Charlie and Steve's Excellent Adventure

May 17, 2015

While you were working – A Clear Vision, Manbo, China

A new day gently illuminates the heavy curtains of our sensory depravation chamber, an alarm pierces the air to trumpet the new days victory over us before it’s even begun. Immediately clear to us is that there’s two in the morgue today, well one at least, Charlie might be in the recovery ward but the tag is firmly affixed to my toe while I lay on the slab. The option of breakfast or another moment of denial passes before a decision could be made, denial victorious in lieu of a wilful decision. Before too long though it’s time to give denial a taste of itself and face the day as we limp down to both jump in the van shortly after a much needed toilet stop. Much needed.

So now the G8 is six and it’s into the longest day we’ll have of the whole journey, but right now I don’t care, my 194cm’s see the 140cm of the backseat as a ready replacement for our recently abandoned comfort. As they say in showbiz, the show must go on; and so it is with cycling as the grannies lead out the pack and into the wild wherever. In no time at all we come to the mighty Mekong running fast and smooth like a deadly serpent before us. We’re out of the van and onto the passenger ferry while John, the support van driver has to load up onto the vehicle ferry. The ferries drag in wide arcs as they cross the nearly 100m or so to the other side, the rapid current tugs at the ferries relentlessly as they drive almost sideways just to negotiate the drift they can’t avoid. Ferry ride done brings another date with a pretty bleak toilet, enough said about that the better.

Waiting for the ferry to cross the Mekong river, Yunnan Province, China

The stomach still churns but it’s time again for doctor Wendy and her magical cures. We’ve had the horrid herbal tonic that burns an acrid strafe from tongue to tummy, we’ve had the more benign pills, we’ve had the aromatherapy oils dotted to places all over our bodies but it’s too early to tell if anything works thus far. We’re avoiding our medicines to give the Chinese stuff a go and opting for the theoretical holistic approach. Right now I’ll take invasive directness but who’s counting.

Approaching the lunch stop the heat rises again like clockwork to a wretched swelter. Across a bumpy dirt road that looks like it’s still under construction Guy, Andy and the four grannies push on in the tormenting heat while we rattle along in the small sweat-box of a van we call home. Driving in China isn’t the worst in the world by a long shot but it’s pretty chaotic none the less, scooters, cars, trucks and pedestrians flow like liquid around each other in a symphony of honking horns. In a flash we see a rider tumble down through the zig zagging disruption of our obscured view. It’s Sue and she’s perilously close to a truck, the heart races. Just like an inflatable boxing toy Sue is back up and we’re all relieved to say the least, magically nothing drastic has happened. In a rush a crowd of vehicles gather to offer support or a lift in an instantaneous show of good will but true to form, Sue shoo’s them away insisting that she simply go on. Gutsy or foolhardy is no matter, I hope I’m like that at her age.

Buddhist temple, Yunnnan Province, China

Lunch passes with Andy stealing the show, a very tall guy dwarfing a Chinese lady is apparently a star attraction as a seemingly endless procession of staged photos are called for. Lunch acts as but a short reprieve to the heatwave, we plough forth as the van slowly fills with bodies like fallen soldiers in the M.A.S.H medical tent. Another dose at the wacky end of the medicine pool comes at a stop to see a temple, some pen like instruments are jabbed into me over my stomach and into my thumbs before another launch into more 40+ degree heat. Blessedly though the G8 are calling it a day and this most torturous adventure draws to a close in our morgue that became a bed which evolved to a sauna and now morphs to a sardine can.

Arriving into Manbo we are greeted with what sounds like the Chinese equivalent of a daytime dance club, booming western music blasts from a timber house in a juxtaposition that seems a little too awesome to be true. Finally, blessed bed, this couldn’t have come soon enough. The houses here are similar to most others we’ve seen, modern, cheap and fantastically cheesy; my new impression of modern China. Although it’s naff to harbour on the dodgy squat toilets, we all knew they were here, brushing my teeth to hear Charlie flush brings a notable adventure. One second I hear flushing and in moments I see his creation fly out of a pipe merely a mere or so from me into an otherwise beautiful stream, it’s a bit more visual than even I’m used to on this trip. Unsanitary toilets are par for the course for us lately but pushed straight into a mountain stream, that’s a bit too far for me as a feeling of judgement threatens.

Cooking the tea leaves, at the house we are staying. Yunnan Province, China

On the vision of a flying turd I have an epiphany; I genuinely never thought I’d say that. To so many of us China is a massive global power, an economic juggernaut but that’s what we see in the papers and hear from inflammatory or gushing reporters. Some of China’s new wealth may have reached these villages but cultural evolution hasn’t genuinely. Where we often see China as a developed equivalent to our own country which makes some odd behaviours seem unjustifiable, this only applies to that other Made in China cliche, the great urbanised Chinese. We’re not in an urban city now. In essence these villages can’t be held to modern light as we know it. Where urban China soaks up modernism these villages live a life closer to that of a time gone by when social progression became personal regression, only recently building again from what they knew. Clear thoughts can come from any source it seems, from the most unclear of matter my critique on confronting Chinese ways has just gained a huge dose of empathy, thanks Charlie.

May 17, 2015

While you were working – Made in China, Ganlanba, China

Disaster strikes suddenly, our chances of victory in the Tour de Yunnan are dealt a sever blow with Charlie waking with a deathly pale visage after a horrid night running to the toilet. A tummy bug is a wretched thing at the best of times without being stuck in a foreign bed having to tiptoe past everyone to go outside, down a flight of stairs to a squat toilet. Safe to say that Charlie didn’t chalk up the best nights sleep ever, so one distinguished member of the team is in the bus for the 46km day 2. Before a peddle can be pushed though it’s food time, the recurring theme of abundant food looms as the most welcome problem we might possibly have this trip. A village noodle stall is to provide our energy for this morning of Le Tour.

True to my impressions of China there’s not a huge amount of aesthetic beauty around, functional purpose reigns supreme over a population that works and achieves. Again that name rises, Mao and the cultural revolution. Basically Mao’s great shake up to purge senior party members he feared might take his power threw the nation into chaos in what can’t be said to be biblical proportions, it’s more than that, it’s Chinese proportions. One of the endless atrocities was the destruction of anything old as a rejection of luxury and decadence. Books were burned, temples destroyed, the arts were essentially outlawed and schools were abandoned for about four years in the cultural destruction that we still call a revolution. As a persistent lag that very possibly still exists today all these years later the Chinese hold a reputation for being without appreciation for aesthetics, heritage and natural beauty, the worlds greatest population was reduced to the designation of worker ant.

Preparing our breakfast noodles, Yunnan Province, China

In a small space of concrete, factory style shutter doors, colorbond roofing and a tractor sits our noodle stall below comically cheesy houses with bling adorning the eaves. It’s forgivable to imagine that we’re not impressed with this clunky setting but far from it, it’s fantastic. Unperturbed by what we would call at home a completely uninspiring industrial setting without the hipster cool attached to it we’re in the midst of a true experience and the noodles are delicious. A distasteful history leading to this style does not preclude it from being a true experience none the less, sitting in this little driveway come dining room feels unmistakably like were in China. In this respect Mao’s destruction of the aesthetic lives on but far from denying an influential facet of recent history it’s part of the tapestry that makes China as we know it today, the China we’ve come to see.

Noodles slurped, Charlie is bundled into the van without the toe tag that usually accompanies a corpse and we’re off. Today is shorter in distance and immediately it’s pretty clear that it’s an easier day than yesterday, the G8 breathes a sigh of relief. Where yesterday was influenced heavily by the visual landscape of agriculture today is less so influenced, rather dominated by it. Rubber tree after rubber tree flies by, I’ll be happy to never see a rubber tree again. A lush hillside screams of forest at a distance only to reveal the incriminating lateral scars of terracing upon approach, it seems that absolutely every scrap of land is utilised. On one hand there is the fantastically rich hippie ideal that in this part of China food is grown, not bought. On the other hand there’s nowhere that seems in any real way natural with even waterways often seen as rubbish and sewage canals. Conflictingly it’s industrious as well as high impact, the concepts of simple over population response compete with a culture that doesn’t seem to value nature or beauty.

Another friendly family at a stop. Yunnan province, China

Finally we pull up at the restaurant for lunch, thankfully for Charlie it’s a short day but none the less his time at the restaurant is punctuated with his head on the table in a hopeless attempt at rest. Still the heat saps us all and Charlie is suffering the worst, it’s time to round up the troops and get to the hotel. Chopsticks down and helmets on, we’re heading back and I can’t say it’s too soon, I’m definitely worse for wear even after a far milder day in the saddle. On wobbly legs we limp into a posh resort spa with all the fashionable bling from a style magazine printed in the 90’s. This very new money style is fast becoming quite fun to be honest as it’s even easy to look past the safe gentrified style as being tacky and see it as just being Chinese.

Into our room it’s a painful procession through looking after Charlie while not feeling the best myself. We both opt for sleep in place of dinner time as we pass out without the barest of contact, affection can wait for a more energetic time. Managing to haul myself up I take a bath just to sap some of the comfort out of this posh room that surprisingly enough is pretty tasteful, but it doesn’t take long to get back into bed and be dead to the world. Just like the cheap copied goods that come off the production lines of this country, the cliches just continue to tumble forward. Our room only has a bathroom that floods but everyone else’s has a list of things that don’t work for some reason or other in a show of typically shoddy Chinese workmanship. A new cliche to me reads: China: almost finished. It seems in the flood of recent wealth China hasn’t quite gotten up to speed with ideals of design, refinement and quality assurance. And so the cliches continue to tumble into the big vats destined to countries near and far bearing those famous three words: Made in China.

May 16, 2015

While you were working – The G8, Menglun, China

The first day of competition is upon us, a buzz fills the breakfast hall in a heady mix of nervousness and excitement, the addictive toxin of any elite level athlete. It could be the competitive spirit or it could be that we’re about to see familiar faces, Charlie’s mum in particular has been keen to see us again in a most reciprocated emotion. As chance would have it Janno occupies a table with her back to us as we enter for breakfast, an interruptive tap on the shoulder throws the sterile room into a bursting fountain of emotion, I’m sure there’s nearly tears, nearly. Janno’s pretty emotional too. Breakfast passes in a rush of stories and laughs as the looming cycling challenge is put on hold to catch up on companionship we’ve so missed.

Steve cycling on day 1, Yunnan Province, China

But enough of the light and fluffy stuff, the serious business of the cycling mission is about to begin as we journey through the countryside learning about tea and whatever else comes our way. Cadel Evans can have his Tour de France team Orica Green Edge, the other big Aussie team on the international circuit is the soon to be famous Yunnan Green Tea Edge, watch this space cycling public. Driven through the tacky city of Jinghong to the starting point with our two support vehicles and team motor bike no less the epic begins in the warm sun of a Chinese heat wave. Two mates of ours, Andy and Guy join Charlie’s mum Janno and three of her friends Robbie, Philipa and Sue as the most motley crew to ever squeeze into bike pants. A staggered start sees us lead off as the four grannies and the four gays start the 59km day-1 under the new collective as the Yunnan G8. One wonders, through several hundred kilometres of senior moments, princess fits and inevitable high drama; what folly of blind fortune is going to bring us all back to Jinghong in one piece?

Lunch stop can’t come quickly enough, it’s only 11am and none of us are complaining. The heat is starting to rise and a steady uphill has Janno remarking that it’s a bit tougher than her practice rides around Bobbin Head in Sydney. Rest comes under a shady awning and food is laid on Chinese style, that is to say that there’s more food here than three cycling teams could possibly eat. One famous blight on Mao’s rule was the great famine, essentially a Mao creation from his non-sensical desire for steel as a simplistic marker for development. Millions of farmers were forced into steel production and therefore crops were either not harvested or not planted and owing to Moa’s commitment to Russia for military intelligence much of what was grown was taken from the human engine room, the great might of China withering under the whim of a despot. In two years an estimated 30 million people died, in this one action as just part of a long list of atrocities Mao accounted for, arguably, more lives than Hitler and Stalin combined. On that sobering thought the table before us grows and grows, it seems that some parts of Mao’s China have thankfully been cast aside, we’re starving.

Raw pu ‘er tea, Yunnan Province, China

Stuffed to bursting we push off again as the heat of the day rises punishingly close enough to 40 degrees. Through picturesque countryside of tea plantations that promises to be even more so once we move beyond the world of agriculture and small villages of functional houses we push ever uphill. After the punishing uphill we turn a corner and there’s more punishing uphill, rinse and repeat. The heat also continues to rise unendingly like this hill somewhat, yes punitively is the word. Eventually Charlie and I leading the pack see Wendy and Echo, our two guides, which means it’s a stop, there’s no macho here we openly desperate for a rest. We’re absolutely stuffed and ego aside we’re probably the fittest pair of the G8 so we wonder how long we’ll be waiting. In less than ten minutes hot on our heels comes Philipa pedalling relentlessly like the terminator over the last rise to our standing applauds, unbelievable. Not long behind us and the phenomenon comes the rest of the G8 wisely bundled into the support van to make the final push up the hill.

Like a hush of corpses we drape ourselves languidly over chairs among massive statues made from tea at a table governed with great ceremony by Wendy. Wendy only understands a bit of English so it’s Echo doing all the interpreting and explanations as we get a rundown of making pu’er tea for which Yunnan is famous. Originally more medicinal, pu’er has gained popularity in China and abroad and remains one of our favourites at home so it’s exciting to be in this place surrounded by the precious blocks of compacted tea. As Echo explains much of the making of the tea Wendy takes colossal care to wash, rinse and prepare the tea perfectly; the usual carefree smile is gentled in the gravity of this most serious business. Loaded up on tea we’re all back to the road, not too long to go and we’re finally going downhill, the high peak for today not too far away.

Andy Green, part of the G8 cycling team.

On the high peak we at last have the whole G8 in full swing, Sue has had a tummy bug and wasn’t up to the tougher climb so now she gets to join us all as we coast downhill finally in the shade of tall trees. Thus far we’ve had relentless agriculture layering the great landscapes but we’re in a nature reserve now and immediately we’re enlivened; maybe it’s a more natural environment or maybe it’s not the horrid hill in baking heat, possibly a bit of both but I think more the latter. And down we coast with only the barest of occasional uphills to force pedalling through a relatively cool bliss. There’s 56 ethnic minorities in China, a legacy from the disparate nature of this nation which ran to as recently as early in the 20th century, the Jinuo are one such group in this region and we stop off in a village to see what’s what. A quick chat with at a rustic clinic as an introduction on Chinese medicine is followed by a look in on rubber making, a small set up of plastic tubs under a house is now my vision of Chinese production: small scale meets massive population.

Eventually we’re in Menglun for our home-stay stop and we’re all a bit sorry and worse for wear. We’re a shadow of the selves we were earlier today but all thoroughly satisfied that we made it, even if ebullient joy belongs to energy levels we left the other side of the hill. We’re short of energy but one thing we’re not short of is food, a staggering array of amazing food is laid out before us and like the hill today it sits before us as a challenge. Again there’s no chance of eating more than half of the food on offer as we refuel as best we can before limping to bed with sore bums, tired legs and big smiles. On mattresses arrayed in a large room like kids on school camp the G8 has made it through day one as the gays and the grannies bunk down in a communal room. Although no one says it aloud the three or four seconds before sleep are spent pondering if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.

May 16, 2015

While you were working – Mao’s China, Jinghong, China

In a tempest of emotion we farewell Nepal for the short hop over to China and into a different world, it still amazes me the power contained in a border. With China on the horizon we’ve been soaking up literature about this mysterious nation so recently thrust into our consciousness in a way we cannot ignore; it’s safe to say that our absorbed information has not left China in the greatest of light. What looms for us is a slight challenge before a plane has even touched down, we usually enter a country full of positivity but this time we must rationalise a less than favourable impression of a nation so historically rich yet recently stripped of its former glory. China is also where we will see a host of friends from home which, after our earthquake disaster, is just the tonic we need. Whatever the outcome this leg of the trip promises to be a watershed if nothing else.

Touchdown in Kunming, a short domestic transfer will see us finally to rest as we bustle through the monstrous airport of contrived neatness and order. Awaiting our baggage we get a good dose of Chinese cliche, in this ocean of polished tiles and gleaming fixtures an old man drags up some phlegm from somewhere below his lungs in a drama filled exorcism of religious proportions. No bin, no worries; anywhere on the sea of shiny floor will do; thwack goes the sound of our welcome to China.

And so the story continues, modern China is known for being pushy, rude and somewhat without a sense of decorum; an airport baggage carousel can only be the site for great civility surely. Although the feeding frenzy more akin to vultures stripping the carcass of a cow isn’t a specifically Chinese thing, people the world over leave their IQ on the plane when it comes to these contraptions of stupidity, but this is another level. Thankfully I’m bigger than the average here so ladies in full body pink terry towelling jumpsuits and podgey little princes in highly flammable tracksuits alike bounce off me like pinballs. And then the carousel starts moving, wow. The crush at the start of the carousel is immense, the four or five seconds it might take for a bag to round the short bend is obviously intolerable as I wonder, what’s more ravenous and feverish than vultures?

Just moments later our first impressions are lashed ever tighter to the stigmas we are trying so hard to wrestle free from. One of our checked on bags is separated and four gaucho steak knives we’ve carried all the way from Argentina are dragged out. Apparently knives aren’t allowed in China so they’re gone. It’s not the few hundred bucks they cost, it’s the disappointment, it’s all these things but most of all it’s the sheer idiocy of it all. Through Buenos Aires, Sao Paolo, Johannesburg, Cape Town, Singapore and Kathmandu airports no problem but a non-sensical edict evades rationale. Again we think, welcome to China.

I fight internally, the knives are yesterday news, what I wrestle with now is that the horrid perceptions of modern China I hoped my own eyes could dispel are seeping in ever deeper. I don’t want to feel negative, I want this great big, greatly populous land of great wealth and great history to be describable with just the word great requiring no qualifying category. Right now we’re not off to a good start. There’s so much to China’s recent history, too much spins in my mind now to put to words, for now I wrestle my mind to the friends and family from home we are so soon to meet in an effort to dispel some bitterness I wish not to have.

Along with my absorption of literary modern China I have indulged in getting around to reading 1984, the classic masterpiece by George Orwell. Proposing an exaggerated fantastical doomsday scenario for the world in the year 1984 Orwell launched into global conscience terms like ‘thought crime’, ‘thought police’ and the well known ‘Big Brother is watching’. In 1984 the great mega-state of Oceania dissolves family units and breaks down what we know as humanity in its aim for control of every individual down to their thoughts. Just like in Mao’s China feeling love is a crime, affection can only be for the party, such indulgence is a corruptive bourgeoisie selfishness not compatible with ‘proper’ thinking. While reading 1984 and of modern China it was easy to become confused about which book you were reading such was Mao’s torturous reign and systematic destruction of one of our worlds greatest cultures.

Finally settled into a bed that is monstrously wide yet punitively short we succumb to sleep at 2am surrounded by the gentrified bling that embodies wealthy China as I perceive it. Tomorrow we begin the cycling adventure and after the bumpy start hopefully a rich ancient history and unique culture can creep out from the gaps when big brother is not watching. Yunnan is in the southern warmer regions of China and known for its mountainous beauty, a sure winner for the likes of us. From the page my mind is stamped with an impression of modern China, particularly early to mid last century, tomorrow in ernest I will get to add a layer of what my eyes see beyond those words from the page. It’s grotesque to say but thankfully Mao isn’t with us any longer, in body at least, his portrait still adorns the gate of Tiananmen Square in Beijing as his place as a figurehead persists. The big question for me remains: Is is still Mao’s China or has China moved beyond 1984?

May 15, 2015

While you were working – Tie a Scarf, Kathmandu, Nepal

How lucky we are so safely tucked into a relatively unaffected part of Nepal during what, as far as I can tell, might stand as the largest natural disaster of this year. Buildings we were standing on lay in rubble, the death toll sits at over 8000 and rises daily and all the while we have glided through the storm so unscathed. From the first moments that seemed somewhat exciting each day has layered gravity to the circumstances of Nepal and with it we have ridden the wave. While we have managed through good fortune to crest the tumbling waters so much of Nepal churns still in the frothing abyss with fates still so uncertain. The mountains restrained in their destruction, Pokhara shielded us but there’s no avoiding a glancing visit back into Kathmandu to finally farewell Nepal. How easily we can book a taxi, check bags and simply walk away, if only it were that easy for the millions still stricken and homeless. Bodily we leave but our minds will stay in those churning waters for some time still, not yet freed from the tumult that connects us in some way to the lives of those millions.

So distant has been the destruction borne on our fortune of locality but the last legs of our bus ride into Kathmandu tear away the blissful ignorance so unceremoniously. We’d heard that 180 buildings were destroyed, relatively a measurable number in a sprawling city like Kathmandu. That estimate was conservative. Building upon building lies in rubble to line the road in loss while the rebuilding effort awaits a clean up that still has a long time to run. A man sits chipping mortar off bricks he might hope to reuse, a woman pulls away rubble from what was her home; we see no wailing or tears from these stoic people to whom fortune has often been unkind.

Entering Kathmandu after the earthquake, Nepal

In this bravery and resilience Nepalis continue to amaze and inspire. Kathmandu is undoubtedly a squalid mess in many ways but strangely enough from a tourists point of view this is an improvement from the pre 2008 change to a government from a kingdom. Charlie travelled here 13 years ago and his impression is one of generally improved conditions; I shudder to think of the starting point that can paint this world as being on an upswing. Surprising it might have seemed on day one but three weeks in Nepal has left me with no uncertainty that Nepal will take little time to wallow before the rebuild takes full swing, slowly and manually; the only way it knows how.

Brave, stoic, resilient; all these words sit so comfortably on the shoulders of the Nepali people but those words alone would sit as an insult of sorts. It may seem a little glib but an insight comes to us through food. So often within means that permit nothing but the most basic of food we were treated with culinary delight. It’s just food perhaps but ingenuity, ambition and the love of life delivers such a clear symbol of not being content to just survive. A wonder it is to me why so many countries with such access to varied ingredients and influences often produce such rubbish food while a lady plonked in mountain wilderness can walk past us to rip a few leaves from her garden and in twenty or so minutes produces a salivating feast on the most basic wood fire. Against so many odds the need to survive is blown away as Nepalis strive and invent in the face of challenges that seem to not permit such adventure. It’s just food on the plate I keep thinking but how it got there speaks of so much more.

One of the many buildings collapsed, Kathmandu, Nepal

We take our final day in Kathmandu spending as much money as we can to shop keepers desperate to keep trading and feed families. We’ve donated clothes and money but the rationale that we can’t help everyone is cold comfort when staring into the eyes of the ever-brave now made a little less so. Our formerly bustling guest house rings to the sound of emptiness, Ram and his family have tough times ahead but still he farewells us with warm thanks as he ties a traditional white scarf about our necks for safe voyage. His city, his country is in ruins, his livelihood has all but evaporated yet with a stoic smile his thoughts are for our safe journey as we leave him behind in a world that now seems so less than safe. I sadly have to acknowledge I am unfamiliar with that sort of bravery and grace. My heart bursts in my chest for sadness and respect but it bursts in vain, it’s trapped inside me and I am unable to reach out suitably, he speaks a language of bravery I’m guiltily happy I’m yet to learn.

Ram, owner of Stupa Guesthouse after presenting safe travel scarves to us.

And so we leave, we take our ticket to safety leaving behind the greatest of tasks to those so undeservingly suited to the challenge. Nepal will build again and as strange as it is to say, I feel that the Nepalis will make minimal fuss in tackling a challenge they are so undeserving of. Of course no one deserves any sort of disaster like this however it’s hard not to feel a particular pang of tragedy for a people who’s lives are so often shrouded in struggle. the common expression: if I could save every one I would, has never quite made sense to me quite like it does in Kathmandu airport on the cusp of our easy escape. We’ll be on a plane soon and far away but our hearts will stay behind for a time. Nepal; we know you don’t need the wishes, you’ll get on in the way you know how but the world bares white scarves on our hearts as we wish for you a safe journey to safety once more.

May 10, 2015

What you’d rather be seeing – Nepal

Our trip to Nepal originally focused on completing the Annapurna Circuit including Thorung La (5416m pass); however the major 7.8 earthquake occurred when we were in Manang just prior to the assent to the pass. We turned back rather than risk the aftershocks creating an avalanche on the pass.

We feel desperately for the Nepali people, about 8,000 have lost their lives and over 200,000 houses Have been destroyed.

Below are some of my favourite pictures from our three weeks in Nepal.

For more pictures of our trip see the category on bitjealous.com “What you’d rather be seeing” or use #bitjealous.

PEOPLE:

Being watched…in Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal

Archery festival, Manang, Annapurna, Nepal

A student monk, Buddhist monastery, Upper Pisang, Annapurna, Nepal

Street life, near Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal

Steve on “make over day” getting his haircut and beard shaved off with a cut throat razor. Pokhara, Nepal

Tibetan refugee in Tashi Palkhel, Pokhara, Nepal

Boys watching the archery festival, Manang, Annapurna, Nepal

Carpet maker, Tashi Palkhel, Pokhara, Nepal

CITIES:

The days shopping, near Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal

Nepalis enjoying Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal

Clothes washing at sunset, Fewa lake, Pokhara, Nepal

Feeding the pigeons, Durbar Square, Kathmandu, Nepal

HIMALAYAS:

Gyaru enroute to Braga, Annapurna, Nepal

Sunrise from Gyaru looking slightly east of Annapurna II, Annapurna circuit, Nepal

Carrying pine needles back to the village, enroute to Braga, Annapurna, Nepal

Entering Manang town, Annapurna, Nepal

Gyaru prayer wheel wall at sunrise, Annapurna circuit, Nepal

Manang’s prayer wheel wall being used as seen fit. Manang, Nepal

Steve admiring the Annapurna mountain range, enroute to Braga, Annapurna circuit, Nepal

Mani wall, enroute to Braga, Annapurna circuit, Nepal

Steve walking past Gyaru’s prayer wheel wall, Annapurna circuit, Nepal

May 9, 2015

Top 10 – Nepal

What a first introduction into Asia, we entered Nepal with a foremost thought to mountains and a spiritual people; we leave fixed mostly on the earthquake that at this point has claimed over 8,000 lives. Our time in Nepal has taken place in only really three places yet from those three places we have indulged in experiences as grand as they are diverse. We expected mountains and beautiful people but we have been delivered a whole lot more. We now leave a nation brought to its knees and pleading for foreign assistance with tourism, the major part of their economy, in ruins and a capital city that quite literally needs rebuilding from the ground up. They say Africa gets into your blood but it seems that it’s not just Africa: Nepal is dirty, heartfelt, chaotic and beautiful all in one. Here’s our top ten experiences from a tumultuous time in a country that has kicked us in the back side as much as embraced us.

10- Manang, Annapurna:

If it weren’t for the earthquake Manang might be a little higher in this list. As the final place before Thorung La, the highest pass in the world, Manang is as bustling as a town can get so far away from the world as we know it. We saw a local archery festival, caught a movie in the smallest, dodgiest cinema ever conceived and reached out to loved ones in a time of global upheaval. That earthquake overran our time in Manang, it spelt the end of the road for our ambitions on the hike so the bitter sweet experience that is Manang scrapes into number ten on the shake of a mountain.

9- Braga, Annapurna:
Is it Braga town or is it the worlds best carrot cake? After five days solid trekking and the first site for our rest period it is a little tricky to separate the two to be honest. But Braga remains a place in the world that can unquestionable be said to have heart. A centuries old town persists in the face of modern development and simply laughs off gentrification to retain the charm of years gone by. Another carrot cake please.

8- Paragliding, Pokhara:
Soaring with the big birds, what more can we say. Flight or indeed any distance from the ground on which we walk often comes with an adrenaline rush but paragliding proved quite a different beast. So easy, so casual, so free from the rush of wind and the noise of any engine; serenity comes pouring forth with all the power of a flying dream. But it is no dream; to see the Annapurnas and vultures eye to eye, the terraced mountainside of Sarangkot below is more like a dream than not, up there the difference doesn’t seem so great.

7- Eating out, Pokhara:

After hiking about 150km with heavy packs up and down the Himalayas these two little ducks needed a refresher. It could have been the makeover day, it could have been the beers by the lake and it could have been hanging out with Team America; well it was a bit of all these things. But recovery for all of us with eating disorders comes with food, and food we had. Momos, thukpas, curries, tandoori’s, masalas, biryanis and everything else possible. We ate ourselves happy and it truly worked, boo to you feel good dieters who say we shouldn’t eat our feelings.

6- Nepalis:
Even without the heart-wrenching aftermath of the earthquake seeing these most humble, generous and good hearted people torn in pain the Nepalis as a people were always going to rate highly. So rare is it to see fortitude, humility, sincerity and humour wrapped in the one package. Our heart went out to Nepal before the earth shook, and now it is broken like so many of their buildings. So much is broken but that indomitable resilience lies beyond the reach of natural disasters somewhere that is truly unbreakable. Nepalis, we salute you and look forward to a brighter day for you.

5- Kathmandu:
Like an artwork that is vulgar, dirty and offensive Kathmandu sits on the wall yet it continually draws you to look at it, you can’t take your eyes off it. Even the relatively touristy Thamel defines chaos, then we poked our head out of the bubble: wow. We were even treated to a tea tasting in a rare opportunity amongst the filth and rubble of a city crammed with too many people. It’s still a squalid splash on canvas and we’d never live here but we’d hang it anywhere that would give us the chance to look at it the most.

4- Ghermu, Annapurna:
In a first day hiking that rocked our perspective of Annapurna there was one saving grace and that was the few towns off the road, Ghermu was the site of our first hiking lunch. Stuck to the hillsides like glue this cluster of towns sticks out as the first strong image of what formed our impression of this country and its people. Hardy, beautiful, immense and courageous; no wonder we leave so captivated.

3- Durbar Square, Kathmandu:

The spiritual heart, the throb of Kathmandu religion lies pretty much everywhere in this spiritual city but Durbar square is a hotspot no doubt. We saw Durbar square just days before it was reduced to rubble, a world seeking salvation and enlightenment crammed into a place of too much colour to be real. We aren’t part of the spiritual fervour but no matter, Durbar square is a place to behold regardless of your opinion of the faithful.

2- Tashi Palkhel, Pokhara:
We travel for a number of reasons and above all is probably experience; experience in life, experience in different cultures, experience in learning about our world and therefore our own place within it. Few places wrap up a completeness of experiences like Tashi Palkel. A settlement of Tibetan refugees welcomed us to sit in on monks chanting, look in on a hand made carpet workshop and haggle with the best of them in a market feeding frenzy. In just a couple of hours we left as different people to when we entered in the definition of what travelling is all about.

1- Gyaru, Annapurna:
Annapurna remains a double edged sword to us, the worlds greatest hike reduced to a few days of it’s former glory. Nearly 20 days has shrunk to just a handful; hydro power, a road and power lines have stripped the grace from so much of the famous walk leaving just a few days free from the grip of development. In one day walking from the staggering town of Gyaru and indeed a time of centuries past the Annapurnas stopped playing coy with us and revealed their grandeur. What we wanted to see in twelve days we got in just one and a hike that would otherwise have been a disappointment was rocketed to overwhelming status. Annapurna may not be what it was but it only took one day to make it our number one.

See our other Top 5/10’s.

May 8, 2015

While you were working – Forbidden Fruit, Pokhara, Nepal

Annapurna sinks back in time despite standing guard above us all the while here in Pokhara, the sedate travellers waltz has taken it’s grip on us in a slow rolling sway through a city not known for passivity. The world peace pagoda holds no surprises, a big shiny stupa commemorating world peace and not much more. We take in the great views on the way up on Buddhas birthday none less to a drastic lack of fanfare, box ticked. The scenic walk back sees us drenched in sweat and passing nearly Peru levels of rubbish, an otherwise picturesque lake sports children playing and women washing in a clot of non-biodegrdable’ness. This culture traditionally composts or burns its waste but chip packets and plastic bottles don’t agree with that approach too much, old ways are struggling to catch up with new found convenience. On the flip-side these humble lifestyles could never come close to the industrial scale pollution our countries emit: outrage packed tightly in the hypocrisy box and thrown on the plastic fire, we walk on unburdened by judgement.

The usually pumping city of Pokhara sleeps of late, the earthquake is a sure way to keep tourists away while a local economy clearly limps along on a scrap of its usual income. I wonder if we’d like this town so much if it was in the throb of it’s party time, I suspect not. Far from the headspace of happy hour drinks, western cover bands and novelty T-shirts we jaunt off today to the exciting world of Tibet; well Tibet in Nepal at least. Tashi Palkhel lies on the outskirts of town selling rugs and handicrafts as their only way to make an income. A bleak picture is painted particularly through Australian eyes, the terms refugee and asylum are so loaded with fear politics that we can so rarely see a clear vision of what those terms mean.

The Chinese invasion of October 1950 was brutal and complete sending these people and their forebears fleeing for their lives finding safe harbour in Nepal. With little contact to the outside world Tibet lived in its own peaceful borders with no real standing army or ties with allies to help defend itself; to hungry Mao and his red army it was easy fruit to add to his megalomaniac empire. Tibet had such limited experience in reaching out to the world so with limited requests for help the world stood by and watched Tibet fall; if only Tibet had oil. Excitement brims for a sight of something lost as we near the settlement full of anticipation for what might await us, Tibet was a forbidden land before the invasion, now it’s not Tibet at all, it’s China.

Stepping out of our cab the scene before us looks nothing like the news reports we see from home. Where much of Nepal has a rubbish problem the informal streets here are quite clean, not a chip packet in sight. There’s high walls of functional cinder block type brick but no barbed wire, there’s gates but no locks and no one standing guard. I expected to see meagre accommodations of shanty huts and tents but a rising temple crowns over the fences and run of market stalls, the rapid reshuffling of expectations occurs on the approach to the market we can’t avoid. We’ve heard that Tibetans are bargainers who love a haggle but this feeding frenzy is immense and we are the food. A sort of etiquette is observed between stalls not to call out to a customer when dealing with another person on their step. One foot off the step though and boom, voices call, hands wave and it’s all on.

Luckily we’re prepared for this and the only way we’ve found to escape is to show no fear and indulge in comedy. I joke that if I step onto their step they’ll yell at me and I’m scared. A moment of uncertainty passes before the sharp wits catch my joke; you have genuine contenders here ladies, it’s game on. We excuse ourselves promising to return with the vision of forlorn tents long gone in the excitement. To the main gates that aren’t entrapping anyone we ask an old man if we are allowed to enter, a wave of the hand swishes below a worn cheerful face shooing us in. This is not a refugee camp as we know it in Australia.

The colourful gables of the temple that hinted at something more from outside the walls don’t disappoint, a rearing building rises up decked with painted ornate timber work high above us. Again we’re ushered inside on a cheerful face, I thought refugees always looked forlorn and desperate? Obviously this settlement has been here for a long time, a new life has been forged but the images we bring from home aren’t so easy to shake. We sit in the temple of dim light that is not dim enough to hide the bright paintwork and glittering adornments. With heads full of musky incense we hear the low rhythmic chanting of a room full of monks kept in time by large drums, cymbals and the occasional cry of a horn. With Tibet so forbidden this is as close as we’re ever likely to get to the famed isolated nation that used to live in such peace, a culture retained in the face of the hammer and sickle. Throughout this chanting I can’t help but notice that there are no public, no one hearing the message. Where churches as we know it ‘sell’ their message aggressively it seems that the monks are more concerned with themselves and not so worried about interfering with what other people are doing, thinking or saying: enough said.

Carpet makers, Tashi Palkhel, Pokhara, Nepal

Through this maze the adventure continues, we walk around the biggest prayer wheel we’ve seen only to be told by an old lady that we need to do it three times, oops. In another world we’re flanked by functional red brick apartment blocks, housing flats we might call them at home but here they’re neat, clean and all together nicer than most Nepali houses. We’d noticed that the more Tibetan towns in the mountains approached a cleaner type of life and this place reinforces the ideal; an air of peaceful community hangs over this whole settlement in place of a personal drive that leaves communal spaces to squalor.

Wandering freely through the town looking for the carpet workshop we’re in no time guided by an old lady right to it. Dim light filters into a room that feels like an old abandoned mechanics workshop to me. Large clunky timber looms sit like a gathering crowd all washed with the monotone dustiness of camouflaged soldiers forming a silhouette forest of heavy clutter. We’re assaulted to buy belts and bracelets in a now familiar rush before escaping with only the purchase of one bracelet, we’re holding firm so far but only just, this war of buy and sell is no trifling matter. No rugs take our fancy so it’s across the basketball court to our date with destiny, the market. I can’t help notice that the court is littered with a lot of USA basketball slogans and team names, the typical Nike tag line of ‘Play Hard’ even makes an appearance, it seems marketing makes its mark even here. But hang on, it’s not play-hard at all, it actually reads ‘Play Fair’ I notice on a second look; where else but in Tibet. We move on with a smile after shooting a couple of shots with a young boy playing on the courts in an unmistakable slice of privilege, another thing we’ll likely never get to do again.

Market time, it’s game faces and battle stations. First stop, I’m right on the offensive as I ask what the material is on a bracelet. ‘Tiger-eye’ comes the reply as I recoil in mock horror to bewildered faces on the other side of the stalls. ‘Tiger eye’ I cry, ‘you killed a tiger for it’s eyes?’ I accuse as I drag my thumb across my throat. Killing a living animal is abhorrent to Tibetan buddhists but there’s no risk of offence, they’re too sharp not to get the joke. The gallery giggles and I’m winning this one so far as I draw another stall operator close in mysterious confidence. She leans in awaiting the heavy burden of a secret. ‘Be careful of her, she killed a tiger’ I whisper in conspiratorial tones. Not only my confidant but the few eavesdroppers reveal their guilt to burst into comical outrage as I hold my victorious place in the haggle battle of the century. But they angle in relentlessly, I’m not sure how long I can stay in front here but who really cares.

Another time this sales pressure might be disconcerting but in the right spirit we’re buoyed and enlivened to take an opportunity we’ll probably never see again. We pack our pockets with all manner of crafts and antiques plucked straight from forbidden Tibet spreading our money as evenly as we can. Chinese occupation sees Tibet as practically the last forbidden nation on earth, even though the world recognises it as China nowadays. In Tashi Palkhel we sit in on monks chanting, shoot hoops with a Tibetan boy, see a rug workshop in full swing and haggle with the pro’s. Of course Tibet and Tibetan culture has all but been destroyed by the Chinese but in this little world the word refugee abandons it’s inflammatory meaning for a world of promise for a culture lost. With a flutter in our stomachs we depart feeling a privilege we can barely grasp; we’ll probably never get to see Tibet but just for a time it feels like we got to witness a little slice of what the world decided wasn’t important enough to protect.

May 7, 2015

While you were working – A Mountains Promise, Pokhara, Nepal

Makeover day was yesterday, today is a new day in Pokhara as the footpaths are swept and the city wakes to the repetitive tune of a tourist town mixed with local heart and clashed cultures. We’re scrubbed and pretty sauntering morning streets awash with people carrying laden trays of pastries surrounded by fresh fruit and veg being unloaded from baskets and trucks alike. But don’t let this fool you, Pokhara isn’t just sidewalk momo’s and lakeside beers, there’s a serious side to pokhara, very serious indeed. While we float through the incense induced haze of another indulgent day, Pokhara simultaneously rolls into another day of fierce combat Gurka style. Gorka province has been the most hard hit by the earthquake and it’s from the name of the hill town of Gorka that the world is blessed with the Gurka name, the fiercest soldiers on the planet.

Pokhara is the recruitment and initiation hub for the Gurkas identifiable by their iconic heavy curved Kukri knives. Forget Navy Seals, discount the SAS or Girl Guides, the Nepalese soldiers in the British army are the kings and it takes just one look at the recruitment to understand why. In the poorest nation in Asia, four main ethnic groups make up the bulk of the Gurkas: Gurungs, Magars, Rais and Limbus, all of which live in the high mountains of east and west Nepal. Any Nepali who qualifies for the Gurkas is entitled to retire in England on a British pension offering an avenue to support a family beyond what many Nepalis could ever hope for, motivations run high. In a mix of fanatic military devotion and the typically flexible human rights of a poor nation Gurkas are put through their paces like no other. One test sees the hopefuls run 5km up a mountain with 25kg strapped over their foreheads. Participants often carry on with broken bones such is the desire to become a Gurka where only the absolute finest and fittest are selected.

Sunset over Fewa lake, Pokhara

Sitting here with my yoghurt banana muesli and macchiato that’s very nice to know yet so far away, a fleeting image of men and women carrying immense loads up mountains only reinforces the mystical toughness of the Nepali. I’ll stick with my coffee and muesli thanks. Far from the torturous fight to become a Gurka a bus will take us to the top of a mountain ourselves today, Saringkot overlooks Pokhara like a silent sentry ever on duty. A little argy-bargy sees us on a bus and heading up roads that unerringly seem a little small for what they’re asked to channel on our way to a pinnacle view of the Annapurnas. It’s the back side of the range this time and no less stunning burning under the morning gaze of a new days sun.

Running all the way down to the sprawling Pokhara city the mountainsides are carved with terraced mini-farms and ramshackle homes in a scene of humble life that by Nepali standards is probably quite well off. It might be on a steep slope just like this that potential Gurkas from the ranks of people below throw themselves into fervent torture to be one of the precious few. Such adversity and desperation seems so out of place from this perch that is simply quite pretty, elegant even. But we’ve seen it over and over again, Nepal has many facets but none more so than the twin bastions of breathtaking scenery and tough humble people; If I were to think an accurate summary vision of Nepal, I could do a lot worse than this.

Watch the paragliding video.

As the Nepali throw themselves with no regard for their physical bodies into Gurka initiation we also now throw ourselves to the wind in our own way. It’s a smooth but steep run down to the city; so inspired by the bravest of people and the mountains that promise us any possibility we begin our walk to the steeper drop off before us. Filled with the mystique of this land of drama and the sacrifice and toil of these people we walk to the edge and so incongruously begin to run; faster, filled with the desire of those gurkas surging impossibly uphill on broken bones we run to the edge. The mountains promise impossibility as the edge draws nearer, still we run blinded by that promise.

We fill our hearts with the desires of a Gurka and launch our bodies to the promise of a mountain; an act of faith maybe. The canopy opens and we are lifted, soaring to the skies like a fable of centuries past: a test of true faith rewarded in divine flight. Ok possibly there’s no act of faith at all and there might not even be a divine godly hand reaching down from the sky, we’re paragliding but for an instant all these rushing emotions take hold in the uplift of a parachute. Charlie slices the sky directly above me while a vulture borne on massive wings eyes me curiously on a pass that is too close to believe. The strings from the stage rigging above holding us just above the crowd as the heavy canvas artwork of an overly dramatic mountain range fills the back of stage. It feels like an over the top stage production but it’s real, we’re flying in the Himalayas and it’s hard not to feel like the promise of a mountain has been bestowed upon us.

Paragliding over Pokhara, Nepal

My expected adrenaline rush is nowhere to be found; in its place a sense of serenity, peace and wonder for this world of great mountains, tough people and gracious birds. We soar, we float, we fly seated as easily as those great birds of prey. I skim so close to a tree near the landing I kick the branches sending a bird fluttering for safety before a spiral of acrobatics to deliver an adrenaline rush to round out the experience. We touch down on the flats of the city; the mountains make no promises any more as we sit now below those that might be fighting their way up the hill to become brave Gurkas. On the promised flight of a mountain we’ve been taken from the view of a Gurka to the dreams of a potential one. The view uphill is immense and one these people take in their stride so stoically, life for most Nepali has so much uphill. From here it’s clear that the Gurkas aren’t the only brave Nepalis but a mere expression of the whole, a nation of Gurkas lifted like birds by the promise of mountains.

May 7, 2015

While you were working – Makeover Day, Pokhara, Nepal

What is all this stuff, these strange surroundings? Heavy fabric curtains cover large windows casting only a small halo of light on these unwitting soon-to-be humans who belong to the other side of the heavy fabric. Replacing our sleeping bags is a mountain of soft down with no limiting sleep sack to restrict movement; I test the temptation, yes I can move my legs to any limitless field. There’s no target town to reach, no altitude we need to be at and no road to pound in the endless surge upward, the world can stay the other side of the curtains for now as we sit in a world we feel we don’t belong to. We’re in Pokhara, so far from the sweaty dirty world of mountain wilderness, we’re fish out of water and ready to be dragged back into the socially more palatable world of bleached uniformity.

The curtains keep the world out for a time but not forever, oddly the Annapurna range greets us mockingly still, but this time as on a movie screen. Devoid of smells, sounds and a chill in the air the range is still stunning yet all together without the humbling intimidation of a closer encounter. Those more intimate glances forgave so much, as our eyes slowly come into focus we take stock of our situation and more acutely each other; we’ve lost ourselves in the mountains and right now our own mothers would barely recognise us. Smell testing the only clothes we have that can possibly be passed up as semi clean it’s time to get back to normal. The music lifts to a hopeful crescendo as a TV hosts beaming smile fills the screen; stylists at the ready; it’s another instalment of your favourite show: Makeover day!

Sunrise on the Annapurna range from our hotel room, Pokhara

First stop coffee and food, we’re two lukewarm corpses slowly accepting the reunion to our old selves in this town that is so uncommonly lacking in tourists. Streets laden with trekking stores, tour operators and hotels reveal barely a foreign face in this town that clearly relies upon the dollars associated with those faces. But wait, here comes a rare sighting; tourists in their natural habitat. Not surprisingly it’s Team America: Mike, Mike and Tim who we met on the trek; this hiking world shrinks to a shallower pool by the day. A quick chat sees Tim off back home early today and a double man-date with us and the Mike’s this evening, the stage is set for the dramatic final reveal later in the episode. Stay tuned; cut to a commercial of an insultingly stick-thin skeleton selling weight loss shakes she doesn’t need.

And we’re back from the fabricated need of laser hair removal advertising; over a green lake the dense jungle of this humid world bursts down to the waters edge, an apt metaphor for our unkempt faces. Step two in makeover day, wardrobe. We have no clothes other than our trekking gear which is noxious enough to keep bears at bay, we dodge forests of pashmina and cashmere to settle on two of the least offensively cheesy tourist T-shirts we can find. As the images of the photo shoot are played in slideshow the crowd ooh’s and aah’s as the transformation takes shape, we strut down the neatly swept footpath approaching something like the appearance of humans, this promising makeover still with a way to go. The transformation is balanced, will we turn our backs on our sinful unpresentable ways? Stay tuned.

Stage three, hair and makeup as the screen fades from a stupidly grinning woman flicking her artificially shiny hair across her naked shoulder. Clearly in this town there’s a market for people exactly like us with a huge array of salons that deftly skirt the fine line between offering a much needed scrub up and not dragging away the hard earned tough-points from our trek. Sitting down to our appropriately camp looking guy who takes delight in the beauty version of domestic violence we’re both lathered up, shorn, cut-throat shaven and given a head massage that somehow doesn’t leave any bruises. I can see the awe struck gasps in the audience now, a woman turns shocked to her friend and mouths inaudibly below the roar of the crown so unmistakably, ‘Is that really them?’

Steve braving the cut-throat razor, Pokhara

Back from the world of permissible child slave labour that is a fashion ad, stage four throws us to the lions quite literally, massage time. No trek of this size can pass without a massage and this town has options falling like fat fruit from bowing trees. Two small ladies walk all over us, literally treating our backs as a catwalk like in the previous ad break much to the crunching symphony of our vertebrae. We’re twisted, pulled and rubbed down with a series of unceremonious and dubious massage techniques. As a masseur myself I can confirm that placing two hands on the top of someones head and applying pressure down through the spine without consultation of potential previous injury is not recommended. Somehow we make it out not only uninjured but feeling great. With a confidence imbued to our postures the makeover is complete; cut to commercial on the ebb of diminished lighting.

The music builds tension, small snippets of cut away footage are replayed of our former selves to a salivating audience, our dates Mike and Mike have been kept in a sealed room secretly video’d pacing nervously all the while. The audience at home has flicked over to the news, surfed around the cartoon networks for a bit but the final reveal is upon us and no one can leave the screen. Kettles whistle in kitchens but no one can risk missing a moment willing for us to return to the plastic bosom of vacuous presentation. Arriving at Team America’s hotel we’re obscured by backlighting and strutting down a corridor with all the coached faux confidence of a plastic clothes-horse runway bimbo. The music alarmingly cuts as we enter the unambiguously lit room, every camera zooms in on Team America’s shocked faces. The crowd roars, our dates are suitably surprised, quite genuinely shocked to see two unrecognisably handsome devils enter the room.

And so the date goes off without a hitch. Through the very civilised gins and cocktails, onto the common language of beer and somewhere lost in the melee of cough syrup like jugs of sugary mess and horrid Aussie export wine the full circle returns to beer. Over a delicious meal we eat, we talk philosophy, politics, dissect the worlds issues and it looks like both couples are set for a second date even though no one has determined who is dating who in a potential late night PG version of a next episode. And so the credits roll thanking studios, salons, stylists, designers and the like silhouetted by happy snapshots of the newly impersonalised couple. Stuffed into one end of the pipeline we emerge out the other end to once again stare through the window towards the Annapurna range from our sheltered hotel room stamped with a watermarked thanks of a hotel sponsor.

The old selves revelled in being among those mountains but the new ones sink snugly into a warm bed at the end of a successful date. Through the barrage of advertising selling fear and insecurity along with the tools to make it all better we end the episode feeling uplifted and all brand new. It’s a happy ending to warm the hearts of the docile masses proving also that Team America does have a sensitive side after all; just don’t tell anyone.