jambo's TravelStream™ — Recent TravelPod.com entries TravelStream™ news feed for member jambo on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/jambo en-us Copyright ©2012 TravelPod.com Fri, 12 Feb 2010 06:57:30 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com Scarecrows and Teddy Bears — Tirana, Albania http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187538120/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187538120/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187538120/tpod.html Fri, 12 Feb 2010 11:57:30 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Tirana, Albania

"It's just . . . weird. It's a weird, weird country." So said Oliver and Sam, two Aussie guys we met in Istanbul a week a go. This was enough of a recommendation for us to add Albania to our itinerary. Albania is not a country that makes it on to many people's travels itineraries, for several reasons. Chief among these is that, until about 17 years ago, the country's borders were shut to tourists, only business travel was permitted. The result of this is that the country and its people are not used to foreigners, they don't know how to treat them. At least that is the excuse I am attributing the attitude to - more on that later. The flipside is that much of the country is undiscovered and unspoilt by tourism, although this is changing quickly and there are plenty of Albanian tourists available to spoil the spots.

We don't know all this, of course, while we are chatting to Sam and Oliver. It dawns on me at the time that, to my shame as the son of a geography professor, I don't have the foggiest idea where Albania is, nor any cities or places of interest in it. In fact, I only know two things about Albania. The first is that they are involved in this Kosovo dispute, but I don't know the details. Someone else can sort that out. The second is that, around the start of the twentieth century, international cricketer and world long jump record holder CB Fry was, bizarrely, offered the throne of Albania. The fact that he turned down the offer always made me think that there must be something odd about the place.

Initial signs, from the time we head across the border and into the Albanian countryside, are that the impression I gleaned from CB Fry might have some basis. The people look a bit peculiar, such as the guy on the bus who looks like Mel Gibson circa Lethal Weapon, massive mullet and all, crossed with Sylvester Stallone at the end of a Rocky movie once he's had the his face punched two hundred times. That's fine, every country has their Mel Gibson-in-Lethal-Weapon-lookalike.

The landscape is dotted with thousands and thousands of small military bunkers. They range in size from that of an upturned beer garden umbrella to that of a two storey house. Like crash-landed UFOs they sit quietly, in people's backyards, on farms, between shops; a strange, almost decorative addition to the environment.

The bus winds slowly up and down the mountains of rural Albania. There are a huge number of partially-built houses. I would guess that as many as one in three buildings are in a state of unfinished construction, as though the builders all up and left for two weeks at Lake Ohrid ("Pack your bags, Mel - it's on the banks of Europe's deepest lake!") having built half a house, and never came back. This is not all that unusual for this part of the world; Eastern Europe is full of empty shells, as if they got them half ready in anticipation of a housing boom that never came, or came and went too quickly. The strange thing about the Albanian half-built houses is that they are all adorned with either a scarecrow or a teddy bear that has been impaled on a protruding metal rod or lynched by the neck to hang limply from the roof. This macabre cultural idiosyncrasy is apparently intended to bring good luck to the home. If and when it ever becomes inhabited.

Another trivia question: Who is the only Albanian you've heard of?

Answer: Mother Teresa. They even named the country's largest airport after here.

Bonus fact: She was actually born in Macedonia. That's the Republic of Macedonia, not Greek Macedonia, for any hair-splitters out there.

Tirana, the capital, doesn't look to be much of anything when we get let out at one of the bus stations. It isn't really even a bus station, just a random dirty parking lot that contains some buses. Tirana doesn't even have a central bus station, juts a few of these odd little pick-up and drop-off spots. As you can imagine, this makes things like buying tickets and finding out schedules rather difficult, not to mention knowing where your bus will leave from.

Jane befriends four fellow Slovaks who have a guidebook to Albania, something we are lacking. They confidently stride off in the direction of the recommended hotel and we follow. Somewhere along Tirana's main street, I realise we don't have any Albanian money. Maybe they don't even use money here and prefer the traditional barter system:

"How much is the room?"

"That will be three goats, or two weeks' labour, or your second born child. Male only if you want an en suite bathroom."

Fortunately a Western Union bureau de change comes into view. The Slovaks wait outside and consult their guidebook while Jane and I go inside. The 12,907 Macedonian dinars we have left over equates to about 323 Canadian dollars. The man behind the plexiglass window, a squat, short-necked man with an Elvis-like lip, changes our money into Albanian leks, prints out a tiny receipt and pushes it all back to our side of the window. The Slovaks are waiting so we quickly make sure that the amount in our hands equals the amount printed on the receipt and catch up with them.

We settle into the hotel, thankfully payable in cash but twice the price indicated in the Slovak guidebook, then head out for dinner. At around nine o'clock, I sit on the saggy hotel bed and take another look at our money.

"Nineteen thousand three hundred and sixty leks," I announce to no one. "That doesn't seem right."

Jane's ears prick up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought the exchange rate was more like two Albanian whatsits to one Macedonian thingee. This guy has given us one point five whatsits." I punch a few numbers into the calculator. "That's a difference of . . . six thousand four hundred and fifty-four lek. That's . . . eighty dollars!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Right, let's go kick his ****."

We march back out into the quiet streets of Tirana clutching our little receipt and ready for a fight. The exchange guy is entitled to a commission, that's how these places work, but eighty bucks on a three hundred and twenty dollar transaction? No way.

Between our hotel and the Western Union office, we happen to pass the Albanian Police Headquarters, an imposing square edifice with several stony-faced policemen standing around outside. Jane walks up to one of them and asks if he speaks English. He doesn't, and neither do any of his colleagues. Fortunately, a couple of English-speaking young men passing by overhear our inquiries and come to help. We explain the situation to the young guys who translate into Albanian.

"He will call someone," says one of the English speakers. We thank him for their help and they continue on their way. After a few minutes, another policeman comes rushing over. He speaks a little English so we explain again, brandishing our postage stamp-sized receipt. He nods intently and confers with the first policeman, who also nods intently. A moment later, four more policemen walk briskly towards us, one hand on their guns. The assembled law-men discuss our predicament with much nodding and several of them make calls on their cell phones. Suddenly, three police cars come tearing around the corner, sirens wailing. We figure that there must be some serious emergency in Tirana and that the group of policemen will be called away to deal with it. Instead, the cars screech to a halt right in front of us and another seven or eight police officers burst out, like circus clowns out of a Mini. We feel like we are on one of those reality shows, like "Cops" and that someone is going to demand we "reach for the sky". The highest-ranking officer speaks some English and we explain our exchange dilemma once more.

"This is very serious," he declares, while we try to keep a straight face. "These officers will drive you to the exchange office and we will fix the situation immediately."

"Uh, okay."

We climb into the back of one of the squad cars and race off onto the main road, siren blaring. The other two cars follow closely behind. Traffic veers to the side of the road and pedestrians dash for cover as we race through the streets. The police cars speed through red lights and take sharp corners like rally drivers, then stop abruptly outside the exchange office. Passers-by stop and look at the commotion, forming a small crowd. The security guard from the building that houses the exchange office, is an older gentleman who was no doubt settling in for a quiet night with his feet up. He leaps to attention when the parade of police officers begins outside. Once all the cars in the chasing pack have arrived and everyone has emptied out onto the footpath, there must be about a dozen cops milling around, including a young lady officer who speaks English. We explain our situation once more to her and she also nods seriously. The collective investigative skills of the Tirana police force determine that the Western Union office is in fact closed for the evening.

"That's okay, we'll come back tomorrow," we offer.

As it turns out, in the cold light of day, we don't really have much of a case. The Western Union office's published rate is indeed 1.5 leks per dinar. So, although we ended up paying a twenty-five percent commission and effectively losing eighty dollars, we don't have any legal legs to stand on. We just have to chalk it up to experience. Nonetheless, it was almost worth it to see the Tirana police force in full flight.
]]> End of the Turkey leg (INCLUDES VIDEO) — Istanbul, Turkey http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1186579260/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1186579260/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1186579260/tpod.html Sat, 26 Jan 2008 09:36:29 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Istanbul, Turkey

(Istanbul hotels)


Spanning Europe and Asia, Istanbul is one of history's greatest cities. For continued global importance, perhaps only Rome can rival the political, strategic and cultural significance of the city variously known as Byzantine, Constantinople and now Istanbul. For centuries it was the largest city in the world, a seat of power for the Romans and, of course, the centre of the Ottoman Empire. No longer officially the capital of Turkey, Istanbul remains the cultural and economic heart of the country and no visit to this region could leave it off the itinerary. Our bus stops at the massive multi-storeyed bus station located ten kilometres west of the city centre. Turkey is a country where trains have not really made an impact. Indeed, they barely exist outside of Istanbul, which only has a train station to connect it with Europe. As usual, confusion reigns when we get off the bus. The ticket guy in Canakkale had assured us that our ticket includes a minibus that would collect us at the bus station and drop us anywhere we wanted to go, in this case Sultanahmet, the tourist centre of Istanbul. The bus station is rather chaotic though and there are dozens of minibuses scooting around. "Sultanahmet?" we ask a few guys who look like minibus drivers but don't speak English. They respond in Turkish but without any kind of affirmation that would give us confidence. One guy ushers us into his vehicle. "Sultanahmet?" we ask again. He respond with a lengthy answer that ends in "Sultanahmet", the closest we've got to a 'yes'. When we are loaded into the bus, a friendly local who speaks English assures us this vehicle will take us to Sultanahmet. "I will make sure of it," he says. Once we are moving, he checks with the driver and reports back to us. "No, this bus does not go to Sultanahmet," he says, as if this was the first mention of such an idea. "You must get off and then catch a train." I almost start to launch into a rant about how we were promised delivery to Sultanahmet but then we decide it is not worth it. The Sultanahmet area, which we do successfully reach by train, is quite stunning and correspondingly touristy. The first two things we see as we climb off the train are the Blue Mosque and the Haya Sofia, two of the world's greatest religious buildings. Just past the Haya Sofia is the sprawling decadence of Topkapi Palace and running alongside the Blue Mosque is the Hippodrome, complete with 5000 year old Egyptian obelisk. There can't be many places in the world that have so many incredible sights within such a small area. Of more immediate concern, with our heavy packs on, is finding Sultanahmet's cluster of hostels and cheap hotels. This area is also particularly touristy, as you would imagine a hotel district to be, but very attractive. It is all cobblestoned streets, carpet shops, sidewalk cafes and restaurants and their associated touts standing outside to lure you in. If it weren't for the carpet shops you would think you were in Europe. We check into our hostel, 'The Big Apple'. Istanbul is busy, it is August after all, and everywhere is full. This means that our sixteen-bed dorm is at full capacity. Somehow we have managed to avoid dorms almost entirely since Australia, over eight months ago. In Japan we had people to stay with and the dorm concept hasn't really caught on in India or Nepal. Everywhere else we have stayed at hostels but they were so cheap that it hardly cost any more to take a private room. Turkey, and Istanbul in particular, is just so expensive that a private room is not really an option. Even a bunk in a sixteen-bed dorm costs ten euros. Some dorms can be great - comfy beds, a good way to meet friendly fellow travellers and share tips and stories while saving money. And sometimes they can be terrible - smelly clothes everywhere, inconsiderate roommates who burst in at 4 A.M., switch the light on and start yelling and banging around, long waits for the one communal bathroom, and dodgy-looking characters passing in and out unchecked. And you never know which kind you are going to get until it's too late. The Big Apple is somewhere in the middle of this continuum: a few late-night larrikins and underwear on the floor but not the worst, I guess. Jane likes the top bunk, a carry-over from childhood, but I can't stand it. All your luggage, clothes, toiletries etc are down on the floor and you have no space for anything up the top. It is also a real pain in the **** to climb up and down, especially when you need to go for a pee in the middle of the night. It is dark, of course, you have to climb down in your bare feet on the narrow metal rungs that always stop about half a metre from the floor, leaving you the choice of standing on the mattress or possibly the face of the person on the bottom bunk, or jumping to the ground and twisting your ankle on a stray backpack or guidebook. Then you have the snorers. Completely oblivious to their own disruptive noises, they sleep soundly while everyone else is kept awake. In the morning the snorer wakes up refreshed and unaware of the glares from his roommates. My feeling is that if you know that you are a snorer - and most snorers know - you shouldn't sleep in a dorm. It sounds harsh but otherwise you are just being inconsiderate to everyone else in the room. Anyway. We spend a couple of leisurely days in Istanbul without doing anything too exciting. Unfortunately, the high cost of travelling here in Turkey has completely blown our budget and we are looking for low cost activities. We are struck by how modern and European Istanbul is. We had imagined a chaotic zoo of traffic and pushy people, a la Cairo or Damascus, but Istanbul is comparatively quiet, civilized and attractive. In a region of the world with no shortage of bazaars, souqs, khans and other markets, Istanbul's Grand Bazaar stands out. The centuries-old covered market is a labyrinth of alleys and paths, all lined with every Turkish specialty - carpets, leather jackets, more carpets, knock-off brand name clothes, even more carpets, apple tea and, of course, Turkish delight. The merchants are chatty but nowhere near as annoying and hassly as their Egyptian or Syrian counterparts. Turkish people overall have exceeded our expectations in terms of friendliness and civility and the whole country has surprised us with its natural beauty, infrastructure and frustration-free travel. Sadly the high cost of everything means we cannot spend any longer here. Cheaper pastures await.
]]> Some photos — Krivan, Slovakia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196521500/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196521500/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196521500/tpod.html Sun, 02 Dec 2007 15:29:39 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Krivan, Slovakia

Here are some photos from our last three months in Slovakia. In September we went to visit a picturesque little village called Cecmany, which is famous for these painted houses. This is the view from our backyard, early on an October morning. Our house is right on the edge of the village, with only farmland and forest behind. This is Jim wearing a Russian hat. In early October we went for a drive into the forest and did some mushroom picking, a very Slovak activity. We While we were in Syria and Turkey, we met a Japanese guy named Yoshi who was also travelling around the world. When he made it up to Slovakia in October he came and stayed with us for a few days. This is us sitting in the backyard enjoying the tail-end of summer. Janes mum works at a hospital for mentally disabled men. One day we went up there to play a bit of ping pong with them. Here is Jane kicking some ****. And then, rather suddenly, we went from autumn one day to heavy snow the next. This is the backyard after half a day of snow. This is Jims birthday at the Zlaty Dukat restaurant with the family. In early December a lot of families invite friends over to kill a pig. They shoot the poor piggy between the eyes at the crack of dawn, then spend the rest of the day carving him up in all directions. Almost every single part of the pig is used in some way. The idea is that one pig can be used throughout the cold of winter. This first photo shows some of the pig-killers standing around, mixing innards in a big boiling pot. This second photo shows a hanging bag of fat.
]]> A fistfull of dinars — Zagreb, Croatia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187797680/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187797680/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187797680/tpod.html Sun, 02 Dec 2007 15:03:37 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Zagreb, Croatia

All these darned night buses are getting on our already frayed nerves but we have taken enough over the last 10 months that one more is hardly the end of the world. Another inconvenience to be endured. That kind of sums up the last few weeks for us. Travel has ceased to be the wonderful act of discovery. It is now little more than a hassle, like a whole day of commuting, the type of thing you go travelling to avoid. From Dubrovnik, the furthest point north we can get to in one go is to Zagreb, at the other end of Croatia. From there we decide to catch a train right up to Vienna and then to Janes house in Slovakia. But our most pressing task is to get rid of all these bloody Serbian dinars that we acquired back in Macedonia when we were planning to actually go to Serbia. What we have learned since is that Serbian dinars are unexchangeable outside of Serbia. Why? Buggered if I know but it is a real pain in the **** for people like us who have a bucketload of them. We try at the largest banks in Zagreb but they all tell us the same thing. The only other thing we can think of is to try and offload them to travellers at the bus station or the train station who are going to Serbia, before the 1.15pm train that is our last chance to get out of here today. We find an Irish guy at the bus station who is off there shortly and tell him our predicament. "Sure, I´ll take fifty Euros worth," he says in that great laid-back manner that the Irish have. We happily and hurriedly - for we are still in a rush to continue our northwards march - peel off the equivalent of 50 Euros worth of Serbian dinars. As I am counting out the bills that I owe this Irish chap, I realise that I dont actually know what the exchange rate is. Having plowed through about five countries in the last week, we can hardly tell our Leks from our Levas, let alone remember what all the various exchange rates are. Of course we cannot let our uncertainty show to Paddy, just in case he senses a rip-off and cancels the deal. "Right, so it is, um, 50 dinars to the Euro," I say as confidently as possible, choosing a suitably high, round number and assuming that he will not have the foggiest idea if I am correct or not. "But because we are so keen to get rid of these things, we will give you 60 dinars for each Euro", I continue, counting out 3000 dinars. Paddy seems happy enough with that rate, accepts the Euros and heads off to his train. "I have no idea what the actual rate is," I confide to Jane once we are out of earshot and walking hastily across town to the train station. "What?" says Jane, ever the beacon of honesty in our journeys through ethical darkness. "Well, I forgot, didn´t I, and I had to make something up to get rid of those damned things." We still have about 15000 dinars left and we figure we should find out what the rate is. However, given that no one exchanges them, no one will tell us the rate either. We try explaining to a couple of bureau de change attendants that we do not want to exchange the currency, we just want them to look up on the internet what the rate actually is. No dice. And not wanting to spend money on an internet cafe (which we couldnt find anyway), we duck into a posh hotel. Jane distracts the receptionist with a polite inquiry about the tourist highlights of Zagreb while I sneak onto the lobby computer and, as rapidly as the sluggish connection will allow, search for the correct exchange rate. Once outside, I sheepishly reveal my findings. "Um, its about 80 dinars to the Euro". "So we ripped the Irish guy off?" "By about 1000 dinars." Janes sense of honesty overrides her sense of convenience again. "I have to go back and find him", she says. "But our train leaves soon and the bus station is miles away," I argue, to no avail. Jane charges off back to the bus station, clutching a thousand dinars while I forge ahead to the train station to try and find some more Serbian-bound travellers. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, all the English speakers I come across have either just come from Serbia or have no interest in going there at all. Most of them look a little scared when this half-crazed, scruffy, exhausted backpacker approaches them with an imploring "are you going to Serbia?", as if I am a deranged travel agent or market researcher. I manage only one small transaction from a nice pair of German backpackers before Jane returns from the bus station. "I couldn´t find him," Jane admits sadly. "Too bad - lets go change some frikkin´ dinars." It is now 1.05, ten minutes before our train leaves. This small window of opportunity is all we have to take advantage of the train that pulls into the station on its way down to Belgrade. After all those third-world bus and train rides where we had to refuse the advances of pushy guys peddling their wares through the window, the tables are finally turned. We approach the side of the train and wave our arms frantically to get the attention of the bemused passengers inside. "Can you change some dinars? We´ll give you a good rate, we just need to get rid of them! Please!" we cry out to anyone who will listen. Most passengers pretend to ignore us, just as we pretended to ignore all those Indian and African guys selling bottled water and packets of biscuits. A compartment full of young Irish backpackers turns things around for us, in a way. "Okay then, whats your good rate?" asks the Irish guy, poking his head out the window. "Well, the actual rate is 80 dinars per Euro," I say, much more confidently than before, "but we will give you 100 per Euro". Here I am, thinking I am being a great salesman and increasing my chances of getting rid of some dinars, but the Irishman senses our desperation and calls my bluff. "Nah, make it 120 or nothing," he demands, clutching a tempting fist-full of Euros. I would like nothing better than to tell this guy where he can stick his shamrock but we are not exactly in a position of strength. "Fine," I say, thrusting a wad of dinars through the window in exchange for a much smaller but more useful wad of Euros. In a way I guess it is fair, considering that we inadvertantly got the better of one Irishman, that they get their own back. No time to ponder on this though, as our train is only moments away from pulling out. Still carrying our backpacks, we charge on board the Belgrade-bound train and desperately plow our way through the carriages. There is no small talk, no "how are yous" or other pleasantries. We burst into each carriage brandishing our still-substantial handful of dinars and wave it in front of the passengers. "Belgrade? Serbia? Dinars?" we call. From compartment to compartment we run, with minimal success. A small transaction here or there but not a major dent in the 8000 dinars we still have to get rid of. I look at my watch - 1.13. Two minutes to get off this train, run across to platform 2 and catch our escape from the Balkans. If this was the Middle East or Africa, we would be pretty confident that our train would leave late, but not here. Almost resigning ourselves to an expensive and unwanted souvenir of Serbian currency, we enter the final carriage. Five old ladies sit quietly, and they clutch their handbags tightly when we burst in and shout "Serbia!? Dinars!?" My heart sinks - these old biddies arent going to hand over a hundred Euros to strange, straggly foreigners any more than they are going to leap up and start doing the Macarena. And then we see, sitting in the corner, a thirty-something lady reading an English newspaper. "I might have some Euros to exchange," she says, calmly folding her newspaper and reaching for her wallet. "How many dinars do you have?" "Eight thousand." "Great, I´ll give you a hundred Euros." "Sold!" I shout. I push the pile of dinars into her hand and grab the Euros. We thank her profusely as we spill out of the train, dash illegally across the tracks and sprint towards the 1.15 as the conductors whistle blows. We clamber aboard, still holding our bundle of Euros just as the train starts to pull out. We peel off our backpacks and slump onto our seats, exhausted but still riding some kind of adrenaline high. Zagreb starts to speed by, we are finally getting the hell out of the Balkans, without the burden of thousands of unuseable dinars, heading towards the comfort and familiarity of Jane´s family home in Slovakia.
]]> Travel tips for tight-arse backpackers — Krivan, Slovakia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196593140/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196593140/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1196593140/tpod.html Sun, 02 Dec 2007 14:16:34 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Krivan, Slovakia

So, having had some time to pause and reflect on a crazy year of backpacking, we have assembled some words of wisdom for other budget backpackers. Most of these tips are ways to save money while travelling and also how to enjoy the journeying. We have tried to avoid the usual cliches such as "take half as many clothes and twice as much money", etc. ° Buying stuff on the road: Never buy any of the following: soap, toilet paper, pens, or reading books. The first three can always be pilfered from hotels, hostels, etc. Banks and hotels are the best place to find pens. Reading books can be swapped at most hostels. Never pay at a book exchange - shop around! ° Travelling by bus: Try to get seats near the front of the bus or between the axles. These are the least bumpy bits and this can be a life-saver in places with bumpy roads and/or ****** old buses (usually the same places). ° Try to confirm if your bus will drop you in the centre of town or at some distant bus station. If the latter, you may spend as much money on a taxi into town (often the only available method) as you did on the five-hour bus ride to get there. ° Discounts at hotels: When you walk into a hotel/hostel that you may like to stay at, look how many keys are hanging up at reception. If there are a lot, that may be a sign that the hotel is not too busy and you can use that to ask for a discount. ° Touts: If a tout is walking alongside or following you, trying to sell something you do not want, then stop, look him in the eye and say, loudly and firmly, "No thank you", preferably in his own language. Never bother with reasons or vague suggestions like "maybe later". ° Key words: The main words to learn in any new language, in order of importance, are: "thank you", "yes/no", "sorry", and "1, 2, 3". ° Toilets: Pay-per-use toilets are the scourge of the earth. Avoid paying wherever possible. This is not to deny a poor local his livelihood but to discourage this terrible practice on principle. If the guy is in a little cage, he will probably not chase you so just ignore his angry cries as you walk out. If you do pay, get your moneys worth. ° Taxi rip-off avoidance tip 1: Find out from a hotel, policeman or other unbiased local what the fare should be from A to B. Have this exact amount of money on you, plus tip if you wish. Do not discuss money with the taxi driver - he will not bring up the subject. At your destination, get out, walk around to the driver window and hand him the money. As long as it is a fair amount, he will have no reason to get out and chase you. ° Crossing the road: When crossing a chaotic multi-lane city road, stand next to a local who is also crossing (down traffic from them). Follow their exact movements. If worse comes to worst, they will be the one that gets hit, not you. If there are no locals available, dense traffic is usually easier to negotiate than fast-moving stuff. In many countries, an outstretched hand gesture to a driver angled slightly downwards, as if petting a tall dog, generally means "hang on mate, I will just sneak in front of you" and will get you one lane further across. ° Using fancy hotels: Fancy hotels such as the Sheraton, Hilton, Hyatt, etc. are great resources that other people pay for. If you are foreign-looking (e.g. white in a place like India, Africa or the Middle East) and not too scruffy, hotel staff will not question your presence. These hotels are far too large and impersonal to know all their guests. Now you can use the luxurious bathroom free of charge (dont forget to steal toilet paper), take an air-conditioned break on the comfy lobby armchairs and ask the English-speaking staff any touristy questions you might have. If anyone does question you, just say you are waiting for your parents or, even better, for the rest of your delegation. ° Using fancy hotels, part II: If you are feeling particularly daring, you can try to use the swimming pool at these posh hotels. Do some recon first - location of pool, opening hours, security (is there a sign-in sheet?) and access to towels. On your actual mission, look purposeful and try to avoid the sign-in sheet if there is one. Do not mess around pool-side, get straight in as no one will bother you when you are in the water. If you do get hit with the sign-in sheet, calmly write down a common name (e.g. A. Johnson or B. Smith) in your worst handwriting. Tell the pool guy that you arent sure of your room number and your wife/whoever has the key, but you think it is 302 (or whatever). Worst case scenario, they call your bluff and ask you to leave (by which time you hve have a bit of a swim). ° Restaurants: Do not order any food unless you know how much it is. This includes drinks, even soft drinks. You can be absolutely sure that the one item you do not know the cost of will end up on the bill at twice the price of the rest of the meal put together. Also find out if there is a compulsory service charge. ° Taking photos: How do you take a photo/video of an unwilling subject who you know will not give you permission? Have a friend stand between you and the subject but just off to the side. Then pretend to snap your friend but actually get the subject you want. If the subject confronts you, zoom in on the photo of them on your digital camera but so close that they are not actually on the screen. Then say "see, not you". ° Student discounts: Ask for student discounts everywhere, whether you are a student or not. Some people who say "yes" will not even ask for student ID. ° Haggling: This is, of course, required in many countries and everyone has their own way of dealing with it. Our technique was to simply ask the merchant what his very best price for the particular item was. Invariably, the shop next door sold the same thing so we would say "okay, I will go next door and see what his best price is". This usually resulted in quite low prices, even if it took a bit of toing and froing. ° Large bills: Break large notes whenever possible as many small stores do not have any change on them at all. Good places to change are hotels, restaurants, clothes stores, and when buying train or bus tickets. ° When not to be a tight-****: There are some occasions when money should not be your guide, even for the tightest of backpackers. In our opinion, this includes the following: - tipping for good service (in countries where tips are normal, the lack of a tip is a disincentive for future good service as much as a tip is an incentive), - medical treatment, - must-see attractions.
]]> Who knew they were separate countries? — Kotor, Serbia and Montenegro http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187623320/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187623320/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187623320/tpod.html Sat, 06 Oct 2007 16:31:10 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Kotor, Serbia and Montenegro

You always here about "Serbia and Montenegro this", "Serbia and Montenegro that", it is hardly a stretch to assume that, despite the double-barrelled name, they are in fact one country. Even Travelpod´s drop-down menu lists them as the same country. But, as we discover upon entering the Montenegro half, they are actually two separate entities. Normally this would not present a problem. Hey, if you want to be your own country, good luck to you. However, whilst in Macedonia, in anticipation of visiting "Serbia and Montenegro", we changed about 400 dollars worth of some currency or other into Serbian dinars (or whatever the hell they are called. The sooner all these little countries get the Euro the better, I reckon). Little did we know, until entering Montenegro, that the Serbian dinar is not accepted anywhere. Montenegro has embraced the Euro and everything here must be paid in bloody Euros. I know that this is what I just said should be done everywhere, but now we are stuck with these damned Serbian whatsits. By the time we realise this we are standing by the side of the road in a town called Budvar, just across the Albanian/Montenegran border. We reached this point thanks to a lift from Mr Rrapo (pronounced Rrrrrrrrrapo), a kindly old Albanian gentleman we met in Tirana. We entered his travel agency hoping to find a bus that would get us the hell out of Albania. He sensed our unhappiness and asked us what the problem was. (Actually, he only speaks Russian, so all the conversations he had were with Jane, who understands Russian pretty well.) When we started to go through our litany of complaints, he felt obliged to reverse our negative opinion of all things Albanian and offered to drive us to Montenegro himself. He dropped us in Budvar, a town that, on the map, seemed like a nice coastal retreat. It is not. The time we realise this is around the same time we realise that our wallet-full of Serbian thingees are useless here. Budvar is a tacky seaside resort crawling with fat Europeans wearing far too few clothes and prices that match the season. We inquire about getting a room but there is nothing going for less than 20 Euros per person a night. Too much for us. A couple of locals suggest that we try Kotor, a less frantic town a couple of hours up the coast. So we find the bus station and head to Kotor. Kotor is actually very nice, with a beautiful old walled city and a secluded harbour that, under normal circumstances, would be described as "stunning" or "jaw-dropping" or some other hackneyed adjective. However, we are suddenly feeling decidedly un-inspired about travelling. The high prices, unfriendly people, throngs of tourists and perhaps even a bit of weariness are combining, like unripe and over-ripe fruits in a blender, and giving us an unpleasant taste in the mouth. Without any preamble or discussion, we both decide that we have had enough. It is time to visit Jane´s parents in Slovakia. We endure one night in Kotor and catch the first bus out in the morning, as far north as it will take us. That happens to be Dubrovnik, a place that is by all accounts well worth seeing. In our negative frame of mind that is just a coincidence rather than a cause for excitement. Upon arrival in Dubrovnik we are accosted by the usual gang of accommodation touts. Interestingly they are all middle-aged women, in complete contrast to everywhere else we have been where the men do the hassling. They are all asking 25 Euros or more per person, similar to Budvar and quite simply unaffordable for us. Well, we could afford it but then we would have to sacrifice going to other places and we don´t really want to do that. That leaves us without many choices apart from moving on again. The only bus that takes us sufficiently far north leaves at 10pm - about 11 hours away. So we have a whole day to spend in Dubrovnik. The scenic qualities that Dubrovnik offers come in handy now, it is better to spend a full day here than in a more dumpy town. We walk the hour and a half into the old part of town, where we find all the tourists assembled in their coachload formations, cameras protruding as far as their bellies, clutching fistfulls of Euros and looking to spend as many as possible before their allotted time is up. Again, every person in the service industry is a complete *******. One nasty piece of work in the only bureau de change open today (Sunday) gives us typically short shrift, despite our completely civil inquiry as to whether she changes Serbian dinars. "Is there any reason why you are so grumpy?" Jane asks her. "I am grumpy when I get customers like you. Now go away," she says and starts serving the next person in line. In the middle of some rural, war-torn, poverty-stricken hell-hole that has been recently ransacked by western pirates you might imagine some kind of ill-feeling towards tourists. But this is a perfectly civilised town that only survives based on tourism. How the people can be so apathetic to the hand that feeds them, I don´t know. Perhaps they are so jaded by the throngs of visitors, but that is hardly an excuse, for the very reason that they rely on these people for their livelihood. Ah well, we have made our decision to move on. Dubrovnik is beautiful, no question, but I will leave it to others who arrived there in a more positive frame of mind to wax lyrical on its picturesque city walls, intriguing back streets and romantic views. We enjoy a couple of hours sunbathing by the nearest thing to a beach that Dubrovnik has to offer, a steep bank of rocks that crawls down from the old city into the warm water of the Balkan Sea, then slowly head back to the bus station.
]]> Get me out of . . . — Dubrovnik, Croatia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187711160/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187711160/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1187711160/tpod.html Tue, 11 Sep 2007 15:47:50 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Dubrovnik, Croatia

Coming soon . . .
]]> An open letter to the world — Krivan, Slovakia http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1189523580/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1189523580/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1189523580/tpod.html Tue, 11 Sep 2007 15:21:28 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Krivan, Slovakia

An open letter to the countries of the world Dear Countries of the World - Over the last year or so we have travelled to and through a good number of you. We have noticed how different you all are from one another and your positive and negative features. Accordingly, we would like to suggest some idea-sharing between you, for everyone's mutual benefit. Imagine a kind of international 'Secret Santa' of ideas. Below are some suggested exchanges. * India, meet the supermarket. For what is soon to be the world's most populous country, it might be a good idea to have at least one of these. Currently you have about 500,000,000 little stores that sell exactly the same thing as the little store next door - i.e. chips, samosas and pan (that horrible red chewing stuff that people spit everywhere). If you somehow got two or three of these little stores to combine their resources and open one larger store, this might lead to a supermarket, which would benefit your people and, more importantly, tourists like us. * To Europe and North America, we offer the 'daladala' or 'matatu' or 'servees' or 'microbus' or whatever it is called in the various countries of Africa, the Middle East and Asia. This is simply a van that picks up and drops off passengers along the road, like a large shared taxi. It is more nimble than a bus and much cheaper than a taxi. In some places the number of passengers allowed inside the vehicle is regulated (usually holding around 12-14 people) but in others, like Tanzania, the number is only limited by the space inside (as many as 25-30). * To almost every country we visited, we would like to introduce the shower head holder. This basic and inexpensive concept involves affixing an attachment to the wall on which you hang the shower head while you shower. This leaves your hands free to do what you went into the shower to do - i.e. wash yourself, rather than spend the whole time trying to do everything one-handed. * While on the subject of showers, we are amazed how few of you have thought of actually cordoning off a part of your bathroom for the shower, whether with a glass or plastic wall or simply a plastic curtain. Instead, the shower just sprays all over the bathroom, getting the floor, the toilet seat, all the towels and anything else in there completely soaking wet. * To any country where water usage is a concern, please find enclosed the idea of the partial-flush button. Again, simple and inexpensive, the partial-flush button is found next to the full-flush button on many toilets around the world and is designed to be used when the size of the deposit into the toilet does not warrant a complete emptying of the cistern, thus saving water. * To North America and Australasia, from England (and others probably), we present the orange traffic light. Not the one from green to red but from red to green. This allows your drivers to start their engines as soon as they see the 'get ready' light so they are almost in motion when it does turn green. The result is smoother traffic. * Special bonus traffic idea - the roundabout. How this one has never caught on in the US I don't know but it makes for smooth traffic and without the unnecessary delays that pre-programmed traffic lights can cause. * Rubbish bins. This idea is specially for the attention of India and Nepal, two beautiful countries that have been spoiled by indescribably massive amounts of litter. For goodness sake, India, you have ten guys doing one job in every other government position, put up some rubbish bins and send some of these blokes out to empty them every day. It won't solve the problem overnight but at least it will look like you are trying. * Turkey, here is an idea for your train service. Instead of making the entire train empty out at the border for customs, have the border guards get on to the train while it is moving, go through the carriages checking passports, then get out at the next stop. That's what they do all throughout Europe. This should be a requirement from the EU before Turkey can become a member. * Hey, USA, here's the metric system. Use it. * To sign-writers in every country where English is not the first language, we offer the dictionary. I don't understand how you can get something published or put up in great big letters on a sign if it is spelt wrong or makes no sense. If you are just jotting it down on a piece of paper, no problem, but in public - look it up or get it checked first. * Japan is always a great source for ideas. Here's one: wind-powered highway lights. These are little round disks (about the diameter of a grapefruit) perched on little poles along the side of the highway. The wind created by the cars and trucks that speed by spins the disk, thereby powering a little light to guide night-time drivers. * For drivers of night-time buses everywhere, from the passengers - we do not want loud music or loud movies at 3 AM! More as we think of them. Sincerely, Jim and Jane
]]> CONTENTS PAGE — Around the World starting in, Canada http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1159903620/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1159903620/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1159903620/tpod.html Tue, 11 Sep 2007 15:12:57 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Around the World starting in, Canada

CONTENTS PAGE Welcome to our travelogue. It is getting a bit big now so this page will hopefully serve to show you around before you dive in. Also, this little video will give you a teaser of what you can expect inside. Videos We have over 25 videos uploaded and most of them are fantastic! For the sake of convenience we have moved them to their respective entries. For example, the Great Barrier Reef video can be found on the Great Barrier Reef entry. The title of the entries also have "(CONTAINS VIDEO)" written on them so you know which ones to look at. And if, like a lot of people, you are wondering about the hat and microphone that features in all our videos, have a look at the explanation to the left. We have also started to upload some of the more recent videos to YouTube. Here is the link: http://www.youtube.com/JimJaneTravel Photos - many photos are included in the blog, lots more can be found here Contact us - please e-mail us at jimjanetravel@gmail.com any time. We would love to hear from you. Introduction - A bit about us and the plan Pre-trip ramblings Who is looking at this page? A map of our itinerary WHERE TO BEGIN? With over 100 entries now, it might be difficult to know where to start. You could read through from start to finish, or you might like to check out some of our favourite entries: - Our death-defying boat ride to Zanzibar - Climbing Mt Kilimanjaro - Staying in a capsule hotel in Tokyo - Barbequed rat for Christmas dinner in the hills of northern Thailand - Mandhu and Orchha - hidden oases of calm in the craziness of India (compare with Khajuraho) - Jane getting hit by a motorbike in Kathmandu - The Syrian hotel manager who told Jim he has a psychological problem - Having half the Albanian police force at our disposal - They call it Surfers, but it aint no Paradise when the Schoolies are in town - Breaking the world vomiting record on a boat to Koh Tao - New Years Eve in Mumbai - Trekking to villages where no foreigners have trekked before COUNTRIES This is the list of countries we have visited so far on this trip, in the order that we visited them (pretty much). New Zealand Australia Japan Hong Kong Thailand India Nepal England Tanzania Egypt Jordan Syria Turkey Bulgaria Macedonia Albania Montenegro Croatia Slovakia Still to come: Italy France England Scotland ??? Enjoy!
]]> Sleeping like an Egyptian — Cairo, Egypt http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1176995460/tpod.html http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1176995460/tpod.html#comment Travel Blogs http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/jambo/rtw_2006_07/1176995460/tpod.html Mon, 10 Sep 2007 15:08:22 +0000 Jim and Jane's jolly journey - a light-hearted but frequently cynical review of the planet Earth.
Cairo, Egypt

For the first time in six months on the road (which tomorrow will mark), the amount of travelling is beginning to take its toll. Since Pokhara, one week ago, we have had a 19-hour bus ride followed by an 11-hour one to Delhi, an eight-hour flight from Delhi to London that threw our body clocks out of kilter, then a six-hour flight to Cairo that got us in in the middle of the night. Tomorrow we have an overnight flight to Nairobi, then a bus ride to Arusha and then another to Pangani. It all creates a situation where your body doesn't know when it should be sleeping or for how long or how far behind on sleep it is. You just tend to sleep whenever you can rather than for the traditional eight-hour time blocks. Accordingly, when you do get the chance for a proper night's rest, the old brain isn't ready for it and you wake up at odd hours. Nonetheless, we feel ready and excited about what is effectively the second half of our yearlong trip, both chronologically and geographically. The Asia/Pacific sector is complete and now comes the Africa/Middle East/Europe portion. The two halves were nicely broken up by a couple of quiet days in London where we stayed with my cousin Leon and his girlfriend Naz. We weren't originally planning on going to London, as it is so far out of the way, but none of the airlines that our round-the-world ticket uses fly directly from India to Africa. Therefore, we had this convoluted diversion to England. It worked out okay though - a couple of days in the first world made a refreshing psychological change from India and helped us gear up for the challenges ahead. We arrived in Cairo around 1am, tired and with upset stomachs. This was of no concern to the crowd of pesky touts that greeted us in the arrival hall. They were at least an entertaining change from their Indian counterparts. While the Indian touts are just annoying, the Egyptian ones are annoying but with a bit of unintentional in their flamboyant hand gestures. Two well-dressed rivals were competing for our taxi custom into town and directing all their energies towards me (Jane, being a woman, was completely ignored). After a while I just said "Look, guys, I don't care who drives us, a taxi's a taxi. You two fight it out and let us know when you've decided". They looked at each other, took a deep breath, then launched into a loud and fearsome Arabic argument. The conversation contained all sorts of hacking sounds and gestures, including the Fly Swat, the Dart Throw, the Eye Roll, the Two-Handed Door Push, the Hanging Scales and the Clean-and-Jerk. Finally one of them turned to us and said, "you will come with me. Let's go". As we walked towards his taxi, the victor said, "the other man is my brother. He will take next customer". We are coming back to Egypt in July and will do it properly then. For our one day here this time we are just interested in chilling out and getting a small taste of the city before our evening flight to Nairobi. With over 15 million people, Cairo is the largest city in the Muslim world, the largest city in Africa (although Lagos must be close now) and one of the most densely populated cities in the world. It's a different kind of chaos from India. India was completely anarchic but everyone seemed to behave. There was a strange feeling of community in the chaos, a happy order in the disorder. Here you have the added element of Arabic passion that is like a lit match hovering above all this fuel. Car horns are blasted with a bit more menace here, a hand sticking out of the driver side window is more likely to mean "what's your problem?" than "hello, my friend". The stares we (well, in fact they are exclusively directed at Jane) are lecherous rather than merely curious and often accompanied by some words that no doubt mean "hey, baby" in Arabic. But the passion is a good thing too. It creates a real atmosphere in the city. People aren't simply standing around like they do in India or Nepal, they are having heated hand discussions and bustling from place to place. The men are fat and wear suits; the women shuffle along quietly, hidden behind their burkas.
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