Pokhara

We flew instead of taking the bus, because just before the trip rain and mudslides had broken the road. The first Himalayan peaks showed through the plane window, and marigold garlands were waiting to welcome us at Pokhara airport.

Our group of 14 is interesting, too. The people are different, but all of them good company. Some are permanently a little tipsy with a light song on their lips, the words being “lalalalalaa”. But everything gets done.

In the evening I wandered around Pokhara, going wherever my feet took me. I realised that this city of half a million, 800 metres up, is much nicer and cleaner than Kathmandu. And in the distance, the 8,000-metre mountains were calling.

By Phewa Lake, Pokhara’s lake, we repacked for the last time. City clothes stayed at the hotel. Into the mountains went a 50-litre rucksack each, and one 90-litre bag per two people for the porter, about 10 kg per person.

“You have to leave something behind to go forward.”

In the morning, 21 October, Pokhara woke up with its lake. There were far fewer early risers and people on the street than in Kathmandu. Peace and quiet to enjoy.