Sleepy Lake

After about a week I managed to escape SIN CITY, which is the affectionate name we dubbed Kathmandu. I said good-bye to my international gang of new friends and headed back on the micro-bus through the Nepali mountains back to Pokhara, where my Yamaha RX was waiting. The following morning was a half day at the Government auto registration office so we had to get our skates on. On arriving we (Rick, the present bike owner and myself) we quickly linked with a "process-broker" without whom the whole procedure of registering a motorbike would have been totally impossible. The beuocracy was remarkable, but if you are in the know, it does actually work. There were numerous offices, some of which were located on the pavement outside. The importance of the office occupants was dictated by the presence of a carpet or a ceiling fan. After much yo-yoing the process suddenly came to an abrupt halt. What to do? The letter I got from the British Consulate in Kathmandu has raised some concerns. I had needed a letter saying that the British Government had no objection to me buying a bike, I had needed one for my Pakistani VISA too. However, since each letter cost over 40pounds I had asked the consulate to state my intension of traveling across boarders and buying a bike on one letter and obtained multiple copies. This of course had saved me a lot of money, but the authorities at the Nepali vehicle registration office did not like the letter saying I was going to leave Nepal on the motorbike. What to do? Bugger. Using Ricks phone I called the Consulate and they remembered me and within 5mins they had FAXED me a new letter just stating that I wished to buy a bike. It worked a treat. Everyone from the Consulate and the registration office and even the police there knew my intension's by now, but all turned a blind eye for the paperwork was now in order. I did not even have to pay a bribe, but perhaps I had been expecting one after being in India for so long. We were getting close, after nearly 4 hrs the 4 inch thick books came out and we found the pages that referred to my new bike. I was required to sign and counter sign, have my photo added and my thumb prints taken 3-4 times in various documents before the log-book was handed over and the whole process complete. The next day I rode my old crappy 10year old Yamaha GX up the hill and dirt shale track several KMs to the top of the hill were the World Peace Pagoda was waiting. The sun was intolerably hot at 12noon, but like mad dogs and Englishmen I pressed on until I could get my bike no further and had to trek the final 1/2 mile. The view over the lake was amazing and through the monsoon clouds I could just about make out the surrounding mountain range of AnnaPuna. Back at my local evening hangout (the Busy Bee bar) I exchanged travel stories and played pool with a mix of locals, ex-pats and tourists. Over the next few days I came to realize that the seemingly sleepy lakeside town of Pokhara had a lot more going on behind the scenes that would first meet the eye. Across from me was the local "family" boss having a whiskey with the chief of police. At 4am in a back street garage an old man would cook up chow-main for a man 10th in line to the crown, complaining to the head of the moist rebels that marrying his Canadian girlfriend would cause a constitutional nightmare for she was Catholic, the only religion that the Nepali Royal Family can not marry. Of course this reflects our own Royal family archaic rules where poor William, if he does marry his on-off girlfriend, will cause similar constitutional issues. What a load of crap. I got chatting to a local English army Captain about 21years or so, who is recruiting and training the British army regiment, The Gurkha's. For the Nepali entry into this regiment is a way out of poverty, they can feed all their family for years on one months salary. Entry is strict and highly contested. Some men are said to carry on hiking up and down the mounting with baskets full of rocks with any injury they pick up during the tests, even with a broken leg. I hope to be invited to play footie with the Gurkha's before I leave. This sweet little lakeside town really is an international melting pot, similar to Kathmandu, but with the UN vans driving around a bit more. In fact all people from all the official factions seam to mix. Royalist, police, army, British Gurkha's and Local Dons. All mix except the UN. I briefly met the head of the UN, a lady in her later 30s, who assumed I was part of the "British Camp" as she put it, I assume because of my shaved head. The more I see the UN the less respect I have for them. Driving around in their expensive flashy white Jeeps with big army style radio receivers. They just seam to be on a "jolly". I know they probably have a lot to do organizing the first ever elections that are planned for November, but honestly, they don't appear to have any clue what-so-ever on what is going on "on the ground". The elections are set for the end of the year, but it looks as though the American Embassy is doing everything in their power to derail the whole process. What a shame. The general lack of understanding of the local people appears to be shocking. Their main objection to the elections by the Americans seams to come from the fact they don't want anyone Maoists in the new Parliament. It's a shame really that the rebels called themselves Maoists, for even the Chinese have objected to them using the terms for it's not really communism at all, more like very left wing free market capitalism. Nevertheless, because they have taken on the mantel of Maoists the red lights have been flashing at Washington. After all, this small, poor country is of extreme strategic importance, being sandwiched between the rapidly growing economies and global super power contenders of China and India.

Yesterday Rick invited me to have breakfast with his friend before we started work on my bike. When he said breakfast I did not really expect to be taken across the lake onto an island in the middle to an exclusive set of cottages surrounding a swimming pool. I jumped in of course and submerged myself in water for the first time in 8 months. I had not even had a bath in Indian. It was bliss. The sun beating down I of course got sun burnt. My bike has already been striped down to the wood. New wider wheels have been made and all new suspension and parts have been bought. My frame repainted, and seat custom designed and covered. All I have to do now is wait for the head mechanic to come back from his village with the big smile of newly found fatherhood and we can start putting it back together before I have to choose the right kind of red I want it painting.

I have have some good news from my pal Olaf. A Dutch guy I met in an Internet forum that wants to ride an Enfield across the same countries as me. We will plan to do it together and once he gets over his Delhi Belly bed in Delhi (down with poisoning for a week), we will meet up hopefully in Nepal and set off together. I have bought a 2nd hand sleeping bag for about $3 and a 2nd hand gortex "emergency" tent off a French guy who runs a Kayak shop for about $8. All is going well. The only disaster I have had is my white flip fops I got on Bondi-Beach finally fell apart and I was forced to retire them in favor of a new red pair. I hope get myself a boat tomorrow and head far into the middle of the lake and catch myself some fresh Carp. Also today I got a deep and strong urge for meat. I had not eaten meat for months and months, mainly because to do so in India is suicidal. I know I am not very good at listening to advise, even from myself, but this I could not ignore, I guess I needed some protein. I finished off a fat juicy rare stake in a record 1hr30mins. Seriously, I was so not used to eating meat, it was a real struggle, after which I had to come back to my hotel room for a lay down, all the blood from my brain, legs and lungs was diverted to my stomach to power my digestion. It did taste good though...yummy.

Oh yeah I almost forgot. My favorite local bar has live music on each evening, and boy, are they good, I mean seriously good at all the rock classics and some of their own numbers too. The bar is very relaxed and if you fancy singing or playing a number you are welcome too. Last night a guy asks if he can sing to his own music recorded on his ipod. Up he gets and pumps out 3 of his own Rap numbers, getting harder as he goes on, he was pretty good. After I got talking to him, for I knew I recognized his accent from deep in my memory. Only turns out Carl is from Oldham, my own home town. We had a laugh over a few drinks reminiscing over Yorkshire and Union street pubs, the fighting on Friday and Saturday night, the night clubs that have since closed down and the number of ears and noses that are delivered to the field hospitals each weekend in hope of finding their rightful owners. Goes to show it's a small world.

Week 3 in Pokhara.

Ok, so the rolling hills and mountain ranges are breath taking. The scenic lake and little fishing boats calming, the people friend and honest, the afternoon monsoon dramatic and refreshing, the company of locals and ex-pats and tourists stimulating, but I am getting a little bored now. My bike has been stripped down, and rebuilt around the original reconditioned engine and frame, with all else being customized. Tomorrow I'll go collect the final parts from the town paint shop and hopefully on Monday morning be able to start her up for the first time and set off on a slow 500KM "break in period" before I can finally get my arse on the road again. This place is filling up more and more with tourists, finally realizing how safe it is for them to come here. The fact the American government labeled Nepal a "Terrorist State" appears to have damaged the economy pretty badly. Each day a foreigner stays in Nepal, 7 jobs are further secured.

Today is Saturday, the day of rest here, most thing shut down, most things except for Rajus Royal Enfield Bullet Surgery. Last week I cruised past on my rented bike and recognize a few faces. Rajus's Bullet Surgery is famous across north Asia. He is the best Bullet mechanic around and welcomes all who behave themselves (which unfortunately usually discounts most of the Israelis tourists). Within a min of sitting down to talk to Anton and Roland the Austrians I was given a whiskey and coke as they gently pulled a fluffy brown goat into the back workshop. I did not think anything of it when 45mins later I was tucking into a mutton stew curry. One slit throat later and we were all being fed. A little too fatty and boney for me, but still not bad. This place is dangerous, like a gravity well....once in its hard to leave. Today I revisited Rajus, thankfully it was a little calmer with a lot of people being away. I chatted to Damien my English Pal who is a translator for the UN, being here 10years and being totally fluent. In fact he is the only one in the UN who appears to mix with locals and understand the issues, the rest appear to be career beurocrats, dining in fancy restaurants and cruising around in nice clean uber-jeeps. Anyway, I'm sorry, I generally try to keep away from politics, but it's hard to in a melting pot like Nepal. I'm feeling a little like a local now after nearly 28 days in Pokhara. I know everyone in the local bar, I usually forget to pay my bill, which is fine when I settle the next day. I have finally come to understand the people are not trying to cheat me, my guard has finally dropped, just in time for when I leave for India again to be screwed over every day until I relearn to get it back up again. Hopefully, my Carnet (import-export document for my bike) will be couriered over in a couple of days time, then I will be off, heading to Delhi to meet Olaf and head over to the Pakistani boarder together. Then again, I have been thinking this for the past 3 weeks, tomorrow may never come.