Possibly the Best Cocktail Bar in the World

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Ladies and Gentlemen, we may have found it. Having spent an enjoyable few years conducting what I like (somewhat euphemistically) to call “research” I think we have found a contender for the world’s best bar right now. And I don’t mean the world’s coolest bar – to be frank I would never find out about that, and even if I did they would never let me in. And if they did, that would be the end of their period of cool – seriously, whenever a suited type like me turns up in a bar it is a sure sign the management have decided to cash in their cool chips for high volumes of paying customers instead. (or, as Harpo Marx memorably quipped about joining members clubs – arp arp arp ARP! honk).

Anyway, I digress.

A cocktail-loving friend of mine (hi Cabe!) has a section on his and his now wife’s blog (hi Caroline!) describing (in loving fashion) Old Fashioneds he has met. Now, there are many varieties of Old Fashioneds, most of them sticking to a core of bourbon or rye whisky, orange peel, sugar and bitters, but many also playing around with dark rum, grapefruit peel, cliché cherries, tobacco infusions and the like. I have tried many of them, but I had not to date experienced the following: the waiter plonks a standard, old fashioned Old Fashioned in front of you – perfectly balanced, soft yet punchy with the required overtones of fruit and manliness – and then, with no fanfare, also plonks down a conical flask like your chemistry teacher used to drink out of, corked and full of some kind of heavy smoke. The smoke, you see, is for pouring over the cocktail. And it smells of … golly … marshmallows and fire and autumn, and rich sweetness and sweet richness. And it is heavier than air and it pours, coiling hypnotically out of the flask over your glass and infusing the whole affair with intense flavor and with magic. And it’s incredible.

And they come with more. Centrifuged Bloody Maries (clear – but of course!) and lemongrass-infused vacuum-redistilled gin and tonics, and foamy concoctions bobbing with spherulized Earl Grey tea globules. The bar is covered in chemistry equipment that you are not allowed under New York licensing laws: the partial-vacuum still is a definite invitation to the police where I come from. They are the Heston Blumenthals of cocktailry and they confect, carbonate, combust and combine with the best of them. If you are a fan of cocktails, you HAVE to go.

And I can’t remember the bloody name of the place. You see, we were in Hong Kong with our good friends Kean and Nyree. They extremely generously put us up in their rather swish apartment in Repulse Bay and had put together a cunningly planned itinerary taking in the very best of Hong Kong. We had been 104 floors up in an elegant hotel for hot chocolate, we had seen wet markets and white witches and both sides of that famous skyline from the Star Ferry. And that evening, we had started with hot damn chili crab, chicken feet and two excellent bottles of wine and finished with huge cigars in a hidden speakeasy washed down with “corpse reviver” cocktails (I have no idea). And we were hammered. We blame the months of no drinking, and the jetlag, and the amazing hospitality, and stuff. We got truly and thoroughly Keaned (or, as it is nowadays, Kean & Nyreed). And it was bloody marvellous.

No, I have no photographs of the occasion, or the cocktails. Yes, I could look the bar up in a minute on google, remind myself of the name and tell you all. But that would spoil a good story, wouldn’t it?

Expectation Management

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And so we fell ignominiously out of the bottom of Tibet and into Nepal.

Our experience in Nepal started much like our experiences in many other places – we successfully negotiated ourselves into a taxi from the border at such a cut price rate that the driver felt obliged not only to pick up a girlfriend of his on our dime (complete with actual, real life, actually projectile puking baby) but also to stop for a puncture, a tire repair and a fifteen minute stop (just five minutes from our hotel) to pick up spare parts for his car. So far so James-&-Lucy travel standard, we thought. In fact, so far so easy, as the wheels actually stayed on the car this time.

But then our ruggedness completely failed us. It’s not that we weren’t trying mind, it’s just that Nepal is so … erm … nice in comparison to some of the other places we have been.

We bounced through Kathmandu (nice hotel; taxis turn up on time; food’s pretty good if you like curry; people speak English; and machetes aren’t a fashion accessory) took a plane to Pokhara (they sell white toblerones at the airport; there is actually an airport; we didn’t have to hire our own plane or anything) and checked into our hotel (honeymoon suite with a balcony for $55; laundry, mineral water and cheap beer within easy reach; working internet; and a sunny roof terrace with a view of the mountains for a spot of yoga). It was all so … convenient. Things worked. There were restaurants near the lake with proper Illy espresso machines. We couldn’t believe it.

So, feeling the need for a bit of rugged, we headed off on our trek. Now, trekking in Nepal has a deserved reputation for being pretty hardcore – the views are spectacular; the accommodation is pretty basic and the treks are steep, high and hard work. Our particular trek to Poon Hill took us over 3,100 meters in five days – well high enough to bring you down with altitude sickness if you’re unlucky. So, as we set off for the mountains (brushing off the street hawkers trying to flog us … warm freshly baked croissants) we were pretty fired up!

Actually … perhaps we were a little too fired up. You see, we had just come from ten days on the Tibetan plateau at altitudes up to 5,000+m. Our easy acclimatization days (complete with a little light jogging) had been in Lhasa above 3,500m, and we were in Nepal because we had balked at the prospect of a Tibetan trek involving ten hour days walking behind yaks over high passes and possibly camping in the snow. So when our guide suggested that we stop after about four hours on the first day we were politely surprised. When our room had a private hot shower we were amazed. And when the restaurants served flaming roast chicken and had bottles of Bordeaux for sale we were shocked.

It was all very pleasant, but it wasn’t really what we were there for. We were as altitude acclimatized as perhaps we will ever be in our entire lives, we had failed at our ambition of hardcore trekking in Tibet and we were on a mission. Our poor, beleaguered guide (who didn’t really help himself, to be honest) kept tacking on bits and pieces of trail as we kept walking further and further each day. He kept trying to hold us back – would we like some tea? Would we like to stop for an early lunch? Would we like to stop for the day at 1pm? – but eventually we simply ran out of trek.

And so, after bashing round his suggested five-to-six day hike in four days we found ourselves back in Pokhara eating delicious vanilla gelato and feeling very happy, if ever so slightly deflated.

Incidentally, Pokhara is where I had my best meal ever, anywhere. I had spent the best part of three months in India as an 18 year old gap year student on £6 a day and due to fine Indian budget cuisine I had lost the best part of three stones in weight (about 42 lbs or 19kg – incidentally, I am doing better this time, and have only lost about one stone). I had just spent three days flat on my back in Varanasi watching dead bodies floating down the Ganges just under my hotel window and being about as sick as it is possible to be without going to hospital. Having come to the slightly teenage and melodramatic decision that if I didn’t get out of India I might die, I hauled on my backpack, crawled on my hands and knees up the steps outside the hotel and caught the first bus to Nepal.

My best meal ever? It was a buffalo burger, chips, coleslaw and a beer in a nameless reggae joint in Pokhara. It was hot, hearty and h-delicious, and I was the happiest man alive. And when I woke up in the middle of the night and was violently sick because my stomach was so unused to food? I was still the happiest man alive – you see, I had stashed a mars bar just in case.

Everest!!! (AKA The Ultimate Loo with a View)

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One of the other intended highlights of our trip was a visit to Everest Base Camp – the Tibetan version thereof, that is, which can be reached by 4×4, as opposed to the one on the Nepalese side of the border, which you have to hike into….for about 7 days. Of course, this was all a bit blasé for James anyway, since the last time he saw Everest (from the Nepal side – very inferior views I’m told), he was on top of it. Wearing a parachute. Difficult to top that one really, but I figured Tibetan EBC may be worth a go. Of course in the end we couldn’t go anyway. The Chinese – wait for it – cancelled our permits. Admittedly, this one we’d known about before (a whole 2 days before!!) we actually arrived in Tibet so it wasn’t quite such a kick in the teeth as the hiking debacle. But still.

Our guide did however tell us that we could get great views of Everest from the Friendship Highway – there being a convenient little viewing spot complete with toilet.

I was sceptical.

Not least given the mention of the toilet. Now I pride myself on being a wizened veteran of a traveler, unfazed by some of the more “rustic” models of toilet that the Asian world in particular likes to spring on one from time of time. I’ve developed thighs of steel in an effort to cope with the squat model – a far more intensive workout than anything a personal trainer can come up with. I can hover at will and am never without a personal supply of paper, wet wipes and hand sanitiser. I’ve become adept at going without breathing for…well, however long it takes.

The Tibetan toilets, however, are disgusting. Some of this is just a generic sort of over-reaching that we’ve noticed along our trip; the sort of mindset that decides that it would be cool to put a porcelain squat toilet on top of that short drop toilet that’s been put in place specifically because there’s no available water source (let me tell you something about porcelain when there’s no running water. It’s sticky. ‘Nuff said.). In other places, like the hotel we stayed at for our last night, a more serious problem had set in. The bucket of water supplied to wash away any…..issues….had frozen solid. As had said issues, carefully lined up as they were to sit horizontally across the drain hole. Three in a row in the gents’ apparently, which makes a first for me in seeing James go green.

Anyway, I digress.

The loo at Everest gets a special exemption. Sure it’s filthy and stinky, but it has perhaps the most kickass view in the world, and I find I can forgive a lot for that.

Besides which: I had altitude dehydration 😉

Lucy & James Go Luxury (Hello Stuart & Sarah!!)

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[By the way, you’re hearing a lot from me at the moment as James is rather unwell. Send him a big electronic get-well hug!!]

Regular readers of our blog (all 2 of them – hi Mum & Dad!) will recall that we had set off from Lhasa armed with a small army’s worth of deluxe camping related gear, only to be turned back from our (eagerly) anticipated hiking route by the Chinese authorities.

Close observers may also have drawn the conclusion that our trip has, as of late, been long on adventure and perhaps a tad short on luxury.

Anyone spotting a perfect solution here??

Yes, that’s right. Before sending our cook back to Lhasa with all our associated camping paraphernalia, we decided we may as well use the stuff, if only for a night, and indulge in some luxury camping. Well, pretty luxury. I mean, the campsite we chose happened to have a fair amount of rubbish and broken glass lying round, but we picked most of it up.

What do we mean by luxury?

Well, for starters we had our own cook. I mean that’s not bad is it. Particularly when the cook is equipped with a cook tent, wok, army sized kettle and one ferocious propane burner. Even more so when said cook turns out to be a master-chef, especially of tasty stir fried vegetables – in a country where we’d basically been on a meat-only diet for the last week. Sitting on a camping mattress, eating our tasty stir fry whilst the propane burner kept us toasty (toasted?), life felt pretty darned good.

The cook. And his tent. And burner. I might be in love

The cook. And his tent. And burner. I might be in love

And then there was the view. As the mastercard ad says, priceless.

Luxury bedding? Check. Mattresses so big and fat that I didn’t end up with bruised hips. TWO sleeping bags (try it. It’s AWESOME!!!!!!). One of those old fashioned tents you can actually stand up in. We were snug as bugs in rugs. Two rugs, to be precise.

Luxury camping toilets? Hmmm. Ok, you got me on that one but frankly, Tibetan toilets are revolting and I’d rather pee au naturel anyway.

So naturally, in the midst of all this extravagant luxuriousness, our thoughts turned to friends far away. In particular those friends who think we’re mad as hatters to be doing this kind of trip at our age (I mean really, we’ve no excuse). Stuart and Sarah may travel in SLIGHTLY more style than we have been of late, but hopefully they appreciate the effort we made here. Guys, you’ve won two new converts to the high class travel life. All we need now is more champagne.

Happy campers!!

Happy campers!!

Backgrounds – Western China & Tibet

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Hmmm, a pretty varied part of the world this one: fat bottomed sheep, buddhas (well, maybe some similarities there I guess), sand dunes, pilgrims and Mt Everest.  It’s crazy to think we saw all of these within the space of 3-4 weeks!!

Ahhh fat bottomed sheep. They make the nomadic world go round and they make me feel vaguely inadequate....

Ahhh fat bottomed sheep. They make the nomadic world go round and they make me feel vaguely inadequate….

The Great Wall of China. The Chinese believe civilization starts on the eastern side of the wall.... we think they might have got their east / west confused.....

The Great Wall of China. The Chinese believe civilization starts on the eastern side of the wall…. we think they might have got their east / west confused…..

Buddha to the power of 10

Buddha to the power of 10

Prayer wheelin' - the latest all body exercise trend to emerge from the high plateau

Prayer wheelin’ – the latest all body exercise trend to emerge from the high plateau

Mount Everest. In case you were wondering, it's the big pointy one in the middle

Mount Everest. In case you were wondering, it’s the big pointy one in the middle

Monastery Mayhem

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[Before you get too excited, no actual mayhem involved whatsoever. But hey, why let that spoil a great title?]

So, as James may have mentioned between rants in our last post re forced changes to our Tibet plans, we set off from Lhasa with much fanfare, five of us plus enough goodies to feed / shelter a small army (is that we got turned back??) in a landcruiser. First stop was intended to be our hard core hike, hence all the gear. Given as that was ultimately not to be, our second stop was at the roadside to drop off our cook plus all the camping supplies and five days worth of food, all of which he then duly took straight back to Lhasa. Hey ho.

So as you can imagine, the shape of our Tibetan roadtrip changed somewhat. Whilst we’d envisaged a pretty rugged trip with lots of hiking and a few cultural stops along the way to give us some variety, the trip as it ended up was pretty heavy on the cultural stuff; although with some fantastic natural scenery along the way and some scary high passes to keep things interesting. The basic shape of the days was: get up (not too early – it’s COLD in Tibet this time of year!!), drive a bit, stop at a stunning monastery, look round for a while, head up to a pass and get your breath taken away (literally – all the passes are 5,000m plus so not too much breathing up here), drive a bit more, stop for the night, have a huge bowl of tasty curry as a reward for all that culture-spotting and head for bed. Not a bad life as it happens.

The actual route took us south from Lhasa, via Samye, Gyantse and Shigatse monasteries, past a number of breathtaking high altitude lakes, and down the Friendship Highway (with pauses for spectacular views of Everest – see separate post) to the border to Nepal, from whence we headed to Kathmandu. The monasteries were spectacular; I’ve already written about the complexities of Tibetan monasteries, so for this post just enjoy the pretty piccies (not so many of the interiors I’m afraid as it’s very rare that photos are allowed inside). The only weird thing was that most of these monasteries, which look pretty amazing to us, are now apparently pretty shabby compared to past glories – the Cultural Revolution hit these places pretty hard, either partially / wholly destroying the buildings or at the very least allowing all the really good bling to be nicked.  Favourite part? Doing the kora (a pilgrimage route, typically lined with hundreds of prayer wheels, which takes you all the way round the monastery), in Shigatse.  The city of Shigatse is a big Chinese affair, recently built from large boring slabs of concrete, but the monastery and surrounding kora are beautiful, peaceful, and very Tibetan feeling – which about sums up a lot of Tibet in fact.  Plus by then we had acclimatised so we got to feel smug at our ability to cope with the altitude!

The scenery is also incredible – very high and very barren, definitely falling on the impressive rather than pretty side of beautiful particularly at this time of year as winter sets in.  I really wouldn’t want to be a nomadic farmer out here – even the yaks looked cold and they are far FAR hairier than James or I even after 5 months travelling.

Jury’s still out for us on whether we’d recommend people to go to Tibet or not given all the associated issues.  But hopefully the travel porn photos below provide the positive side of the argument – enjoy!!

Excuses, Excuses

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Wow, it’s been a whole week since the world at large has benefited from our blog-transmitted pearls of wisdom.

Sorry, world at large.

We had a few days trekking (where James wussed out on carrying the laptop with us….using the pathetic excuse that there was no wi-fi), immediately followed by a great couple of days in Hong Kong with Kean and Nyree, two old friends of James (to whom huge thanks for such a fun stay) which has left us painfully blog free!

Anyway, back to civilisation now (we’re currently in Kyoto, Japan) so the blog pipe has been duly unblocked.  Aren’t you lucky?

Decisions, Decisions (Hello Jamie!)

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This is Jamie. He is awesome.

One of my oldest friends, Jamie is now a semi-professional explorer with a ground-breaking business bringing expeditions to the classroom and vice versa. If you ever have a bad day at work and want to daydream about yomping off round the world, the page on his website showing current, past and future expeditions is guaranteed to put some tingling hairs on your chest. Or something. He also has a real beard. Did I mention the awesome?

Jamie is exactly the person you want on the end of the telephone when you have a Proper Travel Dilemma. Need to know what kind of satellite phone to take with you when you are off on a truly remote holiday tomorrow and an investment banking transaction is cratering around you? Call Jamie. Need to know somebody trustworthy in Antarctica with access to a ski-equipped plane? Call Jamie. Need to know how to tell your real Buddhist Thankas from your standard mass-produced rubbish? Call Jamie.

OK, so his advice is sometimes a little hardcore (regarding the Thankas, the answer is apparently to befriend an artist with careful inquisition about the monastery he was apprenticed to, and then commission him to paint one of that specific monastery’s patron deities, because that way you will get something both high quality and individual. Oh, and be sure to get the Thangka blessed by a high-ranking lama to make sure it attains proper religious object status). Regarding Antarctica, his advice was that the Argentine air force will fly you out in the back of a cargo plane if you hang around Ushuaia for long enough, and most expedition bases will be glad for the company if you kinda turn up on their doorstep. All, may I be the first to say, top quality and utterly correct advice, but enough to scare the pants off a wimpish ex-investment banker with a predilection for good coffee and high speed internet access

Anyway, I digress. As usual.

We are in Tibet, and we have just had THE quintessential Tibetan trekking experience. Namely, we have loaded up a Toyota Landcruiser to the gunwhales with food, tents, sleeping mats, propane, a cook, a driver and a guide; we have arranged for yak transport; we have painstakingly acclimatized ourselves to the altitude; we have bought copious amounts of warm clothing to cope with the oncoming winter at 5,000 metres; we have procured about half a dozen official permits, all stamped and signed; we have driven from Lhasa to the start of our carefully planned (and, although we don’t normally mention it, extremely expensive) trek, and … the f***ing Chinese have decided that because they are choosing their new leader in some stage-managed rubber stamp of a farrago five thousand miles away in Beijing it is too dangerous to allow any Westerners to contact village Tibetans (who don’t speak any English) and they have cancelled our permission to go. Boy we were mad.

So, we were offered another trek in a less arbitrarily politically sensitive area, but this one went higher, faster and colder than the one we had chosen. Winter is setting in, the high passes are getting hairy, and having climbed Kilimanjaro a few years ago I know that altitude sickness at 5,300 meters is seriously not something to play with. We have a very difficult decision to make, very quickly. So what to do? Call Jamie, of course!

As we are time zone constrained we text him, very briefly setting out the situation, the altitude and the trek our guides are now suggesting and asking him to call us when he wakes up. And what comes back is one of the finest text messages ever sent. I will repeat it here in its entirety so as not to dilute the epic Jamieness of it all:

“Did a similar ascent profile crossing into Zanskar. Had to organize casevac of member of another party back to Manali with AMS [Acute Mountain Sickness]. Also one pack horse slipped on snow and had to be killed. Um… Doable but may not be enjoyable”.

Wow.

We are grown ups and we know when discretion is the better part of valour. We cancelled the trek, we got some of our money back, and we set a course for Nepal. Jamie, we love you.

 

Pilgrims vs. Pragmatists

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There’s not many countries that have an entire school of religion named after them. Tibet is one of them (Tibetan Buddhism. Keep up in the back!), and with good reason. The average man on the street Tibetan exhibits an incredible level of piety and devotion which, to a (I’m resigned to my fate on this one) pretty soul-less ex investment banker can seem almost overwhelming. All Tibetans will have in their house various religious artifacts including statues depicting the 3 manifestations of the Buddha (wisdom, compassion and energy) and a depiction of the 4 sacred animals (elephant, monkey, rabbit and bird: this one lost me a bit, but they all eat fruit from the same tree and the elephant carries them all to do so. This translates as the need to respect your elders and the responsibility of the elders to teach the young. Buddhism. It can be pretty esoteric). So far, so normal.

It’s also pretty standard for most Tibetans to, as part of their morning routine, conduct a kora or three of the local monastery. Exercise whilst praying doncha know. Quite some few of them will take this seemingly pretty standard idea a little further, spending 2-3 hours each morning prostrating themselves in front of said monastery. Try this. Stand tall, raise your hands, palms together, above your head; then bring them down to your waist (still palms together); bend your knees and stretch out your arms until you’re lying face down on the ground; get up again; repeat. Repeat for 2-3 hours.

For the really devout, a pilgrimage is in order (obviously with the appropriate prostrating along the way). If you’re really feeling into it, then the recognized best practice here is to prostrate yourself for the entre pilgrimage. So, if you live in Eastern Tibet, for example, and fancy a cheeky little pilgrimage to Lhasa, then you prostrate yourself (see above for instruction), get up, move forward to where your fingers touched the ground, then repeat. For 1,800 kilometres. It takes 3 to 5 years and it’s really not that uncommon – James and I probably saw 5 to 10 people on the road who were mid way through this.

Morning prostration. Like morning coffee, but better for your soul

Morning prostration. Like morning coffee, but better for your soul

Of course, if you really REALLY want to prove your devotion – both to Buddhism as a general idea and to the concept of Tibet as a free nation with free religious practices (yep we’re going there. Complex and subtle issues dealt with in a 500 word blog post. You know you love it) then one sets oneself on fire within the precincts of a well regarded religious centre. This has become a surprisingly popular trend – whilst for obvious reason the stats can be a little hard to track, the sense is that tens or possibly hundreds of Tibetans, in particular monks, have chosen this particular route towards self expression.

So, if you’re the governing Chinese, how the hell do you react to that?? I mean, there’s a whole load of power contained in that there religion and even as an idol-worshipping sort of sometimes Catholic, I can see how the sheer amount of wealth (1,300kg gold stupas) poured into the monasteries would be upsetting for a secular society.

Well, we’re speaking of the Chinese, so……pragmatically.

First off, reduce the number of those pesky trouble-making monks. Monasteries now have a licensed number of monks, typically around 10% of the monastery’s capacity… although the monasteries themselves are still allowed to function – in line, presumably, with China’s stance of total religious freedom.

Second, and most important, fire brigades. Each significant monastery has airport style security to get in – no fluids, matches, or cigarette lighters allowed (at least for local Tibetans. I didn’t put this one to the test, but I suspect a Westerner could take a flamethrower in and not get stopped). Then inside the monastery itself, there’s orange clad firemen inside all major chapels – got to make sure those wooden structures don’t burn down. Lastly, there’s the firemen outside – armed with people-catching hooks, a quad-bike, flame-retardant blankets and multiple buckets of water.

No, I’m not joking. This is one of the most sinister things I have seen in many years of pootling about the globe.

I don’t know what to make of it, and I don’t know what I could do that would be better.

All I really know is that there’s little or possibly nothing on this earth that would make me set myself on fire….and that I’m hopelessly, somewhat (guiltily) gladly, absolutely out of my depth.

At a Loss in Lhasa

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Ah, Lhasa. It’s difficult to know what to say about Lhasa. When Lucy and I originally worked out where in the world we wanted to travel, one of the key criteria was “places that we will never be able to go again”, either because they are too difficult to reach with a family or, perhaps more pertinently, because they may not exist in future. We don’t mean literally not exist (although North Korea may end up nuked off the face of the earth before we – and they – know it) but rather that the places and cultures are changing at such a rate that it may not be possible to experience them as they are meant to be seen.

Ce Pays, qui n'est pas le mien...

 

And in Lhasa, I fear that we turned up too late. Don’t get me wrong – Lhasa still has some amazing highlights. Although the phrase is a Lonely Planet cliché, the first sight of the Potala Palace really does take your breath away (and not just because of the altitude – boom boom). The interior of the Potala is then a maze of exquisite art and sculpture, blended with esoteric beliefs and an ancient yet still living culture. The Jokhang Temple is utterly amazing, as much for the building itself as for the extreme devotion of the pilgrims waiting for hours to get in, then filing around the various side chapels assiduously chanting, praying and filling butter lamps. And the old town is still Tibetan-charming, although struggling slightly to assert itself in the face of the rapidly expanding construction site that is Chinese Lhasa, all slab sided concrete buildings and general stores.

And the security. More police than you can shake a stick at, although I wouldn’t want to try doing something so provocative. Airport-style x-ray machines scanning anyone going anywhere near any of the monuments and confiscating anything flammable. Permits, multiple passport checks, metal detectors, police, army, you name it. All Han Chinese, and all perfectly civil to us Westerners. As an example of how pervasive it all is, we were posting a painting home: the lady behind the counter was inspecting our box and suddenly demanded whether we had used any newspaper as packaging material. It took us a while to realize, but you see newspapers are tightly controlled out here and must not be sent abroad on pain of God knows what. It boggles the mind rather.

And yet the Tibetans still go about their pious business, walking around the holy pilgrimages, praying at the temples, burning their incense and putting up with it all. Who knows how it will end, although I fear that the nice, gentle guys may not finish first.

Incidentally, Lucy came up with a new concept while we were in Lhasa: the “Buddhist Shopping Experience”. It is a state of mind you reach after a period of strolling past dozens of identical Buddhist tat shops all of whom are calling out to you to buy their prayer flags, rosaries etc.. If you concentrate hard enough at this point then all desires and all worldly attachments (in particular any desire to purchase anything ever again) magically vanishes. Om!