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The plane for Kathmandu was only leaving in the early afternoon, so I had a bit of time to kill in the morning. I checked out of the hotel and went in town. As I was walking about, I saw a sign "scooter and motorbike rental". I hesitated a long time before renting one: I was in Nepal where people can't drive, I am on my own, there are no hospitals and the last (and first) time I touched one of those was in Vietnam, in Dalat, where I very nearly crashed it and it was taken prematurely away from me.

Scooting about

Degrubenc
2006-08-12 15:02:46

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The plane for Kathmandu was only leaving in the early afternoon, so I had a bit of time to kill in the morning. I checked out of the hotel and went in town. As I was walking about, I saw a sign "scooter and motorbike rental". I hesitated a long time before renting one: I was in Nepal where people can't drive, I am on my own, there are no hospitals and the last (and first) time I touched one of those was in Vietnam, in Dalat, where I very nearly crashed it and it was taken prematurely away from me.

In the end, with full knowledge that my mother would not approve, I rented a scooter for the hour. It was great fun, a bit uncertain at first but I quickly mastered it and scooted along the entire road around the lake. I felt like a local, the fact I couldn't drive one of the things was no surprise to anyone as neither could they. I had a close encounter with some horny cows (not that they were feeling particularily frisky but because they had large horns). After an hour, I reluctantly gave it back, without even a scratch.

A quick lunch later at my favourite Boomerang restaurant, my scooter rental guy takes me to the airport.

I leave Pokhara with the same plane as I arrived. I would have preferred to take the Ultralight but, when I suggested to John that he flies me back to Katmandu, he did not seem exceedingly keen.
The Shangri-la plane does not seem quite so exciting this time round but thankfully the charming stewardess is still there, so that I may converse with her. I find out that the only English she is familiar with is in her flight steward book: "please, sit down and fasten your seat belt…" I dare the pilot to show me what acrobatics he can do but, sadly, he does not take the bait.

As we land in Kathmandu, the king is about to take off, he has a large, sparkling, golden jet, surrounded by a line of troops. He also has a private terminal at the airport, the size of the international terminal. There seems to be a great disparity of wealth between him and his people: he has palaces left, right and center, large jet planes, while there is dreadful poverty in the street. I expect this is the way it has always been. He does not seem to be adored here, there are few pictures of him around town and on the ones that there are, he always seems to be grumpy about something, never a smile. He got to where he is by pure chance (or so they say!) and he does not seem to enjoy it one bit. I would have thought that, with his throne threatened to the extent that it is, he would make a bit more of a PR job and get the people to like him. Food for thought…

My day in Kathmandu was terribly relaxed. I made a few calls, did my blog, got my camera to the repair shop (costs me a fortune to repair, nearly cheaper to buy a new one), exchanged some more books, swam, lounged about, sorted out visas for Buthan and Egypt and give my laundry in. I also buy postcards and stamps. Writing them, as usual, taxes my brain to no end but I manage it. Before I know it, the day is over and I achieved nothing cultural. I fear that, for this reason, there is little to report. As such, this post shall be brief. This is it folks, my shortest post so far. I feel like there is more I should say, but no.