Kathmandu

I am sitting in my friends' living room borrowing Internet and listening to the rain come down.  The rainy season has been long this year, dragging out and bringing daily afternoon showers.  The showers create a swamp and heavy clouds hang over the mountain.

Every morning I wake up at dawn and sit on my rooftop to watch the sun rise over the mountains.  It is the best time of the day.  The city is semi-quiet, because Kathmandu is never quiet.  It is a constant cacophony of honking and dog barking.  Honking is another language here.  Drivers honk as they rush around blind curves, they honk to encourage slow pedestrians or scare off wandering dogs and they honk to demand position on the road.

At dawn the city is slowly waking up.  I secretly spy on my neighbors as they drinking morning tea, or do early morning housework.  Kathmandu is a city of contrasts.  The mountains serve as a background to a gritty city scape complete with open sewers.  Beautiful houses with detailed architecture stand  shoulder to shoulder with crumbling hobbles.

Our little family has settled in to our overly large house.  Three stories of marble floors echo and the space seems empty and a bit lonely.  We are not used to so much room and we spend most of our family time happily squashed together in the living room or on the room taking in our new city.

Kathmandu is still a grand adventure.  I've been grocery shopping on my own and to the meat market.  I smugly smiled at my competence in a foreign country but noticed my hands shook slightly at the checkout.  We are loving it here.  We ate pizza today at a local restaurant and I thought how it was nice that even pizza was an adventure here.  The ordinary is exciting and that is perfect.