Hm.
I'm flying into this majestic world of rock and ice in a military helicopter
because this valley is on the border
between the Himalaya's most quarrelsome neighbours - India and Pakistan.
With supreme irony, they call this place Concordia.
It's a beautiful but harsh land which you enter at your peril. 0hl See what I mean?
I'm at 14,500 feet in the heart of the Karakoram mountains.
If anywhere can be called "the hall of the mountain kings", this is it.
Clustered around me are ten of the world's 30 highest peaks,
dominated by K2 - the second highest mountain in the world.
It's known as the killer mountain and is a much harder climb than Everest.
There's not just natural splendour here, there's human drama as well.
To the east the Indian and Pakistan armies face each other in a high altitude stand-off
in these ice-bound conditions.
It's scarcely believable that two oxygen-starved armies eyeball one another down there
with only a UN line of control to keep them apart.
This means I can't cross from Pakistan to India through the mountains.
Instead I must go to the one official crossing point on the border near Lahore.
Lahore is an often beautiful, always busy, city,
proud of its military and literary traditions.
You may not think so, but this is one of the most important objects in Lahore -
Zamzama, the great cannon.
It was first fired in anger about 250 years ago,
and they say that who holds the cannon holds the Punjab.
Which maybe accounts for why it appears in Rudyard Kipling's "Kim".
"He sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zamzama."
This is the gun that Rudyard Kipling's Kim sat astride.
Oh! It's very hot this afternoon.
The Moguls, who came from central Asia 600 years ago, left a mark on Lahore.
The Shalimar Gardens, created by the man who built the TajMahal.
The Badshahi Mosque whose courtyard can hold 60,000 worshippers.
And in Lahore Fort, the exquisite Palace of Mirrors.
They say it was here that Emperor Akbar caught his favourite courtesan
exchanging a glance with this son.
True to the Mogul image of good taste and bad temper, he had her walled up alive.
0ur penultimate day in Pakistan and I'm looking across the border at India.
(CHEERING)
Here at Wagah, the old military ceremony of lowering the flag
has been turned into an entertainment.
The partition of India in 1947 was traumatic.
Nearly a million were killed in sectarian fury as the two new nations were born.
Nearly 60 years later,
that aggression has been channelled into a largely good-natured ritual.
Crowds can root for their country,
whilst guardsmen lay on a display of carefully choreographed contempt.
This is chauvinism at its most camp.
The Pakistan Rangers demonstrate how angry you can get without hitting anyone.
As the moment of flag-lowering grows closer, the crowd's excitement grows more vocal.
National passions are further inflamed by a display of precision nastiness
in which thumbs are used to terrifying effect.
(CHEERING)
(PLAYS LAST POST)
Now the moment they've been waiting for -
the guards, fans sprouting from their turbans like raised hackles,
measure out the lengths of rope.
And they must get it spot on,
so that the tricolour of secular India and the crescent moon of Muslim Pakistan
descend at exactly the same time.
(SOLDIER SHOUTS COMMANDS)
Despite the show of bellicosity, this is a combined operation
with both sides working together.
It ends with a flourish - a quadrille of stamping soldiers,
the briefest of handshakes, the border between India and Pakistan is sealed.
Job done.
Next morning, the crowds of spectators are gone - to be replaced by a crowd of porters.
22, in fact, carrying our 40-odd pieces of equipment up to the border.
Here, they're received by 22 equally fortunate Indian porters.
A beady-eyed Pakistan Ranger
makes sure there is no illegal immigration across the white border line.
So we leave one country where no elected government has ever completed its term
and enter one where nearly a billion use the ballot box.
The Indian way is immediately apparent.
This man must be telepathic. He certainly knows what's on my mind.
That was your question? A beer? Thunderbolt.
That's what you need after... four weeks of abstinence.
You're not allowed to drink in public in Pakistan.
They know that as soon as you get across the border, this is what you need.
But after four weeks, I feel fit, younger, better. I don't know what to do with this.
Oh.
Buoyed up by beer and the relief that always comes from crossing a frontier,
I hop into a local minibus, which takes me the ten miles to the first Indian city.
Neither Muslim nor Hindu, Amritsar is a Sikh town.
I know a bit about Sikhs - the turbans and the hair that should never be cut
and their reputation as fierce warriors and shrewd businessmen -
but to learn more I make for Amritsar's most holy site - the Golden Temple.
- This is for going into the temple? - Yes.
I need one of these? What is it?
What is it? A scarf or a hat?
Ten rupees? OK. How do I wear it?
Can you show me? Ah.
I see. It's my own sort of semi-turban.
Not the real thing. Thank you very much.
Though they seem a relaxed and worldly people,
the Sikhs demand a strict dress code for the temple.
Apart from covering my head, I must leave my shoes and socks behind.
I'm also required to wash my hands,
divest myself of tobacco, intoxicants and narcotics, and enter via a cleansing pool.
There are an estimated 20 million Sikhs in India - 2% of the population.
They believe in one God for all,
with no human hierarchies or priesthoods, idols or icons coming in between.
It sounds modest.
But when I see the golden Hari Mandir - the holy of holies -
"modest" is not the first word that comes to mind.
The Golden Temple - covered in 500 kilograms of gold -
is only a small part of an enormous complex.
In the kitchens, volunteers prepare a simple, free meal
for anyone who wants it.
Chapatti, dhal, pickle and water, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
This is the chapattiproduction line.
These are the dhal vats.
In sweatshop conditions, thousands of kilos of lentil curry
are stirred in titanic cauldrons.
I sample the result with a young Sikh, 0nkar Singh.
So, essentially, they give a basic meal to... whoever turns up?
- Yes. - Within reason.
- This must be a very big operation. - Yes.
How many meals do they provide a day?
Basically, this kitchen is open 24 hours to everybody.
And every day, 40 to 50,000 people come here and have food.
(PALIN) What sort of people are they? Poor people who can't get food?
Or people like us making documentaries?
(SINGH) This is a basic thing of every Sikh temple,
essential for every Sikh temple, everybody has to come in the kitchen.
The third Guru, who started this tradition - Guru Amar Das -
said, "If you want to meet me, first go to the kitchen."
He said that because if anybody has ego or pride,
here everyone learns the lesson of equality.
- That's what it's about. - No matter which class, which religion.
(PALIN) So it's probably more important for someone who is rich
to come along and eat with everybody else.
Even King Akbar came here and had to sit equally with everybody.
So the answer to your question is
no matter if one is poor or rich, they come here, have food and bless God.
- This is the essence of the kitchen. - That's great.
On Saturday and Sunday there are limitless people.
- About 100,000 people come here. - 100,000?
Both floors - the ground floor and first floor - are busy.
Then on the pavements, they sit there and start eating.
This is voluntary work, and the washing-up may be done by doctors, lawyers,
bricklayers, rickshaw drivers or anyone who enjoys making a noise.
(CRASHING)
This causeway leads to the Hari Mandir - the most holy part of the temple.
Crowds wait to pay their respects to the Guru Granth -
the holy book of the Sikh religion.
(SOFT MUSIC)
In the holy book are the sacred Ragas, written by Guru Nanak,
who founded Sikhism in the 17th century.
These are performed by the musicians and singers in the holy of holies.
They ring round the temple for 16 hours a day.
It's takes 2.5 days to chant the whole book, then it starts again.
(MUSIC AND SONG RINGS OUT)
If you want to stay the night, there's a hotel out the back.
- Oops. - Lots of people.
It's already busy, isn't it? How many people can they take here?
- Well, about 25,000 people can stay here. - At one time?
- At one time, yes. - Gigantic.
- Isn't it? - Yes, yes.
Thank you. Oh, bathroom. Lovely.
- Michael? - Yes?
(TOILET WON'T FLUSH)
- (FLUSHES) - Very efficient.
Yeah, that's good. A shower for short people.
Everything you need.
- Jacuzzi? - No.
It's all right. I'll make my own. Thank you.
Very nice. That's extremely palatial. Thank you very much. OK.
Well, it's not bad.
No divans, but where else in the world could you get...
a bathroom, two enormous king-size beds for 65p a night?
(FAINT TRUMPET CRY)
It's ten o'clock and something is stirring as the devotional day draws to a climax.
(TRUMPET CALL AND CHANTING)
Followed by a man who keeps the air clean above it,
the holy book is borne out of the Hari Mandir on a pillow and laid on a palanquin.
The book is regarded as the 11th and last Guru of Sikhism
and it, or rather "he", will be taken across the causeway and, literally, put to bed.
The doors are shut and fastened.
The book is laid on the bed and covered up until, at 2.30 tomorrow morning,
it will be woken up to start another day at the Golden Temple.
This is Kalka station, starting point for the Himalayan Queen -
a train that will take me up to the hill town of Shimla or Simla.
It's the start of school holidays and the train is packed.
The Himalayan Queen will take me only 57 miles, but we will climb 7,000 feet.
With me on the journey is local historian, Raaja Bhasin,
which is just as well, as I'm having trouble finding my seat.
There we are.
That's me. Unless there's another Michael P. And there you are, Raja Bassin.
There's no dining car, but there is home cooking courtesy of a fellow passenger.
Thank you very much. That's lovely. What is this?
- This is puri. - Puri. Puri and?
Made out of wheat flour. These are potatoes.
- Lovely. - With Indian spices.
- Lovely. This is your picnic for the family? - Yes. Holiday time with my family.
Lovely. And why did you choose to go to Shimla?
- Because it is nearby. - Where are you from?
- I am from Delhi. - Right. Did you start very early?
Yeah. Four o'clock I wake up, I cooked food. Six o'clock we left...
- Yeah. I cook this. - That's a labour of love.
At 7.40 we boarded the train.
(PALIN) Is Delhi a very high-pressure city?
- Yes. Very much so. - What do you do?
I work with the government of India, Ministry of Defence.
Secret work?
Yes, well... Buying British weapons, we hope!
When the British ruled India, Simla was their summer headquarters.
Until the railway was built 100 years ago,
everything would have been carried up here by horse or donkey.
Some of the stations
and, indeed, all the bridges and tunnels look the way they must have done when it opened.
- That's true. - They've stood the test of time.
And very well. Most of the stone abutments have been built by a raw stone dressing,
no mortar.
The bridges are old-fashioned Roman aqueducts, still functioning perfectly.
In actual terms of construction, nothing has really altered.
There are 103 tunnels on the line,
one of them built by a Colonel Barog, who had it dug from both ends.
When they didn't meet in the middle, he shot himself.
You're a school? A school party going to Shimla?
- Here. - Here?
So they're leaving the train now. How long are they? For a week here?
- Four days. - You're their teacher?
- Yes. - Good luck!
- Thank you. We'll have a nice time. - A very nice time.
The delicacies at the station buffet seemed a good way of repaying my friend.
- In return for the puri. - No.
But, of course, she wouldn't have it.
- How much are they? - Ten rupees.
Two for ten.
Fortunately, I know someone who'll eat anything.
I only got two, I'm afraid, and I'm going to eat both of them.
There you are. Go on, Nige. Would you like it with tomato?
Dip it in the tomato. You're getting quite a gourmet!
We climb higher, pulling out of the dense jungle and into Alpine woodland.
I press Raaja to explain some of the more dubious legends of the railway.
How about the "kissing tunnel", this story I heard?
Yes. Barog is over a kilometre long.
To go through the tunnel takes about four minutes - time enough to snatch a kiss.
Yeah. Absolutely.
That's a Jane Austen-ish kiss. Nowadays they'd have had a family by then.
- Absolutely. - Sorry.
So that's why it's called the "kissing tunnel"? Ah.
So you figured out who was sitting where and what you had to do with whom,
and the moment you entered the tunnel...
(PALIN) Oh, stop it! Get off me! Oh, Raaja! Please. Ooh!
(BOTH LAUGH)
(PALIN) I didn't know you cared.
Simla, the hill station, is now Shimla, the provincial capital,
but the imperial legacy remains.
The Viceroy's palace - Victorian self-confidence set in stone -
still dominates the town.
One fifth of humanity was ruled from here.
As much as that? The British Empire at that time?
Yes. That was the Viceroy's office. For eight months in the year...
Simla was officially the summer capital, but really remained the real capital.
For eight months in the year the government was stationed at Simla.
From March, April to October, November.
Someone like Gandhi, who was a modest man, what would he have felt coming here?
He disliked it. The other thing was that while everybody else came in rickshaws -
human-pulled rickshaws, two pulling, two pushing -
Gandhi invariably walked to the place while Nehru invariably used a horse.
Despite 60 years of independence,
Shimla still feels like an Indian Tunbridge Wells.
- Where's this? - This is the Ridge.
- A parade ground. - The Ridge, the town's largest open space.
We're walking along a natural watershed now.
The flow from the right goes down to the Bay of Bengal and from the left to the Arabian Sea.
Extraordinary. Is that partly why they chose this spot?
- It's wonderful. Dividing India. - Yes. Or sitting astride it.
Sitting astride it, yes. It's an imposition, isn't it?
The old Gaiety Theatre survives, saved from retirement by the Indian Army,
who use it as a club and put on the occasional production.
We're on stage... What a jewel of a theatre, isn't it?
It's beautiful.
Someone said that Shimla was a bit like Cheltenham, and I can see what they mean.
Yes, locking India outside the door.
What sort of names would have been here? Famous names?
Yes, and not necessarily connected with theatre.
- There's Baden-Powell. - The founder of the Scouts?
I never thought of him as a thesp!
He did a play here before he went off to the Boer War. And Kipling.
What sort of plays would they have played here and who would have supplied the cast?
They were mostly drawing-room comedies, the occasional musical.
Yeah.
And in them would be government officers who spent most of their time acting.
- There's a play on tonight. What time? - 6.30.
We'd better go. I'm sure they'd prefer to see us.
Tonight's play is an early work by Michael Frayn.
The audience and actors are all army.
Before we start, we've got a surprise for you.
May I present to you Mr Michael Palin? Please come forward, Mr Michael Palin.
- Thank you. Thank you very much. - (APPLAUSE)
If I might crave your indulgence for a few moments.
My name is Michael Palin
and I'm with the BBC filming a journey through the Himalayas.
We couldn't come to the Himalayas without coming to India,
or to India without coming to Shimla,
and we couldn't come to Shimla without coming to the Gaiety.
I'm excited to be here on the stage of a theatre that would be the envy of many towns.
I hope you enjoy the production. Many of you are army people so, by the right, quick, laugh!
(LAUGHTER AND APPLAUSE)
There's a certain irony in coming 8,000 miles to India
to see a suburban comedy set in Surrey.
Sorry, John.
(SLURRING) Jo, is there anything that I can do?
No. Just getting the place straight.
Why don't you go back into the kitchen and relax?
It's lonely in the kitchen. There's no one to talk to.
The actors on stage work closely with their fellow actors off stage.
- (SHE PROMPTS THE LINES) - No, Barney.
It's no good looking at me like that.
I'm not amused. You just stay there and don't you come out until I tell you.
- What are you doing? - I'll just...
When the curtain comes down, it's no surprise that the biggest round of the evening
is reserved for Mrs Vijaylakshmi Sood - the prompter.
Mrs Vijaylakshmi Sood.
And the make-up in charge, Mrs Andrew Kappa.
(APPLAUSE)
And our special guest, Mr Michael Plain.
(APPLAUSE)
Next morning, Michael Plain and driver head north to an altogether less happy place.
A battleground since independence and still one of the world's flashpoints - Kashmir.
60,000 have died in fighting over the last 15 years.
A bomb on the road north has just killed 33 people.
The root cause goes back 60 years.
At partition in 1947, Kashmir was a princely state,
free to choose if it wanted to stay in India or join Pakistan.
The Maharajah chose India. The trouble is that Kashmir was 80% Muslim.
In Kashmir, heaven and hell come pretty close.
Swanning about like Cleopatra in a barge on Dal Lake, I feel completely at peace.
But in the city of Srinagar on the shores of the lake, a nasty war slowly grinds on.
The British loved the lake but weren't allowed to own land around it,
so instead they built houseboats like manor houses.
They're mostly run as hotels now.
I am staying with Mr Gulam Butt, proprietor of Clermont Houseboats -
once the most sought after on the lake.
Mr Butt?
- I'm so happy to see you here. - You've had a few people before me.
- They've all stayed here. George Harrison. - My dear friend George.
- He was here with Ravi Shankar. - What year was he here?
- That was 1966. - 1966. Gosh.
And one evening they had a big musician party on the lawn.
That's Joan Fontaine, the famous American movie star.
Nelson Rockefeller!
Mr Butt's hall of fame is impressive - 14 ambassadors have stayed here -
but the names stop in the 1980s
and the faces on his wall are from another, more confident, era.
Astronaut who went on the moon. The first man. That's Neil Armstrong.
- Is that Neil Armstrong, really? - Yes. He was here.
Wow. And they come here for peace and quiet?
Peace and quiet and for holidaying on the houseboat, enjoying the lake and my garden.
Good. I want to see it.
I'll show you, when you have time, the guest books, what remarks they have written.
- Have you still got people coming now? - Yes. Unfortunately, not...
Mostly journalists, because since 1990... You know all that.
- There's been a lot of troubles. - Yes, since 1990, because of the problems.
Sadly, the boat on which Ravi Shankar taught George Harrison the sitar
is now half-submerged.
Despite the troubles, Mr Butt's optimism has kept the bulk of his business afloat.
...paradise on earth.
This is on the upper part of the lake. The houseboats were started in 1880.
- I should shower some flowers on you, sir. - Thank you.
This is an affectionate way to greet you with flowers
while you are entering my houseboat.
This is the houseboat. Now we go in. And I show you. This is the living room.
- (PALIN) It's a palace, isn't it? Fit for a queen. - This is a small room on water for you.
I hope that you'll enjoy your stay here.
It's lovely. Thanks. Bye.
Pakistan and India have played for high stakes in Kashmir.
At Dal Lake, it's almost impossible to believe that in 2001
the threat of nuclear war brought a paradise like this to the brink of destruction.
A full-scale conflict may have been avoided, but issues are still unresolved
and the fight for Kashmir goes on.
0nly a week before we arrived,
Indian security forces used mortars to clear this hotel in Srinagar
of what they suspected were two Pakistani-backed militants.
Casualties of war lie in the local cemetery and in many others throughout Kashmir.
This is a Muslim graveyard and they call their victims "martyrs".
Some fought deliberately,
others, like the mother and child killed at the hotel, were never given the choice.
This feels like an occupied country.
Tourism, once the lifeblood of Kashmir, has been hard hit.
As governments warn against travel, international interest has all but dried up.
(THUNDER CRACKS)
A downpour only adds to the air of melancholy that hangs over Srinagar,
as I'm shown around by Faruk, a local businessman.
Do you think the city is suffering quite a lot from the problems, or the violence?
Very much. The last 14 years very much.
- You see this house? - Yes.
Srinagar has echoes of Belfast in the 1970s.
It's a city scarred by siege, pockmarked by damage and neglect,
a city waiting for the nightmare to end and the symbols of hatred to disappear.
Perched in the Himalayan foothills near Dharamsala is the village of McLeod Ganj.
It's a nondescript place, but travellers from all over the world flock here.
Alongside local poverty is a parallel economy geared to well-heeled Westerners.
The reason for all this is religion - neither Hindu nor Muslim, but Buddhist.
(LOW CHANTING)
Ten years after the Chinese took over his country,
the Dalai Lama, fearing imprisonment, fled across the Himalaya from Tibet.
India's Prime Minister Nehru risked Chinese wrath to offer him sanctuary.
This is where the leader of Tibetan Buddhism lives, surrounded by his followers.
These Indian hill villages have become known as Little Lhasa.
In this monastery, prayer flags hang above golden-white stupas.
0vens burning juniper and cedar make smoke trails up to the gods
and prayer wheels send good thoughts spinning out into the world.
Buddhism is an outgoing, inclusive religion
and they seem happy to let me take part in a ceremony
whose purpose is a complete mystery to me.
(CHANTING)
0n a count of three, I, like everyone else, throw into the air my handful of "sampa" -
roast barley flour...
and, like everyone else, feel a lot better for it.
Young Tibetans like Thupten Tsewang have never seen their ancestral homeland.
Your parents had to leave Tibet, I assume, did they?
Yes. They came to India in around 1960s.
During that time they ran away in a group.
- Do you think you'll ever go to Tibet? - No. I would like to go.
But it's really difficult at this moment. We have special procedures to follow.
The unlikelihood of ever seeing Tibet doesn't seem to have dampened spirits.
- It's beautiful work. - Yes.
This is our Thangka painting studio. The Norbulingka Institute.
Everywhere you look enormous energy is devoted to keeping the culture alive.
In this workshop they produce "Thangkas" - decorated religious scrolls.
They seem very young, most of the people working here.
People who would never have been to Tibet.
How is it organised? Are they under the guidance of people who are Tibetan?
- All of them are Tibetan... - Been to Tibet.
Yes. All are Tibetans.
How we organise this, we have a master under whose guidance the students learn.
- Are they in great demand? - Yes.
I can say that because we have a pile of orders.
If you order a Thangka right now, you have to wait for five or six years.
- Five or six years? - Yes.
The Tibetan diaspora is a worldwide phenomenon
and the demand for images makes the work profitable as well as educational.
The commitment is demanding. A metal sculpture apprenticeship takes 12 years.
Not just craftsmanship is kept alive.
Children are taught Tibetan song and dance.
(CHILDREN SING)
- This is traditional Tibetan music? - Yes. Very traditional music.
It was started nine years back, this event.
The theme is to let the Tibetan children know their own cultural songs and dances.
Because we are losing it, being influenced by Hindi songs, Bollywood songs.
So there's a danger of these old songs being forgotten?
The children didn't have the contact, so such events have been organised.
- Today is a celebration of Gandhi. - Yes. It's Gandhi's birthday today.
So the children enjoy doing the Tibetan music?
They don't mind being weaned away from Bollywood?
No. You can see from their faces. They're excited, I guess.
(RHYTHMIC SINGING AND MUSIC)
(APPLAUSE)
Keeping world opinion on their side is important to the Tibetans in exile.
They offer all types of services including this astrology centre
which can tell you what you were in your previous life
and what you'll become in the next.
Having sent my birth details to the experts upstairs, I've come to hear the results.
Mr Palin, this way, please.
My astrologer's name is Phurbu Tsering.
So this is my astrological chart which will show, among other things,
what I will be reincarnated as and what I am reincarnated as. Is that right?
- Yes. - Wow. I'm shaking a little bit.
- Really? No need. - I've never known this information before.
Oh. Here we go. Right.
I see. Yes.
So the real stuff comes here. Oh, there's a lot.
Here we are. "You were likely to be an elephant in your previous life."
Oh, that's... I've always been kind to elephants.
An elephant charged me once.
It probably recognised me and wanted to say hello.
"But you are going to be born as a daughter of a rich family in the West again."
I don't know what to say to that, really.
It's not too bad. Sometimes, I suppose, you have to give rather bad news to people.
Yes, but in that case...
This is all based on your date of birth.
Based on the individual's date of birth, time.
At that time this whole life is a map like that,
and he or she may be born again as some sort of... bad life, bad birth.
In that case, it doesn't mean that it's all fixed.
You can change it by yourself through a special approach
or through your own hard work.
So if I was going to be born again as a sort of... mosquito,
there's still time for me to change?
Yes, yes. It's all in your hands. In this life.
You see, I'm really against all this. I don't believe in anything predestined.
I'd prefer to think that some exercise of free will
can control the course of my life - that's how I was brought up.
So it's interesting that you're saying here that you can change your life.
But I was an elephant... so I'll always remain having been an elephant?
- I can't change that. I was an elephant. - An elephant in your previous birth.
Do you know what you were in a previous life?
No, because I don't have my own date of birth.
You don't know exactly when you were born?
My parents didn't have all the records for us, so I don't have.
When the Chinese invaded our country...
- Yes. - So most of the youth of my age...
The records were destroyed because your parents had to leave Tibet.
If you believe this or not, I was born on the roadside.
Many of the youth of our age at that time were born on the roadsides.
(LOW CHANTING)
The head of the Tibetan government-in-exile
is this son of peasant farmers - His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama.
At the age of two, this man - who likes to call himself a simple monk -
was proved by various tests to be the reincarnation of the 13th Dalai Lama.
When he dies, he'll be reborn as the 15th Dalai Lama.
Morning prayers are open to people from all over the world
and the Dalai Lama seems pleased to see them,
whilst men in grey suits provide discreet security.
I've been granted a one-to-one audience with His Holiness.
But before that, he's agreed to meet 700 other people.
In a smoothly organised operation, a line of pilgrims and fans
is moved briskly up the driveway and past the balcony of his bungalow.
In return for queuing patiently, they receive a handshake, direct eye contact
and a sacred cord blessed by him.
The Dalai Lama greets his Western admirers first.
Then it's the Nepalese and Tibetans.
0nly they get packets of herbal pills blessed by His Holiness
which will cure coughs and colds.
If the international pilgrims seem almost blas�,
the Tibetans are quite visibly awed by his presence.
Next he meets refugees from Tibet.
To avoid reprisals if they go back, we film them from behind.
Trying to put them at their ease, he asks about the journey.
How did they bring their money across the border?
Did they swallow it and throw it up later?
He asks how many plan to go back.
If he goes back, he says, it would never be to the old feudal way of doing things.
Despite appearances, his message is "modernise".
Then, all of a sudden, it's our turn.
Your Holiness. Thank you so much. Thank you for coming to talk to us.
It's very nice to be here. You're a busy man.
Your face is very familiar to me because of BBC.
Oh, really? Your face is very familiar to me.
- Do you watch the BBC, then? - Practically every day.
- Do you? Oh. - Because I have more trust.
Really? Yes.
And mainly some beautiful documentaries are filmed,
including your own films.
You visit different places
and sometimes I wish I could journey with you and could see many places.
- Meet different people. - You know where we're going next.
We'll be going to Tibet, Your Holiness. But I don't think you'll want to come.
I was going to ask you something.
Yesterday, I went to your astrological department and they made up a chart for me.
And in my previous life I was an elephant
and in my next life I'm going to be the daughter of a rich family in the West.
Which do you think is the best of the two options?
I wondered to myself, how does an elephant get to be a television presenter?
Because an elephant also has a lot of curiosity to know.
- Yes, that's true. - With their nose, they go like that.
The trouble is an elephant never forgets and I forget far too much.
We're going to Tibet, as I say, in a month, which is very exciting.
What sort of situation do you think we'll encounter there?
What is Tibet like now? I hear there's a revival of interest in Buddhism.
Will we see this and will it be the real thing?
Since you are going there, so you yourself must find out
what's the true situation.
Although I am here outside Tibet, not inside Tibet...
but as a Tibetan, I want to extend my welcome to you
to visit my own country.
You're the best travelled of any Dalai Lama in history.
You have a very hectic schedule.
Why do you think it's important to travel?
From my childhood, I always have curiosity.
A desire to know more about different people, different cultures.
And, as a Buddhist monk, I also have an interest
to learn more about different religious traditions.
You lead this very hectic, frenetic life.
How do you keep in good condition? Do you have a health regime?
I think, firstly, my parents gave me this quite good body.
It seems! Except for two days I've had a problem with my eye - eyelid.
Slightly shaking eyelid. I've never seen you with your glasses off.
Really?
Do I seem very small or am I a bit blurred?
Then my daily life, my daily routine...
are usually quite - how do you say? - stable.
- (TIBETAN) - Disciplined.
Disciplined. Breakfast, lunch, no dinner as a Buddhist monk, but evening tea.
And I sleep usually...
It's quite fixed except when I travel to different places, especially America.
Then, I think, more than...
- Sometimes the time differences. - The jet lag.
So now, for example, one week ago I returned from the United States.
My sleep is not much problem, but my stomach is still American time.
- Oh, dear. - Still.
Usually I... toilet, usually morning,
but nowadays it's evening because of American time!
That's very tricky.
- I know you're busy. Thank you very much. - Thank you.
There's lots more I want to talk to you about, but you've got to talk to other people.
The next day the Dalai Lama is off on his travels again
and the crowds are out to catch a glimpse of him.
He may see himself as a simple monk, but his people, for whom life is religion,
see him as nothing less than the God-King.
They may not want to share him with the world,
but they pay him respect as he sets off once more on his mission
to keep a candle burning for Tibet.
It's time for me to move on as well -
to Ladak, the "land of passes", where the mountains take over the landscape.
A field of ancient stupas stand like melting snowmen,
a reminder of when the Silk Route came through here,
carrying other travellers on their way to the East.
Next time on "Himalaya", I microlight up to the mountains.
Watch Gurkhas being recruited. Leave ridiculous tips for the waitresses.
Test myself on the Annapurna Trail.
See the temples and funeral pyres of Kathmandu.
Gamble with the licence-payers' money.
Meet the highest nuns in the world.
And take Sunday lunch at Everest.
"Himalaya" - high adventure.