Temples, tiger balm and tongba in Kathmandu

First stop on our trail: Nepal. Or more specifically, Kathmandu, which really isn't Nepal at all - rather its flamboyant and frenzied cousin knocking travellers, and wannabe trekkers, sideways.

After a whirlwind taxi journey that shook us out of our weary plane coma, we settled into our hotel with its rooftop garden and mountain views. As we are in the last month of the monsoon season in Nepal, the sky started to ink and heavy rain let rip on the city as we negotiated the 64 zips and clips on our brand new backpacks. The rain unveils a fresh, cooler city and we stepped outside.

Kathmandu is a feast for all our senses, pumping with traffic, people, and the occasional rabid dog. In the din of blaring horns (which, it's worth noting, don't compare in decibels or frequency to Indian horns), chiming cycle-rickshaws, revved-up engines, women, and even children, carrying impossibly heavy loads on their backs, tiger balm sellers and other retailers hawking their goods, we walked past shops selling just about everything, each adding their own flecks of colour to the vibrant paint pallet of Kathmandu.

Sharing beer and Tibetan momos (dumplings) on a rooftop in Thamel, we toasted our 12 month adventure as we looked out to the Swayambhunath temple and mountains beyond. Subhakamana!

The next day we headed for Durbar Square, the pulsing heart of the old town where the Nepali kings once ruled. Anchored with Hindu and Buddhist monasteries, standing side by side, it is a World Heritage Site that is treated as a busy market place, casual hang out and traffic thoroughfare - we took about five minutes to digest the scene.

Trying to shake off our would-be guides and trinket sellers, it soon dawned on us that something unusual was happening. Everywhere we looked there were hundreds, if not thousands, of women and young girls in luscious, red saris; men in traditional, checkered Nepali cloth hats; Sadhu holy men in orange and red robes with faces painted like African warriors - all flowing past us in a kaleidoscope of colour. We later learned it was Teej - Nepal's fasting festival for Hindu women.

Making our way through the heaving crowd of ruby red, with small pockets of dancing and drumming, we witnessed beautiful Nepali women, adorned with beads and sequins, queuing through the streets to give puja - praying for marital bliss, the well being of their husbands and

children and purification of their own body and soul.

We would occasionally stand on the edge of the crowd, overwhelmed, and let the whirl of colours and movement rush by, astonished to see rickshaws, handcarts, bicycles and even motorcycles forcing themselves through the scarlet throngs without touching a soul. We followed the queue out of the square and looked back in wonder at what we had just witnessed.

Welcome to Nepal!

The festival got us into the rhythm of the city and we drifted through the winding streets, encountering temples at every crossroad and chowk. We sheltered from monsoon rains atop the Swayambhunath temple and watched monkeys huddling together to keep dry; we headed to the wealthy district of Patan, once a fiercely independent state but now a quiet suburb of Kathmandu; we shared Tibetan food and tongba (a millet-based drink that is like Sake to the Japanese); we settled into Nepal and looked forward to the month that lies ahead of us.