Europe has this great system called the Schengen agreement, whereby most people of western countries can hang around in Europe for 90 days each year. We've already been in these Schengen countries for ooohhh 60-odd days, so we have been forced to come to Eastern Europe for the rest of our time before we fly to Canada. Forced might be too harsh a word.
We flew from London to Split, Croatia where half of Europe also seems to go for holidays. Phill was here four years ago, when Croatia was still that exotic place that was a little bit out there. It is now ridiculously accessible, with cheap flights from England, package tours from all over Europe and those inescapable Sail Croatia tours full of amazingly tanned young people.
We decided to do the country by ourselves as our budget (still surprisingly good after six months) still has to stretch another two months. We had three nights in Split, staying with Zoran - private accommodation is the norm, with most houses and apartment blocks with 'rooms/zimmer/sober/camere' signs out the front. A private room with a bathroom cost about $50 for us both, which was cheaper than the youth hostels.
From Split we went north to Zadar, then back down to Primosten and all the way down to Dubrovnik.
We are here smack bang in the middle of school holidays, and who wouldn't want to come to Eastern Europe for some sun? The scenery is lovely, the water crystal clear. Pity about all the people though. And these people - you can smell the skin cancer on them! We would be cowering in the tiny patches of shade provided by the stunted trees around the beach, while people young and old would have all their bits out getting a tan. The constellations of moles on some of these people...I would diagnose skin cancer with no qualms.
Primosten was without a doubt the highlight of Croatia - and not only because a special little boy turned 23. Phill was here four years ago and wanted to come back to spend his birthday here. It's a smaller town away from the main tourist destinations, but still packed with Croatian families having some beach time. The marina had some massive boats (we put a couple on lay by) and the restaurants were pretty good. It's nice to be able to afford a restaurant meal on a marina, looking at ridiculously wealthy people on their boats and yachts.
From Primosten we had a pretty terrible 7-hour bus ride to Dubrovnik. The view was spectacular, following the coast road through little villages with immense views of the archipelago. The air conditioning was shit and the traffic was horrendous, but we got there.
Dubrovnik is an amazing city with loads of history. It was bombed by the Serbians only 20 years ago - people our age would remember, and people older than us fought. The old town is alley after alley, and alley cat after alley cat. The restaurants and bars make for great people watching.
We stayed in private accommodation with the cutest 79-year-old, 5foot nothing lady, who said we were 'super touristic' which I'm sure means cool backpackers in Croatian. We were a 15 minute walk from the old town, and about 5 minutes from the harbour and all the ridiculously big boats, including a mega mega cruise ship. We stayed in DB for four nights, hoping to meet up with some friends also in town. We kept sharp eyes out for them, but the hordes of travellers and tourists blocked our views. We found a delightful cliff side swimming spot with shade cloth 'for locals only' and spent some lovely hours reading and diving in the crystal clear water under the sheer cliffs.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Travel by numbers.
Six months =
- 16 countries (Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, China, Mongolia, Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Sweden, Germany, Spain, France, England, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro)
- 11 capital cities (Jakarta, Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Beijing, Ulaanbaatar, Moscow, Riga, Stockholm, Berlin, Madrid, London)
- 8 modes of transport (Plane, bus, train, ferry, car, boat, bike, camel, horse)
- 6 flights
- 3 overnight bus trips
- 1 scary Siberian passport controller
- 2 hotels (Jakarta, Berlin)
- 2 couch surfers (Tomsk, Sigulda)
- 1 bout of Siberian flu
- 2 bouts of diarrhea (Phill)
- 4 seasons of How I Met Your Mother (in three days in Hamburg)
- 0 trains/busses/flights/ferries/horses missed
- 2 bunk beds fell out of (Phill)
- 1 very scared backpacker (when Phill fell on her in the middle of the night)
- 3 bottles of shampoo
- 2 bottles of body moisturiser
- 2 bottles of face moisturiser
- 4 tubes of toothpaste
- 2 toothbrushes
- 1 credit card taken by ATM
- 1 sarong lost...by Kate
- 1 pair of sunnies stolen
- 1 pair of sunnies drunkenly smashed
- 0 haircuts
- 0 beard trims
- 6 animals kicked (frog, pigeon, cat, horse, camel, fish...all by Phill. Who kicks a frog???)
- 1 time confused for brother and sister
- 1 old housemate run into in Croatia
- 1 TV interview (tourism TV Thailand, you're welcome)
- 3 fines (jay walking in KL, no train ticket in Berlin, Phill 'not realising' he had a butterfly knife in his carry on bag flying out of Germany...dick.)
- 3 times Phill has called home
- 2 birthdays
- 1 ballet performance (St Petersburg, Russia)
- 1 Westend show (Les Mis)
- 1 ping pong show (Phuket)
- 1 Jonas brother seen in real life
- 1 fire fought (Pamplona grass fire...we were all over it)
- 23,392 kms travelled in Asia...still adding up the rest. That's Brisbane to St Petersburg.
- 13,032 kms travelled by land
- 0 nights spent apart (yes, we both agree that's lame)
Pamplona, July 2010
Boy do the Spanish know how to party. And so do Aussies and Kiwis!
Phill and I both signed up about six months ago to volunteer with a tour company at the San Fermin Festival (Running of the Bulls). It was a hectic week which we started 4 days early with the volunteer crew - about 20 Aussies, Kiwis and a token Pom. We set up 200 tents in the heat of the Spanish sun and were rewarded with ridiculous amounts of alcohol and amazing food impressively cooked by Dirty Pillows. That night we drank with the volunteer crew from the Top Deck tour, met some cool people and got to know eachother. We still had another day of work, fixing tents and rabbiting about a bit, but that was rewarded, again, with ridiculous amounts of alcohol - this time Sangria, which was basically a mix of red wine and any hard alcohol Jamie, the Aussie guy in charge of us ground crew, could get his hands on. It was potent but made for a great night of singing and dancing in enclosed spaces. We celebrated being awesome at firefighting (the scrub around the campsite went up in flames because it was so hot! - so there were 20 Aussies running around with buckets of water and fire extinguishers. But it was ok, we got free beer).
The opening day of the festival, July 6, was the biggest street party in the world. Young and old, Spanish and tourists, lined the streets of Pamplona. Everyone without exception wore white, a red sash around the waist, and a red bandana first around the wrist, then worn around the neck when the festival officially kicked off with a rocket at midday.
Then came the sangria. We drunk alot, but we threw even more over eachother. Phill's beard, already a phenomenon, went to a whole new level when the Beard Shot was invented. Pour sangria through the beard - 'pour Sangria high off the cheekbone, allowing it to filter down to the tip of the beard, gaining all the nutritiousness and awesomeness of ginger infused sangria'. Strangers did it. Phill drank out of a mannequins leg and we taught some Spanish boys the classic Australian song - 'tits out for the boys'. Bless them, I hope it worked for them at least once.
People die on the opening day. There is a statue that people jump off, into the crowd, hoping to be caught - some aren't. The main town square is packed with people so you literally can't move. Champagne bottles are thrown, people lose their shoes and there is broken glass everywhere. Not to mention sangria, mustard, tomato sauce, flour and eggs in the eyes! Families still walk around, kids in strollers, aware that at any minute a spontaneous street parade could start up and they could be caught in the middle.
But man is it a party!
Then, of course, there is the actual running of the bulls. Each morning at 8am, 6 bulls (plus one each day, for 7 days) especially bred to be agro, are let free to run through the narrow streets of Pamplona to the bull ring. Thousands of Spaniards and tourists wait to catch a glimpse of the beasts before sprinting as fast as they can towards the bull ring. The runners aren't allowed to touch any part of the bull, even if it is gouging them, but they are allowed to hit it on the head with a rolled up newspaper - which one isn't monitored.
Once the bulls make it to the bull ring, they are ushered (that sounds too polite...) through the exit on the other side. Hundreds of men and a few sneaky women are now in the bull ring, all in red and white. And then they let another bull out! This is a younger bull with balls taped around the tips of its horns, so it's not as dangerous. But the men taunt and tease the bull until it charges into a pack of people and hopefully gouges someone in the arse. It's very entertaining.
I watched the bull run from the stands in the bullrun, looking for a ranga with a beard while watching the baby bull charge. Phill did the run, saw the bulls but was the first one to not be allowed into the bull ring (by a woman cop...). Some crazy Spaniards (and a crazy Aussie from the camp crew) knelt down at the entrance to the bull ring, where they let the baby bulls in. This bull, charged up from all the taser shots I'm sure the give it, absolutely charges through these people, all kneeling pack up against the gate. It's surprising how much air the bull can get in order to clear so many people. There were always one or two guys that got kicked in the head or stomped on by the bull. A couple of people got knocked out, a couple of people got punched by Spaniards for holding the bull.
Each night of the nine day festival is a party. Carparks become bars, streets are dancefloors and every person is a friend. It was great for us to stay in the one place for 8 days, with free accommodation and a great bunch of people to party with. We were also taken to San Sebastian - a beach with waves! - for one last hurrah with the volunteer crew before the epic bus ride back to London.
Phill and I both signed up about six months ago to volunteer with a tour company at the San Fermin Festival (Running of the Bulls). It was a hectic week which we started 4 days early with the volunteer crew - about 20 Aussies, Kiwis and a token Pom. We set up 200 tents in the heat of the Spanish sun and were rewarded with ridiculous amounts of alcohol and amazing food impressively cooked by Dirty Pillows. That night we drank with the volunteer crew from the Top Deck tour, met some cool people and got to know eachother. We still had another day of work, fixing tents and rabbiting about a bit, but that was rewarded, again, with ridiculous amounts of alcohol - this time Sangria, which was basically a mix of red wine and any hard alcohol Jamie, the Aussie guy in charge of us ground crew, could get his hands on. It was potent but made for a great night of singing and dancing in enclosed spaces. We celebrated being awesome at firefighting (the scrub around the campsite went up in flames because it was so hot! - so there were 20 Aussies running around with buckets of water and fire extinguishers. But it was ok, we got free beer).
The opening day of the festival, July 6, was the biggest street party in the world. Young and old, Spanish and tourists, lined the streets of Pamplona. Everyone without exception wore white, a red sash around the waist, and a red bandana first around the wrist, then worn around the neck when the festival officially kicked off with a rocket at midday.
Then came the sangria. We drunk alot, but we threw even more over eachother. Phill's beard, already a phenomenon, went to a whole new level when the Beard Shot was invented. Pour sangria through the beard - 'pour Sangria high off the cheekbone, allowing it to filter down to the tip of the beard, gaining all the nutritiousness and awesomeness of ginger infused sangria'. Strangers did it. Phill drank out of a mannequins leg and we taught some Spanish boys the classic Australian song - 'tits out for the boys'. Bless them, I hope it worked for them at least once.
People die on the opening day. There is a statue that people jump off, into the crowd, hoping to be caught - some aren't. The main town square is packed with people so you literally can't move. Champagne bottles are thrown, people lose their shoes and there is broken glass everywhere. Not to mention sangria, mustard, tomato sauce, flour and eggs in the eyes! Families still walk around, kids in strollers, aware that at any minute a spontaneous street parade could start up and they could be caught in the middle.
But man is it a party!
Then, of course, there is the actual running of the bulls. Each morning at 8am, 6 bulls (plus one each day, for 7 days) especially bred to be agro, are let free to run through the narrow streets of Pamplona to the bull ring. Thousands of Spaniards and tourists wait to catch a glimpse of the beasts before sprinting as fast as they can towards the bull ring. The runners aren't allowed to touch any part of the bull, even if it is gouging them, but they are allowed to hit it on the head with a rolled up newspaper - which one isn't monitored.
Once the bulls make it to the bull ring, they are ushered (that sounds too polite...) through the exit on the other side. Hundreds of men and a few sneaky women are now in the bull ring, all in red and white. And then they let another bull out! This is a younger bull with balls taped around the tips of its horns, so it's not as dangerous. But the men taunt and tease the bull until it charges into a pack of people and hopefully gouges someone in the arse. It's very entertaining.
I watched the bull run from the stands in the bullrun, looking for a ranga with a beard while watching the baby bull charge. Phill did the run, saw the bulls but was the first one to not be allowed into the bull ring (by a woman cop...). Some crazy Spaniards (and a crazy Aussie from the camp crew) knelt down at the entrance to the bull ring, where they let the baby bulls in. This bull, charged up from all the taser shots I'm sure the give it, absolutely charges through these people, all kneeling pack up against the gate. It's surprising how much air the bull can get in order to clear so many people. There were always one or two guys that got kicked in the head or stomped on by the bull. A couple of people got knocked out, a couple of people got punched by Spaniards for holding the bull.
Each night of the nine day festival is a party. Carparks become bars, streets are dancefloors and every person is a friend. It was great for us to stay in the one place for 8 days, with free accommodation and a great bunch of people to party with. We were also taken to San Sebastian - a beach with waves! - for one last hurrah with the volunteer crew before the epic bus ride back to London.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Spain June 2010
Well London has served up another typically inconsistent day of weather so with the rain coming and going it's a good time for blogging! While watching fat girlfriend, skinny boyfriend on Jerry Springer.
We arrived in London on Sunday arvo after 20-odd hours on a bus. A free bus from San Sebastian so we try not to complain too much. We are lucky enough to have a room to crash in, a friend from home who we won't be able to see as we were two days late getting to London (busses blowing up and what not) and Kelly had to fly to Paris Sunday morning.
We spent nearly a month in Spain, starting in Malaga in the south of Spain on the Mediterranean. A great hostel by the beach and caught some serious Spanish rays. The beach, I won't lie, was disappointing. The sand is more dirt than sand, the water seems really tidal and muddy and it was freezing! Malaga has an ancient fortress called Alcazar, similar to Azkaban but not so many dementors. Good views of the city and harbour and cool passages to pretend to be an invading Italian army. We spend three nights in Malaga before catching a lovely train to Seville.
Every town and city in Spain just has so much history. Apparently everyone didn't used to get on and so there's fortresses everywhere and palaces and churchs; it's exhausting. In Seville we had a local tour guide, Diego, a friend of my German Linhsay's (Linhsay studied in Seville for a year). He took us to amazing tapas - a table full of food for about $10 each - followed by a Seville by night tour, flamenco at an obscure bar with a guy singing about his yellow shirt and his brother being a baker, and classic drinking by the river with the under age locals. Phill also sampled the Sevillian nightclub scene and got rejected by chicks because he didn't have any shoes. Since when are thongs not shoes?
In Seville we were lucky enough (?) to go to the bull fighting, along with every other tour group and school excursion in town. It was an experience, but probably not one we'll do again. The whole show is not a fair fight between man and bull. The bull is bled for two hours before entering the ring. There are several matadors that tease and incite the bull and make it run around the ring until it is exhausted. Then they brought out a poor horse in padding and armour - BLINDFOLDED - and made it stand until its rider could get a good shot at the bull with a lance about one inch in diameter. So there's just a bit of extra blood flow for the measure. Theeennnnn one of the special mattadors with the lycra leotards and sequined capes comes in, does a bit of a dance then charges the bull, does a little leap and stabs the bull in the spine with two flowered (no kidding) spears and runs away before the bull can attack. Then a bit more teasing, a couple more spears, and the mattador finally kills the bull with a long sword through the spine and into the heart. Phill and I were the only ones cheering when a mattador got fucked up by a bull.
From Seville we went to Cordoba and saw the Mezquita - a millenia old cathedral that was first a mosque, then a Catholic cathedral, then a Mosque, then a Catholic cathedral...Luckily each leader recognised how cool the other one's buildings and decor was and so just kept adding to it instead of tearing stuff down - a really interesting conglomeration of architecture and orange trees. And of course, there was a fortress to explore and a gum tree-lined river to amble along.
From Cordoba we bussed past the ridiculously efficiently farmed countryside that is Spain. Where there were no orange trees or olive groves, there were massive wind farms or fields of solar panels. White houses grow out of the cliff sides, deserted in the midday sun. Actually the midday to five o'clock sun. Gotta love siestas.
We spent three nights in Madrid, representing the Socceroos in an Irish pub and drinking way too much Magners. Met some people from Sydney who, of course, know the same people we know. Such a fun night meant the next day in bed for me. We managed to do a bit of sight seeing but decided it's much nicer when not hungover. Saw lots of prostitutes strutting their wares in the middle of the day and random street 'performers' whose performance involved wearing funny clothes and standing very still.
From Madrid we caught an overnight bus made painful by the bitch behind me not letting me recline my seat. Arrived in Barcelona at 7am and wandered the streets and had a nap on the beach (in the only patch of shade) before we could check into our hostel, a monstrous 7-story, 12-bed-dorm kind of place with bitchy receptionists and not enough character.
Barcelona was stinking hot and awesome. We spent three nights there wandering the streets, climbing some hills and hitting the beach. There's this one bloke, some architect or something, called Gaudi. He did alright. His buildings and other buildings influence by him are all around the city. Without a doubt the awesomest is the Segrada Familia, a church he started...but then he was hit by a tram, was taken to a pauper's hospital because nobody knew who he was...and died! So 80 years later, the church is still being built to his original plans and style. It is still a massive construction site - builders in hard hats polishing new floors while thousands of tourists walk around admiring the building. In perhaps the best example of how parsimonious we have become, we hired one audio guide and I managed to repeat everything to Phill and we both had a grand old day out. I had gone to the Segrada Familia five years earlier - we will go back one day, maybe it will be finished.
From Barcelona we had a quick trip north west to Pamplona in order to catch a bus to Estella, about 40mins from Pamps and our base for the next hectic week of the San Fermin festival. It deserves its own post.
We arrived in London on Sunday arvo after 20-odd hours on a bus. A free bus from San Sebastian so we try not to complain too much. We are lucky enough to have a room to crash in, a friend from home who we won't be able to see as we were two days late getting to London (busses blowing up and what not) and Kelly had to fly to Paris Sunday morning.
We spent nearly a month in Spain, starting in Malaga in the south of Spain on the Mediterranean. A great hostel by the beach and caught some serious Spanish rays. The beach, I won't lie, was disappointing. The sand is more dirt than sand, the water seems really tidal and muddy and it was freezing! Malaga has an ancient fortress called Alcazar, similar to Azkaban but not so many dementors. Good views of the city and harbour and cool passages to pretend to be an invading Italian army. We spend three nights in Malaga before catching a lovely train to Seville.
Every town and city in Spain just has so much history. Apparently everyone didn't used to get on and so there's fortresses everywhere and palaces and churchs; it's exhausting. In Seville we had a local tour guide, Diego, a friend of my German Linhsay's (Linhsay studied in Seville for a year). He took us to amazing tapas - a table full of food for about $10 each - followed by a Seville by night tour, flamenco at an obscure bar with a guy singing about his yellow shirt and his brother being a baker, and classic drinking by the river with the under age locals. Phill also sampled the Sevillian nightclub scene and got rejected by chicks because he didn't have any shoes. Since when are thongs not shoes?
In Seville we were lucky enough (?) to go to the bull fighting, along with every other tour group and school excursion in town. It was an experience, but probably not one we'll do again. The whole show is not a fair fight between man and bull. The bull is bled for two hours before entering the ring. There are several matadors that tease and incite the bull and make it run around the ring until it is exhausted. Then they brought out a poor horse in padding and armour - BLINDFOLDED - and made it stand until its rider could get a good shot at the bull with a lance about one inch in diameter. So there's just a bit of extra blood flow for the measure. Theeennnnn one of the special mattadors with the lycra leotards and sequined capes comes in, does a bit of a dance then charges the bull, does a little leap and stabs the bull in the spine with two flowered (no kidding) spears and runs away before the bull can attack. Then a bit more teasing, a couple more spears, and the mattador finally kills the bull with a long sword through the spine and into the heart. Phill and I were the only ones cheering when a mattador got fucked up by a bull.
From Seville we went to Cordoba and saw the Mezquita - a millenia old cathedral that was first a mosque, then a Catholic cathedral, then a Mosque, then a Catholic cathedral...Luckily each leader recognised how cool the other one's buildings and decor was and so just kept adding to it instead of tearing stuff down - a really interesting conglomeration of architecture and orange trees. And of course, there was a fortress to explore and a gum tree-lined river to amble along.
From Cordoba we bussed past the ridiculously efficiently farmed countryside that is Spain. Where there were no orange trees or olive groves, there were massive wind farms or fields of solar panels. White houses grow out of the cliff sides, deserted in the midday sun. Actually the midday to five o'clock sun. Gotta love siestas.
We spent three nights in Madrid, representing the Socceroos in an Irish pub and drinking way too much Magners. Met some people from Sydney who, of course, know the same people we know. Such a fun night meant the next day in bed for me. We managed to do a bit of sight seeing but decided it's much nicer when not hungover. Saw lots of prostitutes strutting their wares in the middle of the day and random street 'performers' whose performance involved wearing funny clothes and standing very still.
From Madrid we caught an overnight bus made painful by the bitch behind me not letting me recline my seat. Arrived in Barcelona at 7am and wandered the streets and had a nap on the beach (in the only patch of shade) before we could check into our hostel, a monstrous 7-story, 12-bed-dorm kind of place with bitchy receptionists and not enough character.
Barcelona was stinking hot and awesome. We spent three nights there wandering the streets, climbing some hills and hitting the beach. There's this one bloke, some architect or something, called Gaudi. He did alright. His buildings and other buildings influence by him are all around the city. Without a doubt the awesomest is the Segrada Familia, a church he started...but then he was hit by a tram, was taken to a pauper's hospital because nobody knew who he was...and died! So 80 years later, the church is still being built to his original plans and style. It is still a massive construction site - builders in hard hats polishing new floors while thousands of tourists walk around admiring the building. In perhaps the best example of how parsimonious we have become, we hired one audio guide and I managed to repeat everything to Phill and we both had a grand old day out. I had gone to the Segrada Familia five years earlier - we will go back one day, maybe it will be finished.
From Barcelona we had a quick trip north west to Pamplona in order to catch a bus to Estella, about 40mins from Pamps and our base for the next hectic week of the San Fermin festival. It deserves its own post.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Stockholm, May 2010
The coolest way to get from Riga to Stockholm? On a party ferry! And what better way to arrive in the massive archipelago that is Sweden than by meandering through tiny islands with massive houses and massive boats - the play land of Scandinavia's rich and famous. Our ferry dwarfed their boats though. Nine decks of hip-hop-happenin' fun times, complete with discoteque, kids play room (with the legendary pit of balls), swimming pool, sauna, karaoke, restaurants, and no doubt awesome suites for said rich and famous travelling home from holidays in the Mediterranean. Our cabin had four beds, a bathroom and a set of curtains revealing a wall. We could hear the excited school children on excursion in the cabins around us - kids and backpackers only go for the C-class. The trip from Riga to Stockholm took about 16 hours.
We met a French guy, Guillame, in Riga who was lovely enough to invite us to stay at his place in Stockholm. We jumped at the chance beacuse just looking at a hostel in Stockholm makes money fall out of your wallet. Everything is so expensive but four months on the road has taught us to be stingy.
The city planners of Stockholm should be given an award. The city is on 14 islands with roads, bridges and subways connecting all of them. It was such nice weather when we were there - their first taste of Spring - and at least half the population crowded the many parks and walkways and worked on their tans. Which made us wonder...don't these people have jobs! How can they afford to bask in the sun when a bread roll costs $6? Maybe they are all models with flexible photo shoots.
We slapped laps around the King's castle, walked the cobbled stone alleys of Gamla Stan, the old town, and admired the boats moored at the many little marinas around all the islands. That night, Guillame went beyond all expectations and cooked us a three-course meal of traditional Swedish food - pickled fish, smoked salmon and meatballs. Very impressed.
Our second day in Stockholm was another beauty. We went to another island (it's not hard to) Djurgarden, to Skansen, an open air museum started in 1891 when a bloke brought some houses from the north to the city dwellers of Stockholm to admire and wonder at. There's hunters cottages, manor houses, reindeer herders camps and BEARS! That's right - real live brown bears, three cubs and a mumma, dancing around their enclosure and having fun. A long way from the Beijing zoo. There were also massive elk and their babies, otters, wolverines (not as impressive as Hugh Jackman), seals, bison and wolves. In the 'town centre' there were blacksmiths, glass blowers, bakers and corners shops, all with servers in genuine old school costumes. Obviously we had to try a baked good. They were still delicious after hundreds of years (the recipe...not the actual apple donut).
And to top off our taste of Sweden, we saw Sweden thrash the Czech Republic in ice hockey...but only on the TV...then some hard core metal karaoke at a bar. That's right - metal karaoke. No Vanilla Ice in sight or sound.
We met a French guy, Guillame, in Riga who was lovely enough to invite us to stay at his place in Stockholm. We jumped at the chance beacuse just looking at a hostel in Stockholm makes money fall out of your wallet. Everything is so expensive but four months on the road has taught us to be stingy.
The city planners of Stockholm should be given an award. The city is on 14 islands with roads, bridges and subways connecting all of them. It was such nice weather when we were there - their first taste of Spring - and at least half the population crowded the many parks and walkways and worked on their tans. Which made us wonder...don't these people have jobs! How can they afford to bask in the sun when a bread roll costs $6? Maybe they are all models with flexible photo shoots.
We slapped laps around the King's castle, walked the cobbled stone alleys of Gamla Stan, the old town, and admired the boats moored at the many little marinas around all the islands. That night, Guillame went beyond all expectations and cooked us a three-course meal of traditional Swedish food - pickled fish, smoked salmon and meatballs. Very impressed.
Our second day in Stockholm was another beauty. We went to another island (it's not hard to) Djurgarden, to Skansen, an open air museum started in 1891 when a bloke brought some houses from the north to the city dwellers of Stockholm to admire and wonder at. There's hunters cottages, manor houses, reindeer herders camps and BEARS! That's right - real live brown bears, three cubs and a mumma, dancing around their enclosure and having fun. A long way from the Beijing zoo. There were also massive elk and their babies, otters, wolverines (not as impressive as Hugh Jackman), seals, bison and wolves. In the 'town centre' there were blacksmiths, glass blowers, bakers and corners shops, all with servers in genuine old school costumes. Obviously we had to try a baked good. They were still delicious after hundreds of years (the recipe...not the actual apple donut).
And to top off our taste of Sweden, we saw Sweden thrash the Czech Republic in ice hockey...but only on the TV...then some hard core metal karaoke at a bar. That's right - metal karaoke. No Vanilla Ice in sight or sound.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Latvia, May 2010
Latvia was a great experience. We spent five nights in Riga, the stag party capital of Europe. Ryanair flies direct to Riga from London, ferrying fat middle-aged men to the party capital of the Baltics to drink themselves silly before one of them gets married. Young Dutch boys made up the rest of the clientele at our hostel, Friendly Fun Franks, complete with guided pub tours and 24-hour bar. Here we met the first Australian since Mongolia; Phill was stoked to talk about the footy. The pub tour took us to four authentically un-Latvian bars, including the Kiwi Bar (owned by the elusive Friendly Fun Frank), a Belgian beer bar, and, obviously, an Irish bar. The night ended with Phill hiding in bed begging not to go on the club tour - that night anyway.
In Riga we partook in a popular walking tour with Zane, a student. She showed us interesting sights and told us when to look up for the things we would otherwise have missed. The streets of Riga old town are cobbled and thin. Turn any corner and you will find a church, and don't forget to look up for maximum effect. The intricate art nouveau facades gave us sore necks and exhausted the 'cool buildings' quota on our camera (and, no doubt, Facebook as well). Our tour ended with amazing Latvian food at Lido - a chain of restaurants with traditional Latvian food for locals and tourists alike. Boy can those Latvians do potatoes.
After five nights and lots of beers at the hostel, we jumped on the bus for four hours to Kolka, the most North-western part of Latvia, where the Gulf of Riga meets the Baltic Sea. The bus took us through the seaside resorts where Latvians chill out, and small fishing villages with their fair share of old people, Kolka included. Having not booked accommodation, we wandered the street (non-plural) looking for Usi farm, the only address we could find on the Internet (the address - Usi, Kolka, Latvia). A huge campground, an old farmhouse and one room for rent - luckily it was available.
Kolka is part of Slitere national park and has a whole network of hiking, cycling and bird-watching routes. We chose the cycling, on bikes with no gears and back pedal breaks. So much for extreme mountain biking. We rode for about 7kms along the beach, sand flat-packed with the rain and constant drizzle. We saw no-one on the beach, just a few old tractors waiting for boats to come in. When we came to a small creek flowing into the Baltic we headed inland, got lost, got a little bit scared, but eventually found a track to follow. The ground was spongy with moss and intermittent ponds and lakes from all the melted snow. The track took us through centuries old fishing villages and past old soviet army barracks and through ridiculous amounts of deserted forest. Eventually we came back to the beach, had a picnic, Phill got naked, and rode the 20kms back to Kolka along the road, stopping every 3kms for a Snickers.
Back to Riga for one night, then off again to Sigulda, about one hour west of Riga and in the Gauja river valley and national park. We couch surfed for the second time, with a French girl, German girl, and Spanish guy, all European volunteers in the park and at schools. Like in Kolka, there were great walking tracks and maps for the national park. The first day, we followed the river south through the forest. There was a luge park and a bungy jump thing and a Tarzan adventure park...but we stuck to the walking. Had a lovely picnic on a sandy bank and basked in the warm weather. Walked back through fields and meadows of tulips...awwww...
That night we went for drinks with our couch surfing hosts. The boys made a triumphant return at 5am, when the sun is already high in the sky. The next day we trecked along the river to the Turaida castle, 800 years old, and managed to sneak into the massive castle manor complex by taking the hard road uphill. Nothing like a free manor. We splurged on the cable car to cross the river and admired the old woman with the massive nose whose job it was to open the door, take some money, close the door, and enjoy the ride over the valley.
Back to Riga for another Saturday night, another group of stag parties at Frank's and another pub crawl. Latvia made a good impression.
In Riga we partook in a popular walking tour with Zane, a student. She showed us interesting sights and told us when to look up for the things we would otherwise have missed. The streets of Riga old town are cobbled and thin. Turn any corner and you will find a church, and don't forget to look up for maximum effect. The intricate art nouveau facades gave us sore necks and exhausted the 'cool buildings' quota on our camera (and, no doubt, Facebook as well). Our tour ended with amazing Latvian food at Lido - a chain of restaurants with traditional Latvian food for locals and tourists alike. Boy can those Latvians do potatoes.
After five nights and lots of beers at the hostel, we jumped on the bus for four hours to Kolka, the most North-western part of Latvia, where the Gulf of Riga meets the Baltic Sea. The bus took us through the seaside resorts where Latvians chill out, and small fishing villages with their fair share of old people, Kolka included. Having not booked accommodation, we wandered the street (non-plural) looking for Usi farm, the only address we could find on the Internet (the address - Usi, Kolka, Latvia). A huge campground, an old farmhouse and one room for rent - luckily it was available.
Kolka is part of Slitere national park and has a whole network of hiking, cycling and bird-watching routes. We chose the cycling, on bikes with no gears and back pedal breaks. So much for extreme mountain biking. We rode for about 7kms along the beach, sand flat-packed with the rain and constant drizzle. We saw no-one on the beach, just a few old tractors waiting for boats to come in. When we came to a small creek flowing into the Baltic we headed inland, got lost, got a little bit scared, but eventually found a track to follow. The ground was spongy with moss and intermittent ponds and lakes from all the melted snow. The track took us through centuries old fishing villages and past old soviet army barracks and through ridiculous amounts of deserted forest. Eventually we came back to the beach, had a picnic, Phill got naked, and rode the 20kms back to Kolka along the road, stopping every 3kms for a Snickers.
Back to Riga for one night, then off again to Sigulda, about one hour west of Riga and in the Gauja river valley and national park. We couch surfed for the second time, with a French girl, German girl, and Spanish guy, all European volunteers in the park and at schools. Like in Kolka, there were great walking tracks and maps for the national park. The first day, we followed the river south through the forest. There was a luge park and a bungy jump thing and a Tarzan adventure park...but we stuck to the walking. Had a lovely picnic on a sandy bank and basked in the warm weather. Walked back through fields and meadows of tulips...awwww...
That night we went for drinks with our couch surfing hosts. The boys made a triumphant return at 5am, when the sun is already high in the sky. The next day we trecked along the river to the Turaida castle, 800 years old, and managed to sneak into the massive castle manor complex by taking the hard road uphill. Nothing like a free manor. We splurged on the cable car to cross the river and admired the old woman with the massive nose whose job it was to open the door, take some money, close the door, and enjoy the ride over the valley.
Back to Riga for another Saturday night, another group of stag parties at Frank's and another pub crawl. Latvia made a good impression.
Friday, May 7, 2010
St. Petersburg
St Petersburg is one of those cities where you can walk about for ages and be impressed at every street corner. And this is what we did. Our hostel, Nevsky Hostel, was one of the best we've stayed in. It was super clean, had a washing machine to use for free, a big kitchen, bunk beds that didn't squeak and was almost within spitting distance of the Hermitage (if all those buildings weren't in the way. We knew some guys staying there that we met in a ger in Mongolia so it was good to catch up with them and swap stories about our Trans-Siberian journey.
Of course, such a rendezvous also meant a night on the piss. We sampled local beers and dodgy vodka at our hostel before going to a club...I think it was called Cuba, with Tyler (Canadian), Theago (Brazilian) and two Russian girls those guys had met. The bar was tiny and absolutely packed (lucky I wore my hiking boots; my feet got trampled) but was good fun to rub shoulders (literally) with St Petersburg's youth. Needless to say, it was a big night and we paid for it the next day; in bed until 4pm.
Once we ventured outside, we turned a corner, and, voila, another awesome church - The Cathedral of the Spilled Blood, built on the sight where Tsar Alexander was murdered. It was modelled on Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, but just a little bit cooler for the canals and parks around it. We also visited Kazan Cathedral, a working cathedral where people lined up to touch and kiss icons and pray with Orthodox priests. It's pillars are impressive and arc out to envelop the people of St Petersburg. Riiiiigggghhhtttt... Beggars stood out the front hoping people felt generous after being absolved. We didn't.
On Sunday we crossed the Neva River (on a bridge) to Vasilevsky Ostrov, an island with a mad
fort, churches and museums. We bypassed the gym on a ship and walked the exterior of the fort. Sand lined the banks of the river - swimming was not allowed - and old Russian men and women leant against the walls of the fortress in speedos, mankinis, bras and undies, catching some sunrays and possibly coughs and colds as the wind was still biting. Gold church spires shone against the approaching storm, which would hopefully hit the sunbathers before us.
We walked through some gardens with green grass and trees almost blossoming.
Of course, such a rendezvous also meant a night on the piss. We sampled local beers and dodgy vodka at our hostel before going to a club...I think it was called Cuba, with Tyler (Canadian), Theago (Brazilian) and two Russian girls those guys had met. The bar was tiny and absolutely packed (lucky I wore my hiking boots; my feet got trampled) but was good fun to rub shoulders (literally) with St Petersburg's youth. Needless to say, it was a big night and we paid for it the next day; in bed until 4pm.
Once we ventured outside, we turned a corner, and, voila, another awesome church - The Cathedral of the Spilled Blood, built on the sight where Tsar Alexander was murdered. It was modelled on Saint Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, but just a little bit cooler for the canals and parks around it. We also visited Kazan Cathedral, a working cathedral where people lined up to touch and kiss icons and pray with Orthodox priests. It's pillars are impressive and arc out to envelop the people of St Petersburg. Riiiiigggghhhtttt... Beggars stood out the front hoping people felt generous after being absolved. We didn't.
On Sunday we crossed the Neva River (on a bridge) to Vasilevsky Ostrov, an island with a mad
fort, churches and museums. We bypassed the gym on a ship and walked the exterior of the fort. Sand lined the banks of the river - swimming was not allowed - and old Russian men and women leant against the walls of the fortress in speedos, mankinis, bras and undies, catching some sunrays and possibly coughs and colds as the wind was still biting. Gold church spires shone against the approaching storm, which would hopefully hit the sunbathers before us.
We walked through some gardens with green grass and trees almost blossoming.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Moscow
Weather-wise, Moscow gave us a warm welcome. It was about 15 degrees and sunny when we got off the train, the warmest weather we had had since Malaysia, six weeks earlier. We found our hostel, 'Home from Home Hostel' and were told our double room had been flooded, and were given two dodgy beds in a dodgy dorm room. The Lonely Planet had recommended this place, but our Bible had let us down. They had spent lots of money on decorating the place with tactile wallpaper and original artworks. But that doesn't help when you're worried about death from electrocution from the dodgy power points, or that the chubby little Russian on the top bunk will fall through, or that the shower won't drain and the toilet won't flush, or you will die from suffocation when you do a number two in the tiniest space-ship toilet cubicle. And when the staff don't know how to use the credit card machine, and look like they might keel over from malnutrition at any moment (EAT SOME BEEF YOU SKINNY UNHAPPY LITTLE WOMAN!), it's not the most relaxing environment.
Luckily we had recovered from our devil colds on the 56-hour train trip (Phill credits the vodka), and were able and willing to walk around all day. Better still, the lovely weather meant we were able to crack out the thongs for a dinner time stroll.
We explored Red Square and the Kremlin. St. Basil's Cathedral is amazing, like an architect just went 'hang it, I'm going to go a bit crazy with this one'. There's multi-coloured onion domes with gold trimming and pointy bits like those spoundgey balls you used to play soccer with in primary school (before graduating to an actual soccer ball). The cathedral was closed so we couldn't go inside. Red Square was a hive of activity. Men were setting up stages and banners and seating for Victory Day, May 9. Lenin's mausoleum was closed (getting him all pretty for V-day no doubt) so we ventured into the Kremlin, expired student cards doing us proud again. They had their trophies from wars with Napoleon - 800 canons - surrounding the bit we weren't allowed in...which we found out when we got whistled at (and not in a good way) when trying to cross the road. There's a whole bunch of churches within the Kremlin walls and all have a very extensive history... Google it while I have a break from blogging...
Luckily we had recovered from our devil colds on the 56-hour train trip (Phill credits the vodka), and were able and willing to walk around all day. Better still, the lovely weather meant we were able to crack out the thongs for a dinner time stroll.
We explored Red Square and the Kremlin. St. Basil's Cathedral is amazing, like an architect just went 'hang it, I'm going to go a bit crazy with this one'. There's multi-coloured onion domes with gold trimming and pointy bits like those spoundgey balls you used to play soccer with in primary school (before graduating to an actual soccer ball). The cathedral was closed so we couldn't go inside. Red Square was a hive of activity. Men were setting up stages and banners and seating for Victory Day, May 9. Lenin's mausoleum was closed (getting him all pretty for V-day no doubt) so we ventured into the Kremlin, expired student cards doing us proud again. They had their trophies from wars with Napoleon - 800 canons - surrounding the bit we weren't allowed in...which we found out when we got whistled at (and not in a good way) when trying to cross the road. There's a whole bunch of churches within the Kremlin walls and all have a very extensive history... Google it while I have a break from blogging...
56 hours on a train
Russia is a stupidly big country. It's 17,075,400 square kilometres. That's 11.5 % of the earth's total surface. Australia is 7,692,024 square kilometres...and Australia's big. Obviously you can fly from one side to another, but what's the fun in that. The final leg of our Trans-Siberian journey was the longest, from Tomsk to Moscow. It was 2, 878 kms long, and took 56 hours. On a train.
So far in the journey we had only taken second class, because that's all that was available. Third class, platskart, is the way to go though. It is an open carriage, with four bunks on one side, and two on another. It cost about $120 each for two nights on the train. It was a brand new carriage, spick and span with lovely sheets...
For the first night, our train seemed to be full of old babushkas hiding under their blankets snoring. There was a young guy opposite us, and an older lady who kept fidgeting. It got annoying after eight or so hours. There was an awful lot of looking out the window, a fair amount of reading, and some serious rummy playing for good measure. I won my first (and only) game of cards at about 29 hours.
On our second night, a whole bunch of Russian guys got on. They were brothers, brothers in law...all sorts of complicated relationships even more complicated because they couldn't speak English and we had only our Russian phrasebook. As the only foreigners in the carriage, we got their attention, and especially when we brought out our bottle of vodka. We were given some smoked pig's lard to snack on - surprisingly delicious after a shot of vodka. With our phrasebook, we concluded that we were all friends, Siberia is extreme, Alexi's mother is German and his wife is Victor's sister, and Australian vodka is no good. Victor's younger brother Sasha was either drunk or had a hearing impediment as he would yell in our faces, very loud Russian, and we would just have to nod away. The men would pack into the space between carriages to smoke while I would...wait...Phill succeeded in out drinking the Russians before having a decent train spew and passing out (on the lower bunk). The brothers got off in the morning, and we had the day to while away our hangovers.
We arrived in Moscow about 4.30pm and negotiated the metro system during peak hour. 9.5 million people ride the metro each day, but we were those annoying two people with the backpacks, cramming into the crowded carriages and leaning over everyone to see the tube map. After the luxury of a sleeping berth in a brand new carriage with everyone just relaxing to the motions of the choo-chooing, the metro was a chaotic welcome to Europe.
So far in the journey we had only taken second class, because that's all that was available. Third class, platskart, is the way to go though. It is an open carriage, with four bunks on one side, and two on another. It cost about $120 each for two nights on the train. It was a brand new carriage, spick and span with lovely sheets...
For the first night, our train seemed to be full of old babushkas hiding under their blankets snoring. There was a young guy opposite us, and an older lady who kept fidgeting. It got annoying after eight or so hours. There was an awful lot of looking out the window, a fair amount of reading, and some serious rummy playing for good measure. I won my first (and only) game of cards at about 29 hours.
On our second night, a whole bunch of Russian guys got on. They were brothers, brothers in law...all sorts of complicated relationships even more complicated because they couldn't speak English and we had only our Russian phrasebook. As the only foreigners in the carriage, we got their attention, and especially when we brought out our bottle of vodka. We were given some smoked pig's lard to snack on - surprisingly delicious after a shot of vodka. With our phrasebook, we concluded that we were all friends, Siberia is extreme, Alexi's mother is German and his wife is Victor's sister, and Australian vodka is no good. Victor's younger brother Sasha was either drunk or had a hearing impediment as he would yell in our faces, very loud Russian, and we would just have to nod away. The men would pack into the space between carriages to smoke while I would...wait...Phill succeeded in out drinking the Russians before having a decent train spew and passing out (on the lower bunk). The brothers got off in the morning, and we had the day to while away our hangovers.
We arrived in Moscow about 4.30pm and negotiated the metro system during peak hour. 9.5 million people ride the metro each day, but we were those annoying two people with the backpacks, cramming into the crowded carriages and leaning over everyone to see the tube map. After the luxury of a sleeping berth in a brand new carriage with everyone just relaxing to the motions of the choo-chooing, the metro was a chaotic welcome to Europe.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Couch Surfing in Tomsk!
The train trip from Irkutsk to Tomsk was uneventful. We shared a four-berth with an old lady (who reminded me of Mrs a, my year five teacher) and her granddaugher who very kindly let us use bottom bunk during the day - we had he two upper bunks. Luckily we slept alot, and didn't have a midnight border crossing for once! We passed farms and villages with wooden houses falling down and sinking in the marshy fields, and a village surely for midgets - the huts must have only been one room. We had an hour stop, an hour before Tomsk but were too intimidated by the Russian security men to get off and explore the station.
We arrived in Tomsk about 2.30 pm and were met by Tatiana, the mother of the family we are couch surfing with. She had a sign with our names, and a notebook with the essential phrases - she doesn't speak English very well. She helped us buy our ticket to Moscow, a bargain, about $120 for 3rd class sleeper, a 56-hour trip! Then Tatiana brought us to their home, an apartment in a pretty nice block, no as decrepit and dirty as some Soviet monstrosities we've seen. It's a two-bedroom aparment; the two daughters share a room, and Tatiana and Yuri have given us their room, which is what they said on their couch surfing profile, but we still feel very bad.
Tatiana fed us and we showed her online photos of Australia before Galina, the fluent English speaker, came home from university where she studies linguistics. Galina took us for a walk around the neighbourhood, where there's still many old wooden houses with intricate wooden lace carvings.
"See that - fake. It's plastic, but it looks just like wrought iron".
Tomsk is famous for its architecture, and Galina knows all about it for some reason. Some of the houses were beautifully restored, others just waiting to fall down, or 'accidently' burn down, so new apartment blocks could be built. Tatiana is in a society to save the wooded buildings. The roads were puddles of mud from all the snow melting; takes a bit of the romantacism away.
On Thursday, after over the phone translating between Tatiana and her sister Natasha (Galina was at uni), we left armed with instructions for the bus to Lenin Square, the centre of own. A kind English speaking man told us when to get off. We walked around the theatre, along the river Tom for a bit and up the main street before heading home. After lunch we went with Tatiana to her physio appointment...a little weird...but her sister met us and took us for a walk while we waited. Then, after some very complicated tram changes, we were in the 'burbs, and an artists studio. Leonty Usov (which took ages to Google) is famous for his wooden carvings of famous people. He had jut returned from a tour of Australia and were were invited to the exhibition opening in Sydney in a year. We hadn't the heart to tell him or Olga, his 'director' that we would not be home by then. The whole situation was quite amusing - there were two translators, his manger, his other art friends, all seemingly there to show the Aussie tourists Tomsk's favourite sculptor. His works were pretty cool, abstract but still distinctive. Many were 'famous Russian playwrights/poets/philosophers' that we had never heard of. Shakespeare, we knew.
After that bizarre meeting, we met with Galina and went to Tomsk's museum if political oppression. Galina and Natasha very professionally translated the signs and told us the stories of the ridiculous amount of people accused of going against the government in the 20's and 30's - intellectuals, priests, people with glasses....'so just take the glasses off...' It was Lenin's birthday and they had a whole room of ridiculous Lenin paraphenalia. After, Galina took us home, fed us, and we watched Coraline on DVD before it stopped on us.
On Friday April 24th we were sent on the bust to Lagerny Gardens, memorial gardens for the servicement. The weather was lovely, the view of the Tom river was amazing and the paths weren't completely covered in slushy snow. We saw a few weddings - Friday weddings are popular! - and sat in the sunshine amongst the birch grove. We came home for lunch - this couch surfing business has turned into full board and accommodation - and waited for Galina to finish at uni - she has lessons six days a week! For five years!
We had a bit of a relax, then went to the University and walked around, tried to get into the Botanic Gardens, but they were closed. We saw many buildings of historical significance to Tomsk, some gardens, the Tomsk football stadium, and lots of slushy streets. Galina has an art lesson every Friday, so we tag teamed with her mother at the art museum. Tatiana is ver involded with the art scene in Tomsk so she knew everyone at the museum and recruited English speakers from a passing uni excursion to translate the curator's descriptions of the artworks. It was another odd situation - perhaps we are the only foreigners in town, but everyone's willing to help. The translator' friends all stood around giggling while she spoke to us in perfect English.
After the museum we promenaded, along with half of Tomsk, in the sunshine by the river, which is still frozen but expected to crack soon.
That nigh we broke the ice (segue!) with Yuri, the father, whose English extends to grunts. Vodka - you could crack Lake Baikal with it. We had a few shots, the men drinking more, because they're men. I was sniffing and coughing real bad like, and Tatiana made me a steam bath for me to breathe. We feel terrible being ill in someone's home, especially since Tatiana ha started coughing as well. We have both had bad coughing fits at night and hope we haven't been waking everyone up. The air is very dry and there's a cat. Tatiana has given me tea and medicine, just like mum would. But we feel like we have made their home a sick bay.
Our first couch surfing experience has certainly been memorable. It is not what we expected. The Vesnina family haven' hosted since September, perhaps because it's too exhausting for them. They have organised activities and schedules for us every day, fed us every meal and given us medicine. But this means that our independence is no more. Obviously we don't get keys to their family house so we aren't free to come and go. The whole situation reminds me of foreign students mum and dad would host for a week - not a word of the hosts' language, activities planned every day and very difficult to help out around the house.
But the awkwardness that comes with staying in a family's home is a small price to pay for this unique experience. We have seen Tomsk's sights with Galina as a personal tour guide. She has translated for her mother, and museum's curators, at the oppression museum and the museum of wooden architecture. Tatiana's contacts around the city have made us feel like visiting royalty, with personal tours and explanations.
We arrived in Tomsk about 2.30 pm and were met by Tatiana, the mother of the family we are couch surfing with. She had a sign with our names, and a notebook with the essential phrases - she doesn't speak English very well. She helped us buy our ticket to Moscow, a bargain, about $120 for 3rd class sleeper, a 56-hour trip! Then Tatiana brought us to their home, an apartment in a pretty nice block, no as decrepit and dirty as some Soviet monstrosities we've seen. It's a two-bedroom aparment; the two daughters share a room, and Tatiana and Yuri have given us their room, which is what they said on their couch surfing profile, but we still feel very bad.
Tatiana fed us and we showed her online photos of Australia before Galina, the fluent English speaker, came home from university where she studies linguistics. Galina took us for a walk around the neighbourhood, where there's still many old wooden houses with intricate wooden lace carvings.
"See that - fake. It's plastic, but it looks just like wrought iron".
Tomsk is famous for its architecture, and Galina knows all about it for some reason. Some of the houses were beautifully restored, others just waiting to fall down, or 'accidently' burn down, so new apartment blocks could be built. Tatiana is in a society to save the wooded buildings. The roads were puddles of mud from all the snow melting; takes a bit of the romantacism away.
On Thursday, after over the phone translating between Tatiana and her sister Natasha (Galina was at uni), we left armed with instructions for the bus to Lenin Square, the centre of own. A kind English speaking man told us when to get off. We walked around the theatre, along the river Tom for a bit and up the main street before heading home. After lunch we went with Tatiana to her physio appointment...a little weird...but her sister met us and took us for a walk while we waited. Then, after some very complicated tram changes, we were in the 'burbs, and an artists studio. Leonty Usov (which took ages to Google) is famous for his wooden carvings of famous people. He had jut returned from a tour of Australia and were were invited to the exhibition opening in Sydney in a year. We hadn't the heart to tell him or Olga, his 'director' that we would not be home by then. The whole situation was quite amusing - there were two translators, his manger, his other art friends, all seemingly there to show the Aussie tourists Tomsk's favourite sculptor. His works were pretty cool, abstract but still distinctive. Many were 'famous Russian playwrights/poets/philosophers' that we had never heard of. Shakespeare, we knew.
After that bizarre meeting, we met with Galina and went to Tomsk's museum if political oppression. Galina and Natasha very professionally translated the signs and told us the stories of the ridiculous amount of people accused of going against the government in the 20's and 30's - intellectuals, priests, people with glasses....'so just take the glasses off...' It was Lenin's birthday and they had a whole room of ridiculous Lenin paraphenalia. After, Galina took us home, fed us, and we watched Coraline on DVD before it stopped on us.
On Friday April 24th we were sent on the bust to Lagerny Gardens, memorial gardens for the servicement. The weather was lovely, the view of the Tom river was amazing and the paths weren't completely covered in slushy snow. We saw a few weddings - Friday weddings are popular! - and sat in the sunshine amongst the birch grove. We came home for lunch - this couch surfing business has turned into full board and accommodation - and waited for Galina to finish at uni - she has lessons six days a week! For five years!
We had a bit of a relax, then went to the University and walked around, tried to get into the Botanic Gardens, but they were closed. We saw many buildings of historical significance to Tomsk, some gardens, the Tomsk football stadium, and lots of slushy streets. Galina has an art lesson every Friday, so we tag teamed with her mother at the art museum. Tatiana is ver involded with the art scene in Tomsk so she knew everyone at the museum and recruited English speakers from a passing uni excursion to translate the curator's descriptions of the artworks. It was another odd situation - perhaps we are the only foreigners in town, but everyone's willing to help. The translator' friends all stood around giggling while she spoke to us in perfect English.
After the museum we promenaded, along with half of Tomsk, in the sunshine by the river, which is still frozen but expected to crack soon.
That nigh we broke the ice (segue!) with Yuri, the father, whose English extends to grunts. Vodka - you could crack Lake Baikal with it. We had a few shots, the men drinking more, because they're men. I was sniffing and coughing real bad like, and Tatiana made me a steam bath for me to breathe. We feel terrible being ill in someone's home, especially since Tatiana ha started coughing as well. We have both had bad coughing fits at night and hope we haven't been waking everyone up. The air is very dry and there's a cat. Tatiana has given me tea and medicine, just like mum would. But we feel like we have made their home a sick bay.
Our first couch surfing experience has certainly been memorable. It is not what we expected. The Vesnina family haven' hosted since September, perhaps because it's too exhausting for them. They have organised activities and schedules for us every day, fed us every meal and given us medicine. But this means that our independence is no more. Obviously we don't get keys to their family house so we aren't free to come and go. The whole situation reminds me of foreign students mum and dad would host for a week - not a word of the hosts' language, activities planned every day and very difficult to help out around the house.
But the awkwardness that comes with staying in a family's home is a small price to pay for this unique experience. We have seen Tomsk's sights with Galina as a personal tour guide. She has translated for her mother, and museum's curators, at the oppression museum and the museum of wooden architecture. Tatiana's contacts around the city have made us feel like visiting royalty, with personal tours and explanations.
Irkutsk and Lake Baikal, April 14-20
We arrived in Irkutsk at about 3pm, after and were promptly singled out as tourists, by a big burly Russian man wearing a vest that said Immigration Control. He asked for our passports and we tried to give him our photocopies, because that's what the Lonely Planet says to do! But he wanted the real thing. Once he looked at them and our visas, he asked, in a very unhelpful voice, 'Can I help you?' So we showed him our map and hostel address and pointed us in the right direction.
Again, we were the only ones in our hostel, besides the lady who lived there and her young son. Apparently Siberia isn't that popular for backpackers in a slushy Spring.
The next two days we did pretty much nothing, just sleeping and trying to get rid of wicked colds we picked up in UB.
On Saturday April 18 we went with Neil, the epitome of an obvious tourist that we try to avoid, a Chinese bloke we met at the Admiral hostel. He kept checking his map at every corner, and taking photos at intersections 'in case we get lost'. We caught a mini-van packed with Russian sardines to Listvyanka, about an hour from Irkutsk on the banks of Lake Baikal. We walked aroun th village for a while with Neil and a Scottish girl, probably the only foreigners in town. The village stretches along the bacnks of the lake, with streets going up valleys (now turned into rivers thanks to the melting snow), lined with old wooden houses and new brick and plastic-cladded guesthouses.
We found our guesthouse, Baikal Dream, recommended by some Frenchies we met. After much dodgy Russian, dodgy English and dodgy hand gestures, we procured a double room for two nights, for about $50 a night. Our room was amazing - timber floors (and ceiling ?!?), three single beds (two deftly pushed together), big windows with lake glimpses, leopard print covers and a space cubicle bathroom with a heated floor! We promptly began some serious relaxing, no feeling so lazy as we had an excellent view of the birch trees lining the hills, and the street that saw very little action. We made some pasta for a late dinner, our hot Nikolai appalled that we would have plain pasta (we thought we had bough pasta sauce, but it was borscht...), so he gave us a tin of tuna from his own pantry, bless him. All this without a word of English, except 'chef...no good'...give me a proper kitchen and some proper ingredients, Nikolai, and I'll show you!
On Sunday we didn't venture outside until 2pm, much to the dismay of Nikolai. We spent the morning following the sun on our bedroom floor, listening to The Twelfth Man, and coughing up our lungs...Phill claims it was the worst flu in ten years. I think it was a chest infection.
We spent the afternoon on the lake - literally. So much ice, so much white! WE walked and slid on the ice, finding cool patters - cracks and bubbles in the ridiculously thick ice, under abou 20cm of snow. Hovercrafts sped along the ice and did spins to thrill their passengers, and Phill. Skidoos zipped along, we even saw a horse and cart on the ice!
The slushy shores were loaded with Russians partaking in the traditional Russian festival that is 'Sunday Sesh'. Some would stand by their cars, vodka and fish on the go, and people watch in the sun. Kids would play on the ice, their parents oblivious to the fact IT COULD BREAK AT ANY MOMENT!!! There were little huts on the shores with families picnicking, and a few hotted up cars blaring loud music wih dancing girls drinking canned cocktails. It really was a nice way to while away a Spring afternoon.
On Monday we made our way back to Irkutsk and unintentionally explored the city by taking the long way home. Young girls laughed at my purple thermals, shorts, and long socks, and we saw an awesome beard. We stocked up on staple train supplies and had an early night.
Again, we were the only ones in our hostel, besides the lady who lived there and her young son. Apparently Siberia isn't that popular for backpackers in a slushy Spring.
The next two days we did pretty much nothing, just sleeping and trying to get rid of wicked colds we picked up in UB.
On Saturday April 18 we went with Neil, the epitome of an obvious tourist that we try to avoid, a Chinese bloke we met at the Admiral hostel. He kept checking his map at every corner, and taking photos at intersections 'in case we get lost'. We caught a mini-van packed with Russian sardines to Listvyanka, about an hour from Irkutsk on the banks of Lake Baikal. We walked aroun th village for a while with Neil and a Scottish girl, probably the only foreigners in town. The village stretches along the bacnks of the lake, with streets going up valleys (now turned into rivers thanks to the melting snow), lined with old wooden houses and new brick and plastic-cladded guesthouses.
We found our guesthouse, Baikal Dream, recommended by some Frenchies we met. After much dodgy Russian, dodgy English and dodgy hand gestures, we procured a double room for two nights, for about $50 a night. Our room was amazing - timber floors (and ceiling ?!?), three single beds (two deftly pushed together), big windows with lake glimpses, leopard print covers and a space cubicle bathroom with a heated floor! We promptly began some serious relaxing, no feeling so lazy as we had an excellent view of the birch trees lining the hills, and the street that saw very little action. We made some pasta for a late dinner, our hot Nikolai appalled that we would have plain pasta (we thought we had bough pasta sauce, but it was borscht...), so he gave us a tin of tuna from his own pantry, bless him. All this without a word of English, except 'chef...no good'...give me a proper kitchen and some proper ingredients, Nikolai, and I'll show you!
On Sunday we didn't venture outside until 2pm, much to the dismay of Nikolai. We spent the morning following the sun on our bedroom floor, listening to The Twelfth Man, and coughing up our lungs...Phill claims it was the worst flu in ten years. I think it was a chest infection.
We spent the afternoon on the lake - literally. So much ice, so much white! WE walked and slid on the ice, finding cool patters - cracks and bubbles in the ridiculously thick ice, under abou 20cm of snow. Hovercrafts sped along the ice and did spins to thrill their passengers, and Phill. Skidoos zipped along, we even saw a horse and cart on the ice!
The slushy shores were loaded with Russians partaking in the traditional Russian festival that is 'Sunday Sesh'. Some would stand by their cars, vodka and fish on the go, and people watch in the sun. Kids would play on the ice, their parents oblivious to the fact IT COULD BREAK AT ANY MOMENT!!! There were little huts on the shores with families picnicking, and a few hotted up cars blaring loud music wih dancing girls drinking canned cocktails. It really was a nice way to while away a Spring afternoon.
On Monday we made our way back to Irkutsk and unintentionally explored the city by taking the long way home. Young girls laughed at my purple thermals, shorts, and long socks, and we saw an awesome beard. We stocked up on staple train supplies and had an early night.
Hangin' out in UB town
Our last week in Mongolia was just like hanging around home, waiting. With a week to wait before we could enter Russia (the visa situation isn't very welcoming...), we made ourselves at home at the Golden Gobi Hostel. We went to the Black Market, the movies and out for drinks with fellow travellers who came to call the Golden Gobi home, and were mostly waiting for Russian visas as well. We saw some characters come and go - Matt, a loose as 32-year-old Canadian heading home to study philosophy after three years teaching in Korea; Daniel, an equally loose German chap, who refused to pay exorbitant amounts for a tour of Mongolia and so bought a mountain bike from the Black Market and headed for China. He came back three days later, his bike was stolen while he was sleeping in his tent on the side of the road. There was Arnold, an inspiration - 80 years old and spends 10 months a year travelling on his own. He could well start every sentence with 'When I was there, in 1972...' and we would listen because he was a mad dude. "Last time I rode a camel was in Egypt in '64." What a trooper. Then there were the owners, Bob and his sister Enushka, gigglers and tale tellers but a wealth of knowledge and thirsting for more; Mama, the best tea maker ever (probably the three spoons of sugar she would put in), and always telling us to stay warm (we should have listened); and thre two Mongolian housekeepers/caretakers/washing ladies/cooks/cleaners (the carpet...with a toothbrush...)/ and door bitches, one of whom Phill woke up at 5am with a drunk Mongolian on his back, trying to find poor Odka a bed...
It was a cool place to hang out for a week, but we had itchy feed by the end. On our last day we hit the slopes - Mongolia's own two-lift, three-run ski resort. For about $20 we got a shuttlebus, ski and snowboard hire, clothes, lift ticker, and lunch! The snow was bearable, a little icy, but remained well-groom all day - we were the only ones there to carve it up. We took crazy German Daniel along and Phill taught him how to snowboard. Phill and I entered another stage of our relationship by discovering we are compatible even though he snowboards and I ski - I just beat him in races, but he's ok with that.
Our last night in town, we had curry with Andrew and took our the hostel common room for 'farewell' drinks. We had a very dusty walk to the trains station on Tuesday, accompanied by Daniel and Arnold. Pirman (a German) and Stephen (a Canadian) were in our carriage as well so it was like a moving extension of the Golden Gobi.
We had sleeping berths in second class, sharing with 'Andy', a Russian, about 24 years old, who had lived in UB for eight years but was heading home to Krasnoyarsk for an operation on hi leg, broken when snowboarding! He was very quiet bu gradually began telling us about Russia, his job in UB and how his boss dodges Mongolian taxes, and places he's travelle o learn English.
At the Mongolian border town, lots of traders got on the train and began unpacking their wares around the carriage. Andy told us that they're only allowed one bag, so they hide their plastic-wrapped shirts and tracksuits, bottles of whiskey and packets of toilet paper (?) in other people's luggage, if they let them, and on all the common shelves and tables. Dodgy business. We were glad to have Andy to explain all this, and translate at the border for us. There were no problems for us, but the guards were hardly convinced that this Mongolian trader had just one bag, and was getting off at the border train - not much to see there! Once all the immigration business was done, the provodnik (carriage attendant) bought 't-shirts, four, extra large' from the trader. He's in on the action as well.
It was a cool place to hang out for a week, but we had itchy feed by the end. On our last day we hit the slopes - Mongolia's own two-lift, three-run ski resort. For about $20 we got a shuttlebus, ski and snowboard hire, clothes, lift ticker, and lunch! The snow was bearable, a little icy, but remained well-groom all day - we were the only ones there to carve it up. We took crazy German Daniel along and Phill taught him how to snowboard. Phill and I entered another stage of our relationship by discovering we are compatible even though he snowboards and I ski - I just beat him in races, but he's ok with that.
Our last night in town, we had curry with Andrew and took our the hostel common room for 'farewell' drinks. We had a very dusty walk to the trains station on Tuesday, accompanied by Daniel and Arnold. Pirman (a German) and Stephen (a Canadian) were in our carriage as well so it was like a moving extension of the Golden Gobi.
We had sleeping berths in second class, sharing with 'Andy', a Russian, about 24 years old, who had lived in UB for eight years but was heading home to Krasnoyarsk for an operation on hi leg, broken when snowboarding! He was very quiet bu gradually began telling us about Russia, his job in UB and how his boss dodges Mongolian taxes, and places he's travelle o learn English.
At the Mongolian border town, lots of traders got on the train and began unpacking their wares around the carriage. Andy told us that they're only allowed one bag, so they hide their plastic-wrapped shirts and tracksuits, bottles of whiskey and packets of toilet paper (?) in other people's luggage, if they let them, and on all the common shelves and tables. Dodgy business. We were glad to have Andy to explain all this, and translate at the border for us. There were no problems for us, but the guards were hardly convinced that this Mongolian trader had just one bag, and was getting off at the border train - not much to see there! Once all the immigration business was done, the provodnik (carriage attendant) bought 't-shirts, four, extra large' from the trader. He's in on the action as well.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia. March 25-30, 2010
Must stop Facebooking...must start Blogging.
We have been in Mongolia for two weeks now, and have done some amazing things and seen some pretty far out places.
We arrived in Ulaan Baatar (way too many a's, ay) after a very relaxing 30-hour train trip. It was more freezing than Beijing, but the skies are so blue and the air much crisper (at least at the train station...by the main road you can feel the grit on your teeth from the pollution). The whole family from our hostel, the Golden Gobi, met us at the train station, as they were scouting for more tourists to entice in.
Ulaan Baatar is the epitome of a gateway to the countryside. International trains, buses and planes arrive and depart from here; there's a few museums and a monastery...and that's about all it's got going for it. There are so many hostels and tour agencies offering (I just fell off my chair... but Phill caught me in the nick of time) jeep and van tours out of town - definitely what we came to Mongolia for. But being winter, there's not many travellers to share a tour with. Our hostel owner offered a 6-night tour for just Phill and I for $500 each, but that was just a bit too exxy for us. So we waited in UB for 5 nights until another couple came to town and we planned a tour together, bringing the price down to $300 per person.
Our five days in UB were pretty uneventful I'm afraid. We saw the Buddhist Monastery, Gandan Khid, which has a massive 25-metre golden (gilded...) statue of...wow I should find this out...a statue of a god.... There is a massive market in UB, three huge sheds and aisles and aisles of everything your could ever need - pigs heads, fake Adidas tracksuits, boots and shoes (none in my size unfortunately), bicycles, crockery, prams, baked goods, felt for gers, rice cookers, cashmere...and it's huge. Luckily I think Phill's beard scared off potential pick pocketers. That, and all we had in our pockets were dirty tissues.
Any animals close to extinction can surely be cloned from the specimens in UB's Natural History Museum. They have stuffed bears, birds, kangaroos, rats, and wolverines. Let me tell you, Wolverine is not an appropriate name for the awesomeness that is Hugh Jackman in X-Men. Real wolverines are pissy little doggy wolf things, without any super human powers or extendable steel claws. Letting us down, nature. The animals were stuffed with the most perplexed expressions - 'why are you doing this to me, Genghis?' - and some had those googly eyes from kids craft kits pasted into their eye sockets. Quality, for $2.
On our second night in UB we met up with our friend we met on the plane to Beijing, Andrew from Perth. He is working here for five months and shares a tiny apartment in an old Soviet building with a Czech guy and girl. We downed a bottle of vodka while watching AFL on the Australian Network and talking Australian rock music with a Mongolian colleague of Andrew's (Jet is making a comeback in Mongolia) before hitting the town (me in my hiking boots and thermals), and promptly falling asleep in a bar, then running back to our hostel to avoid both muggers and hypothermia. Needless to say, we spent the next day recovering.
Ulaan Baatar is on par with Jakarta for the worst traffic, roads and cars. Pedestrian crossings are ignored, horns are constantly beeping, buses scream past and then screech on their brakes at traffic lights...which are often ignored. We like to cross the road with at least one Mongolian on either side of us. The footpath is full of potholes, ice patches and open drains.
But the Mongoloids are pretty cool. The women are amazing, the epitome of Eurasian beauty. They have the height (and legs) of Russians, with big eyes, dark skin and serious cheek bones. The city women wear amazingly high heeled boots, no mean feat considering the footpaths (I'm not even sorry about that pun, I've had it in my head for days now). They wear beautiful clothes and big winter jackets and have long dark hair. Everyone wears makeup, even the market ladies and waitresses - we saw one girl doing another's makeup in the kitchen of a small fast food place. Needless to say I feel like a douche in my hiking boots, purple ski pants, windproof jacket and beanie. Some of the men are alright on the eye as well.
We have been in Mongolia for two weeks now, and have done some amazing things and seen some pretty far out places.
We arrived in Ulaan Baatar (way too many a's, ay) after a very relaxing 30-hour train trip. It was more freezing than Beijing, but the skies are so blue and the air much crisper (at least at the train station...by the main road you can feel the grit on your teeth from the pollution). The whole family from our hostel, the Golden Gobi, met us at the train station, as they were scouting for more tourists to entice in.
Ulaan Baatar is the epitome of a gateway to the countryside. International trains, buses and planes arrive and depart from here; there's a few museums and a monastery...and that's about all it's got going for it. There are so many hostels and tour agencies offering (I just fell off my chair... but Phill caught me in the nick of time) jeep and van tours out of town - definitely what we came to Mongolia for. But being winter, there's not many travellers to share a tour with. Our hostel owner offered a 6-night tour for just Phill and I for $500 each, but that was just a bit too exxy for us. So we waited in UB for 5 nights until another couple came to town and we planned a tour together, bringing the price down to $300 per person.
Our five days in UB were pretty uneventful I'm afraid. We saw the Buddhist Monastery, Gandan Khid, which has a massive 25-metre golden (gilded...) statue of...wow I should find this out...a statue of a god.... There is a massive market in UB, three huge sheds and aisles and aisles of everything your could ever need - pigs heads, fake Adidas tracksuits, boots and shoes (none in my size unfortunately), bicycles, crockery, prams, baked goods, felt for gers, rice cookers, cashmere...and it's huge. Luckily I think Phill's beard scared off potential pick pocketers. That, and all we had in our pockets were dirty tissues.
Any animals close to extinction can surely be cloned from the specimens in UB's Natural History Museum. They have stuffed bears, birds, kangaroos, rats, and wolverines. Let me tell you, Wolverine is not an appropriate name for the awesomeness that is Hugh Jackman in X-Men. Real wolverines are pissy little doggy wolf things, without any super human powers or extendable steel claws. Letting us down, nature. The animals were stuffed with the most perplexed expressions - 'why are you doing this to me, Genghis?' - and some had those googly eyes from kids craft kits pasted into their eye sockets. Quality, for $2.
On our second night in UB we met up with our friend we met on the plane to Beijing, Andrew from Perth. He is working here for five months and shares a tiny apartment in an old Soviet building with a Czech guy and girl. We downed a bottle of vodka while watching AFL on the Australian Network and talking Australian rock music with a Mongolian colleague of Andrew's (Jet is making a comeback in Mongolia) before hitting the town (me in my hiking boots and thermals), and promptly falling asleep in a bar, then running back to our hostel to avoid both muggers and hypothermia. Needless to say, we spent the next day recovering.
Ulaan Baatar is on par with Jakarta for the worst traffic, roads and cars. Pedestrian crossings are ignored, horns are constantly beeping, buses scream past and then screech on their brakes at traffic lights...which are often ignored. We like to cross the road with at least one Mongolian on either side of us. The footpath is full of potholes, ice patches and open drains.
But the Mongoloids are pretty cool. The women are amazing, the epitome of Eurasian beauty. They have the height (and legs) of Russians, with big eyes, dark skin and serious cheek bones. The city women wear amazingly high heeled boots, no mean feat considering the footpaths (I'm not even sorry about that pun, I've had it in my head for days now). They wear beautiful clothes and big winter jackets and have long dark hair. Everyone wears makeup, even the market ladies and waitresses - we saw one girl doing another's makeup in the kitchen of a small fast food place. Needless to say I feel like a douche in my hiking boots, purple ski pants, windproof jacket and beanie. Some of the men are alright on the eye as well.
Friday, March 26, 2010
On the train, somewhere between Beijing and the Mongolia border. Wednesday March 24. 2010
Our final day in Beijing (Tuesday 23) was very relaxing. We had an earlier start than usual (9am), and walked to the Beijing Police Museum, in the Former Foreign Legation quarter east of Tianamen Square. The area itself was lovely - big buildings and and churches the legacy of foreign governments and their interests in Beijing. The Police Museum - free thanks to our out of date student cards - was pretty funny. A police museum in a police state was bound to be full of propaganda, and it didn't disappoint. We learnt how corrupt and unjust the force was, and how likeable and friendly they all are now! There were several murder and robbery cases displayed in detail ("and these are the sneakers the criminal tried to run away in") but alot of the info was only in Chinese. They had loads f badges and photos of old policemen, a 'martyrs wall' for officers killed on the job, and heaps of guns on display. Fittingly, there were almost as many un-smiling security guards as there were visitors.
We got some emergency US dollars for the rest of the trip, helping finance the Bank of China with a $30 fee. Then we went to Wangfujing Snack street for a feed. Still not sure what exactly we ate, but we steered clear of the still-moving scorpian skewers, cockroaches, squid, searhorses, starfish, lizards, gizards and goo.
It was lvoely weather, blue sky after the massive dust storm. Did some serious people watching (or were they watching us?) and played some Time Crises in a Sega Arcade - we make a good combat team. Had a bit of a sunbake and read outside the Egg and stocked up on pot noodles and snacks for our train trip.
We met a French couple at the hostel, Charlotte and Remi, who had just done the Trans-Mongolian and just got to Beijing from Ulan Bataar. They told us about the ger tours they did, and how cool our hostel is, which heartened us for the next stage of the journey. Because it's still so cold, we were worried that we wouldn't be able to get out of UB and into the countryside. But apparently the family that runs the Golden Gobi hostel can organise tours and tickets and everything!
Today we left ou hostel at 6am, and rolled out of Beijing Railway station at 7.47am. The train is lovely - our compartment has four sleepers, and so far we have it to ourselves. There's a fold out table and plenty of storage space, and bedlamps that work! We got free lunch and dinner in the dining cart - the first of much meatballs or dubious origin and potatoes. To be fair, we had been snacking all day. The train seems pretty empty. We saw a beautiful sunset over a windfarm and powerlines, and our first star, maybe planet, for two weeks. The trip out of the city was single-story ramshackle town houses, then massive apartment blocks, seemingly made out of lego. Once in the country side, the countryside same in - dust through the cracks and windows. The landscape is extremely dry and arid - half the soil landed in Beijing. There's rows of tiny, maybe dead, trees and shrubs - apparently the government is paying farmers to plant trees in order to prevent the desert creeping up to Beijing.
At midnight (it's now 8pm), we say so long to China, wait three hours and the border crossing, then hello Mongolia!
We got some emergency US dollars for the rest of the trip, helping finance the Bank of China with a $30 fee. Then we went to Wangfujing Snack street for a feed. Still not sure what exactly we ate, but we steered clear of the still-moving scorpian skewers, cockroaches, squid, searhorses, starfish, lizards, gizards and goo.
It was lvoely weather, blue sky after the massive dust storm. Did some serious people watching (or were they watching us?) and played some Time Crises in a Sega Arcade - we make a good combat team. Had a bit of a sunbake and read outside the Egg and stocked up on pot noodles and snacks for our train trip.
We met a French couple at the hostel, Charlotte and Remi, who had just done the Trans-Mongolian and just got to Beijing from Ulan Bataar. They told us about the ger tours they did, and how cool our hostel is, which heartened us for the next stage of the journey. Because it's still so cold, we were worried that we wouldn't be able to get out of UB and into the countryside. But apparently the family that runs the Golden Gobi hostel can organise tours and tickets and everything!
Today we left ou hostel at 6am, and rolled out of Beijing Railway station at 7.47am. The train is lovely - our compartment has four sleepers, and so far we have it to ourselves. There's a fold out table and plenty of storage space, and bedlamps that work! We got free lunch and dinner in the dining cart - the first of much meatballs or dubious origin and potatoes. To be fair, we had been snacking all day. The train seems pretty empty. We saw a beautiful sunset over a windfarm and powerlines, and our first star, maybe planet, for two weeks. The trip out of the city was single-story ramshackle town houses, then massive apartment blocks, seemingly made out of lego. Once in the country side, the countryside same in - dust through the cracks and windows. The landscape is extremely dry and arid - half the soil landed in Beijing. There's rows of tiny, maybe dead, trees and shrubs - apparently the government is paying farmers to plant trees in order to prevent the desert creeping up to Beijing.
At midnight (it's now 8pm), we say so long to China, wait three hours and the border crossing, then hello Mongolia!
Beijing, March 22, 2010
On Saturday, after out Great Great Wall adventure, we took a day off. From what? Well..travel can be exhausting. After a sleep in (easy in a basement room) we headed upstairs to check the weather - a massive dust storm had rolled in from the Gobi, which made breathing difficult, let alone walking and breathing! Armed with books, diary, cards and postcards, we headed to Sakura cafe, in another hostel up the road. A much cooler place than our hostel - rustic furnishings, writings and paintings on the walls. We settled in for the next seven hours and rode out the dust storm. A good place for people watching. A bit of a write-off day again, but that's a luxury that comes with staying in a place for two weeks.
On Sunday we walked around Behai Park, a very popular Sunday activity apparently. The man-made lake dates back about 1000 years, and has a massive island in the middle. There's temples and dagobas, and heaps of history. We walked around the whole lake, about two kms, stopping for a bit of a read under a tree. Grass and trees are still dead, but it would be lovely in spring. The wonderfully colourful buildings made up for it though. The sweet corn - a big let down. We walked back on the outside of the Forbidden City and into the most eager people ever to want photos with us. Some would ask, others would strategically pose someone just in front of us. This must be what it's like to be famous. Phill even denied one young man dressed as a Commy soldier. Heartless. "I was having a bad day and I'd been asked like four other times...and i was just annoyed at, like, Chinese society...don't put 'like' in there! Stop writing what I'm saying. I'm a cold-hearted bitch with stunningly good hips..."
We went back to our Newmans restaurant for disappointing corn soup for afternoon tea. Had an awesome exhausting-day-spent-in the cold- nap before going to Sakura for dinner and free beer (we did deserve it).
On Sunday we walked around Behai Park, a very popular Sunday activity apparently. The man-made lake dates back about 1000 years, and has a massive island in the middle. There's temples and dagobas, and heaps of history. We walked around the whole lake, about two kms, stopping for a bit of a read under a tree. Grass and trees are still dead, but it would be lovely in spring. The wonderfully colourful buildings made up for it though. The sweet corn - a big let down. We walked back on the outside of the Forbidden City and into the most eager people ever to want photos with us. Some would ask, others would strategically pose someone just in front of us. This must be what it's like to be famous. Phill even denied one young man dressed as a Commy soldier. Heartless. "I was having a bad day and I'd been asked like four other times...and i was just annoyed at, like, Chinese society...don't put 'like' in there! Stop writing what I'm saying. I'm a cold-hearted bitch with stunningly good hips..."
We went back to our Newmans restaurant for disappointing corn soup for afternoon tea. Had an awesome exhausting-day-spent-in the cold- nap before going to Sakura for dinner and free beer (we did deserve it).
Beijing, March 19, 2010
Today we had an epic journey to the Great Wall at Simatai. After walking around three bus/train stations and no-one able to take us to Mutianyu, we went to the long-distance bus station where a lovely lady told us Simatai was much better, much higher. She pointed us to the bus and we got on. It took us to Minyu, where it dropped us pretty much in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by taxi touts who insisted Simatai was 75km away. Not knowing where we were, we bargained with them, their spokesmen insisting the Lonely Planet is old, and fuel is 6 yuan a litre, until we agreen on about $63 for the round trip. We felt ripped off and little anxious in Mr Dong's car, but we had no real choice.
The wall was quite spectacular, and would have been very spectacular had the clouds cleared. At 1000m, we could see about 15m in front of us, often not knowing when the next watchtower was. The walk was steep, and the steps that annoying size when one at a time is too little but two at a time of too taxing. There was still snow, but luckily no wind. We saw maybe seven other couples on the three hour walk, which I think is rare for a Great Wall experience. It was nice to have some peace and quiet, so we could eat our jam sandwiches alone. The hawkers though were persistent. We had two ladies follow us about 500m, not very forgiving terrain, trying to sell us tacky souveneirs. We picked up the pace and used our big strides.
The walk was pretty hard at times and we managed a sweat even though it was freezing. Our imaginations also got a workout trying to picture the view. We gave our knees a rest on the way down a caught a 400m flying fox for $6. It looked dodgy, but there was a sign saying it was safety tested...didn't mention the year though. It lasted about 30 seconds, but was good fun - the lake below and the clouds above, and then a very pleasant walk back to the car park. A massive section of the lake was frozen - not even massive rocks that Phill threw (with ease) could break the surface. The pleasure boat service wasn't running.
Our driver, Mr Dong, was waiting where and when he said he would be, bless him, and we made the epic journey back to Miyun and then Beijing and our lovely warm hostel, and amazing spicy pizza bread, and hot showers, and tea, and laundry, and free internet for Phillip to download games to his I-phone.
The wall was quite spectacular, and would have been very spectacular had the clouds cleared. At 1000m, we could see about 15m in front of us, often not knowing when the next watchtower was. The walk was steep, and the steps that annoying size when one at a time is too little but two at a time of too taxing. There was still snow, but luckily no wind. We saw maybe seven other couples on the three hour walk, which I think is rare for a Great Wall experience. It was nice to have some peace and quiet, so we could eat our jam sandwiches alone. The hawkers though were persistent. We had two ladies follow us about 500m, not very forgiving terrain, trying to sell us tacky souveneirs. We picked up the pace and used our big strides.
The walk was pretty hard at times and we managed a sweat even though it was freezing. Our imaginations also got a workout trying to picture the view. We gave our knees a rest on the way down a caught a 400m flying fox for $6. It looked dodgy, but there was a sign saying it was safety tested...didn't mention the year though. It lasted about 30 seconds, but was good fun - the lake below and the clouds above, and then a very pleasant walk back to the car park. A massive section of the lake was frozen - not even massive rocks that Phill threw (with ease) could break the surface. The pleasure boat service wasn't running.
Our driver, Mr Dong, was waiting where and when he said he would be, bless him, and we made the epic journey back to Miyun and then Beijing and our lovely warm hostel, and amazing spicy pizza bread, and hot showers, and tea, and laundry, and free internet for Phillip to download games to his I-phone.
Beijing, Thursday March 18, 2010.
Today we went to the Beijing Zoo. The grounds were lovely, with willows lining a river and frozen ponds. But the animal enclosures - and the animals are the main drawcard of a zoo - were foul. Bears were alone in bare bear pits, nothing for stimulation except the zoo patrons throwing mandarin peels at them and making them beg for apple juice - despite many signs saying no feeding. One man even spat on a bear - who spits on a bear? We're not sure if it is due to the freezing temperatures, but there were tigers and pumas in heated cages, about 5m x 5m, with concrete floors and a bench - that's it. There were much bigger outdoor enclosures, but perhaps it was too cold. Elephants walked around their tiny enclosures covered in shit and hay and with radiators lining the walls. It was pretty depressing to see, but the locals seemed to have no qualms about it. There were signs advertising how the zoo was making enclosures to mimic the natural habitat. Pretty sure there's no concrete, steel and glass in the jungle. Also pretty sure platypusses aren't called Duckmoles, and that a kangaroo's natural diet doesn't consist of corn, carrots and cabbage. The pandas were the biggest attraction, but really, they don't do much beside eat bamboo, sleep and look cute. They couldn't even be bothered to have sex for us. There was a couple of 'lesser pandas' and 'red pandas', but really.
All in all, a disappointing zoo, possibly even some animal-protection-convention-breaking going on there as well.
All in all, a disappointing zoo, possibly even some animal-protection-convention-breaking going on there as well.
Beijing, Monday 15 March 2010
We are the proud new owners of two tickets to Ulan Bataar! Hard sleeped, for 30 hours, for about $180 each. Booked in for next Wednesday (24th), figuring that it would be better to be in Beijing than Mongolia - where it's still -11 degrees.
We went to the Forbidden City, me stupidly in leggings and shorts, when there's still snow on the ground. It was freezing. The Forbidden City was vast and empty, except for the thousands of tourists and grand buildings dating back hundreds of years. The Spring Garden would be lovely in Spring. In Winter it had a dreary beauty - old, possibly dead, trees; snow still packed on the ground; flower beds waiting for Spring. There is an awful lot of history in the place - but it was just freezing. After about three hours we headed for home, and discovered the Egg - the National Theatre, a huge egg-shaped steel and glass building, and deserted at 4pm.
That night we treated our Canadian roomies Kane and Joren to our Newman's restaurant, and proceeded to get very drunk with a blue-eyed Chinese demon man. Not a word of English, but 'take a shot' seems to be universal sign language. He loved Phillip, his hair and his height, and was confused when Kane's Japanese friend Chicko couldn't understand Chinese - apparently they all look the same. Old Blue Eyes shared his 52% alcohol with us and got many photos before his friends or family dragged him home - but he came back! There was much hugging and hand shaking until he left. food and lots of drinks - about $5 each. But we paid for it more the next day.
Tuesday was a write-off of a day recovering from whatever spirits we were drinking the night before. While Kane and Joren left early for the Great Wall, we stayed in bed until 1pm. We struggled through town and to the Santilun are - full of embassies, bars, shopping centres and money. The chain stores - Puma, Adidas, Nike - were genuine and thus out of our price range, but after finally finding a size 11.5 pair of decent walking shoes, Phill invested in the future of his feet, knees and back. I too, invested (it is an investment) in a pair of bright purple ski pants for $60 - I'm determined to be warm in Mongolia, if a little chubbier.
Wednesday - finally I've caught up. After a lazy morning, we got all athletic and caught teh subway to the Olympic park. Joren and Kane came with, and the four of us dwarfed the population. The subway is so easy to use - signs in English and arrows pointing us in the right way - a very useful relic from the Olympic Games. We saw the Birds Nest, or the National Stadium, but passed on the $9 to go in, figuring that they probably wouldn't let us run the trackl or play in the long jump pit. And despite Internet pages from 2009 stating the contrary, the Water Cube was not open to the public - in fact, it was closed for renovation. Lucky we took our swimmers. The whole site is huge and would have been packed during the Olympics. On a cold winter's day, however, the hawkers almost outnumbered the tourists. Olympic Green was deceptive - concrete walkways and statues and bizarre steel poles. A river ran through and trees looked hopeful for Spring. At the Northern end if Olympic Forest Park, massive in the middle of the city. We walked around for a bit of fresh air, and poked some fish in the lake.
Came home via Tianamen Square at sunset (which, oddly enough, set above the horizon in the layer of pollution) to watch the lowering of the flag - very pompous and packed with tourists and security stopping the traffic so the soldiers could walk across the road from the Forbidden City.
We went to the Forbidden City, me stupidly in leggings and shorts, when there's still snow on the ground. It was freezing. The Forbidden City was vast and empty, except for the thousands of tourists and grand buildings dating back hundreds of years. The Spring Garden would be lovely in Spring. In Winter it had a dreary beauty - old, possibly dead, trees; snow still packed on the ground; flower beds waiting for Spring. There is an awful lot of history in the place - but it was just freezing. After about three hours we headed for home, and discovered the Egg - the National Theatre, a huge egg-shaped steel and glass building, and deserted at 4pm.
That night we treated our Canadian roomies Kane and Joren to our Newman's restaurant, and proceeded to get very drunk with a blue-eyed Chinese demon man. Not a word of English, but 'take a shot' seems to be universal sign language. He loved Phillip, his hair and his height, and was confused when Kane's Japanese friend Chicko couldn't understand Chinese - apparently they all look the same. Old Blue Eyes shared his 52% alcohol with us and got many photos before his friends or family dragged him home - but he came back! There was much hugging and hand shaking until he left. food and lots of drinks - about $5 each. But we paid for it more the next day.
Tuesday was a write-off of a day recovering from whatever spirits we were drinking the night before. While Kane and Joren left early for the Great Wall, we stayed in bed until 1pm. We struggled through town and to the Santilun are - full of embassies, bars, shopping centres and money. The chain stores - Puma, Adidas, Nike - were genuine and thus out of our price range, but after finally finding a size 11.5 pair of decent walking shoes, Phill invested in the future of his feet, knees and back. I too, invested (it is an investment) in a pair of bright purple ski pants for $60 - I'm determined to be warm in Mongolia, if a little chubbier.
Wednesday - finally I've caught up. After a lazy morning, we got all athletic and caught teh subway to the Olympic park. Joren and Kane came with, and the four of us dwarfed the population. The subway is so easy to use - signs in English and arrows pointing us in the right way - a very useful relic from the Olympic Games. We saw the Birds Nest, or the National Stadium, but passed on the $9 to go in, figuring that they probably wouldn't let us run the trackl or play in the long jump pit. And despite Internet pages from 2009 stating the contrary, the Water Cube was not open to the public - in fact, it was closed for renovation. Lucky we took our swimmers. The whole site is huge and would have been packed during the Olympics. On a cold winter's day, however, the hawkers almost outnumbered the tourists. Olympic Green was deceptive - concrete walkways and statues and bizarre steel poles. A river ran through and trees looked hopeful for Spring. At the Northern end if Olympic Forest Park, massive in the middle of the city. We walked around for a bit of fresh air, and poked some fish in the lake.
Came home via Tianamen Square at sunset (which, oddly enough, set above the horizon in the layer of pollution) to watch the lowering of the flag - very pompous and packed with tourists and security stopping the traffic so the soldiers could walk across the road from the Forbidden City.
Beijing, China. Wednesday March 17 2010.
So far, Beijing has been amazing. It is very well laid out, the subway is super clean, cheap and efficient, and the people are polite - despite the constant spitting.
We arrived at Tianjin airport on Friday, and with our new friends Joe and Bec from England and Andrew from Perth, negotiated public transport - shuttle bus, bullet train, and subway - to our hostel, about 15 minutes walk from Tianamen Square. In almost minus temperature, everyone stared at Phillip in his shorts and things; one old lady yelled at him. The hostel, also a hotel, has come to represent every business we've come across - clean, hygenic, staff on hand at every corner, grand old buildings and furnishings and every facility the traveller could need - massage, a barber open 'til midnight, restaurant, bar, cafe, tour desk, souvenir shop, bike rental...and it seems pretty empty! The toilets could be better...not knowing if it will flush or not doesn't make the most relaxing atmosphere for a poo. we will be here 12 mights total, so it's very homey, and $7.50 a night each for a dorm bed!
Our first day (Saturday) we had a very deserved sleep in, then walked to Tianament Square. Apparently it only opened at 12pm, and the gates were rushed! There was much pushing and shoving in order to get across the road, and then a bottleneck to get through the security check - a bag scan and a quick pat down - and finally into the square, where security, police and 'professional' photographers nearly outnumbered the tourists. The square itself is vast, empty and patriotic - flags everywhere, Uncle Mao looking over the whole thing from the north - the entrance to the Forbidden City.
After the obligatory photos, we headed to Wangfujing Street, a shopper's paradise. Three massive, upscale Western style malls and food courts and so many shoppers and still more construction. We found Phillip some thermals and got our photo taken by a passerby - not so subtle with the flash on. Then we ran - to keep warm - to Alien's Street Market, which should be called Little Russia. Apparently they pop over for the cheap clothes and tailors. We bargained in the markets for gloves (two pairs for $12), beanies (two for $12), and cutlery sets for the train, and purple thermals for me!
We walked and subwayed back to the hostel - so easy to get around - and went to dinner at our new favourite restaurant run by brothers who look like Newman from Seinfeld. We had a massive feed, beers and shots with the locals for about $8.
Sunday we awoke to snow! very rare for March apparently. It was lovely walking through all the hutongs (alleyways that service the courtyard houses), with about an inch of snow settled on everything. We walked to another disappointing shopping centre in search of more warm clothes, then subwayed to the main rail station, battled crowds and were directed to another hotel for info about train into Mongolia. We went there, it was closed. But we took advantage of the lovely lobby and bathroom for a bit of melting off and warming up. It must not have been a very memorable night...writing now (Wednesday), I can't remember what happened...
We arrived at Tianjin airport on Friday, and with our new friends Joe and Bec from England and Andrew from Perth, negotiated public transport - shuttle bus, bullet train, and subway - to our hostel, about 15 minutes walk from Tianamen Square. In almost minus temperature, everyone stared at Phillip in his shorts and things; one old lady yelled at him. The hostel, also a hotel, has come to represent every business we've come across - clean, hygenic, staff on hand at every corner, grand old buildings and furnishings and every facility the traveller could need - massage, a barber open 'til midnight, restaurant, bar, cafe, tour desk, souvenir shop, bike rental...and it seems pretty empty! The toilets could be better...not knowing if it will flush or not doesn't make the most relaxing atmosphere for a poo. we will be here 12 mights total, so it's very homey, and $7.50 a night each for a dorm bed!
Our first day (Saturday) we had a very deserved sleep in, then walked to Tianament Square. Apparently it only opened at 12pm, and the gates were rushed! There was much pushing and shoving in order to get across the road, and then a bottleneck to get through the security check - a bag scan and a quick pat down - and finally into the square, where security, police and 'professional' photographers nearly outnumbered the tourists. The square itself is vast, empty and patriotic - flags everywhere, Uncle Mao looking over the whole thing from the north - the entrance to the Forbidden City.
After the obligatory photos, we headed to Wangfujing Street, a shopper's paradise. Three massive, upscale Western style malls and food courts and so many shoppers and still more construction. We found Phillip some thermals and got our photo taken by a passerby - not so subtle with the flash on. Then we ran - to keep warm - to Alien's Street Market, which should be called Little Russia. Apparently they pop over for the cheap clothes and tailors. We bargained in the markets for gloves (two pairs for $12), beanies (two for $12), and cutlery sets for the train, and purple thermals for me!
We walked and subwayed back to the hostel - so easy to get around - and went to dinner at our new favourite restaurant run by brothers who look like Newman from Seinfeld. We had a massive feed, beers and shots with the locals for about $8.
Sunday we awoke to snow! very rare for March apparently. It was lovely walking through all the hutongs (alleyways that service the courtyard houses), with about an inch of snow settled on everything. We walked to another disappointing shopping centre in search of more warm clothes, then subwayed to the main rail station, battled crowds and were directed to another hotel for info about train into Mongolia. We went there, it was closed. But we took advantage of the lovely lobby and bathroom for a bit of melting off and warming up. It must not have been a very memorable night...writing now (Wednesday), I can't remember what happened...
Thursday March 11 2010, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
Our night in Patong proved to be very entertaining. Starting with pre-drinks at our (air-conditioned and very comfortable - why would we want to leave that?) hotel, we wandered into town about 9pm. The streets were packed with tourists and locals alike - old couples on their way home after expensive seafood dinners, young men prowling in groups, local girls all dolled up, and the inevitable ping pong show touts.
After a bit of research - you can't be hasty with these things - we chose a show ("free show, just buy one drink, 500 baht a drink") and were taken behind a red velvet curtain into what was essentially a strip club. Young girls - barely 18 - in the tiniest G-string bikinis gyrating rather unconvincingly against poles, moving one place to the left after each bad song. Tourists lined the walls drinking their exorbitantly priced Changs (us included), waiting with baited breath for the good shit to happen. The good shit must have been at least 30 and at a mother at least twice. First she burst balloons with a blow pipe and arrows inserted into her va-jay-jay. Then there were the ping pong balls - one up, one down, bounce it around, squat and balance it on a beer bottle. Next, how about we whack a whole ball of tape up there, and unravel it around the dancing poles. And - what's that smell? Is that fish? Yep - squirt out a couple of livies, efficiently inserted backstage. Then, the piece de resistance, a live canary, in and out like a very live train at a train station.
This whole process just kept repeating, with intervals for full frontal nudity, lesbian action, and (possibly) a very flexible lady boy. Half the fun was guessing which ladies were boys - Thais don't have the biggest boobs, and a bit of duct tape can hide anything. We stayed for about an hour, feeling pervy and intrigued.
The nightlife of the streets was pumping - tiny bars brimming with tourists and locals, blaring bad music onto the street and offering all kinds of drinks deals. We got two cocktails for about $4 and played Connect-Four - yep - against a very bored and talented bartender. Games for the customers in.
We walked the streets, glad we were together so no prostitutes solicited us. Ladies and ladybos of the night were everywhere, made up and dressed for the role. Among them, a pregnant woman in an oversized T-shirt trying to get people to go to ping pong shows. We hoped she wasn't the talent.
We got more food and watched the drunks stumble past. It was very entertaining night.
Oh, and before all this, we got on TV! Walking down to the beach, we eyed off a camera crew until they stopped and interviewed us, asking questions about our fears of natural disasters - tsunamis and earthquakes - and political disturbances and terrorism. Being the responsible tourists we are, we praised the facilities, police presence and safety we felt in Thailand. It seemed to be for some tourists show or ads, as they presented us with police pamphlets and got photos shaking hands with the big, burly Austrian volunteer tourist police.
The next day we caught a 2pm ferry to Ko Phi Phi, about an hour and a half east of Phuket town. The village was destroyed in the 2004 Tsunami, so everything had been rebuilt, and was beautiful. Paved lanes - no cars or scooters - market stalls, restaurants, coffee shops, and lots of guesthouses at exorbitant prices. We got the cheapest we could find - $20 a night with fan and shower. Thankfully it was a big out of the town and away from the noise and lights . There was construction everywhere, bags of cement waiting to be mixed (by hand) and probably poured to make more guesthouses. The beach was packed with taxi boats to other islands, private charter speed boats, and ferries for snorkelling tours. We watched the sunset over the limestone (according to Lonely Planet) mountains and swam in the low tide - up to our knees about 50m out. It was relaxing after Patong, not as many people. Had pizza for dinner at a restaurant on the beach (poor Phill was starving - it took 30 minutes) and went home. Feeling a bit ill, I stayed home and Phill went to watch the nightly fire show on the beach.
On Monday morning, we explored the island. There's about 150m between bays and beaches across the mainland, so it's easy to see how fucked up it would get in a tsunami. We walked up the easterly mountain, following the Tsunami Evacuation Route (just to familiarise ourselves). The views were spectacular, especially the young Swiss man in his Speedos. The water sparkling blue and the sand white...and oddly enough, the trees were green. The Swiss man was really brown.
Climbing down, we partook in the blues waters and read - in the shade. The amount of potential skin cancer is abhorent - young Scandinavians in the midday sun, with bikinis on - not even hats! The afternoon we went on a sunset snorkelling trip. Saw Monkey Beach - lots of cheeky monkeys; Viking Cave, and the island Ko Phi Phi Lay, a marine park, uninhabited except for the dozens of tour boats making daily trips. We kayaked and snorkelled in a pretty amazing bay - lots of different fish and coral and spiky things Phill was scared of (not being able to float and all). We swam and walked through a rock tunnel - very dangerous - and ended up at The Beach - made famous by the movie of the same name. For such an isolated beach, it was packed full of tourists. We took the obligatory photos and swam in the warm water, and found a cock-shaped rock. Back on the boat, we were fed a pretty amazing red curry as the sun set and dolphins frolicked and fat English brothers tried to communicate with their Thai girlfriends. That night, we sat on the beach drinking vodka and beer, hoping (lamely) to meet other travelling couples doing the same thing. But apparently those that come to Phi Phi have the money to spend at the myriad bars and restaurants. We prowled the streets, being all yoof-like, and caught a Thai cabaret show at a nightclub - lady boys in sequins and tuele lip-synching to Tina Turner and Beyonce. Still unsure why, but we were denied the free vodka buckets we were promised on the flyer for enduring the cabaret - which the bartender promptly threw out when we showed him. Annoyed, we walked home through town that seemed deserted for a place full of young backpackers - maybe all their scuba diving and sunbaking exhausted them.
Tuesday, another exhausting travel day. Two hours by ferry to Krabi, four hours in a mini van to Hat Yai, then nine hours overnight in an overly air-conditioned bus in to Kuala Lumpur. Malaysian customs was easy - the lad only commented to Phill "Oh, you cut all your hair off!"
We arrived at KL at 4am, a very seedy time of night. Luckily, lots of hotels were still open and the lovely man at Red Dragon hostel let us check in at 5am for the enxt night, for $14 a night. Sept off the bus trip til 11am, got a feed and started walking. Got lost, and came home for some serious Facebooking (five weeks of photos - you're welcome) and blogging. We met Mirjam and Parth for dinner - Mirjam is a friend of Phill's German friend Denise. They both study in a town about 2o mins from KL, and like to come to town to get away from their conservative college - no drinking, no common rooms, gates locked at midnight. It was very interesting to talk to them about Malaysia and how conservative it is - Parthe had not drunk alcohol for three months, since leaving India. Beer is expensive and Muslims don't drink. Had some great curry for dinner and saw the Petronas Twin Towers lit up at night.
Today we got up early - 7am - and caught the very clean, efficient, cheap and easy to use subway, to KLC and the Twin Towers. After an hour wait, we were given free tickets and subjected to the most patriotic and Petronas-loving 3d media show (glasses and all). The we got to go to the Skybridge, 41 floors up, as seen in the film Entrapment. The view was ok. Caught the train again to Merdeka Square, a parade ground and popular stop for tour buses- that's it' unfortunately. On the way back to our hostel we were fined for jay-walking. We tried to talk our way out of it - we were tired from a long walk and didn't want to climb up the overhead walkway; everyone else was doing it (everyone else also got fined); we were tourists and didn't know; there were no signs (we saw the signs after). We bargained with them (that's right - bargaining with police officers) and they said as we were tourists they would only fine one of us, 30ringits, about $10. Thing is, we budgeted for our stay in KL, only had enough for taxi and bus to the airport tomorrow, and food. We had 20 ringits in my wallet, so they accepted that. Still felt very ripped off.
After a bit of research - you can't be hasty with these things - we chose a show ("free show, just buy one drink, 500 baht a drink") and were taken behind a red velvet curtain into what was essentially a strip club. Young girls - barely 18 - in the tiniest G-string bikinis gyrating rather unconvincingly against poles, moving one place to the left after each bad song. Tourists lined the walls drinking their exorbitantly priced Changs (us included), waiting with baited breath for the good shit to happen. The good shit must have been at least 30 and at a mother at least twice. First she burst balloons with a blow pipe and arrows inserted into her va-jay-jay. Then there were the ping pong balls - one up, one down, bounce it around, squat and balance it on a beer bottle. Next, how about we whack a whole ball of tape up there, and unravel it around the dancing poles. And - what's that smell? Is that fish? Yep - squirt out a couple of livies, efficiently inserted backstage. Then, the piece de resistance, a live canary, in and out like a very live train at a train station.
This whole process just kept repeating, with intervals for full frontal nudity, lesbian action, and (possibly) a very flexible lady boy. Half the fun was guessing which ladies were boys - Thais don't have the biggest boobs, and a bit of duct tape can hide anything. We stayed for about an hour, feeling pervy and intrigued.
The nightlife of the streets was pumping - tiny bars brimming with tourists and locals, blaring bad music onto the street and offering all kinds of drinks deals. We got two cocktails for about $4 and played Connect-Four - yep - against a very bored and talented bartender. Games for the customers in.
We walked the streets, glad we were together so no prostitutes solicited us. Ladies and ladybos of the night were everywhere, made up and dressed for the role. Among them, a pregnant woman in an oversized T-shirt trying to get people to go to ping pong shows. We hoped she wasn't the talent.
We got more food and watched the drunks stumble past. It was very entertaining night.
Oh, and before all this, we got on TV! Walking down to the beach, we eyed off a camera crew until they stopped and interviewed us, asking questions about our fears of natural disasters - tsunamis and earthquakes - and political disturbances and terrorism. Being the responsible tourists we are, we praised the facilities, police presence and safety we felt in Thailand. It seemed to be for some tourists show or ads, as they presented us with police pamphlets and got photos shaking hands with the big, burly Austrian volunteer tourist police.
The next day we caught a 2pm ferry to Ko Phi Phi, about an hour and a half east of Phuket town. The village was destroyed in the 2004 Tsunami, so everything had been rebuilt, and was beautiful. Paved lanes - no cars or scooters - market stalls, restaurants, coffee shops, and lots of guesthouses at exorbitant prices. We got the cheapest we could find - $20 a night with fan and shower. Thankfully it was a big out of the town and away from the noise and lights . There was construction everywhere, bags of cement waiting to be mixed (by hand) and probably poured to make more guesthouses. The beach was packed with taxi boats to other islands, private charter speed boats, and ferries for snorkelling tours. We watched the sunset over the limestone (according to Lonely Planet) mountains and swam in the low tide - up to our knees about 50m out. It was relaxing after Patong, not as many people. Had pizza for dinner at a restaurant on the beach (poor Phill was starving - it took 30 minutes) and went home. Feeling a bit ill, I stayed home and Phill went to watch the nightly fire show on the beach.
On Monday morning, we explored the island. There's about 150m between bays and beaches across the mainland, so it's easy to see how fucked up it would get in a tsunami. We walked up the easterly mountain, following the Tsunami Evacuation Route (just to familiarise ourselves). The views were spectacular, especially the young Swiss man in his Speedos. The water sparkling blue and the sand white...and oddly enough, the trees were green. The Swiss man was really brown.
Climbing down, we partook in the blues waters and read - in the shade. The amount of potential skin cancer is abhorent - young Scandinavians in the midday sun, with bikinis on - not even hats! The afternoon we went on a sunset snorkelling trip. Saw Monkey Beach - lots of cheeky monkeys; Viking Cave, and the island Ko Phi Phi Lay, a marine park, uninhabited except for the dozens of tour boats making daily trips. We kayaked and snorkelled in a pretty amazing bay - lots of different fish and coral and spiky things Phill was scared of (not being able to float and all). We swam and walked through a rock tunnel - very dangerous - and ended up at The Beach - made famous by the movie of the same name. For such an isolated beach, it was packed full of tourists. We took the obligatory photos and swam in the warm water, and found a cock-shaped rock. Back on the boat, we were fed a pretty amazing red curry as the sun set and dolphins frolicked and fat English brothers tried to communicate with their Thai girlfriends. That night, we sat on the beach drinking vodka and beer, hoping (lamely) to meet other travelling couples doing the same thing. But apparently those that come to Phi Phi have the money to spend at the myriad bars and restaurants. We prowled the streets, being all yoof-like, and caught a Thai cabaret show at a nightclub - lady boys in sequins and tuele lip-synching to Tina Turner and Beyonce. Still unsure why, but we were denied the free vodka buckets we were promised on the flyer for enduring the cabaret - which the bartender promptly threw out when we showed him. Annoyed, we walked home through town that seemed deserted for a place full of young backpackers - maybe all their scuba diving and sunbaking exhausted them.
Tuesday, another exhausting travel day. Two hours by ferry to Krabi, four hours in a mini van to Hat Yai, then nine hours overnight in an overly air-conditioned bus in to Kuala Lumpur. Malaysian customs was easy - the lad only commented to Phill "Oh, you cut all your hair off!"
We arrived at KL at 4am, a very seedy time of night. Luckily, lots of hotels were still open and the lovely man at Red Dragon hostel let us check in at 5am for the enxt night, for $14 a night. Sept off the bus trip til 11am, got a feed and started walking. Got lost, and came home for some serious Facebooking (five weeks of photos - you're welcome) and blogging. We met Mirjam and Parth for dinner - Mirjam is a friend of Phill's German friend Denise. They both study in a town about 2o mins from KL, and like to come to town to get away from their conservative college - no drinking, no common rooms, gates locked at midnight. It was very interesting to talk to them about Malaysia and how conservative it is - Parthe had not drunk alcohol for three months, since leaving India. Beer is expensive and Muslims don't drink. Had some great curry for dinner and saw the Petronas Twin Towers lit up at night.
Today we got up early - 7am - and caught the very clean, efficient, cheap and easy to use subway, to KLC and the Twin Towers. After an hour wait, we were given free tickets and subjected to the most patriotic and Petronas-loving 3d media show (glasses and all). The we got to go to the Skybridge, 41 floors up, as seen in the film Entrapment. The view was ok. Caught the train again to Merdeka Square, a parade ground and popular stop for tour buses- that's it' unfortunately. On the way back to our hostel we were fined for jay-walking. We tried to talk our way out of it - we were tired from a long walk and didn't want to climb up the overhead walkway; everyone else was doing it (everyone else also got fined); we were tourists and didn't know; there were no signs (we saw the signs after). We bargained with them (that's right - bargaining with police officers) and they said as we were tourists they would only fine one of us, 30ringits, about $10. Thing is, we budgeted for our stay in KL, only had enough for taxi and bus to the airport tomorrow, and food. We had 20 ringits in my wallet, so they accepted that. Still felt very ripped off.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Patong Beach, Phuket, Thailand. Saturday 5-3-09
Pretty sure that 'Patong' is Thai for either 'Scandinavian' or 'get your tits out' - both seem to apply to this packed tourist destination. We came here intending to relax by the beach all day, our first beach in two and a half weeks and our last until Germany (using 'beach' very loosely). Patong is as touristy as Kaho San Road, with the added bonus of 50-something overweight Europeans of lavish resort holidays. The tourist information booths and taxi drivers almost outnumber the tourists though.
The natural beauty of the beach is stunning - a sweeping sandy bay facing west, hills on either end and islands in the distance. It would be nice if all the people upped and left, but that's highly unlikely. The sand if packed with sun chairs and umbrellas; sunburnt walruses getting their boobs out for some vitamin D. Hawkers strut up and down with their wares, and ladies yell their nasal 'maaaassssaagggeeee', as if saying it for longer will make you agree. It is a lovely place, but it makes us appreciate Australia's natural beauty and our pristine and deserted beaches. Patong is a tourist destination, with an international airport thirty minutes away, and every facility a holidaying couple, or a bucks party, would want. Unfortunately we will not have time to discover if all of Thailand's beaches are like this, as we fly to Beijing from Kuala Lumpur in a week. We hope to get to Ko Phi Phi for a taste of island life before making our way to KL.
We arrived in Phuket Province, actually an island attached to the mainland by a bridge, at 10.30 on Thursday night, after another epic 30-hour journeys from Chiang Mai in the north of Thailand. First, a 14-hour sleeper train to Bangkok - with only second class fan available, which should definitely by called third class. The doors between the carriages couldn't close so it was noisy the whole time. 'Fan' also means window, which can close except for about a foot. As it was so hot (it was a 3pm departure), we left the windows open, so dust, bugs, stinky fire air (smoke?) all came in and settled through the carriage. I had the bottom sleep, and half of it was broken and a spring was sprung. The lights in our berths didn't work, and the main lights in the carriage flickered on and off. I resigned to reading Harry Potter by torchlight, trying to make myself super sleepy. We arrived in Bangkok an hour and a half late, but luckily still had time to get a feed, have a bit of a train station wash, before boarding the 8.05 to Surat Thani. Although it was only seats, thankfully it was aircon, clean and comfortable. We even got breakfast and lunch!45 minutes late to Surat Thani, but we managed to hassle a taxi driver (who am I kidding - they pounced) and we got a 6pm 'minivan' to Phuket town, four hours away. This was the type of travel that gets us down - the whole way I was forming a stern e-mail in my mind: "Dear Sir, when you see us, and notice that we are taller than your average Thai or tourist, please could you mention that your minivan is made for midgets, and will not depart unless every seat is filled, and every space filled with luggage. Also, please add on at least an hour to expected travel time. Also, if you bothered to purchase a van with individual reading lights, why not maintain them? Also, perhaps some kind of seating system whereby short people are assigned to the seats with less leg room might be a good idea. Kind regards, tall disgruntled passengers. PS, when you say you stop at the bus station, please take us to the bus station, now some dodg
y alleyway where we don't know where we are, only to be hounded by motorcycle taxi drivers." The joys of long distance travel. But it did only cost us about $60 each for a cross-country journey. Knackered, we settled on the nearest hotel for $20, found food and beer, and slept.The next day we walked around Phuket town, a nice city, with one-way streets, lots of 'Sino-Portugese' architecture and crumbling terrace houses. We checked into the cheaper On On Hotel, used as a set in The Beach...room 38 in fact. We were room 41. I could smell the remnants of Leo. Oh, wait, no. That was the squat toilet, the stagnant drainage system and the mould of the ceiling. Letting us down Leo. It is a beautiful, big old building and a shame to see it so decrepit.
After the midday heat, we walked to Phuket Bay, almost getting lost. Friday night is market night, and the whole bay was packed with locals - refreshingly, we didn't see any other white people there. There was a lovely park by the water overlooking the bay and islands, and what could have been a beach at high tide but was now just mud flats. There were lots of families out exercising and having dinner on the grass in the sunset. We partook in local twice deep fried seafood - fish, prawns (shells and all), anchovies (we think) and deep fried frankfurt. Yummo. We walked back into town and found a bar near our hotel for beer, got second dinners, met the loosest American (half-Norweigan, he insisted) on valium, and had a early night. Well, intended to, if everyone hadn't been so noisy and the walls hadn't been made out of cardboard and if they had gone from the floor to the ceiling.
Wanting to beat the midday heat, we left town at about 8.30 am, and got the public bus to Patong. Nothing here is cheap, so we settled on $20 a night for a really nice room - aircon, TV, shower and huge bed. Tonight, a night on the town. Maybe a ping pong show, we don't know if we'll have time...
Monday, March 1, 2010
Chiang Mai, Thailand. March 2nd.
Who manages to catch a cold in a tropical climate? I do! We are having a chillax day in Chiang Mai today so hopefully I will be well by the time it comes to move on...still deciding when that will be.
We caught an overnight sleeper train from Bangkok on Saturday night. At first we thought they had ripped us off and there were no sleeping compartments, but then a lovely man with a face mask came on and transformed the two lower seats into a bed, and pulled down the top bed from the ceiling, put curtains up, and made our beds with sheets, pillows and blankets. It was very cosy and the train rocked us to sleep, but also rocked us awake so 50/50 in the rocking department. It took 14 hours but was so much nicer than a bus - we could walk around, the toilets were usable, and we had a card table for Ultimate Golf (Phillip won).
We got into Chiang Mai about 10.30 am, and shared a taxi into town with an English couple. Found and checked into Julie's Guesthouse, recommended to us by lots of people. It's a cool little place, with a common area and a rooftop 'chillout area', a fridge full of drinks that you can just put on your tab (dangerous) and heaps of tour info. We wandered around town for a bit, found some markets with amazing food...indulged. Phill was craving a sausage, but unfortunately was let down by the fact that it had noodles and rice in it! Where's the meat? We ran into our English friends again and they had just been scouting out car rental deals and asked if we'd like to tag along for a day in the mountains where there's heaps of waterfalls. We did want to.
Sunday nights in Chiang Mai are all about the walking streets. Markets line (and line, and line) the main streets in the old town and you can get everything, and every food. Naturally, we began another eat-off - fried potato twists, roasted sweet corn, amazing pork dumplings, spring rolls, banana spring rolls, sushi, pad thai, smoothies and waffles. We would have spent about $3 each and it was all amazing and fresh. I freaking love corn! It was also a Buddhist holiday, so all the temples (and there's loads) were full of monks and locals making offerings and chanting. We came across a small group of monks letting off giant umm....I don't know how to explain it. Giant paper bags with flames underneath...like paper lanterns? So they lit the flames, waited for the lantern to fill up with hot air, then let go and they drifted into the sky. It was really beautiful to watch. The markets became so crowded at about 7pm, shuffling room only, so we went back to the hostel and played Ultimate Golf (Phillip won).
The next day we met up with Adam and Olivia, our English buddies, and hired a car, a Toyota Hilux with a tray. We eventually found the seatbelts. First stop - Tescos! We went a bit crazy in the supermarket; baked goods galore. Had some Milo cereal in the car park (all class) then negotiated the city streets to get out of Chiang Mai and on the highway to the mountains.
First stop was a pretty impressive waterfall, cascading down 30 tiers. Had a bit of swim under it and some rock hopping. Olivia and I rode in the back of the ute to the next stop, gotta love Thai freedom.
It was really nice to get out of the city. We had only been in Jakarta and Bangkok for about 10 days, and the pollution starts to get to you. The waterfalls were all in a National Park (Doi Inthanon) so there was just lots of open space. The air was still smoky as they were burning off, but it was still refreshing. It was also really nice to see Thais (to be fair, Asians in general) persuing leisure...All through Indonesia and Bangkok, it seems that the locals only work, and they're hard workers. Like our bike tour guide in Ubud, who was still puzzled as to why anybody would want to ride a bike, when you can ride a scooter faster and with much less effort. The Thais in Bangkok wanted to sell us stuff or get us drunk. But the Thais in the national park were out for the day, to see some nature and get some fresh air, maybe even a
s tourists from other towns. They were all taking photos ('and this is me, in front of the waterfall') and having picnics. We were the only ones swimming though...There were a few signs that said 'no wading', so we just swam instead. It's still awkward getting your kit out in a country of different religion and different culture, not knowing if our half naked bodies are offensive to them. But it was a beautiful park and it seemed a waste not to swim in the fresh and cold mountain water. The park has Thailand's 'highest spot' (point, surely?) at about 2,600m. Luckily we could drive right to it, but the best view was taken by some research station with signs saying photography is forbidden. It was cold up the top, but it was really nice to be cold. Probably not so nice for my cold though...
We got back to Chiang Mai about 7pm, and exhausted. Went for amazing pizza with Adam and Olivia and had an early night.
Today we decide whether to do another activity around Chiang Mai, or get to Phuket for an extra day. We have booked flights from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing on March 12th, so time is running out.
We caught an overnight sleeper train from Bangkok on Saturday night. At first we thought they had ripped us off and there were no sleeping compartments, but then a lovely man with a face mask came on and transformed the two lower seats into a bed, and pulled down the top bed from the ceiling, put curtains up, and made our beds with sheets, pillows and blankets. It was very cosy and the train rocked us to sleep, but also rocked us awake so 50/50 in the rocking department. It took 14 hours but was so much nicer than a bus - we could walk around, the toilets were usable, and we had a card table for Ultimate Golf (Phillip won).
We got into Chiang Mai about 10.30 am, and shared a taxi into town with an English couple. Found and checked into Julie's Guesthouse, recommended to us by lots of people. It's a cool little place, with a common area and a rooftop 'chillout area', a fridge full of drinks that you can just put on your tab (dangerous) and heaps of tour info. We wandered around town for a bit, found some markets with amazing food...indulged. Phill was craving a sausage, but unfortunately was let down by the fact that it had noodles and rice in it! Where's the meat? We ran into our English friends again and they had just been scouting out car rental deals and asked if we'd like to tag along for a day in the mountains where there's heaps of waterfalls. We did want to.
Sunday nights in Chiang Mai are all about the walking streets. Markets line (and line, and line) the main streets in the old town and you can get everything, and every food. Naturally, we began another eat-off - fried potato twists, roasted sweet corn, amazing pork dumplings, spring rolls, banana spring rolls, sushi, pad thai, smoothies and waffles. We would have spent about $3 each and it was all amazing and fresh. I freaking love corn! It was also a Buddhist holiday, so all the temples (and there's loads) were full of monks and locals making offerings and chanting. We came across a small group of monks letting off giant umm....I don't know how to explain it. Giant paper bags with flames underneath...like paper lanterns? So they lit the flames, waited for the lantern to fill up with hot air, then let go and they drifted into the sky. It was really beautiful to watch. The markets became so crowded at about 7pm, shuffling room only, so we went back to the hostel and played Ultimate Golf (Phillip won).
The next day we met up with Adam and Olivia, our English buddies, and hired a car, a Toyota Hilux with a tray. We eventually found the seatbelts. First stop - Tescos! We went a bit crazy in the supermarket; baked goods galore. Had some Milo cereal in the car park (all class) then negotiated the city streets to get out of Chiang Mai and on the highway to the mountains.
First stop was a pretty impressive waterfall, cascading down 30 tiers. Had a bit of swim under it and some rock hopping. Olivia and I rode in the back of the ute to the next stop, gotta love Thai freedom.
It was really nice to get out of the city. We had only been in Jakarta and Bangkok for about 10 days, and the pollution starts to get to you. The waterfalls were all in a National Park (Doi Inthanon) so there was just lots of open space. The air was still smoky as they were burning off, but it was still refreshing. It was also really nice to see Thais (to be fair, Asians in general) persuing leisure...All through Indonesia and Bangkok, it seems that the locals only work, and they're hard workers. Like our bike tour guide in Ubud, who was still puzzled as to why anybody would want to ride a bike, when you can ride a scooter faster and with much less effort. The Thais in Bangkok wanted to sell us stuff or get us drunk. But the Thais in the national park were out for the day, to see some nature and get some fresh air, maybe even a
s tourists from other towns. They were all taking photos ('and this is me, in front of the waterfall') and having picnics. We were the only ones swimming though...There were a few signs that said 'no wading', so we just swam instead. It's still awkward getting your kit out in a country of different religion and different culture, not knowing if our half naked bodies are offensive to them. But it was a beautiful park and it seemed a waste not to swim in the fresh and cold mountain water. The park has Thailand's 'highest spot' (point, surely?) at about 2,600m. Luckily we could drive right to it, but the best view was taken by some research station with signs saying photography is forbidden. It was cold up the top, but it was really nice to be cold. Probably not so nice for my cold though...We got back to Chiang Mai about 7pm, and exhausted. Went for amazing pizza with Adam and Olivia and had an early night.
Today we decide whether to do another activity around Chiang Mai, or get to Phuket for an extra day. We have booked flights from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing on March 12th, so time is running out.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday February 25th. Bangkok, Thailand
Three week mark! And it's our first time in the Northern Hemisphere together...awww...
We got through Thai customs with no troubles, but no smiles either, and into Banglamphu, the touristy part of Bangers. Our intended hostel was full, so we forked out $20 for another one, then returned to Joe's Guesthouse and booked in for the next two nights. It was 9pm before we ventured our for dinner, and waht an adventure! Khao San Road is a party street and a half. There's night markets selling knuckle dusters, laser pointers, 'designer' underwear and everything in between. Food carts have pad thai, kebabs, BBQ corn, roasted cockroahces, fruit, milkshakes and pancakes galore. We stuck with the pad thai. Sneaky old men line the middle of the street (usually pedestrian only) and show the young fellas that pass a tiny card with all the sex show options - 'one pussy, seven ping pong'. The taxi drivers are also in on it, offering 'Taxi, si? Ping pong, sir?'. There are so many backpackers and enough bars to cater for all of them. Apparently every bar can make 'the strongest cocktail' in a bucket; one bar even advertises that they don't check ID cards. No biggie, because you can get fake IDs, student cards, dive certificates, even diplomas from the market stalls.
Knackered from a day of travel, we hit the sack pretty early, only to be woken up by knocking on the door (knock and run!), and a phone call about 3am. Not to mention the music from all the bars and clubs.
The next morning we braved Khao San Road again, very different atmosphere in day time. Got some breakfast, many offers of taxis and tuk tuks and tours (no sex shows in the morning) and changed hotels. New Joe Guesthouse has a cool restaurant, bar and coffee shop, but the room is tiny, and the bathroom is a toilet with a shower head on the wall. But, it's $12.
We spent the afternoon walking by the river, which has a nice path along it (better than anything in Jakarta), and canals every now and then, and a nice green park in which we had a bit of a sit. Went for dinner along Soi Rambutri, very nice and less back packers than Khao San. Good people watchin. Tried to sell our Lonely Planet Bali but got rejected at 400 Baht. So that's how the market people feel. He didn't even try to bargain.
Today (Thursday), despite every intention to be up early to beat the heat, we only left the hostel at 10am. Walked to the Grand Palace - despite everyone offering us lifts, bless them. Got conned on the way by people with corn to feed the pigeons - they shoved it in our hands, even between my back and backpack, opened the packets for us and made us throw around the corn, saying it was for luck and hapiness in Buddhism or some shit. Then they wanted us to pay 150 Baht! But we gave them about 30 and walked away. Sneaky sneaky corn people.
We had to borrow very cool long pants and skirt to get into the Grand Palace (modesty and that). The Temple of the Emerald Buddha was quite spectacular, very ornate mosa
ics of glass and colour tiles - Mum's mosaic class would like it...The whole area was very grand, lots of big buildings and little temples, also lots of tourists and security guards with guns. And the lawns were immaculate! Obviously we weren't allowed on them. Got a very poor kebab for lunch and are now relaxing in the hostels restaurant.
We got through Thai customs with no troubles, but no smiles either, and into Banglamphu, the touristy part of Bangers. Our intended hostel was full, so we forked out $20 for another one, then returned to Joe's Guesthouse and booked in for the next two nights. It was 9pm before we ventured our for dinner, and waht an adventure! Khao San Road is a party street and a half. There's night markets selling knuckle dusters, laser pointers, 'designer' underwear and everything in between. Food carts have pad thai, kebabs, BBQ corn, roasted cockroahces, fruit, milkshakes and pancakes galore. We stuck with the pad thai. Sneaky old men line the middle of the street (usually pedestrian only) and show the young fellas that pass a tiny card with all the sex show options - 'one pussy, seven ping pong'. The taxi drivers are also in on it, offering 'Taxi, si? Ping pong, sir?'. There are so many backpackers and enough bars to cater for all of them. Apparently every bar can make 'the strongest cocktail' in a bucket; one bar even advertises that they don't check ID cards. No biggie, because you can get fake IDs, student cards, dive certificates, even diplomas from the market stalls.
Knackered from a day of travel, we hit the sack pretty early, only to be woken up by knocking on the door (knock and run!), and a phone call about 3am. Not to mention the music from all the bars and clubs.
The next morning we braved Khao San Road again, very different atmosphere in day time. Got some breakfast, many offers of taxis and tuk tuks and tours (no sex shows in the morning) and changed hotels. New Joe Guesthouse has a cool restaurant, bar and coffee shop, but the room is tiny, and the bathroom is a toilet with a shower head on the wall. But, it's $12.
We spent the afternoon walking by the river, which has a nice path along it (better than anything in Jakarta), and canals every now and then, and a nice green park in which we had a bit of a sit. Went for dinner along Soi Rambutri, very nice and less back packers than Khao San. Good people watchin. Tried to sell our Lonely Planet Bali but got rejected at 400 Baht. So that's how the market people feel. He didn't even try to bargain.
Today (Thursday), despite every intention to be up early to beat the heat, we only left the hostel at 10am. Walked to the Grand Palace - despite everyone offering us lifts, bless them. Got conned on the way by people with corn to feed the pigeons - they shoved it in our hands, even between my back and backpack, opened the packets for us and made us throw around the corn, saying it was for luck and hapiness in Buddhism or some shit. Then they wanted us to pay 150 Baht! But we gave them about 30 and walked away. Sneaky sneaky corn people.
We had to borrow very cool long pants and skirt to get into the Grand Palace (modesty and that). The Temple of the Emerald Buddha was quite spectacular, very ornate mosa
ics of glass and colour tiles - Mum's mosaic class would like it...The whole area was very grand, lots of big buildings and little temples, also lots of tourists and security guards with guns. And the lawns were immaculate! Obviously we weren't allowed on them. Got a very poor kebab for lunch and are now relaxing in the hostels restaurant.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Indonesia - the sights and sounds
- Men in thongs welding at night time on steel house frames
- Stop/Go signs made out of green banana leaves and yellow plastic bottles
- 7-hour late bus trips
- Drunk bus drivers
- Grand piano player in a shopping centre food court
- Savoury donuts
- Pool lounge workers who wrack up the balls for you
- More staff than customers at every shop/restaurant/bar
- Bamboo scaffolding and ladders
- Smoking in every shop, building, restaurant, bus, taxi, any public place...
- Dodgy accommodation (but you get what you pay for): no glass in windows; blood (could be chocolate...) on walls; bidet but no toilet paper; internet bookings available, but reception has no internet; bamboo everything - chairs, cupboards, beds; no shower curtains; hot water extra
The smells:
Sanur smelt like burning plastic, BBQed corn, and rotting fruit. A very sweet but overwhelming stench that got in your nose.
Ubud smelt like rotting bananas.
The ferry smelt like shit and petrol.
Sengiggi smelt like desperation, with a hint of tourism potential.
Mt Rinjani smelt like home...crisp and clean, with a touch of sulphur.
Gili Trawangan smelt like backpackers, horse shit, and cheap alcohol.
The ferry still smelt like shit and petrol.
Denpasar smelt like fumes and nasi goreng.
Jakarta smells like petrol, two stroke engines, satay, and wealth.
- Stop/Go signs made out of green banana leaves and yellow plastic bottles
- 7-hour late bus trips
- Drunk bus drivers
- Grand piano player in a shopping centre food court
- Savoury donuts
- Pool lounge workers who wrack up the balls for you
- More staff than customers at every shop/restaurant/bar
- Bamboo scaffolding and ladders
- Smoking in every shop, building, restaurant, bus, taxi, any public place...
- Dodgy accommodation (but you get what you pay for): no glass in windows; blood (could be chocolate...) on walls; bidet but no toilet paper; internet bookings available, but reception has no internet; bamboo everything - chairs, cupboards, beds; no shower curtains; hot water extra
The smells:
Sanur smelt like burning plastic, BBQed corn, and rotting fruit. A very sweet but overwhelming stench that got in your nose.
Ubud smelt like rotting bananas.
The ferry smelt like shit and petrol.
Sengiggi smelt like desperation, with a hint of tourism potential.
Mt Rinjani smelt like home...crisp and clean, with a touch of sulphur.
Gili Trawangan smelt like backpackers, horse shit, and cheap alcohol.
The ferry still smelt like shit and petrol.
Denpasar smelt like fumes and nasi goreng.
Jakarta smells like petrol, two stroke engines, satay, and wealth.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Updated-eroonie
All the below entries are just what I've written in my (leather-bound...thanks Siggy!) diary over the past three weeks. My wrists hurt now...and I'm hungry, so over and out.
Jakarta, Indonesia. Friday Feb 19, 7pm.
What a hectic couple of days.
First, our days on Gili T:
We walked around the island, took about two and a half hours. Away from the main tourist strip were a couple of big resorts on deserted beaches. There was one made from the hull of a ship! We swam for a bit, and Phill tried to get all Bear Grylls on a coconut, and failed. There was a massive deserted bar, with huge platforms right on the beach, but it looked abandoned. There was lots of empty plots...our hotel owner encouraged us to buy up...
Spent the afternoon relaxing on the beach and eating...lots of eating.
On Monday we went on a snorkelling 'cruise', on a very dodgy boat, with dodgy 'guides' and dodgy gear...for $9. It was good fun though, we went to three dive spots, the first with ok coral, the second was called Turtle Point (for the turtles), and the last spot, near Gili Air, was awesome
coral and fish, really shallow and close to shore. After diving they took us to a restaurant on Gili Air - bit of a rort as we stayed there for about an hour and it rained the whole time.That night we were going to go wild (and Phill did). One pub on Gili T had 14,000Rp (about $1.70) double vodkas and whiskeys, so we indulged. Phill had to have a beer to 'settle his stomach' after the dodgy local whiskeys. The vodka (and sunburn) made me ill, so I pyked...Phill can tell you about his night...
The next day (Tuesday?) we began an epic journey back to Denpasar. First there was the hour 'ferry' back to Lombok, a two-hour shuttle to the port in Lembar (a very scary trip in the front seat), about an hour wait in a packed shed at the port, with so many offers of rice (to be fair, it was good rice for 80 cents). Then finally we boarded the ferry for Padang Bai in Bali for six hours. Then there was the two and a half shuttle to Denpasar. Then walking around the bus terminal at Denpasar to try and find a hotel (they were all 'pull'). Finally after about half an hour we found one, for 50,000Rp, with a squat toilet. We went and booked a bus ticket to Jakarta - about $35 for the supposed 24-hour bus.
The next morning (Wednesday) we were at the bus depot at 5.45am, left Denpasar at 7.30 and proceeded to have a very interesting 31 hours on the bus. Granted, the seats were comfortable and reclined, air con was good, blankets and pilllows, and the bus was only half full (or half empty, if you are the bus company).
We only found out after 29 hours that our two drivers (and their 'companion' in a purple boiler suit) were drinking Indonesian whisky the whole trip. This would go some way to explain the erratic driving, extended 'toilet' breaks, and excessive horn usage.
The roads were dodgy and narrow, but our drivers insisted on overtaking at any possible opportunity - a loud horn seems to make it legal. They even beeped police cars! We were stuck at roadworks (blokes in thongs with shovels, not a Stop/Go sign to be seen) for at least an hour.
A good thing was the meals. For lunch and dinner we stopped at big roadside cafes and had rice, veges and chicken, included in the ticket. But poor Phillip was still under the spell of the runs and not up to much. He even had to do a poo in a squat toilet at a rest stop. Luckily though not in the bus, whose toilet was disgusting (naturally).
When, at 10am we finally started to (slowly, very slowly)roll in to Jakarta, the bus stopped at its final company terminal...we're still not sure where it is though. We had no map (and no Lonely Planet, God forbid!) and no concept of where we were, and where Jakarta was... After much poor Indonesian/English conversations with people at the bus terminal, we got a taxi to the Ibis Hotel, only because we happened to see it on Wotif.com a couple of days ago, and it said it was in the city centre. After an awful two and a half days travelling, with swollen ankles and upset stomachs we were happy to part with $60 for a room at the Ibis - with aircon, hot AND cold water, a fridge, cable TV, and a checkout time of 12pm. So we were happy.
We showered (so clean!) and got a map and our bearings, and a $5 taxi to the Chinese Embassy.
So...there's this thing that the Chinese people celebrate, called Chinese New Year...in February! Those crazy Chinese! So after walking around the building, feeling very intimidated by the metal fences and barbed wire, we found a page sticky taped to the fence saying the embassy was closed for a week to celebrate the year of the freaking tiger. It opens Monday 9am, we fly out Tuesday 4pm, so hopefully we can get me an emergency visa on Monday.
So back to the city, where we found the fanciest shopping mall ever - valet parking, flowers in the toilets, and security checks for taxis and customers. All the big buildings, particularly big company head quarters, has a huge security contingent, since the bombings in Jakarta.
We found lots of Western brands - Hugo Boss, Nike, Marks and Spencers (!) and lots of Western restaurants. Phill indulged in a Fatburger for $10, and I bought the last Harry Potter book from an English book store, which made me happy.
Then back to the Ibis to relax! Watched alot of the Winter Olympics on ESPN (go Torah!) and a bad Indiana Jones film. WE both had an awesome 10-hour sleep.
NOW we are in another hotel, Focus, still near the city but not so nice. We booked on Wotif.com but the reception lady could not understand us, and pretty sure they didn't have the Internet. The hotel is very close to some markets and it seems alot of traders stay here - there is a massive store room (doubles as reception) with people packing and unpacking goods, and about 100 mopeds just parked there. The best thing - free WiFi!
Went to the movies this arvo - From Paris with Love. Wow - bad. But it was $3 each, and a good way to spend a rainy afternoon in Jakarta. WE also negotiated the traffic and walked to the National Museum, paid 20 cents and looked around for a bit. But then we got hungry, and when we get hungry we get grumpy.
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