Friday night in Kathmandu. To me it seemed like pretty much any other night. The cars and motorbikes were swarming around like headless snakes, as they do over there, and the sound of horns and shouts filled the air just the same as it always does. Somewhere in the side alleys people were haggling over the price of jeans and t-shirts that say "I Love Nepal". I never saw anybody else except natives wear those, by the way, patriotism runs deep in Nepal, it seems.

But, alas, it was not like every other night. I got invited to the opening night of a brand new Newari restaurant. Hidden inside a somewhat dull looking building, on the third floor, a cozy looking restaurant appeared before my eyes. It was here that I sat down for my first typical Newari dish accompanied with generous amounts of rice beer. In all fairness to beer, however, rice beer is not beer. It is alcohol, it goes down nicely, but it isn't beer. There is actually nothing about the whole beverage that even remotely resembles beer. That doesn't matter, though. It fit the evening perfectly.

After the first 27 or so dishes, she appeared. The tables got pulled back and I had to drag my already shoe free feet backwards to see what was about to unfold. Dancing. I liked it. Hope you do, too.

Next time I'm in Kathmandu, which will be before long, I will surely pop in for round two. Maybe they will remember me...