[ Pokhara ]
On a dusty haze-infused afternoon, after an interminable series of flights and their patience-trying delays—after too many hours on a bus and too few in slumber—I rolled into the town I now consider home[base]. For all its superficial evolutions, the fundamental spirit of Pokhara remains constant: a friendly, hard-sell bustle and flow bobbing atop the bottomless well of curmudgeonly Nepali optimism. Ditto the local tapestry of personalities, woven from an invariant flood of ever-changing faces—tourists and seekers in turn joyful, arrogant, thankful, condescending, stoned, preachy, or jaded, yet all with spirits agog.
One of these folks, of course—recycling himself into the scene a bit more than most—is me, and oh how I love my role in this tableau!
That aforementioned afternoon was Thursday last, and I have since been fully re-assimilated. (My language skills are coming along a bit more slowly, but still better than I anticipated after a nine-month hiatus.) Along with daily walks and photographic wanderings, chats with adopted family and nomadic friends, I’m planning a four-day motorcycle tour to commence in the next day or two, so stay tuned for the usual tales of Nepali adventure.
Until then, I bid you a fond adieu fellow Transglobalistas. It’s great to be back.