Learning to Ride at Hearts and Tears Motorcycle Club

 Don't worry mum, we put on helmets when we left the training ground.

Readers will know that I have wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle for quite some time, but I have always been slightly afraid. Ever since an ill fated scooter attempt in Goa during which I nearly crashed into a cow and was almost side swiped by a tour bus I have been reluctant to get back in the saddle. 

When I learned about Hearts and Tears Motorcycle Club in Pokhara, that all changed. The owner, Matthew Gardner, claims to be able to take people from "zero to hero" in just a few short days, and he didn't seem even slightly put off by the fact that I don't know how to drive a car or have a license (bad Vancouver girl. Bad!). He was confident that he and seasoned instructor Fern Hume would be able to get me on a bike and onto the road in just two days - and they were right.

I have a little experience with sidecars...(and empties)

I booked the "Expat Weekend" which included one full day of instruction on a Yamaha RX135 and a trip through the mountains the following day. I was nervous - other than skateboarding and cycling, I have never operated a wheeled vehicle without a driving instructor sitting next to me with his own emergency steering wheel and panic break pedal. (Which he had to use. A lot.)

Oh, you pretty girls.... learning how to ride an Enfield is my next goal.

We met on Saturday morning - my birthday - at the shop, and were briefed on the schedule for the day. I was joined by my Kathmandu pal Benjamin, a pilot and novice to motorbikes himself. He had managed to recruit a third attendee, a gal named Katie whom he had met while climbing to the Peace Pagoda the day earlier. 

I wasn't sure what to expect and had fears that I would be thrown into the deep end right away, but Fern walked us through the bike and the theory of how to ride in a logical, step by step manner. Within an hour we were seated on bikes and learning how kick start, operate the clutch and work the revs. As we wheeled around the training ground slowly my confidence grew and I began to think I was a natural. 

This feeling did not last long. 

For my next feat...

I was the only one of the three students who did not know how to drive a car, and so the clutch and the gears were genuinely confounding for me. I stalled once, twice and then three times - this was enough to undermine my newly gained confidence. Remembering to let the clutch out slowly, change gears and rev the engine smoothly all at once, and having my hands do two different things at the same time? This started to confuse my tired, hot brain and I fell behind the others. As they zipped around the training grounds I began to regress, get stressed and stall, stall and stall again.

My nerves were not helped by the myriad pointing children and picnicking adults gathered around, staring and treating us like a sideshow attraction. After lunch Matt arrived and decided that Benjamin and Katie were ready for a spin on the local roads. Fern stuck with me, gave me a new bike with a less sensitive clutch and walked me through all of the skills we had been working on. With her kind, patient one-on-one attention I was back on track, and within 30 minutes I too was ready to get out of the park and onto the road. We cruised around the lake and my spirits were high and my confidence boosted.

The inspiring Fern, who rode from the UK to Nepal and plans to continue on to New Zealand. She's kind of my hero.

While on a thirty minute refresher on the busy Pokhara roads we learned how to navigate the Frogger-like traffic of Nepal (bus, child, goat, cow, cow, child, bus). Fern was impressed by our prowess - the hectic, chaotic nature of the streets didn't phase the three of us, as Ben and I are seasoned expats who know how to walk in the stuff, and Katie has been traveling in India for 5 months. We were all experienced with the strange, swaying nature of the traffic and the neccessary liberal use of the horn. Soon we were ready to set off into the mountain roads of Sarangkot to spend the day honing our skills on the bikes.

Matt led the way, followed by Katie (who, despite her complete lack of previous experience, was a complete natural and a babe to boot!), Benjamin and then me with Fern bringing up the rear. At first, Matt and Fern prompted us when to change gears, but before long it began to feel intuitive and I was zipping up into fourth on my own accord, overtaking buses and beeping my horn at children and dogs to shoo them out of the road. As we began to ascend into the hills, I practiced slowing down around hairpin corners revving like a madwoman to get up hills. I had a few stalls, but nothing too serious and though I was the slowest of the group, I managed to keep up quite nicely and maintain my speed.

 

You all know this was the best part of my day.

The only real complication of the day was a particularly brutal rocky off-road path that led up to our lunch stop, the idyllic Indreni Cottages. I stalled going up the treacherous terrain and couldn't pull off a hill start, but Fern was to the rescue and made sure my bike made it up the hill. After a visit with the dogs and (satanic) pet monkey and a delicious dal bhat, we were ready to get started on the descent back down into Pokhara.

This monkey actually wanted to see Matt's blood on its paws.

Downhill was definitely more of a challenge, as the dirt roads featured countless winding curves and gravelly scree that required concentration and lower speeds. Fern made sure that I was confident and safe at every stage along the way, and we made our way back down to Lakeside just as a huge thunder storm edged at the corners of the sky.

By the time the rain began to pelt down in earnest we were sitting back at the shop, safely under cover and downing Jack and cokes, discussing the day and beaming with pride at our newfound biker skills. To quote Fern, "when you are driving a car you are watching a  movie. When you are riding a bike you are in the movie." Amen.

Benjamin had no idea that his jacket announced that he was a "Pro Biker" and was mortified when I pointed it out to him.

Wearing a ridiculously huge jacket to protect my delicate skin (re: tattoos)

Learning to ride a motorcycle was one of the most fun decisions I have ever made, and I couldn't be happier that that I chose the folks at Hearts and Tears to teach me. In fact, I am so enamoured with the activity that Benjamin and I have planned a daytrip to Pharping this weekend - hopefully one of many to come. My ultimate goal? To get more confident riding bikes and set off on a loooooong solo journey. The 'stans? Russia? China? South America? On a bike, the sky is the limit.

Now to learn to drive a car. Sigh.

Better, Not Older - 31 Things I Did While I Was 31

 Better late than never, little Dear.

1. After many years and a few hiatuses, I completed my Honours BA in Communication - finally- with a 4.0 GPA and a minor in Dialogue.

2. I wrote a lot, and I was published in the Tyee, xoJane, the Under 35 Project, Huffington Post, The Vancouver Courier, Whistler Traveler and Vancouver is Awesome.

3. I was hired as a pro-bono Ethical Tourism Advisor by Next Generation Nepal after I read a book called Little Princes and it inspired me to do something about child trafficking in Nepal.

4. I told a story at Rain City Chronicles (the Vancouver version of the Moth) about accidentally moving into a crack house. (You can listen here - I'm the first storyteller of "Under the Influence.")

Oh, how I wish this was ironic. BUT IT REALLY ISN'T.

5. I saw Neil Diamond in concert with my mum and her pals - we're the "Oh, Neil!" girls. I am a Diamond Head - I love Neil, like, an unhealthy amount, and the concert nearly had me in tears.

6. I hosted couchsurfers - 6 in Vancouver and 5 in Kathmandu - and I feel more and more dialed into its international community of vagabonds, travelers and engaged citizens.

Interestingly, also what I do with men.

7. I marched in the Gay Pride Parade with the Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association (VOKRA) for whom I have fostered kittens in the past. We won the People's Choice Award for best float, and only about half of the attendees thought we were furries. 

8. I spent one perfect day in Singapore visiting my friends Tanya and Peter. I took a Chinatown Walking Tour, ate some amazing chicken rice, visited a hawker centre for frogs legs, char kway teow and wontons, drank fresh beers and won a pub quiz at a huge brewery pub at Clarke Quay. Whew!

9. I spent the next (perfect) day in Kuala Lumpur, taking a food tour, going to see the Petronas Towers and spending an evening alone on a verandah in a thunder storm, listening to music, writing and drinking Tiger Beer.

10. I stored my belongings, said some difficult goodbyes, made some hard choices about my beloved cats and moved to Kathmandu for 7 months.

11. I took the one-month Introduction to Buddhism course at Kopan Monastery, followed by the one week silent Lam Rim retreat.

Me and Ani Drolma moments after my refuge ceremony. I became "Thubten Tsultrim."

12. I formally took refuge in Buddha, Dharma and Sangha and officially became a Buddhist.

13. I applied to University College of London and York, and was accepted to both! I accepted UCL's offer to do my MA in Cultural Heritage Studies.

14. I consumed entrails on the streets of Bangkok on Christmas morning with my girl Jess and spent Christmas Dinner in Columbo eating gluttonous amounts of crab with my Mum and Tim.

15. I took a cooking class and learned to make rice n' curry, pol sambol and egg hoppers in Galle, Sri Lanka.

16. I spent New Year's Eve 2013 on a stunning beach in Tangalla, Sri Lanka with my Mum, Tim, Jess and a bartender who looked like Bruno Mars.

17. I began volunteering at the Kopan Dog Rescue and fell deeply, madly in love with the dogs there. 

The next hill over is called  Pubic Mound.

18. I trekked through the Annapurnas in a snow storm with my pal Vilija. Our Poon Hill trek was stunningly beautiful - and incredibly treacherous due to a freak storm that meant we had to descend the steep mountain trails by sliding on our bums/crawling on our hands and knees. 

19. I began Nepali lessons and learned how to speak ali ali (a little bit) of Nepali. Ramro!

20. I purchased my first sari and wore it to a glamourous birthday event.

21. I booked a 9 day vacation to Thailand with my gal Jess (again - she's my soul mate) and learned how to dive on Koh Tao. I am now officially SSI certified to scuba dive anywhere in the world.

Two of the many good friends I made this year, Cass and Jess.

22. I added over 100 new friends on Facebook, which means I met over 100 awesome new people who have added richness, humour, art, compassion, wisdom and sass to my life.

23. I discovered (much) younger men and realized that age really doesn't matter when two people have a lot in common. I also heard, "you look so good for your age!" quite often this year, to which I replied, "hunty, this is what 31 looks like!"

24. I had a blast getting covered in coloured powder on Holi -  and then had less of a blast when a gang of teenaged boys surrounded me and a friend and groped us. This is common in Nepal, and made me feel vulnerable and ashamed. It was my first sexual assault, and it made me have even more compassion for victims of sexual violence.

25. I learned to love dal bhat, the Nepali national dish that consists of a mountain of rice, lentil soup, vegetable curry and spicy pickle. A bad dal bhat is bland, mushy and boring, but a good one is yummy comfort food. (But to be honest, I ate more pho than anything.)

26. I fell into a giant open sewer hole and was rescued by the Nepali army.

I'm saying, "have you ever tried to help, but accidentally made things a whole lot worse?"

27. I wrote and gave a Pecha Kucha presentation on my research into orphanage voluntourism in Nepal at the 9th Kathmandu Pecha Kucha Night, and I hope to give a similar presentation in London and Vancouver.

28. I co-wrote and presented a pub quiz (that benefits the Umbrella Foundation) at Pub Maya in Thamel. My rounds included questions on Lynch, Bowie, Joy Division, Rocky Horror, Voodoo, Wayne's World, Edith Piaf and Tom Waits.

29. I got a tattoo of a Matryoshka doll in honour of my grandmother. Thar's right: I got a tattoo of a Ukrainian stacking doll by a Swiss artist in Nepal. 

30. I learned to open a beer with any available implement. Physics confuses me, but I finally met a boy who taught me the basic principles of levers, so look out science! You're my bitch now.

31. Finally, on my last day of 31 I learned to ride a motorcycle at Hearts and Tears Motorcycle Club in Pokhara. I was surrounded by great teachers, fun friends and a boy who is riding his bike from here back to the UK. At long last, I'll actually be able to put the word "biker" before "babe"(or "bitch").

That's all, pals. Now to get started on a list of 32 equally amazing things for this coming year: bungy jumping, getting back on my skateboard, surf lessons, Greek island sailing, warehouse parties, finding a flat in Brixton and a lot of writing.

xoxoVioletDear

Hey. 32. Bring it. This goth bitch is going to OWN you.

A South Indian Feast in Kathmandu

Nobody pani(c) - I have this pani puri under control.

When I feel like eating a meal that consists of that otherworldly combination of greasy, sweet, salty, spicy and tangy, I head to Anmol Sweets in Bhat Bhateni and stuff my face with delicious, cheap Southern Indian food.

Indian fast food restaurants are often referred to as "sweet shops" even when they have entire menus of savoury items alongside their dazzling display cases of barfi, gulab jamun and laddu. Anmol Sweets is no exception to this rule, with dosas, idlis, vadas and fantastic samosas all on hand for lunch and dinner.

Can I just have this liquified and put in an IV, please? K, thanks.

Last week I met some friends there for lunch, and my dear Cass and I decided to order a feast. We started with a plate of samosa. These are not your greasy Canadian gas station monstrosities - they were light and flaky pastries jammed with spicy potatoes and peas and dipped in a sweet, sugary tamarind honey water. After downing my portion, I gurgled "I think I'm full!" Cass raised her eyebrows.

"Vi, that.... well, that's just isn't an option. " I sighed. She was right - it was mind over matter and I would persevere.

 Pani Puri - salty, briny, crunchy, mushy goodness oh my god yum.

Pani Puri is a beloved Indian street food snack also popular in Nepal, but it is known for making foreigners very sick due to the usage of tap water in the brine - even some local Nepalis stay away from what is sold outdoors! Pani means water, and puri refers to the hollow crunchy cracker balls - the wallah (seller) jabs his oft-filthy thumb into the cylinder, stuffs the inside with a potato curry paste and dips the whole thing into spicy, salty brine. They present them to you as fast as you can stuff them in your mouth, and each delicious ball is less than 10 cents.

While I often take a BIG gamble and indulge in the streetside offering, ordering a DIY Pani Puri plate at a reputable sweet shop is a better bet and is way less likely to leave you clinging to the toilet and cursing your intrepid, food-loving ways (I don't know this from experience, or anything). These were delicious, but I must say, I missed the dirty thumbs of a street-seller.

 Dosa, one of the world's perfect foods. (If you are a drunk.) (Which I am.)

Within minutes my main course arrived - a "small" paneer masala dosa. This is a thin lentil pancake stuffed with a rich and creamy Indian cottage cheese curry. You tear small pieces of the dosa with your hands and dip them in the coconut chutney and the spicy tomato sambars. I am always amazed that dosas have never replaced the kebab or the poutine as the ideal late night drunk food, because they would be a lovely latenight guilty pleasure perfect for sopping up booze.

Last lunch with Cass and Nafisa :(

 

We took a breather at this point - I was positively stuffed with delicious food, but I knew that I couldn't come to a restaurant with "Sweets" in the name and not indulge, at least a little bit, in something sinfully sugary. We ordered some fresh plates of jalebis. 

 

Nothing is more wonderful than fresh, hot jalebi. Nothing.

Ignore the clock behind her - time has clearly stopped. Cass is in heaven.

Jalebis are hollow swirls of wheat dough deepfried and then soaked in sugar water. When they're fresh they are crunchy and sticky and they leave fluorescent orange syrup all over your face and a smile on your lips. I don't think there is a person alive that can resist the childlike pleasure of a jalebi - even the Disney gang loves them. I found myself making a quiet "mmmmmmmm" sound as I devoured the sweet little treat - the perfect end to our feast.

Though it was sad to realize that this was my final lunch with Cass, I am glad we chose to stuff our faces at a sweet shop. The best part (other than the jalebi)? The bill for 6 people was 1136 rupees - about 14 Canadian dollars.  I'll be back - solo - and let's be honest. I'mma order just as much food.

 

$2.33 each. Sold.

Holy Mary - Getting Tattooed at the Nepal Tattoo Convention

That is not a skirt, it is a modesty shawl to prevent the creepers from photo-ing my bare legs.

When I heard that the Third Annual Nepal Tattoo Convention was scheduled to be held in Kathmandu this month, I was excited to attend - but I did not expect to get tattooed.

There are plenty of good tattooists in Thamel (including the famous Mohan) but a lot of their work is just not to my taste. Tattoos are very affordable in Nepal compared to the West, with artists such as Mohan charging a little over 20 USD per hour. I incorrectly assumed that the conference would attract mostly these local artists, with a few international guests attracted to Nepali art and specializing in Tibetan or tribal designs.

This kind of bummed me out, because there is one tattoo that I have been hankering to get for over a year - a Matryoshka, or Ukrainian stacking doll. Sometimes when you have been working on huge pieces (like my left arm) bit by bit for years, it is nice to go into the studio and get a tattoo, start to finish, and leave. A babushka doll seemed like the perfect one-sitting tattoo for a few reasons: 

1.  Despite my many tattoos, I did not have a single "old school" design. This was important to me because not only do I think they look badass, I wanted to pay homage to the origins of tattoo - the sailors, sideshow tattooed ladies, carnies and jailhouse madmen who inked simple yet highly stylized women, skulls, ships and sparrows onto their skin.

 

My granny and a Ukrainian Easter bread. Right after the photo was taken she said, "It looks like a big prick!" 

2. My beloved grandmother who passed away 4 years ago was Ukrainian, and I identify strongly with the traditions and customs of the Canadian prairie Ukes. My grandma, who helped to raise me, meant a lot to me and I think about her  every day. I helped my mother (barely - my mum was the rockstar and should get ALL of the credit) nurse my Grandma through her final days of leukemia and it was both an honour and one of the most painful experiences of my life. It fundamentally changed me as a person. 

I did not expect to get this tattoo in Nepal.

As I walked into the opulent ballroom at the Hotel Yak and Yeti, I saw booths set up with artists from around the US, Europe, Japan and India as well as the local Nepali contingent, but none of the designs moved me. I thought about getting a Dharma wheel, but I decided that that tattoo could be done in Thamel without a crowd of gawkers. I was content to stroll the convention floor and call it an afternoon.

Y'all know I love branding and fonts. This is the way to attract me to your tattoo shop.

But then, as it so often does, some particularly attractive branding caught my eye - Steel Workshop from Switzerland. I glanced at the tattooist, Johann Morel, and saw that I liked his tattoos (not always important, but a good indicator of style) and so I picked up his portfolio book. It was laden with inventive, clean old school designs. My interest was piqued - and then I saw it: a page of old school matryoshka dolls done in the exact style I had envisioned in my head. My pulse quickened. I gasped. I booked an appointment.

                                                       Stencils Johann created for clients during the convention.

After a Pizza Hut pitstop, my lovely friend Kalina and I arrived at the convention on Sunday and I viewed the stencil. I loved it. Johann got started right away, making minor adjustments to the font and discussing the colours he had in mind.

Hard at work. 

Johann was a fantastic tattooist. He was calm, steady and despite creating thick, old school lines he wasn't at all heavy handed. I had never been tattooed at a convention, and it was a little strange to have people (ok, real talk: MEN) wandering by, snapping photos. By Nepali standards, I was practically nekkid - wearing a pair of short shorts - and I was a tattooed woman getting more tattoos - escandalo!

Kalina was my vicious guarddog - she allowed men with press passes, tattooists and dudes with tattoos themselves to take pictures, but the conservatively dressed Nepali men with cel phone cameras insistently angling to try to take pictures of my bare legs? SHOO! 

Some pretty ink bottles; a smiley Johann; a grimacing  Jess nearing the end of the session.

The entire tattoo took two hours, and remarkably, it wasn't very painful (it is today, though - holy hell). By the end of the session I was sore and flinching a little bit, but I just kept smiling and breathing deeply. My tattooist in Vancouver, the phenomenal Jeremy Riley, says he is going to get a sign for his shop, Tattoo Union, that reads, "Be a Man, Sit Like a Girl" in reference to the fact that women tend to be less wimpy while they get tattooed. I wouldn't want to make him a liar. ;)

The finished product! (Check out dem gams. A lot of men sure did. *shudder*)

I hadn't planned on including my Grandma's name in the design, but at the time it just felt right. Oddly enough, even though she was in her 80s, she loved my tattoos and liked to show them off to strangers and admire their pretty colours. She was truly a unique rebel and a batty old broad and I miss her very, very much.

I also know that my mum misses her dearly, and so I suppose that part of my decision to get this tattoo was to honour her relationship with her mother (and plus, "Lorraine" is a lot of letters). I recently read this article and I realize that I do not tell my mum often enough how much she means to me and that I love her. I hope that every single time my mum sees my Matryoshka tattoo she is reminded of these words.

***

Johann Morel is a great tattooist and if you get a chance to get work done by him at his shop, Steel Workshop, or at an international convention, I highly recommend you grab the chance. As for me, for the next few days I will be hobbling around, admiring my pretty little Matryoshka - and thinking about two very special broads.

Mad love for my bitchez.

Down In A Hole - An Inevitable Accident

 Not even Courtney Love could save me.

This is a little tale about how I fell down into a hole.

Now, I don't mean a metaphorical hole of despair and depression, although there certainly were a few weeks in the harsh chill of February that I was a despondent mess. No, I mean I literally fell down into a sewage ditch on the side of Lazimpath Road. 

The city of Kathmandu undergoes constant roadwork, and is littered with pits in the road and sidewalk that are dug and then filled at an alarming rate. Uncovered manholes, open sewers, trenches and big random pits are commonplace, and they appear and disappear daily. No caution tape or pylons - just a bigass open hole. Combine these unpredictable chasms with loadshedding - the scheduled power cuts that leave this city pitch black for most of the night - and you have a recipe for disaster. 

Two weeks ago I was walking through Sanepa with my friend Gemma and we passed a series of deep, narrow holes in the road. I clung to her arm and hissed, "I have always been afraid to fall into one of those." She recounted a story of nearly tumbling into one herself, and I had to get her to stop. "No," I said, "my knees are weak just thinking about it." 

****

Last Friday I was heading home at midnight (which in Kathmandu might as well be 4am) after a few vodka sodas (always has been my drank), and my taxi overshot my lane, pulling to a stop about 50 metres too far up Lazimpath Road. I crossed the street toward my flat and then, whoooooosh. 

I disappeared down a sewage-filled rabbit hole. 

The first thing I remember thinking was, "thank god I do not appear to have broken my pelvis" because I had been mid-stride when I dropped into the trench, my legs were splayed akimbo and I was now down in it to my ribcage (thank god for yoga, man). My knee instantly throbbed and my right foot was strangely warm. And slimey. And oh my god what was that smell?

There was a flurry of panicked voices and a fleet of Nepali soldiers ran over to me. This was the most surreal part of an already surreal experience - the Army conducts drills at night along Lazimpath Road, and they just happened to be marching past. Within seconds, two men had my arms and had hoisted me out of the muck.

"Ma'am! Are you ok?"
"THIS HOLE IS NEW! WHY IS THIS HOLE HERE?" I shrieked in surprise. I stood on the edge of the pit and tried to parse what had just happened, and began to thank the soldiers for their well-timed assistance. At this point they noticed that I was shoe-less, and one brave man went down into the hole to retrieve my Steve Madden flats, a very kind action considering most Hindu castes will not ever touch others' shoes.

The soldiers insisted on walking me up the lane as I sloshed my way to my apartment, asking my name and what country I was from and trying to introduce themselves. The absurdity of what had just happened started to sink in - I kept groaning, "ewwwwww" and then laughing in a sort of resigned way, like a person who realizes they have been beaten and has.just.given.up.  It is hard to have any ego at all when you are covered from your knees down in shit.

For the next few days, whenever I would run into my Kathmandu expat pals they were absolutely horrified when I told them I had fallen into one of "the holes."

"Oh God! I've always been afraid of that!" They would exclaim in horror.

"Yeah. I know the feeling."

In Hot Water - An Ill-Fated Boat Trip on Lake Fewa

Relentless grey skies. I felt right at home.

It was a lovely day for a boat ride. 

At first.

I spent Nepali New Year's Eve in Pokhara, a lakeside resort town at the base of the Annapurnas, visiting some friends and decompressing away from the mayhem of the big city. Saturday, April 13 marked the changing of the calendar from 2069 to 2070, and Rahul, Ben, Jo and I celebrated the occasion by pouring liberal amounts of rotgut local spirits down our throats.

The amount of fun we'd had at the Old Blues Bar the night before was therefore directly correlated to the shuddering, jittery messes that sat around the brunch table at Perky Beans. We were a veritable UN of foul language, R. Kelly quotes and bad jokes; Rahul (Australia) was wearing Jo's (Netherlands) hot pink sunglasses, Ben (UK) was mercilessly teasing me for my Canadian-ness and I was my usual hangover hot mess of inappropriate humour and equally inappropriate cleavage.

My milkshake brings a good 40 - 45% of the boys to the yard.

It was sickly hot and muggy - the thickness of the air clung to my skin and got caught in my throat. We debated what to do - lay indoors and watch a movie? Sit in a pub and drink beer all afternoon? Climb up to the Peace Pagoda? Jo piped up and suggested that we rent a boat and take it for a spin around Lake Fewa. It was decided.

Fonts! I love fonts!

The boat cost 350 rupees (4 bucks) for an hour, and it seemed like the perfect antidote for the clammy weather. It was overcast, and the idea of being out on open water seemed dreamy.

We had one lifejacket for the four of us.

We began to lazily navigate the murky waters of the lake, regularly remarking about how nice it was to be out in nature. How calm it was. How a boat trip was the perfect antidote for the hangovers we were all nursing. How this was probably the best idea ever.

Jo is a babe. And a little bit crazy. 

I like that.

Rahul photobombs my lovely boat memory. Well done, buddy.

But see, Lake Fewa is actually pretty big (although teensy by behemoth Canadian standards) and we were paddling further and further from shore with little mind to the time or even to the slightly shifting wind.

It was around this time that I started to notice the weather changing. The gentle waves turned a fierce shade of olive green (like m'eyes) and the temperature dropped. A fine mist of lake water began to spray across our faces as the wind picked up and the boat began to feel unsteady.

"Hey, guys. Are we paddling into the wind?" I asked casually. Everyone got strangely quiet. We were now quite far away from shore. Jo checked the time and saw that we had twenty minutes left on our rental, and the boys began the arduous task of paddling us back to the dock. Or at least, attempting to paddle us back. The boat was not moving toward shore and began to rock and pitch. With every stroke of the oar, the wind seemed to push us right back to where we started. I began to fear, in earnest, that we would be struck by lightning.

The wind began to switch!

I am normally a brazen, loudmouthed, smut-talkin' firecracker when I am hungover, but for the next fifteen minutes I was (nearly) silent, frozen with dread and the conviction that my passport, camera, iphone and I were all going to take a bath in the putrid waters of Lake Fewa. 

The boys finally muscled the boat closer to shore just as the thunder and lightning started. A Nepali paddler came zooming past us, shouting warnings about the storm, and as we got near the docking area a cadre of young men rushed to pull us into safety. While we were never really in much actual danger, I was overcome with relief when my little ballet flat-clad foot hit the muddy banks of the lake. 

Violet Dear needs to take a Nepali chill pill. No, seriously. They are called Tramidol.

It was quickly decided that afternoon beers were indeed in order, and as we walked back to the main drag of Pokhara, Jo piped up. "Hey, guys, did we even check the weather as we got into the boat?"

Thunder cracked overhead. No one answered her question.