Dancing with the kids down at the Rock Pokhara Festival the ghurkas befriend me, proudly speaking of their brothers fighting for HM British Army. They share whisky and sachets of white powder. Having wondered at the little metallic wrappers Nepali men discard onto the ground of their beautiful land I am happy to sample but soon disgusted - foul washing powder swill. It seems to be an aid for loud spits of phlegm (perhaps a mating call) that disturb the most serene Nepali moments.
The kids of this country enjoy a good pilgrimage whether joining school mates to celebrate graduation by dressing smartly and journeying 3 days into the Himalaya to bathe in holy springs and embrace the unique Nepali blend of Buddhist and Hindu faiths or by journeying on a 13 hour motorbike trip across half the country to see Miss Nepal present Rock Pokhara in a lakeside field.
Most guys I meet turn out to be wannabe tourist guides, even on the local bus, and can sort out anything I need, just call, so sweet, cute and amicable but not necessary. So, happy to meet the gurkhas I enjoy their stories of the pop bands. The boys bounce me up and down in excitement as a new band starts, fronted by a man in his 60s or 70s, topless with a wiry, sweaty body, large head and distinctive powerful face. He shouts to the crowd and the throngs of kids go wild at his inspirational political chat. The inordinate number of police at the festival may feel nervous – the state is paranoid of riots and has introduced an effective curfew and banned fireworks for this week's Divali - festival of lights. It is only 3 years since the end of a ten year civil war, only 20 years since the end of the King's absolute rule and only 60 years since Nepal opened its borders to the world.
The kids want hope and a better life and I am struck by the thoughtfulness and insight of those I speak to. Some boys tell me of their work in rural development and the struggle to support Nepal in providing access to drinking water, basic education and roads. The current Maoist president is popular and things are improving but chronic corruption persists.
I meet Muslims, Brahmins, Gurungs, Tahrus, Newaris.... Nepal comprises a complex mixture of ethnic groups and castes and I am heartened by a common Nepali welcoming and good nature. The flexible tongued Nepalis can learn any language, I try to learn their language and a minibus howls with laughter then I spend two weeks mistakenly saying “I have got a message for you” instead of “how are you?”
One of the gurkhas is drunk and excited, he insists that I join them in a van to Jomosom. After spending two full days risking my life escaping from Jomosom this cannot happen so I depart the festival. Back along the tourist funland of barefoot dreaded girls, hunky French paragliders, Israeli trekkers and restaurants which all insist in trying to serve food from every country in the world.
Back to my hotel to hide from the revolting overgrown orange haired hippy preaching aloud his rejection of society and The Testament According to Him, an ongoing dialogue since the 1970s regardless of the changing face of his audience. In a place where the locals are desperately trying to increase their material gains there is a convergence of westerners eager to apparently renounce worldly ties.
Escaped from the return to Jomosom I will go rafting and camp under the stars with a motley crew.
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