Back to the western world

My last morning in Kathmandu, I walked the fifteen minutes to the stoupa. I walked past the new mother bathing her two to three month old baby on her cement front stoop as she let him have some sun. We exchanged the same smile we'd been exchanging every time I pass by and see them, the smile of awe and joy. I passed the men sitting on their front stoops sewing, the men and boys playing the same game of flipping a chip with their fingers across a board, past the men hammering copper, brass and silver pieces, past the cows, the goats, the dogs, over the mounds of dirt that surround the men digging up the street (with shovels and picks) and putting it back together again. They are preparing to pave it. I walk all the while dodging bicyclers, motorcycles and the occasional truck as the street is blocked off due to the working men. The barriers are large bamboo poles tied with nylon rope and a few cloth flags under which scoot pedestrians, bicyclers, cows and dogs. I walk avoiding the mud, the cow pies, garbage that lines the streets, the dog poop, the beggars (there are two to three regulars on this walk). It is my last day so I give the old woman with the blind husband(?) she leads around 100 rupees. I tell her, even though I know she won't know the words, that today is my last day. Usually I give her 20 rupees when I see her, ($.25) which delights her so today, she knows something is different and we look into each others eyes wordlessly for a long time before I hold my hands together in prayer and tell her goodbye and Nameste. My eyes fill with tears. I give the emaciated man with one foot who sits in a tortuous position on the ground 100 rupees as well. Usually I ignore him. My old woman and her blind husband are my charity and the rest, well it was too overwhelming. But today, I am out early as is he, and for some reason, maybe because it is my last day, we look into each others eyes and I have to offer some part of me in response to the part of him that is open for the whole world to see. As I give him the bills, he too looks deep into my eyes and we hold that look for some time before I say Nameste and he says the same back to me. Quietly, softly, and then I walk on.

I left the monastery at 2PM, flew to Delhi, flew out of Delhi at 11PM to Kuala Lampur, Malaysia, two hours later, flew the last 8 hours to Sydney, arriving 8PM the next day. And it is another world. The streets are paved. Traffic flows in an orderly fashion, albeit on the wrong side of the street--I mean on the left side of the street. There is no honking. There are traffic lights. There is a speed limit. The traffic is light, moves easily. And this morning, I took a long, hot shower. I love it. I love consistent electricity. I love a computer that works quickly and reliably. I love air that is clean and doesn't hurt my throat and lungs.

And yet, my heart will hold Nepal.