When I can’t sleep, which is almost every night, I go outside onto my balcony. The air is edged with breeze, not much, but more than anything you could expect during the day. The street is always deserted. No one out, no lights in any windows past ten. Only three street lamps as far as the eye can see. But without fail, the incessant metallic clang of nearby and far-off construction.
I come back inside and my feet leave dusty prints across the wood floor, glowing in the moonlight.
In the morning we have a mango, a boiled egg, and milk coffee for breakfast.
After class, Monkey Temple? Laxmi asks.
Taking the public bus is an experience in and of itself.
I wait by the side of the road with Laxmi, Cindy, and Usha. All of a sudden a bus careens around the corner like something out of the imagination of Hayoa Miyazaki. Usha motions to the boy who is hanging through the doorframe. He slaps the side of the bus, which slows but does not stop.
Go. Go!
One at a time we leap up the stairs until we are all safely on board, and not a minute too soon because the driver falls onto the gas pedal. I really and truly feel as though we are standing in a glorified sardine can. The bus is so crowded there is no room to sit, bodies crushing against bodies. I grab on to someone’s backpack just to stay upright as we hit every crater, every bump in the road. There are holes rusted through the walls.
We have arrived. Turning around a bend, I feel the breath get knocked out of my lungs at the sight of Swayambhunath Temple. Three huge, magnificent, gold statues of Buddha. The late afternoon light strikes at a slanting angle, igniting the monument with the most dazzling brilliance. I shield my eyes.
The Buddhas are seated on an exquisitely carved and colored base. Deep blue elephants, fire tigers, pink and yellow star-like lotus flowers.
As we walk the circumference, we spin prayer wheels with our hands. Circles within circles. Om mani padme.
But there is still more to see. The rest of Monkey Temple is located at the top of a very, very large hill overlooking Kathmandu.
We start the climb. Narrow gravel steps through a twisty pine forest, and I realize how much I missed this smell. Prayer flags rope their way through branches, following us. The higher we climb, the more prayer flags appear around us, until we reach the top and the air is thick with them.
We toss coins into a fountain, trying to get them to drop into a little gold pot in the center for good luck. Apparently I’m not very lucky.
The Monkey Temple is a stupa. Large white dome, gold cap, big slanting eyes. There are, happily as the name predicted, monkeys everywhere. We can see out across all of Kathmandu. The air is so clean up here. There is a double rainbow.
The stupa’s eyes gaze out. They see us, at its feet, they watch over the whole city. In an odd sort of way, I am comforted by this. I feel protected. Tomorrow morning when I wake up, the eyes will still be there, at the top of the hill, observing everything.
365 steps on the way back down.
We take a taxi home and sit in traffic, more traffic than usual. Finally, we reach the problem: two brown cows sleeping in the road.
It’s after dark by the time we get back. Our street is already deserted.
