The temple in the mountains (Nepal)

 

A Brit told me this story of one of his trips to Nepal (in the 70s, I think, if not in the late 60s -- he was born in 1948, so with the hippy movement, he might've gone out to the sub-continent in the 60s).

    Let's call him Alan.

    On a solitary trek in the mountains one day, he'd got lost at some point.  While trying to find a way back to Kathmandu, he came across a temple.

    The monk there greeted him warmly, then showed him around the grounds, where he'd planted some prized chrysanthemums, of which he was very proud.

    Alan was wearing a cagoule (raincoat / wind cheater) that was in almost the same shade as the monk's saffron colour robe.

    The monk admired it, and touched it for the texture.

    Alan told him it was waterproof, which the monk found quite hard to believe (this was the late 60s or the 70s, and up in the remote Nepalese mountains), so Alan poured a drop of water onto the surface to show him.

    The monk then called for a whole bucket of water to be thrown over the cagoule and found that the water had indeed not seeped through.

    He wanted to buy it off Alan, who said that he couldn't spare it, as it was the only weather-proof top he had on that trip.

    Alan then asked to take a photo of him with the Himalayas in their snow-covered glory in the background.

    The monk felt that the Himalayas were too mundane as a backdrop, and wanted instead a photo of himself standing in front of his precious chrysanthemums, wearing Alan's saffron-colour waterproof cagoule.  It went down to his knees as he was a small chappie (even smaller than Alan) but he smiled proudly at the camera for his new discovery (a waterproof monk's robe) with his beloved chrysanthemums behind him.

    The monk then pointed Alan in the right direction for the way back to Kathmandu.

    Alan was unable to find the temple again the next time.

    Sounds a bit Shangrila, doesn't it...

(Nepal, 1970s)

The monk in this story is a good example of the condition described in 習焉不察 / 习焉不察: https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2025/12/chinese-sayings-43.html 

Carol’s goldfish (London)

Back in the 80s, I was sharing a flat with an English girl called Carol who had a goldfish.  

One day, she asked me to look after her goldfish, as she was going away on holiday in Spain for a fortnight.  

She said I had to feed it twice a day — once in the morning and once in the evening, and also change its water at least once a week.  When changing its water, I was to take the fish out and put it in a cup of clean water, clean out the bowl and change the water, then put the fish back.

After Carol left, every time I went into her bedroom to feed the fish, it would dart around the bowl madly as I approached it.  Each time I’d think, “I’m supposed to be feeding this fish to keep it alive, but it might well die of a heart attack at the rate it’s going!” 

It was even worse changing its water.  The fish would frantically dodge my attempts to pick it up (to put it in a cup of water), and it would take me ages to catch it.  I would get quite wet in the process as well.  I was beginning to get really worried about presenting Carol with a dead fish upon her return.

One day in Week Two, I was just leaving the house — all geared up for cycling in to work — when I realised I’d forgotten to feed the fish, so I went back into the house.  

As I approached the fish bowl, there was not a single movement from the fish.  For a moment, I thought it was dead. 

When I got right up to the bowl, I saw that it was still alive.  I wondered why it didn’t dart around the fish bowl like it did when I went up to feed it on previous occasions.  

Then I realised that I was wearing an orange cagoule*.  The little goldfish must’ve thought I was its mummy!

After that, I’d wear that orange cagoule when I went to feed the fish or changed its water.  Worked like magic.

(London, 1983)

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* A wind-cheater / waterproof jacket.