Mornings

December 16

I’ve always been a morning person. It’s not that I don’t enjoy an occasional late night movie marathon curled up on the couch with friends and a good portion of the CVS candy aisle. But there’s something magical about the early part of the day.

Maybe it’s the dewy smell of a fresh start or the warming light of the sunrise that’s both relaxing and energizing…but I’ll leave those poetic descriptions to my friend Thoreou. Either way, my mornings here in Nepal are easily my favorite part of the day.

It starts when I hear Aamaa shuffling up and down the stairs in her worn, plastic flip flops as she washes, dresses and unlocks the front door before leaving for prayer at Om Shanti. And this is all before 5:00 am. Next comes Shanti Didi who does morning puja by lighting candles and painting the house icons with red tikka.

She carries a copper plate with small compartments, which makes it look almost like a painter’s palate and it contains flower petals, rice, yoghurt, fruit and sweets as an offering to the gods. Each of the items is sprinkled onto a deity and the bell that is rung to signal the offering serves as my morning alarm clock. As she passes my room she calls out, “Amisha Bhahini? Utnu bhayo?” which means “Amisha sis, are you awake?” By that time I’ve dressed in the dark room (and now relatively cold –winter is officially here!) and am ready for my morning run.

I leave the house with the stars still out and on clear days can watch the moon set and the sun rise over the Himalayas. Either it’s the breathtaking run (you would think the 4 flights in Feinstein would have prepared me for this!) or the breathtaking view that remind me this is exactly what I had hoped for before coming to Nepal. I meet up with Jeanie every morning and what initially began as a way to counter the mountains of rice we’re fed twice a day has since turned into an hour of much-needed reflection.

Although I was initially called crazy by all the locals as I huffed and puffed past their houses and shops (outside of being in the army, it’s unusual to run “for enjoyment” and for a female it’s almost unheard of), I enjoy looking out for familiar faces that expect me to pass them as they go about their morning routine.

There’s the Gorkha police force on their Friday morning run I must admit it’s not a bad way to end the week with two dozen attractive uniformed officers greeting you, “Good morning, miss!” There’s the old tailor who sits in a cloud of smoke behind his sewing machine and gives me a grin with a thick cigar clamped in between his teeth. There’s the morning crowd at the tap that hurries to take advantage of the heated water; the sounds of gossip and water splashing into the large metal jugs that are carried on shoulders reach me before I round the corner. There’s a family of chickens that scampers around haphazardly, sometimes coming within inches of my sneakers, as they peck at the corn sprinkled along the road. There’s the small group of students that gathers to play chungi, the Nepali version of hackysack that uses a bundle of rubber bands tied together (I’ve tried to learn how they can get 30 bounces in a row…and failed miserably). And then there’s a magical shack that emits the most delicious smells – Pizza Hut pepperoni pizza, Grand’s hot cinnamon buns and Kraft macaroni and cheese (they’re paying me extra for product placement here…) I can’t tell you the last time I’ve tasted any of these foods but as I turn the corner for the old bazaar, the same house gives me the strangest food cravings.

Either that or low oxygen from running at high altitudes is starting to mess with my head…