I love Melbourne’s unpredictable weather. Nepal has such distinct seasons – it is beautiful and so reliable – but I can’t help wishing that the rain would suddenly come as I lie listening to the sounds of the suburb which will be my home for the next four weeks.
The darkness arrives suddenly and without warning here, at 6 o’clock it is upon us, but there is still so much movement and noise – the dogs, the car horns, the banging of people amending their houses, the chatter in the street as some pull down the shutters to the store fronts attached to their homes.
Rain would make me feel happy here tonight, and quench the strange and uncharacteristic homesickness I am feeling in my new environment.
When I arrived in Nepal last year it was bucketing down, and the rain fell heavily for two full days and nights. The lightning storm of my first night claimed a large hole in the important and ancient spire of the monkey temple, and I am looking forward to seeing if it has since been repaired to its usual stunning condition. I was told, as the rain drenched the nunnery and surrounds, that the next day the rain would cease and the sunshine filled days would be here – and sure enough, the next day was the first of clearest, blue-skyed days that I have ever experienced, which would continue without fail for the following 6 weeks.
It must be wonderful to know what the weather will be like, but tonight, I can’t help wishing that nature would throw an unexpected curve ball into the darkness and drench us all. Then I could lie in my bed happy, and enjoy the surprise of a spontaneous storm.
Someone across the street begins to play guitar, and a chorus of locals strike up a song that is charming in the night air. Some dogs howl in the moonlight.
I guess that will have to do.