I just finished the 84km walk to Pokhara and FUCK, it hurt! I really shouldn't be complaining, considering I'd just walked 175km in the past two weeks in order to "see the great outdoors," but there's something not quite so sporty about walking on pavement the whole way. Actually, here I really shouldn't complain considering it was along the only paved road in Nepal. And, because the entire country was forced to walk (sometimes several hours) for groceries, it proved to be the slowest, most talkative traffic I've ever been a part of. OK, fine. It was fun. To be able to pick a destination on a map and "just walk" to it, negating the "being stranded" bit, was fun. It was a real bitch, but it was fun. Really made me realize how awesome cars are, but also how totally different life must have been without them. It's just like driving for several hours in sparse traffic (maybe 10 cars in sight), except you spend your time talking to the cars next to you. Then they exit and you keep moving, letting your mind wander or talking to your friends until a new person walks within talking range or you stop somewhere. This Nepali/Tibetan guy I walked with had a pocket radio in his hand that played Nepali music, which was vaguely like driving through America's countryside and listening to its local hick music.

It was a long day though. Two long days, actually. 84km was neatly spaced by a tourist town exactly halfway, making it two 42-km, 10 hour walks--coincidentally, exactly Marathon distance. I was a whole lot more impressed with that distance before I figured that one out, thinking I'd accomplished some super-human feat because the soles of my feet felt like they were going to explode at the end of the first day. Still, I walked the marathon, twice on two consecutive days, with a 35 pound bag on my back, and felt damn accomplished. Then a few hours after I arrived in Pokhara, I met these Kiwis who had left the Hot Springs a full day later to arrive here around the same time, doing in two days what took me three. They pulled 60km that day, and I shut up about my aching feet.

There were some alternatives to walking the whole way down. We found some crazy teenager who'd be willing to take his car out for $150 (split between 4 passangers), but if he got stopped we don't get our money back and would have to walk anyway. And his car could get burnt by the Maoists. There was a really, really, frustrated pissed off Isreali "army" guy back in Beni who "absolutely needed" to get to Pokhara by the following evening in order to make his flight home. I sat by him during the longest negotiation I've ever sat through (2 hours) until the offer came to $130 to rent this shop owner's motorbike between 5 and 7 in the morning, at which point his son in Pokhara would meet him 5 km outside Pokhara and hide the bike. The Israeli, enforcing every stereotype of himself by playing the "They can't do shit to me, I'm a tourist" motto, figured if he didn't stop for any maoist checkpoints he'd be fine. The shop owner (who's bike stood to get burnt by the deal) gave it a 90% chance of success. So, brokering his own insurance policy, he agreed to rent out the bike for 10% of its cost to the desperate Israeli. The whole deal fell through in the end because the Israeli only had $30 cash on him and the shop owner didn't trust him to hand over the rest when he arrived in Pokhara because, after all, he was Israeli. Unfortunately, the shopkeep was probably right in his judgement. All antisemitisms aside, it's extremely rare to see these Israeli army dudes show even the least bit of respect or loyalty to the locals out here. At least, they're the only nationality I've seen consistantly disrespect the locals here, especially when there's money involved...I'll rant on on that later.

The deal was brokered by this man from LoManthang, a small town (capital of the region) a day's walk from Tibet. By the way, the "Nevada-esque" desert crappy region I was describing earlier happens to have the most coincidentally apt Nepali name, "Mustang." I had passed through Lower Mustang, the relatively developed and culturally depleted side through which the Anapurna Trek runs directly through. LoManthang, where this guy's from, is the capital of Upper Mustang. Most of Mustang's inhabitants are Tibetan and speak Tibetan, because Mustang was historically a region of Tibet before Nepal took control of it. Since the Nepali government has nowhere near as much interest Upper Mustang as the Chinese government has in the rest of Tibet, the Tibetan culture of the region is largely untouched, making it one of the most culturally interesting places to visit. Why didn't I go myself? Well, the entry permit for Upper Mustang, set by the Divine Right of the King, costs $700 US Dollars for 10 days, plus $70 for each additional day. True, this keeps the region "untouched," but not a dime of this goes to the inhabitants of Upper Mustang. This is one of those things this country's so mad about.

Anyway, this guy I was walking with is 57 years old and might have Tuberculosis. His Tibetan doctor has been trying to help, but ultimately they need an X-ray to be certain of the diagnosis. So, what do you do when you live in Tibet and need an X-ray? I met him on day 7 of his 10-day walk to the hospital in Pokhara. This man has to walk 10 days for a referral! Each way! He'll try to fly back up to Jomosom, which only costs him $20 because he speaks Nepali, but that only cuts 5 days out. And this guy's 57. To think of how pissed off I used to get when I had to walk to the opposite wing of the hospital to see another doctor! But anyway I was really lucky to get to walk with somebody who speaks Nepali (and perfect English), so I got Nepali prices on things and got to have the Nepali radio news translated for me every 3 hours as it came in.

Right, so politics:
The night separating the two-day walk, we got to see a procession of school kids singing, laughing, and shouting slogans in Nepali while carrying a large paper effigy of the King down the end of the road to set him on fire. These were kids! They had ABSOLUTELY no idea what they were doing or saying, other than that some adults told them this was what they should be doing. I don't like the King one bit, but it really pissed me off to see a group of school kids laughing and playing around a burning effigy of their king. Gave me a really scared feeling in my stomach, that this was what they were teaching the kids of this country. It had that aweful eerie Lord of the Flies "laughing cannibals with torches during a school project" feel to it. Worst of all, I take part in the burning of a giant Man every year as well, with laughing and shouting and everything these kids were doing minus the voodoo aspect of assigning a particular living person to be represented by the effigy. Maybe it was this dicotomy that put me off so much, but in any case that image has been stuck in my mind. The night before we left, in Beni, two different groups of people lit two and three tall, tree-shaped fires each up in the mountains overlooking the town. Their shouting could be heard all over town. I recognized those fires in retrospect to be proper size and shape of a man on a stick, which means that there must be hundreds of burning Kings around the country every night. The country really hates that man.

In the part of Pokhara I'm staying at, there were a couple of small rallies in the past day but nothing major. This part of town is absolutely littered with army guys with big guns, just in case something major was to break out. Also, because they're keeping the Maoists out of this part of town, the strike can't be enforced and most of the shops are open. I guess they're supposed to make us feel safe with their big guns, but the looks on their faces makes me side with the opposition. They're fucked. The Maoists were one thing to contend with. You could shoot Maoists, and they only represent a small minority of the people anyway. But now, since the 7 parties joined their cause, they have 90% of the population represented in one giant standown to depose the King. If this thing comes to a head, the Army has no chance. Worse than that, if the Maoists decide to be half as brutal to the army as the army was to them, each of these 20-year olds with guns I see "guarding my right to shop" is in serious trouble. It kinda reminds me of the looks on the flight attendants' faces when flying United just after September 11, except that these guys are in fear of their lives not just their jobs.


The protests here really put the protests in America into perspective. Unlike any protests I've been to in America, there were none of those pricks or douchebags with signs that have no relation to the issue at hand. I came to remembering the anti-Iraq war protests where I'd suddenly find myself amid a group of protesters shouting against the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Fine, good point and all, but I wondered what would happen if, amidst a group of excited Nepalis shouting "FREE NEPAL," I'd suddenly burst out shouting "FREE TIBET!" and trying to convince everybody of the brutal injustices committed by China. I think it's about equivalent. There's a time and a place for everything, granted, but protests are really so much more effective when they're united.

But ultimately it's all people tooting their own horns. Nobody listens to protesters except protesters, and they're already out protesting. It's fun and it gives people some kind of high, and that's why they do it. That's why the kids burned a paper King at the stake for a school project, and that's why every few hours there's a bonfire in the middle of the street here. It's just people getting excited. This point was comically enforced a few hours ago when I saw about 10 Nepalis with homemade torches marching down the street towards me shouting slogans. At first I got a bit excited that they'd be out to riot, but they just passed by as I stepped to the sidewalk. A few minutes later, they come running back down the street, some putting out their torches, some still shouting slogans, most unsure what to do. All scattered, excited, and confused. I think they saw a few army guys and got scared, but eventually they regrouped about 50 feet from where I was standing and started shouting again, then started walking down the street away from whatever they were running from. Then came the wives. Three women came out into the middle of the street where they had just regrouped and started shouting, sorry "nagging" at the boys to bring them back. The arch in this one woman's back and her demeanor really gave the impression that she was some housewife or mother nagging her kids around like they just did something naughty and need to be punished. Ashamed, most of the guys turned back with their heads down and shut up. A few others kept the party going by buiding a bonfire with everybody's torches on the ground and promting the shouting of more slogans. With the fire on the ground, others on the sidelines joined in and they shouted some more for about 5 minutes, then dispersed. It was pretty funny.

On my way back, along the way the guys had initially walked and then ran from, I noticed all the shops had closed down when the torch men came by. I think they were worried they were Maoists were out to torch the shops of any scabs breaking strike, but it was really like night and day. I walk down and every building has a shop. I walk up and it's all closed or half-open garage doors. The internet cafes, banks, and hotels were all still open. I guess they're immune to Maoists.

So needless to say it's nice here in Pokhara. Plenty of excitement to keep me occupied. I'm almost 300 pages into HP, leaving about 450 left. If I finish the book and the strike is still going, I've decided I'll buy a bike and bicycle my way to Kathmandu. It's only 200km from here, and I briefly considered walking it, but from the tourists I've talked to, I won't have to go it alone. The book is ticking...

I'll update soon.