i'm actually back in kathmandu now, but this picture of fewa tal (pokhara's famous lake) brings back a bit of that fresh air feeling which is sorely missing here in the congested city.

nepal is an incredibly beautiful country, once you get out of the built up areas. we hadn't planned to stay in pokhara as long as we did, but if your mum's going to slip in a monsoon storm and break her arm, necessitating a cast for six weeks, then pokhara is the place for it to happen.

we stayed in a guest house run by the tibetan family of the pestalozzi director from dehradun and awoke to views of machhapuchhre through one window (the as yet untouched fish tail mountain) and the world peace pagoda above the lake through another.

i got into a routine of getting up at 4am to go for walks along the lake before the sun came up, walking as far out as time would allow and stopping to have tea with village families who were preparing for the day ahead. these interactions with local nepalis were wonderful. i have found people here to be incredibly open, friendly and welcoming, and the lack of common language not a problem between people who enjoy smiling so much. the children, especially, are such a joy.

mum and i took part in further selection tests and home visits for the upcoming intake of pestalozzi children, which was fascinating and humbling, but otherwise the two and a half weeks in pokhara passed by in a dream of walks, views, cafes, and hospitals. the closest we got to the annapurnas was when we took a taxi to sarangkot one morning (a hill station above pokhara) to watch the dawn break over the mountain range. beautiful.

the highest we got was probably in gorkha - the ancient capital and former name of nepal, half way between pokhara and kathmandu - where we climbed up 1500 steps to a temple above the small town and were afforded gorgeous views in every direction. i'm very tempted to come back to nepal and do some 'proper' trekking at some point, although the way my calves complained (for days) after all those steps, i'd have to do some serious training before attempting anything too ambitious.

i miss those hills here in thamel - tourist-ville of kathmandu - where an endless stream of taxis, cycle rick-shaws, motorbikes and people squeeze through the narrow and monsoon-muddy streets. but tomorrow i say goodbye to nepal as i head back to india for a final blast of heat and curries before returning to the uk in just 9 days time...

it took two days to get here from dehradun: the overnight train east to gorakhpur was great; the jeep north to sunauli was jam packed with 13 sweating people; the cycle rickshaw over the border was precarious in amongst the lorries; the overnight bus to kathmandu was painful for the long-limbed; and the taxi to the hotel was daylight robbery!

i made some friends on the train and passed the time playing them indian and nepali tunes on the flute and violin, which made me very popular. but then i lost my new friends crossing the border and continued north alone. as a single white [very tired] female i guess i was easy prey and got ripped off by some dodgy geezer when i arrived in the big city at dawn. nepal is apparently the second poorest country in the world after somalia, so i hope this guy enjoys the bit of cash he got from me.

everybody else in kathmandu is incredibly friendly and polite and i've spent the last few days lazily loafing around, taking advantage of hotel room service and hammocks, international food and, best of all, high roof terrace views. at first sight, the city is a tourist heaven, with funky cafes and gift shops, stunning temples and prayer flags fluttering in the breeze. but three days of wandering from one eatery to the next is enough.

it's impossible to ignore the stark contrast in living standards between the [numerous] western tourists and the local people; the bright appealing shopping areas for us moneyed folk and the chaotic grimy bazaars where the nepalis shop; the exclusive roof-top restaurants where i sip my cappuccinos while reading my novels and the squalid corners where street kids stuff crumbs into their mouths. when will my charming nepali waiter get to head off on holiday, and lounge around in london bars, writing his latest thoughts on life in his personal diary?

this is the first time that i have been a proper tourist - in south india i was hosted by jaise and in the north i was working and felt more like a resident than a visitor - so i'm grateful that my pestalozzi colleagues have now arrived from dehradun and i will be engaged for the next few days in helping them with the selection of nepali children to join next year. i'm really looking forward to getting involved with the locals again, assisting with the children's tests tomorrow and then making home visits to the successful families - an exciting opportunity to see behind the scenes!

it has been quite an experience. i'd never lived with kids before, so the pestalozzi foundation house, with its 25 (lovely but nevertheless demanding) children has been a huge change in way of life for me. with just a few days left before i leave for nepal i'm preparing to say goodbye to everyone and am making the most of the time i have left here. i am ready to go now though. since the children started going to school a month ago, my job has been one of chasing rather than teaching, which isn't half as much fun. i'm really looking forward to having some freedom back, and exploring further afield.

and the water is running out. the residential house we're living in was not designed to hold 28 people, and as the weather hots up (and we all crave more and more cold showers) there is increasingly less water coming into the tanks. it's a real problem and rainwater harvesting hasn't yet caught on here either, which is puzzling.

in this heat, my favourite time is at night, sleeping under the stars (and a mosquito net) on the roof, where i'm also out of earshot of those pesky noisy children. the last couple of nights, however, i've had to make a hasty retreat inside due to dramatic lightning storms that light up the sky, as well as the town of mussoorie on the hills above dehradun. the wind rips through the house, and all the doors bang open and shut, like some crazy horror movie, with cups smashing in the kitchen and washing strewn here and there in the morning.

we're all off pick-nicking this weekend to celebrate my departure, and i'm promised the possibility of swimming again at the spot where we're going. some of the nepalese kids i might see again while i'm in nepal, but to the others it is goodbye and good luck, and thank you for a fantastic time!

tiuni is a small town in the himalayas and it takes about 10 hours to get there on a bus. i was very lucky to have a seat. the ticket conducter spent most of the journey on the roof, along with many other people. in fact, it seemed to be a game of 'how many people can you a adorn a bus with', but all with much humour and big smiles. 10 hours is a long time to spend on a bus, but the views were spectacular and uma, my travelling companion, is excellent company. the himalayas are really big, and really rather impressive.

we went to tiuni for preliminary selection of children to come to pestalozzi next year. it is a very remote place and the level of education available in local schools there varies, but is generally pretty poor. anyone with any money sends their children on the long journey to dehradun, to attend schools in the [comparative] big smoke. we were looking for families of the top students who couldn't afford to do this. it was a real privilege also to visit the homes of present pestalozzi children and get a fuller picture of where these children come from and the dramatic change it is for them to live in a hostel in dehradun, far away from their families.

uma and i stayed with ashok, the one and only local doctor, who is a very busy man. his house is above the fast flowing river - the loudest thing in tiuni - whose noise i would go to sleep with each night, with a belly full of ashok's wife's wonderful food. four days in the mountains were a most welcome break from the busy routine of school and book/uniform buying that has been consuming all of my time recently. i feel good in the mountains, where the air is pure and the people are innocent, and i am very much looking forward to returning to the himalayas in a few weeks; this time in nepal, where my mother is meeting me - hurrah!

the weather in tiuni was rather reminiscent of wales - cool and wet, with a wonderful freshness hanging everywhere - and a pleasant reprieve from the heat of dehradun, where it is now summer and very hot. i think back to those chill blained days in winter and wonder if they really can be only a couple of months ago. i've just come back from another off day in rishikesh, where the temperatures are even higher, and i could do nothing during the day but lie under a fan and watch the ganges flow past while reading my book. it was very hard work...

holi is the hindu festival of colour, a celebration of the end of the cold period and the beginning of the hot season, and an excuse for anyone and everyone to go wild in the streets. i was somewhat anxious about holi arriving, as we'd been warned to keep the hostel gates shut and wear only our oldest and scruffiest clothes. as a woman i was also warned to watch out for men's roaming hands... just what was going to happen to me?

there are wet holis and dry holis, depending on whether or not water is mixed with the coloured powder that was on sale in shops everywhere. this year was a dry holi and we bought each child a pack of bright coloured dye, plus a few water guns, because 'dry holi' or not, rules are never adhered to india. hair and body fully oiled to prevent permanent staining, we went to our science teacher's house to play. married to the chief brigadier of this region, she enjoys the perks of a high-end army life and lives in a mansion surrounded by vast lawns and incredible flowers, as colourful as our faces became.

playing holi was a lot of fun and continued in the street back home, where we threw water-filled balloons at our neighbours and laughed at the drunks stumbling by (drunk people are rare in india, compared to in the uk, but when you do see them they are like cartoon caricatures, unable to walk in a straight line and singing at the tops of their voices).

easter sunday was a tranquil affair by comparison, with a chocolate hunt and dance performances. i accompanied our two christian children to church in the morning, or rather i waited outside as the hindi service took place inside to loud indian music. we have hindu, christian, muslim and buddhist children (with me the non-religious infidel in their midst) and we celebrate the festivals of all the respective faiths.

we're getting up at 4:45am these days to practise for the start of school next week. i only ever used to see that time in the morning because i hadn't yet gone to bed. waking now at this time i realise it is the hour of the dog chorus (and there are many dogs), which comes before the bird chorus. with an early breakfast it's then a long time til lunch. if only there was something other than rice and dahl... in fact, as it's my off day, i just might go and make myself some mashed potatoes instead, perhaps even with a bit of tomatoe sauce.

salwa kameses (the popular long dress and baggy trouser suits) have given way to sarees as summer hits north india. last night i experienced my first indian wedding, or at least a small part of an indian wedding, because these functions last for days. i attended the reception party of some neighbours of my friend uma and was privileged to witness the impressive spectacle of an indian bride. uma dressed me up in a fabulous saree and i hope that my unusual presence at the event did not detract too much attention from the happy couple (although i didn't see either one smiling that much). the elaborate decorations on and around the new husband and wife were in stark contrast to the mess of food and plastic cups that littered the huge flashing marquee. having taken delight in spending a couple of hours getting ready, trying on an assortment of uma's sarees and grappling with the metres of slippery fabric, we left the reception pretty quickly, as soon as we had queued up to have our pictures taken with the bride and groom and eaten a bit of the vast array of food. weddings are big business in india and i shudder to think how much last night's affair cost. i loved wearing a saree, however, and have been lent a couple to practise with; it's really quite important to tie them up correctly.

the children are at home for just another few weeks before they start going to school. now is a time of entrance tests and uniform puchasing, books, pens, shoes and bags. as a treat for all their hard work, we all went to a river at the weekend to swim, which was heavenly. modesty demanded i wear clothes to swim but that could not stop me from delighting in the rare pleasure of being in water. it's getting hotter here every day and lunchtime siestas are starting to make a lot of sense.

i've just realised that i have my dress on inside out, so am going to run home before anyone notices. it seems i haven't quite mastered the art of indian clothes yet after all ...

monday was officially the first day of spring in india, celebrated with a festival called vasant panchami, when hindus wear yellow and the world is a brighter, happier place. i wore a borrowed yellow suit and welcomed in the spring by returning to rishikesh, the heavenly town on the ganges, which is surely hippy paradise. i've made friends with a charming man who runs a small restaurant/guest house on the banks of the river and is very discerning about the people he allows to eat/stay there. unlike indians everywhere else, who are always trying to intice you into their shops, he turns away anyone he does not like the look of; the lucky ones are welcomed with open arms and fine japanese/italian/chinese food (and splendid homemade spinach bread) and charged a measly rs 50 a night to sleep with the most fantastic view of the ganges. i wasn't even allowed to pay the rs 50 however, or to pay for my dinner, as i provided a couple of hours of violin playing instead. rishikesh offers yoga classes galore and every other person walking the paths along the river is a sadhu dressed in saffron, lending a very spiritual, peaceful air to the whole place. i took a great yoga class in a hall overlooking the ganges and was able to the see the lights of the pooja that takes place every evening on the river in front of the main ashram, listening to the drums and chanting as i attempted to balance on my head. pretty special.
as much as i love it, i am not going to move to rishikesh, as i joked to the pestalozzi director (who has already lost enough house mothers this year), but am certainly keen to return as often as my off days allow. meanwhile back in dehradun, the sun is shining brightly and it really does feel as if spring has sprung. the birds are tweeting loudly, the trees are blossoming, and the monkies are going mental. they stole one of each of three pairs of my favourite woolly socks from the roof. why didn't they just take a pair, instead of leaving me with three odd socks?

india is a treat for the senses: sights, sounds, smells, tastes and sensations

things i notice...
sights - the cows, freely wandering the streets, looking for any eatables (as everyone calls edible foods), sometimes adorned with colourful necklaces, bellies perhaps swollen with young; a bull with pained horns. although i have never seen them being aggressive, the children keep their distance, afraid. but i watch this nationally celebrated animal up close, touching the camel-like hump in bemusement, just what is it for? also the monkies, swinging, arguing, grooming and pulling faces, so like humans.

sounds - chanting from the hindu temple round the corner, which i sometimes wake to, but which starts before my morning alarm, and is audible again after dark. then, the clear ring of the little bell we use to signal the start and end of classes/dinner etc. which i've not heard since my days at primary school. i remember the excitement these children have of occasionally being allowed to ring it. then the car horns! i can only imagine that it is for the simple fun of making noise that the indian drivers use their horns so much, as blowing the horn achieves very little in stationary traffic, other than to illicit an equally noisy reply from neighbouring vehicles.

smells - incense, filling the air of the busy market streets, in contrast to the rancid smells lingering around overfloing bins or the smoke of rubbish (plasic and organic) being burned. or the slightly sickly, unfamiliar smell that fills the house once a week when the milk cream is boiled to make ghee (each morning i scoop the hardened top off the large bowl of milk that was heated the night before and collect this thick cream in a tub). the leftover liquid is used to make wonderful homemade halwa, which is soft and totally different to the hard, pure honey & sesame halva we have in the uk.

tastes - cardamom is the first taste of the day as i crack pods with my teeth to make either chai or cowboy coffee (heated in a pan, like the tea, then strained). followed by the joy of chilli. hot chilli sauce on chipattis and dahl, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. the chilli makes my nose run and lips burn, but even as i gulp down water to ease the pain, i am reaching for seconds. there is a perverse pleasure in sucking air through my teeth to try and cool my burning, watering, mouth, and it surely adds a bit of fire to the freezing temperatures? in contrast to the chilli, yummy indian sweets. sticky; hard; infinitely varied. whole shops are dedicated just to sweets, with shelf after shelf of colourful, neatly displayed treats.

sensations - feeling the water of the river ganges flow over my feet; the sun on my face after a freezing night; and, i'm afraid, the pain of chill blains in my fingers (who would have thought i'd come to india and get chill blains! many of the children are suffering too) and the irritation of nits in my hair. aren't children just wonderful?

it's not really that cold, i suppose, because i'm not wearing a coat, or shoes, but the sun has failed to make a proper appearence for a few days now, and we even had thunder and lightning yesterday, which was actually really exciting.

i took the first 5 children to sit their school entrance exam this morning and had tears in my eyes as i waved them off. their intense studying for the past 6 months has all been for this one test ... but we greeted them again after three hours to shouts of how easy it was, so all the hard work must have paid off! five down and twenty to go ...

if the hills aren't too very ovscured by the thick fog that can tend to shroud them, we plan to take the children up to Mussorie tomorrow - one and a half hrs from here - as a treat, and a welcome change of atmosphere for us all. it can get quite intense being in the house all day, and i'm looking forward to seeing a new town, and hopefully even some views of those big old mountains...

i'm reading a great book about indian-english, which provides a fascinating insight into, and explanation of, the use [and frequent bastardisation] of english by indians. hilarious, and oh so accurate. i'll try note down some examples for next time.

missing my friends. big hugs to you all.

i'm settling into my new teacher/mother life now and finding both roles very rewarding. the children are so affectionate and quick to learn. We've been singing 'you are my sunshine' a lot together, and when i went to say goodnight to the girls a few days ago they sang me "you are our suzanne ma'm, our only suzanne ma'm, you make us happy when we are sad ... please don't take our suzanne ma'm away". i nearly cried.

they're learning the flute now too, and some have already mastered 'twinkle twinkle', which will no doubt be a relief to the neighbours, who have been subjected to high pitch screeching noises every break time since the children were each awarded their own instrument of torture!

i thought the many monkeys lingering around the house were so cute ... until they ganged up on me one day when i was alone hanging washing out on the roof. three of them crept up and jumped on me, and my screams of surprise brought lobsang la ma'm and vikrand running upstairs, thinking i had fallen off the roof or something. a bit embarassing, but i'd done nothing to provoke them; why would they go for me like that?!

having largely avoided budgets in my 3 years of fundraising, i am now responsible for my own expenses, those of the household, and the pocket money of all the kids, each budget recorded in a separate book, requiring 'bills' (receipts) for even the smallest amount - another example of the incredible lengths indians go to to make life as bureaucratic as possible! i prefer being with the kids than the figures, but i'm getting to grips with it all now.

my first day off took me into town and its busy market streets, where it is definitely an advantage to go with a local/hindi speaker. shops just aren't obvious in the way there are in the UK (it took me a few attempts to find the post office when i went alone for the first time, as there is no big red sign announcing its presence; you have to look really carefully to see that this particular counter handles letters rather than chickens or onions, which are also outside, camouflaging the post box). but on monday, aided by gayatri, i managed to select some beautiful material from the vast array on offer and was measured up by one of the many tailors scattered around the streets. my first made-to-measure outfits will be ready on sunday! can it really true that it will cost only 200 rupees (about $5) to have two new suits made just for me???