Dearest followers! Let me begin by offering my (our) sincerest apologies. It has been brought to my attention, that which we knew already really - that we have been neglecting you! Oh laziest of beach-bum travellers we have become. While we have been basking under a hot sun, moving from one beach-side paradise to another, taking in the best, the worst and everything else in between of the incredible sub-continent, you have been suffering; plunged deep into a north European winter, bereft of knowledge of the whereabouts or activities of your two favourite backpackers and the ray of sunshine their updates bring into your lives. Why, I cannot really say. I (we) can only apologise again and endeavour to do better. Here’s a little something to plug the gap...
We have been in India for almost one-and-a-half months now, in fact as I write this we are on our way out. We arrived in Delhi on December 2 and quickly learnt a valuable lesson – never agree to anything on an empty stomach especially when you are tired or jet lagged; and with that under our belts we set off on a whistle-stop, 10-day, 4-city, 1 national park, private-driver tour of Rajasthan. Our driver ‘Lucky’ (depending on your point of view) skilfully (but, we realised, quite slowly ‘to get the mileage’) negotiated man, motor and beast, ferrying us from site to site ¬¬(even letting me drive) around the kingdom of the Maharajas. Of the cities we visited Udaipur was probably the nicest, the town dominated by an artificial lake created at the whim of one of the previous rulers. The lake and island palaces (the setting for the James Bond film Octopussy) provide magnificent rooftop-restaurant views and a serene, romantic escape from the intense sensory assault that is characteristic of northern India. Rajasthan is, as billed, a vibrant and colourful place; women wear reds, oranges, greens of the brightest hue, the trucks on the road could be entered into the Notting Hill carnival, and entire cities are painted blue or pink. Equally intense is the olfactory assault that one is continually subjected to: open sewers, rivers of animal shit, people defecating in the narrow lanes, throwing their waste in the street, left for the cows, buffalo and goats to feed on; not to mention the abject poverty in which people live. Contrast this with the majesty of the Taj Mahal (even on a hefty gin hangover, not as early as you intended, and full of people) and you wonder what how all this can co-exist.
Saying goodbye to Lucky in Agra we took our first overnight train journey (first class) to the holy city of Varanasi, where we had our first anti-India attack. Staying in the oldest part of perhaps the oldest city in the world, we started to wonder what we were doing there, unable to get the stench of human and animal effluent out of our nostrils or move freely in the already very narrow medieval lanes and alleys for cows and buffalo. Looking for relief, we took a rowing boat at dawn out on the Ganga, one of the best ways to witness the morning bathing and swimming activities of the locals, which left us feeling a bit voyeuristic as we butted in on peoples’ bath time. What left a greater impression on us though was finding the blue, bloated corpse of a new-born child floating in the river. While we witnessed and undoubtedly breathed in the ashes of countless cremations taking place riverside, complete with stray arms/legs sticking out of the funeral pyres, without too much thought, seeing a child’s body abandoned to the water like that put us in contemplative moods. We cured ourselves by finding new digs further removed from the action, found refuge among the Buddhists in Sarnath and eventually moved on to Kolkata.
Ironically, the city that spawned the famous ‘black hole’ provided a refreshing change of scene. A modern commercial centre where you can get hold of ok European-style coffee, we enjoyed hanging out in the large British designed parks around the Victoria monument, had a laugh at the almost incomprehensible show at the planetarium (do the Indians have different constellations, or did they just make them up?) and went to watch Avatar at the local multiplex. You can take the boy out of the city...
Next we hopped down to Chennai and spent a couple of days at Mamalapuram (I claim artistic licence over spelling). Chennai doesn’t have much to offer and actually neither does Mamalapuram, apart from the fact that you are at the beach and not in Chennai – but we had finally made it to the beach! We paddled in the strong currents of the Indian ocean and strolled fairly deserted Indian-clean beaches, hoping that the turtles washed up on the beaches would not be the only ones we saw. But all this proved merely the poor hors d’oeuvre to a spectacular main course, making us wonder why we didn’t just go straight there in the first place.
On xmas eve, after an arduous journey involving a bus, a tuk-tuk (finally losing my rag at the driver who ripped us off – never trust a stationary rickshaw driver) a plane, a boat and a taxi, we finally arrived at the place that made everything seem alright – the Andaman Islands. I am actually a bit loathed to spill the beans about this place. I want to say it is a shit-ridden filth hole, full of low-life scummers, bad food, an island set adrift on a toxic sea. But it is not. It is perhaps the most perfect holiday destination I can imagine: crystal clear waters of blue and green shades lap deserted, pristine, wild beaches of fine white sand. The food is great, the people are honest, the police ineffective, and you get to ride around on mopeds drunk. The snorkelling is so good you do not really need to go diving; we saw umpteen different types of fish and even turtles swimming among the kaleidoscopic coral. Other than that, there is very little to do than string up a hammock and listen to the sound of the waves lapping the shore as you nod slowly off to sleep.... New Year’s Eve came round and we managed to purloin some very cheap whiskey, despite it being the official holiday for the only legal booze shop on Havelock Island. We spent the night cruising the strip for parties and saw in 2010 on the beach (where else?).
Very reluctantly we left the Andaman Islands. Flights were pre-booked and had to be met, but we were gutted when we realised that we would have to spend a night on the main Andaman island, Port Blair, in order to catch our flight back to the mainland. While nothing like mainland India, it was still a harsh reality check to step out of the airport to traffic and horns and normal life. We skipped through Chennai (making another visit to the cinema this time to see a crap American film made far more interesting by the reactions of the Indian audience – complete with booing the bad guy, cheering the best lines and laughing at jokes that weren’t) and caught the train for Bangalore. This time we fully discovered the delights of Indian train food – relatively high quality and dirt cheap, so i filled my boots for about 5 hours. Bangalore was just another quick stop as we waited for an overnight train to the small northern Karnataka ‘city’ of Hublis. It has to be said that this train journey was the worst ever, such that I was almost motivated to write about it, but got overtaken by events...
Friday, 22 January 2010
Friday, 4 December 2009
Blowing horns in Incredible India
Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen: your favourite heroes (finally) made it to...INDIA!!
We arrived in Delhi very early the morning of the second of December (I will now light a candle on this date every year) and after a quick nap we left the hotel armed with a small hindi vocabulary ("no thanks", "no" and "thanks") and still sleepy/jetlagged/confused/amazed and the like. As soon as we try to consult THE book (for the pagans: the lonely planet guide), a very nice man approaches us and advises us to go to the Tourist Information Centre. And so we find ourselves, as guided by a power bigger than ourselves, in a Tuc-Tuc in the middle of Delhi's traffic, and it is here that we have a glimpse of what we will recognise later on as a complete new set of rules in terms of driving.
Our visit to the Tourist office, which was supposed to provide us with some vague information about the city, restaurants, ways to travel through india, etc., made instead sure that we would leave for Rajastan the day after with a full package far ten days (and then booked trains and flights for later on till christmas). We are still pazzled about how exactly that happened, and we also read that Indian people can be pushy, but still...I remember getting angry and trying to stop the inevitable process, not wanting to take out my card...i sincerely don't know! The sure thing is that the morning of the 3rd our personal driver Lucky was waiting for us outside the hotel and we left for Rajastan!
Thursday, 3 December 2009
Leeds is nothing like Lebanon
Hey, sorry for the radio silence, but we have been charging round northern India (actually fairly slowly) but have been disinclined to blog while we absorb the sub-continent madness. But just to polish off the ME while it is still fresh(ish) in my mind...
After crossing the border with Syria we travelled to Baalbek in the beautiful Bekaa valley, Lebanon's wine growing region. As well as housing perhaps the most impressive set of Roman/Greek ruins in the ME, the area is also famous for being the home of Hezbollah. The first impression of Lebanon we got was of tanks, heavily armed soldiers and checkpoints. That remains throughout a lot of the country, particularly in Beirut where you have to be careful where you point your camera. Lebanon is very different from Syria. There is tight security, but people are free to speak their minds and exercise democratic choice. From architecture to language, there is a heavy French influence in Lebanon, with which much of the Christian population associates so as to distinguish itself from the Arabic culture, so it was refreshing for us to be able to communicate beyond our usual (pitiful) attempts in Arabic.
In stark contrast to the close security pressures of the country, the people we met were open, generous and extremely hospitable. We were lucky enough to be taken in by one such family when we found ourselves unexpectedly spending a night in a town called Zahle on our way to Beirut. An enquiry as the whereabouts of somewhere for lunch turned into us spending 2 nights with the Bilezikjian family on our way into and out of the capital. Generous to a fault, we really enjoyed being able to talk to Joelle and family beyond our usual bar-room conversations. We were made to feel very much at home and part of the family for the duration of our brief visit.
We went on to visit Laura down in Saida in Southern Lebanon and spent a few nights in Beirut. The streets of Beirut throb to the sound of techno and house music, packed in the evenings with young people out to enjoy themselves in a very hedonistic euro-style party. In the end, we were left with the impression of a country under a false calm. People told us of their fear of resumption of war with Israel, and in Beirut you gain a sense of the fragility of the peace that exists. But the people of Lebanon do not seem willing to succumb to the threats of violence and go about their lives determined to make the most of their circumstances, enjoying the lifestyle of a unique corner of the region.
After crossing the border with Syria we travelled to Baalbek in the beautiful Bekaa valley, Lebanon's wine growing region. As well as housing perhaps the most impressive set of Roman/Greek ruins in the ME, the area is also famous for being the home of Hezbollah. The first impression of Lebanon we got was of tanks, heavily armed soldiers and checkpoints. That remains throughout a lot of the country, particularly in Beirut where you have to be careful where you point your camera. Lebanon is very different from Syria. There is tight security, but people are free to speak their minds and exercise democratic choice. From architecture to language, there is a heavy French influence in Lebanon, with which much of the Christian population associates so as to distinguish itself from the Arabic culture, so it was refreshing for us to be able to communicate beyond our usual (pitiful) attempts in Arabic.
In stark contrast to the close security pressures of the country, the people we met were open, generous and extremely hospitable. We were lucky enough to be taken in by one such family when we found ourselves unexpectedly spending a night in a town called Zahle on our way to Beirut. An enquiry as the whereabouts of somewhere for lunch turned into us spending 2 nights with the Bilezikjian family on our way into and out of the capital. Generous to a fault, we really enjoyed being able to talk to Joelle and family beyond our usual bar-room conversations. We were made to feel very much at home and part of the family for the duration of our brief visit.
We went on to visit Laura down in Saida in Southern Lebanon and spent a few nights in Beirut. The streets of Beirut throb to the sound of techno and house music, packed in the evenings with young people out to enjoy themselves in a very hedonistic euro-style party. In the end, we were left with the impression of a country under a false calm. People told us of their fear of resumption of war with Israel, and in Beirut you gain a sense of the fragility of the peace that exists. But the people of Lebanon do not seem willing to succumb to the threats of violence and go about their lives determined to make the most of their circumstances, enjoying the lifestyle of a unique corner of the region.
Sunday, 29 November 2009
It was the night before xmas, again…
Actually it is, when writing this, because it’s the first day of Eid tomorrow (Friday), but much unlike the Dickensian version, it’s fairly warm and bedlam in the streets. We are in Saida in Southern Lebanon, where we’ve been staying with Laura. Apparently, as it is the first day of a sort of xmas (complete with lights) tomorrow, the streets will be festively awash with the blood of slaughtered lambs – ho ho ho.
As I have been slacking, thought I’d better give a quick update on progress (if any) so far….
We spent three nights in Damascus, in the end in a rather nice hotel as the cheap ones were all full and we decided we deserved it as an antidote to Jordanian hostels and worse Syrian mid-range brothel-type places. Damascus is incredible and has to be seen to be believed but it also gave us a lesson in Middle Eastern profiteering and the need to wise up – as it turns out you can’t always depend on the kindness of strangers. So, armed with the Arabic for 0-10 and the phrase ‘please use the meter’ we moved on to Palmyra out in the desert, East of Damascus.
Palmyra is the best set of Roman ruins in Syria, but we started to tire of looking at blocks of stone in the sand. Palmyra doesn’t have much to recommend itself to the intrepid explorer, despite the best efforts of the Tourist Information Officer, Jameel. Henceforth known as ‘creepy Jameel’, he sermonised to us over a fireside dinner at what turned out to be his restaurant about ‘life with a woman’, how crazy he was before he got married and how he had the insurance policy of getting another wife in the event his first one was sick for a long time. It was when he joked that he would send Paola some Italian porn to her phone that we realized it was time to call it a night.
Two days in Palmyra is a day and a half too long, so we moved on to Lattakia, what turned out to be a very ‘liberal’ (relatively low black-phantom count) laid-back (they sell beer) seaside town. While too cold for a dip in the sea, we hung out with Paola’s friend Laura and very much enjoyed her company. After taking in Salaadin’s castle, we caught the train up the coast and inland to Aleppo. The train set off at 3.30, the sun went down at 4 and we spent the next three hours in darkness interrupted only by the torch light emitted by a strange little man in a yellow jacket, who took a shine to Laura. Well he wasn’t the only one; you could feel the heat of the rioting hormones in the carriage behind us. Paola and I got married on our second day in Jordan, as definitely the easiest answer to the question that comes third in any conversation after, ‘how are you’ and ‘where are you from’. An unmarried foreign woman is considered fair game – accompanied or not. So for the next few days while we travelled with Laura, I took as a second wife. Accepted without question, the men of Syria seemed impressed, and very keen to know what I ate. I decided that steak was the best answer here, being the complete antithesis of the Syrian staple, chick peas, also we had only seen two cows in our whole time in Syria and they looked like they needed improvement in their social standing. I will be following Syrian livestock trends closely.
Aleppo was great, a bit more conservative than Lattakia, but we finally started to get a feel for the unrivalled hospitality that we had been led to expect. We returned South and on to the Crac des Chevaliers, where we spent the night en route to Lebanon.
TBC...
As I have been slacking, thought I’d better give a quick update on progress (if any) so far….
We spent three nights in Damascus, in the end in a rather nice hotel as the cheap ones were all full and we decided we deserved it as an antidote to Jordanian hostels and worse Syrian mid-range brothel-type places. Damascus is incredible and has to be seen to be believed but it also gave us a lesson in Middle Eastern profiteering and the need to wise up – as it turns out you can’t always depend on the kindness of strangers. So, armed with the Arabic for 0-10 and the phrase ‘please use the meter’ we moved on to Palmyra out in the desert, East of Damascus.
Palmyra is the best set of Roman ruins in Syria, but we started to tire of looking at blocks of stone in the sand. Palmyra doesn’t have much to recommend itself to the intrepid explorer, despite the best efforts of the Tourist Information Officer, Jameel. Henceforth known as ‘creepy Jameel’, he sermonised to us over a fireside dinner at what turned out to be his restaurant about ‘life with a woman’, how crazy he was before he got married and how he had the insurance policy of getting another wife in the event his first one was sick for a long time. It was when he joked that he would send Paola some Italian porn to her phone that we realized it was time to call it a night.
Two days in Palmyra is a day and a half too long, so we moved on to Lattakia, what turned out to be a very ‘liberal’ (relatively low black-phantom count) laid-back (they sell beer) seaside town. While too cold for a dip in the sea, we hung out with Paola’s friend Laura and very much enjoyed her company. After taking in Salaadin’s castle, we caught the train up the coast and inland to Aleppo. The train set off at 3.30, the sun went down at 4 and we spent the next three hours in darkness interrupted only by the torch light emitted by a strange little man in a yellow jacket, who took a shine to Laura. Well he wasn’t the only one; you could feel the heat of the rioting hormones in the carriage behind us. Paola and I got married on our second day in Jordan, as definitely the easiest answer to the question that comes third in any conversation after, ‘how are you’ and ‘where are you from’. An unmarried foreign woman is considered fair game – accompanied or not. So for the next few days while we travelled with Laura, I took as a second wife. Accepted without question, the men of Syria seemed impressed, and very keen to know what I ate. I decided that steak was the best answer here, being the complete antithesis of the Syrian staple, chick peas, also we had only seen two cows in our whole time in Syria and they looked like they needed improvement in their social standing. I will be following Syrian livestock trends closely.
Aleppo was great, a bit more conservative than Lattakia, but we finally started to get a feel for the unrivalled hospitality that we had been led to expect. We returned South and on to the Crac des Chevaliers, where we spent the night en route to Lebanon.
TBC...
Friday, 20 November 2009
Syrian Riviera
After two days in Palmyra (we met creepy Jameer, bored ourselves to death and went very annoyed about people trying and managing to rip us off) we pretty much touched the bottom. We even contemplated to leave the Middle East before the set date. BUT.
We arranged to meet Laura (which is living and working as a volunteer in Lebanon since four months) in Lattakia, a 2 million people city on the Mediterranean coast. It's unbelievable how diverse Syria is in terms of landscape and attitude towards us. Here everyone was very open and very nice, even taxi drivers accepted to put on the meter without me having to fight with them carrying a 20kilos rucksack on my back! The city was nothing special, but we managed to have a couple of beers (yes, we are finding it difficult not to drink, even if we became very good) and listened to Laura's stories and experiences. She is working for a palestinian NGO in support of palestinian refugees in Lebanon, but mostly, I was interested in knowing her opinion about the situation of women in the Middle East. We gotta go now...next chapter soon!
We arranged to meet Laura (which is living and working as a volunteer in Lebanon since four months) in Lattakia, a 2 million people city on the Mediterranean coast. It's unbelievable how diverse Syria is in terms of landscape and attitude towards us. Here everyone was very open and very nice, even taxi drivers accepted to put on the meter without me having to fight with them carrying a 20kilos rucksack on my back! The city was nothing special, but we managed to have a couple of beers (yes, we are finding it difficult not to drink, even if we became very good) and listened to Laura's stories and experiences. She is working for a palestinian NGO in support of palestinian refugees in Lebanon, but mostly, I was interested in knowing her opinion about the situation of women in the Middle East. We gotta go now...next chapter soon!
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Confused thoughts
We are in Damascus! We both had the sensation to be in a 'real' city when we arrived, but none of us could actually then describe what that means. The suqs of this city are ancient and run by a frenzy that I now suppose being typical of the whole Middle East world.
We shared a taxi with an Iraqi father and daughter on the way from Amman to Damascus, and she (Rasha) told us their family history and together with it the history of a nation and of the region of the world we are in at the moment. It has been like a punch in the stomach. Some of the things she said about politics and dynamics of relationships between countries in the Middle East have opened up for me a whole new universe of possibilities (unfortunately though, none of them is optimistic).
It took me a while (and a very posh hotel) to recover from yesterday's mosque experience in Damascus. As a woman (not only turists), unless you are already wrapped up in a potato-sack, you not only need to wear decent clothes and cover your head (fair enough), but you have to put on top a sort of blanket and cover your head so as not to show even the smallest portion of hair (some women cover their face COMPLETELY, and I still struggle t understand how they actually see!). To be honest, I think it is a humiliating experience, especially seeing the man counterpart walking around normally without any hassle.
On the other hand, Damascus seems to me to be very liberated, so I haven't really worked out this contrast (will I?). I guess for some reason I thought I could fit in this reality in my cathegories, but I can't, so I'll have togo through the painful process of creating new ones. Or get rid of cathegories all together.
Our main problem here was the fact that, contrary to Jordan, very few people speak English, but after having payed half a kilo of nuts the equivalent of a dinner for two, we are now becoming professional arabic speakers (wishing..!).
We shared a taxi with an Iraqi father and daughter on the way from Amman to Damascus, and she (Rasha) told us their family history and together with it the history of a nation and of the region of the world we are in at the moment. It has been like a punch in the stomach. Some of the things she said about politics and dynamics of relationships between countries in the Middle East have opened up for me a whole new universe of possibilities (unfortunately though, none of them is optimistic).
It took me a while (and a very posh hotel) to recover from yesterday's mosque experience in Damascus. As a woman (not only turists), unless you are already wrapped up in a potato-sack, you not only need to wear decent clothes and cover your head (fair enough), but you have to put on top a sort of blanket and cover your head so as not to show even the smallest portion of hair (some women cover their face COMPLETELY, and I still struggle t understand how they actually see!). To be honest, I think it is a humiliating experience, especially seeing the man counterpart walking around normally without any hassle.
On the other hand, Damascus seems to me to be very liberated, so I haven't really worked out this contrast (will I?). I guess for some reason I thought I could fit in this reality in my cathegories, but I can't, so I'll have togo through the painful process of creating new ones. Or get rid of cathegories all together.
Our main problem here was the fact that, contrary to Jordan, very few people speak English, but after having payed half a kilo of nuts the equivalent of a dinner for two, we are now becoming professional arabic speakers (wishing..!).
Sand castles and shooting stars
We pretty much exhausted Amman after a couple of days, and the dive we managed to book into wasn't endearing itself to us, so we headed South for the desert and the Petra. Entering the ancient site of the lost city you really get a feel what it must have been like for Harrison Ford filming the third Indiana Jones film. Complete with theme tune we had to fend off the postcard hawkers and donkey-ride guys and dodge the merciless horse and cart drivers, carrying their fat american cargoes. That said, it is definitely worth it behold the incredible site of the Treasury (the famous bit) 50 metres high and carved out of the rock face, it is a worldly wonder. The best bit though was prob the hike up to the Monastery and the climb up over it. Once past the ferrel bedouin girl that guarded the mount we watched the sun set over the site while taking tea (and vodka) with Abed, another Bedouin, which provided a good opportunity to actually talk to someone and learn about their culture.
With the taste for desert life, the next stop was Wadi Rum. We toured Lawrence of Arabia country, climbed on it, and spent the night in the desert under the stars. Once fed and entertained by our Bedouin hosts, we decided to brave the great wilderness and lay on our mattresses outside the camp. The night sky was breath-taking and we fell asleep counting shooting stars (i saw more). The moon was a little intrusive, but we managed all the same.
With the taste for desert life, the next stop was Wadi Rum. We toured Lawrence of Arabia country, climbed on it, and spent the night in the desert under the stars. Once fed and entertained by our Bedouin hosts, we decided to brave the great wilderness and lay on our mattresses outside the camp. The night sky was breath-taking and we fell asleep counting shooting stars (i saw more). The moon was a little intrusive, but we managed all the same.
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