| Inside - Not an Ill Wind |
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CHAPTER 1 It must be true that Jennifer and I were actually about to begin our adventure. Her devoted husband, Rex, had taken us to the airport in spite of his earlier reluctance to have her go. “Tibet seems such a long way away, Lynn, especially for someone who hasn’t traveled very much,” he had said. Now he was snapping pictures of the two of us standing next to our luggage, grinning. Indeed, it was a long way away, I privately agreed. But that was what I needed, in order to examine objectively my emotional involvement with Peter. I hadn’t even told Jennifer about him even though my cousin and I have been closer than sisters. She came to live with my family as a child following the death of her parents in an airplane crash, and our strong bond has never changed in spite of different interests and life experiences. After the long flight from Seattle we overnighted in Bangkok then boarded another plane for the last leg of our journey, destination Kathmandu. I sat next to the window, curious to see what we were flying over. Disappointingly, monsoon clouds obscured the ground almost the whole way. “I can’t make out much of anything. Just glimpses of green terraced farming,” I said to Jennifer, seated next to me. “Blast it. I wanted to see something of Nepal’s rivers.” But she had dozed off. Our plane landed on time at Kathmandu’s small, broken-down airport. We followed the other passengers to a shed-like building where we retrieved our baggage then got in line to go through Customs. Immediately, I became aware of an unpleasant odor and looked around for its source. On one side of the waiting room, the door to the latrine stood open. I glanced at Jennifer to see her reaction to our new environment. She looked pale but said nothing. Fortunately, the Customs official did not delay us. Thankful for that, we hurried outside to look for Dawa, the owner of the tour company. According to his letter he, personally, would meet us. In the large crowd, which included an elephant, we soon spotted him. He stood apart holding up a sign with our names on it. Dawa appeared to be in his early forties. Of medium height, dressed in washable slacks and white shirt with an open collar, his dark hair and regular features made him look almost western. In these unfamiliar surroundings, he was a welcome sight and I accepted him immediately. On the way to our hotel, Dawa offered nothing about the sights we passed, merely answered our few questions. In a way, his silence was welcome, for we were exhausted. At the hotel, its many western amenities delighted us. It had a secluded back garden, easy access to shops and, best of all, a bedroom and adjoining bath for each of us. The last was what we had hoped for, as both of us were well aware of our different sleeping patterns. Jennifer was more a night person, and I definitely a morning one. We had mutually agreed to request these accommodations, preceding and following the ten-day journey to Lhasa and back. "That way," Jennifer said, “we’ll have a chance to get over jet lag before we start the tour." "And recover from it afterwards.” I chuckled. "Who knows what the accommodations will be like along the road.” Actually, I had two other reasons to be glad for a private room. Much as I loved my cousin, I had to admit that sometimes Jennifer’s inclination toward untidiness bothered me. I seemed to need to have things orderly. And because I had been a widow for many years and used to my own company, I liked to be alone some of the time. But to be completely truthful, with myself at least, the other reason, and most important one, was to think quietly about |