TravelStream™ news feed for member kealderra on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/kealderra en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 02 Mar 2009 19:43:42 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231369140/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231369140/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231369140/tpod.html Mon, 02 Mar 2009 19:43:42 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Luang Prabang, Lao Peoples Dem Rep

Luckily fellow travelers are a great source of information, otherwise I might have shamefully continued with my plans to by-pass Laos altogether. I can`t even begin to think what a mistake that was, as this small beguiling country won me over more than anywhere else I`ve been. Thankfully I was convinced to pay it a visit and so in the immortal words of Borris Johnston `I can now happily add Laos to my global itinerary of apology`.
The starting point of my journey here was the Thai-Laos border, where after a bumpy night of driving and very bleak hostel where I along with two bus loads of backpackers were dumped for a few hours sleep, the two day boat journey down the Mekong river to Luang Prabang could begin. The slow boat to LP is one of the big backpacker draws and its not hard to see why. Despite the less than stellar conditions onboard, this is one of those times when that old saying about the journey being as important as the destination really rings true. After a quick breakfast we were piled onto some very shaky looking boats and brought to the Lao border at Huay Xing, where we paid for our visas (this was to become a very common racket throughout South East Asia) Then after an hour long wait in the searing heat, where we stocked up on sandwiches and beer for the journey ahead, we were finally off to the pier. The boats used on the journey are former cargo boats which have been rigged out with the bare amount of luxuries - though it has improved slightly in that were treated to proper seats as opposed to the wooden benches which used to ply this route, thereby making our freshly purchased cushions a bit redundant! (ok when I say proper seats, what I really meant was some seats they`d ripped out of a railway carriage or aeroplane.....god only knows!!!)
Anyway once on board it was time for a nice leisurely cruise down the Mekong. And by leisurely I meant two full days of chugging downstream at about ten kilometres an hour. But that`s all part of the experience, where you could sit back, read a book, make new friends, drink your brains out, join in the impromptu sing song sessions and generally gaze in idle wonderment at the glorious sights along the river - including an absolutely kaleidoscopic sunset and of course the scene stealing efforts of the crew at one point to drag a very reluctant pig aboard amid much screeching. I`m convinced it was laid on for the tourists..... It was a chilled out experience par excellence. At the end of the first day we pulled anchor (so to speak) at a sleepy little village along the river called Pak Beng. Once we leapt ashore we were besieged with offers of accommodation for the night - a few of us opted for a hostel on the main (and only) street which set up back an earth-shattering €3 each.....though for once you really did get what you paid for! Later as we picked our way through the swarms of mosquitoes we ventured down the village for some food. The entire meal turned out to be one of the most unintentionally funny experiences in a long time. Suffice to say, while we were waiting for our food, the piped music consisted of a woman doing the most god awful Karaoke massacre of Ì will Survive`which was punctuated with loud orgasmic turns of howling ecstasy. The food barely made it to my mouth. It really was one of those moments, that the next time I hear the song I will collapse into a puddle of mirth and will have to rely on that reliable old cliche of ¨you really had to have been there´.
The next day after we depleted the village`s population by 98% with our exit, we were back on the boat for another day of idle wandering. About nine hours later we finally made it to Luang Prabang, the only settlement we had seen along the river bank on our entire day`s journey. While the Laos government is building a paved road to bring people from the Thai border, this will still remain the transport option of choice for most travelers (though beware of the `fast boat`options to get you there - only someone with a deathwish would risk the one day white knuckle ride, sans life-jackets naturally!) Accommodation was eventually found, though the notices on the back of the door made for very interesting if slightly disturbing reading. Get this one for example:

5. Do not any drugs, crambling (sic) or bring both women and men which is not your own husband or wife into the room for making love.

How very Free Presbyterian. Though much more alarming was the following warning:

6. Do not allow domestic and international bring prostitute and others into your accommodation to make sex movies in your room, it is restriction.

You have to wonder if they are asking this because it already took place there?? I checked the sheets thoroughly before turning in.

Luang Prabang itself was an absolute revelation. Thanks to it`s French colonial past the town is like a quaint museum of timeless Gallic elegance. Apart from the trundle of tuk tuks and the sight of Buddhist monks in their orange robes you could almost hear Edith Piaf serenading you as you walked around the town. It was seduction at first sight. Apart from the sublime colonial architecture, there was the unmistakable aroma of French fusion cuisine in particular some real coffee. After a long famine I was once again able to enjoy cafe au lait, freshly squeezed orange juice and croissants for breakfast. All the the delightfully named Cafe dÒr of course. As if all this Gallic gastronomy wasn´t enough you could hire a bike and take a quiet spin around the town for the day, which I did of course. Naturally you are presented with a French bicycle complete with front basket. All I was missing was a baguette and a poodle trotting alongside me and I could have cycled off the pages of a Seurat painting!

I spent two full and very happy days taking it very easy there. It`s the only option really, especially as electricity disappears after 11pm (so forget about any wild or extravagant partying right now). At night there`s a really charming and very well stocked market selling a wide array of crafts, linen, jewelery and clothing, in particular the ever ubiquitous Beer Laos t-shirts. Now let me tell you about Beer Laos. It is the golden nectar of the gods, an earthly proof that they love us and want us to be very happy. It`s beyond good. My taste-buds are weeping as I type this. If you ever go to Laos (and god knows you should) go, drink and be very happy. If that wasn`t enough, you can do all of the above for a song. You`ve heard it here. Laos is cheap, cheap, cheap. Though the local currency, the Kip, does take a bit of getting used to, especially with a current exchange rate of €1 to 10,000 kip. It meant every time I went to an ATM it was like hitting the jackpot at a Vegas casino. Food bills looked like World Bank statements of Third World debt....you get the point!

When it was eventually time to leave, I decided to take myself off to another backpacker hotspot, Van Vieng. Unfortunately the local bus service had a different idea. After it canceled the morning bus due to a lack of passengers or something, we eventually hit the road six hours later only to stop in an outlying village while the bus driver and other staff worked on one of the back brake pads. I should have said ¨worked¨. It was like early man staring at fire. They didn`t have the slightest inkling what they were doing, so naturally myself and some of the other travelers, including a couple of Irish girls busied ourself with a trip to a local shop to stock up on god`s favourite brew. It was a wise move. Two and half hours they arsed around before eventually declaring the problem solved. Which of course meant that my 6pm arrival time had now morphed into a 3am arrival. Being big fans of curfews in Laos everywhere was of course shut, so myself and a hardy band of travelers who hadn`t booked anything drove around in a taxi knocking on hostel doors of this dusty frontier town to see if anyone was awake and if so, had they any free rooms. One very frustrating and soul destroying hour later we finally secured a bed. The upshot of all this was that I decided to keep moving the following day and make my way to the capital Vientienne to catch a flight, which meant I missed out on another of those great Laos backpacker staples - Tubing!!!!! It`s Van Vieng`s primary draw and for the uninitiated, tubing is essentially bombing your way down a river in an inner tube or tyre - with multiple stops along the way to stock up on shots, drinks and anything else that they can put alcohol into (have a gander at this www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JJZwPLWWIY ) Of course it`s all highly dangerous and wreckless, which is exactly why people travel half way across the world to stare down death in an inflatable tube pissed as a pickle. Alas dear readers, I decided it would be best to keep my head out of a sling and make my way to the capital, though I did get to spend some time in the town which is as close as you`ll ever get to one of the original Wild West outposts. It really looks as if it`s been thrown together overnight with a bit of plywood, though anywhere that can offer you an adrenalin rush booze marathon along a river and all you can watch episodes of Friends and Family Guy can`t be all that bad. Next time, it`s definitely top of my list!!!

Which brings me onto Vientienne. After the craziness of Van Vieng, the capital was a complete contrast. Leafy, elegant, ever so French colonial but good god was it boring! I mean brain numbing boring.

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I`m so sorry I just fell asleep thinking about it and my head hit against the keyboard. It`s as if the life has been sucked out of the place. Sure the food is good and you can sit down at a cafe on the banks of the Mekong watching the sun dip below the horizon but at that point you should be too brain dead to care. It`s a yawnfest, though I did hear of a very funny story about an American tourist who had to go to the local A&E after one of the local tranny hookers took offence to some remark he made and beat him senseless with her handbag. It`s a sad reflection on any city, that the only excitement you can look forward to is being assaulted by a gender confused street walker.

Apart from that the other notable thing about Laos was the huge amount of Irish people I keep meeting. Whether it was on a bus, asking someone for directions on the street or even in hostels and restaurants, the place is over run by Paddys. Never in my whole life have I ever met anyone who even discussed Laos let alone expressed an interest in going there - clearly the cat is out of the bag, so get here before we have the place completely destroyed (btw kudos to the person who commented on my Facebook status, wondering why I noticed that everyone had discovered Laois? your day will come Laois, it really will.....)

And so that was it. Possibly one of the most amazing countries I have ever visited and regrettably an all too short visit, but I am determined to go back there. It really is a gem of a country and the south, in particular Pakse and the four thousand islands are apparently a jewel in the whole of South East Asia. It`s a quirky mixture of European colonial influence and an unbelievably laid-back Asian way of life (you actually have to wake the tuk tuk drivers up) but most of all it is incredibly beautiful and hasn`t been laid waste by tourism - just yet. My only fear is that as more and more people discover Laos, its unique unspoiled character will be tarnished forever so the sooner you get here the better. Next I was off to Vietnam, but first I had to survive a flight with Laos Airlines - an airline that prides itself on having one of the worst safety record of any in the world. But that`s another story.....
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Chiang Mai, Thailand

Some places manage fun. Others get the culture. God bless it but Chiang Mai delivers the double whammy. The place is drenched with charm and every Siamese cultural artifact you could care to consume......and when the lights go down this is town which knows how to howl at the moon in style.
The place rightly boasts that its Bangkok`s cultural capital and its hard not to disagree. My first day there took me on a happy jaunt around the many many stunning temples that give the town such character, each one is more charming than the next. Most of them are set out in quiet residential areas with lots of green space and a fairly rip roaring hunger for gold leaf. Whether its the dragons that guard the entrances or the sumptuous roofs of the pagodas themselves, its like an elaborate exercise in chocolate bar wrapper origami. You could go blind with enthusiasm for Northern Thailand's architectural heritage. Literally! But for such a bustling city, the temples offer some well needed respite and incense stick tranquility.....even if it`s just watching in wonder at the colourful parade of monks in their orange robes as they serenely walk about (or in one case play a very poorly co-ordinated game of soccer!)
As luck would have it the city was en fète when I arrived, with the Loi Kathrong festival in full swing. This lantern festival is celebrated nationwide but Chiang Mai is one of the best spots to enjoy the colour and spectacle. The first evening I arrived I stood enthralled watching the colourful parade slowly wind its way through one of the main streets that skirts the famous moat in the city centre. It was a magical riot of music, dance, costume and elaborately decorated floats - there was so much colour and joie de vivre, it really was a feast for the eyes. Despite all the fun on the streets, it had been a stressful day (I put it all in the book) so I decided the best thing would be to bring myself on a wander through the evening streets. Lo and behold, a few random turns later and I had discovered Chiang Mai`s very own gay quarter - well three tiny bars anyway. Well when in Rome! As I was belting my way through the vodka, it didn´t take long before one of the locals made an approach and asked whether or not I had "a Thai friend". I diplomatically explained that I had lots of friends, before hurriedly fleeing into the night. That`ll learn me!
After feasting myself on culture, I decided to go back to what I do best i.e feasting on Thai food. So that had to mean spending a day doing a Thai Cookery course. The school was Ban Thai (www.cookinthai.com) and it turned out to be great fun. After choosing our own menus for the day from the set list (I plumbed for Pad Thai, Fish cakes, Sweet n Sour Soup, Penang Currey and Mango & Sticky Rice desert in case you care) we were marched off to the local market to purchase the ingredients and get a crash course in local produce. Compared to the limited fare on offer in most European markets, it was an eye opening experience. Apart from the vast array of spices on offer, we were shown a range of fruit and veg not currently available in Lidl, such as the small Thai garlic cloves with delicate skins that can be cooked without skinning, morning glory (ahem) aka water spinach, dragon fruit, a staggering variety of chillies, okra beans and the tasty purple fruit- mangosteen. No wonder their diet is so incredible!
Back at the kitchen we all got stuck into our various dishes - though it was to become a delicious though filling day as we had to down our food after each meal was finished. If you ever do the course, keep a tape worm handy. Much of the food was pre-prepared so it wasn`t took taxing even for the biggest novice and best of all we got our own menus to bring back home and try out on our friends (this is an official warning!)
Feeling ever so slightly like one of the plump Buddhas inside many of the Temples, the next day I decided to take myself out of the city and do one of the jungle tours. It was all just a bit touristy. First off was a trek through the jungle on elephants from a nearby reserve, which did make you feel like a complete colonial idiot before the breathtaking views began distracting. Off we went, strapped into essentially a wicker basket on top of these lumbering creatures (getting a steady picture was next to impossible) through rivers, along gorges and then down into the lush valley beyond. Ok it was cheesy as hell but great fun! Then not to be outdone, we swapped livestock and were brought back on a cart pulled by oxen. I`m surprised they didn`t make us wear leopard skin togas. Afterwards we were treated to a ´show´ featuring the elephants at the Reserve. Out they poor things were trotted for our photographic gratification and made debase themselves by painting pictures with their trunks, doing the occasional dance and formation routines. Oh and one of them gave a guide a massage. Hmmmm.......all I could sense from look in the eyes of one of the performing elephants was: ¨Please - just kill me now. And make it swift!¨. After that we were brought downstream on a bamboo boat - basically just a series of bamboo logs lashed together and erm that`s it (lifejackets???? my arse..) I have to say despite the searing afternoon heat it was incredibly relaxing as we sallied our way over the currents at about 5Km per hour. Yes those colonial stirrings were back again, but I was too zenned out to notice.
Back on terra firma, there was time for a quick bite to eat and then it was time to get the bus bringing me to the Laos border for the long boat journey to Luang Prabang. The culture could take a break....I was now firmly on the backpacker trail.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231368720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231368720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1231368720/tpod.html Wed, 18 Feb 2009 14:17:22 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Railay Beach, Thailand

After the non-stop rumspringa of the past ten weeks it was time for a break. Step forward Thailand and her fabled white beaches. A brief pause back in Bangkok and I was on my way down south to the resort town of Krabi. For most travelers its a staging post for their real destination.....in my case Railay beach. I spent a night in the town recovering from my jet lag. Apart from the ubiquitous net cafes and restaurants offering identical fare, the main distraction here is the fairly impressive night market stocked with the usual array of knock off clothing, deep fried insects, food stalls and bric a brac. My mobile phone which had been subjected to some serious abuse in the past few months was treated to a new cover, though it was only when I returned to the guest house later that in my stupour I realized that it wasn`t silver but in fact bright luminescent pink. I held it to the light for about ten minutes and yep I had a fuchsia fone! Luckily I managed to replace it before I was set upon by a marauding group of eight year old girls......
The next day I packed up and took myself down to the pier to grab a longtail boat over to Railay. As I was the only backpacker heading that way I was treated to my very own private boat, which would have been bliss save for the ominous drops of rain that were beginning to fall on my head. Forty minutes later we puttered into the east peninsula of Railay draped by lush mangroves and a very pebbly shoreline.....luckily I had done my research and was prepared for the lack of docking facilities, which in short means you have to hop out into the sea hold your backpack aloft and make your way deftly to the shore. Than fully about thirty seconds after hitting dry land I located the nearest guest house and within half an hour I was holed up in one of the wooden bungalows in the delightfully named Ya Ya Resort. So once again I was back to sub zero showers, incessant humidity and a rather delicate requirement to run with a bucket of water towards the loo after I was done with my business. It seems plumbing doesn´t come as part of the budget paradise package!
Railay may have earned a reputation over the past few years as a location for adventure pursuits in particular rock climbing but I was determined to avoid any form of strain and recharge my batteries. Railay itself is essentially a finger of land protruding from the mainland into the Adaman sea. The eastern side still bears some of the scars of the Tsumani tragedy in 2004 . particularly the flattened trees and battered shoreline - but thankfully its twin side escaped its worst ravages.The western beach is a perfectly secluded spot hemmed in by cliffs and dense vegetation. Sheltered by vaulted rocks the horseshoe beach is only about two kilometres long and is definitely one of the more chilled out spots to be found in Thailand. It also helped that most of the bars and restaurants were ringed along the beachfront.....a perfect escape after a few threatening clouds and rain drops began making an unwelcome appearance. Those rocks could wait to be climbed another time!
Still life on a secluded hideaway does have its drawbacks, notably the thin walls which meant I could hear every verse of the Black Velvet Band being mangled by a fellow Irish tourist (why are these people allowed passports??) and the insects. Not just the blasted mosquitoes which have an unhealthy attraction to me but one evening as I was toweling off my post-shower arctic self, I noticed a cockroach about the size of my fist sauntering across the floor. Now I`m not quite sure what kind of visceral loathing they inspire but as quick as a flash I was gathering up my imaginary skirts about me while flinging a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to South East Asia at it with all the vehemence I could muster. Naturally it just waltzed through a crack in the wall without as much as a backward glance!
Suitably composed a few days later I was off to Kho Phi Phi, Railay´s much more commercial rival. Sure enough as soon as we set foot there we were besieged by a deluge of hawkers offering us accommodation, snorkeling tours and all manner of distractions. I got myself sorted with a room for few nights and then traipsed along with several other bemused tourists behind a local guide who trundled our luggage on a wheelbarrow up the steep muddy road. Oh this was going to be fun! The main beach was about a 15 minute walk away, though it did involve trying to duck the advances of the local massage ladies who would besiege you with cries of "You sexy man - you come for massage with me now! You have funtime". It was like strolling onto an Oliver Stone set.
Kho Phi Phi is another good spot for those seeking a bit of an active holiday in particular diving courses. Unfortunately I only had a few days so it´ll have to wait until next time. Of course it´s sister island is also famous as the location of Leonardo di Caprio´s movie "The Beach" if such things get you all hot and bothered....there are plenty of day trips over if it does.
Unfortunately for me the weather during my stay was pretty shite. Despite this being November, the Monsoon decided to linger on a bit longer which meant that one entire day was a complete washout and resulted in me sheltering in a variety of coffee shops, bars (oh surprise!) and internet cafes. Just be wary that if you decide to fool around on the net for long here, it will cost you a small fortune as I learnt to my dismay. On the plus side, if the weather does turn foul there´s plenty of bookshops where you can swap your current read (in my case a shameful Dan Brown heap of illiterate shite) for something a tad more worthy!. There´s also an amazing view from the lookout point at the top of the island, though if you´ve been traveling for several months like me and haven´t been getting any regular exercise the 323 step hike to the top might leave you just a bit on the winded side! Having said that the views from the top are mesmerising and you have a clear vista right out over the island and the cobalt blue sea beyond. On a clear day it´s just magical. There are also some photos nearby where you can witness the destruction wreaked by the Tusunami on the far peninsula - much of it was completely flattened by the force of the oncoming tide. Its a testament to the resilience of the Thai people how much things have been improved since that fateful day, though it´s a timely reminder of how vulnerable the entire tourist infrastructure here is.
But despite the weather it was an extremely enjoyable and relaxing few days. You really can´t fault a place that has no motor cars or any traffic whatsoever (apart from the occasional motorbike and wheelbarrow!) and as usual in Thailand the food is just amazing......best of all not a cockroach to be found!
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Istanbul, Turkey

For centuries Istanbul has styled itself as the gateway between Europe and Asia. So it was fitting that this was where myself and Ian decided to meet up after over two very long months apart. Having waved the pin over the map for a few weeks deciding on the best mid-way location, we eventually settled on a shortlist of three contenders - Dubai, Tel Aviv (where I probably would be interrogated and searched - again!) and Istanbul. We finally plumbed for the Turkish capital while enjoying our absolutely final gin & tonic several thousand feet in the air on the way back from London (this should tell you everything you need to know about both of us!) But as with (most) decisions made after a pint of gin, it turned out to be an inspired choice.

Symbolism aside it really is an amazing city. Built on layers of history the city showcases an amazing array of architectural achievement and resilience. It´s also blessed with a truly unique setting, as it sweeps down on both sides of the Bosphorous river proudly showcasing its dual European and Asian heritage. Oh and it´s got Starbucks. Lots of them. After two and a half months being subjected to the desiccated remains of putrid coca ash (if even) I fell to my knees and thanked the good lord for the scourge of Globalism.

After the inevitable tearful reunion we set off to check out, the city´s main pedestrian thoroughfare Istakel Cadessi - strategically located just minutes from our hotel (I won´t bore you now with my response to clean sheets, flushing toilets, cable tv and hot water but it was an even more tearful reunion if that were possible!!) As two people who´ve spent a considerable amount of time in Eastern Europe we were both struck by the similarities between Istanbul and that part of the continent, particularly in terms of architecture but also it has to be said in the demeanour and dress sense of the locals. You´ve heard it here first. Black is the new black in Turkey. They are certainly not a race of people who will ever challenge themselves with pastel experimentation.

But that aside the city does boast a thriving coffee and dining culture.....on any of the myriad of side streets off Istakel Cadessi you can find an impressive array of al fresco restaurants offering a feast of middle eastern cuisine (and I don´t just mean kebabs!) Just right behind our hotel was one such street, which even from early evening was packed with customers enjoying dinner or a glass of wine. Now this is what I call a civilised country. As a special treat on our last night I had booked a table in the Marmara restaurant in Taksim. It turned out to be a great decision. It boasts probably the best panoramic views of the whole city and it´s particularly special at night as you gaze out on the Bosphorous and Mosques illuminated in the distance. Admittedly it´s not cheap but you get a sensational wine list, perfectly attentive service and great food from your 17th story vantage point. Oh and yeah the cocktails aren´t bad either (we´re recommending the Long Island Iced teas since you asked) One thing´s for certain you won´t starve during your visit to Istanbul......

On our first full day we decided to hit one of the big tourist draws - the city´s grand bazaar. It´s been around in one form or another for the best part of four hundred years and it´s certainly an experience. Inside is a dense network of alleys piled high with every ting from knock off Prada handbags and trainers, belly dancing costumes, gaudy crockery and jewelry. Each section has a certain designation so if your mission is a fake designer handbag then you can just concentrate on that area alone. For whatever reason there is an excessive amount of shops all selling pretty much the same type of gold plated bling. On and on it stretches like Liberace's walk in wardrobe.... There´s lots on offer, though while I´m no expert, very little of what was one view could be classed as tasteful. Once you´ve braced yourself for a busy afternoon of shopping there, be prepared to bargain. Some of the stall owners do veer on the side of pushy but if you can stand your ground and manage some persistence there are plenty of bargains on offer.

The other big touristy draws namely the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sofia church are definitely a must see, though they are decidedly more impressive from the outside (having said that the Blue Mosque does boat some pretty plush carpet. Just in case there are any (real) travellers reading this...) But if you really want to experience the city then you have to hop on a boat and head out on the majestic Bosphourous. The best trip is the hop over to the ´Asian´ side for an afternoon, though there isn´t a staggering amount to detain you when you get there. After a quick cup of coffee in Asia, we were wandering back to the dock when we were distracted by the loud thumping bass beats coming from one of the boats. A quick exchange of glances and we were boarding the ´disco boat´. As random spur of the moment decisions go, this proved to be one of the best as our ´disco´ boat turned out to be a full tour of the entire river giving an opportunity to marvel at the cityscape on either side and watch a truly spectacular sunset over the city. It was definitely a highlight of the weekend......though to this day neither of us could tell you where to catch the boat or what time it travels at. Just head over to Asia and keep an ear out for the baseline.....and you´ll be fine!

Apart from that negotiating your way around the city is a doddle. Apart from a modern metro system, Istanbul has an extensive network of tram lines and even the very cute funicular at Tunel, which happens to be the oldest underground metro line in Europe if such things fascinate you. It´s as cheap as be damned, so if you are nursing a hangover and your sense of direction has decided to take an early flight home you should still manage to find your way around without too much difficulty. Most of the night time shenanigans take place in Beyoglu and armed with an English language copy of Time Out Istanbul we gave it our best shot. If you are expecting Barcelona sophistication and style then it might be wise to lower your expectations just a notch. Nightprowlers in Istanbul can expect lots of very cramped clubs filtered by a dense cloud of cigarette smoke and utterly shite Turkish pop. As someone who has been backstage at the Eurovision it brought back painful memories. On the plus side though you can while away the hours until dawn dancing around your handbag.

As with most bridges this one eventually had to be crossed and the weekend was all too quickly at an end. Still Istanbul fulfilled it`s promises and left an armful of happy memories.....and a determination that we`d be back again someday.
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Bangkok, Thailand

After India I was ready for some Western comfort! And on that front Bangkok doesn´t fail to deliver......
Even as I waited for my baggage in the space age confines of the new Suvarnabhumi airport I felt like I´d crossed into another dimension (it really is one of the world´s most astonishing airports, architecturally and in terms of facilities.....though luckily this was two weeks before it was occupied by anti-government protestors!)
Like most visitors to Bangkok mine was to be just the briefest of stays......though that´s plenty of time to savour the chaotic energy and hedonism of the place. Oh and lets not forget the food! As someone with an abiding love of all things Thai and culinary I was in seventh heaven. Even from the most humble of street stalls you can fill up on the most mouthwatering Pad Thai you´ve ever tasted. All it´s all for a little under 2 euro! Many people come to Bangkok to stock up on knock-off handbags and DVDs or watch nubile young things expel plastic projectiles from their nether regions. I´d happily spend my time there eating (with some expert assistance from Singha beer of course!) Though it has to be said your appetite might do a double take as you walk through the markets and see the array of deep fried scorpions and grubs for sale.....the tragic thing is that they smell incredible. It´s only when you peer closer that your lower instestine starts doing backflips! Of course anyone wishing to wake up with a hole in their head can opt for the traditional whiskey /redbull/ coke buckets which have been known to seperate the men from the Lady boys on more than one occassion.
Ok I did succumb to tempation and spent a few hours rummaging through the Khoa San Road market. I came away armed with almost two dozen cds for Ian (including some inspiring tunes for the weekend gigs!) and a few DVDs for friends back home.....though admittedly buying anything from the markets here is a bit of a lottery. Still as the Ryanair philosophy goes "What did you expect for twenty quid?". Along with the counterfeit goods - which are there in spades - there´s also a thriving business in fake ID cards and drivers licences. To be honest if you wanted to buy a human head preserved in formaldahyde, given a few days notice you´d probably be able to pick one up here.
Of course one of the big treats that everyone should treat themself to in Bangkok is a bit of firm manipulation by the local masseurs. For the uninitiated, a Thai massage essentially involves you been pummelled like an obstinate duvet which won´t fit into its cover.....it´s not subtle but my god do you feel good afterwards. So after picking a massage parlour that didn´t appear as if they were in the business of offering er....extras I put myself at the mercy of a very no nonsense little Thai lady who over the course of next hour would thump, beat, stretch and partially dislocate every muscle in my entire body. It made the Yoga from the previous week feel like being licked by kittens! As massages go its very through.....as you´re lying there wearing just a pair of baggy wrap-around pants, this little woman is gingerly pressing parts of your flesh that even your most intimate paramour would blush at. Then as we were about to exchange marriage vows she disappeared behind me and ordered me to get my head in between her legs. As she´d already disengaged most of my motor neurons I was helpless to protest and a few minutes later there were some very disturbing cracking noises from my spine as I was spun 180 degrees in either direction. God only knows what she was doing, but I could have honestly ran a marathon afterwards. Not bad for five quid!
Even though Bangkok boasts something over 300 temples I shamefully left the sightseeing for another time. Luckily I had been there for a few days three years previously to meet with my sister so at least I´d managed a boat trip on the river and caught a glimpse of the impressive gold plated reclining Budha at the Wat Pho Temple - though I think it´s fair to say most people stuidously avoid any consumption of culture when they get there and its hard not to see why. Still I was now well fed, rested and spinally reconfigured and all ready for the big reunion in Istanbul!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1228134480/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1228134480/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1228134480/tpod.html Tue, 27 Jan 2009 20:31:05 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Rishikesh, Uttarakhand, India

There´s nothing like bookending your trip to a country. So seeing as I started off in India on the Hippy Trail in Goa, what better location to finish than in that other famed ´hemp and henna´ hangout of Rishikesh. The holy town, which lies on the sacred Ganges, invaded Western consciousness after the Beatles famously decamped here in the late 60s to the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi's Ashram for a spot of enlightenment. Since then it´s been a mecca for every type of drop-out, new age traveller and spirtual wannabe hoping to realign their chackras. Sure enough there was no shortage of ashrams spread throughout the town offering yoga classes, spiritual retreats and general new age fixes. So when in Rome......
A quick enquiry at my hotel and I was fixed up with my very own yoga class for the next three mornings. I wasn´t expecting any miracles, especialy as I had given it a go several years ago and found my body particularly resistant towards any attempt to flex it into shape. Honestly it was like trying to bend concrete! But a new mindset and a body primed after six weeks of lentils and er...very little else seemed to offer some optimism.
So the following morning I met up with my yoga teacher, all geared up to be put through my paces. A small and addictively cheery woman with a warm round face greeted me and straight away I thought "hmmm maybe this isn´t going to be so bad!". She had one of those demeanours that could convice you the Holocuast was justified.
After arranging myself awkwardly on the yoga mat, we gave each other the traditional ´Namaste´greeting and then it was down to business. Much to my relief, instead of trying to arrange me into the shape of a coat hanger straight away we began the session with a very odd (but I´m assured common) ritual. I was asked to breath quickly through each nostril and then determine which one had a better flow of air. Apparently this is done to help rebalance the harmony of the body between day/left side and night/right side.....I was told we breath more strongly through our left nostil during the day and vice versa at night. Okaaay, a little scepticism creeping in but too late to back out now. I was then asked to depress my left nostril and breath deeply and rapidly through my right one. Two minutes of souding like a telehone pervert and my harmony was restored. But that wasn´t the end of it. Next came the chanting. You really know you´ve left behind the day to day rountine when you are lying flat on your back with an Indian Yoga teacher humming ah-oo-umm for ten minutes! The exercise is supposed to help you relax and clear your mind.....its a similar technique used in meditation and I have to say I was beginning to feel the zen.
After that the gloves were off and I was forced into all manner of questionable stretches, which all seemed to involve imitating animals i.e snake, camel and so on. Seeing as I´m blessed with the posture of a pensioner none of these were easy - a few thunderous snaps that could be heard were either several of my lower vertebrae snapping out of position or maybe it was just my chackra finally getting into line! Nonetheless a good hour later and I certainly felt about an inch taller though I´m still a little bit dubious about her claim that regular use of the breathing technique and stretches will ensure I never will get ill again. If only it were so easy! Still I might just be a convert - it certainly did wonders for my posture and its undboutedly a great way to help you tone and relax....though anyone who thinks that its a doddle just because it´s mostly girls who sign up for yoga - think again! It´s definitely the Guantannamo Bay route to fitness.
So having raised zenned myself out and limbered up my muscles - I thought what a better way to liven things up than go on a white water rafting trip down the Ganges! In the past decade Rishikesh has turned itself into quite the adrenalin destination and it´s becoming a firm favourite especially with hikers. Barrelling down one of the world´s great rivers was always going to be an exhilirating experience though I was ever so slightly worried considering my last encounter with this particular stretch of water had the cremated remains of bodies and pharmaceutical waste floating in it. But such sissy notions were put to one side..... A group of eight of us were brought upstream by van and them deposited at a clearing about eleven kilometers up from the town. They don´t do baby slopes in India! Or insurance. Or instruction for that matter. It´s literally a case of in you all go, here´s a paddle, watch out for the rocks! Ok we did have an escort in a canoe and someone to help us navigate on board but for 5 Euro you really can´t expect safety to be paramount now can you?

http://picasaweb.google.com/subircozy/RishikeshRafting?authkey=kgybID0LJeE

So off we went, my knuckles white with anticipation....the first rapids were easily overcame but after that they got bigger and more challenging. Whatever bit of stress that the yoga hadn´t pulled out of me was now definitely exorcised as we roared our way downstream, bobbing and weaving over the waves. What was particularly nice about the trip was that I was the only non-Indian. Despite it´s size, when you´re travelling around India its almost next to impossible to have any decent interaction with locals. Usually they are chasing you down the street in a Tuk Tuk or trying to fleece you in some way, which isn´t always the most stable basis for a passing friendship. They were a wonderful group of people, mostly from Mumbai, though I did think it very sad that it was only now on one of my last few days that I was out chatting and having fun with actual natives! Between rapids as we took a breather one of my fellow rafters decided it was the perfect time for a sing song - however as my Hindi was still a bit rusty I complained that I couldn´t join in. And that my friends is how it came to pass that I was forced into serenading a group of Indian rafters along the Ganges with two verses of ´Trasna na dTonnta´. But that wasn´t all. Seeing as this is India - land of the deathwish - after we had prcoceeded more than halfway downriver our navigator told us it was time for everyone to jump overboard and bodysurf! At first I thought I was hearing things but no!....before I could shout for help I was pulled overboard and was left clinging onto the side of the dingy. Not content with this death staring match one of the guys unhooked my hand and off we went.....floating like twigs down the Ganges with nothing but a life jacket and a desire to continue living sustaining me. Once the shock subsided though I really began to enjoy it.....though when the dingy became a speck on the distant horizon we wisely decided it might be time to swim back. But foolishly this was only the beginning. As we pulled in further downstream, we realised that this is the spot where rafters can really give their heart a fright as we saw another group mounting a 30 foot tall rock and then jumping into the water below.
Now I´m not sure whether it was the adrenalin still in my system after the bodysurfing, but I actually went along with this madness! But however high up it looked from below, once we climbed up to the rock and I looked down the fear of god, vishnu and all the deities ever worshipped took a firm hold of me. It didn´t help that a Spanish girl had already been up there trembling with terror for 15 minutes and was praying loudly......not something to inspire confidence. I peered over, dithered, stared at the sky, listened to the pounding of my heart in my chest while a sucession of people walked up and jumped. Thankfully there were a few others questioning the wisdom of this as well........but having come so far I eventually went for it and spliced the water at over 200 km an hour. God it was a good feeling! But then again doing anything as completely stupid and wreckless as this, is bound to give you a rush. I remember saying to myself "after this you need never be afraid of anything ever again....". Well apart from drowning that is! It was an incredibly fun afternoon and despite the umpteen hours spend drinking in the diverse culture of India, I know that this will be one of my strongest memories from there.
And so it was time to say farwell to India. As I stood in the train station in the nearby town of Hardiwar on my way back to Delhi for my flight and watched a pig run along the railway tracks (along with the rats of course!) I started to reflect on my five weeks in this bewildering but vibrant country. It´s a country that constantly defies your expectations and never fails to challenge you. It´s also full of the most extreme contrasts...... A teaming nation of one billion people that could only manage one gold medal in the Olympics. A country that last Autumn launched its first ever space probe but yet can´t provide clean water or sanitation to most of its citizens. A place of intense spirituality but one that also can be brutally uncaring and callous in it´s attitude to those less fortunate. And on the list goes. It´s a place that once you think you´ve figured it out, something will come along to complete undermine that view.
But for all it´s many contradictions and complexities, the one thing I can positively say about India is that it still IS India. It may sound overly simplistic but there is nowhere else on earth that still retains it´s own unique character and spirit to quite the same degree. It is like no other place on earth. It will challenge you, irritate you, even overwhelm you at times but it will also stun you with its beauty and culture and for that reason I am very glad I had a chance to experience it.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312700/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312700/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312700/tpod.html Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:09:24 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Kathmandu, Nepal

After India, Nepal was a breath of fresh air. Literally. After weeks of stifling traffic, noise, cow shit and the kind of personal space enjoyed by worker bees, I could feel myself immediately relaxing as I savoured the undulating landscape kissed by a soft Autumn breeze. Although just a few hours away (and implausibly an extra fifteen minutes ahead of GMT) it was like landing on a different planet. Admittedly though the journey there wasn't all plain sailing.....
I had booked a direct bus to Kathmandu from Varanasi (direct being a two day odyssey) though when I arrived at the bus station it turns out that the agency I'd booked the ticket with had made a mistake. Instead of the modern VIP bus I'd been promised (read air conditioning and proper seats) I instead had to make do with one of the local buses that ply the route. It was a clapped out, Soviet-era, tin shack on wheels loosely held together with rust and (possibly) sticky tape. Any hoped for air conditioning, was to arrive through the windows when the bus picked up speed on the downhill.
And so on we trundled, all tightly huddled together for a soul destroying, ass shattering 12 hour journey to the Nepalese border. The occasional rest stops, which lasted just long enough for a quick visit to the loo and a chance to buy more coconut biscuits, were conducted with such haste that at one stage I practically had to throw myself on the driver lest he drive off without a Eastern European couple on the bus. (I'm guessing their provenance due to their accents and the fact I didn't receive either a word or nod of thanks. Ungrateful bastards!)
Apart from that, any romance I had harboured about making an overland crossing at an international border were quickly dashed later on. Once off the bus, we were shepherded by tuk tuk to the Indian border control (one quick stamp and my passport was flung back) and then it was onwards for the few hundred metres to the Nepalese side where I eventually managed to wake the border official. For this inconvenience he kindly charged me extra. Then there was just enough time to check into the border rest stop and order food. Dinner, as it turns out, consisted of the desiccated remains of some vegetables sent to a watery grave in (what I hope was) curry. The room for the night looked as if someone had/would shortly be murdered in it. I doused the bed linen in insect repellent, had a shower and gingerly slid myself under the covers. To add to the fun, I couldn't even text or make a call in order to unburden myself. As you can see I was in great form altogether!
Thankfully the tranquility and beauty of Nepal began to reveal itself to me the following day as we slowly made our way towards Kathmandu. (The 200 kilometre journey took almost eight hours due to complete as we had to taper our way up and down a never ending secession of hills and ravines - though unlike yesterday I didn't mind. In fact I was captivated) As we approached the capital I was transfixed by the the stepped hills, which for all the world resembled mounds of green ruffled silk. The terraces left by intensive farming made everything look as if someone had shaken a giant blanket and draped it over the landscape. Beyond were cobalt blue skys. It was stunning.
Unfortunately, the first view of Kathmandu wasn't as impressive. As we rolled into town, we were greeted by an ugly mass of coloured apartment blocks. It looked like a an unfortunate cross between the worst excesses of communist brutality and a Dadaist happening! Thankfully the city centre had buckets of charm. But then so did the (mercifully moustache free) locals. After striking up a conversation with someone on the bus, who admitted most of what he knew about Ireland was that we say "grand" alot, he offered to share a cab into town with me. Somewhere along with way we were mysteriously joined by his friend. I had sudden visions of ending up in some outer suburb being held at knifepoint and not a bar of mobile coverage to rescue me. Instead, they directed the taxi driver to my guest house and carried my hefty rucksack to the front door. (I couldn't help but think if this was India they've had disappeared into the night and spend a happy few hours distributing their spoils) Ok I got stung for the (meagre) taxi fare but at least they were chivalrous about it!
The first thing that stuck me as I walked downtown was how completely geared everything was to Western tourists. Shop after shop was stocked with souvenirs of every description, while further onwards were entire streets dedicated to trekking gear (it's the country's single biggest moneyspinner)
But shopping could wait. I was starving and settled into a restaurant, singularly geared for the appetite of people who love to climb mountains. After almost five weeks of vegetarian food, I was almost in tears at the array of grilled, fried, barbecued dead animal in front of me. Without even a pause, I ordered a steak the size of a hot water bottle. It was mouthwateringly delicious, though so unaccustomed had my digestive system become to tackling anything solid it felt like I'd swallowed a bag of stones. Still I was beyond content and even the short walk back to the guest house was made pleasant by the slight Autumnal chill in the air.
Kathmandu itself may be short of must-see sights but that's not the point. What it lacks in big-hitters it more than makes up for in charm. It's a small city and perfect for just strolling around. Though be careful. I'm sure more than one tourist has ended up here and just lazed their days away, only to panic at the last minute and make a dash for the local shops for a few fridge magnets and a yak hair pashmina for their (presumably bewildered) mother! And joy of joys they have real coffee. Another hangover from India was my acute caffeine withdrawl. The best you could expect across the border was a cup of tepid Nescafe (once in complete exasperation I asked in a hotel if they had any 'real' coffee only to be told "But sah, it is real coffee. It is in a sachet!")
Once the coffee had done it's job I did manage some sightseeing. The main tourist sight is the redoubtable Swayambunath Stupa, famous the world over for it's 'seeing eyes Buddha' shrine. The image adorns every piece of tourist tat here from t-shirts to the aforementioned fridge magnets. In many ways it has become the unofficial symbol of the country. It's a hefty walk up to the shrine but when you're there you are rewarded with a panoramic view of the entire city and surrounding landscape. There's also a lovely cafe where you can see how fast you can eat your food before the monkeys (them again!) come to rob it. The other main attraction in the city is the enchanting Durbar Square, just round the corner from that great hippy hang out in the sixties, Freak Street (and yes despite a rechristening that's what everyone still calls it, though the bongs and bongos have long since departed).
It's a charming maze of winding streets and temples, a perfect spot to savour the relaxed atmosphere of Kathmandu and of course gaze in wonderment at the stamina of the many sherpas at work. Every few minutes one of them walks by, bent over double as they haul an enormous load on their backs. The weight is supported by a strap around their head (so not a great pastime for migraine sufferers) but you readily believe that old myth that sherpas can lift more than their own body weight. It's a curious sight but adds to the feeling that you are in a very unique place.
Speaking of curious, one of the main sights in Durbar Square is the palace where the newly crowned 'living goddess' or Kumari resides. The child is revered as the source of prosperity by the people of Nepal and she lives in the palace until puberty kicks in after which she reverts back to being a mere mortal. The latest in a long line of pre adolescent deities was chosen back in March of this year. Apparently all the shortlisted young girls that meet the strict criteria (perfect teeth, skin, hair...) are put through a series of vigorous tests including being left alone with the heads of ritually slaughtered buffaloes and being taunted by a team of people wearing grotesque masks. The girl that doesn't cry or phone Childline is deemed to be worthy of the title. So it would appear that autism along with lovely teeth is a big help in being deemed the chosen one!!!
With only a limited amount of time in Nepal, the pressure was on to do something a little bit more adrenalin based. After all the country is now well on it's way to knocking New Zealand off the top of the ladder as the adventure capital of the world. Time pressures put paid to an organized trek so instead I opted for the far more sensible option of doing a tandem Paraglide. So it was off to Pokhara, the country's adventure hub, so I could savour some stunning landscape and throw myself off the side of a mountain.
Now not being one who (a) is particularly good with heights or (b) wishes to die any time soon, I was a little apprehensive. After being transported up to our take off spot early in the morning, me and the other paragliders were given our instructions for the experience ahead. This mostly amounted to picking a spot in the middle distance, focusing on it as you ran head long off the side of the hillside all the time aware that the only thing that separated you from smashing into a million Humpty Dumpty pieces was a piece of synthetic fabric and a paraglide operator suffering from a very bad hangover.
Luckily before I had time to say "You want me to do FUCKING WHAT?" the wind picked up and I was airborne. God it was incredible. For almost 45 minutes we soared like eagles above the snow cabbed peaks and lake below. It was without a doubt one of the most thrilling experiences I've ever had. Just be warned that if you ever do a tandem paraglide you might want to skip breakfast. And the pub the night before. As winds were slack we spent a considerable amount of time circling in order to maintain altitude which trust me can leave you more than a little light headed. Still it was worth every penny and I'd gladly do it again in the morning.
Luckily Pokhara itself is a complete antidote to all the adrenalin pursuits being offered by tour operators. Nestling beneath the gaze of some of the world's tallest mountain peaks and situated in front of a crystalline lake, its a destination in itself and was without doubt the loveliest place I've visited so far. If you ever go to Nepal make sure you go there. It'll charm the socks off you. I genuinely did not want to leave the peace and tranquility it offered - though that does have it's drawbacks. Like the rest of Nepal, anyone expecting to party on until the wee small hours here will be in for a rude awakening. Everything here in under curfew, with shops, restaurants and pubs all shut by 10pm (if like me you were busy chatting to your other half on Skype late in the evening you might also have to walk home through empty darkened streets and bang on the door of your accommodation in order to be let back in!)
Still the memory of all that blessed tranquility was rudely interrupted as I crossed back across the border to India four days later. One minute it was billowing zephyrs and dazzling scenery.......and the next you were back to chaos and cow shit. Time for one last Indian adventure!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1223383620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1223383620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1223383620/tpod.html Sun, 28 Dec 2008 23:27:35 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Delhi, India

Delhi, delhi, delhi....... A city more popularly associated with a gastro-intestinal infection and unscheduled bathroom trips than anything else. To say it comes with baggage would be an understatement. It comes armed with an entire set of rheumy-green emotional baggage, weighed down with the expectation of poverty, diarrhoea, chaos and culture shock.
So you can imagine I wasn't all too riled up about my few days in the Indian capital. In my mind Delhi was a place to be endured. A stopping off point on the road to more rewarding and inspiring travel destinations. And you know what? It took my breath away. Not in the "oh my god, I can't believe the colour of that sunset" way or the silent "wow" as you approach the Manhattan skyline for the first time way, but it certainly packs a punch.
I decided to stay in an area known as Paharganj in the city centre - close to Old Delhi Railway station and happy stomping ground for all the backpackers passing through the city. And it does elicit a wow. Looking down through the crowed bazaar it's situated on, teaming with traffic, people, noise and every bit of urban detris known to mankind, you really could wonder what planet you were on. Honestly it was like Blade Runner on a crack comedown. An avant-garde production of Les Miserables, with neon and cow dung. It was full-on, shit-crazy India with a blur of Hindu arms waving at you like a drowning man.
In short Delhi can be an overwhelming place. A few days ago I spoke to a German girl who told me that one of her friends was so freaked out by it all, that she ran to the nearest internet cafe after just three days and booked herself the first plane ticket back home - - so she could presumably once again enjoy punctual trains, boiled sausages and (the occasional) incorrectly oriented swastika (we'll get to them later!)
To be honest the best way to deal with Indian cities is to embrace the craziness. Once you do that, a few days later you will be stepping over the cow-shit, swatting the mosquitoes and dodging the tuk tuk drivers like a native. Even so it will take nerves of steel and a certain brazenness to fob off the sellers/hawkers and general snake oil salesmen that inhabit the streets and bazaars (don't worry you'll eventually get the knack of pulling down your sunglasses and banished all trace of facial expression a la Keanu Reeves in an action movie in order to get them to piss off) Failing that the 'oul native tongue did come in extremely handy. As most of the bazaar merchants have a smattering of English, French, German and Hebrew (there are Israelis everywhere) it helps to have some acquaintance with an obscure language. A quick dose of the "ciunasbotharcailinbainne" worked a treat and as Sky's Kay Burley was wont to say during those interminable Sinn Fein Press Conferences "Oh dear, Mr Adams appears to have lapsed into Gaelic......!"
But as ever that's not the full picture. Further south lies New Delhi, the imperial and grand architectural centrepiece of the Raj Empire. Mother England's ordered and elegant legacy to the "Jewel in the Crown". The contrast couldn't be greater. Wide tree lined avenues. Neo-classical buildings of astonishing proportion (the Parliamnent and President's Palace are jaw droppingly vast). Lush parkland. It's like old Delhi's better educated, more refined and elegant twin. From the India Gate monument (not be confused with the Gate of India!) runs an incredible vista up to the Parliament flanked by manicured lawns and trees satisfying that great British desire for perfectly straight avenues to host processions. No wonder they never fully conquered Ireland. We just love a bend in our roads!
Beyond that there are enough charming parks, temples along with the tourist big hitters of the Red Fort & Jama Masjid Mosque to keep you diverted for a couple of days. (Though a word of warning - if you are heading to the abovementioned Mosque keep your vest well tucked into your drawers. You have to run the gamut of a teaming bazaar and yours truly was relieved of his very lovely camera en route by a sneaky pickpocket. There are so many people bumping and colliding against you it's a fairly easy lift for anyone with light fingers. It was a lesson learned!) It's also worth noting that the area around there is also an unsettling microcosm of India's glaring inequality. While all around commerce and daily life heaved with that unmistakable Indian clamour, there on the road-side, crawling and crying out for help, lay the twisted stump of a man missing two of his limbs. The indignity and sheer inhumanity - matched only by the indifference to the man's plight by passers-by - was one of the most disturbing things I've ever witnessed.
So a city not for the faint-hearted but if you allow it - Delhi will leave a lasting impression not just in your belly but also your taste-buds!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1224854760/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1224854760/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1224854760/tpod.html Sat, 06 Dec 2008 10:55:22 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, India

If we believe everything we're told you're never too far away from disease in India. Thankfully the one malady they haven't succumbed to yet on the sub-continet is Country & Western music, though it's arguable that if they ever did decide to start twanging banjos they'd have plenty to inspire them in Rajastan. Welcome to India's Wild West!
Isolated, conservative, pious, caked in desert - this vast state is an authentic slice of India, a place where men are men and women..... well they're probably kept in outhouses (at a guess, I saw so few). This here is frontier country. Dang it they could even go the whole hog and start motto-ing their licence plates with that favourite local saying Delhi door ast - "Delhi is far away."
Actually to be fair "far away" might not be entirely accurate. It's geographically, spiritually and culturally in orbit in a galaxy all of its own. I should know. I spent twenty (yes twenty!) hours of buttock beating, haemorrhoid inducing torment on a train from Delhi to the desert town of Jaisalmer in the far west of the state. Showing a complete distaste for irony, the train was called the 'Jaisalmer Express'.
This was my first experience of train travel in India and it's an experience that any visitor is bound never to forget. Setting off from new Delhi station, the first thing that strikes anyone used to the ordered, punctual rhythm of European stations is the sheer bewildering chaos that suffocates you the second you reach the platform (assuming that is you can find it....New Delhi station has sixteen platforms and to add some extra frisson to your journey most noticeboards indicating your departing platform are "indicative" only i.e you're on your own mate) Before you even begin to navigate the hordes of passengers, which are of such a volume that it makes elbowing your way down Henry Street in Dublin on Christmas Eve seem like farting through silk, you have to sidestep a myriad of stalls selling cups of chai tea, chapati and other nibbles, dodge the persistent clouds of flies and then somehow find your correct carriage.
Then there's the spitting. It's without doubt a national pastime. All around you are signs imploring the public to refrain from phlegming up the platforms and yet, young and old are blithely hawking, snorting, projecting a constant stream of gelatinous spew hither and yon. I swear it's like happy hour at a TB sanatorium. So trust me, once you've survived all of this, twenty hours of clickety clack will seem like a spiritual retreat!
If you're taking a long journey (and seeing as this is India nearly most of them are) it's more than likely you'll end up taking a sleeper carriage. For this you will get one of three bunks facing each other, a blanket, pillow and several hours of sleepless anxiety wondering if you're baggage will be there when you wake up. Luggage is tucked under the lowest bunk and it's not unheard of for passengers to wake up and discover their bags got off a few stations ahead of them. Because of this the lower bunk is equipped with chains to attach your bags to - though do bring your own padlock! Oh and if you're over five and a half feet tall prepare to sleep in the shape of a coat hanger or endure you're feet getting walloped by every passenger on a loo run as they dangle perilously over the side.
Still as they saying goes 'it's not the destination but the journey', but luckily on this occasion Jaisalmer didn't come up short. Left aligned photo tag: The town's towering centerpiece is the Golden Fort, a bustling twelfth century architectural marvel that seems to have sprung organically from the desert. What makes it so unique is that it's home to a thriving community. It weaves and winds it's way along a labyrinthine network of narrow streets that appear little changed from when they were first laid out. Right aligned photo tag: You can spend (as I did) many hours idling your way through the streets, then climbing up on the ramparts to gape in wonder at the spellbinding view of the desert beyond and if you're lucky/unlucky depending on your point of view, the Pakistani border.
My hotel had laid on a guide so I was hardly going to refuse. It turned out to be a wise decision. Apart from the diminishing hilarity of his catchphrase "No chicken, no curry - no panic, no worry" (seriously) he was a mine of information. As we ambled our way through the old fort we paused to look at the ornate carved balconies that decorate the havellis build by Jaisalmer burghers of yore. Left aligned photo tag: Below them, the elaborately decorated doorways stood stoutly, precise and imposing as they day they were first hung. I was told the teak used to make them was imported all the way from Afghanistan, often through the spoils of the opium trade which gave the town its wealth at the time.....though sadly many of them are now being bought up and removed by wealthy Europeans to adorn their summer villas on the Amafli coast and elsewhere. Most of those that remain are reproductions. It struck me as such a pity because the entire town is as close as you'll ever get to a living museum....even the most inauspicious side street holds an architectural delight that would be declared a priceless wonder if it were back home. Left aligned photo tag: Above many doorways hung a very strange totem of seven chillies and key limes strung together, which I was told are to ward off bad luck.....though more startling is the preponderance of swastikas painted above thresholds and gable walls. Here in its original Hindu incarnation its presence is meant to signal 'Welcome', India's very own Cead Mile Failte doormat.....though accustomed as we now are to its later use by the Nazi party, it does catch you off guard the first time you spot it! Right aligned photo tag: Sadly the fort is literally falling apart at the seams. Decades of development and increasing levels of water being pumped inside to service the booming hotel market, have left the forts foundations crumbling apart. As you walk up along the side, it's very evident that unless urgent remedial work is carried out soon this living museum itself might one day only exist as a reproduction.
The other great thing about the town was the food. Carnivores might want to look away now, but Rajastan is all about the veg, but god do they do it well. Shameless plug or not I had the best vegetarian meal of my life in a small little restaurant called Nataraj. Trust me, even if you consider bovine slaughter essential to the preparation of any meal, you'll be doing a Meg-Ryan-eyes-rolling-orgiastic exultation after tasting the food there. Its that good!
Of course I couldn't visit the desert without getting on a camel. That'd be like visiting Temple Bar and not stepping in vomit. So off I was whisked, in the company of two good humoured Californians straight out of central casting, to the bowels of the desert to spend a night "experiencing" life in Rajastan's scorched dust bowl. I say "experiencing" because it was the usual touristy simulacrum......accommodation was in reproduction mud huts (with shower), food was cooked on a gas stove and our camel ride was a mild saunter about two kilometres off the main road......and yet it was fantastic!
For anyone who's never been into a dessert, it truly is a haunting experience. We trotted (is that the correct verb?) off in late afternoon in order to catch the sunset. After the mayhem and chaos of Delhi just a few days previous, the overwhelming sound of silence was marvelous. The only sound, apart from the crunch of the camel hooves against the sand was the whisper of wind snaking across the vast orange expanse. As the sun began to dip below the horizon (with astonishing haste it has to be said) the landscape was painted a dazzling pallet of colours - oranges, reds, ochres, tans - a captivating kaleidoscopic dance that suddenly ended as the stars began to poke out and moonlight took over. It was the essence of pure peace. After that we arrived back to our "huts" for some local entertainment. An illegally produced bottle of liquor (this is dry state!!!!!!!) may have helped in persuading me and the two Americans to eventually get up and join the brightly attired dancer in a few local dance moves. Shame had long left the building. As had co-ordination and rhythm.....yes there are photos and no, you're never seeing them!Left aligned photo tag:
After Jaisalmer it was time to don the riding breeches and head to Jodhpur, home to yet another fort (this will become a bit of recurring motif so strap yourself in) The town itself is a thriving commercial centre, choked with traffic and people. The desert already seemed like a fond and distant dream. But beyond the manic chaos of the town's marketplace lies the old town or 'Blue City' and gateway to the fort. Right aligned photo tag: The distinctive indigo tint applied to the whitewashed houses gives the city an appearance not unlike a Cubist painting when viewed from one of the cafe rooftops and is a photographers dream. I lost count of how many pictures I took. Rising up behind is the aforementioned Mehrangarh Fort, yet another impressive testimony to the legacy of Moghul architectural achievement. Left aligned photo tag: Its a good place not only to view the living Picasso below you, but also to acquaint yourself with the and customs history of the once great Kingdoms which held sway here until relatively recently. Especially fascinating are the details of the Purdah system, the practice of keeping men and women separate. Within the palace many of the ornately adorned screens which fill the windows were designed to allow the lady folk look out but shield their view from passers-by. But as with any such customs, they do not die out overnight. That afternoon, after getting hopelessly and utterly lost in crystal maze that is the old town, I eventually found one of the streets leading to the main market square. It took me about ten minutes to figure out what was wrong with the picture. All around me were tuk tuks, scooters, cars, market stalls of every description and hundreds of people fighting for space in this thronged thoroughfare and yet I cannot recall seeing a single woman. Not one. Women it seems still exist in the background here. The few that you do see are kept well hidden behind ornately coloured veils. In so many ways Delhi really is far away.Left aligned photo tag:
The following day as I prepared to set off a so-called 'Village Safari' - a chance I hoped to learn more about how life is traditionally lived here - I heard that at least 150 people had been killed in a crush at a temple within the Fort during a religious festival in the early hours of the morning. Apparently a stampede had begun after a false rumour began circulating through the massive crowd of pilgrims that a bomb had been detonated. Most of those who died were suffocated or trampled to death. It was incredible to believe that I had stood in that temple just twelve hours beforehand. The town itself was much quieter that day as many market stall owners shut up shop as a mark of respect.....though by that night it seemed as if it was business as usual. That resigned acceptance of death, which I was to see more of later on this trip, really struck home with me that day.Right aligned photo tag:

The Village Safari itself turned out to be very instructive. First of all I was brought to an out-lying homestead many kilometres beyond the city. This time there was nothing reproduction about the circular mud-hut. A family of four lived in tiny cramped conditions.....a small hole in the earth for a cooking stove, rolled up beds, pots and pans were hanging from the thatch roof. It was claustrophobic and miserable. Incredibly I was told that the walls and floors themselves were coated with a mixture of mud and cow shit. As luck would have it the lady of the house was busy applying a new layer. Not only is it cheap and hard-wearing, apparently but it seems scientists from Italy have been studying this diy plaster for its alleged homeopathic properties in helping to combat TB! (Why cows get struck down with the disease all the time then is beyond me, but however.....) It's also used as fuel and funnily enough when cut into blocks it doesn't look unlike sods of turf. However life here is very frugal. Most subsist on the income from a few crops of lentils, mung beans, millet and barley which is grown on small farmsteads. Drought is another recurring problem. Which might explain why they are happy to supplement their income with a bit of dodgy dealing. Left aligned photo tag:

Step forward opium! Although long since illegal, there's still a roaring trade in the drug locally which is widely used for medicinal purposes and for helping guests chill out. Beats a mug of tea and hob nobs any day! Anyway as I was a guest I had to partake (the things I do for you) A block of opium was slowly brunt before being filtered through the water in a hookah. The liquid is then, as tradition dictates, passed around in the palm of the hand as slurped away. Did I feel incredibly zenned out? Giggle hysterically? Have a yen for frosties? Alas no though I didn't exactly imbibe much. Either that or I'm completely immune to illegal drugs at this stage.Right aligned photo tag:

Still munchies or not we headed off in search of that authentic Rajastani meal and stopped at a house belonging to some of the state's most disadvantaged communities, the Bishnoi. This tribal community of nature worshipers is one of the lowest castes in Rajastani societies (although the caste system has long been made illegal it is still widely enforced) Although outwardly very poor, they live by a very simple creed and traditionally earn a living through hunting and making crafts such as weaving. Efforts are now underway to help them set up a co-op system to sell on their wares and keep most of the profits without dealing with middlemen. Women of the Bishnoi tribe are easily recognizable by their brightly coloured saris and a very ostentatious nose ring.....men wear simple white robes and turbans. Ok the food was dull but it was a fascinating glimpse of traditional life outside the maelstrom of the city and proof that Rajastan is still a land unto itself.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/kealderra/1/1226312580/tpod.html Sat, 06 Dec 2008 10:41:16 -0500 An Eight Month Odyssey Around Asia and the Americas!!!!

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Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India

There aren't many cities in the world where you can sit down to breakfast, stare out of your hotel window and watch dead bodies being burnt. Varanasi is one such place. Welcome to India's strangest and most compelling city, where it's happy hour at the crazy buffet twenty-four-seven!
I knew to expect the strange and unexpected here but this still didn't stop my omlette hovering mid way to my mouth for a very long time. As I watched the embalmed bodies being raised onto the funeral pyres on one of the burning ghats (terraced steps) beside the Ganges, I sent Ian a quick text telling him what I was witnessing. His astonished response was enough to reassure me that, yes this place is completely fucking mental!
But then why else would you choose to visit Varanasi? It's not just one of India's holiest cities but also one of the oldest in the world. It's also a fairly accurate microcosm of all that's fascinating, unique and utterly bewildering about India. As a city it has more implausible goings-on, loopy characters and downright oddness than anywhere else in the country - and that's saying something.
And then there's death. It's omnipresent. You can turn a corner and be greeted by a funeral procession carrying the remains of a loved one fully embalmed and ready for a fiery entrance to the afterlife. Or you can idle along the river bank and have your eyes pop out of your head as you spy a body part nudging out of the water. Or indeed watch the lower caste workmen split the wood for the funeral pyres, weigh the timber on huge metal scales - so the correct amount is used for each body - and then scatter the ashes into the river. Or just do like I did and walk out onto the balcony of my bedroom and watch a group of children playing on top of a coffin. Yes this is the place where normality (and many of the very devout elderly) come to die. It's said that if a Hindu dies in Varanasi then his or her passage to Nirvana is greatly sped up. Think of it as a very macabre Florida......
The best way to get a sense of the city is to take a boat trip along the Ganges either at dusk or dawn. I did both, and it was an incredible experience. As we headed off just before nightfall from Dasaswamedh Ghat, the biggest and most important of the ghats that line the river, it was already a riot of colour. Hundreds of pilgrims were by the shore for of the evening puja (ceremony), bells ringing out into the evening air already thick with the scent of incense and the sound of chanting. As we made our way slowly down by the river bank, watching the various ceremonies and floating candles that flecked the snot-green water, a bright and fat full moon lit up the river. It was beyond perfect.
A guide on the boat explained some of the history of the city and the background some of the ceremonies. His English wasn't the best, but as far as I could make out, cremation is conducted to purify the remains of the deceased. However cremation is forbidden for some groups namely children, pregnant women, holy men, victims of cobra bite, lepers and albinos (seriously). They're simply wrapped in linen and tossed into the river. Hmmmm.....
There are three burning ghats in the city and they're on the go constantly. About 350 bodies are cremated every single day! Apart from the abovementioned groups - the other sector of society that's precluded from cremation is the poor. Around 350 kilos of wood are needed for the whole cremation and with every kilo costing around 3 Euro a pop, its enough to put rapid salvation out for only the truly well off. As a result it's not unusual to see people at many of the ghats begging for money so they can get a proper and expedient send off in the next world.
Each cremation lasts around three hours. The embalmed corpse is transported on a bamboo stretcher by members of the family to the Ganges and is then purified by submerging it in the holy Ganga waters. Then it is placed on top of the wood pile, doused with incense and the eldest son, dressed in white and with his head shaved (again more purification), bathes in the river and starts the fire. After the body is fully cremated, the son takes some water from the river and throws it into the ashes. And that's it. Women, by the way aren't allowed to be present for the ceremony . Apparently this rule was brought in after a few grief stricken widows lost the run of themselves and decided to join their husbands on the other side by throwing themselves onto the fire.
Such peculiarities aside, the cremation ceremony is an astonishing sight to behold, though it was a little bit disconcerting to watch some tourists intrude on the private grief of some familes and defy local custom by filming or photographing the cremation. Thoughtless in the extreme.
As you can imagine the river itself is not the cleanest. That's a polite way of saying it one of the most polluted, foul looking stretches of pea-soup viscosity on the planet. And yet......despite the presence of human ashes, the occasional body part and a considerable amount of chemical pollution each morning hundreds of pilgrims line the ghats to bathe in the holy waters. Some even drink the esteemed liquid!
Further along the shore local washerwomen are busy beating the stains from their laundry. Be warned, as I walked along one morning I saw bed linen from some of the local hotels getting a thorough scrubbing in the river and, unless there's been a sudden preference for Calvin Klein's amongst the city faithful, most of the backpackers' laundry appears gets done here as well. Well at least you're smalls will be dead spotless afterwards!
Speaking of death, Varanasi was also the only place in India where I felt my own mortality was being tested. On my last evening I took, what I thought would be a fairly harmless stroll downtown to locate an ATM (always a challenge in India). How wrong I was. After about five minutes of dodging cars, cows, tuk tuks and an never ending stream of traffic I was paralyzed with fear. It was just unrelenting. In all my time in India I'd never witnessed anything like it. I eventually found a kindly tuk tuk driver who negotiated this death-trap on my behalf......but I couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some subtle collusion between all this business of death and life as it's lived here? I didn't wait to find out. Nepal and not nirvana was my next destination.
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