I remember how puzzled we were when the pilot announced that the time difference between Bangkok and Kathmandu is 1 hour and 15 minutes (Yup, what is up with that 15 mins? Go figure).
I remember how the streets in Thamel, Kathmandu changed after 10pm when the trekking shops, pashmina shops, and Tibetan souveniers shops closed; and the shower dance neon signs started to come out.
I remember our sleepless night in Norling Guesthouse, which was only about 15m away from Pussycat Shower Dance club, with the loud dance music engulfing the street.
I remember the 8 hours Greenline bus ride from Kathmandu to Pokhara, with the long traffic jam, but it did not feel that long coz of the scenic ride of meandering mountain roads, white rivers, green hills, etc.
I remember the big plains near Pokhara where there is a big river surrounded by soft ylang-ylang-like plants that sways and dances with the wind.
I remember the still-lake water glittered and sparkled like gold when the sun set behind the hills.
I remember the reflections of the various kinds of boats on Phewa Lake, and people will rent them to go on boat rides.
I remember in the morning, the ladies will carry their laundry in pails and washed them by the lake.
I remember the Peace Pagoda on the top of the hill, across the lake.
I remember hospitable Hom with his genuine sweet friendly smile.
I remember the flowers by the lake in front of Mike’s Fewa, which blushed from white to light pink and turn to fuschia pink as the sun shone on them (Amazing, eh?)
I remember the vibrant purple morning glories, hot red hibiscus and lemony yellow flowers when I stand in front of our room No. 8 in Mike’s Fewa.
I remember the big black crows waiting to get a bite of any leftovers they can get a hold of.
I remember the many Kale (means Black in Nepali) kukur (means doggies in Nepali) I met, the first sweet one was at Mike’s Fewa and there was another sweetie and her boyfriend who followed us up the steps at Ghandruk.
I remember the many goats that we passed, them going downhill to be sold to the market for the Dashain Festival, us going uphill. Some with bloody hoofs, tiredness in their eyes, trails of blood marked the steps.
I remember our porters, Uncle Risi and Kumar, each carrying 20kg of backpacks, including theirs, up the hilly steps, supported by a cloth against their foreheads.
I remember the endless beauty, strength and tenderness of the waterfalls and river streams.
I remember my Koko when I see the intricate designs nature has put in thousands and probably millions of years on the unique textured coloured rocks, but not sure which Himalayan rocks I should pick for him.
I remember even the rocks that made the stoney steps are beautiful. And the ones on the streams are silverish, copperish, greenish, and some layered with different minerals.
I remember all the other guides and porters we met along the way on Day 2, calling us “Didi” (means elder sis) and “Maya” (means love).
I remember the fun and friendly people we met; Suzanne and Michael, Sashi, Otosan and his family, Malcom and his family, Paula and Clara from Netherland, Khaled and his friend, the waiter and bartender at Moondance, Bruno and Nacho from Spain, and seeing lots of three-gals group.
I remember the many varieties of lovely flowers I came across, both vibrant and soft.
I remember feeling exhilarated, peaceful, and blessed to be at Poon Hill, with the breathtaking, spectacular sight of Himalayan mountains stretched in front of me, and wanting to stay there forever (or at least as long as I can).
I remember I was literally above clouds, being at 3210 metres.
I remember the misty, mystical rainforest which made me feel I was in a fantasy land.
I remember feeling sad on Day 3 of the trekking when I saw the waterfalls and river streams, flowing endlessly, sometimes dashing against the rocks and pebbles, but never stopping, and wish I could be as strong as the river flowing.
Clear cool river streams
I remember the biggest village that we passed during the trek was Ghandruk, which was made of mainly stone houses, with the kids playing in the front porches, surrounded by beautiful colourful flowers, and there were a little museum and monastery.
I remember enjoying the hot shower and delicious food at Annapurna Guesthouse in Ghandruk, owned by Sharaj. As Didi Frieda said too excitedly, “We have a toilet in the bathroom.” (what she meant was we had our own private bathroom)
I remember waking up to the sight of the majestic snowy mountains every morning when I draw the curtains.
Machhapuchhre (Fishtail) Mountain (the peak of this mountain looks like a fishtail)
I remember my first taste of the slightly sweet Tibetan bread, with the view of the snow-peaked mountains stretching in front of me, in awe with their beauty.
I remember the faces of the people are more Manchurian/Tibetan in the higher villages and more Indian-looking in the lower villages.
I remember looking at Ghandruk from the hill across it and saw how far we had walked.
I remember we had to take the public rowing boat to reach the temple in the middle of the lake, and it was packed with devotees with men and women lining up separately to pray.
I remember the warmness of the pigeon’s droppings on my back at the lake temple.
I remember our impulsive decision to extend another day in Pokhara because the sky cleared up and the snow-capped mountains where at sight. That was a very good decision indeed.
I remember my first paragliding experience, jumping off Sarangkot cliff and flying high like a bird, swooping with the breeze.
I remember I truly enjoyed being in relaxing and friendly Pokhara as compared with hectic crazy Kathmandu.
I remember trying to hold onto all the memories, sights, experience and colours of this trip, which have made me a richer person.