“It’s not on The List.” Ben stated.
“It’s not on The List,” I agreed, “And it’s not going to be on The List either.”
We were standing in front of a Japanese restaurant. It looked more deserted than a forgotten car scrap yard and the menu was an extensive record of exotic meats. A risky combination for two fragile stomachs. Our four friends entered the territory of precarious sushi. For Ben and I The List proved to be a greater force than the social pressure of dining together.

Reluctant to add new establishments to The List our dining options stayed limited. Mostly we ended up in our beloved vegetarian restaurant OR2K. It wasn’t much later after abandoning our buddies that we munched on ‘safe’ iodine-washed-vegetables. Only our thoughts were still with them, with their grumbling tummies.

The two of us moved to Pokhara and refreshed The List. Decent food hygiene throughout most restaurants meant that The List got a new purpose. Ben described this most articulately

Yeah that’s it, we use an indefinite article for a definite purpose making it definite however it is still ambiguous and arbitrary. Ambiguous because we can change the list at any point as long as we follow the protocol of a majority ballot. And arbitrary because who knows what’s going on our minds (especially Oliver) therefore it’s not on the list, you have to be with the majority group to vote.

In easy terms. There was one shop we called ‘The Shop’, one baker we called ‘The Baker’, one old man we called ‘The old man’, etc.

The Shop – Rupa is the manager, but she’s never there. It’s actually run by the lovely Maya. When we waved from across the street she glimmered a charming smile and threw a gentle wave in return. Then we would buy jam, Himalayan rocksalt, tea, or soap. Mostly jam.

The Family – Next door to our lodge. They were the vegetable supplier of our daily home cooked English breakfast.

The Old Man – Tried to rip us off twice after a week of mutually beneficial business. He was no longer our vegetable supplier.

The Baker – Bakes the freshest, crispy-crust, soft-inside, tastiest, wholemeal bread outside of the Netherlands. It was in excellent harmony with our everyday English breakfast and jam sandwich. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite ‘everyday’. Our request of one daily wholemeal loaf must have seemed futile to him in comparison to the oceans full of white he had to bake to cover demands. “If he doesn’t have our brown tomorrow we are changing baker.” Ben and I would assure each other. We wouldn’t though, we couldn’t. His bread was to good.

There was more. The Store, The Man and Woman, The Woman, The Market, we even had a new favourite vegetarian restaurant and named it OR2K.

06/03/13
Pokhara