{"id":341,"date":"2020-07-23T14:55:52","date_gmt":"2020-07-23T14:55:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/ro\/?p=341"},"modified":"2024-12-01T13:00:48","modified_gmt":"2024-12-01T13:00:48","slug":"the-mustang-from-pokhara","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/the-mustang-from-pokhara\/","title":{"rendered":"The mustang from Pokhara"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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My Himalayan adventure started in Pokhara, a picturesque Nepalese town on the shores of a wide crystalline lake at the foot of the Annapurna massif. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

One afternoon, I took a walk along the waterfront. From the promenade, I could admire the colorful wooden boats that lined the shore among blooming water lilies. Beyond the lake, I could see the mountains, dominated by the great Machapuchare, almost twenty-three thousand feet high, forever covered in snow. Its pointed triangular shape and its proximity to Pokhara, compared to other peaks, made it look the tallest of all. It was revered by the locals as the home of the god Shiva and was forbidden to climbers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All of a sudden, a nearby hotel caught my eye with an unusual advertisement: an invitation to ride \u201cMustang horses\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMustang horse! Mustang horse!\u201d the seller was shouting. \u201cCome ride a mustang!\u201d It soon became evident that the advertisement had nothing to do with the horse breed that is so well known in America, but rather with the Mustang province in Nepal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy don\u2019t you try a horseback ride along the lake?\u201d the man insisted. \u201cIt\u2019s such a beautiful day. You\u2019ll get to see a lot more than if you go on foot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although the breed of the horse I was supposed to ride had little bearing on my decision, the image that the vendor planted in my mind was, inevitably, that of a strong and proud specimen. Not that I knew much about horses or that I wasn\u2019t terribly afraid of spirited animals, but what was about to happen went far beyond my imagination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The promised adventure started with an equestrian tableau like no other. A boy, no more than twelve years old, was proudly pulling by the reins a Rosinante in the strictest sense of the word, stunted and withered, with a light blanket instead of a saddle and a rope around its neck as a bridle. In the hot, dusty afternoon, they both looked so tired and starved that my heart swelled with pity instantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSurely the horse won\u2019t faint if I get on it?\u201d I could hardly refrain from asking, but the agent who sold me the trip swore up and down that I had no reason to worry. Besides, the boy was to accompany me and make sure everything went well. I quickly realized what his role was: the heat-sick, dizzy old nag wouldn\u2019t have moved in a million years if he hadn\u2019t pulled her by the rope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I accepted, mainly out of curiosity. And my curiosity was not about the horse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The so-called \u201cmustang\u201d ride immediately turned into a scene reminiscent of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, featuring me and the boy: he on foot, leading the way and pulling the animal, and me on horseback, my legs swaying left and right because the steps were too short and impossible to adjust. It didn\u2019t take long for that original Apache-style riding to push my behind to the limit. As soon as I found a convenient <\/p>\n\n\n\n

viewing point by the lake, I dismounted and slumped down on the grass, firmly declaring my intention to end the ride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy looked puzzled and tried hard to persuade me not to capitulate. I had no intention of continuing, though. I explained to him that I\u2019d rather go back on foot and thus offer Rosinante a well-deserved break.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were to return on the same path, walking side by side. Since I was spared the torturous position on the horse, my jaws loosened, and I could finally engage in conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt a lot of sympathy for the kid, so I tried to find out more about him. We befriended rather quickly, and even though he was not outspoken at all, I got him to tell me a little about his life. His timid answers made the whole episode switch from comic to tragic in a matter of minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy had no father, and his mother was disabled. He had two younger brothers, and they were all very poor. He worked from morning until night, taking care of the horse and offering rides to tourists. In exchange, the owner of the animal gave him food. Nothing more. That child basically worked seven days a week just so that he could eat. If he was lucky enough to get a tip from a customer, it would be his only money for clothes, shoes, or medicine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you don\u2019t go to school?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re on holiday now,\u201d he said, avoiding looking me in the eyes. It was October, and I had strong doubts that he was telling the truth. I feared that he simply didn\u2019t afford to go to school because he had to work all the time. In addition to his job with the horse, he had to help his mother with the housework because she couldn\u2019t handle it by herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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He didn\u2019t try to impress me with details or flatter me to get a tip. On the contrary, I was the one pushing him to speak, and he answered hesitantly. That child without childhood was touchingly sensible and dignified for his age, and impeccably polite. Poorly dressed, skinny and sad, he pulled by the reins a horse no less skinny and sad, both of them miserable, overworked, and with no hope for a better life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I offered him all the cash I had in my pockets, he looked at me in disbelief, incapable of understanding the reason, given that I had cut the ride in half. I would have liked to stay with him longer, but I thought it was better to say goodbye. Thanks to my early finish, he would have a spare hour or so to rest or play, and maybe he could use some of the money I gave him to treat himself to an ice cream. I was afraid, though, that he would have to run home to help his mother instead, and that he wouldn\u2019t dare to buy ice cream because he and his brothers were in dire need of too many other things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was aware that his case was far from uncommon, as there were millions of children in the country at least as unfortunate as him, and the feeling of helplessness paralyzed me. During my stay in Nepal, I would be haunted by that feeling more often than not.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Himalayan adventure started in Pokhara, a picturesque Nepalese town on the shores of a wide crystalline lake at the foot of the Annapurna massif. One afternoon, I took a walk along the waterfront. From the promenade, I could admire the colorful wooden boats that lined the shore among blooming water lilies. Beyond the lake, I could see the mountains,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":625,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[9],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/341"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=341"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/341\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1513,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/341\/revisions\/1513"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/625"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=341"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=341"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/akanisi.me\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=341"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}