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but faithfully, a true companion. In the suburbs of Kathmandu, an 18-year-old boy named Harty stopped me.
“ You have a nice foreign face,” he said. He took me to meet his family— seven siblings, one room, and a mother who fed the neighbourhood’ s children every day. I helped him serve meals to the kids, each one clutching a dented metal bowl, smiling as if the world had just been made new.
In that moment, I understood what this journey had been about. Not adventure for its own sake, but connection— the quiet, unplanned grace that finds you when you surrender to the road. I had gone looking for mountains and meaning, and somehow, I had found both. RAC
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