Free The Waiting Land by Dervla Murphy Page A

where we talked – above the roar of the wind, the crash of thunder and the rattle of hail – until seven o’clock, by which time it had become evident that the jeep was very severely incapacitated. However, the Stebbinses are unusually adaptable Americans who genuinely love Nepal, having now been here seven years, and they adjusted without difficulty to the prospect of dining and sleeping in The Annapurna. When we had been joined there by four sheepishly apologetic PC boys, Kessang produced a quite elaborate Tibetan banquet – which astonished everyone, for food is scarce at this season and most things have to be imported from India. In the end we had quite a party, enlivened by ambassadorial gin, Nepalese rakshi , Tibetan chang and Irish whiskey – a combination which may reasonably be expected to produce some rather interesting variations on the hangover theme.
    Apart from these PC boys the only other Westerners in the valley are the three medical missionaries in the Leper Colony beyond the airfield, the eight medical missionaries in the Shining Hospital north of the main bazaar and the MacWilliamses, a young New Zealand couple (he is a sheep-breeding expert with FAO) who live on the outskirts of Pokhara Bazaar.
    Before retiring I went out to the field and from there saw a vision of such supreme beauty that momentarily I wondered if it could be real. To the north, under a clear sky and a high-sailing moon, the whole Annapurna range stretched in one massive white tumult and, dominating the range – seemingly dominating the world – was the sharp-peaked, austere and infinitely lovely Machhapuchhare, home of Pokhara’s tutelary deity. One should not try to trap such splendour in mere words, but beneath the moon, in the utter stillness of the valley, all those silver snows burned coldly with an overwhelming, undeniable life and spirit of their own. This silent, vital grandeur almost compelled me to kneel down and worship; and perhaps if no inbred self-consciousness intervened and it were possible to do so I would be all the better for it.

13 MAY
    I awoke at 5.30 to hear the familiar, soothing hum of Tibetans saying their morning prayers, and when I went to wash at the tap in the field the eastern sky was orange and the sun’s first rays were firing the tip of Machhapuchhare. Then the new light spread rapidly over the entire range, tingeing the snows with nameless colours – to gaze on these mountains almost lifts one off the ground with joy.
    This valley, which lies only 2,500 feet above sea-level, is considerably hotter than Kathmandu. Its population is estimated to be between 12,000 and 15,000, and apart from Kathmandu it is the only level stretch of land north of the Terai. Being at the converging point of most routes from central and west Nepal to India it has a certain importance as a trading centre, yet it does not seem nearly as prosperous as the more fertile Kathmandu Valley.
    From Pardi the valley opens out to the south-east and low foothills are visible in the distance; to the south-west the hills are near and covered with dense green forests, and at their base – a few moments’ walk from Pardi – lies the long, emerald-green lake which gives this valley its name. ( Pokhara is the Nepali for lake.) The beauty of the place is incomparable, with sub-tropical vegetation flourishing on every side directly beneath the cold white lines of the snow-peaks, and it is not surprising that the Nepalese hope eventually to develop it into another Kashmir.
    However, on a more practical plane Pokhara does have its disadvantages at present. The prices of obtainable essential commodities are astronomical, and as most supposedly essential commodities are unobtainable at any price one soon learns to regard them as inessential, which is very good for one’s pampered Western soul. Sugar is half- a-crown per pound, tiny eggs are sixpence each (it takes three of them to make what looks like one scrambled Irish egg), small