Just another day in Nepal

The sheep is looking at me, with eyes that are filled with sadness. I am staring back curious what’s gonna happen and a little bit frustrated that I had to leave the previous dream for this. The sheep starts to make this wining sounds, it kind of sounds as a strange exotic song of sorrow, repeating over and over again the same.
One more time and I am awake staring at some pictures of family and riends that I glued onto the wall of my room, no more dream, no more sheep but the sound is still there. To be more precise, it’s coming from a few meters away where someone dressed up in the yellow material of the Saddhu (holy men) is standing in front of my window with a bucket to receive gifts in front of him. My foot stretched against the window must have given him enough prove that there was someone inside, willing to make a small donation. When I look at my watch and see it is only 6 in the morning I forget for a second all the cultural differences and picture what kind of a donation I would like to give him. But no, that will definetely give my Kharma account the final blow, after having eaten so many cows in my life. Instead I get out of bed and wave to the figure outside, while smiling summing up all the curses I’ve learned in the last decade. So, another day has began for Katmandu.
After some cups of coffee (the only senseo in whole Nepal happens to be positioned in our kitchen) I can see the beauty of life again and get on my bicycle to head to the office. The Katmandu traffic is like an ocean, when you’re in it you’re part of it, getting into a slight trance in which move along with the waves of cars bikes and anything else that gathers on the packed streets. Suddenly we are at a big intersection and something is disturbing the ocean. In the middle stands a uniform with a big wistle and a bigger gun, angrily waving at the waves to stop. However, the waves can not completely stop and the uniform has only one face to look, everytime it looks in one of the three other ways my waves gets a little bigger and moves forward. The little dry spot of the intersection gets smaller and smaller and the wistling louder and louder. Then the wistle stops, and within seconds, a tsunami bursts out covering the whole intersection.
Fifteen minutes later I managed to squeeze my way through the ocean and cycle relaxed the last ten minutes to the office. Just before I get of a rickshaw cycles up besides me and friendly asks me if I need a ride. Slightly confused over this proposal, wondering if it looks like I really can’t cycle I walk up the stairs, let’s see what this day will bring.

Sitting already way too long on the office, having the many cups affecting my writing seriously,

Namaste

Jimi