I took a bus with a door plastered in Avril Lavigne/Jessica Alba stickers to get from one rural hamlet to another.
Thankfully, I was still amidst the jingle-jaggly throat throws of real Nepali music for the trips duration.
And then: oh, lovely, Bandipur.
Once an important trade route between China and Nepal, the town is historically Newari and is centered around one modestly majestic main.
It seemed a near utopia; an affluent village gem atop a mountain,
barely infiltrated by the sickle; keeping to itself as it radiated with its handful of humble lives.
And my, my; the valleys and hills that surround this town on a peak.
One of the trails led to three water spouts flowing with lush mountain water, like the archtype for those emulated in the lobbies of western spas. Bathing and laundering jovially took place among the cobblestone water sanctuary that it was.
The town bared a few surrounding temples. This small Shiva temple is more structurally reminiscent of a Tibetan monastery, and so it speaks for the unique lovechild of breeding Hinduism with Newari architecture.
And so it could be said that Hinduism, the dominant religion in Nepal, is manifest slightly more au-naturel than the glitz it often takes on in India.
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Flashback: entrance to the lion's mouth at the Hindu Devi Talab Mandir temple in Jalandhar, Punjab, India.
Oh yes, we waded through the water that occupied the tunnels inside him and rang the bell on top of the astro-turf mountain. Definitely a Hindu nativity park.
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Another temple lay above the steep peak of one of Bandipur's cone mounds; something resembling a miniature fairytale castle. The interior was affectionately blushed in puja powder; again with modest Nepali grace.
But temples aside and back down on the trails below, I was awarded with a throttling blue sky and an assemblage of architecture offering me quite a photographic series, indeed.
Judging by the sturdy brick abodes of this place and the prevalence of stone roads over dirt ones; this old trading town has done well for itself.
Not to mention the tele-communications tower.
It evoked nostalgia for my most favoured Victorian monolith, which was also photographed alongside skeletal trees.
Then towards a Gurkha war memorial along a befuddling ridge, which I candidly honoured with repeat visits.
The lost world continued with a hospital, as identifiable by the red cross and the cartoons displaying the ease of child bearing as posted outside the rooms amounting to five.
The hospital's maternity ward, and one fantastic geometric assemblage of bricks.
The closing remarks over an approach cumulus nimbus.
My awe-struck photo rampage taken upon that startling blue screen has now reached completion.
And so the path spit me out at a large picnic-party-parade-ground.
Here, a child was running around with a plastic bag over his head, manifesting his own darkness; which proved a rather innovative approach to the otherwise familiar activities of grazing on the grass and gazing over Bandipur's omnipresent ridge.
Back in the town square, the plastic chairs of one of three establishments catering to foreigners were accompanied by rainbow napkins peeping about with the foreboding growth of the town's tourist facade. Arre.
Soon I left to meet a friend in Pokhara, though as can be the complication with combining travel itineraries; he had come to intercept me in Bandipur - where we both were for a night, and missed.
And so - a quick dip into the far less appealing Pokhara, after which I soon found myself, two nights later, back in Bandipur.
The place just made my heart soggy.
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