Shamans, chefs and demons: The colourful towns and traditions of Nepal

"Are they going to do this everywhere we go?" asks a fellow traveller, a tad wearily, as - for the third time - floral garlands are draped around our necks, clumps of rice are pressed into our foreheads (for luck), and we're presented with the customary refreshments offered to guests; cooked eggs, river fish and small ceramic dishes of raksi, a potent millet wine that's refilled as quickly as it's consumed.

As it turns out, they are going to do this everywhere we go, our presence is cause for celebration. Far from the throngs of climbers risking their lives to summit Sagarmatha (Mount Everest) or the frenetic streets of Nepal's vibrant capital Kathmandu, here in less-touristed Eastern Nepal, communities, social enterprises and local government are working together to encourage tourism in the region.

Our group of five are among the first Westerners to visit. We're here with Community Homestay Network (CMH) - a social enterprise that connects travellers with local families, who offer an authentic experience of Nepali life - on their eight-day The Road Less Taken tour. CMH is the sister company of Royal Mountain Travel, a champion of sustainable tourism, and one of Nepal's leading tour operators for two decades.

Thick with pine and oak forests, mountain streams and orange groves repurposed for avocados, our first port of call is the hill town of Dhankuta, a 45-minute flight and three-hour drive from Kathmandu. It's home to the Athpahariya - one of Nepal's 142 ethnic communities - who believe they're the descendants of goddesses and are renowned for their animal husbandry.

Though traditions are still tightly held in Nepal, whose status was recently upgraded to a developing nation, modern life abounds; electric vehicle charging stations and Montessori schools stand alongside market stalls on mountainsides. But in hilltop towns like Dhankuta, climate change has brought a new challenge. The freshwater springs - the life source for these communities - that once ran freely are starting to dry up.

Perhaps inspired by Morocco's blue city Chefchaouen or India's pink city Jaipur, the two-storey houses and buildings that line the main street of Dhankuta have been painted an eye-popping shade of neon orange in a nod to the area's citrus-growing heritage. The town's hope is that travellers will come to see this new Orange City.

Against a backdrop of dramatic mountain peaks, we wander the length of the street. Locals emerge from their homes to chat, translated by our affable guide Pasang Sherpa, who's led tours and treks through the Annapurna, Everest and Langtang regions since 2005. Among them is Min Bahadur Tiwari, a tailor working by the roadside on an ancient Singer sewing machine that belonged to his father. Once, he says, he clothed a former Nepali prime minister.

We spy the local mayor as we descend the path leading to Cholung Park, an open-air museum dedicated to Limbu culture, about a 75-minute drive from Dhankuta. It's one of the detours we make on the eight-hour drive to our next destination, Janakpur. "Is he here for us?" a member of our group asks, with wonder in her voice. But she isn't talking about the politician. Framed by the Himalayas, a shaman twirls barefoot around a stone column, striking a cymbal as he goes.

We've stumbled upon a ritual of "worship, giving thanks to nature", says Pasang, who explains that the pillars are known as lungs to the Limbu, the area's animistic community, who believe they hold the spirits of their ancestors. The conduits between our world and theirs are shamans. "Some people believe they have healing powers," says Pasang. But times are changing. "One traveller asked a shaman to cure his chronic back pain. The shaman did his ritual, then whispered, 'You need to see a specialist,'" laughs Pasang.

We stop at Barahakshetra, a pilgrimage site next to a river, where a lord fought and defeated a demon who plunged the earth into darkness, before arriving in Janakpur around dinnertime. Perhaps unsurprisingly given it's less than an hour's drive from the Indian border, Janakpur feels more Indian than Nepali. Women wear glittering saris, sacred cows roam undisturbed, and tuk-tuks "beep-beep" as they pass.

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Sprawling Janaki Temple, which blends Hindu and Mughal styles, is a sight to behold both at sunrise and after dark. A painting workshop with Mithila Art provides the antidote to the city's frenetic streets. But what brings celebrities and visiting dignitaries to Janakpur is the food: specifically, Mithili Thali, the restaurant owned by internationally renowned Nepali chef Santosh Shah, who won BBC's MasterChef: The Professionals, Rematch in 2021.

Nepal's unofficial national dish, dal bhat or thali, is as ubiquitous as it is crowd-pleasing. Spoonfuls of chutney, curry and pickles are dolloped around a generous portion of rice on a metal platter, which you mix together and eat with your hands. Shah serves 17 dishes, which includes river fish - "to modernise," he says - for the all-you-can-eat price of $US2 ($3). "Our goal here is to sell food that's affordable to everyone, not just certain groups," says the chef, who runs the business as a social enterprise, and employs women from local communities.

Empowering women financially doesn't just put food on their table, it changes the course of their lives. Just ask Mina Koirala, a homestay host in Panauti, less than an hour's drive from Kathmandu - and the last stop on our trip. (The city is currently being assessed for World Heritage status, for its extraordinary Newari temples and medieval architecture). Mina is showing me how to fold momo (Nepali dumplings) in her kitchen and there's an art to it. while hers look like delicate pillows of perfection, mine ... do not.

Mercifully, Mina is patient. She's also effortless company, despite the language barrier (her basic English vastly overcompensates for my ignorance of Nepali), and from the moment I entered her two-storey concrete home, I felt the warm embrace of her family. Her daughter-in-law Srijana Thapa, a beautician, had bundled me straight to the kitchen table, where she painted intricate henna onto my hand as we discussed matrescence and mental health (Srijana's English is so flawless, she could teach me English).

Less than 24 hours later, Mina and Srijana drape red velvet and black silk around my waist and shoulders, braid my hair and load my arms with jangly red bangles. Srijana and I giggle like mischievous sisters as we stroll past farmland and basic two- and three-storey concrete houses to the local community centre. We're wearing traditional Newar saris, waving at her neighbours as we pass. "They say that in these clothes, you look like a Newari," she translates.

At the community centre, we sit on the floor for the suku bhwe, a traditional Newari feast, and eat thali with our hands, washed down with three - or is it four? - cups of raksi. Two teenage girls perform an elaborate choreographed dance, before inviting us to join in. We shake our hips and our wrists to Nepali music all night, until the final song - Macarena by Los Del Rio - plays. The whole community turns out the next morning to say goodbye, and we bow to our hosts as clumps of rice are pressed into our forehead one last time.

Getting there: Malaysia Airlines flies to Kathmandu from Sydney, Perth, Adelaide and Melbourne. Buddha Air flies from Kathmandu to Biratnagar - from there it's a 95-minute drive to Dhankuta by private transfer. malaysiaairlines.com; buddhaair.com

Staying there: Community Homestay Network offers an eight-day The Road Less Taken tour for $2748 per person. It visits Dhankuta, Janakpur, Panauti and Kirtipur, and includes homestay accommodation, transport, meals and a local guide. communityhomestay.com

Explore more: ntb.gov.np

The writer travelled as a guest of Community Homestay Network.