Sleeping on a rock-hard mattress, bathing from a bucket and living without electricity or other technologies isn’t what most people would describe as the perfect holiday. But for me, spending two months in Kathmandu, Nepal was a dream come true.Since I was 18 years old I dreamed of packing up a rucksack and discovering what treasures the world outside our tiny 21-square mile rock had to offer.Because of my day-to-day responsibilities - school, work and the like - accomplishing this goal seemed not only terrifying, but near impossible. But then a day came last summer when I decided it was time to act.I got out my debit card and booked flights to some of the places I have always longed to visit. I risked losing my job, and said goodbye to family, friends and modern comforts to spend three months travelling through Asia.It was terrifying, yet exhilarating. I had no idea what awaited me on the other side of the globe, but walked in faith that everything would work out all right.I landed in Kathmandu, Nepal - a city filled with religious temples and signs of political turmoil - on January 16. Planning ahead I had arranged to live and volunteer at an orphanage I discovered online called HORAC (Home of the Rescued and Afflicted Children).Within an hour of my arrival, while still jet-lagged and in desperate need of a shower, I was introduced to 37 young people who would impact my life immeasurably.The children, between age three and 18, were beautiful. They possessed an interesting mix of Indian and Chinese features, with skin shades ranging from olive to chocolate brown.More so than their looks, they each had their own distinct personalities.Some like Manju, aged 15, took on a maternal role and lovingly looked after the younger children in the home; others like Kamala, five, and Pawal, three, were considered the babies of the house and happily soaked up extra attention.Most of the children lost either one or both parents to the decade-long civil war which plagued Nepal up until 2005. Others lost their parents due to illnesses such as the AIDS epidemic.The Nepali-Christian couple who run the orphanage, Kamala and K B Shah, are called “mommy” and “daddy”.The children have few visible possessions - a few overused toys and absolutely no fancy electronics to call their own - but they go to bed each night well fed and happy thanks to ongoing support from volunteers.I spent my mornings at the orphanage as the children got ready for school.Sometimes after breakfast, Yang, a Taiwanese volunteer, and I would supervise primary level classes, by playing games like Hangman, ‘7-Up’ or catch with the youngsters.For the most part the afternoons were our own. I spent most days wandering around the city streets, watching the occasional Bollywood movie or shopping in bazaars on New Road or in the touristy area of Thamel.We would return to spend time with the children when they finished school at 4pm. Sometimes we would play soccer or catch at a neighbouring ground near the heavily polluted river; other times we would watch movies, help them with homework or help serve dinner (usually a heaping plate of rice, lentils or beans and vegetables).Being a woman on my own never bothered me in Nepal.I learned to navigate through the hustle of city traffic - mostly by holding my hand out and praying I didn’t get hit by a speeding rickshaw.On my regular hour-long walks to the cities from the village where the orphanage was in Kupondole, I always encountered new sights and sounds.There was no shortage of beggars on the streets, but most had obvious ailments such as missing limbs or sight.One man I encountered had elephantiasis, an illness which causes certain body parts to swell to the size of a basketball. It was hard to look away.The city was always swarming with people and vehicles, but on strike days the city was virtually still.During my time in Nepal taxi and bus drivers protested frequently over the rising cost of petrol; some times the protests turned violent.As a tourist I was never affected by such unrest. I did however have other challenges to get used to.Nepal, considered one of the poorest countries in the world, has electricity only a few hours each day.Sometimes the power came on at 2am when there is little potential for using it; other times it comes on in the middle of the afternoon.When the water, which sometimes was only a trickling, came on in the day the volunteers and I would take turns heating it up in a bucket.It wasn’t very comfortable or ideal, but it managed to get enough dirt and grime off our hair and skin.Having a proper night’s sleep was also difficult in Kupondole, where stray dogs howled profusely at all hours, but back at the orphanage none of those things mattered.The children had a way of making the problems of the world disappear.The girls, like Angeli, Sangita and Babinah loved to sing and dance and worship God at church on Saturdays; while the boys, like Tirtha, Biebek and Sushil, enjoyed playing with their football or cards and were equally passionate about their faith.I got to know each of the children in a unique way.I would spend some afternoons colouring with two of the newest girls at the home, who weren’t yet enrolled in school, Sushila and Kollossa; or would watch Pawal practise martial arts stunts or cuddle him as he cried.My time in Nepal seemed to slowly creep by, until one week when I realised my time at HORAC had drawn to a sudden close.On my last night, I held a small party for the children and fed them pasta, chocolates and popcorn (not at the same time, of course). Several fell asleep watching a movie I had bought them and I gradually said my goodbyes to everyone at the house.Proudfully I held my composure as the children gave me hugs and cards saying ‘thank you’, ‘we will miss you’ and ‘don’t forget us’.But for some reason as I passed through the doors of the HORAC house a deep pain fell on my heart. Perhaps it was the thought of never seeing these 37 children laugh, play or smile again, perhaps it was the realisation they may never know how much I truly loved them or how much they impacted my life.Either way, I walked away from the home in tears and what felt like a small rip in my heart.Little ten-year-old Shanti ran up to me and put her small hand in mine. “Don’t cry,” she said.In that moment I knew everything would be all right; I knew it wouldn’t be my final goodbye.HORAC is always looking for volunteers and financial support to help them run their programmes. If you want more information or are interested in lending a hand visit www.horac.org/.