INTRODUCING SAM...

Truely nothing is chance. The day after I decided to cycle home, I found Sam sitting outside a bike shop down one of Khatmandu's many alleyways, amidst a sea of average quality mountain bikes. Surely this must be one of the shop worker's precious possessions? Surely this can't be for sale? But he is. And he's half his normal price. Some angel of a Dutch man cycled here with him and then donated it to his Nepali friends who, luckily for me, decided to sell him instead! And so I cycle away a lucky lady with the best bike in town sailing smooth underneath.

So just who is this Sam that I'll be sharing the next six months of my life with?

Sam is a Gazelle touring bike all the way from the land of Dutch. Sam is wearing this season's popular Shimano brake and gear systems and he sports the flattering cut of the butterfly handle bars that compliment his shape. Sam's choice of atTIRE(!) is that summer sporty look of the Schwalbe Marathon.

And of course, this season's essential accessory just has to be the flag of one's own country. A sort of 'please return to if lost' signal to the world that, eventually, I'm heading home!

Twas the night before....

D-Day is here. No more 'manyana manyana' for me. This is it. Tomorrow is actually tomorrow and it's finally time to leave.
I watch my last sunset over the Khatmandu valley- apocalypse orange hellfire blazing through the smog. Crows perch on the skeleton scaffold of yet another house squeezed into the city's already clogged arteries. I watch the evening's band arrive at the lounge bar across the road from my favourite, peaceful cafe...and pray for a quick delivery of my food. Listening to yet another pre-pubescent Nepali trying to whine about the smell of his teen spirit is not how I want to spend my last night.
But friends arrive and laughter is shared over good food. A night of tourist bubble luxury before diving back into the heat, haze and craze of 'real' travelling. India looms in my mind not because it is over 200KM away, but because it is outside the safety net of my world of good coffees that I have lazed in for the past few weeks. Maybe I am worried it is not my legs that will stop from completing the journey, but the lack of a decent Cappuccino...

KOPAN MONASTERY

Ten days of meditation, felt more like ten months. Ten days of silence took me to places inside myself I'd forgotten I needed to go. Ten days of learning self-analysis, learning stillness, learning to be as quiet as possible and see what is really there once the storm of the self settles...

Rising before the sun and watching its' dramatic ascent over the Kathmandu hills each morning before the first meditation session. Life with a rhythm once again feels good after the directionless wanderings of seven months travelling.



Set back from the valley atop a hill, time slowly ceased to trouble our over stimulated minds. Prayer flags flowing from every tree, prayer wheels creaking their rhythmic rotations, sounds of deep chanting floating across the grounds from early morning to late evening. Stone Buddha's calmly meditate hidden in the garden grass whilst we make our daily pilgrimages round the Stoupas.


Everything in cycles, everything in rhythm, everything in repetition, everything settles, everything stills, everything calms, everything.....stops.....



At first the multi-headed deities and thousand armed gods were not quite something I could bring my mind to relate to. Tibetan Buddhism has a rather large amount of colourful deities and realms of ghosts and spirits that confused me considering it claimed to not be a religion. But in time, I slowly began to understand these images as catalysts, metaphors, symbols...the way I see my own faith. And in time, I began to really identify with Chenrezig-the image of the Buddha's compassion. White face symbolising the calm of moonlight, Chenrezig's thousand arms have a thousand eyes at the end to see the suffering of all the world. True compassion coming only from true understanding and insight into the suffering of the other...




By candle light burning we hold a 'meditation of light' service, filling the garden with the peaceful flicker of flame. I lie on the grass for a long while after, letting the silence settle deep inside and watch from afar as it slowly shifts and heals long years of self-conscious worries...all is at peace.

Kopan Monastery, www.kopan-monastery.com, was set up in 1971 by Tibetan refugee monk Lama Zopa Rinpoche and is now home to over 360 Nepali and Tibetan and Nepali monks and over 380 Nuns. From a young age the monastic training starts with a regular rhythm of education, meditation, prayer and debating. Early morning 'puja', prayer, starts at 5am each day. Rows of saffron robes rhythmically rocking in time with the deep chanting.


Trumpets blare in tuneless cacophony whilst cymbals clash the marked ending of a sutra, teaching of the Buddha. Salt tea and sweet rice brings the mornings only silence.

Sounds of clapping hands and increased passionate shouts mark the start of the morning's debating class. The art of debate is highly valued in Tibetan Buddhism, and bodies immerse themselves fully in the physical, fluid motions. Rock back, one leg off the ground, hands above the head for added momentum before a sudden forward slapping marking the point which one's opponent must respond to.

Each day our meditation and teachings were interspersed with the latest updates of the situation in Tibet. I spoke with one monk who had not heard from his family there for nearly two weeks. Wearing their black bands of mourning, each day the Tibetan monks would gather to demonstrate outside the United Nations office. And each day this peaceful demonstration of unarmed monks and nuns was greeted with police sticks and beatings....and the Nepali human rights groups continued to stay silent....

Feelings of helpless frustration where eased a little by an impromptu demonstration at the local Boudha Stoupa, one of Kathmandu's landmarks. The monks had been forbidden from going because of their previous protests, so over a hundred foreigners gathered to climb the stoupa and fly the Tibetan flag in solidarity.


We read texts of peace and light candles around the whole stoupa to the cheers and support of local Buddhists below.

It feels like such a small act. It feels like such a small cry against the global powers that be.

Yet the cheers of the crowds below when the whole stoupa is finally lit, reminds me that sometimes the best thing we can do is the keep the flame of hope alive by vowing not to forget or ignore those who suffer...

KATHMANDU, NEPAL

Crumbling walls of creaking history slope dangerously into winding alleyways of confusion. Underneath tired rooftops leaning out to one another for support, I wander through a labyrinth of wood and stone. Carved deities and stone eyes are watching from temples blended with the cities walls.


Doorways, windows, gateways, thresholds...who lurks behind in watchful silence? In the narrow dark alleys of Kathmandu's old town you feel ancient eyes peering all around.



And street side shops emerge from this living history, selling greasy food, fake designer shoes or random objects from darkened windows.



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Temple lights burning in butter lamps in the middle of the street, over bright cycle rickshaws toot their way past holy effigies, women sit under umbrellas selling vegetables fast wilting in the hot sun, tourists hunting amidst endless trekking shops. The mystery of the sunlight starved alleyways is augmented by the dubious whispered promises of 'Madam look! Real Pashmina scarves' from salesmen lurking round every corner. Kathmandu's old city is alive with the ghosts of the rich trading routes of the past...


...and round the corner, internet cafes blare Foo Fighters or Bob Marley into the streams of modern traders, the tourists, as we endless shop for tie dyed clothes, CD's and trekking equipment.