TravelStream™ news feed for member graham.paul on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/graham.paul en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Fri, 18 Jan 2008 04:58:26 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198989720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198989720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198989720/tpod.html Fri, 18 Jan 2008 04:58:26 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Sydney, Australia

By now I'm getting pretty blasé about this travelling malarkey and touched down in Sydney with a stretch and a yawn.

As I'd gone to the southern hemisphere, it was now summer so the sun was shining brightly. Jo came to collect me from the airport. I was amused to tell her that I only found out about her not-so-new man Hamish from my cousin's girlfriend Emma, who has never met Jo and has only known her for a few weeks via Facebook.

Hamish is the evil twin of Dermot O'Leary (he that silly Big Brother's Little Brother programme) and if I had a picture of hamish (for some reason I don't but I'll get one) I would demonstrate this to the world. Now, when I say evil, I don't mean quasi-futuristic clothing and demands for one million dollars but more a great sense of humour which involves mad, staring eyes and a penchant for foreign accents.

The first evening's entertainment involved going to the park by the beach, where they have signs indicating that no alcohol is permitted after sundown. Sure enough, swarms of police showed up at the allotted hour and demonstrated (British police take note) that it is possible to be a policeman and have a sense of humour. So we moved across the road to their local, the Coogee Bay Hotel, which was a cross between a Wetherspoons and a cattle market. Now why anybody would choose to book a room at this hotel is beyond me as it has five bars which are open from 9:00am until 5:00am. Still, it was an introduction to traditional Aussie beer, which is basically like icy cold, flavourless Seppo* beer but with a bit more alcohol in it. However, earlier in the park, Matt (knowing I like good beer) had shown up with some very fine James Squire Golden Ale, I think he did this so that I didn't get the wrong first impression from the pub. He also showed up with some cracked ribs and scabby arms but I'll let him tell you how that happened (don't give him any sympathy - it was all self inflicted!). Chris Smith, who I know from Woking was also there and also Jo's parents John and Chris so it was a fine reunion.

A thought about pubs and stuff. I've always liked boozing a bit more than is healthy and also to have a few smokes while I'm doing it (not every time though and only ever when drinking). However, something strange happened in Delhi. I lost the desire for both things. I thought it would come back once I was well after that last bout of Delly Belhi but it hasn't. So now I don't want to drink more than a moderate amount and have absolutely no desire to smoke while doing so (and out of curiosity I've tried smoking a couple of times and it just doesn't do anything any more). Even on the last boozy night in Korea, I didn't actually drink very much and was suffering the next day due to Korean chemical beer and lack of sleep. Now if I could work out how this change happened, I could make a fortune (or at least help a lot of people). Any suggestions welcome...

Anyway, back to Sydney.

Buggered if I know what happened on the 30th. Apart from a barbeque at their friend Charley's. Jo seems to have a large group of friends who all live within a couple of blocks, which is all very convenient. Oh yeah, and Jo took me shirt shopping as I was getting fed up of looking like a scummy traveller type. Not exciting but there you go.

These first couple of days back in a familiar culture with a load of friends around were really relaxing and the energy I'd been lacking in Korea had come back. Just in time to celebrate new year in style...


* Seppo: Aussie slang for Septic^

^ Septic: short for Septic Tank¬

¬ Septic Tank: rhyming slang for Yank°

° Yank: if you don't know what this means, you're beyond help
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198403640/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198403640/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198403640/tpod.html Thu, 17 Jan 2008 23:59:45 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Busan, Korea Rep.

Due to the last bout of Delly Belhi, the journey to Korea was long and arduous. One key thing I've heard is that if you're flying when ill try not to actually look ill, otherwise they may not let you on the plane. This is tricky when your stomach cramps are making standing upright difficult and you're wearing all your clothes but still shivering.

This was going to be uncomfortable. There was a taxi to Delhi airport, the flight from Delhi to Singapore, a couple of hours sitting around there hurting, then another flight to Incheon in Korea. From there I would get a bus to Seoul station and then a train to Busan (at the opposite end of the country). From there, I would be collected by my cousin Andy and his girlfriend Emma (A&E) and taken to Gimhae, my destination.

From leaving the hotel to arriving at A&E's place took around 26 hours. It felt like double and at the same time like no time at all. When I got there, they took one look at me and wanted to take me to a doctor (A&E rather than A&E's - geddit?!!) but I assured them that I was feeling considerably better than before and was thus unlikely to be dying.

A&E were amazed that I'd actually shown up as they had been convinced when they moved to Busan that nobody would even think about visiting them and here I was, large as life and, er, twice as stomach-crampy.

Next day was one of rest. Some people may think it's great being able to eat what you like and not turn into Jonny Vegas but there is a downside: anything that stops you eating makes you really weak as you have no body fat to live off while you recover. I reckon I'd lost nearly a stone in India (according to the scales in the posh hotel) before this illness and that was a stone I could ill afford to lose. I have no idea how much extra weight I lost in these few days but I felt as weak as a new-born kitten that's suffering from some sort of muscle-wasting disease and spent most of the day lounging on the sofa making A&E's computer work properly (a recurring theme during my travels). We also nipped out to Tesco for some groceries, which I mention only due to a small amount of satisfaction that for once, there's a British (rather than American) company spreading itself around the world in a highly successful manner.

Obviously the solution to the illness (if not perhaps one a doctor would prescribe) was to go boozing and dancing in a 'foreigners' bar'* with A&E and a bunch of their ex-pat friends until around four o'clock on Christmas morning.

Next morning it seems that the doctor I didn't go to see may well have been correct in the advice he didn't give about rest and sleep. I wasn't in a particularly good way. Still, a slap-up Christmas feed with a group of fun people (complete with Chrimbo decorations, crackers, silly hats and the like) and some more booze fixed that. A&E (with some help from a parcel of Chrimbo treats sent by Emma's mum) had managed to recreate the traditional Chrimbo festive atmosphere brilliantly and a great time was had by all^. I even got presents, which I wasn't expecting at all (and as I take the same view on Christmas presents as Andy's parents, I had none to give back).

And on boxing day I slept off the previous days' exertions.

In the evening we went for dinner at a traditional Korean restaurant. A few words on Korean cuisine. In direct contrast to India, they like to 'eat something's flesh'. On the minus side, Korean cuisine also involves a lot of kimchi. Now, I've eaten this stuff before and enjoyed it and wondered why cousin Andy was making such a big deal about it. What I hadn't appreciated is that the Koreans seem to have confused the words 'pickle' and 'rot'. So while you may quite enjoy pickled gerkins, cabbage or other vegetables, I reckon you would probably turn your nose up at something that looks and smells like that soup you find at the bottom of a student's fridge. Fresh fruit and veg isn't particularly common (and is expensive) in Korea, while meat and kimchi are relatively cheap. Read the next paragraph and the reasons why should be fairly obvious.

The day after we decided to find ourselves a mountain. Not that that's difficult in Gimhae as the nearest one to A&E's flat is about 500m away and the next nearest on the other side is probably about 800m. This isn't unusual. South Korea's landscape is about two-thirds mountains with most of the population and arable farming competing for space on the flat bits between. Sounds potentially overcrowded then? Well, the country is around the size of Portugal but has the population of England so when you consider that you can only build on a third of the land, this puts the population density across the entire country nearly on a level with some London boroughs. Good job the Koreans are having an ongoing love affair with their march into modernity then as this means they all want to live in shiny new high-rise apartments with fast Internet access and fingerprint reader door locks. If they ever get over this and decide they'd prefer nice three-bed suburban semis with water features in their low-maintenance gardens there will be anarchy when they realise they won't all fit.

So anyway, we went for a stroll up the local mountain. Now before you get images of snow-capped peaks, I should say that we're talking about only a few hundred metres elevation here as I was still feeling kitten-like and wasn't about to embark on any post-illness heroics. There were some interesting sights as we walked, notably several outside gyms (the Koreans seem to love exercise and I rarely saw anybody there who was overweight) and an open-air classroom (they love education even more than exercise). There was a temple perched on one of the peaks and an observatory on another. I have some pictures of all this somewhere, if I can find them.

After the sushi-drought that was India (I mean you can get sushi in Delhi but would you risk it?), I was amazed that it had taken me three whole days to get some in Korea. I went to A&E's local place, which for the equivalent a fiver supplied me with sixteen pieces (count 'em) of just about the finest nigiri I've ever eaten. Needless to say, given the amazing healing powers of sushi, I felt fairly normal for the first time in nearly a week.

That evening we went to the big city of Busan (with a population of around 450000 - similar to Scotland's capital city - Gimhae is a meer village by Korean standards and so Busan is the place to go for a night out). A highlight of Busan was the fish market, where most of the fish are bought live. Then they will happily kill, prepare, cook and serve the fish too so you can be sure of freshness, er, excepting that time that Andy and some others were chundering for days after the one time they ate there. But apart from the potential risk of having to pay homage to the porcelein god for a week afterwards, it's a great place to eat!

It was raining in Busan and I commented on the fact that anybody who didn't have an umbrella was covering his (always his) head with his hands. It turns out that Korea has a problem with acid rain and those not wanting the recent Kylie Minogue slaphead look try not to let their hair come into contact with it. Actually while on the subject, Andy said that he'd previously had a problem with his hair falling out and this was only cured by washing his hair with bottled water. So while they have pretty much the best communications infrastructure in the world, high-speed trains that would shame Britain~ and mobile phones that you can watch live TV on (complete with a foot-long telescopic Aeriel that slides neatly back into the phone), you can't drink the water. South Korea would like to consider itself a first world nation but I reckon you can't truly consider your country to be civilised if you can't drink (or even wash with) tap water. Alternative opinions on that subject are most welcome.

Most countries you go to around the world can brew pretty good lager. However, Korean lager is (and I'm not sure how this is possible) is even worse than that cold yellow piss that the Americans call beer. It has the same nasty, gassy taste and the same 'somebody seems to have stolen my tongue' lack of flavour. And given the almighty hangovers it gives you (this from Andy as I was still recovering and taking things easy) seems to be made with the same water that falls from Korean skies and shower heads. On the plus side, it does glow in the dark so you can find your pint in a power cut and also does a great job of disinfecting the toilet. Actually, those last two facts are lies. So, er, there are in fact no positives at all.

However, knowing that I like beer that doesn't taste like they just leave the glass under a urinal and serve it when it's been filled up, A&E (and their new friend Julia, who had just arrived in Busan by herself and was still getting over the enormity of having to teach classes of kids but wasn't letting that get in the way of a good drinking sesh) took us to a micro brewery which somehow manages to make and sell delicious Germanic beer. Didn't fix my ale cravings though (the Germans don't do ale).

Unfortunately, after only a few days (and a lot of that time spent recuperating) it was time to leave, which was the same journey in reverse. However, I wasn't able to appreciate it much more than before due to last night's beeriness and lack of sleep. Oh well.

My recurring memory of this place is A&E's flat which felt like such a cosy haven after the chaos of India and subsequent illness. Also of the community of English teacher ex-pats that they're a member of.

Note - I'll update this entry with some relevant photos when I work where the little buggers have got to.


* A bar run by foreigners for foreigners and with a brilliant idea that I've not seen before, a Youtube jukebox. Just connect a computer to the Internet, also to a projector above the dance floor and finally to the sound system and let the punters choose their own music videos from the world's largest pirate video collection. Magic! All we need now is for some bright spark to come up with some dedicated VJ software to mix the Youtube feeds seamlessly.

^ Despite the lack of sprouts. Which I love dearly and only usually get to eat once a year. In fact, for a great non-Christmas sprout recipe, go to http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Bottom and search the page for 'Sprouts Mexicane'. Just don't blame me if they're not to your taste, OK?

~ Come to think of it, a Thomas the Tank Engine play set has trains that would shame Britain. But still, any train where you look up impatiently because it's still stuck in the station going nowhere and find that it actually left several minutes ago and is clipping along at a goodly speed is pretty impressive.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198140000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198140000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1198140000/tpod.html Thu, 17 Jan 2008 04:46:33 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Delhi, India

After two weeks of hard work (I estimate 60 hours a week), short sleep (five to six hours a night) and exam success (average of 97.3% - who's the daddy?!) I needed some rest. So I decided to spend my last two nights at the Ambassador hotel, allegedly one of Delhi's finer five-star hotels. I wanted to leave Delhi feeling better about the place and this would do the trick. Or so I thought.

It's like they've given the Dorchester to Basil Fawlty to run. The building itself is great, lovely colonial style, imposing marble foyer, selection of bars and restaurants and stylish,well-appointed rooms. However, the service was comedic. Please can somebody out there explain why I should move rooms just to get a double duvet on my bed? Please, anybody? None of the four staff involved in servicing this seemingly simple request could. And why would they think it's acceptable to ask their guests to move tables halfway through their breakfast so they can hang some (authentically Hindi) Christmas decorations?*. They made two attempts to make me tea and both times it was like drinking the first stuttering efforts of a professional poisoner in training.

Actually saying that, they may actually have been trying to poison me as I came down with my worst case of Delly Belhi yet, which was more like a complete immune system shutdown. Bad enough that I couldn't complain about the service when I checked out (somewhat difficult when just standing up is proving to be a problem).

Sorry Delhi, I gave you every chance to show that your denizens aren't all either cheating bastards or lazy idiots (the people I dealt with were generally one or other but rarely both) and you failed.

At this point I should say that I was feeling bad about delivering so harsh a judgement but having a dig around the blogosphere~ and talking to people who've been to Delhi, it seems that my opinion is fairly standard. (People are similarly critical of other many parts of India - the one place that seems to be universally adored is Goa.)

However, Delhi is an exciting place. You don't need to go to the obvious tourist traps to see amazing sights because they're all around you wherever and whenever you are. Walking around Karol Bagh late one evening was how I imagine Dickensian London would have felt. Being in a tuk-tuk on the roads of Delhi is like a roller coaster with the volume turned up to 11. The looks on the faces of the locals as you ride the Metro makes you feel like a celebrity. At one point in the Paharganj, I just stood on the spot and rotated slowly for a few minutes. Each time I turned, there was something new going on and it was impossible to take it all in. Go to Delhi for an experience and a challenge but don't ever think you're going there for a holiday.

* talking of which, I'm a real bah-humbug when it comes to Christmas. Or rather was. Sometimes you have to lose something to appreciate how much you love it and that was certainly the case being in Delhi during advent. I used to wonder at the idea of pulling a perfectly good tree out of the ground and watching it rot in your living room covered in shiny plastic shit.^

However, this year I missed everything, the lights, the decorations, the parties, the anticipation of a well-earned break with my folks. Even the lack of cold winter weather and crass comercialisation were tugging at my heart-strings. The token gestures in the more upper class districts of Delhi weren't any kind of substitute. So next year I'll be doing Christmas properly. I promise. Even if it does mean killing trees.

^ and don't try to tell me those plastic trees are any sort of substitute

~ sorry, I'll wash my mouth, er fingers out with soapy water for using such a hideous buzzword
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200554160/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200554160/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200554160/tpod.html Thu, 17 Jan 2008 03:00:40 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Delhi, India

The training company had booked me into a local hotel called the Patel Continental. This was your typical mid-range Delhi hotel. That is to say it was noisy (like most of Delhi), room service, laundry and other services were a lottery (like most of Delhi), everybody lies to you all the time even when they don't need to (like most of Delhi) and the staff spent most of their time sitting around doing fuck-all (again, like most of Delhi). All quite interesting but not out of the ordinary.

That is until the day they decided to do something that if you'd seen it in Fawlty Towers, you'd have complained that it was too far-fetched and they should sack the script writer and I don't pay my license fee to watch this sort of rubbish, etc, etc.

To keep a short story short, we came back from class one day and found that workmen had started demolishing the front wall of the hotel. The looks on the faces of Paulo and Mike (who had the front two rooms) when they saw the demolition would have made for a great photo (that is if I hadn't been pissing myself at the time - how many great comedy shots have been missed because the photographer wasn't in any state to take them?). To be fair to the hotel, they'd only just started removing the walls of their rooms when we arrived and there wasn't much brick and concrete dust on the lads' clothes, laptops and other stuff. The hotel manager did manage to look a bit surprised when they asked to change rooms though - I think he honestly thought that they wouldn't notice if he didn't say anything to them.

This meant doing exam revision to the beat of small men with big hammers pounding reinforced concrete continuously and arhythmically from around nine am until sundown. And leaving the hotel was fun. There was only one entrance to the building (fire regs - what are they?), which was of course at the front so the process was:
- Walk to the front door
- Wait for the guy sitting across the road to notice and shout at the workers
- Wait for them to notice him and stop hitting things
- Wait for any last bits of debris to finish falling
- Pray to whichever deity is in favour this week
- Climb through the gap between the rubble and the scaffold to the street (preferably while holding something protective over your head)
- Breathe out

After three days of this (and two exams) I started to get a little pissed off with it, particularly as rumours were building that they were going to start on the back wall of the hotel (i.e. my room). It was time to escape the madness.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200551160/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200551160/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1200551160/tpod.html Thu, 17 Jan 2008 02:11:11 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Delhi, India

The day before travelling to Dehradun to start my training course I got an email from Koenig (the training company) to tell me that the trainer was ill and that my course would be in Delhi instead. It's amazing how bullshit carries so well even through the medium of email (I later found out from another trainee that the course had been moved to Delhi because they havn't finished building the Dehradun training centre yet).

So I was going back to Delhi...

After the usual (and much clumsier than most) attempt to rip me off, followed by some more assertiveness on my part* we agreed a fee for the course in Delhi.

I was on the course with just one other, a Portugese chap called Paulo.

Our first trainer, Mala could most politely be described (and I've tried really hard not to be rude, honest) as a chocolate teapot. This expression amused Paulo greatly once I'd explained its meaning and he managed to apply it to a great many situations during our time in Delhi.

The course wass a Microsoft Certified Information Technology Professional (MCITP) SQL Server Business Intelligence Developer, a mouthful of John Holmsian proportions, which basically means teaching you to design and implement data warehousing, reporting and mining solutions using SQL Server.

The problem with this course is that it starts off answering the big question of how to do all this clever stuff. Which is great for code-monkeys (who worry about little else) but not so good for annoying, contrary and inquisitive buggers like, ooh, architects and consultants. These people tend to start everything by asking 'why?'. They then ask (in no particular order) 'what?', 'who?', 'when?' and then finally (and if at all) 'how?'.

Out of interest, customers ask the 'how?' question too but this tends to be specifically 'how much!!?'

So you've got Paulo and I asking 'but why?' at every opportunity and the chocolate teapot just melting into a heap on the floor. Which was less than helpful (and a right pain to clean up).

Another failing of poor trainers is this seemlingly universal belief that the trainees have selective literacy - i.e. The trainer is desperately needed to read the text off the PowerPoint presentation (word for fucking word) as we're obviously incapable of doing so ourselves but when it's time for an exercise (and for her to check her personal email and browse the web) we suddenly turn into literary geneii on the level of a (n admittedly somewhat improbable) love-child of Oscar Wilde and Steven Fry. Or something like that.

Still, amongst all this negativity I can say that SQL Server 2005 looks really impressive. The BI side of it continues in the Microsoft tradition of asking why so many standard business requirments should be so bloody hard to implement and deciding to make them easy instead. None of this Oracle snootiness here, this is data warehousing for the common people ('I wanna live like common people, I wanna leverage-my-company's-data-into-useful -management-information as common people do')!

So I got the first trainer booted and we were given Jasjeet instead. Very knowledgeable on .NET and other programming languages (as he was keen to demonstrate at every opportunity) but knew next to nothing about our subject. That was still a great improvement though.

Both the trainers had funny idioms of speech. Chocolate Teapot had a habit of leaving a dramatic pause before the last phrase of a sentence. I reckon she's been watching too much Clarkson.

Jasjeet couldn't pronounce the letter t if it's at the end of a word, replacing it with a soft d sound, e.g. repor-duh.

Both of them used the obvious 'I haven't got a clue about this so I don't want you to ask a question' technique of finishing questions with the word basically to indicate that this subject is so simple you couldn't possibly need to ask a question (every syllable pronounced in full to ensure maximum time wasted - bay-sick-a-lee). And they both loved to round a topic with the enlightening phrase of 'and all that stuff' as if those four words magically convey to us everything they don't know but we need to.

Still, help was onhand with some 'past' papers from a company called Pass-4-Sure. I'd been told by other veterans of Microsoft training courses that memorising these questions would pretty much guarantee exam success (hence the name Pass-4-Sure I suppose). I didn't quite believe them but set about them anyway, endeavouring to understand the answers and not just memorise them. It seems that there are a fair few questions in the exam that aren't covered by the course material which I thought was a little unfair. However, come the first exam, of 53 questions, 51 were in the 'past' paper. The second was worse (or better depending on your point of view): I'd already seen every single question. The result? 96% in the first and 98.6% in the second. And Paulo got similar results. To put this in context, you're given 3.5 hours for the second exam and it took both of us less than 20 minutes to get those results. So you'll struggle to pass without the past papers (because of all those questions the course doesn't cover) but to use them means you could get a great score without ever reading any of the course material or seeing SQL Server. Surely there's something a bit wrong there.

I was actually disappointed with these results and was tempted to retake but quickly realised that I was just being an arse.

Anyway I passed which means I'm not eleven hundred quid out of pocket. However, the boss will be expecting me to know the subject so I'd better do some extra curricular homework before I have to do anything proper with it...


* I was starting to enjoy the bullying of these people and that in turn started to concern me
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1196066760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1196066760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1196066760/tpod.html Thu, 10 Jan 2008 03:50:25 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Goa, India

In the interests of fairness, having travelled to the northernmost part of Goa, we felt we should also try out the south.

Actually, that's a lie. Even I was getting a little distracted with the dirtiness of Arambol beach and Stephan had found a place in the guide book that looked like the perfect antidote and which just happened to be at the opposite end of the state.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1199952900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1199952900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1199952900/tpod.html Thu, 10 Jan 2008 03:15:59 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Delhi, India

Going into Delhi's domestic airport was like stepping into another
world. Most Indians can't afford air travel and travel even the huge
distances of this country by train. Most people travelling around India
will be doing the same (mostly for the experience). And of course,
international travellers will be using the international airport. Also,
Indian airports have a rule that you have to show your flight ticket
just to enter the terminal. Therefore, the only people inside were wealthy Indians and me and the calm after three days in Delhi was
almost eerie.

Checking in with Kingfisher was an almost European experience, being quick and efficient*. I was amused that it IS the same company that makes Kingfisher beer and that on the plane you get an introduction from Mr. Kingfisher himself. It's all very Virginesque - even to the extent that Mr. Kingfisher has a beard. Once on the plane, the sense of destressing was immediate. My stomach opened up and the inflight meal was the biggest meal I had eaten since leaving England. I'd left the chaos behind and was back in a familiar world. When Alison Limerick came on on the the dance music channel and sang 'Where Love Lives' I honestly nearly cried with the familiarity and joy of it all.

Let's see what Mumbai can do to me...


* efficient is a relative term here. The airport had at least three people to do one person's job but unusually for India, this resulted in each job getting done very nearly as well as if they only had one person doing it!

However, I did notice that it's child's play to smuggle anything that is small enough to fit into your hand luggage into your hold luggage. And this wasn't a one-off you can do this on is the same any flight originating in India if your hold luggage is a backpack rather than a suitcase. I wonder when the Pakistanis will realise this...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195459080/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195459080/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195459080/tpod.html Thu, 10 Jan 2008 03:15:07 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Delhi, India

On my last morning, as I was getting dressed I noticed in the mirror that all my ribs were sticking out. I know I'm skinny but I have never gained or lost weight quickly. I've no idea how much weight I'd lost but it was scary that Delhi had undone a good couple of years of weight gain in just three days. Time to leave I think.

I booked a taxi to the airport and agreed an amount (I forget how much but fairly generous). When we got there, I decided to scam him and claimed that we'd agreed 50 rupees less. An assertive manner sealed this new deal and I laughed as I walked into the terminal.

So my experience in Delhi then? Relaxing? No. Fun? Not entirely. Educational? Absolutely.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195538400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195538400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/graham.paul/moundsofwibble/1195538400/tpod.html Thu, 10 Jan 2008 02:46:52 -0500 Mounds of Wibble

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Goa, India

naive (adj.): 'Lacking worldly experience and understanding'.

So Stephan and I were sitting in the departure lounge at Mumbai airport speculating on the nationality of a group of women sitting near us (we were both wrong: it seems that Sweden also has chavs).

Anyway, an American woman in her late thirties with a slightly hippyish look came over and told us that she's going to a yoga retreat in Arambol in Goa but she'd lost the one copy of the address that she's going to. She appeared to be a bit concerned about this.

As well as losing the one copy of the address, her phone (with all contact details to find it out) had a flat battery and she'd forgotten the charger. For some reason she'd brought a laptop but had no idea that computers need Internet connections to browse the web and was thus wondering why she'd been getting error messages since leaving home.

Not quite believing that anybody would seriously travel to a strange country half way around the world by themselves with so little preparation, I wondered if this was some sort of scam that I hadn't previously been subjected to in India. So I told her that she would be able to check the address once we'd landed in Goa and left it at that.

About 10 seconds later I decided that she was genuinely that dopey and that we would help her out once we got to the other end. I reckoned she's the sort who bimbles through life, always relying on a friendly stranger to fish her out of any mire her innocence lands her in. That's not a good attitude to have in a third-world country where the men have a sinister manner with unaccompanied women and where everybody wants to exploit wealthy westerners. So I let her stew on the flight even though she looked the whole time like she was going to throw up.

In the taxi to Arambol she introduced herself as Kelby (contraction of Kelly By-something-or-other) it turned out that she really knew nothing about India. She had wondered why all the men in Mumbai stared at her, had no idea about the left hand rule when eating and when I asked Stephan about the customs of dealing with cows (can you physically push one out of the way if it's blocking your path or is that considered irreverent?) she thought I was making a joke (holy cow!). It really reinforced the stereotype of the Septics (or Seppos as the Aussies call them) having no clue about anything outside of their own continent.

While we drove, Stephan managed to wheedle the address out of Uncle Google and we took her there. I then gave her a cultural primer on India so she would be a bit more prepared for the journey home (teasing her mercilessly in the process - well, I couldn't resist!).

It took quite a while to find our place in town, get a local to give us directions to hers out in the sticks and then get her there. When we got there though, I don't think I've ever seen anybody look so relieved and the hug she gave me said thanks more than any words could have.

Our good deed for the day done, we went to our own place for a well-earned beer...
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Goa, Goa, India

Stephan and I had prebooked a hostel while in Mumbai. We had decided that as India is so cheap and that we weren't short of cash just to go with travel guide recommendations. So we booked into a place called Lamuella in Arambol, which proved to be an excellent choice. What we hadn't realised until after we got there was that it was named after somewhere else:

'Here on Lamuella, the days were just a little over twenty-five hours long, which basically meant an extra hour in bed every single day. It was not merely reassuringly like earth, it was actually rather an improvement' - Mostly Harmless, Douglas Adams

This summed up the place (and indeed Arambol) perfectly. Arambol is a place where when you ask people how long they've been there, they look all apologetic when they tell you it's only been a month so far (They usually then proudly tell you how much their accommodation is costing - often in pence - and claim not to mind sharing their room with rats and 'roaches.)

It's not all good though. Arambol is, well, a bit messy and also smelly in parts. And despite it's Portuguese history and the Goans' fierce independance (they don't see themselves as Indian) there's all the usual Indian chaos. Now, this wasn't a great problem for me as I live in Walthamstow (the dirt and whiffiness reminded me of home). However, Stephan lives in Zurich and Mercer Consulting currently has it down as the Best City In The World To Live In (http://www.citymayors.com/features/quality_survey.html). So anywhere else is going to be a disappointment. Here's a tip kids - live in a shithole and you'll enjoy your holidays more.

I'd love to tell you about all the fun things we did in Arambol but it's now 10th January and I can't remember much from November (or even from 9th January). Maybe I'll update this when some of it returns to me.

I do remember not going clubbing in some place that I can't remember the name of due to Stephan having a mild case of Delly Belhi (or at least the local version of it, called Goa To The Toilet More Than You Normally Would. This is due to my conviction that Delly Belhi occurs partially due to lack of sleep and stress weakening the immune system and that doesn't really apply in Goa).

I remember the food at Lamuella being absolutely excellent (as the guide puts it: 'cooked to delicious perfection').

Another thing: while we all associate Goa with the mid-nineties beach party scene (even having a musical genre named after it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goa_trance) that's all gone now as the Goan authorities decided they didn't like all those crusty raver types showing up in their fractal print t-shirts and dreadlocks making a mess of the place. So now they have strict rules about amplified music and parties and stuff so it's all a little more low key.

However there was a bit of an obsession with Pink Floyd. On one particular evening, I heard in different establishments five or six songs in a row (including an English bank doing a punk cover of Have A Cigar) and one of the bars is even called Pink Floyd. One local alleged that the reason for this is that the travellers of the seventies left their Pink Floyd tapes at the bars and they've never bothered to buy anything new. Sounds like grade-A bullshit to me but what do I know, eh? I think the Goans just appreciate good music.

Struggling a bit now. We must have done SOMETHING in Arambol but I think most of that something was nothing and I can't remember anything. You probably don't want to read about nothing so I'll stop now.
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