Kathmandu, the fifty-fourth day,

I am happy in Kathmandu! I'm definitely alone, but I'm in a good mood, I try to channel my energy flowing. I talk to strangers, I imagine new clothes, and I prepare my journal as letters to be sent. The city is very nice in the sun from 11:00 to 5:00 p.m., but even during these hours the shade is already a bit cool. Idleness is easier on the outside when it's hot, is this the reason that the North is more industrious than the South?

 I am looking for something interesting to write and it comes to me only platitudes, is therefore a reflection of my day? I recompose in the morning the thirteen days missing of the journal, and I feel so inspired that I think the new text exceeds the former. The evening is reserved to describe the previous day but I'm feeling just frivolous and not at all literary. Is it just a matter of hours or, of distance from the event?