4am. Alarm goes off and I am almost tempted to roll back over and get some more sleep. But we have come to pokhara for one reason, and this could be our best chance of seeing it. So we drag ourselves out if bed, shower and run to meet the taxi outside. As we drive up through winding roads, I look at the sky. It doesn't seem promising. And when the taxi has taken us as far as it can go, the driver gets out and points us in the direction of the view point. My heart drops a little as I am faced with my nemesis: Stairs. I have never seen a country with such steep stairs before.
We start the climb, dragging ourselves up these rocky and uneven steps, stopping at every chance to catch out breath and try to diffuse the lactic acid slowly building in our legs. And when we get to the stop, we gasp in relief and take our place sitting along a great concrete wall alongside the others who have made this journey to the top. We are staring forlornly at the clouds, wishing they would lift so that we could see what we have come all this way for. A local guide and his group of tourists sit nearby, and I ask 'do you think we will see them?' And he shakes his head. 'Not today'.
Soon, the tour group leaves. The locals leave. And it's just the two of us, sat at the top, wishing that all the others were wrong and our hard work and patience would be rewarded. About 5 minutes after all the others have departed, we prepare to leave, as we figure the locals know best, and we have just been unlucky this time. And then suddenly, I spot the top of a peak through a break in the clouds.
It is by no means a perfect view, not quite clear enough to translate into photograph, not the spectacular sight we might have seen on a clear and sunny day, but off in the distance, the Himalayas look across at us. And I make up my mind in that moment that I want to come back and hike them one day, so that I can see their wonders up close.
