Wild monkeys

There were 14 people waiting behind the ticket counter at Kathmandu airport but the counter was closed, they just looked at me, like wondering if I wanted to get on the airplane that was going to take off in 15 minutes. I only found out by accident I was even supposed to be on an airplane, I thought it left tomorrow. Chris, Cam, and Meryl threw my bags into the back of the Asian trekking truck, hah, he is doing it again! Sorry to leave Chris by himself in the room overlooking the jungle of screaming monkeys and dawn crazed birds and jack hammers that begin at 5:00 am, followed by someone carefully dropping large marbles on the floor upstairs.
So Nima and his brother and cousin came over and we drove out to the local crag, way up in the hills overlooking the city. We piled into two taxis badly needing seatbelts, although they did come with prayer wheels. Which was good since the preferred method of driving in Kathmandu is to head down the middle of the road, daring the other car also in the middle of the road to swerve left. Large trucks especially like to drive this way, so that our small rickety rattley taxi was constantly at the very edge of the narrow road, which turned into a large cliff rolling into the valley below. The other popular maneuver is to pull out into the incoming traffic lane and honk that horn and close your eyes.
But we made it to the crag after a very long drive, climbed up the hill and did some sport climbing. Chris conquered the harder climbs using his bare feet and long reach. Cam pointed out that Nima calls me gram, probably so he doesn't have too many Marks to worry about, although young Mark is probably basking by the pool in Long Island at the moment.
Somehow, I made it on that plane to India, heaven knows where my three huge bags were sent.

driving off the road

local Nepali crag

Nima buying fruit

monks washing up