We stay in a traditional house with work rooms on the ground level, and living quarters upstairs. A large room with lounges is the centre and bedrooms branch off from it. The interior is vivid Tibetan colours, in solid stripes of teal, navy, terracotta, and taupe on beige.

The family give a friendly welcome. It’s the first time I've had plain hot water as a beverage. Several full flasks and a serving set indicate people routinely sip it through the evenings. I find it refreshing and relaxing.

A young man arrives, one of the teenagers I noticed earlier. His name is Tsering, he speaks English, and is interested in conversation. He is curious about my story, so I explain my life and work in Australia. He asks what kind of a person I am, so I mention some hobbies and how I believe in freedom for all people. He asks if I am a hippy.

Over dinner, he seems dubious about my enthusiasm for dhal and rice, suggesting it is not to my taste and am just being polite.

The grandma observes closely despite the language barrier and makes funny jokes when I decline additional food or the topic of alcohol comes up.

After dinner and conversation, the offer of rice moonshine comes up. I'm in two minds, I know the grandfather is thinking about his health, and I'm reluctant to upvote drinks.

After a sound nights’ slumber, we meet again in the living room. Today they are going to see a visiting Buddhist Llama.

Tsering wants to keep in contact, so we add each other on Facebook. I check how to pronounce his name, and the grandparents smile and nod. He leaves to catch a jeep and the rest of us gather for group photos.

Grandma is in fine humour again, and slips in a peace symbol.

We receive white sashes again to bode us well for the trip.

They operate a small store in the house and we buy a kilo of dried apples from their orchard, tasting delicious and tender.

Sunrise invites us through homely windows. Our friends are onto their farm chores like churning milk to make yak cheese, and we share a final cup of hot brew. We’re heading to Tsarang but we hear the direct path along the river is eroded, so it’s back up the mountain and around.

They give us white sashes to bode us well for the journey.

I fossick for fossils in an ancient sea bed. The site is vast and holds thousands of these snapshots into prehistory.

There’s no shortage of time to talk, so I ask about life in Nepal. Poverty, infrastructure, unemployment, nutrition and education are real issues. Jiban remarks how Nepal is today where Australia was over 60 years ago in terms of progress. I imagine how the 2020 collapse in tourism would have pushed many into despair. Money influences social norms as well. It is common for women to assess potential husbands based on how much they have. After a divorce, the man has to pay ‘rice money’, and only recently the law allowed this to be appealed. Jiban convinced his friend to go to court, being the first successful case in Nepal, lowering from 20% to 1% of his income.

We meet people on the trail for the first time in six days. Three school teachers from Austria in high spirits. Mountain climbing seemed second nature to them! We pause for lunch at an apple farm with a backdrop by other-worldly cliff faces.

We ascend out of the valley, shrouded by the blazing sun and howling winds.

A series of crevasses punctuate the plateau. The map indicates our path is down one of them, but it seems outdated as there is collapsing from erosion, leaving a ravine. We circle back through the other crevasses in case there is a way. We return and try the path anyway, and the deeper we got, the steeper the drops, so Jiban decided we should turn back. Clawing back out of the ravine, the ground was soft and I struggle to get footholds. I notice bird carcasses and small tunnels in the side of the ravine, and we recognise it as a snow leopard den. Exchange glances, we hot-foot back up to the plateau.

We continue on the back trail towards Dhey village. Navigation becomes more difficult as it doesn't exist on any map apps.

It's a long and winding journey, but serene. We have not crossed paths with any other hikers yet.

Jiban shares his story. He grew up in an untouched valley in regional Nepal. The nearest road is 3 hours walk from his family’s home. There is a phone line, but no power, mobile reception or water.

The signs of climate change are apparent. Himalayan snow caps are melting and causing soil erosion. I appreciate how difficult it is to maintain trails here.

We hike over steep, slippery shale and it’s like trudging over sand.

The sun is blazing and water is scarce again. We discover a clay pan with shallow water but it’s filthy with animal droppings. I can only imagine what bacteria and parasites lurk here. I filter some and have a decent drink.

We arrive at Dhey village before dusk, out of the blue and knowing there were no tea houses. To our relief the first person we met invited us to stay.

He lived with his wife Nemgyum, and their four children had moved out so there was no shortage of bedding. They were a friendly and cheerful couple. People in Upper Mustang have a youthful shine in their eyes, and I wonder if it's from breathing the fresh mountain air.

Nemgyum set straight to brewing tea and whipping up a dinner of dhal, rice and veg, which to my delight is available everywhere in Nepal. She noticed my travel-weary appearance, and pointed out a communal tap in the village to wash up.

Some people look at me with a degree of friendly curiosity. Others have their daily work or other matters to deal with and just get on with it.

Everything seems to be in order and well planned in the villages in Upper Mustang. Buildings are well made. Paths and farm yards efficiently planned. Every purpose has it's space and every space has it's purpose.

After dinner we share a bottle of rice moonshine. Nemgyum was born in the area and had always lived here. Sonagjya from Paa pass turns out to be her brother.

Life in the mountains begins with the crack of dawn. The goats are looking active, and I curiously perch on a rock observe for a while. Three furry kids jostle over to check me out. I'm humbled by the attention as one of them rubs against my jeans like a pet cat… until it starts gnawing on the denim.

Sonagjya shows me a Tibetan astrological calendar and we both point to our birth dates. He has an infected bruise on his foot, and I can imagine it would be painful as he goes about daily herding work. Perhaps it was from an accident, though he obviously had it for a while. I give him some antiseptic cream, band aids and pain killers.

He and Santosh start setting the yard and burn a small leafy branch, and the subtle smell wafts in the air. Half a dozen goats from the herd wander towards the the smoke, but hestitate. Santosh explains they won't come because strangers are here.

I propose to Jiban the time for us to go has passed. I offer several gifts before setting off.

There is another opportunity to fill up at the spring, we then bypass the stone hut again and commence the short ascent to Paa pass. There’s time to celebrate the landmark at 4,400m before descending from the clouds.

The more important cairns marking paths through the mountains also serve as religious locations. They are adorned with fabric, hanging flags and symbols. I get the feeling passers-by routinely add to the Buddhist decorations.

The trek through the mountains of Upper Mustang continues to be breath taking. This region of Nepal has some of the most beautiful landscapes on the planet, and to be able to traverse them by foot is awe-inspiring.

The village of Tangge is no exception to this wondrous environment.

The tea house host is lovely and sets about tending to our needs without reservation, something not observed everywhere.

I doze for a few hours before dinner. A pet cow greets me outside my room, with a minimum of fuss.

It's off-season, and we are the only guests in the village. The host invites us to eat in their working quarters. Jiban has an extensive conversation and I run a translation app in the background, picking up a few threads. He is saying I am not a mountain person so the walk is harder.

The first leg of today’s epic ascent is steep, climbing 1,000m over 5km. There is barely a trail on the slippery slope and my bouldering skills spare me several times as I clamber up loose shale with my pack. Jiban powers through it like a wild mountain deer; in fact we saw a family of them half way up. They hop around near-vertical precipices like a dream.

We reach a plateau with a path several kilometres before the second ascent is due.

I see my first cairn, a stone pile used to sign paths through the mountains.

The heat is rising and the midday sun at this altitude is sharp, so thirst starts to kick in. We could only carry a couple of litres of water, and there are no tea houses or villages on this route. I play some music to keep up morale and Jiban gets into some groovy dancing.

The journey becomes trance like, step after step at a steady pace. Then to my astonishment, I see a bottle dropped next to the path. We debate if it was dropped accidentally. The liquid smells okay, so I run it through my water filter and take a sip. It's home-made soft drink, with lemon and sugar.

Parts of the path are not maintained, and I could seriously hurt myself if I slip down the edges.

We arrive at Paa Pass stone hut after 9 hours of hard hiking. There is still 2 hours to our destination and darkness is approaching, so I propose we sleep on the ground here.

We lament not having matches to light our stove, and can only find burnt ones around the site. I hear the distant sound of bells jingling. Jiban looks outside, and remarks in astonishment. 300 goats are running down the narrow trail towards a small natural spring next to the hut for a drink. Within minutes we are surrounded by the boisterous herd.

Jiban meets the shepherd and asks for matches, but instead he invites us to stay at his camp up the hill. His name is Santosh and his boss is Sonagjya. The two had a deep friendship, which seemed especially important in an environment like this. They extended their camaraderie to Jiban and I, even though I couldn't understand a word of what they were saying.

The herd was guarded by a young sheep dog, which barked twice upon our arrival and then settled down immediately. Apparently there had been a snow leopard stalking the area in recent nights.

Their farm yard was small walls made of piled stones, but for the best part the goats roam freely as a herd. There must have been an art to having the goats stay with them.

The tents were a traditional nomadic style, made from woven yak hair and inset to the ground by a foot, with a central fireplace. The fabric was thick and heavy, keeping the elements out and holding shape against strong winds. The insides were fully decked out living areas with solar panels and a battery, blankets, food, written materials, and kitchenware.

They offered us fresh meat for dinner, and I could tell by the looks on their faces that it was a gesture of considerable excitement, somewhat of a special meal. As much as I would've liked to agree to their hospitality, I had to refuse on principle of being vegan. The other three went about butchering a goat, which was a fairly involved activity. The sounds of the body being opened and cut apart were graphic.

We all settled into one of the tents to cook dinner, they made rice and several curry dishes, and Jiban and I made dhal. They had a pouch of jimbu, a herb from Himalayan Nepal that is a bit like chives. Jiban excitedly added it to the dish, and it tasted delicious.

I get the sense that people have a traditional life out here, and Chhusang village is no exception. I start exploring and admire the beautifully rendered walls, painted windows, and even decorated goat skulls to harbour good luck.

I am relaxing today to allow my body to adjust to the altitude at 3,000m, then tomorrow the hike is to 4,400m. However, I still have time to go for a run and even pluck up the courage to take the rope bridge over the river by myself.

I could see Gonpa Gang temple from Chhusang, and it looked like a deserted mountain side stupa, but I discovered there was more to it.

There were considerable restoration works underway to fortify the monument and protect against the kind of earthquakes that devastated Nepal in 2015. One of the workers invited me into the temple, and I explored its chambers and relics.

Back at Chhusang, I'm still in awe of the splendid natural surroundings with the arcane cliff faces, painted stupas, and my room in the apple orchard as the afternoon sun shines through the windows, lighting the walls up in a pale red hue. I feel superbly relaxed.

I quietly head out to explore before my guide, Jiban is ready for the day. My morning foray into Kagbeni reveals more tradition contrasted with the modern as I see Tibetan Buddhism as part of daily life. A store owner is opening for the day by lighting incense with an earthy aroma at the entrance. I ask him what kind of incense it is, and he nonchalantly explains “it’s just incense.” A few elderly folk quietly circle around a stupa on a main street, and a monk in maroon robes strides purposefully past a construction site.

There were more signs around town of swish looking building development underway, it was somewhat surreal.

I ask around for a gas canister for my cooker, and it turns out the tea house owner knows someone. They want a high price, and Jiban and I exchange glances, but I decide there isn’t much choice.

One of the more amusing sights as we depart is Yac Donalds. Despite not having any interest in eating there, their creative efforts deserve credit.

We start the trek for real with a steep clamber up a hill side with loose stone, as Jiban seemed keen for a short cut. The morning presents more breathtaking landscapes, like being on another planet.

Jiban has spoken several times about his planned itinerary along the main road to Lo Manthang. I set my mind to come up with a way to persuade him towards an alternative route.

The infamous strong winds near Kagbeni began like clockwork at midday, and combined with the sharp sun at 3,000 metres high make for an eventful walk. I take shelter behind a wall and start cooking lentils for lunch, but strangely they were harder than usual.

We have been following the road so far, and each time a car or motorbike passed they left a cloud of dust in their wake. It doesn’t bother me greatly, but I mention to Jiban there could be an alternative route.

We are nearing Chhusang in the afternoon, and it’s a fork in the road where an alternative route begins. Jiban proposes we progress to the next stop along the main road. I diffuse the question and call to spend a day in Chhusang, pointing out I should acclimatise to the high altitude.

Today’s walk was not particularly long particularly high, but it was good to get into the rhythm of carrying the bag and walking in the hot sun. There’s an obvious rhythm of the days and when it’s best to do things, with early starts being the modus operandi in this part of the world.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I thought of going to Nepal at the same time as dad without telling him and surprising him. I got one of my brothers to subtly ask what hotel he’s staying at, and just say it’s so there’s a point of contact if needed.

I went straight there from the airport. The hotel staff said he’d just gone out for the afternoon, so I asked for their help to call me when he returned. They were in.

I had just unpacked when they rang, and they kept it a secret. I had booked a place nearby and walked over. He was in the room so was completely unsuspecting when I knocked. He was definitely surprised!

The only downside was waking him up from a nap, leaving him confused for the first couple of seconds after opening the door.