Well, it’s now official: European budget carrier Ryanair has completed its take-over the low cost airline Buzz , formerly owned by KLM. Ryanair paid EUR 20.1 million (USD$21.5 million) some EUR 2.8 million lower than the original purchase price. Ryanair has formed a new subsidiary – Buzz Stansted – and the company will operate a fleet of 10 aircraft, employ up to 130 people and start flying on May 1st. It will serve a network of 12 routes, formerly operated by KLM UK/Buzz. The new Chief Executive of Buzz will be John Osborne, a former Director of Operations for Ryanair and former Chief Executive of GB Airways and Virgin Express.

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And still on the subject of Ryanair, a recent Mail on Sunday article, spotted by webmaster Paul made the Beetle laugh. It states that Ryanair boss Michael O’Leary is, in his spare time, a keen breeder of Aberdeen Angus cattle. The article asks how would he like it if you agreed to sell him a pedigree bull, but actually, out of the cattle carrier toddled a hamster? The article then goes on to compare this to booking a flight to Ryanair’s new destination, Barcelona – you actually get flown to Girona, some 60 miles away. In response, Mr O’Leary says: “Don’t be cross; by comparison Gatwick is also a long way from the centre of London.” (It’s actually 30 minutes away from either Victoria or Blackfriars station in central London – Beetle). The article goes on to show how in Ryanair’s world Hahn manages to become Frankfurt 70 miles away, and how Forli doubles as Bologna some 50 miles away. Not so long ago, readers may remember the howls of discontent when the Beetle travelled 2 hours from Oslo to Ryanair’s base at Torp airport. By way of appreciation, the article says that “whilst many have managed to come to terms with Ryanair’s rather cavalier attitude to customer relations. i.e. you got a cheap ticket – what are you moaning about? But why is it that for an airline that hails from a country famed for its blarney, Ryanair manages to exude so little charm?”

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A Ryanair Joke spotted by one of our readers

American special forces have this morning reported the successful takeover of Baghdad airport. However further inspection by Irish journalists of the lack of ground staff and no open services or shops revealed it to be the Ryanair Baghdad airport. American troops have in fact landed 400 miles south of Baghdad but will avail of the feeder bus that leaves from Mohammed O’Kelly’s Irish bar every day at 6pm.

All the houses in Kaza are built in traditional Spiti style: massive two-storied mud brick structures. Their flat mud roofs are supported by beams of poplar tree trunks with a network of branches and twigs crisscrossed over them. Stacks of shrubs pulled from the mountainsides and used for fuel surround the edges of the roofs like thorny crowns. Such buildings as these are practical only in a rainless climate and Spiti, lying in the so-called rain shadow of the Himalayas, are a high-altitude desert and see virtually nothing of the southwest monsoon that drenches virtually the entire Indian subcontinent each summer. In winter, when huge amounts of snow do fall in Spiti, the weight on the roofs would become unbearable and so they are swept clean as snow accumulates. Every house has a long-handled wooden snow pusher.

On that first visit to Kaza we stayed in a guesthouse built along traditional lines. After attending the fabulous lama festival in Ki Gompa that I described in my last letter we returned to our guesthouse and relaxed on the veranda drinking cups of chai. The sky was a deep blue and as the sun set; the mountains lining the Spiti Valley took on magical hues. And there were some clouds in the usually cloudless sky.

We went out to cosy Layul’s restaurant for steaming bowls of skiu, homemade noodle squares with delicious chunks of local vegetables in a flavourful broth, and steamed momos with chilli sauce. Some juicy apricots from farther down the Spiti Valley (it’s a bit too high here for apricots trees to grow: 3600 meters) completed the meal perfectly. It had been a wonderful day and we slept like logs.

The next morning was unmistakably cloudy and we wondered. After all, we were in Spiti, virtually in Tibet, where the skies are a soul-piercing blue, where the houses are made of earth and water carefully measured! We did some shopping in the bazaar that afternoon and bought some incredible wooden masks, just like the ones the lamas had worn in their dances and beaded collars with strange tribal designs. Even a tantric mirror, a convex brass disk worn to keep away evil spirits.

Well, there’s nothing evil about rain and no one would want to keep rain away in a dry place like this, or would they? Anyway, that evening it started to drizzle. It was not the sort of rain that would attract much attention in temperate climes – a light, insistent sprinkle, consisting of mist rather than discrete drops. But it fell continuously for three days and three nights. During the first day, there was no foreboding among the locals. A day of light rain is an infrequent but not a truly unusual occurrence. Rather, there was quiet enjoyment– a sprinkle to refresh the fields and lanes was a welcome event.

But the morning of the second day brought a change in local consciousness. It was not only the fact that it was still raining, it was also that the rain, light as it was, had been continuous – it had not let up for more than five minutes in the past twenty-four hours. And the look of the sky and the feel of the air promised more of the same.

The dry dusty paths that are the town’s streets were already turning into a substance somewhere between mud and slime. It was earth not used to being wet and didn’t know how to handle it. People started collecting mud and putting it on their roofs: the idea being that the thicker the layer of mud on the roof, the longer the rain would take to percolate through it. No one seemed particularly worried about the extra weight the mud-brick walls and the roof-support beams were being subjected to. After all, these houses were “built”. The walls were two feet thick. The main thing was to keep the houses from dissolving.

Before we retired on that second night, having sat through a day of precipitation identical to the one before, and having watched bag after bag of mud being dumped onto the roof, I carefully questioned the owner about sleeping under this now sodden roof, bearing I didn’t know how many times its usual weight. Our room, wouldn’t you know, was on the top floor of the guesthouse.

“Don’t worry! No problem! The building is strong and the roof is thick and the water will not come through,” he said. But he said it with such hearty offhandedness that I was not at all reassured. Before we went to bed we organized our belongings for a quick getaway.

It was two-thirty in the morning when we woke up, Carol having just been nailed between the eyes by a dollop of water. Directing our torch beams around the room, we noticed strange patterns on the white walls, ochre stains that hadn’t been there when we went to bed. And in a few places water was running quite uninhibitedly down the walls. We quickly packed the rest of our belongings. Stepping out on the veranda, I realized that the entire town was awake and that it was still raining. People were on their roofs spreading still more mud. We moved down to a vacant ground floor room and blithely resumed our night’s sleep.

The next day dawned grey, and yes, it was still raining. All the ceilings and floors of the upstairs rooms were pocked with leaks, but the building had not collapsed and our ground-floor room, though somewhat damp, was unblemished and leak-free.

Nature called, and as I was inside the outdoor toilet, a piece of land above it gave way and a miniature landslide composed of bowling-ball size rocks and a ton of mud stopped just short of the outhouse door. And just short as well of the nicely ambiguous headline that would no doubt have appeared in newspapers throughout the world: “Tourist washed away in toilet.”

About the authors of this article: Carol and Martin Noval have lived in India for more than twenty-five years and organize and lead cultural and adventure tours and treks throughout India and the Himalayas. Check out their website: www.tripsintoindia.com and can be reached at: tripsintoindia@usa.net

Iris, a British lady of considerable character and pluck, is on a 23 week overland expedition from Quito in Ecuador to Caracas in Venezuela. After this, she plans to do a 3-month voluntary placement in Ecuador, and then visit Central America for another overland trip between Panama City and Mexico City, ending up with perhaps another 2-month voluntary placement somewhere in South America again. This amazing journey will take Iris one year. Here is an extract from Iris’ journey notebook.

13^th December 2002: Iquitos, the Amazon, and Bolivia

I am in Iquitos – at the frontier of the Amazonian Jungle. We arrived here by plane five days ago and the next day after arrival went off early in the morning up the Amazon to a Jungle Lodge called Muyuna Lodge. It took us 2 hrs 15 mins to get there (140 kms or roughly 90 miles) and we thought that fast but on the way back it took less than 2 hours and we stopped for petrol. Maybe we were going with the current on the way back! Anyway, it was quite an experience although unfortunately I was a little under the weather there and so missed quite a few late night and early morning excursions and one day’s excursions into the jungle. I think the heat caused a reaction – I was dehydrating fast and had to rest and rehydrate with electrolyte solutions and it worked. Within 24 hours I was back on form.

We saw lots – local medicinal trees, local insects (the odd spider but I missed the tarantulas (1) because of my illness (2) because they only visited them at night and I wasn’t about to do that – I’d rather face that kind of fear in broad daylight!!!) The trip I most enjoyed was to a local village where we were invited to a couple of homes to see how they lived and worked and to cook our barbecue of fish kebabs (catfish), which were delicious. Unfortunately, my camera broke down, which I didn’t realise until much later and all my excellent photos (especially of me holding the local anaconda round my neck and one of a little 3-yr old showing us his ultimate “clockwork” toy – a live baby caiman (crocodile)). This afternoon we fly back to Lima and if I have time to email again I will, before we move on to other beaches and other camp sites!

23^rd January 2003: from the Amazon in Ecuador to the Salt Flats of Uynuni (Chile)

I spent five days on the Inca Trail and needed a shower at the end of it as we didn’t have any such luxuries in our rough campsites. Occasionally, we got a proper loo (washroom – Beetle) ,if loos in Ecuador, Peru or Bolivia could be called “proper” – I’ve experienced it all – no water, no light, no toilet paper, no soap, no sink at times! – but Chile spoils us on the whole with beautifully clean loos with all facilities in just about every service station en route! But more often than not it was squat over a hole in the ground and get on with it! Of course, at the end of the Inca Trail we were able to return to Cusco, to our hotel there, and get a couple of nights with hot showers and to celebrate New Year, which most of our number did in style, but as I think I said, Judith and I just had a quiet meal and were early to bed.

And then we were off to other climes, travelling off down through Peru and into Bolivia and that was our first real shock, to see how poor Bolivia is. No proper infrastructure, roads that are just rough tracks so that at times one is fording rivers without benefit of bridges. Our first big stop was La Paz and what a town that is! I loved it there. It is so frenetic and vibrant but mainly because of the ethnic groups (local Indians) who set up stalls in the street so that pavements are barely visible and very often one has to wend ones way through shoppers pausing to browse between the stalls that are set up on both sides of the pavement with a very narrow passage between them. But you can buy just about anything in the street from a tiny screw which would fit a pair of spectacles to replace one lost, to a full bathroom suite and more besides. Some of our group needed to replace cameras which haven’t stood up to the climate and so they got their replacements in La Paz in the street markets and came out with some very good bargains.

But the incredible thing about La Paz is its altitude (over 4,000 metres) and the way it is literally built down the mountainsides and I reckon in most of the streets coming down from the summit, your knees must touch your chin trying to get up those slopes! We were only in La Paz a couple of days and so not enough time to see everything, but we had a city tour and went to their Valley of the Moon, so called, but which should really have been called “Lunar Valley” because it gets its name from the fact that the landscape is lunar, not because of any religious connotations.

From La Paz we went off to Potosi – a very, very long drive along increasingly difficult roads and especially because the road through the mountains is being upgraded and there is lots of roadwork going on. Potosi is even higher than La Paz at nearly 5,000 metres altitude and claims to be the highest town of its size in the world. It is an incredible place and the first night one almost took one’s life in one’s hands trying to negotiate its narrow streets with all the traffic milling around and it is also amazing how everyone comes out at night – the streets were thronged with people and of course all the shops were open until whenever, it seemed. We stayed in a hostel there for a couple of nights before going on to Sucre, which of course, as I told you, is the capital city of Bolivia, vying with La Paz for that title, as La Paz thinks it should be the capital city as the seat of government is there. However, Sucre is a lot quieter than La Paz and I suppose more “upper class” as there are few ethnic groups there and everyone looks very cosmopolitan and prosperous.

We stayed two nights in Sucre and then took off for Uyuni which really is at the back of beyond, a real frontier town, the gateway to the salt flats. But as usual the ethnic groups are there in their hundreds, setting up stalls for the tourists, and I can see that in a few years, if things go well, Uyuni will become a large town or even a city because it is clear that the inhabitants are planning for it that way with some quite amazing edifices being built there. We stayed just the one night there as the jumping off point for the salt flats and the next day all piled into our jeeps and away we went.

Our first stop was at a small settlement just on the edge of the salt flats where the salt is processed and one sees big piles of salt waiting for the process to commence. And then we went on to the salt flats themselves, and talk about “white-out”, without sunglasses we would have been suffering from salt blindness! We were heading for a place called “Fish Island” which is in the middle of the salt flats and is literally covered in tall cacti. People wandered off to have a good look at the place, but I was feeling the heat and had a slight tummy upset, and so I was just content to sit in the shade and let the more energetic ones do the exploring. Reports were that it was just an island of cacti, and once you’ve seen one…. We had lunch there and were off to our first overnight stop in a hostel where we had to bunk up, six to a room, sharing one bathroom. The only saving grace was that we had hot water and electricity from a generator, but of course, we had to wait for the generator to be switched on before we got those luxuries!

Next day, we left the salt flats behind and were off to see a volcano from a distance and to explore three lakes each full of flamingos. Needless to say, lots of photos were taken and at one lake we had lunch and so could linger to explore and appreciate the incredible colours the lakes turn from the mineral deposits pouring into them – yellows, pinks, browns – one has to see the contrasts to really appreciate them.

The next night was spent in a really rough hostel. There was a cold strong wind blowing and here again it was dormitories with bunk beds and very basic toilets with no running water at all, we had to flush the loos with a bucket of water taken from a big tank, and the sink could be used just to spit one’s mineral water out as one brushed one’s teeth but again no running water there either. We had been told there was no electricity but in fact they had just fitted some bulbs in the dormitories and so when the generator kicked in at about 20:00 we were able to see to go to bed, but in the morning, when we got up at 04:00 to get away early, it was pitch dark except for our torches and the occasional candle dotted about!

This last day on the flats, was very cold. We visited some geysers and hot springs and people actually stripped off and laid down in the hot springs; others were induced to just soak their feet, whilst the more trepid of us just kept all our clothes and boots on and just waited for hot drinks and breakfast to be served el fresco. And we did get hot drinks and scrambled eggs and toast from the camping gas rings, so it was worth the wait.

And then on to the border – the whole point of getting up early was to get us to the border with Chile at a place called San Pedro de Atacama and that is where our jeeps deposited us and where we were herded into coaches for the crossing into Chile. And what a difference in Chile. We were like schoolchildren let out after a long exam period. Okay, San Pedro was a town of adobe houses, but the camp site did provide us with hot showers and running water and electricity, and the town’s people were very friendly and welcoming without being as mercenary as in other places, demanding one buy something, one could just wander around at ones leisure and look at the merchandise without having to keep saying: “No, gracias.”

If you’d like to contact Iris, whether to wish her luck with her trip or to ask questions about her itinerary and places visited, I am sure she would like to hear from you. She can be contacted on: irisej2002@yahoo.co.uk