Basgallop Blog

Discovering that the Full Moon always rises as the Sun sets.

Mumbai 1986 (Bombay as it was still called then)
pink balloons at the iconic Gateway to India
From here I took a boat from the quay, across the bay, over to Elephanta Island
5th-century rock-cut caves, dedicated to the worship of Shiva
climbing the steep, stone steps past the vendors and monkeys to enter the cool, shadowed interior of the basalt caves.
goggle, jaw agape in awe…the Trimurti, a huge, three-headed bust of Shiva
Nataraja, Shiva as the cosmic dancer, dancing the world into being, crushing the demon dwarf of ignorance, Apasmara underfoot
the Ardhanarishvara panel— a depiction of Shiva as half-man, half-woman (split down the center with his consort Parvati), representing the synthesis of masculine and feminine energies.
pockmarks on the stone—damage left behind centuries later when Portuguese soldiers used the images within the sacred caves as target practice. heathen. other peoples gods.
It was a Sunday, the locals there on a day trip, large extended family picnics, tiffin tins bearing creamy, spice stewed curries… kids pell mell running around, all the boys playing cricket.

The return trip back across the water, the engine cuts out, we are adrift in the stillness of the bay
many of the young boys gather round, clamouring, they become convinced I am one of, else at least, the spitting image of an Australian cricketer
Jeff Thomson? Geoff Marsh? Greg Matthews? they squabble over precisely which one… our physiognomies pleasingly vague and similar to the locals eye and sensibility.
As the red sun dips into the western horizon of the Arabian Sea, the massive, luminous full moon rises simultaneously in the east over the Mumbai skyline.
Amongst the hubbub, here at the center, stillness
a fulcrum: Sun going down, nestling deeper as huge gawp full moon rises.

It is ever thus Full Moon always rises at Sunset
from first principles, a simple scientific realisation, but something I had never appreciated or known before
the simplicity of cosmic alignment, the moon lit by the suns rays has to be directly opposite it when it appears full
at all other times the light is at oblique angles
grok good, harmony and beauty, the cosmos reels and wheels, we rest, eternally seated below

Bare Bones ….Kathmandu – Nagarkot – Pokhara – Poon Hill

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Nepalese buses.
Rammed full of people. Somebody would have their elbow in your nose.
The groan and throb of the tata bus engine, sway, then jostle.
You’d feel completely overwhelmed by the burden of humanity.
Zilch leg room, not designed for European proportions.
Scramble up the ladder, to ride on top of the bus.
Freedom. Much more room above!
Wending our way through the mountains.
hang on for dear life.
Steep drops to one side. Raging, foaming streams.
A goat up there with us.
Beneath the sky, the hills surrounding, engulfing.
Beautiful.

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“HORN OK PLEASE”
The language, the rhythm of horn honks.
A truck would thunder up behind us… festooned with brightly colored baubles, hand-painted, gaudy with tinsel… a heavily garlanded Ganesha on the dashboard, remover of obstacles, blessing the journey.
the lorry would toot once to let the driver know, “Here I am.”
The driver of the bus would reply, parp, “I know you’re there.”
Then, “honk, honk,” the road is clear.
The truck would overtake, a cheerful bamboozlement, a cacophony of horn honks, for the sheer thrill of it.
Then, as he got past, one final hoot, “Thank you!”

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Nagarkot on the rim of the Kathmandu Valley, gazing out toward the Himalayas, I remember meeting a young boy, 10 years old, Dinesh
He stood up very straight, spoke polite, impeccable English, which primarily he’d learnt from the World Service of the BBC.
He told us that the space shuttle, Challenger, had exploded about a week before.
a curious reversal, odd to learn of such a major global tragedy from a soft spoken boy high up in the mountains.
Travelling you were so out of touch in the days before the internet!

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Trekking

Permits, maps, trekking pass
we set off early in the morning from Pokhara
Squeezing into a jeep with a family of locals
the track cut across a wide, rubble-strewn riverbed, a massive field of grey boulders and gravel, washed down from the Himalaya over millennia.

A few hours walking upwards, then onto the ridge, Machapuchare—the sacred, sculpted, untouchable “Fishtail” peak dominating the horizon.
I had already felt ill the previous days, by mid afternoon in Chandrakot I was distinctly queasy.
Realising I couldn’t continue, I sent Alan, impatient and in a hurry, onwards.
I stayed that night in a wooden hut with a kind patient Nepali woman and her daughter.
A bout of diarrhea, then in the middle of the night I was sick several times, hard to be discreet in a small hut!
With no bucket available, I was sick into a small plastic bag and dumped it out the window.
I became convinced I had altitude sickness, hugely unlikely at only 1000m (approx) elevevation, and in my delirium wanted to head downwards towards Bierthanti.
yet in the darkness, creaking down the stairs could barely find the latch for the door!
Next morning, slightly recovered I headed down. Firstly seeing a chicken pecking at my bag of puke (yeucchhh!)
Fortunately I hadn’t found my way out, a steep, knee jarring descent.
Ah the Romance of travel

Bierthanthi was a boon and a blessing. I spent a couple of days there relaxing, recovering… a beautiful lodge, sleeping with the sound of the rushing river.
The Modi Khola, theoretically, at least, the deepest gorge in the world
Classic Tea House trek. Tasty, nourishing food… chai, eggs, porridge and the ubiquitous Dal Bhat
Most of the days I sat on the boulders in the river, reading a book, else watching the water churn and swirl around. mesmerised
Rivendell. At home with the elves. Felt that Tolkien must have been in Nepal (the alps apparently!).
Powerful mountains, the broad sweep of landscape, the Nepalese people seemingly conjured as characters from his books.

Onwards to Ulleri… from the valley floor to Ghorepani
A warm sunny day, but with a chill crisp nip to the air.
I wore only swim shorts and bounded along, ascending 1500 m In one day, a mile higher.
beginning with the resolute plod up a long, endless stone staircase.
at the level of the eagles as they soared and swooped above the valley below
the path spooled, wound around and around
donkey trains, the chime of bells, jangle of harness, their tasseled coloured head pieces, step to one side to allow them to pass
the perilous, dubious crossing of swing bridges
The local porters, barefoot, burdened by the immense weights, carrying pipes, coca cola for tourists, EVERYTHING

fascinating the way that the climate zones change as you ascend the mountain, lush vibrant green Rice paddies down below, then through broad leafed woodland, Sall trees clinging with moss, Rhododendrons, small shrines, the tangible presence of spirits… follow the trail long enough, alpine scrub, then nothing but boulders and wind punished bone emptiness… in search of the sacred folk have always retreated to the mountains

Hillside Lodge, just a few hours walk below the summit of Poon Hill.
Shut within a few years due to the excessive deforestation of the hillsides. As travellers we are very much part of the problem.
A crackling fire, endless joints, travellers company and tales. Bill and Lisa, his cousin, from Australia, a quiet Danish guy, Lars.
early the next morning, the final wander up to 3200 m for the epic sunrise and a panorama of the white capped mountains.
Back down again, it snowed all day, we were all marooned in the cabin.

after this, the next day a rapid yomp down, we tarried too long and I remember the last hour in the twilight looking for the lights of the next village.

In all a ten day trek… my first of many… would only take you 2 days to get to poon hill nowadays! times of youth and yore!

actually Poon Hill Nepal, but first foot forward

Bare Bones …. Delhi – Jaipur – Agra – Varanasi

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Landing in India for the first time back in January 1986.
2am, within the airport, the clean, sterile, safe environment of the glass-and-concrete terminal.
The slow trudge through Arrivals, the necessary bureaucracy of passport control,
only to look through the floor-to-ceiling windows and see a dense, living wall of faces staring back
The pulsating throng, the sheer crush and weight of humanity outside.
Delhi awaits!
the thick, humid night air mixed with exhaust fumes, diesel, bidis, and spices, accompanied by a roaring wall of sound from shouting drivers, honking horns, and dozens of voices calling out at once.
A late night black-and-yellow Ambassador cab journey to the hotel, bedlam and cows!

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I met Alan, a 22-year-old from Canada, at Heathrow Airport, when Mum and Dad were waving goodbye to me.
We started chatting, struck up a friendship… and spent the first few weeks of my time in India traveling together.
He was a positive enthusiastic soul… lacking my pondersome, youthful indecision.

Those first few days in Delhi a blur of exhaustion, sensory overload, enduring the chaos. Jet-lagged and sleep deprived.
It was around the time of Republic day, so the jamboree of colourful marching bands.
a horseback wedding procession!
The first thing I did was to head to Connaught Place to sell my bottle of duty free Johnnie Walker Whisky to a be-turbaned Sikh in an auto rickshaw
a handful of black market rupees!

Republic Day

Delhi Wedding

Cricket with Red Fort, Delhi

Cricket Mad India!
I remember being on a dusty train platform in the middle of nowhere.
There was one television, centrally located, on a table, Black and White, hulking, old school Cathode Ray Tube.
A huge crowd of a hundred Indians gathered around watching watching the game. Hushed focus.
All castes, every religion, from wealthy businessman through to beggar
Something ancient. Something powerful.

Alan Red Fort

Most of our first few days in Delhi, we were actually just trying to leave!
often the way. And yeah, such a bureaucracy involved in trying to get a train ticket.
queuing, filling out triplicate forms, seat quotas, bleaggh

We struggled. Eventually succeded. And, obviously, went first to the Taj.

Then after a day or two on to Jaipur

We stayed at the Jaipur Inn, a rooftop view, serene garden, and a retired Wing Commander, military rigour, with a glorious, flourishing mustache.
We were persuaded to buy some gem stones, the allure of easy moolah! Carry them on to Sydney, then sell them there.

Hours spent pondering fragments of stony light set in their velvet cases… Alan and Robin were particularly encouraged, peer pressure.
I purchased 3 light blue aqua marines, a string of purple amethyst and another, the warm honey, of brandy citrines.
I still have them to this day! lost in a box of memorabilia… Gemstones, they last forever!

Alan and Robin, A beautiful day cycling out to the Amber Fort

skirting the calm waters of Man Sagar Lake where the Jal Mahal sits in the middle

Next it was onto Varanasi, one of the worlds most ancient and sacred cities
two fighting rams with painted horns, one black and one white, clashing head-to-head in the morning light, yin and yang, balance, and conflict
the burning ghats, astonished at the sheer volume of wood it takes to burn a human body… the keening, the flames, the hush

sunset boat ride

the morning ritual

We stayed at Yogi Guest House—a travellers haven tucked deep within the narrow, winding labyrinth of the old city’s alleyways. I loved it there

Dhobi Wallahs: Watching the washermen at work along the lower steps—slapping wet clothes against flat stone slabs, laying the clothes to dry in the sun, and returning them days later scented with strong soap, crisp, fiercely, precisely folded.

Lonely Planet India, Geoff Crowther, before the days of the internet this was absolutely essential, a crucial read
it modulated and shaped the entire experience
where to go? where to stay? how to get there? where to eat?
I’d have been completely lost without it!
It was also fascinatingly informative on history, religion and culture… Hindu mythology, Mughal architecture, British colonial history.
it’s potted guides were a revelation and an education. Thank you!