The streets of Kathmandu are the veins of an ancient, magical being, overflowing with life supplied in abundance by its people. Light behaves differently here, it is warmer and flows more freely, as if pushed around by the chants of the monks, the myriad of sounds coming from the market, the ever present aroma of food and spices. The sun is relentless by day and the candles flow like an endless sea by night, thus there is always light and there are always shadows; but there are no strangers: the people are too gentle and too generous to leave anybody without a cup of warm masala chai in the cold mornings as the monks prepare for their initial prayers around the stupa. As you sit here with your eyes closed, taking everything in, you wonder if there is anything in the universe that does not project a shadow over Kathmandu.