All luck has turned super since preparing to leave Kathmandu. My friend messaged when finishing work early the night before, so I was able to leave spare things behind at his shop. A thunderstorm rolled in with heavy rain and lightning until midnight, but cleared to sunny by 6am when I departed. It’s off-season, so no delays at the airport, and I got a window seat with breathtaking views of the mountains behind Pokhara. The luggage carousel delivered our bags within 10 minutes of alighting the plane, and we quickly hopped in a taxi. I needed an ATM, found it directly outside, and it worked first time. The ride to the bus depot had practically no traffic, and by the time we arrived the last bus for the day was departing in 2 minutes. The 6 hour trip would still get us to Kagbeni before dark and save a morning jeep trip, making for a clear start on foot tomorrow.

I asked my guide how he felt after leaving Kathmandu and arriving in the mountains. He felt fresh, energised in his body and mind.

Kagbeni village is supposedly the second windiest place inhabited by people in the world. I am warned the strong wind begins every day around midday and lasts all afternoon. It’s howling when we arrive, and reminds me of a strong storm back home, only it blows every day of the year here.

The place is bustling with traders and shows signs of continuous development, at a high quality only seen in Nepal where there is wealth. Street signs herald the gateway to Upper Mustang. Only in the last few years has the road been upgraded, prior to that only a 4WD or horseback would carry you to our destination of Lo Manthang. We’re continuing on foot from here though. The landscape around Kagbeni is popular for Bollywood movie shoots, bringing wealth into the village.

I observed a balanced cross section of age groups here. Other villages showed signs of young adults in exodus to the city or overseas for work. Traditional dress and practices remain strong here too. I quietly plan to wake up early and explore further before we have to depart.

I mused on Kathmandu’s social circumstances and environment, which seemed harsh, but where people’s patient nature and genuineness became apparent. Despite widespread poverty, people take care to present themselves as cleanly dressed, and often show strangers the time of day. I gained a sense of respect for their approach to life. And yet I was perplexed by Nepal’s relations with neighbouring countries.

Durbar Square is the most well known cultural heritage site in Kathmandu. Locals flock there every night to relax with friends and family.

The square is a magnet for tourists with it’s temples, colonial buildings and marketplaces blended in a South Asian collage.

I quickly noticed China was sponsoring the site, and there were ‘China Aid’ signs posted all around. I was deeply curious about what was happening here.

There are armed guards at one of the gates, and I see more China Aid signs inside, so I slowly approach. I pluck up the courage to ask to go in to have a look, but he gestures me away with a gaze of disapproval.

Further down the street I come across a Chinese-owned book store. This prompted questions because I had not seen any Chinese community here during the past week. It had hundreds of titles about Tibetan history and culture written by Chinese academics. I find the context of this store unfamiliar, so to try and better understand I get a book. Upon reading it I was still unable to make sense of what was going on.

I expected to see street dogs in Kathmandu but not tightrope-walking monkeys. This one seemed to lose it’s way from the popular Monkey Temple, headed in the opposite direction and showing no sign of stopping.

Nepal is renown for sacred cows as I soon discovered, wandering the bustling city streets at their leisure, appearing quite relaxed. Their only rivals are street dogs vying for attention from charitable people, which they both rely on for survival.

I was puzzled how the stray dogs looked well-fed in a country where many people live in poverty. It finally dawned on me… I saw them hanging around butchers, where goats and buffalo are killed on the street, so off-cuts go their way.

Not once was I chased or harassed by dogs on the street, they were remarkably calm, except when I ventured into an empty temple and stumbled across a temple dog, guarding the sacred space.

I was simultaneously concerned for animal welfare in Kathmandu and impressed how people, stray cows and dogs lived in relative peace.

I have an idea of going to Mustang in the Himalayas and need to go through a trekking agency to get into a restricted area. I get a couple quotes and they were expensive, so I negotiate over several days. Finally, the agent says the plan is 99% confirmed. They want to go on the main travel route, but I want an alternative route. At least they concede I can discuss the plan with my guide as we go.

I meet with them and the plan starts to come loose. The price is higher and I am reluctant to proceed so I take a walk around the block to think. The final decision comes down to a toss of my lucky one yen coin and I am going tomorrow. Hopefully I will have some stories to share.

I put on my serious face for trek preparations and head out to the streets of Kathmandu.

I come across some super nice, helpful and honest people selling their wares. Other sellers are opportunistic, for understandable reasons, but their half-truths and manipulation grate against my sense of mutual respect. They seem good at guessing what you’re willing to pay. I try to shop where locals do, and get treated more fairly.

I meet a family friend for a cup of tea. He is very happy to look after my things while I go trekking. He refers to me as ‘my brother’. I learn to say this in Nepalese, which pleased him. He invited me to dinner after my trek.

We talked about life, family, work and opportunity. I asked about his views on tourists and how the locals felt. Like anywhere, there are responsible tourists and selfish ones. Some think that because they have money they can do what they want, without respecting local people and customs.

The rain is increasing as I walk but I refuse to bail out. In the evening I find a shoe repairer in a back alley to put a strap on my hat, then head to a bookshop.

I pick up a book by a linguist who travelled through Mustang in 1954. Traditional culture is still well preserved there, though modernisation is creeping in. I talk to the guy behind the counter about my sense that I did not really belong there as a Westerner. He immediately pointed out that they are very welcoming people, and gave some assurance that the tourism industry supports their livelihood. I try to accept that progress is inevitable, though am still uneasy.

At the hotel I paw open the book and start schooling up on Mustang. The area is inside the traditional boundary between Nepalese people and Tibetans. I do not understand the history of how the Nepal border with China was agreed. In any case, the peoples’ main language is Tibetan, as is their building architecture, dress, religion, and attitude to life. Nobody I spoke to in Kathmandu seemed eager to acknowledge this openly. Perhaps because Tibet is under Chinese control and people here keep politics to themselves.

A few things went unlucky this afternoon.

I was getting no power the sockets at the hotel room. I mentioned to the host the fuse might be blown, and they arranged a time for an electrician to come when I could be there.

In the meantime I started to cook lunch, and when I opened the packet of rice I bought, little black bugs came crawling out. Not so appetising.

Rain was forecast, and the electrician made it on his motor bike before then. I find out I was simply supposed to put the plastic card they gave me into a slot for the power to work. The room instructions explained this, though I was exhausted when I arrived from my flight and I overlooked the detail. That was embarrassing and I offered to cover the call out fee.

I put on a load of washing before it bucketed with rain. When I went to check it 30 minutes later, the washing machine on the roof was submerged in an inch of water.

Someone selling pumpkins for a living in Nepal would have a modest life, and yet I noticed people always carry themselves with a sense of dignity. There seems to be a lesson for anyone distracted by materialism.

Labourers transporting vegetables seem to have it tough, but they’re probably glad to even have an income.

Bargaining is an expectation, not an option in countries like this. Deals go on around the clock.

Market sellers would not get away with smoking back home. I thought she was tough for putting out a cigarette with her tongue.

It seems impossible to not stand out as different in a place like this. I resolve to still value what I have in common, and buying from street sellers seems like one way.

I relished wandering the streets of Kathmandu every day, and found a fascinating mix of social connection, history, turmoil, belief, and optimism.

As I walked in the rain, I noticed two boys going down the street, one consoling the other who was sad about something. The tears in rain reminded me of the impermanence in all things.

I came across a neatly groomed man in a pressed white shirt, carefully ambling across the street. I wondered who he was and what was behind the veiled doorway.

A young man in a black tee intently strode down an alley way. To me his expression of frustration represented an underlying discontent among the Nepalese people. Corruption and unemployment seem festering under the surface, coming to head 2 months later when riots broke out, leading to the Prime Minister’s resignation, but at a serious cost of human lives.

I found myself unprepared for a situation at the usually busy Chhetrapati roundabout. A lithe, middle aged man had been transporting a large sack of ginger on a pushbike, when the sack burst open. He was desperately picking up the pieces on the ground, as pedestrian, motorcycle and car traffic wove around him without stopping. I felt as though for some reason I wasn’t supposed help, so I kept walking, but regretted it afterwards.

Not everything in Kathmandu was inspirational. While I relished in wandering the bustling streets, I quickly developed a persistent sore throat and cough. At first I thought it was a contagious flu I got from someone who sounded crook sitting behind me. I took precautions to avoid spreading anything. Then I noticed a lot of locals were coughing and wearing masks, and realised it was air pollution. All of the streets in the city centre are narrow and have 3-4 storey buildings, trapping in petrol exhaust fumes. Streets without footpaths left pedestrians including myself to walk directly behind motorbikes and cars.

I was glad to have packed my acupuncture pen, and a quick self-administered treatment provided relief.

Kathmandu ranks highly in cities with air quality problems. I felt sorry for locals living with it every day.

I visited a textile factory in Kathmandu for 4 hours. I liked meeting the workers, and could see the attention to detail and skill they had in making quality garments. One person I spoke to had been working there 33 years. He was a garment cutter and also made the clothing templates. He was happy to try and communicate with me even with neither of us knowing the other’s language well, though he understood English better than I understood Nepalese. The atmosphere of camaraderie reminded me of any workplace at home in Australia.

I wondered about their lot in life. Their aspirations are the same as everyone else’s overseas. People at this factory would have better conditions and pay than many in Nepal.

The machinery was fascinating. The knitting machines had about 100 switches, and the operator would slide a roller over the bench part and the needles would add a row of thread. Then they can program the next row with a different sequence according to the desired pattern. There could be four or more different threads loaded in at once. This style is not traditional hand knitting but it’s still hand made, and no stage in making garments is automated.