five go on a big adventure

We have just had our first family holiday. Hubby has now passed out on the sofa and Son & Twins are allowed unlimited DVDs until further notice. I have lost my voice and also have a chapped nose and a nice bout of Himalayan tummy. It is extremely good to be home.

We've just had Deshain here in Nepal, which is kind of the equivalent of Christmas, so everyone has been off visiting relatives and having parties all week. Our housekeeper pretty much ordered us to go on holiday for a week so she could have a bit of time off, so we decided to drive to Pokhara for the week.

Pokhara is the closest you can get to a seaside resort in Nepal. It's next to a lake, at least. Lots of people use it as a base for trekking, but we decided to forgo the dubious pleasure of trekking with three young children, one of whom has cerebral palsy (although I know lots of parents from school who did decide on that option, which I think is very brave) in favour of some low key sight-seeing. 

It's a six-hour drive to Pokhara. I couldn't face six hours of 'But when are we allowed another sweetie?' and 'Mummy my poo is coming right now', so we elected to overnight at the glorious Riverside Springs Resort, which was bigged up in the Lonely Planet. Of course, what I subsequently remembered was that the Lonely Planet guide is written by and for back packers. I can quite understand that if you have spent the last six months in smelly hostels in India, and have dreadlocks and a beard (both sexes) then the Riverside Springs might seem the height of luxury. But actually it's a bit decrepit and damp, and staffed entirely by Dinesh (our hapless ex-driver)'s less intelligent country cousins. Great pool though.

Then it was on to Pokhara, where we'd booked into the hotel that the army people stay in when they are there, so it was very business-y, but had lots of facilities that we anticipated using when the children were asleep. I had visions of us taking it in turn to go the the gym/health farm/pool whilst the kids happily snoozed. In my dreams. By eight o'clock each evening we were so exhausted that the most activity we could muster was eating chocolate in bed whilst watching Indian MTV.

Pokhara is a bit like Weymouth, but with cows in the road. There are lots of cafes, all of which, happily, serve pizza and chips (kids staple diet for the week). We kept bumping into the very nice postie sergeant from camp and his lovely American girlfriend. They kept feigning surprise and delight as we pitched up at their romantic meals, and inviting us to join them. The girlfriend even pronounced the Twins 'really cute', which proves she was pretending.

There are several things to see and do in and around Pokhara, even if you're not trekking. This Deshain, we discovered, there was an additional attraction: the three-year-old white twins. 

By the end of the week, the girls were learning what it's like to be papped, after being chased, filmed and flashed by a variety of Japanese, Nepali and Indian tourists. One Buddhist monk pounced on Twin 2, kissed her, and showered her in sweets. She took it well. She does a better job of the whole celeb white girl thing than her sister, and tends to just stick her hands up in the air, grin, and tell them her name's Cinderella. Twin 1 just looks huffy and makes a run for it. At one point we got accosted by the lake side and were filmed en famille for a full five minutes. There was no escape, other than diving into Lake Fewa and heading for the far shore, and as three of the five were non-swimmers, this wasn't an option, so we just grizzed it out. I was made to put my arm round some random Nepali woman, and her husband kept exhorting me to move closer. I never found out her name. Or anyone else's, for that matter. Still, they have footage of our entire family grimacing and looking uncomfortably English for their home video.

Glad someone has, as we forgot to take our camcorder - not that we would have had the spare hands to use it in any case.

I suppose the high point (low point, really) of the week was the trip to the bat cave, but I'm still too traumatised by it to write about it. Lets just say that going pot-holing with three small children, one of whom has balance and mobility problems, with a twenty-year-old guide, whose confidence outstrips her life experience or understanding of English, down a wet cave, with no safety equipment, wearing flip-flops, in a region with limited medical facilities, is a really really stupid idea...