The burning ground

It is 6:00 am in Kathmandu, the electricity is off, which happens every day, twice a day for five hours. I prepare to leave the great Buddhist temples, the Boudhanath, the prayer flags, the burning place by the river where the corpse is adorned with bright cloth and flowers and set ablaze, Shree Boudhanath, right there in front of everyone, while small boys scamper around, and then the ashes thrown into the river. Even the wild chaos of Kathmandu I have begun to appreciate, the birds calling high over the streets, streets full of children come here from all over the country to go to boarding school. Yesterday we went to the movies in the Kathmandu mall, ate another dal baht with Nima, and again with the shopkeeper I made friends win last year, playing chess with her very bright grandson long into the night. We ate on the floor Nepalese style, out of courtesy they gave me a spoon.
And now I have begun to dream again of the Khumbu, the high mountains are calling to me. Turns out I like living in a tent, Turns out that even though I don't walk all that fast, Nima thinks I am some kind of brave and strong climber. This is because his brother saw me climb the yellow tower and because I don't seem to mind climbing by myself, being alone in the mountain. And so now I dream of walking back into the mountain, over that long rocky trail, lighter next time, even lighter.