Nepal Journal — Monday, 12/2/96

Stuck at the end of the trail in Jomsom

Cairn of mani stones engraved with prayers

The strong winds start howling through town unusually early, and our flight is cancelled. We can't think of a less pleasant town in which to spend an extra day.

We're running low on cash, so we make a quick foray to the only bank in town. The bank is a one-room affair straight out of an old Western movie. People cluster around the teller's window, giving or receiving little bundles of old bills, under the watchful eye of an old guard brandishing a very old rifle. Everything in the dark little room is done on reams of paper, then recorded in thick ledgers. Sitting on the bench next to me is a man: every so often, someone walks up to him and says something, and then the man writes something down in a little notebook. I can't figure out whether he's a bank official or a bookie.

The window outside is so blowing fiercely that it's hard just to walk back to through town to the lodge. We hole up in the dining room for the rest of the day, reading week-old magazines and playing card games.