ComeFollowUs.com

Kenyan Critters

2009-02-12T12:15:00.005Z

:: L'Elephants ! ::

After a hectic week in Ireland we departed for Nairobi and landed straight into culture shock. The first obvious difference to the Western world is that everything happens at a slow pace and if you let it annoy you you'll spend your time in Africa going insane. Passengers from our plane queued with completed forms in Nairobi airport waiting to be relieved of the $50 US dollar visa fee and have their passports stamped. Families skipped the queue and filled up complicated forms at the desk, multiple wheelchairs jostled into pole position and then in the middle of it all, the immigration staff upped and changed shift.The huffing, puffing, frustration and eventual audible cursing clearly showed people were off to a very bad start.

We took the slow public bus from the airport into the downtown area and wandered around looking for a hotel. After a nap we had a quick scout to get our bearings and located some places to eat. If you like chicken and chips then this is the dream destination for you. In fact it's hard to find a place that's not a chipper. Fortunately or unfortunately we chose a hotel whose beds were far too comfortable so it was hard to get motivated to go out and sight see in the heat. When we did emerge it was to the news that a supermarket around the corner from us had gone up in flames trapping some people inside. Throngs watched on the streets as flames licked the building and a old helicopter circled from above.

Walking around Nairobi is like stepping back in time, all the buildings feel old fashioned and out of date. Even the Hilton Hotel is a retro tower, in the 60's probably the height of progressive architecture today it looks tired and over the hill. Thousands of people go about their business, mini buses and taxis clog the roads but in contrast to other populated places in the world everyone is laid back. So relaxed, in fact, that nobody bothers to shout or sit on their horn.

We spent a couple of days in Nairobi checking out safari companies and getting used to standing out from the local population before heading off to Masai Mara Game Park. Our safari was booked through a budget backpackers guest house, usually the van holds seven tourists. The morning of our departure we turned up to find that the rest of our group had mysteriously disappeared so we ended up on the safari by ourselves. This later became amusing when out on game drives bumping into expensive luxury safaris with seven people crammed into a van.

:: Cheetah Kill ::

Our safari spanned four days in which we did an evening, dawn and two full days of game driving. Most tourists come to see the "Big Five" elephants, buffalo, lions, leopards and rhinos. We got four ticks, the endangered rhino proved elusive right up until the end. Approaching the Masai Mara with the Big Five in mind is not ideal as there are so many animals not on the list that deserve more attention. It's spectacular to see all the animals in a truly wild setting. Our highlights included lions up close and personal, hippos, giraffes, baby elephants, cheetah and a leopard. We also got to see some kills - good to see the gory part that you definitely don't see in the zoo. Our guide Joseph was excellent with impressive eyesight spotting small animals at great distances. Supplemented by info over the radio from other guides as they search the park for animals. One of the most remarkable elements of the safari was just how close you can get to the animals. And probably more remarkable how close animals like lions allow you to get to them. The lions we saw were in very close proximity, ignoring the vans and super arrogant.

Game drives consist of driving around the park randomly hoping to spot wildlife. Some animals like giraffes and elephants are easy but you still have to find where the groups are. Wildebeest hadn't arrived yet from Tanzania so the park was not overrun with them. Eyes get tired scanning the terrain for something out of the ordinary or peering up into trees trying to spot a leopard. You wonder how anyone spots some of the shyer animals. Everyone has their favourites, ours were the elephants, family of warthogs.... our least favourite the evil looking hyenas.

:: Some Lanky Friends ::

Probably one of the most pleasant surprises of the safari were the accommodations. Expecting simple tents and long hole drop toilets we arrived to huge canvas tents complete with concrete en suite (hot water, flushing toilet, soap and towels). No such thing as camp beds, instead we had two proper beds with mattresses, sheets blankets and bedspread. A complimentary umbrella to allow guests to move dryly between the dining room and tent was the cherry on the cake. In fact we wondered how much more people could possibly be getting that were paying more for their safari.

After a great safari we headed back to Nairobi and hopped on a 12 hour bus to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania.

MMM....Mexico

2009-02-12T11:18:00.006Z

:: Sunset on Zipolite ::

A river boat crossing took us out of Guatemala and into southern Mexico. With border formalities complete we headed for the city of San Cristobal de la Casa; high altitude made this stop a chilly place at night. We were there in the run up to Christmas and the square and buildings were beautifully decorated with festive lights. San Cristobal is a very popular tourist destination and it's easy to see why, it has lots to offer including a colourful market full of amazing looking produce. We were lucky enough to be there for a big Christmas parade which were a mixture of people acting out of the stations of the cross very reverently followed by a huge crowd in drag and a Santa Claus throwing sweets from a float.

Our journey through Mexico was a race against the clock from start to finish. With a flight booked back to Ireland from San Diego in early January and we had a little under three weeks to land travel the whole way through Mexico. This isn’t too big a deal until you take out an atlas and look at just how big Mexico actually is. With this in mind we decided that there was no way we could see very much of the country and that we’d be better off to stop and take a holiday rather than kill ourselves travelling over the Christmas season – when lots of Mexican businesses were on the go-slow. And so we headed for a small place called Zipolite on the Pacific Coast and sat our weary bones on a sandy beach for ten days over Christmas and New Year soaking up the sunshine, dodging the rip currents and generally recharging the batteries.

One excursion was taken during that time and that was to the nearest town to visit the ATM machine. Despite it being the height of the busy season in Zipolite and all the accommodation being booked solid we still don’t know where everyone disappeared to at night. By midnight the streets and beach were deserted and either everyone was tucked up for the night or out at some big party we didn’t know about. Our routine in Zipolite became very predictable, a barbecue cooking whole butterflied chickens became our lunch stop and dinner was eaten nightly at Siren’s restaurant. Aside from great food the attraction of Sirens was watching the mother son duo muddle their way through the service every night. The son was a real Basil Fawlty tutting and generally moody, when he felt like closing the restaurant he closed. Stuck out the in back kitchen the mama slaved away nightly always dressed in a “carry-on” movie outfit, her chest spilling out over the top of her tight top. Tables were served in the strict order they were seated regardless of what was ordered. Basil would seat a table and tell them there were three tables before them waiting to be served, if they didn’t like it they could simply leave.

:: Tacos, and more Tacos ::

Probably one of the highlights of this new country was getting stuck into the Mexican street food. It was all that it was hyped up to be.... meat and fish tacos, moles, enchiladas, barbecued chicken, ceviche... the list goes on and on. Mexican really know how to eat, all their food is zesty and flavoursome and very different to the Tex Mex take. Tacos are available around the clock in most places, and they can be very hard to pass in the street. In the restaurants the more serious dishes like rich moles, fish and huge hunks of meat come in to play. One of the most exciting foodie cities was Oaxaca where one whole section of the market was dedicated to butcher stalls with their own barbecues. You went to the veg section got yourself a basket full of spring onions and peppers and picked out a kilo or more of meat and a short time later a disgustingly large basket of food landed on the table.

:: Oaxaca - grilling it up ::

Our last few days in Mexico were spent busting a gut to make it up to Tijuana and over the border into San Diego. We took a bus from Oaxaca and broke the journey in the city of Mazatalan. We checked into a quirky hotel where a cute old couple running the place spent their days re-rolling toilet paper into smaller rolls to reduce potential waste and feeding pillowcases through an iron roller in the reception. We thought we had the place to ourselves until early evening when all of a sudden lots of long stay American and Canadian retirees emerged from the other rooms for their usual nightly banter on politics, conspiracy theories and meaning of life. Everyone had been there long enough to discuss Mazatalans differing seasons.

The last leg of our journey was an arduous thirty hour bus journey up to Tijuana. We arrived to the border and struggled to find out where we should go to get stamped out of Mexico and hand over a receipt that proved we had paid our tourist tax. As it happens no such border post exists in Tijuana. Anyone is free to waltz into Mexico through the U.S. Border no checks, no stamps, no red tape. The trick is getting back out and past the U.S immigration post whose immense presence makes up for Mexico’s lack of one.

Crossing over the border and swiping a credit card for tickets on the trolley to San Diego was the first sign that even though we were metres from Mexico we were worlds apart. After a few day in San Diego we had adapted to life in the fast lane although we were missing the wonderful tacos.

From there we spent a busy week in Dublin catching up with family and friends and frantically running around organising our big day in May

Roasting Marshmallows in Guatemala

2009-02-11T12:34:00.003Z

:: Marshmallows vs the Volcano ::

One surprising element of this capital was sheer North American-ness of Guatemala city. Huge malls, car dealerships, 10,000 square foot fast food chains and secure gated accommodation. One thing is for sure, someone has a lot of money. We were dumped out at the terminus and pointed in the direction of a city bus connecting to the Antigua city service. A short while later we were boarding the Antigua bound bus. This was a new level in school bus comfort; this bus had annoyingly altered the seats to accommodate three people each side of the aisle rather than the usual two one side three the other. The result was an aisle about a foot wide and a nightmare to negotiate with backpacks. Hilariously as the bus filled up it got worse. People squeezed in and someone sat over the gap in the aisle.

:: Volcano looming large over Antigua ::

Just before night fell we pulled in Antigua, city of Spanish students and tourists. It's a far cry from what you expect a Guatemalan city to be like, in fact many of the guidebooks describe it as a theme park. McDonalds is super flash, possibly one of the best in the world complete with McCafe, McInternet, terrace and fountain. Add an equally tasteful Burger King up the street, bagel shops, coffee houses and sushi restaurants and you can imagine the swishness of it all. Pretty streets with lots of guesthouses are overshadowed by a volcano, it really is a picture postcard place. Antigua is a huge spanish school machine and all the services cater to the homesick student, you can't really be homesick when you can get good coffee and bagels can you? Thankfully some real Guatemala is still to be found in the market comedors (restaurants) and street food. Although on saying that we found a lady who whipped up some great tosdadas, we went back to look for her on successive days but she'd disappeared. Nothing more disappointing.

:: Pacaya Volcano - very much active ::

No trip to Antigua is complete without taking a trip to the active Pacaya volcano. This was a real highlight of Central America, the thrill factor of climbing a volcano with river of lava running down it's side is not to be underestimated. We set off with strong shoes to withstand high rock temperatures underfoot and a big bag of marshmallows. Minibus tours run to the entrance where we met with a guide. After an hour and a half walk we turned a corner and saw the volcano and the red and orange river of molten lava pouring down it. There are two tours each day, we chose to do the evening tour to see the lava in the night. As it is to be expected in developing countries that haven't had too much regulation imposed on the tourist industry the guides lead us on and up and we soon found ourselves scrambling across sharp, loose rocks towards the molten lava. We finally got within marshmallow roasting distance i.e. a few feet although the heat was the only things stopping anyone getting any closer. Everything going splendidly until a rock broke loose of the stream a hundred feet above us and a frantic crowd hysterically scrambled across the volcano to get out of its path causing a mini landslide. Altogether not the safest of situations, there's probably not that many places in the world that bus tourist straight up into the unpredictable, insecure banks of a lava river. Anyhow a thrilling sight and unforgettable experience. As darkness fell and the clouds lifted it was spectacular as we hiked back down in the moonlight to the bus.

Our second stop in in Guatemala was at Lake Lago de Altitulan, while we were trying to decide which town to stay in on the lake, a bus came up the road with "San Pedro de Lago" written on it and made the decision for us. We climbed in over the cargo which was about 400 steel rods the length of the bus stacked in the aisle. No problems getting down the narrow aisle this time, the steel rods added plenty of assistance giving good clearance over the seats. A bumpy three and a half hour journey took us to San Pedro where we chilled out on the lake for a couple of days.

We were halfway to the next city, Xela, when we realised it was a massive detour out of our way and we really didn't have a good enough reason to be heading there. It was too late to do anything about it and in fairness it wasn't the worst of stops. We took advantage of high speed, low cost internet and got to sample some good street food. Arriving on a sleepy Sunday to closed windows and shutters once again luckily we managed to find a busy restaurant serving up huge bowls of seafood soup.

After ticking Xela we made the arduous journey north towards Coban. Poor roads and long distances forced us to do the journey over two days. In the final stint of the journey we were packed into a tiny minibus for four hours only to reach a huge landslide. People were frantically crossing over the debris which stretched a hundred feet shouting "rapido rapido". It was unclear how dangerous it was but it was crystal clear that nothing was been done to rectify the situation nor would be done in the coming hours or even days. We followed the crowd and scrambled to safety and the gawking crowd at the other side. We later learnt the landslide was two days old so we made the right decision to cross, otherwise we could have been stuck there for days.

:: Tikal ::

Our final stop in Guatemala was St. Elena, it's probably better known as Flores and jumping off point to explore Tikal. Flores is a claustrophobic tourist trap reached by a bridge from St. Elena, if you have a choice opt for St Elena. The following day we set off in the rain for Tikal ruins. A three hundred percent increase in entrance fees since last year ruined all calculations to have just enough Quetzals left to get us out of the country. Tikal was impressive the sheer size of the structures sets it apart from Copan Ruinas. The start of our day was marred by heavy rain. Some of the structures can be climbed via rickety stairs that take you hundreds of feet up high above the jungle. The Grand Plaza is also an impressive sight, and a great spot for people watching.

Setting off from Flores, we made a run for the Mexican border, seeking some sun....and some real Mexican food.

Chicken busing through C.A ...

2009-01-25T13:28:00.007Z

:: Sunset on Isla de Ometepe ::

Our first central American stop was Panama city. We stayed in Panama Viejo, a very old district out on a peninsula. Lots of buildings in the area have been restored but the vast majority are derelict shells with beautiful old facades. The area up until recently was generally considered rundown and unsafe but in a drive to create a tourist area, a highly policed, sectioned off, historical district has been created. More and more touristy related industries are being attracted to the area. The attraction of the area is the fact that you can stroll around the peninsula by the coast admiring the view of ships lining up to enter the Panama Canal. If you do accidentally stray out of the safe area locals are very quick to point you back in the right direction. In fact it's all so coordinated that we started to get really curious about just how dangerous it really was up the road. One thing that stands out about Panama City is how North American it is, Burger King, McDonald's, Popeye, Dunkin Donuts can be found everywhere. Big impressive shopping malls house the shops of all the big brands. High rise condo and apartment blocks have sprung up all around the city.

The next part of the journey was up through Panama, into Costa Rica and on to the capital San Jose before catching an early morning bus to the Nicaraguan border. A school bus ride took us to the shore of Lake Nicaragua and a tiny little ferry bobbed us out to the volcanic Isla de Ometepe. The island is dramatic, two huge volcanoes (one smoking) dominate the small island. Arriving at the port we confidently marched up the road to look for the main town and after a few minutes copped on that we'd been dropped at the wrong port. We started walking along the one road in the direction of the town but were quickly advised by locals that it was "very very far away" but a bus should be along shortly that would take us there. An irregular bus service around the island is an understatement we reached our final destination a couple of hours later. There's not much to do on Ometepe except admire the volcano and explore the island. Unfortunately while we were there the water level in Lake Nicaragua was unusually high so all of the beaches were underwater. We passed on climbing the volcano in the knowledge that we were going to be inundated with opportunities to climb volcanoes further up the road. Instead we opted to rent a motorbike for the day and whizzed around the island, pretty much visiting every nook and cranny.

Once you enter Central America you're in the land of the chicken bus. They are decommissioned old yellow school buses from America which have been colourfully resprayed and given a new lease of life. It's not unusual to still see the old school bus rules up on the wall over the driver but normally the interior is covered with stickers and big religious slogans. They're called chicken buses because... well ....you can bring almost anything onto them. All the old school buses have an emergency exit at the back of the bus. Throughout Central America at every stop or big town a parade of sellers gets onto the bus, nosily proceeds down the aisle and out the emergency exit door and into the next bus. Sometimes ten people will get on all selling the same stuff. Buckets, earrings, drinks, spring onions, bottle washers etc. you name it you can buy it. You often really don't have to move far from your seat to do all your shopping. Another highlight of the chicken bus is being constantly subjected to old Chicago, Phil Colin's and Byran Adams tracks from the 80's.

And so it was to the backing track of Bryan Adams's "Please Forgive Me" that we pulled into Granada city, the oldest city in Nicaragua. Granada is a beautiful old city that's popped onto the tourist radar. The touristy area is a pedestrian street filled with hostels, upmarket hotels and flash restaurants. It's all very lovely but not exactly the real Granada, it's the dressed up version. After searching around for accommodation in the touristy area we got a tip on a place a little further afield. We ended up staying in a little gem of a place Jorge's Hotel right in the local market. Our lodgings and surrounds turned out to be so perfect that we adjusted our schedule to stay a couple of extra nights. Note, our place had the added luxury of a kitchen, en suite bathroom and cable television a far cry from what was available in the touristy area. Proximity to a supermarket that sold top class steaks at ridiculously cheap prices meant we didn't go hungry. We ate out in the market for lunch, again a local tip, hidden deep in the market up a little alley, was a little family restaurant churning out amazing food. The city is also famous for it's local speciality food - vigaron. Busy vendors in the market serve up a banana leaf filled with yuca, cabbage, onions and fried pork skin. It's a traditional filling dish which tastes very similar to the Irish bacon, cabbage and potato dish. Granada was a great stop, not only does it have lots of old world charm, it has a very local feel and if you feel like doing the touristy thing it has lots of restaurants and bars. Even in these food and drink is surprising good value. As the city gets more popular this is sure to change.

:: Leo in Leon ::

Moving on from Granada we connected through the capital Managua to the city of Leon. During the time we were passing though Nicaragua there were presidential elections on and demonstrations in full swing. Nightly on the news there were pictures of young kids with their faces covered, flare guns in hand setting things alight, vandalising property and generally being a nuisance. When we arrived in Managua a rally was about to start, thousands of people were being bused in and the mood was hostile. Luckily we had a quick connection through and out on to the city of Leon. Leon, it's similar to Granada, without the grand buildings it's not quite as majestic. We'd met travellers coming the other way who had raved about the place. Two busy backpacker hostels in the centre seem to generate a bit of nightlife which may make the town a memorable stop for some people. For us Granada was hard to beat, Leon was pretty but just not as happening as Granada. We spend an afternoon wandering around the streets people watching. By nightfall all the demonstrators were arriving back from Managua, creating an edginess on the streets. One street was closed off by police after tyres were set alight. Our biggest regret in Leon was rushing out of it to catch a bus north. Leon's bus station had one of the best food sections in Nicaragua, seafood soup was been dished out and there was lots of meat being barbecued. Maybe next time!! If you're passing through in the meantime please give it the time it deserves.

Our final stop in Nicaragua was the highland city of Matagalpa. Part of the reason we went there was to go into the rainforest at the Selva Negra coffee plantation to hopefully spot some monkeys. We spent a few hours hiking around the plantation and cloud forest and didn't see a dickiebird. Turns out we were over enthusiastic with the scope of our search. All the monkeys were hanging out at the start of the trails near the lodge. When were within 200 metres of the end of our hike we came into earshot of the howler monkeys. The noise these little animals create is astounding and a little frightening when they howl in unison. While we were watching them they moved overhead and pelted berries down at us. Matagalpa itself was a pleasant stop most memorable for it's burger vans which convened nightly in the main square.

We departed Matagalpa very early the following morning in order to give ourselves the best possible chance of making it over the border and as far into Honduras as we could make it - preferably past it's dangerous capital Tegucigalpa. The journey proved to be a marathon of buses, twelve during the course of sixteen hour day of travel, but we did make it to Tegucigalpa and on the smaller safer city of Comayaqua.

Stopping in Comayaqua for the night we recharged our batteries and got ready for another long day of buses connecting through San Pedro Sula. Our next stop was La Ceiba, gateway to the Bay Islands, where we'd planned to do a week or so diving. Utila Island is a famous diving centre with some of the best value courses and fun diving packages in the world. We arrived into La Ceiba to the depressing sight of torrents of flood water running down the road and frequent heavy rain showers. Totally unsuitable conditions for diving as it all leads to murky unsettled waters. Undiscouraged we hung around La Ceiba for a couple of days waiting for the weather to improve before biting the bullet and chancing it in the hope that we'd get a lucky break. Standing on the ferry deck sheltering from a torrential rain shower we were really questioning our wisdom. The small ferry was violently thrown around the choppy waters. Within ten minutes everyone was looking a little peaky. Staff on the boat were monitoring everyone very carefully (plastic bags and paper towels in hand). Half an hour into the journey most people were looking decidedly green but nobody was sick. A little girl suddenly puked and within thirty seconds everyone else simultaneously chucked. The ferry staff very efficiently collected and redistributed sick bags and paper towels. Clearly the situation occurs very regularly.

:: View from our balcony on Utila ::

One of the strangest things about Utila and the Bay Islands is that you suddenly enter into a world of Caribbean influence. English is the main language spoken and everything and everyone is straight off a "Lilt" advertisement. Golf carts ply around the tiny island and to be honest if you're not diving there's not that much to do. Still raining when we got there we waded up and down the road in ankle deep flood water checking out the different dive schools. Despite the weather we signed up for our Rescue Diver Course. The course involved a couple of days of classroom work which would be unaffected by the rain. When we did get into the water to do the practical side of the course we were too busy playing out scenarios and bringing unconscious divers to the surface to worry about poor visibility. On the third day the weather broke and we finally got to see sunny Utila and it's beautiful sunsets. The following days were sunshine filled warm days. We got a few more fun dives under our belts, hunting for seahorses and tackling swim throughs and before we could be tempted into more courses we left for the mainland.

:: Scary thing at Copan Ruins ::

All roads lead to back to the annoying transport hub of San Pedro Sula where we connected on to Copan Ruinas home to Honduras's Mayan ruins. Arrival day coincided with a Sunday and election weekend both contributing to just about every business being closed and Copan Ruinas being as dead as a doornail. ( Interestingly - it seems that in most Central American countries, all businesses that serve or sell alcohol are closed for the 24 hours before election day) Sunday is one of the best days to travel in Central America because everything is shut but it's also the worst time to arrive anywhere because even the busiest of cities can look drab, unwelcoming and very unhappening. Wandering around the dark streets of the town we were just about to throw in the towel and break into our emergency tin of sardines when we happened upon the only street with a bit of food action going on. Street food in the form of baledas, fried chicken & chips and skewers of meat meat with tortillas and salsa was being served up. Eaters sat at plastic chairs and tables while the local population of stray dogs looked on hopefully with forelorn looks. The following day we strolled out to Copan Ruinas to see the ruins. An informative museum houses lots of the artifacts and offers a good insight into life was in ancient Copan.

:: Copan Ruinas ::

Our last stop in Honduras was Gracias, although it proved to be a somewhat briefer stop than anticipated. We spent four hours getting there; arrived and within fifteen minutes we were backtracking out of there. Gracias is located at the edge of the cloud forest, romantic and ecologically attractive as this sounds it must be remembered that cloud forest is simply a forest shrouded in cloud thus the weather is damp and miserable. The one main reason we'd come to Graicas was that a certain guidebook had touted one of it's restaurants as having the best and most authentic slow cooked Hondurian food in the country. The said restaurant was closed, the weather was rainy and miserable and there really wasn't a good enough reason to stop in Gracias for the afternoon so we grabbed a quick lunch of chicken and chips (served up in the back of a garage cum carpentry shop amongst wood shavings) before catching the next bus two hours back up the road. This is far from the first time that we've been in this situation. It's truly amazing how you can spend hours getting somewhere, get off the bus and say "nah.. not for us", and then spend another few hours backtracking. You would think that the four hours wasted on a bus would be mind numbing, somehow it just doesn't register sitting on a bus getting out of there and making headway becomes the priority.

:: Volcano vista ::

As we were in this neck of the woods we felt the journey wouldn't be complete without a foray into El Salvador. As the smallest country in Central America distances are very very small. Crossing over the border at El Poy we climbed aboard the chicken bus network and made our way south and west towards the city of Santa Ana where we got very comfortable and ended up staying for six days. There were noticeably less tourists in El Salvador, it does have a bad reputation when it comes to murder statistics which naturally keeps a lot of tourists away. It's perfect surfing waves on its Pacific Coast attract surfers but it doesn't quite have the full holistic tourist appeal. Our experience of El Salvador was fantastic, people were friendly, the landscape was beautiful and the food very different. Pupusas are the favoured snack churned out by restaurants. Tortillas filled with frijoles or cheese topped with pickled cabbage and salsa. Santa Ana was a nice small scale city with supermarkets, restaurants, bars - although we're pretty sure lots of them doubled up as brothels. Good bus connections to the nearby countryside made it an ideal base. We made a day trip to the nearby active Santa Ana volcano, by the time the bus had made it to the last stop we at the very top of the mountain and wondered was there anything left we could possibly climb up to. As it happens there wasn't. Climbing Santa Ana involved climbing down the side of the sheer mountain the bus had chugged up and climbing up the neighbouring peak only to descend and climb back up to the bus stop. We didn't know whether to feel cheated or lucky that we got to climb two volcanoes. Either way it was an energetic day out. The good news is that we worked up a hunger for the next day's excursion to the Juayua street food fair. It was so promising that we ended up returning the following day. Sunday proved to be the busier as stall upon stall with everything from Ceviche to frogs cooked up a storm. We tucked into a couple of good wholesome plates of red meat while listening to a band playing. Local women constantly tried to sell us reed reindeers - reminding us that Christmas was just around the corner.

:: Lunch in Juayua ::

After running the clock down in Santa Ana it was time to move north to Guatemala. We had an easy border crossing at Los Manos - surprisingly no one cared about us on the Guatemalan side, you can't get any smoother a crossing than that. As luck would have it there was a chicken bus filling up going to the capital Guatemala. After a speedy start we stopped in a nothing town for half and hour where the driver and conductor rested under tree before we drove like the clappers into Guatemala city.

Check out Colombia

2009-01-24T16:45:00.017Z

:: Parade in Cartegena ::

A long day's travelling brought us to the city of Cuenca, third largest city in Ecuador and the official home of the Panama hat. We stayed in a hotel overlooking the market, unfortunately the market square was being renovated so it was a building site. It didn't stop the hotel owner from saying that the room still had a great view of the work in progress and we should come back next year for even more of a spectacle. This year it's all JCBs and noise. One of the most unusual things about Cuenca was the morning protein drink of the menfolk. Namely a beer with a raw egg thrown in, it was on sale and being consumed everywhere. After a rainy day in Cuenca stooging around we moved on to the town of Banos up in the highlands.

All memories of Banos revolve around the news that Marcus's sister Maija gave birth to a baby girl, Raina. In celebration we climbed the big hill behind town. The following day we headed for the capital Quito where we threw ourselves into a couple of busy days sightseeing. Unfortunately we left it too late to try skewered whole guinea pig, the delicacy was no where to be found. As the weather became dreary and the rain showers continued at high altitude we began to look forward to moving north towards Colombia's tropical temperatures.

Colombia is a country once synonymous with cocaine, kidnapping, violence and guns. Its tainted reputation means most people associate it with danger. It's an unlikely runner on most people's top ten places to visit. We crossed into Colombia with an open mind and a heightened sense of vigilance. Any nervousness rapidly disappeared as we progressed through the country. In fact the Colombia tourist board embrace this negative misconception and uses it to their advantage, they are currently running a campaign to promote tourism, the TV ads showcases the sites, natural beauty and people of Colombia and the slogan is "Colombia..... the only risk is wanting to stay".

Our first stop was the town of Pasto a few kilometres inside the border. Thankfully we felt like chicken for dinner because there was very little else to eat there. From there we bussed north through stunning scenery to the city of Popayan. Surprisingly Popayan turned out to be a very non-touristy place despite having perfect cobblestones streets, white washed houses and fancy lanterns. It was just an ordinary town with an extraordinary air of pride about it. Beautiful buildings housed normal everyday businesses.Travelling north through the city of Cali we made it to Bogota, a city of horrendous statistics. Allegedly 1 in 5 people in Bogota statistically have a gun, and that's ones that are licensed, the unofficial number is even higher. We found Bogota to be a great city, it has a heavy helpful police presence but overall it has a great vibe. It's old town is a funky area full of bars and restaurants. Budget accommodation options are limited and fill up quickly, if you're not following a guidebook's sanitised accommodation list then you'll typically be asked how long you want the room for. Expected answer is in hours as opposed to days. It sounds seedier than it actually is, it's simply the way things work in this neck of the woods.
We took some time out to visit the police museum, a large portion is dedicated to the successful tracking and capturing of the infamous drug cartel head Pablo Escobar. It was a good museum and our young police guide did his best to answer all fielded questions - although there really was no good answer as to why the supply of cocaine from Colombia has remained unaffected despite the busts and what FARC does out in the jungle with all revenue collected from the multi million business. Pablo Escobar and old style cartels may have died a death but in essence the problem still remains, just in another form.

:: Villa de Leyva ::

Scooting through Bucaramanga we reached the picture perfect town of Villa de Leyva, a place where time truly has stood still. There's virtually no modern architecture just old cobblestone streets, whitewashed buildings and doorways and window shutters with dark green shutters. The centre of town, the Plaza Mayor is a huge square fringed by the town Church, restaurants and bars. It's easy to explore the whole town in an afternoon, and you find yourself wondering how they manage to keep it so preserved and devoid of modern trappings.

We kept heading North until we reached the Caribbean and the important milestone of the top of South America in the coastal city of Santa Marta. A combination of heat, humidity, sunshine, colourful street markets and a distinctively more Caribbean looking population made it feel like we'd crossed into a new exciting country. New street food, interesting looking thirst quenching drinks and the appearance of plantains and frijoles (refried beans) with every meal was a clear indication that although we were still in Colombia it was a very different Colombia.

>:: Cartagena ::

Our final stop was the old city of Cartagena, undoubtedly one of the most beautiful cities we've been through. It's described as the jewel of the Caribbean and it's no understatement , it's a very well kept secret. There are two distinctive sides to Cartagena, the ugly modern high rise city and, at a very sensible distance away, the old preserved quarter. Part of the city's beauty is that one doesn't spill into the other and spoil it. Perched on the coast the old colonial old city and fortress dominates the landscape. Inside the old wall, streets upon streets of brightly painted houses support vibrantly coloured bougainvillea plants. Part of the old town is dedicated to swish upmarket restaurants, pedestrian plazas, shops and boutique hotels but you don't have to go far before you stumble upon the more locally orientated businesses. The fact that it's not a cordoned off touristy area devoid of real life adds to its charm. Our few days there hold nothing but good memories, we wandered around the old town and harbour, found a lunch stop that churned out great fresh fish daily and we watched what seemed like constant parades and festivities. An ongoing time consuming task was finding a way out of Colombia and on to Panama.

The challenge of completing our journey overland gets a little trickier when crossing from South America into Central America simply because no road exists between the two. The area around the border is known as the Darien Gap, currently covered in dense jungle and apparently full of drug runners and guerrillas. Not a particularly attractive piece of land to hike through. The other option is to sail around the problem from Cartagena to the San Blas islands in Panama. There are a few European and American captains bobbing around the Caribbean on their yachts who take backpackers between the two points. To catch a boat it is a matter of finding out who was in port and when they were planning on to leave. Of course, it's also a matter of finding a good boat and a competent captain for the five day trip. We bumped into a group of travellers who had made the journey vice versa from Panama, half had a great trip the other half had had a miserable five days being thrown around in a tiny boat amidst big waves. We sniffed out the "great" trip and hooked up with Fritz-the-Cat a 50ft catamaran captained by an Austrian, Fritz. From the outset everything bode well, the boat was only carrying half its usual passenger capacity so we all got cabins. Normally the cat carries twelve people plus captain on the journey. With only six passengers/crew on our crossing there was more than enough room.

Our cruise through the Caribbean got off to a slow start - we spent the first day stuck in the harbour waiting for our passports to be returned by port authorities with exit stamps. Waters in the harbour were flat and gentle so naturally everyone was feeling great - all set for the voyage. We eventually got the go ahead that all the paperwork has been completed, we pulled up anchor and sailed for the open seas, narrowly missing an unlit buoy on the way out. About an hour later half the people on the boat were stuck down by severe seasickness as we ventured out into the rougher, choppier waters. One of the advantages of the catamaran is its stability in the water. We can only imagine how much more violent the trip would be on a smaller yacht.

Part of the deal when you catch one of these yachts is that you help out crewing for the journey. So for the three members not effected by seasickness the first night consisted of long stints on watch. Autopilot kept us on course but torrential rain and winds meant that we had to be on the lookout for anything around us that we could potentially collide with. On day two things deteriorated, the weather improved but midway through the day the autopilot decided to die so the remainder of the journey in the open seas (24 hours) had to be steered manually. Sailing a straight course manually is not easy at all, constant correction and concentration is required. Even then it's almost impossible not produce a zigzag pattern on the GPS map. We came to really appreciate the value of autopilot and just how precise it is. By the second night the seasickness still hadn't abated and half the crew were on deck moaning and generally feeling rotten. The autopilot was still on the blink so tired eyes manually steered the course (with some mad off course portions).

:: Dinner ::

Day three brought the end of the open seas, all of a sudden the water grew calm and bath like as we glided into new territory, the San Blas island archipelago - small little Robinson Crusoe islands complete with deserted white beaches and palm trees. All sickness and associated bad memories disappeared and for the next two days we swan, snorkeled and fished - successfully may I add, Marcus caught a baby shark on his first go followed by a mackerel that fed the boat. Each day Fritz would grab a couple of lobsters from under a rock and we'd have them for dinner. Locals from the area came by selling monster crabs and lobsters..... we were spoiled by top of the shelf gourmet seafood. Fritz turned out to be an ex-restaurateur and chef so each morning we woke up to the smell of freshly baked brown bread and hungrily looked forward to every meal.

:: Captain Fritz....and lunch ::

We technically reached Panama by swimming from the boat to the shore of a little paradise island, a novel entry into a country. Officially we entered the following day. Saying goodbye to Fritz and the catamaran we stepped ashore and crowded into jeeps destined for Panama City. We were left with more than memories of our Caribbean cruise, it took a full three days for the ground to finally stop swaying underneath us.

:: San Blas vista ::

Peru

2009-01-13T00:13:00.009Z

:: Looking down as Machu Picchu is revealed ::

So, after a brief stop at the Peruvian border and a change of coach in Puno we found ourselves on a bus up to Cusco. It's been several years since I was last in Cusco but it's changed in many ways. The most obvious change is how flash and well heeled it's all become. Gone from the main square are all the backpacker restaurants playing movies and all day long. They've been replaced by very swish restaurants, coffee shops and pizza parlours. Thankfully, famous Gringo Alley with cheap and cheerful restaurant still exists and the number of hotels has risen dramatically so the squeeze for accommodation is gone. Our top finds in Cusco were our accommodation with a rooftop view over the square and our discovery of a jam packed local pizza joint that served very tasty wood fired pizzas.Cusco is of course the famous jumping off point to access Machu Picchu, our time there coincided with a train strike, so no trains were going to Aguas Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. Lots of agencies were offering bus tours so we started enquiring into them. After a lot of confused information we finally realised that the only way of getting to Machu Picchu is by train (there is no road) and the train tickets are outrageously expensive despite having three different classes of service. There is a complicated back door way of getting there that takes 2-3 days and involves catching buses in the middle of the night and walking along the train tracks for hours etc. I went to the official tourist office in Cusco and the girl actually explained this option with a straight face. Ordinarily with time on our side we would have opted for this route. Annoyingly Peru rail have the whole thing sewn up and are very obviously cashing in on tourists. There are high class carriages, super high class carriages and then ordinary carriages full of locals. Some tourists will always want to take the comfortable more expensive option but it's unfair to not provide a reasonably priced option to budget travellers.

:: Well worth the effort ::

Anyhow, we swallowed the cost, made our way to Ollanytambo connected with our swish train and arrived into Aguas Calientes in time to buy entrance tickets for Machu Picchu for the following morning. At the early hour of 4am we began the long walk up hundreds of steps up into the entrance. Competitive elbowing and jostling was in full swing in the queue at the entrance as people waited impatiently for the gates to be thrown open so we could all foot race to the other side of the site to get into a second queue to be one of the 200 people allowed to climb up Wanupicchu daily (the big mountain you see in photographs behind the ruins). It was a shame really, very few people looked around them and admired a tranquil, empty,pre-tourist filled Machu Picchu.

A steep, sheer, one hour rope-aided uphill clamber later, and we were atop Wanupicchu and into the clouds. We all found a perch at very (small) summit and could see nothing but mist all around. Needless to say this didn't seem to be good. Who knew if or when the clouds would lift - and we were facing a timeline - we had to see the rest of the site and make it back down the path to our afternoon train out. Magically, fantastically and dramatically, after 25 minutes or so the clouds began to melt away underneath us as the morning air warmed and the awesome site of Machu Picchu was slowly revealed hundreds of metres below. In hindsight you could not hope for a better way to first lay eyes on the site. It was breathtaking, one of our real emotional visual highlights. The birds eye vantage point makes the experience; you can see the full scale and precarious positioning of the site on its mountaintop. You find yourself continuously asking, how ? and why ?. Honestly, its hard enough for us to get there and see it now, you cannot imagine how the Incas would have gone about constructing such a marvel. Scrambling back down we joined the throngs of visitors visiting the site and getting eaten alive by invisible insects.

Our visit to Machu Picchu came to and end and we raced back down to Aguas Calientes to catch the 2pm train back towards Cusco. We also had the pleasure of travelling tourist class, one step up from backpacker class. One enjoys frills such as a glass roof vista and free sandwich.... the extras didn't stop there. After handing out the food our carriage attendants proceeded to change into costumes and perform an interpretive dance down the aisle of the train. It all went from bad to worse when it was closely followed by a full on fashion show of Alpaca wool merchandise for sale on board. A quick superman change of clothes in the toilet and then they'd strut down the aisle, twirl in the doorway space and strike a pose. Clapping and wolf whistling from fellow passengers clearly demonstrated some people were thrilled with the extra service the tourist class train provides.

We took an overnight bus down to the friendlier altitudes of Lima city and the not so friendly surrounds of the capital's bus station area where stall upon stall peddles switch blade knifes, batons, fake real looking guns and other such weaponry. Moving into the nicer old surrounds of the city centre we threw our energy into getting some good Chinese food in Lima's Chinatown and hunting around for some good ceviche.

:: Ceviche ::

As it happens Lima was all about the ceviche, a large portion of the market was dedicated to it. Specialist after specialist serve up their take on the dish to hundreds of locals. We spend a couple of days sightseeing, the highlights being the Inquisition Museum and the catacombs filled with hundreds of skulls and bones rather artfully displayed. Embarrassingly we also whiled away a few hours in Exito supermarket - it had been a while and the novelty value of being able to walk up and down aisles of fully stocked products was running high! It also had an extraordinary number of sampling stalls manned by very pushy staff that were only too delighted to hand out the latest and greatest products.

Travelling north from Lima we reached the Tumbes and the nightmare border between Peru and Ecuador. It's a tricky border due to it's layout, there is no solid immigration demarcation line between the two countries. There's a bridge and a sign that let you know you've crossed over but the official stamping of passports occurs in office locations kilometres away. People constantly make the mistake of crossing the bridge only to find out out the border officials are a outrageously priced taxi ride away. The trouble free approach is to take a cheap international bus right across the border that stops in the immigration offices along the way and takes the headache and risk out of the crossing. Even with this knowledge we were apprehensive when we were a good fifteen minutes drive inside the Ecuadorian border and we still hadn't seen an official outpost. When we did eventually got there it was an annoying experience. Only one window of potentially three was serving an enormous queue of people, processing per person was more than five minutes and during that wait time applicants were further irritated by the sight of four border guards sitting behind in the office, feet on a table reading newspapers.

Magical Bolivia

2009-01-12T22:22:00.010Z

:: Whiling away an afternoon in Villazon ::

A few hours later we reached the border town of La Quiaca to the tune of more trumpets. It seems like every town has it's own band playing the exact same piece of music. At the border we got stamped out of Argentina and crossed over to join a huge crowd waiting to get into Bolivia. As luck would have it it turned out that the throng were actually waiting to get stamped out of Bolivia so we quickly got processed. Moving our watches back an hour we entered Villazon, the Bolivian border town and immediately sensed we were in a new country. The streets were busy, colourful and the local women were dressed in their traditional frilly full skirts and bowler hats. We had hours to put in before our 3pm bus to Tupiza so we happily sat in the park watching the world go by. At 2pm we decided it might be best to double check that the clocks had definitely gone back an hour. I spotted a well dressed business man marching confidently through the square with a large watch on his forearm. To my horror he announced the correct time was just after three o'clock. We made a mad dash for our bus only to arrive to be told it was only 2pm. Just our luck I managed to pick out the only guy on the Bolivian side of the border with a watch running on Argentinian time. An hour later we finally escaped from Villazon and boarded the bus to Tupiza, almost three hours into the supposedly two hour journey we started to get concerned. We were being thrown around like rag dolls due to the bumps on the unpaved road, we were in the middle a wilderness and it was getting dark and darker. There seemed no way that we'd turn a corner and suddenly enter any kind of a substantial town. Our worries proved unfounded eventually we did turn a corner and arrived in Tupiza a surprising pretty little town. After finding accommodation we set out for some dinner and found The Alamo, a little restaurant filled to the rafters.

The rest of our time in Tupiza was spent trying to find a tour going through the national park and Salar de Uyuni. After a couple of false starts we eventually came across an agency that fitted the bill. We set off with South Africans Dom and Peta and English girl Kelly for our day jeep ride. The "Salar de Uyuni" jeep trip is one of the most worthwhile four days spent in Bolivia.

:: One of our most beautiful vistas ::

The salt plains are just one day of it, the other days are spent travelling through very different and diverse scenery, some of the best in Bolivia. Our first day from Tupiza was spent climbing through hills out onto the plateau, stopping for lunch, frisbee throwing with kids in various towns before stopping for the night in a small village. Cards ,namely the game "Benny" was played for hours nightly. The following two days the scenery changed to lagoons of various colours then to flamingo filled lagoons. For some reason as we progressed the flamingos seemed to get less anxious to flee allowing us to get close to them. One of the highlights of the trip was a dip in a thermal pool in the middle of no where - there wasn't a working shower to be seen in the four days so it was probably just as well.

:: Geysers geysering ::

The following day brought smoking volcanoes, steaming geysers and bubbling mud pools.

:: Salt Bricks maketh the Salt Hotel ::

Our final night was spent in a Salt Hotel on the edge of Salar de Uyuni. Some of the group went as far as licking the walls to confirm that it was indeed made of salt. Basically the structure was built from salt bricks, the beds, chairs and steps were all carved out of salt a thick layer of salt served as the floor. Our night's stay there was surprisingly comfortable - although it probably had something to do with the fact that it was the only night on the trip where the temperature did not plummet way below zero (we were sleeping around 4000m previously....v.vhigh & cold). We felt sorry for people coming the other way on day one of their trip.

:: Sunrise over the Salt Flats ::

Our final day was spent on the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni. It's an intense landscape, blindingly white salt as far as the eye can see and blue skies. An island populated by cacti in the centre of the Salar de Uyuni offers a good vantage point to marvel it all. After the boys whiled a couple of hours away playing frisbee it was on to the middle of the plain to take some of the customary silly photos. Early that afternoon we reached Uyuni, a total kip of town that only exists because it serves as the jumping off point for tourists to the Salar de Uyuni. We quickly bought a bus ticket for the following morning not willing to chance being stranded for another day in Uyuni.

:: Some goose playing with Dynamite ::

The next stop in Bolivia was the highest city in the world ,Potosi, once one of the largest cities in the Americas. Climbing up the steep hill into town from the bus station you could really feel the altitude. In colonial times Potosi thrived as a city when the Spanish discovered that it's mountain contained vast quantities of silver. It quickly prospered into the Spanish's main coin minting centre. To this day the mines are still excavated, although largely for nickel as the silver quantities are depleted. The mines have a dark history, it's thought that 8 million people have lost their lives. Many agencies bring tourists down the mines; it's one of the most dangerous, scariest experiences you can ever have. Dee visited them last time she was there, so it was Marcus' turn this time. Lets just say, big guy, small spaces, rickety ladders, dusty, dark and dynamite detonating. Seeing the light of day at the surface after 3 hours down the mines was a relief.

:: Potosi ::

Another worthwhile sight in Potosi is the Mint Museum. It still home to many of the impressively large minting machines that churned out Spanish coins for decades. As with every place in Bolivia, Potosi has lots of marching bands, no shortage of ice-cream vendors and lots of chicken restaurants.

And on to Sucre, it used to be the capital of Bolivia before it was moved to La Paz. Sucre is a beautiful old colonial city with impressive white buildings. We ended up staying in a hotel directly in front of the city's market - an endless source of fresh fruit, shakes, olives, cheap dinners and just about anything else you could want right on our doorstep. It was in Sucre that we experience our worst hailstorm ever. We were caught out in the rain and made it as far as the market, we were a mere metres from the entrance into our accommodation when the rain turned to hail forcing us to take cover. The hailstone were so big that they actually hurt when they hit. The only cover available was canvas umbrellas and covers over vendor's stands. At one stage the hail was coming down so hard that it looked like it might breach the canvas.

Everything in the city came to a standstill as torrents of hail fell and flooded the streets. When it finally stopped we had to make a mad dash for the bus station, the water was so deep in the streets that the shoes and socks had to come off to wade through the freezing cold storm water. Thankfully half and hour later we had our tickets in hand, shoes back on again and were standing in the rain beside a mobile pizza oven enjoying a quick dinner before we hopped on the overnight bus to La Paz.

Sitting in a big crater, La Paz is a very bizarre looking city. The centre is at the bottom and all outlying areas sit above it. We arrived early morning and wandered around the city's sights. La Paz had zebra crossings with real zebras helping people across the road... well they were people dressed up in furry zebra costumes! A novelty in any case. We stayed in the tourist area around the witches market. Frequently we were chased down the road by an old lady waving around a llama embryo and other paraphernalia that the witches sell for their spells, or for the tourist's benefit. With time limitations we were anxious to keep going and head for our last stop in Bolivia, Copacabana.

From our accommodations in La Paz we laboured up a long steep hill to the cemetery district to take a minivan to Copacabana it's a standard journey right up the point where you have to cross a lake. Passengers are encouraged to alight the minivan and take a passenger ferry across while the boat is driven onto a rickety wooden pontoon with an engine. Half an hour later all going well (the transport for the buses is seriously dodgy) bus and passengers make it across and the journey continues. Copacabana lies on the shores of Lake Titicaca, it's a touristy town, a place westerners come on their route through to La Paz and a place locals come to for pilgrimages. Good news for the town is it's full of excellent accommodation at very reasonable prices as well as lots of great restaurants.

We arrived and enthusiastically threw ourselves into the challenge of climbing the steep hill that overlooks the town. The Stations of the Cross mark the route to the top so it's an easy way to gauge how much effort you still have to make. The views down over Lake Titicaca and Copacabana are incredible. We made it up in time for a beautiful sunset. Later that night we ventured to the local market for dinner, we found a little old lady making up alpaca and potato skewers. They tasted exactly the same as Chinese skewers it was uncanny. One of the most outstanding elements of Copacabana were its sunsets. Every evening from the beach the most spectacular sunsets would be unveiled as the sun sunk below the fishing boats.

:: Stunning sunset over Lake Titicaca ::

Regretfully we opted for a day excursion to the Isla de Sol, as the legend goes it's the birthplace of the Inca civilisations. Nowadays the island seems to just try to cash in on tourists offering little in return. A manufactured trek i.e. a path from one end of the island has been constructed, you pay to enter the town in north, pay to walk along the path and then pay to come off the path and down the steps back to the boat. There's an obsession with tickets which detracts from the whole experience. A one off fee that would demonstrate a collective preservation of the island would be more ideal rather than constantly bugging visitors for more money and handing out ticket after ticket.

Bring on South America...

2008-12-15T17:37:00.011Z

:: Minor falls at Iguazu ::

:: Warning - the following post may disturb Vegetarian readers ::

Setting off for South America was like starting afresh again. Since setting out two years ago we can trace on a map our whole contiguous route over land from Dubrovnik all the way to Cairo. Flying to Argentina was our first deflection from this overland route - a necessary one, but a new beginning to another land journey. The first challenge was getting to grips with the language, the most worrying discovery was that the phase book didn't contain the phrase "medium, rare" an absolute must when ordering that happened daily in the weeks that followed.

There are two ways of getting from Buenos Aires airport to the city, the airport shuttle bus (1 hr) and the local 86 bus (2.5 hours). With time on our side we chose the latter and were treated to a very long ride through every two horse town on the way into the city. Choosing this route soon made us acutely aware of just how sprawling a capital Buenos Aires, is looking out the bus window we wondered would we ever get to the centre. When you do get to the centre the traffic is atrocious, the main bus station, business district and an unbelievably busy container port all lie in close proximity to each other creating a recipe for disaster. It can take an hour to move just a couple of kilometers.

:: Tango on our doorstep ::

We stayed in the San Telmo area, an artsy quarter with lots of funky cafes, restaurants and antique shops not far from the centre. Over the weekend the whole area came alive with street markets, music and tango dancing on the street. Despite very cold temperatures dancers braved the chill in their scanty little tango dresses - and yes it is true they do just dance in the streets in Buenos Aires. Another interesting area we visited was the gritty old Bocca barrio famous for it's multicoloured buildings and old town vibe.

:: Recoleta Cemetery ::

No trip to Buenos Aires is complete without visiting it's unusual cemetery. Some of it's famous inhabitants include Eva Peron (Evita) however the real draw is the cemetery itself. Most of the coffins are in full view in family crypts. The crypts themselves are in various states of repair, some brand new other is disrepair with ceilings crumbing down in on top of the coffins. It's a very weird place and even more wacky to know that you could technically reach through the bars and touch a coffin. It's definitely not the kind of place you want to be around when it gets dark.

:: Need say no more... ::

Meat, meat, meat is the mainstay of the Argentinian diet. Parilla restaurants are on every corner, usually with big windows full of different cuts of meat grilling away, street food consists of choripans (sausages) it's definitely a place where you struggle to eat anything else. Our main activity in Buenos Aires was rating steak and red wine restaurants and boy that was an enviable task. Writing this looking back makes my mouth water. We had some of our finest steaks, huge 500g cooked to perfection offerings. One restaurant boasted that it's steaks were so tender and well cooked that you could cut your steak with a spoon - incidentally that was La Brigada and it was one of the best steaks we've ever had. As to be expected red wine is also and area where Argentina excels. For a couple of dollars you can pick up a great one on a supermarket shelf. It's an affordable drink that naturally accompanies dinner rather than an extravagance.

From Buenos Aires we toyed with the idea of heading south towards Patagonia. Plummeting temperatures, insufficient winter clothes and past experience however steered our decision to go north towards the warmer regions. Our next hop was a ferry ride over to Uruguay and to Colonia, a picture perfect seaside town. Colonia looks like a movie set, old buildings housing smart restaurants, mossy cobbled streets, vintage cars abandoned here and there and a ruin or two thrown in for good measure. You can easily see it all walking around it for a couple of hours - or race around in a ridiculous buggy vehicle like many of the tourists did the day we were there.

:: Colonia streetscape ::

Montevideo, the capital of Uruguay was next on the itinerary. To be honest our first impressions of the place was a bit "grey and boring". Everything seemed a bit drab, mind you the search for accommodation wasn't going too well and we'd just purchased a hotdog from a street vendor complete with hair, perhaps that had something to do with our outlook. With a bed found and the sun out, the city became all the more attractive. After a bit of wandering we found the nice buildings and beautiful old square. The real charm of Montevideo lies in the area near the port. At present it's the run down largely derelict side of town but surprisingly there are streets and streets of art deco buildings. Our bets are this area will be Montevideo prime real estate of the future.

:: mmmm... lunch ::

Lunchtime means meat time... so it was off to the Mercado, a huge factory like building with a smoking chimney containing about twenty different restaurants all serving huge hunks of meat. You walk around grill after grill taking a look at what they've got - usually every conceivable part of the animal. Then you choose an establishment, sit down at a bench and tuck in.

Cities in Argentina are connected by a well serviced network of luxury buses. There's no such thing as the cheap rickety option of getting between two points, actually there's no choice, it's luxury expensive bus or no bus. Bus costs can be frighteningly high, we looked in horror at the cost of getting a few hours up the road and had to remind ourselves that the bus would not only have a soft seat but also the decadence of windows. At the start it felt like out and out flashpacking - far too swish. All the same there are a lot of unnecessary comforts that are no doubt factored significantly into the cost like hot meals and Styrofoam cups of wine.

We bussed north through Argentina to the city of Rosario its claim to fame being the birthplace of Che Guevara. From there it was on to the sleepy town of Posadas, we arrived early on a Sunday morning to find everything closed for the day. Our hotel owner an 87 year old woman pointed us in the direction of a "Tenedor Libre" (all you can eat meat joint). After Sunday lunch we took a stroll along the river front along with the entire population of Posadas along with their mugs and flasks. This naturally brings me to Yerba Mate, the drink of Argentinians and the national pasttime. Everyone and I mean everyone walks around with their own cup made from a gourd, filled to the brim with Yerba and a metal straw to suck it through. In this part of the world it's a social activity and a way of life. To us it was a bizarre and cumbersome addiction, not only do you need to carry a mug and a straw but you need an entire flask of water to keep your cup topped up for the day.

:: The falls ::

We made a big push north to get to Puerto Iguazu in time for Marcus's birthday. We arrived off a long long bus ride to a welcome wave of tropical heat. At last a chance to retire the thermals and wooly socks! Puerto Iguazu is a big tourist hub and jumping off point to Iguazu Falls which sit on the border of Argentina and Brazil. Usually towns so close to big card draws are not worth hanging around but Puerto Iguazu was an exception. The town itself has a lot of local colour one of the highlights was a market specialising in delicacies. In the evenings local people would pull up and share a selection of olives, cheeses and salamis over a cold beer. A highly civilised afternoon activity.

:: " Don't mind if I do " ::

Of course everyone is in Iguazu for one reason and one reason only - to see the magnificent Iguazu waterfalls. They do not disappoint, they are literally jawdroppingly amazing. We visited from the Argentinean side where a park of pathways designed to have minimum impact on the environment leads you to different vistas and aspects of the wide cascade of waterfalls. Iguazu Falls is a series of different waterfalls so climbing the walkways took us over and under the falls. For the thrill seeker you can take a boat ride straight under the falls - thus simulating a torrential rain shower. We found the best view was from the island close to the falls. We left the most impressive of the falls, the Devil's Mouth as the last stop of the day. To get there you take a train and walk out along a platform over a wide river several hundred metres wide. The scary thing is that the river flows innocuously not giving you any indication of the huge violent drop off around the corner. Standing watching an awesome amount of water careering over the edge of Devil's Mouth was an spectacular sight.

Sadly my Granny passed away so we found ourselves back in Ireland for her funeral. Our return flight brought us all the way back to Buenos Aires this time we didn't hang around. We stopped long enough for a steak dinner before hopping on an afternoon-overnight bus to Salta in the North of Argentina. Salta is a beautiful city with a pretty little town square, lovely old buildings and plenty of stunning scenery. We spent a day recovering from the bus journey and soaking up the relaxed atmosphere before before departing for "wild west" Humacuaca further north towards the Bolivian border.

Humacuaca is one of the quirkiest of our stops, it's a tiny picturesque town in the middle of dusty no where. Really all it's got is an old train yard, a bus station, cute cobbled streets, a grassy town square and clock tower. Picture dust, tumbleweed and the odd cactus. The clock tower is unique; at twelve o'clock daily a life size monk emerges from a cuckoo clock, makes the sign of the cross and disappears until the following day. His daily appearance is pretty much the highlight of the town. We chanced giving it a miss in favour of catching the 8am bus to the Bolivian border a few hours north. A marching band trumpeting in the street at the crack of dawn had us up early anyhow.

:: Gratuitous Steak shot ::

Egypt - Hot, Wet and Tasty

2008-11-04T00:42:00.009Z

:: Luxor ::

And onto Egypt... bring it on! We were ready to meet the very renowned worst of the world's touts, tricksters and scams artists.

Our first stop was the backpacking diving mecca of Dahab. We intended staying a few days but that quickly stretched to over a week. It was a great opportunity to get a few dives under our belts. So for our stay in Dahab we threw ourselves into a pretty rigourous diving schedule. From a recreational diving perspective Dahab and the Red Sea have some fantastic dive sites full of tropical fish and coral ranging in difficulty. All the dives are shore dives so the full geared walk to the water can be demanding. An added bonus is the affordability of the dive packages (6 dives for 100 euros) and Dahab itself is a pretty little cheap and cheerful town full of guesthouses and restaurants that suit every budget.

Dahab is famous for it's Blue Hole a "bottomless" hole revered by technical and freestyle divers. You don't have to be around Dahab for long before you hear all the stories of bodies being recovered from the bottom of the hole after technical dives have gone badly wrong with fatal results. (youtube for more - including some beautiful freediving efforts here)

We spent the early mornings diving and afternoons hanging out in Bishi Bishi guesthouse enjoying cheap beers and great food with Dave. We had a great opportunity to take a side trip and dive the Thistlegorm wreck lying off the coast of Sharm El Shiek. As wreck sites go it was a facinating dive, the World War 2 ship went down and still lies at the bottom complete of its cargo - motorbikes, motorcars, tires, boots, cannonballs etc. As Always a picture tells a 1000 words so here is a little video of someones dive on the Thistlegorm to give you a visual of how cool it is.

You can even swim through captian's quarters. It's an interesting wreck although very challenging due to currents and groups of mixed ability divers. We got a lucky day where there wern't too many boats from Sharm El Sheik so it wasn't as busy as it could have been. We took a customary two hour recovery period in Sharm El Shiek before heading back over the mountains to Dahab. It was certainly long enough to see Sharm for the horrible touristy resort it has become and everyone was delighted to get back to little-ol Dahab. After saying goodbye to our diving buddy Dave we decided it was time to hit the road again.

:: Dave vs Hookah ::

The next stop was Suez which turned out to be a lot more hassle than it was worth. Arriving in the late afternoon we had enormously difficulty finding a bed for the night. Every single hotel was full to capacity. By the time we found the very last room in the city it was too dark to go and see the Suez canal up close - we saw the ships gliding through the desert from afar. We departed the following morning early in an attempt to get to Luxor in daylight hours. Getting from Suez to Luxor was a huge challenge, we managed to find a bus going to a place 30 km from Luxor. We arrived and found the terminus where minivans left every hour or so for Luxor. The drivers agreed to take us but only if we paid three times the fare. Their reason being that we'd (tourists) would just be hassle going through the checkpoints. The scene turned nasty and the men got openly hostile and changed their stance to point blank refusing to take us anywhere. Cue tears from me (half staged, half genuine!) followed by Marcus addressing the crowd saying "are you all happy now, you've made my wife cry?". After lots of guilty looks and shuffling around they finally agreed to take us. There was a stage pretears where we thought we'd be stuck there indefinitely. As it happens there was zero hassle at any of the checkpoints and an hour or so later we were dropped on the outskirts of Luxor.

:: Luxor Temple ::

Luxor is hassle, hassle, hassle. The taxis, the shopkeepers and the horse and cart men constantly tout their business and aggresively follow you around waiting for you to finally give in and hand your money over. We found the key to an easy life was to get on a bike, the lesson is only the walkers get solicitated. So luckily we saw the whole of Luxor unhassled, in 47 degree heat, on a couple of rickity rented bikes. On one very long hot day we set out for the Valley of the Kings, as we neared the entrance gates the security guards cheered us on. We were definitely the novelty of the day, most of the tourists were in big airconditioned coaches. We'd a great day panting around the ancient tombs. Most of the time we had the tombs to ourselves but where we didn't it was ok as we mostly overlapped with Russian tour groups, they tend to visit things at such a rate that they create a breeze that benefits everyone else.

:: Luxor ::

Our final stop was the capital, Cairo, a city not half as hectic as we expected. Taking it's chaotic traffic out of the equation, Cairo is a very civilised city with a fantastic vibe. It ticked all the boxes for us, fantastic food, interesting streets, old buildings and lots of different diverse areas. We found a great room with a balcony overlooking a quiet street right in the centre of the city and settled in very quickly. Everything was on our doorstep including the amazing Egyptian museum - well worth the visit to see the treasures of the country and of course the infamous gold mask of King Tut.

:: Muslim area in Cairo ::

Our trip to the pyramids didn't quite pan out as expected. We decided to go in the afternoon, hoping to avoid the tour groups. When we got there the place was desserted save for a handful of tourists. A further surprise was that we were only offered two camel rides and one postcard. Declination was met with respect and no further bothering - to our utter amazement/disappointment. We found ourselves asking "aren't these guys supposed to be the most hardnosed touts on the planet? Why aren't they hassling us? What's wrong with our money?". So our experience of the Pyramids was a tranquil one, no hassle, no crowds we wandered around the site, watched the sunset and practically closed to the place down. A very memorable afternoon.

:: Simply Stunning::

From there our next stop was Dublin for Katherine and Niall's wedding, another welcome break from the road to a soft bed and fridge full of unusual things such as cheddar cheese and rashers!

Our time in Ireland coincided with two sad family deaths. My Aunty Mary, herself a well travelled person and avid reader of our blog, sadly passed away after a long illness. A few short weeks later my Granny also died after reaching the remarkable age of 95 years. Losing these two people fundamental in my family's life was a reminder of how important it is to make the most of the time we've got in this world. For us, this translates into completing what we started - seeing our trip through to the end and enjoying the opportunity that we've been given.

Jordanian um....well.. read it and see

2008-11-04T00:25:00.007Z

:: Wow - Petra made it all worth it ::

::Rant Ahead - be warned::
What goes up must come down; after an amazing time in Syria we slipped over the border into Jordan and into what turned out to be our least favourite country in all our travels. I'll start by stressing that the things that irked us most were typical "independent traveller" gripes and also bad experiences that were specific to us. We were rubbed up the wrong way once too many times and our tolerance to see the country though properly, quickly waned, so we made the decision to power through the must-sees and out of Jordan as quick as possible. Admittedly this meant we did a whistlestop fly-through bouyant on negativity and didn't leave Jordan or Jordians much room for redemption. That being said we've covered a lot of ground over the past two years, always unearthing the good in places and we class ourselves as people who are easy to please. Disappointingly, this demonstates to us that our gripes weren't totally futile and unfounded.

High on the list of annoyances was the rip-off attitude towards tourists. We've experienced this in some shape or form in every place we've ever visited. When it comes to a premium Magnum icecream, teeshirt, Diet Coke, or a chilled bottle of water at the gate of the Taj Mahal, inflated prices can be tolerated, in fact they're expected. For basic items necessary to survive such as bread and water, bought far from the gates of a tourist attractions, there can be no such mandate. The difference in Jordan was that it was done in the absolute extreme. The price of a bottle of water (necessary to fend off dehydration in 40 degree plus heat) could differ by as much as two US dollars between shops for the same bottle. It was a constant battle to find water that wasn't being sold at tourist inflated extortionist prices. We went into a busy bakery one morning where locals were in buying huge bags of bread. The price for 10 rolls for them turned out to be the price quoted to us for one roll. When challenged the owner simply indicated that "You´re not Jordanian". It would have been cheaper for us to eat in a restaurant. Exasperated it was on to a small restaurant for a takeaway falafel, no prices on the menu, when we asked no one was quite sure what the price was (please note this was there core business) eventually a pathetically scanty falafel appeared. It was so ridiculous it was funny. We normally don't eat in white table cloth touristy restaurants preferring instead to eat where ever locals are. In Jordan we quickly began to realise that if you wanted to experience the real Jordan, away from the bus tours and pizza restaurants then it was an uphill battle the whole way.

Getting around Jordan proved to be just as annoying. Arriving to take a bus without a prebooked ticket from an agency or hotel was frowned upon, someone somewhere had lost out on commission. We got a bus early one morning only to be told that as we hadn't booked seats we might be thrown off. That's fair enough only the buses were far from full. Lots of locals turned up to take the same service. Getting the honest price on a bus ticket was another barrel of laughs, nobody knew the proper price of a ticket, not a local, not a hotel, not the tourist office, it was a lucky dip.

So our limited dealings with Jordians were fraught and met with out and out rudeness. Everyone was quick on the defensive, moaned about how hard life was and generally came across as a nation coping with a miserable lot. Blatent bitching and moaning about people, or things or prices of this and that, left most travellers we spent time around with a gutful of the whingers. It was at that point we decided we'd had enough. Our efforts to get along and enjoy the country were getting nowhere fast and we were only getting more and more disillusioned and annoyed.

: The Monastery ::

On a positive side we were absolutely blown away by Petra. As you walk through the long narrow canyon leading up to the Treasury builing you think you're fully prepared to see the famous sight, the first glimpse you catch however total exceeds expectations. The highlight of a long hot day at Petra was without a doubt climbing up to the monastery which magestically stands on the top of a hill.

:: The Monastery ::

Amusingly around Petra there's a collective whistling or humming of the Indiana Jones theme song. At one stage we heard the theme song being belted out enthuasistically only to round the corner to the site of a family coming the other way on mules. Thoroughly enjoying the moment was the dad leading the troupe, hat in hand, singing away.... on a small mule, his feet were inches from dragging through the sand. The mule was slowly meandering it's way along the road oblivous to his oversized riders ambitions or reinacting the final scene of the "Lost Chalice" movie.

:: First Sight ::

Our next stop was a night in the desert at Wadi rum. After picking our tent for the night we set off on a long 15km walk across the hot desert sands towards a rock that loomed on the horizon. Arriving before the midday heat struck we decided to take a nap in a shady canyon before starting the return journey. We got comfortable at the canyon and ended up staying there all day watching other tourist groups coming and going. In fact at one point I woke from a snooze to the scary sight of a couple of cameras in my face - Japanese tourists. One thing we learnt that day was how hard it is to gauge distances in the desert. You see a something in the distance and set off for it but it can take hours to actually reach it. As dusk was falling we finally made it back to our little tent. A good day out in the desert but after dragging ourselves through heavy sand all day we were glad to get back to the tarmacked road.

:: Desert Sands ::

The final port of call in Jordan was the seaside city of Aquba, arriving one day before a big holiday we found that everywhere had a room available but for one night only. Easy decision made to spend a night, take a look around and catch a morning ferry across to Egypt. Aquba turned out to be fairly unremarkable, a standard touristy town full of tacky souvenir shops and restaurants. It's beach was a little strange, the entire strip was one empty drinks restaurant after another all covered their frontage in tables and chairs, there wasn't an inch of sand to be seen. Even weirder was the awning that covered the whole beach. Whatever concept was in play just didn't work, as the tide came in tables and chairs kind of floated unattractively in murky water.

:: Sea View ? ::

The following morning we set off for the port to catch the ferry to Egypt. Generally the word on the street was to get to the ferry terminal 2 hours in advance of a departure. We arrived for our 10am departure an hour and a half in advance - no thanks to our bus overshooting the drop off point and only grinding to a halt and throwing us out on the highway after we pointed questioningly back a few large ferries we'd zoomed past. Panting up to the window Marcus asked for two tickets to Egypt, the seller reponded by wagging his finger in a schoolmaster fashion and tapping his watch three times before generally ignoring him. Marcus tapped the window and said "Can you sell me a ticket the ferry doesn't leave for one and a half hours?" the guy shrugged noncommitedly. After a lot of pointless to-ing and fro-ing the ticket man decided he'd made enough of a scene and finally backed down on the ferry company's intolerance for tardiness in the punctuality department. Ironically the boat departed two hours late. There is a point to making people turn up two hours before departure - a total chaotic system exists to check in, get stamped out of Jordan, buy a stamp for this, get a receipt for that and finally pay for everything at the other end of the building. We didn't even get to experience the full fiasco, when we got to the gate of the ferry there was a large crowd (on dry land) pushing forward to the boarding gate in a frantic queue - it was as if there was a ship sinking and there weren't enough lifeboats. An uniformed guy with a large gun spotted us looking on bewilderment at the scene and motioned us forward and through the boarding gate. During the two hour delay, five hour crossing and three hour wait for them to open the doors and release us onto dry land we had plenty of time to make friends with Dave, a fellow bewildered passenger with who we kicked on and had some great adventures with...in the next episode.

Syrian Hospitality

2008-10-07T22:29:00.003Z

:: Hammam Rooftops let light filter in... (aka Daleks - exterminate !) ::

It´s worth mentioning that we had our very best Tavuk Doner in the Turkish border city of Antakya, it was a fortuitous find more driven by a desire to get rid of the last of our Turkish Lira than anything else. A man in a small unassuming shop was fastidiously creating what can only be described as culinary masterpieces. To confirm their greatness we had to have another one or two ... just to be sure. Filled to the brim it was on to Aleppo in Syria via an ever complicated and convoluted border process. As one of few tourists on the bus crossing the border we were afforded extra attention by the bus driver - which is just as well because if we had had to figure out all the steps we´d have been there all day. We were rounded up and brought into an office where an official told us how much our visa would be in US dollars. From there we had to produce the US dollars, go to the bank where the US dollars were exchanged into Syrian pounds. Then it was round the back to a smokey office where we handed over the Syrian pounds and were given about ten little stamps in return. On to the next desk were the gluer sat and pasted the stamp collection into our passports. Finally when the page had dried out it was back to the first desk for approval before the passports were thrown into a black hole to be stamped. The bus driver returned the passports to us and it was back on the bus for a couple of minutes before been kicked off to connect with a rickity minibus on to the city of Aleppo.

:: Market Berry Stalls ::

I´ll start by saying we had zero expectations of Syria, on the overland journey to Egypt it was one of those countries that we just had to pass through. We left there very impressed, so much so that we rank it as one of the very best countries we have ever visited. The people are exceptionally friendly and genuine. Walking down streets people actively say "Hello, welcome to Syria". Moreover everyone is happy, the whole nation walks around with a smile on their face. The food is excellent, Syria produces an abundant range of foods, markets on the streets are overflowing with top class produce. We were amazed big juicy fruits cherries, blackberries, olives, tomatoes etc. As we walked through the markets vendors called out to us giving us huge samples to taste. It actually took us a couple of days to get used to everyone being so friendly. Cost wise Syria is one of the most affordable countries we´ve travelled through. In other words you can live it up without breaking the bank. And that´s exactly what we did! When a kilo of olives are a couple of dollars and cherries, peaches and blackberries are in season it´s hard to resist. The French influence is evident in the number of bakeries scattered around the cities churning out fresh baguettes, croissants and tasty pan au chocolat. Then there are the restaurants, Allepo had streets of lovely little kebab places with huge grills in the window. If you go to Syria go with a healthy appetite. We spent a couple of days in Aleppo, primarily eating, in between meal times we explored the huge ancient souks, ventured up to the citadel and pottered around the Christian Quarter. Our guesthouse owner patiently taught us our Arabic numbers and a couple of useful phrases to help us on our way.

:: Sunlight in the Souk ::

Our next stop was the city of Hama a few hours south of Aleppo.

:: The Wheels themselves ::

Hama is famous for it´s huge groaning Noriahs - massive wooden waterwheels. After taking in a few noisy revolutions it was off to find something to eat. A long search threw up the usual very average Lonely Planet restaurant, a longer search off the main drag revealed a small felafel shop manned by a few kids. We´re pretty sure there were adults somewhere but anytime we went there over the following days (note umpteen times) it was the same kids. The kids were about ten years old and couldn´t actually see out over the high counter. Out front another kid whipped up fresh felafels at a large industrial frying vat. After a felafel order went in there was lots of laughing and free samples were thrust upon us. I´m not sure who enjoyed the whole experience more, them or us. Suffice to say the felafels were amazing and from then on a felafel without some lemon in it was a substandard take on the ubiquitous snack.

:: Crac de Chevailiers ::

On an action packed day trip we took in Crac de Chevaliers, an imposing medieval castle build during the Crusades. I say action packed because we were only as far as the bus station and patiently waiting for our minibus to fill up when a fracas broke out between locals, projectiles were thrown and people whacked over the head with sticks. Good entertainment to break the boredom when you´re waiting for more passengers. No minibus even contemplates leaving until there´s a bum on every seat. After an hours wait the bus was almost full and luckily for us the final passenger to arrive had two massive sacks of weeds that more than filled two seats. A steep uphill walk (it´s atop a 650 metre high hill) brought us to the entrance of Crac de Chevalier. The fortress itself is very well preserved so almost every inch of it can be explored. One of the highlights is walking around the ramparts - slightly scary the day we were there due to unpredictable strong gusts of wind.

:: Palmyra ::

From there it was on to dusty Palmyra an oasis in the middle of the desert. In the first century a magnificent city (Tadmore) existed here on the main caravan route linking Persia and the Mediterranean. The ruins of this city and the scale are awesome. The nearby modern city of Palmyra leaves a lot to be desired. It survives purely on tourism so a healthy "chasing the dollar" mentality exists there. In low season you can smell the desperation. After a day spent wandering around the ruins we settled for a shockingly bad take on a popular bedouin dish, dusted ourselves off and headed for the capital Damascus.

:: Palmyra ::

Damascus has it all. It´s a beautiful old city with a conveniently compact scale which makes it easy to navigate. It´s one of the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, when you wander down the narrow laneways and through the ancient souks you can´t help but think of all the people have lived and worked for centuries in the self same streets. The souks are packed with little shops and restaurants. Damascans are passionate about their icecream, in fact there was one outlet where the queue was out the door and a slick team of workers literally couldn´t scoop out icecream quick enough. Had to be sampled of course, the rule is if there´s a queue there´s a good reason. Our other food highlight was roast chicken. We found a little restaurant that was jammed to the rafters full of people eating a half chicken, bread, gherkins and little serve of strong mayonaise. A serious number chickens were served every day.

:: Ice Cream Anyone ?::

Istanbul to the Coast (with plenty of Tavuk Doners in between)

2008-08-27T16:47:00.008Z

:: The Magnificent Hagia Sophia ::

After being prisoner on the train for three days we welcomed two days of marching around Istanbul´s many sights. We really enjoyed our time in Istanbul - a great choice of food , beautiful buildings to visit and the European nature of the city made for a busy few days. Back to the world of fantastic vegetables, alcoholic beer and wardrobe freedom. The big ticket items such the Blue Mosque, Haga Sofia and the Grand Bazaar certainly didn´t disappoint. One thing that did irk me about the Blue Mosque was that there were signs up requesting women to kindly cover their heads whilst in the mosque. Headscarves were provided and all visitors had them going in the door but most never covered the heads, instead the scarves were draped over shoulders as if it were a fashion accessory. To my mind people blatantly disregarding a simple request to cover their head is totally disrespectful to the Muslim congregation particularly the women, that gather daily in the mosque. It certainly doesn´t cast a favourable light on tourists if we can´t alter our behaviour, respect a request that isn´t enforced, and cover up for a couple of minutes.

Our visit to Istanbul coincided with Ataturk´s (founder and first president of the Turkish Republic) birthday celebrations which included a big open air concert and the city´s museum doors being thrown open for the day. Throes of Istanbul came out on the streets to celebrate, all the little boys were dressed up in Ottoman/Sultan white outfits with a huge plum in their hats. One lasting impression we got of Istanbul was the great festive, outdoor lifestyle that revolves around food. In untouristy neighbourhoods the streets are lined with enticing restaurant tables full of the locals enjoying the evening sunshine.

:: The Blue Mosque at night ::

Moving south we caught a night bus to the southern city of Selcuk. Unfortunately we picked a night where everyone else was at bus stations all over the country. We figured that families must have been sending their sons off to the army, whatever it was, the scene at every bus station we pulled into was the same. Thousands of relatives, men, women, children emotionally cheering and crying at the same time, singing songs, shouting slogans and even giving each other the bumps. Our bus crawled through these going away celebration scenes. We reached the cute flower abundant town of Selcuk the following morning. It such a quiet place that when you use the pedestrian crossing it´s usually a couple of farmers on tractors that stop and wave to let you across.

:: Poppies at Ephesus ::

Our main reason for coming to Selcuk was to see the stunning Roman ruins of Ephesus - the well preserved ancient city nearby. Once home to 250,000 people at it´s zenith it has been restored to a degree that you can clearly picture how magnificent it was in it´s heyday. In spite of all obligatory tour buses that arrive on mass carrying lobster coloured bikini-ed tourists it´s still a hot spot that´s well worth the look. The other, more interesting tourist, that comes here are the Koreans and Japanese. You can´t help but admire how nimble they all regardless of age. They´re also up for a laugh. In Ephesus they were the one group who sat in a line on the ancient public toilets and had a good laugh about it. Later in the ampitheartre a couple of them didn´t hesitate in belting out an opera song to test out the acoustics - to the appalause of other tourists.

Over the past few months we´ve been passing through low cost countries and have been used to our money stretching a long way. Turkey is a bit of a shock after the easy ride, prices hover at Western European highs so we found ourselves having to adjust our tolerance. The first big change was having to move back into the dreaded dorm accommodation. We hadn´t stayed in a dorm in well over a year and we´d got very used to having our own personal space and in most cases en suite facilities. To go back to dorms is to go back to the life of rustling plastic bags at 6am in the morning, having to super secure everything and put up with other people´s hygiene problems.

:: View to the Library ::

The next leg of our journey threw us into the gauntlet of backpacking through package holiday territory. On our first foray we hit was the seaside town of Bodrum just a few weeks before it got completely slammed for the high season. Bodrum and nearby Gumbet have expanded so much recently that the two towns have been joined by the sprawl of resorts that have been developed. It was a total eyeopener after some of the isolated spots we've been in recently. Bodrum and Gumbet exist solely for the package tourist (we knew that so it was no surprise) but so much so that no local town exists anymore. Almost every restaurant menu has the exact same "chips and eggs" fare and all have a blackboard outside proclaiming "The BEST all day, all you can eat English breakfast (including REAL pork bangers)" obviously one can distinguish the more upmarket restaurants if the blackboard print ran on say "REAL HP sauce and Tetley's teabags" or "English Chef". Bodrum is all very well and good if you're coming on a two week holiday to watch sport, drink beer and eat homely food guaranteed not to make you ill. For us it was a nightmare, all the local touts spoke with an English accent and persistently badgered us about how our holiday was and had we gone jet skiing or taken a boat trip etc. etc. One of the things we were most looking forward to was a swim in the sea with the luxury for not offending anyone by our western "skimpy" attire. That was dashed once we saw the teeny tiny strip of stones interspersed with sand lapped by stagnant looking pond water. Even in low season there wasn't much space between all the large 60+ topless women and speedoed men barbecuing themselves on the beach - they certainly made our "skimpy" board shorts and a two part bikini seem completely overdressed.

:: Mamas stuffed peppers @ Hotel Kalendar ::

Anyhow no matter how daunting a place is we've always managed to find a path through and this was no exception. We found a little gem of a place to stay a bit outside all the touristy mayhem called Kalendar Hostel, with it's whitewashed walls, enticing pool and spectacular breakfast terrace, it was a haven away from all the hustle and bustle of the resorts. The locating of a small local tavuk doner outfit around the corner was the cherry on the cake. For the rest of our stay there we pretended that package holidays didn't exist - well of course that was until the Heineken Rugby Cup final when we made an exception and dropped into one of the many Irish bars!

The next touristy stop was the town of Feithye and from the outset things were on the up. Feithye is more a living town and caters to the upper end of the market when it comes to tourism. Restaurants here are expensive but thankfully bravely risk giving people the option to taste some real Turkish food. Along with some resorts Feithye has a healthy peppering of small family run hotels. Our accommodation search here proved very interesting. We visited a couple of almost full popular hostels and saw very average dorm beds in 8 bed dorm rooms, then on chance stuck out head into a small pension (literally a few doors up the street) to find it was cheaper to have our own room, with balcony, en suite and the best view in town than it was to stay with six other randomers in a smelly dorm room. The owner was delighted to have our business and gave us the best room in the house. Forgot to mention our place also had our own pool, which ended up being just for our use, coincidentally there was a boutique hotel/apartment next door charging top dollar for the same facilities we had. Even better to loll around and peek over the wall in true keeping up with the Jones' fashion.

:: Sunset Views ::

After walking around the town, checking out all the yachts the next almost compulsory thing to do is to venture out on a "12 island tour". Once you get to Feithye agents and touts practically herd you onto one of these trips. We found the best time to buy tickets was about five minutes before ten am when the boats are all pulling out of the dock and are desperate for another bum on a seat. The price drops dramatically. There are tens of operators all offering the same tour and comforts so it was hard to decide on which one .... that was until we came across the water slide boat. On the top of the boat there was an enclosed water slide chute that ran through the length of the boat's interior and spat sliders out into the sea port side a couple of seconds later. On sheer novelty value it won. So the rest of the day was spent pulling into little coves, the captain would announce the water slide was open and happy holiday makers would fling themselves down the scarily steep chute into pitch darkness.

The day pretty much revolved around the slide, crowds would watch someone disappear into the shoot and lean out to see them plunge out the pipe. Around late afternoon everyone was sun burnt, sick of counting islands and nursing a few bruises from unorthodox descents of the slide. Instead of heading back to base the tour squeezed in an unnecessary disastrous stop - an opportunity to visit an island with a mud pool. Our fellow passengers fell into the category of tourists who live life to the max. They didn't need to be asked twice, they were down the chute quick smart and wading out to the island to explore the mud pool. Somewhere between the chute and the shore someone erroneously dropped the word "medicinal" into a sentence with the word mud pool - probably talking about another holiday destination. Cue a crowd wallowing in 2 ft deep mud (think flowerbed variety) and lathering it all over their limbs as a cure all. The resulting spectacle was hilarious, the more enthusiastic were coated hairline to toe in the mud, after a couple of minutes out in the sun the mud dried and stiffened immobilising them completely. They staggered back to the water's edge like Zombies. Others quickly realised, as they frantically scrubbed themselves in the sea, that it was extremely difficult to get the mud off. Best efforts still left people with a white coat streaked on their skin. Numerous bikinis were ruined and the talk on the way back to shore turned to whether vanish would get it all out. Entertaining to say the least.

We attempted a day trip over to Oludeniz, it was scaled back to a two hour excursion, package holiday horrors and an overrated muddy lagoon didn't really do it for us so we escaped back to Feithye. All in all it ended up being a hard place to leave, we got used to rustling up evening picnics from Carrefour on our balcony, savouring our view and debating whether it could get any better or was this.

An unbelievably it did... we moved on to Kas, a tiny little town perched on rocks by the sea. We couldn't recommend Kas enough to anyone passing this way. Large scale tourism has not arrived here (yet) the little town has lots of small pensions and hotels, many many beautiful candlelit restaurants and smart characterful bars but it lacks the tackiness of other touristy places in Turkey. It's the kind of place where you don't mind sunbathing on stony rocks and jumping off a ladder for a swim. It's quiet, classy, romantic and truly beautiful. An added bonus for us was a terrace and bbq on the roof of our pension. Marcus, anxious not to get rusty on his barbie skills, cooked up a storm over the nights we were there. The view, the food, the atmosphere was just perfect. Put it on a to visit list for the future.

:: Just like riding a bike ... ::

Our experience of the coastline of Turkey got better with every stop along the way (so far) .For the record Kas was the pinnacle from then on it went downhill.

Olympos was our next port of call - a popular backpacker hangout - is its billing. We hear faint alarm bells when we head to these places, and this didnt really prove us wrong. From the backpacker only overpriced local bus connection, to the wooden cabin accomodation (reminicent of Thai Beach shanty towns), full board only option and beach admission charge it ticked quite a few of our "leave on the next bus" triggers. We gave it a go; sat down for our meal at the planned time and explored the ruins beachside, and then promptly ran out of things to do and left the next morning.

:: Balloons at Dawn ::

Cappadocia is a highlight of Turkey. Stepping off the bus just after dawn we were welcomed to Goreme by at least 20 hot air balloons bobbing over the incredible landscapes. Its big business here and a great place to try the fun of ballooning.
Our days were spent exploring the valleys surrounding the town. We did all of this on foot , taking our time to enjoy the peaceful surroundings, exploring fairy chimney houses and viewpoints. From Goreme we set sail for Aleppo in Syria.....one of our favourite countries, so stay tuned for our next installment.

:: Goreme Sunset View ::

Our Time in Iran

2008-08-27T14:49:00.011Z

:: Regretfully, for various reasons, we have been tardy with our blog posting recently. Here is the next installment and we will keep the updates flowing asap. We appreciate your patience and support. ::

:: The Colours of Iran ::

Travelling through Pakistan it was considered respectful for female tourists to dress modestly so as not to offend anyone i.e. to wear long trousers and loose clothing. Once you cross the Iranian border you are actually legally obliged to follow their rigid dress code. The letter of Islamic law says that "all females aged nine or older must wear Hijab (modest dress) in the actual or potential sight of any man who isn't a close relative. All parts of the body except hands, feet and the face above the neckline and below the hairline should be covered and the shape of the body must be disguised" In contrast to the colourful woman of Pakistan the majority of Iranian women wear black. The older women wear long chadors which are cloak like garments clutched around them. As a tourists you can skirt the law by wearing a long loose top that covers your bum and arms and basically keeping a headscarf glued to your head. As the dress code is the law you have to cover up everywhere - even in guesthouses going out to use the communal washrooms. As little as a few years ago the rules were more relaxed with women dispensing of the headscarf completely, however with the recent election of hardliners to the parliament Iran as become even more conservative. Women actually fear getting arrested and a huge police presence on the street keeps the dress code enforced. As for the men.... unsurprisingly there are zero restrictions there. All the males wear extremely snug fitting tee shirts and tight jeans with a low slung cut that sweeps below the Calvin Klein label of their boxers shorts. Dangerously pointy shoes, particularly of the brown variety are all the rage here at the moment.

:: Takyeh Amir Chakhmagh ::

After a well deserved snooze we were starting to get over the trauma of the journey across into Iran. Certainly pulling back the bedroom curtains and being rewarded with magnificent view out over the Takyeh Amir Chakhmagh helped. Yazd draws travellers with its ancient old town. built in mud with cooling towers dotting the skyline. Its history can be traced back more than 3000 years and it claims to have second oldest architecture in the World. The little covered streets wind around in a labyrinth fashion, although much of it is under repair a large portion continues to be operated by shopkeepers of the bazaar. One impressive feature of the mud walled town is their use of wind towers (badgirs) that are designed to catch the smallest breeze and circulate wind into the mud houses below providing efficient and effective ventilation.

:: Cooling Towers in Yazd ::

One of Iran's most beautiful mosques the Jameh Mosque was so worthwhile a stop that we found ourselves going back for a second and third look. What makes this building unique is it's mosaics that fill symmetrical alcoves that look like they have been "scooped" out of ceiling with a big spoon.

:: Dawn at Jameh Mosque ::

After coming from Pakistan and India, one of the first notable differences about Iran is wide tree line boulevards, the lack of motorbikes and the luxury of footpaths. Feeding time brings the next difference, finding somewhere to eat in Iran is always a challenge. There are restaurants in the tourist hotels but we normally steer clear of these looking for more authentic experiences. This leaves us with eateries selling processed burgers and hotdogs where hygiene leaves a lot to be desired (you can always tell alot when you watch a shop open in the morning -turning on the fridges, soft-serve ice cream machines etc makes you worry) . It's probably been the first place where we've been concerned about getting seriously ill from restaurant food. (Mind you we had a couple of great Camel burgers in Yazd) Every town has a couple of proper more upmarket restaurants but there is never any customers eating there so there´s almost an elevated risk of getting sick in these outlets. If you're lucky you might find a kebab restaurant that specialises in kebabs - we always kept looking until we unearthed one of these and shish kebab, tomato, onion, yogurt and bread quickly became our diet for the rest of our time in Iran. Besides a small amount of tomato and onion we didn't see any other vegetables in Iran. Like India and Pakistan people eat with their hands, although oddly enough it's not taboo to eat with your left hand. For us, after spending months negotiating a plate of food with one hand it seemed a little uncouth to dig right in with both paws.

:: Luckily we love kebabs ...! ::

Out and about the people are extremely friendly. The lift we got on arrival was nothing out of the ordinary in fact constantly people stopped us and asked could they help us and welcomed us to Iran. A new country brings new things - shops selling huge cones of sugar, little bakeries churning out thousands of lavash bread to a crush of locals acting like there's a bread shortage. All the convenience stores stock an astoundingly wide range of alcohol free beer flavoured strawberry, peach, lemon etc. imported Tuborg and even Baltica 0 from Russia. Shop upon shop selling material for women's clothing. These shops were particularly strange as they had hundreds of rolls of different patterned material but it was all in the colour black so almost impossible to discern one swatch from another. On the other end of the scale were the shops selling the "round the house" wear for women, basically a collection of the raciest most ridiculous range of see through all-in-one outfits and PVC high heeled shoes (these shops are always busy).

One of the most annoying aspects of Iran is the money, the official unit of currency is the Rial, all notes are in thousand denominations Rials but prices more often than not quoted in Toman which is 10 Rials. This leads to a price check on every purchase to figure out which is being used. Iran is out in the cold when it comes to International banking so it's a cash economy when it comes to a tourist passing through (Bring in as much as you will need). Surprisingly enough considering there is no support for international credit cards or banking it' can be difficult to find money changers.

Our next stop was the city of Shiraz, once home to the grapes that make the wine - now sadly quite the opposite. Being the only independent tourists getting off the bus, the drivers manning the taxi rank almost wet themselves with excitement then looked on in disbelief as we began walking towards the centre of town. Obviously it's not walked (1km) that often. In contrast to Yazd, Shiraz is a modern city with huge gardens, an affluent feel and relaxed atmosphere. One of its main draw cards to this area is to visit the ancient Roman city of Persepolis built in 500 BC. Much of the city has been restored so it's not hard to imagine how magnificent it once was when Darius the Great built it.

:: The Gate of All Nations - Persepolis ::

Again trying to chase down something to eat in Shiraz was an exercise. The healthiest most appetising meal we managed to find in the evenings was a rotisserie chicken. Lunch was a felafel - although you had to catch them early before their stocks were cleaned out. The locals feast on a weird frozen substance that looks like ice cream in the form of supernoodles. It´s got a very odd texture and melts in your mouth. Personally I found it a little unsettling as it was impossible to define what it actually was we were eating.

As far as transportation goes, Iran has superb roads and lots of luxury coaches running between major cities. Typically on arrival at a bus station we were accosted by touts trying to drag us to their bus company. They have you believe that company´s bus is the next one scheduled to depart however a quick check around the other companies usually proves different. Once you purchase a ticket you´re given a computer printout clearly indicating your designated seat number. From this point on one would think the process would be relatively simple but the Iranian bus attendants are experts at making it more complicated. Tickets are double and triple checked against a printed passenger manifest. You would swear they were running an airline. Invariably there always seems to be a discrepancy between the number of passengers on the bus and what the all important piece of paper says. This has to be worried out and resolved before the wheels can be set in motion.

:: Esfahan ::

Our next stop in Iran was the riverside city of Esfahan. This is a popular stop for tourists, accommodation wise it´s one of those places that has been completely Lonely Planetised. It´s almost impossible to find budget accommodation in the downtown area and rundown listed hotels are charging almost double the quoted price in guidebooks. Aside from that drawback the city is truly is the most beautiful place we visited in Iran. Multiple picturesque bridges span across a wide river, many of the bridges are home to small teahouses. The locals lounge around in the parks and in the teahouses watching water fountains and enjoying huge ice creams. One of the standout elements of Esfahan is how hip and trendy all the young inhabitants are. (Influenced by a large student population) The women dress colourfully here and wear their headscarves daringly far back on their head so that they can display a gigantic (often multicoloured) quiff. As witnessed elsewhere in Iran the women all wear white gold rings containing a serious amount of tiny diamonds. It´s not unusual to come across a group of ladies dressed from head to toe in black elbowing each other to get a look into the jewellers window.

:: Sneaky Shot ::

The architectural highlight of Esfahan and probably the whole of Iran was the Imam Shah Mosque. Its glorious mosaic tiles, superb symmetry and tranquil flow captured us for hours of peaceful wandering.

:: Imam Mosque - Esfahan ::

Our last stop was the capital Tehran. We spent two days there before catching a supposed two and a half day train to Istanbul in Turkey. Tehran is a sprawling city so it´s impossible to get a clear picture of what kind of place it is. We stayed in the tourist area which also doubled as the car upholstery area of the city. For every hotel there were twenty car accessory shops. Again we had huge problems finding interesting food. To make matters worse we were trying to piece together a picnic breakfast, dinner and lunch for two days on the train, with no supermarkets around, all the purchases had to be made from small corner shops with limited goods. Armed with flat breads, tomatoes, onion, bananas, a jar of gherkins and a squeezy container of honey we headed for the train station. It was the final stretch, one we got to Istanbul we knew we were back to a varied rich diet.

The train to Istanbul turned out to be a journey of epic proportions. The estimated 2968km long journey time of two and a half days was way off. We left Tehran an hour late and continued to fall more and more behind schedule from that point onwards. The border stops were a disaster, at the Iranian border all the passports (a couple of hundred) were collected to be stamped and then the police attempted the long process of a bulk return standing a few steps up a flight of stairs and calling out the names one by one. A totally unnecessary push and shove element was introduced into the Iranian border exit process as the crowd clamored to hear their name being announced and struggled to get to the stairs.

Once we were stamped out of Iran we started to see a very dramatic change in the women. The brave ones began slipping off the headscarf in an accidental fashion, almost as if they hadn´t realised it was gone. An Iranian woman who had lived in the US for years explained to me that most women wouldn´t dare take it off completely until we were safely inside the Turkish border for fear of arrest. She said Tehran airport is very amusing, the minute women clear immigration, and are therefore technically out of Iran, they whip of the hijab (before calling for beers once on board the flights). She was right, as we moved inside Turkish borders we didn´t recognise any of the females on the train . All the drab clothing was replaced by tight fitting tops, jeans and shovel loads of makeup. It may sound really strange but it was really weird to see women with hair and flattering hairstyles. Everyone looked about ten years younger and so much happier, you could suddenly see individuals instead of the drab sameness their previous attire precipitated.

:: Dawn over Lake Van ::

After crossing into Turkey we travelled into the night as far as the shores of Lake Van. The train tracks ran the whole way right into a waiting ferry - although only one baggage car actually goes across in the ferry. We disembarked and found comfortable seats for the two hour journey across the lake. Five hours later we were still sitting docked and when we did get going the journey time lengthened to four hours. Funnily enough nobody seemed perturbed at all the delays it was just one of those journeys where you expected to arrive a day late. The following morning we docked at the other side of Lake Van but the ferry operators wouldn´t let us off the boat so we were cooped up watching another two hours of delays unfold. When we finally stepped onto dry land, an empty train platform, we waited for another hour for our train to Istanbul to arrive.

:: Looks easy doesn't it ? ::

Hours and hours later we finally began to see the outskirts of Istanbul, by this stage we were three days and five hours travelling. The goal was to make it there for my birthday.... and we did by a very narrow margin... we made a dash from the train station and managed to be sitting on a park bench opposite Haga Sofia with a tavuk doner and a Efes beer in hand with five minutes before the clock struck midnight.

Visiting Iran provided a great insight into a country that is ( and unfortunately will increasingly under their current leader be ) a feature of our media exposure. The impression we were left with was that the population is frustrated with the regressive nature of the current regime. They have lost freedoms previously enjoyed without issue, women see the worst of it but overall the people express a view that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is leading them in the wrong direction - towards international isolation - picking fights with people he really has little reason to. One exposure we had was in the very little English news available on TV. You may remember there was a small blast at a Mosque in Shiraz recently; a local was telling us that immediately after the bombing a local terrorist group was blamed, this story then morphed into pointing the finger at some Western involvement, which then ended up in the report we saw on TV that explicitly named England, Australia and the US as being responsible for the attack. Alot of people have international cable TV (illegally) and see through this propaganda, but the fact remains that the leading story every night in the news in some way denounced the fake regime of the Zionist State; there is trouble brewing - if you are interested, check it out sooner rather than later.

Welcome to Iran ($$)

2008-06-06T09:51:00.003Z

When the Pakistani border opened there was a massive jostle to get through. Standing out as Foreigners, they pulled us out and rushed us through quickly - in hindsight probably trying to get rid of us and make us Iran's problem. We crossed over into the Iranian building and waited for their immigration guys to finish their breakfast and open the border. The minute we were spotted in the queue our passports were whipped away and we were told to sit down and wait for a police bodyguard to turn up. It's the first border we've come to where we didn't have to fill out any paperwork. After about a 30 minute wait our police body guard turned up and we were told that he had to accompany us to the next town of Zahedan 83Km away. We exited the building into Iran and were met by any country's worst ambassador - the greedy taxi driver. Share taxis (5 passengers) were leaving from outside the building every few minutes but the taxi drivers gave their spiel about how foreigners had to take their own taxi. The price for our own taxi was of course astronomical. We confirmed the situation with immigration and the taxis changed their stance and said we could go in a share taxi but no one would want to share with us because we would cause a delay at the checkpoints. Really no one wanted to share with us because the taxi driver steered them well away so we were left with no choice but to sit it out with our bodyguard and wait for the price of our own taxi to come down. At this stage we had 48 hours of solid travelling under our belt and a long day's travel ahead of us. It was definitely one of those frustrating moments of travel made all the worse by greedy taxi men holding us to ransom.

Eventually there was a break through. Marcus started inquiring about the option of us not taking a bodyguard thus fitting into a share taxi easier. The police bodyguard was forced to make a call to his superiors, the police superior said he was on his way to sort out the problem and suddenly the price of our own taxi dropped dramatically. After losing two hours we were back on the road again. Along the 83km drive to Zahedan we pulled into about four police checkpoints, our details were checked and each time our police bodyguard was changed. The taxi driver drove like a maniac, his foot to floor. At one stage we had the police superior guy in the car and he gave out to the driver for not overtaking and driving too slowly. In the city of Zahedan we lost our fourth bodyguard and picked up our own squad car. Things were starting to get ridiculous. We travelled about a km before we pulled in at another station and waited for another squad car to appear. Our new squad car seemed to be in rush to escort our taxi to the bus station and even turned the flashing lights and sirens on to clear a way through the traffic. Meanwhile we were looking out the window at a sleepy little desert town full of people going about their business, we asked the taxi driver were we in any danger and he laughed and said no. At one of the police stops a man carry flat nan like bread a foot long and came over to the taxi and offered us a handful. It sounds like an exaggeration but it's absolute fact in the city of Zahedan we changed police car escort about every 2 blocks waiting to be handed over to the new unit took an age to coordinate. After three squad car transfers we were finally escorted by two police motorbike (sirens blaring) into the bus station. When you're travelling in a new country you want to blend in not be arriving with an entourage of noise, lights and activity. The police watched us buy tickets to the city of Yazd and then disappeared. We were finally left to our own devices. We're still baffled by it all and tend to avoid the police here since.

So.... our third night in a row travelling was spent on the 14 hour overnight bus to Yazd the driver broke all speed records and we ended up getting there 4 hours early at the awkward time of 2am in the morning. We alighted the bus and were greeted by the local park bums. Anywhere else in the world these guys would be passed out drunk and under newspapers, in a country with no alcohol these guys were lucid and friendly. With hours to put in before we could check in we started walking in the direction of the centre of two. We were only walking a couple of minutes before we had two offers of a lift. A local business man and his wife dropped us off in the touristy district where we waited along with the nocturnal street cleaner and the local feline population for the city to wake up. At this stage it was a straight 63 hours of travelling and a little frayed at the edges. Nothing a hot shower and a few hours sleep wouldn't fix.

Journey Map Up To Date...

2008-06-06T09:49:00.001Z

After some technical issues with our map site - its now back online and up to date - you can check out our progress here.

Pakistan

2008-05-20T13:32:00.000Z

:: Showdown at the Border ::

The Indian-Pakistani border is one of the strangest borders we've been across. There is no visible trade or movement of people between Pakistan and India so there is only a trickle of pedestrian traffic at the best of times. In the evenings thousands of Indians and Pakistanis travel to their respective sides of the border for the "closing of the border ceremony" to cheer on their 6ft 5" + border guards. They've even built grandstands to house the crowd. It's a pantomime of an affair evoking national pride on both sides. After 20 minutes of posturing, marching, throwing dirty looks at each other, high kick marching and violently throwing their gate open and slamming them closed both flags are inched down the flagpoles - one cannot be higher than the other as it suggests superiority. From the Indian border it's only about 25 minutes to Lahore but it's definitely worlds apart.

:: Indian Border Guard (Giant ) ::

We spent a week in Lahore waiting for our Iranian visa to come through and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. Pakistan was created as a country in 1947 after the British partitioned the north of India into Hindu and Muslim states. This action resulted in a massive movement of Hindus south into India and Muslims north into Pakistan - with lots of blood spilt along the way.

Having the same roots as India we expected Pakistan to be very similar, but were surprised by the number contrasts. Lahore is a modern city with big wide streets and traffic lights (that are obeyed). When we left India it seems like we left the crowded, disorganised hecticness and organised chaos of everyday life behind. In Amritsar our diet was totally vegetarian. 50 km away, Lahore is a vegetarian's nightmare, meat meat meat is all that can be got - and as a Muslim nation the cow is no longer sacred.

Lahore has received a lot of attention in the Western media this year so I'm sure our family and friends reading this will have a distorted impression of what the city is like. One of the first things we noticed was a heavy riot police presence outside of the city mosques. Around the corner from our guesthouse was a building that was bombed a couple of months ago - apparently it was the highest intensity blast and all the windows in the hostel were blown out. A couple of evenings as we sat talking to other travellers we heard what could be gunshots ... We noticed all of these things; coming to Lahore aware and trying to avoid danger. In reality when you talk to locals in Lahore you find out that the bombings were targeted on government buildings, the police presence is normal and there for every one's protection, the "gunshots" are more than likely fireworks for a wedding celebration and you are as safe in Lahore as any other city in the world. Recent political events have taken their toll however. The judges have yet to be reinstated and people are anxious for promised change. Ordinary life for the people has been affected by an increase in food prices and there are multiple powercuts daily as the electricity grid struggles to meet the needs of the people.

As a Muslim nation the Pakistan people are among the most welcoming in the world. We didn't come across any aggressive touts, even the autorickshaw drivers are courteous. It's impossible to walk around Lahore without getting adopted by a local who ensures you're going the right way. A couple of times people paid our bus fare as a token of their hospitality. In essence it's a society of honesty where you can stop being paranoid that everyone is trying to take you to the cleaners and make a rupee out of you.

Visually Lahore is a city dominated by mosques and populated by men in Salwar Kameez and women wearing hajibs and chandors. Females travelling to the country are expected to respect the Muslim hajib rules which really equates to wearing a long sleeved top that amply covers your bum and a headscarf. As opposed to other Muslim countries the women dress very colourfully seeing women dressed completely in black is an exception.

:: Badshahi Mosque ::

Our week in Lahore was spent at the Regal Inn Guesthouse - an infamous guesthouse that attracts most of the backpackers passing through. It's location on the crossroads between Asia and Middle East means that it has evolved into the unofficial centre of the latest information from travellers coming from either direction. We arrived on Thursday which is renowned as being music night. Malik - the owner of the guesthouse organises his guests to attend a local shrine where sufi music is being played. Without going into lots of detail, it was a wild introduction to Pakistan. Throngs of men jammed together in the dark smoking charras and shaking their heads to the mesmerising drumming of the Gongasain Brothers (one of whom is deaf) which started around 10pm and continued until very late. Very full on.

The number of travellers in the region at the moment has dropped off due to security fears - so it's only the most brave or hardy coming through at the present time. Naturally this leads to a rather unusual bunch of people - some whose next port of call was Afghanistan. The mix was broadly Canadian, Japan, Chinese, Moroccan, Korean, Spanish and French. Most people were hanging around in 45 degree heat waiting for visas or resting before heading on the road again. The result was a group of people sitting around hotly discussing issues like the Chinese girls attitude to Tibet, what the Japanese guy thought about whaling, the small matter of the "Rock" between Morocco and Spain etc. Suffice to say it was real "don't mention the war" material.

When we did escape from the hostel it was out to get fantastic icecreams, strawberry milkshakes and cold coffee shakes from Chaman across the road. We found Food Street, an atmospheric open air eating street a few kilometres away and tried out some great Pakistani dishes. Reminiscent of Vietnam we hit the tailors to get some hajib friendly clothes made for Iran. The rest of our time was spend to-ing and fro-ing to the Iranian embassy to get our visas. Once we got them it was off to the station to get a train ticket towards to Iranian border.

Getting our train ticket was a total fiasco, we were informed that we were entitled to a substantial discount so we headed off in search of the "Commercial Office" of Pakistan Railways only to be redirected to another outlying office. Eventually we found the right team of people who could rubberstamp a concession form and send us on our way. His office was at the back of a vast complex of rooms full of men sitting around looking at folders covered in dust. I don't think any work had been done by anyone in years. It was bureaucracy at it's best. Duplicate copies of everything, everything stamped and placed in a folder not a telephone in sight. We walked past tables of open folders with the date 2004 on them. After 30 minutes of hanging around discussing Imran Khan's appeal and Ricky Ponting's captaincy we were on our way with our all important concession form - an aged delicate piece of paper, parchment colour with letters uneven from typewriter production. We took our concession to the ticket office and were told that it was worthless and couldn't be used on the train we wanted. Problem is we don't think that anyone has communicated this to the guys back in the dusty office. So hours wasted .... but not as many hours as the guys in the Pakistani Train Office are wasting day in day out.

:: Flat out like a lizard drinking.... not ::

Armed with a half dozen boiled eggs, a loaf of bread and jar of strawberry jam we boarded the train from Lahore to Quetta. The train journey takes 24 hours from point to point, then turns around and does the journey back. The train left 2 hours late, which essentially means it's eternally late, it can never make up the time. We shared our business class aircon berth with four Pakistani business men. One of them a car smuggler involved in what he termed "risky business". The train was surprising;y comfortable and we arrived the following afternoon in Quetta dustfree. Just before we arrived one of the guys bought a newspaper and announced that the border between Pakistan and Iran at Taftan had been closed for "security reasons". This was the worst news we could have got as we were stuck in limbo and had no choice but to proceed onwards and hope that the border would have reopened by the time we reached it.

Quetta is a frontier town with a diverse mix of people, Afghanis, Taliban, Nomads, outlaws etc. We'd heard mixed reports about Quetta. One girl we'd met told us people had thrown stones at her there, another guy had said it was one gun shop after another and it didn't exactly entice you to stick around. We didn't see anything out of the ordinary there - mind you it was a fleeting trip before we headed off on a night bus to the Iranian border town of Taftan.

This was the section of the journey we were looking forward to the least. The stretch of land between Quetta and Taftan - the heart of Balochistan - is open desert that skirts the Afghani border. If there's anywhere you're going to be ambushed it's along this road in the dead of night. The route is a busy one so there is relative safety in numbers. We did make a special effort to keep the curtains closed so as not to be a target if someone decided to take a pop at the bus - I think that was just the imagination playing up! Being the only foreigners on the bus we had to get off at regular police checkpoints so they could take our names and passport numbers. Luckily we'd a smooth journey, our only complaint being the drivers inability to fix the air conditioning at a comfortable temperature. Our journey to Taftan ended at 6am when we were unceremoniously dumped out in Taftan at the door of a restaurant open and waiting to relieve everyone of the last of their Pakistani Rupees. After a quick cup of tea we walked the last kilometre to border and waited for it open.

Indian Observations

2008-05-13T12:18:00.002Z

Observations on India.

Over the past five months we've come across some interesting idiosyncrasies that make India just that little bit unique, here are some of them....

Cricket -
Indians are absolutely fanatical about the sport. Even the poorest most remote villages have a boundary marked out and a makeshift wicket in place. Cricket pitches are snookered into the most impossible of spaces, an uphill street, by a river bank, on a rooftop. School yards typically have multiple games on the go. And that's just the children! There are three dedicated national TV channels showing around the clock highlights of world cricket. Every business has a television or radio in the corner with the cricket on. For the male adults it's the main source of conversation. Once the Australian passport comes out it's predictably a "Ricky Ponting this...", "Brett Lee that..." twenty minute debate. The cricket players themselves are national superstars enjoying lucrative sponsorship deals. During our time in India the controversy over Symonds and racial abuse was brewing and the Indian media was playing into the hands of the emotional fanatics. The normal mudslinging followed by players reactions was meticulously over-reported. Speaking from my neutral standing point - it was amusing to watch an interview with an Australian player, one sentence would typically be taken out of context of the whole interview and it would suddenly be making the "breaking news" ticker across the Indian news channels. This happened so regularly that it was clear the whole exercise was to hype up the crowds and create heightened tension and excitement rather than animosity.

The MRP (Maximum Retail Price)
It's a godsend to travellers - and an idea that should be adapted elsewhere in this world. The MRP or Maximum Retail Price is the highest price, inclusive of taxes, that can be charged for any item. Everything in India from bottled water, soap, televisions, kitchen tiles and cars all have an MRP clearly marked on it as part of the packaging. The MRP is designed to give the shopkeeper a healthy profit and to regulate pricing. In theory everyone benefits - in practise there are opportunists who'll blatantly and illegally overcharge travellers. If you're heading to India the MRP is your friend.

The Indian Head Wiggle -
The infamous Indian head wiggle, it's a bizarre Indian trait that takes alot of getting used to. Does it mean a "yes" or a "no" ... in actual fact it can mean "yes", "no", "maybe" or "I don't know but I'm being friendly" depending on who is answering the question. In short the golden rule is that you can never ever trust a straight answer out of a wiggle. To do this is to assume the answer. Infuriatingly there have been countless times when we've enquired about rooms or asked about buses to a destination only to get a wiggle back. I've often wiggled back at them asking does this mean yes or no ... only to get another wiggle in return. There is a solution though, you simply don't ask a question that has a binary yes or no answer i.e. "Which bus goes to Delhi?" or "How much are your rooms?" this tactic forces the answerer into a worded answer which dispells any ambiguous wiggling.

Once this questioning technique is mastered the battle is half over. Our western nod indicating "no" is very very similar to an Indian wiggle and is as such determined as one by Indians. We've been full to the brim in restaurants and the waiter has come over to dole out another load of rice and curry, naturally our automatic response has been to very vigorously nod to the negative. This nod "No" is interpreted as a "bring it on" and the food starts appearing on the plate. There is only one way we've found to stem the tide is to put our hand over the plate physically creating a barrier and say "no" resisting any impulsive movement of the head. It's actually very difficult to do.

Queueing -
The British left behind the notion of an orderly queue and for the most part people know the rules but don't really follow them. When someone comes to join a queue they'll regularly slot themselves into a space in the queue rather than join the back. It's almost as if the space is a delimiter between those who are in the queue and those who are considering joining the queue but haven't yet committed - hence the space. If a "slotter" into the queue is challenged they'll adamantly defend their positioning truly believing they are next in line. Once you make it to top of any queue it's a free for all as there is always someone with a special need that merits a complete queue skip more often than not it's opportunism.

When it comes to ladies it's a different story altogether, by right a lady can go straight the top of any queue and be served next. This leads to the conundrum of two queues at the one counter, one of ladies and one men. In this case the rule is that the queues are serviced in a round robin fashion. In busy places like train stations there is the concept of an exclusive "ladies queue". Skipping of any nature in this queue is simply not an option. It's a civilised yet cutthroat military style line where everyone knows precisely who is next. In an effort to keep things tight and eliminate any potential gaps the ladies bury their knuckles in the small of the back of the person in front and lean in. The result is an uncomfortable, painful pressure to lean forward and psychological push towards the front. As the ladies queue is generally shorter than any of the general queues most of the women have been solicited to buy tickets by men. At Varanasi train station there were so many men trying to skip to the top of the ladies queue that a policeman had to come along with a big stick to disperse the menfolk and patrol the ladies area.

City Eating -
In big Indian cities supporting millions of people you would expect numerous cheap and cheerful restaurants to service the masses. In reality in many of the cities there is a surprising dearth of budget eating places. Restaurants tend to be of the more expensive airconditioned, white table cloth variety. So the question arises - where does everyone eat? The answer is at the street stalls. City workers seem to snack continuously during the day. There are different snacks depending on the time of day and there are no queueing rules when it comes to getting close to a busy street vendor. Small carts can be found in every city whipping up chappatis, dhals, samosas, deserts and a host of different snacks for thousands of people. Every corner has it's stall brewing up chai sold in disposable terracotta cups, one user only, then it's smashed on the ground.

Alcohol -
As a Hindu nation alcohol is not consumed by the vast majority of Indians. In emerging well to do cities like Mumbai and Bangalore there are lots of fancy bars and nightclubs. These places are of the exception and accessible only to an elite few. For the ordinary citizen alcohol is consumed quickly outside the ubiquitous 'English Wine Shop'. The Wine Shops are small shops hidden away behind security grills. Huge measures of cheap brandy or whiskey are served out through a hatch in plastic cups. There is no social element to consumption, groups of men gather, fire back some seriously strong shots and stagger home drunk. There is no middle ground, it's all or nothing. The alcohol itself is priced on volume rather than on strength. So it's cheaper to buy a half bottle of whiskey or brandy than a beer - this encourages consumption of more potent liquors. Without any social aspect to consumption this seems set to continue as a growing concern.

The advertising of alcohol is another bizarre aspect of India. India makes it's own brands of beers and spirits, all of which are heavily advertised on TV but under the guise of other products. Young models will dance around drinkless having a good time and then a ridiculous voiceover will come on saying Royal Challenge Golf Accessories (Whiskey) or White Mischief Holidays (Vodka) or Fosters Packaged Drinking Water (Beer). Not sure who is kidding who.

Women

An odd thing we've noticed as backpackers in India is that our contact with Indian females has been very limited. We mostly deal with people in the service industries and 99% of the waiters, hotel staff, cleaners, shop keepers have been men. We have rarely come across a women in any of these jobs and has a result have had very little normal interaction with Indian women to the extent that when we have seen a women in a shop we've actually gone out of our way to buy from her. When we stayed with Krishna's family in Chennai we had a great opportunity to ask his mother lots of questions and meet with his female family and friends and get a balanced view of life in India.

The definite observation on Indian women is that they are the most colourfully dressed women in the world. In the dirtiest dustiest villages worlds away from automatic washing machines the women sport bright clean saris. I think elsewhere in the world we'd definitely take the easy way out and opt for brown smocks that don't show the dirt!

Boarding Trains and Buses

Not a big observation, more one that has amused us over the months. In any village, city, town for extra thrill the preferred method of boarding a train or bus is whilst the vehicle is in motion. Men will always wait until the last moment to run alongside the bus and board in a dramatic fashion. Hanging on for dear life is not a thrill we've spend too much time tapping in to.

India is a fascinating country to have spent time in. Its diversity of people, landscape and just about everything else you could imagine, keeps you interested, challenged and feeling the life spirit of its people. Don't let anything put you off tasting India for yourself, the only way you will generate your own feelings is to give it a go yourself. See you there.

To The Border....

2008-05-01T13:30:00.003Z

:: Torch Protest in Dharamasala ::

Our little break in Australia has reset our travel stamina and tolerance. Last month a six hour bus journey would have been a piece of cake. The first five and a half hour journey we did from Delhi to Rishikesh was an agonisingly long journey. We were shocked to do a time check at what seemed like three hours only to find that we'd been only a mere 52 minutes on the road. We've definitely been underestimating how hard long journeys actually are if you're not used to them.

Rishikesh is widely known as the yoga capital of the world, it's many ashrams, schools and retreat houses are apparently the place to learn. We didn't stay long enough to bend ourselves into any shapes but it definitely comes across as a serious place rather than a backpacker hangout. We were expecting glitzy jewellery shops, leather stores, funky restaurants & cafes like Pushkar. Instead its shops are somber and run down, there are limited restaurants and overall a more serene atmosphere - which is refreshing. Hopefully the temptation to change to chase the dollar won't supersede the meditative environment that appeals to serious enlightenment seekers local and foreign alike.

Journeying on we stopped overnight in the city of Chandigarh; we'd high hopes for the place. The city boasts a high standard of living and the highest per capita income in the India. Designed in the 60's Chandigarh city is like an enormous park divided into numbered sectors - from any road all you can see are green spaces and trees. The manicured roundabouts, beautiful parks and signposted numbered sectors all point towards an orderly smart town. We eventually reached the centre, sector 17 and all expectations were dashed. The city centre was a sprawling row of alcohol shops, discount stores and a smattering of self satisfied guesthouses charging the most expensive prices in India. The city excites lots of people, we ran into a couple of travellers who were on their third night there. Then we met a couple more who were counting the hours down until they could hop on a bus out of there.

We were of the latter variety - at six am the following morning we were hopping on a local bus to the "big" bus stand. Amongst the early morning commuters were a little old man and his wife who seated themselves in the "ladies" section of the half empty bus. The bus driver promptly let a roar and kicked the old man out of his seat gesturing at free unisex ones down the back. Things didn't get any simpler down the back, the bus (doing 5 minutes journeys to and from the main bus stand all day) had designated seats for a broad section of society - ladies, handicapped, seniors, the blind and freedom fighters all had demarked seats. Seating oneself was a minefield of political correctness.

7 hrs later we arrived in Dharmasala way up in the mountains. The area is famous as the home in exile of the Dalai Lama, thousands of Tibetans and an inordinate amount of professional beggars. What made this place remarkable to us was firstly all the smiling Buddhist monks and Tibetan faces around and secondly the proud display of the Tibetan flag flying high over almost every building. On our journey through Tibet we'd never actually seen a Tibetan flag. It was touching to see it on every wall along with the picture of the Dalai Lama.

The town itself is perched in the mountains surrounded by snow peaks. Every evening there is a procession of monks and locals with candles down the street to the monastery. It was topical time to visit as the Olympic Torch makes it way around the world sparking debate on the Tibetan issue. We went along to an informative talk by an visiting academic on Tibetan history from a Chinese point of view - it was enlightening to listen to the Chinese side of the story and why Tibet is so important to them. It was interesting to then actually look at what the Tibetans are asking for. Rather than a Free Tibet it's a level of autonomy lesser to that that Hong Kong and Taiwan enjoy. So in fact a precedence has already been set is fully functioning to solve the problem.

On the day of the Torch relay in Delhi a march and rally was held in Dharamasala. It was a very emotional display; men, women and school children along with the monks and nuns paraded though the streets petitioning for human rights and the freeing of Tibet. Old men and men stood transfixed in small cafes watching world reaction to their plight following demonstrations across the world. Spending time in Dharmasala amongst this exiled community does make you feel an urgency to resolve the issue and let the people live freely and practise their religion unpersecuted.

Our final stop in India was in the city of Amritsar 30 km from the Pakistani border. The is the centre of the Sikh religion and home to their holiest site the Golden Temple. Pilgrims travel here by the thousands and are warmly received with free accommodation, free food and free transfer to the bus/train station.

The kitchens feed up to 30,000 people a day, it was fascinating to watch a team of hundreds peel onions, chop vegetables, wash dishes, throw buckets of water over the marble floors and generally volunteer their services to the upkeep of the temple.

To The Taj....

2008-04-02T23:13:00.008Z

Rajasthan really is the India of postcards, the spectacular forts and magnificent palaces have survived colonialism and demonstrate the power and wealth that once existed across this land. It was an India vastly different to today. Probably one of the most striking elements of Rajasthan is comportment of the men. Even the smallest dustiest villages are full of proud moustached gentlemen wearing vividly coloured turbans and baggy jodhpur trousers. Different chaste, status and occasions call for different coloured turbans creating a fantastic multicolour spectacle.

Our next stop was the old city of Jodhpur, surrounded by old city walls and dominated by the restored Mehrangarh Fort. It is an ancient castle of the Rajputs, the princely clans who are native to the state of Rajasthan, and claim to have descended from the sun. The fort is awesomely perched over the town looking like something straight out of a story book. Many of the buildings in the old city are blue, a holdover from the old days when residents of the Brahmin caste distinguished themselves from their lower-caste brethren by painting their buildings a distinctive color. Now it no longer denotes caste status, but it lends the city a romantic hue when you view it from the ramparts of the fort.

Merenghar Castle is set up like a living museum and a visit there is made worthwhile by the excellent audio tour, narrated in parts by the current Maharajah himself, which explains the odds and ends of the castle and relates stories behind all the important rooms and artifacts. The complete presentation allows visitors to get good insight to how life within the fort was many years ago from how it was defended during attacks to the sad little hand prints of all the widows of Maharajah Man Singh, who committed "sati" upon his death. This was common Rajput practice where the wives accompanied the funeral procession out of the castle and sat on the pyre with their dead husband and were burned alive in silence. Suffice to say we left very impressed with the castle and the tour.

After spending four hours standing waiting for the Jodphur train booking system to recover after a system crash we secured tickets onwards to Delhi. We were queuing at the "Foreigners, Senior Citizens and Ladies" window and so were entertained by a couple of elderly gentleman who happily discussed everything from soccer to President Sarkozy's new wife. As expected once the system recovered the mood of the queue rapidly deteriorated as a cut throat push to get to the front ensued. Some things never change!

Delhi became our base for about a week as we sorted out visas for the next leg of the trip. We took a side trip to Agra for a couple of day to tick the big box of the Taj Mahal. People in the past who have been to Agra warned me that the Taj Mahal is fantastic but the surrounds leave a lot to be desired. Our experience was quite the opposite, perhaps there has been some huge effort to clean up rubbish in the surrounding area. The approach to the Taj Mahal is breathtaking you don't actually see the building until you pass through an arch and it suddenly comes into view.

We returned to Delhi to get ready for our trip to Australia .... talk for the last few days was centred upon all the things we were looking forward to eating when we got there. Murphys Law worked against us and we managed to pick up a nasty bug somewhere between Delhi airport and Melbourne that knocked us out of eating action for a while. We've since recovered and made up for it!

We've spend a few weeks here in Melbourne enjoying 40 degree weather followed by a sudden drop down to 10 degrees that saw us searching through boxes for some winter layers. It's been a hectic few weeks catching up with family and friends. The Nance's threw a big homecoming/ engagement party for us. Thanks Julian & Daina.

Melburnians - good to see you all again. Thanks for all the good wishes. See you soon.

We fly back to Delhi tomorrow morning to begin our travels north, across Pakistan and on into the Middle East. Stay Tuned for more....

Bollywood to Rajasthan....

2008-04-02T00:45:00.007Z

:: Mumbai...really ::

Having read the Mumbai based novel "Shantaram" by Gregory David Roberts it's hard not to have preconceptions about Mumbai as a city. The novel portrays Mumbai as a vibrant, colourful city harbouring a huge underbelly of crime and poverty. We got there more paranoid than usual about being robbed and were super vigilant of pickpockets and scams. In reality it was no more dangerous or grim than any other stop on our travels. We peeked into Leopold's to see what was happening and were disappointed to find a modern bar, expensive menu and large groups of tourists hobnobbing - sadly the old world charm depicted in the book was jettisoned in favour of shiny surfaces and clean lines.

Outside the slums, Old Bombay resembles London, with huge imposing buildings, wide boulevard streets and huge park areas. As the home of Bollywood it has lots of high end shops and restaurants catering to the glitzy set. We took an evening walk down to Chowpatty beach passing massive wedding marquees which we peeped into.... (the rage seems to be thirty man orchestras and multicoloured water fountains). Amazingly most of the restaurants we ate in in Mumbai ended up being South Indian ones rather than the North Indian food we were craving. I guess it's a novelty there!

:: Gurgarati Thali ::

Moving north we decided to spend a couple of days in Gurgarati State; normally travellers scoot through as there's not really too many tourist attractions so the State itself receives few visitors. On a positive side, when tourists do stop they are a real novelty and warmly welcomed. Arriving before dawn off a night train we made our way to the bus station where an enthusiastic chai man (man with big kettle of tea and stash of plastic cups) dashed around waking random sleeping people up so that we would have somewhere to sit down. Within minutes everyone waiting for their respective buses knew exactly where we were going and the second the bus appeared we were practically carried onto it. After an exhausting day of travel we reached the island of Diu, a tiny ex-Portuguese port town that enjoys special tax exemptions on alcohol. In other words, in this strict vegetarian and alcohol free state this is the place where people come to let their hair down. Our big effort to get to Diu was rewarded by an amazing couple of days exploring the imposing fort, tootling around the island on a beat up motorbike, sitting on a deserted beach and tucking into some of the best thali meals that we've had in India.

:: Udaipur ::

After a few days off the beaten track we found ourselves on a bus destined for Rajasthan State and the city of Udaipur which is most definitely on the tourists must-do list. Udaipur is a spectacularly romantic city built on around a picturesque lake. It has a remarkable resemblance to Varanasi, as the sun sets, a warm glow bounces off the ghats around the late but obviously Udaipur it is far more palatable due to the lack of burning bodies at the waterside and cow shit on the streets. Udaipur was probably the first place we've been in India where we've seen lots of luxurious accommodation - the India in the travel magazines where you stay in a Maharaja's palace in the lap of luxury. As it happens we didn't have such bad view from our budget quarters.

:: Bundi ::

Out next stop was Bundi, a beautiful blue city nestled on the foothold of a huge palace. The palace itself is currently under restoration but completion is a long way off so visiting it evokes the feeling that you are one of the few people lucky enough to stumble upon it and admire its turquoise murals and awesome views out over the blue city and on through the surrounding valleys. It's also home to some scary looking monkeys who demand to be fed before they allow passage through their domain - they didn't look like the type that would be willing to negotiate so we had to curtail trek up behind the palace to the top of the fort.

:: Pushkar Lake ::

Pushing northwards we stopped in the holy town of Pushkar on the shore of Lake Pushkar. Originally a holy city with five principle temples and 52 ghats it's now a little tourist oasis and the guesthouses and restaurants far outnumber the holy sites. It's the ideal place to kick back for a day or two and enjoy some home comforts. On the narrow main street tourists flock to pig out on cheap stuffed nans washed down with fresh fruit juices. We spent a couple of days sampling the street food and people watching before we got bored and decided it was time to head west out into the Thar desert to Jaisalmer city, 100 miles from the Pakistani border.

:: Serenity ::

Rajasthan State in India is home to some big ticket places such as Udapur, Pushkar, Jaisalmer and it's neighbours Delhi and Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. In short it's on most people's itinerary. Sadly more so than elsewhere in India, there is a pool of sharks lying in wait ready to turn a buck and relieve you of the contents of your wallet. We've run into some backpackers and tourists who arrive and are completely intimated by the all the touts, beggars and scam artists, so much so that they end up opting to spend more time in their hotel than bother to put up with all the hassle. After this long on the road we've developed an ability to ignore people and move through crowds quickly so that level of hassle is easily dismissed. What is harder to wear are blatant lies, extortion and unreasonable opportunism. Such examples have been when we've paid big money into a fort or museum only to find someone has stationed themselves as a welcoming committee on the grim toilets asking that you "pay as you like" ... when in fact it should be free. We've checked out of a hotel and a random member of staff we've never seen before has demanded a tip. And the most irritatingly has been when we've gone to a street seller to buy sweets, we get in the long queue but by the time we get to the top the seller suddenly forgets the unit price of the sweet he's been selling all day and needs to "double check" with someone else and naturally comes back with a greed inflated orice.

Our month in Rajasthan was peppered by a few such run ins. After a long night bus to Jaisalmer a opportunist got on the bus and went around all the tourists conveniently selling them a "tourist tax ticket - valid for one day". No such thing exists but I'm sure tired tourists fork out for it everyday. Marcus refused to pay on the basis that the word "municipal" was incorrectly spelt therefore it had to be a fraud - it's a good point though, when it comes to using proper English the Indian's are sticklers for the small things. When we did reach Jaisalmer the bus pulled into a parking lot and we stepped out to a vociferous swarm of touts frantically waving massive placards and pushing on mass towards the bus, I've never seen so many touts before. We actually felt famous, I know why the stars hate the paparazzi now. Local police acted like bodyguards pushing the mob away from the bus and providing a channel through which we could pass. It was a great camera moment that we missed. I remember looking back over a policeman's shoulder to see Marcus on the steps of the bus grinning and waving to the crowd ... enjoying every second of the spectacle. A few lies later and Jaisalmer fort had gone from being "too far to walk" to being "10 minutes walk up that road". By taxi you'll always be taken the scenic route which is the more profitable full lap round the forted city dropping you off a few hundred metres from you jumped in.

:: Desert Fort in Jaialmer ::

All that being said Jaisalmer is incredibly beautiful, the yellow fort sits restored on the top of a hill majestically looking out over the desert. We stayed in a cute little guesthouse within the walls which was a real novelty. In the evenings we sat on the rooftop looking out over the setting sun. Due to a tight schedule we decided to leave Jaisalmer just before the desert festival started. It probably would have been amusing as there were best moustache competitions, polo on camels and all those other weird events that'd you'd expect on the bill of a desert festival.

Getting to Goa...

2008-02-16T14:11:00.005Z

Returning to Chennai we stayed once again with Krishna and his family enjoying his mum's excellent South Indian cooking. We were lucky enough to be there for the Pongal festival, a three day Hindu farmers festival celebrating the harvest. As it's the most important festival in South India pretty much everything closes down, rituals such as eating the Pongal (sweet rice) take place and the women all get brand new saris. We celebrated Pongal by having a "pot luck" lunch followed by a few competitive rounds of bingo with Krishnas family, neighbours and friends. Thanks again Krishna, and thanks for answering our endless list of questions!

Before we got too comfortable we decided to keep moving and make tracks back through Bangalore and north on to Hampi. Once the capital of the Hindu empire,Vijayanagara, who ruled the south India during 14th to 16th century AD. The ruins of Hampi, as it is known today, is a vast open museum of history, architecture and religion set in the middle of a boulder strewn landscape. We didn't know too much about Hampi before getting there, only that it was a big stop on the backpacking circuit, this was very obvious by the number the guesthouses and roof top restaurants crammed into the back streets of Hampi bizarre. A stroll outside the commercialism quickly brings you out into 25 square kilometers of ancient temples, palaces, market streets and other monuments. What's endearing about Hampi is that the ruins are impressive and spread out over a large area making the area surreal. It's hard to imagine just how impressive all the structures were in their heyday. Vittala Temple was the most impressive, its halls are noted for their extraordinary carved pillars and huge stone chariot complete with wheels. A set of pillars, known as 'musical pillars,' resonates when tapped. The temple supposedly had 56 pillars, each with 16 smaller pillars which produced different notes and sounds. During performances all 56 musical pillars were played together, accompanied by dancers. If you dare touch the pillars today you can expect a customary slap on the wrist whistle from the security guards.

Catching a bus West we travelled back to the coast to the temple town of Gokarna. Lying just below Goa this town gets the lots of visitors spilling down for the attraction of it's undeveloped beach tucked away around a headland - far away from touts and hawkers. The town itself is a pleasant little place lined with wooden shops and bustling with backpackers - it's been a while since we've seen so many fisherman pants. Although attracted by the beach we decided to push on up into Goa and relax there for a couple of days.

Every one has heard of Goa - which is surprising, given just how small this state is. Hundreds of thousands of tourists come here each year to soak up the sun, roam around the old colonial buildings and Churches and sample the fiery Goan cuisine. As a former Portuguese colony the interior of Goa has many charming old towns with ornate mansions. Along the coast are the long sandy beaches, made famous first by the overland hippies of the 70s - the busiest now frequented by package tourists from Europe. Thankfully there still are some quiet spots left - although for how much longer that remains to be seen.

Our first beach stop was Palolem Beach where we hopped off a bus in the middle of a busy street lined with stalls selling sarongs, jewellery, cushion covers etc. We were immediately faced with two options - either to go straight to the beach to procure a romantic beach side hut amidst the palm trees or take a look around town and find a room in a guesthouse. Experience has put us in category number two - the "romantic" novelty of wicker walls, no electricity, sand in everything, rickety steps and an agonising trek across a muddy yard and across a yucky drain to the communal tin bathroom in the middle of the night just isn't pleasant and never was. Well... not when you can be 2 minutes away tucked up within in a proper guesthouse with solid walls with your en suite bathroom and balcony. Some places in this world may have fantastic beach huts but most we've seen are more like shanty towns that have been knocked together at the start of the season. There's no shortage of people clamoring to secure a hut for the week. Palolem Beach's small scale, lack of big high rise hotel developments, idyllic palm fringed beach and laid back atmosphere made it a lovely place to stop for a few days to read a book and enjoy beach life. After a couple of days of "western food" we were ready to sample some spicy Goan cuisine - so it was time to hit the towns where the real Goan's live far away from the toned down menus.

Panjim is the capital of Goa, a beautiful old city with the most overpriced, repulsive accommodation we've seen so far. Arriving mid afternoon we began our usual search seeing absolute dives at mega buck prices. Just when we thought we'd have to hit an all time high on the sleeping expenditure we found something that "sufficed". Marcus came back to me with a grim look asking "Do you remember the movie Seven ..... well some of the scenes we filmed in this guesthouse." Grim is an understatement, for the remainder of the visit the object of the exercise was to spend the least amount of time in the room - the story has a silver lining though as we found fantastic restaurant cooking up proper Goan food. If we could go back there for food tonight we would in a heartbeat.

Heading north we stopped in Anjuna for a couple of days. A chilling beach wind that whipped up the sand wasn't exactly conducive to sunbathing. Those that did brave the beach shared it with the local bovine population. You never do get used to cows weaving their way through the sunbeds feasting on banana skins and pineapple shells. Sadly Anjuna beach didn't host a fantastic array of seafood, and most of the menus were of the "chips and egg" variety so we decided to push on to Mumbai. We did hang around long enough to take in the colourful weekly market which draws huge crowds of tourists each week. It's an amusing spectacle where you can carefully pick out a couple of tasteful goods and leave satisfied or get completely carried away and buy heaps of junk that you'll unpack at home and wonder what the hell you were thinking. If you've even the slightest urge to chill a little, let go of inhibitions and buy a hippy teeshirt then there's a very good chance you'll come away with an entire tie dye wardrobe including a suede gun belt. Fortunately our small bags limit any good or bad decision making when it comes to markets so we left as light as we arrived.

Beaches, Trains & Palaces

2008-02-16T08:20:00.006Z

:: Colours in Mysore ::

Our first stop in Kerala was the city of Trivandrum most memorable for it's grand buildings and it's crowd pleasing zoo. We toured the big zoo enclosures along with a couple of hundred schoolkids desperately trying to spot whatever was housed inside it. When we finally reached the back houses where big tigers lounged in tiny cages the excitement of the children boiled over in the form of extremely ferocious growling and clawing actions at the tigers - who were literally feet away. Potential interaction with the specimens rose above comfort level at the caiman alligator enclosure where you could look over a four foot fall and easily reach down to touch one of the 20 caimans basking in the sun. Picture twenty alligators with unblinking eyes fixed on you and blood dripping out of the corners of their mouths, add excited growling kids all up on top of the wall offering any protection to you .... and believe me you get yourself out of there quick smart.

After a quick day trip to package holiday destination Kovalam, we headed north to the laid back version, Varkala. We were very pleasantly surprised by Varkala Beach so much so that it is now a contender for top beach destination of the trip. Varkala is two small beaches with a cliff in between - all the guesthouses and restaurants are perched amongst coconut trees at the edge of the cliff with magnificent views out over the Indian ocean. Add blue skies, a lovely beach with waves, no hawkers, balmy weather and kilos of cheap blue marlin, barracuda, snapper, tuna and giant prawns and you've got the idyllic beach destination (for us). We lost a few laid back days bobbing in the waves; and evenings inspecting and consuming the fantastic array of seafood. At the time we sensibly moved on to keep to our schedule but have since regretted it, as nothing further north compared beach and fresh seafood wise . Fingers crossed we'll go back there in the future and not find high rises, hawkers and a KFC.

:: Dinner - Marlin ... again::

After tearing ourselves away from our paradise, we ventured on to Kollam, a gateway to the infamous Kerala backwaters. Taking a village tour in a little canoe boat we slowly moved through the tiny palm fringed village canals. The pace of the whole excursion was so slow and the surrounds so relaxing that we both almost fell asleep in the boat. Moving into the larger waterways we could see kingfisher and kite birds flying high in the skies. We stopped on a small island where we were almost force fed coconut. I can safely say I have never consumed as much in my life, and even at that half of it went to the family's dog. Many people take a two day houseboat trip through the waterways to fully relax and get some sleep along the way. We curtailed ourselves to a day, after visiting a fish farm, boat making area and seeing a lazy sunset it was time to disembark and be rudely jolted back to reality on the bumpy road on to Alleppey. Alleppey unremarkable save the disproportionate number of umbrella stores it has. It didn't rain while we were there but when it does it most be pretty full on.

:: Backwater Boats ::

Pushing on through Cochin we stopped for a night in the transit hub of Coimbatore where we experienced our tightest accommodation squeeze yet and spent a couple of hours approaching midnight desperately searching out guesthouses down every alley. From there is was on to Mettupalayam where we caught a the "toy train", running since 1889, up to Ooty. The little blue wooden steam engine pushes the carriages up 46km in 5 hours. Seated in the very last carriage, right in front of the steam engine, every time we went through a tunnel we had to close the window or get smoked and embered out of it. Chugging slowly along we stopped every few kilometers to cool the engine and fill up on water. Five hours later the novelty of counting down the kilometers as we slowly gained elevation had long since worn off. An hour from Ooty a diesel engine was put up front and we steamed (well dieseled) on into Ooty.

Ooty is the backdrop to many a romantic scene in Tamil Nadu movies, lying at 2600m it's a hill station that offers a cool respite from the hot Indian summer. Not the place to be heading to in an Indian winter with a limited summer wardrobe! After we'd scooted out some fantastic tandoori chicken and tasty banana shakes the sun dropped and the temperatures plummeted forcing us to take refuge in the hotel room and hide under the blankets - not even daring to venture out for dinner. Wardrobe limitations forced us to reconsider our travel plans and get back down to sea level temperatures fast. The next obvious stop was Mysore in Karnataca state.

:: Prepping for the Next Hill ::

A dusty bus wound it's way down to Mysore and back to warmth. We were lucky enough to be in town for the Sunday night light up of the spectacular Mysore Palace. Other highlights included the colourful market with it's multitude of flower sellers. Extra colour was injected by the market stalls selling powdered face paints heaped in a vast array of coloured pyramids.

:: Mysore Palace ::

Hopping on a 12 hour bus (one of which leaves Mysore bus station every 2 minutes) we headed north for the big city lights of Bangalore. We were in town for the highly competitive India V's Pakistan cricket test match and in one gloriously sunny afternoon, lucky enough to catch a lot of wicket action spectating from the rowdy cheap seats. One thing that became evident en route to the cricket was how crooked the autorickshaw drivers are in this town. Every one we approached without exception suddenly developed a meter malfunction - in desperation we enlisted the help of a traffic cop who stepped into the middle of the road and brought the first rickshaw to a screeching halt. Surprise, surprise.... no problem with his meter.

Unable to resist the lure of the golden arches we ventured in to McDonalds but were bitterly disappointed, without the flagship Big Mac (with it's questionable beef quality) to savour it's not a real McDonalds at all. Not all was bad on the food front though, we found the Majestic Hotel restaurant beside the bus station and managed to squeeze in some spectacular meals. Just around the corner we found a "fresh beer" man something we haven't seen since Vietnam. When we came back after Christmas three weeks later he'd upped his prices by 50% so the idea must have taken off in Bangalore.

:: Gateway to Mysore Palace at Night ::

After a quick hop back to Chennai, (to see KK and indulge in his Mum's cooking ) we took a break from India and her curries and spent Christmas in Ireland with Dee's family. After being so long on the road it was bizarre to back to a life where you could help yourself to the contents of the fridge. Not having to check out , travel all day and find accommodation was also a novelty; not to be underestimated. We had a fantastic Christmas in Dublin with family, catching up with friends and eating all the food we'd been craving for for months. Our three weeks break from the road absolutely flew -thanks for having us, we'll be back soon!

Click Here to see our '2007 - Year in pictures' video if you haven't' seen it already.

To round off the 2007 celebrations off we also got engaged...... see we do intend to stop travelling and settle down at some stage ;-) The challenge now is to organise a wedding from dingy internet cafes along the way.

Tamil Nadu Roundup

2008-01-17T13:13:00.000Z

Heading south from Chennai we stopped off in Mamallapuram, a beach side town that gets good kudos in the Lonely Planet and thus has become a popular travellers hangout. There's nothing out of the ordinary about this dusty Indian town save a little hub of streets that look as if they've been transplanted out of a Thai beach resort. Lined with shops selling souvenirs, oversized fisherman pants and restaurants with "backpacker" menus i.e. banana pancakes and pizza this little place is certainly different but also disappointing. Opportunity has knocked loud and clear so everything is overpriced, gearing everything towards the tourist has meant it's almost impossible to get a proper Indian thali meal anywhere inside the little tourist enclave. After a little spell of tinkering around the touristy shops and being hassled to buy at every turn the "backpacker hangout" appeal of Mamallapuram had lost it's luster. Getting away from the wannabe Thailand element however Mamallapuram has a lot to offer on it's own merit, Indians visit the town to see the impressive carvings that have been etched into massive boulders throughout the town and the Shore temple by the beach. The highlight of this stop for us was a day out to the local park to see the carvings with the added entertainment of seeing cheeky monkeys steal peoples drinks, unscrew the bottle caps and polish off the contents. Certainly a lesson to hang on tight you your belongings.

The park also houses Krishna's Butterball, a huge granite round shaped boulder perched precariously on a granite hill. Tacky I know, but posing underneath the boulder or pretending to push it down the hill is a given. Marcus walked past it giving it a quick shoulder and was met with a reprimanding whistle from the park warden, after that the fun and games were over - it makes you wonder how confident they are that the boulder is not going to roll away.

Feeling the freedom of having ditched kilos of baggage we hopped on a packed bus to Pondicherry and jostled with the best of them to gain some territory. Pondy, as it's known for short, turned out to be a very strange place. It was a French colony until 1954 and a remarkable degree of French influence exists to this date, the town is divided into the French Quarter (Ville Blanche or 'White town') and the Indian quarter (Ville Noire or 'Black Town'). Many streets still retain their French names and French style colonial villas are a common sight. With the magnificent backdrop of buildings, the police force dressed in tight uniforms with funny red hats and streets named Rues the French quarter is quite simply very French.

Pondy is famous on two more counts however, ashrams and low taxes. Pondy was the residence of one of India's most renowned Freedom Fighter and Spiritualist Sri Aurobindo. Her teachings continue to reach the people through the many retreat centres attracting Indian and foreign tourists alike . A few kilometers out of Pondy is Auroville, an entire city dedicated to human unity based on Sri Aurobindo's vision. As part of the French colonial handover Pondy enjoys special administration status, meaning it has it's own elected legislative assembly and one of it's implemented policies is lower taxes on goods in Pondy than in neighbouring states. The effect of this tax is most evident in the sale of alcohol, it's almost 50% cheaper here than elsewhere in India and boy does it show. Outside of the French quarter every third shop is an liquor store or a bar, the area around the bus station is literally one big binge drinking area. People bus in and drink all day and catch the evening bus home - usually that's a six hour return journey!

If you're ever in Pondicherry do not trust the information given in the bus station. After waiting for hours due to innacurrate information we found ourselves on a less than desirable evening drinkers commute bus to Tanjore - half the occupants were unconscious. To add to our woes we arrived late at night and the driver decided that it would be better to not let us off with everyone else in the centre of town but to drop us at the new isolated bus station miles our of town in a field. Adding an hour to our day we finally battled our way back to the centre of town and found a room for the night. The next morning we gave Tanjore a fresh start and immediately liked it, all the main sights were within walking distance - which is always appealing. We climbed the watch tower of the Royal palace for fantastic views over the city and over a large school yard where at least twelve games of cricket were in full swing. It's a testiment to how fanatical the country is about the game. As dusk fell we spend the evening inside the walls of Bhihadishwara Temple watching the pilgrims come and go, stopping to be blessed by a "swami elephant" who after receiving a one rupee coin in his trunk, touched people's heads. Unfortunately we don't have any pictures of been blessed by the elephant, we had an altercation with the elephant owner over how much a picture was worth and it all seemed very unholy after that.

A short journey down the road took us to Trichy, where we visited the colourful temples and climbed barefoot to the top of the rock fort temple. The food in Trichy was excellent so large portions of the day were dedicated to eating. Throughout Tamil Nadu State we've found some of the best food around the bus stations where fresh parathas, idlis and "bull's eye" fried eggs are churned out day and night.

:: Badam Milk being cooled & frothed ::

Our next stop was Madurai where the food got even better and coffee addiction was an understandable weakness to develop. To work up an appetite we visited the colourful Sree Meenakshi temple complex, infamous in the region. The temple is huge, the decoration is awesome, particularly the big towers at the gates, called gopurams which are 45m high and filled with hundreds of statues of Hindu gods painted in bright colors. Before leaving we also took a trip to the Ghandi museum detailing the life and times of the revered man. We'll always remember Madurai for it's numerous "Chicken 65" stalls and for it's spectacular badam milk. Each night we walked home past a little shop with a massive vat of badam milk on the boil. Part of the service of the beverage is a ritual where the milk is poured from one jug at a height to the another repeatedly in order to add air and froth. This is a performance in itself where the vendor pours the drink from seemingly impossible positions and manages to catch it all in other jug without it spilling all over himself.

Our final stop in Tamil Nadu state was Kanyakumuri, the very geographical tip of India where the Arabian Ocean, Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal all meet. It's also a very popular tourist destination, pilgrims come to see the temple of Goddess Kanya who once upon a time defeated demons and secured freedom of the world. Off the very tip of the land is a small island with a huge statue of the wandering monk Swami Vivekananda, one of the most famous and influential spiritual leaders of the philosophies of Vedanta and Yoga. After seeing the sun rise and set over the three oceans it was time to turn the corner, quite literally, and make our way up into Kerala.

Exploding Chennai...

2007-11-16T13:50:00.000Z

:: Thali Lunch ::

We stopped overnight in the town of Bhubaneshwar before catching a 20 hour train all the way to Chennai (formerly Madras) in time for the build up to Diwali - the biggest of Hindu festivals.

Chennai, the capital of Tamil Nadu state is the fourth biggest city in India and is the second largest exporter of IT enabled services behind it's neighbour Bangalore. This combined with a strong manufacturing industries means Chennai is an economy on the up and up. The city also is home to a Tamil movie industry called Kollywood very different in language, content and music to the movies to those produced in Bollywood (Mumbai).

Our stay in Chennai was made all the more enjoyable by actually knowing someone living here. Krishna, who worked with Marcus in San Francisco, took us out for a fantastic meal, gave us pointers on what to see around town and left us with a huge box of Diwali sweets. He also generously agreed to mind our big bags for a few weeks so that we can venture down to the south unencumbered. Thanks for everything Krishna - see you again soon!

Diwali Festival for Hindus is the equivalent to Christmas. It's a crazy time of year with everyone running around the shops doing last minute buying followed by two days of parties, firecrackers, fireworks and the consumption of enormous amounts of sweets. For two days solid everyone set off fireworks and bangers in the street - in a very haphazard and dangerous manner may I add. (Heh..Dee has sensitive hearing :-) ) We spent two days walking around with our hands over our ears peering around corners to make sure there weren't any fireworks aimed in our direction. Now when we say everyone, we mean everyone. It was an incredible experience to walk down narrow streets just after dark and every household was out in the street letting off bangers, poppers, rockets, whirlythingys, sparklers and roman candles - kids parents and pets all in on the act.

As we'll be back in Chennai before Christmas we put off some sightseeing until then and concentrated on trying to clear down our memory cards and get the blog up to date.

25kg of luggage lighter, we set off for the seaside town of Mamallapuram a couple of hours south of Chennai.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Here is a little video I just uploaded of my rooftop ride on a Nepali Bus ...its the only way to travel !

Puri and the Ocean

2007-11-09T15:04:00.000Z

Hopping on yet another night train we got to the beach town of Puri in the State of Orissa and encountered our worst tout to date. Every tourist stop in India comes with it's own set of touts and rickshaw drivers trying to get you into their hotel, visit a silk shop etc. If you arrive late at night into a busy place their assistance can be invaluable in finding accommodation, however at 7am in the morning after a near sleepless night on the train they are the very last people you want to deal with.
If a tout accompanies you into a hotel the price immediately goes up as he gets a commission for the deal and generally the hotel owner will ignore us and deal with the tout. Therefore it's preferable to be doing the wheeling and dealing by oneself. In Kolkata Marcus waited with the bags while I set off to look for a hotel. Within minutes I had a tout on my tail and had to run down a few alleyways to give him the slip. Anyhow at this stop we were unlucky enough to attract a completely crazy rickshaw driver who just did not understand the meaning of the words "go away" .. and followed us for what seemed like forever; after a highly frustrating encounter we have since changed our approach tactics. We now arrive into places with our earplugs on the ready and use them at the first opportunity :-)

Puri is a popular Indian tourist resort, although it has two distinct ends, the Hindu end where all the local tourists go and then the other end where everyone else winds up. It was great to be back to seaside fare again .. mackerel, prawns, tuna on every little cafe's menu. It is not the sort of place where you strip off and go for a dip, more the kind of place where you savour the food and breathe in some fresh seaside air. Aside from the beach up our end literally being a toilet and cricket ground for the fishing community there are big rip currents which drown people each year. Around us were lots of hotels and lovely little garden cafes when we ventured down to the Hindu end we were surprised to see hotel upon hotel, camel rides, snacks on the beach and a promenade. We thought we were staying at the busy end of things!

:: The Sun Temple ::

In a side trip from Puri we went to see the Sun Temple in nearby Konark. Built in 1278 the entire temple has been conceived as a chariot of the sun god with 24 wheels, each about 10 feet in diameter, with a set of spokes and elaborate erotic carvings. Seven horses drag the temple. Two lions crushing elephants guard the entrance. The temple is well restored and its carvings certainly made it a little different from all the other temples we've seen on this trip.

As always there's a ridiculous transport story, this entry's installment happened on the way out to the Sun Temple. Boarding a local bus we both managed to get a seat and waited for the bus to fill up. As more people piled in the ticket collector greeted each person individually asking where they were going and made a point of personally squeezing each new comer in one by one thus ensuring that there wasn't an inch of space wasted down the very back of the bus. The moment the bus was in motion he started trying to move down the aisle to collect the fares causing mayhem as people were packed in so tight they couldn't even get their money out let alone let him pass. Obviously there's a system ......

Kolkata

2007-11-09T14:09:00.000Z

Everyone has heard of the city of Calcutta, although mostly in a negative light. Poverty, pollution, smell and dirt seem to be predominant stereotype people have. In short not the sort of city that you'd go out of your way to visit. We weren't really sure what to expect but were very pleasantly surprised. Arriving into the magnificent Howrah station we stepped out to be met by hundreds of Ambassador cabs - these yellow cabs, running for 100 years are a famous nostalgic icon of Calcutta. Beyond them were palm trees all around and big old colonial buildings in the distance. It was almost like stepping on to a movie set of India in British Raj times.

:: Calcutta Cabs ::

Calcutta changed it's name to Kolkata in 2001- some say to erase the legacy of British Rule. Kolkata served as the capital of India during the British Raj until 1911 when the capital was moved to New Delhi. A change of name maybe but what still exists is an impressive legacy of remarkably beautiful colonial mansions, wide streets of red bricked buildings and huge green parks.

:: Cricket in the Park ::

Poverty always been a part of Kolkata's history, under British Rule in the 19th century the city was divided into the rich "White Town" British area and impoverished "Black Town" the Indian part. In modern times the British are gone but there are the new wealthy and plenty of signs of affluence around unfortunately there are still the have nots.

::Victoria Mermorial::

After Varanasi Kolkata was like a breath of fresh air to us and offered us a completely different picture of Indian life. The busy streets, affluent shops and restaurants, leafy streets and big parks ooze with old charm. We took a walk through multiple cricket game and polo games in Maidan Park.

::BBD Central Business District::

One unusual thing we noticed about Kolkata was that there were no cheap and cheerful local restaurants. The choice was upmarket air conditioned restaurants or street food outside the really touristy areas. On saying that there was street food on every corner and most of the times the stalls were thronged with people having a snacks at all hours of the day. Surprising favourites were banana toast and panini style toasted cheese sandwiches along with the local dishes. With juice bars and chai stands on every street corner we were never far away from refreshments.

:: Government Cars (&Drivers) ::

We had some great food in Kolkata and enjoyed wandering around the leafy street and experiencing life in a big Indian city. Yes Kolkata is dirty, polluted and poor but it's also manages to be affluent, charming and endearing place to spend a few days soaking up the atmosphere.

Next stop and the Indian beach town of Puri.

Varanasi

2007-11-09T12:46:00.000Z

Our first stop in India was the holy city of Varanasi, a 3,000 year old city on the banks of the River Ganges and one of the most important places of pilgrimage for Hindus. According to Hindu mythology, Varanasi liberates soul from the human body to the ultimate.It is the goal of every Hindu to die there, because they believe that doing so will release them from the cycle of birth and death.
The river Ganges is also believed to have the power of washing away all of one's sins. Sacrifices, prayers and any charity donated here reaps a thousand times more rewards than the same act done elsewhere such is the power of the city.
For ages Varanasi has been a centre of learning of Indian philosophy, spiritualism, mysticism - with it's rich cultural heritage and tradition it is essentially the cultural capital of India.

:: Sacred Cow ::

The spiritual hub of Varanasi is along one side of the Ganges riverbank where over a hundred Ganga Ghats and temples, owned mostly by rich Maharajahs, are located. The ghats are broad flights of steps down to the bank of the river; pilgrims flock to these spots to take a dip in the sacred waters and to offer morning prayers to the rising sun. It is believed that people are cleansed physically, mentally and spiritually in these ghats. Near these ghats are hospices where terminally ill people from all over India spend their last days. We took an early morning boat trip at dawn up river, it was an excellent way to experience the pilgrims activities, admire the beautiful old temples and absorb and appreciate what is Varanasi.

There are few places where death is so public. Amongst the bathing ghats there are two burning ghats where cremations are carried out continuously day and night - this can mean up to 200 cremations per day. The burning ghats are open to all, and tourists get right up next to the funeral pyres. The lower the caste the closer to the river the cremations takes place. White shrouded corpses are men, coloured are female, gold coloured shrouds are old men and orange coloured shrouds old women. The family purchases wood to burn the corpse on, typically it takes 200 kgs to cremate a body and wood can cost 150 rupees a kilo (2.6 Euros/ 4 AUD) making it costly to the average Indian family.

:: The Burning Ghat ::

It is the male members of the family that carry out the cremation. Women usually do not attend as it is believed their open grief may compel the soul of the departed to stay behind. Untouchables prepare the body and wrap it in a shroud, the corpse is then run on a stretcher through the small alley ways down to the ghats where it is submerged in the water, it is then laid out to dry. Meanwhile a pyre is constructed from wood and the corpse is placed on the top. The eldest son lights the fire and acts as primary attendant for the entire procedure which can take up to three hours.

The Ganges may be the religious lifeblood of India but it is also alarmingly polluted; raw sewage, rotting carcasses, industrial effluent, fertilisers and pesticides infect the river from the Himalayan foothills to the Bay of Bengal. The river that gives life also takes it away through disease and sickness - it's purity deteriorated as the Indian booming population places an ever growing burden on her. For the moment this doesn't stop pilgrims bathing and drinking the water. Efforts to clean the river are underway but it's an uphill battle given the millions of people that depend on the river.

Not only is the city a sprawling congested hive of activity but the old part near the river is a rabbit warren of small little lanes challenging to even the best navigator. We stayed in a small family run guesthouse right on the banks of the Ganges and never really ever felt 100% confident on finding our way back through the maze of street. Cows, goats, dogs etc wander through the tiny lanes and down around the ghats in an owner less fashion - and they're not always docile we've had a few experiences where they can charge. Whilst we were there the Durga Puja festival was in full swing. Makeshift temples were impressively constructed from corrugated steel and elaborate paper mache idols were paraded through the streets then immersed in the river. We could still hear the party going and music thumping at 4am in the morning.

As an introduction to India, Varanasi was as full on as they get.You don't really get used to the smokey ash filled air or walking past the burning corpses each day. Tourists are free to watch the cremations up close, however it seems almost disrespectful as there is not much left up to the imagination. There is real life in the city as well, cremations and pilgrims don't get in the way of the local boys who have regular cricket games in amongst the ghats .... cricket is a religion here .. but that's for another blog.

Due to a bout of very violent illness I'm going to put off writing about the Indian culinary scene until a later date.

:: Spritual Ganga ::

Varanasi truly is a place where life and death come together. You cannot help being absorbed into the abundant spirituality and tradition that embrace the area around the Ganga giving it a strong feeling of purpose, history and longevity.

The Annapurna Circuit (Diet)

2007-11-07T13:16:00.000Z

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Have you ever wanted to lose those pesky pounds while eating as many Carbs as you can ?
Well the Annapurna Trekking Diet is for you -
Every Day you can feast on as many potato and pasta dishes as you can handle.
No Gym work required
Everyone can walk, can't they ..?
All you need to do is walk (carrying your own bag) for 6-8 hours per day for more than two weeks... and the best part is, only half of it is up hill !
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

(Yes we dropped a fair few of those Chinese Dumpling induced pounds in Nepal)

We hadn't exactly planned on doing a big in trek in Nepal; we toyed briefly with the idea a few weeks ago, then suddenly found ourselves purchasing diamox and a set of walking poles in Kathmandu and asking ourselves did we really know what we were doing (clearly not).

Following fantastic reports of the Annapurna circuit trek and the no backtracking nature of the loop we thought this was the walk for us, particularly since we had seen Everest from Tibet and that is the other major trekking option. Dee's dad, Gilbert, bravely agreed to join our expedition in Jomson on day 11 of the circuit. With this deadline in place we rushed to the starting point of Besishar and started walking.

:: While it was Green ... ::

People have been walking the Annapurna circuit for decades, in fact we met a surprising number of people on their second or third lap of a lifetime. The trek is basically a ~300 kilometre loop, normally walked anti-clockwise, that circles the Annapurna mountain ranges. Over the course of the first 10 days we ascended from 900 metres to 5,416 metres. Such a change in altitude provided an ever changing backdrop of scenery. The path wound its way though tiny isolated villages and lush rice terraced fields, under waterfalls, through waterfalls, down waterfalls, up waterfalls (you get the idea) and traversed raging rivers on huge suspension bridges before climbing high into the mountains. Each day the path took us further and further away from road and civilisation.... there's one way in and one way out - you have no option but to turn back or proceed forward to Jomson where there is an airport should you want out.

After doing some research we decided to tackle the trek independently and to be our own porters/guides/fixers. As there's no sense of direction needed to follow the path (as most of the walk is through optionless valleys) and every few hours there is a small village with tea houses and lodges to stay in; this turned out to be a perfect choice. Most of the lodges have great food and some even have hot showers (if the solar panels got a good dose of sun that day). Our very first stop was in the small village of Ngadi, absolutely wrecked from a hard days walking we sat out under a starlit sky enjoying a potato curry and questioned what the hell we'd got ourselves into. 1 day down ... only a 15+ days to go, it wasn't the time to start measuring how far away the end was. The next few days passed surprisingly quickly as we negotiated our way over rivers, over waterfalls and up steep hills, all the time surrounded by green vegetation and the sound of gushing water. Stopping in the villages of Jayat, Darapani and Chame, all nestled under towering snow capped peaks, we were thoroughly enjoying the trekking but finding ourselves tucked up in bed by and fast asleep by 8pm every night.

:: A Breakfast View ::

The trek follows ancient paths used as trade routes between Nepal and Tibet. These paths have long facilitated the flow of cultures and religions in this remote and formerly inaccessible region. In the low lying area the dominant religion of the villages is Hindu, as you proceed further on this changes to Buddhism and there are chortens and prayer wheels as you enter the villages. As the path is the only route to the villages it's a busy thoroughfare of local porters and teams of mules, everything has to be carried in and out of the villages from the distant road. The long parade of mules causes huge early morning traffic jams on the small suspension bridges. Meanwhile porters are like ants marching with huge loads; we passed one guy who had a fridge freezer on his back. Carrying our own bags we could (sort of) empathise with the porters - we certainly had enormous respect for how hard their jobs are.

:: Boo... Snow ::

As we climbed higher and higher and the lush green vegetation turned to barren rock the day when we'd climb over Thorung La pass (5416 metres) grew closer and closer. Disappointingly the blue skies disappeared and gave way to snow. The day before we were due to cross the pass we battled our way in a freezing snowstorm to our lodge for the night. By that stage a foot of snow had fallen, over bowls of steaming porridge we warmed up watching as the snowfall got heavier and the threat of getting snowed in became a reality - the last thing we needed when we were meeting Gilbert three days later, and a further two days walk away. Waking up at 5am all ready to go we ventured out to find two feet of fresh snow on the ground and the track up the mountain completely covered. Resigned to having to wait another day in the hope the snow had cleared we all went back to bed. I'll just add here that snow in September is extremely rare, one guide was on his 50th lap of that circuit and had never seen snow this early in the year.

:: Trudging to the top ::

Luckily a day's thawing revealed the track and the following morning we began the slow very very steep loopback trail up the mountain. The day involves a climb 1000m up to the pass and 1600 metres down the other side into the town of Mukinath. Along with lots of other trekkers we chugged along eyes fixed on the narrow path below aware that the recent snowfall disguised huge drop offs. As for the magnificent mountain views, not a sniff, all we could see was white - where land met sky was indistinguishable. 4 arduous hours later we reached the 5416 metre high top, caught our breath, took a couple of photos and then started down before the high winds picked up. For a little perspective, at 5,416m (about 18,000 feet) this is 4 times the height of Ben Nevis, 600m (2,000 feet) higher than Mont Blanc, 1.5 times Mt Cook and 2.5 times the height of Mt Kosciusko. The steep decent 1,600m to Mukinath was an agonising 5 hours of knee jarring manoeuvring in torrential rain through a dismal barren scree landscape. To say we reached Mukinath absolutely shattered is putting it lightly - after a hot shower, cold beer and some macaroni, tuna and cheese we were almost human again.

:: The Top ::

The next day we felt in remarkably good shape considering the day before and power-walked to the "meet up" point of Jomson only to find that the airport in Jomson hadn't seen any flight action in 4 days. If there was no change in the weather and Gilbert's flight was cancelled the following morning then we would simply have to walk for a couple of days to meet up with each other halfway- and that's exactly what we had to do! Two miserably wet days of battling in the rain, wading through swollen rivers and scrambling over landslides finally brought us to the town of Tatopani where we walked into a hotel to find Gilbert and guide recovering with a cold beer. Over the next hour we swapped stories of woe - when his flight had been cancelled they had tried to catch a bus to Beni (an entrance point to the Annapurna region) but buses weren't running due to a landslide. Hopping into a taxi they charged through a few hair-rising floods before the maverick driver ran out of luck and got stuck. As the water began to rise to knee level in the back of the taxi they decided it was a good time to leave and abandoned ship wading to a passing bus with their bags hoisted over their heads. The bus (full of half drowned occupants) trundled on for a few miles before being blocked by a landslide and in a final twist of the story Gilbert and guide got out and completed the remainder of the journey on foot before starting the real trek the following day to get to us. What an introduction to trekking in Nepal!!!

If the recent advent of blue skies in the little town of Tatopani didn't help make our respective ordeals fade away then a relaxing couple of hours in the hot springs certainly did. And that's exactly where we spent the remainder of the afternoon.

:: Climbing ... ::

By this stage we were trekking for 15 serious days in a row and it was beginning to feel like this was our normal life. With little time for relaxing before tackling the next challenge, the following day we set off for the blue roofed town of Ghorepani perched high up in the mountains. 15 km of very steep steps took us up the 1,700 metre ascent through some astounding beautiful scenery. Spectacular valley views and thick rhododendron forests were admired between grunts of exertion - it seemed like the top would never come. Gilbert showed us what real trekking and mountain fitness is all about by bounding up the mountain. It was undoubtedly one of the hardest days of the trek both mentally and physically and all three of us were thankful when we finally reached the top.

:: Poon Hill ::

Poon Hill above Ghorepani draws crowds at dawn as has it one of the best views on the Annapurna Circuit. The panoramic view of over 50 mountains includes Dhauligiri, Manaslu and the Annapurna mountains.

:: Sunrise over The Fishtail ::

Hiking on to Tadapani we decided to have a rest afternoon - although we'd been up trekking since 4:30am that morning so it didn't really qualify as a short day at all. Relaxing outside our hotel in the sunshine with a beer we people-watched for a couple of hours. It was a rather sadistic affair as our location was at the top of a particularly steep climb and everyone coming up was struggling - the last thing I'm sure they needed was an audience revelling in the drama. The lounging abruptly ended when a group of 16 Finnish ladies suddenly arrived and we had to make a mad dash to get into the showers before them.

I'd like to say the remainder of the trek was downhill, but that's never the case. In clear blue sky conditions we hiked on to Chomrong in the Annapurna Sanctuary to get a close look at the Fishtail Peak and the surrounding awesomely spectacular Annapurna mountain ranges. Our final day of trekking (day 19) saw us say goodbye to the mountain vistas and we headed down the trail towards the main road back to civilisation. Treating ourselves to a taxi (a beat up Toyota Coralla circa 1970) we sat back dreaming of big juicy steaks and hot apple pie awaiting us in the traveller hangout of Pokhara. 10 km of hair rising dangerous overtaking on the brow of a hill/ hairpin bend / steep drop off proved too much for our Toyota Corolla and in a sudden shunt it was curtains for the steering mechanism. We were not even a minute out assessing the gravity situation before an pickup (already full of people and goods) arrived and offered to take us the rest of the way. Gilbert, well versed in the protocol involved in trashing and abandoning Nepalese taxis assured us that you're never waiting long for the next form of transport to come along. After four occupants squeezed into the front seat we stuffed ourselves, bags and poles into the back. After completing a delivery of whatever was in the back of the truck we were finally on the way to Pokhara.

:: The End ::

After all the fresh mountain air coming back to the "real world" made us acutely aware of all the traffic, noise and air pollution around. On the upside we were met with an impressive array of great food and home comforts like hot showers, comfortable beds, satellite TV, newspapers and internet. Situated on a large lake with impressive views of the mountains Pokhara is a low key touristy town that panders to every trekkers needs. We comfortably settled into to a few rest days here enjoying huge steaks (imported from Calcutta - not sure how that works), shopping/haggling and generally enjoying not having to get up and walk uphill for miles. After all the exercise of the preceding days, it was guilt free living at it best. However, all good things must come to an end and soon we said goodbye to Gilbert as he headed for the airport and we headed back to Kathmandu to get Indian Visas and head for the border.

Kathmandu is a crazy, often frustrating place. We thought dodging motorbikes in Vietnam was a harrowing experience - it's nothing compared to Kathmandu. Tiny little white Suzuki taxi put F1 to shame accelerating down populated narrow streets causing pedestrians to dive into the gutter to avoid getting hit. The city streets simply can't handle the volume of traffic resulting in constant traffic jams and horn blowing. Intermingled with the taxis are racing motorbikes and annoying rickshaws which have a 6 ft high and 2ft long piece of wood running over the drivers head. If you're lucky enough to be over this height you are under constant threat of being decapitated.

:: A Kathmandu Market ::

Thamel, the main tourist area of Kathmandu is a myriad of outdoor shops filled with all kinds of everything fake, silver jewellery shops, souvenirs shops and lots of guesthouses and restaurants. Touts and rickshaw drivers continually compete for attention to the point where after a couple of days we started to completely ignore anyone trying to talk to us in the streets. Thankfully tranquil rooftop balconies exist where you can escape out of the constant noise and danger of ending up as roadkill for a couple of hours.

After two long very frustrating days queueing in the Indian embassy we finally got our Visas and the green light to leave Kathmandu and all it's madness. Hopping on an early morning bus in the rain we ran into horrendous traffic - the definition of which is three hours stationary inching a foot occassionally. Unfortunately the rain meant nobody was riding on the roof so conditions in the interior of the bus were snug to say the least. In darkness, running six hours late we finally reached the border town of Sunauli and all it's glory; money changers, pushy travel agents and filthy hotels. Rising the following morning we were delighted to escape across the border and into India. The first person we met was the border guy, in between smiles and chit chat he stamped our passports and vigiously shook our hands welcoming us before letting us loose to find our way to Varanasi.

Everest at Dawn

2007-11-07T12:15:00.000Z

Mount Everest ....and the trip to Nepal

2007-10-13T06:28:00.000Z

:: A spectacular Tibetan landscape ::

We arrived in Kathmandu almost a month ago but only stopped very briefly before heading off to the Annapurna region. Since then, we've managed to squeeze in 18 days of tough, vegetarian fueled, trekking around the Annapurna circuit and into the Annapurna Sanctuary. Dee's Dad met us along the way and endured the hardship with us - he can vouch for the never ending uphill ascents of the mountains over many long days.
Fitter and a little slimmer now than we've been in a while we stopped back into Kathmandu to enjoy good food that is gradually reverting us back to our former selves....before heading into India where we are now.

So to catch up where we left off in Tibet.....

Our route overland route through to Nepal took us along the scenic Friendship Highway; this highway begins in Lhasa , runs over the Tibetan Plateau and crosses the Nepal border before finally ending in Kathmandu. From our observation there are two popular ways of making the journey, by jeep over five days, or if you're a real thrill seeker, by bicycle over a fortnight.

:: Yamdrok Lake ::

Opting for the former we teamed up with Marc and Imma (from Barcelona) and departed Lhasa in our aging Landcruiser. Stops along the way included the turquoise Yamdrok Lake, the fort city of Gyantze and Shigatse, the home of the Panchen Lama and then onto highlights of all highlights Everest Base Camp before dropping down to Zhangmu to cross the border into Nepal.

:: Kumbum Monastery - Gyantze ::

Over the course of the five days we admired spectacular snow capped mountains and huge barren plains as we passed through lots of small Tibetan villages. As we climbed higher and higher up into the mountains towards Everest what impressed upon us most was the fact that families live and survive in these areas of desolation and isolation with very little shelter from the hostile elements.

Day 4 brought the highlight of the whole journey.... reaching Everest Base Camp. Blankets of clouds that can envelop the mountain for weeks on end constantly threaten to rob visitors of the overriding reason most people embark on this route. After three very bumpy hours of off road driving which thoroughly tested the full capability of the Land Cruiser we finally reached Rongphu Monastery and proceeded on to the tourist base camp looking disappointingly down the valley to see white clouds occupying the space where Everest should stand imposingly. We could see one small peak but knew that somewhere in the clouds a mountain towered above it. Base Camp for tourists is located at the very end of the road on which vehicles are allowed to travel on. 100 metres of the road either side is lined with big black tent "hotels". We checked in to Hotel California, dumped our bags and started hiking the 6km to the actual Everest Base Camp at 5,200 metres hoping the clouds would lift long enough catch a glimpse of the mountain. Hours of waiting and imagining the clouds were lifting finally came to an end when the sun went down and an icy wind drove us back to tented Hotel California for the night with the hope that morning would bring a clear view.

Before dawn early risers confirmed that heavy cloud completely obliterated any mountain views so there was little point in rushing to get up and out into the cold. As people turned over in their beds to get some more sleep there were sudden excited shouts of "it's clearing" followed by a flurry of activity as people hastily threw on their shoes and ran out with cameras. As we all watched the clouds slowly dissolved revealing a breathtakingly awesome sight as the world's highest mountain majestically imposed her towering form before us.

:: Sunrise touches the Summit ::

These sensational moments and the minutes that followed as the sun came up and gave a Midas golden touch to the summit have become the absolute highlight of our trip. It's hard to put words to the experience and emotion we felt that morning.

:: Mt Everest ::

Rattling along towards the Nepal border later that day we'd all had enough of jeeps. An hour from the border along a stretch of road with a cliff on one side and sheer ravine on the other we encountered Chinese "road works". A fleet of Land Cruisers waited whilst workers laid dynamite into the cliff .... literally put their hands over their ears and blew massive sections of the overhang up showering the road with debris. No such thing as anything being a danger to the general public here. An hour or so later a bulldozer had pushed the massive rock debris over the side of the ravine (almost going in himself in the process) and we were waved on to our final destination of Zhangmu, the last Tibetan stop before the border.

:: Tourist Base Camp ::

The following morning, after a slight delay in which a Chinese border guard questioned the authenticity of Marcus's passport, we left Tibet in a little minibus and drove the 8km down through no man's land to the Nepal border. On crossing the bridge into Nepal there is a marked difference, you're immediately aware that you are in a new country. The new spicy smells and aromas are the first to hit followed by the vibrant colours, decorated buses and hustle of bustle of a new race of people living their daily lives. Clambering on board a bus heading in the Kathmandu direction we settled back to take in Nepal and form our first impressions. It was an eyeopening experience. Firstly all local buses have almost a colourful circus theme, they are adorned in lots of flare in the form of flags, tassels and pieces of material that are draped in the front window of the bus, lots of bells and whistles dance in front of the driver's direct line of vision as he negotiates narrow cliff side roads, hairpin bends and swerves to avoid stray goats and chickens. Over the driver's head there are two vital pieces of electronic equipment. The first is a cassette player which demands attention regularly, at the end of each song a new tune on a new tape is selected by the driver. The second is a horn machine with ten different sounds, depending on the situation, i.e. stopping, pulling out, coming around a bend, mood of the driver an individual horn trumpets a little tune to accompany the circumstance. Between driving and undertaking these tasks the driver is very very distracted.

Sitting up the front we watched as the bus stopped every couple of kilometres to squeeze some more people in until finally there was an overflow to the roof of the bus. We stopped in a small village and waited for twenty minutes as a woman ridiculously loaded fifty big boxes of Chinese whiskey (no exaggeration) in through the back window of the bus. Anyone unfortunate enough to be sitting in the back seats was relocated to the roof. Shortly later we stopped and a ridiculous number of boxes of brandy were added to the cargo. There just doesn't seem to be a ceiling on the amount of goods people are prepared to load onto a public bus. We picked up more and more passengers who squabbled over every available inch of space. At one stage we stopped and a man jumped in the driver's window and sat in beside him. You know a bus is really full when there are two people sitting in the driver's seat!!!

After a long hot day on an underpowered bus painstakingly climbing hill after hill we finally reached the top and freewheeled down into Kathmandu valley - and into rush hour traffic. We stayed in Kathmandu just long enough to pick up some essential trekking supplies before taking another bus to the Annapurna mountains.

Lhasa

2007-09-07T12:20:00.000Z

:: Potala Palace by Night ::

Our first impression upon scooting into Lhasa from the train station was 'oh no', this magical place has been turned into another Chinese 'Han' City. Thankfully as we wound our way through the new apartment buildings, hotels and KTV bars we found ourselves arriving into the backpackers area which borders the Old Lhasa we were hoping to see.

Streets lined with Butchers selling fresh cuts of Yak, Shops full to the ceiling with Yak butter and people on pilgrimages doing rounds of the Monasteries soon filled the backstreets of Old Lhasa.

Potala Palace is obviously on top of everyones list as visitors to the city. Knowing this the local bureaucracy has outdone themselves inventing the most obtuse system to acquire tickets humanly possible. Queuing up the day prior to your visit, before sunrise, passport in hand, you are ushered through into a holding pen to wait until they open the Ticket booking office. Once at the window you obtain a ticket booking receipt for an allocated time which you need to get in the front gate of the Palace the next day.

The Next day you turn up , show your ticket booking slip and enter the palace, only to walk 25 min through the palace to find the actual ticket purchasing booth. Upon location of said booth you surrender your ticket booking slip and passport and (200RMB later) are issued with tickets, 36 hours after commencing the process. Needless to say, the rigmarole was worth is. The palace is an iconic building and seeing the Dalia Lamas tombs inside is remarkable.

:: Debating Monks at Drepung Monastery ::

One of the most unusual things we went to see was the Monks Debating at Drepung Monastery. At 3pm every day the heated, noisy (need sound below) debates get underway. One monk sits on the ground while the other barks points at him, finishing every statement with a loud slap of the hands. It really was quite extraordinary to see and hear.

:: Potala Palace ::

The next leg of our journey takes on the mandatory Jeep trip to the Nepal border. Over 5 days we will bump along dodgy roads, visit Lakes, Monasteries and the highlight, Everest Base Camp. The weather seems to have been stable here recently so signs are good that we will get a good view of the big hill.

Our Next report will be from Kathmandu...stay tuned.... and don't forget to leave comments below if you are so inclined.

The Highest Train Journey in The World ....

2007-09-05T09:55:00.001Z

After 45 hours of smooth train riding we have arrived in the Tibetan capital of Lhasa. We spent the first night on the train from Chengdu to Xining on a normal sleeper train before transferring to the swanky "Rocket to the rooftop of the world" in the afternoon. This superdooper train has state of the art engineering and is more spacious and comfortable than your average Chinese sleeper trains. During the train swapping process there was an excited rush of local tourists who barged onto the new train to claim their territory - even though it's seat assigned and we were all to sleep in the same bed number, and thus the same position on the train as the previous night. Once settled it wasn't long before all the equipment and facilities were put through their paces and all the computerised gauges admired. The only complaint on board was that the hot water tank, a vital necessity in the noodle making process, was slow to heat up so there were lots of people wandering around with dry noodles bowls at a loss what to do.

During the first hour on the new train we were subjected to a lengthy description of altitude sickness and every possible affect it could have on the human body. To be honest it went from funny to slightly unsettling. At the end of the health lesson there was a stern announcement of ...."Smoking is very very bad for you - this is a non smoking train" ... yeah right no such luck more like the kind where everyone smokes in between the carriages and waves the smoke towards non existent air vents.

The most interesting section of the train line is between Golmud and Lhasa, it's here that the special diesel engines, capable of operating efficiently at 3-mile-high altitudes, get put to the real test running over track laid on permafrost.

Out the window we saw some incredible scenery, snow capped mountains were plentiful. We also whizzed passed China's largest freshwater lake, Qinghai Lake. Due to the altitude along this section oxygen is pumped into the train cabins to fend off altitude sickness. Although I'm not sure how much sense this makes if you have to get out and breathe the real air when you arrive in Lhasa.

On the final morning on the train we were all roused at dawn by loud music. The amusing thing about long train journeys in China is that everyone gets up really early in the morning and then discovers that there's nothing to do and ends up going back to bed again. By the last morning some passengers discovered that the oxygen nozzles over each bed were now dispensing air once turned. It spread like wildfire and pretty soon everyone had their nostrils up against the valves taking deep breaths - for it to function correctly a tubed face mask must be connected up! In our carriage a woman "suddenly" became overcome with sickness and was dragged to the next carriage and back again by well wishers, with so many helping and rubbernecking they completely crowded her out so it was hardly surprising that she was overcome and couldn't breathe.

We reached Lhasa earlier than expected and stepped out of our "safe oxygen" chamber and out into the "real air".... everyone quickly forgot about the thin air and in true Chinese style rushed at full speed towards the exit and onto the bus to bags seats.

China's Wild (Sth) West...

2007-08-31T04:43:00.001Z

:: Lijiang ::

Since departing Myanmar we've spent the month of August high, high up in the Chinese mountains with yaks. Internet has been sparse so once again we're doing a big catchup on all our highlights of the past few weeks. This entry also concludes our time in China; on the 2nd of September, we hop into our bunks and travel on the highest train journey in the world (reaching 5072m) from Chengdu to Lhasa, Tibet.

From Myanmar our route back into China was a flight to the city of Kunming. We'd spent a few days here before so it was a familiar stomping ground. After a sneaky Big Mac we were ready to tackle the tasty noodle soups and skewers served up in the Muslim quarter. After a couple of days of getting back into the swing of using our Mandarin numbers and elbowing our way onto public transport we were ready to head north and tackle the rest of the Yunnan province - and further afield.

:: Dali ::

Our first stop was Dali an ancient city that has undergone extensive restoration. Flanked by a mountain, and surrounded by high city walls and a moat this city is a mecca for Chinese tourists. We spent quite a bit of time watching all the ridiculous photo opportunities that people were taking outside the city walls amidst downpours of rain. As a major tourist destination there were no shortage of restaurants to cater for demand. One thing that has shocked us is that since we were here eight months ago the price of meat has risen by a whopping 45%. Luckily we saw this fact on TV otherwise we'd still believe that people were trying to rip us off. Unfortunately we left Dali before realising that one of the most famous "chinglish" signs lived there, it's a famous sign over a squat toilet that simply reads "No shitting in the toilet". Moving north in the full brunt of the region's wet season we reached the picturesque city of Lijiang. Despairingly we reached the labyrinth of the old town as darkness was falling and when there wasn't much room at any of the inns. Arriving under such conditions is always the worst part about backpacking, particularly when the bags are getting heavier and wetter. Adding to the stress were armies of tiny Chinese tourists barging around with umbrellas held at a dangerously eye gouging height - well for me anyhow. Whenever they tried to pass Marcus they bizarrely would attempt to raise their umbrella over and above his! The following morning bathed in sunshine, Lijiang looked a lot more appealing - although the peril of the sun umbrella was still threatening. We managed to find a perfect little traditional Naxi courtyard guesthouse complete with a friendly pregnant owner who when asked when the baby was due replied "it's coming in two days".

The old narrow streets of Lijiang are lined with small waterways and little bridges making it a quirky little place with lots of character. The local ethnic minority in the region is the Naxi people and their Dongba religion and culture, of Tibetan origin, is an important part of the music, paintings and lives of the people. Lijiang is also an extremely popular destination for rich domestic tourists; after dark the bars and restaurants are full of this breed favouring expensive imported Heineken in place of their cheaper local brew. The rowdiness and noise level gradually elevates as rival bars compete in "sing offs" across the canals. Literally one bunch of girls trying to out-sing the other, what's more is that it appears to be the same song that they sing all night, every night.

After getting caught out in the rain badly once, we decided to invest in some very stylish ponchos... and they're not of the normal variety... we got ones that would definitely keep us and our backpacks dry. Designed to cover one's entire body on a motorbike (Marcus's has a see-through bit at the front so the headlights can shine through) this rain attire means business, we left Lijiang as ready for rain as Noah was for the great flood.

Our next stop was a 2 day hike through Tiger Leaping Gorge, allegedly the deepest gorge in the world. Again, it's a heavily visited spot but thankfully the bus tourists are all confined to the bottom of the gorge close to the river (and near the bus parking lot). The hiking trail wanders high up the gorge along a tranquil scenic route far away from the hustle and bustle below. Hiking the gorge is relatively straightforward, you leave any big luggage under lock and key at the start of the hike and take off with a small bag, some water and a map. There are guesthouses dotted along the trail and red arrows mark the way. In total the trek takes about 8 hours. Most people complete it in an easy two day outing leaving lots of time to enjoy the scenery.

We set off early aiming to reach the halfway mark that day. There is only one place that you can go the wrong way, there are red arrows literally marking every conceivable wrong move you could make except this first one. A bunch of locals saw us go off in the complete wrong direction and said nothing - they've since been hexed. Three hours later we were still scrambling up the side of a mountain in the rain trying to find non existent red arrows. After asking a local to direct us to the right path he sent us up higher, way up into the already elevated altitude. Eventually after 7 hours we found a group of houses and asked for some help with getting back to civilisation. Weather conditions had made wearing our motorbike ponchos compulsory so we must have looked a right sight when the people answered the door to us. A local man walked us a couple of kilometers down the other side of the mountain back onto the trail. I'm sure he was wondering where we left the motorbike!

After a dismal first day and a hard seven hours of climbing we ended up a mere two hours into the hike. We turned up like drowned rats at Naxi Family Guesthouse and were greeted with cups of tea, piping hot showers and superb food - some of the best we've had in China. That's the way we remember it ... maybe it was the relief of finding the path with the red arrows. Anyhow after a good night's sleep we woke up without too much muscle fatigue and managed to complete the hike. After the previous days exertions the remainder of the hike seemed like a dawdle - all we'd to do after all was to follow the red arrows to the end and enjoy the spectacular views and incredible mountains all around us.

:: The End of the Rd. - View from Seans ::

We stayed the second night in Walnut Garden where lots of backpackers round off the trek before heading back via taxi to pick up their big bags and head on to the next destination. Our excitement didn't end there however, heavy rainfall had caused two landslides on the road back forcing us to clamber over the debris watching out for falling rocks. Luckily/unluckily a minivan was stuck in the middle of the two landslides so he was able to ferry us the few kilometers between landslides.

Our next stop was the charming old city of Zhongdian (3400m) where we chilled out for few days soaking up the hot sun and getting used to the thin air. Of all the old cities we've been to in China this is by far our favourite, its small scale, restored buildings, cobbled streets and the lack of tourists around made it a perfect place to relax. The aroma of bbq-ed skewers wafted from the old town square all day as stall upon stall cooked up beef, pork, potato and veggie skewers. In the evening the stalls were cleared away to make room for the locals to dance in the square. The dancing was attended by everyone from the old ladies of the village, to the local policeman to toddlers ... and surprisingly it wasn't all put on for tourists... there were only a few of us there watching on has they danced for hours nightly. It was neighbourhood aerobics in it's purest form.

:: Dancing in Zhongdian ::

We found ourselves traveling along the same route as Aussies Blake & Ros and Stu & Jane. After a couple of packs of cards were introduced we settled into a couple of competitive nights of cards interrupted only by last minute dashes down to make the skewer ladies before they packed up for the night. Jane and Stu suggested a day trip of picking a nearby mountain and climbing it with a picnic. The contents of the picnic quickly expanded to included a kilo of the finest yak cheese and a couple of bottles of Yunnan red - that was all the incentive the rest of us needed. The following morning laden down with a massive picnic we marched up the selected mountain and polished the lot off. After a fabulous picnic we made a somewhat giddy decent back into down ... no ordinary hike indeed... positively flashpackery.
Our next stop in the weird town of Daocheng, as it's national park Yading is currently closed there is no reason to spend any time in this place; you stop for the night and then escape as quickly as possible the following day.

We arrived in Daocheng after a horrendous day of traveling. Not only did we get a puncture that day but as night fell and we were climbing hairpin bend roads over an extremely high pass (no trees or vegetation to be seen out the window) the engine started making funny noises as the universal joint totally gave up on us. Thankfully we made it to the top and pretty much freewheeled down the other side of the mountain into a town where we were met by a mechanic. After a bit of old school soldering and hammering (using the car headlights as a flashlight) the universal joint was miraculously fixed and we rolled on into the kip that is Daocheng.

:: Litang Monastery ::

Escape from Daocheng to our destination of Litang the following morning turned out to be another nightmare. A minibus driver agreed to take us and a price was negotiated and agreed - then he refused to leave. These antics went on for couple of hours spreading to all the drivers in town until they were demanding a ridiculous amount of money. We got so infuriated that we all ended up ignoring them, going for a beer and telling them we were quite happy to wait for the bus the following day rather than bow to their greed. At 2pm tickets went on sale for the bus, by 2:01pm in a massive crush the tickets were all sold out leaving us with limited options. Luckily we found a driver returning to Litang and all hopped in willing him to drive us out of town before he changed his mind like the rest of the drivers. Nobody relaxed until we were a couple of miles out the road and well clear of Daocheng.We stopped for a couple of nights in the Tibetan town of Litang - highlights included giving the yak meat dishes a go and visiting the monastery.

:: View Over Litang ::

Our next stop was the wild west cowboy Tibetan town of Tagong located in the middle of the Sichuan rolling grasslands. Tagong is a one street colourful trading town - the local woman wear heavy silver jewelery and weave a red braid and yak bones into their hair. Most of the local men have long flowing hair and stride around in cowboy hats. We stayed in Gayla's Guesthouse a Tibetan home converted into funky accommodations - the dorm rooms were there most ornate one's we've seen to date.

After a couple of one night stops in Danba and Kangding we hopped on a super deluxe bus (unintentionally) and floated into Chengdu city hours ahead of schedule. Luck continued to be on our side when we found out that there were only two tickets left for the train to Lhasa on the 2nd of September. (The Tickets are sourced from the black market, such is the demand...)

The next thing on the agenda is to go and do a big shop for foodstuffs for the train, the Chinese are the masters of individually wrapped snack foods, entire supermarket floors are filled with every type of snack imaginable. There's no excuse for boarding without preserved eggs, vacuum packed skewers, jellies and a carefully chosen range of noodle dishes.

So, that's the saga so far, it's time to say farewell to China and take the a train up to the rooftop of the world, Tibet & Nepal, here we come.

Myanmar Slideshow

2007-08-30T22:56:00.000Z

Our Myanmar

The Road to Mandalay Part 5: Mandalay

2007-08-30T09:13:00.000Z

:: The Final journey on the Road to Mandalay ::

I genuinely thought that the mystic "Road to Mandalay" line originated from the nursery rhyme where Nellie the elephant and the head of the herd "met one night in the silver light on the road to Mandalay". It's since emerged (after a couple of days of me humming the song) that Australians don't have that nursery rhyme and it was actually Rudyard Kipling who coined the line in his poem "Mandalay".

Anyhow we can vouch that the road to Mandalay is in dire need of resurfacing but it does get better the closer you get to Mandalay. One thing we forgot to mention before was that as a former British colony, Myanmar traffic drove on the left side of the road until 1970 when the military administration suddenly decreed that traffic would now drive on the on the right side of the road. However, there are still many old cars and buses and almost all the modern cars are second hand imports from Japan so virtually every vehicle is right hand drive. This creates a dilemma that requires someone literally hanging out the passenger window or bus door watching the road ahead informing the driver (whose view is completely blocked) on whether or not it's safe to overtake.

Hours later we pulled into Mandalay bus station, located a totally inconvenient 7 miles from Mandalay city centre. As expected we were quickly surrounded by taxi touts looking for our business and the haggling for the correct fare for the journey began. Suddenly as the price for the taxis was becoming reasonable two guys appeared out of left field to bid for the job only difference was that they were trishaw drivers. After explaining that we couldn't have them cycle us and our bags 7 miles into the city they protested telling us that they were having a slow day and needed the business .... and besides they did it all the time. And so the final 7 miles of the road to Mandalay was tackled at a leisurely pace right down the middle of a dual carriageway full of huge trucks, buses and taxis.
We got chatting to our riders...in between lung fulls of exhaust....and they provided us an interesting insight into their business. It turned out that these guys were trishaw drivers by choice, they had an education, had good English skills and had work experience but with the current state of things they earned more riding than they did teaching or working for the government. To rent their bike cost them 300 KYT per day (~.30c AUD). Their goal was to save and buy the bike (100USD) , which one of the guys recently had achieved. Rent is 4000KYT (4$ AUD) a month for a bamboo hut. These guys worked hard, but with their language skills they were well placed to get work from tourists which hopefully means more income for them.

Our first impressions of Mandalay can be summed up by the words hot and dusty. It's a relatively new city, only 200 years old, identifiable by it's modern grid streets numbered New York city style. From the number of Chinese hotels and businesses it's very apparent how important Mandalay is as a city on the main road to China. Undoubtedly it will continue to grow as the Chinese investment pours in. Around the centre of town each street corner is multifunctional acting as a trishaw rider station, a bike repair area and a couple of business who time share the space, i.e. a tool shop by day and street restaurant by night.

:: Chicken Curry ::

After a day or so we had identified Chapatti Corner, one such street restaurant cooking up out of this world curries and serving up piping hot chapattis. It was to be the first of many of our visits to that particular street corner. Every evening at 4pm a shop closed and the pavement converted into a full on busy restaurant serving hundreds of diners from 5pm onwards.

:: Fermented tea Leaf Salad ::

To escape the heat of Mandalay we took a side trip to the hill town of Pyin OO Lwin three hours pickup drive away. This is a charming little town with many imposing colonial buildings and a colourful fleet of horse drawn stagecoaches that provide a taxi service around town. It's like the wild west meeting the cool Mandalay hills. The highlight of our trip up there was finding a great tea shop with an amazing tea leaf salad and crispy naan bread.

:: Local Cabs ... ::

With our trip to Myanmar finally coming an end we had enough time for one more meal at Chapatti corner, one more draft Myanmar, some last minute souvenir buying and one last ice cream from Nylon Bar before heading for Mandalay airport for our flight to Kunming, China.

:: Chappati Corner ::

The Road to Mandalay Part 4 : Bagan

2007-08-14T11:06:00.000Z

There are two preeminent ancient religious cities and archaeological sites in South East Asia, one is Angkor Wat in Cambodia and the second lesser known one is Bagan in Myanmar. The unpopularity of Myanmar as a tourist destination has meant that Bagan's vast array of temples have been relatively unvisited in comparison to it's counterpart city Angkor. The LP sums it up quite well saying 'Imagine all the medieval Churches of Europe, built in an area the size of Manhatten island'.

Bagan entered the golden age in 1057 AD when King Anawrahta conquered the Mon capital of Thaton, and brought back to his capital the Tripitaka Pali scriptures, a large number of Buddhist monks and artists and craftsmen of every description. The result was the transformation of Bagan into a religious and cultural centre. In the 12th and 13th centuries, Bagan became a truly cosmopolitan centre of Buddhist studies, attracting monks and students from as far as India, Sri Lanka as well as the Thai and Khmer kingdoms. It was during these two centuries of extraordinary architectural and artistic activity that city and its surrounds were covered with over 13,000 splendid monuments of every shape and size, the inner walls of most of which are decorated with incredible frescoes.

Today some 2,224 monuments from the original 4,446 that existed at the end of the 13th century still stand in a vast open plain covering 16 square miles. From the top of most of the temples you can look out across the dusty plain and see and endless uninterrupted view of literally thousands of temples.

Bagan is divided into three sections, Old Bagan where the ruins are co-located with a couple of swanky hotels, New Bagan where all the locals were "relocated" to by the government in 1990 (from Old Bagan) and Nyuang-U where most of the tourists hang out and every second restaurant offers "pizza and pasta". Staying in Nyuang-U you quickly find out there are two ways to see the temples; you can hire a horse and cart or take a bicycle, we chose the route of most independence and found ourselves on a three day very hot bike expedition around miles of sandy paths that meander around the thousands of temples. There are so many temples that it's impossible to see all of them all. Our route didn't always go to plan and there was lots of pushing the bikes through ploughed fields to a pagoda where we couldn't find the road. Our most annoying experience was where the map indicated that there was a road straight through a golf course and out the other side but a security guy on the gate refused to let us cycle through whilst droves of locals were whizzing along the route. Yes.... I did say golf course... there are even a couple of stupas in the middle of it all... there wasn't a sniff of a golfer the day we didn't pass through.

There are some highlight pagodas which see the most tourists every day. You can easily tell how popular a place is by looking to see how many hawkers are selling laquerware and sand paintings outside. We preferred some off the beaten track temples where we could usually get a few minutes of solitude up the top admiring the view before we were tracked down by someone selling their wares. Unfortunately there are a large number of really young kids selling post cards and trying to collect and exchange foreign currency from tourists. The hassling around the area is very persistent and can become very annoying. The Burmese phrases "I'm not buying" and "I don't want" came in very handy when they didn't fall on deaf ears.

Entrance into the archaeological area is totally unrestricted, foreigners purchase their $10 US dollar entrance ticket at the airport or on the bus on the way to Bagan this then entitles you to unlimited access for an unlimited amount of days to the area. It's largely accepted that most of the entrance fee lines the governments coffers with only a small portion actually going to the preservation and protection of the Bagan area. Sadly UNESO failed to designate Bagan has a world heritage site and has pulled out of the country after allegedly finding it impossible to work with the Myanmar government. It's also reported that the military junta has haphazardly restored ancient stupas, temples and buildings, ignoring original architectural styles and using modern materials that bear no resemblance to the original designs. Interestingly The Plain of Bagan is a living collection, new stupas are being built by rich families, this is a really great thing, its a growing spectacle.

Due to the lovely Chinese Internet Blocking policies I Cant embed this video in the post. The link below should work. Its a Panorama of the Bagan Plain.

Click Here for video

The Road to Mandalay Part 3 : Kalaw

2007-08-13T09:29:00.000Z

:: Almost Full..... ::

Leaving Inle behind we jumped in a local pickup truck, waited for it to fill up with other tourists and locals, and when full ....we squeezed in more people and trundled off at snails pace. Somehow our antique vehicles exhaust managed to belch all the exhaust fumes into the passenger area. During the first 5 minutes of the journey there was lots of talk between all the western tourists. After about 20 minutes an overwhelming feeling of tiredness kicked in, total silence prevailed as the carbon monoxide headaches developed. Eventually we reached the Shwenyaung junction where we took a few deep breaths and found another pickup going to our destination of Kalaw high up in the hills. Another hour down the road and we were shunted into yet another pickup truck that took us the scenic route via the a local market where it dropped off some cargo, we hand delivered letters to some business and collected and delivered a 44 gallon drum of petrol before continuing on to our destination.

:: The Old & The New - Paulong Manuscripts ::

Kalaw was a popular cool destination for British to escape the heat of other areas in Burma during colonial times. Nowadays it's slowly turning into a backpacker town and base for trekking - lots of tourists hike from Kalaw to Inle lake on a 3 day 2 night outing. We missed the boat on that one so settled for a one day hike up into some of the local villages around Kalaw. Unfortunately we chose the worst day and ended up drenched and literally up to our knees in mud. Despite the mud we'd a great day, our guide answered numerous of our questions about Myanmar stretching to "has Myanmar ever won a medal at the Olympics?"

:: Our Host & Paulong Writer ::

After a few hours hiking through the tea and orange tree plantations we stopped for lunch in a house of a local village man for lunch. Our host was bent over a manuscript carefully transcribing lines from an old text for the local monastery, he is regularly commissioned to reproduce texts of the story of his tribe. He is the (only) writer in the Paulong village. He passed on the skills of writing the Paulong language to his son who is now a monk in the village. The book he was transcribing was of Buddhas life, from a copy he wrote a number of years ago. Traditionally the books are made from a large number of paper sheets glued together. The ink is made from tea leaves ... mix it with the pigs gallbladder. It was a few hours of slipping and sliding in the mud later when we dropped back into Kalaw town. After a couple of refreshing Myanmar Beers we trudged back to the guesthouse for welcome hot shower.

:: Flooded Rice Paddies around Kalaw ::

An early 7am start the following morning saw us rushing out of the guest house (a soft boiled egg in hand for breakfast) to wait on the side of the main road for the Bagan bus to pass through somewhere between 6:45am and 8am. When it arrived the bus was already pretty full i.e. all the seats in the aisle had bums on them and so we'd to negotiate ourselves into our seat assignment which luckily happened to be the only two seats available. Three hours later we all got a breath of fresh air when the bus emptied out to watch the bus helpers change a flat tyre. We were very fortunate and managed to go until 3.30pm that afternoon before we experienced our second puncture which auspiciously occurred within spitting distance of a puncture repair outfit. As darkness fell we finally arrived in Bagan and began the accommodation search - enviously passing restaurant after restaurant of tourists tucking into dinner and frosty beers.

:: It really was muddy ::

The Road to Mandalay Part 2

2007-08-09T12:50:00.000Z

:: Locals at Indein Market ::

A long (19 Hours) overnight bus journey covering 660 Km brought us to Lake Inle, a freshwater lake in the mountains of Myanmar's Shan state. The lake shores are home to 70,000 people who live in wood and woven bamboo huts on stilts and live simple lives as farmers and fishermen. The dominant ethnic group in this area is the Intha people who have developed a distinctive one foot rowing style. Standing on the stern of the boat with one leg the men wrap their other leg around the oar and power themselves along using just their leg. The one advantage this weird style gives the men is better visibility over the reeds ahead.

:: Leg rowing ::

We used the village as Nyaungshwe as a base to explore the area. The village is located about 5 miles upstream of the lake. One thing we immediately noticed in the village was that there were crates of tomatoes being loaded up into trucks everywhere. We took a walk around the village and came upon warehouse after warehouse full of people sorting hundreds of thousands of tomatoes into different boxes. A day trip out on the lake revealed the source of the crop. Using seaweed from the lake, farmers have constructed rows and rows of long floating saturated platforms; so-called floating gardens covering kilometres of the lake. According to the season crops such as tomatoes, peppers, sunflowers etc are sown by the farmers who access the floating gardens in little wooden boats. While we were there the local ladies were out in force in their little boats picking the ripe tomatoes as far as the eye could see on the lake there were floating tomato plants laden with fruits...... important learning point .... from what we've seen it's not possible to over water tomatoes!

:: Harvesting on the lake ::

Our day trip swung past the local rotating market in the lakeside village of Indein, where local hill tribe ladies decked out in luminous orange head scarfs sell their wares. Tourism unfortunately has taken a lot of the "local" focus from this market leading to lots of tourist driven trinket stalls. However on saying that there is still plenty of local produce and lots of groups of little old ladies with bright orange scarves on their heads sitting around smoking cigars. A short walk out of Indein brings you to the top of a hill home to hundreds of small stupas.

:: "Jump !" ::

The just for thrills stop of the boat trip was at the "Jumping Cat Monastery"...... bored monks here have taught their cats to jump - well that was the info we'd been given. Arriving to a beautiful old teak monastery on the lake we disembarked and entered to find twenty or so cats sitting around relaxing.. we told them to jump but it didn't work.... I think we just expected them to jump upwards. Later we saw then in action jumping obediently through a hoop for a small treat. Still think jumping upwards would have been cooler.

An obvious left over from the colonial days is the practice of frequenting tea houses. Tea, cakes and savoury snacks are offered either on curbside plastic (kindergarten sized) tables, or in minimalist shops (concrete floor and adult sized plastic tables). Busy from breakfast until dinner time, men, women and families drop in for a hot drop and a nibble. At the other end of the spectrum, beer stations are the Myanmar versions of pubs. Normally all-male, concrete floored and equipped with 1 beer tap (serving whichever brand the beer station is affiliated to) the really interesting thing about them is that most people there are not drinking beer. Spirits in Myanmar are stupidly cheap. $2 AUD (1.2 EUR) will get you a 700ml bottle of decent whisky (even cheaper for Rum or white spirits). For the price of a beer you can get a quarter bottle of spirit so most guys opt for the whisky. They buy a bottle and sit down with water to finish it (half or qtr bottles mostly) or they get a slug put into their mug of draft beer. Apparently these boozers are a fairly new arrival in Myanmar, they seemed to have hit a sweet spot as they were to be found in most of the towns we visited.

From our chats with locals, another interesting point kept coming up. The governments intervention in communications. Personal incoming and outgoing mail is routinely read. There is only one mobile phone company - Government owned, so thats covered (and a SIM costs $2000 USD) and only one ISP, so they watch your internet movements as well. One example given to us was that email sent internally takes between 1 and 2 days to arrive (read make it through the government censors).

I think this photo I took at the Mandalay airport pretty much sums it up.

The Road to Mandalay Part 1

2007-08-09T12:33:00.000Z

:: Shewdagon Pagoda by night ::

Myanmar. A country that may not ring many bells with you immediately; hopefully these jottings will help add a few "bells".

Probably better know by its previous name - Burma, Myanmar is a country we need to keep an eye on. Led by a Military government since 1992, it is a sizable country (the largest in Sth East Asia), with plentiful resources that is heading in the wrong direction.
Myanmar is a major exporter of Rubies, Jade and illegal drugs (2nd largest producer of Opium), it also has significant quantities of old teak forests which have mostly all been sold off to Russian or Chinese opportunist businessmen (it used to supply 75% of the world market). Income from these exports finds its way mainly into the hands of the ruling generals. The normal citizen in Myanmar is very poor compared to the rest of the region. Sustenance farming is the norm, with government jobs (say teacher) very lowly paid compared to the private enterprises (ones of any scale normally co-owned by military staff) in the country. (a teacher earns between 12 & 20 USD p/month).

The lack of infrastructure investment has led to a situation where there are very few good roads (proximity to airports, Defense academies and smuggling routes ensure better quality). One main Nth/Sth road branches off into single lane (plus a bullock & cart path) unmaintained tracks to East/West destinations. This makes for very slow and bumpy overland travel. Electricity is unreliable, with most businesses setting up a diesel generator on the footpath out front.

Market forces of supply and demand, fuelled by the shutdown of most international import/export (except from China) has led to a crazy situation with cars. Most of the cars you see on the road are 1980's Japanese models or even older. In Mandalay they are still running taxis and buses provided by the Japanese as War repatriations. To import a car you need to line the generals pocket to the tune of ~$40k USD. Needless to say only the top earners (see above to imagine through what business) can afford newish vehicles. So the top end market (2005 Landcruiser) will cost you around $300k USD in country. A 1980's Toyota corolla - around $23kUSD. Ludicrous. Interestingly this had created an industry hand modelling cars or reconditioning wrecked and rusted chasis (alot of US army Jeeps) into one-off vehicles.

We were lucky enough to enjoy a few nights of chatting with locals, often over a cold Myanmar larger (Government owned). In these discussions they imparted their dislike of how the government is running their country (The Military conducted - then ignored results from 1990 elections), their view of the corruption from the top, their concern about the friends Myanmar is making (The Russians are helping them build a Nuclear reactor, China is their major trading partner) and their hope that the future will bring regime change.

All these details are to help paint a picture of the country from a political and economic perspective. They shine no light on the fabulous spirit, generosity and friendliness we experienced from the people. We really enjoyed our time in Myanmar. We learnt alot that we want others to know, we saw fantastic sights, ate incredible food and shared great memories with locals and of course each other. Its a country that is not on the easy road, but we feel greatly rewarded for our expedition there.

Ok on with our story.....

Following a long night on a hard metal seat in Bangkok airport we took to the air and landed in Myanmar's capital city Yangon (formely known as Rangoon from British colonial times). Our first view of Myanmar was on final approach to the airport when all we could see was the skies reflected over hundreds of square kilometers of heavily flooded land. The reference to the umbrella in the last blog entry was not just in there for the laugh.

You very definitely know you are in a very different country from all others once you step outside the airport in Yangon and meet the people. All the men wear longyis (sarong style long skirts) - David Beckham didn't dream it up by himself! All the women and children smear a thick yellow paste on their faces in various designs as a combination of makeup and sunscreen. The first words of English you hear in the airport are spoken in a grand English accent reminding you of Myanmar's colonial past. When you hit the Myanmar roads you become aware of a plethora of 1980's Toyota Corollas which take you back to childhood memories of what cars used to look like in the old days.

Yangon is a bustling capital city with a mix of grand dilapidated colonial buildings on leafy streets and huge golden pagodas, once of which dominates the centre of the city doubling as a massive roundabout. Walking down the main street is time consuming as street sellers have set up elbow to elbow along the path selling everything from tv aerials to samosas. The street stalls pen you in to a tiny footpath where the flow of people dictates your progress in actually getting anywhere. There is a strong Indian influence in Yangon evident in the number of high quality cheap and cheerful indian restaurants churning out curries with kick and thali plates full of flavour.

Our time in Yangon was spend getting caught out in the frequent surprise torrential rain showers and fending off the droves of money changers who constantly hustle for business.Due to International sanctions, all foreign banks withdrew their presence in the 80's - leaving the country without any international financial services - read - no ATM's, no Credit card transactions, no travellers cheques. You need to bring all the money you will need with you in USD cash. Tourists to the country pay for their hotels and entrance fees in US dollars but all other expenses are paid in the local kyat. You can only buy kyat when you reach Myanmar officially $1 USD = 6 kyats but on the black market $1USD = 1250 kyat, leaving the black market as the only viable option. US dollars proffered to changers must be absolutely perfect to a ridiculous degree. Annoyingly we invested a lot of time in Bangkok airport slyly touring the many 24 hour money exchange booths begging them to swap all our older looking notes for a perfect ones only to be rewarded with lots of humming and hawing and questioning of the integrity of the notes in Myanmar. Carrying out the dollar to kyat exchange itself is delicate procedure that usually takes place in a dark stairwell or other suitably covert location lending itself to the illegal activity. In our stairwell after extensive examination of our two perfect $100 bills and lots of tut tutting over a possibly bad serial number we were eventually given the thumbs up and the guy reached into the back of his skirt and pulled out a colossal wad of worn, tatty, dirty looking bank notes each one almost the size of a newspaper. The largest domination of the kyat is the 1000 note (1AUD, 0.60 EUR, 0.85 USD), if you're lucky you only have to count a few hundred of these if you're unlucky you're in the stairwell a while counting in 500 notes. Later that day we left with our supermarket bag full of small big sized money.

No visit to Yangon is complete without taking in it's most infamous pagoda. Myanmar's most sacred Buddist pagoda, Shewdagon Pagoda sits glittering on a hill overlooking Yangon. With it's 98 metre gilded stupa it towers above the city. Thousands of Myanmar people make a pilgrimage here each year. It is truly a spectacular sight, the lower stupa is plated with 8,688 solid gold bars and an upper part with another 13,153. What's almost more impressive is what you can't see, the tip of the stupa is set with 5448 diamonds, 2317 rubies, sapphires and other gems, 1065 golden bells and at the very top a single 76 -carat diamond. Rain showers during our visit to the Pagoda drove the crowds away and we were left in solitude to enjoy the striking reflections on the wet marble surrounds.

:: Circle train - Yangon ::

On our final day in Yangon we decided to take a spin on the circle train that loops the city's outskirts in a mere three hours, it's a good way to see all the small satellite villages and farms around Yangon. The rickety old wooden train carriages are open and empty apart from two wooden benches that run along under the open windows - No shortage of natural air conditioning. Rushing to catch a train that was almost pulling out of the station we presented our "foreigner fare" of $1 US dollar note each. In a memorable exchange the station master said "This note is old I need a new US dollar bill" Marcus replied "My friend I can guarantee that note is newer than the train !" As it happens our foreigner ticket got us into executive class. We were quickly waved up one end of the near empty carriage and a length of thin rope was tied across to distinguish our space from everyone else's. All occupants of the carriage regardless of proximity rope were drenched when the monsoon rains came down with a vengeance.

So Long Beaches.....cya

2007-07-10T13:19:00.000Z

:: Refugee boat ::

Setting off from Ao Nang we shot across to Surat Thani in time to jump on the night 'refugee style' ferry to Koh Tao. Checking in you are assigned a number which is your space on the ground for the night...territory which you fiercely defend for the rest of the night. Luckily our crossing was smooth and uneventful.

:: Night Diving ::

Some see Koh Tao as the diving mecca of Thailand. Some view it as a factory as there are something like 47 Dive schools on a not very big island. For us it was a perfect place to do some more courses and rack up some good value dives in relatively good weather. We worked through our Nitrox, Deep, Navigation and Computer specialities. The deep being the highlight as part of the training is to experience induced narcosis which kicks in around 35m. At 37m (120 Ft) we couldn't manage to write simple words backwards...sort of like being drunk and not caring to answer the question asked.
As luck would have it our time in Koh Tao lined up with the 20th year anniversary of the Full Moon party on nearby Koh Phangan. Needless to say we jumped the party boat from Koh Tao to check it out. We expected 19yo on their holliers but we were pleasantly surprised, finding a mix of all sorts enjoying a good party on the beach. Being the rainy season weather was also a concern but we enjoyed perfect clear skies...even seeing the moon.
A few more dives...including one at night which was very very weird....(weightless with the visibility of a narrow torch beam) then we headed back to the welcome of John and Nus in Phuket for our final few days in Thailand.
Tonight we are off to Yangon, Myanmar...and after 11 months and 3 weeks of holding out on flying, we are forced to take to the skies once more as travellers cannot enter the interior of Myanmar without flying in. Our first purchase will undoubtedly be an umbrella as we hit there smack in the middle of their monsoon season.

Thailand....so far

2007-06-23T13:38:00.000Z

The white sandy beaches and turquoise waters of Koh Phi Phi In Thailand have been keeping us busy for the past while. Unfortunately the full brunt of the Thai rainy season has hit hard over the last day or so, bringing high winds, rain storms and power cuts so paradise beach life has been put on hold for the time being. It's also an ideal opportunity to get the blog up to date again.

The last installment was from Siem Reap in Cambodia where we were preparing for the infamous nightmare bus journey to Bangkok. In the last few years most of the major road routes in Cambodia have been systematically rebuilt and sealed with the notable exception of the Siem Reap to Bangkok road. Corruption is supposedly at the heart of the matter, it's rumoured that a certain airline (with Bangkok to Angkor Wat flights) made a payment to the Cambodian government to ensure that this major route would be amongst the last to be upgraded. Considering that the distance from Siem Reap to the Thai border is a mere 200 km it's mind boggling to think that Cambodia's most important international road is a rocky, muddy, dirt track that takes in excess of 7 hours to pass.

:: This wasn't our bus... its wheel fell off completely ::

Our journey to the Thai border took a nightmare 9 hours during which we managed to get two tyre blow-outs; after the second explosive puncture we were out of spares and forced to wait on the side of the dirt track until "something" came along that we could "borrow" a tire from. The "something" turned up in the form of a rival company's bus... it all seemed a bit hit and miss, you certainly wouldn't want to be the last bus of the day bumping along the road. In an effort to protect our very last borrowed tire the bus crawled to the Thai border. When people complain about the condition of this road they are by no means exaggerating... it's truly ridiculous. After been rattled around for 9 hours and travelling only 200 km we were delighted to reach the Thai border. Instantly recognisable by it's bright ATM signs, fast food outlets and gloriously smooth sealed roads. We clambered into the waiting super dooper VIP double decker deluxe bus for Bangkok and marvelled at the marked roads, signposts and traffic lights.

Time in Bangkok was spent to-ing and fro-ing to various embassies gathering visas for the next leg of our journey and escaping into the air conditioned shopping centres to get out of the city heat. Bangkok has some fantastic food courts which are well worth the visit including Siam Centre and The Emporium. We visited Khao San Road a couple of times but managed to avoid coming away with a tattoo or hair braids ... there's definitely a traveller's uniform in these parts! There's also some good shopping around this area with lots of "We buy anything" stalls which sell commonly jettisoned items from a backpacker's over packed bag. Wares include unused mosquito nets, hiking shoes, snorkles, sleeping bags and even half empty shampoo bottles. Our next destination was Phuket reachable by night bus from Bangkok... bring on our second nightmare bus journey of this entry. Special Tourist VIP buses (reclining seat, aircon, movies, toilet) leave Bangkok nightly bringing hundreds of backpackers south to the islands. The tickets for these buses are sold by every single tourist agency in and around Khao San Road. Local public buses make the same journey but charge double the fare. So what's the catch? Well it's very well known that on occasion some items go missing overnight from luggage in the hold of the VIP bus. After reading the colourful tales of theft on the travelers forums we decided to take a calculated risk. We bought the cheap VIP tickets, paid extra attention to keeping all valuables on our person, reinforced our big bags and ventured forth treating anyone associated with the bus as a suspected thief. As if playing exactly to the script of the stories we'd read we became aware of a guy crawling around the floor in the middle of the night looking through people's hand luggage. Marcus shone a torch down the aisle of the bus to scare him away and saw him slither down the stairs of the bus. The following morning we got off the bus and told people to check their bags. Immediately people found that they were missing money. Then all the big bags came out of the hold of the a bus and almost ALL of them had been thoroughly rifled through, ordinary locks didn't seem to be a deterrent. In all the uproar the bus drove away ... with Marcus running after it standing in front of it to stop it. The agency where we had stopped said the police were on the way but they would "replace" any missing money so there was no need for any fuss.

We didn't have anything stolen from us after our re-enforcements but were appalled to see the bus company give back money to people and people just accept the behaviour as normal rather than a criminal scam. A tourist police guy turned up but didn't seem to be able to do much. The fact that it was all done so brazenly (and daily) and is ignored by the authorities is a disappointing indication of how such scams can go on for years. It doesn't seem to be logical to have a large tourist police presence around the streets and then hoard all the tourists onto a bus to have them systematically robbed. It's the same buses and the same crews doing the same thing every night. So... after a very long sleepless night, a brush with the thieves a 5 hour wait for our connecting bus to Phuket we made it to our destination 24 hours later. Luckily Dee's cousin John and wife Nus were there to pick us up and bring us to their home where we enjoyed all the best in home comforts for a couple of weeks. Thanks for the hospitality guys!!!

While we still had the sunny weather on our side we hopped over to Phi Phi island and stayed at Long Beach for a few days. The beach there is stunning with it's white sand and turquoise waters, it's certainly a life you can relax into very easily. Added perks include a bungalow a few feet away from the water and shark snorkeling straight from the beach. It's low season at the moment and things are really really quiet, we've actually been surprised at the number of guest houses and restaurants that have closed up for the rainy season. While Long Beach seems to have been spared from the destructive force of the Tsunami the same cannot be said about the narrow central strip of land between Ton Sai Bay and Loh Dalum Bay. Although some new hotel developments have sprung up, large amounts of scattered rubbish, broken furniture and strips of neglected land take away from the beauty of this particular area. It looks like there will be a lot more flash packer development in the future. The tip for now is get on a long boat and get yourself around to idyllic Long Beach.

:: Long Beach on Phi Phi ::

Our next stop was Ao Nang on the Thailand mainland where we spent a couple of days before pushing on to Krabi town and taking a ferry out to a totally deserted Koh Lanta. Although we enjoyed the solitude of the empty beach and amazing sunsets we had planned to fit in some diving in our last couple of weeks Thailand so we decided to head back to Ao Nang and come up with a new plan. Ao Nang is a beautiful little seaside resort town that has become our favourite little base camp in this neck of the woods, even though we arrived here amidst huge storms it has managed to make a great impression on us.

:: Long Boat on Phi Phi ::

So our revised plan is to spend a couple more days enjoying Ao Nang and exploring nearby Railey beach before embarking on an overnight journey to the island of Koh Tao off the east coast of Thailand. It's here we plan to fulfill our diving ambitions ...fingers crossed they haven't heard we're coming and closed up shop!

:: Sunset on Koh Lanta ::

The Temples of Angkor

2007-06-06T09:33:00.000Z

:: Angkor Wat ::

The temple ruins of Angkor represent the remnants of the millennium-old Angkorian-era capitals of the ancient Khmer Empire. The Khmer people were and are the dominant ethnic group in Cambodia. The name ‘Angkor’ refers to the Angkorian-era Khmer Empire that stretched across much of mainland Southeast Asia between the 9th and 15th centuries A.D., and also refers to the capital city of the Empire that was centered north of Siem Reap Cambodia. Most of these temples were constructed between the 9th and 12th century A.D. and represent the pinnacle of ancient Khmer architecture, art and civilization.

:: Bayon ::

At its height, the Age of Angkor was a time of wealth and power for the Khmer Empire. The capital city at Angkor was populated by more than a million people, Khmer kings constructed vast waterworks and grand temples and the Empire's military, economic and cultural dominance held sway over the area of modern Cambodia, as well as much of Thailand, southern Vietnam and Laos.

Nowadays The temples of Angkor take their place amongst the seven modern marvels of the world. There are dozens of temple ruins in the Angkor Archaeological Park spread across more than 400 square km. all in different states of ruin and displaying a range of artistic and architectural styles.

We tackled the parks highlight temples in one very hot ,very tiring day. Most tourists take on a few temples a day, avoiding the scorching midday heat, visiting the park over a few days, but not us :-). 10 hours of climbing , scrambling, walking and drinking (6+litres of water) later......we had enjoyed a spectacular architectural feast all around us, in this truly awe inspiring place.

:: Serious Steps ::

We started our day with the centrepiece of the complex - Angkor Wat. This vast moat encircled temple will take the breath away from any first time visitor. Its scale, height and detail is amazing. One thing I was'nt prepared for was the steps. The very steep stairways represent the difficulty of ascending to the kingdom of the gods....and boy were they steep.

:: Ta Keo ::

From Angkor Wat we headed on to Bayon , Angkor Thom, Preah Khan, Ta Keo, Ta Prohm and finished the day watching the darkness take over Angkor Wat from the top of Phnom Bakheng.

:: Ta Prohm ::

We really enjoyed all of the temples we saw. They were hugely different, from the clean unfinished lines of Ta Keo to Ta Prohm and its struggle to avoid being swallowed by jungle.

The temples are quite spaced out from each other, we needed to hire a motorcycle with a little 2 seat trailor to drag us in between them and back to Siem Reap town. Siem Reap itself is not the worst place to hang out for a few days. It sees the majority of tourists heading into Cambodia so has developed a good range of dining and shopping to satisfy all.

From here we head towards Bangkok, via the dreaded bus journey to Thailand...more of that in our next post.

Le Boker Palace

2007-05-22T11:19:00.000Z

:: Le Boker Palace Hotel & Casino (now) ::

From Phonm Penh we took off South to the river side town of Kampot. Famous for Pepper in bygone Colonial days and for its proximity to the old beach side seafood town of Kep (as well as being a Khmer Rouge stronghold). Today its a sleepy town with plenty of colonial buildings making wandering around enjoyable and a smattering of ex-pat run riverside eateries. We used it as a base to venture to the fantastic old hill station in Boker National Park.

Abandoned by the French in 1922 and originally built as a spectacular (and much cooler than the lowlands) hilltop Hotel and Casino complex complete with shops, post office, Church and Royal apartments, today the station is a ghost town. Only a new ranger station has any manned presence.

:: Le Boker Palace Hotel & Casino (then) ::

At 3000ft above the surrounding coast, the climb up to the top is an adventure unto itself. The single lane road which once was tarmaced, has now been destroyed by the weather and overgrown by the jungle. Remember this is a jungle that hides tigers and elephants !. The 32km's of winding rubble is all the more enjoyable from the back of a pick-up. Every corner brings a duck, a weave or a hold on tight, as we bump over another small canyon. Two full hours after entering the gate, we arrive at the top. Battered and bruised the journey has been for something.

:: I wasn't joking ::

Ironically due to the vertical drop from the top to the sea below, rising hot air normally creates so much mist you can't see your nose, but the day we chose was perfect. Clear blue sky, mist rolling up onto the plateau and a view that ranks with the best we have seen out over Phu Quoc island and the coast below.

:: Outstanding View ::

The buildings themselves are in varied states of collapse. The Church and the Casino Hotel are in the best condition for exploring. The Casino - known in its heyday as Le Boker Palace can be explored from top to bottom. From the kitchens, through the grand ballroom to the suites and outdoor dining areas above, while although small by current comparison you can switch your minds eye to see grandeur all around. The mist and empty halls make for an eerie atmosphere, it is said this is a haunted place. The King even went so far as to build a new casino 100m away as he thought the gamblers who took the shortcut down to the sea after losing too much cursed the original casino.

:: The Grand Ballroom ::

Even in the day with a made road the journey up here would have been tough in the vehicles of the time. Guests would have stayed here for a week at a time, enjoying the coolness, view and facilities.

:: The Post Office ::

The view from the top is phenomenal. 180 degrees of almost sheer drop to the sea coast 3000ft below.

:: A fair drop-off ::

After the great fun at the top, a reality check, another 2 hour bone-crunching ride to the bottom makes this a long, tiring but extraordinarily interesting and enjoyable expedition.

From Kampot we caught a share taxi around to Sihanoukville the evolving tourist friendly coastal town. Plenty of guesthouses and BBQ's on the sand make this a pleasant place to hang out for a few days. After our fill of barbied barracuda and local Angkor we braved a back to back bus journey from here , through Phnom Penh through to Siem Reap....a place deserving of its own blog...due to some old temples around there. Stay Tuned.

"To keep you is no benefit. To destroy you is no loss."

2007-05-22T11:04:00.000Z

Cambodia is a country that has economically fallen behind its neighbours due to years of internal strife. Its a country that is trying to get back onto its feet, driven by textiles, tourism and potentially, resources. We found the people to be positive; focused on creating a future that they see around them in Vietnam and Thailand. They have a long way to go. Years of zero investment coupled with rampant corruption make for challenging times ahead.

We spent a few days exploring Phnom Penh. Last time Dee was here she whistled through on the way to Siem Reap, so this time we wanted to get under its skin a bit more. After Vietnam some things took a bit of adapting to. The local food borrows from its neighbours and is heavy on fish and rice. The beer is strong and expensive (although that would be the case for any country after Vietnam) with a big plus being they have a good range of local stouts. Overall the streets are a bit dirtier and dustier with homeless families occupying some corners. With the focus of the downtown area being the riverfront, most of the traveller bars and hangouts line the promenade. There are some beautiful buildings, particularly the Royal Palace and the National Museum and some more sobering tourist sites like Tuol Sleng.

The Khmer Rouge was the ruling political party in Cambodia between 1975 and 1979. In those 4 years they left a scar on their country which today is not openly discussed, but will certainly never be forgotten.

From Wikipedia:
In power, the Khmer Rouge carried out a radical program that included isolating the country from foreign influence, closing schools, hospitals and factories, abolishing banking, financecurrency, outlawing all religions, confiscating all private property and relocating people from urban areas to collective farms where forced labor was widespread. The purpose of this policy was to turn Cambodians into "New People" through agricultural labor. These actions resulted in massive deaths through executions, work exhaustion, illness, and starvation.

The Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum is a former high school turned security prison located in central Phnom Penh. In it's few years of operation it saw an estimated 17,000 political prisoners enter its doors. There were seven known survivors, kept alive for their useful skills.

Tuol Sleng was is linked to the infamous Choeung Ek killing fields, some 17km's out of town. The Museum is presented in the 4 blocks of the old school buildings. Rooms used for interrogation complete with instruments of torture and photos of how the rooms were found by the Vietnamese liberators occupy one three storey block.

The Khmer captors kept meticulous records including photos and extracted biographies from their prisoners. Boards of these photos taken on arrival at the prison are displayed in the second block. Thousands of black and white photos. The third block has the cells, some brick, some wooden and group rooms where hundreds of people were chained together unable to move.

The final block houses displays; skulls, photos, artwork and a film room. Stories of the Khmer captors, their lives now and then also feature.

The impact of Tuol Sleng on the visitor is dramatic, made even more so by the fact this occurred in our lifetime and many of the perpetrators have yet to be brought to justice.

Colonel Kurtz's Mekong.....

2007-05-02T11:24:00.000Z

After three long days in a host of different floating vessels we have finally made our way through the Mekong Delta and up the Mekong river to Phnom Penh in Cambodia. Our time in the Delta was spent visiting some of the local cottage industries such as coconut confectionery and rice paper factories. The most visually interesting process we saw was the making of "Rice Krispies" (same idea as the Kellogg's brand). The rice husks are thrown into a huge wok filled with very hot black sand, after a couple of seconds and a lot of loud snap, crackles and pops white rice bubbles appear from beneath the black sand.

This fertile region is known as Vietnam's rice basket as it produces most of Vietnam's rice supplies. The area also produces large quantities of sugar cane, fruit, coconut and fish. We walked through some dense fruit farms with very ripe mangos precariously hanging high above. The delta contains a network of small canals which the locals commute through in small rowing boats. Daily floating markets are the hub of the community, lots of boats gather each specialising in a veg, fruit or ware and sell to the local people who row around doing their shopping. Each boat displays what their selling by perching their fruit or veg up on a large stick.
A huge variety of vessels ply the waterways here....one thing they all have in common is that they are steered by the foot of a captain very comfortably reclined...in a hammock if available.

April has been a hot and humid month in the Delta and rain that was badly needed was forecast during our time there. As the guide predicted the rains came down in a torrential downpour that last 45 minutes and are followed by blue skies. We got caught out in a small boat with only flimsy sun curtains to shelter from the almost horizontal rain.

On the last day of the trip we were rowed around in a small boat to see some of the floating fish farms. Families live in houses above their fish farms which are floated on plastic drums. Some of the farms contain as much as 150,000 fish at any given time, throwing some fish food in creates a feeding frenzy.

After a four boat trip we finally reached the Cambodian border. After the usual delays and bureaucracy we transferred over to yet another boat for two and a half hours. By the time we were aboard a bus to Phnom Penh we'd decided to steer well clear of boats for the next few days.

Phnom Penh is lively, busy and extremely hot. Over the past couple of days we've been enjoying dry land and checking out some of the local sights and markets.

South to Saigon

2007-04-26T14:05:00.000Z

Mui Ne is a coastal area lying five hours north of Ho Chi Minh City. Surprisingly there are more resorts here than there are anywhere else in Vietnam, most of these resorts have been built within the last five years. There is one long road dotted with beach side resorts and restaurants. If you want a very remote private holiday relaxing in nice resorts it's the place to come - you'll certainly be spoiled for choice. The resorts look a bit surreal in the sandy barren surroundings.... each entrance has a grand entrance, immaculately manicured green grass, huge shady trees and Disneyland type buildings.

We stayed for two nights and decided to move south towards Saigon. Although Mui Ne is beautiful, everything is spread out, most of the restaurants are swanky western ones or built to house tour groups. The absence of good local food and lack of a central hub made it feel like a place that was manufactured for tourism. Which is exactly what it is ... and what people pay good money to visit... so each to there own .... and now on to Saigon.

:: Typical lightpole in the city ::

It's hot hot hot in Saigon so it's hard to get enthusiastic about sightseeing. We arrived late in the evening and set about finding whatever accommodation hadn't been snapped up during the day. The first area we hit happened to be where the accommodation sharks hung out, after a while you realise they are all related to each other or working for the same cartel at least... in high humidity walking up flights of stairs to look at a room it can quickly try one's patience.

Besides that Ho Chi Minh City is a pleasant place to spend some time. After all the rushing around of the past month we've been uploading photos, catching up on the blog and enjoying lots of cable TV in the coolness of our room. Conveniently the cricket world cup is reaching it's climax so there have been a couple of late nights.

Our plan from here is to leave on Saturday for a trip in the Mekong Delta and make our way up by river into Cambodia early next week.

That's where we'll next pop up on the radar.