‘I had a pretty idyllic childhood,’ he continues as he hands me my mug. ‘The sun and surf make up for a lot of other shortfalls. I wanted for nothing—except parents who could get their act together. My folks were childhood sweethearts, but they split when I was still young. They like each other better now and they’ve both remarried—several times. Neither of them has been out here. I just don’t think they’d get it. My father always asks me what I drive. When I say “no car, no roads,” he thinks I’m kidding him.’

‘Is there a Betty Jane replacement out here?’ I guess I should find out before I find myself lusting after another hopeless case. And I do think I might be suffering from a mild onset of lust.

‘No.’ He looks fairly adamant. ‘All the local women have arranged marriages from about the age of ten to the boy next door. I don’t get a look in. Most of them would run a mile from getting mixed up with a crazy American. In a lot of ways I’m still an outsider. I guess I always will be.’

‘So what do you do for fun?’ I think that sounds a bit more provocative than I intend it to.

‘I live just outside Pokhara, and every now and then I stay in town for a few days. Let off a little steam. There’s a steady flow of trekkers to keep me amused.’

I look away from him.

‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that,’ he says. ‘Here, you offer commitment, you don’t fool around. I have the occasional date, not much more.’

I’m not sure that I believe him. I bet he has a stream of carefree, sun-bleached, buxom Aussie trekkers beating a path to his door. ‘Don’t you miss all that?’

‘Not really. Sometimes I get lonely. I think I’ve become more spiritual since I’ve been here,’ he says. ‘Does that sound too wacko?’

I shake my head.

‘The people here are so beautiful and humble, it forces you to reassess your behaviour too. The only gods I worshipped before were movie stars. These people live by old laws. I’m more gentle now and, I hope, more caring.’