SOUTHEAST ASIA

Shortly after we drove off it began to rain. I turned to Rishi and said, “Do you believe me now?” He chuckled and replied, “Yes”.  I said again, “When you are with me, it only rains when we are inside.” Rishi and Hari laughed, leaving our driver bewildered.

Now in POKHARA, I confirmed that this was the nicest area I had been in since leaving New York. Rishi checked me into POKHARA Batika, which was included in my package from Third Rock Adventures, and we agreed to meet for my tour the next morning at nine. This was undoubtedly the best property I had stayed in since leaving that great Holiday Inn at the Delhi airport. My room included an outside terrace, and the stonework throughout the common areas was impressive. However, like nearly every place I had stayed since leaving that Holiday Inn, the shower water was not that hot, at best. My legs were aching and sore, particularly a muscle that I had pulled in my right calf. Additionally, I had lost my comb somewhere, so I decided to go for a walk hoping to loosen up my legs and buy a comb.  

I found the area to be very clean and people to be very nice. The road that I was on, Street #8, had many nice hotels and some catering to hikers with names like Hotel Trekkers Inn and the Backpackers Hostel that was right next door to my hotel, I ventured inside the hostel and discovered its unique charm. A modest room, devoid of a bathroom or air conditioning, was priced at ₹1500. I decided to indulge in a beer and tuned in to a cricket match, even though the intricacies of the sport still eluded me. It happened to be the Cricket World Cup, featuring an unexpected match-up: Afghanistan against Nepal. While Afghanistan was a cricket powerhouse, Nepal was a long shot. Unfortunately, Nepal was trailing badly, and cricket games went on for days, so I left only to learn later that Afghanistan emerged victorious.

The vicinity bustled with outdoor enterprises, from guide services and hiking stores to tour package agents, many bearing names like Everest, Annapurna, Trekker, and more. While tourists were present, the place felt relatively deserted. I could only imagine the bustling transformation in about six weeks’ time.

Numerous other businesses flourished, offering enticing options such as cozy cafes, Nepali eateries, and an intriguing abundance of haircutting salons offering services rarely found in the US such as facial and head massages.  Interestingly, no one actively solicited me, except for those stationed in front of the haircutting salons. Eventually, I realized they weren’t targeting me due to my ethnicity but rather my unkempt hair, which desperately needed a trim and I had not shaved since before my five-day hike.

Walking into one salon uninvited, I noticed a price list on the table: ₹400 for a haircut ($5 US). This seemed reasonable, and I decided to offer a ₹500 bill to include a ₹100 tip. As the barber began his skilled work, we engaged in small talk about my origins and my recent return from hiking the POON HILL circuit.

As he neared completion, I assumed I’d soon be on my way. However, he surprised me by moving on to my eyebrows and nose hair. Then, he embarked on an unexpected journey. He massaged my head, neck, and face, incorporating techniques involving tapping and clapping. Moving to my shoulders, it was evident he was transitioning into a full massage. Politely, I expressed my desire for just a haircut. He responded with, “Is Ok, is OK,” and continued.

I must admit that, as it progressed, the massage started feeling oddly pleasant, and I decided to remain silent. Suddenly, he rotated the chair and extended my right leg, attempting to soothe a calf muscle that had been giving me trouble. It was uncomfortable, but I concealed my discomfort. To my amazement, he asked me about it. I wondered how he knew? Then, he offered, “I can do a full massage for 1000.” My stubbornness got the better of me, and I declined, handing over ₹1100, thinking I had struck a good deal. However, I regretted not accepting his offer later. I returned after our tour the following day, only to find his salon closed. I even tried one last time on the morning of my flight, but he remained inaccessible. Amid the numerous alternatives, I realized I would only trust that particular barber.

Returning to my walk, I ventured down to Phewa Lake, which was conveniently close by. There, I observed people enjoying boat rides. Additionally, I stumbled upon a serene shrine area by the lakeside, where I indulged in a tranquil meditation session before heading back to my room.

A small temple graced the island, and Rishi asked if I wished to receive a blessing, which would entail the application of a dot on my forehead. I agreed and ascended the three steps. However, my unfamiliarity with the customs led to a misstep. A man at the entrance reprimanded me enthusiastically. Glancing back at Rishi, he gestured for me to descend. Then he pointed out, ‘No shoes.’ I had unintentionally demonstrated disrespect for their tradition. As I began to remove my shoes and return to the steps, Rishi signaled me to follow him away from the temple. It seemed I had missed my chance for the blessing. Divine intervention?

I grew up on Long Island and witnessed the growing Hindu population. Many of them ran gas stations and small hotel chains, and their families became increasingly prominent in our society. They were often criticized for the dot on their head, which we associated with Ash Wednesday, where it had to be black, and could only be accepted on that day. Some derogatorily called them “Dotheads.” Personally, I never used that slang term myself, but I must admit, this was a significant transformation, as I almost became a Dothead myself.

We paddled to a different landing point and bid our paddler farewell. While waiting for our driver, I took the opportunity to enjoy a peaceful 20-minute meditation. Rishi then took me to Mehendara Cave, but most of it was closed due to flooding during the monsoon season. I expressed my doubt about its impressiveness, mentioning that there were many caves near my home that he would likely find more appealing.

Next, Rishi brought me to Devi’s Waterfalls, named after a woman named Devi who had been swept over the falls years ago. Given the monsoon season, the falls were flowing near their peak. I confessed my lack of amazement to Rishi and asked if he had ever heard of Niagara Falls. He replied affirmatively, and when I informed him it was only a five-hour drive from my house, he grasped the comparison.

With the day growing hotter, our next excursion was a 20-minute drive to a museum. I inquired if the museum was air-conditioned, but Rishi regretfully answered in the negative. I suggested he take the rest of the day off, and we agreed to meet at 11 AM the next morning for our flight to KATHMANDU. I spent most of the afternoon in my air-conditioned room, relishing a much-needed rest. Later on, I discovered a delightful restaurant by the lake that served the only green salad with vinaigrette dressing and an IPA I had encountered during my entire trip.