I spent forty-two strange and wonderful, at times aggravating, days in Nepal. Typing on a computer again feels odd, and last night was the first night I slept the whole night through since I left Istanbul in June. Every night in Kathmandu was a new story in noise: from metallic sweatshop tapping to howling cats, to trumpeting and cymbal crashes from monasteries— the latter seems charming and exciting the first night, when you are still convinced you will be able to tune it out like the azan.
There were leeches, bedbugs, mosquitoes, and other blood-sucking horrors. At times my patience hung on such a thin tether— but then there were the kids. The wonderful kids at Shree Mangal Dvip, my dear art students, my reason for returning each year.
I didn't do much drawing this summer, but I did take around two thousand photos. Forty-two days go by really quickly, and it feels as though I just came out of a long dream. I'm foggy-headed and a little disoriented (I have phantom sensations of something crawling over my feet every now and then), and I have a massive pile of stinky clothes to wash.