By HANNA GRASS
Phewa Lake is a freshwater lake in Pokhara, Nepal, known for its scenic backdrop of the Annapurna ranges and the reflection of Mount Machhapuchhre. Phewa Tal, as it is called in Nepali, is Nepal’s second-largest lake. It serves as a vibrant hub of Pokhara and exploring it was a perfect way to kick-off the morning of my first full day in the city.
Boats of many colors and varieties dappled the lake like pushpins on a map. Mist had settled over the mountains, concealing their peaks, but the surrounding greenery stood stark against the peaceful slate of water. Though the overcast sky was dark and iw was beginning to drizzle, I was determined to find myself out among the peddle-boaters, paddle-boarders, and sightseers.
After cinching up my lifejacket and pulling up the hood of my rain jacket, I perched inside a long canoe ready for whatever ride was to come. I didn’t know where the boat was taking us or how long we would be out on the water, but the uncertainty felt strangely comforting. The young man paddling our vessel seemed at ease, unbothered by the rain or chatter of the tourists around him. I admired his conditioning and felt my own shoulders relax. There was something meditative about drifting across the water with no real destination in mind.
I was reminded of weekends spent on Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park this past semester with my roommate and marveled that two bodies of water, separated by thousands of miles, could offer the same sense of recreation, peace, and quiet beauty. I thought, too, of Flathead Lake and its endless opportunities for adventure. I remembered how I have swum in the clear blue water and taken siestas on the islands scattered along the shoreline. There, I might meet the gaze of a bighorn sheep or catch sight of a wild horse, but on Phewa Lake, the islands held entirely different kinds of life.
I stepped off the canoe onto a small island and was greeted by flocks of restless pigeons. They rustled in the gentle waves beside the docks and perched wherever they could find a steady place to land. As I wandered farther in, I stopped at the fish viewing deck, where visitors tossed handfuls of food to thriving schools of different kinds of carp – bighead, silver, grass, and common – that rose eagerly from the water. Small shops nearby sold fish pellets and cups of corn for feeding the birds. I watched pigeons gather expectantly at visitors’ feet while the broad-backed carp broke the surface for another bite, both creatures clearly accustomed to the rhythm of tourists passing through the island.
As the drizzle turned into a downpour, I shed my shoes and took cover in the Tal Barahi Temple, a Hindu temple of the goddess Barahi. I learned that it is one of the most important religious monuments in Pokhara, Nepal, and is a symbol of the manifestation of Ajima, representing femininity and protection. Inside, I watched people of all ages light candles, leave offerings, and receive red smudges of tika pressed carefully onto their foreheads.
Photo by Hanna Grass.
Photo by Hanna Grass.
As the rain faded, I settled back into the canoe a little more soaked than before, but still just as spirited. The ride back was short, yet as I spent the rest of the day wandering through shops, restaurants, and busy streets, my morning on the water stayed with me.
It’s easy to feel lost in a new city like Pokhara – I certainly did – but in that bright canoe beside my fellow travelers, I felt unexpectedly at home. In my final days of the trip, I hope to find more moments of peace like the one I found on the water. I’m not sure where those moments will appear, but I’m meeting each new experience with the eager heart of the fish and pigeons, and the steady patience of the rower.
