If you're going to San Francisco (wear some flowers in your hair)

I remember those long bus rides (old Korean tanks modified with super high suspensions and huge tyres) in Nepal, the saddhu coming on before the departure, collecting alms and drawing bindhis/tikas of red sandalwood on our foreheads, between the eyebrows, a key chakra point of latent wisdom. Sprinkling holy water, he would pass us flowers which we strung from our bags.

And then the people started crowding along the bus, selling things like bags of sweets (made in China), watches, dried melons, slices of coconut flesh, cucumbers... (Um sorry but i don't think i need that??)

On the road from Belahiya at the Indian border a goat got on the bus and left piles of droppings along the aisle.

That was the day after the night (duh) at Belahiya, downing glasses of Royal Stag whiskey and Coke before being asked to leave the tea house at some hour past midnight. We trudged back (reluctantly) to our rooom at the Nepal guesthouse, a charming place with bed bugs and 6 travellers cramped in one peeling, musty room with 6 mouldy mattresses on 6 termite infested beds. No one bothered to switch on the lights - it looked bad enough in the darkness. The smell of charras was thick in the air.

Later we were joined by an enigmatic Nepali and his Austrian girlfriend who made it (finally) after a heated fight with the immigration people at Belahiya over her visa (It was their 6th month in Nepal that year - the limit). No one slept much - the bed bugs made it impossible, and it was too hot. People took turns to go to the shower (where grime was the wallpaper and extending your elbows would punch a hole in the wall). On the second-floor rooftop, in the sweaty heat of the night everyone was silent, contemplative. Tomorrow the 3 Japanese would go to Kathmandu, with the Canadian. Me and the Dutchman were heading to Pokhara.

On the long bus ride, winding up the hills in the monsoon, as the rain dripped through the roof we talked about steak and wine dinners by the fabled Lakeside (promising ourselves), imagining it, drawing it up in our minds and talking about what we would be eating once we got home, after weeks of malnourishment in India.

We made it to Pokhara in the evening - a watery sunset, cold and wet and drizzly and colourless: grey and pale blue, the colour drained from the sky. Surrounded by touts (the usual, but nothing compared to India and it made me smile), we got a ride into the Lakeside, the Rustica Guesthouse, which would become my home in Pokhara for most of the next month (ever seen a 3 dollar room that comes with a tub (hot water of course), two huge luxuriant double beds to sink and snuggle into, curtains (mountain views), coffeetable, and carpeting??). Such a welcome respite, a haven, almost, after the rather miserable bus ride and India, which was enlightening, a trip for the soul, but challenging, of course.

The night (after a looong hot bath) we had our steak and beer dinner. And it was good. One inch thick slabs of beef, sizzling pepper sauce with garlic, peas and potatoes....

Just avoid the Nepali Ice. Quote of the day: *drinks, takes a pause, grimaces* "its piss, no?"