It has been one year and one day since I landed in
Kathmandu, Nepal, and I’m not sure I can believe how much time has passed. It
has been three months since the earthquake, and I can’t quite believe that
either. For a while, I intended to write one final post—the last in the “five
senses of Nepal” series. It was supposed to be sight.
The appearance of Nepal has changed since I left, and
yet, I am sure that much remains the same. It is still a land of color,
especially now that the monsoon rains are washing away the dust and rubble.
Women still walk around in jewel-toned saris
and kurtas and their children
still run to school and back in fading navy blue uniforms. Men still wear topis in varying patterns of red and
orange and green. The paddies are verdant, the jungles are emerald, and in the
early morning, sharp white peaks rise above slate-colored clouds racing to
swallow them from view.
I remember reading in the blog of a previous ETA that
Nepal is like a bouquet of wildflowers. It is vibrant and ragged and messy and
organic and tenacious. It is an indescribable conglomeration of different ethnicities,
beliefs, and customs. In some homes, shelves proudly bear statues of Buddha,
Jesus, and Ganesh. Monks hog the Wi-Fi in internet cafes that serve traditional
Nepali dhal bhat alongside pepperoni
pizza. It is not a country that will ever or should ever make sense, and it is beautiful
in its chaos.
I intended this to be the final post of this blog, but
I have changed my mind, and here’s why: I’m going to write a book. A book about Nepal. The purpose is twofold.
One, to raise money for my village and school, and two, to tell the stories
that I never had time to tell on this blog. So over the course of the next few
months (or however long it takes me), I will post updates, photographs, and
passages for your perusal. Thank you, my readers, for having stayed on this
journey so far. I hope that you enjoyed the adventure.
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