Every morning I jumped out of bed with the excitement of a child, and peeked through the rough beige curtains of my window in hopes of catching a glimpse of a snow-capped peak. I had read that Nepal in the summertime is very modest with its mountain views, veiled in unfathomably large monsoon clouds. I knew they were near— I sensed it. Mountains that mighty can be felt like a pulse in your arteries. But where were they?
The month was sailing by on those enormous clouds, and I had yet to see even a hint of mountain— except upon flying in, where the Himalaya lay stretched out in their pointed white glory above the clouds. I remember blinking out of my little airplane window in disbelief. There they were, silent phantoms whose names and faces I had longed to become familiar with since childhood. My summer was passing with wonder and discovery each day, that though I hadn't seen what I had hoped to, I had experienced so much more than I could have ever dreamed. Beyond the things I have seen, the people I have met are mightier than any mountain.