The boat took me across the lake to the trail to peace Pagoda. It is not yet 6 AM and that crossing is already at the edge of a mystic, mythic, epic site seeing. A light ghostly fog, like a second skin to the waters of the lake, surrounds and accompanies the silent move of the ship. The Annapurnas, in the background, dive and rise into early morning scarfs of clouds. The trail, itself, to the Pagoda is, in each of its curves, evocating the waters I have just left in the smoke down bellow. Finally, the Pagoda is right there, floating itself on a sea of clouds. Pokhora and the lake are no longer to be seen. It is just shining in white in the dawn sun. The Annapurnas, in the background, are clad in
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