A shimmer of silver reflects from the mud. A watch. Bruno picks it up. Examines it. He turns it over. Made in Japan.

'Di!'. A woman's voice calls from above. We look up and a local lady is calling us towards her. Its mine! She shouts pointing to our find.

Bruno looks quizzical. The woman is squatting next to her washing. Her head coloured head scarf pulled tightly around her long black plate which hangs down to her hips.

He folds the watch in his hands. 'What colour is it?' He asks. I shrink. Embarrassed. I would not have the courage to doubt, but I understand why he does.

A crowd of children and young men appear from the mani stones, and what was only moments ago a peaceful afternoon trek, has suddenly become a spectators sport.

The woman's English is shaky, but she is determined that her property is returned. She replies 'white' which could well mean 'silver' and Bruno hands over the watch.

We walk along the mud path turn a corner and come face to face with a line of Japanese photographers.