"All graceful instruments are known"
I'm at Ganesh Himal or the Hotel California honestly folk there's magic in the air. Sitting next to me is a hot blonde and when she dropped her purse and bent over a tramp stamp was revealed on her lower back. None other than a butterfly. I like butterflies and tattoos are a natural expression of individuality. This seedy anecdote is a reminder that I'm not in Bhutan anymore. Just step outside into the mayhem where absolutely no traffic laws exist worse than Hanoi. I took a rickshaw voyage along the polluted riverbank in the hazy afternoon light over bumpy dirt road and back into the windy incense lanes of Thamel. I had my canopy of stars an moons pulled over my head concealing me like a prince. It's a nice way to see the city an you haven't lived until you've rode caboose on a bicycle rickshaw.
From the rooftop of this remarkable establishment one views the tall Newari buildings clambering to the horizon and a trio of ravens glide above the haze into the blue. The valley is ringed with snow capped peaks that dwarf the millions of souls below.