It seems plainly obvious to me at last, that all things are subject to constant change. That seems quite obvious until one actually looks at the way one sees things. So I have seen, as we all do sooner or later, that there is nothing worth holding on to in ones mind apart from mindfullness of the true nature of our consciousness. It is a good thing to know, but hard to truly realise.

So I went walking around the Annapurna and came back to Kathmandu, but to a different Kathmandu. Kathmandu is a living, breathing thing and the difference was so subtle I think I cannot yet explain it. I had missed the crush of people and devotion, the chain reaction in this nucleus of Nepal. The Annapurna was a beautiful place to walk, to feel ones legs and breath, but something was very strange there. It was the people, changed by two decades at least of trekkers coming and going and the commercial aspect of it all. It must have been a quiet, wild place before and still is in part, being a man or mule only thoroughfare, but that is all about to change in a big way.

I didn't know much about where I was going as I sat on the bus watching the distant Himal bobbing up and down to the lilting rhythm of the music and the bus, adorned like a christmas tree with colourful paintings, shiny stuff, buddhist symbols of conches and wheels and signs saying "Horn Plaese!", or "Speed Control!". My first sight of the mountains, approaching from lush rainforest valleys, fed by the waters of these massive gods of nature was deeply moving. In the lessening midday haze the gigantic peaks, shrouded in cloud to one windswept side, seemed to be flying, the colour of the lower elevations so similar to that of the sky. I could hardly believe my eyes and reflected on the gentleness of the people belonging to that land. A land and its people are inseperable though divisible, here in Nepal strongly so, but this fact in Tibet, given the sinification, settlement and brutal control that is taking place there, right now, makes for a tragic feeling as a gift for he who visits. and sees what is happening.

But I basked in that blissful feeling, indeed it may have been as much a product of my last six months experience in Tibet as the beautiful moments as I drew closer to the Annapurna massif, wondering what was ahead. Would I find peace as Gaetan had suggested I might? Would I be able to walk over the Thorung Pass, at 5416 the highest pass in the world? I was alone and aware of the dangers of complacency in the face of the might of nature, having passed a couple of notable tests of my mortality in the great oceans while surfing. But the music was enough to calm my mind and we drew closer and closer, climbing. Then at around 3 in the afternoon, a traffic jam. That jam lasted for 6 hours, after 4 of which I decided to get a room and take it easy until the next day, for there was a dispute over compensation for a fatal road accident. A little discussion with various people led me to the truth, though somewhat approximat. A lorry driver had hit a pair of motorcyclists and the owner of the lorry, rather than the driver, was unable to pay the amount that the families were demanding. So they effected a total shutdown of the road to Dumre, where I was to catch a lift to Besi Sahar and then start walking into the unknown. The police looked on impassively and it seemed to be a pretty usual occurence. Back home in London or in Zurich, such a thing would be unthinkable. Even a little snow in Zurich one winter that forced people to walk around and talk to each other in the drab typical winter backdrop, was complained about vociferously. But it was enjoyable for many, to be closer to their nature and out of the cars and trams. Here in the village of Abu Khaireni people hung around patiently for a settlement to be reached and eventually it came, at 9pm but I was already chilling with a Dhal Bhat, talking to the locals; Thakali people, the first of the many groups of ethnic minorities here. The owner coughed up and the buses, trucks and cars moved off in a throttlingly vile exhaust cloud. After 15 minutes, they were still going, since the tailback after 6 hours was huge. Everyone going on from Mugling towards Pokhara had been in the same boat and to see the collective outpouring of hydrocarbons burnt by this disgruntled caterpillar of assorted vehicles was grim in the extreme. You could not really breath. For me, that face of Kathmandu, of Nepal and the hardest for me to swallow in this divine country, I had not yet left behind. I would have to wait until the next day to arrive in what I hoped would be a sort of paradise away from that hell I had spent two weeks in after our arrival from Tibet, a different sort of hell altogether. I was to see that heaven and hell all too often share one bed.

And it was in a couple of days that I would come face to face with the less idyllic present situation around the circuit. I had walked up the picturesque, forested valley until the village of Jagat, where I had a mock stick-fight with a small boy, much to the amusement of the assembled villagers. The boy won and I, an intruder from a faraway land of grey cold, was sent on my way, further up the slowly constricting valley to the next perilous test, the gang working on the new road, to be built to connect Manang at 3540m to the artery that grinds and lurches all the way to Kathmandu. It might not sound so incredible, but once you see the dusty brown snake making it's way slowly but steadily by means of hard manual labour and dynamiting, through one of the most stunning landscapes on earth, carved by men for 130 Nepali Rupees or about a British Pound a day, it does seem very unfortunate indeed. Much work is done by hand and that means inserting a road into near vertical rock cliff-faces. During the conflist with the Maoists, the roadbuilders could not bring dynamite into the area, for fear it would fall into the 'wrong' hands. The rocks and dirt are thrown unceremoniously down into the blue river, litres of oil are dropped by a JCB, to soak into the disturbed earth while it spews black exhaust into the rainforest above. The guys were great fun and I hung about making a bit of video and talking, but what economic conditions drive them to work for so little, to bring this road to the people up in the barren and cold higher areas? I walked the whole circuit and this road was the overwhelming topic of discussion everywhere. Of the 20 or so people I asked, only a couple were happy about the new road and they, residents of Manang ,quite understandably, would like to get to the capital in one day and not four. But the rest, small lodge owners and those reliant on the money that trekking brings to this most famous himalayan trek, were seriously pissed off. Nobody in the government listened to them when they suggested developing Hydro-electric power in the area and making a cable car route down the valley. So the trek around Annapurna is surely going to change beyond recognition at the very least, if not die altogether. This government is an enigma, but it seems evident that it can behave arbitrarily and most often for reasons of self-interest, corruption in the corridors of power being well lamented. In ten to fifteen years the road will run to Manang, bringing the usual cacophonous assault of large, dirty and delapidated trucks and buses that are responsible for considerable air pollution in and around the capital. Rubbish will clog up the riverbanks and it is only for an environmental expert to say just how great the impact wil be on the whole area.

As I said, change is the only unchanging thing, a certainty, but this road is going to change the thousand years old way of life for so many and leave no way back. The mule trains have been the only way to transport goods up and down and have been doing so for countless centuries along the ancient trade route between Tibet and Nepal. It seems that something great is underneath the new road and some further inquiry on my part, while sitting in a hot spring on the other side of the mountain valley and near the closing stages of the circuit, yielded interesting information about China's role in the route. This road could be extended over the Himalaya to China and provide a much needed second route for goods vehicles to pass between the two countries. There is only one way at present, that way we came and it makes a lot of sense to build a second, given the snowfall and landslides that can shut the Zhangmu/Khasa border route. There are probably a lot more reasons, those made rich by trekking pushing for the road with their relative new-found wealth. Wealth, for some, gained by smuggling over the border for decades. But none of it is my fight, though the nature I walk through seemed to cower at the coming of the big change. It reminded me of the animated film 'Watership Down', the prophetic visions of Fiver the rabbit and his companions' flight to safety in the wake of mans' destruction of nature. We just can't stop ourselves and are desperately short-sighted. It's not just one road, but it's happening everywhere, as it is here in the city, in the uncontrolled growth of motor transport, without so much as a single traffic light.

I walked until the pass, alone. It took a few days and the landscape changed dramatically, turning to pine forest while all the time climbing. Then the flat valley of Pisang and Humde, where I slept, feeling the cold I was so familiar with from the cycle trip in Tibet. Everything looked Tibetan from here on. The windswept, dry valleys and huge snowy peaks, prayer walls and Chortens. Exhiliarating and lonely, but so beautiful. I walked through a pine forest, the wind my only companion, whispering with a million pine trees. And after Manang, cold and forbidding, I made it to Thorung Phedi, the point from which one begins to ascend to the pass, Thorung La. In the morning at 6.30 I set off with another Englishman, Marc, who works offshore on drilling rigs for 6 months of the year with 6 months to spend travelling with the money. He was a proper walker and I had a tough time keeping up on the way down, a long, long descent of 1600m. My legs were wrecked, but as we parted ways I sat to bask in the sun and ponder on just what it all meant.

We had hiked over the pass with a group of charming Australians, from an organisation called 'Ozquest', who carry out overseas expeditions and community work in various countries and I carried on walking with them for the rest of the trek. It was beautiful really, to talk and hang out in the evening with people, but I was always wondering what it meant to share, what we gain form sharing and what we learn from solitude. All in all though, a great time. What the future holds for the Annapurna Circuit, only time can tell.

And the Kathmandu to which I returned, ever-changing, yielded up to me some precious things. It is through this flow in life that we meet people through small chances. And so, through a friend from the trek I met in the street back in Kathmandu by chance, I came to know Kiran and Badri, two intriguing fellows, dedicated to bettering the lives of rural people and tourists alike in Nepal. It is with them that I travelled over the last two days, to see the site where they intend to hold a year-long festival of music and yoga and meditation and art, all on the top of an incredible hill with a view of the Himalaya, unbroken from Annapurna in the West, Manaslu in the middle and Ganesh Himal in the East. They are working to bring plantations of bamboo and various ecologically sound technological solutions that will help people who grow crops and develop green tourism for different villages allowing people to stay in nature and see it being fostered and nurtures, not destroyed. In 2010 this festival will happen and they hope to bring a million people over the course of the year. I certainly hope I'll make it. More on that later!

Still it has been a wonderful week in kathmandu, playing music together Nepalis and then driving outside to the craft fair and festival at Dhadungbesi, then seeing some of the most stunning landscapes up in the sunny hills. That view of the Himalaya will never leave me, nor will the sweet family who have adopted me as a son and brother. And how did that happen? Well, Kiran took us up to his friends lodge, a nature camp complete with tent accomodation. It involved a nervy drive up some bad dirt road, washed out by small streams in the car of one of Kirans' friends, Ganesh, a jovial Rai, one of the mongoloid peoples in Nepal and the owner of a 1984 Toyota Corona. He was dubious about taking the car up the dirt road, but we agreed to try and eventually made it, after some struggle in the dark once we realised that the car had a fuel leak. The ruts in the road together with rocks here and there, were striking the cars underside and Ganesh was getting more and more stressed. The fuel line was broken in two places and after some desperate work, had detached itself from the carburettor entirely. The situation seemed hopeless, but thankfully I found some tape and fixed the leak before getting the line hooked up in the engine bay. We were off again! Only Kiran and Badri knew where we were headed, but eventually we arrived at the lodge and ate by candlelight. It was with relief that we all went to sleep that night and no idea what awaited in the morning to be seen from our windows at dawn. And in the morning I peered out sleepily to see the stunning panorama of mountains in the distance.

We walked up to the top to see the view and came down, to see the women distilling Raksi for a coming festival. Raksi is a sometimes strong, but often reasonably mild spirit, made from fermented Millet. Before the golden steps of terraces that tumble down the hillside, we sat drinking with the women. Then someone realised that I resembled a young man from the village nearby. This triggered a fascinating chain of events culminating with a ceremony to join me to this family. It wasn't a joke and our driver, Ganesh, impressed on me the importance of returning and staying with them one day and to keep in touch. So the young man, Nir Bahadur and I were joined by the head three times by the old uncle and had Tikka put on our foreheads, after which we exchanged gifts and danced for a while to the singing and drumming of the young women. Quite stunning it was, really, this old tradition that brings villages together and ensures, I suppose that genes mix in this world of small settlements and big families. I went over with Nir Bahadur to his house the next day to hang out with the whole family for a while. It seems that for some token rent, I could even have one of the small stone houses to stay in for a time. How wonderful that would be! So once I have completed a load of business here in Kathmandu, I shall head out there by bike. Stay tuned! Namaste!

Happy New Year indeed!

For me it was a couple of friends, Swedish and Israeli, a guitar and some good music. Today I'm fixing the last little things before I go walking in the Annapurna region. I don't have any expectations, pretty much as usual when I'm on the way, but I do have a feeling that something will be a shock in these weeks. It is a big mountain, the likes of which have humbled me before and I am under no illusion that it will be easy, but I don't really know. But I am really glad to be getting out of Kathmandu after 10 or so days, my nose running from the pollution already.

One drives West into the hills to Besisahar, from there either hiking or taking a local bus on a dirt road. Then the circuit begins. It comprises two valleys and a high pass, the Thorung La, at around 5400M. Needless to say I am taking some excessively warm clothes, but it's no expedition either, with teahouses and lodges all the way and a rich tapestry of different ethnic peoples from down in the 500m valley right up to the top.

Naturally, I will tell you how it went in a couple of weeks and show you some views of the 8000m high massif. Until then, Namaste and loving greetings. Especially to you, a person who loves so much to get up early, walk in the forest in the winter, or when the weather is moody and after, drink strong black tea with milk. If you are reading, you surely know who you are.