tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7771749241898402632024-03-14T14:35:52.569+00:00Hadyn's Travel BlogOver the next seven months, I hope to take myself and the reader through vast deserts, claustrophobic jungles, towering mountains, expansive plains and lush farmland. To experience the chaos of enormous cities, to the intricacy and subtlety of tiny villages.Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-55445378525942532442009-07-10T21:57:00.006+01:002009-07-10T22:27:21.308+01:00South America Calls...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpEMnRBKtDONDN5fDKlY1ibAEbuLccyViwaOj3xZA-BEq7WJutA4LNty-jtQVSMsKch196f9nIIBw0FQSlQ7JL1lVeOKqel6I9VNFOiOdHCfnpNupY2zUczLdjWGq74EI9im5CPQHeWs/s1600-h/Santiago.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBpEMnRBKtDONDN5fDKlY1ibAEbuLccyViwaOj3xZA-BEq7WJutA4LNty-jtQVSMsKch196f9nIIBw0FQSlQ7JL1lVeOKqel6I9VNFOiOdHCfnpNupY2zUczLdjWGq74EI9im5CPQHeWs/s400/Santiago.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356944397913630994" /></a><br /><br />South America. Long I have mused on how to write up this continent, leading to the significant delay since my last entry.<br /><br />When I first planned this around the world trip, I had hoped to encounter multiple, completely unique continents; South America should be something with mystery and mystique unparalleled by other areas of the world. <br /><br />Somewhere remote. <br /><br />Somewhere with soul. <br /><br />...or would it?<br /><br />Arriving in Santiago with very little research under my hat, I was unsure what to expect. All I knew from multiple travellers met along the way was to be “on guard”.<br /><br />Despite a serious lambasting Santiago (Chile) receives from multiple guidebooks, I decided to stay there for a couple of weeks whilst I researched what to do, undertaking some rather urgent Spanish classes. <br /><br />During my time there, I came to enjoy its charm – not only did the people appear warm and friendly, but there was a vibrant buzz to the sprawling city. Each neighbourhood had its own appeal; distinct but somehow the same. By the time I had left Santiago, I felt they had made up for the initial transgression.<br /><br />Time to rewind a little – “What ‘transgression’?” I hear you say. <br /><br />Having been in Santiago for less than 24 hours I decided to go on one of the many different walks of the city which I undertake almost everywhere I arrive. At approximately 14:00 on a sunny weekday afternoon, I was no more than a few metres from the main hospital wearing my sunglasses when they were briskly whisked off my face by a bypassing cyclist. How un-gentlemanly of him!<br /><br />These sunglasses were about four years old, made of plastic and had been scratched so badly after five months of travel and four years of sailing, that the coating had been entirely removed from the lenses, along with much of the paint-work. They were chosen for this trip because they were almost indestructible, and they were the most practical and unfashionable things you’ve ever seen. However, they were MY sunglasses – or were...<br /><br />Welcome to South America.<br /><br />South America seems to have systems that are a strange mix of European, combined with the laid-back ‘charm’ of South America. When I say ‘laid back’, I should really say lazy. <br /><br />Stepping into a pharmacist to purchase some foot-deodorant (wearing the same shoes for five months is a seriously bad idea for those around you,) I selected my product and walked over to the till. Shortly after this, I was told that I could not just *pay* for the item I had selected. Instead, I must first get a ticket for it from the pharmacist, even though it wasn’t a pharmaceutical item.<br /><br />I walked over to the pharmacist to receive the ticket, only to find out that the single pharmacist had a queue of over ten people – in contrast to the two people at the tills, and the two at the “help” desk, she was working by herself. She was doing ALL the work! Oh how I wish that were an isolated incident.<br /><br /><br /><br />Travel does strange things to people. One of those things which seems to happen to everyone who travels for more than a month, is for the sense of time invested, compared to reward received, to be significantly warped. For example, one day when I really wasn’t feeling the vibe to learn some Spanish, some newly made friends and I decided to go on a road trip. Hearing of a hot spring at the end of a very long, dusty road, with amazing sights and no tourists, we decided to hire a car and investigate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0hhEaqLthHEAzKWZpsyV8Jihxzf7qA4KoHPo4wa8_apxRdhd9B72c7KWqJGusDNvt9T0Gua1Yr3NE87Aotg7K_FUgBDcqPFOVFpEUIQx9stlYgvW1svk1e8n1bwOpOzPECWEhPbx9D4/s1600-h/DriveToHotSprings.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc0hhEaqLthHEAzKWZpsyV8Jihxzf7qA4KoHPo4wa8_apxRdhd9B72c7KWqJGusDNvt9T0Gua1Yr3NE87Aotg7K_FUgBDcqPFOVFpEUIQx9stlYgvW1svk1e8n1bwOpOzPECWEhPbx9D4/s400/DriveToHotSprings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943073209963922" /></a><br /><br />Three dusty hours later, we finally arrived in a valley very close to the Chile/Argentina boarder. Surrounded by mountains, the scenery was breathtaking. Not surrounded by tourists made it better still. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdQPQ_m5fBDekKCnXWMVWlcwZBAUw8p_aoEBPBvgkCKI3H7_b5D7jEP8AVPwa4Kkw-d8t9n2hUyCDDSXt9Jr0CxWG1hlcsoAABOPNpJ7Sf_delbg883x8ZlbPvz3kn6MimaM6_iCtnew/s1600-h/Hotsprings.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkdQPQ_m5fBDekKCnXWMVWlcwZBAUw8p_aoEBPBvgkCKI3H7_b5D7jEP8AVPwa4Kkw-d8t9n2hUyCDDSXt9Jr0CxWG1hlcsoAABOPNpJ7Sf_delbg883x8ZlbPvz3kn6MimaM6_iCtnew/s400/Hotsprings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943087410333650" /></a><br /><br />Standing there gazing at the myriad of colours on the mountain, we noticed a quarry rather high on the cliff. No sooner had we started to pull away, did a massive explosion let rip. The driver, seeing the cloud of dust behind us floored it (luckily!) as we made a closer escape than we would have liked.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1-GIig9wTKza2XWhvqy4KkQG2l6Q0VYqzUnkoEvve1n540m84dBFNiIS4PzNxVxH9oVhw2xK6uLhRMu5xyyMR2nU9o5GywVnQvKMs5Gvx0OCOFB_cfYv07DE2akBkxtRgPUKyF6z6MI/s1600-h/VinaSand.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1-GIig9wTKza2XWhvqy4KkQG2l6Q0VYqzUnkoEvve1n540m84dBFNiIS4PzNxVxH9oVhw2xK6uLhRMu5xyyMR2nU9o5GywVnQvKMs5Gvx0OCOFB_cfYv07DE2akBkxtRgPUKyF6z6MI/s400/VinaSand.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356944618598095122" /></a><br /><br />Moving on from Santiago, I headed towards the coast, taking in the “arty” cities of Valpariso and Vina del Mar. Both were substantially average, although the former had some very interesting graffiti which inspired me to take pictures at a jaunty angle for a while.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOs4cVn5J7ETt4TQ3YyARQD6QZ0wGfgYpjMcZOAIj5M_hZdiVJfZNQ9mZ1hm4IDkJT7aE42irx9yX6GfeFSpsH6ZhXv2Vg2WsphgX7eWfXno1-JCBTDAru1PcJsLJnrdKVG6FB_I86zE/s1600-h/Valpo3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOs4cVn5J7ETt4TQ3YyARQD6QZ0wGfgYpjMcZOAIj5M_hZdiVJfZNQ9mZ1hm4IDkJT7aE42irx9yX6GfeFSpsH6ZhXv2Vg2WsphgX7eWfXno1-JCBTDAru1PcJsLJnrdKVG6FB_I86zE/s400/Valpo3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356944612126119410" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIal7pmyjUIYRWkPBTAYuQNz6rjpU6PCvzGRc6Ex8893YUjH13CwruziZ3zIuuKdtbZXbpEVAs_N7KK1VHzALYEn6IyIJfnzb8b0FlCcueQaTNxX7xzJ1fJxRJwM7xplmDNVH5TA2F4M/s1600-h/Valpo2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIal7pmyjUIYRWkPBTAYuQNz6rjpU6PCvzGRc6Ex8893YUjH13CwruziZ3zIuuKdtbZXbpEVAs_N7KK1VHzALYEn6IyIJfnzb8b0FlCcueQaTNxX7xzJ1fJxRJwM7xplmDNVH5TA2F4M/s400/Valpo2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356944599186003378" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRHKDACnQMQuOh8tO_dbhfbnAdCAio6G0CkpjzFfCPzxgpjNeeFp2ib0USl1wmGzb3LweKaJHtr0-6D451NKbu0g7B4_qLUXqi46RMUhP9etgi0CAZ7r8TnYfHV84djcEUWejSDHmb18/s1600-h/Valpo1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRHKDACnQMQuOh8tO_dbhfbnAdCAio6G0CkpjzFfCPzxgpjNeeFp2ib0USl1wmGzb3LweKaJHtr0-6D451NKbu0g7B4_qLUXqi46RMUhP9etgi0CAZ7r8TnYfHV84djcEUWejSDHmb18/s400/Valpo1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356944595721754098" /></a><br /><br />That’s quite enough of that – I do consider myself a scientist after all!!<br /><br />My search for inspiration sent me inland and across the Argentinean boarder, to one of the most vexing business models I have ever heard of. It was living proof that the Argentineans don’t like tourists...<br /><br />In the city of Mendosa, I encountered a series of cottage industries that had been set up entirely to pander to those who wanted to visit the local vineyards for which that region of Argentina was famous. No big deal, one would think, until you realise what they are encouraging. Instead of riding a minibus from vineyard to vineyard, they rent you a bicycle and you ride from one to the other, all along pot-holed and narrow paths, strewn with trucks. You then proceed to get drunk on the wine offered with each “tasting session”. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjR4MQUiTdMGyIkKTQhg6cKzk4kBmdT4Ri0k8j5fv7Mm-CEOIUYPpohW7JdH3oS1g_d3jhnx6mSSDrITCiLvTzrMBFB3NT5PFyuzskvzVeKDHkmxnFPO2X8eqLZPN6P3Dc83Q3eRsx06A/s1600-h/BikeAndWine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjR4MQUiTdMGyIkKTQhg6cKzk4kBmdT4Ri0k8j5fv7Mm-CEOIUYPpohW7JdH3oS1g_d3jhnx6mSSDrITCiLvTzrMBFB3NT5PFyuzskvzVeKDHkmxnFPO2X8eqLZPN6P3Dc83Q3eRsx06A/s400/BikeAndWine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943068110924258" /></a><br /><br />Shockingly, you may be surprised to hear that there was a high accident rate along that road – who would have thought?<br /><br />Luckily, the ice-cream parlour and fillet steaks within Mendosa, both for a fraction of the cost and double the quality of the UK, made this city very enjoyable. The wine was good too! Oh, and there was a horse thrown in for good measure for a bumpy sunset ride...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX6OwThmp6SaRaXVHW3Q7o37kOMHU_zo0duyeIQOrxwmDvALcCwF1AhGuSp-cnfqzJFQLG6rn8Ym_7dXTMj27MBvZ-I27RRDyRdcjQJRlxUIchhcnetcCrBjOrCzbeIPcvvmksZS-7pI/s1600-h/Gee+Gee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX6OwThmp6SaRaXVHW3Q7o37kOMHU_zo0duyeIQOrxwmDvALcCwF1AhGuSp-cnfqzJFQLG6rn8Ym_7dXTMj27MBvZ-I27RRDyRdcjQJRlxUIchhcnetcCrBjOrCzbeIPcvvmksZS-7pI/s400/Gee+Gee.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943078567720082" /></a><br /><br />Rushing past the next couple of cities, which were only really included to break up the massive distances between Mendosa and San Pedro de Atacama, I would like to mention only one significant thing – I’m sorry. In fact, I’m very sorry. In the remaining photos I shall be wearing the world’s worst hair-cut. It was so bad, that I decided to take a photo of the person responsible. I don’t know what she has such a large smile on her face for, as she clearly doesn’t know how to cut hair. Amusingly, she probably thought that my request in Spanish for a haircut was strange, thinking that Europeans have very peculiar taste. Either way, I received a dire haircut – live with it, I had to.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIy3FOSGK98HOsp5v08sM44gDTrWs66LTteSW-WKjiKU-DvM0UM6UXHw5B3dgVvDqdCXlGoVN_IUf5luL4HxjwlNRjejGn7NSW4kjv9jmqMRuEZAgTdmJGz3_Fpkd3DueHJTF4GLYSPI/s1600-h/Haricut.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIy3FOSGK98HOsp5v08sM44gDTrWs66LTteSW-WKjiKU-DvM0UM6UXHw5B3dgVvDqdCXlGoVN_IUf5luL4HxjwlNRjejGn7NSW4kjv9jmqMRuEZAgTdmJGz3_Fpkd3DueHJTF4GLYSPI/s400/Haricut.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356943083221240530" /></a><br /><br />Now it was onward, to the Bolivian boarder and the Atacama desert....<br /><br />Until next time!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-54079667538389392602009-05-25T21:05:00.006+01:002009-05-25T21:30:41.537+01:00Northern Island culture & a "Gay night out" in AucklandDuring our time in South Island, we were always told how much more superior to North Island the sights were. The hills were bigger, the nature remoter and people more friendly. Putting this down to inter-island rivalry, Alex and I ventured into the Northern Island with a good week to do it justice.<br /><br />Stepping off the ferry, the change was noticeable - there was a highway. Yes, six whole lanes of traffic joy to cut our navigational teeth on. <br /><br />Finding a place to park, we took the time for some cultural outings. The first museum in ages was to grace my intellectual pallet. Slowly taking in all the sights that the best museum in New Zealand had to offer, including a giant squid of daunting size, we felt our brain-power expanding after weeks of adrenaline travel.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgo2EiX8Ez9vNk6S3Yy6UwFUCq_FbF5MmTPFrWOx_pSG0m8RhJWTRrVHFVtt2HdUydfditYpBCtxN39RmRbpbWBaviGlOWBbpF3BYdi9MXjFBra7X-uIpu818nK2DLYj2OTnPZc5B_eeY/s1600-h/Museum.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgo2EiX8Ez9vNk6S3Yy6UwFUCq_FbF5MmTPFrWOx_pSG0m8RhJWTRrVHFVtt2HdUydfditYpBCtxN39RmRbpbWBaviGlOWBbpF3BYdi9MXjFBra7X-uIpu818nK2DLYj2OTnPZc5B_eeY/s400/Museum.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860447793430258" /></a><br /><br />Now it was time to continue our journey, doing as many people do and skipping almost all of the “dead” land mass between the south coast and Lake Rotarura. This, of course, meant another illegal night by the side of the road. But wow, what a view!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUANqPQcCaGMvcneC0mpZThK8GzM9S2VrgARllp-6IHc9Z7yk3Gk2oVMclkyA2pcJgX69LZsyN7i0QL4CoPTj4F3kPA5sSIrZaFYmCHyo36NA8-rAbfxiow13eSRnPdBoB_kyFABP6BpM/s1600-h/sunset+north+island.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUANqPQcCaGMvcneC0mpZThK8GzM9S2VrgARllp-6IHc9Z7yk3Gk2oVMclkyA2pcJgX69LZsyN7i0QL4CoPTj4F3kPA5sSIrZaFYmCHyo36NA8-rAbfxiow13eSRnPdBoB_kyFABP6BpM/s400/sunset+north+island.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860549292304514" /></a><br /><br />Arriving in Rotarura, it was time to partake in a very New Zealand pass-time. Fishing.<br /><br />I'll admit this now, it's been a while since I last went fishing. In fact, usually I get rather lucky whilst fishing, much to the annoyance of everyone I'm with. Often, it seems, that I go with people who are usually far superior fishermen, but I somehow manage to fluke catching bigger fish in larger quantities. With the fishing on this lake being pumped up as some of the best in the southern hemisphere, I was looking forward to our early departure...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmieMBWoEVBRmJag6cH0vvpsOA1pPpUlOCWPtRs4HFc0AnTQymd33Mx2oJKHR8cM7px3UUxYxeIL6WSDLRA8m6Os8zb_VHe161Defalx82dXhCKtY1q7xsRSswP4BfgJtCz-Wn0tWdCU/s1600-h/Fishing+fog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmieMBWoEVBRmJag6cH0vvpsOA1pPpUlOCWPtRs4HFc0AnTQymd33Mx2oJKHR8cM7px3UUxYxeIL6WSDLRA8m6Os8zb_VHe161Defalx82dXhCKtY1q7xsRSswP4BfgJtCz-Wn0tWdCU/s400/Fishing+fog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860150485329490" /></a><br /><br />With the mist still low in the air, hanging over the lake like an insulating blanket from the warm sun, we headed off into the unknown, Alex and I peering through the fog for moored boats. <br />This was war. <br />It was time to do battle. <br /><br />Trout were our enemy.<br /><br />Armed to the teeth with a very outspoken local guide and his armoury of trout-killing dredging lines, battle was to commence at 07:00 hours. Manoeuvring the boat into position, we readied the lines and began the fishing experience. One hour later and with no fish to add to our tally, the guide let out the famous war cry “Common you f***ing fish”. To our amazement this seemed to work, as within five seconds of this sentiment being uttered, both lines went taught and fish were back on the menu.<br /><br />With the feeble trout being no match for our superior strength, intellect and skill, Alex and I slowly reeled in the fruits of our labour. Trout followed trout, as the all clambered to get onto our boat. It was carnage; it would go down in trout history as the “massacre due to the shiny spinny things.” <br /><br />Seven trout later, with a few being released as we were over-trouted, Alex and I decided to call it a day. The fishing really was excellent, and the trout would become the bane of our life for the next few days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFD-p0_dx1pYuSEKhfW3BFqY9If6nWNv9iJOYSBgJiNXCAeLbxHmUXt8tvbwv-G192f5h2O3Ro4eABhi6sdIQd_Y9C9PVE2aOhrTLBXNMGgpjJfzBLE_49T8Y3KZgHIbDLpMpTOOhd_4/s1600-h/Fishing+fish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLFD-p0_dx1pYuSEKhfW3BFqY9If6nWNv9iJOYSBgJiNXCAeLbxHmUXt8tvbwv-G192f5h2O3Ro4eABhi6sdIQd_Y9C9PVE2aOhrTLBXNMGgpjJfzBLE_49T8Y3KZgHIbDLpMpTOOhd_4/s400/Fishing+fish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860145953338866" /></a><br /><br />Now, seven trout varying in size from three to five pounds is quite a lot it turns out. Quite a lot indeed. In fact, I think one would be at risk from developing trout poisoning if you tried to ingest them all at the same week. To add insult to injury, the trout's only line of defence from fishermen is the bone. Or should I say bones.<br /><br />Instead of being like normal, nice, fish, trout have developed a way to combat their natural tendency to jump onto fishing boats by the hundred. A set of really annoying bones which make their filleting a pain in the royal backside. Especially when one is armed only with a Leatherman “Swiss army knife”. What they did forget to do though, was broadcast this whilst we were catching the darn things.<br /><br />With so many trout on the “to eat” list, we came up with the cunning plan of getting them smoked by a local fishmonger. Failing to find a fishmonger who wanted to smoke some trout, we drove to a local's house and managed to coerce him into smoking them for us, giving some money and a trout in exchange for the service. Whilst the trout were being smoked to give up the secrets of their annoying bony-ness, it was time for us to find what makes the North Island famous – the geothermal activity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWs1pFzG-wUlmv0X_TQ2-BtD_oZgCYEedkU14tr81u3Gb8jxoiYS6lgPEGqzUUajf8wZ-INLWpAZbbCHNsbHWAzDORmGS0pKN-6CcaEtAkDJrXyhvlTqcYhb3N3ahccwm77123_kC8o8w/s1600-h/smoked+fish+man.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWs1pFzG-wUlmv0X_TQ2-BtD_oZgCYEedkU14tr81u3Gb8jxoiYS6lgPEGqzUUajf8wZ-INLWpAZbbCHNsbHWAzDORmGS0pKN-6CcaEtAkDJrXyhvlTqcYhb3N3ahccwm77123_kC8o8w/s400/smoked+fish+man.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860452468989666" /></a><br /><br />It turns out that whilst the South Island has superior mountains, there is something still murmuring under the soil of North Island and it wants to get out. The North Island is highly active, and they have done a great job in harnessing the geothermal activity with numerous power plants and tourist traps. Although they are all pretty good.<br /><br />Taking in some of the sights (and smells) of the geothermal activity was very interesting with more than a few weird and wonderful colours on display on their passage from deep within the Earth.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IRbV-AICMUhmXm4j6QeBJLQWk66oNXRqZ8z9MX7KPRh8lvKr8K8o1ZKPyjG-8URUXKYLPwpeRZJVczHgaRd2mN_D5SmSlv96fNYaS_FAB4FIO_qwfkksfJEufNDr7Zy3Xb44Or5ZfsY/s1600-h/Geothermal+me.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IRbV-AICMUhmXm4j6QeBJLQWk66oNXRqZ8z9MX7KPRh8lvKr8K8o1ZKPyjG-8URUXKYLPwpeRZJVczHgaRd2mN_D5SmSlv96fNYaS_FAB4FIO_qwfkksfJEufNDr7Zy3Xb44Or5ZfsY/s400/Geothermal+me.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860433077166610" /></a><br /><br />Alex even managed to drag me off to a place where you cover yourself with mud and pay them for the pleasure. Apparently it's good for you?? Hummn... [No posing could make this look any better than this - sorry and please feel free to gouge your eyes our after/before viewing]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPGCya7YLYzhh2QVlNT0vUfOb9Kz0JPCSAFSz7yC36qUwCIIrg7MeLbpJEg2mkhJnvM_Sk2Ehnoin3FWhoX6lIrrtRirsrlid0GxrzwtxxXuTpU4Oz4hS57jobI-4WXzz4Bo2iAakz-0/s1600-h/mudbath.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkPGCya7YLYzhh2QVlNT0vUfOb9Kz0JPCSAFSz7yC36qUwCIIrg7MeLbpJEg2mkhJnvM_Sk2Ehnoin3FWhoX6lIrrtRirsrlid0GxrzwtxxXuTpU4Oz4hS57jobI-4WXzz4Bo2iAakz-0/s400/mudbath.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860444402085586" /></a><br /><br />With this ticked off our list of things to do, it only left a few more “must see” sights of New Zealand before our imminent departure. Two of them being really, REALLY touristy!<br /><br />I'm going to gloss over this, as I had been expecting to make friends with a typical Mauri and get them to show me something more authentic. However, with less than a couple of days left, it was becoming rather apparent that we needed to see the Hukka – or dance of the native Mauri. As you can imagine, this is going to involve mixing rather liberally with some other tourists. Yes, it was as bad as you can imagine and about as authentic as watching Neighbours to see how Australians live. <br /><br />Moving swiftly on was another VERY touristy item on the tick-list. A sheep show.<br /><br />Now, I know what you're thinking, I meant to say a sheep-DOG show. No. This was a show about sheep, and although there were sheepdogs, they weren't even involved for the vast majority of the show and were only brought out to really scare the living hell out of the sheep. <br /><br />Being good touristy representatives, both Alex and I decided to go up to the stage – Alex to milk a cow (okay, so there were more than just sheep) and me to feed some lambs. This involved the usual piss-extraction from the guy demonstrating the show, by getting me to drink the lamb's milk for example, but was pretty whole-hearted “family fun”.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCH51OJUY1KAehdllWdOIAZ8G46kDNPvC-kWl1QkkTX3GJC3q7gW7VhmgirmRV2KUD3xzKTWIaYaMX7_P-pLpsdavluj2h4I7Di7itiItpcpeFAaRmy3gwh2z3uw7NuWUq7rCOjJ7xys/s1600-h/lamb+feeding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFCH51OJUY1KAehdllWdOIAZ8G46kDNPvC-kWl1QkkTX3GJC3q7gW7VhmgirmRV2KUD3xzKTWIaYaMX7_P-pLpsdavluj2h4I7Di7itiItpcpeFAaRmy3gwh2z3uw7NuWUq7rCOjJ7xys/s400/lamb+feeding.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860434798756498" /></a><br /><br />That's enough of that I would say.<br /><br />Now it's time for some less “family” orientated fun.<br /><br />At the beginning on the New Zealand section, I had mentioned that Alex was gay. Now, at some point during the trip, I had managed to get myself either drunk or very low on sleep, or a combination of both, agreeing to go to a gay club for one final “Big Gay Night Out” in Auckland.<br /><br />Browsing through the wardrobe of permissible clothes, Alex decided to select the wonderful salmon pink silk shirt I purchased in China – despite pleas from me that it would give off the wrong signals to the other members of the club.<br /><br />With this marking the one and only significant night out during our time in New Zealand, I decided it was time to take a “power nap” (read; old man's nap) at about 6pm. Luckily, as we had checked ourselves into a party hostel with this in mind, everyone else was doing the same. Correction, everyone else was *trying* to do the same. One wonderful person in the dorm of eight we had decided to sleep in had decided to set their alarm, proceeding to “sleep” the alarm every five minutes. As you can imagine, I was very pleased by this action and deemed it not selfish at all.<br /><br />After the 7th snooze, I had had enough. I don't often get annoyed, and as it turns out, when I do, I get rather “British”. In fact, I become rather pompous and correct. Shouting across the room to get her attention, I stated in a very proper British accent “Excuse me inconsiderate person, but could you please turn that alarm off as it is rather annoying!” No kidding. Not a single swear-word was uttered – I was pissed off. I was a pissed off Brit.<br /><br />With that minor incident out of the way, it was time for our gay night out. I was dressed in pink. I was scared.<br /><br />Entering into a very gay pub, I did what all self-respecting straight people would do. I headed for a location where I could see all the exits and make a swift get-away. It was like I was under-age drinking again. I was petrified, but was trying to “play it cool”. To say that I was awkward would not even come close.<br /><br />After a few minutes though I began to realise something really strange. Just like straight people, gay people are not going to try and hump you if you are sitting at a table. Wow. Amazing that!<br /><br />Following a singing contest involving a man/woman thing in the worst drag outfit ever, I had to ask Alex (who had just won a signed copy of Kylie's new album, the jammy git) what etiquette demanded I call the “it” person.<br /><br />A word for the wise – apparently you must call them by what they are trying to be. So, despite this person having a pencil thin moustache, and looking like a cross between a second world war air force colonel and Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, I should call it “Her”.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCCzkHDOAkOpYPm-47jqNU3kpzDmTn3na1MzFb3_Km8ibqUzX5Laub6TjQ2POLGPm99Di2_7u-QeY9iBm5djWMlr3R7Zl8ac52uFNu9_zfi1fGde3ff_QFbVzXydkHjxeP7RioRHkMgvo/s1600-h/gaynightout.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCCzkHDOAkOpYPm-47jqNU3kpzDmTn3na1MzFb3_Km8ibqUzX5Laub6TjQ2POLGPm99Di2_7u-QeY9iBm5djWMlr3R7Zl8ac52uFNu9_zfi1fGde3ff_QFbVzXydkHjxeP7RioRHkMgvo/s400/gaynightout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860152442956594" /></a><br />[All the photos of "her" didn't come out very well, so here's one of Alex on stage instead!]<br /><br />The rest of the night went pretty well I must say, and towards the end I was really, really enjoying myself. The crowd were surprisingly normal, despite Dorothy, and most of them were pretty aware that I was straight, so I just concentrated on having a good time, instead of trying to look “cool” etc. <br /><br />Dancing like a prat, I also realised that one thing about gay men isn't true. Not all gay men can dance. In fact, many of them don't have a clue!<br /><br />At one stage, someone shouted in my ear that the lady (yes, there were a small splattering of straight people there too) I was dancing with was someone called “Anne Hathaway”. Answering “who?” the guy looked mortified, and three other people repeated this claim, saying that I was in fact dancing with Anne Hathaway, who apparently, is some kind of 'A' list actor. Well, whoever she was, Anne Hathaway or not, she danced pretty well, despite being rather desperate for attention.<br /><br />All was going a little too smoothly until someone pinched my ass, before then feeling up my groin. The instinctive reaction was then to spin around, with combat in my mind. However, I quickly reminded myself that I was in an environment full of other gay people, wearing a pink shirt. Instead, I turned around and kindly waved at him, before shaking my head and hands indicating that I wasn't interested. Although great for my ego in retrospect, I think I could do without that kind of attention...<br /><br />The big gay night out had been a success – and it was time to leave the company of Alex, to continue my travels alone.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyT4_beIuzt7ufJLf7ecNhz0ioU9878Vv7NJUrbp1nmSnlLqnG5uF5s7O6TA8_d_B5qg-8oWxXJKRJz1OzxGdD3dXfioR4EXfuOpnIhz1EdwHRPQT5UPZVnR2BE2BJtPeQMmGOx6BfvSA/s1600-h/american+friend.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyT4_beIuzt7ufJLf7ecNhz0ioU9878Vv7NJUrbp1nmSnlLqnG5uF5s7O6TA8_d_B5qg-8oWxXJKRJz1OzxGdD3dXfioR4EXfuOpnIhz1EdwHRPQT5UPZVnR2BE2BJtPeQMmGOx6BfvSA/s400/american+friend.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860141684538466" /></a><br /><br />With a few more days in Auckland to explore the city, I decided to check into a better hostel which wasn't known for being full of “inconsiderate people”. Here I met a fantastic crowd of three American lasses who were great to spend a few days with, exploring the city and doing some really silly stuff like playing on park benches and fox-lines at 2 in the morning. Unmissable! It was certainly nice to let my hair down before leaving to South America. I even managed to appear at the very back of an advert for some kind of soup which was being filmed whilst I was wondering around Auckland!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7c5m8i4m7_3trOA8Nx8EWJo3oflo8jAuY2HyL-mg7OKw9V1Ozb1fYn_KeH8Bfr0EeoVjrofSMUcsbJ-zOOivveMzd0QOehBiupyFQegQ9g0EfhdlgWlirGfDcMOxsjLrNf2-aFzrf8Lk/s1600-h/advert+set.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7c5m8i4m7_3trOA8Nx8EWJo3oflo8jAuY2HyL-mg7OKw9V1Ozb1fYn_KeH8Bfr0EeoVjrofSMUcsbJ-zOOivveMzd0QOehBiupyFQegQ9g0EfhdlgWlirGfDcMOxsjLrNf2-aFzrf8Lk/s400/advert+set.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339860130591037954" /></a><br /><br />Now it was time for South America - could it live up to expectations?Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-82520268390748065412009-05-07T18:52:00.005+01:002009-05-07T19:41:27.595+01:00Ice Axe JoyHeading further east across the bottom of the South Island of New Zealand, it was time to take a pleasurable cruise through one of the deep fjords which create a heaven for wildlife (and sandflies).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY2tk4p3lCemEgnnIlC3wBtc2SPh0euie-QwOoCGLiimO2zF-36yjAqQCo2gg-QibHG6YPCsl9nToJ2Xe1viJd9e9xKXKtZtbYAi1zO-ltSr70f9pzjJk1Hgrf2N8iEgWeMOLrrzoRmM/s1600-h/Our+Ship.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKY2tk4p3lCemEgnnIlC3wBtc2SPh0euie-QwOoCGLiimO2zF-36yjAqQCo2gg-QibHG6YPCsl9nToJ2Xe1viJd9e9xKXKtZtbYAi1zO-ltSr70f9pzjJk1Hgrf2N8iEgWeMOLrrzoRmM/s400/Our+Ship.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333150507121614402" /></a><br /><br />Getting to Doubtful sound is significantly harder than one might imagine. First, you must drive to the far edge of the NZ road system, board a boat to take you across a river, then take a bus which can never connect to the rest of NZ, finally boarding the vessel which will be your home away from home for the duration of the cruise.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0hklMtsgjo4J2p3eJCmlgTjDcEkkro86MpaAlW9oVaXziJaLHnheVVBvzew1w1jycQgei2vjR0Yx6yg44X5EjS0f-LMZTHt5TQS_7-dpP7cvSCqzkFFW9DL0cf6k3wJOqvKNC7AlqWU/s1600-h/Ship+and+view.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0hklMtsgjo4J2p3eJCmlgTjDcEkkro86MpaAlW9oVaXziJaLHnheVVBvzew1w1jycQgei2vjR0Yx6yg44X5EjS0f-LMZTHt5TQS_7-dpP7cvSCqzkFFW9DL0cf6k3wJOqvKNC7AlqWU/s400/Ship+and+view.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333151110026536498" /></a><br /><br />Leaving Lucy, our campervan, by the side of the road yet again, we boarded a small boat which would take us to the beginning of our trip. Something wasn't quite right though. Both Alex and I looked in dismay at the fellow travellers. Expecting the usual mix of back-packers, perhaps with some locals thrown in for good measure, we were rather shocked to find that almost all of the people on the trip were over the age of 50. Welcome to SAGA holidays!<br /><br />Arriving on our vessel for which we would spend the next few two days, we swiftly realised that the tour was all about enforced enjoyment. At every opportunity we were told what the most fun thing we could possibly do would be and were expected to partake. For example, it may be freezing cold outside, but “Right now the best place on the boat is on the bow enjoying the scenery...” Apparently, when you hit the age of fifty, you loose the ability to make decisions for yourself. You also forget things alot, which accounts for why we were told no less than thirty times how the banks of the shore contained no soil, but instead were built on "lichens, mosses and other dead matter". <br /><br />What made this even more amusing was the way in which it was said – by an over-tired crew-member, who had long since had all forms of personal enjoyment removed from their lifeless cask of a body.<br /><br />What was more amazing though, is that despite the lack-luster crew the voyage was thoroughly enjoyable! The scenery was fantastic. The nature was even better.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LT7FnEk6DB5nfZkPs3MuZ9v4LShl06sMNOiQ2H7XTps8DPJmCXGODZitRyGh2dSGIjBxZUr65VcknIAdxRzKzhi6kT0DlpB9mLq2IXS-kvmlztxtp-Go8a-Eg7bV1WlY-tcEHO6wAsE/s1600-h/Doubtful+view.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LT7FnEk6DB5nfZkPs3MuZ9v4LShl06sMNOiQ2H7XTps8DPJmCXGODZitRyGh2dSGIjBxZUr65VcknIAdxRzKzhi6kT0DlpB9mLq2IXS-kvmlztxtp-Go8a-Eg7bV1WlY-tcEHO6wAsE/s400/Doubtful+view.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333149439279181682" /></a><br /><br />Following a few hours of motoring, we were to come across our first pod of dolphins. Never getting that close to these creatures before has meant that I have been deprived of their company for many years. Sitting on the front of the boat however, it was a truly amazing sight as the pod slowly came closer to the boat, playing on the bow wave as dusk began to fall.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLC9ceJku10BlBayFfJwLszjF8mY-uoM1bezmKfIFZ3fHwkTZ26i-DBdb0mcky3rreiiA1q1h9U2W68Tr6B_uQk7z3Qan8OgO8Z26Ro9KtQISAS3S6ozbJ5sFN85nziTYxdji4VAloZ0o/s1600-h/Dolphin+placeholder.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLC9ceJku10BlBayFfJwLszjF8mY-uoM1bezmKfIFZ3fHwkTZ26i-DBdb0mcky3rreiiA1q1h9U2W68Tr6B_uQk7z3Qan8OgO8Z26Ro9KtQISAS3S6ozbJ5sFN85nziTYxdji4VAloZ0o/s400/Dolphin+placeholder.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333149433209771810" /></a><br />[Dolphin Video to replace this picture if I get a fast connection!!]<br /><br />Over the three days we saw fur seals, dolphins and also penguins, not to mention a large number of birds and a few million sandflies!<br /><br />Over the next twenty four hours, we would encounter fur seals and also some very rare penguins – all of this in almost “perfect” conditions; for Doubtful Sound. Unfortunately, with the great nature and green hills comes a harsh price – over 300 days of rain per year. Luckily for us, we were there on one of the few days that it was not raining!!<br /><br />Leaving the serenity of Doubtful Sounds behind us, we took Lucy off towards another first for myself – a glacier. On the way stopping by a rather old-fashioned, but very good fun museum which involved different types of optical illusions and puzzles. I'm sure it was the first time my brain had been worked out since trying to learn Mandarin in China!!<br /><br />One of the best parts was a two story maze, which was made to infuriate! After about 45 minutes, both Alex and I had found three of the four towers, but despite running to find the fourth, Alex managed to get there first - well, almost, as I slid under one of the gates in a desperate (and rather blatent) attempt to cheat! I conceded victory - anything else would be rather "un-British".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCSQsJmQ1t8jpXxCh9bhkqZ2khqs9uWvCTom88Ka8_srDUY3aYvn7_1U0JkKDAurdOc7dYuK2FQOvsIUOJnkZwSSSXMRV9jO4236Kg4ZDUAlzD55ABpCew_hn8nHXaCO14eyrEmiNtuw/s1600-h/puzzle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCSQsJmQ1t8jpXxCh9bhkqZ2khqs9uWvCTom88Ka8_srDUY3aYvn7_1U0JkKDAurdOc7dYuK2FQOvsIUOJnkZwSSSXMRV9jO4236Kg4ZDUAlzD55ABpCew_hn8nHXaCO14eyrEmiNtuw/s400/puzzle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333151103592250226" /></a><br /><br />Arriving on the Franz-Joseph glacier, I had managed to coerce Alex to do a day's ice climbing. My thought was that if we were going to do a trek on a glacier, why not make it a little more hard-core and actually have some serious fun as well!?<br /><br />After sleeping on the side of the road, we arose at silly-o-clock in the morning to be given our equipment. Tooling up with crampons, ice-axes and harnesses, it was time to be off into the driving rain. At this point, about five of our group, myself included, noted that our boots were a really bad fit, but that it would be okay “as long as we didn't go walking for the next two hours”. <br /><br />Two and a half hours of walking through jungle, scree and finally the glacier later, we arrived at the edge of our first wall, and were shown how best to ice-climb.<br /><br />Crampons – they are amazing things really, the guide demonstrated how one could quite literally walk up a wall, as long as the technique was right and the ice firm enough. The axes just made it look more hard-core. As we climbed up the first slope, we soon realised why the axes were there, as often the footing may give way, or just due to human nature, one would require something to hold on to in order to provide balance.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6KP70EsvL4PrNnAR-wiXRPPM5iRxcBjU5aTbT9z_Lsf3O7BKRiu_uo9Y8DlVByBg3ofdd81bft5B6PFOHnmabwUIGjCvdTJI7IdhiSWr4VfGxGfqq0YL6Ef1ECXN57zjsiz5KXn4JQ0/s1600-h/glacier.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN6KP70EsvL4PrNnAR-wiXRPPM5iRxcBjU5aTbT9z_Lsf3O7BKRiu_uo9Y8DlVByBg3ofdd81bft5B6PFOHnmabwUIGjCvdTJI7IdhiSWr4VfGxGfqq0YL6Ef1ECXN57zjsiz5KXn4JQ0/s400/glacier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333149446349316098" /></a><br /><br />Three attempts at the same 20m cliff, and we were all ready to go home. It was tiring stuff, and strangely more exhausting than normal climbing. When in normal climbing do you have to smack a hammer into a sheet of ice multiple times until you can get a good purchase??<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjB-r7iNU_3zuoJb6Omums75BJ5EoROdUKCZ4YI1Oe22gpAVQuY93SNYYu6aT8Ah40aQuPvQ-uxE-RSe62DElEucXRkjCTh9Duz4yFpD3y_9D3x5hd7MQcWeC4-op9jeCKAUx_5PZan-w/s1600-h/glacier+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjB-r7iNU_3zuoJb6Omums75BJ5EoROdUKCZ4YI1Oe22gpAVQuY93SNYYu6aT8Ah40aQuPvQ-uxE-RSe62DElEucXRkjCTh9Duz4yFpD3y_9D3x5hd7MQcWeC4-op9jeCKAUx_5PZan-w/s400/glacier+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333149450817269986" /></a><br /><br />A further hour's walk and the rain began to subside. As the clouds cleared from the glacier, the views were very impressive. From my perspective, I had never been on a glacier before, and had certainly never used crampons. I was loving it!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBOi2eZtkoY3DmcVV-UW0Ah1qFB1LJRwgWweUtIG4tn2NMelbuZaN_B1HJCjrOYQOE6FaR6d83I1k1AJaVY88AkSdLMab8GdxcNz9t-z_e_q8rLQjMnh-ivbCTHL2zzw06jGIIzoF4OU/s1600-h/Iceclimb+site.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBOi2eZtkoY3DmcVV-UW0Ah1qFB1LJRwgWweUtIG4tn2NMelbuZaN_B1HJCjrOYQOE6FaR6d83I1k1AJaVY88AkSdLMab8GdxcNz9t-z_e_q8rLQjMnh-ivbCTHL2zzw06jGIIzoF4OU/s400/Iceclimb+site.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333153619855322658" /></a><br /><br />Arriving at a second sheet of sheer ice, this time with an overhang, we began to make the ascents. Each time or technique improved, and we could see that our skills were getting better. However, at the same time our physical stamina was waning. Making a crazy dash for the top on the first run proved very good, not only getting myself up there far faster than usual, but also preserving energy. However, when it came to the third attempt I was done for. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpyktvzniLgDVXbJExp3GQhAvsrbyWnvyjbRFPV_4tim7IA73fZ1Q0u8IN41G6uMKbbWj32dm0lI8cf-hfJhYUG0d8b6MdaUe7KCYpoITZ825JRzVY0PMGTWAGoO-mB96dZS5sv_drqQ/s1600-h/me+climb+top.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXpyktvzniLgDVXbJExp3GQhAvsrbyWnvyjbRFPV_4tim7IA73fZ1Q0u8IN41G6uMKbbWj32dm0lI8cf-hfJhYUG0d8b6MdaUe7KCYpoITZ825JRzVY0PMGTWAGoO-mB96dZS5sv_drqQ/s400/me+climb+top.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333150499712143234" /></a><br /><br />Dashing up the first 10m, I came to an overhang and just could not manage to bury the ice axe into the ice deep enough. Feeling like some feeble gerbil had swapped his muscles for mine, I tried to fling the ice axe at the edge, with no luck. Each time I tried, the axe would simply bounce off, or worse than that, not even make it to the ice surface. It was hilarious to watch, even from my perspective, as I had rarely encountered fatigue quite to this level!<br /><br />Admitting defeat and descending back to the crowd, I was glad to see that almost everyone was having exactly the same issue. Often ascents were being called short, or axes or crampons would simply fall out of the ice just at the time of need. To all those ice-climbers out there – I'm impressed, you must have some serious upper body stamina to keep you going up any serious length edges!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRKlvTZ_iTNEvzfkegf0q-Z_S2yZDxgRWeqCGdENE7Gq4dKphdjzzce5KFq-TgwmJefnWb13MkiwMmUoMvpiDaO8dMQRmRvkLlPNhVAMbMAr0YFjW23k61kvKI-VkRvMX6Av-CJw7Vd8/s1600-h/me+and+glacier.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRKlvTZ_iTNEvzfkegf0q-Z_S2yZDxgRWeqCGdENE7Gq4dKphdjzzce5KFq-TgwmJefnWb13MkiwMmUoMvpiDaO8dMQRmRvkLlPNhVAMbMAr0YFjW23k61kvKI-VkRvMX6Av-CJw7Vd8/s400/me+and+glacier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333150497098612882" /></a><br /><br />Wrapping up the ice-climbing for the day with a three hour hike back, we released our feet from the confines of plastic hell which were our boots and wearily dragged ourselves back to the campervan. Forcing a late evening drive to push on to the north of the South Island, we arrived at a deserted lay-by next to a very under-used road just in time to see the sunset.<br /><br />As the evening drew in, we both relaxed with a sense of accomplishment reinforced by the satisfying ache all over our bodies!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGthfkGrvHRryPgdGm6dB21DHg2aODZttDGg1Bq6PZlKNv-UVsg44pffkMUSs6VXttrxGv30YxzoHoe2ZEcEe_T4VDIvZZLDpG8LjPVGE1m_T7btO5OQpgbgEu5ssVg8dzRC0D4uitLYI/s1600-h/nighttime+view.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGthfkGrvHRryPgdGm6dB21DHg2aODZttDGg1Bq6PZlKNv-UVsg44pffkMUSs6VXttrxGv30YxzoHoe2ZEcEe_T4VDIvZZLDpG8LjPVGE1m_T7btO5OQpgbgEu5ssVg8dzRC0D4uitLYI/s400/nighttime+view.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333150502774455202" /></a><br /><br />The next day it was time to explore Abel Tasman National Park. <br /><br />With only a few hours to see the best of what it offered, we headed off for a three hour hike across the hills and to a secluded beach. After about one hour 45 minutes, we seemed to arrive and were constantly vexed by the signs which within a few hundred metres of each-other would vary the estimations of distance (measured by time!?) by half an hour or so!?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSxmhTDmUJqBiOvPRwzxCT_WDVfzEvzY4nH_K-qgZPI82EtPmRFNyZaOXNkA3b3dZQ7UHSf59JTCCt2CUNjyS9lgqhKDVcEN8K2DAc1s7f2Qi0HSsfIPtz21_BHVS-81XQGXPm41Z1xI/s1600-h/abel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiSxmhTDmUJqBiOvPRwzxCT_WDVfzEvzY4nH_K-qgZPI82EtPmRFNyZaOXNkA3b3dZQ7UHSf59JTCCt2CUNjyS9lgqhKDVcEN8K2DAc1s7f2Qi0HSsfIPtz21_BHVS-81XQGXPm41Z1xI/s400/abel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333149415119371538" /></a><br /><br />The beach was wonderful, although in a very depressing moment, Alex found out that not all beaches which look this good are actually hot. In fact, this beach was really, really cold. So much so that our legs were nub before we even had the opportunity to get deeper than knee depth. No wonder there were no swimmers!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbq4lJiZnoWQNG0XdV1uwOGzNYDngvYDeQLnZxskmts3C1VgTSXea3MzzeYsunV25zVoEMG4B3dnC6ME41xMvdQAZrjm5r2T82k_JUsPOHin3qY0TyjU78zULaPAGFlhwYszQAnWCiZc/s1600-h/me+beach.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbq4lJiZnoWQNG0XdV1uwOGzNYDngvYDeQLnZxskmts3C1VgTSXea3MzzeYsunV25zVoEMG4B3dnC6ME41xMvdQAZrjm5r2T82k_JUsPOHin3qY0TyjU78zULaPAGFlhwYszQAnWCiZc/s400/me+beach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333153621059106866" /></a><br /><br />Taking a sea-taxi back, we left the secluded nature of South Island for the early morning ferry to North Island. With now three days of sleeping by the roadside, we were looking for a bit of civilisation. North Island was about to deliver!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdG4SV90lUUL9Tst8oXZpAkHTKNYwv1XVimhw7cJzXZLwVuO08ngvO3cTkdhhfMP3tuyZdPJhPbxd5MrHMcoIyBs8yzH9E8MLW3QvOpFtfcf3sLQlun-4pckhtz1Vd-dToXiwd4y7UDH0/s1600-h/home+ferry.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdG4SV90lUUL9Tst8oXZpAkHTKNYwv1XVimhw7cJzXZLwVuO08ngvO3cTkdhhfMP3tuyZdPJhPbxd5MrHMcoIyBs8yzH9E8MLW3QvOpFtfcf3sLQlun-4pckhtz1Vd-dToXiwd4y7UDH0/s400/home+ferry.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333150490172351794" /></a>Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-54175135983360475152009-05-01T22:41:00.005+01:002009-05-01T23:03:04.087+01:00Rough Riding NZ...With some of the very dubious “must do's” of the South Island of New Zealand under my belt, it was time to turn up the tempo a little. Undoubtedly, in a country like New Zealand where tourism has been one of the primary sources of income for the past few years (yes, we have the Lord of the Rings to thank for that...) everything could be achieved, but at a price.<br /><br />Leaving Duneaden, we headed for the most southerly city in the world! (Except for those in South America.) This was a set of claims to fame which many different places we were to visit would tout at us. Never did they do the place justice.<br /><br />Always the claim to fame went something like, the fourth highest/largest/longest/biggest/smallest place in the South Island/New Zealand/Australasia/Southern Hemisphere. If only we were left to just enjoy the vista, the superlatives would have flowed from our mouths – and they would be far more impressive.<br /><br />On the way to our destination, we stopped by a small cove which was to prove one of the most beautiful sights on our journey. Reminding me very much of the home which I left almost five months before, we walked to the end of a steep pinnacled ridge, lighthouse adorning the top, to view a few hundred sea-lions and seals wallowing in the morning sun. It was a sight to behold, and now something which constitutes my netbook's wallpaper.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLh-CgFmwvMafc5POlPGfktU34dOzWBobu9mUuu2ZLaDyXlyG2m1v8qUX6Rb1OXQSEeyCXAjoiEkKA9Y2EzYai-Ja4l6h66hQPM9Rd-DHiwTwV12Aw_8-3uK8lxl2QXtpGaDAlNtZPi8/s1600-h/Nugget+Point+View.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLh-CgFmwvMafc5POlPGfktU34dOzWBobu9mUuu2ZLaDyXlyG2m1v8qUX6Rb1OXQSEeyCXAjoiEkKA9Y2EzYai-Ja4l6h66hQPM9Rd-DHiwTwV12Aw_8-3uK8lxl2QXtpGaDAlNtZPi8/s400/Nugget+Point+View.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330977268078027170" /></a><br /><br />A few hours of driving further on, just before night-fall, we stumbled across a small sign leading us to a waterfall. Here in the late dusk we walked through dense woodland before coming across a surprisingly majestic waterfall, made better by a total lack of any tourists. The sun setting, we enjoyed some sporting photos before we headed off to our spot on the roadside where we were to make the final stride towards the “activity capital of the world”- Queenstown. First it was time to take a few hours to undertake some activities of our own – some DIY caving.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfaletK2LtUZo4ciEPBwZ__y85fJWEg3M0QpymanofUsf7Jwvt12t97IcV69qKsL5ke2u61m5SSNwDP6D8MKK6eCcRwkPtYJ5XknbTkKQgbghyggPsiVS3TWSdGVzBq4VxE95QbOtRaA/s1600-h/Waterfalljump.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfaletK2LtUZo4ciEPBwZ__y85fJWEg3M0QpymanofUsf7Jwvt12t97IcV69qKsL5ke2u61m5SSNwDP6D8MKK6eCcRwkPtYJ5XknbTkKQgbghyggPsiVS3TWSdGVzBq4VxE95QbOtRaA/s400/Waterfalljump.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330978540332226866" /></a><br /><br />Parking Lucy on the side of the road to be taken advantage of by any passing motorist, we donned a jumper and grabbed a torch before heading off into the cave to locate some glow-worms. After a few minutes of tight squeezes, we came across a rather deep pool with only a fine ledge around the circumference. Time to get wet. Edging around the pool, I managed to make it to the other side, just in time to capture Alex falling in with my camera. Sorry Alex!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSLuN3oypHbEAQJ2EFSxu9w2xB2K0KgWhv7r8MWr9Oy7JNwHMbpehWAONaSuwgmyBChtAkNIMQldwmit7ScuftGf_U4GdiLKBf_EvjiLsXgnt1QfDz1TQwuKlT66TLbVLroG5RxBATFA/s1600-h/Alex+Caving.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsSLuN3oypHbEAQJ2EFSxu9w2xB2K0KgWhv7r8MWr9Oy7JNwHMbpehWAONaSuwgmyBChtAkNIMQldwmit7ScuftGf_U4GdiLKBf_EvjiLsXgnt1QfDz1TQwuKlT66TLbVLroG5RxBATFA/s400/Alex+Caving.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330977258890295650" /></a><br /><br />Queenstown has declared itself as the “Adventure Capital of the World”. With a title like that, both Alex and I were to see what it had in store for us. Splitting apart for the first time in over a week, we undertook our own separate activities. Alex did a [very high] bungee jump, whereas I decided to go jet-boating and then take an off-road motor-bike out for a spin.<br /><br />Jet boats are a cunning invention, specifically designed to allow the boat to skim over only a few centimetres of water, floating on a “plane”. All the time they keep moving, they have incredible power and manoeuvrability through normally treacherous waterways. Couple this with a cunning design which gives the perception of the front being far further forward than it actually is, and what results is an excellent adrenaline filled ride – you just have to turn the scientific parts of your brain off!<br /><br />Each edge is taken slightly closer than you would imagine is safe, but the drifts have been carefully choreographed to ensure that the driver is struggling to get closer to the cliff, with the power of the boat forcing it away from the hard granite edge. Still, there are no tracks under the water, no safety barriers on the rocks, and certainly a large amount of skill on the part of the drivers. Ours also had a well polished banter about being a novice, which went down well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHnPCqHIepTeq64OFkhrGyThqLsA2H5RVXQSGTjXKoyfkl_bprjqCB29EWeKWCt1BvScO0I0HV7dBMIFsNzAtU_bfhDnvftHT9YqgYT_8k0H-xf7yGJ-yJc5QmrYniRPMh5sNBH5A_ws/s1600-h/Shootover+Jet.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHnPCqHIepTeq64OFkhrGyThqLsA2H5RVXQSGTjXKoyfkl_bprjqCB29EWeKWCt1BvScO0I0HV7dBMIFsNzAtU_bfhDnvftHT9YqgYT_8k0H-xf7yGJ-yJc5QmrYniRPMh5sNBH5A_ws/s400/Shootover+Jet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330977274639516082" /></a><br /><br />Finishing up with the jet boating, it was now time to put control in my own hands. I've never really been a fan of activities which one endures, far better are those which you can influence. Jet boating was thrilling, but you always know you will be safe, as you are in the hands of an expert. Give a 250cc scramble bike to a total novice and ask him to make jumps and ford rivers. Now that's a far more amusing adventure sport!<br /><br />Despite the millions of companies within Queenstown which were happy to take the tourist dollar for anything from skydiving to white-water rafting, only one company actually allowed you to take your life in your own hands and ride a scramble bike. A few more offered quads, but with four wheels comes stability and safety. We don't want that now, do we!<br /><br />Walking into the office, I did happen to catch a glimpse of the sign mentioning that you had to be an “experienced rider” to take their tours. Having ridden a motorbike pillion through India, I was very experienced – just not at driving. How hard could it be right???<br /><br />Exaggerating my skills to the guy in the shop slightly, I managed to blag myself onto the tour. A short ride into the surrounding countryside later, and I was sitting astride the bike. Here I asked “just to be sure” what all the controls did, and received a very short answer. I also told them I was rather rusty, as it had been over 5 years since my last ride. This wasn't a lie, I had ridden one of these before, for about an hour, in my cousin's ranch in Australia. Time to learn, and fast.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-z4K9202s3nYoap4sHl6OfnD2i-YXJ3p7zUaKZqkBWQNNKHeeeFgOgydlUKq-HxM2nsmM9z2PP7C8oAOHe1brdHaGcVbudofWcRDO_Z3z3yhk-6yTufIsa78Tf3LN9abEKxQYu1QtdY/s1600-h/Scramble+Biking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-z4K9202s3nYoap4sHl6OfnD2i-YXJ3p7zUaKZqkBWQNNKHeeeFgOgydlUKq-HxM2nsmM9z2PP7C8oAOHe1brdHaGcVbudofWcRDO_Z3z3yhk-6yTufIsa78Tf3LN9abEKxQYu1QtdY/s400/Scramble+Biking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330977273093050002" /></a><br /><br />Although the first half an hour of the session was certainly bumpy, with some very dodgy gear-changes and rather close slide-outs, I managed to hit the minimum standard, albeit just, was given a guide and sent off into the bush. <br /><br />Being a keen mountain biker, I loved the feeling of whizzing over the rough ground. Power certainly gives you a warped sense of distance, with huge hills being just a thirty second activity, rather than the massive slog they would be with a mountain bike. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaHg2lW8cA6_7usiAi_gZZcLDU1YsMNo1Y8l4uUpwKsIUKb3n1LBKJrMMeHdIPtweqz2q1FZjn0Cz5SADWFnUK3kb29MvyQUwD5PNyZhrhjqFICJHfhr-KBzu4jbylyKm7ba9kda8Pfw/s1600-h/Fording+River.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpaHg2lW8cA6_7usiAi_gZZcLDU1YsMNo1Y8l4uUpwKsIUKb3n1LBKJrMMeHdIPtweqz2q1FZjn0Cz5SADWFnUK3kb29MvyQUwD5PNyZhrhjqFICJHfhr-KBzu4jbylyKm7ba9kda8Pfw/s400/Fording+River.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330977263819318978" /></a><br /><br />In a mother scaring moment, I want one of these bad-boys. Luckily, they are pointless in the UK, but if I move somewhere remote – watch out mum!<br /><br />Wrapping it all up with numerous river crossings and a few baby jumps, it was time to end my activity filled day, dirt grinding against my teeth. Queenstown had done me proud. It was time for a more serene experience – the lost tranquillity of Doubtful Sound...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-32495510192928692472009-04-17T23:47:00.006+01:002009-04-18T00:19:09.517+01:00Cruising around NZBefore I arrived in New Zealand, my fellow travellers advised me not to expect too much civilisation, but instead to revel in the spectacular scenery. Arrival in Christchurch served to prove them right.<br /><br />Christchurch, the largest of all the “cities” on the south island, was surprisingly small. With a population of just 600,000 – it was about the size of my home town in the UK. It had one high-street, a small square, and was almost totally closed down as I investigated it at 5 minutes past 5 on a dreary and cold Saturday afternoon. <br /><br />The thing that Christchurch did have going for it though, was its charm. Everyone was smiling, people were waving at each other and even the tourists weren't hated as much as they are everywhere else in the world. New Zealanders aren't really internationally famed, but from my first impressions, I would put them up there as the “friendliest nation on earth”.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDl_g588n7n02TW9uftXdKKSTE5j7Xtn6axVS5ybgs2WMT9qfUNVQ1yamU89x2BjgpUqusBWaOzuYGwo5UHr1xGvYX2CpS9nNIDrMNIGxF_O-JGuIr1JBy74ZsOLqUOWiQuVFk3PguEg/s1600-h/Christchurch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDl_g588n7n02TW9uftXdKKSTE5j7Xtn6axVS5ybgs2WMT9qfUNVQ1yamU89x2BjgpUqusBWaOzuYGwo5UHr1xGvYX2CpS9nNIDrMNIGxF_O-JGuIr1JBy74ZsOLqUOWiQuVFk3PguEg/s400/Christchurch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325799611198924738" /></a><br /><br />Shops were a time-warp of old English tradition, spliced with the Australian enthusiasm for the outdoor world. Although new goods, they were always serving them in an old fashioned way. For example, I went into an espresso bar, with Italian coffee maker at the centre and Kiwi greeting me with a wide smile, only to be asked if I wanted sugar with my latte – for it would be mixed in for me. On enquiring about where I could purchase some wool tops, instead of directing me approximately, I got directions based on people's names. “The fourth shop down is very good, as Ted sources the wool from the Walton's farm.”<br /><br />To top it all off, I then went into a local bakery to try and pick up something to eat with my coffee, only to be told they were closing. However, instead of just leaving, they offered me a free scone!? If I hadn't had been so hungry, I would have taken a picture. Like all good fisherman's tales, I shall now say that it was huge. The best scone ever? Probably not, but good all the same!<br /><br />Christchurch is tiny, but I don't care; it has the small town charm often lost by bigger cities. I hoped this would just get better as I move away from the “big smoke”.<br /><br />Answering some adverts at the local backpacker hostel, I managed to locate a suitable travelling partner, with whom I would spend the next three weeks cruising around New Zealand in a camper. One, “speed questioning” interview later, and we had deemed each-other as suitable travel partners. Some hurried phone-calls to local renting agents ensued, and finally we had our own camper-van to travel the New Zealand islands with. <br /><br />After five months on the road I finally had a home. “Lucy”. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45NufnVca2OrnGnpLTN9DyKsb7D60AqtWUR05n5SkA-dX82FcOVkW1XB53uEVaeq3pKyomtwRPEJDu_t2ha4PTzRO7eBRmtUVDEursGF-Jg_3jJR9B4giseidbzbThyZIMPECiyVpZVs/s1600-h/Lucy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg45NufnVca2OrnGnpLTN9DyKsb7D60AqtWUR05n5SkA-dX82FcOVkW1XB53uEVaeq3pKyomtwRPEJDu_t2ha4PTzRO7eBRmtUVDEursGF-Jg_3jJR9B4giseidbzbThyZIMPECiyVpZVs/s400/Lucy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325800072313474338" /></a><br /><br />She was a beaten up old pile of crap. But like a particularly ugly and lame puppy, we would love her anyway. Tough and high-revving love that is.<br /><br />Now it was time to head south from Christchurch, taking in all of the spectacular scenery the South Island has to offer.<br /><br />Our first night in the camper was on the shores of a lake, about 4 hours drive from Christchurch. Here, after stocking up with supplies from a local supermarket on the way out of Christchurch, we cooked our first meal, deep in the bowls of “Lucy – Protector from the evil sand-flies” as she shall now be known.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjjvkGEvR525jZru5PDpXs8X2R7-cAq6uM_eYpAzEz5L7NWhYBM4TOyhYvU0bt6ENRldA5U38hlEekvoYFF62Kd6IB0fSFcsp4oe9oJGQi6wNJqHOqSYNGASWxTMdMPXLZK0XaDaYlYE/s1600-h/Lucy+View.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisjjvkGEvR525jZru5PDpXs8X2R7-cAq6uM_eYpAzEz5L7NWhYBM4TOyhYvU0bt6ENRldA5U38hlEekvoYFF62Kd6IB0fSFcsp4oe9oJGQi6wNJqHOqSYNGASWxTMdMPXLZK0XaDaYlYE/s400/Lucy+View.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325799619171794498" /></a><br /><br />I'm going to admit this now, I was a little worried about the standards of cooking we would have to endure on this journey. I've seen what some people my age call food, and I must admit that the idea of eating that for three weeks was less than appealing. Consequently, I was very relieved when it turns out that my travel partner was actually a very good cook. Despite the limited resources in our cupboard, he always knew the best combinations and threw them together very well. He also didn't make it impossible to wash up the pan by encrusting the best bits of food onto the bottom – a definite benefit!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWoGQ_ShvGSmYiVzgvN4F8JI1DwaLvjs0WS9xh9E4OEYAN1Lxccve98fv6ktlx7cltya8RD_WBb8ZS-d2VfjlL85KdH0dadfORNPvcANLSQYmYS-RwV8_oD5PitOQNbuQNgrbxCJ8sBQk/s1600-h/Me+Food.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWoGQ_ShvGSmYiVzgvN4F8JI1DwaLvjs0WS9xh9E4OEYAN1Lxccve98fv6ktlx7cltya8RD_WBb8ZS-d2VfjlL85KdH0dadfORNPvcANLSQYmYS-RwV8_oD5PitOQNbuQNgrbxCJ8sBQk/s400/Me+Food.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325801127085070834" /></a><br /><br />The next day we awoke and began to pack up the van. Starting at 8:15, with a 10:00 curfew, we thought we had loads of time. At 11:00 we decided to leave with it only partly completed; it was something we would need to improve in future attempts...<br /><br />With a rather late start under our belts, it was time to head off to our first destination – the highest salmon farm in the world.<br /><br />When I heard that, I had envisaged huge heights – perhaps 3000m higher than sea level, with snow cresting the sides of the farm. I had certainly hoped for more than the 800m height that we observed. Saying this, the scenery once again made up for it as we ate our freshly smoked salmon and blue cheese overlooking the vista. With a quick walk across the farm for DIY feeding time (don't you like those business models where tourists pay to do someone else's job?) it was great to feel like fish-god!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe6p77hNnjwEGZFjM9g-zrWfqzGv58w_6FvlS5RAcows8Ev7fuWCVzAn3dkjNdm45_magwNYw_o7kkD9DLfqfp7k0Q1acZ3EK4WGVr0Y7BQISpF6hQ4fk2FB19L_DSH_0fcKPuWIjNeY/s1600-h/Salmon+River.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe6p77hNnjwEGZFjM9g-zrWfqzGv58w_6FvlS5RAcows8Ev7fuWCVzAn3dkjNdm45_magwNYw_o7kkD9DLfqfp7k0Q1acZ3EK4WGVr0Y7BQISpF6hQ4fk2FB19L_DSH_0fcKPuWIjNeY/s400/Salmon+River.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325800080367006546" /></a><br /><br />Following lunch, we headed off for Mt Cook – the highest point in NZ.<br /><br />Unable to scale Mt Cook ourselves, as it requires mountaineering experience and much gear to get past the numerous glaciers, we had to be content with the view from the bottom.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGq6Cw_J0YkT3U4k67pB21-0lRcub6iFh6ilYrM92Yi5V0XBx25ZuZ-A37cNxnSLjDdBNhEaJF-0RpNREQbA96MHvMQ8kIDUFVuQuELt7yRff7UQVU11ufNgNYDPqRb3oYhAX0loHqUok/s1600-h/Glacial+walk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGq6Cw_J0YkT3U4k67pB21-0lRcub6iFh6ilYrM92Yi5V0XBx25ZuZ-A37cNxnSLjDdBNhEaJF-0RpNREQbA96MHvMQ8kIDUFVuQuELt7yRff7UQVU11ufNgNYDPqRb3oYhAX0loHqUok/s400/Glacial+walk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325799615007290178" /></a><br /><br />Dropping the van off at the bottom of a valley split, we made the quick 90 minute walk to the front of the glacier, which was to mark our return point. Having never seen a glacier before I was struck by how cold it wasn't. Now, I know glaciers are made from ice, and ice is usually below freezing point, so, you can imagine my confusion when we reached the glacier and I was hot, whilst only wearing a very thin top. It must have been about 14 degrees – certainly no where near the 2-3 degrees I was expecting!?<br /><br />Feeling a bit cheated, Alex decided to go in for a dip and claim first dibs on a large chunk of ice – just to check that it was actually cold and not some Star Trek polystyrene prop. The screams he made and the moaning after the event confirmed various reports I had heard that glacial melt-water is in fact very cold. Let's just say that no one wanted to go swimming in that lake.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKRMnLvfpzbJKVwZGKHN4V_3rlFV5lrebMNjXktDn34tEEVp9f1PqLJMbunKN5xpNhiUKA3LcqWNidkv8c8HwrZ_XJEY7emi-AS6NN9CJD_ABgEp9bhPoMRHiUL-vIRP3RTPWJU1N04w/s1600-h/Alex+Glacier.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKRMnLvfpzbJKVwZGKHN4V_3rlFV5lrebMNjXktDn34tEEVp9f1PqLJMbunKN5xpNhiUKA3LcqWNidkv8c8HwrZ_XJEY7emi-AS6NN9CJD_ABgEp9bhPoMRHiUL-vIRP3RTPWJU1N04w/s400/Alex+Glacier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325801127323865122" /></a><br /><br />Pressing on to our next port of call, we decided to camp by the side of the road and welcome in the evening (and the ever present sand-flies) by the shore of another lake. Although this wasn't strictly legal, no-one seemed to care, and it did mean we didn't have a working towel rail or microwave – two things I'm hardly going to cry over. Although it did also mean we were lacking in power to charge our MP3 player/ speaker combination (as the van's radio didn't work), and any electronic devices such as cameras or laptops.<br /><br />What we were also lacking though, certainly made up for the rest... As we laid back in our beds, blinds open to the world gazing at the foreign southern sky constellations, we couldn't hear anyone getting drunk and partying, no children screaming, no generators humming. Silence. This is almost like camping. Almost.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG9TXNwKY_ftdKf6KzAC_kwEo_dU67XJy5tk00QWskRx1AE0-Oj2X7C5smP9ib2Vn9plJ1Ko_8aWx8nnpNV3Gq5LVjlxZdTLYJ-JMPCkzk5WgrBvm_aIRFCSKkElMALqKw5JhCk5he1XU/s1600-h/EveningView.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG9TXNwKY_ftdKf6KzAC_kwEo_dU67XJy5tk00QWskRx1AE0-Oj2X7C5smP9ib2Vn9plJ1Ko_8aWx8nnpNV3Gq5LVjlxZdTLYJ-JMPCkzk5WgrBvm_aIRFCSKkElMALqKw5JhCk5he1XU/s400/EveningView.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325803091079290114" /></a><br /><br />The next day was to bring with it the iconic New Zealand moment. No, it wasn't the shamefully childish Maori art, nor some sandstone cliffs. It was being stopped in the middle of the road by a few million sheep. Welcome to New Zealand.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Vl_JW1DCAYhzt6btYGww6jwMczTgdsctl47jDYZLj9wPNoRmr5IpZZGXt1qty5IiDmAVAVXB4KW6RudwFfxjNDDFuDs5444I1xCc7PPEJN_A0xb8xpAQlnaPK1lDFFe0dcUeAqnK2YM/s1600-h/Sheep.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Vl_JW1DCAYhzt6btYGww6jwMczTgdsctl47jDYZLj9wPNoRmr5IpZZGXt1qty5IiDmAVAVXB4KW6RudwFfxjNDDFuDs5444I1xCc7PPEJN_A0xb8xpAQlnaPK1lDFFe0dcUeAqnK2YM/s400/Sheep.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325800081769999938" /></a><br /><br />This was then topped off by some oversized Malteasers, which apparently draw tourists from miles around – even though there's only about ten left, and those which are left aren't even that round.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJAVgmJwgD8QrMcL_zVT3v6QzXdIuwQbb45Tgseqj5KRbd40grxFtXjvkiBfvF8ws4D539IfHSnY7xc05Tk_-cS_gTIpH0aJ5ViCsGg9Vf1ORTBrc__zj7JTT6PewpRR_v9o8P40_qzo/s1600-h/Malteasers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJAVgmJwgD8QrMcL_zVT3v6QzXdIuwQbb45Tgseqj5KRbd40grxFtXjvkiBfvF8ws4D539IfHSnY7xc05Tk_-cS_gTIpH0aJ5ViCsGg9Vf1ORTBrc__zj7JTT6PewpRR_v9o8P40_qzo/s400/Malteasers.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325800075684688818" /></a><br /><br />Oh, and the best name for a boat I've ever seen.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEOuswGMzuCQ1dukMstjLX7dRXMTm7bL6pJlWoUWEyxToJh0nbe25-EtmEExTfEJoFLeBXYJhub1peVhe_fZb3I-g2e2kd15vZfOXG8qMyOMhwxnXUV664O9FkgwXi0u2sAIvtWVlU90/s1600-h/Boat+Name.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYEOuswGMzuCQ1dukMstjLX7dRXMTm7bL6pJlWoUWEyxToJh0nbe25-EtmEExTfEJoFLeBXYJhub1peVhe_fZb3I-g2e2kd15vZfOXG8qMyOMhwxnXUV664O9FkgwXi0u2sAIvtWVlU90/s400/Boat+Name.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325799605446046930" /></a><br /><br />By now, we were towards the southern tip of the South Island – a place called Duneaden to be precise. Duneaden's claim to fame in the world is that it has the world's steepest road. I don't really know why, but we were rather amused by this concept and so decided to take a stroll up it. When I say take a stroll, this soon degraded into a slow-motion race up the hill. For those who haven't tried, don't. It makes you feel really pitiful, as you run at about 5 mph up the slope, no matter how hard you try! What was amusing though, was thinking of the poor residents who must suffer the daily trudge of tourists and cars who drive up the dead-end street, only to then drive back down again a few moments later.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcsw6e3Sc206fou2xSaPAzgKMtPiOsusXd6SQPV402DwUfD0TZxp2pEAkBFToBSSkhZ6PwUxD0buqCzw_Yer5hzqfNwSFSxqqeQEMIcHMzNcUjdiU3lpiyq56S8TOQsyhzHlFFGTBr9c/s1600-h/Alex+Steep+Walk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcsw6e3Sc206fou2xSaPAzgKMtPiOsusXd6SQPV402DwUfD0TZxp2pEAkBFToBSSkhZ6PwUxD0buqCzw_Yer5hzqfNwSFSxqqeQEMIcHMzNcUjdiU3lpiyq56S8TOQsyhzHlFFGTBr9c/s400/Alex+Steep+Walk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325799607765714146" /></a><br /><br />So far it had all been well and good, a few minor sights here and there, and some other things to see and do along the way, but nothing really earth-shattering. What makes people fall in love in New Zealand? Well, I think I was about to find out...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-49757716749360737612009-04-06T21:10:00.003+01:002009-04-06T21:35:02.664+01:00Swept along with the wind...Following the diving course, it was time to head south and take in the sights of the “Golden [east] Coast” of Australia. Or so I thought.<br /><br />Unfortunately, at the exact same time that I was planning to head south, so was a category five cyclone “Hamish” – similar to the worst category of hurricane there is. Consequently, the sailing, diving and pretty much anything else which resembles fun was called off. Darn.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCihgCYQTfqhTNfOBtzmBgywGj0b0PrtsykUhknZNg01UMd0Sn-PqrZmh2IJfYxy9-Drlt5xvNbPhT_pasawQZQLuXKthGj1TfyvqPoTQelwkRc2poWcWXXvO_EPqRbbbeFXgYGHheeI/s1600-h/Hamish.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglCihgCYQTfqhTNfOBtzmBgywGj0b0PrtsykUhknZNg01UMd0Sn-PqrZmh2IJfYxy9-Drlt5xvNbPhT_pasawQZQLuXKthGj1TfyvqPoTQelwkRc2poWcWXXvO_EPqRbbbeFXgYGHheeI/s400/Hamish.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321675025835635794" /></a><br /><br />This then prompted a series of events, culminating in multiple extended bus journeys to the subsequent southern town, just to be told that everything was being canceled from the day I had arrived.<br /><br />After 38 in little over 52 hours of bus inducing boredom, I finally arrived in Brisbane. By this time, to make matters a little worse, I had a doctor take a look at my ear, only to be told that it had been perforated and that I would not be able to undertake any activities involving getting my ear wet. <br /><br />To celebrate this news, I went jet-skiing.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/y_HdDE381nFFD4i6MxEyHw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/ScNmfpBswEI/AAAAAAAAGOY/9p_dI0cZ4F0/s400/P3082618-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Before I went on this adventure around the world, I had been a keen sailor for the past few years, learning the ropes, literally on a two man dinghy every other weekend. Whenever I was out and about, I used to discuss with my very experienced sailing partner about many things in life. One time, I rather accidentally wondered into a sailing minefield. Jet skiers. <br /><br />In the same way by which classic car enthusiasts hate “Gary-boy” racers, sailors despise jet-skiers. I don't know if it's entirely due to the wake produced by these machines which they despise, more the attitude and total lack of respect for the invisible ten metre zone of control every sail boat would like to command. Either way, for one afternoon, I was to join the enemy.<br /><br />Jet skis are easy enough to control, with a jet of water shooting out of the back in various directions being your only means of propulsion and steering. If you want to go fast, just crank the throttle. If you want to stop, don't. With that wonderful introduction to the world of jet-skis under my belt, it was time to take to the water and see what they could do.<br /><br />It turns out that they are rather fast. In fact, they are very fast indeed – reaching top speeds in excess of 50 knots. When doing these speeds though, you have to cling on pretty hard, otherwise ripples on the surface of the water will do their best to throw you askew.<br /><br />Stopping off on an island just outside of Brisbane, the fellow jet-skiers an I discussed our sore thighs (for that is what you use to hold on) and sore everything else too. Everyone had a smile on their face though – so the pain can't have been that bad!<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/rlMtxV8vreVb91uMCYdvUg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/ScNmIyxNzyI/AAAAAAAAGNY/ZnLAgfQ9G-0/s400/P3082610-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The return journey was uneventful, although did prove the ideal time to go flat out, trying to jump the wakes of various boats on our way back. Luckily, the wind was awful that day, so I don't think I was sworn at by many sailors – if I was, sorry, I know how you feel!!<br /><br />With time rapidly running out, and a need to get to somewhere lacking in cyclones, it was time to enter Sydney before an early morning departure to New Zealand. There, I was to spend far longer than the ten days in Australia and hopefully achieve far more too!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-60056736110018651502009-03-31T23:20:00.003+01:002009-03-31T23:41:04.180+01:00Diving DeepAustralia. Let's be honest, it's not hard to travel around England down under. The language is the same, the food is good, the weather better and overall, life is easy. There's no coincidence that it's in the middle of my holiday – I wanted to have a break from travel; Australia made the logical choice. <br /><br />To ensure I didn't just arrive and veg out, I had booked myself on a five day dive course in the Great Barrier Reef. First though, I had a day and a half to explore Sydney.<br /><br />After arrival, it became apparent that the clothing I had on wasn't all that suitable. Wearing a wool top and thick woollen hiking socks was not going to cut it in Sydney, where the temperature was in the high 20's. Cairns (where the diving course was) was even worse, being about 30-35 degrees. Time to get some new socks and some swimming trunks. Whilst I was at it, a haircut would also help.<br /><br />After I had all this sorted it was time to explore Sydney by night. I was staying in a backpacking hostel, with 6 people to a dorm and had been kindly invited out to a local bar by a promoter under the lure of free booze. Now, I don't know which business school the bar managers from the Kings Cross district in Sydney went to, but I hope it has since shut down. Almost every bar offers free booze, free entry, free pick-up and some even offer free food. No strings attached.<br /><br />As you can imagine, this was rather appealing. We strolled from one bar to another, taking advantage of either one or two free drinks, before moving on to the next bar, again consuming the free drinks. Value for money wise, this was the best night out to be had anywhere!<br /><br />Now that I had seen some of the night-life, it was time to see the sights Sydney has to offer. Historically, Australia is pathetic, especially when compared to the history of China, so I decided to focus on what it does better – sports and aquatic life.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/RFYeXVN_z91ZjY32SFbnVQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/ScNjpTVt1cI/AAAAAAAAGBM/yVl0RGdKbtU/s400/P2252490-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Taking a guided cycle tour of the city, I picked up most of the “must do” sights of Sydney in little under six hours. Here I managed to befriend the two guides and spent the remainder of the evening with them, chatting about life in Sydney. One thing I had noticed from almost everyone that I had met – Sydney has sticky streets. Many people arrive for a short term event of activity and never leave. Before I was struck with the same disease, it was time to take in the aquarium to do some research on the fishes I would be seeing later, then departing to Cairns for the diving course.<br /><br />Arriving in Cairns, it became apparent that it was a town focused on one thing only – diving. Every shop was related to diving or had diving in mind. Signing on for the diving course commencing the next day, it was time to ensure that I can pass the initial test.<br /><br />To go diving, you first need to pass a swimming exam. Now, swimming is one of about two sports that I really don't like, the second being football. However, since the last time I went swimming, my personal fitness has vastly improved. In fact, the last time I went properly swimming, I think I was about 14 years old and struggled to make it past 100m. To pass the test, I had to swim 200m and float in the pool for 10 minutes. Gulp – literally.<br /><br />Donning the new swimming trunks and looking rather spangly with my lack of tan fresh from the northern hemisphere, I jumped into the hostel pool and began to float. Timer started, I kicked around and flapped a little bit, after a while I rested into a nice rhythm. Getting a little tired, I looked at my watch, 7 minutes 48 seconds, TO GO. Oh dear. Luckily, at this point someone saw what I was doing and offered some advice. “Just float on your back and wiggle your arms”. This guy was a life-saver, so whoever you are, thank you so much.<br /><br />Over the next five days, ten of us would learn how to dive, completing two separate courses and gaining both our “Open Water” and “Adventure Diver” PADI qualifications. The first qualification is what most people do, and allows you to dive to 18 metres, the second tags on another 12 metres, bringing it to a total of 30 metres. I had signed up to both as I really wanted the extra confidence the second course would give me. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73NqOq1l4UHT8paWVMojPcYKyh2-wHth5zIIgBXMmU8ALkM8LnNMEcBAO9MOQAIq8v6Rw7d_ZJZCrACPnTTGlKCzbD0Oq5rZd6ZFucky16XvbTxFb5HZlpstv9ctCCEHCzWgC7GhjFHE/s1600-h/diving1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh73NqOq1l4UHT8paWVMojPcYKyh2-wHth5zIIgBXMmU8ALkM8LnNMEcBAO9MOQAIq8v6Rw7d_ZJZCrACPnTTGlKCzbD0Oq5rZd6ZFucky16XvbTxFb5HZlpstv9ctCCEHCzWgC7GhjFHE/s400/diving1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319483319059934834" /></a><br /><br />After half a day in the classroom getting bored to tears by the most fundamental of dive videos (do you know that things less dense than water FLOAT? - WOW) it was time to go into the pool for our swimming test (which turns out was easy after the practise) and our first confined water session.<br /><br />Setting up our diving gear as instructed, we all waddled into the pool, feeling about as graceful as an elephant asked to hop through an army assault course wearing a tutu. Once in the pool though, our huge SCUBA system was transformed from a weighty cumbersome object into a miraculous device. Putting the regulators into our mouths for the first time, we breathed in... yuck... plastic air! <br /><br />Now it was time to submerge and try the same thing, just under water. The initial response of one's body is to fight the urge to breath in. You're under water after all, so you would normally be holding your breath. Once the initial panic was suppressed though, you soon became used to breathing in under water. This was strange, but it was also darn cool!<br /><br />Over the next two days we would hone those skills, diving to the full depth of 4m the pool allowed and practising breathing from an alternative source and clearing one's mask after full removal. All these skills would become invaluable when we finally hit the sea, so practise in this environment was very useful. We were all paired up with someone, who would become our “buddy” if we got into issues, or ran out of air and needed to borrow some rather quickly. I was 'devastated' to be paired with officially the coolest of our crowd.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/pjbQju8XoejDB08LDAFEyQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/ScNlrt6y0_I/AAAAAAAAGLE/ZdgFuC7XBss/s400/P3042583-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Before the end of the second day I was confident underwater with my kit. It was just like swimming, with the tiresome problem of breathing and holding breath taken away! Of particular fun was the joy of doing endless back-flips whilst underwater – I'm easily amused.<br /><br />Completing our confined water section and the easiest written exam known to man, it was now time to jump aboard a boat and join some already qualified divers for our open water sessions – 8 dives in all. It's a hard life learning in the Great Barrier Reef, but someone has to do it! The only draw-back was the all in one "Smirf-Suit" which we wore to protect us from jellyfish.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/6LPGWUuz5nnA1ckdHoXgyg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/ScNm6h8tllI/AAAAAAAAGPQ/iNlgugmdPHk/s400/P3032570-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Given that I was blown away by the whole process whilst in a pool with nothing to look at except for the tiles, you can imagine how happy I was to see some real scenery and fishes. Unfortunately for you though, we weren't allowed to take a camera on any training dives, which were all but one of our dives.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1NHKSShQH38HN7b6F87P8KGWr3dle6Fmtv7QNDe6ZgBEVosTR5teUHuIAP40L57kI96RlD9u6dVyEJXvCKXP3KzOIHCPrEIMKpU3bsWFisSweBAY4PSo0f3IHtZhFVZrMqU786T0bqA/s1600-h/diving+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA1NHKSShQH38HN7b6F87P8KGWr3dle6Fmtv7QNDe6ZgBEVosTR5teUHuIAP40L57kI96RlD9u6dVyEJXvCKXP3KzOIHCPrEIMKpU3bsWFisSweBAY4PSo0f3IHtZhFVZrMqU786T0bqA/s400/diving+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319483326693013554" /></a><br /><br />The practise continued as we completed our qualifications, gradually diving longer and deeper, whilst performing more technical tasks. On the final night though, there was a bit of a change. A night dive. Until this point, we hadn't seen any sharks - probably because sharks hunt mostly at night, being either docile, or asleep during the day. Most people would count their blessings at not seeing a shark, especially as there were two shark attacks in Sydney the week before I arrived. I really wanted to see a shark though, and I got my wish.<br /><br /><br /><br />Now, if anyone has seen the film Aliens, whereby the marines all had puny little torches, which they were waving around frantically in the dark, searching for the aliens which were hunting them, you now know pretty much what a night dive with sharks is like. With our group of four people in the water, we dove into the pitch black water and quickly whipped our torches around, searching for the tell-tell signs of sharks; the reflection of their retinas...<br /><br />Suddenly, the lead torch of our instructor stopped moving from side to side and seemed to “lock on” to a target. Through the gloom, the target grew larger and larger, until it came into clear view. A 2m reef shark. Luckily, humans aren't on the menu of that species!<br /><br />Over the next 30 minutes we not only saw the sharks, but in a few moments of insanity, I actually joined my instructor in giving chase to a shark, in an attempt to touch it. Although I didn't succeed, getting within two metres of one of these creatures was close enough. Their power and grace is something that many other fish are still yet to acquire. I can see why they are top of the food chain – one I was very glad not to be part of.<br /><br />With our trip drawing to a close, it was time to complete some final dives and paperwork before I was now officially qualified to dive to 30 metres. Hurray!<br /><br />Back on land, and with what I thought was water in my ear, we had one final night celebrating our newly found diving qualification. Here at the very prestigious establishment of the “Woolshed”, we observed a wet t-shirt competition before dancing the night away like idiots. I even met someone who had trained with the military based in my home town of Poole, before discussing the intricacies of Australian special forces training – whilst drunk.<br /><br />Bidding my buddies farewell, it was time to depart to the south with a view to taking a couple of days of sailing around some deserted islands.... little did I know that Mr Hamish would have other ideas...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-73959337605879248642009-03-27T20:32:00.002+00:002009-03-27T21:10:48.478+00:00Beijing and beyond...Beijing, the capital of China and my last port of call before Australia.<br /><br />Upon arrival by plane my first port of call was the big sight of China, big being the operative word. It was the Great Wall of China, and it ain't no picket fence.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/a1HhrUxI0LBNfVt8orLGfA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/Sap5NGRJAwI/AAAAAAAAFpk/L19pEmS0DoE/s800/P2202321-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />Another early start brought with it a frigid sunny day. Following a two hour drive we had arrived at a remote section of the Great Wall, just outside the throngs of tourists who normally inhabit the key tourist spots. In an attempt to attract more tourists to the area, the wall had been partially refurbished a few years ago to give us the idea of what it was like in its glory day.<br /><br />Shortly after setting off it seemed that we had acquired some extras to our group. In true Chinese style, we had about four people tagging on to our original group of nine from the starting point. One of our group asked (in Chinese) what they were doing and they replied honestly <br />“We are going to follow you all the way [for the next four hours it turns out] until you buy enough trinkets to make our day worthwhile.” <br />Well, at least they were honest about it!<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HeLc_qkOIrNDTLzhe3qWtA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/Sakz75HrFOI/AAAAAAAAFlE/dp9_XOu73wA/s400/P2202284-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With our mixed ability group, out-running our unwelcome guests wasn't possible, so we just had to endure as they partially acted like guides and partially tried to sell us anything from beer, water and food to trinkets of our journey. After a while, they almost became part of the group, helping those who needed it and offering to take photos without charging(!)<br /><br />The wall was certainly one up from the Terracotta Warriors, and was damn impressive in both scale and conception. Completely useless historically, especially when you remember that it wasn't actually one large wall, but sections of very long walls. Unfortunately, the enemy the Chinese faced at the time were known for consisting almost entirely of mounted units; the wall just added a couple of day's horse riding practise before the battle.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/LfK1xQ81hybEYF7r_MrD9Q?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/Sap5VIqxbZI/AAAAAAAAFqE/-iKRtq5LD-4/s800/P2202325-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />After arriving back from a great day at the wall it was time to get down to business.<br /><br />Whilst I was in China, more than three separate groups of people mentioned that I should get myself a tailored suit. My last one was purchased when I was a little heavier on the ground and I had since lost a good four inches around the waist, gaining significant width around the legs due to some serious cycling. It was time to go for my first tailoring.<br /><br />Like all good shopping in China, it was more a battle than a gentle stroll down to the local shops. First, I had to choose my battle-ground. The site must be strategic. It cannot be the fabled Silk Market in Beijing, which is known for it's tailors and tourists alike – this would no doubt have low quality and high prices. It also could not be a true local tailor, as they were known for taking a few weeks to finish a shirt, let alone a suit. What I needed was something in-between...<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/pcISnnEX0z0jq4ziLc84QQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SakzfsbhUcI/AAAAAAAAFk0/-M4R6GkpMVI/s400/P2192273-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With the location identified, it was time to choose which one of the many tailors were to get my trade. I decided quality was what mattered the most, and learnt the Chinese for “I want to see the tailored suits you have just created” was. I then went from store to store, not looking at the perfect products which were placed on the manikins, but instead looking at the items for collection. Each item was studied carefully, not that I really had much of a clue what to look for, but stitching especially was pulled and tugged. I think I now have an idea what the UN Weapons inspectors were up to in Iraq – searching for an unknown shaped needle in a stack of needles!<br /><br />After my fourth store, the quality was deemed acceptable. Now was time to pick the fabric, colours and styles for my two suits. One was the work suit, the other for a wedding of a good friend when I return from my travels.<br /><br />After a rather lengthy process of trial and elimination, it was time for battle to commence. The price war from hell.<br /><br />Starting my haggling about a single suit (which started at 300 pounds despite my use of Chinese for the whole haggling process) I managed to battle it down to 110 pounds. Then I threw in the second suit, which was made from a superior fabric – the first was silk, the second cashmere. Finally, after almost 25 minutes of battling, victory was mine. Both suits for 190 pounds. I then mentioned about a tailored shirt, which was priced at 15 final price. The whole lot was mine for 198 pounds. The 8 was a “lucky” number to end the transaction on. I was very chuffed, but still probably got fleeced...<br /><br />With the sweet smell of victory, despite the fact that I'm sure they are still making a healthy profit margin, it was time to meet my good friend from Xi'an that I walked the mountain pass and enjoyed a meal with the Communist government...<br /><br />...Despite him being over 2 hours late....<br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/C1X0mKdP94coPutLGkAqOg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/Sap6IspLkVI/AAAAAAAAFsw/QsvsoPfWVJQ/s400/P2202351-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />When we finally met we decided on our itinerary for the next few days. Some of the key sights of Beijing, and some of those more random moments which make travel so much fun. Perfect.<br /><br />First it was time to see the Forbidden Kingdom, the emperor's central throne, and the centre of the kingdom for many years.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/zK2po-nArff9kjihqTeZXQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SbB5vQ4J34I/AAAAAAAAFwk/iMSliVpeQuI/s400/P2212374-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Here, Jesse did an excellent job of describing the mentality behind the building. Unlike in western buildings, where the building itself is the most important, the space around the building is almost as important within Eastern styles. The forbidden palace, whilst quite impressive, is not really anything special when removed from the space which it occupies. However, when placed in the middle of a large square, atop a raised plinth, it forces the viewer to look up to the building, and the emperor if he were still there. This then couples with the 4 mile journey through gate after gate, which the viewer would have had to undergo to achieve an audience. Psychologically, it was well ahead of its time. <br /><br />What causes its vast sense of scale and mystery is all lost when the user finally makes it onto the throne chamber. Once here, you can see out of the kingdom's confines back into the real world. This is a view no normal Chinese would have had through during its use.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/Cyp_GusBbVJR1SF6rp2SXQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SbB6g0TvjdI/AAAAAAAAF10/FWXq-PZO_Eo/s400/P2222417-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />Following some more walking and site-seeing, it was time to move on. It was time for one of the more random moments of my travels.<br /><br />Jesse is part of a very informal ex-pat choir within Beijing and mentioned that he had to attend the choir meeting that day and so would be unable to meet with me in the afternoon. I don't think he was expecting it, and neither was I, but I then offered to come along and join in. After a brief audition in the middle of a street, I was allowed a special entry permit for a single session.<br /><br />Let's get the record straight right now. I'm certainly no singer. Whilst I'm not tone deaf, I have never done any singing and would regularly mime if I had to sing whilst at school. Time for a baptism of fire...<br /><br />On arrival, we all sat around a table and very politely drank our Chinese tea, discussing reasonably intellectual topics of conversation. I was now getting a little worried that this was not as relaxed as Jesse had indicated. I was then asked what part I usually play in the choir – much to my shock. Upon hearing that I had no idea at all, we started a song. I was worried.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/7-8EzX8j0W2p6uhlU4s57g?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SbB6kTqgkSI/AAAAAAAAF2M/-PRc5m3WWV8/s400/P2222420-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The song went like this:<br />“Mighty Mickey Mouse, Makes love to Minnie in the moonlight, Mighty nice....” <br /><br />After each repetition it would get lower, probably by a note, but I didn't have a clue. At the end of approximately six minutes of singing about Mickey's marital prowess, I was one of only two people left 'singing'. It turns out I am a bass, which means I can go very low... so I have a use after all!<br /><br />Although the singing got slightly less light-hearted, including some Latin and French work, the end result was good enough and I don't think I disgraced my country.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/z5KAOk3gkWEEfYkG-cmuXg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SbB7c7aBQ_I/AAAAAAAAF6U/q2gLJmcHX00/s400/P2222428-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />That evening we decided to go out for a final night of fun, indulging in the Russian quarter to appease our sudden lust for a good drink. One bottle of vodka later, we all realised why nights out in the Russian quarter are never a good idea.<br /><br />With a raging headache, it was time to leave China and Jesse for Australia – diving was calling...<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/MfZCFJbLKeOU2lYcY8geGA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SbB6_OObDHI/AAAAAAAAF4Q/lyTAF3RLvG8/s400/P2232439-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />Something to muse from one of our more intellectual topics of conversation...<br />During one of our more in-depth conversations about the differences between East and West, Jesse and I turned to the example of Government. In the West, government is often viewed as interfering. Everything they do is seen a meddling and laws often unnecessary and barriers to our freedom. In the East, things are the opposite, government laws are well respected and generally loved by the people as a way to restore order to the populous. After some time in China we believe that we know why.<br /><br />Take a queue, the bastion of British society. In the UK, everyone knows how to queue, if you need something, then you must wait behind anyone else who was there first, only after they are served will you get your turn. Now, in China, that isn't the case. If you need something, then push to the front and you will get it before everyone else. If that were to happen in the UK, people would say something, they would react and get annoyed. In China, they do not, the government would have to intervene by placing someone to watch the queue to ensure no queue jumping happens. <br /><br />Historically in the UK, queue jumping was always stamped out sharply and swiftly, especially in smaller towns you would never do it, as you knew the people you were jumping and didn't want to be known as the arse of the village. When the village grows however, and people are less inclined to spend their day arguing, there is a chance that queue jumping beings to work. For those who jump, they receive the reward of quicker service. Although everyone thinks you are a jerk, the town is now large enough that you probably won't see you again, and if they do they would have forgotten by then.<br /><br />China has very large towns. Therefore the queue jumping has been happening for a while, and whilst in the beginning it benefited those who did it, now that everyone does it, no one wins and what you get is the sheer chaos you will often witness. How do we get around this – government intervention. Consequently, the government is viewed as a positive force; bringing order to chaos.<br /><br />Supply vs Demand<br />Another good example of a key difference between China and the West is that of the supply or demand cultures. Within the West, if we get a bad meal at a restaurant, we complain. This usually results in the restaurant providing us with a reduced bill, free food or some other incentive to keep us happy. Within China it's different.<br /><br />One morning, Jesse and I sat at a table discussing what we wanted to do that day, just having ordered some breakfast with eggs. About 20 minutes later we were told by the owner that they didn't have enough eggs. That's it. Not, “Sorry I don't have enough eggs, but you can have some extra bacon”. No, just “We don't have enough eggs, so one of you will have to do without”. When we then threatened to leave, we were told we cannot, as one meal had been cooked with the available eggs. This is supply side mentality. The supplier had run out of its supply, thus the consumer must suffer. Tough.<br /><br />The story did have a happy ending, with us suggesting that a trip to a local shop which supplied eggs should be in order, but one suspects that would have not been on the cards if we were Chinese.<br /><br />Again, one can see the logic to this. In the West, we have a very out-dated view of businesses. If someone in the village doesn't like it, they will tell all their friends and then no-one will eat there. Now, what happens if your village has a very high population density who rarely eat at the same place anyway? With hundreds of restaurants all serving the same food, all within a few square miles, all serving the same millions of consumers, many of which are transient. Now supplier side mentality works.<br /><br />We can see and example of this ingression into our society at tourist hot-spots and viewpoints. If you open a restaurant near a tourist location such as Stonehenge, you will always have customers, no matter how awful your service or awful your food. In this location, it would be best to maximise profits by employing idiots for minimal wage and providing the cheapest food available. Okay, give your customers the best from those ingredients, but if it fails, so what?Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-11416264940758299052009-03-06T01:11:00.004+00:002009-03-27T21:28:35.908+00:00Leaping Tigers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zsuxcYTI4xQd6c0VBAjjJ4vAmB3mdg6ItIIHfSLGFVFpNQnHpIYx2oH8Whz1EMPUvLTkBT4iYn8LJGAPWPoNc7_kpjO5VC1RHYmN_3eydLngeV5b-csT8nfDdzghgOk18W82Pmk6zp4/s1600-h/P2152065-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4zsuxcYTI4xQd6c0VBAjjJ4vAmB3mdg6ItIIHfSLGFVFpNQnHpIYx2oH8Whz1EMPUvLTkBT4iYn8LJGAPWPoNc7_kpjO5VC1RHYmN_3eydLngeV5b-csT8nfDdzghgOk18W82Pmk6zp4/s400/P2152065-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310963883766541330" /></a><br /><br />Ahhh, the joy of Tiger Leaping Gorge. It is fabled as the world's deepest gorge and brings tourists to the region from far and wide. Personally, I saw a picture of a friend relaxing with the most awesome background and was green with envy. I had to go.<br /><br />After an early rise we were packed into our minibus for a two hour ride to the beginning of the gorge. Like any good journey, there was much anticipation as the sides of the valleys got deeper. This was amplified by the lack of decent information we could extract about the gorge. How steep was it, what was the terrain like? Anything but hand-drawn maps were impossible to come by. We wound up mountain pass after mountain pass. We waited.<br /><br />At the drop off point the view was okay, but no better than many other mountain passes I had been to. What was all the fuss about? <br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/BnePiXx9ZzNN26rBvzzDZg?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1KhQCcj7I/AAAAAAAAFFU/YmCfX3oWrXQ/s400/P2152007-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump2?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 2</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />A hole seemed to occupy all the anticipation which was there before. Disappointment must have been evident on my face after some of the most fantastic scenery in Bhutan. I had traveled for over two days for this? Surely not.<br /><br />As we began to climb we realised that there was a sharp right bend at the beginning. We were not in Tiger Leaping Gorge.<br /><br />The wait was worthwhile..<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/h0p1mdi_YMMLQKeTpI6yow?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1K7SghmZI/AAAAAAAAFGw/1RNHEAgR1os/s800/P2152021-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Wow.<br /><br />The single width path slowly wound up the side of the valley, each turn exuding gorge-ous scenery. Pun most definitely intended.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/U_W3X0hAl903LXLqEJp9KA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1L331C40I/AAAAAAAAFKw/T7hO4aA0vOI/s800/P2152058-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Our group was of mixed ability, but everyone was in high spirits. With the scenery getting steadily better, even to most inexperienced hikers pushed themselves to the next hill to see what beauties would be shown. Refreshment stops were offered regularly by locals, with beer, coke, water and dope (!?) being offered at almost any turn. Sometimes the locals wanted a little more though, which did mar the best viewpoint – as they attempted to claim that walking onto the viewpoint path would require a payment. When we refused the payment (which was around 10 pounds) they got really angry and threatened to throw a stone at one of our group. We weren't impressed – it was time to move on. <br /><br />That evening we arrived in the hostel at our approximate half way point, about 6 hours after setting off. Here we were to rest for the night, enjoying the company of many random trekkers who had taken the same path. Unfortunately we weren't able to stay at the same place that Michael Palin stayed during the filming of “Himalaya” due to renovation, but we did visit it the next day.<br /><br />That evening as we relaxed with our running hot water, beer in hand. It felt satisfying, but somewhat strange. During almost all multi-day treks I have ever done, there was no rest bite after a hard day's trek. No beer unless you carry it, certainly no hot water. Don't get me wrong, it was excellent to have these facilities, it just didn't make it feel like you were in any way remote. We were treading the well-trodden path, and whilst the scenery was excellent, it would have been superb if it felt somewhat more remote.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/aDl6MHp0MPdIG_Xx_LRNRw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1Mhxaa9DI/AAAAAAAAFN8/YehuWqe9zDE/s400/P2152092-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />What was excellent though was the company. Or group seemed to gel really quickly and at the end of the first day we already felt like old friends. As we sat in the open courtyard playing cards and eating our evening meal, the lights when out as the generators spluttered and ran out of fuel. For a few special minutes the sky was illuminated with millions of different constellations. Now it felt better.<br /><br />The next day we continued our trek, splitting up into two different groups. In the faster group we decided to trek like the hare, stopping often to take photos before walking at a fast pace to catch up lost ground. This continued until early afternoon when we arrived at the final stop where the minibus would pick us up. Here we ate and then decided to try and fit in the 300m descent to the water's edge, where the story tells us that the tiger leapt from one edge of the gorge to the other, with the assistance of a rock in the centre. Like all stories, this was probably invented in the late 1980's to attract tourists. Certainly if he had managed to make the leap (which would have required a very athletic tiger) the ascent would have been impossible. Either way, the journey down and up would be fun.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/bBAT4bJIvAJ1Shc0hrc6LA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1NvhgK70I/AAAAAAAAFTQ/n6gwoNBiy_w/s400/P2162143-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With time running short our party of five began the steep descent before making the bottom within 40 minutes. With our legs already tired from two days' trekking it was now time to make the ascent – and we only had about 70 minutes before out bus left!<br /><br />To break up the steep incline, we all decided to take one of the more rickety ladders on the way up. Just to add to our trepidation, it was labelled as “Dangerous Ladder”.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/ODc6gD1m0eHoPFBzCJjZwQ?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1OyVx9cKI/AAAAAAAAFXI/UCFpVvNq4Bw/s400/P2162178-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With a length of 30m and a slight overhang, it certainly didn't feel as safe as I would have liked, especially due to the high winds which whipped down the valley, but we made it all safe and sound. I was especially proud of one of our group, who had been finding the trek a little hard on the legs and really dug deep to make the ascent as fast as they could. You know who you are – so well done!<br /><br />With a few minutes to spare at the top, we took a second group photo, with everyone looking rather elated. It was certainly a worthwhile experience, one I would recommend to many.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/SsW5NzIJuoPfulTyzVKsDA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SZ1PQGr1nzI/AAAAAAAAFZc/eipAqJ7rz5w/s400/P2162190-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />On the way back, I agreed to spend a couple of days exploring Lijang with someone from the tour. Lijang is a very touristy but also rather nice little town which was the staging point to the Tiger Leaping Gorge.<br /><br />Over the coming days we explored the city to varying degrees of success. <br /><br />Initially we decided that a partial hike and cable-car trip up to a glacier would be an ideal idea. We hopped on the local bus as it wound its way over to the base of the mountain. Then we died. Not literally, but almost. It was over 23 pounds for the privilege of setting foot on the mountain, and almost 40 to take the cable car up to the glacier. That's certainly a lot of money in any world, let alone China where accommodation was averaging 3 pounds a night.<br /><br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/juR7gt_amMpvUnM7K11-7Q?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SaaKCSQJUEI/AAAAAAAAFhk/lr2TfE-V6xg/s800/P2172244-1900.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogChinaDump3?feat=embedwebsite">Hadyn's Travel Blog China Dump 3</a></td></tr></table><br /><br />It was time for plan B. Off to the bike hire place we went and there soon ensued some cycling fun across to a local village known to be very picturesque. The bikes certainly weren't a carbon fibre Cannondale, but they got us from A to B, even though stopping was slower than we would have liked.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/DfBPRxVdMSSmMdH6FdKPlw?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SaaI-svN-JI/AAAAAAAAFdw/yuoFlYkSVHw/s400/P2172213-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />On the way back, we then took in some more scenes, including the “classic photo of China”, before taking in a local courtyard filled with all the large dogs in China. Here we spent the next two hours exchanging various card games as we watched a collie dog slowly drive everyone crazy by hitting a coke bottle just out of reach before barking and whining until someone put it within lead range.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/zfYHVJ12ptLGqx6e8QCRew?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SaaJ9sr-sXI/AAAAAAAAFhM/d_i0gRkIQsw/s800/P2172241-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Later that evening, we discovered that both of us knew a mutual friend very well who had studied in the same university. Chances were that despite knowing each other for over three days, we had probably met in a party three years previously! It's certainly a small world.<br /><br />Before departing we took some time to take in the local Chinglish and explore the less touristy side of the town. <br /><br />If you were ever likely to contract any bird diseases (H1N5 anyone?) this would be the place. The stench of the killing grounds was potent, although the freshness of the product being offered was not to be questioned. Once the bird was chosen, it's throat was slit before being slung into a bin. Once dispatched, it was then taken out of the bin and placed into a centrifuge device which skimmed all the feathers off. The whole process from death to serving must have taken less than three minutes!<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/sYHXRAFkl609l7-cK9stmA?feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SaaKwygLbQI/AAAAAAAAFjg/D0vp7SuaZ7Y/s400/P2182265-1900.jpg" /></a><br /><br />After some good time spent together, it was time to say farewell to my friends in Lijang, with my imminent departure to the Chinese capital, Beijing. The great wall and my American Chinese Historian friend beckoned...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-84606859637956196222009-02-19T11:58:00.005+00:002009-02-19T12:57:09.070+00:00Cupping Pandas...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwEqtgLFGzLa9um_cfEFF-H6TVtym1KmR7TCLK0zm3u1wYMaUzYg17KsfXjBELCghesaw3q7nwuobrCDhn6Iyhyphenhyphenhyphenhyphen9oCe5Xnog9xnvNYh-F4UJEbtC6x7RbIZN1YmL_i4AKXpZqNPbLU/s1600-h/Intro.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwEqtgLFGzLa9um_cfEFF-H6TVtym1KmR7TCLK0zm3u1wYMaUzYg17KsfXjBELCghesaw3q7nwuobrCDhn6Iyhyphenhyphenhyphenhyphen9oCe5Xnog9xnvNYh-F4UJEbtC6x7RbIZN1YmL_i4AKXpZqNPbLU/s400/Intro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304483087357379986" /></a><br /><br />Still in Xi'an with my American friend and Chinese Historian, Jesse, we decided it was time to hit the party scene, or as close as we could get whilst still in China.<br /><br />Xi'an isn't exactly known for it's hard-core partying, but I did remember from my previous visit that I stayed in a dorm room which had the hardest of party-goers. These hard-core few had been teaching English to Chinese children for the last four months in some of the most rural parts of China. Bored to death of cold showers and desolate drinking venues, they converged on Xi'an for a two week drinking bender. Whilst I stayed in their room, I witnessed their nocturnal lifestyle which included getting in no earlier than 6am. They would know where to go – one step better, they would take us there too!!<br /><br />Jessie and I then prepared out livers for some hardcore damage and set off into the night with our intrepid guides, rather unsure what the Chinese clubbing experience would hold for us....<br /><br />On arriving at our first venue, we noticed that the music was rather strange. I believe it was playing a dance remix of “Allright” by the early 1990's pop band East 17. This was not to be a normal night. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheG4ovS2vVYflnkfuFLrbuA1fROt0YYa0YkMUN7qb-hcLbQvHzzZyasMEZ_5YGGqLWE2iJ-JV0GYlGvicPc9WtCc3rU0bi1PhcnXjN539vfc1Zv0e_njSpacbriSgz0b_nwSFNdw0jmqI/s1600-h/Clubbing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheG4ovS2vVYflnkfuFLrbuA1fROt0YYa0YkMUN7qb-hcLbQvHzzZyasMEZ_5YGGqLWE2iJ-JV0GYlGvicPc9WtCc3rU0bi1PhcnXjN539vfc1Zv0e_njSpacbriSgz0b_nwSFNdw0jmqI/s400/Clubbing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304482602770557170" /></a><br /><br />Being foreigners, we were quickly thrust onto the dance stage and had been drinking some Bijo (the really nasty, but rather strong rice wine) in preparation. Here, glow-sticks in hands, we danced like frantic loonies. Performing such classics as big fish, little fish, fish in a box, and the Maccarana. I certainly threw in some really dodgy MC Hammer at one point as well. All of this went down far too well, with the crowd of Chinese people (we were the only westerners) lapping it up and even imitating at times.<br /><br />Then, from the other side of the dance-floor I noticed that Jesse had been pounced on by a very drunk, very 'prosperous' (fat) Chinese man. Who was thrusting him from side to side and trying to take off his shirt – I warned you it was a strange club. Rather worried that in his impaired state he may get into trouble (actually, just really intrigued if I'm honest!) I went over to see what was going on. At this time the Chinese man grabbed me as well and did a sideways rock and roll dance, but far faster and far stronger than the beat. Then he tried to take my shirt off me, which I resisted, resulting in three missing buttons and one ripped shirt. The rest of the evening I would have to spend in a partial state of undress!<br /><br />After a couple of hours of really bad dancing, it was time to leave and visit the second of the two only half decent clubs in Xi'an (a city of about 9 million people). <br /><br />On arrival, we were informed that everyone was just about to finish work and we weren't going to be let in – just as other Chinese people were being let in. One [American] member of our party who shall remain nameless, then decided to say in fluent Chinese to the big and rather cheesed off looking bouncer that his mother was also coming off work around now; implying she worked as a prostitute. This went down about as well as you would imagine, with the guy chasing him into the club and hasty apologies being made.<br /><br />Somehow though, we managed to get into the club and then proceeded towards the second dance-floor, where the DJ's were making heart shapes with their fingers towards the ladies in our group. Here, one [American] member of our group took his drink onto the dance-floor and was told that this was not allowed to do so by one of the five or so police men who are always present in clubs wearing white helmets. After walking back onto the dance-floor a very amusing Benny Hill style chase ensued, with yet more apologies. <br /><br />When I tried to take a photo of the club, I was told off and decided that it probably wasn't worth causing a third event in the same club!<br /><br />Overall, it had certainly been an amusing evening, and I was glad that I had had the opportunity to see the inside of some rather strange Chinese clubs. I think our American friend probably shouldn't drink so much Bijo next time though.<br /><br />Now it was time to be off to Chendu, the home of the Pandas and only a few miles away from the rather recent epicentre of the devastating Chinese earthquake. After priding ourselves with trying all nine of the local speciality foods, including extruded noodles, a strange kebab like thing, poached bread and many other items including organs of various animals, I took with me two Chinese kebabs in bread for the journey.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlllinUC7d2aQ9WwchtakD_NiFaij0P0mgWMxyrsHZwG5ZdWtLTUwo3osDxMUybiwndbSEtuv5-Tzrq5c51gyq0BX118WWLK8XJ8_0HqcGEfmBJpJiyNmpW7y65bhaYMTYPjQL2w3BTY/s1600-h/Chinese+Chess.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOlllinUC7d2aQ9WwchtakD_NiFaij0P0mgWMxyrsHZwG5ZdWtLTUwo3osDxMUybiwndbSEtuv5-Tzrq5c51gyq0BX118WWLK8XJ8_0HqcGEfmBJpJiyNmpW7y65bhaYMTYPjQL2w3BTY/s400/Chinese+Chess.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304482597556324082" /></a><br /><br />Unlike before, I didn't really meet anyone of any interest, with many people going to bed at lights out of 9pm, and not really waking up until the departure at 12 midday the next day. <br /><br />From here I decided to check into a budget hotel, “treating” myself to a single room with decent internet access in an attempt to organise the next month of my holiday. All for 15 pounds a night.<br /><br />Chendu, located in the heart of the Szechuan province of China, is known for two things. One, it is very laid back. Two, it's got REALLY hot food. I was intending on making use of both of these.<br /><br />With much planning to do, and the blog entries from Xi'an to write as well as photos to upload, I took my time exploring the town, idiosyncrasies and all. Although like all Chinese towns it was huge, with a population of about 8 million, there were still highlights which weren't to be missed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBaDTjfT2J-sDvm8KpxssFOhQdbCxr1NkLMtMthVXuFjhQG-jazu8_lJB1GdTe0Gpe3Y5NZASmqO3Prs8NkrP7gccFfdB05zrehYhAdBqjJTI00zvVuqftjfk1Z6KkYVsYh3Tl5FKEmg/s1600-h/Strange+Game.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSBaDTjfT2J-sDvm8KpxssFOhQdbCxr1NkLMtMthVXuFjhQG-jazu8_lJB1GdTe0Gpe3Y5NZASmqO3Prs8NkrP7gccFfdB05zrehYhAdBqjJTI00zvVuqftjfk1Z6KkYVsYh3Tl5FKEmg/s400/Strange+Game.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304487297812012866" /></a><br /><br />Just outside my hotel were locals who were playing all manner of different games. Some included card games I recognised such as “Big two” and a variation on hearts, whilst others played games I'm less familiar with, including Chinese Chess, Marjong and a very strange card game using long, flat cards. Here I would while away the hours, completing my various tasks whilst sipping on a multitude of Chinese green teas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aRWAyN23BB0ycsbyQBrfNbLv1mdsSZyDZbVJEEKUzkfNUqjNQ_NYt7GD4U_wkpkrEEsjCRwR4-r4rmHJVsWQy05xo14sMnSrcqJXh5inNCBRmVW_ejX1MP2zsdtUbU6YHR21vH7M5XM/s1600-h/Blogging.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aRWAyN23BB0ycsbyQBrfNbLv1mdsSZyDZbVJEEKUzkfNUqjNQ_NYt7GD4U_wkpkrEEsjCRwR4-r4rmHJVsWQy05xo14sMnSrcqJXh5inNCBRmVW_ejX1MP2zsdtUbU6YHR21vH7M5XM/s400/Blogging.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304482594860801154" /></a><br /><br />With the planning out of the way, it was time to move on to some of the highlights of this region. First on the list were the Pandas.<br /><br />Now, I've been warned about Pandas. The specific warning I was given was that they are “very similar to Koala bears”, who spend their whole life doing sweet expletive all except for eating and sleeping. But let's be honest, they are kinda cute.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlpzldGctqBCoRMGExoBeIOaC3mA7HwgsisMcPNatr7Q5V1wLaa4pN_pAxTQtfoJzLxeF7hxnWWFgDrgHIlGmeSiXf9zp7N1x_aqFU-LQPou0gPqHfV3LXzf8kbrQ0GDXBGKyl_88fO4/s1600-h/Pandas+Sleeping.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSlpzldGctqBCoRMGExoBeIOaC3mA7HwgsisMcPNatr7Q5V1wLaa4pN_pAxTQtfoJzLxeF7hxnWWFgDrgHIlGmeSiXf9zp7N1x_aqFU-LQPou0gPqHfV3LXzf8kbrQ0GDXBGKyl_88fO4/s400/Pandas+Sleeping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304487294171617554" /></a><br /><br />The best times to see them “in action”, or at least as much action as a dead tortoise, was in the mornings. This meant an early rise of 6am and a good 90 minute journey to get there. On arrival we were greeted with what we all feared. Lazy, sleeping Pandas. Luckily the morning cattle-prod in the shape of a heap of fresh bamboo was just being delivered. As if by magic, the Pandas sprang into action, reaching top speeds of 2mph and coving literally metres from where they slept to where the food was. Upon reaching their targets, they promptly were too exhausted by the morning's exertion and decided that eating laying down was probably a good idea. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfL3l4to3wU2OOYpf_-DX5GvXSjUHQroqT0Ez2KTIsYKFVz45vSLU7TBNgV_oHj1eRKHtQF_fL8IzcN_7DCmVVo7zcR_6ggKxngRsnhJnIL5KH0t_y34ibc5-1j6Tno-xOEqt8lBFUbcI/s1600-h/Pandas.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfL3l4to3wU2OOYpf_-DX5GvXSjUHQroqT0Ez2KTIsYKFVz45vSLU7TBNgV_oHj1eRKHtQF_fL8IzcN_7DCmVVo7zcR_6ggKxngRsnhJnIL5KH0t_y34ibc5-1j6Tno-xOEqt8lBFUbcI/s400/Pandas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304487295439951346" /></a><br /><br />There's a reason creatures become endangered, and despite claims of destroying habitat and hunting for firs, I'm beginning to think that Pandas were just “lazied” to death. The attached museum even admitted that reproduction attempts often ended in failure, so artificial insemination was often used. I'm suspecting that the creatures probably fell asleep whilst on the job!<br /><br />I must admit though, the smaller ones were even cuter. Probably because of their diet of milk rather than the very fibrous bamboo, they were also far more active. I'm glad that I've seen them, but if they weren't cute and fluffy, then they would be extinct a few times over by now.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/g4WzB9Lihq0&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/g4WzB9Lihq0&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Checking out of my hotel and into a local hostel, I met up with some people from my last hostel in Xi'an. Spending the day together, we explored the town and I decided on taking a quick dip into one of the more surreal museums of Chendu.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd9CWMCkv6g-hRN4LM34ByhO6nWjXjAf6SYB9QQraF_wXtNi8rxM3ggpsCZRDyXu5kDj5jfro49kVBuV-ypwXuvIAsbuRSIQOUPYaCD5riZ3rexGEWdg6x8AvzcnvPqgkt2cIlYnkSDg/s1600-h/Mao+Mus+inside.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivd9CWMCkv6g-hRN4LM34ByhO6nWjXjAf6SYB9QQraF_wXtNi8rxM3ggpsCZRDyXu5kDj5jfro49kVBuV-ypwXuvIAsbuRSIQOUPYaCD5riZ3rexGEWdg6x8AvzcnvPqgkt2cIlYnkSDg/s400/Mao+Mus+inside.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304483091750292674" /></a><br /><br />The Museum in question held almost more Chairman Mao memorabilia than anywhere else in China – however, it was in the lounge of it's collector. The collector, who was in his late 80's, was pretty much a Mao kleptomaniac, with the intention of showing the collection to anyone who would view it. As you would expect of any self respecting kleptomaniac, he had hoarded a lot of stuff. Some of it was good, much of it was tat; all was focused on Mao.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uikfcp4q4JgydJwcB8INbTtu7UtEJLryuta2ZVqySvNqiUF6onqhLldtCQFvYAvO5ilFN7Z52Bfm6etXtn5dAUS2RB-sjfa6oItn28DA_RCCqEZQl7nvzrvi-6pkq5VvobhDcPOxofI/s1600-h/Mao+Mus+Outside.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3uikfcp4q4JgydJwcB8INbTtu7UtEJLryuta2ZVqySvNqiUF6onqhLldtCQFvYAvO5ilFN7Z52Bfm6etXtn5dAUS2RB-sjfa6oItn28DA_RCCqEZQl7nvzrvi-6pkq5VvobhDcPOxofI/s400/Mao+Mus+Outside.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304483091870147234" /></a><br /><br />With my knowledge of Chinese failing me, we decided to move on for a night's relaxation in a local Chinese “Tex Mex”. Falling off the wagon never felt so good as I gobbled a huge taco, washing it down with a fresh margarita. <br /><br />Earlier I mentioned how this region of China is well known for it's spicy food. Well, out of that spicy food, the best known is the “hotpot”. This involves a big central pot of bubbling liquid which is simmering over a hot burner, to which you add various extras including raw meat and other assorted veg. Unfortunately, the word “hot” in the name does not only refer to the temperature of the pot. It mostly refers to the fact that the liquid is about 50% chilli or chilli oil and 50% special peppercorn, which are known to make your mouth numb as you ingest them.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0Ax6eXW1tq4gQwHOj0hvu4RN-zzqIRZnD8tlLIrmIEmkaRs0aFV_CDA3zV9acYyNWT2PKnMBslaBgMfwc3CSbTbNi3rGU2zeI_nw8jaA2c4f7kys9KodylpGN27e31rlbFzJlazkoA0/s1600-h/Hotpot.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM0Ax6eXW1tq4gQwHOj0hvu4RN-zzqIRZnD8tlLIrmIEmkaRs0aFV_CDA3zV9acYyNWT2PKnMBslaBgMfwc3CSbTbNi3rGU2zeI_nw8jaA2c4f7kys9KodylpGN27e31rlbFzJlazkoA0/s400/Hotpot.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304483085017161522" /></a><br /><br />It was undoubtedly the hottest thing I've tried in my travels. For someone who has been to India – that's quite a thing to say! My friends thought so too...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdYwKN07OsRaUa48KsyxtEXT8KAlXyCbiS-UHmMe7p2antLJmn_0gnqwSJFPUtrrCR88PvhrKzXObSoOndZSj9aNFp-Dop8DV1tcKQb0IJeforh0VdNHSQibRmxPFiG8T-A6EbzY5YRc/s1600-h/Hot+face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJdYwKN07OsRaUa48KsyxtEXT8KAlXyCbiS-UHmMe7p2antLJmn_0gnqwSJFPUtrrCR88PvhrKzXObSoOndZSj9aNFp-Dop8DV1tcKQb0IJeforh0VdNHSQibRmxPFiG8T-A6EbzY5YRc/s400/Hot+face.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304482610063919378" /></a><br /><br />The following day, it was time for another rather strange experience - “Cupping”. Okay, I know what you're thinking, and it isn't that. Get your minds out of the gutter right now. <br /><br />Whilst you are erasing that image from your brains, I shall help you implant a new one. Imagine if you will, what a westerner cross bread with a pepperoni pizza looks like. Imagine no longer.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjJLuvCqAWcYp9PqoF_aWDlo5u9glasiGOV7UEz9RSktJJLmX69Cnd8SPE-pvasoQQvrtKjslwCjZOwT3oWJPyNvasUwOtzQHZ7K3zsWpWam7BgdKfOC0R7rxnMp1gacEo3xbW4aUEuU/s1600-h/Human+Pizza.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjJLuvCqAWcYp9PqoF_aWDlo5u9glasiGOV7UEz9RSktJJLmX69Cnd8SPE-pvasoQQvrtKjslwCjZOwT3oWJPyNvasUwOtzQHZ7K3zsWpWam7BgdKfOC0R7rxnMp1gacEo3xbW4aUEuU/s400/Human+Pizza.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304483085193996402" /></a><br /><br />This is the after-effect of a cupping session, whereby they place small gold-fish bowls on your back, lighting the air inside to create a strong vacuum. Whilst not really unpleasant, it's hardly the highlight of my life, and the lingering marks which are said to last for weeks are getting quite a few questions – either way, it only cost 80p so was worth the experience!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsxXA4nFSLXWtsCk4kqLcH3yVEC271Bl7JN3xW1bv1vUanagXX1XaBOdnNJBHyCcHoKOrrKqBtMRgvo2eyiUjG3BFGyayrs0xqwcIwTZGW0nzkfO5zvQ9HGOpC2xsbCNZgfiJVX-HoN4/s1600-h/Cupping.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsxXA4nFSLXWtsCk4kqLcH3yVEC271Bl7JN3xW1bv1vUanagXX1XaBOdnNJBHyCcHoKOrrKqBtMRgvo2eyiUjG3BFGyayrs0xqwcIwTZGW0nzkfO5zvQ9HGOpC2xsbCNZgfiJVX-HoN4/s400/Cupping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304482604719424034" /></a><br /><br />As this entry is lingering more than most, I'm going to save Tiger Leaping Gorge for next time, but don't worry – stories will be abound, along with some stunning scenery and some silly photos.<br /><br />I'll leave you with the best piece of Chinglish I've seen in a while, taken from a town where I was trying to extend my Chinese Visa.<br /><br />Enjoy! <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66gjss92M6kCNvEUnLC-odvGUsHFky95rGFm2SE-D6JQgE0FCfU3-pU46RsUYArme9CzBRZTDpHSl455xTzMQRrCizIT509-yGzQaB2cZaSXMg9CeQmx2MwMTziEfunQpZ430-9IjelA/s1600-h/Toilet+Water.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj66gjss92M6kCNvEUnLC-odvGUsHFky95rGFm2SE-D6JQgE0FCfU3-pU46RsUYArme9CzBRZTDpHSl455xTzMQRrCizIT509-yGzQaB2cZaSXMg9CeQmx2MwMTziEfunQpZ430-9IjelA/s400/Toilet+Water.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304487302548286770" /></a>Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-88801375178690438952009-02-14T14:16:00.009+00:002009-02-14T15:13:58.672+00:00Xi'an and Beyond<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflLZrxhTbsvf8Ql5PbE92SNzi3INy998C5wGZQ4gAkXAy1qM_qA-8ISKl-E_SvHRO8bgjQNvFrb0IdD-7r222Ohas9C6hOHcmGihs12sCUhwVdH7LhZkydWInPF6b_J3vPJ5tveQN9wA/s1600-h/xian+temple.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflLZrxhTbsvf8Ql5PbE92SNzi3INy998C5wGZQ4gAkXAy1qM_qA-8ISKl-E_SvHRO8bgjQNvFrb0IdD-7r222Ohas9C6hOHcmGihs12sCUhwVdH7LhZkydWInPF6b_J3vPJ5tveQN9wA/s400/xian+temple.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667759692439874" /></a><br /><br />With my recent spending spree in Shanghai, came a need to cut costs. So I decided to go ultra-budget and go back to my backpacking routes, electing for a 2 pound a night dorm room when I arrived in Xi'an, one of the old capital cities in China.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcF3tGq3LH1uj_oHRjditcs-EhvE09A21CxTM5bVXDaFbHEYIsCtGN4vW5jHEA9ApZfjX8t5hOS75b9NHjzcXJwSQnRcF3JU6hJHjzfX3jf3GZ8997yavepTEpYYfFS2poHiVjVvigiA/s1600-h/Xian+noodles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcF3tGq3LH1uj_oHRjditcs-EhvE09A21CxTM5bVXDaFbHEYIsCtGN4vW5jHEA9ApZfjX8t5hOS75b9NHjzcXJwSQnRcF3JU6hJHjzfX3jf3GZ8997yavepTEpYYfFS2poHiVjVvigiA/s400/Xian+noodles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667753889249650" /></a><br /><br />Despite the low price, the hostel was fantastic. Even better, it always provides an excellent way to meet new people when you are in a city with no-one you know. <br /><br />I met by chance a person who was also speaking to the front-desk. After striking up a conversation, I discovered that he was fluent in Chinese and had a passion for Chinese History. Even better – he was planning a hike over a mountain pass which had only been undertaken by a single westerner since 1930. Sign me up!<br /><br />Whilst preparations were made for our trip, I went off to see the Terracotta warriors. An hour's bumpy bus ride later, I walked wearily over to the three huge hangers housing the warriors. Once there, I was greeted by a whole army of warriors, some of whom were still buried, until a time when our technology allows us to salvage the colour which promptly oxidises within the first week, leading to the discoloured warriors we all know. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u0PlGUdozSNDV9gBdqizekGf92p24ukSpCVsHWij_2FAmcCjyTMnGhQvfhNoT907HNj7ciyOL2Cw3Esf1IwvudRMjddJPAHYvo48l0zDOuJyTMpARY6u09mv_Xqi2onpdk5oUyFkBww/s1600-h/T+warr.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u0PlGUdozSNDV9gBdqizekGf92p24ukSpCVsHWij_2FAmcCjyTMnGhQvfhNoT907HNj7ciyOL2Cw3Esf1IwvudRMjddJPAHYvo48l0zDOuJyTMpARY6u09mv_Xqi2onpdk5oUyFkBww/s400/T+warr.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302666211712850658" /></a><br /><br />As a symbol of China, I find the warriors rather fitting. Individually, they are not that impressive. Whilst they are fairly well made, it's hardly going to win any prizes for best clay model ever. What is impressive is the sheer scale of the army. With somewhere close to 1600 warriors (okay, I'll admit that I wasn't listening to my guide as hard as I could, but instead taking in the view) the scale is hard to capture. I think this is rather fitting for a country like China, who are well renowned across the world for their ability to copy, rather than innovate. Parallels could be made here, but I shall leave any deep and meaningful stuff for later.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUghppXW5eO15Z8Jo94xzo17oileZJQlYRGCUbHGQGBnKzzD4sm2z289lPex3ASpC_Sp-jiqcCY8jd8-aOXch2ApGB0c14Mc_B_7RhaqcP0ozb-kSeWR0YyWchvnn2yau2UBc6EGEYdmw/s1600-h/T+warrior.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUghppXW5eO15Z8Jo94xzo17oileZJQlYRGCUbHGQGBnKzzD4sm2z289lPex3ASpC_Sp-jiqcCY8jd8-aOXch2ApGB0c14Mc_B_7RhaqcP0ozb-kSeWR0YyWchvnn2yau2UBc6EGEYdmw/s400/T+warrior.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667434494333266" /></a><br /><br />On the return walk, there was the usual affair of forced shopping trips, but my Mandarin is now good enough and I have enough stock phrases to quickly dismiss any unwanted sellers. I also saw the largest building to content ratio ever - I am honestly no joking when I say that what was shown in this building could easily fit into three "normal" sized rooms. Quite astounding!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jkLik6S7HDf5UuwvZj163DYlHenb_xnDhSEeQW-wm2YkHev0xXM7xB68Nojc1YOY-32q9dK-D_2sBXtZRa_3u4VVpsDwmEuTlO9-C_LlaLgTLVqkkzGYKs9VdLe8EJzj8mRk2d_urxg/s1600-h/t+war+mus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6jkLik6S7HDf5UuwvZj163DYlHenb_xnDhSEeQW-wm2YkHev0xXM7xB68Nojc1YOY-32q9dK-D_2sBXtZRa_3u4VVpsDwmEuTlO9-C_LlaLgTLVqkkzGYKs9VdLe8EJzj8mRk2d_urxg/s400/t+war+mus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302666206258697810" /></a><br /><br />Upon returning to the hostel, it was time to hit the streets of Xi'an before my imminent departure to the mountain pass. With one of the people from the dorm, we ventured off into the streets with the challenge of finding a full meal and a beer for under a pound. It's an exciting game, one which hones your ability to find a good bargain. With the evening drawing to a close, we took in some of the local sights before retiring to the bar for a few beers, a game of free pool and a game of “dodge the Bijo” (Bijo is a local spirit of about 50% alcohol, which tastes like petrol mixed with nail varnish remover, and costs about 70p a bottle. It's vile, but serves a good role to get one drunk.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggO5WeZ8hU2uzDeoRBCiD0dBNjmL5Gq6xEtYXZhCRz7F3SpW1WjI0jnLrlnJuqoh9mylYcmfKtgg3kxSmHTDDFf1YhZiPzJy9rTVKDT7q50hp7ylQ7JiRPf1_o-qGmehiB-FDS5sZ3IR0/s1600-h/xian+market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggO5WeZ8hU2uzDeoRBCiD0dBNjmL5Gq6xEtYXZhCRz7F3SpW1WjI0jnLrlnJuqoh9mylYcmfKtgg3kxSmHTDDFf1YhZiPzJy9rTVKDT7q50hp7ylQ7JiRPf1_o-qGmehiB-FDS5sZ3IR0/s400/xian+market.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667748964097410" /></a><br /><br />After a late start the next day, my new American friend and I were off to “Treasure Chicken”, a local city of a few million, about 5 hours bus journey away from Xi'an. Here we were to spend the night before leaving early to get to our destination. On the way to Treasure Chicken, we decided to take in a local museum and a tomb. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGhQYO1SkBOeTENZQqoIPX8LienxbQ3b2ES3Aj4lb2VJ4Y2EBTE8CLC3JFkTz91H9HYlRHzygNjaUzHyRISF0xp0djnuEFk8vH3ITC0CL3n12dgfNjt7PtJCIdmSeLrP00ookoPYxcfw/s1600-h/xian+deserted+site.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXGhQYO1SkBOeTENZQqoIPX8LienxbQ3b2ES3Aj4lb2VJ4Y2EBTE8CLC3JFkTz91H9HYlRHzygNjaUzHyRISF0xp0djnuEFk8vH3ITC0CL3n12dgfNjt7PtJCIdmSeLrP00ookoPYxcfw/s400/xian+deserted+site.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667440114462130" /></a><br /><br />Pushing through the throngs of tourists in the dense fog, we soon realised that there wasn't a great deal to see at the top. Unfortunately, we had missed the last bus of the day to the bottom of the mountain, and with a 10km trek ahead of us in the cold, were rather cheesed off. Especially as the last bus went at 3pm!? <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD0dEDifZW6WFp5rP5UCC4okLoymzE_rlaqySQ83gBq99LxrIZD1ordkFB7KuwQ3QkOXsGX-D8O97B6gwDFUiCfCvfhzMiITE3Wi8nd1hCWMx8lXSQTdbyxHkE_ZwCR_16g5KPDHLw-0/s1600-h/statue+deserted+site.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD0dEDifZW6WFp5rP5UCC4okLoymzE_rlaqySQ83gBq99LxrIZD1ordkFB7KuwQ3QkOXsGX-D8O97B6gwDFUiCfCvfhzMiITE3Wi8nd1hCWMx8lXSQTdbyxHkE_ZwCR_16g5KPDHLw-0/s400/statue+deserted+site.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302666202002657650" /></a><br /><br />Luckily our white faces and the generosity of a local driver saved us from the trek after only a few hundred metres and we soon arrived in the museum. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdUgPjtArDK0SlfwrTb5qWdvLSmEHkQNVbJbhADnoHvRDN1QE3LmwbpkrQtmnZ347vxwHgljIGJXSYF8auG_NRBfwHyPEVrsQXL0huJLIyecY6KAEZ00EfjgkP8zMzsiyWPKyuULUA-E/s1600-h/life+from+deserted+site.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigdUgPjtArDK0SlfwrTb5qWdvLSmEHkQNVbJbhADnoHvRDN1QE3LmwbpkrQtmnZ347vxwHgljIGJXSYF8auG_NRBfwHyPEVrsQXL0huJLIyecY6KAEZ00EfjgkP8zMzsiyWPKyuULUA-E/s400/life+from+deserted+site.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302664119228575762" /></a><br /><br />Here we found many gems which were given more than adequate commentary by Jesse (my American friend). My knowledge of China was expanding, fast. China knows how to do history, and with a good five thousand years of the stuff, they kick even the European's ass. Whilst we were playing with rocks and flint, they had already mastered many of the things the Western world was not to encounter for another few thousand years. Consequently, the artefacts on display were pretty impressive, made even more so by the fact they were about a thousand years older than any European equivalent.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS529QXMynSvYbZHmcp8Xki7r2Rk4aRmE9_c5giyd8C08YImzGlDOtNpkJLpo6pd3Q32xe1Fi-A7ZDZALt_kV_772_e91y7L_wk1QcZy7yGZ0a8OPg-psbYkgKkUVpD6VCYGVPM1t3cOc/s1600-h/deserted+mus.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS529QXMynSvYbZHmcp8Xki7r2Rk4aRmE9_c5giyd8C08YImzGlDOtNpkJLpo6pd3Q32xe1Fi-A7ZDZALt_kV_772_e91y7L_wk1QcZy7yGZ0a8OPg-psbYkgKkUVpD6VCYGVPM1t3cOc/s400/deserted+mus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302663105341833570" /></a><br /><br />In an effort to ensure that the information was not flowing in just one direction, I attempted to fill in Jesse with any science or primitive skills I was aware of. Usually this was simply kept to what kind of elements or chemistry happened behind various preparation methods, but sometimes included items such as flint-napping and other survival techniques.<br /><br />Arriving in Treasure Chicken rather late, we checked into the nearest hotel and decided to watch some episodes of the British comedy, “Blackadder” on my laptop after failing to find any bars.<br /><br />With another whole day of travel ahead of us, we headed off early to ensure a timely arrival with our guide. The guide had been arranged on the recommendation of the previous westerner to take the mountain pass, and was known as the local historian; an expert on the pass and its role in history. <br /><br />Before the departure from Treasure Chicken, we had to take in at least a few sights though – including what was supposed to be one of the best collections of bronze artefacts. I'll be honest here, I never really enjoy the museums who follow the item behind glass formula. However, I've never had someone as informative as Jesse by my side, so often a simple jug would spark a twenty minute conversation on how various aspects of the Chinese dynasty evolved. <br /><br />Thinking that the rest of our journey would be rather remote and that food may be primitive, we decided to eat at a local duck restaurant, which was almost certainly the best in town. Sitting there, backpacks in tow, we certainly didn't fit in. One would even suspect given the rather personal service we were given, that they hadn't seen a foreigner before. Actually, I'd be pretty certain.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nZSZ52osgOuP-Lwd2t7EHcIqvHvbtvhUolgHdYLFwB_IpN4uK_MLZilcQjYNjq18fDwgbYiLGN1GLN73jL1oVWzsjd28H4qY6i_wFBnNqv7VeGw_ZUFtQcwivQVbNWpsNPGj6o7AxG4/s1600-h/duck+res.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2nZSZ52osgOuP-Lwd2t7EHcIqvHvbtvhUolgHdYLFwB_IpN4uK_MLZilcQjYNjq18fDwgbYiLGN1GLN73jL1oVWzsjd28H4qY6i_wFBnNqv7VeGw_ZUFtQcwivQVbNWpsNPGj6o7AxG4/s400/duck+res.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302664102566211394" /></a><br /><br />It was time to leave.<br /><br />Bus followed bus, with roads climbing and descending over endless valleys. Finally we arrived in our destination, much confusing the locals on the bus, who were vexed as to why the foreigners, who were on the bus to a tiny town, would not want to go to the tiny town, but instead to the small village in the middle of nowhere.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfXZbc-O44loIg7yIzzbCCQYKkgRuD0dpn96IjHCL6ewGZ-4i6mLLUHjjMoDFXOhXV2qAbXjEYTGOCo22q_d7reddGLZBJ5a0gGJAsVWjcwquLH6_-TLlF-jdJ6TTWMzxrEmRwl3L5ao/s1600-h/mr+jai+pose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfXZbc-O44loIg7yIzzbCCQYKkgRuD0dpn96IjHCL6ewGZ-4i6mLLUHjjMoDFXOhXV2qAbXjEYTGOCo22q_d7reddGLZBJ5a0gGJAsVWjcwquLH6_-TLlF-jdJ6TTWMzxrEmRwl3L5ao/s400/mr+jai+pose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302665283733560050" /></a><br />[Yes, the pose was taking the mick...]<br /><br />Here we met our guide and were treated to a hearty reception. With most of the village turning out to see what was going on, we were ushered around, finally resting in the local communist party HQ to see a spring festival dance by the local ladies. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/B3vU1Z-yO4w&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/B3vU1Z-yO4w&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Later that evening, we realised that our guide had warned the local government of our arrival. The greeting party were on their way...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXZ6EvHM8K7XQ63rKfbonSIpVi59HHk8NyeqquCQhCgSJ2kRdmPstLu4U_Uxuo6FcEt6iK1xDSAS79HQRDtdtjHGTJ8JF5qja1uLeBwg892ohVyQJ5bUcCpDQyyFydUyxBIcUaMLucQo/s1600-h/mr+jai+house.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXZ6EvHM8K7XQ63rKfbonSIpVi59HHk8NyeqquCQhCgSJ2kRdmPstLu4U_Uxuo6FcEt6iK1xDSAS79HQRDtdtjHGTJ8JF5qja1uLeBwg892ohVyQJ5bUcCpDQyyFydUyxBIcUaMLucQo/s400/mr+jai+house.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302664119685714018" /></a><br />[They were camera shy...]<br /><br />As the very fancy 4*4 Toyota cruised up to the front door of the village house, we realised this must be a government official. Everyone else in the village was lucky if they had a car, let alone one I couldn't really afford back in the UK! In the dark dust of the evening, three mysterious figures slowly emerged from the vehicle. They were from the local Communist party, and some representatives of the tourist office for the regional head town, about 40 minute's drive away. With one interpreter, the two men proudly stated their names and titles, which could be roughly translated as the vice head of the city (of about 600,000) and the head of tourism. <br /><br />It was clear that western tourists didn't usually make the two day trek to get here.<br /><br />Conversation revolved around the usual China items, including jobs, money (including salary) and how brilliant China is. In one rather loaded question, we were asked what we thought of China's role in the world and how it was changing. Thinking fast, I came up with the example of the recent Chinese space mission which is something the Chinese have evident pleasure in recalling. Using this as an example of how China are moving forward as one of the real global powers, I elaborated and tried to show that we were not ignorant hippies. This certainly went down well, as did Jesse's knowledge of their history and culture.<br /><br />The following day we arose early to begin our trek over the mountain pass. With an estimated six hours for the trek, the pace was slow, but relentless. I was especially amused by the guide's choice of attire: formal shoes and a leather jacket. He was equally amused by mine, which he claimed would be far to thin and I would be too cold. I don't think he's seen a modern jacket before. After a bit of walking though, we were both too hot!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4JUI04gksaEwMCpxG90M-hXg9eWYcYIdcZ0VSC0BYq3osPzDJklQeZ3J2klyvbYvX4gV6dBwvTkvqNcYDc1LRNO93CtLAg87e4tSLxxOHpHbT5uB_-U__nVoSi8rnOgFoQptWWOAbAY/s1600-h/pass4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH4JUI04gksaEwMCpxG90M-hXg9eWYcYIdcZ0VSC0BYq3osPzDJklQeZ3J2klyvbYvX4gV6dBwvTkvqNcYDc1LRNO93CtLAg87e4tSLxxOHpHbT5uB_-U__nVoSi8rnOgFoQptWWOAbAY/s400/pass4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302665305233185346" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM2cU6UrBIejGzpGP9zouPWnZxKFySiAWAUKy8IRyZ57nCrgExuLiur6ckLFggTW-ctQjfMcX8ohZvGs_oO3Dn18o6jpWSeI2mFTtDx5hHUXNQk2MGDIEJRHomtyn1IB7H2h1hEctaQ8/s1600-h/pass2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM2cU6UrBIejGzpGP9zouPWnZxKFySiAWAUKy8IRyZ57nCrgExuLiur6ckLFggTW-ctQjfMcX8ohZvGs_oO3Dn18o6jpWSeI2mFTtDx5hHUXNQk2MGDIEJRHomtyn1IB7H2h1hEctaQ8/s400/pass2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302665294456551058" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3BYkPbVXMYjiP9r6PWjkO8_bYwdxLLaZcyQ0d07XhxXS04vc7Y3NX_kYLbpzxCbB4NWAbEBDqq1uOSHMYbyFnRXN2GP1ECK-zgEZIyA5DIkgrIn7ubXo-QDu1YgTgX5WApPLa5c7rpk/s1600-h/pass1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3BYkPbVXMYjiP9r6PWjkO8_bYwdxLLaZcyQ0d07XhxXS04vc7Y3NX_kYLbpzxCbB4NWAbEBDqq1uOSHMYbyFnRXN2GP1ECK-zgEZIyA5DIkgrIn7ubXo-QDu1YgTgX5WApPLa5c7rpk/s400/pass1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302665289855305970" /></a><br /><br />Taking in the (limited) scenery on the way, which was mostly obscured by fog, we slowly wound up the route of the mountain, listening to stories about the history of the pass. Just before the top of the pass we stopped – it seems the Chinese prefer to stop at the bottom of a steep bit, not at the top. Here we ate some more Chinese snacks, before continuing to the top and resting briefly in the sun.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDFjksndvKrdDLTB_q2oDj46JaN0J07iln0ciZneHacPwCozLZaAYPf_5kA2ebN1n8FADMm4MLocOQn6U4rtrY5Bq9jt4C1Uq7D-r-JHGY0n7QWEQLrgpi7JyzKyQbl6hDUj46hAVdrA/s1600-h/pass3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijDFjksndvKrdDLTB_q2oDj46JaN0J07iln0ciZneHacPwCozLZaAYPf_5kA2ebN1n8FADMm4MLocOQn6U4rtrY5Bq9jt4C1Uq7D-r-JHGY0n7QWEQLrgpi7JyzKyQbl6hDUj46hAVdrA/s400/pass3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302665299415685698" /></a><br /><br />On our steady descent, we noted there were many mines in the local area. It turns out that the area not only mines, but actually refines about 30% of the world's Zinc. This has made the local area very rich in Chinese terms.<br /><br />On completing our descent, we were again contacted by the government officials, who took us to a local ladies' house for tea and some snacks. Cigarettes were also liberally offered. The concept of being a “non-smoker” was certainly viewed unfavourably – if you are to 'fit in' to your Chinese hosts, taking up smoking may be a good idea.<br /><br />From here we were taken on a whirlwind tour of the local area, with various “items of dubious interest” being pointed out so we didn't miss them. They were very proud of their town, but may have been accused of trying a little too hard to create items of interest. Of particular amusement was a sign in Chinese written on the mountain pass. It wasn't written on the old road, but next to the new road which was less than 10 years old. So, you're pointing out a sign written in the old style of Chinese, which was written in the last ten years? Nice. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgeW_0roOJXx7o9PN1CS2vHx13zIgBwtp-2hbCUshVsm_REMHp3j43mEckEil2wlBXgFAptH-1tlL5G75kJ5eQ9Qp7ayEU9bLyUYR-V27_xhokVL_uDtc2yIOwMQYUBYMD1Z3V_teIJQ/s1600-h/dubious+sign+off+pass.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgeW_0roOJXx7o9PN1CS2vHx13zIgBwtp-2hbCUshVsm_REMHp3j43mEckEil2wlBXgFAptH-1tlL5G75kJ5eQ9Qp7ayEU9bLyUYR-V27_xhokVL_uDtc2yIOwMQYUBYMD1Z3V_teIJQ/s400/dubious+sign+off+pass.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302663108059037266" /></a><br /><br />The driver then drove us into the fanciest hotel in town, which happened to be owned by the government. Unfortunately, it cost about 40 pounds a night – with both Jesse and I looking at each other in bemusement, we didn't say anything, but our hosts were very proud when they said we need only pay 17 pounds – still enough to keep us going for over 20 nights in our previous accommodation! With our four hosts surrounding us, we weren't going to say a word and simply paid with a smile.<br /><br />Following a very quick shower, it was time to eat the formal dinner, for which we had our own private room.<br /><br />I'd been warned by many people, and two separate guide-books, that China has quite a few customs which are usually dispensed with in everyday life, but are often used in the setting of a formal dinner. Thinking that I would never encounter such a session, I must admit to paying little attention.<br /><br />First we were greeted by our host, with each of us sitting on either side of the most important person in the room, and an interpreter sitting opposite. Here we received our sweet wine, which was poured in volumes suggesting that it was a spirit (one bottle wasn't even finished by over 7 people). After which time a toast was made to each person in turn by the head-man. However, instead of simply clinking glasses, a more involved affair was called for, whereby the glass was offered to the intended victim, only to be lowered at the last minute. Apparently, the place where the glass was eventually “clinked” signifies the relative standing of the two parties. For example, if you clinked glasses with your boss, he would allow you to make contact with your glass being lower. Given the nature of our host, we decided that we go as low as possible for every person. This repeated every time you wished to take a drink, as you cannot drink without toasting someone elses' glass.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjltOkjVxa9WXdMwQO9lVQ_FYlyRrmtlROga-2hAmaMjVIFYn4WVm3KzJjk447oAsjQ5z3UwEv1lFJKowRNMVmnZisblyznAxVTxTfcDlPmLoaUPtwC8xz-HWOWhUHeuCr5doypXQJm5I/s1600-h/formal+dinner.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjltOkjVxa9WXdMwQO9lVQ_FYlyRrmtlROga-2hAmaMjVIFYn4WVm3KzJjk447oAsjQ5z3UwEv1lFJKowRNMVmnZisblyznAxVTxTfcDlPmLoaUPtwC8xz-HWOWhUHeuCr5doypXQJm5I/s400/formal+dinner.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302664110383910690" /></a><br /><br />As the meal developed, more and more dishes adorned the central turn-wheel (Lazy Susan for us Brits), each one getting steadily spicier. With only two mouthfuls of food ingested, our hosts insisted that we use a knife and fork – probably more to show off that they had such items, than due to our skills – Jesse had been using one for over three years and was probably better than they were!<br /><br />With the meal drawing to a close and the table still overflowing with uneaten food, we left the comfort of our private room and were quickly whisked on a personal tour of the town – on the car-driven imitation train no less. With our personal English-speaking guide, we learned of the significance of new structures and then stopped in the prime viewing point for the town's highlight; the tallest fountain in Asia.<br /><br />Surrounded by little twinkling lights on the hills which were added to imitate the stars that the city smog and lights obscured, we stood on the bridge and awaited the display.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPcoDu15TJALy3un1lG-M3Cmsmi8CAYKAMJUnsHNkU6S8bxLsOtHz05mXPCD62AoT-f2ICoqoHmJ7C64D0zbO9QugulYf0Jnds69gzUQLx3Kn9v8KmLNzuRASBhs8lYKuf2FI6LE2c4Q/s1600-h/starry+night.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPcoDu15TJALy3un1lG-M3Cmsmi8CAYKAMJUnsHNkU6S8bxLsOtHz05mXPCD62AoT-f2ICoqoHmJ7C64D0zbO9QugulYf0Jnds69gzUQLx3Kn9v8KmLNzuRASBhs8lYKuf2FI6LE2c4Q/s400/starry+night.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302666194030698066" /></a><br /><br />The fountain is reported at making over 180m at full height, and it certainly was higher than I was expecting. I'll have to admit that it was pretty impressive. However, there was a strange feeling when I thought back to our guide who was living in his small house, unwilling to accept even 90p for a night's stay. It seemed like the money could have been put to so much better use, rather than imitating Las Vegas. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nsSug0GW5y8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nsSug0GW5y8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />[Comments may be exaggerated given the presence of many townspeople]<br /><br />My concentration soon shifted onto my next sight – we were presented with a very similar event to the night before, with dancing ladies all in a large ring and a good few hundred lookers-on. After smiling and laughing quite a lot, I think they got the idea that we wanted to have a go (Jesse didn't, but I'll have to admit that I certainly did!) Being whisked to the front, we then got one professional dancer each, and tried to strut our stuff. Luckily the dances follow a simple formula: It starts slow and gets faster, all the time doing the same set of motions. This was fine for the second dance, as the motions were easy, however the first and third dance were both rather difficult, and involved kicking, twisting and quick rotations whilst walking in the circle. All of this with a few hundred on-lookers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdL2uq8_TCr_nDL0TXsSaNqfg8XMF_UCy4Hc3V9Bw28OJ1sg6F7NiZWfmfphbcoIVCIU1iD8-EYIvsgfjOeMzOhl6SJLfyYm-YsPlSD0-lZAGIlZ1kvMjgfjhcE5srbS102dj6kMHHF14/s1600-h/dance1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdL2uq8_TCr_nDL0TXsSaNqfg8XMF_UCy4Hc3V9Bw28OJ1sg6F7NiZWfmfphbcoIVCIU1iD8-EYIvsgfjOeMzOhl6SJLfyYm-YsPlSD0-lZAGIlZ1kvMjgfjhcE5srbS102dj6kMHHF14/s400/dance1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302663095977088738" /></a><br /><br />After earning quite a lot of respect for giving it a go, and doing our respective nations proud, it was time to retire for the evening – smuggling in a few bottles of beer to end a surprisingly hectic night. First though, our hosts had other ideas.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUW_PC5IwstaeGrGtwtXoMYVBhfxVS8YiRWB675TXCkTKSPm_5JCCT9l__FCR-GoocNYmAQBPJTBrlyR_uqR8fCmqxTSm-oSV7h_jCOw_t6n8S7RA3cw39ba_PT3rluIWmjKNsZX29aBI/s1600-h/dance2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUW_PC5IwstaeGrGtwtXoMYVBhfxVS8YiRWB675TXCkTKSPm_5JCCT9l__FCR-GoocNYmAQBPJTBrlyR_uqR8fCmqxTSm-oSV7h_jCOw_t6n8S7RA3cw39ba_PT3rluIWmjKNsZX29aBI/s400/dance2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302663100010566114" /></a><br /><br />After just finishing the dancing, we were very expertly ambushed by a local journalist. With both him and a different interpreter from the crowd following us back to our hotel room, we were quizzed on what we though of China and also what we thought of the town.<br /><br />Throwing in some speak about the electrolysis methods they were using to purify zinc being surprisingly advanced, we answered question after question on items we had no idea about. “So then, what do you think of the future prospects of the town [that you've only just seen for less than three hours] is?”, “Is there any way you can assist us in getting investment into the town?” I think that Jesse had been hyping up my role in my previous job a little bit more than he let on, as I looked at him in a “what the...” way. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRJXLToGsXJhD8IRF9eMdpI2EGBAoWEYEkSZvD-Tr9_YVTxdKS9_jXbYNmKQEXvbvLCQpC3OZec_v_eZRLNjqgcyNUN5-I9GLGB4aKDFZ24KdwIwg5cseLh-f2K1lBG0NqCXTBLwgWMA/s1600-h/interview.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRJXLToGsXJhD8IRF9eMdpI2EGBAoWEYEkSZvD-Tr9_YVTxdKS9_jXbYNmKQEXvbvLCQpC3OZec_v_eZRLNjqgcyNUN5-I9GLGB4aKDFZ24KdwIwg5cseLh-f2K1lBG0NqCXTBLwgWMA/s400/interview.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302664110908842482" /></a><br /><br />Either way, I'm looking forward to the article, which apparently will include some of our quotes and pictures! I'll be sure to post it when it arrives.<br /><br />The following morning it was time to depart. On our way out, we took in a nice little temple which was sufficiently off the beaten track and met the author of some local historian books who was kind enough to sign a few copies and provide various print-outs of photos taken with him. A few gems to make the otherwise dull 14 hour rushed bus journey worthwhile.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOsaT8fCPbo22Of4EjxL2dBYevtAF0r3AmKUUviZw-6h02AM24cg7mYilyI5jIDKbqXirQHZSMMC6DCX_BIz2GDREACcQEdF-YXTb3uc35PbMB5m7yzo_DWVj7HdoQjLOmkC4wC4g3eg/s1600-h/temple+return.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOsaT8fCPbo22Of4EjxL2dBYevtAF0r3AmKUUviZw-6h02AM24cg7mYilyI5jIDKbqXirQHZSMMC6DCX_BIz2GDREACcQEdF-YXTb3uc35PbMB5m7yzo_DWVj7HdoQjLOmkC4wC4g3eg/s400/temple+return.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667442973867394" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClKN8Gpr_RQoS9KWmuF4pXhbQ8mwM0T8hYrHOeLRqIuST46CljI7IlhixYjiKKjv3r5-fE2tMM1FFAqezC4zVBTapBGROKlCwvpNQqFe-TkH5avKMJDnlKCj0u5YV-S3yEwN4nNv5p3Y/s1600-h/temple+author.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClKN8Gpr_RQoS9KWmuF4pXhbQ8mwM0T8hYrHOeLRqIuST46CljI7IlhixYjiKKjv3r5-fE2tMM1FFAqezC4zVBTapBGROKlCwvpNQqFe-TkH5avKMJDnlKCj0u5YV-S3yEwN4nNv5p3Y/s400/temple+author.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302667437474384194" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nNxHNv1u5PMPha9CN7TX7qI6zEL-2offgctK15TMN1FIkCGs90z9AKYXnN_DNYs5QJa-AezI_OgQBAxCahSycYxq4mV_Fw0ZjRVVAviqzUpMfQrygriejGroZk9OnNkSghk-TPkBRKE/s1600-h/bus+squash.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1nNxHNv1u5PMPha9CN7TX7qI6zEL-2offgctK15TMN1FIkCGs90z9AKYXnN_DNYs5QJa-AezI_OgQBAxCahSycYxq4mV_Fw0ZjRVVAviqzUpMfQrygriejGroZk9OnNkSghk-TPkBRKE/s400/bus+squash.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302663089747876882" /></a><br /><br />Next time, it's off to Chengdu to see some fluffy Pandas, frazzle our taste-buds on special peppercorns and then Tiger Leaping Gorge – the deepest gorge in the world apparently!<br /><br />See you then...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-54304971245065880052009-02-10T09:11:00.010+00:002009-02-10T11:58:33.833+00:00Spring Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNa166X0DrMio0Fw3NiORis8msnWPrzLIB4ngMWWoo2-K480TENASskTKuhz2TPxQXffL_eyooIBCzFMLaAsphvZTiiinAzsZw72R8egHztSCNoIUithJGD1yeJOrJGDAgGnb7ZJ-Wv4/s1600-h/Street+Entrance.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdNa166X0DrMio0Fw3NiORis8msnWPrzLIB4ngMWWoo2-K480TENASskTKuhz2TPxQXffL_eyooIBCzFMLaAsphvZTiiinAzsZw72R8egHztSCNoIUithJGD1yeJOrJGDAgGnb7ZJ-Wv4/s400/Street+Entrance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301129497868900450" /></a><br />With the impending start of Spring Festival, the air was full of merriment and anticipation...<br /><br />Within China, the beginning of their new year heralds a new start, shops are busy with last minute shoppers, desperately trying to get their new clothes for the new year. Oh, and the bangers, we mustn't forget those too, as they are always popular!<br /><br />My host family were no exception. Much to my surprise, it turns out that very few presents are given during this period. The notable exception being small red envelopes containing money, this is exclusively given by married couples to “Children” (who include any unmarried person in Chinese culture).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPr-2Xg70he5MbZz2Yn0WCrJBiSgfbaGzili8E5r587K88spp-QcyxibTT3uquvTMKU7IHFLRkOABWFd2G2j5DZTSB4Iva-msP6yF8F8rs9sr4qTGPmmzREQcWw54pv0eEgbJSng6mhQ/s1600-h/Market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPr-2Xg70he5MbZz2Yn0WCrJBiSgfbaGzili8E5r587K88spp-QcyxibTT3uquvTMKU7IHFLRkOABWFd2G2j5DZTSB4Iva-msP6yF8F8rs9sr4qTGPmmzREQcWw54pv0eEgbJSng6mhQ/s400/Market.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301130361294086754" /></a><br /><br />On the eve of New Year my host family and I undertook a whirlwind tour of the relatives of the family. Each relative were given a very brief time to offer their gifts and exchange what I assume were kind words. With much of the visitation finished for the day, we were off to the local market to grab some last-minute specific foods for the next few days. Everyone else had the same idea, so with the fabled Chinese etiquette always amiss, I jostled my way through the crowd heading for the family favourite food vendors. Like all Chinese desserts, they looked brilliant, and were a horrible let-down when you tasted them and realised they tasted just like rice, again!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXLtJOQ5UUDXIUW9iUxQXmBrACI7sSWM0iDXHe1hk6ttdhApY9e3Ux1wqwAAW-Cz1yVKBVOg44R2UjMjdiJd7daNwoC25OPS-Jy26Ip58EWzG5t99qLqDRatQPoo4h7KTX8hXol-ro28/s1600-h/Rice+puddings.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDXLtJOQ5UUDXIUW9iUxQXmBrACI7sSWM0iDXHe1hk6ttdhApY9e3Ux1wqwAAW-Cz1yVKBVOg44R2UjMjdiJd7daNwoC25OPS-Jy26Ip58EWzG5t99qLqDRatQPoo4h7KTX8hXol-ro28/s400/Rice+puddings.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301129510151903858" /></a><br /><br />It is also customary on the actual day to visit a temple - but, as we didn't want to hit the queues on the day itself, we decided to visit on of Shanghai's three temples the day before. Here, we saw a large collection of statues, each one depicting a year. After some figuring out (as the years were given in Chinese), I managed to locate the one for my mother's birth year, as it was her birthday in a few days. I think you will have to agree that the likeness is uncanny:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBw0PnYAtv_Ni640PB9KKnfSvYJLzesC9nJgWGuJGPLuz03WHH3O-YuFkF8xpp_XREmfOX-wZHMnAPlQeFm3pVhye5u7c8ysMjEHf_U6MoxZ9dO1acfdZsTl0sB7qxHVMa8YVSkWbIAoc/s1600-h/1950.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBw0PnYAtv_Ni640PB9KKnfSvYJLzesC9nJgWGuJGPLuz03WHH3O-YuFkF8xpp_XREmfOX-wZHMnAPlQeFm3pVhye5u7c8ysMjEHf_U6MoxZ9dO1acfdZsTl0sB7qxHVMa8YVSkWbIAoc/s400/1950.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301129503209794386" /></a><br /><br />That evening all the family and I gathered together to have one huge meal. With this being the custom in China, the meal had to start at 5pm, finishing by 7pm, as we were packed into the first sitting of a rather nice restaurant. The meal was tremendous. A real selection of what makes Chinese food brilliant, with dishes from all parts of almost every animal. There were pigs ears, skin and meat. Chicken offal, head and meat. Some rather random fish, including the now “normal” fish-head soup. Random bits of the sea which I have no idea what they were, and vegetables which needed a science fiction novel to identify. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5kbJLTz6lckMwNTk4hYOp0X-iififdqH1jEnK4H3ZxuNghDvFvnbUTVQy3Hl1Z5vFw0kp8euNmUHkeydE9LwC0vByn2Or8axLoAOwrLS4HRiuZLb0QvW0qhFmMeYm-lRcxdKu39onyE/s1600-h/P1251328-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ5kbJLTz6lckMwNTk4hYOp0X-iififdqH1jEnK4H3ZxuNghDvFvnbUTVQy3Hl1Z5vFw0kp8euNmUHkeydE9LwC0vByn2Or8axLoAOwrLS4HRiuZLb0QvW0qhFmMeYm-lRcxdKu39onyE/s400/P1251328-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301134700712411586" /></a><br /><br />Much after everyone else had finished, I was still picking through the bones of a rather nice sweet and sour whole fish, who looked like it had lost a battle with a hand grenade. Fantastic stuff!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDwq6AZoAAUkbM5kC2UVKiBgu5BaYKdDv_x0q_JPaDzEOmi7WUAy87Kuejp6NN6icUqoQpAiht8VltjY5htvl9guDsy1l4HkwrckFKs4pRgC-7j1UeVXlZcIVsKqd51xAnD_jncheeHs/s1600-h/Sweet+and+sour+fish.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrDwq6AZoAAUkbM5kC2UVKiBgu5BaYKdDv_x0q_JPaDzEOmi7WUAy87Kuejp6NN6icUqoQpAiht8VltjY5htvl9guDsy1l4HkwrckFKs4pRgC-7j1UeVXlZcIVsKqd51xAnD_jncheeHs/s400/Sweet+and+sour+fish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301129510633469730" /></a><br /><br />As the evening drew closer, the frequency and volume of fireworks increased. All happily sheltered within one of the relatives house, I had taken it upon myself to learn Marjong. Marjong is a “card game” which is played with tiles similar to dominoes, but with Chinese characters on them. With no-one in the room able to speak a word of English, my very limited Chinese was put to the test as I part mimed, partly guessed as to what was going on. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV9Dad8oJZ0lBQAY-Ia7Tp3asoUGWZxY5L035R57_sU2NJq4B1DWD0iZWzqFNH5yv9_KItFpDW9TqWqwNDvJP2UiL8YBRq-Bt4-73KOPSK5CH7NjNOP6Ry_xpxHbB_QpIX7U161GNSFk/s1600-h/Marjong.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkV9Dad8oJZ0lBQAY-Ia7Tp3asoUGWZxY5L035R57_sU2NJq4B1DWD0iZWzqFNH5yv9_KItFpDW9TqWqwNDvJP2UiL8YBRq-Bt4-73KOPSK5CH7NjNOP6Ry_xpxHbB_QpIX7U161GNSFk/s400/Marjong.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301130348307496354" /></a><br /><br />Just as I was becoming aware of what was actually going on, and with only two hours to go until the big moment, my host family decided rather randomly that they wanted to go home.<br /><br />So we quickly rushed home via the last tube and then took one of very few remaining taxis to arrive only 40 minutes before the big moment. I was rather shocked therefore, when the girl hid in her room playing her computer, and at midnight the mother and I decided to set fire to about eight fireworks. It seemed like a bit of an anti-climax, but was still the best Chinese New Year I've celebrated in China.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/SsbpeJzHbsc&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/SsbpeJzHbsc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Over the following days, I went exploring the surrounds of the city, meeting fellow travellers on the way. Often I would simply stumble across an excellent local market, which gave ample opportunity to practise my Mandarin bargaining skills.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nyzXZZ3ZwbCC7F5K3mjQLxdWLylUB3Xuji6WsN4I2Zc24UV4qqToJtb61k3mx1R71yHqpXMymjHge7iNorxNmUkeijYOjMciM0f8jwkr9mHhXMeYRZ1e6umy6dX3usZdh_xXWXZxYsE/s1600-h/Temple+Market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nyzXZZ3ZwbCC7F5K3mjQLxdWLylUB3Xuji6WsN4I2Zc24UV4qqToJtb61k3mx1R71yHqpXMymjHge7iNorxNmUkeijYOjMciM0f8jwkr9mHhXMeYRZ1e6umy6dX3usZdh_xXWXZxYsE/s400/Temple+Market.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301130375088831330" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCmcxT66IMMzFxs20HnlVtwHtm5_Rh4izjcqWTRlkRwSh1K81b8M7sTfd0Q3TM_KVS-pV_k-lkuOWNIf3NUZ2vo9q7UzDsbgsI04DvlR_pJIkiciALl9mcXUCgL3SRBXB5kT-zIaFPv0/s1600-h/Street+Market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCmcxT66IMMzFxs20HnlVtwHtm5_Rh4izjcqWTRlkRwSh1K81b8M7sTfd0Q3TM_KVS-pV_k-lkuOWNIf3NUZ2vo9q7UzDsbgsI04DvlR_pJIkiciALl9mcXUCgL3SRBXB5kT-zIaFPv0/s400/Street+Market.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301130371137048242" /></a><br /><br />An art in itself, I hope to enlighten you as to what methods seem to work best in China:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1) The Approach.</span> This is one of the most important parts – with so many of those “Self Help” books talking about how the initial impact will often determine any relationship, you must get this right. My objective right from square one was to look firstly like a student and secondly look like I was local, or at least knew what I was doing. So time to put on a shabby jacket (my Paramo jacket was perfect for this as it didn't have a logo they recognised and is frankly styled by a blind-man). Now time to put on an equally well worn relaxed and comfortable smile. This is my neighbourhood, don't you k now....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2) First Contact.</span> This MUST be done in their local language. If they talk to you in English, look blank and consider moving on. Never reply in English. One time I even said “I don't understand” in Chinese and then went into my normal patter of “Hello”, followed by “I'll look.”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3) Hassle Prevention.</span> Being a foreigner, they will want to talk to you, they may even want to be nice to you. These pose a serious issue; I cannot really understand what they are saying, let alone formulate a sufficiently plausable answer to their questions. One phrase which works really well is the “I'll look” phrase. If they start asking loads of questions, look really interested in the garment in front of you, or notice something really interesting the other side of the store, open it up and start to examine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">4) The Examination.</span> Now it's time to determine if you actually want the product. So pick it up, and look at it like you buy the things professionally. I mean really look at it. Check out the stitching, blow into the fabric to see if it allows air to pass through, if it's waterproof, get out a bottle of water and put it closer as if you were about to test it. If it's silk, then get out a lighter and prepare to light a thread and sniff. One method which always works well if you don't have a clue what you are supposed to examine, is either to rub two things together (like bracelets etc) smelling what's been let off, or peer at it really closely with a light. I've actually got a light on my bag to do this. At this stage make sure you don't let on that you like it. If the store manager is near you (which he will be) then look sufficiently unimpressed, even if it's the best thing you've seen, ever. Defects should be emphasised heavily!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5) Pricing.</span> Now that we've ascertained that we want the garment, it's time to ask how much (in Chinese). If you are in a foreigner place like a fake market, ask how much at the first store, walk away and then listen for the lowest number. Go to the next place which will sell the same identical product, and instead of asking how much, offer about 1/4 of the lowest number they shouted at you. This should be below 10% of the initial asking price they would have mentioned in the first shop. If you are at a non-touristy place, then ask how much before offering. Whatever they say, the next words out of your mouth should be “too expensive” (in Chinese though.) Now put a look on your face as if they have just insulted your mother – although you have to gauge how heavy this should be, as looking deeply insulted for a pair of socks could be seen as slightly excessive...It's now time to enter the world of offering and re-offering. Personally, I tended to bargain REALLY hard in tourist spots, and be a wet anywhere remote. Sometimes I even tried to pay them more than the asking price if I was in the middle of nowhere, as they gave me such an excellent price to begin with! If you don't get the price you think is fair, walk away.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">6) Wrap-up. </span>Remember that you are always an ambassador for your country, so whatever the negotiation consequences, say thanks and give them a good smile and goodbye. I've had the most hostile negotiation, only to get such a fantastic thanks at the end. Business is business, what comes after is separate in China.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5SF2XlYZHymPW03PKUqOh1TK8k6rTkXyKrPIiLHufUBudm8hZGja9_O5twO6Fxa4Drz_6xyakIoScagtmvZnzGk14A0DOD65O9xsrUquQ-1EyClNR9IBinatETDi9BNTh4s5IhvsGco/s1600-h/Pool.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5SF2XlYZHymPW03PKUqOh1TK8k6rTkXyKrPIiLHufUBudm8hZGja9_O5twO6Fxa4Drz_6xyakIoScagtmvZnzGk14A0DOD65O9xsrUquQ-1EyClNR9IBinatETDi9BNTh4s5IhvsGco/s400/Pool.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301130367796099266" /></a><br /><br />After honing some of my Chinese market skills, and playing some rather shockingly bad games of pool with some fellow Brits, my time in Shanghai was drawing to a close. My last lessons in Mandarin were more cultural than they were Mandarin based, with my questions relating to ettiquite and common Chinese games. Very kindly, one of my teachers brought in a kind of shuttle-cock which you hit with your feet. Now, I did warn her, I would like to point this out now. My football is utterly dire. I have many skills in life, and football is not one of them. This game is too close to football.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfPT3WlEEnLvsI0BkzcHgH7cxVrrfJZ5stpxeUZDN1JxgUBMd2VDDE_C8DpAZtZSqFz0JHP2U3ptJ-zHBVAinDtjG0QCT3Ip4W9FKD1GoVgrGzg-jUbDV3wvEgAPjlQjl3ZSRf3JWJVg/s1600-h/football+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmfPT3WlEEnLvsI0BkzcHgH7cxVrrfJZ5stpxeUZDN1JxgUBMd2VDDE_C8DpAZtZSqFz0JHP2U3ptJ-zHBVAinDtjG0QCT3Ip4W9FKD1GoVgrGzg-jUbDV3wvEgAPjlQjl3ZSRf3JWJVg/s400/football+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301132998663781170" /></a><br /><br />Playing on the seventh floor balcony, we tried to hit the ball from one person to another. Things were going really well, right up to the moment that I deftly kicked the toy over the balcony edge. It arced majestically over the small bushes, to drift onto the first story roof of the guard tower. Go me. <br /><br />If you're reading this, I'm really sorry I'm so inept!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigW-p97eU2e-Pmf_Jz5VbXqkrJ1W49PaIKeYJrF_963rn-qin_EgVmDsUTqu46EL8G2aiB2LBTl1WqDNCOAZ8Fi5cgn9SVOW8IYK8eye6SHHcxFEsMfHZz7rtvokpWLeSJtDnMB4iNf00/s1600-h/football2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigW-p97eU2e-Pmf_Jz5VbXqkrJ1W49PaIKeYJrF_963rn-qin_EgVmDsUTqu46EL8G2aiB2LBTl1WqDNCOAZ8Fi5cgn9SVOW8IYK8eye6SHHcxFEsMfHZz7rtvokpWLeSJtDnMB4iNf00/s400/football2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301132997081395986" /></a><br /><br />It was now time to say goodbye to my host family, who had kindly arranged for my train into Xi'an, the location of the Terracotta Warriors, and one of the old capitals of China.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNnyfylT2eTcRwrmwCSpVbWi4C39IyvR6Chzm_JQUzaBdRpji5C0LEapUZkGMRo4n1-DW7Knu5KFvc3YuRiHYS_BWvp3QzkSUFfrJF4FOxZcEmvogGA0ZLSKN93DAEsZCJFw-Xpv5lJs/s1600-h/host+family.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisNnyfylT2eTcRwrmwCSpVbWi4C39IyvR6Chzm_JQUzaBdRpji5C0LEapUZkGMRo4n1-DW7Knu5KFvc3YuRiHYS_BWvp3QzkSUFfrJF4FOxZcEmvogGA0ZLSKN93DAEsZCJFw-Xpv5lJs/s400/host+family.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301133004617196866" /></a><br /><br />On the train I met a very friendly local Chinese resident who was also a local tour guide. As a result, I think my knowledge of Xi'an was already pretty good for someone who was just arriving I such a city. He kindly offered to give me a lift to a local hostel (which was excellent) on the way to his house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigX3YonE5GPHKNO14lThaumth3196auRAIlUZ9AxHaoIJseW2o5KvaeGwEus6o92ZbDmm4m36yDHJkk4Jp9gHZWHoBgTECIyOBbY4aDqraTtX0GZyB8d59OredgAlDEr58a2087lwIJAI/s1600-h/Xian+Train.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigX3YonE5GPHKNO14lThaumth3196auRAIlUZ9AxHaoIJseW2o5KvaeGwEus6o92ZbDmm4m36yDHJkk4Jp9gHZWHoBgTECIyOBbY4aDqraTtX0GZyB8d59OredgAlDEr58a2087lwIJAI/s400/Xian+Train.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301133008120416354" /></a><br /><br />In the next edition, it's back to being the only tourist in the village, as I cross a mountain pass which formed a vital part of China's history for thousands of years. I meet the local communist party, do some dancing (this time captured on camera) and also befriend an American student who teaches me more about Chinese culture than I knew existed. And much, much more...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-57918091969360525652009-02-02T01:39:00.012+00:002009-02-10T08:59:36.631+00:00HSBC - Hong Kong Shanghai Beginners Challenge!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqTWM8a24MkD7IVj3EvP-5v-dQMR3wwhL-vVudLzBspKz4qpI_C6svAiz7t-ng1dtdX_73KrtTI66iI6_08Lnz7kFbpCpXW9mBQcsHLC1npaBBdkGIkluAb5v-FhX1Vw30kMPpHOSL7Q/s1600-h/P1071220-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqTWM8a24MkD7IVj3EvP-5v-dQMR3wwhL-vVudLzBspKz4qpI_C6svAiz7t-ng1dtdX_73KrtTI66iI6_08Lnz7kFbpCpXW9mBQcsHLC1npaBBdkGIkluAb5v-FhX1Vw30kMPpHOSL7Q/s400/P1071220-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299949784537430338" /></a><br /><br />Dusting myself off from a surprisingly pleasant time-warp experience which was the Bhutanese airline, I arrived in Calcutta, or Kolcutta, as it is now known, to spend a couple of days exploring what is often known as a very British India.<br /><br />Back in the good ol' days where us Brits ruled the world (slight exaggeration, but not by much!) Calcutta was our capital in India. It shows. Everywhere is full of colonial architecture and everyone spoke surprisingly good English. Here I enjoyed my time visiting the many markets, resting and generally taking things easy. It was uneventful, but a welcome rest from over 2.5 months of hard travel. <br /><br />The only item of note, was a rather random Muslim festival which seemed to involve everyone carrying a stick and having mock fights in the street. How strange...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOxv_IfBNe4g3Hz2RlIFQUKA7dX5x3Gejuz1EhyphenhyphenmBSkrdmOUotBaABqXZylEPOE7o1GA7bbKwQ7ip6ndMpIWoNCpi2Fh1aRFrUYVBbWeSJgEbdSb9_IL2UWiU7Ja-x4_MEDxWaBI6Xl4/s1600-h/P1081223-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOxv_IfBNe4g3Hz2RlIFQUKA7dX5x3Gejuz1EhyphenhyphenmBSkrdmOUotBaABqXZylEPOE7o1GA7bbKwQ7ip6ndMpIWoNCpi2Fh1aRFrUYVBbWeSJgEbdSb9_IL2UWiU7Ja-x4_MEDxWaBI6Xl4/s400/P1081223-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299949787719694354" /></a><br /><br />Upon arriving in Hong Kong, a very different atmosphere greeted me, one which was very familiar. Hong Kong is like any other large city, it has a “buzz” about it which is very appealing. I felt it the last time I was in London, and I like it every time it happens. On a sliding scale of civilisation, London is a step away from Singapore, Hong Kong a step away from London. It reminded me of the Chinatown region, everything was in Chinese, but English was common enough for those who didn't speak Chinese. On the same scale, even the most civilised Indian city was towards the back of the book. You can blame their terrible driving and filthy streets for that.<br /><br />From the second I arrived, I was in no doubt, I could work here. It was a very fascinating place to be, one I wished to know more about.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E7T-brxI_gYPRtnlrF0aXCq0BufrU_TzYTjNlPAcHBwlpTZjIjnoOcMnugxDoajrbU-EzpsChdPadVDe9IYUfdopnpEjQg1dJHmqS8EbIStDFy1XfKmKSC2vqj6sTyYLJu4mpWC9cIk/s1600-h/Medcine+Market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5E7T-brxI_gYPRtnlrF0aXCq0BufrU_TzYTjNlPAcHBwlpTZjIjnoOcMnugxDoajrbU-EzpsChdPadVDe9IYUfdopnpEjQg1dJHmqS8EbIStDFy1XfKmKSC2vqj6sTyYLJu4mpWC9cIk/s400/Medcine+Market.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298011435992722482" /></a><br /><br />It had interesting markets selling Chinese Medicine, and with the close proximity of the Spring Festival (Chinese New Year for you and I), many red lanterns and other traditional fare for sale. Like many large cities where I would like to work however, it didn't have that many tourist sights to see. It had even less which were worth a photo.<br /><br />During my time there, I managed to meet someone from the UK. She too echoed my sentiment that Hong Kong would be a great place to live... who knows, perhaps I may see her if I move out there!<br /><br />During our time together, we would regularly walk past many little restaurants which looked really nice; packed full of locals, I would peer in only to be greeted with an almost incomprehensible menu. When I was alone, I even tried eating in such a venue with the hope that I would be able to bodge my way though. With the menu containing no pictures and certainly no English, I played the “pin the tail on the donkey” game with the menu, finally resting on a dish which cost little over two pounds (food is really cheap, despite coffee being the same price as London!) Whilst ordering, the waitress looked really confused and said something in Chinese, which I should have interpreted as “Foreigners don't usually eat this, are you sure you want this one?”<br /><br />When the dish arrived, I was a little disheartened when it was a bowl of boiled rice with some veg, sounds okay right? That is, until you realised that there were two raw eggs cracked over the top of it. Very kindly, as they served it, they gestured that I should stir the egg “sauce” in. Down the hatch.<br /><br />After spending a couple of days together doing some rather touristy things including a rather impressive view of the Hong Kong Skyline, we parted company as I had to get to mainland China...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYiF9Je30xDqDOJaB_DOJ_9q3RcE4iEwtpVaiq2IjTIfbaKsJFJPlbzQqLixanwXAPeNQmBQHU2AjMpuz48aHN1XoqAw3Nbe59iw96FSA5fhwKOri1UNhGK83YJHH7-YQwDRDCLzPXiI/s1600-h/Hong+Kong+Skyline.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtYiF9Je30xDqDOJaB_DOJ_9q3RcE4iEwtpVaiq2IjTIfbaKsJFJPlbzQqLixanwXAPeNQmBQHU2AjMpuz48aHN1XoqAw3Nbe59iw96FSA5fhwKOri1UNhGK83YJHH7-YQwDRDCLzPXiI/s400/Hong+Kong+Skyline.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298011436896689938" /></a><br /><br />I decided it was then time to head off into China, Shanghai to be precise. Before I ventured deeper however, I would need some kind of Mandarin skills – playing charades each time I wanted some food or drink was getting tiresome, and the Chinese eat far worse than raw egg. Here fido!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZTKOr0_AqkDQ-jD4JZ3UYjkeapUxWLLfvV1d_Jhm7TCz2a3htSmxqw2_YMvLum34dk-e2nRfPebIxAPqF3y147mY3yQX7GVJkEeHBhPLb1AyEHLO32sMH99TYLrBCIv9BM9q2UWM1Mw/s1600-h/Ratttttdog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZTKOr0_AqkDQ-jD4JZ3UYjkeapUxWLLfvV1d_Jhm7TCz2a3htSmxqw2_YMvLum34dk-e2nRfPebIxAPqF3y147mY3yQX7GVJkEeHBhPLb1AyEHLO32sMH99TYLrBCIv9BM9q2UWM1Mw/s400/Ratttttdog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013723656190738" /></a><br /><br />Deciding that the overnight train would be the perfect way to enter the country, with time to view the scenery and and expense which would keep costs down, I opted for the lowest class – worryingly called “hard sleeper”. Despite comments in my guidebook that “No foreigners would be seen dead in this class” I decided that it was worth a laugh and booked my place on the top bed, which the guidebook also said was very cramped (but also cheaper!) <br /><br />With the words from the guidebook almost ringing in my ears, I jumped onto the train, rather worried as to what I would find....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRGVfoZq6onyUrSpUwdDJUuRdCFE57-hCpG8omBu6uwxEQR6jcRwnY4u2tETZEtwCDPEgXrNDuXqOmpjvcuBjwHxNAmxVIFuKBnmsgthm0jSCckDaqJ3JFAVt86Vz13RfxM4HyaNScu8/s1600-h/Shanghai+Train.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRGVfoZq6onyUrSpUwdDJUuRdCFE57-hCpG8omBu6uwxEQR6jcRwnY4u2tETZEtwCDPEgXrNDuXqOmpjvcuBjwHxNAmxVIFuKBnmsgthm0jSCckDaqJ3JFAVt86Vz13RfxM4HyaNScu8/s400/Shanghai+Train.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298011438009554770" /></a><br /><br />Much to my delight, the Chinese train system, despite only having about 4 classes, unlike the seven for Indian trains, is actually very modern when departing from Hong Kong. The worst seat, on the lowest class, is roughly the same, and a million times cleaner, than the second highest class of the Indian system, even on their best train. It did come at a price though, being almost twice as expensive (a whole 30 pounds for a 22 hour journey) than the highest Indian class.<br /><br />After a few amusing chats with locals and expats alike (I found someone who sails almost the same class of boat I do – wow!) I arrived in Shanghai and took a taxi to a hotel I had booked on-line the previous day. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4DIFUwiIUgreJGSxotR9rlcamBcbNB4daaaH5tjjVk9aT7MUMjpkkWP648X9bWo99FZRGKsESqvDwgnXxUTfZKjDLX74Y8fSbkxiTptCOLXQLvreUljCsve4-Xe99hfXZ9znIljJyhQ/s1600-h/Shanghai+sunset.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE4DIFUwiIUgreJGSxotR9rlcamBcbNB4daaaH5tjjVk9aT7MUMjpkkWP648X9bWo99FZRGKsESqvDwgnXxUTfZKjDLX74Y8fSbkxiTptCOLXQLvreUljCsve4-Xe99hfXZ9znIljJyhQ/s400/Shanghai+sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013734565250226" /></a><br /><br />Comparing Shanghai to the scale I mentioned earlier, it is another couple of rungs down from Hong Kong – perhaps akin to Hong Kong a decade ago – but catching up fast. It is said that the most cranes in the world are in Dubai, well that may be true, but the most concrete dust in the world is currently being poured into buildings being erected in Shanghai, with a large majority swirling around in the air making a heavy cloud of smog sit over the city for days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFDig99HjXb82DzVVSNLI15k1T6ScGQr67vFIV5Ehyphenhyphenu-bhuzdWjOPPgqTud9DsU2OMxJBG68BUeViMlqSPZfpxZdoG0dJj4obiYJXGla-Ewf7w59NPGloOK6Mf-VVP4lWSruSAvSDyWs/s1600-h/Red+Carpet+Building.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFDig99HjXb82DzVVSNLI15k1T6ScGQr67vFIV5Ehyphenhyphenu-bhuzdWjOPPgqTud9DsU2OMxJBG68BUeViMlqSPZfpxZdoG0dJj4obiYJXGla-Ewf7w59NPGloOK6Mf-VVP4lWSruSAvSDyWs/s400/Red+Carpet+Building.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013724498437042" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvzi3UFNtrfbzMzN5hLw-quILrXpnQxefZqsVKGSvTVyuZKysifGDPXMFguMsGO5tgQ51ExFgVCuqWlK1aaRr2ZJiRG0_vciUSrDE43AOWc-jkdBVYNm9rLu6OQE1wlfNl6Kqa57p-4c/s1600-h/Shanghai+Modern.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzvzi3UFNtrfbzMzN5hLw-quILrXpnQxefZqsVKGSvTVyuZKysifGDPXMFguMsGO5tgQ51ExFgVCuqWlK1aaRr2ZJiRG0_vciUSrDE43AOWc-jkdBVYNm9rLu6OQE1wlfNl6Kqa57p-4c/s400/Shanghai+Modern.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013727658113058" /></a><br /><br />It was now time to sort out a decent language course, so I went off to visit a few language schools, eventually picking a private tuition course conducted by a school primarily aimed at business travellers. I would have loved to undertake a group course, but with the proximity of the Spring Festival, none were starting to absolute beginners.<br /><br />Starting the course, I quickly began to realise that there is a very good reason why people say that Mandarin is the hardest language in the world to learn. Darn. Let's get things straight, I'm a fast learner, and certainly no slouch when I put my mind to something, but using this video as a demonstration, this language is hard, very hard.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ngPhZva_lBM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ngPhZva_lBM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />In the video you can see one of my three teachers going through the different ways to say certain letter combinations. Couple this with the fact that in Mandarin the tones are very important, means that each of these almost identical sounds could have up to five meanings each, depending on if you have a rising, lowering, raising and then lower, flat, or raised tone. Arse.<br /><br />I especially like the fact that I had three separate teachers – in true wrestling style, one would come in the morning and teach me for a couple of hours, before “tagging” the other teacher to continue to suffering for the afternoon. By the end of the first couple of days, I was thinking in sounds which made me think of steam trains!<br /><br />I must admit that some of my time during my Mandarin classes wasn't entirely focused on the contents of the Mandarin book. For example, one day I took a photo of my air conditioning remote control and got the teacher to decipher for me what it actually meant. As my host family had only broken English, I had somehow managed to activate a function whereby it only worked for 10 minutes at a time before shutting itself off. Even when it was “working” it was like an asthmatic breathing through a straw!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPPGHnSHXYzEcIxwrBEN-IVcd9GLFNZdubijALknVi-Bs10iF9kJJhdnpSO2eYwrJtv1eFTiEwG09o97i7Mj8kcFvvsLtZ5qZtaO8xQ-OnfD2oMfUeDJBIxsF3d9AB6YiJZe0Ut9tzqo/s1600-h/REmote.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuPPGHnSHXYzEcIxwrBEN-IVcd9GLFNZdubijALknVi-Bs10iF9kJJhdnpSO2eYwrJtv1eFTiEwG09o97i7Mj8kcFvvsLtZ5qZtaO8xQ-OnfD2oMfUeDJBIxsF3d9AB6YiJZe0Ut9tzqo/s400/REmote.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298015027058283122" /></a><br /><br />One item which amused my teachers was the rather original way by which I would tell taxi drivers to take me to various locations. Instead of trying to pronounce the words in Chinese (which always got a blank response for the first week that I was there) I simply took a photo of either the guidebook, or of the street sign and then pointed to it, saying in Chinese “I want this one please”. This worked surprisingly well!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjxULWBwx8lR7Lm9Gru1j7j3fzUYoTQvIPmvHZRKMrTVdafZs-M21nC-UWfExXvDsj42a4rXWTXllp5WFhcgrOCGMBuR94PIEY_cZIaIw0H5e4Iqx0OdUEHDTkwo4K-A7gmDURV8rZ5c/s1600-h/Roadsign.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjxULWBwx8lR7Lm9Gru1j7j3fzUYoTQvIPmvHZRKMrTVdafZs-M21nC-UWfExXvDsj42a4rXWTXllp5WFhcgrOCGMBuR94PIEY_cZIaIw0H5e4Iqx0OdUEHDTkwo4K-A7gmDURV8rZ5c/s400/Roadsign.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298015822501913490" /></a><br /><br />In the evenings I had decided that sitting in a hotel room, however good, was rather dull. Resultantly, I had decided to leave my hotel accommodation and move in with a local family for a couple of weeks in what is termed a “home-stay”.<br /><br />My adopted family were a family of three, father, mother and a daughter of about 13 years old. Here I was to have my social adaptability stretched a little. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLBIjkRh9JLPf8gBwKAqk3L7FFrx7Dn3oX-_qxA-KREqqfI9660z37w10F7L10EYnCIF0ORAYdeQZlnMtfONJFDnyATgRPELVloARWPrfh9Cg5PAKxrA5_hQPOnHqfCw12PrHSYzJtE4/s1600-h/Host+Family+with+friends.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJLBIjkRh9JLPf8gBwKAqk3L7FFrx7Dn3oX-_qxA-KREqqfI9660z37w10F7L10EYnCIF0ORAYdeQZlnMtfONJFDnyATgRPELVloARWPrfh9Cg5PAKxrA5_hQPOnHqfCw12PrHSYzJtE4/s400/Host+Family+with+friends.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298011441934627490" /></a><br /><br />At this time of year, Shanghai is rather cold, actually no, it's freezing. Due to the speed by which the city has developed, all walls are solid concrete, and no house has any kind of central heating. Our whole house had only two air conditioning units, which could just about keep up with the amount of heat being lost out of the single glazed windows and through the uninsulated concrete walls. Consequently, we all wore our outside coats indoors. This also meant that when I woke up, I could see the condensation in my breath. This wasn't my host family's fault, but it didn't make it any more pleasant when I had just come from Calcutta where temperatures were in the 30's Celsius.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCkthSsaOkaKIGtVC5ABCmeck_H8N3GInU2i8Y7CuPhJ-lh0BaalfdzZfD4uHPNLhqPO68qC4BLh0PQq61PqWkSYHpANj6V8129CCLQH0shSX6n-_VVg6t1lI2XEeGi9uAYsxUf1DGBA/s1600-h/Shanghai+Cold.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCkthSsaOkaKIGtVC5ABCmeck_H8N3GInU2i8Y7CuPhJ-lh0BaalfdzZfD4uHPNLhqPO68qC4BLh0PQq61PqWkSYHpANj6V8129CCLQH0shSX6n-_VVg6t1lI2XEeGi9uAYsxUf1DGBA/s400/Shanghai+Cold.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013728596857538" /></a><br /><br />Morning food consisted of a rather strange mix of a slightly alcoholic rice wine, mixed with some overcooked rice and a poached egg. Due to the social non-acceptance in western society of drinking alcohol before midday, I found it rather hard to stomach and must admit to it being an acquired taste.<br /><br />Evening meals would often consist of the same mixture of perhaps eight different dishes: Fried pig skin, fish head soup, rice, spinach, a portion of chicken including bone which had been chopped into small segments and perhaps some nuts and other random vegetables or fruit. More than likely all but one dish would be cold, or slightly warm, with many being re-heated in the microwave from the day before.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5IfVe_Emfq-s9Q1BcH4pqKGbwaAzS5rKApuZ0X_LkUl3X5wmSIYCYSZEWTolygfVf92yI2ulBNRlChwPmQwSIUhy-mWESUtMYWjmlL_LeYfWRLh80y87VsO1JSaNLilWnTJqvqfyvAo/s1600-h/Host+Family+Meal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5IfVe_Emfq-s9Q1BcH4pqKGbwaAzS5rKApuZ0X_LkUl3X5wmSIYCYSZEWTolygfVf92yI2ulBNRlChwPmQwSIUhy-mWESUtMYWjmlL_LeYfWRLh80y87VsO1JSaNLilWnTJqvqfyvAo/s400/Host+Family+Meal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298011445343407778" /></a><br /><br />As there were lots of bones or other pieces of debris, it was common for my host family to simply spit the contents of their meal which they didn't like directly onto the table cloth. This took some getting used to, but after the second day I was more than happy to do the same – although I never really got the hang of de-shelling a prawn by inserting the whole thing into my mouth, chomping and then spitting out the shell. I think I'll stick to the boring Western way thanks!<br /><br />With the Spring Festival drawing closer, my Mandarin skills were improving thanks, in part, to the very patient nature of my teachers, combined with random luck. Nowhere was this more evident than in my daily morning coffee run.<br /><br />Each day I would frequent the local coffee shop to purchase a latte (yes, they do have them in China, and no, I wasn't buying from Starbucks, although it was something similar!) On day one, I simply went in and asked in English, probably hashing up the Chinese pronunciation of “Hello” as I arrived. By the fifth day I was at least saying “Hello, I want a large latte please” [In Chinese]. By the last day, they were actually understanding me, and I even managed to get across that I wanted two paper cups, one inside the other to keep it warm. Although that sounds very impressive, it was actually achieved by my ordering my latte, then saying “two cups please” then saying “hot good” then gesturing to put one inside the other. It worked, so I didn't care!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVd_ywLNONZvJfXjj4XFSC4MqeS511kMND9LVfexU-e1mDaBurV295Agr1saR98J5wREqOnLiN_Ga-jyqUuDmETw5Q0uorpX5BPYn-Z8CRfyJvRBA-tBPu_-sWHFm0kIR16GmcmXKn4xY/s1600-h/Shanghia+Old.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVd_ywLNONZvJfXjj4XFSC4MqeS511kMND9LVfexU-e1mDaBurV295Agr1saR98J5wREqOnLiN_Ga-jyqUuDmETw5Q0uorpX5BPYn-Z8CRfyJvRBA-tBPu_-sWHFm0kIR16GmcmXKn4xY/s400/Shanghia+Old.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013884751856418" /></a><br /><br />Next time there will be stories of great daring as I brave the Chinese equivalent of the Gaza strip during the fabled Spring Festival. Although a slight exaggeration, the Chinese certainly like their rockets during this time of year! <br /><br />The year of the Ox is coming....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqfV3fOhf0LGX21UlKYVj43RM9QrmtAtLz0o9pWvi4QKWSApg9gnpJOyDVFieFuheqNbkFsjEWkrweKBkSfUssX_dZ3Ovu-cz-MSJ6P7DjzdDNDaCznlxXoFmU_NpB5z9-G-aP5tCrW4/s1600-h/Year+of+Ox.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqfV3fOhf0LGX21UlKYVj43RM9QrmtAtLz0o9pWvi4QKWSApg9gnpJOyDVFieFuheqNbkFsjEWkrweKBkSfUssX_dZ3Ovu-cz-MSJ6P7DjzdDNDaCznlxXoFmU_NpB5z9-G-aP5tCrW4/s400/Year+of+Ox.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298013883666333826" /></a>Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-81868195098487368872009-02-01T05:10:00.008+00:002009-02-01T06:24:13.087+00:00Confused Conversations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIa0gr0rz_nAvQO-9Fenc5xoFsT5Nm7elEGowTadkX4pKtWDax416AN34m0LYuMGsKjXE5qNHGZQzfNdy4w3F_2b95EZXmeWhMTJTxBdSehySDWzJqVIa2mll9v679Gyy5yt965Q9XOCs/s1600-h/village.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIa0gr0rz_nAvQO-9Fenc5xoFsT5Nm7elEGowTadkX4pKtWDax416AN34m0LYuMGsKjXE5qNHGZQzfNdy4w3F_2b95EZXmeWhMTJTxBdSehySDWzJqVIa2mll9v679Gyy5yt965Q9XOCs/s400/village.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297695559770863506" /></a><br /><br />Once again, it was back to being the only tourist in the village - I would probably guess I was the only tourist in the whole valley, knowing that area of Bhutan. By now this is something I'm rather used to and am actually beginning to enjoy. Though my guide I managed to hold multiple conversations and rather like in Borneo, everyone was rather amused by my hobbies. One conversation amused me greatly when I look back at it, as they have a point.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcS01FfOOmunGLShqD3yvcJXZG0MWRWIjIcY1DdseG-jxYXK1T04Q6fjVXwG4ABiZeSCas3rNewoISU1NtwXmop4MivLwX2skYvSWHQhyphenhyphenfSAJyUwjOs3yl6CgtoKGkDJaqCmIK-S4KFk4/s1600-h/meal+with+team.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcS01FfOOmunGLShqD3yvcJXZG0MWRWIjIcY1DdseG-jxYXK1T04Q6fjVXwG4ABiZeSCas3rNewoISU1NtwXmop4MivLwX2skYvSWHQhyphenhyphenfSAJyUwjOs3yl6CgtoKGkDJaqCmIK-S4KFk4/s400/meal+with+team.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297695560729873762" /></a><br /><br />It was now time to try and discuss sailing with a land-locked Bhutanese. <br />"This 'sailing' then, where do you go?"<br />"Usually just out into the bay and back again."<br />"So you don't go anywhere?"<br />"Not really, just out and then back."<br />"But you fish when you are out in the bay though?"<br />"No"<br />"Why not, you are in the bay after all, does it not have any fish?"<br />"It has fish, but I can buy my fish from the market, we are there to race other boats instead."<br />"But you are out there already, why not fish and save the money?"<br />"Well, I race against other boats, that's more exciting!"<br />"So where are the other boats going then?"<br />"They are the same as me, they go out and back too."<br />"Oh, so they aren't going anywhere either?"<br />"[Trying to change the subject a little] I also do a martial art."<br />"What's that then?"<br />"It's where I practise fighting."<br />"So you are a warrior?"<br />"No, I don't fight anyone."<br />"But if you don't fight, why do you practise?"<br />"It keeps me fit."<br />"But why don't you work in the fields, that will keep you fit and will also make your family money?"<br />"Because I don't need to earn extra money, I have a job. I do this to relax."<br />[To his friend]"These foreigners have too much time and waste it doing strange things..."<br />I think he's got a point.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/49-vzuorCLc&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/49-vzuorCLc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />During the archery competition, we were all kept well fed with the local tuak, a kind of rice-wine which varied greatly in strength from about 10%, to about 35%, although that was just a guess as it was all home-brew! Unfortunately, the archers were also keeping up with the drinking, and being that they started before 7am, must have been close to paralytic as they rocked from side to side, desperately peering into the midday sun to see the tiny target.<br /><br />In true "room full of monkeys, typewriters, Shakespeare," style though, hit the target they often did, actually more often than I would have been able to, so hats off to them. Whenever this was done, a wonderful dance erupted, which pretty much meant "well done for hitting the target, aren't we better then the opposition!" Either way, it was great to watch and something I later repeated much to everyone's amusement during our own archery competition.<br /><br />Despite offers to give it a go, I was rather aware of the close proximity of everyone to the target, coupled with the fact that I haven't shot a bow in over seven years. I was [briefly] part of the archery club at uni though, so archery is something I'm pretty good at. Not that I was about to tell the Bhutanese that!<br /><br />Accompanied by a few of the locals and a throng of small children eager to see the foreigner and his weird archery style, we found a small paddy field where we would try our own mini-competition. It was the driver and guide on the Bhutanese side, vs me for the westerners. We were all being rather modest and didn't really want to let the other know any level of skill.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl4wrdTHOSuB-Tg1y21h98RKTHIGiNFn2YAftzAfgLq0KzzEBApRHAHqAI2PlRDWoUhGEyYW-8V0fBqOXazvmd2ivRABjD0vxnEvphFws31EIMfVnTAaiBpH2sLCpMy01yGRDaCE7REg/s1600-h/archery.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl4wrdTHOSuB-Tg1y21h98RKTHIGiNFn2YAftzAfgLq0KzzEBApRHAHqAI2PlRDWoUhGEyYW-8V0fBqOXazvmd2ivRABjD0vxnEvphFws31EIMfVnTAaiBpH2sLCpMy01yGRDaCE7REg/s400/archery.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297695562680696178" /></a><br />[The target is at the base of the three trees which were propped up, it's the wider bit of trunk of the middle one - I managed to hit it three times!!]<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO_2YwcYgqTm77MBQfPJOtaNyEfCEFtdV0auXWJzDYD_px2ioom0Uqv3myUxuOK4BUELOr-pLmzBdyHipn4h9Cnx3Z-GJ77xytyJCwJhmCz3ZTXD89KR1ScajOZEkFDJwtOJrGZn9vD4/s1600-h/target.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO_2YwcYgqTm77MBQfPJOtaNyEfCEFtdV0auXWJzDYD_px2ioom0Uqv3myUxuOK4BUELOr-pLmzBdyHipn4h9Cnx3Z-GJ77xytyJCwJhmCz3ZTXD89KR1ScajOZEkFDJwtOJrGZn9vD4/s400/target.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696370607423810" /></a><br />[This is the target close up, with my arrow in it :-)]<br /><br />With our target placed at a modest 70 metres, which is still a very long way away, we fired off our series of arrows. Much to my excitement, I trounced the locals! The first game was 0,0,7 to me. As you can imagine, the children found this very amusing and although I don't speak Bhutanese, the hard time they gave my Bhutanese friends was evident for all to see. They weren't impressed about the foreigner beating them and so a hasty re-match was organised, with the older Bhutanese providing a few tips to prevent a second white-washing.<br /><br />My glory was short lived; we were using a child's bow and it couldn't really stand up to the forces being placed on it. So with arrow in hand, I let go and watched as the bow self destructed all over me, sending bits of string, wood and arrow in all directions. By some slight miracle, no-one was hurt and the bow was quickly repaired, but still needed a bow string to be complete. The round two of beatings would have to wait until another day.<br /><br />After spending a very cold night in the house of one of the locals, which was akin to my survival experience in the Arctic (who builds a house with windows and doesn't put any shutters or glass on them - and then places it in the wind-channel of a valley!?) we were off to see some more sights and our next valley.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9oSR8ytJslmQe0ht9xTfaQNY30rDX-sVLMN1xycv9YdktXs4BXjxx8fKdV2Y0s5ZFfVX6k4KqHXU4ml4fMbE2uFAQChe1KOLOfx1NnkPqm_hhmXiNfRdWQucUloscDzVuLE0TksRt3o/s1600-h/home+for+a+night.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB9oSR8ytJslmQe0ht9xTfaQNY30rDX-sVLMN1xycv9YdktXs4BXjxx8fKdV2Y0s5ZFfVX6k4KqHXU4ml4fMbE2uFAQChe1KOLOfx1NnkPqm_hhmXiNfRdWQucUloscDzVuLE0TksRt3o/s400/home+for+a+night.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297695563485568482" /></a><br /><br />The following valley was significantly higher and therefore colder. Recent snowfall meant that the journey took longer than expected, but with some truly stunning views on the way there, it certainly wasn't a let down. <br /><br />After a late arrival we settled into our hotel. Once again, I was the only guest. Each time I would enter the main dining room, the huddle of five employees would quickly get up from their chairs which were huddled around the fire in the middle of the room and bow to greet me. Unfortunately, the hotel's generator had failed, so no heating or hot water was currently operating. This meant that the only way to warm up the room was a small fire in the room which had to be lit. Lighting fires has never been an issue for me, in fact, it's usually the other way around. I like my fire hot, and that means I like them big. Something which had already got me into trouble whist in the jungle as I scorched one of the tarps with my inferno. Consequently, lighting the tiny little fire in my room wasn't an issue.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14GfYr2m3Vx2fneExO1vPJoITI0prZO1ZUeqo4YVosmIm4AR4_W937LxIMFIVDxwk0-GJn92PbYo4ZF66WyDcZDWj3XwmmNuX8-Uo4dOWr6Tu3Uhm9XC1GhLvSAbFw3ELQTcnSZkWleA/s1600-h/Hotel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg14GfYr2m3Vx2fneExO1vPJoITI0prZO1ZUeqo4YVosmIm4AR4_W937LxIMFIVDxwk0-GJn92PbYo4ZF66WyDcZDWj3XwmmNuX8-Uo4dOWr6Tu3Uhm9XC1GhLvSAbFw3ELQTcnSZkWleA/s400/Hotel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696841953706818" /></a><br /><br />When I came into the restaurant for the evening meal, the hotel staff looked really puzzled. I asked what was up and one of them said that it was strange that I didn't need heating in my room: they thought that I had not lit my fire. On telling them that I had already lit my fire using the matches and wood provided just outside the room, they looked even more confused. How could a foreigner actually light a fire?? Apparently the last guest which had just checked out had been so inept, they had used two boxes of matches to try and light their fire, and eventually gave up. Wow, I'm glad I'm in no survival situation with them!<br /><br />That evening we played some more cards and I took it unto myself to teach the people of that valley a game called "Big Two", which is always good fun in a large group.<br /><br />The next day we departed back the way we had come, but after only 2km were coming across some difficulties. The ever faithful Toyota 4*4 which I had earlier praised for being one of the most reliable cars on the planet, had been listening. Today was its day to wind me up and stop working. Don't worry, it's only -10 outside, probably about -40 with the wind-chill. Oh, and the nearest mechanic is about a 3 hour drive away. Drive, yes, that thing we cannot do right now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeY9xlcBrToIFZOCR2R2fxDvouvb37Yw2SQ7z7koVnbd0uvma1V2jbGAg0vQx0vG2x_qLOmZtvgnQe5tV7OBPK-P9YcYTABMRfZS5MEK6fMq4wUn3L_oF_tYHp1k0k42M1vAeZ9fLAR4/s1600-h/carfix.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMeY9xlcBrToIFZOCR2R2fxDvouvb37Yw2SQ7z7koVnbd0uvma1V2jbGAg0vQx0vG2x_qLOmZtvgnQe5tV7OBPK-P9YcYTABMRfZS5MEK6fMq4wUn3L_oF_tYHp1k0k42M1vAeZ9fLAR4/s400/carfix.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696846172772338" /></a><br /><br />After some faffing around with the fuel pump, and multiple stops to jump out, pump the fuel pump a little more manually, and then hop back in again, the car finally managed to warm up and get going as it should. Phew.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXr9t_XswkMRCmOVFZglRNfJ4O2wlnkqoKZeYoEReCuuwOmazvmmSTzElaqJOkd9jsCKBzYzGqBKucF7QCfddrnUit9xfmQcEjcdecwFhJf6gfCEbrD8ayYpry2NnTUmqtSN76H8pcVCM/s1600-h/traffic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXr9t_XswkMRCmOVFZglRNfJ4O2wlnkqoKZeYoEReCuuwOmazvmmSTzElaqJOkd9jsCKBzYzGqBKucF7QCfddrnUit9xfmQcEjcdecwFhJf6gfCEbrD8ayYpry2NnTUmqtSN76H8pcVCM/s400/traffic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297697679788954626" /></a><br /><br />At the ridge of the valley we came across a large queue of traffic. It seems that the fog and ice had collected on a single road and everyone was waiting for this to clear before proceeding. Not us however, for we had no fear [sense] and decided to half slide half drive our way down, with only a few twigs and some grass hidden under deep snow to keep us from falling a good few hundred metres. I'm glad our driver was good!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKq2zBPqFDag6hLSM-m_MVQOnC3Aq7UC4cTVO9ItZvYNmc-xoP3fzTjCUg1uQlyNCkbBiXpNFktde9Sy0TRX7LrM1D0xGcpgI5RlJA8XCfaiwZE9st_iVb-ADGS2gZ0Kq6cKkWuMMAR0/s1600-h/errie+drop.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKq2zBPqFDag6hLSM-m_MVQOnC3Aq7UC4cTVO9ItZvYNmc-xoP3fzTjCUg1uQlyNCkbBiXpNFktde9Sy0TRX7LrM1D0xGcpgI5RlJA8XCfaiwZE9st_iVb-ADGS2gZ0Kq6cKkWuMMAR0/s400/errie+drop.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696844448239170" /></a><br /><br />After another night on the road we arrived in the second largest town in Bhutan, which is about the size of Dorking (if you are from Surrey) or perhaps Hamworthy (if you are from Dorest.) If you aren't from either of those places, imagine a large village, perhaps 100,000 people. Here we were to take our flight out the following day, but first I was off to see the Bhutanese tourist sight and in true Bhutanese style, it involved a walk.<br /><br />Every country has one, the "must see" sight, and for Bhutan this is a temple on the side of a cliff. I'm not talking about a temple which has been built right next to a cliff, no, this has been built ON a cliff. It was quite a sight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyUxwamAO-EZRhX_VxPWkMc3bM6FXNInfUB8962GlfgjKc-ilB_posUCD5-KAHNUqpoAECgNjl7Tjva24xasHPSo9pJLJjHZ702StUZcGJT9l8Gx9iWxB6wN9LFLuwTGTUTg5WnLhNuA/s1600-h/Cliff+edge+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuyUxwamAO-EZRhX_VxPWkMc3bM6FXNInfUB8962GlfgjKc-ilB_posUCD5-KAHNUqpoAECgNjl7Tjva24xasHPSo9pJLJjHZ702StUZcGJT9l8Gx9iWxB6wN9LFLuwTGTUTg5WnLhNuA/s400/Cliff+edge+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696850504152946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMmdAhQN84Pr3FPrEA7VzVMy9u6MstDQSRO38B8kYu4xfLT1tgUH36MNE2o4NcwW4lK_mTpVfQFO_A3bjXlMSuIk4zSHBkrnq3uqc7ZRcoBOAHblWQs3oVbqyTRI6sDf1Av7fUaFxVHA/s1600-h/Cliff+edge.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMmdAhQN84Pr3FPrEA7VzVMy9u6MstDQSRO38B8kYu4xfLT1tgUH36MNE2o4NcwW4lK_mTpVfQFO_A3bjXlMSuIk4zSHBkrnq3uqc7ZRcoBOAHblWQs3oVbqyTRI6sDf1Av7fUaFxVHA/s400/Cliff+edge.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297696845312508258" /></a><br /><br />After a brisk walk which the guide said takes between 90 minutes and two hours (so we almost jogged up it in less than 28 minutes - I'm a stickler for competition okay!) We took our first glimpse of the temple, which, I think you will agree from the photos, is quite a sight. Apart from the prat standing in the way that is...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EmTeB5IqRb7hag5tmFHkFXvc1dtw707Boiyksgs-Xx52moLMXzJtmKNR9uOoYnsULXtsY0sOhBYGiAsK8hqMa4kYuL11OzwZgeZ78L42Gpq9S-WrpU5azARzwL1SHo9BgmdGM-iu42s/s1600-h/the+pose+of+the+next+100+years.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EmTeB5IqRb7hag5tmFHkFXvc1dtw707Boiyksgs-Xx52moLMXzJtmKNR9uOoYnsULXtsY0sOhBYGiAsK8hqMa4kYuL11OzwZgeZ78L42Gpq9S-WrpU5azARzwL1SHo9BgmdGM-iu42s/s400/the+pose+of+the+next+100+years.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297697685067411762" /></a><br /><br />Whilst there we also came across our first beggars of Bhutan, which had been a pleasant break from India where they seemed to be everywhere. These beggars were a little different though, being small puppies (everyone go "ahhhh")...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvT2CAvh5mg5xxDsaGQLFaayLVmexeIM5CzwDYkD-5Yzc1w4Dn-wnjZli54XBunWk-wnYQSA7to3mrLfhfH6-cSY_3GVuMj78sAE9WxA86xhZ-NphjWsW5WHA7ojkhjSDcxzO4cnGtdw/s1600-h/beggar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvT2CAvh5mg5xxDsaGQLFaayLVmexeIM5CzwDYkD-5Yzc1w4Dn-wnjZli54XBunWk-wnYQSA7to3mrLfhfH6-cSY_3GVuMj78sAE9WxA86xhZ-NphjWsW5WHA7ojkhjSDcxzO4cnGtdw/s400/beggar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297697685093236674" /></a><br /><br />That's enough of that.<br /><br />With the final major sight of Bhutan wrapped up, I can only say that it's been amazing. I can see why people say that Bhutan is one of the most unspoilt places on earth; fingers crossed it will stay that way until I return, just please, sort the food out between then and now?<br /><br />The only thing which remained was to read Michael's article in the in-flight magazine for the Bhutanese airline, as I gawped out of the window at Mt Everest...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiixgudnyg-M46lq9urPaUv-wTFMPV9snw4UcuZu9BLw9s76fYupSnRp9H94w3sMch4jPLnb2fV7gIvnyX12mkjZi9H3u3bBz6TVC9lI_KChY-TgBEFcxIx0w_vvXNjMJFFK57ZwQ_WA/s1600-h/rutland+article.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjiixgudnyg-M46lq9urPaUv-wTFMPV9snw4UcuZu9BLw9s76fYupSnRp9H94w3sMch4jPLnb2fV7gIvnyX12mkjZi9H3u3bBz6TVC9lI_KChY-TgBEFcxIx0w_vvXNjMJFFK57ZwQ_WA/s400/rutland+article.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297697685776449106" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmxvMKzRg2CuHQQOO3Qdoxc6GY3KIUzi1Jtk-eoNR9bm-CrfaabeO972FqHhDyJftRSg4DYp3Z_tUaybmzUAImfJDcNu5lDam8B4v-0Gwzu1zTcgnqiAZZZAqWPG7JFALHpqhQiwotG4/s1600-h/mt+everest.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKmxvMKzRg2CuHQQOO3Qdoxc6GY3KIUzi1Jtk-eoNR9bm-CrfaabeO972FqHhDyJftRSg4DYp3Z_tUaybmzUAImfJDcNu5lDam8B4v-0Gwzu1zTcgnqiAZZZAqWPG7JFALHpqhQiwotG4/s400/mt+everest.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297699071277779906" /></a><br /><br />Onwards, to Hong Kong!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-53789301708781048922009-01-21T13:55:00.007+00:002009-01-21T14:39:41.504+00:00Bhutanese whirlwind!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dF5LcBmYEWQ76hnTDBzI9YLVr5L2cRr7LoQ4X_qHQU4WH0T8hAP3poW9q1272QpFWKytCYmkm-8iUOot6o6o6BOUrUBebZ3ubz04sUp73FsgKHSZiWvXybUR3cL0H7rYAbvqG2sat9U/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dF5LcBmYEWQ76hnTDBzI9YLVr5L2cRr7LoQ4X_qHQU4WH0T8hAP3poW9q1272QpFWKytCYmkm-8iUOot6o6o6BOUrUBebZ3ubz04sUp73FsgKHSZiWvXybUR3cL0H7rYAbvqG2sat9U/s400/sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293754641566393378" /></a><br />Arriving in the capital of Bhutan, Thimpu, 36 hours after departure from Singapore, an early night was called for. <br /><br />Rising early the next morning, we had been transported to a magical place. The small city of Thimpu was firmly lodged between the majestic slopes of towering giants, each one weighing in at over 4000m, almost four times that of England and Wales' highest peak, Snowdon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJv-rQYnVzMs6fk9YPsh_WzcgT8ZkE4NTdvou3-6b-3d65b2qQekxOfb5Jwyae9FD9tOcOyHid6LPOGuQTk_TdeploO4LVZELqKzzWvdP-zGm8LRpO-ayEPJscb4YwyvEhJyr2WR37-ZE/s1600-h/thimpu+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJv-rQYnVzMs6fk9YPsh_WzcgT8ZkE4NTdvou3-6b-3d65b2qQekxOfb5Jwyae9FD9tOcOyHid6LPOGuQTk_TdeploO4LVZELqKzzWvdP-zGm8LRpO-ayEPJscb4YwyvEhJyr2WR37-ZE/s400/thimpu+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293755054848944242" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwN_mz9w2B_O06r7a_Zl8Fi4N1Ql5jMdV6V8JGR6sMhC0w2mvxrLiHP4gwuRiL5kzXGQJSwx-m2sdlrPUChE6eV18-QrMfH6MR5ND655cOUzY6a-1C64ydmrRQ2XwX5W4CE7B8u6QUgA/s1600-h/thimpu.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwN_mz9w2B_O06r7a_Zl8Fi4N1Ql5jMdV6V8JGR6sMhC0w2mvxrLiHP4gwuRiL5kzXGQJSwx-m2sdlrPUChE6eV18-QrMfH6MR5ND655cOUzY6a-1C64ydmrRQ2XwX5W4CE7B8u6QUgA/s400/thimpu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293749953552697650" /></a><br /><br />Following a brief orientation of the city, my friend in Bhutan, Michael, was contacted and he advised me to wear my formal attire! Coming from the jungles of Borneo, I was rather surprised to hear formal attire was a prerequisite for me meeting him. We quickly went about acquiring a Bhutanese Gho, a dressing gown really, knee high socks and formal shoes. It was a good look, although probably only in Bhutan.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxv16QAqFit4vthOV0BR4_C_2PPGh-Xylh34qqzmoI1n94VhJJMZVBe_nvuDODkNMRJjoU4pSJKTCmBta1hTjbMyQYXNF6oP2RdpcVrwbzVAGuO-N9qvkhmVPCIP7FRJReTDaggnMp1U/s1600-h/me+gho.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdxv16QAqFit4vthOV0BR4_C_2PPGh-Xylh34qqzmoI1n94VhJJMZVBe_nvuDODkNMRJjoU4pSJKTCmBta1hTjbMyQYXNF6oP2RdpcVrwbzVAGuO-N9qvkhmVPCIP7FRJReTDaggnMp1U/s400/me+gho.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293749965752616354" /></a><br /><br />We rushed to meet Michael, who detailed the reasons behind the formality; we were to meet the chief justice minister, who had just been awarded the Bhutanese equivalent of an O.B.E. Oh, and most of the government would be there too!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZ_2INKZnlxb_L8YcKpZkfcecYGOWUzYe-9B9unNPOg-Vt1NzXXb36zRMgOurjiCsDyEGq1DMBTvdZyNmEZsxh8vDPTNOIe93-09pBD8EZJ0So-1lZpsYW8WZfHdGdpjmKAHPnIiFoWU/s1600-h/michael.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZ_2INKZnlxb_L8YcKpZkfcecYGOWUzYe-9B9unNPOg-Vt1NzXXb36zRMgOurjiCsDyEGq1DMBTvdZyNmEZsxh8vDPTNOIe93-09pBD8EZJ0So-1lZpsYW8WZfHdGdpjmKAHPnIiFoWU/s400/michael.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293749965789348114" /></a><br /><br />I was then given a very brief tutorial on how to greet the minister. In Bhutanese culture, when one receives an honor such as a promotion or medal, it is customary to give them a white scarf. Apparently this says something about their purity, but in all honesty I wasn't listening. Instead I was concentrating on the required moves. One has to bow, with palms facing the person, to about shin height (the height depends on the person, king would be to foot level, normal to knee,) then one standard and flicks a concertinaed scarf from one hand over the opposite arm, offering it to the person. <br /><br />I had one practice, now time for the real thing.<br /><br />After being ushered into his mansion on the hill, past many other dignitaries, some with swords, we entered the giving room. Official photographer on one side, aide the other, with a grinning minister planted between them.<br /><br />Only the mountain of white scarves to negotiate and it was Michael's turn to do the move. It went well, with the minister looking impressed. Pressure is on. My random presence is quickly explained and now it's my turn. Bow, stand, flick and offer. Success! I even got a compliment and photo for the occasion (the photo was rather cheeky given the queue!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupgOnh-G0_Mb-2Aka0mYS5D8LiFfr7RvXfiE70DsRrsmb4qBHQN0zbfjI8h21EG51QMAc5nf_q3UEYz-w3pW7MLIKyqrm1Fc6dz08dGclLh-mnIU4tgPuJJW2A_c3X9xyzgWC33-l0RQ/s1600-h/chief+justice.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhupgOnh-G0_Mb-2Aka0mYS5D8LiFfr7RvXfiE70DsRrsmb4qBHQN0zbfjI8h21EG51QMAc5nf_q3UEYz-w3pW7MLIKyqrm1Fc6dz08dGclLh-mnIU4tgPuJJW2A_c3X9xyzgWC33-l0RQ/s400/chief+justice.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293749964564949218" /></a><br /><br />After mingling with the great and good, including the only cancer doctor in Bhutan and all the judges, we eat the chilli-based buffet and depart. I for one now was a little wiser on the subtlety of Bhutanese politics.<br /><br />The afternoon was spent with a different part of Bhutanese society. The King's chief bodyguard had just been promoted and we were going to congratulate him as he was a personal friend of Michael's. This event, being important yet again, required another stab at the white scarf presentation, but was less nerve-wracking given the previous success! <br /><br />After presentation, we then sat down and spoke with him, via his daughter as interpreter, on what he felt like. One thing which didn't need any interpretation was how proud he was - that shone through. We then received alcoholic rice-wine drinks with egg (mine contained almost a whole egg shell too, which I duly crunched and swallowed most of it to not offend the host). Oh, and there was some chili floating around too just for good measure!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoMDPvOWWkcEo33GNCnOFFz0qb0nH_lpm8WZ-zcBGmGvQ-IBuDfQhASCPFaYVtREqSEeowuLGAqtWQlfdKUq5mqFFQsZ0Pi_Qu7afIKX_UXTKKybwBF-z3OxczaERBlQB2Rw23kaXcp0/s1600-h/bodyguard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFoMDPvOWWkcEo33GNCnOFFz0qb0nH_lpm8WZ-zcBGmGvQ-IBuDfQhASCPFaYVtREqSEeowuLGAqtWQlfdKUq5mqFFQsZ0Pi_Qu7afIKX_UXTKKybwBF-z3OxczaERBlQB2Rw23kaXcp0/s400/bodyguard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293749971458224962" /></a><br /><br />With new years' eve drawing in, we headed for a rather fancy restaurant service western cuisine, before meeting up with some expats to celebrate new year.<br /><br />Earlier that day, I had inquired as to how many foreign nationals lived in Bhutan, my guide, instead of giving a number as I would have expected, proceeded to list the five foreign nationals he knew of in the whole of the country. He wasn't far off in his estimate!<br /><br />Once at the house of an advisor to the Bhutanese government on environmental issues (as almost all foreigners just advise) we proceeded to have the most surreal of evenings. Surrounded by mostly Europeans, we all turned our hands to learning an Irish jig, followed by some line dancing. At first, I thought I must have just been a slow learner, not picking up the required moves nearly as fast as many others, but later it transpired that most of the crowd had been practicing this dance every week for the past few months. I then felt significantly less inept!<br /><br />The following day it was time for the real work to begin. I was to climb with my new, fitter and younger guide to 4500m, spending the night with a Buddhist monk tasked with looking after a small temple. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOOgxsHKZmOGi9koVwnz7Gvc2RCWf7mJcu-NtiBWuN4NYLh7ZpRMdr-yxEmzNRWJ9QDhAIhNBLZHCjpLwaAYjYnVhcFooGtcD6vcHgvfAamh17LrfE4SjhW_UZwrRIcXhNTGjexRyfzE/s1600-h/monk+lives+here.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxOOgxsHKZmOGi9koVwnz7Gvc2RCWf7mJcu-NtiBWuN4NYLh7ZpRMdr-yxEmzNRWJ9QDhAIhNBLZHCjpLwaAYjYnVhcFooGtcD6vcHgvfAamh17LrfE4SjhW_UZwrRIcXhNTGjexRyfzE/s400/monk+lives+here.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293752956511438114" /></a><br /><br />Setting off early on new years' day, this was to be the most work, or anything I had done on any new year before midday! We headed off up a steep slope and within 2 minutes I was covered in sweat and breathing hard; it was going to be tough. Little did I know my guide was finding it just as hard. 15 minutes later he started to straggle; it turns out that neither of us wanted to loose face so we had almost been jogging up the slope!<br /><br />With the walk scheduled to take 3 hours, I was understandably happy when we hit over three quarters of the way after only 45 minutes. We had been going fast!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KYfjiCDqb98crhWEd_IT5r06M1javxYGym2uwHaqXiqdXHFeGJDfQLciLwe1CQXZHBTH8RJnWHSLbaPokBIxds5VfGQUXHXifipV8zaFhBpMTOlLegGUTtNOCbzVaA7AHTYZNHBv9a8/s1600-h/monk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4KYfjiCDqb98crhWEd_IT5r06M1javxYGym2uwHaqXiqdXHFeGJDfQLciLwe1CQXZHBTH8RJnWHSLbaPokBIxds5VfGQUXHXifipV8zaFhBpMTOlLegGUTtNOCbzVaA7AHTYZNHBv9a8/s400/monk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293752962130450690" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFGz6PXl1MkYo_GZMP4kkuHJeHx2ZDL4LfKv30Grf95fddF7v_gIEORzyFQSOYol1wqcP-nn9sZmg9DA-CHdNOq7hr2rIrJeOm0g8wl42wv-hHdAXNTt8LFlyJ3Gkw9MDZY0rV5GhCyA/s1600-h/monk+outside.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFGz6PXl1MkYo_GZMP4kkuHJeHx2ZDL4LfKv30Grf95fddF7v_gIEORzyFQSOYol1wqcP-nn9sZmg9DA-CHdNOq7hr2rIrJeOm0g8wl42wv-hHdAXNTt8LFlyJ3Gkw9MDZY0rV5GhCyA/s400/monk+outside.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293752962060051314" /></a><br /><br />Once arriving at the monk's place, my guide mentioned that he had spent much of the last 13 years in isolation; it showed. During the evening meal, the monk served up as usual. Then, as we reached to serve ourselves, he snatched the serving plates out of our hands! Apparently, he wanted the rice, and fast!<br /><br />After spending the evening discussing why he chooses to live in isolation and how he came to be there, we drift off whilst the snow-storm rages outside...<br /><br />The following morning everything was awash with white. It was truly a sight to behold, and captured poorly on camera. You'll just have to trust me that it was a really amazing sight. One made even more majestic as we sat on the hill, huddled around a fire we had quickly erected, waiting for the clouds to clear (which they did slowly).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvShqkTAipILolRHlmYWgV1DyUhPQ7xOVHCSXMq-KwBE59PM0WAWM2S-LQ2bHU3zd-KSjWKwaKvPkSDIdtmy7citYckDcy7f3np8ciOpxuP2RY7lxDn6XJuxElSMT5gjeNSKhoZ-ZorQ/s1600-h/picnic+top.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvShqkTAipILolRHlmYWgV1DyUhPQ7xOVHCSXMq-KwBE59PM0WAWM2S-LQ2bHU3zd-KSjWKwaKvPkSDIdtmy7citYckDcy7f3np8ciOpxuP2RY7lxDn6XJuxElSMT5gjeNSKhoZ-ZorQ/s400/picnic+top.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293752964209915858" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxx3pB80Ka-NZ-o3pwqwSdDi_G9weNITJ2GJWVVzN5UynXmE3FRrY1eiJX0pvLRbnW_L8Sk313Y1R01AXY5IFcKJ26QdGbt_2gk5v26vFLxij0bpopZrPfbUtAmv_Bn9KH2cftukUmiU/s1600-h/scenery+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxx3pB80Ka-NZ-o3pwqwSdDi_G9weNITJ2GJWVVzN5UynXmE3FRrY1eiJX0pvLRbnW_L8Sk313Y1R01AXY5IFcKJ26QdGbt_2gk5v26vFLxij0bpopZrPfbUtAmv_Bn9KH2cftukUmiU/s400/scenery+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293754636604020130" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzNa4kayUKmqxRELCVyAMs8wYuh-03G62vxAIJyJjizXpAY1XtBcObe6hEjvb-ih6jhw4hWybHdWI6WUc9HN1eQokXwFYePvo28bed3_tsGmAfaAaVoGYYCZDp2kxQh-_EEiGCQAFBlY/s1600-h/mountain+top.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkzNa4kayUKmqxRELCVyAMs8wYuh-03G62vxAIJyJjizXpAY1XtBcObe6hEjvb-ih6jhw4hWybHdWI6WUc9HN1eQokXwFYePvo28bed3_tsGmAfaAaVoGYYCZDp2kxQh-_EEiGCQAFBlY/s400/mountain+top.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293754643998932482" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAc1ZuNOk54wSbQdTpBdFniqfXlv3zCaFWeSQndg3Q1V6A6wijCw_RNTIjDFbaBCPf8Ov1CfCMl9BOO4kd3VIi8II0fKYEW0eJMl-rQDSKEesjTkahCRKAPGh_-uGJTKrIIKuePW9oxI4/s1600-h/scenery+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAc1ZuNOk54wSbQdTpBdFniqfXlv3zCaFWeSQndg3Q1V6A6wijCw_RNTIjDFbaBCPf8Ov1CfCMl9BOO4kd3VIi8II0fKYEW0eJMl-rQDSKEesjTkahCRKAPGh_-uGJTKrIIKuePW9oxI4/s400/scenery+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293754638859342626" /></a><br /><br />With the climb down the hill taking significantly longer than it really should have done, owing to some really awful navigation (finger of blame well and truly lodged at the guide - sorry!), we headed off into the heart of Bhutan in search for a more rural view on Bhutanese life today.<br /><br />Journey's across Bhutan are always amazing. Firstly, the roads are pretty darn slow, with winding roads and perilous drops resulting in an average speed of 25km/h (and he was going as fast as I could/would want to go). The speed limit across almost all roads is set at 40km/h anyway!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlTcS7uBAWW4p_pH2HzsGy3xUM7HnsQ3tO8F_1-jcjbPbo-g1TPZYumFxOJY504BMJZmWzFSKLUFSPh3WsRXelqx28l3-8QqqNaBXoZWGmfH_BYn4hul6gQRRBkekxsxDbgHhd-EYN1Q/s1600-h/scenery.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlTcS7uBAWW4p_pH2HzsGy3xUM7HnsQ3tO8F_1-jcjbPbo-g1TPZYumFxOJY504BMJZmWzFSKLUFSPh3WsRXelqx28l3-8QqqNaBXoZWGmfH_BYn4hul6gQRRBkekxsxDbgHhd-EYN1Q/s400/scenery.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293752965728760082" /></a><br /><br />Arriving at a tiny village, one day's travel outside the capital, we were swiftly guided up the hillside, to an encampment where the yearly archery tournament was being run between two rival villages. In a field on the steep banks of the valley, we gathered in two huddles, one around each target. Safety "UK" style is a thing of the past there, with everyone staying only metres (about 10) away from the targets. Although this doesn't sound too bad, please bear in mind that the archers were firing from a station over 150m away - that's a long way for any shooting competition, let alone an archery one! Luckily, with archery being the national sport of Bhutan, they are all damn good.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSCN7qvln10nSfwZZLFh1Tt9VFh2e7_QKAHQ8Apq8yzdPjOpl4FyXwIZ68W5iVLaxZEQ-60Z3AM4pmCdUQ2zD08bDwfOYXc_KdXCDZluelEh7xOKTwVFNO9a4KACtfhyphenhyphen4mJg7z-ixJdg/s1600-h/archery+scenery.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSCN7qvln10nSfwZZLFh1Tt9VFh2e7_QKAHQ8Apq8yzdPjOpl4FyXwIZ68W5iVLaxZEQ-60Z3AM4pmCdUQ2zD08bDwfOYXc_KdXCDZluelEh7xOKTwVFNO9a4KACtfhyphenhyphen4mJg7z-ixJdg/s400/archery+scenery.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293754647645085522" /></a><br /><br />For now I shall leave you, but I shall return with the remainder of the Bhutanese story soon.....<br /><br />P.S. Sorry for not updating this in a while, but internet cafes are a rare sight in China, although WiFi hotspots are very common - I now have a small laptop and so have little excuse as I write from Shanghai!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-13443162243413687992009-01-08T12:56:00.006+00:002009-01-08T14:21:33.124+00:00Christmas in the Jungle, Singapore and a journey to forget!After the departure of Patrick, it was left to Scott and me to hold the British end up with Christmas in the jungle.<br /><br />Due to our collective lack of jungle experience and desire not to walk too far, we decided on an area of secondary (less old trees, although smaller saplings and spiky things) jungle, preferring the crest of a hill which would offer less mosquitoes and a better breeze. After over an hour of thrashing around with only one parang between the two of us, a clearing had been made and we set about fashioning a bench, fire bed and erecting a tarp.<br /><br />With everything looking ship-shape, the job of making our evening meal soon came about. Our Christmas meal was to consist of chicken stew, Christmas pudding and custard. Yum. Despite Brunei being a dry Muslim state, we both had a can of lager and stout each. Don't drink it all at once!<br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJQGvpFHE5qsbpJcMqSQJDU7KO5QzfTkJ1UsEKUYv8gqts6T0qxoYQj-SKz0-qs9sy1dXmEEMUTY2SwCe0lr-2uhwGoTbBnPRp-OU1LFHict34xVib0_KAVwxl1RA34nT1UNZN2lW9Rw/s1600-h/Christmas+Jungle.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJQGvpFHE5qsbpJcMqSQJDU7KO5QzfTkJ1UsEKUYv8gqts6T0qxoYQj-SKz0-qs9sy1dXmEEMUTY2SwCe0lr-2uhwGoTbBnPRp-OU1LFHict34xVib0_KAVwxl1RA34nT1UNZN2lW9Rw/s400/Christmas+Jungle.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288909735581378258" /></a><br /><br />With a nicely sized spider looking on and in spite of a massive downpour culminating in the loudest clap of thunder ever, we both had a good time, trying our hand at making traps and a bamboo fire saw.<br /><br />It certainly wasn't a normal Christmas, but it was one to remember. Made even more special by our hand-sized visitor. How nice.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEjd-FGjjfBXeD9LGHIhKIflpbL6t2yYFvaBZ_lEZqrTAR-NKrnDycM0ScRejPkX-J3agQ1g7MNJ5cdT2b1nWAionZEIdnZDTA-6v8bmWTAis3e_sHheI9u5zg_9veVHhM8Cz5EDG_70/s1600-h/Spider.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqEjd-FGjjfBXeD9LGHIhKIflpbL6t2yYFvaBZ_lEZqrTAR-NKrnDycM0ScRejPkX-J3agQ1g7MNJ5cdT2b1nWAionZEIdnZDTA-6v8bmWTAis3e_sHheI9u5zg_9veVHhM8Cz5EDG_70/s400/Spider.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288909730619339378" /></a><br /><br />Next it was on to Singapore, and time to see a good friend and his new wife!<br /><br />After arriving in Singapore, it was comforting to see little had changed; Singapore always comforts me with its ruthless efficiency whilst it strives for perfection. It's like the Germany of the east; I'm rather fond of Germany.<br /><br />With the flight on Royal Brunei Airways complete, always something of a time-warp with blessings for the flight and boiled sweets before landing, I had to clear customs. It turns out, given the shocked stares as my bag goes through the x-ray machine, which you a not supposed to bring into Singapore a three foot long ceremonial headhunting sword, even in your check-in baggage. Aah.<br /><br />This prompted a 30 minute conversation between Mr Customs and me which went something like this:<br />"Why you bring sword to Singapore?"<br />"It was a gift from a tribe I stayed with in Borneo, see look at these photos, it is from this ceremony..."<br />"Sword is not allowed in Singapore!"<br />"I'm not going to use it; in fact I want to post it home."<br />"Hummn... [Phones ministry for weapons] They say sword is okay, but don't use it in public."<br />"[wanted to say, how stupid do you think I am?] Yes, okay, thank you very much."<br />I leave with a piece of paper and my sword. Phew, glad that one was over!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_17N-j7GHc2wz0bZqeDfIlcdJ7sOw2VNv2ffJ8g3A_RmPLjp8lspFi0sZSI2YM5SM15kCfBzFdEOAgJk69RT51O31P5qlV6qTsgxT4_t93ZdLifm4p6h-zWcCTSWcGRrbGr5mEVRU44/s1600-h/PC280765.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3_17N-j7GHc2wz0bZqeDfIlcdJ7sOw2VNv2ffJ8g3A_RmPLjp8lspFi0sZSI2YM5SM15kCfBzFdEOAgJk69RT51O31P5qlV6qTsgxT4_t93ZdLifm4p6h-zWcCTSWcGRrbGr5mEVRU44/s400/PC280765.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288916105112892770" /></a><br /><br />The next two days were spent with John and his lovely new wife, who made me feel very welcome. Possibly the most important thing I learnt was the existence of the "Milo dinosaur" and Milo Godzilla", a chocolate drink with extra chocolate powder, and extra chocolate powder and ice-cream, respectively. Easily Singapore's most important attractions.<br /><br />The other event of note was the 5-1 trouncing, delivered by Liverpool to Newcastle in a football match we enjoyed with John's parents; John [and therefore I] supports Liverpool!<br /><br />After saying my farewell, it was time to start an arduous journey to Bhutan which would take almost 48 hours...<br /><br />Following a flight to Madras, then a connection to Calcutta, I had an overnight train to a boarder town, about 12 hours away. If anyone has ever been on an Indian train, you know how confusing the system is, with over 7 classes and a myriad of officials to negotiate. Unfortunately at the time of departure my ticket was still wait-listed, i.e. I didn't have a seat or bed. Still, I got on the train. <br /><br />Choosing an area next to the stench ridden toilets at the end of a carriage, I sat and awaited an opportunity to exploit the legendary Indian corruption...<br /><br />After twenty minutes my target was identified, the ticket collector smoking right next to the no smoking sign. Initial attempts were met with silly numbers (2000 rupees, or close to 35 pounds) so I sat back and waited, pretending to sleep. This annoyed him greatly, resulting in shouts of "You no sleep here." <br /><br />After another 90 minutes, he was close on buckling, so with four officials now gathered around me, I asked his best price; no less than 500 rupees. Using my fake wallet which only had 400 rupees (about 8 pounds) I gave him the lot. Success! I had managed to achieve a berth in the highest class (2 AC) for under 1/4 of the official cost. Corruption works again!<br /><br />After a further 5 hour drive, I met my two Bhutanese contacts, one driver and a guide. It was now time, without any break, to travel to the capital Thimpu, about six hours from the boarder town over a very rough road. We even got a land-slide on the way - it was nothing the resident JCB couldn't handle though!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHymdg8GZ0eHs3NdraxvWtodmmnBiLSuIsk_EVsJ-ATVxGihKABd2vqwgNM5CdPViMnwdMSK68k3dWxYq5Ds6noVPwe6qVNeR7F835GdkgLIOrWPRzozZ9x5xSJn_g2LBB2GeKXplLY7U/s1600-h/PC300780-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHymdg8GZ0eHs3NdraxvWtodmmnBiLSuIsk_EVsJ-ATVxGihKABd2vqwgNM5CdPViMnwdMSK68k3dWxYq5Ds6noVPwe6qVNeR7F835GdkgLIOrWPRzozZ9x5xSJn_g2LBB2GeKXplLY7U/s400/PC300780-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288926550641406370" /></a><br /><br />In the next episode, we have guest stars of a Bhuddist monk at 4500 metres, most of the Bhutanese Government, ministers and all and an archery competition... I'll leave you with a little taster...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBXhOpNH50cIqQYGxGxq2iy_qeI8G2IFl_h2kLN15BSvGiK3gtZYm7lpwlb8Aj9sVAhXAMWfiVx2_E45QY58M_ldW6plfTg-LxZE8VsDde4Jweq5ZqvRip3mRR1h07YRxrXNYrqfdjUg/s1600-h/P1041122-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBXhOpNH50cIqQYGxGxq2iy_qeI8G2IFl_h2kLN15BSvGiK3gtZYm7lpwlb8Aj9sVAhXAMWfiVx2_E45QY58M_ldW6plfTg-LxZE8VsDde4Jweq5ZqvRip3mRR1h07YRxrXNYrqfdjUg/s400/P1041122-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288927641989909202" /></a><br /><br />(Yes, that has no windows, and is being driven down a 3500m slope, by two guys, at about -10 degrees, with a heavy covering of snow on the roads.....)Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-81989734179323553412008-12-28T04:38:00.016+00:002008-12-28T18:32:10.937+00:00Medal GivingFollowing the departure of Mark, the remaining four members of the team washed, cleaned and made ready for the imminent visit to an Iban long-house in Sarawak, the Malaysian portion of Borneo, approximately two days travel from our current residence in Brunei.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJ4Oukqh2KTv8Nk2DkdhyphenhyphenPTi9dyuGxkKIjW9UKIuVT5s0Wg4L4ihBBgmksPNwLBy826TPNvbaMUmH3YnCzbpi6EcZo9CaxfQT1hvIMr53xIRxLl_EtK6jbDlD8yf06TZtWjaIwWc0DAU/s1600-h/TwodaysTravel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJ4Oukqh2KTv8Nk2DkdhyphenhyphenPTi9dyuGxkKIjW9UKIuVT5s0Wg4L4ihBBgmksPNwLBy826TPNvbaMUmH3YnCzbpi6EcZo9CaxfQT1hvIMr53xIRxLl_EtK6jbDlD8yf06TZtWjaIwWc0DAU/s400/TwodaysTravel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284906475410211202" /></a><br /><br />Each longhouse is provided with a phone from the government so that the head-man can be reached in case of emergency, or if there is a requirement to waste his time with paperwork and bureaucracy. The numbers we had for our long-house were now out of service, and any efforts made to get into contact with them had failed. So the decision was made to make a 6 hour trip to the Malaysian boarder, in order to meet someone who has a relative who lives in the longhouse and hopefully knows what is going on. Luckily it turns out that the numbers had changed and that everything was still good to go.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ld07ooAedAg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ld07ooAedAg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />The following day we all set off on a journey which was to take us over two days to reach our final destination. After crossing the boarder with the help of a car from a friend of Stuarts, we spent the night at a hostel, before spending the whole of the next day on a bus, and finally riding in the back of a 4x4 pickup truck, with 1.5 gallons of formic acid between our legs. That evening we finally arrived, rather exhausted, to be greeted by the Iban headman.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYa3kZD6HdyXX7tIVZeCSpo-VDw7t8B-r43djFuyNhLjFAplPuk3v117Z1tt3t4TkmbuYuNQr2evYe_lxlUrgL78dQFn3VhxPTwXJmYi93MjMUeDjDd3aE0XunlZUJfj7xV5uRcK-6m9w/s1600-h/Pickup+ride.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYa3kZD6HdyXX7tIVZeCSpo-VDw7t8B-r43djFuyNhLjFAplPuk3v117Z1tt3t4TkmbuYuNQr2evYe_lxlUrgL78dQFn3VhxPTwXJmYi93MjMUeDjDd3aE0XunlZUJfj7xV5uRcK-6m9w/s400/Pickup+ride.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284906601470490994" /></a><br /><br />Last year, when Stuart had visited the long-house, it consisted of about 300 people. When we arrived, it turns out that the long house was no longer – and had actually split into two. After enquiring why the answer of “Tsunami” was given; rather unusual given that we were 200km inland and there was nothing about it on the news! Something was amiss. But either way, there were now two, slightly smaller longhouses. <br /><br />We decided to visit the longhouse of the ex-British tracker, a man called Anvil, who had worked with the British military during the two wars of the late 1950’s and early 1960’s called the “Emergency” and “Confrontation” – if only to ensure that the insurance was obtained, which stated that they would only pay out if no wars occurred! Now in his late 70’s, Anvil had been given a medal by the Malaysian government to go with the British medal he received at the time. We also had badges, a full officer’s report and pictures of the people he served with at the time, both then and now. <br /><br />The Iban are an ex headhunting tribe, selected by the British military for their honour and ferocity in battle. Although I say “Ex” I really mean only just ex, as the last head-hunting happened back in 2002. At that time another tribe was placed in Iban land and started taunting their new neighbours calling them a wuss. Bad idea.<br /><br />During the wars, the Iban are known for sneaking into the enemy camps, slicing the heads off half, or more, of the enemy before sneaking back out again. As you can imagine, waking up in the morning with over half of your mates head’s missing is a rather worrying thing, especially because you didn’t hear anything. This had a significant psychological effect on the young soldiers sent to fight against the British and Iban. Let’s just say that I was minding my P’s and Q’s, and paid significant attention to the cultural briefing provided by Stuart. Saying this, the Iban were some of the most welcoming and warm people I’ve seen for quite a while!<br /><br />As our arrival was shortly before darkness, we had only time to meet the heads of one of the small long-houses, discuss our purpose and intended length of stay, before being offered Tuak and Durian. Tuak is a rice-wine which is fermented by the Iban from the rice grown in the Iban fields. As it is home-made the strength varies greatly, as does the quality, but one thing stays common; you have to down the first glass you are given, no questions asked. Luckily I’m not too shabby with drink, and so the Tuak was quite palatable. Durian on the other hand was a different story. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJNfaL9xk5p_JlaBYWRi5zg7l6oUVlbLx4-12qOQhz6jxMCQQVCECy_QpQy2851bLBusWaGC4W43lbQ0yyAx8Ji_smAmWs9pqpPr1NXh0YaoJPvuDVlxggUhhRDiZRvdx7rm_4q3HheI/s1600-h/Longhouse+welcome.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJNfaL9xk5p_JlaBYWRi5zg7l6oUVlbLx4-12qOQhz6jxMCQQVCECy_QpQy2851bLBusWaGC4W43lbQ0yyAx8Ji_smAmWs9pqpPr1NXh0YaoJPvuDVlxggUhhRDiZRvdx7rm_4q3HheI/s400/Longhouse+welcome.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284906675790313826" /></a><br /><br />Smelling of old socks mixed with cheese, the fruit durian is often banned in many public places in more civilised areas of Asia. Although I didn’t really like the smell, I wasn’t put off it, and so tucked in quite gladly. The taste was quite nice, similar to that of a pear crossed with a slimy star-fruit. But there was something extra, a little fizz on the tongue, something I didn’t like… After about a minute it became apparent what that taste was, I was having an allergic reaction to it, and it was rather strong.<br /><br />So, here I was, in the middle of the jungle, at least 3 hours drive by 4x4 away from the nearest village, having an allergic reaction of unknown potency to a fruit I’d never tried before, within 10 minutes of meeting a tribe of head-hunters. Things could be better.<br /><br />After quietly informing the other guys, I gobbled down three anti-histamines and proceeded to go very quiet and try to relax in the corner. With my airway slowly closing up and a bad itch spreading over my body, I hoped it would end soon.<br /><br />Luckily after only an eternity filling 45 minutes, the symptoms subsided, leaving me with an asthmatic sounding breathing and a swollen tongue which would slowly fade over the next few hours. That’s drama one over, fingers crossed we wouldn’t be having any more!<br /><br />The next day was filled with a trip to a “Local” field, about 2 hour’s walk away. On route we were fed almost every fruit in the jungle, felled a different palm to be taught about taking the pith for use as tinder for fires, the leaves for weaving, the heart for eating and many other uses besides. <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdoDlpWfObAD3tp_Rcmi8rRaRcB2Yp9xXGZIuPI_D2lycy18NhjXH0FaUiiDL8XlvOowRgz-QDaQRZT-yZtYVJPfvmhyphenhyphenkHmLwmuokjqc5rcBFwZSnED0EO3QCS9uay6aQx3GsilUYHHFY/s1600-h/Walk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdoDlpWfObAD3tp_Rcmi8rRaRcB2Yp9xXGZIuPI_D2lycy18NhjXH0FaUiiDL8XlvOowRgz-QDaQRZT-yZtYVJPfvmhyphenhyphenkHmLwmuokjqc5rcBFwZSnED0EO3QCS9uay6aQx3GsilUYHHFY/s400/Walk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907132176552418" /></a><br /><br />We saw that the Iban we were with were the real deal. Nothing had been put on for tourists (especially as we were the only whites they had contact with, ever) and these people really did think of the jungle as their supermarket. Even small children, who were depressingly dressed in shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, wondered through the jungle picking up food like no tomorrow. One child, who must have been no older than 8 years, walked right into the river with a needle made from a local palm, rummaged around for about 5 minutes whilst we were gathering tinder, only to emerge with 5 small fishes attached to the needle. Amazing.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F3Yue-u02fc&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F3Yue-u02fc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPRY_vPvzsxP097dxmVykul6D_B9BWjeex4osPEKi71lMd0ePCUqIZ6d9aa8Ja7hWL4pOmRZtHfDLEU4iJySIuiecXsNLMiY-G0uHQcynuo9IKYz6BImilJiEBa05_W3koa0Fo6S9EpQ/s1600-h/Walkriver.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPRY_vPvzsxP097dxmVykul6D_B9BWjeex4osPEKi71lMd0ePCUqIZ6d9aa8Ja7hWL4pOmRZtHfDLEU4iJySIuiecXsNLMiY-G0uHQcynuo9IKYz6BImilJiEBa05_W3koa0Fo6S9EpQ/s400/Walkriver.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907133653326882" /></a><br /><br />Whilst we were slipping all over the place with our big boots and jungle gear, the Iban were dancing amongst the rocks with either flip-flops or bare feet. It’s also true that mosquitoes must like the exotic flesh. I can just imagine the conversation now <br />“Fancy another Iban tonight dear?” <br />“No thanks, I hear there’s a good English wondering through today. Never had that before and my friend says it’s like Iban but softer and sweeter – sound good?” <br />“Lovely, I’ll get the friends round and we can all eat some English.”<br />English, Scottish and Welsh were certainly high on the mosquito menu, as usual.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd9QOOsZB8TS_cW-cLS87d5yIkYAVCgczaKnHeyTSmr78viTgwWx_HmHI0F7j64HcrON63ncghFFocUTlmnwsGTUbG3Q4pczJJXlot7u0DUUvFVB3FOVCPubiaBiP6l1vIoWlexkpLM4/s1600-h/Remoteview.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd9QOOsZB8TS_cW-cLS87d5yIkYAVCgczaKnHeyTSmr78viTgwWx_HmHI0F7j64HcrON63ncghFFocUTlmnwsGTUbG3Q4pczJJXlot7u0DUUvFVB3FOVCPubiaBiP6l1vIoWlexkpLM4/s400/Remoteview.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907141670221202" /></a><br /><br />Once arriving at our destination, we marvelled at a home-made shotgun, made from some pipes the loggers had left behind and bits of wood. Then food was thrust in our face in the form of a creature which was half rat, half porcupine. We all chipped into removing the spines, before it was roasted over and open fire, and the traditional fare of née bong, sticky rice and assorted jungle things fed to us all.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbm3KoyKFl7wiRN33pfH-mL6gl_mf9gpHbbxvPoi1YPbMZvceZz9AXHqfx34EHv8Bq3PlEoJMqlr1Q854XMxezVczn387jikg0QSUaWsKDcQg-nxtnRuZR4NUwz6-szYK-is67VmvOxk/s1600-h/PrepProkupine.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbm3KoyKFl7wiRN33pfH-mL6gl_mf9gpHbbxvPoi1YPbMZvceZz9AXHqfx34EHv8Bq3PlEoJMqlr1Q854XMxezVczn387jikg0QSUaWsKDcQg-nxtnRuZR4NUwz6-szYK-is67VmvOxk/s400/PrepProkupine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907380304296738" /></a><br /><br />From there we tromped back through the jungle, which had large swathes removed by recent logging activity of the logging companies who had moved into the local area with the approval of the government, for an evening of celebration and merriment. For we were being told that tonight there would be a traditional Iban festival in our honour given the purpose of our visit…<br /><br />In preparation for the festival a pig was captured and we all donned suitable headwear – a hat which had feathers placed in various holes, each of which containing symbolic meaning. For example the Hornbill, whose feather was in the centre, was the most important element of the headdress, which often was used to symbolise the beginning of something important (often in Iban culture this was a battle!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3M2iLH-bUU-uWjcQN-G8iTs6BqJYNF_lHKpgTnTpPflr6cuh23cQdq2WPphlTo014TVaSt5Fn14ILWvU9pwcIl0bP5gitE1DcCzlc1YJyQqyeLW2PFtRn8veN4bzziLhhTFhCgyKY4XE/s1600-h/Headdress.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3M2iLH-bUU-uWjcQN-G8iTs6BqJYNF_lHKpgTnTpPflr6cuh23cQdq2WPphlTo014TVaSt5Fn14ILWvU9pwcIl0bP5gitE1DcCzlc1YJyQqyeLW2PFtRn8veN4bzziLhhTFhCgyKY4XE/s400/Headdress.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907640847844642" /></a><br /><br />After being given our head-dresses, we were led out of the longhouse and told to march in a specific order to the front door. Here we met the pig, who after being jammed into a bag, carried 400metres squirming, squealing and being dropped multiple times, was already having a bad day. Stuart was then given a spear and told to stab the pig in the throat. Given that the pig was still in a bag, with only a snout protruding from one corner, this was not an easy task, and I suspect he hit it closer to the shoulder on the initial strike. After some jiggling around the squeals began to turn into gargled sounds and key parts of the anatomy were breached. <br /><br />With the pig still twitching, we hopped over it and began to tour the long-house, shaking the hand of everyone. Once the tour was complete we sat in a line and were jabbered at by an older man who was holding two chickens, but still had a cigarette in his mouth. It seems that the ceremony was important, but it wasn’t going to interrupt his usual smoking session!<br /><br />The chickens obviously knew what was coming, so one pecked his fag and took a deep drag before spluttering it onto the floor. Amusing as this was, we all tried to keep a straight face, it’s important stuff, even if you do look like a wannabe peacock. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtP9fvPWj3fDWMJAVIivLVEBH_5BUJbVIo57bXzIgs9dsDyFGdo2Sk4xl7d2XWOWX7A2jQNJOqnDWPHbl9cUEkcbwC-EHJhuFT9cdplnrDgDvLjl6WSlWf76q8Mild0_042Ava-aaIrXE/s1600-h/Ceremony.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtP9fvPWj3fDWMJAVIivLVEBH_5BUJbVIo57bXzIgs9dsDyFGdo2Sk4xl7d2XWOWX7A2jQNJOqnDWPHbl9cUEkcbwC-EHJhuFT9cdplnrDgDvLjl6WSlWf76q8Mild0_042Ava-aaIrXE/s400/Ceremony.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907817701938738" /></a><br /><br />Now it was time to create the meals for the spirits, who must eat before we can continue our greetings. About 15 items were carefully split into piles on a plate – my lucky number was 5, so that meant five piles of everything. Some people only had two piles; other people were really lucky and had a tiresome 9 piles to make. Due to the required repetition, this took about 30 minutes to complete. <br /><br />Unfortunately, Scott by this time was feeling VERY unwell, probably due to a bad case of dehydration from the earlier walk, but with the real reason remaining a mystery until this day, poor Scott was desperately trying to keep down any food he had eaten. I’m not sure what the Iban would have done if he had chundered over the meals of the spirits who protect the long-house, but I suspect they wouldn’t have been overly happy.<br /><br />Chunder still well and truly in his belly, Scott managed to make it through the ceremony. Now was the time for us to present the medals, make the speeches and for everyone to eat and then make merry! Don't ask me where the headman got his suit from, that's just one of those things which shocks you when you go on your travels - how civilised everyone actually is, despite their location!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPvM_lUy1plwfXNB6aRCt6JawAKvgatG6X0WvQRuR5SW6g33chnZjNmCn3ePhQ7_CqZYAtxNLfiRNeZcoPWqFeYoxRx2gORzpsgQPJUx9_5B8SYypjEAJklUgCMdoSXPDOUoXknCiDX0/s1600-h/Medalpic.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPvM_lUy1plwfXNB6aRCt6JawAKvgatG6X0WvQRuR5SW6g33chnZjNmCn3ePhQ7_CqZYAtxNLfiRNeZcoPWqFeYoxRx2gORzpsgQPJUx9_5B8SYypjEAJklUgCMdoSXPDOUoXknCiDX0/s400/Medalpic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284907974416916978" /></a><br /><br />Following the medals and speeches, it was traditional for us to dance. First the head-man danced, so that we can see how it’s done. The dance was very slow, with a rhythmical beat you had to keep to. The main impression was to tell a story, often of a battle. One had to start off with an impression of a horn-bill (told you that bird was important!) before moving onto your story, which mostly looked like a slow swooping, combined with pecking like a chicken.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9kAxd9krzsU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9kAxd9krzsU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Both Stuart and I gave this a go, with Patrick feeling tired from the walk, and Scott zonked out on a bed the far side of the long-house feeling very ill. Stuart’s was very similar, ending in the traditional props of a parang and shield, but I decided to spice mine up with the use of two sticks and a “heaven six” stick movement from my martial art’s class as an ending. The idea was for free laughs from the impression of a horn-bill and fascination from the crazy white-man’s stick twirling. It seemed to be well received. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YFdKyMCKRxM&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YFdKyMCKRxM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />[No videos of me dancing - sorry!]<br /><br />After our initial round and the dances of some of the other members of the long-house, I decided it was time to give it another go. It’s time to have some fun and play charades! I got up for the dance and tried to act out hunting a pig, including searching for it, tracking it down, fighting it, dragging it back, cooking it over the fire, and finally eating and going to sleep.<br /><br />With this fresh in his mind, Stuart added a similar story-dance, but his ended in running away from the prey. Both seemed well received and hopefully provided amusement to our hosts, mostly at our expense!<br /><br />The next two days were filled with observing weaving, eating the same meals over and over again and assisting around the camp. On one day I helped build a chicken hutch.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2JAD_mpbmVgRjab9SLT7KoA6NP8N0dwiFPIYwKG04igexX_UoabiXA-pjRXuDm-UTePlNcd-H7_uF9V8w4pojdpMIuqwK0mk33MS7QL5CzJoUr-7J1ZFqI0ucVEmDgV33pGWBDLpHzU/s1600-h/Hutch.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2JAD_mpbmVgRjab9SLT7KoA6NP8N0dwiFPIYwKG04igexX_UoabiXA-pjRXuDm-UTePlNcd-H7_uF9V8w4pojdpMIuqwK0mk33MS7QL5CzJoUr-7J1ZFqI0ucVEmDgV33pGWBDLpHzU/s400/Hutch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284908376285275010" /></a><br /><br />During the construction of the hutch, it became necessary to move it into the final position. At the time the head-man (remember that he is aged about 70-80 years) and one of the young men were lifting the hutch, which wasn’t light in its construction. I quickly offered my help in place of the head-man, which he was happy to oblige. After seeing him easily handle the hutch, I was rather surprised to find it very heavy, so with him not rushing on the positioning instructions I strained, desperately trying to ensure that I didn’t let him realise that he’s probably twice my strength! These people are amazing – although far smaller than an average western man, they should start strength competitions – they would kick our ass!<br /><br />With our visit drawing to a close, it was time to head back to Brunei, of course with a 5 hour wait in the middle of nowhere to try and find a bus…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLr6oyiUYWEvfmoiNbjS_0Qah5SZHdAkTKMBc-hDYCcakrARdtJ2P6Gr39bnlDOxmKTGIGrRDTrddkWG6NHSt5WZsQWsdphL5ZvjuPvCLm9hsl_6zufIxalcneaQ8qbTtgloi4rfRbM8/s1600-h/Waiting.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLr6oyiUYWEvfmoiNbjS_0Qah5SZHdAkTKMBc-hDYCcakrARdtJ2P6Gr39bnlDOxmKTGIGrRDTrddkWG6NHSt5WZsQWsdphL5ZvjuPvCLm9hsl_6zufIxalcneaQ8qbTtgloi4rfRbM8/s400/Waiting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284908531485779106" /></a><br /><br />As we had all traded pretty much everything we owned, including knives, flint-steels, hats, gloves and back-packs (for some of the guys at least) there was only one hat left. We were then left with a wonderful choice. Sit under the shade, and get eaten by mozzies, or stand out in the sun, with the one remaining hat, and roast alive. I prefered the sun option and as the hat was mine, spent most of the time lookng like Stuart in this picture, holding a sign with the name of the city we needed to get to!<br /><br />Until next time – have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-59695961619269288512008-12-27T11:29:00.009+00:002008-12-27T11:49:30.726+00:00Jungle training, part two....Following a day to set up, over the next 6 days it was time to start learning the skills which would make life a little more comfortable...<br /><br />We all bounded out of our hammocks after a surprisingly good nights sleep, to spend the next five minutes desperately hopping on the wet, sandy ground whilst trying to get our ant-infested boots on. It turns out that the conga line of ants running up the tree three of us tied our hammocks to, was now running down our hammock lines. <br /><br />After a brief fire to get a brew on, conversation turned to the day's activities. It was decided that we would spend the next few days gathering food, before exploring and finally making a bush shelter on the final night. <br /><br />The first food to gather was to be 'née bong' palm-heart. This is the central part of a large, spiny palm, often yielding as little as three coke-cans in size of asparagus flavoured flesh per tree. This gave rise to the name "Millionaires salad", of which it is the major constituent. It's also the answer to the question I posed on my previous posting.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LbZ_A43qcBJ1AJvLIbPdCanwluOANx_Jhv34-keo8p5Pcjul_AQPFgXsRmATbRs3EE-wploXopL_GahIeiLzkfTQyjljSZeAmJwqQb5EIVZtColgVRws-1NVDoXmeNPyp90Zu3GYtIY/s1600-h/Nebong.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LbZ_A43qcBJ1AJvLIbPdCanwluOANx_Jhv34-keo8p5Pcjul_AQPFgXsRmATbRs3EE-wploXopL_GahIeiLzkfTQyjljSZeAmJwqQb5EIVZtColgVRws-1NVDoXmeNPyp90Zu3GYtIY/s400/Nebong.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284433405646309394" /></a><br /><br />To acquire the née bong is a relatively easy undertaking, especially given the yield of almost pure carbohydrates. One simply locates a née bong tree, an easy task despite over 800 species of tree per 5km square in the jungle (putting that into perspective, the UK has about 50 species overall), given the quantity and size of spikes all over the tree including every layer under the outer layer. We then chopped the palm down, selecting the top meter of the trunk, discarding leaves and all else. Now came the tricky part, whereby the outer layer was torn off and the section was chopped down until a distinct change in colour was noted. Once identified, the palm heart was removed for immediate consumption, tasting like chunky asparagus, or to be thrown onto the fire with a layer of outer husk to yield a more delicate flavour, akin to an asparagus and potato bake.<br /><br />That was survival food one sorted. Now for some meat.<br /><br />Large animals are surprisingly rare in the jungle. Thinking back to the New Forest back in the UK, there are many large mammals, whereas in the jungle many mammals are at best rare, if not endangered. Whilst good from a safety point for animals such as the bear and clouded leopard, this means reliable protein must be taken from an alternative source, in our case frogs.<br /><br />With insects everywhere, frogs were abundant. So too were snakes, which feed on the frogs, but let's ignore that for now. We fashioned two types of spear to fell our dastardly foe, one made from a metal tip, purchased a few days before from a fishing shop, one from bamboo. Both were equally effective, but the durability of the metal tip was significant after the first struggle with a frog. <br /><br />I was to draw first blood, but not on the intended target, a small (60cm) snake was also hunting that night, so I decided that adding it to the pot may be wise, not least in case it was venomous! With so many species of snake in Borneo, no-one knew what this one was, and many baby snakes are just as deadly as their adult counterparts.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetx5kn9EJPPZqRYZn-9CwYRiYI5ApQEIXphTpMJ4u0fAZiCRCb924ZQ_H2DJplSuNB1cvOYVSFPp5lQSr1WWUHF4jgIMR5seSoKlLLOTBkozPfiJRLgrcR5QnxYwCu5GFe6GjvIyb2OQ/s1600-h/Spear.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetx5kn9EJPPZqRYZn-9CwYRiYI5ApQEIXphTpMJ4u0fAZiCRCb924ZQ_H2DJplSuNB1cvOYVSFPp5lQSr1WWUHF4jgIMR5seSoKlLLOTBkozPfiJRLgrcR5QnxYwCu5GFe6GjvIyb2OQ/s400/Spear.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284433657558344674" /></a><br /><br />So, with a small snake coiled around my spear, slowly dripping snake juice, I was feeling manly, almost Rambo-esque. Right up until I had to stumble in the dark, alone, to catch up with everyone else, fresh with the thought that mummy snake may be around. She would probably be rather irate, to say the least. Wait for me!<br /><br />Hunting continued for about 90 minutes, using the reflection of the frog’s eyes to locate them. Often we were being thrown by large spiders, which also create the same reflection! At the end of the hunt, our haul was substantial, with my snake and two frogs adding to a tally of about 15 frogs. Dinnertime!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gJD9czKa9G1bQAjyb4LuQR_fU3wSF0QP0F-FzCt5acbeASRLDAj8fGwlGa9jxsolMsvusPTrtlmgU-tCQC1vFciSP1m1AcsPhxeoPpvwf_uPkE54c3zez_V2Y7ZBFCm47Gw7Pkdu_LY/s1600-h/Frogslegs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gJD9czKa9G1bQAjyb4LuQR_fU3wSF0QP0F-FzCt5acbeASRLDAj8fGwlGa9jxsolMsvusPTrtlmgU-tCQC1vFciSP1m1AcsPhxeoPpvwf_uPkE54c3zez_V2Y7ZBFCm47Gw7Pkdu_LY/s400/Frogslegs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284433860724666994" /></a><br /><br />Each evening we would gather to collect water and wash in the lower pool, right next to a large colony of bats. Oh, and feed the local leeches, of which there were at least one per trip. <br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJilHOCp35w&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lJilHOCp35w&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />On return, still drenched from washing our clothes, we would eat, talk and undertake small projects such as carving items for traps the next day. Then it would be time to strip down to our boxers, check each other for leeches, removing with a lighter if necessary, and jump into the hammock. Once in our hammock, you had to position yourself carefully over the sleeping bag, as the mosquitoes can bite through the hammock and your clothes, as one guy found out the hard way. By now you are covered in sweat and have to powder your feet which have been in damp boots all day before drifting off with the sounds of the jungle ringing in your ears. <br /><br />The next day it was the turn of more water-dwelling creatures to hit the menu. With a large bit of netting and some traps improvised from bottles and leftovers, traps were set in our local washing pool to catch shrimp and fish. No longer than 5 seconds after trying to peg out the net, it was teeming with shrimp. So bad was the infestation that often shrimp would jump into the pot you were washing up, whilst you were washing it up!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRpkLymCSsDK3GlMxGRyU3e-NwMBjb0BwR5VmyZPDPzLFhCfHRHMAuDgkc8EKgFoe_mOIdbdmtE5HuamInfW5KMJPd8M6ekbgqsFlVMgBhCfjKHQ3tVjcv7rLfclH2BZ6F-0xA87Com8/s1600-h/Fishtrap.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRpkLymCSsDK3GlMxGRyU3e-NwMBjb0BwR5VmyZPDPzLFhCfHRHMAuDgkc8EKgFoe_mOIdbdmtE5HuamInfW5KMJPd8M6ekbgqsFlVMgBhCfjKHQ3tVjcv7rLfclH2BZ6F-0xA87Com8/s400/Fishtrap.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284434128133493154" /></a><br /><br />Two hours later, the traps were ready for collection, with the wriggling contents to be boiled in bamboo containers over the open fire. They were more than sweet enough to not need any butter or garlic, and vastly superior to the frogs. Yum.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeJYVgBJIEMM6qp05ghjDjFeN_9rdHHZaWR-gLTToNmokbpMaz9JBBuf1O7EHJ_H8emPPoWEOHzC6hMoIMh2rdhxIvnBIoqPnQAsYLg3CGh7yulIRxG_kJ3AIPeoyo-nbefbgiq9zFqw/s1600-h/Shrimp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBeJYVgBJIEMM6qp05ghjDjFeN_9rdHHZaWR-gLTToNmokbpMaz9JBBuf1O7EHJ_H8emPPoWEOHzC6hMoIMh2rdhxIvnBIoqPnQAsYLg3CGh7yulIRxG_kJ3AIPeoyo-nbefbgiq9zFqw/s400/Shrimp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284434371726570002" /></a><br /><br />The next morning, I was up significantly earlier than all else and began the task of getting water on the boil for breakfast. Whilst searching the camp for some additional water, I neglected the fire, which promptly set fire to the thatched roof, badly singing one of the tarps. Hardly my proudest moment. Although I contest that to design an elevated fire, which needs to support five people, putting a thatched roof at a low height above the fire is a rather flawed. After a quick repair to prevent the daily downpour from drenching our firewood, it was time to go fishing.<br /><br />Using the central part of a large fern as a rod, and line and hooks from our sets, we were off to fish in the main pool, spear in hand. Here fishing proved less than fantastic, but one creature was attracted by our activities. A turtle. With bait used as a lure, Mr Turtle (or Mrs Turtle, one cannot really tell with turtles) was lured into spear range, before being brutally despatched. Turtles are hard to kill, very hard, even after lots of vital part hacking, they still have a tendency to try and limp off.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaCg_gyCvGU-IDXneVHYpS30GkT0DJfg6AkHXRO1R9Ek9sJl_JJ15naXci8WlcbT6kpLBlEoutolJIMxmK1Wws-jMLMdd-zyVX5rxQRc9DNFbEuxQivopmdnYMho9ZqoQNu1pDdHilsc/s1600-h/Turtlepose.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaCg_gyCvGU-IDXneVHYpS30GkT0DJfg6AkHXRO1R9Ek9sJl_JJ15naXci8WlcbT6kpLBlEoutolJIMxmK1Wws-jMLMdd-zyVX5rxQRc9DNFbEuxQivopmdnYMho9ZqoQNu1pDdHilsc/s400/Turtlepose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284434706017311554" /></a><br /><br />With more née bong and shrimp collection, our evening spread was impressive.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWTjpOUYcFqCgSCAi2dJCXFPa8ozptiT4O4ZPCvkDxUSyFlNkBc4LYONr-Z0GqsBdasnt6G7oqv2kl93I67Ax3TcTTLULjD8vXetkQbxRNbh6pRVRHzE8NdPEiZtbBoaGI06Pv3eFiK0/s1600-h/Spread.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWTjpOUYcFqCgSCAi2dJCXFPa8ozptiT4O4ZPCvkDxUSyFlNkBc4LYONr-Z0GqsBdasnt6G7oqv2kl93I67Ax3TcTTLULjD8vXetkQbxRNbh6pRVRHzE8NdPEiZtbBoaGI06Pv3eFiK0/s400/Spread.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284434813651967874" /></a><br /><br />The remaining days followed similar formats, with downpours quickly swelling the river, preventing fishing. <br /><br />On the penultimate day we decided to go exploring, following an established path. Everything in the jungle becomes overgrown very quickly, paths are no exception. However, they are substantially better than nothing, which results in lots of hacking, a blunt parang and yet more sweat.<br /><br />After two hours of walking through the jungle we came upon a well established camp for the boarder patrol, which are tasked with preventing smuggling. Apart from the M16's on their beds, they didn't look very scary wondering around in shorts and a t-shirt in the hard-baked sand cleared by years of use. Mistaking us for a British military patrol, probably due to the excessive use of olive green, they smartened up and looked all busy, before relaxing once we told them our true purpose. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ixc_tV5FSDAvyPqXwV5SG-vMqpapbQf2tbq3ssC7OcmJa7aDwj24xDuq8SlMIzr0KGzk77Fwb4pI6VDNeJ4NiDBhFIj7aGGPHO1ziiYsj3cCv5Xk0kpA5c64V6BZFO6yhAOFKJ4oLZY/s1600-h/Boarderpatrol.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ixc_tV5FSDAvyPqXwV5SG-vMqpapbQf2tbq3ssC7OcmJa7aDwj24xDuq8SlMIzr0KGzk77Fwb4pI6VDNeJ4NiDBhFIj7aGGPHO1ziiYsj3cCv5Xk0kpA5c64V6BZFO6yhAOFKJ4oLZY/s400/Boarderpatrol.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284434941358878626" /></a><br /><br />After a brief chat relating to why we would ever *want* to visit the jungle for pleasure, they took us on a guided tour to a local waterfall and we all posed for a photo shoot. It turns out we were the first visitors, probably ever! <br /><br />Daylight hours running short, we returned to our camp by following "blazes", cuts on prominent trees, to lead the way. This route took us via a local swamp, ending up in a nice meal of army rations, before settling down for the night.<br /><br />The final day's task was to build a rather involved monkey trap and make a shelter I was to "sleep" in. Everyone said I would get eaten alive by mozzies, but oh well! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7wYwfiopDmCHNdPdZv4F14AcH2p_m94VBExUh9ynllZDQjCObbTsMD5c3k9ygpAXdfPA3lUc7NUpu8NCu4Vgna6C2vmHlUXr1dItLOmjXjqVbum6MsHDZuW9kVmKQrMiQ3ZtAZPG1E/s1600-h/Shelter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7wYwfiopDmCHNdPdZv4F14AcH2p_m94VBExUh9ynllZDQjCObbTsMD5c3k9ygpAXdfPA3lUc7NUpu8NCu4Vgna6C2vmHlUXr1dItLOmjXjqVbum6MsHDZuW9kVmKQrMiQ3ZtAZPG1E/s400/Shelter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284435444863592050" /></a><br /><br />With the trap constructed, focus turned to the shelter and all chipped in to help me build it before darkness. Although the shelter was pretty much completed, during some final adaptations too much weight was placed on one of the primary supports, which promptly snapped, shedding the roof and damaging the bed. After an attempt was made to fix it in the dark, the decision was made to abandon construction. Perhaps I will get the chance to feed some mosquitoes in South America instead!<br /><br />The time had come to pack up and move on to the next stage of our journey - the x- headhunting tribe of the Iban, once used as jungle trackers by the British military…. <br /><br />Until then!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-50562708972689152602008-12-17T03:18:00.016+00:002008-12-17T04:44:54.964+00:00JungletasticJungles. They are horrible things when you think about it really. Imagine exercising in a sauna whilst every few minutes someone opens the door to throw in random creatures, most of which bite or sting, all of which look like nothing on earth. Now imagine what one looks like after six days of that.<br /><br />We loved it.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNDxcu20zXyy3Zg7QAs8fr4Xex_riKtMVaEch3Eswhz_Xf84X5hqEYB8xj5rrqV77wpQJRfqCaaEIepsdPncljUu2nBBbEoEY8-lDK5_hWuJ8dO6K3YFyay7BSMYUUjpSQVdWfjSIhAM/s1600-h/PC130341-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNDxcu20zXyy3Zg7QAs8fr4Xex_riKtMVaEch3Eswhz_Xf84X5hqEYB8xj5rrqV77wpQJRfqCaaEIepsdPncljUu2nBBbEoEY8-lDK5_hWuJ8dO6K3YFyay7BSMYUUjpSQVdWfjSIhAM/s400/PC130341-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280613085356906786" /></a><br /><br />Jungles are everything I should hate, so being a little bit deluded; I decided that they must be included in my trip. Being very deluded, I decided that doing a survival course in one of them was a far better way to get to know them, and for all the creatures to get to know me too. <br /><br />Loving the cold and hating insects, whist retaining a healthy fear for anything which can kill me, jungles should have been off limits. Something in my head made me want to investigate why jungles polarise people so much. Some love, others detest. No-one comes out of the jungle without an opinion one way or the other.<br /><br />After a brief trip to see Agra and the Taj Mehal in India, I arrived on a late evening flight to Brunei (part of Borneo: <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&saddr=4.346411,114.609375&daddr=&hl=en&geocode=&mra=mi&mrsp=0&sz=5&sll=5.047171,118.564453&sspn=28.252826,52.77832&ie=UTF8&ll=6.664608,108.28125&spn=28.174396,73.652344&z=5"></a> ) <br /><br />Here I was greeted by our team (from right to left):<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jNT1dCOYMuMRh8mITpRk-9lRmFQ6p2GozvOfv9F3rv11mb5QymAowbu73LURMXioDM1R65uUGfXaazD3bK5OL4x1OOyCdMiODBHbeRUjqO46mtaMoZmGs4QOfVZIxpvKOEs6LHbUjWs/s1600-h/PC110216-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jNT1dCOYMuMRh8mITpRk-9lRmFQ6p2GozvOfv9F3rv11mb5QymAowbu73LURMXioDM1R65uUGfXaazD3bK5OL4x1OOyCdMiODBHbeRUjqO46mtaMoZmGs4QOfVZIxpvKOEs6LHbUjWs/s400/PC110216-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280596513198720914" /></a><br /><br /><strong>Stuart:</strong> The ‘local’ who runs survival trips into the jungle. He is originally Welsh.<br /><strong>Patrick:</strong> A head survival instructor from a Scottish survival school who already has experience in the jungle and is along for the ride.<br /><strong>Scott:</strong> A fellow Scott who works with Patrick.<br /><strong>Mark:</strong> A newly qualified survival instructor who is also Welsh.<br /><strong>Me [taking the photo]: </strong>An enthusiastic survival hobbyist, with much to learn!<br /><br />Over the next few weeks, we were to get acclimatised to the oppressive heat and humidity, before moving into the jungle for four separate trips. <br /><br />One day excursion to get used to everything and check our gear works. <br />A six day trip into the jungle for the survival training<br />A trip to meet a tribe of x-head-hunters and learn skills from them<br />A nice couple of nights in the jungle for Christmas day!!<br /><br />Before setting off into the jungle we had a day to acclimatise to the heat and humidity. Here we spent the time spotting monkeys using a river taxi and realising that although Brunei is a Muslim society, they aren’t as strict as one may expect... Either that, or they didn’t understand the not-so-hidden meaning of the middle poster.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bF8vvi7grPYllXWgy643cyuwl1BbILR7_wN3kISPuSvNzSa2MX7IEl0YO2TEvgVwTpZ1x9SxUeTDB_95Yu2QjUbijhTRmeEMU81BqEXHhnyrm5BeANOgLqSEifEqwkVlii5D0TjhM2Y/s1600-h/PC080108-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9bF8vvi7grPYllXWgy643cyuwl1BbILR7_wN3kISPuSvNzSa2MX7IEl0YO2TEvgVwTpZ1x9SxUeTDB_95Yu2QjUbijhTRmeEMU81BqEXHhnyrm5BeANOgLqSEifEqwkVlii5D0TjhM2Y/s320/PC080108-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280598363952037602" /></a><br /><br />Once our food had been purchased and everyone had double checked the contents of their bags, we were off for a day’s trip to a local lake in secondary jungle (i.e. “Jungle Lite”) to ensure that everything held up and no-one was a walking liability. <br /><br />This was a great day, with some improvised rafting. It also provided an excellent opportunity for everyone in the group to really bond and get to know each-other in the relative safety of jungle which wasn’t too far away from humanity.<br /><br />Stuart demonstrated a technique whereby trousers could be used as a flotation device, and we all just enjoyed a paddle around the smaller rivers. Meanwhile, Scott decided that one of the more menacing spiders should get to know him a little better, giving it a ride across some wet-land before realising and flicking it into the reeds.<br /><br />Things were laid back. Living was easy. From here it was to get a little tougher. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFefeFODFNc0MguE7BM5memKxKOMvFZzoiYY-3X3gcFyjDDYixses9YS9OQQRG2xVE6Xvxron2Kjkcf6tYZ7YWDfv-exi4wnfioYfwxomILFNN-nooTXsuXx4_nln-6sbThFF-zqsnTKY/s1600-h/PC090143-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFefeFODFNc0MguE7BM5memKxKOMvFZzoiYY-3X3gcFyjDDYixses9YS9OQQRG2xVE6Xvxron2Kjkcf6tYZ7YWDfv-exi4wnfioYfwxomILFNN-nooTXsuXx4_nln-6sbThFF-zqsnTKY/s400/PC090143-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280599886690389762" /></a><br /><br />The day after, we set off on a two hour drive to a more remote stretch of jungle. Summarising a rather lengthy story, there’s been a lot of logging in the world’s jungles, but luckily with the oil wealth of Brunei, they have been able to protect much of their jungle, so we were actually heading for one of the x-SAS training camps which until very recently was used by the British special forces to train their guys in jungle warfare. It’s currently winter selection for the forces, so there was much military activity around, however, they have moved their selection site a few km away from this site, allowing us to take over an old clearing for our own use. <br /><br />This was real jungle boys and girls. I was certainly under no illusions about the dangers – something clarified when I later saw a book entitled “Snakes of Borneo”, which ran to over 250 A4 sized pages, despite Borneo being smaller than Wales.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3z7O0mgXpsEpbRRLQ1UOgmS467_o6iZ2CtA4XFqx7EE6rGXsi8fnuBZHPkYToCDCaClp4ONIB702F8ADz7qbr7vjjcAq3kNq4RI63xegCNPgMDU2lyyPX3a7oxKSnrTFh8t08CZ8c-0/s1600-h/PC110189-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3z7O0mgXpsEpbRRLQ1UOgmS467_o6iZ2CtA4XFqx7EE6rGXsi8fnuBZHPkYToCDCaClp4ONIB702F8ADz7qbr7vjjcAq3kNq4RI63xegCNPgMDU2lyyPX3a7oxKSnrTFh8t08CZ8c-0/s400/PC110189-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280601666160518498" /></a><br /><br />After a one hour trek, we arrived in the allocated camp-site and proceeded to take a brief shower.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2fQqFOMatjTDX_cwt1oJHEXvoLkuwwd1xL_4DMuABuLkhp-mbLV7dbt0IQC6Hl9_LAJxrvokKr_wZgQsKfbEQ4tu-Cym6Xy5qDcd2mtXqMZFyVco-mOfMO-k0xIyZKGVQUCj86AU2J0/s1600-h/PC100160-1900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2fQqFOMatjTDX_cwt1oJHEXvoLkuwwd1xL_4DMuABuLkhp-mbLV7dbt0IQC6Hl9_LAJxrvokKr_wZgQsKfbEQ4tu-Cym6Xy5qDcd2mtXqMZFyVco-mOfMO-k0xIyZKGVQUCj86AU2J0/s400/PC100160-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280603034438964546" /></a><br /><br />Up a slippery, muddy bank, and drenched in humidity and out own sweat, we finally arrived in our home for the next five nights. Clearings in the jungle are to be treasured, offering brief rest bite from the fear of what may be lurking under the next leaf.<br /><br />Before I go any further, I feel a desire, no, a need, to clarify a few points. Earlier I stated that the walk was about an hour. Big deal you probably think. What’s one hours jaunt? Well, I’ve taken a video to show you what the jaunt is like [actually taken on day 4, after 5 hours walking]; even then it does a poor job at illustrating how moving through a jungle is hard work. <br /><br />Every rock hides an unknown; every leaf provides camouflage for another hidden nasty. Crossing a barrier, which is a frequent occurrence, involves many decisions as to if you want to step over, risking whatever is underneath biting you, or step on, risking a slip on the constantly wet surface. “Why not hold on to something to stabilise your crossing?” you may think, well, what if that thing is covered in spikes, or biting insects, or itchy hairs, or worse? I think I’ll keep my hands to myself thank you. Now imagine doing that walk in the sauna. Now imagine doing it with soaking boots, a 20kg pack, surrounded by noises you’ve never heard before, whilst swatting away hornets the length of your middle finger, as mozzies bite you constantly. I told you to watch where you put your feet!! <br /><br />Yep, you’re getting closer to the jungle experience.<br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-xiSU0F_An4&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-xiSU0F_An4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Luckily, setting up camp was easy. I’ve had enough experience with using my hammock in the UK to make it something I can do in the dark, whilst drunk. With the collective experience of the group, we soon had a fire going and all the thoughts of the jungle nasties were being put to the back of our head. “Mind where you sit – there’s a web under that log.” Back-ish of our heads then.<br /><br />Dangers in the jungle come in forms that I’m rather surprised by. Spiders and snakes may be deadly, but scary spiders, such as the Recluse, Tarantula, and Black Widow, mostly want to keep out of our way. We saw both the Recluse and Black Widow – the latter being on a pile of wood which I was carrying, albeit very swiftly once I realised the unintended passenger!<br /><br />Snakes often can be just a few feet away from you, but you won’t notice. Many snakes hunt at night, so locating them is hard, that assumes you want to, which we didn’t most of the time.<br /><br />What you have to be careful of are things like the hornets, which are known to “get their mates involved” if you start to annoy them. With a description of the sting from one victim being the same as having a burning hot rivet put into your skin, I think I want to keep clear. However, one of the most surprising was the account of the head SAS survival instructor of a centipede bite. He once got bitten by one of these nasties and promptly proceeded to “Curl into the foetal position, and wept and wept and wept, cried and cried and cried”. He’s a hard-as-nails b*astard. I’m a soft-skinned computer-geek. I’ll be keeping clear of them then!<br /><br />As my rambling is going on a little, I’ll finish this later (you’re probably reading this at work, if so, get back to work!) But don’t worry; in the next article we have traps, blazes, hunting trips and random foodage – full marks will be awarded to those who can work out what the kebabs in the picture below are resting on...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAkmUZ_xw0GHIsS85VUx_vx2ucfzjZaiD5ywa4qab49AEvWP-M6j90ufCRA2WVNOM4SsDtRpU3lSHTrFufIvdB7qii7CyOT8VeAlL0pVjcnwREcAo97rv5hYkVT4v0HYT6ifkrtbrcFg/s1600-h/PC120314-1900.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgAkmUZ_xw0GHIsS85VUx_vx2ucfzjZaiD5ywa4qab49AEvWP-M6j90ufCRA2WVNOM4SsDtRpU3lSHTrFufIvdB7qii7CyOT8VeAlL0pVjcnwREcAo97rv5hYkVT4v0HYT6ifkrtbrcFg/s400/PC120314-1900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280612173336495698" /></a><br /><br />I’ll see you then!<br /><br />Note: Most of the photos have been uploaded, and I now have a youtube channel with all the india videos too:<br />Photos: http://picasaweb.google.com/hbevan/HadynsTravelBlogPhotoDumpBorneo<br />Videos: http://www.youtube.com/user/hadyntravelHadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-33676395779221613232008-12-05T14:44:00.004+00:002008-12-05T15:38:01.419+00:00Agra and outWell, like any good journey my time in India draws to a close.<br /><br />Before summarising the highs and lows of this great country in what little time I have had to dip my toes in, I shall briefly outline the last few days.<br /><br />From where I left you in Kolhapur, Rakesh and I continued our adventure with our hosts. Many of the highlights didn't come from the normal tourist attractions we saw (such as the 55 foot high Ganesh statue and local fort), but instead such gems as the brief conversation had with a local waiter when I arrived, culminating in the usual request for photos and this time even a free desert (the English quota it seems)!!<br /><br />Both Rakesh and I agreed that we should leave a small gift to our hosts as a token of our appreciation, so we went into the local markets and purchased a cricket bat and balls, and two dresses for the girls. <br /><br />It was strange, as although when giving the gifts there was little expression on the faces of the children, the warm fuzzy feeling certainly arrived when later that day we were asked to attend the first cricket match. The usual plank of wood with splinters was cast aside, replaced in pride of place by the shiny cricket bat. That was the best 5 pounds I've spent in a long time, and hopefully will continue to bring joy for significantly longer than pi$$ing it up against a wall on a Friday night.<br /><br />That evening every item of my bag was pulled out and shown to our hosts to satisfy their curiosity - it turns out that the best toy for a child of three is a karabiner (climbing clip thing, used to clip my bag to trees, keeping it off any wet ground). Whilst 10 year olds are only satisfied by endless photos, or using the draw function on my PDA. <br /><br />We then visited a local house of our rickshaw driver, where we were treated to another fantastically warm welcome, a sad realisation that the families value short term gain (i.e. go out and work, giving up school) over longer term ways to work themselves out of poverty. Then when the camera was pulled out of the bag, half of the elders of the room ran out, it turns out they wanted to change into their best clothes for any photos!!<br /><br />After Kolhapur and a very warm departure from our hosts, Rakesh returned to Mumbai, whilst I spent a day with Prasad and Shrikant in Pune (feeling rather ill again). Both times I've been ill, it's been from "home" cooking. Both times it's been stuff I'm unsure about, but if they are feeding their children the same food, how can you say "no"? It wasn't as bad as before, but I was not "farting with confidence" for a good 48 hours.<br /><br />Prasad's house was great. Even unfinished it was really, really nice. To play my diplomatic part, it was exactly as good as Rakesh's house (which is also really nice) no better, no worse. Factually, Rakesh's house is far cleaner and doesn't smell of paint, whilst Prasad's is certainly larger.<br /><br />After the brief stop in Pune it was off again to Mumbai.<br /><br />In Mumbai (which isn't as dangerous as our government would make you think, and pseudo security has been stepped up, and may even involve searching people who beep at the detector now!!) we took a trip to the local caves where we were victims of the first theft.<br /><br />A monkey stole Rakesh's crisps. Yes, a monkey. Thieving scumbag, and it had small balls.<br /><br />After this we then took what shall now be called the hell-ride to our white-water rafting venue. Earlier in the trip we had the hell-bus, which was cramped and bumpy. This was the hell-car. 2.4 litres of pure power at the hands of an untamed maniac.<br /><br />If we had jumped into the back of any car and told them we had to be in Mumbai as fast as possible or else the world would end, they would probably drive slower and more safely. This guy was insane - even Rakesh was pooping himself and I got so scared I actually thought it was funny and began to look forward to the times he would pull out, see the bus coming in the lane, but go anyway.<br /><br />Unfortunately this meant that by the time we went rafting, it was the tamest experience ever, graded between 3+ and 5+ (the day we went the dam only opened one gate, so it was a 3+, the highest experienced in the UK, but still rather tame) the water was good. Compared to the hell ride though, it had nothing. Put it this way, our dude did a 3.5 hour journey in 2.5 hours - and spent most of it in the oncoming lane, some of it off the road and all of it going too fast o (i.e. 70-80 mph) on windy pot-hole roads and dirt tracks.<br /><br />Following a totally awful movie (Max Payne - good game, shoddy movie, about 2.0 on the 1-10 ratings) it was time for me to move on to Delhi and say goodbye to Rakesh.<br /><br />Apart from the scam-artists which annoyed me a little when I arrived after the 18 hour journey (but only got 5 rupees from me tired pocket - about 6p) it's been good. Shopping has been abundant and the Taj Mehal beckons.<br /><br />With the Taj tomorrow and then Borneo after that, it only leaves me to summarise India (all scores out of 10)<br /><br />-----------------------------SUMMARY--------------------------<br /><br /><strong>Adventure: </strong>6 - apart from the camel trek, white-water rafting and staying in a mud-hut, it's been pretty "normal" holiday wise, very much easing me into travel<br /><br /><strong>People:</strong> 10 - They have been excellent, every-where I've gone I've been greeted warmly and with open smiles, the villages and off the tourist track has been especially good.<br /><br /><strong>Hassle: </strong>2 - I'll be honest, the endless hassle of "where are you going" and "what is your name" which always end in one thing - a request for money or a use of their services has almost worn me down. Begging has been less of a problem than I thought, but still a pain in the a$$.<br /><br /><strong>History/culture:</strong> 8 - Both history and culture have been excellent, but the tourist sights are often in dis-repair or littered with rubbish or graffiti. They aren't making the most of what they have. The history and culture is a 10, but it's being let down by poor presentation. Hopefully the Taj won't disappoint.<br /><br /><strong>Food Taste:</strong> 8 – Too hot at times, but often very nice to taste<br /><br /><strong>Hygene:</strong> 1 – The food has made me ill for almost 10% of my holiday and I have a cast-iron stomach and will eat anything. The Indian cleanliness standards are shockingly bad.<br /><br /><strong>Safety: </strong>10 - I've never felt unsafe, and apart from one monkey-based theft, haven't had any issues so far!<br /><br /><strong>Food Variety:</strong> 5 – Outside of the major centres, and the richer part of those centres, food is limited to Indian. Yes, you can often get both south and north Indian, and there’s probably enough Indian dishes to eat a new one each day of the year, but it’s hardly the choice we have in the UK or the USA. When you get “Italian” or “Chinese” it’s almost unrecognisable in it’s Indian version.<br /><br /><strong>Cost:</strong> 9 – It’s very cheap.<br /><br /><strong>Value for money:</strong> 10 – Wherever you go, whatever you do, it’s cheap and most of the time darn good fun too.<br /><br /><strong>Would I come again?</strong> Yes<br /><br /><strong>Recommended to? </strong>Anyone who can take the dirt and doesn’t mind a few days of illness to see some truly marvellous people.<br /><br /><strong>Highlights:</strong> Living in a hut in Kolhapur, Camel trek in Bikiner, the deserted 2nd largest wall in Rajesthan<br /><br /><strong>Lowtimes:</strong> Sickness, alone, for 36 hours in Bikiner.<br /><br /><strong>Overall:</strong> 8 – India has been great, without the illnesses that have thrown me a little sideways, it would have certainly been higher. As mentioned though, 10% of my time here I’ve been ill in some degree, and that makes this score pretty much out of 9. The other missing point is due to the level of dirt, grime and hassle, but if you can put up with that (which is easier when with a local) then it’s a fantastic place to visit.<br /><br />Thanks Prasad, Shrikant and Rakesh for making the first stage of my trip really fantastic - I wouldn't have enjoyed myself half as much without you all, your friends and relatives! You've done India proud.Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-15211032186833843962008-11-28T15:45:00.003+00:002008-11-28T16:13:54.325+00:00Goa CallingAfter a wonderfully relaxed time in Mumbai, checking out the sights and eating some wonderful meals with Rakesh's family, Rakesh and I headed off towards Goa on yet another arduous bus journey.<br /><br />What felt like a few million aches later, both Rakesh and I emerged, wiping the sleep from our eyes to be welcomed by the madding crowds of tourists in Goa. Darn.<br /><br />First a bit of a history lesson. Whilst much of India was invaded by the British way back when, Goa managed to have the unfortunate joy of being invaded by the Portuguese. Being rather laid back, they stopped there and failed to invade much else. I blame too much rum. However, it did mean that Goa was independent from India until the 1960's. So it consequently has a really bad road structure and a very laid back way of life. Correction, it did, until the droves of package tourists from England arrived. It's now like Tenerrife. Joy.<br /><br />After escaping the madding crowds of tourists on a bike ride to a remote waterfall, we did find some semblance of interest outside of the hippy nonsense which had been thrown in our face all along the beaches and roads. Here we took a 40 minute jeep ride into their semi-dry jungle, complete with river crossings and ruts in the road which make weight-watchers members feel small and insignificant. <br /><br />After a brief walk, we reached the waterfall, which was pretty impressive and even encouraged me to get my spangly legs out and have a swim/controlled drown. <br /><br />From Goa, and with news of the blasts in Mumbai fresh in the news, we headed north to a small city of Kolhapur where we were to meet a lady who undertakes government projects in remote villages, staying with her and her family.<br /><br />I wanted remote, and I think I got it. Basic was the name of the day. No running water, the same "power sharing" power cuts experienced in the other slum town. Front door made of a sheet of tin, about waist high. Walls made of scrap metal/wood/cow-dung. Roof of corrugated tin/straw. Wildlife, more that present.<br /><br />In true estate agent speak, I shall now describe the room. Airy (it was the store-room and didn't have any windows), with a view of the stars (holes in the ceiling), atmospheric (noisy), connected with nature (counted two rats, one mouse, millions of roaches, millions of mozzies and a strange tick-like creature in the first night. The rat was first mistaken for a small dog), firm foundations (concrete/mud floor, which I was sleeping on), friendly family (very friendly, and like most Indian's who have nothing, they were far too generous.)<br /><br />We're going to have to cut this short, as I've just been told "now closing time" at 21:41 at night - strange time, but they must have had enough of me!<br /><br />Photos to follow and more stories too!Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-42325056419730250322008-11-27T13:17:00.001+00:002008-11-27T13:19:04.399+00:00No need to worryHi all,<br /><br />Thanks for your collective concern, but do not fear. Both Rakesh and I are well and are currently in Kolhapur, on our way back from Goa.<br /><br />I will update the blog later, as we are rather "on the road" at the moment.<br /><br />Until then....Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-50849589004896688502008-11-23T11:01:00.003+00:002008-11-23T11:41:39.235+00:00Desert calling...So there I was, in the middle of a field, sweat running down my sunburned nose, trying to deposit iodine solution to the nose-rings of to camels, as their handlers desperately fought to keep them under control. How did this happen? Let us rewind a few days, as I write this on my pda on a packed train to Mumbai, with three people looking over my shoulder- despite their lack of English...<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/aU-U59rQxoMSMCLwHIPX1g"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa8UYciOZI/AAAAAAAAAoc/1WSf1-2lX1k/s800/PB180381-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />After leaving Prasad and his friend following our week around Rajesthan, I had headed north to a small dusty boarder city called "Bikaner". Here, I arrived after an uneventful train journey early as the city woke up and quickly elicited the services of one of the street 'wideboys', Lucky.<br /><br />For a small sum of 500 rupees, approximately 7 pounds, he offered to show me around the city, and drive me over 120km to two local sights, a rat temple and camel breeding farm. There was a catch though [Mum, look away now].<br /><br />Lucky only had a motorbike. <br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/7Ih5YeDXmfx35y7F6cHW7Q"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa9gmxemlI/AAAAAAAAAvI/hEyuRidhla0/s400/PB160285-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />So there I was in a small desert town on the northern boarder with Pakistan, following the more alternative tourist path. Following a full day of sightseeing, including a temple which worships rats (which are believed to be the souls of x-believers)<br /><table style="width:auto;"><tr><td><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/BIhShAreuhn0TLMzWK8uag"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa9p00o2OI/AAAAAAAAAv4/FNl2u5CgodY/s144/PB160291-1600.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="font-family:arial,sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:right">From <a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/hbevan/HadynSTravelBlogPhotoDumpIndia">Hadyn's Travel Blog Photo Dump (India)</a></td></tr></table><br />I checked into a family run guest-house, costing slightly more than 1 pound 70 per night, including a free bottle of "Kwality Kwencher" water. The accommodation was of a similar standard. Roaches, mozzies and noise at 3am from a local temple come as standard!<br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/6QKJgwaNtfJXTGkaXN9XZQ"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa-qTCZzuI/AAAAAAAAA0g/MH7zbGkl38w/s400/PB160337-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />That evening I ate with the family, conversing with a very interesting doctor from Pune (where Prasad lives). We discussed many things that evening, ranging from cycling to bedside manner, finally resting on his impending camel trek. At the end of the conversation it was agreed that I join him for the first couple of days of his trek. Unfortunately, it was not to be.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/iZcZO3Ln4axEou6W2LArTA"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa-pOgkKZI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/0dUYjdR0-iI/s400/PB160334-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />In the early hours of the morning, I awoke with two very urgent needs. One needed a bucket, one a toilet. I shall spare the gory details, but over the next 36 hours, I moved about 5m from the bed (the toilet was 5m away), used the bucket ~20, and the toilet ~30 times. Nice it was not. I hope it shall remain the lowest point of my trip.<br /><br />Following the delay, I decided to set off on the camel trek despite not feeling all that dandy. With two camels, a camel cart and no less than three guides, of which only one spoke a smattering of English, the Hadyn camel train was rolling out of town. Following a 90 minute drive into the desert, we would head to a small village about 20 km deeper into the sand.<br /><br />Camels are foul, smelly, ugly beasts, this much I remember from a trip in the Sahara when I was younger, but mine was really ugly, even by camel standards [so ugly, I included its photo at the start, with a sunset to offset the ugly-ness, a pile of sewage would have done similar though....] If it were a human, it would be Anne Widdicome. And it was naked. It does have one redeeming feature that Anne does not have though, its ears were quite cute and furry. This still didn't make up for the smell.<br /><br />After only an hour I needed to get off. Sitting astride this camel was akin to doing the splits on a washing machine full of bricks. I asked if i could get off. "Yes" was the reply. 50m later, I asked again. "Yes" was the reply. 50m later, I asked them to stop. "Yes" was the reply. 5m later, I asked them if it was okay to jump. "Yes" was the reply. So I jumped off a 9ft high camel, moving over uneven terrain. <br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/RaV8pDfamkwEPdXG9X9yew"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa87Qi2t7I/AAAAAAAAAsM/ZgkTqJzHhNw/s400/PB190414-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />"Sir, sir they cried". In my mind I had done a very adept dismount, complete with 'combat roll' to keep me on my feet. In reality, I had done a very ungainly dismount, complete with half a break-fall directly into a ditch, bursting my water bottle all over me in the process. Luckily no one but the camel saw. Practise needed.<br />After what seemed like eternity of butt-pain, punctuated only by a break in a field to take lunch over an open fire, we came to our destination camp. Here I quickly went about setting up a fire using a flint and steel I brought along for the jungle, showing my guides not all white tourists don't have a clue about the outdoor life. I then headed off about 500m over to another camp we could see in the distance. <br /><br />Here I met 4 Germans, who spoke about as good English as I speak German, so we could got by ok. I then went about showing them navigation using the night sky - a great party trick if you ever need one, and we passed away the late hours staring into the darknessas their guide listened on intently...<br /><br />Day two consisted of more trekking including visiting a remote hamlet, where being white, I drew quite a crowd (yes, those sunglasses are mine!)<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/yPWS_N3T6OvTFxni_yP7gw"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa89ACTTCI/AAAAAAAAAsU/l64RDsEsBrQ/s400/PB190417-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />There I showed them the fire lighting and tried to describe a bear through acting (i was wearing a Bear Grylls shirt, complete with picture). I also taught the crowd the English for water, tree and camel. They did a bad job at teaching me the three in Hindi, as I can only remember water, which I already knew. It was still great fun and I think the pupil was to blame.<br /><br />We then stopped for some lunch over in a field not far away from pick-up point. Whilst gathering wood, one of the guides managed to give himself a nasty splinter, so I offered an antiseptic cream from my rather extensive first aid kit to help him out. On seeing this level of medical knowledge, and probably the fact that my first aid kit equals that of any local ambulance, the two owners of the camels started gesticulating wildly at their noses and pointing towards their camels... Which brings me to my opening statement.<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.co.in/lh/photo/6GNhSfI8zdGX4UGDxXPKpg"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_GzdgSS40dpY/SSa8Vrm93bI/AAAAAAAAAok/k_Ctd4dL6XQ/s400/PB180383-1600.jpg" /></a><br /><br />As my train continues its winding journey through India, the crowd watching my pda dissipates. It is time for me to get some rest amongst all in the second lowest of 7 train classes - costing 6 pounds for a 24 hour journey. Only 18 hours to go, with shouts of 'chai' filling the air. Should be interesting!<br /><br />Currently I'm chilling in Mumbai after having met up with Rakesh and his family. I shall tell you more, later...Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-36516214514423447122008-11-15T08:16:00.008+00:002008-11-15T10:11:01.074+00:00Mass tourisim<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicf1h-Fgw4MA4HmsVdlgNqX1LrQ7t2fVf7CGp5nbiqhsWr_W3YUQxs9nrqXvrncGZ4mmmXkjmq1zr76k3bCFfO7Z7bhMCyMREPoyRRPVlXQ7hIUjFGfqsJaZgBoQHQlKYmpBXxDyEf9Oc/s1600-h/PB140247-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268817314079003074" style="WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicf1h-Fgw4MA4HmsVdlgNqX1LrQ7t2fVf7CGp5nbiqhsWr_W3YUQxs9nrqXvrncGZ4mmmXkjmq1zr76k3bCFfO7Z7bhMCyMREPoyRRPVlXQ7hIUjFGfqsJaZgBoQHQlKYmpBXxDyEf9Oc/s320/PB140247-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br /><div>In contrast to the many days on the road, winding through small villages with people using traditional methods to tend their fields, the past few days have introduced us, slap bang, into mass tourism. At last, there were other white faces to distract the stares!</div><div></br></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div>The first event was a large Muslim temple, which it is believed to be the second most important place in the Muslim world after Mecca. In fact, seven visits to this place, is equal to one of Mecca - now that's a pretty exact measure of holy-ness </br><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>Here the crowd felt somewhat different, with my companions on edge and the driver warning us not to take anything with us, there was a perceived air of hostility towards us. Yes, they stared just like any other crowd at the freaky white-man with his pale skin, but the stares were not at my face, more at my wallet. Perhaps it is all the negative press Muslim's have been getting in the media recently, but even so, what was to follow was not something any of us would like to repeat.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlQ1w1Y8NoAcxWZZQk-a9dZ1gIzm0zG562v5mrkT8swz-ElE9sltPTLnZWlzVsYVsVQJSjLxv0ZwQGdDVy6Qo4MeigCZwTpAHoux1ngNjLqY8W6f7QaGrie9ihzqtKElGlQKbZP_xDpQ/s1600-h/PB120167-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268816932002863282" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlQ1w1Y8NoAcxWZZQk-a9dZ1gIzm0zG562v5mrkT8swz-ElE9sltPTLnZWlzVsYVsVQJSjLxv0ZwQGdDVy6Qo4MeigCZwTpAHoux1ngNjLqY8W6f7QaGrie9ihzqtKElGlQKbZP_xDpQ/s320/PB120167-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>After donning a piece of cloth over our heads and taking our shoes off to respect their religious beliefs, we were ushered through a metal detector (the usual pseudo security ensued, where for everyone it beeped, but no-one cared). Once being relieved of my camera as photos weren't allowed, we headed towards the central temple area. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div></div><div>If anyone has been to a rock concert, they know what a mosh-pit is. For those who haven't, it's a grey line in between a crowd and a fight. Inside this temple, there was what could only be described as chaos. Everyone wanted to get in. No-one wanted to leave. So after getting to the front (not hard when you are twice the size of everyone around you) we were greeted with the expression "as you like", pointing towards the tips bowl. This was less optional then one would think, and the crowd organisers got rather shirty until one of our group gave about 300 rupees (7 pounds, ish) as he was giving for a friend of his as well.</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>From here, we were treated like celebrities, ushered out, then back in the queue at the front, before being pushed head first into the central idol, to make our prayer. Again, with shouts of "as you like". Perhaps it's karma, but Prasad and I both hit our heads on the way up. We also didn't indulge the "as you like" brigade. We won't be "liking" again, thanks.</div><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>From here, we went to the Pushkar Camel festival, which was an excellent event held each year whereby traders from all the tribes around the region sell their camels and horses. After snaking through many km (I kid you not) of crowded streets of "hippy nonsense", we finally made it to the centre, where the real business was being done with camels, horses and camel pet-stores. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCbG9mgiKMp8Im2izMog1S3aLL4zvyTcZegne_wAiFzI2WdEAOameyqG1AWaxoMAhSxHldtlU4ZKpoCbx7MtENekRy5dYfgruOHMKOTV2031U_BVv0iXp4q0xH0cEQlzu_VaYS2ko3Yk/s1600-h/PB130176-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268816930526151986" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCbG9mgiKMp8Im2izMog1S3aLL4zvyTcZegne_wAiFzI2WdEAOameyqG1AWaxoMAhSxHldtlU4ZKpoCbx7MtENekRy5dYfgruOHMKOTV2031U_BVv0iXp4q0xH0cEQlzu_VaYS2ko3Yk/s320/PB130176-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div></div><div></div><div>All the silly decorations a camel owner could ask for. Multi-coloured nose peg sir? How about some fancy dangly things to hang off your camel? My, what a pretty camel. Two seconds whilst I take this call.... </div><br /><div>Even remote tribes-people, it seems, have mobiles!</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61CRxt5m7dHG2ACxWgt0H1PGnIV8NPdeTR-_Bulk4P1b5rJLgDtAxmJPzXb8pPYkrSbrMS_z0HYAu0Zw8jZN4uLTbhXPnSvvgJBrPkG0z0s6WiR7mP6A8m-FCqxJokzqC43RifFvvyWQ/s1600-h/PB130186-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268816940614656034" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj61CRxt5m7dHG2ACxWgt0H1PGnIV8NPdeTR-_Bulk4P1b5rJLgDtAxmJPzXb8pPYkrSbrMS_z0HYAu0Zw8jZN4uLTbhXPnSvvgJBrPkG0z0s6WiR7mP6A8m-FCqxJokzqC43RifFvvyWQ/s320/PB130186-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCbG9mgiKMp8Im2izMog1S3aLL4zvyTcZegne_wAiFzI2WdEAOameyqG1AWaxoMAhSxHldtlU4ZKpoCbx7MtENekRy5dYfgruOHMKOTV2031U_BVv0iXp4q0xH0cEQlzu_VaYS2ko3Yk/s1600-h/PB130176-1600.jpg"></a><div>Forever hunted by rickshaw drivers and beggars, desperate for their next taste of tourist cash, we continued on to Jaipur (where I currently am) and decided to take in some of the local sights and museums.</div><br /><div><br />Much to the amusement of my travel companions, it was time for Mr Tourist to take a fleecing again. Not by some scam, trick or cunning of the local crowd, but by full endorsement of the office of tourism. For every sight we have been too, they charge one fee for Indian tourists, and one for foreign. I think you can guess who gets it cheaper. In the city palace, it cost me 300 rupees, with my friends coming to 80 rupees for the both of them. However, I got a free ticket to use my camera - which would have cost them 50 rupees each. Wow. This place was slightly cheaper, but you get the idea.</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZ4_SVjsBFNmKxT2HTVMj-lOlKCC8DTGypRYnG8JaEV6orL_a_Ve8vaz-re1Dt0gp5GeaBLf8-F7IFd2b4LopM6zMnpXVGns_6KKVCPBtm3Rh8tKp_8S1SFJyXoqM5oTKbmsmISbL5rg/s1600-h/PB140224-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268816943091566322" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjZ4_SVjsBFNmKxT2HTVMj-lOlKCC8DTGypRYnG8JaEV6orL_a_Ve8vaz-re1Dt0gp5GeaBLf8-F7IFd2b4LopM6zMnpXVGns_6KKVCPBtm3Rh8tKp_8S1SFJyXoqM5oTKbmsmISbL5rg/s320/PB140224-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><div>My gloating was short lived, when next to each sight there was a sign say "no photography". It was rubbish anyway, so I felt even more fleeced.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, just across the road was one of the best places I've ever visited. Even more shocking, it was educational, so it was cheap (for Indian's anyway)! Back in 1750, one of the kings had a bit of a hobby for astrology. So he built a bunch of highly accurate sun-dials, and other such instruments to determine the time (down to an accuracy of 2 seconds) and anything associated with the tilt or rotation of the earth. Mostly star-signs. After being a little sceptical of the 2 second claim associated with the 15 story sun-dial, we took a look at the smaller sun-dial (still about 1.5 stories high) which maintained 20 second accuracy. Working it out for ourselves, we actually realised that the thing was darn accurate. Enough that my watch has been adjusted by 20 seconds to "sun time" :-)</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB2uSIGpRnED6LYpdSnwOPUg2cSBVNYruU3ito1h1rCKIIzh4RBrdzoj3PACsicEvrtZhwf5gxASWX-Vz12Vqu025rEqQG7GJ90kGQ9FUfU9L8RfYgHFlcN8HgNsH0YtsCMmK1MRG-OE/s1600-h/PB140237-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268816944349423330" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiB2uSIGpRnED6LYpdSnwOPUg2cSBVNYruU3ito1h1rCKIIzh4RBrdzoj3PACsicEvrtZhwf5gxASWX-Vz12Vqu025rEqQG7GJ90kGQ9FUfU9L8RfYgHFlcN8HgNsH0YtsCMmK1MRG-OE/s320/PB140237-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />With a day of mind expanding information taking its toll on us all, we decided to chill for a few minutes in the first park which I have seen on this round of travels.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the cool breeze of the evening sunshine, with the rickshaw drivers blazing their horns around us, a tranquil serenity began to overcome us. That was, until a group of about 15 youths began to walk directly towards us. Ranging from about 6 to 16, this crowd split into two groups, with the small ones being sent in first to "soften us up". Quickly I grabbed my bag, thinking the worst. As they got closer they didn't look as menacing as I was expecting. What a way to go I thought, being beaten up by 15 kids in the middle of a park... I can see the head-stone now. "Here lies Hadyn, 6 years of martial arts lessons and he got taken by a bunch of kids. [Simpsons voice]"Haha!"</div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div>As everything in India, all is not what it seemed. Once the kids got within striking range, they presented their weapon of choice, the worlds largest and cruddiest camera. After a brief haggle between them and Prasad, or "Hadyn's agent" as he shall now be called (it turns out they were trying to sell my photo!) the kids gathered around and took a photo. I insisted they I take a photo as well, but only after a few of them had left (I would like to say the ones who had left were all 7 foot tall and built like tanks, but no, they were all pretty puny too!)</div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKu3xRQOsqt6VicdW0igYAjFwk_p9GuxuDGvZu-EaR_ndl-VhRZgSqWF8WyEBRdH1XhJkXewMoBAP-u3be6lovQ-bETpPqBZpbBFK9F1YYPeXIodmUjxrlLFOaxl1YNVUywMvT87gMck/s1600-h/PB140276-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268817315033003698" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKu3xRQOsqt6VicdW0igYAjFwk_p9GuxuDGvZu-EaR_ndl-VhRZgSqWF8WyEBRdH1XhJkXewMoBAP-u3be6lovQ-bETpPqBZpbBFK9F1YYPeXIodmUjxrlLFOaxl1YNVUywMvT87gMck/s320/PB140276-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />As I have promised for a while now, I'm heading up to Bukiner (or something like that anyway) on a 10 hour sleeper train to go for a camel ride and visit a temple full of rats. Until then, have fun!</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>P.S. Following some unfortunate news from my friend Rakesh who I shall be meeting next week, we have had to cancel our activity holiday which was going to involve some rafting and abseiling - although we are trying to arrange something a little different instead.... Watch this space...</div>Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-777174924189840263.post-3910636784615205972008-11-11T16:23:00.008+00:002008-11-11T17:11:52.462+00:00It's the small things...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATt8hAV1NgCeH2Acl-iwP9fsePlcM_J8248zdx4EVag4q-cEmpyjPWxDA0CSQ019RUQxG0nuyi2WD2umHzKzblmTkzk4lBPUQktENuivZZQ_G5AUQ1JnoqXbUjxhuB1dGGtOvJxADadc/s1600-h/PB110026-1600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444692843896386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATt8hAV1NgCeH2Acl-iwP9fsePlcM_J8248zdx4EVag4q-cEmpyjPWxDA0CSQ019RUQxG0nuyi2WD2umHzKzblmTkzk4lBPUQktENuivZZQ_G5AUQ1JnoqXbUjxhuB1dGGtOvJxADadc/s320/PB110026-1600.jpg" border="0" /></a> The thing which gets you about India are the small things.<br /><div><div><div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>Take for example, my hotel. A suitably high class hotel in the middle of nowhere (otherwise known as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Udipur</span></span> - the same place they filmed Jams Bond's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Octopussy</span></span>) it is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">blatently</span> designed for the foreign or higher class Indian tourist. Every glass has "sanitised for your protection" written on it, and the toilet is wrapped in similar paper. Like a reverse <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">biohazard</span></span> label I suppose - they know us western tourists are worriers evidently!</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Now comes the Indian part: they leave on the "fragile, handle with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">carelabel</span> which was wrapped around the bath when it was installed, so that it's actually cemented into the bathroom (see picture below). Mornings always involve a cold shower (3 out of three mornings anyway) . I could ask for a bucket of hot water, but it would take so long I cannot be bothered. Then there is the rubbish.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444372062287794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtZM8HYV7WuH229zn2p3SHcWpkP6FGC_q3_ECpESrGw7urWRmjZc-t9-2g2VK7BOPd55zlGRsY4pkTzAWuonH8D8LN5hUTScctVU8cuKdKaAyckArhyphenhyphenRwJ-7q6fqt1ySAWHwpDoYMnCos/s320/PB090196-1600.jpg" border="0" />The rubbish is so amusing it warrants it's own section, although some would argue it needs a whole book. Every morning you will find a shop-keeper sweeping up his shop, as they do in the UK. The difference in India, is that they sweep the dusty pile of crud from one stone onto the adjacent stone. One stone is theirs, the other one, is the "streets". <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Resultantly</span></span>, when the car drives past, it blows it back onto their shop. That's lunch's work sorted then! </div><div> </div><div>Next to every tourist sight you will find a huge deposit of rubbish. That's because somewhere along the line, some poor soul has been asked to clean up the rubbish. So they take it from the tourist destination and drop it. However, they drop it on the first stone which isn't technically the tourist <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">location</span>. </div><div> </div><div>The person in charge below just thought that tipping it over the wall was the best way forward. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444344249834530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnBf954bs_c4Zie3iYCNJ0oB2BAfB7a_twomlX3ySgagnBE_GfHy3Kijl0XyRgn-7wmqZqO9r1j7lL1emvG0oYunC61MJOawwF58jNdL34G_ZMZRhWvZPA6CGYagx8NKaXBYHKvQbmfZI/s320/PB090133-1600.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div>...or the main entrance to an ancient temple, with rusting poles for free. Nice.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444696681023970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDH37h0Jj8mxgeLV3C06NtHqyWZ2pdLsIm9VBqHsGXushjVzSA9whja5suAs-sjT5hsuOs0MHEFuuMjJUaL5qXLZSp9IXs2zdXnlvVqUhu_4Uhe3GvGW3lhpYaLhfpgPfb8VE50PqbX7k/s320/PB110103-1600.jpg" border="0" /> <div>Then there is disorganisation and irony, both in large measures around every city...</div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444361646352946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhus0WFJtjsj8yNxH6WwDYNvkAJGdZwVIT0Xqxy9lgdNK-IesTzUJaWdUKw6iLdEbD4exUMM9S2eG9nOx8lmKTOSDmzfZRltgTaIjGmTNhuDogdTyY1k4l19QQOiWA9GTj7_UaTD15cK4M/s320/PB090194-1600.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444358820157842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKrD7gh11MT0NMkFjCBZJjMFaU_DVI-zKdKwGFUi41ndhVAebJ-xzj12SThlBnQb06ApI46f3_KhXqVlDTtBr94aOW_6JGc3OC4REoSuOLF44wHsfgtCeLFppJjElBACzs0C5dijHRfAE/s320/PB090190-1600.jpg" border="0" /></div><div></div><div>...followed by the association that anything good must be English (i.e. English <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Medicine</span> shops, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">English</span> wine shops etc...) </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267446489287208210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9UmpLODLiMdAvEXwwKByC0bK9iypx05SFE2fjltolZO8OAv7vg_mxdahCJS56yDR7STQ09Ga6_y-quTsU4wqNw6-2PELMtiHPTzH0H3d2kB7c8d0-2YUZ4RpE2ZInym5GEIM9oZVSgwU/s320/PB080083-1600.jpg" border="0" /> <div></div><div>One of the campest man alive (he posed for two photos and insisted I wait whilst he "composed himself") !!</div><div></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444689191936082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRAaXO8AG5atTDUDFRO0TQ9t7Pxf0OygFg2wKr4w3-6w9bK77sMhD1SROTFtuzihOFMkBOh76-E44v78JFcCyDwlYQH9X8ZJGYLJoXBOxp5w4VK-ur768atknLxFDzGW2CFLY_BufBNA/s320/PB100019-1600.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>....and the final shot to let everyone know that I'm still breathing :-)</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267444370574291810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ijRTGn8DJ_1Tkz2bN8otEgvBlDVUyASIss0NF3jHU4GNXpKjcGV8tsZgoS5R_NJ-bhkpQq7SVOfDybHyxaZKNKaPP23J3dTnZ6OYBgvbOwX14OwlBZMSizBg_GAsHaCZtC8TVVi-ddo/s320/PB100012-1600.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>Yet it all still works, and it is this crazy nature which makes it so appealing. So I say bring on the rubbish and cold showers, as long as it comes with the character and charm I have come to expect :-)</div><div> </div><div>That's all for now, but we are heading east over the next couple of days, and hopefully increasing the interest in our tour, as the tourist trail begins to wear thinner.....</div></div></div>Hadynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15740499742032349820noreply@blogger.com1