Spent the night huddled outside with male goats at 13,000 feet – everytime they sneezed I awoke with a start and in the morning was blessed by a shower of poop pellets raining down around me as they rose and did their toilet.

Ahhh, acceptance.

Just in my bag, no tent outside the cave (not so much a cave as an indentation with no roof or overhang) of a Gujar family. Gujars are one caste among Chitralis who only live at high altitude and shepard goats – the women wear a pretty bead choker when married. This family was one thin bearded man (25 years old), his wife (20 years old), baby (2 years), younger sister (15 years), nephew (10 years) – all living in a space 2 meters by 2.5 meters in dimension with one chicken and the fire pit for cooking. The younger sister at 15, just at harvest time regarding marriage, was, I think, making eyes at me. The whole family did not seem to have had much schooling and were barely literate yet spoke four languages: Pushto, Urdu, Chitrali (Khowar) and Gujar.

The women played cruel games with me until the husband arrived – they were flirtatious and burst into laughter at my every move. God forgive me but the wife was ravishingly beautiful. Mountain flower – tenacious and full of power. The baby was terrified of me and hid his face the whole time. Ate chapati and cheese and ghee with them – all tasty and fart-inducing but I'm on a roll there anyway.