The PM Tower

11.25.2012

A nice joint after breakfast, the warm sun disrobes me of all things wool.  What shall I do today?  It is Sunday, there will be rooms to be cleaned if I am impatient.  Suraksha visits the eye doctor in Pokhara.  Wanna go down?  Ah, I’d like to walk to Lakeside.  Those American pancakes were something good.  I ordered waffles but I guess the waffle maker was on the blink and got the flap jacks instead.  Laxman wasn’t too happy to learn I enjoyed a pancake he can’t make, or doesn’t want to.  I’d like to make him pancakes American style.  What the blazes do I need?

I need measuring spoons.  I envy those who can eye a quarter teaspoon of baking powder without a tool. 

I try to be normal, communicating with the world out there mostly with facebook and people just don’t accept anything that comes from the nutcake who believes the stupid world is going to end.  Well, I just don’t blame them.

Maya takes off to Pokrhara and leaves me here all alone at the guesthouse.  You want a room?  How much you got?  Ah, you’re from Switzerland?  Ok, you can have room one for a kg of chocolate.

The PM Tower is almost finished.  By sunset it will no longer obstruct views in the eastern skies.  What a difference.  And I read that Coldplay is taking a break at the end of the year.  I am so tired of coincidences.  What’s this?  They know but they don’t know. 

Time is so short and I’m sure there must be something more

And here’s some real hindsight. If I really and truly believed heaven was going to come next month I would have enjoyed life so much more but German skepticism and sensibilities aren’t going to let me go there and I will simply, do what.  The sun is strong, the winds cool I carry the Peruvian wool hat and put it on and take it off.  I carry the pashmina shawl and wrap my head and take it off and wrap my head again and take it off.  Inside the dining room it is warm enough next to the window looking down on the steps to disrobe most and from the looks of things, a nut or piece of steel fell on of the kid-workers heads.  Well, you’re lucky no one else has been hurt worse than this, not a helmet in this darn country.  Dismantling has stopped and people are calling the company to decide what to do with the kid and if work should go on. 

Maya returns.  She didn’t exactly go to Pokhara and it doesn’t matter.  She makes a salad of carrots, tomatoes and onions with salt and lemon and popcorn and like never before I eat the unpopped kernals.  She opens up a Gorka and its cheers.  The sun is gone and the ladies are down at the water pump.  There was no water yesterday and everyone is eager to assert their position in line.  Maya went down with two 25kg water cisterns and came up.  An hour later it was close to being her turn and now she  stands next to the tap for her turn.  Two large ladies from the View Top Lodge had two big bags of empty plastic bottles and they are done. 

And now the night is nigh.  It’s eight oclock and I am thinking of bed.  Well, what to do?  Maya and Suraksha have turned in and Laxman will meander until he can sleep.  Where there are no people in the rooms or in the restaurant there’s nothing to do but turn in.  Strange since the dining room was completed no one stays in the reception room, not necessarily a great place to crash because it is cold, but the tv remains unwatched.  Good we say.