Moon Over the Mediterranean. G J Maher

most of the towns and cities he visited on this second journey through India, he practised yoga and as time went on smoked less and less, reserving this indulgence for special times only, not every day as it was fast becoming.

      By now he had met literally hundreds of people, many of them absolutely fascinating, some of them quite unique. He’d discussed subjects that were as intriguing to him as they were to the people with whom he spoke, subjects that were often diverse. He surprised even himself sometimes with the words that came out of his mouth. With each book he read and with each conversation he had, he was gaining wisdom.

      There were times when the talks were nothing more than that, just talks, but occasionally, as time went on, they became a lot more.

      Only on rare occasions did he call home these days. He drifted further and further from his roots. When he did call, his parents voiced their disappointment in him. But this did not concern him. He simply wanted to learn as much as possible in his travels and a connection with back home thwarted that.

      Reading good books, meeting fascinating people, visiting exotic locations and keeping his eyes, ears and mind open at all times were his main priorities. And he was succeeding in his aim. He remembered his favourite quote from Mahatma Gandhi: ‘You must be the change you wish to see in the world’. He felt that the changes going on inside him, the absolute catharsis he was experiencing were evidence of him being that change.

      It was now 1969 and man had just set foot on the moon. The world was changing for the whole human race. Alexander had travelled extensively through India on two occasions, before and after his time in Nepal. Now he felt it was time to move on. He was in Jaipur and had made the decision to travel to Kashmir, after having talked with other travellers who had come from there. To get there though he would have to catch a bus to New Delhi, then on to Islamabad, the recently constructed capital of Pakistan and finally across the border to Srinagar, referred to as the Venice of the East. He was excited to get to his destination but not for the journey getting there.

      The various bus journeys and border crossings were a real pain. By the time he reached Islamabad, Alexander could go no further without rest, so he booked into a hotel which he named Cockroach Inn. They were everywhere, even in the bed. Needless to say he didn’t get the sleep he wanted, and mid-way through the night he just had to do something. He took all the sheets off, shook them violently and got a foul smelling mosquito coil from the man at reception, although a reception it was not, and a mozzie coil it was also not. In between waking and thinking that the hotel was on fire and a bit of restless sleep, the hours passed until the muezzin called the worshippers to prayer at the ungodly hour of 4.30 am. Alexander woke with a start, cursed the incessant howling, but was so tired that he thankfully fell back to sleep within minutes … at last a deep restful sleep.