So.
This is our porch view from Jungle Heaven and I put it here because do you see the small pathway? Right, good, so think about pathways and walking and adventures, because part two of our weekend was a jungle safari, fording the same river as our elephant ride and passing the lightning tree and two of our guides sandwiched the white girls so we didn't get lost although there were branching trails around us. We walk-ran run run run ran-walk-runrunrun-walked our way to viewing point one to see a tiger but we just missed it, sweat pouring from our bodies, looking like we were taking river baths sit rhinoceroses. We hiked through grasses taller than our heads, me at the back being dampened by everyone else's sweat that stuck to it and white sandy patches of trail were heat waves of hot, shoes squelchy and wet. Arrived at a second viewpoint and this was "time to be patient because lots of tourists are like rush and go but you need to listen and wait", said our guide with the long singular dreadlock down the back of his head. We sat in the dirt and practiced squishing ants as huge flies buzzed around us. Our body temperatures finally slowed down, no longer drip drip dripping sweat, more like a steady sheen. Eventually we got adventurous and me, Vita and Bailey climbed the lookout point tree and our guides and Dinesh called us monkeys and laughed in breathy whispers to not scare the suppose tigers. It was awesome. Breeze through the leaves, dappled sunshine, slight sway. I closed my eyes, wedged my leg in a branch gap and hooked my arm above me and could have slept.
No tigers in sight but deer and birds and tree climbing sufficed, rhinos in the distance and lookout points and epic heat and a bonus river swim at the end. Rivers, I have decided, are the most refreshing. Much appreciated.
And on our ride home, crossing a bridge by foot so as to spot the crocodiles (which we did) there were also wild elephants on the other side. I wish I could have captured that view for you, the low wide river and river bushes and hills sloping steeply behind it and two elephants, huge and ear flappy, eating in the centre patch of grasses, timeless, amazing, full of grace of the animal kingdom sort.
Deep breaths, finger snapping appreciation for planet earth. And temperature.
My right hand looks this now, from Wednesday.
The girl (Omvica) who did it charged us way too much but she chattered in English and was 15 and could speak French and Spanish and a bit of Thai and good Chinese and English and Hindi and Nepali and she smiled and said I want to make it beautiful for you and the ink smelled like tea tree leaves and something else good and fresh.
Afterwards Nura took us to buy saris (sarees) and it was a four part process of wrap and fabric and measurements and tailoring. We left small piles of dried henna on the shop floors, peeling the old colour, looking at the orange ink designs and waiting for it to darken, and it has darkened now. The fabric and chiffon and hand embroidery and colours have been matched and are under construction, so we will pick up the saris (sarees) and wear them out on Saturday for our last night in town. We oooh'd and ahhh'd each other and every colour has seemed to match who we are, midnight and bright and shiny and dignified, beautiful. Dinesh today said "I do not know why it is or what but it is something in our minds maybe and we just think women in saris are just so beautiful" and I agree, and I will never be able to wear it as naturally as the women here but I am so grateful to be able to share it, to try on, to feel the weighted beads and walk just a little bit taller.
Midnight and a half found an accident on the highway and placed it for us, so we rolled to the side of the road with nothing else to do but wait so we did, rolled and tucked and bent and curved into some kind of sleep, until van door slid shut and we moved out, using our whiteness, our tourist-ness as a reason to bypass security checks and at one point two army men jumped in and we drove them to the next stop and they hopped out and tapped our van and we drove faster and the streets were empty, just empty, and shop doors closed and guarded with roll-y metal doors and we staggered back in to the Eco hotel and now breakfasts are fruit and Nepali yogurt (literally just so delicious) and vegetables and variety and there are so many more white people around and sounds.
This is from the day I had to say goodbye.
Here is some of the space where I would put words if I could, if I knew how to start.
Here are some words:
mothers group tikkas and flowers, pressed in hand and hibiscus, smudge foreheads and touch hearts, tell them thank you, you are so inspiring, this is amazing, we will carry your stories in our hearts, thank you because if I said more I would cry and I wipes under my eyes anyway as we turned and left the large and shady mango tree and wave wave wave
and the kids ran out and ran to us and ran with us and we played against the teachers in a game of musical chairs under the holy tree with Nepali drum beats and danced and laugh laugh laughed and dusty bare feet and chanting names and sweet honey rolls for lunch and how do I tell you thank you for your students and time and how do I tell you we are probably not, probably not coming back and how do you say that
walk down stairs and there are my students and I cannot look back I cannot say goodbye not one more time and I do not and the jeep bumps us away and this is the last time I see these faces and spaces and land and cows and rivers and infinity bridges
and pasta for early dinner at home, heavens door, and pack the big van and go and say thank you family, take one last picture how do I say I love you like this and hug Deepa and Surita and how do I say bye but in the van and through the window I namaste one last time
one last time
and we drive and drive and our eyes leak and drive me drive.
And somehow something somehow sometime maybe someday I know I must come back I cannot shake it I cannot stay but I will come back. is that okay
I found the little prince again. I did not think I would find him in Nepal and then when I was buying 
these pants, he appeared, and now these are my favourite pants.
It's funny because I saw these pants/the design during our first stay in Kathmandu and I said: mark my words these are my pants, I will find them again when we return.
And in a different location than originally found, I found them, and the little prince, and now I can't help the feeling of right time right place, and now I also can't remove the little prince's words: just because I'm gone doesn't mean I've gone away.
And now I feel the need to tell you that like the fox, like the flower, this place has tamed me. This place I have made my own and it has made me and it might just be the three week rule talking, but maybe that is not such a 'just', either. And maybe this is how I know, when I find myself thinking of laughing stars and small planets full of lessons and lamplighters and what makes a rose one rose, not a wall of roses and wells in deserts and walls and snakes and moving your chair every minute of every day to watch the sunset.
It is Friday now, and I leave on Sunday.
I do not know how many times more I will write here, for this. So this is maybe, not the last of the things for my 29 days in Nepal. Maybe.
As is: safe journey.
I will see you again. Soon.
-k
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