With host Jacqui Trotter at the lectern we had two excellent speakers return to the club – both were engaging through quite different viewpoints on their most recent travels…

Globies were delighted to welcome back Juliet Coombe, whose talk “Around the Fort in 80 Lives”, described the people who live in Galle Fort in Sri Lanka, and where Juliet now calls home. Juliet’s talk based on her book of the same title took us behind the usual tourist landscapes of Lighthouses, Mosques and Markets, to the local inhabitants, many of whom can trace back their ancestry for 9 generations in the Fort area. Juliet showed us the Tuk Tuk driver who doubles up as an ambulance, having had 4 babies delivered in the back seat. A Fortune Hunter in who dives in the sea hoping for the “big one” then works as a security guard. Juliet also explained some of the traditions associated with living in Galle Fort, such as the rituals involved in moving in, that include lighting a fire on the tiles in the middle of your kitchen and sacrificing a scrawny chicken. When her baby contracted chicken pox she was amazed when locals covered him in green leaves from the fort walls, but to her amazement the chicken pox abated. Also divorce is not allowed, with the local Imam telling Juliet to come and find him if her husband strayed and her husband would be stoned! Before Juliet published the book she took over a warehouse as part of a literary festival and exhibited pages and photos from the upcoming book, the people could then see her intentions and ended up coming up with even more interesting recollections leading to new sections being added to the contents.

To find out more about Juliet and the Galle Literature Festival in 2008 – http://www.gallearttrail.com/participant.php

After Jacqui Trotter’s home made Christmas cake had been demolished by those present during the tea interval, our second speaker was John Gimlette whose talk “Panther soup, detailed a European journey in war and peace”. A chance meeting in London with WW2 American veteran Putnam Flint lead John on a journey with Putnam as a guide following the American army’s advance through France, Germany and into Austria. John was able to get the exact route from wartime records of Flint’s journey from US records where every shell fired had been documented. Their journey began in the French Port of Marseille, in The Victory Hotel’s basement which still has paintings that were done by allied airmen while being hidden by the resistance. John and Putnam continued into the Vosges mountains and Alsace where even today you can find plenty of scrap from the battles laying around in the woods. Over the border into Germany via Heilbronn to Ulm, and Ulm’s cathedral is the world’s tallest with its 161m Steeple. Their journey continued through Bavaria, via Neuschwanstein and Linderhof Castles and into Austria to Innsbruck and Oberhofen, which has not changed much in 60 years. The trip was cathartic for Putnam giving him a kind of closure and enlightening for his family who have read John’s book and now know about a period of Putnam’s life that he never talked about, despite having plenty of souvenirs in his house.

To find out more about John and his travels – http://www.johngimlette.com/

For information on Ontario meetings, please contact Svatka Hermanek: shermanek@schulich.yorku.ca or Bruce Weber: tel. 416-203-0911 or Paul Webb: tel. 416-694-8259.

Ontario meetings are held on the third Friday of January, March, May, September and November. Usually at the Woodsworth Co-op, Penthouse, 133, Wilton Street in downtown Toronto at 8.00 p.m.

The Ant tracked down his illustrious predecessor for a catch up on where her travels had taken her, since stepping down from editing this eNewsletter. The results aren’t necessarily what the readers might expect but as ever with the Beetle, its been adventure !

If you’d asked me two years ago what I’d think of running a cheese business and making cheese in a very rural location in the north of England, I would have laughed heartily, but that, in a nutshell, is exactly what has happened to your once globetrotting friend, the Beetle.

Two years ago, the Beetle was living and working in Brunei, then Bangkok and Singapore. Prior to that, for almost twenty years she has lived and worked in four continents, some glamorous places, but mostly not, and working hard. It was a very transient lifestyle, working hard, playing hard, diving hard, but always change: different place, different job, different people, different language, different cultures – always a different situation and embracing a great deal of change and cultural diversity.

In October 2006, she came back to her Beetle nest in London to organise a complete move to Dubai. A flat share had been organised, friends of friends were e-mailed, dates for coffee set up and the Beetle was looking a forward to life in the United Arab Emirates, job hunting, making new friends and embracing another new culture and all that that entails.

Well, a funny thing happened on the way to Dubai. The Beetle’s uncle, Goaty, called her and asked if she could stop by North Yorkshire to help him value his cheese business as he was looking to sell it as a result of ill health. The Beetle said ‘sure, but I’m on my way to Dubai, I’ll push the flight back by three days, will three days be enough?’ Goaty said yes, three days would be ample and promised to fill the Beetle’s luggage with Goaty cheese. Who could resist!

Sadly, by the time the Beetle landed in North Yorkshire, a beautiful part of England (when the sun shines) Goaty was in hospital and he died ten days later. The Beetle was asked to run the ailing cheese business in the interim and so she did. The three days will be two years come November 2008.

The Beetle is now the proud owner of a cheese business, specialising in goat and ewe’s cheese and a ramshackle old farm house that dates from 1660, three acres of wilderness and a field full of rampaging and mostly evil sheep and enough rabbits to make rabbit casserole to the moon and back.

Who would have thought! For the first time in her Beetly existence the Beetle has a real home, not a transient crash pad or a six month let in a foreign land or a snatched few days here and there, this is long term, which for months was quite a scary proposition. The responsibility of owning a house, keeping the fields and garden under control (an inevitable losing battle), the incredibly rural location, the work the Beetle nest that is a cold bleak house needs to bring it in to the 21^st century….

A similar difficulty the Beetle encountered was the feeling of being anchored to a place because of her cheese business which has become the focal point of her existence over the past two years. We are talking about a rural community of about 200 people and 10,000 sheep, no local shop to wander down and buy a paper and a litre of milk, no bookshops, no theatre, cinema, no meaningful public transport and the first time in over fifteen years the Beetle had to have a car. This has taken quite a lot to get used to, however, the Beetle is nothing but flexible and relishes a challenge.

There are of course ups and downs in any situation, but it is a situation entirely of Beetle making. Her Beetle nest seems to be falling down at each of its four corners. Each upstairs room sags ominously. There is no mains water or sewerage. Water comes from a bore hole under the ground outside the kitchen. Sewerage is occasionally successfully piped into a septic tank at the bottom of the wilderness. When the electricity cuts out which it does about 6 times a year, then you can’t flush the toilet because the pump to get water out of the ground won’t work. Telephone lines go down regularly at each hurricane like gale, and there are many. When it snows, you can’t get a car up the drive. Once the Beetle had to ask a neighbouring farmer to pull her out with his tractor – oh the ignominy – and such a change from leaves on the track in other parts of the country or commuting by over crowded tube in London. The postman won’t deliver mail because he says it is too far out and inconvenient. Such is rural life.

A rash bit of DIY involving dismantling a fireplace downstairs almost culminated in the upstairs bedroom crashing through the ceiling. Ok, ok, the Beetle admits, DIY is not her forte, but she simply cannot afford to get builders in! Finding a good plumber or electrician or builder even here in the sticks is just as difficult as in London. You get put on a waiting list. The Beetle has been waiting for over a year now for a plumber to put in a shower. Her impatience has mellowed as things just don’t happen quickly here.

Things most people take for granted, such as broadband are not available because the Beetle nest is too far away from the exchange so is reliant on a rural community internet service, often uncharitably referred to as Drivelnet. Suffice to say, it is not reliable which is partly why the Beetle (with regret) relinquished editorship of the Globetrotter’s e-newsletter.

On the plus side, hordes of pheasants gather each morning at their and the Beetle’s breakfast time to eat cheese off cuts garnered from work, building up to a gaggle of around thirty when it gets really cold. They become very tame and have names like Bent Feather, Chequer Neck, Fat Pheasant, Timid Pheasant and so on. The garden has signs in rabbit welcoming all rabbits to make burrows and breed as freely as they like. As a result, despite the cold and windy individual eco-system that exists, all attempts to grow vegetables or flowers are thwarted at every turn. The Beetle bought plastic greenhouses on e-bay to grow courgettes and beetroot and attempts to devise new ingenious ways to stop the rabbits from getting inside. They don’t work.

There’s a pair of woodpeckers that live in the wilderness, and a buzzard who has a bachelor pad in the big tree, hedgehogs scuttle galore. Driving to work dancing stoats are a regular sight at certain times of the year. The Beetle has learned how to light a hearty fire with wood and coal in five minutes, cook in the dark when the power is cut off. Gas is bottled and lives undecorously in large orange canisters outside. She can use a chain saw dangerously to chop up logs. She feeds her neighbour’s sheep who graze in the Beetle’s wilderness to keep the grass down. This sounds very Bo Beepish, but in reality should involve the payment of danger money.

Sheep are nothing like as stupid as they are portrayed, in fact, they are really quite cunning. To call sheep, you shout Ho, Ho, Ho, like a rural version of Father Christmas. Then watch out because they will run en masse towards and at you. As they get used to you, they become quite fearless and will head butt you behind the knees causing you to follow over in pain and surprise and they get to gobble up all the sheep nuts your tasty sack contains. Yes, they will attempt to eat the sack as well. The Beetle got wise to this and started to take a stick to protect herself from marauding sheep, but still they got the better of her. The next incident involved being head butted on the bottom which is far too embarrassing to go into details about. The irony of such a life-change!

The other reason the Beetle stepped down from editing the Globetrotter eNewsletter is because the cheese business is a seven day a week commitment; there is so much to do to turn this thirty year old business around and bring it back to its former glory; the Beetle has many plans. There were three people working in the cheese business but in early July, Mac, the Beetle’s great friend and colleague died leaving a large and unhappy gap in the business. There is now the Beetle and Eddie the Steady. The cheese industry is an exceedingly skuldugerous one, but it is something that the Beetle enjoys and has learned much. The business recently moved into larger premises, which was very stressful and by the time you read this, the Beetle will be a cheese maker, making goat’s cheese every three days. Just have to make sure that she does not fall into the cheese vat and become Beetlecheese.

To be continued…..

The Beetle’s cheese (Ribblesdale organic Sheep cheese) can be investigated further here.

Lets pick up your story after your photography course in China and leaving SE Asia…

Well actually there are a few travel stories to tell from the year of the course… I made three trips to Vietnam – spent a month each time shooting two separate projects – one a railway travelogue, the other on the minority tribes of the northern hills which was to become a printed book submitted at the end of my MA.

I was also part of an all expenses paid trip with China Photo Press – a fortnight getting driven across two provinces with a pack of professional lensmen from around the world shooting promotional imagery for local tourist departments and meeting, eating and drinking with top-ranking government officials… A real insight into Chinese business culture!

Where did you head to next & what was your motivation ?

As the end of the course approached and many of my classmates made plans to return to the UK for Christmas, I felt in no rush to remind myself of a London winter… My first thoughts had been to head for my ancestral homeland of Goa and be eating king prawns on a sandy beach at least a week before Big Ben heralded in 2008 a few thousand miles west.

But then my Canadian cousin announced his engagement; the ensuing wedding was to take place in Cuba in mid December. Sadly I was unable to make it as we were in ‘finals’ mode on the MA – photos to edit, book to print, dissertation to hack out…but…I could meet the wedding party as they returned to Canada on Christmas eve in time for a reception in Calgary and other seasonal festivities…

BTW – did you pass your course and how are your Chinese language skills nowadays ?

Yes! I now have an MA in Documentary, Travel Photography and International Photojournalism.

My Chinese language skills didn’t get too far beyond beginner level – the course was taught in English and it was the language of our debates and dissertations. Having said that I built up enough vocabulary to survive – ask directions, buy tickets, order food etc. I could talk a little about myself but not really have a full conversation with someone. Managed to learn a handful of characters though which enabled me to read a train timetable or the destination on the front of a bus and spot a few things on a menu.

Did you ever need to get away from travelling whilst you were away – how did you relax ?

I sometimes needed to get away from the MA and went travelling! Sometimes just walking, though it’s amazing how relaxing rail travel can be. With deadlines looming many an edit or essay draft was tweaked on a laptop on a night train!

What items do you always carry around with you and why ?

The obvious answer, quite predictably, is a camera. I suppose I always have, even in the days before mobile phone gadgetry I would often have a film compact with me on days I wasn’t carting around an SLR. Before I left the UK I had my eye on a waterproof and shockproof digital compact… which I subsequently bought in Hong Kong.

This trip was also the first time I’d travelled with a laptop computer – essential for editing and cataloging images as they are shot. It was a headache at times, always having to ensure it was safe (not to mention the extra weight), but I think the burden justified itself this summer when I was contacted by a publisher in Hong Kong looking for pictures of Chinese museums while I was in the wilds of Guatemala…

Fellow Globetrotter James Robinson met you in Montreal and relayed stories of you following a notion down through Central & South America. What happened next ?

But first, how did I end up in Montreal?? I was way-out-west in Alberta’s Cowtown, taking advantage of the snow in the Rocky Mountains to get some downhill skiing in…

Two and a half years previously when travelling in Morocco I’d met a French-Canadian, Marie-Eve, who told me that next time I was in Canada I must visit Quebec. West Jet, Canada’s budget airline, had reasonably priced flights from Calgary to Montreal (if you go at 3am on a Tuesday.) And while I was there, I met Valerie with whom I spent the spring and made a plan to tour Mexico for the summer.

The original intention had been to head for the Copper Canyon and its scenic mountain railway journey either at the beginning or end of the trip. The way it panned out though was to start in the Yucatan and head south to the jungle at Palenque and up to the highlands of San Cristobal before crossing into Guatemala. A month there saw hikes up active volcanoes, trips out to the jungle and a weekend on the pacific coast.

Then it was back into Mexico and up to the capital city via Oaxaca, Acapulco and Puerto Vallarta. I stayed in Mexico for independence day celebrations on Sept 16th before heading back to Montreal.

Due to constraints with deadlines…the second half of this interview with Gavin will appear in a later edition… The Ant

Hello all,

this month we’ve got quite a packed edition to enjoy !! As you can see the club itself is now fully into its new season with the return of two well regarded speakers, Justin Marozzi & Jonny Bealby – both spoke eloquently to a busy London branch meeting and were enjoyed by the appreciative audience.

And also included are two larger than normal articles by Neil Harris and Sandra Reekes – both talking about their recent trips and featuring some very good pictures. Let me know if you prefer these larger articles or should I keep to the usual 1000 words guideline…

I also need to remind you that the deadline for applications to the 2008 Globetrotters travel award is 31 October – so if you’re a club member and have a unique, independent trip in mind … write in with an outline and you never know, you might find that the club contributes up to £1000 towards your costs.

To close this month I have an appeal from the BBC – for their new natural history show … the corporation are looking for adventurous people who enjoy adventures with nature. Have a read of Write in (2) and let your imaginations run riot !!

That’s all for now … remember to adjust your clocks as daylight savings is shortly leaving us,

The Ant

theant@globetrotters.co.uk

With host Kevin Brackley, the club’s Membership Secretary, at the lectern the London branch enjoyed the return of two of its most welcome speakers, Justin Marozzi and Jonny Bealby:-

Justin spoke about his latest adventure “Travels with Herodotus. historical adventures with the father of history”, which traces his travels around much of the world as known to the Greek scholar nearly 2500 years ago. Justin’s talk was part hero worship, part correcting historical myths and part brain food. Often it is hard for an audience to follow such an ancient subject, but as Justin pointed out … much of what Herodotus experienced echoes through to our more modern era – Persia (Iraq) was torn apart by war, Greece & Turkey were mercantile & political rivals and Egypt was already deeply embedded into antiquity. For me & for subsequent reviewers however the most vivid moments were centred around Justin’s time spent lunching with Patrick Leigh Fermor, in the latter’s home in Greece … between the two men a warmth & personal bond developed over a long, languid lunch. I enjoyed their sense of shared eccentricities, their continued questioning of the wider world and the fact this meeting of the generations happened around a table with food & wine flowing…

Justin Marozzi is a writer and journalist who has travelled extensively throughout the Muslim world – to read more view his web site at http://www.justinmarozzi.com/

Perennial favourite & all round nice guy Jonny this time spoke passionately about the Silk Route and Wild Frontiers’ experiences of including trips based along it into their calendar. To a particularly attentive audience, which also saw much of the club’s Committee counting up kisses from the man himself, Jonny regaled us with what it meant to him to travel the Old Silk Road on horseback. Whether it was talking about the stunning sights he had chance to enjoy, the enterprising & resourceful peoples he met or how he handled mishaps whilst on the journey, Jonny took us with him all the way. His talks are never dull and as shown by the raft of questions afterwards, Jonny engages his audiences.

To learn more about Jonny and his travelling world view http://www.wildfrontiers.co.uk/

For details of the forth coming meetings of the London branch, October 2008 through to July 2009 – http://www.globetrotters.co.uk/meetings/lon09it1.html.

London meetings are held at The Church of Scotland, Crown Court, behind the Fortune Theatre in Covent Garden at 2.30pm the first Saturday of each month, unless there is a UK public holiday that weekend. There is no London meeting in August, but we start afresh in September. For more information, contact the Globetrotters Info line on +44 (0) 20 8674 6229, or visit the website: www.globetrotters.co.uk.

For information on Ontario meetings, please contact Svatka Hermanek: shermanek@schulich.yorku.ca or Bruce Weber: tel. 416-203-0911 or Paul Webb: tel. 416-694-8259.

Ontario meetings are held on the third Friday of January, March, May, September and November. Usually at the Woodsworth Co-op, Penthouse, 133, Wilton Street in downtown Toronto at 8.00 p.m.

Flying into Paro provides a very close up view of the nearby hills – in fact the starboard wing of the plane almost touched the trees as we descended down Paro Valley. Not for the nervous! We were met by Karma our guide in his Gho, the Bhutanese national dress, a sign you are somewhere bit different. A short hop into town confirms this feeling; many locals are also dressed in the national costume; for woman this is the Kira; most by choice, however, government employees are required to when working. The other defining feature is the architecture; houses in Bhutan have to conform to a distinctive design, especially the windows. No plastic frames, but solid carved wood with intricate painted patterns. Another less welcome Bhutanese speciality is stray dogs. Noted for their ability to bark through the night, they are left to roam in packs as Buddhist philosophy does not allow culling.

After a good night’s sleep, the Tigers Nest beckoned. A precariously perched monastery, it clings to a cliff side at around 9000ft. The climb up, about 3000ft of ascent from the starting point, affords fabulous views, the last part through cloud forest. Legs and lungs knew they had been given a good workout, but it was worth the effort. The monastery was burnt down around 25 years ago, but rebuilt exactly as it was, the labour provided by volunteers and those ‘punished’ for not wearing the correct national dress.

Thimphu, the capital, is about two hours by road from Paro. The largest town, it still conforms to Bhutan architectural norms; no skyscrapers here. The government have set up a college where traditional crafts are taught; carpet weaving, wood carving, thanka painting etc. Visitors are welcome! There seemed to be no gender prejudice, with girls woodcarving and boys weaving. The Motithang Reserve outside Thimphu has a few captive Takin, a rather odd beast that resembles a wildebeest, but is a distinct species that survives in the eastern Himalayas.

The main arterial road in Bhutan runs west to east across the centre of the country, here most of the main towns are located, these generally at an altitude in the 4000-7000ft range to give a pleasant, but wet, summer climate with cold winters. As Himalayan valleys tend to run roughly north to south, cross country journeys involve high passes. Heading east towards Punaka involved crossing the Duchu Pass, here sit a plethora of Buddhist Stupa and myriad prayer flags, also a teahouse with views to the distant northern peaks of the Bhutanese Himalayas. Beautiful isn’t usually used to describe road workers, at least not in the UK. Here the road was being repaired with steaming tar, the two girls lugging the large vats of hot tar were undeniably beautiful, almost certainly Nepalese guest workers. The roads are maintained with Indian money and Indian Army expertise, the labour imported. India fears a Tibet style Chinese invasion and wants to be able to react quickly if one occurred. As recently as 2005 the Chinese allegedly made incursions into northern Bhutan, even building roads in Bhutanese territory. The Indian Army has a considerable presence in Bhutan.

After lunch we walked across paddy fields to Chime Lhakhang, the monastery of the Divine Madman. A Buddhist guru from the 15thC, his philosophy involved copious sex and gluttony … well for the Divine Madman at least. For a small donation one’s fertility can be enhanced by the Abbot; this involves being hit on the head by a wooden phallus. Enough to make you feel a right dickhead! For a small donation we sponsored some prayer flags, these were hung by tree climbing monks outside the monastery. The wind for next few years would release our prayers, anyway until time rotted them away.

The next morning we walked around Punaka market, a colourful affair where local produce is sold. A line of very rundown toilets advertised 5 Ngultrum for urine 5 Ngultrum for stool, probably wise not to sit on this though! The morning highlight was to be a visit to Punaka Dzong, perhaps the most impressive Dzong in Bhutan. For those unfamiliar, Dzongs are huge forts containing administrative buildings and a monastery. A place where the Bhutanese could feel safe in the 17thC when Tibetan armies attacked from the north. Auspiciously, and scenically, it lies on the confluence of the Pho and Mo rivers. In the monastery the monks were washing the floor with buckets of soapy water. A very impressive interior, but like all monasteries in Bhutan photos are not allowed inside buildings; the reasoning is that photos can be tampered with, this could desecrate the religious paintings and effigies photographed. Outside the Dzong a man was cleaning the silverware in the river using sand. Better than Brasso?

The afternoon saw us climbing another pass to get to Phobjikha Valley, the winter home of the black crane, a very rare bird. We stopped at Nobding, a small village. The reaction of the children indicated few foreigners passed through, surprising considering the murals painted to enhance fertility that were liberally painted on walls and doorways. It was obvious where the knob was in Nobding! Rather than describe them, a photograph will suffice.

The night was spent in a farmhouse. The altitude here is around 10000ft, so no running up stairs, not that there were any, only ladders. Basic but comfortable, all Bhutanese farmhouses are similar in design; three floors, the lowest mainly for storage and animals, the middle for living and the loft for drying produce under the roof. They are substantial buildings that house an extended family. Wandering around the hamlet in the early morning sunshine was an added bonus; some monks wandered through, their reaction on being asked for a photo indicated this was a first for them. Alas no cranes, but a small carpet weaving enterprise was ample compensation. The rugs are woven by womenfolk, the whole process uses local materials, the wool dyed with local dyes. An appropriate souvenir of Bhutan!

The drive to Trongsa Dzong was long and winding, the scenery on a scale not available in Europe. We chanced upon a game of khuru, Bhutanese darts, being played at the roadside by a group of men. The target is around 3ins in diameter and about 30yards away, the dart being thrown javelin style. The accuracy is impressive, darts landing close to and occasionally on the target. The V-shaped valley leading to Trongsa is steep and wooded with sides around 5000ft high. The opposite side to the road, across a river, is untouched primary forest. The locals will not visit it. The Yeti is said to inhabit remoter parts of Bhutan, this forest could easily have harboured a few; if they exist of course!

Trongsa Dzong is the primary Dzong of Bhutan. It sits astride the ancient west-east highway and until the modern west-east road was constructed a door within the dzong had to be passed though by all travellers. The steepness of the valley made bypassing this door ‘not an option’. The Penlop (the local ruler) of Trongsa wielded much power, and thanks to charging a toll for passage became very rich. After a civil war between the rival Trongsa and Paro valleys in the late 19thC, Ugyen Wangchuck, the Trongsa Penlop, was unanimously chosen as the first hereditary king of a unified Bhutan by leading Buddhist monks, government officials, and heads of important families. His great grandson Jigme Singye Wangchuck, aged 16, became King in 1972 and has proved a benign dictator putting his people first; he invented gross national happiness as the government’s main target. The king abdicated in 2006, aged 50, in favour of his son. The first parliamentary election s took place in 2008, the optimistically named Bhutan Peace and Prosperity Party won taking 45 out of 47 seats. Will Bhutan change, only time will tell.

On the archery field next to Trongsa Dzong a contest was taking place. Archery is the national sport in Bhutan; their leading archers made the last 32 in the 2004 Olympics. This though was not Olympic archery! The arrows are shot at targets around 130 yards apart, the odd one hitting, this elicits a dance of victory from members of the same team who are confident enough of their colleagues ability to stand within yards of the target when the arrows are shot. As far as I know deaths are rare! Female followers watch from nearby knolls; it’s OK to put your opponents off, but this contest seemed to be held under Queensbury rules with no apparent barracking. Trongsa Dzong is a sprawling affair slung precariously on the hillside, in my opinion not as impressive as Punaka Dzong.

After crossing another pass on the road eastwards, this time in cloud, we entered Bumthang Valley for a three night stay in Jakar. Our room had a wood burning stove for warmth (vital) with room service provided by a gentleman wearing a gho. The secret to lighting the wood quickly appeared to be the astute use of resin from off the wood; a good tip for any boy scouts/girl guides amongst you!

We had struck lucky. The next day the Tsechu Festival was taking place in Jakar Dzong; everyone, of all ages, attends, quite a throng in the Dzong. The main event for them, apart from dancing monks and ‘interesting’ music is the annual outing of the Jakar Thanka. This massive religious painting is hung from one end of the inner courtyard, the crowd, the youngest school kids included, slowly edge past kissing the Thanka before most make a donation to the monastery. The odd attendee prostrated themselves in front. We reluctantly left before the end, this involved pushing, literally, through the heaving throng to exit. A few spots of rain began to fall. We had a day trip planned to the Ura Valley, situated the other side of the Shertang Pass and little visited by tourists. The journey up afforded some great views when the cloud allowed, which wasn’t too often, alas.

On the outskirts of Ura village a field was being ploughed by a team of zho, the useful Scrabble word that defines an animal that is a cross between a cow and a yak (why not a cak or a yow!). Ura was poor but fertile. It started to rain so our picnic lunch was in jeopardy, Karma, our guide, got us invited into the dry of a large local farmhouse. We sat around the wood burning range in the kitchen, only their cats between us and the warmth of the fire. This visit proved providential for the family. One of our group was heavily into fabrics so she asked if they had any kira (the intricately woven female dress) she could look at; the family air looms, much worn, appeared and were sold for $190. This it turned out was enough to pay off their mortgage from the government that had enabled them to purchase the farmhouse. We left a very happy family behind us as we returned to Jakar.

The next morning we visited nearby Tamshing Monastery. A run of the mill old Bhutanese monastery. Outside by the courtyard a group of boy monks were chanting their prayers, some rather reluctantly I thought. A bell rung, the boys jumped up and started to play in the courtyard, fighting and generally mucking around. Somehow this looks a little incongruous when the participants are wearing monks habits.

After a leisurely afternoon we had planned to go to see a film in the hall of a local school. The school was solidly built, the classrooms probably better than some in the UK. Education is a high priority, the pupils are taught 50% in Bhutanese and 50% in English, hence many kids speak good English. Higher education takes place in India, this of course requires fluency in English. The early showing was overrunning, we missed our film show. Surprisingly, there is a thriving Bhutanese film industry. In Thimphu later on I went to the ‘National Cinema’ and can testify to the high quality of Bhutanese films. Bizarrely the sound track was in Bhutanese, but the sub-titles in English!

We headed back west to Thimphu the following day, a long, tiring, but scenic drive. This time the Duchu Pass was covered in cloud, I now realised how lucky we’d been on our first traverse. The next day we returned to Paro and had time to visit Paro Dzong; this is another vast building that combines monastery with administrative buildings, including the local court. Many novice monks were milling around, some doing their homework. In Bhutan, as in many Buddhist countries, boys from very poor homes end up in monasteries where they get fed, clothed (in a habit) and educated. At around 18 years old most leave, so the ratio of young novices to older monks is high.

As we had been bumped off our flight to Kolkata the next day, we visited Haa Valley, the valley to the east of Paro, well off the main tourist track. To get there we crossed the Chele Pass, ascending towards it there were inspiring views of Chomolhari and Jichu Drakey, two of Bhutan’s highest peaks. On the pass, by now above the tree line, a notice proclaimed 3988m. A little higher, a short walk upwards, lies a sky burial site, here Edelweiss, a brilliant violet, carpeted the ground. No bodies now, in bygone days it was a clean way to dispose of the dead. Flags en masse sit astride the pass, as they flap prayers are released for a loved ones. Gone but not forgotten. There is a large Indian Army camp in Haa, also a monastery, Lhakhang Karpo, where we had a look see into the temple; a carpenter showed us a traditional Bhutanese window he was constructing, a kind of assemble it yourself kit, hand cut, not out of a box. Very skilful. The journey back to Paro, via a different route, proved very scenic. Indian migrant workers repairing the road seemed surprised to see foreigners passing, the school kids, in their school uniform ghos, also waved as if it was a rare sight. One group of kids appeared to be Monty Python fans hopping around on one leg as in the Long John Silver impersonators club sketch. The next morning we left for Kolkata and the mayhem that is India; quite a contrast to laid back Bhutan.

Bhutan is unique, mainly because it has been isolated from outside influences for so long; TV was not allowed until 1999, the first murder ever recorded soon followed. Buddhism is all pervasive, the first general election was put back to 2008 as 2007 was considered inauspicious by leading monks. Mobile phones are now common, even the odd drunk is evident on the streets of Thimphu where karaoke bars with pool tables can be found. My advice is visit soon before it changes … !!

PRACTICALITIES:

• Unless you have an Indian passport, Bhutan will be expensive – during the high season there is a minimum spend of $200, even when camping; this drops to $160 off season.
• Tours are organised through local companies who have control over where you stay and eat, this may change at short notice. Food will be included and apart from breakfast will be a buffet. The standard is generally good, but with little variety.
• Bhutan can be entered by road from India, by air by the only airport at Paro which is serviced by Druk Air – the Bhutanese national airline with flights from Bangkok, Kolkata, Delhi and Kathmandu. The lack of competition means flights are expensive; a return from Bangkok to Paro costs around $800.
• Providing you are expected, i.e. on a tour, a visa can be obtained on arrival.
• The currenc y is the Ngultrum, it has parity with the Indian Rupee. Indian Rupees are welcome in Bhutan, however the Ngultrum cannot be used outside Bhutan.

I travelled with www.globaldrift.com.au run by Ian Marsh from Cairns, Australia, on an exploratory trip to find out whether to have regular trips to Bhutan.

LINKS:

• www.rgs.org/GeographyToday/Bhutan/Bhutan.htm
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhutan
• www.discoverbhutan.biz
• www.kingdomofbhutan.com
• www.drukair.com.bt
• www.inthehabit.net (pictures of monks (and a few nuns) from around Asia, included are pictures from Bhutan)
• The best online map I’ve found is at www.bhutanmajestictravel.com/images/detailed_tourism_bhutan_map.jpg

This time last year I was given the idea of travelling along the Silk Road from Istanbul to Pakistan. Central Asia was somewhere I had never even considered visiting but the idea grew and grew until I just had to do it.

Fortunately I got the eight visas I should need before I left home and what a to do that was. How could I possibly tell when I would be where and in the case of Turkmenistan I not only had to adhere to the date but the time of day as well! But on the 27^th March I flew out of T5 on its inaugural day and was one of the very few lucky ones whose flight took off (five hours late) and whose luggage arrived too.

From Istanbul I bussed it to Antakya which I was sad to find was a dismal town, made more dismal by the rain and from there into Syria and the magic of Aleppo then on to Hama for the Norias, Palmyra in the desert and a real sand storm and of course Damascus. I had hoped to catch the train from there to Tabriz in Iran, but despite being told to the contrary beforehand that I would be able to change Travellers Cheques in Syria, this proved not to be the case, so I returned to Turkey and entered Iran in the shadow of Mount Ararat.

Despite all the Foreign Office advice about travelling in Iran, I found it incredibly easy. Everyone was so helpful, making sure I wasn’t too diddled with taxi fares, feeding me on bus and train journeys and even paying my bus fare or museum entrances if I wasn’t looking. Two weeks was barely enough to see the highlights of Persepolis, Esfahan, Yazd, Shiraz and Mashad, let alone Tehran but it’s good to think I have enough left for another visit.

Turkmenistan could not have been more different and I am glad to have seen Ashgabat but glad I was only there one night. The long drive through the desert with the guide I was obliged to have before a visa would be granted (at huge expense) was interesting for the first 3 hours but less so for the second 3 as the scenery didn’t change. Arriving at the ancient site of Merv though was well worth it. This is a vast site and just could not be done on foot and luckily the guide I had had a passion for archaeology and history which made the vast mud structures come alive. One night there and another long drive through the desert to Uzbekistan.

Over the border and narrowly avoiding getting arrested because in my frustration I cracked a joke which was misunderstood – great mistake – and the first place I made for was Bukhara. From there another long drive through the same desert to Khiva and back to Bukhara before a train to Samarkhand. All these cities were just wonderful. So much to see and experience, but of course the jewel was Samarkhand. A few days spent in Tashkent and I was off to Kyrgyzstan

I took to the air and flew into Bishkek only to find accommodation at a premium and I ended up spending the night in a flat in the most unsavoury part of town. So unsavoury that not only was I advised not to be out after dark, and to lock the flat door twice, but at the end of the corridor there was a cage door which also had to be locked. One night there and I was off to Karakol on lake Issy Khul in a minibus. For what reason I do not know, but I didn’t take to Kyrgyzstan, so cut my visit short and headed down to Osh on the Chinese border. If only I had wanted a hat and if only I’d had some room in my rucksack, I could have bought any number of wonderful hats in Osh Market, but I hadn’t so I didn’t!

I shared a car ride with a young American lad who had been teaching English in Japan for a year and spending some time travelling around Central Asia before heading home. As the journey took two days with an overnight stay on a cold concrete floor in Sary Tash, it was great to have some company. The ride up through the Pamir Mountains was wonderful and dotted all along the route were yurts where the herding families had moved up to the high pastures for the summer.

We rose at 4.30 to drive the rest of the way from Sary Tash to the Chinese border and the Milky Way was beautiful, I felt as though I could just reach out and touch it. As the sun rose it turned the snow capped mountains a real Barbie pink and I am sure these memories will far outlast those of extremely bumpy roads, no food, cold and a car which had to stop every few miles to have cold water poured over its engine.

It took five or six hours to cross the border as my companion had a Lonely Planet guide book with a map of China which showed Taiwan, so we were asked on several occasions to have our bags searched. Also coming through at the same time was the night bus and that had several thorough searches, but we got a lift through to Kashkar on it and met two more fellow travellers with whom to share news and tales.

Kashgar’s main square had been taken over by hundreds of school children all practicing their various performances for when the Olympic Torch was to come through the town, all under the watchful gaze of Chairman Mao’s huge statue. This city was a lovely mix of very old and very new, with, of course, the world-famous Sunday market and best of all for me by now, after what seemed like months and months of nothing but boiled rice and chewy fatty lamb and hard bread, a wonderful choice of food at John’s Café. Egg and chips had never tasted so good.

Another two day bus ride and an overnight stay, this time in Tashkurgan on the way to Pakistan. The bus passengers were a mix of Chinese workers on their way to widen the Karakoram Highway, Pakistan business men returning with their wares, a Swiss woman, a young Englishman, a French Algerian an Italian and me. The ride up into the Karakorams passing yaks, marmots and eagles was spectacular. I could see glaciers and the mountains just got bigger and bigger. Crossing the border at the Khunjerab Pass, the highest paved border crossing in the world was a great experience albeit tinged with a little altitude sickness. The road on the Chinese side was well-maintained and we drove at a steady 30 miles an hour but the moment we crossed the border all the Pakistanis on board gave out a wonderful cheer, the un-maintained road became bumpier and bumpier and the driver put his foot on the accelerator and we drove at an horrendous speed down the KKH with frightening precipices. From this description you will have gathered that I am a coward and don’t do mountains and twisty turny roads with big drops, so I got off the bus at Passu and thought I had landed in Heaven.

I stayed at a modest Inn where the owner cooked delicious dinners, I could pick handfuls of deep red cherries and the views and peace were wonderful. But too soon it was off down the dreaded road with eyes shut tight and fists and teeth clenched to Karimabad. As with everywhere in the Hunza Valley I encountered only hospitality and kindness tempered with good humour. A jeep ride to see the sun set behind Rakaposhi and the Ladies’ Finger was made all the more enjoyable by giving a lift to two women who had spent the day toiling in the fields and although weary were still full of fun and full of questions and laughter.

After several happy days staying at the Mulberry Tree I travelled once again down to Gilgit where I met up with the other travellers who had been on the bus from Kashgar. Samosas at sunset by the rushing Gilgit river, card playing with locals in the hotel, haggling in the bazaar made the days rush by. My dread of the twenty hour overnight bus ride down to Islamabad along the Karakoram Highway and in view of the fact that flights were being cancelled due to bad weather (not that flying from Gilgit was much of a more attractive alternative), decided me to try to find another way south.

By great good fortune I met with a young jeep driver who was going that way and we set off at 5 am at 5.30 as the sun was rising behind Nanga Parbat or Killer Mountain we came to the point where the Karakorams, Hindu Kush and Himalayas meet – just magical. The route he took me was over the Barbusa Pass which was just the most amazing, action-packed 23 hour journey you could possibly imagine. Climbing high above the snow line, for the most part traversing tracks barely wide enough for a jeep, being stopped by cattle, Kalashnikov carrying tractor drivers stuck in the mud, driving through Osama Bin Laden supporting Afghan refugee tent cities, stone throwing children running along side, work men rock-blasting causing land slides and so much more. All the while going from magnificent mountains down into heart-achingly beautiful valleys. Just wonderful.

My last few days were spent in Rawalpindi staying in a hotel run by Hunza people and my Hunza jeep driver showed me around the city. I had been travelling for three months and not once did I have an unpleasant experience. Yes, a few dodgy taxi drivers and maybe I paid over the odds a few times but that’s part of the fun. All the peoples I met were kind and welcoming but the people of the Hunza Valley were unbelievable. Their honesty, hospitality and warmth were such that I have already arranged to return next year and this time will stay for several months. In Sha Allah.

What a really great end to a really wonderful journey along part of the old Silk Road.