Pokhara wakes slowly. Mist sits low on Phewa, and from the terrace you can hear the first paddle dip into water. At Baithak we open the kitchen doors early — not because we must, but because mornings here deserve company.
The first pot of chiya is always for the team. Ginger bruised, milk brought just to a boil, tea leaves waiting their turn. Guests arrive soon after: trekkers with dust still on their boots, honeymooners half-asleep, locals who have been coming since we were only a small dining room.
Look across the lake. You’ll be walking and eating your way through the town that lies before you — and we hope Baithak is where you begin.
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