Windows now wide open, the frosty air burned my flesh wounds like acid rain. Only five more hours to Kathmandu, where I would stand under scalding water and scrub my skin off, wash wash wash and cut the clumps out of my hair. Maybe even shave my head. I could hardly wait. So on that frigid December morning I stood under a freezing shower and scrubbed 'til my lips turned blue.
Education is transformation.
During my next bus ride, and every one thereafter, I opted to ride on the top of the bus, which, if bundled in enough warm clothes, transforms the ordeal into adventure. Plus, if the bus does happen to plummet over a cliff, there might be a chance to jump - definitely a consideration here in the Himalayas. Bundled up in jackets and sleeping bags, lying under a universe of stars on a swaying perch, plenty of fresh air, a bird's eye view of village road life in the foothills of the Himalayas, fields of rice gleaming before a Himalayan sunrise, dew dripping from jungle trees, monkeys screaming, dogs barking, people huddled around tiny fires drinking chai. Watching the movie of life from a balcony seat. But there was still that problem of how to relieve oneself.