Nepalese temple balls

No I haven't had any, honest mum. It seems in my wibbly state all smells are too strong especially chemical ones. However I do miss that niff of burning rubbish piles all over Sri Lanka. They do love a good sweep. A lot of effort goes into, well sweeping. And then the offerings are cremated unceremoniously causing suspicious smells of burnt plastic. Yum. So yes I got to Nepal. No thanks to anyone including air stewards who were no help. By the transfer in India I'd already been sick once and had to wait in a huge queue to check through for connecting flight two, nearly missing connecting flight two. In the "Body Check" cabin, shut-me-in- and-frisk- me-down, yet again I've managed to come through Indian customs with an illicit metal object in my hand luggage. S**t. Last time it was an unidentifiable metal weird thing (Jammer you don't know this but your backpack is making its way around Asia with me. The "thing" was yours; its now in an Indian bin). The offending object is a jaw harp. This is small and sharp and made from a bullet casing. She zeroes in on it. I feel like I want to puke. Keep it together as I don't want to be quarantined in Delhi. "Its an instrument", I offer. She looks at me. "See?" Oh what the hell, this better be good. "Look!" ....."Zhiggy Boing Ding!!!!" I look up hopefully. "Diggy boing boing....." I seranade her. She looks at me with disgust and I am struck by the absurdity of the human condition. Or maybe just my own ragged condition. She waves me through.
Flight number two and I m really unwell now and puke again, the only saving grace is having no seat neighbours. An Aussie drama queen is taking all the attention. She already called for a doctor in the flight (Most dramatic - "IS there a doctor on board? Please make yourself known to cabin crew!") Stagger off plane unable to walk. No-one helps. Feel very sorry for myself. A woman named Marianne turns out to be my gurardian angel and gets me in and through customs and helped generally. I blub as its all too much. She is very kind. And she is in a wheelchair. Aussie drama merchant is in my taxi transfer bus and seems fine despite exiting the plane in a wheelchair. Silly bitch. She helpfully suggests I may have typhoid and proceeds to witter on all the way to the guesthouse. I want to kick her but have no energy so just ignore her. It seems my travellers good will box has reached an empty setting and needs a refuel. I need a helper, but on the road, despite helpful people, I am travelling solo, staggering around trying to make sense of the motorbikes, ancient carnival-esque bike taxis, Serengi players and Gore Tex clad hoards of keen trekkers-to-be in Kathmandu. Give me a cold coke and a darkened room......