Internet at last and none too reliable
This is my third attempt to offer the thoughts of the journey so far.
We we staying with my generous friend in her palatial home
Near the British School, past the Summit Hotel and across from the Secret Bakery.
There are no addresses that are acknowledged here. Instead landmarks and totems mark journeys thru the city and movement to the next event.
Our first morning on the terrace with coffee and fruit cups of papaya and pomegranate salad
We are greeted by a Black Eagle. Yes smaller than the one we know as ours but sooty looking with a worn ruff. A fitting reminder of the political mess we have left behind in the US.
The terrace is also where the house staff ran during the earthquakes only one year ago this week.
Trying to climb the walls in panic as the earth rolled and roiled beneath them . Twice.
Our second night here there was a concert in the palatial living room with red and gold royal couches and prayer pillows in the floor where two sitars and a tabla offered meditative background to a mournful wail from the durkhat singer.
The room was full of quiet Nepalis and expats. Women mostly . The Nepali men mostly out of the country doing labor.. As remittances .. That is. Money sent home from abroad is the chief contributor to the economy. The other women in the room the mid fifties journalists and aid workers who have made this city home. For now.
And the journalist from Delhi here for a weekend trekking
And the woman from Newfoundland back to check in on a medical mission created a few years back
And the Dutch journalist wondering g if they will renew her visa again after 29 years After freelance writing and forming animal rescue missions to save dogs and donkeys and elephants in that order..
Today we hit the markets and do our duty and leave our money in Nepali hands.
Tomorrow massage and visits to the local shaman. Yes.
And Monday I visit the weavers of the Sabah community.
And Tuesday off- to Pokhara and the less pampered experience.
All is well and ghosts of travels past are at bay
Except in the middle of the night when the pre monsoon rains strike at the roof beating a rhythm of time out if time . And Nepal becomes China or Indonesia or Morrocco
And the mists in the garden swirl with totems and landmarks
And whispering Eagles.
This is my third attempt to offer the thoughts of the journey so far.
We we staying with my generous friend in her palatial home
Near the British School, past the Summit Hotel and across from the Secret Bakery.
There are no addresses that are acknowledged here. Instead landmarks and totems mark journeys thru the city and movement to the next event.
Our first morning on the terrace with coffee and fruit cups of papaya and pomegranate salad
We are greeted by a Black Eagle. Yes smaller than the one we know as ours but sooty looking with a worn ruff. A fitting reminder of the political mess we have left behind in the US.
The terrace is also where the house staff ran during the earthquakes only one year ago this week.
Trying to climb the walls in panic as the earth rolled and roiled beneath them . Twice.
Our second night here there was a concert in the palatial living room with red and gold royal couches and prayer pillows in the floor where two sitars and a tabla offered meditative background to a mournful wail from the durkhat singer.
The room was full of quiet Nepalis and expats. Women mostly . The Nepali men mostly out of the country doing labor.. As remittances .. That is. Money sent home from abroad is the chief contributor to the economy. The other women in the room the mid fifties journalists and aid workers who have made this city home. For now.
And the journalist from Delhi here for a weekend trekking
And the woman from Newfoundland back to check in on a medical mission created a few years back
And the Dutch journalist wondering g if they will renew her visa again after 29 years After freelance writing and forming animal rescue missions to save dogs and donkeys and elephants in that order..
Today we hit the markets and do our duty and leave our money in Nepali hands.
Tomorrow massage and visits to the local shaman. Yes.
And Monday I visit the weavers of the Sabah community.
And Tuesday off- to Pokhara and the less pampered experience.
All is well and ghosts of travels past are at bay
Except in the middle of the night when the pre monsoon rains strike at the roof beating a rhythm of time out if time . And Nepal becomes China or Indonesia or Morrocco
And the mists in the garden swirl with totems and landmarks
And whispering Eagles.
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