Photos - 4

Chillies drying in the sun

Another cutey

Theological discussions with the head Lama

Now that's what I call a tricky road !

The little Omni (I'd almost pick it up!)

Teeming crowds at the flower market

Victoria Memorial (would have needed a train 17 miles long to bring all the materials used in its construction)

Just another day in Kolkata

Photos - 3

Half way to Tiger's Nest

Ready for 450 steps down and back up again ! Twice!

Another shot of Tiger's Nest

Don't you just love the fruit and veg?

Another Temple

Bhutanese take their fecundity seriously!

Inside one of the biggest Temples

. . .and outside . . .

Photo update - 2

Quaint sign in Darjeeling

You can smell these spices !

Apparently this wild plant smells good when smoked?

Endless cute kids

Rice! Rice! Rice!

Ladies picking tea

The irish are everywhere - here the Kingdom of Bhutan

Read the Jersey!

Misty Bhutan

Dedicated to the Boss!

3, 4, 2, 1, 5 . . . .

Sometimes blog entries don't post properly, sometimes they take a while to complete.

To keep their correct date position in the blog, the most recently completed entries won't always appear at the top of the blog.

Just thought I'd point it out.


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Sensory overload

Disembarking in Kolkata, the train was even more chaotic than when we joined it some 20 hours earlier. Porters appeared out of nowhere - on the train itself - fighting to take our bags. On their heads. No problem there with their posture - or their 'core'!

A long walk down the platform and we tumbled onto the assembled battalions of Classic Ambassador taxis outside. I mean, hundreds of them. A sea of yellow in the early morning (polluted) haze of the city. I was in India 27 years ago and the Ambassador (perhaps not a classic at the time?) was looking distinctly dated.

It took less than an hour to reach Sudder Street and the dilapidated exterior of the Fairlawn Hotel, a 1783 Raj relic that conceals its treasures for those that dare to go inside. It is run by a nonagenarian called Violet (you don't mess with her!). And it has the most remarkable set of photographs on the wall - including Mother Teresa herself with a personal note to Violet.

We checked in early and took a very welcome shower before breakfast. After that it was a 'free day'. I took the opportunity to update the blog and catch up with my NGO where I'll be volunteering for the next few weeks.

Later in the afternoon I took a stroll outside the hotel.

Surreal. Sensory overload. How can you see so much in such a short time?

The busy outdoor bar of the hotel - couples and larger groups in animated conversation. Outside: a glamorous young woman floats by in a beautifully gold embroidered sari. Beside her on the pavement, a bedraggled young mother offers her emaciated breast to an even more emaciated young baby. A few yards on, a turn appears to a bustling side street with teeming crowds and endless shops plying their wares. A little further an old rickshaw driver (perhaps he's 40?) lies outstretched, asleep, exhausted from his labours. Further on an Indian policeman completes a duplicate form (with carbon paper - remember that?) to record a crash. Locals huddle around to catch the action.

It goes on. And on. And on.

This is an enormous bustling city - full of people, full of striving, full of poverty. Already I feel somewhat overwhelmed.

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Now close your eyes. . . again, but let your mind wander with purpose

It's 4.50am. I've had a surprisingly good sleep, the gentle rocking of the train an ideal soporific.

After essential early morning ablutions, I return to my upper bunk. Initially I pull out a book but discard it in favour of an mp3 player. Scanning the options I make a deliberate choice: the Rachmaninov 3 Concerto (famously the subject of the movie Shine).

I have listened to this piece perhaps fifty times but this morning I listen with new ears. An attempt to listen 'in the moment'. I close my eyes and let the music wash over me.

Initially I concentrate on each of the 'voices' - picking out individual instruments in the piece - piano (dominant), violin, clarinet and more. But sometimes if you analyse too deeply you lose the bigger picture? I try to expand my attention to take everything all at once. Slowly, a new understanding of the music reveals itself.

It starts with a sea of sound appearing (in my mind) like a vast ocean, not just in front of me but all around, as if I had super-peripheral vision. It is in glorious colour! The melody flows and harmony complements, repeated themes establishing themselves. Initially the movement is slow, expectant - I see wine red, bottle green and many more colours on the surface of this sound-sea.

As the music begins to evoke feelings, the sound-sea surface undulates and transforms. With increasing emotion I can see outline human figures begin to emerge in sinuous dancing forms, expressing emotion that words cannot describe.

A crescendo heralds the emergence of distinct faces and full body forms taking the identity of the strongest feelings. As the music races on, they speak out not in words but in their distinctive facial and bodily expressions - individually and in concert.

Finally words - and phrases - sing out to me, boldly declared. Not the words of the composition (there are none) but words expressing for me, in an intensely personal way, the message in the music. They resonate with the deepest expression of the piece revealing a personal interpretation of this powerful composition.

Lucid dreaming in action!




Check out the following for more in this area:

'Music, the brain and ecstasy' by Jourdain
http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/exchange/node/1969

"Musicophilia" by Oliver Sacks
See NYT review: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/11/20/books/20kaku.html

A superb talk by Benjamin Zander on TED.COM
http://www.ted.com/talks/benjamin_zander_on_music_and_passion.html

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Menagerie Express

Lunatic Express might not be so bad a description.

The Upper Class Carriage is a series of open compartments - a series of 4 bunks on one side faced by 2 at right angles - all the way down the carriage. Privacy is provided by curtains. The AC works but the carriage is grubby, to put it mildly (those averse to Bugus Wugus Vulgaris stand clear!) Apparently this is the best available from Indian Railways on this 825km trip.

Mike decided the only response was a sleeping tablet. He may be right - 20 hours is a long time.

On the other hand, having seen the non-AC carriages and the absurd number of people in them, I have to be thankful.

What makes the experience a menagerie, though, is the entrepreneurial sole traders constantly flogging their wares up and down the carriage. You would not believe the range of goods and services on offer: water, sweet tea (hot water/milk laced with sugar is poured into a small cup with a tea bag), a vast array of fresh food snacks (involving peeling, mixing, smearing and such like), processed foods (biscuits, crisps and more) and ice cream.

But wait! Surely, Sir, you need a screwdriver set? a USB key? a comb? a teeshirt? a pair of binoculars? a carry bag? a charger? a photograph of Jesus that turns into the Blessed Virgin when you tilt it away from you? a rubik's cube? a calculator? a watch? a foot pump (with pressure indicator, Sir!), a set of table mats? a toy car? (Hawkers for every one of them)

And, Sir, you must consider a massage? I have many oils! Excellent fingers! You will be feeling most relaxed, Sir!

Relaxed?

"Sweet Divine Mother of Jesus!" - Mike, give me two of those tablets!

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I'll take a stick to you. . .

Having arrived in plenty of time, we faced a long wait for our train, apprehension mounting about our imminent incarceration for 20 hours. Memories surface of the Lunatic Express, the train from Nairobi to Mombasa, when our delight at securing first class quickly crumbled after stepping on board (it may have been first class when introduced, but sustained neglect and lack of maintenance transformed it into something completely different). Tony consoled me that he had bought a bottle of whiskey to anaesthetise us if necessary.

We headed out for a short walk to while away the time - and missed all the excitement! We had been sitting as a group with all our bags in the main station. Jenny got distracted and - hey presto! - one of the day packs disappeared.

Our Indian Guide, Asis, scanned the station and then walked outside. Spotting a youth sitting in a tuk-tuk with a daypack, he went over and challenged him. In no time, he was leading him back to the station with Jenny's missing daypack.

A scuffle ensued and the youngster, in an attempt to escape, stumbled down the station steps whereupon he was attacked by locals who kicked him without hesitation.

That was not the end of the story. By now police had been notified and arrived, complete with metre-long sticks (called a misses). You guessed it - they took over from the locals and gave the lad a thorough thrashing before hauling him off to be charged for theft.

After that we were shadowed by three policemen who went out of their way to look after us initially by directing us to the "Upper Class Waiting Room" (Murray couldn't resist expressing fake surprise that any Irishman would be seen dead in such a room).

No sign of the Council for Civil Liberties anywhere.

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Chalk and Cheese - goodbye Bhutan, hello India

630am and we already fed, watered, checked out and in the dreaded Omni taxis headed for the border. If ever you wanted to contrast one country with another, just stand at the border between Bhutan and India.

I snap a shot of the early rising sun through tropical trees and look around. Bhutan is pristine. Not a shred of litter, neat and tidy all round. Three policemen keep a watchful gaze on the heavy border gate under a large portico, intricately carved and painted in the traditional Bhutanese style. Their shining boots, crisp dark blue uniforms and white belts are a quiet statement of national pride.

We walk across the border into India - into chaos. Dirt, noise, crowds even at this early hour - it envelops you in an instant. Tony and I reflect that there are at least 1,000 Indians for every Bhutanese - but nothing like the same multiple of country size. And Mike drily reports the observation of a friend that in India there are 800 million people and 600 million toilets. Doesn't take long to figure out the consequences of that one. (To reinforce the point I read later a headline in the India Telegraph that only 50% of the schools in Bengal have a toilet!)

Our Omni drivers this morning seem less loaded than yesterday's but that doesn't stop them driving like lunatics. The roads continue to be little more than dirt tracks. After two bone-shaking hours we arrive at the train station for the long haul 20 hours) to Kolkata.

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This day is brought to you by the letter U

The nice men in taxis arrived (more about them later). Then Mr Numbskull, the 'mechanic', arrived. Ben started the engine to be greeted by a cacophony of tapping that even the most ignorant would recognise as a MAJOR problem.

Mr Numbskull pressed a long screwdriver to the engine block and then pressed his ear to the handle to listen to the engine sound - a mechanic's cardiologist so to speak. Having checked various locations on the block he muttered that it sounded like a problem with a con-rod. Ben had already figured this much out and was less than impressed to discover that Mr N had not brought any spare parts with him.

Engine switched off. Next the sump needed to be drained and the bottom of the block accessed. There followed a surreal question from Mr N about which way you should turn the sump nut to loosen it. Now I would be quite useless in breaking down an engine, let alone fixing it (the last time I stripped anything was a Honda 175 in 1976) but even I knew (as I think most people would) that the universal rule is tighten clockwise, loosen anticlockwise.

We left him at it. Another problem had arisen: Ben's wife Bing has misplaced her wallet. Apart from cash and credit card, it contained her ID card. It seems the Chinese authorities are a bit particular about the ID card - as in: no card, no travel within China. A frantic search finally recovered the wallet. All set, so?

No. Apparently the taxis were allowed to take a max of 4 per vehicle. We were 9. We finally secured a third vehicle and set off.

This is where the letter U comes in. We had about 125k to travel and it entailed negotiating several valleys: down a series of hairpin bends, level out, ascend a series of hairpin bends (all on roads subject to landslide and therefore plagued with boulders and potholes).

Repeat until exhausted. We were. Over 4 hours (the last one in darkness) for a little over 70 miles. Oh, and we were doing this in a miniature van called an Omni - think of a Ford Transit and then shrink it by two thirds.

Apart from the road conditions, our drivers' approach to the road commanded most attention. Personally I concluded they were loaded - on what I am not sure but this was no ordinary performance. They had been chewing away (and spitting) on beetel nut but even that stimulant could not explain their devil-may-care driving style. Enough said. We arrived in one piece.

A hot restoring shower, a gin and tonic, a quick check of the Internet and a great dinner. All is good.

Well, nearly. Mr Numbskull had abandoned Ben, problem unresolved. Ben is now on the side of a mountain in pitch darkness awaiting a new mechanic tomorrow to fix his sick truck.

Off to the madness that is India tomorrow. 530 wake call.

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Scenery whether you like it or not

175k to Gelephu through the twistiest, steepest roads you could imagine. And yes, lest be any doubt, the most spectacular scenery ever.

We're actually getting to examine that assessment with loads of time because the damn truck has just broken down and it's serious. We're still 125k away in the middle of the mountains. You wanted adventure?

So, let's weight it up. Middle of mountain range in remotest Bhutan. It's Sunday. The initial triage suggests a con rod has broken (easily a 2 day job according to Ban). We have a packed lunch but no other provisions. We still have Ben's wife Bing with us who is 4/5 months pregnant. We are literally miles from anywhere. There is hardly a single vehicle on the road. We have to make it to Gelephu to connect with out train to Kolkata by tomorrow at 11.

Okay.

On the positive side, Mike reckons this is a first got all of us! Right. Well, we have telephone reception and so have ordered 2 vehicles to come and get us. We also have a mechanic on the way.

Time will tell how long all of this takes.


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Palace carry-on

GUBU springs to mind. Grotesque (a bit harsh), Unprecedented (yes). Bizarre (definitely). What did that last U stand for? Whatever. Probably that too.

We were being treated to a special cultural evening of entertainment at Endocholling Palace, a Buddhist monastery in central Bhutan - the first overland trip to have the opportunity. Earlier we were greeted by the Head Lama in the temple. Through an interpreter he told us about the Dsong which was built in the 16th century. He showed us where the current King stayed (modest quarters indeed) and then blessed some prayer flags which others in the group had purchased (using the same incense, chanting, ringing of bells common to many religions).

There followed a most interesting (interpreted) conversation kicked off by my question of what advice he had for those who did nor believe in Buddha or Guru Rinpoche (regarded as the reincarnation of Buddha). He was very ecumenical in his response (in acknowledging that there are many paths one can follow) and, on further probing, spoke eloquently about the Buddha being in everyone, one only had to search hard enough (echoing a similar view in Christianity). I was sorry I could not converse with him individually without the need for an interpreter - he was a very gentle soul.

Back to the cultural evening. The main dancers were the monks who emerged form the temple in colourful dresses and masks. A special feature was the 'black hat dance' which is designed to ward off evil spirits before Buddhist ceremonies are started (such as at the King's recent marriage).

In between dances, 6 women danced in a circle singing songs. But the unexpected entertainment came in the form of 4 youngsters who emerged from the temple in colourful outfits and scary masks wielding massive phalluses (it's a national symbol - honest!). They made a point of approaching all the men and positioning their national symbols to best effect for amused photographers among the group. Need I spell it out?

Did I mention the local drunk who, with extraordinary dexterity, managed to mimic many of the intricate dance moves (maybe he missed the cut?) Add in a large contingent of locals - especially some very excited kids and you got a very mad evening indeed. Inevitably we all ended up dancing and making fools of ourselves. Very entertaining.

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Fawlty Towers - Bhutanese style

"We stay at a nice hotel tonight", Bhupen assured me. When the quality of bedroom and bathroom inevitably varies, the prospect of some pampering always appeals.

We had stopped at yet another stunning viewpoint. Bhupen turned away to call the new hotel to confirm its exact location - this was the first time he had used it. He frowned. It seemed we had already passed the entrance?

Back up the hill, we spotted a side road. It was steep, narrow, uneven in surface and unmarked.

Okay.

After negotiating a 9-point turn (under my expert direction) that brought Snowy within a metre of a precipitous drop, I jumped into the cab and Ben gunned the truck up the dirt track. Dense forest surrounded us as we bumped our way up the unlikely hotel driveway.

The first sign of civilisation we saw was of construction. Loads of it. A hole in the ground where some future swimming pool might be found. Numerous wooden bungalows half built. In the main reception, an empty ornamental pool and a thick film of plaster/cement on every surface.

Okay. . .

No sign of Basil Fawlty so far but surely it could only be a matter of time?

My room was enormous with intricately carved and painted wooden features. Clearly someone had a grand design in mind. Realisation was, no doubt, well intended - but it was poorly executed. I thought of Basil and his ill-fated construction at the hotel.

Imagine the fun I could have with a Snag List:

- beds with no legs, the base resting instead directly on the floor
- curtains not drawing without catching in the runner screws
- a mirror stand without the mirror
- a space for a mini fridge - but no fridge

It went on and on. But the best was the electrics - clearly the interior decorator had been deprived as a child of all electrical devices. I counted no fewer than 18 switches! As you can probably guess, the exact function of each switch was not immediately apparent. Mind you, the two red wires hanging provocatively over the bathroom mirror added a frisson of expectation.

In fairness, I had a great night's sleep, the shower was refreshing and our meal delightful. Manuel was nowhere to be seen. I was almost sorry.

Ben had earlier said that to enjoy overland trips you needed three things:

- a hunger for adventure
- patience, and,
- a sense of humour.

How right he was.

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No worries. . .

"Who would want to be anywhere else?" The question was rhetorical but I could see Ben's point. I was riding in the cab and enjoying the scenery just as much as he was. "I mean, who would want to be in an office, compared to this", he added. Quite.

We were heading deeper into Bhutan, probing these remote roads for the first time. And they were not disappointing us. Passes and valleys, dense forests, lush vegetation, fast running rivers, bright sunshine - we had it all.

I remarked how wonderful it was to see all this without any traffic too. Ben was agreeing as we swept around a corner to realise why - landslide roadworks. Two canary yellow Catapillars were busy scooping earth and displacing large boulders while a line of traffic waited on either side. Fortunately, our side got the nod to drive through just as we joined the queue.

I know Ben is probably the best driver I will ever meet but even so, this looked like a real challenge. What some fool had called a road was barely wide enough for one car let alone an 11 ton truck. And the surface looked like a child's sandpit - there was neither cement nor tar-macadam to be seen.

Did I mention that we had a cliff for company on my side and a precipitous drop on the other?

"No worries" Ben said, reading my worried look, with than unsettling upward inflection at the end that turns every Australian statement into a question. (Pity the poor bride hearing her beloved say "I do" and wondering is this the biggest mistake of her life. But I digress.)

Ben released the clutch slowly and inched forward. Snowy heaved up and down through each pothole deliberately, under expert direction. The cliff face loomed large and I involuntarily searched for a brake pedal at my foot. I was relieved not to be able to see properly out Ben's window. I suddenly found myself with no head for heights.

Slowly, steadily, we made progress until we cleared the troublesome section. I breathed a sigh of relief. Ben flashed a smile in my direction. "No worries", he added, for good measure.

I thought we were clear but there was another challenge in front of us. Although the road was wider, the parked line of oncoming vehicles left an even narrower passage. To complicate matters there was a deep gulley we had to avoid. If the wheels slipped off the road into it, we would need a crane to extricate ourselves.

I mentioned this non-trivial challenge to Ben.

"No worries", came his reply, inflection still rising.

With a nonchalance entirely misplaced, Ben slipped into gear, eyes darting left and right at his mirrors.

"How're we doing, Bob?"

I peered out my window and was alarmed to see the front wheels only inches from the gulley. I quickly informed Ben and added with as much sang-froid as I could muster that the edge of the road was crumbling under the weight of the truck, sliding us toward the gulley.

"No worries". And with minute adjustments he continued his masterclass in spatial negotiation until the whole road was ours, landslide, boulders, gulley and all far behind us.

No worries.

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Thought for the Day - four aspects of love

According to Buddhism, there are four elements of true love:

1. 'Maitri': lovingkindness, the desire and ability to bring joy and happiness to the person you love.

2. 'Karuna': compassion, the desire and ability to ease the pain of another.

3. 'Mutida': joy, if there is no joy in your love, it is not true love.

4. 'Upeksha': equanimity or freedom, in true love you attain freedom and you bring freedom to the one you love.

This from a little book by Thich Nhat Hahn, a Zen Buddhist monk from Vietnam. In "True Love - a practice for awakening the heart" he explores these four elements. He especially encourages 'deep looking' - the ability to focus all your attention on the other.

How do we know how we're doing on these?

Mindfulness. Awareness. Being.

Easy really?

Not.

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Into the unknown. . .

We are now entering unknown territory - Ben is driving these roads for the first time. As the only overland truck licensed to explore Bhutan ŵe are now going deeper than ever before. Dr Livingstone I presume?

The roads are much as before only a little narrower, and steeper. You don't want to look out the window too often. The road drops away at an alarming rate.

We are just about at the tree line and feeling very remote from civilisation. Just as that ideas settles, we turn a corner and, behold, a small village! With the delightfully named bar:

Khandu.

Sort of summarises what this trip is about.






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Entropy: the gradual but unstoppable movement from order to chaos.

I wasn't expecting to reflect on this well known concept from physics. But, hey, I'm on vacation - I'm getting lots of time to reflect on things.

I was visiting a Temple this morning. It's not quite the case that "when you've seen one . . ." but there does develop a certain fatigue. A bit like the prospect of visiting yet another fabulous Chateau in the Loire Valley (must I?) or another fascinating medieval village church in rural France.

9.00am. We have already traveled for an hour on the truck and here we are at (another) Temple: bemused monks (from 7 to 70), snarling deities painted in garish relief on sacred shrine walls, prayer wheels rotating, the faintly soothing chant of devout monks of millennial old verses and a decaying temple structure.

Now I am not a Buddhist so the contents of these temples hold no religious significance for me. The same can be said (for me) of the grand Catholic cathedrals; but at least the craftsmanship there commands reverence and respect. Bold architectural realisations, paintings of the grand masters, ornate gold and silver work, intricate carvings in hard wood and more. But the temples: the majority seem to be crumbling before our very eyes.

I asked why they were not restored? maintained? respected?

I got a Buddhist answer: everything in life is impermanent. All is decay. That is why detachment is so important. if you're adoring the structures you've already missed the point.

It made me stop and think.


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Location:Entropy . . .

Gross National Happiness - the Bhutan Way

Bhutan calls them Levers of Life. Here they are:

1. Be at all times positive and sensibly optimistic.

2. From time to time, analyse yourself and your direction in life.

3. Plan ahead to match your clearcut goals.

4. Schedule well, including quality family time and time out.

5. Meditate or pause to think things through at least once a day.

6. Build on your strengths.

7. Systematically make decisions and activities to a timeline; don't procrastinate.

8. Maturely balance the materialistic with the magnificent (e.g. natural events like sunrise and sunset).

9. Listen, read and learn. Be curious.

10. Laugh a lot.

11. Love your Maker whatever you conceive him to be - give something back to those you owe.

The cynics will be rolling their eyes already. The interesting thing is that these suggestions align very closely with the best that positive psychology research has demonstrated really works.



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Tiger's Nest

I've gotten to the point where every day seems to be 'an early day'. This morning was a 5.30 wake-up and off, after a swift Brekkie, to Tiger's Nest, a famous Temple. The truck ride was less than an hour. Ben strongly advised us to buy a walking stick. A warning went off in my head - read "serious gradient ahead".

So it proved to be.

The ascent is in two sections, the first being more demanding. Starting at around 6,500 feet and with nearly 1,000 feet of climbing, this is not a walk for the faint-hearted. At the half way point there is a tea house and, for those with reservations about doing the whole thing, a trusty steed is available for hire.

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate. Robbie would be dismayed if I took to a mule instead of trekking. Don't be, Robbie - of course I walked. But two of our group decided to take the four legged option. The mules weren't so sure. After a mere 150m the mules decided they had had enough and stopped. Not one further millimetre would they carry their charges. How embarrassing! I feel a Limerick coming on. . .

The first section got a good sweat going. The second wasn't as severe but I could feel some shortness of breath. Then - the good bit - no fewer than 450 steps down before around the same number up to the temple itself. I will upload a couple of photos when I next have access to a PC - the setting is amazing.

Oh, did I mentioned, there is a chance we might see the new King tomorrow in our local town Paro - must dash and find my best threads. . .

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Huger

Bob travelled East via Bruges
Met a masseuse who said "Man! You're huge!"
She said you'd be huger
If you said the right Puja
Bob said no - too huge for the luge!


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Sheepish Smile Tony

There was a sheep farmer called Tony
You'd never confuse him for boney
His handshake is strong
And fingers so long
"Lucky sheep!" you'd think - he's no phoney !!

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Where's the beef?

Tony breeds cows on the coast,
two hundred head he can boast.
These Indian cattle
are losing the battle
- not enough beef for a roast


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Flying High

A girl from Miami flew East
To see a few mountains, at least
She went to the Plains
just after the Rains
and gave the sandflies a feast


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Bugus Wugus Vulgaris

Bugus Wugus Vulgaris - oh dear!
They're all around us, you know - so near!
You'd better wrap up
Now don't be a pup!
Infection is something to fear.

Dedicated to bug-fearing people everywhere

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Bhutan and Brands

Paro, rather than the capital Thimpu, has Bhutan's only international airport. It's a remarkable setting: as if the Buddha himself reached down from the sky and scooped the strip of runway through the heart of the town, between steep mountains on either side of a narrow valley. The approach involves some breathtaking banking, sudden loss of height, sharp braking and not a little apprehension. But it works.

We stayed hotel lovely hotel called the Rema Resort. It features a central building and a series of wooden bungalows, all made from blue pine. This was our base for exploring Tiger's Nest.

So, I'm sitting in the bar admiring the view over the valley and ordering an 11000 (a local beer packing a 8 per cent punch instead of the usual 4-5 percent). Bhupen, our guide has joined me and is looking dashing in the national costume, which is a knee length wrap-around robe worn with knee socks (sounds strange but it does work).

Anxious to catch the Rugby World Cup semi-final, we flick on the television to see if we can find an obliging channel. Needless to say, there is a satellite dish on the wall of the hotel. We scan every channel - no sign. But we do find Liverpool v Manchester United. And an India v someone cricket match. And a host of other global brands advertised. Oh, and a special James Bond movie marathon.

My first reaction was irritation: why are these brands so intrusive, especially at the expense of local culture? Who wants to watch Man United or Liverpool anyway? Especially in Bhutan, for God's sake? (conscious I am risking losing a few blog readers as I say this).

OK! I'm just mad my global brand didn't get the same air-time as the others.

Grrrrr!

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Hot stuff in Bhutan

Up at 6. Away late at 745. Today we are heading for the hills - we ascending nearly twice the height of Ireland's biggest mountain, over 6,000 feet.

In no time, a foggy mist envelops us - to the point that visibility is limited to only 30 feet. At least the roads are much quieter. In the course of the first two hours we encounter less than 5 vehicles coming the opposite way. The roads are also much smoother, although I have come to recognise the comparative value of that word. We stop once or twice to take pictures of waterfalls but the fog defeats our National Geographic aspirations.

Our lunch stop is in a small village whose locals come out to stare at Snowy - and us. It seems visitors, especially those in a big green and White truck, are few and far between. Lunch is a mad collection of local dishes: chillies in a fabulous cheese sauce, spiced roasted goat, local fish (carp?) in a spicy broth, curried vegetables and chilli noodles, all with a monster bowl of white rice. Is the spicy connection becoming apparent? You had better have a taste for spicy food or a taste for experimenting if you want to be fed! It's absolutely wonderful - you leave the table with a pleasant after-burn in your mouth. Whoo-haaa! It reminds me of the first time I had chilli - my sister completely misjudged the chilli and the quantity and did a splendid job of recreating the feel of a furnace in everyone's mouth. Thanks Ann.

The mist clears in the afternoon and we are treated to fabulous views of mountains and ravines. One or two sections of the road are badly affected by landslides and we slow to a crawl to negotiate them. With a steep cliff on one side and a several hundred feet fall on the other, the narrow passage (barely wide enough for a car let alone a truck) makes for compulsive viewing. Suddenly the dirt road surface is behind us and we are back on smooth tarmacadam. Strange that the same road authority (from India) maintains roads in both countries, yet Bhutan's are vastly superior.

Bhutan is wonderful. The people are friendly, the food is delicious, the scenery spectacular. As a youngster I remember reading a book called 'Lost Horizon' about finding Shangri La. I have a feeling I might just have done just that.



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Mine's bigger than yours . .

You know how it is, you get a bunch of blokes together and in no time they're comparing. Like that scene in Jaws - the main characters are reminiscing late one evening on the boat about close calls and they start to show off their scars. (It ends with Richard Dreyfuss baring his chest to prove his is the most impressive wound. The other two search for scar tissue to no avail and look questioningly. "Mary Lou", intones Dreyfuss, "she broke my heart". :-)

On our trip it's scrapes:- "Wait 'til I tell you what happened me at (insert far flung location - the more remote the better)". I realised I would never hold a candle to my fellow travellers, especially with Ben. My helicopter rescue on the Inca trail, kerosene pancakes on Kilimanjaro or leopard footprints at our camp on the Zambezi are nothing. Instead I hear about:
- deportation from South Africa (wrong comments on certain regime attitudes)
- truck breakdown in the middle of the desert (when an essential spare part turned out to be the wrong one) resulting in scavenging for water after a lengthy trek
- truck impounded at the Russian border (on the first exploratory trip overland to Russia and Mongolia) resulting in having to negotiate, through mime, train tickets at midnight
- powerboat breakdown resulting in having to stay as the first 'whiteys' in a remote New Guinea village for a week

(The most interesting stories, naturally, are unsuitable for an open blog but let the imagination take flight . . . )

Oh yes, this is the spirit of adventure. To boldly go where no one has gone before, as Trekkies might say.

And then Ben casually mentions that a good section of our Bhutan trip has never been done before - WE are the explorers.

Bring it on.

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Toothless Wonder

Mike lost his tooth near Nepal
not from the usual brawl.
He forsook it quite quickly,
from dessert that was sickly -
an ice-cream finished it all.


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Bing

There was a Chinese girl called Bing
Whose ancestry, surely, was Ming.
Her lines were so fine,
Ben said "She'll be mine!"
Now Bing-ers and Ben are "a thing".



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Pure Soul

There was a Toy Train in Darjeeling
whose engine was rather appealing:
its fuel was coal,
its steam gave it soul,
we were moved with incredible feeling.


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Limerick competition

To spice up our trip - and test fledging friendships to the limit - we (ok, I) have started a Limerick Competition.

Watch out for amateur poets coming your way! I shan't identify the authors (just about everyone on the trip) - as much to protect them from abuse as anything else - but you can assume the best ones are mine . . . .:-)

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I am the man who has everything. . .

Dad used to say that - usually in response to the question "Dad, what would you like for your birthday?" For a long time I didn't understand what he meant. He certainly was not a wealthy man in the conventional sense.

And sometimes he did things that really bugged me (doesn't every son say that about his father?). Like this time I went to a lot of bother to get him a present that I thought he'd really like. He was delighted and delivered the expected hug (there's a clue) - and then gave the damn thing away to someone the following week. How little I understood about giving. And its complement, letting go.

In his book "Sacred Journey - spiritual wisdom for times of transition", Mike Riddell observes:

'releasing our grip on those things which we hold to be precious is both painfully difficult and absolutely essential to making progress on the journey of the soul'

This is the challenge of detachment - both from material and non-material possessions.

First, from material possessions: easy to understand, hard to practice; the philosopher would suggestracticing by making the following statement:
"I am not my (insert here the biggest brightest baubles in your life - home, car, boat, clothes etc)").

But the second, non-material possessions, presents even tougher challenges. Wisdom suggests, for example, that we let go of both treasures and pains in our life.

Kalil Gibran ("The Prophet" and other books) is certainly sympathetic to this outlook; for example, his advice to parents about their children "from the first moment they are born, you must begin to let go". He argues that the best measure of success of a parent is when they give that final hoosh and see their child expand their wings and take flight away from them (they may well return but that is completely their decision). If your children are among the most precious treasures in you life (and they are for me), it seems counterintuitive to encourage them to 'take flight'. But that's the only thing to do.

Riddell adds a challenge about letting go of pain:

'surely we will experience pain from time to time, but the force of it should be allowed to flow through us and away; we have to learn to open ourselves to the pain. The common mistakes are either to try to avoid it, or to hold on to it and build our lives around it.'

Letting go also means discovering the real way to give: without any expectation of a return, be it a hug or something more tangible. For me, this is one of the key aspects of the Buddhist idea of 'lovingkindness'. The act of giving itself is all the giver should be concerned with.

Maybe Dad was wiser than I thought? Maybe he set a standard and I just couldn't see it?

Irritating the way Dads do that?

The Road to Bhutan

No, not a late addition to the "Road to . . ." movie list (God, how that dates me! Unless you're a movie buff or over 50, the reference will mean nothing.) We're off this morning to Bhutan - the centrepiece of the overland trip. We missed the young King's coronation yesterday but caught a lot of the ceremonies on TV. The new bride (who is only 22 - he is 32) resembled Diana rather than Kate - but the trappings were very similar: a fairytale wedding.

Initially, the road is not bad. Narrow. Winding. Not too bumpy. Great views. But we've been warned that progress later will be slow - slower even than yesterday when it took us six hours to cover 79 miles! The reason? Moonsoon rains and landslides.

I espied a teeshirt in Kathmandu with the cheesy affirmation "It's the journey that counts, not the destination". Cold comfort, no doubt, for wannabe Trekkers who fail to make Base Camp. And yet. This overland trip is a bit like that. .

Even as I type this and glance out the window, I see yet another, enormous river bed, at least 150m wide, dry apart from a deep channel where the water flows fast and choppy white. And in the middle of the river bed, a truck, collecting stones swept down in earlier monsoon rains. (I had observed yesterday how the collected stones were being used to repair roads swept away by landslides).

How easy to let life rush by and not notice the little things?



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Aspire! Discovering your purpose through the power of words

This is an interesting little book built around 11 key words - the idea being to force us to address some really important issues relevant to each and every one of us.

Here are the 11 words with a brief description (and a challenge - as much for myself as the reader)

1. Genshai - never treat anyone on a manner that would make them feel small. And that includes yourself. (Think of someone you don't like and try applying this. . .better, apply it to yourself)

2. Pathfinder - recognise your personal strengths and cultivate an ability to read the signs that will enable you to figure out where you should be headed. Follow your bliss - be ready to sacrifice now to achieve your goals.(what are your personal strengths? Try one of the tests on www.authentic happiness.com)

3. Namaste - Gandhi defined this as 'I honour the place in you of light, love, truth, peace and wisdom'. (What one word defines you?)

4. Passion - just about anything is possible if you are prepared to pay the price. (Do you know what you want? Are you prepared to pay the price?)

5. Sapere Verdere - Knowing how to see. You have to be able to envision the future - that requires the ability to know how to see where you are at the moment. (Can you see? Can you describe your personal vision?)

6. Humility - watch what happens when you regard yourself as an empty bucket and every person you see as a well. (can you honestly say at the end of each day that you looked at everyone you met as your teacher?)

7. Inspire - Literally means 'breathe life into'. (Do you? people will never forget how you made them feel (good and bad)).

8. Empathy - literally, walk in the path on another.(But to do this, you have to LISTEN! Do you? Never assume anything.)

9. Coach - One who helps you try something new. A coach was originally designed to carry important people to their intended destination in luxury and comfort! Sensei. Guru. Maestro. Tutor. Guide. Lama. All in service to this purpose. (Can you bring that fresh perspective!)

10. Ollin - (pronounced 'all-in') means total commitment. Total. No holding back. (Can you bring that intensity of effort to your career? Your primary relationship? Your fitness?)

11. Integrity - "to thine own self be true". If we did all things we are capable of, we would truly astound ourselves. (Can you really say you are fulfilling your potential? Can you - every day - refresh your resolve to live with purpose?)

Questions. Questions. Questions.

If only the answers would come as quickly.





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When push comes to shove - part 2

"You know the way to Mintoling Guest House?", Mike enquired of the taxi drive from Lilliput. If you put a caption "Honey, I shrunk the taxi" in front of the tiny vehicle, it would not have been out of place.

After a wonderful Sikkim dinner (momo (dumplings), chicken in cardamon and spinach, curried vegetables and more, all with hot chilli sauce) we decided that the impossibly steep gradient on which Gangtok is built was an unwelcome challenge for a walk back. Vigorous assurances by Lilliput Man of his street knowledge persuaded the four of us to climb into his unlikely chariot, the steep hill ahead sniggering at our ambitions.

The tiny engine whined into life (all 900cc?) and off we went up the hill in the general direction of the Guest House. In fairness, this character from Gulliver's Travels could manoeuvre his vehicle with consummate skill. Through hairpin bends, potholes the size of small houses and against honking competing traffic, we sashayed our way up, and up, and up.

Elena wondered why it seemed much longer than our walk down to the town. In defence of Lilliput Man, I suggested a very plausible topological explanation (men do get a bit like that when it comes to spatial reasoning - especially with women). Her withering look in my direction when we arrived at a cul de sac at the top of the mountain needed no explanation.

A pidgin English conversation with Lilliput Man left us not much wiser when I remembered I had a card for the Guest House - with a map. How foolish of me to think that would help. Off we went DOWNhill, engine off, lights off, looking hopefully for some sign.

We finally found our way and completed our journey without further incident. We had even persuaded Lilliput Man to turn on his engine and lights. We paid the modest fare (€1.20), gave him a generous tip and moved toward the Guest House entrance. But Lilliput Man was in trouble. On the steep decline, and with a next to empty tank, he could not start his engine. He jumped out and rocked the little vehicle fro side to side. No joy.

Eventually I found myself, having recruited three reluctant staff from the Guest House, pushing the taxi back up the hill to a flatter section. Lilliput Man's eyes lit up with relief as engine stuttered into life.

One good push deserves another.


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Location:Gangtok, India

From land of thunderbolt - to face of thunderbolt!

After our enjoyable encounter with the Darjeeling Tea Train, we left the Land of the Thunderbolt for Gangtok in the state of Sikkim. Three jeeps would take us on the first leg of the trip, the road being too difficult for our truck to negotiate. Then we would reunite with Snowly, assume our familiar seats and travel on through difficult roads to our destination.

The scenery was spectacular. It seems like overuse of superlatives but there you are. It was spectacular. We paused at the State border and showed our permits (Sikkim is particularly sensitive about who it lets in - our Guide's wife, Bing, was not allowed entry on account of being a Chinese national and had stayed in Darjeeling to reunite with us in a few days. Don't you love international disputes). There were shops and a petrol station there but we did not delay - there was a long road ahead and darkness was falling.

The journey progressed with the usual bumps and thumps. The road had been badly affected by the earthquake-induced landslides. it was pitch dark outside but there was still a steady stream of headlights illuminating the road ahead.

We started on a steeper gradient and I heard Ben shift down gears to get the traction he needed. Then he stopped. I didn't make anything of it at first. When I saw him getting out of the cab and coming around to open the door of the passenger section I felt a shiver. Normally Ben would use e wallow talkie. Something was wrong.

The door swung open and Ben swung the steps down before climbing up to us. Then I saw it. The face of the thunderbolt. Dark, Threatening. Danger written all over his usually "No worries" unflappable face.

"Look, , ,", he began but then turned away. "This has never happened me before." Bynow everyone was holding their breath. "We've run out of fuel!"

You can't stop a part of your brain answering the question "So what?". It says "Ok, where are we? In the middle of the mountains, at least 50k from our destination. no obvious signs of life anywhere. We do have our nice 11 ton truck but it's not much good on the heating front with no fuel. Water but no food. A bunch of westerners in troublesome Sikkim State - a potential target?"

At this stage (1.5 seconds into the speculation) the "Hang on a second!" voice of reason steps in. Have we a reserve tank? No. Do we have backup jerry cans? Don't know. Are we anywhere close to civilisation? Yes, says our Indian guide, "it's only a few kms up the road, I can walk and get fuel". Yeah, right.

Type As leap into action and follow Ben out of the truck. Keys are retrieved and padlocks opened to reveal two jerry cans. The first is pulled out and is heavy to handle. A good sign. On opening and sniffing it turns out to be full of oil. Bad break. The second one is also heavy and, mirabile dictu, it's diesel.

More questions: how do we get it into the tank? (not at all obvious) and even if we do, will it be enough?

One step at a time lads.

First solution is to locate a water bottle to see if we can convert it with a sharp knife into a funnel. When that does not look promising, Ben remembers he has spare tubing and reaches deep into the bowels of a side compartment to retrieve it. After cutting a suitable length, two of us hoist the jerry can high enough and Ben sucks hard on the free end of the tubing to start the siphoning process (getting a mouthful of diesel for his trouble).

Next we have to tilt the entire cab forward to get at the engine. The trick is to manually pump the saviour-diesel into the engine before trying to start it.

The engine turns but does not fire. the tension in the air is palpable. We try again. After an apologetic cough the engine obliging roars into life.

We did find a fuel station before our supply ran out. As the man says "No worries". Beer is on you tonight Ben.


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Images from the trip - Part 1

Darjeeling Toy Train driver clears the coal ashes from the engine - old fashioned but effective

Darjeeling Toy Train Timetable

Tired after climbing lots of steps . . .

40 winks from meditation - we all need a little shut eye

Steep steps to one of the most important Temples in Kathmandu

Buddha - times 1000

Big (rellay BIG) sitting Buddha

Made to measure - ANY colour!

Endless stunning mountain views

On the Road to Tibet (yes, that IS the road I am standing on)

Near the border with Tibet - typical obstacles to be navigated

Must bring these tyre irons with me for the next puncture I get cycling!

Fabulous tikka colours (for application to the forehead at the Hindu Temple)

Remains awaiting cremation

Hindu Temple

Hindu Prayer Wheels - say one (or 10,000) for me

Mount Everest and nearby peaks (from the cockpit) - simply breathtaking

Elephant Riding - in search of Rhinos

Paddy fields (nice to feel at home!)

Don't you love the oar - not sure it'd be a winner at Henley

My Homestay Family

Tea! Tea! Tea!

Hi-Tech in Darjeeling - measuring moisture levels (i.e. smell them!)

Kanchenjonga - World's third highest mountain (from near our hotel, The Windamere)

Jen (a.k.a. Rosie) - my twin (well, nearly) - Kanchenjonga in the background at sunrise

Typical market spices on sale