dreams realised

hello, himalaya.

My cough still rattling around in my lungs, I took the short 500 rupee cab ride up the enormous hill to Sarangkot for what was promised to be a spectacular view of the Annapurna range. I was not disappointed. I sat breathless, wordless, pulled out my sketchbook and stared a while before setting my pen to the paper.



Suddenly I was surrounded by a bus load of excited Greek tourists who happily snapped the scene away with all sorts of cameras.

"Where are you from?"
"I'm an American living in Istanbul."
"Wow! Are you here with friends?"
"No I came to Nepal alone."
"What? You came here alone? You weren't afraid?"
"No," I laughed. "I generally travel alone."
"Wow... Hey Maria!" (I forgot her real name) "Come look at this girl!
She's American and she came here alone! She's not afraid!
And how are you getting down from here? By taxi?"
"No I plan on hiking down the hill."
"By yourself?"
"Yes, I've been told the trail has a lot of hikers on it."

The women kindly wished me luck and hopped onto their bus in a flurry of Greek. I began to search for the trail down to the lake— which was not easy to find— and once I had climbed down a considerably steep section, I suddenly became aware that I was completely and utterly alone in the woods. I had been repeatedly told by various people that the trail was safe with a continuous flow of hikers, but here I was, on a beautiful but slippery steep path that often disappeared under a mountain stream. If I fell, no one would find me. If I was mugged, no one could help me. This was potentially one of the dumbest decisions I had made, but I had been told I'd be fine. I decided that it would be easier and quicker to keep heading downhill than to climb back up to Sarangkot.

I slipped on a wet rock. My right leg was gashed open in two places and blood was running down into my boot. I washed my leg as best as I could with my water bottle and applied pressure with a few napkins. The wounds were so clogged with dirt that the bleeding soon stopped. Thankfully I didn't slip off the side of the hill or twist my ankle! I picked myself up, took in the beauty around me, and continued down my path.

It took me about two hours to get back to Peace Eye, where I showed off my stupidity to Olan, who shook his head with a smile. I vowed never to hike alone, even if an entire village tells me it's ok.

blue sky, green lake

I had arrived in Pokhara a sticky, sweaty mess coated in road grime. The sun was setting when Melissa and I parted ways. Melissa was off to the hills for a yoga retreat, while I planned on chilling out by Phewa Lake and doing a little hiking. Though I was exhausted and had developed a rattling cough from the previous weeks' pollution, I couldn't have been happier. As I lugged my bags in the direction of the lake, I felt like I was in the middle of some incredible dream. Green trees, green lake, green hills. Colourful saris, men in tans, black shiny water buffalo. I had finally seen the Himalaya on the bus ride in, and hoped they'd grace me with their presence in the morning. After asking for directions at a local bookstore and a couple of guys on the road, I eventually found my way to Peace Eye Guest House, highly recommended by Lonely Planet and well within my skimpy budget.  

The sun had left by the time I arrived at Peace Eye, and not having a reservation, I was nervous that the little guest house would be full— which as it turned out, it was. The owner, a kind-faced man named Chiran, must have felt sorry for the dirty, tired wire of a girl in front of him, and showed me to the last available room. It didn't have a bathroom and was very basic, but it was nice and clean— absolute heaven. I set down my bags and made a beeline for the shared shower room to feel human again.

Eventually I wandered down to the café, which was a small, really cool outdoor space with if I remember correctly, a thatched roof. I plopped myself down at one of the tables with my sketchbook and flash light (the power had gone out), ordered a beer and some fried rice. A couple of the other guests were hanging out, reading by candle light. We nodded to each other and exchanged those knowing, traveller smiles. My Kathmandu cough was getting pretty bad— I couldn't go five minutes without feeling like I had pulled a muscle in my abdomen. Chiran thoughtfully brought me some lemon honey ginger tea to soothe it, along with a candle to draw by. I felt like the luckiest girl— I was surrounded by warm souls, I had my sketchbook and paints, a cup of hot tea, and I could feel the mountains of my childhood dreams behind me.

The morning light brought with it excitement— if there was light, there was sun, which meant there was a good possibility the mountains were visible in the blue sky. I climbed to the roof terrace and was astounded— Annapurna and Machhapuchhare, right there. One of the guests I had met the night before was standing in wonder, camera in hand. He had just completed the Annapurna circuit, and told me that this was the first time he had been able to see the mountains in a near-month spent in Nepal, despite trekking in their foothills. We decided to climb to the roof of the taller, next door building for a better look.



After a much needed cup of coffee and a chat with my new friend Olan, I headed out to walk as far as I felt like walking around the 4.43 km² lake. The sun was burning hot, and saturated all the colours around me— everything was so vivid, bursting with life. I sang a little song in my head as I hiked along in the summer heat.



On the way back home I stopped for a light lunch at a Newari restaurant, where I devoured a delicious lentil patty topped with a fried egg called a wo. The wo was served with a tangy sauce that I suspect has mustard oil in it— I've been googling for recipes and hope to find one soon!



As I sat on the restaurant deck with a soothing post-wo tea, I pulled out my sketchbook and started to draw, immersed in a great wave of contentment.