalese children at the side of the road with a big bamboo swing scream "Come play with us" you do not say "No." I hopped on the swing and they pushed, told me not to bend my legs (in Nepal you move the swing with your torso only- I'm still not sure if that would be effective for me though) and they all took turns watching. Half of the street took turns watching the white girl on the swing. It was super fun, but I got a little stage fright with the crowd that was forming, so I slowed down, hopped off, learned a little bit of Nepalese and thanked them for sharing their swing with me.

We didn't end up finding Old Pokhara. We asked for directions several more times. We got different answers. We walked back and forth on the main road. We ended up waving our white flag and taking a taxi back to Lakeside (where we were staying). I'm convinced the Nepalese have an entirely different sense of time and direction. I know you might be thinking it's a language barrier, but believe me, it's not.