return to pokhara

We arrived in Pokhara under a threatening sky— sticky, stiff-legged, and hoping the rain would wait until we were safe inside a guest house. It's amazing how much can change in two years; the sleepy little touristy town I remember has spread out, with shops upon shops and restaurants offering everything from Italian food to Mexican. More foreigners than I remember glided around in baggy striped pants, prayer beads, and flip-flops, between zipping motorbikes and the occasional cow. Construction was going on about every ten steps or so, with mounds of earth piled high beside buzzing saws and bricklayers. Pokhara was touristy two years ago, but my initial reaction upon returning, was that it had lost some charm. But there was the lake, the hills and that sky— and somewhere— somewhere in all that boiling grey, white peaks stood.