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  Everest and K2 Summiter Ivan Vallejo : ON THE SHORE OF LAKE POKHARA


ON THE SHORE OF LAKE POKHARA

(Pokhara, March 25, 2008)

Dear friends, 

Today is Tuesday, March 25.  I write from the hotel in Pokhara, on the way to Dhaulagiri. 

We have come to this enchanted place by the foot of the Himalayas, in a matter of forty minutes, from Katmandu, thanks to a Yeti Airlines flight.  With that we have saved six hours of a trip that covers only two hundred kilometers of distance (you can imagine how complicated and difficult it is to travel by that road).  Anyway, now in Pokhara this is wonderful because there is no noise, or the chaos of Katmandu.  We have the lake that has the same name as the place and that is the mirror of a part of the Himalayas mountain system, where usually one of the most beautiful mountains of this part grooms at dawn: Mapuchare which in Sanskrit means Fish Tail. 

     Caption: Lake Pokhara is the mirror of this part of the Himalayas

The hotel where we are is called Khantipur, just a minute from the lake.

From the peace of this place I feel calm and I send you this note.  But before continuing I have to confirm what I wrote three years ago when I came to this place for the first time, precisely on the way to my first attempt to Dhaulagiri.  If I ever get married again, I would chose this place for my honeymoon, without a doubt.  There is no rush here, everything goes slow, no hurry, at a slow rhythm like the small waves that come to the pier of the lake to break into foam.  Above Pokhara is the Himalayas, white, shiny, silver or red, depending on the sun and the hour.  On the edge of the boardwalk is the main street and on it are hundreds of stores that sell everything a tourist need to prove they have been in this place, but there are also some little terraces with a view to the lake, not the sea in this case, which are just charming.  There you can order a banana lhasi (a shake with yougurt), a green tea, a very cold Everest beer or a cup of wine (red or white, your choice), and the daring would also order an omelet with hallucinogen mushrooms, in which case in a matter of minutes they are flying high above the Himalayas with no effort, or suffering like yours truly, who now wants to get to a point at 8,167 m.  Anyway, this is a beautiful place, because time has another rhythm here and the geographical surroundings are unique.  That is why, if that is the case, I would come here to spend my honeymoon without a doubt.  When Sebas hears my comment he says no, it is not necessary to marry to come for a honeymoon, because anyway, it is not the same but it is.  Just like that song from Silvio Rodríguez says.

After a walk on by the boardwalk we go to the shore of the lake where Sebastian, Ferran and Manolo are prepping up the equipment to make us an interview for Televisión Española, to Edurne and I.  Behind us, bending down, two Nepalese girls wash their colored clothes in the water of the lake with their bowls which shine like silver with the light of the afternoon; their children, small, with innocent smiles play to jump between the boats that rest in a line by the edge of the water.

My interview ends and they continue with Edurne, I sneak up to where the Nepalese are and with a bow I ask them to let me take a picture of them, then nod and continue washing, making foam with their hands, twisting clothes between water and soap, taking water from the lake with the bowls and from the bowls to the grass.  They talk and smile while they wash, they pull my leg because they think I am from Nepal and I tell them I am from Ecuador.  The ladies with two words in English and I with two words of Nepalese, but the smile is the best language in any part of the planet.  I get close to one of them and ask for her name.  Susila, she says, and gives me a beautiful smile, and I thank her saying ramro (pretty, in Nepalese) smile.  She smiles again and illuminates lake Pokhara even more.  I take some pictures of her and thank her with a smile and a bow.  I show her the little screen of my camera and she makes a party when she sees the pictures, she speaks to her friends in Nepalese and the only word I get is ramro, ramro.  So now I nod: dany abhat, baini ramro, (thanks a lot, pretty woman).  In the middle of the noise one of the children, the one with the most lively eyes, talking to Susila says something in Nepalese ending the phrase with umcha mami (ok mom).  In a goofy mix of English and Nepalese, without hiding my surprise, I confirm he is her son.  With the help of her fingers she makes me see that Muktu is 4 years old.  I do my math, more by visual than by chronological signs, and I assume that Susila is not older than twenty.  Young mother, I think, like in my town.  Taking Muktu by his shoulders and the rest of his partners, I put them around Fusila, and they stay there for a second, quiet, like mother hen with her chicks.  I look through the viewfinder, everybody smiles, Muktu turns to watch his mom, but it is too late, the light is caught and the picture is taken in milliseconds.  There are the children, the boats, lake Pokhara and Susila's smile.

   Caption: Susila gives me a beautiful smile and I thank her saying ramro smile

   Caption: There are the children, the boats, lake Pokhara and Susila's smile.  

I turn my camera off and I touch one by one the faces of the kids, I touch Susila's shoulder and I say once more: dany abhat, baini ramro.  She generously gives me one more smile and says: see you tomorrow. And I answer: No, tomorrow Dhaulagiri expedition.  She and the kids shake their arms and we mutually say good bye. 

When I come down from Dhaula I will come back to lake Pokhara, God willing, and I will probably meet Susila playing again with water, soap and clothes, and I will tell her: 

Dhaulagiri summit.

Iván Vallejo Ricaurte

EXPEDITIONEER

Translated from Spanish by Jorge Rivera

 







 

 

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