Kathmandu, the fifty-ninth day,

A day like any other, aside from the ongoing conversation with special people: the Norwegian preacher and his herpes caught in brothels in Bangkok telling me that, like him, I could be saved, but it was not God who decided my sexuality, it was myself (the day was not lost); the Nepalese intellectual from the Goethe Institute denouncing the corruption of Christianity, the French stripped in  Pokhara and then finally the young English teacher who read a thousand pages of Proust that I managed to keep two minutes in my room under the lure of the hashish left by my neighbors at the hotel. The departure of the "trekkers" gives more consistency to the "loonies" who stayed here it would seem! The only missing one to the list was the European Buddhist monk who was singing songs from "Doors" in "free movie show" and staring at me with a smile every time he sees me.
I will not leave the eleventh; I have the potential availability of cash through a paper from the German Embassy. I want to try before leaving.