TravelStream™ news feed for member stodg on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/stodg en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 04 Dec 2006 00:37:10 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1164507300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1164507300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1164507300/tpod.html Mon, 04 Dec 2006 00:37:10 -0500 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Los Angeles, United States

I am writing this final entry into my travelogue with that familiar "Sunday Dread" that has always proceeded the Monday return to school or more recently work. Today it proceeds my first day back to work after an obviously long layoff. I have been meaning to write this last entry ever since I got back and have allowed myself to put it off until the last moment mostly as a result of not wanting to admit that my trip is actually over. Over the last few months I spent a lot of time thinking how nice it would be to have a home again with my very own bug-free bed, and it is. I didn't however consider how odd it would feel to wake each day without the sense of adventure in discovering a new city and a different culture. That will take time to get used to much like it took time to get used to doing the converse nine months ago. Before I go into my final thoughts I should catch you up on the last few weeks of my travels.

From Milan I took the night train to Barcelona, arriving early in the morning. Usually a morning arrival provided me with unlimited time in finding a reasonable room. Barcelona proved the exception as I spent 4 hours lugging my bags around the city from one place to another with absolutely no success. I finally settled for the most expensive room of my entire trip, though I had a commanding view above the tree-lined Las Ramblas from my balcony. Barcelona was such a stark difference from Italy that I never felt like I fully understood it. Everything seemed more chaotic and rather wild. From the architecture of Gaudi to the assortment of tapas, it was often maddeningly confusing and a bit overwhelming, made worse by the dissappointment that my Spanish sucks. For a little taste of the familiar I decided to go to an FC Barcelona game. It wasn't much of a game, but I did get to see two Ronaldinho goals and one by Deco.

Due to limited time after having booked a flight home, I decided to confine myself to the southern region of Andalucia and make one last effort to lounge on a beach for a day or two. The towns of Andalucia were exactly what I wanted Spain to be. Each of the towns of Seville, Tarifa, Cordoba and Granada were full of charming, ancient buildings seperated by equally splendid lanscapes. Seville with its unrivalled cathedral and perfect alleyways of packed bodegas forcing patrons into the street to eat their tapas and drink their sangria. Tarifa with its endless beach and its view of Morroco. Cordoba's Mezquita and Juderia and Granada's Alhambra. I even managed to find and read Ernest Hemingway's "Death in the Afternoon", which served to highten my desire to see a bullfight only to be unable to find one to attend. After a little less than two weeks in Spain it was time to take the long trip (25 hours of straight travel) up to Paris and see my friends Richard and Natasha, and of course their baby girl Eleanor.

The euphoria of getting off the train and seeing my friend Richard at the end of the platform waiting for me was accompanied by the disconsolation of realizing that my trip was really at an end. Paris was a blur for me as I unburdened myself of nine months of travel stories in three days, putting Richard and Natasha (and possibly Ellie) into a haze of regret over allowing me to occupy the fold out couch in their apartment. My only regret was that no sound blocking door existed between the couch and their bed in the loft above (use your imagination....or better yet don't). From Paris, I flew to Dallas to see friends before heading up to Wichita Falls to see more friends and family. Other than the airline loosing my bag and the extra special immigration check in the basement (luckily my visit to Syria just prompted additional inane questions as opposed to the dreaded snap of a latex glove), I made it back to the US without major incident and was greeted by Dave and Joanie's welcome sign and a much needed bottle of crown. After my Texas tour it was back to San Francisco and the process of aquiring the stuff you think you need to resume a "normal" life. In the process I bought a car, found an apartment in LA and started refurnishing a home. Overall, I've purposely kept myself too busy to think much about being back home. That doesn't mean however that I have been able to completely escape the reality of being back in the US. If the pick-ups and beer bellys of Texas weren't enough to remind me that I was back in the land of the free and the home of the brave; then the incessant onslaught of pharmaceutical companies diagnosing my health problems over the television and retailers reminding me that Christmas is only 30 days away...would! I have already started to reflect rhapsodically about my days in the 120 degree heat of Delhi.

So here are my favorite lists, with the caveat that it is absolutely impossible to actually create a list of favorites, but I will anyway.

Favorite Countries:
They all had a special charm but these seem to stand out the most.
Turkey It has it all and if you have never been ....GO!
Vietnam I think about this place all the time.
Syria/Lebanon/Jordan Do not believe what you see on Fox News!
Croatia This should be your spot for unspoiled Mediterranean coastline.
Italy So much to see and so little time

Favorite Cities:
Istanbul Spectacular walk through history.
Budapest Beautiful place with beautiful people.
Hanoi Best city in Vietnam, please don't change.
Vienna Paris lite with great art and Austrian efficiency.
Rome and Damascus You could spend days in each getting lost, which I did.

Favorite Towns:
Obviously these are smaller than cities.
Mardin, Turkey I just keep thinking about this little hillside town
Hoi An, Vietnam Try to leave after one night...impossible!
Monemvasia, Greece Another hillside town that always creeps into my thoughts.
Amalfi, Italy There is a theme developing for hillside towns with a view.
Palmyra, Syria Watching the World Cup in a tent with a bunch of Syrians...cool!

Must See World Heritage Sites:
This list could go on forever, but I will keep it to five...I hope.
Temples of Angkor Look at the photos!
Pyramids of Giza Non original choice but it gave me goosebumps.
Amber Fort, Jaipur The Taj is amazing but this also has views.
Aya Sofya, Istanbul Maybe the greatest building on the planet.
Durbar Square, Patan So many temples that still see the daily faithful.
Mezquita, Cordoba I couldn't leave it off, it was fantastic.

Best Beaches or Sun Spots:
Hvar Island, Croatia Not really a beach, but I can't wait to get back.
Dahab, Egypt The defintion of laid back lifestyle.
Naxos, Greece This is the reason Greece is full of tourists.
Koh Tao, Thailand Imagine a hut 20 yards from the surf.
Playa de los Lances, Tarifa The finest sand you will ever see

Places I will go back to:
Himalayas I never would have imagined I would go trekking once and want to do
it again.
Italy More to see!
Spain Much more to see!
Vietnam Once should have been enough, but it wasn't.
Middle East Maybe my favorite region to travel in....forget the maybe.

When I left for my trip, my reasons for going were no clearer than just listening to myself and trusting that my mysterious inner voice wasn't a raging lunatic. At the beginning I foolishly thought this trip might provide some clarity. In truth, after about three months of reflecting on why I had thrown my life into turmoil with this trip, I just stopped considering why and enjoyed the ride. Ultimately I'm just glad I gave myself the opportunity to suspend fear of the unknown and go. I definitely learned that there is very little to fear other than unwashed produce. Did I get answers to any important life questions? Ummm....what were the questions again?
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1161718800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1161718800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1161718800/tpod.html Thu, 26 Oct 2006 15:45:59 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Milan, Italy

The morning after my last update I sleepwalked to the metro station at 6:30 a.m. (encountering many Greeks stumbling home from a Saturday night out) and made it to the airport in time for my 9 a.m. flight to Rome. Getting to Rome was like a shot in the arm after so many months of travel. I mean the excitment from seeing another "sight" starts to wane after awhile. It sounds awful to say but it is all too true, at least it was starting to be before I got to Italy. All the superlatives heaped on Italy are well founded and deserved. The fountains of Rome, the canals of Venice, the grace of Florence, the rugged vistas on the coast, the laundry hanging from every window in Naples, the ostentatious churches, the faded siena and yellow homes, the always close proximity of a relaxing piazza, and of course the perfect meals chased down with the equally perfect wines are the cliches that make up "Bella Italia." I really never found a bad spot and certainly never found a bad meal. The only drawbacks to Italy for me were the cost and the emergence of the "Stupid American." Let's start with the least offensive, the cost. A budget of over $100 a day is just a little north of my Vietnam budget. Though it always seemed worth it whether I was staying in a 19th century palazzo or gorging on a three course meal. As far as the "Stupid American" comment you are probably thinking that I am getting all high and mighty after having travelled for so long and have little patience for clueless vacationers, and you are probably right. But there is a difference between an American travelling in say Thailand and some of the Americans you see in Italy. The former is fairly laid back and adapts to the place where they are, sometimes annoyingly so. The American in Italy is on a one to two week holiday and expects Italy to be just like America but with Italian food and the Coloseum. Kind of like Disneyland's "It's a Small World." They are amazed that Italians often speak only Italian and are not in the least afraid of voicing their surprise. The only concession they seem to make to being in a foriegn country is their willingness to snatch up Italian haute couture, which probably never sees the light of day once they return to Des Moines. I don't want to labor the point but I have to share a couple of funny examples. A man commenting to his wife and another couple in the Florence train station, "Thank god a McDonalds, I am sick of pizza and pasta. Shall I grab 4 cheeseburgers?" If you have kids, okay I'll cut you some slack, but four adults? The punchline is that he went in the wrong door and came out complaining that all they had was pizza and pasta. My next favorite was this older retiree from Florida who I sat next to on a full train from Pisa to Florence. We were talking about the various places he and his wife had visited and he asks me "Doesn't Italy make you feel glad that you live in America?" What the @#%$&! Ummm....I'm speechless. I mean maybe Germans get excited when they see schnitzel on the menu or Chinese make comments about how much sweeter Beijing is than Florence, but I doubt that even if I understood either language I would hear similar comments.

I should share that I have developed a fairly strange way of exploring a country, which stems from my lack of effort prior to arriving. I just can't get motivated to read alot about a place before I get there and my favorite way to discover a new place is to just get lost and be surprised. This strategy worked perfect for Italy, though it probably wasn't the best strategy when I went to Naples. From the moment I found my hotel in Rome (not a simple task) I just started walking around and didn´t seem to stop until late in the evening each day. Fortunately, I have been blessed with a strong bladder (having to "go" when you are lost absolutely sucks!) and a decent sense of direction. After a long day of walking I would try to find a nice tratoria bordering a piazza to relax with dinner and wine before an easy sleep. Rome didn´t get the raves and reccomendations that people had shared about Florence, but I absolutely loved it. It just seems to have it all and knows how to show it. On my third day, after having already visited countless piazzas, the Coloseum and the Forum I made a plan (hate making plans) to go to the Vatican Museum and see the Sistine Chapel. I thought I went early enough to beat the crowds but evidently 9 a.m. isn't nearly early enough. Son of a bitch! The line wrapped all the way along the Vatican walls back into St. Peters Square. If you have been there you know that´s a hike. It was also 5 abreast on the sidewalk spilling out into the street. After 2 1/2 hours of standing in line all I could think was this better be awesome and it is going to be crowded as hell in there. It was awesome and it was crowded as hell. Michelangelo's ceiling frescoe in the Sistine Chapel is terrific especially with the vivid colors after restoration, but the whole place was pretty spectacular. Most of the museum is made up of the lavashly decorated residences of former Popes. The whole thing is over the top. After the Museum I went and waited in line to get into the Basilica and it was equally over the top. In fact excessive comes to mind. I don´t think the Papacy needs to employ Jerry Lewis for a labor day telethon anytime soon.

After Rome I ventured down to Sophia Loren's birthplace of Naples. Not exactly a goldmine of beauty but it does have a certain grubby appeal and it was a great place to take a day trip to Pompeii and down the Amalfi Coast. Other than being the celebrated home of a hottie, Naples is the birthplace of pizza and it supposedly still makes the best pie. I can't argue with that in the least. As a single guy, eating pizza for lunch and dinner isn't exactly a stretch. One of the nice things about Italy that I haven't experienced since Vietnam and India is the regional variations on cuisine. Venice has its seafood, Tuscany has its fresh, simple dishes and a mean Florentine steak, Liguria has pesto and foccacia. I know it's not McDonalds good, but it's the best that these simple Italians can do. Naples is full of vivid red buildings and has a nice view of Mt. Vesuvius over the bay. It also has a fine archaelogical museum that had some unreal mosaics from Pompeii and Heculaneum. The Gabinetto Segreto in the museum is a special room that was closed until 6 years ago and displays ancient porn from Pompeii and other greco-roman sites. It was hilarious, look for the photos. My second day in Naples I headed down to Pompeii and had no idea how massive the sight is. I spent three exhausting hours walking through what I would hesitate to call ruins as everything is almost perfectly preserved. It was worth heading south for, but not as much so as a couple of nights in Amalfi on the coast where I went next. The bus ride to get to Amalfi from Naples was an experience. The road hugs the coast line, but from a pretty good hieght, so that you are looking out the window at a long drop down to the sea. The road is so narrow at points that they have workers stationed with radios holding traffic in one direction while a convoy of cars comes from the other direction. Great spot and I got to work on my purple skin tone and read a great book.

One thing that I learned early on is to never be without a book, even if it means you have to read some real rubbish. It just isn't always easy to find English books unless your content to read novels written by authors named Christie, King or Ludlum. The one book you can find anywhere is Dan Brown's "da Vinci Code" which I had the misfortune to read back in Lebanon. Obviously I am the only person on the planet who thought it sucked. So when you find a good book store, preferably a used book store, it is imperative to stock up. The downside is that you are never reading the books you want to be reading about the places where you are. In Greece I read a book about Italy and in Italy I read a great book (found it at a great used book store in Naxos) about Syria, Lebanon and Israel. The later book is James Michener's "The Source" which in Michener fashion weaves real history with fiction to paint an incredible story of the Jewish faith and the Middle East. I love those kind of books. Sorry bit of a digression.

So from Amalfi I spent a good day trying to get to Florence which took a bus ride and a couple of trains, but you can´t complain when the destination is Florence. What a GREAT city, one of the best I have seen. Everyone says the first view of the Duomo is jawdropping, and it is. Just like the first view of Michelangelo's David in the Galleria Dell´ Accademia. In fact one thing that has just been reinforced over the last few months is seeing something in person over seeing a photo. This is especially true of art in particular. Klimnt's paintings are totally different in person, same for Botticelli's (which I saw in Florence's Uffizi Gallery). In fact I never liked either of those artists work until I stood in front of one of their canvasses and was blown away. Standing in front of the statue of David is the zenith of appreciating art in person. Florence is a place to get lost in, live in and just absorb everything it has to offer. I did take one day trip out of the city to Pisa and then spent another day and night in Siena, before heading off to Venice. One thing about Sienna is that it got some of my diminishing funds when I sprang for a coat and a couple of shirts. I justified the jacket as a must since the weather was getting colder and the shirts looked good with the jacket so I couldn't afford not to get those. I did however hold off on the siena colored pants, though it was very hard since they were so close to burnt orange and would have looked damn sweet while I was yelling at a Sooner fan to drag his butt back across the border after the annual TX-ou game. One of the best piazzas in Italy was also in Siena. The sloping Piazzo Dell Campo where they hold an annual horserace and have been doing so for centuries was terrific.

From Florence I went on to Venice and once again, wow. Really great place with loads of opportunities to get lost, just not always so easy to get back to your hotel when you are disoriented and surrounded by water. The massive Piazza San Marco enclosed at one end by the Basilica and the other three sides by the columned arcades of Procuratie Vecchie and Procuratie Nuove is the single most striking square or piazza I have seen, eclipsing the main square in Krakow in size and grandeur.The basilica was yet another excellent example of a truly extravagant church covered in brilliant gold mosaics. In some strange way Venice reminded me of Istanbul, which is a good thing since it is one of my favorite cities. Just a great place that still makes you feel like you are stepping back in time.

From hear I have to thank Richard again for a great travel tip. I had planned to go to Milan and then on to Barcelona, but upon Richards suggestion I bypassed Milan and went on to Genoa and then down the coast to the villages of the Cinque Terra. I spent one night in Genoa, filling up on some great pesto lasagna and faccocia, before getting a Sunday train down to Monterosso, the first of the five cities. The train ride to Genoa was one of my favorites because of the older lady that had the seat across from me and practised her English on me for the 4 hour ride, giving me lots of information on Italian art and history in the process. The Cinque Terra is made up of five villages (thus the name) hugging the coast south of Portifino. The coast line hear is crazy beautiful, but the villages are just as stunning in their quaint charm. If the weather was better you could hike between each one, but the rain forced me to take the 5 minute train rides from one to the next, though I did manage to go between two of the villages on foot. Cinque Terra was one of the highlights of Italy for me, even though the weather could have been better. After two nights in Monterosso, I headed up to Milan to get a train on to Spain. ran into a slight problem as the night train had just stopped going daily and I had to spend the night in Milan. There are certainly worse things that can happen and I took advatage of getting to see a little bit of Milan which was nice, especially if you like to shop. Milan also seems to serve as a reminder to the rest of the world that they don't dress as well or look as fabulous as those in Milan.

Actually I think Italy serves that same purpose for the rest of the world. It's a passionate place where beauty reins as the ultimate trump card. Whether it is how they play soccer, the clothes they wear, the gusto with which they live, or their less than austere places of worship; all that matters in the end is "Bella Italia". What a way to live even if you have to eat pizza and pasta all the time.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1160079120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1160079120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1160079120/tpod.html Sat, 07 Oct 2006 12:02:32 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Athens, Greece

Before I begin describing the most recent leg of my journey I must admit that it will probably not be one of my best efforts. Last night I made a genuine effort to emulate the late night hours of an Athenian, and today I am suffering from minimal sleep and a brutal hangover. Oddly enough it isn't too dissimilar from my physical state when I arrived in Greece. The reason for my diminshed state upon arrival was a result of the three day journey from Croatia. The quickest, and what I thought would be the easiest, way to get to Greece was to take a ferry to Italy and then the next night take another ferry to Greece. It didn't start out well as we left Dubrovnik and sailed into a pretty good storm which tossed the boat about like a toy. I really didn't think it was possible for a ferry that big to catch air, incorrectly assuming such things were the exclusive domain of Hollywood special effects. It was actually terrifyingly cool until the consequences became apparent and the supply of barf bags proved to be insufficient. The bags were supplemented with plastic lined cardboard boxes as nearly all 300 passengers stayed sick for the next 8 hours. If the turbulence didn't get people the smells and sounds certainly did. While I didn't get sick, it was still a tiring 8 hours, and all I wanted when we arrived Bari, Italy at 10 p.m. was a quick meal and sleep. Unfortunately, I left the port in the opposite direction of the town center and didn't find a hotel until after midnight. The next afternoon, I reluctantly boarded another ferry as lightening flashed across the distant horizon. We quickly sailed into another storm and I spent the night getting tossed around my bunk before arriving in Patra, Greece the next morning.

From the port, I made a quick escape to the bus station to catch a bus on towards Nafplio. One curiosity is that I somehow left the port without going through customs or passport control. Is this a problem? I guess I'll find out when I try to leave Greece. After a bus change in Corinth I managed to get to Nafplio in the late afternoon. Nafplio is located on the Argonic Gulf on the western side of Peloponnese. It actually served as the first capital of independent Greece and is blessed with 3 Venetian fortresses (one on an island just offshore) and great narrow streets winding through old Venetian homes and mansions. It also made a great location to take a day trip inland to the ruins of Ancient Mycenae and explore the sight of one of the three ancient empires of Greece (along with the Cycladic and Minoan). After a couple of nights in Nafplio, I headed south for another Venetian town, Monemvasia. Sitting on an islet just off the southeastern coast of Peloponnese, Monemvasia is a hilltop Venetian fortress with a great old town within its walls creating great vistas to look out onto the Mirtoon Sea. I only spent one night here, though it was pretty enough to warrant more, so that I could get on to Gythio and catch the weekly ferry to Crete. One thing about travelling in Peloponnese is that there are no direct buses anywhere, requiring at a minimum a few changes to get around. The busrides did however give me my first glimpse of Greek religion or superstition. Everytime someone got on the bus or the bus came to a stop, people began crossing themselves repeatedly. I am assuming all these gesticulations were to protect against a crash. This had the odd effect of making me feel more concerned about the general safety of Greek buses. Gythio was the nondescript former port for the Spartan city-state and this is where I would catch a ferry to Crete. As the time approached to walk over to the port from my hotel it started to rain. It didn't stop and I had a pleasant 20 minute walk as sheets of water soaked everything I have. Maybe this sounds like no big deal, but when everything in your luggage and on your person is soaked, it sucks!

At midnight I arrived in Kissamos, Crete right after the buses had quit working for the evening. Luckily one taxi was working, ferrying people back and forth the 4 km to town, and I managed to catch it on its second trip. The next morning I caught the first bus on to Hania on the northern coast of Crete. Hania is yet another Venetian fortified town, but evidently the Venetian defenses weren't strong enough to hold off the invasion of package tourist crowds invading from Northern Europe. The town was charming in parts, but the coast line on either side were absolutely ruined by ugly hotels, cheesy bars and rows of shops selling tourist crap. However, I did manage to find a cool room in the old quarter, above someones shop, with a balcony overlooking the old harbor. I had no desire to go to any of the resort dominated beaches on the northern coast and opted to make a day trip to the south coast and Elephanisi Islet, where the crowds were fewer and there was no construction save for a few farm buildings. My next stop in Crete was Iraklio, where I would visit the Minoan ruins of Knossos and then catch a ferry on to the Cycladic Islands. On my third day In Iraklio, I decided to break up the monotony of my ever expanding forehead by splitting my head open on an open window in my room. This bit of stupidity exposed me to the delights of Greek medical care. The hotel called me a taxi for a trip to the hospital after I had walked to a pharmacy and the pharmacist recoiled and said I had to go to a hospital. Here is the interesting thing about going to a hospital in a country where you don't speak or read the language, you have no clue where to go once you are at the hospital. Evidently walking into a hospital holding a bloody rag to your forehead doesn't guarantee that you will be quickly swept off to recieve care, though walking through the maternity ward in that state gets you booted out of that area relatively quickly. Finally a nurse spotted me wandering the corridors and took me to a chair where I waited about 20 seconds before I was prone on a gurney getting 4 stitches and a tetanus shot. One thing about Greeks is that they are incredibly warm and kind of funny, though I am not sure if the last trait is intentional. The doctor's response to my inquiry about how bad the scar would be was " I stitched you good. You won't be too ugly." Very funny. Was she joking? Amazingly, the humor, the stitches and the tetanus shot were free of charge. The cost for my accident would be that I would have a nice Frankenstein scar across my forehead as a permanent souvenir.

After Crete, which was a little dissappointing, I went to Santorini in the Cycladic Islands. This island was amazing, with its black and red sand beaches, its white washed houses sitting on the edge of a caldera, and its laid back atmosphere. I spent three days laying on beaches and that just didn't seem like enough so I went to Naxos for another three days of laying on beaches. Santorini is a natural wonder with the center of the island having sunk after an earthquake, revealing startling layers of red and black Volcanic pumice in the exposed cliffface. The other reminder of its volcanic origins are the black and red beaches which radiate heat. Naxos is less dramatic, but has a great old Venetian quarter of twisting narrow streets and tunnels (providing a nightly obstacle to finding my way home) and flawless beaches. It was really hard to move on. In fact it was really hard to move at all. The beach bum life is pretty addictive and just going to buy ferry tickets was a major inconvience on my newly adopted lifestyle. But I managed it and left the islands for my last stop in Greece, Athens. After so many days in the sun, I would have hoped to give the look of bronzed health, but in reality I cut a less impressive image. Evidently too much sun turns me more purple than bronze and bleaches out my eyebrows. So as I came to Athens,I looked like a turnip with no eyebrows and a stiched up forhead. Just the kind of person you want warn your children about.

When I was in Santorini, I was talking to this girl from Fresno and she was telling me how Athens reminded her of San Francisco and that I would really like it. Maybe if you're from Fresno, or some other miserable place in the San Joaquin valley, Athens might resemble San Francisco, but only if you purposefully blur your vision. Athens reminds me of no other place I have been and during the day it is truly not that attractive of a city. It's polluted. It's layout is confusing. It has some of the ugliest buildings you will ever hope to see. In fact I am pretty sure Aristotle was around the last time they erected an attractive building. But at night, the city changes completely and as most things becomes better looking in the shadows. When I first got to Greece I had to adjust to the midday shutdown of everything. Usually from 12-6 everything just closes and then reopens until late in the evening. In Athens the daily shutdown isn't observed, but the late nights are. Last night, around 10 p.m., as I sat outside in a cafe drinking some wine after dinner, the parade began. It was like someone opened a door exactly at 10 and everyone was behind it waiting to get out. The streets filled up with people, all dressed to kill, walking with friends to spend a long night drinking. I called it a night around 2 p.m. and I am pretty sure it kept going until the sun came up. The Acropolis, the Parthenon, the Agora and all the other ancient sites in Athens are as you might expect, amazing and clearly worth seeing. The rest of Athens is not all that great looking, bordering on ugly, but like every place if the people are warm and friendly then its a nice city. The people in Athens like the rest of Greece are truly nice and that's what makes Greece such a special place. Well that and the islands, the food, the history, the black-robed clad Orthodox priests and of course the patented, giant, Jackie O' sunglasses that everyone seems to be wearing. Okay, maybe the big sunglasses don't make it special.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1158096600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1158096600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1158096600/tpod.html Fri, 15 Sep 2006 10:28:34 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Dubrovnik, Croatia

I can't believe that it's been over a month since I posted an update to my travelogue. Time has definitely flown by over the last month which probably is a fairly good indication that I have enjoyed my recent travels. Eastern and Central Europe has provided me a mix of different cultures, a plethora of languages I can't speak, an embarrasing abundance of beautiful women, hearty food, the best beer in the world, fairy tale architecture, some great beaches, and a inescapeable lesson in the regions rich history. I will do my best to spare you the history lesson and just try to give you an idea of what each place was like through my eyes.

I started off for Sophia, Bulgaria on a night train from Istanbul. Before the train left the station, I knew Bulgaria would be nothing like Turkey. After I found the correct carriage and began to board the train I was greeted (in an angry, unintelligible language) by a giant of a man in nothing but jockey shorts. This bear of a man was the conductor for my carriage, and he promptly took my ticket and showed me to my room. The journey was a long one with a terribly unpleasant wake up call in the middle of the night for everyone to get off the train and go through the Turkish border control (everywhere else this occured with the boarder guards coming onto the train). Prior to arrival in Sophia I was awoken by my conductor who I was pleased to find dressed in uniform. Sophia was an incredibly dreary place which looked like it was still partially hiding behind the Iron Curtain of communism. Lots of uninspired concrete blocks of socialist buildings so popular under communist control and surprisingly lots of seedy street corner casinos. That is not to say that Sophia has zero appeal, because it does, especially the administrative center of town with its gold, cobblestoned streets winding between some fantastic 18th and 19th century churches and museums. The other interesting thing about Sophia and Bulgaria was the restaurants. They have this chain of restaurants, kind of a cross between Chilis and Hooters, which served really good food for cheap. The reason I compared it to Hooters is because the wait staff was comprised of models dressed in micro-mini skirts that would have made Hugh Heffner blush. After a night in Sophia I made my way to the bus station to move north towards Romania. I got fined on the way to the bus station for not having a tram ticket for my bag, as if I knew I needed one. While still fuming over the fine, I proceeded to try and get a ticket to Veliko Tarnova. Thanks to the completely unpleasant people at the ticket offices, who showed no mercy in my inability to read signs written in the Cyrillic alphabet, this took far longer than necessary. I finally made it to Veliko Tarnova in the late afternoon and punished myself for getting fined in Sophia by staying in the cheapest place possible. The bathroom was so scary I went outside when nature called. I did manage to trek through the town, following along the path of the river that snakes around the hills, up to the medieval Tsarevets Fortress. The city was beautiful as was this really cool fortress. Unfortunately the people were less than friendly and I had no luck in booking an onward bus for the next morning, leaving me to wake up and scramble looking for onward transport. In the morning I found a bus going to Varna on the Black Sea coast, and made the snap decision that a few days on the beach wouldn't be too bad. It was better than not too bad as the beach was packed with barely clothed would be models. I spent 3 days here.

The good thing about going to Varna, other than the scenery, was that an overnight train ran directly to Bucharest, Romania from here. Bucharest made Sophia look like heaven. If Sophia was partially hiding behind the Iron Curtain then Bucharest hadn't bothered to peek out from behind it's steely fabric. Bucharest was a terribly unfriendly and dirty place, with as many crumbling vacant buildings as not. Lots of shady gypsies as well. In fact this was the first place I have been on my trip where I didn't feel entirely safe and didn't even consider venturing out after dark. No need to stay longer than a night and I caught the train up to Brasov in Transylvania the next morning, but not before I was spit at from an attendant at the train station. What happened? Let me explain. I am wondering around trying to figure out which of the myriad ticket windows sells tickets to my destination. This seemingly nice man in official garb approaches, and asks if he can help; so I ask for directions to the correct window and he proceeds to walk me over to it. He then stays with me while I wait in line. Okay, I've travelled enough to know that some form of payment is going to be expected for his assistance, and I am perfectly cool with that. So I get my ticket and he proceeds to direct me to the correct platform, after which I thank him and extend my hand to give him $60,000 Romanian lei, about $2 US, and he cusses me and spits at me. He then asks for $20 US!!! Ummm, NO! The $60,000 went back into my pocket and he scurried off. Perfect ending to my one day in Bucharest. The good news is that Brasov was much better. Brasov is tucked into the Carpathian Mountains and is a cross between a modern ski village and something out of a Boris Karlov film. The center of the town is a pedestrian street opening up into a vast central plaza. From here I took a day trip to Bran to see one the storied medieval castles of the Carpathians. Even though the castle had absolutely no conection with Vlad Tepes (Vlad the Impaler, historical figure that Bram Stoker based his fictional Dracula on) the place was overrun with dracula crap for sell. What a great way to ruin what would otherwise be a cool historical sight. This was a day wasted. After a few days in Romania I was unwilling to make any further effort to find things about it that appealed to me and booked an overnight train to Budapest, Hungary.

Just getting on the Hungarian train told me that Hungary was going to be nothing like either Bulgaria or Romania. The sleeper was awesome and if it weren't for my meeting a nice Australian guy and staying up most of the night drinking in the dining car, I am sure I would have slept really well. In the morning as we are rolling through the Hungarian countryside on our approach to Budapest, we both commented that Hungary looks a lot nicer and cleaner than Romania. Not only was Hungary cleaner, but the people were spectacular (friendly and helpful with a language that is much easier on my western ears) and the city itself was the most beautiful I have seen. The city is bisected by the Danube with the hills of Buda to the west and the more urbanized streets of Pest to the east. Along the banks of the Danube are amazing buildings and churches casting their reflections into the always moving waters of the river. Stretching across the river are fantastic bridges that provide great views in either direction. With all its great architecture, history and scenic vistas, Budapest also had the best feel of any city I have visited. I was lucky enough to meet a good friend, Szilvia, who took the time to show me some of the city away from the tourist destinations. While in Budapest i tried one of the many thermal public baths. The city has several, basically wherever they discovered an underground thermal spring. The baths are amazingly elaborate with a myriad of indoor and outdoor pools, spas, saunas and steam rooms in every concievable temperature. Truthfully they are a little intimidating when you don't know what the correct procedure is. My plan was just to follow whatever the old naked guys did, as they probably knew what they were doing. I started in one temperature thermal bath and then moved to another and another increasing in temperature at the same time. Next the seering hot steam room before a dip in an ice cold 8 degree bath, before starting the process all over again. After the baths I went outside to the big pool and spa open to both sexes. I left feeling totally enlivened, giving me yet another reason to love Budapest. Overall, this is a place I would move to in a heartbeat and I made plans to come back after visiting some other countries.

From Budapest I travelled by train to Vienna, Austria and upon arrival was introduced to the renowned Austrian effeciency. At the train station i wasn't clear how to get to the pension i had reserved a room at. I went to the information booth in the train station and the guy not only spoke flawless English, but drew me a map labelling each stop along the way. He also didn't spit at me which was kind of a bonus. Anyways this whole assisting with directions thing must be something that Austrians take great pride in because I always got amazing help when I asked. This might not seem like a big deal, but after travelling for several months and enduring the customary rolling of eyes at the stupid tourist, not to mention the more contemptuos acts of courtesy, this definitely made an impression. In saying this though I wouldn't call the people I met in Vienna warm or friendly. I would call then efficient, formal and pleasant. The city itself is so overrun with culture and history, it would have to rank with Paris, if not ahead. As the home of Sigmund Frued, Gustav Klimt (who I have become a huge fan of), Otto Wagner, the Hapsburgs, and of course arguably the best coffee on the planet; Vienna really is one of the worlds great cities. I won't list out all the great museums, buildings, churches and palaces I visited, but I saw them all in three exhausting days, while fitting in time to sit in a cafe and drink a $6 cup of coffee and eat a $5 apricot pastry. Vienna was also the place where I did possibly the stupidest thing on my trip so far, which is saying a lot. On my last night I went to the Prater (a large amusement park akin to the State Fair of Texas sans Sooner fans in jhorts) to seek out the Schweizerhaus upon the recommendation of my friend Richard. Schweizerhaus is a huge beer garden that serves ice cold Budweiser Budvar and roasted pork knuckles among other things. So I find a standing table and order up a Budavr and a pig knuckle. The waiter shoots me a look indicating that he had zero confidence in my ability to handle such a hearty order. The beer had a two inch head of thick foam and was so good I made light work of it and ordered another before my pig knuckle arrived. I understood the waiters cautionary glance once the food arrived. The pig knuckle order is suppossed to be for two and man was it huge, yet I took great pride in being able to finish the food and celebrated with another couple or few beers. In the stupor of a food coma fueled by too many beers, I proceeded to accidently erase all the photos on my camera. This means all the photos from Turkey through Vienna are gone and thus no photos of several places on this update. I blame it on the pig knuckle with an assist from the Budvars. So I wake up the next morning in a fog, quickly remembering my stupidity and catch a train to Ceske Budejovice in the Czech Republic.

The Czech Republic is niether as friendly or as efficient as Hungary or Austria but it has great beer, ridiculous, multi-hued fairy tale buildings and great scenery. I stopped off in the Bohemian town of Ceske Budejoviche to see the Budweiser brewery and to take a day trip to Cesky Krumlov with its over the top castle. If you ever want to see one castle and village that looks like it was created from a dream this is it. As far as the tour of the brewery, it was a tour of a brewery and rather boring except for the sweet little old lady that reminded me of my mother. She took great pride in her job and revelled in telling how many hectacres of beer were consumed at the brewery's last anniversary. It was a lot. The highlight though was sampling unfiltered, non-pastuerized Budweiser Budavr in the ice cold keg room. From here I headed up to Prague for a few days. I decided it was cheaper to rent an apartment then deal with trying to find a hotel. The apartment option is the way to go and I stayed with that for the next few stops. Prague is great but a little over-touristed. Still a really pretty place with absurd architecture and of course really pretty women. You might be picking up on a theme at this point as it concerns the fairer sex. There is a reason sooo many models have last names that end in "vich", "kova" and other combinations of consanants that are difficult to pronounce.

After a good time in Prague I caught a late train to Krakow arriving in the early hours of the morning. Krakow is kind of a gem as it is a little less touristed and really has a lot of charm. The main square of the city, Rynek Glowny, is absolutely huge with the Cloth Hall in the center and St. Marys Church off to one side. Unfortunately it rained the whole time I was there but it was still great. One unique thing about Krakow is the food. For months I have been craving mexican food and oddly enough Krakow had several mexican food restaurants. Overall they were pretty good as long as you are okay with having cabbage as a side dish, whether you want it or not. Other than touring around the city itself, I made two side trips while in Krakow. One, which I wouldn't recommend is the trip to the Wieliczka Salt Mine. The only way to see it is on a guided tour that takes THREE hours in the cold, damp mines. Way too long and after you have seen one statue or structure made of salt you kind of have the idea and you are ready to come up, or at least I was. The other side trip and the best reason to go to Krakow is the day trip I took to the Auschwitz and Birkenau concentration camps. When I decided to go I knew that it would be tough and horrifying but I was totally unprepared for how draining it would be. Auschwitz is the original camp and Birkenau was built afterwards to be able to handle even greater numbers. In Auschwitz some of the barracks have been turned into museums and monuments from the different countries that had its citizens held here. The two things about this day that stand out was first the size of Birkenau. Imagine like 6-7 football fields layed side by side and that is about how big it is. The other were the exhibits on display. In one barracks they displayed items found when the Russians liberated the camp. In this room, behind glass, were displays of human hair that was found in bags to be shipped to Germany and made into fabric, luggage of the victims, glasses, cookware and every imaginable personal effect from someone who had no idea these things were unnecessary where they were going. The Germans reused everything and most of this had already been shipped back to the fatherland or destroyed as the Russians approached. For some reason the most moving display was a glass enclosed room full of shoes. Every shoe you could imagine. Wooden clogs, mens work boots, mens dress shoes, heeled womens dress shoes, childrens shoes. They came in every color; red, blue, white, black, brown, tan and each had its own style as if each owner carefully chose this pair to wear for their journey and new life in Auschwitz. It was unimaginably sad. My friend Szilvia gave me a book written by a Hungarian man who was imprisoned in one of the camps as a youth. The book is called "Fatelessness" and won the Nobel Prize for Literature. I would recommend it if you have any interest.

From Krakow, I took a night train back to Budapest where I spent another 6 days and celebrated turning 38. What a looser, no job, no home, no car, just a backpack. Actually I am pretty pleased to turn 38 amidst this trip and all these new experiences. Budapest was great the second time around as well, and confirmed that this is a city I like. The next stop was Zagreb, Croatia. A few times a place has completely caught me by surprise and been completely different than what i expected. Croatia has been just such a place. I mean wasn't this place recently in the throws of war and on top of that it part of the former Yugoslavia. Zagreb is cosmopolitan and stylish, with a little old world charm mixed in. All of Croatia has very apparent Italian influences, due to prior Venetian rule and certainly its close proximity to Italy. After a night in Zagreb, I boarded a night train down to Split and the Dalmation Coast. My first stop on the coast was the island of Hvar and the idyllic village of Hvar Town. I got a great apartment in Hvar Town with a balcony overlooking the lagoon and facing the west. The proprietor was an absolutely hilarious Croatian man who spoke almost no English (except to point out the discos and the supermarkets) and always referred to himself in the third person. When I arrived in Hvar, it was the day of the Texas-Ohio State game and I was really bummed that I could not watch it. The next day my plan was to get up early and find a computer to see how the game went, but the three swedish girls in the apartment above me talked me into going to a beach on another island instead. I discovered in the taxi boat on the way to the island, that we were headed to the clothing NOT optional beach. Yada-yada-yada so I didn't end up finding out about the Texas loss until the next day. Really sucks that they lost, huh. After another day in Hvar (nursing an unsightly sunburn) I took a ferry down the coast to the walled city of Dubrovnik. Yet another great city with its walled old town and white marble streets surrounded by the beautiful beaches and islands that litter the Dalmation Coast. Croatia was a bit of a surprise and has been a great stop.

From here I head to Greece via a ferry ride to Italy before getting to Greece. After Greece I plan to head to Italy and then who knows. Plans don't always hold so you never know. I have really enjoyed this part of my trip as I am sure I will enjoy my next stop. Take care and write me an email.
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Istanbul, Turkey

As I sit down to write this it's difficult to think that I just got into Turkey a little over a month ago, it oddly feels like I've been here much longer. Actually it was on the Fourth of July when I entered from Syria and surprisingly fireworks weren't on the agenda. The reason it feels so long is due to my pace of travel and the amount of the country I've covered in my time here; and not an indication of my feelings about Turkey. As I get ready to leave, I already know I will miss it. I'll miss the muezzin blaring from the minarets calling the faithful to prayer five times daily (I won't miss the dawn call to prayer). I'll miss the helpful and friendly people (carpet sellers excluded). I'll miss the myriad types of kebabs. I'll miss the cay bahcesi's (tea gardens) occupying open areas in every city where old men and couples come to just sit, drink tea and while away the hours. Mostly I'll miss the busrides and the dramatic landscape that unfolded through the window. Buses are how you travel here, and they come in every variety and size. I have been on huge, luxurious, air-conditioned Mercedes Benz coaches and I've melted on 12 seat dolmuses with my bag in my lap. I've had children throw-up on me and I've been sprinkled with perfume (still undecided on which is worse). Only once was it practical to take an overnight busride, which simply served to remind me that I do not like overnight busrides. But regardless of what it was like inside the bus, outside my window was always an amazing, often surprising and totally captivating view. Moonscapes, rock covered hills, wheat covered fields, gray granite cliffs, moss covered rock piles, alpine forests, red and gold mountains, seas of sunflowers, neatly lined rows of orchards, purple salt lakes, turquiose waters crashing against golden sandstone walls, gray and brown mountains sloping into vivid blue waters, ships sailing on the horizon, snow covered peaks, and sandy shored islands. Every destination on these busrides proved as diverse as the scenery on the way.

From Syria I came into Turkey overland into Antakya. My goal was to travel through the east of the country before coming back through the center to the coast and then up to Istanbul. Basically making a figure eight. This seemed simple enough, except I had no map and once again no guidebook. I wasn't too worried, thinking Turkey is well travelled and they use Latin letters in their alphabet, so of course I would have no problem. This would have been somewhat true if I had gone solely to the more travelled areas of Western Turkey. Eastern Turkey is a different story. The first thing I learned about Turkey is that few tourists means few people who speak English. Getting a map to plan my route taxed all my non-verbal communication skills. On the second day I made it safely to Sanliurfa (just Urfa for Turks) and found a great room in an old 19th century palace. The city was extremely conservative, as was most of Eastern Turkey, and headscarves were the norm. I lingered for a couple of nights and got my first exposure to Turkish television and hospitality. "Come, sit, have some Cay (tea) and watch T.V.." What I learned from the tube: 1.Baywatch is far more enjoyable when you are forced to make up your own dialogue. 2.Desperate Housewives is pretty popular and Turkish men find Eva Longoria just as attractive as American men. 3. "Oriental Dance" is their own unqique version of American Idol with belly dancing instead of singing. Great show. 4.They love music videos and often sing along. The song about "gasoline" (?) seems to be one of the most popular. (If someone hipper than I could please clarify the lyrics it would be appreciated.)

I left Urfa and travelled up to Khata to explore Mt. Nemrut and the amazing collosal statues from the small Commagene Kingdom. Upon disembarking from the minibus I was accosted by my first Turkish tout trying to sell me a sunset tour to Mt. Nemrut. After 2 hours of him magically reappearring I got him to drop his price from 60YTL to 30YTL and include one nights accomadation. I was patting myself on the back until 500 flies woke me at 5a.m. the next morning in my "free" room. The tour was great though and I was accompanied by 2 Korean med students and a Turkish man and his mother. I was very happy to see another tourist (my first in quite awhile) even though their English was limited and my Korean non-existent. The sunset from Mt. Nemrut was worth far more than 30YTL and I was extremely pleased that I had made this little detour. From Khata I went to the golden hillside city of Mardin, where I learned a valuable lesson. While I am not allergic to North American wasps, I am apparently allergic to their Turkish cousins. So in addition to Mardin's gift of amazing views into Syria, I was given the unique souvenir of a swollen man-boob and a painful third nipple.

After one night in Mardin (where I once again had a room in a restored 19th century palace) I travelled all day to Van near the Iraqi border. This might have qualified as my favorite busride in Turkey. Leaving the hot plains of the south and moving into cooler mountainous regions was a welcome change. Each of the towns and villages we passed had that pleasant, gritty feel of places that spend more time covered in snow than not. As the bus followed the curving contours of the mountains, the sea-like Lake Van would appear and dissappear from between the steep snow-covered peaks. This was mirrored by the shyly curious girl who performed a dissappearing act of her own from behind her mother's shoulder in the seat in front of me. The pleasure of the scenery came to an abrupt end when the constant curves took their toll on the little girl, causing her to projectile vomit on me from over the security of her mother's shoulder. I made it to Van just in time for a quick shower and dinner, before settling in to watch the World Cup Finals. Unfortunately Zidane lost his cool, France lost the game and I called it a night. The next day I took several dolmuses and hitched rides to Lake Van where I took a ferry to an Armenian church located on an island. Back in Van I learned that walking into an opened man-hole on the sidewalk isn't just reserved for cartoon characters and Inspector Clouseau. Note to self: watch where you are walking. That night as I was looking for a place to have dinner, this Kurdish man approached and introduced himself asking if I wouldn't mind his company as he would like to practice his English. For me it was a great opportunity to learn about the Kurdish conflict in eastern Turkey while gaining some valuable practice at speaking Turkish. After two nights in Van, I travelled to Dogubayazit at the base of Mt. Ararat. While I didn't go trekking to see the remains of Noah's Arc on the mountain, I did go visit one of the most fantastic buildings I've seen on my trip. Ishak Pasa Palace is situated on a rocky plateau surrounded by sheer cliffs with views back over the valley. The scenery was astounding and the building had great Armenian reliefs and Russian influenced domes. Back in Dogubayazit, I spent the afternoon discussing obtaining a visa for Iran. I hate to be told "no" so I thought I would give it one more chance here. Mehmet felt confident that he could obtain a visa for me, so I gave him some money and we exchanged emails. I gave up on hearing from Mehmet about a week ago, so it looks like Iran is not possible. Even if I had gotten the visa, I am not sure I could have justified going based upon current events in Lebanon and the cloud from the UN resolution concerning their nuclear program. Of course most disconcerting was Irans recent announcement outlawing certain western words. I just don't think I can call "pizza" by its new government approved name, "elastic loaf". Luckily however, I was able to get a guide book for Turkey and I once again had my security blanket.

I followed my original plan of travelling back towards the center of Turkey along the Black Sea coast from where I would drop down to central Turkey and then on towards the Mediterranean and Aegean coasts. After Dogubayzit, I spent two uneventful days in Erzerum. From there my first stop on the Black Sea coast was Trabzon, a fairly large port city with a quaint central square overrun by Russians on holiday. I really enjoyed Trabzon, partly because it was the first place I had been in Turkey where I could enjoy a cold beer while sitting outdoors people watching. On my first full day, I walked over to Aya Sofya, an old church overlooking the Black Sea. On the walk back I encountered a small demonstration of about 400-500 people. This was right after Israel had started bombing Lebanon, and since the only words I could make out were "Israel", "America", and "Bush", I figured this was what they were demonstrating against. Just as I was debating the safety of taking a few photographs, the crowd in unison began chanting "Yankee Go Home! Yankee Go Home!" While I'm not vain enough to think they were referring specifically to me, I was clever enough to take this as a good signal to leave and go enjoy one of those cold beers. On my second day, I took a tour up to Sumela Monastery perched on the side of one of the alpine mountains south of Trabzon. The monastery housed some absolutely amazing frescoes and provided unrivaled views out over the surrounding mountains. As the bus arrived at the bottom of the trail leading up to the monastery, and everyone started to get out, I hear "Jun, Jun" from behind me and turn around to see my Korean friends who I had met while touring Mt. Nemrut. I also met a cool young couple from Denmark, Mathius and Nanna, who met me for beers later that night where we talked until the place closed.

Leaving Trabzon after three nights brought me along the coast to Samsun. While the trip along the coast was splendid with it's views of the Black Sea, not as much could be said for Samsun which was another overgrown port city with none of the charm of Trabzon. After one night I started heading south and stopped in Amasya for a couple of nights. This was a truly charming place situated on a river with quaint old Ottoman houses lining the streets and Pontic Tombs cut into the cliffs towering over the valley. Next I headed to Ankara, the capital of Turkey and one of its' biggest cities. Quite a contrast from Amasya. The main reason I visited was to visit the US embassy and get more pages in my passport, which my friend Richard had researched for me. The visit to the embassy was quite a surprise as I wasn't expecting to be shuttled to the front of the line and get preferential treatment over all the people waiting in lines both outside and inside the embassy. Unbelievably they put 20 new pages in my passport while I waited for 20 minutes. It took longer than 20 minutes just to find the embassy. Ankara was much better than I had expected and the Ataturk Mausoleum and Museum was fantastic. Ataturk is an interesting character and everywhere you go in Turkey you see statues and photos of him. The story of the Turkish Republic is the story of Ataturk and all he did to force Turkey into a more modern, democratic age. Whithin 10 years of establishing his secular, republic he created a new Latin alphabet, outlawed religious head coverings (no more Turbans), gave women rights previously non-existent and tried to turn Turkey towards the West. In doing so he created an environment where certain personal freedoms were abolished while creating others that fit his idea of what Turkey should be. The result is a country that is still divided between the conservative east and the more liberal, European leaning west.

On my trek south I stopped in Goreme in the Cappadochia region for a few nights. This is easily the most bizarre region of Turkey and also one of the most beautiful. This lunar landscape is covered with cave dwellings, ancient curches, underground cities and amazing charm. Stupidly I opted for staying in a cave, which I would never reccomend to anyone I liked unless you are fond of sleeping in a cool, clammy, humid hole. Otherwise, Goreme was incredible. The Goreme Open Air Museum with its collection of Byzantine, rock-cut churches displaying fantastic frescoes was one of the highlights. Goreme was also the place where I lost resistance to the lure of the carpet dealers and blew a months travel allowance on carpets. My last night in Goreme also brought me the good fortune of meeting two good friends from New Zealand, Jeff and Helen. I was waiting to board the night bus to the coast and stopped into a cafe for a little dinner. I was checking out the menu to find something I hadn't tried yet whem their order was brought to their table. Luckily for me, it was the wrong order so I told the waiter I would take it. I had wanted to try Testi Kebab ever since I learned it wasn't a kebab made from a singular, unappetizing part of the anatomy. It is actually a bunch of meat and vegetables cooked in an enclosed clay jar that is broken open at your table and dumped on to your plate. Very good. I learned that Helen and Jeff were on the same bus as I and we ended up spending the next few days together. The night bus was as awful as it always is, leaving me feeling exhausted once I arrived in Olympus. Jeff, Helen and I looked for a place in nearby Ciraeli, as oppossed to staying in a treehouse and listening to all night parties in Olympus, which proved to be a good idea as we found an amazing place tucked into an apple orchard about a 5 minute walk from the beach, even though it surprisingly took us over an hour to find. The lady who owned it was easily one of the most angelic people I have ever encountered. She served us amazing breakfasts every morning and prepared for us one of the best dinners I have had. My two days included a lot of lounging around on the beach and swimming in the temperate Mediterranean. I did manage a brief walk through the ruins of Olympus and one long walk with Helen and Jeff up to Chimeara to see tha flames shooting out of the rocks where the Olympics started.

Leaving Chiraeli was hard because I wasn't ready to leave the Mediterranean, so I moved down the coast to Fethiye. The ride along the coast was fantastic and every village we passed looked lýke the perfect place to stay. I stupidly chose Fethiye, which had no beach but a large Marina with boats taking Europeans on holiday up and down the coast. Fethiye wasn't for me so after 2 nights I moved on to Pamukkale. Pamukkale has the second strangest sight in Turkey, the snow white travertines beneath the ruins of Hieropolis. The travertines are stark white calcified rock formations that make up the better part of the hillside going up to Hieropolis. It was an amazing sight made even more bizarre by the scantily attired foriegners bathing in the pools and then walking through the ruins above. See the photo attached for an idea of what I am talking about. The bizzare part is someone walking around in a thong while passing muslim women covered from head to toe. Adter one night in Pamukkale, I moved on to Selcuk to see the ruins of Ephesus and catch my first glimpse of the Aegean Sea. On arrival, I headed straight to Ephesus to see one of the largest ancient ruins from Pre-Roman and Roman times. It was a huge sight with some amazing ruins like the Library of Celsus. On the way out of the ruins I bumped into Helen and Jeff again amd we agreed to meet later for beers. On my second day in Selcuk I went to the beach for what I thought would be a nice, quiet day of reading and swimming. Wrong. I didn't know what day of the week it was and the beach was packed with Turkish families spending their Sunday together enjoying the cool waters. It always surprises me when I loose track of the day of the week. Like waking up in Syria on a Friday and finding everything closed or Sundays in Turkey. I did manage to find a small plot of sand to sit, but instead of reading I just people watched as children buried their fathers in the sand, grandfathers struggled to blow up inflattable rafts, grandmothers fussed over grandchildren and mothers tried to prepare food while finishing what the grandfather started and admonishing their husbands for tracking sand onto their blanket fortress. It turned out to be a fun day, though the Aegean is much colder than the Mediterranean.

On my way up the coast to Istanbul I stopped in Canakkale for a couple of nights to visit Troy and possibly the Gallipoli battlefields. I made it to Troy the first day and while their wasn't too much to see beyond some ruined walls and foundations, it was still exciting to stand in the shadows of Achilles, Hector, and Paris. Troy was discovered and excavated in the 19th century. What is amazing is that Homers account of the Trojan War was thought to be legend, but Homer's description of its location in the Iliad is how the archeologists found it. What they discovered and continue to excavate is actually nine cities one on top of the other dating back to 3000 B.C.. The Troy of King Priam from the Trojan Wars is thought to be Troy VI. Because it took the better part of the day to get to and from Troy, I decided to skip Gallipoli, even though it was easy to see across the Dardenelles from Canakkale. The next day I took the first bus to Istanbul. This was supposed to be a 5 hour trip but we somehow managed to strech it out to a full 8 hours. This was the worst bus ride I had im Turkey. The first seven hours were filled with a muppet faced little girl screaming what sounded like the lyrics of a Ramones song. "Gaba Gaba WEEE, Gaba Gaba GOOO." Unfortunately the mother and father had given up any efforts at trying to quiet her, and gratefully the got off before Istanbul. The bad news is they were replaced by another family, whose mother had bathed in garlic and sour milk before boarding the bus. She had the seat behind me. Great. I did finally make it to Istanbul and after 2 hours I finally found the hotel I had booked online. With my fortunes improving I set out to see some of Sultanahmet and promptly bumped into Jeff and Helen again. I thought they had already left to return to New Zealand, but they had one more day so we had dinner together and went to the sound and light show at the Blue Mosque. The following morning we met up to tour Topkapi Palace (very cool) and have some lunch before they departed to the airport. Unfortunately I think I ruined their last meal in Turkey as I had a bit of a row with the waiter, who refused to show the menu (with included the prices). Sorry Jeff and Helen. The last few days have been great and Istanbul has left a very favourable impression on me. It truly is one of the greatest cities you could ever see; infused with great culture, splendid old buildings, charming nieghborhoods, paths of water that dividing the city up into seperate quarters and breathtaking views. I won't list all the great buildings and sights but I will say that Aya Sofya is amazing beyond reasonable description. What was first considered the greatest church in Christendom, when it was completed by Emperor Justinian in 537 A.D., and what later became a mosque under Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror, still holds sway over all the other buildings that have tried to compete with it's grandeour.

As I said earlier, I know I will miss Turkey and now I will miss Istanbul. Turkey can easily be considered one of my favorite places on my trip. Oh yeah..I'll miss the evil eye charms everywhere you turn, the abundant availlability of cherry juice, neverending offers of tea, red-tiled roofs, but mostly the busrides.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1151620200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1151620200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1151620200/tpod.html Mon, 03 Jul 2006 06:02:28 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Aleppo, Syria

I last left off indicating I had no clear plan of where I was headed next, which wasn't entirely true, since I knew I was headed to Jordan from Egypt. What was somewhat true is that I didn't have a plan on where I was going once I got to Jordan. My lack of an itinerary was excacerbated by my failure to find a guidebook for the Middle East while I was in Egypt. So without a plan or a Lonely Planet crutch, the success of my travels would completely depend upon the "kindness of strangers." I couldn't have chosen better countries to find kind and helpful people. Another boon to travelling in the Middle East is the absence of being seen as a walking ATM machine. The touts and hustlers were few and far between, allowing for great experiences without the need to constantly have your guard up for someone wanting something from you.

One thing that wieghed on my mind was how I would be recieved in these countries as an ugly American. In case you weren't aware, or havn't been watching Fox News, there exists a general perception that Muslim countries are not too fond of American foriegn policy and Americans should stay way clear of the Middle East. Contrary to the media, and politics aside, the people in each of the countries I visited could not have been more welcoming. That is not to say that I didn't hear several opinions on American policy. I did. Often when people would ask where I was from, a long pregnant pause would follow (while they seemingly assesed my political leanings) before delivering a warm "Welcome, how do you find our country." One man ammussingly responded to my telling him I was from America by saying "Ahh, Bush (insert the sound of bomb explosions.)" Most however where more interested in discussing the World Cup. Being American didn't help much in these conversations either. Politics and soccer notwithstanding, I was treated like a welcome guest and often like a friend. Countless times I was asked to dinner, and daily someone was placing tea in front of me with nothing expected (or accepted) in return.

In between visiting fantastic historical sights and getting lost in the colorful souqs and labyrinthe alleyways of cities, I tried to make sure I could watch as much of the World Cup as possible. Other than the entertainment of the games themselves, the different places I watched games and the people I met while watching them provided me with some of my favorite memories. From Egypt I took a ferry to Jordan and travelled by taxi, with some people I met on the boat, to Wadi Musa the town around Petra. I sadly knew little about Petra prior to visiting (other than what I remembered from the Indiana Jones movie that featured it), which only hieghtened my awe when I did see it. Petra is a 3rd century B.C. city carved out of sandstone cliffs. To enter the sight you walk over a mile through a defile, the Siq, with towering walls on either side of you. At the end of the path, through the space between the towering walls you see your first glimpse of an enormous building in bright shades of pink and gold carved out of the rock in front of you. Petra is the perfect combination of natural beauty, unrivaled vistas, and rare archaeology.

From Petra I decided to head north on public minibuses, which was an experience in itself. Trying to communicate your hopeful destination while butchering the proper pronunciation of wherever it is your headed makes travel interesting. I only got stuck once and had to backtrack 2 hours to get where I was headed. After a couple of days, and one pitstop in Karak, I made it to Amman. From Amman I went to Mt. Nemo and the Dead Sea. Mt. Nemo is the sight where Moses saw the Promised Land, after wandering in the desert for 40 years. What I saw was the Israeli military having what I hope was target practice off in the distance of Jericho. What started as machine gun fire, quickly grew to rocket explosions fired from helicopters. After Mt. Nemo, I went to the lowest place on the planet, The Dead Sea, for a cooling afternoon swim. There is little enjoyable about swimming in the Dead Sea, other than the fact that you float without wanting to. It's actually hard to stand because your feet continually float to the surface due to the salt content. The salt covers you and burns like hell if you have any cuts, you recently shaved or you are foolish enough (like me) to allow water in your eyes. When you get out of the water you are covered in salt, which makes your skin feel like it shrunk around your flesh. Thankfully I was able to rinse off in a slightly less salty shower before going back to Amman for a proper shower. After cleaning up I spent the evening in a coffee shop watching the World Cup to the bubbling sounds and fragrant smells of the all Syrain crowd smoking their nargilehs.

While I was in Amman, I was trying to find out the likelihood of my being able to cross over the border into Syria from Jordan. Syria will not issue visas at the border if you come from a country that has a Syrian embassy or you are an American. This changes often, but from what I was able to find out the outlook wasn't too rosy for Americans crossing from Jordan. I did however meet a guy from England who had just come from Syria. He also didn't have a visa and he said he was able to get over from Lebanon, and suggested I try that route. The only problem was that to get to Lebanon, I would either have to travel through Israel or fly. If I traveeled through Israel, then I would have an Israeli stamp in my passport precluding me from gaining entry to Syria or Iran (which I was still hoping to travel to.) So I spent a day finding an airline ticket to Beirut, which was incredibly expensive for an hour flight, and left the next morning for Beirut. Beirut was the biggest surprise of any city I have visited. What I thought would be a bombed out city trying to recover from years of war was the most cosmopolitan city I have been to yet. The streets were lined with European boutiques, the downtown was newly built and filled with tony shops and highrise condominiums, and the people were dressed way smarter than I was. I found a great hotel across the street from The American University of Beirut in Hamra, which overlooked the Mediterranean coastline. After checking in, and purchasing some new clothes and shoes I headed to the swanky bars and nightclubs on Rue Monot to watch America play Italy. Needless to say, it was a rather partisan crowd, and I was in the minority, the lone minority. Throughout the first half this guy just would not stop telling me how we shouldn't be allowed on the same field as the mighty "Azure". At half I unobtrusively asked "Oh, where in Italy are you from?" The overbearing reply I got to such a stupid question was "I'm from Beirut." As the trap closed I asked "Did the mighty "Cedar Trees" fail to qualify this year?" Sadly it only took me 45 minutes to figure out a way to silence him. His friends however thought it was pretty funny, buying me a drink and inviting me to join them for the second half and the rest of the evening. Before moving on, I decided stylistic Beirut would be a good place to get a haircut. I only saw the "Mens Salon" part of the sign as I walked into the first place I saw. I didn't notice the "Jihad" proceeding "Mens Salon" until I was leaving. It will probably be a while before I get my hair cut again.

From Beirut I travelled north along the coast to Tripoli, which had little interesting to offer, so after one night I headed back South to Beirut where I caught a bus to the Bekka Valley and the town of Baalbek. In Beirut, a man had advised me to be careful and think twice about going to Baalbek. What I didn't undertsand at the time but quickly did upon arriving in Baalbek is that the Bekka Valley is the homeland of Hezbollah (Party of God). Of course if I had a gudebook it probably would have told me this, not that it would have mattered. I still would have gone. The tipoff were the countless posters of Ayatollah Khomeini and Mahmoud Ahmadinejade coupled with the guys selling Hezbollah t-shirts. The t-shirts would have made a great souvenir, but I am rather keen on being able to re-enter the US without unnecessary difficulty. Baalbek was still no problem and the people I met were just as welcoming as everywhere else I had been. The ruins here were pretty incredible and some of the best preserved and most complete of anywhere I visited. After two nights in Baalbek, I gathered the nerve to give the Syrian border a try. I took a bus south to Chtaura, where I got a share taxi to take me to the border and on to Damascus, assuming I got a visa. The Lebanese border gaurds politely tried to dissuade me from even trying, explaining that several Americans had tried yesterday with no luck and it would just cost me more money to re-enter Lebanon. I appreciated their advice, but I just wanted to give it a try. At the Syrian border, they flatly told me "no" even with the taxi driver pleading my case. I asked if I could just fill out the form and wait while they faxed it to Damascus for approval or more likely denial. They skeptically handed me the form and I grabbed my bags from the taxi that I had already paid for. After six and a half hours of waiting and watching others breeze through, the guard came to me smiling saying I just had to buy the visa stamp and I could go on to Damascus. Somehow the visa only cost me $16 instead of the $100 it was suppossed to cost.

Damascus was a short hour drive away and I arrived in the early evening. Maybe it was my enthusiasm upon being granted entry, but I was really excited to be in Damascus. The fantastic, frenetic souqs and the myriad of winding, vine covered, alleys made the Old City of Damascus an extraordinary experience. The Umayyad Mosque had some of the most beautiful mosaics you could ever see. From Damascus I travelled by bus to Palmyra and its golden ancient ruins. The ruins here were spread out over an amazing expanse of territory. The pillar lined avenues, the Temple of Bel, the burial chambers in the Towers of Yemliko, the Camp of Diocletian and the Arab Castle on the hill comprised the largest overall site I have seen and made the heat of the desert far more bearable. There were almost no other tourists in Palmyra when I was there and it seemed like everyone knew who I was, calling out " Hey American" as I walked down the street. At night, I visited a tent at the end of the main street where they had set up a few televisions to watch the World Cup. Both nights I went to watch games there, a cushion would be saved for me and I was greeted in unison with "Hey American." I felt like Norm from Cheers, subtituting beer for countless glasses of sugary tea. It was great fun and yet another example of the how generous and welcoming the people I met were. After a couple of days I left for Hama, with a stop to visit Crac Des Chevaliers along the way. This one one the most amazing Crusader castles, or castles in general, you could ever hope to see. It was perched high on a hill and was nearly perfectly preserved. Interestingly it was so well positioned it was never breeched during war, and was simply left by the Crusaders and occupied by the armies of Islam.

Hama held me for a couple of days, while I enjoyed the charms of this river city with its giant, groaning waterwheels called norias. The norias have been used in Hama for at least 1800 years as a means of scooping water from the river and delivering it via aqueducts to the surrounding fields. From Hama, I splurged and paid for a driver to take me to Apamea, Qala'at Saladin and on to Lattakia. Apamea was another ancient sight of ruins founded under one of Alexander's generals in the 2nd century B.C., but instead of being situated in the desert was located in the cool, grassy foothills of the western mountains. From Apamea, my driver chaefurred me in his 1965 Mercedes up the mountains to the Castle of Saladin. Perched on a high ridge in the middle of an evergreen forest, Qala'at Saladin provided some amazing views of the surrounding mountains from the vantage its towers that were simply skyward additions to the sheer cliffs they were built on. Later that day my driver dropped me in the port city of Lattakia, where I spent an uneventful night before taking the bus to Aleppo.

Aleppo is similar to Damascus with its addictive souqs. The biggest exception is its more conservative appearance. Baalbek was the only other city where it was common to see most women wearing the chador, the black, head to toe covering worn by devout muslim women. This sounds bad to say but everytime I saw a women dressed in a chador I was reminded of Cousin It from the Adams Family. I have had a good time in Aleppo much like the rest of Syria, Lebanon and Jordan. My lack of plans, and guidebook worked out for the best and the Middle East gave me many memorable experiences. From here, I will head to Turkey next. I had hoped to travel to Iran, but was unsuccessful at gaining an entry visa in time, though I really appreciate the contacts Sharon and Lachlan emailed me for assistance.

If you made it all the way to the end of this dribble, congratulations and thanks for reading. I will let you know how things went in Turkey next.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1149181260/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1149181260/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1149181260/tpod.html Thu, 08 Jun 2006 07:56:04 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Dahab, Egypt

I have been in Egypt for around 3 weeks now and overall I have really enjoyed it. I have always wanted to come here and see the pyramids and temples of the ancient Egytians, so my arrival was accompanied with great enthusiasm, aided by the false promise of cooler weather on the evening I arrived. Prior to leaving Delhi I had booked a place online and for once it was better than anticipated, even though my first impressions gave me serious pause. The hotel was on the 12th floor of a vacant office building in downtown Cairo. The lack of a sign and the debris filled lobby indicated I was in a condemned building. If it weren't for the old man selling sodas and bottled water in the shelter of the doorway I would have walked off, yet he was the landmark the hotel had given on their website. The room I was given had everything I wanted, which meant it was clean with hot water. After the rare pleasure of a hot shower I spent the evening exploring downtown Cairo. Certain things made me recognize immediately that I was in yet another foriegn country with it's own unique personality. The first such thing was the choking, sweet smell of perfume and cologne liberally applied to the now busy crowds of people occupying the sidewalks and stores. The lethargic, empty Cairo of 5 p.m., had transformed to a swarming hive of activity as the sun set and remained that way until well after my bedtime. Most concerning though was the lack of restuarants visible from the street, even though there were an ample number of bakeries with hordes of corpulent customers. The few restuarants I managed to find made it alarmingly clear that I could niether read nor speak Arabic. Luckily, Egyptians are incredibly friendly and after a few embarrassing attempts to order "fuul' and "kushari" I was given a shwarma which is akin to a gyro except in a bun. After one more shwarma, I luckily found my way back to my hotel and called it a day.

On my first day, I impatiently headed off to see some of the historical sights around Cairo. I started off for Saqqara, and the pyramids of the Old Kingdom. The most impressive of these was the Step Pyramid of Zoser built in 2650 BC which served as a template for the later Great Pyramids of Giza. After Saqqara I travelled to Memphis, the first capital of unified Egypt dating back to 3100 BC. Memphis had some amazing statues on display but relatively little else to see, so after lunch I headed back north to Giza. The Great Pyramids and The Sphinx being the top tourist draw in Egypt meant that I was to be bombarded by touts, guides and people selling everything from camel rides to plaster copies of the Shpinx. I successfully navigated the first wave of camel drivers selling rides and guides assuring me that without their services I wouldn't know what I was looking at. I'm not kidding they actually said that. Let me guess..."Three really old pyramids and the Sphinx?" The next wave of assault came from the camel drivers posing for "free" photo-ops which were never free. It was actually highly amusing to watch tourist after tourist naively take their photo and then be offended when the camel driver harrassed them for the next thirty minutes with constant demands for "baksheesh, baksheesh." "Baksheesh" is Egyptian for tip and is expected (often demanded) after almost every interaction between tourist and local. With all these shenanigans going on, it took nothing away from the majesty of the pyramids. Even with the suburbs of Cairo clearly visible on the horizon, I was given a clear sense of the awe that these pyramids have inspired in so many for so long.

On my second day I decided to visit the Egyptian Museum. When I had previously visited the British Museum in London and the Louvre in Paris, I left being miffed that England, France and others had taken so many of Egypts important antiquties. After visiting the Egyptian Museum, I was actually relieved that other countries were properly taking care of these important artifacts as the ones on display in Cairo were poorly looked after and crowded into too small a space. The one exception to that was the Tutankhamun galleries which housed all the relics discovered in his tomb. Beyond the flash of the solid gold death mask and solid gold sarcophagi of Tutankhamun were other, more everyday, belongings thought to be necessary for his journey in the afterlife. Amongst the pairs of shoes, clothes, and jewelry, where various household items. My favorite was a folding bed, much like a chaise lounge, which still works some 3300 years later. In another area of the museum they had on display various mummified animals that had been found. Animals like cats and birds as well as larger specimens like cows and crocodiles. After visiting the museum I went to Coptic Cairo, which for centuries has been the home of the Christian community of Egypt. It is a maze of tight alleyways amidst churches, monasteries and cemeteries. Evidently Mary, Joseph, and Jesus did a little travelling through Egypt themselves to escape persecution from King Herod. One of the churches, St Sergius, has a cave in the bottom that is said to be a place where the holy family sought refuge during their travels.

On my third day in Egypt I went to Bahariyya Oasis for a couple of days of camping under the stars in the White Desert. The White Desert is a bizarre landscape of stark white rock formations rising out of the sand, each having been uniquely shaped by the wind to take on the look of mushrooms, lions, birds and other more bizzare shapes. The group I went with were good company, as were the desert foxes that made a nuisance of themselves by licking our fingers and toes while we slept. After the desert I returned to Cairo for a night and spent the day touring the city's many mosques, before departing on the night train to Aswan near the border of Sudan. I spent a few days in Aswan, of which the highlight was travelling by police convoy to Abu Simbel with its' Temple of Ramses II and Temple of Hathor, dedicated to his favorite wife Nefertari. Getting to Abu Simbel requires leaving Aswan at 3:30 in the morning and travelling in a police convoy of nearly one hundred buses and cars. The convoy is the Egyptian governments overreaction to past bombings of tourist buses. After four hours and countless police checkpoints, which are common on every road you travel in Egypt, I arrived in Abu Simble with hundreds of other tourists. In the 1960's Egypt started construction of the High Dam in Aswan, which when complete would create the largest man-made lake in the world and also submerge many of the temples and monuments in southern Egypt. A worldwide effort ensued to save the most important of these monuments, of which The Great Temple of Ramses II and the Temple of Hathor were the most important. Both temples were originally carved out of the mountains on the bank of the Nile, which required new mountains to be built before cutting the temples into giant pieces and reassembling them at the new, safer location. The entrance to the temple has four collosal seated statues of Ramses II overlooking the Nile, or today Lake Nasser. The intent was to dissuade any would-be invaders from attacking such a formidable king. Some 3200 years later it still conveys an awesome message of power and was definitely one of my favorite sights in Egypt.

From Aswan, I spent three days sailing up the Nile in a feluca to reach Luxor. Unfortunately, Captain Mohammed, preferred drifting over sailing, erasing any promise of a cooling breeze. The other passengers were Nelson, Andrea and Alexandra from Columbia (who disembarked after one night), Sharon from New Zealand, Jen from San Francisco, Juhari from Vancouver and Lachlan "Lucky" from Australia. Fortunately it was a really talkative group and our time together seemed far too short. Lucky furnished us with some great stories of his three years on the road and also had the decency and foresight to bring some alcohol. We got off the feluca in Kom Ombo and toured its' temple before taking a bus up to Edfu's Temple of Horus. In the afternoon we arrived in Luxor, said our goodbyes and went our seperate ways. All I could think about was a shower (remember, it had been three days) and a good meal.

The thermometer had been climbing since I left Cairo and doing anything during the middle of the day was next to impossible, so I waited until the late afternoon to see the Temple of Karnak and Luxor Temple. After the pyramids, these are the two most touristed sights in Egypt, which means the hassle increases. One of the biggest dissappointments in my travells has been the need to stay on constant guard to being scammed by someone. It always works the same way, where someone trys to start a conversation with you; follows you for blocks having a one-sided conversation as they repeatedly ask, then guess, what country you are from; invite you to tea; and then either try to sell you something or simply ask for baksheesh as payment for the pleasure of their uninvited company. The drawback for you as a tourist is that you never know which people are being sincere, resulting in missed opportunities to meet local people. Pickpockets are pretty bold in Luxor as well, but fortunately they aren't too skilled at their trade. Two boys approach you on either side and one asks the familiar question of where you are from. After he decides you aren't really from "Hell" or "Mars", he then demands that you are from _____ (fill in the blank with any European country) while he extends his hand full of coins asking you for help with ascertaining the amount. If you are stupid enough to help him count the 10 euros in his hand, his buddy picks your pocket. This strategy was attempted almost every time I walked anywhere in Luxor, leaving several pickpockets scrambling on the ground trying find their scattered coins. It seems that most tourists I met didn't realize that this is probably how their wallet or camera went missing. With all this entertainment to keep me occupied, I still managed to find time to tour the temples. The Temples of Karnak were the first I visited and truthfully nothing I can write will adequately describe them. Even the pictures I took fall far short of conveying their true appearance. The singularly most amazing sight I have seen in this trip was the Great Hypostyle Hall at Karnak. The hall is a forest of 134 carved pillars reaching up well into the sky where there was once a roof enclosing it. One photo I have included might convey the size of these columns but falls short in communicating the size of the overall space. After spending a ridiculous amount of time walking around Karnak I took the long walk over to Luxor Temple and the avenue of sphinxes that directs you to the entrance. This temple, like most in Egypt had several staues of the rather vain Ramses II, but most interesting was its conversion to a Chritian church during Egypt's Roman rule. I have included a photo of the few remaining painted faces of the 12 disciples that were done during that time.

My last day in Luxor started with an early morning to trip to the west bank of the Nile and the Valleys of the Kings and Queens as well as the Temple of Hatsheput. In an effort to preserve the paintings in the tombs, they forbid photography and rotate which tombs are open to the public. The three tombs I visited in the valley of the Kings were those of Ramses III, Ramses IV, and Ramses XI. The paintings in each were amazingly clear and detailed, which ceilings painted blue or black and covered in small gold stars. The Temple of Hatshepsut was very impressive with its three levels seemingly cut out of the mountain that looms overhead. It is the only temple in Egypt built on multi-levels and under the reign of a female pharaoh. After touring around the temple, I headed back to Luxor for a quick shower before catching a bus up to Hurghada and the next morning a ferry and bus to Dahab on the eastern coast of the Sinai penninsula.

Dahab is a popular little village on the Red Sea with a far more relaxed feel than its more developed nieghbor to the south, Sharm el-Sheikh. The rugged Sinai mountains run right up to the waters edge and create an unbelievably beautiful backdrop to the Red Sea. One of the main reasons people come here is for the incredible dive sites right off the coast. In fact you simply wade out in the surf about 10 feet and descend. The coral and the visibility of the water is the best I have seen in the short while I have been diving. About a month before I arrived here, Dahab suffered from a triple terrorist bombing which killed 4 people. The bombings have resulted in fewer tourists, making a sleepy little Bedouin community even quieter. The zenith of my diving occured yesterday, when I went south to dive the WWII wreck, The Thistlegorm. I took a bus to Sharm el Sheikh, where I boarded the boat at midnight, sleeping on the deck, before sailing at 4 a.m. in order to arrive at the dive sight by 7 a.m.. The Thistlegorm is considered to be one of the best wreck dives in the world. It was sunk by German aircraft in 1941, with a full cargo of British army supplies, including locomotive engines, motorcycles, munitions, guns, and trucks. The ship took one perfect hit and sunk, with most all of its cargo left in neat order in the hull and on deck. The wreck was discovered by Jacques Cousteau in 1950 and written about in National Geographic at the time. Since Mr. Cousteau was not fond of sharing the whereabouts of his discoveries, it was left untouched for the next 40+ years until it was rediscovered again in 1994. The first dive I took was around the outside of the ship, which other than the twisted and torn steel where the bomb hit was sitting upright and nearly level as if it was delicately placed there. The second dive was into the hull of the ship, starting at the bottom and working up the levels before exiting through the small door of the captains quarters on the submerged deck. Inside the hull were entire trucks with cargoes of guns, boots and motorcycles lined up neatly in the truck beds. The last dive of the day was at a site called Shark Reef and Yolanda Garden in Ras Mohammed National Park. The coral here was vivid and plentiful supporting large schools of barracuda and Jackfish, sharks, giant grouper and Napoleans (4 ft.) as well giant morays and blue-spotted stingrays feeding near the sandy bottoms. Any one of these three dives would have ranked as the best dive I have been on, so doing them all in one day made for a perfect day of diving. Since I do not have an underwater casing for my camera, I have downloaded some pictures from the internet to give you an idea of what i saw.

I am planning on leaving Dahab soon. Maybe tommorow or the next day. If I don't leave soon I am afraid I will get sucked into this extremely lazy lifestyle. There could be worse things I guess. I am still unclear on where I am off to next, so my next email can be a bit of a surprise as wherever I go will be for me.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1147792020/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1147792020/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1147792020/tpod.html Wed, 17 May 2006 08:31:52 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Delhi, India

Prior to visiting India, I received loads of advice from fellow travellers and friends about what I should expect to encounter during my trip. I was prepared with useful information on food, places to see, how to find the tourist ticket counter in the train station, the voracity of the touts, but mostly I was advised that India would be like no other place I had been and would certainly test all of my patience. India has lived up to its unconventional reputation, exceeding even my most ambitious expectations. For me it was overwhelming and often frustrating, while never failing to surprise me. All of my senses have been besieged by the variety of smells, the lack of space, the peculiar sights, the unending spices and escpecially during this time of year the intense heat.

My first day was consumed by the challenges of trying to buy train tickets to the various places in India I was hoping to see. The train station was easy enough to find, and thanks to Michael and Bela, so was the tourist ticket counter. What didn't prove too simple was buying the tickets, made worse by uncooperative civil servants. Over the course of a few hours, I had multiple fingers wagged dissapprovingly in my face while often being ignored completely. The highlight was the charming woman working at the "help" desk, who was suppossed to give you the train numbers so you could fill out the forms necessary to buy your tickets. Everything you do in India seems to require endless forms filled out in triplicate. This woman personified bad service, as she twice told me "no' upon my request for a train number. Painted in large letters above her desk was this qoute form Gandhi, "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others." She was obviously not on a personal journey of self awareness, as my last attempt to seek her help was met with her simply walking away. Fortunately I finally got enough help to buy my tickets. The afternnon was spent going to Old Delhi and visiting Jama Masjid and the bazars in the area. Actually it would be more correct to say that I got lost for a couple of hours in the mazes of alleys that comprised Old Delhi. The temperature topped out at 113 degrees on day one and would remain over 110 for the duration of my stay in India.

One horrible side effect of the heat is its amplification of the already pungent smells that fill the air. The pollution in Delhi is thick, scarring your throat and burning your eyes. On top of the pollution is the ever present odor of bodily waste attributed to cows grazing on garbage in the streets and brazen people liberated from the crazy social customs of the west. You also have to be extremely careful where you walk or sit, as well as which end of the cow is better to pass. I will share that the horns are the better of your two options. The heat also frays the last shreds of your patience, which have probably already been tested by being shoved, stepped on, and hassled all day. The touts provide the hassle and they are by far the most unrelenting of any I have encountered. They will follow you for blocks,extoling the virtues of whatever they happen to be selling. "Hi friend. you want badmitton racket?" "Hi sir, where you from? You want toy machine gun, only 50 rupees. Okay 40 rupees. Okay, okay 30 rupees. (as the toy gun is shoved into your hands)." If you are really good, you get to graduate to hotel tout or rickshaw driver. Coming out of a train station requires all your faculties as 10-20 touts encircle you, grabbing your bags and arms while yelling at you the name of their hotel. After you get through that group then you have got the rickshaw drivers to navigate and haggle with. "200 rupees and I drive you to all the sights." After a 15 minute negotiation that requires you walking off and talking to another rickshaw driver, you finally get a ride to your hotel from the first rickshaw driver for around 20 rupees. When walking anywhere, or simply stopping to look at something, rickshaw drivers will descend upon you in mass, usually blocking traffic, and proceed to follow you as you walk thinking you will certainly change your mind.

One other thing that tries your patience is the everyday interaction with people. Manners are not a big deal here, and the words "please", "excuse me", and "thank you" are as common as food without spice. If you try to let others pass first, you will be glued to that spot until someone eventually shoves you out of their way. The lack of personal space is amazing. Walking anywhere includes being shoved, grabbed, and having arms or bikes thrust in front of your path. The other encroachment upon your personal space is the patented non-blinking stare and the finger pointing giggles at your expense. The worst purveyors of these traits are the young men. Many of whom seem to be channeling John Travolta's character from Saturday Night Fever, complete with bell bottomed pants pulled up high over their waist, shirt collars spread wide, and their best Tony Manero strut with shoulders pinned back and arms cocked at the elbow widening the path in front of them. Tony lived to dance, while his Indian counterparts simply live to annoy, and they are very good at it.

After 2 days in Delhi, I boarded the night train to Varanasi to see the holy waters of the Ganges. I met two guys from Florida, who shared my train compartment. Jared and Jake where on a two week vacation and had been in India a few more days than I had. It was nice to have someone to talk with for a change. This was my first train ride in India and it was full of surprises like everything else. The first surprise was the symphony of bodily noises that reverberated through the car. It was nice to have someone to laugh it off with. The morning came with the orchestra starting up again accompanied by the proters walking down the isles screaming "Chai Tea". On the second day in Varanasi I woke early for a boat ride down the Ganges at sunrise, accompanied by Jerod and Jake. This is one of the oldest and holiest cities in the world, centered around the supposed healing and heavily polluted waters of the Ganges. If you are Hindu, this is where you want to die, and cremations are a daily occurance. Every morning loads of the faithful submerse themselves in the holy waters amidst others who just came for a cool morning bath. The city and the river attracts spiritual people from all over the world, and many yogis and sadhus fill the steps between the buildings and the rivers edge. My experience was of a less divine nature as I got really sick and actually passed out walking up the steps from the Ganges. Luckily Jerod and Jake helped me out as well as a young boy who took us to his home and gave me some ice to cool off. I rested the rest of the day and felt good enough in the afternoon to go with Jerod and Jake to Sarnath. The hotel owner having heard about my morning, had us driven in his personal car with a/c. Sarnath is the place where Buddha gave his first sermon after recieving enlightenment. I spent the next couple of days in Varanasi relaxing and exploring a little bit on foot in the cooler hours around sunset.

From Varanasi, I travelled by night train to Agra, arriving in the early morning. Agra is the home of the Taj Mahal and also has a rather bad reputaion for super aggressive touts. The Taj Mahal is as impressive as you might expect. Often times when you see something this grand in person it doesn't always live up to the hype. This was not one of those times. Other than the beautiful symmetry and scale of the building is the amazing craftsmanship and detail of the stone work. The white marble is dissected with inlaid precious and semiprecious stones creating breathtaking patterns and flowers that glow in the light. The hassle of Agra was worth seeing this piece of art. I also went to the Red Fort in Agra, before going to the train station and waiting for 4 hours for my train to arrive. It finally got there, and I headed off to Jaipur next. I got to Jaipur in the middle of the night and took the first place I found. I spent the night sweltering in a concrete dungeon, and rose early to find a better place. The place I found was great, and had a terrific rooftop restaurant with advertised "hygenic" food. The room was great and the food was terrific. By far the best place I found in India.

After a few days in Jaipur I travelled west to the desert town of Jaisalmer, which was my favorite place in India. Jaisalmer is a small town dominated by a large fort overlooking the village. It was a fairly quiet place and the architecture reminded me of something from a Dr. Seuss cartoon. The people in Rhajastan seemed a little friendlier which added to my enjoyment of it. The food was a different story as I ate things I culd not identify and got pretty sick as a result. After a short stay I headed back to Delhi over the next few days which is where I am writing this. I leave for Egypt on the 18th and I am ready to move on.

India is a unique place and certainly has more to see than my time or patience allowed. One thing that I have continued to struggle to understand is the spirituality of this country. I have not encountered an abundance of friendly or commpassionate people. Everyone seems to ignore the poverty that surrounds them even though every city is littered with busy temples and places of worship. Even the holy cows of the hindu faith are left to look after themselves while grazing on garbage, albiet without the threat of a slauterhouse. In light of all that you see and encounter, you can't escape the spirituality that surrounds you here. The daily paper even has a spirituality section. My guess is that the only place to find any peace in the disharmony of daily life here is to look within ones self and during those moments find harmony. In the future when I feel overwhelmed by a chaotic day, I will try to put things in perspective by reflecting upon my visit to India.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1146402540/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1146402540/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stodg/rtw-2006/1146402540/tpod.html Wed, 03 May 2006 05:06:11 -0400 "Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" - Kurt Vonnegut

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Kathmandu, Nepal

I last left off without a clear plan on what I would be doing in Nepal considering the limited options with curfews, strikes and demonstrations preventing most all sightseeing options. I decided the day after arriving to go trekking in the Himalayas, specifically I would take a 10 day trek to Annapurna Base Camp. Since I didn't come equipped to go hiking, and really wasn't equipped for the cold of high altitude, I spent most of my second day in Kathmandu shopping for the necessary clothes and shoes. I booked a flight on Yeti Airlines (I am not making that name up) to fly from Kathmandu to Pokhara. After spending a night in Pokhara, my guide and I would walk from Pokhara to the start of the trail in Pedi and continue on for 5 days to reach Annapurna Base Camp (A.B.C.). My guides name was Shanker. His head came up to my shoulder and he probably wieghed about 110 lbs., but he had a quite, confident demeanor that communicated he knew his trade. The decision to go trekking was made quickly, as the airlines were set to join the strike on the 20th thus eliminating this option and confining me to Kathmandu. I definitely had my doubts about whether I was fit enough to trek for so many days, but it seemed like a better and safer option than waiting for the political situation to improve. I would have to wait and see if I had made a bad decision.

We left for Pokhara on the 19th and arrived in a completely deserted town. The day before our arrival there had been massive demonstrations in Pokhara, and the Royal Nepali Army had instituted a 24 hour curfew the day we arrived. We were escorted from the airport to the guesthouse by two armed RNA, who gave us clear instructions to stay in the guesthouse the rest of the day and not leave. Luckily the guesthouse had a kitchen so food wouldn't be a problem. I passed away the day reading and went to bed fairly early so I would feel rested for our 7 a.m. start. Shanker met me for tea and breakfast at 6:30 a.m. and we walked out of the guesthouse promptly at 7. This would be the last time Shanker was ready to go at our agreed upon departure time. As we exited the guesthouse into the alley, I looked up into the clear sky and was amazed to see the peaks of our destination on the far horizon. My second thought after admiring their beauty was to immediately question what I was doing. The most I have ever hiked is 6-7 hours and never in consequetive days. My confidence was waning fast and we had walked 10 minutes. The only thing to do was just keep walking and tell myself I could do it. As we got onto the main streets of Pokhara we saw ahead of us police and RNA vans going street to street, clearing them of everyone and making sure all the shops were closed. I looked at Shanker for reassurance that we would be allowed to pass and he confidently said they weren't concerned with us. It was a strange scene and more than once I thought we were walking through a combustible situation that could ignite at any minute. Fortunately it never did. The walk to Pedi was on the highway that ran through the central valley, but due to the strike was void of any traffic. We passed through a couple of villges on the way, where all the children would come out to greet you and walk with you for awhile. Their motives weren't friendly but centered around plying you for sweets or failing that, rupees. Along the way we passed two groups of protestors walking in the direction of Pokhara carrying banners and communist flags hoping to join in another days demonstrations. Around noon we stopped beside the road under a tree for a rest. While we were stopped, the people working in the fields below us came up for their lunch break. One man asked Shanker where I was from, and when the man heard "USA" he shot off across the road into his house. I looked at Shanker thinking, "What the hell just happened?". He told me the man had a letter to show me. The man returned from his house with a package, and set down in front of me while he carefully opened it to show me its contents. Inside the big postal envelope was a neatly wrapped book in newspaper. He handed me the book and asked if I could read it. I was afraid he meant the whole book, but fortunately he just meant the title, which I read Mustang Sally's Cycling Adventure Around The World. He smiled and grabbed the book back convinced that I could read. He then feverishly turned to a certain page and asked me to read the caption under a black and white photograph. I read aloud, "My friend Jim with our guide Shindhu on the Annapurna Santuary Trail". He understood the words and told me that was him, Shindhu. He looked much younger in the photograph. He told Shanker he had not seen an American in over a year and would like to ask me some questions. He had shown me the book so I could see that his picture appeared in an American book. He was very anxious to find out if I thought his picture being in an American book would enable him to immigrate to America. I had to tell him that I didn't think so, but I attempted to salvage his fleeting hopes by suggessting he write a letter to the author and maybe she could provide better advice. He said he could do that and would, but he quickly left feeling crestfallen no doubt. We arrived in Pedi around 12:30 and got a bite to eat before the first of many ascents up the mountains. This first ascent was straight up and taxing. My doubts about this were growing. After acheiving the top we walked on thru Dhampus arriving at a lodge in Pothana around 5:30 p.m.. This first night gave me a clue about the days ahead. The food supplies were limited, rarely would there be fuel for the generators, hot showers would be few and far between and the people would be unbelievably kind. I wrapped up my first day with a terribly cold outdoor shower, and meal of Buffaloe momo (Tibetan Dumpling), and a little reading by candlelight.

Day 2 was suppossed to start at 6:30, but as I would learn over the coming days, Shanker was a late riser and very slow at getting started. We began with a steep descent down to the river, and then back up again. This would be repeated 4 times during the day, and by noon my ankles were feeling it. I learned later that my boots were laced too tight and the result was a bruised right ankle and a sore left achilles. The bruised ankle would swell that night and is still swollen and sore. As the day progressed with the continual up and down of the trail, I was really struggling. I could not seem to take a step without grimmacing in pain. It seemed like I spent the entire day gritting my teeth and with my fists clenched,as somehow this would help. By 4 p.m. we arrived in Jhinu adn Shanker could see that I wasn't too keen on trying for Chhomrong that day, so we decided to stop. The nice thing about Jhinu is that there is a hot spring down the mountain by the river. The bad news is that I had to go back down to the river to get to it, but I thought it might help my ankles. The hot spring should have been called the barely warm spring, but it was at least warmer than a shower would have been. That night we listened to a radio address from the King (it was broadcast in Nepali then English) and spent the rest of the evening debating what would happen next. Everyone is so focused on stripping the Kings power, no one has thought about what will happen after. The opposition is comprised of 7 different parties, plus the recent addition of the Moaists. Each party has their own ideas, yet they have a singular focus at the present, but what happens to that cooperation after they regain power? The next morning my achilles and ankle hadn't improved yet I recieved a very helpful gift. These two English girls, who had joined in the discussion last night, decided to give me one of their walking sticks since they were on the way down. I tried not to accept, but they were more persistent than I and I gratefully accepted. Thank you Karen and Kristin. Before leaving the lodge, another guide came over and loosened my boots, which helped somewhat.

Day 3 was our worst day of trekking. My ankles were in an aweful state, Shanker looked like he was getting ill and we got caught in a diluge of rain and hail. We had made it to a small shack south of Sinuwa and tried to wait it out for about an hour. Finally we gave up and trekked another hour to Sinuwa, where we arrived around 1:45. We decided to call it a day and spend the night. By 2:30 I was asleep, not waking until 6:30 just in time to get some dinner. This time I tried the Dal Baht, the only uniquely Nepali food. Dal is barley soup eaten with rice (baht) and accompanied with whatever vegetables they have, often pickled. It was tasteless, but it filled me and I returned to bed.

Day 4 brought perfect weather and we took full advantage trying to go as far as we could. We left at 7:30, 1 hour after we had planned and moved fairly quickly. The achilles felt better but the right ankle hadn't improved, but I had somehow gotten used to it and was able to ignore it. We made it to Doban by 11:30 and we stopped for lunch and tea. The trail from Sinuwa to Doban was in jungle, dominated by giant Rhodedendron trees full of red and pink flowers. It was the same up and down as before, though. After lunch we continued on, arriving in Himalya around 2:45, so we pushed on towards Deurali. The landscape really started to change as we traded the dense jungle for brown tufts of grass and gigantic angular rock formations. The trail became less defined and the incline more steep. This was much easier for me, yet I had already learned that Shanker hated any ascent. When we were faced with an ascent, I went on ahead and stopped frequently waiting for him to catch up. This worked well most of the time, except for the few times when I couldn't make out the trail's direction. We got into Deurali (3230M) around 4:15, and Shanker thought we should stay here, while I wanted to push on to Machhupuchre Base Camp (M.P.B.C.) which was only 2 hours away, giving us an early start and short trek to A.B.C. the next morning. I regretfully decided to go along with his idea and we stayed the night. I took the coldest shower ever, and was left shivering the rest of the night as the temperature had really dropped. The one plus was a kerosene heater placed under the dining table, which was skirted by thick yak wool blankets. Everyone gathers around the table and puts there legs under the blanket to warm up. It works fairly well if you don't become intoxicated by the kerosene fumes. As I dined on some potato and yak cheese momo accompamied with masala tea, the weather changed as thunderstorms lit up the previously clear night sky. The rain and wind kept me awake as my thoughts turned to worry over the visibility for tommorows trek up to A.B.C..

Day 5 started much later than planned, but this was no longer a surprise. We planned to get going at 5:30 and have breakfast at M.P.B.C. before heading on to A.B.C., but we didn't make it out til 6:30 as I had to wake Shanker up. The sky was partially clear though so I was hopeful the weather might hold. The trail to MPBC was extremely rocky due to avalanches, which also caused us to cross over the river instead of taking a more direct route. When we got into MPBC at 8:30, the weather still hadn't decided what it was going to do. The sky would clear one minute to show off the snow covered peaks, and then cover them from view seconds later. I have never seen clouds come and go so quickly. I was anxious to keep going, but we stopped for quick breakfast of porridge and tea. By 9:15 we were back on the trail up to ABC. This is where things started to go awry. The weather was fairly clear, but deteriorated rapidly, with 3/4's of the way still to go. On top of this Shanker kept falling further and further back. As I waited for him the sun disappeared behind a dense mist and a light snow started to fall. When he finally caught up, I didn't think he looked so good. I didn't think it was a good idea for him to continue up, and surprisingly niether did he, so we discussed our options as the visibilty decreased. After much debate we decided he would go back to MPBC and wait for me while I went on up to ABC. As crazy as this sounds, it wasn't. The trail to ABC was between two ice falls that kept you on a fairly straight path to your target. I asked if there was anything I needed to be aware of, to which he replied "just rocks hidden in the snow." So we parted and not more than 15 minutes later my foot found water as skirted around a pond. I found the base camp about 1 1/2 hours later, had some tea and headed back down. Truthfully it was really dissappointing to be surrounded by some of the tallest peaks on earth and not be able to see them, but the weather defines most successes and failures in the Himalayas amd most of the tragedies that have occured in the Himalayas have been caused by the quick changing weather (at much greater hieghts than 4130m). I made it back down to MPBC, collected Shanker and headed down. We trekked all the way down to Himalaya where we spent the night back down at 2900m. It was a fun night for me as I played cards with the staff and other guides, while Shanker retired for the night as soon as we got there. One of the guides who played cards with us was named Garum, who has the distinction of being one of only 25 female guides in the Himalayas. She also has the distinction of being a lousy card player.

On Day 6 our goal was to get down to Chhomrong, with the motivation being that Shanker promised he knew of a place there where I could get a hot shower. I hadn't seen a Yeti thus far, but I am pretty sure I smelled like one, so I think Shanker had his own motivation for finding me a hot shower. The first village we got to was Doban and we were greated by a really nice lodge owner who we had spoken to on the way up. He was very excited and asked "May I order you a taxi?" This was his way of telling us the strike was over after 20 days. We celebrated with some tea and Shanker raised his hand for a high-five. He had lots of reasons to be happy that the strike was over, but the foremost reason at the time was that it meant we didn't have to walk back to Pokhara. We decided to go back a different route than we had come, going west from Chhomrong over to Ghorapani and down to Naya Pul, where we would take a taxi back to Pokhara. Next to Ghorapani is Poon Hill, which from 3210m offers a stunning view of Dhaulagiri 8167m. On the way to Chhomrong we stummbled upon a group of Langur monkeys in the forest. They were fairly shy as evidenced by the lack of pictures. Langurs have black faces with white tufts of fur encircling their face, which made them look like little abominable snowmen. Shanker did deliver on my hot shower, which I also used to wash some clothes.

Day 7 we headed west over to Tadapani. The sun was out early but went behind the clouds for what had become the daily afternoon shower. The trail up to Tadapani was as continually steep as we had seen and was incredibly tiring. We made it in the mid afternoon just before the rain and hail started up. At dinner, a German couple who had come from Ghorapani that morning, informed us that the Moaist Rebells were in Ghorapani and expect to be politely mugged. The next day we started out for Ghorapani, with another steep descent and them higher ascent. Shanker and I discussed our story for the moaists. We decided I would be a Canadian PhD student and that we had been trekking for 6 days total. Being Canadian, a student, and lying about the length of our trek would all assist in lowering the cost of our mugging. The closer we got to Ghorapani, the more nervous Shanker seemed to get, creating an eery feeling of foreboding, assisted by the heavy mist that had appeared in the afternoon. We got into Ghorapani without incident. I retired early because we were hiking up Poon Hill at 5 a.m. and then coming down and proceeding all the way to Naya Pul, where we would get a taxi back to Pokhara. It promised to be a long day.

The last day, Day 9, he finally made it up on time and we headed up to Poon Hill for the sunrise. We watched the sun come up over the Annupurna range to the east and then light up Dhaulagiri more to the west. It was a magnificient show that ended too early when low clouds began to obscure the view. This was our signal to start moving on with our all day descent. This was the hardest day yet, when the sun came out in force by 8 a.m.. On the trail down we passed several caravans of mules taking up much needed supplies to the various villages in the mountains now that the strike was over. We made it to Naya Pul by 3p.m. and I was exhausted.

The decision to go trekking was inded a good one and made me anticipate the next time I can come back to Nepal and go on some different treks. I spent a day in Pokhara before returning to Kathmandu where I spent my last two days trying to see some of the religious sites around the valley before departing. I am finishing this up in New Delhi, India. I arrived last night around 8 p.m. and thought I had landed on Mars or Lubbock (like there is a difference), as the skys were full of dust (I hope that was dust) and stiff with heat. I'll let you know about my travels in India next.
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Kathmandu, Nepal

I am currently in Kathmandu, Nepal, having arrived around mid-day. Basically I have arrived in a ghost town. Nepal has been in political unrest for the last several years with the Maoist rebellion. As a result of the governments inability to quit the rebellion and following several political scandals, the king siezed power by disbanding parliament and cancelling all future elections. The situation has worsened over the last few weeks, culminating with labor strikes by the opposition parties who have since joined the Maoists in attempting to oust the king. The strike (currently in its 12th day) and the daily demonstrations have been met with military force, further solidifying the opposition. Currently the king has imposed daytime curfews in all cities hoping to prevent further demonstrations. So as I sit here, most places are closed, the military lines the streets, garbage is everywhere due to the strike and there are very few westerners here. My plans for what I will do in Nepal are still up in the air as I need to find out a little more about my options over the next day or two. So for now I have unlimited time to catch up on the last couple of weeks.

Since my last update, I left Koh Tao on the night boat, headed for Surat Thani where I got a bus to the Andaman coast and then a ferry down to Koh Lanta. The night boat was truly an experience. The term "packed like sardines" comes to mind. The sleeping compartment was a series of bamboo mats arranged down two sides of the ship with a narrow pathway down the middle. The hieght of the hold was just over 4 feet. When sleeping you were shoulder to shoulder with the people on either side, thus the packed like sardines reference. As soon as the lights went out, I wiggled out of my spot and snuck through a window to the roof of the boat, where I found the crew sleeping. Other than the rain shower in the middle of the night, this was certainly more pleasant than the sleeping hold.

I spent the next 4 days in Koh Lanta. I actually spent the next 4 days diving in the waters off Koh Lanta. The dive sites around Koh Lanta were suppossed to be some of the best in the world, and they didn't dissappoint. Since I would be diving most everyday, I decided to get my advanced certification allowing me to dive to depths up to 30 meters. The first day the boat went to one of the farthest dive sites in the area, Hin Maung and Hin Daeng, about 3 1/2 hours offshore. The first dive was my first dive to 30 meters, and it was really no different than diving to 18 meters. The course was comprised of 5 dives over two days and it went really well. My instructor was great and it really helped that I was the only student, because that meant we had more time underwater with less time dedicated to instruction. The second day I had three dives around Koh Ha. Koh Ha was beautiful both under water and on the surface. Koh Ha is comprised of five limestone pinnacles, with the middle pinnacle having a small lagoon and beach. Underwater was even more amazing. Other than the wildlife, the rock formations provided a unique diving experience. One of the pinnacles had an underwater chimney, which I entered from about 22m and rose to the surface inside the cave. Light reflecting thru the waters made the small crystals embedded in the black rock glitter like stars in the night sky. It was an unreal sight. I took the next day off, after passing my certification, before going out one last time to Koh Bida, which sits within swimming distance of Koh Phi Phi Don. Before the last dive, the couple I was diving with asked what I most wanted to see. My response was a whale shark, but I would settle for a sea turtle. About half way thru the dive, the wife started hitting me in the shoulder to get my attention. Below me less than 3 feet was a huge sea turtle eating off the reef. The parade of wildlife while in Koh Lanta included leopard sharks, seahorses, dolphins, sea snakes (no they are not less frightening than terrestrial snakes), a school of squid, an octopus, rock fish and a giant mauray eel. Koh Lanta diving was great. Thanks Isa for certifying me, and Ben and Karl for teaching me shithead, even though I never won.

After Koh Lanta, I went up to Patong in Phuket for a few days. Patong's tourist trade seemed to have recovered completely, while areas a little further afield are still requiring work to fully recover from the tsunami. Patong is really geared towards the package tourist crowd, resulting in crowded beaches, fancy restaurants and an overabundance of nightlife. The nightlife included: Richie Newton, the French Elvis impersonator circa Elvis Live in Hawaii; Shadow, Thai cover band of the Bee Gees (with their best Barry Gibb hairdos); Thai boxing in the street; and it wouldn't be Thailand without the ever flamboyant female impersonators giving impromtu shows in the street. This was certainly different than watching gecko races on the wall of my bungalow over the past several days.

I left Patong after a few days, where I had been mostly confined to my room while trying to get over a cold. I made my way back to Bangkok on the night bus and left within the hour for Kanchanaburi on the Burma border. Kanchanaburi was surprisingly quiet, with Songkran (New Year Festival) only a couple of days away. I stayed in Kanchanaburi only 2 nights, and filled my days with visiting the Tiger temple and Death Railway including the famous Bridge over the River Kwai. While Kanchanaburi was beautiful and quiet, I had to head back to Bangkok and get ready to leave Thailand.

In Bangkok, I chose to stay near Siam Square instead of Kho San Road, in an effort to avoid most of the festival mayhem. Curiosity got the better of me and I went over to Kho San Road on the last day of the festival. The Thai New Year is celebrated with water fights in the street, much like our fireworks on the 4th of July. Actually that comparison would be more accurate if thousands of people were armed with bottle rockets and were firing them at each others faces. That is more like Songkram, only substitute the bottle rockets for water guns, buckets of water and baby powder. Absolute chaos! Trying to stay out of the fray is futile, so it's best to take the initiative and arm yourself with the best air pump water gun you can find along with as much baby powder as you can carry. I spent my last day in Bangkok recovering and getting my clothes laundered.

Thailand was different than Cambodia and Vietnam afterall. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. Thais are pretty easy going, yet you have to get away from the tourist spots to avoid being left with the impression that no one can be trusted. The food was the best, even though I had to learn the hard way that when asked if you would like your meal "Thai spicy", don't let ego get in your way and just say NO. The number one thing about Thailand is the beauty of the coast and the islands, they have no equal.
I will update everyone soon about my travels in Nepal and in the meantime take care and enjoy the photos.
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