TravelStream™ news feed for member adrianmurray on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/adrianmurray en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Wed, 07 May 2008 18:53:18 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185096120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185096120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185096120/tpod.html Wed, 07 May 2008 18:53:18 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Bangkok, Thailand

"Why isn't our flight listed on the board?"Clearly this is not a great start to a trip - no sign of QF 339 on the flicky flick board at the airport. Even a Qantas person looks remarkably confused until I mention it is a Jetstar flight to Bangers, though they soon point us to the queue for JQ 029. The flight is delayed by one hour, due to a "auxilliary mechanical malfunction which has been rectified". I joking ask if that means its going to fall out of the sky, and I'm reassured that it is a new plane.Nine hours on a plane is usually nothing much to write about. Except in hindsight. Given its the monsoon season in Asia, a couple of times we deliberately changed direction to go around some threateningly large cloud formations. One was too large to go around so the big bird shaked and rattled through it. As I was sitting looking straight at the left engine, I thought it a little weird that the pilot turned on an external light which shone straight on the engine, at various random moments throughout the flight. It sparked my curiosity - I saw no reason to do it, other than if you were checking the engine out visually from the cockpit.Bangkok's new airport is your tre' moderne concrete and metal experience, and large. With bags in tow, its into the taxi for the run into the city along a spanking new tollway. It's an 80 zone. So 120 kph isn't out of the ordinary in Bangkok in a taxi. Seatbelts are a preference that aren't provided.Thnks to the right dumbassness of the Thai Airways Frequent Flyer system, I had a number of points saved up from last trip, that were useless for flights. They were however perfect for hotel stays - well, at least one. So if you're thinking hostel or guesthouse, you'd be wrong.The Sheraton Grande Sukhumvit is lusciously spiffy may I say.Briefly out onto the streets and something is wrong.... I'm not a sexy man.That's the issue when you take a tall blonde girl with you. None of the local females are yelling out "hello sexy man" at me across the street or trying to drag me into a bar. Not that we were in 'that' sort of area anyway. But unlike previous trips to Bangers, I'm not receiving offers I clearly want to refuse, left right and centre. It's a refreshing change.... Poor Jo is in for nearly two weeks of my travelling idiosyncracies. She'll never see a man do more handwashing in her lifetime.It's a brief stay here, as by morning we are back at the airport for the flight to Laos. For some unknown reason we were directed to the 'lounge' for Bangkok Airways, even though I'm clearly not a frequent user of the airline. We're greeted by a Sawadee lady at the door, and a dozen monks in the lounge chairs, awaiting the same flight. "Wacky Monk Sighting" number one on this journey is here.With free internet access in the lounge, we hoe into the newspaper reports from home. One mentions a Jetstar plane returning to Melbourne from Bangkok, being re-directed to Denpaser due to the failure of its left engine. They made an emergency landing on power only from the right one.So I was curious for a good reason. That left engine the pilot had been regularly inspecting out of the window, had shutdown over Indonesia on the way home.I'm glad it held out an extra few hours while we were aboard. 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188131100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188131100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188131100/tpod.html Sun, 26 Aug 2007 08:53:24 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Melbourne, Australia

Photos - Mandalay, Myanmar
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188127860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188127860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1188127860/tpod.html Sun, 26 Aug 2007 08:24:49 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Melbourne, Australia

Photos - Bagan, Myanmar
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186555080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186555080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186555080/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:14:09 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Bagan, Myanmar

A 4.18am start.Given I'd already packed, I figured it would take me 12 minutes to get dressed, throw water on my face and be downstairs with my bags. Perhaps this is as good a case study as I can supply, as to how the locals here cater for tourists. The hotel opened the breakfast buffet specifically for me at 4.30am, and the taxi driver, who I had a verbal agreement with from the night before, was there at 4.45am to drive me to the airport.Mind you, the taxi was stock standard Yangon dodgy, so he needed every Potato that he could get out of it. We started with an uphill run, and given it continued to stall before he could move it 5 metres, in the end he had the revs somewhere up at 10,000 before it would splutter forward. Once on the road, he had to keep the revs up at every traffic light, dare it conk out on the spot for good. It did mean that we entered a few intersections on the red here and there, but it was only us and other taxis at that hour.Yangon's domestic airport is the old international terminal. It too is stuck somewhere in 1967, with individual staff carrying your bag from you out to the departure area for loading, and others having to yell out in the seated area when a plane was ready to leave. I'm back on a 60 seater propellor job for this journey.Coming in to land at Bagan was something of an experience to remember. Out of the window you can see some of the smaller temples that the area is famous for. As we hit the tarmac with a hell of a bash, the pilot took some time to steady the plane before slamming on the brakes. At that stage it started to skid violently to the side, so he took his foot off the brakes to rectify the sliding plane back to the centre of the runway.Slamming on the brakes once more, I assume due to a short runway, for some reason a dousing of water hit me from the roof cavity above me. It was possibly from the plane's air conditioning. The pilot was back in control, much to everyone's relief, but then all the other passengers started to giggle at me.I've never before nearly crashed in a plane while taking a shower.The reason to come to Bagan is clear as you come in to land. Bagan is the home to over 4,000 temples, in an area of around 50km square. True some are small stupas are no more than 3 metres tall, but others tower above the plains. In 1044 when King Anawrahta took the throne, he unifed the country, and furiously commenced building temple after temple. For a period of a little over 200 years he and his decedants went construction happy, until Kublai Khan stormed through with his hordes. But in that time, between 800 and nearly 1000 years ago, the temples of Bagan were constructed by the Burmese people.The taxi to Old Bagan was manned by a young tour guide fluent in english. He tried his hardest to talk up tours with him, but I declined, while taking in as much information as I could. After a brief settle in at the hotel, I decided to stretch the legs by walking to some nearby temples. Just outside of the gates, I was greeted by 'Oscar'."Hello, you want Oscar?""Hello, um sorry?""You want Oscar?"I look over, to see various horses. And carts. Horsecarts."Oh horsecart....""Yes, Oscar. I can take you on a tour of the temples, only 10,000 kyay (chat) for the day""OK"It was a good move. My driver Oscar hits the road with me sitting by his side, for around ten dollars for the day. Many of the temples are a little off the beaten track, down sandy pathways and roads, and aren't necessarily provided with great signage.There are large temples, pagodas, zedi and stupas interspersed with smaller ones, as far as the eye can see. Immediately Oscar takes me to 900 year old Ananda, a 52 metre high giant with a golden spire. After entering down a long covered hallway, inside the square base are corridors. At each square side in the corridors are giant golden Buddha statues, 12 to 15 metres in height.This is straight out of Indiana Jones.For the remainder of the morning, we visit many, and climb a few for panaromic views of the Bagan (prounounced Bah-Garn!) plains. There are literally hundreds within your eyeline. Other giants Sulamani and Schwezigon Zedi are in the distance, and I jump in the Oscar with Oscar to visit them.A lunch break is at Oscar's family restuarant. In addition to being an Oscar driver, he and his family run a small vegetarian restaurant. They have 6 girls, and one 4 year old boy. And another boy on the way... "Ultra Sound, Nyaung U hospital" he tells me. Two of the children, amazingly are university educated.They have decided to work their guts out, and live poorly, in order to educate their children. Most children in Bagan go to Primary School before becoming postcard sellers or the like. This family is going to put up with hardship to give their children the best education available in Myanmar, by sending those who want to go, to Mandalay University.Oscar's friendly wife, who speaks little english, has two months to go before popping out child number eight. Clearly they need a television. Her face is covered by the gold 'paint' that the local women use as a sunscreen. She's very cheery. Although I'm skeptical as to the food hygiene, I go for the rice with vegetables. It's really good. But the proof in the pudding, so to speak, will come tomorrow morning.Back to the temples for the afternoon, and it is hot and tiring work. But it is such an amazing destination, wanderng through centuries old buildings, that I put up with the dust and grime and heat, and taking my shoes off every few minutes.By late afternoon it's time to rest, so Oscar delivers me back to Old Bagan, and we settle on a time for tomorrow morning to continue the tour. I hit the Pool.I am staying in Old Bagan. Restaurant choices are limited. If you don't eat at your hotel, then you're stuffed if you don't have transport. The MJ moved out most of the local eatery owner's to nearby villages over the past decade or so, including Oscar and his family. It appears to me to be a dumb-ass MJ decision, however.... The nearest good option is Nyaung U, so I take up another offer from another Horse Cart driver for the ride. Its growing dark, and Nyuang U is 35 minutes away by horsecarts, on roads that don't have many street lights. It might be dusk by the time we arrive at a great outdoor Indian eatery (who's curries make my nose run and who's owner insists that I do not leave unless I am fat), but it is definitely pitch black by the time I leave to return to Old Bagan.Upon returning to my driver, I told him "Home James, and don't spare the horses..." but clearly he didn't understand.Rough roads at night by torchlight. In a horse and cart. All I could do was laugh at myself.By 8am "Oscar" is at the hotel with his Oscar. Actually his name is Mao-teh (phonetically, as it is impossible to spell. And he proudly tells me that Australian tourists had previously named his 9 year old Filly, "Sheila".We head far into the central plains along sandy pathways. There are goat herders and cows pulling carts. Bicycles and cars would almost be impossible down these paths. After more temple viewing, we head back to the village of Wetleyi-Inn to his restuarant. There is less traffic in these parts, so far less customers than when the restuarant used to be at Old Bagan.At the moment there is even less traffic than normal, as the Ayerarwady River has burst its banks and flooded the roads nearby, and part of the village. It doesn't rain too often in Bagan, but the upstream monsoons have taken their toll this year.Mao-teh's wife greets us again, fanning me while I skol a Coke. Its blistering today at 43 degrees. I'm reminded that yesterday's lunch didn't upset my stomach at all, so the hygiene here is fine. I still keep it simple, to noodles with vegetables.The family have asked as to my job at home, and I say I work in music. The teenagers quickly put on a western CD so I'll feel at home. The village is thus inundated by the dulcet tones of the best of 'Westlife', and it's too difficult to explain that it's not exactly my cup of tea. But full marks for them trying. I can convince them to at least turn it down.After lunch, Sheila gets a rest, as do I, back at the hotel. The heat here today was difficult to cope with.By dusk, we are back on the trails, visiting the Old Bagan monastery, and the village of those locals who are still allowed to live in the area. Then it is on to Schwesandaw Paya, the Sunset Pagoda. It's just me and a few dozen Europeans, perched on a tall pagoda in the middle of the Bagan plain.On the return journey, Mao-teh explains to me that his wife has terrible english, but she likes me and has invited me back for dinner tomorrow night, and they don't want me to pay.I am nearly positive that their intentions must be honourable. Even though they have 5 spare daughters, I have shown them a photo of Jo.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1187261520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1187261520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1187261520/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:08:33 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Yangon, Myanmar

Surprise surprise, up before 6am again to make the trek out to Mandalay's airport. At least I'm not in a 'Blue' taxi for the one hour pot hole bum-numb-er trip.I believe this is to be my last Prop Plane special. And I've worked out why the arrival in to Bagan was so dodgy. While Yangon and Mandalay have international length runways, Bagan's is only 800 metres long. That means when you get the plane onto the ground, you got to stop that baby quickly.Unfortunately I am unable to get a connecting flight straight out of Yangon, so I must remain here one night. The locals say 'Welcome back!' to me when I return to the hotel. I really believe they are super-friendly to me. Maybe I've got a memorable face. Maybe it's because I've come here solo. Maybe it's the Monk hair-do, which is always a hit in Buddhist destinations.Now the bags are packed, and I've got limited destinations left, I head to the market to pick up some local goodies to carry home. The Burmese make wonderful bamboo and lacquered bowls, so at the Bogyoke Market, I negotiate the deal of the century. Actually the probably giggled with glee as I wandered away, but that is beside the point. Short of Potatoes, but still with USD in pocket, I find a local to change some money. He smiles at me through Betal stained tan teeth, a tiny man with his Longyi skirt and combover. He calls me friend and tells me he will be sending positive prayers my way. The Burmese are appealing in their kindness.I've been considering their plight at length since spending some in this country. It is safe to say that a significant proportion of the people here despise the local 'Government' - enough of them have actually said to me in person, "I hate the Government". The Military Junta in 'place' in Myanmar do profiteer for their own benefit, without returning monies to the people by providing the necessary infrastructure. Potholed roads and electricity shutouts are two that have become bleedingly obvious to me in my short time here.The MJ do have the Burmese people running scared. They know that there are 'spies' out there to catch them out. And because of this, I think there seems to be a genuine acceptance by the local 'regular' people, that that is simply how it is here - the Military Junta are in charge, and they will continue to be in charge and profiteer and not provide infrastructure, and if you show any genuine objections then something will happen to you.Despite all this, and despite being desperately poor, many of the local Burmese people are making the best of what is available to them - and what is available in spades is their determination and spirit. They come up with new ideas and continue in their resilience to survive. To me the old Mandalay 'Blue' Taxis are a fantastic example of what is like to be a survivor under the Burmese Military Junta. You own a 45 year old vehicle, which you use as your major income source. Clearly a vehicle that old is going to break down. A lot. So you learn to make the best of what you have at your access. You learn to be able to fix it. You learn to throw an old hessian sack on the ground, lie under the car and use a spanner to change a part so it continues to putt-putt along. You live with the old tyres. You learn to live with the huge fluctuations in fuel costs. And you do some with a smile on your face.If anything, the Burmese people should be the unhappiest folks in the world. Yet to me they've been possibly the most endearing nation of people I've come across anywhere.All that is easy for me to say, as tomorrow morning I fly back to Bangkok for two days in the sun before flying back home to Melbourne. But I do so with my eyes opened up a little bit wider than when I left. And that is always a good thing.    
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186913100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186913100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186913100/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:08:26 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Mandalay, Myanmar

The Burmese love a good morning flight. I am up and about spritely once more for the Yangon Air flight from Bagan to Mandalay.The prop plane lifts off at 8.02am, and cruises at a total of 7000 feet for a full 17 minutes.We land at exactly 8.19am.....Strangely the MJ have built Manadalay Airport some 45km's from the actual city. It is possibly due to the city being built around what looks like a flood plain. The entrance road to the airport itself it 20km's in length, which is quite bizarre.That is where the quality asphalting ends. The remainder of the trip in my Datsan 280Y stationwagon 'Taxi' is across potholes through the dirty sprawl into town. This is no postcard ride. At one stage the familiar wafting of raw sewerage fills the car as we passby a flooded area. It seasons Mandalay's proximity to major rivers has had a bad impact this Monsoon season.I am however, in resort bliss. I have a shortage of US dollars. Only a handful of businesses in the entire country accept credit cards, given the international banking industry fled this nation only a few short years ago. Thus I've had to book a place over the internet, paying via credit card to some other far flung land. And thus I'm in rather luxurious digs.After hitting the gym, I catch the hotel shuttle bus into the city, to the Zeigyo Market area. It is a 'same old same old' market of little interest to me, so I continue to walk through Mandalay's grid streets. They are just like the ride in from the airport - dirty and dusty.In order to escape the hotel's huge dinner prices, I hire a 'Blue' Taxi for the trip into the main city area. The 'Blue' is a strange little creature.... an ancient sky blue tiny Mazda pickup truck that is like a Suzuki Mightyboy for those who can remember that piece of super machinery, with a canopy at the back for passengers to sit in, Tuk Tuk style. They have the equivalent of a two stroke Victa lawn mower engine, but power through the streets and thud through the potholes.   By morning, rather than take an expensive taxi to the outskirts of Mandalay, I hire the same 'Blue' guy as my driver for the day. I am off to one of Mandalay's major attractions, the nearby ancient cities of Amarapura, Sagaing and Inwa Why go to three ancient cities in style, when you can go in a 'Blue'?For the ride, the driver lets me inside the cabin. My kness press on the metal dash. There are no side windows in this one, just massive rust holes and no inner components to the doors. It is not held together by rust, it is just one solid chunk of it. We firstly stop at Ganayun Kyuang, an ancient monestary. Hundreds of Monks are in this complex, and as I arrive early, many shy but friendly ones stop to chat to me. Soon after however, the hordes of tour buses arrive, with Europeans on vacation.At 10.15am the procession of Monks commences as they head off to breakfast together in the large hall area. What should largely be a peaceful and respectful daily ritual, is nothing but ruined.I can not stress how stupid some people are, when you see them when they travel. Signs ask travellers to respect the surroundings by not smoking, wearing conservative clothing, and by not walking in front of the Monks and giving them some space. They are ignored. While the Monks sit quietly at long tables, tourists converge. Some smoke cigars, flashing cameras outside. Others actually walk into the hall, getting within a metre of the monks faces, to get a photo down the table while they eat, while their wives prance around them in short skirts.I wanted to punch their faces in. Honestly. Some people just have no respect for their surroundings or for others traditions. Be it naivity or stupidity, I find that I can not stand some people when the travel. They should remain at home.Back on the ancient city trail, we stop at Sagaing. I climb the stairs to the top of the stupa filled hill, with a view over a number of temples to the Ayeyarwady River. It is the same river as the one in Bagan, only there appears to be millions of different spelling techniques for it.Into the 'Blue' once more, we crunch over to the riverside, so I can boat across to the for capital, Inwa. For over 4 centuries, this town held sway over all of Burma. Now it is an island that is being inundated by water. Horsecarts await on the other side, and they rumble over half crushed rocks down the pathways. You pass third world shacks, ankle deep in muddy water, while amaciated cows and dogs walk aimlessly. Souvenir sellers are more like beggers. We cross the flood plain to one monestary, and I decline getting in a further boat to see another. I couldn't wait to leave.Amarapura is the 'City of Immortality'. It too was at one stage the Burmese capital. It too is a poor poor village it seems. There is 1.2km long U Bein's wooden bridge across the waters to some Pagodas and a village. For some reason here the locals just stare at me and laugh. I say hello, and they giggle back strangely. The whole experience was hardly welcoming.My ancient cities tour is over. Returning to the 'Blue', we head off to return me home. Within a few minutes, we hit one almighty pithole, and it is followed by an enormous crunching of gears. It feels like the manual transmission has fallen out.My driver fiddles under the bonnet, and rolls onto his back and under the old Mazda. Clearly its a major issue. After 15 minutes he decides to organise another Taxi for me, but we're away from major roadway. I sit down and make faces and signals with the bemused families living where we've broken down. They are enjoying the experience. I am yet to enjoy it.After a solid hour and a half of nothingness, the driver returns with a local and his family, a newer Toyota pickup truck. I am in the back of the tray with the kids. It was nuts, but the most fun of the entire day. The kids were friendly and laughing all the way. One spoke English very well, and wants to be a Doctor. I have no doubt she will if here capacity to learn a foreign language is anything to go by. A dust storm hit town before it started to rain. I was nothing but filthy.But, they graciously returned me to the hotel, even though it was out of their way, and I was a complete stranger who was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Ask yourself this - you find a lost and stranded Burmese man in the middle of nowhere in your home city. He obviously has no transport. Would you invite him into your vehicle with your family, and drive him back to his hotel?Back at the hotel, I shower and throw out the t-shirt I was wearing, which has turned black with dirt. I take a punt on another 'Blue' to take me to dinner, as this one is a little more modern and a little less rusty.Returning to it after eating, the driver tells me his battery charger is broken, so we must drive without headlights. At that moment, Mandalay's power gave out across the entire city. It happens with monotonous regularity, and is part of life here in Myanmar. I'm talking a dozen times a day.We drove home in the 'Blue', with me shining my torch out the window to the road ahead. I was halfway to feeling dodgy by the morning, so took it easy in plush surroundings, prior to dodging another 'Blue' by using the hotel's shuttle service into town. They dropped me at the Mahamuni Paya.Mahamuni is Burma's holiest Buddha image. It is a 3 metre high golden Buddha that started life sometime around the 1st Century AD, as a somewhat skinnier bronzed Buddha. For the last century at least, it has been a daily ritual for Mandalayan's to pay homage by applying gold leaf to the Buddha's body. It is a male only ritual, with females only allowed about 10 metres away from Mahamuni.I am taken inside by a local, beyond the worshippers and monks, right to the base of the Buddha. Local men are one at a time applying small sheets of gold to the chubby, shiny Buddha. I do feel like a special guest being up this close.Tired of the 'Blue' breakdowns, I test out a Cyclo rider for a trip past the town Jade Markets, to Schwe In Bin Kyuang - the ancient Teak Monastery. I am invited in by a Monk for a chat and a few photos. The locals here do seem to have a fondness for the solo traveller. They go to great efforts to be hospitable, given that they think that coming here on your own is a great effort in itself. To a certain extent, they are correct...While Mandalay is not as hot as Bagan, it is still sticky and humid here. After finding my 'Blue' taxi has had its manual transmission re-inserted, I head out with the driver to find a dinner spot. He tells me that all of the 'Blue' taxi's are actually 45 years old. Yes, the early '60s at its best, put in place just as Burma was in the midst of its own revolution. They constantly breakdown due to the road conditions, dirty petrol, and sheer age. But most 45 year olds would if they were treated this roughly.Apart from quality concerns, petrol costs are also a problem. Overnight the MJ upped the price of a standard gallon from 1,500 Potatoes to 2,500 Potatoes. It's cheap compared to western standards, but it is dirty fuel, so to speak. For my last full day in Mandalay, I walk down from my hotel near the base of Manadaly Hill to the nearby pagoda district. Kuthodaw Paya is your stock standard old golden pagoda, but surrounding it are hundreds of  slabs of inscribed marble, reciting the Buddhist text. Each has its own smaller pagoda above it, like a sea of white merengue tops.Schwenandaw Kyuang is another wooden carved monastrey, next to a larger religious complex. Crazily, the MJ put a US$10 entrance charge on these two, so I didn't bother to enter, as all the good bits and pieces can be seen from the outside anyway. It is nuts, considering it is free to enter the other Teak Monastery in town, and yet no one is around except for the friendly monks.It's time to close off my Buddhism studies for this journey, so I return to the hotel for a little gym and swim and sun.Late in the afternoon, a full blown monsoonal storm sweeps over Mandalay Hill and across the city. The rain buckets down at dusk, as yet another power failure kicks in. There is only the dulcet tone of generators, and limited lighting across the night sky.             
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186313640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186313640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186313640/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:08:11 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Yangon, Myanmar

I'll admit I was a little bit apprehensive flying into Yangon.Maybe it was the hilarious cartoon for the emergency procedures prior to takeoff from Bangkok. The family onboard looked like Swedish crash test dummies, which isn't what you're after when you are on a plane.But more than likely my apprehension was stemming from elsewhere. Its not every day you travel into a country run by a Government run by a Military Junta. Now just incase they are reading my emails over my shoulder, I'll hereby refer to the Military Junta, as MJ. To avoid any further confusion, if I mention that indeed MJ might be over my shoulder, it doesn't mean that Michael Jackson is there.Back to Yangon. Apprehensive.... the airlines don't have great safety records, the media is restricted, amenitites are rundown. Hmmm. Its challenging.Customs is completely silent, but in a brand new building. I collect my luggage and fly through to the exit. I'm first greated by a man wearing the traditional Longyi, which is the Burmese equivalent of a kilt really, as it is a wrap around cloth that is more skirt than trouser. And it is more for everyday wear, rather than for special occasions. And no Sporan. I digress again. He convinces me that he's got a decent taxi service, which I agree to. For the 20 minute journey I'm inundated with information and options on taking tours with him throughout Myanmar. I do decline, but take in the information. After a brief settle in at the hotel, I'm back downstairs and organising to change some of these US Dollars into the local currency - the Kyat. It is pronounced 'Chat', as in Chat Potato. One US$ is around 1285 Potatoes on the black market, although much less at official sources, so everyone goes Black Market. While the Hotel itself can't officially offer to change money for me, they direct me to one of their shops, which 'on the quiet' will. Common notes are the 1000 Potato and 500 Potato. Thus when you hand over US$100, you get back around 128,000 Potatoes, and in doing so, receive 128 individual notes of currency. I had a wad of cash around three inches thick.Awaiting another beaten up cab ride, just as the afternoon's monsoon rains kick in."Every day" they tell me at the hotel. Its a month into the rainy season and while humid, it isn't too hot here now - maybe low 30s. The taxi's worn windscreen wipers flop from side to side, and we hustle through town. Driving hear is an experience. Lanes are somewhat latent in their size. Its part free-for-all, part organised. We head up a main street, Sula Paya Rd, with Pula Saya itself taking up the middle of a roundabout intersection. It is Yangon's second highest golden pagoda.I take respite from the rain in a modern coffee shop, taking in the outside world. The people here are a mix of Burmese, Chinese, Indians, and others. It is on the border of south Asia and southeast Asia, and it shows. Crowds rush around even though its pouring. The streets are awash, with potholes on the footpaths and madness everywhere.Out on the streets and everyone is checking me out. Mostly with a smile. Someone politely giggles at me and tells me I need an Umbrella. If this rain keeps up, I'll need a bloody Ark, and a couple of Unicorns. I cross over the street to Yangon's main market, the Bogyoke Aung San Market. Complete with Brollie, I strolled the massive market area. Gold, gems, jewellery, handcrafts and bamboo laquered bowls are the king here. As are unofficial money changers. Men in local Longyi's walk up to, saying "change money?", every minute or so. As the market is coming to a close for the day, stands start to pack up, and I head back to the streets. Outside vegetable sellers are set up on the footpath right next to the main roads. Locals sell fish and 'fresh' seafood out of bamboo baskets, as the rain falls on them. The entire street is its own market in a way, as unofficial stands are propped up everywhere, selling bits and pieces.It's all a bit nutty.After respite in the hotel, I jump into a third rust bucket, back to the city centre for dinner. It is dark, and it's quiet here on a Sunday night. I carefully chose from a guidebook - a Japanese barbeque restuarant. It's a little strange, with small hotplates gurgling in the middle of a table while someone places little bits of chicken and vegetables on to it, but tasty. Back in the streets, and its even darker. Everything is closed and its only 9.30pm. The streets are void of anything but Beggars, and thankfully rust bucket Taxis.My hotel room's window faces out onto Yangon's most famous sight - the Schwedagon Pagoda. It climbs 98 metres into the sky, from the top of a small hill, and is beautifully covered in 2500 years worth of gilded gold leaf. It sparkles even on a rainy night with the clouds rushing passed its peak, about one kilometre away from me.By morning I'm heading to the Pagoda. But first I must organise some plane tickets for domestic flights within Myanmar. Yes, that in itself is an off putting thought - getting on a Burmese run plane and airline. The hotel helpdesk organise a good deal for me for three flights. Two on Air Bagan, and one on Yangon Airways. Both sound dodgy in name alone. Air Bogan perhaps?The walk to the Schwedagon is short, and at the base entrance I am asked to remove my shoes and leave them in the foreigners entrance. The entire floor of the complex is covered in marble tiles, so it is quite comfortable. A giant ornate open entrance hall takes you to a set of stairs, and then somewhat unusually, to a set of three consecutive escalators to get you up the hillside. At the top, I pay my foreigners US$5 and walk into the main complex.I've been to a number of famous and ancient constructions around the World. The Pyramids, the temples of Angkor Wat, the Taj Mahal, the Firenze Duomo, the Great Wall, the MCG.... indeed Schwedagon is one of the greatest.The central pagoda, with its spire of diamonds and gems, is surrounded by 82 or so other buildings and stupas. Many are also gold. There is a Buddha at every turn, not to mention Monks scuttling about in robes of tanny orange. It is a lively place, with wanderers and those offering prayers to the various deities. An elleged 53 tonnes of gold are part of the building structures here, and the main stupa itself is regularly added to with further gold leaf.Monks are leading prayer gatherings in open buildings, with people chanting and praying in time. Bells are gonged regularly. A monk or two stops to say hello. One says to me "Espanyol?", so I must look Spanish. Another says "Monk?", so I must look like a Monk. Surprise surprise.Even though the rain did come down for part of my time, I spent a number of hours just walking around to take in the atmosphere. It was an exceptional experience.   I continued my wander of Yangon after a break. It is relieving to get off the streets occasionally, as you are constantly on guard for traffic or people, or money changers. Many of the cars here are spluttering junk heaps, as are most of the public buses. Taking in the habits of various other Asian nations, some people occasionally spit (mostly Chinese), while others chew Betal Nuts and spit out a brown residue onto the footpath (mostly Indian). The streets are dirty in Yangon, a mix of dirty puddles, broken concrete and browny splotches.I walk pass the old City Hall, and stop to take a photo. It is a stained but magnificent yellow building, somewhere between gothic, colonial and garish. An officer tells me sternly to stop. My first encounter with the MJ, I decide to 'beat it, just beat it....' It is easy enough to take photos around the corner where he can't see me. Again, the Monsoonal rain kicks in.Not many people come to Yangon in the rainy season according to my latest taxi driver. I'm good at going to places that not many people go to during certain times. Rajasthan in the peak of summer. Phnom Penh in the hot season. Europe in the winter. And now the wet season in Myanmar. I would have pondered that further if the driver hadn't pulled over, black smoke pouring from the rear of the shitheap I was in. "No brakes" he says, "no engine". I feel both are essential to an adequate method of automobile transportation.The rain continues for the late afternoon and into the evening. I'm in a restaurant when the power gives out briefly, which is a regular occurence in Yangon. Back at the hotel, the satellite TV reception is switched off for a few hours. Perhaps the MJ doing their finest work. Hmmm.At least the rain has stopped by morning, and I am back in the city centre. For the morning I visit Sula Paya. Making the most out of its central location, the locals turned a tall Pagoda complex into a city roundabout. It is like a smaller Schwedagon. I cross the road with locals, like some small lost child. Reading the traffic here has its hazards, so instead I walk beside the locas. Buses fly around this part of town, as they do everywhere. Inside the complex, I am watched constantly by the locals, but its a friendly watching... I definitely think it is the haircut.Back on the streets, and the challenge of a walk through Yangon continues. You need constant awareness of your surrounds here, dare you fall into a pothole, or get hit by a 1967 Mazda taxi. The Architecture here is unique. Parts are colonial. Part are just plain concrete and ugly and warn down. In some ways the city seems to have stopped some decades ago, and then restarted up recently. Yangon looks like it skipped the 70s, 80s and 90s altogether. You look around and see 1965 Bombay, right next to 2005 Bangkok. But nothing in between. 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186228500/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186228500/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1186228500/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:08:04 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Bangkok, Thailand

It's another big travel day. For some, bigger than others.We're back on the old style fishing boat from Hat Noi for the 30 minute trip back to Ban Phe. Our bag are unloaded and I've got the task of finding us some transport back to Bangkok. I think I'm in for some tough negotiations.I get about ten metres out the door when a guy flies up to me on a motorbike."You wan transport Mister?"I don't think a motorbike will suffice. He says taxi. I say how much. He says 2000 Bt. I say no no 1500Bt here. He agrees and rides off to get a taxi. Problem solved.Its about a 4 hour ride into the city, and I tell the driver we'll pay him more if he drives well. He does. Actually, he probably could have gone a little faster. Because we are in a bit of a hurry.....Drop the bags at the hotel. Look at the watch. Quick quick. Out the door, run up the street, up the stairs to the Sky Train. Two or three stops. Off the Sky Train run up the street, run run run.We figure we've got about 40 minutes to check out the eight floors of one of my favourite shopping centres in the world - Bangkok's MBK.Jo and I split up so she can find her bargains, and I can find mine. She heads home in only a few hours, and we figure she's got some space in her luggage. So there's no need for me to carry my purchases is there?!?We rendezvous back at the entrance. She's got a tiny bag of makeup bargains. I've got an enormous bag of t-shirts, gym gear, a new daypack.... I can still shop like a girl. Perhaps even better than a girl.Back at the hotel, Jo quickly jumps in the shower while I pack the day pack for her to take home the goodies. Well mostly my goodies. Downstairs to the taxi, and she has made the speediest Bangkok Pitstop in it's history.While she heads back home and to work, I'll be away for another two weeks trampling round Myanmar on my own. It will perhaps be a bit of a challenge. But I like a good travelling challenge.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185969360/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185969360/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185969360/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:07:58 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Koh Samet, Thailand

A big travel day.While some overweight Asian male tourists demand a taxi at the front desk of the hotel, we happily jump into a Tuk Tuk out the front and make our way to the airport in Vientiane. From here it is an hour flight or so to Bangkok. Running through the terminal, we are stuck in long queues at customs, which essentially means we've missed a very convenient bus connection by minutes. Faced with a four hour wait for the next bus which would get us to a boat connection too late, we instead try to negotiate on a 'limosuine' service (ie. nice car) and settle for a taxi (ie. just as nice in the end, but cheaper) to Pattaya.I have done this trip before. Get to Pattaya bus station. Bus from the bus station to Ban Phe. Alas, things have changed. We're told there is no connecting bus to Ban Phe now, so we're stuck with an expensive taxi. Actually its more limosuine service than taxi. The driver arrives, covered in tattoos, in an older cream Mercedes Benz.We get in, and once he's out of the city streets and onto the highway, it is pretty clear the his speedo gets stuck on 80....That's 80 miles per hour.He's a nutcase. I ask him to slow down a few times and he kinda does, then quietly speeds up again over time. The speedo seems to have two 'limits'. Its either on 80, or 55. That's mph. Predominantly its on 80 but realistically its probably 140. That's kph. Or more.We're weaving our way through the traffic, and he's trying to get a deal from us for the return journey in a few days. Like hell we're getting in his Mercedes again, even though he was also spraying perfume into the air con outlets so the old Benz would smell rather pleasant.Ban Phe is a coastal town famous for not much, except the island of Koh Samed, 3km's off its shore. We find the correct pier in Seree, after scouring about half a dozena, and sit in the air conditioned office of the resort we've booked. Koh Samed is the home of cheap cheap bungalows with cheap cheap dirty dirty dodgy dodgy amentities, and I've done that before, but this time we're doing it with a little more panache.   Our half an hour old fishing boat arrives at Koh Samed's northern beach Hat Noi, and we're literally a fifty metre walk from Samed Club. It appears to be an accidental pun on Club Med Samed, or at least that's how I read it. New modern and quite slick bungalows, restaurant by the beach, spanking new pool.... this ain't no 300 Bht bungalow, but its not to expensive either.After a little dip in the pool we decide to walk into 'town' for dinner. Town on this island means a 25 minute walk past Na Dan Pier, into the actual main town and past the 7 Eleven, and down to he main beach area, Hat Seikeiw. Here restuarant after restaurant, and the afore mentioned occasionally dodgy bungalows lie. It's a matter of finding a popular restaurant and lie down on their mats and Thai cushions next to a small table, only about 10 metres from where the small waves are breaking on the beach. Then select your seafood for the barbeque. We went for a collection of enormous prawns, which were fresh as a daisy as they spearated from the shells beautifully.Everything was going swell until the rain started as we were finishing up. Monsoon season really means that, and we were stuck kilometres from home outside the 7 Eleven, eating Magnum Ice Creams and thinking we were going to drown. There are Tuk Tuk's on Samed - big open back four wheel drivers monster trucks, so we rustled one up and hooned back to the north. The deal is in favour to him at 200 Bt for the trip, but we had no choice really.Hitting the beach next morning, we worked on the tans, prior to me doing some laps up and down the roped no-boat zone. We worked on the tans a little too long perhaps - ouch! Definitely should have place myself under the umbrella a little earlier.One of the only problems with Samed is the mangy dogs. I had a few run ins previously here, and it continued when I went for a jog late in the afternoon. They're all flea bitten mongrels, and it seems they don't take a liking to a tall bald westerner going for a run.Only a five minute amble from our resort, we found a smaller guesthouse with a clean Indian kitchen on the roadside. The 'dining room' itself was out on a small jetty with only a few tables and thai cushions for seats. An absolutely fabulous setting, and the food was tremendous. Back to the beach on day three, this time hidden under the brollie. It's a simple lifestyle really. Sit at the beach, move to the restuarant 10 metres away for lunch... yada yada yada.In the evening we were a little more adventurous, hiring a motorbike for the trip back to Hat Seikiew and the beachside barbeque restaurants. The giant fresh prawns are too good to pass up again. At the first sight of the evening rain we scampered back to the motorbike and putt-putt-putted back to Hat Noi. 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185709560/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185709560/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/adrianmurray/global_tour/1185709560/tpod.html Sat, 25 Aug 2007 08:07:54 -0400 A 6'2" Australian 30 something male packs up and toddles off to see the world

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Vientiane, Lao Peoples Dem Rep

A Tuk Tuk shuffles us across the old gravel landing strip, and we're on the bus to Vientiane. This one doesn't have designated seating, and they've managed to overbook it. No problem to the Lao folk, who put plastic chairs down the aisle and plonk on some more falang to take up the challenge.Not exactly top quality safety.....The bus ride to the Lao capital is less scenic than our previous, and shorter. We arrive into the city in around 5 hours, parking next to the enormous Vientiane Cultural Hall. It is straight out of your communist text book for large halls of the people. Straight from Red Square or Tiananmen, it has enormously high columns and garish trimmings.Into another Tuk Tuk, we are dropped into our abode for our time here. After some to-ing and fro-ing and polite accusations of false advertising on the internet, for a little more we get an upgrade to a larger and more appealing room with timber floors and another view over the Mekong. Then it is time to stretch the legs and hit the streets, after our first dabble in Western food for this trip. We don't think twice about ordering a BLT and Mexican, in a western run restuarant. but then again, are the Lao chef's known for the Tex Mex delights?Clearly its a Sunday given the lack of activity in downtown Vientiane. One of the town's main roads is currently being re-built, so construction material lies everywhere. Only some stores are open, and Vientiane's main market Talat Sao is closing up for the day. Back down the capital's main boulevard (which some allege is the Champs Elysee of Asia), in the distance you can see the Lao's own version of the Arc de Triomphe, in the Patuxai. Strolling down to the Mekong, we wander past the old Lao Presidential Palace, before stopping for a hard earned Shandy next to the river. Dinner on a Sunday night in downtown Vientiane is not easy to find.We wander towards the city centre, before jumping into a Tuk Tuk, and up the Champs again, we try one restaurant. Closed. The driver suggests another. Closed. Another nearby. Closed. Hmmm. We're back near where we started, but at least one is open, so we tuck into Mekong Fish salad (perhaps a little risky yes) and a curry.By morning down at breakfast, Jo is feeling a little dodgy. I'm feeling great.... It must be that famous Lao Tex Mex, as that is the only meal that we haven't shared since we left home.Poor Jo is lying low. And when she not lying low, she's sitting down. If you know what I mean....I spend a short while at the hotel, before heading out to allow her to rest. And to sit down in peace, if you know what I mean... I am off to the Lao National History Museum. Formerly the Lao Revolution Museum, the locals decided to tone down on the Communistic hoo-hah and make it more of a history museum, a few years ago.So there is a brief room on the Neolithic age in Laos, and a larger room on the Dutch travelling to Lao some centuries ago, and then its flat bang into the Revolution of the People! Rooms on those French bastards and how the oppressed the Lao people, and then rooms on those bloody Americans, and then its Power to the People, with comrades taking over. Hooray for Stalin! Hooray for Mao! Hooray for whoever the guy was who lead Lao! Hooray for the Revolution!Interesting.I then head to the nearby Talat Sao market to argue prices with the locals on tshirts. The Lao are very good natured negotiators, and it is quite fun getting them to find me the right sizes. They seem convinced that all westerners are extra large.Back at the hotel, and Jo is still resting up and still has the 'sits', if you know what I mean. She does feel like a walk, so we attempt to wander to a restuarant for dinner. It is like walking with someone on broken glass however, and stupidly I realise that I've left my wallet at the hotel, so we have no a spot of money on us, in any currency.I jump into a Tuk Tuk and head across town. Then back in the same Tuk Tuk to the restaurant. I find Jo getting weaker and weaker, and we instantly decide to head back to the hotel. The waiter looks a little surprised but is sympathetic. More surprised is the Tuk Tuk driver, as I hop back in for a third time. He's just made US$5 in 15 minutes, which is akin to striking gold in the world of Tuk Tuk's. We arrive back at the hotel just as Jo is on the verge of passing out on me.Perhaps eating out was a little ambitious.I do however find us some asian takeway at a decent place, and rush it back to the room. It's Pad Thai and Gyoza for me, and steamed rice for her.By morning and Jo is a little bit more spritely. Sadly it's my turn.... I've got the 'sits'. But I'm lucky as I don't think it is as serious as her case. What the hell. Last day in Vientiane. Last day in Lao. We're both going to soldier on. We're off to the national monument of Lao Buddhism and sovereignty, the Pha That Luang. The Great Sacred Stupa was first stupa'd here a few millenium ago, but the main golden construction was commenced some 400 years ago. Various Wats surround the Pha That Luang. Still I don't think either of us took in the full flavour of this grand Lao place, given the concern that we'd need to use the facilities on hand. They appeared colorful at best.Heading homeward, we stopped at the Patuxai, the grand arc de concrete of Vientiane. It is a Lao Victory Monument, and it is impressive by its strangeness.We rest once more at the hotel, before a final journey to Vientiane's loveliest Wat, the Wat Si Saket. It is a grand 200 year old wooden temple complex, with golden Buddhas in its courtyard. And no toilet. It was a brief stay.     
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