Early morning flight

Why, why, why?

Up at the crack of dawn would be an understatement; we awoke at 3.30 for a 6am flight to Siem Reap having been told we must check in at 4am. Vientiane airport may as well be closed at 4am; but hold on, doesn't that board say check-in time: 04:00? Quick, while that security guard is still awake lets ask. With a cheeky little smile that I interpret as meaning 'another stupid tourist' he says:

"Sorry, not ready to check-in yet, you sit" he says pointing at uninviting and small black leather seats. I guess this is another example of the laid back Lao. I felt better when 'another stupid tourist', followed by another arrives five minutes later. Eventually at 04:20 the doors open and we check in.

Despite the fact that, according to Wikipedia, Laos Airlines have an atrocious safety record we arrived in Siem Reap on time and well fed, free beer was on offer but at 6.30am I really didn't fancy it.

After a quick nap, oh the years are catching up with me now: Nap! So, after my nap we went to Angkor Wat to watch the sunset. The sun began to set then all the tourists were ushered out. Hmmm..? What we didn't realise, and Lonely Planet didn't inform us, was that Angkor closes at 17:30, sunset occurs approximately an hour after that, DOH!

Angkor Wat

And again at sunrise

Me being me, I wasn't too impressed with the place at first glance. It looks exactly like the photos but the photos look better, does that make sense? Of course not! I'll rephrase: It is impressive, majestic, stunning. On a scale of which I cannot compare it to anything, the moat alone is 152m wide. ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY TWO METRES! WHAT THE FUCK? Puts Warwick Castle to shame. However, with 36^oC heat beating down and relative humidity nearing 90% walking around the ruins involves so much work that it would be easier to look at the photos.

We returned today, for the 5am sunrise, on our $20 ticket, of which each and every buck goes to a petroleum magnate, sick! Isn't it! Fair enough he is a Cambodian magnet but even so, that don't stick! GDP per capita here is $320 and this c*&t keeps all the cash; guess it's all about government corruption and scratching backs; this poor prole doesn't grasp the gravity of the situation.

After 8 hours on the site today my opinion changed. The intricacy of the carvings and dedication to detail all over these enormous temples is incredible. I'd like to post some pics but left my camera at home so i'll have to do so later. Long story short: A place worth visiting but maybe not in low season when the temperatures and humidity are conspiring against you.

Laos

Fifteen days in Laos is double the time originally allotted to the country but having made a sound group of friends kept us here longer. The group has now dispersed leaving me and Paul behind in Vientiane to board our overpriced flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia, on Wednesday evening while they all fly to Hanoi, Vietnam.

Luang Prabang was a lovely town to have visited, small; with a population of only 22,000, it was near impossible to travel up or down the main road without bumping into somebody we recognised- there was a real sense of family/community spirit here. Such a small and peaceful place was a great introduction to the country and characterises the place so well: Friendly and laid back; horizontally at most times. After only a few hours I got the feeling Laos will be the best place we visited and I stand by that, minus the capital.

Luang had several sights to behold but the sweltering heat, 37^oC plus, humidity and general lazyness of ones legs put off visits to temples located on the top of hills and museums perched atop a pile of steps. Having said that I hired a bike for two days and cycled around the 4km circuit that comprised the two main roads simply for the exercise. We also visited some waterfalls whilst here. Waterfalls doesn’t sound at all inspiring but any place where water collected in a pool deep enough to swim in was a welcome escape from the heat. Some of the falls were lovely; perfect turquoise pools surrounded by tropical vegetation looked stunning.

Mmmmm..... Waterfalls


Nightlife in Laos is somewhat tame with its two bars generally closing no later than 23:30. Because of the limited number of watering holes bumping into people was unavoidable and welcomed: Our ‘family’ unit grew and bonded until, having shed people traveling in different directions or simply too lazy to up and move, we formed a close group: The nomadic nine.

We moved on to Vang Vieng which has, according to Lonely Planet, become a right of passage for backpackers. The only real activity here is to hire a huge inner tube from a tractor tire and float down the Mekong. The floating was real boring, achingly so because my arms became paddles, but the stops on the river were something different. Bunched relatively close together were zip lines and rope swings into the river. The height of these swings increased as we moved further down the river; I was happy to swing from 20 feet, no more thanks! Not even the Dutch courage duped me to climb to the 35ft swing. Hilarity prevailed each time Paul used the swing, for some reason he couldn’t hold on to it. As his forth attempt approached the crowd grew silent in anticipation of yet another catastrophic belly flop; he didn’t let anyone down. It’s such a shame water and cameras don’t mix because the photos would have been hilarious.

Apart from this we didn’t really do much the only other highlight was the cycle to a lagoon for a swim, again to avoid the excruciatingly humid heat, and visiting its caves: Caves set into the karst topography of the area which involved a lot of climbing through narrow passages in pitch black, with only flip-flops on and one small 20watt torch between me Paul and Becky. We bottled it. To humiliate myself further I should add that our guides were ten year old children also climbing in flip flops but as we all know, children are fearless.

Expanding on my earlier point: “laid back; horizontally at most times”. No better example can be found than the resort restaurant in Vang Vieng. The standard procedure for eating in a restaurant usually involves a pattern similar, if not identical to this:

1. Take a seat and be issued with menu.
   
2. Staff take my order.
   
3. Food arrives; munch, munch, munch. Yum.
   
4. Pay bill, decide whether to leave tip (haha! tip)
   

Instead try this:

1. Take a seat and after five minutes decide you should probably collect your own menu.
   
2. Wait for staff to take order.
   
3. Oh no the staff aren’t coming. Engage legs to walking mode, place order at counter.
   
4. Not always but very often the wrong food arrives, tell them so and they look so distraught; like telling a child they can’t have sweets.
   
5. Eventually the correct food arrives and it’s good.
   
6. Pay bill and decide how long to wait around for the correct change to be issued. Usually this is because they don’t have the currency to break your notes therefore they say “tip, tip”. All together now: “Non, non”
   
   OR
   
   Pay bill and be given too much change back and correct the balance for them.
   

Okay, so that is a shit story but the point I’m trying to get at is this: Laos is a very poor country with a GDP per capita of [according to BBC News website] US $470. In order for this resort and it’s staff to earn more money surely it would help if they perhaps paid a little attention to customers and take the order for them. Getting the order correct wouldn’t be a bad idea either, it would surely avoid wastage, oh and to ask for a tip after this?! I’m not trying to sound tight or terrible here, more reflective: If they could just wake up and put a little effort into their jobs perhaps they could earn more.

We leave the capital tomorrow, Wednesday, on a flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia, to visit the temples of Angkor Wat, they look really impressive: I just hope we can avoid the unexploded ordnance (thank you very much U.S.A) and bandits.


Relaxing after a lazy day in Vang Vieng

Photos from Laos

I've begun writing a blog entry but not completed it yet so here are some photos from Laos.

Bringing you up to date... Almost (Bangkok)

I tried to type something here yesterday and the sheer size of the task scared me away. Over two weeks without an typing will result in an economical entry but I will endeavour to mention most events transpired.

Way back to Bangkok
Bangkok itself isn't particularly memorable; we visited the Grand Palace, two of the thousands of wats; basically shrines/temples, the Tiger Temple, a floating market, the Snake museum and several bars. Bangkok was also where I saw Chelsea lift the F.A. Cup the scummers.

The Grand Palace was large, with lots of fancy architecture; mostly Wats and a gun museum. It looked nice but other than that I cannot really get that excited about it which is a shame as a lot of people there did. Because of the sheer number of Wats in Bangkok- and Thailand as a whole -they just blend into the landscape as a row of terraced houses do in Britain. A pointed fact being that British houses aren't gold plated and made from tiny mosaics of tile and mirror can be stated by Wat-lovers but I just tired of them. And now for the contradiction: Wat Po. This was good; a huge golden reclining Buddha lies chilling out as a steady stream of tourists whirl by trying to fit the entire guy into a 35mm shot.

The Grand Palace


To escape Bangkok we enrolled on a day long excursion to Kanchanaburi, 35km from Burma, to visit the floating, seemingly recession hit, market, the death railway bridge, the Tiger Temple and a Snake Museum.

Envisage a market, any market; think people shouting, low prices and an eclectic mix of both the old and the economically challenged. Next add one part Thailand, one part canal, stalls transformed into long boats, most, if not all that is sold is fruit and the cliental become a bunch of tourists there to gawp and spend either 50p on Dragon Fruit or 5 minutes arguing it's price before buggering off: You have the floating market. Okay, i'm being a bit negative on the old girl, she did provide an insight on how some Thai's probably once traded and made a living (about 50 years ago) but the exuberant foreign crowd made this little more than a exhibition. I did go four yards out of my way to purchase a mango and 'put something back' but it was quite a poor showing. Most of the purchasing power sourced either Sterling, Euros or Dollars. In fact, we managed to count, excluding the traders, maybe ten Thai's.

Floating Market


After the market we visited the snake museum at which we saw 'man hold cobra', 'cobra sharp TEETH, look AT the poison', 'watch as Mongoose fight the Cobra, LOOK AT THE MONGOOSE! Cobra can die in 5 minutes and Mongoose always winner' and of course the famous 'man who take on three snake AT THE SAME TIME'. The M.C. added to the entertainment here, he spoke good English but had a habit of littering his announcements with inappropriate over emphasisations. Watching a mongoose beat a Cobra in a fight was impressive, I never would have thought it. Later came the 'man who take on leaping snake; snake can leap 3 metres', perhaps purposefully the performer decided to slip over while spinning the snake and tossed it in our direction resulting a mass exodus of the front rows as the snake attempted to hurdle the small 3ft wall.

Stoopid Cobra Man


We took a brief detour to the death railway bridge; 258miles of railway between Bangkok, Thailand and Rangoon, Burma, was built by the Imperial Japanese Empire during World War II, to support its forces in the Burma campaign. Constructed by Prisoners of War (POWs) the name comes from the staggering number of deaths during the project: 116,000. It was simple a bridge and there wasn't really much of the history available to explain the devastation of the project. I did however find this humourous artwork on the museum wall:



Artwork in the Death Railway Museum.


Next stop was the Tiger Temple, here the Tigers are serene with the bliss of morphine and other opiates, sorry, I mean, er... [sic]

Next stop was the Tiger Temple, here the Tigers have, over the years, lived in peaceful co-existance with Buddhist monks. The lifestyle at Wat Pha Luang Ta Bua (yes it's another Wat) has calmed the Tigers as they too experience the benefits of the monks' tranquil teachings, restricting chains and allow tourists to gaze into their distantly glazed calm eyes. As the Tigers were being walked back to their cages, ah the cage: Standardised peaceful buddhist co-existance, one broke free and made a runner for the cages. As expected everyone shit themselves, "Stand still and tiger will not hurt you" were the calming words from a trainer. Yeah right, I thought, a huge cat is coming at me, 'I think i'll stand still'. Anyways, they caught him and chained him and humiliated him by allow us tourists to take turns walking him back.

Chiang Mai
Moving north we made Chiang Mai our next destination, here we took a day long Thai cooking course and pushed ourselves to some kind of limit with a three day jungle trek. The cooking course was great; every dish I cooked I ate so was stuffed. I can't wait to get home and try the recipes out.

Jungle trekking was also great fun. I was initially reluctant to take part: Climbing and Descending through dense jungle in 35^oC heat sounded painful; it was, but it was also extremely rewarding when we reached our destination. oh, and the beer: I've never worked harder for a ice cold beer than I did during these three days.

The first day consisted of an hour long Elephant ride during which the Elephant made damn sure we knew who was boss by spraying us with water every time we ventured close to rivers. I never really appreciated the size of these magnificent animals until, when asked to climb onboard, I had to walk on, and across, her head, then shoulder-blades before taking my seat in the cage.



Time to cool down


We were blesed with a friendly group of people to trek with and on the first evening we had several beers and generally talked a lot of shit. Day two was a solid six hours of walking with a one hour swimming break at a waterfall. Again, followed by beers. Day three saw us abandon our walking shoes (after two hours) and pad up for white-water rafting. As the 'captain' explained the instructions I was distracted by two mating Elephants in the distance. The instructions kept coming and so did the Elephant until eventually both went silent and where the Elephant disembarked we, on the contrary, boarded our vessel. The monsoon rains hadn't yet hit so the river wasn't too deep and it made for a pretty unadventurous course but it was still fun, swimming in the 3ft deep water was the best part.



White-water rafting.


Our next stop is Laos, and as mentioned in my previous post we were transported to their yesterday on the slowest, most uncomfortable boat that could have been designed. We arrived in Luang Prabang on Thursday 31st and after forty-five minutes of looking for a room, in the baking heat, carrying 20kgs, we found one. Amazingly we met up with the Irish lads from Kuala Lumpur before we set sail (tourist trails are exactly that!) and have been hanging out in rather un-Irish style the last couple of nights: Sober. OK, that brings the blog up to date. Hopefully I won't get so far behind again, though I know this to be a Fallacy.

2 days of torture

Finally arrived in Luang Prabang, Laos after two of the most torturous days on the slowest boat ever. Spending 6 hours yesterday and 8 today on what in all fairness was labelled 'Slow Boat' was horrid. As usual out here they oversell the tickets and squash far too many people in a boat to make a few extra dollars.

In fact, I've really lost the motivation for blogging.


Torture Boat

Ko Phi Phi

After two reasonably uneventful hours sailing we reached our destination: Ko Phi Phi. The only noteworthy happening was that of some freak show breaking into the toilet whilst I was wiping my arse, not of concern to me but I’m sure the impatient idiot won’t be repeating his actions again in the near future.

Upon arrival we cut our way through the swarm of hotel prospectors and began hunting down an adequately priced place to lie for three nights. We were looking for any place that wasn’t excessively overpriced which, for Ko Phi Phi, a tourist Mecca, is excruciatingly difficult. To compound our problems the heavens decided to open and the receptionist’s promise of a multitude of storms was becoming worthy of scripture. Darting into a nearby restaurant to take shelter we decided to send Paul on a reconnaissance mission to Long Beach; the location of Lonely Planet approved accommodation (gosh we’re adventurous).

Long Beach was located down the coast from the main ‘city centre’ area and was only accessible by a taxi-boat. Saving cash we decided that just one of us should check the area out and text message the results back. I passed Paul my phone and told him to SMS back with details of the area. After forty minutes I received a message:

“One rom for 3 1600 1 nite w con tmw Cost 1400 for 1 and get 2 fan 4 600. Seems ok”

We replied:

“How many bars? Is it secure? Hotel or hostel? Entertaiment? How long did the boat ride take? A lot of people around?"

To which we received:

“pls com Is nice not sure bars v wet”

Then without prompting a cryptic:

“I don’t know ring please com”


We had no idea what he was on about and replied with further questions only to receive another nonsensical reply. It was at this point I remembered Paul has no idea how to use a non Nokia phone and even more problems with predictive text, normally I wouldn’t be too fussed but each message was costing me 50p and after five messages, each requiring an enigma device to decode, he was beginning to piss me off.

Me and Pez hopped on a taxi boat and took to 10minute ride to Long Beach. Exiting the small boat with a 20kg backpack was somewhat difficult and having to climb across a further three decks to reach the precariously placed ladder to the jetty was no fun. The heavens opened again just to worsen the situation by making the boats extra slippy.

Upon reaching dry land and following a 10minute trek down the beach I found the hotel and we booked in for a night. After all this hassle the rain continued throughout the day, and, most of the night. A swim was the only sensible option because even after a ten yard walk I was drenched, if you can’t beat them, join them. Them being the droplets of H₂0 that were permeating my soul. Long Beach being so devoid of activity frustrated me, I was amazed that so many people could sit, like drones, watching ‘The Beach’ simply because it was filmed here, the film sucks people! Contemplating the continuation of this weather depressed me, I wasn’t optimistic of change as I hit the sack; three days of storms down, one to go.


Some loser and, in the background, Ko Phi Phi.


The next day was much better, we left Long Beach and head towards the city centre. It was great over there; lots of restaurants, hotels, bars, activities and, most importantly, no drones watching ‘The Beach’. We happily checked into a hotel and then hiked the vertical 600 metres to conquer Ko Phi Phi's viewpoint. In the baking sun this wasn't an easy feat but after 30 minutess and numerous 'Tsunami Evacuation Route' signs we made it. The view from up there was brilliant, definitely worth the sweaty trek.


Perhaps in poor taste? Me fleeing the incoming Tsunami.



Ko Phi Phi Beach: Spectacular.

The next day was our adventure day; we booked ourselves on a 6 hour snorkeling and kayaking adventure. The boat gently chugged out of the harbour, which, in actual fact was simply a wooden pier, at 14:30 and so began our 6 hours of fun.

First stop: Monkey Beach. Wow, monkeys. I haven’t seen those before. I guess traveling through India for 7 weeks removes the interest in our bipedal cousins. More interesting than the monkeys was that we could jump off the roof of the boat into the sea. From an elevation of no more than 7 metres and with substantial fear I was able to summon the courage to take the plunge. I really cannot remember when I became such a wuss and jumping from such a miniscule height scared me so much; to conquer my fears I repeated the feat. Me big strong man, see me jump, watch in awe.

After plunging into the water I got kitted up for snorkeling. I thought it would be easy to submerge my face and breathe through a snorkel; this wasn’t the case. I’m not sure what was scaring me but I’m sure it was simple: I shouldn’t be able to breathe underwater and being able to do so was confusing my little brain. After 30 minutes of practice I was an aqua man and able to inspect the diversity of marine life: Coral, tropical fish and rocks. I really enjoyed snorkeling and was disappointed when we were called back to the boat, as they say though: All good things…


The final stop of our day was to visit Maya Beach, the location of the film ‘The Beach’. We eventually got to shore but not after a bitch of a journey. Our party of 30 were equipped with 5 kayaks and one small boat, capacity five, to get us all to the beach. We waited until last to boat the boat; women and children first. The problem was that when it was our turn there were still six of us left. With one Kayak left me and Paul decided to be helpful and sit on that and be pulled to shore rather than wait for the boat to return again.

This journey was not simple! Each time the tow line between the boat and kayak became tense the force overturned the kayak. After ten minutes of this debacle the boat man gave up and said he would return for us. Forty five minutes after the first party landed on the beach me and Paul were left stranded in the middle of the ocean with a kayak. Amazingly I wasn't too annoyed and managed to see the funny side; this didn't last long. When we finally hit dry land the sun had beguin its descent and we were given approximately 15 minutes to appreciate the perfection of our location before being rounded up to leave. I felt rather aggreived with the situation but looking back on it I suppose the tour operators had to be back by a certain time and the schedule was more important than two British guys value for money. That evening I slept well after an extremely tiring day, I needed the sleep because the next day we left early for Phuket.


Maya Beach. A shit photo because it was so dark when we finally arrived.



A slightly better photo of Maya beach.

Krabi

After a 10 hour bus ride from Kuala Lumpur we arrived at the Thai border and faced the gruelling task of entering the land of smiles. The queue to enter the country was short, no more than 60 people, however, the immigration officer decided to take perverse pleasure in prolonging the experience and ensuring a 60 person queue took 90 minutes to clear. Normally this wouldn't really bother me, despite what you think of, but on this morning, after no sleep or food I didn't enjoying standing up for such a extensive period. When I finally arrived at the front of the queue the procedure was swift, it took no more than 30 seconds to add the 4th stamp to my passport, heaven knows what was holding the queue up.

Once through immigration we faced another 6 hours on the bus to get to Hat Yi, a small interchange town from where all of Thailand is accessible. It was here we picked up our connecting bus to Krabi. What an devilish journey this turned out to be; 5 hours squashed into a bus which could only have been designed by a dwarf taking revenge on normally sized peopleKrabi. I really wanted to sleep but each time my head drifted backwards it dropped over the back of the neck rest, a neck rest which I commend for its fine work supporting my upper back. Eventually I gave up because I was getting whiplash.


Krabi is the capital of Krabi province, usually tourists stay for a night or two before moving on to the surrounding islands to snorkell or partake in other wrorldly pleasures. Us on the otherhand decided to take five nights there, partly because we arrived far too early and secondly because we were meeting Pez who was flying out on the 8th May. The five nights were enjoyable and we met a good few characters, I especially enjoyed chatting to Bob, the ultra conservative American. He wasn't quite the gun toting Texan redneck but didn't tolerate people who strayed too far from his political alignment. His introduction was:

"I'm Bob, from the right"

I should have been adventurous and introduced myself as Mark from the Left but that would have only caused complications and added unnecessary friction to any proceding conversation. Proudly I did bring up Iraq and told him it was shit idea, the corresponding death glare I received wasn't pleasant but last time I checked the UK was still a free country; soon to be freer on June 27th.

It was in Krabi Manchester United won the EPL, as it is called here, English Premier League for those of you not in the know. We sat down to watch a boring derby match but the result was all that mattered and because it was fitting we get pissed. Similar story the next day, Chelsea could only draw with Arsenal so we were champions, fuckin' A.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the bar we were frequenting had the poorest excuse of a Ladyboy working behind the bar; I mean it's a poor excuse anyway but this was blatent. A big fat jaw and stubble surely couldn't confuse even the most desperate sex starved perverted tourists. It sure was funny watching her? walking around serving the drinks, imagine any bloke you know fitting himself into high heels and drinking 2 bottles of red wine and, upon instruction, get up and stumble comically around the room. I had a good chuckle, haha.

The next day we took a bus to Ao Nang beach, 20km from Krabi town, upon arrival it began to rain. It proceeded to rain heavier so we took shelter and got some lunch. It continued to rain and got even heavier, it was beginning to feel as though the monsoon had arrived early, if not monsoon then at least a minor hurricane. This continued all day so we decided to scarper. Upon arrival back as the hostel the receptionist promised us 4 days of rainstorms; brilliant.


Escaping the Ao Nang rainstorm, not pictured, the rain.


Pez arrived on the 8th and we went out for a few drinks. We found an awesome reggae bar, reggae bars appear frequently here, and dived in for a few games of pool. I went unbeaten for 6 matches which was an absolute miracle considering I couldn't focus when looking above my glasses; because they fell down my nose, not because I was pissed, yet. I even beat the shark of the bar, Pond, he must have been having an off night. After a few beers and White Russian cocktails we, and the other punters, nine of us in total, were treated to a few free shots from the bar owner, Wood. It was a great place to be and the vibrant, alcohol induced, atmosphere, was hard to detatch ourselves from but, come 2am we decided we had to leave. We had an early ferry to board to Ko Phi Phi, a beautiful island totally destroyed by the Tsunami of 2004. I'll write more about this in a later entry.


Pond takes defeat with a smile, beer and ciggie.


Having become so slack with my blog recently it took a lot of energy to type this, even more so when I hit the stupid power button on the keyboard and lost all my typing. Why do they put those stupid buttons on a keyboard? Somebody from work please tell me, they are frigging annoying!

Singapore and Malaysia

Upon arrival in Singapore the first thing I noticed was the cleanliness, after India it was heaven. This is a country in which chewing gum can only be purchased in chemists and the penalty for depositing it on the pavement is a brief spell in prison. The city was so clean and well organised that at times it had the feel of a ghost town; an impressive feat with a 4.5 million population.

We arrived on Paul's birthday so ended up going out and getting drunk; not a cheap past time when one litre of beer comes to 6.50GBP, it was highway robbery. One robbery would usually be enough to teach you a lesson but because Man Utd played in the Champions League semi final the next night it was essential to head out again. We scoured the bars looking for an establishment that would be screening the crucial match. A kick off time of 02:45 made this a problem but eventually we found a bar and settled in. After 45minutes the helpful landlord shut up shop and we had to run around Singapore looking for the second half. Luckily we found a place and witnessed an amazing second half: I fell off my chair when Rooney slammed home the winner.

Nothing much more happened in Singapore; after two late nights and 3pm rises the final day was a write off so we caught the early bus to Kuala Lumpur.

I haven't had a good old moan about anything for a while so i'll address the buses. Daytime temperatures of 35^oC make A/C a requirement but because the driver is limited to Cold or Freezing the journey is very uncomfortable. After trying with limited success to jam tissue paper into the vents I decided grab my sleeping bag and curl up for a sleep. Result! Partial success, but any exposed skin will freeze and I awoke from my slumber with a chill which, two days later, developed into a cold. This transformed me into a stroppy pants for 3 days and ruined my trip to the rainforest. Anyway, thats all I want to moan about; the buses: They suck!

Five and a half hours later we arrived in KL, the bag monkey on the coach snatched the microphone and began an audio tour; a thrilling dispatch that informed me of 4 buildings in Kuala Lumpur and where I could buy knocked off watches, T-shirts and so on. The 4 buildings were:
1. The old airport, no longer in service. Whoa! I was primed.
2. To your right the American Embassy, the most heavily guarded embassy in the world, I saw two police cars and only 2 coppers. I guess it's a muslim country though so he's probably correct.
3. To your right the 'insert name' building, similar to the CN tower in Toronto except "this one not so tall no"
4. The Petronas twin towers. These didn't actually look very magnificent, I was expected a whoa factor similar to when I first cast eyes on the Empire State; guess i'm too much of a seasoned explorer now, hahaha. "You wake early and queue to climb to linking bridge for tourists. Queue from 7.30 and first slots open at 8.30, you will be assigned time yes, bridge closed at 16:30. If you wish to walk between the towers get there early and not on a Monday."
5. A hidden extra sight. Having stopped at the first hotel on the journey we swung back around to see, from the left window this time, "American Embassy, most heavily guarded embassy in world". I was in awe, three coppers this time. Respect!

Our time in Kuala Lumpur has seen a continuation of the drinking session we began in Singapore, and, at a slightly lower price. Upon arrival in our hostel we immediately met an English lad named Rich and an Ozzy named Cal. Add 3 Irish fellas: Craig, Evan and Mikey plus a Malaysian: Harold or Arru (i'm still unsure), a lot of beer and that pretty much brings you up to date. Each and every one were top lads and we formed a bit of a lads club with evenings usually extending well past 4am.


I guess we did do some touristy work whilst here, we visited the 'insert name' tower and zipped up to the skylobby to view Kuala Lumpur from 400m and had a walk about the feet of the Petronas Towers. On closer inspection the Petronas look pretty
swazzydar but I was expecting them to be taller.


View of Kuala Lumpur from the 'insert name' tower.



Me looking somewhat aloof and some towers.

Arambol, Palolem and Benaulim

Goooo Goa the razor sharp wit of an Indian T.V. advertisement advises. Who am I to decline such a witty invite? Nobody, thats who, so we took off to Goa.

One problem: The collosal distance of 2700km from Amritsar to Goa. Such a distance required a comfortable journey so the pre-booked firstclass cabin came in very handy. Although, housed in a firstclass cabin the cockroaches were seemingly unaware of the price we paid and refused to depart the cabin; some stamping later they got the idea. We only had a firstclass cabin from Amritsar to Mumbai (Bombay), the first 2 nights and 2000km, after that we would rough it.

I can only recall one particular part of this journey as being interesting: Upon pulling into a station I noticed a fruit stall on the platform, ravinous, I jumped off and joined the queue. Less than a minute later the engine choo choos and my train begins, albeit slowly, departing. Indian trains depart very slowly, like old fashioned movies, and eventually pick up steam so, nonchalantly, I began the 'chase'. A sudden problem rears its head: My carriage is 5 cars ahead and each of the doors I pass is locked. Picking up the pace I catch the third car: It's locked. The train is now moving considerably faster so I began an all out, shit yourself run faster approach to reaching my carriage. Droplets of sweat streamed down my face, others resided in the frames of my glasses creating a reflective pool of non-vision, my legs were burning but I had to make a final dash. With all my might I ran and finally caught the fifth car. I threw myself in and was immediately pressed for my ticket, unable to breathe and seeing Forrest Gump congratulating my physical prowess I let out a kinda of puzzled noise. Luckily one of the tea boys was about, he took one look at me, tutted and told the conductor: "Amritsar" while shaking his head.

I also read two books on this journey, reading is fun.

At 05:30 the train settled into Mumbai Central and our wild, 4km, dash to Mumbai Victoria began, our connection to Goa would depart in under one hour at 06:20. With 30 minutes to spare I was seated in Sleeper (very low) class and ready for the journey to Madgoan (Goa). Timetabled to arrive 9 hours later I couldn't wait to arrive and pick up a beer, unfortunately the Konkan Railway had other ideas: What I can only assume was Congestion and Signal Failure led to a 3 hour delay. Eventually we arrived, a one hour taxi ride to Palolem completed the journey.

Signed into a cheap hotel, had a shower and rushed out for last (food) orders; being low season the restaurants all began closing at 22:30, it was 22:15. With a touch of luck there was a splendid restaurant located 10 metres from the hotel and, rather sacrilegiously for India, they served steak. I blasphemed.

Goan days were devastating, a minimum daily high of 37^oC was promised by our waiter the previous night, promises suck! It was, still is, impossible to adequately function in the heat, it is essential to consume at least 4 Litres of water a day to replace what im losing in sweat.

Palolem is a lovely beach, truly beautiful, the problem here is a lack of activities. I believe the following are popular:

1. Sweat, and I mean buckets, it drips from my head after a mere 50metre walk
   
2. Swim in the sea. I even bought a rubber ring to float on, High Five! Caution: Due to the intensity of the sun the only sensible bathing times are: 07:00-10:30 and 16:00 - 19:00
   
3. Locate shade and drink beer. Some muppets, sadly all British, were practicing this art at 11:00 and were clearly incapable of obeying step 2, above. It was a shame this beach attracted life's outsiders: I'm no gem of society but I really hate the scum who think a holiday is only a success if they incinerate themselves to 'prove they've been away', drink all day, speak as loud as possible so we all know they're "not a fackin pussy, i'm fackin British me mate" and display their bulldog tattoos proudly on the aforementioned red chest/back.
   
4. Locate shade and drink water.
   
5. Show bogus interest when passing the homogenous shop fronts just so you can duck in and avoid the sun.
   
6. Fishing, Dolphin and romantic sunset trips were available. We went fishing and caught a grand total of zero fish in 2 hours. Marvelous.
   

Just as with every Indian city, village, shanty town, Palolem had its street cows. Not just street cows, come early evening the shore was transformed into Bovine Beach and the dogs didn't like it. Every night without fail they would foolishly pick fights with the bulls and cows, luckily for the hounds it never came to blows.

Dogs attempt a pincer movement on beach cow.

I decided to mash the rules a little and took part in what I will christen: Frying Feet, Swimming Water.

Firstly a little pre-school background: In order to swim in the sea you must remove flipflops, money and shirt. Unless you want these items stolen they are best left with a minder, usually a friend or family member. You enter the sea, swim, get bored and, once dried, put stuff back on.

Frying Feet Swimming Water strays from these standard rules. You walk to the sea, barefoot because no-one is around to look after your clothing, footwear or money. Having covered half the 200m distance you realise the black tarmac getting rather hot, after all it's two in the afternoon. Rather than head back you continue to the sea. By this time your feet really hurt. Upon entering the sea you notice that where your feet once had skin you now have enormous blisters, another give away signal is that you cannot stand up or walk and are in excruiating pain. The swimming water part comes in because all you can do is swim, walking is that unbearable.

After one hour in the sea the game contestant attempts to walk back to his hotel; he can't and hides under a palm tree for 30mins. With no cash to buy some cheap flipflops or a coke and the seat that comes with it you have to hobble back to the hotel and hope your brother is there. He isn't!

"Gone to Inet again" reads the note.

You sit on the hotel porch for 2 hours, the pain so unbareable you cannot undertake the 25 metre walk back down the road to the internet cafe. To top it off you have also been playing another game, this one lasts several days. Spicy Samosa, Sloppy Shits.

Oh Yes! The Delhi Belly arrived in monsterous fashion. No details needed here but I have to be a bloke, well gross, and inform you of the following:

The Delhi Belly had taken control of my to such an extent that in one restaurant, upon finished a lovely tandorri fish I shit myself. Personally I thought it was just a fart but it carried on.

Belinda joined me in Arambol on the 14th April, Arambol sucked ass though and we went straight back down south to join the drunken Lobsters.

It was great to see Belinda again and without wanting to whine on and on I'll say that we had a brilliant, if somewhat lazy week, in Palolem. It was only today when I was leaving her at the airport that it hurt, kind of felt as though I took her presence for granted whilst she was around and now she was off I was empty again. Mustn't dwell, I'll keep my emotions close to my chest and not bore you good people with yucky lovey stuff.

After leaving the airport I had to find a place to stop for one night, I decided to travel 45km south to Benaulim and get a room. I'm not going to investigate too much here because I'm tired, the Internet cafe has A/C and I'm only here for a day. All I've done today is spend an hour looking for a cheap room with a television, Man Utd play Boro tonight, had breakfast and sat at a computer for the last 3 hours.


Me and Paul fly out to Singapore tomorrow, 22nd April, I am excited and also sad. It was sad to see all the shops closing up for Moonsoon season: A beach closing up much as our Indian account is about to close. I will be sad to leave India on Sunday, I really like it here and will be back next January with Belinda; once you adapt to the place its really nice.

Signing off from India,
Mark


The sun sets on Palolem Beach

Awful Blogging Skills

Okay, Okay, my blogging skills have took a real savaging recently and I'm over 12 days behind the times. The problems are manifold:

1. I have actually typed my entry for Amritsar twice only for the internet to drop out and me lose it all. From now on, i'm working in Word (except for this which i'm foolishly typing directly into the Internet window) Dickhead!
   
2. We spent 3 days on a train travelling 2700Km, the train had no internet access.
   
3. I got Delhi Belly for real and it rendered me 'unreliable' for 5 days. If you visit India never ever eat the Samosas and Bhajis that are sold from station platforms.
   
4. The sun! It has been so hot since we left Dharamsala that I have really lost all motivation to type loads. It is currently 40 Degrees in Palolem; very unpleasant.
   

Until I get my ass in gear, NO! this isn't a Delhi Belly pun, I simply mean get my shit together, er... get my blog back on track, here is a link to my Palolem (Goa) and Amritsar photos.

I'm hungry, get me out of here!

Thursday morning was a time to be consigned to the rubbish bin, and then, as in every Indian city, gallantly digested by the cows who manage the waste disposal bureau. Waking up at 5am with stomach cramps so severe I thought my oesophagus would get shorter at any moment I was having a rough time. This was perhaps a self inflicted predicament having, albeit in an inebriated mindset, rashly consumed several glasses of Indian H₂O two nights hither.

Laying on my back the pain would wallow like a shallow puddle on my stomach, twisting to my side and it would casually wash down my side like an acidic waterfall. Adding to the considerable pain, with an unreasonable potency, was the frustration of Man United’s 2-1 loss in Rome the night before: A result whose ramifications I am still unable to effectively judge.

As fitful sleep washed over me for several hours the clock was stumbling towards 10am; time to get up. Stepping into the glorious sun had an instant positive effect on me, burning off the layers of tiredness and replacing them with a dazed inquisitiveness to investigate the local waterfall. This didn’t last and within the hour I was back, face down, on my bed groaning.

In normal circumstances taking drugs to relieve pain doesn’t appeal to me, taking them because they are illegal and feel nice, well, that’s another story; a story predominantly consigned to the past I must add. However, on this morning Ibuprofen was required and after a couple more hours peaky sleep I felt better. After one month the infamous Delhi Belly came close to acquiring a hostage, some clever negotiation, of the sort a U.S. Foreign Affairs committee could use learning paid off, and within another hour I was a free man.

The free man proudly marched off in the direction, 3km east, of the waterfall, a sight alluded to by so many it was certainly worth a punt. It wasn’t! It was the most pathetic excuse for a waterfall I’ve ever been duped into seeing. It resembled a leprechaun pissing down the white cliffs of Dover; from 200m away I couldn’t even hear the splashes from plunge pool. Unable to rouse the sufficient level of excitement to smile and trigger any endorphin release I turned my back and marched to the ice cream stand. Chocolate iced cream never tasted so good.

Today I want to eat, I want to eat eat eat. Not having the appetite for bland Tibetan or poorly prepared Indian cuisine, also a nominee for my suffering means the choice of Italian or Chinese food. Normally both are fine but after a solid week of eating Itali-fucking-an food I want something new, something nice, something English. I’d love to kill one of the street cows myself and sizzle up a steak; they’re enough to go round. Whats that? An enquiry as to the culinary skills of the Chinese Chefs? I reckon this stuff is produced my a man with a similar disposition as myself; a high blood cholesterol, and he is taking revenge at every normal person by loading the Chow Mein with so much ghee it arrives on my lap looking more like a soup.

Yes, I’m sick of Dharamsala now. Thank I’m departing bound for Amritsar tomorrow.

Dharamsala

"Dharamshala! Dharamshala!" yelled the coach person.
I was half awake and was hoping that it would soon be time to disembark. The alarm on my phone had been set for 4.30 having been promised a 5am arrival time. Yet to sound I realised this was early. Looking at my watch I was stunned to read 3:30am.

We got off the coach and luckily there were a couple of others with us, 2 Thai girls and a French lass, we all got taxi into Mcleod Ganj (Dharamsala is nothing more than a stopping point) by now it was pushing 04:00. I whipped out the Rough Guide from my bag and began to search for some of the hotels advised to stop at. Setting off down a pitch black alley only my K750i in hand I used the light from its camera to guide the way, 5 mins later, and a long hill: Nothing. Every hotel we found was closed and had no bell to ring the reception.

After trying 5 hotels and desperatly needing sleep we were in no mind to give up and set off down another road, again phone torch in hand. 3 mins downt he road it was pitch black and the only sound we could here was barking dogs. From past experience in Delhi and Shimla dogs tend to have owners and hence be locked behind walls or gates so we carried on. All of a sudden the barking became louder, more aggressive and we could here paws clambering up the hill and heading our way.

"SHIT!" I thought. Before I knew it, five growling dogs were 2m from me, I was at the front being the bravest, hehe. As we all turned around to calmly (but really i was shitting it) walk away 3 more dogs appeared behind us. These were eyeing us up and worryingly one of them was limping and drooling, the worrying appearance of a Rabid little shit. I cannot describe my fear in words but it was a lot of not niceness. Luckily the Thai girls were good with animals and told us to stay calm as they made noises and calmed the mutts down. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, 2 mins, we were walking back down the street with the 3 dogs as our loyal guards; they actually turned to bark back at the orignal 5. Result!



Learn to read signs Mr Driver


A couple of minutes later we found a hotel which cost us 600Rs (rip!!) and we slept from 5:00 until 11 then wentto find our new room. We had the choice of two rooms, one with a TV and the Football channels, 600Rs or one for 300Rs without. We opted for the cheaper one and to pester Dad with texts for score updates, haha.

Since we have been here we have not really done much. A visit to the Tibet museum being the only notable event. We have been so lazy in fact that I have only taken 4 photos. During the days we have been wandering around the shops, mostly bookshops, reading and then going out to the pub in the evening. This is the first place we have found with a decent bar and a few travellers to speak to. We've also been chatting to some Tibettens which is really interesting.
One guy hiked here with a group of 12, It took him 40 days, really makes you realise how much of a crappy life some people have had. Puts in perspective the things that we moan about: Who stole my parking space? I can't get through to my bank because there isn't a human to speak to just a machine! My boss wants me to show the new person around, what a chore!

We've not had a chance to meet the Dalai Lama though apparantly he is in town at the moment. We took a walk down to his residence but didn't see him gardening to plotted revenge on China.



A Buddist Monk spins the prayer wheel.

Manali

After an unprecedented final day in Shimla we boarded the overnight coach destined for Manali. Manali lies in the Kullu Valley, 80 miles from Tibet, cradled by the Pir Panjal mountain range to the north, Parvati to the east and Barabhagal to the west. The mountains range from 3500 to 6200m and add a beautifully stunning backdrop to the town.

The roads used by our coach driver were not really worthy of such a title, dirt tracks would be an apt description. It never once seemed to enter the driver's mind that these tracks skirted around valleys which were over 1km deep. Taking corners at speed Michael Schumacher would be proud of I feared to look out the window to see how close we were coming to plummeting over the edge. Luckily the coach travelled overnight so I couldn't see too much. The occasions I glanced out of the window I could not see road, only a perilous descent.

We arrived at stupid o clock, 5am I think, and because the coach ride felt more like a ride on Nemesis at Alton Towers I got very little sleep. Upon arrival in the hotel I went straight to sleep and didn't stir until 3pm.

Due to the spiralling costs of buying tea at cafes and hotels combined with the inconvenience of not having access to a brew when I most wanted one the purchase of a kettle was in order. Frustratingly the kettles were all overpriced and would have made packing a nightmare. Conceding defeat I informed the shopkeeper we needed something small and to "forget about it". He rummaged about in a draw and found an electronic filament, "fifty Rupees you say? I'll have it". All that was needed now was a flask to boil the water in, after picking this up I was a happy lad. Tea, whenever I want. Woohoo!

The next day it was time for my second and final Rabies vaccination, so what better time for Manali to close down and hold a religious festival. Alarm bells began ringing in my head: I needed that injection to live. Luckily a local Doctor had boycotted the festival and promised to administer the vaccine once I found an open drugstore. Eventually, after a lot of panic, and 6 hours later, a shop opened, then another, then,... a drugstore. I rushed in, picked up the prescription and got myself fixed.

Our third day saw us undertake a 15km hike to a city we never found. Bloody Typical! Setting off at 10am for a village called Solong, mapless and with a promise from the tourist office that we need just follow the path and we would arrive in 4 hours we did just that. It was a nice walk but after 4 hours we hit a dead end: An army base and a river. We attempted to skirt around the base following the outer wall around the bank of the river. Unfortunately the route became perilous, snow 3 feet deep blanketed a river bank which consisted of loosely piled rocks and a drop of over 6m into the rocky river bed. Peril and the vast quantities of snow entering our boots and le to an abandonment of the trek. We turned around and headed back to Manali for tea. At this point the backs of my legs were burning; forgetting to apply sun cream to my poor calves was a schoolboy error. My legs burnt, our destination unfulfilled and over 8km from food I was not a happy bunny.

Back at the hotel I spent the rest of the day taking photos of the mountains from the balcony, the view was so perfect I continued messing with my camera well into the evening and captured what I consider to be some beautiful scenes.



Orion sits neatly above the mountains.

View looking down the Valley.

Lunchtime.

Shimla

Shimla has the look and feel of a small English Town. From its mall, filled with bakeries and small general stores to its impecably turned out, almost victorian, children in school uniform. From the pensioners walking about town dressed in tweed suits with accompanying pipes to its mock tudor shop fronts. Shimla has a very colonial feel adding to the illusion that I am in a lost corner of England.

Temperatures in the city varied from a night time low of 2^oC to a daytime high of 18^oC. Nowhere was this differential more apparent than in the unheated hostel we chose to house us for three nights. It was so cold that at night I had to spin myself into my sleeping bag much as a catapillar would into a cocoon, only this action would sufficiently protect me from the elements.

No lush bounty of treasures are hidden in Shimla. We made do with the Advanced institute of Learning, in its previous life, the Viceregal Lodge and the Jakhu (monkey) Temple.

Every summer from 1864 through to 1947 saw the British seatof government move from Delhi to Shimla and the Viceregal Lodge. The lodge, built in Elizebethan style is every bit as ostentatous inside as out. Silk, still in place from 1864, still graces the walls; Burmese wood panels decorate the ceilings and its Marble floors all leave you in now doubt this was one of the homes of an empirical power. During its latter years the building hosted crucial independence and partition discussions leading to the creation of eastern and western muslim states; Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Viceregal Lodge.

Later in the day we stumbled across, with the help of Rough Guide, the finest curry we have yet to experience since arriving. Our vast appetites led us to order a whole chicken, tandorri style, chicken Jalfrezi, Mushroom Curry, 2 Naans, 2 Rice and several Cokes. An excellent meal for under a fiver.

On the final day, after two days of not doing much at all, we decided to visit the Jakhu Temple. Me, Paul and Bart, a Pole we met in the hostel set off nice and early to get the finest view of the mountains; the temple being located 2419m above sea level. Half way up the mountain and a local offers us a monkey stick, soon I would find out why. Approximately 20m from the peak a dramtic increase in the number of monkeys was noticeable, visitng the monkey temple we expected nothing less. Upon arrival at the peak, a peak with a sucky view I might add, I crashed down on a bench. Suddenly a mass of some description lands on my arm, after a panic I realise it is Paul's bag. Phew! The relief is instantly shattered when another object, this time definately an animate object pulls me back; A monkey has jumped on my back. Before I have time to realise what has occured I see a blurry hand shape and feel, as it remoes my glasses, it slap into my face. After trading some Chick Peas for my glasses Paul notices I have a cut under my eye, kindly dispatched as a gift from my monkey mugger.

Damage inflicted by my Monkey mugger.

Rabies! Immediately aware that I need to get this treated, and fast, I begin to shit myself, I've never ever felt mortal before: It feels nasty. It was a Sunday and I have no experience with the Indian medical services. Finging the tourism office I procees to blurt out my predicament, the relaxed gentleman behind the desk winces, really helping me stay calm, and directs me to the hospital.

A waterfall of dirty mop water cascades down the stairs as I arrive in the 'reception' of Shimla's Casualty Department. Indians really know how to keep their hospitals clean I'm thinking as the water gathers into a stagnent pool, slowly encroaching on the lift I have summoned. A doctor directs me to the waiting room, I decide to wait outside the room noticing that the only other person waiting had ceased to be: These doctors have no concept of putting a patient's mind at ease. eventually I'm informed I need five injections over the next month, later, after contacting my own G.P. I discover this is only two. Prescription in hand I head out to the chemist to pick up my vaccination and spot a humourous, if somewhat odd sign which reads: "Red Cross Parking For Ambulance and Dead Body Van". No beating about the bush in Shimla: Dead Body Van.

'Dead Body Van' sign.

I return to the hospital, vaccination in hand and pass it to a doctor, finally, after some pissing around he injects me and I relax. What a final day!
Later in the evening we have to catch an overnight bus to Manali. The driver of this vehicle gets us to Manali by 6am the next morning but not without a bone-crunching ride around some extremely deep mountain passes. At some points on this journey I feel more like I'm on a ride at Alton Towers than on a bus. Poor roads, abysmally fast driving and the fear of toppling into the valley all contributed to my lack of sleep during this journey; one hour in total. After checking into the hotel in Vashist (2km from Manali) I went straight to bed.

Shimla Hospital

View from Shimla

Train to Shimla

Shit, Shit, Shit! The CD I backed the first 4 days worth of photos on has snapped son of a bitch! Looks like I’ll be investing in another SD card.

From Delhi Shimla lies a mere 300Km, read nothing into this distance though because the city is situated in the foothills of the Himalayas and as such involves a 10.5 hour journey; split equally between two trains. An early rise was required to catch the 05:30 departure for the first leg to Kalka. This was a little painful with lethargy being the usual git of an adversary. Entertainment on this part of the journey came from a very British Brit; speaking through the plums in his mouth he managed to complain about everything possible: Condensation on the window;


"I booked a window seat for the view!" was one of the best.

This guy couldn't sit still and was disgusted at the state of the toilets on board, I have no idea what he expected when travelling on India's Railways. It really was a sight to enjoy, I've never seen anyone get so flustered over such little events: Perhaps this is my destination in later life, minus the plums.

From Kalka the journey continues on what is fondly referred to as the Toy Train: An economically unviable service that completes the final 90km, 5.5hour journey. This railway, completed in 1903, must be one of the final, and finest, examples of British engineering. The route it takes through the mountains is astounding; 103 tunnels were bored and 24 bridges erected. All this to transport the government to the much cooler Shimla during the scorching Delhi summer. I doubt anyone could replicate this project now, not without the use of G.P.S. or a PC: A unique skill lost to the sands of time.

I had been savouring this journey through the mountains for several months now, imagine my despair when a group of seven Yankees clamber aboard the claustrophobic carriage and introduce themselves in a way Americans have a knack for: Excessive and excessively loud vocalisations.


"Look at me, I'm American. Love me, hate me, I don't care. See my wallet, see my dollars, see how they control your world"

Ok, so that’s an over exageration, but true to hegemon fashion they decided that every remaining free seat would be unilaterally conquered. Annoying enough you'd think, oh no! This group suffered an addiction that the entire cabin would soon be forced to endure, no, not eating; smartarse! Photography. One member of the group stood head and shoulders above the rest and cleared needed a 'shot' more than any other, I would later gather this one was assigned the identifier Nancy.

I speak of assigned identification because her need for 'shots' was so dangerously unfulfilled that most of its social skills had been stripped away. Smiles, clearly confined to its pre-photography days, seemed unable to bloom on the steep valleys that formed her craggy face. Photography was truly her narcotic, so dependant was she on it that each time a 'shot' was left wanting we had front row seats to the cursing and seepage of rage that followed. Usually this rage was directed at her friends for "being too slow to move" by which time the 'shot' had gone, or her poor, suffering, husband: Bruce.

The one known as Nancy.

Bruce was accountable for all. For being "too slow!" passing its camera lens. And to "hurry up!" and pass over the 2nd 2Gb memory card of the journey. Blame wasn't entirely proportioned on Bruce, one couple were "Skinny enough to share a seat" and allow her lens, which, by now I had realised was an extension of her eyesight, access to the open window. Another chap was told that "he was wasting his window seat" and "people reading books shouldn't have window seats". Perhaps, had she took the time to request a window seat from the booking office rather than document the experience in full 30 frames per second glory she would have been happier.

Toy Train crossing one of the 24 bridges.

Delhi: The Final Day (22nd March)

Got up later than planned, 9am, and an eventful beginning to our museum day. We began by flagging a Rickshaw to the Mahatma Gandhi museum. Gandhi’s significance to India cannot be understated but for some reason our Rickshaw driver had no idea where he was going. After 40 minutes, 5 stops for directions and a distance of only 4km we arrived.

The museum was ok; it contained a few of Gandhi’s personal effects: Spectacles, microscopes, sandals and books. Most impressively though was the shrine created to worship the great man; this room housed the blood stained clothes he was assassinated in and one of the three assassin’s bullets found on the ghat after his cremation. I felt moved and honoured to witness these items. Across the street we visited the Raj Ghat itself, this is now a permanent shrine visited by millions of Indians annually.

Raj Ghat-Location of Gandhi's cremation.

Next we headed to the Indira Gandhi, daughter to India’s first Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru , museum. Indira Gandhi, was the first women Prime Minister of India and after and was assassinated by her own bodyguards in 1984. A little known fact is that she declared a state of emergency in between the years 1975-1977 in which the government took authoritarian control and ordered the sterilization of men with two or more children.

Indira Gandhi's Final Walk.

This museum was very busy, perhaps because it was located inside the form PM’s house and the rooms she worked in were visible throughout the tour. It was a really good and interesting place to visit. A problem with this place was the high turnover of visitors; numerous whistle-stop tours of Indians were shuffling through so it was difficult to appreciate every piece of information on offer.

Next was a visit to the first PM’s house, Jawaharlal Nehru’s house, this was a splendid mansion but made for a candidly boring museum. No artefacts of any value were on offer and most all the walls covered with reprinted newspaper stories of the day. If it wasn’t so hot I’m sure I would have found more time to read them, instead I purchased a biography of [Mahatma] Gandhi to read in my own time.

Tomorrow we head up north to the Raj’s summer capital: Shimla. The train leaves early and I’m not looking forward to a 4.45am alarm call. No booze tonight!

Me dressing being Gandhi

Delhi, the return. 19-22nd March

I've had my fill of Delhi now, originally the return was planned for one week but after festering in its stench for three days, three days was too much. This isn't to say I've not enjoyed my time here, just that, as with London, big cities begin to wear you down; physically and mentally. After spending a few days in Varanasi returning here felt like a chore.

The capital city's initial charm wore off so much so that several of its more interesting sights remain, sadly, unfulfilled. I would have loved to visit the Qutub Minar, Lotus Temple and, for comedy value, its toilet museum. It is, with more than a little sorrow that I head to Shimla knowing I won't visit these places.

Finding a scapegoat to attach blame for this new found loathing and disenchantment with the city isn't terribly difficult:

1. Annoying, overcharging, Rickshaw drivers who haev no idea where you want to go. Depserate for cash though, they drive you around hopelessly searching. Maps don't even seem to help these idiots establish even the vaguest geographic picture of their city. By the end of the day walking, even in 32 degree heat, was preferable.
   
2. Wankers, touts, con-men and beggars. OK, so this is old ground but in such a big city it can be pleasant, well, necessary to take 10 minutes time out and sit down for a break. Good Luck! Today, in 10 minutes, I was offered: Cosmo Magazine, the Oxford English Dictionary, Postcards, the chance to give bread to a beggarchild in order to feed his damned dog and of course the usual enticing toutversation
   "Hi mate, where you from?"
   "No time for bollocks chit chat today mate!"
   

The pulic's inability to queue. This is a consistant trait among most Indians but the cheeky weasels here don't even try to appear as if they are queuing. One guy today decides to walk straight to the front of a seven deep queue. When I barged him out of the way to ensure I was served first he lookedt me pussled as if to question my modus operandi.

Humayun's Tomb

Aside from this though I've had a good couple of days here. Arriving at 6am on Monday we spent the day sightseeing. Daylight hours saw a visit to Humayun's Tomb, the pre-cursor to the Taj Mahal. It looks better on film that in reality, I have no idea why it was built only that is was done so by the Moghuls and I can tick it off my to-do list. After the tomb we got a free rickshaw ride to our next destination, sadly that was TGI Fridays, on condition we visit a few shops with the driver. They were dull except for the second one which managed to induce mortal fear into me.

Arriving at a eight foot tall, solid steel gate, the rickshaw driver signalled the doorman to open up. This was no shop, rather a house and we were being shepered into its garage. Upon sitting down the owner sluggishly wonders in flanked by what I assume were his four sons. Pashmena scarves were strewn everywhere and I wondered when this cave had last seen customers. After 15 minutes of looking, with absolutely no intention of buying, I informed the owner it was time for us to leave.

"This isn't what I was after but thanks for your time"

A gaze of filtered rage appeared in his eyes:

"You make me come downstairs, open up, show you my scarves and you don't even buy anything? My friend, this is not good!"
You could say he had a point, there were no windows on the steel gate or the lockup through which to shop.

As I got up to leave he they attempted to herd me back into the den with further rude and agressive behaviour. Getting back to the rickshaw and past the perimeter was a relief, until, 5 minutes later the rickshaw driver begins wheeling us backwards saying:

"Sorry, their is a problem"

Visions of me being filmed begging for my freedom and tapes distributed to Al-Arabiya shot through my mind. Luckily her drove off and the only problem was that he[the driver] wouldn't be getting any commission. That evening consisted of sitting in TGI Fridays for a few quiet beers, average food and the televisual feast of India versus Bermuda in the ICC World Cup. By 21:30 we were ready to leave but our newly found Goan friend offered us a free beer and how could we refuse? Four beers later, a batting world record smashed (India 413-5) and multiple "BOO-YA IND-E-AR" chants we got up and heded home.

Tuesday was a write off until about 16:00 when my hangover subsided sufficiently for me to operate heavy machinery. We headed out to the India Gate, a memorial to war dead, and to the Parliament. This three hour outing offered us some light hearted entertainment in the form of a comical rickshaw driver. After attempting to woo us into his cart he proceeded to drive down the street, park, and on our approach call over:

"India Gate: 2km"
Then the same routine

"India Gate: 1.5km"
And so on until we arrived at the gate and he informed us he would wait "Just over there", pointing at a sea of rickshaws.

The gate was impressive, the dusk sunlight falling upon it gave it a warm orangey glow. Walking around the administrative area of New Delhi reminded me of a cross between London, for its inextricably British planning, and, Washington, for it grandiose waste of acreage.

India Gate

That evening we eate a disgraceful Chinese meal after being promised by the menu that the "Instant one of our culinary creations comes into contact with your palette, pure, and unadulterated pleasure results in an Enduring Nirvana" The only Nirvana felt that night was by the manager who parted me from my Rs350. Did they receive a tip you ask?!

Varanasi

Varanasi: Truly a city to be visited by anyone traveling to the subcontinent. From the spaced out hippies who still think its 1969 to the wannabe hippies who will be returning to downtown Manhattan to wave pieces of paper in the air while shouting "Buy" or, "Sell". This city accomodates them all.

The city itself has few, Ghats and Ganges aside, if any sites to see, it is a place to breathe, to feel, to experience. As with every Indian city the initial impression leaves one wincing: Noise, overcrowding, hassle and of course the car horn. For once first impressions have no foundation.

Evening shopping in Varansi

Once you spend some time getting to know the city; wondering its intricate alleys, browsing its endless bazaars, learning about its silk and gazing at the worshippers washing there infants in holy Ganges water the city digs a niche and embeds itself in your heart. It is a truly wonderful place to be with a unique ambience.

This city is why I traveled to India; To walk the river front and inhale the delightful aromas that wisp by, each one more edible than the next. Come nightfall the smell of fried spice increases as do the ceremonies that I cannot begin to understand and hence explain. Yes, Varanasi has its beggars, its touts, its vagrant cows, chickens, goats and dogs but it also has soul.

At this juncture I should state that with our 3 days in the city we only visited the old city because we had no reason to leave it. This may have slightly skewed my opinion though.

Checking in to the Ganpati Guest House was an interesting experience. I'm sure I will never be introduced to my room again with the phrase:

"Welcome, your room. And this is the monkey stick, Monkeys sometime come to room so chase them away"
And, believe it or not then did: on the final day I noticed one of them outside the room, he gave me a 'what you gonna do about it' look as he stole my sponge and jumped down to the floor below.

Our evening meal on the first night was interestingly compromised by a 67 year old fellow who embarked on a methodic explanation of why a monkey was different to any other creature in the animal world (opposable thumbs, as we all know). Then he intricately weaved together an explanation of why the mushroom has no similarity to other Flora and should be treaded as a magical occurrence, again: Its a Fungus, thats what makes it different pal. Passing this guy the next day I observed the redness of his eyes and how they flickered from one place to the next immediately recognising the signs of paranoia that swept through me during my hemp smoking days. This man was an endangered species: One of the hippies who still thinks Woodstock was last week.

The River Ganges, which flows to the east of the city, is considered by Hindus as (I better get this right or Pez will kill me), "The elixer of life, bringing purity to the living and salvation to the dead". Sorrowfully the upstream industry have decided to use it to dump chemicals and heavy metals giving it the added credit of most polluted river in India. Because of this, burning Ghats are located at several points along the river. These are where families bring dead relatives for cremation and to have their ashes tossed into the river, thus bringing them salvation. The ceremony is something to be witnessed, and it would have been nice to fully appreciate it without touts rudely interrupting us every second. I'll have to come back one day in the future I think.

On top of all this we also embarked on the obligatory, sunrise boating trip. It was so cold though that we had to return to shore very quickly after sunrise. Silk shopping also took a lot of our time up here, it is a fine art at which I am now rather well versed, I'll probably write more on this later.

Must stop writing now, we have a train to catch back to Delhi shortly and I'd like to have some food before embarking on a 16hour journey. This train ride will be using 2nd Class compartments I wonder how fancy they will be and, whether the toilet will be more than a slippy hole in the floor of the train. Yuk!

Sunrise on the Ganges.

Happy Rickshaw Man

A dog adds to Agra's sanitation problems.

Went to Internet cafe again on our last day in Agra and then headed home. After being pestered by a cycle rickshaw for over 15 minutes we decided to just get on and let him take us home. No sooner had we boarded than he piped up:


"Can we quickly visit the store?" he meekly asked pointing to a Bazaar 50m ahead.


"How much will they pay you?"


"Twenty Rupees" he said, smiling a grin that beamed in spite of the fact he clearly hadn't brushed his teeth for some time.


"OK, you take us and we spend 5 minutes, buy nothing, and pay half fare" was a fair proposal

"Yes Sir, Yes" came the ecstatic reply.

The store was crappy but importantly he got his cash and I was really happy for him.
It appears I've softened on the Rickshaw drivers, perhaps after a week in the country I'm more familiar with life here. In saying that, you can't put a price on honesty; I much prefer it to contrived 'international women’s day' stories.

On the way home we passed the site of Agra's first mall, currently a two level McDonalds. This fact in itself is boring but check out the bamboo scaffholding being used to constuct it, the H.S.E would go insane.


Health and Safety nightmare.

All that was left to do in the evening was settle to hotel bill; cheap, cheap, cheap :-D and catch the, 21:10, 692km, Swatantra Express to Varanasi. All in all I think I'm finally beginning to understand how this country ticks and beginning to feel a lot more at home here.

See you in Varanasi.

Sending Message...

Sending Message...


Sending Failed, message Barred.

I'm right pissed off at the moment. I can't text Belinda, can't use the internet and can't even find out why my mobile is being a maliglant little shitter.

Earlier today the Red Fort of Agra, which was similar to the Red Fort in Delhi was our chosen destination. Agra Fort surpasses Delhi because of the commanding view, across the Yamuna river, of the Taj Mahal. when visiting these places I am amazed at the amount of work that went into building them. Really puts the castles back home to shame. After the Fort a quick one hour mooch around the bazaar was in order. As well as searching for gifts I had promised my sister I would buy her some fabrics. After pricing a few Saris, Sarongs and whatever else was thrown my way I had to leave for lunch.

View of Taj Mahal form Agra Fort.

Lunch consisted of a Thali; a gorgeous dish that consists of nine small portions of Indian cuisine at a rock bottom price of Rs25.

The Jama Masjid mosque is located slap bang in the middle of this bazaar so after lunch it got a brief inspection. It would have been nice to look around longer but our guide spent more time asking, well, pressuring, for donations rather than show us around.

Paul at the Jama Masjid Mosque

Telecommunications in Agra are not that reliable, just like the electricity it seems to operate as and when it chooses. Cutting me off halfway through a Skype call to Belinda annoyed me enough but to them refuse to let me text while having full network coverage took the cookies. Instead of getting to pissed off with this, and accepting it as part of the travelling experience, I decided to get pissed instead; picking up 3 large bottles of kingfisher to take back to my room.

Never complain about the binmen.

Slept terribly because of a pain in my left shoulder; I can no longer turn my neck left and instead have to rotate my torso. To add to this, somebody, possibly with a severe mental deficit, decided it would be a good idea to blow a whistle every minute or two from 4AM until sunrise. Whether or not they were angling for the proceeding barking battle between every mutt from here to the horizon remains unclear.

The 'house boy' who served breakfast this morning was a strange guy and clearly found reason to hover around the table making the meal rather uncomfortable. No doubt he was waiting for a tip; has he not figured me out yet?

After breakfast the morning was spent planning our trip from Amritsar to Goa, which remained undecided: An excellent 2 hours work. We were able to make one decision and that was to visit Palolem and Jog Falls before meeting Belinda and heading to Arambol.

After yesterday at the Taj this is a bit of a boring day to blog. We went for a 4km walk to check out the 'real' Agra. It was nice to be away from the main tourist locations and hence the majority of the leeches; only encountering 2 touts, 7 beggars and 70+ Rickshaw prospectors.

Once thing your notice when walking around Agra: It's a shitheap.

Agra's waste management and sanitation system were but a couple of metrics the town planners left off the blueprints for the city. I'm not accusing them of negligence but it seems to me that a shallow moat dug from your home to the road is not an efficient method to remove excrement. It succeeds in adding to the terrifically pungent odour that haunts the city: A colourful fragrance I'm sure Calvin Klein could only describe as London Zoo meets human urine. Each house manages to delicately fuse new odours to this exquisite eau de toilette until you reach to city's municipal waste system: A Cow. Or, sometimes, many cows. At this point and perhaps in a 15m radius around it wafts the stench of garbage. Perhaps waft is the wrong word, hovers or lingers would be more appropriate. Why bother wasting time and money constructing a furnace to incinerate waste when a cow can digest it for you? Exactly: There is no point. A Rupee save is a Rupee earned.



Agra's Municipal Waste System.

Walking back proved just as eventful. Carefully stepping around one of the huge puddles from the rain last night I heard a huge bang above me. Looking up I noticed a power line had exploded (just like in Final Destination 2 where the kid can't get out of the garage) and landed no more than 2m from my feet. To say I shit myself would be an understatement. Strangely the locals didn't bat an eyelid. In retrospect I am not surprised because the power cuts this city endures are some of the worse I have known. So frequent I have been unable to fully recharge my phone in the last 3 days.

By 8pm the heat of the day had unsettled the atmosphere sufficiently to generate one hell of a storm. I headed for the roof to get some shots of this lightshow but after a few minutes this became very dangerous due to the huge chunks of hail pelting down.

"You Pussy!" You're all thinking.

Well screw you! These hailstones were 3-4cm across. I have never been spectator to such a storm before and this is the closest I ever wish to come to a natural disaster.


Huge hailstone, partially melted.



Storm Damage.









Me Blogging.



You don't want this job!