The weather has been cold. The marble in the house holds it in. The rooms are like meat lockers. The smoke and dust of the city hang in the air day after day with no rain to clear it for a month now. The smoke is from cars and motorcycles burning gasoline and motor oil cut with kerosene, and from garbage fires where people burn street sweepings, fallen leaves and plastic bags and juice boxes. In the morning the sun comes up gray and bleary, and the hills ringing the valley are the barest shadows behind the haze. Amanda and I are wearing sweaters and wool socks and hats indoors all the time. The propane heater we bought will heat a single room, but not so much that you want to take your hat off. We sleep every night in our down sleeping bags with a thick cotton quilt over us. There is no double-pane glass in the house. There are no storm windows. The walls are concrete. The solar water heater will produce a moderately warm shower in the afternoon. A month ago you could get a hot shower but not anymore.
It’s not cold like in the States. There’s never a frost. Snow is more or less unheard of in the valley. Bright orange flowering vines dangle down walls, red and pink flowers grow in the flowerpots on people’s roofs and terraces, and all of the fruit vendors sell fresh oranges that didn’t need to be shipped halfway across the world. Nepal has three growing seasons a year. In our back yard, napa cabbage and mustard are growing. Still, we’ll be glad when the warm weather and the rains return.
