A nice cold Bir

Our last hours in the mountain village of Bir and I'm surrounded by monks at the internet cafe. I'm trying not to think about all of these "lasts" -- the last time I get to hug this family at Inspire that we've created, the last time I eat a Momo (Tibetan dumpling), the last time I crouch for hours on a bus that swerves treacherously between cliffs and falling rocks. But that time has come, the Walrus said.

I've been so spoiled the last ten days staying at a former Buddhist monastery and eating amazing food and Cadburys. It's hard to remember that for a few weeks I was sweating so much that I never had to pee, and that the ground had become as good as a mattress. Yesterday evening I sat at 9000 feet, clouds moving through me, thinking of every home we had been welcomed into and every meal we had cooked or served. Maybe it was the altitude, but there was a lightness on that grassy patch that I could only call divine.

There are so many things about India that I will never understand -- disparity, hunger, politics, and the way women survive through alcoholic husbands and intense labor. But so many more things that I love enough to stay and return -- the raw reality, the fields of crops, the little girls who follow you and scream "Didi" and hold your hands.

So here it is, the last day. At times it felt so far away, mostly when I sick or covered by welts from mosquitos. But mostly it was a day that I tried to avoid and push away until it came time to buy my ticket to Hyderabad. I'm so grateful that I get to go from this family to more family and a wedding and love. But until then, I am Inspired.