
I got a gentle toe wiggle at 6:30 this morning from my roommate. “It’s time,” she said, “you’re not still going are you?”
I listened to the rain. 14 straight hours of monsoon at that point, and it had also rained (hard) two nights before. I got up and looked out the door, a feeling of defeat washing over me. The rain was not fathomable. It was still a downpour. I laid back down in bed, my plans of meeting another Canadian girl to go with her to the missionary where she volunteered for the morning were dashed, as were my hopes to maybe bike to a temple town outside Varanasi, Sarnath, later in the afternoon. I felt like a caged housecat. I went back to bed.
I listened to the rain. 14 straight hours of monsoon at that point, and it had also rained (hard) two nights before. I got up and looked out the door, a feeling of defeat washing over me. The rain was not fathomable. It was still a downpour. I laid back down in bed, my plans of meeting another Canadian girl to go with her to the missionary where she volunteered for the morning were dashed, as were my hopes to maybe bike to a temple town outside Varanasi, Sarnath, later in the afternoon. I felt like a caged housecat. I went back to bed.