The Great Perhaps

200 kms west of Kathmandu lies a sleepy little slice of paradise. When my travel-weary eyes first glimpsed Fewa Lake and my tired legs first carried me down the beaten path that runs along its edges, I knew I had found a new home.

The tourist district of Pokhara, Nepal's second largest city, is referred to as Lakeside. It is inhabited by laid back locals and transient tourists that came here for a week but never found a reason to leave. The laid back atmosphere of this seemingly small town is contagious. Like most of Nepal, Lakeside thrives in a state of complete paradox, surrounded with breathtaking natural beauty yet plagued by the struggle of systemic political instability.

I spent just over two weeks immersed in the beauty of Pokhara. In the mornings, I would have Chai at a family owned bakery. During the day, I would seek out adventure in the surrounding foothills. On my last day in Pokhara, my Nepali friend and I took a ride down to the river. As we lay along the banks, we looked up at the clouds and wordlessly sent up prayers of gratitude to the universe. Mine for the beauty of Nepal, for being able to experience a culture and a landscape like I’d never known before. Him for the land he had been blessed to have been born on. And for travelers, like myself, that brought in business and livelihood.

We left the river and went to a small locally-owned restaurant for momos, a delicious dumpling, native to Nepal. Upon exiting the restaurant, I realized that I did not have my phone. We searched and searched with no luck. As I was leaving the next morning on an 8 am bus back to Kathmandu, there wasn’t much else to do. I went back to my homestay that night feeling defeated, like my brilliant painting of Pokhara had been stained with red ink. My heart ached on that bus ride back to Kathmandu. I felt like a teenage girl who had just experienced her first heartache. I literally longed for the peace that I was leaving behind. Several days later as I packed up my belongings to leave Kathmandu, I tried calling my cell one final time. To my complete shock, a man answered. He was a police officer in Pokhara. A group of homeless children had found the phone and returned it. A wave of relief rushed over me; my original painting of Pokhara restored. I would have to return to Pokhara that following day to retrieve the phone. I felt as if the universe was calling me back to the place that had shown me a peace, deeper than any I’d ever known. I kindly obliged.