Poor John, Anand, Deepti and Tek see where Pema Lingpa jumped into the Burning Lake
From the time we arrived in Bhutan, our guide, Tek, talked about having us visit the Burning Lake—a very sacred site.
While this remote destination is plenty watery, it is neither burning or a lake—it’s a widening in a river. Nevertheless, it is an important part of Bhutanese legend.
In the later 1400s, a Buddhist saint named Terton Pema Lingpa told villagers of his vision that a guru had hidden sacred treasures in their nearby ‘lake’.
Not surprisingly, the locals weren’t convinced and the local governor was especially suspicious. He assembled a large group of people to watch Pema Lingpa retrieve the treasures.
Prayer flags decorate a bridge across the river/lake
The river flows towards the Burning Lake
The governor told Pema Lingpa that if he successfully got a treasure, he would support him. If he failed, he would punish him for disrupting his district.
Pema LIngpa is said to have grabbed a burning butter lamp and proclaimed, If I am genuine, let me bring back the treasure with this lamp still burning. If I am a fraud, let me die in the waters below.
Obviously, he popped up with the goods or he and the lake wouldn’t be famous.
The story goes that after quite some time, Pema Lingpa resurfaced with the still-lit butter lamp, as well as a small box crafted of joined skulls and a small sculpture.
According to tradition, this miraculous occurrence caused all those present to become followers and patrons of Pema Lingpa. The event also gave the lake its name of Mebar Tsho, or the Burning Lake.
The path down to the ‘lake’ is festooned with brilliantly coloured prayer flags, other devotional items and a small altar dedicated to Pema Lingpa.
Pilgrims are still drawn to the site and on auspicious days they will offer butter lamps at the water’s edge. According to Tek, the guru who is currently resident at the Burning Lake is a great character. He’s in his final year of a stint that will last three years, three months and three days.
The guru was coming down to ‘do his job’ as we were leaving and he stopped to speak to Anand, who was our driver for this journey. He was full of gorgeous smiles and hearty hellos, and offered to show Anand the way to enlightenment. Anand graciously declined, explaining that he was Hindu. I wasn’t quick enough to get a photo of them together, but I did get a pic of the guru descending to his ‘workplace’.
A guru on his way to work
Recently I posted our visit to Jodphur’s spectacular Mehrangarh Fort, and now it’s time to check out the city’s other jewel—the Umaid Bhawan Palace.
Poor John and I are equal-opportunity tourists so we spent half a day at the fort and the other half at the palace. Confession—a half-day at the palace was enough but we should have spent a day at the fort.
That said, the palace, like the fort, is breathtaking and important in Indian history.
In 1923, His Royal Highness Maharaja Umaid Singh Ji (grandfather of Jodhpur’s current Maharaja) commissioned the building of this enormous palace. It was going to be his 347-room residence, but it was also his way of providing employment for his people during a lengthy period of droughts and famines.
The employment plan worked a treat. Along with several other community projects, it kept 3000 labourers busy for 15 years—from 1928 to 1943. I wonder if it took so long because they used an interlocking system that required no mortar.
Interestingly, the structure was originally known as Chittar Palace, after the local yellow-gold sandstone used in its construction. But ultimately, the art-deco structure was renamed after its instigator. That said, I don’t know how the word Bhawan fits into the name.
Today the palace has three roles—it’s part museum, part residence for Jodhpur’s current royal family, and part luxurious hotel for tourists. I’ve read that rooms go for about $500 a night. Yikes!
Obviously Poor John and I didn’t stay there. We stayed in the Zostel Hostel. That’s where our travelling companion, Gary, had his hiking boots stolen in the first 15 minutes we were there. Traveller’s tip: Don’t leave your shoes in the hallway outside a hostel—even if a sign tells you to do so. Take them off, pick them up, take them inside with you and put them in your locker.
But back to the palace, which was designed by Henry Vaughan Lanchester, a renowned Edwardian architect. His designs combined eastern, western and art deco influences.
There’s a sad story about the original furniture and fittings. They were of an art deco design by Maples of London, but were lost in 1942 when the ship carrying them was sunk by the Germans.
Luckily, artist Stephan Norblin came to the rescue. A Polish refugee, Norblin was an accomplished artist, an amateur interior designer and familiar with art deco styles. Sadly, almost all of his palace work (especially some elaborate murals) appears in areas that are not for public viewing. I saw some photos of them and was sorry we couldn’t see them in person.
But two museum collections caught my eye—a whole lot of ancient clocks, and porcelain washbowl and pitcher sets.
Oh and there was a collection of old cars that were impossible to photograph. The best I could do was get a reflection of the palace/hotel on the front of one of the cars.
The palace reflected in a museum Cadillac
Mehrangarh Fort wall
Mehrangarh Fort
Model of Mehrangarh Fort
It’s so massive that Rudyard Kipling called it the ‘work of giants’ and it’s easy to see why. Mehrangarh Fort in India’s Rajasthan spreads more than 81,000 square metres across a 400-foot perpendicular cliff that overlooks the city of Jodhpur.
The dimensions are so huge that even though it is officially called a fort, Mehrangarh is sometimes described as the second largest castle in the world.
It has seven entry gates and walls that are 36 metres high and 21 metres wide.
I was gobsmacked to look up at it as we approached and even more overwhelmed to actually go through it. We spent a whole afternoon and could easily have spent a whole day.
Mehrangarh was started in 1459 when the city’s founder, Rao Jodha, moved his capital from Mandore to Jodhpur, but most of today’s fort dates from the 17th century.
Most of the fort’s seven gates were built to mark victories in various battles.
A cannonball scarred fort wall
One still shows scars from cannonballs fired in 1808. That was when the maharaja of Jaipur had his army attack Jodhpur. The city was under siege and the fort was surrounded by the enemy. A plaque recounts the battle saying, ‘A tough fight took place where numerous heroes layed down their lives on both the sides. The Jodhpur forces fought gallantly and the Jaipur army ultimately fled.’
To commemorate this victory, Jodhpur’s Maharaja Man Singh Ji built the first entrance jaipol (victory gate) and added a new fort wall in front of the cannonball scarred one.
Another gateway has handprints from ranis (queens) who burned themselves to death on the funeral pyre of their husband, Maharajah Man Singh. Yep, one guy with many wives.
Phool Mahal, the flower palace
There are several beautifully crafted and decorated palaces, including Moti Mahal (the Pearl Palace), Phool Mahal (the Flower Palace), Sheesha Mahal (the Mirror Palace), Sileh Khana and Daulat Khana (a gallery of fine and applied arts). These are true showpieces featuring mirrors, intricate paintings, stained glass, portraits, furniture and more.
Ornate palanquin
The museum rooms of the fort have collections of palanquins (for carrying noble women and occasionally noble men), howdahs (seats for riding elephants), royal cradles, miniatures, musical instruments, costumes and furniture. There’s even a turban gallery, which we managed to miss, but we did see a demonstration of a turban being wound onto a fellow’s head.
The fort’s ramparts provide an amazing view of the city and interesting overviews of the fort itself. There’s also Kilkala, a preserved old cannon.
View from Mehrangarh Fort’s ramparts
View of Jodhpur from the fort
If spice is your thing, India is a great place to shop. Saffron is a good buy. This place is called M.M. Spices.
I bought my copper dishes here at the fairest price I got anywhere in India
Jodhpur is famous for its Mehrangarh Fort, one of India’s largest. I promise to get the fort soon enough, but today I want to share the wonder of one of Jodhpur’s amazing markets.
Poor John and I spent almost half a day in the city’s main market. After all that, I’m pleased to report that we managed to get out with just one purchase—a set of gorgeous copper dishes for serving curries—I cook a lot of Indian food.
This sort of restrained buying makes me smug. It also means that at the end of the trip, I’ll still able to lift my backpack.
Jodhpur’s main market
Jodhpur’s markets are overwhelming for their crowds, noise, bustle, colour, variety and choice. When it comes to choice, every Indian market is a long way from a western supermarket.
You won’t be able to choose from 30 kinds of breakfast cereal , but you will be able to bulk-buy 30 kinds of dried spices. You’ll find jerry cans galore and fabrics in every colour you can imagine. The fruits and vegetables will be the freshest you’ll ever get, and there might even be a few you’ve never seen before.
You can buy a steel wool scraper, a bracelet, a single clothespin (peg) or get a bicycle repaired, but it’s a lot easier if you know the local word for what you want or if you can sketch it.
A quick sketch has helped me to buy clothespins all over the world.
Today I can bring you pictures of Jodhpur’s main market, but I can’t sketch in the sounds and smells.
Saris, fabric and scarves—colours in abundance
Watercolours by Banvari Sharma—I bought these two
Our house and garden overflow with art, and most of it has been purchased on our travels.
We’ve found wonderful paintings in Burma, Thailand, Ethiopia, Papua New Guinea, Australia, Egypt, Mexico, the UK, the USA and more.
We’ve lugged home amazing textiles, ceramics, sculptures and carvings from those places, as well as Turkey, Germany, France, Italy, Bolivia, India, Kenya, Sri Lanka, Brazil, Greece, Lebanon, Palestine, Mali, Iran, Russia and Uzbekistan. I wonder which place I forgot?
A few years back, airport security in Colombo was concerned about a black, roundish lump in one of our carry-on bags until we showed them it was a plump elephant carved in ebony.
Most of our purchases haven’t been too hard on our wallets. Physical labor is under-valued in most of these countries, so we’ve often paid for supplies but almost never enough for time. I always feel bad about that, and have a personal policy of not over-bargaining for art. You might remember the mask I wished I’d bought in Papua New Guinea. That artist should have received much more for his magnificent piece.
These days we try to restrain ourselves, but we did buy a few pieces in India. Luckily, they weren’t for us, but for our daughters. Our house is already too full and I’m still trying to off load some pieces to the girls. These pieces went straight to them. Just like that amazing skirt I bought for Libby in Peru.
The tiger watercolours we bought were painted by artist, Banvari Sharma. We first met Banvari in 2013, and then again this year. We were pleased to see that he now has a shop/studio/gallery where he displays his art as well as pieces by other aspiring artists.
The new gallery with Banvari, Anand and Deepti
The gallery is on the right just before you go in the park’s main gate. Drop in if you ever get to Pench. Prices are reasonable and quality and creativity are excellent. And Pench is where we saw tigers very close up.
Stay tuned for a post on how and why I bought a magnificent piece of Bhutanese weaving last month. And let me know if you’d like me to give you a tour of the other art in our house.
And be sure to check out what’s cooking on page 32.
The shop owner adds labels to the jars
Pickles of all kinds are at the top of my food chain, and I’m happy to eat ’em, cook ’em, make ’em, mix ’em, steal ’em, promote ’em.
One of my favourite sandwiches—I have no idea how, when or where I learned this recipe—is good bread with thinly-sliced dill pickles and a generous spread of peanut butter. Go on, try it. You might love it as much as Poor John and I do.
Poor John used to tease me about this unusual combo until the day I sent him off to work with that exact mix in his lunchbox. That was when I was still making his lunch (a service that didn’t last much longer).
He came home raving about how delicious it was. Duh, he could have believed me from the outset, but I had to prove it sneakily.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was to discover Pickle Heaven (not its real name) in Kalimpong, West Bengal, India. This was serious pickle-dom, and the woman who runs the place makes all—well almost all—the pickles herself.
All kinds of vegetables, chillies and meat are done up in various sizes of glass jars and plastic packaging, and all crammed into a narrow shop on Kalimpong’s main street.
Obviously, I wasn’t going to buy anything to take home. Glass and liquid aren’t good travelling companions, and Australia’s quarantine regulations prevent many foodstuffs from being brought into the country.
But I was determined to buy/try some. The owner graciously offered to open jars to let me try, but I had a better idea.
When India and Australia were facing off in the semifinals of the ICC Cricket World Cup. Anand and I promised to buy a present as a consolation prize for the loser. Not only did Australia beat India in that game, we won the entire competition. Sorry New Zealand, because we wouldn’t have minded if you’d won because it was the first time ever that New Zealand made it to the finals.
The whole cricket competition was over and I still owed Anand his present. How about I take you to Kalimpong’s pickle emporium and buy you five kinds of pickles—your pick?
He couldn’t believe there’d be five kinds of pickles he actually wanted, but then he walked into the place.
Anand may be Indian, but he’s not vegetarian. And there, on the shelves, he found jars and bags of goodies such as pickled beef, pickled chicken and pickled pork. Choosing his five ‘prizes’ was too easy and I bet he’ll shop there the next time he’s in Kalimpong.
If you’re a fan of pickles, chutneys and sambols, you might like the mint sambol recipe on my cooking blog.
On a sad note, Kalimpong is close to Nepal and the devastating earthquake that hit there earlier this week. Three people are confirmed dead in West Bengal and some buildings have collapsed. I can’t imagine the shelves of pickles fared well.
A wall of pickles
I wonder who decides?
The Mirik Sports Association runs the men’s toilet by the lake in the village of Mirik in West Bengal, India. I suppose they run the women’s too, but I couldn’t find it so can’t share any signage from it.
But the men’s sign says the price, in rupees, varies according to size. I’m still wondering whether the size—short versus long—refers to the time spent, the size of offering or the ‘equipment’.
A fellow traveller reckons he’d declare ‘long’ every time. Never mind the expense! What do you think?
P.S. Five rupees is about 10 Australian cents.
P.P.S. Don’t forget to stop by my cooking blog.
Two blue tents for sleeping and the toilet tent perched near the edge. See the dog waiting in the road below?
Bugs love me. In 1971, I landed in the Middle East for the first time and about two million mosquitos zeroed in on me singing out Dinner is served.
Generally, I do my utmost to avoid the biters and stingers. Bug repellent and I are good friends. So much so that my mother predicted that my adult perfume would be a scent called Eau de Bug Spray. And it’s true that I wear more Rid than I do perfume.
Our overland travels always present certain challenges for me. If there’s a risk of mozzies at night, I cover up with long sleeves and long trousers. I also carry multiple bottles of Rid, Australia’s tropical strength +antiseptic insect repellent, that I roll on daily.
I managed very well during our 10 weeks in India even though were we camping at least half the time. Got maybe one or two bites a week.
But my guard was down in Bhutan. Good grief, it was freezing. It’s supposedly spring here, but I’ve been wearing closed shoes, woolly socks, long pants, three layers of merino tops, a beanie, gloves and a puffy jacket. Some nights the temperature has dipped to 2–3°C (or 35–37°F).
Surely there aren’t any mozzies about. But I forgot about fleas.
Every single campsite (we aren’t in actual campgrounds) has been overrun with dogs.
Having been bitten in 1986 by a dog that later became rabid, I have a personal travelling policy of not touching dogs I don’t know. Never mind how much I love dogs, I still remember the series of injections I needed back then.
So I have not honeyed up to these camp dogs. Nevertheless, they make themselves at home around the camp. All day they lie curled into tight balls, perking up when the dining tent shows some activity or as soon as the sun goes down.
Camp dogs sleeping off their night of barking. I assume the fleas are sleeping too
Nightfall brings on their barking frenzy. They race round and round our tents and weave back and forth across the campsite. Too late it dawned on me that their patrolling was also scattering fleas everywhere.
A swarm of those fleas found me. And based on where most of the bites are, it’s obvious that I was caught with my pants down, literally.
Our camps haven’t had a toilet, per se, but a toilet tent. That means a rectangular hole dug in the ground with a small tent set up over it. The dug-out soil is spread around the edge of the inside of the tent, so you can kick dirt over your ‘offering’. It’s functional, basic and your knees have to work.
The day of the flea attack, we were supposed to camp at a place called Chendipji, but the flat ground that was supposed to be used for camping had been taken over by a new stupa (those Buddhist monuments scattered all over Bhutan).
So the crew in the van carrying the main camping equipment had to drive on for many kilometres to find a place even remotely suitable for camping. Of course, after much searching they found a place that was ‘remotely suitable’ for camping.
The dining and kitchen tents were pitched beside the road. Our sleeping tents and the toilet tent were perched on a small cliff, which was home to a few dogs, and overlooked the other tents and a vast valley.
Poor John had pointed out some broken bits of glass on our cliff, and I had noticed that the toilet tent was rather close to the edge.
So about midnight when the bladder called, I opted for convenience and safety instead of stumbling toward the toilet tent. Around the back of my tent, I dropped my daks and had a quick pee, disturbing hundreds of ferocious fleas. They were quick, deadly and hungry.
Flea bites take forever to calm down, so six days later I’m still suffering. And I figured if I have to suffer, you can too, even if it is too much information.
Even cows drop by to check the toilet tent. Do they carry fleas too? The kitchen tent is in the right background. The hut in the middle is a shop (like a general store) and the building on the left is the shopkeeper’s house. We are camping (to the right and out of view) in an unplanted rice field
The policeman talks to Tek (our guide on left) and the offender. I decided NOT to get out of the van to take the pic
After travelling with Anand and Deepti for more than 15,000 kilometres across India and Bhutan, I suppose a prang was inevitable. Prang being the Aussie slang for a minor car accident.
Now before I go any further, I should say that Anand in a superb driver. He’s watchful, patient, polite and cautious (without being a fuddy-duddy). He observes the speed limit and other rules of the road, which is rare in India. In other words, both Poor John and I feel completely safe with him at the wheel.
That doesn’t get around the other nuts on the road.
While our particular prang was frustrating, the overall outcome was more than satisfying.
Here’s how it played out.
We were on our way to visit the temple/monastery of the Divine Madman (how appropriate) when some knucklehead decided to zoom past us. As he did, he sideswiped our van, startling us all and prompting Anand to pull to the side of the road.
Anand proves he can get out of tight spots
The offender pulled over too and jumped out of his van to start a shouting match. He was the only one shouting, because Anand and Tek, our Bhutanese guide, kept their cool.
We couldn’t hear the conversation, so I’m guessing as to the exact words, but we got a full report when the fellows returned to our van.
Offender shouting and with arms waving: Hey mate, what do think you were doing? You weren’t even in your own lane.
Anand, calmly but firmly: I was in my own lane. You chose to pass where the road was too narrow and you didn’t even beep to ‘ask’ me to move over. Even if you had beeped, I couldn’t have moved over without hitting the guard rail. Surely you could see that.
Offender still behaving badly: Don’t give me that. You weren’t in your lane.
And then a taxi arrived and out stepped an off-duty policeman, in uniform.
Offender embarks on his rant again when the policeman interrupts: I saw the whole thing. You shouldn’t have passed when you did. There wasn’t enough room. This man, pointing to Anand, was completely legal. You were wrong.
Offender went purple. He wasn’t about to give up so easily and argued on. It soon became obvious why he was so insistent on transferring blame. He was driving someone else’s van and he was going to have to explain the accident and pay for the damage. If only he could shed responsibility.
The policeman said he was unable to press charges because he was off-duty, so if Anand wanted to claim insurance both drivers and both vehicles would have to go to the cop shop.
The offender had a huge scratch down the side of his van and the wing mirror had broken off, but he wasn’t keen to have the accident reported. After a thorough inspection of our van, Anand decided the damage wasn’t too bad, and much less than he feared. So he let to it go.
Besides, we had a more interesting Madman to visit. More about that fellow soon!
The total of our damage
It’s a giant what?
After my recent post on some of our gastronomic delights in India, a faithful follower has asked me to avoid food posts in favour of posts on animals and people. Seems she overdid comfort eating (ice cream) to compensate for her lack of India food at home.
I didn’t actually agree to her request, but let’s take a side trip anyway to Satkosia Gorge Wildlife Sanctuary on the Mahanadi River in the eastern state of Orissa. It’s probably fitting because we were on our way to the gorge when we stopped in Angul for those remarkable paneer rolls I described in my ‘offending’ last post.
This sanctuary and the Baisipalli Wildlife Sanctuary make up the Satkosia Tiger Reserve. If the brochure is to be believed, the reserve is home to a ‘significant’ population of tigers. It also boasts leopards, elephants, spotted and barking deer, sambar, bison, wild dogs, sloth bears, jackals and porcupines.
We didn’t see any of them, which is not surprising when you read on to find that the 1000-square-kilometre reserve has 17 tigers.
This is when you have to remind yourself that the national parks and reserves of India are NOT zoos. There’s never any guarantee that you will see anything.
So we did laundry instead—lots of it.
Tents make good clotheslines
Tikarpada village, where we stayed, had plenty buckets, plenty of water and plenty of sunny weather.
After ‘household duties’, we went for an afternoon canoe ride on the river. We scrambled down the hill (Tikarpada sits on a cliff now) and across the laundry-laden rock field to the riverbank.
Then it was into the canoes—Poor John, Gary and Deepti in the first one, and Anand and me in the second.
As we ‘stepped’ into these wooden crafts, we threw all thoughts of occupational health and safety overboard. The river was running fast, we’d be sitting a few centimetres above it, there were no lifejackets, the canoes were leaking and the cheerful polers/paddlers were baling as needed.
Poor John, Gary and Deepti brave the Mahanadi River
But the cruise was peaceful with not much happening. A few birds were around and some fishing boats and baskets were ‘parked’ on shore.
Our poler explained that in the prawn (shrimp) season, which is now, traps are set during the day and collected at night. He catches 200 grams to 5 kilos of prawns a night, and sells them to a middleman for about 250 rupees (A$5) a kilo. I now forget the amounts he quoted for fish, but the catch weight was higher and sale price was lower.
In the midst of all this chatter, there it was—THE GIANT! Our poler spotted it first.
Of course, I’d never seen such a giant before, and with the exception of our two polers, no one else had either. This was momentous. Anand and Deepti, both accomplished naturalists in India, were as excited as I’ve ever seen them.
But because we were facing the setting sun, the giant appeared as a silhouette. So our polers took us farther along until we could get a better look. And then before long we saw a second giant, in an even better light.
We all danced around with joy—in our heads and not in the canoe—at this multiple sighting of a new species for us, and after a long look headed back to ‘port’.
Snack time for a giant squirrel
So a giant what?
I’m talking about the Indian or Malabar giant squirrel—the largest tree squirrel in the world and one of the most beautiful.
Eastern grey squirrels are about 10 inches long (head and body), while the adult Indian giant is 16 inches long, plus a tail that is almost another 2 feet. The long tail acts as a balance and a rudder, allowing the squirrel to leap almost 20 feet at a time.
And they’re colourful. Indian giant squirrels are two-tone and sometimes three, with colours of creamy beige, buff, tan, rust, brown and dark seal brown. The colour schemes tend to be region-specific, so if you manage to see the squirrel up close, you can usually tell where it comes from.
Indian giant squirrels are quite shy and dwell in the upper canopy of the forest. They almost never leave the treetops. No wonder it was such a challenge to get good pictures of them.
A house in the village
A giant bathtub on the doorstep
Walking the other direction
The next day we set out on a stroll through Tikarpada village and then up the gorge. Overnight we were told that the village is at the far end of the gorge and that our canoe trip had been away from the gorge.
Apparently people aren’t really allowed into the gorge and the proper part of the tiger reserve. Geez, how hard do they need to make it for you to see the wildlife that they promote? But you smile—and grit your teeth—and press on.
Luckily this outing proved to be more productive.
For starters, we got a good look at the village. Tikarpada is the proverbial moveable feast. While a few structures look fairly permanent, the river’s high monsoonal flow means the village sometimes has to move a bit after the water subsides.
Recently they had to move a lot—away from the shore, gorge and reserve. Why? Because the government decided hey were encroaching on the wildlife. Beats me how a long-time village that the government promotes as one of the places to stay among the wildlife has now become a problem?
The others check out the sandy shore where Tikarpada’s tourist tents used to be
But complaining aside, the walk was rewarding.
After the village, we came upon the gharial breeding and research centre. I’ve already introduced this endangered crocodile, and this gave us a chance to see them close up.
Gharial breeding in Satkosia is having mixed results. There are several (maybe three) adult gharials in the river, possibly all males. Well, that’s not going to produce any offspring. The centre says it collects eggs, hatches them and releases the gharials into the river. They also breed mugger crocodiles.
Anyway, admission was a whopping 10 cents a person and allowed us to walk unescorted through the centre and out the other side, which was padlocked but we slipped through the gaps between the gate and the fence posts.
Gharial crocodile
Orange-headed thrush
No swimming
Quite sensibly, we paid attention to the sign that said don’t go in the water because of crocodiles. And ignored the sign that said something like Satkosia Tiger Reserve, keep out.
It didn’t take long for the forest to present us with more to look at, including quite a few giant squirrels. And they were in lower branches so easier to photograph.
After a bit, Anand, Deepti, Gary and Poor John decided to walk on to where Tikarpada used to have its tents on the shore. I’d had enough of scrambling down hills so opted to wait for them.
We’d already been walking for a couple of hours so I found a flat rock to sit on, while I scrolled through photos on the camera.
Gary is dwarfed by the Satkosia forest. He is 6’2″
Not sure why I happened to look down when I did. A baby snake had slithered across my thong (flip flop) which I’d slipped off earlier, and was thinking about crawling up the inside of my shorts. I didn’t scream, I didn’t shout, I didn’t even jump. Instead, I ever so slowly stood up and backed away.
Hello my little friend, and just who are you? No answer, just a curious look and then it slid away through the leaves and down the embankment. It seemed like ages before the others returned and I could tell them about this close encounter.
But the question of who it was remains unanswered. So far, no one has been able to identify what kind of snake it was. Can you?
Can anyone identify this snake? Please!
Where to next? 