“I think, America visa, Nepal visa same same,” Palsung says. I'm explaining about needing to go to the immigration office, and she joked that she would go with me to get a visa and go to America. I tell her that each country requires a visa for foreigners. “You lunch here?” she asks. I tell her the line might be long or short, so I don’t know. She suggests, “You office, little hungry? You bread in plastic?” So I take a piece of roti, warm from the frying pan, and put it in a plastic bag. The visa process turns out to be fairly painless, and the taxi driver is enormously helpful in escorting me around and then waiting to take me back home.

When I return, one of the little Eghara explains to me at great length, that of course, I could take her to the United States with me, and it was naughty of me to say that I couldn’t afford it. How did she know this? Because I brought her a bar of chocolate from Boudha the other day, so she knows I can afford anything.

After lunch, ani Kendo spins white wool into yarn, using a wooden spindle in a porcelain bowl. She winds a sheet around her body to protect her robes from the bits of wool fluff that float around her and blow through the courtyard.