Briefly back in England

I anticipated culture shock. Instead I felt at home.

After Asia and before California, I went to England for eight days. I was excited to see old friends and eat familiar food, but I thought it might feel strange being back.

Unexpected differences surprised me. Grubby old London looked clean. I'm used to seeing rubbish everywhere and was struck by the capitol's unlittered pavements. England was colder than lowland Nepal, but indoors it was warm. I welcomed the world of central heating where you can relax in restaurants in short sleeves. In the West it seems, the cold is made to stay outside. Once the sun goes down in Nepal the cold permeates everything. Cement and stone are not very cosy and cafes are open to the elements. I dressed in layers and didn't take them off. England was colder outside but inside was toasty.

I was keen visit a supermarket expecting a jarring contrast after open-air markets with tubs of writhing fish, peculiar bumpy vegetables and yelling vendors. I envisioned strolling down sterile aisles jammed with thirty kinds of pasta, shrink-wrapped broccoli and overly packaged imported treats. Perhaps the comparatively high cost and staggering variety would stun me. Maybe it would seem wrong seeing so much attractive food for sale when elsewhere most people have simple locally produced diets.

Once inside the comforting glow of the supermarket, however everything seemed...well, normal. Although it was my first time in the shop, basket in hand I quickly hunted down yoghurt and satsumas. The layout subscribed to a familiar formula whose logic is imprinted on my brain. I am a child of the developed world. It was all so easy. No bargaining either.

For the first few days I still smiled at strangers and thought of other whities as "Westerners". Initially I did a doubletake when I overheard people speaking English. One busy lunchtime at Bill's in Brighton, tables close together, the woman to my left talked loudly to her companion about her philosophy of romantic relationships. It seemed so personal I couldn't help but blush. Didn't they realise I understood what they were saying? The ironic thing is that in Asia where personal space is at a premium, I got used to squeezing in next to strangers, but I had no idea what they were talking about.

The lesson was promptly forgotten because while walking that night, my friend discretely told me a bizarre story about his flatmate. "He laminated his pubes?!" I loudly echoed. I followed him across the road before I realised the detour was to distance ourselves from the man directly in front of us who had of course heard my outburst. I quickly apologised explaining, "I just keep forgetting that everyone speaks English!"

Finally, being away for so long has rendered me slow to interpret puns. My favourite sandwich chain, Pret a Manger has introduced free internet access. The poster advertises with two pieces of fruit and reads something like: "Wi-fi in-store now. But we still like to pick our apples and blackberries straight from the garden." A bit random but fair enough, I thought. They're saying they've gone high-tech but their food is still fresh and natural. Three days later I got the pun.

So "reverse culture-shock" isn't all it's cracked up to be. I quickly adapted to the change of scenery. I rode on the top level of buses instead of on the roof. I enjoyed meaningful conversations with old friends rather than traveller small talk. Oh and the food! Pesto pasta, fruit smoothies and green salads. Wet plate? Not a problem. I was even able to drink the tap water without getting ill. Amazing.

I've realised that travelling has made me more relaxed and better able to calmly deal with problems. Throughout Asia the notion of "saving face" rules all interactions. Getting angry and godforbid yelling makes you look ridiculous in locals' eyes and gets you nowhere. My newfound skills proved useful in England as well.

There's no public transport in London on Christmas. I had a flight to the States to catch and with Heathrow 20 miles away I wasn't walking. I pre-booked a mini-cab whose website proudly advertised they still charge their standard price on Christmas. However the dispatcher insisted it would cost an extra £10 because of the holiday. I calmly said I would like them to honour their price quoted online. After some resistance she spoke to her manager and agreed. In the taxi, my travel instinct told me to confirm again. The driver gave me the inflated price! This is when pre-Asia Fay would have flipped out. I would have belligerently insisted I was right and the driver would have argued back, making us both flustered and peeved. Instead I phoned the mini-cab company, confident it would be painlessly resolved. And it was. I paid the normal price, empathised with the driver over the confusion and we continued in good spirits. Success all around.

- Enroute to California, 38,000ft above Colorado

Leaving Asia

I'm in the final days of an incredible 11½ months travelling through Asia. I've been thinking a lot about everything I've experienced out here and what it will be like to be back in the West again.

It seems like a good moment for reflection.

I'm looking forward to...

• Cheese
• Bread that hasn't been deep fried
• Fresh crunchy salad
• Wearing jeans
• Anonymity
• Hanging out with my family in California
• Speaking English with everyone...and them understanding me perfectly
• Having friends around me
• Set prices in shops
• Digital radio (Especially BB7)
• No smoking in public places
• Watching films
• Borrowing books from libraries
• Wearing skirts, dresses and other pretty, girly clothes
• The Guardian
• Hot showers and baths
• Cooking my own food

I'm not looking forward to...

• Significantly higher cost of living (My toothpaste cost me US$0.43 – How much was yours?)
• Reality TV
• Junk mail
• People being unfriendly
• Drunken rowdiness (unless it's my own)
• General hum-drum
• House cleaning
• Our over regulated society (As Liam and I sang, "There are too many rules in the West.")
• Feeling prudishly shocked by Western women in skimpy clothing
• Lots of cars on the roads

I won't miss...

• Getting stared at
• Having little kids look over my shoulder all the time to see what I'm writing (yep, including right now)
• Being asked "Where from?"
• Banging my head on low doorways
• Having to be ultra careful about water (Microbes from a wet plate can really ruin your day)
• Being asked how much everything I own cost me (Response: "I don't know it was a gift.")
• Rubbish and poo on the streets
• Mosquitoes
• The "Om Mani Padme"song on repeat
• Spitting and the hacking sound that precedes it

I will miss...

• Delicious curries
• Walking past lush green rice paddies
• Glasses of milk tea for US$0.08
• Riding on top of buses
• Genuine, friendly locals
• Mangoes
• Buddha statues
• The joy of finding a really special guesthouse
• Feeling like a celebrity and seeing people's faces light up in surprise when they see me
• Terraced farming cut into steep hillsides
• Noodle soup in its many beautiful incarnations
• Shampoo in single serving sachets
• Parle-G biscuits
• Street food
• Walking barefoot around temples
• Being able to eat out every single meal
• Vibrant religious festivals and ceremonies
• Animals out and about, taking themselves for walks and hanging out in the street
• Tailor-made clothes
• Markets!
• Meeting amazing travellers from around the world
• Tasting exotic fruits for the first time
• The Muslim call to prayer
• Overnight train journeys and waking up somewhere new
• Swimming in warm sea and snorkelling
• Feeling intrepid at land border crossings
• My own child-like wonder at the newness of the world around me

Sacrifice

What would you do if you only had a few hours left to live? If you're a goat you apparently nibble leaves, head butt your neighbour, pleasure yourself or some combination of the three. Of course goats don't know when they're condemned to death, but if they did I like to think they would spend their final hours in the same way.

"We have to make God happy," a man told me.

A marching band led a procession of several dozen families. Boys held tall bamboo branches adorned with single red and white cloths. Women carried flat baskets with offerings of fruit, popcorn, fried bread and rice. I walked with Upsarah, my guesthouse owner's 21 year-old niece. She carried a small jug of milk. "For the rice pudding," she told me. A few people brought large red parasols. Men walked their goats, leading them on short ropes. We arrived at a grassy hillside next to the oldest tree in the area. A shrine stood at its base.

I was a guest at Family Reunification Day, an annual ceremony in which offerings are made to ancestors and a god. Everyone gathered was part of the Khatri Chatri caste. In Nepalese Hinduism, different castes sacrifice a particular animal be it water buffalo or pigs. Khantri Chatri sacrifice goats.

The women got to work separating their family's offerings. A giant basket filled up with everyone's fruit, another with breads, another one still with popcorn. The women heaped a selection of goodies from the baskets into individual leaf bowls. A caldron of rice pudding bubbled away.

Meanwhile the men had tied their goats to shrubs. All the goats were decorated with red tika powder. A few had red and yellow painted horns. One wore a garland of marigolds. All were male.

Leaf bowls in hand, people munched happily on the snacks. Goats were given orange rinds and banana peels which they scoffed. They won't have the chance to digest them, I thought.

Finally after an hour and a half, the band started up again. Men untied their goats and led them around in a circle, parade style. For a moment it seemed like a dog show with proud owners showing off their animals for the judges. The illusion dissolved when they lined up along the shrine path. The goats remained calm but the excitement amongst the people was palpable. Small children gathered on the slope vying for the best view. A holy man with a shaved head was dressed all in white. Another man sat cross-legged nearby was suddenly overcome by a writhing fit as though possessed.

Before I could ask about the flailing man, the first goat was brought forward. Someone firmly held his hind legs and another the rope, extending the animal's neck slightly. The goat was sprinkled with water. The following pause felt like the moment before freefall on a fairground ride. You have signed up for something thrilling and maybe horrible. You are strapped in, waiting at the top. The only thing left is to plummet to the ground. You know it's coming, but when?

With one strong blow, a man with a machete hacked off the goat's head executioner-style. Thunk. I think I must have gasped. I was not expecting this. I thought the throats would be slit or punctured like the water buffalo. The holy man in white touched his lips to the blood spurting out of the severed body. This I thankfully had been warned about.

The next goat was brought forward, held in place and with a swift swing of the blade his head was separated from the body. The holy man was given blood, the dead goat taken away and the next held in position. The process was quick and dramatic. By about the third goat the holy man in white had blood splattered gratuitously down his front.

We've all heard about the running of headless chickens, though I for one have never seen it. It seems beheaded goats also have a disturbing repertoire of reflexes. I witnessed mad twitching, kicking and perhaps most unnerving, tail wagging. Even after the bodies were laid on the grass while the artery in the neck was tied, they sometimes continued to jerk and throw their legs about. Despite all this, the queue of waiting goats remained calm. Only occasionally one would call out, bleeting.

People believe the god they are sacrificing to enters the holy man's body through the animals' blood. I watched his shaved head bob up and down, feet prancing like a boxer's before a fight. He was jazzed up. One by one the bodies of newly killed goats were held to his lips. An assistant wiped his mouth with a cloth, like a coach wiping a fighter's brow.

Once all the goats were killed, their tied feet were strung through stout bamboo poles and taken away. Young boys carried heads by the ear. Back at home, individual families cleaned their goat and divided the meat between them. The goats' lives are an offering to the ancestors and a god, but it is the living who enjoy the meat. The sacrifice is believed to bring good luck to the whole village.

Someone handed me a leaf bowl of rice pudding. It contained milk from the whole community and raisins, dates and pieces of coconut. I ate with my fingers enjoying the sweet creaminess.

- Panauti, Nepal

Trekking in Nepal

Before Nepal, my longest hike was three days. Several years ago after trekking in Morocco's High Atlas mountains, by day three I was utterly exhausted and my legs were so sore I could barely walk.

Last month I trekked the Annapurna Circuit and Sanctuary in the Nepalese Himalayas to raise money for British non-profit MAG (Mines Advisory Group). My friends Peter, Meg, Liam (who we met in Nepal) and I, organised the trek and paid all expenses ourselves. All money raised goes straight to MAG, to remove landmines from countries like Laos and Cambodia. Nothing like a charity counting on you to keep you going during a challenging 21 days at high-altitude. Yep, that's seven times longer than my previous treks and with an elevation of 5,416m (17,769ft) at Thorung La Pass, the highest point. Before setting off I felt anxious and extremely excited.

Annapurna Circuit and Sanctuary are two separate treks and most folks do one or the other. We decided to do both. The Circuit trail connects a series of charming villages in a giant upside-down horseshoe with Thorung La Pass at the top. We began Sanctuary at the tail end of the Circuit climbing steadily up to Annapurna Base Camp (aka “ABC” - elevation 4,130m/13,549ft) and back down the same path.

Fun and Games
At high elevation, trekkers are advised to sleep no more than 500m higher each night. During the day you can hike as high as you like as the guideline only applies to sleeping altitude. The rule of thumb is, “Hike high, sleep low.” This meant on the way up to the Pass we had some very short days where we met our 500m quota after only two or three hours and had to stop. This gave us ample time for reading, journal writing, clothes washing and playing cards. Our favourites were “500” (an excellent team trumps game), “Casino”, Aussie rules rummy, “Shithead” renamed “Full Retard” and “Solitaire” with several backseat drivers. Our deck of cards was very ordinary and we were in awe of a Welsh couple's see-through plastic glow-in-the-dark set and a beautifully illustrated taro-like deck from Bavaria belonging to three German trekkers.

We played pool in a dive called, “Local Bar” and inside a garage next to racks of drying yak meat.

Thanks to Liam we found ourselves singing a great deal. We sang the full score of “The Sound of Music” through a forest and Top 40 Hits from the 80's and 90's on the way up to ABC in the snow.

You Know You're Trekking in Nepal When...
* You have to wait five minutes to let a caravan of heavily laden donkeys cross a bridge.
* The correct trail is marked with a littering of banana gum wrappers and coconut biscuit packets.
* Guesthouses advertise “hot showers” but they're solar powered so the best you're going to get is “warm”. Arrive late in the afternoon and you're looking at cold water or wetwipes.
* Dinner costs about four times more than your bed for the night. (Guesthouses make their money from meals and as it is assumed you will eat where you sleep, a token amount is charged for rooms. Our record low was US$1 for a quadruple room.)
* Apple pie, spring rolls and Mars rolls are all wrapped in dough and deep fried. My group also sampled Snickers rolls and Twix rolls (you get two).
* Apple is the only fruit you see for three weeks. You can have apple muesli, pancake, pie, juice, tangy dried apple slices, or just plain apple.
* You get breathy hiking up a mild incline. It's the altitude!

How hard was it?
The trek was challenging for me though it wasn't as difficult as I anticipated. Because we had never done this sort of thing before we hired two Nepalese porters. This provides employment and made the experience more enjoyable for me only carrying my daypack. We met a lot of trekkers who were carrying their own backpacks and a lot who weren't. Those without porters covered the same ground as us each day, they were just generally a bit slower. One of our porters didn't work out for us, so after the initial 15 day contract was up, Peter volunteered to carry one of the bags. He appreciated the added challenge.

The funny thing about altitude is you never know how it is going to affect you. You might be lucky and only experience minor symptoms (breathiness, loss of appetite, frequent urination) or you may suffer full-blown flu-like symptoms, bad headaches or worse. We met some people who were so ill they had to turn around for lower elevation until they were better. One unwell Irish woman hired a horse to carry her over the Pass.

On the way up to the Pass, Peter and Meg had trouble sleeping. Liam had headaches and wasn't hungry. Personally I fared well and other than breathiness and slower hiking speed was grateful for my good health.

On both treks there are villages all along the way. It's easy to regulate accent and the next teahouse is never more than an hour or so away. Those who fall fowl of the altitude can descend a few hundred meters and rest until acclimitised.

The duration was not the obstacle I anticipated. The trek was seven times longer than Morocco but it was certainly not seven times harder. We got into a rhythm of rising early, walking, eating lunch and walking some more. Nights were bitterly cold but during the day the sun was warm and hiking pleasant. Especially challenging were the steep climbs and decents. Hiking up then down then up again in a single afternoon can be a bit soul destroying. We kept telling ourselves it all is part of the process and was making our legs stronger. Other days were more enjoyable. I loved having endless hours to talk with my friends and other trekkers from around the world, while passing gobsmacking scenery.

Scenery
Spectacular views of the Himalayas are some of my lasting memories of the trek. The varied landscape on the Circuit was particularly rewarding. We hiked through subtropical forests, past chalky blue lakes, across vast valleys, along narrow rocky trails with gushing rivers far below and over wobbly suspension bridges. We saw yaks grazing on scrubby plains. We visited remote stone villages that are many days' walk from the nearest road. We were blessed by a 92 year-old lama in a tiny Buddhist temple built into a cliffside. We trekked in the shadow of snow covered mountains and eventually through the snow itself.

On the approach to the Pass, I was surrounded by rounded, snowy mountains. Whereas previously the mountains had towered above us, now they seemed closer and in the early morning light, smoother. I felt a surge of joy. Visually the landscape was one of the most stunning we had seen so far, but it occurred to me at this could have been the view from the top of a ski lift in the French Alps or perhaps the American Rockies. What blew me away were two things:
1) I knew I was looking at the Nepalese Himalayas, nearing the highest point of our journey. It was exotic because I knew it was exotic.
2) It had taken us nine days to walk there. In short, there was no ski lift.

I would highly recommend the Annapurna Circuit to anyone who is a reasonably fit hill walker. It's not just for young people either. We encountered many dozens of trekkers in their 50's and 60's and one incredible woman who was 72.

We are still accepting sponsorship in support for MAG. So far we have raised £318 and we would love to reach £500. All donations however small are greatly appreciated. Please visit: www.justgiving.com/riceherders Thank you!

- Panauti, Nepal

Baby's First Food

"Hi there Maude. How're things?"
"Oh, real good, Nancy. Would you believe it, little Timmy's on solid foods now?"
"You don't say. They do grow up fast."
"The other day we gave the little tyke banana and rice for the first time."
"Isn't that sweet. My Alice used to love mashed pumpkin."

The world over, eating solid food for the first time is a baby milestone along with the first smile and sleeping through the night. In the West, proud mothers might share the news with friends. Steamed carrots brave the blender or parents buy puree in diminutive glass jars. And that's pretty much it. The baby eats her first "meal" in front of a doting audience of two.

In Nepal they throw a party. Today I was fortunate enough to be invited to a baby's first food ceremony. Nepalese babies continue to nurse until they are two or three, but at six months real food is introduced into their diet. As of this morning, an infant known to me as "Babu" ("Baby boy" in Nepali) had only consumed breast milk. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, milk was the only thing on the menu. Today all that changed.

I was welcomed into a simple house, much like the 150 year-old guesthouse where I am staying. I sat on a mat on the dry mud floor, next to Suresh, the president of Panauti village's tourism development committee, who acted as my guide. He explained the baby's family is Bramin, the highest Hindu caste. Lucky Babu should have access to education and the resulting better job prospects.

An imam officiated the ceremony. Spread in front of him on the floor was what looked to me like a chaotic mess of religious trinkets, a brass teapot, spilled rice and grain, leaves, garlands of marigolds, incense and so forth. Babu sat contentedly in his uncle's arms, decked out in a little hood and cape and wearing thick eyeliner to ward off evil. The imam began chanting, flinging grains of rice and painting dots on the teapot. Guests continued to arrive and were seated on the floor.

Babu's father, chin-length hair framing his round face took turns holding his son. He is a Hindu priest and an astrologer. He was clearly enjoying his role in this joyous day. A young woman took dozens of photos with her mobile, calling, "Babu!" and clapping her hands to get his attention. Curiously, for a while Babu's mother was nowhere to be seen. Suresh thought she was downstairs, so perhaps she was busy helping to prepare food. However even when she did appear, she lingered behind the other guests, as if reticent to get involved. Is this custom, I wondered, or is the woman just very shy?

A tray containing a book, brick, knife and pencil were placed in front of Babu. Suresh explained this was a test. The chosen object gives an indication of the baby's future. Babu picked up the pencil. A cheer went up in the room. This means he will be a good student. It's hard to imagine an infant picking up a brick, but if he did he would be a skilled builder. Fortunately he didn't go for the knife as this could signify a future as a thief.

A woman entered the room carrying a mallard. One of the main ways Nepalese and Indian Hinduism differ is in the former's use of animal sacrifice. Most Indians are vegetarians so killing animals ceremonially or otherwise is a big no-no. I happen to be fond of ducks. I think they have a lot more personality than chickens. I hoped this duck was not about to be slaughtered. The truth as it turns out was significantly more unpredictable. Babu and the duck were going to kiss. It is good luck apparently. The woman gave the duck's bill and webbed feet a little wash. You know how babies like to put everything in their mouths? The duck's bill was held closed near to Babu's face and he happily latched on to it for a taste. Someone wasn't fast enough with her camera and wanted the kiss repeated. Babu and duck obliged.

Babu's clothes were removed and he was wrapped in a red shawl. He sat on his uncle's lap and his father fed him some banana. Another piece was lit on fire for the sun god. Large platters of food were set down. Babu was given rice, egg, and small tastes of many other foods. He seemed to like everything.

Babu was dressed in special red and gold ceremonial clothes. The guests showered him with petals and popcorn. Someone offered a handful to Babu's mother, still lingering in the back, but she declined. We filed outside, Babu in tow and made a tour of the village's closest seven or so Hindu shrines.

Back inside the house, it was the guests' turn to eat. The feast was staggering. Rice with almonds and raisins, tender stewed goat, chickpeas, potato and aubergine curry and tomato curry. Our hosts kept ladling more food onto our metal plates. I got to eat with my hand which was enjoyably tactile but messy. Dessert was yogurt with sliced fruit. Heavenly. Fortunately I was served my yogurt in a mug with a spoon, though some dexterous folks ate it with fingers off plates.

Before leaving I congratulated Babu's father and thanked him profusely for letting me take part in this special day. I told him the food was delicious. I would have thanked his shy wife as well but she was nowhere to be seen.

- Panauti, Nepal

Deconstructionist Nepal

We got up early to see the sunrise and take some footage of the temples. But there wasn't much of a sunrise. I suppose I've been spoiled lately with some spectacular dawn displays in the Himalayas where the crimson heavens appeared to be cracking open. My friend Liam borrowed a video camera from work and I've enjoyed hunting for distinctively Nepalese shots with him. Flapping prayer flags, spinning prayer wheels, women carrying baskets strapped to their foreheads, that sort of thing.

I had just been lamenting the morning's non-event of a sunrise when I noticed a young water buffalo lying on the bricks with its legs hobbled together. A small crowd was starting to gather around. I spotted knives and large basins. I knew what was about to happen even if the beast did not. Liam, focused on the temple, hadn't noticed the animal yet. “Liam, come here,” I called. “I think they're about to slaughter this water buffalo.”

And they did. A sharp knife punctured its throat. Another incision was made lower down on its neck. Blood poured into a basin. Steam rose out of the two cuts into the cold morning air. The creature struggled a little and made a few noises, but then fell quiet. I kept thinking it must be dead by now and then it would surprise me with a convulsion. I thought it might put up more of a fight, but even for a large animal there is a limit to what you can do when you're tied up, restrained by several people and literally bleeding buckets. Liam had asked permission to videotape and recorded the whole thing. This was not the "Beautiful Nepal" his work wanted, but it's not every day you stumble upon butchery and we thought it would make an interesting short film. It was certainly fascinating watching it all take place in front of me. The small children were riveted. Liam said it was different watching through the viewfinder than seeing it all for real. Perhaps the cameraman is a film's first spectator and is therefore one step removed.

The water buffalo's head was separated from its body and placed ceremonially in front of a small shrine. The offering was blessed and a candle was placed on its head. Straw was arranged along the beast's flank and set on fire. This was repeated again and again in order to burn off the fur. Men heaved the carcass onto its other side and created more fires. By this point most of the children had lost interest and walked away. Liam was offered what he initially feared must be hot blood but thankfully turned out to be tea. I sipped mine and watched the blaze. At what point does something cease to be an animal? Is it the moment of death, when its head is cut off or sometime later when its innards have been removed and its bones are hacked apart with a hatchet?

Wishing to warm up, we went to our favourite cafe in the village, a family-run place with superb milk tea. When we returned half an hour later, they were at the internal organs/ hatchet stage of the operation. The stomach the size of a small beanbag, was spliced open to reveal what appeared to be a lawn's worth of partially digested hay. We watched until the end. Everything was carefully cut and washed with hot water. Nothing was wasted. From start to finish the whole process took two hours. The short film will cover everything in about three minutes. Meat requires a lot of work. I was struck by the process of deconstruction. The village men transformed a living, breathing water buffalo into a series of parts. They turned an animal into raw pieces; ingredients.

Later in the day, Krishna, our guesthouse owner, accompanied me to a fabric shop. I told him I was interested in having two traditional Nepalese tops made for myself. These wrap-around, tie at the side, shirts are still worn by many women in rural parts of the country. They're form-fitting, distinctive and I think very flattering. I get excited by fabric stores. All those different colours and textures. I selected a heavy black and red print and a retro design of rhododendrons, the country's national flower. Krishna brought me to his own tailor, an old man with a hand-crank machine who has sewn Krishna's clothes since he was a little boy.

The tailor's wife measured me and the tailor set to work, eschewing the tape measure, deftly inching his hands and fingers across the fabric. He had no pattern. The shapes were in his head. He swiftly cut the forms which were to become sleeves, front, back and darts, out of my material while we watched. Once again Liam's video camera came out. It was the opposite of the water buffalo. I wanted to record the transformation from cloth to clothes. Parts to a functioning whole. Constructionism.

In the West, our animals are slaughtered and butchered out of sight. The process is discreetly hidden from view. Our clothes are now made in the developing world, often here in Asia. We buy meat and clothes from shops as finished products. We don't get to watch patterns being cut. It happens somewhere else.

At the village tailor's, a crowd of young children gathered around. They can see clothes made every day, so naturally the magic occurring on the sewing machine wasn't what piqued their interest. They were watching me.

- Panauti, Nepal