...celebrate friendship

A couple of days ago it was the worldwide celebration of friendship. I didn't wake up knowing this; it was too early. Before I could know much of anything I was flying into Lakeside (the touristy part of Pokhara next to Phewa Lake) to meet my dear friend Raaz for a bike ride. We had planned to go on a substantial ride together with one of his friends, Sudess. So we met up, strapped up and were off before the shops were opening. Later that morning a couple of texts came in to phones handled by sweaty, tired Nepalis who informed me that, apparently, it was Friendship Day. 

Those hands were sweaty and tired because the three of us were biking in Nepal, which never goes as flat as one would hope it would go. No, instead we spent a solid 4 hours climbing Himalayan foothills on bike. It was exhausting.

There is a place high above Lakeside from where the paragliders leap and soar. This is a big tourist attraction and brings in substantial monies for the Nepali. You can see them up in the sky, like great colorful birds enjoying the breeze, like a swarm circling, searching for prey below. And yet, on our bikes we looked down on them. I kept saying, "We're crazy."

But you have to be a bit crazy to bike around in Nepal. I thanked God every time I successfully made it through a certain intersection on my way between where I was staying and Lakeside. I grew quickly thankful for horns because drivers would use them as they approached and at least then I knew to glide as far left as possible. Yes, left, they drive on the left here. 

Yet, however crazy, it was a friendship day well-spent. We reveled in it once the climb was over. We hit pavement again and went downhill. For six solid minutes. That doesn't sound too impressive, but watch the clock and see how long just one minute is, and then realize we were flying downhill for six of them. I wondered if I'd get altitude sickness, but we stopped before we even reached the bottom. Sudess took us up a side road and then down through the thicket where the sound of rushing water rose. We had made it to the swimming spot, a gorgeous, clean river descending down from Macchupucchre, the holy mountain also known as Fishtail Mountain.

We stripped down to our underwear and left our sweaty clothes out to dry in the intense heat (which made our climb that much more enjoyable, actually). And for over a half-hour we sat in the refreshing current, allowed the stampede to massage our body and the purity to take away all our grime. We spent some time just laughing. "This is like Paradise," said Raaz who initially wasn't going to get in until he saw the change in us, the pleasure that relaxed our faces, when we submerged ourselves. 

Indeed, it was a friendship day well-spent. When the ride was over we ate a couple helpings of Dal Bhat--no, we eagerly ate a couple helpings of Dal Bhat. And then I hopped onto the bike, which is also a friend's, and rode over to her house. And that night I went home to where I was staying: the spacious blue home of another friend. 

But the friendships all had to take another form, for Bonnie and I had to leave Pokhara for Kathmandu where we would fly elsewhere. We decided we wanted some more time with our friends and less time on a bumpy, hot, annoying, strangely-tiring, seven-hour bus ride. So we bought plane tickets and were there in twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five minutes. It cost sixty-four dollars and when we landed in twenty-five minutes--did I mention that yet?--I decided that it was the best sixty-four dollars I ever spent. 

And though Kathmandu is the worst place to have to be after Pokhara, even if it took just twenty-five minutes y'all--twenty-five!--we fortunately found ourselves in an area not so afflicted with all those diseases of Kathmandu. The afternoon--which we had because we took a plane that lasted only twenty-five minutes(!!)--was spent at a children's home that is run by the family of our good friend Paul. The twenty-something children and teenagers that live there sang for us, introduced themselves, and let us peek into their lives. Most of them were studying for exams, though, so we left them to their studies and had a delicious meal instead. It was a lovely time, and had not some parcels of luggage been in Thamel waiting for us, we might have just stayed. 

We sat on the roof in a sweet breeze from atop the lime green boys' house and looked around at all the great cake-houses of Kathmandu. These crazy colors would only fly in certain neighborhoods in the States, but here yellows, pinks, blues and purples all sit side by side, like a row in Cake Boss' display. It is a farther cry from the Middle East, where the local stones cover every building.

Here in Amman, it is uniform, and I like it that way, for it is just like Palestine. The cakes people live in color Nepal; here the Earth they walk on rises and shelters. And so my thoughts tumble backwards to those friends I have said "see you" to, and forward to those friends I have said "I'm coming" to.

And in the aloneness of Amman, they keep me company.