bagh, English tents dotted the landscape, there was no mountain, valley, or plateau, however remote, free from the clatter of English voices and the trained servility of Hindu servants, and even Sonamarg, at an altitude of 8,000 feet and rough of access, had capitulated to lawn- tennis. To a traveller this Anglo-Indian hubbub was intolerable, and I left Srinagar and many kind friends on June 20 for the uplifted plateaux of Lesser Tibet. My party consisted of myself, a thoroughly competent servant and passable interpreter, Hassan Khan, a Panjabi; a seis, of whom the less that is said the better; and Mando, a Kashmiri lad, a common coolie, who, under Hassan Khan's training, developed into an efficient travelling servant, and later into a smart khitmatgar.
Gyalpo, my horse, must not be forgotten--indeed, he cannot be, for he left the marks of his heels or teeth on every one. He was a beautiful creature, Badakshani bred, of Arab blood, a silver-grey, as light as a greyhound and as strong as a cart-horse. H
This is a lyrical and descriptive journal of travels into what is described as "British" Tibet, via horse, yak, mule and foot. The writing, though dated, is evocative and engrossing. My impression is that the good Mrs. Bishop (or Bird) must have had a constitution of iron to deal with the challenges of the travel, which took several months and involved bitter cold and passes at upwards of 18,000 feet. The description of the people and Buddhist rituals is fascinating and evokes considerable regret for what has been lost during the upheavals of the past 50 years. A colorful yarn ideal for armchair adventurers.