in prison

3.25.13

The earthy unearthly Chinese were quickly out this morning and left rooms one through five fit for farm animals.  What people on earth put their cigarettes out on the walls?  Who leaves water running in the sinks?  Who takes off toilet seats in order to stand better?  What’s a wastebasket for when you have the floor to toss refuse?  Yes, I do remember diners in Beijing tossing chicken bones on the floor.  Twenty-three years ago. 

11:30am—Eight ladies are at the tap talking at the same time, surrounded by yellow, blue, silver and white containers, the only water source available right now.  Look here is Balrum’s second wife, their tap is dry.  Here is the widow of 15 years who lives on the side of the road, her tap close to the library is dry.  How’s Dan’s tap and how long does a 50,000L tank last for one old hippy?  The Hubei eleven used 2000L during their two day carnival ride and a call was made to bring water up from Pokhara, 10,000 Rs for five thousand liters.  Tomorrow another big group.  I made signs which I printed out and posted in the each of the bathrooms, extolling the virtues of water conservation and respecting its value.

In the meanwhile, I helped Didi clean room one, a tourist arrives at noon by taxi, Balarum the driver and I exchange greetings.  The second high season I am told, is now.  Well they’re coming up for the mountains and they are elusive, maybe this season should be the first medium season.  Billowy post storm clouds extend north to east, it’s dry alright.  There was a brief pattern of rain every three days but that lasted only nine days.  For the first time Maya says maybe the two one thousand liter tanks will have to be used. 

Strong gusty winds, the haze dominates the afternoon, Pokhara is in the eighties below, rain would be nice, a blessing for all life, a curse on the roads.  A family of Swedes checked into room five at one, Didi was still cleaning, they sat in the upper garden with coffee while their two boys enjoyed the banana milkshakes when a devil’s whipping tail lifted dirt and threshed the foursome soundly.  To their credit they laughed shook their hair and resumed with their beverages.  You can come inside if you like, oh it’s ok, we like it.

A rumble.  Another two guides show up at room eight.  The Swedes have two guides, there only three beds in room eight. Well there are two extra beds in room seven.  One bed has what’s left of four years of travel on it, spread out or in piles.  Everything I take off this bed I shake because spiders and ants and nothing else yet are curious.  The other bed opposite from the one I sleep in has the computer and odds and ends including the end of year issue of the Economist which I’m hoping to read the last half dozen articles when I leave. The Mother Teresa book sits on the rolled blanket in front of the window, well, I might take this one.  It isn’t a thriller, ya know.

The middle aged German lady in room one and I stand at the windows in the dining room watching  the growing queue of  ladies at the water tap below and when I tell her I’ve been here for almost eight months I get this:

Frau: You are in prison!! OmiGod.

John:  A prisoner of my own conscience.

Frau:  You are a prisoner.  I can’t believe it.

John:  I’m happy to be imprisoned here. 

If you can afford to see eight months of sunrises and sunsets on top of a mountain then I guess that is a good thing.  If a job in Antalya doesn’t become reality I will be disappointed but not for long.  I’ve had eight months of sunrises and sunsets on top of a mountain to consider. 

8:44pm—The moon is too bright to pee in the jungle.  The truck carrying the 5000 liters of water is going to come at one in the morning because it doesn’t want to lose water from splashing out when it has to stop and start from traffic at seven in the evening.  Laxman might need some help with this one, an afternoon event of dragging pulling, heaving a 50 meter plastic pipe that was covered and trapped in thick jungle vine and removed with sickles, through Prem Maya’s garden to the steps and down to the juncture and here the water boys will attach it and stick that mother of a snake into a hole the size of a baseball.

11:42pm—A hundred meters of pipe and the water runs through to the tank.  How awake am I after four cups of strong organic coffee and a red bull five hours earlier, the waterboys arrive early.  I am told three hundred liters spilled out of their Mad Max transport device on the way up.  What to do you say. 

What to do but remember tonight’s platinum moon, a bright, silvery dish and wonder what kind of camera you’d need for such brilliant luminosity.