Eastward Bound

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2011-03-23T15:34:00.000+02:00

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Blog moved!

2010-03-05T18:57:00.001+02:00

Please note this blog is no longer updated. New blog can be found here @ http://conors-travels.blogspot.com
B Gud!
C.

Tribal Antics

2009-06-24T17:45:00.001+03:00

Back in the land of moustaches again… that is lowland north India… In Calcutta now thinking about how to cross the Bangladeshi border. The thing is that it’s Friday afternoon and the embassies are closed until Monday. Unfortunately my Indian visa runs out on Sunday, so in theory I’d need to get out of here by then. Could chance it at the Bangla border without a visa but I’ve heard from other Irish people that they got laughed at when they tried that (although in theory the Irish don’t need a visa for tourist purposes – theorizing with border guards don’t always work though!). If that doesn’t work then I could make a beeline for Kathmandu, but I’ve got Bangladesh on the brain now. Maybe I’ll just overstay my Indian visa for a day, sort out my Bangladeshi one on Monday and go then. I’ll be a day late, but the Indian guards shouldn’t go too mad on that… I might just have to grease them up with some baksheesh to keep ‘em sweet! Anyway, it won’t have been the first time I’ve overstayed a visa and been an illegal alien… (USA, Bolivia, Pakistan…)

Anyway, let’s see what happens… In theory I could go anywhere I want, so we’ll see where I end up.

I’ve spent the last few days in a tribal village called Umsavvar in the East Khasi Hills of Megalaya, outside Shillong. It was a brilliant experience. A development worker I met in Shillong, Prince, invited me to accompany him to this village where his work was focused on education. He had a hut there and had been accepted by the villagers, so it was a great opportunity. I sat on the roofrack of a jeep for three hours while we dirt-roaded our way there (sore arse extraordinaire!)

There are three tribes in the State of Megalaya: the Khasi, the Genthia and the Goru. This village is Khasi and I met many of the villagers during the two days I was there. Prince brought me from house to house introducing me as Khana from Ri Pharang or The Foreign Land (as if there was only one). He also acted as an interpreter and would translate so that the villagers could ask questions. They asked about what we ate in my country, about my family and my work, about the weather and about my travels. I asked them about there kids, their work, their festivals and village traditions.

The village was pretty poor, without electricity or phones or anything like that. The land there was rocky and not arable, so people made broomsticks out of brush they found in a nearby gorge. Prince had been visiting the village for ten years and had established a school there and some other education-linked initiatives.

One of the interesting things about the Khasi tribe is that they are matrilineal. This means that the mother’s clan is of primary importance, rather than that of the father as is usually the case. Children inherit their mothers name only, and all property and wealth is passed on to the youngest daughter. The birth of a daughter is celebrated here as a son would be in the rest of India (given that a dowry is necessary for a daughter normally).

On a tangential note, I only found out last week that pre-natal gender determination is illegal in India, since in the past, female foeti have been aborted upon such. Is that mad or what?

Anyway, as I was saying: matrilineal… sounds alright doesn’t it? But it’s a bit weird as well! It’s not that it’s a feminist inclined society, considering power is still wielded by men: The local durbar, or village council, is a men only affair, with women banned. It’s just that the mother’s clan is of prime importance, i.e. The most important man in the family is the mother’s brother, as opposed to the father. This means that the nuclear family, as we know it in Europe, doesn’t really exist here and men are left slightly disenfranchised and tend to disappear off the scene as soon as their child is born.

I also spent the few days horsing this paan into me. They chew it all the time here, paan being to the Subcontinent what the coca leaf is to the Andes. In the northeast, they have a particularly vile concoction, which I have found myself actually getting quite used to: they wrap up a chunk of betel nut in a leaf from the paan tree smeared with a small bit of limestone paste and stick in their gobs. The betel nut and leaf make you salivate like a rabid dog and turn your spit red like blood, the lime gives you a slight high. It’s a bit of disgusting habit though. First of all, all public areas are covered in a layer of red spit that has been gobbed out by a variety of people. Secondly, you sometimes see lovely people only to open their mouths to reveal a stained set of rotting choppers from chewing paan all day.

See below for pictures of my tribal experience.

Dusting off my Salaam Aleikum

2009-06-11T07:43:00.002+03:00

Fuck was I happy to leave Guwahati. I have to admit that I’ve become a bit of a right cocky cunt (if you’ll pardon my French): There I was exclaiming from the rooftops how much of a seasoned traveller and generally fantastic person I was ‘cos the heat in India didn’t bother me… Well, fuck me sideways… I’ve met my match! The heat during the day in Guwahati was like nothing I’ve experienced before. Combined with high levels of humidity, it meant that normal day-to-day life became a struggle of the highest proportions. Respiration during the day was like breathing with your face down in a bowl of scalding hot soup. The sweat would run down your neck in rivers and collect in little reservoirs under your arms and chest. The small of your back (see arsecrack) could have rivaled Niagara or Iguazu in volume. A shower would provide respite only for the amount of time that you were actually under the water. As soon as you step out of it, you’re a sweaty mess again instantly. Sleep at night was possible only under a dozen fans or else an AC unit. I had the former and managed a good night’s sleep.

Vikram, his cousin Nitin, Nitin’s wife Chin Chin and I all hopped in Nitin’s car and made the three hour journey from Guwahati to Shillong. At 1450m, Shillong is a nice respite from the heat of the lowlands. It’s the capital of the Indian state of Megalaya, bordering Bangladesh to the south and Assam to the north, and, due to its rolling hills, more temperate climate and history, is known as Scotland of the East.

For the past two days I’ve been driven around the city; taking in the various attractions and eating like a king. Vikram’s extended family are very hospitable and are really taking care of me. I’m going to stay here until the 21st of June, when my Indian visa runs out and it looks like there’ll be some exiting stuff on the cards. We’re going to a Jazz concert tomorrow evening and I’m going to look into doing some pot-holing in the caves around here and also visiting some waterfalls over the next few days. This evening, I had dinner with Vikrams friends. One of them works on a development project in a Kasai tribal village, Umsabhar, three hours from here and has invited me to come and stay a few days there, so that should be an interesting insight into the more remote rural areas of Megalaya.

So… the big question… what am I doing when my visa runs out? Well, I’ve decided (a while back actually) that there’s no point in continuing overland to South East Asia. First of all, I don’t have the money for it. I’ve already been away for over ten months now, two months over the initial eight months and my bank account will officially be at zero within the next month. Also, I’m ready to settle down again now for a while and am looking forward to working (and being able to live out of a wardrobe and cook my own food). And there’s no point rushing South East Asia: I’d like to give it some time and its due consideration, so look forward to exploring it in the near future.

I’m going to fly home to Ireland in August for a month or so. Then I will fly down to Melbourne to find a job there for a year or two. I already have my work visa, so I just need to find a way of getting some cash, and given the economic situation in Ireland and the fact that I’d look forward to working abroad again for a while, I figure Oz is as good a place as any.

So between now and August, I don’t have too many choices. I need to leave India on the 21st of June (visa runs out), so my choices are Nepal or Bangladesh. In July the monsoon will have hit with full force so it’s not the perfect season for travel in either country: Nepal’s famous treks will all be closed with leeches the main customers on any remaining open; Bangladesh’s deltas are infamous for flooding and its coast will no doubt be hammered by cyclones. However, I have to go somewhere.

Bangladesh is what I’m aiming for. I’ve decided that if I’m gonna witness the monsoon, I might as well do it in style. Also, the ‘road-less-travelled’ naturally draws me there and after the positive experiences of my time in Pakistan (Muslim country) and Calcutta/West Bengal (Bengali places), I figure it could be interesting.

I’ve heard on the grapevine that Irish citizens don’t need a tourist visa for Bangladesh. If this turns out to be true and if I can cross from one of the border crossings around here (there’s a border three hours from Shillong), then that’s where I’m headed. If it turns out to be a porky, that I actually DO need a visa, then I don’t have the time to make it to the consulate in Calcutta and will instead make my way to Nepal.

Either way, I’ll be away for another six to ten weeks and will be finish up my trip by the end of August by the latest (over a year from when I left Ireland for Istanbul).

Will update on Bangladeshi visa situation and plans for Shillong over the next few days.

Ur man in the Northeastern Subcontinent,

C.

Big-tuskers and one-horners

2009-06-09T17:06:00.003+03:00

I’m in Guwahati, the biggest city in the Northeast of India and the capital of the state of Assam. It’s hot and it’s humid. The monsoon is playing with our minds… it hasn’t really started raining yet, but there is the occasional downpour. It’s getting late in the season and the city’s suffering a water shortage. Any day now, the heavens should open and the continuous reliable rains of the monsoon should cool the earth and lessen our infernal anguish, but so far, the clammy heat and pea-soup humidity prevails.

I’ve met up with my friend Vikram, whom I met in Bombay, and he’s been good enough to let me stay with his family here. We’re going to leave tomorrow morning to Shillong in the state of Megalaya, which is only a three hour taxi ride away. I’ve been assured that Shillong is a good deal higher and that the climate there is much more agreeable, which is good because neither Guwahati nor my wardrobe can sustain the fourteen-showers-and-three-shirts-a-day habit I’ve developed in the last 24 hours.

Vikram’s family has been a culinary delight and a welcome break from the samosa diet I’ve been on for the past while. For breakfast this morning we had chickpeas in a light tomatoe sauce, scrambled eggs with peas and onions and the Assamese equivalent to the ubiquitous Puri, which is a type of deep-fried bubble made from refined flour. For lunch we were invited to his uncles house where I gorged myself on multiple helpings of the most wonderfully light Dal (lentils), fish in a mustard and coconut milk sauce, fish cakes with spicy sweet olive chutney, lightly battered ochra, mixed vegetable and potato curry, followed off with a semolina desert with fruit and nuts; and ice cream. To aid our tummies in the monstrous challenge of digestion, we chewed betel nut and cardamom seeds.

The stopover in Jaldapara National Park in the West Bengali Hills was a fantastic experience. In the wild, we got to see rhinos, elephants, deer, ghul (the Indian version of bison), peacock and lots of other birds. We also got a close look at leopards in captivity. One day we were driving through the forest when a huge wild elephant (or a ‘big tusker’ as the guide called it) came out right onto the road behind us. It was magic (even though I nearly shit myself cos it looked like it was gonna charge us). The next morning, we rode out on elephants to look for the endangered Indian one-horned rhino and managed to find two fine specimens.

It was weird, I dunno if it was something unique to these two Rhino specimens, but they appeared to have some kind of issue with projectile defecation and urination. One of them went for a shit and it exploded out its rear end and landed about five feet away. The other one went for a piss and, again, it fountained up into the air nearly soaking an elephant-full of Injun tourists.

So I seem to be more of a novelty out here in the Northeast of the country. When I made my way from Jaldapara to Guwahati yesterday, I passed through the town of Cooch Behar, which is the setting for ‘Memoirs of a Maharani’, a book I read before I came away. I had this romantic notion of the town, which the book describes in detail, in reference to the princely states which existed before, during and (to some extent) after the Raj (British India). Anyway, it’s the arsehole of the universe; and they had clearly never seen a ‘whitey’ before so I caused a bit of a ruckus as I passed through the town. The Injuns have little sense of embarrassment about staring. There doesn’t seem to be the ‘rude’ taboo linked to it like we have at home. Most of the time I don’t mind, and I’m happy to stare back, or else to ignore, or else to smile and head-bobble, but sometimes… if the person looks particularly stupid… I’m liable to stop in my tracks, stare right back at them with my mouth open, tongue dug under my bottom lip and my eyes all googley in an attempt to illustrate to them how fucking ridiculous they look staring at me like a retard. Like any attempt at misguided social conditioning though, it falls flat on its face, with their gaze only turning even more moronic due to the increased peculiarity of engagement.

The staring reached its zenith this morning at the train station. I arrived at 3.30am and had to hang around until half six until my friend collected me. I was sitting outside the station minding my own business when I realised that ants had discovered the biscuits in my bag and had… well, ‘taken it over’ as such. I started dancing around like a lunatic trying to get the little formic fuckers out of my bag. Of course all I ended up achieving was getting myself covered the little bastards and then proceeded to attempt de-ant-ification through a series of jerks and slaps that must have made me look like I was suffering the advanced stages of dementia. Every station in India is besieged 24-7 by an a plethora of a people in one or other stage of transit, be it sleeping in the middle of a stairwell or arguing with rickshaw wallahs. And by the time I had managed to quell the invading armies, I looked up to find about four hundred people – stopped in their tracks - staring at me, smiling from ear to ear. I laughed and they all laughed too, it was actually pretty cool.

See below for pics of Indiana Jones-style jungle exploration in Jaldapara.

I promise the next post will be about what I’m going to do in the future, cos I’m coming to a crossroads pretty soon.

Ur man in Hindustan…

C.

Back to guilty boozing

2009-06-05T15:23:00.004+03:00

Just a quickie... After a final few drinks with my fellow trekkers last night, I left Gangtok this morning at nine o'clock. I got a five hour boneshaker jeep to Siliguri and from there caught a four hour local bus to where I am now.

So where am I now, I hear you ask... Well, I've left the mountains and come back down to the plains. Together with Siobhan, one of my fellow trackers, an Irish girl stuck in a Scottish accent, I've shacked up in a little place called Madarihat, in the West Bengali Hills. It's just outside the Jaldapara Wildlife Reserve, where tomorrow morning, we're due to mount elephants (in the transport sense of the word) to go rhino hunting. Well, OK... that's a bit of a porky. We're going rhino spotting, rather than hunting. (Siobhan would never agree to that, she's a vet and ridiculously animal friendly... although she's been regaling me with stories of how she castrates puppies for a living).

I'm gonna do some rhino spotting and forest trekking tomorrow and then I'll head down to Cooch Behar the next day to get a train to Guhati (in Assam) where I'll meet my friend Vikram from Mumbai and we'll boogey on down to his family's house in Shillong.

It's weird being back in the lowlands. Sikkim was very different from the rest of India. The government is quite well off up there, so it's very clean (plastic bags are forbidden) and the infrastructure is very good. Gangtok itself feels more like a town in the Alps than an Indian town. Also the people are more like the Nepali's or Tibetans (of which there are many) and not really like the Indians that much. There's lots of meat everywhere (even pork and beef) and it's got to be the only state where you don't feel like an absolute evil deviant if you want to have a drink. They have off-licenses galore and really nice bars and clubs where you can have a tipple, nothing at all like the dingy, men-only, dark backrooms of Indian bars, where you feel like you're waiting on a child prostitute instead of a beer. But it is a weird state, it was only incorporated into India in the 70's, before that it was a kinda of Indian protectrate. Click here for more Sikkim info.

Signing off for your correspondent back in the sweatshop of India.

C.

Kachmanjunga and Gochala Pass

2009-06-01T16:29:00.003+03:00

I’m back… I expected to be absolutely fuckarooed, but I’m not actually that bad. I had an absolutely brilliant trek, it was very exiting and adventurous! Considering that it’s the basecamp for the worlds third highest mountain, it’s quite an undeveloped trek and doesn’t compare with (the Nepalese) Everest or Annapurna in that regard. At one point, the weather looked to be disallowing our progress (we caught the arse-end of a cyclone in the Bay of Bengal), but just as we were getting ready to abandon ship and head for the lowlands, it broke and opened up a window for us to make it to the top: Gochela Pass.

Days 1 and 2 were spent hiking up trough the lush Sikkimese forests. They were fairly easy days with no more than three hours trekking each day. I had left Yuksom (the starting point at 1800m) with an Israeli girl and a British guy, as well as a guide, a cook, three porters and three dzo’s (a mixed breed of a yak and a cow).

Day 3 saw us arrive at the Zongri trekking hut, at 4000m, when the worst of the weather set in. We arrived to find a group of two Aussies, two Kiwis, two South Africans and another Irish girl. The driving rain meant that we were unable to leave the trekking hut for a good 36 hours. Luckily for me, this constituted an acclimatization day in my itinerary (or a day of rest), when I hadn’t planned to move anyway. For the others, it meant a day was shorn off the end of their trek.

On the morning of Day 5, we awoke bright and early to find the sun shining and the mountains inviting our ascent. We lost one Kiwi, the Israeli girl and the British guy (who had only planned to come as far as Zongri anyway) and the remaining seven of us started up the mountain to the Thangsing trekking hut, set in beautiful meadows at the bottom of an awesome glacial valley. We went to bed early to prepare for our ascent to the Gochela pass the next morning. This is the valley we stayed in in Thangsing.

After a 1.30am breakfast of porridge, we started up the valley under the cover of a starlit night. By 5.00am it was bright and we had reached the first viewpoint, a mountaintop overlooking a glacial moraine stretching up to the Gochala pass. It was cold… really fucking cold! We could see that there was snow on the pass and its access ridges (the rain we experienced lower down had been snow up here). Many of us weren’t really kitted out for snow and were already pretty cold, so only one of the Kiwi guys, the other Irish girl and myself continued (yes, the Irish are hardy fuckers…!).

After a near-vertical descent, we traipsed across a dry lake bounded by Mt. Pandim to the east and huge glacial ridge to the west. After the lake, we reached the snowline, but the snow was still cold and concrete-like so at first it was easy to walk on. We moved up the access ridge, but the trail was super narrow and wasn’t one that was meant for snow and we quickly found ourselves moving across the face of a very high steep ridge standing on extraordinarily icy snow (needless to say, we didn’t have crampons or any of the kit one might have appreciated in such a scenario). I was roaring at the guide that “this just isn’t fucking safe, you fucking gobshite”. One slip and… well, who likes to think about that. The trail was traversing the ridge, rising slowly towards the top, but at one point it became so steep that we decided to ‘go vertical’ and make a break for the top of the ridge. Using sticks and our boots we hacked footholds into the snow and climbed the ridge like a ladder.

When we got to the top of the ridge, I was fucking ecstatic that we hadn’t died and was… ahem… “marginally flipping out” at the guide that he had brought us that way. (He later admitted he had never reached the pass in snow). We decided to come back down from the pass by a different route, but first we had to make our way along the top of the ridge to the pass.

This was not as easy as it sounds. As described the ridge was about 300m high, and had steep slopes of icy snow. As we walked along it, every now and then, there would be a fucking ginormous boulder in our way. Some of these we could climb over, but others we had to walk around, meaning we had to go onto the sleek, icy face of the ridge, either to the east or the west and somehow manipulate ourselves around a boulder. We had about four or five dodgy boulders to circumvent, but with teamwork and resolve, we did a good job and arrived at the pass at about 8.00am, six hours after having left camp and just as the sun was coming over the mountaintops.

In fairness, the view we were rewarded with was nothing less than spectacular. Although the view of Kangchenjunga, the worlds third highest mountain, was somewhat underwhelming due to its distance (20km to the north), it formed a nice backdrop to things. And the view back on the valley, its glacial ridge dividing a lower dry lake/desert from a higher (startlingly blue) lake and the surrounding 6-7000m peaks was absolutely gobsmackingly beautiful.

OK, this entry is way too fucking long, so basically over days 7 to 9, I came back down the mountain again and am now in Gangtok, the capital of the Indian state of Sikkim.

See below for pics…

Peace out,

Ur man in the mountains…

Goin' off the air... temporarily!

2009-05-21T12:46:00.009+03:00

I've recovered now from my bout of negativity. I still don't think Darjeeling is so great, but it's surrounding landscape is quite nice and I'm feeling slightly better about it. We went rafting yesterday, which, although not quite as mental as previous rafting experience in Colombia (you can read about that here), was quite cool the same. I've thrown in some random pics of Darjeeling and rafting below.

Tomorrow, I'm starting out on a ten-day trek to the base camp of Kangchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world. It's supposed to be quite challenging and I haven't ever done a trek of ten days, so I'm slightly nervous about it. Also, it's the first time that I'll be trekking at sustained altitudes, with this trek bringing me up to the 5000m mark. See below for the itinerary.

So I'm out of radio contact for the next ten days but will hopefully have something mildly interesting to say upon my return on the 2nd of June.

B gud people and I'll be smellin' ya later (although after ten days without showers, it may be that you'll be smellin' me)

C.

GOECHALA TREKKING
(KANCHENDZONGA BASE - THIRD HIGHEST MOUNTAIN IN THE WORLD)

DAY 01
YUKSOM TO SACHEN. (1785M/5400FT) (8 KM, 5 TO 6 HRS.)
IT IS A GRADUALCLIMB. STAY AT SACHEN FOR THE NIGHT.

DAY 02
SACHEN TO TSHOKA. (3000M/9840FT) (9 KM, 6 HRS.)
THIS WILL BE A STEEP CLIMB .WE WILL SPEND OUR NIGHT AT TSHOKA, SURROUNDED BY SHEPHERD HUTS.

DAY 03
TSHOKA TO DZONGRI (4030M/13218 FT) (10 KMS, 5 TO 6 HRS.)
ON THIS DAY THE TRAIL PASSES THROUGH THE VILLAGE OF TSHOKA AND CONTINUES TO CLIMB NORTH THROUGH THE FOREST OF RHODEDENDRON TO THE ALP OF PHEDANG (3650 M) TAKING AROUND 03 HRS TO COMPLETE THE ASENT. CONTINUE FURTHER TOWARDS DZONGRI. ON ARRIVAL SET CAMP SIDE FOR OVER NIGHT STAY.

DAY 04
DZONGRI
THIS DAY IS FOR REST AND ACCLIMATISATION. ON THIS DAY ONE CAN SAVOUR VIEWS OF THE MOUNTAIN PEAKS BY CLIMBING UP TO DZONGRI TOP WITH A PANOROMIC VIEW OF KABRO (7353M), RATHONG (6678M), MT. KANCHEN DZONGA (8848M), KOKTHANG (6147M), PANDIM (6691M) AND NORSING (5825M) TOWARDS THE WEST. THE SINGHILILA RIDGE WHICH SEPARETES SIKKIM FROM NEPAL CAN ALSO BE SEEN. OVERNIGHT IN TENT.

DAY 05
DZONGRI TO THANGSING (3800M/12464FT) (7 KMS, 4 TO 5 HRS)
THE TRAIL FROM DZONGRI CONTINUES EAST ALONG THE RIGHT BACK OF THE RIVER. AFTER CRESTING THE HILL, THE PATH DROPS INTO THE VALLY AND THEN CROSSES A BRIDGE OVER THE PREKCHU RIVER. AN HOURS CLIMB BRINGS YOU FROM THE BRIDGE TO THANGSING (3800M), LOCATED ON THE SLOPES OF MT PANDIM. OVER NIGHT IN TENT/HUT.

DAY 06
THANGSING TO SUMITE LAKE/ LAMUNE (4500M/14760 FT) (7KMS 3 TO 4 HRS)
THIS IS A HIGH ALTITUDE MODERATE WALK. THE TRAIL FROM THANGSING CLIMBS GENTLY NORTH AND FOLLOWS A STREAM AND ALPINE MEADOWS. ABOUT AN HOUR ABOVE THANGSING WE REACH ONGLATHANG, WITH A SUPERB VIEW OF THE SOUTH FACE OF MT. KANCHENDZONGA. IN ORDER TO CAPTURE CLEAR VIEWS ONE HAS TO REACH ONGLATHANG EARLY. THE TRAIL THEN SKIRTS THROUGH A SERIES OF GLACIAL MORAINES BEFORE CROSSING OVER MEADOWS AGAIN, AND ARRIVES AT THE EMERALD LAKE AT SUMITE. OVERNIGHT IN TENT.

DAY 07
SUMITE LAKE TO GOCHALA (5000M-16406FIT)
THE CLIMB TO GOCHALA BEGINS FOR ABOUT HALF AN HOUR WITH A GENTLE GRADIENT EASTWARDS. THEN A STEEP ASCENT STARTS; THE TRAIL FOLLOWS THE GLACIAL MORAINE NORTH-EAST AND THEN DROPS TO A DRY LAKE AT ZEMATHANG. A TOUGH SCRAMBLE OVER ROCKS AND BOULDERS RISING 400 METRES WILL BRING US TO THE TOP OF THE GOCHALA PASS. THE PASS IS FORMED BY A DEPRESSION BETWEEN THE SPURS OF MT PANDIM AND MT KABRU. IT OVERLOOKS THE TALUNG VALLEY AND COMMANDS A VERY IMPRESSIVE VIEW OF THE SOUTH FACE OF MT KANCHENDZONGA. IN THE AFTERNOON WE RETURN TO THANGSING VIA SUMETI LAKE. OVERNIGHT IN TENTS/HUTS AT THANGSING.

DAY 08
THANGSING TO LAMPHOKRI (4200M/13800FT) (7KMS, 6 TO 7 HRS)
THANGSING TO LAMPHOKRI EXCURSION TO SEE THE HIGH ALTITUDE HOLI LAKE. RETURN TO THANGSING AND OVERNIGHT IN TENTS/HUTS.

DAY 09 THANGSING TO TSHOKA VIA PHEDANG (11KMS, 7 TO 8 HRS)
OVERNIGHT AT TSHOKA IN TENTS.

DAY 10 TSHOKA TO YUKSOM (17 KMS, 7 TO 8 HRS)
RETRACE STEPS TOWORDS YUKSOM ON THE FINAL DAY OF THE TREK.THE GOING IS EASIER AS THE PATH IS MAINLY DOWNHILL. ARRIVE BACK IN YUKSOM

View Goecha La Trek in a larger map

Photos of Darjeeling

Limited Darjeeling

2009-05-19T09:51:00.002+03:00

Some of you may be surprised to learn that Darjeeling, despite the tea-sipping, colonial-balcony-dwelling romantic imagery it ushers to mind, is in actual fact, a bit of a shithole!

As a town, it suffers from colossal over-development, its windy roads dominated by honking jeeps stuck in eternal jams. Since I’ve arrived here, it’s more or less pissed rain non-stop, yet the town suffers a shortage of water the likes of which I’ve never witnessed before. This water shortage manifests itself (perhaps not surprisingly) in an absolute lack of water. All toilets are closed, with taps in my own bathroom not working for nine out of ten attempts; laundry prices are extortionate and the smell of undiluted effluent invades your olfactory senses.

As I mentioned, my time here has been marred by bad weather. Not only has it been wet, but it’s been quite cold as well (the town is at an altitude of 2100m). Coming from the heat of the lowlands, this has been quite a shock to the system, and I’ve had to invest in winter wollies and wear shoes and socks for the first time in a while. The mountains have been covered in mist, meaning that the only peaks visible are those of the mountains of rubbish which line the pathways.

I suppose I’m not in the best of humour either, and perhaps this is tainting my experience here. It’s now a certainty that any exposure to air conditioning leaves me with a cold. My most recent case of the snuffles was contracted on the 3AC train trip from Varanasi, and now I’m leaving a trail of snot behind me wherever I go and generally feeling like shit.

Also, I appear to have arrived here at some kind of peak tourist season. On the first night of my arrival, I had to spend an hour and a half traipsing around the town looking for a hotel with an empty room. This is unheard of during my travels so far, with any traipsing just being a question of finding a nice room at the right price. But here, I’ve had to settle for what must be the shittest room in the history of the hospitality industry. And what’s more, I’m paying through the (runny) nose for the privilege of ‘a view’, although you can’t see your hand in front of your face most of the time. There are marauding hordes of Indian tourists; families with the loudest, most obnoxious little shits as children. How I haven’t thrown one of the little bastards off the side of the mountain yet, I don’t know. It must be a sign of my deep rooted altruism.

This irritability extends also to bureaucracy and a phenomenon I have elegantly termed “fucking retarded Indian gobshite syndrome”. I swear to God, how I haven’t murdered someone here is beyond me. Myself and a friend took this toy train thingy the other day (a kind of silly little tourist steam driven thingy) to see a town a bit down the road. We had shelled out for first class tickets for the hour long journey, for shits and giggles. When we went to the (toy-) train station, which has a grand total of one departure per day, it took us about an hour to find the train, carriage and seats we had booked. We must have asked all 100 people who worked in the station, from station manager to ticket clerk to luggage carrier and got 100 different responses. I had to give my friend the ticket and charge him with solving the problem as I was going to explode.

This one clerk guy we showed our ticket to, just generally pointed into the ether with his finger… I fucking snapped and in the middle of the railway station I started jumping around pointing everywhere with my eyes crossed and my tongue hanging out, trying to communicate to him that I considered his intellect on a par with that of the iron girding lining the tracks.

My only solace in this time of snuffly-nose induced misery is that I’m really enjoying Rushdie’s Midnight Children. The protagonist also has a perma-cold, so at least I can identify.

I got my permit for Sikkim today. On a positive note, it only took an hour and was a surprisingly easy bureaucratic hurdle. Sikkim is a small Indian state sandwiched between Nepal and Bhutan so I’m gonna head up there in the next day or two when I start feeling better. Maybe Darjeeling will unveil some hidden beauty in the meantime, lets wait and see.

Signing off for your correspondent with a big red nose…

The smell of charred human flesh

2009-05-16T08:55:00.001+03:00

Would you be very surprised if I told you I was on a train… The Mahananda Express picked me up in Mughal Sarai, just outside Varanasi, last night at midnight. It had come from Delhi and was packed with people. I had to eject someone from my upper berth before I could claim it, but that’s fairly standard practice. The family in my compartment appear to be moving all their earthly belongings with them, so there’s no room for me anywhere except in my upper berth haven.

The trip to Mughal Sarai from Varanasi was knicker-gripping. I got a very enthusiastic auto-wallah who immediately gave me a fair price, despite all his colleagues being upset with him for not ripping off the gora. He proceeded to make the 1 hour journey in about 35 minutes, driving at breakneck speed, although he was a good driver. We crashed thrice (the Injuns still use that term); once into a cycle-rickshaw, once into a cyclist, once into an old man. Although my driver was at fault each time, he insisted on further molesting the victims with a torrent of abuse… the cyclist was even honoured with the term behenchod, the only Hindi swearword that I’ve learned to recognize: sisterfucker!

I arrived back in Delhi from Kashmir to a wedding that my friend Vikram had invited me too. It was a pretty opulent affair. Being part of the groom’s side of things, we had to dance in front of his white horse for about three hours, the objective being to slow down his nuptials as he made his way towards his bride. Eventually the horse reached the bridal party and after some mock-arguments as to whether the groom was to be permitted entrance and as to whether his dowry had been sufficient, he finally made his way into a decorated army mess (his dad was a Major) where he sat on a throne-for-two awaiting his beloved (it was not an arranged marriage, it was a love marriage… ain’t that just purty!). Eventually the bride was led in with her family holding a silk sheet over her head. She was presented to her husband and took her seat beside him. Photos ensued, with every permutation and combination of relatives besieging the happy couple. The bride looked like she was going to faint. After that, the couple moved outside where the religious rites were read by an aging saddhu under a silk canopy. We left before this as the whole thing went on for… pardon my French… fuckin’ ages. Excellent food was served in a beautifully lit and immaculately decorated garden patio during all this, and the six-hundred odd guests knocked back juices and multicoloured drinks by the gallon. It was a great night, but I was banjaxed by the time I hit the hay.

After that I had a good few days in Delhi. I met up with some friends and ate like a king. Between Indian fast food in Neruli’s on CP, fish in Blanco’s at Khan Market, Mughal style legs of lamb at Karim’s in Old Delhi or mango milkshakes in Gianni’s, I generally spent the week stuffing my face.

Then I overnighttrained it to Varanasi, one of the oldest permanently populated cities in the world, and sacred pilgrimage place for Hindus and Buddhists alike. I’m happy to inform you that I’m now clean, not clean in the sanitary sense (I’m far from that after twelve hours of train), but clean in the spiritual sense rather. Varanasi is on the Ganges river (Ganga) and a quick dip is supposed to clean your soul and absolve your sin. When I say it was a quick dip though, I mean it was lightning. The river is fairly manky. When you walk along the ghats at the river, some of them are for swimming in and some are burning ghats, where bodies are burned in Hindu funeral rites. So if you’re unlucky, you can have a half charred human foot or hand float past you while you’re bathing. I didn’t give it the time for that. See below for some pics of Delhi and Varanasi.

The Mahananda Express is running four hours late. It’s supposed to be arriving into New Jalpaiguri now (1pm), but it’s gonna be more like 5pm. Then I’ll jump onto the ‘toy train’ which will bring me up to Darjeeling, ex-hillstation of the Brit’s and tea plantation zone. The weather in Darjeeling should be nice, compared with the heat of Delhi or Varanasi. Everyone warned me that the heat would be unbearable and although it has been hot, with temperatures wavering around the 40 degree mark, it’s been fair from unbearable. You wouldn’t want to be running a marathon in a plastic bag in the midday sun, but then again, you wouldn’t want to be doing that anyway. You find yourself unconsciously jumping sunny hurdles between shadowed straights during the day. At night, you can sleep well as long as you have a decent fan above you (one that isn’t too loud; first thing to check in a new room!).

In other news, I’ve gotten fed up of being told what to do and what not to do by random Injuns with or without a uniform. There’s mad security everywhere here, in cinemas, train stations, shopping malls and just about anywhere where wealthy Indians could possibly congregate. Every shop has its own private army and there are security ‘systems’ in place everywhere. I emphasise systems, because none of them actually work. You’ll have fifteen armed guards and four metal detectors supervising and controlling the entrance to the train station, frisking people, going through bags etc. and then ten feet away someone will have left another door open through which people will be filing into the station unperturbed. Every corner you turn, there’s some little wallah with a private security uniform on telling you that you can’t walk here (even though the entire population of India could be walking in front of you). If you sit down in a train station, you can be assured someone with stripes on their arm will ask you to move. So I’ve given up, I’ve now added security men to the growing list of people I ignore in India (beggars, touts, policemen, salesmen, religious people etc.). Not surprisingly, nothing has actually changed. If I just ignore them, then they (like everyone else) will eventually go away and leave me alone… hihihi. Oh, the irony… as I write this a man approached attempting with body language to lay claim to my seat. I showed him my ticket (not letting him touch it, just see it) and now I’m happily ignoring him while he’s rattling on about something.

It sounds like I’m a bastard, but honestly, I’m not! You’ve got to stand up for yourself here, or you’ll be walked all over. Even in terms of safeguarding your private space and sanity of mind, you have to assert yourself. If you engaged with everyone who tried to engage you in conversation, you’d actually never move off the spot.

Ur man on his way to the mountains again…

Oh those beautiful boys...

2009-05-09T10:52:00.003+03:00

Back in Delhi. Met up with Signe and Pelle (Danish louts) and their friends... Had a few beers last night and listened to CocoRosie... nice songs, particularly this one:

Kashmir pics

2009-05-04T16:35:00.001+03:00

I’m back from my three days trekking in the Kashmir valley, back snug as a bug on my little houseboat. This time there’s no music, there’s only the baying of the minarets calling the faithful to prayer.

The three days was good fun. Unfortunately the weather didn’t really play along and it lashed down for days two and three, leaving me only the afternoon of day one for actual trekking. (Your correspondent doesn’t like getting wet). But our tent was sturdy and comfy. It kept us dry despite the driving rain and we had a little harem-type set up inside, with loads of cushions and blankets. There were three of us. Babloo, son of the houseboat owner, playboy of the Eastern World and general money-spinner, was the brains behind the operation. He was the guy I met in Delhi, who insisted I put his number in my phone just in case I made it up to Kashmir. His friend, the aptly named Omelette, also accompanied us as general handyman. I say aptly-named, as the quantity of charas he smokes seemed to mix him up a little. His eyes looked like someone coated them with varnish and his speech was a concoction of random interjections. Nice enough guy though, when he could scrape together cohesion.

The scenery was pretty awesome though. I was expecting to see similar sights to the Karakoram Highway, which isn’t too far away on the other side of the line of control. (BTW, while I’m writing this I have Babloo’s uncle chatting away to me… he speaks excellent English but he’s as barmy as the bathroom door and makes absolute zero sense. The family try to shoo him away from me, but he’s a happy man and I’ve taken to reciprocating his nonsense with some of my own and generally giggling with him… ok, back to the scenery). But it was quite different here. First of all, we were able to drive quite high (dunno how high) and our lift dropped us off only twenty minutes away from our campsite. You have rolling hilltops in the shadow of larger, jagged, snowcapped mountains. This time of year, the snow is melting and the valleys below (one of which we were camped in) have roaring rivers, fed by innumerable streams and cascades coming down from the glaciers and peaks. Fir trees line the valleys sides, soaring up to the tree line beyond which are high-level grassy fields awaiting their release from a snowy burden.

The first evening was spent chowing down on some good chicken and aloo gobi, followed by several bottles of whiskey in preparation for the next days walk. Some of Babloo’s friends were camped beside us with another tourist, a French guy, and we all sat around the fire chatting and singing. A supposed bear sighting freaked the shit out of the Kashmiri guys and they were too scared to go back to their own (fireless) camp. Only upon my discovery of a stray dog while pissing could they be coerced into departure.

The second day was spent sitting in the (admittedly very comfortable and warm) tent, while the heavens opened outside. I read the first few chapters of Midnights Children, a book by the Kashmiri-born Salmon Rushdie set (by absolute chance timing) in around Dal Lake where I am staying. The guys caught a few trout which we chomped down for dinner, along with some mutton and leftovers from the day before.

Having not been economic with the previous nights fuel supplies, we were left high and dry and eventually fell asleep without the aid of booze. When I woke up this morning, it was still raining so we decided to use a short break in the downpour to pack up camp and head home, back to H.B. Raja’s Palace, my current aquatic abode.

I’ve become accustomed here to introducing myself to people as Khana, which is the Kashmiri word for food. It helps people easily memorise how to imitate an anglosized word and it’s close enough to my actual name to keep me in my comfort zone. (Considering ‘Conard’ in French means asshole, it ain’t too bad!).

The family I’m staying with here are “luvly” altogether. Babloo’s sister’s name is Frieda and chats away to her hearts content. His brother, Tariq, has the biggest smile this side of the Indus and is without doubt the Kashmiri equivalent of Mrs. Doyle; he plies with me more tea than my kidneys can handle.

Oh dear Jesus Christ… you’ll have to excuse me! I simply can’t believe that I’ve written this long a post without mentioning the military here. From what I can gather, every ten metres squared has it’s own army-man, and I mean not only in the city, but in the country as well. I think I saw twelve men today guarding a hayfield no bigger than my back garden at home…(although not quite as beautiful ;-). Eh, OK, so it’s not quite that bad, that was a liberal sprinkling of hyperbola… but there are a lot of guns being pointed around up here!

Kashmir was a princely state under the British Raj. It enjoyed special privileges which other Indian states didn’t at the time. From what I gather, the royalty of Kashmir kept full control of land, but paid tithes to the British for that achievement. Anyway, somewhere along the line (click here for details of that line), Kashmir somehow found itself in a strategically quite important geographic position when it came to Partition, and drawing a line between an India and a Pakistan ‘to-be’. Both sides grabbed for it and haven’t let go since. (Actually, China jumped in on the show as well according to certain stories). The border between Pakistan administered Kashmir and India administered Kashmir, the infamous Line of Control, must be one of the worlds most disputed boundaries (although I admit, now I’m just musing… maybe I should click on that link myself ;-). Anyhow, long-story short, when I see a man standing in a field beside a road, up to his ankles in rice paddies, with a gun slung over his shoulder, looking immensely bored, then I think that surely this cannot be productive use of a mans time. I wonder to myself about the families who have been honored because their sons have to gone to the military… and stood in fields getting sunburned!

Right, that’s enough now… I’m getting sleepy and I have to get up at 4am (weather permitting) to go to a floating vegetable market (or some such malarkey). I booked a flight (yes… that’s right, you heard me correct… I booked a flight) from Srinagar to Delhi for Wednesday. I know that its cheating on the whole overland thing, but then again, so was flying home for Christmas so let’s not kid ourselves on this one. I’m invited to a wedding in Delhi, but I want to ensure that I spend maximum time in Kashmir (and minimum time on a crappy bus), so on Wednesday, I’m arriving in at 1pm and the wedding starts at 8pm.

I really honestly believe that when you go to bed tonight, you will have the sweetest dreams and wake up in the morning feeling better than you ever have. I wish this for you… and all the happiness that life can bring.

-The Kashmiri Way

Ur Correspondent on the Subcontinent (UCotS)

C

Post-Ed: Back in Delhi now... please marvel at Kashmir pics below ;-)

Floating on a cloud

2009-05-01T19:35:00.003+03:00

I wish I could transfer to you some kind of appreciation of how beautiful it is here. I’m in a place called Srinagar, it’s the capital city of Indian Kashmir. I’m sitting on the back terrace of a houseboat called “Raja’s Palace”. Behind me, the terrace is decorated with carved walnut wood and the curtains are blowing gently in a light afternoon breeze that kisses your skin. To my fore, I have the vista of Dal Lake and its houseboats, with the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas stretching out into the distance beyond that. I’m listening to George Benson and sipping on cardamom and ginger tea. In an attempt to overcome the limits of sensory transmission, a small pic has been included below, but believe me, it just don’t do it justice.

Getting here however, was not quite as tranquil an experience: From Dharmshala, I jumped on an eight hour local bus to Jammu on Wednesday morning. Jammu was hot and unpleasant. My usual knack of good timing had my departure for Kashmir coincide with elections here, and for those of you who know a little about Kashmir, you’ll recognize that election time here is not considered a time of guaranteed stability. There was a curfew in place in the Kashmir valley, so all buses had stopped running from Jammu. Luckily I managed to squeeze into a jeep with eight other people, all heading for Srinagar, and they told me it would take 12 hours. The local shepherds however, had other plans for me.

The shepherd community sought to take advantage of the election and the curfew, and in the assumption that not many people would be traveling into the valley on that count, they had decided that they would use that night to monopolise the infrastructure to move all their livestock to higher ground. When I say all their livestock, I mean at least two or three hundred herds of cattle, goats, sheep and horses. The 3km long tunnel, which links the valley with the rest of Kashmir, was therefore closed to traffic with this mass migration of animals making an assortment of general farm noises (the pig, being a notable exception).

Having left Jammu at 8pm, we arrived at the tail-end of the tunnel at 3am the next morning. The tunnel was packed with fluffy sheep and other such livestock though, so we had to sleep in the jeep until 11am the next day. I eventually arrived into Srinagar at 3pm that afternoon, a good thirty hours after I had left Dharmshala, and absolutely fookin’ knackerooed.

But it was all worth it, this had got to one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. It would be unbelievably romantic place but unfortunately, I’m here on my tod. However, I do I know the owners nephew from Delhi, and he’s taking me around, showing me the sights with his friends, so all is good. I’m taking it easy today, but have arranged to go trekking with him tomorrow for three days. Having been in Pakistani Kashmir six months ago, I know that I won’t be disappointed by the mountains here.

The Kashmiri’s have a bad reputation in India. They’re Muslim and separatist, neither quality endearing them to the general Indian public. The Kashmiri region acts as a stage for ever-deteriorating Indo-Pakistani relations. The people here have a reputation for doing ‘business’ and not always in a fair manner. However, I’ve been lucky here so far. I’ve fallen into the bosom of a local family in whose house boat I live. They live just behind me and all speak good English. I’m hanging around with the guys in the family; I lent the daughter some face moisturizer for her sunburn and had dinner with the father last night, where we came pretty close to finding the meaning of life. It’s very pleasant altogether.

Also, the people in Kashmir are beautiful… I mean, really, really beautiful… both the guys and the girls. They are fair (in a dark way ;-), with brown or black hair and they all have fantastic faces with deep blue eyes. The guys have high cheekbones combined with quasi middle-eastern features and the girls have an elegant rotundity to their faces. I guess it’s something about where they’re located. In the northwest of the subcontinent, the gene pool has North Asian, Middle Eastern and Eastern European elements to it.

I’m listening to John Coltrane now. I have to get off this jazz buzz, it doesn’t make for very amusing writing. I promise I’ll listen to Abba next time.

Signing off for your correspondent on the Indian side of the LOC (line of control – the de facto, albeit disputed, border between Pakistani and Indian Kashmir)

Dharmshala pics

2009-04-28T14:32:00.001+03:00

Sorry, I've been bad with posts over the past week or two. Will make up for it soon. I'm leaving McLeod Ganj / Dharmshala tomorrow to go to Srinigar, the capital of Kashmir. Here are some pics from the last two weeks in Dharmshala in the meantime.

C.

CP and the DL

2009-04-20T11:54:00.004+03:00

OK so, the actual truth of the matter is that I don't care what any of you think about anything. The poll on the right is now closed and I'm not going to be taking it into account when I decide what to do. That's how much I value your opinions.

I'm in a place called McLeod Ganj, in the Dharmasala area of Himalchal Pradesh. This is where the Dalai Lama lives in exile from Tibet. Fortunately he's not here at the moment, he's off giggling his way around California giving lectures and being peaceful. I say fortunately because apparantly the place becomes a hell-hole of DL spotters when he is here, so it's all quiet and peaceful now. Click here for info on the Tibetan Government in Exile.

I've been taking it easy for the past few days here, hiking around in the forests and mountains and doing some yoga and other peaceful shit. It's a lovely little place altogether. Last night I had three beers and was flat on my ear, and today I feel like an elephant is waltzing in my head.

Here are some pics from the rest of my tour around Rajesthan. As I mentioned, my camera kicked the bucket, so I have almost no photos of my ten days in Delhi. However, I've bought myself a new super dooper, snazzy little Panasonic with a 10x optical zoom. It's cool cos i don't like sticking my camera in people's faces (hence the lack of people pics), so now I can hide behind trees and subtly click away MI5-style. If you behave yourselves, I might put up some of my photos from Dharmashala over the next few days, but only if you're good!

Signing off from amongst the Tibetan exiles,

His holiness, the 1st (and only) CP

Flying mangos

2009-04-14T19:03:00.004+03:00

See the post before this one to understand what to vote on in the poll to the right >>>

I've booked myself onto a train tomorrow to Chandigar, in the north of the state of Punjab. From there I'll start a three week tour of the North West: Chandigar - Shimla - Jammu - Srinigar - Leh - Manali - Dharmasala and back to Delhi for a wedding which I've been invited to on the 6th of May.

I'm looking forward to getting out of the city and up to the mountains again. I'm gonna do a lot more walking and a lot less eating so that I can get back to my usual ripped physique.

Delhi was nice, but I stayed in the gora ("whitey") epicentre of Paharganj. Not that that's so bad, and actually it was a particularly nice part of Delhi, with lots of street life and action. It is crazy walking down the street here though. You get assaulted from all sides by people trying to sell you anything (and I mean any piece of shit is sellable here): "Ekskuse mee sirrrr, yuwanna mangooo" or else they shout SirSirSirSirSir, until you look and then they demonstrate their wares quickly, be it firing up a little helicopter into the sky or having some kind of flashy, clicky, gimmicky piece of Taiwanese crap that they animate... so then your options are to ignore them or to engage with them. I fuckin' ignore almost everyone... Every now and then I drill out a "Nai chahir baia" (no thanks dude) and stroll on.

Delhi is quite a nice city actually. I know this sounds weird, cos we all have our preconceptions of a place like this, but it's actually quite clean and green, especially South Delhi, the newer part of the city. Aptly named New Delhi, it was the part of the city founded by the Brits when the capital of India was moved from Calcutta to Delhi back in the early days of the Raj. And the old city has its charms as well. I was hanging out with some Danes last week and we went to the Jamme Mashid mosque to hear the evening call to prayer bay out over the roofs of the old city.

Now can we all bow our heads please and observe a minutes silence. My camera.... has died! Boo-hoo-hoo, waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh... This camera was so brilliant. It was red (not pink, red!) and jumped through hoops for me. It's beeen buried in snow in the patagonian winter, has survived a dunking in the caribbean and the sand of the Thar desert. I bought my Casio Exilim before I went to South America over four years ago, and I said to myself at the time that I would be happy if it survived five months of that trip. It outdid itself, surviving my whole South America tour, and the intervening years, with only two cheap repairs. The only consolotion that can come from such a tragic event, is that it owed me absolutely nothing! Unfortunately, I now have to scrape some hard currency together now from my flea infested travel budget to purchase a replacement. (On that note, if anyone has any suggestions as to camera makes and models, then comment here).

So my next update should see me hangin' off the side of Mount Everest or sumfin' like that... wish me luck.

Ur man headin' for da hills...

Ye ol' plan of attack

2009-04-13T09:32:00.005+03:00

For once, I've got a cash injection from the Irish government... Seen as I worked for six months of 2008 and my tax deductions were based on working for 12 months, I'm due a fairly substantial chunk of taxback, which has now been confirmed to me... Yee-frickin'-haw!

The following is definite: I'm going to stay in India until June 22nd when my Indian Visa runs out. On that day I'll cross into Nepal, where I'll stay for at least a month.

After that, i.e. towards the end of July or exactly 12 months from when I left Ireland, I have two options. I'm going to outline them here, with their advantages and disadvantages... if I put them down in writing, then it'll help my decision making.

Both options end up with me in Melbourne, Australia, trying to find a job.

Option no. 1

Cross into Tibet, carrying on into mainland China and across into Vietnam, then travelling through South East Asia, the Malaysian peninsula and Indonesia, before hopping on a boat to Oz.

It should be noted that this may not be possible. Many people are saying that China has currently disallowed travel from the Tibetan Autonomous Region to Mainland China for foreigners. If I wanted to do this, I'd have to try my luck when I get to Nepal/Tibet, it wouldn't be guaranteed.

Pro's:

This was the original plan, the achievement of overlanding to Istanbul to Oz,
The adventure of travelling through China,

Con's:

Would need to be done at speed (2-3 months max from Tibet to Oz),
Could leave me in small amount of debt,
May not be possible,
Do I want to travel more now?

Option no. 2

Fly from Nepal (or India) straight down to Oz.

Pro's:

I'd arrive in Oz with some cash in my back pocket instead of in debt,
Could leave South East Asia for my return journey, maybe evening throwing in Japan and Northern Asia, bringing me back overland to Europe (just an idea)
I kinda wouldn't mind the settled life for a bit!

Con's:

Abandoning of original plan and not overlanding Asia
Will miss South East Asia (again),

So that's the cud I'm chewing for the time being... Even having put it down like that, it seems fairly obvious that I'm particularly partial to one of the options. Feel free to comment with thoughts. I've thrown up a poll as to your choice on the right hand side, just for a laugh and to use the polling function.

L8r, C

Nocturnal Giant

2009-04-08T17:47:00.005+03:00

Last night I had a lot to drink... I met up with my good friend Sudeep, who I had met in Goa, and we went out to a club. I was coming home at about three o'clock this morning. I was well oiled... had a rake of beers and some shots etc. etc. etc. So I'm alone, sauntering down the empty main bazaar in the Paherganj area of Delhi, it's drizzling lightly and there's not a sinner around... I turn a corner and what do I bump into...? ...... An elephant!

And it wasn't like he was being led somewhere or he had a driver, he was just loitering there all on his lonesome, pushing cardboard into his mouth with his trunk. So in my inebriated state, I started chatting away to him and then started inching past him to my hotel. But he seemed to take a liking to me and walked alongside me, and anytime I put out my hand, he'd reciprocate and give me a high-five with his trunk. By the time I got to my hotel, it was just me and him... best of buds!

So then I brought him up to my room and he fell asleep in the bed beside me... he snored like a mofo and in the morning we had bamboo leaves for breakfast!

Alright... so that last bit is a lie, but up until then it was all true. I had to say goodbye to him when we got to the hotel... it was very sad... he stopped and looked at me with his big floppy ears and his little tail flapping around his bum.

So yeah, Elephants are definitely the new favourite animal!

Tajless

2009-04-04T14:57:00.003+03:00

So the Taj Mahal was closed... that's fairly typical. The whole compound was barricaded (as it is every Friday)... Not the best planning.

But we got to see it from the backside... which when I think about it was pretty cool in itself...

Arrived in Delhi last night. Am fucked, but we found a nice, cheap hotel in the Paharganj district and I've been doing a lot of sleeping today.

L8r amigos...

Karma Chameleon

2009-04-04T14:53:00.000+03:00

So I’ve met up with two Danes who I had previously bumped into in Udaipur. They took a different route around Rajesthan to me, but we’ve met back up again in Jaipur. We’ve been walking around the pink city for the past few days and are leaving Jaipur (and Rajesthan) tomorrow morning.

We’ve been musing a lot about what it is that makes India so special and how it really seems to rub people up the wrong way. It’s a bizarre country. People frequently say that India requires submission… that the visitor doesn’t try to work against it, to fight it, or even to understand it, but rather that they submit themselves to it and ‘go with the flow’.

Jaipur, seen from a certain perspective, is an absolute hell-hole… it’s dirty, it’s hot and it’s loud, so loud that you can’t hear yourself think… there are people everywhere… you can’t walk two feet without being bugged to shit by rickshaw wallahs or chai wallahs or sari wallahs or people trying to sell you maps, pens, souvenirs, sight-seeing tours… there’s beggars at every street corners… people with polio with their legs wrapped up around their heads, hideously misshapen extremities, women with crying babies, dirty children who have been told to that perseverance is the key to getting that ‘ten rupees’… Then there are the people who don’t want anything from you, except to say “Hello… how are you… what country… what’s your good name?”… shake your hand and then run off giggling with their friends… which is all very nice, but becomes a bit daunting when it happens every five seconds.

At first experience all this is absolutely overwhelming and I think that it really gets to people. I think that the secret is to let it all bounce off you. Keep your smile, stay happy, make funny faces, laugh and be silly… don’t worry about anyone or anything… go where you want to go… or if you just want to stand and stay, then stand and stay… engage with people if you want, ignore them if you want… don’t worry and be happy!

Now that all sounds very nice and pleasant but it ain’t always that easy: I find myself, at intervals, getting extremely agitated… sometimes to the point where some unlucky little Injun will take the brunt of my wrath when he offers me a rickshaw ride and I break out into hysterics shouting at him in English that “I never fucking asked for a fucking rickshaw ride… I’m just walking down the fucking street and you’re bugging the fucking shit out of me… If you don’t fuck off now, I’m gonna punch you in the face you little scrawny piece of shit ”. Luckily, that doesn’t happen very often anymore. I’ve learned that when I get extremely agitated, I stand up straight, pull back my shoulders, close my eyes, breath in through my nose deep into my lungs, and breathe all my agitation out again… that may not have me singing Kumbaya, but it does take me down a notch or two.

But Jaipur is a lovely city… life happens on the streets here, as in the rest of India, and if you can learn to chill out and brush off the mobs, then you can open your eyes and see the cauldron of humanity that you find yourself in: the women haggling with the fruit seller, the kids chasing each other in and around sauntering cows, old men sitting around nipping chai from small glasses… it’s all good here!

Paradoxically, the mobs seem to recognize this state in people and actually the more relaxed you are, the more they’ll leave you alone and the more you become used to dealing with them.

So when people say that India requires submission, I think it shouldn’t be taken as a need to be subservient, but rather that one should give in to things, to offer oneself up to things, without preconditions… without imposing your version of normality onto things, without projecting your standards onto the world… I think it requires a paradigm shift, an ability to change the focus of the lens through which you look at the world … and to be open to the world.

Tomorrow morning I’m up at half five for a train to Agra… a few snapshots of the Taj Mahal later, and I’ll be jumping on a train to Delhi to arrive there tomorrow evening. Lets see if my relaxed attitude to things can survive Delhi… it’s been known to break a few hardened travelers.

Signing off for ur man in Nirvana…

Sill View Play

2009-03-25T09:35:00.003+02:00

I had a minor altercation with a French lady today. But before I regale you with my amusing anecdote, let me qualify how I feel about French people. You (should) all know that I spent a year in Paris, that I loved every second of it, that I have many French friends, that I love French people, that I frickin’ devour French food and the lifestyle of ‘les 35 heures’ et cetera, et cetera… However, sometimes I think that they have a serious chip on their shoulder, more than a chip… a whole plate of freedom fries with ketchup and a burger! So the result is that I love nothing more than to take the piss out of them, and do so with glee at every occasion. And I feel smug that I can speak French and can take the piss out of them in their own language.

So here goes… and it’s not even important that this lady was French, the sentinel fact is that she was a gobshite, but the fact that she was French makes it all the more enjoyable for me.

You see, I have been reading a book that friend gave me. It’s called Atlas Shrugged and it’s by a lady named Ayn Rand. It’s fiction but it’s got a philosophical undercurrent which promotes her objectivist and capitalist ideas… She’s all for private property, civil liberties, minimal state, dog-eat-dog, market supremacy etc. etc. So having spent all day reading this book, I was in a certain state of mind… let’s just say that I wasn’t gonna look up the nearest hammer-and-sickle outfit and offer them my services.

I was leaving my hotel to get a rickshaw to the bus station for a night bus to Jaipur. Standing outside the hotel, a rickshaw pulls up with the aforementioned French lady. She gets out and pays the driver. I stand there looking at him, letting him know that he has another fare if he wants it. He asks where I’m going and I say the bus station. I ask if he’ll take me there for 20 rupees (the price the hotel receptionist had told me was a fair fare to the bus station). He agrees and indicates for me to hop in at which the following dialogue begins:

Stupid French Women (SFW): (to driver) Excuse mee, butt ow much does eee wont to pay you?

Me: I’ve offered him 20 rupees to bring me to the bus station and he’s agreed.

SFW: But twontee ruupeeeees is verry leetel… you should pay at leest feefty roopees

Me: Ehhh, he’s agreed to take me for 20 and that’s a fair price for a five minute journey.

SFW: Noooo, eet ees not fair… eet ees too leetel

Me: With all due respect madam, this is a transaction between me and him. It is no concern of yours, I’m sorry.

SFW (getting emotional now): Eet ees verry muuuech my con-sern… I know zis man for a long time… forr five yearrrrss.

Me: Madam, if you would like to distort the local market through inflated prices and to degrade the businessmen through forcing charity on them, then please feel free to do so with your own money, but not with mine.

She stared at me with a blank face and walked off tutt-tutting and mumbling under her breath (she was probably saying Sacre Bleu). Anyway, that pissed me off no end… This is the problem with foreigners in India… you get so many frickin’ do-gooders all looking to work in an orphanage or a slum, either that or you get the spiritual types… A bit of either in small portions is alright, but people go way off the scales here!

I knew that that women was gonna be trouble. I had seen her come into the breakfast room that morning on her own. I looked up from my book, smiled and said: Good morning… She gave me a stupid grin of superiority and said Bonjour in a way that meant: Fuck off, you’re not French! The frenchies always do that: they always say Bonjour. You never hear the Krauts saying Guten Tag, or the Spics saying Buenos Dias, or the Ruskis saying Dobre Dien, or even the Japs saying Konichiwa… but the frickin’ froggies will always say BONJOUR, as if it’s some kind of frickin’ stamp of honour branded into their forehead: I – AM – FRRRRRRENCH… I – SPEAK – FRRRRRRRRENCCCCCCCCCHHHHHH… You expect them to crack out a beret and out into a rendition of the Marsaillaise

Anyway, that’s enough French bashing for today… although it was good fun! No hard feelings to any French people, you know I love you (and your chip)…

Oh yeah, camel trek… great fun. Just two of us, me and an American chap, Joey (his website is here). It was a cool three days: sauntering around the desert on camels, stopping for chai, lunch and dinner, eating and drinking around campfires, sleeping under the stars on big dunes, a sandstorm one night, a scorpion attack the next, desert bugs the size of my fist., stopping in local villages and getting invited to chai, washing at wells… It was really cool. See photos below for da viz-oo-al ill-oo-stration!

Also, I was immensely happy to hear about Ireland’s Grand Slam in the Six Nations. Unfortunately, I could only listen to the first twenty minutes of the match on the net before the only Internet café insisted on kicking me out for the night, but I enjoyed reading about it the next day… sounds like it was a nail-biting match!

Right, that’s all for today. I'm in Jaipur now, the pink city and plan to stop off at a little town called Bundy before I continue to the city of Agra, and the Taj Mahal.

Pour votre correspondent en Inde… a la prochaine ;-)

Tales from the beyond the grave

2009-03-21T18:23:00.007+02:00

Soy muerte! I’m expired… six feet under… dead as a doorknob! I’ve passed on, I’ve checked out… I am, no more!

OK, so strictly speaking I’m not actually dead, but I am in a coffin. (I can’t be dead, cos I promised my Mum I wouldn’t die on this trip). I’m in a coffin with my laptop. It’s actually worse than a coffin cos I would imagine that my family would splurge on a coffin that I might fit into. This particular coffin is about half a foot short of my height and fits snugly around my midsection with enough headroom for me to fold open my laptop while it rests on my crotch.

OK, OK, stop shouting… Jesus H. Christ… can a man not use some mild hyperbole to illustrate his point. I’m in a sleeper bus and have a single sleeper cell/bed/coffin. When I was in Turkey I remember an Ozzie girl telling me that the best thing about India was sleeper buses… Mental note to unfriend her on facebook and notify the Australian mental retardation authorities that they have a loony on the loose with a round-the-world ticket.

Give me my trains any day… I’m being shaken to shit here (I have to go bcak and erspell veery word afresh). Its just after midnight and I left Udaipur at half nine this evening for a place called Jaisalmer in the Northwest of Rajasthan. So either I’ll arrive there or at the pearly gates at half eight tomorrow morning. I hope it’s Jaisalmer, cos if it’s the pearly gates, St. Pete will probably tell me to take a long walk of a short pier.

Udaipur was luvly altogether… If anyone remembers the Bond film Octopussy, well that was all set in Udaipur… it’s all palaces and lakes and that kind of malarkey. I met some cool Danes on the train from Bomgay (oh dear, a Freudian slip) and we walked around the old town, ate some good chow and drank tea and beer. The weather played ball as well, and despite foreboding warnings of extreme heat, it was quite pleasant. In fact, this evening we were sitting down having a final Udaipur beer when thunder and amazing lightning started up and it started pissing rain. First rain in India, it was great.

On Wednesday, we also went for a days trekking, which turned out to be very, very, very relaxed trekking. Like a frickin’ loser, I decided that I was gonna wear my heart rate monitor and maybe get an aul’ cardio session out of it. So we started off and after about four minutes we stopped for our first break at this cave temple on the side of a mountain. There was a big group of delinquents hanging around outside who invited us for tea and chillums. An hour and a half later we set off again on our grueling quest. We walked around the corner to another temple (a Shiva temple to be precise)… oh fuck, my bus just stopped and the engine turned off… the sheer peace and tranquility… Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmm…

Anyway, where woz I? Yeah, so we stopped at another Shiva temple where we were given an audience with a Sadhu (a holy man). We were ushered into his quarters and sat down cross-legged in front of him on his bed. We had a little Shiva shrine behind us and everything was painted red. He must have been at least ten thousand years old. His hair and beard merged into one rug-like unit that collected on the floor in front of him, broken only by random black teeth-like objects protruding from the area where I would imagine his mouth must have been located. He sat on his bed in the lotus position, his torso bare and shriveled. Behind his beard, every rib and bone in his upper body was clearly defined with dark brown skin stretched over it like cling film.

We sat there for a while. He had a couple of young acolytes who prepared chillum after chillum and passed them our way. The Sadhu appeared to take a liking to me and ranted away about god-knows-what. At least I think he was talking, his beard was moving slightly and muffled noises were coming out. Every now and then one of his bony fingers would extend in the direction of the Shiva shrine in front of him, his eyes would light up and I’d hear a name of one of the Gods … One of the acolytes tried to translate for me. He seemed to be talking of the Hindu trinity: Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu, and how they were all really one God.

After so many chillums, I could only really just sit there and stare at him, nodding occasionally and feigning an understanding of what he was saying. But he was a nice guy… At one point he took a wooden flute out of his bag, stuck it into his beard and started playing away, happy as larry! He was a nice man… when we were leaving, he gave us some sweets and a pat on the head… which was nice!

After that, we sauntered up to a lake which I had informed everyone I was going to swim in, no matter what state it was in. The first thing we saw was a big bloated cow, it’s body submerged, it’s feet sticking up out of the water. It was like a caricature of what a bad place to swim looks like. We went to the other side of the lake and after a few minutes of playing amateur scientists, we decided that swimming wasn’t going to be an option, so we continued on our merry way. (It was more of a delirious way actually).

So then we walked back around the corner and we were back where we started, having spent most of the day sitting around talking shite and having taken about seventeen footsteps. My heart rate monitor indicated that my heart had beaten about twelve times in the five and a half hours we were gone. So it was a lovely relaxing day.

Right, apparently my peace and tranquility is over again… the engine just roared up and we’re away bumping across the countryside again. As soon as I close the screen on this laptop I’ll be landed back in a claustrophobic nightmare… St. Pete has it so easy up there with his little register of who was bad and who was good. Anyway, I don't care about all that... I’ve decided I’m gonna be reincarnated as a cow in India.

Signing off… ur man in a coffin…

PS: I was actually good with photos in Udaipur, so I’ve decided to post them below bringing me completely and utterly butterly up-to-date with my viz-oo-als… Gimme some skin…

Post-ed: I've now actually arrived in Jaisalmer and am posting this entry. It's supposed to be hot as hell here but it ain't actually that bad... This evening it's been quite windy and it even rained a little. I've signed myself up for a three day camel safari starting tomorrow morning at 7.30am... So I'm going to bed early now and I'll prepare my bum for some camel riding... (ehhhhh, as in using the camel as a means of propulsion...). I'll lash up some photos when I get back.

Holi shitballs!

2009-03-16T16:19:00.003+02:00

It’s 7.30am and I’ve just come back from the latrine… daily ablutions performed, teeth brushed, face washed… I feel fresh as a daisy! I’m on the Udaipur Express which left Bombay yesterday afternoon at 3.45pm and is due in the Lake City of Udaipur in about an hour’s time. My phone has just beeped with a ‘Welcome to Rajahsthan’ message from the operator. As usual, I’ve got myself an upper berth where I can remove myself from the floor-level madness, and it’s here that I’m now perched, typing this entry precariously onto my teetering laptop.

So I’ve finally been able to drag myself away from Bombay. Having previously booked my train for last Monday, my friends managed to persuade me that I should stay for Holi, so I rebooked for Friday. That, of course, was an amateur mistake. “Conor, what’s the point of leaving a major city before the weekend”, they prodded, “Surely you should stay for brunch on Saturday and some Saturday night antics?” So again, I cancelled and rebooked for Sunday. After two weeks in the city of dreams, I finally managed to escape.

‘Escape’…? Dunno if that fits the bill. The truth is that I could have stayed in Bombay indefinitely. Without a doubt, it’s my favourite city so far on this journey. I feel that I penetrated its chaotic haze and lived like a Mumbaiker for a short time, rather than just passing through. My experience there was sculpted by the people I met: Jerry, Vik, Mal, Dex, Son, Pooty, Vicky, Ivan, Sam, Saatu, Bushen, Anahata, Krishna, Karnika… the list goes on… I’ve never fallen into the life of a city like I did in Bom and it won’t be something that I forget too easily.

Holi was a pretty wild day. It’s the Indian festival of colours celebrating transformation and the changing of the season. We got up early and prepared ourselves with the prerequisites: Supersoaker… check… White clothes which you’re willing to fuck up… check… Gulal (or coloured powder)… check… Water balloons… check… A Ziploc bag to protect anything of value from the multi-coloured sludge… check… We marched down a jam-packed Juhu beach for around eleven o’clock and started throwing colours at each other. As a firangi (or foreigner) I seemed to attract the attention of kids who felt their myriad of colours contrasted nicely against my pale skin. I also lost all inhibitions concerning the sea. Any Bombay beach that I had previously sauntered down was always marred by the feeling that I would, under no circumstances, ever touch that water. But on Holi it was different… It seemed that half of Bombay was in the sea playing games, so I waded in and joined them.

The story of Holi is as follows: There was a king who thought he was all that and then some. He felt he was in touch with the gods and thought he was their deity on earth. All his subjects bowed down and submitted to him, with the notable exception of his son, who rejected his omnipotence… So the King asked his sister, the son’s aunty, who had been blessed by an inability to be burned, to take the son into a fire and kill him. As she brought the son into the fire, the gods transferred her incombustibility to the boy, who was saved while his aunty burned to death… To reinforce their support of the child and their rejection of his megalomaniac father, the gods came to earth in the form of a lion and tore the King apart, placing his son on the throne. Dunno how throwing colours got linked to that but that’s the story that the guy on the train told me… (PS: I looked it up, it's marginally true... see here for actual story).

The Injuns like their stories. The Hindu deities are animated in a plethora of different lores and legends which are recounted to children as they grow up. The legends seek to illustrate the characteristics of different deities and to reinforce the morals by which people should live.

The clothes that I had chosen to meet their maker on Holi included my lucky white cotton shirt. It had seen me through a lot: being soaked bloodred after my NYC car crash and an innumerable amount of mud, coffee, wine, beer and (I’m not afraid to say) puke stains. My mum had always managed to turn it around and rescue it. But recently, it’s been going downhill and didn’t really fit me so well anymore. I decided that ‘Death by Holi’ was a respectful and worthy final resting place for such a fateful garment.

So now I’m arriving into Udaipur. Excluding my brief time in Amritsar at the start of my Indian leg, it’s the first time I’m in the North. I can already see some tell-tale Rajastani trademarks… coloured turbans, twirled moustaches etc.

There’s one thing which I’ve been meaning to mention but keep on forgetting. It’s completely unrelated to anything else but is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Sometimes in big cities, you get fancy malls with western shops. These malls have escalators. You should see some Indian people getting on to these escalators… it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. They approach it slowly, trying to grab the handrail (which is of course moving)… They lift their feet and try to place them on the moving steps very carefully. Obviously, you can’t do this with an escalator and you just have to hop on, but they don’t seem to get this. (For those of you that know Father Ted, think of Mrs. Doyle trying to get off the window ledge). I’ve spent hours sitting at the bottom of escalators giggling to myself while watching their attempts. Eventually, they jump on holding onto the banisters for dear life.

Oh, in other news (and since I haven’t mentioned poo for a while), I broke through a new barrier recently which caused many of my friends wild hilarity: I… ehhhhhhh… ‘cleaned myself’ without toilet paper! Yes… that’s right, I just did it… I summoned up all my courage and did it. Toilet paper is something only used by firangi’s here (and Jerry), so I took the plunge and cleaned myself Indian style using hand (left hand) and water. Apparently though, I didn’t do it quite right. I made the mistake of telling my friend Vikram, that I had done it ‘from the front’. Being the loudmouth that he is, he then told the rest of Bombay, who rolled around the floor laughing at the prospect of cleaning yourself ‘from the front’. Anyway, it’s actually not half as bad as you might think. You definitely get yourself much cleaner ‘down there’; you just have to make sure that you give your hands a good post-defecation scrub.

That’s it for the moment… I was really terrible in Bombay with pictures… I’ve posted what I have below, but it’s only really party pics and stuff like that. (I feel too self conscious taking pics of people… I feel like I’m intruding)…

Signing off… ur man in Rajastan…

Pics from Hampi

2009-03-12T08:02:00.002+02:00

Hey Folks,
Very hungover and tired today after a mammoth Holi session yesterday. I'll give you a more detailed post about Holi, but for now, be content with some photos from Hampi, where I hung around with an Argie girl and a Swedish guy for two days before I came back to Mumbai.
Be gud... C.

Goan Pics

2009-03-09T15:33:00.002+02:00

OK, so here are some photos from Goa in February... I'm slowly catching up...

Nearly a Mumbaiker...

2009-03-09T10:43:00.006+02:00

"Gud moning sir" infiltrated my slumber this morning... Ignore, surely it's the final remnants of some dream expressing itself in a Hinglish accent... "Wake op sir" the voice persevered. I open my eyes and see Kapil in front of my double bed clasping a cup of chai in his hands: "Chai sir?". I grumble a thank you and point at my dresser. He puts the chai down and leaves the room, only to return moments later with an egg sandwich for my breakfast.

Kapil is my house boy. This may sound bizarre but I have somehow found myself living in Mumbai. Not living as in breathing and habitation, but living as in experiencing at first hand. I've been here only ten days now (coming on the back of a two week sojourn in January), and Mumbai has become, without doubt, the favoured city of my travels to date.

So how do I have a houseboy? Last time I was here I made some very good friends. This time around, one of those guys, Vikram, has invited me to stay with him. He uses a rather flash corporate guesthouse in the northwestern suburbs (Andheri) and has a spare room. He also has a houseboy who brings me breakfast, cooks me lunch, does my washing, makes my bed, cleans my room and generally does all those things which I don't like doing myself.

Apart from Vikram and his friends, I also hang around with a great guy named Jerry (see sidebar for his blog) and his friends, as well as Ana Hatha, a filmmaker, and her friends. During the weekend, we went to the theatre, to the cinema, for coffee, for food, for drinks, to a pub, to a club and to a Bollywood premiere of Ana Hatha's film (rubbing shoulders with big bollywood stars). It's quite bizarre but my social diary is packed to the brim and I'm having an absolute ball of a time.

Mumbai is a fascinating city. The energy that flows through it is remarkable. A microcosm of India (particularly aligned to the South), it seems to have all extremes: poverty and opulence, tranquility and mayhem, tradition and modernity... When you walk around the city during the day, the heat beats down on your head and the rickshaw drivers honk like it's going out of fashion.

The city is absolutely huge, it's distances enforcing egalitarianism on its citizens... There's no point trying to drive from south to north unless you have a whole day to spare. The only way to cover large distances is the suburban rail system where everyone packs into the same sweltering carriages, slum-dwelling chai wallah, or high flying bollywood director. Carriages don't have doors and everyone just hangs out the side. The scenes at rush hour are incredible. When a train slows down at station, a little mini-war erupts at each carriage door. The exiting mob pours off, even before the train comes to a halt, and the waiting mob tries to fight their way onto the train. Pacifism doesn't work here... it's a dog-eat-dog world. If you wanna get on the train, you have to be prepared to stand on people, drag them back by their nostrils... just try to grab some kind of metal railing... hold onto it and pull yourself in, crowd surfing in the process... This is still going on while the train pulls off, the weaker remain on the platform, the stronger will survive until the next station at least, where the melee will be repeated.

Your correspondent has adapted to the local methods and is happy of his extra few kilos, which come in very handy when bouncing a Tamil or Keralite out of his way. I try to keep to the door of the carriage where the breeze keeps one cool, but this requires a rather bollocky attitude when you come to a station where you don't want to alight: Being at the door, the mob pushes you out, whether you want it or not... You have to hold on to the door with your hand and one foot... and swing to the side of the carriage so that your torso is out of the action. This guarantees your place at the door as when the train starts pulling off, you swing back and push in whoever is in your way. Everyone moans and shouts, but it's a lot of fun... Women have their own carriages!

So tomorrow is Holi, the Hindu Festival of Colours... I'm gonna make a move from Mumbai and start going north after that...

I realise how bad I've been with photos... I have loads ready, but just can't find an Internet cafe with a USB compliant operating system, meaning that I can't post them... they are coming though!

Will update after Holi!

On the way to Oz...

2009-02-28T13:01:00.002+02:00

This is where I'm going: Melbourne... I'm getting quite exited about it now...
Must apply for my visa!

burrrrocrrrrazzzzy

2009-02-26T09:44:00.006+02:00

fuckit, I am hot... and I am bothered...

Had a good weekend in Bangalore last weekend, and arrived into Mysore on Tuesday. Had a bit of a look around and looked at the different yoga options available. They appear to be as follows:

1. One week's very expensive yoga hanging around with pretensious assholes (who are here for months on end) in a nice neighboorhood,
2. One week's cheaper yoga with cooler people in a shithole of a neighbourhood, spending a lot of time hanging around doing nothing (once yoga is over at eight am)

Either way, it's very hot and unpleasant during the day.

I've weighed up my options and given that my stated goal is to get north asap (cos I feel bad having spent almost four months down south) and that I'm fed up with the heat, I've decided to cut and run.

I'm currently on the waiting list for a 30 hour train from here to Mumbai tonite, but that probably won't work so I'll have head to Bangalore and from there then to Mumbai tomorrow morning.

What a fucking day... I got my first taste of today's theme this morning at breakfast in my hotel. A fairly quiet hotel restaurant... One man shows me to a table (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man takes my order (and then proceeds to stand around scratching his arse for the rest of the time i'm there), one man brings my order (having been scratching his arse since I arrived), one man brings my bill (having stood around scratching his arse during my whole meal) and then I pay at the cashier (who has been sitting there playing with his balls since I came in). The restaurant has one maitre d', four waiting staff, three table cleaning staff, two general orderlies, two cashiers, god knows how many cooks... and three customers. Apart from a three second burst of activity twice a day, they all generally sit around scratching themselves and talking shit (actually, that's not fair, I don't know what they're talking, they could be on the verge of discovering the meaning of life)...

So next I go to the DHL office. I have to send a friends camera back to him. There's a boss, a cashier, a package wrapper and a clerk... and I'm clearly the only customer they'll be getting all day. The clerk blatantly doesn't know what's going on in the world... I'm tempted to remind him that he's in a DHL office in Mysore, where he works. After twenty minutes of too-ing and fro-ing about whether I can send a camera or not (including multiple calls to third parties), another ten minutes trying to find out the price, about half an hour trying to share with them the details of the recipients address (which they deem wholly irrelevant to the operation), I finally get to the payment stage. This is when I can't hold in my amusement anymore... The clerk having assured me multiple times that I can pay with credit card, when I hand him my visa card, he, the packager, the boss and the cashier all crowd around it, as if it were a piece of kryptonite which had just fallen from the sky. They don't know what's going on at all at all... With an insubduable smirk, I point to the credit card machine, at which the huddle gasps and moves over to it solemnly. They look at the machine, they look at the card... they know that one is the secret to the other and that somehow all can be made good with their combination. Unlike later on the in the day, when I get authentially riled, I'm still bemused by all this madness and show them how to plug the machine in, how to swipe the card... the bossman puts in the amount of 27 rupees and 25 paise. I correct it to read 2725 rupees (I'm too honest), put in my PIN and all five of us look at the screen... The bossman is astounded by my ability to work the machine, so I tell him I work in a bank to make it more understandable. Out comes the reciepts, which I rip off. I give him the one that says 'merchant copy'... He's points at where it says 'merchant copy', smiling... I show him my copy and point at 'customer copy'... He is verging on the delerious. He points at his copy and says 'signaturrrrr'. I point at the writing saying 'signature not required', but sign anyway... ye know, to make him happy. I shake everyone's hand, thank them profusely... they reciprocate and I leave, grinning ear to ear.

Next port of call... Train station! Oh, oh, I hear you say... the public sector. But atually, the trains are about the only thing which work quite well here. They are effecient and effective and I have no qualms about them. The only problems with them are due to communications with the clerks and also being too lazy to organise anything in advance and leaving everything until the last minute (which is my own problem)...

Then I went to the post office and to the internet cafe. Both were equally shitty organised and I found myself doing my usual trick: When I find myself getting snappy and riled, then I close my eyes, take a couple of deep breathes and say to myself: "Getting worked up won't help this situation, the best thing I can do is to enjoy it and try to make to make the best out of it.... Ommmmmmmmm na ma shivaya!"

I hope my next update will be from Mumbai very soon.

Be good,

Ur man in Red-tape-istan

And they wonder why...

2009-02-21T12:14:00.005+02:00

When I was eleven and was living in Germany, my mother got fed up of all my schoolbags breaking and 'invested' in this really good one. It was a big, hard, square, bright green, jungle-motive bag, but I didn't mind cos in Germany, everyone had one and it was the norm.

So then, at thirteen, I came back to Ireland and went into first year in CBC Monkstown. My mother insisted I retain the same bag. However, this monstrosity of a receptacle was anything but the norm at CBC and I was bullied to no end. Inspired by pictures of elephants and lions against a background of ferns and undergrowth, they called me 'Jungle Boy' and 'Tarzan'... sob (Jane might have been more appropriate but how were the bullies to know that, at such a young age!)

I pleaded and pleaded with my Mum to buy me a new bag but she wouldn't 'because any other bag that I got was only going to last a term and would break and I'd need another one'... blah, blah, blah...

Eventually, after a whole year of torture, I told my Mum that I would take personal responsibility for my new bag and that it wouldn't break. I even suggested a make that was known for its durability (and being subtle black was going to bring me into line with the mainstream): Sporthouse.

Eventually she relented although she was still certain that I'd need to reinvest again next term, but she couldn't handle my consistent cries of woe.

So I bought the Sporthouse bag, and in a rare case of 'getting one over' on the oul one, it's still with me 13 years later. It saw out not only the term, but the year and the entire of secondary school, then college, it's traveled the length and breadth of South America and is currently on a South Asian continental trip.

So now, finally, the strap is about to break. I have about ten kilos in it and it's always jammed. I've got to find a shoe maker to do a good job on it. This is one of my projects for the next few days.

I'm in Bangalore now, having finally left Goa. I had a good two days in Hampi on my way down here and will post pics soon. I've only been here since yesterday but so far Bangalore is hot!

I've went through the internet to find a pic of my old bag. This is the closest I can get to it, it's not the same one, but you get the idea...

Ur man in Bengalooru

PS: There's a whole other story when my dad made me wear pink riding shorts with flowers on them to my horse riding classes, but I'll leave that one for another day!

The precursor to a plan

2009-02-12T15:52:00.002+02:00

Yeeeaaahhh, so it looks like I'm never gonna do Yoga again. When I'm in a city, I say to myself "you can't do yoga here, wait till you get to a beach" and now that I've been at a beach for almost a month I'm beginning to say to myself "don't worry about yoga here, do it when you get to the quiet countryside"... Fook it neway...!

So there ain't too much exiting happening except for the fact that I'm lazing on a beach all day. I try to go to bed early most nights, but for the past three nights, I've lain there like an eejit, not able to sleep, with mossies nippin' at my arse and those stupid fooking muts baying at the moon like some kind of maniacs. I've always ended up getting up at about one in the morning and then going for a few drinks and falling into bed gee-eyed at five. That seems to be the only way I can sleep.

I don't know why the locals don't just kill all the muts here. They must be driven nuts by them as well. They lie about dozing in everyone's way during the day and as soon as the sun goes down, they start barking and it keeps on all night long. If you're walking on the beach at night, sometimes they gang up on you and bark and snarl and go for your legs. There's nothing more satisfying than landing a good kick in the ribs on one of the little bastards. But if there's a lot of them, then things can get nasty as well. There's been a good few instances of mutts ganging up on people and attacking them... I don't know why the Injuns stand for this shit, when a good mallet to the brain would do the job nicely. Don't get me wrong, I like dogs, but when they start killing people, then there's a problem.

Must try to get out of Goa... I've been here far too long and it's far too easy to stay forever. I have multiple pressures on me now. I need to get out of here, so that I can see what I want to see in the South: Hampi, Allepey, Bangalore, Mysore. I need to see these things quickly so that I can get back to Mumbai and start my journey north. The north is where it's all at, and my excuse that there's bad weather up there, is no longer valid.

Peace out for now... I'm going to come up with a provisional plan for my next post... to give me some direction.

Your lazy, sun-bitch correspondant on the beach...

Package Helliday

2009-02-07T15:45:00.004+02:00

wahwahwah... so I'm on Calungate Beach: the absolute worst that Goa has to offer when it comes to overdeveloped, brit/rooski-infused, package holiday, loud, banging mayhem...

However, there are some... eh... advantages... that places like this offer. I went on an absolute mad one last night at some Karaoke place. I was supposed to be detoxing but ended up shaking my booty to some Grease Lightning et al. Also, there are a lot of Indian tourists here, which is interesting. I'm not planning on staying very long, just the weekend, but at sunset today I sat down and people-watched the throngs for an hour. It was cool... I love that shit... making faces at babies and shit. And then I got some of that Bombay-style fast food into me...

Jesus, the Bombay fast food is heaven on earth. They have these things called pani puri, it's a little hollow crispy bubble which they stuff full of potatoe mix. Then they throw over spicy sauce and coriander and a kind of sweet sauce and then they fuck a whole lot of curd over it and sprinkle it with all kinds of shit... ajljkshjfha;sdhfasjdl;fkjalsdf... thinking about it is making me go nutz. Also the Indian salad is called chaat, and they have a quadrillion versions of it, with the most beautiful fresh ingredients, sweet and spicy, crunchy and good. Drooooool.... they have loads more shit, but I'd be here for the rest of my life going through it. Suffice to say that the fast food is good and cheap and the Injuns beam ear to ear when I stroll up and order (Cos I'm a Ferengue, that's like the equivalent of Gringo in India... general white westerner) and they can't believe that I like it. (They always ask me 'not too spicy?' and I always go 'fuck no, spice it up there bi-aatch).

The day before yesterday I thought I was getting an ear infection (which I had in Colombia before and is not a good thing). Your ear is kind of tender and if you apply pressure to it, it hurts. So I started horsin' antibiotics into me like nobody's business and I bought ear drops... but today everythings fine again.

Feic sake, they have the feckin' cyrillic alphabet written on little stickers and stuck onto the keyboard (for the Rooskies), but I'm sweating like a kiddie fiddler in a nursery, and the little stickers are coming off on my fingers... Why is my life so difficult? (sigh)

You're probably wondering why I haven't posted any pics in a while (or maybe you're not and you don't give a shit)... Well, I left my big rucksack in Anjuna two weeks ago and have been scootering around with only my small one. And like a big eejit, didn't I go and leave my spare camera batteries in the big rucksack. But yesterday I popped back into Anjuna and got the batteries so I'll bring my camera out for a spin tomorrow and I'll try to get sum vizuals 4 ya.

Okeepokee then... I'll be going out again tonite (cos it's Saturday) but then I'm going into hibernation for a few weeks...

Be good.

Yur man in Goan tourist hell... C to the bebop!

Smiley happy people

2009-02-05T18:45:00.003+02:00

alright, so I'm clearly not in blog updating mood... you'll have noticed that. And I know that I promised that things would be better now that I have my laptop. And they're not!

The essential problem is that I've been doing a huge amount of boozing in the evenings and sleeping/lazing on the beach during the day... it's a cycle of procrastination and laziness that grows exponentially and the smallest little challenges become overwhelming, energy-sapping obstacles.

Just as I finished typing that last paragraph, one of the lads knocked on the window of the Internet cafe waving a big bottle of vodka around like a maniac... fuck sake... can I not somehow get out of this situation.

What was I saying... yes, the challenges that overwhelm one on the beach:
1. Buying cigarettes
2. Going to the ATM
Well, that's all I can think of for now (maybe the numeration wasn't necessary), but I can assure you that the obstacles thrown in my way on a daily basis are substantial.

Today, I summoned up an immense amount of energy and went for a ride on my scooter. I needed some 'Conor' time. There are loads of cool people staying in beach huts around me. They're from all over the world and we've had some great nights and days, but today, I needed to get out of there. So I took my lil' girly scooter (it might as well be pink) and I went off on my toblerone.

I drove to a beach called Paradise beach, which was nice, but not paradise! There were a few standard hippy types dancing around the beach drawing big hearts in the sand (Acid is great), and there were dolphins jumpin' around in the water which was quite nice as well. There was even a dead dolphin on the beach which provided a good outlet for some morbid fascination.

The best thing was the drive there and back though; I was bangin' along roads going through paddy fields and then little cute villages. It seemed like everyone I passed gave me a little smile and a headshake, and I was smiling back at everyone. Anytime I stopped to ask for directions, everyone was really friendly and I was pulling funny faces at little kids and all... great craic!

I had to get a little ferry across the river that divides the state of Goa and the state of Maharashtra. The ferry was a tiny little thing, yet there were about ten people working on it, all wearing the standard brown shirt and pants that any Indian involved in transportation wears as their uniform. They were pointing out attractive Russian girls to each other and then generally giggling like a bunch of schoolchildren.

One thing about India, is that a lot of people just stand around doing nothing all the time. Even when they're working, they always have far too many people employed, so everyone just seems to stand around (or sleep on any shaded surface). And they all chat to each other as well... when I was waiting for the ferry today, all the Injuns who were taking it ended up chatting together, while all the 'Westerners' (a lot of Rooskies here, hence the inverted comma's) stood at opposite ends of the boat avoiding all eye contact with each other.

I think maybe cos there are so many people here and everyone lives on top of each other, they're all just used to general chit chat with strangers.

Anyway, that's today's final thought... I'm going to try to sneak back to my hut and grab an early night tonite. But if I get caught by anyone, then I'm fucked and will end up boozing again... so I have to be steathly. I'm gonna finally get off my ass tomorrow and will go south to another beach, so I can at least justify my scooter rental.

Peace out....

The Irish Connection

2009-01-24T17:16:00.001+02:00

I was in Anjuna beach for a few nights, but it wasn't great. Luckily, I managed to ditch my bag and hire a scooter fairly easily and cheaply, so I've nipped up north to Arambol beach. It's a lot nicer here and I've found a great little hut on the beach and have bumped into a cool gang of heads from Wexford/West Cork... tis mighty craic altogether.

Ground Control to Major Tom

2009-01-24T16:57:00.004+02:00

I’m likin’ whats goin’ on Stateside… The pictures in the papers, and the snippets (heh, snippits!)on television, appear to portray a nation attempting to redefine itself… and lets face it… The Yanks ain’t exactly flavour of the month flavour in most of the rest of the world. Although having said that, the rest of the world isn’t so perfect itself.

The problems we face today; Fundamentalism, Sustainability, Technology Control, do not fall at the feet of the United States, they’re shared problems that implicate humanity. Finding solutions to these problems is what will make the difference between us being a continuing feature in the spectacle of nature, or merely a failed experiment scratching its surface*.

The US has been playing the protagonist in this story for a while, but I think the recent events, the inauguration of Hilary Clinton as the first female President ever to take office in the United States White House… wait a sec… sorry, that was the wrong version of reality!

So Obama… wazzegonnado?

I bet if you met Obama, he’d give you a lollipop!

Question is: What’s he gonna do next… I mean, he only has the hopes of the entire Planet Earth resting on his shoulders. Fuuuuckckk, I would definitely not want to be him! I wouldn’t be surprised if his first act of office was a lollipop for every human being on the Planet. He’d probably actually go quite a way to cooling things down.

I can just imagine Ahmadinejad, getting his lollipop, in his office in Tehran. He’d probably have a great laugh. Ahmadinejad would probably ask one of the mullahs to pass him the phone and he’d give Obama a call on the telephone and say: “Hey dude, thanks for the lolly… the mullahs love theirs too… Yeah… No… Khamenei mouth’s gone all red and he loves the flavour… here listen, don’t worry about the nuclear stuff, we’ll just stop it… that cool…? cool…! we cool…? Cool!”.

Well lets hope that he manages to pull some kind of rabbit out of the hat… cos if he doesn’t… well… then… I guess we’ll see what then, won’t we…. Until then, I've lashed up some pics from Mumbai below ;-)

Ur man in Hindustan!

Mouth munching madness

2009-01-21T20:15:00.003+02:00

So I’ve hit Goa… have left from the hustle and bustle of Bombay. I had an absolutely brilliant two weeks there. I made a good few Bombayite friends and feel that I tapped into the live of the city for the short time I was there. I met a lot of people there that I had met previously on my travels (Bombay seems to be that kind of place), I also met a Canadian writer who took me along on his journalistic discoveries of the city, and through him I made a lot of local friends… who brought me under the skin of the city.

So I got the train to Goa on Monday night. I broke the cardinal rule of traveling on Indian trains and I didn’t tell the people in my compartment what stop I was getting out at. So… naturally… I missed it. I presumed that I’d be up and adam by ten o’clock but it turns out that I slept so long and well (as it seems I can only do on trains) that I woke up and we had already passed it. I jumped off at the next stop and waited for an hour until I could get a train back.

Now I’m Goa and things are different… Well, for starters, I’m all on my tobler’ again. Not that I handle that (I’m a big boy), but I suppose I have to make an effort to meet people again. My plan is to explore the small state in the next three or four weeks (it’s only 80km long) and I wanted to hire a motorbike to help me in my endeavours.

When I arrived here yesterday, I hadn’t the foggiest what beach to go to. I wanted to go as far north as possible and to rent a motorbike there, so I was advised that Anjuna would be good, which is where I am now. Anjuna is one of the most developed beaches here and is fairly famous for its party scene. When I got here yesterday, I was overwhelmed by the lack of English spoken on the beach… the main languages here appear to be Russian and Hebrew… although there are a few Brits banging around as well.

Last night, after some fine dining and book reading, there wasn’t too much going on, so I figured I’d use the opportunity to get a rare early night. However, it being my first night there, I thought that I would go for a quick walk on the beach first. Five minutes into my walk, I started to hear banging loud trance music from the other end of the beach. My curiosity got the best of me, so I ventured down to find a mob of people thronging a beach side club.

I think that I lacked the serious cocktail of drugs that everyone else appeared to be enjoying and although I had a few drinks, I couldn’t really bring myself to dance very much… after trying to start a conversation with a few Israeli teeth-grinders, I decided to abandon the venture and figured that my early night was still half achievable.

So today, while my Israeli friends were snoozing, I was uber-productive. I got my hair chopped, trimmed my beard, did an hour and a half of serious sunbathing… and rented a motorbike for the day (to see how it was). I went for a cycle and although my Enfield did feel very strong and powerful between my legs (ahem!) I couldn’t really get the knack of the gears and spent most of the time fairly nervous… And that was on quiet back roads. Any time I went to stop, I would cut out and it would take me ten minutes to restart, always belting off with my legs flailing out either side. So I decided (upon the advice of a good friend ;-) to abandon my testosterone driven quest and swapped my Honda for a scooter. Now, although I have no gears, I feel slightly girly… but I don’t care… it’s the safe option. (Ya hear that mum)…

So I’m probably gonna hang around Anjuna for another day or so and will then start my little road trip down south…

Until then… smellyalater…

goin' goan

2009-01-19T12:53:00.000+02:00

I heart Mumbai... like I seriously frickin' love this place... In face I'm really falling for India in general. After two weeks in Mumbai, I'm dragging myself outta here tonite and jumpin' into a sleeper down to Goa for some fun and frolicing on the beach.
Peace out.
C.

Idiots Guide to the Indian Head Bobble

2009-01-15T19:50:00.003+02:00

Wobbley, wobbley… bobbley bobbley… that’s what the average Indian head goes like all day long… no matter what question asked, no matter what statement being made… the head rolls from side to side in a quirkey, quippy manner.

Conor: Are there any train tickets available to Goa today?

Random Injun: {wobbles head}

Conor: Oooookaaayyy, so is that a yes or a no?

Random Injun: {wobbles head more visibly and deliberately}

Conor: Right, so there ARE train tickets available!

Random Injun: {aggressively wobbles head, shouting} Noooo, No Train Too-Day

Conor: Well, that’s fine cos I’m actually quite flexible, so perhaps there are train tickets tomorrow?

Random Injun: {wobbles head in precisely the same manner as before}

Conor: Aw shucks, so there’s no train tomorrow either!

Random Injun: {wobbles head so violently, neck liable to break} Yaar, Train 6.30 Pee Emm Too-Morro, what class You like?

Et cetera, et cetera… thus goes your average exchange when first confronted by the ubiquitous head bobble. Many a traveler has been driven to strangulational tendencies when confronted by this seemingly homogenous head bobble, when actually, over time, one begins to denote the mild differentiating subtleties and one discovers ‘the meaning of the bobble’. So, for the benefit of those to follow in my footstops, here’s Conor’s quick guide to understanding the Indian head bobble:

The root of the bobble:

All head bobbles are essentially the same. It is, in fact, the demeanour, and particularly the facial expression, of the bobber which denotes its meaning and it is to these facets that the bobbee should pay utmost attention.

The bobble as a greeting:

When you enter a room and there are (as there inevitably are in any room in India) many Indians sitting around, they have a tendency to stare at you blankly. A friendly, non-partisan, unassuming smile combined with a slight raising of the eyebrows and a short burst of eye-contact gives the bobble a meaning of unabashed well-wishing and is used as a greeting. You will notice that the blank faces you had previously been presented with, in turn smile and bob gently from one side to the other.

(Note: I equate this to the salam aleikum of Islam, inviting its aleikum asalam, the more elaborate the bobble, the more elaborate the response)

The bobble as a greeting should be the easiest to spot as it will precede interaction (or will not require it at all)

The bobble meaning Yes

Essentially, the positively inclined bobble is the least elaborate of them all. A quick roll of the head from one side to the other, or indeed to only one side, is most likely to be a resounding ‘yes’ or ‘no problem’ or the situational equivalent. This is like the nod back and forwards in Western society. It is the only bobble which will ever be given without eye contact, although sometimes it will include eye contact and then will be combined with raised eyebrows or other positive grimaces.

The bobble meaning No

This tends to be the most elaborate bobble. It will be emphasised and will include at least one nod to the left and one to the right (as opposed to the ‘Yes’ bobble, which may only go one way). It will also be accompanied by eye contact, possibly with a dipping of the eyebrows, a frowning or other such negative facial expressions. It’s possible that a smile will accompany this bobble, but if it does, then it will be an apologetic one, maybe with pursed lips.

The bobble meaning Thank You / You’re welcome

Again, this one is easy to spot, as there’ll be no question involved and an exchange should already have taken place so none of the aforementioned scenarios should be possible. This bobble is similar to the greeting one insofar as it is a pronounced happy-happy-smiley bobble. It can be emphasized or it can be subtle but will almost always be accompanied by a friendly smile or facial expression. It will frequently also include a moving of one or both hands to the chest.

So, now I’ve done my bit for today when it comes to East West relations… I hope that this little post will reduce much friction between Indians and travelers and make the world a much better place. See below for video demonstrations of the multiple bobble types (by a very handsome actor):

Video from Eid in Lahore

2009-01-09T10:35:00.003+02:00

Dunno if you remember when I was in Lahore in Pakistan, I was invited to a mad Eid festival and I was ranting on about my mate Alby being dragged up on stage for a dance (see here for original post). Well, as chance would have it, I've bumped into this faux-hippie again here in Mumbai and he did a little collage of the event (in which yours truly features, albeit briefly)... see below.
C

SATC-sytle

2009-01-07T12:43:00.002+02:00

It’s one o’clock in the morning and I’m lying here like a friggin’ dickhead, staring at the ceiling of my Mumbai hotel room. When I got back today, I was banjaxed so I had a little nap hoping that it might help me bring my body clock into sync with local sun patterns… no joy so far!

Over the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking about what I’m leaving behind in Ireland and what’s to come for me on this little odyssey. It was great going home for Christmas: a real break from the travels, an opportunity to catch up with friends, spend some time in the bosom of my family (tihi…) and also an opportunity to take a step back from what I’m doing and ponder my life in it’s normal (well, habitual) surroundings…

Over Christmas I’ve been occasionally assailed by pangs of doubt over this whole thing… Sure, on paper taking some time off to travel, especially given the current climate (temporal and economic) at home, is a great thing. However, it’s not without its costs.

There’s the fact that while everyone else is moving up their various career ladders, I’m not… in fact, I can’t even find the ladder. God knows what kind of job my previous experience will land me when I do get back onto it… D’ya want fries with that?

Financially, I’ll be starting from scratch again whenever I do start working again… Everyone else will have pensions and houses and investments and I’ll be standing there with my dick in my hand staring thirty in the face.

But I think the biggest cost is a personal one; geographic removal means that friendships and relationships can’t be nurtured. For me, geographic removal has been a theme of my life. During college I was abroad for five years and had to deal with the same thing then. Sometimes I wonder if I am forgoing deeper friendships by perpetually fucking off. I do think that I’m lucky in this respect though as I have a few really good friends strewn far and wide, and although I don’t see them as often as one should, when I do, we can usually jump back into ‘the way things used to be’… which is cool. Those of you that fall into this category know who you are, and I thank you for that.

Arriving back into Mumbai was a bit of a test… How would it go? How would I feel? Well, I AM happy to be back here; I got a little buzz as soon as I arrived in Heathrow yesterday and arriving in Mumbai with my taxi beeping like a mad motherfucker only served to remind me that the experiences I’m having in this melting pot of humanity do represent the kind of experiences I want to be having right now.

Right, enough of that Carrie Bradshaw, huggy-kissy shite! I’m meeting some friends (from the ashram) tomorrow in Mumbai and will probably head down to the beach (Goa) for a few days to reenergize. Beyond that I don’t really have a plan, but that’s generally perceived to be best, so I’m sure I’ll think of something to do…

Jesus, I hope all my posts aren’t gonna be as gay as this one, but I have my laptop with me now, so it’s gonna be a lot easier to drivel on at length than it has been to-date.

Signing off for your correspondent… back in the madness…

C.

baby go back...

2009-01-05T13:10:00.000+02:00

on my way back to mumbai today... yee-haw

Home for Chrimbo

2008-12-21T16:09:00.006+02:00

I have to apologise for telling a few porkies in my past few posts.... I'm no longer in India. I'm at home in Dublin now! In fact, I had no intention of spending Christmas in India and had planned to fly home just for a for a few weeks (a little holiday as such) over Chrimbo. But I wanted to surprise my family and hence the 'white lies' when alluding to my plans for the festive season.

So on Thursday afternoon, I jumped on a long-haul back from Mumbai to the durty ol' town via heathrow and I arrived back here... Thursday afternoon...

I'm flying back to Mumbai on the 5th of January so I have just less than three weeks of festive cheer and banter before the odyssey continues.

I'm pretty sure I ain't gonna be updating this from Ireland so I'll speak to you again in a few weeks. I'm bringing my laptop back to India with me, so the quality of my blog should improve marginally in the New Year.

To keep you ticking over, I've posted some photos below of the last week on the beach before coming home. I was on a beach called Om Beach in Gokarna, Karnataka, where I spent the days spitroasting and the evenings bonfiring on the beach... It was lovely altogether...

Have a good Chrimbo and New Years and I'll update again when I get back to Mumbai.

Where's wally?

2008-12-12T11:53:00.003+02:00

This is the exact spot where I am at the moment... I do my yoga in the mornings at that point where the beach juts out into a headland...

View Larger Map

Back to Beach

2008-12-09T18:23:00.002+02:00

Although the ashram and the yoga and the veganism and the chanting and the meditation and the early rises and the relaxation (you get the idea) were all really good things... the place was starting to wreck my nutz, so I upped and legged it. This post is coming to you from a mind-numbingly unspiritual beach called Gokarna on the coast of Karnataka state (south of Goa, north of Mangalore). I left the ashram yesterday morning and arrived here after a 24 hour train journey, during which I ate meat and didn't meditate... I've also just had a beer so you'll excuse the verbal vomit that follows.

I did enjoy the ashram and would have stayed there longer had I had more time (I.e. Had I been immortal I probably would have given it another day or two). I really found myself getting into the physical side of things and enjoyed each yoga class more than the last one. However, on the spirtual side of things, I just couldn't get down and jiggy with the meditation and found many of the practices and rituals strongly religious, which has never really sat well with me. I tried to keep my mind as open as possible, and in fairness, the experience has awakaned an interest in a variety of topics ranging from energy flows & shakras to buddhist and hindu concepts of enlightenment and oneness. Not being a big fan of religions to begin with, these philosophically based beliefs of mental betterment and eradication of ego go a lot further with me than what I consider the fairytales of the book-based Abrahamic religions.

On a slightly more serious note, my bowels have begun to move again... All the lentils, beans, semolina and chickpeas that they rammed down my throat weren't really in a rush to go anywhere and I've got to confess that I went for only one poo during my week with the yoga nuts. Literally as soon as I set foot outside the door of the place, I started to feel a 'motion in the ocean' if you know what I mean and things have since become more healthy. I think I must be the only person who has ever suffered from constipation in the Subcontinent!

The really great thing about the ashram (as in life in general) was the people I met. I fell in with a group of mildly piss-taking and marginally cynical folks from France, the UK and Oz and we had a good bit of banter poking fun at the die-hard lentil eaters. Although our days were pretty full, we managed to chill out swimming in the crocodile infested lake or else chatting over some fruit juices in the 'Health Hut' (the ashram equivalant to the local boozer)...

I saw my time in the ashram as a little present from me to my body... a lump of flesh and bones that I don't generally think about enough. I felt like I should have stayed there a little longer but I was in dire need of sun and sand, so I compromised and promised myself that I would do some yoga at least for the first few days of the beach, so as to get used to doing it independantly. So today I spread out my yoga mat on the beach and, feeling like a pretencious c*nt (sorry, but there's no other word to describe it), I proceed to do my sun salutations and stretches on the beach. Hopefully I can (a) keep it up for another few days and (b) find a more secret place to do it so that I don't feel like such a wanker.

I've finally managed to upload some photos. Below you can find three albums.

This one is general pics of Helen and me coming down the SouthEast coast from Kolkata to Pondicherry. (Helen didn't come to the ashram, she stayed on the beach but I'm due to meet her here in the next day or two).

This one is a few pics of Kerala, specifically Munnar the hill-station where I went wandering around the tea plantations with a great group of Canadians and Brits.

And finally, ye ol' Ashram... yoga and general paddiwhackery.

Sun Howaryah's

2008-12-05T14:21:00.003+02:00

OK, so this is an example of some of the mad shite that goes in this place. Both videos are pilfered from the net, but show the kind of craziness that occurs here. The first one is a yoga position called the sun salutation which we have to do a quadrillion times a day and the second one is some of the (slightly manic and culty) chanting that we engage at cockcrow and again before bedtime every day.

I've booked my train outta here... Sunday is my last full day and then it's off to Gokarna, a beach town in the state of Karnataka (between Kerala and Goa) for a break from relaxation. I'll try to stick some photos up then.

Ohmmmmmm

2008-12-04T08:41:00.002+02:00

Right, sorry it’s been a while… First of all, I wasn’t anywhere near Mumbai for the incidents a few weeks ago. I was far away from all that and I’m alive and very well indeed.

Can’t remember last time I updated but in brief I’ve been messing around the South of India, particularly in the states of Tamil Nadu and Kerala for the past while. I had a great week on a beach called Varkala, lots of boozing and debauchery. I met a few heads there and decided to make a trip to Munnar, a hill-station in the mountains. So I had three great days walking through tea plantations and the likes by day and drinking bad rum by night. Definitely a place that I’ll return to in the New Year.

By the end of all that, my body was well and thoroughly fucked. I’d consumed more rum, vodka, beer etc. in a space of two weeks than most countries would go through in a year. I’d smoked enough cigarettes to smoke all the salmon in Scotland. I had eaten my way through most of southern India and had a variety of dietary problems (sometimes too much movement, sometimes too little). I had been stung by jellyfish and was nursing a quadrillion mosquito bites on my legs and arms. I was also graced with the attention of a large quantity of leeches while walking through the tea plantations and was plugging and covering the resultant holes in my legs.

So you get the message… I was seriously fuck-arooed and decided that immediate action was necessary. I had been toying with the idea of checking myself into an ashram for a two week yoga course and I decided to take the plunge. I arrived on the steps of Sivananda Ashram last Sunday night. After horsing the last cigarette into my bleeding lungs I passed through the gates and have been living a life of health-freak since then. My daily schedule is as follows:

5.20 Get up outta bed
6.00 – 8.00 Chanting and Meditation
8.00 – 10.00 Yoga Classes
10.00 – 11.00 First Meal
11.00 – 12.30 Chores
12.30 – 2.00 Yoga Personal Coaching
2.00 – 3.00 Yoga Theory Lecture
3.30 – 5.00 Yoga Classes
6.00 – 7.00 Second Meal
8.00 – 10.00 Chanting and Meditation
10.30 Lights Out

We have two vegan meals a day… the only break from veganism is a glass of buttermilk that’s offered to those who want some dairy… Believe it or not, I actually fall into this category.

We have four hours of yoga exercises a day and I can now touch my toes (hadn’t been the case since I was about nine years old). I also haven’t smoked or drank in four days.

So that’s why I haven’t updated… phones and internet are considered not good for karma and are banned. I had to bail on my chores and sneak out to the local town today to update this… I hope you realize that I’m risking my life for you guys…

I’m off now to do some more yoga… I have loads of photos but I don’t think that I’ll find a connection fast enough to upload them for the next week or two…

Until then…. Wish me enlightenment!

Ohmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Struttin' in me shalwar

2008-11-22T09:16:00.002+02:00

I decided yesterday to throw on the ol' shalwar kameez, which some of you might remember is the pyjama-like clothing that I got in Pakistan. So there I was strutting along the beach front with my tails flowing in the afternoon breeze... you should have seen the respect I was getting. "Hey man, cool shalwar", "nice clothes buddy"... and no-one tried to flog me anything (this is unheard of) as I was clearly a soul brother just goin' for a walk! There were a couple of Muslims boppin' around as well, and they were chuffed to pieces when they saw me. It was Friday afternoon and they were all done up in their shalwars as well for prayers. One of them saw me coming and tried to trick me to see if I was the 'real deal'... He mumbled asalaam aleikum as I passed (the arabic greeting common to all Muslim countries) and I rolled back at him with the response ma aleikum a-salaam.... he broke out in an ear to ear grin, it was deadly!

So apart from getting down and jiggy with my Muslim brothers, there ain't too much else goin' on. I'm in a beautiful beach resort called Varkala, halfway between Trivandurum and Quillon in the state of Kerala on the West Coast of India by the Arabian Sea. The village is set up along a cliff edge here with a nice beach about a hundred feet below us. It's pretty touristy and there are lots of heads here, but it's nice and relaxed.

We had a nice few days in Pondicherry, but Helen was sick so we didn't get up to too much. Spent most of the time reading my book and walking around the French quarter. Then we jumped on a sleeper crossing the Southern tip of the country to the West coast. The trains here are pretty good. It's far from the chaos and mayhem that used to reign (as portrayed in films like Ghandi) with people hangin' out of the rafters and sitting on the roof etc. There are a plethora of different classes, starting with first class (two berth private compartments with AC), to second class two-tiered compartments with AC, to second class three tiered compartments with AC, to second class three-tiered compartments without AC to third class wooden seats.

I've always gone for the second class three tiered compartments without AC, this is sleeper class and it's what the vast majority of people travel in. You have open carriages with eight 'compartments' (all open, no doors or anything). Each compartment has seating for nine people, three facing backwards, three facing forwards and three facing across the train on the other side of the walkway. At night time, you can pull down beds so that there are three beds on each wall, lower, middle and upper berths. I always try to go for the upper berth, because it doesn't get folded away so you can always just lie down on it (it's also quite comfy to sit on), you're higher up and therefore more out of the action and you've got the fans right above you so you tend to be cooler. For some reason, Indian's don't really like this berth so it's quite easy to get one. The downside is that you have to look at cockroaches crawling across the ceiling as you prepare for sleep.

The journey's have always been very pleasant as well. Usually you get a night train so that you can spend the vast majority of the journey sleeping. You have to bail on to the train pretty quickly to make sure that you get to store your bags under the seats or else they're just knockin' around the aisles. But once you're installed, everyone's always really friendly, happy to chat away with you and inviting you for teas from one of the hundreds of chai sellers who roll through the carraiges.

It's been raining heavily here this morning, but it's stopping now and the sun is coming out so I'm off down the beach. Peace out.

C.

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Sleepers Galore

2008-11-16T13:13:00.008+02:00

I finished a book today called "Three Cups of Tea"... It's a lovely read about an American guy who founds girls schools in Pakistan. Inspiring stuff. Now I've moved on to "Shantaram" about an Aussie ex-con who makes a new live for himself in Mumbai. I'm only into Chapter 2, but it's good reading so far...

I sat out in the sun this morning, starting the first few chapters of the new book and got sunburned on my shoulders. First time I've got sunburned since i came away. It's not too bad but I've lathered myself up in Aloe Vera hoping to ward off any nasty developments. Apart from that my body is holding up well. I've got occasional bouts of stomach problems, but I'm taking probiotic supplements and keeping it in play.

The food is good here in India... I mean really really good. There's a snowball's chance in hell of me losing any weight here. Everyone was telling me before I came out that the weight would 'fall off me' in India, but jesus, I'm eating rings around me. And it's all so rich! I'm a big fan of masala with chicken or fish tikka, samosa's by the bucketful, aloo gobi (cauliflower and spud), chaat (a kind of indian salad with chickpeas, coriander, spring onions, chillis and a million billion other things), raita (cucumber and veg mixed with yoghurt)... the list goes on. Since hitting the Eastern coast, I've been horsing into the seafood, huge grilled tuna's with lemon rice, kingfisher curry etc.

So I think that the last time I did a decent post would have been Amritsar, in the northwest of the country, after crossing the Pakistani border. I have since traversed the whole of india, passed down the Eastern coast and am almost at the southern tip of the Subcontinent.

After staying a night with the pilgrims in Amritsar, I hopped on an overnight train to Delhi and met up with Helen, a friend of mine I'll be traveling with until Christmas. Six hours after my arrival in Delhi, I was straight back onto the Rajastani Express, an 18 hour sleeper to Kolkata (Calcutta), the city of Joy in West Bengal, where we met up with Emily, a good friend of Helen's from back home. Emily is volunteering for the Hope Foundation, a very professional and efficient Irish charity working with Kolkata's street children, and Helen had previously helped to organise fundraising for an affiliated charity back in Ireland. So we were given some really interesting tours of Kolkata's slums and shown projects ranging from slum schools, orphanages, addiction centres to women's vocational centres. Emily and her friend Niamh also introduced us to Kolkata's groovy social scene. Far from being the cesspool that we are led to believe from abroad (the black hole et al.). Kolkata is actually India's cultural and chill-out hub. We went to Bengali music nights, had a few slap up Bengali meals (de-fuckin'-licious), had a few nights out on the booze and even went to a local party. Basically we had an absolute ball of a week and I can't wait to make it back there in the New Year. It was a fantastic introduction to India and Emily and Niamh did a sterling job of giving us the 360.

Since then we hopped on another sleeper train down to Puri, a seaside city in the state of Odissa, where we spent a few nights in the beautiful Z Hotel, and saw some slick temples (it's all about the temples in India). Then another sleeper to Chennai, for a quick night on the booze in a big city, and finally a bus to Malalapuram, where we are now, a sleepy little village between Pondi and Chennai, in the state of Tamil Nadu.

And hey presto, it's time for me to fill my gut with some fine seafood (we're thinking of splashing out on a lobster one of these nights, although at ten euros, I'm not sure we can afford it)... so I'll be smelling you all later.

Peace out from Tamil Nadu...

C.

PS: Pics from Kolkata and a map of India below

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almost there...

2008-11-11T17:22:00.002+02:00

...Must ...update ...blog...
...Must ...do ... it ... for ... the... people....
argh fuck it, I couldn't be arsed... I've eaten too much fish and my belly is full and I need to lie down!

Pics from the Golden Temple

2008-11-06T11:58:00.001+02:00

And here very quickly some pics from Atari, the border crossing to India and also of the Golden Temple in Amritsar.

Final Photos of Pakistan

2008-11-04T12:53:00.001+02:00

Just a quickie to post some photos.... I'm in Calcutta with Helen now, but here are some photos of what we got up to in the north of Pakistan... i.e. trekking of the Karakoram Highway

Namaste from Amritsar

2008-11-01T14:40:00.006+02:00

My entrance into India has been quite exceptional. The first port of call was the aforementioned border ceremony. The Pakistani side of the border was mobbed by Pakistan Hindu pilgrims (apparantly 70% of the people travelling in India at any one time are pilgrims), but luckily a women adopted me and ushered me past everyone to the top of the queue. This is about standard in Pakistan where I have always been treated like some kind of royalty. Someone had warned me previously that the difference between the Indian and Pakistani border ceremonies is that you're not treated like royalty on the Indian side. Nothing could have been truer: As soon as I had passed through Indian customs and immigration, past the sign that said: 'Welcome to India, the largest democracy in the world', I tried my best to resist being thrown out into the crowds and tried to reserve myself a little seat before they let in the masses. However, I was no different to anyone else, and was duly ejected out into the waiting throngs.

At first, I wasn't too happy about this, but then I slowly began to realise that this is what makes India different from Pakistan. The throngs were different here: women mingling freely with men, music and dancing, a distinct lack of head-scarves and more western clothing. I got some stares but nothing compared with what I'm used to in Pakistan. I paid 60 rupees to get my bags looked after while I went to the border ceremony. Waiting for the floodgates to open, the masses were getting impatient, everyone pushing up against everyone else, babies crying etc. Eventually, they opened the gates, and the mob spilled into the border area. By this point I was quite elated... everyone was happy, smiling, laughing, singing, dancing... it seemed so much more liberated and at ease than the sometimes awkward formality of Pakistan. I ran to the grandstands to try to get a good seat. I could see some other Westerners being ushered into a VIP area but decided that I can sit with Westerners in the West. In the East, I wanted to sit with the Easterns, so I ignored all attempts to separate me from the crowd and made my way into the throws of the Indian section of the grandstand.

The ceremony went on for about half an hour, Pakistani crowds roaring, then Indian crowds roaring, soldiers from both sides goose stepping ridiculously into each others faces... At the end, I repatriated my bags and hopped on a local bus to Amritsar.

And it is from the Golden Temple in Amritsar that this post is now coming to you. I have never really been anywhere like this before. The Golden Temple or Harmandir Sahib is to the Sikh religion what Mecca is to Islam. It is there holiest place.

I am staying with the pilgrims in the Temple's free hostel. The temple provides accommodation for thousands of people every night. Anyone, regardless of race or religion is allowed stay at the temple for free and is fed as many times as they like 24 hours a day. Everything is done on a grand scale here, the dining rooms catering for thousands of people every hour.

The place is maintained by an army of volunteer Sikhs, who wash it from head to toe every single day. Every shred of barrier is polished every night, every inch of marble buffed.

Everyone is very friendly and respectful here. I had heard this about the Sikhs and am very impressed by this complex. To read more about Sikhism (they're the ones with the Turbans), click here.

I'm off to Delhi tonite on the night train, and then directly to Kolkata tomorrow... I hope you can survive a few days without a posting (yeah, as if anyone will have a problem with that).

Ur man in India.... C.

Indo Pakistani relations in my head

2008-10-31T06:17:00.005+02:00

hello there horsies...

So I figured it would only be fair that before I left Pakistan I would grace your screens with a quick brain dump.

Unfortunately, all attempts to upload photos have proven unsuccessful, but I promise that as soon as I get to Calcutta, it will be my first priority.

I'm leaving Pakistan for India today. At the border to Amritsar I'll witness the border closing ceremony, which has occurred on a daily basis since Partition in the late '40s. It's a choreographed act of pomp and indigence whereby both sides stomp their feet marching to and fro in mock disgust at each other, slamming the border gate shut for the night. These theatricals started up after Partition and have been built on and dramatised since then, making it an occasion attended by crowds of cheering onlookers. On the Pakistani side, they shout 'Long live Pakistan' and similar hopes for longevity of the Indian State are expressed from the other side of the fence. I've embedded Michael Palin's coverage of this event below so you can see what I'm talking about.

I have a conflict of my own going on in my head as I move towards India. India was one of the main reasons that I chose this particular route. In my 'virtual agenda' I have dedicated more time to it than to any other country. Yet for the past month, travelers I have met coming from there, have not been very positive. I've heard stories of rip offs en masse, dirt, poverty, unfriendliness, an absolutely overwhelming lack of private space... the list goes on. However, I've also heard that these extremes are what make the rich thread of Indian life so appealing, so I'm going to try to keep my mind open and to 'go with the flow'.

Pakistan, a country I had planned to 'transit' through, on my way from Iran to India (maybe two weeks is what I was originally giving it), has turned out to be an absolute gem. The people express their authentic interest in an outgoing, relaxed, helpful and overwhelmingly friendly manner. The land is beautiful beyond my wildest expectations: From the Balochi plateau through the green valleys of Punjab to the jagged edges of the Northern Areas, I would never have dreamed of Pakistan as a tourist destination. Yet I am determined that I'm going to recruit some trekkers when I get home and will return here to see the K2 base camp, Chitral, Peshawar, the Kyber Pass and some other places that I have missed this time around. It is fair to say that if I wasn't meeting my friend in India I would have stayed here for two months at least.

So with this in mind, I'm going to up and go to the Indo-Pakistani border (literally as soon as I hit post on this) and we'll see what happens.

Signing off for the last time in Pakistan: Ur man in Lahore, C

Alive and well

2008-10-29T12:26:00.002+02:00

Just a quickie to say that I was nowhere near Quetta and did not die in the earthquake there (see story here)... I'm just off the 24 hour bus from Gilgit to Lahore and all is good!
C.

Near Death Illegality

2008-10-26T13:40:00.016+02:00

I've been procrastinating on the blog front for a while... a number of factors have influenced this:
1. Was trying to upload my photos so that you could marvel at these while my written commentary astounds you...
2. The Internet has either been unbelievably slow or not present at all
3. I've been doing too much shit and haven't been bothered.

However, you'll be glad to hear that I'm currently sitting in front of a computer with acceptably fast Internet and have therefore decided to grace your screens with a short monologue. Unfortunately I still can't upload photos so you'll have to wait a few days for these.

Last week, the five of us joined three other solo travellers and embarked on a climb to the base camp of Rakaposhi Mountain. I have to admit that it was the first thing that I've done in a while which has really put me out of my comfort zone.

On day 1 we started our trek with a leisurely stroll through Minapin village (and it's marijuana plants). The pace and incline belied what was to come and we were relaxed as we waved at the gawking kids we passed. After about half an hour, we came to a river and things started getting more challenging. For about an hour we walked zig-zag up a rocky pass which eventually opened up to a grassy plateau. The incline was still considerable and we slowly made our way up the plateau, stopping to have lunch with our donkeys. This was the last time that we were to see our donkeys and porters for some time as we set off ahead of them, the porters assuring us that they would follow closely.

Having left tardy (we had to wait for an extra donkey to come), it was getting quite late now and at about three o'clock in the afternoon, we moved off the plateau and up across a near vertical mountain face. For four hours we plodded one foot in front of the other following our guide. It was the most difficult walk that I've ever done. Not only was the incline very substantial but once the sun went behind the mountain, the wind turned icy cold. By six o'clock we had passed the snowline and were trudging through snow with darkness falling quickly. The majority of us had left our jackets with the donkeys assuming that things wouldn't get too cold but we were wrong. After several episodes of my legs seizing up, only being spurred on by the knowledge that to stay in one place would result in frostbite, we eventually arrived at the Rakaposhi base camp, each of us absolutely shattered.

However, what was to make the base camp; cold weather gear, tents, cookers, etc, hadn't actually arrived yet and was imprecisely located somewhere down the mountain behind us on our dangerously overladen donkeys. It was dark now and the cold was biting. We had no jackets, gloves or hats, some of us were only in t-shirts. We started a fire with a few pieces of wood left over by the last group of trekkers. Then suddenly one of the porters shouted something in Urdu from the darkness and our guide ran off, leaving the eight of us to battle the elements. This was about seven o'clock. Our fire was small and insufficient against the encroaching cold. Immediately one of the group, Alex, started showing signs of serious cold, which could have escalated to something worse. One of the guys, Alby, acted immediately; taking any spare clothing and anything that could possibly insulate, he wrapped him up, fed him some peanuts and biscuits, literally sat him on the fired and rubbed him up until the colour returned to his face. That was pretty scary and brought the reality of the situation home to us. The fire was slowly going out and we were taking turns to search for firewood, but it was difficult to stay away from the reducing fire for more than a few minutes. Given that we had no torches (they were on the donkeys) and the area was a rocky moraine, any attempts to locate firewood failed miserably. I was getting pretty worried since I couldn't stop shivering myself.

Eventually at nine o'clock the guide, porters and donkeys appeared in the darkness. They were carrying bundles of firewood and had all our cold weather clothes, torches and food. The relief was thick in the air, everyone throwing on every layer of clothing that they had. The guides and porters set up our tents as we thawed out by the fire and after a late dinner jumped into our freezing tents and slept like babies.

The next day the group went on a trek across the Minapin glacier. Myself and two others then called it a day (not wanting to overstretch our aching muscles after the previous days antics) while the rest of the group continued up to a lake. That evening after dinner, it started snowing. At first it was quite light, but the snow got heavier and heavier until we couldn't really sit by the fire any longer. Unfortunately for Alby, Alex and I, we had drawn the short straw with the tents as ours was a summer tent without an outer sheet. By this stage it had a wall of snow creeping up its sides and we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without touching the edges. Ergo we weren't going to be able to sleep in it without getting very wet and cold. The guide had mentioned to us that there was a stone hut on the other side of the base camp. Alby and I decided to check it out and walked the 100ft across the base camp. It was a bit cold and breezy but it was going to keep us dry so we decided to relocate for the night. As soon as we got our stuff from the tent, the snow started to come down in droves and we could only look down and follow our footprints on our way across the base camp to the hut.

Eventually Alby and I arrived at the hut and he started setting up camp while I went back to help Alex find the way. I also grabbed some timber and took some embers from the fire to start our own fire in the hut. Unfortunately, having a fire in the hut meant having the door open to allow the smoke to escape... which was far too breezy, so we forgot about the fire and decided to go to sleep instead. As soon as we had settled down and things got quiet, a noise started to pour out of the walls on all sides... I turned my torch on to find that we were sharing the hut with at least three or four rats. Didn't sleep a wink for the first two hours fretting that I had rats nibbling at my toes, but then we all got too tired and slept for the rest of the night, occasionally waking up to rat noises which I learned to ignore and go back to sleep. It was a mad night altogether.

The next morning, after some brekkie of porridge and scrambled eggs we made our way back down the mountain. It took us a good four hours of fairly treacherous downhill walking to get back to the friendly town of Minapin where we had chips and coke before the jeep took us back to Karimabad.

Sooooo, back in Karimabad, we took it nice and easy for a few days. It's a lovely place. It's located in the Hunza Valley, a fantastic valley through which the Indus river flows. Currently, it's washed in autumnal colours, poplar trees demarcating the vegetation line against a backdrop of high snow-capped peaks over which the sun plays its daily light show. As soon as I can, I'll throw up some pics and you can see for yourselves.

Tom and Anna left our little group of five last week, meaning that it's only myself that's travelling with Alex and Alby now.

Three days ago, we continued up north to a little village called Passu. No phone reception, no Internet, about five people... that kind of place. Passu is the most north that we want to go on the KKH, with the next stop being the Chinese border and Kashgar. Along the route, we saw loads of Chinese workers, givin' it socks, blowing the living bejayzus out of the mountainside. The Chinese are extending and widening the KKH for the Pakistanis (mainly because they want to use it as a trade route).

Up in Passu we did two short treks. The first took about five hours and brought us over two very shaky suspension bridges where there was a wooden slat about every two to three feet and you had to jump from one to the next with the river flowing beneath you. The other trek brought us up to the Passu Glacier. We walked (perhaps quite perilously) right up to the mouth of the glacier, to an ice cave from where a river sprouted. There were huge ice boulders around everywhere and everything was quite unstable. It was just Alby and I and while we were taking pictures of each others in a variety of stupid poses, a huge ice boulder slid down about three feet from Alby's foot. That shocked the shit out of us and we got out of there quicksmart with ice debris falling away beneath our feet. That was the second and final out-of-comfort-zone situation for this particular posting (I'm sure my Mum won't be able to handle any more).

So now that we're back on terra-firma in Karimabad, I rang my mate Helen today. Helen was my flatmate/landlord before I set off on this journey and she's currently in India where we've decided to meet on Sunday (this day week). We're going to meet in Delhi and then jump on a train to Calcutta where she has to open some kind of foundation thingamajig (whatever, she has something to do there and I'm coming along for the ride). So I have to make my way to Delhi within a week and within ten days I'll be in Calcutta, on the other side of the Subcontinent beside Bangladesh. In the next ten days, I have to cover approximately as much ground as I covered in the first three months of the trip, so it's gonna be a lot of trains, buses and taxis for Conor.

I don't know if I've mentioned this yet, but I'm illegal in Pakistan. My visa was good for a journey up until the 20th of October, i.e. one week ago. I would have had my visa extended, which isn't particularly difficult, only I forgot my passport in Lahore. Aha, I hear you say... that's a pertinent fact which I have happily omitted for some time now. The fact is that I forgot my passport in the hostel I was staying in in Lahore. Lucky for me, that particular hostel is run by the best connected, most honest and trustworthy Pakistani around... Malek... who has assured me per telephone, that he has my passport, that it is safe and should I run into any authorities, I should just call him on his mobile and pass over the phone. The unfortunate side effect of all this, is that a visa cannot be extended without passport and not wanting to leave Pakistan prematurely, I'm in a predicament of the illegal immigrant nature.

I have, however, been told that the first fourteen days of overstaying are without penalty, so I should be good once I get to the border. However, if the border guards decide to act up and charge me the 20 Euros per day of overstay that are rumoured, then I'm going to find my budget for Pakistan being completely blown out of the water.

This post has turned into an essay and it's time for dinner. Dinner in our hostel is a communal affair, around a big table with a soup, curry with rice, an apple and a tea... and I've just been called for it... So take it easy and once I get back to Lahore, I promise to let you know if my passport is still there....

Ur man in Pakistan.

C.

More trekking

2008-10-17T15:39:00.005+03:00

We drove from Gilgit north to Karimabad today and already I've been roped into a trek starting at eight o'clock tomorrow morning leaving for the base camp of Rakaposhi, standing at 7788m in the Karakoram range, so a couple more days of radio silence are on the cards... three to be precise.

Apart from that, all is good. We spent a few days chilling out in Gilgit in the fantastically comfortable Madina Hostel. Last night we went for a chinese meal and then we got baked, watched Cannonball Run and rolled around the floor laughing... great flic!

I'll try to post some photos when I get back from tomorrow's trek.

L8r... C.

Killer mountain

2008-10-14T15:04:00.004+03:00

Left the twin cities of Islamabad and Rawalpindi about five days ago, embarking on the Karakoram Highway (KKH) up to the Chinese border. We spent two days driving from Rawalpindi to Gilgit, a little town about halfway up the KKH wedged in the middle of the Karakoram range of mountains. Checked into a lovely little hostel from where we organised our first trek: a light three-day trek bringing us up to 3900m which would serve to acclimatise us for higher elevations. It was called Fairy Meadows (no jokes please!)

We left Gilgit on the morning of the first day and got a three hour jeep to Raikot Bridge where we changed into another jeep and embarked on the most terrifying journey that I have ever experienced. For only fifteen kilometres we drove on a road that had somehow been affixed to the side of mountains and was just about wide enough to get a jeep past. The driver really wasn't taking it easy and the five of us were absolutely shitting ourselves as we teetered on the cliff edge and looked down the sheer drop below. An hour later, with unfettered relief at having survived, we clambered out of the jeep and continued up the mountain face for another three hours until we reached the camp.

The camp was a collection of wooden huts on a mountain-top plain cut out of an apline-esque pine forest. It faced one of the most amazing views I have ever seen: Nanga Parbat mountain with the Raikot glacier flowing from it. Nanga Parbat is the eight highest mountain in the world and is in the Himilayan mountain range (where it meets the Karakoram range). It's also known as Killer mountain as it's ascent has claimed quite a few lives.

Given that the internet connection here is so amazingly shit, I can't upload any photos, so you're going to have wait for the usual crap shots that I grace you with every now and then. In the meantime, I've found an image on the internet which should show the same view. However, the internet is so slow here that I can't actually view pictures, so it's a bit of a gamble. The image on the left is supposed to be Nanga Parbat and the Raikot Glacier... if it's not then sorry!

On day two, we walked up to the snowline of Nanga Parbat for a better view of the mountain and glacier. That brought us from 3300m, where our camp was, to 3900m. Although these altitudes aren't significant, it's good acclimatisation for further treks, but you also notice a distinct change in how your body reacts to extertion (mine has never reacted very well to it).

Staying in the lodge was great fun as well. We watched a chick chick gets it's neck cut halal-style for our dinner. (Halal is the Muslim way of preparing food: chick chick needs to be facing a certain direction when it gets the chop and the chopper needs to mutter stuff in Arabic). We also drank lassi, which is what's left over when butter is made out of goats milk. (We all pretended to love it, but it was fucking terrible, terrible stuff). In the evenings, we had a big campfire which we sat around listening to the locals lads singin' away and your correspondant even graced the Pakistani wilderness with a woeful rendition of the Green Fields of France.

It was pretty cold as well. When the sun was out, all was good as long as you were walking, but as soon as it went down, it got really really cold and we slept under three duvets each in our little wooden huts.

So we're back in Gilgit now, relaxing and recovering while we consider what trek is going to be graced by our blistered feet next.

Take it easy folks... C.

Eid in Lahore

2008-10-06T09:47:00.003+03:00

so, continuing my chronology (not for ever, just during the crazy times)...

Wednesday, 1st of October

Apparently the moon was in the right place and the right shape last night, so Ramadan was officially declared over and as such, Eid, the equivalent of Christmas, begun.

Malek arranged for us to go to an Eid festival which was one of the most surreal things I have ever witnessed in my life. When we arrived we were immediately throbbed by people and brought to see horse dancing. Having being received by the event organiser, seats were brought for us and the horses were made to dance right in front of us, bring them right up over us... It was freaky stuff. Next was a Kabaddi match where groups of half naked men wrestled in mud and bitch-slapped each other... Twas great craic altogether.

When it started getting dark, we were brought to the rooftop of a nearby building for dinner with the Kabaddi players. Many of them were international and had played in India, the UK and around the world.

After dinner we were brought back into the melee of the carnival, being ushered through tents with lady boys, actual ladies (without headscarves), motorbike stunts, dancing shows etc. etc. etc. Eventually, the night culminated in a concert where about 7000 onlookers cheered their little hearts out as we were brought up on stage. We sat on stage for the entire show, getting fabrics (of respect) draped around our necks. One of the English lads, Alby, looks 'a bit alternative' (long hair, beard, nose ring etc.) and he was invited up on stage to dance with one of the singers. He gave it a good fifteen minutes of cringy 80's moves (he even threw in the ol' drawing the V-fingers across his eyes number). The crowd were going absolutely mental and when he went to go off stage they all surged forward and were cheering like crazy mofo's... it was unbe-frickin'-lievable.

We finally managed to drag ourselves away from the place at about three o'clock in the morning and came back to the hotel on an absolute high...

Thursday, 2nd of October

Thursday's in Lahore are famous. It's the 'Sufi night' where Sufi's or practitioners of Sufism, a mystic strain of Islam, get down and jiggy with it at the shrine of Shah Jamal. This is by far the most interesting cultural event I have ever been to. I've embedded a video of it below. This isn't mine, I just found it on the Internet, but I took no photos on this night (it was a night not to be interrupted by camera clicks).

Basically, there were two drummers with large drums hanging around their necks. They beat these in differing tempos and a group of young men (or dervishes) danced maniacally to the beat. The dancing mainly involved shaking their heads at frantic speeds and a lot of swirling around. The idea is to lull themselves into trance like states whereby they can get closer to God through the music.

The shrine was full of people that night and it was pretty clear that opium and hash is used in vast (vast, vast, vast) quantities so as to ease people into trances. I've never seen anything like it before.

After that Thursday, things started to calm down a bit... Eid drew to a close with only the occasional round of celebratory gunshots cracking through Lahore's heavy evenings and we retreated to hostel, watched some DVD's and took it easy.

Unfortunately on Saturday night, my gut started acting up and I spent Saturday night and all day Sunday on the toilet. I won't go into any more detail on that particular incident. Suffice to say that I was happy when things started staying in my stomach on Monday morning again.

So now I've left Lahore and am in Islamabad. We had to get tires for the jeep here and tomorrow morning, we're going to set off on a tour of the Karakoram highway. This is a roadway blown through the foothills of the Himilayas. It's a joint Pakistani and Chinese project back in the day and is supposed to be great for trekking...

So that's all for right now... will update from the KKH (that's what the cool cats call it)...

Also, a big word up for the McNamara's girls who have finally figured out how to use the comments function....

Ur man in Islamabad. C...

Welcome to the Subcontinent

2008-10-03T16:07:00.010+03:00

I've been procrastinating... those of you who know me will no doubt find this an absolutely shocking admission, but it's true! I've been putting off updating my blog for the simple reason that too much has happened and I don't know if I have the ability to do it all written justice.

I've decided to simplify things for this posting with a chronology outlining what I did on different days. This is the only way I can kick my brain into action and provide some insight as to what Pakistan has been like for the past eight days.

Thursday, 25th of September

Arrived in Quetta as outlined in previous posting. Quetta is the capital of the province of Baluchistan, a fairly unruly province of Pakistan whose cultural borders extend into Southern Afghanistan (it's only a hop, skip and jump to Kandahar) and Eastern Iran. Balochistan is generally considered ungovernable due to its sparse population, extreme conditions and diverse peoples. So it's kind of wild-west out here!

Look at the photos below and you'll see what I mean. There's a fair few turbans bobbing around and it's the kind of place where you might expect to bump into Osama Bin Laden around any corner. (We tried to find him, but apparantly he's not on facebook, so we couldn't).

Friday, 26th of September

In the hostel in Quetta, I bumped into four Brits whom I had met in Esfahan and again in Yadz in Iran. Alby & Alex left the UK in a converted landrover (Stumpy - a machine for pushing planes around airports) and somewhere en route, they were joined by Anna Rose and Tom.

We decided that we were going to get down and dirty with the local fashions so we marched off to buy ourselves chalwar & kameez, which is a loose, long shirt and even looser pants that they wear here. We went to the smartest tailor in town and spent 1000 rupees (a tenner) on some groovy clothes.

We also walked around Quetta for quite a bit and got our first taste of the subcontinental curiosity. Foreigners obviously don't pass through here so often and when we walked down the street, pretty much everyone on the street stops what they're doing and looks at you. This can be quite disconcerting when the streets are packed with people. Especially when you have a women in your group (you hardly see any women on the street here, it's almost only men), things can get pretty heavy. You can't really afford to stop... as soon as you do, people start to gather around you and within a minute you'll be absolutely surrounded by people staring. It's not that intrusive, only very few people would actually harangue you in any way but having that many people surrounding you and staring is a little bit weird.

Saturday, 27th of September

Having made the nightmare crossing from Iran, we had fallen on our feet with a nice hostel in Quetta and were quite happy to spend a few nights there, before continuing north towards Lahore.

Ramazan was coming close to its end and people were preparing for Eid, the Islamic equivalent of Christmas, which goes on for four or five days after Ramazan. Unfortunately this meant that everyone was going home for Eid and the trains to Lahore were all booked out. Luckily, the Brits decided to save me and invited me to come along with them. They were planning a three-day drive to Lahore, over the lesser worn mountain route due east.

We also bumped into the Bufards, a French family who had been travelling around the world in their camping van for the past year. They had three daughters of 16, 14 and 10 and a dog... the picture perfect family, although slightly bizarre bumping into them in Balochistan. We went for a meal with them before heading off the next morning. (They were going to come convoy with us, but the French embassy suggested that our itinerary mightn't be suitable for younger girls... some advice that turned out to be very good indeed).

Sunday, 28th of September

We got up at cockcrow and started driving towards the Balochi village of Loreili. It was a six hour drive, but the roads were dirt roads so we couldn't open the back door for fear of being covered in dust and it was very warm in the truck. The terrain was mountainous and plateau. It was high, but at least it was dry (something we would appreciate when we got to the lower-lying Punjab).

When we arrived into Loreili that afternoon, we went to the police station to register ourselves. After shaking hands with everyone in the police station, we were brought to the Captain, who wasn't quite as friendly. He demanded to know what we were doing there and asked to see our permit (something we didn't have). He got quite aggressive and insisted that we shouldn't be there. Luckily, Alby had a got a letter from the Pakistani authorities in Quetta saying that we were tourists passing through. When he read this, his demeanour changed immediately and he became ueber friendly. He even offered to let us stay in the barracks and gave us an armed escort.

So once we had bedded down in the barracks we decided to go for a walk around the village. We tried to persuade the armed escort that we didn't need them but they insisted on coming with us. In retrospect, I'm happy they came, as the sheer volume of people who started surrounding us would have been a lot more daunting without the knowledge of an AK47 watching over us.

We cooked egg fried rice in the barracks that night, and one of the eggs we broke into it had a baby chick in it, so we were all a bit grossed out. Despite that and the onslaught of a trizillion mosquitos, we slept quite well.

Monday, 29th of September

Knowing that it would be a long journey to Multan, our next port of call, we got started at 7am. Again, we shook hands with everyone in the barracks before we left. (I'm not too happy about all this handshaking malarky as rumour has it, that the Pakistani's... ehh... clean themselves... after the toilet like... with their... ehh... hands... ). Anyway, accompanied by our armed escort, we set off for Multan.

The drive took about twelve hours and we decended from the high Balochi plateaux down through some incredible mountain scenery into the irrigated plains of Punjab and the Indus valley. Historically, the Indus river was seen as the western frontier of the Indian Subcontinent.

Decending into Punjab, we also got our first taste of the humidity for which this region is known. We arrived in Multan that night, checked into the cockroach infested shithole that passed for a hotel, showered and washed and went for some dinner. Then we each tried our best to sleep in rooms that would pass as saunas in Ireland.

Tuesday, 30th of September

The next morning we got on the road early and drove the six hours to Lahore. Multan is on the backbone of Pakistan, with the Indus plains acting as a conduit all the way from Karachi in the South, so luckily the road was good.

Although we did have a minor incidedent whereby we nearly creamed a tuc-tuc (autorickshaw). We were speeding along the motorway at about 55 mph when a tuc-tuc wtih about twenty people in it (a common sight) coming towards us decided to do a U-Turn in front of us. Alby swerved to miss it but it swerved in the same direction, so he swerved the other way and we sped past it clipping the rear corner. It nearly fell over but somehow didn't and just rocked from one side to the other... I'll never forget the faces of the women who were sitting in the back of it as they saw us coming... I'm pretty sure that they thought they were gonners.

After our near death experience, we arrived in Lahore that evening and checked into the Regale Internet Inn, where Malek, the head honcho here, had organised a Qawwali Music concert that evening. So we got ourselves some beers from the local five-star hotel and settled down for the night.

Right, that's all for now... I have much more to report on but I have no more time... I'll try to update with the rest in the next day or two... See photos and map below...

Ur man in Pakistan... Conor

View Larger Map

Iran Pakistan border

2008-09-26T16:02:00.003+03:00

Have just arrived in Quetta, in the Balochistan province of Pakistan, after a crazy 24 hour journey. I got up at six o' clock yesterday and got a taxi to the main road, where a bus to Zahedan picked me up. I sat behind this guy with the worst breath on the face of the planet and had to stick pieces of tissue paper up my nose. After four hours of that, I arrived in Zahedan, the fairly lawless frontier town of Iran, where I immediately jumped in a taxi to take me the 85 kilometres to the border. At the border, I was adopted by a Pakistani family who ushered me through customs, changed some money and then jumped in a joe maxi to Tatfan, the border town on the Pakistani side and aptly described by lonely planet as hell on earth. I hung around Tatfan with my Pakistani family eating lamb stew with my fingers until about four o'clock when we all got on the bus to Quetta. 16 hours of backbreaking roads, we arrived in Quetta at six o'clock this morning. I'm absolutely fucked!

Camel breath

2008-09-24T14:19:00.006+03:00

I think this will be my last post from Iran. I decided to leave Yazd yesterday and jumped on bus to Bam in the Southeast of Iran. My visa's up tomorrow and I have to leave Iran, so I'm going to go to the Pakistani border at Zahedan tomorrow morning (about a five hour drive).

I've noticed that the Iranian buses don't like to stop and they go quite a while without stopping for a toilet break (and they don't have toilets on board). Yesterday I got on the bus at 4pm and it still hadn't stop by 9.00pm that night. I was about to burst my gut and eventually it stopped at a police checkpoint and all the men rushed to the front of the bus. I was thinking to myself "Thank fuck I'm not the only one who needs to piss" and I jumped up and followed them all. There was a sand dune that would have fit my needs perfectly, but they all ran out into the desert. Presuming that they knew something I didn't (maybe it was a sacred sand dune or something) I followed them thinking they would eventually all stop to relieve themselves... So I was with this group of Iranian men and suddenly they all dropped to their knees in prostration and started praying... and there was I standing in their midst with my zip half down... It was ...ehh... slightly embarrassing... I had two choices: drop to my knees and start praying or obviously turn around like an eejit and retreat. I chose the latter since I couldn't have feigned praying had my life depended on it... I decided to make use of the sand dune on the way back from my embarrassment and with quite some relief, I contributed my bladder contents to the battle against desertification.

Arrived in Bam late last night and spent today walking around the ruins of the Arg-e-Bam. Some of you may remember that shortly after Christmas 2007, Bam was hit by a very serious earthquake during which 35000 people died... the town is a bit of a disaster zone (click here for news coverage). The castle and citadel here (Arg-e-Bam) used to be the jewels in crown of the Iranian historical sites, but they've been reduced to rubble. They're trying to rebuild it like it used to be, but it's going to take them decades and millions of euros...

Also, see below for some pictures of Yazd... I went camel riding, saw some Zoroastrian stuff, some old citadels etc. It was very nice and relaxing with a good mix of seeing shit and then chilling out in the hotel, getting my ass kicked in chess, playing cards etc.

Zoroastrianism was the principle religion of ancient Persia and survived until the Islamic armies marched in. There are still 1m Zoroastrians in Iran (also in India and Pakistan). It's a pretty cool religion. Their god is Ahura Mazda and they have a prophet called Zoroaster (who looks a bit like Jesus in pictures). They believe in good and evil, truth and falsehood etc. They also place strong importance on the four elements: Wind, Water, Earth and Fire. They don't want to impurify earth or fire by burying or burning their dead, so they used to leave the cadavers to rot and the bones to be picked clean by vultures after death. They did this by leaving them in so called towers of silence. This has been discontinued since the sixties and now they bury their dead in tombs lined with cement so that contamination of the earth doesn't occur.

In other news, before I left Yadz, I collected books from the post office that my mum sent me (yay mum!)... so I've got books again and am very happy. currently reading 'Among the believers' by VS Naipul... which seems to be very interesting.

I also discovered that I really, really dislike camels and camel riding. Camels are ugly, smelly, fly infested, Starwars-esque beasts and to ride on them is paramount to letting someone with high heels do a jig on your genitals... I could not recommend it any less. I don't know how these Silk Road traders did it.

Here are some pictures of Yadz, more to come when I get a decent Internet connection (I've heard it ain't so good in Pakistan though... )

Signing off for the last time in Iran... C.

camel steaks... two for a foiver!

2008-09-16T14:18:00.005+03:00

Well hullo there folkaroonies... for your information, the following is a prioritised list of things I would like to eat/drink:

A Beer... a cold one... maybe an Erdinger or something...
A sausage (as in a pork sausage - you durty bastards! Superquinn would do nicely)
A bag of king cheese and onion crisps... hmmmmmmmmmmm.... tasty!
A rasher (well, lots of rashers)
A whiskey and ginger ale with a lime (again, several of these would be good, just enough to get me tipsy)
A glass of white wine
Sunday Roast
And I'd also luv a burger king whopper meal (yes, I don't care what you think, all you French people out there... I can hear you now: "Zat is rreally onbelievabal zat you wud wont one of zose gressy omburgurs de merde")

So now that we've got that out of the way, a short update on where I am and what I'm at... I jumped on a bus from Shiraz yesterday and arrived in the desert city of Yadz, where I'm going to spend pretty much the rest of my visa time (7-10 days). There seems to be a lot to do here with lots of Zoroastrian sites (more to come on that in later posts), nomads and deserty stuff, so i'm going to use this as my base and generally flute around for the next while.

I've lashed in some photos from Shiraz and Persepolis, the Archemeden city of Xerxes which it's most known for. Persepolis is quite impressive. It was built around 500BC and then burned down by Alexander the muppet in 330BC (although its rumoured that his troops just got drunk and accidently started a fire... how we've progressed since then). I spent a good half day there with a canadian dude just wandering around musing about civilisations past.

So here in Yadz, I'm staying in this nice little hostel called the Silk Road. Its the most backpackery hostel in Iran and it's good to mingle with some foreigners again.

One thing that I keep on noticing though, is that even amongst backpackers and travellers, there's a kind of snobbery as to what they've 'done' and 'not done'... Inevitably when you meet people, they reel off the list of shit they've 'done': "Yeah, so I DID Turkey and then I DID Greece and Slovenia... after that I DID Georgia and once I've DONE Iran, then I'll DO Pakistan... yah, yah... sooper!". People are almost judged by the amount of shit they've DONE... with wilder off-piste stuff gaining particular kudos: "Oh, yah... loike I've totally DONE iraq... yah, yah... brill... best country ever! The jihadists ore loike sooooo friendly!"

Still though, I am adamant that my Irishness is my most significant asset when travelling. People are automatically postively predisposed to you... even if you're a complete tosser! There's two asian guys in the hostel... one is from London and the other from Amsterdam, but when the Iranians ask them "what country mista?" and they reply England or Holland, the iranians burst their shits and start with "Japan, Korea, China...", so these two guys have just resigned themselves to it and now reply to their heritage questions with an Asian country, just to save themselves going crazy! Ti-hi-hi... the concepts of multiculturalism havn't spread this far yet...

So when I arrived at the hostel last night, they didn't have any rooms in the dorms and I was fooked if I was gonna fork out for a single room so they let me sleep on the roof. But it was deadly, there was a brilliant view on the mosques and save the 4.30am call to prayers, the cool breeze let me sleep like a little babby. Although I did have to get up early this morning cos the sun was burning me...

I'd like to see some comments from McNamara's people... are you all dead or what! (note that redundancy is no excuse for not commenting)

Speaking about work, I'm reading that armageddon has hit the banking system with the collapse of the Lehman brothers etc.... I used to know this guy... a right dickhead (no names mentioned) who worked there... so I'm happy about that. I hear that they're not gonna pay salaries at the end of the month and that these swish bankers are reduced to clearing their canteen cards by stocking up on chocolate bars... What a funny thought! Only two weeks ago, they were jetting around on super-dooper expense accounts sucking the economy dry... Aah no, only joking, poor them! (-ish)... But seriously, economic decline brings it's own opportunities so I'm not worried (yet)... My dad keeps tellin' me that I've never lived through an 80's-esque recession and that I shouldn't be such a smart-ass, but in fairness, if you bought property in Ireland in the past year or two, I have no sympathy for you! (Did you think prices would rise into perpetuity).

One final piece of useless drivel is that I can't figure out how to go overland from India into SouthEast Asia. Burma seems to be a black hole that you can't get into from the north. So my options are a flight (boo-hiss...) or else going from Kathmandu in Nepal to Lhasa in Tibet up into China and then back down around into Vietnam... this would add considerable expense and time and bureacratic visa effort, but it could be interesting to stick China into the itinerary...

Apparantly there's an 'all-you-can-eat-for-60000-rials' on camel steaks at a hotel around the corner tonite so I'm off to stretch my stomach muscles and get into form...

Ur man in Iran... C to the P ;-)

Cold Sore suck @$$

2008-09-13T12:43:00.004+03:00

eugghghhghghg, what... what do you want... why are you bugging me...? Oooooowwww, you wanna know what's going on, you want a new post do you? Why do you torment me for updates, your prying eyes raping my soul to feed your sordid desires for information...

Eh... ahem...!

A bit dark is it? A lil' bit crrraaazzzzyyyy!?! I'm only joking... AHAHAHAHA... ROFL... HEE HEE... but you know sometimes it's not so frickin' easy to write this thing... (not like it's a literary masterpiece) but even to know what to drivel on about... During the day, I keep on seeing things and think to myself "Oh by jove, that would make suuuuuch an interessssting anecdote on my little bloggy-woggy!" and then I skip off and instantly forget about it. I try to keep my diary and a pen with me so that I can write down in bullet point form (consultancy training) the little episodes that so illustrate the kaleidoscope of my life, so that I can remember them later. But inevitably I forget to do that, and instead I find my diary filling up with the Farsi phonetic translation for "Top or Bottom?" or "Son of a donkey" (very helpful as an exclamation when haggling). And by the time I get to an internet cafe, my posts end up like some kind of horse manure: And then I went to the loo and after that I saw a sign and then I farted and after that a car beeped and then... and after that... and then... and after that...! You get the idea!

Sooooooooooo, today I went to Persepolis, the foremost attraction in Iran. It was nice! I've also got a cold sore which PISSES ME OFF IMMENSELY!

Last day in Esfahan

2008-09-11T14:05:00.004+03:00

shit, shit, shit... my booze plan fell through... I thought I had it all lined up perfectly, feic sake! Anyway, I'm off to Shiraz tonite where I have to try to get some of that famous wine!

Went out for dinner and a qualyun with some folks from the hostel last night. We all got different things so as to taste everything. Really nice aubergine dishes and meat wrapped in vine leaves and kebabs and stuff like that... Then we went to a deadly little tavern for smoking waterpipes. We had two girls with us so we had to sit down the back (girls aren't usually allowed in, but they make an exception for western birds).

On that point, I forgot to tell you that when I arrived in tehran, I got a bus to my hostel with all my various bags and shit hanging out of me. I got up onto the bus at the middle entrance and put my bags down and sat down (sweat running off me). I was surrounded by all these girls who were giggling at me and all the men started shouting at me beckoning for me to come to them... I didnt know what they were ranting about and then this man came up and started pointing to the women shouting "WOO MAN, WOO MAN... no, no..." and pointing to the front of the bus. And finally the penny dropped that the buses were segregated with women sitting at the back, men at the front and that I had sat in the WOOMAN section. So I had to get all my bags on again, trapse off the bus and back on via the the front door where I sat down and was surrounded by men laughing and pointing to the back of the bus saying "WOOMAN".

Anyway, so beyond that, all is going rather well. I'm managing to keep to my budget (partially cos the Iranians won't let me pay for anything) and am eating relatively healthily. My bowels are in good working order (a rarity) and any cuts or scratches that I've got have been kept free of infection... I still have a bit of a cold and am snuffling away to myself as I type but I'm gonna go to the hammam today to sweat it out of me!

There was 6.1 earthquake in Bandar Abbas yesterday but that's miles away from me so all is hunky dorey here. I am preparing myself for a shudder though as they hit Iran very frequently. (Remember Bam in '04).

Nightbus to Shiraz tonite and then some more sightseeing malarky, particularly Persepolis.

Peace out!

Tourist adoption

2008-09-10T09:36:00.005+03:00

Got back to the hostel last night at about one o' clock in the morning and I bumped into two other backpackers who were also just returning. "How was your day?" we asked each other, only to find that we had each suffered a similar fate: Our adoption by non-English speaking Iranians... it's a hardcore situation!

What happens is that you're strolling along and inevitably someone will stop you to ask you where you're from, what you think of Iran etc... (the ability to speak english is not a prequisite here... Hey mista, country wha?). Eventually, they invite you for a tea, which turns into a lunch, which turns into an afternoon, which turns into dinner, which turns into invitations to stay in their house that night... etc. etc. etc. So it's all very friendly.

On Monday, I went to see these shaking minarets and bumped into four lads from the north of iran on their holidays... not a word of english between them but somehow we managed to spend two days together and actually had great craic ripping the piss out of each other with charades and face gestures (hey mista conor, you mista bean!). They brought me for lunch and dinner and gilyan (sheesha type water pipes) and didn't let me put my hand in my pocket. At one stage, I snuck off and bought us all some ice creams and they got very angry and tried to force the money for the ice creams on me... (you guest, you guest...).

We kept on getting lost in translation though... We were talking about countries and I wanted to make the off-hand remark that Iceland is really small and that they're all interbred (my apologies to anyone from Iceland) but somehow they ended up tut-tutting at length and believing that in Iceland everyone must sleep with their family members (Again, my apologies to anyone from Iceland).

One thing was pretty funny. We were sitting around eating our Ice Cream when four girls passed us, two iranians and two obvious backpackers (who had been 'adopted'). We started talking to them and one of the girls was from County Clare, so we started having a bit of banter and talking about the iranians etc. She said she had her high heels in her handbag and that they were on their way to a rave, at which I broke my shits laughing. We were generally chatting and laughing and when eventually we bid them farewell (for single lads talking to single ladies would quickly earn the ire of the fun police), the Iranian guys asked me whether the girl was my sister. They coulnd't believe that I had just met her and would speak so openly and loudly with an unknown woman. They were convinced that we must be related... twas mad!

In other news, I was walking down the street yesterday engrossed in my copy of 'Iran Daily' (Ahmadinejad mouthpiece) and went to cross what I thought was a piece of grass, only to find myself up to my hips in the most putrid pool of sickening foul water, with a scum on top that grass had started to grow on... I was not impressed and went to the fountain in Imam Square to clean myself... Fucking revolting stuff and I spent the whole day squelching around in my shoes.

Also, my various attempts to procure a bottle of whiskey have not been fruitful. I have a last ditch attempt tonight when this Iranian I met is supposed to meet me at the hostel with 'da moichendice'.

Ramazan is still as annoying as ever (I think this is having a negative effect on my whiskey adventures)... especially since I'm now convinced that there's no-one in Iran who actually follows it and fasts. I see everyone smoking and taking sly drinks of water and I'm sure that they're all eating in their homes.

So I've done some research on Pakistan and am really looking forward to it now. I'm going to make a beeline straight for the north (Lahore) and spend my time in the northern mountains there doing some trekking etc. Unfortunately the Kyber Pass into Afghanistan seems to be closed to foreigners so I won't be visiting that (I'm only joking mum, relax, I'm not going near Afghanistan).

I'm also looking forward to going to Shiraz (which I'm gonna do tomorrow) and then Yadz before making my way east. I've put myself in contact with the Irish embassies in both Tehran and Islamabad letting them know that I'm arsing around and they've asked me to keep them up-to-date.... very nice guys!

That's it for today... be good and would someone please leave me a frickin' comment or two?

Alco-holy Armenians

2008-09-08T09:48:00.005+03:00

I've been trying to find some booze here in Esfahan... A friend gave me a name of a street in the Armenian quarter. (The Armenians have always been a large immigrant community in Iran, they have their own parts of each city and are Christian. It is 'informally tolerated' that they use wine in their religious ceremonies and as such, they have become the source of illegal booze).

So, off I went to the Armenian quarter, to the road which my friend had told me to walk down. Apparently it was certain that someone would come up to me and offer "whiskey, vodka" under their breath. So I walked up and down this very long road for about an hour, trying my best to look like an alcoholic foreigner, but alas... no-one came up to me... I tried my best to give 'the eye' to any dodgy lookin' characters, but I'd say they all just thought I was a fruitcake. So... long story short... I got no booze! And then, last night when I came back to the hostel, I was speaking to a French guy who said that he'd been offered whiskey twice that day... Is there something about me that suggests tee-totaller? (Of course, the french eejit didn't accept it!).

Not much else going on apart from that, but I was speaking to someone who has just come from Pakistan and they said that they loved it. For some reason, I was planning on barging through Pakistan very quickly, but I think I need to research more about it. Apparently the north is very nice.

I'm still enjoying Esfahan. I spend a lot of time just walking around looking at mosques or shit like that. The people here are really friendly. Even the carpet sellers are nice... they want you to buy a carpet but they're not militant about it. They invite you in for a tea and say "don't worry about carpets, I won't try to sell you one!". In general people don't try to flog you stuff here, they seem to be more interested in speaking to you and finding out what you think of Iran. I think they're used to the western foreigners being 'backpacker' types with no spare funds to indulge in knick-knacks... they have the Arab tourist for that!

Despite what you all think (as per the poll to the right), I shaved my beard today... but don't worry, it'll grow back quickly. I can't believe you people, telling me that I look better with a beard is paramount to saying that my face is so hideous, it needs to be covered! You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Also Ramazan is really wrecking my nutz. There's all these little 'secret' places to eat during the day, but no-one ever tells me about them. And then, as soon as the sun goes down (and the Imam does his little song and dance), people can start eating again. But the restaurants don't let people in (or else they'd get overflown) and instead just set up a stand on the road from which they sell the standard post-fast grub (lentil stews and the like).

I think I've cracked the currency though. I can now ask how much something is, understand the response, choose the correct notes and pay in a timely manner :-) Progress!

So I believe that it's Monday morning and you're all in work... tihihi...

Anyone who works in McNamara's reading this post should click on comments below and leave me a little message...

Take it easy... ur man in iran... C.

Esfahan Pics

2008-09-07T12:18:00.001+03:00

Some first impressions from Esfahan:

And here's prayer time in Jamme Mosque

Goin' South

2008-09-06T08:23:00.002+03:00

It rained on Thursday in Tehran a bit... a nice kind of cooling rain with a bit of an electrical storm. Apart from that the weather has been hot, but not unbearable. It's probably in and around the 35 C mark at the peak of the day, but generally quite dry. You wouldn't want to be walking around outside too much around midday but it gets nice and cool in the evening and at night. Unfortunately these frickin' Iranians feel the need to air condition everything and I've got a huge big head-cold with a snuffly nose, sore throat and general shittiness from sleeping in uber-airconditioned rooms (where you can't control the AC yourself).

I'm almost finished my book and as soon as I do, I'm up the swannee with a toothpick for a paddle as I have no more (unread) books left. I'm reading 'The Idiot' by Fyodor Dostoevsky at the moment and it's taking its time on getting to the point. My favourite book so far has been Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which kind of reminded me of the Magus, one of my favourite books of all time.

I had a good few days in Tehran. I spent 8 of my 30 visa days here, which is probably a little more than I should have, but I reckon that it was well worth it. The capital cities are always important as they reveal a lot about a people and I've really enjoyed myself here. I was put in contact with one of the locals here, a really nice guy, who took me under his wing and made sure that I got to see some of the "other" sides of the Islamic Republic. The other night, he brought me along to a bit of a party... and well... I got hammered on this stuff called arac, which is a locally brewed concoction known for its effect of making you blind. The guys at the party assured me that the particular batch had been tested by them on many an occasion without any resulting blindness and so, I conceded and drank myself to oblivion. I woke up the next morning (well, more afternoon than morning really) with a pounding headache. I don't know if this is all in the spirit of Ramazan, but whatyagonna do... when in Rome...!!!

So I hopped on a Super-VIP-ComfyComfy-Super-Super bus from Tehran for a quick six hour blitz to Esfahan in Central Iran yesterday. Arrived here last night after having the ear yapped off me by this friendly Iranian guy with no English... but apparently this city is the THE thing to do in Iran so lets see what the craic is. I'm going to stay here for a couple of days and then move south towards Shiraz. Then I'll spend a few days in the desert in Yadz before putting the head down and doing a legger to Zahedan and then directly across the Pakistani border to Quetta and Karachi.

I had the maddest dream last night... (In fact it was kinda a whole night of mad dreams but I just remember one): I was skateboarding (as I do) down this mad mountain and fell off the cliff and kept on falling for ages before I was able to grab onto a random ledge. And then I was worried about my skateboard had been lent to me by my brother, while hanging there from the ledge. I spent half the fucking night hanging from that ledge worrying about the skateboard until I was interrupted by some Saudi/Qatari/generic Arab who burst into our dormitory at 7.00am this morning ranting and raving about people not sitting on this bed (the dream was over by this stage).

I had other stuff to tell you but I can't remember it now...

View Larger Map

Crazy Traffic

2008-09-03T12:25:00.003+03:00

The traffic is mental here... Apparently some tourists have a really difficult time crossing the road. There's no lights for pedestrians so you just have to barge through the traffic... You look up a road which is choc-a-bloc with speeding cars, vans, buses, motorbikes and can't even imagine yourself crossing it. But if you need to cross, then there's no other option. You basically just have to walk and the majority of cars swerve to avoid you and you try to stop and start to make the best of the gaps, keeping your tummy and arse tucked in tightly while two buses sandwich you to a hair's breadth... Exiting stuff.
Here a short video generically found on the web.

Friendly Iran

2008-09-02T14:00:00.004+03:00

Before I left Ireland, when I told people I was coming to Iran, the standard response was 'Why?'. Given the generally unfavorable coverage that Iran gets in the media, I suppose this is understandable. In fact, I was a little apprehensive coming here myself. I remember how as soon as I entered into the grounds of the Iranian embassy in Dublin, my heart skipped a beat or two and I was kind of 'on edge'. However, in the past few days, a lot of the prejudices that I had about Iran have been demystified.

I've been speaking to people about what's going on in Iran and there are a lot of varying opinions. First of all, a (very) brief recent history lesson (full lesson here). The Persians have a history going back thousands and thousands of years. It is suggested that the first civilisations began here and much thinking went on here while Europe was still hanging around in the Dark Ages. Persia was ruled by various caliphates (or muslim kings) and then by the somewhat more secular Shah's until 1979. Things were pretty liberal back then, although it could be argued that the shah was a bit of a plonker and tended to spend the country's cash a tad freely. Due primarily to this financial imprudence in '79, religious traditionalists, communists and nationalists all came together to overthrow the shah during the iranian revolution. In the power vacuum that followed, an exiled religious leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, returned to Iran and claimed the country as an islamic republic, imprisoning and killing many of the non-islamic revolutionaries who had helped bring about the Iranian revolution (now retrospectively known as the Islamic revolution by the Iranian government) and founding a nation state where Shia Islam is not only the national religion but infiltrates every aspect of government activities, including the institualisation of sharia law in the judiciary. Directly after the revolution, our mate Saddam Hussein decided to take advantage of the inexperienced new state and make a land grab from Iraq, prompting the very bloody eight-year Iran-Iraq war. Although this war left many dead and wounded, Iran stood its ground and the war solidified the place of the Islamic Republic and the governing council of guardians.

So, back to life in Iran today. So far, all I've seen is Tehran and one must remember that this city of 20 million is the most liberal and progressive part of iranian society. However, life here is quite similar to big European metropoli. Although sharia law is nominally quite strict in certain instances (i.e. stoning for extramarital affairs, death by hanging for sodomy etc.), it should be noted that the sharia punishments are almost never handed down. They are only handed in down if the crime has been committed in conjunction with other serious crimes, i.e. murder or rape. Also, sharia punishments can only be handed down in accordance with sharia methods of proof, some of which are quite amusing. (I.e. sodomy must mean actual penetration as witnessed by four men and the couple involved must remain in their positions while a string is passed between the two bodies... Only if it gets stuck, has sodomy occurred...WTF???).

Also, booze is available over here through delivery men... you just call your local buddy and he passes by your house and drops off a bottle of vodka, to which you add some perfectly legal red bulls and bob's your uncle... Club92!

One of the contacts I had here brought me out for dinner the other night to a restaurant a little outside of Tehran and we had a quality feed and smoked some shisha... but he works for an Iranian private bank and is involved in Islamic banking. Listen to this, under Islamic law, it's illegal to charge interest (it's the same in Christianity actually, but that's one of the little rules that we've forgotten about), so there's this concept of Islamic banking, which buys the house that you're looking to buy with a loan and sells it back to you for more money... i.e. no interest involved whatsoever... click here for more on Islamic banking.

Anyway, what I was trying to say was that everything feels very much normal here... although there are obvious restrictions (my facebook account being one of them), it really ain't all that different.

One major difference is actually a postive one, the Iranians I've met so far have been unbelieveably hospitable. They seem to see unfailing hospitality as a 'duty' or 'responsibility'. I've been taken out for countless dinners and lunches, had teas bought for me, been driven around, been brought to visit different things and generally been treated like a prince by the Iranians I've met so far. They won't let me put my hand in my pocket (even though I am quite insistant) and they always go beyond the call of duty.

The other night I had brought out too little money and was stranded in north Tehran with only enough for a taxi halfway home, and the nicest motorcyclist on the face of the planet gave me a free spin home... twas great...

That's all for now... excuse the slight disjointedness of posting.

C.

Ramadan vs. Atkins...

2008-08-31T12:15:00.007+03:00

Just a quick one for yez to let you know that I'm still alive and that I haven't been gunned down by the mujadeen... (I don't even know what the mujadeen are, but they sound ominous!).

So yesterday, I was an exemplary little tourist and did lots of cultural stuff. I got up at cockcrow and went to the Grand Bazaar which was interesting (pretty similar to the one in Istanbul... grand bazaar is grand bazaar). After that you won't believe what I did... you won't feckin' believe it... wait for it... wait for it... yes, I went to a museum! Actually it was more a palace than a museum (the Golestan Palace in fact, click here for Wikipedia link), but it had lots of old shit behind glass cases and lots of drawings so it qualifies as a museum... there was even an etymological museum part of it, with freaky life size mannequins wearing traditional Iranian clothes... freaky shit!

Not wanting to overload myself with culture, I took the afternoon off and lay in a park reading my book... I also found this deadly little Iranian tea house and I tried 'dizi' for lunch, which is a famous Iranian dish. It's like a stew of mutton, spuds, tomatoes etc. and they serve it to you in a tall and narrow oven fired clay receptacle with a bowl and a pestle... Luckily enough I had read up in my lonely planet about it, so I wasn't baffled by this array of accoutrement.

First of all, you rip up bread and put it into the bowl and then you decant all the broth out of the stew into the bread and you eat that like a soup. That's essentially your starter. The idea is then to get your pestle and to grind the remaining stuff into a paste which you then eat with bread or a spoon and yogurt. So, pestle in hand, Conor starts trying to grind this stuff up... but I fear that I was a little too timid with it and was only really slopping it around the place (like a little girl). An Iranian dude beside me stood up and came over, ripped the pestle out of my hand and proceeded to beat the living bejayzus out of my lunch. He layed into it like a bat out of hell for about five minutes and then presented me with the resulting (very fine) paste for my entree... Mad altogether, but his bird spoke English so we chatted for a bit and I impressed on her my utmost gratification for her bloke having pureed my lunch for me... and we all laughed... hihihihihi!!! Ahhhh, it was very nice altogether...

And then when I went to pay, I think I gave the money to a beggar instead of a waiter and created a big hullabulloo whereby everyone was shouting at the beggar and trying to get the money back off him while I stood by with a slightly bewildered look on my face... Well done Conor you big eejit!

Tomorrow is a big day... it's the first day of Ramadan (Ramazan), the Muslim month of fasting... that's right, you heard me... Conor decided to go to the most frickin' Islamic place on the face of the planet at the most frickin' Islamic time of the year. And so, from tomorrow, no-one eats, drinks (even water) or smokes during daylight hours.. for a month ... and apparently I'm not allowed to either! Well isn't that just brilliant... just frickin' brilliant!!! I don't know what I'm going to do... apparently all the shops, restaurants and anything that might be source of nosh remains closed. Foreigners are supposed to survive by staying in their hotels and eating there, but that is going on the assumption that your hotel is not a hellhole of a cockroach infested piece of cowdung! Anyway... I'm sure I'll survive it somehow... worst case scenario I lose a pound or two (and we all know that wouldn't exactly be Armageddon!).

I bet ya nobodies even reading this... everyone's off in Electric Picnic having a ball while Conor's stuck in tehran awaiting starvation... Anyway, I don't care anymore, I'm off to search for a loo... l8r compadres...

The Tehran Summer

2008-08-29T21:34:00.005+03:00

Jayzus, had a mad day today... walked about a trillion miles all over the city... I'm in the more affluent north of the city (my hostel being in the south) and earlier on this afternoon, I went for a stroll in the Park and bumped into something called the Tehran Summer Festival... Twas mad altogether... I lazed in the sun reading my book and talking to randomers. The Park was jammers with people all with picnics and playing badminton like mad bastards. There was all kinds of cultural shite on display and then when it got dark there was this crazy coloured water dance show where the fountains in the lake got down and jiggy to some choons... Brilliant altogether!

The money is still seriously wrecking my head though. They have rials here which are denominated in quadrillions, but when they talk about money, they talk in Toman, which means ten rials. So when you buy something, they tell you for instance: "1000 please sir"... and you dig through your ridiculous amount of notes and find one that says 1000 on it (in crazy symbols... see below) and hand it over... and they look at you like you're some kind of fruitcake and say "One THOUSAND please sir" and then you cop that they actually mean ten thousand so you have go rooting through your telephone book of notes again and dig out another couple of wads to keep the punter happy. I WILL UNDERSTAND THIS MONEY!!!

No real other news... I'm talking to people trying to come up with a plan of attack for Iran (I mean that in a friendly-traveller's-route kinda way, and not a You-can't-have-nuclear-energy-or-we'll-blow-you-up kinda way). There's a couple of places which are musts (Esfehan, Yadz etc.) but I want to come up with a decent itinerary so I'm talking to people about it and letting them deface my Lonely Planet (adding to the never-ending collection of email addresses I'm amassing).

Finally, I did the best thing that I ever did today... I got my card reader (which I use to transfer photos from my camera to computer) and I unceremoniously FUCKED it into the bin. It's been pissing me off since South America insofar as it only works every fourteenth time and generally breaks my balls. So I popped into one of the shops here and I bought a new one... It was super cheap and super plasticy but it works a dream... and so, my feathered friends, putting up photos has just become a lot easier and I leave you now with some of my first impressions of Iran.

Keep it real, homedogs! (And anyone going to Electric Picnic, I hope you have a ball of a time... I would love to be there!!!)

Crazy Money

2008-08-29T11:48:00.006+03:00

hullo there readers and welcome to this, the first posting from Iran. I arrived in Tehran yesterday morning having survived a pretty shitty train journey from Van in Turkey. I arrived at the station in Van on Tuesday at four o'clock thinking to myself "Jesus, I'm great... I'm here well in time for my 18.47 train to Tehran... isn't it amazing how precise these train times are!!!"... When I got to the station, everyone was telling me to go away, that there was no train to Tehran until the following Friday. Fuck sake, I thought to myself, but I ain't goin' anywhere. I had heard that the trains were kind of haphazard and tended to pop in and out whenever they liked, so, being the stubborn bastard that I am, I stuck my heels in and decided to camp at the train station until a train came. My train finally arrived at 01.00 on Wednesday and didn't budge until 08.00 that morning. At least they let us on and we could sleep on the train though. Then we went on our merry way towards the city of Tabriz in Iran. After spending half of the first day at Turkish customs and the other half at Iranian customs we finally arrived in Tabriz at 10.00pm on Wednesday evening, and then in Tehran at 9.00am on Thursday morning. Bit of a nightmare, but I actually slept quite well on the train and also I got adopted by an Iranian guy and his son who were in my couchette and they helped me do all the stuff that I needed to do (eat, survive the passport grilling etc.). They insisted on paying for everything and wouldn't let me put my hand in my pocket.

Once I arrived in Tehran, I stood there on the steps of the train station and I imagine I must have looked like your atypical lost westerner. This oul fella came up to me and started chatting away in English. He offered to show me the cheap way to my hotel (i.e. bus as opposed to Taxi) and on the way, we popped into his gaf for some lunch... what a nice old man he was! He wouldn't let me pay for the buses or anything and insisted on paying for everything.

So basically, I've been here a day and I haven't been able to spend any money yet. Which is a pity, cos I have buckets of the stuff. Because of the sanctions and various other anomolies, you can't actually get money into or out of Iran (I.e. our cards don't work in their atms etc.) so you have to bring enough raw currency to do you for the whole stay. When I was in Turkey, I armed myself with 600 Euros, hoping that this would be enough for a month in Iran. I went to the money exchange place and asked could I change it into Iran Rials. Your man at the counter exploded in laughter at the idea of me changing that much into Rials, he pointed at my backpack and indicated that I'd need to empty it to carry the Rials if I wanted to exchange that much. So I decided to exchange 150 Euro to begin with (as you can also exchange Euro within Iran) and your man took my three clean 50 Euro bills and overloaded me with literally hundreds of hundreds of Iranian notes... He also gave me a plastic bag with which to carry them. (I thought that was nice). Basically, my backpack has doubled in size due to the fact that I have Iranian notes stuck in every concievable pocket and the fuckers won't even let me spend them.

There's nothing else to report really... I've been walking around tehran looking for internet cafes (which are thin on the ground). This one is the first one I've been able to find. Other than that, I'm a happy little camper. Gonna start my touristy shit tomorrow (I.e. the grand baazar, various mosques, a museum or two... etc. ) but I'm taking it easy today, just walking around trying to orientate myself... I've had about five people walk up to me starting a conversation in English and they've all given me their email addresses... it's mad as a hatter! Oh and my Farsi is coming along slowly. I used the train journey to learn some of the basics and can now count to ten as well as your usual hello goodbye thank you and all that malarky. It's a good deal more difficult than Turkey because the written alphabet is different... But I've learned all the numerical digits in Farsi script so I'm battling my way through it. I'm not even going to bother with the alpha digits, it's fucking madness: شیلشسلیسیباسیبلغتعهنمهخههعهخمعهخمغعمهغعه ... See what I mean!

L8r dudes, and anyone's who heading to EP, I hope you have a ball! I wish I was going.
Yur man in Iran,
Conor

Da Vizualz

2008-08-25T16:33:00.007+03:00

It took me a whole day, but I sussed the train situation. Must be at train station tomorrow at 4pm for train to Tehran... Looking forward to this.

In other news, things ain`t lookin good for a sèjour ın Kashmır... Must keep my eye on developments. See here.

Here`re more photos for yız... sorry but I`m not ın a mad photo-takıng mood these days and they`re maınly borıng landscapes.. wıll try to spıce ıt up a bıt (but not too much... don`t be so vulgar!)

Peace... C

Preparing to cross

2008-08-23T19:02:00.006+03:00

So, I dıd a legger out of Trabzon and am now wrıtıng from Van, the most sıgnıfıcant cıty ın Eastern Turkey and stagıng poınt for the crossıng ınto Iran. Im really sorry but thıs post wıll be wrıtten wıthout apostrophes and wıth a funny ı, as the normal i ıs too dıffıcult to fınd and I would otherwıse type too slowly. (You dont understand the ımmense effort that Im already puttıng ın ın order to grace you wıth full stops ınstead of the character ç).

Heres my newest to do lıst for your perusal:

Recharge all electrıcal thıngs (whıle I have the luxury of a plug ın my room)
Buy batterıes for my speakers
Upload photos to blog and facebook (pendıng chargıng of camera)
Update blog (et voıla)
Suss out transport to Iran (I mıssed the TransAsıa to Tehran, but ıt turns out theres another one from Damascus on Tuesday so I mıght take that... ıt would cut out all of northwestern Iran but then I could focus on Tehran and other areas)
Do my laundry (I handed thıs ın thıs mornıng to a turkısh gırl and ıt was pretty bad... I was ashamed of the stench oozıng out of my laundry bag, feıc sake)
Sort out cash for Iran (they dont accept vısa or anythıng else so you have enter the country wıth as much raw currency as youre plannıng to spend)
Buy a paır of long trousers (I couldnt possıbly force the persıan bırds to look at my nobbly knees, the ımams would have my guts for garters)
Do a shop and take advantage of the frıdge ın my room for savıng some cents
Drag all possıble Iranıan contacts out of anyone I know

On that last poınt, ıf you know anyone ın Iran, or ıf you know anyone who knows anyone ın Iran, then hook me up. (I need to fınd someone who can sort me out for a few brewskıs.... haha, only jokıng.... so not jokıng!).

Ahhh, and theres the call to prayer... gımme a second whıle I prostrate myself.... nah, only messın ya, I dont do all that nonsense... I just observe! Actually when I arrıved ın Istanbul and heard the call to prayer for the fırst tıme, ıt was pretty weırd: Fıve tımes a day, some punter hooks hımself up to a mıcro and startıngs jabberıng about allah... But after some tıme you get used to ıt and actually ıts pretty soothıng and melodıc (dependıng on the mu`athın who does ıt). Now I fınd ıt almost comfortıng, even the mornıng one at around 5.00am mıldy arouses you from your slumber, remınds you that all ıs good ın the world and that you have another couple of hours kıp and lets you fall back ınto a deep sleep afterwards. More ınfo on the call to prayer here wıth a sample here. The call to prayer ıs dependant on the sun so the tımes change ever so slıghtly every day. It also means that any gıven tıme, somewhere ın the world ıs havıng ıts call to prayer and there are always people prayıng... I thınk thats a nıce thought.

When I was ın Izmır, my Turkısh frıend ınvıted me to come to Frıday prayer ın the mosque wıth hım. So I went a long and he told me to do what he dıd, so I kneeled, stood and prostrated shoulder to shoulder wıth all the other dudes (no dudesses allowed). The ımam read out sectıons of the Qur`an ın Arabıc and then ınterpreted them ın Turkısh. In Turkey, all the ımams are employed by the state (as are the rabbıs and prıests) and ın a weırd twıst are requıred to follow all rules for cıvıl servants, ıncludıng always beıng shaved. So ın Turkey, ıts ıllegal for the Imam to have a beard... ısnt that just bonkers!

Anyway, Im apprecıatıng thıs ınsıght ınto Islam. Contrary to general perceptıon, I fınd ıt to be a very peaceful and pleasant relıgıon. Those of you that know me, know that I ... ahem... well... ehhh... aın`t the most spırıtual to say the least... especıally when ıt comes to the Abrahamıc relıgıons (Judaısm, Chrıstıanıty and Islam) but I do belıeve ın the power of prayer as a force to be reckoned wıth and somethıng about the Islamıc way of doıng thıngs resounds wıth me. If youre goıng to have a god and youre goıng to pray to hım, then ıt should be about absolute devotıon and prayer... Islam seems to be about egalıty among people, ıts ımams are equal to everyone else and just lead prayer, but they don`t preach or ınterpret ıt themselves, as our prıests would do back home. Also, there ısn`t thıs mad concoctıon of the trınıty, theres just the one flıppın god whos the head honcho and thats ıt. Yes they have a bıt of an ıssue wıth women but you have to remember at the tıme that Islam was created, women were treated lıke shıt and Islam actually protected them and bettered theır lot. The western ınterpretatıon of Jıhad as a holy war agaınst 'ınfıdels' ıs also slıghtly mısalıgned wıth realıty, the actual meanıng beıng a constant struggle or betterment of oneself and socıety...

Rıght, nuff o that... I have to get some chow... L8r compadres!

Sıgnıng off for yur correspondant ın Eastern Turkey... Bey Conor!

The Brown Sea Coast

2008-08-22T19:37:00.005+03:00

Well Toto, you mangy wreck of a cat (This particular Toto's a cat, the canine equivalent not being widely available for Wizard of Oz quotations in Turkey), I think we're not in Kansas anymore!

As previously mentioned, I've horsed myself off the tourist trail to Trabzon, on the northeast coast of Turkey, on the Black Sea... and... well... ehhh... things ain't as easy as they were. I've gotta say that the southwestern tourist ring is very accessible indeed. Buses bring you more or less from hostel door to hostel door, you don't really have to choose a hostel as you're ushered from one affilliation to the next, there's always plenty of gringos around to combat isolation etc. etc. etc.

Up here things are a bit different: I was dumped in the industrial swampland that passes for the bus station and hiked for 20 minutes into the town centre. Since I've been in Turkey, I've realised that the guide I bought was published during the middle ages so any information it has is a tad out of date... When I got to the town centre, I hiked around a bit for a cheap hotel and ended up with a cosy little windowless oven on the sixth floor of a run-down shithole of a place. Cheap as chips though... All the other hotel guests were very attractive Russian girls, who swanned around in skimpy nightclothes and lay seductively on their beds with the doors of their rooms open... ehhhhhhh yeah... well, at least it wasn't a brothel!

Since I've come away, I've enjoyed getting back into some old travelling habits. One particular such habit is named the Poshite. The Oxford English dictionary defines the poshite as: 'the art of leveraging the lavatory facilities of upmarket western hotels for defecational purposes without actually being a patron'. It's not really nuclear physics and I'm sure everyone does it, but I think it's great... You have to stroll up the door with a swagger and oozing confidence. As you approach the doorman, it is this confidence that will sink or swim you. Part of the doorman's basic training has been identification of poshiters and their subsequent deterral, so you have to be strong. As you approach the following is going through the doorman's head: "This fucker is gonna come in here and shit and leave without paying for anything.... but he is western... what if he's a guest that I haven't seen yet.... wait a second, he's dressed like a tramp... but he is western... what if he's one of those new aged hippies that stays in upmarket hotels but dons tramps clothing to mingle with the locals during the day.... what'll I do... what'll I do......". If, at this point, you show even the slightest waver of doubt or lack of conviction, you're done for... You have to persevere and stroll in there as if you own the place, passing him with a smile and 'good afternoon', which no doubt he'll feebly reciprocate. Occassionally, you'll get a lacky who'll feel hard done by and will shadow you on your stroll across the reception, in which case you go to the bar, look around for 'that person that you have to meet', look at your watch, shake your head and say tut-tut and then turn around and ask HIM directly where the toilets are. On your way out then, you just stroll and everyone's looking at you, and everyone knows what you just did... but it doesn't matter, cos it's done now, and you can't take it back... (haha, imagine the thought of them getting you to take it back...)...

While we're on the topic of defectation, the Turks have this great little invention. It's a little nozzle at the back of the toilet which is aimed upwards. You sit down... you do your business... and then you turn a little knob to the side of the loo. And low-and-behold a stream of high pressure water comes out of the nozzle, aimed directly at the... ahem... particular....ehh.... orifice in question, washes it of all... ahem... debris... and bob's your uncle! Afterwards, you take some loo paper and 'pat down' to dry things off... Seo e agus sin a bhfuil as we say!!!

So, I've been talking shit for long enough... Today, I decided to check out of my brothel and went to visit the Sumela monastery perched up in the mountains... It was pretty groovy and gave me enough opportunity to walk around in forests, which is why I came to the Black Sea, so I've decided that I have enough of it and I'm going to hop straight on a bus out of here and try to make my way into (cheap) Iran asap... I don't have the cash to stay in Turkey any longer... it's too pricey! So I'm going to Van tonite, the most eastern city in Turkey and crossing point to Persia of old... I'll probably stay there for a few days getting my shit together for Iran (buying long trousers, converting to Islam, arranging circumcision etc.)

If you're reading this blog, you should leave messages, cos it inspires me to write... If I think no-one's reading, I won't write anything... If you have a question, ask away and I'll answer it in the next posting...

May allah (peace be upon him) be with you all...

C-man

Bram Stoker's Laïcité

2008-08-19T15:38:00.006+03:00

OK, I admit it, I've been neglecting my blog a little bit... but it's all good now, cos I feel myself slipping into blog mode and have decided to pleasure you all with a decent post.

First of all a bit of a round-up of what I've been up to in the last few weeks. To begin with I had a ball of a time in Istanbul. It's a great city and the Istanbulonians are a swell bunch of folks. I didn't do too many of the 'touristy' things but I generally relaxed and soaked up the vibes of this ancient city... Istanbul (and indeed Turkey) has a mad history, having been consistantly shagged around between the Greeks, Romans and Ottomans... It has been named Byzantine and Constantinople before its current nomenclature and has seen sieges and world wars bloody the Bosphorous.

I met a Turkish guy on his holidays and he accompanied me from Istanbul to Izmir, Turkey's second biggest city where we spent a few days walking around and soaking in the rays, before heading on to Ephesus, mentioned in a previous post.

From Ephesus I got a bus to Fethiye on the Mediterranean and hopped into a Gulet (or large sailing boat) which made it's way along the coast for four days to the town of Olympus. The cruise was great craic altogether. There were about fourteen of us (Yanks, Aussies and Wops) and we generally lazed around in the sun all day waiting for the bell to ring so that we could gorge ourselves on the very tasty chow that our chef prepared. In the evenings we played cards and had a few beers and then slept up on deck under the manically shooting stars of the northern Med. One night we went to a bar on the shore and danced our little hearts out (or 'got low' as the yanks say). I sweat so much that I had to go for a dip every half hour to cool down. Apart from all that madness the days were spent cruising along and stopping in inlets and at beaches every now and then for a pre- or post-chow swim.

After that I spent a few days in Olympos trekking around the variety of greco-roman ruins that the town is known for. Yesterday I left the coast and headed inland to Cappadocia, an area of central anatolia known for it's caves. Basically what happened was that a volcano shagged out a load of ash a quadrillion years ago, which then compacted to become a soft stone. This stone was part eroded by water and created these mad constructions which the locals saw fit to hollow out and live in. So my abode here is a little cave which remains cool all day and all night... it's sooper dooper altogether.

Anyway, so I'm gonna jump on another bus tomorrow evening and make my way to the northern coast of Turkey at the Black Sea. This will take me out of the gringo loop that most tourists follow (Istanbul, Aegean, Mediterranean, Ankara and back to Istanbul) and should be interesting. The area is close to Georgia and I was thinking of popping in and getting blown up by the Rooski's but I decided against it...

The buses here in Turkey are pretty good. They are generally used as the main mode of transport between cities. They are spacious, well air conditioned, cheap, fast and the roads are good. The trip to Trabzon is about 15 hours so I'll hop on tomorrow evening around sevenish and sleep on the bus arriving refreshed and ready to rock and roll in Trabzon the next day. I also save myself a hostel this way (Ain't I just the bestest!).

An interesting thing about Turkey is the absolute veneration of this guy, Ataturk. Every single shop you go into has a picture of him hanging up on the wall. If you see a statue, you don't even have to look to see who it might be of, it's always Ataturk. His mug adorns the Turkish flag everywhere. He is absolutely adored by the Turks, who essentially consider him their father (Ataturk means father of the Turks).

He was a general in World War I and was Turkey's first president upon the fall of the Ottoman Empire after the war. He was pretty visionary; He set up the Turkish state as it is today, made it secular, changed the script from arabic to latin and led the country through the reform necessary for a new republic after the loss of the war and the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire. The turks are supremely proud of what they achieved after their fall from greatness and this pride manifests itself in profound veneration, bordering on a personality cult.

I think he looks a little bit like Count Dracula, but I don't tell the Turks that cos they wouldn't be happy at all. (They're super nationalist, last week I wanted to buy a towel with the Turkish flag on it and the prospect of me drying my infidel nether-regions with their beloved drapeau nearly caused the shopkeeper to beat seven shades of shi'ite out of me). Waddayathink? The prince of darkness or what?

I read that Ahmadinejad, that wily Iranian president, visited Turkey to have a chinwag with Ergodan, the Turkish PM. (The Turks are eager to act as interlocuteurs between the Iranians and the US over ye ol' nuclear issue...). It's standard practice for dignitaries visiting Ankara to visit the mauseleum of Dracula... sorry Ataturk... and 'they' say that Ahmadinejad did not visit Ankara, but instead went to Istanbul, in order to not have to visit the 'shrine to secularism' that is Ataturk's mauseleum, an ideology that the Iranian mullahs might not be too favourable of. See article here.

That's all for today... I hope you're all behaving yourselves...

Ur man in Turkey... C.

PS. For all those French who think that they invented secularism, you're wrong!

PPS. Saw a camel today... or maybe a dromedary... well, it was camel like anyway

Turkey Photos

2008-08-17T13:25:00.008+03:00

Right folks, finally managed to get some photos up... will give them some narratives later. On my way from the coast today moving towards the interior of the country towards Goreme in the Cappadocia region.

C.

001 Turkey

Oh yeah, and yesterday we got up early to see baby turtles hatch out of their eggs and make their way to the see... We stood guard so that the birds wouldn't get them... frickin' ueber cute;

quickie

2008-08-15T13:24:00.000+03:00

Just a quickie before I do a proper photo update tomorrow: I left Istanbul on Friday last and have made my way down the Aegean and then the Mediterrean coast of Turkey since then. I started off with two days in Izmir, Turkey's second largest city, then a night in Selcuk to see the ruins of Epheseus and the Temple of Artemis, then a night in Fetiyeh preparing for a four day Med cruise which has just delivered me to the little town of Olympus.

Before I left Istanbul, I visited a 'hamam' or turkish bath and got a massage. The guy who massaged me can only be described as a big fat sado masochist. He started with an exfoliation which was paramount to skinning me alive.... then slapped me down on a marble surface and proceeded to generally beat me up in a very violent manner. After punching me in the gut for about five minutes he started bending my extremities in directions that they're not supposed to be bent in... It was very sore and every now and then I let out a little shriek (like a little girl) which only served to have him increase the ferociousness of the violation and grumble Turkish insults at me.

Will post photos tomorrow.

Hey Shithead, how about a kebab

2008-08-06T13:20:00.000+03:00

Jesus fuck... where do I begin... I've been kept off my feet in this whirlwind of a city for the past few days, generally trying my best to 'be turkish'.

I met this really cool local guy who I've been hanging around with. He lives in France and is only visiting so he's taking the opportunity to do 'the tourist thing' as well and generally be my tourguide.

First of all, the lingo: My turkish is actually coming along quite well. I've got to the point where I can sit down at a cafe and pretty much order what I want and have all the rudimentary dealings with the waiter with him thinking that I can talk turkish... It's only if he queries anything or seeks to deepen the friendly banter, that I am unmasked as a fraud with a limited number of multipurpose word conjectures and generic grunts. Tonite I learned all the bad words so that I can pepper my language with these, making me by default 'more natural'.

On Monday we went to the Princess Islands for a night. They're these islands off Istanbul in the Sea of Marmara where the local tourists go. They don't allow motorised propulsion on the island so everything is horse and carty (very quaint but slightly malodourous). Spent the day lying on the beach trying to get some kind of base before I hit the south and the med. As I said though, the tourism there was mainly turkish with the occassional arab, so I kinda stuck out like a sore thumb. (Ye know those haribo cola bottles... think about a white one of those lying amongst loads of brown ones).

Other than that, have been consuming vast amounts of tea and beer (in alternating binges) and have been trying some of the local chow (which ain't all that bad). I've done 'some' touristy stuff, and I do feel bad when I hear about all the museums that other people have seen, but I really couldn't be that arsed doing anymore museums.... I might go to a Hamam (Turkish bath) tomorrow. So I'm gonna do a runner tomorrow and leggit down to Izmir, Turkey's second biggest city and a bit beachy... Will post a photo or two soon.

L8r.... C

PS: For those of you who were wondering, Turkish Delight is disgusting here as well.... yes, it still tastes like soap!

The Plan

2008-08-03T13:16:00.000+03:00

So, day three is going well. Spent yesterday sunbathing, visiting the grand bazaar, had a typical anatolian meal and generally walked a lot. I've also got a turkish mate here who's been showing me around and today we're gonna drive up the bosphorous and generally chill out. The food last night was good... lots of good meat and meatbally type things (really tasty lamb)... had a yoghurt drink with it called ayran (which I remember all the turks in Berlin drinking), a really nice dessert which was a mix between a creme brulee and a rice pudding, and turkish coffee (which is essentially caffeine heroin and should be taken intraveneously).

Also, I came up with a plan for the rest of turkey. It goes like this: Istanbul - Izmir - Bodrun - Antalya - Konya - Cappadoccia - Ankara (Southwestern Anatolia & Med) and then from Ankara - Trapzom - Van - Urfu - Vanin in the East before crossing into Iran

That's all for now... peace out. C.

View Larger Map

Afternoon Tea

2008-08-01T13:14:00.001+03:00

Just spent the afternoon getting tea horsed into me by a very sound french-speaking turkish dude. He's from the Kurdish area of Turkey and explained the whole 'kurdish' thing to me... (I will post something on that when I understand it more).He wouldn't let me put my hand in my pocket... sound as fuck these turks!

Lift Off

2008-08-01T13:12:00.001+03:00

Okeedokee so, here's blog post number one from the road... arrived into istanbul yesterday!Seems to be a pretty groovy place so far. Last night when I arrıved, I went for a walk around the old part of the city and generally arsed around knockin brewski's into me for a while. It's warm but not unbearable... Had a good sleep last nıght despıte the fact that some halfwit aussie robbed my bed and I had to sleep on a bare mattress. (I'd forgotten about the joys of budget travellıng and dormroom banter)...I decided to start this trip as I aim to continue so I'm going super mega budget for now. (Last time I went away, I spent most of my travel budget in the first two months and I'm not going to let that happen again.... although I wouldn't take back a single one of those buenos aires steaks....mhhhhhhhh.... drooooool!).

So when I got to the airport last night, rather than my usual taxi (I get a taxi to the bathroom in dublin) I took a combination of metro, tram, bus and walking to get to the hostel. It took about two hours and several little diversions. While I was walking along, they did the 'call to prayer' thingy (mcchhchchcalllllllahahahahahahmccccallallalahahaha.... allahhhhhhhhhhmchmchmch), which is a bit mad altogether ... no doubt there'll be more on that in later posts. And all that with my 22kg rucksack on my back and 9kg backpack on my front. By the time I got to the hostel, I was sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market, but the water was off so I couldn't have a shower. Fear not though, cos I am ridiculously well prepared and have a complete kit for 'no water' cleaning which I was chuffed to be able to use on my first night.

Soooooo, aaaaannnyyway... what else is there. Got up early this morning and had a super-mega-cheapo brekkie of .... bread with honey... (Honey's actually very tasty, I always thought I didn't like it for some reason). Then I had a look at the blue mosque today and have been generally walking around the city... I've just crossed to the north of the city and walked up a big hill and am now shagged altogether, but I'm going to persevere until I get to Taksim Square where all the action is supposed to be.

May Allah be with you all...

Ur man in Istanbul... C

PS: Actually, I'm on the western side of istanbul and haven't gone to the 'Asian' side yet. And seen as the trip is going to be 'Asia', this really this isn't part of it, it's more like a 'precursor' or an 'amuse-bouche'... haha

Busy, Busy

2008-07-20T12:38:00.000+03:00

Can't sleep so I thought I'd share my to-do list with you:Updated in red as of Thursday the 24th

Get vaccinations... need at least a HepA and B booster Done with Typoid as well
Get an indian visa done with a Pakistani visa as well
Get a new credit card Ordered, should be waiting at home
Get a spare battery for my camera Should be waiting at home
Start packing not started yet
Get a dental check-up and deep clean of the choppers Done and done
Get a health check-up Done, but need to go back tomorrow as blood pressure was high
Sort out my frickin' health insurance Should be waiting at home
Get Malaria tablets and antibiotics Done and Done along with €300 worth of other medicinces/supplements/health stuff etc.
Buy an eBook and download virtual books Can't source one of these in ireland and not enough time to get it sent over... must survive with traditional books, Doh!
Fill my MP3 player (courtest of Dan Donleavy records) Not done... maybe at weekend.
Finish the final essay of my Project Management course (eight months overdue) Snigger... never gonna happen!
Move my shit out of Helen and Paula's place and move back home Tomorrow is the big moving day
Photocopy all travel documentation To Do over the weekend
List itinerary/embassy's etc for the oul' pair To Do over the weekend
Cancel anything that takes money out of my bank account (gym, ntl, those Concern astards) Done
Generally stop procrastinating and get my finger out... See above list of undertakings and demonstration of this week's productivity

Oh fuck, it looks a lot longer than I thought it was... not so fucked anymore, still need to book Monday's flight to Istanbul though!

T minus 9 days and counting...

2008-07-19T19:33:00.000+03:00

For those of you that I haven't seen in a while or for those of you that don't know me, I've been working in Dublin, Ireland for the past two and half years and have decided to take eight months off and go overland from Istanbul to Jakarta (see above for the route).The last time I was away (as in away-away, not holiday-away) was South America for eight months, two and a half years ago (click here for that blog), so I'm well due a little odysee.

So... Why Asia, I hear you ask! (The internal monologue begins...). Well, I had a couple of routes in mind for the next time I go away:I would have quite liked to fly back to Colombia and pick up where I left off on my last trip by continuing up into central America, maybe finishing up in San Fran (I'd be quite attracted to Panama, Nicuragua, Guatamala and Mexico). However, as much as I enjoyed South America, I thought that this time around, I needed something kind of different (perhaps more challenging).

Similarly I was considering a sojourn in the Middle East and Africa, perhaps from Istanbul to Madrid, down through the Arabian peninsula, the horn of Africa, crossing central Africa, up the West African coast and back into the good ol' EU through Gibraltar. The opposite argument applied here: Perhaps this was a little too ambitious, travelling in Africa is a different ball-game... there ain't an established gringo trail (not that that's what I'm looking for, but sometimes the familiarity of it can be comforting).

So, I decided in the end for Istanbul to Jakarta... This should bring me through some combination of the following countries: Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka, Nepal, China, Bhutan, Bangladesh, Laos, Vietnam, Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia.Here are some reasons for the choice of route:

Good combination of 'gringo trail' countries (i.e. India/SE Asia) and more unexplored countries (Iran/Pakistan/Burma).
Like the food (food expectations, in order of travel, are: Kebabs, kebabs, kebabs, curries, curries and curries)
Don't speak the lingo (a challenge I didn't have in South America)
Weather
East-West contrast (Istanbul as the gateway - plan to touch the western side of the Bosphorous with my foot to mark 'point de depart')
Sociopolitical importance of Iran
Religious variety: Islam, Hindu, Buddhism etc.
Beaches
Variety of climate/landscape
China, India as BRICS

That's all that I can think of for now...So, I'm still in Dublin... All I've done so far in preparation is (1) got an iranian visa and (2) quit my job. Haven't booked a flight yet but I'm hoping I can get a one-way to Istanbul for the 28th of July (i.e. in nine days). Passport is currently with unfriendliest person in the history of humanity in the pakistani embassy getting visa'ed... Due for collection on tuesday and then straight to Indian Embassy for sooper dooper express visa.Will update on preparation during the week.

Peace Out.

Conor