Sarah tossed her daypack and hiking gear to the floor as Frank shut the door to their room. Their domestic flight this morning from Kathmandu to Pokhara (running two hours behind schedule) had forced them to make a dead run for the bus to Besisahar, and she was exhausted and sore. Like everything else in Nepal, nothing ever worked out the way one hoped.
She flopped onto the tiny bunk bed, curled the thin, lumpy pillow under her head and said, “I don’t suppose they have room service here.”
Frank pulled the threadbare curtain back from their window, letting in the last rays of golden sunlight. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“God, I’m exhausted.”
“You need to eat!”
“Don’t I know it!” She yawned and looked over at Frank, who was going through his pack. “What’cha looking for?”
“My phone and
