Taksar, our first camp

We toil up the mountainside in the warm sun to the gentle singing of cicadas... There's another noise, which sounds strangely akin to a piercing factory siren. Dawa and Karna tell me it's a particular species of bee responsible for this mechanistic shrieking...

Then there's the universal clamour of children playing. I can't quite believe we pass two or three of these four-seated swing wheels and I miss a photo opportunity each time.
I have several shots of the bamboo swings, but none of these incredible wooden contraptions which I'm sure have contributed substantially to Nepal's infant mortality...
It's not that I feel they're hugely dangerous in themselves, it's their positions and the way the tinies run around underneath that alarms me! One wrong move and they plunge downwards...

We arrive at camp as our porters are setting up for us. The kerosene burner is fired up for a cuppa (tea and biscuits - how English is that?) and for our supper later - and layers go on; the sun is sinking behind the mountain, the temperature is dropping.


I sit on the edge of the crop terrace where our tents are being pitched, gazing at this wonderful vista of mountains stretching for miles back towards Kathmandu, and the enormity of being here is overwhelming.

I'm only here because lots of people supported this crazy notion of mine to test my mettle against a challenge I couldn't begin to fully imagine. Nearing the end of the first day - which is only really half a day - and I am so tired, and understandably anxious about how I'll feel tomorrow morning.

I feel the support and goodwill that brought me to this place acutely as I drink in the vastness before me.
It's a profoundly moving and humbling moment.