No clue why the Twitter column on the right is updating with someone elses account. Will look into it! Cheers
-- Posted from my iPhone
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
The good and difficult in Nam and Cam
Visiting Cambodia and Vietnam was such a fantastic expierence; the temples at Angkor, touring the Mekong Delta and cruising Halong Bay rank among the best things we did on this trip.
We didn't spend long in Cambodia, and most of the time there we spent getting to and expierencing Siem Reap's Angkor Temples, which are, without a doubt, the best ancient ruins I've ever seen. Note: parts of the site are over a millenium old and at the Angkor empire's height it held a commanding influence over the region; its population was a million at a time when London's was only 80,000; the temples were built by Hindus under the leadership of god-kings each trying to one up their predessecor; later some sites were adopted and restored by Buddhists; many structures had to be reclaimed by an encroaching jungle that began breaking down the temples when they were deserted 400 or so years ago.
The result is: an expansive and grand temple complex; a fusion of religious influences in the design of surviving structures, art and scultpures; and, baring witness to the power of nature as jungle tree roots weave their way in, out and around decaying stone buildings. I'm no archeologist and find drawn out descriptions of ancient sites quite tiring, but expierencing Angkor is inspiring, adventurous and fuel for the imagination. If it's any indication of anything: I'm dreading going through the 8 million pictures we took during our two days visiting the site.
The first highlight of Vietnam was touring the Mekong Delta in style on a luxory junk (old transport boat converted into fancy cabins). This voyage afforded us the opportunity to watch life go by on the water: floating market traders exchanging fresh produce, shipbuilding and small brick making factories making an industrial dent on the region's natural beauty, and transportation and farming rounding up the extent of activity. Women in conical hats rowing small wooden boats on the muddy water with deep green jungle bush growing right up to the shore's edge being the most iconic image of south Vietnam for me.
After some time in Ho Chi Minh city and Hoi An (got work clothes tailored... what came first the job or the clothes... Hrmm, actually nevermind I think definately clothing), as well as completing the entire stretch of the Reunification Express rail line, we arrived in Hanoi for our connection to Halong Bay. I should note that niether the rail journey (30 to 40 hours in all) nor reunification (WWII to end of Vietnam-American War) were in anyway an express affair.
Getting to Halong Bay from Hanoi is a tourist trap and bureaucratic nightmare, but once you're on the water sipping a bevie sailing passed giant tree-covered limestone rock structures those nuisances don't seem to matter. I guess there are 3000 Halongs (not their real name) in all, ranging in shapes and size, but many being generally tall and skinny and 30 to 80 or so of me tall (I'm six foot, four inches). Geologists may digress, but the halongs were created by a giant ancient dragon who tore up the region with his flapping tail a while back as he travelled through the area. His handy work makes for outstanding natural beauty and the perfect setting for kayaking, swimming and cave exploring (thanks dragon).
Experiencing Vietnam in general was also a real treat. Vietnamese food is healthy, delicious and cheap - pho (noodle soup), bun (noodle, fish sause mix, and BBQ minced pork) and ben xio (prawn pancakes) being obvious favourites. In Hanoi I found local brew for 3000 dong a glass, about 20 cents Canadian. Backpacker budgeteers rejoice - good cold beer while watching life go by outside on the corner of a busy street in Hanoi's Old Quarter. It's beer and cultural - gold! I figure an hour's work at Starbucks would earn enough to buy a drink for patrons at all four of the intersection's busy beer stalls.
The people are friendly, life on the streets is busy, and everyone seems to be running a small business, making towns and cities exciting, loud and vibrant - sleepy Canada take note.
Cambodia and Vietnam go together for me for one reason: both countries have suffered emensely in resent history. Vietnam spent over a third of the twentieth century embroiled in conflicts involving the French, Japanese and Americans. The brutality of the Vietnam-American war was summed up during an afternoon visit to the War Crimes museum in downtown Ho Chi Minh city; several visitors actually being reduced to tears. Outside on display are US fighter jets and tanks; inside is photographic evidence of the carnage created by these machines.
In Cambodia they suffered colaterally to the war in Vietnam. Like in Vietnam there are unexploded bombs and mines continuing to devastate civilians; dropped there as part of US strategy for combat in Vietnam. Different is the rise of a brutally repressive and destructive government. Regional instability led to the rise of the Khmer Rouge, which in the mid-1970s sought to forcibly transform all Cambodians into peasent farmers. In the process a million Cambodians died and the country crashed. Testiments to the horrors of the Khmer Rouge can be found at the S21 detention centre museum and the killing fields, both in Phomn Penh, Cambodia's capital. At S21 pictures of the victims line the halls of the former school; many victims ended up being tortured in the most barbaric of manners. At the killing fields a pagoda containing hundreds of human skulls marks the spot where thousands of Cambodians faced execution. The whole expierence is sickening and heartbreaking.
What's amazing to me is how quickly these two war torn countries appear to have moved beyond recent historical events. There's no reason not to visit these countries. For tourists they have much to offer: historical ruins, rich cultures, beaches, exciting cities, tasty food, and undisturbed nature. However, do take the time to visit some of the difficult sites to bare witness to what these people have suffered.
We didn't spend long in Cambodia, and most of the time there we spent getting to and expierencing Siem Reap's Angkor Temples, which are, without a doubt, the best ancient ruins I've ever seen. Note: parts of the site are over a millenium old and at the Angkor empire's height it held a commanding influence over the region; its population was a million at a time when London's was only 80,000; the temples were built by Hindus under the leadership of god-kings each trying to one up their predessecor; later some sites were adopted and restored by Buddhists; many structures had to be reclaimed by an encroaching jungle that began breaking down the temples when they were deserted 400 or so years ago.
The result is: an expansive and grand temple complex; a fusion of religious influences in the design of surviving structures, art and scultpures; and, baring witness to the power of nature as jungle tree roots weave their way in, out and around decaying stone buildings. I'm no archeologist and find drawn out descriptions of ancient sites quite tiring, but expierencing Angkor is inspiring, adventurous and fuel for the imagination. If it's any indication of anything: I'm dreading going through the 8 million pictures we took during our two days visiting the site.
The first highlight of Vietnam was touring the Mekong Delta in style on a luxory junk (old transport boat converted into fancy cabins). This voyage afforded us the opportunity to watch life go by on the water: floating market traders exchanging fresh produce, shipbuilding and small brick making factories making an industrial dent on the region's natural beauty, and transportation and farming rounding up the extent of activity. Women in conical hats rowing small wooden boats on the muddy water with deep green jungle bush growing right up to the shore's edge being the most iconic image of south Vietnam for me.
After some time in Ho Chi Minh city and Hoi An (got work clothes tailored... what came first the job or the clothes... Hrmm, actually nevermind I think definately clothing), as well as completing the entire stretch of the Reunification Express rail line, we arrived in Hanoi for our connection to Halong Bay. I should note that niether the rail journey (30 to 40 hours in all) nor reunification (WWII to end of Vietnam-American War) were in anyway an express affair.
Getting to Halong Bay from Hanoi is a tourist trap and bureaucratic nightmare, but once you're on the water sipping a bevie sailing passed giant tree-covered limestone rock structures those nuisances don't seem to matter. I guess there are 3000 Halongs (not their real name) in all, ranging in shapes and size, but many being generally tall and skinny and 30 to 80 or so of me tall (I'm six foot, four inches). Geologists may digress, but the halongs were created by a giant ancient dragon who tore up the region with his flapping tail a while back as he travelled through the area. His handy work makes for outstanding natural beauty and the perfect setting for kayaking, swimming and cave exploring (thanks dragon).
Experiencing Vietnam in general was also a real treat. Vietnamese food is healthy, delicious and cheap - pho (noodle soup), bun (noodle, fish sause mix, and BBQ minced pork) and ben xio (prawn pancakes) being obvious favourites. In Hanoi I found local brew for 3000 dong a glass, about 20 cents Canadian. Backpacker budgeteers rejoice - good cold beer while watching life go by outside on the corner of a busy street in Hanoi's Old Quarter. It's beer and cultural - gold! I figure an hour's work at Starbucks would earn enough to buy a drink for patrons at all four of the intersection's busy beer stalls.
The people are friendly, life on the streets is busy, and everyone seems to be running a small business, making towns and cities exciting, loud and vibrant - sleepy Canada take note.
Cambodia and Vietnam go together for me for one reason: both countries have suffered emensely in resent history. Vietnam spent over a third of the twentieth century embroiled in conflicts involving the French, Japanese and Americans. The brutality of the Vietnam-American war was summed up during an afternoon visit to the War Crimes museum in downtown Ho Chi Minh city; several visitors actually being reduced to tears. Outside on display are US fighter jets and tanks; inside is photographic evidence of the carnage created by these machines.
In Cambodia they suffered colaterally to the war in Vietnam. Like in Vietnam there are unexploded bombs and mines continuing to devastate civilians; dropped there as part of US strategy for combat in Vietnam. Different is the rise of a brutally repressive and destructive government. Regional instability led to the rise of the Khmer Rouge, which in the mid-1970s sought to forcibly transform all Cambodians into peasent farmers. In the process a million Cambodians died and the country crashed. Testiments to the horrors of the Khmer Rouge can be found at the S21 detention centre museum and the killing fields, both in Phomn Penh, Cambodia's capital. At S21 pictures of the victims line the halls of the former school; many victims ended up being tortured in the most barbaric of manners. At the killing fields a pagoda containing hundreds of human skulls marks the spot where thousands of Cambodians faced execution. The whole expierence is sickening and heartbreaking.
What's amazing to me is how quickly these two war torn countries appear to have moved beyond recent historical events. There's no reason not to visit these countries. For tourists they have much to offer: historical ruins, rich cultures, beaches, exciting cities, tasty food, and undisturbed nature. However, do take the time to visit some of the difficult sites to bare witness to what these people have suffered.
Routine
I can admit now that after 3 1/2 months away I am ready to come home. I am blogged, camera, and passenger rail'd out.
I've taken in breathtaking natural wonders, explored great modern cities and the ruins from ancient ones. I've eaten exotic dishes while in the company of great new friends and travelled by plane, train, boat, bus, tuktuk, and bicycle rickshaw. However, when traveling becomes routine it's time to head home, because it's at that point that you stop giving proper justice to the world's treasures that you've been so privilaged to experience.
Elements of bad routine have been there all along, slowly clawing away at the excitement of our adventure. These include our daily dose of malaria vaccination, constantly being on high alert over the security of our valuables, and tallying the daily budget.
At first, I hardly gave a moment's thought to the impact of these routine activities - how could I? Everything we were doing was new and exciting - Giza Pyramids, Petra, Taj, Red Sea, Goa, Himilayans, Diwali festival, Varanasi, Bangkok, Koh Pha Gnang, Angkor temples and cruising the Mekong Delta!
These things, along with experiencing new cultures, made up the good routine, except I didn't once think of it as routine until now. We've been away long enough for travel to become what we do - my face is hairy, I've got a bandana, and my clothes are in taters - it's time to look forward to coming home.
Suddenly touring ruins is normal, and so is eating new foods, riding on trains, driving motorbikes on tropical islands, visiting museums and sitting on beaches... enjoying a tall beer to a beautiful sunset - yup, even this becomes routine. I don't want travel to be routine. It's to be out of the ordinary and exciting to be fully appreciated.
Recognizing the good as routine makes that bad routine all the more pronounced. The side effects of malaria pills suck; I can't wait to go a day without indigestion. Packing a bag and dragging it all over town and being on guard the whole way is a nuisance. Waiting for table service everytime I want a cup of tea is tediuous. I always cringed at the thought of long haul bus rides, but now I am dreading trains too - and I adore train travel (When I retire I'm going London to London by train in a circle through Asia... that's right Iran I'm giving you 30 odd years to cheer up). Second guessing whether I'm getting a fair price for even a toothbrush is irratating, and tallying the budget each day as our savings shrink is frightening.
It's been to long once you're smart enough to avoid being ripped off by touts, you crave Starbucks and Hollywood, and you start spending more money in order to avoid the discomforts of budget travel.
So, 4 months appears to be my limit and something I'll likely not have the chance to do again for a long time. When I get home I wanna roll up the rim with Timmy H, eat an orange chocolate chip muffin from the Market on Yates and catch up on the sleep I lost to four months of subpar accomodation. Then after a week or two I'll probably start daydreaming about packing my bag again... What do say Steph-O??
Feeling sorry for me? Well, don't. Google image search Railay, Thailand. That's how we're spending the last week of our time away!
-- Posted from my iPhone
I've taken in breathtaking natural wonders, explored great modern cities and the ruins from ancient ones. I've eaten exotic dishes while in the company of great new friends and travelled by plane, train, boat, bus, tuktuk, and bicycle rickshaw. However, when traveling becomes routine it's time to head home, because it's at that point that you stop giving proper justice to the world's treasures that you've been so privilaged to experience.
Elements of bad routine have been there all along, slowly clawing away at the excitement of our adventure. These include our daily dose of malaria vaccination, constantly being on high alert over the security of our valuables, and tallying the daily budget.
At first, I hardly gave a moment's thought to the impact of these routine activities - how could I? Everything we were doing was new and exciting - Giza Pyramids, Petra, Taj, Red Sea, Goa, Himilayans, Diwali festival, Varanasi, Bangkok, Koh Pha Gnang, Angkor temples and cruising the Mekong Delta!
These things, along with experiencing new cultures, made up the good routine, except I didn't once think of it as routine until now. We've been away long enough for travel to become what we do - my face is hairy, I've got a bandana, and my clothes are in taters - it's time to look forward to coming home.
Suddenly touring ruins is normal, and so is eating new foods, riding on trains, driving motorbikes on tropical islands, visiting museums and sitting on beaches... enjoying a tall beer to a beautiful sunset - yup, even this becomes routine. I don't want travel to be routine. It's to be out of the ordinary and exciting to be fully appreciated.
Recognizing the good as routine makes that bad routine all the more pronounced. The side effects of malaria pills suck; I can't wait to go a day without indigestion. Packing a bag and dragging it all over town and being on guard the whole way is a nuisance. Waiting for table service everytime I want a cup of tea is tediuous. I always cringed at the thought of long haul bus rides, but now I am dreading trains too - and I adore train travel (When I retire I'm going London to London by train in a circle through Asia... that's right Iran I'm giving you 30 odd years to cheer up). Second guessing whether I'm getting a fair price for even a toothbrush is irratating, and tallying the budget each day as our savings shrink is frightening.
It's been to long once you're smart enough to avoid being ripped off by touts, you crave Starbucks and Hollywood, and you start spending more money in order to avoid the discomforts of budget travel.
So, 4 months appears to be my limit and something I'll likely not have the chance to do again for a long time. When I get home I wanna roll up the rim with Timmy H, eat an orange chocolate chip muffin from the Market on Yates and catch up on the sleep I lost to four months of subpar accomodation. Then after a week or two I'll probably start daydreaming about packing my bag again... What do say Steph-O??
Feeling sorry for me? Well, don't. Google image search Railay, Thailand. That's how we're spending the last week of our time away!
-- Posted from my iPhone
Monday, November 23, 2009
Bounty from abroad
In the olden days great exploreres returned home with a haul bursting with tresures and innovations from far off corners of the globe. Anything less and their princely sponsors would have off'd their heads.
Now, despite my best efforts I failed to secure a prince to sponser our trip. However, as a great explorer I feel it is my duty to bring some sorta bounty back. So, without any further delay, here is a list of things Canada could adopt from afar to make for a better country:
1. Community pets. In India there are cows on the streets, at monuments across Asia there are monkeys, and in Thailand there are dogs chilling out and appearing well looked after everywhere. It simply makes things more interesting, except in instances of aggresive contact - yes I'm looking at you head-butting Jaisalmer cow and water bottle stealing Elephanta Island monkeys.
2. Mobile street stalls. In Thailand and Cambodia the hole-in-the-wall restaurant comes to you via a scooter equipped with a sidecar made up of a frying pan, fridge, cutting board, and wash basin. They park, throw down a bit of patio furniture and start rapidly deploying banana pancakes, random meats on a stick, springrolls, bugs and snakes, and pad Thai. It makes for cheap and tasty, sometimes experiemental dinners.
3. Tuktuks, autorickshaws and Motos. These 3 wheeled small-engined open-air carriages can take two passengers with luggage. Way more fun than a regular cab and cheaper too, these things can zip up and down tight lanes on all sides of the road and get you to your destination on the tightest of timelines.
4. Low cost tall bottles of cold beer sold everywhere. Across Asia when the occassion for a cold beer has occured satisfaction has never been too far. It comes in a litre bottle for 1-2 dollars with exotic names like Everest, Tiger and Angkor. With the exception of India's delicious Kingfisher, fine Asian brews are sold everywhere ensuring that no sunset, hike, after dinner chat or latenight wait at a busy bus-stop goes unaccompanied. It just makes good sense.
5. Pyramids. Might be fun to have a set of our own. I know today's public works project are required to have a rovk solid business case, but I think a few pyramids in let's say Saskatchewan might really liven the place up a bit.
6. Trains, not planes. India's rail network is the world's largest employer, serves millions everyday, and connects almost the whole country in a giant web of rail tracks. Traveling by train has got to be better for the environment and it's way more fun than airtravel! Bring on cheaper, more frequant train travel in Canada.
Other than that I think Canada is AOK.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Now, despite my best efforts I failed to secure a prince to sponser our trip. However, as a great explorer I feel it is my duty to bring some sorta bounty back. So, without any further delay, here is a list of things Canada could adopt from afar to make for a better country:
1. Community pets. In India there are cows on the streets, at monuments across Asia there are monkeys, and in Thailand there are dogs chilling out and appearing well looked after everywhere. It simply makes things more interesting, except in instances of aggresive contact - yes I'm looking at you head-butting Jaisalmer cow and water bottle stealing Elephanta Island monkeys.
2. Mobile street stalls. In Thailand and Cambodia the hole-in-the-wall restaurant comes to you via a scooter equipped with a sidecar made up of a frying pan, fridge, cutting board, and wash basin. They park, throw down a bit of patio furniture and start rapidly deploying banana pancakes, random meats on a stick, springrolls, bugs and snakes, and pad Thai. It makes for cheap and tasty, sometimes experiemental dinners.
3. Tuktuks, autorickshaws and Motos. These 3 wheeled small-engined open-air carriages can take two passengers with luggage. Way more fun than a regular cab and cheaper too, these things can zip up and down tight lanes on all sides of the road and get you to your destination on the tightest of timelines.
4. Low cost tall bottles of cold beer sold everywhere. Across Asia when the occassion for a cold beer has occured satisfaction has never been too far. It comes in a litre bottle for 1-2 dollars with exotic names like Everest, Tiger and Angkor. With the exception of India's delicious Kingfisher, fine Asian brews are sold everywhere ensuring that no sunset, hike, after dinner chat or latenight wait at a busy bus-stop goes unaccompanied. It just makes good sense.
5. Pyramids. Might be fun to have a set of our own. I know today's public works project are required to have a rovk solid business case, but I think a few pyramids in let's say Saskatchewan might really liven the place up a bit.
6. Trains, not planes. India's rail network is the world's largest employer, serves millions everyday, and connects almost the whole country in a giant web of rail tracks. Traveling by train has got to be better for the environment and it's way more fun than airtravel! Bring on cheaper, more frequant train travel in Canada.
Other than that I think Canada is AOK.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Panic! Beach day? Boo!
"Hey Steph, what do you want to do today?" I say on day two of our five day stopover in Koh Pha Nang - a paradise island in Thailand's gulf coast. To this question there is a long delay and then a cautious reply, "I was kinda thinking nothing." I looked around for an ejection button, but find none.
Four months might seem like a long time, but this is an around the world trip and there's a lot of world to see. I don't have time for doing nothing. I should also point out that Steph has tried this "nothing" line before with varying degrees of success. We've already done nothing in Dahab for 5 days in September and Goa for 6 days in October. I'm starting to think these beachy destinations are a bit of a prison. Suddenly we're emersed in a golden view and hot sun and depending on location, drinking Egyptian Stella, Indian Kingfisher or Thai Chang, and ordering pita and humas, dal and chapatti or pad thai. Hatching an escape plan I reach for the Lonely Planet and chart out an action packed adventure involving scooters, treks, elephants or camels, mountains and snorkels only to be matched by sparse schedules involving nothing more than towels and sand.
So at 8 AM when Steph says "nothing" it really means relaxing, swimming and reading on a sandy sunny beach for 8 hours, with an hour Thai massage thrown in at some point. Before you go and take her side know that for every day we spend on the beach an elephant cries, a scooter collects dust, a path to an undiscovered peak becomes overgrown and a waterfall loses its will to flow. With each passing day more and more of the Lonely Planet's must do activities go undone, Steph looks more rested and I become completely frazzled.
With this frazzle I become delirius and plot my revenge, charting out an intense itinerary for the remaining inland portions of our trip, including exploring bat caves in Thai national parks, early morning and late evening tours of Cambodia's Angkor temple site and a full day walking around Ho Chi Min City.
Steph is a worthy opponent though and I've seen her counter plotting. She's Googled Vietnam beaches and now knows all the spots. That country is shaped like a banana and its eastern border meets the Pacific ocean with a crust of white sand. my only hope is that in Vietnam there are beach huts containing the appropriate response to the Stella, Kingfisher and Chang I've found elsewhere.
I've also taken some time to plan ahead with a super itinerary of jet skis, treks and snorkels for our final week away, which we blocked off a long time ago for a return to the beaches of Thailand's south. I'm sure like the good plans before it'll be blown away and out of its ashes will be more towels and sand.
In all honesty I'm just teasing, the mix of beach and adventure is an unbeatable combination! Besides tropical beaches are the perfect anti-climatization ahead of landing in cold snowy Canada... though I am not sure if that's really the best therapy.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Four months might seem like a long time, but this is an around the world trip and there's a lot of world to see. I don't have time for doing nothing. I should also point out that Steph has tried this "nothing" line before with varying degrees of success. We've already done nothing in Dahab for 5 days in September and Goa for 6 days in October. I'm starting to think these beachy destinations are a bit of a prison. Suddenly we're emersed in a golden view and hot sun and depending on location, drinking Egyptian Stella, Indian Kingfisher or Thai Chang, and ordering pita and humas, dal and chapatti or pad thai. Hatching an escape plan I reach for the Lonely Planet and chart out an action packed adventure involving scooters, treks, elephants or camels, mountains and snorkels only to be matched by sparse schedules involving nothing more than towels and sand.
So at 8 AM when Steph says "nothing" it really means relaxing, swimming and reading on a sandy sunny beach for 8 hours, with an hour Thai massage thrown in at some point. Before you go and take her side know that for every day we spend on the beach an elephant cries, a scooter collects dust, a path to an undiscovered peak becomes overgrown and a waterfall loses its will to flow. With each passing day more and more of the Lonely Planet's must do activities go undone, Steph looks more rested and I become completely frazzled.
With this frazzle I become delirius and plot my revenge, charting out an intense itinerary for the remaining inland portions of our trip, including exploring bat caves in Thai national parks, early morning and late evening tours of Cambodia's Angkor temple site and a full day walking around Ho Chi Min City.
Steph is a worthy opponent though and I've seen her counter plotting. She's Googled Vietnam beaches and now knows all the spots. That country is shaped like a banana and its eastern border meets the Pacific ocean with a crust of white sand. my only hope is that in Vietnam there are beach huts containing the appropriate response to the Stella, Kingfisher and Chang I've found elsewhere.
I've also taken some time to plan ahead with a super itinerary of jet skis, treks and snorkels for our final week away, which we blocked off a long time ago for a return to the beaches of Thailand's south. I'm sure like the good plans before it'll be blown away and out of its ashes will be more towels and sand.
In all honesty I'm just teasing, the mix of beach and adventure is an unbeatable combination! Besides tropical beaches are the perfect anti-climatization ahead of landing in cold snowy Canada... though I am not sure if that's really the best therapy.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Two days of playing with Elephants
Steph and I signed up for two days of elephant playing at the Thai Elephant Conservation Centre near Chiang Mai (northern Thailand). We had an absolute blast. Like anyone with a brain I've always loved elephants, and this experience just reconfirmed for me just how amazing these animals are.
The course was officially billed as a two-day elephant training exercise, but in actual fact it was two days of supervised playing. We learned a lot though, and had a blast doing it! The best part was getting to know the 28 year old baby, which I rudely renamed "Little Benjamin." Here are a few pictures, which I'm sure appeared above this little blurb as I'm not too sure how to format this blog page!
Learn more at www.changthai.com
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Hotel Cult View
We left ourselves short on time for the Nepal part of our trip. And, after spending the best part of two days busing from India's Varanasi to Kathmandu, our time allotment for Nepal was starting to look pretty pathetic. So, after doing the Cole's Notes version of Kathmandu, we fired off to Nagakot to see some mountains and do a bit of nature marching. When Steph, our two Danish friends Rune and Jane, and I settled into our hotel - the place with the best view in town - we had no idea we were signing up for a series of mini-lectures on religious studies and personal enlightenment from the young Nepalese hotel manager we quickly nicknamed Mr. Intensity.
Mr. Intensity had a price we couldn't resist, we each paid just over a dollar for a bed. We can be forgiven for not thinking something was dodgy after paying nearly nothing for a room with a Himalayan view to die for, as the state of the bed, bedding, and washroom was revolting, even condemnable.
We threw our bags down and headed to the kitchen to order some momos to satisfy our dumplings fix. On route to the deserted kitchen and halfway up the building's exterior courtyard stairs we had our first encounter with Mr. Intensity.
"Feel free to enjoy my garden," he said. "Really enjoy my garden," he sternly emphasised, which he followed up by explaining that we were welcome to pick the plants ourselves, and roll our own joints. We all failed to notice the hotel sign advertising a "Reefer Garden" and that the garden outside our room was partially walled in by marijuana plants taller than me.
Now, I don't do drugs in Canada to begin with so I certainly wasn't about to start in Nagarkot, Nepal. Even more so, I wasn't about to do drugs in a hotel run by a guy with such a fiery evangelical persona that I'm sure in 10 years I will be reading an article about Nepalese jungle rebels and there in the accompanying picture will be his face.
Once we reached the deserted restaurant floor we headed straight for the balcony and its awesome view of the world's tallest mountains. Mr. Intensity quickly joined us. Looking out to the vista Steph mistakenly remarked about how beautiful and breathtaking it was. Mr. Intensity's young face turned into that of a war torn drill Sargent and he blurted out our first lesson for the short stay, "I do not believe in beauty, beauty is in the mind." We all stared blankly outwards trying not to seem too impressed by the awesome sight before us.
We ordered 4 dozen fried and boiled momos; the wait was over an hour, which in theory gave us plenty of mountain viewing time. Instead, we got some more lectures and even a page from Mr. Intensity's very own journal. After he brought us drinks he took a smoke from Rune's pack and explained that he doesn't work for money, so cigarettes will suffice as tips. Truth be told us non-smokers at the table rejoiced. However, having paid for a room and seeing prices on the menu we knew this comment was, in fact untrue. Sensing that we were on to him, Mr. Intensity quickly proclaimed, "I never lie, because one day I will die, and I want to end up in the sky." Rune, testing Mr. Intensity's boundaries, jokingly noted that maybe they would cross paths in the after world as Rune heads downwards - the only joke that registered a positive response from our host. Perhaps that's because discussion of Rune's upcoming 30 day trek had allowed Mr. Intensity to share with us just how many times he had done that circuit and hiked to Everest Base camp, I think half a dozen times each, and sometimes in sandals.
Some one among us mistakenly asked for directions for the look out tower - and supposed best, most beautiful view in town. 30 minutes later Mr. Intensity returned with a hand drawn map on a page torn from a notebook. He handed us the map, suggested we follow it and then asked us to make sure we return the page, as it had some "words" on it. Great, he tore a page from his journal and drew on the back. How could we not read it? We treated ourselves to his commentary on the role of confusion in making life decisions that began something like, "In my 25 years on this earth..."
We followed his map without any difficulty and returned to the hotel a few hours later well walked and ready for dinner. "Welcome home" proclaimed Mr. Intensity. There were other guests, things were ok, our fiery host will be busy, we would survive the night, we could relax without the mumbojumbo. Then I open my big mouth, "is your special garden open?" I ask. I assumed not, as it was dark and cold out. He replied of course it was, and that I was welcome to "help myself." "No thanks, not interested, only joking," I said.
Just then the Himalayans could have fallen into the valley and I wouldn't have noticed. "You do not joke about the smoke." His stern drill Sargent face on full assault blurted out. Even though this runs contrary to every movie Ive ever seen on the subject, I accepted another simple rhythm for an important lesson - marijuana, the drug that makes you laugh, is no laughing matter. I looked up to his angry face from my lowly chair and said I was sorry.
After we ordered some dinner the power cut out. Mr. Intensity came over to let us know that there was nothing to worry about, he works very hard, our food will come in time. Again, I speak, "But isn't it hard to see in the dark?" Am I secretly asking for more cheese? He replies, "Even people with eyes can't see sometimes."
Great. I think I get what he was getting at, but I wasn't about to ask for clarification. I guess I was just worried the cook might pour boiling water all over his feet.
But -- Not to worry! When my noodles arrived they were stuck together in one crunchy clump. I did, admittedly, laugh a bit. Perched on a bar stool from across the room Mr. Intensity must have noticed. A few minutes later he was with us again. "How is the food?" His face was sad. "You must tell me if it is not good." A soft side? Nope. "If it is not good then I will cook it all over again and fire the chef - good service is my focus.". Talk of firing the chef and the importance of hard work continued for another couple minutes, but no one was getting fired on my account so I repeatedly reassured him of the food's gourmet quality.
I guess the cook gets at least another night, though he might want to figure out how to get the crunch out of the noodles if he wants more time with Hotel Cult View. I can forgive it, given the lack of power, but I'm not sure if Mr. Intensity can.
We ordered a second round of Everests (Nepalese beer, the powerful name kinda makes Canada's Kokanee brand seem a bit pathetic). They were served to us by a new, much gentler face, a fellow we quickly and very appropriately nicknamed Mr. Happy.
Mr. Happy and I hit it off right away. At least I think we did. He didn't know much English, but from what I could gather he was actively learning. So, he didn't say much, but he kept smiling, and standing next to me. I assume we did something right because he insisted we have our picture taken with him the next morning using my camera - he wanted us to remember him.
We reached the end of available conversation due to our language barrier, but Mr. Happy wanted more. He retrieved Nepalese for Visitors from the bookcase and handed it to me. Quite rightly he wanted me to learn some Nepalese, I am after all in Nepal. I didn't have the heart to tell him about my terrible track record when it came to learning second languages; French, German and Mandarin courses completed, retention level nil. Anyway, I did turn the pages and take the opportunity to find the Nepalese words for "please," "thank you," "afraid," "fight" and "help"; thinking the last three may be useful if we find ourselves captives of Mr. Intensity.
Just as the kind Mr. Happy was about to tell us he was Buddhist for the third time Mr. Intensity reappeared and informed us that he was teaching Mr. Happy, and then made a downward motion with his right hand while explaining that he was mentoring our new friend. Mr. Intensity then made it clear to us that he was neither Buddhist nor Hindu, nor any other religion; he had his own formula. But we weren't about to stick around to find out more about that. So, as Rune would say, I "climbed to the peak" of my second Everest and headed for early bed.
One of the main reasons we stayed at Hotel Cult View was to get up and enjoy a nice cup of coffee with the sun rise. However, when 6 AM rolled around the visibility was near zero. Steph and Jane got up anyway with the hope that they could catch a glimpse of the rise between the clouds; they didn't. They should be commended for this as they braved two more hours with Mr. Intensity than Rune or I did.
It just so happened that by the time Rune and I arrived it was time for prayer. Instead of lighting a couple incense Mr. Happy and Mr. Intensity set off a few smoke signals that sent the message that they had no idea what they were doing. The whole dining room was smoked out. I asked what was going on and Mr. Happy coughed out the word praying. I was about to as well, but for my life. Steph and Jane felt their way to the balcony, but Rune and I stuck it out. We knew that our time at Hotel Cult View was coming to an end and having survived the night didn't want to miss a second!
"Thank heavens the smoke was clearing," someone said. From a distance, "there is no heaven, it's in here," Mr. Intensity said while coughing and pointing to his head.
Shortly after the air cleared Mr. Intensity arrived at our table with more coffee. Rune must have said something that clicked because Mr. Intensity looked at Rune deeply and said that Rune could become the richest man in Nepal, which he followed with a "I've got something in my heart and I know you do too."
Now, I gotta say I was a bit jealous. What about my heart? Sorry about the garden joke and laughing at my crunchy noodles. Give me another chance, I'll cut back on the sarcasm, anything.
Anyway, we left Hotel Cult View with another point against staying in budget accommodation: sometimes it's just weird.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
India: love it, but how much?
As a tourist India has been an adventure, but as a student it has been upsetting.
It's the amazing fun India that leads visitors to fall in love with the culture and excitement of the country, and in many cases start to emulate the Indian way of life (or aspects of it). The French embassy unofficially calls the extreme version of this "schizophrenic India"; a term they apply to nationals that require rescuing after doing something only locals should do. Fully submerging in or drinking from Mother Ganges on the Varanasi ghats, which lies beyond the point where the water starts to run septic or at the point where trash, floating animal carcasses and raw sewage rattle your senses, being one key example.
After a month in India and a week to go I can say I've been able to let go and feel comfortable in this country.
India's rich history means that wherever you go there is something to see: a 13th century Jain temple with 1,400 carved columns, no two the same; an ancient fort still used today; another fort with powerful architecture, excellent views and detailed rooms preserved from the time when maharajahs were powerful; and, the head of Shiva carved into a rock and periodically washed by tides on a popular beach in Goa.
Religion is there too, adding colour and depth to everything. Ganesha - the elephant headed god for good luck - is in auto rickshaws, offices and shops all over the place. In one shop trying to sell saris to Steph I spotted a rat casually walking along the merchandise. The owner informed me of the rat's religious significance and then fed it some chapatti. Transportation of all forms is routinely held up in cities by cows, allowed to co-exist on the streets only because of their holiness. Diwali, the festival of lights, takes place in October and is a time for thunderous fireworks. On the main day of the holiday our yoga instructor in Udaipur invited us into his home to meet his family, eat a special meal, and dodge his son's arsenal of bangers. And last, are the holy men who loiter in the squares and near the temples contently watching the day go by.
History and religion are fine, but it's the travel and adventure that motivate me, including, the auto rickshaw journeys down crowded streets; convincing the bicycle-rickshaw driver to let me drive him where I want to go while in Agra; the camel trek in Thar desert complete with dinner under the stars after viewing the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen; cruising by scooter to the beaches and towns of Goa with the rhythm of the last of the season's monsoon rains tapping and crashing all around us; avoiding bats in Jaisalmer's fort, rats in the Agra train station, monkeys at dusk at a hill temple in Jaipur and cows and dogs absolutely everywhere; and last, getting a hot chai tea to my berth after traveling overnight by train to a new place just waiting to be explored.
Picture me now - Jodhpur pants, Nehru collared shirt, and open-toed sandals. I've got a pirated copy of the White Tiger in one hand and a banana lassi in a clay cup from a street stall in the other. After reading a few pages that provide some insight into the real India and finishing my sour yogurt drink I'm confidently walking the streets without a care about the mess that lies beneath my exposed toes. I'm finding the train station rats cute, instead of counting them in dread. I'm on a full Indian diet and embracing all washroom facilities - even those found on the train. I'm comfortable in India and have fully adopted the traveler's very pseudo and luxurious version of an Indian way of life.
But -- I can't get too comfortable here, I've been a student for far too long.
Today we arrived in Varanasi, India's most holy city; the Canadian Embassy doesn't have to worry about me. You can be sure that no part of my body is going to submerge into the Ganges during our visit here. I get that it is holy, but how anyone can regularly bathe in such polluted water is beyond me. I've really taken to India and all it has to offer, but there's a lot that keeps me from getting too comfortable.
We got hassled by touts daily and they got the better of us a couple times (Mr. Raj of Jodhpur I'm looking at you in particular). We had our fair share of stomach upsets and sore throats. And, because of these things anxieties ran high the whole time concerning scams, security and health. But these minor annoyances aren't what really stopped me from fully embracing India. Rather it's the state of the country in more general terms that keeps me from getting too comfortable.
It's heartbreaking to see so many dirty children on the streets working to survive rather than learning in schools. Just as it was sickening to see an elderly woman live out the last of her days covered in flies and suffering outside the steps of a busy store. The poverty in India is as sad as I was told it would be, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept.
Trash and pollution are inescapable, period. There are garbage piles everywhere you go, from narrow pathways to Goan beaches, and from temple entrances to the middle of busy streets. If these garbage piles have not been set alight then they are feeding grounds for rats, goats, pigs, dogs and cows. The air quality in Delhi and Agra was so dehabilitating that we were unwilling to spend more time than we had to in either place. Now, on a per capita basis Canadians produce far more waste than the average Indian, of that there is no dispute, however, I am left thinking that there is almost no waste management in India. Garbage piles and thick air must be taking an enormous toll on the health of Indians - I feel it and I've only been here a month.
Oddly enough a giant decaying Agra tourist map on a billboard outside the main Agra train station brought a lot of this into focus for me. I took a picture because at first I thought it was funny - in a cynical sort of way. At one of the main points of arrival for the Taj Mahal, India's most recognizable tourist attraction, there's nothing more welcoming visitors than a destroyed 30 year old sign. As I was taking the picture a nearby auto rickshaw driver softly said, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, my government is broken." Now fixing this sign should hardly be a priority for Indian governments given the situations I described above, but it's presence there in the state it's in combined with the auto rickshaw driver's sad statement seemed to suggest an element of hopelessness about the state of affairs.
Now, for me as a tourist corruption has just been a minor annoyance, but for many Indians it must be a death sentence. In the White Tiger the main character's father dies of TB in an understaffed rural hospital because of a scam that allowed doctors to falsely claim compensation for seeing patients in public rural health facilities when in actual fact they worked full time in private hospitals. Throughout this fiction the main character is witness to considerable government corruption. After witnessing such profound poverty and mess in much of India I can't help but wonder how accurate an account this book really is.
So, I have valued my time in India, but I'm even more aware of just how lucky we are to live in Canada. As we leave India my thoughts are definitely focused on a lot of the problems we witnessed.
Shopping in India: I say "no thanks" and they say "why not"
My thoughts: My shopping desires mirror the tee-shirt for sale here in Varanasi: "no rickshaw, no boat, no hash, no silk, no hassle." For that matter, I also don't want the amusing tee-shirt, your postcards, or to be brought to any shop or factory. Yes, I think fair trade is very important, but I can never be sure that your silk or wall-hangings are made the way you say they are. I'm up for a conversation, but not if its only purpose is to serve as a bridge before trying to sell me something. Yes, I remember you, we spoke yesterday, and no sorry, I still don't want any silk (sorry Mom(s) and new sisters, just kidding, or am I?). Please, after I tell you I am Canadian, but decline your merchandise, don't tell me that you think I am an American as a way to get under my skin, it doesn't work, or maybe it does... just a bit. All this hassle really puts a damper on things. Yes I know I'm a tall fellah, and yes, I guess you could say my dad is tall too. Shhhh, don't yell out down the street that you've got big sizes and can have ever bigger ones made if need be. It's super awkward. I can see the big shirts right there, and don't want them anyway. I brought clothing with me, that's what's in my bag, sorry. Oh man, I wish we weren't in this store, here comes the complementary Masala tea that we will pay for 1000 times over if we buy something here. They are wasting their time on me. I guarantee that I will not buy a thing, no no no. Why did I buy that? Did I overpay? Look at the stitching it's barely holding itself together. I wish I knew how to bargin, where's the exit. Don't look so upset, me buying anything here was a long shot anyway. Everyone is just trying to rip me off and I'm tired (and sick, no details on this though). I hope none of the sales people in India are reading this. Steph, we're outta here!
The people selling stuff to tourists in India: Here comes another one. Will they just ignore me? Will they humour me when I ask their name, where they are from, and if they'd like to see my shop, buy my postcards, try on my funky hippy pants, or take a ride on my autorickshaw. Chances are they'll just stroll on by, answering my questions in part, but fail to stop and converse for the follow-up section. The follow-up section is the best part! That's the part where I segway from pretending to be interested in knowing anything about them to selling them something they don't need. I don't mean to be rude, but I've seen a lot of tourists walk up and down this street today, like everyday, and they're always just rushing on by. They get to parade all over my fine city with their super fancy camera pointing and clicking in a million directions. They don't have a care in the world. Gap year? backpacking? here for a couple-weeks? Sounds lovely. I've got merchandise to move, but most importantly mouths to feed and rent to pay. If they've got a camera like that, hiking space boots, and plane tickets all over Asia, surely they can come to my shop and spend a few Rupees on something they don't really need. They just need a bit of convincing and reminding about what I've got... they're in relax mode, not a care in the world. I'll just have to stand out here on the street and spend the whole day reminding them what's inside and how great it is until they come in and look. I might even follow them up and down the lanes a bit, in case their memory is even shorter than I suspected. My shirts are good quality I tell them, but they're not. My scarves are real silk, well a percentage is. Of course it's real saffron, well it's not, but with enough insisting I'll show you the other better looking fake stuff. If my segway works and I convince them they're interested we'll have a finical fight. I'll start at a high price I think they should pay, because I am sure they're rich. They'll start at a low price they think they should pay, because they know what I'm selling is not worth a fraction of what I'm saying it is. I'll pretend their offer is too low, they'll pretend mine is too high. In the end we'll reach some sort of compromise. If I sense a bit of an ego in my opponent I'll let them think they drove me down to the lowest price, no one ever has. In the end I'm certain of 3 things: (1) they paid too much by Indian standards (2) they paid too little by Western standards, and (3) if they are bouncing around the world for leisure whether they can afford it or not, they can stand to part with some money in my shop.
The people selling stuff to tourists in India: Here comes another one. Will they just ignore me? Will they humour me when I ask their name, where they are from, and if they'd like to see my shop, buy my postcards, try on my funky hippy pants, or take a ride on my autorickshaw. Chances are they'll just stroll on by, answering my questions in part, but fail to stop and converse for the follow-up section. The follow-up section is the best part! That's the part where I segway from pretending to be interested in knowing anything about them to selling them something they don't need. I don't mean to be rude, but I've seen a lot of tourists walk up and down this street today, like everyday, and they're always just rushing on by. They get to parade all over my fine city with their super fancy camera pointing and clicking in a million directions. They don't have a care in the world. Gap year? backpacking? here for a couple-weeks? Sounds lovely. I've got merchandise to move, but most importantly mouths to feed and rent to pay. If they've got a camera like that, hiking space boots, and plane tickets all over Asia, surely they can come to my shop and spend a few Rupees on something they don't really need. They just need a bit of convincing and reminding about what I've got... they're in relax mode, not a care in the world. I'll just have to stand out here on the street and spend the whole day reminding them what's inside and how great it is until they come in and look. I might even follow them up and down the lanes a bit, in case their memory is even shorter than I suspected. My shirts are good quality I tell them, but they're not. My scarves are real silk, well a percentage is. Of course it's real saffron, well it's not, but with enough insisting I'll show you the other better looking fake stuff. If my segway works and I convince them they're interested we'll have a finical fight. I'll start at a high price I think they should pay, because I am sure they're rich. They'll start at a low price they think they should pay, because they know what I'm selling is not worth a fraction of what I'm saying it is. I'll pretend their offer is too low, they'll pretend mine is too high. In the end we'll reach some sort of compromise. If I sense a bit of an ego in my opponent I'll let them think they drove me down to the lowest price, no one ever has. In the end I'm certain of 3 things: (1) they paid too much by Indian standards (2) they paid too little by Western standards, and (3) if they are bouncing around the world for leisure whether they can afford it or not, they can stand to part with some money in my shop.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Egypt-Israel-Jordan Borders: Put on Your Serious Face
"It's the journey, not the destination" is certainly not true when traveling overland to Petra, Jordan from Egypt. The expression is equally untrue when traveling the same route in reverse in order to get from Jordan to Dahab, a resort town along Egypt's stretch of the Red Sea.
100 years ago there would have been little distinction along this 20 KM stretch of deserty coastline at the peninsula of the Red Sea, aside from a Turkish outpost and a bit of settlement here and there. Today getting through the region requires navigating the border crossings at Taba, Egypt; Eilat, Israel and Aqaba, Jordan. If a university degree in Political Science taught me anything about this part of the world it's that a lot has happened here in the last 100 years - so much that it's amazing there are border crossings between these places at all.
I'll go over the return trip back to Egypt because I thought to remember as much as I could so I could share it here. The return trip, like the first time through, took a few hours. The weather was blistering hot, border fees blew our daily budget apart and the only time I smiled was when I was smiled at.
Before we got to the crossing on the outskirts of Aqaba we had to find the Egyptian consulate in town and get another visa in order to enter Egypt. 3 hours later we were in a cab to the border with Israel. We met a couple of New Zealanders who had been "trecking" in Jordan and decided we'd all cross the borders together to save on transportation costs.
The Jordan side had a pre-border checkstop. So, we all got out of the cab under a welcome arch (for traffic coming the other way) and showed the young fellows with big guns what was in our bags. This was also the first time of twenty that we would show our passports to officials over the course of the day (between borders and Egyptian checkstops). It was at this point it occured to me that if these nice New Zealanders were smugglers that Steph and I would likely see the inside of a jail along with them - don't worry they wern't or if they were they were good at their job.
Then we showed our passports to get into Jordan's border control site where we were directed to the first window to get a stamp. Passports stamped we were then directed to Window 10 to pay an exit tax of 7 Dinars each. We were efficient in Jordan and had no Dinars left, so we shuffled across the street to the arrivals side to the exchange booth. Oh rats! That explains why there is no one around, the banker and most of the rest of the border staff was off to prayer! We hung around a while longer, got the Dinars and got a second stamp.
Second stamp in place and we're ready to exit Jordan... after one final passport check, maybe the first four inspectors missed something.
100 meters in the hot sun divides Jordan's border control from Israel's border control. We haul our packs over. There is no line so we're right to the front. The first distiction between the Israeli border and the Egypt and Jordan borders is that the post is mainly staffed by young women. The second distinction is that they really examine your bags and reason for travel - we met Westerns who were denied entry here (one fellow due to his involvement in pro-Palestine NGOs).
After a passport check - at this point I am no longer putting it away - my bags are loaded up on to the X-Ray machine and sent through... then back, then through again, then back, and so on for about five minutes. Our New Zealand friends almost left us.
Finally, they ask to inspect. They hone in on my junky gold painted metal 6 inch tall camel sculpture. Great, now they know I'm a sucker for mass produced tourist junk. I was tempted to tell them that I got a good price or it's for my niece, but I didn't and, sorry Georgie, it's not.
At least they smiled at me, we were all happy the camel sculpture was what it was. They scanned my bag a couple more times, it was good, no elephants, horses, cows or idols... yet, wait till we try leaving India next month.
Then a few more people checked our passports. They stamp an entry stamp on a seperate piece of paper incase you have onward travel in Syria. Syrians don't allow entry to people with passports containing Israeli stamps - remember poli sci. This separate piece of paper thing is pointless as an exit stamp from Aqaba, Jordan and an entry stamp from Taba, Egypt can mean only one thing: you were in Israel.
Now we're in Eilat, Israel. Looks fairly basic, small beach resort with a bit of industrial shipping; not that impressive, much like Aqaba. The 15 minute cab cost us 20 USD. The driver complained about the development in Aqaba and how they're trying to compete with Eilat. That evening while chowing down on some mezza (pita and dips) in Dahab in a beachfront restaurant it was quite clear that neither of these places had a thing on Egypt's Red Sea holdings.
At the Israel-Egypt border there are some fees to pay, about 25 USD each. I guess that's the charge for vigilant baggage scans. We paid the fees, got stamped and then walked 100 meters to Egypt's border at Taba.
Low and behold a plugged in manned security site with a bit of scrutiny, Egypt's Taba border must be taking lessons from Israel. Though the integrity only goes so far - while checking our bags and passports the security officers tried to offer us overpriced transportation to the Taba bus stop or our onward destination.
This time the camel was in my pocket, which meant the fuss was transferred from the x-Ray machine to the metal dectector. They gave it a good look over, realized it was tourist junk and handed it over. Steph suggested it was more trouble than it's worth... for a split second I wasn't sure if she meant the camel or travelling like this.
After we filled some forms, swore to not having swine flu, and had our visas and passports examined we were ready to roll.
Next stop was Taba bus station to catch the bus to Dahab for some serious relaxing. We waited in the sun for hours. Once on the bus we stopped at a good 5 checkstops for passport control and paid some dubious "Sinia tax" to an un-uniformed "official" - bogus.
I guess that could be a whole blog entry on its own, but as we've been in India now for 12 days my focus is now firmly on this amazing place!
100 years ago there would have been little distinction along this 20 KM stretch of deserty coastline at the peninsula of the Red Sea, aside from a Turkish outpost and a bit of settlement here and there. Today getting through the region requires navigating the border crossings at Taba, Egypt; Eilat, Israel and Aqaba, Jordan. If a university degree in Political Science taught me anything about this part of the world it's that a lot has happened here in the last 100 years - so much that it's amazing there are border crossings between these places at all.
I'll go over the return trip back to Egypt because I thought to remember as much as I could so I could share it here. The return trip, like the first time through, took a few hours. The weather was blistering hot, border fees blew our daily budget apart and the only time I smiled was when I was smiled at.
Before we got to the crossing on the outskirts of Aqaba we had to find the Egyptian consulate in town and get another visa in order to enter Egypt. 3 hours later we were in a cab to the border with Israel. We met a couple of New Zealanders who had been "trecking" in Jordan and decided we'd all cross the borders together to save on transportation costs.
The Jordan side had a pre-border checkstop. So, we all got out of the cab under a welcome arch (for traffic coming the other way) and showed the young fellows with big guns what was in our bags. This was also the first time of twenty that we would show our passports to officials over the course of the day (between borders and Egyptian checkstops). It was at this point it occured to me that if these nice New Zealanders were smugglers that Steph and I would likely see the inside of a jail along with them - don't worry they wern't or if they were they were good at their job.
Then we showed our passports to get into Jordan's border control site where we were directed to the first window to get a stamp. Passports stamped we were then directed to Window 10 to pay an exit tax of 7 Dinars each. We were efficient in Jordan and had no Dinars left, so we shuffled across the street to the arrivals side to the exchange booth. Oh rats! That explains why there is no one around, the banker and most of the rest of the border staff was off to prayer! We hung around a while longer, got the Dinars and got a second stamp.
Second stamp in place and we're ready to exit Jordan... after one final passport check, maybe the first four inspectors missed something.
100 meters in the hot sun divides Jordan's border control from Israel's border control. We haul our packs over. There is no line so we're right to the front. The first distiction between the Israeli border and the Egypt and Jordan borders is that the post is mainly staffed by young women. The second distinction is that they really examine your bags and reason for travel - we met Westerns who were denied entry here (one fellow due to his involvement in pro-Palestine NGOs).
After a passport check - at this point I am no longer putting it away - my bags are loaded up on to the X-Ray machine and sent through... then back, then through again, then back, and so on for about five minutes. Our New Zealand friends almost left us.
Finally, they ask to inspect. They hone in on my junky gold painted metal 6 inch tall camel sculpture. Great, now they know I'm a sucker for mass produced tourist junk. I was tempted to tell them that I got a good price or it's for my niece, but I didn't and, sorry Georgie, it's not.
At least they smiled at me, we were all happy the camel sculpture was what it was. They scanned my bag a couple more times, it was good, no elephants, horses, cows or idols... yet, wait till we try leaving India next month.
Then a few more people checked our passports. They stamp an entry stamp on a seperate piece of paper incase you have onward travel in Syria. Syrians don't allow entry to people with passports containing Israeli stamps - remember poli sci. This separate piece of paper thing is pointless as an exit stamp from Aqaba, Jordan and an entry stamp from Taba, Egypt can mean only one thing: you were in Israel.
Now we're in Eilat, Israel. Looks fairly basic, small beach resort with a bit of industrial shipping; not that impressive, much like Aqaba. The 15 minute cab cost us 20 USD. The driver complained about the development in Aqaba and how they're trying to compete with Eilat. That evening while chowing down on some mezza (pita and dips) in Dahab in a beachfront restaurant it was quite clear that neither of these places had a thing on Egypt's Red Sea holdings.
At the Israel-Egypt border there are some fees to pay, about 25 USD each. I guess that's the charge for vigilant baggage scans. We paid the fees, got stamped and then walked 100 meters to Egypt's border at Taba.
Low and behold a plugged in manned security site with a bit of scrutiny, Egypt's Taba border must be taking lessons from Israel. Though the integrity only goes so far - while checking our bags and passports the security officers tried to offer us overpriced transportation to the Taba bus stop or our onward destination.
This time the camel was in my pocket, which meant the fuss was transferred from the x-Ray machine to the metal dectector. They gave it a good look over, realized it was tourist junk and handed it over. Steph suggested it was more trouble than it's worth... for a split second I wasn't sure if she meant the camel or travelling like this.
After we filled some forms, swore to not having swine flu, and had our visas and passports examined we were ready to roll.
Next stop was Taba bus station to catch the bus to Dahab for some serious relaxing. We waited in the sun for hours. Once on the bus we stopped at a good 5 checkstops for passport control and paid some dubious "Sinia tax" to an un-uniformed "official" - bogus.
I guess that could be a whole blog entry on its own, but as we've been in India now for 12 days my focus is now firmly on this amazing place!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Friendship through the Ipod Touch
(Edits/Pictures to follow)
The tiny size and simplicity of the Ipod Touch has made it the perfect travel companion for our trip. When there is wireless internet it's a fully connected mini-laptop capable of Skyping, Facebook'ing, Blog'ing, emailing and surfing. Offline, saved web resources and travel guide PDFs have been infinately useful for finding locations and learning about key attractions on the fly. During the afternoon downtime when temperatures in Egypt and Jordan get too hot to bare we've been able to talk to friends and family, catch up on the news back home, play games, and download episodes of 30 Rock.
Now, before you say this little toy of ours is denying us the full travel experience, I'll share a story about a friendship the Touch helped us forge in Aqaba, Jordan during our visit to see Petra.
Our hotel there had WIFI, so after dinner we parked ourselves in their laid back Bedouin louge and logged on for some desert-style surfing. We were heading to Dahab next and wanted to book some accomodation.
After a brief chat about where we were relative to key Middle East locations we were on Google Earth to confirm what we already knew. And just as we did that, the smell of cigarette smoke strengthened from behind us and a soft voice asked how we were, where we were from, and with a widening smile, what we were doing.
I remarked that we were on Google Earth, checking out the area. The soft spoken man removed his sandals and sat down next to us in the lounge. Over the course of the next two nights we would learn that he was the hotel owner, a long time resident of Aqaba, a loving grandpa and very involved in Aqaba development projects.
He leaned in closely to see the satelite image and recognized the area as Aqaba and the Red Sea. He leaned in even closer and was visibly excited at the touch screen feature that enabled me to move around the map and zoom in and out with ease. At this point it was clear: he wanted on.
He called the waiter over and in Arabic asked for three mint teas. By the time the teas arrived he was familiar with the touch screen feature and had shown us where his house was in town. Next, as we sipped the teas, we travelled over above the hotel. on the screen the older satilite image revealed only his hotel and desert all around, yet now all around us there were several other inns. He remarked that for years he was the only hotel in the outskirts of the city but recently things had changed; Aqaba was booming, hoping to become a top destination on the Red Sea - Jordan's answer to Dahab or Sharm. Before his hotel the sand East of town was all Saudi territory, now it's Jordanian, but flush with Saudi development dollars.
At this point he was resting on his side supporting his head with his hand and all three of us were fixed on the screen.
He scrolled over to another spot on the edge of the city where there had been some development and then told us all about his involvement with a US Aid funded water treatment plant. He asked us where we leaved relative to Chicago and Las Vegas, two cities he had visited to gain more knwoledge related to water treatment.
At which point he handed back the Touch and I flew us over to the West Coast of Canada. We showed him Vancouver Island, our community James Bay, and Beacon Hill Park.
After a brief chat about Petra he was up and gone. The next evening after touring Petra via a special deal orcastrated by our friend we returned to the same spot for some more mint tea. Within minutes he was back, this time with his young grandson.
His grandson was visibly excited. The grandfather sat close and quickly lit his first of many cigarettes. He was pleased to hear that we enjoyed Petra. By minute 2of the Petra conversation the grandson was basically climbing all over the Bedouin coushins and his grandfather. Both sets of eyes were firmly fixed on the Ipod,they didn't need to say anything; they were there to check out Google Earth.
I handed over the Ipod and the grandfather proceeded to show his grandson all the landmarks we had seen the night before. Once that was done Steph and I leaned in more closely to see what was going on. Just then we were whisked eastward out of town towards the Saudi border.
They spoke in Arabic, everything was moving too fast. With the passing of a thick yellow line one thing was certain: we were no longer in Jordan. A foreign, but known name appeared on the tiny screen. We stoppoed breifly in Jeddah, but the grandson was uninterested. He interupted the steady travel we had grown used to from his grandpa by touching the screen and jerking us Eastward further into Saudi territory.
The grandpa regained control by lightly nudging the excited child away. Under his control we steadily arrived in the holy city of Mecca. Once we were above the Haj - the most holy site in the holy city - he demonstrated his mastery of the touchscreen by instantly zooming us in from what appeared to be 60,000 feet to just above the buildings. We saw the people gathered around below, the grandfather and grandson were visibly excited. Though the grandfather had previously made the pilgramig to Mecca, this was clearly a first. It's very cheesy to say, but we had basically all connected around Google Earth on the Ipod Touch.
Next, the grandson asked if he could show us a video on YouTube of his favourite actor, when no videos were found of this Egyptian star he resorted to looking up Mr. Bean. We finished the evening by laughing at the antics of Rowan Atkinson.
The tiny size and simplicity of the Ipod Touch has made it the perfect travel companion for our trip. When there is wireless internet it's a fully connected mini-laptop capable of Skyping, Facebook'ing, Blog'ing, emailing and surfing. Offline, saved web resources and travel guide PDFs have been infinately useful for finding locations and learning about key attractions on the fly. During the afternoon downtime when temperatures in Egypt and Jordan get too hot to bare we've been able to talk to friends and family, catch up on the news back home, play games, and download episodes of 30 Rock.
Now, before you say this little toy of ours is denying us the full travel experience, I'll share a story about a friendship the Touch helped us forge in Aqaba, Jordan during our visit to see Petra.
Our hotel there had WIFI, so after dinner we parked ourselves in their laid back Bedouin louge and logged on for some desert-style surfing. We were heading to Dahab next and wanted to book some accomodation.
After a brief chat about where we were relative to key Middle East locations we were on Google Earth to confirm what we already knew. And just as we did that, the smell of cigarette smoke strengthened from behind us and a soft voice asked how we were, where we were from, and with a widening smile, what we were doing.
I remarked that we were on Google Earth, checking out the area. The soft spoken man removed his sandals and sat down next to us in the lounge. Over the course of the next two nights we would learn that he was the hotel owner, a long time resident of Aqaba, a loving grandpa and very involved in Aqaba development projects.
He leaned in closely to see the satelite image and recognized the area as Aqaba and the Red Sea. He leaned in even closer and was visibly excited at the touch screen feature that enabled me to move around the map and zoom in and out with ease. At this point it was clear: he wanted on.
He called the waiter over and in Arabic asked for three mint teas. By the time the teas arrived he was familiar with the touch screen feature and had shown us where his house was in town. Next, as we sipped the teas, we travelled over above the hotel. on the screen the older satilite image revealed only his hotel and desert all around, yet now all around us there were several other inns. He remarked that for years he was the only hotel in the outskirts of the city but recently things had changed; Aqaba was booming, hoping to become a top destination on the Red Sea - Jordan's answer to Dahab or Sharm. Before his hotel the sand East of town was all Saudi territory, now it's Jordanian, but flush with Saudi development dollars.
At this point he was resting on his side supporting his head with his hand and all three of us were fixed on the screen.
He scrolled over to another spot on the edge of the city where there had been some development and then told us all about his involvement with a US Aid funded water treatment plant. He asked us where we leaved relative to Chicago and Las Vegas, two cities he had visited to gain more knwoledge related to water treatment.
At which point he handed back the Touch and I flew us over to the West Coast of Canada. We showed him Vancouver Island, our community James Bay, and Beacon Hill Park.
After a brief chat about Petra he was up and gone. The next evening after touring Petra via a special deal orcastrated by our friend we returned to the same spot for some more mint tea. Within minutes he was back, this time with his young grandson.
His grandson was visibly excited. The grandfather sat close and quickly lit his first of many cigarettes. He was pleased to hear that we enjoyed Petra. By minute 2of the Petra conversation the grandson was basically climbing all over the Bedouin coushins and his grandfather. Both sets of eyes were firmly fixed on the Ipod,they didn't need to say anything; they were there to check out Google Earth.
I handed over the Ipod and the grandfather proceeded to show his grandson all the landmarks we had seen the night before. Once that was done Steph and I leaned in more closely to see what was going on. Just then we were whisked eastward out of town towards the Saudi border.
They spoke in Arabic, everything was moving too fast. With the passing of a thick yellow line one thing was certain: we were no longer in Jordan. A foreign, but known name appeared on the tiny screen. We stoppoed breifly in Jeddah, but the grandson was uninterested. He interupted the steady travel we had grown used to from his grandpa by touching the screen and jerking us Eastward further into Saudi territory.
The grandpa regained control by lightly nudging the excited child away. Under his control we steadily arrived in the holy city of Mecca. Once we were above the Haj - the most holy site in the holy city - he demonstrated his mastery of the touchscreen by instantly zooming us in from what appeared to be 60,000 feet to just above the buildings. We saw the people gathered around below, the grandfather and grandson were visibly excited. Though the grandfather had previously made the pilgramig to Mecca, this was clearly a first. It's very cheesy to say, but we had basically all connected around Google Earth on the Ipod Touch.
Next, the grandson asked if he could show us a video on YouTube of his favourite actor, when no videos were found of this Egyptian star he resorted to looking up Mr. Bean. We finished the evening by laughing at the antics of Rowan Atkinson.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Egyptian shake down
We arrived in Cairo for the two week Egypt-Jordan leg of our round the world trip to a mass of people who had all gathered to help us find an overpriced cab into the heart of the city. How kind, with little experience and only US dollars we reluctantly obliged.
After the airport experience and a couple days touring Cairo one thing became crystal clear: there sure are a lot of people coming up with schemes to part our money from us.
Perhaps most surprising to a first-time visitor, was the active role played by the tourist police in this trade. In Cairo, everywhere you go from street corners to the star attractions there are uniformed and armed tourist police whose official role, I've been led to believe, is to protect tourists from scams and scamers, theft, or worse. I'd feel much more secure if my protectors weren't sleeping and reading on duty, or pressuring us at attractions to escape the marked path so they can pose us for tacky pictures (for a price).
Our first close encounter with the tourist police was on our first day in Cairo and during our whirlwind 7 hour tour of the three main pyramid sites at Dahshur, Sakura and Giza.
We took a taxi and got to the Dahshur site early. The heat and sun were already on full assault, but our early rise had meant that we had the Red and Bent pyramids almost entirely to ourselves.
As we approached the gate the tourist police were there: one sitting attentatively, two sleeping soundly, and another focused mindfully on his pocket-sized Koran. We got out of the car, stepped over a sleeping dog to wake the sleeping clerk to buy our entry into the site. We then got back in the taxi drove past the unplugged metal detector and unmanned security equipment for the short drive up to the Red pyramid.
The site was amazing and the ticket included a climb up and into the pyramid. We were basically alone, except for a couple other backpackers and a pair of tourist police.
As we descended from the pyramid to return to the car we heard a whistle and a series of calls that would become very familiar, "My friend... Where from?" "Canada Dry never die!" It seemed to be our lucky day, a tourist police offered to take a break from his guarding job to take us around to the side, out of view from the parking lot and the arriving tour groups for excellent photo opportunities.
We followed him over, took a couple pictures and turned to head back. He blocked our exit, we froze, he grinned and kindly offered to take pictures of us climbing a small monument in front of the pyramids. We said sure, he dropped his big machine gun, grabbed our camera and started snapping cheesy tourist shots of us. The one he seemed to enjoy the most, and that I imagine he shot 100 times more that day, simulated that the distant Bent Pyramid was in fact a minature prop suspended in the air from our hands.
The first time the guy with the badge and AK47 says pose ridiculously, you pose. If he says climb, you climb. And, if he grins softly and says "a little something for me" as you walk away, you hand him a tip. Then when he awkwardly implies you tipped too little, you dig deeper.
This was our first day, we had no more change. I nervously handed him 20 Egyptian pounds. He smiled and I was releaved. Thinking he got too much I got a little bold and asked if I could hold his big gun for a picture. His grin disappeared from his face, and he sternly said, "No, no!"
Holding the gun, it appeared, was not an option. I guess I had figured that since he had left his gun leaning up against the base of the pyramid that maybe his gun safety ethics were fairly relaxed. Just then, when I thought I found something in Egypt that couldn't be bought, the guard smiled again and said "Ok, maybe for $50 US." There was no way that I was seriously considering touching the gun, and besides his asking price was more than I was paying to see all the pyramid sites.
We let this happen once. Then we ignored the tourist police as we did the other Egyptians trying to sell us overpriced junk. For anyone who is concerned know that this whole situation was in good humour, the guard was a very nice guy who was basically bored with nothing much to do and we are two tourists with heavy wallets that needed to be lightened.
-- Posted from my iPhone
After the airport experience and a couple days touring Cairo one thing became crystal clear: there sure are a lot of people coming up with schemes to part our money from us.
Perhaps most surprising to a first-time visitor, was the active role played by the tourist police in this trade. In Cairo, everywhere you go from street corners to the star attractions there are uniformed and armed tourist police whose official role, I've been led to believe, is to protect tourists from scams and scamers, theft, or worse. I'd feel much more secure if my protectors weren't sleeping and reading on duty, or pressuring us at attractions to escape the marked path so they can pose us for tacky pictures (for a price).
Our first close encounter with the tourist police was on our first day in Cairo and during our whirlwind 7 hour tour of the three main pyramid sites at Dahshur, Sakura and Giza.
We took a taxi and got to the Dahshur site early. The heat and sun were already on full assault, but our early rise had meant that we had the Red and Bent pyramids almost entirely to ourselves.
As we approached the gate the tourist police were there: one sitting attentatively, two sleeping soundly, and another focused mindfully on his pocket-sized Koran. We got out of the car, stepped over a sleeping dog to wake the sleeping clerk to buy our entry into the site. We then got back in the taxi drove past the unplugged metal detector and unmanned security equipment for the short drive up to the Red pyramid.
The site was amazing and the ticket included a climb up and into the pyramid. We were basically alone, except for a couple other backpackers and a pair of tourist police.
As we descended from the pyramid to return to the car we heard a whistle and a series of calls that would become very familiar, "My friend... Where from?" "Canada Dry never die!" It seemed to be our lucky day, a tourist police offered to take a break from his guarding job to take us around to the side, out of view from the parking lot and the arriving tour groups for excellent photo opportunities.
We followed him over, took a couple pictures and turned to head back. He blocked our exit, we froze, he grinned and kindly offered to take pictures of us climbing a small monument in front of the pyramids. We said sure, he dropped his big machine gun, grabbed our camera and started snapping cheesy tourist shots of us. The one he seemed to enjoy the most, and that I imagine he shot 100 times more that day, simulated that the distant Bent Pyramid was in fact a minature prop suspended in the air from our hands.
The first time the guy with the badge and AK47 says pose ridiculously, you pose. If he says climb, you climb. And, if he grins softly and says "a little something for me" as you walk away, you hand him a tip. Then when he awkwardly implies you tipped too little, you dig deeper.
This was our first day, we had no more change. I nervously handed him 20 Egyptian pounds. He smiled and I was releaved. Thinking he got too much I got a little bold and asked if I could hold his big gun for a picture. His grin disappeared from his face, and he sternly said, "No, no!"
Holding the gun, it appeared, was not an option. I guess I had figured that since he had left his gun leaning up against the base of the pyramid that maybe his gun safety ethics were fairly relaxed. Just then, when I thought I found something in Egypt that couldn't be bought, the guard smiled again and said "Ok, maybe for $50 US." There was no way that I was seriously considering touching the gun, and besides his asking price was more than I was paying to see all the pyramid sites.
We let this happen once. Then we ignored the tourist police as we did the other Egyptians trying to sell us overpriced junk. For anyone who is concerned know that this whole situation was in good humour, the guard was a very nice guy who was basically bored with nothing much to do and we are two tourists with heavy wallets that needed to be lightened.
-- Posted from my iPhone
Friday, September 11, 2009
Flickr Re-activation
http://www.flickr.com/photos/bjvs/sets/72157622207672335/
I've relaunched my flickr site to help store/share photos. Not sure how reguarly we'll be able to update it while in other places, but here are a billion pictures from Cornwall. I hope they do this place justice as a spot to visit in both the rain or the shine. There are so many interesting things to check out, often not on the A list for Britain, but that's part of the charm... cool ruins, castles, hiking trails, etc. Can't wait until we're back again - thanks all!
Cairo tomorrow!
I've relaunched my flickr site to help store/share photos. Not sure how reguarly we'll be able to update it while in other places, but here are a billion pictures from Cornwall. I hope they do this place justice as a spot to visit in both the rain or the shine. There are so many interesting things to check out, often not on the A list for Britain, but that's part of the charm... cool ruins, castles, hiking trails, etc. Can't wait until we're back again - thanks all!
Cairo tomorrow!
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
How to be Unhealthy under the Cornish Cloud
In addition to the great beaches and surf, walks and history Cornwall, England has no end of tempting treats, but if you’re not careful it’s possible to exceed your daily limits in every diet measurable by ten-fold. Now, I haven’t done this (I swear!), but here’s how to have the unhealthiest day of your life while relaxing under the Cornish Sun …or cloud:
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Wake up and head straight to the breakfast table. Do not volunteer to lead a pre-breakfast trek to the beach for a morning surf, and instead grab your spoon and get ready to dig. First up is a bowl of TESCO’s Honey Nut cereal accompanied by a hearty scoop of clotted cream – that’s right straight fat tinted to a creamy yellow plopped into your cereal bowl.
Wake up and head straight to the breakfast table. Do not volunteer to lead a pre-breakfast trek to the beach for a morning surf, and instead grab your spoon and get ready to dig. First up is a bowl of TESCO’s Honey Nut cereal accompanied by a hearty scoop of clotted cream – that’s right straight fat tinted to a creamy yellow plopped into your cereal bowl.
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With breakfast 1 done it’s time to head to town (St. Merryn) to pick up lunch and some newspapers for the beach. This is also where second breakfast happens because it’s almost impossible to enter a baker’s den in this county without being tempted by their chocolate-injected croissants.
With breakfast 1 done it’s time to head to town (St. Merryn) to pick up lunch and some newspapers for the beach. This is also where second breakfast happens because it’s almost impossible to enter a baker’s den in this county without being tempted by their chocolate-injected croissants.
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You’ve entered the baker’s shop because that is where you get the most famous of Cornish delights – the famous Pasty. A Cornish Pasty is simply a pastry shell wrapped around steak, potato, carrot and onion chunks. You eat it with your hands, which makes it great for the beach. It feels like a brick in your tummy, which makes it terrible if swimming is on the agenda. Originally, Cornish tin miners ate these down in the shaft, the thick pastry crust served as a disposable handle for grubby fingers. Today we eat it all, grubby fingers or not!
You’ve entered the baker’s shop because that is where you get the most famous of Cornish delights – the famous Pasty. A Cornish Pasty is simply a pastry shell wrapped around steak, potato, carrot and onion chunks. You eat it with your hands, which makes it great for the beach. It feels like a brick in your tummy, which makes it terrible if swimming is on the agenda. Originally, Cornish tin miners ate these down in the shaft, the thick pastry crust served as a disposable handle for grubby fingers. Today we eat it all, grubby fingers or not!
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Weather permitting, you’ve been in the sea all afternoon and you’re ready for ‘tea-time’. You could go the tea and biscuit route, but you’re on holiday and have been tempted by any one of the following three options: cream tea (more cream, this time on a scone), strawberry jam filled doughnut (at this point the baker is just rolling in dough), or – dare I say and? – a 99er (ice-cream cone with a chocolate flake in it).
Weather permitting, you’ve been in the sea all afternoon and you’re ready for ‘tea-time’. You could go the tea and biscuit route, but you’re on holiday and have been tempted by any one of the following three options: cream tea (more cream, this time on a scone), strawberry jam filled doughnut (at this point the baker is just rolling in dough), or – dare I say and? – a 99er (ice-cream cone with a chocolate flake in it).
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If you’ve made it this far, you might as well finish the journey, but brace yourself, the worst is yet to come. Fryer Tuck’s Fish and Chips has a line-up out the door and around the corner, and you are destine for that queueueueue. Select the take-away option and return home to the cheers of hungry companions. Settle into battered cod, thick British chips, and if you’re wise, a cup of the curry sauce for your dipping pleasure. Wash it all down with a pint of some locally brewed ale, call it the day, and roll all the way to bed.
If you’ve made it this far, you might as well finish the journey, but brace yourself, the worst is yet to come. Fryer Tuck’s Fish and Chips has a line-up out the door and around the corner, and you are destine for that queueueueue. Select the take-away option and return home to the cheers of hungry companions. Settle into battered cod, thick British chips, and if you’re wise, a cup of the curry sauce for your dipping pleasure. Wash it all down with a pint of some locally brewed ale, call it the day, and roll all the way to bed.
Friday, September 4, 2009
rain, surf, beer, beaches, croquet and pasties
Our stay in the British south has been more grey than shine and more wet than dry. September has begun and we've closed out the summer holiday season here with a stormy bang - great company, way too much fun and delicious 'inputs'.
I relearned very quickly that while body surfing is the donkey to the regular surf, doing it right requires impeccable timing - you've got to launch yourself ahead of the wave at just the right time. I also learned another valuable lesson: do not attempt to teach a spouse about something unless you are a certified expert in it. After remarking to Stephanie that she ought to be careful, stay between the yellow flags and practice patience she stuck a tongue out at me and managed to perform quite well exactly where she was.
Equally important in the 'fun' category is water temperature. If you want to be immediately roused to full alert, the English sea is the place to be. The ocean of south England must surely be set at the lowest possible temperature in which a person can swim in the name of fun – at least there is no chance of a shark attack.
This week when swimming was not on order sitting on the beach was hardly a long-term intermission activity. With the rain dominating the sky we took to strolling along the coastal cliffs, touring stately homes, enjoying a pub lunch and less than friendly games of croquet. When those things weren’t happening we had a steady supply of British newspapers – the Telegraph, Times and Guardian being our selected prints – to plough through. Basically, it’s been all Britain all the time.
We also ate and made merry with the family. Our kind relatives hosted an excellent British-style BBQ for us complete with fireworks towards the beach (and house), we took in a family team-building raft race on the high seas, and marched down to the Cornish Arms pub for a family dinner. So far so good, or jolly. Stephanie and I have been here a week, and have got a week to go. On September 11th we head to London, then in the early AM on the 12th we're off to Cairo. This week I intend to write about the unique foods of Cornwall, but first I gotta try them all, a few more times...
Sunday, August 16, 2009
preparing to depart
Here’s a quick list of some of the things that I felt I needed to do before going away for four months. I’ve done some backpacking before, though admittedly I am no Ian Wright (Globe Trekker host) or Tony and Maureen Wheeler (Lonely Planet creators). With that disclaimer in mind, the follow tips come from a combination of my experiences and advice from friends, family and the World Wide Web:
Here’s a fun bonus tip: banks don’t let you have two bank cards, but if you have a credit and bank card from the same bank, you can often link them, which means you can access your bank card by using your credit card – and therefore make cash withdrawals from your bank account using your credit card. If you can do this you now have two bank cards in case you lose or break your card, or are defeated by a card-eating machine.
3. Budget: I did some research and came up with what I think is a fairly typical to lean backpacker budget PER PERSON PER DAY in the places we’re going. Here is my summary of the costs: $55 in Egypt and Jordan, $35 in India and Nepal, and $30 in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia. These costs will increase and decrease depending on how much moving around we end up doing. With that said, I also took the liberty of toping up the per day suggestions of others to ensure Steph and I had some room for a little extra fun here and there.
4. ID: I got a new passport, so did Steph. Ours weren’t expired, but because of past trips we didn’t have enough space for all the border stamps and visas we were thinking we get this time around. This might not be such an issue for travel inside of the European Union, but other places are much more stamp and visa happy and will fill up our pages far too quickly. I’ve heard that a full passport can cause some serious problems in some places. Also, we got a visa for India. Of all the countries we’re hitting only India and Vietnam require a visa to be obtained in advance; we plan to get our Vietnam visa in Bangkok.
Monday, July 20, 2009
mapping it all out
Welcome to my backpacker blog – check here for words of wisdom and photos from our trip.
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Stephanie and I are taking a time-out, we’re tired. We’ve had a long year so far and want to change things up a bit by taking a four month long weekend to see those places we’ve always dreamed of seeing. Steph wanted to go to India, particularly Varanasi, I wanted to see the Pyramids, and we both wanted to experience beaches on Thai islands and Pho in downtown Ho Chi Minh City. We also both felt that the summer of 2009 would be a great year to join the rest of my family in Cornwall, England for a vacation. With these places marked by pins on a world map we had the skeleton of an itinerary and set about drawing the lines that chart the following course:
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Stephanie and I are taking a time-out, we’re tired. We’ve had a long year so far and want to change things up a bit by taking a four month long weekend to see those places we’ve always dreamed of seeing. Steph wanted to go to India, particularly Varanasi, I wanted to see the Pyramids, and we both wanted to experience beaches on Thai islands and Pho in downtown Ho Chi Minh City. We also both felt that the summer of 2009 would be a great year to join the rest of my family in Cornwall, England for a vacation. With these places marked by pins on a world map we had the skeleton of an itinerary and set about drawing the lines that chart the following course:
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Leave August 26, 2009 Victoria to Edmonton – Edmonton to Cornwall via London – Followed by a flight over the Mediterranean to Cairo and up and down the Nile – A quick jaunt across the Sinai Peninsula to check out Petra, Jordan – Back into Cairo to catch a flight to Mumbai for a month or so executing a “far too ambitious schedule” in India – A dramatic shift in altitude with a week in and around Kathmandu, Nepal – Back down to Delhi to catch a flight to Bangkok for what is likely to be the start of a paradisiacal tour of Thailand – And just then, when it seems too much: complete the dream by following a circular route across Laos, through Vietnam, and into Cambodia – End how it started with a week in Edmonton celebrating the holidays with the in-laws Return January 1, 2009.
Leave August 26, 2009 Victoria to Edmonton – Edmonton to Cornwall via London – Followed by a flight over the Mediterranean to Cairo and up and down the Nile – A quick jaunt across the Sinai Peninsula to check out Petra, Jordan – Back into Cairo to catch a flight to Mumbai for a month or so executing a “far too ambitious schedule” in India – A dramatic shift in altitude with a week in and around Kathmandu, Nepal – Back down to Delhi to catch a flight to Bangkok for what is likely to be the start of a paradisiacal tour of Thailand – And just then, when it seems too much: complete the dream by following a circular route across Laos, through Vietnam, and into Cambodia – End how it started with a week in Edmonton celebrating the holidays with the in-laws Return January 1, 2009.
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I’m going to use this blog space for two things. First, if I have any wisdom about getting from “I want to go travelling so badly” to actually boarding the plane, I’d like to share that. There’s a lot to think about, and I’ve benefited a lot from other people’s help and advice, so I hope it will help others if I re-broadcast the most relevant of that info here. Second, if we take some good pictures or experience any share-worthy events while travelling, I’ll use this space to regurg’ em.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
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