3The hotel Dirk had recommended was in an area called Boudhanath. The bright shiny red walls looked out of place in the midst of all the poverty and chaos.
Our room had two single beds with crisp white sheets and blankets the colors of Lama’s robes. Golden orange and blood red maroon.
My body was tired from sitting up for hours, but it was still daytime in Katmandu. I couldn’t figure out if I was supposed to be going to sleep or waking up.
“Thank God they have room service,” said Mom, collapsing on the bed and staring up at the menu she held in her hand. “I’m starving.”
She ordered us both ham and cheese sandwiches, Coke for me and a glass of wine for herself.
“I don’t want to hear any s**t about my drinking,” Mom said.
“I didn’t say a word,” I answered. “But how would you like it if
