The Texas branch has both good news and bad news. The bad news is the cancellation of the April meeting on the 10th. The good news is the speaker for the May 8 meeting has been confirmed.

The Texas branch meets at the New Braunfels Public Library every second Saturday of the month at 2 p.m. There is no charge for the wonderful meeting room and all a/v equipment is provided. The location is convenient for Globetrotters Club members and all travellers in south central Texas. The room is being used by AARP to help folks do their taxes on April 10. So, no meeting.

We have our room back on May 8, with an exciting presentation: we will be hearing about Servas, a wonderful program for travellers who care about World Peace. If you like to travel and care about World Peace, this is a must attend event. Wayne Thomas will be the speaker. I guarantee you life will be enhanced after meeting him.

So, no meeting in April and an exciting one in May. See you then.

For more information about the Texas Branch: please contact texas@globetrotters.co.uk or register for email updates at our website (click here) or call Christina at 830-620-5482

If anybody would like to enquire about meetings or help Christina, please contact her on: texas@globetrotters.co.uk

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Ryanair has carried out its threat to scrap services between London and Brussels’ Charleroi airport, in an escalation of its battle with the European commission over illegal state aid from the Belgian authorities. In its summer schedule, it was revealed that its eight daily flights between the two cities would end on April 29. Ryanair blamed the EC’s ruling this month that the airline’s landing deal at Charleroi was illegal. Rivals say that the route may have been hit by competition from rival airlines and Eurostar.

Ryanair has banned eight passengers for life for compromising passenger and crew safety by smoking on board. The eight people were on different flights, and all cases have been referred to police.

Never let it be said that we are always horrible about Ryanair. Here’s a website where you can see some positive comments about our friend: http://www.ciao.co.uk/ryanair_com__77254 This website allows you to enter your views, pros and cons about using Ryanair. All three of the pros that the Beetle saw when she looked at it were to do with price – it’s cheap, the cons say impractical deals, no meals on board and a slow website.

For the sake of balance, here’s another website where you can record your own Ryanair misery story: Stories include luggage not being on the same flight as the passenger and all the hassle involved in getting some sort of recompense from Ryanair, money taken without confirmation and comments about the way Ryanair operate – little things, like using premium rate telephone numbers if you want to contact them and lack of e-mail address. It’s sober reading.

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If you enjoy writing, enjoy travelling, why not write for the free monthly Globetrotters e-newsletter! The Beetle would love to hear from you: your travel stories, anecdotes, jokes, questions, hints and tips, or your hometown or somewhere of special interest to you. Over 8,000 people currently subscribe to the Globetrotters e-news.

To see your story in cyber print, e-mail the Beetle with your travel experiences, hints and tips or questions up to 750 words, together with a couple of sentences about yourself and a contact e-mail address to Beetle@globetrotters.co.uk

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Ask me which Pacific island has the most to offer hikers and I’ll probably answer Easter Island. Here on an island 11 km wide and 23 km long you’ll find nearly a thousand ancient Polynesian statues strewn along a powerfully beautiful coastline or littering the slopes of an extinct volcano. Getting there is easy as Easter Island can be included in Oneworld’s round-the-world Explorer airpass, and a fine selection of inexpensive places to stay and eat awaits you.

The legends of Easter Island have been recounted many times. What’s less known is that the island’s assorted wonders are easily accessible on foot from the comfort of the only settlement, Hanga Roa. Before setting out see the sights, however, visit the excellent archaeological museum next to Ahu Tahai on the north side of town (the term “ahu” refers to an ancient stone platform). Aside from the exhibits, the museum has maps which can help you plan your trip.

The first morning after arrival, I suggest you climb Easter Island’s most spectacular volcano, Rano Kau, where Orongo, a major archaeological site, sits on the crater’s rim. But rather than marching straight up the main road to the crater, look for the unmarked shortcut trail off a driveway to the right just past the forestry station south of town. It takes under two hours to cover the six km from Hanga Roa to Orongo, but bring along a picnic lunch and make a day of it. (If climbing a 316-meter hill sounds daunting, you can take a taxi to the summit for around US$6 and easily walk back later in the day.) Once on top, you’ll find hiking down into the colourful crater presents no difficulty. It may also look easy to go right around the crater rim, but only do so if you’re a very experienced hiker and have a companion along as shear 250-meter cliffs drop into the sea from the ridge.

Another day, rise early and take a taxi to lovely Anakena Beach at the end of the paved road on the north side of the island (you should pay under US$10 for the 20 km). A few of the famous Easter Island statues have been restored at Anakena and you could go for a swim, although the main reason you’ve come is the chance to trek back to Hanga Roa around the road-free northwest corner of the island. You’ll pass numerous abandoned statues lying facedown where they fell, and the only living creatures you’re unlikely to encounter are the small brown hawks which will watch you intently from perches on nearby rocks. If you keep moving, you’ll arrive back in town in five or six hours (but take adequate food, water, and sunscreen). This is probably the finest coastal walk in the South Pacific.

Almost as good is the hike along the south coast, although you’re bound to run into other tourists here as a paved highway follows the shore. Begin early and catch a taxi to Rano Raraku, the stone quarry where all of the island’s statues were born. This is easily the island’s most spectacular sight with 397 statues in various stages of completion lying scattered around the crater. And each day large tour groups come to Rano Raraku to sightsee and have lunch. However, if you arrive before 9 am, you’ll have the site to yourself for a few hours. When you see the first tour buses headed your way, hike down to Ahu Tongariki on the coast, where 15 massive statues were re-erected in 1994. From here, just start walking back toward Hanga Roa (20 km) along the south coast. You’ll pass many fallen statues and enjoy some superb scenery. Whenever you get tired, simply go up onto the highway and stick out your thumb and you’ll be back in town in a jiffy.

An outstanding 13-km walk begins at the museum and follows the west coast five km north to Ahu Tepeu. As elsewhere, keep your eyes pealed for banana trees growing out of the barren rocks as these often indicate caves you can explore. Inland from Ahu Tepeu is one of the island’s most photographed sites, Ahu Akivi, with seven statues restored in 1960. From here an interior farm road runs straight back to town (study the maps at the museum carefully, as you’ll go far out of your way if you choose the wrong road here).

A shorter hike takes you up Puna Pau, a smaller crater which provided stone for the red topknots that originally crowned the island’s statues. There’s a great view of Hanga Roa from the three crosses on an adjacent hill and you can easily do it all in half a day. A different walk takes you right around the 3,353- meter airport runway, which crosses the island just south of town. Near the east end of the runway is Ahu Vinapu with perfectly fitted monolithic stonework bearing an uncanny resemblance to similar constructions in Peru.

Easter Island’s moderate climate and scant vegetation make for easy cross country hiking, and you won’t find yourself blocked by fences and private property signs very often. You could also tour the island by mountain bike, available from several locations at US$10 a day. If you surf or scuba dive, there are many opportunities here. A minimum of five days are needed to see the main sights of Easter Island, and two weeks would be far better. The variety of things to see and do will surprise you, and you’ll be blessed with some unforgettable memories.

David Stanley is the author of Moon Handbooks Tahiti: Including the Cook Islands http://www.southpacific.org/tahiti.html which also contains a full chapter on Easter Island. His online guide to Easter Island may be perused at http://www.southpacific.org/text/finding_easter.html

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The town of Knysna in the western Cape of South Africa lies a scenic 500km east of Cape Town along the Garden Route. There is the option to drive all the way into town, but a far more interesting way is to take the Outeniqua choo-Tjoe train that departs from George. If you are lucky your train will be pulled by a steam engine. Once you have left George’s shanty towns behind the scenery is wonderful, sweeping curves where if you peer out of the window you can see the engine going round the bend ahead. At Sedgefield the line passes over a scenic bridge, under which flows an inlet from the Indian Ocean on your right. The train takes a couple of hours and costs approximately 120 rand.

Knysna itself has much to offer including trips into the surrounding countryside where you can hike, abseil and go mountain biking amongst others. At the waterfront area there are lots of touristy shops and restaurants to while away some time. From a jetty at the waterfront it is well worth taking a trip out to the Knysna Heads. Knysna itself is in a lagoon protected from the ocean by a narrow inlet where the surrounding hills almost meet. The trip out is on one of the worlds most advanced ferries, even though it does have the appearance of a bathtub!

The boat actually has three legs that can be put down on the sea floor so that it is lifted up like an oil platform. This can be used in rescues and also to drop passengers off at places where there is no jetty. The “Heads” are a raging torrent even on a semi calm day, they have claimed hundreds of ships and thousands of lives over the centuries, so much so that if you intend to take a vessel through them you have to inform the shipping insurers Lloyds of London. The boat staff keep up an interesting flow of information as you cruise, not only about their very interesting boat, but also about the nearby nature reserve and about what you are seeing.

After all this activity it is hard to beat a meal at “Bosuns” a pub come restaurant, which does excellent bar and sit down food for around 80 Rand, including a drink.

East of Knysna is the Tsitsikama National Park, which is located right next to the ocean. From the beach you can follow a lovely boardwalk through the forest called the “Mouth Trail”, which eventually comes out at the spectacular Hangbrug suspension bridge, from where you can gaze onto the crashing Indian Ocean waves. On the way back to town you can take in the adrenaline junkies Mecca of the Bloukrans bungy jump, this is currently the world’s highest bungy with a drop of 216 metres, reputed to be the longest seven seconds of your life as you free fall, are there any Globies out there who can confirm this, as this one has no intention of finding out!

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With a shuddering sob Helen collapsed on the ridge and burst into tears.“I cannot take another step,” she sobbed. “Oh, I know it’s all vanity and pride!”

She was referring to the summit, looming in full infuriating view an hour’s slog above us. “You go on,” she said with quivering lip, “I’ll wait for you here”.

“Forget it, I’m not going up without you and frankly I’m not that bothered about the summit. And for goodness sake stop crying. You’ll need that energy for the descent”.

So that drew a line under our climb of Stok Kangri in Ladakh, surely one of the Himalayas most accessible 20,000 foot peaks. The error that day was to have taken the summit head on across the moraine from our advanced base camp, which was set up on the wrong side of the glacier. Had we crossed the glacier and pitched our tent on a platform below the start of the climb, and then headed off diagonally left across the moraine towards the ridge… who knows?

It doesn’t matter: I repeated the mantra to myself on the silent trek back to base camp and down the trail to Stok village at the road head, the last stop before picking up the jeep to Leh. Success, failure – every mountaineer knows these are mere words, devoid of significance. The summit is a trap cunningly laid by our ego, designed to keep us bound to the wheel of samsara.

What’s that, you failed to summit Stok Kangri? There it is, the very word of shame and humiliation, enslaving us to our egos. It’s all rubbish, of course, we reassure ourselves. What really matters is the camaraderie, the days spent with good companions in the inspiring environment of the high mountains. The summit is a bit of icing on the cake. It adds nothing to the experience apart from a false sense of prestige, derived from the Latin praestagium, meaning illusion. The summit, in fact, is a mere illusion.

Oh yes.

So it was that the following August found us starting off once more from advanced base, this time camp properly sited on the far side of the glacier, plodding manfully across the moraine straight towards the summit ridge.

Two hours into the climb and “Oh, God,” Helen moaned, collapsing once more on the ridge, in fact the very same spot as the previous year. “It’s such a long way…”

Not again, I thought with inner rage, an eye fixed on the beckoning summit.

“All right, have a little rest. Have a drink of water, catch your breath, count to ten – but we’ve got to carry on because the weather is looking pretty naff.” Bands of mist rolled up from the valley, intermittently obscuring the snow-capped summit. It was obvious we would have to move smartly if we were to enjoy any view at all from the top. Helen began rummaging in her day sack and what happened next left me gaping in stunned disbelief.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing with that?” “It’s all right,” she smiled. “It’ll boost my morale”. But – lipstick! We’re nearly twenty thousand feet up in the Himalayas and you… “There we are.” She zipped up her sack, smacking her brightly rouged lips. “Let’s go.”.

Helen is six feet tall and she is maddeningly unaffected by altitude. Once suitably made-up off she marched at a sprightly quip, unheeding of my protests about the importance of keeping a slow and steady pace. We negotiated the handful of slightly exposed spots on the ridge and three and a half hours after leaving out tents we found ourselves on the top of Stok Kangri, with just enough sunlight left for a couple of snapshots of K-2 on the horizon, before the mist billowed over the summit.

Jules Stewart is leading a Ladakh trek and ascent of Stok Kangri on 17th-31st July 2004. Details are available on 0207 2294774 or e-mail: Jjulesstewart@aol.com

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That night the local tribe was going to perform a ceremony that would involve singing and some sort of dancing, and Adam Baines and I were invited go along. The tribe held hands and formed itself into two circles, one inside the other, both facing inwards.

One circle moved to the left and the other moved in the opposite direction and at the same time started moaning. This singing or sort of moaning continued as the circles moved slowly in opposite directions. I started the tape, the moaning continued, the bullfrogs joined in, the jungle added its chorus, the circles turned.

Adam and I stood there bemused, as the minutes went by, with nothing more happening other than the continuous circling and moaning. I joined the tribe, held hands and moaned with everybody else, circled with everyone else and, I think just like everyone else, wondered what the hell was going to happen next.

I was beginning to think that this whole ceremony was being put on for our benefit, as a sort of show for these strangers from the outside world. I stepped out of the circle and stood back with Adam whilst continuing to watch this ritual. Adam asked me what the ceremony had done for me. I replied that I had always dreamt about holding hands with strangers, walking in circles, moaning out loud under the stars in the Amazon rainforest! Adam tried everything to stifle his laughter.

We both concluded that this show was being put on for our benefit and, deciding to call it a night, thanked our hosts and walked back to our hut, leaving the tribe still moaning under the full moon. As we reached our hut the moaning stopped and we smiled at each other as we went in, but the last laugh was to be on us. We slipped into our sleeping bags being careful not to let any mosquitoes under our nets and I fell gently asleep after such a busy day.

I awoke to my shoulder being shaken by one of my moaning friends who said it was Party Time, and that this hut was the party hut. We were to sleep in the next hut with others that did not want to dance the night away. I looked at Adam stumbling about when he was woken as I had been. We grabbed our belongings in our arms, everything falling out of everywhere, and moved huts in pitch darkness.

We staggered to the next hut, which was totally full off about fourteen hammocks, mostly containing a couple, to find the only place we could sleep was under someone’s hammock. The music started, not the moaning of a couple of hours before but the loud music called Forro, which was coming from a ghetto blaster running off a car battery and which was overlaid by the noise of dancing feet.

The Forro, a corruption of the English ‘For All’ came from the North East of Brazil,. As the British who built the railway there sometimes had parties for which the invitations were ‘For All’. It was now my turn to feel like moaning as the music blasted into the night from all of twenty yards away.

The Indian in the hammock above Adam started to do the horizontal samba with his woman and the swaying and groaning made me see the funny side of life. Or would have, if the mosquitoes hadn’t been eating me alive and something I’d rather not know about slithered over me. A hellish night, to end a near perfect day.

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