On Juniper Mountain:A Journey in the Himalayas

‘On Juniper Mountain’ is really a travel memoir about an inner and an outer journey. The idea of a book set in the ‘underbelly of Nepal’ was suggested by Sir Chris Bonington, who wrote the Foreword and who said that there were so many books about getting to the tops of mountains, not enough about the rich culture of the foothills. The impact on a sheltered middle class woman of going into the ‘Developing World’ for the first time was profound. First days I washed my hands over and over again in the gold-plated hotel where we went for cups of tea (not to stay!) and left my trainers outside my room door. As I wrote, ‘they had seen too much.’ Gradually I came to ‘see’ differently and with greater insight, while I was being changed…
When the Tibetan monk said to me about ‘the journey’ I hadn’t the first idea what he was talking about. But so much changed in me….and I learned a different language for all that. There is also the fantastic beauty of the Himalayas and the people of Nepal and the wonderful Tibetans!
This book is mainly set in that period between the rule of the Ranas and the Maoist uprisings. A snapshot of that period. Actually very little has changed, except there are more power cuts and theoretically more democracy. Only time will tell how that beautiful, special country will find its way forward. We at Juniper Trust, the charity which I founded, are trying to do our bit to help in a very small, grassroots ‘trickle-up’ kind of way.Despite spending ten years lying in snowdrifts to write the international best seller ‘Search Dog’, I had never been anywhere exotic (unless you count the back end of the Northern fells in Cumbria), let alone in the developing world, and not even on a plane by myself. I was alternately terrified and uncomfortable, mostly both at once. Yet somehow the country got under my skin and I began to learn so much, to fall in love with the Himalayas and its people, to go back again and again, and to be permanently changed…
Nowadays, Juniper Trust works from Peru to Sri Lanka, with a committee of volunteers, mostly climbers. I am now President of JT and very much involved. The charity is a model of small-scale sustainability, working in partnership with local communities, but I started JT in Nepal in a very small way with one water tank for a school in the back streets of Kathmandu, where the charity still do a lot of work. JT have built or refurbished four schools there, and three in India, and were the first charity to rebuild a school in the Tamil Tiger area in Sri Lanka after the tsunami.
This is my sixth book. ‘Search Dog'(Souvenir Press/Sphere) about a Mountain Rescue Search dog in Cumbria has been translated into 12 languages, was featured on Woman’s Hour, was World Books’ Book of the Month and outsold Dick Francis in Readers’ Digest Condensed Books.
Angela Locke

Angela Locke travelled to Nepal in the early 90’s while researching a book,
and found herself on a journey of discovery which would change her life.
Meeting a Tibetan monk in the supermarket before she left, he told her that
`the book is not important, but the journey is important!’

Finding herself going back again and again to Nepal, she became
immersed in the life of the country, and experienced a deep spiritual
awakening. Her time in Nepal would lead to the founding of the charity
Juniper Trust which now works in Education and Health with the poorest
communities all over the world.

The Foreword is by Everest veteran Sir Chris Bonington CBE, one of
the world’s leading mountaineers, who is Patron of Juniper Trust.
‘For every journey there has to be a first step. This is a book about an inner journey, not an adventure in a conventional sense, but a journey of discovery nonetheless. There is real adventure, told against a background of the sublime beauty of the Himalayas and of the gentle people who inhabit the foothills of Nepal.’
Sir Chris Bonington CBE, one of the world’s leading mountaineers,Patron of Juniper Trust, Everest veteran.

Angela Locke is an author, poet and journalist living in the English Lake District. She has published six books, which have been widely translated across the world.

`You in the Himalayas! You must be joking. You can’t even find your way round the car park.’

Leaving behind my husband and two teenage children, my fellside farmhouse in Cumbria, friends and neighbours, I am going to Nepal. It will be the first time I have been away by myself, and only the second time I have ever flown. I can’t imagine what I was doing when I booked the flight. I am terrified, but I’m stuck with it. Everyone knows, and I have to go, whatever I feel like inside.

Now I am standing at the frozen food counter in Safeways, trying to calculate the number of pizzas my family might get through in my absence. The youngest two are thirteen and fifteen, and at last I feel I can fulfil this ridiculous ambition to go to the Himalayas, crossing my fingers that they can cope. And after all, there is my capable husband to look after things while I am away…..

I load up my trolley and, trailing rebellious teenagers, who would rather be anywhere but here, I turn to go to the checkout. Standing behind me, in a black tracksuit, is a tall man. Despite the lack of robes, I know I am looking at a Tibetan, though this is Safeways in Penrith, not Dharamsala. I stare at him and he meets my eyes, smiling.

`Excuse me,’ I ask nervously. `Are you a Tibetan?’

I feel a total fool, not helped by the groans of embarrassment from my two teenagers. He looks up and gives me one of those slow peaceful smiles I will come to know so well in my other life. That unimaginable life I am about to embark on.

`Yes, I am Tibetan. How did you know?’

I find myself pouring out the story of why I am going to the Himalayas, my fascination with Tibetan Buddhism, the books I have read, the book I am writing, my admiration for the Dalai Lama, and this strange, overwhelming compunction I have to see those great mountains. The kids are mad with me.

`Mum, why do you always have to talk to people when you go in a supermarket? You are so embarrassing!’

Nothing stems this terrible outpouring of feeling. The frozen stuff is defrosting, but the Tibetan is still listening. When I finally pause for breath, he tells me he is a monk, teaching English at Conishead Priory in South Cumbria. He invites me to visit one day. I thank him, feeling exposed and foolish, and move away to complete my shopping.

While we are waiting at the checkout, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. My new Tibetan friend is standing beside me in the queue.

`I need to tell you something,’ he says quietly. `You must know that the book is not important.’

`Of course it is.’ I say to myself silently, rebelliously. `Why else would I be going all that way?’

He smiles that wise smile once again.

`No, you are wrong. The book is not important.’ He pauses. `But the journey is important.’

And so it begins.