After living India, Kathmandu hits like a western shock wave. Familiar goods are display in shop windows, beef burgers joints, bars with beer on tap, Japanese made cars on the road. And aggressive, sinister black dress, mirror shades, leather - think Mafia and you will be right in terms of style and lifestyle, the underworld is strong here and militant. Subsequent events following the royal family killings - riots, disturbances, demonstrations - are played out on a regular if lower key basis - student bus fares, accident in the wrong area of town, police aggression - all give regular tensions in the streets at night. A volatile atmosphere at odds with the overwhelming Buddhist legacy.

The remarkable Durbar Square with its age old wooden buildings, twisted as though the wood has grown - expanded - in defiance of its original intricately carved shape. Follow the tell tale track of rumbling prayer wheels around one of the temples and catch a glimpse at the hand that motivates them, releasing their spells.

Unfortunately the views remained resolutely valley locked apart from the last day when, in a taxi, suddenly snowy peaks pour through our windows, at last cutting through the polluted air.

Kathmandu: mythical gateway to the Himalayas and a haven to those who return.