A Bath in Pokhara [Shannon]

Trekking pushed us to our limits and beyond, every daylight hour. The Anapurnas are cold beauty and a test of everything. When we finally got back to Pokhara, the hotel manager gave us the same room. It was part of the package. Less than $300 for 5 days of trekking, meals and loding, a porter and guide, all transport, and 3 days in the Chitwan jungle lodge with elephant rides and all. We didn't see any Maoists, but the soldiers who kept boarding or 100-degree, no rest stops bus were snidely menacing.

The hotel was empty and so was the town. The trekking season was over, and the monsoon had arrived. Nevertheless, Maoists blew up a restaurant on the street where we had eaten dinner 3 days previously. Luckily no one was killed. Imagine dying while eating momo and watching a Keanu Reeves movie. How mediocre. A kid was killed by hail though, ugh.

Even though the rains came early, we had been lucky they did not interfere with our time in the mountains, as they arrived promptly at 3 pm each day, which is a good time to take a nap anyway. The trek's difficulty was compounded by first Jonathan and then my getting sick, in a debilitating, sinusy way, with shortness of breath, headache and nausea. I think it had to do with all the changes in altitude, first up to 10,000 feet, then down to 4,000, and back up to 6,000, etc. Whatever it was, it made my nose run on the way up and bleed on the way down.

Some of our rooms were comfortable; others were shacks. None had electricity, and the ones with hot water dispensed it excruciatingly hot and unadjustable. So I was not as clean as I liked to be after all the sweaty walks.

The last day's hike, down from Ghandruk, was pleasant, with a grdual descent along the river, about five hours in total, with a stop for some dal bhat and Fanta. Our illness had passed and the trek was over.

This rom had a bathtub. It was unbelievable. No room on our entire trip has had a tub. This ne was deep, rectangular and pale pink. I saw the two solar water tanks on the roof, so I don't feel guilty about running a full, hot bath. You don't do that if they're cutting wood to heat the water.

Ahhh. I closed the bathroom door and stepped into the tub. Sinking into the hot water, I realized this was the first time I had been alone in five days. Of course, there was always Jonathan, who I never get tired of, but on the trails we were led by the porter, Lapka, and folowed by our giude, Sambhu. I enjoyed those guys, and we had a lot of laughs, but it was uncomfortable at times to have to keep so tight together because of bandits and Maoists. We saw neither, but were on a close schedule with Sambhu always knocking on our door at 6am with menus. The menus were long, but al they ever had was dal bhat, rice and lentils, and the tea house women were always hovering asking how we enjoyed it. Great!

The water fell in a double drip from the faucet, tapering off to a slow music. Late afternoon light floated through milky glass of the window above the sink. The water enveloped me up to my chin. The tub was the perfect size for me. I could rest my feet flat against the faucet side and my head comfortably on the ledge. I breathed in andn out, soaked in the heat and bathed in the quiet light.

I thought of nothing, not the way I had on the trail, concentrating on every chancey step, every ragged breath. This was smooth. This was no effort. This was glide. Into girlhood, into safety, into solitude and peace.

I have a new appreciation for the modern world, for solid walls and running water, for conveyances that don't poop sloppy craps on the road. For roads. Television and movie houses, clean streets and new clothes. I wanted to shop like a bandit. But mostly I wanted to enjoy being alone, lying on the bed in the breeze off the lake, writing while Jonathan was in the shower.