A journalist observes life in the far north.
I joined the boys, the Irishman and the Dutchman, for a cheap ($25 for 90 minutes) massage yesterday. I choked down a salad for lunch afterward, and I have been slowly recovering since.
I am feeling anxious to get home to Lucky. Last night, the dinner conversation somehow turned to capital punishment. It was a lively discussion although no one seemed to favor the death penalty. I made the comment that it doesn’t matter what the state does because anyone who hurts a hair on the head of my little girl, I will take out my own revenge. Then suddenly I felt frantic to get home.
Chulding, a Himex representative in Kathmandu, took my passport and itinerary and promised to look into getting me out of here sooner than late Monday night. But I haven’t heard from him since yesterday.
It’s muggy here today. The lobby is filling up with people coming down for breakfast. Some of my fellow trekkers are considering a second massage today because the price is so cheap.
I miss Alec and although I will swim across the Pacific Ocean if that’s what it takes to get home to my baby, I am also leary of leaving Alec behind in a foreign country.
I was surprised by the tears and emotions when we said good-bye. I have left Alec twice in Talkeetna to climb Denali and I figured I would be OK. I’m not. Sagarmatha (Everest) is too far away from home.