Living the expat dream in Shanghai

Getting a call from an old mate Shawry saying he was working in Shanghai for 6 months couldn't have been better timed. We were in the thick of the no-heating Nepali winter with filthy clothes, chilblains and were low on money. Our visit to see Chris for a week became a beacon of warmth and hospitality between a frozen Tibet and an even more frozen Russia.

After spending 50 hours with our noses pressed into the ceiling of a train from Lhasa, we were always going to be a little spun out on arrival. However, we were still totally unprepared for what awaited us. We jumped in a taxi as it took us toward Chris' flat. Our instructions were to 'Just ignore the useless security guard on the gate' and then 'walk past reception like you own the place'. Usually this would be relatively easy, but arriving in an immaculate tower block with a suited concierge sat behind a sparkling marble edifice Hol and I would have stuck out less if we were naked. However, smiling optimistically we made it past and let ourselves into a beautiful flat. Hot shower, temperature control, a giant TV. A different world.

The tone was set for our time here by Shawry's welcome note on the floor. There were maps with places to eat on, spare clothes, spare phone, washing machine instructions, guide books, some local booze, some pocket money, food in the fridge and more. Within half an hour the washing machine was dealing with 12 weeks of ingrained filth, we were clean and fresh and ready for food. Stepping out into the city blew us away. Towering glass skyscrapers, Rolex, Gucci, Burberry shops, glistening malls with spotless restaurants. A sparkling Ferrari burbled past worth the annual income of 1,200 Nepalis! We had boarded the train in Lhasa with people literally crawling in the dirt in the hope of some salvation and release from the bleak lives they have been cursed with, and here people are being encouraged by chiseled Western models on every billboard to spend £5,000 on watches. All the memories of our last 5 months clashed in total culture shock confusion with where we were now. We huffed and puffed at the cost of a salad in a cafe frequented by trendy businessman, but then ate it and were waxing lyrical about the taste, the freshness and colour of our first salad in months. The people around us wolfed down their regular snack lunch without thinking and looked askance at us wondering where the hell we had surfaced from. However, I still maintain that I can't remember enjoying a salad more than the Wagas roasted vegetable creation that day. I hope never to become blasé about work lunches again.

The week was spent in a blur. Shawry would head off to work and Hol and I would rise off the sofa to explore the city. First priority was finding a running machine which we finally managed to avoid paying £60 for and shook out 2 weeks of sitting on trains and minibuses. Very necessary, even if it did involve dealing with enthusiastic gym managers selling memberships. Alex shook my hand 15 times and repeatedly said 'You craaaaziest man ever come to my gym. Nobody do two hour on running machine. Nobody. You crazy, craaazeee man. Ha ha. 6 month membership you and lady...' From here we explored the narrow streets of the French concession, the cloud topped towers of Pudong and a raft of local backstreet canteens. Our life was split between cheap wanderings in the day and luxury at night when Shawry returned from work.

One of the fascinating things about the time in Shanghai was learning about the ex-pat life. We went out a couple of times with friends who were working for various multi-nationals based there. There was one night in particular where we got the feel of what it was like. A Paulaner German themed bar in a smart district of the city was churning out pints for £7.50 to a crowd of mostly white men and a sprinkling of wealthy Asians while a Filipino 3 piece band belted out heavily accented Tina Turner hits. Chatting to the guys, there were common themes of finding the working culture very difficult at times, but the money and the lifestyle being good. They don't miss home, to the extent that they challenged us repeatedly about why we want to go back, and they spend a lot of time and money living it up in the ex-pat bubble. The appeal is clear in the beautiful restaurants and high pay, but the division between 'us and them' would be hard to deal with full time.

One guy there in his 30s had his newly married Chinese wife with him, but we didn't realise as she was sat on a different table with a few of her Chinese friends and didn't mix. Also, in the office most white people will be earning around 10 times as much as the local Chinese they manage. Add to this the culture of saving face, and the message that comes back repeatedly is that working life is lacking dynamism and the ability to get anything done as employees are terrified of doing anything wrong and so do nothing. In the bar there were middle aged men leering over young Chinese women who smile politely and go along with it. Shanghai has a historical reputation for it's loose morals and the foreign influence. It seems that under the tailored suits this still lives on in a newer form...

With the true Shanghai experience in mind, Shawry one night suggested we go to a massage parlour. Having heard about the GPs (Gentleman's Paradise) my heart lurched a bit. It was a three way invitation with Hol as well, but I had to check. Shawry reassured me that this would be far from anything seedy though. Having never had a massage other from butch rowing physios, the chance for a foot massage was welcome. When we arrived in the smartly lit spa we were shown into a room with three huge armchairs, a flat screen TV on the wall and cups of chrysanthemum tea. We whipped into pyjama bottoms, threw on a DVD of Sherlock Holmes from the pirate movie emporium next door and sat back. For the next 90 minutes we had necks, backs, legs and feet pummeled, rubbed, picked, oiled and finally cupped as the masseurs softly chatted and we watched the film. For less than the price of the cinema tickets that were our original plan, it was a phenomenal experience, if a little alarmingly luxurious. What happens in the G.P.s I am glad to say still remains a mystery.

One of the promises of our time in Shanghai was a night on the town. We hadn't been out properly since July in Colorado and Hol and I were both nervous and excited. We started the evening with some G&Ts before borrowing a whole set of Shawry's clothes and moving over the road to an 'eat and drink as much as you like' Teppanyaki restaurant. For £20 we had round after round of delicious sushi, fresh grilled king prawns, dumplings, lamb chops, noodles, fresh roasted fish, not to mention a round or ten of sakes and beers. It was interesting to note that all the clientèle were white, despite it seeming like a local place. Old habits... From here Shawry whipped out a stack of post it notes which was our itinerary for the evening. Next stop was a place called 'New Heights' which overlooks the financial district of Pudong and we sat sipping drinks the best table in the house, then it was onto another of Shanghai's trendiest bars called Glamour. At this stage the sakes seemed to be kicking in as we were asked if we would like to be moved to another table away from the free cupcakes. Then finally it was on to a club where we happily fell into old ways of drunken revelry, dubious gyrations and silliness.

Having spent the night being taken round and royally treated by Shawry we began to be even more confused by Shanghai. The city is home to wonderful tree lined neighbourhoods with beautiful old buildings, phenomenal bars and restaurants and things are done with a style that is totally alien to the rest of China. The old impact of trading concessions with European nations a hundred years ago had their effect, but the recent developments seem to have escaped the full force of Chinese urban planning. It doesn't seem to make sense. Are the bars run by Europeans who explain that saving 20% on décor by having faux wood plastic seats will make everything look shit and nobody will come? Does Shanghai have some aura that stops Beijing from interfering with it? On returning to the capital and it's 12 lane central streets, crap buildings and historical reconstructions that look like a discount Disney land, your heart sinks. How can one place get it so right, and one so wrong. Maybe it is just a matter of time before Shangahi succumbs. Expo 2010 is just round the corner and the old promenade along the Bund is being torn up. What will replace it i can only guess at. I fear fake concrete Chinese style bridges, toy trains, semi broken lamps. I have to admit that I struggle to stomach China in many ways. The argument that they have lifted thousands of people out of poverty is undeniable, but I have never seen a country so devoid of grace, beauty and sensitivity. The flashes of ancient brilliance are buried by the new government. It was summed up on our final night in Beijing when we were in a bustling nice restaurant having some Peking Duck. Around us people were ordering as much as they could and leaving half of it. The man on the table next to us turned in his seat and hocked up a huge chunk of phlegm and just spat it on the restaurant floor at our feet. The surge to show new wealth and development comes at the cost of simple grace.

Our time in Shanghai was spectacular. Shawry raised the bar when it comes to hospitality and leaving to get back on the road was as hard as ever. We can only hope we can one day return the favour when he arrives in a smelly unemployed mess in London sometime. Next stop Mongolia and Russia...

Since our blog was blocked in China we have posted this from Russia. 50 hours of chilly Gobi, icy Mongolia and bitter Siberian forest brought us to the destination for the big ice marathon on Lake Baikal. The date for the ice marathon has passed, but you will have to wait for Hol and I to have a moment to type up our impressions so far of Russia and give you the run down...

High Altitude Mind Muddling

February marked the arrival of Charlie and Caths for 2 weeks of hardy adventuring over the Himalayas and also the time for us to say goodbye to Nepal. After being settled for 4 months we were ready to point ourselves homewards. But before we left Kathmandu we managed to squeeze in a Bollywood wedding feast with the VSN gang, a trek to watch the sun come up over the Langtang mountains and more Dal Bhat than one should eat in a year. The combination resulted in a week of pure joy and the shits. A suitable departure from a land that provided us with great highs and a few rather tedious lows.

We once asked an American women who had lived in Tibet for 6 years for her impressions. She paused, then sighed and said, 'If you are not confused about Tibet then you are not looking hard enough'. After keeping eyes very wide open for two guided trips across the Tibetan plateau we think its safe to say she's hit the nail on the head.

'We're off', Nick announces as we heave our worlds onto our backs and head across the Friendship Bridge back into China. This time, I said to myself, I am going to make a big effort to like China. I spoke too soon. Ten minutes later we were told by an officious PRC army man to wait 3 hours at the gates of immigration. We weren't allowed to go through without our guide. Our guide was missing. We collapsed resigned in a hungover heap on the fag and spit soaked floor to observe everything that swirled around us. Most entertaining was the gaggle of women in front of us who were shifting nervously, keeping one eye on the border officials and the other on their snotty nosed children. Before long we realised they were busy smuggling crates of fake Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky. The tiny women each strapped twelve one litre bottles around their waists before covering themselves in saris and waddling and clinking back into Nepal. All they got was a friendly pat on the back as they swayed past the Nepali border police.

'We're off', Nick announces for the second time as we meet up with our guide, Lopsang. The first hurdle, immigration, completed with a bit of relief, the second hurdle, icy roads winding above 500ft drops, would be tackled in the morning. In his new ridiculously oversized down jacket, Nick quickly took on the role of Gandalf, leading three slightly rum-fuddled hobbits into the forbidden kingdom. Cue an epic 7 days of mysticism, mountains and being bloody freezing.

The Western obsession with Tibet is not unfounded. On driving across the Tibetan plateau it is hard to believe that 2.7 million people manage to eke out a life on this high altitude desert. Rural Tibet's continuing medieval life only magnifies this. Clusters of traditional mud and wood houses litter waterless, frozen and brutally windswept plains. The crumbled outlines of forts at dramatic vantage points hint at both wars gone by and the sheer civilisation-eradicating power of the mountains. Young men still walk for empty miles lugging goods from one settlement to the next, kept warm by giant furhats and knee high felt boots. A horse and cart delivers the weeks' barley to a toothless, dusty miller. Children stare at you with hollow black eyes, not playfully or curiously, but as if looking at something from another dimension. As Everest looms in the distance and the road sweeps through dilapidated villages, you quickly become transported into another time.

But worlds collide so sharply here that you have to constantly adjust your views. Just as you've got accustomed to the old, up jumps the new. One night we bedded down in icy, shared rooms of a traditional guest house. 120km later we were driving past shopping malls, computer shops, and the concrete and glass fronted hulks lining the 6 lane streets of Shigatse. The small guest house was a magical world of hand painted bright walls and ceilings, traditionally dressed families and communal cooking around a dung fire. We even had a mute monk tucked up round the fire watching us intently. The new hotel in Shigatse was made up of a broken TV, dim lights and chill impersonality. But we had to admit that a warm shower and sit down toilet does beat squatting over the iced up poo gulley the previous night. That morning we huddled up for 2 hours outside the traditional guesthouse waiting for our minibus to start. A small, grubby girl spent the entire time throwing stones around a dusty track for entertainment. In Shigatse Chinese children took it in turns to whizz around the marble paved main square on an electric remote controlled car.

China's 'development' in Tibet is rooted in attracting Han Chinese to set up shop there. Not an easy feat, given that its one of the most inhospitable places on the planet. It is not surprising that money drives Chinese people to move here. Money and a promise of all the services they could ask for in the hinterland. Consequently towns in Tibet are made up of polar halves – the Tibetan old towns and the Chinese new. The Tibetan side is always a collection of traditional buildings, buzzing with human life, people praying, communal eating and children playing. Tibetan people were born there and continue to live there. This is naturally how communities exist and develop though time. On the Chinese side nothing is natural. Poorly built concrete is going up faster than residents are moving in. Towns immediately have a horribly depressing, ghost like feel. Gyantse, 175km from Shigatse, looks ancient and impressive from a distance. A huge fort rises above the town and a gathering of Tibetan houses huddle beneath an impressive monastery. But on arrival we stepped out of the minibus into piles of litter and human waste, which drifted hopelessly around town in the biting wind. A 10 year old boy with a deformed face grabbed Nick's trouser leg repeating relentlessly 'money, money, money'. As you turn to look down the road stray dogs are more populous than humans, a dead one lies in the middle of the pavement and some Tibetan children are using the gutter as a toilet. The Chinese have brought with them running water, toilets and rubbish disposal schemes. Maybe this town got left out, or maybe the Tibetans were never shown how to use them. Either way, the development of small villages into towns had happened too quickly.

And all this confusion is even before you've stepped into a 1400 year old monastery. We visited five on our tour and not once did I get bored of the sensory overload of these places. Shaven headed monks float through whitewashed, cobbled streets in long maroon gowns. Bannisters and walls are rubbed smooth by the passage of pilgrims for hundreds of years. The sounds of chanting pilgrims, banging drums and the smells of incense fill the air. Queues of people from all over Tibet stand patiently before entering the chapels and temples and lay down gifts to the gods. Giant gold and bronze statues flicker in the soft light from yak butter lamps. Turquoise and coral adorn the belts that keep felt or fur cloaks around old pilgrims' bony bodies. 

All walks of Tibetans travel for miles to pray at these holy places. But it's no ordinary prayer as they prostrate themselves along roads, pavements, public squares and dusty alley ways. Reaching up to the sky and then falling in a wave motion right down to the floor, over and over again, for hours, days, weeks. People who can barely walk shuffle too and from the floor in arthritic pain, while toddlers copy them unaware of what or why they are doing it. By far the most harrowing sites in Tibet are where this ancient religious world collides with the oppression of the Chinese. Hobbling pilgrims get roughly searched by policemen before being allowed to worship their gods. In Lhasa the pilgrims share the holiest prayer circuit in Tibet, The Barhkor, with gun toting PRC army men. Whilst pilgrims drag themselves clockwise around the tiny cobbled streets, their moment of walking with god, 12 army men stomp around anti-clockwise, their comrades watching menacingly from the surrounding rooftops. But worst still, some circuits are entirely built over by the Chinese, leaving pilgrims to risk their lives prostrating across busy traffic intersections. One of the greatest displays of subservience we have witnessed anywhere in the world. If not for the presence of the communist aggressor maybe we would all be horrified by the fact people put themselves through so much for a religion they know so little about.

Tibet's huge monasteries used to be the biggest in the world, housing up to 10,000 monks. In 50 years this number has dwindled to around 500. Understandably, there is not much attraction for monks to study in a land where all the religious leaders have disappeared and so most have fled to join the other 100,000 or so Tibetan exiles in India or Nepal. To give you an idea of the Chinese control of the religion, the 2nd most holy lama behind the Dalai Lama is the Panchen Lama. He is chosen by consulting a holy lake which gives you the direction of the village he is in as well as clues such as the colour of the door, the number of cattle the family own including their markings. However, after the death of the 9th Panchen Lama, Beijing decided they didn't like the new one chosen in Tibet so they found their own who now lives in Beijing. Our guide explained that nobody now knows where the Tibetan lama is. However, having already spent 5 months in jail as a political prisoner he was reluctant to go into too much detail. Some of the elements of China's work here makes you shudder. All houses are given a Chinese flag to fly above their door, if they don't they are put on the list of political troublemakers. At the time of the PRCs 60th Anniversary soldiers outnumbered Tibetans 8 to 1 in Lhasa.You can only learn Tibetan up to 10years old in school, giving the language little hope of survival. The Potala Palace, once political and spiritual heart of Tibet, is now a museum. Whilst politely acknowledging the existence of every Dalai Lama since the 6th Century, it quietly ignores the one that is still living, the one that fled for fear of being kidnapped over 40 years ago. Monks that work at the Potala palace are no longer allowed to be called monks, they are simply workers. Tibetan's have no access to information about their once spiritual leader but still they bow down to his old thrones at the Potala Palace and all the monasteries. A nation of subservient people, be it to the Dalai Lama, invading Mongolians throughout history, greedy Tibetan landlords or the Chinese government. These people have been bowing for as long as they can remember.

We left Tibet with more questions than answers. How much fresh fruit and veg, running water, electricity, roadways, infrastructure and investment does it take to justify crushing an ancient culture? What would Tibetan's do with themselves if they were 'free'? Is the Dalai Lama a massive coward for running away from his nation? What is China so paranoid about?

All this confusion was only heightened by leaving Lhasa to spend 50 hours on a train heading East to the swanky, cosmopolitan, successful city of Shanghai. The same country, the same time zone and the same government but world's apart. But Nick will fill you in with more on living it up with a mate Shawry in Shangers. For now its time to pack – in 12 hours time we'll be boarding a train to Irkutsk in Russia to throw ourselves across a hopefully very frozen Lake Baikal!

26.2 miles of sheet ice and vodka

Several months ago whilst sat in a youth hostel in China we found a discarded and dog-eared Russian guidebook. Leafing through this Hol read about a Winter Games Festival in Irkutsk. A quick consultation of the Oracle (my all encompassing trip planning spreadsheet), and it became clear that we would be there bang in the middle of it. Spectacular luck. Delving around on the internet and we then found an invitation to join the VIth Annual Lake Baikal Ice Marathon. This is the point in the film version of our trip where off-key strings will start reaching a crescendo, the sky will darken amd a roll of thunder will reverberate in the background. Inspired by the irresponsible amounts of brown sugar on the porridge I was eating I immediately proclaimed we should enter. Oh dear...

The small issues of where we would train, the fact that neither of us had run anythink like a marathon before and that the whole thing was across the frozen surface of the world's deepest and oldest lake could wait. To prevent any back out we employed the same trick that got us on the trip in the first place and emailed lots of people about it. However, in the cold light of day we began to realise what we had undertaken to do. One of the few websites we found where someone had thawed their fingers out enough to write up their experiences was by a russian ultra-runner called simply 'Gorkov'. It wasn't reassuring. He wrote:  

The wind was blowing from the south, so the left side of the face required some attention, had to rub it from time to time.  The temperature must have been around -10C, not too bad.

-10 degrees centigrade... in the middle of the day... Not too bad? Holy Jeez. Also, what the hell does 'some attention' mean? Oh, he also said he had to stop and check a compass he had on him when the weather 'deteriorated'. Being lost on top of a giant lake in a Siberian winter? Never before had this been top of my to do list. Considering that I developed chilblains sitting typing at a keyboard in Kathmandu, many would call this undertaking foolish. Yet somehow we have two more people stupid enough to join us, and even a kit supplier to help us get over the ice with their specialist ice running footwear: Yaktrax.

So it is that Tim, Eoin, Holly (for the half marathon) and I will all line up on the icy start line on the 7th March. The course stretches a full 26.2 miles from one side of the lake to the other and, depending on the wind, the course is either up to around 5" deep in snow or is sheet ice. On a good day they say you can see the other end of the course from the start. Other people call this a bad day because of the mental strain of running for hour upon hour through a totally featureless landscape without looking like you are getting any closer to the finish. I assume this is why every 5km there is a refreshment stop. Not your usual Lucozade or Powerbar type fare here though. Hot tea and Vodka.

However, despite all our worries we have managed to crack on with some training. This in itself hasn't been that simple either. Air pollution is a serious problem in Kathmandu. Particulate matter concentrations of heavy metals often exceed threshold values at which human health is severely affected. And the worst time of year? Winter. The bowl shape of the Kathmandu valley traps the cold air causing it to stagnate, the brick ovens fire up and choke the air with black smoke, and the fine dust from the roads gets thicker and thicker with no rain to wash it away. Our first runs we were plagued by sharp chest pains and asthma like symptoms, in part due to the fact the whole city is 1,400m high, but since then we have found certain back roads that have fewer trucks on. That said there are still times when you have to run through clouds of thick black diesel smoke and dust, being chased by a rabid dogs whilst leaping over piles of burning rubbish.

On the bad days the advisories that say even staying in Kathmandu for a couple of days is a bad idea ring in your head, and you question the value of doing the marathon. But then 2 minutes later you turn a corner and you are running towards pink tipped 8,000m peaks tousled with cloud and the sun is dipping behind ancient temples and gold roofed monasteries. Some of my fondest memories of Kathmandu will be running around the valley. Eager kids running alongside you calling your name, misty mornings with the sounds of distant worship carried along rivers, and teams of traditionally robed monks having furious football matches on dusty fields.

We now have under three weeks left working at Volunteer Society Nepal before two of Hol's girlfriends come out. She has been craving lady chats for around 16 months now and we are both getting very excited about the prospect of starting our return trip on 13th February when we will head back into Tibet en route to Russia. I am sure the marathon training handbook doesn't read, "Have large number of rude sounding cocktails and beers with long absent friends in Kathmandu, sit in jeep for a week, sit on train for 3 days solid, go on beers with other friend you haven't seen in 17 months in Shanghai, sit on train for another 3 days solid, run marathon". However, this seems to be our only option. It'll be a huge relief to have finished it and be sat at the, no doubt vodka laced, Gala dinner on the evening of the 7th March. In our heads it is then just a hop, skip and a jump back to Europe and, as long as our knees hold up, we should be in rapid shape for the trip back across Europe on Carlos the tandem. Magic.

Trekking to Annapurna to welcome in 2010

Back in the poor and jobless days of October, there was a nasty moment
when we weren't going to make it into The Himalayas during our Nepal stint. Luckily though, after 6 weeks of working, we managed to justify a Christmas and New Year break in the mountains. So, after a little too much Marmite, chicken tandoori, Nepali beer and brownies (the strange combination of goods indulged in over Christmas) we headed off into The Annapurna region for 9 days of walking.

When we set out on our trek on Boxing Day we were not sure if the weather would permit us to reach Annapurna Base Camp, the highest and most exciting destination of the trek. If it snows at base camp there is a high avalanche risk and being without a guide, we weren't going to take any chances. Being the snowy season, we were braced with optimistic phrases about how unimpressive base camp would have been anyway. But we needn't have worried. On the day we planned to head into the big stuff we awoke to a clear, crisp sky and it remained that way for the next 24 hours.

Walking into the snowy bowl that makes up Annapurna Base Camp, which is surrounded by some of the highest peaks in the world, was one of the most breathtaking moments of the trip. We gazed and gazed and gazed and still couldn't take it all in. Rock broke away from under our feet as we gazed down a 50m cliff to a sea of boulders, brought down from glaciers thousands of years ago. Whisps of cloud flew off the tops of the icy peaks, as if to warn you against even attempting to reach such inhospitable heights. Mile wide glaciers moaned and groaned as the sun went down and came back up. Semi-frozen streams cracked and creaked their way through the snow. At sunset colours turned from blues and whites to pinks and oranges until a full moon tinted everything silver. Melted ice crashed down from mountain ledges and froze solid again when darkness came. Nick and I walked through this colossal land completely alone. Never before have I been so silenced by a landscape.

On New Years 2008-9 we were just picking up the trade winds somewhere off the Atlantic coast of Africa. This year felt almost as remote, sipping on whiskey in a dark stony teahouse, shrouded in the cold mist of the Himalayan foothills. Despite being in bed by 9pm the evening was a charming one. We had a handful of entertaining fellow trekkers to chat too (unsurprisingly, a couple of very enthusiastic Dutchies were the pick of the lot), hot coals to warm our feet by and a huge plate of Dal Bhat to fill our hungry bellies. At 7am on the first day of 2010 we awoke to panoramic views of The Annapurna Range, while golden cloud floated through the valley below us. In Nepal it is considered a very good omen if the first day of the year is clear, which is a relief. All in all, a pretty spectacular way to see in what is set to be a terribly exciting year.

In case any of you haven't heard yet, 2010 is the year of our homecoming and of me becoming Mrs Tuppen. For a long time such exciting (and a little terrifying) events have been a long way off, far too far away to begin to comprehend. Cycling back into Hyde Park has been an unconceivable moment, out there in the futuristic and unknown year of 2010. Suddenly, on the turning of the year, this all changed. Our mindsets did a complete u-turn. We are now on our way home and getting there feels incredibly close.

With this in mind, we skipped along the ancient trails of the Annapurna region full of joy and wonder at everything that passed in 2009, and everything to come in 2010. As if this wasn't mind boggling enough, our backdrop never ceased to leave us in complete awe.

Returning to civilisation after this blissfully simple world of walking from A to B, was a bit of a shock. Minds quickly filled with the admin of getting home; sending passports to the UK to collect our Russian visas, listing every single country we've been to in the last 10 years for the Russian authorities, training for an ice marathon, completing work in Kathmandu, getting permits to travel through Tibet, making sure Carlos is ready for Istanbul... The list goes on. But after an initial panic and finding a bargain happy hour, we happily sunk into our tasks.

One of our more enjoyable tasks was to visit some orphanages in Pokhara where some volunteer buddies were working. One orphanage proved rather entertaining. As hard as we tried to explain that calling a children's home 'The Innocent Children's Center at The Love Company' was not the best idea, the name remains. And despite having been told not to ask for financial aid from volunteers, the manager of this orphanage spent the last week trying to persuade one poor Dutch lad to buy a $700 buffalo for the kids and to fund his retirement. On hearing this we were slightly alarmed to notice that not all the kids had beds. In stark comparison, the other orphanage was a wonderfully homely home kitted out with all the toys, games and comforts kids could want. The answer to such success was a clever chicken farming scheme rather than depending on the wealthy Western folk.

After soaking up all the warmth we could from the Pokhara sun we headed back to our Nepali home in Pepsi-Cola, Kathmandu. A warm welcome from the kids and a plate of 20p momos from our local, quickly made up for the smog and cold. Increased electricity outages and the arrival of a comically talkative and heavily bearded Irishman have hindered work progress considerably. But there's still 30 days left to make our mark in Nepal... we'll see how it goes.

For those of you that want to be persuaded to go trekking, more photos of the mountains here

A Very Merry Christmas; if the Maoists allow it

3 days to go until our second Christmas away from home. Things have been getting interesting in Kathmandu. The Maoist party in Nepal have called a 3 day nationwide bandha (strike) forcing all traffic off the roads, all businesses to close and our movements have been restricted to within walking distance of our house. It's been a surreal experience.

The Maoists, who won the majority of votes in elections in 2008, resigned from government after the president overruled their decision to sack the army chief. The former rebels say the president's move was unconstitutional. Their programme of civil and parliamentary disruption is aimed at forcing the government to debate this issue, something the government refuses to do. We got our first real taste of this when returning from town on Saturday. We were making our way towards the central bus station, which is enough of a test of the nerves at the best of times, when we saw smoke rising in the dusky light. Coming round the corner to Ratna Park we witnessed a mass protest with thousands of people marching the streets with flaming torches, chanting and shouting anti-Government slogans. The effect was dramatic, but thankfully the mood was not. Nonetheless, with traffic grid-locked and darkness falling, we decided being inside a taxi was a safe bet and so we jumped in one and waited for the roadblock to lift. A sudden revving of engines temporarily transformed the street into a Formula One grid, however, the illusion only lasted for around 12 seconds as everyone bolted off the line only to grind to a halt 50 yards further on.

Our sighing taxi driver wove his way through ill-lit backstreets, clattering over discarded flaming torches whilst ghostly figures loomed out of the haze of smoke, dust and fumes. Occasionally we saw flickering faces deep in discussion, until the road eventually disgorged us somewhere on the outskirts of town. 2 hours later we made it back. Exhausted, but glad to be in more familiar surroundings.

Since then the mood has lightened with 3 days of strikes feeling more like a holiday than anything else. 2 nights ago there was suddenly cheering and hooting and we thought the strike might have been called off, but last night we were woken in the middle of the night by what sounded like air raid sirens. In the absence of up-to-date news, this has meant just making do. We have spent the last few days welcoming in heaps of volunteers, playing with the kids at the orphanage, painting new classrooms and planning Christmas. And this morning, when one of the volunteers needed to get to the airport to fly home, we just walked. Jason and I set off in the thick morning mist to walk the deserted main roads into Kathmandu. The usually choked streets were devoid of any vehicles save for speeding UN vans, Red Cross jeeps and ambulances. It felt like a war zone, but the peaceful smiling faces remain the same as those welcoming us when we arrived in Nepal. You just want to know what the people are talking about as they huddle round their small roadside fires to keep warm. Is the talk full of political opinion and dissent? Or is it simply people enjoying three days off to catch up with family and friends? Exactly how people are responding is unclear, although it is unquestionable that this is crippling the economy of Nepal and can only make things worse.

However, we now have a bus ticket that should wing us to the slightly warmer Pokhara tomorrow morning. Asking Rupa about whether there would be much traffic, her response was simply, "After bandha... Ha, ha, ha". Indeed. After two days of leisure including HOLLY'S BIRTHDAY on the 24th (Ahem) we are planning to guide ourselves up into the Himalayas to Annapurna Base Camp. I can not think of a better tonic to the claustrophobia of the bandha than a couple of days of lounging, bathing and feasting before strapping on a pack and heading into the snowy mountains. We just hope we aren't sat at the same desk tomorrow evening with no prospect of getting away.

In the meantime... Merry Christmas to one and all back home. Not (that) long until we are back and this time next year we hope to be sharing yule logs, booze and crackers with you all.

Latest photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/hollyandtups/sets/72157622904249007/

Not Christmas, but almost as good

Today was the closest we will probably get to a big family Christmas this year, in the form of a Hindu house blessing ceremony. Tej, our boss, and Rupa, his wife, have been living in their new house for a couple of months now. A recent bout of bad luck (hopefully nothing to do with us being here) has persuaded them to get the house formally blessed. So the Brahmans were summoned and they declared Monday 7th to be the lucky day for the blessing. From here on luck should flow freely around the house and all those living within it.

Preparations started early yesterday morning with the grinding of grains to make flour for about 300 donuts. Such culinary expertise continued late into night, only to start up again early this morning. It later became clear that the importance of this feast was not only to serve up to 200 hungry humans but to also please the apparently quite greedy gods. At the crack of dawn today it was all go; the party tent arrived, giant cooking pots got steaming, vegetables turned up by the bicycle load and the household put on their finest.

The blessing ceremony took place in the form of Pooja (Hindu prayer), which started at 8am and went on for an extremely dedicated 6 hours. This all took place in a room on the bottom floor of the house, which was transformed into a den of holiness for the day. The once mundane room was filled with incense, offerings of money, potatoes, flowers, rice, 5 very stern looking Brahman, the family of the house, a huge bonfire, holy water, every spice under the sun and never-ending chants. At the end of the ceremony the Brahmans walked around the house blessing everyone and every corner with a sprinkling of holy water chanting 'peace here' (in Hindu). For the finale a huge sheet of white silk was hung from the roof and water and flowers were poured down it to Tej, Rupa, Riza and a very confused Tiya (2 years old) waiting 3 stories below. Chains of flowers, bananas and donuts were hung around the house and then everyone got stuck into the vegetarian buffet, curd, sweets and milky tea (at last!). You cannot help but be entirely captivated by the mystical sounds, smells and colour of it all. So laptops were shut and we soaked up a day of blessings, feasting and entertaining the little ones. I am now particularly excited about instigating all of the above traditions for our new pad warming party on return to the UK.

We have been in Nepal for five weeks and now feel very at home. Our home is a remarkably peaceful suburb of Kathmandu called Pepsi-Cola Town Planning, inspiringly named after the adjacent Pepsi factory. Time has raced by at an alarming rate, reminding us of the woes and joys of routine, staying in one place and having a job to do. No doubt a gentle reminder of what to expect on arriving home in about 5 months time. Despite some initial trauma linked to space (lack of it), snot (an overload of it) and smog (trying to train for a marathon in it), things are now looking very rosy. Not only have we been blessed by the gods, but our adventure tales got published in a real magazine and we achieved our first work related task in 14 months. VSN's new website is now up and running at http://volunteersocietynepal.org.

To have completed the website feels like quite an achievement, especially since the process only involved one or two 'storming out' moments. All this burying ourselves in html and entering the world of cyberspace nerds compensates a little for ample time spent away from computer screens in the last year. Our next challenge is to send the website racing up search engine rankings (any advice much appreciated!) and to spread the VSN word around Nepal and beyond. But its not all work. Between teaching kids to talk proper and all the marketing faff many an hour is spent sipping whiskey at our local, The Hut, dodging rabid dogs on runs and watching the world go by from our roof terrace. And then weekends (only Saturdays off shock horror) take us to such cultural delights as Kathmandu zoo, the tailors, the best fried eggs in town and guesthouses with fire places in remote hillside villages. So with all this we should remain nicely occupied until trekking and feasting time in Pokhara come Christmas!