LAO - Vang Vieng (written from Vientiane, Friday 29th March, 1.00pm)
For 3 days I suffered from an acute contrast of sentiments. In many ways I felt I ought to despise the place. A town that has totally sold is soul to the hedonistic backpacker's whims. The main street is just shoulder to shoulder bars all offering an extensive selection of 'specialities'. The banks of the Nam Song are lined with bars pumping out dance music, the locals hollering to the Farang as they bob past in rubber tubes "Beer Lao? Beer Lao" before fishing us out of the water with long bamboo poles, furnishing us with intoxicants and watching us swing whooping into the water from 6 meter high rope swings. I'm sure that quite a lot of you are reading this and wondering what I'm complaining about...
I really can't complain, it is a very beautiful place, surrounded by craggy limestone cliffs. It was lovely to float down the river, which was totally silent when out of ear-shot of the bars, and it was also rather nice to stop for a beer and then hurtle into the water with all the other farang so I am a hypocrite.
I feel bad for the Lao people though who have to indulge us, it does not give them a nice picture of us Westerners and it doesn't set much of an example for the children who watch us intently from the river banks.
I was quite ready to leave when yesterday we set off south to Vientiane. Rather than sit on another bus we decided to kayak it down there instead. More early starts and a fantastic day paddling down stream along a much quieter river, negotiating rapids. "Only one person die, 3 year ago" our guide assured us as we paddled frantically towards the white water. "Just go straight!" Right. Our success was debatable. We capsized but survived so I felt the victory was ours really. We then stopped for a lunch before being taken to a 10 meter cliff "To jump!" I wasn't feeling too game so I watched the boys scale the cliff, edge forward, look over and whimper before tumbling into the water below and contented myself with a peaceful swim.
We arrived in Vientiane last night. Tiny for a capital and rather pretty in places. It is an expat haven of cafes and western restaurants with some nice old French buildings as well as some gloomy concrete structures. It has been on the front line for some of Lao's troubled history, for over 1000 years and has been biffed about by Vietnamese, Burmese, Siamese, Khmer and French conquerors. The French confirmed its status as the capital.
Tonight I am leaving for Pakse, an uninspiring town far down south but on the way to Si Phan Don (Four Thousand Islands) where the Mekong fans out forming small islands. It is supposed to beautiful, although this being the end of the dry season, it might be slightly lacking in water... Here I shall rest for the weekend before making my way across the boarder, bribes at the ready, and down through Kratie to Phnom Penh where my program begins on the 7th.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
LAO - Phonsavan (writtine from Vang Vieng, Tuesday 27th February 5.35pm)
It is quite staggering how the legacy of the forotious bombardement that the Americans raged on Lao for a decade is apparent everywhere here, although we know so little about it.
Between 1964 and 1973 over a million tons of bombs fell on Lao, despite the Americans signing the Geneva Treaty that forbade such action against the country.
Their reasoning was 'preventing the spread of Communism through South East Asia' and also to assist the royalists who were battling with revolutionaries in a civil war.
Whatever there reason, the effect was devastating. The cease-fire on Vietnam only went to heighten the onslaught on Lao. They dropped cluster bombs or 'Bombies' one bomb dropped split into 1000s of tennis ball sized bombs filled with ball-barings. Unlike mines that were designed to maim, Bombies were designed to kill. Farms and villages were destroyed, rockets were fired into caves where whole villages were sheltering. Life had to go on hold for a decade while villagers went into hiding, not safe to work their farms.
I could go on. Unexploded Bombies still litter the landscape making farming potentially lethal. The area around Phonasvan is poc-marked with bomb craters and Bombies are still killing children who pick them up thinking they are balls.
Considering they were subject to such violence and suffered such losses, the Lao people seem so kind and gentle. With remarkable resourcefulness, in the circumstances, they have made use of the war debris which remain. Bomb casings have become BBQs, flower pots and hold up bird houses. The villages are full of remnants of the Secret War which, although full of herbs and flowers, are a grim reminder of horrors which we, in the West, know next to nothing about.
The Americans still take no responsibility and any aid they provide Lao is seen as charity.
The Plain of Jars, also scarred by bomb craters, is also worth a look. 2000 years old and with no explanation as to why they are there. It is thought that they are burial urns but no remains have been found. Rather mysterious.
I'm glad I took a couple of days out from the beautiful mountains, caves and rivers, the french cafes and 'special milkshakes' to see a very different side of Lao and one that does better to expose the nature of the country. It makes the place more 3 dimensional somehow.
Having said that I now find myself in Vang Vieng. Backpacker paradise with episodes of 'Friends' on loop and as much tubing, caving and 'mind expansion' as anyone might want. I was going to skip it and go straight to Vietiane but I was hijacked by some Scandinavians. "Actually you are coming with us, you just don't know it yet..." Well the idea of a 13 hour bus ride, when every single one of the hostels I called in the Lonely Planet were full, did not appeal so much so I am here for a couple of nights. Tubing, it would seem, has found me.
With a bit of luck we can also kyak down to Vientiane rather than bus it which would be a plus. The bus journeys here are unlike anything else I have seen. Sick bags are handed out at the beginning of the journey, which my fellow Lao passengers made use of with great gusto throughout as the bus wound its way painfully up and down the mountains. Beautiful, if you don't have your head in a bag. The scenery here is much more craggy, the mountains look like great moss-covered rocks, very much like the mountains seen in those Chinese prints. The heat has increased 10 fold down here so a day pootling down the river tomorrow will be rather nice...
It is quite staggering how the legacy of the forotious bombardement that the Americans raged on Lao for a decade is apparent everywhere here, although we know so little about it.
Between 1964 and 1973 over a million tons of bombs fell on Lao, despite the Americans signing the Geneva Treaty that forbade such action against the country.
Their reasoning was 'preventing the spread of Communism through South East Asia' and also to assist the royalists who were battling with revolutionaries in a civil war.
Whatever there reason, the effect was devastating. The cease-fire on Vietnam only went to heighten the onslaught on Lao. They dropped cluster bombs or 'Bombies' one bomb dropped split into 1000s of tennis ball sized bombs filled with ball-barings. Unlike mines that were designed to maim, Bombies were designed to kill. Farms and villages were destroyed, rockets were fired into caves where whole villages were sheltering. Life had to go on hold for a decade while villagers went into hiding, not safe to work their farms.
I could go on. Unexploded Bombies still litter the landscape making farming potentially lethal. The area around Phonasvan is poc-marked with bomb craters and Bombies are still killing children who pick them up thinking they are balls.
Considering they were subject to such violence and suffered such losses, the Lao people seem so kind and gentle. With remarkable resourcefulness, in the circumstances, they have made use of the war debris which remain. Bomb casings have become BBQs, flower pots and hold up bird houses. The villages are full of remnants of the Secret War which, although full of herbs and flowers, are a grim reminder of horrors which we, in the West, know next to nothing about.
The Americans still take no responsibility and any aid they provide Lao is seen as charity.
The Plain of Jars, also scarred by bomb craters, is also worth a look. 2000 years old and with no explanation as to why they are there. It is thought that they are burial urns but no remains have been found. Rather mysterious.
I'm glad I took a couple of days out from the beautiful mountains, caves and rivers, the french cafes and 'special milkshakes' to see a very different side of Lao and one that does better to expose the nature of the country. It makes the place more 3 dimensional somehow.
Having said that I now find myself in Vang Vieng. Backpacker paradise with episodes of 'Friends' on loop and as much tubing, caving and 'mind expansion' as anyone might want. I was going to skip it and go straight to Vietiane but I was hijacked by some Scandinavians. "Actually you are coming with us, you just don't know it yet..." Well the idea of a 13 hour bus ride, when every single one of the hostels I called in the Lonely Planet were full, did not appeal so much so I am here for a couple of nights. Tubing, it would seem, has found me.
With a bit of luck we can also kyak down to Vientiane rather than bus it which would be a plus. The bus journeys here are unlike anything else I have seen. Sick bags are handed out at the beginning of the journey, which my fellow Lao passengers made use of with great gusto throughout as the bus wound its way painfully up and down the mountains. Beautiful, if you don't have your head in a bag. The scenery here is much more craggy, the mountains look like great moss-covered rocks, very much like the mountains seen in those Chinese prints. The heat has increased 10 fold down here so a day pootling down the river tomorrow will be rather nice...
Sunday, March 25, 2007
LAOS - Phonsavan (Sunday 25th March 5.30pm)
Why anyone would want to abandon their friends, forgo tubing and episodes of Friends and sit on an excruciating bus that winds its way up and down and round and round, while desperately trying to keep the contents of their stomach in place, to go and look at a field full of jars, might seem to some of you a mystery. I, however, lept gleefully onto the 8.30am bus, nursing an acute hangover, content that I was doing the right thing.
Well really, can you go to a country and NOT see its jars? I think not. So here I am in dusty and not so pretty Phonsavan trying to organise transport to the jars tomorrow.
My 3 nights in Luang Prabang were blissful. Yesterday we took a rusty minibus to the waterfall, breaking down on route (my Lonely Planet ensures me is a feature of bus rides here). The waterfall was the closest I think nature has managed to get to Disney. The water tumbled down into blue blue pools where butterflies flirtatiously flitted in and out of the dappled evening sunlight and posed on rocks. I insisted on scaling the rock face to the very top of the waterfall, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything, and teetering on the edge, the water plummeting down beneath me, I had an amazing view of the forest and surrounding mountains.
We splashed around happily for a few hours and made our way back to Luang Prabang, stopping to pick up a beer Lao on route.
Seeing as I'd picked up the well trodden traveller's trail in Chian Kong, I managed to gather quite a crowd of companions who we'd bump into here and there. Most oddly though I ran into someone from university. What is the likelihood of that in Luang Prabang?! (For those of you who'd be interested, it was Devon Tom - Derby Dave's mate who left after a couple of months).
Last night we did as every self respecting Luang Prabang inhabitant did when they don't want to go to bed at midnight, we went bowling. Bizarre that 10 minutes out of town there is a modern bowling alley with a late night bar. As I suspected, I was terrible (I blame the beer) but my partners were gracious losers.
So now I have struck off the main trail again for something much more mind improving to purge myself of my indulgences. My plan has changed somewhat, I am no longer flying to Pnom Phen but making my way down by bus as I checked my starting date at the school and it is not until the 7th of April so I have time to see more of Laos.
Jars tomorrow, I'll let you know how they are. x
Why anyone would want to abandon their friends, forgo tubing and episodes of Friends and sit on an excruciating bus that winds its way up and down and round and round, while desperately trying to keep the contents of their stomach in place, to go and look at a field full of jars, might seem to some of you a mystery. I, however, lept gleefully onto the 8.30am bus, nursing an acute hangover, content that I was doing the right thing.
Well really, can you go to a country and NOT see its jars? I think not. So here I am in dusty and not so pretty Phonsavan trying to organise transport to the jars tomorrow.
My 3 nights in Luang Prabang were blissful. Yesterday we took a rusty minibus to the waterfall, breaking down on route (my Lonely Planet ensures me is a feature of bus rides here). The waterfall was the closest I think nature has managed to get to Disney. The water tumbled down into blue blue pools where butterflies flirtatiously flitted in and out of the dappled evening sunlight and posed on rocks. I insisted on scaling the rock face to the very top of the waterfall, just to make sure I hadn't missed anything, and teetering on the edge, the water plummeting down beneath me, I had an amazing view of the forest and surrounding mountains.
We splashed around happily for a few hours and made our way back to Luang Prabang, stopping to pick up a beer Lao on route.
Seeing as I'd picked up the well trodden traveller's trail in Chian Kong, I managed to gather quite a crowd of companions who we'd bump into here and there. Most oddly though I ran into someone from university. What is the likelihood of that in Luang Prabang?! (For those of you who'd be interested, it was Devon Tom - Derby Dave's mate who left after a couple of months).
Last night we did as every self respecting Luang Prabang inhabitant did when they don't want to go to bed at midnight, we went bowling. Bizarre that 10 minutes out of town there is a modern bowling alley with a late night bar. As I suspected, I was terrible (I blame the beer) but my partners were gracious losers.
So now I have struck off the main trail again for something much more mind improving to purge myself of my indulgences. My plan has changed somewhat, I am no longer flying to Pnom Phen but making my way down by bus as I checked my starting date at the school and it is not until the 7th of April so I have time to see more of Laos.
Jars tomorrow, I'll let you know how they are. x
Friday, March 23, 2007
LAOS - Luang Prabang (Friday 23rd March 04.20pm)
I do wonder what the local people make of us. This constant flow of tourists who drift through their towns and villages taking photos. Their curious stares are reflected in our sunglasses, plugged firmly into ipods we add our own soundtracks to the scenery. We pass through without commitment, sheltered by our Western comodities. In the boat we stopped along the river and young children scampered down the rocks to display colour fabrics, we gaze at each other with little comprehension. As I was dressing yesterday morning, I looked up and saw 2 young children climbing down the rocks, one had an even tinier child on her hip. They stopped when they saw me and for a moment we surveyed each other. I waved and they waved back aware that although physically close we are always worlds apart. Where do we come from? It must be incomprehensible to them. All this I had plenty of time to muse upon while drifting down the Mekong...
I bid farewell to Pai on Monday night and set off on a very bumpy overnight mini-bus drive North East to Chian Kong. My fellow travellers were leaving Pai only to do a visa run to the boarder and hoped to be back in Pai by 4 the following afternoon in time for happy hour. They were bemused by my wanting to travel onwards. "Pai didn't do it for you then?" Well yes but...
At 6.00am I stumbled sleepily from the bus straight into a travel agency (yes amazing that it was open at that hour) and booked myself onto the 2 day Slow Boat ride to Luang Prabang.
Chiang Kong is a quiet little local trading town for local Hill Tibes and caters for the stream of travellers who were doing exactly as I was. I checked into my guest house and settled down to watch the milky sunrise over the Mekong wondering where everyone was...
By 6.00pm, the place was teaming with travellers in readiness for the morning boat and so we had a happy night aided by Singha beer and our last proper Thai food.
An hour into the boat journey, the porters were making a roaring trade flogging weed and people were soon snoozing happily or gazing at the steep, craggy mountains that rose up on either side probably wishing they'd brought more sandwiches.
I'd heard some horror stories about the boat ride: cramped, hot, uncomfortable, but it was a really beautiful ride. The cushions we purchased helped a lot I think.
We stopped at Pak Bang for the night. A strange little place on the river bank, its sole purpose seeming to be catering for the hoards of backbackers that arrive by the boat load in the evening and all pile out again the following morning. As we scaled the cliff face (yes literally, with backpacks on) we were set upong by a frenzy of guesthouse owners.
The electricity was off at 10.00pm so we checked into basic rooms and set out to forage for food armed with tourches (just in case).
One group of Canadians had been severly ripped off my stupidly booking - and paying for- accomodation before getting on the boat, they were comiserating themselves by enthusiastically smoking opium on the balcony next door to me. Amazingly they came bounding onto the boat early the next day, equipped with enough weed to traquilise a heard of elephants and a years supply of tuna. Happy days!
Luang Prabang is gorgeous. Smart colonial french houses juxtaposed by buddist temples. You can sip a cappucino and nibble on a croisant in wicker chairs under white sun umbrellas whilst overlooking the Mekong river.
Suzanne, my new room mate, and I climbed the steep hill to the Buddist temple this morning from where you have a fantastic view of the area. Young Buddist monks eyed us coyly, not looking particularly pius. They were delighted to have their photos taken and asked us shyly about London and Holland, how old were we? What did we do? They are amazingly well educated even saying goodbye to Suzanne in Dutch as we left. Some of them had spent 4 years in the Temple and were perfectly happy there. We associate ignorance with bliss but these young guys, aged between about 18 and 25 were well aware of the outside world, they have everything they required right there, no need to rush around looking for it. Like any young boys, they nudged each other as we passed, giggle mischiefously and took it in turns to speak to us but also seemed happy to watch us stroll off and remain in their sanctury of Buddist Enlightenment.
I will remain here in Luang Prabang for the weekend, then on Monday we head off to Phonsavan to see the mysterious Plain of Jars that date from the Stone Age and no one knows why they are there. From there we travel to Vang Vieng for a spot of tubing before I fly from Vientiane to Phom Pen in time to start my month of voluntary work... few! Busy busy. There is still so much to see though!
But for now, it is Friday night and I have no shoes (of course) so I shall hobble to the night market for some haggling, the effect of which will be severly depleted by my bare feet.
Happy weekends everyone! xxx
I do wonder what the local people make of us. This constant flow of tourists who drift through their towns and villages taking photos. Their curious stares are reflected in our sunglasses, plugged firmly into ipods we add our own soundtracks to the scenery. We pass through without commitment, sheltered by our Western comodities. In the boat we stopped along the river and young children scampered down the rocks to display colour fabrics, we gaze at each other with little comprehension. As I was dressing yesterday morning, I looked up and saw 2 young children climbing down the rocks, one had an even tinier child on her hip. They stopped when they saw me and for a moment we surveyed each other. I waved and they waved back aware that although physically close we are always worlds apart. Where do we come from? It must be incomprehensible to them. All this I had plenty of time to muse upon while drifting down the Mekong...
I bid farewell to Pai on Monday night and set off on a very bumpy overnight mini-bus drive North East to Chian Kong. My fellow travellers were leaving Pai only to do a visa run to the boarder and hoped to be back in Pai by 4 the following afternoon in time for happy hour. They were bemused by my wanting to travel onwards. "Pai didn't do it for you then?" Well yes but...
At 6.00am I stumbled sleepily from the bus straight into a travel agency (yes amazing that it was open at that hour) and booked myself onto the 2 day Slow Boat ride to Luang Prabang.
Chiang Kong is a quiet little local trading town for local Hill Tibes and caters for the stream of travellers who were doing exactly as I was. I checked into my guest house and settled down to watch the milky sunrise over the Mekong wondering where everyone was...
By 6.00pm, the place was teaming with travellers in readiness for the morning boat and so we had a happy night aided by Singha beer and our last proper Thai food.
An hour into the boat journey, the porters were making a roaring trade flogging weed and people were soon snoozing happily or gazing at the steep, craggy mountains that rose up on either side probably wishing they'd brought more sandwiches.
I'd heard some horror stories about the boat ride: cramped, hot, uncomfortable, but it was a really beautiful ride. The cushions we purchased helped a lot I think.
We stopped at Pak Bang for the night. A strange little place on the river bank, its sole purpose seeming to be catering for the hoards of backbackers that arrive by the boat load in the evening and all pile out again the following morning. As we scaled the cliff face (yes literally, with backpacks on) we were set upong by a frenzy of guesthouse owners.
The electricity was off at 10.00pm so we checked into basic rooms and set out to forage for food armed with tourches (just in case).
One group of Canadians had been severly ripped off my stupidly booking - and paying for- accomodation before getting on the boat, they were comiserating themselves by enthusiastically smoking opium on the balcony next door to me. Amazingly they came bounding onto the boat early the next day, equipped with enough weed to traquilise a heard of elephants and a years supply of tuna. Happy days!
Luang Prabang is gorgeous. Smart colonial french houses juxtaposed by buddist temples. You can sip a cappucino and nibble on a croisant in wicker chairs under white sun umbrellas whilst overlooking the Mekong river.
Suzanne, my new room mate, and I climbed the steep hill to the Buddist temple this morning from where you have a fantastic view of the area. Young Buddist monks eyed us coyly, not looking particularly pius. They were delighted to have their photos taken and asked us shyly about London and Holland, how old were we? What did we do? They are amazingly well educated even saying goodbye to Suzanne in Dutch as we left. Some of them had spent 4 years in the Temple and were perfectly happy there. We associate ignorance with bliss but these young guys, aged between about 18 and 25 were well aware of the outside world, they have everything they required right there, no need to rush around looking for it. Like any young boys, they nudged each other as we passed, giggle mischiefously and took it in turns to speak to us but also seemed happy to watch us stroll off and remain in their sanctury of Buddist Enlightenment.
I will remain here in Luang Prabang for the weekend, then on Monday we head off to Phonsavan to see the mysterious Plain of Jars that date from the Stone Age and no one knows why they are there. From there we travel to Vang Vieng for a spot of tubing before I fly from Vientiane to Phom Pen in time to start my month of voluntary work... few! Busy busy. There is still so much to see though!
But for now, it is Friday night and I have no shoes (of course) so I shall hobble to the night market for some haggling, the effect of which will be severly depleted by my bare feet.
Happy weekends everyone! xxx
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Ok, so I got stuck. From what I can tell, it is very easy to in Pai. But tonight I'm off up north to Chang Kong and then my 2 week journey down the Mekong begins. I'm hoping there will be some water...
My jungle trek was good, if a little hot. With all this burning going on, the air is hazy and smoky and we passed great expanses of forest that lay scorched and smouldering.
Perhaps the best element of the trip was our porter Tu. A member of the Karen Hill Tribe, he was fascinated and hugely entertained by us hot, sweaty westerners labouring solemnly up hills in the midday heat. He would scurry ahead singing and chuckling to himself, climb trees, stop every so often to carry a bag or merrily haul a lardy woman up a hill or listen to an ear of an ipod and sing loudly and uncomprehendingly to Radiohead. The other Karen people crept around us silently as we sat in their huts, bringing food and hopefully laying out woven cloth, just in case we felt inclined to get our wallets out.
They actually originate from Burma and have been living as illegal immigrants in Thailand for several decades. Their main source of income was opium but now they grow less profitable garlic and ginger and allow tourists to come and gawp at them. Some of the Karen people still extend their necks with golden rings but we did not go and see them. They had abandoned the rather damaging tradition some time ago but troops of tourists coming to take photos of them prompted them to take it up again, mutilating their children in the process. Consequently it is a little un-PC to go and visit them now.
We spent a restless night in a farm sleeping above a family of pigs and chickens. The roosters seemed to have no concept of time and kicked off at 2am amid groans from the sleepers above them.
The rest of my time has been spent in and around Pai, setting off again on a quest to find that bloody waterfall, only to end up attempting off road on a moped, which is not easy. I have a couple of scratches and a huge sense of achievement to show from our little excursion.
Right, well I think the pool is calling me... Ah the trials of travelling, better shake out of my comfort zone again I think.
My jungle trek was good, if a little hot. With all this burning going on, the air is hazy and smoky and we passed great expanses of forest that lay scorched and smouldering.
Perhaps the best element of the trip was our porter Tu. A member of the Karen Hill Tribe, he was fascinated and hugely entertained by us hot, sweaty westerners labouring solemnly up hills in the midday heat. He would scurry ahead singing and chuckling to himself, climb trees, stop every so often to carry a bag or merrily haul a lardy woman up a hill or listen to an ear of an ipod and sing loudly and uncomprehendingly to Radiohead. The other Karen people crept around us silently as we sat in their huts, bringing food and hopefully laying out woven cloth, just in case we felt inclined to get our wallets out.
They actually originate from Burma and have been living as illegal immigrants in Thailand for several decades. Their main source of income was opium but now they grow less profitable garlic and ginger and allow tourists to come and gawp at them. Some of the Karen people still extend their necks with golden rings but we did not go and see them. They had abandoned the rather damaging tradition some time ago but troops of tourists coming to take photos of them prompted them to take it up again, mutilating their children in the process. Consequently it is a little un-PC to go and visit them now.
We spent a restless night in a farm sleeping above a family of pigs and chickens. The roosters seemed to have no concept of time and kicked off at 2am amid groans from the sleepers above them.
The rest of my time has been spent in and around Pai, setting off again on a quest to find that bloody waterfall, only to end up attempting off road on a moped, which is not easy. I have a couple of scratches and a huge sense of achievement to show from our little excursion.
Right, well I think the pool is calling me... Ah the trials of travelling, better shake out of my comfort zone again I think.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Well 1st it was a camel, then a horse and now a motor bike... Ok, moped, a fluorescent green one and its love. I have been careering around the hills surrounding Pai, startling cows and Thai villagers who seem as amused to see me on a moped as I'd imagine most of you would be. Aside from an a couple of false starts, I am a natural... Well, almost.
I arrived in Pai yesterday lunch time after a very windy bus drive which took us high up into the mountains. Pai is a small, pretty little town that has given itself entirely over to backpackers. The river is lined with little guest houses, all offering pretty little straw huts on its banks. There is an abundance of Internet cafes and ample opportunities for banana pancakes.
Still, all you have to do is drive, or ride, across the river and into the hills beyond for some beautiful views and lots of fields full of picturesque people wearing triangular straw hats and doing things with rice.
Currently they are burning the rice husks (or something) so there is a heavy mist that hangs over the valley but it is insanely beautiful in the early morning and evening.
My guest house is appropriately named Misty View and lies on the road to an evasive waterfall which I have failed to locate, after charging off on my trusty steed and nearly ending up in a pond, rather ungracefully. This morning I was greeted by the gorgeous daughter of the owner of Misty View, who threw herself into my arms. She is, I hasten to add, about 6 years old and we spent a happy time scribbling pictures all over my diary and making animal noises.
Tomorrow I am going for a 2 day trek into the jungle, because I wasn't quite cold enough last night and I want to see how many bugs I can fit in my sleeping bag...
Then on Sunday, I shall try and get a bus to Chaian Saen without having to go back to Chang Mai. Then onwards and South Eastwards towards Cambodia!
I do have a new telephone number which is: 0878096031. x
I arrived in Pai yesterday lunch time after a very windy bus drive which took us high up into the mountains. Pai is a small, pretty little town that has given itself entirely over to backpackers. The river is lined with little guest houses, all offering pretty little straw huts on its banks. There is an abundance of Internet cafes and ample opportunities for banana pancakes.
Still, all you have to do is drive, or ride, across the river and into the hills beyond for some beautiful views and lots of fields full of picturesque people wearing triangular straw hats and doing things with rice.
Currently they are burning the rice husks (or something) so there is a heavy mist that hangs over the valley but it is insanely beautiful in the early morning and evening.
My guest house is appropriately named Misty View and lies on the road to an evasive waterfall which I have failed to locate, after charging off on my trusty steed and nearly ending up in a pond, rather ungracefully. This morning I was greeted by the gorgeous daughter of the owner of Misty View, who threw herself into my arms. She is, I hasten to add, about 6 years old and we spent a happy time scribbling pictures all over my diary and making animal noises.
Tomorrow I am going for a 2 day trek into the jungle, because I wasn't quite cold enough last night and I want to see how many bugs I can fit in my sleeping bag...
Then on Sunday, I shall try and get a bus to Chaian Saen without having to go back to Chang Mai. Then onwards and South Eastwards towards Cambodia!
I do have a new telephone number which is: 0878096031. x
Monday, March 12, 2007
"Is this your 1st time on a train?" An American woman asked me as I scrambled bank onto my top bunk.
"No. Well, in Thailand, yes."
"Let me give you a little tip: You can use the normal toilet!" Ah! 3 weeks in India and I unquestioningly accept a hole in the ground as standard. Even rigid laws of personal hygiene begin to slip over there: Shower? But I had one yesterday... Thailand brought me sharply up to standard again, my grubby feet and tent-like clothes suddenly seemed very unfitting as I watched the immaculate, glamorous Thai girls sashay passed me. Time for a re-think of wardrobe and cleanliness!
Jerry was a very dedicated guide and I explored shiny shiny malls and visited the Royal Palace and Wat Phra Kaew - an orgy of glittering mirrors, coloured glass and gold. All stifling in the airless Bangkok heat which seems to hover breathless over all the central tourist attractions and Khao San Road, seemingly punishing tourists for being unimaginative. I also explored some of the cool backwaters through canals to where the houses are on stilts and little wooden shacked restaurants twinkle fairy lights over the breezy water. A welcome relief!
No trip to Bangkok could be seen as thorough without at least a glimpse of the Red Light District. Mum and Dad might disagree with me here... However I went and peeked and had the whole system explained to me:
I am told that a true connoisseur of the Sex Tourist Industry has a knowledge of the farming calender. When the rice has been harvested and work on the farms dries up, there is an influx of 'fresh meat' straight from the villages flooding into Bangkok. The law states that Prostitution is illegal UNLESS you are suffering from 'economic hardship.' A fairly large loop hole.
Sooooo, you go to a bar, chose one you like and pay a small fee to remove her. The indelicate question of her fee only becomes an issue when say, her rent is due, or she is hungry. Apparently what the girls really want is security, someone to look after them. And they repay in kind. This is what I'm told anyway, I wasn't about to test the theory. Clearly, to me, the whole thing is a bit gross.
On Sunday afternoon I boarded a slick train that swept me up north to Chang Mai, a cultural haven of massage schools, language, schools and Thai cooking classes, as well as a jumping off point for mountain trekking, white water rafting, elelphant rides and the Golden Triangle (yes, another one).
The town has a nice feel to it. The walled town itself is mainly populated with guide shops, Internet cafes and 'farang' (that's what they call us) bars, westerners wander about aimlessly fingering postcards and negotiating tours. The rest of the town is still buzzing with normal life and everyone is friendly. It is calm, cool and breezy after Bangkok and my dirty feet (the dirt is a permanent feature I discovered when I tried to scrub) don't seem to matter so much here.
Tomorrow I shall hop on a bus to Pai, another chilled out destination perfect for less crowded mountain trekking and a bit of a hippy hang-out. Then I have 3 weeks to get myself to Phnom Penh and I shall strike away from the tourist trail and plunge into North Eastern Thailand, follow the Mekong River down through Thailand and Laos and hopefully be in Cambodia by April! Can't wait to get going.
Today, on a whim, I hired a bike and am enjoying a touch of moderate exercise and exploring the little backstreets of the old town.
More when I'm on the road again! x
"No. Well, in Thailand, yes."
"Let me give you a little tip: You can use the normal toilet!" Ah! 3 weeks in India and I unquestioningly accept a hole in the ground as standard. Even rigid laws of personal hygiene begin to slip over there: Shower? But I had one yesterday... Thailand brought me sharply up to standard again, my grubby feet and tent-like clothes suddenly seemed very unfitting as I watched the immaculate, glamorous Thai girls sashay passed me. Time for a re-think of wardrobe and cleanliness!
Jerry was a very dedicated guide and I explored shiny shiny malls and visited the Royal Palace and Wat Phra Kaew - an orgy of glittering mirrors, coloured glass and gold. All stifling in the airless Bangkok heat which seems to hover breathless over all the central tourist attractions and Khao San Road, seemingly punishing tourists for being unimaginative. I also explored some of the cool backwaters through canals to where the houses are on stilts and little wooden shacked restaurants twinkle fairy lights over the breezy water. A welcome relief!
No trip to Bangkok could be seen as thorough without at least a glimpse of the Red Light District. Mum and Dad might disagree with me here... However I went and peeked and had the whole system explained to me:
I am told that a true connoisseur of the Sex Tourist Industry has a knowledge of the farming calender. When the rice has been harvested and work on the farms dries up, there is an influx of 'fresh meat' straight from the villages flooding into Bangkok. The law states that Prostitution is illegal UNLESS you are suffering from 'economic hardship.' A fairly large loop hole.
Sooooo, you go to a bar, chose one you like and pay a small fee to remove her. The indelicate question of her fee only becomes an issue when say, her rent is due, or she is hungry. Apparently what the girls really want is security, someone to look after them. And they repay in kind. This is what I'm told anyway, I wasn't about to test the theory. Clearly, to me, the whole thing is a bit gross.
On Sunday afternoon I boarded a slick train that swept me up north to Chang Mai, a cultural haven of massage schools, language, schools and Thai cooking classes, as well as a jumping off point for mountain trekking, white water rafting, elelphant rides and the Golden Triangle (yes, another one).
The town has a nice feel to it. The walled town itself is mainly populated with guide shops, Internet cafes and 'farang' (that's what they call us) bars, westerners wander about aimlessly fingering postcards and negotiating tours. The rest of the town is still buzzing with normal life and everyone is friendly. It is calm, cool and breezy after Bangkok and my dirty feet (the dirt is a permanent feature I discovered when I tried to scrub) don't seem to matter so much here.
Tomorrow I shall hop on a bus to Pai, another chilled out destination perfect for less crowded mountain trekking and a bit of a hippy hang-out. Then I have 3 weeks to get myself to Phnom Penh and I shall strike away from the tourist trail and plunge into North Eastern Thailand, follow the Mekong River down through Thailand and Laos and hopefully be in Cambodia by April! Can't wait to get going.
Today, on a whim, I hired a bike and am enjoying a touch of moderate exercise and exploring the little backstreets of the old town.
More when I'm on the road again! x
Thursday, March 08, 2007
I entered a different world as soon as I stepped from the hot, stagnant immigration and security of Delhi airport, onto the Thai Airways flight that was piping out soothing music and smells of Thai cooking.
Our seamless flight drew to a close with hot towels and a bump-free landing. I floated through a shiny, clean airport and passed through smiling immigration, to a taxi that noiselessly (no horns!) glided to Jerry's condo. Smooth roads with express ways and flyovers, massive extension bridges and smart high rises. Wow, quite a contrast!
Alice - Thank you for putting me in contact with Jerry, he has been so generous.
I spent the day being shown around Bangkok. Slick and highly polished shopping malls with sterile and efficient food courts, sky line, metro, buses, river ferries... A well oiled infrastructure.
We visited Wat Pho, still a functioning monastery and the largest and oldest in Bangkok, dating from the C16th. It houses the giant Reclining Buddha, feet encrusted with mother of pearl. The temples sparkle with gold, mirrors and coloured porcelain and the monastery contains the largest collection of golden Buddhas in the country. It is a far cry from the chaste symmetry of the Taj!
The Wot has a famous massage school. Strange that massage should go so closely with spiritual enlightenment. Surly it is an indulgence of the flesh? Buddhism holds many mysteries for me as yet...
For a country that has suffered such a sever economic crash in 1997 and has a passion for political coups, Thailand seems very much on its way up. It has welcomed Westernisation, but on its own terms, and has managed to escape the colonial bashing its neighbours have received.
It is an independent country that speedily payed off its 1997 US loan, giving it freedom and room for regrowth. Now tower blocks containing marble floored condos are springing up along the river and the city is a buzz of life. Elegantly dressed young people hurry around plugged into ipods and there is no obvious sign of the squalor of crippling poverty that is so visible everywhere in India.
Farming is still a huge industry for the Thais, occupying most of the North East. Perhaps the fruitfulness of the rural areas prevents them from limping into the towns.
But there is still an underlying corruption in the political system, with the 'Democratic' candidate rigging the election (hence the September coup).
There it is, my 1st impressions of Thailand. I reserve the right to retract any of my statements in due course...
But now, the sun is shining, a warm, soupy breeze is blowing up from the Chao Phya River and I have some exploring to do! x
Our seamless flight drew to a close with hot towels and a bump-free landing. I floated through a shiny, clean airport and passed through smiling immigration, to a taxi that noiselessly (no horns!) glided to Jerry's condo. Smooth roads with express ways and flyovers, massive extension bridges and smart high rises. Wow, quite a contrast!
Alice - Thank you for putting me in contact with Jerry, he has been so generous.
I spent the day being shown around Bangkok. Slick and highly polished shopping malls with sterile and efficient food courts, sky line, metro, buses, river ferries... A well oiled infrastructure.
We visited Wat Pho, still a functioning monastery and the largest and oldest in Bangkok, dating from the C16th. It houses the giant Reclining Buddha, feet encrusted with mother of pearl. The temples sparkle with gold, mirrors and coloured porcelain and the monastery contains the largest collection of golden Buddhas in the country. It is a far cry from the chaste symmetry of the Taj!
The Wot has a famous massage school. Strange that massage should go so closely with spiritual enlightenment. Surly it is an indulgence of the flesh? Buddhism holds many mysteries for me as yet...
For a country that has suffered such a sever economic crash in 1997 and has a passion for political coups, Thailand seems very much on its way up. It has welcomed Westernisation, but on its own terms, and has managed to escape the colonial bashing its neighbours have received.
It is an independent country that speedily payed off its 1997 US loan, giving it freedom and room for regrowth. Now tower blocks containing marble floored condos are springing up along the river and the city is a buzz of life. Elegantly dressed young people hurry around plugged into ipods and there is no obvious sign of the squalor of crippling poverty that is so visible everywhere in India.
Farming is still a huge industry for the Thais, occupying most of the North East. Perhaps the fruitfulness of the rural areas prevents them from limping into the towns.
But there is still an underlying corruption in the political system, with the 'Democratic' candidate rigging the election (hence the September coup).
There it is, my 1st impressions of Thailand. I reserve the right to retract any of my statements in due course...
But now, the sun is shining, a warm, soupy breeze is blowing up from the Chao Phya River and I have some exploring to do! x
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
An India synoptic:
3 weeks and I have literally dipped my finger in
and taken the tiniest dab of what's available. The entire South of the
country lies untouched and I am told that to visit India and not seeMumbai
, Goa, travel up to Nepal or Pakistan or see the Punjab are nothing
short of crimes. But this is always the problem with everywhere you go.
A lifetime isn't enough.
One term that I found used in reference to India was Freedom. On one of my first nights in Delhi, Kartik
and I sat discussing foreign affairs and Western politics. We were
talking about Britain's slide towards police state measures: ID cards,
CCTV and the rest.Kartik said "In India there is none of this. No one sees, no one cares, only in a developing country can you be free."
In
a sense he is right. The black and white of rules are surrounded on all
sides by large areas of grey, there is very little that some hefty
influence and cash-in-hand won't get you. But that is key. Money.
Careering around Delhi atHoli with Kartik and his friends was total freedom and abandonment. No one was going to stop us, the town was theirs.
Yesterday I met a girl of my age who worked in a shop. On hearing that I was travelling alone she said:
"You
are so lucky! You have so much freedom, the freedom to travel, on your
own! I would never be allowed to do such a thing. In India women are
not free. Perhaps if I marry a man who travels I will get to do so."
India
might mean freedom but it is expensive. The cast system is still firmly
in place. People are still shackled to servitude while others rise
higher and get richer. After a while you numb a little to the extreme
poverty that surrounds you. There are the children with young faces but
old eyes who tug at your sleeve as you sit in an auto at traffic
lights, gesturing to their mouths and groaning Or worse
those, approach you dressed forlornly
as a grubby clown, crude moustache painted on their lip, mechanically
going through their act, wobbling their heads, doing handstands while
their mother beats a drum. This is not freedom.
But India is a
developing country and a wonderful one for being so. It is on a brink,
it seems alive with anticipation and I can't wait to return. I have
been infected by the India bug. For all itsdisfunctionalities and horrific poverty it is impossible not to love it. The colours, the smells, the tastes, all senses are propelled into
overdrive. And of course the people, so polite, so generous and gracious (I speak generally).
Safe to say, I'm a convert and will be coming back for more. I am intrigued...
3 weeks and I have literally dipped my finger in
and taken the tiniest dab of what's available. The entire South of the
country lies untouched and I am told that to visit India and not seeMumbai
, Goa, travel up to Nepal or Pakistan or see the Punjab are nothing
short of crimes. But this is always the problem with everywhere you go.
A lifetime isn't enough.
One term that I found used in reference to India was Freedom. On one of my first nights in Delhi, Kartik
and I sat discussing foreign affairs and Western politics. We were
talking about Britain's slide towards police state measures: ID cards,
CCTV and the rest.Kartik said "In India there is none of this. No one sees, no one cares, only in a developing country can you be free."
In
a sense he is right. The black and white of rules are surrounded on all
sides by large areas of grey, there is very little that some hefty
influence and cash-in-hand won't get you. But that is key. Money.
Careering around Delhi atHoli with Kartik and his friends was total freedom and abandonment. No one was going to stop us, the town was theirs.
Yesterday I met a girl of my age who worked in a shop. On hearing that I was travelling alone she said:
"You
are so lucky! You have so much freedom, the freedom to travel, on your
own! I would never be allowed to do such a thing. In India women are
not free. Perhaps if I marry a man who travels I will get to do so."
India
might mean freedom but it is expensive. The cast system is still firmly
in place. People are still shackled to servitude while others rise
higher and get richer. After a while you numb a little to the extreme
poverty that surrounds you. There are the children with young faces but
old eyes who tug at your sleeve as you sit in an auto at traffic
lights, gesturing to their mouths and groaning Or worse
those, approach you dressed forlornly
as a grubby clown, crude moustache painted on their lip, mechanically
going through their act, wobbling their heads, doing handstands while
their mother beats a drum. This is not freedom.
But India is a
developing country and a wonderful one for being so. It is on a brink,
it seems alive with anticipation and I can't wait to return. I have
been infected by the India bug. For all itsdisfunctionalities and horrific poverty it is impossible not to love it. The colours, the smells, the tastes, all senses are propelled into
overdrive. And of course the people, so polite, so generous and gracious (I speak generally).
Safe to say, I'm a convert and will be coming back for more. I am intrigued...
For the record I would like to point out that it was not entirely my
fault that I was wondering around Agra at 11 at night with nowhere to
stay and wondering if anyone was going to offer me a stable. Blame the
dodgy area codes for not connecting me to any hostel in Agra before I
left...
But whoever's fault it was, it was a situation with which I was not entirely comfortable. Finally, third time lucky, my adrenaline increasing with every "No sorry madame, no room tonight", (only too aware of how vulnerable I appeared to the hordes of youths loitering by roadside shacks eyeing my progression up the road) I stumbled across a scruffy little place and found an old bearded man sitting at the
reception who was liberally wrapped in blankets and appeared to be
meditating.
"Excuse me, do you have a room?" His wickedly twinklilng eyes fixed on me and he giggled.
"Yes my dear! Of course! 1 million dollars! Hee hee hee. Come this way, come this way..." and he sprang up some steps like a mountain goat and disappeared.
He hopped about turning on lights, chuckling to himself. Exhausted I followed him, agreed to pay 200 rupees for a grubby room and fell thankfully into bed, happy to have one.
My alarm went off at 5.15am and I walked the two minutes down the road to that which I had come to see: The Taj Mahal.
It is always a funny feeling stumbling across something you have seen reproduced so much, like coming across the original of a favorite print, stepping into the postcard. What can I say? It is beautiful. As you all know, it stands at the end of long stretch of water which, on a good day will cast reflections of the monument. But it is wonderful to see it in the flesh! I skirted round the babble of tourists, all primed ready for the money shot (Taj at first light of dawn) and made my to the other side where it was completely deserted and watched the sunrise over the River Yamuna and cast pinkish golden rays over the marble, fleshing out the walls with long shadows.
A deeply romantic place, built by Shah Jehan as a mausoleum for his beloved second wife.
As I left, the hoards of tourists where streaming in. Go before 8am!
I then took an auto to Fatehpur Sikri,an hour out of Agra. Ambitiously built Akbar in 1572, over 14 years, it is a beautiful ghost town the middle the desert. Perhaps predictably, there was a sever water shortage and the site was abandoned shortly
after Akbar's death.
Being a shrewd and diplomatic sort of fellow he took wives from all the major religions, Hindu, Mulim and Christian. His alliances proved very useful and he became powerful. You can see, in the architecture of the place how he has combined Hindu and Muslim ideas, the whole place is a celebration of fusion.
And then back into Agra, with my trusty auto driver, and on to the Agra Fort.
It was Akbar who made the Agra Fort a focal point for Mughal power and it became the capital of the empire. Although originally built to withstand invasion, the aesthetically minded Shah Jehan replaced some of the inner sandstone palaces with pretty white marble, similar
to those in the Red Fort in Delhi. Again, the Brits arrived and built more bloody barracks...
Shah Jehan was later imprisoned here by his fanatical and sadistic son Aurangzeb - You know, the one who cut off his brother's head and posted it to his father for dinner...
As I wandered around I came across a group of tourists, hushingly pointing out two monkeys, a mother and a baby, nestled under a sandstone colomn. As we reverently tiptoed round her taking photos, she suddenly looked straight at me and charged. I had forgotten that I had, strapped to my bag, a plastic bag full of oranges, biscuits and, most importantly, bananas. There was an explosion of crumbs and fruit peel and monkeys descended from every corner, much to the delight of the other tourists, and they devoured my lunch! Humph.
Hungry, I made my way to the quiet, smart oasis of Avil Vilas, a very posh hotel, ordered a kingfisher by the pool and gobbled their peanuts before catching the train back to Delhi.
fault that I was wondering around Agra at 11 at night with nowhere to
stay and wondering if anyone was going to offer me a stable. Blame the
dodgy area codes for not connecting me to any hostel in Agra before I
left...
But whoever's fault it was, it was a situation with which I was not entirely comfortable. Finally, third time lucky, my adrenaline increasing with every "No sorry madame, no room tonight", (only too aware of how vulnerable I appeared to the hordes of youths loitering by roadside shacks eyeing my progression up the road) I stumbled across a scruffy little place and found an old bearded man sitting at the
reception who was liberally wrapped in blankets and appeared to be
meditating.
"Excuse me, do you have a room?" His wickedly twinklilng eyes fixed on me and he giggled.
"Yes my dear! Of course! 1 million dollars! Hee hee hee. Come this way, come this way..." and he sprang up some steps like a mountain goat and disappeared.
He hopped about turning on lights, chuckling to himself. Exhausted I followed him, agreed to pay 200 rupees for a grubby room and fell thankfully into bed, happy to have one.
My alarm went off at 5.15am and I walked the two minutes down the road to that which I had come to see: The Taj Mahal.
It is always a funny feeling stumbling across something you have seen reproduced so much, like coming across the original of a favorite print, stepping into the postcard. What can I say? It is beautiful. As you all know, it stands at the end of long stretch of water which, on a good day will cast reflections of the monument. But it is wonderful to see it in the flesh! I skirted round the babble of tourists, all primed ready for the money shot (Taj at first light of dawn) and made my to the other side where it was completely deserted and watched the sunrise over the River Yamuna and cast pinkish golden rays over the marble, fleshing out the walls with long shadows.
A deeply romantic place, built by Shah Jehan as a mausoleum for his beloved second wife.
As I left, the hoards of tourists where streaming in. Go before 8am!
I then took an auto to Fatehpur Sikri,an hour out of Agra. Ambitiously built Akbar in 1572, over 14 years, it is a beautiful ghost town the middle the desert. Perhaps predictably, there was a sever water shortage and the site was abandoned shortly
after Akbar's death.
Being a shrewd and diplomatic sort of fellow he took wives from all the major religions, Hindu, Mulim and Christian. His alliances proved very useful and he became powerful. You can see, in the architecture of the place how he has combined Hindu and Muslim ideas, the whole place is a celebration of fusion.
And then back into Agra, with my trusty auto driver, and on to the Agra Fort.
It was Akbar who made the Agra Fort a focal point for Mughal power and it became the capital of the empire. Although originally built to withstand invasion, the aesthetically minded Shah Jehan replaced some of the inner sandstone palaces with pretty white marble, similar
to those in the Red Fort in Delhi. Again, the Brits arrived and built more bloody barracks...
Shah Jehan was later imprisoned here by his fanatical and sadistic son Aurangzeb - You know, the one who cut off his brother's head and posted it to his father for dinner...
As I wandered around I came across a group of tourists, hushingly pointing out two monkeys, a mother and a baby, nestled under a sandstone colomn. As we reverently tiptoed round her taking photos, she suddenly looked straight at me and charged. I had forgotten that I had, strapped to my bag, a plastic bag full of oranges, biscuits and, most importantly, bananas. There was an explosion of crumbs and fruit peel and monkeys descended from every corner, much to the delight of the other tourists, and they devoured my lunch! Humph.
Hungry, I made my way to the quiet, smart oasis of Avil Vilas, a very posh hotel, ordered a kingfisher by the pool and gobbled their peanuts before catching the train back to Delhi.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Holi: The 'colour festival' and India's answer to Christmas. It is celebrated on Phalgun Purnima which comes in February end or early March so my timing was pretty spot on.
The festival is a celebration of Good triumphing over Evil but, like western religions, combines itself with a seasonal mile stone, being the official start of summer and time for the harvest.
Tourists are warned that, if not invited to a Holi festival party, they do well to steer clear. Not only will they find themselves covered in paint, water and coloured powder but it is the time of year where those who are not accustomed to drinking really hit the bottle and the results can be a little disagreeable, especially for
women.
The celebrations started yesterday. Feeling fragile from my travels (and a party on Friday night) I staggered out to the shop to buy some bread. A little boy came running out of a house, gave me a big winning smile and poured a jug of water over me. Waterballoons rained down on all sides as I ran the gauntlet and I returned to the house gasping "Do NOT go out there!"
The flat was more than prepare though and the rest of the day had everyone
filling balloons with water and hurling them at people from the roof. At one point the entire street was engaged in warfare.
Today is the was the real thing though and by 10am there were children out on the
streets painted pink, green and blue. I was told that if you grease yourself up with coconut oil you could save your skin from permanent colouring but seeing as I seem to resemble that girl Violet who was turned into a blueberry in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' yes, even after a shower, I remain skeptical. Really I was just basting myself.
Kartik and I joined friends and started to 'play Holi' at about midday. By 5.00 we had visited several different houses, I'd had 3 buckets of coloured water emptied over me. "Your skin is too pale, it needs some colour!" and we'd driven around Delhi at top speed swigging whiskey, dancing to Punjabi Rap music and honestly believing ourselvesto be invincible. Better told afterwards hu?
Delhi was ablaze with colour, even the man in the motorway toll booth had a pink face and people whooped by in cars joyfully blaring horns at each other. Girls and boys peered at each other from behind their wheels flexing their muscles, fluttering their eye lashes, reaching for the umpteenth cigarette, cranking up the Bangra and careering off to the next party singing all the way.
The rest of the flat have just returned from another party rainbowed and exuberant.
My niggling exhaustion has been allowed to return to me now and I am stealing myself for my trip to Agra tomorrow evening. Sleep!
The festival is a celebration of Good triumphing over Evil but, like western religions, combines itself with a seasonal mile stone, being the official start of summer and time for the harvest.
Tourists are warned that, if not invited to a Holi festival party, they do well to steer clear. Not only will they find themselves covered in paint, water and coloured powder but it is the time of year where those who are not accustomed to drinking really hit the bottle and the results can be a little disagreeable, especially for
women.
The celebrations started yesterday. Feeling fragile from my travels (and a party on Friday night) I staggered out to the shop to buy some bread. A little boy came running out of a house, gave me a big winning smile and poured a jug of water over me. Waterballoons rained down on all sides as I ran the gauntlet and I returned to the house gasping "Do NOT go out there!"
The flat was more than prepare though and the rest of the day had everyone
filling balloons with water and hurling them at people from the roof. At one point the entire street was engaged in warfare.
Today is the was the real thing though and by 10am there were children out on the
streets painted pink, green and blue. I was told that if you grease yourself up with coconut oil you could save your skin from permanent colouring but seeing as I seem to resemble that girl Violet who was turned into a blueberry in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' yes, even after a shower, I remain skeptical. Really I was just basting myself.
Kartik and I joined friends and started to 'play Holi' at about midday. By 5.00 we had visited several different houses, I'd had 3 buckets of coloured water emptied over me. "Your skin is too pale, it needs some colour!" and we'd driven around Delhi at top speed swigging whiskey, dancing to Punjabi Rap music and honestly believing ourselvesto be invincible. Better told afterwards hu?
Delhi was ablaze with colour, even the man in the motorway toll booth had a pink face and people whooped by in cars joyfully blaring horns at each other. Girls and boys peered at each other from behind their wheels flexing their muscles, fluttering their eye lashes, reaching for the umpteenth cigarette, cranking up the Bangra and careering off to the next party singing all the way.
The rest of the flat have just returned from another party rainbowed and exuberant.
My niggling exhaustion has been allowed to return to me now and I am stealing myself for my trip to Agra tomorrow evening. Sleep!
Thursday, March 01, 2007
"Madam, next time you leave the bus, I shall escort you?" It was some time after midnight and I was wandering around a sort of no man's land bus resting stop, bleery and sleepy. I had taken the opportunity of nipping to the loo before the bus rattled off into the night for the next 8 hours. But in my half-awake state I forgot to note which bus I was on. A young Indian guy with an ambitious attempt at at moustache had to lead me back. I found myself standing in the mud, in my pjs, discussing Armani (he was a fashion student). It all seems like a bit of a dream.
I slept walked to my guest house and sat in the half opened restaurant as the grey damp morning, dripping off the tables and chairs, was replaced by a solemn stream of semi-conscious travelers silent and grim in the early morning. Once my room was ready I leapt into action, showered and headed straight out to the Amber Fort.
Perhaps riding an elephant is preferable to being sprayed by one and dancing in between the feet, nose and tail as one by one they made their stately procession up the hill to the Fort bouncing red faced tourists on their backs.
The Amber Fort was established by the industrious Jai Singh II (1688-1744). The success of Jaipur was due to its willingness to form alliances with superior forces, first the Mughals and then the British, always backing the right horse. Perhaps more practical than those at the other forts for whom 'Death before Dishonor' was absolute. As a result it was was given the title of Capital of Rajasthan when the state was formed after Independence.
My exploration of the fort was cut short by the consistent presence of a very persistent young guy who attached himself to me as I entered and would not go away. My memory therefore is a kind of cat and mouse game we played in and out of the labyrinthine zenana, where the majharaja kept his hareem. Finally I admitted defeat and dejectedly went 'to ground' in an auto bound for the City Palace.
Exhausted by this time - still no sleep - I wandered, got lost in the bazaar, broke free of the heckling and retreated to the hostel tail between my legs.
Met up with some other europeans also sheltering in the cool shade of the garden and managed to find somewhere that sold beer...
After the peace of western Rajasthan, it was all a bit too much!
Off tomorrow back to Delhi, although even more chaotic, it will be like coming home...
I slept walked to my guest house and sat in the half opened restaurant as the grey damp morning, dripping off the tables and chairs, was replaced by a solemn stream of semi-conscious travelers silent and grim in the early morning. Once my room was ready I leapt into action, showered and headed straight out to the Amber Fort.
Perhaps riding an elephant is preferable to being sprayed by one and dancing in between the feet, nose and tail as one by one they made their stately procession up the hill to the Fort bouncing red faced tourists on their backs.
The Amber Fort was established by the industrious Jai Singh II (1688-1744). The success of Jaipur was due to its willingness to form alliances with superior forces, first the Mughals and then the British, always backing the right horse. Perhaps more practical than those at the other forts for whom 'Death before Dishonor' was absolute. As a result it was was given the title of Capital of Rajasthan when the state was formed after Independence.
My exploration of the fort was cut short by the consistent presence of a very persistent young guy who attached himself to me as I entered and would not go away. My memory therefore is a kind of cat and mouse game we played in and out of the labyrinthine zenana, where the majharaja kept his hareem. Finally I admitted defeat and dejectedly went 'to ground' in an auto bound for the City Palace.
Exhausted by this time - still no sleep - I wandered, got lost in the bazaar, broke free of the heckling and retreated to the hostel tail between my legs.
Met up with some other europeans also sheltering in the cool shade of the garden and managed to find somewhere that sold beer...
After the peace of western Rajasthan, it was all a bit too much!
Off tomorrow back to Delhi, although even more chaotic, it will be like coming home...
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