Kathmandu is like a giant time, money and energy vacuum. I've now spent a total of fifteen days in this place and it's starting to feel like home. I must say I'm gaining quite an affection for the stream of bell-ringing cycle rickshaws rumbling past, wandering men pushing jars of Tiger Balm, the not-so-hushed tones of teenage boys offering "hash? ee-shmoke?" and less-so, the omni-present blue camouflage armed-soldiers patrolling the streets and beggars' constant cries of "Hello sister! Rupees!"

Tourists in India and Nepal are discouraged from giving handouts and prominently displayed signs on the streets plead "Do not encourage the beggars." In India, I was mostly too scared to get close enough to the often disfigured, limbless or tongueless beggars to hand them anything. Over time I've become a bit jaded perhaps, unable to pick and choose from the sea of destitute faces and outstretched hands. Generally, I give money to no-one.

The 26th was my birthday and the day began with me getting scammed. A Nepali woman carrying a young boy walks alongside me in the gutter with the usual attention-getting tactics. I ignore her at first but she insists she wants no money, only milk for her son. I'm feeling generous so I walk with her to the grocery store and unload 240 rupees ($3.50, about three times what I pay per night for accomodation) for baby formula. She smiles warmly and tells me all about her "good American friends." It wasn't until after I walked away that it occured to me, "Duh. She's Nepali. Surely she's not spending twice the nation's average daily wage on fake milk for her baby." Turns out to be a well-known scam here; the woman sells the milk back to the store for slightly less than what I paid for it. The woman makes a bundle, the shopkeeper puts it back on the shelf to sell again to some unsuspecting sucker such as myself and makes double the profit. Arg. Back to being a stingy asshole.

The rest of the day was perfect. Lauren and Jai took me to brunch at a New Orleans themed restaurant (pancakes, eggs and a bloody mary). Lauren and I then took a treacherous taxi ride on Kathmandu's desperately under-budgeted roads to Kopan, a Tibetan Buddhist Monastery with colorful gardens and hundreds of fluttering prayer flags atop a hill overlooking the Kathmandu Valley. We had a peaceful moment, checked out some hot monks and headed back to Thamel to get the party started.

My smiling, sweet birthday posse (including wacky and wonderful Mark and Monique from the trek) met me at OR2K to assemble for our field trip to the foreigners-only Casino Royale where the real fun began. Sure, it's no Vegas but it's a low budget backpacker's dream. No minimum chip purchase and a boatload of freebies. Yummy buffet dinner, free drinks and cigarettes at the tables, free shave or haircut, palm reading and massage. A Punjabi millionaire diamond mine owner and his friends invited us to join them for dinner at their giant VIP booth where they proceeded to crack jokes and ply us with alcohol while we watched the rediculous lip synch stage show. At the end of the meal, my friends presented me with a piece of raspberry cheesecake from the buffet with a candle, the Punjabs bought me a bottle of champagne and the band sang Happy Birthday in Nepali while I danced around and took photos of all my drunk happy friends.

My luck was up on Black Jack, down on Roulette, but I ended 100 rupees up after placing a last-minute save-face 500 rupee bet on red. I ignored the glares of the other (mostly-Indian) gamblers who appeared to be taking their game verrrry seriously while I bounced around excitedly waving my piddling stack of chips. The night ended with a drink and a good stomp at Funky Buddha Club and me feeling like I'm ready for 29.

Lauren and I will both leave Kathmandu in the next couple of days and make a run for the border. My plan is to spend the next two months or so in the cool of the Indian Himalaya but I'm now accepting that anything could happen. More from there.