A day on the march to Tibet

Marching orders:
Wake at dawn unless planning the midnight crossing of a forbidden border (but we’ll come to that later). Eat a breakfast of beans and puri, a wonderful soft bread with a light sweet taste. Enjoy the black tea and wash all your dishes under the water pump. Listen to a speech interspersed with energetic exclamations of solidarity. Start walking. Talk, talk, talk. Be pleasantly surprised at how you enjoy talking to everyone on the march. How often does that happen?

Break for a lunch brought by magic fairies. Assume no other creature could make such wonderful food so quickly. Swim and bathe in the beautiful river by a rocky cliff. Marvel at cuteness of giggling children who slowly creep closer. Watch a cow take a dump. Notice who cares that a cow takes a dump. Recite Jabberwocky poem to win a toddling Tibetan’s heart. Receive reward of one cookie.

Start walking. Discuss the history of Tibet, what do when constipated in the woods (hint: it rhymes with linger), learn that Thais climb into trees for their morning constitutional to prevent the pigs eating directly from the source, argue about best superpower and the crimes it could enable, discuss how to form an objective moral code (hint: the answer lies in evolution), learn Tibetan words, compare and contrast things you have lit on fire, find out an easy way to get kicked out of Princeton, listen to the pros and cons of freelance journalism and subtly (hint: probably subtle as a swift punch to the jaw) pump everyone for information and stories.

Stop for another magic dinner. Talk to the monks who walk silently in a row all day. Count the number of giant smiles that pass in one minute. Think about nature of happiness. Sleep alone on top of hill for desired effect.