My World Tour

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2010-09-24T16:10:00.001-07:00

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2010-09-04T16:50:00.001-07:00

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2010-08-14T21:07:00.001-07:00

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Check out my photos on Facebook

2010-07-02T15:45:00.001-07:00

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Check out my photos on Facebook

I set up a Facebook profile where I can post my pictures, videos and events and I want to add you as a friend so you can see it. First, you need to join Facebook! Once you join, you can also create your own profile.

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Blog í Hollywood

2009-08-30T23:33:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » California » Los Angeles » Hollywood

Nú er sindur síðani eg seinast skrivaði, og tað kann ikki sigast at tað er tí at einki hevur verið at skrivað um!
Nú situr mann í Los Angeles og skrivar, mitt á Hollywood Boulevard, á gøtuni við stjørnunum á vegnum., men síðani tað er so langt síðani eg seinast skrivaði, kann eg minnast eitt sindur aftureftir eisini.

New York:
Vit komu seint um kvøldið til New York, og tí høvdu vit avgjørt at sova fyrstu náttina á flogvøllinum. Vit settu okkum so so fitt á nøkur setur og royndu at sova eitt sindur. Eftirsum vit vóru fýra kundu vit býta vaktirnar soleiðis, at tað allatíðina var onkur vakin. Tað gekk so fínt, og vit komu ígjøgnum náttina. So hevur mann eisini prøva tað.
Dagin eftir fóru vit so spent inn í New York at finna okkara hostel. Tað var ógvuliga heitt, og tær tungu taskurnar á rygginum gjørdu tað ikki betri, men vit komu fram allíkavæl. Men inn sloppu vit tó ikki - har var læst, og vit fingu fortalt at vit ikki skuldu gera okkum vónir um at sleppa inn fyrr enn um eini tveir tímar.
Tá vit so høvdu verið nakrar metrotúrarm og sveitta nakað nógv sluppu vit endiliga inn, og tað var ikki nøkur vøkur sjón! Eg fari ikki eingongd at royna at seta orð á tað, tað var sum tikið beinleiðis úr einum "horror" filmi, so tað fyrsta vit gjørdu var at royna at finna eitt nýtt hostel, men av tí at vit ikki funnu nakað til sama dagin, noyddust vit at sova har eina nátt. (P.S. vit hava lagt eitt video út á GetJealous.com/bloggers/anbomani)
Hostellið dagin eftir var munandi betri - tað lá beint við Times Square, og fólkini vóru faktist fyrkomandi! Har gingu so fýra dagar, og so komu vit til eitt annað, líka lekkurt, hostel. Har svóvu vit í einum 8 songs kamari, so har komu vit ordiliga í kontakt við aðrar fjakkarar, millum annað tveir avstralar/avstraliarar? Sum vit fóru út til eitt sovorðið stand up comedy tað eina kvøldið. Stuttligt at uppliva tað eisini.
Annars er Central Park avgjørt eisini vert at nevna. Har fóru vit fleiri av døgunum. Tað er ideelt at renna um morgunin, dagin ella enntá kvøldið. Tað er ein ógvuliga stór og hugnalig park, ja so stór at eg og Nicolas hálvviltust har inni. Vit vóru farnir at renna, meðan Bodil og Annika gjørdu fimleik á einari ong. Tað endaði við at tær máttu bíða rættuliga leingi, av tí at vit bæði ikki orduliga vistu hvønn veg vit skuldu renna og fullu í prát við ein gamlan blíðan mann.
Men so til endans var tíðin í New York liðug, og vit máttu siga bei við allar skýskrabarnar, Statue of Liberty og teir gulu taxa bilarnar.
Los Angeles:
Flogtúrurin tók fimm tímar, so tað er lítið av miklum. Tíðarmunurin er -3 afturímun til NY, og -8 afturímun til har heima. Tað fyrsta vit hugsaðu um her var at fólkini virkaðu blíðari enn í NY. Tey smílast og bjóða seg til at hjálpa, og alt virkar ikki so resut sum í New York. Ikki tað, tað kann væl vera at vit bara hava verið heppin enn.
Her er eitt sindur heitari enn tað var í New York, og tað følist eisini. Tað hevur verið upp í 98 gradir fahrenheit (36 celsius). Hostellið hjá okkum liggur sum sagt mitt á Hollywood Boulevard, so tað er ikki langt til nakað, men tað fyrsta kvøldið vóru vit so passaliga móð, partvís orsaka av tíðarmuninum og partvís av tí tað faktiskt er rættuliga strævið at ferðast, at tað endaði við at vit fóru tíðliga í song.
Dagin eftir vóru vit so ein sightseeing túr har vit koyrdu runt í Los Angeles og sóu húsini hjá nógvum av teimum heilt kendu sjónleikarunum. Vit høvdu vónað at sæð onkran kendan eisini, men tað bleiv bara til húsini hesa ferð.
Í dag fóru vit oman á strondina. Tað var okkara fyrsti, av vónandi fleiri túrum til sjógvin á túrinum. Har bleiv bæði sólað og svomið, og bæði ryggurin og serliga lørini føla, at eg havi fingið íso nógva sól. Um kvøldið fóru eg og Nicolas so í 3-d Biograf við setrum sum rystast í takt við actionið í filminum. Tað ger filmin rættuliga nógv meir spennandi at síggja og føla spreinginarnar, sum um tað hendi fyri einum sjálvum í veruleikanum.
Í morgin skulu vit so flyta hostell áðrenn vit byrja okkara busstúr runt California. Spennandi.

Eg veit ikki rættuliga nær hesum bloggurin kemur út á netið, tí vit hava ikki internetsamband alla staðni, men hetta er so skrivað 29 - 08. Marnar

the Mr Gadava Museum of Stone Sculpture

2009-08-30T23:32:00.001-07:00

the Mr Gadava Museum of Stone Sculpture

Muzej kamnitih skulptur se nahaja v okoliskem podezelju Chengduja. Transport in samo lociranje te posebnosti, za katero se lahko navdusi le arhitekt...sta trajala 3 ure in pol! Muzej je privaten, last gospoda Gadave, zbirka je za enega zbiratelja...bogata! Odprli so ga samo za naju...paznik nama je sproti odklepal stavbe...in tudi pazil...da jaz ne bi fotografirala...ja sevede! Ga je prijatelj zamotil sem pa tja...Menda so poleg povabljencev edini obcasni obiskovalci muzeja le arhitekti :D
Lociran je sred prave dezele... v nasadu bambusa...in je res impresiven! Vse skupaj spremlja glasen zvok tukajsnjih skrzatov, ki so priblizno tako grdi kot jadranski...pa cca enkrat vecji pa dvakrat bolj glasni (ja....tut to je mozno!) Tako da ima celotem vtis tudi posebno zvocno zaveso. Seveda godejo cisto svojo vizo!
Moj prijatelj YB je bil z vsakim prevozenim kilometrom proti dezeli boljse volje, ker mu tako okolje sede in se se vedno spominja, da je bil novejsi kampus Chengduja, kjer je on bival...v tistih cajtih sredi prav take dezele. Danes....je ze lepo na obrobju mesta :)

The museum is unknown and hard to find! No locals of the Pi county (west of Chengdu) would know about it, so with YB we were sent to a wrog place
rice drying
....simple as that!at first. It took us about 3.5 hours to locate it...and it's supposed to be 'just out of town'. Thanx to his good friends again, we could get the phone number of the institution and the directions to the city-wise remote area. As we went further away...my friend was in a better mood with every KM that passed, cause it was a proper sichuan countryside that we were entering...rice fields, bamboo growes...and a very special sound atmosphere!

They opened the museum especially for us, so the guard was literally unlocking and locking up behind us each of the pavilions. He also tried to keep an eye on me cause...NO PHOTOS met my mini camera at the entrance....yea right! YB kept him busy talking some of the times...and since the guard told him, that besides some VIP guests the only occasional visitors would be groups of architecture students some of the weekends...I think we all know that is was clear to this guy ...that photos were indeed being taken! Just not as many as one would like...and the angles....were maybe not all that one would otherwise wish to take.

Museum is a private institution...housing...I suppose...mr Gadava's private collection of
country side
taking care of the drying ricevarious stone buddist statues acquired in years on from the southwest Chinese provinces, all somehow connected to the anicent silk road going trough here on two major routes.
The way the buildings are layed out among the bamboo bushes...is just amazing! Nature plays an important building factor. The other amazing thig is the use of light. The building masses are arranged in a way...that all the lights you actually can see in the photos...would only need to be used at night...cause all the light present....is all natural! Also....for my fellow architect (and all other engineer) friends: concrete is top of the class. Using wood surface structure on the walls and bamboo wowen surface structure on the ceilings. A nice pattern formed here as well.

It is clear in an instant, why it is also featured in a book of best contemporary chinese architectural projects. Definately worth a visit...if one is an architect! But still...I know that the visit was also interesting for my non architect friend.

Tennessee - Bonnaroo Bonnaroo!!

2009-08-30T23:30:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » Tennessee
June 16th 2009 by Hutcho, A Year Abroad: US, Europe and the Middle

The sky grew darker at 2 in the afternoon on Thursday as storm clouds rolled in and the wind picked up. A massive bolt of lightning streaked across the sky followed seconds later by the accompanying rumble of thunder. We could see the torrential rains sweeping across the tent grounds and as they reached us a few minutes later we took shelter in a vendor tent and laughed. Off to a good start and we hadn't even seen any live music yet!

Bonnaroo is a 4 day music and arts festival held in Manchester, Tennessee, which attracts some 80 to 90 000 people, held this year from the 11 - 14th of June.

Matt and I had only managed to secure a ride down to Tennessee the day before, which given my organising abilities is about standard, we were driving with a friend of a friend, Mercedes and Kevin, and picked up a fifth in Kentucky, Christine. The drive down was uneventful and long, 25hrs type long.

The main venues were named thus, What Stage, Which Stage, This Tent, That Tent, The Other Tent, as well as a whole host of smaller stages and tents. Confused? Try organising
Night Time
to meet somewhere at two in the morning after being awake for 18 hours and not at your full mental capacity due to a day full of shenanigans!

Day One
Our camp site was, unfortunately, a good 30 min walk from the entrance to the festival grounds so over the course of four days we put some good miles under our feet. We spent the first morning setting up our camp, an area where we would spent little to no time. We went exploring and got wet, see above, and then wandered around the festival grounds looking at the art work and some of the small bands playing. That night we saw a few bands and went on the Ferris wheel over looking almost the entire festival, well worth it for the views of the area all lit up. We got a relatively early night in preparation for the next few days. It started pouring with rain as we were walking back and surprise surprise our $20 Walmart tent wasn't completely waterproof, which led to me sleeping in a puddle in the tent. Off to a good start!

Day Two
Friday dawned with much live music on the
The Storm Clouds Gather
agenda. The highlight during the day was definitely Galactic with Trombone Shorty and Boe Money, it was excellent. Trombones can now be added to the list of objects with which two people can duel (see photos). Adding to the already incredible energy at the show, Boe Money ran off the stage and spent a good 15 minute playing in the crowd, amazing.

That night we saw David Bryre, who was dressed all in white with choreographed dancers behind him, we had a great time running around and getting into mischief. Phish, a jam band extraodinaire, were also excellent closing with a Beatles cover although I suspect they were taking it easy as they were closing the festival Sunday night.

Late night saw us running around between the three shows, see below, the undoubted highlight being Girltalk, a mash-up DJ who will almost definitely be sued at some point due to very liberal "sampling" techniques. He had let people up on stage by the time we got there and it was madness, the stage was a seething mass of people, we couldn't even see him until he stood up on the table where he had his laptop to dance.
Exiting for the Last Time
There were people crowd surfing everywhere and generally just going mad. The music cut out a couple of times because people were standing on his laptop and pulling the cables out. At one point he had to stop the show as people were getting crushed at the front trying to get on stage. Great show.

Day Three
Saturday dawned far too early for my liking. Most of us just relaxed in the camp until late afternoon before heading into the festival grounds. That afternoon we stumbled upon the best discovery of the four days, Of Montreal, a kind of electronic, indie, pop band who were significantly better than that rather poor description. They were all dressed in crazy outfits, one of them looked like a punk angel. We were only there for 5 minutes before we pushed forward towards the front to get into the heart of the action. While the band was excellent, the weird performances in the background with people dressed up as pigs pushed to another level. Great band.

That night we saw the tail end of Ben Harper and a little bit of MGMT, who weren't actually that good, I felt like I was
The Car Gang
Me, Matt, Mercedes, Christine and Kevinjust listening to one of their albums, no lights or video behind the stage or anything. We also saw Moe., another excellent jam band who played a great set. Unfortunately my body was starting to rebel against me at this point and I had to leave before they finished, which was disappointing as they played till 6 am finishing with a 40 min version of one of their best songs. But I missed that unfortunately as Matt constantly reminded me.

Day Four
We got off to another late start on Sunday, we saw Citizen Cope in the mid afternoon and then Brett Dennen a bit later, a great singer/songwriter. We spent a lot of time just relaxing near the main stage and playing frisbee and listening to the music that was on at the time. Later that night Phish, played a great set to close out the festival. Then it was time to leave.

The Drive Home
The Drive Home can be easily divided into two very distinct "shifts", if you will, the first three hours where Matt and I were not in charge of driving and navigating and the next 25 hours where we were. Needless to
The Moon and the Prayer Flag
Josh brought a prayer flag so that we could find our tents among the thousands of otherssay there was an incident during the first shift, namely getting lost and driving 3 hours in the wrong direction, which was extremely frustrating to put it mildly. We pulled off the highway in the middle of nowhere Kentucky and figured out where we were, which is not where we should have been. Kevin mentioned that he was getting tired driving so I immediately volunteered to drive, nominating Matt as navigator.

We immediately got the show back on the road, driving for the next 25 hours on a steady diet of funk, talking crap about the previous 4 days, mean beans and laughing deliriously at the situation followed by periods of one of us passing out while the other drove! Taking care of business getting home :) To be honest neither of us should have been driving given what we had got up to during the festival and the chronic lack of sleep we were both suffering from, I was so tired at the end I felt like I was drunk and had to keep slapping myself to stay awake :)

And that was that. Not a bad few days. I also didn't shower the entire time we
Campgrounds at Night
were away. Just thought I'd throw that in there :)

Who We Saw

Thursday
Now the River: Eco Folk Music, Julia Hunes, People Under the Stairs and Midnite
Friday
Toubab Krewe, Animal Collective, Galactic with Trombone Shorty and Boe Money, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Beastie Boys, David Bryne, Phish, Pretty Lights, Paul Oakenfold and Girl Talk
Saturday
Gov't Mule, Of Montreal, Wilco, The Mars Volta, MGMT, Ben Harper and the Relentless 7 and Moe.
Sunday
Citizen Cope, Brett Dennen, Snoop Dog and Phish

Re-Visiting Netherlands St. Martin

2009-08-30T23:28:00.001-07:00

Central America Caribbean » Netherlands Antilles » Sint Maarten

We left Barbuda at first light and had a beautiful trip to St. Martin. The wind and seas were calm and the fishing was amazing!!! We caught 3 yellowfin tuna along the way- which is awesome! It definitely was the best fishing day all year. Unfortunately we haven't caught much fish in the Caribbean. Most of the time it is too windy and thus we are too busy sailing to throw out a line. But even when we have been trolling we have hardly caught anything, not even a nibble. So to land 3 tuna in one day was a record and it made the crew on the Rum Runner very happy. We probably could have kept fishing, but after 3 we decided to take in the lines and focus on getting to St. Martin in time to catch the last bridge opening. And we did! So we pulled into the lagoon after a very long and productive day, excited to be back in St. Martin, and enjoyed fresh fish for dinner- yum!

We love St. Martin and think it is a great island with lots of diversity, there is definitely something for everyone. Where else can you start your
Grande Case Beach
Enjoying one of the beautiful beaches here in St. Martin.day off shopping on the Dutch side where you find great deals on everything from electronics to jewelry to boat parts, enjoy a gourmet lunch at one of the seaside cafe on the French side, spend the afternoon at one of the most beautiful beaches in the Caribbean, then get jet blasted at the Sunset Beach Bar as you watch all the planes take off from the island, follow that up with a gastronomic feast of all you can eat ribs for dinner, and if you still have energy- go out to a night club or casino to end your day. And that's not all! There are so many fun things to do in St. Martin, which is why we were excited to return. It is one of the islands that we will always come back to. This year we were planning on spending only a couple of weeks in the lagoon. Enough time to do all of our favorite things that we love but also explore new things on the island too.

One new adventure for us was to go to the street fair in Grand Case. It was so much fun! Every Tuesday during the "on season"
Lobster!!!
Lobster for lunch anyone?!?! This is one of the gourmet restaurants on the French side of St. Martin- where the food is oh so good!the town of Grand Case on the French side closes its streets and throws a big street fair. It is a great way to spend an evening. All the art galleries and boutiques stay open and the streets are lined with vendors selling cool island knick knacks. We saw lots of great art, got a chance to talk to the artists, and even bought a couple of new pieces for the boat! As we continued to stroll down the street we followed our nose to the lolos which serve up some of the best bar-b-que on the island. We feasted on ribs and chicken and fish- so yummy! And then continued on to enjoy the party atmosphere. As the day turned into night in Grand Case, the live music and street performers come out. We saw capoiera being performed, which is an Afro-Brazilian art form that combines music and dance and martial arts- so cool! And a parade of people dressed in carnival costumes playing all types of instruments from drums to maracas to conch horns- so festive and fun! You just never know what to expect when you go to the street party in Grand Case. We went a
Jet Blast!
Jay having a blast with Spencer at the Sunset Beach Bar- where the entertainment is watching the planes take off from the airport. Watch the video for the full effect.couple of times while we were in St. Martin and always had a great time.

The coolest capital in Central America - Panama city :)

2009-08-30T23:23:00.001-07:00

Central America Caribbean » Panama » Panamá » Panama City

Hola a todos!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Panama! The last country on my list in Central America with a population of around 3million people!!!!

First I stopped in the highlands of the province of Chiriquí in Panama. There is a small but charming valley/city called Boquete which is nestled among the country's most mountainous region, at 1.200 meters.
Birding, hiking, mountain biking, rafting... (of course everthing quite expensive) .
I did the sendero treking which was really, really nice...pristine nature and silence :) On the way there and back I've met a lot of very friendly localas...delicious coffee, beautiful nature...

My second real stop was completely different from the one in quite Boquete.
Bocas del Toro archipelago which consists of nine islands, 52 keys and some 200 tiny islets. The largest and most developed island is Colón Island. I've heard sooooo many nice things about this place...and at the end I was a bit disappointed. A little bit. It was nice, but nothing sooooo special. My opinion is that this is just a very good place for party, party, party...nice for a day or two - but not for more (especially on the main island!). For my taste it was just toooo
Panama city
many "gringos"...I'm sure that was an amazing place few years ago, but now...well, now people go there mostly because of the party.
Specially the main island is like that. There I've met Alex and Katrin...and we decided to go together to much nicer Isla Bastimento where we had GREAT time. Practicaly we had our own guest house with a porch and hammocks above the water :))))) From there we walked to the "close" beach (Wizzard beach), which wasn't soooo close as locals said!!!! Instead of nice 15min walk, we walked (barefoot) for an hour or even more through the rainy forest with legs half in the mud (a night before was raining like crazy)!!!!!!!! But at the end we had a lot of fun :))) I left my shoes there, cause they simply didn't survive...

Bocas's biggest inconvenience is the rain. Well, this is part of a rain forest after all....so it is one of the wettest regions in Panama.

After Bocas I went straight to David (the 2nd largest city in Panama with the weirdest »purple guest house« ever) and from there to the amazing Panama city!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to stay longer in the area around David,
Bocas del toro, playa la Estrella
but the weather wasn't on my side.

Panama city - with its modern and older part (Casco Viejo), vivid rhythm, cheap clothes and much more! I could stay in Panama city even longer cause - it is such a cool capital!

One day I went to PANAMA CANAL a with dutch girl. It wa svery interesting to finally see the most famoues canal on the world.

The 77 km international waterway known as the Panama Canal allows ships to pass between the Atlantic ocean and Pacific ocean, saving about 12,875 km.

Every time a ship crosses the canal toward the Pacific ocean or toward the Atlantic ocean 197 million liters (!!!!!!!!) of fresh water are bleeded from huge Gatun lake. It used to be the world biggest artificial lake.

The canal makes the trip from the east coast to the west coast of the U.S. much shorter than the route taken around the tip of South America prior to 1914.
It takes approximately fifteen hours to travel the canal through its three sets of locks (about half the time is spent waiting due to traffic).
In September, 2007 work began to expand the Panama Canal.
Bocas del toro
Expected to be complete in 2014, the Panama Canal expansion project will allow ships double the size of current Panamax to pass through the canal, dramatically increasing the amount of goods that can pass through the canal.

And that was it!
a week or so in Panama city I went to amazing San Blas islands, came back and flew to Colombia!

Hope u are all having as much fun as I do!

Besitos a todos,

Jana

Riding the Gringo trail: From Goa to Hampi by train

2009-08-30T23:22:00.001-07:00

Asia » India » Karnataka » Hampi
March 30th 2009 by Willow, World trip 2008/9 - Africa, India and South America

At Vitthala temple
I had just two weeks left in India and was torn between whether to stay north and see more of the forts and palaces of Rajasthan or head south - I'd met heaps of people who'd raved about the south and how different it was and I was keen to see it for myself. In the end what tipped it was probably visiting the fort at Kumbalgarh - I really didn't think anything would be able to top it. But then as it turned out I found I actually preferred the north!

I started in Goa, well Panjim really - I wasn't too bothered about the beaches (half a day at Calangute was more than enough to make me want to run back north - it was a case of spot the local amongst all the Europeans), rather what interested me was the history of Portuguese India. Panjim officially became administrative seat of Portuguese India in 1843 when it moved from Old Goa. All that's left of Old Goa now are the colonial buildings of the time, mostly churches - the Se Cathedral, the church of St Francis of Assisi, the church of S. Caetano..... The Se Cathedral is the
Colours of Hampi
largest church in India and reputedly all of Asia - construction of the current building began in 1562 but wasn't completed until 1652. Panjim was an interesting town too, every building in the Latin Quarter where I stayed seemingly being brightly painted - red, yellow or maybe mauve.

On most trains I'd taken in India I'd been the only white person in the carriage - in this case I don't think there was a single Indian passenger in the carriage. It really was quite surreal. That said the scenery on the journey from Goa to Hampi was the prettiest I've seen - from the lush green palm tree filled flats of the coast, through deep steep sided valleys to the the rice fields and farmland of the interior.

Hampi itself is full of guest houses, restaurants selling every kind of foreign food and souvenir shops. But around and amongst all of that are the ruins of Vijayanagara, the former capital of the Vijayanagara empire. And at the centre of the town at the end of the main bazaar is the Virupaksha Temple complex, a Shiva temple with a 49 m high tower at its entrance. Unlike the other
At Vitthala temple
The wheels are raised off the ground so they could be rotatedtemples here this one is still an active place of worship and always seemed to be busy with devotees coming to pray whilst monkeys watched on from ledges and windows on the tower.

Out at some of the other surrounding temples I was surprised by the number of local tourists who were also here. I quickly lost count of the number of families (it always seemed to be a family of 7 or 8 - parents, kids, aunts, uncles, nephews etc, never just one or two) who came over. Often they didn't speak English but sign language worked just fine because they invariably wanted to know if I was on my own, how many kids I had, how many siblings etc. And they nearly always wanted their photo taken. No one ever had an email address for me to send a copy to but they all seemed to get a real kick out of posing for a big family photo, barely giving me a chance to take the thing before they were all crowding round, jostling each other to get a good look. The most memorable though must be the school trip - as I was leaving one temple
Krishna Temple
I heard shouting and turned just in time to find myself about to be being mobbed by a group of 30 odd 8 year olds who were running downhill straight towards me. And of course they all wanted their photo taken..... we settled on one group shot.... whilst the guy I was travelling with just stood behind them killing himself laughing.

Apart from the temples Hampi is surrounded by a landscape full of huge boudlers. And they're everywhere. We hired bikes one day and cycled away from the town, passed paddy fields where women were bent over busy planting the new crop to a hill which we climbed to reach the temple at the top - and the views for 360 degrees were of a boulder covered landscape!

Next up Kerala - beaches, backwaters and back home

Playing tourists in our new hometown

2009-08-30T23:21:00.001-07:00

Asia » Thailand » Central Thailand » Bangkok

Here we are...Bangkok! I've dreamed it for years, plans have been to settle here for years....and finally, we made it with Leslie and Ma'ri. Why Bangkok...closer to the diving, closer to a lot more golf...and all of these, at a reasonable prices.

We will still be on the road all the time, as somehow, Bangkok will only be our resting nest. I've never been very attracted by the chinese food and the chinese way of life while we were living in Shanghai. But here it's different. I love the good manners of the Thais, their food and the general atmosphere here.

We will obviously travel around the country. Few trips are already planed. But I also know that if you want to play the tourist in your own city, the best is to do it as soon as possible....before you are too busy with your daily life. So don't worry, we will not have tens of entries about Bangkok. This is the first week-end we spent here. Next week-end, we are already out of Bangkok for few more discoveries...and one more entry.

We won't show you where we live and the way we live, this is not really
...
travel related. But last week-end, we went to Wat Pho and to the Grand Palace on Saturday. On Sunday morning, we went to see the Golden Mount and to visit Jim Thompson house turned into a museum. Afternoon were spent discovering more what our daily life will be when we are here and not on the road.

I'm not a big fan of the area surrounding the Palace, in more than 100 visits in Thailand, I only pushed it once to Khao San Road, so it was important for me to make sure that Leslie and Ma'ri did discover this part of the city....quite far away from home! Still on the list are the zoo, and the Parliement area. For those, as they are next to each other, make sure I'll check the news first...don't want to end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. For example, the Sunday 30th August, they are awaiting 30,000 red shirts in the city...we won't see them as they will mainly around the Parliement....but this is for example a day...you simply do not want to go in some part of Bangkok. Funnily enough...to get to those places, with the traffic jams,
so much gold....14k...
it would take us a good one hour...

Leslie is now at school...and so far so good as we say...he was so happy to bring back the violon from school. The fact that he seems to feel great at school is a very important point for us. He has just moved from the American system to the English system, not a huge change, but still some changes we all have to adjust.

Our stuffs are still on the way...blocked somewhere by one of the last typhoon around China...so we've been camping for few days...but camping in pretty good conditions....an it will remain a fun souvenir for three of us. Not much wine or champagne to celebrate...as I'm seriously against these to be poured in plastic glasses...doesn't stop the gin tonic thought!

School is back, we are happy and the sun is there a lot more than the rain...quite nice for the rainy season!

Let us know when you are coming!

With love from three of us! Thailand, the land of smiles...we are ready!

Revisiting Thessaly - Meteora

2009-08-30T23:20:00.001-07:00

Europe » Greece » Thessaly » Meteora

This has been long overdue. I may have taken comfort in the many notes I have taken while doing this visit that I blogged about my more recent trips to China and Taiwan before working on this one. It has been nearly 6 months since Greece, and I beg you to indulge me.

A Second Time Around in Greece.......

It has been 23 years. The first time I visited Greece was back in 1996. I was not exactly alone then, as I joined a travel group for a 38 day trip around the area. We then covered Athens, Delphi, Thessaloniki, Meteora/Kalampaka, even Nessebar on our way out to Istanbul. Many fond memories. I remember going back to Athens after every "major trip", where we relaxed, did our laundry and enjoyed shopping and dining at the Plaka.

Some things never change. When Shelly and I arrived in Athens, there was dear Jean to welcome us. And dear Jean to take care of our hotel bookings, out of town trip to Meteora, cruise bookings and our laundry!!!! Since it was still early and checking in at our Hotel Athenais would have to wait till noon, we decided to
Acropolis
Took this photo from the hill across, soon after we climbed down from the Acropolis.go to the highlight of any trip to Athens. Shelly being a first-timer here, was all agog about touring around the Acropolis. After all, any history on Greece would be remiss without stories on Athena, the great Acropolis, the Erechtheion, the many Greek gods and goddesses, the many odeons and amphitheatres, the original Olympic games, and many more. Shelly had her fill that morning. As we climbed up to the Parthenon, she had a fine introduction viewing the odeon and Theater of Dionysus, the Temple of Athena Nike, the colossal Parthenon, etc. But she was blown away by the beauty of the Erechtheion's Caryatids. We were lucky to get a good shot on that clear sunny day. The clouds were out, the tourist crowds were well-behaved, the children were not wailing, and there was just enough cool breeze to dry the sweat off our foreheads. By the time we were done, it was way past lunch time so we decided to proceed to our hotel to check in and freshen up.

From the hotel, we did more touristy stuff like those stopovers at the Olympics 2004 site, the Parliament, the modern Olympic stadium. Then we made our way to
Yes, it was a clear day!
The Caryatids were just as I remembered it, and the sunny weather was a bonus!Plaka. With Shelly's shopping skills honed in the many bazaars in Turkey, Plaka was not all that challenging for her. We decided we should do Plaka again before we finally leave Greece, careful not to load up so much as we still had the cruise to do in the coming days. So back to the hotel for some needed rest. After all, we started very early today for our morning flight from Istanbul to Athens. And we plan to leave midnight for an overland trip to Kalampaka/Meteora. So, time to recharge!

Out at 2 AM, to reach Meteora by 8 AM

Our earlier-scheduled Meteora tour was cancelled. And the next one won't be until April. Too late, as we plan to join our cruise end of this March. Our dear Jean had other ideas. She organized her own tour!!!! An entire motorcoach was rented for the day. There were 43 of us, including at least 3 kids, who mercifully slept through the entire journey to Meteora. Many brought thermo flasks filled with coffee. And we even made a stopover in some cafe that must have served many tour buses. The problem with drinking coffee is that you're
Impromptu Skirt
You can't do the monasteries in pants.... so you either use the filthy skirts available there, or IMPROVISE. Good thing my shawl is big enough as a wrap around skirt.good for just 2 hours till you start lining up to pee. I was tempted to drink more than a cup, but stopped myself. In that 6 hour journey, I lined up to pee only twice. In between, I managed to doze off. I woke up just when we were entering Kalampaka (or Kalambaka)........and the sunrise was quite a sight as the light touched off the rock monasteries and hills scattered in that area.

First off was the Great Meteoron Monastery. My lavender shawl made for a good wrap around skirt. I remember back in 1996 being told that women can't enter the monasteries wearing shorts or pants. There were skirts available at the gate, but you can imagine all those tourists having tried them on, and the gatekeepers not wasting their time to put those filthy skirts up for laundry for some time. It was cool and breezy here early this morning. And after sitting it out for the last 6 hours, we were all prepped up for the climb. One of the young fathers climbed up right ahead of me , with his daughter on his back. As I struggled to climb up, I only had to
The Monasteries of Meteora
We only visited 3 this afternoon. But we certainly made good use of these visits.....Oh, my knees!!! All that climbing.look at this young fellow take 2 steps at a time, all in stride, while chatting up his daughter . Then I looked back. The others stopped to catch their breath. Hmmm, I wasn't doing badly after all.

The icons inside the monasteries were just as I remembered them, more than 20 years ago. The views from the top make the climb worthwhile. The "net" used to pull up the monks in olden times was still there. In my earlier blog on Greece (No Senior Moments, I remember Greece 1996), I mentioned how those monks must have prayed real hard inside those nets, while the other monks pulled them up several stories high. One false move, and it's goodbye. The altar inside was quite a sight, but no photos are allowed.

There were 2 other monasteries to visit, and one is St. Stephen's. This one is easier to manage. No uphill climb. More icons. More photo opps. More panoramic views. Shelly found something to buy in the museum store inside, while I sat it out in one corner watching busloads after busloads of noisy, unruly schoolchildren visiting the monasteries. A pity I couldn't understand what they were talking about. Well, you bet they were
I Love This Shot!
A young lad took this photo......and Shelly had the nerve to ask him to do it a second time! The second shot did it. talking Greek! But there was obviously a great debate going on among these youngsters as young men and women talked at the top of their voices while weaving through the monastery's dark rooms. I wonder.

By the time we recouped for the bus ride back to Athens, we were all tired and ready to doze off. We reached the capital around 9 pm . We were out for a good 18 hours. But it was all worth it. I knew I just had to make this 2nd visit to Meteora, and that I just had to bring Shelly here. Many tourists just stay in Athens or nearby Delphi, perhaps do a 3 island tour for a day, or even go further to one of those hotspot islands like Mykonos or Santorini. But Meteora is truly something. I will recommend it to anyone visiting Greece.

Riga in 3 hours

2009-08-30T23:17:00.001-07:00

Europe » Latvia » Riga Region » Riga

Freedom Monument
It was towards the end of the day and the city looked a lot busier than before. Many locals walking around, laughing, smiling it seemed a happy place. It felt safer too. The Police don't look as intimidating now with their florescent yellow vests. In transit at Riga airport and 5 hours to kill there's no better way to kill time than to exchange some money and head out to the Latvian capital for some Baltic life.

3 hours - that's all I needed to see how much the Baltic's have changed since my first visit - In 2004 it just got accepted into the EU (2 months earlier.) As a travel destination it was the unknown. Back then I stayed at the first hostel, which was still getting renovated at the time.

I asked myself - after being in Old Russia - Central Asian - countries this journey. Has the change to the EU been good for Riga as a travel destination? 2004 there was excitement around but seriousness at the same time. They knew that the future was bright reconfirming their move away from Russian control but what has change made?

The first thing to notice
Riga Train station
a classic landmarkis the amount of hotels and hostels that have come up. From the only one 5 years back to one on every other corner. Clubs are conveniently positioned in the centre now. It use to be a dogfight in the Baltic's to find one at times (mainly because the good ones were out of town.)

What's interesting is that the Freedom Monument had no guards! Combining with friendly looking police, it seemed that Riga was looking at true freedom and not this Russian communist intimidation. I think that the other ex-soviet countries should look towards the Baltic's as a prototype to a better life.

But the problem as a traveller is that with a better life for the locals means the more expensive the destination becomes for the backpacker. I paid $2 for a Riga Balsams bottle in 2004, this time round it was $12. A meal at McDonalds was $9, a main meal; previously at a good restaurant it was $5.

Another interesting thing I have to do in a new country is to try their version of Fanta. Every country or region has a slightly different tasting Fanta and the Baltic's is the closest taste
Locals freely playing music
to Australia's so I went overboard on that.
But there was a change here. Tourism has arrived but at least Riga hasn't changed too much. It's kept its charm although I was here on a Thursday before the British Stag nights arrived. I had a fear that this area changed a lot and I would be disappointed. The only thing is the realisation that nowhere in Europe is really cheap anymore. This is why travelling now is the time, don't wait. As the world gets closer and the classes become less defined, travelling too will become more expensive. I lived with that theory for about 5 years and coming back to Riga for just 3 hours reconfirmed that. Thank Christ my main European travel was done years ago.
Riga in 3 hours

Motorhome News from Europe > France > 15

2009-08-30T23:16:00.001-07:00

Europe » France » Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur » Toulon

Motorhome News from Europe 15.

France January 2005
Adios Spain, Bonjour France!

Beyond the Orange Blossom Coast we camped for one night on the Ebro Delta; a dire site with electrics to make your hair stand on end and facilities to match, but we were here for the birding along the salt marshes and the beautiful beaches looking out towards the east. We saw no new birds, but the real excitement was a regimented line of over 100 herons sunning themselves along the bank like white ten-pins, five marsh harriers in the air at one time, and red breasted pochard yet again.

We sneaked into Tarragona for a look and drove both ways along the Ramblas but found nowhere to park - well, it was Saturday. With our sights set on reaching Sitges on the coast, we ventured onto the expensive toll motorway (Peatje, or Peaje; they spell everything twice here, in Spanish and Catalan) with windsocks to warn of high winds stretched out horizontally making driving a motorhome quite an experience. Smiley is about as aerodynamic as a wardrobe in these conditions.

Alongside the roads here, the buildings are salmon pink in contrast
Sitges
...smart and chicto the stone and white of those further south. Here too are the 'urbanisations', the coastal developments stretching north. The orange trees stop at the Ebro, the countryside becoming more open, with vines, apricots and some almonds in evidence.

David's daughter Suzanne had told us about Sitges and we could see why she liked it so much; the Old Town, with the church of St Bartholomew atop a small rocky promontory dividing the two sandy beaches. Sitges is smart and chic with a culture leaning towards the young-set; there was an open-air concert in practice for later that night. The mile-long promenade was full of week-enders, strolling, cycling, roller-blading walking the poodle; and generally showing themselves off! A great place to be seen, for sure, with some fabulous houses facing the sea-if you're very rich indeed - and not a neon light or a stick of rock in sight.

We have many fond memories of Barcelona from our visit some five or six years ago. We fell for its artistic wealth in particular, but it is the one place where we have experienced pick-pockets at first hand: the bird poo credit card hoist, the
Sitges
cheerful carvings at the church of St Bartholomewgypsy school kids with their cardboard signs stuffed under your nose (a la Rome) and the ladies trying to put roses in your pocket - so this time we skirted the City and drove inland for the spectacle of the Monastery at Montserat. The road up twists and turns for 12km, rising 3000m towards the ragged mountain-tops. The Monastery is a huge utility looking building of square lines in austere stone, the local conglomerate, sitting near the top of the ridge, in stark contrast to the strange wind blown forms of the granite coloured mountains. The Basilica is lovely, and a brief performance by the choir and the opportunity to see The Black Madonna made the visit very enjoyable. The Museum next door houses one of the most magnificent art collections that we have seen. In one room alone, perhaps fifteen feet square, there are works by Picasso, (a portrait) Ribera, Rubens, Soler, Monet, Pisarro and Renoir! I could almost have forgotten art amongst the list of passions that drive us to do what we do, but it is there somewhere, along with walking, birds, architecture, photography, writing, golf etc.

Following our visit to the monastry, we took
Montserat
The Black Madona in the Basilicathe funicular high up into the the mountains and walked amongst the conglomerate pinnacles for a couple of hours absorbing the most spectacular views in all directions. Our plan was then to drive on to Vic, some 30-40km to the north-east and we arrived shortly before dark to find the campsite closed! We were totally exhausted and had little option but to camp outside the gates for the night outside some private houses. Nice and quiet, but we should be off early in the morning before they're all out of bed!

By morning the temperature had dropped dramatically again. Both our water and our gas had frozen! The last time this happened was in Cornwall one February at around -6C, It's not really so much of a problem. The answer is to get dressed quickly and make a run for the nearest café for breakfast, laughing the tears away - washing can wait until the sun comes up! Disasters like this don't often hit us twice in as many days, but there was yet worse to come. 'Lightning always strikes in the same place three times,' as my old granny used to say.

We drove north to Manlleu,
Montserat
we walked amongst the conglomerate pinnaclesup to Olot and east to Santa Pau, en route to Manyoles and Girona (Gerona). This is such a beautiful stretch of winding road though extremely slow driving, but who would want to rush such a heavenly experience. The white peaks of the eastern end of the Pyrenees could be seen away in the distance, topped with strawberry pink clouds in the morning sunshine. Suddenly, as can only happen in Spain, the evergreen oaks, the olives and the almond trees were left behind, for here on chalky ground the hillsides are spread with deciduous trees, beech and oak, and hedges divide the cultivated frost tinged fields. Much of the appeal of this area was its 'Britishness,' the rolling hills and cattle pasture and small hedged arable fields and we drove slowly, savouring the scenery, greener than of late but bare trees signifying winter. By mid-day we were sitting beside the motorhome at Santa Pau having lunch, surveying the terraced hillsides to the call of a local cockerel, the drumming of a woodpecker and a robin picking up our crumbs, scorching in the sun with the temperature hovering around 20 degrees. That's a change of about 26 degrees in five hours!
Girona

Disaster number two struck later the same day when we discovered the campsite at Girona was closed. Fortunately it was still early, and we set off for the warmer climes of the Costa Brava (Brave Coast) just to say that we had seen it, arriving just before dark at a campsite near Platja d'Aro. The following day, we took the road of 365 bends south along the well preserved and under-developed coast as far as Tossa de Mar: a smart resort this, with a small but good beach and lots of fashionable shops. We were truly impressed and pleasantly surprised. This area is surely a reflection on Catalonian pride, though it is probably not a true picture of the Costa Brava.

And then, disaster was to strike yet once more. This time with more disaterous consequences. We had hoped to meet daughter, Catherine, and her husband, Tony, in Girona this week, but business, as it often does, got in the way. However, we didn't want to miss this City, voted the most desirable place in Spain to live. It's our usual practice to stay at sites near major towns and take the train or bus in, but our
Girona
objective was to travel north later that afternoon and we parked in the City whilst we walked the narrow streets and lunched in a small café. Our motorhome was broken into whilst we were away, all the cupboard contents strewn across the floor. They had clearly taken their time, seemingly undeterred by our screeching alarm. It's the old story; who is going to stop a robber running off down the street with his spoils! We lost very little however, and have now learned the lesson to follow our pattern and our instincts. To console ourselves, we made a long list of all the things the robbers missed (they left the telescope, binoculars, the laptop - and Todd and Ron!) - and felt better for that. The police were helpful, though not hopeful and after a delay of perhaps an hour we set off for the Bay of Roses.

Thursday was Dali-day. There is only one road into Cadaques; up the winding road high above the semicircular golden beach of the Bay of Roses, Rhodes as the Greeks named it, over the oak and pine studded hills and down past the long forgotten dry-stone terraces. Cadaques is the home town
Girona
of Dali and a must for those of us who hold a strange fascination for this even stranger man of art. Patterned cobbled streets ascend to the church on one side of the bay and through narrow passages in the fishing quarter at the other, somewhat reminiscent of Whitby. Dali's statue stands with its back to the sea, facing an arc of smart cafes, restaurants and low-level hotels. There are no boats bobbing in the harbour in winter and it looks a little unloved, losing some of its summer flavour.

Dali's house, that he shared with his second wife, Gala, lies a few miles to the west, at Port Lligat. It is now a museum, though not open at the time of our visit, but it was wonderful just to walk in his footsteps, to look out from the neat olive groves above the house towards the islands dotted across the shimmering seascape. The light here is wonderful, highlighting the passion of Dali, Miro and Picasso for this area. They are pouring concrete at it still of course, but this area is still pleasantly underdeveloped. The coast north towards el Port de la Selva (note the 'de la' influence
Cadaques
the home of Salvador Dali of French in the Catalan) is delightful; beautiful blue bays with shallow white houses lining the shore. It almost needed a team of horses to drag us away from the Dali Theatre Museum in Figueres just inland. Whilst most of his better-known works are displayed across the world, those here are enough to sharpen the minds of everyone, even those without the slightest interest in his work. We were enthralled as you can imagine.

Finally we left Spain after 98 exciting days and headed north on the motorway towards Beziers and entered France beside never-ending fields of vines. There were thousands of people at the border town of Le Jonquera; half of France buying up Spanish produce and filling their tanks with cheap fuel. Diesel in Spain was costing us around .83 euro/litre, and in France it's around .93 to 1.04 now; up from .88 when we left in September. We joined them! I have never seen so many petrol stations and lorries in my life; they lined the highway and a mile of parking lots, along with hundreds of new-car transporters, seemingly going in both directions.

We knew we were in France as soon as we arrived
north towards el Port de la Selva
at the campsite just to the west of Beziers. Whilst the French have the edge on all other European countries for serving the needs of the motorhomer, they have still to learn a few things about quality and standards. In these respects, they are well behind the rest. Spanish sites have all been superb, though in general, more expensive than in France. I guess the French don't expect any more.

The temperature had risen to just above freezing when we left Beziers the next morning, ambling alongside the Canal du Midi, calm as a millpond with mile upon mile of majestic plane trees reflected in the mirror of its dark waters. The 'Flamingo trail' started along the coast to the east at Marseillan Plage and we followed the road all the way up to Saintes Maries de la Mer on the southern tip of the Camargue, with the sea shining in the bright winter sun on our right, and shallow inland lakes to our left. This is the land of the stunningly pink Greater Flamingo, their prime breeding site in Europe - along with black bulls and wild white horses of course. It's strange to look
Canal du Midi
...reflectionsout on water through 360 degrees for a whole day, and it's even flatter here than the Norfolk Fens!

Whilst we were having a little difficulty remembering to say "Bon Jour" instead of "Hola", we are happy to be back in France. It was also good to be back in the Camargue, (we were last here 20 years ago) sharing a couple of days with our Australian friends Brian and Kathryn who had travelled across from the ski-slopes of Italy in their motorhome to meet us for as little birding. The weather broke on Sunday and heavy cloud set in for the day, blown by a chill wind. The birds were all tucked up somewhere warm and we didn't see a lot! Things improved over the next 24 hours and we had a worthwhile list eventually. Brian and Kathryn are avid walkers and their keen observation skills and enthusiasm will quickly make them good birders. It was great to have some special company and it gave us all a holiday from travelling. We left them early morning at the mouth of the Rhone, at Port St Louis, where they headed north for Arles and Avignon and we set the
La Cadiere d'Azure
fond memories of our brief stay here some 20 years backcompass for the coast east of Toulon and Hyeres.

Our journey took us back to Provence and the medieval town of La Cadiere d'Azure where we stayed more than 20 years ago, the Hostellerie Berard still there, but closed today denying us access, high on a hilltop above the vast fields of immaculate vines, black now they are pruned, standing like echoes of military graveyards in Normandy. We had forgotten how lovely this area is, and will enjoy the coast from here beyond St Tropez, Nice and Monte-Carlo to the Italian border over the next few days.

See you there!

David and Janice
The Grey Haired Nomads

drunken blog that i was pressured into

2009-06-30T19:44:00.001-07:00

Europe » United Kingdom » England

HELLO EVERYONE!

I know I may regret writing this right now... I am experiencing the feeling that one may feel after they have several shots and cocktails aka I am inebriated. Matter of fact, I'm not just, "Hey, let's go to a pub and have a couple beers," drunk, I'm, "Hey let's go to this SKEEZY BRITISH DANCE BAR AND RAGE," drunk. But because I have received a few requests about the blog, I have decided to sacrifice my eloquence for crowd pleasing.

So, London. The one word that I can use to describe this amazing city is, "BRILLIANT!" Everything is wonderful. The buildings, the pubs, the restaurants, the parks, the people, the atmosphere... EVERYTHING is magical. Almost as magical as Harry Potter... BUT WAIT! HARRY POTTER IS COMING OUT JULY 7TH AND WE'RE GOING TO THE PREMIER!!!! EPIC EPIC EPIC EPIC EPIC!!!

So because I am drunk and tired I am just going to list off a few fun pubs we've been too/are going to soon

HOBGOBLIN
The Church
The Castle
Belushis
The Chill Bar
O'Neils (WHICH IS EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE ONE IN ANN ARBOR)
and i dunno... we've been to several more but I can't remember any of the names now.

Hobgoblin was epic. I told Mike and Brigid that we had to go to that bar because of the name, and then it turned out to be magnificent! I also thought that the Chill Bar was called the Chili bar for a while... epic fail. Tonight we went to a dance club... Britain has B- music but it is a whomping good time. Our wonderful British friend, Robin took us there.

ALEX YU IS COMING ON SATURDAY OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG WE ARE GOING TO THE ICE BAR OMG OMG OMG

Today we saw a play called England People are Very Nice. Though it has received fairly good reviews from British critics, I thought it was a putrid display of British theatre. I was displeased.

For some reason my phone is fully functioning here... I don't know why. I think it may be charging me millions.

It is my birthday soon. Yay. It is my first birthday away from home and I am sad.

I lov eeveryone. night.

June 27th - Gabi’s Big Birthday Party, Edigheim

2009-06-30T19:42:00.001-07:00

Europe >> Germany

Amonau
Town ViewToday was our last day in Eva's home in Edigheim. After packing up our gear, Karin and Roland picked us all up for the trip to Amonau where Gabi and Henry and their family live. Gabi and Henry worked hard all week preparing for the big party to celebrate Gabi's 50th birthday. They live in a wonderful old house and barn that Henry has done lots of work to remodel and restore into both a home and Physical Therapy practice for Gabi. The barn area is a perfect place for a party. They also own the historic home next door. Gabi had a house full, with around 90 people sharing in the celebration. Her children prepared a presentation with Phillip playing the piano, Nicolas reading a poem and Elena belly dancing. Henry and the whole family sang for her and the crowd's amusement. We have some videos but we thought the belly dancing one might create stalkers out in web-land and the singing may be better to keep in our memory. Actually, they are just huge and hard to upload. We'll send some snippets to Aunt Eva once we make them smaller. It was all terrific fun as well as heart-warming.
Gabi's House
Brian in front of Gabis House and PracticeThis kind of big celebration with family, friends, speeches, amusing stories and sentimental gifts, is tradition and typical for the "round" birthdays (20, 30, 40, 50, etc). The food was overwhelming, with all kinds of appetizers, salads, and grilled wurst (sausages), beef and pork. The "Amis" started trying to call it a night early and the Germans are now REALLY sure that we're all party-poopers. They don't realize that Brian has called it a night around 11pm since college (midnight is like dawn to him). All of our friends know he starts herding them out of the kitchen and cleaning up around the witching hour (Colleen and Jay could explain!). Brian is a 80 year old man in a 42 year old body and that's what we love about him! Plus Amy and Peggy are both still sickly and tired so we have and excuse. Jerry wanted to rock and roll all night but we tied him to the roof rack and brought him home. We made it back to our hotel by 11:30 but the party went on until at least 5am. Good Times!

Walking Around Amonau
Brian, Osse and Millie
Party Shot
Perfect place for a party
Brian, Karin and Millie
Brian thinks all parties are better with dogs.
Eva and Jerry
Our family table at Party
Brian, Anna and Eva
More party pictures
All Girls
Eva, Anna and Lotte
Brian and Girls
3 roses and a thorn
Phillip Playing
Phillip playing Happy Birthday.
Singing to Gabi
Even in another language, the singing wasn't on key!

Jeffersons Monticello,

2009-06-30T19:38:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » Virginia » Charlottesville » Monticello

Today was a pretty bitchin' day for sure. We went out to see Monticello. It is a beautiful spot and house. It took 40 years to build because Jefferson kept changing his mind. Especially after trips to France which influenced both his architecture and favorite cuisine. Most everything is intact here as it has been spared battles and severe weather. He did die pretty deeply debt so the home was sold but was bought by people that wanted to keep it preserved. He also hated slavery but kept slaves, freeing only about 6 or 7 during his life or in his will. Slavery he said was like having a wolf by the ears, you didn't like it but you didn't dare let go. He was brilliant and interested in everything but especially gadgets that made life easier and more convenient. He had been President, Vice President, Minister to France, Father of the University of Virginia, author of the Declaration of Independence and the Statute of Religious Freedom of Virginia as well as all around peach of a guy. On his headstone he only wanted the last three of those things engraved and "not one word more" He made little as a
Marilyn
and Big Tom's life size statue. He was very close to being a vegetarian and referred to meat as a condiment to have with veggies.farmer as is typical of farming. He had 5000 acres total that he inherited from his father Peter. He was paid 25,000 a year for being President but out of that he had to pay for running the White House so that didn't leave much. Probably ought to still be that way. Only two of six children survived to adult hood not counting the ones he may have had with one of his slaves named Sally Flemming....oops. Well his wife had also died so we know how that can go don't we? Anyway, we are now just west of Washington DC at a place called Haymarket. We are poised and ready for more sight seeing tomorrow if Marilyn doesn't have Lymes Disease.

Me
Main house.
Grave
There are a bunch of his descendants here and still an active cemetery for them that follow.
Me
He was a pretty tall guy for the era. He liked his wine and loved books too. He lived to be 83.
Me
Main house. I have no idea who those other people are. I thought we had a private tour. Guess not.
Marilyn
In a small sort of greenhouse room that looked out over the garden area.
Me
His marker with the limited engravings. He was not proud of the political offices he held and could not wait to quit and go back home.
Marilyn
The veggy garden that is still active and working. A vineyard too.

Living it up in Bangkok Night Clubs

2009-06-30T19:36:00.001-07:00

Asia » Thailand » Central Thailand » Bangkok

Back in Bangkok again we were stopped as soon as we got off the bus by the Police doing random bag searches for foreigners. They were looking for drugs, guns and bombs apparently but thankfully we don't go in for any of these things so we were ok. They were really nice and told us that they had found a rucksack full of drugs this morning on an Italian so that would have been a bad start to his day! After the search we ventured out the station and waited by the bus stop for the bus we'd decided to catch to Khao San Road to keep the costs down.

Unfortunately we'd hit the bus stop at rush hour on a Friday night.. this meant that the bus stop was packed but worse than this the traffic going past was hardly moving. Lots of buses came and went but of course none were the bus we needed.. we even started playing a game on what bus would come next because it seemed that the same buses kept going past over and over again.. 3... 3... 37... 73... 3... 73.. you get the idea! After waiting 1.5 hours next to the
Transformer at the weekend market
busy road breathing in fumes we were getting to the point of wondering if this bus would ever come.. the one we wanted did come along but he was finishing for the evening.. damn it!

Eventually we consulted the book of knowledge and found out we could get a bus to Siam Square, change there and then go up to Khao San Road. Not as ideal as our direct bus but at least we'd get there as time was getting on now and our tummies were rumbling. So we got an alternative bus, sat down and then of course the bus we'd actually wanted to get went sailing past... these are the reasons people hate public transport!! After being stuck in the traffic for another 1.5 hours to go about 2km up the road (yes we could have walked faster but our bags were heavy and it was very hot) we changed buses and arrived in backpacker heaven or hell (depending on your age) at 9pm.

We decided to head for the guesthouse we'd stayed in before because for the bargain price of 270B we got tv and air con which was a good deal to us. We
Sophie outside MBK shopping centre
her favourtie as we can actually afford stuff here unlike the others!checked in and went straight out to sample some of the yummy street food we'd been aching for since leaving Cambodia. After that we were both pretty exhausted from sitting on or waiting for a bus all day so headed off to sleep in air con comfort for the first day in months!

We really like Bangkok but always get that feeling we don't make the most of it when we are here and this was again true this time around. We both think that it's because we always feel we will be coming back here in the future so there is no need to do everything all in one visit and save some things until we return. This time around though Dale was keen to see the giant reclining Buddha that lives in Wat Pho just next to the Royal Palace. To get there we decided to try out Bangkok's river shuttle which proved to be very quick and easy and just a 10 minute ride there on a packed boat. This is clearly the fastest way to travel in Bangkok with the exception of the skytrain.

Wat Pho is a lovely mazelike Wat so we wandered
Dale and the enormous reclining buddha
in Wat Phoaround enjoying the glamorous mirrored tiles that decorated many surfaces. We were there for the main reason of seeing the huge reclining golden buddha though so paid our 50B to get into the temple but first got a sneeky peek though the windows and were amazed at just how big this thing is! It is HUGE! The Buddha fills the length of the building so you go in at it's head and walk down to it's huge feet which are decorated with mother of pearl in a very elaborate design which is very beautiful. We skipped the ritual of putting money into various bowls along the wall because if we did this in every temple we visited we'd be home already!

That done we had a leisurely walk back to our guesthouse passing the strange amulet/car boot market on the way. These street markets make us laugh as they are literally like big car boots all across the city.. people come along with their rugs and lay out all sorts of old tat that people do seem to buy. You see parts of 80's computers, radios, old glasses, odd shoes and many other random things.

Our other big
inside Wat Pho
adventure here was to visit the Chatuchak Weekend Market Sophie had loved so much on her first visit to Bangkok years ago. This market is awesome with every imaginable thing you could ever want to buy in it and she loves walking round and round and round. Dale on the other hand did not love this experience quite so much! He is very patient when shopping with Sophie but like most other women she has to check out everything for sale before making any purchases, this is especially important when she only has a very small amount to spend and has to spend it wisely. Dale is fine to do this until we pass the same shop for about the 10th time and she still hasn't bought anything.. his patience starts to wear a little thin then! In the end Sophie ended up getting a few nice bits to liven up her tired travelling wardrobe and after 5 hours thought that Dale had endured enough. Even breaking up the boredom to go and pet the puppies & kittens didn't do enough to keep him sweet for that long! It is at times like this she really misses her mum &
Reclinign Buddhas feet
sister as they could have got at least another 4 hours out of it walking round & round browsing at the lovely stalls selling things they really don't need!

Shopping was also on the agenda the following day (much to Dale's delight!) when we ventured to Siam Square aka home of 5 shopping centres! We actually needed to visit the Apple shop and Sophie needed to get some new contact lenses so we ventured into all but one shopping centre to compare them all. It is quite beyond our belief that there is any need for this many shopping centres in one area, especially when they all have pretty much the same shops in each but we enjoyed the air con and sliding along the highly polished floors and took our time window shopping in Chanel, Cartier and the like. After we got bored window shopping we went over to the centre where we can actually buy things.. MBK! This is the champion of shopping centres for us because it is cheap and cheerful just what we like. It was in here that Sophie just went to look at a handbag, got caught up in the whirlwind of the
More Tuk Tuks
sales assistant and walked out with a bag she neither wanted or needed.. but was secretly quite pleased as it is gorgeous ;o)

We decided on a night out while here.. we really don't get that many so went all out putting on our poshest clothes (make that cleanest!) and getting dolled up! For our night out we ventured over to Patpong and the infamous red light district for a bit of a giggle. After walking up and down the market we dived into a girlie bar thinking there would be a ping pong show on in there.. no not in this bar! Instead it was a pick up bar and a girl (man/kathoy/ladyboy!) promptly sat down at our table and began talking with us. We'd paid quite a lot for our drinks so couldn't leave them and didn't want to be rude so continued with the conversation politely making it quite clear we were not there to pick up a girl but to see a show and were clearly in the wrong place. At the point that the girl started massaging Sophie's arm and asking for a drink we decided to down our drinks and rushed out of
Dale eating the bug
there before getting ourselves into something we would struggle to get out of!

Thankfully there was a bar just next door where the infamous ping pong show had just started so we went in there to see what all the fuss was about... Not a whole lot as it happens so if you are looking for the night of your lives don't head here while in Bangkok! We really weren't expecting a fantastic show or anything but we have never seen such a bored and unenthusiastic group of girls (men!) on a stage in our lives. They ran through the various acts of pulling razor blades out vaginas (interestingly a man did this one!), blowing candles out with a straw and so on along with the ping pong where she (he!) pinged ping pongs out into the crowd to be caught by the few people that were in there.. we just ducked as soon as they came our way! The best act was a girl who managed to peel a hard boiled egg inside her and we only say it was the best act because at least she looked like she enjoyed what she was doing.

After a
Wat Pho
while we got a little bored of watching the acts, we also didn't like the fat Western guys buying girls like they were going out of fashion so left there for a 'normal' drink in an Irish bar where we could read English newspapers and realise what we weren't missing! To finish the night off we returned to the sanity of Khao San Road to eat a bag full of bugs and drink street beer until we could stomach no more!

Our final days were spent catching up with our friend Jay from the UK who we'd met at the start of his trip in South America, and were now saying goodbye to as he returned home. We also fitted in a trip to the cinema to watch Transformers on the most amazing screen we've seen with fantastic sound, comfy seats and cheap popcorn that really should put the cinemas back home in the UK to shame.

It was supposed to be both ours and Jay's final night in Bangkok (this time around for us) so yet again we hit the bars and partied the night away in various places along and around Khao San Road discovering bars
DAle & Jay...
and nightclubs we never even knew existed. Sophie had to call it a night at a modest 1am leaving Dale & Jay to drink the night away in the 24 hour Central Bar until the sun came up...

Needless to say we didn't end up leaving the following day but spent it sleeping off terrible hangovers and wondering where the stupid glowstick bracelets had come from and waved Jay off to catch his bus later that evening. We did manage to pull ourselves together the following day and had a last minute change of plan to go straight up to Chiang Mai instead of stopping at Khao Yai National park which we might save for another trip here...

Relaxing Lombok...and diving the Gilis...

2009-06-30T19:34:00.001-07:00

Asia » Indonesia » Lombok

We woke up at 4.20am to catch our flight first to Surabaya, than a connecting flight to reach Mataram, in Lombok. Flying domestic in Indonesia can be very interesting. There are no direct flights between Jogyakarta and Lombok. So I had few options...with some very lengthy stop-overs. Have you heard of Lion Air...sometimes they take-off...and simply don't land properly....well...we had 2 flights on Wings, the low-cost of Lion Air. And we are still alive!

You board a very very old MD82....my guess is that is was first owned by American Airlines...as the seats were from the samecolors of those of AA....the plane was not only very old...the seats...well....I went down through mine.

But we did it...we arrived in Lombok and made our way to the Sheraton in Senggigi, 14 km away from the airport.

I've been few times to Bali, but never to her "little sister"...and it didn't disappoint us. The plan was to stay in Lombok for 6 nights, 5 full days. Three of them for diving, and 2 days for relaxing.

Diving around Senggigi is average, but the best is just 20 minutes away by car and 20 minutes transfer by boat. Three islands who
Captain oh my captain...with a lot of sun screen!
carry the name of Gilis. You've got Gili Trawangan, Gili Meno and Gili Air. Gili Air is more "remote" and target low budget backpackers. Gili Menos is even more deserted by tourists...and Gili Trawangan is the more "developped" one....meaning more "aircon" bungalows, and some 7 dive schools.

Whichever you chose doesn't make much a difference diving wise. As they are next to each others, you dive off three of the islands. And Gilis in diving...what to expect...easy, this is a great spot for drift diving. Meaning serious currents pushing you along amazing slopes. Nice corals, hard and soft...not much in terms of sharks...but a huge number of turtles on each dive...and a great diving experience ( and this is coming from a pretty spoiled diver!).

So...first and best thing...Ma'ri is now PADI advanced open water. After 5 dives with Jose, her french dive instructor...she made it. This included a night dive that I didn't do from the Senggigi beach, where she saw a frog fish as well as a crocodile fish...and many other fishes.

Each time, while we were diving, Leslie came with us on the diving boat from where he enjoyed snorkeling. And yes, he saw
nemo and his girlfriend!
many tutles over these three days.

We dove with Dream Divers. An operation owned by a german guy. Great organization, and great food at the dive club... what a great way to enjoy a break between 2 dives.

We didn't do much in Lombok. Time was spent going to little restaurants around the empty beach and main street...guess the tourists did not make there way here yet in high numbers...cool for us!

We could have done some trekking, climb a volcano or gone waterfalls hunting...but we where already so busy that not that many regrets.

And than, came our last transfer from the Gilis...well...flying was nothing...the diving boat was overloaded with too many people...and the waves started to be way too high....we sincerely avoided a last minute catastrophe as one more wave could have sinked the boat 400 meters from shore! 10 people getting hold of whatever they could to get the 30cm of water out of the boat...using even our fins...But we made it, completel soaked, little scared...but safe.

Tomorrow is another island, and another entry in a few days time..till there, be safe, with love from 3 of us!

Splashing around Versailles, Paris

2009-06-30T19:30:00.000-07:00

Europe » France » Île-de-France » Paris

We set off for Versailles today despite the dark clouds gathering in the sky. Originally the de facto capital of France Versailles is now a suburb of the sprawling city over 17 kilometres from the city centre. We hoped we might be lucky with the weather and since we only have two whole days in Paris anyway we either had to go today or tomorrow. We'd been told at reception to leave by 8-8.30 but by the time we'd got ready, had breakfast and made a packed lunch it was a bit later than that. We took the metro to Bir Hakim where we could get the train onward to Versailles. Although our metro passes let us on to the station they weren't valid for the train so, not wishing to risk a fine, we walked up and down the platform in search of a ticket office. We eventually located it at the far end of the platform and fortunately the man there spoke English and very helpfully showed us the cheapest way of getting the tickets.
We waited for the next train only to find that despite being a double decker there were so many people there was literally nowhere
Me at Versailles
to sit, or even stand comfortably. We ended up standing on the stairs wedged in the middle of the crowd. Fortunately everyone seemed to be in good humour about the squash and helped each other fit in and stay balanced. One of my neighbours saw me studying my map and anxiously trying to see the name of the stations through the press of bodies around me. She spoke to me first in French, then English and reassured me I was on the right train and Versailles was the last stop anyway.
Eventually enough people got off at various stops so we were finally able to sit comfortably for the rest of the journey.
We arrived at Versailles-Rive Gauche and followed the crowd in the direction of the palace.
Versailles was the principal residence of the kings of France from 1678-1793. It was also the seat of government from 1682-1789. Versailles is first mentioned in a medieval document dated 1038CE. At this time Versailles was a small village surrounding a medieval castle and the Saint Julien church. Versailles' farming activity and its location on the road from Paris to Dreux and Normandy brought relative prosperity to the village. However, the Hundred
Versailles
Year's War in the 14th century brought death and destruction. The village though started to recover after the war in the 15th century.
Martial de Loménie, secretary of state for finances under King Charles IX, became lord of Versailles in 1561. He was murdered on 24th August, 1572. The Gondi family took control of his estate in 1575. In 1624, King Louis XIII ordered Philibert Le Roy to build a chateau on a land he bought in Versailles. Eventually, King Louis XIII acquired the lordship of Versailles in 1632 and proceeded to enlarge the chateau between 1632 and 1634. King Louis XIII died in 1643. His son, Louis XIV, resumed work on the chateau in 1662. Louis transformed the chateau in order to accommodate the royal court. The court and the government was established in Versailles on 6th May, 1682. The royal court, however, departed from Versailles for Paris in 1789. In 1837, Louis-Philippe converted the palace into a museum of French History and the building continued to be used for significant occasions, including the end of WWI as the Treaty of Versailles was signed.
The building looked suitably impressive and grand as we walked through the huge gates and
Statues at Versailles
joined the ticket queue. A huge queue of people with pre-bought tickets started to form across the way and trail down to the main gates, until finally they began to file inside.
We started to wonder why our queue wasn't moving at all. We took photos of the outside of the palace and watched some pigeons taking a morning shower under a little water fountain. It started to spit with rain and we were getting a bit fed up of standing outside. After about 20 minutes the ticket office opened and we began to slowly file inside. I asked at the information desk for a map and also learned that there was a strike on and only a limited number of staff were working. As a result they were late opening, only part of the palace was open, there were no audio guides available and while Marie Antionette's estate might open later in the day they currently weren't selling the best value 'passport ticket' which would gain us entry to everything. In addition there was a 'water show' in the gardens so we wouldn't have the normal free access to the gardens but would have to pay to get inside.
Portrait of Marie Antionette and family
As a consolation though we got our chateaux tickets for 10 Euros instead of 13... something of a booby prize really!
Finally we were free to join the massive queue in front of the palace. The queue moved quickly and after stepping through a metal detector and having a security guard give an apathetic glance inside my bag we explored the marble courtyard and took photos. We ran inside just as the heavans opened.
Inside the chateaux we joined a crowd jostling for a look at the chapel. Begun in 1689, construction was halted due to the War of the League of Augsburg; Jules Hardouin-Mansart resumed construction in 1699. Hardouin-Mansart continued working on the project until his death in 1708, at which time his brother-in-law, Robert de Cotte, finished the project. Dedicated to Saint Louis, the chapel was consecrated in 1710. Adhering to ecclesiastical decoration, the chapel's decoration refers to both the Old Testament and the New Testament: the ceiling of the nave represents "God the Father in his glory bring to the world the promise of redemption" and was painted by Antoine Coypel; the half-dome of the apse is decorated with Charles de LaFosse's The Resurrection of Christ; and,
Hall of Mirrors
above the royal tribune is Jean Jouvenet's The Descent of the Holy Ghost upon the Virgin and the Apostles. During the eighteenth century, the chapel witnessed many court events. "Te Deums" were sung to celebrate military victories and the births of children born to the king and queen; marriages were also celebrated in this chapel, such as the wedding of the dauphin—later Louis XVI—to Marie-Antoinette in 1770.
From the chapel we slowly shuffled with the crowd through the various rooms of the palace. I was astounded by the beauty of the painted and gilded ceilings and the often ostentacious, even garish, room decorations. The experience was spoiled somewhat by the crowd. Whether it is always busy or whether it was due to the closure of parts of the palace and the sudden downpour keeping everyone from the gardens, it was crowded and frequently hard to stop and take a closer look at anything as there were always more people filing in behind us. I was also disappointed by the lack of an audio guide as it would have been nice to have more information on each room we visited.
I did however enjoy the lavish surroundings, including the King's truly
Wallpaper in King's bedroom
ostentascious bedchamber with pink and gold brocade hangings and everything else gilded with gold. The Hall of Mirrors was perhaps my favourite part of the palace... in part because the size gave us a brief repreive from the push of the crowd. We walked through the War Drawing Room into the Hall of Mirrors which is an amazing 17 metre long corridor connecting the King's apartments with the Queen's. It owes its name to the seventeen mirrors facing seventeen arcaded windows overlooking the gardens. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors with a total of 357 used in the decoration of the Hall of Mirrors. The construction of the Hall of Mirrors began in 1678. It was the grandiose setting of the 17th century French superpower monarchy's celebrations and has since been the setting of many important events including the 1871 proclamation of the German empire by Otto van Bismarck and the 1918 signature of the Versailles treaty which ended World War 1.
We sidestepped to view the adjacent rooms and then continued to the end of the Hall of Mirrors and walked through the Peace Drawing Room.
Beyond the royal rooms we entered a room displaying the impressively large painting if
Garden view of Versailles
Napoleon crowning his empress and from there a series of rooms giving information about the Imperial rule and the life of Napoleon. From there we walked across an elaborately carved landing into a large gallery which displays images of old and modern warfare. The huge dramatic paintings of the Napoleonic wars and other battles are jutxtaposed with photos of Afghanistan and Iraq while the gallery itself is as elaborate and oranate as the rest of the palace interior.
We eventually left the building to visit the gardens. Fortunately the rain had stopped in spite of the wind chill and the huge puddles everywhere I was keen to see the gardens. We of course had to pay to get in but at least we managed to get a student rate. We splashed through the puddlesand I waited with my camera poised for the odd bit of sunlight sneaking through the clouds and adding a bit of colour to the rather beige looking facade of the palace.
We decided to splurge with our money and buy tickets for the mini-train. At another 6.50 Euros each the day was proving to be rather expensive but in my opinion it was completely worth it
Statue of amazon
- I got a seat, shelter from the wind, good views of the gardens and a chance to eat my rather sorry looking packed lunch retrieved from the depths of my bag. The Park of Versailles spreads over more than 800 hectares and includes the Orangerie, the Grand Canal, the French gardens, the fountains, and the Estate of Marie-Antoinette with the Petit Trianon and the Grand Trianon.
We got off at the Grand Triannon hoping it would be open. It was but at another 10 Euros each we decided it wasn't worth it. We took the next train to the grand canal. The cross-shaped Grand Canal is 1.5 km long, 62 m wide and the total rim is 5.5 km and was used during royal events as a starting point for fireworks or as a theater set. During Louis XIV reign, it hosted a three-masted ship, a galley, rowboats and gondolas from Venice. From a practical point of view, the Grand Canal is located on a lower level than the palace, it collects water from the fountains and pump it back to its starting point. We decided to walk back up to the palace past all the water fountains. Unfortunately
Statue in fountain garden
it was at this time the rain started again. Struggling to pull on very unflattering green plastic ponchos as the wind whipped the plastic around our heads we eventually managed to knot them around our waists as we sheltered behind a statue. We came out just in time for the start of the water show. The water show sounded rather grand and for 8 Euros at the full price I was expecting something a little more impressive than the reality. The 'water show' apparently consisted of classical music played over loud speakers combined with the admittedly very pretty water fountains in full flow.
We splashed our way from the Neptune fountain upwards and found a very pretty side garden with water fountains circling a central statue. The rain lessened and finally stopped and we were actually able to get some nice photos by hurriedly stripping off all our outer layers and pretending it really was a lovely sunny day. I have to wonder what the French aristocracy would think could they see into the future and witness the bedraggled tourists roaming the gardens, fighting to open umbrellas in time and ducking into alcoves to adjust rainmacks!
We stopped at the
Latona fountain
Latona fountain which I think is the prettiest one of all. It depicts the goddess Latona protecting her children (Apollo and Diana) from the uncouth, Lycian peasants and frogs who are squirting water at them. The fountain was originally carved in 1670 though has been modified since.
When we reached the palace again we decided to hop back on the train. We ended up back down by Marie Antoinette's estate and finally realised that the 10 Euro ticket would have gained us entry to the whole estate not just the Grand triannon. Still the weather was so tempermental the visit still may not have been worth it and I'm just going to hope I can come back one day in good weather, when there are no strikes on! We took the train the full loop back up to the palace and set off for home.
After drying off and warming up in the hotel we returned to our pizza restaurant from yesterday. the waiter was very entusiastic to see us and greeted us with high fives. We shared a pizza and pasta dish and at the end our waiter returned with mints and toffees and made a grand show out
View of fountain
of seperating them so I got all the pink and purple ones. We stopped off at the supermarket to buy more food and then I located a cashpoint and replenished our sorely depleted funds!

An Ounce Of Moroccan

2009-06-30T19:24:00.001-07:00

Africa » Morocco

A brief update. 750 days after our engagement in Peru and chilled2thecore are no longer simply Matt and Carla but the new Mr and Mrs Parry.

I won't bore you with the details, this is a travel blog after all, photographic evidence can be found if you search hard enough, but this amazing event did mean one thing. A Honeymoon. The chance to explore. And the chance to travel.

Since returning from our RTW adventure nearly 2 years ago we have been lucky enough to attend two weddings abroad, one in Spain and one in Italy, as well as visit my parents in France. All good trips but our honeymoon would be our first trip away alone and we wanted an adventure into the unknown. So where to go?

Being right back in the rat race meant restrictions on time away from work and after 5 days for the wedding itself we were left with just 10 days.....10 measly days.

Morocco is a 3 hour flight away and we think (because nobody really seems to know or care if it's adopted BST) the exact same time zone as London. I seem to remember my N.B.F.
If Topshop did Burkas
Sunset in EssaouiraMichael Palin quite liked it (he now lives down the road and I managed to accost him in a local bistro) and ever since watching an episode where he visited the ancient city of Fes I have always wanted to go. So with my new Wife's agreement (of course) we reloaded our backpacks, boarded a plane and decided to document what happened, as we did at every stage of our last big adventure, right here on Travelblog.

Fes - Where the streets have no name

If you fancy an easy job, I would suggest air hostess on Royal Air Maroc airlines. OK our flight was half empty and had less passengers than our wedding had guests - most of whom were returning home and had brought their own food onboard - but when I went in search of a butty and a beer I found our 3 flight attendants asleep and a little put out when my forced cough woke them.
By 4pm we had landed, collected our bags and arrived via taxi on the outskirts of the medina. Here our host Didier, a French man who managed our riad, escorted us to Dar Roumana where we freshened
May the force be with you
Marrakesh deffinately has a star wars feel when you get of the beaten trackup before heading out to explore.

Fes is amazing and quite simply the most untouched city we have both ever visited. None of the typical trappings of modern capitalism are found in the medina. No advertising hoards, no working ATM, no chain stores or restaurants, no cars, no mopeds, no neon, not even any street names or road signs exist within the 16km perimeter wall that is home to nearly 400,000 people who call themselves the Fassis.
It is honestly like no other place we have ever been. The narrow streets, community spirit and completely confused layout reminds us of a favela; but it is a safe and religious city and after accepting that as a tourist you stick out like a sore thumb, you quickly grow to trust the locals who prove to be warm and friendly but mostly just polite and willing to help (for a small fee of course).
This lack of pretence means that none of the public spaces are gaudy, spectacular or over the top. The only grandeur is behind the wooden door of the riads which remain private spaces. Even the largest mosques are simple in construction, although most are just windowless rooms
Sunset in Essaouira
The wife takes a strollcovered in prayer mats and absolutely none are open to tourists or non-practicing muslims.
This is our first experience of a truly Islamic city and with 35 mosques within a stone's throw of our riad the call to prayer from each separate one echoes across the city at 4 set times throughout the day and night. It is an amazing sound, especially at 3.45am and is part haunting melody and part argument in a donkey sanctuary - but however described it only adds to the mysticism of a truly amazing place.
We visit the tanneries, the main attraction, and my main memory from Palin's visit and they don't disappoint. Climbing up onto the rooftops of the surrounding leather sellers you get a bird's eye view of the artist's palette of dyes used to colour the leather that Morocco is famous for. A stubbornness to stick to tradition means that pigeon shit and cow piss are still used, so it absolutely stinks especially in 42° dry desert heat - the sprig of mint they hand you to hold under your nose does absolutely nothing but add a minty edge to the stench - but boy is it worth it for the
dayglo at daysend
sunset in Essaouira is a laid back and pretty fashionable time of day, even the burka seems to become a fashion item.view.

Fact: Getting from A to B In Fes is impossible without getting lost. As far as we can work out only 2 streets have any sort of name and as soon as you turn off one of them into the souqs you're lost within seconds. At this point you can do one of 3 things: 1 - Get pissed off because you are a bloke who a) hates getting lost and b) hates asking for directions, 2 - Just go with it and keep wandering around until you get back to one of the main streets or 3 - Befriend a local 10 year old boy called Haffid who for 50p will get you back to where you want to be. During our 3 days in Fes I try all three and would strongly suggest that options 2 and 3 are the best, and I'm sure the wife would agree.
Our status as honeymooners means we had upgraded to a swanky boutique riad run by Dider, his Kiwi girlfriend Justine, a local boy called Mohammed and tortoise called Eddie. And what a place it is, 5 rooms painstakingly restored with traditional mosaic and wood carving, beautiful lighting
Wooly hat time
45 degrees in Fesand lavish furnishings - a complete oasis hidden away from the heat and the madness of the medina. Plus it is one of the only places to get a cold beer in a city that 'officially' remains dry.
The Fassi's refusal to give in to the tourist means that restaurant options are limited, but Didier is a trained chef so on our second night he agrees to cook for us in the riad's beautiful candlelit courtyard. He heads off to a local souq to get a chicken slaughtered and grabs whichever ingredients look freshest and produces one of the best meals we have both ever tasted - at least since the local B'sara soup we had enjoyed in the middle of the souq served from a large cauldron stirred with a wooden oar and delivered through a hole in the wall earlier that day.
Other less successful culinary delights included Air Maroc's so called 'chicken' sandwich and a local delicacy called a pastille - basically an Eccles cake filled with shredded meat....mmmmmmmmm
We left Fes feeling equally amazed and bewildered, ready to move on but lucky enough to have experienced such a truly unique place. Next stop Marrakesh.

How to blend into the streets of Essaouira
....or maybe not ?

Marrakesh

8 hours on a train upon which the entertainment came mainly from the array of passengers who came and went from our carriage, and we arrived at a swanky station that would put even Euston or Paddington to shame. We expected Marrakesh to be more commercial and even before we left the station we passed a KFC and a McDonalds - although thankfully they looked empty (McTagine anyone?).

Our introduction to Marrakesh was a difficult one - an angry taxi driver who had no idea where he was going ended up dropping us off somewhere near our riad before arranging for 3 menacingly ugly youths to take us the final few minutes on foot (who then sneered when I tipped them an amount that the kids in Fes would have been delighted with - cheeky bastards).
P'tit Habibi riad again proved to be a wonderful barrier to the madness beyond its generic wooden front door. Only 4 rooms, yet another tortoise and an altogether more hip, shabby chic feel with an added touch of Ikea for good measure. A quick freshen up, yet another mint tea (my pee is starting to smell like Wrigley's
Eddie racing across the mosaic
Tortoise #1 of our trip. It is believed they bring health to the families who own them, although it hasnt been to healthy for Morocco's tortoise population.by now) and off we went to continue our difficult introduction to the city outside. That evening it rained, kids swore at us, taxi drivers got lost (again) then we got lost so had to pay menacingly ugly kids to help us find our way (again). It rained some more and we generally wished we had stayed in Fes......the only advantage was that getting hold of a beer (to calm the nerves) proved to be a whole lot easier....and after sinking a few we headed off to bed feeling a little pissedand travel worn but hopeful for the following day.

It's easy to compare two places when visited one after another; it's also easy to judge one against another, but after waking up to sunshine Marrakesh seemed a much more welcoming place. OK the ancient untouched feel of Fes isn't apparent in most of Marrakesh and cars replace donkeys, sneers replace smiles (most of the time), thousands of satellite dishes, like sunflowers pointing towards the sun, dominate the roof terraces and the wind is more hand dryer than hairdryer. But it's as equally fascinating a place and after getting our bearings, we clearly started to exude much more certainty
Reflections of Fes
Deep in the souqs, probably lost againand confidence and the locals seemed to read this and backed off looking for the next new arrivals and actually became much more welcoming and jovial. The Moroccans are a deeply religious people, so most are just trying to make a living and not trying to fleece or rob you - and it appears the more trusting and interested in them you are, the more welcoming they are in return.
We end a lovely first day with a terribly, terribly middle class evening with 2 trainee surgeons (plastics and orthopaedics) in one of Marrakesh's trendy but expensive restaurants overlooking the storks that nest in the walls of the medina.....me and the wife are on honeymoon after all.

By the time we are preparing to leave Marrakesh the locals seem much more accepting of our visit, all except one menacingly ugly kid
who remains my nemesis throughout the whole three days (he claims his English isn't very good, but seems to understand the phrase 'little f*cker').
On our last evening we pass through the grounds of the mosque close to our riad, there are a large number of blind folk who live within the grounds due to a donation given
Medersa bou inania
The buildings in Fes may not be spectacular but the mosiac even in the toilets makes a great photo. This mosaic is on the internal courtyard of the medersa, which unlike the mosques does let sweaty to... [more]to the mosque years ago specifically for the blind. When we give some money to one of them he takes us over to where the main group sit, get us to join hands and they all sing a blessing to us both. After this we head off to the main square to take in the madness of the food stalls, snake charmers and acrobats who gather after darkness falls.
The banter with the stall holders is hilarious and my lack of hairstyle gives them an easy excuse to grab my attention: 'Bruce Willis, you want food?', or 'Oi skinhead', but by far for the most original and well researched

Heston Blumenthal, you hungry? We have snail porridge and egg 'n' bacon ice cream for you'

........touche

Essaouira (pronounced Essa Weerer apparently)

And relax......take a 3 hour bus journey to a small ancient white washed medina that when compared to Fes not even the wife can get lost in, with a long sweeping beach, cool sea breezes, clear blue skies, wonderful sunsets, quiet candlelit seafood restaurants, the most romantic boutique hotel room we have ever stayed in and you have the perfect location to unwind
Tortoise number 2 in Marrakesh
Its amazing how much poo can come out of such a small animalafter 2 very crazy cities.

Madada Mogadar is a 6 room place with another French manager, another helpful local named Mohammed (but no tortoise)a breakfast terrace overlooking the ocean and a huge colonial style room complete with Bose sound system and a bath tub that could quite easily fit the majority of people staying in the hotel - never mind just me, Carla and a whole load of rose petals (honeymoon don't forget).
We settle immediately and arriving at lunchtime head straight to the port where a few savvy fishermen have set up makeshift places that will BBQ any of the day's catch you fancy at a reasonable price. All very Heath Robinson but fresh sardines, king prawns, octopus and squid hit the spot and set the tone for what proves to be fantastic food throughout our whole stay.

Apparently Essaouira and nearby Diabet are the only places that Hendrix 'holidayed' in his 27 years and he seems to have left behind the 60's bohemian feel which has recently been revived by the French riad and restaurant owners as well as the local dope sellers and patisserie boys (who as well as cream buns sell moon/happy/space cakes).
It's
Sunset in Essaouira
A great memory from our last night in moroccostill really Moroccan but so much more laid back than both Fes and Marrakesh - we get more noise and hassle from the seagulls than the stall holders, who add Fabien Barthez to my list of lookalikes, but who mainly leave us alone to wander along the narrow streets. It really is just the sort of place that you 'saunter' in absolutely no hurry whatsoever and needless to say we both like it almost immediately.
As well as the medina, Essaouira has a beach. And a very long beach at that, which we walk along as far as the tide will allow us on our first day. We make the same walk on Sunday, when the place transforms into something similar to the beaches in Rio. Families flock en masse, teenagers play keepy uppy, the speakers designed to usually make the call to prayer instead (and for some unknown reason) blast out R&B ballads while the local youngsters strut their stuff to Usher and Akon. There's not quite the same level of posing and raciness as in Rio but we do see a couple of fellas holding hands and although the women don't opt for thong bikinis they do a
Trying to blend in
Head scarf..check. Henna tatoo....check. Trying too hard......checkdecent line in beachwear burkas.
Come dusk there's a sort of Ibizan feel to the place, mainly as the sunsets are so spectacular and although the booze is still not 'flowing' there are a few terrace bars that seem to have the full box set of 'Cafe del Mar' CD's on loop and if it wasn't for the whiff of mint tea you could almost be on the white isle during the sunset hour.
The whole alcohol thing is strange. For a place that doesn't allow or certainly condone alcohol consumption, Morocco produces its own wine and beer, which are both very nice - although for obvious reasons a tad expensive. We discover in Essaouira a sort of prohibition style Victoria Wines - a much cheaper, hidden away back alley place located behind a non-descript blue door which although we think is legal (its mentioned in our guide) seems a bit nudge, nudge, wink, wink especially when all of your individual purchases are wrapped in newspaper and its staff always seem on edge when taking your money. I find this place quite exciting and make a visit at about 5pm every day so that I can sink a few cold
Fassi peek-a-boo
ones at our riad before we head out to a restaurant where any booze is a good 4 times more expensive and probably even bought from the same place.

During our 5 days by the sea we do very little in the way of activities beyond eating, sleeping, walking, drinking and reading. We do consider visiting a hammam (a sort of local sauna cum wash house) but after realising that men and women have to go at different times throughout the day and remembering Palin's visit where he was slapped around by a half naked, hairy fat local guy - we decided to give it a miss. We do however decide a camel ride along the beach may be worth the effort/cost and on our third (or maybe fourth) day head off in search of camels at the far end of the beach.
We choose our camel man based on his big smile, but mainly because he has the Arabic version of my name.
Majoob then puts us on the back of two camels one called Sultan and the other I am not sure of as every time I ask Majoob its name he replies with a deep throaty
Artists palette
Visit the tanneries in the morning for the best coloursnoise that I can't decipher - so let's just call him hungry.
We walk along the beach, across a pretty treacherous river, past a castle made of sand, over some sand dunes, past some ancient ruins before passing through a building site that apparently (and I am guessing in about 300 years) will become a luxury resort and golf course. We eventually, after what seems like hours, make it back to the beach and it's only at this point, after my inner thighs ache so much that they start to spasm that Majoob tells me it's OK to ride side saddle for the last 100m (I am still bow legged writing this). But it was worth it just to see Carla bonding with yet another large, smelly and slightly disobedient animal.

As already mentioned Essaouira has some great restaurants and we decide we will try 4 different places revisiting our favourite on the last night. The winning restaurant is found on the fourth night, called Elizir its run by a local guy who loves his food and spent some time in Italy. Its a really funky place, almost like eating in a Camden retro furniture shop and the Sea
The newly weds
Hanging out in MarrakeshBass is quite simply the best looking and tasting fish we have ever eaten. The only reason we don't return on our final night is that asking so many questions about the food and decor the owner seems to think we are some sort of critics and gives us free deserts and asks us to write down the name of the guidebook our review will appear in (we give him the blog address and feel to embarrassed to return the final night)

Back to normality

I sit writing this final paragraph under a warm blue sky waiting for a large blue taxi to collect us and return us to Marrakesh where our flight back to the UK awaits. They say the travel bug gets you and although this is our first taste of travel in any similar format to that which we experienced during our RTW trip (OK we splashed out on accommodation and food but essentially this hasn't been a typical honeymoon) we both feel ready to move on - but if we are honest not to move on back to the UK but to the next unknown location.....Casablanca, the Sahara, Central Africa...etc etc

But
Sunset in Essaouira
this time it's not to be and our new adventure, marriage awaits us back home (Carla is drawing up a marriage mandate as I write!)
Morocco has been fantastic. It's not easy to warm to the Moroccans but after 10 days we both have. They are a proud religious nation, they can be loud, brash and a pain in the arse but they can be equally welcoming, warm and peaceful. Of course some of them are idiots but the majority are not.

But what stands out most is whether rich, poor, young, old, able or disabled they all seem to look out for each other ................. and I like that!!

paz mandc

aka the Parrys

Where the French war ended at vietnam

2009-06-30T19:19:00.001-07:00

Asia » Vietnam >>

Điện Biên Phủ is a remote city inside the Mường Thanh valley in the north west of Vietnam, only 36.5km from the Lao border. The ethnic minority people living in this area are the Thai and H'mong. The city is famous for the site of the battle, where the French troops were defeated by Việt Minh (the League for the Independence of Vietnam - Việt Nam độc lập đồng minh hội) forces on 7 May 1954 after a 56-day siege, resulting in the end of the French rule in Vietnam (1858 - 1954) and its colonial control in Indochina.

To achieve this victory, the Viet Minh forces, under General Võ Nguyên Giáp, dug trenches and tunnels to reach the French positions without coming under fire. They also carried 105mm artillery pieces and anti-aircraft guns (pháo cao xạ) through jungles, across rivers, up and down passes and mountains, then emplaced them in secret positions overlooking the French positions. All 16,200 men of the French garrison were either killed or taken prisoner, while Vietnam's casualties were about 25,000.

The distance from Hanoi to Điện Biên Phủ is 420km and if you travel overland by car or bus, it often takes a
The most famous site
This is the former bunker headquarter of French Colonel De Castries in the center of Mường Thanh valley.day and at some sections the passes are very high and dangerous. 7 years ago I flew to Điện Biên Phủ, but our plane couldn't land because of the fog. I even saw the city inside the valley below our plane, but we had to fly back to Hanoi. Some years later, the airport was improved, and at present, Vietnam Airlines runs daily flights between Hanoi and Điện Biên Phủ on ATR72.

The reason why I decided to attempt another flight to Điện Biên Phủ is that last Friday was my birthday and I wanted to go somewhere that was new, inexpensive and relaxing, especially after I rushed too much on my previous trips to southern Laos and Nepal. Also, in May this year we celebrated the 55th anniversary of Điện Biên Phủ victory, so I wanted to see some great monuments built at the site.

It was raining when our plane landed at Điện Biên airport. I hired a local motorbike driver and we went to the major sites of the former battlefield. The most famous site is the headquarter of the French commander, Colonel Christian De Castries, where Vietnam's flag was flying on its roof at
Memoirs of war
The famous book is written by General Võ Nguyên Giáp and translated into English. 17:30 on 7 May 1954 and the Colonel had to surrender. Near this place, there are old French tanks, artilleries and a memorial to the 3,000 French troops. The white painted monument is placed inside a beautiful garden and it was built owing to the fund donated by the French veterans.

The next site I visited was A1 hill, where Vietnamese soldiers detonated 960kg of explosives to start a general attack on the battlefield. A1 hill was the most important defense hill for the French inside the Mường Thanh valley. There is a large hole on the hill formed by the explosives next to the French trenches. This hills also offers a good position to view different sides of the city. Next to the hill is the museum, which presents the incredible story of Vietnamese determination. I also went to the cemetery with more than 600 graves, most of which are anonymous.

D1 hill is located in the heart of the city. It witnessed more victories by Vietnamese soldiers. For this reason, it was chosen as the position for the 20-ton bronze statue of the Điện Biên Phủ victory. To see this statue, I had to walk up
At Điện Biên Phủ museum
Statue of a Vietnamese soldier with flag "Determination to fight and win".over 300 steps to the top of the hill.

While most of the important sites, which were belonged to the French troops, are located near the center of the city, the Vietnamese headquarter is located inside Mường Phăng primitive forest, over 30km east of the city. A house made of bamboo and palm and tunnels where General Võ Nguyên Giáp used to live and command are still preserved. I didn't visit the site since it rained and the road is slope with many curves. The General is still alive, now he is 99 years old. He has published some famous books about his memoirs of war. He is loved by all Vietnamese and admired by foreigners as well.

This blog is not only about the famous place that I visited from 26 to 28 June 2009, but also about my birthday. The last birthday I was travelling in Sukhothai (Thailand). This year I decided to spend time in Vietnam. Even though it rained during the trip, I was happy as the plane could land and I met with many new people along the way. I would like to take this chance to say some words to Gavin, my
Picture outside Điện Biên Phủ cemetery
This picture describes the historical moment, when Vietnam's flag flew on the French headquarter and Colonel De Castries had to surrender.Australian friend working in Kuwait. I met Gavin in Phonsavan (Laos) 5 years ago and we have been good friends since then.

"Gavin, when my parents tried to stop bleeding from my wound, you said that it was so hard for me and my parents because they loved me so much. It has been exactly 3 years since that day, but I still feel like yesterday. Now I am healthy. I can work and travel again. Thank you for helping me at the most difficult time of my life and I agree with you that we just have to keep moving on in life, it's the way life is."

Những ấn tượng về chuyến đi Điện Biên Phủ (tháng 6 năm 2009)

Khi máy bay chuẩn bị hạ cánh xuống sân bay Điện Biên, tôi nhìn qua ô cửa sổ và thấy những đám mây trắng trôi bồng bềnh, những ngọn núi, những thửa ruộng bên dòng sông Nậm Rốm uốn lượn như dải lụa, những ngôi nhà nhỏ xíu và cuối cùng là đường băng dưới trời mưa. 7 năm trước tôi cũng bay lên Điện Biên, nhưng phải quay về Hà Nội vì máy bay
On the top of A1 hill
I am standing on the top of A1 hill, which used to be the most important defense hill for the French troops in the valley. In the background, you can see the French trenches and a large hole formed by... [more]không hạ cánh được. Lần này, nhân dịp kỷ niệm ngày sinh nhật, tôi quyết định làm một chuyến du lịch "ba lô bụi" trở lại thành phố nổi tiếng ở vùng Tây Bắc Việt Nam, nơi còn lưu giữ nhiều di tích lịch sử thời kháng chiến chống Pháp.

Tử sân bay vào trung tâm thành phố Điện Biên chỉ có 1km. Tất cả các công trình quan trọng cũng như di tích lịch sử đều nằm trong thung lũng Mường Thanh. Từ trung tâm thành phố đến cửa khẩu biên giới Lào chỉ có 36.5km. Bốn bề của thành phố là núi bao bọc với nhiều ngọn đồi ở phía đông và dòng sông Nậm Rốm cũng chảy qua vùng đất đai màu mỡ này. Các di tích nổi bật của chiến trường Điện Biên Phủ năm xưa là hầm chỉ huy của tướng De Castries, đồi A1, C1, C2, D1, cứ điểm Hồng Cúm, Him Lam, đồi Độc Lập, cầu và sân bay Mường Thanh. Tất cả các căn cứ này đều thuộc hệ thống phòng thủ của Pháp mà trong đó đồi cứ điểm A1 là nơi quan trọng nhất.

Tôi thuê xe ôm
Propaganda for the 55th anniversary
đi mất hơn nửa ngày đến thăm hầm của Đại tá tư lệnh pháo binh Pirote (nay chỉ còn đặt một khẩu súng trọng liên) ngay gần cầu Mường Thanh cũ, hầm của tướng De Castries, bãi pháo và chiếc xe tăng ở gần đó, cũng như Đài tưởng niệm binh sĩ Pháp do người Pháp quyên góp tiền xây dựng. Đài tưởng niệm này nằm trong một khuôn viên nhỏ rất thanh bình với cây cối xung quanh. Sau đó, tôi vào thăm nghĩa trang Điện Biên Phủ, nơi có hơn 600 ngôi mộ anh hùng, liệt sĩ mà phần lớn là vô danh, mặc dù trên tấm biển đồng lớn thì có tên của hầu hết các liệt sĩ đã hy sinh trong chiến dịch Điện Biên Phủ năm xưa. Gần đài tưởng niệm của nghĩa trang là 4 ngôi mộ ghi tên các anh hùng liệt sĩ Phan Đình Giót, Bế Văn Đàn, Tô Vĩnh Diện và Trần Can.

Đối diện với nghĩa trang là Viện bảo tàng chiến thắng lịch sử Điện Biên Phủ có trưng bày các loại vũ khí, những tấm ảnh đen trắng, cũng như hiện vật và sa bàn mô phỏng
Tank near the French headquarter
This tank was to defend the French headquarter (Xe tăng Ettlingen Chaffee 24 bảo vệ Sở chỉ huy tập đoàn cứ điểm Điện Biên Phủ,... [more]3 giai đoạn tấn công của chiến dịch lịch sử kéo dài suốt 56 ngày. Ngay gần đó là đồi A1, nơi các chiến sĩ Việt Nam đã bí mật đào hầm tiếp cận căn cứ quân sự quan trọng của quân Pháp và cho nổ khối bộc phá 960 kg bắt đầu cuộc tổng tấn công trên chiến trường. Hố bộc phá rất lớn nằm ngay sát cạnh các đường hào tiếp viện của quân Pháp.

Đồi D1 nằm ở ngay trung tâm thành phố. Leo hơn 300 bậc thì sẽ lên đến đỉnh đồi, nơi đó có tượng đài chiến thắng và vào buổi tối thì nơi đây cũng thắp đèn rất đẹp. Tôi cũng đến đồi Him Lam, nhưng hôm đó trời mưa, đường nhỏ hẹp, dốc và không có ai ở đó nên tôi cũng không dám mạo hiểm đi tiếp. Hai bên đường là cây cối và tôi bị muỗi cắn hai bên bắp chân, nên đành phải quay xuống. Di tích này gần như không có sự đầu tư lớn như ở những khu vực khác. Một điều dễ nhận thấy là các bao cát tại các di tích đã được thay thế
A souvenir
A hat similar to the one that Vietnamese soldier wore during the French war.bằng bê tông và các đường hào thì xây bằng xi măng để chống sạt lở. Tuy nhiên, đường hào này rất cao, trong khi đường hào gốc bằng đất chắc chắn là phải vừa tầm để có thể tì súng bắn được.

Quần thể di tích Sở chỉ huy chiến dịch Điện Biên Phủ nằm trong rừng ở xã Mường Phăng, cách thành phố Điện Biên trên 30km. Để đến đó phải vượt qua dốc Tà Lơi hiểm trở và nhiều đoạn đường quanh co, khúc khuỷu. Đây là nơi làm việc của Đại tướng Võ Nguyên Giáp và Hoàng Văn Thái. Nếu thuê xe taxi đi nửa ngày thì mất 550.000 đồng, còn thuê xe ôm thì mất 250.000 đồng. Tôi cũng không đến thăm di tích này, một phần vì trời mưa.

Thành phố Điện Biên rất nhỏ bé, nên chỉ đi qua vài con phố là đã ra khu vực cánh đồng. Trên đường đến Bản Phủ để thăm Đền thờ Hoàng Công Chất cách thành phố 11km, tôi đi qua những cánh đồng Hồng Cúm và ghé thăm di tích "Hận thù Noong Nhai", nơi đây từng là một bản của người Thái,
Headquarter of French Colonel De Castries
Entrance gate to the former headquarter of French Colonel De Castries. We have to walk down stairs and there are 4 rooms inside the bunker (Lối vào Hầm chỉ huy tập đoàn c&... [more]nhưng bị quân Pháp ném bom làm chết hơn 444 người. Tại đây có một đài tưởng niệm và hai tấm phù điêu. Chuyến đi của tôi dù ngắn ngủi, chỉ có 3 ngày, nhưng đã giúp tôi mở mang hiểu biết về một đia danh khác của đất nước.

Hello massage at Thailand

2009-06-30T19:08:00.001-07:00

Asia » Thailand >> Bangkok

"We are not trying to selling the tour. We are only give information on how to enjoying our country. Many people will trying to offer better price, but we can giving happy good time and looking after important tourist. We looking after you like family so have to paying higher price, we respecting the tourist so please taking the tour with us..."

It had been almost a week of a whirlwind of travel. Intermixing between dusty polluted over crowded cities like Lima, Peru. Then heading westward and north visiting my cousin in cold and chilly San Francisco before finally touching down on a completely different world and reality known in this modern world as Thailand.

Thailand is a country that is mentioned at least once on most travelers' itinerary, and everyone have a different opinion. Some love the relaxation of the sprawling beautiful lagoons and white pearly beaches scattered on so many islands that surround Bangkok's mainland. Others prefer to go party in Bangkok's crazy club scene riddled with many ways to get into any kind of hedonistic activity one so desires. And some others prefer to mix them both together and go to a full
Monks
Chiang Mai Templemoon party on Kao Pha-Ngan an enjoy the best of both worlds.

After the week or so travelling from the mouth of the Ucayali River in remote Peru, by the time I had arrived to Bangkok I was ready for neither! I had felt like I had arrived to a new world. A musty aroma filled the airport arrivals lounge I finally met with my girlfriend Paulina who was arriving from Poland, literally the other side of the world.

Rest was a firm priority however I was already booked into an 8 Day intensive Anusara Yoga Retreat in Chiang Mai to the north of Thailand which meant that my must needed rest would have to be postponed.

Once arriving in the early twilight hours of the morning after a pleasant bus ride from Bangkok, I feel as though I am not even on earth let alone in a foreign exotic culture such as the one that greeted me here. We left soon after arriving in the town leaving our bags at the "nice place" guest house and wandered around the city centre which felt like an old castle as it has a giant mote
Bikes
Bangkoksurrounding the main city centre. After walking solidly in the pounding sun we realised we could not find our way back and resorted to a taxi whom took us to the wrong "nice place" hotel (Apparently there are more than one!) After another taxi and a few exhausting hours later we eventually arrived back at the original "nice place" by which time didn't feel just quite as nice!

The Kao Mai Lana resort where the yoga retreat was being held was in the outskirts of the city. The surroundings were gorgeous in a setting with secluded palm trees throughout and the rooms made from old renovated tobacco huts, a perfect location for some quiet reflection and also a great way to spent time sitting back and relaxing after our heavy duty 3 hour sessions.

Anusara yoga was quiet a new concept to me and what brought me here was mainly due to visiting my old friend and former yoga teacher John from way back in Guatemala. It was really great to catch up on things and remember on times that had past and what plans we have for the future. I think many travelers can vouch
Market
Kao Pha-Nganon how strange it is to visit someone you know in such a far and distant location from when you first met.

Anusara Yoga is based upon Hatha yoga and created by John Friend, who has spent many years being taught by the best teachers on the planet. It relies heavily on 5 principles of alignment that can be applied to every posture to ensure correct body alignment, position and power. It is a very interesting philosophy and one can definitely feel the differences after merely one session.

One of the main problems with this method is that it requires some level of mental understanding as well as being able to physically apply the principles to your yoga practice. For me it was very difficult and initially I had great trouble understanding the way that the teacher Jonas was explaining the methods and practices. After a little help it became easier and I do believe that the Anusara method has some great advantages especially physically but should be taught with more of a hands on approach rather than using way too much dialogue and making it become diluted with intellectual mumbo jumbo.

Another aspect
Kao Mai Lana Garden
Chiang Maiyoga that has really started to bug me of late is how it has been completely commercialised. Yoga retreats now occur over the entire world and are becoming increasingly popular for many people and becoming like "health tourism" This has allowed many so called yogis and teachers to cash in on tourists with big wallets. This is fair enough on a business perspective but how can any teacher be a credible teacher of the ancient teachings of yoga when they are milking in tens of thousands of dollars and living a highly materialistic existence. It almost makes me feel as though everything that has once been sacred in this world has lost its sanctity and if it has not yet soon enough someone will find a way to market it and make a few dollars as it is the self that seems of utmost importance in today's society and the source of all its problems.

After a week of back bending, hand standing and many a sun salutation, it was time to leave the resort of Kao Mai Lana. It was quite an exhaustive week and our bodies felt like after being put into a medieval torture device.
Night Market
Chiang MaiWe said our farewell and left Chiang Mai in the overnight bus to Bangkok.

Bangkok is one of the major hubs of south East Asia and even though it's recent turbulent history it still remains an important entry point for its many visitors. Bangkok is a vast city and walking around can be a sweaty and tiring experience. We decided to only stay for a couple of days as it more geared towards stag parties and big alcohol crazed benders as opposed to a recently reunited couple. One of the main tourist's hot spots is Khao san road where more of the cheaper accommodations can be found. It was difficult to get around cheap as the tuk tuk drivers offered high fees to take you around unless you visited some tailor and jewelry shops that gave incentives to the drivers. This ends up taking half of your day, and we were wary of the many "once a year" sales that actually occurred every day! After a few palaces and many a Pad Thai we decided to escape the hustle and bustle of Bangkok. We headed south to one of the main islands of Kao Pha-Ngan. I was starting
River Swimming
Near Chiang Maito get weary of the Thai people as it was difficult to find any normal bus stations and always ended up hustled towards a high charging tourist agency. Most of the time I felt like I was being treated like cattle, begin guided to the buses and with little respect being a 'farang' the Thai world for Gringo, I felt more of an outsider in this country than I had in all my years traveling. But it was hard to stay annoyed as I was still enjoying the amazing food such as the classic Thai red curry and sweet and sour dishes that are almost as internationalised as the American hamburger only much better!

We arrived on Kao Pha-Ngan almost straight after the full moon which saw a great exodus of revelers of the famous full moon party known widely for it's over excessive debauchery. We headed to the North West to Haad Salat and quickly relocated a little south to Haad Yao which was much bigger with a greater selection of bungalows and restaurants. The beach itself has a number of fancy eateries and crystal clear teal blue water which has to be seen to be believed.
Sunset
Kao Pha-NganThe was very calm with no waves and with just a little paddle out you can snorkel and encounter a plethora of tropical fish of all colours of the rainbow. Time spent here flew by with little change day by day, which included laborious activities such as swimming, lying in hammocks and getting the many massages offered by the local people. However, If I wasn't interested in buying the product I wasn't worth talking to was the main feeling I received form the place.

Our flight to Australia was leaving from Singapore and the flights were way above budget so we decided to get the boat and bus which at first we were told were all sold out and had to buy flights! After walking out the door suddenly there were some seats available and we would arrive the following night on a direct bus. Upon getting to the main land we were taken to a depot were we waited for an hour before getting three separate buses and dumped somewhere in the north of Malaysia. There we had to wait 7 hours for the connection to Singapore which now would arrive at 8 the following morning and
Boat
Kao Pha-Nganhad to pay an additional $20 "Service charge" for the privilege. Thank you Thailand for treating me kindly and with so much respect! The phrase "no money, no honey" suits the character of the people perfectly and although the scenery is fantastic and food superb the attitude of the local people made me hope never to set foot in the country again...

Namialo and the essential Cyndi Lauper

2009-06-30T19:05:00.001-07:00

Africa » Mozambique » Northern » Island of Mozambique

Saying goodbye to Ilha.
In the morning Johannas and I toss our packs into the back of Gabriel's pick-up, and with a few toots of the horn and a handful of merry waves, we bump along through the streets of Ilha. We're undoubtedly a curious sight - at no point this week have I seen more than three or four other white tourists on the island - and there are plenty of barefoot kids in varying states of undress to chase our clouds of dust. At the bridge to the mainland a chapa idles near the checkpoint, four haggard faces peering from the rear. It's a Sunday, and traffic to the mainland is slow: the driver wearily informs us he's been waiting for his truck to fill since early morning. Gabriel shakes his head and offers us his best wishes, pumping our hands, hopping into the cab, and motoring back through the morning heat. We prop our things against a bench and go over our game plan, deciding that if we want to make it to Namialo and Nampula by nightfall, our best bet is to take the first ride that comes our way, go as far as it's willing to take us, and then
Geoff on the job.
sort ourselves out from there.

We hitch a ride across the bridge with a sullen young Indian who seems awfully begrudging about the whole thing, considering it was his idea to give us a lift in the first place. His is a swank, tricked-out 4x4, and the A/C is on full tilt; memories of Ilha are soon growing that much fonder in the comforts of the truck's sub-arctic chill. On the mainland we haul our things into the shade and squint toward the distant ribbon of road winding its way to Nampula. Mozambique's notorious December heat is proving, upon further review, to not fuck around in the least, and we're grumpily sweating through our shirts, doing our best to not snap at the locals who have decided nothing quite livens the mood of a Sunday morn like a good long stare at two sweaty white guys. Trucks come and go, none heading in our direction; one driver offers us the services of his own vehicle at the not immodest, bargain-basement price of 1,000,000MT - or 4,000 US bucks - a head. Johannas is in remarkably good spirits, considering he'll have to travel twice as far as me and catch
Quittin' time!
an afternoon flight from Nampula. Finally a flat-bed pulls up, churning up a cloud of dust, shouts of "Nampulanampulanampula!" coming from the rear.

A great shifting and jostling commences, backpacks and bodies wedged between bags of mangos and sacks of maize flour. The mood is high, a very African sort of bonhomie born from countless sweaty bus rides with an agitated chicken pecking at your rear. Knees are wrenched, backs are twisted, children passed around like a can of Pringles, clearing some space for new arrivals. An old man stares fixedly into the middle distance, twisting an embroidered kufi cap in his hand. Flies swarm at a bagful of fish and squid by his feet. His is a face of grim endurance, each wrinkle and crease suggesting the innumerable hardships of rural life in Mozambique. It's easy to see why the village elder, by virtue of his wily acts of survival, is so venerated here in Africa. You think this life is easy, white boy, he seems to say, you just try it for yourself some day.

A husky woman trundles to back of the truck, gathers her breasts in her arm, and hoists herself onboard. It is a masterful performance. She stiff-arms a few young girls and hitches up her capulana, lowering herself on my unfortunate foot with an archaic groan. Murmurs of appreciation all around. Watching these hefty African mamas negotiate the challenges of their girth is like watching an All-Pro lineman protecting against the pass rush. She shifts forward and leans back and flashes me a glimpse of her massive bosom. Suddenly, staring at this Leviathan of flesh, I understand how Ismael once felt, beholding the white whale crashing through the waves and contemplating the work of God.

We're 20 kilometers from town and making slow progress when the driver pulls to the side of the road, parks in the shade of a mango tree and kills the engine. He hops from the cab and the conductor hops from the rear, and a brief congress ensues. This does not bode well. Sure enough, when the engine again thrums to life and we pull out onto the road, we're pointed squarely back in the direction we just came from. Twenty minutes later we're back where we started, parked just a few feet from the bridge to Ilha. There's a man waiting with five 50 kg. sacks of maize flour piled by his side, and I suspect there was some subtle communication while we were in transit, a promise of a few extra meticais for the driver if he came back to retrieve this cargo. The passengers, patient and uncomplaining at even the worst of times, are slowly working themselves into a froth. It's hardly the first time I've witnessed such a scene. The greedy minibus conductor - the man who can always find space for one more paying passenger, who will stop the chapa every twenty meters if it means loading another fare onboard - is perhaps the most villainous archetype of African transport. (The belligerent drunk and wailing infant ranking not too far behind.) Anger is a frightful contagion, and it can pass around a crowded truck with terrific speed. The men forced to climb onto the cab and balance themselves atop suitcases, the women rearranging their bags of produce and their nursing infants, are giving this driver a terrible working over. And yet, once the cargo is loaded onboard and we've rearranged ourselves into a stable system of twisted limbs and scrunched feet, the mood passes. A few wisecracks and rolls of the eye signal the usual disregard for the whims of African transport: What do you expect! And then we're off on our merry way, making it to the Manapo junction in just over an hour.

Things at this point begin to proceed more smoothly. The T-junction at Manapo is one of the region's busiest, and it takes just a few minutes of idly wagging our hands at passing trucks before a driver offers us a lift. We pile into the back of his Hilux, Johannas looking sweaty and sunburned as he curls into a ball and hunts for shade. It is a swift, smooth ride to Namialo. We exchange a few quick words and well-wishes in parting, the driver already eager to tear off for Nampula, and I give my back a terrific jolt as I pull my pack - which is, at this point, starting to push 30 kg. - onto the side of the road. These minutes of waiting for Geoff are as unpleasant as any I hope to spend in Namialo. The sun is high and fierce, the pain in my back is exquisite, and the assembled youth of Namialo - a scruffy, aggressive lot pushing cashews and boiled eggs my way - are showing me far more attention than I can stand. Geoff mercifully pulls up and toots his horn before long, and with a cheery "Howizzit?" we're on our way.

His spirits are high, and it doesn't take much time around Namialo to see why. Sandwiching the Nampula-Nacala road - a major artery which connects Mozambique's busiest port to the north's largest city, as well as to landlocked Malawi and Zambia - the town seems to have embraced its singular role as a place to refuel before flooring the pedal and making tracks to somewhere else. Kids in threadbare outfits shuffle along the main road, surrounding each chapa or lorry with biscuits and orange Fanta and cashews and mCel airtime and loaves of bread. No one seems to linger long, and for that reason alone, Geoff is grateful for my company. We stop at the bakery and then head back to his place for lunch, Geoff chattering away all the while, happy to reconnect with the world beyond Namialo. His house is on the edge of town, not far from where the road speeds to Nacala, leaving the dirty congestion of Namialo behind. The guard, a tall, severe man in rumpled overalls, hoists my bag onto his shoulders and follows us inside. Curious kids and idle neighbors linger nearby, wondering at the new arrival.

It is a massive place, with ceilings like the nave of a cathedral, and little to suggest it's been a full month since Geoff moved in. Ruddy and youthful, somewhere in his 40's, he is the quintessential bachelor, a man for whom nothing in Mozambique seems quite as dreadful as the perils of housekeeping. "You don't realize, when you move into a place, how much you have to do to it," he complains. "Bloody curtains, rugs!" He says the words the way the rest of us might say "pederasts" or "wife-beaters." And there are admittedly few domestic flourishes in the sitting room: a table, a stereo system piled high with CDs (The Very Best of Celine Dion; The Essential - ! - Cyndi Lauper), a giant fan on a floor-stand with blades like jet propellers.

In the kitchen, though, the man is in his element. He swings open the fridge to reveal a world of plenty: meats and juices, cartons of eggs, condiments, dessert cakes, sodas, chocolates. Even at the Kabula Lodge, in Blantyre, when no less than six of us were sharing the same kitchen, there was a certain meagerness to the fridge and cupboards. But Geoff, amply compensated by the Singapore conglomerate financing his project, has decided to drown the sorrows of his solitude in a sea of licorice and bite-sized Snickers bars. He slices open the bread rolls, spreads the butter, piles on the sandwich meat and processed cheese, adding a few tomato slices as a coup de grace. Live like savages if we must, his manner implies, but we might as well eat like kings. Four hefty T-bone steaks sit thawing in Ziploc bags on the counter. He plunks two ice cubes - ice cubes! - into a tall glass of soda and plods inside, eager to polish off a quick lunch before checking the day's progress on the farm and then heading to the local bar for some "frosties."

In the bedroom Geoff fluffs up the pillows and cranks the A/C to some ungodly setting. It is, I'll admit, a welcome relief from the deathly heat of Ilha. I shower, change, roll around in the sheets. Life in Namialo isn't half-bad, really. Outside I find Geoff poised masterfully over the grill, four steaks broiling side by side under a blanket of chopped onions. He skewers the steaks with a massive fork and hoists them onto our plates. Steak with a side of steak: it's as manly a meal as you're likely to come across in these parts. We eat quickly, quietly, in a reverie of protein and animal fat. At the bar we drink our frosties in sweet, icy oblivion, and it's not until the third round that we bother to complain about what happened to all the girls.

Sao Miguel-Lisbon-Obidos

2009-05-14T19:13:00.001-07:00

Europe » Portugal » Azores

I was ecstatic that Portugal was the warmest place of all our port stops. Unfortunately our time at these places was brief so the blog is mostly about the pictures and not so much on profound experiences I've had with this country.

Sao Miguel, Azores

The island of Sao Miguel was our first port stop and break from crossing the Atlantic. Ponta Delgada was a cute town with black and white mosaic cobblestone streets. I can understand now where the black and white style of the Serenado Square in Macau came from. It was a quick coach bus tour of the island checking out the Lagoa das Furnas, countryside and the town of Ribeira Grande. I did notice a lot of cows and pastures everywhere. The climate is moderate enough to maintain pastures all year around and dairy production is one of the leading industries in this area.

Lisbon
Sadly most of my wanderings were confined to the extent of the 15E tram line. This included the Baixa shopping quarter, Alfama area & Belem district where Jeronimo's Monastery and Museum of Modern Art was located.
I did manage to wander past some houses in
.
the Belem district and ceramic tiles were used predominantly on the older houses to decorate the exterior. Unfortunately, many of these houses were in need of restoration but still imparted a sense of grandness I can only imagine.

Obidos
This cute town on the hillside was my favorite part of the Portuguese stop. I suppose it could be likened to a perky & cute high school cheerleader. The walled medieval town complete with castle seemed to rely significantly on tourists and I embraced the whitewashed buildings & tourist shops lining the narrow cobblestoned streets with love.

I quite enjoyed the cherry liquor drink served in a mini chocolate tea cup. Can someone tell me if this is unique to the town or the equivalent of limoncello - a drink many towns seem to claim as their own in Italy?

Trucking hell

2009-05-14T19:10:00.001-07:00

Africa » Kenya » Eastern Province » Moyale

The landscape as the bus continues south is plains with a patchy covering of trees, which I know will continue into Kenya. I see a small tortoise crossing the road, which the driver expertly navigates around. At the breakfast stop, a man shouts "China!" at me, which I can only laugh at - it makes no sense to me that with so many people here fans of Premier League football, which features players of every colour and shape, I can be mistaken for Chinese.

A couple from the bus invite me to share breakfast with them. They are Ethiopian but have been living in South Africa for the last decade. Even so, they don't have South African citizenship and the man complains that they have to jump through bureaucratic hoops in order to get back into South Africa every time they leave. He seems resentful of the fact that, as a mere tourist, I can pretty much get into any country I choose. I incorrectly interpret his mood and sympathise at the expense of visas, but he angrily says that money is not the problem - it's documentation. Before we leave, I visit the cafe's toilet - the reek is
Roofs
powerful, but less worrying than the rain-slick approach that means I almost slide into the hole.

The border crossing is quiet and uneventful. I was expecting something busier, as this is the only overland route between the two countries, but it's so dead that the Kenyan immigration officer has to be summoned from his home in order to stamp me in - traffic had been so light that he'd figured it wasn't worth sticking around. He gleefully informs me that, the previous day, the visa fee had dropped from $50 to $25 in an effort to boost tourism, so the foresight I'd shown in buying mine in Addis has turned out to be a mistake to the tune of a dozen beers.

The towns on either side of the border are both called Moyale. Or maybe it's just one town split by the border - I don't know. No border town is ever particularly salubrious but, after an extensive trawl of an online thesaurus, I'm choosing my words with care when I say that Kenyan Moyale is a fucking shithole. I doubt that even a local would disagree with the noun in that description. As I trudge from
Bed bug bites
On one of my glutesthe border to the "main square", where I know I will find a hotel, I am approached by numerous touts, all trying to persuade me to buy a bus ticket to Nairobi for tomorrow. From what little Internet research I've been able to do, and from talking to both travellers and locals, I know that the bus defies its schedule (it's supposed to run either daily or thrice-weekly, depending on who you speak to) by departing maybe just twice per month - this is because it won't go unless it's full, which rarely happens. I mention this to the touts and none of them even attempts to deny it, so I don't know why they bothered in the first place.

Instead, most people's route south is in a truck. These vehicles bring groceries up to Moyale from Nairobi, then return with cattle or agricultural produce such as beans - extra income is generated by putting passengers in either the cabin or the back of the truck. The road south from Moyale is supposedly one of the worst in Africa, if not the world - a rutted, dusty, bumpy stretch that lasts for nearly 500km until the appearance of tarmac
Cat on a hot ... oh, you know
at Isiolo, with the added bonus of frequent bandit activity along the way. I have read and heard many horror stories about this overland leg and the most comfortable option - a relative term - would seem to be to pay for a seat in a truck's cab. Hence I try to find a driver willing to take me.

I've been warned about the legions of brokers in Moyale that will purchase a "chance" (their name for a seat on a truck) for you for a commission but I decide to cut out the middleman by speaking to a driver directly. Unfortunately no-one can/will tell me where I can find one. I am told to simply hang around in the main square at 7AM the following morning and sort things out then. With no other better alternatives, I resign myself to this approach. I regret not using up all my birr in Ethiopia, as the black market exchange rates are pitiful - I know I'll be unable to change them further south so I have to suck up a rate 20% below the "real" one. The $ rates are also dismal on the black market, but I decide to
Ethiopia/Kenya border
wait until the bank opens in the morning to obtain some Kenyan Shillings. Wandering around Moyale, I am the only whitie and am constantly approached by either brokers or people who exchange pleasantries and then ask me for money. Young men whiz too fast around the dusty streets on motorbikes.

Dinner gives me an introduction to Kenyan cuisine that - like Moyale itself - I hope is unrepresentative of the rest of the country. The "beef stew" is a strange mix of rice and spaghetti, covered in a watery gravy in which chunks of bone, gristle, and the occasional sliver of actual flesh sit listlessly. At least it's cheap, and whatever protein the stew might be lacking in is no doubt offset by the couple of flies that like splashing around in it. I see another customer with the same dish, but he is eating it with his bare hands.

My night is blighted by the heat of the room, a few mossie bites (the room's windows contain no glass, and the mosquito net has holes in it large enough to admit an elephant), and the worst bed bug attack I've ever experienced. My left buttock in particular
Bed bug bites
On my kneelooks as though it has chicken pox. There's also a faint smell of meat throughout the hotel, that doesn't add to its charm. I wake early and head outside at 6:30AM, hoping that I'll be able to conduct my truck-hunting and negotiations without a retinue of touts.

I assume I have found a driver when I see a chap changing the tire on a truck. This assumption appears to be confirmed when he says that yes, he is the driver. Unfortunately, as I find out through trial and error, you HAVE to go through a broker in order to get a seat. And people will tell you whatever you want to hear - I figure out later that this "driver" is actually a broker too. I have only a vague idea of what the price should be so, after some pitiful bargaining, I have an assurance that I will have a cab seat. He tells me not to speak to any other brokers. My business done, I return to my room to wait until closer to the departure time.

As 9AM looms, I check out of my room. The manager attempts to charge me 50% more than the price we'd agreed the previous day. I refuse, partly on principle and partly because of my red-spotted arse.

Outside, I am told that we will now be leaving at 9:30AM. There are several other trucks and many other people milling around. As the only whitie, I attract attention from both passengers and touts. In particular I meet a friendly young pastor, Abraham, who will be travelling in the back of "my" truck to a friend's wedding in Marsabit. From him, I learn that I have paid well over the odds for my seat. Thus when the broker comes to me and demands further money for my luggage and his commission, I point out that he is already making an enormous profit from me so I won't pay any more. I mentally append "You fucking greedy bastard" to the end of this sentence, as my mood is by no means gracious. This travelling is really playing havoc with my language.

Shortly after, Abraham frowns. He has overheard someone say that our truck is going to be cancelled. The broker refuses to confirm this but, ten minutes later, we are told that that is indeed the case. I am given two contradictory and unlikely explanations for this. One is that the driver has to sort something out with the police - which, if true, surely he would have known earlier in the day. The second is that the truck's owner has heard that the road is in bad condition because of rain yesterday and hence he doesn't want to risk his vehicle - this also turns out to be false. Whatever, I now have no ride south.

The broker says that he can put me on another truck but unfortunately there are no cab seats left - instead, he can offer me a place in the back but only as far as Isiolo, as beyond there it's illegal to travel in the back (in fact it's illegal throughout the country, but the police north of Isiolo turn a blind eye to it as it's the only transport option available.) Isiolo is about 15 hours away. 15 hours sitting on sacks of beans in the back of a bucking truck sounds unpleasant but no more so than another night in Moyale, so I accept his offer.

Unfortunately I then learn that bean-carrying trucks are in the minority. My new truck will in fact be carrying cattle in the back, hence the passengers will have to perch on the metal superstructure of poles and bars above them. This is quite a different prospect to what I was thinking, in terms of both comfort and protection from the elements. Plus I have a debilitating fear of heights, and the top of the truck looks a good 50m away. I chicken out, to the exasperation of the tip-seeking man who has grabbed my rucksack and is already atop the truck. Abraham doesn't have the luxury of refusing, as he absolutely has to head south today, so I wish him safe travels as he ascends the side of the truck, the comfort of a bag of beans now just a dream.

Though spending another day in Moyale is not too much lower on my list of least-favourite activities than gnawing off my own leg, I console myself with the thoughts that i) I was able to get a full refund, and ii) I now have much better knowledge of the correct pricing hence can't be ripped off again. A broker tells me that occasionally private vehicles cross the border and will pick up passengers to head south, so if I sit by the road then I may get lucky. Sitting exposed in any place like Moyale is just asking for trouble, so I tell him which hotel I'll be staying in and promise him a tip if he lets me know if such a vehicle comes through. However I've mentally resigned myself to spending another night here then haggling for a truck seat again tomorrow.

Dull but possibly useful info
i. There seemed to be a policy that passengers who had travelled from Addis to Dila would retain their seats for the leg from Dila to Moyale, hence there is no need to turn up early for this second leg.
ii. My yellow fever certificate wasn't checked when I crossed the border into Kenya.
iii. I stayed at the Hotel Sheriff in Moyale, paying KSh200 for a room with all the "amenities" mentioned above.
iv. The bus very rarely runs from Moyale to Nairobi but, when it does, it costs KSh1000 and takes about 33 hours. Buy your ticket from the conductor, not from any of the touts/agencies around town, who will charge you much more.
v. If you want to go in a truck, you can choose between going in the cab (KSh2000 but negotiations will open at KSh3000) or in the back (KSh700, but this is only as far as Isiolo). Note that you will have to deal with a broker in order to get this. Trucks leave supposedly at 9AM and take 15 hours to Isiolo, arriving in Nairobi the following morning. If you're going for the option in the back of the truck, make sure you find out if it's a cattle or a bean truck! You will be asked for an extra luggage fee and commission, which I think you can simply blow off without repercussions.
vi. Spend all your birr in Ethiopia as the rates for converting to KSh at the border are dismal. Note that none of the banks will change the other country's currency. I'd read that some shops in Kenyan Moyale will give you a reasonable rate but no-one knew what I was talking about when I made enquiries.
vii. Note that, in Kenyan Moyale, only Kenya Commercial Bank does FX (e.g. for converting $) - Equity Bank doesn't. KCB's hours are only 9AM-3PM.
viii. There are many transport options from Isiolo so you don't necessarily need to get something all the way through to Nairobi.

Overloading on Knitwear at Ecuador

2009-05-14T19:08:00.001-07:00

South America » Ecuador » North » Otavalo

It was distinctly possible that we'd leave the Otavalo market looking more like 80's weathermen than backpackers due to the mountains of brightly coloured llama covered jumpers on offer there. Thankfully our knitwear tastes are a lot more tame than those of the TV meteorologists of our childhoods but we nevertheless managed to overdose on woollen items in the short time that we spent there.

We left Quito early and jumped on a bus to Otavalo, north of the city and normally around 2 hours drive away. It took longer than that today as we got held up by what looked like a large bike race on the winding mountain roads leading to the market town.

We eventually arrived to find the market in full swing and set off to wander our way through the maze of stalls filling the streets and squares of this busy little town. Saturday sees the largest turnout of both vendors and shoppers so we were lucky with our timing but apparently the market runs, at a smaller level, every day except Sunday.

Amongst a few tourists, indigenous locals were swarming around with the ladies in traditional outfits consisting
Otavalo Market
of long wrap around skirts held up with patterned belts, embroidered white blouses and rows of golden necklaces encircling their necks and the guys with long black braids hanging from beneath dark felt hats. It was a great place to potter around as we simultaneously watched the townsfolk go about their daily lives and pored over the seemingly endless supply of multi-coloured crafts on sale.

Amongst hammocks, bags, blankets, those weatherman jumpers and many other forms of souvenir we managed to find ourselves some very toasty looking ponchos, a jumper or two and a few other bits and bobs. Now that we have only a few weeks of our trip left we'd decided that it wasn't really worth posting a big parcel home and had planned to just lug around the things that we buy from now on...we might change our minds when we add today's haul to our already bulging backpacks though!

We had some excellent lunch carved straight from a whole roast pig and continued our meanderings until we felt that we'd seen and bought enough. We then caught the bus back to Quito and enjoyed our last evening on the terrace at the Secret Garden.

Bhaktapur - the City of Devotees

2009-05-14T02:55:00.001-07:00

Asia » Nepal » Bhaktapur

Bhaktapur, also known as the City of Devotees, was the capital of Kathmandu valley during the 14th to 16th centuries. It's located about 35km east of Kathmandu. The city is filled with palaces, temples, statues and squares connected by a maze of largely pedestrian-only streets. This is one of the must sees in Nepal. At present, this city is a UNESCO world heritage site.

Tuesday 28 April 2009 - A car came to pick us up at Nagarkot and we left for Bhaktapur. We travelled along asphalt road and went down the mountains. I travelled from Nagarkot, as it was the town where I finished my treks in Kathmandu valley. If you hire a car and driver from Kathmandu to visit Bhaktapur, it costs about US$30 for a day. Entrance fee to Bhaktapur is US$10.

I followed the guide to walk around the old city. There are 3 main squares (Durbar, Taumadhi and Dattatraya) with great temples, monuments and monastries. I love walking along narrow and zigzagged alleys and seeing how the locals live. Along the main streets, there are shops where souvenirs, CDs, clothes, Thanka paintings, fruits etc., are sold. I got great attentions from the locals as
A temple in Bhaktapur
I wore Vietnamese traditional dress which has images of Japan on the front and back panels of my dress. My Nepalese guide said everyone there loved my dress and they said "Beautiful". I didn't understand their language, only felt that people were looking at me. Some local men asked me where I came from and with pride I replied to them the word "Vietnam".

In the afternoon, we visited Changu Narayan temple which is believed to be the oldest of all the temples in Bhaktapur. I saw on the map, there is Pottery square Talako, but don't know why the guide didn't take me there. So we visited a total of 6 sites in the old city on a day trip.

This is the last blog about my 10-day trip to Nepal. I knew I love this country even before the trip. I couldn't remember how many times there were tears in my eyes, when I was walking down the streets, or sitting by the holy river and hearing a woman crying at cremation ghat. Every morning in Kathmandu, I sat on the balcony and listened to music from the neighboring house. I could sit for hours at
With my Nepalese guide
This boy is 23 years old and works for a travel agent in Kathmandu.the intersection in Thamel just to watch people passing by me regardless of the dust. At Pashupatinah temple, I stared at a dreadlocked sadhus (holy man) because of his special appearance while walking past him. He said "Hello!". I didn't expect him to say a greeting to me.

US$1 means a lot for the locals. The guide complained a bowl of noodle at a village during our treks cost 70 rupees and that was too expensive for him. I said "It's just one dollar", he replied "But in Kathmandu, it's only 20 rupees". Certainly it's more costly since they had to carry that noodle a long way to this remote village on the mountain. The receptionist at my guest house said "We only hope to earn enough money to buy food" when I asked him which country he would like to visit. Before I left Kathmandu, a protest was going to happen and when I was back home, I saw it on TV.

Nepal is the 15th country I've been to. Even though there are many things in my life that are still unfulfilled, whenever I look back on what I've done, I'm glad that I didn't waste
A very old house
the time of my youth. I like this saying "We cannot change the frame of our destiny, but what we put into it is ours".

From the birdman cult to stray dogs

2009-05-14T02:54:00.001-07:00

South America » Chile » Easter Island » Hanga Roa

Arriving quite early at the bus station in Santiago 5am exactly I noticed(luckily)there is a bus from there run by Tur Bus for the airport leaving every 30 minutes starting at 6:15am and takes half hour to get to the airport which is perfect for me as the plane for Isla de Pascua leaves at 8:10am, saving me at least $25 for the taxi. It was cold and decided to just sit inside for awhile other people are also there waiting for their connecting bus. The counter for the airport shuttle lit up but not open yet, the woman over the counter still putting her make up on, eventually we bought tickets at 6am when they opened. Fpund out when i arrived at the airport that the flight is full, for off season that was amazing. now am a bit worried about accomodation as I did not book anything. Very hungry as the bus only gave us cookies for breakfast so I bought a sandwich from Dunkin Donuts then rushed to get through security and to the gate where they were already boarding. the Lan Chile plane was nice and I slept right away before the plane even took off. Good
ORONGO VIEW
selection of movies and documentaries kept me from sleeping once in the air already. They have a documentaries about this Chilean dudes about my age that in 2003 went sailing around the world the first Chilenos, their story was interesting and i found myself watching one episode after another until i reached the 5th then it was time to land, darn and the monitor was turned off, well on my way back to Santiago I will finish the series. they travelled through the Polynesian islands and reminds me of the truck life in Africa, cooking together, arguing, having fun together as a group those sort of cheesy stuff.

My backpack took ages to appear from the carousel and so I appraoched the hostel international Kona Tau booth and asked them if they have rooms and they do so i committed to them and went back to wait for me backpack, Chez oscar was my first choice but he did not respond to my email though their booth is right next to Kona Tau i decided to ignore it and go for a hostel and maybe i will some people to do things in the island. i was the first
TONGARIKI
on the service van, Diego the driver asked me to wait a bit and i took the chance to take photos of some stone carvings in the airport. later on comes Kathryn a Swiss and Naomi from Hungary, we all got a tour of the town in the van showing us the "mall", local Mcdonald's etc, and most importantly the moais(statues) that are close by. once we got sorted out at the hostel we walked to town to find lunch and had a wonderful lomito sandwich at this small place in the main street. from there we walked towards the ocean aboout 5 minutes walk, this is a small island so distances are not big. Oh the name of this town is Hanga Roa. Just walking around town you eventually pick up a "guide"dog, there's so much of them it gets annoying, they follow everywhere even to the statues and when there is a big number they fight and you get caught in the middle, we tried everything to get rid of them to no avail. The Ahu Tahai ruins north of town has 3 restored ahus, The Ahu Ko Te Riku has a top knotted and eyeballed moai, statue
RANO RARAKU
with a hat. Then Ahu Vai uri the five eroded moai of varying sizes, some looking like midgets. it was a bit cloudy and so photos are not very good but we took photos anyway in case tomorrow is worse. The sun appears every now and then we are hoping it shows more but we cant really predict the weather here. After our 1st encounter with the statues we went to the main street to shop for food for dinner, and then checked out the artesana stalls, the carvings are quite nice but i have no place for it cant be bothered carrying it around really. the girls are more akin to buying something. As we were walking about town it started to rain bad and we got disoriented as we have been talking while walking we got lost! Imagine a small town and we got lost, took us awhile to figure out where we are, finally back to the hostel we had a nice hot shower. Back at the hostel met my roomies, a German dude and and English lad, they have been here for wahile and just chilling as they have done the statues already, they recommended a
TAHAI
guide, Chris, an American dude who settled here, we tried to ask the reception woman to call him but she said the number is a cell phone and she does not have one so she cant help us, we were a bit annoyed as it says in the lobby they book guided tours and yet they cant call them, she was not helpful at all so we gave up and just figure something out tomorrow. After dinner it started to rain hard and rained most of the night. Slept well.

The next morning is gloomy and a bit windy but at least it does not seem to be raining. we had breakfast and later Chris appeared, maybe she eventually called him, anyway he asked who wanted a guide so me and Kathryn committed for tomorrow the southern half and we decided we will try and do the north today, walking. Once the girls were ready we started walking and we followed the road that leads to the airport as we wanted to hike the Rano Kau volcano, we got distracted by a sign that says there is a moai nearby so we went towards the ocean and saw it
TONGARIKI
then made our way back to town and we passed a camping ground. Now we retraced our steps and eventually saw the trail for Kona Tau, the sun is peeking every now and then. The trail is called "Te Ara o te ao" the scenery is stunning going towards the sea and we climbed up a hill with a dog following us that acted us our guide, there are so many stary dogs here and is quite annoying they follow you everywhere, yesterday we have about a dozen that followed us while seeing the moais. Once we got to the crater we saw the bottom full of tortoral reeds. we walked around and followed the trail half circling the crater and along the way tons of guava bushes full of ripe fruits so we helped ourselves for free lunch! Some are quite tasty, you just have to be lucky you picked a good fruit, then we reahced the entrance to Orongo where we have to pay to enter the site for 5,000 pesos good for 5 days. we saw the ceremonial village, this is where the bird cult rituals were held. Remembering from the movie "Rapa Nui" that i saw
TONGARIKI
years ago i tried to find the islet where the competitors raced to swim and retrieve an egg of the tern bird, the young men would descend a cliff and swim out to the islets to search for an egg then the first to come back with an egg intact becomes the birdman of the year.

Walking back down we helped ourselves generously with the guavas around the dirt road area, these ones are far bigger and tastier than the ones at the top of the volcano. Going down took about 45 minutes and we followed a trail that is parallel to the airport tarmac and we ended up eventually to another moai site called Vinapu.One of the structures features neatly hewn, mortarless blocks akin to those found in Inka ruins, a startling vision. these once supported moais that are now broken and lying face down. Have to remember that an Ahu is the platform that the Moai(statues) stand. The view of the sea and pretty flowers make for good photos with the ruins if the sun was out but not today. We went back to town and back to the Ahu Tahai near town and took more photos
TONGARIKI
now the sun is out but bad angle for photos, wtf!
Soccer game being played on the field, and dogs freely roaming the ruins once again, grr...
Shopped for more food at stores that were open, Sunday only a fews stores are open. Went back to hostel and said bye to naomi who leaves tonight for Tahiti. Around 4am rain started with a bang, torrential and followed by wind. i could not sleep anymore after that and just waited to get bright and got up and got ready for the guided trip which starts at 10am.

Chris an American who now lives here with his family was recommended by my roomies to be a super excellent guide and so we booked the day with him, just me and Kathryn. We stopped to shop for food first for lunch then off we start at Vaihu, ir was partly cloudy and windy but it looks as if the weather might change, some fast moving clouds in the sky. On this site the moais are toppled, the sight is next to the sea, we moved on to Akahanga next, same ole thing, toppled statues, whenever a tribe gets defeated, their conquerors will
TONGARIKI
topple the statues, maybe to humiliate the clan, anyhoo, as informative as Chris was i cant rememebr most of what he said to us,mainly having difficulty with the names and some terms, but he was very patient and speak very clear so not hard for Kath to understand. chris mentioned the varieties of fish around the island, though there is no coral reefs here the island is teeming with odd, unusual looking species and he wants people to see them by setting up an aquarium which he hopes will be next to the museo(which i did not bother to visit). One cool story he told us is when Axl Rose of Gun and Roses stayed here for a time and the dude just enjoyed himself here as they did not treat him as a celebrity, he would walk into town and folks just say Hey Axl, waving and leaving him alone.

Rano Raraku is the next stop, this is the statue quarry, half carved and some are buried, this is the factory for these moais, quite a sight to see,they spared no rock surface it seems every bit of space they carve a face to see whether it could
TONGARIKI
be a strong rock and make a full statue, some they stop making due to defaults or just not enough funding perhaps, apparently there is a whole society of just artisans to carve this monoliths and in turn they get 2 year's supply of fod from the clan who ordered it. After seeing all angles of the quarry we made our way down to Tongariki where the famous, dazzling 15 moai statues stood restored after a tsunami hit the area around the 1960's, a japanes company restored it. i loved this site and took gazzilions of photos. The sun is not fully shining, hardly any blue skies so my photos did nit turn up as well as i was hoping, but then again this is the rainy season so should not really complain. Te Pito Kura is next where the largest statue was evr erected and i believe also the last to be toppled. thenwe also saw a round basalt stone which apparently has some powers. the highlight is the Anakena beach ruins, great area of whit sand beach the ruins look well preserved, this is where the king that settles this land landed from Marquesas i believe. this place
TONGARIKI
is sacred and holy to the locals. there was a dude sky surfing at the time we were there,quite entertained to see him flip and glide. then back to the city and the end of the tour, exhausted I sat and chilled before dinner, kath and i cooked paella and some chinese noodles then off to bed.

My last day here went to the post office to get a commemorative stamp in my passport, you pay 500 pesos for it. then Kath rented a bike and dogs followed us again, i dont know how we eventually lost them. The sun is out, blue skies a few clouds but looks great, unfortunately I am leaving already, oh well...

Xinjiang Southern Pastures: Kazakh, horses, snow & yurts!

2009-05-14T02:52:00.001-07:00

Asia » China » Xinjiang » Urumqi

Welcome to Xinjiang! Although officially part of Mainland China, located on the far North West part (border with Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan & Pakistan), it is one of the most diverse & "exotic" province I got to visit in China so far, LOVE IT!
All the ingredients were there to make this trip unforgettable from the snow covered mountain to the desert and breathtaking red mountain/ sand dunes/canyon, to the ethnic diversity encountered along the way (Kazak, Kyrgyz, Tajik, Uighur & Chinese Han to mention only a few) and well...the fact that I finally got to follow the steps of many before me along the silk road!!
Add to this that one of my best friend Chanh who has been based the past six years in Shanghai too was part of the first part of the adventure, and this make the whole experience truly unforgettable!

Overall Itinerary:

Urumuqi
Bai Yang Gou (green pasture/ Yurt/ horseback riding)
Turpan (desert/ancient cities/flaming mountains)
Tian Che (crystal water mountain lake)
Kashghar (the door to central Asia, fascinating)
Karakul lake (3600m, kyrgyz settlement/ surrounded by snow covered 7000+ meters mountains/ Yurt!)
Tashkurgan (by the Tajikistan border/ Tajik native population/ stone city)
and
our 'home'
accross the desert from Kashgar to Urumuqi with a stop in the oasis of Kuche (beautiful mosque/ Friday market/ breathtaking canyon & Kizil caves)

How? mmm.. that's the interesting part... guess a bit of everything: plane, bus, minivan, train, car, horse, donkey, camel, motobike, on foot & using a motor hand glider...

Way too many places and experiences to summarize everything in one blog...so this is the first chapter, enjoy the reading and pictures!

First stop, Bai Yang Gou, ready for some snow, horseback riding and discovery of Urumuqi southern pastures!

As always any trip in China without guide starts with the usual "find the bus station" and the one chinese sites refer to is most of the time not the correct one! So, after a bit of 'sightseeing' around Urumuqi we finally got on our way to the "hongqiao gonggongqiche zhan" (for some reason, this one is not listed...)

As we got closer, we could already see the green pastures with the impressive snow covered Karawuquntag mountain in background, we would pass by tiny villages, locals on horses and lots of sheep...started to see more snow as well and by the
Horse riding on the snow...
time we reached our first stop "Bai Yang Gou" also referred to as the "West White Poplar Gully" (75km South of Urumuqi) & the Yurt where we would be spending our first night, the "pasture" was partially covered with fresh snow!! First ‘thermal shock’ especially coming from Urumuqi where the weather is warm and dry!

One of the beauty of traveling in Xinjiang is that it only gets dark between 10 and 11pm as the entire China is based on the Beijing time, so although we had spent 5 hours in the plane and an additional 1h and half in the bus, we still had a few hours ahead to explore the area "local style" ie. on horses!
Our guides were local Kazakhs and within few minutes we were already learning a few key words in their dialect while going through snow covered pasture. They were truly friendly and eager to share with us the natural wonders of the area while getting us more familiar with the local horses (shorter/ more nervous & with an unforgettable full galop!),
Went up to 3000 meters for this first day, across emerald green forest and then on foot for the last 100
by the road, motobikes and snow covered mountain on the background...
meters to see the waterfall, nothing breathtaking but the "walk/ ice skating" to reach the fall was fun!
Then time to go back to the Yurt for some dinner & warm up by the coal stove...and I guess that's when our host told us to enjoy our dinner, showed us how to 'close' the door, the few candles on the side (no electricity) before leaving until the next morning 10am thus letting us fully 'enjoy' our stay in his yurt!

Short backtrack here...the Yurt was surrounded by snow...

The tiny stove was doing a pretty good job at the beginning so we had a nice warm environment to start the evening and get to know the only two other guests (Chinese) staying in the Yurt next door, lots of fun trying on local traditional outfits before moving to our own yurt and start to lay down as many blanket as we could find as the yurt was really getting cold!
Got woke up in the middle of the night by the cold and realized the fire was nearly completely extinct (no wonder it was getting so cold...)... Obviously, that's when you end up exploring the area surrounding the
Last touch before the 'cooking time'
yurt using the flash light to find where the coal is stored, and then end up trying to start the stove again using well...what you can find... in our case, disposable wooden chopsticks & toilet paper...clearly not the best, but after a good half an hour started to get some live embers...pfff....still cold (about 5 degrees outside) but manageable!

Slept nearly like a baby after that and waked up at 10am with the sound of 30+ chinese tourists who came to the area for half a day...mmm...

By the time we had breakfast and packed they were gone already (pfff...) and we were again the two of us, chatting by the road with local Kazakh while waiting for THE bus to stop by! (never really know when to expect one, part of the fun!)

Guess that’s when two locals arrived full speed on their motorbike with a black sheep in between them, Chanh always full of good feelings pointed out as they were getting the sheep on the grass “the sheep must be sick and they are going to treat him” well…by the time she had finished her sentence, the oldest guy had a knife ready and
morning time in the Xinjiang countryside
while helped by the other guy to bring the sheep to a standstill on the grass by their motorbike, he was prompt to slit his throat…mmm…before cutting the end of one of the leg to blow air in between the flesh and the wool, “balloon style’, before shearing the sheep still using the one knife…
Really impressed by the technique and speed to which the entire wool was removed in one piece, while the flesh never actually touched the ground…All along the guy was explaining us how he was proceeding, clearly happy that we shown interest and ended up asking us to send him the pictures we had taken by the post office! Hahaha (printing those as I write this blog)�
The bus then arrived when the guy had finished with the sheep shearing, and after the usual “Roche” (“Bye Bye” in local Uyghur dialect), on the road we were again!

Next stop: Turpan & its flaming mountains (Huo Yan Shan) in the middle of the desert!

Ruinous red tape, Sudan

2009-04-09T02:01:00.001-07:00

Africa » Sudan » Dongola

Having exhausted Kerma's attractions, I move on to Dongola. The transport - a minibus rather than a boksi - is shockingly convenient, leaving just ten minutes after I find it and containing only four passengers. The pattern certainly seems to be that the infrastructure is improving the further south I come. There's a tremendous amount of road-building underway here and it won't be long before the whole stretch from Wadi Halfa to Dongola will be paved - possibly within a year.

Dongola lies on the west bank of the Nile and the final leg of the trip is on board a ferry (though I see a half-completed bridge a little further downstream). The ferry has just one deck and the passengers - human and animal - stream in first, so the minibus driver has to reverse into the milling crowd. I ask to be dropped at a specific lokonda but, despite him saying "Yes, yes", the driver drops me at another. I decide to have a look anyway and am heartened by the excellent English of the two guys at the reception. They then show me their available room - I've had enough of communal sleeping for a while and
Door
fancy some privacy.

This may be the most luxurious lokonda room in all of Sudan. It comes with a fan, 24 hour electricity, and a working light. The en suite bathroom contains a shower - obviously cold water only and I later discover the pressure is just a trickle - but a shower nonetheless. The only downer is the stench from the squat toilet but even that is cleared out later in the day. As I marvel at this unexpected oasis, a small mouse appears from a hole under the bed, skitters across the floor, sees me, then bolts back to its refuge. So I even have a pet. Or imminent hantavirus.

Soon after settling in, there is a knock at the door and I open it to find a pair of young German backpackers. They are heading north, having come through from Ethiopia, so we swap information. Their views of Ethiopia aren't particularly inspiring, and I have to hope my own experience will be different.

Unfortunately Dongola gives me a solid introduction to Sudanese bureaucracy. First, I have to register with the authorities, a free but necessary process. In a theme to be repeated throughout my
Dry leaf
Kawastay, the local people insist that I need to see "security" to do this. They explicitly state that I do NOT need to see the police. However the tuk tuk drivers don't understand "security" whereas they do recognise "police", so I continually end up at the police station for all my bureaucratic needs - and they are able to deal with it all. I still don't know who "security" are or what they do.

On my first visit to the police station, the men inside are clustered around a TV watching a Bollywood production with Arabic subtitles. In a country where so far I have not glimpsed more than a woman's face or hands, the exposed tummy and short skirt of the leading actress are positively pornographic. Registration is fast, and I am given a slip of paper to present to the lokonda.

Walking back to the lodgings, I am accosted by a man who runs out of a telephone store and asks me to spend some time with him. He owns the store, with sidelines in electrical goods and a petrol franchise, and is eager to practice his English. We are constantly interrupted by his various minions,
Rock
Kawawho he deals with imperiously.

My first dinner in Dongola is an unsatisfactory affair. The waiter takes my order of fish, salad, and rice, and asks me to take a seat. I do as bidden and wait. And wait. And wait. When I finally realise that I've been waiting an hour, the waiter (the irony ...) has disappeared and I have no common language with any of the other staff to discuss the whereabouts of my food. I leave, frustrated, but then find bread and some La Vache Qui Rit segments in a nearby shop.

Dongola is the capital of Northern state, a vast tract occupying a space almost equivalent in size to Germany but containing only just over 600,000 people. The town's main street is similar to Saltburn's in terms of width and variety of businesses. Donkeys seem to be a favoured local transport option, and donkey carts are a frequent sight on the roads. Tuk tuks are available and are cheaper than taxis. Bargaining over the fare is necessary but the drivers tend to agree to whatever counteroffer you throw out there. I'm already noticing that the country runs on small bills - tuk tuks, falafel,
Mercedes bathroom door
Room 9, Lord Hotelwater, tea are all less than SP2 (about $1). Producing a SP10 note generally causes a trawl of nearby shops to get change. Once again, I'm struck by the contrast with how easy it is for me to accumulate a pocket full of shrapnel in the UK.

My luxury room is fumigated with an incense stick in the evening, but morning reveals several new mossie bites, and the stream of yellow gunk that comes out of my nose suggests an incipient cold. My first shave for a week leaves me feeling more human, and I head out into a sunny and breezy day with the aim of visiting the Temple of Kawa, a few kilometres south on the east bank.

At the ferry, I have a second encounter with Sudanese bureaucracy. I buy my ticket and am about to board when I hear a shout from behind. A man beckons me over and tells me I need a permit to cross the river. I show him my passport but he shakes his head. I must go to "security" and obtain a permit.

I return to the lokonda and query this with the owners. "Oh yes", they say
Flowers
matter-of-factly, "All foreigners need a permit to cross the river." I trudge back to the police station, obtain the free permit, and return to the ferry where this time my attempt to cross is successful. I chat briefly with a man working for an organisation helping people displaced from Darfur.

I am approached on the other side by an English-speaking guy who asks where I want to go, and I say I need a boksi to Kawa. He leads me to the appropriate section of the boksi car park and I am introduced to a driver. My lokonda had said that it would cost SP1 in a boksi so I'm surprised when the driver's opening quote is SP5. It soon comes down to SP3 and I realise this is actually a negotiation for a private hire. This doesn't seem too bad a price for that so I accept, saying "Talata" and holding up three fingers.

We bump across the desert to the paved road, then drive past people working in fields with camels and cows. We stop so the driver can let down the pressure in the tyres then head into the desert once more. We finally halt
Countryside
at a single-strand barbed wire fence around an area little different from its surroundings. This is Kawa.

Sudan has had three currencies over the last twenty years, which would be confusing enough if two of them hadn't been called pounds and they weren't all related by multiples of 10 or 100. Some people still give prices in one of the old currencies, or lop off zeroes for compactness of speech, so there is ample scope for misunderstandings or deception. I realise this when, on arrival at Kawa, the driver looks in disgust at my proffered SP3 and, when I then write the Arabic symbol for three in the sand, he leans down and adds the dot that indicates a zero.

I assume at this point that the price must include some wait-time, so I arrange via sign language for an hour to see the site before we return. This is significantly more than the site needs. Though in an appealingly desolate location overlooking the Nile, and with a wind drifting hissing sand across the ground, there is little there bar some small sections of wall and a scattering of old stones. Given the excessive price I've paid to
Did you just see ...?
get here, I stretch out my sightseeing to 45 minutes then we return to the ferry. The driver wants another SP10 on top of what we'd agreed but I feel as though he's already had a more than generous price so I wave him off. Disappointed at how the day has gone, I watch the ferry coming over from the opposite side and see camels and donkeys in amongst the people and cars. This is an amusing scene, so I take out my camera and snap a photo.

Seconds later, two men appear at my elbow, one with a frown on his face. "What is this?" he demands, as I slip my camera back into my bag. "Tourist police. Show passport". I oblige, and we are joined by a uniformed policeman. I am not sure what, if anything, I have done wrong but I explain that I have done all the appropriate registration and am merely trying to get back to Dongola after visiting Kawa. They seem to already know this. I am then asked if I have a ticket for Kawa. Seeing as there was no ticket office at the site, I say no and am told I
Sand stone
Kawashould have bought one at the bus station. The plain clothes tourist policeman and his sidekick then say they will accompany me to the ticket office. I wonder vaguely if my disgruntled taxi driver has grassed me up.

Even if I had known I needed a ticket, I would've been unlikely to be able to buy one as the booth is completely unsigned and unmanned. The tourist policeman asks me where I am staying - he then phones the owners and gives me the handset. They don't know what the problem is and neither do I. I am then told to get on the ferry, miraculously not requiring a permit for that (it's seemingly a west to east thing) and I return to the lokonda. I ask them if I'm supposed to be buying a ticket from them and they say no. The whole incident leaves me confused and annoyed, also disappointed that the generally BS-free nature of Sudan until this point has been asterisked.

That evening, I am buying more cheese from the corner store when a group of three men enters. One speaks excellent English, introducing himself as Abdul. He attempts to help me with my
Plant life
Kawapurchase, though I have mastered the art of pointing at things that I want. It turns out that one of his companions is from the tourist police, and is looking for me in order to sell me my Kawa ticket after the fact. Only being a French speaker, he has roped in Abdul to assist with this. We sit down for tea, and it takes an inordinate amount of time to fill out the ticket and receipt. Another $10 of mine disappears, in one of the worst value for money bits of sightseeing I've ever done.

Fortunately Abdul is an interesting conversationalist. He had worked as a tour guide for ten years but now is a vet specialising in poultry. He still has dreams of developing tourism in this part of Sudan and is intensely proud of his people's hospitality but he also knows there is an excess of bureaucracy currently. He mentions that large groups of tourists do occasionally come through Dongola, an event I find hard to square with the few I've seen (essentially the young Germans heading north, and a reacquaintance with Tintin and Helen). There are a couple of long-term foreign residents here - a
Beetle
KawaGerman lady working as a nurse for 15 years, and a Turk in an electrician's shop. I can not imagine living here.

My final brush with Dongola bureaucracy occurs on the day I leave. I correctly guess that I will need another permit to cross the river to pick up a minibus to my next destination, Karima, but the lokonda owners say I can just take a photocopy of the hotel permit I'd been issued when I registered. I'm not sure why they hadn't suggested this the first time I said I needed a river crossing permit, but I'll forgive them that if it saves having to return to the police station.

Except it doesn't. I lug my rucksack to the ferry and present the photocopied permit. The man shakes his head slowly, pointing out that this is a hotel permit, not a river crossing one. You don't say. I plod wearily back to the lokonda and then on to the police station. The guys at the lokonda seem unapologetic that their permit information has been entirely incorrect.

My return to the ferry is successful this time and I finally cross the river, chatting with a man
Sherd?
Kawawith two wives, seven children, and a pair of Italian shoes he is inordinately proud of. I find the appropriate minibus and sit in it out of the sun. I have a stream of visitors eager to talk to the khawaja.

First up is a guy who looks vaguely familiar. His English is nonexistent but he mentions "police" a few times and I eventually remember he is the tourist policeman's sidekick from the previous day. He wants money. My repeated interactions with the police here are beginning to annoy me and I refuse. He rubs his belly, miming hunger, so I offer him some bread. "No, no, no", he says, shaking his finger at me. Clearly he just wants money. His friend, the tourist policeman, then appears and I fully expect an extortion attempt from this tag team. However the guy is all smiles when he sees me, we shake hands, and the two walk off.

Next is a farmer, who has a sociology degree from some university in Egypt. He gives me a crash course in local politics, stating that the histories of Egypt and Sudan are one and the same. However he really just wants to
Stone
Kawapractise his English. He knows Abdul the vet and is jealous that Abdul attended Khartoum University, where all the teaching was in English.

My final conversation partner is an English teacher from near Karima but his English is dismal. He has been in Dongola for a phonetics course but frankly he just needs conversation practice. He complains that the standard of English in the country used to be much higher, but it is less of a priority for the government now.

About an hour and a half after the scheduled departure time, we leave for Karima.

Dull but possibly useful info
i. I don't know when the minibus I caught from Kerma to Dongola was supposed to leave, but it left at 8AM. I've no idea how many departures there are per day. It cost SP10 and took just over 2 hours.
ii. I stayed at the Lord Hotel, run by 2 guys who speak good English though their information is sometimes a little off. I paid SP15 for the room described above (the guys independently quoted me SP15 and SP20 so naturally I went for the cheaper).
iii. You need to register at the police station
Ruins
Kawain Dongola (this requires simply filling in a form - it is free). I heard from other travellers that some hotels won't let you take a room until you've registered, which could be a pain if you turn up late at night.
iv. You need a permit (free from the police station) every time you want to cross the river from west to east. This permit is one use only, as it will be taken from you when you buy your ferry ticket.
v. The ferry costs SP0.25 each way.
vi. Tuk tuks cost SP2 per journey within the town (I think the local price is SP1 but I couldn't get anyone to accept that).
vii. I paid SP30 for a private taxi to Kawa and back, from the ferry terminal on the east side of the river, though read the above to see this wasn't quite what I intended.
viii. Unless there are more interesting parts to Kawa, the bit I saw would not have been worth visiting even for free, let alone paying the $10 entry and $15 taxi for.

Mud, Mud Glorious Mud, Columbia

2009-04-09T02:00:00.001-07:00

South America » Colombia » Cartagena

Day 718 (17.03.09)

After a pretty uneventful bus ride across to Cartagena, we arrived and did some planning and booking before dinner at a local cheap eatery and bed ... exciting stuff!

Day 719 (18.03.09)

On thing we never thought we'd do would be to climb into the crater of a volcano for a bath but that's exactly what we were planning for tioday's main activity. Just 50km from Catragena is the Volcan de Lodo El Totumo a 15m mound which is actually a volcano but which, instead of spewing lava, erupts with thick liquid mud. When it's not erupting you can climb to the top of the mound and have a therapeutic dip in the mud pools and we thought it sounded like a unique experience.

After smashing some early morning greasy street food for brekkie we were off to the mud volcano for a soak. As well as sounding like a spa experience it is one of the few places in the world where you can have the feeling of being weightless ... so it's really a bit of a spacey spa!

As we arrived we saw a bizarre looking cone of mud in
Up we go...
what looked like the middle of a car park with clean people walking up steps on one side and mud monsters walking down the other. Leaving our shoes with a lass at the bottom of the steps we waited in line, where there was the small obligatory mud fight, before slipping into the muddy crater at the top. It felt a little strange at first and you quickly found you had little to no control in moving anywhere. With a little rub down massage from a local chap and some time floating around in the mud soup we wallowed like content pigs! It was a very strange feeling to "stand" in a bottomless mud pit and not be able to sink yourself below about chest height.

Covered from head to toe in mud we took the walk down the other, mud monster, side of the mud cone to the river for a scrub down. Local ladies armed with water scoops subject you to their own form of water torture to remove all traces on mud from your skin.

It had been a touristy but fun exprience marred only slightly by the vehemence with which the masseurs, photographers and
Down come the mud monsters
washing ladies pursued us for their "tips".

Following a spot of lunch on the coast on the way home we arrived back for a shower and our first walk around the walled city of Cartegena known to us only through the classic movie Romancing the Stone.

We wandered the gorgeous streets and plazas of the Centro district and finished the day at the Cafe del Mar, a bar situated on the top of a section of the city's fortifications, watching the sun go down with a beer.

Carnaval in the Pouring Rain

2009-04-09T01:57:00.001-07:00

South America » Brazil » Pernambuco » Recife

The rain began to pour down but the band played on.

Reaching up into the sky with palms skyward, we embraced the cold drops thundering down, streams running through our hair, dripping down our noses, around the curves of our grinning mouths, and soaking what - if anything - remained of our costumes. Our feet stomped wildly in ankle-deep puddles in the cobblestone streets, and all around us, people shouted at the top of their lungs "Eu quero Frevo!" (I want Frevo music!).

A few kilometres away on a sailboat, hastily left with a hatch wide open, a cabin began to fill up with rainwater, soaking its interior, saturating the bedding and destroying a book lying beside the pillow.

Trapped - albeit voluntarily - by thousands of wet bodies in all directions, embracing, dancing, kissing and singing, I smiled at the futility of worrying about it. One can only stomp their feet, raise their arms and celebrate life with strangers and friends alike and listen.. as the band played on.

We have come north to the eastern tip of Brazil for one of the largest street parties in the world to dance to the Frevo. This is
Dressed for Success
Clive, Zach, Cody, SamCarnaval in Recife, Brazil.

To explain about Recife's Carnaval, I'll just cut and paste from the Associated Press:

---

Jelly-limbed dancers with tiny multicolored umbrellas, frolicking to frenetic frevo rhythms, make carnival in Recife unique and for residents second to none. Recife's frevo music, which is accompanied by a frantic tip-toe dance in which participants leap into midair splits and fold themselves like contortionists as they land, forms a carnival tradition distinct from the better-known samba.

While Rio de Janeiro's famed Samba parade is broadcast to millions of adoring fans, Recife's bash is perhaps Brazil's best kept secret. In recent years, revelers turned off by Rio's commercialism and tired of being confined to the stands have begun looking elsewhere to cities like Salvador da Bahia. Those in search of a more intimate carnival have been heading to Recife and the neighboring colonial hilltop town of Olinda.

Here, the vibrantly colored costumes and huge puppets may be dwarfed by the Rio's gargantuan floats and armies of uniformed dancers, but the lack of pomp is compensated for by the proximity. Recife also offers up a potpourri of rhythms with names that seem to flow from poetry, like
Midnight Rooster
Let the onslaught of double entendres begin!"maracatu," ''cabolco," ''coco" and "ciranda."

In Rio's there's just one, Samba," explains Alceu Valenca, a Brazilian popular musician and fixture of Olinda's carnival. That may be so, but in Recife one carnival rhythm stands above all the others and that is frevo.

On Saturday, an estimated 1.5 million revelers turned out for the "Galo de Madrugada," or Midnight Rooster, in Recife's city center where a procession of frevo bands wow the crowds with the fast-paced marching band music that recalls Dixieland jazz.

Onward North back to the Caribbean... stay tuned!
Photo credits: Kim - aka Capt Spicy - and the Californicators, and our good friend Donna H. Thanks!!
Be sure to visit the 2nd pqge for the NIGHTTIME photos... mooooahaha!

Rain, rain go away come to bariloche another day, we want to hike again one more day

2009-04-09T01:55:00.001-07:00

South America » Argentina » Río Negro » San Carlos de Bariloche

CIRCUITO CHICO, BARILOCHE
The bus from Puerto Madryn left on time, I man came onboard in Trelew and snored like a pig, did not get to sleep well and worse my seat was next to the toilet people coming in and out all the time. In Esquel the next day the man got off and finally slept well for the next 5 hours drive, seen some spectacular scenery but could not be bothered enjoying it really, too tired and exhausted. Very cold in Bariloche when we arrived at the bus station, gloomy but the clouds dissipated a bit and we saw the sun for sometime. There was a porter handing out our backpacks and he wanted me to tip him, I ignored him and pretend not to understand him, all he did is hand me my pack why should I tip him. Took a taxi and got dropped off at the center of town where the hostel is at the 10th floor of the tallest bldg. in town, I had my hesitations at first the bldg looks like a Soviet type bldg but once I got inside the hostel i realized why this is so popular, fantastic 360 view of the city and the
BARILOCHE
VIEW FROM OUR DORM ROOM ON THE 1OTH FLRNahuel Huapi lake and the mountains. Total chaos in the hostel as they were trying to clean the carpets as well, I got checked in to my dorm and Barrett my roomie from Seattle is still in bed at 11am. a fisherman, he leads fishing trips here in Patagonia and other regions of Argentina and Chile, interesting dude he is probably in his late twenties and gave me heaps of info on fishing the lakes and rivers f this region.

Went for a walk to town and found my way towards the Chocolate museum but is shut so just took photos to show my chocolate loving friends. The scenery is great, sun occasionally peeking from the clouds, the lake is stunning, i can imagine it when it is quite sunny. I saw a Dragoman truck on the corner of my eye as I walk on the side of the paved road, too late for photos. Walked back to hostel and met my other roomie, 2 nice German girls and Dutch dudes that i became close to right away,the Dutch people are perhaps the friendliest backpackers I have meet, easy to get along with and very laid back. These 2
1004 HOSTEL,BARILOCHE
Dutch dudes have interesting ethnic background, Soroush is Iranian and Anas an Iraqi, but they are best of friends it seems, they got along very well like brothers and they took me in and hang out with me for the little time we are together in the hostel. We decided to hike together the next day to the Cerro Campanario and the Chico Circuit. An American dude, Eric asked us if we want to hike with him to the Arrayanes parque where they have those nice looking trees, rain or shine, we were chatting about until past midnite and before bed we decided to wake each other up around 8am and the bus for the Parque leaves at 9am. The next day at 1030am Anas and I woke up, no Eric, the poor lad did the trek himself and did not want to wake us up as we all are sleeping like a baby. We found out later he walked the trail in the rain and qabour 6 inches of water on the trail, he hiked with a french girl he met along the way but could not understand her as she only speaks french, so he had an awkward
BARILOCHE
6 hour hike, saying si, si to her all the time she talks in French to him, just to pretend to make a conversation.

Meanwhile we decided since Eric left us we hiked the Cerro Campania where they have the chairlifts up the mirador but we decided to hike up, a bit steeep but only took 30 minutes, huffing and puffing, sweaty and wet from the rain we sat inside the restaurant at the mirador a good 3 hours chatting and having some really good empanadas. The boys and I made a deal to see each other again in the future either in Boston, Iran or Holland and continue travelling together again.
It was quite cold and raining hard so we decided to take the chairlift back down, it was very slow and i got soaked despite the "capote" rain gear they provide for you. We waited for the bus at the bottom of the lift and made it back to the centre around 5pm. Anas and I shopped for dinner and bought steak!! We made dinner while Soroush rests in his bed apparently sick, well actually he was and is still coughing badly, so we let him rest
BARILOCHE
while me and Anas whipped up a storm in the busy kithcen, the kitchen here is superb, 3 different stove counters. We made soups, palmito salad, mashed potato and of course medium rare steak.

After dinner Mark an Israeli friend of the two Dutch dudes came and entertained us for a bit, quite a funny dude he showed us a photo of him on facebook posed naked sat on a rock with boots on one of the treks he did alone, we did not see his bits thank god, it was artistically done, but made us all laugh when he told his story behind the pose, he was hiking and got so hot he took off his shirt, then realizing he was alone he took off his pants as well, voyeurism kicked in and started taking fotos of himself sin clothes. He walked a bit naked and slipped and fell on his ass, his clothes went back right on from then on. We met him that night at a bar, my first night out in Argentina!! We met Ran at the bar, my Israeli friend from BA and his Israeli friends but they spent most of the time trying
BARILOCHE
to pick up girls so we left them alone. Went back to the hostel and Soroush was already sleeping.

Next morning the alarm came off at 745am , we were supposed to bike the Circuito Chico, but I was so tired I begged off and left Mark and Anas to do it by themselves. i slept in abit and sorted my things, dropped clothes for laundry and went to Chalten travel to book my trip to El Chalten. then Decided to walk the circuit alone. the bus ride was 40 minutes and started raining the closer we got to the park, it was windy too but got better as i started the hike. Throughout the day though it was spitting but not so bad, 3 Americans behind me were chattering about quite loudly and annoyingly so i tried to walk fast to be ahead of them. I saw a trail to my left that goes to the Arrayanes trees so i made a left turn, good thing the Americans did not follow. great trail, lots of bamboo trees and a bit part the Arrayanes trees, about an hour or so later i got to the end of the trail
BARILOCHE
THE BLDG, WHERE THE 1004 HOSTEL IS LOCATED, 10TH FLR.and got out near the road, as I walk i saw the trail to the Tacul beach so i followed it but asked the tour info place before to be sure the trail is open, this one was also good and you get to see a nice lake Escondido, the view i can imagine would be spectacular if the sun was out.

Got lost a bit on the way out I followed the road but went the long way so went back and tried to walk where i got dropped off by the bus, 1 1/2 hours later i arrived there raining hard again and my feet really hurts from almost 5 1/2 hours walking. Relieved the bus pulled up I fell asleep a bit, then when we got to the Campanario stop the Israelis came on board like 20 of them!! including Ran my friend and the boys we met last nite, The Israeli are here in massive amounts to celebrate Passover here in Bariloche, apparently they cannot travel for 2 days during this holiday season. They are everywhere and I try not to mingle with them as i cant speak their language and they tend to be
BARILOCHE
clicky. Got back to the hostel starving so i literally ran to the supermarket and bought chorizos. I cooked it right away and Javier told me next time cook it in cheap white wine than frying it. I was so stuffed i cant finish my meal so i gave it to Eric. He inhaled the whole thing in 5 minutes!! Quite funny American, they went fishing today with my ex roomie Barret and they caught only a small fish about the size of a palm! on a river where they said lots of big fish abound.

This morning when I dropped off my laundry I accidentally picked up the wrong plastic bag, my roomates good thing I had realized it before i left to do the trek otherwise i paid for my roomie's laundry and will have dirty clothes the next week.

High On Life Or Is That Prescription Pills & Cheap Champagne?!

2009-04-09T01:51:00.001-07:00

Asia » Thailand » Central Thailand » Bangkok

Welcome to my first blog... its been a crazy 48 hours.. and I am struggling for downtime to just do nothing! Where do I even start?!

Flying High... Literally

Our adventure started bright and early Sunday morning when we flew out of Adelaide, heading for Melbourne for our 'not so cheap' Jetstar flights... I decided that I would brave the hour flight without my newly prescribed Valium so that I wasn't a zombie for the morning in Melbourne Airport... and I must say I was very brave!

Upon arrival at Melbourne, we collected our bags, walked the short distance to the International Terminal where we realised that you couldnt check in for your flight until 3 hours before... we lugged our bags to a cafe and the food fest began! Eggs Benedict for brekkie, Champagne for morning tea and Nandos wraps/chips for lunch.. Somewhere between the eggs and the bubbles we checked in... We were standing between a cute guy to our left and a rude lady to our right.... and as predicted when check in opened 'rude lady' to our right pushed past all 3 of us to be first served... even though she was BEHIND
Amelia and Mr Tuk Tuk..
One of Khao Sans many wonderful 'regulars'us in the line! What the!!!

After we had eaten Nandos (and polished off the chips within about 60 seconds flat (champagne makes you very hungry apparently) we realised we were running late for our departure gate... we grabbed some takeaway (6 Krispy Kreme donuts and Salads) and bolted....

Once on board, the horror of what lay ahead started to sink in, so I popped HALF a valium (scaredy cat!) and settled in... the effect was pretty good.... about an hour into the flight I popped another one with some Champagne and was feeling GREAT. Amelia decided she wanted in on the action and so out came the Valium.... a couple of Valium each and a couple of Champagne's later we were both passed out snoring!

It lasted a couple of hours and then we came to.... The rest of the flight was really long and really boring... but another Valium later I was doing okay! Even as the plane landed! That stuff rocks!

Hitting the Ground Running

Once in Bangkok we organised our SIM cards and were heading for the taxi stand when we ran into cute boy from Melbourne Airport... he
New Friends Already!
Amelia and our cute airport guy Andrew!asked us if we knew where the shuttle bus left from.. I asked him where he wanted to go, and when he said Khao San Rd I offered him a ride in our taxi... Once we got to Khao San we left him, and told him we would be at Gullivers a bit later for drinks if he wanted to come out...

When organising my trip I found out that an old school mate, Bobby, who I hadn't seen in 20 years was going to be in Bangkok that night.. we had arranged to catch up for drinks.. lucky for adreneline we were ready to go even though it was now 1am Oz time and we had been up since 4.30am!!

We checked in at the Guesthouse and headed to Gullivers where we met Bobby. About 20 minutes later our cute airport guy aka our new friend (Andrew from England) arrived and the night really kicked on.... I introduced the 3 Thailand Virgins to 'buckets' and cheap cocktails...

On the way back to our guesthouse we decided we needed more food (seeing a pattern here?!) ... we found the only open restaurant and ordered up on some
Old Friends Too!
Hanging with my mate Bobby who I hadn't seen in 20 years!fries and garlic bread (the only two things they could apparently cook at that time of the night!)... while we were waiting for our food, these two creepy guys came over and asked to sit down with us.. not wanting to be rude we said ok.... one was carrying one of those 'tobacco bongs' and was smoking apple out of it... weird.. even in my eyes! They were being soooo sleazy... one was saying to me in a strong European accent "do you not like me?! dont you want to be my friend?!"... I grabbed Amelia and we did an absolute runner down the street... forgetting all about our food (unpaid food!)... Hope they lumped creepy guy with the bill!! LOL ... and now everytime we walk past the restaurant we are paranoid that someone is going to come running out screaming that we 'no pay'... Our pace definitely quickens at that point of the alleyway!! :-)

I don't remember what time we finished up, but I woke up in bed with Amelia naked (apart from a g-string) on my side of the bed, me almost on the floor and chips (as in potato crisps) crushed all over Amelias
Welcome To Thailand
Introducing the 3 virgins to the wonderful world of 'buckets'side of the bed.... LOL BIG NIGHT!!

Hangovers, tuktuks and FOOD

The morning dawned with what could only be described as painful... somewhere through the haze of our hangovers we dragged ourselves downstairs, consumed a big breakfast of fruit shakes, eggs & bacon, dragged ourselves back up the stairs before passing out again! We woke up about lunchtime again and both wondered if the whole breakfast thing was just a strange dream or it had even happened.. I swear we were sleep walking (and eating)!

We forced ourselves to get out of the room and decided to go to my favourite restaurant Roti Mataba... a short 5 minute walk in the rain later we discovered it shut... we kept walking and found ourselves at Changs shop (my friend Tong's husband). He told us that most small places were shut as it was a public holiday... we found ourselves a tuk tuk and headed to Siam Paragon (a massive air conditioned mall with a great food court)... Once there we pigged out (me going back for 2nds) and got icecreams before finding another tuktuk and heading back to our guesthouse... on the way we stopped for
Getting into Party mode!
our first foot massages (1 hour = 220 baht $9AUD) which were the most painful thing I have ever felt but left us feeling very relaxed...

We went back to the guesthouse, freshened up and then caught another tuktuk to Suan Lum Night Bazaar. By this stage we were walking zombies... we ordered some of my favourite deep fried chicken along with rice, a deep fried sea bass with garlic and curry squid. All this cost us 620 baht (about $24AUD). We got a jug of frozen Margaritas to wash it all down then did some window shopping in the Night Market. At one of the stalls I even got to sample some Squid Jerky just for Chelle... but no photos! Oops! I promise to try it again for you Chelle!

Afterwards we caught another tuktuk back to Khao San Road, wandered down taking in the whole craziness of the place before meeting my friend Nok and her fiancee Terry. Nok is the friend whose wedding we will be attending later this month... completely stuff by this stage (it was now 11.30pm), and knowing we had to be up at 5.30am for a tour we had one drink
I wonder how Andrews 6am flight went!
then called it a night.... we both slept like babies last night!

Anyway this is longer than what I thought it would be so I will wind it up now and get some photos on the computer... we have just got home from a tour with Jerry (one of my friend Tong's guides) and have had an amazing day.. we are running on empty but determined to see more tonight (we leave Bangkok tomorrow night)... Stay tuned for more! When I have the energy I will update.... but right now I need an hour oil massage and a night out in Patpong!

Love to you all (yes Jen I promise I am looking after Milly!!)

Reet and Milly
xxx

Difficult Splendor in Bolivia's Salty Wild West

2009-04-09T01:48:00.001-07:00

South America > Ana Maria

*Aside from the first 3, the pics are in the following order: Uyuni, Tupiza, Bus Scenery. All are worth a look.

1) WORST TRANSPORTATION; BEST SCENERY:
I arrived in Bolivia from Brasil on the death train route. Although I opted for the air conditioned train instead of the death train (known as such because merchandise and animals sat inside while people sat on top and fell to their death during the train ride), my ride ranked the worst in South America at the time. Aside from the mariachi music and cheesy Mexican films they showed, the train was more like a boat. It swayed from side to side in addition to bouncing up and down, moving at snail pace and smelling like wet socks.

From Santa Cruz, my friends and I took a bus to Uyuni which outdid the death train. First, we were told the bus was a "cama" meaning bed bus. That was a lie because the chairs did not recline much. Next, we were promised air conditioning "but only when the bus would be running so as to save energy." We thought it was a little funny that the AC bus had its windows open when
Tupiza´s magic colors
it rolled up, but it didn't take long to realize that what was meant by "air conditioning" was in fact natural air flowing through the open windows as the bus was moving.

As for the ride, it was another sleepless one. At one point, I looked out the window to see a giant cliff a few feet away. The lady behind me started screaming "peligroso" (dangerous), crying and praying to God not to take her life. This was because all of a sudden, our bus was turned off. It was sliding backwards in the mud and fish tailing right by a cliff. Next thing I know, I see another bus doing the same thing, but faster, and passing us going backwards on the narrow road. That's about when I started to get worried myself. And, with how bumpy the ride was because there was no real road, I wasn't able to relax and forget about it at all.

Believe it or not, the next bus I took was even worse. It took 28 HOURS to travel a distance of 500 KILOMETERS (310 miles). How ridiculous is that?! And, when we went to get our luggage, we learned there
Beautiful bus scenery
was a man sleeping on our stuff. Basically, he gets paid to sit with the baggage. What that means is that you get robbed. Fabulous!

Let's just say that in general, it didn't take long to realize I wasn't in Argentina, Chile or Brasil anymore. Everyone seemed to lie, hike up prices, try to take advantage of you, etc. Of course, this isn't anything new while traveling, but it really sucks to go back to it after being in other countries where things have a set fair price.

Despite Bolivia having worse bus rides than even Laos or Cambodia though, the scenery was WOW.. Just wow! Hands down the most unique and impressive in South America thus far.

2) UYUNI:
My first real stop in Bolivia was Uyuni, home of the world´s largest salt flat (created when a prehistoric lake dried up) and a place where at times, you don't know where the world ends and the sky begins.

Uyuni is a place where the pictures speak for themselves. I was lucky to be traveling with a group of Israeli's and 2 fellow Californians at the time and boy was it fun! It really made me
Uyuni
question why people go to college campuses to film Girls Gone Wild when all you really need to do is throw a bunch of people in a salt flat to have everyone go naked!

On top of that there were geysers, beautiful lakes, giant cactus' and flamingos, thus making it my favorite desert ever!

3) TUPIZA:
Tupiza was like the Wild Wild West, but better. I will never forget the painters pallet of colors the mountains were: red, orange, grey, green, brown, etc. I will also never forget riding a horse and didn´t understand how to slow down.

Udaipur at Rajasthan, India

2009-04-06T02:36:00.000-07:00

Asia » India » Rajasthan » Udaipur

By the time we boarded the train from Jaipur to Udaipur it was long since dark and our sleeper carriage crowded with locals. I´ve met a real mix of people whilst travelling by rail here - mostly locals, some on their way home, others on business trips, some chatty, others not - but the group we shared this journey with was by far the friendliest. We later discovered that they were two families also going to Udaipur on holiday (and very excited about it they were too) but at the time, with 12 of us squeezed into seats for 9, my heart sank when the women in the group started to unpack a small feast. It seemed any chance of sleep was a long way off. But then the first person they handed food to was me - I wasn´t sure whether I should eat it or pass the plate along, but it soon became clear that I was expected to eat, my plate being refilled each time I cleared it until I insisted on no more. And that homemade food eaten in a cramped, dirty, smelly railway carriage was one of the best meals I had in India.

Udaipur
Kumbalgarh fort
was one of my favourite stops in Rajasthan even though we did less sightseeing than elsewhere and the touristy things we did do in the city, the palace and a boat trip on the lake, were pretty disappointing. But the city was smaller than others we´d been to and was set in a stunning location around a lake and against a backdrop of hills. Much of our time was spent wondering through the rather touristy old part of town, where narrow winding streets meant you could easily escape hassling rickshaw drivers and the walls were painted with colourful murals of elephants, horses and more. It was also where we found an amazing (not-very-German) ´German Bakery´ that sold fantastic cakes and coffee. And lastly it was where we had one of those really random encounters that always seem to happen to someone else. Walking down a narrow alleyway in search of somewhere, anywhere in fact, that was doing something special for New Years Eve (apart from the hotel that was doing an 80´s night and which we´d already discounted on the basis that it was, well, 80s) we bumped into an ex work colleague of Renee and his girlfriend! A few
Kumbalgarh fort
seconds later we would have missed them completely but as it was we ended up hanging out with them both for New Years (where we did eventually end up at the 80s night) and much of the rest of our stay in town.

Easily the most fun we had here was a cooking lesson - needless to say anyone who comes for dinner when I eventually get back to London will be served up curry! The guy who ran the class was well practised with his jokes but he soon had the 7 of us laughing along anyway. Although more demonstration than ´doing´ we all had a turn at cooking a dish and chapattis (the latter might need some more practise though - mine ended up rather more square than round but they tasted OK). Then finally when we´d long since been salivating at the smell of all the food we got to eat and eat and eat and eat and... discovered that it is possible to eat too much curry!

As good as the cooking course was the highlight of our stay in Udaipur had to be the day we hired a car and headed out to
Kumbalgarh fort
the fort at Kumbhalgarh and the Jain Temple at Ranakpur. We spent a lot of time driving that day and if I could do anything differently it would have been to stay overnight near the fort just to have more time to enjoy it. Most of the sites we´d visited in Rajasthan had either been in or very close to a big city and whilst we´d enjoyed them they were also memorable to varying degrees for the noise, pollution and crowds that we found. Standing at the top of the fort at Kumbhalgarh we looked out on, well, nothing - just rolling dry hills, with some of the 36km of stone outer walls snaking over the top of them into the distance. There was no town at the base of it, no honking rickshaws and no one trying to sell us souvenirs. Built in the 15th century the fort sits high on a hilltop and walking up to it through various gateways linked by zig zagging walls it seemed quite imposing. In fact its walls proved almost impregnable, the fort only falling once in its history and even then just for a short while - the front walls are fifteen
Kumbalgarh fort
feet thick, wide enough to allow six mounted guards to ride abreast.

That day we also visited the Jain Temple at Ranakpur - dated to somewhere between the late 14th and mid-15th century its built of white marble with hundreds of supporting pillars. Each pillar is intricately carved and all are different, but the decoration doesn´t end there - the ceilings were amazingly detailed whilst outside decorative domes rose from the roof. Inside it was cool and peaceful with open spaces allowing sunlight to filter through the shadows whilst Jain pilgrims dressed in white prayed quietly at the central alter.

Udaipur was also where I left Renee, or rather where she left me - back on a plane to Delhi and then London. For me it was the only overnight bus I was to take in India... and one that reminded me exactly why I don´t do sleeper buses! Next up onion turbans and slums - Bundi to Mumbai.

Encounters with Dinosaurus, Penguinos, Welsh People, Pero sin orcas

2009-04-06T02:35:00.001-07:00

South America » Argentina » Chubut » Puerto Madryn

The bus was quite comfortable, like a plane trip, complete with a steward, meals like in the plane was meager but quite a good experience. The bed inclines up to 140 degrees i think. in the morning after being served breakfast we played bingo! I lost but was fun and weird at the same time. Arriving in Puerto Madryn, it was cold!! i was shivering as I wait for my backpack to be handed to me, it has to go through x ray at the bus station, dont know why. Went to info office and asked about what to do in this town and where to stay, decided to go to ChePatagonia, good reviews on this hostel, Maria the lady at the info desk speaks good English and very informative, she told me last week everyday people saw orcas hunting at peninsula valdes, got quite excited. Took a taxi to the hostel, the nice owner Gabriel welcomed me and gave me all info on tours. i signed up for the Valdes trip tomorrow, in the meantime I got ready for a day trip to Trelew. Takes about an hor by bus, i decided this time to walk to the station. i
PUNTA TOMBA
fell asleep in the bus, quite tired, the good thing is it runs every half hour.

At Trelew,(pronounced as it is written, not Trelu) I noticed the wide streets and quite empty, the establishments are closed, it was around 2pm so maybe people take siesta, dont know. i found the Paleontology museum, the only reason i am here. the lady at the front desk spoke quite fast in spanish took me awhile to get the gist of what she was saying, i was the only person there, so took my sweet time taking photos of the dinosaurs, they are real bones, the collection was small but very good, the museum is simple and small but well presented, albeit most explanations are in Spanish, i was quite hungry and tired at that time so did not even attempt to read the captions on each dinos, all the spanish makes my head spin. Patagonian Argentina is very rich in dinosaur remains very good collection.

After about an hour or so, i was done and left the museum, walked around town but could not find a decent place to eat most restaurants are shut, I was so hungry at this time
WELSH TOWN OF GAIMAN
I could eat a dinosaur!! Finally decide to go back to the station and leave then I saw across the street is a small eatery, i rushed and had some really good chiropan(suasage) sandwich washed down by a very cold Quilmes. Fell asleep in the bus exhauste, almost missed it, I bought the ticket at 28 de Julio bus kiosk, I did not look at the stub, 3:30pm already and there is no bus! Then 1 minute to go i looked again the ticket stub says Mar Y Valle bus line and the bus is just about to leave, phew..

Met the other people in the dorm nice people, a Swiss girl Cornelia and an American dude John, we cooked our dinner and hang out for a bit sipping mate. I bought a big fat steak and cooked it myself, great meal!
Cold night I have to get an extra blanket so i dont get too cold. Woke up early and got picked up for my day trip, 10 minutes into the trip the guide told me we are off to Punta Tomba i told him i was supposed to be on the trip for peninsula valdes, you can
PALEONTOLOGY MUSEUM, TRELEW
do that tomorrow he says, well i was quite dissapointed but left with no choice i decided to go with them to see the penguins. I just need to find out who made the screw up, it was the tour office! i told him i will book my peninsula valdes trip with the hostel, hoping they use another one. We stopped at Puerto Rawson, where some people went on a zodiac cruise of the bay to find the black and white doplhins which was off season by now, I walked around the harbor and entertained myself for an hour watching the seals fight against each other. the guys came back and off we go to the penguins. we followed the trail, a number of tour groups were ahead of us mostly from a Norwegian cruise ship docked in Puerto Madryn at the moment, lots of American retirees, they wer quite annoying, loud and demanding so i try to stay away from their group, saw lots of penguins moulting, they peck you if you get too close.We have about an hour or so to walk around then we went back and drove to Gaiman, one of the Welsh towns in Patagonia,
PALEONTOLOGY MUSEUM, TRELEW
wide tree lined streets with hardly anyone when we arrived probably siesta time, this area is full of trees, nice area to relax and chill but too quiet to live for me.

Told Gabriel of the screw up and he booked me with another company for the peninsula tomorrow. Cornelia the Swiss girl is going with me, bought steak again for dinner and some Malbec wine to wash it down and had a good dinner converstaion with Jon, the American dude from California, his story is more like the dude from Into the Wild, hating the system and just want to be with nature, travel and enjoy life, my hero! Next morning we got picked up at 8am Martin our guide is very informative, made sure this is going to Peninsula Valdes this time, Atanasio a Greek dude, me and Cornelia from switzerland are the only people on the trip we all came from the hostel. We drove to the entrance of the UNESCO World Heritage Site and have to pay 45 pesos to enter the park then we stopped afterwards to Istmo Ameghino, the front door to the peninsula, the visitor center is so cool, the best toilets
PALEONTOLOGY MUSEUM, TRELEW
Ive seen in a park, and of course the info about wildlife and all were very informative. from there we drove to Punta Cantor to see the elephant seals, only a few were there and we had a walk around the trail then drove to the highlight, Punta Norte where you can see the orcas hunt for the seal pups around this time of the year, and you have to time it at high tide, we were there but a bit windy and we waited for couple hours but no luck!! We were hoping to see them at least a fin or two in the water but nada!! Quite disappointed we left the place and moved on to Punta Piramide. nothing much to see here, just another stop, we wished we stayed longer at Punta Norte but it was not to be. i have to buy postcards to show people the orcas that hunt in these areas. on the way back we ate dust as we got behind a watering truck on a dirt road which we cant overtkake, half hour later and covered in dust we got back to Puerto Madryn, now I am so hungry I went to
PALEONTOLOGY MUSEUM, TRELEW
the Carrefour straight away and bought my staple of steak, which Ive had for the last 3 nites Ive been here. Hey when in Rome...

Cherry Blossom- Early Days - Nishinomiya

2009-04-06T02:33:00.001-07:00

Asia » Japan » Hyogo » Nishinomiya

Having decided not to go on a photo-fest in Osaka due to unsuitable weather, it subsequently cleared up. I met my friend Pete for an impromptu and informal photography lesson at Shukugawa, then unleashed what I had/hadn't gleaned from him while I tried to find my way home. Arrived back several hours later with a greater understanding of the route between here and there, slightly sore feet and quite a few photos.

It's the beginning of the sakura (cherry blossom) season in Japan, and this is the nth blog blossom blog. I'll probably never get bored of taking photos of them- the whole country suddenly erupts in fountains of pink and white. It's not quite peak season yet, but enough to make a photographic perambulation worth while. It's unlikely to be the last one this year, either.

I'm/we're in a serious dog-wanting phase at the moment. I find myself getting all mushy when I see people walking theirs. Unless they're stupid, little, yappy dogs with wretched, retarded dog clothes on. You can't imagine how common they are. Only sensible dogs need apply. I fee a little self-conscious taking photos of people with their dogs, so they're often a little
Having fun!
My favourite photo of the day.blurry. I find it difficult to switch between cherry-blossom and walking-pet shooting mode. Practice, practice!

A Little Piece of Paradise - Santa Marta - Parque Nacional Tayrona

2009-04-06T02:32:00.001-07:00

South America » Colombia » Santa Marta » Parque Nacional Tayrona

Not far up the coast from Taganga is the Parque Nacional Tayrona and we'd been told that it was a must on our travels in Colombia.

Having packed a few things into a day pack we had to decide on the best method of getting to the park.
There were three options available to us. We could take a minibus to Santa Marta, another bus to the park entrance and then a jeep to the path for the 2 hour walk to the beach we planned to stay at. We could take a cab all the way from Taganga to the start of the walk or we could get a boat straight from Taganga to the beach. We considered the boat option but Vic gets a bit seasick and the journey is supposed to be really rough. We also heard that this way you don't pay the park entrance fee and we wanted to make sure we helped to support the National Park by paying our way. All three options would come to about the same price in the end so we grabbed a cab that would take us, with Vic and a guy called Pedro
Great haulof coconuts
from her hostel, to the start of the trek in.

After paying our park entrance fee the taxi driver dropped us at the trailhead and donning our packs we started the walk through the jungle to the beaches. It was pretty hot but the path was easy going and before long we reached the first beach where camping is possible, Arricefes. The beach was beautiful and pretty much deserted but the sea is particularly rough at this point and swimming is not possible, we'd also been told to walk the extra distance to Cabo St Juan as the beach was even better.

We walked along the sands, past some stunning little coves and through the jungle entertained along the way by lots of amazing coloured lizards including a bright green one, a few with brown and white striped bodies and bright blue tails and several rainbow coloured ones with bright turquoise heads. We heard almost constant rustling as they skittered through the undergrowth when they heard us approaching.

The walk from where we got dropped and the beach at Cabo is about 2 hours but is well worth the effort. The clear turquoise waters of two curved
Mmmmmm
palm fringed bays are split by a pale golden sand spit which is headed by a small island of huge rounded boulders. Sat atop this island was a little wooden rotunda and this would be our home for the night. In Tayrona you can either opt to stay in a tent (yours or one of theirs) or in a hammock. Compared to acommodation prices in hostels in Colombia it's fairly pricey for a piece of cloth and some rope but we reasoned it was worth it for this little piece of paradise.

Hammocks strung up in preparation for the evening we settled in to enjoy the beach and the gorgeous sea. After a lazy afternoon of reading and swimming in the sun Mark decided that he really wanted to get a coconut down from one of the plentiful palm trees around us. It didn't take long before he'd aquired one by throwing an old coconut repeatedly into the tree to knock it down and he was soon sat back on the beach armed with just a blunt penknife to find his way in. Some time later we all sat around sharing the spoils and getting covered in coconut juice.
Beach time

There is a restaurant at the camp at Cabo that's not too expensive but you'd spend a fair bit if you ate three meals a day there. On advice from other travellers we'd brought in some food with us for breakfast and lunches and opted to buy dinner each day from the restaurant. As we were ordering our food we bumped into Liam and Nat who we'd adventured with in San Gil and also a couple of others who'd been on our rafting trip, Heather and Volcan. We made a large group as we ate our dinner and chatted the evening away.

After a day out in the open and with not much going on at the camp in the evenings we had an early night. We sat for a while on the balcony of our little hut and stargazed as we watched the moon rise in the sky. Climbing into our hammocks with plenty of layers of clothes on we listened to the waves crashing on the rocks encircling our room as we swayed in the breeze waiting to drop off to sleep.

It turned out to be no easy feat as we struggled with the
More Lizard
cold all night and were glad when morning came. The next night we'd leave our romanitc but freezing little spot to sleep behind the beach under another little shelter which was far less exposed to the coastal winds.

Day 716 (15.03.09)

We spent the day doing much as we'd done the previous afternoon, relaxing, reading, swimming and having coconut adventures. Tayrona is made up of lots of beaches and coves along the coast so we also wandered a little to the next beach along but decided Cabo really was the nicest!

Our second night in the hammocks in the other shelter was much warmer and we slept a treat snuggled into our little cocoons!

Day 717 (16.03.09)

We wished we'd had more time to spend here but today it was sadly time to leave. We left fairly early with Vic, Nat and Liam to give us time to do a little of the walk while it was cooler. As we walked along the paths we saw plenty more lizards but were also lucky enough to see a toucan high above us in the trees - Our first wild toucan!

As the sun became hotter
Together ... arrrrr
and brightened what had been an overcast start to the day we stopped at a pretty little bay to do a little more relaxing and swimming - life's a beach hey?!

We finished the walk back to the trail's start point and caught the jeep out to the main road where we arrived in perfect time to jump straight onto the bus to Santa Marta. A cab later and we were finally back in Taganga where we'd spend the night before heading out in the morning. Our time in the stunning surroundings of Tayrona had been amazing.

Planning a dinner cooked up at Vics hostel we met up there to find some of her other hostel buddies planning a night of fresh lobster. 20,000 pesos (about 6 quid) each and we had a feast of lobster, salads, veg, rice, potatoes and several rum and cokes. The lobster was absolutely fantastic - what an end to our time in Taganga!

Georgia - Tbilisi

2009-04-06T02:30:00.001-07:00

Asia » Georgia » Tbilisi District » Tbilisi

Outside the Parliament building in central Tbilisi they're flying the blue EU flag next to the Georgian national one. But if I get a map and draw a line directly south from here, it passes through Iran which is definitely in Asia. Also Georgia is further East than "Middle East" countries like Lebanon, Israel and Jordan... so where am I? It's this location at the cross-roads of 3 distinct geographical areas, not fully-in or fully-out of any of them, that has led to just about everybody having a crack at Georgia. It's history is blood-red and she has been Greek, Roman, Persian, Arabic, Turkish, Mongol and Russian, when not self-governing. And I might even have left a couple out of that list. Most of the time it has been a Christian nation; the second to be converted, they're fond of saying (after Armenia) but invaders brought Islam for a time and way, way back there was even some Zoroastrianism.

In central Tbilisi the police cars drive around with their flashing red and blue-lights permanently on. They're not chasing anyone and they're not on their way to an emergency, that's just what they do. As well as the light-show
He has left us alone, but shafts of light sometimes grace the corner of our rooms (Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, Mtskheta)
God had more than just the one team of architechts working on Vietnam by the way; he had another bunch working on cathedrals in Georgia. They correctly predicted that with a rotunda high enough, with ... [more]they frequently use an ugly-sounding buzzer and shout at someone through a loudspeaker.

Every now and then there's a building that leans over at an angle that would have been condemned years ago in the UK. Here it's somebody's business premises, maybe a welding shop or a fruit-seller. Tbilisi is the most run-down place I've seen on my trip so far. Years of neglect have left manhole covers fallen in and the kerbs and road surfaces are cracked and rippled. Almost every taxi or marshrutka minibus has a cracked windscreen from loose roadstones. The pavements are the same, you couldn't get around in a wheelchair if you were disabled.

I think most of this delapidation is recent - I don't think you can ascribe much of it to life under the communist machine. A friend in Kiev told me that once everything used to be just fine, but since each former Soviet state had to fend for itself in the new era of capitalism, things that once were the business of the state to fund and maintain became privately owned and of course, nobody wanted to spend the money once it was coming from their own pocket. You
Metekhi Church and statue of King Vakhtang Gorgasili
Tbilisi city centre. There are so many churches around that everytime I raised my camera there were 3 of them in the viewfinder, and if I moved to the side to get rid of one, a new one appeared.know when you see on the news that a sizeable percentage of Eastern European states would vote the communists back in if the party was in any shape? This is why. At least stuff worked when they were in charge. But now Babushkas don't clean the weeds out between the paving-stones anymore because nobody is paying them. And road-crews don't have the materials or enough men to fill in pot-holes. And when they do it's just an improvised patch-job.

However, if you take a walk up Mtasminda Hill or to the Narikala fortress in the old town and take a look down. Tbilisi has to be one of the most spectacular cities I have ever seen. From a distance all that unpleasant detail disappears and you will be confronted with a beautiful valley with the river Mt'k'vari winding through it, churches in every direction and cliff-edges. In the evening they floodlight the most spectacular buildings, the radio/TV tower sparkles with strobe lights, there are beacons all along the riverside walk and the whole effect is all rather fantastic. She is a gem, Tbilisi, and so are her people.

Silence is the new Black

Almost every Georgian
'Twin Brothers Cellar' in Napereuli, 20km North of Telavi
Romeo's holding a glass of his 'just taken from the clay-pot' white wine, and it was fantastic. And a hangover from this stuff is clean because they don't use any chemicals during growing or later on... [more]wears black; they're not depressed, it's just every one of them thinks it suits them. I stand out with by my brown fleece and so everywhere I go I see eyes flicking over to check me out: "...hey (nudge), what's with that guy over there..." I've found them to be the most hospitable I've yet come across and the most devout with their faith. I'm not sure even the Italians in Rome can match what happens here. The inside of the churches are full of hushed reverence as people continually come up to the pictures and icons on the wall and kiss their fingers to the picture, or maybe they kiss it directly. Most pictures have perspex or glass over them to prevent wearing out from all the contact. And if your taxi driver starts crossing himself repeatedly while you're crossing town, have a look out the window: you'll be passing a church. The church around the corner from the homestay had women continually looking after one grave with candles in the open-air, I don't know whom they were, but every time I passed someone was attending.

I try never to go into churches any more, but of course
Clay pot for wine-fermenting
This one's about 3 feet long but sometimes they're bigger. It's on its side it's at the winery as a bit of decoration. The next picture shows you more about how they're used...I've been doing a lot of it on this trip. The reason is you get a great idea about people from what their beliefs are, hence all the Russian Orthodox churches in Alaska, the Buddhist and Shinto temples I saw in Japan, mosques in Malaysia, the Cao-Dai cathedral in Vietnam and now I'm back in Europe it's Christian of course, which I'm more familiar with.

Wine-making and Georgian hospitality

You also get a great idea about people from the food and drink. Unfortunately Georgia's having a hard time of it recently with her wine industry. Russia closed the border in 2006 because of ill-feeling, not just to people but to exports too. Georgian wine and spring water used to go all over the Soviet Union, but now it's trapped and they've lost a fortune in exports.

Like I said, the hospitality: it's been incredible. But note that you can't do that 'polite-refusal' thing us Brits do if you decide to come here. Normally we refuse things twice before gracefully accepting the third offer - both sides understand the gentle pressuring and the graceful 'we are not worthy' declining ritual we always think it necessary to go
Clay pots buried underground
What they do is bury each pot up to the neck and fill each with crushed grape-juice, skins and all, after the harvest in October. It then sits for 6 months over the winter with a glass lid on the top... [more]through. Here, you have to accept it things that are offered straight off. Then once you're sat down and there's food and drink on the table, you have to drink when they do as everything is done by toasting. You don't drink unless someone's stood up and saying something noble about friendship or history. Oh, and don't toast anyone with beer. Georgians only toast their enemies with beer, I have found out.

Twice I've been invited out for a feast by people I only just met - once by Davit, my taxi driver, and another time by Gyorgi in the internet cafe who was so pleased I liked his home-country. And it's not a 'let's go out for some food' sort of deal, it's a full-blown international accord of 'our country hosting your country' affair. Georgian wine is good stuff and I think we should import some ourselves. I've had a few nights out on the stuff now, been helped into the taxi at the end of and had a clean head the next morning - apart from a touch of dehydration - because almost all of it is produced without artificial fertilisers or chemicals in its manufacture.

After the wine; Cha-Cha
No, not dancing - it's the spirit they distill from the stuff at the bottom of the clay pots, and rather pleasant it is too at 40% volume, which is similar to bottled whisky. This is one of the two s... [more]
Did you know Georgia is the oldest-known producer of wine? No, neither did I. Seems they found some clay pots dating to about 5000BC, scraped off some organic residue from the inside and stuck it in a spectrometer or something, and, "Hey! That's wine!" A different manufacturing process here to anything I've seen before though.

After the harvest in October they store the crushed grapes with all the juice in a clay pot buried in the ground to regulate the temperature. The pot is sealed with clay, a plate of glass and then sand over the top. By March or April all the solids are at the bottom and the top is full of wine, filtered by time and gravity. They pump the wine out slowly, giving it an extra light filter, then batch and bottle and that's it finished. It's low-ish volume, they don't churn out the quantities they can in Australia. Georgian wine usually throws a sediment as it's inevitable a little bit of the solids will make it through as well, so don't drain the bottle, or maybe drink it through clenched teeth. In Telavi I visited the "Twin Brothers Cellar" where Romeo showed us around.
Tbilisi: Cracked and run-down.
Sometimes no tarmac, the kerbs are still there but frequently uneven or broken. Puddles of rain and picking your way around; that's what it's like here. Don't wear your best shoes, you'll regret it.... [more]Davit and me pitched up about 10:30 am and Romeo immediately pulled off the glass from a pot he'd already been sampling to see if it was ready yet. One large glass of white later he wasn't completely satisfied with giving me just that to taste, so he opened another pot just for me and dipped a 2nd glass. Lovely semi-dry it was, though I didn't get what grape it was, but more on grapes further down.

Then he led us past two stills, (...stills?) through to the laboratory where his quality control gear and bottling line was. I was handed a glass of red this time, a Cabernet. It's not indigenous to Georgia I think, but I wanted to taste a grape I had some experience with. So 3 glasses down, I asked about the stills. It seems after wine-making the grapes and juice residue is scraped out from the bottom of the pots and this is distilled to make Georgian spirit: Chacha (say it just like the dance). I tasted some at 40% strength and it was just fine, and at that point I had to leave the premises as I'd had 3 large glasses of wine
Refugee camps outside Tbilisi from South Ossetia
Just outside Tbilisi, on the road to Gori we passed 3 camps of pre-fabricated houses where I think the Geogians who were kicked out of South Ossetia last year are living now. Apologies for the qualit... [more]and chacha on top of a light omelette for breakfast, all before it was even midday.

So: somebody tell me where I can find Georgian wine back home if you know. A lot of it is semi-sweet: Kindzmarauli and Saperavi were the two indigenous grapes I tried, the Kindzmarauli the sweeter one. It's actually a little difficult to drink on it's own, not quite as sweet as desert wine, but that sweetness disappears if you drink it with the Georgian khatchapuri bread. It flat and slightly burned in spots - looks like an Indian Naan - but has cheese melted through the middle and I ate one most days from street stalls.

Gori, tanks and Stalin

During the August war last year Russian tanks were crawling all over Gori. It's only about 45 minutes by Marshrutka minibus-taxi from Tbilisi. It doesn't look like a town that's been in a scrap, but I don't want to make light of it; some people were killed here. The town looks pretty ordinary, but on the highway here we passed rows and rows of pre-fab huts where the ethnic Georgians who used to live in South Ossetia are now refugees
This is the Georgian language, 'Kartuli', you ever seen anything like-?
No, neither have I. I learned to read a little though: this one says: "One ring to rule them all, and in the darkness-" - no, that's not what it says, but it looks like it should. I th... [more]waiting to see what happens to them next.

Apparently the Russians voted Stalin the 3rd greatest Russian of all time back in December. He's from Gori. There's a museum to him there and the house where he was brought up is preserved in the garden outside, as well as his bullet-proof rail-carriage. The museum dwells on his achievements and makes no mention of the millions killed during his purges.

Other sights I saw were the David Gareja and Vardzia monasteries; a quick drive through Sighnaghi which upset me because it was so beautiful I realised I should have stayed there instead of Telavi; a day in Kutaisi and another in Poti on the Black Sea coast, waiting for the ferry. In the middle of all this I took a marshrutka to Armenia for a week which I'm going to tell you about in the next episode. Then after that I'll have a little more to say about Georgia. So: be with you very soon, the Armenia entry is nearly finished already...

Sagada - an end to six months in the Philippines

2009-04-06T02:29:00.001-07:00

Asia » Philippines » Mountain Province » Sagada

A coffin in Lumiang burial cave
I shivered below the layers of blankets piled on top of me. For the first time in six months I was waking up in a room full of really chilly air. It reminded me of a feeling so familiar as to be instantly recognisable but at the same time one that had not been felt in such a long time as to be quite exciting: that of waking up in my room on a winter morning in Oxford. As consciousness trickled into my mind and the first blurry images of my surroundings filtered through the slits of my eyes, I was overcome by the certainty that if I stood up and looked out of the window everything would be covered in snow.

Wrapping a blanket around me and testing out my idea I was, of course, instantly brought back to reality. I was still in the Philippines, but the view that greeted me from my window was unlike any anywhere else in the country. This was Sagada, a small village on top of a mountain whose peace, tranquility and beautiful setting make it one of the Philippines' main drawing cards for tourists. Quiet streets lined with large, colourful houses and
Coffins in Lumiang burial cave
restaurants serving dishes such as yoghurt, fruits and muesli, unheard of anywhere else in the country, form a large settlement surrounded by towering peaks, forests of pine trees and jagged limestone cliffs. After a long time of pushing "off the beaten track" travel to its extremes, this seemed like a good place to finish our exploration of the Philippines and recuperate before moving on to Tibet.

Sitting in a cosy log cabin restaurant and eating a BLT sandwich and chips for breakfast in the hours before the sun had managed to warm up this little slice of the world, I noticed that one of the walls was covered with black and white photos of indigenous people. Wandering over I discovered that they were taken by Edouardo Masferre, son of a Spanish soldier and Filipina girl born in Sagada. From the 1930s onwards he had spent much of his time documenting the native culture of the Cordillera which he had had a premonition would soon disappear with the advent of industry and education.

Most of the photos were from Mountain Province and Kalinga. The people of Kalinga pictured here were all near-naked, clad only in traditional clothing. In this
Sagada seen from near the top of Mount Ampucao
sense they were unrecognisable from the people I had encountered in that province but in another they were all too familiar - they had the crazy eyes, the stark scowl and the menacing demeanour. Of the hundreds of photos, only a few pictured smiling faces, just as of the hundreds of people I had met in Tanudan, Kalinga, only a handful had ever laughed.

The photos served as a reminder of what the Cordillera had lost in terms of traditional culture. We had come here expecting to find the most diverse and colourful tribes of the Philippines but in reality found that the local people had preserved the visible aspects of their culture such as houses and clothing less than almost anywhere we had been in the country. Granted, we had run out of time and only spent two weeks here in comparison to the three months we had originally intended to spend and in such a short time it is impossible to really assess other, non-visible aspects of local culture; granted, we had not visited the really remote communities that we had wanted to such as the Aetas of Mount Pinatubo and the Sierra Madre or the more
Houses in Sagada. Not your average provincial village in the Philippines
isolated parts of Mountain Province or Ifugao; granted the local hospitality was incredible and the scenery more jaw-dropping than any other area of the Philippines; nevertheless, North Luzon seemed to us one of the more Americanised, more developed, more educated and less traditional parts of the Philippines.

We set out on a hike in the area surrounding Sagada in search of remnants of the traditional culture. Twenty minutes out of town we saw what we were looking for: a sign pointing to Lumiang burial cave. Descending steep steps several hundred meters we arrived at the entrance to a huge cavern that was piled up with coffins. While a few had a cross on them, others had reptilian designs perhaps representing older, animistic forms of belief. I imagined the place would have felt quite eery if it were not for the presence of two Filipina tourists and their guide snapping photos of each other. While the tourists were otherwise engaged I took the opportunity to question their guide.

"When was the last person buried here?"

"1986." My heart sank. So this tradition had died out too. What we were looking at was no more than a museum.

Hanging coffins high on a cliff face

"But on the limestone cliffs there are lots of hanging coffins. Elders are still buried there. One was buried there last year and I think they will continue to do so. Of course some are also buried in the cemetery. That's due to the influence of Christianity."

"It's expensive to be buried in a hanging coffin?" I asked.

"No, almost the same as to be buried in the cemetery," he replied.

"Why did people stop being buried in this cave?"

"The government banned it for hygienic reasons. Before, people could make a choice - the cave offered more protection from typhoons but the cliffs were better against grave robbers. Now it has to be the cliffs."

We returned to the road and shortly spotted a number of hanging coffins in a hole high in a limestone cliff perhaps a hundred feet to our left. In front of them sat a whitewashed human skull as if to warn off any entrepreneurial intruders.

We continued down the road until a small track branched off and up to the left just after a small primary school. For two long, sweaty hours it wound up the slopes of
Designs on a coffin in Lumiang burial cave
Mount Ampucao before disappearing. We followed one of many small paths that led further up, huffing and puffing until we emerged at a small hut surrounded by fields of crops. Approaching the hut, outside which two children were playing, I called out, "Excuse me!"

The children froze then ran inside. I heard the words "Americano! Americano!" Moments later their father came out and gave us permission to cross his land, pointing us in the direction of a path that led up to the summit of the mountain. It turned out to be a near-vertical half-hour slog but eventually we emerged from the undergrowth onto a wide, flat, grassy peak. We sat down and took out ham, egg and cheese triple decker sandwiches and munched them in silence, taking in the 360 degree view of the surrounding countryside. The houses of Sagada spread out over only a small portion of the visible landscape; elsewhere, in more remote and less prosperous villages, the metal roofs twinkled in the sun like minute diamonds strangely out of place on the vast, rolling, patchwork quilt into which they were studded and whose myriad shades of green, even the brilliant emerald of the rice terraces, seemed dull in comparison.

Had this been the mountains of Mindoro, South Palawan, or Sibuyan none of those winking metal gems would have been visible, the houses in those areas being entirely traditional. I sat back and wondered if those areas would any day soon be overtaken by the changes that had come to Mountain Province and Kalinga. I thought about Tibet and Mongolia, our next destinations, and all the unknown successes and disappointments that lay in store for us there.

Soon it was getting late and dark clouds were appearing on the horizon, so we stood up, dusted down and set out on the long walk home.

old man sea at Gilli Trawangan

2009-04-06T02:28:00.001-07:00

Asia » Indonesia » Lombok » Gilli Trawangan

The man smiles at me, cracked lips parting to show a grin of yellowed ancient teeth. His hand casually draped over the tiller seems to hardly move as he directs the boat through this tempest. I look forward and see only grey water rising above the bow and as i brace myself again i glance back at the man and for the first time notice the strain in his muscles as he wrestles the tiller into obedience while at the same time continuing his air of casualness.

The women huddled next to me brushes my hand as she shifts uncomfortably and as i look at her I see fear in her eyes. She is staring as though the blue tarpaulin covering the sides of the boat do not exist, trying to wish herself away from this boat. Away to her bed safe and warm.

Another wave rushes forward through the cabin and people no longer move to get out of the way of it, resigned to the dampness already permeating their clothes. The cargo shifts unrestrained along the cabin floor, water bottles mixing with hay and food.

People dry retch into plastic bags, their stomachs already having been
waiting
emptied a number of times over. Hollow stares are traded by people as they politely avert their eyes. In the background a child is crying incessantly, his mother unable to do little more than hold onto him as the boat rises and falls.

The boat thunders into waves and one can feel the boat flex and move through the seat as it slams over a wave and into the waiting trough. The boat sits in the trough and doesn't move, the next wave rolls under the hull and the boat pitches violently back and forth. All eyes are on the man at the tiller as they look to see why we have stopped.

Whispers break out around the cabin, are we turning back, are we going to wait it out, has he given up? It is now that everyone looks down and notices the bilge water is now higher than the wooden deck of the boat, our feet are soaking in brown salty water.

The man at the tiller gives an order to the ship boy and he starts bailing out water with a pail that appears. The man drives on.

The boy works on, not
sick bag at the ready
lifting his head as he buckets the water back into the angry sea. His efforts do little to reduce the water level as more water sluices it's way down the deck. The level doesn't rise any higher though and people start to feel more at ease.

The captain is in his element now and embraces the challenge set forth by the sea. He meets each wave with a grin and the boat responds quickly as he changes course and detours around Gili meno. We are close to shore now, and with this comes hope and a sense of security. Still the waves harass our sides but now we know we have a chance and can swim to shore if the waves best us.

Rounding the tip of the island a distant thundering can be heard over the howl of the wind. The thunder grows stronger and soon a roar greets our eyes as we see the surf smashing onto the reef 20 metres off our port. The size of the waves dwarfs our small boat and everyone eyes the captain again. He greets the audience with another smile and powers on past the waves.

The boat settles into the water and the rocking ceases as the captain guides us into the deeper shipping channel. The roar is left behind as the beaches of gili t stretch out before us, at this point i swear i will never ride in a boat again, let alone attempt the lombok to gili t crossing.

3 days later the same journey is made again.

Last Day in Paradise

2009-04-06T02:26:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » Hawaii » Oahu

Actually it's not my last day, technically. But it is the last day of fun. Tomorrow is full of taking students to the airport from 5 AM to 6 PM. So... I need to enjoy today!

And I did, for the most part. We went up to the Pali lookout, but spent no more than 5 minutes there because it was so windy. Our next stop was at Kailua Beach, which was also shortened because it was so windy which made the air kind of cold. We also went to the Polynesian Culture Center. The PCC was really nice and beautiful, albeit a bit touristy, but we barely spent anytime there... we had about 1 hour to explore the villages and then went on to the grand luau show at the theater. I would have liked to have seen more of the villages (1 for each of the 7 major Polynesian cultures), but sometimes I think despite people saying they are interested in other cultures, they are really just looking for thrills. That's what the show was; it was good (not as good as Paradise Cove's luau), but just kind of commercialized.

That said, I enjoyed my week here
Kailua Beach
O'ahu, Hawai'iin Hawai'i. It was a lot of work, but it's not really a bad place to work. I'm sad to leave a little, though I'm also ready to go back home. I'd definitely come back to Hawai'i, though probably not too soon unless I'm here for work again. I think some people are island people, some are rural people, and others are city people. I fall into the latter categories mostly. But who am I to turn down a new location, a new perspective, and a new experience?

So tomorrow I will try to enjoy with what little time I have the laid back environs of Hawaii. I'll sip my coffee as slowly as I can in between airport runs and gaze off my balcony to Diamond Head. I'll stop and pick up some pineapple and macadamia nuts, and maybe try to spend a few minutes with my feet in the sand. And I'll definitely take just a few moments to stop and look around and say ALOOOOOOOO-HA!

Do you appreciate the chance to travel? Asia > Vietnam

2009-04-02T03:20:00.001-07:00

Last week, a Travel Blog member said to me "Your blog is a bright statement of Vietnam". I replied to him "There are the good and the bad everywhere in the world. I always show my respect for the people and countries I visit. Life is too short, so I try to think about the positive side". And he agreed with me.

My story will start with the meetings with 2 English men in Hanoi. The first English man visited Vietnam on 11 business trips during 3 years and he fell in love with Vietnam. I also attended the dinner farewell party with his local staff and saw how sad he was on the last day in Vietnam. The second English man came to Vietnam based on the votes of his friends and travelled for a couple of weeks from south to north. During his visit in Hanoi, I took him to a camera shop where the shop owner inserted two screws into his camera without any fee. He was also invited to drink tea at a shop and at some places people approached him and asked him how old he was. They then laughed out loud together since none
Cát Cát village, Sapa
Sapa in north west Vietnam is famous for beautiful mountain scenery, rice terraced paddies and ethnic minority people.of them could guess. After leaving Vietnam, to thank me for my help, he sent me a trip report, in which he told his friends at home in detail how he was followed by the touts and hookers, and overcharged by the locals. It seems such a shame to dwell on these negative things when there are so many good things to remember. Perhaps this is the difference between real "travelers", whose main interest is seek new experiences and cultures, compared with "tourists" who are more concerned about their personal pleasure?

Even though Vietnam is not a place for everyone, what I can say is the attitude of some visitors. Maybe they travel just to tick off another country on their list of travels and so they don't appreciate the chance to learn and enrich their lives by experiencing different cultures. They also complain a lot because the place or people don't meet their expectations. Maybe they should think about a boring day at home and at work, then travel is still far better.

I think I enjoy travelling more than many people. First, I know where I want to go, not because people tell me where I
Sapa
Two Red Dzao women are selling souvenirs on pavement in the evening.should go. Second, I search information before the trip, read both positive and negative views in the Thorn Tree travel forum of Lonely Planet website, so at least I know what I can expect in a new country. Third, I travelled solo on many trips and had to manage things on my own. I can be flexible to face with culture shocks. I respect people, so I am treated in the same way. I don't say that I always had pleasant experiences, some people were not great, but most were very kind and friendly. Fourth, I think the worst is not rudeness or overcharging by the locals, but accidents or losing money, passports or cameras with all photos taken on the trip. And the last, I take the good instead of the bad to remember.

Some people who are reading my blog are my friends who have known me during the past 5 years, some have read my 10,100 posts in the Thorn Tree travel forum, while others just subscribed to read my entries recently and they have never been to Vietnam. My friends knew well that my life was not easy and at times I also struggled with
Suối Tiên, Mũi Né
Beautiful rocks at Suối Tiên (Fairy Stream) in Mũi Né, southern Vietnam. I am standing in the stream that has red water because of the sand.many problems. But I always feel I am lucky as I can travel. In Old Bagan (Myanmar), I met a young Burmese painter who dreamed of visiting China and Cambodia. He said "Maybe I have to work for 15 years until I have enough money to go there". It's also difficult for him to get a passport as it's very expensive. There are many people who try to survive, let alone they can travel like we do.

The photos in this entry are my favorite ones taken last year in Vietnam. Most of the places involve water as I travelled to beaches, bays, rivers, streams, lakes, waterfalls etc. My favorite places in Vietnam are Sapa, Vân Long and Mũi Né. I dream of visiting the northernmost point of Vietnam at Lũng Cú village in Hà Giang province, the Central Highlands (Gia Lai, Kon Tum, Dak Lak) which are famous for coffee plantations, beautiful waterfalls and special culture, as well as Phú Quốc island and Côn Đảo island in southern Vietnam. I hope I will find companions to join me on the trips.

Take your chance to travel and enjoy it anywhere you can go!

A haboob a day keeps the sandflies away

2009-04-02T03:11:00.001-07:00

I convince myself that the fly infestation is Abri-specific, and head south again the next day, together with Tintin and Helen. Tintin buys me a Pepsi, a kind gesture and, as the almost-full bottle dangles from my fingers, I eventually have to explain to him that I only drink sparingly on a travel day as my bladder is fond of demanding to be emptied at the least convenient times. I pour the drink into my water container, thus creating a sugary hydrating mixture that tastes more of iced tea.

This time the boksi leaves with only four passengers and soon hits paved road. The Germans are dropped at the delightfully-named Wawa, from where they will visit an old temple of Amenhotep III across the river. Wawa appears to be a ghost town, inhabited only by flies. The paved road peters out to dirt, but it is hard and the dust problem is minimal. The number of passengers peaks at six and this is an altogether more pleasant journey than yesterday's had been.

Several hours in, we pass though a small settlement where I am surprised to see English graffiti - "Chinese stop killing Nubians" and "Human rights for Darfur"
Deffufa museum
are just two of the slogans spray-painted onto the walls. While most Western governments have been shunning Sudan and its El-Bashir-led administration, China has been cosying up to the leader and assisting in numerous infrastructure projects throughout the country. El-Bashir is another product of the African conveyor belt of despotic premiers, with the Darfur slaughter and religious conflicts in the south taking place on his watch. So not a nice man, but his considerable hostility to the West, and his country's natural resources, make Sudan an obvious target for overtures from other nations that don't necessarily see the West as the inevitable leaders in any future world order.

We have a lunch break after four hours and I am invited to share the food of my fellow passengers but we have no common language. The odd one out, the guy who has paid extra to be in the front seat, turns out to be Egyptian, on the way to visit a friend near my destination, Kerma, and he does not like Sudan one bit. He bemoans the poor state of the roads, and tuts that the Sudanese in this area don't speak Arabic, a statement whose accuracy I suspect.
Peeling taxi
This is his first time here and, he says in disgust, probably his last.

My best guess at what happens next is that the driver is new and forgets to pay a courtesy call to the police as we leave this nameless village after lunch. Whatever the reason, a policeman comes running, shouting, after the boksi and we drive back to meet him. The man is friendly but insists that we all must disembark and enter the police station. The Egyptian and I have our hand luggage emptied and inspected item by item. The policeman thinks my contact lens case is a mobile phone, and I am secretly pleased that he leaves my laptop alone. He sees my plastic bag of bread, then darts into a back room from where he produces a bowl of dip from which several recently-disturbed flies are rising. I eat some dip, hoping this might help the situation. He eyes my water pouch, the diluted Pepsi now possessing the colour of what he suspects is whiskey, and insists on having a sip. He learns that I am telling the truth. There will be no tourist flogging today. With that, we are allowed to leave.
Sunset

"Khawaja" is the word for foreigner here, with a hint of newcomer and a suggestion of whitie too, and it's one of the few understandable sounds I can pick out among the general babble of Arabic and Nubian that is a mystery to my ears. I hear it whenever I'm walking around, lip-read it on incredulous children as they see the pale face speeding by in a boksi.

Sadly my destination, Kerma, has a fly problem that makes Abri look like an insect-free zone. Even with my mask on, I'm constantly swatting at them. The occasional shearing swipe leaves patches of fly blood on my skin. I look like I've had a bad shave. Fortunately my lokonda is several hundred metres from the river and my only annoyances there are lazily circling houseflies. Still, I wonder just what unexpected places dust and flies will emerge from when I finally have a decent shower.

Kerma is larger than Abri and I have interaction with a number of locals including one of the blacksmiths, who speaks decent English. He tells me that most tourists here come through in groups, and is wondering where the rest of my companions are.
Building
WawaWe chat, the words exchanged through the blackened air of this flyblown village.

The lokonda only has electricity for four hours per day, in the evening, and the naked bulb in the dorm pulses to the rhythm of the generator nearby. I read for a while until the power shuts down and the light fades to a glowing filament then black. I have one other dorm-mate, who arrives quietly and chooses the bed as far away from mine as possible. He covers himself head to toe in a sheet and is soon lightly snoring.

As the night goes on, it becomes increasingly windy and I have to bolt the dorm door in order to keep it closed. When I wake in the early morning, I can hear loud gusting, and a bleary-eyed peer outside reveals reduced visibility and a brownish tinge to the sky. The haboob is blowing, a dust storm sweeping in from the desert. The minaret on the nearby mosque is now only faintly discernible. My intended sightseeing for the day would appear to be in jeopardy.

I spend the next few hours in the room, the haboob making its continuing presence known in the
Nile
From the back of the boksi from Abri to Kermaclattering of loose shutters. The broken windows and ill-fitting door in the dorm admit a portion of the sand raging outside and I find my glasses acquiring a steady build-up. The air tastes gritty and, every so often when I pick up the WLP, I can feel the rough layer of sand that has been deposited on its open pages.

I emerge mid-afternoon, the storm now just a breeze, and find a much-changed atmosphere. The flies have gone. I sit in the cafe where yesterday I'd been forced to wear my mask and continually slap myself, and am able to enjoy a Pepsi without any insectoid harassment.

The main reason for me coming here is to see a deffufa, a 4,500 year old mud-brick temple from the ancient kingdom of Kush. I hire a taxi to take me there. It's $10 to enter the complex, which seems rather steep but I buy my ticket. The deffufa is not in great condition, the passing millenia having shorn it of all its detail and it's now a large mound of mud-bricks that nesting birds have liberally doused with excrement. The surrounding area contains the outline of foundations of other buildings
Squat toilet at the lunch break cafe
Abri->Kermafrom the settlement but many look suspiciously new. I climb to the top of the deffufa and survey the landscape from what is the highest point around. I see palm forests, the river, and not much else. With my taxi having been contracted to a wait-time of one hour, I fill the remaining minutes with a visit to the site museum, which sets me back a further $2.50. The English descriptions are surprisingly good apart from one room where they'd clearly had to switch to a budget translator - one exhibit shows a tool used to "surcum cast" children. The kingdom of Kush had survived for a thousand years before being conquered by the 18th Dynasty Egyptian pharaohs, and many remains of that occupation have been found. Still, I think Egypt spoiled me for both monuments and museums, and the deffufa is by no means essential viewing.

Whereas Egypt had some variety in clothing styles, so far in Sudan it has been much simpler. Women in particular all wear headscarves and long dresses, with no bare hair to be seen. There is certainly no Western garb for the female half of the population. I see plenty of colourful designs,
My dorm room
Karma (sic) Hotelthough, and am reminded of India by that. Men have similar attire to in Egypt, but with a greater percentage in thobes. Skull caps and keffiyehs keep the atmosphere exotic. Football tops are common amongst younger men and, when all else fails, football is a reliable topic of conversation as all the men here seem to know the top English clubs as well as the names of African footballers playing throughout Europe. I know few Sudanese sportsmen bar a couple of basketball players, but I receive only blank looks when I mention them.

Two nights, and it's time to say goodbye to Kerma.

Dull but possibly useful info
i. The boksi I caught from Abri to Kerma was supposed to leave at 9AM. I've no idea how many departures there are per day. It cost SP30 and took 6 hours. We had one break after about 4 hours.
ii. Supposedly there is a bus from Wadi Halfa to Kerma on Tuesday (i.e. the day the ferry arrives) - I think it leaves at 3PM, in which case it could be a push to make it depending on when the ferry gets in.
iii. I think the only lokonda
Peeling paint
in Kerma is the Karma (sic) Hotel, costing SP5 for a dorm bed.
iv. Unless you are an archaeologist, I would opine that the deffufa is not worth visiting. There is another site further east of this that might be more interesting (at least going by some pictures I saw on the web). I paid SP20 for a "private" boksi to/from the first deffufa (about 15 minutes of driving each way) with 1 hour of waiting time. On the way back, the driver picked up a couple of passengers but I wasn't going to begrudge him that.

Toucan and Macaw Humping Followed by Busted Front Teeth

2009-04-02T03:07:00.001-07:00

While backpacking, a lot of crazy things happen daily that never get incorporated into my blog so, I figured now would be a great time to pause, and tell you about 2 events that happened back to back (with some ridiculous pictures of course... for your enjoyment, and mine).

EVENT NUMBER 1: AUSTRALIAN GETS NAKED AND CLIMBS TOUCAN AND MACAW

I spent my St. Patty's day in Bonito, the town I previously blogged about with the amazing river snorkeling. Bonito, being so into their location in the Pantanal and snorkeling, decided to turn its public phones into animals and build giant fish in places like its main plaza.

By day, as you can see in the pictures, those phones appear innocent, cute and fun. By the night of St. Patty's day, they were violated. How?

Well, a bunch of us from my hostel decided to go out. One of these people was an Australian guy with a bottle of vodka to start the party. As the night proceeded, he decided to take his pants off while sitting at an outdoor restaurant until the waiter kindly asked him to put them back on.

Little did I know

then what was about to go down. Come 1am, he did not look good so, having earlier told me he gets drunk and wanders places often, I, being a good friend, told him it was time to go home and that I'd walk him. Another friend came along and after the Ozzie threw up on a street corner, things got interesting.

One item of clothing came off after the other and I found myself holding his clothes and staring at his bright green interestingly shaped underwear in shock and amusement. I told him he was too sexy and that he should take it all off to mess with him, but then he actually did it! Next thing I knew he was walking down the street naked, humping a toucan, climbing a macaw and talking about some very personal things I will leave out of this blog.

"Americano?" the Brasilians asked as they snapped their own to die for pictures.

"NO! Australiano!!!" I made sure to tell them because it's about time they realized that Americans are not the only ones who do crazy things! This was Exhibit A and Exhibit B would probably be the British.

For some reason, Master Card owned the city and could be seen on every street sign

The next morning, the Ozzie laughed at the pictures and was a great sport! Apparently, he does this stuff often... But, never before with such great props as toucan phones. Thank you Bonito!

EVENT NUMBER 2: JAVIER BARDEM CRASHES, LOOSES HIS MEMORY AND GETS HIS TEETH KNOCKED OUT

Three Israeli guys and I planned to go see a Bonito cave by motorcycle. We rented 2 bikes. Then, a third Israeli showed up and Javier Bardem look alike named Pini decided he likes riding motorcycles so much that he'd make two 20km trips, one with me and one with the other guy.

In the morning, the original four of us headed to the cave. I was on the back of Pini's motorcycle and he was going pretty fast at times and through pot holes instead of around them. Still, he was pretty careful because he had me to worry about.

I got off and waited with the other two at the cave for Pini to come back with the fifth person. Our appointment was set for 1140am. It was 1130am and Pini was not back.

"Is your friend on a motorbike?" this random guy asked
Everything was fishy because of how great their freshwater snorkeling is
before telling us Pini had an accident, fell off his bike and was found unconscious. The man said his teeth were messed up and that he offered Pini help, but Pini decided to drive back to the hostel.

We called the hostel and the hostel told us Pini picked up his friend and left 20 minutes before so, we pushed our appointment to 1240pm.

1240pm rolls around and there was no Pini. An hour later, we came back from our cave tour and there was still no Pini. We called the hostel again and it looked like we were misinformed.

Pini did in fact ride his motorbike back to the hostel. He arrived bloody, scratched up and with his two front teeth knocked out. He had no idea where he was, how he got to Bonito or who certain people were. Almost all of the last week of his life was erased from his memory.

As people raced to help him, he cracked jokes, but kept asking the same questions over and over. And, when one of my friends asked him if he remembered her name, his response was "Of course I do silly! You're ANA!
Poster: Jackie Chan with dreadlocks
I just took you to the cave!"

So, beautiful Javier Bardem look alike ended up in the hospital. Luckily, he didn't suffer from a concussion and his memory recovered in the coming hours. As for his teeth, he could've gone back to Sao Paulo to get them fixed, but instead chose to go to Santa Cruz, BOLIVIA.

I spent the first two days in Santa Cruz searching for a dentist with him and translating "abra" into "open" at the dentist's office where he got some temporary work done for $120 USD. Mind you, repairing two front teeth even if with out crowns would cost thousands in the US.

Today, Javier Barden/Pini is doing well and looks forward to getting better front teeth when he returns to Israel. But, for now, they don't look bad at all. He's still got his mojo and has been able to score with the ladies since the accident.

As for me, I quit motorcycles because I think this is the 3rd time in my life that I've escaped death in relation to them.

Flamengo Fans for the day at the Maracana, Rio De Janeiro

2009-03-13T00:36:00.001-07:00

South America » Brazil » Rio de Janeiro » Rio de Janeiro » Botafogo

Day 694 (21.02.09)

Wanting to experience one of South Americas biggest passions, we joined a group from our hostel and our norwegian mates hostel to go out to the Maracana stadium (once famed to have the biggest capacity of any stadium in the world when it was all standing) to watch Flamengo play.

As we arrived at the stadium we joined the steady flow of the crowd and stopped for a quick piccie at the sign announcing that the stadium will be used for the 2014 world cup final. We found some seats in and amongst the most passionate fans we could find. The drums were banging and the biggest flags we had ever sean were being waved by fans like their lives depended on it.

Although the stadium was only partly full (as a lot of locals leave town when carnaval is on) the atmosphere was electric and you could feel the emotions in the fans near us reflecting their teams performance on the pitch.

It was a strange game and not quite at the high standard we had thought a top level brazillian football game would be, however it was a hard fought game with
Footie at the Maracana
loads of action. After 3 red cards, loads of yellows (we lost count in the end) and 5 goals, Flamengo came out second best to Resende and a dejected crowd of fans left the stadium. It was an incredible experience and even if the footie was a little scrappy it was both entertaining and eventful.

Back at the hostel we had a couple of beers on the balcony before another night on the tiles. Starting in Cinelandia we found the tail end of a street party and danced with a couple of old fellas before heading off for another monster night at our favourite haunt in Lapa. Much beer, silliness and dancing ensued and as we returned to the hostel at the end of the night we caught a stunning glimpse of the sun rising over sugarloaf mountain.

Primordial Reflections

2009-03-13T00:33:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » Florida » Everglades National Park

With absolute stillness, the creature sat with a powerful gaze that completely neutralized the glare and reflections on the surface of the water. If it were not for the beautiful but subdued colors in its plumage, it would have been very difficult to differentiate its shape against the thick vegetation surrounding it.

Several minutes passed by, accentuating the creature's almost inanimated stance. Sitting behind my camera, I was challenged to imitate the stillness in anticipation of what might happen next, but my gene make up was not up to par with my subject's. After so many generations of human reliance on technology and a very specialized society for the provision of sustenance, most humans can't stalk prey the way that animal predators can.

More minutes went by slowly until all of a sudden, in an explosive flash, the bird's legs and long neck helped transform the animal into a thrusting arrow that in a fraction of a second was able to grab its prey with perfect accuracy from just under the waterline. The small fish did not have a chance!

Technology allowed me to capture a burst of shots as soon as I realized that the bird was
The Trap is Set
springing the trap, but technology alone was not enough to allow me to capture that perfect shot. A random variable would enter the picture in the form of a large twig disturbed by the bird's flash reaction; the twig ended up positioned exactly between my camera and the bird's head, tricking the camera's auto-focus mechanism into believing that the twig was the center of interest (instead of the bird and its catch in the background).

After enjoying its meal, the bird became a statue again but I did not have the patience to emulate its stillness one more time. After all, my visit to the Everglades National Park had been a very last minute opportunity that I could only enjoy for a precious few hours. I needed to keep moving to try to see as much as possible of this primordial oasis of nature so close to relentless human sprawl.

The very existence of the Everglades to this day is mostly due to the vision and persistence of a single person, Marjory Stoneman Douglas, who battled the establishment and powerful developers wanting to drain the water out of this jewel of nature.

Even the US Government's Corps
Observation Deck
of Engineers teamed with land developers who wanted to build yet more human enclaves without regard to the ill effect that such development would have on anything else alive and on weather patterns that are kept in balance by this ecosystem.

And the Everglades are teaming with life. No matter what little corner I selected to quietly perch myself and my camera, wildlife would wander by me in just a few minutes. I could spend months in this place and still see only a small part of it.

I allocated my time in three main locations: Royal Palm, Pa-hay-okee, and a little-known place by a small lake that offered an unobstructed view of its west shoreline over the surface of the water for an incredible view of the sunset. Because I had a dinner commitment in the city of Sunrise early that evening, I was really pushing my luck by staying by this lake beyond 5:30 PM.

But the view before me was too magnificent! I could not help but enjoy it and capture it with my camera until the sun was completely under the horizon. A few minutes after 6:00 PM I started my trek north,
American Alligator
leaving behind this magnificent natural paradise.

Laos - the end of our trip

2009-03-12T14:04:00.001-07:00

Asia » Laos » North

So we left Bangkok on an over night bus (please let this be the last time we do an over night bus!) and arrived just outside the border in the early hours of the morning. We sorted out our visa over a coffee and were taken across, no major problems except I almost couldn't get into the country as I don't have any blank pages on my passport any more in which to get a visa! The guy managed to squeeze it onto the very last page just behind the emergency details bit. I don't think that page can be used for visa or stamps, but he did it anyway. Ah, who cares!

Half an hour later we arrived into Laos's capital city Vientiane. We went hunting for a place to stay and as usual the Lonely (liar) Planet suggestion in town was fully booked out. Luckily we walked around the corner and found a rather nice hotel for just a few extra dollar, so we book into there. One of the first thing we noticed about Laos, well Vientiane to be precise, was how quite and calm everything seemed. All the guide books said that Laos is a very
Vientaine
Necking a Beer Lao by the Mekong River.chilled out place and that the south is even more chilled than the north. Well as we were in the north I wonder what the south would be like?
Walking around the town you can really get a feel for the French colonisation. The town square has an almost Alpine feel to it, and there were lots and lots of bakeries and baguette places to eat in. The food on offer was very good indeed and cheap too.

We took a walk down to the Mekong river that runs through the city, along the banks are a load of temporary restaurants and bars that over look the water. We got a Beer Lao (local famous beer) and watched the sun go down over the Mekong for the second time (as we'd seen it first in Cambodia).
We only spend about two days in Vientiane as we really wanted to go north to Luang Prabang, then back down to Vang Vieng to go tubing - but more on that later. So we booked our bus north, apparently a seven hour drive - not true.

Kelly says this was the worst bus journey that we have done all year. The
On the road
Bus gets caught in land slide then a wheel blows out.roads that run between Vientiane and Luang Prabang at best are rubbish. It's like driving up to the Alps but never getting to the top. The roads go up and down and back and forth for about five hours. It's incredibly tedious and if you are on one of the naff 'VIP' buses you'll certainly start to feel sick after an hour or so. It was raining whilst we were travelling, and along the way we came across a land slide which the bus driver sat at for half an hour then decided to go over anyway. The drops at the side of the road where huge and the mud slippery but he went for it anyway. It was quite unnerving. Somehow though we made it and we carried on. About an hour or two later a huge bang came from the back of the bus, then lots of short ones. The driver stopped once more and jumped out, one of the back tires had blown out. So we all jumped out of the bus and waited by the side of the road up in the mountains. To be fair they did have the wheel off and replaced in about
Luang Prabang
View from up high.15 mins (I imagine it happens all the time) but the wheel that came off had probably the baldest tire I've ever seen - nice to know we just went over wet mud in that eh?!
So, we all jumped back in got thrown around for another hour or two and eventually made it into Luang Prabang almost ten hours later!

Luang Prabang is a world heritage site meaning that all the original buildings are kept in tact and are well maintained. The town it's self is boasted to be the prettiest town in the whole of South East Asia and I would agree with that. The buildings are magnificent and there are about 25 temples in and around the town. The Mekong River runs one side of town and the Nam Kham River the other. Nam Kham was the side we stayed, it had a few bars and restaurants dotted along the shore with excellent views to watch the sun go down, watch the locals play around in the river, sometimes washing, sometimes fishing and watching them grow and tend to their vegetable gardens. It was all very quaint.
The town offered several tourist activities, local cooking courses,
Luang Prabang
Kouang Si, one of the pools.tours along the Mekong and trips to some caves with Buddha's in them?? We decided to go to the local waterfalls, after all it was boiling hot and there wasn't a swimming pool in sight! The waterfalls are similar to Agua Azul that we encountered near Palenque, Mexico. Lot's of dipping pools dropping down to the next level. There was one large waterfall at the top but we spent most of our time in the pools cooling down.
Also, whist in town, we hired bikes and went for a bit of a cycle, we ate in a Laos BBQ, which was a great, basically you cook your own meat over a kind of hot plate surrounded by a soup?? We also found a french style wine shop that had a bar. The wine wasn't cheap but it was a welcome change from beer. After a few days we made our way back south.

We arrived into Vang Vieng, a small town three hours north of Vientiane that's surrounded by pretty much nothing but mountains and farm land. The town it's self is very small with just one main road going through it. It's totally geared up for tourism -
Vang Vieng
Riding the tube.well only one type of tourism - drinking and tubing!!
So the town had a load of bars that play Friends on TV non stop all day and night, there is a couple of bars that show other shows like The Simpsons or Family Guy, but 90% of them show Friends?!?
So, you laze around on mats and watch tv drinking the occasional beer. If you are feeling adventurous then you'll do what the place is known for. Tubing. So tubing basically is getting a rubbing inner tube and jumping on a tuk tuk up to the top of the river, then going to a bar, drinking, swinging off huge rope swings and floating down the river to the next bar... this goes on all day every day. It's actually cheaper drinking at these bars than the ones in town? Some people we spoke to had been in Vang Vieng for two weeks and twelve days out of the fourteen then had been tubing!
It was huge fun and a great way to spend Valentines day!
We arrived at midday and got drunk very quickly, at first the rope swings looked daunting and dangerous but as the beers went down
Vientaine
Huge reclining Buddha.the swings looked more and more inviting, so much so that by the end of the day I'd gone off all of them bar one. There was also a mud bath half way through, quite randomly?
As we arrived at the last bar, the sun had gone down behind the mountains and everyone was smashed. The music blasted out and everyone was jumping around like lunatics. It was a very fun day, and just what we needed to finish our trip on.

The next day we eventually made it back to Vientiane to spend the day. We hired a moped and went to a place 25 kilometres out of town called Buddha Park. A park that contained loads and loads of Buddha's and such iconic statues. It was very odd? The day after we boarded a night train to Bangkok.

We checked back into the hotel we used several times before and used the swimming pools. The only things we had planned now was to shop (for loads of pointless souvenirs), pop over to China town for some food and to go to the Sky Bar - the highest bar in Bangkok.
We got our least crappy clothes
Bangkok
The Sky Bar - 64th floor - with very expensive drinks!on and jumped in a taxi to make our way to the State Tower where the Sky Bar is located. The bar it's self sit on the 64 floor, where, when you arrive they take you over to a smaller bar overlooking the city. After ordering a beer, cocktail and a couple of pieces of sushi of which all came to a whopping £40 (yes this place isn't cheap!) we made our way to the main bar. It sits just behind a restaurant which I can only imagine costs a small fortune to eat at. We stood at the round bar with glowing base that changes colour every few seconds. The view over the city was amazing, the bar was pretty good too, but with the cost being astronomical we 'slowly' finished our drinks and left. Unfortunately we couldn't take many pictures in the bar (they don't allow it) so we couldn't show you how amazing it really is.
The next evening we left for the airport, checked in, had a champagne in the airport lounge (the celebrate our trip once more) then sat on a packed plane for 12 hours to get home...and that was the end of that.

Welcome to the Jungle, Peru

2009-03-12T14:02:00.001-07:00

South America » Peru » Ucayali

Can you imagine a place in this world today where money is no longer needed, where a endless varieties of fresh fruit trees are growing surrounded by crystal clear water filled with ample fish that are swimming around your ankles? It almost sounds like a dream to find a place where we are not caught in the endless monetary trap of buying a selling and worrying about bills and car payments working in a job we don't even like. We thought we found this place in San Francisco yet the local people here are heading the other way. They want all the fancy gadgets the west has to offer and are already trapped in the vicious cycle to pay for these unnecessary things.

After living in San Francisco, Peru for almost a month, I met up with a friendly Venezuelan man known as Orlando. He is tall and lightly built with a long grey beard and frizzy hair. He has been learning about Shamanism, Tai chi and has been a transcendental Meditation Teacher for 20 years. He introduced me to Pekon Soi, a shaman living in San Fran yet originating from a town called Nueve de Octubre which is
Life on the Boat
Eye through the hammocksabout 3 days boat ride down the river Ucayali where life is still much more peaceful and hardly any western people have even gone. They have started working on a project to help the community by creating an area where many medicinal plants will be grown and new trees planted. A few of us foreigners in the town were really interested in going to a more native place in the jungle to experience a more natural lifestyle and to learn about the amazing medicinal properties of the plants growing there. We organised a trip for one month and had a lot of things to organise. There was a tall blonde headed baboon-like Aussie with a lot of history working with plant medicines and an amazing musical talent with flutes, drums and electronic music. Cielo, another Aussie who has been living in Peru for 6 months studying plant medicines and has a website organising trips with various shaman. Sarah, a tall, young American girl who really didn't know what she was getting into and Max a bearded Argentin wanderer who had spent 4 months living in San Francisco and was looking for something more authentic and natural than San Fransisco could
Nueve de Octubre
offer.
We all had a lot to prepare and we pooled our money together to buy supplies for the voyage into the deep jungle. This included a complete peke-peke boat with motor to do day trips around the area as there were no roads or cars and everything was only accessible by boat. A shotgun with bullets for hunting monkeys and crocodiles and for protection from occasional pirates that rob boats especially in around Christmas time when it is known people are carrying larger amounts of money and presents. Machetes, food supplies and also some mosquito netting for hammocks and large living areas. All of this was quite laborious and the humid sweaty heat of chaotic Pucallpa drained all of us completely to the point where we were dying to leave the place. In the meantime, the only road to San Fran was becoming more and more bogged from torrential rains that meant less taxis and more time waiting which added to our woes.

Finally the day came for our trip to the unknown and we arrived at the boat port at dawn. The early morning air was crisp and fresh and we were excited and daunted
Cielo
by what we were all embarking upon. I was felling a little apprehensive due to my mosquito sores on my legs and arm becoming infected and the glands in my groin had begun to swell. When we boarded the boat we noticed most of the cargo consisted of endless crates of local beer, 20000 bottles to be exact, at least we could enjoy the long ride down the river.
The boat was over filled with Peruvians, mostly all carrying hammocks. By the time we had placed them all up I had little room left to breathe as each hammock was literally on top of one another. We all looked at each other knowing it will be a crazy few days. What made things worse was many didn't even have hammocks so most would lay down underneath the hammocks at night which meant we were tripping over bodies just to go to the toilet. The ride itself was quite tranquil passing lush forest that seemed to be becoming wilder and meaner as we went further down the river. The food was provided and was as fresh as it could be with live chickens being killed and plucked an hour before
Orlando
they were served for lunch. Before we knew it we arrived late at night on the second day to our destination, two days ahead of schedule mainly because Peruvians have no sense of time. We were surprised and relieved as being cramped on the boat was becoming difficult especially due to the irritation of my sores.
We were greeted on the shore by an enormous army of blood hungry mosquitoes "Welcome to the Jungle" I thought as we hurried off with all our equipment to the local school which would act as our temporary residence. We were expecting as if out of a Hollywood movie to be met by brightly coloured and adorned tribesmen welding spears at us but the people looking fairly ordinary wearing western clothing and we were very surprised to see the government now recently installed a line of street lights that was powered by a generator a few hours every night. We spent the next few days adjusting to the accommodation which was not so easy because of the endless swarms of sand flies, mosquitoes and blood sucking flies to keep us company. At one point it became too much with some of us yelling
Orlando and Luka
Playing musicprofanities while running to the seclusion of the protected hammock. It even included a few sleepless nights as the mosquitoes were so clever to find any tiny crack or hole anywhere in the mosquito netting.
Even the town itself was much more modern than first thought. Already there were a few stores selling soft drinks, beers, cigarettes and various other junk foods. Many of the town folk still live off the land from fishing, hunting and eating papaya and plantain which were all plentiful yet they were becoming fascinated with the western goods and sold a lot of their local produce to passing boats to buy beer, clothing and gas for their boats, thereby becoming more reliant on these services and turning into another San Francisco. The people of the village were curious and concerned with what our intentions were begin there and we organised a meeting to establish our motives. It felt as we were on trial in a courtroom with all of us seated in front with many of the community surrounding us in a big circle. "we have come to learn about your culture and to study the local plants for their medicinal properties" Orlando said,
Max
"We are not tourists and do not wish to endanger your people or your culture, nor cut down any of the precious forest as many others that come here still do, we wish to live here amongst you like brothers". He added. The chief of the village repeated what Orlando had said in native Shipibo and they seemed happier with the situation. Many were annoyed at the fact that so many big corporations have come into the forest and cut down so many of the trees down without any permission and they do not have any say on this. Orlando went on to add our concern about how many traditions are being lost such as cloth weaving and pot making and how the people are becoming too reliant on an unstable and expensive outside world, talking about the problems in San Francisco as an example. We want to teach and help keep the culture alive and not to forget their roots. Some of the local people found this very interesting as they didn't not know how the situation was elsewhere.

It was Christmas day and for the first time in many years I had not heard one Christmas
Cielo and Sarah
carol or experienced the crazy marketing mayhem that exists in most western countries, it was just another peaceful and quiet day in the jungle as any other. Pekon Soi planned a trip to nearby mountains to do some hiking and see a special cave that was in the area. We packed the peke-peke and met our captain which was simple known as the motor driver. We were all happy to be on the river to go deeper into nature as even in the village we were only staying on the fringe which seemed to becoming more like a normal town near the city. The boat ride was very pleasant and we passed some lush jungle areas and a few Indians in hollowed out canoes. After an hour the mouth of the river became much wider into more of an open lake where we were greeted by friendly dolphins swimming by the boat. We preceded further down another waterway before arriving at another small village that appeared very similar to Nueve de Octubre but even smaller with much more green vegetation throughout. Again, we had a meeting with the people to see if we were allowed passage through the sacred area
Butterfly
in order to reach the mountains. After a lengthy discussion they told us that due to recent government intervention, foreigners require a permit to enter the area that is obtained from Pucallpa 2 days up the river. We left the village dismayed that we had been refused entry on Christmas day and that such bureaucracy can even exist here so deep in the Peruvian Jungle.

One morning, after rising and having our daily breakfast of fresh papaya and smoked plantains, Pekon Soi took us further inside the jungle on a quick trek to identify over 10 different plants used for curing illness including Utos used for internal injuries and Uha used for parasites, although to me the trees mostly looked very similar and I could not identify which one was which.
To gain maximum power and effect from the plants we would be undergoing a strict diet for the entire time being in the jungle which meant not eating any oils, minimal sugar, no salt or alcohol and no sex which meant no fun whatsoever!
A selection of plants called teacher plants are then selected and used to aid us with clearing our bodies and gaining
Ayauma Fruit
information and power. The first selection was a mix of Renekea, Tobacco and Piri Piri, which was steeped then drunk. It had a very strong flavour and made me feel quite drowsy. The locals didn't really celebrate Christmas especially not in the traditional way with turkey and presents but they did preorder a crate load of Panatoni from the passing boats and made a huge pot of hot chocolate for the village which consisted of river water, buckets of sugar and a little bit of cheap cocoa.
It was starting to rain more than back in Pucallpa and occasionally it would pour all day long and it made it difficult to do much including prepare a ceremony as the plants needed to be cooked for about 12 hours on an open fire so we were confined to the school and practiced making artisan jewelry and played music.
Meanwhile I was getting very concerned about the sores on my legs as they had grown considerably in size and becoming more infected with pus seeping out more. Luka told me he had experienced it before and it looked alot like a staphylococci infection and it took him 3 months to
Madrina
get rid of it. I started to worry as in its worst stage it can be fatal. I went and visited the local medicine woman known as Madrina. She was quite short and stocky with jet black hair and was always smiling and trying to help. She was wearing all black at the time as the tradition was to wear black for one year after you are widowed. She knew so much about the local plants and what they were all used for. The plants she gave me were cooked on a fire wrapped in a banana leaf and then they were crushed and rubbed onto the wounds which stung badly. The mosquitoes around kept biting and the sand flies which caused the infection were everywhere especially on the sores to top it off I even got stung by a bee.
Later that day we had to move to the outskirts of town as the local people need to use the school for communicating on the CB radio and conducting classes. There was an open air shed that was abandoned that had a good tin roof but alot of the floorboards were missing and it barely provided adequate protection
Luka Cooking some good medicine
against the rain. There were wasp nests on most of the upper beams and Luka got stung by one as we put up the big mosquito net, his hand later swelling to the size of a baseball. We prepared for a ceremony and the plants had little effect on me, I saw a vision of green pea-like fruit that I was informed I would need yet didn't know what they were. I felt alot of emotions and experienced great memories long forgotten about my close friends and family and showed me where I had done wrong or treated someone unkind. Cielo was always getting visions of her friend and believing to have a full conversation with them as if on the phone. Max was not getting any effects at all and was becoming depressed and angry that he came all the way out to the jungle for nothing and Sarah simply fell asleep. It was interesting how the effects were so different for different people. I was also highly preoccupied with my sores and they felt like large elongated spines protruding into my legs and arms.
A few days later it was New Years Eve in the village and I was starting to get very worried about my sores as they were getting bigger and more infected even though I was seeing the Madrina every day for a treatment, nothing seemed to be working and with nothing really to distract me I was thinking about it all the time. I was even thinking about heading back to Pucallpa to go to the hospital. We all went on a journey on the boat to a village that had a public phone 2 hours away. It was great for a quick call home to let friends and family know we were ok. I went searching the town to see if the local shop had any penicillin but they were out fishing. When we arrived back the festivities had already begun with many people already half drunk on the locally mad alcoholic drink known as Masato. This consisted of fermented yucca, a local vegetable that is chewed and spit to aid in fermentation. It smells and tastes terrible yet they seem to love it. They had set up speaker systems on the mud floors and were dancing around to cheesy Peruvian Songs. It was one girls 15th birthday and she had a ballroom dress on that looked so out of place on the dirty muddy ground. I had finally found some shop owner who had some penicillin and who didn't seem at all medically trained. I lay on the wooden table and stuck my bare ass out and screamed and watched the people dance and as the mosquitoes were biting, I couldnt move to stop them. I knew then this would be a New Years Eve I would never forget.

Gearing up for Carnaval, More is More, Brazil

2009-03-12T13:59:00.001-07:00

South America » Brazil » Rio de Janeiro » Rio de Janeiro » Centro

Day 693 (20.02.09)

Carnaval, billed as the biggest party in the world, occurs at the same time all across Brazil with Rio being the most famous place to fiesta. Today was the official start to the proceedings and we decided we needed some colourful and crazy things to wear.

With Drew, Nick and Mark from our dorm we got the metro out to Centro and the area outside Uruguiana station which we'd heard was great for the sort of thing we required. It turned out to perfect as we joined throngs of others gearing up for carnaval. The market and surrounding shops were filled with masks, wigs, flowers, feathers, you name it - it left us wondering just what these shops sold outside carnaval time.

We spent a happy couple of hours trying stuff on and between us ended up with some excellent accessories. It appeared that the usual fashion advice "less is more" would certainly not be the case over the next few days and we were more than happy to sit on the "more is more" side of the fence!

Back at the hostel we all got ready and, joined by most of the other
More is more...
inhabitants of our hostel, set in on the dorm balcony for some drinks and music to get the party started.

Lapa is an area of the city well known for its dance clubs and so we headed there to join a huge street party and danced in the streets till dawn - a great night and an excellent way to start carnaval!

Festival at Sài Đồng village, Vietnam

2009-03-12T13:54:00.001-07:00

Asia » Vietnam » Red River Delta » Hanoi

Wednesday 4 March 2009 - We passed by Sài Đồng village while travelling on the National Highway No. 5 towards Bắc Ninh province. We saw a crowd by the lake and heard music, so I guessed there was a festival. I asked the driver to stop the car and we walked towards the crowd in order to take photos.

We went along the road with trees lining both sides and festival flags of 5 colors (cờ ngũ sắc), went through a market and joined the crowd sitting on the bank. A boat appeared and came towards us. There were singers on the boat and they were singing traditional folk songs. Sometimes the audience sitting on the bank wanted to tip the singers. The boat sailed up close to the bank and a woman held out a flat hat to receive the tips.

The type of songs these singers performed is known as "Quan họ" from Bắc Ninh province. The organizers of the village temple festival (hội đình làng Sài Đồng) invited them to participate in the event. According to a Vietnam Tourism website, "Quan họ" singing is a folk art of a highly collective nature. During village festivals, which
Sài Đồng village temple
It was drizzling when we visited the village.are held every year, particularly in spring, young men and women gather in the yard of a communal house or pagoda, on a hill or in a rowing boat, and sing "Quan họ". This is a style of singing where songs alternate from group to group.

In another blog, you've seen many photos of my Vietnamese traditional dresses for women. Some photos in this blog show you other types of traditional dresses for North Vietnamese people. The men also wear traditional dresses with small turbans, however their dresses are loose, not tight like those worn by women. The women standing in front and at the rear of the boat wear traditional dresses of "Quan họ" singers in Bắc Ninh province. The women standing in the middle, as well as the boat rower, wear other types of traditional dresses.

Blossom Trail, Fresno, CA

2009-03-12T13:52:00.001-07:00

North America » United States » California » Fresno

The imminent rains have actually postponed this trip week by week. The blossoms have been dodging visitors like us for quite sometime now.

Though the website informed that the blossoms are in full bloom last week of February, it rained last week. So, Saturday probably was the first 'sunny' day. The part where it became 'really' sunny is a different issue altogether though.

We had briefly passed via Fresno on our way to Sequoia National Park some 3+ years ago on our maiden camping trip. So, I had practically forgotten the proximity of Fresno to The High Sierras.
It was simply magnificent to see those huge mountains covered in snow from this far down the valley.
The rains did not do much help to reduce the smog layer. I wouldn't blame. San Joaquin valley is so huge.
About San Joaquin Valley

We were a little stressed when we started as we all slept late & had to wake up early, like 3.30 ish early.
Like any other trip, it mattered very little when compared to all the fun we had.

We reached the Blossom trail around 9.30am.
Sundance Orchard was our first stop. The pink & white
Navel Oranges
blossoms simply brought joy.
It was time to bring out the little bundle. She had so much fun. We went into the farm, cris-crossing everywhere.
Since it was our first stop, we ended up spending a long time there. It took a while to dawn that we had 62 miles more to go before we could call it a day!
Blossom Trail Map

Wherever we went, it was the same scene. Beautiful & stunning orchards that stretched for acres & acres & a small ranch-like house(with guard dogs of course) in the middle somewhere.
I did envy the people living there. Well, they probably envied us or any other visitor who came there too. Or maybe not!

The weather was a mix of Sun's heat & the cool breeze. Sanger was the first large town we came across. We stopped by a park for a break. Little S had fun(well, if you consider a diaper change on a picnic table fun)

We continued & as soon as we crossed hwy 180, there were dark pink blossoms everywhere.
In spite of a brochure that reads Almonds, Apples & Plums have white blossoms; Apricots,Peach & Nectarines bear
Pardon me, for I did not have my macro lens!!!
pink flowers, we could not specifically narrow it down among the whites.

Sixty two miles is a long drive when you have to stop every 2 miles for photos.
Towards sunset, the landscape gained contrast & was looking beautiful.
We did not go the entire loop, but cut short in Fowler to get back home. Little S had to go nighty night.

We could not see the fragrant citrus blossoms as all trees bore yellow mighty oranges already.
It took us a good 3 hr drive to get home. Not too difficult.

Sunday comes & with it comes Daylight Saving. All of us are still in kind of a jet lag mode. Anyways, good thing is that there is not time change for more than 6 months now.

Anyways, I've always wanted to go see the blossoms, but I am glad we waited until little S could join us. It was fun to see her touch the flowers & those nice orange oranges

If you are in the vicinity, you might as well drop in to say a hello to these blossoms.

travelbuffs
-----------------
With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen
Blossom trail
pictures and some books, I live without envy.
~ Lope de Vega

Mint times in Morocco

2009-03-12T13:49:00.001-07:00

Africa » Morocco » Marrakech-Tensift-El Haouz » Marrakech

Having been a little idle on the travel blog front, I am finally posting a new instalment. Since being to Prague (my last post), I have moved to London and travelled a bit around England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and France. While these countries are beautiful and interesting, I didn't find the inspiration from these places to write a blog about them. But hoorah! I am now inspired and motivated to write a blog about the Kingdom of Morocco or al-Mamlaka al-Maġribiyya (in Arabic). My journey in Morocco is my first country (of many to come) in the African continent. What drew me to Morocco were similar reasons as to why I was drawn to Ecuador - the diversity displayed in a such a small country. In particular the ancient cities, the Sahara Desert, the Atlas Mountains, and the Atlantic coast.

Accompanying me on my trip was my friend Jo and we decided on a 8 day tour starting & finishing in Marrakech. We had an amazing Moroccan guide, Younes, who definitely helped make the trip fantastic. We were joined by 5 other travellers (from Australia, Wales, and Canada). There was 6 girls and 1 guy, which prompted a Moroccan to
Marrakech spices
yell out to the guy in the market that he was a very lucky man to have 6 women and wondered if he could have one of us.

Morocco is an amazing country with lovely people, amazing scenery and great cuisine and tea. I started my love affair with mint tea from day one. I had heard about how good it was, so was worried it might not reach my expectations. But it is really really good. It is made up of mint leaves, green tea, and sugar and is a big part of Moroccan culture. The food is amazing - tagine, couscous, brochettes (kebabs), olives, delicious oranges, figs, crepes, and bastilla (chicken pie) made of chicken, saffron, egg, nuts, fruits, and a variety of spices, wrapped in filo and topped with powdered sugar. Yum. The orange juice in the Marrakech square is also the BEST freshly squeezed orange juice I have ever had, and a bargain at 20pence.

Marrakech
We started the tour in Marrakech - a large city near the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. We took a horse and carriage ride in and around the medina (old fortified city) and stopped to visit
Marrakech Square
Saadian tombs, the Bahia Palace, and the Djeema el-fna square. The square is one of the busiest squares in Africa and the world, and adjacent to the square is the largest traditional market (souk) in Morocco.

During the day the square is a colourful mix of story-tellers, dancers, musicians, snake charmers, belly dancers, orange-juice vendors, healers, henna tattoo artists, astrologers and acrobats. At night, the square becomes a huge open-air restaurant, jammed packed with steaming food stalls. Choosing what stall to eat at is a bit mind boggling, but we were finally persuaded by one who had a photo of them posing with Jamie Oliver. Good sales pitch.

Casablanca
After leaving Marrakech we stopped in Casablanca - a city on the Atlantic Coast, and the setting of the famous film of the same name. Here we had a guided tour around the impressive Hassan II mosque - one of the largest mosques in the world accommodating 25,000 worshippers inside and 80,000 in the mosque's courtyard. Almost half of the surface of the mosque lies over the water, which was inspired by the verse of the Koran that states "the throne of God was built on the
Orange Tree
water". The mosque is full of beautiful mosaics, carved wood ceilings, and stone and marble floors and columns.

Rabat
After lunch we went to Rabat, the country's capital where we visited the Mausoleum of Mohammed V and the Hassan Tower, which is perched above the Atlantic coastline. The mausoleum contains the tombs of a previous Moroccan king and his two sons. Unfortunately we weren't able to have a look inside as the current King was on this way there so it was closed. The Hassan Tower is the minaret of an incomplete mosque, intended to be the largest minaret in the world but when the sultan died in 1199, construction on the mosque stopped.

Fez
We next headed to the city of Fez. On the way we stopped at Volubilis, Morocco's largest and well preserved Roman ruins. The Romans began building the city around 40 AD and was most likely destroyed by an earthquake in the late fourth century AD. The city has beautiful preserved mosaics depicting Roman life and myths, ruins of aquariums, temples, public baths, solariums, brothels, olive presses, and storks have made their nests on top of remaining columns.

Day 4
Mosaic
we did a day tour around Fez, the medieval capital of Morocco and best-preserved old city in the Arab world. The Fez medina is a colourful vibrant maze of more than 9000 small narrow cobbled streets, which are a hive of activity with donkey and carts trotting along with full loads, and many souks selling scarves, leather, lanterns, jewellery, spices, olives, nuts, ceramics, mosaics to name a few things. We saw beautiful monuments, mausoleums, and mosques and visited the tannery with colourful dye pits in the medina where they make leather using techniques unchanged since the Middle Ages.

The Sahara Desert
After a long drive over the Middle Atlas Mountains on day 5, we stayed in Merzouga on the edge of the Sahara Desert. In the desert are where the Berber people of Morocco predominately live. Berbers are the indigenous North Africans, inhabiting the north coast of Africa for at least 5,000 years. We spent the night singing and dancing to Berber music (and tried out some drumming myself), and eating traditional food. We slept in huge Berber tents after chilling by a camp fire looking at the stars and listening to the Berber tell (terrible but funny)
Marrakech market
jokes. We even got mint tea brewed on the fire, and it was extra sweet (how the Berber like it).

The next morning we got up early and had a camel ride amongst the massive sand dunes and watched a gorgeous sun rise from the top of a dune. Here I learnt that Dromedar is actually the name for one-hump camels (two humps is called a camel), which are the ones found in Morocco. After breakfast we stopped at a rug/blanket market where I bought a little rug for myself after an intense and fun session of haggling accompanied, of course, with some mint tea.

Todra Gorge
After leaving the Sahara, we were able to go to our guide's parents house to meet the family and stay for lunch and mint tea. They were a lovely welcoming family, and I feel very lucky to have had that experience. We spent that night in the Todra Gorge, on the east side of the High Atlas Mountains, which has spectacular narrow canyon walls which drop 300m straight down to the valley floor.

Day 7 we drove back to Morocco, passing through Ouarzazate- the Hollywood of Morocco due to
Snails
many films being made there (e.g. Gladiator, Cleopatra, Lawrence of Arabia, Babel etc). We also saw some amazing scenery, and the Kasbah (fortified city) of Ait Ben Haddou. Whilst taking photos of the medina, a local man come up with a snake for us to hold and take photos of. He was a lovely old man with lots of character and laughed by loudly saying ha ha ha, which had us all laughing along with him.

Our last night was spent in Marrakech, where we went back to the market and had crepes for dinner.

Cascades d'Ouzoud
On our last day in Morocco, we decided to take a day trip out to the waterfalls (110 m high) 2 hours out of Marrakech. We walked through a path of olive trees (Ouzoud is the Berber word for olive), and passed troops of Barbary Macaque monkeys. The waterfall was pretty awesome, and at the bottom we took a raft across the river to climb back up to the top of the other side. We had lunch at a little cafe with a full view of the waterfall, then walked to the top passing many markets and Jo got a
Food stalls
henna design on her hands.

One little stall I stopped at, I was the first New Zealander they had ever meet. They were so excited by this that they took photos of me, gave me a special discount on some earrings, and invited us in for mint tea. We stayed and chatted with them for about an hour where he talked about Berber life, trying to hold onto their traditions, and striving for equal rights with the Moroccan Arabs. He was such a lovely warm guy, like most of the Moroccan people I met, where they are so welcoming and passionate about their country.

On the drive back to Morocco and the airport, we passed a wedding party on the side of the road where a large group of colourfully dressed people were passing presents onto a trailer whilst singing, dancing and playing music. Our driver stopped for us to have a quick look, and they beckoned for us to go and join them. So we hopped out and danced and clapped with them. It was so much fun, and my cheeks hurt afterwards from smiling too much! An amazing moment and experience to end my time in
Mint tea
Morocco.

A Quick Stop in a Tourist Town

2009-03-12T13:48:00.001-07:00

Middle East » Turkey » Aegean » Bodrum

At the English Tower
Note the ancient stone lion and the antique air conditioner - And you thought the knights didn't have AC.I stared at the departure schedule in disbelief. There was no way it could be correct, despite being posted on a big sign in huge permanent letters. An uneasy feeling, almost nausea, crept into my stomach when I remembered where I had gotten the schedule information in the first place. It seemed that my guidebook had another big strike against it, nothing new there. I walked into the tiny waterfront shop and asked the man what the schedule for the hydrofoil to Rhodes was. He looked at me with a dumbfounded look on his face and pointed to the large sign that I had seen by the door. I stepped outside and stared out across the water while I took a moment to think about what the 'new' schedule meant to me. I had initially planned on spending my first day in Bodrum relaxing and my second day exploring the sites. I was expected on the island of Rhodes in two days time and I was not going to change that. The only departure that would get me there was an early morning voyage the next day. There wasn't really anything to think about. I walked back into the office and
The Mausoleum
This is a model of what archaeologists believe the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus looked like.I purchased a ticket on the hydrofoil for the following morning.

There wasn't any time to lose. I had about six hours before the two sites I wanted to see in Bodrum closed for the evening. I quickly walked across the wharf area to the imposing gray walls of the huge Bodrum Castle. The official name of the castle was the Castle of St. Peter, or the Petronium. It was a beautiful fortress built by the Knights Hospitaller in 1402 and expanded several times afterwards. The castle occupies a strategic promontory adjacent to the mouth of Bodrum's calm harbor and was the second most important fortress for the Knights Hospitaller. The castle was handed over to Ottoman forces in 1522 as part of a surrender agreement that resulted from the Ottoman siege of the Order's headquarters on the island of Rhodes. As a result of the 'peaceful' handover of the castle, its walls did not suffer from the constant bombardment that was typical of an Ottoman siege. Because of that, the fortress' walls are still in excellent condition even today.

The sprawling castle was a world-class site in its own right, but its beautiful stone ramparts and well-trodden
The Museum of Underwater Archaeology
The museum was filled with amazing artifacts from ancient shipwrecks.stone paths were not the main reason for my visit. I like to think of myself as an amateur archaeologist. My interest in archaeology can be traced back to the mysterious stories from the jungles of the Maya and the treasure-laden tales of lost shipwrecks rediscovered that I voraciously devoured out of the pages of National Geographic in my youth. I had the opportunity to explore the jungles of the Maya while I was in Mexico and Central America and it was an exciting walk down memory lane. It was with a similar excitement that I paid my admission at the tiny kiosk just inside the first wall of the fortress and started walking up the age-polished ramp towards the heart of the castle. My ticket gained me access to the inner recesses of the castle, but, more importantly, it gave me access to the world-renown Bodrum Museum of Underwater Archaeology. The museum was the main reason I was in Bodrum, other than the ferry to Rhodes. It was the largest museum in the world dedicated to underwater archaeology and it had a great reputation. Many of the grand treasure troves I had read about were just within the citadel's
A Castle by the Sea
The ramparts of the Bodrum Castle go right down into the sea.inner walls. I handed my ticket to the man guarding the main gate to the inner part of the castle and then I walked through a beautiful doorway into a verdant courtyard lined with exhibits. I spent the next several hours slowly exploring the castle and everything in it.

The first courtyard contained excellent exhibits on amphorae, the graceful pointed bottles that served as shipping containers in the ancient world. I had seen small portions of amphorae in other museums in Turkey and elsewhere, but I was still blown away by the quantity and variety of the bottles on display. I learned interesting little bits of information about amphorae including how they were stacked in the ships, how they were sealed, what types of things they carried (I had thought they were used just for wine, but I learned that dry materials were shipped in them as well) and, most interesting to me, that each city had a specific type of amphorae that they used, which has allowed archaeologists to know where the ships were from and, thus, track the ancient trade networks. Other interesting exhibits I came across as I walked included an excavated portion of a ramp
The Castle of St. Peter
This is the entry into the castle and the Underwater Archaeology Museum.that archaeologists believe was part of King Mausolus' palace and several partial carvings from his mausoleum, which was another of the wonders of the world and was located nearby.

It was turning into a pleasantly warm day. The deep blue sky and the refreshing ocean breeze added to the peaceful atmosphere in the castle. It seemed criminally negligent to be rushing around at such a beautiful and important site. I decided to slow it down a bit, so I purchased an ice cream from a nice man at a snack shop and then I took a seat in the shade. The castle grounds were planted with a huge variety of locally important plants, many of which had a huge significance in the mythological world and all added to the beautiful park-like atmosphere. When I had finished my ice cream I continued my walk. The walkways eventually led me to a large wooden doorway. I stepped over the threshold into one of the many towers at the castle. Inside there were a few video displays that walked us through the excavation of a few of the more important shipwrecks that had been found off of the Turkish coast. The videos
The Knights Hospitaller
The knights built the Castle of St. Peter in Bodrum. Much of the castle was built using materials from the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus.were very informative, but I couldn't force myself to sit through all of them - It was just too beautiful outside. I left the tower and continued my walk along the amazing castle walls. I worked my way over to the ramparts that overlooked the sea. I stood watch at a broken down cannon that was pointed out to sea - A hapless sailboat was in my sights, but, alas, I had no cannonball! I next explored the interesting English Tower - Each nation that made up the order of the Knights Hospitaller supplied their own tower and enough knights to defend their portion of the castle. The English Tower contained an interesting display of the mediaeval weaponry that may have been in use in the castle's history, as well as several Ottoman banners. On the exterior of the tower there was a huge lion of clearly ancient origins that was possibly another piece of the ancient mausoleum.

I explored another room that contained a re-creation of one of the most famous wrecks at the museum. I immediately recognized the artifacts and the layout of the wreck - It was the Kas-Uluburun shipwreck from the 14th century BC, which
Art on the Walls
At the castle.was one of the main wrecks that had fueled my youthful imagination. I looked over the lovely blue-tinted display that roughly resembled what archaeologists had found on the ocean floor. There were several different sizes of amphorae strewn about in haphazard piles and there were huge ingots of copper and tin and deep blue glass. Some display cases in the next room contained some of the more precious artifacts taken from the wreck including weaponry and several golden artifacts - One of the golden artifacts was an Egyptian scarab with the only known seal of Nefertiti.

As luck would have it, a few of the more famous exhibits were closed during my visit, but I did get to see a few more really impressive groups of artifacts including one of the largest collections of ancient glass artifacts. One of the more hidden towers had a fairly macabre exhibit of torture devices and dungeon implements - The sign at the door to the narrow staircase that led to the dungeon warned that the scene was not for the faint of heart, but I thought the sight of a few comical dummies being tortured, accompanied by a soundtrack of clanking chains
The Bodrum Castle
On the Castle Grounds.and screams, was kind of funny. After I had spent nearly four hours wandering around the castle's walls and exploring the exhibits I decided it was time to go. I quickly peeked into the restored mosque on the way out of the castle. I was surprised that I wasn't asked to remove my shoes at the door, but that wasn't the most surprising thing about the mosque - Inside I discovered a huge replica of one of the ancient boats loaded down with its typical cargo!

I walked back down the slippery ramp that I had climbed into the castle earlier that day and I headed back out onto the wharf area. The castle and the museum, which I thoroughly enjoyed, had taken more time to explore than I had expected, but it looked like I still had enough time to take in the last of the two sites that I wanted to see. I consulted my map and then headed along the waterfront in the direction I needed to go. I found the street I was looking for, which was nothing more than a narrow alley, and then I headed off into the residential area. I came to
Amphora in Hiding
This is what a lot of artifacts look like when they are found.the next road I was searching for and then I turned left. I was surprised to see that the usual tourism related shops and touts had not infiltrated the neighborhood I was walking in. In fact, the people I passed on the street seemed surprised to see me. I found the corner I was looking for and was surprised yet again by the complete lack of signs. I began wondering if my map was wrong, because all that I could see was a tall fence. I found a vehicle gate that was closed, but with a gap wide enough to squeeze through. On the other side I saw a few column drums and a small ticket booth. I decided I was where I wanted to be, so I squeezed through the gate and went to the booth. I wasn't surprised to find it deserted. I looked around and spotted a man waving at me from across the site as he quickly walked my way. When he got to me I asked if the site was still open and he smiled and said it was. I purchased my ticket and then I set off to explore my second 'Wonder of the
Stacking Amphorae
I never understood why the amphorae had pointed bottoms, but now I do.World', the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus.

I walked over to the edge of a large square pit that dominated the site. The bottom was littered with toppled sections of fluted columns and large blocks of stone organized in a way to fool the visitor into thinking more of the structure was there than actually was. In the center was a huge, stone-lined trench-like feature that a sign told me was the original burial chamber. I was surprised and a little saddened by the sight. I was overlooking what had once been considered one of the grandest buildings in the world, but there was so little left that it was impossible to form a picture of what once was. I had seen most of the few remaining artifacts from the mausoleum when I toured the British Museum a month before, so they were fresh in my mind. The small site museum helped fill in the blanks. The tiny museum had several recently found sections of architectural details and part of one of the friezes that once decorated the building's flanks, as well as a very well laid out exhibit that detailed all that we know about the mausoleum. There was a
The Wooden Doorway
At the Bodrum Castle.scale model and several contemporary drawings and paintings that each interpreted the building a bit differently. In the museum I learned that the Mausoleum, or literally the building of Mausolus, was constructed between 353BC and 350BC in the center of the city of Halicarnassus, as Bodrum was once known. The monument was begun after the death of King Mausolus as a tribute from his mourning wife, Artemisia. She had the finest artists and architects from Greece come to Halicarnassus to build what she wanted to be a grand tribute to their wealth and importance. The current accepted form of the completed tomb was derived from ancient descriptions of the building and archaeological investigations. It stood on a roughly square base that rose with slightly tapering sides to a third of the height of the tomb's 135 feet. There were two huge bas-reliefs encircling the base that depicted, with amazing artistry, the battle between the Greeks and the Amazons on one and the battle between the Centaurs and the Lapiths on the other. On top of the cube-like base, a graceful colonnade of slender fluted columns rose another third of the building's height. Between the columns stood statues of god and
A Sphinx
Some of the art at the Bodrum Castle.important people. The top third of the mausoleum consisted of an ornate, pyramidal roof with several freestanding statues of warriors and lions. A four-horse chariot with statues of King Mausolus and Artemisia crowned the roof. The mausoleum was so impressive that Antipater of Sidon included it on his list of the Seven Wonders of the World.

The mausoleum stood proudly above Halicarnassus and the ruins that followed for more than sixteen centuries before a series of earthquakes shattered the columns and sent the structure crashing to the ground. By the time the Knights Hospitaller showed up on the scene the ruins were unrecognizable. The knights used the ruins of the mausoleum as a quarry for building materials for their grand seaside castle. The polished stone blocks became the thick walls of the fortifications and the sculptures were ground down to make lime for the concrete. Because of that there are only a few sections of the bas-reliefs remaining and even fewer of the freestanding statues. Several pieces of the mausoleum can still be seen in the walls of the castle, including several column sections, and most of the remaining sculpture, as I said, can be found in the British
Bodrum
This is a view of Bodrum from the Castle.Museum. What remains on site are just a few sections of haphazardly organized fluted columns and some blocks - Perhaps future excavations will reveal more, but for now all that remains will remain hidden beneath the surrounding homes and streets. The term 'mausoleum' now refers to any grand or monumental tomb, so King Mausolus managed to be remembered through the ages despite the destruction of his tomb.

I spent nearly an hour exploring the ruins of the mausoleum trying to picture what it would have looked like. Eventually the time came to leave. I thanked the caretaker for letting me stay a little past closing time and then I headed back out into the busy streets of Bodrum. I had managed to see the major sites in Bodrum despite my unexpectedly hurried schedule. Was there more that I would have liked to see? Sure, but that will have to wait until next time. I made my way back to the waterfront and I found a nice café where I sat down with a coffee and a plate of baklava. I sat there and watched life unfold around me. The café seemed to give a good cross section of Bodrum
Ready, Aim, Fire!
The cannon was broken down a bit, but it still was cool to look at.life. There were wealthy tourists sitting among well-to-do Turkish people all being served by the starving-artist waiters - It was the same scene you could expect to find on the boardwalk of any seaside tourist town anywhere in the world. As I watched the sun dip below the horizon I thought about the fate of Halicarnassus. The once important city was completely gone. It was the birthplace of Herodotus, who in turn was the Earth's first known historian, and it contained one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, yet there was little left. Apparently there were a few ruins from the ancient city on the outskirts of town, sections of the city wall and such, but that was all. I suppose the secrets of Halicarnassus will remain hidden beneath the antique streets of Bodrom until the day they decide to reveal themselves to the world.

I headed back to my hostel to get cleaned up and get ready for dinner. The hostel I had selected was given high ratings in my guidebook, but it could be summed up best using the descriptive words I used in my journal - It was a 'hideous dump'! When I got
In the English Tower
A collection of medieval weapons and Ottoman banners were on display inside the English Tower.back to my room I discovered that I was the only person in the room that was not asleep. It was not even seven o'clock yet, so I felt no remorse in turning the lights on and getting everything in order - I knew my roommates would return the favor sometime in the middle of the night when they stumbled in from the nightclubs anyway. I was leaving early in the morning on the ferry, so I made sure I had a clean outfit out and then I packed my bags. The protests from my sleeping roommates became too great, so I finished up and left the room - I will never understand the young people that travel to far off lands in order to party all night and sleep all day; they are missing so much!

I headed off into the labyrinthine alleys that made up the colorful tourist sector of Bodrum. I walked around for about half an hour taking in the sights and then I took a seat at a nice sidewalk café in the middle of the hustle and bustle. The restaurant, being in a tourist town, only served tourist food, so I ordered a
A Glimpse of a Shipwreck
This was one of the shipwrecks that I learned about as a kid and was excited to see.pizza. The food ended up being quite good and the atmosphere was festive. After dinner I made sure I knew how to get to the ferry terminal and then I headed back to the hostel to go to sleep. It was close to eleven o'clock when I got back to my room and, as I expected, there was nobody to be found - The clubs were apparently open.

Despite the loud ruckus at about four in the morning when everybody returned from their night out, I got a good night of sleep. I woke up on time and quietly got cleaned up and packed and then I walked out of the room. I had just over an hour to get to the ferry, so I intended to get a nice breakfast on the way. I walked down a flight of stairs to the main door and there I was stopped in my tracks - The door was locked! I was amazed. I had not been given a key and there was no way to unlock the door from the inside. There is no point in even going into my feelings on being locked inside a building, but it is
Nefertiti's Seal
This tiny golden scarab had Nefertiti's seal on it which made it very special.safe to say I wasn't happy. I immediately explored all options of escape and they all required a precarious climb along a ledge and then a drop down to the street below - Had I not had the gear it wouldn't have been a big problem. I returned to the locked door and I started beating on it hoping that someone with a key might come to my rescue. The minutes quickly ticked away. The departure time for the ferry got closer and closer and I was on the verge of attempting one of the daring escapes when one of the inside doors opened and two people with backpacks emerged. They were surprised that the door was locked, but luckily they had a key - I was saved. It ended up that they were on the same ferry as me, so we walked towards the docks together.

The streets were deserted and all of the shops were closed. All, that is, except for one pastry shop that had several delectable treats for sale. I quickly purchased some snacks for breakfast and then I hurried over to the dock. I was a bit late, but, as it turned out, the
Blue Glass
I was amazed when I first saw the blue ingots of glass as a child, because I didn't know that the ancient civilizations had glass.boarding and immigration process had not begun. Within the hour we were all on board the lovely little hydrofoil with Turkey behind us. I took in the last lovely views of the castle as we pulled out into open water and then the captain gunned it and the boat came up out of the water onto its little skis. The boat was surprisingly fast as it smoothly sliced through the water. I stood alone on a little porch on the port side of the hydrofoil. The wind was blowing through my long hair as the lovely scenery of the Turkish coast flew past. I was having a lot of fun. We passed an old lighthouse that crowned one particularly lovely bluff and then we turned away from the coast and headed off into the deep blue water. I was leaving Turkey for the first time in over a month. I would be returning in a few days, but until then I was directing all of my attention to the small island that was rapidly approaching on the horizon…

Living the New Among the Familiar

2009-03-04T21:54:00.001-08:00

North America » United States » South Carolina » Kiawah Island

Fishing Sunset
The sightings could not be predicted; now and then you would hear the familiar noise that the Atlantic bottlenose dolphins make to clear water from the breathing hole and then soon after, one or several of them would try to corner their quarry against the river banks making quite a racket with their tails and fins.

On this cold and windy morning, Elizabeth and I had biked to the isolated western-most side of Kiawah Island and quite by accident discovered the dolphin activity just when the low tide was starting to turn into high tide. As I tried to capture the activity with my small Canon G9 camera, I decided to get closer to where Kiawah River joins the Atlantic Ocean. Moving across several tide pools parallel to the river banks, I was able to reach a vantage point where a pod of dolphins was making the most out of a collaborative fishing activity.

A human mother and daughter pair who also biked to the area with other members of their family decided to follow me in my quest to get closer to the feeding dolphins. They were an enthusiastic pair but they were soon going to regret their
Abstract Sunset
decision to follow me.

We were so totally concentrating on the dolphins that we forgot to keep an eye on the rising tide. A few minutes later, when I tried to return to the point where Elizabeth and the bikes where, I discovered that the tide had already submerged the land bridge that I had used just a few minutes earlier. I ran back and forth along the long but quickly-disappearing sand bank where I was, and decided that there was only one thing to do: I took my shoes and socks off, rolled up my pants and then started to search for a relatively shallow point where I could escape my predicament without having to swim in the cold water.

The mother and daughter pair that had followed me panicked and started to go across the most direct and straight path between them and the couple of other members of their family who stayed behind. They did not take the time to find a shallow point or to take socks and shoes off and as a result, they were completely drenched by the time they got to the other side. Though what I did took extra time
Sunset Mist
and I had to walk further, I was perfectly dry after I replaced my socks and shoes on the other side.

In a warm day, the experience would have not been a big problem, but on this particular morning, the temperature was around 30 degrees Fahrenheit (-4 Celsius) with very strong and gusty winds that made it feel more like 20 degrees Fahrenheit (-12 Celsius) or less. As we were biking back to our base with strong (and very cold) head winds, the two women were having a terrible time and were on the verge of hypothermia. They won't do this again!

Watching the dolphins feeding on Kiawah River was just one of the many highlights of this end-of-the-year family trip to Kiawah Island. During our three-week stay in the area, we confirmed that we still have much to see and experience in this amazing and beautiful place. As it was for last year's visit, the main purpose of this trip was to relax and forget about the stresses of life on the fast lane. But there was a bit of every type of experience in store for us this time around.

When Sergio, Elizabeth and I
Seagull Sunrise
were visiting an art shop in Charleston the day after Christmas, we came across a large photo print of an amazing-looking old tree. The shop owner, who was a very friendly guy, volunteered that the tree in the picture was "Angel Oak", considered the oldest tree in the United States, east of the Mississippi River - about 1,500 years old.

When our new friend described where the tree is located, we were surprised to discover that it sits on a small state park just a few hundred meters off Bohicket or Main Road that connects John's Island to Kiawah Island; the same road that we always use to reach Kiawah. We had passed it by many times over the years but we had no idea that it was there!

I was so inspired by the beauty and character of this amazing tree, that I decided to dedicate time to go find it and photograph it. The first opportunity came later in the afternoon of Sunday, December, 28, but the day was mostly cloudy with thick, dark gray clouds and isolated rain showers. I was concerned about not having adequate light to get a good image.

The dirt
Beach Walk & Sunrise
road off Main Road leading to Angel Oak is well marked and at the junction point there is a sign with the daily schedule when the park is open to visitors. In spite of the dirt road, the short distance between the junction and the park makes it possible for any vehicle to get there ok even in rainy, muddy conditions.

The small park is surrounded by a simple chain link fence that permits the park employees to close the property during the off hours. In spite of the low-key and modest facilities (a single small log cabin that serves as gift shop is the only structure in the property) nothing prepares you for what you feel when you are in front of this ancient and majestic living entity!

With grand branches reaching for the sky and many others leveling off and extending across all sides as if reserving its royal place among the other trees, you feel that this tree is somehow capable of relating to you the human history that has transpired ever since it was just a small seedling. That was the time when the Mayas were about to start 300 years of golden civilization
Sunset Water Color
and Europeans were just starting the Middle Ages after the fall of the Roman Empire.

And every visitor this day appeared to experience this upmost respect and admiration for this ancient giant that somehow escaped so many irrational human activities across the centuries, any of which could have ended its life and turned it into something as ordinary as a wooden ship, construction material, or just a big firewood pile!

But the human menace is not totally gone for this giant. Though Angel Oak is now recognized as a natural treasure and its small park is now protected by the South Carolina state government, developers in the area would like to see the forest that surrounds the small park converted into a high-density human housing project.

With its surrounding forest gone, Angel Oak would become vulnerable to natural threats that are very common in the area: hurricanes. Biologists and other scientists agree about the interdependency of trees in a forest and how it is a critical factor for survival. This majestic giant without its forest would have its days counted. There is a grass roots movement trying to stop this irresponsible development, if you care to help,
Giant's Silhoutte
please visit Save the Angel Oak and sign the electronic petition.

Unfortunately for me on that day the very dark tones of the tree and the much brighter gray sky behind it created a lighting condition very difficult for the imaging sensor of my camera to handle. I made plans to come back on a different day, different time of day and with more promising lighting conditions.

One other Kiawah trip highlight was a sailing outing from the eastern side of Kiawah Island, Seabrook Island and Bohicket Creek. Under the command of Captain Jack from Captain Jack's Sailing Charters, Elizabeth, Sergio and I enjoyed several hours of lazy sailing around the backwaters and marshes that provide such a rich ecosystem for a variety of animal and plant species in this low country of the eastern United States.

As with our earlier experience on Kiawah River, we saw many dolphins playfully swimming around our ship and many sea birds going about their business among the marshes. Aside from the natural wonders that were on showcase for us during this outing, Capt'n Jack provided much human interest with his personal stories and great background information about the area and
Angel Oak
its people. He even taught Sergio the very serious business of sailing; lessons that Sergio thoroughly enjoyed and appeared to absorb very quickly.

Making the most of Argentinian meat

2009-03-04T21:47:00.001-08:00

South America » Argentina » Santa Fe » Rosario

Today we were headed from Buenos Aires to Rosario, a few hours to the north. We´d planned a day or so in Rosario to break up the long journey to Iguazu where we´d cross over to Brazil in our journey over to Rio for carnaval in a couple of weeks time.

All the way through South America we´d wondered about the size of the bus station in BA, imagining it to be of epic proportions as in every town we´d been to so far, in every country, it seemed that you could catch a bus to Argentina´s capital city. When we´d arrived a few days before we hadn´t been disappointed by its massiveness, and back there once again we searched the multiple ticket desks for the next bus to Rosario and accidentally managed to get ourselves booked onto a plush, first class, cama bus - shame!

Sadly the bus was only a few hours but we made the most of the massive seats and enjoyed the most comfy journey we´d had in a while!

We found a place to stay and turned in for the night, eager to see Rosario the next day.

Rosario

Day 680 (07.02.09)

Unable to get out of the lazy morning habit we´d developed in BA it was just turning afternoon by the time we hit the streets and walked towards the river, a vast brown expanse on the edge of town.

We made it to the Monumento Nacional a la Bandera, the city´s major landmark containing the crypt of Argentina´s flag designer, where we went for a ride in the elevator up the tower to get some good views, albeit in the rain, of town and the river and the rest of the large monument beneath us.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the central part of the city with our heads held high to admire the grand architecture that makes up this area.

Just as the rain returned we passed a cinema and checking what was on we decided to get tickets to El Sustituto (known more commonly as The Changeling!). A serious story but a good way to spend a dreary afternoon.

Our hostel had a big barbecue out the back which mostly filled a tiny balcony. A few days ago we´d decided that in our remaining days in Argentina
Rosario
we really should make the most of the cheap and excellent steak here by eating steak every night until we departed. We eclipsed the good efforts of the past few days by picking up a kilo of beef for less then 3 quid and cooked it up on our barbie for a fantastic dinner (and lunch and dinner....for the following day!) Lovin the steak!!!!

Day 681 (08.02.09)

The weather was gorgeous today but it was time to move along so we walked to the bus station in the morning, booked up some tickets to Puerto Iguazu and had a lazy afternoon before catching the bus out in the evening.

Tinker, tailor, soldier, rebel, Mangyan, tourist, miner, priest

2009-03-04T21:30:00.001-08:00

Asia » Philippines » Mindoro

We sat at a table at the front of the dining hall with Father Mark and two other Filipino priests sat with us while the other four tables were filled with young men between eighteen and twenty four who were training to join the clergy. The room reverberated the raucous sounds of twenty four shouting voices interspersed with high-pitched laughs and bellows of excited banter.

One of the priests on our table turned around and shouted at one of the more boisterous trainees, "Hey, Antonio, how's your boyfriend?"

Screams of laughter peeled from all around. "I don't have a boyfriend, Father," answered the boy, suddenly serious-faced but throwing an embarrassed laugh into his sentence as if to show he knew it was just a joke. Seeing as the jibe and the response had both been made in English for our benefit, I could not resist joining in.

"I believe him," I said to the trainee. This time the loudest, most high-pitched shriek came from the priest who had made the joke. I immediately felt awful and could not look the victim in the eye for the rest of the meal.

After our arrival at the Seminary and
Komaray village
explanation that we wanted to visit some remote Mangyan communities, Father Mark had immediately invited us to stay for free in one of their rooms and eat three meals a day with them. Having completed his priestly education he was highly trained in ethics, philosophy, Latin and French amongst other subjects. His deep understanding of linguistics meant that he was one of the first people I had met able to analyse and accurately explain certain aspects of Tagalog that had hitherto been puzzling me. When talking to him, however, I sometimes had the impression that his joyous smile and gurgling laugh did not penetrate below his exterior and were there to make other people feel good rather than as indicators of his own emotions. He was sometimes unusually silent and I could never work out whether this was due to internal reflection or sadness at the fact that he had eaten himself into Brobdingnagian proportions.

After Grace was said by one of the trainees at the end of the meal we took our plates to the sink.

"Do you smoke?" one of the priests asked me.

"Yes, unfortunately I do," I replied hesitantly, unsure how this would
Misty morning in Komaray village
be viewed here.

"I mean marijuana of course!" the priest exclaimed.

"Well no, I don't actually. do you?"

"Not any more, but I used to, just for fun. I drink alcohol though - absolutely anything! Do you smoke cannabis?" This last question was asked of one of the trainees.

"No father, I don't," came the timid response.

Not long after a rowdy, energetic game of basketball was played on the court just outside the dining hall. We had been at the Seminary for three days and had not once seen a serious or unhappy face. I mentioned this to Father Mark as we sat watching the game.

"Yes," he replied, "our policy is not to suppress the trainees. We let them have fun, mess around, play hard, and as a result they study very hard too." I could not help thinking that if the same attitude was adopted in England, religion might be a whole lot more popular.

After the game was lost and won the trainee priests piled into a private jeepney and hurtled off towards the beach for a swim and a sunbathe before their afternoon lessons.

"How long do
Inside Sister Magdalena's jeepney
you think you'll be staying with us?" Father Mark asked.

"Well, a week if it's OK. The people from the Mangyan Mission have told us there's a meeting in the Buhid territory next week and we can go with them if we want."

"Excellent!" he replied, "no problem at all!"

Dinner that night was shrouded in silence. Not a single voice was heard. Father Mark just nodded at us when we sat down at his table. I was terrified - we had seen nothing like it since our arrival. What had happened? Had someone died? Had we done something to offend everyone? Perhaps we had overstayed our welcome?

After five minutes or so one of the other priests on our table looked up at us and whispered, "From now until tomorrow evening the trainees have twenty four hours' of reflective silence." I was so relieved that I only narrowly managed to stop myself from laughing out loud.

That evening, when the trainees had retreated to their rooms, we worked up the courage to ask some of the priests about the New People's Army Communist rebels who hid out in Mindoro's interior. Of everyone we had asked, these were the first people unafraid to talk about them.

"They used to be Communist ideologues but they've lost all that now. The movement became so infiltrated by government ages that during the 1980s thousands were killed in internal purges, seriously diminishing its numbers. Then we had this guy here, Colonel Jovito Palparan. Everyone calls him The Butcher of Mindoro now. His policy was just to kill anyone who he even remotely suspected of being NPA or NPA sympathisers. Now there's not many of them left, so they're just recruiting common criminals and local people who have no idea about their ideology. Some people just join because they have nothing better to do, or just want to carry a gun. Sometimes they force people to act as spies for them. You could be with NPA at any time and not know it! You could even be sitting next to one right now!"

We laughed nervously. "And how do they make money?"

"Mainly by extortion of big businesses. They call it revolutionary tax. We used to have a ranch in the mountains and one day someone turned up and told us we had to pay them to cows per month - two cows! It's a lot of money. So we just sold the whole ranch; if you're in business but not making money for yourself, what's the point?"

"But if they're not ideologists and they're not actively doing anything against the government, what are they doing up there still? I mean, life in the mountains is quite hard."

"Many of them are scared to come down. Some of them have come down then been assassinated afterwards. The military here can be vicious as well."

The time came for us to go to the mountains again and we bundled into a jeepney with a man called Ceso, the Mangyan Mission coordinator for the Buhid tribal area who had invited us to come with him to the monthly meeting of the tribe's leaders.

On arrival in the Buhid village of Batu Ilit the Chief took us into his house, sat us down and told us that none of us could go to the meeting. "There are many NPA in the area, and they are strengthening. They have new leaders, and are becoming more active." Even Ceso was told he could not go to the meeting.

"Has this ever happened to you before?" I asked.

"No, I've never been unable to go before. I've met the NPA plenty of times and never had any trouble with them. It's strange."

"The NPA is a big problem for us here," said the Chief sadly. He seemed like a kind, intelligent man, and made an effort to talk to us using the few words of English he knew mixed with Tagalog. "They come and take our animals as tax, and we can't afford it. But all of our youth want to join them, because they want to carry a gun."

The people here were skinny and gave the impression of having been stretched to their limits. Houses were small, clothes were dirty and livestock were few. Despite the crushing poverty of the place that was being compounded by the NPA's "revolutionary tax" of their animals, the Chief boiled some water and brought out a small packet of coffee to offer around. I accepted it with guilt, not wanting to reject his offer but feeling bad at taking something from him that had cost money.

We discussed other possibilities for visiting Mangyan groups. Both the Chief and Ceso suggested that we should take a jeepney tomorrow morning to the village of Batu Singit from where we could access a very remote Buhid area and possibly, if allowed, even head on to the near-Stone Age Bangon tribe.

"You have to be careful with the Bangon," Ceso said. "They can kill you just by thinking about it and steal your soul. They're very scared of outsiders though, so you must not go there without sending a Buhid ahead first to get their permission. Ten years ago I went there without asking them, they all ran away from me and some even threw themselves off cliffs."

The next morning we arrived at Batu Singit to find the military outpost there armed to the teeth and on Red Alert.

"Two days ago the NPA came down here and raided the village," the Commander told us. "It was a reprisal, because some of the Mangyans here had helped us look for the rebels. The NPA wanted to take those people with them. They came down and stole lots of stuff but the children of the people who had helped us clung to their parents screaming and in the end the rebels didn't take them."

"That's another one of the main problems," Ceso told us, "the military force the Mangyans to help them then the NPA take revenge on the Mangyans. And what do you think happens when the NPA forces the Mangyans to help them? The military take revenge. A few years ago they came to a village and massacred a whole load of people. Sometimes the NPA force the Mangyans to carry their guns and ammo during a running gun battle, because they're strong enough to. And what do you think the military does if it catches a Mangyan running with a gun?"

Caught between a rock and a hard place, losing their animals and youth to the rebels, I wondered how much longer these communities could survive.

We gave up in Southern Mindoro and headed north to Sablayan, a non-descript town halfway up the island's west coast. The foothills around here were the domain of the Alangan tribe and further, two days walk into the mountains, the Mangyan Mission had told us, lived the Batangan tribe. Like the Bangon, some of their communities lived in total isolation and never came down to the lowlands. They had only ever been visited once before by an English missionary five years previously. "But," Ceso had told us, "there are two Alangan men called Bornay and Gabriel who the Batangan trust. Their ancestors made a pact with the ancestors of the Batangan and they're like their representative among the Alangan. Bornay and Gabriel are the only people who have access to the Batangan. If you talk to them, maybe they can help you."

So the Mangyan Mission had written us a letter of recommendation to an elderly German missionary who divided her time between Sablayan and one of the Alangan's villages. Quiet and soft-spoken, she invited us to stay at her house in the village where we could try to negotiate with Bornay.

After a weekend spent on the postcard-perfect tropical islands of Pandan and Apo we set out on Monday in Sister Magdalena's personal jeepney. Her face cast in a serious but nonchalant expression, as if managing such an enormous vehicle on such dreadful roads was nothing to her, gargantuan sunglasses covering the entire top half of her head, her small body hunched over the wheel, she cut quite a comic picture as we jolted and jumped down the road.

"Do you have any NPA here?" we asked the missionary, sister Magdalena, over a coffee in her house in the Alangan village of Komaray.

"I've never heard of any problems with them," she replied. "Have there ever been NPA here?" she asked Jenalyn, a Mangyan girl who helped her out and taught in the local school as part of a scholarship program that would guarantee her an otherwise unattainable university education.

"Ten years ago they came to the village," she recalled in her gentle yet somehow efficient-sounding voice. "We had never seen them before and we've never seen them since. They invited six of us, three boys and three girls, to go with them and join their movement."

"They have women NPA?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes, they call them Amazonas. Anyway, the six of us agreed to go and we spent three days up there with them. But in the end we had to come back because we weren't strong enough to hold their guns!" At this she laughed as though the whole thing had been a fairly insignificant event in her life and had not had the least effect on her.

How easy it had been for the NPA to recruit a kind, happy girl like Jenalyn. It was as if she simply had not thought about the consequences of her actions. For her people, violence was a very new concept; in their language, she had told us, there was no way of expressing the idea of hurting someone physically. Perhaps it was such a new concept that even the most gentle-hearted Alangan could be led astray because they just did not understand anything about guns, rebels or even killing.

Bornay's child was ill. He had been to visit the Batangan to ask their advice and they had told him not to let anyone come near the child. We met him in another house, a skinny middle-aged man who never looked us in the eye, not, we felt, because he was untrustworthy, but out of respect and a desire not to be too forward. He told us, giving the impression of thinking deeply in between almost every word, that he could not come with us because of his child. We would have to see Gabriel, who was away until the next day.

Gabriel was similar to Bornay both in looks and manner, although his smile when it appeared was slightly broader.

"What is your purpose with the Batangan?" he asked.

"We're interested in their culture, how they work, their clothes, their houses everything. We heard some of them still wear loincloths made of tree bark and smoke their traditional pipes."

"Yes, its true," he replied. "They all smoke pipes, all the time. It's always in their hand or their mouth een when they're walking. Even children of about three or four years." He thought deeply for a few moments. "You know, you cannot just go directly to them. First I will have to go and ask them permission. If they agree, there's a ritual they have to perform before you can enter their territory. You will have to buy a pig for them to sacrifice and look into its guts. Then, if all is OK, you will be allowed to enter."

"That sounds great. When can we start making arrangements?"

"This week there's a government inspector coming to make sure no one here is cutting trees for charcoal. Someone got caught with a jeepney full of it the other day. We have to spend a few days preparing for the inspection and I have to harvest my corn too. If you come back in two weeks' time it should be OK."

So we left his house on the agreement that we would keep in touch with Sister Magdalena by phone and return in the first week of March. Outside his house, almost too bizarre to be a coincidence, I saw my first Batangan. He drifted past us, pipe in mouth, clad only in a loincloth, head not turning towards us even a fraction of an inch as we stooped out of the low doorway to Gabriel's house. "What's he doing here?" I whispered to Jenalyn.

"I don't know," she replied, "sometimes one or two come down here to barter goods."

"I think Gabriel was a bit worried about what we wanted to do up there," I told Sister Magdalena. "Maybe he thought we were looking for gold or prospecting for a mining company."

"He was probably worried that you're working for the mine on that mountain," she said, pointing out of her window at a peak buried in the clouds.

"What mine is that?" I asked.

"It's operated by a Norweigian firm, Crew Mining, but it's using a Filipino sub-company owned by the President's husband. The four main rivers in Mindoro all begin there, so the mine threatens to pollute them. One of the rivers has already turned black. People who live near that one are getting sick and dying because they have no choice but to drink its water and use it to irrigate their fields."

"It's awful, especially as it's legally the Mangyans' land."

"Yes, but the mining company has paid off all the local government, even given money to several Mangyan chiefs to support them."

"This ought to be published in Norway," I said, "people need to know about it."

"One of our priests went to Norway last year to talk to the mining company. They claimed that they didn't know there were any indigenous people living in Mindoro."

"Rubbish," I blurted angrily, "any resource whatsoever, even Wikipedia or the Lonely Planet can tell you that there are 100,000 Mangyans living here in the interior!"

She nodded sadly. "They say its just exploratory mining, but it's been going on for twenty years now and people who have seen or worked at the mine know that it's more than exploratory."

"Some of my friends worked there as labourers," Jenalyn said. "Apparently they've found something there in the ground that they can make bombs from, something they haven't found anywhere else in the world."

We left Mindoro unsure whether we would be back and unsure of the Mangyans' future. The modern world was encroaching fast on this kind-hearted, peaceful and shy people and there were too few people around to ease the transition and help them stand up for their rights. It seemed that their survival as a people could only be ensured by some vast and unlikely event like an international outcry or a 180 degree turnabout in government policy towards mining. And if the mining was somehow stopped, what about the military and the NPA? Somehow the NPA would have to be got rid of, or allowed back into the lowlands without fear of death so that the next generation of Mangyan youth would not desert their villages for the sake of carrying a gun. I felt afraid for them but I also felt hope - they were more proud of their culture than any other tribal people we had met in the Philippines, and that, hopefully, would keep them going against the odds longer than most.

In the Barrio of Mexico

2009-03-04T00:55:00.001-08:00

North America » Mexico » Jalisco » Puerto Vallarta

Common Causes
There is a garble of mayhem. Buses spit, gears grinding and thumping. Horns from their push-buttons blare; from yellow and white Mazda taxis, from gritty pockmarked trucks, from local peoples and passing pedestrians. It's hot where all these species interact, for a strong Mexican sun burns low in February skies. Everything seems to sweat. My pores. The parched plants covered in dust. Those firing engines inside their oil blocks. And the roaming dogs: Chihuahuas, poodles, mutts. I wander into una tienda (a shop) owned by a small family and pull out three beers from the cooler. It's Negra Modelo by choice, and for a mere 45 pesos (approximately three US dollars), I head to the beach and cross the old part of town.

I've been in Mexico for over a week, but it feels like the all-consuming, all-pervading splendor of Day One. This is the Mexico I'm use to; a vast industrial network of business, movement, culture, color, heat and sweat. And the current city I roam is all of this, especially when the tourist bonds are broken and the traveler explores farther from the hotels, deeper away from the villas lining the beach.

The northern city in
Multinationals' Sugar Coating
the state of Jalisco, Puerto Vallarta caters to all. A Cancun for the college hooligans. A social, yet restive, guacamole/margarita party for the retirees. A place for the French, the German, the Japanese and the national Mexicans on holiday—it's a city with intimate hideaways into traditional Mexican culture besides the stalls of Pacifico/Corona T-shirts; woolen geometric blankets; pottery of fish, fruits and peppers; medley of bracelets and necklaces with shell, stone and thread; silverware that glistens under whitelight in air-conditioned shops; Mexican wrestling masks left by a Nacho Libre dancing in sleek nylon aerobic tights; and lines of chains from Senor Frogs and Carlos O-Brian's to the classy squandering of McDonalds and Carl's Jr. fast foods.

No, I'm walking down Cárdenas heading west for Bahía de Banderas as I leave the residential barrio (or neighborhood) of El Remance. I started out by following the Rio Cuale watching los pequeños niños (small children) splash in its cool and surprisingly clear waters. Beside them a cluster of women wash laundry in black shorts and white tank tops. And down the Cuale I continue and into a grid of streets known as La Zona Romántica, where locals sit out on the
Light By Death
streets laughing, eating, shopping—day-to-day on a Saturday afternoon. Along Cárdenas I pass mini mercados (markets) with shelves of foreign edibles stacked in bright plastics. I wander by rooms of cement full of people drinking cervezas, clapping to a colorful mariachi band with a standing bass painted in the green, white and red of the Mexican flag. Small restaurants crack fresh oysters on the roadside while taco stands display hand-written menus on neon pink and green poster board. I stop. I indulge in two fresh tacos loaded with frijoles and runny guacamole for a buck fifty, and then continue on my way.

As I go I peek into dimly lit rooms where elders converge and pass the time. At one point as the buses tumble down cobblestone streets, a small art gallery reads CERCA (closed), but as I look inside its wrought-iron barred windows I see three wise-looking gentlemen sitting in a triangle, each clamping an acoustic guitar between their legs. I listen, and posed astutely with straight spines, their fingers create an artform as they rhythmically twitter over the chords. There, combined in harmony, a hum of Spanish flamenco ascends out into the street and through my ears.
A Minnesotan
I'm entranced. I close the eyes and lift my awareness off the ground into an invisible world of musical notes that dance to a passing vibration.

Movement, lots of it; outside on the streets, fleeting in the air, and inside in my conscious awareness. And this is the grand characteristic of any city neighborhood where locals shop, dine and live. In some places it is dirty. Rotting fruits going putrid by the tropical sun. Stashes of crinkling plastic bottles kicked and crunched. Wispy piles of bags and old newspapers floating in the traffic's breezes. All the while, mangy dogs hunt in packs, sifting through their territorial mounds for a morsel. Yet in other places where humanity congregates to industrialize and live, the plaza or square is clean, tidy, covered with a canopy of leafy trees. Old architecture remains standing instead of the razing for new high-rises of business and luxury hotels. Religious and/or spiritual centers are open-aired in warm climes, inviting and trusting those interested. And stands of fresh produce spill out into the sidewalks: the rich hues of red, orange, yellow and green. This city neighborhood in Puerto Vallarta is self-contained, a self-sustaining biosphere of life like
Catastrophe in the Heat
a little tide pool with distinct rhythms that ebb and flow. It is like a snake eating its own tail.

Then, slowly as I near the beach of Playa Olas Atlas the scenes shift. Shops that used to cater to beauty salons advertising manicures and pedicures that hung posters of famous actresses off its chipped walls now morph into tequila shops. Traditional eateries without names turn into larger spaces offering pastas, burgers and satellite television. White cloth appears more regularly and gaudy sun hats with bland dresses stamped "Puerto Vallarta es la vida" hang outside doorways. And onto the malecon.

Up and down Puerto Vallarta's seaside boardwalk and back. People are everywhere. White, dark, burnt red, browns and African blacks. The diversity is beautiful, the ages a whole genealogical chart of beach-combing humanity. Whether working or not, with the sun and the ambiance it feels as if everyone is on vacation… even the jewelry sellers and the sand-carvers, who build a monstrous array of sculpted artwork that is all to be washed away in rising tides.

I come and go, feeling the sun on my face, the tiredness of walking creeping up my feet and
Classico
into the legs like a strangling vine. I smell the ocean. I hear the bass of audio systems that rattle cars' plastic panels. Then sunset. I sit in a lounge chair, pop another Negra Modelo and watch. The ease of life sways in the sea currents. The joy of travel explodes out of the children playing in the waves. And the brilliancy of experience—learning, adapting, surrendering—shines out of the sinking sun. When it disappears without the expected green flash, a choir of clapping arises. We salute the sun with our beers, mixed drinks and popcorn as if a theatre performance reaches its climax and comes to conclusion. I enjoy my drink in the sand with the rest of it as the disappearance of daylight fades. Then, I find my way back through the barrios and into El Remance to relive the moments as if for the first time.

The first time, the first day— el primer día—it is not. For let me take you back to the alternate paradise from which I have just arrived. It begins north of the city I now wander in a tropical valley where butterflies quiver like paper maché, where lizards skitter across fallen
El Estado de la Policia
leaves, and where vultures catch ocean breezes to circle over a blessed land of rebirth.

A loop of waterfalls

2009-03-04T00:24:00.001-08:00

North America » United States » California

Where: Uvas Canyon County Park
Intention: surveying S's hiking tolerance & to experience the short duration of later Winter's waterfalls
Outcome: Successful maiden attempt. S did not complain.*yay*

Uvas Canyon county park
Trail map

Our trail: The Waterfall loop covering Granuja falls, upper falls, basin falls, black rock falls over to the Contour trail over to Alec Canyon trail to the final Triple falls before coming down Alec canyon trail to the parking lot.

Heavy storms & pouring rains made getting out next to impossible for the last one month. If not that, we were occupied with the routine work over the weekend.
We shook ourselves with a "Oh, common lazy bones, move it now!!!"

The weather cleared just for a day. So, we moved it. This was one of the chosen places for after rain hikes.

Ganesh picked up a bay area hike guide from the library & we followed it for a little longer 5 miler RT.
I was a little apprehensive about S sitting in a backpack for a five mile hike, but crazily thought that we would rush through it & be back at the car in a couple hours. Lame!
Granuja falls from the bridge
What a shame!

It took us longer than a couple hours to get across the first mile.
Reason: waterfalls, photo shoots, feeding the little one, adding one more layer here & there to her, all by the end of which we became hungry.

Well! we had never started a hike close to noon. So, there goes our professionalism! [But we promised to get out earlier the next time, I assure]

If we were to continue this pace, we would never complete the hike by the end of day.
The trail follows a creek, Swanson creek, which seemed to be in full flow after all this rain. Since the park varies in elevation, Swanson creek falls down a couple of times, maybe by only a few feet, but falls, nevertheless.
The weather was perfect.
After black rock falls, we detoured away from the creek. The weather became hot or we started sweating, thanks to the "Contour" trail that lives up to its name. But little S took a nap & we picked up some miles.

The trail was fairly empty once we climbed up. Most people take the less than 2 mile out & back trail to
notice the trail on the left
the waterfalls.

A 5 miler would have been a no-brainer had it not been for the little one. We would not have got a sense of achievement.
But her presence made us feel on the top of the world. By helping her step into nature & hiking early in life, we hope she can pick up faster than us.

Even otherwise, the park itself is an awesome place to hike around in cloudy weather, though the best would be in late winter after the rains when Swanson creek swells up.

We found ourselves home after a hot Quiznos sub.

~travelbuffs
---------------

Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.
~Frank Lloyd Wright

Love in the Time of Samantha Fox

2009-03-03T02:20:00.000-08:00

Asia » Thailand » Central Thailand » Bangkok

If you're reading this you probably belong to one of the following categories: (a) You are a friend of mine or family member; (b) You are Samantha Fox; (c) You are someone who regularly reads my blog; (d) You are a male, aged 30 - 35, who hasn't got anything better to do right now (you're probably at the office pretending to work) and have just googled for "Samantha Fox".

A few words of introduction for the benefit of those belonging to categories A and C born after 1980. Samantha Fox was in the end of the 80s the sexy icon par excellence. She was for us, thirteen years old boys, what Palestine was for the Jews led by Moises: the promised land where everything was good and abundant (especially abundant in her case). Theoretically she was a singer, but trust me, hearing her name doesn't bring to my mind the image of a stadium with 50,000 people singing in unison. I mean, the words "Pink Floyd" and "concert" definitely create an association of ideas immediate and concrete, while "Samantha Fox" and "concert" belong to the subset "music" as much as "Watermelon" and "urinal" belong to the "hydrology" subset: the
Samantha in 1987
Photo: Sing365relationship exists but is really thin!

The only song of her that I remember was called "Touch me!", yet her photos were circulating at that time more than Diego Maradona's, and in every country fair banners with her picture on (always against a turquoise background, I don't know why) waved as today rainbow ones with the word "peace" do.

Not that the rest of those days' cultural panorama was any deeper, let's be frank. Artists of the musical talent of a vacuum cleaner such as "Mel & Kim" or "Modern Talking" enjoyed huge popularity. Others just pretended to sing ("Mill Vanilli") and yet they sold millions of records. All people who, after publishing an album of great success and a second one listened to by their own grandmothers alone, completely disappeared and today probably earn a living by playing a Roland keyboard at weddings and confirmations or selling lottery tickets outside underground stations.

I wouldn't really like to be in the shoes of any of these "heroes for a day". I imagine them now, occasionally (very occasionally) recognized by an old fan who maybe takes courage and goes to talk to him and even asks for an
Modern Talking
Photo: Wikipediaautograph. Then you meet the same veteran fan who is dying for telling someone about such an encounter:
"You would never guess who I met today."
"Who?"
"Are you ready?"
"Shoot."
"Chesney Hawkes."
"And who cares! Who the fuck is Chesney Hawkes?"

Those were the days of jackets with shoulder pads, jeans three centimeters too short and, especially, of anti-ozone haircuts. Take Rick Astley or John Bon Jovi, for instance, every time they combed their hair they would use a whole fixing gel spray can. And Joey Tempest and the Europe? It's no wonder that the ozone layer over the Sweden skies is so thin!

But back to Samantha Fox. If you were thirteen at the time and came from a Christian family you were attending to pre-confirmation catechism and learn, in spite of yourself, that "impure acts" in adolescent age cause blindness. Now, if this were true, Samantha Fox in 1987 would have made the fortune of opticians worldwide and probably still today her framed portrait would hang in ophthalmology studios alongside with that of the president or the queen. And it's not all. I suppose that if such divine punishment had been truly carried on, there
Greatest Hits or Fakest Hits?
Photo: Wikipediawould be today more german shepherds with a red cross on their backs than automobiles, and telescopic sticks and dark glasses would sell as much as bread.

However, Samantha Fox too disappeared from the music scene after her first and only major hit and for some years kept on existing only on the turquoise flags and in the forcibly Platonic love of an entire generation. Then I remember that I once read by chance on a tabloid that our heroine had undergone plastic surgery for breast reduction. Come on, this was an impure act! Not the operation itself but rather the fact of having it made public. It was the equivalent of killing Superman, or telling a 5 years old child that Santa Claus doesn't exist: end of the broadcastings, game over! It was time to lower the turquoise flags.

Now, there are three reasons why I'm writing a blog about Samantha Fox and love: (a) A few days ago I accidentally listened to "Touch me!" for the first time in nearly two decades; (b) I've been stuck in Bangkok for over a week now (thanks to the guys at the Indian consulate who are taking ages to
The Europe
Photo: Wikipediaglue a sticker with my name on my passport) and I have far too much time to devote to mental loitering; (c) I've recently and crazily re-met the woman of my dreams (I don't mean Samantha Fox) who made a point in explaining why she can't possibly spend her life by my side.

I remember that two decades ago, both love and sex were, for me at least, rather linear concepts to be settled in a few minutes: a look at the turquoise flag, one or two steps towards blindness and on with more important things such as football or the A-Team. Then you grow up and things become more complicated.

I think I have pursued in recent years a lifestyle that doesnt' really suit long-term relationships, I admit it. But faithful to the principles, I've always kept an adolescent kind of love, pure in a sense, that kind of feeling that doesn't take into account factors such as a mortgage, a job, a pension plan, etc.. It must be me the strange one, but I just can't worry about a problem that (still) did not occur. More important yet, I don't think I've ever loved someone more
Mel & Kim
Photo: Wikipediaor less because of 50 years of guaranteed loyalty. A person is not a washing machine. I'm convinced that the only real reason to be with someone should be the desire, unique and unrepeatable, to awake next to that person, of being happy just because that person smiled. And that should be so at 18 or at 70. And the day when that requirement went amiss, one should have the common sense, the courage and the honesty to pack and leave. This, and not guarantees of future (hypothetical) security and stability should keep two people together. Or separate them.

I'm a radical, I know, but one thing in heart's businesses I've finally understood: love in the time of Samantha Fox was easier!

POST SCRIPTUM: In line with worst contemporary novelists (i.e. John Grisham) who never ever leave the reader with unanswered questions, I carried on a series of research with the scientific rigor and the almost Kantian sobriety that characterize me. It came out that: (a) Samantha Fox continues singing in front of crowds of... 5, 6 people. She also recently declared her homosexuality; (b) In spite of the sophisticated means at my disposal I was unable to
Chesney Hawkes
Photo: Wikipediadetermine outside which underground station Chesney Hawkes sells lottery tickets. Apocryphal sources give it as touring, but they are only allegations; (c) The ozone layer above Sweden increased significantly since Joey Tempest lost his hair; (d) The day after tomorrow I leave for Sri Lanka.