earth, and touches of blue

Dhulikhel, Dhulikhel...
Your colours and your smiles touch my soul.

dhulikhel

the road to dhulikhel

under pressure

Today is the birthday of His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Boudha has suddenly been inundated with police in blue fatigues sporting riot gear and carrying wooden sticks. Due to increased pressure from neighbouring China, people are not allowed to publicly celebrate. Red-robed monks and nuns, and Buddhists in all colours circumambulate the Stupa, eyed for any sign of protest by bored-looking riot police. I have heard rumours of celebrations being halted, and of people being blocked from entering certain places, but so far, all is quiet.

blue

the writing on the wall

the stupa and the cow

hello

frog song

The night exhales a much appreciated coolness, as a dog barks in irritation or want on some dark, unseen street. Nepali and Tibetan voices struggle to rise above the frog song that pushes against the heavy sky. I feel a small sting on my leg and reach to itch it, then stop halfway, deciding it’s not worth it. A stranger bought me a slice of lemon meringue pie today—a traveller, another self-confessed nomad, except he has been to Buenos Aires and I have not. Our conversation floated from art to travel and back again, and a monkey hopped onto the balcony to nibble on a fuschia.

This day is over now. Over as quickly as it began— a blink, a passing thought. Growing new and older friendships. Sketching the Stupa in the rain. Eating thukpa with chili sauce.

the rain

It is as though time moves with a different pulse in Nepal. Though I have been gone for a year, if I close my eyes and breath in the burnt air, it could be last summer. The metalsmiths have hammered away millions of tinny taps since then, and younger crows are fed by the lady in the bluish house, but to me, as I sit here, they feel the same. The water’s metallic smell is a strange comfort. The threadbare prayer flags, which flutter like delicate butterfies in blue, white, red, yellow and green fill me with a familiar wonder and warmth.

Earlier, I walked around the stupa in the rain, my red flowered umbrella clashing with the old brick buildings in a most pleasing way. I took shelter in a dark passage next to a souvenir shop, and stared into the unblinking eyes of Buddha, painted on the Stupa’s golden tower. I felt something tidal within me, a pulling in my heart and gut. There are a few strands of white in my much longer hair now, more ink in my skin, and I feel... I feel...



I feel like a stranger and I feel I have come home. I feel unchanged and I feel profoundly changed.
I feel I am raining too.

the return

I barely made my flight to Kathmandu. The flight out of Istanbul was so delayed that when I arrived in Qatar, I was left with twenty minutes to get to my connecting flight. Minutes evaporated in the sweaty heat as I boarded the inter-terminal bus and navigated my way through the crowd of bloodshot eyed passengers in the security check cue. The second I got my bags back from the x-ray machine, I ran. I ran like I haven’t ran in ages‑ thankfully it was a small terminal, and I managed to make it to my gate, red-faced and breathless, the last person admitted as the gate closed.

Four and a half hours were spent in a variety of contortions as I tried unsuccessfully to get some sleep. I was awakened by pink sunlight and pale clouds. As we moved closer to Kathmandu, I began to see somewhere in the distance, something sharp and dark, jutting out from the beneath cloud cover. Those familiar faces, those magical beings, the Himalaya.

My heart ached with a certain joy and longing as a bright tapestry of memories unfolded before me.
What will this adventure bring? Where will I go? What will I see? Who will I meet?
What will I discover?



We landed with a sway, and I with a smile.

...and she's off!

Well I'm off to Kathmandu for the summer! I still have so many photos to share with you from my adventure in Brussels, so I'm hoping the airport in Doha still has free wireless. Blogging is a great way to kill time during layovers. My nerves are a little electric right now; I have scarcely had time to think. I have only had thirty-one hours between my trip to Belgium and my trip to Nepal. Goodness... I hope I can sleep on the plane...

See you in Kathmandu!

the beer

You cannot visit Belgium without experiencing the wonder of this country's marvellous beers. I am by no means an expert, but I do know when something tastes good, and oh goodness... You have beers in every shade— white beers, blonde beers, brune beers, dark beers. Chimay, Orval, Duvel, Papegaai. Cherry beers and the syrupy-sweet framboise— which was the only beer I was not fond of.



Any of Belgium's delicious beers is best served with conversation, laughter and budding friendships.