Little to report today. We decided that, nice as Raniban was, we had exhausted its possibilities, so were making our way by degrees towards Yogi’s home village, booking into a hotel about an hour along the road. We were treated to a farewell ceremony, matching the one we had received on arrival, only this time Val was presented with one of the patterned scarves, while I was given a Nepalese cap. Too small for my big head, of course, but the gesture was appreciated.
The taxi drive took us first down into Pokhara. I had been pretty shell-shocked by the journey on the way out, had just wanted to get out of Pokhara as soon as possible, but this time, being in a better frame of mind, I found it more attractive. Still too big, but neat enough, clean enough, and not yet gridlocked with traffic the way Kathmandu is.
A pleasant enough trip, the road in reasonable condition most of the time, but when we finally found the hotel (the driver confusing it with somewhere else), we did have something of a shock, having to face (and climb) a huge set of steep stairs. It did have the effect of effectively imprisoning us there, not wanting to contemplate tackling them – in either direction – any more than we absolutely had to.
First impressions were fair: there was a pleasant terrace, surrounded by high peaks, and the interior of the restaurant/reception was intriguing, with sofas covered in rugs. The walls covered with shelves displaying Korean bowls, cups and other artefacts. It appeared there was a strong Korean connection, since the menu offered a whole section devoted to Korean food.
But as time went on, our opinion of the place worsened. Our room was a little poky, a little old-fashioned, and various bits of were non-operational. The ceiling fan looked nice but didn’t work, the bathroom floor was permanently covered in water from some leak, the promised bath had no plug…
Val spent a good part of the day and then the evening too at work, holding online meetings, with just a short break for dinner. But that too was pretty disastrous. Because of divali, the chef was away – no Korean menu. And actually not much else in its place; we settled for a bowl of ramen noodles, which was alright; it came with a bowl of plain rice, which I ignored.
I had spent the afternoon first on the terrace and then in the restaurant, which grew less attractive as it became colder; I even had to ask for some lights to be switched on, as it was getting dark. But my self-appointed task occupied me well enough. In the elephant dung notebook that we purchased in Chitwan, I am writing some poems, all about the animals of Nepal, using a variety of poetic forms.
Here’s one of them, a haiku:
I spotted a deer
Hiding midst the trees; what kind?
The deer was spotted.
