Walking everywhere, into shops, houses, homes, festivals and farms, the city unfolleded itself, no RSVP needed. The people – laughing, smiling, and giving – welcomed us in. Always concerned, always available and connecting, they constantly surprised.


    With each street corner acting like theatre curtain, a new cast and location would be set for the next scene. Sometimes washing, sometimes cooking and killing, sometimes guiding and helping, we were treated like new family.

    I felt so incredibly welcome.

    But it wasn’t always roses. The people were living, loving and dying, with or without us.

    The begging adults and children had to deal with life and death, right there and then, and we were obviously fabulously weathly in comparison with most.

    We were staying in a quiet neighbourhood, and dropping into the city was like stepping onto a stage, surrounded by players who already knew their lines. The leafy roads of home soon dissolved, and the raucous city quickly overtook us.

    Paraded in front of our endlessly walking feet, the sights and sounds called for our attention, and the people bubbled and popped into view, a forever flowing river of humanity.