My first full day in Kathmandu started early. Having fallen asleep at around 5 pm the previous night, I was awake by 3. I used the last few hours of darkness to keep reading John Whelpton’s “A History of Nepal.” When the first rays of sunlight started finding their way through the curtains I decided to take advantage of the hostel’s rooftop terrace. The terrace of the Kathmandu Peace Hostel looks out over the northwest of Kathmandu. A sea of residential buildings spreads out for miles until it runs up against the foothills of the Himalayas. The houses are boxes of cement three or four stories high, often the top floor remains an empty cavern if it was ever finished at all.

Morning sounds in the city grew together into a very slow crescendo. At first there were a few birds singing and the occasional dog barking. Small black birds were perched on most rooftops singing while small ravens, pigeons and sparrows darted through the sky both playing and hunting for breakfast. Every so often the sky around the hotel would ominously clear of activity, giving way to the fluid glide of a large hawk making slow sweeping rounds of the city.

By 6 am people were awake and adding to the sounds of the city. Motorbikes started cutting into the quiet and peddlers started making their morning rounds calling for buyers. Somewhere off in the distance at some unseen temple a group of men started chanting. Starting slowly and quietly at first their song wafted in and out of the city’s morning soundtrack. As the pace of their chant quickened their voices carried further until it was the other noises that faded to the periphery. At that moment from that roof Kathmandu could not have been a more perfect or peaceful place. While that image of Kathmandu is unlikely to last, it was the side of the city revealed to me first and I intend to spend every morning I have in Kathmandu back on that roof.