Bury Abroad

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2007-07-28T08:32:00.000+05:30

I'm back in the UK. I made it back safely. There were no problems getting to the airport in Mumbai on Thursday. My nine hour British Airways flight (flight number: BA0198) left on time (at 1.15pm local time), and I arrived back in the UK at 6pm (again local time). I was able to catch all the connecting trains to Lowestoft and finally arrived home at 11.45pm not feeling too tired considering.

It feels good to be back home. The UK has never seemed so sanitised and clean, and I am back in a world of set prices and cold air, a place where I can drink tap water without falling ill. I come back to a different Prime Minister, but otherwise everything seems much as I left it in March.

Since getting home, amongst other things, I've caught up on some sleep, sifted a little through my photographs, and totalled up the final amount of money I've spent going to India. I think I've been quite economical over all...

Flight costs: £358.90 (an 'open jaw' flight to Delhi returning from Mumbai).

Visa fee: £30.

Money spent in India over four months: £1291.85 (106 500 Rps).

Average money spent per day India: £10.50 (865.9 Rps).

Total money I've spent going India: £1680.75.

Well, that's it: my travelling is over for the moment and this blog is now finished and complete. The biggest trip I'll be making for a while is the trip over the road to the newsagents. It's time for me to look for a new job and a return to normality...

Take care,

Bury (no longer abroad)

goodbye india

2007-07-23T08:57:00.000+05:30

'We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.'

Jawaharlal Nehru, First Prime Minister of India

Day 120. My time in India is finally almost at an end, and this is my final blog entry from India. On Thursday morning I will make my way to Mumbai International Airport and fly home to the UK. I should touch down on the tarmac at Heathrow around 6pm UK time (assuming there are no delays). Rather than stay over in London I intend to catch a late train from Liverpool Street Station back to Lowestoft in Suffolk and the home of my parents. I should walk in through their front door around 11pm (I hope).
Being in India has been one of the most interesting experiences of my life: every single day has brought something either new, amazing, depressing, inspiring, frightening, unbelievable, or unsettling. I'm glad I've stayed so long because the longer I've been here the more I've got out of it, and the more my opinions have formed, changed, and re-formed. The only thing I can honestly say I've learnt is how endlessly complicated, sophisticated, and diverse India is. She defies all attempts at a single, simple unifying theory and cannot be explained with confident ease by anyone - not even by Indians. Just when you think you have learnt something about the country you learn that you are wrong and go back to square one. This can be frustrating but it's also the reason why travelling in India is such an endless journey of new discovery.
I'll be very sad to leave but also happy to finally go home. I'm pretty exhausted and more than ready to stop moving. I'm really looking forward to getting back to my family, friends, and my old life in the UK...what's left of it anyway. I'd like to travel more in the future if I get the opportunity and I'd like to see as much of the world as I can in my lifetime, but for now it's time for a rest and for something different. It is time to stop for a while and look at other challenges.
It just remains to say thanks for everything to India and to the people of India...I've had such a great time! Thank you so much for all the memories!

1. My India Trip: Statistics

Total days travelling in India: 123.
Major bus and train journeys made: 36.
Total number of hotels stayed in: 36.
Beaches visited: 4.
Mountain ranges/highlands visited: 2.
Currencies used: 1 (Rupees).
Average amount I spent day to day: 10 GBP per day.
Books read during the trip: 8.
Indian films watched: 13.
Total disposable razors used: 5.
Amount of times I've had my laundry done: 16.
Nervous breakdowns: 0.

2. My Blog: Statistics

Length of India blog: approximately 32,000 words.
Number of photographs taken in India: approximately 572.

3. My Bests List

Best city: Mumbai.
Best Beach: Kovalam (Kerala).
Best mountain range: Himalayas.
Best natural wonder: Himalayas.
Best river: the Ganges at Varanasi.
Best historical building: Taj Mahal (Uttar Pradesh).
Best fort/palace: Maharajah's Palace, Mysore (Karnataka).
Best hotel stayed in: Hotel Akash in McLeod Ganj (Himachal Pradesh).
Best journey: the journey by bus from Manali to Shimla.
Best transport used: the old taxis in Kolkata and Mumbai.
Place I would most like to live in India: Mumbai.

4. India: Facts

Full name: Republic of India.
Population: 1.1 billion (UN, 2005).
Capital: New Delhi.
Most-populated city: Mumbai (Bombay).
Area: 3.1 million sq km (1.2 million sq miles), excluding Indian-administered Kashmir (100,569 sq km/38,830 sq miles).
Major languages: Hindi, English and at least 16 other official languages.
Major religions: Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Sikhism, Buddhism, Jainism.
Life expectancy: 62 years (men), 65 years (women) (UN).
Monetary unit: 1 Indian Rupee = 100 paise.
Main exports: Agricultural products, textile goods, gems and jewellery, software services and technology, engineering goods, chemicals, leather products.
GNI per capita: US $720 (World Bank, 2006).
Internet domain: .in.
International dialling code: +91.

mumbai

2007-07-22T15:22:00.000+05:30

Mumbai (known until 1996 as Bombay) is the economic power house of India, and with a population of approximately 16/18 million people (some estimates suggest 20 million) it is one of the largest settlements on earth. There are several million more people living here than in Delhi, and they all squeeze into an area about a third of the size. Built on a collection of islands off the west coast of Maharashtra, Mumbai is joined to the mainland by bridges and land reclamations. As you can imagine it's a city alive with action and energy, and something is going on at every street corner. You can't walk far in Mumbai without spotting interesting colonial or art deco architecture, or one of the distinctive yellow and black city taxis which bomb around like metal bumble bees with roof racks. Mumbaikers themselves seem to be as open and friendly as anywhere in India, and I've seen lots of modern/western looking types. Along Marine Drive in particular sari's seem to have given way entirely to jeans and tight tops.

I arrived by train on Friday morning at the famous Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (formerly known as Victoria Terminus). It must be one of the most beautiful railway stations in existence and even after the rigours of the night train I found myself mesmerised by the exuberant gothic exterior.

I've been staying at the Sea Shore Hotel in Colaba. My hotel looks out over Mumbai Harbour and the famous Gateway of India. The Gateway of India, completed in 1924, stands at 26 metres tall and was built to commemorate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary in 1911. It has become one of the signature structures of India, and it didn't remain in British hands for long. As fate had it, only 23 years after completion the last British regiment left the country through this most British of monuments. It was the final full stop on the days of the British Raj.

In terms of exploring, I've had a good look around Colaba, the Fort area, Churchgate, and yesterday I walked across the maidans and the entire length of Marine Drive until I got to Chowpatty Beach (where I stopped to try the Bhelpuri). Today I've been to Elephanta Island which was recommended to me by my Auntie Caroline, who used to live in Mumbai some years ago. It was a good recommendation: I enjoyed catching the ferry over to Elephanta (a small island which sits in the middle of Mumbai Harbour) and trekking up to the rock cut caves in the hill side. Their origins and history are a bit of a mystery so I can't tell you an awful lot about them I'm afraid, but I can tell you that the walk up to them is lovely and that they are well worth going to see.

Mumbai is, of course, the well known home of the 'Bollywood' film industry, and in homage I've been to see a couple more films at the cinema. I've seen three: 'Naqaab' and 'Apne' which both star Bobby Deol and also 'Partner' which is an Indian re-make of the American film 'Hitch.' Seeing 'Partner' was particularly pleasing because it stars one of India's most famous actors, Salman Khan, someone I've wanted to see on screen for a while now. That takes the total number of Indian films I've seen to the final number of 13 which I think is not bad going really.

two lists

2007-07-21T12:13:00.000+05:30

I've arrived in Mumbai. Mumbai is my final destination in India and the train ride up here has been my last journey. I return home to the UK from Mumbai next week, and have pretty much visited everywhere I want to now.

Since arriving in India I've kept two lists in the back of a small blue note book which I carry around with me. The first list is a record every major train or bus journey I've made in India including how long the journey took. I thought it would be interesting to total them all up at the end. The second list is a record of every hotel I've stayed at in India and the price I paid to stay there per night. I felt this would be useful in establishing going rates and to stop me being overcharged. The little blue book is about to go in the bin, but the lists I'd like to keep, so here they are...

(1) my major train and bus journeys in india

1. Train Delhi to Agra (3 hours)

2. Train Agra to Jaipur (5 hours)

3. Bus Jaipur to Pushkar (3 hours)

4. Bus Pushkar to Jodhpur (5 hours)

5. Bus Jodhpur to Jaisalmer (5 and 1/2 hours)

6. Bus Jaisalmer to Bikaner (6 and 1/2 hours)

7. Train Bikaner to Delhi (12 hours)

8. Train Delhi to Haridwar (5 hours)

9. Bus Haridwar to Rishikesh (1 hour)

10. Bus Rishikesh to Dehra Dun (1 and 1/2 hours)

11. Bus Dehra Dun to Mussoorie (1 and 1/2 hours)

12. Bus Mussoorie to Shimla (9 hours)

13. Bus Shimla to Manali (10 and 1/2 hours)

14. Bus Manali to Dharamshala/McLeod Ganj (10 hours)

15. Bus Dharamshala/McLeod Ganj to Amritsar (8 hours)

16. Train Amritsar to Delhi (8 hours)

17. Train/train/bus/bus/bus/jeep Delhi to Khajuraho (35 hours)

18. Bus Khajuraho to Varanasi (14 and 1/2 hours)

19. Train Varanasi to Bodhgaya (4 hours)

20. Train Bodhgaya to Kolkata (9 hours)

21. Train Kolkata to Puri (9 and 1/2 hours)

22. Bus Puri to Bhubaneswar (2 hours)

23. Train Bhubaneswar to Hyderabad (24 hours)

24. Train Hyderabad to Bangalore (12 hours)

25. Train Bangalore to Mysore (3 hours)

26. Bus Mysore to Ooty (5 hours)

27. Bus Ooty to Fort Kochi (11 hours)

28. Bus Fort Kochi to Alleppey (2 hours)

29. Bus Alleppey to Kovalam (4 hours)

30. Train Kovalam to Madurai (9 hours)

31. Bus Madurai to Pondicherry (9 hours)

32. Bus Pondicherry to Chennai (3 and 1/2 hours)

33. Train/train Chennai to Hampi (15 hours)

34. Train/bus Hampi to Panaji (10 hours)

35. Bus Panaji to Calangute/Baga (1 hour)

36. Bus/bus/train Calangute/Baga to Mumbai (14 hours)

Longest journey: Delhi to Khajuraho taking 35 hours.

Shortest journey: the bus journeys to Rishikesh and Calangute both only took an hour by bus.

Best journey: the bus journey from Manali to Shimla because the Himalayan views were breath-taking.

Worst journey: Delhi to Khajuraho. It took me 35 hours and several forms of transport to make what should have been a 10 hour journey. The only time I thought to myself: 'I want to go home,' and, 'why am I doing this?'

Total time travelling: 291 hours (or 12.125 days solid).

(2) my hotels in india

1. Delhi: Hotel Ajanta (900 rupees/11 GBP* per night)

2. Agra: Shahjahan Hotel (150 rupees/1.80 GBP per night)

3. Jaipur: Stephels Hotel (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

4. Pushkar: Kanhaia Hotel (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

5. Jodhpur: Sarvar Guesthouse (150 rupees/1.80 GBP per night)

6. Jaisalmer: Mehrangarh Guesthouse (100 rupees/1.21 GBP per night)

7. Bikaner: Hotel Delux (100 rupees/1.21 GBP per night)

8. Delhi: Hotel Sirswal View (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

9. Haridwar: Krishna Guesthouse (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

10. Rishikesh: Gurudev Guesthouse (150 rupees/1.80 GBP per night)

11. Mussoorie: Hotel Broadway (150 rupees/1.80 GBP per night)

12. Shimla: YMCA (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

13. Manali: Hotel Pawan (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

14. McLeod Ganj: Hotel Akash (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

15. Amritsar: Tourist Guesthouse (250 rupees/3 GBP)

16. Delhi: SS International Hotel (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

17. Khajuraho: Hotel Surya (250/3 GBP per night)

18. Varanasi: Alka Hotel (150 rupees/1.80 GBP)

19. Bodhgaya: Rahul Guesthouse (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

20. Kolkata: Tourist Inn (120 rupees/1.46 GBP per night)

21. Puri: Hotel Gandhara (450 rupees/5.46 GBP per night)

22. Bhubaneswar: Hotel Pushpak (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

23. Hyderabad: Hotel Suhail (295 rupees/3.58 GBP per night)

24. Bangalore: Royal Lodge (230 rupees/2.70 GBP per night)

25. Mysore: Hotel Govardhan (208 rupees/2.52 GBP per night)

26. Ooty: Hotel Greenvalley Lodge (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

27. Fort Kochi: Elite Hotel (300 rupees/3.64 GBP per night)

28. Alleppey: KTC Homestay (250 rupees/3 GBP per night)

29. Kovalam: Seaview Palace Hotel (300 rupees/3.64 GBP per night)

30. Madurai: Hotel New Ruby (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

31. Pondicherry: Hotel Continental (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

32. Chennai: Thaj Regency (225 rupees/2.73 GBP per night)

33. Hampi: Gopi Guesthouse (200 rupees/2.43 GBP per night)

34. Panaji: Orav's Guesthouse (300 rupees/3.64 GBP per night)

35. Calangute: Alex's Guesthouse (400 rupees/4.86 GBP per night)

36. Sea Shore Hotel (400 rupees/4.86 GBP per night)

Best hotel: Hotel Akash in Dharamshala. The room was very clean and modern and had a windowed wall with a beautiful view out across the Himalayas. At 250 rupees a night Hotel Akash offered unparalleled value. The staff were also friendly, kind and helpful.

Worst hotel: Hotel Delux in Bikaner. It was hot, crawling with wildlife, and I felt like I'd rented a prison cell.

Most expensive hotel: Hotel Ajanta in Delhi (900 rupees/11 GBP per night).

Cheapest hotel: Mehrangarh Guesthouse in Jaisalmer and Hotel Delux in Bikaner (both were 100 rupees/1.21 GBP per night). I'd never stay at either again. You'd have to pay me.

* Great Britain Pounds.

calangute and baga

2007-07-18T09:58:00.000+05:30

Strewn along the west coast of India, Calangute and Baga are amongst Goa's most popular beach resorts. Some say they are India's answer to the Costa Del Sol, such is the scale of development and the number of tourists who visit yearly. The beach at Calangute and Baga is covered in yellow sand, fringed by palm trees, and stretches about three kilometres long. At the moment the Arabian Sea is fierce and blasts hard against the shore. It's not safe to go swimming at this time of year. Calangute, the larger of the two settlements, is on the south end of the beach and Baga sits to the north. There are no end of restaurants, hotels, shops, and travel agencies, but it's relatively quiet at this time of year, and many of these are closed up or being renovated ready for peak season. It rains every few hours, sometimes torrential rain, but with a bit of judgment this is made manageable and can be navigated around. The temperature is high but cools each time the rain begins.

I'm staying in Calangute, having a rest and not doing too much. Yesterday I walked all the way along the beach to Baga, and then back along the interior Calangute-Baga Road. I met a few people along the way including a man and his wife who were keen to talk with me despite the fact that they did not speak English and I could not speak their language (Hindi I think?). Even so, we exchanged many words in our respective languages and they seemed to very much enjoy our chat. I'm not sure what I agreed to or gave the impression of. Who knows? After they had wandered off - looking strangely satisfied - I continued north along the sand. A bit further up I almost did a 'Neil Kinnock' into the sea (remember that time he fell over with Glenda?). A wave came in further and more quickly than I had thought it would. I ended up with water up to my knees, but just about managed not to fall over or - more importantly - get my camera wet.

Mainly I've been relaxing and resting. That's what you do by the beach isn't it? I've also finished reading Milosevic by Adam LeBor, a book which has been at the bottom of my bag since my arrival in India. The story has proved engrossing but incredibly complicated: Serbs, Croats, Bosnian-Serbs, Serb-Croats, Croat-Bosnians, Kosovan-Albanians, Bosnian-Muslims, all making and breaking alliances and turning back and forth on one another as the former Yugoslavia self-destructed. I can't pretend I've understood all I've read but I do at least have somewhat of a better idea about Sloba, the region, and the 'ethnic cleansing' that ripped the Balkans apart during the 1990s. Did you know that Slobodan Milosevic was a big fan of Celine Dion? He used to play her music on a portable CD player in his cell at the Hague. How suitable that his taste in music was also criminal*. Anyway, will stay here in Calangute for the rest of today. Tomorrow I leave for my final destination: Mumbai.

* Had he been more in touch with the culture of his country perhaps he might have played Serbian 'Turbo-Folk' instead.

my india

2007-07-17T09:47:00.000+05:30

How long have you been in India? Four months. I arrived here on 26 March 2007.

What was the last book you bought? The Nehrus and the Gandhis by Tariq Ali. I bought it in the Gandhi Museum near Raj Ghat in Delhi. It's a very good book. It paints a clear, vivid picture of India's foremost political dynasty.

Do you have a favourite restaurant in India? No particular restaurant has become my favourite because I have moved about so frequently. Generally I like being in open fronted rundown cafes that serve snacks and milky tea.

What's your first memory of India? At the High Consulate of India in London. It was here that I first experienced the Indian philosophy of queuing (the queue must be related to by the queuer much as a bull relates to a matador) and also the Indian sense of personal space (none is too much).

When did you last lose something valuable and what was it? The only thing I have lost on this trip is a blue biro. A man in Bikaner borrowed it from me and I forgot to ask for it back.
What is the most beautiful landmark in India? The Bengali actress Bipasha Basu. Second place goes to the Taj Mahal.

What is your favourite view? The view over the Himalayas from Mussoorie. The view is sublime.

Where is the most intimidating place in India? At the exits of the international airports. World-class touts and scam artists wait for the weak and vulnerable to arrive.

Have you ever been a victim of violence in India? Never and I've never felt threatened once. I've felt harassed many times, even having beggars physically hanging from me on a number of occasions, but never in danger.

What's the first piece of advice you'd give a India tourist? Let it go. You're not going to be in control. Accept it now.

What's the most embarrassing thing you've done in India? I think the other night: having to ask a man to come in to my room to remove a cockroach because I was too scared to take care of it myself.

When did you last lose your temper? In Madurai a few weeks ago. I was being pestered by someone who wanted to take me to a handicrafts shop so he could collect a commission. The most angry I have been on this trip was in Kota Railway Station in Rajasthan following a hard day of travelling which at that point seemed to have been for nothing.

Where did you last blow 2000 rupees and what was it on? I've never spent that much. I had an hour long ayurvedic massage in Hampi last week which cost me 350 rupees plus a 50 rupee tip (altogether adding up to four pounds eighty five pence in British money).

What's the last film you saw in India and did you enjoy it? I saw 'Journey Bombay to Goa' at the Inox in Panaji a few days ago. Yes - I enjoyed it. It's a 'roadtrip comedy.' I picked it because I am about to do the journey in reverse.

What will you miss most when you've left India? The instant friendship of strangers and the sweets.

When was the last time you broke the law? I've been very careful not to break the law, at least to my knowledge. I have no desire to take a guest tour of an Indian prison.

What was the last conversation you had with an autorickhaw driver? He asked me: 'Hello. Which country? What is your good name? What is your age? Marriage? What is your job? Salary?'

If you were invisible for a day, where would you go in India and what would you do? I'd like to go to one of the Bollywood film studios. I'd like to see if, as I suspect, the actors and actresses are ego maniacs and prone to tantrums behind the scenes.

Have you ever been refused entry anywhere? Yes. A cinema in New Delhi. I had a camera with me and they were worried I would try to make a pirate copy of the film.
What is the most expensive meal you've had in India and with whom did you eat it? A pizza in TGI Fridays in New Delhi back in April. I was with a nice man I met from Kolkata called Swarup Panda. We also had a few beers.

What is your most memorable night out? An afternoon out actually... drinking Toddy with Pai at his home in Fort Kochi (Kerala) and then meeting his Mum and Grandmother.

What and where is your favourite painting or work of art? I don't have particular favourite but I do love the two dimensional Indian tradition of miniature painting. I saw some lovely examples of this up in Delhi and Himachal Pradesh.

What last made you cry? I was close to crying in Kota Railway Station after my train had been diverted to the wrong part of the country but managed to hold it together. In truth, I felt more like punching someone than crying. I haven't cried on this trip.

Where in India would you have your ashes scattered? In the Ganges at Varanasi. I could float down the river and into the hair of a bathing North Indian beauty.

If your hotel was on fire, which three things would you rescue from your hotel room? Passport, camera, and my Lonely Planet guide book (I could then look in the index for: 'what to do when your hotel burns down').

charles e bury's canon of indian food

2007-07-14T13:43:00.000+05:30

One of the great delights of any visit to India is getting the chance to try all the wonderful food on offer. Indian food is undoubtedly amongst the best in the world and the variety of dishes on offer is almost endless. Across the country you can eat just about anything and everything. Each region has its own signature dishes, methods of preparation, and a unique combination of spices, and the food in India is always alive with colour, full of taste, and temptingly aromatic.

With this in mind, I thought I'd make a list of some of the foods I've enjoyed eating on my visit here before I go home and before I forget what things are called, or what they taste like (as I inevitably will). So below is a list of my favourites: the foods I've enjoyed eating again and again these last four months. Experts and connoisseurs will note that I am more South Indian in my tastes, and particularly well disposed towards South Indian 'chaats' (savoury snacks). They will also note that I have a very sweet tooth, but then anyone who knows me knows that...

Food

Barfi: fudge-like sweet made from milk.

Dhal: curried lentil dish.

Dosa: South Indian paper thin lentil flour pancake.

Egg Biryani: fragrant steamed rice with egg and vegetables.

Idli: South Indian spongy, round, fermented rice cake.

Ladoo/Ladu: sweetmeat ball made with gram flour and semolina.

Mutton Rogan Josh: fiery lamb or goat curry.

Mysore Pak: sweet made of ghee (clarified butter), sugar and chick pea (besan) flour.

Puri/Poori: flat dough that puffs up when deep fried.

Rasgulla: sweet little balls of cream cheese flavoured with rose water.

Rasmallai: cream to yellow coloured balls of cottage or ricotta cheese soaked in sweetened, thickened, creamy milk. The milk is flavoured with pistachios, saffron, and rosewater.

Sambar: dhal with cubed vegetables and puree.

Samosa: deep fried pastry triangles filled with spiced vegetables.

Tandoori Chicken: chicken marinated in a yogurt seasoned with garam masala - garlic, ginger, cumin, cayenne pepper, and other spices depending on the recipe. Traditionally moderately hot.

Uttappam: crisp collared rice flour and coconut milk pancakes.

Vada: snack shaped like a doughnut and made from lentil or potato (this is probably my favourite food of all).

Drinks

Masala Chai: very milky tea with a lot of sugar. Most masala chai incorporates one or more of the following: cardamon, cinnamon, ginger, star anise, pepper corn, and cloves. Other possible ingredients include nutmeg, chocolate, cocoa, vanilla, licorice or saffron.

Kingfisher: lager beer.

Lassi: refreshing yogurt and iced water drink.

Thums Up: fizzy cola a bit like Coca Cola (and owned by Coca Cola).

Toddy: alcoholic drink tapped from palm trees.

goa

2007-07-13T09:16:00.000+05:30

I've arrived in Goa. I got up at 5am yesterday in Hampi and began my journey across at 5.30am. It took me all day to get here. First I travelled 12 kilometres through the waking countryside by autorickshaw to Hospet (the nearest railway station) to catch the 6.30am train to Madgaon. I needn't have bothered with the early start: the train turned out to be two hours and ten minutes late and didn't arrive until 8.40am. Once we got going it was a pleasant eight hour ride west. There was a nice man called Imran in my carriage and also joining us the family of Mr Vijay Kumar. While we were chatting I showed Vijay's two year old daughter my photographs of Hampi (I can display them on a screen on the back of my camera). When a picture of me flashed up Vijay pointed and said to his little girl: 'look... there's uncle.' Perhaps he has been reading my blog? Part of the journey took us west through Molem National Park and up into the hills. As the train wound its way up and then down we had to pass through about 20 tunnels. Each time we went into darkness the train passengers started screaming and yelping like they were passengers on a roller coaster. Can you imagine British passengers doing that? On our way down we swept by the massive Dudhsagar Waterfalls. The train goes over of a bridge which runs across the waterfall at a point were the water flow becomes more horizontal. Going across the view was indescribably beautiful and an unexpected surprise. We arrived in Madgaon at about 4.30pm and from there I jumped on a motorcycle taxi which took me to the bus station on the other side of town. There I caught a shuttle bus from Madgaon to Panaji and I finally arrived around 6pm.

I'm staying at Orav's Guesthouse in Panaji on 31st January Road. I don't much like the hotel, but having searched the surrounding area, I can find nowhere better without a major price hike. The main problem is that there are too many bugs and insects, and the whole place has a smell of damp about it. Last night, having gone to bed about half an hour before, I got up to check for something in my bag. When I switched on the light I saw that the floor was covered with ants and three cockroaches, one of which was not much smaller than myself. Weary, disorientated, annoyed, and my eyes squinting as they struggled to adjust to the light, I strutted out to the hotel reception in my underpants. 'My room is full of bugs. You need to come and sweep them out,' I said to the man sat on a chair by the desk. 'But I'm a guest here,' he replied affronted and surprised. 'Oh,' I said, registering my near nakedness. I carried on to the hotel entrance in my blue stripe boxer shorts and found someone who did work in the hotel and got him to come and sweep the room out. The guy saw to the ants but was apparently indifferent to the massive cockroach and almost left it behind. 'GET IT OUT!!!' I reiterated to remove any remaining confusion he might have over the matter. He picked it up with his hand and left the room wondering what all the fuss was about. So ended last night.

So far this morning I've had my customary breakfast of idlis with sambar, and I've been over to the local railway offices to book a second class train ticket to Mumbai (formerly Bombay) for 19 July. This will be my final destination in India and my final train journey. I asked the friendly man behind the counter if I could take a night train. 'No. There is no night train. We only have a train which leaves Goa at 5.20pm arriving in Mumbai the next day at 6am,' he said. 'I'll take it,' I replied, choosing not question his sense of definition.

Today I'm going to explore the local area around Panaji (there's some old Portuguese architecture to see - Goa is another area in India which was once colonised by Portugal) and tomorrow I'll catch a bus over to Old Goa to see some more of the local history. After that I'm heading for the beaches of Calangute and Baga for a couple of days (they're about 40 minutes down the road from here), where I hope it won't rain too hard (it's been raining here in Panaji) but I'll have to take my chances.

chennai, back to bangalore, and hampi

2007-07-11T08:21:00.000+05:30

My Anglo-Indian friends may find it amusing to learn that a number of the Indian people I have met over the last couple of months have taken to calling me, 'uncle.' For those not in the know: it is sometimes said that in India (and in Indian communities) anyone held in respect or affection, or simply anyone older and known to the family, is an 'uncle' no matter how tenuous the true relation. I, it seems, have managed to stretch the tenuousness of this label yet further. But I am happy with the idea - I've enjoyed spending time with my Indian nephews and nieces these past three and a half months even if I do stand out a bit in the family photographs (the white sheep of the family perhaps?)

I left 'French' Pondicherry for Chennai (known until 1997 as Madras) last Wednesday and stayed in what is India's fourth largest city (population of seven million) for four nights. Chennai used to be another of the main bases of the British Raj which is why it has grown so large. The city is by the sea and has its own broad sandy beach and a long promenade, and spreads inland without much focus. There's not an awful lot for a tourist like me to go and visit except a few museums, Fort St George, and a couple of churches and temples. It was very hot in Chennai while I was there and I found the weather a bit hard to cope with at times. Politics seems to be ubiquitous, and in particular there are pictures of M. Karunanidhi, the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, absolutely everywhere you go. M. Karunanidhi is one of India's most successful politicians. Now 83 years old he has won every election he has contested over the last 60 years. Aside from being a poet, he was once a scriptwriter in the Tamil film industry, and is apparently known for his way with words. I thought he gave the appearance of a mafia Godfather with his black shades (taking his cue from Rajini he never seems to be without them), yellow scarf, and benevolent smile in the posters, but he is clearly a very popular and well liked man.

On Sunday morning I went to Chennai Central Station and boarded the first of two trains northwest to Hampi in Karnataka. I had to change to a second train in Bangalore and there was a gap of nine hours between the two, so I checked my bag in at the left luggage counter at the railway station and headed into Bangalore itself with a few hours to kill. In one of Bangalore's bars I met the former Indian test cricketer, Sadanand Vishwanath, and we ended up spending the evening together drinking whiskey and beer. He was terrific company, an intelligent bon viveur with a good sense of humour and an open mind. He runs a cricket academy in Bangalore these days and was keen to tell me about his Scottish grandmother amongst many other things. We were also joined by Vish's friend Jerry, a former jockey, whose company was equally as enjoyable. At 10pm, feeling rather drunk, I had to dash back for my train and to collect my bag. I just about managed to do both and was soon in a deep sleep on the rocking train. The evening had been another unexpected pleasure in India.

I've been in Hampi for the last two days and I adore it. The area is peaceful, beautiful, otherworldly, and rejuvenating. It feels a bit like being on another planet or the moon in someways. Hampi is the former capital of the Vijanagara Empire, one of the mightiest Hindu civilisations, and is covered in the temple ruins the Vijanagara's left behind as an epitaph. The landscape, hilly and littered at every turn with enormous rocks and boulders, is like something out of 'The Flintstones.' It's been lovely just walking up and down the pathways and along the river taking it all in. There aren't many people about (tourists I mean) and I've been able to relax in my own thoughts and company along the footpaths and tracks. Yesterday I hired a bicycle and rode out to some of the ruins which are a bit further afield in an area known as the Royal Centre. Most enjoyable has been the two kilometre walk out to the Vittala Temple. Yes, it's been lovely. The only down side is the resident mosquito population. They're everywhere and seem to have a predilection for my calf muscles.

Tomorrow morning I leave Hampi at 5.30am. By evening I should be in Goa.

Monsoon update: I'm still evading it really. No rain in Chennai, no rain in Bangalore, and it's only rained for about an hour here in Hampi, and that was pretty light, although it has been cloudy most of the time.

Shorts update: most of the holes in my two pairs of shorts which were 'fixed' by the tailor have now re-emerged. Certain pockets are now exclusion zones, but two or three are still operable and provide me with another storage space to get by. I think they will just about make it to the end. Just.

rajini and 'shivaji'

2007-07-05T09:43:00.000+05:30

'Only pigs come as a herd! A lion always comes alone' - Shivaji

Although Rajinikanth, known as Rajini, is a 58 year old grandfather from Bangalore and married to a school teacher, he is also the undisputed superstar of Tamil cinema and a cultural icon in South India for the last twenty years. He lives in Chennai (which is where I am now) and performs in everything from comedy and drama to action films, and his followers border on being fanatics. Loyal fans scream, shout, and whoop, whenever he is on screen, and won't hear a word said against him. According to the IMDB: 'directors cannot kill off his character in a movie for fear that the theatre will be burnt down by his crazed fans who consider him almost a god. He is said to explode like a tiger on screen.' He came to my recent attention in Ooty when I went to see his new film: 'Shivaji - the Boss,' his first in two years, and reputedly the most expensive Indian film ever made. The son a police constable Rajini was first employed as a bus conductor before he joined the Madras Film Institute and got into movies and is seen by many as a hero of the lower classes.
Rajini's personal appearance is striking and unmistakable. He's not particularly tall and very slightly chubby. He looks his age. He has a huge white smile which he flashes every few seconds and a pair of black shades which are surgically attached to his face. He has a black moustache. His enormous black hair, which is not dissimilar in size and style to the stage wig which Gary Glitter used to wear, is curiously detached from his head and seems to have a life all of its own. It's almost an independent organism in itself operating separately and in a different time to the rest of his body. He often wears black leather jackets and trousers, or clothing you would more readily associate with a 20 year old or even a teenager.
Rajini also has a number of trademark actions which feature in his films and these include flicking coins, acrobatically bouncing chewing gum around (he's doing that all the time - and it gets a big cheer from the crowd), and swapping guns from hand to hand whilst flying through the air (he also swaps pens like this if he is signing a contract or writing a note).
In the film 'Shivaji' itself (part of which was shot at Ramoji Film City), Rajini plays an Indian millionaire called Shivaji who having made a fortune in America (in the computer industry) has returned to India to build a free hospital and university for the poor. His philanthropy is made evident from the very beginning when on the way back from the airport a poor woman with a baby begs him for money. He gives her a massive wad of cash, and then turns to his assistant looking disgusted and says in Tamil something along the lines of: 'I'm gonna sort all this out. Things are going to change around here.' Things don't run smoothly though because rival businessman Adisheshan (the villain) is not happy about Shivaji's return and plots to destroy him by bribing local politicians. By the film interval he has almost succeeded, and Shivaji is left with only one rupee to his name and the hospital/university project has to be put on hold.
While all this is going on Shivaji romances and marries the beautiful Shreya who is bowled over by Shivaji despite the fact that he is old enough to be her father's father and wearing a wig that would rival Louis XIV for size. She is initially hesitant because an astrologer has told her that if she gets married her husband will be killed soon after (Shivaji does later die briefly as part of his plan to win his money back but is soon brought back to life - it's too complicated and silly to explain). There's plenty of comedy in the film, mostly revolving around the romance with Shreya, including a scene where Shivaji eats fifty chilli's to prove his love, and also - after she tells him he is too dark skinned to marry her - a sequence where he is transformed into a white man complete with blond hair.
In the second half of the film Shivaji wins back double his money, kicks Adisheshan's backside, eradicates poverty in India, and is near enough proclaimed a modern day messiah. Throughout the film Shivaji repeats his catchphrase which is to say his own name, pause, and then add: 'cooooooool' after whilst smiling broadly and smugly.
'Shivaji,' like Rajini, is pretty ridiculous but I enjoyed it much more than any of the Hindi Bollywood films I've watched in India. In fact, I thought it was brilliant. By comparison, the characters in the mainstream Bollywood movies ('masala movies') seem to be almost, dare I say it, ashamed to be Indian and keen at every turn to demonstrate their 'western-ness.' Rajini and his characters are proud to be Indian, and do things their own way. I like that and I think it is a more healthy way for an Indian movie to be. There's more integrity and less cultural insecurity. This aside Rajini also has an irrepressible energy on screen which is infectious. If you would like to see some poster images of Rajini take a look at my photos from Ooty, or alternatively have a look at this website:

http://www.sivajitheboss.com

pondicherry

2007-07-03T09:54:00.000+05:30

Day 100 in India. It is a popular misconception that the British controlled the whole of India during the days of the British Raj. They didn't. There are some areas which have never been touched by the hand of British Rule such as Pondicherry, a small seaside town of 220,000 on the east coast just below Chennai. Pondicherry, recently renamed Puducherry (to sound more Tamil) and more informally known as 'Pondy,' was a colony of the French from the early eighteenth century and remained in French hands even after India became a Republic in August 1947 (it was finally handed back in the early 1950s).

The French certainly left their mark. The streets of the French quarter (which is more of a half if you ask me) are arranged on a grid pattern, and each of the roads has a French name. The local restaurants serve approximations of French food, and the local town hall is called 'Hotel De Ville.' French-style architecture abounds. It is rather surreal and unexpected when you arrive, but the shock is followed by pleasant surprise because the area is pretty, well ordered, and very green (almost every street is lined on either side with mature and thriving trees).

As with everywhere else in India, they don't like giving you change in Pondicherry no matter how close the money you pay with. Even if somebody charged you 1249 rupees for something and you gave them 1250, for example, they'd still irritably say: 'you haven't got the exact money have you?'

My bus up to Pondicherry turned out to be a nice air conditioned coach with comfortable reclining seats and the journey ran to time and without problems apart from, around 3am, when the driver hit a speed bump he hadn't noticed without slowing down (he was probably falling asleep like his passengers). This bounced me out of my seat and I head butted the window on my left with some force. The bang really hurt and warranted the emission of a profanity on my part. Tomorrow morning I'll catch another bus up to Chennai which will only take about three hours, and will hopefully not include a free concussion or turn into a bit of a pallava*.

I'm staying on the top floor at the Hotel Continental in Pondicherry. It is adequate although my room is very, very hot indeed. I'm not sure why. I have a television set with cable television and last night after a meal at 'Madam Santhe' I went back to my room and watched: 'Concert for Diana' on a channel called Starworld. Looking on the Internet just now I see that one British newspaper has said of the event, 'it was as if Marks and Spencer had organised a concert,' which about sums up my feelings on the matter. I was tired but hung on and on to hear Elton John sing (one of my most guilty pleasures). In summary: I liked watching Bryan Ferry and Rod Stewart, Status Quo made me laugh, and Ricky Gervais proved a bit of a disappointment.

Also to note: I have begun reading the final of my books for this trip: Milosevic by Adam LeBor. I've only read a couple of chapters. It's well written and it's good to think about something which has nothing to do with India even if the subject matter is a bit hard going and serious.

* The Pallava kingdom was an ancient South Indian kingdom. They established their capital at Kanchipuram around the 4th century CE. They dominated the Telugu and northern parts of the Tamil region until the end of the 9th century, for about six hundred years. Throughout their reign they were in constant conflict with both Chalukyas of Badami in the north and the Tamil kingdoms of Chola and Pandyas in the south and were finally defeated by the Chola kings in the 8th century CE.

madurai

2007-07-01T10:28:00.000+05:30

'India is a country of nonsense' - Mahatma Gandhi

I feel like I know what he means sometimes. Greetings. I'm sitting in Office Point Internet Cafe in a plywood computer cubicle. An Indian version of 'Rasputin' by Boney M is being played over speakers in the background. The computer I sit at keeps converting my text into Japanese script (this is annoying) and there are no fans and I'm too hot (this is annoying).

I'm in Madurai in Tamil Nadu and have been for two days now. This is my second visit to Tamil Nadu, the first having been when I stayed briefly in Ooty up in the Nilgiri Hills a week or two ago. Tamil Nadu is one of the few areas in India where Hindi is not really spoken (the first language is Tamil), and the attempted imposition of it by the federal government has proved a point of antagonism in the recent past. I am staying in Room 302 of the New Ruby Hotel which is in the old part of the city on West Perumal Maistry Street, along with all the other tourist hotels, and not far from the railway station. Madurai is quite a dirty place compared with the recent towns I've visited, and West Perumal Maistry Street is especially bad with piles of rubbish three or four feet high every twenty metres or so. But it is not devoid of personality and by no means an unpleasant place to stay. There's certainly a fair bit of life.

I spent yesterday marvelling at the Sri Meenakshi Temple, one of the most famous Dravidian temples in South India, and the main reason for my visit here. It didn't take as long to look around as it might because as a non-Hindu I was excluded from much of the complex. I stayed for a couple of hours but the covered walkways and the warm weather combined to make it quite a hot and claustrophobic environment, so in the end I retreated outside to the fresh air and slight breeze of the nearby Madurai Market where vegetables are bought and sold in something like a medieval setting. As I wandered about I got my camera out and started swinging it from my wrist brazenly. I knew what I was doing and sure enough it wasn't long before stall holders started to 'take the bait' and began asking me to photograph them and/or their mangoes and potatoes. This was all on my second day in Madurai: the day before I had a look around what remains of the Tirumalai Nayak Palace (not a lot), and today - this afternoon - I will visit the Gandhi Memorial Museum.

Tonight I catch a bus to Pondicherry, which is on the east coast three hours south of Chennai. I've booked a ticket on a deluxe private tourist bus through my hotel and the journey will take nine hours. I will find out tonight whether I actually have a seat on a comfortable air conditioned coach as promised, or whether my suspicion that I am to be bundled onto a ordinary government bus having paid triple the price proves closer to the truth. After the fatigue of so many recent bus and train journeys I really hope it is the former (the latter may precede a childish tantrum). We shall see.

I've conceded defeat and taken both my pairs of shorts to a local tailor to be fixed properly. My own sewing just hasn't risen to the occasion. The tailor has done a good job, sewing up seven individual holes and rips altogether. I'm glad I've got them sorted out: it was getting a bit ridiculous. The last straw was broken while I was at Madurai Market: I knelt down to take a photograph of a woman at a stall and ripped two massive holes (from seam to seam) in the knees of the pair I was wearing. I was surprised to find that the tailor had a postcard photograph of Ipswich town centre on the wall in his shop. I tried to explain that Ipswich was not far from my home town, and that I had been there, but I think the point was lost on him.

I am still evading the monsoon rain for the moment. In fact, the weather in Madurai is great. It's a hot day outside and there's no sign of rain whatsoever. I've seen no rain since Fort Cochin. I hear on the news that Mumbai has ground to a halt, including all trains in and out, it having rained so hard the whole city is underwater, and more rain is expected. But here... nothing. I'm not complaining.

A final note: I weighed myself yesterday: I currently weigh 13 stone and 2 pounds.

Later in the day...

4pm: I've just returned from the Gandhi Memorial Museum here in Madurai and have a few observations to note. First, they purportedly have on display the the loin cloth dhoti Gandhi was wearing when he was assassinated. This is interesting because the Gandhi Memorial Museum in Delhi also has this item on display!! I saw it in Delhi a month ago along with the bullet that killed Gandhiji. The dhoti I saw in Delhi did not look the same as this one: it was red with blood whereas this one was white and unsoiled. Second, the letters Gandhi wrote to Hitler which I saw in the Himachal State Museum are also on display here in Madurai. So what's going on? Either Gandhi did everything in duplicate (including the wearing of clothing) or something doesn't add up. I'll leave you to judge. I certainly have - see the quote at the top of this entry.

Also, whilst at the museum the stitching in my shorts came apart. Such was the quality workmanship they lasted a grand total of seven hours. Un...b-e-l-ievable.

alleppey and kovalam

2007-06-26T09:50:00.000+05:30

Still in Kerala. On Saturday I travelled south from Fort Cochin to Alappuzha, which is more commonly known as 'Alleppey.' It took about three and a half hours by bus. It was raining at the beginning of the journey, but by the time we arrived the rain had stopped and I was able to make my way to my hotel without getting drenched. Alleppey is the gateway to the Kerala backwaters. The town itself is unremarkable with little of note to see or do, but that's not why you go there. You go there to board the boat of your choice, and chug off into the serene network of canals and rivers which stretch for miles around. I stayed at the KTC Homestay Guesthouse, which was located on a footpath by the north canal and not far from the bus station. It was a quiet place and they provided me with a clean nicely decorated room. On Sunday I boarded my boat, a small passenger ferry, and spent the day on the water, travelling from Alleppey to Kottayam and back again. This took about six hours in total. Lucky for me the weather was good and it didn't rain at all. The sun was even out. Shiva, it seems, decided to spare me. The scenery was wonderful and so peaceful - calm rivers and green banks covered in palm trees and other vegetation. Little or no noise except the chugging of the boat and the noise of the wildlife in the undergrowth. Some of the island villages we rode through were quite seriously flooded following recent heavy rainfall, but nobody on shore seemed to be bothered about it. I suspect it happens every year, and is just part of the cycle of life.

Yesterday I left Alleppey and travelled further south by bus to the coast and Kovalam. I could have stayed longer on the waterways and backwaters if I'd hired a private boat for myself but I wagered that the weather wouldn't hold, and thought that I'd had a lovely day already - having seen some lovely scenery on the passenger ferry - and that I'd leave it at that. I also thought I would feel a prat on a private boat by myself all day, or that I'd get bored. So it was on to Kovalam. Kovalam is at the very bottom of Kerala (and also the very bottom of India). It's the most popular beach resort in the state. I'm staying at the Seaview Palace Hotel on the beach front and my room has a balcony which looks out on to the Arabian Sea. It's a lovely hotel, a marvellous location, and the room tariffs have been slashed by two thirds because it is 'off season.' The weather is still holding out and I'm enjoying being by the warm beach and the pleasant sunshine. The small beach is very developed and has very dark (almost black) sand but the place retains great charm in spite of this. It's just me and a few other tourists down here. We give each other smiles and looks smugly indicating: 'see - everyone said not to come down here at this time of year but we knew better.' Actually, it hasn't all been good. Last night at 8.20pm I found a massive cockroach (about three inches long) in my room. Following initial combat manoeuvres I eventually managed to spirit him out of my hotel room door using a complimentary bath towel as a weapon. Not before half an hour of buggering about though. I've passed a security resolution in my mind allowing me to use extreme force where necessary in future circumstances of this type and I'll issue a warning now: cockroach; if you decide to come back a second time:

THERE WILL BE NO MERCY

So what next? On my way down to Kovalam I stopped off in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum) and bought a train ticket to Madurai in Tamil Nadu for the evening of 28 June. I'll sleep on the train and arrive in Madurai around breakfast time. This will be the next place that I visit.

This will mark the beginning of my fifth and final section of travel in India. If you've been following this blog you may remember that in Delhi, just after I arrived, I sat down and worked out the route through India for myself, and came up with a plan which divided my journey into five separate sections. These were:

(1) starting in Delhi to make a circuit west through Rajasthan eventually returning to Delhi,

(2) to then make an anti-clockwise circuit of the states north of Delhi (Uttranchal, Himachal Pradesh, and the Punjab) again eventually returning to Delhi,

(3) to travel east from Delhi all the way to Kolkata and the east coast calling at a number of places along the way,

(4) to travel southwest down the length of the country eventually reaching Kerala and ultimately Kovalam,

(5) and finally, to travel from Kovalam northeastwards to Chennai (formerly Madras) and then from there northwest until Mumbai (formerly Bombay) from which I will return to the UK.

So the first four are now all finished and it just remains to complete section five over the next four weeks before my flight home on 26 July 2007. The end is almost in sight.

only in india

2007-06-25T18:42:00.000+05:30

Two recent and bizarre stories in the Indian news...

(1) 14 May 2007: right-wing Hindu activists illegally break in to a university art gallery and vandalise Gujarati student Chandra Mohan's art work. They claim that Mohan's work is 'obscene and distasteful' because it shows images of naked men. The police act swiftly and arrest... the artist Chandra Mohan. Mohan is finally released on bail after being imprisoned for four days. The dean of the arts faculty at the university is also suspended for opposing the arrest.

(2) 21 June 2007: The 15-year-old son of two doctors performs a filmed Caesarean section birth under his parents’ watch in southern India in an apparent bid to gain a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records as the youngest ever person to perform surgery. His father, Dr Murugesan, says this is not the first surgery performed by his son and that he has been 'training him for the last three years' because he wants to see his son’s name in the Guinness Book of World Records.

indian bars

2007-06-23T09:34:00.000+05:30

Like many people, whilst travelling abroad I like to take the occasional break for a relaxing cold beer and this practice has led me to discover a rather unique Indian institution during the last three months: the provincial Indian bar.

Most provincial Indian bars are down at heel places located on the ground floors, or basements, of small to moderate sized hotels. Typically they are dark and dingy places with no natural light and a depressing air. The bar room itself will either be purposefully windowless or, if there are windows, they will have been boarded up. To add to the effect the lighting will be low and dim. Sometimes ridiculously low. I went into a bar in Bhubaneswar (the Park Inn) and was told I could only sit at the table by the glass entry door because if I sat anywhere else it would be impossible for me to read the drinks menu or see my drink. Air conditioning is compulsory and it is set at temperatures which would make a penguin shiver and a brass monkey cry. The amount of time you can spend in the bar is always limited by concern of catching frostbite. Just visible on the floors, walls, and the table you sit at, will be small cockroaches scurrying up and down, and now and again - inevitably - across your hand. They will be present no matter how clean or modern the bar seems to be.

An Indian bar may or may not be busy. Whatever, the clientele will be male only. The men seem always to congregate in a party of three. They generally have moustaches and look a bit shifty (Roald Dahl said never to trust men with facial hair: 'what are they trying to hide?'). Often the men in the bar will sit opposite one another in silence. The main noise comes from the Hindi film on the television mounted behind the bar, and the drone of the air conditioning unit on full power.

The drink of choice in the bar will be whiskey and water (a plastic bottle of water shared). 'Teachers' and 'Black Label' seem popular whiskey brands. I will be the only person present drinking a beer. There will be a lot of cigarette smoking and the air will be thick with smoke. Snacks like bombay mix and nuts will be distributed amongst the tables free of charge, and if your hand can grope its way blindly to the plate these will be a tasty treat.

You do not really order drinks at the bar. You sit at a table and waiters serve you. There will be about five waiters, even in small bars, and the place will have the feeling of being overstaffed. If you are British, like me, they will probably all want to talk to you about David Beckham or possibly cricket.

The Lonely Planet sums Indian bars up by saying: 'the typical drinking hole is a seedy affair and not the kind of place thirsty female travellers should venture into alone.' Yes this is true, and seedy they may be, but I must confess that I've grown rather attached to them somewhere along the line, due I think to familiarity, and I look forward to drinking a few more dimly lit Kingfisher Light beers before I return to the UK and the brash glare of 'Edwards' or 'Bar 38.'

For the record, probably my favourite bar in India has been The Tavern in Mussoorie.

NB: you can also drink alcohol in posh five star hotel bars of course, and sometimes also restaurants have alcohol licences. I have generally avoided both as drinking venues in favour of the local bars described above.

ooty and onwards to kerala

2007-06-22T09:38:00.000+05:30

I meant to update the blog yesterday but I was drunk on coconut beer so judged it best to leave it. More of that in a moment.

On Monday I left Mysore by bus and made the five hour journey south to Udghagamandalam, more commonly known as 'Ooty,' a hill station in the Nilgiri Hills which sits at an elevation of 2240 metres above sea level. Ooty turned out to be rather a disappointment and I stayed only one full day. It lacks the beauty and magnificent views of the Himalayan hill stations in the north, and the pretty old Raj-era buildings which made the place famous have given way to a rather dirty and unplanned modern urban sprawl. It also rained most of the time I was there, which contributed to the atmosphere being rather glum and gloomy. Whilst in town I visited the Botanical Gardens, St Stephen's Church, the Centenary Rose Park, the Thread Garden, and the Boathouse and Lake. I also met a local farmer in the Sanjay Hotel Bar during the evening (I never caught his name) and he invited me to the cinema with him. I agreed and we went to see the newly released 'Sivaji' starring Tamil superstar Rajini. The film has been all over the news during the last couple of weeks, because it has the honour of being the most expensive Indian movie ever made. It has taken Rajini almost two years to produce it. It took me almost as long to watch it, and it was brilliant. Rajini is quite a piece of work, and deserves a separate blog entry (which I will write at a later date).

On Wednesday I moved, again by bus, into Kerala arriving at my destination, Fort Cochin, after an eleven hour journey involving two buses, an autorickshaw, and a cross harbour ferry. The journey down through the hills and then into the wonderful lush green overgrowth and waterways of Kerala was stunning. Kerala is packed solid with tall palm trees which make way only for clean looking rivers of all sizes or odd clearings for rice fields. It's a very beautiful part of the country, and I am already pondering whether this might be one of the most beautiful areas I've ever been to. It's also a very progressive area of India: Kerala had the first democratically elected communist government in the world, the land is distributed with some equality, infant mortality rates are low, and there is a healthy arts and painting tradition here combined with a 91% literacy rate (the highest in India). It's an eclectic place very unlike the rest of India: one of India's only synagogues is to be found here, as are Chinese fishing nets, mosques, Dutch palaces, and Hindu temples. Fort Cochin itself is a small island just a few hundred metres off the Keralan coastline, an unlikely blend of medieval Portugal (Portugese traders have played a big part in Keralan history), Holland, and an English country village. Most people traverse the narrow streets either on foot or by bicycle, and the atmosphere is peaceful and quiet (more so because it is off season) and rich with history. I am staying at the Elite Hotel. The hotel is nice but the staff have marred this by treating me with obvious indifference (perhaps because it is off season?). Since my arrival I've visited the Pardesi Synagogue, Jew Town, Mattancherry Palace, St Francis Church, Santa Cruz Basilica, and the Chinese fishing nets. Fort Cochin is one of the only places in India to have a Jewish community. Alan Whicker came here 30 years ago and filmed a documentary about them which I watched just before I left the UK for India. He remarked at the time that they were dying out and few in number. Well, they're still here 30 years later, still holding on in India, although today in 2007 the community numbers only seven people and the Pardesi Synagogue does not have an attached Rabbi.

On the ferry over to Fort Cochin I met a man called Pai who struck up a conversation by asking me about the Beatles. He walked me to my hotel from the ferry and I visited him at his family home yesterday afternoon. We both got drunk on toddy (the famous Keralan alcoholic drink made from sap tapped from coconut palm trees). Pai gave me my first glass of the stuff saying, 'yours is the freshest, you've got the fly.' I looked down to see a dead fly in my drink. Pai smiled. I braced myself, and drank. It's potent stuff with a bit of a burning after taste. I had a lovely afternoon chatting with him amongst other things about his love of Mr Bean. His mother and grandmother were also at home but they spoke no English so Pai either translated for me or we communicated more simply through gurning facial gestures. They seemed delighted that I had visited them in their two room, blue, tin roofed, village home. I scored points with Pai's Mum by asking whether or not she liked Rajini - she turned out to be a massive fan. I retired back to my hotel around 5pm before I drank too much and couldn't find my way back, and pleased that I had finally visited a 'real' Indian home.

The monsoon has hit Kerala hard and I have been quite amazed at the amount of rain that has fallen since my arrival here. It's rained and rained and rained. I've had to make my visits and investigations during the breaks and recesses. It can go two or three hours before it buckets down which is sufficient time for me to get about, and so far it has all worked fine. While it is raining I watch from a cafe or read in my hotel. Just watching and witnessing this level of rainfall is in itself an interesting experience.
Tomorrow I will move an hour south to Allappuzha, which is better known as Alleppey, and then after a day or two there south to one of the Keralan beaches - most probably Kovalam.

mysore

2007-06-16T15:22:00.001+05:30

Before leaving for Mysore I saw another film at the cinema called, 'The Train.' It's set in Bangkok and is about a man called Vishal (played by Emraan Hashmi). He is married with a child (who needs a kidney transplant) and works in advertising. His life has become intolerably dull and mundane, and he's bored and listless. He meets a woman called Roma Kapoor on the Bangkok Skytrain (she's played by Geeta Basra) and they embark on an affair. He is then blackmailed by a third party psychopath (played by Aseem Merchant) who has caught on to their adultery. The end has a twist which I didn't see coming - it turns out that Roma and the psychopath are in cahoots and have conned Vishal. I thought it was a very good film although the reviews I've read online unanimously disagree with me. The film is a re-working of the Clive Owen film 'Derailed.' I sat on the edge of the aisle in the cinema. About half way through the movie a black cat casually wandered by me, continuing to the screen where it sat down and went to sleep.

So, anyway, I'm in Mysore now. It's much smaller than Bangalore or Hyderabad, with a population of around 750 000, but it has a big history to delve into. The big attraction is the Maharajah's Palace which must be one of the most beautiful in India. The city streets are well planned tree lined boulevards and there's plenty of feeling of space. The climate is easy but the sky is rather grey today. Rain has been forecast but has not come.

Curiously people keep coming up to me on the street here to ask if I have been to, or heard of, Glastonbury. I must have been asked about the Somerset village by at least ten different individuals. Why!? I suppose there has to be some connection, but I can't fathom what it might be. Perhaps Michael Eavis, the event organiser, has a second home in Mysore? Or maybe the Glastonbury Festival donates to charitable works in the area and has a high profile amongst the local community? Maybe there's no connection and it's all a coincidence? Who knows?

I've visited the Maharajah's Palace, the Jaganmohan Palace (which is an art gallery) and the Devaraja Market since I arrived yesterday morning. The Maharajah's Palace, which was built between 1897 and 1912 (the previous palace burnt down), was designed by an Englishman, Henry Irwin, in Indo-Saracenic style. The design is a blend of Hindu, Islamic, and European styles, and the building is vast. It is without doubt my favourite palace so far and one of the most spectacular buildings I think I've ever seen.

This morning I also finished reading Mahatma Gandhi's autobiography. It gives you a good outline of his philosophy of life and an interesting account of his early life. There's a lot to admire and I can't fault most of his rigorous logic. I think he was a sincere and fair minded man who contributed greatly to India and the world through his public work. I'd like to read a critical biography of him now though as I suspect there was more to the Mahatma than met the eye. I've noticed he's been referred to as 'cunning as a fox,' 'politically shrewd,' and 'ruthless' by various commentators and I'd like to research into this further. But for now I'll move on to my next book The Nehrus and the Gandhis by Tariq Ali.

inventory of my backpack/possessions

2007-06-14T13:31:00.000+05:30

1. MAIN BACKPACK

Clothing: 1 pair of running shoes, 1 pair of sandals, 1 towel, 3 shirts, 4 t-shirts, 2 pairs of cargo shorts, 5 pairs of boxer shorts, 2 pairs of cotton 'trunk' underpants (for extra comfort), 7 handkerchiefs, 1 pair of jeans, 1 jumper, 1 pair of swimming trunks, 1 pair of running shorts, 3 pairs of socks, 1 sarong, and 1 rain coat.

Misc. articles: 1 medical pack, 1 sewing kit, 2 spare batteries, 1 battery charger, 1 plug adapter, 1 torch, 1 bottle of travel wash, 1 eye mask, 2 bottles of suntan lotion, 2 pens (1 black and 1 blue), 1 packet of dioralyte tablets, 1 packet of Imodium tablets, 1 wash bag, 1 bottle of shower gel, 1 bottle of shampoo, 1 roll on deodorant, 1 bottle of shaving gel, 1 Gillette Mach 3 razor (the best a man can get), 4 spare razor blades, 1 toothbrush, 1 tube of toothpaste (ayurvedic), 1 container of dental floss, 1 tube of mosquito lotion, and 1 mosquito net.

2. AUXILIARY 'HOLLYOAKS' SMALL BAG

1 camera (Fujifilm Finepix 5.1 mega pixel), 1 USB cable, 1 notebook for recording day to day tasks, 1 bottle of anti-malarial tablets, 1 Lonely Planet, 4 more books: An Autobiography by Mahatma Gandhi, The Nehrus and the Gandhis by Tariq Ali, Milosevic by Adam LeBor, and Improve Your Grammar by John Seely, 1 calculator, and 1 purple plastic folder containing the following: 1 vaccinations book, 1 photocopy of my passport, 10 spare passport photos, 1 set of Barclays Bank cardholder protection documents, 1 set of personal insurance details, 1 copy of my flights details, and there is also 1 smaller transparent pouch in which I have been collecting my ticket stubs and the like.

3. MONEY BELT

1 passport, my current withdrawn rupees, all ATM receipts, some pounds sterling, some US dollars, some travellers cheques, and my most recent bus or train ticket (at the moment a train ticket to Mysore).

4. WALLET

Money for the day, 1 Barclays debit card, 1 UK driving licence, 1 Citizencard ID, and a 1 bit of paper with emergency contact details for Barclays Bank.

5. MISC OBJECTS

1 wristwatch (a Casio F-91W made in Malaysia) and a partridge in a pear tree.

bangalore

2007-06-13T14:46:00.000+05:30

Bangalore is the capital of Karnataka. It's populated by almost six million people, sits at an elevation of 920 metres above sea level, and according to the Lonely Planet, 'is regarded as one of India's most progressive cities - fast food joints, yuppie bars, sophisticated lounges and high end malls are the ever-changing flavours of the day. Things that are taboo elsewhere are increasingly seen here.' Bangalore's wealth stems from the 1960s when telecommunications industries were established here. In the intervening 50 years it has built a reputation as a science and technology centre and is now known as India's 'Silicon Valley.' I arrived yesterday following a 12 hour night train down from Hyderabad. I'm staying at the Royal Lodge on Subedar Chatram Road, not far from the train station. It's more modest than it sounds but still perfectly acceptable. I like Bangalore a lot. It has similarities to Hyderabad but more greenery: more parks and more tree lined avenues. The weather here is good too. While Delhi sizzles, Bangalore feels pleasantly warm and for the moment the sky is clear.

This morning I went out sightseeing. The first place I went to was the Tipu Sultan Palace. This was the summer home of Tipu Sultan (also known as 'the Tiger of Mysore') who, if ITV is to be believed, was killed by none other than Private Richard Sharpe (also known as Sean Bean) in 1799. I'm not sure things really happened that way but it is true that Tipu Sultan was subject to constant aggravation from the British in real life. In fact it is a matter of public record that he developed quite a hatred of us: he even had a life size wooden toy made of a tiger eating a British soldier. When you wind it up it the arms of the soldier flail up and down as if in pain while the tiger bites down on his neck and makes growling noises.

After the Palace I went on to see the Fort, Central Market, the Bull Temple, and Lalbagh Botanical Gardens. I got some interesting photos at the Central Market. Aside from the colourful tikka powder which is on display in large conical piles, it seems every stall holder in the market is an aspiring photographic model and I had people begging me take photos of them at every turn. I got some interesting shots which I will upload as soon as I get a chance.

Tomorrow I will visit Cubbon Park which has on site several museums, and MG (Mahatma Gandhi) Road which is where all the upmarket coffee shops, bars, and malls are. This will conclude my 'work' in Bangalore. The following morning (Friday) I catch the 6.30am train to Mysore.

A note on housekeeping: I've had to use the sewing kit my Auntie Margaret bought me for the fourth time in as many weeks today. My shorts are showing considerable signs of fatigue and holes keep emerging in various areas, most annoyingly in the pockets. But my handiwork seems to have done the trick for the time being, so let's hope they can make it to the end. I do hope they are able to make it to the end.

hyderabad

2007-06-11T14:36:00.000+05:30

If the rest of India was more like Hyderabad it would be doing very well for itself indeed. From the moment my train pulled into Secunderabad Station I've liked it here. Hyderabad is somehow cleaner and better organised than any other town or city I've visited so far in India, and there's a more laid back and relaxed feeling despite the fact that it's a city of over five million people. After I arrived I checked in to Hotel Suhail near Abids Circle which has proved an excellent deal and is also ideally placed.

On Saturday I spent the day at Ramoji Film City, the largest film studio in India, which is located about an hour outside of Hyderabad. It was a fascinating experience. The complex occupies 800 hectares and has all kinds of film sets ranging from a London street (which looks nothing like a London street) to a fake Taj Mahal. All the big Indian film stars have made movies here and many of the big blockbuster movies feature scenes shot on Ramoji film sets. I went on a bus tour of the lots which included stopping off at the fake airport, the hospital just behind it, and a mock up train station complete with train. I also watched a stunt show, and an interactive show about how movies are made. As the only non-Indian in the 500 strong audience I was singled out for special attention by the compere during the show: 'I'd also like to point out on behalf of our international friend over there that many movies are also made in Hollywood of course and have been since the 1960s.'

The following day I went on a tour of Hyderabad itself with two Catholic Priests. Yes you did read that right. Father Linson and Father Paul got chatting to me on the coach and we ended up spending the day together. They are both from Kerala but Father Paul is doing some training in Hyderabad and Father Linson has been posted in Italy for the past three years (he's met both recent Popes). On our trip we visited Charminar, Mecca Masjid, Salar Jung Museum, Golconda Fort, Birla Mandir Temple, Nehru Zoological Park and Chowmahalla Palace. The tour was pretty rapid - you had to be back at the bus exactly when the tour guide told you or it went without you. Several people got left behind over the course of the day and by the end quite a few previously occupied bus seats were left empty. It was especially interesting talking with Father Linson because, having spent so much time in Europe, he could discuss with me the differences he's seen between the European and Indian ways of life and how our collective behaviours differ.

Aside from all these sights I also went along by myself a few days ago to see the large Buddha Statue in the middle of Hussain Sagar, the big lake in the centre of the city. The Buddha Statue was completed in 1990 and is 17.5 metres high. When they were dragging it out to the plinth in the middle of Hussain Sagar the barge carrying it sank (dragging down and killing eight people) and it remained under water for two years until it was finally re-raised. When it was finally in place it was opened and blessed by the Dalai Lama, and has since become a mutual/neutral place of enjoyment and reflection for the Hindu and Muslim communities which predominate here.

Today I'm really waiting to carry on to Bangalore but my train doesn't leave until 7pm this evening so I've been trying to fill my time constructively. I've been to the Rama Krishna Cinema to see a Telugu film (Telugu is the language of Andra Pradesh) called 'Dubai Seenu' about a guy called Seenu who is obsessed with going to Dubai to make money (but never gets there). It was quite good but more of a struggle to understand than some of the other recent films I've seen because the plot jumped around a bit. I asked the man sitting next to me what was going on during the intermission and he said, 'I don't know either,' so it wasn't just down to language. I think I recognised some of the back drops from Ramoji Film City on screen.

Check out Ramoji Film City at:

http://www.ramojifilmcity.com/

puri and bhubaneswar

2007-06-06T14:28:00.000+05:30

On my last day in Puri I hired a moped (for a pound) and rode 20 kilometres north to the village of Konark where the famous Hindu Sun Temple, another of India's signature buildings, is located. The small red two wheeler was clearly a few years in service but it seemed to be in good working order and I had no qualms about riding off on it. It was a lovely journey up to Konark: the sun was shining, the sea was lapping the shore to my right, and tall green palm trees were waving in the breeze to my left. The road was quiet save for a few other mopeds and the odd bus.

I spent a few hours at the Sun Temple and found it not quite so pretty in person as in the photographs in my Lonely Planet. Once you see it up close you realise how much damage (mainly from cyclones) and unavoidable rebuilding of the original structure there has been. No-one has been able to do much about this, and it has gone some way to spoiling the integrity of the building. It's still very beautiful though considering, and I'd highly recommend a visit to anyone who finds themselves in the area.

On the way back things went not so well. The moped broke down half way back in the middle of nowhere and in the mid-afternoon heat. Luckily for me just before I set off I had agreed to give a lift to a local guy called Kalu, who I had met in a cafe in Konark, and he was with me to help me try to get it going again. I was useless (I know nothing about engines despite my Dad having been a mechanic for over forty years), and I let Kalu get on with his wire tugging, spark plug blowing, and intermittent frowning. I assumed my usual role as an assistant. It took about 30 minutes of fiddling before he managed to get the bike to a spluttering start. We set off again, relieved, but it broke down again about a hundred metres down the road. An autorickshaw driver then stopped and attempted to come to our rescue. But all we achieved was proof that you cannot fit a moped in the back of an autorickshaw, and if you try you will likely smash one of the front indicators. The two of them fiddled away some more and the bike eventually started up again. We slowly limped back to Puri with about three more break downs on the way, giving up about 500 metres from the rental shop and just pushing it from there. Frustratingly, when I got back to the shop and told the rental guy what had happened he jumped on the moped and it kick started first time, and it looked like there was nothing wrong. This made me feel temporarily furious. I was so annoyed that I insisted he ride it down the road to test it further and to my satisfaction it did duly break down after he got about 200 metres and my story was proved true. He agreed that it should go to the workshop before it was rented to anyone else, and I left it at that. I didn't have a go at him because these things just happen sometimes and he could of made a fuss that we had smashed his indicator light which he didn't. Also I had rather enjoyed the whole thing in a way because Kalu and the autorickshaw driver had helped me out so graciously and wanted nothing in return for their labours other than to try to work out my name and which country I came from. The incident reminded me that people can be kind and helpful when the chips are down and won't necessarily leave you in the lurch.

Anyway, moving on, I've relocated to Bhubaneswar now and am waiting to catch the train from here south to Hyderabad. My train leaves tomorrow morning (7 June) at 8.30am and the journey down is approximately 23 hours. There's not much of interest to see and do here for the non-Hindu and the place is really only notable for its rather hard to pronounce name. There are some interesting Hindu temples but only Hindus are allowed to visit them so they've passed me by completely. I have been to the Khandagiri and Udayagiri Jain caves just outside the town though (I wasn't impressed) and this morning to the State Museum which has some nice Orissan painting on display. Whilst in the entrance lobby I noticed that the museum was opened by, then Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi on 30 October 1984. Something seemed funny about that date, and I decided I would check it out later. I have, and it is a funny date, because Indira Gandhi was murdered by her Sikh bodyguards the following day on 31 October 1984 in retaliation for her ill-judged 'Operation Blue Star' (she sent tanks into the Golden Temple to flush out Sikh militants and in doing so defiled one of the most sacred places of worship in India and outraged the Sikh community). So her last day was in Bhubaneswar, Orissa, cutting the ribbon at the door of the State Museum.

Bhubaneswar is in the national news today. This morning the five year old child marathon runner Buddhia Singh was due to begin a 500 kilometre run to Kolkata from here, but the Indian Child Welfare Committee (CWC) has ordered the run be stopped and he and his supporters have been restrained. There's been talk of human rights and whether or not a child should be permitted to do such a thing in the summer heat. The CWC feel it will be potential harmful to his well being, and I am inclined to agree with them. Buddhia Singh has previously been on the international news, including in the UK, for his apparently remarkable and unexplainable ability to run massive distances.

relaxing in puri

2007-06-02T09:47:00.000+05:30

The train from Kolkata to Puri was very hot and rather uncomfortable. It was a night train due to leave at 10.35pm and my second class sleeper ticket entitled me to a place on a lower bunk. The train left Howrah Station, one of Kolkata's delightful colonial buildings, around 11pm arriving in Puri nine and a half hours later at 8.30am the following morning. It was too hot to sleep through the night but all in all the journey could have been worse. As the sun rose I noticed the landscape outside had changed. As we had reached into Orissa the corn fields of North India had given way to healthy green rice fields and a higher occurrence of palm trees.

When we reached Puri I got a cycle rickshaw straight to the Gandhara Hotel which sits just back from the beach itself. I knew I was going there because I'd researched it on the Internet in Kolkata having decided it time to take a break from all the cheap hotels and cockroaches in favour of a few nights somewhere 'mid-range' as my Lonely Planet would put it. It's a lovely hotel, five floors high, with pretty gardens and a roof top restaurant. Because it's out of season I've turned out to be the only guest, and the efficient staff are waiting on me almost hand and foot. My room on the third floor has views out from three sides, there's cable television and even hot water in the bathroom (not that I need it in this heat). It's a sanitised world away from most of the recent hotels I've stayed in.

The beach at Puri is quite pretty, more so than I'd expected, and looks out over the Bay of Bengal. As I stood on the beach this morning I remembered that the last time I saw this water was from the other side over in Thailand last July. I needed to keep my eyes on the sea because, it being early morning, the beach was strewn with locals defecating on the sand (one side of India I still find hard to cope with). The part of town I'm staying in is sleepy and quiet at the moment and bereft of foreign tourists. There's just me. There's little traffic and little hassle, just the calm sea breeze. There aren't any sights to see either and so I don't need to feel any guilt over spending a few days relaxing and doing next to nothing. The only thing to do here is chill out.

I spent most of yesterday just pottering about: checking my emails, sorting my laundry, enjoying the local seafood, and I plan to have a similar type of day today. I feel good being here and that my batteries are being re-charged ready for an assault on South India.

communications

2007-06-01T10:22:00.000+05:30

About a month ago I found myself in the Delhi branch of TGI Friday's. It was early evening and I was sitting at the busy bar drinking a Kingfisher Light beer. I was there because it was the first place I could find with air conditioning, comfortable seating, and alcohol, and I needed respite from the heat.

'You must really love cricket,' said the man sat next to me.

'Sorry?' I replied.

'You must really love cricket,' he repeated, 'I've been watching you. The way you've been looking so hard at the television screen. So... so concentrated.' He pointed at the television behind the bar which was showing one of the latter matches of the cricket world cup. I hadn't noticed it until that point. I'd actually been looking blankly at the drinks cabinet just to the left. My mind had been empty.

'Errr... yes,' I said back waiting to be rumbled, but thankfully he moved on to 'which country?' before my true lack of knowledge was revealed. We got chatting. Rather stocky, and wearing a suit and discreet glasses, his name was Swarup and he came from Kolkata. He said he was a deputy manager in a multi-national company selling mainly beer and cigarettes, and in Delhi for business. I'd only planned on staying for one beer before retiring to my hotel, but I liked him a lot and he seemed very genuine so I ended up staying out late and we both became a little drunk. When the bill came he absolutely insisted on paying, and asked me if I was going to venture towards Kolkata on my trip? If so, he said, it would be his pleasure if I would stay with him and his family. I said that I would be in Kolkata in about a month and that I would love to. I took his email address and said good night.

I was delighted and really looked forward to the idea of this. I liked him and thought meeting up again might help me on my mission to get to know India better. I emailed him the next day to say thank you for his company, and that I would email him again as I approached Kolkata. He replied briefly but affirmatively. A few weeks went by and I emailed him again from Khajuraho, letting him know that I would be in the city in about a week and half and asking, if it was convenient, would he like to meet up again? This time I got no response. I waited a few days - perhaps he was busy? - and still no response. Then I checked my message had been sent. It had. And still no response. I then arrived in Kolkata. No response. Needless to say we didn't end up meeting up and I didn't meet his family. Swarup appears to have bottled out on the idea.

This incident about typifies the extent to which I have been successful in forming relationships with 'real' Indian people over the last ten weeks, and the depth I have got to in my personal relationships. I feel like I have talked to nearly the entire billion person population, every one is so outwardly talkative and friendly, and yet I haven't got anywhere in knowing anyone with any real complexity. I've always been at arms length, and with people for only short periods: an afternoon, an evening, an hour.

Why is this? I've got a few ideas I'm bouncing around...

(1) Part of the trouble is that I move on so quickly. Consequently I'm always with new faces.

(2) Also, nine out of ten of the people who approach me are drawn to me purely because they are con-artists after my money. If you're visiting areas popular with tourists (which I am) con-artists and tourist touts swamp you and your time and this makes it difficult to get to your average Indian. It's a constant pain. Con-artists have to be detected (it gets easy after a while) and weeded out before they can lead you into trouble. They're usually young, overly cocky men, who until you walked along were leaning against a wall watching the street for, well, people like you. You have to use sentences like, 'hello, yes I'm from England actually. Please don't think I'm rude but if you have a shop or want to sell me something I'm not interested and I'm not coming.' This rarely gets rid of them completely and usually leads on to an additional, 'OK, well how about an astrologer then?' or 'I could buy you train tickets?' or 'could I buy you a cup of tea?' An additional, and this time more stern, 'no,' usually finishes it. Basically, my point is, most of the people I meet are people I don't want to meet, and they take up so much of my time they prevent me from meeting more of the people I do want to meet.

(3) On my part, there's also the issue of having to face those same eight bloody questions I get asked again and again (see blog entry 'same old questions' from 24 May) and it becomes inevitable sometimes that I just switch off and can't face it anymore even when nice and well meaning people approach me. I'm always polite but not always fully engaged.

(4) Finally, and, I suppose, quite reasonably, when I do get to meet 'real' Indians they often just want to have a ten minute or hour long chat and prefer to leave it at that. They don't want me snooping into their homes or families or lives etc just because I might find it somehow educational and I can't really blame them. Perhaps this is how Swarup felt ultimately?

Actually, perhaps I'm being a little hard on myself. Even if I haven't formed any lasting friendships I have had some nice extended chats with down to earth, kind, and thoughtful people. And perhaps that is the most I can really expect on a trip of this nature. You might be interested to learn that the most successful interactions I've had have all taken place on either the bus or the train. Never in the actual towns or cities that I've stayed in. This has surprised me and I've thought a lot about why this has been so? I'm still not really sure but I think it is partly because public transport is a zone where the con-artist isn't really present (and so you can't get swamped), there are just 'normal' everyday people going about their business. I also think it's partly because you are also thrown into close quarters with others for hours on end, and there is nothing else to do except eventually strike up a conversation and get to know each other. One or two of these encounters have led on to some light emailing after, mostly notably with Nitesh from Solan and Ida from Pune, both of whom I met in Shimla, but in most cases the contact has started and finished on the bus or train.

I'm going to keep trying, but I must admit that this is one aspect of this journey that hasn't worked out quite as I'd hoped it would, at least so far anyway, and I'm beginning to reassess my idea of myself as some kind of amateur social anthropologist as rather stupidly naive and ill-thought out. Still I'm always learning.

kolkata

2007-05-30T10:46:00.000+05:30

Kolkata (formerly known as Calcutta) has turned out to be a pleasant surprise, with much to see and do and something interesting happening on every street corner. It was once the main base of the British in India, and so - as you might expect - the city centre is well equipped with elegant, fading, old colonial buildings dwelling along streets and roads which have a slightly British feeling in terms of layout.

When I arrived four days ago I decided that I would not spend too much time in the museums and sites laid out in my guide book, and that I would try to tackle the city a little differently. So on each of my four days here I've spent the mornings just wandering around the city streets, the afternoons at the cinema watching Hindi films, and the evenings in my hotel room reading the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi (my current book).

My wanderings have included some interesting places. I've walked all the way round the Maidan (the central park here). I've been to the Howrah Bridge which spans the river that divides Kolkata down the middle - it's similar in size to Sydney Harbour Bridge and supports a stream of 100 000 vehicles a day apparently making it the busiest road bridge in the world. I've had a look around the Park Street Cemetery, full of colonial graves and flamboyant (Gothic?) tombs for those who came in service of the British Empire but never returned. I noted how young most of the occupants were when they died, many of them younger than me. Most interesting though has been my walk to the Mission of Mother Teresa and the morning I spent there, visiting her grave, and reading about her life. Whilst I admire the selfless devotion she put into caring for the poor, I couldn't help but feel she would have been yet more productive if she had looked at tackling the causes of poverty in Kolkata rather than just allowing the unfortunate to be dependent on her and her Mission. Sat by her grave I was brought to mind of a passage I had read earlier in the Gandhi book and couldn't help but make comparison. He says, words to the effect, that whenever he is about to undertake a task on behalf of someone else he asks himself first: will my action help this person to increase their self-governance and self-reliance? If the answer was yes he should go ahead. If the answer is no he should decline. As I walked the surrounding streets of the Mission it was plain to me that little seems to have changed for the poor here. They're still here, in great numbers, still poor, dependent, and struggling to support themselves, no less self-reliant and with no more self-governance. Two streets away I saw three children bathing a toddler in a drain, no adult about as far as I could see. It was an unsettling image and clarified for me that despite Mother Teresa's best efforts poverty is still overwhelming in this part of the city.

On a lighter note, I've seen three more Hindi films thanks to my afternoon cinema visits, all of them at Inox, a shopping mall complex. It's funny how everyone outside the mall is dressed in fairly traditional Indian clothing, but inside everyone is in jeans and t-shirts. I even saw two Indian women in khaki mini-skirts and wearing enough make-up to sell out a Boots cosmetics counter. The cinema at Inox is air-conditioned which has provided me with a good secondary reason for going along there each afternoon. The films I watched are: 'Life in a Metro,' 'Cheeni Kum,' and 'Shootout at Lokhandwala.' The first of these stars England's very own Shilpa Shetty and the second two star Bollywood megastar Amitabh Bachchan. I thought all three were good films, well made, and with interesting plot lines. 'Cheeni Kum' was interesting because it is set in an Indian restaurant in Chelsea in London, and is filmed around the area I used to work. I'm pleased I've finally seen Amitabh Bachchan on screen. He's so hyped in India. My verdict: he's got great screen presence, there's a stern gravity about him. He's clearly a very talented actor. He's good in 'Shootout' where he has a fairly minor role. That film has some serious violence in it. Anyway, that brings my Hindi film count up to six.

Two nights ago it started to rain hard for about an hour. 'The monsoon will be coming soon,' said the old fellow sheltering beside me in a doorway, and indeed it will. I also saw in a newspaper yesterday the headline 'monsoon hits Kerala sooner than expected.' So a new weather system is beginning to hit India and will be my next challenge and experience. It can't really be worse than all this heat and humidity so I'm happy for it rain down even if that will create restrictions for me.

This evening I catch a night train south to Puri, an Indian seaside resort which looks out into the Bay of Bengal. It will be my first time by the coast in India. I'll probably stay there for about two days (Thursday and Friday) and will then move on to nearby Konark to see the famous Sun Temple. I'm having the rest of today off although later I do intend to wander down for another peak at the Victoria Memorial, which is on the south side of the Maidan. It was built by the British in colonial days, and is perhaps the finest building they constructed in India. It looks like a cross between the Taj Mahal and St Paul's Cathedral.

same old questions

2007-05-24T12:18:00.000+05:30

I've been in India for 60 days now and on every single one of them I've been approached by large numbers of people in the street who routinely ask me exactly the same set of questions. It's beginning to drive me slightly mad. This is what I get asked roughly 50 times a day...

1. Hello, which country?

Answer: England. I say England rather than Great Britain or United Kingdom as this term is in more popular usage due to our cricket and football teams.

2. What is your 'good' name?

Answer: Charlie. I normally say 'Charlie' to keep it informal and easy although a few times I have said 'Charles Edward Bury.'

3. First time India and how long India?

Answer: Yes. 4 months.

4. How old are you?

Answer: 29 years old.

5. How many people your family?

Answer: Six: mother, father, sister, niece, and grandmother.

6. Are you married?

Answer: No. Are you OK? You look like you're going to faint.

7. What is your profession?

Answer: I used to be an Education Welfare Officer until I started travelling.

8. Salary?

Answer: Now: 0.

Actually, there are a few questions I would like to ask back like: how come you all ask me the exact same set of questions using the exact same wording? And have you been on a course for this? Is there a textbook called How to question foreign tourists? How is it you all ask the same questions in the same order as well?!

Perhaps I should get a fact sheet printed up on myself if every one's so interested. It might save time.

I'm also reaching the point where I'm beginning to ponder giving fantasy answers: 'I used to be a ballerina but now I've retired and mould garden gnomes for a living. My country? I'm from Iceland.' That kind of thing.

bodhgaya: the land of enlightenment

2007-05-23T18:15:00.000+05:30

I reached my current location, Bodhgaya, yesterday lunchtime following a delayed train ride which began in Varanasi. I'm here to visit a tree. A fairly ordinary looking banyan tree known as the Bodhi tree. Not a rare species or a record breaker in terms of height. But there is something special about it. For 26 centuries ago the man who was to become Buddha, and the father of Buddhism, sat under this tree and had a good hard think until he found enlightenment, or to use Buddhist terminology: nirvana. Actually he didn't. The tree he really sat under was cut down sometime after by the wife of the Emperor Ashoka and the tree that is there now was grown sometime later on the same spot from a cutting of a cutting of the original (which had been kept by a Sri Lankan Alan Titchmarsh). It's just a tree yes, but it's also the centre of the Buddhist universe and the most important place of pilgrimage for Buddhists around the world.

Next to the Bodhi tree is the tall Mahabodhi Temple which was built in the Sixth Century, but has been altered many times since. Other than that there is the Buddha Statue a few streets away and 25 metres high, and a collection of monasteries in the surrounding area representing most of the Buddhist world: Japanese, Thai, Chinese, Tibetan, Cambodian and Nepali to name but a few. That's really about the size of Bodhgaya - a tree, a temple, a statue, and several monasteries, not forgetting of course tourist hotels, restaurants and trinket shops.

The heat in Bodhgaya is overpowering and regular power cuts mean regular interruptions to the much needed circulation of ceiling fans and air conditioning. I just about coped during the day yesterday but after I went to bed an all night electricity cut meant that my ceiling fan was inoperable. I was unable to sleep and could only just about manage to breathe. I got up around 5am feeling tired but resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be getting any rest, and I decided to walk over to the gardens containing the Bodhi tree thinking it would feel cooler to get outside. It was getting light and I could sit and enjoy it before the heat of the morning really built up. I left my room near 6am and as I closed my hotel room door the electricity kicked back in and my fan finally thrust back into action. I was up and ready to go by then so I kept going. Situations of this kind are what swear words are made for. Being so early I had the gardens to myself save for a couple of Tibetan Monks. I wandered around the pathways and sat opposite the 'the tree.' I felt rather unmoved and a bit short changed, being in the knowledge that this was not the tree that Buddha sat under. More impressive for me was the adjacent Mahabodhi Temple. It looks better from a distance than close up - perhaps because it is 50 metres high and standing back helps you better take in the size and scale. The temple is a world heritage site visited by thousands of people every year.

Bodhgaya itself is located in Bihar 13 kilometres south of Gaya. To the north the Ganges runs eastwards towards the coast and nearby are the Barabar Caves. These are the 'Marabar' Caves in E M Forster's A Passage to India, a book which I have spent the last few weeks reading (prior to reading Are you experienced?). I found it an enlightening book, thoughtfully written: a fair handed account of the British Raj in India and the racial tension that was inevitable while such a humiliating arrangement existed. I timed my reading well for now here I find myself in the same area where the story takes place. Reading the book has helped me to think in more depth about India's semi-recent history, and what was happening here 80 years ago. The India of the novel is not the India I am visiting today, and the two share little resemblance. The British Raj are evident now only in colonial architecture and museum photographs.

I'm trying to look at the increasingly extreme heat here as a positive challenge. I'm trying to prove to myself that I can still operate in it, and with a little care not let it get to me. I've made progress on yesterday afternoon and evening, both of which I spent contemplating voluntary euthanasia. Today I've just felt really hot but pretty OK about it. Around Bodhgaya there are lots of roadside signs saying 'Bodhgaya: the land of enlightenment.' The heat and regular lack of my ceiling fan has given me something a of desire to add underneath '...but not electricity.'

My time in Bodhgaya follows on from my visit to Varanasi which was a very nourishing experience. Most interesting was my day long walk along the ghats by the river. I was able to stop at one of the cremation ghats and watch the public burning of bodies. I would have said that this marks the first time I have ever seen a dead body, if I had not been confronted by the sight of two policemen removing the corpse of a beggar from the street in Delhi last week, an experience which I found very disturbing. I only noticed the contorted and emaciated body at the last minute and almost tripped into it. The bodies at the ghats were wrapped in white linen and after being dipped in the Ganges were surrounded with fire wood which was then set alight. Lighting the fire is the duty of the elder son. I noted that women did not seem to be allowed to be present by ritual which rather annoyed me. The family members that were there didn't seem very outwardly emotional which also seemed rather strange. Bodies take three hours to burn, and once the process is complete they are shovelled from the shore into the water. Babies, pregnant women, and Sadhu's are not allowed to be cremated (I can't remember why) and are attached to stones and sunk in the middle of the river.

Changing subject - I must note, before I forget, that I visited the cinema again recently (in Delhi) and saw a Hindi film called, 'Good Boy, Bad Boy.' It was about two university students, one a nerd the other a rascal, whose identities and lives become switched for some reason I couldn't quite fathom. The upshot is that the nerd learns to relax a bit and gets a girlfriend whilst the rascal learns the value of study and applying himself. In the climax of the film the nerd wins a dance contest and the rascal wins a quiz. The result is that by the end of the film we learn that, in the words of the college principal, 'there are no good boys and bad boys just smart boys.' His statement didn't seem entirely coherent to me but I took it to mean that although both main characters were cut of different dhoti cloths they were both still alright.

varanasi

2007-05-19T18:47:00.000+05:30

I'm in Varanasi, one of the holiest places in India, and a location most Indians will try to visit at least once in their lifetime. I had a good journey across here from Khajuraho which has somewhat restored my buoyancy and mood. My bus left on time (3pm) and during the journey the conductor kindly moved me to a seat with good leg room just to be nice. It also rained about four hours in which broke the heat and made things more bearable, and helped me to fall asleep periodically on the shoulder of a strapping Spanish backpacker. On arrival (at 5.30am) a cycle rickshaw driver offered me a competitive price to my hotel and took me straight there with no messing about. In recognition I gave him a hefty tip and was genuinely appreciative. There are, it seems, some reasonable people around after all. I hope he had a nice day today. The hotel I checked into, the Alka Hotel, is nice. I've spent most of the day asleep in it getting over last night. The hotel is located in one of the old alleyways of the old city and looks out over a broad stretch of the Ganges. The river below is full much of the time with the strange mixture of Indian bathers frolicking with rubber rings (bathing in the Ganges is a great honour) amongst the ashes of freshly cremated corpses (being cremated in the Ganges is an even greater honour).

I didn't mention in my last blog that I made a friend in Khajuraho called Meike (she is German and has been working in Nepal but has taken some time off to visit India). We kept each other company for a few days and she also gave me a short novel called Are you experienced? by a guy called William Sutcliffe which has utterly consumed me. It's about 'Dave' who goes travelling in India (on much the same route as me and even in some of the same hotels) on his gap year in pursuit of a girl. He soon finds he can't stand her, backpackers, or India, and sets his powers of sarcasm to work in describing and deconstructing it all. It's very, very funny. There are descriptions of backpacker hostels as prison cells, being so hot you feel like you are cooking slowly from the inside, chapters with titles like 'what do backpackers do all day?' and effective character assassinations of all the middle class young people who came out here to find 'the real India' and act all new age, plus a good knocking of all the tourist operators. Dave also struggles to cope with India itself and is not backward in coming forward on the subject: 'I had heard the old cliché about how when you arrive in India it's like stepping into an oven. But this hadn't prepared me for the fact, that when you arrive in India, it is like stepping into an oven.' Meike's gone back to Nepal now, but it was an enjoyable interlude and she was good company.

I'm going to chill and wander in Varanasi for a couple of days now (tomorrow I'm going to visit an Indian university!) and from here I will carry on to Bodhgaya, which is where the tree is that Buddha sat under to achieve enlightenment and nirvana. It's the most sacred site in the world for Buddhists. The hotel are booking me a train ticket onwards so I don't have to go down to the station and go through all the hassle of trying to queue up in a country where queuing roughly equates to a group of people charging at ticket booths in the manner of a cattle stampede. Reminds me of another quote from Are you experienced? in which Dave is questioned by a grumpy Indian journalist on what he does whilst backpacking: 'so basically once you arrive somewhere your main interest and priority is booking tickets to leave to the next place?' Dave: 'yeah.'

the journey to khajuraho

2007-05-18T09:15:00.000+05:30

I'm in Khajuraho in Madhya Pradesh. The journey down here was a real pain in the arse. It had been supposed to be a seven hour train journey from Delhi to Jhansi and then a five hour bus ride from Jhansi to Kahjuraho. It turned into two trains, three buses, and a ride in a jeep, took 35 hours non-stop, and a near nervous breakdown on platform 1 at Kota station in Rajasthan. The problems began when my train, which left Delhi at 5.30am on Monday, was diverted west (it should have been going east) following a train derailment further down the line, and it was several hours before I realised it was going completely the wrong way and several more before I could actually get off.

I eventually got off at a place called Kota and went to the enquiries desk to ask how I could get back to my train destination (Jhansi). I was passed around six officials in different parts of the station all of whom gave me drastically different information. In the end, after losing it with station master, I just walked out of the station not caring anymore where the hell I went and got in an autorickshaw and asked to be taken to the bus station in the hope that (a) there was a bus station and (b) it might have buses to Jhansi. There was. It didn't. But they did have a bus to a small town called Shivpuri (about eight hours away), and the man selling tickets thought there might be another bus on from there on to Jhansi. It was my only option so I bought a ticket. The bus didn't leave until 9pm (it was now about 4.30pm) so I went and had my haircut opposite the station and then sat down until the bus came.

An uncomfortable night followed in the impressively hot and cramped bus. I sat next to a woman at the back who spent most of the journey puking out of the window, and the lack of leg room meant my leg were killing me all the way. All I saw through the night was darkness except for when we drove by a brightly lit pesticide factory.

We finally made it to Shivpuri in the early hours and I discovered to my relief that there was a bus on to Jhansi. I boarded this and it left at 6am. By now I was beginning to find it hard to stay awake but just about managed. This bus took about three hours and arrived at about 9am. The bus jerked to a halt as we arrived and I gashed my hand on a nail sticking out of the seat in front me. As I tried to get a couple of plasters across my knuckles a merciless tout came up to me and, unable to give me even a few seconds to try to stem the blood flow, tried to sell me a hotel room. I advised him to 'f*ck off.' He obliged.

Once no longer bleeding, I went into the ticket office and found that the first bus I could get to Khajuraho (my final destination) left at 11am and would take a final five hours. I bought a ticket and went and sat out it out on the bus station kerb now feeling completely numb. The bus got within 30 kilometres of Khajuraho and for no reason that I could discern I was transferred to an overfull 'share jeep' which finally got me to end point Khajuraho at 4.30pm. I'm not precisely sure of the time because I was mildly delirious. I checked into the Surya Hotel around 5pm and breathed a massive sigh of relief.

Really the time I've spent here has been spent recovering from getting here, and quietly wandering the temples. The temples at Khajuraho are famed for their erotic sculptures but in actual fact not many are erotic. They are attractive structures, not as large as I'd imagine they'd be, but really once you've seen one of them you've seen them all. Khajuraho is good in that it is sleepy and quiet, but there's been more hassle from tourist industry types than I'd expected and I just haven't been in the frame of mind to deal with it.

I'm moving on again to Varanasi this afternoon. This will be a long journey too. I'm going to see how I go but if I arrive as exhausted as I did to here I'm going to halt my itinerary for a few days just to rest, recover, and to become less irritable. We'll see - may be I'll be fine, there'll be good leg room on the bus, I'll meet someone nice, and I'll be ready to go when I arrive. Like I said, we'll see.

the british in india

2007-05-12T18:43:00.000+05:30

Yesterday's anniversary has started me wondering about British/Indian conflict and how the British came to be involved in India in the first place. Rather than consult the history books like any reasonable person I've used my imagination instead to work out what happened. Maybe it all went a little something like this... picture it... the Royal Court at Windsor... 1600... everyone in wigs...

Queen Elizabeth I: Hello. And what do you do?

Chairman of the East India Company: Hello. I am the Chairman of the East India Company.

Queen Elizabeth I: That's a bit presumptuous isn't it. You haven't even discovered India yet have you?

Chairman of the East India Company: No, err, but we're pretty sure that...

Queen Elizabeth I: Yes, yes. And you say you want to establish a presence in India?

Chairman of the East India Company: Yes Maam*.

Queen Elizabeth I: Why?

Chairman of the East India Company: We have intelligence suggesting they have weapons of mass destruction.

Queen Elizabeth I: Jolly good. Off you go. We've no option really. The rest will be history...

* Maam as in farm not Mam as in ham. Yes, I've seen 'The Queen' with Helen Mirren.

meera nom charlie ha

2007-05-11T12:20:00.000+05:30

On this day, 150 years ago, there was a mass uprising in India against the British. It began in Uttar Pradesh with the mishandling of a rumour that army bullets were to be greased with cow fat and soon turned into a full on army mutiny culminating in the four month siege of Delhi. It was the beginning of the movement that lead to full independence in 1947, and also the beginning of an intervening 90 years of tightened, tyrannical, and more oppressive British control (the East India Company, a private company which had previously informally run things in India, was dissolved and the British Government proper stepped in to become the formal masters of India). It's a sensitive piece of history and as I was leaving my hotel this morning the manager said to me half-jokingly, 'maybe you should tell people you are Australian today.'

I've survived the morning so far and thought I'd take a break and write down what I've been up to for the last few days. Following on from Manali, I spent last weekend in Dharamshala and McLeod Ganj, which for the last fifty years has been home to the Dalai Lama. I say 'home' - he travels the world so frequently (to raise publicity for Tibet) I wonder he can call anywhere his home. I was unsurprised, but still disappointed, to hear that he was in Chicago on my arrival. I did visit the monastery complex in which he lives though, and I also took a walk down to a lovely waterfall nearby and sat with my feet in a rock pool. McLeod Ganj is a tourist circus and I found being there a rather up and down experience. It was inspirational to visit the residence of such a compassionate, kind and good humoured man, but something seemed not right about wealthy Europeans and Americans wandering to and from their Yoga classes and DVD cafes in the village, dodging and ignoring the street beggars (of whom there are many) and Tibetan refugees as they went. Michael Palin came to Dharamshala and McLeod Ganj to interview the Dalai Lama during his Himalaya series. He also noted the uneasy contrast between the tourists and the unfortunate during his visit: 'passing these wraith-like figures are the substantial, muscular, Western backpackers who home in on these places, looking for cheap accommodation while sporting designer shades that would cost a street mender six months' wages. Poverty is corrosive, but it's always worse when it is found side by side with wealth.' It's the fact that no-one seemed uncomfortable that made me feel uncomfortable if that makes sense.

For the last few days I've been in the Punjab at Amritsar, location of the famous and beautiful Golden Temple. The Golden Temple is the most important Sikh Gurdwara in existence and a work of exquisite beauty. The Hari Mandir (God's Temple) sits in the middle of a huge tank of water ('nectar') filled with languishing fish. It has four entrances, one on each side - indicating that all are welcome and encouraged to visit. A Sikh teenager toured me round the complex and also took me to the large communal kitchens where free meals are churned out for hundreds of people twenty four hours a day. I saw - and touched! - the famous chapati making machine and conveyor belt and then was taken to eat with the Sikh worshippers. It was a terrific experience. You must cover your head whilst inside the complex and I wore a rather unflattering bright orange bandana throughout making me look like a pirate at a rave.

Today, I'm still in Amritsar, and I've just been to the Hindu Mata Temple, which is a strange combination of religious building and adventure playground. To process around the Gods you have to go up and down corridors, crawl through small tunnels, across a little stream, and through mirrored rooms. Crazy Indians.

tibetan monk

2007-05-09T08:41:00.000+05:30

I recently had the below encounter with a Tibetan Monk I met whilst walking back to my hotel in McLeod Ganj. It was early evening and I was wandering home after my dinner when he emerged, with a big friendly smile on his face, from one of the many restaurants...

Monk: Hello!

Me: Hello.

Monk: (Holding up a boiled egg) I've just bought this boiled egg.

Me: Oh really. Is that your dinner?

Monk: Yes. I want to get stronger. I also go swimming every morning. To get fitter.

Me: Really? At the little pool up by the waterfall?

Monk: Yes. If I can get good enough maybe I can make it to Beijing in 2008 and swim in the Olympics.

Me: That would be good. But you'll have to work hard.

Monk: Yes. Then maybe I win and they give me gold medal.

Me: Would you take it? From the Chinese Government?

Monk: (Chuckling) No I'd say, 'thank you very much, you can keep the medal, just give me back my Tibet!'

shimla and manali

2007-05-04T17:20:00.000+05:30

I left Mussoorie for Shimla last Sunday morning at 8.30am. First I caught a bus down the hillside and on to the nearby city Dehra Dun, and from there I picked up the 10.15am bus to Shimla. Unfortunately there were no seats available on the small bus and initially I had to stand. About an hour in the conductor called to me to come and sit up front with him and the driver in their compartment, which was very kind of him, and this gave me a great view for the rest of the journey as we slowly climbed through the hills and mountains towards Shimla on the ten hour journey.

We arrived in Shimla a little after 7pm, and once away from the bus I began ascending the alleyways and narrow roads up from the bus stand on foot to the centre (which is known as the Ridge) and on to the YMCA, which is where I decided I would stay. On my climb up a group of men asked me if I would stop to be photographed with them and I duly obliged. The YMCA has bags of character and I knew I would stay the minute I walked into the reception. Massive, painted bright fireman red on the outside, and with two wings it had the feel of a Victorian boarding school out of term. I was shown to an enormous room on the top floor and told that an English style breakfast was included in my room cost. It was mid-evening by this stage so once I'd unpacked I nipped out for a quick mutton rogan josh with a side order of anti-malarial tablet and then got off to bed.

Shimla was taken over by the British in 1819 and so popular had it become with the Raj set by 1864 that it was officially made the summer capital of India. Every summer the entire apparatus of Indian government was transferred up to Shimla. Described sometimes as a little bit of Cheltenham in India, Shimla is strung along a 12 kilometre ridge 2205 metres above sea level and has a population today of 144 900 people. It is designed as though an idyllic English village with mock-Tudor buildings attempting to recreate Old England, an illusion somewhat spoiled by the the many monkeys jumping around the rooftops.

Next day I woke refreshed and after my complimentary breakfast I walked several kilometres across the ridge to the Vice-Regal Lodge, which was once the summer home of the Viceroy of India, and from which he ruled one fifth of the world population. It's a delightfully peaceful stately home, which was built in the 1880s in Scottish Baronial style, and is now a university of sorts called the Indian Institute of Advanced Studies, or as my friend Nitesh put it: 'the Hogwarts of India,' a place for postgraduate study in the humanities. I was taken on a tour of the interior and saw the actual conference room where Gandhi, Mountbatten and Jinnah discussed (or perhaps failed to discuss) the partition of India, and the actual table on which Mountbatten agreed the partition line between India and the new Pakistan. A significant place where significant history was made. It was sobering being there. I walked back after, visiting on my way Christ Church (the second oldest church in Northern India), and then I climbed up to the Jakhu Temple which at 2455 metres above sea level is the highest point in Shimla. This made my legs hurt so once I got back down to rest and relax I wandered into the Ritz Cineplex to watch the evening showing of 'Ta Ra Rum Pum.' Day two in Shimla saw me take a long walk down to the Glen and the Shimla polo field, and then in the afternoon I walked over to the Himachal State Museum where most of the exhibits bored me with the exceptions of the beautiful Parhari miniature paintings and some fascinating letters sent by Mahatma Gandhi to Adolf Hitler in the 1930s, in essence asking him to calm down and have a re-think on things. It seems Hitler did not respond and history suggests he did not take the advice. That evening I went to the Ritz Discotheque, where I found myself in an empty cavernous room save for a man a woman and their baby and two men sat at the bar drinking whiskey. I saw one of them the next morning as I was walking to the bus station and he shouted at me, 'eh discotheque!' even though we had not actually spoken the night before. I shouted back the same and we gave each other a smile.

I left Shimla at 9.30am on Tuesday morning and sat next to Nitesh from Solan with whom I chatted throughout most of the ten hour journey. He was only 17 but seemed much older than his years. He is on the verge of entering university to study engineering and we talked a lot about the education system in India and about Indian films. We were joined early on in the journey by a small boy from the aisle who came and sat on my lap and periodically vomited out of the open window by which I was sitting. After a while he fell asleep, and after about an hour he and his Mum (who stayed in the aisle) got off to his relief. We arrived in Manali at around 7.30pm but not before being delayed for nearly an hour by a sheep and goat herd making its way along the highway. I arrived to find a town in a power cut, but still managed to grope my way from the bus station to the Hotel Pawan.

Manali sits in the northern end of the Kullu Valley at an elevation of 2050 metres above sea level and has a population 4400 people. The small town is surrounded by mountain peaks (the higher ones snowcapped) and a fast running clean river (Beas River) runs through the middle.

I've been a little less active in Manali than Shimla, partly because I've felt tired, but more because it has rained a fair bit. However, yesterday I did manage to visit the Hadimba Temple above the town, and the Tibetan Gompa to the south. This is a Tibetan monastery. I was allowed to go in to the main hall and watch the monks chanting in unison - which was a wonderful experience. I also walked up to Old Manali and had a quick look around. It's set in a pretty location just outside of town, but like the northern side of Rishikesh it's a ghetto for Western tourists - full of English people talking about their love of India whilst eating cheese omelette or pasta. I soon descended back to the town proper to be with the Indians and have dinner at a Punjabi restaurant. Today, my second here, I've been on a 10 kilometre walk through the Kullu Valley and a bit closer to the snow capped peaks I am able to see at all times on the horizon. My walk took me through the Tibetan Colony, and re-emphasised what I had been thinking in Mussoorie - that the exiled Tibetan communities up here don't exactly seem to be thriving. In fact they seem to be very poor indeed. It's all reminded me of the hill tribes up in Northern Vietnam - women with wizened faces plodding around with babies tied to their backs, the baby looking like it needs a good bath.

Tomorrow I move to Dharamshala and McLeod Ganj which for the last fifty years has been home to the Dalai Lama and the headquarters of the Tibetan Government in exile. It will be 10 more hours of riding through the hill roads of the Himalaya which can be no bad thing. My ticket says the bus leaves at 8.23am which seems very precise.

ta ra rum pum

2007-05-01T15:50:00.000+05:30

Rajveer (known as R.V.) is your typical Indian New York cabbie in a largely Indian populated Hindi speaking New York. He is mad about driving fast cars and dreams of being a famous Nascar driver. With the help of his friend Harry he gets a shot at the New York Speedway. He wins his race and is hired as a race driver. This marks the beginning of his career in Nascar and he is soon the best racing driver in the field. Simultaneously he meets Shona, they fall in love, marry, and have two children, a son and a daughter, to whom they allot typically Indian names: Princess and Champ.

After eight successful years at the top of the Nascar leagues R.V. is faced with a rival. A new driver called Rusty hits the scene. Rusty is evil because his car is black and he smiles whenever someone gets knocked off the track (usually they get knocked off by him). In their first race together Rusty knocks R.V. (spectacularly) off the road and R.V. is hospitalised. He recovers but loses his confidence as regards future racing. After a string of failures, and not having saved for a rainy day, R.V is sacked from the team. The family house in the suburbs is repossessed, the family are forced to move to the Bronx in reduced circumstances, and R.V has to resume his old job as a lowly cabbie. Rather than admit reduced circumstances to their children R.V. and Shona tell them they are moving to the Bronx to take part in a reality show and that they must be brave if it seems a little tough at first. Initially the children are stupid enough to buy this utter bollocks. But later they realise what's going on and rather than discuss it with their parents they elect to stop eating lunch at school in order to save their lunch money to help their Mum and Dad out.

Champ eventually collapses and is hospitalised. He needs an operation (for what?) if he is going to survive and it is going to cost 65 000 US dollars. R.V. has no medical insurance so there is only one thing for it - he must go back to Nascar and race again to save his son. His old team, Speeding Saddles, won't take him back but his taxi driver friends and Harry club together enough money to get hold of a race car and become his team instead. A comeback race follows and at the beginning Rusty (remember he is evil) says 'this time I'll take R.V. off the road for good' and then laughs (an evil laugh). The race begins and things go back and forward. Rusty tries some underhand tactics but they fail because R.V. is too sharp. He has to be. His son's life is on the line. Just before the finish line R.V. rams Rusty. Rusty's car flips into the air and he is killed in an ensuing inferno. R.V. crosses the finish line and victory is finally his again. Everyone cheers, Champ simultaneously comes out of his coma, nobody cares that Rusty is dead (because he was evil), and everything goes swiftly back to normal. R.V. regains his dignity and the life that once was his.

This is a brief summary of 'Ta Ra Rum Pum,' the film I went to see last night at the Ritz Cineplex in Shimla. There were only about three of us in the large cinema but I think we all enjoyed it. I certainly did. The film was in Hindi without subtitles although occasionally sentences like, 'hey chill out ok,' would pop out in English. This helped me understand what was going on better. For example, there was one scene between Shona and her wealthy disapproving father in which she was telling him that she planned to marry R.V. and he was saying he didn't approve. I was struggling to get the jist of this but then he blurted out, 'but no college education,' I knew then what was going on. R.V. was played by a slightly too 'buff' for my liking Saif Ali Khan, and Shona was played by the extremely attractive actress Rani Mukerji. Harry, the mate, was played by the Indian comedian Jaaved Jaffrey. I enjoyed watching Jaaved Jaffrey the most although he is not in a lot of the film.

On an uncharitable day I might discuss various holes I noticed in the plot, and the unclear morality of the some the characters, but this is not such a day so I'll point out instead that the interspersed music and dance routines were terrific, and the high gloss filming of New York was terrific.

My favourite bit of the film came towards the beginning when R.V. is given his big shot. Shona (who at this point is playing hard to get) reluctantly goes to watch him and takes a seat in the middle of the 100 000 plus Nascar stadium crowd. R.V. shouts across from the pit: 'you came' and with seemingly superhuman powers of hearing she distinguishes his voice and hears his two word comment. Coyly, she says back: 'good luck cabbie,' and he, also endowed with superhuman hearing gives her a thumbs up and then tears off in his car to the start line and to victory.

mussoorie

2007-04-28T13:10:00.000+05:30

Mussoorie, the third town I've visited in the northern state of Uttranchal, sits at an elevation of 2000 metres above sea level, and is a popular holiday destination for well to do Indians during the heat of the summer. It was established by the British in 1823 as a holiday retreat, and their imprint is very evident in the local architecture and public buildings. It takes an hour and a half to slowly climb the zigzagging road up here. Once you reach the top the air feels fresh, crisp, clean, and invigorating.

Mussoorie is an affluent place, and there's very little evidence of poverty. The town's 300 hotels do good business, and tourism seems to provide well enough for the 29 000 residents who live up here. Judging by the steepness of the lanes and pathways I assume that brake pad salesmen are amongst the wealthiest individuals in this hill top society.

The views are sublime. The brown, wrinkled Himalayan hills stretch all around (in winter they're snow capped) and make for mesmerising viewing. Closer by the lower hills are covered in healthy dark green pine trees and other vegetation.

I've been here for two days now, staying at the Hotel Broadway, an elegant green and white house with a glass windowed gallery on the first floor. It was built back in the 1880s, and my room (decorated around the same time I think - but still very charming) looks out across the hills. An uninterrupted view. Hotel Broadway is tucked away in a quiet corner of the town, and has proved a very relaxing place to stay.

Most of the time I've been out walking, either up and down through the pedestrian streets of the town, or along the roads which stretch out into the surrounding hills where I can seek out magnificent views and vistas. Yesterday I walked up Gun Hill to the highest point in Mussoorie (2500 metres). I had a cup of tea at the top and tried to disguise my irritation when I realised there was a cable car I could have come up in rather than slowly puffing and wheezing my way up the steep footpath. And later, whilst wandering, I stumbled on the homes of the Tibetan community here.

On the food front: I've tried rasmalai (dumplings made from cottage or riccotta cheese soaked in sweetened, thickened milk delicately flavored with cardamom and served chilled), and also some more varied types of parantha (bread) for my breakfast. Mussoorie can cater for all tastes: there are Punjabi restaurants, South Indian restaurants, Bengali sweet shops, Tibetan cafes, and a Dominos Pizza parlour. There are also a couple of bars up here where you can buy cool bottles of Kingfisher Beer. I've taken advantage of this.

But all good things must come to an end, and with a heavy heart I will move on tomorrow morning to my next destination: Shimla. It's going to take at least 12 hours to get across to what was the summer capital of the British Raj, and I'm quietly not confident the journey will be smooth, but the effort will be worth it I'm sure.

more rishikesh

2007-04-25T17:49:00.000+05:30

Being in Haridwar and Rishikesh over the last four or five days has had a restorative effect on my energy and attitude, even if I seem to have been suffering with my old enemy hay fever since arrival. Especially relaxing has been Rishikesh. The calm streets and lack of hassle from street sellers, combined with the beautiful valley location, can't help but make you feel better. My visit has come at an opportune moment as I was beginning to get a bit frazzled by the intensity (and the growing heat) of India and some of the areas I've visited so far. A little battery re-charge has been happily welcomed and appreciated.

I haven't really been up to much in the last day or two (there's not much to get up to) but have managed a bit of a wander around the locality. Rishikesh divides into several small areas (I am staying in Lakshman Jhula on the northern edge of town) and yesterday I walked south to the Swarg Ashram part of town. Swarg Ashram is where the real spiritual action is in Rishikesh, and contains a higher ratio of Indians to idealistic Westerners than Lakshman Jhula. I wandered round the yoga centres, ashrams, and ghats and stopped for a cup of tea in one of the cafes for a break and to watch the world go by. It was very pleasant. Some of the ashrams looked very serene environments. I imagine they would be very tranquil places to retreat to.

I've spent most of my time here quietly reading A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess (I finished The Case of the Buried Clock a while back). The book is very short so I've actually finished it already. A very interesting read although I thought Burgess struggled a bit to bring the story to a satisfactory conclusion. I've also been reflecting a little on what I plan to do when I return home and my 'travelling phase' finally ends. I think I'm getting my head round things, but I won't bore you with the details right now.

Tomorrow I leave for Mussoorie which is slightly further north into the foothills of the Himalaya. It shouldn't take too long getting up there although it will take two buses to reach. I hope without basis that the transfer from the first bus to the second will be painless, smooth, and not too prolonged. Mussoorie should be even cooler than here, perhaps even cooler than the UK from what I've been hearing.

rishikesh

2007-04-23T14:03:00.000+05:30

If I keep eating Indian sweets at the same rate as I am now I'm going to come back to the UK as big as a mandir. It's hard not to when there's such a variety on offer and they all look so appetising. Laddu is becoming a particular favourite.

I went to the cinema in Haridwar yesterday to see a Bollywood film: 'Shakalaka Boom Boom.' I enjoyed the film, which is set in New York (a New York where everyone is Indian including the entire NYPD) and stars Bobby Deol, Upen Patel, Celina Jaitley and Kangana Ranaut. I managed to follow the plot most of the way through, and had bits and pieces explained to me by the people sitting around me as it went on, although it did get a little complicated at the end. The film is about the rivalry between two successful singer/composers called A.J. and Reggie and their competition to be number one in the cut-throat music industry. Hopefully it will be the first of many Bollywood films I go to see. One of the characters in the film was played by Dalip Tahil who was briefly in Eastenders a few years back (as character Dan Ferreira). I didn't like him in Eastenders, although frankly he didn't have much to work with, but he did do a good job in this film. I thought it funny that in the first film I go and see he should pop up. The atmosphere in the dirt floored cinema was great, but it could have done with air conditioning.

This was actually my second attempt to go to the cinema: last week I tried to go and see 'Namaste London' in Delhi but was refused admission to my seat because I had a camera. I'm glad I've got up and running now cinema-wise.

I've sent out some postcards to my family this morning. I've been finding it difficult to find any worth putting in the post, but have just about managed to buy some half decent ones. I'm not overly confident they'll arrive judging by the way the postmaster at the post office chucked them on his desk earlier today, but here's hoping and let it not be said that I didn't try.

I've left Haridwar now and moved on to nearby Rishikesh. I arrived this morning at 11am. A bus was leaving Haridwar station as I walked in and it only took an hour to get up here. It's in a prettier location than Haridwar (a lush tree lined valley through which runs the Ganges), but - rather than being a holiday spot for Indian tourists - it's full of Europeans/Americans with dreadlocks, acoustic guitars, and roll up cigarettes (types generally prone to annoy me). Rishikesh is often called the yoga capital of the world and is where The Beatles famously came in the 1960s to stay with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Even though ultimately things didn't work out (in fact they turned r-r-rather sour) they were later followed by Mike Love of The Beach Boys, Donovan, more recently by Kate Winslet, and now most recently by me. In contrast to the late George Harrison, I'm going to steer clear of the ashrams and chanting and plan to spend my time admiring the view and watching the river flow by in the valley below.

My Mum might like to note that I haven't forgotten to take a single anti-malaria tablet since I arrived in India. I've made it a target to get all the way to 26 July without forgetting a single one. Keep also meaning to record that I had my haircut (in Bikaner) a couple of weeks ago including a head massage and the total bill was only 25p. The lad did a good job too.

more delhi and onwards north

2007-04-21T10:59:00.000+05:30

I've used some quite varied forms of public transport since 26 March. I've been on buses, trains, in taxis, on the back of a motorcycle, around town in cycle-rickshaws, and through city streets in more than my fair share of auto-richshaws (or tuk tuks as they are known). On Thursday I added a ride in an HM Ambassador to the list. The HM Ambassador is an Indian manufactured vehicle based on the design of the 1948 Morris Oxford. Despite the British origin, the Ambassador is one of the transport emblems of India and until recently was even used as the official car of the Prime Minister and India's political glitterati. Ambassador's are mostly used as tourist carriers and government cars, are generally white, although some in Delhi are yellow and black, and have bouncy soft bench seats in both the front and the back. The one I rode in was gas powered. Check them out: http://www.hmambassador.com/

I travelled in a white Ambassador from the centre of Delhi out to Qutb Minar, a 73 metre high tower begun in 1193. It has a 15 metre diameter at the base tapering to just two and a half metres at the top. It looks like a big red chimney. After Qutb Minar I went on to Purana Qila (the Old Fort) and Humayan's Tomb (which predates the Taj Mahal and shares many of the same design features). I still have two more sights in Delhi I want to visit: Jama Masjid (the largest Mosque in India) and Raj Ghat (where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated), but I'll slot these in on my third and final visit to the capital in about three weeks time.

I arrived in Haridwar last night after a five hour train journey up from Delhi which for some reason I found a rather uncomfortable experience. I'm staying at the Krishna Guesthouse, and find myself a few hundred metres from the Ganges. It's a little bit cooler up here and there seems to be less hassle to endure from drivers and sellers which I find a great relief. This morning I had vada samba (Indian doughnuts) and tea for breakfast. My first time and I thought them very tasty. The street front chef who served them to me got quite exasperated whilst trying to teach me how to pronounce their name. The situation wasn't helped by his altering pronunciations...

Chef: wada!

Me: vada?

Chef: (louder) no, yada!!

Me: wada??

Chef: (louder) v-a-d-a!!!

Me: yada???

Chef: (louder) WADA!!!!

Me: vada????

Chef: (given up) ok, now you pay.

bikaner and back to delhi

2007-04-18T16:39:00.000+05:30

Following on from my previous blog entry: I've left Jaisalmer, moved on to Bikaner, had a look round, and have now moved on from there by night train to Delhi. I'm in Delhi right now. Back where I started three and a half weeks ago.

I went to Bikaner primarily to visit the Karni Mata Temple which is also known as the Temple of Rats. It's a rather macabre place inhabited as the name suggests by hundreds and hundreds of rats. According to legend Karni Mata asked Yama (God of Death) to restore to life the son of a grieving storyteller. Yama refused and in revenge Karni Mata reincarnated all dead storytellers as rats, depriving Yama of human souls. Karni Mata Temple is a memorial to all this, and the rats are highly revered. Many Indians make pilgrimage to Deshnok the village where it is located. It's certainly different.

Visiting didn't prove as straightforward as I had hoped. Karni Mata is 30km outside of Bikaner and to get there you must catch a bus from an area called Goga Gate. Goga Gate was too far to walk from my hotel, and more importantly I didn't have a clue how to get there, so I decided to take a Tuk Tuk. We got about three quarters of the way when the driver pulled up and said he wasn't going any further. I'd had my nose in my Lonely Planet and asked him why on earth not? He pointed ahead of us. I looked up. Massive and fearsome plums of smoke billowed from what must of been enormous flames straight ahead of us. The stretch of town in front of us seemed to be an inferno, and people were fleeing the area. It was quite frightening and naturally I didn't want to go any further. 'Is there another way round to the bus station?' I asked him. 'Er, that is the bus station,' he replied.

I had no option but to give up for the day and went instead to see the sandstone Junagarh Fort (on the opposite side of town). When I arrived I was told it was compulsory that I tour the Fort with a free guide. The guide I had misheard when I said my name 'Charlie' and spent the tour referring to me as 'Jelly.' It got hard at some stages to keep my face straight.

The following day I did make it to Karni Mata. I took off my shoes and stepped into the domain of the rats. I'd imagined a floor seething with millions of rats (like a scene in an Indiana Jones film) but it wasn't quite that full on. Having said that though there were a lot of rats, and they were all pretty much immobilised by the hot weather except for a few feeding from large silver bowls of food that had been laid out for them. I didn't stay too long (not because I didn't like it but because the place was quite small) and waited for the bus back in a sweet shop opposite the temple. I made the wait an opportunity for an Indian sweet taste tester session.

Ultimately I didn't have a lot of time for Bikaner itself, particularly the poor quality roads and the congestion, but they do have a beautiful Fort/Palace - I'm happy to give them that. Whilst in town I stayed at the Hotel Deluxe. To my surprise my dingy room had a black and white television set, and on the first of my two evenings in town I relaxed and watched a re-run of the film 'Dick Tracy' starring Warren Beatty, Al Pacino, and Madonna plus half of the film 'Beethoven.'

I slept like a log on the train ride from Bikaner to Delhi last night and can't tell you how much I appreciated the cool air which flowed in from the open windows (my room in at the Hotel Deluxe was oppressively hot). I left Bikaner at 7.40pm on Tuesday evening and arrived at Old Delhi train station at about 8am on Wednesday morning. Not much of note happened during the evening except for one incident - a man approached me and asked me for my autograph. I was, of course, happy to oblige. After all, I wouldn't be where I am if it wasn't for all my fans.

My return to Delhi means I've concluded the first segment of my trip and now it is time to begin the second, which is to head north of Delhi and explore parts of Uttranchal, Himachel Pradesh, and the Punjab. On Wednesday I'm catching the train up to Haridwar which was recommended to me by my friend and former work colleague Celine. I'm very much looking forward to getting out of this extreme heat for a while and catching my first glimpse of the Ganges. This is the part of the trip I'm looking forward to the most because I'll be going towards the edge of the Himalayas and into a more hilly/mountainous environment which really is my favourite kind of location.

Check out the picture of me riding on top a camel in my photos section - that's another one off the checklist and a photo to prove it. The camel was called Bublo and he was pretty comfortable to ride on although when he got up off the ground it was kind of frightening - if you're not careful you could get tossed in the air like a pancake.

jaisalmer

2007-04-14T09:20:00.001+05:30

Day 20. Jaisalmer. I'm still getting to grips with the idea of eating with my hands (or to be precise with my right hand) in India. As you may know the knife and fork is not part of traditional Indian culture. My friend's Dad has summed up the philosophy of this succinctly saying: 'eating with a knife and fork is like speaking through an interpreter.' I don't mind eating with my hands but I make such a hopeless mess each time I try. I've begun to wonder which is more culturally insensitive: asking for a knife and fork or throwing curry and rice all over the table, floors, walls, and sometimes even the staff of the restaurant. I'm going to keep trying for the moment. Perhaps it is an art which can be crafted.

It was another interesting bus journey getting here. I'm almost finding the journeys more interesting than the destinations at the moment. On the bus I sat next to Vini (Vinita) a detached female social worker and HIV counsellor working across the Punjab, Rajasthan, and Gujarat. We had a good chat and I was able to ask her lots of questions about her job and quite a bit about how people with HIV and AIDS are treated in India (she felt that they receive adequate medical treatment but are mostly treated as outcasts by society). Vini is one of the first women I've been able to talk with at length, and she held very progressive views on social issues. During the bus journey we overtook about fifty army trucks carrying tanks. I joked they must be on the way to attack Pakistan and got laughs back which were a bit too hearty for my liking.

In many ways being in Jaisalmer is like being in a fairytale. The old Fort rises out of the desert and contains most of the city. Jaisalmer is set just back from the Pakistan border, and sometimes it may not rain here for up to seven years at a time. There has been a castle here for almost a 1000 years, and it stands as one of the world's oldest 'living' forts. The people of Jaisalmer also have the South East Asian disease of mangling the English in their signs and advertising: amongst others I've seen a photography shop offering 'mammary cards' and a chilled beer shop advertising the sale of 'child beer.' Sadly the beautiful and romantic buildings are not being conserved with the care that they should be, and there has been a lot of pulling about of the brick and original features to incorporate Internet cafes, restaurants, and hotels. There are also more serious problems created by the inadequate and overworked drainage system which is causing the foundations of the Fort to gradually collapse. Jaisalmer has been placed on the World Monuments Watch list of the 100 most endangered sights of historical importance in the world. Since arrival I've spent a fair bit of time inside Jaisalmer Fort including visiting the Maharaja Palace and the wonderful but small complex of Jain Temples, and I've also been inside the Laxminath Hindu Temple. Outside the Fort I've been down to the Gadi Sagar, a lake just outside the city walls, and the Havelis - three sandstone houses built by wealthy Jaisalmer merchants in times of prosperity. I've been hanging out a bit with an English girl called Gemma (from Bristol) who I met back in Jodhpur. This afternoon I'm venturing out into the desert to ride a camel and to watch the sunset over the sand dunes.

I've been staying at the Mehrangarh Hotel which is just outside the Fort. It has good points and bad points. I'm sharing my room with an enormous but unsociable gecko.

I've been reviewing my budget this morning and am pleased to find that I've stuck with ease to my 10 pounds a day target. In fact I've been underspending a bit. I'm having no bother withdrawing money at ATM machines and have slowly acquired an idea of how much rupees are worth and what fair prices are for most things.

I've just finished reading Our Man in Havana and have moved on to reading The Case of the Buried Clock by Erle Stanley Gardner. You may well have heard of the main character in the book: Perry Mason. Recently I was helping my grandmother to clean out a cupboard in her spare bedroom and we found the old yellowed book at the bottom of a cardboard box. Like the rest of the useless crap Grandma had stored up she couldn't remember owning it and had no use for it either and so asked me if I wanted it to read. I thought I'd give it a go and have been really enjoying the detective tale so far. It was printed back in 1958 and inside the cover is written in pencil 'Mr St Bezant, 45 Melbourne Road, Ipswich.'

My next stop (and my last in Rajasthan) is Bikaner. I leave tomorrow morning at 6am and will make the seven hour journey by bus.

jodhpur

2007-04-11T10:15:00.000+05:30

I arrived at the Pushkar bus station at 7am on Monday morning. The old white bus which waited for me didn't look like it was going to make it from the parking bay out onto the road let alone all the way to Jodhpur. Sceptically I boarded and squeezed myself into one of the seats near the back and braced myself. I had no need, it turned out to be a colourful and enjoyable ride. The bus was full with people dressed in wonderful, bright and distinctive Rajasthani colours, a few getting on and off every time we hit a new village or small town. About 20 minutes in a woman got on via the emergency exit at the rear and with the help of a child (her daughter I assume) loaded 10 live goats into the back of the bus. One of the goats sidled up to me and ended up resting its head on my knee. With animals on board, I was now part of the perfect stereotyped Asian bus journey. Thankfully the goats got off after about half an hour (and before the one by my knee bit me) and were replaced by a mother, her toddler, and the smallest baby I think I've ever seen in my life. The baby fell asleep on the mother and the toddler fell asleep on me, and on we rode to Jodhpur. The countryside we drove or - more accurately - bounced through was largely yellow dirt and sand with hills on the horizon. It looked like a tough environment to live in. At times we left the single lane tarmac road and proceeded along sandy dirt track to get in and out of various villages which I found very exciting. To my surprise we arrived on schedule at 12pm and I made my way without complications to the Sarvar Guesthouse. It's proved a good place to stay. They haven't been entirely competent in regard to my room but they have been faultless in their friendliness and kindness. That being said my room is like a bloody furnace, even with the ceiling fan on full blast.

Jodhpur has really impressed me. I thought it would be a paler version of Jaipur (Jaipur and Diet Jaipur?) but I much prefer it here now that I have arrived. Almost all the buildings in the old city are painted blue (done originally to signify the caste of the residents but also thought to help repel insects) and are towered over by yet another of the gigantic Rajput fort/palaces: Mehrangarh Fort. I've visited most of the main sights here over the last couple of days: the Jaswant Thada (the White Temple), Mehrangarh Fort, Mandore Gardens, and the Umaid Bhawan Palace (sometimes also known as Chittar Palace) which has been the home since the 1940s of the Maharaja of Jodhpur. In recent times part of the palace has been converted into a five star hotel and a museum (with exhibits concerning Jodhpur, the Royal Family, and the game of polo) which is what I went there to see.

I didn't realise it when I set out from Delhi and Agra but my journey around Rajasthan has really become a tour of the Maharaj palaces. I'm very happy about this - I love looking around them, and I've still got two more to come in Jaisalmer and Bikaner. Here the Mehrangarh Fort, which was built around 1459 on the advice of a saint, is striking partially because it sits on a vertical 125 metre high rock in the centre of the otherwise flat city, and also because it stretches kilometres in diameter and is full of ornately decorated function rooms, walkways and courtyards. During my visit, lots of Indians wanted to talk to me and some even to be photographed with me. Rajasthani gents made prayer signs as they walked by and I responded in kind. Mehrangarh Fort is one of the few Rajput forts to still be privately owned by a Maharaja (rather than by the government). The nearby Jaswant Thada was also stunning: a 19th Century royal cenotaph built in white marble in commemoration of Maharaja Jaswant Singh II and three other cenotaphs, stand nearby. Some call it the Taj Mahal of Jodhpur. I noted while I was there that I share a birthday with the now long dead Maharaja.

Of course, I'm not the only English person to visit Jodhpur recently. The Mehrangarh was closed a month or so ago when it was hired out by Liz Hurley and Arun Nayar who came here to hold one of their many (rather ostentatious if you ask me) wedding receptions. I've been trying to canvass local opinion on the marriage. Here's the word on the street: the caretaker's son at the Jaswant Thada said he welcomed the couple coming to get married in Jodhpur but did not believe it could ever be a valid Hindu marriage because Hurley has a child from a previous relationship and Arun Nayar has been divorced. At the Sarvar Guesthouse they felt it unimportant that Liz Hurley is a European but did think it a problem that she already has a child. My Tuk Tuk driver up to Mehrangarh said that locals were a bit annoyed that the fort was closed for two days, but otherwise weren't too bothered about the whole thing. A few others said more briefly, 'yes, big party.'

I've got the rest of the day to relax here in Jodhpur and will have a bit of a wander around the bazaars near the clocktower this afternoon. Tomorrow morning I'll be moving on - by bus again - to Jaisalmer, which will be the furthest west I will venture during my time in India.

pushkar

2007-04-07T09:58:00.000+05:30

I could have made so many more friends out here if only I knew the slightest of things about the game of cricket and how it is played. But the truth is I don't even know the basic rules, or the names of any cricketers except for Ian Botham and Geoff Boycott. There's no point in trying to pretend either, my lack of knowledge is immediately transparent, and saying: 'I'm sure going to a match makes a lovely day out,' wins me few favours. It was the same with football in South East Asia (my knowledge of football extends to knowing who David Beckham is) where everyone wanted to talk to me about the Premiership, West Ham, or Arsene Wenger.

I'm writing from Pushkar, which may be my favourite place in India yet. The small town, which has a population of 15 000 people, sits surrounded by tall sheltering brown hills under a misty blue sky. There is a holy lake in the centre around which the houses and community are built. The lake is said to have appeared after Brahma, while he was in the area, dropped a lotus flower to the ground. Pushkar is highly populated with tourists, and I find here the highest concentration of European/American faces I've seen since I arrived in India. I think I like it here because the setting is beautiful, it's less in your face than Jaipur, Agra, or Delhi, and it's very easy and easy going. Pushkar, like Agra, also seems to be a place of regular power cuts. I've checked in at the Hotel Kanhaia near Mali Mandir. It's my favourite hotel to date (Pushkar is doing well!). The family who run it are lovely, the rooms are well decorated and well kept, and yet it is still very very cheap. If you come to Pushkar I'd very much recommend staying here. I've just had breakfast on the roof of the hotel. As I ate I watched the monkeys roaming and jumping from roof top to roof top around me. That reminds me: one evening while I was in Agra I was unlocking my hotel room door and saw a shadow appear to my left. I assumed it was the person from the next room waiting to pass, but when I looked properly saw that a monkey was sat may be five feet from me watching me unlock the door.

I enjoyed the journey across here from Jaipur which was made on a clackety old bus. It only took us three hours (I thought it would be five) and involved lots of unorthodox manoeuvring and overtaking along the busy and dusty roads as we went. It was incredibly hot in the bus, but all the windows were open which helped a little. There were several other tourists on board and it amused me that they made a fuss about sitting in their allotted seat numbers even though there were only about 10 other passengers on what was a 50 seater.

I meant to note down before, but forgot, that I've seen several snake charmers over the last week or so. In fact, I got quite a shock at the City Palace in Jaipur when a guy whipped open a basket in front of me and a cobra jumped up and out of it. I'd be interested to know if these snakes have been de-venomised - if not surely snake charming is extremely dangerous? I also meant to note that I've been reading Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene. It's a brilliant book, a bit of a farce and a good page turner. At one point the main character, Mr Wormold, is asked by the British Secret Service for details of a suspected atomic generator hidden in the forests of Cuba, and having no such information sends them a hand written blue print of his vacuum cleaner instead, which is duly accepted and categorised as being of grave concern. Our Man is book number one of the trip (I've got five in my bag altogether).

India has eighteen official languages: Assamese, Bengali, Gujarati, Hindi, Kannada, Kashmiri, Konkani, Malayalam, Manipuri, Marathi, Nepali, Oriya, Punjabi, Sanskrit, Sindhi, Tamil, Telugu, and Urdu. Learning the language is therefore a rather daunting prospect, but nevertheless I am trying to get at least a few words under my belt. My Hindi makes slow progress. So far I've got: 'namaste' (hello), 'shukriyaa' (thank you), 'aap kaise' (how are you?), 'chai' (tea), and 'dhobi' (washerman/washerwoman). I am now fully equipped to courteously meet and greet a washerwoman, and offer her a cup of tea.

jaipur

2007-04-04T18:49:00.000+05:30

I've moved on to Jaipur. The five hour journey by train from Agra across here turned out to be a bit of a trial. The train left on time, there were no delays along the way, and there were friendly passengers in my carriage who were keen to get to know me. The problem was my stomach. Just before I left for the train station at Agra I began to feel a bit nauseous. Perhaps unwisely I decided to carry on regardless. I won't bore you with the details but it was a long and rather painful five hours. I did make it to Jaipur though, and eventually got to my hotel - the Stephels Hotel - a little after 11pm. I checked in and was finally able to lie down and rest.

I spent Tuesday recovering, either asleep on my bed or drinking water with electrolyte rehydration powder. I thought it better to rest solidly rather than try to soldier on only to get worse, and I was right to do so because by Tuesday evening I felt 100% better and had a slight return of appetite. Interestingly I took my laundry through to the hotel manager during the day and asked him if they had a laundry service. 'I'll get my boy to do it,' he said and then in walked a guy who must of been at least 70 and took it off my hands.

Today I've been out sightseeing in Jaipur. It's a nice city; there's a much better feeling of space here than in Agra. The streets are wider and the buildings don't overhang so much. I started the morning by having a cup of tea and a chat with a guy known as 'Guru,' and then spent the latter part of the morning at the Hawa Mahal, a five storey royal tower which was built in 1799 for the ladies of the Jaipur royal household (to enable them to watch over the city). Like everything I've seen so far it was simply amazing. After that I walked across to the City Palace, home of the Maharaja of Jaipur (and a pal of Prince Charles if you're interested). The palace is a blend of Rajasthani and Mughal architecture. Inside the Mubarak Mahal building within the complex they had on exhibition the enormous coat of Sawai Madho Singh I. It was unbelievably large - he was reputedly two metres tall, one metre wide and weighed 250 kilograms. He also had 108 wives. Not sure I believe all that but the coat was there and that's what the sign said. Finally, I climbed the nearby Minar Swarga Sal (the Heaven Piercing Minaret) which gave me a panoramic view of Jaipur and the shopping bazaars below. Happily, along my way, I picked up an adapter for my battery charger, and an onward bus ticket (for 6 April) to my next destination: Pushkar.

Tomorrow I've arranged for a Tuk Tuk driver called Ram to run me up into the hills outside the city and to Nahargarh (the Tiger Fort) which overlooks the city from a sheer ridge to the north, and the Amber Fort which is built just behind and dates back to the 16th Century. After I'm going on to Jantar Mantar (back in the city centre), the famous observatory built by Jaipur's founder Jai Singh in 1728. Then it will be time to pack up my things again and onwards to Pushkar.

delhi and agra

2007-04-01T19:11:00.000+05:30

I've been in India for almost a week already and I'm beginning to acclimatise to my new surroundings. It's the most fabulous place, I've never been anywhere remotely like it, and I've had a busy few days.

Wednesday: I went into Old Delhi and walked up from my hotel to the Red Fort and Chandni Chowk (the main thoroughfare of Old Delhi). This took me about an hour but it was incredibly interesting making my way through the crowded and filthy streets. The 17th Century Red Fort, built by the Mughals, is enormous and took me a lot of the afternoon to wander around. The bazaars which run off Chandni Chowk are chaotic and alive with energy. I was too tired to walk back to the hotel after so I jumped in a cycle rickshaw and was brought back via several of the interesting market areas.
Thursday: I visited Central Delhi and went to see India Gate, the Rashtrapati Bhavan (the President's House), the surrounding Secretariat Buildings, Sansad Bhavan (Parliament House), and the National Museum. The whole area was laid out by Lutyens during the time of the British, and is quite a sight to behold. The long drive which drops to a dip in the middle reminded me a bit of the long driveway which runs away from Windsor Castle and out into Windsor Park. There's a lot to see in the National Museum. It's well worth a visit even for the museum weary (which includes me). I spent a lot of time looking at the exquisite miniature paintings on display. They were mostly two dimensional depictions of scenes from the days of the Mughal Empire in Northern India. I was given a ride to the Museum for free by a man called Ramjeet who said it was his birthday and insisted on calling me John despite my telling him my name several times.
Friday: I caught the train to Agra (location of the Taj Mahal) and checked in to the Shahjahan Hotel. I haven't seen everything I want to in Delhi but I'll be looping back there in a few weeks so I thought I'd save some sights for later. The journey down to Agra was only three hours and very straightforward. As soon as I arrived I went over to the ticket counters and bought an onward ticket to Jaipur for 2 April (which is tomorrow). I then walked out of the station and in to a sea of tourist touts. The Shahjahan Hotel is very basic but no worse than anywhere I stayed in South East Asia, and it would be wrong of me to expect the Ritz as it is so cheap. My room which is on the roof top has a view of the Taj Mahal and you can't really ask for more than that. I'm staying in the area immediately south of the Taj Mahal called Taj Ganj. Taj Ganj is the original area where the workmen who built the Taj Mahal set up camp back in the 1600s. I suspect things haven't changed that much since except for the addition of Internet cafes and shops selling Pepsi Cola and Mirinda Orange.
Saturday: I spent the day at the Taj Mahal and in the late afternoon went for a walk along the Taj Nature Trail. It's as beautiful as they say, and a great privilege see. Such a romantic story behind the building of it too. The Taj Mahal was built by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan as a tomb for his second (and favourite) wife Mumtaz Mahal who died in 1631 giving birth to her fourteenth child. Construction began the same year and it took 20 000 craftsmen until 1653 to finish it. Specialists were brought in from all over the world and the result was one of the world's finest ever man made constructions. Just after it was completed Shah Jahan was overthrown by his son and imprisoned for the rest of his life (another eight years) at Agra Fort. An octagonal tower with views across the river to the Taj Mahal formed part of his detention quarters and he used to sit there gazing across at his wife's last resting place. When Shah Jahan died his body was taken and placed by the body of his wife reuniting them but spoiling the otherwise perfect symmetry of the building (his tomb slab is off centre). It's hard to accept that the Taj Mahal was built in the 1600s because it looks like it was finished yesterday. Even close up everything is superbly finished, and built - it would seem - to last for eternity. I took a few moments while I was there to spare a thought for Shah Jahan's first wife who got no special tomb and has been forgotten by history.
Sunday: I went into Agra and visited Agra Fort, Jama Masjid, Itimad-Ud-Daulah (sometimes nicknamed the baby Taj Mahal), and a park called Mehtab Bagh which sits the opposite side of the river to the Taj Mahal and offers a wonderful view of the garden tomb. Agra Fort is even bigger than the Red Fort and took out another half day. Jama Masjid (the main Mosque in Agra) is also very well designed but is in need of some significant repair work. The caretaker showed me round and said that very little money was received for maintenance works and that tourist donations were heavily relied upon (hint). It did seem to be the case judging by the state of the building.

The weather feels very hot to me at the moment, but quite copable. I think I may be noticing it more because I've just spent a bit of time in the UK. I'd better get used to it because it's set to get hotter and hotter.

to india

2007-03-28T11:13:00.000+05:30

I left Lowestoft for India at 2pm on Sunday. I caught the train to London then took the tube across to Waterloo, and from there a train to Egham in Surrey where I stayed the night with my friend Andrew and his girlfriend Chloe. We thought it would be funny to go to an Indian restaurant for a curry that evening, and followed this with a beer in the local pub. While we were there I showed Andrew the 1000 Rupee note I had in my wallet. 'Why's Alf Garnett on there?' he said looking at the image of Mahatma Gandhi.

Andrew dropped me off at Heathrow, Terminal 4, at 8am the next morning. Thanks to my e-ticket I didn't have to queue up at the check in desk allowing me to go straight through to the departures lounge and Gate 2 where I could see my Boeing 777 sitting on the tarmac from the window. Once on the plane I was pleased to discover that the flight was not 10 hours as I'd thought but only 7 hours and 55 minutes. We left on time (9.55am) and flew across Belgium, Germany, Austria, Romania, Turkey, Turkmenistan, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, finally reaching India and touching down at around 11pm local time. Just before we came in to land I had a browse though my Lonely Planet paying particular attention to the 'scams' section for Delhi. In reference to getting a taxi from the airport it read as follows: 'your taxi driver may claim that he is lost and stop at a travel agency for directions. The agent (also in on the scam) supposedly dials your hotel and informs you that your room is double booked. The agent promptly finds you another hotel where he and the taxi driver both earn a commission.'

Once I'd passed through immigration and collected my bag from the baggage carousel I jumped into a taxi giving the driver the address of my hotel. After we'd been driving for about 20 minutes the driver claimed he was lost and stopped at a travel agency for directions. I took a deep breath and followed him inside. It was now around midnight. The travel agent was about to telephone my hotel when I raised my hand and said, 'phone the hotel if you need to, but please do not tell me in two minutes time that they have no booking for me or that they are double booked, understand.' That stopped him in his tracks, and I realised I had been a bit too direct because he initially told me to get out of his shop. I said I was sorry if I had seemed rude, but that I was just trying to be clear with him. He backed down and then made his call, having now to keep up the fiction that he and the driver didn't know where my hotel was. I don't know what was said over the phone but it was too brief to be directions. He then put the phone down looked at me sullenly and said, 'ok you go now, your driver have directons,' without giving any directions to the driver. We both got back in the car and two minutes later we arrived at my hotel. I checked in to the Hotel Ajanta which is in Paharganj, and almost opposite the New Delhi train station, at around 12.30am. My room is lovely - clean and comfortable - and I like the hotel as a whole. Once I was checked in I had a brilliant night of sleep.

Tuesday morning I woke up with little idea of what Delhi looks like so after some breakfast I went out to do some exploring on foot. I walked from my hotel through Paharganj and along a street called the Main Bazaar which was full of shops and people. I had a cup of tea with a guy called Ashok and then wandered down to Connaught Place, the hub of New Delhi. My first impression is that Delhi is an assault on the senses. There's so much happening, moving, and existing around you that it's hard to take in at first. Tuk tuks, bikes, human beings, cows - all are intermingling in the chaotic busy streets and in great number. The architecture of some of the crumbling buildings around where I'm staying is superb. Tuesday afternoon was spent studying my guide book and charting out a more concrete plan of action for the next few months. I've divided the trip into five rough segments (each to be planned more fully as I reach them), and the first of these is to spend the next three weeks making a circuit around Rajasthan. I will stay in Delhi until 30 March and then head south by train to Agra and the Taj Mahal. From there I'll carry on to Jaipur, then Pushkar, then Jodhpur, then Jaisalmer, looping back to Delhi via Bikaner. I've allowed a few days at each location, and hopefully have the pace about right but if not I'll just slow things down a bit. I'll have to judge as I go.

This morning (Wednesday) I've extended my stay at the hotel for another two nights, and popped over to the train station to book myself a train ticket down to Agra for Friday. All straightforward. Now I'm off to do some sightseeing around Delhi.

bury abroad returns

2007-03-19T16:31:00.000+05:30

Since my last blog entry I've spent two months in my home town, Lowestoft in Suffolk, having a rest and catching up with my family. I've also been pondering the idea of getting a job, but haven't been able to build up enough appropriate enthusiasm. Instead I've decided to do a bit more travelling.

The plan is to go to India for a few months, and have a good look around. I fly from Heathrow to Delhi on the morning of 26 March and will stay until my return flight leaves Mumbai on 26 July. The itinerary is fairly fluid but will probably include places like Delhi, Amritsar, Agra, Jaipur, Kolkata (Calcutta), Hyderbad, Chennai (Madras), Bangalore, Kerala, Goa, and Mumbai (Bombay) amongst others. I'll get around the country by bus and train, and there should be no flights between locations. As in South East Asia, I will stay guesthouses that are cheap and economical. I'll be travelling solo again although hopefully will meet a few interesting characters along the way.

By way of preparation for my new adventure I've watched an Alan Whicker documentary about India made in the early 70s in which he speaks almost exclusively to white English expatriates. I also have a new Lonely Planet guide book, a green entry visa in my passport, and a proper raincoat courtesy of Millets, Lowestoft. In short, I'm ready to go. Watch this space.

I've given the blog a bit of a re-vamp. I hope you like it. As before I should be making blog diary entries as I go, and I'll also be uploading photographs taken with my new digital camera at regular intervals assuming India's internet cafes have the facilities (click on one of the photo icons on the left hand side if you'd like to look at these).

the end

2007-01-19T23:34:00.000+05:30

Hello from Lowestoft. I'm home. This is my final blog entry. I left my hotel in Bangkok at 6am on 17 January in a taxi, and reached the airport around 7am. My flight left at 9.45am, took six and a half hours, and got me as far as Muscat in Oman. I then waited in Muscat for about three hours for my second flight to London (Heathrow) which took another eight and a half hours. Both flights left and arrived punctually, I didn't sleep on either, and no-one sat next to me on either so I was able to spread out across several seats and relax.

I touched down in London around 9pm (UK time) on 17 January, having gained back seven and a half hours due to time differences. The last train from London to Lowestoft left before 9pm, so I didn't try to make it all the way home that night. My friend Andrew met me at the airport and I stayed over at his place in nearby Englefield Green for the night. Once we'd dropped my bag off at his flat, we went for a couple of beers to catch up, re-aquaint, and debrief. I stayed over at Andrew's the night before I left the UK back in June, and we went for a couple of beers at the same pub on that night also (I wrote about it on this blog). Going back and doing the same on the way home gave nice symmetrical ending to things.

I caught the train home from Englefield Green to Lowestoft, via London, the next morning. I left around 7am and arrived back in Lowestoft early afternoon, at around 1.30pm. This journey took longer than expected because the train services were disrupted by high winds. By 1.40pm my Mum and Niece had picked me up from the train station, and I found myself finally at home. The adventure over. All complete.

It feels good to be back, if a bit surreal at the moment. It's been good to see everyone and I feel very happy to be 'home,' but it does feel odd being here, a strange feeling which I can't quite articulate.

Since I've been home, aside from catching up on some sleep following those flights, I've spent much of my time trying to remember how to do things like check and load credit on my mobile phone (I've remembered now - you dial '789'). I've also been to see my grandmother, sorted out the stuff in my back-pack a bit, all whilst trying to take in that my South East Asian jaunt is over. It's going to take a while to sink in. The big question now is: what next?

my last day

2007-01-16T08:20:00.000+05:30

This is it: day two hundred and two, and blog number one hundred and one. The end. My last full day in South East Asia. I almost can't believe it.

It's been the trip of a lifetime, it really has, and the best seven months of my life without doubt. I'm facing one of those bitter sweet moments now: I'll be sad to leave it all behind, what an amazing part of the world South East Asia is, but I also can't wait to see home, my family, and my friends.

As it turns out, I faced one last trial this morning, my last I hope, when I was unable to get any money from the cash machines in Bangkok. My remaining travellers cheques bailed me out - I did need them after all - and have provided me with just enough to pay my hotel bill, get by today, and then over to the airport first thing tomorrow morning. The House of Bury is at last in order and ready to come home. Soon Bury will no longer be abroad.

I just wanted to say a big thank you to all those who've followed what I've been up to, and have emailed me with encouragement and kind words. I've really appreciated it, and it's really helped me to keep going.

I've learnt a lot on this trip, both about travelling and about myself, and I've messed plenty of things up too along the way. I suppose it was inevitable. But, as the late Peter Cook once said, 'I've learnt from my mistakes and I'm sure I can repeat them exactly.'

See you soon!

trip rundown

2007-01-14T07:35:00.001+05:30

1. Trip Statistics

Countries visited: 8 (Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, The Philippines, Brunei, Malaysia, and Singapore).

Total days travelling: 200.

Bus journeys made: 40. Aeroplane journeys made: 7. Train journeys made: 5. Boat journeys made: 15. Mopeds hired: 1.

Total number of hotels stayed in: 53.

Beaches visited: 9. Mountain ranges/highlands visited: 6.

Currencies used: 9 (Baht, Riel, Dong, Kip, Peso, Ringgit, Singapore Dollar, Brunei Dollar, and the US Dollar). Average amount I spent day to day during the trip: 20USD.

Books read during the trip: 11.

Total disposable razors used: 8. Amount of times I've had my laundry done: 29. New items of clothing bought: 2 (a new t-shirt on my birthday in Laos, and a new pair of sandals in Malaysia).

Nervous breakdowns: 0.

2. Blog Statistics

Number of blog entries made: 100.

Length of blog: 58 000 words.

Number of photographs taken: 784.

3. Bests List

Best country overall: Vietnam.

Best city: Bangkok (Thailand). Best town: Luang Prabang (Laos). Best village: Kampung Ayer (Brunei).

Best Beach: Boracay (Philippines). Best mountain range: Sapa (Vietnam). Best natural wonder: Halong Bay (Vietnam). Best river: the Mekong Delta (Vietnam). Best historical building: Angkor Wat (Cambodia). Best modern building: Petronas Towers (Malaysia). Best royal palace: the Cambodian Royal Palace (Cambodia).

Best hotel stayed in: Mi Mi Hotel (Vietnam). Best bar: Reggae Bar in KL (Malaysia). Best beer: Tiger Beer (Singapore). Best restaurant: Brothers Cafe in Hanoi (Vietnam).

Best journey: the bus journey from Vietnam to Laos. Best transport used: Jeepney (Philippines).

Best activity: tubing in Vang Vieng (Laos). Best activity watched: Muay Thai kick boxing (Thailand). Best 'dubious' activity: firing a machine gun (Cambodia).

Best currency: dong (Vietnam). Best bargain: my open bus ticket across the whole of Vietnam (16 USD).

Best actor in a supporting role: Raj Chadha (UK).

4. Record breakers list

Angkor Wat (in Cambodia) - the world's largest religious building.

The Petronas Towers (in Malaysia) - the world's largest twin towers.

Istana Nural Iman (in Brunei) - the world's largest royal palace.

Taman Negara (in Malaysia) - the world's oldest rainforest (allegedly).

how to travel?

2007-01-13T09:04:00.000+05:30

Over the last seven months I've travelled and moved around more than at any other time in my life. It's been a tremendous experience, and I've amassed some amazing memories. But aside from actually doing the travelling, I've also had the chance to investigate and think a bit about what back-packer travelling is about and how best - for me anyway - to go about it.

As I see it there are three main ways I can spend my time as a back-packer: a) seeing and observing things, like natural wonders, man-made buildings, or people and towns; b) engaging in activities like canoeing, hiking, cooking, teaching, or shooting machine guns; and c) relaxing and resting. The first two bring the most rewards, and ultimately seeing the sights is - for me - the most important. It's astonishing to go and look at buildings like Angkor Wat, the Petronas Towers, and at natural wonders like Halong Bay and the Taal Volcano. They're brilliant to go and witness and marvel at. Activities can be great fun to engage with and provide a different kind of stimulus. They involve physical and mental work and bring the reward of achievement. Relaxing is also important, and we all need to rest. There's no point wearing yourself down to nothing on a trip, you'll end up not enjoying anything. What's needed, I think, is a blend of all three with greater emphasis on the first two.

Should I travel alone or with a friend? There are good reasons in favour of doing both. The most obvious advantage of travelling alone is that there is no compromise involved: you go where you want to when you want to, and you concentrate hard on the place you are visiting. You also tend to make more new friends when you're on your own. You do this because you have to. If you don't you really are alone. Completely alone. I've been more sociable by necessity over the past seven months than I've ever been - it's done me a lot of good - and I've met some terrific people as a result, both back-packers and locals. However, travelling with a friend also brings benefits. The most obvious being: you have someone to share experiences with, someone there when things go wrong, and also someone to dissect and unpack things with: 'earlier today, did you notice...' It seems to me that travelling with a friend will always be easier* and possibly more fun, but you will be much, much more challenged on your own. I'm proud I've made this trip by myself and would like to travel solo again (although perhaps not for so long), and I'd also like to make future trips with friends too.

How far should I go off the beaten track? I'll be honest: I've been off the beaten track a lot less than I imagined I would at the beginning of this trip; it's something that's not always easy to do. I'm talking about throwing the Lonely Planet in the bin, and heading out to areas unvisited by any tourists and trying to live like a local. In reality, off the beaten track, in my limited experience, can mean nobody being able to communicate with you meaningfully, and such areas are usually untravelled for a reason - there's not much there to see or do. I like the idea very much in principle but have found it hard to carry through most of the time, and whenever I've ended up somewhere remote I've found it a real struggle to talk with people, a bit isolating, and lacking in things for me to engage with, look at, or understand. Maybe I've missed out a bit and should have tried harder with this, but it just hasn't come naturally to me, and I suspect it won't in future either.

What sort of attitude should I have when I travel? Philosophical and calm seems best. Be prepared for things to go wrong, and when they do act Buddhist. I need to remember it will make an interesting memory once I've got through it, and that I might even learn something about how to cope better with setbacks and challenging situations. Looking back, my most interesting experience on the this trip was when I got stranded for over fifty hours (because of typhoon related landslides) on a bus at the Vietnam/Laos border. Everyone else on the bus was from Laos and only one person could speak English. At first I became stressed and weary (especially as my Vietnamese Visa had only hours before it expired), but slowly the situation turned into the most magical of experiences. Being stranded forced me to start getting to know the people on the bus, and by the end of the journey I felt like they were all family - even if half our communication was through single words and hand gestures. As we got to know each other they insisted on buying me meals from the roadside, introduced me to Beer Laos, sticky rice, and beef laab, and began teaching me to speak a few words in their language. Experiences like that can turn out to be pure gold if you keep your head.

How long should I spend visiting a country? I think a good month is needed to explore most countries, but after that I begin to feel saturated and struggle to take more in. Small places like Brunei and Singapore are obvious exceptions, because they are just too tiny to spend that much time wandering around.

How careful should I be? I wouldn't advocate taking a holiday in Iraq right now but also feel it's important not to be frightened off visiting places unduly. Risks should be assessed carefully but we lose out if we are too cautious. I'm in Thailand, as I write, which has recently been bombed and subject to a military coup, but I feel perfectly safe here. On balance, I've judged it safe enough to come back for my last few days and I've had no problems. It's also important to be willing and unafraid to meet and engage with new people whilst abroad I think. It's frighteningly easy not to, and many people go to new countries without ever really speaking to a local person. This reminds me of Danielle (one of the girls Raj and I went out with on New Years Eve). In Danielle's presence I exchanged some banter with a street seller who'd jokingly called me 'handsome.' She shocked me by saying after, 'I can't believe you actually talk to them,' as though Malaysian street hawkers were space aliens. 'I just keep my head down and keep going,' she said. I think she's missing out with that attitude. In regard to food and being careful: I've come to think that it's important to just try it and not worry about the consequences. If you're sick for a few days so be it.

How should I get around whilst abroad? By using as many and as varied modes of transport on the ground as possible. This is part of the fun. Riding on old local buses, tourist minibuses, motorbike and sidecars, tuk tuks, mopeds, bicycles, and trains is all part of the experience. I plan in future to continue my habit of not flying where practical because, aside from being murder on the environment, it's also a very sanitised and boring way to move around. You can't see anything except the flight cabin, and fly over (and miss) the country you're supposed to be visiting.

What type of accommodation should I stay in? I say keep it basic but not squalid. Basic for me means a clean room with a clean bed to sleep in and a reasonable lock on the door. That's it. Squalid means rats, cockroaches, plywood walls, and filth. My room is just a place to sleep or grab a quick rest in between looking around and finding out about the place I'm visiting, and as such I don't need or require much. I also think that expensive posh rooms can be a disadvantage: you end up spending too much time in them lying down or watching television, or in the hotel bar, and that's not why I'm abroad. There's a place for pampering and it's on a health farm in Hertfordshire.

What should I take on a trip? There's no doubt in my mind that as little as possible is best. It's hard work packing, unpacking, and carrying your back-pack, and the lighter it is the better. It is better to have less valuables to worry about, less clothes to get washed, and less weight on your back. My most valuable possessions on this trip have been my digital camera and a good pair of sandals.

What should I bring back? I think it's a bit pointless going overboard with souvenirs, especially on a long trip - you end up having to carry them around everywhere you go and worry about breaking them if they are delicate. My strategy has been to leave the tourist nik naks out and instead keep this blog diary, take a manageable amount of photographs, and I've also kept hold of a lot of my old ticket stubs (and such like) which I will put in an album when I get home. These are my souvenirs, and the advantage they have over a wooden Buddha statues is that they tell me where I've been and in many cases the date I went. They can bring back memories, so on further trips I will approach this the same way.

Finally, why should I bother to travel? For education more than anything: to learn new things and see as much as possible of amazing places and different ways of life (and compare them with my own). But also to challenge myself. Can I drink snakes blood? Can I sleep in a longhouse? Can I handle it if I see a scorpion in the jungle at Taman Negara? How far can I go from home? How long for? What can I cope with and what are my limits? I've hit several limits on this trip and have found it fascinating to learn more about what they are and in consequence more about myself. And, you know, a nice side effect of boundary testing is that it often gives you extra confidence. You can come out of it knowing: I can drink snakes blood, I can sleep in a longhouse, I can stand with a scorpion at my feet, I can fly six thousand miles from home, and stay for seven months and survive. It's at the very least interesting, and at the most very useful, to know.

The end. If you couldn't be bothered to read all this and just skipped straight down here remember at least this if you go away: get yourself a good pair of sandals and camera and try and behave yourself...you're a guest in their country.

* Assuming you don't end up getting on each other's nerves, which can be very easy if you're spending twenty four hours a day with someone.

last tango in bangkok

2007-01-12T14:00:00.000+05:30

I've made it back to Bangkok. It took me two trains and thirty six hours to get up here. The first train was from Kuala Lumpur to Hat Yai (a border town in Southern Thailand) and took a bit over fifteen hours. I then stood/sat/laid on the station platform for five hours until the train from Hat Yai to Bangkok arrived and jumped straight on it when it did. It came two hours later than scheduled and took another sixteen hours before pulling into Bangkok. The journey wasn't as bad as it sounds, because I was able to sleep comfortably through the night on both trains. Both journeys were smooth and largely uneventful, and made very bearable by fold down beds and air-conditioning. This way of doing things also had the advantage that I didn't need to pay for two nights of accommodation - the train was my hotel on both Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

After I arrived in Bangkok I checked into the Four Sons Hotel, a hotel just behind Khao San Road, and a cut above my usual choices - it has air-conditioning, a television, and a private bathroom with hot running water. Khao San Road itself is much as I remember it although there is more security on show at the moment, which I take to be a consequence of the Christmas bombings. Each end of the road has been barriered and at night people are periodically searched as they enter and exit. There are lots of army guys with machine guns wandering up and down, and I've also heard a number of police helicopters hovering over-head, suggesting further that the Thai authorities are on red alert.

Once I'd had a shower, and a bit of a rest on my bed, it was early evening and I went out to a local bar I like called Hippie De Bar, and had a couple of beers to relax and celebrate having made it to my final stop before home. I really felt them after. I only had the equivalent of about three pints but still had quite a hangover this morning, and was sufficiently spaced out when I returned to the hotel after for the cheeky receptionist to ask me how many fingers she was holding up before she would give me my room key (she was holding up three and I got it right). This highlights a fact of which I have been aware for sometime: my drinking tolerance has slowly been ebbing away over the last six/seven months because, although I do often have beer, it is usually served to me in bottles (pints are pretty much unavailable out here) and I mostly have had only one or two per sitting. I'll have to do some work when I get home at rebuilding my capacity. Bit of practice and hopefully I'll be back.

This morning I went to the dentist and had my teeth checked, cleaned, and polished. It was good to learn that they are still in good working order, and wonderful to have them nice and clean again. They were beginning to feel the effects of backpacking and electric toothbrush deprivation. While I was there I asked the dentist if he thought I should consider having my teeth whitened. I was pleased to be told that he thought it really not necessary. I then went on to a beauty salon where I had my hair washed and cut, my feet pedicured (my hard and worn feet are now magically soft again), my hands manicured, finishing off with a full body massage. I feel like a new man, as the actress said to the bishop. I've also bought a nice photograph album for my trip pictures, and have begun looking at what I can chuck out of my back-pack. The House of Bury is slowly getting itself into order.

good vibrations

2007-01-09T07:11:00.000+05:30

After writing my blog entry yesterday evening I went over to my favourite haunt in KL, the Reggae Bar on Jalan Tun HS Lee, for a last couple of Carlsberg beers, and to toast Malaysia before leaving.

I've come to feel very fondly about the Reggae Bar over the last month; in fact it's probably my favourite bar in South East Asia. Time and again it's provided me with cool sanctuary whilst I've been hopping in, out, and around Malaysia, Singapore, and Borneo, and it was also the venue for part of my New Year's Eve celebrations. The bar staff have got to know me a bit, and one woman in particular, called Emmy, sees to it that my glass always gets refilled before it is empty whenever I am resident for a few hours. The low lighting at night time allows you limited vision of the grey stone floor and the green walls which are covered with framed Bob Marley memorabilia. At the back is a pool table and outside the front entrance a small stall selling pizza. It's nicely done out, it has to be said.

They played Bob Marley's greatest hits on frequent repeat last night, but also fitted in lots of other music too: Malaysian Ska for a while, and stuff like Massive Attack and that song which has the chanting monks - can't remember what it's called, but you know the one I'm talking about. 'Red Red Wine' by UB40 came on around midnight, and I was very pleased to hear it. Last year when I did some travelling across Indonesia with my friend Raj we seemed to hear UB40 in every bar we went to, leading us to eventually feel short changed if we went somewhere and it wasn't played. Hearing it last night brought back happy memories of Jakarka, Kuta, and Lovina Beach - another great holiday I've been lucky to have.

They consistently get their prices wrong in the Reggae Bar (this is something you have to watch) and you get charged a different amount for a beer each time you go in, and sometimes as frequently as each time you order. This got on my nerves a bit to begin with, but I've come to find it endearing and I accept it now as part of the charm of the place. Last night I was charged yet another price, ten ringgit a beer, which is lower than the last time I went in but higher than some other previous occasions. The difference is negligible to my English purse so I can't say as I care all that much.

I feel rather sad that it's unlikely I'll ever go back to the Reggae Bar again, but I can at least recommend the experience to others who might be passing through - so if you're ever in Kuala Lumpur I suggest you pop in, say hello to Emmy, buy yourself a couple of beers, and enjoy the Marley-fest. Here is their address should thoust require it:

http://www.reggaebarkl.com/main.php

taman negara

2007-01-08T16:39:00.000+05:30

I left the Pudu Hostel for Taman Negara, the world's oldest rainforest, at 7.45am on Saturday morning. I was driven up by two Malay brothers as were a Dutch couple called Arnaud and Danielle, an Australian couple called Matt and Danielle, and a Swedish woman called Anna. The first part of the journey was by minibus and took us to the town of Jerantut. This took about three hours. Then at Jerantut Jetty we got on a longtail boat and rode up into Taman Negara itself. This took another two hours along wide brown river bordered by thick, tall, and lush green jungle undergrowth. Most visitors to Taman Negara stay at Kuala Tahan, a small village nestled on the edge of the park, and it was here that we eventually arrived late afternoon.

After a brief rest I went on a jungle night walk with Herman, a brilliant local guide, and everyone who had been on the minibus decided to come along with me. They made the right decision because we saw quite a few things creeping along in the undergrowth with our torches: snakes, all manner of frightening insects, and even some deer. Most exciting, and most frightening, was the large black scorpion we encountered. Herman coaxed him out of his hole and he ended up standing right in front of my feet with his claws snapping. It took all my inner-resolve not to cry like a baby, or jump into Herman's arms, but I managed somehow to stay calm until we moved on. I'm pleased to say that I coped again later when we saw several enormous spiders (tarantula sized monsters) although I kept my distance as much as I could...just in case.

Day two got off to a bad start when I accidentally dropped my watch down the squat toilet in my dormitory. It shot straight down the hole and disappeared without a trace. Gone forever, another fallen soldier, off to join my old flip flops in backpacker equipment heaven. This bad start marked the beginning of a challenging day, the main challenge turning out to be the bad weather. It poured down. All day. It rained and rained and rained. It rained so hard that the brown water level of the river rose steadily, noticeably, and significantly. I plugged on with activities regardless and went 'rapid shooting' with Herman and the others. We also visited an Orang Asli tribal village where I was able to have another go on a blow pipe (my aim has deteriorated since my last effort in Borneo) and watched a guy actually make a blow pipe dart. That was very interesting. Eventually, mid-afternoon, I gave up and went back to the guesthouse and just sat on the front porch feeling wet and - excuse my language - pissed off. I had been supposed to go on the park canopy walk in the afternoon but there was no hope of this - they close it off during heavy rain. This was a big disappointment, but, as we all know: you win some and you lose some.

On day three, I made the journey back down through the rivers of Taman Negara and then back on to the minibus. Anna, Danielle, and Matt came back with me, and Arnaud and Danielle headed north for Penang. The same two brothers picked us at the Jerantut Jetty. The older of the two asked me how it went. I told him, 'I went out there a boy but came back a man,' pausing for gravitas and then adding, 'I'm a hunter now.' He laughed (in my face) and said, 'now the jungle your supermarket uh.'

Whilst in Taman Negara at Kuala Tahan I stayed in a dormitory at the Tahan Guesthouse. The place was painted all different colours and had signs all over the place written on which were things like 'you have to be awake to live your dreams,' and 'life is a journey.' It was Taman Negara meets Woodstock. The strange thing about this though, was that the owners didn't seem to be hippy types as far as I could make out. In fact, they seemed to be a fairly straightlaced Malay family. So why all the 'dream catchers' and primary colours? Far out man.

Also to note: I stroked a python whilst up in the jungle. Not out in the deep of woods as you would imagine, but in a floating restaurant while I was having breakfast and a cup of tea (not masala tea). A local guy walked in with it round his neck, saying that he'd 'found it' in his bedroom the night before. I gave it a stroke but declined the offer of drapping it about my person. He then took it off to the restaurant next door and showed it to a toddler who kept touching it and screaming.

the last leg

2007-01-05T16:43:00.000+05:30

Captain's log:

star date - 05.01.07

location - Kuala Lumpur

weather - bloody hot

Sat next to the computer terminal on which I type are two tickets. The first is for a three day jungle trekking trip to Taman Negara (Malaysia's most famous national park). It records that I leave tomorrow morning at 8am, am entitled to 'economy shared' accommodation in the park, and that I will be returned by bus to KL on the evening of 8 January. The second is a one way second class train ticket to Thailand. This ticket records that I will depart from Kuala Lumpur on the evening of 9 January arriving in Hat Yai some fourteen hours later. Between them they give you an outline of the plans I've made today, and a rough picture of my next four or five days.

It's been an administrative day as you can perhaps tell. I spent the morning riding a bus back up to Kuala Lumpur, having first had a dosa (aka dosai, thosai, or dhosa) with masala tea for breakfast (thanks for getting me hooked Raj). I got back to KL around 12pm, booked the above tickets, and also checked myself into the Pudu Hostel. It's competitively priced, I'll give it that, but I'm not sure the chi is right. If I remember my Feng Shui rightly: ideally buildings should be located in front of a mountain and behind a stream. The Pudu manages neither. Its rooms are located on the third floor of an old office block building opposite the bus station. I appreciate it may not be practical to run a river through Jalan Pudu now, or build a mountain behind, but they could bung a few more plant pots in reception and get some new throws for the sofas. Until they do - bad energy.

Yesterday was pretty uneventful. Except that whilst at the Dutch Cemetery in Melaka, I was compared to Daniel Craig.

Find something funny?

I suppose to be fair the comparison was made by a complete nutter. He accosted me at the entry gate and also told me that he had met Princess Margaret in Harrods, that the Da Vinci code was all lies, that he had ridden a horse through Hyde Park, rounding up by asking: did I have any idea how to find a telephone line to Jesus? His ramblings went on for about half an hour, while I tried to find a polite way to remove myself, but no break in the stream of verbal incontinence ever came, so in the end I just had to say as best I could that I was leaving and goodbye. 'You think I bullshit. You think this bullshit! CANNOT BULLSHIT THIS!!' was how we left things. He gave me a headache so I went over the bridge to Chinatown, and had a quiet sit down and a Coca Cola.

It's just started thundering outside. I'm glad. It hasn't rained for ages in my vicinity and it will be good for the heat to break. I'll blog again when I return from Taman Negara.

what next?

2007-01-04T07:27:00.000+05:30

I imagine Richard Sharpe (the Napoleonic soldier played by Sean Bean on ITV) would like Melaka. There's an old Portugese fort here he could ransack, a local bar called Jessie's where he could drink Tiger Beer the night before battle, and plenty of beautiful local women wandering around for him to effortlessly ravish. I'm just embarking on my second day here, and I certainly like the place. I've discovered Melaka has an interesting history, and a vibrant, if compact, cultural scene. My last entry, which suggested Melaka is lacking in atmosphere, was a bit rash because once you get into the historical city centre and Chinatown it's a lovely place and definitely worth a day or two of wandering about.

I was in uber-tourist mode yesterday and knocked off most of the sites on foot. To give you a quick run down: I went to the Melaka Sultanate Palace, Stadthuys (the former residence of the governor), St Paul's Church, Christ Church, St Francis Xavier's Church, Port Da Santiago, Cheng Hoon Temple, and all over Little India and Chinatown. I enjoyed visiting the Melaka Sultanate Palace (which is a replica) the most. An enormous and beautiful wooden stilt house, it was built without using a single nail. All of these buildings sit around the town square, and are all pretty much next door to one another, so it wasn't hard to nip in and out of them all.

Nonetheless by late afternoon I was feeling tired, and so went into a nearby shopping mall with the idea of going to the cinema to get off my feet. On my way in a toddler walked in front of me looking rather serious and concentrating hard. She was holding her mum's mobile to her ear. It wasn't switched on, and I think she may have had it upside down, but this didn't seem to matter. She was making an important business call, and thinking hard on it. This sent me in to the screening of 'Night at the Museum' with a smile on my face. I enjoyed the film - it's very far fetched but who cares, and it got me and the Malay audience laughing several times.

I've received several emails asking what I'm doing next, and more specifically when I'm coming home. As you may have picked up: my trip, which is now tipping seven months and eight countries, is almost - finally - over. I fly back from Bangkok to the UK on 17 January. This leaves me enough time to finish off here in Melaka, go on to Taman Negara, and catch a train up into Thailand. I'll spend my last four or five days in Bangkok (back where I started) reflecting on everything that's happened to me and preparing myself to come home. Once home, I'll be heading back to my Mum and Dad's house (in Lowestoft) for a break and a rest, and to give my Mum a hug.

So what next? I'm not quite sure is the honest answer. If I get home and feel enough has been enough I will take a few weeks break and then start looking for a job and a return to normal life. However, if once home I have itchy feet again I will start planning a second shorter trip somewhere (I still have sufficient funds remaining to do this). A part of me would like to do this and thinks this may be an ideal time, but another part of me feels very tired and wonders if perhaps I haven't had enough of travelling now for a while. My tiredness is now outwardly visible too - my wallet has almost fallen in half, my digital camera is malfunctioning, my back-up credit card has been cancelled by Barclays, my brown diary (used for recording my day to day tasks) only has a couple of pages left unwritten, and I'm down to my last razor (I've used only eight disposable razors since 28 June believe it or not). Anyway, ultimately, coming home, and discovering how I feel about being back home, will make the decision for me as to whether I do a bit more travelling or move on and back to 'life.' That's the most I can say right now.

But the trip's not over just yet. It's time I got out of this internet cafe and saw a bit more of Melaka...

down to melaka

2007-01-02T15:45:00.000+05:30

Raj left for the airport last night, and - if my calculations are correct - he will have touched down at Heathrow by now. I was sad to see him go, but we had a good run through West Malaysia and for that I must be thankful. Cheers Raj!

Kuala Lumpur bus station had the atmosphere of the New York Stock Exchange this morning when I went in to buy a one way ticket down to Melaka. It was manic.

While I was waiting in the queue a guy tried to push in front of me. I closed ranks and blocked his way. He kept on pushing. I kept blocking. He kept pushing. I should have said 'do you mind?' and he should have said: 'let me through,' but neither of us said a thing. We just kept pushing and blocking each other. Pushing and blocking. Nobody said a word. This dragged out for a while until, in the end, I decided it wasn't worth it and let him through. The woman at the counter then refused to serve him - he only had a fifty ringgit note and she couldn't change it. So he had to leave empty handed. I, on the otherhand, had a more manageable ten in my pocket and got my ticket no problem. I gave him a big broad false smile as he left. Victory does sometimes favour the meek.

I got to Melaka around 3.30pm, having left KL at 12.30pm. The bus dropped me at Sentral Bus Station, which is conveniently located seven kilometres outside of the city. With little choice in the matter, I caught a taxi into the city centre, congratulating the driver on the way for not owning a boring Proton like all the rest. He drove a Toyota Crown. 'Protons,' he muttered back contemptously, shaking his head. He took me to my guesthouse via most of Melaka's historical and noteworthy sites, giving me an informative running commentary on everything as we went. By the time we arrived I almost felt like asking him to make it a round circuit, and to just drop me straight back at the bus station. Instead I elected to give Melaka a little longer and decided I would stay as planned for two or three days.

I'm staying at Sunny's Guesthouse (Room 11) which, at sixteen ringgit a night, is my cheapest accommodation in Malaysia yet. It's quite nice for the money and well located for sites and amenities. As I write Sunny is washing all my underwear and t-shirts.

Tomorrow I'll begin having a proper look around Melaka, and hope to get a better view of the place. My initial impression is that it is quite nice but a bit lifeless and lacking in atmosphere. It's one of those towns, it seems, where the streets are wide, well spaced, and cleanly swept, but nobody seems to be on them. Where's the action?

new year in kuala lumpur

2007-01-01T12:51:00.000+05:30

Happy New Year and welcome to 2007. I survived New Year's Eve, and am in surprisingly good condition today. No serious hangover, or enforced retreat to my bed this year. In fact I feel the best I've felt for many a New Year's Day.

I had a good time last night: things worked very well considering how unplanned it all was. There were four of us altogether who went out: me, Raj, and two British girls we met called Danielle and Liz (the former is on her way to Korea, and the latter is about to fly to Sydney). We started off drinking a few Carlsberg's in the Reggae Bar and then walked down to the hustle and bustle of Bintang Walk where we had a few more before moving on to the Petronas Towers for the midnight firework displays. The displays were spectacular and very loud; a big crowd was gathered. After midnight we walked our way slowly back to the Reggae Bar and had a few more drinks finally calling it quits around 4am.

I've enjoyed doing something different this year, and being somewhere different for a change, and wouldn't mind doing something like this again in the future. New Year's Eve is generally so hyped that it often ends up being an expensive anti-climax. I'm glad that hasn't been the case this year.

Today is Raj's last day in Malaysia, and my last before going solo again. We've completed all our points of business, so we're just relaxing at the Hotel China Town Inn. Raj fly's back to Heathrow this evening, and I'm going to leave KL by bus tomorrow - I'll be heading two hours south to my next stop: a visit the historical city of Melaka where I will stay for a few days.

christmas in langkawi

2006-12-31T11:37:00.000+05:30

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope you've had a nice time, and - if you've any sense - at least one After Eight chocolate over the last few days.

A week has been and gone since my last blog entry, and it's time for a long overdue update. Following my last blog Raj and I have travelled up by ferry to Pulau (Island) Langkawi, where we stayed for four days, based in the main resort area, Pantai Chenang. Thankfully accommodation was available and we checked in at the Melati Tanjung Motel for the duration.

We spent Christmas Eve getting drunk at Debbie's Place, an Irish bar along the main tourist strip. It was a lively evening, with plenty of people coming and going, and the Tiger Beer flowing as fast as the water down nearby Temuran Waterfall. We met some interesting characters including amongst others: an Irish couple who teach English in Japan, a sour faced German woman called Angelica who wanted to be in Hanover, two fabulous middle-aged Swedish ladies, a former mayor from South Africa called Jerry, and a Kuala Lumpur based journalist called Simon who was not so much full of beer as of himself. I had a lot of fun, and it was just the way a Christmas Eve should be in my view. Around midnight the room was spinning sufficiently for us to call it a night, and that's what we did via a walk home along the beach.

We spent Christmas Day relaxing. There's not much to report. We had a wander around Chenang, sat on the beach, ate some Indian food in the evening (no turkey for me this year), and drank a couple of quiet beers at the Jungle Bar.

On Christmas morning we hired a moped, and used this from Boxing Day onwards to explore the interior of Langkawi. This was great fun. Over two days we went to Kuah (to go to the bank), Mahsuri's Tomb, Pantai Kok (reputed to be the best beach on the island), the Langkawi Cable Car, the Datai Hotel (a five star resort), the Temuran Waterfall, Gunung Raya (the highest point on the island), the Durian Waterfall, and Pantai Pasir Hitam (the black sand beach). This little lot used up almost a full tank of petrol.

On our last morning by the beach in Chenang we whizzed around on jet ski's out in the Andaman Sea, before jumping back on a return ferry to George Town in Penang. We stayed overnight, and then caught a VIP bus back to Kuala Lumpur, which is where I am now - waiting eagerly for New Year's Eve to commence. If all goes well, and I have my way, I will be in no fit condition to blog tomorrow.

Just to note, I recently set aside Tess of the D'Urbervilles (which I am halfway through) in favour of reading Freakonomics. This is an interesting book written by a Chicago economist and his journalist friend. It looks into the economics of all kinds of interesting phenomena from drug gangs to good parenting. I'd very much recommend reading it (especially to my friend Andrew). I'm back with Tess now, who has just taken on a job as a milk maid outside the vale following her illegitimate baby's death. Joy.

Final thought: Langkawi lands fifteen thousand five hundred and thirty nine tonnes of fish a year.

penang

2006-12-23T10:05:00.000+05:30

The island of Penang, just off the west coast of Malaysia, is the oldest British settlement in South East Asia, and has always had a reputation for attracting the bohemian and the adventurous. I'm not surprised; it really is the most charming place, and the longer I'm here in Georgetown (the capital) the more and more the colonial streets, old churches (built with convict labour), and breezy water front are growing on me.

Raj and I are staying in the heart of the China Town area and have been hunting out a few of the sights and local landmarks over the last day or two. On Friday we made our own walking tour around the Colonial District. This incorporated Fort Cornwallis (where Francis Light first landed in 1786, establishing Penang), City Hall, the Padang, the State Assembly Building, the Victoria Memorial Clocktower, St George's Church, the Cathedral of the Assumption, and the Protestant Cemetery (where Light and all the other famous people associated with Penang are buried). I enjoyed the ramparts of Fort Cornwallis the most, and seeing Seri Rambai, an old large cannon which dates back to 1603. Some local women believe leaving flowers by Seri Rambai will help them get pregnant. They call it, 'the big one.'

Have also taken a tour of the Cheong Fatt Tze Mansion (Cheong Fatt Tze was a wealthy Chinese merchant known during his lifetime as the 'Rockefeller of the East'), which was built in the 1880s. The powder blue, thirty eight room, courtyard mansion is built in line with Feng Shui principles, and cleverly fuses together both Western and Eastern elements, materials, and ideas. The reception hall floor, for example, is made of Stoke on Trent tile, and some of the windows are designed in Art Nouveau style. Our tour guide unravelled the ideas and reasoning behind Feng Shui, and how it had been applied in the Mansion. She was excellent at her job, and deeply interesting to listen to, but also strangely moody. She would periodically tell us that we were falling asleep or not concentrating enough. Her jokes all had to be followed with the sentence: 'that was a joke uh,' which perhaps gives you a subtle indication of their quality.

Just been to the Georgetown sea front and booked two ferry tickets to Pulau Langkawi, a beach resort island north of Penang. This is where Raj and I will spend Christmas and Boxing Day (possibly sleeping on the beach if all the rooms are booked out). We leave tomorrow morning and will be awash on the Straits of Melaka for about two hours. We plan to stay and relax for roughly four or five days, and will then make our way back down to Kuala Lumpur. This is a slight change to our original itinerary which also included jungle walking in Taman Negara before returning to KL. There just isn't going to be time to fit this in. I'll probably go up there on my own after Raj fly's back.

It's around lunchtime, and the warm afternoon awaits me. It will be spent trekking up Penang Hill for a view out over the island. My powers of clairvoyance are telling me that an ice cream will be bought. The bigger the better.

the cameron highlands

2006-12-20T14:05:00.000+05:30

Located in the heart of Peninsular Malaysia, the lush green Cameron Highlands rise to almost two thousand metres, and were named after an Englishman, William Cameron, in recognition of his achievement in having mapped out the area in 1885. The bulk of the local population live in one of three moderately sized hill towns and work as tea planters, or vegetable farmers, or in the tourist industry.

A lot of local buildings are designed in mock-tudor style: leaded windows, white walls, and fake exposed black beams. This is a legacy of the British Empire: colonial types used to come up in the early 1900s to escape the heat, and tried to build their holiday homes in a style that recreated the feel of the home counties or picture-postcard England. They wanted to create the illusion they were still in Surrey rather than five hours north of Kuala Lumpur.

They failed.

But the result is still very interesting to come and see, and definitely worth raising a confused eyebrow over. Modern buildings are still being constructed in pastiche tudor style so you find recently finished five storey apartment blocks kitted out in the style of Shakespeare's birthplace. It's a very curious fusion, and not a little bit strange.

After arriving in Tanah Rata (the biggest hill town in the Highlands) on Monday, Raj and I checked in at the Hill View Inn. It's a nice little guesthouse it has to be said, although I have noted the friendly cleaning lady there engages in the rather unexpected practice of walking round with one of the strings from her track suit top stuck up her nose. I have not yet been able to discern whether the cord is cosmetic or medicinal? Perhaps both? Nor have I dared ask her about the unspoken of blockage. What I do know is that she will quite happily hold a relaxed conversation with you while it is inserted. Beyond this the Hill View is an unremarkable and relaxing place to be.

Yesterday Raj and I went on a trip to the Boh Tea Plantation, and saw the terraced tea plant fields. We also took a tour of the tea factory where there was a demonstration on how tea is made: the process, what makes a good or bad cup of tea, how much gets made, and so on. It was very interesting, and surprisingly simple it seemed to me. After our tour we retired to a beautiful hillside cafe with views over the terraces and drank some Boh and ate scones with jam.

Today we've been out hill walking along some of the local trails. We've been a good few miles, up and down, left then right, along the dirt tracks which lead out of Tanah Rata. We put one foot in front of the other for a good four hours, passing the Robinson Falls, and then on to thick mountain undergrowth, until we came out the otherside reaching a small Chinese Temple, which we couldn't go in because our feet were too muddy. All went well and it was a good day although there was one incident.

Raj was ambushed and attacked by a leech about two hours in.

The attack was swift, calculated, and brutal. Before anyone knew what was happening it had pounced and attached itself to Raj's hand. There followed a violent struggle. I then jumped into the fray. If Raj was going down, I was going down with him godammit. Fists flew. Legs kicked. And heads butted. Man versus beast, someone wasn't going to live to eat dinner that evening, and I was damned if it was going to be me who went six feet under. The battle was long and hard but the one centimetre beast was eventually vanquished (I pinged him off on to a leaf during a moment of hesitancy). We were able to carry on, bruised, panting, struggling for breath, our clothes torn and bloodied, but still alive. Still alive.

Tomorrow morning we will catch the bus to Penang. The journey will take roughly six hours, and will return us to the heat of South East Asia.

no longer flying solo

2006-12-18T13:29:00.000+05:30

Raj has arrived safely in Kuala Lumpur, sporting a new look short back and sides designer haircut no less, and I suddenly find myself no longer flying solo as a backpacker. It's been great to see him again, and wonderful to have a friend from home to talk to about everything that's happened to me over the past six months. Seeing someone familiar has also really brought into focus how far I've been from 'life' since I stepped on my plane at Heathrow last June, and how completely removed I've been over the last six months from everything I'm used to. It's been brilliant to see him, and we've already had some good laughs, which I've no doubt will continue.

We've pretty much hit the ground running travel wise. Just spent a couple of days in Kuala Lumpur knocking off the sites, and have now moved north, by bus, to the Cameron Highlands to visit the big tea plantations. In a day or two we will travel further northward to Penang to engage with some colonial history. After Penang, we will either go on to Langkawi for the beaches, or east to the Pulau Perhentian Islands on the north east coast. The decision will depend on where the weather seems to be best. Finally, we will work our way back down to Taman Negara, where we will stay and go jungle trekking, ending up by returning to Kuala Lumpur, bringing us back where we started.

Yesterday, Raj and I went to the Batu Caves just outside Kuala Lumpur. The caves, containing a Hindu Shrine, are halfway up a limestone cliff and can only be reached by a climb of two hundred and seventy two steps. They have been used as a shine for over a century and are famous because of the annual Thaipusam Festival which they host, attended each year by a million repenting pilgrims. As penance for their sins they climb the cave steps with weighted hooks hanging from their backs, and spikes pierced through their cheeks. It's a sight to behold (I've seen a documentary by Alan Whicker on it) but when I was there it was all quiet and calm and very hot.

more from the muddy confluence

2006-12-15T04:47:00.000+05:30

I tried to visit the National Mosque yesterday without success. To be respectful I was careful to change into my long trousers before I went, and studied the tourist visitor hours board carefully before entering. I arrived during a prayer time, and so sat and waited outside in the street by the gate for forty minutes until the next visiting time began. When this time came I went in as far as the car park, and towards the reception desk. An official at the top of the stairs behind the desk saw me and started waving dismissively and angrily that I should get out, and get out urgently. I tried to gesture for him to come down and speak with me so that he could tell me why I couldn't come in (it was after all visitors hour and I seemed to be appropriately dressed), and when I might be able to come back. However, he didn't want to come down and defile himself by actually talking to me, so in the end I had to just turn and walk out. I still don't know when I am allowed inside, and to be frank I don't want to go back to the place anyway if that's how I'm treated. I think the official was extremely rude, and behaved in a manner unbecoming of a religious building. So anyway, I left.

This incident furthered a bad mood I was already in, which began a few hours earlier when I noticed my trusty sandals were beginning to fall apart so badly that I couldn't wear them much longer. Our partnership, or relationship, was about to reach irretrievable breakdown as they call it in the divorce courts. The right sole pretty much fell off around 6pm, and I had to face facts and either go and buy a new pair or start walking bare foot. I chose the former and successors were found in a shoe shop called 'Batu' on Jalan TAR in Little India. They're working out ok so far, but I miss my old sandals. I had hoped they would make it back to Heathrow with me, but instead they have become a trip casuality. Soldiers who fell in the field of action.

Wondering how long a pair of hush puppies in tan can withstand day to day use in South East Asia? The answer is one hundred and seventy days.

I'm waiting to go over to the airport to meet Raj, an old friend who is coming out to visit me for a few weeks. He should be arriving around 11.30am Malaysia time. I'm really looking forward to seeing a familiar face from home after so many months, and also to having someone with whom I can talk through how it's all gone, the good and the bad, the expected and the unexpected. Will probably have bored him to death by Sunday. Better be off to meet him...

kuala lumpur

2006-12-13T15:07:00.000+05:30

I'm back in Kuala Lumpur, and have been for a couple of days. The flight back from Brunei was smooth and without any problems.

Yesterday I took it pretty easy but did walk over to the Dartaran Merdeka (Independence Square) in the afternoon to see the old British colonial buildings, which are built in a mixture of Tudor, Victorian, and Moorish styles. The Sultan Abdul Samad Building is gorgeous. Once the home of the British Secretariat it is now Malaysia's Supreme Court (which is why I saw so many barristers in robes wandering around). I also went to the Central Market and looked around for a while, perhaps because it was so hot and the indoor space was so well air-conditioned. They've got some nice tourist fare on display.

Today I've been to the National History Museum. Admittedly I'm sick to death of museums, but the visit was very useful and important in giving me some orientation on recent Malay history, politics, geography, and religion, and it was really worth going.

Ever wondered why Malaysia used to be called Malaya, and why that changed? Until 1963 what we know today as West Malaysia was called Malaya. The name changed because in 1963 Malaya's recently independent political leaders agreed to unite as one with Sarawak (at that time South British Borneo), Sabah (at that time North British Borneo), and Singapore, all becoming one big new country. The new country needed a new name and Malaya was altered to Malaysia, the 'si' slotted in to stand for Singapore. Things didn't work out of course, Singapore was kicked out of the union two years later after much arguing and disappointment, but Malaya, Sarawak, and Sabah are all still happily together under the name of Malaysia.

I also learnt that Malaya (as it then was) became independent from the British in 1957, that Islam was introduced by Arabian traders five hundred years ago, and that there are nine sultans of West Malaysia (one from each state) who take it in turns on rotation to be the constitutional king and head of state (they rule alternately in five year terms). The position of King operates in much the same way as in the UK, and the Malaysian Parliament positioned below is very similar in style and form to ours too (a colonial legacy I suppose).

Once I'd finished my lesson at the museum I caught the Putra LRT over to the Petronas Twin Towers, the most famous building in the country, and a national icon. The towers are currently the tallest twin towers in the world, and lay claim to being the world's tallest high rise of the twentieth century. They are spectacular to behold. I arrived too late to go up to the viewing deck, and plan to go back first thing in the morning.

After this I went to, and up, another extremely tall building: the Menara Kuala Lumpur, a communications tower four hundred and twenty one metres high (one thousand three hundred and eighty one feet) which like the Petronas Towers was built in the 1990s. I sat on a bench at the top looking out over the sky line for quite a while and took some photographs of Kuala Lumpur. I watched a thunder storm come and go, a toddler have a tantrum, and had a chat with the woman in the gift shop about the location of the official residence of the Malaysian Prime Minister.

I've been staying at the Backpackers Travellers Inn since I arrived back. They've been very kind in dealing with the back log of misery and chaos that was my dirty washing (couldn't afford to get it done in Brunei and had to keep holding on and on and on).

I'm about to go for a wander around China Town for something to eat, and I may pop in to the Reggae Bar for a Carlsberg. I ought to pop in: it's Wednesday night, that's reggae night.

Full name: Federation of Malaysia
Population: 25.3 million (UN, 2005)
Capital: Kuala Lumpur
Area: 329,847 sq km (127,355 sq miles)
Major languages: Malay (official), English, Chinese dialects, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam
Major religions: Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, Christianity, Sikhism
Life expectancy: 71 years (men), 75 years (women)
Monetary unit: 1 ringgit = 100 sen
Main exports: Electronic equipment, petroleum and liquefied natural gas, chemicals, palm oil, wood and wood products, rubber, textiles
GNI per capita: US $4,960 (World Bank, 2006)
Internet domain: .my
International dialling code: +60

wanted - brunei waiter or waitress

2006-12-11T06:51:00.000+05:30

THE ROLE

Bandar Seri Begawan restaurant requires waiter or waitress to join friendly team of eight others in a busy city centre location serving up to one customer a day during the rainy season. Ability to work under pressure is essential. The successful candidate will work on a rotation system with the other waiters and waitresses, and will actually be the one to serve the customer every eighth day.

PERSON SPECIFICATION

Skills:

Able to demonstrate a strong ability to confuse very simple orders. For example, will always bring customer coffee when tea has been requested. (Essential).
Developed skills in sitting at the back of the restaurant, slouching, and looking bored. (Essential).
Good communication skills. Able to chit chat with other colleagues about local gossip, what's on tv, and a range of subjects not relating to the restaurant or serving customers. (Essential).
Should be able to use initiative. For example, if the customer asks for local directions the candidate should be able to use his or her discretion, and say 'eerr... don't know.' (Essential).
Willing to spend long periods eating the restaurant food for free. (Desirable).

Knowledge:

Competent in using text messaging applications including Nokia and Samsung. Should be able to demonstrate ablility to text friends whilst ignoring customers (multi-tasking). Training can be given in this area if required. (Desirable).
Good understanding of Malay teen magazines. (Desirable).

Additional duties:

Able to assist the manager as required in insuring that, at any one time, a number of items listed on the menu are not in stock, and are frustratingly unavailable. (Essential).

This post requires some physical exertion. The postholder should have a strong backside which they are capable of sitting on for long periods.

Think you have what it takes? Then pop in and speak with the Restaurant Manager. He is employed to work at the restaurant from 9am to 5pm, Monday to Friday, so you might catch him when he rolls in at 11am for ten minutes, and he usually wanders through again for a chat with some of his staff on his way to the shopping mall around 3pm.

The salary is six gallons a week. This is negotiable depending on experience and personal links with the Sultan.

This post is funded by the Royal Government of Brunei Darussalam, in conjunction with Shell Oil, and is funded for the next twenty four years. After that... errr... who cares we've got twenty four years of oil left!

This post is subject to Brunei Equal Opportunities Law. Local Muslim women are welcome to stay at home and not apply.

more from brunei

2006-12-10T11:14:00.000+05:30

I awoke this morning to find myself in the midst of the 2006 Brunei Marathon. I realised something was happening when I walked out of the hostel to find the road empty. Before I worked out it had been purposefully blocked off, a man in shorts came running along with a number stuck to his back. Then another. And another. And then a few more. And then the penny dropped - I was standing in the middle of the Brunei Marathon. Half-interested, I walked down to the finish line and watched a few of the hot and weary cross the white line. It was just after 8am in the morning, and the race had begun a few hours earlier (early to beat the day time heat I suppose). Not many people were watching the runners, and there were only small crowds dotted along the route. Nothing like at the London Marathon for example. I noticed the event was being covered by a Brunei television station though, so maybe everyone was watching at home.

I went off for some breakfast and after went for a ride down the river in a 'flying coffin' speedboat. They are so-called because of their plain wood interior and because of the speed with which they hurtle across the water. They really do move. As I had requested; the driver dropped me off on shore at a park a little out of the city. I then walked the four or five kilometres back via the Jame'Asr Hassanal Bolkiah Mosque, the largest mosque in the country. It was a large and impressive sight when I finally found it. As I went in I was asked to wear a long black button up robe, and duly obliged despite feeling hot from walking and really not being in pressing need of any additional garments. When I looked in the main male prayer room I found a massive, and well decorated dome roofed space, and two men hoovering the prayer carpets.

'How long does it take you to do the whole room?' I asked.

'Just this room? The whole room?'

'Yes. Just this room.'

'Errr... one week,' said hooverer, a look of regret in his eyes.

It really was a huge area, and very beautifully decorated, and wonderfully air-conditioned, which was just what I needed at the time. I stayed for a while admiring the walls and ceiling, and cooled off from the heat of my walk.

So that's it. I've seen all the sights I want to in Brunei now: everything on the tick list has been ticked off and executed. It's been nice being in a country where the main problem is the closing of the main dual carriageway now and again so the Sultan can race his Ferrari's (I'm not joking), but I'm ready to head out. I leave tomorrow lunchtime, and fly back to Kuala Lumpur in Western Malaysia. Will be in KL by dinner time all being well.

bandar seri begawan

2006-12-09T07:03:00.000+05:30

It's been a day and a half since my journey up to Brunei from Miri. It wasn't as straightforward as I'd hoped getting up here, taking six hours, four buses, and a boat ride across a river.

I was pleased to leave the Thai Foh Inn. I shared my room there with two others, although I was not aware of the fact until the morning of my check out. Getting ready to go I opened my wash bag and two cockroaches darted out and onto my hand. They made a sprint circuit around the wash bag, and then made for the finish line back inside between my toothpaste and shower gel. I eventually got them out, and they scuttled under the double bed in my room for sanctuary. Reluctant to pursue them further I checked out and walked over to Miri bus station. I was pleased to leave.

It didn't take long to reach the border with Brunei (about an hour) but it took a while to pass through immigration and onto a bus the otherside. I got off to a bad start with Brunei. As I entered I was ready, and hopeful, of moving on to a new page in my passport, and eagerly handed it over to the immigration official open neatly on the page where I wanted my next visa stamp. To my dismay he gazed at the blank page, then turned back several and, for no reason other than sheer malice, banged down his stamp next to my Japan entry details. 'That page is already amply full you cretin,' I wanted to shout at him, 'why didn't you start a new page? You've screwed up my passport you government automaton!!' But I thought better of it, and kept my mouth shut.

A bus then took me and several other locals up to Kuala Belait, where a river blocked our passage. We disembarked from the bus and jumped in a small motorboat which took us across. On the other side another bus was waiting to take us on north to Seria, and drove us up along the Brunei coast. Off shore the horizon was dotted with oil rigs, the reason for Brunei's wealth and fame. When we reached Seria I had to wait for an hour for a connecting bus to Bandar Seri Begawan (the capital city and my destination). I was amused to find the station master doing no work while I waited, instead preferring to play out tunes on a casio piano keyboard on his lap, singing cheerfully as he played. The bus eventually left and took a couple more hours to reach Bandar, dropping me right in the city centre. As we drove I noted the large houses along the roadside, and how many cars there were in each driveway (often four or five: Brunei has the highest rate of car ownership in the world).

I'm staying in the dormitory at the Pusat Belia, which is a sports and youth centre. There aren't many tourists here but those who are seem to be almost uniformly British. My dorm is clean and comfortable (no cockroaches) and within my budget. There's also an internet cafe on the premises, which would be very useful if it were open during the hours it is supposed to be.

Brunei is very different from how I imagined. In my mind's eye I'd always thought of it as a Middle Eastern desert country like Saudi Arabia. Of course, it is nothing like this and is located in another part of the world. Most of the country is lush jade green rainforest, and the feel is decidedly South East Asian, although with clear Islamic influences everywhere you go.

Bandar Seri Bagawan, known locally either as Bandar or BSB, is a pleasant place to be. It has a population of roughly seventy thousand, is nicely laid out, modern, and feels only half inhabited. Like Singapore, the roads are half empty (no hint of congestion), and in most of the restaurants I'm the only customer. Bandar hugs the Sungai Brunei River. On one side (my side) is the modern city, whilst on the other is Kampung Ayer, an old fashioned stilt house water village where - incredibly - thirty thousand people live. I've seen water villages already on this trip, and Kampung Ayer is comparable except, Brunei being Brunei, the stilt houses are much, much bigger than any I've seen before.

I spent yesterday morning walking the gang planks of Kampung Ayer and found the people I encountered very friendly indeed. Everyone wanted to say hello, shake hands, and welcome me to Brunei. It was a hot morning but I had a really good time investigating the tangled wooden mess that somehow fits together cohesively and safely. I've also had a look around the city centre, including a few hours in the Yayasan Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Complex, which is the big shopping centre here. I'm currently making my way through the local museums and mosques as well, and have been to, or am in the process of visiting, the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque, the Jame'Asr Hassinil Bolkiah Mosque, the Royal Regalia Building, the Brunei Museum, the Sultan Bolkiah's Tomb, and the Istana Nurul Iman (the Sultan's Palace).

Brunei is clearly a very rich country. Most societies divide into 'have's' and 'have nots' but Brunei is an exception to the rule. Here people are either 'have's' or 'have mores.' Brunei, it seems to me, is not wealthy because of hard work, innovation, or intelligence. It is wealthy through luck and in consequence to geographical proximity to oil. The people here have not earned their homes, they have been blessed with good fortune. This is quite a worrying basis (and it is pretty much the sole basis) for prosperity as the oil is due to run out in twenty or so years, and no-one is sure what will happen then. I myself am not convinced that the people here have what it takes to continue their success without their easy oil ride. Looking around I see no-one who looks industrious or entrepreneuring. Everywhere is overstaffed, and most of the services I've used have all revealed a level of complacent incompetence which has really surprised me (I've just had breakfast in a restaurant where I was the only customer and there were eight waiters on duty - and they still got my order wrong).

Brunei's conservatism, based on Islamic Law, has also struck me since arrival, and has begun to rub up against my own liberal preferences. I can't get a beer (banned), everyone is very discretely attired, and everyone everywhere seems to want to stick closely to the rules (boring). I got quite a telling off in the Royal Regalia Building yesterday for taking a photograph in a section where photographs are prohibited (it was my mistake, but it was a mistake), and was frogmarched to the reception area where the manager insisted on supervising me delete the offending picture and wanted to check all the other images on my camera to make sure I had nothing untoward. Internet cafe supervisors also seem afraid to let me upload my photographs for some reason. I think here you don't do things unless you've been given explicit permission. Discretion and initiative are alien qualities.

I'm off now to see the Sultan's four hundred million dollar palace, and then perhaps on to a Mosque to find a cleric who can advise me on what the Koran has to say about extravagant wealth, personal indulgence, and profligate spending.

fifteen interesting facts about brunei

2006-12-08T15:48:00.000+05:30

1. Brunei occupies less than one percent of Borneo's land area, and is the only sovereign country on the island, which it shares with the Indonesian provinces of West, East, South, and Central Kalimantan, and the Malaysian states of Sabah and Sarawak.

2. Seventy eight percent of Brunei is untouched rainforest - a higher percentage than anywhere else in Asia.

3. Brunei is the smallest non-island country outside Europe. The Sultan owns a cattle station in Australia which is larger than Brunei itself. The six thousand square kilometre station in Willaroo, Northern Territory, supplies Brunei with beef and other meat products. The live cattle are brought direct from Darwin and slaughtered according to Halal practices.

4. It is illegal to practice homosexuality or to hold hands in public in Brunei.

5. Brunei is home to the world's largest population of proboscis monkeys (the world's largest monkey with an impossibly long nose, protruding belly, and thick orange hair). Ten thousand are still in the wild thanks to its rainforest habitat.

6. Brunei is sometimes mockingly dubbed the "Shellfare State" (in reference to the significant influence of the Shell Oil Company). Bruneians have free education, medical services, and there is no personal or corporation tax.

7. Brunei is divided into four districts, called daerah. These are: Belait, Brunei and Muara, Temburong, and Tutong.

8. About two-thirds of the Brunei population are of Malay origin. The most important ethnic minority group who dominate the nation's economy are the Chinese, with about fifteen percent. These groups also reflect the most important languages: Malay (Malay: Bahasa Melayu), which is the official language, and Chinese. English is also widely spoken and there is a relatively large expatriate community with large numbers of British and Australian citizens.

9. Until 1984 Brunei was a British protectorate.

10. Brunei is an absolute monarchy. The Sultan is the head of state and head of government. The Sultan is advised by several councils and a cabinet of ministers although he is effectively the supreme ruler.

11. The Sultan of Brunei was at one time the richest man in the world. His net worth is now estimated at around twenty billion US dollars.

12. For personal use, the Sultan possesses a Boeing 747-400 furnished with gold plated furniture, six smaller planes, and two helicopters.

13. Brunei is home to the largest residential palace in the world today. The Istana Nurul Iman contains one thousand seven hundred and eighty eight rooms, two hundred and fifty seven bathrooms, and a floor area of over two million square feet. Amenities include five swimming pools, an air conditioned stable for the Sultan's two hundred polo ponies, a one hundred and ten car garage, a banquet hall that can be expanded to accommodate up to five thousand guests, and a mosque accommodating one thousand five hundred people. The palace was built in 1984 at a cost of around four hundred million US dollars and has five hundred and sixty four chandeliers, fifty one thousand light bulbs, fourty four stairwells, and eighteen elevators.

14. The Sultan is famous for his vast car collection. According to Guinness World Records he has five hundred Rolls-Royces — the largest collection of that marque in the world. During the 1990s, his family accounted for almost half of all Rolls-Royce purchases. Also, among his collection are the Lamborghini Diablo Jota, Porsche 959, Lamborghini Murcielago LP640, Maybach 62, Jaguar XJR-15 and six Dauer 962's. He is also the owner of six models of the Ferrari FX, the original red show model of the Bentley Continental R, two fully operational versions of the Ferrari Mythos concept car, both of the Ferrari 456 GT Sedans, the world's only right hand drive Mercedes-Benz CLK-GTR, seven McLaren F1's including both black LM models and three Cizeta cars. He also possesses a Formula One car as driven by every Formula 1 World Drivers Champion since the 1980 Formula One season, particularly the ones driven in the last race for each season.

15. The Sultan's brother, Prince Jefri, has been accused of embezzling twenty billion US dollars from the Brunei Investment Authority. In February 2006 the Sultan's legal feud with him ended when he dropped all charges.

Full name: Sultanate of Brunei
Population: 374,000 (UN, 2005)
Capital: Bandar Seri Begawan
Area: 5,765 sq km (2,226 sq miles)
Major languages: Malay, English, Chinese
Major religions: Islam, Buddhism, Christianity
Life expectancy: 74 years (men), 79 years (women) (UN)
Monetary unit: 1 Bruneian dollar = 100 cents
Main exports: Crude oil, liquefied natural gas, petroleum products
GNI per capita: n/a Internet domain: .bn
International dialling code: +673

bintulu and miri

2006-12-06T13:22:00.000+05:30

On Tuesday morning I caught a Biaramas bus north to Bintulu. It turned out to be a comfortable eleven hour journey up Sarawak's main (and only) trunk road. I saw more longhouses along the way than you've had hot dinners. The majority were modern constructions, and not very pretty - most looked like battery chicken sheds with fifty front doors. One or two were incredibly long. I enjoyed my day, sitting quietly in seat number fifteen watching the world go by. We stopped twice at some small roadside stalls selling cheap and delicious local food. I filled up on Malay rice dishes twice.

I shared a room at the Capital Inn in Bintulu last night with a middle aged American man called Eric. I met him at the bus station (he had come south from Brunei) and we shared a taxi into the city centre. He was an interesting guy to spend a few hours with. He used to be a university lecturer in America, until he emigrated to New Zealand about five years ago, and became a citizen. He now teaches Korean people to speak English (to tide him over money wise). He is making a trip around Asia before he is, in his words, too old, and like Rose Nylund in 'The Golden Girls' Eric hails from Minnesota and is of Scandinavian stock. It looked rather odd when the two of us walked into the hotel together and asked for a double room. I almost said, 'you know we're not... and anyway I'm not... I mean we're just sharing a room to save... you don't think... and anyway I don't even know the guy... no that sounds bad what I mean is...' Rather than tie myself up in hopeless knots I just said nothing and decided I couldn't give a toss what the receptionist thought about the nature of our relationship, curious age difference, or my sexual orientation. It gets hard to care about such things after eleven hours on a bus across Borneo. The Capital Inn was pretty awful as Inns go. I'd only recommend that you stay if you're desperate. The receptionist handed Eric a room key and said, 'make sure you lock your window tonight or people will try to climb in. Ha ha ha ha!' Couldn't decide whether the comment was in jest or serious. Locked the window just in case.

After breakfast this morning I said goodbye to Eric and caught another bus up to Miri. I arrived here just after lunchtime. Miri, like Bintulu, is quite a large place with a few high rises, and a bustling town centre. Logging is a big local industry unfortunately, and many residents are busily occupied nine to five in the business of chopping local rainforest down. There are lots of modern Malay shops and buildings in the city centre, and a Chinese area, which is where I am staying (at the Thai Foh Inn). 'It's a very simple room,' the owner told me as he showed me a single. His tone was suggestive that this was a good thing. Again I wanted to open my mouth, 'in England we would describe this as a shithole rather than simple,' but kept it shut and took the room with a nod and a frustrated smile. It's inexpensive, central, opposite the bus station (which I need to go to tomorrow morning), and I'm only staying for a night. Can't find better unless I'm willing to spend more ringgit, which today it so happens I'm not.

Just been over to the bank (Maybank) and got some Brunei dollars out ready for tomorrow. On the front of each of the notes is the image of Kebawah Duli Yang Maha Mulia Paduka Seri Baginda Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Al-Mu'izzaddin Waddaulah ibni Almarhum Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddien Sa'adul Khairi Waddien. He is sometimes known more briefly, for short, as the Sultan of Brunei. Tomorrow I'll be in his tax free Muslim kingdom. Looking forward to that.