I picked up a copy of Thich Nhat Hanh’s “Our Appointment with Life” from Tibet Bookstore in Kathmandu. It cost 300 rupees (about $3), according to the sticker that’s still on my copy. You can purchase it on Amazon for $9.95 on Amazon.
I mean, if you’ve got the time I highly recommend traveling to Nepal, but unless you’re buying A LOT of books, it’s probably not economically sensible.
Now, it may seem strange to say this after we’ve journeyed all across the world, through foreign lands where I don’t speak the language, and ended up all alone with no plan, but: I’m actually a fairly anxious person.
It was early morning in Pokhara, Nepal. I was standing atop the roof of the Hotel Snow Leopard, breathing deep, taking in the view, and trying to come to terms with my life. A life which had brought me on a whirlwind tour of seven Asian countries, torn up my relationship of two and a half years, and spit me out here: 23 years old, alone, standing on a rooftop in Nepal. Gazing towards the Annapurna Range, hidden behind a thick layer of haze. Looking for something which didn’t seem to want to reveal itself to me.
I walked to the edge of the roof. Put my toes over the edge. Looked down.
As we were queuing up for another game of chess, a young Spaniard came up the steps and into the cafe. He saw the Malaysian and broke out into a big smile.
“Ah good, you’re still here!” he said.
“Of course,” the Malaysian answered with a single nod. “I am here every afternoon. I have nothing else to do.”
He turned to me, and said: “You know how I describe traveling? I say: traveling… is like Sunday afternoon.” We both laughed.
I sipped my tea and thought: Sunday afternoon…