Stinging Nettle Baba Ganoush! well, in truth a hummus hybrid, roast aubergine, plumped out with chick peas… olive oil, lemon, garlic and seasoning ‘Baboushka ya yay ya yay ye’… the essential ingredient, early 80’s Kate Bush, then dance, with exaggerated panache, wielding hand blender, around the kitchen… a slightly less skimpy outfit as a drab, cold rainy day here… such a revolting country. tho it makes me happy to live in a world where Baba Ganoush is a word!, such a delight to utter
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surprisingly tasty dish, tho beware of the sedative nettle effect, i promptly fell asleep on the bed in the loft, sleeping beauty slumbers first nettle harvest of the year… my ankle recovered enough for a slow jaunt up the cliffs tingle throb, fingers fizz from a nettle sting… a fuzzy sensation that convention labels as painful… but is it? bird song the soggy lament for this somber spring… the hillside still clad in its winter garb, branches of purple burgundy mingled with lichen green… the occasional canary custard yellow daub of gorse look closely, the buckthorn sprays, tight clenched buds, about to kick off! next week a seethe froth of white, not yet… not quite yet mud, mud galore, ooze slurp that keeps the score, patterned from each passing footfall channeling a soupcon of Jack Nicholson in the Shining for the snap too! anyway, back to tonights movie… The Yin Yang Master… a cheerful romp, loving the kung fu racoons!
when in doubt, life at a crossroads, always helpful to ask myself ‘what would kate bush do?’… cheerfully eccentric results x
milarepa, great buddhist yogi and saint, whilst meditating in his himalayan cave ate only nettle soup and promptly turned green
tulips… and my amazing chakra cuttlefish* cardigan!… created in the lab/garden shed at the precise moment the clocks changed, from woven mycelium… it is sensitive to the auric fields oscillating in tune with the earths schuman resonance… yours for the gullible price of 999 dollars, or 23 Totnes pounds, whichever is greater!? It’s raining… again… sunday morning *cuttlefish communicate by changing colour in tune with their emotions, how blooming cool is that!
equinox blessings! where light balances dark, ebb matches flow, stasis amongst the tumult of change Rhythm of Blood, Rhythm of Breath, these entwined spirals, Gaia Gyre forwards days of poise and cusp… touching earth, reaching for sky… brimful, human in my pink wooly hat and green swim shorts, idly pushing fridge magnets together, tweaking between repulsion and attraction cheerfully, tunelessly, humming a mash up twixt… ‘big wheel keep on turning’ and ‘…the whole world in his hands’ pondering the contents of the depleted cupboards ‘leak and potato soup or porridge for brekkie? both?’ a selfie a day keeps the doctor away, oh vanity… whats that tarot card where he holds the globe? flicks quickly through pack… two of wands! will ruminate on that energy today anyway… things to be doing! rustle up those reluctant bones wishing you a sumptuous day! x
Debs: Hey, which did you decide on? Leek and potato porridge? Xx 🤣
ha! yum… sadly neither, was a day of errands for mum, inevitably pfaffed too long on social media and had to skip brekkie! xx
Laurence: funny, I have been listening to this after a long period of not… synchronisation
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… the first time i heard the massive attack ‘unfinished sympathy’ record… early 90’s in the squat in Prague, had been out all night at a party, so suitably off my trolly was being played on a cassete, blown away! dawn, someone had a croquet set(?!), so we blearily straggled our way past the baroque statues on Karlov Most (Charles Bridge) to the little park at Na Kampe Crusties! Croissants! Croquet!… and ha, Massive Attack still love that album, it and screamadelica… just made you ‘Believe’ how can it be more than 30 years old?? x
pondersome over coffee. surrender. the soft lilt of rain outside the window music all a mingle, bossa nova interleaved with irish ballads this tip toe whisper of spring, a hush almost on the cusp of lyricism soil a wriggle, of roots and earthworms chin tilted, slightly uplifted, faces echo flowers an expectation of warmth, the gentle balm of grace a turning
arf! not me guv. guiltily caught! peanut butter yum thumb random oldie snap of the day… on my computer… tho have never seen it before… possibly one from my sis? late 90’s? would never behave this way in the 21st century! such a natty dresser… stripes and tartan!
‘ice ice baby’… Still life (as in I’m not moving much)… Sprained ankle, map and medicinal vintage squidge blackberries unearthed from distant nether region of freezer compartment… Toe helpfully indicates approx geographic region of accident, Kathmandu… Only trouble is due to slightly split bag now can’t tell which colour due to mottle bruise and which but blackberry juice? And even which ingrained Holi paint!… Bored! Cold! Home!… Oh poor footsies and tootsies!
Sarah: Ouch! Tho blackberry bag makes it look like you’ve got a giant blister ! Improve soon x
Maggie: GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY PHONE SCREEN!
Debs: Welcome home you blackberry crusher, hopefully your tootsies will recover soon. Xxx
Amber: Welcome home dearest Richard Basgallop! Thank you so much for including us on your amzing colourful journey of late, it’s been an uplift to the soul during the dark cold wintery months. Hope you foot feels better soon and we meet on the dance floor for a Spring boogie
I love a big Asian city… well love and hate, you know how it is! of course yoga on the beach, meditating in an ashram, climbing in the lofty himalayas, these are all blissful, transcendent aspects of travelling but its only really in the gritty metropoli that you get a measure, a grasp on how most folk live a glimpse of narrative tableau, people going about their lives. throng
step onto the street, risk of life and limb, hurtled at by Rickshaws, scooters appear from every direction… all is squalour and hubbub… the notion of pavement is almost preposterous its all about surfing the overwhelm, constantly pummelled by sensory stimulus an exercise in focus and intention… i am going here, this, precisely, is how i will get there sieve through what is pertinent, this can kill me, that, as joyce would have it, that is just a ‘shout in the street’ cubist consciousness, fractured, life unravels in a different rhythm world gulped in glimpses
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having said that Kathmandu, despite its usual hurly burly, is well blessed with civic spaces I loved the little stupa square near my hotel, its that mix of the sacred and the mundane amongst huge clamour, Kids hurtle, chucking water bombs, it’s the cusp of holi… 2 small girls skip to create a crescendo swirl of pigeons Bells are rung, the noodle stall in the corner does a roaring trade, motorbikes are parked everywhere, askant and akimbo Kids strum a guitar Old men with walking sticks and traditional hats (Dhaka Topi) chat on the steps it’s like a small Spanish towns Plaza Mayor but with a Newari Buddhist twist Prayer flags flutter, eyes of Buddha atop the stupa serenely observe a nearly full moon, pollution peach, drifts across the sky above A 7 year old boy encouraged by the guitar players does impersonations of football players goal celebrations.. he runs, a Ronaldo jump, spin and pout… We all go ‘siuuuu’… They shout ‘Mbappe’, arms crossed and a cheeky scowl! By request Messi and Neymar follow global. joyful
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3 sisters in pink, the oldest is pushed over to chat to me, she is mbe 13, the others hanging onto her coat 10 and 6… The usual questions and answers: ‘engLAND’ , ‘alone’, ‘2 children boy 26, girl 22’ … my tie dye pink t shirt matches their clobber… I want to take their photo, they want to take mine… But neither of us are like that… Shy smiles mingled with playful waves as they leave a nothingness of trivial interaction, tho there is a powerful warm glow to it, the questions irrelevant, i can tell they are in from the subburbs, their parents, a little way away speak no english we are all buoyed by our mutual curiosity
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Another day I am sitting near the edge of the central Durbar square, on the steps of a pagoda, next to an ancient statue, comically adorned with lipstick I am tucked out of the way, observing, a telly in standby mode! A kid blows soapy bubbles streaming into the air The cloth merchant begins to neatly fold her nylon saris, gives up, flings them in a heap A family of four on a scooter… The rag bedraggled homeless man, bare cracked feet, snores asleep on the steps of the temple people passing people passing There is a young woman in beige trousers a pattern of dogs, cats and rabbit faces, she has a shiva trident in vermilion powder etched on her third eye… A Mum wears a bright red smurf bobble hat, straight up, adding half a foot to her stature, daughter has opted for a rainbow sun hat with a feather garb of exoticism a shop owner comes over, introduces himself, ‘Ratna’ we smoke cigarettes as he shows a clutch of well thumbed photos from which he beams out youthful when he first set up in 1980, how he learned english on the street his wedding, to a Newari budhist despite him being Hindu Adventures in Hong Kong he is 61, I tell him of my first trip to Nepal in 1986… 2 oldish men talking proudly of days of yore he is soon to be a grandad he knows everybody in these parts I see him once more 2 days later during the bedlam of the holi celebrations, a crush of people between us, but he smiles and waves he is standing on the edge of the stage, helping direct people around to safety responsibility, a man embedded in his own community I get the sense of a life well lived
A week trekking up to the Annapurna Sanctuary and back… it’s the bobbins! Waking up at Base Camp after a night of heavy snow… a clear and divine morning… at 4000m, surrounded on all sides by peaks. Annapurna and her siblings, spin all the way around to Macchu Pichurre (Fish tail), each mountain towering 7000 or 8000m high brain slightly doolally, oxygen deprived, realm of the sacred, theres a reason hermits head to the mountains for spiritual insight Annapurna goddess of nourishment, the nectar of plenty flowing endlessly from her lap bask in wonder and exhaustion, content with my insignificance, rumbling along, with the humble and the glorious The day up to the Sanctuary was epic, a climb of 1000m, trekking alone i was blessed to be adopted by 3 Kathmandu lads in the lodge the night before… BK, Nikki and Muni… ‘We go together!’… they were all around Finn, my sons, age and in truth had never much been in the mountains before… they were like ‘Respect Uncle!’… seemingly bewildered that someone so ancient as i could be up there… their own parents at home, comfortably, sensibly, ensconced in front of the telly Up we trudged, crawling past the avalanche zone, over fast flowing ice streams, reaching Macchu Pichurre Base Camp, then dog legging left… a bleak, empty wilderness… an hour from the camp the weather closed in, white out from fog, then the snow started. Once we got to the lodge, relief, a huge plate of dhal bhat stodge, a hot lemon ginger honey and watching out the window as stragglers made it home… a huge snow storm into the night, mostly the rumble of thunder, interspersed with the occasional distant sound of an avalanche! crikey!
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back track slightly… tho the peaks are jaw dropping, much of the pleasure of trekking is in its cheerful simplicity wake up in the morning and follow the path, up, then down, then up and up…. i meandered higher and higher, easily the slowest on the mountain ‘no hurry, no worry’ when your tired stop for chai, or mid afternoon find a comfortable lodge to hunker down for the night… 2 quid for a bed. bargain the lower stretches were pleasantly rural, water buffalo, terraced fields of crops, cabbages and wild hemp, rickety hay stacks, locals just grokking as the world passes their front door… shire-esque! have always felt that tolkein vibe since I came to Nepal first back in 1986 After this it was 3 days of Sal and Rhoddedendron forest, interspersed with Bamboo… occasionally a posse of porters would surge past, many with music blaring out… a bit of nepali hip hop? else the syruppy-ness of a romantic duet!… each porter carrying up to 60 Kg supported from a band around their forehead. respect. a tough life… else a bamboo cutter with his basket and poles would appear from nowhere…. grey langurs, eagles and even vultures!!!
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Lodge life was fun and sociable, still low season, so but few folk on the mountain… grab a handful of spare blankets and wrap up in down jacket and wooly hat… always a friendly dawg and chatty lodge keeper… each night was like being marooned in a submarine, a motley selection of people, random and frequently hilarious gabble! who knows what nonsense you’d be talking about of the tourists there was a healthy smattering of europeans, americans, dutch, south africans etc… as they all travelled faster than me i saw them all again as i was trudging up and they coming back down… companions! long lost friends! by far the largest contingent of trekkers were young Nepalis from Kathmandu, more affluent, middle class english speakers… a real generational change, lovely to see them out exploring their own country oh and of course there were the groups! ha! with guides and porters, i particularly enjoyed a gang of 20 malay chinese, their porters were carrying hair dryers up into the mountains?!… they were great tho, we leapfrogged each other for a couple of days… every time i’d stagger up, they’d all jump to their feet and clap ‘Wichard! Wichard!’… a wonderful nourishing way to be greeted ……. goodness i’m waffling on this morning… a glut of words and pictures… won’t fare well with the social media algorithm! …… hmm what else to say? my stick! dropped off by the bus in jhinnu, the first adventure was to cross the longest, the highest, the creakiest suspension bridge! i’m terrified of heights so a baptism of fire… sunset… as i got to the other side there were 2 sticks propped against the wall… perfect! one of bamboo and a beautiful one of ooh mbe sturdy cherry?… i snatched the latter up and off i went… i love a good stick, won’t bore you with my camino tale now, the perfect companion, this one supported me all the up and all the way back down again… a week later i left it at the exact same spot… for the next traveller… a beautiful symmetry did make me ponder about my choice… we are so conditioned by our heritage, our history… i never even for a second even considered the bamboo?! …. i was explaining this to one of the young malay women… in response she arched her beautiful eyebrows and in despair at my folly mournfully uttered ‘ Bambuuuuuuuuu’
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on the way up the mountain i stopped at a sacred place in the woods, ‘a powerful god’, there was a shiva shrine, prayer flags, teeter totter stones and a more buddhist pagoda… ‘powerful god’ is about right, for whatever the quibble about the name of the divinity, it surely comes from an ancient animist site. sitting by the pagoda, looking into the gorge, a waterfall gabbling down the far cliff i closed my eyes and intoned three deep ‘aummmmms’… a curious audio quality, there was the sound of the waterfall, then a deeper rumble from the river gorge, but the sound of my om somewhow resonated with the sound scape… it was like being lifted up, the whirring and fluttering of great wings…. beyond that, beyond that…. stillness i stopped there again on the way down… just to give thanks… speak a few simple, obvious, words into the roar of the waterfall… i cried ……….. may all beings be well, may all beings be happy, may all beings be free from suffering… om mane padme hum x
