‘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
audio of text
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
(not these 3… they were lovely too, from shivarahti)audio of text
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
audio of textRatna
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!
audio of text
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!!!
audio of text
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’
audio of text
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
Street of Typewriters. Street of Scribes. Mysore Typewriters! The rhythmic cheerful metallic rat a tat tat audible even above all the street sounds… mostly the persistent smog whirr and hurtle honk of circling rickshaws there is something curiously satisfying about redundant technology … these mechanical contraptions of yore … a collaboration of type set metal, set on sticks… then the reams of blueBlack ink and smudge carbon paper these typists were down a side street near Mysore palace, towered over by Raj era, slightly pompous indo saracenic (sarcastic?!) buildings, likewise relics of a bygone epoch Not the best photo, indeed, just a snap in passing… I half remember(?) exactly the same scene from when I first came here back in the 80s I loved the way the customer, he with the scooter helmet, mobile phone at his side, was animatedly explaining what he wanted, whilst the typist alternated between earnest attention and that faraway stare, almost rapt, as he typed away composition as collaboration Fascinated, the next day I returned to chat with Ramesh… balding, gentle natured, a mild beige shirt, seemingly old, but in truth probably 10 years younger than I… He proudly told me he had been working here 25 years, his only ever job. I blurted out the obvious ‘but but computers!!!’ he explained that 15% of Indian written communication was still done in this way! people preffered it… mostly the job was translating official-esque documents from Kannadian (language of Karnataka, with its beautiful curly wurly alphabet) into English… depositions, legalese pleas… and yet, and yet, I am sure he would sometimes turn his skills to writing the occasional purple prose of a love letter… wringing emotions into ink, codifying the heart… it was ever thus for scribes I think, in another life, I would have happily been a scribe, mbe at the court of Tipu Sultan, the late 18th century, with a beautiful coloured turban, sniffing a Rose (a frequent motif), gnawing on a florid ink besmirched feather quill, concocting love letters for a customer… like something from Orhan Pamuks ‘My Name is Red’
Sri Ranganatha Swamy Temple, Srirangapatana, Karnataka quite the clickety clack tongue twister for my anglo saxon mutter utterance I love to be at an ancient South Indian temple just before sunset enter through the gate under the majestic gopuram, pass through the halls, each pillar uniquely carved, centuries before, with a flower, animal, dancer or god… black stone daubed with splahes of colour… pink, red, saffron… slick with ghee, the bright blooms of offerings of flowers richly sensual ONWARD, DEEPER, a bell is rung, onward, deeper, following the swish of sari, onward, deeper, following the swish of moustache, onward deeper, plumes of incense, ONWARD, DEEPER finally coming to the inner sanctum, before the shrine itself, here Vishnu reclining with a five headed snake (Sheshnag) forming a potective canopy over his head, dreaming the world into being it is not my religion, i have no real notion what is going on… but just stand quietly, feel whatever it is that there is there for you to feel, heart open, as source bubbles to surface… spirit is spirit, wherever you find it… be it in the astonishing beauty of nature… a country church in winter at dusk… the shrine of a sufi saint… else somewhere like here… where people have chanted together down the centuries the old warmth, yearn, the pull of beyond… a solemn exuberant place
no photos obvs
audio of text
this temple dedicated to Vishnu on the banks of the Kaveri river is at least 1000 years old, a pleasant stumble upon after visiting Tipu Sultans Summer Palace, it didn’t even make the Lonely Planet(!), a major Vaishnava pilgrimage centre one of the many treats of india, the minute you amble but a nano hair off the beaten track is the air of minor celebrity acquired everybody wants to chat and have their photo taken with you… as a lover of natter and selfies this suits me right down to the ground i always ask them to take one for me, photos of people are my fave and this way i’m not intrusively shoving a camea in a strangers face these youngsters , Rashika and Arun, were paricularly sweet, the baby was at that teeter topple toddle phase lurching cheerfully hither and thither, practicing waving (bye bye / ta ta) … i’d just had an amusing exchange with a couple of smartly saried , very posh, biddies ‘my son he lives in california, he has a succesful health food company, maybe you know it?’, after that selfie they too came over for a snap and a chat… afterwards, waving goodbye, they disappeared around the corner, then retuned a minute later bringing me some prasad, sweet treats blessed by the shrine, to tell me that it was Rashikas birthday… cue ‘Happy Birthday toooo youuu’
i also like the fact that the brahmin priest, bare chest, paunch and slightly balding, he wafts the flame, takes the donations, moves those overtly fervent along… yet in quieter time, boredly flicks through his mobile phone… we all do… what i’m doing just now, you too? where does he keep the phone tho, a mystery, in his lunghi?
lucy: Heading there in around 1 week
Namaste! Hullo… Been enjoying your photos… If your there deffo recommend the temple around sunset… Doesn’t have the size and extraordinary vibe of some of the Tamil Nadu ones (Madurai, Tiruvannamalai) but nearby… And a human scale… India without cars, everyone in a cheerful mood! xx
solstice blessings one and all… outside all is drizzle dark, yet trust, the leap of faith, that the sun will return, bringing the balm of warmth, light, life… season of quietitude feeling the gentle Rose Quartz Heart Chakra vibes, pink and purple, compassion, light a candle for all who have gone, that which has passed and that which must fall away… one day it will be our turn, be easy and kind xx
audio of text
cooped up and depleted with the ubiquitous snuffles, the solace of telly… i’ve been watching university challenge, shouting answers out, frequently wrong, but suprisingly often correct, contenting myself with the curmudgeonly old folks tut ‘students of today, do they teach them nothing?!’ oh and watching endless episodes of a colombian teen witch saga… its tosh obvs, but i love the glossiness, the colours, cartagena looking sumptuous, memories from long ago… and the soft bamboozle of latin american spanish
Sarah: Good Solstice Such an atmospheric time of year Old site of stone circle on moor behind our house and you can see why it’s there- clear view over the hills to east and west for miles
Wow! Sounds amazing, great place to soak up the ancient and eternal returning vibes… tho presume youve dug it over with your archaeology trowel?! X
Mad Hatter and Cheshire Cat! part of the Alice in Wonderland raft posse That slightly odd frisson when you randomly bump into a blown up image of yourselves, down on the promenade by the i360… a beautiful meander at sunset amidst starling murmurations ……………. that pic has a weird afterlife, echoes of summer on a freezing brighton day, 4 years or so ago now, but it crops up often! was in the Brighton Calendar last year
old skool… tinsel porridge breakfast rave don’t mess with your food, poddigge went cold with all my banana bling-ing… so had to reheat ended up being more sesame street elmo, bert n’ ernie than the intended ‘porridge with the prodigy’ x
nelisa: 😂🤣 You’re such a legend Richard!
martin: Poet and now alternative, beat chef?! 😄
Psytrance porridge is so last week, everyone knows Saturday mornings it’s reggae veggie sausages!
Cobweb Santa Beard, with icicle on the end of me nose!… up in Surrey at mums earlier ‘Colder than a well diggers arse’, as Tom Waits memorably sang… so I’ve been doing the usual… sea swimming in me skimpies…. followed by forever and forever in a sauna… gorging on mince pies and mulled-ness (almost mindfullness!) whilst watching footie. Stay in bed beautiful people! xx
Stop start in a blizzard slo mo motorway… somewhere near Gatwick… fraught and beautiful… even then, I so love the snow
Not this one, but rather partial to a bit of boho schmaltz x
audio of text
Look! Hoofprints of the giant wooly carretpillar-o-saurus! My foot to scale Long believed extinct, it endures, in small enclaves on the chalk cliffs of the south downs… This lovelorn sole survivor seemingly subsists on a diet of new born stoats and Worcestershire sauce flavoured crisps… I have long suspected it to be my totemic spirit animal?
