Pokhara pics

Morning prayers are part of the daily routine. I’m not sure which deity in the Hindu pantheon Anjali is appealing to, but it doesn’t look like it’s one of the good ones.

Sakar prepares to pounce.

The kids don’t get a lot of fresh fruit, so every second day I traipse to town and buy apples and bananas. The usual scrum occurs upon my return. These kids would fight over brussel sprouts, I swear.

Sonam and Sesel continue the age-old debate of eat-it-now vs save-it-for-later.

The nearby Seti river, which runs through Pokhara.

Sarada had pointed out the shanty-like houses to me and told me that there, by the river, was where the really poor people lived. I went there for a visit one day and encountered a couple of groups of young men by the river. The first trio had a fishing pole. They were keen to show me their catch and lifted the lid on a basket to reveal four nice pan-sized fish. “Ramro”, I said. Very nice. The second group, also three, had been clambering around the rocks in their underwear. When they had returned to the bank and dressed they also came over to me and showed me their haul. This time it was small fish – a bit bigger than white bait – that they had caught in traps set amongst the rocks. This group offered me a ciggy and then sat down to dry out in the sun. One of them pulled out a deck of cards from his bag and gestured to me, “You play?”

“Sure. What’s the game?”

“Marriage.”

“Hajur?”  (Pardon?)

“Marriage.”

I hoped like hell he was talking about the game and not the stakes. The only woman in sight was a weathered old lady of about 70 (probably 40) cutting grass nearby. I fancied I could hear the faint twang of banjos. Well, this could go horribly wrong. I sat down with them and watched the dealer shuffle, trying to count his fingers. If he dealt me a poker hand I was ready to run for it. Just as he was dealing, Sita, who had also been cutting grass, arrived and asked me to come back with her. Deliverance. I made my apologies and left the card players, still in the dark about what sort of game ‘marriage’ was. Perhaps Sita had rescued me from some hill-billy nuptials.

During power cuts the evening meals are eaten outside.

My treat of goat curry and rice, with a cup of curd and banana for dessert. We’ve eaten meat twice in the four weeks I have been here, both times on special occasions (festivals or special guests).

Safal can’t wait to get stuck into his goat meat.

If only I was this popular with all the ladies. Sujana is wearing Joseph’s technicoloured dream coat.

My mice and I have reached an understanding. They do whatever they want and I pretend that I don’t hear them squeaking and chewing on the sacks of rice at night. At least they seem to be staying away from my bed. (They probably just wait ’til I’m asleep. One morning I shall wake up, like Gulliver, with a moustache drawn in vivid or my hand in a bowl of warm water. Not that Gulliver suffered that sort of indignity, of course. The Lilliputians would never have stooped to that. Be funnier if they had’ve, though, aye? What the hell am I babbling about?).

Anyway, I returned to my room one night to find a stray cat standing in my doorway. We looked at each other, I suggested, “Get out?” and it disappeared under a bed. Five minutes later I was still cursing and rummaging with a stick, trying to shift it. Bloody hell, I thought. I already have a mouse problem. The last thing I need is a stray c—

Hang on a minute. Hold the ‘phone. Maybe a cat as another room-mate…

But no. Wisdom prevailed and I eventually got the thing out the door. Who knows what sort of menagerie I’d end up with if I started down that road.

Playing chess with Safal, whose studied nonchalance in munching a biscuit belies some cunning tactics. His attempt to eat my queen nearly succeeded in throwing me off my game completely. He subsequently forfeited the match by wetting himself on my bed. (I was threatening mate in two).

Here’s something that struck me as odd: the graphic behind these Nepali presenters reading the nightly news conspicuously depicts a giant map of Africa. Africa? Why Africa? Why not Nepal? Is it just a case of poor positioning? Continental Asia isn’t even on the map. It wasn’t a story about Africa, either. Or Africa Appreciation Week. This kept me awake for days.