The Core team for the Trans Asia 1975 trip
Whilst originally the core team of interested travellers was much larger, it ended up on the day before departure as three people, and then on the raining dismal morning of departure, in the Woolworths car park in the centre of Hatfield Hertfordshire, it reduced again to two. So that was it, the core team was down to just Peter Dryer and Ivan Hurst, that's me.
In some ways, that was for the better. We had built seating in the back, on a raised platform, with opening forward facing windows, for four passengers. There was an intercom to the cab for communications. In the cab, there was the standard seating for three. Just having the two of us provided for a much more comfortable and spacious environment.
Graham Byles, our friend who was to be our navigator, in previous iterations of this trip. He also went to Hatfield Collage.
People we bumped into along the way
The first to get a mention is a person whose name I can't remember. I suspect this will be a common problem. We stayed at a motel for the night at Sari. The owner befriended us so we stayed a few more days in total luxury with servants, iced drinks on the patio, etc. One afternoon the owner, also a local landowner, took us to the "brother of the King's beach villa" for a swim and laze followed by a huge dinner.
Whilst we we in Herat we were approached by the driver of an overland truck. I think it was an Encounter Overland truck, but currently I have no way of confirming that. He wanted to give his punters a special treat. By going through the centre of Afghanistan.
Another local, this time in Kabul. After looking at a few stalls / shops, we decided where we would buy our tomatoes. It was a staple food. Every day we would get up early and go to the market. There we would start the process of buying the tomatoes. After a few days the trader got to know us and we could have a bit of a joke, albeit in different languages. His asking price reduced as we were early morning regulars and not just one day tourists, who sometimes would not 'play properly', and just pay the asking price. It got to the point that the asking price was always the same and the final negotiated price was always the same. It could not be ignored nor circumvented, it was part of the culture, part of the ritual. It continued until the bargain was struck. We both became quite experienced at it.
We met two English lads who were also camping in the hotel or citadel in Kabul. They were traveling in a VW camper van. A number of dinners between the four of us.
More travellers, at the Dak Bungalow in Peshawar. Other travellers at the Dak were still up and we ended up entertaining. Even the candles appeared to be adding too much to the temperature in the back of the truck. We talked into the morning. The stifling heat did not abate much during the night. But it was good to be able to entertain. We had the space.
This time what seemed a whole village, and our first passenger. We pulled off to the side of the road, well away from any communities. Dusk became night. It was still hot so we were cooking with the shutter fully up, and the lights on in the back. A weathered man turned up on his bike, got off and just stood looking into the back of the truck. We tried to strike up a conversation, offered some sweets, something to eat, or drink maybe. No contact. No interaction. After a while he left. My recollection is that there were at least three of us that night, but, with apologies to whomsoever, I have no idea who the other person was. We said how weird it was that nothing we tried worked. Normally something does. Then it got weirder. He returned with somebody on his crossbar. They stood and looked. then he left, leaving the other guy on his own looking into the back of the truck in amazement. This happened again, and again. It continued in the same pattern for a while, until it felt that the whole village had arrived to look into the back of the truck, including children. Even the children would not take sweets. It was as if we were aliens from another world and they were looking into our spaceship. It was getting late. Still no meaningful communication. We had eaten, washed up, and it was time for bed. Then, they all turned around and walked back to the village. No shuttling on the crossbar to return. After all said and done, they knew what they were retuning to. It was only a hurry to get to see the spaceship. To be fair, thinking about the situation, let me try to compare it to planes. Normal, scheduled or charter airplane with hundreds of people all crammed in together. Abnormal, jumbo jet as private airplane, with only three people on board. In that context, I would also be a bit gob smacked. Our truck was a little bigger that most of theirs, just to add extra emphasis.
Baba
On our way into Delhi we had decided to give a lift to a local. He was a priest. Not quite sack cloth and ashes, but not far off. He was a Baba, and seemed to like being called Baba. He had no possessions and no money. He decided to cook for us all in Delhi. We had by then acquired quite a gathering, not all travelling in the truck, but linked to it whilst we were parked up at the campsite. We went to the market with him to buy the food. That was our mistake. He had no need for money. He asked for ladies fingers, and he was given them, willingly, with a smile. He would bless the giver, and move on. Never asking for a lot. Just a little, but from a lot of traders. I assume he told them about us, and what he was doing. He collected food for about 15, and not a rupee, nor a paisa, changed hands. That's when we realised how revered he was in his community. He cooked that afternoon, ready for an evening meal. There was a large group coming so we were planning to eat outside. The time came, our mini crowd arrived. Problem. Only Baba, Pete, and I could eat it. It was so hot that the others bottled out and ate elsewhere. All the more for us. A veritable feast. Well, not a feast actually, as it was simple food, as you would expect from a Baba, well cooked. Like a stew, but with a kick, and what a kick. The next day he thanked us for the ride, we thanked him for the food, and he left, smiles all around.
Martyn Dean
He showed us his passport stated that he was a photographer. He explained that the whole trip was tax deductible as a professional photographer. He looked forward to discussing his taxi fares in Jaipur with the tax man back home in England. Nothing wrong or illegal, just the expression on the tax mans face. Elephant taxis. To this day I have not been on an elephant taxi. Apparently we missed out big time by not going. He was still with us in Kathmandu as he took the photo of our truck there. This is the only photo we have of the truck.
{Elephant taxi, Amber Fort (Jaipur) By Evgeni Zotov}
When he was not riding on the back of elephant taxis in Jaipur and travelling the world as a professional photographer, he was travelling the world with Yes. ( A world renowned rock band of the 70s) His brother is more well known, being ...
Roger is the artist responsible for this Yes cover and many other brilliant and iconic album covers. An extract from Roger's bio states; 'With brother Martyn, designed stage set for Yes United States tour' in 1975. Roger and Martyn did many other things together including
writing the book Magnetic Storm. It was this Martyn Dean that we met somewhere in India or Nepal after his 1975 tour with Yes. He was definitely with us in Kathmandu because he took a photo of our truck there and gave us a print. For the avoidance of any doubt whatsoever, all of the above three images are credited to either Roger or Martyn Dean, or both. I recognise their rights and seek their indulgence.
Santa
The Hotel Star, next door to the famous Kathmandu Guest House, is where we met Santa... Santa is the name of the hotel manager / owner. A very friendly, jolly fellow, true to his name. Nothing was too much trouble.
Blue
The hotel did not have a restaurant as far as I can recall, but we were given use of a lad called Blue. A shout from the balcony of ek sano pot chiya, and a few minutes later we have a pot of tea delivered to the room. He was a good lad, helpful, attentive, and happy to do whatever we asked. Our own personal servant.
We made many friends in our long stay in Kathmandu
Cars and trucks last a long time in the Kathmandu valley. Presumably due to the weather and the lack of salt. Add the locals innate ability to make do and mend, and you have vehicles which just keep on going. They are old and in good condition, but being old are not perceived as being worth much. A friend we met in our wanderings in Kathmandu saw an opportunity to buy an old car here, for very little, take it home to the States, and sell it on the vintage car market, for a lot. Sound business proposition. He bought an old Cadillac, I don't think I ever knew the model. He was really proud of it as well. Taking every opportunity to cruse the streets of Kathmandu and show off his splendid new toy. This however, got him noticed. He was followed by 'white plates' for a couple of days, before being arrested. After a few hours he was released. He was being deported. His antics in the car was the reason. His car may be thought of as better than the King's, which, as we know, is poor form. He was not actually deported. We all went in one last spin in it then he stopped driving around in his beloved Cadillac. He started to make arrangements for its export, which we think was helped by the 'white plates'. That was sufficient appeasement to not actually get deported. Would he have been deported otherwise, without a trial, or a legal reason? Most probably!
We became friends with both the Chief of Police Kathmandu and the Chief of Police Nepal, and frequently had lunch or dinner with them. Mainly at the local restaurant. Our circle of friends became larger the longer we stayed. One of the people we got to know was one of the Princes. I don't know which one, I don't think it was the Crown Prince. We dined together every now and then. Never, at the palace. I think he had a home of his own, as well as the family homes.
There was a particular day where we excelled at this celebrity thing. Pete and I were collected, and were driven to the Prime Minister's residence. There we had a private lunch with the Prime Minister and the Governor of the Bank of Nepal. Just the four of us. Good Nepalese food, eating with our hand. We talked about many things, but the main subject was our truck. Later the same day, we dined with the Prince. Not a function, another private affair. I don't remember any other members of the Royal Family being there. Lunch with the PM and Governor, dinner with Royalty. A good day out. Good company, and good food.
The General Manager of Nepal Airlines, who eventually bought our truck.
We met up with an Italian who, after a long afternoon of chatting about this and that, had a business proposition for us. We buy two transit vans, second hand, but in good condition, and drive them to his place in Italy. In exchange he gives us one second hand Ferrari. No model, age, or condition specified, but it seemed like a good enough deal to talk some more once we were back in Europe. Apparently transit vans were a must have commodity, and were in short supply.
Kathmandu also had a disco, only the one, at the time, or at least only one that we went to. It was dark, flashing lights, and loud, western music. Much the same as other discos. It was about a twenty minute walk to get there, and more than thirty minutes to get back! Oh, there was alcohol as well. Always with other travellers and tourists.
A friend offered to take heavy objects back to the UK with him, overland. We bought metal travel trunks, and packed some goodies. The main part of this was our tool kit for the truck. By the time it was packed into as small a space as possible, it made for a significant little package weighing well over 10kg. I'm glad we did not have to post it. We collected it after returning to the UK, the tin box a little battered, not unexpected, but otherwise, all survived.
And many others with different stories to tell.
