I drink a lot of black tea with milk. I have a banana every morning with eggs and toast. This afternoon I met some Tibetans at the farmer's market, and learned that unfortunately there is nowhere in the city to buy Tibetan brown bread. We talked about Dharamsala and Mcleodganj, and one offered me a sweet mint tea, and another gave me a cranberry scone. I bought a loaf of wheat bread for breakfast, and from yet another Tibetan I bought about a pound of peaches. I intend to do my best to recreate ama-la's breakfast in the morning. It won't be the same, but it will be in her spirit. I miss my family and the smell of the mountains and the sounds of the pouring rains and yes, sometimes I even miss the incessant barking of the stray dogs at night and the cow shit in the streets and the glaring stares and the honking cars and motorcycles. I know that I can't continue on this way wallowing in my sadness, missing a place I can't be right now. But at the present time my emotions are so raw, and being here is so strange, that I can't help it. My mornings are fine, but by the afternoon I don't know what to do with myself and by the evening my spirit is sunk in a mire and sleep becomes my only comfort.