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[peacefrog]

Several dodgy ones in Algeria and Nigeria. The dodgiest:

I was in Nigeria for business, in the city of Port Harcourt, Rivers State. Had to buy myself pants and socks, so I got on the car with one resident colleague and our Nigerian driver, Tony. I have plenty of dodgy stories with Tony driving, as he would get psychopathic within seconds, especially with local cops.
That was one of my first days in Port Harcourt, I explained Tony I wanted some clothes. He enquired if I wanted to go to the secure-for-foreigners supermarket, or to the regular market... Of course, I asked if the regular market was ok. The answer was not that clear, but I told him that he could take me: I trusted him, as he was responsible for me... never said something so stupid everafter
So we got to the market: imagine an african street. Buildings on the left for 1km. The market on the right, for 1km, and with an undefinite width. There we go by car, with Tony driving, which means people having to dodge the car.
No place to park, so Tony moans something and stops to the side, right in the middle of the 1km long street.
We get off the car. I hear some yelling and agitation. The crown gives way to 3 local policemen.

What happens next is within seconds:
The most excited cop approaches, yelling at Tony: doesn't have white at all in his eyes. Ok the classic drunk+ stoned = agressive + paranoiac. That's Tony's business, and I better shut up, so I just wait with my colleague, 1m from the car. That's the first second.
Tony gets in the car and slams the door shut. That's a big adrenaline rush, and the brains starts to go real fast. Two options: get back in the car, and possibly get shot, caus these guys were not kidding, machine guns in hands. Or wait and see, staying away from anything stupid that Tony might do. That's the second second
Tony starts the car, going for a U-turn. One of the cops stands in front of the car, while another one starts destroying the driver-side rear-view mirror by hitting it with his machine gun. At this point, obviously both parties were getting very upset, and that's the moment I realised I was standing there with my colleague, two white guys in the middle of a crowd of several thousands, the 2 exits from the market being 500m away. That's the third second
Tony makes his turn anyway. The cop standing in front of the car gets over the car, falling on the side. And Tony drives away. Now for those who do not know Subsaharian Africa, one thing is absolutely sure: if Tony had injured anybody any bit with his car, we would have been beaten off until someone came, within minutes, to put a tire around our body, splash us with gasoline and set fire with hundreds looking and yelling for you to die... For having heard this story too many times from direct witnesses, I wish I'll never see that myself, and I even more badly do not want it happening to me. But then, on the moment, you just feel the danger, and think about all of that in a very rational manner.We're up to 5-6 seconds since the begining
Then Tony stops 10m away for us to get on the car. The cops rush for him. So he leaves. And I mean, he leaves ! And we are still in the middle of the crowd, everyone staring at us, of course.
In his aborted rush, the stoned cop turns his attention back to us and walks towards us with a rod in the hand, above his head, going for a good beat-up. Fortunately, yet unforseenably, his colleagues stopped him and they all went away in a hurry, calling reinforcements to catch Tony.

Then we were some 10-15 seconds after it had all started, and we cooled down, assessed the situation: the crowd went back to their occupations, and we called on the radio (!) for someone to come and get us. We waited for more than half an hour, the first few minutes being a little bit scary, as all the children would be pointo,g their fingers and shouting "owibo! owibo!" to us. That's equivalent to shouting "niggers" in the reverse situation. But then it was only the kids, so we were ok, and the people there minded their business, not even trying to get anything from us. We did not try any further contact by ourselvesn though, as we had had our share of emotions for the day.

I eventually made my shopping in this same market, and got the end of the story: Tony had gone to hide, and he had sent the military guards to beat up the policemen and make them pay for the damage to the car. Normal situation, as they say...

It is fortunate that in these moments of danger, the brain inhibits fear and runs at xxxGHz. Still, even though I was analysing and behaving accordingly throughout the adventure, I realize I was competely helpless, and that's the most difficult thing to cope with, when you think about it afterwards.

Another day, immigration officials wanted to take me to jail, for my visa was somehow crappy to them. Got real close, but otherwise I'm pretty sure that the Nigerian jail would have gone in this entry... brrrr

[Dane]

Just the day before, we had the world in our hands. Things were really coming together and we were feeling pretty good. That's always when things fall apart.

The victory for the white kids was short lived. The super wow bus I referred to was actually called ¨Royal Class¨. AC, bathroom, double decker, smooth ride, food, and pretty much just for tourists. The woman that sold us the tickets showed us a picture of the bus on a poster in the station. It was an amazing bus. But that bus didn't pick us up. That bus may not even exist.

Our bus slowed down just enough on the highway to throw our bags on and let us jump in. As we walked in the darkened seating area, we noticed immediately that things were amiss. First of all, it smelled less than Royal. It smelled like sweat and feet and hard labor. All of which I have a powerful aversion to. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I noticed that there were a lot more people on the bus than I had expected. Mostly because there were more people than seats. Now I've ridden chicken buses in Central America. I don't have a problem with it. I just like to know ahead of time what I'm getting into. And after $20 for a ticket and being promised a king's chariot, I was less than thrilled with my ride. So as we walked back in search of our seats we found that they were already taken. By four people. I felt a little guilty as the woman who worked on the bus woke up the family camping in our seats and ushered them off to sit in the aisle in the back of the bus. But that went away as I watched the woman thoroughly dust off our seats after they moved. What was she wiping off? What did they do to our seats? And how long before whatever they left there burrowed its way into my body and nested in my small intestines? These are questions I would have 20 hours to brood over.

So it was 80 degrees outside. It was 85 inside. And every window on the bus was closed. I was baffled. And nauseated. And livid. So I opened the window next to me that I also shared with the woman sitting in front of me. The seats reclined nicely so I could see her and knew that she was asleep. I also knew how many moles she had, what her hair smelled like and was in the perfect position to perform dental work. She was so sound asleep that she was snoring audibly and in the pale moonlight I could see her mustache dance in the air exiting her nose. She was lovely.

Well as soon as I opened the window she woke up and closed it. I assumed she thought she had accidently left it open and the fresh air was disturbing her. Some people can only sleep well when surrounded by the smell of urine and rancid fruit. Well as soon as I opened it she closed it. So I explained that we were hot and opened it. She closed it. I opened, closed, etc. Finally I opened it and held it open while she tried with all her might and both hands to close it. She yelled at me in Spanish. I answered in half Spanish, 1/3 English, 1/4 French, and a touch of gibberish. I knew I was bigger and stronger than her and refused to let go of the window. She turned and glared at me and yelled what I can only assume were horrible things. Beverley pretended to sleep. So as she yelled at me I realized she was half my size, but also had half as many teeth. Somehow that gave her an edge. I shrank back and she cackled at me. She closed the window. The bus which consisted of 47 Peruvians and 4 tourists stared at me. I pretended to sleep.

So we went through this hellacious ride through the dessert, sharp turns, bumpy roads, stifling heat, oppressive smells. I slept 10 or 12 minutes that night. Finally at about 4:00 am I got up the nerve to complain to the woman working on the bus. I told her we had been promised a Royal Class bus. She smiled and said that none existed. I told her how much we paid, she laughed and told the driver to turn on the AC. So the bus had AC, but needed a request in order to utilize it. So they turned on the AC just as we turned and headed into the Andes. I woke up at 5:30 shivering. We had gone up a couple of thousand feet in elevation. It was cold. My teeth were chattering. And the woman in front of me had opened her window.

I spent the next 14 hours plotting her death. Out loud. She didn't understand me, but the Dutch guys on the bus did. They wouldn't speak to or look at Bev and I the entire trip. We were outcasts.

Well the bus ride was prolonged by several stops. We all got out at 6:00 am to pee on the side of the road. EVERYONE. Bev peed behind a rock that was entirely too small and forced us to be better acquainted than we ever wanted to be. Everyone else didn't seem to care. Public urination among strangers? No big deal.

I'll fast forward through the next 10 hours. 12 stops, 1 for gas, 1 for a meal, 10 to fix the bus. A little girl threw up 2 feet away from me. No one blinked. Vomit on the floor? No worries. Then they closed the bathroom because it smelled too bad. I demanded they let me in or I was peeing out of the closed window I shared with the toothless wonder. They let me in. It did smell too bad. And I got in there just as we hit a dirt road in the Andes. I peed everywhere but the toilet. I was all over the place. So I went back to my seat and changed shoes. And shirts. And hats. But somehow Bev and I managed to stay good sports about it the whole time. Very fortunate.

We made it into Cusco a little before 5:00 this evening. Cusco is the capital of the ancient Inca world. It's fantastic. The scenery coming in was phenomenal. The Andes outdo the Rockies, the Highlands of Guatemala, Scotland, everything. Just gorgeous. I'll upload pictures soon. Sorry to go on and on about the bus ride, but it went on and on, and it's all we did today. But, tomorrow is another day.

[Dane]

I assumed this would post my travel pod account. But I hadn't registered. So here's a link to all my mishaps.

http://www.travelpod.com/members/dane

[jamesintheworld]

This is not the worst “dodgiest travel story” I have but it is one that pisses me off the most. It happened around 4 years ago when I was living and working in Doha, Qatar. Qatar is a little no-name country in the Middle East that happens to be sitting on the largest reserve of natural gas in the world. There are also a couple of US military bases there and they are one of the only Arab countries that lets the US attack other Moslem Arab countries from there country (Saudi Arabia also lets us).

A little background on Qatar:

Take a guess what the local government did when it began to make Billions and Billions of dollars in oil and gas revenues?

-Invest those Billions/Trillions of dollars into infrastructure, education, humanitarian aid, scientific research, social security, medical care and art to better there country and citizens for generations to come?

OR

-Spend it on buying 70 million dollar yachts and a half of a Billion on houses around the world for the Emir, put every citizen in the country on welfare so they will never work there entire life, give every citizen cash and land for every time they get married (up to 4, and marrying children is legal) encouraging them to have more and more children (because every male son gets a welfare check) thereby creating generations of citizens with no skills and no work ethics?

I’ll let you guess



Anyway off my soap box and on to my story:

I was following behind a friend of mine who I worked with in Qatar (on the way to work, we drove in pars for security reasons) when a car cut him off in traffic and almost forced him into another car, my friend then honked his horn at him (only 1 short honk), the driver of the car then started screaming and waving his hands for my friend to pull over. We just kept going and then out of nowhere the guy then started to ram my friend’s car several times (from the side and rear) and ended up driving him off the road. The driver of the other car (a local Arab) ran up to my friend’s car and opened the door and starting kicking him in the face, arms and legs. After barely managing to get out of his car my friend got out and pushed him away, the guy, who was maybe pushed back 1 foot started screaming bloody murder in Arabic, this guy was going berserk, crazy screaming at the top of his lungs like something horrible happened to him, flailing his arms, jumping up and down, screeching like a woman, totally freaking out!

At the same time this was happening about 10 other local Arabs pulled over, jumped out of there cars (all with there mobile phones glued to there ears) and started to “comfort” the guy freaking out. I knew this was going to be a BS situation and I was starting to feel uncomfortable with all those guys surrounding us, so I told my friend to get back in his car and take off to the base and we would contact the police from there. As soon as we got back in our cars all of the other Arab guys ran back to there cars and immediately blocked him in, I got a half a block before I realized he was stuck and got out and walked back.

The police finally arrived, and after talking to the crazy guy in Arabic for 3 minutes my friend was arrested. I tried to explain that my friend was attacked by the crazy guy but the cop wouldn’t listen (and he spoke perfect English).

My friend ended up being charged with assault and tossed in jail for 3 days wile we tried to get him bailed out. When they put him in his cell (that had 28 other people in it) the prison guard said to the other people in the cell “this guy is American, you can kill him if you want” (a Nepali in the same cell later translated it for him). At that moment about 10 Arab guys in the cell started beating him and tried to rape him. The only reason that he didn’t end up getting beaten worse and raped was the Nepali and Pilipino guys in the cell came to his rescue and protected him until we bailed him out.

At his trial the crazy Arab guy admitted that he rammed my friend’s car and kicked him in the face, he said he had to do it because my friend “insulted” him by honking his horn and he had to defend his honor. A few of the other Arab guys that pulled over that day also testified and each had a completely different story about what they saw, everything from my friend beat the crazy guy within an inch of his life to he was yelling insults about Islam to he was the one that rammed the crazy guy off the road for no reason. I wasn’t allowed to testify because the judge said my testimony couldn’t be trusted (end of explanation). Even though all of the testimony against my friend was obviously BS and the crazy guy admitted everything to that happened, my friend was convicted of assault and had to pay 10,000. Riyals to the crazy guy (or go to jail for 36 more days), pay for the repairs to his car and apologize to him.

And after everything was finally over and my friend thought he could finally get on with his life, get back to work and forget about the whole thing, the local US embassy steps in said that my friend had “embarrassed” America with his actions (WHAT?) and put pressure on the company that we work for (a US company) and the Commander of the base we work on (a US Base) to fire him.

As you can probably guess he was fired and shipped out of the country within 2 days, so much for taking care of our countries veterans.

The thing that really pissed everyone off was we told the US embassy everything that happened (my friend being rammed off the road, being assaulted, the guards telling other prisoners that they could kill him, beaten and assaulted in jail, no one allowed to testify in his defense) we even told them that the local government seized his US passport so he couldn’t leave the country before the trial (which is US property) and all they did is request that they give it back (they kept it anyway until after the trial and he paid the fine). Basically they didn’t do anything at all. And when the Embassy finally stepped in it was only to get an American fired!

All US embassy employees are only concerned about keeping there cushy jobs (expat package, houses, servants, drivers, expensive embassy parties) and kissing ass to there supervisors and the local government. They will not lift a single finger to help a US citizen, in fact I have never even heard of the US embassy ever helping out a US citizen in trouble.

[Jessica_CDN]

I think that's a really great lesson for all of us soon-to-be travellers. A good lesson that not every country's judicial system works the same way as ours.....

For example, there are lots of countries in the world in which you are guilty until proven innocent! Hard for us (canadians, anyway...) to get your mind around that.

It's unfortunate about the embassy staff though. Although I know that their hands are pretty much tied, and are there to protect the diplomatic relations with the other country more than anything.

[Kyle Dixon From AuStRaLiA]

You've been in France suffering under the reign of French highschool teachers for seven months before running away to Germany then slipping into Poland with an American you met in Berlin. You're 17.
Now, your family finds out that you're in Germany and not in France studying so you get deported. The night before you ship out, you spend all your cash on yout school friends and get piss-mad drunk. Again, you go out later on that evening and have a repeat performance. After 2 hours sleep you feel sick as a dog. But you can't rest, you have 28kg of luggage and 45 minutes to get to Lyon, so you catch the train. You get sad about saying goodbye to the host family, but feel too sick and sore and tired to cry.
From Lyon, it's 3 hours on a TGV to Paris. Yes, you DO throw up about 2 hours in. You wait at Charles de Gaule airport for 2 hours then catch a 1.5 hour flight to Frankfurt where you wait for 3 hours until Lufhansa decides to leave. Charming stuff, is it not? 7 hours later you're in Singapore, where another 4 hours waits for you. But you're not happy just yet, because somewhere over the Himilayas you're hungover stomach wants to empty itself again during turbulance. But you're a man and you stick it out. After your 4 hours in Asia, you catch 2 hours sleep on the 7 hour flight to Sydney, because there is a baby crying. You wonder secretly if you can flush it down those vacuum toilets...
Finally, you take your 29kg and hangover after 36 hours of travel on only 4 hours of very very bad sleep, to see your family again for the first time in 7 months. First thing your five year old sister does, is headbutt you in the groin.
... Just to put anyone who reads this in my shoes ^^

I'm writing this from work so I'm gonna add at the end here:
All Seasons Campervans - Great savings on campervan hire and motorhome rental when backpacking in Australia! http://www.camper.com.au

[peacefrog]

You've been in France suffering under the reign of French highschool teachers for seven months before running away to Germany then slipping into Poland with an American you met in Berlin. You're 17.
Now, your family finds out that you're in Germany and not in France studying so you get deported.
[...]
http://www.camper.com.au

The first line was enough to qualify for a dodgy story

[Yuppie Nomad]

My first experiences in Russia were pretty brutal:

From my blog on 9/29
http://www.yuppienomad.com/blog.asp?region=Moscow#15
Russia's kicking my ass. Well, my finger, cav, purse strings, and now, ass to be specific. I thought things were picking up, I was recognizing some Cyrillic, figuring out my way around. But so far, someone's tried to rob me, I crushed my finger between the seat and legs of a chair in an internet cafe (see, I sweat for this blog), then the biggest deal, I got bitten by a stray dog, and it's only been four days. I feel like Don Quixote or CandideThe attempted pickpocketing wasn't a huge deal, a Gypsy lady just pushed me into the subway during rush hour and tried to get into my bag. I was clasping the zipper real tight though, so she gave up and jumped out of the metro car right before the doors closed. Finger, my fault. The dog bite though, little bit of a mess. I was right outside the Vladykino stop near my hostel, walking to the metro when a dog just ran up behind me, bite me, and ran away. There are a lot of strays around that stop, but that's true of many parts of Russia, as far as I've seen. Luckily, the wound was not that deep, but it did pierce the skin and was bleeding. I thought, S*$#, I have to deal with Russian med. If I only knew how right that gut feeling was.

You can read more about my 2-year round the world trip here: http://www.yuppienomad.com

[Paul]

My dodgy experience in a dark alley in Nairobi wasn't very dodgy. It is at:

http://www.travelpod.com/cgi-bin/modify_en...122559289103532

Perhaps I have always been lucky, or my memory isn't that good, but I haven't had many.

There was another time when I was illegally in Indonesia and the police wanted to lock me up - but that was my fault. Anyway I got out of it with some smiling.

See ya


Paul

[macahobo]

It was my first time travelling in Asia, and we'd just arrived in Delhi in the middle of a rain-less monsoon (50 degrees and just getting hotter). We had planned to get straight out of the city and head into the foothills of the Himalayas, eventually to end up in Leh.

For anyone that has been to India I can imagine you rolling your eyes at the beginning of this story, but being a complete novice in such areas, we believed that we were lucky to have found a helpful cab driver who was going to take us to his friend's travel agent to book our onward travel.

They told stories of landslides in Dharamsala, roadblocks in Rishikesh, somebody on the other end of the phone (doubtless in the next room) told us that all trains and buses were fully booked to Shimla and even the flights to Leh were all booked up. The only option was to go to Srinagar. Desperate to leave Delhi, and feeling as though we had no other option we decided to opt for 7 days on a luxury houseboat in Dal Lake. The worst mistake we ever made.

To cut it short, we ended up marooned on a houseboat that was falling apart, with no means to leave unless we paid copious amounts of money to the family that run it. We were not allowed anywhere on our own and in fact had to pay to get a boat to mainland; we were subjected to a carousel of Kashmiri's selling everything from grams of gold to their grandma's who didn't understand the word no, and a son who made every attempt possible to take our passports and make us part with our money.

On our third day seven militants stormed a police building 100 metres away from our boat, signalling the start of a 12 hour seige which involved motorboat chases around the waterways surrounding our boat. We were not even allowed to sit outside the boat and had to hide each time the soldiers came to inspect. It turned out that seven people were killed.

The fighting eventually calmed down and after convincing the son that we truly were skint and were not going to be their cash cow any longer, he booked us a bus to Leh along one of the most dangerous roads in the world (five times the price mind) This road is regularly shelled by Pakistan, and three buses a month fall off apparently. We didn't fall off the mountain though, we made it to Leh (although slightly green and feeling grateful to be alive), and then Manali. Where we bumped into someone that was on the same houseboat when we arrived.

After a few beers he lets us in on a little secret. The son of the family was being investigated by the Australian police for raping and kidnapping the girl that stayed in our room before us. She had been trapped on the boat for three months and couldn't leave because they wouldn't give her her passport back.

I think the moral of that story is don't travel to war zones.

[skcoll]

Manaus

Manaus is one of the dirtiest scummiest cities that we have ever visited. Having been there we would seriously recommend that if you want to see the jungle then you go somewhere else - Bolivia, Peru or Ecuador (we are going to go from Ecuador at some point). At this point we would like to say that we did get some good memories from our time in Manaus but on the whole it wasn't worth the time or the money to get there
- Although it is in the jungle it is one of the biggest container ports in South America. Picture huge boats, loads of buildings, trash covered streets.
- It was the dirtiest city we have ever visited. Even the river was full of trash in places.
- At the cheaper end of the traveling budget the Hotels on offer were some of the worst we stayed in. Ours was recommended in the LP guide (name escapes us) and was probably the poorest we stayed in throughout our 3 months in South America.
- Decent places (good food & reasonable cost - not dirt cheap but not posh) for food were hard to find (we ended up eating in the same Italian restaurant 3 times - we try not to eat somewhere twice unless it is excellent).
- Being so remote you either spend days getting there on slow boats or fly at a higher cost (which still takes a day each way as you go via Brasilia). So you have to want to go here.
- Being such a large city you have to go far to get away from "civilization" and see jungle. A short trip will not get you far.
- The opera house is an absolute jewel. Wow - outstanding building with magnificent decor. We even saw a local opera performed in which the 2nd half was topless for a tribal creation theme - yes, male and female.
- The rubber barons mansion was also nice and well kept. The nature park was alright but in need of doing up - we did get to see manatees here which we missed everywhere else in our travels. The cast iron market is a lovely throwback to the start of the last century - when you get close it's not as impressive - again, rundown like this whole city. Tribal museum needs some English to be useful to non-fluent Portuguese speakers.
- Most things are shut on Mondays.

That's the overall impression of the city - now let's talk about the
reason we visited - the Jungle Tour.

- We booked a 5 day tour with Cristiano of Amazon Christian Turismo. He showed us pictures of his floating camp and told us who else had booked. He is a small funny character that wears loud Hawaiian shirts
- The Hotel had arranged to pick us up from the airport but had asked Cristianos company to pick us up - a deal they run so that the tour company gets first crack at you. They then say, if you don't book, you need to pay a fee for airport collection.
- We paid about 50 USD each per day. This is slightly more than the books would say but he won us over. He started his negotiations at around 100 USD. He told us the 50 was a good deal and not to tell the others on our tour - later when things went wrong we found out that the 2 young Danish lads had paid almost 100 USD per day.
- Next morning Cristiano picked us up late and then introduced us to Armstrong without any explanation. It later turns out that he had sold us on to Armstrong. We meet the 2 Danes (and 1 Japanese) that are going with us (not the 2 English & 2 Italians that Cristiano had told us about). We made him go through the changed itinary and thought his tour sounded OK - so we went.
- Armstrong is a big stocky square man who waddles. Short hair, glasses. Named after Neil Armstrong as he was born near that time. He is Dangerous, evil, a liar and a thug. Avoid him.
- Saw usual stuff - two rivers meeting, pink dolphins, giant lilies, guided walk through forest, piranha fishing, lovely wildlife (esp Jacaranas), our guide caught a small cayman for us to look at, night canoe through flooded forest, day canoe through same (as we got trapped in village).
- It turns out that 2 of us (1 of the Danes and my wife) had "lost" sunglasses on the boat - we are sure they were stolen. What made it worse for us is that my wife's were actually prescription - which was a big loss for us. Back in town, Armstrong said the boat was out and that he couldn't get in touch to see if they "found" the sunglasses.
- On the evening of the 2nd day our change of boat didn't appear and we got trapped in the Amazon Lillies Village. The place stank, they have the only bar for miles (so they get loud locals), the toilets had no water and were crawling with insects, we were asked to go to the toilet in the bush (alright for men - but not females) - remember this is a VILLAGE, hammocks had fleas, they have wild birds with clipped wings, they have 2 monkeys tied up with no room to go anywhere.
- We were left in the village for 4 hours in the afternoon with
nothing to do.
- 3rd day - still no boat to go further. The guide cancelled the
plans to go on and asked Armstrong for food and fuel to take us around the local jungle - even that didn't appear. We had a small trek in Jungle and the local family provided that fuel for us (we paid them money direct). The local family even provided food which they might not get paid back for - so we paid again. Again - about 6 hours in Village with nothing to do and nowhere to go. The guide got very drunk. And yes - we ended up paying in full for this day - but any money we got back was a bonus.
- 4th Day - we caught the local ferry back to town and paid out own fares back. The guide started drinking at 7am and when we arrived back to town he was violent, abusive and very insulting to everyone. The young Danish lads were scared to say anything. We had asked Armstrong to be there so we could deal with this and move on - he wasn't there.
- The guide was called Daniel. He spent the majority of the tour
drunk or hungover. He had loads of information but rarely shared it with us. He spoke very good English and also Norwegian (amongst others we think). The guided walk in the forest was led by a local farmer - and Daniel only translated. Throughout our stay in the village Daniel said he would help us when we got back to town - we never got any help from him. He ended up shouting at my wife while standing right in front of her – what a complete idiot.
- They refused to meet us as a group so that they could split us up and get better deals that way - the Danes had tones of money owed to them and lost out even more than us.
- We spent 3 days fighting for our money back and only got a little back. We didn't know about ProCon or we would have called them. The 3 days were spent like this......they didn't turn up for agreed meetings, Armstrong on the 2nd gave us half of the 2 days money (arguing that Cristiano had only paid him half of what we paid him), Cristiano was away on Day 2, on day 3 he was chasing tourist business at the airport so he could pay us, we spent ages outside his office (which upset him) and he eventually paid us his half of two days so we would go away.
- By having to fight to get the money back we couldn't even relax or enjoy what little of this city there was to see.
- Everyone we met after that we told to avoid Cristiano & Armstrong.
That's what we want you to do - if you meet these two creeps then avoid them at all cost. They are a pair of lying evil people.

Cheers
Stewart K

[kris]

wow stewart, quite a comprehensive story you've got there.. i've been thinking of scraping manaus from my list of travels for a while.. as it seems such a big way inland just to see the meeting of different coloured water!.. and this story has sort of made up my mind, but obviously the decision will come on the road. Its true too that i've heard great experiences of people coming into the amazon from ecuador and bolivia..

[babieemelly]

Wow these are all pretty crazy!

[msprague]

My dodgiest travel story is related to something my girlfriend and I did that we would normally never have done and both of us should have known better. Call it a momentary suspension of common sense.

We travelled by bus from El Kef in Tunisia to Karouain and on arrival at the bus station at the end of our journey wandered out into the street to catch a taxi to the hotel we decided to stay at. A young guy approached us offering a lift. We agreed. Up pulls his friend in a windowless panel van with no seats in the back. My feelings told me this was a bad idea but we still got in the van and off we went to the hotel. It didn't save us money but nothing bad happened although they could have driven anywhere and we would have had no idea and the potential for bad happenings was there. I guess our experiences, all fantastic, with the people of Tunisia left us feeling safe under just about every circumstance.

[roseyben]

Tell us all about it... what's your dodgiest travel story?
[/quote]

If you haven't got a dodgy travel story then surely you're not traveling right! Or your just bloody lucky!

Have to say mine isn't probably as bad as some on here and looking back i can laugh at all of them but we had the bus ride from hell in India: i know its a bit long and some of you will be able to relate to this so here goes:

In this day and age you would think that catching a bus is a simple task. Book the ticket, turn up at the bus station, and hop on board at the correct bay, away we go. Arrive at destination some time later. If only life was so simple.

We arrived at the bus station at 1830, an hour before the bus was due to leave. This is ample time and we always find the bus bay when we book the ticket. They tell you to arrive half an hour before.

Ben dumps another bag on me and goes in search of the bus. Bear in mind that I am sat across from the supposed bus bay. He returns again and points to a rickety old bus which looks like it should be heading for the scrap yard rather than Bangalore and exclaims “that’s our bus!” Yeah right. The ticket says ‘semi deluxe express’ not ‘the last journey to the knacker’s yard!’

The bus driver is clearly not happy as we stop at the front of his bus rucksacks in hand. He mumbles something incomprehendable and walks around the front of the bus. We follow. He stops and talks to another man (possibly a guard) who insists that we are indeed on his bus. Words we cannot understand are exchanged between the two and we trundle back to the bus. Ben loads the bags on board and the driver kicks two women out of our seats and tells me to sit. I smile at them both and feel guilty as they reluctantly move, not to another seat but completely off the bus. We sit and prepare ourselves for long uncomfortable night.

As the engine spluts to a part life a KRSTC bus has pulled along side us with its tinted windows and leatherish seats that recline a bit. Then the realisation hits me like a lightening bolt from the sky. WE ARE ON THE WRONG BUS.

I beg Ben to jump off and check with the bus next door. He looks at me like I have grown two heads and lost the plot. The engine is kind of running and the bus is slowly edging forward. It’s too late. I want to cry and have visions of us ending up god knows where and wonder if it will actually make it to Bangalore if that is where it is going. We look at each other and nervously laugh. We know anything can and will happen in India

The feelings of happiness that I felt when we set off from Hampi have now been replaced with dread and fear. My heart is beating double time like a drum in a marching band as the bus driver takes our lives in to his hands, dodging his way through man, animal and vehicle.

I take my book out and read. We stop after 20 minutes and people vacate the bus. The seat at the front where our bags are chained up is now vacant so we move up front and ride shot gun with the driver.

He is clearly not happy about having two westerners on his bus. And I know he despises every inch of my tiny being, I can tell by the way he glares at me. I would like to tell him that ‘hey look I didn’t expect to be on his rickety old bus when I booked my ticket but I am, so bloody well concentrate on the road ahead and stop staring at me.’

All drivers in India play chicken on the roads and I have begun to wonder is this is part of their driving test. If they have actually taken a driving test? The bigger the vehicle the better. No one argues with a bus, he is king of the road when it comes to wheels.

So the bus driver torments me as we dodge craters in the road, over take huge circus like trucks on hills and blind corners. Lights flash, horns sound and I’m almost having a coronary at the front of the bus. This is the worst white knuckle ride I have ever been on!

The lights inside the bus have been switched off so I read using the book light Ben bought me and the driver continues to stare at me instead of the road ahead. No wonder we have almost crashed – head on – several times. My life has flashed before my eyes and I wonder if its time to pray and promise God I will be a good girl from this day forward if I get the chance to live out the rest of my life?

Even Ben is scared. Usually he laughs at me for being all melodramatic. Now he leans across and says “I just want you to know in case we don’t make it – I love you” and he smiles nervously. I tell him I love him too but don’t mention what is going through my head right now, which is this:

1. Please God don’t let me die. I’m still too young and have many things to do.
2. Maybe my dads prediction that I will be the one in a million traveller in the year 2006 to be killed in some freak accident and will never see him again.
3. If I do make it off this bus I will be put in jail for murdering the bus driver who has tried his best to kill me, but it’s not my time – it’s his!

With every twist and turn in the road he is intentionally scaring me and doing a bloody good job too I might add.

In front of me is the engine in a box. It’s hot. I use it as a foot rest and he shouts at me “feet off.” So I sit on the seat cross legged like a naughty school girl, glancing up occasionally to still find him staring at me and my little light.

Sometimes we hit a stretch of road with no traffic and I allow myself to relax just a little or at least till I see head lights coming straight at us. A couple of trucks decide they wanna play chicken with us and I think maybe the driver has a secret radio on which he is calling all truckers to scare the living day lights out of the two English on his bus.

He is annoying me know. Above my head is no smoking sign. I cannot read the scrawl underneath but the picture is the same cigarette in a red circle with a line through it. He smokes while driving. Maybe the scrawl says ‘except for the driver.’

There are only two English words written on the bus. They are on a box on the wall behind the drivers head. LETTER BOX in bright red. I do not understand why there is a post box on a bus which is frequented by locals – most of which struggle to string a sentence together. So I let my imagination run wild and figure that maybe it’s a prison bus, one they used to transfer prisoners from one prison to another. You may think I am mental but it does have bars on the windows, I can smell piss and there really is no escape for any off us. So while being transferred to a different prison you can write home and let them know that there is a good possibility that you won’t make it and to phone and check before coming to visit to save them a wasted journey.

It’s just past midnight. Ben is engrossed in his game of golf on his psp and checks with me every so often to see if I am ok. We stop at a bus depot in some derelict rundown place and jump off the bus for a nicotine blast. As we set off again I notice that the road is wider but still not wide enough and the driver frequently blasts on his horn to signal to others ‘ get out of my way or I’m gonna hit you.’ A truck pulls out in front of us as we try to over take it at my side. Horn blasts, I scream and the driver plays on my fear as another truck runs us off part off the road. I scream again, this is it I’m going to die. Ben laughs at me.

Most of the locals are asleep. Behind Ben is an Indian man with a young boy asleep upright on his lap. I look on in horror as he slaps the boys face and shakes him to wake up. The boy is not waking. The man then looks up and down the bus for spare seat. I move up a little and tell him to lay the boy next to me so he can sleep, there is plenty of room. I know I won’t be sleeping that’s for sure – I may never wake up!

We’ve made it to a dual carriage way and the traffic is easier I can breathe a sigh of relief for a little while. By 1am I am tired, restless and cannot get comfortable for what life is left in me. My bum is numb from yesterdays bike ride. I yawn excessively as the driver lights another cig and I taste the smoke as I breathe in. It’s my turn to stare at him. His eyes are mean and angry and he drives not with confidence but arrogance and madness. A mass of black ruffled hair is arranged on his head and a neat moustache sits on his top lip. His nose is like a ski slope with a small jump half way down, maybe it has been broken in the past hopefully by a previous passenger going through what I am. And yes I am very tempted. Thank god I haven’t got my period.

Wow. The road now has three lanes yet we are driving slower than when we were playing chicken with the trucks on one lane. We swerve across the lanes back onto the normal size road – the ones built for one way traffic and my heart beat increases before I even see another vehicle in preparation. We turn off to drive through a village. It looks like a war zone – deserted with torn apart buildings and we swerve to miss a pig out for a moonlit stroll. We take a left and we are on our way back to the dual carriage way.

The dual carriage way is boring for the driver atl east. He is getting sleepy. His eyes close slowly then open quickly as he realises they should be open. He does stretches, first with his arms, one then the other which surprise me as he lets the bus steer itself. He ruffles his hair, hawks out the window and looks a tad refreshed. Amazing.

Meanwhile the sweet boy laid beside me is kicking the hell out of my ribs in his deep sleep. Occasionally he turns over and almost falls of the seat (I wish) as Ben catches him and rearranges his fragile body back in the foetal position where he is safe.

At some point the road has actually turned into a motor way with real road signs and rumble strips to slow the traffic. The lanes change from two to three and back to two again. The driver pulls over into a lay-by turns the engine off, shouts “recessioned” exits his seat and the bus. He needs to pee. We dive off for a much needed nicotine fix and a cup of our now cold flask of coffee. Half way through we are ordered back on the bus. Child is rearranged in his seat and the driver continues to stare at me more than the road ahead. Not much further now surely.

Its 5am and we pull into Bangalore bus station with a huge sigh. Its taken 8 and a half hour’s (feels like 20), we’ve made it and to the right place which is a bonus. I want to jump of the bus kiss the ground and thank god for answering my prayers but there are 20 rickshaw drivers wanting our rupees fighting outside the door. Instead we gather our bags, I smile sweetly at the driver and say ‘thank you’ adding under my breathe ‘for not killing me.’

We live to fight another day x

[whereshegoes]

Roseyben - Well done! This is a supurb piece of writing. I felt I was there with you and boy, I hope I never meet that driver!

Thank you for sharing!

[roseyben]

Roseyben - Well done! This is a supurb piece of writing. I felt I was there with you and boy, I hope I never meet that driver!

Thank you for sharing!

cheers - you shoud read my learning to dive experience it will put you off for life!!

search: roseyben - entry 41 learning to dive the easy divers way

i'd put a link on but haven't worked out how to do that yet!!

happy reading xxx

[googoosh]

All I can say is, "Thank Goodness for dodgy things happening when I travel" .... I recon that's what makes for all the really great memories. What I find dodgy are the lonely-planet-carrying tourists who just can't put the book down.

[msprague]

All I can say is, "Thank Goodness for dodgy things happening when I travel" .... I recon that's what makes for all the really great memories. What I find dodgy are the lonely-planet-carrying tourists who just can't put the book down.

I like the LP guides. I think they're a good starting point for planning a trip but one has to keep in mind that there are millions of the things sold so every man and his dog is going to be showing up at the same locations you are. That is if you only use LP guiides. I found that the guides are good and you can supplement LP info with tips and stories from other travellers.

[laorfamily]

I didn’t like Lima.
It was dirty, people are not nice, and everyone on the street is trying to get a piece of you. Walking with our backpacks to the hotel (mind you we were about 7 people in broad daylight), we had stuff thrown on us so we’ll take them off (a known scam, you take off your backpack and someone grabs it and starts running), I was separated from the groups while some punk tried to grab my watch, and right after that another idiot tried to do the same thing.
They got nothing.
I got a few scratches.

-- start rant --
It seems that in Lima, stealing is a sport, and those hypocrites probably go to church every Sunday.
Mental note: no pictures, I don't want my camera to be stolen or ripped out of my hands (hopefully without the hand attached).

Overall in South America I found that hypocrisy rules the day. They all consider themselves religious people, but stealing and idol worshiping are done after church.
If you’re white you’re fair game, and lying is done staring you in the eyes with full sincerity (especially in Peru where lying is an art form).
-- end rant --

In the morning we were sitting having breakfast in the main square (Plaza Mayor), where a lot of business transactions are done, men and women in business suits are running around, and government buildings are abound.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone stops, takes off his pants next to the fountain and takes a dump.
No one paid attention.
The guy just got up, pulled up his pants and continued walking leaving his “official government protest” behind.

That was it for me.
I had to get out of that town, and so did everyone else.