|From Drop Box|
In mid-November, I traveled to Nepal with school. I’d never expected to ever visit the country, but when my school announced it as the annual travel destination for the 11th grade, I signed up immediately.
It’s been more than a month since we’ve come back, but some mornings, I still wake up smelling Nepal.
It’s the kind of heavy scent that buries itself deep inside my memory, but feels so fresh and real that I’m found confusing my imagination for the doubt that it’s still clinging to my hair, like a memory that refuses to be washed out. It’s musky and a little sour. On the first days in Nepal, I mistook it for the redolence of an exotic spice, but now I’m near certain it’s the mingled smell of cow dung, rotting fruit, and sandy dust. It’s rather charming in it’s own way. I even find myself missing it every once in a while, wishing to be transported back to the day of our flight, when the entire trip was still before us.