U. S. Soldiers Home Mac: during a century of travel (well 78 years!) both in and out of service I have travelled to over 150 countries (I count both North and South Dakota as countries) and for some reason have jotted signs and happenings that I thought funny at the time (and now wonder why). So here is the perfect opportunity to share some of my anecdotes.

Beijing, China. The Imperial Palace in the Forbidden City in Beijing has 9,000 rooms. We agree that if we got lost and separated from each other we would meet in the Hall of Heavenly Purity (if they would let us in) At the time I was there the military did no wear rank on their uniforms (don’t know if this still applies or not) You could kind of get an idea of who outranked who by the number of pockets they had on their blouse of uniform. Someone with four pockets would have their baggage carried by someone with one pocket or no pockets.

In the hotels the orchestras (In the Peace Hotel in Shanghai I think they had some of the members or orchestra from the 30s) would play songs they thought we would like. Oh Susannah from a couple of decades ago seems to be making a comeback as well as Turkey in the Straw and Auld Lang Sang. At the end of each number the players would put down their instruments and applaud us in the audience. We could hardly wait for the Tuba player to unwind from his Tuba to applaud us. Everyone in our tour group caught colds (from the dust) except those that had taken Vitamin C for a couple of weeks before arriving in China. Mr Wu our guide referred to the Royal Bank of Canada (George from Canada wanted to get some money) as the Loyal Bank of Canada. One of the military said that when he was in China years before he took a piece of the wall and had a name plate put on it and sent it to movie actress Carole Lombard as he had read that she collected rocks. She threw it back. No she wrote and thanked him.

Our Chinese guide in Wuxi kind of had a high opinion of himself (unusual for Chinese) and though he was hip in Western ways. He liked to show off and showed us how he was proficient in Tai Chi (shadow boxing). Blonde vivacious Liza asked him to dance with her. He said No that he could not dance with a client but that he would arm-wrestle her Ha. He told long involved stories about the Kingdom of Wu and Dragons and such. George whispered: I wonder what he would say if we told him we didn’t want to hear any more dragon stories? If I were going to China today I would probably take my own plastic chopsticks. In Japan they have disposable chopsticks but in China they have plastic ones that you hope they wash after several others have used them. If going to China start a walking program at home. Walk around the block then next day further as in China even on escorted tours you are going to be doing more walking than you possibly do at home. Build up you let muscles before leaving home. I put as many Chinese stamps on letters sent home as possible for stamp collectors back home as their stamps are so colourful and unusual. While there their coffee was not very good so taking instant coffee along helped. The hotels had thermos bottle of hot water for tea in your room, which they replenished every morning and this was handy to make coffee with.

Kneehow (phonetic) in Chinese means hello. In China Carol who was from England and had a beautiful voice would sing slightly risqué Cockney songs and George would sing “My old lady and the lady next door went down the river on a barnyard door singing Ki Yi Yippie Yi ” and nonsensical songs. Miss Cha who was trying to learn English (she had taught herself) wanted to learn some of these songs so she could sing them to her next tour group. As some were risqué Carol said. “My dear I don’t think you really need to learn these songs” Les would give his excellent imitation of Peter Sellers imitating an Indian and his accent was hilariously correct. We should have been a USO troop. We laughed all the way across China. If you are in high altitude eating onions will help combat altitude sickness.

Next month, Mac discusses his travels through India. If you would like to contact Mac, he can be e-mailed on: macsan400@yahoo.com

Part One:

We had listened with excitement to our friend’s description of his travels in the tribal regions of Kinnaur and Spiti, in the North Indian State of Himachal Pradesh. Bordering Tibet, these areas had only recently been opened to foreigners.

The following May we set off from Goa, where we spend our winters, and headed for Shimla, the former summer capital of the British Raj. It was our second visit to this bit of old England located on top of and spilling over both sides of a steep ridge in the foothills of the Himalayas. Even a scaled down copy of London’s Gaiety Theatre sits on the Mall, the town’s high street from where on a clear day you can see high peaks while strolling past and poking into quaint old shops, including Maria Brother’s Antiquarian Bookshop, where you never know what treasures you’ll find.

We inquired about Kinnaur and Spiti at the tourist office, housed in a Tudor-style building on the Mall. They tried to be helpful but there wasn’t much official information to be had about the region. That was ten years ago. The bureaucratic hassles involved in obtaining permission to enter this region at that time were so formidable that few travellers managed it, and of those who did, most received permission to stay for only a week and others were even required to take a police escort with them. Surprisingly, the officer in charge of a small district headquarters granted us a two-month unrestricted permit from simply because we had struck a friendly note with him. Such is the way things happen in India. In the past few years entry restrictions have been relaxed and we have been back many times.

The district of Kinnaur is largely Hindu, but being far from the centres of mainstream Hinduism, it has retained an archaic character: oracles go into trances and the gods of the villages speak through them. There are no Brahmins here to act as priests; Buddhist lamas conduct the major household rituals for the Hindus, those concerned with birth, marriage and death, a practice unheard of elsewhere in Hindu India. Spiti though, is Lamaistic Buddhist as is Tibet, but the religion is more archaic here, retaining ancient ways, magical practices and archaic rituals that long ago disappeared from Tibet.

Over the years, we’ve spent many months exploring Kinnaur and Spiti, living in small villages, walking the trails between remote villages and into the high, uninhabited mountains and attending festivals at gompas (monasteries)—colourful events when the lamas don gorgeous silken brocade robes, masks and headdresses and perform graceful dances to the sounds of kettle drums and unbelievably long, curved brass horns. Once we pitched our tent on top of a flat-roofed mud house and watched the lamas practice their graceful steps and leaps for a week before the festival began. The dances are dramatizations of stories from Tibetan Buddhist myths, all very well known to the lively and appreciative audience of villagers, decked out in their finest and most exotic apparel; they come from near and far to watch these shows. We sat among them and enjoyed being among these gentle and colourful, full-of-life people.

At a festival at Ki Gompa, which is built around the small, rubbly cone of an extinct volcano, when the dances were over, the audience got up and moved to the hillside behind the monastery. There they formed long, snaking lines and prostrated themselves to make a living carpet for the lamas to walk on. Talk about devotion! The people consider their lamas to be literally living gods.

Ki village is high above the Spiti Valley, north of Kaza, Spiti’s main town. The bazaar has the timeless feel of an ancient entrepôt. It is a meeting place of people from all over the Himalayas and the Indian plains who come here to trade donkeys, yaks, rugs, turquoise and coral, seed pearls and peas… (and Spiti is renowned for its fine riding horses able to navigate the narrowest of mountain trails, and also for its wily horse traders).

The town is dotted with small squares built around gleaming white, highly embellished chortens or stupas, the reliquary mounds found everywhere in the Buddhist Himalayas, and shaded by ancient gnarled poplars. And surrounding the town are stark, boldly hued mountains. In this high-altitude, desert-like region all cultivation must be carried on by extensive and ingenious irrigation schemes, complex networks of channels that bring water to the fields from glaciers in the mountains high above. The emerald fields of barley and peas are like jewels set into this rugged, rocky landscape. Massive mud-brick houses and monasteries washed gleaming white with distinctive black and ochre trim stand out against the green of the fields and the deep blue of the sky.

More in our next letter about Spiti’s distinctive style of architecture—it’s amazing what you can do with mud! And, what happened when it rained in this place where it never rains!

Martin and Carol Noval have been living in India for more than twenty years and organize and lead several special cultural tours and treks a year for small groups. They’ll be leading road trips and treks in Spiti next summer (2003). If you would like to get in touch, email them at tripsintoindia@usa.net and check their website www.tripsintoindia.com