Pokhara

There is a particular hour in Pokhara — just before sunrise, when the lake is still holding last night's sleep — and the Annapurnas appear in the water before they appear in the sky. Locals row out in flat wooden doongas, barely making a ripple, as if they understand the lake is reading something.

By breakfast, the town wakes the way only mountain towns wake: slowly, with the smell of cardamom and frying bread. You'll find your Charlii representative waiting at a café you'd never have chosen on your own — and that's rather the point. They'll order you the dal bhat the chef makes for his own family. They'll point out, almost as an aside, the trail behind the bakery that climbs to a viewpoint nobody's written about.

Pokhara doesn't ask you to do anything. You can paraglide off Sarangkot at dawn and watch eagles fly beneath you. You can simply sit on a rooftop with a pot of masala tea and not move until lunch. Both are correct answers. The mountains will be there either way.