In This Moment

I can't believe my incredible good fortune--sitting here in this rooftop garden at Hotel Magnificent View, in Kathmandu. It's around seven in the morning and the birds are going crazy.

In China, there was never any garbage on the streets. It was orderly. There were trash cans and people in orange vests sweeping with twig brooms taller than themselves day and night.

And on the bus along the Tibet-Sichuan Highway from Kangding to Chengdu, there were strange Tibetan music videos and billboards of smiling Tibetans next to military personnel. Huge sacks of fresh walnuts for sale, kiwis and kiwis and kiwis. In Chengdu there was pomelo fever and a strange fancy Pizza Hut. They count out Keith's money on an abacus at the Air China cashier's window.

In China I never felt at peace.

A man who works here wearing a huge red tikka between his eyebrows just came over and wished me a Happy ___ I'm not sure what--some Hindu holiday--part of Dasai. He told me he can't wait to go to his family's home today where they will sacrifice an animal and after, eat. He says the Muslims are so bad because they slit the neck, letting the animals die slowly--but the Hindus just kill with one fell swoop. Then he told me I can take my breakfast here on the roof if I wish...

Anyway, here in Thamel, in Kathmandu there is everything one could need or want--the most delicious food from every country, kind smiling people who also speak Englsih, beautiful things for sale, mountains, bookstore after bookstore, masala chai and lemon sodas, thangkas of Buddhas even in restaurants, the smell of incense covering any stink of garbage or shit. And always, three men in yellow loincloths, turbans and orange tshirts with shriveled legs, crawling in the dust on hands and knees. And the street children begging, little boys huffing I'm not sure what from plastic bags.

And if you walk away from Thamel, down any side street, you will see huge mounds of garbage by the sidewalks, speckles of blood beneath your feet, dirt everywhere--covering all the plastic buckets and hair clips and things for sale in the bazaar, Hindu temples and dogs, scattered marigolds, pig heads and kite string shops.

But, Kathmandu is noisy, hectic, poulluted. And soon enough, I will retreat to Pharping--up in the mountains.