Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
'Wilhelm'.
"Huh, English?!" A tall, stoopy beach-blonde dude makes a 360° turn to face us. His round framed spectacles magnify a pair of googly eyes perched atop a long nose and a grin wavering between naivety and mischief.
It is night time, Leah and I are strolling alongside Pokhara's waterfront. Glittering lights from the bars, restaurants and clubs reflect joyfully in the dark, glassy waters of Phewa Lake.
The individual which has stopped us bears a striking resemblance to the character 'Shaggy' from Scooby Doo, he is just missing a big, brown, goofy dog. He can't stand very straight. "Erm, yeah!" we reply, a little taken aback. He asks excitedly,
"Wanna see something fucking cool?".
Naturally, we say yes ( and to think my mother believes I'm too trusting…), and he leads us further on to a lamppost. "Need a good light to see it", he explains, reaching into the pocket of his flowery shirt, and fumbling for something. "Check it out". I spot a tiny shard, more a spec in fact, of glass in the palm of his hand. "This fucking piece of glass was stuck in my foot for a week. I had to go and get it removed by a doctor". His expression beams with awe and pride."Wow, cool", I reply. He looks up.
"I'm bored. What are you two doing? Wanna go get some chai?"
And that's how we end up taking tea one night with William, who we affectionately refer to as 'Wilhelm'. He is an Aussie who has lived in these parts for a while, after spending a few years in New York City. He is an artist, a painter and avid writer, engrossed in a novel he is creating. I enquire, "So, what is your book about?".
"Errr, it's about a guy who goes to New York and meets lots of women and binges on drugs".
"Oh I see, is it autobiographical?"
He ruffles through his blonde, stringy hair with slender fingers.
"Yeah, kind of I guess".
Not much surprises me anymore in a town where every second café sells Bhang Lassis brimming with THC. He goes on to tell us about his painting, and we proceed to sketch each other on old pieces of Kraft paper I had floating in my purse.
We are served piping hot masala chai. Wilhelm opts for a lemon and ginger infusion, but becomes rather agitated by the fact the waiter forgets the lemon. We are the only customers at this small, lakeside, wooden-shack joint. Between sips of sweet milky chai, we talk life, philosophy, love and everything in between, via Jesus' second coming and frustrating hairstyles. The conversation also wanders into the realm of death and despair, and we share a bit about our hope in Jesus with Wilhelm, who, rather than shrugs us off, sobers up for a split second, and appears genuinely moved.
At one point he gazes pensively into the distance. "The other day, I was painting at home, and I see a herd of like ten fucking elephants stampeding towards me". I avoid looking at Leah otherwise one or both of us will burst out laughing. I compose myself. "So like, these elephants you saw, what colour were they, pink, purple?", I ask, conjuring up the most psychedelic elephants I can in my mind's eye. Wilhelm looks back at me, dumbfounded at the stupidity of my question. "No, just elephant-coloured of course".
Wilhelm certainly left an impression, we were pretty mesmerized by this guy. I wonder what he made, or even remembered, of us. Anyway I think I've just spotted some elephants outside…
Below: Phewa Lake by day
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