Before I can go to China, my backpack is inspected, and my ukulele unwrapped. I play the border guard my Hakuna Matata with a raspy voice. They get excited.

Once again I get on a bus to Kathmandu and tumble out, after being thoroughly shaken for 8 hours and 18,837 potholes.

I decide to go on another trek: the Anapurna circuit. I get the permits, buy some pecks, walking sticks and provisions. When the day comes that I'm supposed to leave, I stay where I am.

Holi is known as the Indian Color festival around the world, but it's much more than just a celebration of the powder that is thrown in the air on that day. Spring is welcomed and every color brings a blessing.

Over the walls and the floor I feel the vibration of the gong more than I hear the sound. The gong sounds with bells, traditional oboes and the never-ending Tibetan laryngeal song that echoes over the speakers like a rattling chainsaw.

The cab rolls up the mountain with difficulty, and on top one after the other we tumble out of the car and onto Monastery property. We are received by a young monk with 110 other students.

When I leave my dorm at 4:30 am I don't hear a sound. I get dressed, get ready and step out of the hut. The starry sky is clear, the moon shines bright, but I'm the only one out here.

I have read so many old texts and stories, but I only understood how it feels to be thrown around a carriage for twenty kilometres, since I drove from Pokhara to Phedi, unbelted and in the back seat, with an annoyed taxi driver. Memorable.

In Pokhara, the second largest city in Nepal, I get lucky and stay in a super comfortable hostel. The dormitories have wooden beds, and curtains surround each, a rarity in Nepal.

One morning in my second week in Nagarkot, I wake up and find an e-mail from China. My planned entry into Tibet is impossible because the Tibetan New Year falls on my travel dates.