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Bhaktapur

I wake up, my eyes still closed. The sounds coming from the streets of Bhaktapur (literally “Place of devotees”) take me back to my childhood in the old Mexican town of Cotija (perhaps I glance for a second at the universal thread that joins us all?). I open my eyes and look out to the street: the morning light bounces softly over the ancient, deliciously carved windows, showing me a view that many kings with their kingdoms at the other side of the world never had the fortune to see. I take my time and observe people buying vegetables, a basket of that famous curd, spices…, time stays still. I feel warm here, I could stay for a long, long time.