Back in Kathmandu

It's January 2011 and I am back in Kathmandu. The differences don't seem so, well, different somehow this time. It is five-and-a-half months since I was last here and it feels like only yesterday.

The street seller squats by a basket of gooseberries on the dusty pavement. I am walking to get my bus and, tempted by the sight of something familiar, I stop to buy a papercone full of the round, green fruit.

'Amala,' he tells me their name in Nepali, 'Amala. Not sweet.'
'I know,' I smile. 'I know these from England.' The sharp, fresh taste of gooseberries awaits me. 10 Rupees, about 8 pence, and I take my Amala home to cook and enjoy.

A short lesson in language ... 'Amala' in Nepali means 'Gooseberry'. In Tibetan it means 'Mother'.

They take a while to soften - much longer than I thought. Their skins are tougher. In the end I try one even though they haven't fully softened. I bite hard and ... 'eugh' ... a large stone, or pip, in the middle catches my teeth. Gooseberries these are not.

My meals are a mixture of Nepali Dal Bhat (dal and rice), Tibetan Thuk Pa (noodles) and whatever I cook with the local fresh vegetables. There is so much fresh food here to choose from. Street sellers, barrow-men and -women, fruit stands, vegetable stands. There is certainly no shortage. There are even Western coffee shops with WiFi (which is where I am sitting now). All tastes catered for.